Miscellaneous notes I’ve written in my phone over the past week or so. Never know what to do with these unfinished musings, so rather than completely scrap, why not dump them here?
I. Flying side-by-side with the orangest, sometimes eerily blood red, Cheshire Cat smile of a moon.
II. Always inspired to write while flying. Something about being blissfully disconnected from the rest of the world.
III. Currently passing by pastures, cows, and a rather lonely looking farmhouse overlooking the Pacific. The thing that always amazes me about the Oregon Coast is the open space alongside the ocean. Especially when compared to the jam-packed portion of that same highway down in SoCal. Up here, entire farms have ideal beachfront accommodations… there are hundreds of cows lazily eating grass while gazing at the ocean! Down in California, people pay millions for that view.
IV. I wonder how much weirder luggage contents are for those heading home post-Christmas. Held my breath while the ticket counter lady weighed my awkwardly packed, gift-filled suitcase… 49.6 pounds. Whew! Christmas miracle?
V. “You have big eyes!” A little girl’s blue raspberry popsicle breath tickled my nose as she giggled at her observant declaration.
Coming back home for Christmas is akin to getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle, or at least how I’d imagine it to be. Sitting in my old room, and though it’s seen over five years of changes, the familiarity of this house makes life away from here seem almost imagined.
One of those amazing moments when all five of us here at home had been in our own little worlds (two asleep even), but somehow ended up in the same room at the same time for a few minutes of perfection. Yes, at 2:00am, lucid and laughing about who knows what. Stepping out from his college finals week cave, one of the roommates deadpanned, “There’s too much fun going on out here. I can’t be miserable… having a hard time being depressed.” Laughed some more before we all dispersed again. Tis the little things… love this house.
TV’s been on in the background while we’re labeling / stamping envelopes for Christmas cards… there’s a commercial for a pen! Because that’s a product necessitating post-midnight advertisement. Followed by a commercial for “The Clapper”, and after a commercial break-commercial break, it’s “The Clapper Plus” featuring a remote. Boy oh boy!
And then this video as the must-see of the evening (morning?). Considered the opening song a take it or leave it at first non-live listen several months ago, but then he played it like this at the beloved Hotel Cafe back in October. Was a little dumbstruck, to say the least. Someone recorded the video below during one of Bobby Long’s concerts last week, almost exactly the way I remember it from the Hotel Cafe show. It’s one hell of a medley, a rather piddly sounding word for such passionate playing. In case I haven’t said it enough, Bobby Long is insanely talented. Simple as that.
It’s been awhile. Have started and scrapped numerous entries… still feeling as though everything and nothing is going on all at the same time. Rather than blather on about such nonsense (hello, Twitter, that’s what you’re for… in a succinct 140 characters or less), sharing someone else’s words, simply because they struck me so this lazy Sunday afternoon. From an album, Gregory Alan Isakov’s This Empty Northern Hemisphere, that has gently wedged its way to the front of my preferred music line time and time again throughout the past year.
you were a phonograph, i was a kid
i sat with an ear close, just listening
i was there when the rain tapped her way down you face
you were a miracle…i was just holdin your space
well time has a way of throwing it all in your face
the past, she is haunted, the future is laced
heartbreak, ya know, drives a big black car
swear i was in the back seat, just minding my own
and through the glass, the corn crows come like rain
they won’t stay, they won’t stay
for too long now
this could be all that we know..
of love and all.
well you were a dancer, i was a rag
the song in my head, well was all that i had
hope was a letter i never could send
love was a country we couldn’t defend.
and through the carnival we watch them go round and round
all we knew of home was just a sunset and some clowns
well you were a magazine, i was a plane jane
just walking the sidewalks all covered in rain
love to just get into one of your stories
just me and all of my plane jane glory
Hot weather always brings these fucked ole tunes, always in the background, in fucken mono. Fate. Like, notice how whenever something happens in your life, like you fall in love or something, a tune gets attached. Fate tunes. Watch out for that shit. Vernon God Little, DBC Pierre
Passed this while driving home, shortly after watching sunset at the beach. Pulled up to the house, ran in to grab a camera, then hoofed it down the street to get some shots before the colors faded. Not exactly the most eye catching scene by day, but brilliant at this hour.
Once upon a time, there was a band. If you’re reading this, you probably already know the history. I’m too lazy to write about it at the moment (there’s a ton in the archives here anyway)—if you don’t know and would like to, just say the word.
Lee was in town for a quick visit, so a semi-reunion took place in a rather familiar living room. Reminiscing and music went late into the night, the sun showing up as we said our goodbyes.
Waves aren’t typically this big around here, only every couple years or so. Happened to be US Open finale weekend as well—ocean put on its best show at The Wedge.
Princess and the Pea—wasting time before the beach.
That speck left of center is a person.
See the cluster of bodysurfers? Fins mandatory… duck dive your heart out.
I think the greatest performances always elude the camera, the tape recorder, the pen. They happen in the middle of the night when the musician plays for one special friend under the moonlight. They happen in the dress rehearsal just before the play opens.
-Stephen Nachmanovitch
