no bye-bye's.
You can call this a blatant rip off of the autobiography Brad recently posted. I wouldn't say rip off, per se. Reading Brad's many words about memories, old and still-fresh, I naturally became lost in thought of memories of my own. Memories of various times during my teenage years that I carry a certain nostalgia for. Do I want to jump into a time machine and go back to these simpler times? No, no I don't. That would take the nostalgia from them; it would take away the very essence of why I so fondly look back in the first place. Instead of wishing to relive these memories, I only choose to think back with appreciation, and write them down as such.
You needn't read this if you don't want to. Alot of you might be mentioned, some of you wont. These memories are how I now see them after shaped by time. There is no point to this other than my a. having a good insomnia-filled evening (it is now 1 in the morning) and b. simply writing down my thoughts, as I haven't done so in awhile.
The one thing that often defines my own memories is, well, music. It's odd, because although I love my musical interests and discovering new artists, I am certainly not what one would call a "music-buff." That passion, for me, is reserved for the medium of film. Nonetheless, the memories that often come clearest to me are associated in my mind to various songs and singers. The associations and songs, as I think about them now, range from the appropraite to the weird to the funny, at least to me.
Take "A Boy Named Sue," for example. I love my Cash. That song comes on, and you know what I am reminded of? The night I lost my virginity. Of all the fucking things, right? It makes sense to me, though. Because the very first time I heard the song and really listened to Cash shooting out "My name is Sue! How do ya do?! Now you gonna die!!" was while I drove in my car on the way home. I was stunned and shaken by the fact that, well, I just had sex. And the song came on, and it put me at ease.
In November of last year, our senior year, I went on a journalism trip to a convention in Chicago. Three songs are now deemed "Chicago songs," and evoke specific images and sounds:
"Come Downstairs and Say Hello," by Guster. I suppose I was listening to Guster on the flight to Chi-town, for this song instantly flashes images of the Chicago skyline - in the evening, too. Beautiful. I want to live there one day. This song comes on, and I think of the skyline, and the night time, and the plane preparing for landing. God, it was fucking cold that night.
"Cocaine Blues (Bad Lee Brown)" - Woody Guthrie. Ah, my official anthem to my hetero-life mate, Kyle Hodges. We were essentially joined at the hip during the Chicago trip, as we would be for the many journalism events to come. You see, no one besides myself will give the poor guy the time of day, as he is a total asshole, and I guess I feel sorry for the goofy bastard. Anyhow, I attribute that trip as the foundation of the friendship, which is now unbreakable. All the other Creek journalism kids (all girls, now that I think about it) were probably shopping on Michigan Avenue, spending all of their parents' money on expensive whatevers. Not Kyle and I, though. As we are total badasses, we developed a pretty intense version of hotel-room- - using nothing more than a half-filled plastic soda bottle and a tennis ball. It was fucking brilliant. During this time, Kyle and I would fight over use of the stereo. He suceeded and put in a CD. The first track - "Cocaine Blues" - my first intro to Woody Guthrie and Kyle's ever-impressive taste and knowledge of music, old and new. This song is a gateway to that legendary evening, when I got a full on glimpse at this kid's insanity. After the baseball, we entertained ourselves by throwing shit out of the window, trying to hit passerby's. Keep in mind that we were many a story up. But we were restless, and the window provided not only a beautiful look of downtown Chicago, but plenty of room to chunk a load of crap as hard as we could. I don't even remember what we threw - spare change, soda bottles, hotel toiletries. You're probably thinking that this is really pathetic and sad - we had Chicago at our fingertips, and we choose to play childish games and immaturely throw stuff out of our window? You're absolutely right. It was pathetic and sad. But fun! And fuck you if you dont appreciate the sheer bliss that comes from wasting time doing stupid shit. Besdies, Kyle and I weren't total hermits that night. Around midnight we walked the city streets for about two hours trying to buy cigarettes. That, I will admit, is pathetic and sad...and actually pretty stupid. Of all the places we could have been, dark and cold and empty streets of Chicago at 2 in the morning probably aren't the safest. But screw it, it was an adventure. And we got to meet Tony Balogna. But that's a different story for another late night rant. Or just ask Kyle. He'll tell you all about it. It's legendary in the Giles-Hodges folklore. Right up there with Torgo, Turkish Jades, Honeybunch, and Bufallo Herds.
Sorry, by the way, to anyone who just read all that and is not Kyle. You're probably really bored.
"Baby, Let Me Hold Your Hand" - Ray Charles. A few days into the trip, I bought a cheap compilation CD of Brother Ray's lesser known, earlier work for (I assume) Atlantic records. I remember Kyle already snoring away, and having the window open.
It was feezing, but the city was amazing to look at. Now as the song comes on, I think of, once again, the Chicago lights of night-time. And everytime, I swear, I get a chill.
"In Your Eyes" - John Cusack does his thing. I copy Cusack and do my thing. Not terribly original, I know. But I got to go to Prom with Michelle Adams. I'm proud to be the one to say such. It was fun. And check out the pictures. She looked absolutely lovely.
"Ruby Falls" - another Guster, actually. Oddly enough, and I can't really say why, this one makes me think of this summer at UT, specifically the few minutes Katy and I held each other before falling asleep - this was after a crazy party and things had turned lousy. Doesn't matter; the memory is vivid and nice, though. Comforting.
My momentum has run down. Not neccesarily tired, but tired of wrtiting, at least.
To needlessly wrap this up in a nice little bow - I enjoy these and other memories, and I appreciate their becoming all the more strong when attached to various songs. They remind me of a simpler, different, and sometimes better time of my life. However, I choose not to dwell on them, or treat them as better moments than the moments I live now. If nothing else, they remind me to appreciate the small moments that truly stay with us, and especially remind me that when bored, nothing beats throwing crap out of a high-rise hotel window.
You needn't read this if you don't want to. Alot of you might be mentioned, some of you wont. These memories are how I now see them after shaped by time. There is no point to this other than my a. having a good insomnia-filled evening (it is now 1 in the morning) and b. simply writing down my thoughts, as I haven't done so in awhile.
The one thing that often defines my own memories is, well, music. It's odd, because although I love my musical interests and discovering new artists, I am certainly not what one would call a "music-buff." That passion, for me, is reserved for the medium of film. Nonetheless, the memories that often come clearest to me are associated in my mind to various songs and singers. The associations and songs, as I think about them now, range from the appropraite to the weird to the funny, at least to me.
Take "A Boy Named Sue," for example. I love my Cash. That song comes on, and you know what I am reminded of? The night I lost my virginity. Of all the fucking things, right? It makes sense to me, though. Because the very first time I heard the song and really listened to Cash shooting out "My name is Sue! How do ya do?! Now you gonna die!!" was while I drove in my car on the way home. I was stunned and shaken by the fact that, well, I just had sex. And the song came on, and it put me at ease.
In November of last year, our senior year, I went on a journalism trip to a convention in Chicago. Three songs are now deemed "Chicago songs," and evoke specific images and sounds:
"Come Downstairs and Say Hello," by Guster. I suppose I was listening to Guster on the flight to Chi-town, for this song instantly flashes images of the Chicago skyline - in the evening, too. Beautiful. I want to live there one day. This song comes on, and I think of the skyline, and the night time, and the plane preparing for landing. God, it was fucking cold that night.
"Cocaine Blues (Bad Lee Brown)" - Woody Guthrie. Ah, my official anthem to my hetero-life mate, Kyle Hodges. We were essentially joined at the hip during the Chicago trip, as we would be for the many journalism events to come. You see, no one besides myself will give the poor guy the time of day, as he is a total asshole, and I guess I feel sorry for the goofy bastard. Anyhow, I attribute that trip as the foundation of the friendship, which is now unbreakable. All the other Creek journalism kids (all girls, now that I think about it) were probably shopping on Michigan Avenue, spending all of their parents' money on expensive whatevers. Not Kyle and I, though. As we are total badasses, we developed a pretty intense version of hotel-room- - using nothing more than a half-filled plastic soda bottle and a tennis ball. It was fucking brilliant. During this time, Kyle and I would fight over use of the stereo. He suceeded and put in a CD. The first track - "Cocaine Blues" - my first intro to Woody Guthrie and Kyle's ever-impressive taste and knowledge of music, old and new. This song is a gateway to that legendary evening, when I got a full on glimpse at this kid's insanity. After the baseball, we entertained ourselves by throwing shit out of the window, trying to hit passerby's. Keep in mind that we were many a story up. But we were restless, and the window provided not only a beautiful look of downtown Chicago, but plenty of room to chunk a load of crap as hard as we could. I don't even remember what we threw - spare change, soda bottles, hotel toiletries. You're probably thinking that this is really pathetic and sad - we had Chicago at our fingertips, and we choose to play childish games and immaturely throw stuff out of our window? You're absolutely right. It was pathetic and sad. But fun! And fuck you if you dont appreciate the sheer bliss that comes from wasting time doing stupid shit. Besdies, Kyle and I weren't total hermits that night. Around midnight we walked the city streets for about two hours trying to buy cigarettes. That, I will admit, is pathetic and sad...and actually pretty stupid. Of all the places we could have been, dark and cold and empty streets of Chicago at 2 in the morning probably aren't the safest. But screw it, it was an adventure. And we got to meet Tony Balogna. But that's a different story for another late night rant. Or just ask Kyle. He'll tell you all about it. It's legendary in the Giles-Hodges folklore. Right up there with Torgo, Turkish Jades, Honeybunch, and Bufallo Herds.
Sorry, by the way, to anyone who just read all that and is not Kyle. You're probably really bored.
"Baby, Let Me Hold Your Hand" - Ray Charles. A few days into the trip, I bought a cheap compilation CD of Brother Ray's lesser known, earlier work for (I assume) Atlantic records. I remember Kyle already snoring away, and having the window open.
It was feezing, but the city was amazing to look at. Now as the song comes on, I think of, once again, the Chicago lights of night-time. And everytime, I swear, I get a chill.
"In Your Eyes" - John Cusack does his thing. I copy Cusack and do my thing. Not terribly original, I know. But I got to go to Prom with Michelle Adams. I'm proud to be the one to say such. It was fun. And check out the pictures. She looked absolutely lovely.
"Ruby Falls" - another Guster, actually. Oddly enough, and I can't really say why, this one makes me think of this summer at UT, specifically the few minutes Katy and I held each other before falling asleep - this was after a crazy party and things had turned lousy. Doesn't matter; the memory is vivid and nice, though. Comforting.
My momentum has run down. Not neccesarily tired, but tired of wrtiting, at least.
To needlessly wrap this up in a nice little bow - I enjoy these and other memories, and I appreciate their becoming all the more strong when attached to various songs. They remind me of a simpler, different, and sometimes better time of my life. However, I choose not to dwell on them, or treat them as better moments than the moments I live now. If nothing else, they remind me to appreciate the small moments that truly stay with us, and especially remind me that when bored, nothing beats throwing crap out of a high-rise hotel window.