Themes supplied by the Quiet Sempronia
Lately Jen gave a post on five of her favorite themes and then passed out five to her loyal readers that asked for them. They left me with the odd feeling that she may have had a very skewed insight into my person, considering that one of the themes straight up, knock down (or back, as the case may be) was just "Alcohol." This made me laugh. There is something, some manner of high brow mystique to my consumption of alcohol. Everyone is always glad when I break out the sauce, my delusions and inflated sense of importance translates directly into top shelf liquor and artisan beers. I can honestly say that I have never paid money in a liquor store for Keystone Light or its ilk. When I was young and foolish, I was lead astray on occasion by bottles of Southern Comfort, syrupy plum whiskey a cheap and attractive sin against my formative sensibilities. I have since graduated on to Knob Creek and Maker's Mark, bourbon worth pouring and sipping on its own, the taste and gravity of its age and... well, i would say beauty, but i think handsomeness is more appropriate, springing from the glass. Jameson's for Irish, sweet and layered, blending into hot chocolates and coffees. Stolichnaya lives in the freezer, cold Russian comfort on hot sticky nights, and a burst of vitamin C when it's time for screwdrivers (prevents scurvy), beers typically brewed by hippies living in mountains (Fat Tire, Avery) to chase pizza or whatever odd concoction I have whipped up that day (my chili goes well with Belgian Whites, my pineapple tereyaki with ales). This eppicurian attitude tells me what? Note, though, that I have not bought myself a Blackberry, so I'm at least a little grounded still.
It really is not much of a secret, my level of chemical dependence, and the most important thing to note is how little reason I have for it. I'm gainfully employed (even when the state threatens not to pay me, I still have the job), possessing a labyrinthine, prototype space-brain that I share with Meg, any number of hobbies and clever, witty exercises and distractions, but still I will not hesitate in libations. Drinking has never in any instance interfered with my professional and academic life. I have never had an occasion in which I was to drunk to go to class or go to work (barring the day Garrett went back to Milwaukee last summer, in which we stopped taking shots as the sun was coming up and I still worked with heavy machinery), it has on occasion caused uh... complications in my social life. My brief stint with Kathleen, now looking back, was doomed to failure, as I do not remember going out with her when she was not drunk and I was on my way. The scar on my lips is evidence of a of poor decision based on previous instances of my "drunken mastery," only that first night only ended in a falling out with Jen, emotional disfigurement, instead of this new and exciting physical one. Again, what does this say?
It says I fear other people and the other things I cannot control. I fear the status quo. I fear chains. It says I never settle, and the law of identity translates that to I am never happy. Everything can be better, go big or go home, and that smooth taste of those bourbon barrels, the taste of frost on a summer night, the bitter reminder of the poisonous alcohol behind each luxurious sip, is killing the fear that your exacting attitude is spiraling you into a dark, lonely, and yet a very successful place. Looking back now, I know, I would never have talked to Kathleen if I had been sober. In about 30 seconds, I knew the girl was not by any stretch a clever and cunning adversary, a courageous and inventive partner, but more on par with a loyal pet. I let the buzz silence the protests of that high end, burning hatred for the simple life, and simple things, the high pitched scream of an obsessive compulsive mind quieted and relaxed for once. Outside of that? I know there is nothing that I cannot learn to do, and likely master. This angst translates into creative, generative energies, those that which make us closest to God, in all honesty. Outside the drink I am upwardly mobile and confident, alone and free. Is it a fair trade, to sometimes spiral down on myself, to prey on those insecurities when inebriated to propel myself farther faster?
We'll find out, won't we?
Less dark and angsty! Let's talk about grass. And not the smoke it in a pipe and eat Doritos kind. I worked for two years on a crew for the Lawrence Parks and Recreation's Park Maintenance division. I think I know why she choose this one, I know for a fact that the smell of it never washed off of me. It was mindless and hard work on occasion, and the time spent driving the garbage truck does not rank as one of my favorite moments. The frequency with which I actually worked was probably what found me off the turf and on waste management duty most, but they never could quite convince me to quit or keep me there. I am an ace driver, subsequently also an ace hauler, so when they needed their ball fields done, they would need a temp that could go out, and get things done on his own. Enter Matt. I would spend about 2 hours each day hauling a 19 foot trailer behind a diesel flat bed with a zero turn mower, a three wheeled planer, and 100 pounds of chalk and a line painter, going from place to place around the south side of the city. Those were actually amazing days. I'd be out on the diamond at seven in the morning, Kansas sun setting the entire, humid sky on fire, burning bright white. It can be as hot as eighty-five at the darkest hours here, as soon as the sun comes up so does the mercury. Everything clings to you.
By the time I hit the turf, I'd have been at work for a full hour, and I had the acrid, heady scent of diesel fuel in my clothes from fueling up in the morning. Mosquitoes can't stand the stuff, and its unlikely that you will catch fire in principle, so having spilt some on your shirt is not a bad thing. You have no idea how quickly you learn to love the scent after a few days working near the swamps south of town. Turf has a special scent of its own; fresh, and vigorous. It gets matted into your skin by sweat and sunscreen, you slowly toast in spite of your best efforts and puny sun blocks. The sun bakes it in, with the smell of earth and fresh dust, blown by the wind. Yes, I am aware of tacky allusion to that band that has the name of the state I live in, but damn it all if it is not the most accurate description of the feel and smell of the place out of doors. There is a certain serenity to working on and near the land, even if you are manicuring it and not cultivating it. I'm sure that's why Jen asked about it. I would finish fairly early in the afternoon, they would let us go home between two and three, before it got mindlessly and dangerously hot, and even though I would shower and change, no amount of scrubbing can get rid of that earthy, living scent of cut grass and dust, so when I would pick her up from her job some evenings, I'm sure it was omni-present. I will always think of the time spent reflecting, driving that mower and smelling of grass is me gaining wisdom, and that everyone will remember the same the scant time I spent with them those summers.
Radiohead has been one of my favorite bands for a very long time. I will continue to say so, even though I have not spent nearly any of my time listening to them in a long, long while. I believe its because they taught me something whilst I was being young, angsty, and nerdy. As far as their lyrics and poetry go, the big thing you take away from any given Radiohead album is a deep and profound sense of alienation. You hear it, very very clearly in the early albums, screaming through the words and the vocals Thom Yorke presents. You want to hug him and let him know its ok. Track 3 off of their third album doesn't even bandy about the bush, the entirety of Subteranean Homesick Alien is about being abducted from Earth and leaving all these people he can't understand here to rot. They grew up as I grew up. Listening to The Bends back from 1993 it easy to here in the subject matter how things had been different. Over medication, loneliness, falling into ruts, and breaking back out of them were the themes to write home about. They were not afraid of experimenting, I remember Kid A coming out in 2000, the time when I got in to them in Junior High, and listening and loving the combination of electronics and traditional rock. I went back and listened to OK Computer, absolutely infatuated with Karma Police, and remember thinking how much they changed from one album to the next. I loved it. Each and every outing, they have offered the same feeling of emptiness, and each album is built around deconstructing that feeling, and finding the hope inside all of us. In Rainbows, their latest outing, felt incomplete. Radiohead-as-instigators-of-social-change released at a user set cost (including free) based on what they felt was fair over the internet, to prove that artists didn't need big companies to distribute their art. They are older, and definately more wizened, and the tapestry pretty clearly shows now what happens when you come to terms with being alone, and the strength that comes along with it. It's stunning, but not as well crafted as far as their other albums are concerned.
What they taught me musically was that technical mastery and difficulty are only part of the battle. No member of the band is classically trained in anything, had never been a pro musician before getting together in Oxford bars. Now, Johnny Greenwood is writing symphonies, and the sound track to There Will be Blood. The amazing, difficult part of Radioheads expertise is always been texture, and it's the thing I wanted most to carry away when I write music.(for those unawares, I started school not as a linguist, but as a composer and performer). Each of the band members exists in their own sphere, that you can see if you watch videos of them live, and they all eventually blend together in spite of clearly doing what each believes is best. It just gets layered on top of each other into you get brilliance, since each has a very polished, distinct mission at the start of each song.
Thats half, I'll work on the other half soon.
It really is not much of a secret, my level of chemical dependence, and the most important thing to note is how little reason I have for it. I'm gainfully employed (even when the state threatens not to pay me, I still have the job), possessing a labyrinthine, prototype space-brain that I share with Meg, any number of hobbies and clever, witty exercises and distractions, but still I will not hesitate in libations. Drinking has never in any instance interfered with my professional and academic life. I have never had an occasion in which I was to drunk to go to class or go to work (barring the day Garrett went back to Milwaukee last summer, in which we stopped taking shots as the sun was coming up and I still worked with heavy machinery), it has on occasion caused uh... complications in my social life. My brief stint with Kathleen, now looking back, was doomed to failure, as I do not remember going out with her when she was not drunk and I was on my way. The scar on my lips is evidence of a of poor decision based on previous instances of my "drunken mastery," only that first night only ended in a falling out with Jen, emotional disfigurement, instead of this new and exciting physical one. Again, what does this say?
It says I fear other people and the other things I cannot control. I fear the status quo. I fear chains. It says I never settle, and the law of identity translates that to I am never happy. Everything can be better, go big or go home, and that smooth taste of those bourbon barrels, the taste of frost on a summer night, the bitter reminder of the poisonous alcohol behind each luxurious sip, is killing the fear that your exacting attitude is spiraling you into a dark, lonely, and yet a very successful place. Looking back now, I know, I would never have talked to Kathleen if I had been sober. In about 30 seconds, I knew the girl was not by any stretch a clever and cunning adversary, a courageous and inventive partner, but more on par with a loyal pet. I let the buzz silence the protests of that high end, burning hatred for the simple life, and simple things, the high pitched scream of an obsessive compulsive mind quieted and relaxed for once. Outside of that? I know there is nothing that I cannot learn to do, and likely master. This angst translates into creative, generative energies, those that which make us closest to God, in all honesty. Outside the drink I am upwardly mobile and confident, alone and free. Is it a fair trade, to sometimes spiral down on myself, to prey on those insecurities when inebriated to propel myself farther faster?
We'll find out, won't we?
Less dark and angsty! Let's talk about grass. And not the smoke it in a pipe and eat Doritos kind. I worked for two years on a crew for the Lawrence Parks and Recreation's Park Maintenance division. I think I know why she choose this one, I know for a fact that the smell of it never washed off of me. It was mindless and hard work on occasion, and the time spent driving the garbage truck does not rank as one of my favorite moments. The frequency with which I actually worked was probably what found me off the turf and on waste management duty most, but they never could quite convince me to quit or keep me there. I am an ace driver, subsequently also an ace hauler, so when they needed their ball fields done, they would need a temp that could go out, and get things done on his own. Enter Matt. I would spend about 2 hours each day hauling a 19 foot trailer behind a diesel flat bed with a zero turn mower, a three wheeled planer, and 100 pounds of chalk and a line painter, going from place to place around the south side of the city. Those were actually amazing days. I'd be out on the diamond at seven in the morning, Kansas sun setting the entire, humid sky on fire, burning bright white. It can be as hot as eighty-five at the darkest hours here, as soon as the sun comes up so does the mercury. Everything clings to you.
By the time I hit the turf, I'd have been at work for a full hour, and I had the acrid, heady scent of diesel fuel in my clothes from fueling up in the morning. Mosquitoes can't stand the stuff, and its unlikely that you will catch fire in principle, so having spilt some on your shirt is not a bad thing. You have no idea how quickly you learn to love the scent after a few days working near the swamps south of town. Turf has a special scent of its own; fresh, and vigorous. It gets matted into your skin by sweat and sunscreen, you slowly toast in spite of your best efforts and puny sun blocks. The sun bakes it in, with the smell of earth and fresh dust, blown by the wind. Yes, I am aware of tacky allusion to that band that has the name of the state I live in, but damn it all if it is not the most accurate description of the feel and smell of the place out of doors. There is a certain serenity to working on and near the land, even if you are manicuring it and not cultivating it. I'm sure that's why Jen asked about it. I would finish fairly early in the afternoon, they would let us go home between two and three, before it got mindlessly and dangerously hot, and even though I would shower and change, no amount of scrubbing can get rid of that earthy, living scent of cut grass and dust, so when I would pick her up from her job some evenings, I'm sure it was omni-present. I will always think of the time spent reflecting, driving that mower and smelling of grass is me gaining wisdom, and that everyone will remember the same the scant time I spent with them those summers.
Radiohead has been one of my favorite bands for a very long time. I will continue to say so, even though I have not spent nearly any of my time listening to them in a long, long while. I believe its because they taught me something whilst I was being young, angsty, and nerdy. As far as their lyrics and poetry go, the big thing you take away from any given Radiohead album is a deep and profound sense of alienation. You hear it, very very clearly in the early albums, screaming through the words and the vocals Thom Yorke presents. You want to hug him and let him know its ok. Track 3 off of their third album doesn't even bandy about the bush, the entirety of Subteranean Homesick Alien is about being abducted from Earth and leaving all these people he can't understand here to rot. They grew up as I grew up. Listening to The Bends back from 1993 it easy to here in the subject matter how things had been different. Over medication, loneliness, falling into ruts, and breaking back out of them were the themes to write home about. They were not afraid of experimenting, I remember Kid A coming out in 2000, the time when I got in to them in Junior High, and listening and loving the combination of electronics and traditional rock. I went back and listened to OK Computer, absolutely infatuated with Karma Police, and remember thinking how much they changed from one album to the next. I loved it. Each and every outing, they have offered the same feeling of emptiness, and each album is built around deconstructing that feeling, and finding the hope inside all of us. In Rainbows, their latest outing, felt incomplete. Radiohead-as-instigators-of-social-change released at a user set cost (including free) based on what they felt was fair over the internet, to prove that artists didn't need big companies to distribute their art. They are older, and definately more wizened, and the tapestry pretty clearly shows now what happens when you come to terms with being alone, and the strength that comes along with it. It's stunning, but not as well crafted as far as their other albums are concerned.
What they taught me musically was that technical mastery and difficulty are only part of the battle. No member of the band is classically trained in anything, had never been a pro musician before getting together in Oxford bars. Now, Johnny Greenwood is writing symphonies, and the sound track to There Will be Blood. The amazing, difficult part of Radioheads expertise is always been texture, and it's the thing I wanted most to carry away when I write music.(for those unawares, I started school not as a linguist, but as a composer and performer). Each of the band members exists in their own sphere, that you can see if you watch videos of them live, and they all eventually blend together in spite of clearly doing what each believes is best. It just gets layered on top of each other into you get brilliance, since each has a very polished, distinct mission at the start of each song.
Thats half, I'll work on the other half soon.