Thursday, July 24, 2008
In my Cleveland excursion I got to go into the infamous tool shed into which I had stuffed all of my hopes and dreams (read: art supplies and CDs). While it was upsetting to have my beautiful charcoal set covered in mouse shit and to watch as huge centipedes (my kryptonite) crawled all over my stereo, it was also so much fun to revisit with my old things. For the first time in my life I was a little bit embarrassed about the sketchbooks and journals that I came across. All I could think was "there are people who knew me when I did this stuff and are still friends with me?"
Now that I have half of that stuff back in SF with me I'm able to start re-digesting my old tasty morsels of culture. Namely- my music! How sweet it is to have it again. As we speak I'm listing to Blazing Arrow for the first time in a year. It is such a good fucking album. I know that this is old news- but sometimes it's important to recognize the oldies. The songs fit so perfectly together and his lyrics are so damn good and the guest artists are exactly right for each song.
What's also funny is how I can track my musical taste by format. When I first started listening to music I bought a lot of CDs (I think Jagged Little Pill was my first purchase). Soon the Napster started getting big and I did a little bit of downloading but I don't think I ever really got comfortable with it. So I just turned a lot of CDs into MP3s and then burned a lot of CDs. So now more than half of my musical collection selection is composed of burned CDs. Now, however, I'm a big fan of buying music again.
Furthermore, I've noticed that while I love music that I genuinely like, the majority of the music I like I like for nostalgia. I feel like every time I listen to a new band it's been introduced to me by someone. Therefore when I listen to their music, I think about that person. So I might like really shit music but I associate it with people who I care about and so I will listen to it with pleasure Example
Back to work.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Look to the right- that's me in the big jacket and chelsea cut. ahhhhh high school.
Anyway. I know I'm always waxing poetic when it comes to Cleveland but it really must be said that I love this city. (and don't want to live here) Despite the fact that just about everyone in my immediate family has shown up here (often a source of unending griping and general unhappiness), I think we're all having a really nice time.
It's not that my family doesn't like each other. We love each other. And think that every person related to us is the most wonderful, intelligent, beautiful individual on the face of the planet. I just don't think we've quite learned how to understand one another. Which is a little frightening because if you can't understand the people that are essentially responsible for your personality, who can you understand? (or perhaps a better way of phrasing it: If the people responsible for forging your personality can't understand you, who will?) What it all boils down to is: Family is stressful. Or at least mine is. And I'm very relieved that so far, my family has not been causing me much stress.
And though it is very hot in Cleveland, I'm thoroughly enjoying myself. I'm dripping with sweat but also relishing that I only need a sheet at night, and can wear a tank top without needing to bring along a sweater. Or a scarf. Or gloves. Or my jacket.
I'm somehow totally zen about work as well. Despite the fact that I just discovered our fall tour is dangerously dangling from the edge of "underfunded" and also recently learned that all the late-night work I did before I left has to be re-done because of several last minute changes, I'm cool as a cucumber and looking forward to forgetting everything I learned today and going to sleep. With only a sheet.
And of course I got a milkshake here! Going to Tommy's is always such a trip. There's usually someone there that I know but for the most part it's new blood. The same slightly artsy high school girls behind the counter making shakes, the young skater (or preppy) boys clearing the tables, Tommy's daughter's serving, and the cooks who are either Tommy's daughters' husbands, or the same great guys who have been cooking there forever and always give me the best hugs when I walk in. What a strange thing to walk into a space that used to be part of your world. It's still there, and things are still happening, but you're not a part of it anymore. In a sense I guess Cleveland in general is like that- or any community from which you leave and to which you return.
Well- my eyes are getting heavy and so is the heat. To market to market to buy a fat pig- home again home again jiggity jig!