Filed under: lists, music | Tags: beirut, carousel, iron and wine, mewithoutyou, music, nicole atkins, paper route, videos
once in a while, i’ll become more or less fixated on an image. when some particular imagery burrows itself into my mind, my thoughts become tethered to it. I try to find real-life, tangible replications of the image and, if I don’t see it, I find it in more abstract representations.
right now, the image occupying my brain is that of a carousel. I think I saw a picture of one in a magazine a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to shake it since. they’re as beautiful as they are haunting, and its unending rotations provide so much fodder for drawing parallels to young adulthood, aimlessness, and futility.
but that’s besides the point. I just wanted to provide some context to a post featuring five videos of songs titled “carousel” (or some derivation of it), each a song I appreciate in its own right.
Iron & Wine – Carousel
Paper Route – Carousel
Nicole Atkins – Carouselle
Beirut – Carousels
mewithoutYou – Carousels
Filed under: reflection | Tags: chris abani, community, compassion, inspiration, speech, ted talks
from the “about this video” section on the TED talk website:
“Chris Abani tells stories of people: People standing up to soldiers. People being compassionate. People being human and reclaiming their humanity.”
the spectrum of emotions through which his speech takes you is rivaled only by the depths of humanity he explores. he touches on compassion, community, courage, tragedy, maturation, equality, history, darkness, and hope. his storytelling is potent for his honesty, underscored by his brevity, and carried on the backs of rhythm and pace. even a cursory reading of his biography before listening to him speak, I think, provides enough context for anyone to conclude that Chris Abani is speaking of and from conviction born of experience, not fluffy ideas grown from let’s-all-just-get-along rhetoric.
a few hours have passed since my initial viewing, and i’ve watched this three times and read the transcript of the speech twice since, gleaning something new and left with more to think about each time. there’s a lot to process, and I feel like even the stories that I first thought were speech equivalents of throwaway jokes have something to teach.
accordingly, it is way too early to even try to write down my thoughts and reactions. rather, here are two selections that continue to echo in my mind.
In South Africa they have a phrase called ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me. But if you’re like me, my humanity is more like a window. I don’t really see it, I don’t pay attention to it until there’s a, you know, like a bug that’s dead on the window. Then suddenly I see it, and usually, it’s never good. It’s usually when I’m cussing in traffic at someone who is trying to drive their car and drink coffee and send emails and make notes. So what ubuntu really says is that there is no way for us to be human without other people. It’s really very simple, but really very complicated.
and
The Igbo used to say that they built their own gods. They would come together as a community, and they would express a wish. And their wish would then be brought to a priest who would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine would be built for the god. But if the god became unruly and began to ask for human sacrifice, the Igbos would destroy the god. They would knock down the shrine, and they would stop saying the God’s name. This is how they came to reclaim their humanity. Every day, all of us here, we’re building gods that have gone rampant, and it’s time we started knocking them down and forgetting their names.
if you have the time, watch or listen. what do you think?
Filed under: jesus, rationalization, reflection | Tags: animal collective, jesus, lent, taste
Am I really all the things that are outside of me?
Would I complete myself without the things I like around?
these are the first two official lines of a song called “taste” from animal collective’s latest album, merriweather post pavilion. my overarching thought about this widely praised album is basically that it’s as musically brilliant as it is lyrically vague. then again, maybe I’m just too obtuse to cut through the fancy words and seemingly profound lines.
but these two lines jumped out at me, partly because of how straightforward they were (especially in light of lines like Only Ma’d pretend to like the clothes you showed to me / Something in my heart can tell me it’s a weakness), but also because of their resonance with my thoughts going into the Lenten season.
my history with Lent is both long and simple: for 24 years , I haven’t participated. I knew that it was related to Easter. on Ash Wednesday, my catholic friends would show up to school with ash marks on their foreheads, followed inevitably by a few weeks of complaining about how much they missed chocolate, soda, or whatever else they had decided to give up (this was also a great chance to be an ass and eat whatever they sacrificed in front of them. the looks of jealousy while I bit into a kit-kat bar are priceless). there were no deep discussions about the meaning behind their Lent sacrifices or how it related to their faith, and from the brief conversations I had with some of them, I really didn’t get/hear anything beyond Lent simply being a time to give something up until Easter – like a condensed new year’s resolution with an expiration date. add on top of that the fact that my church never really explored this season, and you can see how Lent passed before me like a confusing and vaguely purposeful 40-day parade of mostly dietary sacrifices.
but this year’s a bit different. as someone who became particularly cynical about traditions and rituals during the college years, I threw Lent into the “religious things for show” pile. but then I read the year of living biblically, written by a.j. jacobs. I perhaps took more from the book than the author imagined anyone would, but the book, at the very least, rekindled in me an acknowledgment of traditions and rituals as not being all bad.
all this brings me to Lent ‘09. though I’d been thinking about it since, like, the beginning of february, I remained undecided til I heard six words on sunday at church that threw me for a loop.
jesus did indeed die for something.
to me, that was both truth and challenge. that something is me, but who (or what) exactly am I? and that question right there is what made those lines from “taste” so provocative.
am I the product of the things with which I surround myself? who do I become without those things? when all that’s stripped away, who (or what) is left? I suspect I’ll discover overdependence on some things, underdependence on others, wasted hours, exercises in vanity, subconscious good habits and some bad ones, and so on.
so that’s what I plan on finding out during Lent as I take a break from different things through the season. in the end, I hope to understand better what the “something” in “jesus did indeed die for something” is, and further, the magnitude of that act in light of “something” is. this might not be the conventional reason for doing Lent, but I think Easter will serve as the perfect culmination of these discoveries anyway.
Filed under: lists, reflection | Tags: bullet points, coffee, life, new, portland, unemployment
at muddy waters coffeehouse, sitting at the table on the mini-stage next to the window wall. I guess the novelty of portland’s weirdness hasn’t worn off yet, so staring out onto the street is still really fun. distractions are everywhere – counting the ever-increasing number of cigarette butts in the ashtray outside, trying to figure out why this guy has been standing in the middle of the coffeehouse for the past 20 minutes, enjoying my coffee – so here’s some short-attention span writing.
on portland:
- people wear those beanies with ear flaps often. and without a sense of irony.
- most people I’ve met came to portland from elsewhere. I may have met one or two native portlanders.out of eight people hanging at the Horse Brass on tuesday night, seven were from other states – maryland, new york, alabama, kansas, california, and arizona – and all pretty recent transplants at that. definitely makes for some great “back in my state..” stories.
- the weather, I’ve been told, has been uncharacteristically dry. although I was mentally prepared for the rain, I count myself fortunate to have avoided much of the rain. of course, the NWS predicts rain for tonight and tomorrow.
- oh yeah, I moved into a more permanent living situation. the 100-year-old house is located right between hawthorne and belmont and is pretty much the type of house I had hoped to move into. my two roommates are great, and a fat, fluffy cat named Edie rules the household.
- smokers. many.
- I’m regaining my walking legs. the walkability of the city is no joke. according to walkscore.com, Portland is the 10th most walkable city in the country.
- everyday is still an adventure.
on unemployment:
- my more general thoughts on this time in my life have already been laid out.
- I’ve had two interviews with the Boys & Girls Club of Portland. though I don’t want to get too ahead of myself (and trust me, I’m trying really hard not to), I keep thinking how thankful I would be to work at such a wonderful place. to be a part of an organization that meets the needs of kids in a practical, everyday way… wow, that would be great. anyway, fingers crossed, but fists unclenched.
- trust. in these times, who or what do I trust? my resume and cover letters? the people who are reading them? my unmatched charm? (gag). don’t, can’t, and come on, respectively. I am small, but my God is not. fingers cross, fists unclenched.
- in going through unemployment, I think I feel an extra surge of joy for friends who find jobs. sharing frustrations and misery is good, but sharing in happiness and thankfulness is better.
- budget budget budget.
on making a new life:
- being able to navigate myself to a previously unknown location without the help of google maps was a breakthrough moment. it helps that a lot of the streets here are numbered and attached with intermediate directions.
- I’m slowly making new friends, and I am thankful for each one of them. they bring stories, laughter, lessons, and a willingness to love. at the same time, this makes me extra thankful for the friends I have back at home.
- the lack of a routine, I think, has been a minor hurdle toward full acceptance of this new life in this new place. at the same time, routines tend to choke away newness. hm.
alright, time to go pick up an end table. woot.
frighteningly reminiscent of those chain e-mails I used to get when I used AOL in middle school, but there’s no thinking involved, so why not?
INSTRUCTIONS:
1. Put your music player on shuffle (ALL MUSIC).
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag friends who might enjoy doing the game as well as the person you got the game from.
________________________
IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OK?” YOU SAY:
hold your breath – the acorn
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
you’re no god – laura marling
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
this time is the last time (live) – mae
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us – sufjan stevens
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
plans – grizzly bear
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
tout doucement – feist
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
all our summer songs – saturday looks good to me
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
all you have to do – jet
WHAT IS 2 + 2?
i thought i saw your face today – she & him
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
the dirtiest queen – lovedrug (hahahah)
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
you can bring me flowers – ray lamontagne
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
the people – common
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
i shot william h. macy – head automatica
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
the weight of glory – thrice
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
pure trash – dosh (uhoh, this is unfortunate)
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
the radiator hums – cursive
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
firey crash – andrew bird (note to self: avoid planes)
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
welcome to the working week – elvis costello
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
ask the lonely – journey
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
simple economics – pedro the lion (this.. wow.. this is sad)
WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
diamonds on the inside – ben harper (that sounds like a weird disease)
HOW WILL YOU DIE?
time to dance – panic! at the disco (i’m okay with this)
WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
time stops – explosions in the sky
WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
a clean shot – the myriad
WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
2nd ave., 11 a.m. – ted leo and the harmacists
WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
golly sandra – eisley
DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
white tooth man – iron & wine (whaaaat….)
IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
haiti – the arcade fire
WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
what wills stay? – denison witmer
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
i want a warning – idlewild
Filed under: reflection, updates | Tags: experience, future, pursuit, stillness, thoughts, time
I left san diego on november 26. I arrived in portland on december 2. today is january 27.
time has callously marched on despite my hopes to stop it, reverse it, or have it move forward faster than at the rate of one day per day. and so it progresses without discrimination or pity.
maybe that’s why I find myself becoming possessed by aspirations dyed deeply in what is ahead. it’s easy to become enamored with a life not yet realized, especially during a time when the public seems to be turning its collective head toward new beginnings. and that’s okay. just looking back at the race for the presidency, there’s a reason (aside from all things W) barack obama’s rhetoric of hope and change struck such a deep and natural chord with the majority of american voters.
I admit that, right now, I’m stuck in the pursuit of the what-is-to-come: a paying job, relational healing, a sense of permanence and belonging in this new city. I don’t anticipate any of these things to come easily, and I’m at peace with that. however, I can’t help but believe that this constant pursuit of such things is only part of the picture.
being still is certainly a lost art (to me, at least). I can’t listen to a 3 1/2-minute song from beginning to end, no less pause my life to let both the treasures and dregs of daily life float past me unconcerned for and untouched. I also think it requires a gigantic spirit of concession for me to be still, since:
stillness forces me to relinquish control of the seemingly controllable.
stillness forces me to stop shouting into the distance and, rather, listen to what surrounds me immediately.
stillness forces me to value who I am at this time, not just the frilly words that describe who I want to become some day.
stillness forces me to remember my promises, not make more.
and, most importantly, stillness reminds me to embrace the parts of life that don’t fit neatly into the boxes I’ve created to make my life manageable and safe.
Never forget: We are alive within mysteries.
-Wendell Berry
what a concept! we are not failures within mysteries. we are not hopeless, lost, or resigned within mysteries. we are alive within them.
in an odd way, my pursuit of the unrealized can be taken as an attempt to impose my will (and my wishes) on the future to shape my life ahead, minimize variables, and in effect, create a life dry of any mystery. this isn’t to say goal-setting, preparing, and working toward results is bad. rather, I think it’s the fetishization of personal expectations as the be-all, end-all that lends itself to a shortsighted and heavy-handed approach to the whole of the human experience.
for me, now – when the mystery seems to be the greatest and most overwhelming – is the time to pump the brakes a bit on my pursuit and just be still. to listen. to trust. to remember. to be alive.
let’s see if I can do it for 3 1/2 minutes.
Filed under: lists, updates | Tags: car, christmas, cookies, portland, snow, snowpocalyspe, stolen car, the anatomy of finding out your car's been stolen
anyone who is familiar with my writing conventions (this most honorable cohort might be all of two people at most) can proceed to pick his or her jaw off the ground. as you can see in the title of the blog post, the serial (or for you vampire weekend fans, oxford) comma is missing. though I’ve always been fond of it, I decided to go a bit wild as the year draws to a close. let’s see if I can avoid it in this post.
for the past 12 days or so (half the days I’ve lived here!), portland has been treated to extreme weather, relatively speaking, of course. temperatures have ranged from the lowers-20s to the lower-30s, and there’s been a crazy amount of snow. when local news stations start devoting a special graphic intro to their news segments about the weather – which, by the way, has been just short of non-stop – you can tell things are getting out-of-hand.
snow on my street! p.s. it got WAY more extreme
one of the reason I moved to Portland was for a change from the perpetual summer that is san diego weather, and hell, did I get what I asked for. as a native californian, I am not used to this magical winter dust, but it’s been fun nonetheless. I’m aware that this snowy haven won’t last (bring it on, rain. i’m ready for you), but I’ve enjoyed it more than not. being snowed in isn’t all that fun, especially jobless and without roommates for a while, but it’s not all that bad either. during the days I’ve been stuck inside, I’ve taken my woeful 49ers to the super bowl via madden ‘07, baked cookies (oh no. no one to eat them except me. oh well!),
made these while drinking that. being snowed in isn't all that bad!
watched movies, and even worked out. alright, so walking up and down the stairs isn’t an official workout, but it’s better than the extreme sitting I’d be doing otherwise.
as I’ve always believed, there’s an aspect of vitalization to the cold, crisp air. so unlike other people, I’ve supremely enjoyed bundling up and taking walks through the biting air and snow, whether it be to a coffee shop or a grocery store.
but hey, why walk when I could drive in the comfort of my car, lovingly named Rene Russo since 2005? well, it’s tough to drive anywhere when your car is stolen(!). yes, it took only 16 days of my life in a new state to have my car purloined. the funny thing about snow is that it makes it easy to notice when things are missing, thanks to the big dry spot of black asphalt sticking out like barbara streisand at a sarah palin rally (I don’t care if this reference is dated. it works. kinda.) amongst pure white serenity and order.
sigh, I miss you, Rene Russo.
it’s been a pretty surreal experience, mostly because I’ve always been of the “it’ll never happen to me” persuasion, despite the fact that the honda accord is always near the top of every “most frequently stolen vehicles” list. I’m now a week removed from the incident – no, it hasn’t been recovered yet – so I’ve had some time to reflect and have broken down the anatomy of finding your car has been stolen.
The Anatomy of Finding out Your Car’s Been Stolen, in 7 Parts
- Unsuspection – not a real word, but I majored in sociology and communication, so I can make it up and legitimize it at the same time. the basic groundwork for having your car stolen is to not suspect your car will be stolen. you can be thinking about anything else: the merits of advil liqui-gels vs. tablets, your electric bill, the possibility of going through life with a sheep-shaped birthmark without ever knowing it, angles. anything but the prospect of having your own car taken from you.
- Realization and subsequent double-take – so eventually you notice the car is gone. like happy endings and talking animals, double-takes are common in movies, but not so much in real life. however, when you notice that the specific space of the universe in which your car was last parked is definitely empty, double-take will occur. if I had been drinking something, I’m sure I would have done a spit-take. the spit-take probably would have been weak and pathetic, but I would’ve followed through with it.
- Panic – initially, this particular shade of panic is somewhere between I-lost-my-wallet panic and hmm-my-house-seems-to-be-burning panic. contacting the police is a given, but now there’s that pesky, forced issue of discretion: is this an emergency, or a non-emergency? for the record, a stolen car is a non-emergency; the emergency dispatcher told me so.
- Self-appointment of Sainthood – “why me? I’m not a racist. why me? I brush my teeth an appropriate number of minutes. why me? I don’t have a job. why me? I recycle. why me? I’ve contributed to charitable organizations. I gave money to greenpeace, for gee’s sake. GREENPEACE! why me? I know what fair trade is, I think. why me? I hate starbucks like I should. why me? I don’t wear brown shoes with black pants or wear ties with stripes the same width of the stripes on the shirt. why me? I’m a freaking saint!”
- Resignation – as long as the police report is filed and you’ve no plans of drinking the vigilante kool-aid, there’s nothing left to do except start the whole insurance claims process. it’s out of your hands, kid.
- Resignation regression – even when there’s nothing left to do except wait, every walk through the streets turns into a subconscious search. every car you see that’s the same color of your precious is hope for recovery. every car that has its license plate bent just the way you bent yours when you ran into that shopping cart at Ralph’s in La Jolla is reason to believe. basically, you never really give up. you become hellbent on resolution like mel gibson in Ransom (aptly co-starring Rene Russo).
- Recovery – see, I told you that you never really give up.
but hey, a car is a car, just like a shoe is a shoe and a CD is CD (for however much longer they exist). my dad lovingly did his best Vonnegut impression by writing in an e-mail to me, “this is the life,” which, of course, translates from Konglish to English as “so it goes.” and yeah, this is just the way things have chosen to unfold, and I will, likewise, choose how I will unfold in the aftermath. The car is gone for now. So it goes.
today is christmas. my surroundings are covered in snow. I’m not with family today but I love them more than ever. my wonderful friends are elsewhere, but my life is filled with their love, support, and good tidings. and lastly, a reason to love, hope and trudge on in the world we know today:
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
merry christmas, y’all.
Filed under: reflection, updates | Tags: about me, books, life, music, non-profit, nonprofit, portland, san diego, work
existence:
yeap, i still exist. this blog still exists. as i wrote in my first post, this blog remains a place to write whatever i feel like, and i’ve taken the liberty to make this blog a virtual place in which i can write whenever i feel like. so here i am on a coldfreezing wednesday afternoon in portland, warming my feet with the warmth of my laptop’s battery.
san diego:
on november 26, i reluctantly broke away from my life in san diego. saying goodbye to my dearest friends one-by-one was perhaps one of the most gut-wrenching experiences i’ve had in my life as a young adult. no matter how much i wished for the contrary, that wednesday saw me cry. a lot. with the apartment mostly clean and wholly devoid of my belongings, i drove northward in a car weighed down by the material crap i deemed slightly worthier than all the other material crap i ended up throwing away. every foot of nondescript I-5 pavement that passed underneath my car was a step away from the life i’d spent six years carefully nurturing. sure, the prospect of moving was reason to be excited and anxious and hopeful, but in all honesty, there was very little, if any, joy in the leaving.
thanksgiving:
thanksgiving weekend in milpitas was wonderfully calm and enjoyable with my family. the older i get, the more i’m able to pick up on the humor of my parents. they’re weird, zany folks and i love them for it. i picked up on the fact that i get my playful self-aggrandizing tendencies from my dad; twice during the weekend he said something along the lines of “i’m always looking good.” from my mom, i’ve inherited a general playfulness that i never noticed until the last few years. more than anything, i think she truly enjoys the act of laughing, and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to witness.
portland:
after a great but altogehter too-short stop in sacramento, i set out on the long drive up to portland. 11 hours, two audiobooks, seven energy drinks, and one instance of peeing into a bottle later, i made it to the city.
the most common questions i’ve answered over the past couple weeks is “why?” and i’ve resorted to answering with “why not?” i’d been in san diego for six years, and while i simultaneously grew into community as it grew into me, i knew in the back of my mind that i needed to be stretched, challenged, and, hell, broken. if i didn’t do it now, the skeptical/scared voice inside would only have gotten louder, and i would probably have ended up laughing away the opportunity.
in the many nights i spent trying to decide whether or not i should move, i’m afraid that i antagonized the concept of comfort. comfort, i decided, meant stagnancy, a conclusion with which i’m already in disagreement. whereas comfort and being comfortable aren’t bad in and of themselves, i think there are particular times in one’s life to embrace them and particular times to eschew them. for me, it was simply the time to deny them, a difficult decision as i feel as if i’ve been on a six-year journey to create for myself nothing other a comfortable niche in this world.
portland is a good place with good things and (hopefully) good people. i think this place can become home. this, of course, won’t happen overnight, but i like my chances.
as of this entry, i’ve been here for 16 days.
work:
my last day of work at einstein industries was the 17th, and i spent the following week-and-a-half packing up my life and cutting some severe deals on pieces of furniture in an effort to sell them before i left. i could write more about that place, but i think the linked site is sufficient.
i came to portland without a job, but a much clear(er) idea about what i wanted to do and for what i have a passion. for the past month or so, i’ve been applying to nearly every non-profit job for which i’m sorta qualified. no big breaks yet, but i’m praying, hoping, and dreaming that i’ve got one coming on the horizon.
shameless request: if you know anyone in the portland area who is involved in non-profit work, please let me know or pass on my resume/information to him or her. a million thanks!
residence:
through the friend of a friend of a friend, i found a room to sublet through the middle of january. the house is absolutely charming and i’ll be sad to move out when the time comes. i’m starting the process of looking for a new, more permanent place in southeast portland, and am keeping my fingers crossed for something good. in the meantime, i’m enjoying having a basement.
music:
bands i’ve been listening to the past few weeks include
- band of horses
- thrice
- blitzen trapper
- the snake the cross the crown
- fleet foxes
- colour revolt
- tv on the radio
- bon iver
- ida maria
- denison witmer
- rosie thomas
books:
well, during my drive, i listened to stephen colbert’s I am America (And So Can You!) and david sedaris’ Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. i guess that sorta counts.
this past week, i’ve been on a wendell berry kick. he’s the author of my favorite poem ever, and is a profound essayist with ideas and convictions that make so much sense that they sound crazy to most. on saturday, i stopped by the ever-amazing powell’s books and picked up three of his works: Standing by Words, What Are People For?, and Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community: Eight Essays. i’ve started reading all three and am blown away not only by his thoughts, but also by his ability to bring biting wit to serious subjects and to inject gravity into humorous constructions.
. . . . . .
so there it is – a part-encompassing update of where, what, and who i am at this time.
’til later.
