Music to kill oneself to

So, another addition of things which do and do not rule.

Mullets rule. I spotted the elusive rat-tail mullet today. A good day.

Kenny especially does not rule. As a matter of fact, he sucks. There are two men left in this world that perm their hair: Weird Al Yankovic and Kenny G. Even Michael Bolton no longer perms his hair. Kenny G is probably the only one-man hairband in history, and he makes aweful music that I am forced to endure daily for hours upon end at work. It really makes me want to do bodily harm to something cute and furry.

B) Kodiak Grizzly Bears have two hypothetical natural enemies.
1. The Tyrannosaurus Rex, who is no longer with us
2. The great while shark
Since there aren't too many Great White's swimming up the streams of Alaska and Canada, the only thing that could hurt these animals is man. Which has been known to happen. But if you were to make it your life purpose to protect these cute furry animals, would you live amongst them in a national PRESERVE? Probably not helping your cause much by keeping vigil over the ones already being protected by the government. But that is exactly what Timothy Treadwell did.
Raise your hands if you've seen The Grizzly Man. I see several hands out there.
That dude is insane. The best part is his five minute rant against the National Park Service. With all the current homeland security issues, Timothy makes it his goal to excoriate the national park service for, well, I don't really know what. Other great moments include a wild fox, "Ghost," running away with Tim's hat and Tim chasing the fox while filming and steaming explatives. Good stuff. Watch it. That's all for today. Kenny G, I hate you.

Nords

Things that do and do not rule

Okay, this will be a little lengthy. Consider it my post for the rest of the week. You may want to read it in installments. Warning: some of it is a bit vitriolic and possibly offensive.

I) A new segment: Things that do and do not rule.
Things that rule:
The ad hominem
Jalapeno cheddar hickory links from Kuby's sausage house

Things that do not rule:
SUVs without luggage racks (they look naked, like they showed up for the daily bump and grind with no pants)

i. An expatiation on why the ad hominem rules:
You know, in any debate or intellectual conversation, the ad hominem attack is not recognized as a legitimate response to anything. But it should be. See exhibit A:

Exhibit A: ( a conversation occuring in a room with several people, an "intellectual" conversation, in which Johnson has just presented an argument which may or may not be a bit dubious or have holes in it)

Steve Holt:
Well Johnson, the syllogism you just presented contains two premises. One is completely and inherently apocryphal, the other a circuitous, babbly brook of nonsense. Yes, your dog only has three legs. Yes your dog is animal. But all animals do not therefore have three legs.

(Johnson looks around at everyone and speaks without out looking at Steve, as if for a jury"
Johson:
Gentelemen, Steve Holt is a bastard. He doesn't even know who his father is. What else do we not know about Steve Holt?... False accusations of involvement in the Hitler Youth, the KKK, and Al Quaeda follow.
Does anyone respect Johnson? No. Is everyone laughing? Probably. Did everyone stop thinking about Johnson's untenable position? YES. Victory!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

II) A continuation of my last post
In another chapter of Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa puffs, he presents the following idea, which I take no credit for, but which helps prove my point.
A part of us died when the world converted from cassette tapes to CDs. Why? You ask. Well, we started focusing on the small and immediate, and not the artistic whole. You see, with a tape, while theoretically you can fast forward it, you have idea where the next track starts, so you pretty much have to listen to the whole thing. You get a greater sense of the whole. With a CD, you NEVER have to listen to the whole thing. You just (by you I mean many of us, I'm guilty) get hooked on the catchy ones first and then you may go back and listen to the whole thing.
But an album is a lot like a life. You have your parts that are catchy, you have your slow and melodic parts, you have your soporific, weak parts, you have your epic, watershed parts, but it's all part of a whole. And that whole says a definite something. Are lives are spent with some end in mind. This brings me to my next point:

III)to be continued due to it being my bed time and your eyes being tired. More manana.

Nords

The dude is dilusional

Ok, we'll get to the title, but first, something else.
When you think about it, what would you say is the zeitgeist of our generation and current time? Think about it. When you think about life, about purpose, about motivation, what is the pervasive ethos of our time?

Disappointment.

I'm reading this hilarious book called Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, by Chuck Klosterman. He's basically a pop culture critic, but a very incisive and insightful one. He has a chapter where he talks about how we can't have a satisfying love relationship because movie characters, namely those played by John Cusack, have inveigled us into holding these ridiculous standards, and when they aren't met, we feel there is something better, when there may not be, and probably is not.
I think many things about our modern culture have brought into being the same scenario, but with life as a whole, not just love.

We live so damn fast. There are so many crucial parts of life, which we don't know how to do. We don't know how to wait. We don't know how to be silent. We don't know how see pragmatically. We see, feel, and need, immediately, right in front of us. Pascal, writing three hundred years ago or whatever, was right: "The problem with man is that he cannot spend time alone in a room." It's true. This idea frightens us. I think we no longer have just five senses: it's more like eight, and we need all of them being active and satisfied at once. We want to be eating the best of our lives, while listening to our favorite song, while smelling our favorite scent on the opposite sex, while watching magic tricks by Job Bleuth, while sticking our hand in a barrel of coffee beans, while playing video games with our brain waves, while having some other kind of orgasmic or something experience.

WE ARE NEVER SATISFIED WITH LIFE. Not for more than a week or two at a time anyway. I know it's gross, but Maynard's metaphoric lyrics to "Stinkfist" are so accurate. As soon as something loses it's newness and luster, we need something else, or we need a stronger dose of that something. It's tragic. I don't know where to lean the blame. Media? Video games? Cinema? Computers? Apple? David Beckham? Plastic? I'm rambling. But you get my point. It's very arresting and disturbing.

The title, refers to Timothy Treadwell. I watched The Grizzly Man last night. That dude is nuts. More about that later. Peace friends.

Nords

shelter...

But he believed in more than that. He had believed in the church too, in all that it ramified and evoked. He believed with a calm joy that if ever there was shelter, it would be the Church; that if ever truth could walk naked and without shame or fear, it would be in the seminary. When he believed that he had heard the call it seemed to him that he could see his future, his life, intact and on all sides complete and inviolable, like a classic and serene vase, where the spirit could be born anew sheltered from the harsh gale of living and die so, peacefully, with only the far sound of the circumvented wind, with scarce even a handful of rotting dust to be disposed of. That was what the word seminary meant: quiet and safe walls within which the hampered and garmentworried spirit could learn anew serenity to contemplate without horror or alar its own nakedness.
-Faulkner
Light in August

I wonder what percentage of the content on all of the worlds "blogs" is a direct quote, paraphrase, or allusion. How much is actual, authentic original though? I would wager very little, since I find myself doing it, just like today.

Nordles

Have you ever been rocked so hard by a moustache?

Absolutely ridiculous. That's what that is. Almost as ridiculous as the fact that all of the frat-daddies at Baylor (yes, those three words compose an oxy-mororn) compete fiercly for the oh-so-coveted Sing placement. I mean, after all, what else can say "I'm cool" like being able to sing and dance well, while wearing make-up all the while.

Words go up
but thoughts remain below
For words without thoughts
ne'er to heaven go

tis true Willy

Random, I know
Nords

Everything is illuminated

I've got a lot to say, so please pardon any non sequiturs.

A)I watched Everything is Illuminated today. Shamefully, I have yet to get around to reading the book, but I really liked the movie. Now, I'm no film critic, or even aficionado, but I enjoy films that make me think and that give me a new perspective. Here's a quote from the movie (as verbatim as I can recall it)
"Everthing is illuminated by the past. It is always there beside you, looking from the inside out." There is another part that talks about why we leave parts of ourselves, be it in words, pictures, creations, whathaveyou - and the answer given is that the future exists for the past.

Sometimes I tend to think the past exists for me, but really, I exist for the past. And it is true that everything is illuminated by the past. There is communion in the past. Anything you go through, there is and has been a tide of humanity that has also borne it. When we can make peace when the past, we can make peace with present, until then, we will never be at peace.

B)In a completely different vein, a little about human nature... I was listening to Sufjan Stevens today, specially the Illinoise album. I was listening to the song about John Wayne Gacy Jr. It's a hard song to get through, if you know the story of Gacy, who killed 27 (I think) young boys. But the last verse is very poignant. Stevens talks about how he is just like Gacy, how Gacy had a lot to hide under his floorboards, but so do all of us when it really comes down to it. We've all got skeletons under our floorboards. (To tie it all together:)
This was rather obvious to me the other day when I was at blockbuster looking for some movies to watch since two of my best friends just moved away and I'm sad and lonesome. I was glancing at the movies and in reflection, I'm disgusted by some of the ones that attracted my attention. I'm not talking about movies about sex. I'm talking about movies about the dark side of things. Movies about people like John Wayne Gacy. Movies that I would never actually rent, but really want to know what they are about. It's a little disturbing why all that stuff is attractive, like somewhere in the canaliculi of my body there is a space and appetite for things that are and should be repulsive. It's sickening to me.

Anyway, on to a lighter note, don't ever cite another artist and that respective artist's song in one of your songs. Snow Patrol names Sufjan's "Chicago" in one of the tunes on their new album and it kind of really makes me think of small children writing songs with crayons. Grace and peace friends.

Nordan

Joy is to survive

A season to laugh
A season to cry
Hope yours is filled with sunshine
Right now that's not my time
It's not my time
and that's allright
Abundant life
to many, joy is to survive

Here's to you Ryan

Storytelling, at least in the traditional sense, is slowly becoming a lost art. There are few minstrels left in the world. Not that film is not an evocative and powerful way to tell a story, but I think it can desensitize us to the beauty of story telling in song. The art of song writing has a singular place, it is a collision of thought and soul, words and music, definitive meanings and heartcrying tones. If you are not familiar with the verse in the header of my nonblog, it is from my favorite album of the last two years: Ryan Adams' Cold Roses.
There are very few talented lyricists in our day. A few that come to mind are Adam Duritz, Stephen Jenkins, Ben Gibbard (sp?), and Patty Griffin. I know I'm leaving off many. I wouldn't say that Ryan Adams is one of the best lyricists, but I would say he is one of the best songwriters. And of today's lyricists, I would say the only real storytellers are Gibbard and Adams. The other thing is that words and music have a heightening effect on each other. A good melody enhances the lyrics. Good lyrics can enhance the music, although, I think, not the to the same degree. Regardless, I want to talk about this verse:

We burned the cottonfields down in the valley
and ended up with nothing but scars
Scars became the lessons that we gave to our children
after the war

If words- be it prose, poetry, lyrics, what-have-you - are really good, they take you somewhere, they become part of your life. Those three and a half lines, tell a story, a huge story for a small verse. They encapsulate so much. How true is that? How many scars have we inherited? How many wars has man seen and how infinite are the effects we have felt? But, scars give us a story to tell. Scars teach us. Scars also handicap us. I will talk a lot about scars. This thingy that I write on sometimes will probably have a lot more gravity than anything from the past, namely because I'm starting some serious stuff come August and will have serious things to talk about. I have a phrase I write in my own personal stuff a lot. When I look back over my writings from all my travels (15 countires in the last year, not to brag, just to give you perspective to my perspective) I have written this phrase down from every country: f_cked and fallen. That is the state of our world, the scar we can all feel and see. But again Mr. Adams: a bluebird may take enough rain to be too heavy to fly, "but ain't no bluebird ever get too heavy to sing." That is the only reason I ever write, it is my song.

Here I go on my own again...

Who wrote that song? It's really annoying. Anywho, I'm back. I'm back with a newer, better, happier, (mmm starting to sound like Thom Yorke) non-blog (I have an aversion to the word blog, but you know, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet). I'm also back in the good ole U.S. of A. And glad to be so.
So, the dice don't always turn up with a double-six. Sometimes you roll snake eyes. This can significantly alter your plans. Writing school did not work out, at least for this year. But everything is in its right place. It's funny how life will do that to you - how the puzzle pieces come together, and as it turns out, it looks nothing like the picture on the outside of the box the puzzle come in, but beautiful all the same, and in some strange way better, if only because it is not what you expected. So, oddly enough, I will be headed back to the edenic city of Waco, TX this fall, to start my m. div. So, I will be much more active on this one. (Scout's honor.) More to follow.

Nordy