sounds familiar Musing on the present. Reminiscing about the past. Posturing for the future.

ivy covered tears

Another evening spent with friends drinking beer and eating food; I live a decent life, y'know?

So yeah, this new Wolf Parade album is good, I can't argue with that. It reminds me of the Arcade Fire; it reminds me of Modest Mouse; it's way better than their last album (unless I just dismissed it without enough focus, which is entirely possible). Anyway, I'm diggin' this new one a lot.

I read this page with interest the other day, casting my memory back to my days as a young engineer-in-training. I graduated high school in the top ten of my class, which I don't think really says much... that shit was so laughably easy anyone willing to go one bongless night a week had a shot at valedictorian. After high school, I decided to take a full scholarship to the local community college - and buy CDs with the living expense and book stipends while staying at home with my folks. Two years at this high-school+ didn't really give my brain much of a workout above and beyond what high school had. I still skipped class 50% of the time, crammed the night before exams, and basically stood laughing and masturbating on the supposedly college-level course material. (Dave, why did you say "masturbating" in that last sentence? Man, that's a good question... I think I used it to communicate just how ridiculous what was supposed to be "higher education" was, and to show my complete lack of respect for it.) Anyway, two years walking the not-so-hallowed halls of that GED warehouse and I was on my way to a real school, a state school.

Somewhere along the line, I'd decided I wanted to be a math major. I ate up math; loved it hardcore. I wanted to get deep into the fringe maths, Galois Theory, automoprhisms, all that abstract stuff. However, shortly before I actually had to register for classes at State U, I realized that there was no money in math. There was, however, money in other math-intensive fields like engineering. I liked computers, I liked math - computer engineering seemed right. So, I set about enrolling for all the courses I'd need to get on the path to my newly chosen degree. That first year, I had to take a few "general education" courses that didn't fully transfer from my fake-college - namely Physics I & II. In high school, I was a physics champeen... I rocked that dang class. Came out with a shiny new A and carried it through the year. That is to say, the prospect of taking physics at State U did not scare me in the least.

Oh shit was I naive. Physics at State U kicked my ass. I had never really heard the term "weed out class" before, but apparently State U made the "pre" engineering degree courses harder than a Viagra overdose victim's peener to try and "filter" out those prospects who might not have the gumption to complete the higher level courses. Physics at State U was effing torture. I couldn't believe it, I used to be good at this stuff... what was wrong with me? My first semester at "real" college - I bombed Physics I. The same simple Newtonian stuff I breezed through in high school mopped the floor with me at State U. Not even six months into college-proper and I'd already permanently damaged my GPA. I was thrown for a loop, and considered whether I was really cut out for an engineering degree. However, I decided to have another go at it - and the second time I made it. Physics II was no walk in the park either, and Statics put me through the wringer again... nearly handing me my 2nd F. Thusly, I came to realize - I was not good at physics at all; in fact, I sucked at physics. I made a mental note to stay away from all physics... as I just couldn't get it, no matter how hard I tried. I mean, it's statics folks, everything equals zero. How hard can a math class be where you always know that whatever you write down will equal zero?! I'll tell you: frickin' hard.

There were some bright spots, I trounced Differential Equations, dominated Discrete Mathematics, and walked all over Statistics (not the wimpy statistics, the one taught through the mathematics department - with triple integrals and shit). But for the most part, the College of Engineering kicked my ass. I mean, at certain points throughout my quest for a degree I literally thought I would have a breakdown. The workload often kept me up till the AMs, and I always had the feeling that the material was on the very fringes of my ability to comprehend and process. At one point I was loaded down with 16 credit hours, in a vain attempt to make up for the failed physics class, and I did have a true breakdown. Here I was, twenty-something years old and crying on my bed that I couldn't do it, that it was too hard. For me at least, it really was that hard. Because of this, my stellar standards of high school performance didn't carry through to college - and I ended up with a degree that was a year and a half late in coming and a GPA that demonstrated the hanging-on-by-fingernails nature of my accomplishments. Somehow though, I managed to keep my scholarship the entire time (they lowered the required GPA the semester I bombed physics, pursuant to the serendipitous nature of my life)... and didn't end up too terribly in the hole for my ass-whooping of an education. And what's more, I was an engineer! I had a paper from State U that said so, and I knew words like inductance and linked-list.

I wanted to write more, but then I decided that this was enough. Goodnight.

x-rated

Slump in full effect, I came home early today. For some reason, I got to writing... and the following was what resulted. And, despite the title, it's no Penthouse Forum... but I suppose it could leave you nostalgic for those red-cheeked teenage days spent in backseats and darkened theaters. Enjoy.

So we found ourselves alone in some alley behind the buildings, not the most romantic place. It was in one of those "old town" places that plenty of American towns have. The throwback towns, facades crafted to recall the glory days... packed with specialty shops and antique stores, little cafes and toys tores where everything is wood and handmade. The kind of place where they have annual street parties with vendors and open markets - you know, Old Town. Ahem... so there we were, in the alley, not the most romantic place. Thankfully, romance has nothing to do with lust and sex. Against the dirty stucco wall I held her arms to her side and kissed her. At least a foot shorter than me, I had to stoop while turning my tongue over in her mouth. Her boyfriend was out there somewhere, on the other side of these buildings somewhere. Her boyfriend and my girlfriend, my friend and her friend, our friends. My hand wandered under her shirt, pressed the soft skin of her side; still kissing. Being so wrong made it so fun, they were right out there somewhere; could turn the corner into this alley at any moment; could find us. What if she tastes you on my lips?

Later that night our double date to the go-cart track and arcade place on the beach, where all the cool kids go. You know the place, the one with the mini-golf course that has a volcano and a windmill, and the huge maze you can pay $2 to run through. The maze full of twists and turns and dead-end presswood walls painted in circus colors. Grab my hand, let's get lost, they are in here somewhere too... this could be even better than the alley. These presswood walls don't even extend to the ground, feet run by on the either side. Hearing shouts and talking as people rushed past us, yellow and blue presswood walls separating them from us. Us: the four feet on the other side of the wall from them. The four feet that weren't moving at all, the four feet that were standing still and, if you listened close, making hushed gasps for breath between sloppy kisses. They're in here somewhere, running through these same presswood walls, separated from the ones they held hands with on the way in tonight; they're in here looking. Any minute now they could turn the corner into our three-walled presswood room. You actually listened to me on the phone this afternoon and wore the overalls, they are always the easiest to get into. Down the side, I slip my hand between the denim and your skin. What if he smells you on my fingers?

The preceding paragraphs, while fine enough on their own, could stand for a bit of background: When I was 15 or so (pre-driving, if I remember right), I was dating a girl. And, as often goes in early teen relationships, one of my closest buddies at the time was dating one of my girlfriend's close buddies. It was the kind of thing that worked well for double-dates and whatnot, teenagers eat that crap up.

Standing in a field a mile from anywhere in every direction. We brought a blanket and some soda. The sun is shining bright and it's not cool, it's downright hot. You smelled so good; clean and fresh, and your light brown hair was newly washed and dried, shining in the sun and sticking a little to your damp forehead. The heat from our walk makes your scent stand out, stirred up with sweat and wafting upward. Standing, I look down on you, your fingers working my zipper, pulling my shorts to my ankles. Your lips pink and full from kissing, the blanket tousled from our rolling around. As I stand, I shoot defiant glances into the the distance; the trees and tall grass where anyone could be watching - but no one is. I look up to the clear blue sky, the birds our only audience. Us: the birds and I, we watch from above, watch your mouth work. At this moment, if I'm not king of the world then no one is. That day, in the woods, my open eyes watched her closed ones; her head moving slowly at my waist as I gathered and caressed handfuls of her hair - truly king of the world for the moment.

The preceding paragraph, while fine enough on its own, could stand for a bit of background: When you are too young to get a hotel room or go back to each other's apartments - you turn to the woods. All kids should get to make out in the woods, there's nothing that compares to being half naked and experiencing first sins alone in the wilderness; pine needles sticking to exposed skin as you moan and pant like TV has taught you. That particular day in the woods stands out, and was with that first girlfriend from above - pre double affair.

Enough of this filth!

Even though PF and other music 'zines have lauded his every effort, I've never been able to get into nouveau-folkie Devendra Banhart that much. Oh sure, I downloaded all the albums and listened to them diligently. I could hear talent, but they were just a little too slow for me - maybe it was a temporal thing, sometimes uber-slow or sober albums only work during certain times of year or under certain circumstances. So, when I read the expectedly glowing review of Cripple Crow, his latest effort, I wasn't surprised. I figured I should follow the drill though, download the album give it a fair shake, and delete it a week later. This time though, the planets were aligned, the time was high, whatever - and the album hit me just right. This is a solid album, reminding me most of Donovan, and at times Dylan or the stripped-down component-Beatles of the White Album. (And I swear I wrote my review before reading PF's, it'd take an idiot to not compare this to Donovan, Dylan, and the Fabs.) Oh, and I just found out that my newly-loved Field Music album is made up of members of other bands... who'd'a thunk?

Goodnight.