nostalgia

Archived Posts from this Category

November 9, 2011

He and I have become very good at adding and subtracting 7.

Posted by mayiwrite under nostalgia, observations, relationships | Tags: , , |
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Look, blog post! Please forgive.

More than two months ago — it was the end of August — I was walking home from Sunday dinner at a friend’s, and my ward prayer was happening outside. I had just moved in to a new ward and was starting to get to  know people. I turned down a potluck invitation from a new friend because I already told the other friend I’d come to dinner. And as I approached this ward prayer crowd, I wondered if I would see this new friend and ask him about leftovers. I saw a girl I met earlier that day, and we decided together to try to meet new people. I asked if anyone else knew about the potluck, and somebody — I don’t remember who — told me to ask some name I don’t remember, that he was a bald guy standing with another cluster of talking people.

So, I moseyed over to the neighboring circle of strangers and asked the bald guy if he knew about the potluck. He didn’t. But while I was talking to him, I decided to get to know him.

He told me his name is Reilly. We ended up having a decent conversation about books and movies and music. We talked about the Borders going-out-of-business sale, and he told me about the biannual Salt Lake City Public Library sale, where paperbacks are fifty cents and hardcovers are a dollar. And that usually happens in October. He said he’d amassed quite a few books in the past few months, and I told him I’d like to see his book collection sometime. He seemed a little hesitant at the idea.

Recently he told me that he thought I was 20 when we first met.

We went to the Real Salt Lake City soccer game that following Saturday.

And I did go over to look at this books. And the songs on his iTunes.

Over the weeks, I’ve made hints about my age to him, because that’s what I do:

-living more than 6.5 years in New York City after some time at BYU in 2002
-being about 6 years older than my brother
-seeing certain movies in the theater, like Back to the Future and A League of Their Own
-saying that I was in 7th grade when Ted Bundy was executed, at the state prison, about an hour away from where I lived
-etc.

Then a couple weeks ago, we were on our way to stand in line at the Velour for a concert. We ran into some classmates that I know from Senegal, and they were nice enough to let us cut in front of them in line. These classmates are now officially a couple, after quasi-sneaking their way around dating during the last couple of weeks of the trip. The girl was my roommate, and I told Reilly that they happened to put the Floridians in the same room, who also happened to be the oldest and youngest students. Then I remarked that three birthdays of people on the trip were in the month of May and there was a party, and I observed that I was closer in age to the professor whose birthday was also that month than most of the other students.

Except for the Skabelunds. They’re old. ;)

He says our ages don’t matter.

I’m glad for this.

 

September 19, 2011

Because I Can’t Get Enough Right Now

Posted by mayiwrite under friends, links, nature, nostalgia, observations | Tags: , , , , , |
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Patience

Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time’s fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn’t be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.

– Kay Ryan

*****

One of these days I will again post my own thoughts, but Ms. Ryan says lots of great things.

If my mind is space, and time is time, the exact location of my mind cannot be determined at any point in time, not without that location occurring in the past. When I want desperately to be in the now.

This is my uncertainty principle. That’s what I’m feeling.

Rest assured, there’s lots to be said about school (SO. MUCH. SCHOOL) and boys and friends I don’t see nearly enough of. And meeting poets. And autographs. And food. And boys and church. And some boys that aren’t smart. And new friends. And the cooling weather. And swearing at school, though not by me. And running into former seminary students who are so very tall. And staying up until 4am or waking up at 3am and either way letting the silence soothe me. And seeing those people in my life that make me feel like all is right with the world.

Eventually, the past will catch up to now.

Thanks for your patience.

 

September 4, 2011

Recipes

Posted by mayiwrite under advice, food, my life, nostalgia, observations, relationships | Tags: , , , , |
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One day when I was younger, I asked my dad to teach me how to cook and bake. Mom and he took turns cooking, but Dad did most of the baking. He cooked and baked during most of the time he was in the Navy, and I couldn’t have been more grateful that he brought his work home with him.

At different points throughout college, I called my dad for advice about cooking and baking. How much cold water for the crust? How much difference does nutmeg make? He gave me tips on many of his recipes, that while it was important to measure exactly, he told me to observe consistencies and textures and trust my instincts on what “looks” right. He told me not to be afraid to taste and adjust accordingly.

Sometimes my attempts were successful, and other times reminded me that I needed more practice. And that maybe I needed to trust myself more.

The missionaries came over all the time for meals, and my dad proudly fed them. His goal was always to overfeed them. He was constantly tasting and stirring and seasoning and often experimenting. He made great stews and steaks and chili. He made a great sweet-and-sour sauce that went well with pork or fish or chicken.

Dad likes to tell a story about a time he was at sea and preparing a meal for all the sailors on board. The the ocean was rolling, and he was trying to bake bread, but the bread pans would slide in the oven and bang against the side, and the dough would inevitably fall. My dad was a perfectionist with his baking, and he would always throw away his sunken attempts and try again.

He figured out that he should make enough dough to fill enough loaf pans to put into the oven at the same time, to pack them side by side, across the oven rack, fitted against each other and the oven walls. This allowed the bread to rise and the sailors to have homemade bread for their meals.

His best work was always his baking. At holiday times he made multiple pies. He made cookies and cinnamon rolls and cakes. It’s hard to imagine a time when our home didn’t smell amazing.

He taught me how to make French toast and how to tell when to flip over pancakes. He made enormous three-egg omelets and cooked bacon and sausage perfectly. I owe my love of breakfast to my dad.

I learned the importance of a clean workspace from him. He said to clean as I go, for not only does that free up space that I need for the next delicious thing to prepare, it prevents a giant pile of dishes to wash at the very end.

He baked whenever, not just for holidays. Sometimes I would help him roll out his perfect pie crust for pumpkin or apple or cherry cream cheese or pecan pie. Sometimes I would help cut the pie crust into smaller circles to fill for turnovers. Then he’d let me seal the edges with a fork and paint the turnovers with an eggwash. They went into the oven, then I’d mix some powdered sugar and milk to brush over them as a glaze once they cooled off .

He’d let me sprinkle sugar and cinnamon across rolled-out bread dough that had been brushed with melted butter. Sometimes there were raisins. He’d roll the dough back up and slice cross-sections and place them on a baking sheet and let them rise. Then he’d bake and ice them in the morning for fresh cinnamon rolls for breakfast.

Waking up was never hard for me as a kid.

Banana bread happened quite frequently. He let a couple of bananas go beyond ripe,  soft and almost black, and nearly self-dissolved in sweetness, and he would put them in the freezer until he needed them. I remember doing homework in my room and suddenly smelling banana bread and coming out of my room for a warm piece sometimes served with a scoop of ice cream.

Then, of course, there was the eating of our creation. And the sharing. My dad always shared with guests and neighbors and folks from church. He always made plenty. He loved being busy in the kitchen. He loves making people happy.

The other day, my aunt told me over the phone that my dad has driven to places several times and couldn’t find his way home. In his clearer moments he realized that he isn’t safe–he is endangering himself and others–and he suggested to my aunt that he can’t live on his own.

She said there were times that she’s found him sitting in his chair, staring at the walls, waiting to die.

But he’s on antidepressants now.

He’s in a lot of pain a lot of the time, and his doctor scheduled him for a follow-up surgery on a long-standing condition he has, but according to my aunt, no one has checked on the effects of the combination of medications he is taking. His blood is thin, his heart is bad: he is not a good candidate for surgery. At my aunt’s insistence, the doctor referred him to a specialist.

Dad gave my aunt power of attorney and she’s been trying to organize his affairs. He’ll get rid of his house. And his truck. He won’t be driving anymore.

He’ll be checking into assisted living. He and my aunt have checked out the facility, and apparently, Dad has already made friends with a neighbor across the hall from his room.

He knows that my aunt and I have been talking. He worries that she’s told me everything.

It’s important for me to know.

She’s such a good sister to him, and I cannot imagine what it’s like for her to watch him fade before her eyes. She has only wanted for him to be happy.

She said that doctors have diagnosed him, and there’s only so much they can treat.

My aunt said that the missionaries don’t come over anymore.

Dad has stopped cooking and baking completely.

He’s forgotten the recipes.

 

August 26, 2011

A Letter to Freshman May

Posted by mayiwrite under miscellany, my life, nostalgia | Tags: , , , , |
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Dear Freshman May,

It’s been a long time. I’ve been walking the BYU campus this past week, shopping for books, wandering the library, going to work. You’ve crossed my mind a lot.

It’s freshmen orientation time right now, and it has taken so much mental and physical effort not to burst into laughter every time I pass a group of wide-eyed 18-year-olds. Instead I suppress a mocking smile, and so I traverse campus looking smug. All those beautiful and nauseatingly eager freshmen, if they’re aware enough to notice me, might wonder who the short girl is with a seemingly permanent smirk on her face. That would be me.

What was it like, Freshman May? Did you ever act the way some of these kids do? Did you ask the same questions, play the same pranks, have the same goals?

You were smart enough to be admitted all those years ago. You should be proud of yourself.

You lived in Deseret Towers, U-Hall. Officially, Ballard Hall. Have you heard what they did to Deseret Towers? They demolished them a few years back and they’ve rebuilt – they’re rebuilding – them, except they’re not going to call them Deseret Towers. I wish I could tell you how and why I know that, but I can’t. But that’s the news.

You’re facebook friends with a lot of your freshmen friends, Freshman May. It’s so great that all of you are able to keep in touch.

I missed the freshmen deluge last year. I officially stepped onto the campus proper on the first day of class, and all the students milling around seemed perfectly normal.

Within the first few weeks of being Freshman May, you wrote an email to your high school friends. Remember Cougarnet, Freshman May? You told them that you had gotten engaged to a young man named Jordan Rivers. You said that you had made eye contact with him across the Marriott Center.

You never went ice blocking.

You hiked the Y at midnight. One time.

You took calculus in the Jesse Knight Humanities Building; you went to church in the law building. The planetarium section of the Eyring Science Center was under construction but you sneaked up there anyway with some new friends, and it was cool.

You passed the Smith Family Living Center all the time. You might not have been Freshman May when they began calling that building the SFLC, or “syphilis.”

The JKHB is now the JKB, and campus has a fancy, new humanities building, which I love and where I have most of my classes.

The ESC is also very sturdy and feels new, and it hardly resembles the place where you spent hours working on physics labs. Your FRESHMAN year. Physics 121 and 122, really? Freshman May, how did you even do that? What kind of energetic ridiculous idealist were you?

The SFLC. Does. Not. Exist. It’s as if whatever parts of your life that had anything to do with that building never happened.

So many more changes in curricula and technology and everything else, it seems.

Freshmen swarm this campus right now. Like some cheery scourge. They flood my computer labs and wander into alcoves I’d claimed for myself.

I’m excited for them though, just like I was excited for you. You had your whole life to figure out. You met people who’d be your friends for the rest of your life. You were righteous and eager, but you were also SO SO SO YOUNG, and you thought you knew everything, and I know you have stories about being taken down a few notches which is so important to growing up.

You’ve had quite the journey, Freshman May. I have nearly doubled your life, which seems so hard to believe. You’re there, I’m here. Can’t you feel the distance getting close?

Watching this year’s freshmen herds, moving about like worker ants, carrying books that seem to be twice their weight, getting lost and in my way and too scared to ask questions or too intent on their focused wandering, I’m just grateful you were a freshman only once.

That’s all anyone needs.

Class starts on Monday.

Thanks for … everything.

May

 

August 25, 2011

The Ups to Today’s Downs

Posted by mayiwrite under links, miscellany, nostalgia, photo | Tags: , , , , |
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Thanks to Sarah for bringing this to my attention. I may have elatedly sworn when she told me about it.

Follow these instructions:

1. Click on this link.

2. Notice the photo credit. Follow the link to flickr if you want.

3. Listen to Meg Hutchinson. She’s got some great things to sing. And say.

(optional)
4. Read the story around the photo.

 

August 24, 2011

The Past Blog Post and the Song Might Be Distantly Related

Posted by mayiwrite under music, new york city, nostalgia | Tags: , , , , |
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Aimee Mann. Summer concert at Rockefeller Park; June 30, 2004. Free. I may have just seen Magnolia within the past month. This is one of the songs from the soundtrack.

It’s not what you thought
When you first began it
You got what you want
Now you can hardly stand it, though
By now you know
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

You’re sure there’s a cure
And you have finally found it
You think one drink
Will shrink you till you’re underground
And living down
But it’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

Prepare a list for what you need
Before you sign away the deed
‘Cause it’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

No, it’s not going to stop
Till you wise up
No, it’s not going to stop
So just give upIt’s not what you thought
When you first began it
You got what you want
Now you can hardly stand it, though
By now you know
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

You’re sure there’s a cure
And you have finally found it
You think one drink
Will shrink you till you’re underground
And living down
But it’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

Prepare a list for what you need
Before you sign away the deed
‘Cause it’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop
Till you wise up

No, it’s not going to stop
Till you wise up
No, it’s not going to stop
So just give up

–

Almost a year later. An experience that didn’t involve very much wisdom at all.

 

 

August 23, 2011

Part of the Playlist – “Such Great Heights”

Posted by mayiwrite under links, miscellany, music, nostalgia | Tags: , , |
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The original and a cover.

–

–

Here’s a nostalgic post from 2009.

 

August 20, 2011

You Can Skip This, Too.

Posted by mayiwrite under advice, friends, nostalgia, observations, relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , |
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My first actual memory of Jera Gunther was a random spring evening in 2003 in the west foyer of the Inwood ward building. She sat on one of those floral print couches, reading a book. I can’t remember why I was there, but seemingly out of the blue, she asked me if I’ve ever read the Scarlet Letter. That’s pretty much all she had to say. We’ve been friends ever since.

When I walked into Jera and Jordan’s house last Wednesday night, Jera told me that I looked the same. I can’t imagine changing that much in the past four years, and I told her that she looked the same, too.

We played with the kids and toured the town and talked about grownup things like politics and economics. We laughed about old times.

I don’t remember how I met Summer and Joel. I do recall going over to their Manhattan apartment for karaoke parties. It was me and Adam and Sheridan, and we’d choose songs from the computer and sing silliness into a microphone.

We’d also meet at ward picnics and go on bike rides and there was this one time we went to an Egyptian restaurant and paid way more for the meal than it was worth.

Summer and Joel haven’t changed much, either. We remembered when and listened to the kids sing the Beatles and laughed when the older sister dressed her younger brother as a girl in a polka dot dress and purple hair bow.

St. George in August is hot. Around 10:00 one night, I came out of the Gunthers’ house to get something from the rental car and  felt the heat from the day and in the driveway against my face and bare feet.

Their house is on a hill. At night, the valley twinkles. When I saw that, I wondered if I could live in the town of St. George, Utah.

This past Wednesday night, I went to dinner with my friend, Angie. It had been four? or so years since I’ve seen her. We met when she moved into the Inwood ward, and we had a few mutual friends. We caught up and gossiped and laughed and talked about important television and people we remember from New York.

On Thursday, my friend Cristi and I caught up over Jamba Juice and chocolate-covered cinnamon bears. I asked her when we first met, and she said that it was probably through Becky. Which: of course. We talked and laughed about everything in the shade of the JFSB courtyard.

I’ve known these cool cats for years, but I’m convinced yet again that time doesn’t always determine quality. It felt amazing seeing those friends, but when I see people I love from Utah/BYU, I’m equally pleased.

The Williams family has been generous to me. I started hanging out with Cynthia in January 2010, and we’d go to the music documentaries at Muse Music, where we learned about Daniel Johnston, Radiohead, Sigur Ros, and Arcade Fire. Then she made sure to invite me to everything she did. Potlucks, concerts, family drives, birthday dinners. We went with other friends and her other family members to the Festival of Colors and the Llama Festival, and we have inside jokes about peeing on ourselves and share a few family stories and secrets. I have been able to meet a lot of people through them. My boss knows their dad. They have been a stabilizing force for me here in Provo. I’m truly grateful for them.

Then there are Africa friends. With them, I shared things about myself that I normally wait to tell people in “normal” circumstances. I’ve been ever so fortunate to run into Natalie twice in the computer lab this summer. And to hang out with Sarah and Kylie. The Skabelunds and I met for lunch this past Monday. And I saw Spencer once, too. I’ve only known these kids for only four months, really, yet when I’m around them, it feels like home. Like we can kick back and talk about anything or watch tv or not feel any pressure to talk at all.

My heart has been so full this week. I have loved the quality time.

This past week was also Education Week at BYU. I’ve joked trying to compare it to EFY and Women’s Conference, because campus gets crazy and crowded and annoying during those events. Walking around these past few days, I met a lot of kind eyes and smiles, and it was rather touching to see how happy all the adults of all ages were to be at BYU learning fun and cool things. They get a week each year.

I’m coming up on two years. I pay tuition for each semester, but still.

It’s easy to forget how exciting it is to be here. To have access to all sorts of information and the academic community. To be someone to offer a perspective  of a roundabout path that might actually be valuable.

And I’ve been thinking about grad school. It’s my last undergraduate year, and I’m trying to reconcile the joy in moving on to even greater opportunities and the heaviness of my heart that also comes with moving on to even greater opportunities.

Yes, I do have to plan for the future, but I need to be ready to make the most of now. Of BYU. Of Utah. Right, Thomas Traherne?

Entering thus far into the nature of the sun, we may see a little Heaven in the creatures. And yet we shall say less of the rest in particular: tho’ every one in its place be as excellent as it: and this without these cannot be sustained. Were all the earth filthy mires, or devouring quicksands, firm land would be an unspeakable treasure. Were it all beaten gold it would be of no value. It is a treasure therefore of far greater value to a noble spirit than if the globe of the earth were all gold. A noble spirit being only that which can survey it all, and comprehend its uses. The air is better being a living miracle as it now is than if it were crammed and filled with crowns and sceptres. The mountains are better than solid diamonds, and those things which scarcity maketh jewels (when you enjoy these) are yours in their places. Why should you not render thanks to God for them all? You are the Adam or the Eve that enjoy them. Why should you not exult and triumph in His love who hath done so great things for you? Why should you not rejoice and sing His praises? Learn to enjoy what you have first, and covet more if you can afterwards.

 

August 18, 2011

Because the World Never Ceases to Amaze Me. Because You’re In It.

Posted by mayiwrite under advice, friends, government, miscellany, nostalgia, observations, relationships, writing | Tags: , , , , , |
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And I’m too lazy to write anything. But, I’m feeling sappy and nostalgic, so here’s a chat. Or a few. I’m just grateful some of you out there can take advantage of my waking hours. It’s nice feeling helpful. And in touch with the outside world. Just know that I love talking with you guys.

Also, sorry about all the brackets and vaguenesses.

ONE
Friend: lol

  oh, here’s something else to get outraged about
  so you’ve heard about the verizon strike
 me: ok
 Friend: the company makes a profit of 108 billion a year.
they currently have a health plan that gives free care to their retirees, and their current employees get health care but have to pay copays.
they are on strike because the company wants each employee to contribute $20k a year for the health plan.
  this will save the company $1 billion. So they can make $109 billion a year instead.
  their top 5 executives make something like $525 million.
how freaking ridiculous is that?
 me: holy what
  okay, i like capitalism for all its good qualities
  but this
  THIS
  THIS
why??!!!??
Friend: i know.
  i’m thinking vancouver might be a good place to move to.
  i’ve heard it’s pretty.
 me: me, too
  maybe i’ll see what’s there in terms of grad schools
Friend: you can scope it out for us. cuz this country is too stoopid to survive. i read something today that half the reason the economy sucks so badly is that the majority of people don’t have money to spend, so they don’t. the few who do have money (the top 5%) have too much money to know what to do with.
  so no jobs, etc.
  fun, right?
well, now that i’ve gotten you all outraged, time for me to run. talk to ya later!
 me: jerk
  thanks a lot
  ;)
***
TWO
me: hi
Bro-friend: Heya. You’re up late
 me: i am
  you’re up as usual
Bro-friend: Indeed.
me: i can’t sleep
  but i have to
 Bro-friend: Did you drink Mt Dew again?
me: a little
  :)
  but i’ve had problems before that
 Bro-friend: Hmm.
 me: it’ll be fine
  i’ll get to sleep soon
Bro-friend: I’m going to exploit it first.
  Question:
me: yes
Bro-friend: From what you’ve read of the writing project, what do you think the impact would be, either good or bad, of inserting a section [here].
In this hypothetical section, the reader is privy to a long conversation with very little scene-setting [here].
me: do you want that kind of a shift?
 Bro-friend: Well, it’s coming one way or the other, question is does it belong there or after.
me: you’re building toward something. will the section continue that build or interrupt it in a way that may or may not work
  the description sounds incredibly intriguing
maybe keep [here] continuous
  OR break them up
  the effects of either would be very interesting
Bro-friend: I think they need to stay continuous but going from [here] has always seemed a bit quit to me.
  There’s an implied passage of time but for the reader its immediate.
  So advantage to moving up the mom talk is providing a time lapse.
 me: right
Bro-friend: Disadvantage is breaking up flow.
 me: but if it’s sans setting …
  right
Bro-friend: You were pretty exhausted by it though. This would at least provide a section where [something happens].
me: will readers see the conversation as part of the chronology?
  or an aside?
Bro-friend: I think it would fit the chronology. [And here's why.]
 me: then picks back up with the next chapter?
[this] would definitely add a different perspective
 Bro-friend: This section ends with [this].
I guess you’d need to read it to provide a detailed opinion. I’m trying to keep a big picture view of where it belongs.
 me: that’s fine
 so with the new section we have a better understanding of [this]
i worry slightly about a gentle unrolling into the conclusion
 Bro-friend: Makes sense.
 me: but, like you say, i’ll have to read it
  it’s an interesting take
 Bro-friend: Here’s the thing -
 me: and i’m curious
 ok
Bro-friend: I’ve approached the project overall as two halves. First half is what you’ve read… [this]. Part two is supposed to be [that].
  This section [accomplishes this].
In reality this process was not A to B, but a gradual process taking place all through the events described in part one.
 me: ok, i understand
  i see your intent
  it can be very effective
Bro-friend: I think of part one as one long crescendo and you’re right that it would be disruptive to interrupt that.
 My idea for starting off part two though feels a little disjointed.
 This section is one element. There are [ . . . ] others. [Like these.]
And it all seems like a bit much to just through together.
  But I may be overthinking it
 me: well, it only makes sense that chaos builds proportionally [here]
  it may seem like a lot, but realistically, even in a narrative context, it sort of has to be
 imo
 Bro-friend: It’s a question of [this]
me: how much magic do you want to do?
Bro-friend: How do you mean?
me: well, i don’t know.
Bro-friend: I want the experience for the reader to be immersive and genuine, while also maintaing reasonable fidelity to actual events. I can fudge some of the chronology or find other ways to work around those problems if it makes the read more smooth for the reader.
  I ask a lot from the reader in keeping track of stuff already so it’s not so much a stretch
 me: i understand
 you pretty much answered your own question about how much magic you’d be willing to do
 Bro-friend: Just wanted to see if that’s what you meant. I get where you’re coming from. I’m not resolved on it one way or the other yet, but it’s good to talk it out. Thanks.
 me: glad you’re back to thinking about it some more
Bro-friend: It comes and goes.
 me: :)
***
THREE

me: Friendy, i’m talking about marching band memories with someone

  can i recount the time [this happened]?
 Friendy: of course!
  when did [this happen]?
 me: i always think [it] did
  10th grade. azalea festival
 Friendy: hmm
  I don’t remember [it]
  I did get mad at Mr. Rood
 and it was my 15th birthday
  and Myron Hall squashed a toad in his marching shoes
  but I don’t remember [that]
 me: okay
  good thing i didn’t tell it, then
 Friendy: that guy who played trombone threw up before we went on the field
 me: oh yes, that
 you have different memories than i
 Friendy: that’s because we were on different sides of the field!
  weren’t we?
  I was by Mike what’s-his-name
 now I have Trooper Salute in my head
 me: excellent
Friendy: yeah, that was last year
  they were all over the news :-)
  the channel 4 news, that is
 me: it’s impressive
 Friendy: i don’t really think they’re all that good….
 me: oh?
 Friendy: but hey, they won
  they’re okay
 me: standards have gone down?
 Friendy: oh yeah
 me: that’s just too bad
 Friendy: well, they’re not terrible
 me: so, we were better, then
 Friendy: way, way better
  they’re adequate
 me: SWEET
 Friendy: but nothing special :-)
  we were pretty special
 me: indeed
 sigh. the memories
 

August 18, 2011

Currently

Posted by mayiwrite under friends, lists, music, my life, nostalgia | Tags: , , |
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So, my friend Kylie updated her blog today with her five favorite albums, and she invited her readers to list their five favorites.

Then my brain shut down.

This is the flow chart of my brain for this process:

Are you going to make this list?
NO—-> DONE—-> COMPLAIN ABOUT ROOMMATES SOME MORE
YES—-> START CATEGORIZING AND ORDERING FAVORITE ALBUMS—-> BRAIN SHORT-CIRCUITS —-> COMPLAIN ABOUT ROOMMATES SOME MORE

Part of it has to do with my thinking I’ll get my list wrong. My purely subjective, preferential list that I’m sure people will judge me by. Hee, I need to rethink this. So much good music is in the world, and maybe I can choose my top five for now, because something different always rotates through various phases of my life.

Still, my little paranoid heart thinks I’m getting graded for this.

I mean, there are nostalgia favorites:
August and Everything After, Counting Crows
Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos
Pablo Honey and/or The Bends, Radiohead
Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, Sarah McLachlan
Wide Open Spaces, Dixie Chicks
Automatic for the People, R.E.M.
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Smashing Pumpkins
Our Time in Eden, 10,000 Maniacs

There are my standards:
Retrospective, Indigo Girls
OK Computer and/or Kid A, Radiohead
Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos
1,000 Kisses and/or Living with Ghosts, Patty Griffin

There are soundtrack favorites:
The Mission
Magnolia (featuring Aimee Mann)
Lord of the Rings
The Red Violin
The Village
O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Then there are newish favorites:
Re-arrange Us, Mates of State
Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
For Emma, Forever Ago and/or Bon Iver, Bon Iver
Armchair Apocrypha, Andrew Bird
Weathervanes, Freelance Whales
Mortal City, Dar Williams

And, there are are classical favorites:
I don’t even know where to begin.
Composers?
Eras/Movements?
Countries?
Performers/Orchestras?
Conductors?
I CAN’T I CAN’T DO THIS OH DEAR THERE GOES MY BRAIN MELTING INTO A FATTY GELATINOUS PUDDLE AAAAAAAH A;LJ5ADJFKTIAFKAJLFK58A;LJF%#!*(&)AJFLFJK(&*taQL4JKAF098FDKJF00001000100010001001000100000000 ZERO ONE.

Hmm. For now, let’s try:
Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos
1,000 Kisses, Patty Griffin
Retrospective, Indigo Girls
OK Computer, Radiohead
The Mission soundtrack

Do you have five favorite albums?

 

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