Sun Kil Moon - "Glenn Tipton"

Mark Kozelek sings I CAPitalized, an upright word, a word that matters - matters because I meant something to someone, now she's gone and "place ain't the same" and he's back in memory, he's singing for intimates past and (therefore) present - donut shops, cops at the table; the fighters, the guitar-flashers; the unsent letters & the heart-soft hours of the night. And these scenes just pass by, the hurts and the mends all know their time is coming and really, what can you do, what are love and sorrow anyway but lights and shadows, colors off the leaves, never remaining for long. Refusing to just repeat. The foggy-eyed awe of what next together, hand-in-hand, with the delirious stillness of what was.

Bowerbirds - "Bur Oak"

Remember those kids in grade school and the nicknames we came up with? Nick drank Sunkist, we called him Orange. Alex was a rascal, we called him Spanky. (Nobody remembers how Zack became Stella.) But we all know that these kids are grown, that they are trying to grow now - next time you see them, call them by the names we gave 'em. Maybe they'll say "no one's called me that in years" and maybe also swell a little and maybe, but only just barely-maybe, pine too for that shared impulse we had when we didn't need to search to impress or amaze: that stupid sudden spark that sticks and sticks and sticks.


Language Rice

In my six or so years of studying the Spanish Language, this is my first time being immersed in a Spanish, or rather, Catelán-speaking country (I am spending the next four months in Argentina as a student). Saying that there is much about the language for me to learn is a vast understatement. Cooking came up in a conversation with a friend the other day. We talked about what the first things we learned to cook were. Mine was fried rice. We talked about the soothing qualities of cooking and the importance smell had in developing a sense of calm.
I decided to treat my learning of a language like fried rice. 
First the rice is cooked separately from the other ingredients. The vegetables are fried in another pan while the rice cooks. When the rice is ready, it is integrated into the pan that the vegetables are in along with different spices that add subtleties to the food. Once the flavors permeate each other, mix and beautifully contaminate each grain of rice and each pea or carrot slice, the rice and vegetables are moved away from the middle creating an exposed area in the center of the pan. This is the moment of opportunity and possibility. This is when the egg is introduced. The shells is cracked and the contents are poured into the center. As it cooks, the egg is slowly integrated into the rice and vegetables. The fried rice reclaims the middle of the pan, and cooks for a bit longer before its ready to eat. 
Well, I just cracked my egg and damn am I hungry.

Kids, Graffiti, and French Design