And the season's change was a conduit.

I wrote this back in writing fiction as a very superficial, insignificant way to get through the last bit of my semester. I hated it until tonight - it bears some kind of deeper meaning to me now, and I love it so much more than I did.

Maggie Randall was a fourteen-year-old girl who lived on Gossamer Street in Durham, North Carolina. Pine trees, maples, and oaks surrounded her home, and the occasional dogwood would light up the small forest with its white flowers. Gossamer Street was a quiet sort of street, with mailboxes and flowerbeds that lined its borders and a creek that gurgled behind its homes.
Maggie was a silent, ordinary girl, with mousy brown hair that reached her shoulders when she wore it down but, more often than not, it hung limply in a ponytail instead. She had a small nose with dark freckles that ran across it and onto her cheeks – a few of them even ventured down to her chin or up to her eyebrows. She wore her older sister’s old clothes not for lack of money, but because she rarely wanted to go shopping.
Each year when the summer came, Maggie looked forward to the thunderstorms. Rather than going to the pool or the mall, her favorite thing to do was to sit on her back porch and watch storms pass right over her home. The more violent the storm, the better the show.
Maggie had an image in her mind of the parents down the street, looking out their windows with furrowed brows, concerned more for their freshly-raked lawns than the mortified children wrapped tightly around their legs. She knew that it was with crossed fingers and futile hope that they sided with the familiar weakness of their rooftops and flowerbeds.
Maggie, however, often found herself identifying with the powerful lightning bolts and hail, rather than the hopeless pine trees whose spines were so easily broken. The pines never won and, while it was with pity that Maggie looked upon them, she was never one to bend or break. It was with the smallest amount of guilt that she fervently occupied her thoughts with fallen branches and lost leaves, all in the interest of a victory shared with her beloved rain clouds.
Still, the passing of each storm would leave Maggie slightly heartbroken, for as the summer wore on, she realized nature’s beautiful destruction that she loved so dearly would soon come to an end.
She would often walk the streets of her frightened neighborhood once only the distant rumblings of the formidable monster remained, and she would pick up fallen branches and pine cones, marveling at the life that had once resided in their helpless frames. And, in the latter days of August, these walks left her with a cold sensation that sat in her chest densely, growing heavier with the passage of time and the falling of leaves.
Every September, Maggie would begin to feel the soft but foreboding breath of autumn press impatiently against her heart, warning her that the epic battles between land and sky would not resurface before the other three seasons had their turns that year.
It was August 23rd – just a couple weeks before Maggie started her sophomore year of high school. She sat on her back porch with a shaking, shuddering screen as the only barrier between her and the strong, graceful deluge that sometimes engulfed her backyard during the summer. The creek that lay less than fifty yards away seemed unable to control itself and gushed forward, turning her backyard into a cloudy, brown ocean. Periodically, she would hear pinecones hit the roof, or hear a branch snap, and she would smile.
Maggie was happy with the porch. Recently, she had found herself riding her bike and taking walks around her neighborhood more often than she had in the early months of the summer; she did this in a genuine effort to spend as much time with the warm weather as she could. But here, there was no rush – the hammering of the rain on the screen and roof left her no choice but to stay inside and love every sound and smell that the thunderstorm provided.
Still, Maggie often felt a sense of urgency that came with August, like there was too much to be done. And, while she loved the last month of summer dearly, she dreaded September. Although she’d never had a boyfriend, she imagined September was what breaking up would be like.
On September 3rd, the last storm of the summer happened. Maggie could almost tell, as the storm was rumbling in the distance, that it was the last one. The hail that had hammered against the roof and bounced off the ground seemed to be a good-bye, and Maggie had felt sadness weighing her down as it died.
Autumn came and Maggie occupied her thoughts with school work. While she would admit that the leaves were beautiful, she missed the display of power. She sometimes sat in school and stared out the window, hoping that dark clouds would give rise to something greater than the dreary rain they always provided.
Maggie desired the menacing darkness of the sky after a lofty lightning bolt flashed silently across the sky. She longed for the thrill and surprise of thunder, whether it was deafening like a gunshot, or gentle and sonorous like a bass drum. Maggie wanted the wind to sing, high and low, howling along with the percussive rhythm of the hail.
Instead, there was rain.
The winter came and Maggie was frozen. Snow etched the corners of the bare, ugly trees and sometimes kept her away from school. Most days, Maggie slept as often as possible, willing the days to pass quickly. Everything once alive was dead, and the world was entirely gray.
February crawled onward, dragging Maggie drowsily along with it. Even March was somewhat cruel as it teased her with its occasional warmth. April was kinder. It seemed far more consistent to Maggie and she began to remember what shorts and flip-flops felt like.
It had been warm for a solid week now and the end of April was fast approaching. It was April 20th when the first storm of the year struck her neighborhood. She couldn’t help but feel happy as soon as she heard the distant roar of thunder.
The rain began to pelt the roof above her room and Maggie ran downstairs, flinging open the door to the back porch.
The warm wind and smell of humidity hit her forcefully as she closed the door behind her and took a seat in the worn, wicker chair that sat near the screen. She looked to her left to see blue sky and white clouds, but in front of her, the horizon was like charcoal. An entire cloud lit up with a flash of lightning, flickering dangerously like a dying fluorescent light. Seconds later, there was a rumble.
The storm passed right by, leaving very little impact on Maggie’s neighborhood. True, it was not the most interesting storm Maggie had ever witnessed, but it was a storm nonetheless.
When the rain had died down to a fine mist, she walked out her front door and sat on the top step of her porch, which was barely damp from the weak display the storm had given. Maggie noticed the absence of pollen in the air and felt the mist settling on her bare feet, generating small goose bumps on her legs.
She smiled, prepared to fall in love and have her heart broken all over again.



I feel hopeful or something. I guess God had me write this with something else in mind.

END.

Squeaky swings and tall grass, the longest shadows ever cast. The water's warm and children swim, and we frolicked about in our summer skin.

I don't recall a single care,
Just greenery and humid air.
Then Labor day came and went,
And we shed what was left of our summer skin.

On the night you left I came over,
And we peeled the freckles from our shoulders.
Our brand new coats so flushed and pink,
And I knew your heart I couldn't win,
'Cause the season's change was a conduit
And we'd left our love in our summer skin.


I want to write something that beautiful.

But, since I can't, I'm just listening to it over and over again.

I hate this song, but I love it. It's just too sad.

END.

Don't wanna end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard.

I'm trying. Really, really hard.

Too hard, maybe.

I need some sort of guidance, but what else is new?

I really am quite happy right now - just a little confused.
I intend to write a lot more tomorrow. I would like to continue writing now, but I'm only just realizing how late it is.

I used to hear nice little phrases in my head. I would hear the middle or the end of a story and not know where to start, or one line to a song that I didn't know how to write, or I would feel something that I wanted to let out through my fingertips in a poem but not know how to articulate it. Writing was like dreaming to me. It took so little effort, but now writing is more like falling asleep after drinking a huge cup of coffee: you toss and turn and your eyes feel heavy but your body can't relax.

Music used to inspire me, but now music is just work.

Work, work, work. I'm 21. Should I be having a good time? I'm not sure. I think I might already be going through a midlife crisis - does that mean I'm going to die when I'm forty-two?

I sure hope not, but there's no way to tell. Maybe I was actually having a midlife crisis in seventh grade and I'll die when I'm twenty-four. That wouldn't be surprising, based on what kind of kid I was in seventh grade.

Joking.

I'm just a horse stuck in the quicksand. Help is on the way soon, but I just have to remember not to fight too hard or else I'll sink faster. I'm happy anyway. I really am. Just a little stressed out.

Relaxing and taking a deep breath is the only way to make it through college alive.

It's the only way I'm going to make it out of this stupid quicksand alive.

END.

I have to admit, it's getting better, a little better all the time.

http://hearsay.alphaquam.com/music/070302_05-Getting_Better.mp3

One of the few Beatles covers I've heard that seems to really carve its own path through the music, rather than just sticking to the safe, comfortable grooves that the Beatles had already established. Also, I love Fionn Regan (www.fionnregan.com), so I was sort of leaning in that direction before I even heard it.

I'm a biased, stubborn girl - what can I say?

But really, I've decided that I like it.

You know, things might not be getting "better" so much as getting "different." No, that doesn't really make sense grammatically or technically, but it sounds approximately right in my brain, I think?

I need to prioritize. I wonder if I can even do that anymore... I think I've started to realize where my priorities should lie, but I don't know how to execute that realization, or even if I'm capable of executing it.

Despite feeling a certain sense of enlightenment, I'm feeling a little down. I struggle with all of the same things I've been struggling with for the past few years, months, weeks, whatever. I'm not really different on the inside. I wish I could say that I am, but it isn't true yet.

I hope I change soon, and I hope I start to prioritize correctly.

END.

Even so, it is well with my soul.

How little faith you have. You ask, "What are we to eat? What are we to drink? What are we to wear?" when all these things are for the pagans to run after, not for you. Set your mind on God's kingdom, and His justice before everything else, and all the rest will come to you as well..."

I love God. Can I say that again?
I love God. And He loves me more than I love Him. And I am so incredibly imperfect!

I wish I could see exactly what He sees.

That's the end of it for now.

END.

I figured I had paid my debt to society by paying my overdue fines at the Mulnoma County Library.

And they said, "Son, go join up.
Go join the Youth and Beauty Brigade."

I have figured something out. My happiness as a person is entirely dependent on how happy I choose to be.

Wow. I never thought it would actually be that simple.

Starting recently, I have made the choice to do my best in everything I do and to be satisfied with the outcome, even if the outcome is not too satisfactory.

I have been trying to cook a lot lately. I suppose my inspiration came from J's brother's girlfriend, Sabrina, who is a wonderful cook. I aspire to be able to cook for people I love and to have them really, really enjoy it. It's a lot of trouble sometimes, but it's so much fun! I would like to share with everyone all of the cooking that has been taking place over the last couple days.

Last night, J and I cooked dinner for ourselves and my parents. First we cooked these tartines that Sabrina and Mason (J's brother) had cooked before, and J had them a couple times when he was in France, as well. They turned out really good and my parents loved them! For dinner, we cooked crab cake sandwiches and cole slaw. It was all very good. I would only have changed a couple small things about what we made. The clean-up wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, either.

This morning, I woke up and decided I wanted some French toast. I threw some bacon on the stove and sliced some baguette and made some French toast. My dad made coffee and we all ate together, and that was my breakfast before work. What a great way to start the day, right? Lastly, I made some homemade guacamole so my mom would have something to eat when she got home from work. Both of my parents really love it, so I'm excited to have that recipe logged away.

I am happy with what I've been doing, because I have made myself happy with what I've been doing. I have been working so much lately. This week I'm working thirty-eight hours (thank goodness, I'm finally getting the hours I want!), but I have really been enjoying it. I'm trying my hardest to put my cynicism to the side and just love people for what they are, and I really am trying to control my temper while understanding that everyone has good and bad to them.

Another thing - I have been working my butt off lately. Do you know why? I have recently become excited to perpetuate myself as a successful person. It doesn't matter if lifeguarding has anything to do with being a music teacher, because it obviously doesn't have much to do with it at all. Either way, though, I have supervisors in this job who will probably be writing recommendations for me sometime soon. Shouldn't I do my best for them?

Beyond that, though, working makes me feel good. Productivity is the best kind of upper you can take. I want to say that every day was worth something by the time I'm done with it. I want to say that I have something to show for every single day I live. Just by making myself excited for work, I automatically enjoy it.

I have been getting a lot out of reading my Bible recently. I think I might go more into that later, though, because my thoughts are not organized enough to discuss something as important as spirituality. All I can tell you is that I have learned two very important things from the Old Testament. First, I have learned that Old Testament God is the very same God as New Testament God, despite Old Testament God's seemingly wrathful nature and New Testament God's boundless mercy and love. Secondly, there is a reason we call him "Father." It is not a formality - it is a name based solely on love. God is the only real Father. He's the only one with any real knowledge of what we need.

I have been trying so hard to remember to thank Him more often, for everything. I am so blessed.

I think that sums up my thoughts for the night. Right now, I'm incredibly sleepy. I need to go to bed now so that I can enjoy more of what God has in store for me.



Nothing will stand in our way.

END.

To her cheshire smile I'll stand on file; she's all I ever wanted.

I need to stop worrying needlessly and just suck it up and do what I need to do.

I can't help being terrified every single time I think about going to a bunch of schools and talking to a bunch of professors. I don't feel prepared for it, and I'm scared of what will happen if they don't like me, or they don't like what they hear when I play. I guess they'll be polite. So far, everyone who has emailed me back seems relatively approachable, but I'm still pretty intimidated by... Well, by everything.

I need to just practice my butt off. Whenever I play, though, I sound so bad that I just can't bring myself to keep playing. I need to get over it.

Stupid low self-esteem...

END.

I hear you laugh. I heard you sing. I wouldn't change a single thing.

Today I watched "Brother Sun, Sister Moon." It's a movie directed by Franco Zeffirelli about St. Francis of Assisi. It was a very well-done movie. I don't know how much of it was true, but it made me ashamed to be so shallow. Everyone should watch it. I almost cried numerous times during the movie. Beautifully done and very artistic.

I think I need to send J a facebook message. I want to talk to him but that's sort of impossible, so facebook is the best I'm going to get.

I miss my best friend.

END.

So it's Christmastime, it's been three years. And someone else is knitting things for your ears.

I'm listening to the awesome CD Julie made for me which, by the way, has "A CD for Allyson!" written on it. Um yeah, it rocks.

Today, I woke up and it was sunny. I ate a piece of cake and some milk for breakfast while I watched "What Not to Wear" with my mom. I threw a couple things into my car and listened to music with my windows down all the way to Farmville. I played my horn under the direction of Dr. Gordon Ring for an hour, where Julie gave me a sweet mix CD. I went back to my apartment where I packed some of my things in a pretty disorganized fashion. I went back to campus and practiced my horn for an hour to kick my chops into shape before I go to Mississippi, and I sounded pretty good for not having played all week. I ate Chinese food for dinner with Shannon, Josh, Alexis, and Jackie.

I talked to my perfect boyfriend for a few minutes as he was falling asleep in Paris, and I'm not ashamed to be cheesy right now because I miss him and it's making me appreciate him more.

I then talked to Danielle, who is the one person I have missed most this year, and the one person to whom I've very much wanted to be closer. We set up a phone date for tonight and I'm excited.

I made myself an ugly planner because I lost my pretty one.

I'm feeling happier and luckier than I have in a while. Finally, I'm learning to appreciate what I have.

Now I'm going to go write something. I don't know what it will be, but I promise it will be mine.

END.

The prettiest whistles won't wrestle the thistles undone.

3.75 for the semester.

B in Spanish and A's in everything else.

Wow, I am happy. =)

END.

Sittin' in the slo-mo and listenin' to the daylight.

Go listen to that song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usVSQ43Q_rU&feature=related but oh my gosh please don't watch the video - it's painful.

Someone has a new piano book. Someone's gonna have some fun today. =)

END.

Yes, we'll go dancing, 'til it all starts over again.

I'm just going to sit here and play solitaire, listen to music, and let my fingers take me where they will.

This song feels like proof of a life after death to me. It's in a very roundabout way, I guess. So roundabout, in fact, that I think I'll just keep my thoughts to myself. It would pollute the feeling if I tried to express it in words.

That having been said, I haven't been this bored in months.

I guess I could get something to eat since my stomach is starting to hurt and my family is gone. I'm really just too apathetic to do much of anything right now.

I've done nothing but complain lately, really.

I am looking forward to a few things in the coming month, despite the fact that J is gone and I'll do almost nothing but work and do a practicum.
First of all, I ordered a piano book that Dr. Kinzer recommended and it should be coming within the next few days. FINALLY, I'll have something to practice at home besides scales! Secondly, as much as I hate work, I get to make money, which is something that I've been looking forward to for a while now. I hate lifeguarding, though. I really hate it.

Also, my family and I are going to Mississippi. There will be a few good things about that. I'll get to see family, it'll be a change of pace, and I get to go to Southern Miss and (hopefully) have a lesson with the horn instructor.

I'm not so sure if that last one is a good thing or a bad thing...

Last, but absolutely not least, I get to celebrate J's return with Miss Julie Gaines in the best way possible - sushi and the Decemberists! And even though Julie has to leave the next morning, J will be back on June 4th.

Could not be more excited about exciting things.

I think I might actually try to eat something now. I'm not as apathetic now that I've thought about the good things that will be happening soon.

I need to get a life outside my boyfriend and my grades. For real.

Toaster strudels are of utmost importance.

END.

Keep this in mind when you make life's plans: do what you wanna do and love everyone as much as you can.

I guess the most important thing lately has been my effort to stop caring about whether or not I get Dean's list this semester. And it's a sincere effort, but it just isn't working. I still can't stop worrying about it. I know how dumb that is, but I just keep thinking that if I studied just a little bit harder for one of those stupid classes I don't care about, on one or two things, I would be fine. But that didn't happen, so I guess I should just get over it and do a better job next time.

I don't REALLY like the idea of getting a C in anything, but I guess I'm pretty glad to have a solid C in Spanish. At least, I'm hoping I have a solid C.

I need to get over it. Seriously. Seriously get over it. There are more important things I should be thinking about.

My jury on Friday was acceptable, I guess. I just feel that I had that Beethoven sonata the best I had it weeks prior to my jury, and then I started slowly taking steps backward. Even when I was finally able to make the solo part seem cohesive with the accompaniment (and let's just say that particular problem was not Joseph's fault), I felt that my tone and intonation became increasingly bad, and my grip on the pitches and articulations became looser and looser. It was just scary to step onstage and play a piece that seemed to get worse each time I played it.

Fortunately, I pulled a barely-listenable performance out of my butt at the last second and wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. Mr. Tuckwiller also seems to think I'm ready to tackle this Richard Strauss concerto, about which I have SERIOUS doubts. I think he knows it will be a pretty big challenge for me, and I guess I'm okay with that. I'm just worried, because I never even got the Beethoven to the point where I wanted it, and now he wants me to start a more difficult piece?

I guess the more I have to practice, the more I'll actually practice...
If that even makes any sense.

I just want to be a better musician. I'm scared of too many things.

END.

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in and stops my mind from wandering, where it will go.

I think I just might be. Fixing a hole, that is.

Things are beginning to fall into place the longer I exist here at Longwood. Unfortunately, it's taken the entire semester for me to figure anything out, but I guess it should be enough for me to have done it eventually.

Make sense? Doubtful.

I have some apologies I should probably take care of as soon as possible. Most of those apologies I'll never get the courage to tell, and some of them are probably best left untold. It's enough of an apology for me to feel as guilty as I do.

Nobody's perfect, but I usually think I should be, can be, will be someday if I try hard enough. Maybe that's why my self-esteem is so low. Maybe that's why I should just do my best and have that be enough, so that I can look forward to death and finally achieving perfection.

I'm just working towards death, I guess. That's really all it is. Perfection = death? I guess that's the conclusion I've come to. I guess that's why it's okay for me to end sentences with prepositions (which, by the way, I have done at least twice in this post already). When I'm dead, I won't end sentences with prepositions.

J is back from Wal-Mart. I think I'll give him his computer back now.

END.

Bunker or basement, the bills pile up. The sea view never was an option below sea level.

This song feels like summer to me.

I think I'm going to wear a dress today!

END.

And when I see you, I really see you upside down. But my brain knows better - it picks you up and turns you around.

This song will never stop making me feel sad and I will never stop loving it. It's like a drug, really. I'm addicted to its plaintive lyrics and the way they make me feel so happy to be a musician but so sad about so many other things. The melody gets under my skin, too. It's as though I can feel each individual cell on my body vibrating the slightest bit. It's just enough to make my stomach feel a little wrong and to make my eyes a little misty.

I think it epitomizes romantic loss in a very raw, honest way.


"And when I see you,
I really see you upside down.
But my brain knows better -
It picks you up and turns you around,
Turns you around, turns you around.

If you feel discouraged
When there's a lack of color here,
Please don't worry, lover -
It's really bursting at the seams,
From absorbing everything,
The spectrums A to Z.

This fact, not fiction
For the first time in years.
And all the girls in every girly magazine
Can't make me feel any less alone,
I'm reaching for the phone
To call at 7:03,
And on your machine I slur a plea for you to come home.
But I know it's too late,
And I should have given you a reason to stay,
Given you a reason to stay...

This is fact, not fiction,
For the first time in years."



"...and on your machine I slur a plea for you to come home."

If you've ever heard me talk about this song, which I tend to do, I mention that line every single time. It's so eloquent and so expressive and sincere. "...on your machine I slur..." to me implies that he's drunk-dialing this girl that he loves. The word "plea" conveys such desperation, and that phrase "come home" just beckons so honestly.

"I should have given you a reason to stay."
I think that it wasn't really his fault. I think he just thinks it was. I think he's willing to admit to anything, even if it's a complete lie, just to make her love him again. I think I know exactly how he feels.

I feel dumb getting so into this song, but it's one of my favorites ever. I know it's just Death Cab, it's just emo, it's just whatever. It means a lot to me and I hear a lot of different things when I listen to it. I feel a very personal connection to it, to the person singing the song, to the repetitive guitar, to the harmonies, the lyrics. This is one of the few songs that I can listen to on repeat for hours at a time. The only reason I'd ever turn it off is if I were to become so permeated with poignancy that my fingers became sluggish on the keyboard, or if fatigue were to overcome my senses enough that I could find the will to draw myself away from this melody's pull.

Each word is heavy and full. There isn't a single one that leaves me feeling empty or unsatisfied.

It becomes more like a drug each time that I listen.


I came on here to say something, but this song has captured me again, like it so often does.

Fatigue is winning, though, and my fingers are, as I predicted, becoming sluggish.

My bed frame feels hollow with just a mattress and a large stuffed dog to rest upon its haunches. I should go comfort it as soon as possible.

I hope I meet the character in this song in my dreams so that I can hold his hand, cry with him, tell him I love him, and let him know that it was never really his fault.

END.

And both of His hands are equally skilled

I think I've decided that Easter is my favorite holiday because it summarizes the Gospel in the most pure, beautiful, joyful way possible.

This is the chance God gave humanity to have life after death. I think that's something really special.

I am excited to go to church this morning. I am even more excited to be a Christian, because I know how unclean I am and still how much God loves me.

END.

Sometimes we'll sigh, sometimes we'll cry, and we'll know why just you and I know true love ways.

Texas sure was an interesting experience.

That's stage in the recital hall to the right, there. See that organ? Dr. Ring got to hear it played, but Shannon and I missed out! He said it shook the floors. He sent Shannon and me the pictures he took while in Texas and that's one of them.

I still don't feel like it all really happened, except I'm a little sadder and sobered for having done all of it - that's really my only proof. That, and I have a new shirt.

The trip there was exhausting enough, arriving at the hotel at 1:00 in the morning. It was a nice hotel, though, to be sure: the AT&T Conference Center. Overpriced, mediocre pastries and too-friendly, laughable baristas were typified in the mornings, it seemed.

We had auditions the morning following our arrival, at 9:00 AM. I wouldn't have slept Tuesday night for how nervous I was, but I was so tired I couldn't help but just pass out the second my head hit the pillow. I think Shannon was feeling the same way, even though she didn't seem to get nervous about auditions until the next morning, but I could be wrong.

The audition process was brutal and brutally unorganized. Two kinds of brutal.
I sucked bigtime, but that's when you get when you don't practice. Even if I had, though, I'm pretty sure I would have been dead last in the auditions.

But I was there anyway. I remember thinking beforehand how that would be a nice, consoling thought. But, when you're actually confronted with being worse than everyone else around you, it mostly just hurts.

It's my own fault, I guess.

The first day of rehearsal was awful. I was having serious trouble keeping up.

That sort of thought process continued throughout the trip.

I'll talk more about that trip later, and all of the wonderful things I experienced there, instead of just complaining.

END.

I have no lid upon my head, but if I did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind.

I want to write music. Badly.

END.

And by the way...

Guess we'll never see poor Madelaine again.


My new shirt I just ordered last night.

Excited.

It was a white crane... with an arrow in its wing.

I have stretched out every single emotion in my body until it's completely taut and strained and I can barely feel it anymore. Even the good ones. Sometimes you can take things too far and that's one of them. I'm bad about dwelling on things, whether they're good things or not. That usually just makes them worse. And it makes the good things not seem so good anymore.

Thank God for the good things.

It's as if I've found a song I love and want to listen to it a thousand times. But really, after you've done that, the song doesn't give you chills anymore, and it doesn't quite feel like the same song. Does that make sense? Probably not. But I've found what I have to do with those songs is leave them alone for a while. And when you come back to them after a few days, weeks, months, years, whatever, it's the most refreshing thing in the world to hear that familiar tune.

Every word of this song feels new to me right now. I've listened to it more times than I can count, more times than iTunes' "play count" can count, and it's still the most beautiful thing I could hear right now.

I guess that's what I need to do with the good things. If I leave them alone, they'll seem a lot better than they are.

I feel like I'm trying to be deep right now and it's not working. I don't care - nobody reads this anymore anyway, so only if you who are reading this happen across it will anybody know what a bad writer I really am.

This post is riddled with comma splices and poor subject/verb agreement and tense changes and RUN-ON SENTENCES.

I'll leave this where it is.

When all I ever meant to do, was to keep you.

The Crane Wife 1 and 2. and click on the "Crane Wife part 2" bubble when it ends.
Go listen. It's worth it.

END.

I look out the window - the birds are composing. Not a note is out of tune, or out of place.

I love my friends, and I hate seeing them hurt, especially when I know there is not a single thing in the world I can say to them that will make them feel better. There are some things that are just untouchable. I don't know how they feel, and I'm so fortunate because of that, but I do wish I could empathize with them a little, at least. Sympathy only goes so far. It's the kind of thing that's always in the back of my mind when I'm doing something else. I just want everything to get better.

I hope everything gets so much better for him. I hate to leave that where it is, but there's nothing else I can say.

I'm so lucky, in so many ways.

Last night I emailed Heidi Lucas, the woman who I assumed to be the horn instructor at Southern Miss. If only that school was closer to home, it would easily be my first choice. I'm lucky, though, in the fact that I have a lot of family in Mississippi, and even a cousin who would be getting her bachelor's there at the same time I'd be studying.

I was so nervous about sending that stupid email. I haven't gotten anything back yet, but for all I know, it could be USM's break.

I hope I can at least correspond with this woman and learn something about the programs there.

Time for the Mason/VCU game.
Go VCU!

END.

All I do the whole night through is dream of you. And with the dawn, I still go on dreamin' of you.

You're every thought,
you're every thing,
you're every song I ever sing,
summer, winter, autumn and spring.

I'm not even watching "Singing in the Rain" right now.
Check it out:
A Night at the Opera

I think the Marx Brothers are one of the most under-appreciated groups of comedians these days. Their brand of humor is just so unique, so classic, so witty. They're just one more of those wonderful things my dad exposed me to when I was young.

I'm watching "A Night At The Opera" right now, which is what that above link is from. I used to watch these movies when I was like seven years old and tell my dad how I wanted to play the piano just like Chico Marx. He would laugh at me and tell me I'd never learn how to do that from a piano teacher and that I'd have to just do it myself.

And now I play the horn. Le sigh. Goodbye, old dreams. Hello, new dreams.

I'm going to post a lot of these, so if you watch any of them, watch this one: A Day at the Races
I feel that this is really what his piano routines come down to. There is obvious talent, but it's exhibited in a way that leaves you feeling giggly. I love how he just slams his hands down on the keys and somehow music comes out. He's the only one who can actually pull it off. I think the orchestra helps out with the theatrical aspect of the music as well. I also apologize for the corny beginning and end of that video.

Monkey Business

At the Circus

Go West

Horse Feathers

One of my favorite things about Chico is how I watch him and feel the chemistry he has with the piano. That's one of the many things I love about being an instrumentalist, really. I feel that, through music, I can have a relationship with this inanimate object that would otherwise be meaningless.

I think everyone should watch a Marx Brothers movie as soon as they get the chance so the world can remember what real comedy feels like. Not the raunchy, sexy, unsettling comedy that everyone loves so much these days. I'm guilty of that too. I'm a more-than-frequent watcher of Family Guy, a big Will Ferrell fan, and I've even been known to laugh at South Park whenever I watch it (perhaps my deepest point of shame). But when it comes down to it, this kind of humor is what got everything started. It's really the foundation for everything that came afterward.

I guess you could say that about anything. But everything about the Marx Brothers feels so pure and robust, and I feel no shame in laughing at it, because it's clean and it's funny.

I think I should watch old movies more often. They make me feel better about humanity.

I'm done with this post. I know I said I would write about important things, and maybe this isn't important because of its depth.

I think it's important because we would be bored without music, and we would all die without laughter.

END.

We're lining up the light-loafer'd and the bored benchwarmers. Castaways and cutouts, fill it up.

Come join the Youth and Beauty Brigade.

I deleted my blog after it caused me more problems than I could afford. It was doing very little good for me and very little good for anyone else, so I decided to just scrap it. I decided, however, to make a new, almost-identical blog. It's still "The Youth and Beauty Brigade," but I have an infinitely better URL. "http://boredbenchwarmers.blogspot.com"

I know, right? Pertinent! The other URL was obviously a product of impatience. I plan to put a little more love into this blog than I did into the last one. I plan to talk almost strictly about music, and possibly write something occasionally. Hopefully it will startle the creative side of me until I can actually produce something worth experiencing. I am hoping this to be the result.

I'm also going to try very hard to avoid talking about my personal life. I burden my friends with that enough as it is and it's just another form of self-absorption, and that's a luxury that I (unlike my other blog-writing comrades) cannot afford. Perhaps if I view it that way, I'll be less focused on myself and more on the things that matter anyway. God, music, and writing. Gossip will be a thing of the past on "The Youth and Beauty Brigade."

Also, if you haven't heard that song, go purchase it now and listen to it. Now. I don't care who you are and how much money you have. Just do it. You will not regret it.

"California One/Youth and Beauty Brigade," by The Decemberists.

Musical and lyrical perfection are well worth ninety-nine cents on itunes, in my opinion.

And now it's time for me to enjoy an Alfred Hitchcock masterpiece.

END.