The Matador Is On Demand, I'm Going To Watch It.

Ugh.

I woke up this morning all congested. This is always a bad sign. Now, the abundant amount of time that I spent with my family over the last week, combined with the degree of sickliness that a couple members of my family were plagued by, has me thinking that I have contracted a cold. By my family, none the less.

Colds are aggravating. I say this in case anyone out there wasn't already aware of this. It hinders one's ability to speak, listen, breathe, as well as enjoy oneself.

I spent the entirety of today laying upon my couch watching football, something I find incredibly relaxing. That's right, essentially eight plus hours lying down, allowing the testosterone of the gridiron to compensate for the fact that I'm involved in theatre.

There are a few positives to the cold. One, if you're lucky enough to get sick while on winter break from your collegiate studies, your mother will take care of you. She even made me chili cheese dip. Two, you're supposed to drink a lot of fluids, giving me an excuse to down multiple glasses of water, apple cider, and orange juice that would normally get me yelled at. Gotta keep on the sunny side, right?

Over the past couple days I was privileged enough to go see both Sweeney Todd, as well as Juno. Both are phenomenal, and both deserve your immediate attention. Although, I wouldn't recommend them as a double feature. Juno has a remarkable soundtrack, and the wit alone make it worth the ticket price. I still want to see No Country for Old Men before break ends. Oh, and National Treasure II. The first one was great. I'm also finding myself incredibly excited for The Dark Knight. Heath Ledger's Joker is absolutely terrifying, which sparks my interest.

Soulja Boy is really starting to push my buttons.

I recently realized that I haven't left my house today. This depresses me.

Old Paint Is Peeling, This Is That Fresh, That Fresh Feeling

I got a GORGEOUS new pair of Bose speakers for Christmas today, and I was forced to ask myself a very serious question. I mean, these are Bose speakers. Bose. So now I'm faced with a dilemma.

What's the first song I should play on my brand new Bose speakers?

There are plenty of things to consider at this point. I mean, I want to experience the full range of potential in my newly acquired music boxes in one song. Hip-hop would best illustrate the bass abilities. Pop would display the treble. A musical soundtrack, especially something big like JC Superstar or The Lion King, would show the tonal range. The last time I was faced with this choice, I went with "Truth Is" by Brother Ali. Hip-hop, for those outside the know. This time, I wanted more.

Bluegrass would be good. It includes an array of instruments, each able to open up different nooks and crannies of my listening experience. Or some Daft Punk, something with a monstrous beat, but that would essentially be hip-hop again. Punk is automatically out. Don't get me wrong, I love the stuff, but it's severely lacking when it comes to tonal range. Folk's out too, just not enough variety to it. Where to go? Then it hit me.

Eels.

That's right. What kind of music could fill essentially everything I was looking for? The orchestral synth indie and soothing vocals of Mr. E himself. "Fresh Feeling" seemed like the best option, and I went with it. Good call on my part, I must admit, and the sound was astoundingly glorious.

Thanks Mom.

Breakfast of Champions

There is a major problem with used book stores. This problem is that, though there are billions of books in the world, most of them suck. Unfortunately, many people are suckered into purchasing these lousy volumes for whatever reason, and then, in their never-ending search for redemption, they sell it to a used book store. Then, when someone such as myself needs to buy something like seventeen Kurt Vonnegut books for his contemporary literature study on Mr. Vonnegut next semester, and this particular someone chooses to tour the local used book stores in order to save himself some dough, he runs into like thirty-five (roughly) copies of the same, apparently crappy, book. This will then frustrate said someone, especially since books by Mr. Vonnegut are, again apparently, impossible to find used since, apparently, nobody wants to sell them. I found three, bringing my total up to seven, and leaving me with ten to go.

Doomtree Blowout III was, as I had hoped, amazing. Those folk know what they're doing, and they tore First Avenue down Friday night. Hopefully the Doomtree collective album will drop soon, as the False Hopes they released at the Blowout was essentially just a b-sides collection from the album. I want more.

I need to hit up the movies. I'm thinking of taking a full day sometime during this break, head to the theater, and just watch movie after movie. No Country for Old Men is probably at the top of my list, but American Gangster's up there too. Plus, National Treasure II and Sweeney Todd come out next week. Tasty.

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow. That is bad news, since I'm awful at taking care of my teeth. On top of everything, it's at 7:30 in the morning, a solid eight hours from right now. I should go brush my teeth.

All My Love Was Down In a Frozen Ground

I wish my camera worked so I could show you the world right now. You see, it's winter here in the midwest, which means we've had snow on the ground for a couple weeks now. Snow generally means relatively chilly weather. But what noise do I hear as I awake this morning?

Rain.

Now rain isn't a terrible thing on most days. The sidewalks on campus are old, thus causing horrendus flooding all over, but this is somewhat avoidable and all together not that inconveniant. However, rain plus snow (and vicariously rain plus cold) equals slush (and eventually ice). I could use some golashes. All of campus is either slippery or sloshy and I haven't decided which I prefer. Slippery has the potential for disaster, what with my ability to slip and slide like a master. Sloshy on the other hand has the 100% chance of soaking my feet, leaving my toesies cold, my shoes smelly, and my attitude mucky.

The trees are beautiful though. Every one of them is coated in a think layer of ice, causing them to sink into themselves, or occasionally lose limbs. As I look out the window from my perch at the library circulation desk, the outside world looks like someone took a snapshot of the gymnasium, framed it under glass, than cracked the glass in multiple places. The white branches crawl over the brick like ivy on prestige. I would dance if it wouldn't ruin my shoes.

I was walking to a meeting a few days back when I saw something marvelous. Steam was rising up from under a manhole cover in the sidewalk. Behind this steam was a lanky tree with a yellow floodlight basking it. This light was projecting the shadow of the tree onto the steam. The image wavered with the wind as the molecules lifted beyond it, only temporarily coating each morsel of evaporated water until it moved past the stencil it had become.

I can't describe how badly I miss my camera.

Sleep, though nourishing, has the potential to increase stress. I stayed up all night from Sunday into Monday for the sole purpose of spending more time with my friends before winter break comes. This was seemingly not the best idea. It was 8 am before I decided that bed was probably a good idea. Waking up at 1:30 pm for work proved nauseating, literally, as I was so dizzy I could barely make it to the bathroom. I texted my coworker and went back to sleep, not getting up until 5:30 pm. I was only awake from then until 1 am, at which point I decided that sleeping was more productive than playing pokeman on my computer. I woke up at 11 am this morning. That means that in the 27 hours from 8 am yesterday to 11 am today, I was awake for only 7 1/2 of them. As comforting as this sounds to the majority of my friends who are currenty sleep deprived, it allows for nothing to get done. This is only an issue because I was technically suppose to have a 2,500 word essay done by tomorrow at 1 pm. This, undoubtedly, will not happen. That's my second X (an incomplete without the consequences) in one and a half years of college. Let's hear it for me.

Bon Iver is still amazing.

Take Me to the Riot

The library I work in here on campus just purchased new green and red metal bookends. Normally, the color of a bookend doesn't even catch my attention, but picture this with me if you will. We are assigned the job of walking up and down all the rows of books on the third floor, the one floor of the library that is literally 80% bookshelves, in order to be sure that all of the books are in a somewhat tidy fashion. Imagine now the various colors we are absorbing, mainly antiqued and faded shades of reds, oranges, and blues. Now insert these bright red or green shiny bookends capping off every single row. Feel the harshness of contrast burning into your eyes. This is the task I just completed.

The open forum show that I host once a month, what we call Blindspot, had it's final show of 2007 last night. Over ten percent of campus showed up to rock out with us. I've had countable, but still impressive, numbers of people coming up to me since then saying that it was the best Blindspot they'd seen since they've been here. Some of my personal favorites included a skit about a murder playing charades, shaving someone's head while they told a story of getting punched while walking to Wendy's, tons of poetry (something that has resurged this year at Blindspot, much to my love), and sing-a-longs to "Here Comes the Sun," "Leaving On a Jet Plane," and Bon Iver's "Skinny Love," which no one other than Charlie, Will, and I sang along to. It was dubbed, by myself, as the Dedication Blindspot, and I accepted dedications throughout the duration of the show. I dedicated it to Shout Stain Wipes, for they allowed me to look less ketchupy on stage. Some other included Fabreeze, the "booze crew," and my five o'clock shadow, which is now a neatly trimmed attempt at a beard. It's winter, and my face is cold.

Charlie told me that I need to start listening to Stars. Brian had given me there stuff last year, and someone else got me there new one, but I hadn't gotten to it yet. I'm playing it through my earphones as I work in the library right now, and I must say, it's great stuff. I can't really say more than that, seeing as this is just my first real listen through, but it's really groovy stuff, not hippie style groovy, more like subtle body shaking style groovy. I dig the duel voices.

I'll be home in six days.

If Sheena Is a Punk Rocker, I Hope She Gets CNN AND al Jazeera

I was reading a good friend of mine's blog and he began to soapbox about the state of what he used to consider "punk." Now most of the time I wholeheartedly agree with what this guys says, but today he threw me. This is something I've been thinking about for a while and I decided to take his blog as an opportunity for me to spit off on the topic.

I was a punk in high school. No, I didn't dress like one or start my own punk band, but it's what I listened to and it's what I identified as. Since then, I've grown and matured and shifted my beliefs. Would I still consider myself punk? Yes.

Punk, at least what was once considered "punk," is dead. The mohawk, leather jacket, cigarette smoker with the tattoos and raised fist isn't punk anymore. It's style. Singing about hating the government is punk anymore, it's consciousness. The alternatives have become a social norm.

But if you ask anyone who still believes in punk what they consider it to be, they wont say what's been listed above. To these people, myself included, punk isn't what you where, what music you listen to/write, or the way your body looks. It's an attitude. Don't scoff. I don't mean that punk is angsty or rebellious, though that's what it started as and still can be. Punk is passion and reform. When bands like the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, or the Velvet Underground started making music, it was passionate. Sure, it was rebellious, loud, and anarchistic, but it was purposeful, something that a lot of music from that era wasn't before. By that logic, would I consider Bob Dylan punk? Hell yea. He came up at a time in which people didn't know this genre and he made it say something he felt needed to be said. Is his music punk rock? No. But there's a difference between being a punk and recording punk rock.

I think people get those two things mixed up, and that's why people say that punk is dead. They see what punk rockers looked like and sounded like back when punk rock started, and they see that's all gone now, leading them to say that it's dead. Had some band released Never Mind the Bullocks in 2007, nobody would have bought it. This is true. But that was punk at the time.

What we need is the punk of today. If distortion, mohawks, and anti-American rants are social norms and no longer respected, then we need to find how we can change things now. At this point I see punk as those who read a lot, become politically aware of their surroundings, formulate their opinions, and use this knowledge to fight against what they see as the cause for these injustices and fight for improvement. The social reformists, the people who question everything around them, and resist the want to be content with what's been given, these are our punks. They don't have a haircut, or a clothing line, but they have ideas.

Flicker

I just watched a light bulb burn out. This is not a metaphor.