i'm not the only one you tried to save when you fell out

Last night I saw a man in the moon and today my life changed.

That sounded much more drastic than what actually happened, but, last night marked the last night of a surreal week in Blue Hill, Maine with the boyfriend. I say surreal because I took myself out of the real world (trust me, that was much needed) and into the world of relaxation. So we head down to the dock to look at the moon. Romantic, connecting with nature, the usual.

So I look up, and see it: a face in the clouds with the moon as the eye. But the face keeps changing, first he is smiling and then he is crying and then he is smirking... his hair grows and grows and then he disintegrates. I said "that was interesting," and Peter says "why did that happen?".

What I learned: people process things differently. Peter always questions, wanting to know why things work out the way they do. I let them happen and try to feel them as they come. We sat for what seemed like hours, our feet dangling off the rocks into the Atlantic, the moon reflecting off of the water, my head buried into his shoulder, just observing. A rocket went around our brains, but mine was calm and his was highly caffeinated. I was seeing, feeling, and not wanting to understand the beauty of the world I habit to frolic around in, he was asking himself, "why this moment, why us, how are we here and not over there?"

We talked. I cried, not willing to comprehend the sheer unpredictability of the way his thoughts work. I cried for not knowing why things happen, for what happens after we float away, for being there at that instant. I guess the moon crushed my thoughts and made me go deeper, and I wasn't ready.

What I truly felt last night was connection. A spider web of wound worlds, twirling and seamlessly entering and leaving my brain through my ears. I was connected through touch, sight, sound, feel, not just to the person who was next to me, but to everybody. I imagined brushing through the clouds, fizzling up and down and up again, just to experience it. When I came back down, I realized that my connection to this world depends on my viewpoint of it- and that that bigger something will eventually reveal itself.

Enjoy the trip to the stars, and don't worry about missing.

p.s while the above images don't have anything to do with the experience I was describing, they do show Acadia, and an eagle, which are pretty cool in their own rights.

the stars will rise again.

MGMT at the Burlington waterfront as part of the Lake Champlain Maritime festival was terrible. It really truly saddens me to say that, but eh, you can't win them all. This is what happened:

1. Gorgeous night in BTV, hit up Manhattan pizza and mosey down to the waterfront.
2. Meet up with the high school buds, hit up the beer tent, which had Harpoon Summer IPA. I'm set.
3. Observe wanna be hipster 12 year olds wearing butt-bearing short shorts and chain smoking. Huh.
4. Instantly become surrounded by gaggles of these goofs, and try to come up for air, only to witness butt-grabbing by a couple half my height. Ugh. Back to beer tent.
5. The opener, Violens, were actually great, and loved the lake. Check them out here: http://www.violens.net/ and download a free summer mix tape. AWESOME! They were into it, I was into it, and the teeny boppers were doing their thing.
6. Break and stage change, wandered around enjoying the stalls selling stuff, ate Lucy's Kettle Corn, and ran into people I hadn't seen in ages.
7. The bar mitzvah-aged crew multiplied, and we somehow ended up next to a whole group all of whom were already dancing. oh no.
8. MGMT opened with a mellow "Pieces of What," which I loved, but made the teeny people nervous, because they didn't know that one. In fact, the only ones they did know were "The Three."
9. This is why the concert sucked: the crowd sucked. I am not saying that to be a stuck-up musical elitist, but they did. Bands, especially good ones like MGMT have more songs that then three most popular ones, so before you go to a concert, listen to their albums. Don't stand their complaining that you don't know any songs, because all 1,000 teeny boppers complaining at once means that other people trying to enjoy the show can't hear.
10. To the group next to me: if you continue to smoke that much, you probably won't live too long. Also, next time put on some clothes and for god's sake PLEASE never elbow anybody in the hip again. I have a nice tennis-ball bruise, "thanks girllll."
11. What I did enjoy: "Pieces of What," "Weekend Wars,""The Handshake," the three (of course), "Congratulations""The Youth." Wished you had dug out "Indie Rokkers" though, and where was "Future Reflections"???
12. I like bands with energy. I knew MGMT was pretty spaced out in general, but I somehow I expected more. Great encore though, I'll give you that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pa68DLIgQfM

Enjoy "the call to arms to live and love and sleep together..."

All in all, a disappointment. But, that is just my view, "if you feel it, I'm a believer."

the world spins madly on

Summer is winding down and that means I am that much closer to being a senior in college. Gross.

Sometimes the world feels empty, sometimes it feels too full. Sometime I wish I didn't note feelings, maybe I wouldn't think so much if that were the case.

Today I did an ab work out in my office. I also listened to only the Grateful Dead and Deadmau5, which is an interesting combination.

I also was highly spaced out.

Go to: mgmt tomorrow at the Burlington Waterfront.

Check out: http://www.chocolatebobka.com/.

Enjoy getting lost in thoughts while wishing you could stop thinking for a minute.

you know the routine.

Like with most things in my life right now, I decided that I needed some direction with this blog. I thought about what I am interested in (which is only interesting things, of course) and what it came down to was this: words, music, fashion, films with quirky people in them, environmentally conscious living, and cracking jokes. Clearly, I am interested in many interesting things.

So, even though there a bunch of blogs about all of the above, I decided I would try my hand at making this blog one more devoted to the culture of everyday life. That means random music reviews, random film reviews, random fashion reviews, etc. I will still have my random life rantings too!

And so to begin. Last night I fell in love with technicolor images being projected from my TV onto my eyeballs. Context: I was social for about 45 minutes, which is probably my max currently, and met an old friend for drinks in Burlington. Then he went off, and I got sushi and drove home listening to 3 different renditions of "Wild World" and trying not to get toooo annoyed at the out of stater who thought the speed limit was 25 miles an hour. I came home to an empty house, so plopped down on the couch with my tuna rolls and peanut noodles, and 'Youth in Revolt,' the film with Michael Cera, by Miguel Arteta. At first I was dubious (Sinatra, really? Slightly too cliche) but it was the dead-end images that grabbed me in, and the often too overt sexually overtones that give the whole film a hazy, burn-out feel. Enter Francois, Cera's evil without shame alter ego, in his white pants and cigarette glued to his lips, and the sexual overtones because sexual fury. Poor Nicky. I wasn't sure who to root for, Sheney and her conniving ways forcing Francois into a rat race out of his life, or Nicky, who only wants to prove himself to Sheney in a quite round-about and very illegal manner.

The soundtrack was a lo-fi, stoner one featuring Fruit Bats and Little Wings, which at times felt too sticky sweet, but made you fall for Cera in his too-short pants and too-tight logo tees that much more. The best music scene: Fatlip blasting from the convertible as Cera and his cougar mother and her boyfriend rolled into the trailer park, kicking up dust.

Cera confirms his hipster boy status in this film, and I confirmed my longings to redo high school, all the while telling myself it was okay not to be social for on yet another summer weekend.

Enjoy the eye candy.

the party's crashing us now.

Clearly, the message here is that I am terrible at keeping up with this. I really want to be an actual blogger person, but my creative juices are just blahhhh after a day of work, tennis etc.

You know that feeling of being lifting out of yourself and into a higher place? That sounded religious. But seriously, when you are like floating above and observing? That happened a few times last night. I was at the Of Montreal show, and fell in love with the world again. Funny that listening to men wearing glitter make-up and tight purple pants made me do that, but eh, whatever works.

True creativity is hard to come by, yet is something that we all strive for, in our speech, dress, Facebook profiles, cars, whatever. Individualism is almost dead. Almost. Yet Kevin Barnes made me once again believe that people are unique. Or was it the pigs that made me believe? Doesn't matter. "The Past is a Grotesque Animal" was where it actually hit me- once the past is past, it is past.

So dance around in purple pants (I got mine at TJ Maxx, if you are wondering), wear feathers around your head, sing off-key at the top of your lungs, pretend you are Darth Vader, fall in love (trust me, it is a wonderful feeling), stay in love, be in love with the world and everybody around you, be a party person dancing to the indie stars, wear bright yellow jelly sandals even though you are now 21 years old... the list goes on. "Don't worry about a thing you know your path is true, just ease your mind, have a banana or two"

Get creative, and stay creative.

Enjoy the wonderful feeling of the world being new again.

Image from www.ofmontreal.net

suddenly it occurs to me

I have 9.5 (I was born at 7 ish AM June 23, 1989) hours left of being 20. That means I have 4 years to go until 25, 9 until 30, and am 8 years from my 13th birthday. holy. effing. shit. I am old.

Instead of being thrilled that I can now get my social drink on without worried about that little thing called being underage, I am terrified to the point of complete breakdown at the fact that my "younger years" are literally flying by me and I am pretty much clinging on to a string that is about to break from the force of me trying to pretend time does not actually exist. "Time" timing is everything. There is no time. I haven't had time for anything but. Wind was blowing, time stood still. Time.

I love watches. I asked for a new, colorful, chunky one for my birthday. That is probably my biggest walking irony. I hate time but love having it on me. I can't go to bed if the time does not end in 0 or 5, nor can I wake up if it 6:46 and not 6:45, per say. Many days I sit at my work desk, checking the time every hour or so, wondering when it is time for me to leave. I learned timing is everything, and we finally got it right.

Time is not measured by minutes or seconds or hours or days or years. Time is measured by fullness, lives lived and lives touched, experiences created, adventures tried, fears conquered, tears shed, obstacles met, bliss touched, pain and emptiness and sorrow that in the end makes us who we are, love felt, connections, moments when that make you think "that just happened." I have experienced all of these things. In that respect, I love time. Give it time, time heals, without time the world be chaos.

I want to experience the chaos of the world without time. I want to fall freely down down down in a timeless, zen-like state. I want to stand on the edge and feel time crash around me till I become one with it.

My impending 21st has made me realize that Jerry Garcia was right. It is "such a long, long time to be gone and a short, short time to be there"

Be present. Embrace time. Accept the chaos that comes with moving forward. Cry or yell or scream or be silent or run all night or drive all day or stay in bed with the covers on but then move on and laugh. Live, that is all we have time for.

Enjoy the time of your life.

not much of this makes sense to me.

Confession. I have never actually made it through Jack Kerouac's "On The Road." I am an English major, so when I tell people this they usually respond with a huh? The truth is that I haven't yet been in the right mental state to read it. Sal Paradise is in a state of flux, he is after all, traveling across the open roads of Western America. He is searching for a form of humanity, an authenticity that intellectualism doesn't quite grasp. His name, however, is quite ironic because if he is called "Paradise" you would think he would be able to find it anywhere, even in a crammed apartment with his aunt in New York, but I guess not. Poor kid. Instead, he is looking for real life experiences, pretty girls, apple pie and ice cream, a reason to live. Aren't we all? So why haven't I ever made it (until today) past the first 3 chapters?

Unclear. Perhaps blame it on my inability to question situations, or not. Blame it on the fact that that is exactly what I want to do but have always had strings attached, responsibilities to fill, no money to up and leave with. Perhaps my abroad experience was my intro to Kerouac. I am now connected, cued into his mode of thinking (though getting fully into his brain would be insanely scary, thank god IBM's Watson can only answer Jeopardy clues and can't yet read minds, or maybe that is how he knows the answers. freaky). "On The Road" is the teenage boy's dream life, which is cool I guess. I am still not convinced that Kerouac is a literary genius, but maybe I'll find out in chapter 5.

Enjoy the open road, and hitchhiking.