The sky is a rumpled blanket of grey, smothering what lies beneath it in shadow. Every now and then there is a slight break, and you can see the light shoot through, a distant sign that there is something on the other side worth hoping for, but the real goal is for the clouds to burn away and have the sun shine directly down on you in its full majesty, to feel the dark, humid shade melt and dissolve as that overpowering warmth and light cascades over you. That's what to aim for, because once you've felt that glory, then it doesn't matter if the clouds come back, because you know that that power is still back there, and any moment now it will shine forth again.

Tunes: "10 More Minutes", Kill Hannah (iTMS); "Here Comes My Girl", Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. (iTMS).

Just incredible. Go Sox, it's about time.

I won't say I want to be just like the AccordionGuy when I grow up, but if my life reaches a moderately similar level of weirdness (and I make it through with enough sanity to get by), I will be content.

Tunes: "Chorus And The Ring", R.E.M. (iTMS); "Lovers In A Dangerous Time", Bruce Cockburn (iTMS).

It's time for: Random Quotes Taken Out Of Context!!!

"It's kinda like Friends meets The Twilight Zone directed by like David Lynch or John Waters or someone."

"I am not an Ibuprofen junkie!"
--"How many have you had today?"
"...Shut up."

"Why the hell is there a spoon in my pocket?"

"It's squishy!"

"But this is a respectable establishment. I'm wearing my best pajamas!"

"...Or a red, like a blood red, but not fresh blood, dried blood."

"You are too weak to defeat me!"

"There's still a spoon in my pocket."

"There's only one thing I know for certain: this is excellent Tiramisu."

Tunes: "Robot Parade" (iTMS), "Damn Good Times" (iTMS), "Exquisite Dead Guy" (iTMS), "She's An Angel" (iTMS), They Might Be Giants.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.
"I just wanted to be sure of you."
A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

"Lovers leave and friends will let you down/
You're the only sure thing that I've found/
No matter what I do I'll never lose/
My old friend the blues"
-The Proclaimers, My Old Friend The Blues

As my parents will testify, I have always needed signs of reassurance. A hug here, a random "I love you" there, always that affirmation of presence. It's not that I necessarily doubt other's love, but that it is extremely comforting to emphasize it. That's one of the reasons these quotes really strike chords within me. In one, the message is sent that all you have to do is call and reach out your hand, and it will be taken and held. The other says that the hand will slip, and you will be left to fend for yourself, alone. I have certainly had experiences that have gone both ways, sometimes grasping the hand firmly, and sometimes losing my grip. It's always painful when the connection is lost, and that can lead one to believe it's better not to try at all, to resign onesself to isolation so as not to fall down further. But the joy-- and that's what it is, joy in its deepest, original pure sense-- of someone grabbing ahold and helping you up is so powerful, so touching, that it simply cannot be neglected for monotony. From a Christian outlook, we are actively called to reach out and take hold of another's hands, and are told ahead of time of the benefits, of the connection between "love thy neighbor as thyself" and "God is love, and where true love is, God himself is there." How, then, can I settle for anything less, without denying not only God, but all the other people reaching out to me? It's one thing to shut myself off and stagnate on my own, but in doing so, I would cut off and hurt my friends and family who are relying on me to pull them up? I can't, and so I keep marching, "further up and further in" as the story goes, continually reaching out for that sometimes elusive brush of skin that says, "Here I am."

Tunes: "Leave", R.E.M. (iTMS); "Solsbury Hill", Peter Gabriel (iTMS); "Sky", Sonique (iTMS).

10-3 WHAT!!!

I am happy
Oh so happy

*Does happy dance*

World Series here we come!

I had to get out of town, escape for a while. I called up some friends and made arrangements to crash with them, then hopped a train. After finding an acceptable open seat (the one next to the infant/parent combo was out, as was the one next to the little old lady who looked as though she'd talk my ear off), I settled in and stared out the window. It's like watching a movie of sorts, with the window as a screen and the passing highways and slums as actors, silently demonstrating their angst and their joy, their apathy and their excitement. Annie Lennox sings that "love don't show up in the pavement cracks", but that's just what's happening here, like careworn creases in a kindly grandmother's smile. In contrast, the tall, foreboding factories stand steady and fearsome, with their grim lights, barbed wire, and plumed smokestacks, give an air of superior brusqueness. It only enhanced my desire to remove myself. I wanted trees, and hills, and nature, not this urban wasteland I call home.

Tunes: "Long Line Of Cars", Cake (iTMS); "Fibber Island", They Might Be Giants (iTMS); "Walking in Memphis", Marc Cohn.

Disgustingly, obscenely, horrifyingly offensive. And just about as hilarious. The puppetry is sheer genius, and, as is typical with Trey and Matt's work, the homemade soundtrack shines through. My primary complaint coming out of the movie was that I felt that they had gone too far with the gay jokes. My friend, who I saw the film with, countered by pointing out that they had ripped on pretty much every other possible stereotype and then some, and that in that context, gay jokes were fair game. I think that what I was unable to articulate before, however, is that the reason that the gay jokes seemed the most barbed and cruel was the casual manner in which they were passed off. Many times it didn't feel like they were set up as jokes at all, but just natural, casual conversation, and that's what stings. Aside from that, though, if you're not easily offended, and want to go see puppets vomiting, blowing things up, and having wild and crazy sex, then march on down to your local theater like a good citizen.

Tunes: Team America soundtrack.

300th post! w00t!!! I will now go celebrate with a pound of cookie dough ^_^

Tunes: "Imitation Of Life", R.E.M. (iTMS); "Light Up My Room", Barenaked Ladies (iTMS); "Trusty Chords", Hot Water Music (iTMS).

...After his whirlwind tour of New England, Si Adam is back at Kafien! Tonight at 8:30.

It's a grey, rainy, completely blah day. So, making an entry in the book of Disgustingly Inappropriate Things, I turn up the stereo and blast out "Walking On Sunshine", courtesy of Katrina and the Waves.

Yeeaow! Um Yeah!
I used to think maybe you love me, now baby I'm sure
And I just can't wait till the day when you knock on my door
Now everytime I go for the mailbox gotta hold myself down
Cause I just can't wait till you write me you're comin' around

Now I'm walking on sunshine
I'm walking on sunshine
I'm walking on sunshine
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good

I used to think maybe you love me now I know that it's true
And I don't wanna spend my whole life just a waitin' for you
Now don't want you back for the weekend, not back for a day
I said baby I just want you back and I want you to stay

I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good

-(short instrumental)-

Walkin' on sunshine
Walkin' on sunshine

I feel alive, I feel a love,
I feel a love that's really real
I feel alive, I feel a love,
I feel a love that's really real
I'm on sunshine baby
I'm on sunshine baby
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine

And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good don't it, don't it, don't it, don't it, don't it and
don't it feel good
Tell me, tell me, tell me again and don't it feel good
And don't it feel good, don't it feel good, don't it feel good
Now don't it feel good
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah yeah, yeah, oh yeah

...But it took me a long !@#$ing time to get here. It took a good 42 hours of transit in a number of forms (pretty much everything except planes and bicycles) to get me from Marlboro back home to Evanston. Now before I go any further about the trip, I'd like to talk a bit more about Marlboro. I still stand by what I wrote before, but reading back, it sounds fairly negative. What happened after that post is much, much more positive. Immediately after that last post, I sat in on a fabulous class (Intro to Hinduism and Buddhism), which started getting me acquainted with some of the students, and afterwards I hooked up with my host for the evening, and was swiftly introduced around: "Hey (insert name here), this is the Prospie." Soon I was surrounded by fun people having fun. There was only one tense spot in the evening when I was told they would have to "test my manhood." Somewhat on edge, I followed them down to the basement, where I discovered the instrument of testing: a Nintendo Gamecube, with Mario Kart lying on top of it.

Then i headed home, by a shuttle to a bus to a train to another train then on foot for twenty mintes back to my house for a quick shower before another twenty-minute walk to my philosophy class followed by my play rehearsal then another twenty-minute walk home to finally sit back and be enthusiastically greeted by my dog (read: she peed at my feet), and not-quite-so enthusiastically greeted by my Dad (he was quite happy to see me, but did not pee at my feet).

So glad to be home.

Tunes: "Raining All the Time," Kill Hannah (iTMS); "1985," Bowling For Soup (iTMS).

Your correspondent now hails from Marlboro, VT, on the last leg of his whirlwind tour of New England and surrounds. Academicall, the college seems in good standing, but I'll wait until my 3:30 class (Intro to Hinduism and Buddhism) to give the final word there. The people are firendly, at least those I've talked to. Because the school is so small, everybody knows everybody else on a first-name basis, and my being a stranger in such a secluded place seems to invite people to overlook me either out of wariness ("What's he doing here?") or awkwardness ("I don't remember his name, so I'll just keep walking.") The campus is stunning, but at a cost: the nearest metropolitan area is a good two hours away, and what passes for the nearest town's (which itself is a good half-hour away) bus stop is a trailer. Still, it makes for good prose:

The sun's painfully bright aura is the only refuge against Autumn's chill and the harsh mountain wind. But it seems to be enough, as young women and men congregate in the fields, eating and laughing, chatting and lying about on the grass. The setting is aesthetically ideal: rolling mountains, covered in warm greens, vibrant yellows, and crisp reds as the leaves slowly turn. The grass still fights valiantly against the change of season, but is starting to fade in the face of the inescapable.

Anyhow, tomorrow I start the long journey home. Until then!

Tunes: "Hope," R.E.M.; "Everything To Me," Rock Kills Kid; "What I Want," Autopilot Off.

I remember sitting with my brother on a balcony over a lake, sketching out our hopes and dreams underneath the morning sun, and submitting to the overwhelming waves of tranquility that swept us under.

I remember sitting with my sister in her third-floor suite, watching the rain falling in a continuous torrent as we ate, laughed, and shared.

I remember feeling like I'm home, like I'm where I ought to be.

Tunes (Yes, I'm gonna try and get these going again):"Feels Like Home," Bonnie Raitt; "Stop Crying Your Heart Out," Oasis; and "Stacy's Mom," Fountains of Wayne.

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became an adult, I put away childish things."

For several years now, people have told me that I acted and behaved older than my age. I don't mean to brag about this, but it's given me an interesting perspective on notions of adulthood, and where one draws the line between child and adult. I've always socialized outside of any age restrictions, making friends among younger children and my age peers as easily as men and women of 30, 40 or 50, but I've always considered myself a child, even among people only a year or two older than I am, until recently. This trip has really brought into focus the fact that I am becoming one of the college students that came across to me as almost a higher caste. The quotation I began with, in my interpretation at least (because there is no meaning in the text ~_^), brings out an important fact in Paul's growth: he no longer perceives himself as a child, but as an adult. The bit that Paul leaves out is that putting away childish things isn't very simple. It takes a lot to look at what you've known and say goodbye, casting aside that which has been with you through many difficult and formative years. Walking down 125th St. today (yes, I'm in Manhattan at the moment, but leaving for Maine in the morning), I realized that the people I passed by were not looking at me as a child, but as just some guy walking down the street. I'm starting to see that guy too, and I think he'll do alright for what's in store.

I write to you now from the Julia Rogers Library of Goucher College, MD, wher I have just spent the morning in classes and interviews. It's ben a busy week, and I've been disconnected for most of it. Last Wedensday, My dear brother Tripp and I drove (well, to be precise, he drove, I played music) on down to Huddleston, VA, to prepare for his wedding. We stayed at a beautiful cabin on Smith Mountain Lake, far from civilization, with a breathtaking view. After spending a couple days fretting and running errands, the day arrived, and I can say in all honesty that it was one of the best weddings I've ever been to. The entire service embodied the joyful quirkiness I've come to expect from Tripp and Trish. I also got to visit with many dear friends, both old and new. Mark and Susie and Luke were in attendance, as were lesser-seen-but-just-as-exciting-to-see Laura and Sarah, Justin and Mae, and new friends Larry and Kate. Much partying, dancing, good music and good food ensued. The morning after, I got up much earlier than I should have, and made my way to the bus depot and rode the day away on a Greyhound bus, finally arriving in Baltimore.

So, that brings us fairly well up-to-date. I'll post something fairly long on maturity and growing up when I have the time (probably in the next couple of days). Later!

And a good Talk Like a Pirate day to all of ye, mateys! I'm here to tell ye about a timber-shivering good show ye should swing by, tomorrow night at 8:30 at Kafein, where the grog is good and the waiters all have multiple piercings, like good pirates should. And on this particular night, you'll be able to hear many swashbuckling good musicians playing their tunes, including myself and my good mate Ian Lempke trading off vocals, guitar and tin whistle, and joined by a special guest, me old bucko Tripp Hudgins (of the Irish band One of the Girls) on the mandolin. Be there, or be consigned to Davey Jones' locker. Yo ho ho!

...is a big day. And on a Sunday, no less. I can see it now...

"The Lord be with ye, matey!"
--"And also with ye! Arr!"

"Arr! Blessed ye be in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Grog-- er, Ghost!"

"And Jesus said, 'Shiver my timbers! This be my body, given for ye.'"

Tomorrow's gonna be FUN.

Looking back, my posts for the past week or so have been moderately depressing. It's interesting, because I haven't felt the way I would expect the author of those past entries to feel. Sure, I've been under a bit of stress, but none of it romantically related (for once), and I've actually felt pretty good when I can get out and about. So why the themes of abandonment and loneliness? I really don't know. It's a bit like gardening with unidentified seeds (or what I imagine gardening would be like, as I have been banned from taking care of plants, for the sake of all plants everywhere). You can put all the work and effort into raising it well, you can water it, give it plenty of sun, make sure it's set in fertile soil... but you won't know what it is until it's grown. It's somewhat similar when I write. I can put forth all the effort, and give birth to something that (I hope) either sounds pretty or has some literary merit, but I don't know what it'll be about until I go back and read it over. Weird.

Tears shed into the too-bright sun
Sparkle with deceptive beauty
As they are drawn down his face,
Defying standards of masculinity.
"Boys Don't Cry" my ass.
She is the one standing stoically,
Swallowing the rising emotions and hiding them
Deep in the corners of her mind
Before turning her back and leaving.
"Till death do us part" just doesn't mean what it used to.
He doesn't understand what set them apart
She doesn't understand what put them together.

"Dry your eyes mate/
I know it's hard to take/
But her mind has been made up/
There's plenty more fish in the sea/
Dry your eyes mate/
I know you want to make/
Her see how much this thing hurts/
But you've got to walk away now/
It's over"

"Dry Your Eyes" - The Streets

(With deep respect for Tim Burton and Johnny Depp)

I lived alone
In my own little world
Never wanted
or needed a girl
Until I came down
From my mountain peak
And I saw your lovely face

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

I cannot touch
Without causing pain
I cannot be with you
And it drives me insane
I carve your likeness
From blocks of ice
So I can see you everywhere

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

I know that you're down there
Among your own kind
But you should be with me
Our hearts are entwined
But the world around
Is angry and scared
And they drove us apart

And I feel like Edward Scissorhands
Misunderstood and incomplete
Nobody wants me around
I'm a pariah, a certified freak

Probably could use a little tweaking, but it's a draft, anyway. Suggestions and constructive criticism is welcome, as always.

"Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness."
~Samuel Beckett

Someone took this shot of me making a fool of myself onstage at last Sunday's show.

That's me with the glasses and the Guinness shirt and the evil red eyes. I kinda look like I'm throwing up, but I'm really belting out the chorus to The Proclaimer's "I'm Gonna Be."

She decided against a Quaalude. Quaaludes made her feel sleazy. What was the point of feeling sleazy if you had no one to sleaze with?
Could you conjugate that? To sleaze. I sleaze. You sleaze. We all have sleazen.
Words constantly annoyed her like that, reminding her of the gulf between Art and Making a Living. "Mona's good with words," her mother used to say matter-of-factly, "if she can just learn to Make a Living at it."
Her mother Made a Living in real estate.
Mona hadn't spoken to her in eight months, not since mother had joined the Reagan campaign in Minneapolis and daughter had written home breezily about her Sexual Awareness Retreat at the Cosmic Light Fellowship.
It didn't matter.
More and more it seemed that Mona's real mother was a woman so in tune with creation that even her marijuana plants had names.

Tales of the City, Armistead Maupin

I've been doing a lot of performing lately, it seems. Last night was my third week playing at Kafein's open mic, and Sunday I went to a back-to-school party/concert at my friends Kelsi and Bonnie's church, where there was a lot of jumping around and going crazy, and I jumped up onstage to sing along to a cover of "I'm Gonna Be" and "Amazing Grace." Shameless plug here, check these guys out, they all rock (Hey, they were nice enough to humor me onstage): "Flatfoot 56 and Neophyte Standing. Thanks to Kelsi and Bonnie and Megan, and thanks also for the friendly folks at the Revolutions youth program for being friendly and fun and all-around cool people. And for teaching me never to ever play "Banana Hose."

Part of the college preparation experience is visiting various campuses that I'm interested in living on for the next four years. This is a sound premise. The only flaw with this premise is that I have to plan the trip whereon I visit said campuses. Yes, my Myers-Briggs labels me a J, but only just. I'm like a caffiene-free diet J. As such, this is indeed a daunting task. It's not exactly chopping down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring, but it feels like it sometimes.

I have been reminded to post the full story of the chipmunk incident, which Dad mentioned a few days ago. Not quite two weeks ago, I had gone up to Kalamazoo for Heather's ordiniation, and stopped by at a bridal shower for Tripp and Trish on the way home, so I'd been gone for about 24 hours. I'd dropped all my stuff, dinked around online a bit, and talked to a couple friends, who encouraged me to come by Kafein and hang out with them for a bit. I went back downstairs, and was in the process of putting my sandals on when I heard something moving in the basement. I immediately froze and listened carefully. I heard it again, and let my instincts take hold. I slammed the basement door, ran outside, and got the neighbors. Five minutes later, I prepared to reenter my home, this time with Michelle, who had brought Roy, their dog, and Frank, who had brought a baseball bat. After ringing the doorbell and waiting for a minute or two, we started exploring, poking around the basement with trepidation. We were just nearing the furnace when I saw the menacing silhouette in the window: a three-inch rodent. After establishing that it was, in fact, a chipmunk (whom I now refer to as Mr. Chippy, in reference to a fabulous comic book by Roman Dirge), and that we were wholly unprepared and unable to capture it, Frank, Michelle and Roy went home, and I kept the basement door shut. Two days later, Mr. Chippy had an unfortunate encounter my neighbor Ellen's cat. Thus ends the tale of Mr. Chippy (Ooh that's bad. Pun not intended, sorry).

Incidentally, Mr. Chippy's method of entry had been a puzzle for a few days, until I tried to do a load of laundry. Evidently, he had fallen down the dryer vent tube and ripped open the foil-wrapped coil at the bottom to get out.

Tonight marks my solo debut at Kafein's Monday night open mic, and I want to have a fanbase there to cheer for me even when I screw up. So please do come and listen to many talented artists over some delicious coffee, tea, or whatever floats your boat. That's tonight at Kafein, 8:30, and if you can't make it, then I'll be there again next week, more than likely.

Yesterday, I took the Metra into the city, hopped the Lake Shore Limited (but not before getting half of my dinner stolen), and spent 24 hours on a single train. Don't try this at home, kids. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I had come armed only with my iPod, a deck of cards, a book I've read several times before, and my notebook. I had promised myself that I would start and complete an entire new song, which I accomplished readily, along with a couple pages of prose and a few more song ideas, mainly because I had nothing better to do. Fortunately, I was joined at Toledo (at about 1:30am) by an intelligent, open, and not unaattractive young woman named Shawnecy. She was off to see her fiancé in Framingham, so we had 15 or 16 hours to give our life stories and debate about religion, politics, gay marriage, the death penalty, and other such controversial topics. I finally arrived in Boston, where I was warmly greeted by Steve and Sage and Checkers (especially Checkers) with fresh pizza and a movie (Mystic River, which I hadn't seen. I quite liked it, but had some issues with the ending). I write this now from Steve's iBook while I wait for Dad, Pippa, and Bea to make their way over from Nantucket, so that we can all make the long haul home (after the dogs have a chance to get aquainted, I'm sure).

Just a list of some of the special people I spent the weekend with and the songs that make me think of them (and vice versa):

Heather, recently ordained to the priesthood! Yay Heather!: "Light My Candle", Adam Paschal and Daphne Rubin-Vega.

Jane, Bruce, CJ, and Kyle, the Hoosier branch of my bizarre family: "Soap, Soup and Salvation", "Weapon of Choice", Fatboy Slim; Lone Justice; "Frustrated Unnoticed", Damone; and "Dream Operator", Talking Heads, respectively.

Susie and Luke, My "cool aunt" and her ping-pong fiend husband: "Shame On You", Indigo Girls; and "I Just Wanna Be Your Steve McQueen", Eytan Mirsky.

Mark, whose genetic breeding experiment went sadly awry: "Slither", Velvet Revolver.

Tripp and Trish (Congratulations, you two! ~_^): "Long Black Veil", Tripp Hudgins; and "Edge of 17", Stevie Nicks (Kinda inappropriate, I know, Tripp, but it WAS beautiful).

Micah... I honestly can't find the words: "I am Downright Amazed at What I Can Destroy With Just a Hammer", Atom & His Package.

Tonight I feel royally screwed up. There's an extreme bittersweet blend in my heart and my head, and I can't tell from one moment to the next which feeling is dominant. I spent the evening out in downtown Chicago, with the intention to see Roman Holiday in Grant Park, but weather conditions were not favorable, so instead we got pizza at Due's and saw Garden State, which is easily the best movie I have seen in a very very long time. The bitterness is, I have to say goodbye to a very dear friend. I've known Seth since the first day I moved here, and his outgoing, goofy, lovable personality has been a perpetual magnet.

I'm gonna miss you, dude. Who am I gonna sing La Vie Boheme with now?

You may have thought the worst had come when I reported getting my driver's license. But I have taken another step to make myself a wheeled menace to myself and others on the streets. Yes, I have acquired a skateboard. A good friend of mine wanted to get rid of it, as he's moving, so I took it off his hands, fixed it up a bit, and am now in the process of learning how to make it move without falling off. Whee!