Muse-ic Monday

Dumb post title. Amazing results.

Maybe.  There’s no guarantee.

Welcome to my Monday Update, all anecdotes:  little anec with a lot of dotes.  Totes?

This song is “Up the Wolves” by The Mountain Goats.  It is featured in last night’s episode of The Walking Dead.  It was uncertain if it was enjoyable, but after listening to it a second time I love it.  This reminds me of a folkier version of a Tragically Hip (-ish) acoustic sound.  The Mountain Goats were formed in the early 1990’s.  How did I miss picking up on them?

 

I.  Action

Something has to be peeled off my chest.  Writers need defending.

Many people gave last night’s episode of The Walking Dead a lot of crap for featuring Daryl and Beth for the entirety of the episode.  It was too slow and boring.  It’s bittersweet.  There has to be an association with disliking this episode and people who don’t read.  I’m sorry to say that; it’s a bold statement, but it might be true.

Hey, several good guys are lost.  We all care about them on different levels, but it’s gotten to the point where we will be devastated when this core group of protagonists start getting chewed apart.  The only exception, the antagonist, is a sociopath; this sociopath takes the form of a little girl, Lizzie.  We can trust newly-introduced Abraham, but it’s still early; the writers could have changed his character for television purposes.  Still, we want to see how this little demon turns out; we are sympathetic toward her sadistic attitude.

You can’t just skip over to the “good parts;” you might will miss out on something important.  When you are reading a story, you don’t skip over chapters to just read about a character; books are not broken into sections like that, so that new process is more time consuming than actually reading.

Since the second half of the season began, people–especially women–have been complaining that Norman Reedus’ character has not been featured much.  In last night’s episode, the viewers get a whole episode of Daryl and breaking Beth.  Daryl breaks down for the second time this series, and we can relate.  On Twitter, the women, who were at wit’s end the last couple weeks without having  their Daryl Dose, finally get their episode.  However, some men and some of the same women exclaim that this week’s episode was a waste.  You got your Daryl, but it wasn’t good enough.

Gah!

Apparently sex still sells, and characterization does not.  The second half of the episode was much better than the first, so I feel that some-but-not-all time was wasted.  The only other complaint is Beth having a drink for the first time.  Not only does she take her first ship, she breaks her goody-two-shoes persona by trying moonshine.  The moonshine does not faze her much; she winces and shudders.  That’s it.  The first time I tried moonshine was at the SUNY Oneonta wresting team’s house; the guys threw a party, and Dan, knowing I didn’t drink cheap beer (sometimes I’m high maintenance) gave me a red cup filled with mysterious ambrosia.  Remembering my taking a sniff, it smelled like kerosene.  I took a gulp (mistake), and my eyes bulged out of my head.  When the inquisition was made to Dan–mind you, when I asked him what this drink was my voice was probably strained and high pitched as if I was dying, melting in front of him–he told me it was moonshine.

Thank you, Dan.  The guy, a Central New Yorker and one of the most genuine people, did a lot for me in college.

However, Beth should have had a worse, exaggerated reaction that I had.  She should have spit it out to be more believable… before running screaming from the house.

***   ***   ***

II.  Camera

A big thank you goes out to Erin Covey, a photographer originally from the Central New York area.  She kindly asked to shoot me for her Portrait 365 project, and I agreed.  She’s a blogger as well, but she uses more photographs than words despite having strength in both; her Nonfiction stories are told effectively through pictures.  Pictures capture what words cannot.   Her website and blog can be found by clicking the associated words.  Her project can be found here.

Oh, my picture can be found here–Day 62.  The title of the picture is “Honest,” which I definitely appreciate this designation.  Of course, 62 is an even number, and there was no way to get past redundancy regarding my issues with numbers.  Yesterday was the March 2nd, which is 10 days from my birthday.  The fact is that I’ll be 31.  If you double 31, an all-odd and prime number, you’ll get 62, the opposite even and easily-divided number; ironically, this doubled concept on a “2nd” day.  OK, I’ll shush.

For all intensive purposes for boasting Erin’s awesomeness, I changed my LinkedIn picture to the picture below, but the Technicolor(!) version.  There were two choices that Erin had picked out for the final two.  The very close runner-up:

Chris bw 006

Photo By and Courtesy of Erin Covey

Thank you, again and again, Erin.  Glad we can help each other out.

More on Erin in a minute.

***   ***   ***

III.  Lights (An Interlude)

And it’s the staring into the sky that does the trick.  It’s the ability to create clouds when there are none.  When you breathe, catch the mist and form it and pack it like a snowball.  Instead of heaving it into the sky and as far as it can be thrown, let that puff hover.  Create some more, gingerly blowing, making sure your creations down pop like stressed balloons.  The opaqueness still allows you to see those stars up high, those twinkling points of distant warmth that can’t be felt upon the skin but can in our minds and hearts.  Those black holes that are your irises are passages large enough to take in that perceived small point of light; your skin pores are too small.  That light, upon entering, ignites your corneas to bloom.  It’s a hope.  Where words fail to illustrate and illuminate, the hope–as imaginative or as realistic–generates a curiosity that is a reachable despite its ponderance being miscalculated.  A flickering eyelash.  A slight lip tremble.  Distance is trivial.  The slightest shifts cause the most impact, detrimental seismic quakes that raise our skin as the coat of our soul undresses from the cold, unfiltered breathtaking brevity of (a) passion.  One of those missed hand-holding moments.  Should a teardrop form, catch it upon your finger like a ladybug, and let it decide to fly away.

***   ***   ***

IV.  Music

I had the opportunity to converse with the  continually surprising-but-never-absurd Helena.  Music conversation is great conversation, and it was in due time that coming across a fan of The New Pornographers.  The purpose of Helena’s post is to accentuate the driving forces behind The New Pornographers, and how the members correlate with the Fab Four gents who once made up The Beatles, their individuality in specific.  Of course, she clued me in to Destroyer, TNP’s Dan Bejar’s band; more proof that Canadians are awesome, and it’s especially true with music.  Then there is Neko Case who is also part of TNP, and she’s simply great.

Due to scheduling conflict, our discussion of Belle & Sebastian/Morrissey/Velvet Underground had been put on hold.

After Erin shot me several times, we reconciled over tea and coffee at Syracuse University’s Cafe Kubal location.  We talked about life, creativity, photography, writing, some of our behind-the-scenes process, and music.  She mentioned the Augustines, who I had yet to hear about.

Of course, with all this music on the brain, a trip to Sound Garden was much desired.  I’ll be hanging out with Oliver again, so How I Met Your Mother Season Four needed to be acquired.  More blankets need to be found as well.  Who knew a cat would have an interest–a passion!–in romantic comedy television shows and fort building?  It’s a win-win for both of us.

***   ***   ***

OK, now it’s time to play the job application game and then catch up with all of your blog posts from the weekend through today.

Without you, I’m nothing.  Hope you all had a wonderful weekend.

15 thoughts on “Muse-ic Monday

  1. Nice pic! I heart the Decemberists too. Saw them at Bumpershoot in Seattle one year before I knew them. Now I believe in love at first sight.

      • Drats, hope that didn’t come off braggy. I’m old Chris. My music stories are all past tense. If you ever want to talk about the latest episode of Yo Gabba Gabba or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse I’m prepared to bust out with new material.

      • No, you don’t come across as bragging. No, you aren’t old. Oh, how I wait for the day to talk to parents about children’s television shows. (That may sound exaggerated, but it’s truthful.)

        However, by all means, please reference Yo Gabba Gabba or Mickey Mouse when the opportunity arises. There probably are a few things I should know prior to parenting before actually parenting. I’m enjoying living vicariously through my friends at the moment.

  2. Retro suggestion: Belt down one jigger of Moonshine, two beers (go ahead, go craft) and listen to The Outlaws’ “Green Grass and High Tides.” You then will know how I felt in my college years. Have a good Monday, Chris.

    • Ah, I like The Outlaws! Very nice choice.

      I have to remember a name of a band that I saw at LaFayette’s Bluegrass festival last year. They were absolutely amazing, and they hailed from West Virginia. As soon as the name is recalled, I’ll toss it your way.

      I’ll have a beer of whatever designation if I don’t have to have moonshine. Unless there is a moonshine that I’m missing out on. I’d tolerate a couple fingers of it, not an entire solo cup.

      • OK, your call on the Moonshine. I never, ever make anybody drink something they do not want.

        That said, Moonshine story for you. When I lived in Madison County, the cool bar was the literal hole-in-the-wall, no-sign-out-front Coonrod, in Pratts Hollow. I began talking to the owner, Butchie. I gave him some surplus CDs, and he started playing some of my choices on the great house system. So one night Butchie slides to me a shot of his Moonshine, made in his own still. You do not turn it down. I remained as stoic as could be as my innards did the hippie-hippie-shake from that glass of Moonshine. You know what, the next time he slid one to me, I hippie-shook less and liked it more.

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