What a waste of gunpowder and sky.
That's my traditional Independence Day website post title, a snippet from the Aimee Mann song "Fourth of July". I seem to be less and less enamored of holidays in general as the years go by. Celebration is good, but I like it organic and unscripted. I love my country, but flags and explosions are not my preferred vehicles for expressing that love. I'll stay indoors tonight with season five of The West Wing, holding and soothing my terrified dog, leaving the drunken drivers to crash into each other without interference from me.
This afternoon I was up on a mountain in Armstrong Redwoods State Reserve, which is as much of a church as I'll ever need, with a really nice man named Duncan who hosts the local open mic that I frequent. He's an electrical engineer and audio wizard by day, and he had generously offered to record me playing some music. So we set up in a secluded spot under the trees, using an amazing battery-powered sound system he made, and I played a bunch of tunes: two lullabies I wrote for Genevieve, some Paul Simon and Beatles and Woody Guthrie and -- because I couldn't very well not -- "Fourth of July". As soon as I'm able, I'll set up some mp3 links here so that y'all can hear them, if you like.
It's summer. My daughter is two and full of drama: beautiful, annoying, clever, whiny, joyful, overwrought, curious, fragile, tenacious. My wife is patient, compassionate, gorgeous, clear as a bell. I am what I am.
Ipecac Aperitif seems to be running out of steam and I don't exactly know why. The inspiration to post here is rather rare; I feel like I don't have much to say that's new or interesting. I know enough about creative cycles not to give up on it entirely; there's always an ebb and flow, and all you can do is keep the door open. There's no obligation. I don't spend much time in webland these days; my focus has shifted elsewhere. So be it.
I'll keep coming back. Someday I'll be witty and provocative again. All is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.
This afternoon I was up on a mountain in Armstrong Redwoods State Reserve, which is as much of a church as I'll ever need, with a really nice man named Duncan who hosts the local open mic that I frequent. He's an electrical engineer and audio wizard by day, and he had generously offered to record me playing some music. So we set up in a secluded spot under the trees, using an amazing battery-powered sound system he made, and I played a bunch of tunes: two lullabies I wrote for Genevieve, some Paul Simon and Beatles and Woody Guthrie and -- because I couldn't very well not -- "Fourth of July". As soon as I'm able, I'll set up some mp3 links here so that y'all can hear them, if you like.
It's summer. My daughter is two and full of drama: beautiful, annoying, clever, whiny, joyful, overwrought, curious, fragile, tenacious. My wife is patient, compassionate, gorgeous, clear as a bell. I am what I am.
Ipecac Aperitif seems to be running out of steam and I don't exactly know why. The inspiration to post here is rather rare; I feel like I don't have much to say that's new or interesting. I know enough about creative cycles not to give up on it entirely; there's always an ebb and flow, and all you can do is keep the door open. There's no obligation. I don't spend much time in webland these days; my focus has shifted elsewhere. So be it.
I'll keep coming back. Someday I'll be witty and provocative again. All is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.
hurled forth by Felix Helix | 7:13 PM
1 Comments:
Mp3s of folksongs recorded in Armstrong Woods? Sign me up!
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