Just think signs. That is what this is like. Cool…

For .99 you can buy this track from iTunes. You should do this.

I was reading about this rare brain disease (Frontotemporal Dementia) that causes an increase in creativity. It was about a scientist that started losing her left brain abilities and started spending all of her time in the art studio. She created a piece called “Unraveling Bolero.”

http://www.boingboing.net/2008/04/08/rare-brain-disease-g.html

I followed another link from there about a guy that was partially deaf and used Bolero (since he was young) to test out hearing aid products. Then, one day, became completely deaf. He went through a procedure to get his hearing back by connecting the hearing hardware straight to the nerves in his brain. He learned to understand the human voice again, but the technology was lacking and Bolero “sounded” muddled. Through technology upgrades, the music started sounding more defined to him, but still lacked.

I didn’t have time to read the rest…But imaging what that was like…

I first heard Bolero a few years ago when I worked at the newspaper. My boss loved classical music so it played all the time. The way I became aware of Bolero is a bit like it is composed: in redundant rounds slowly strengthening and demanding to be noticed. I’m guessing that it took about 3 or 4 subconscious listens before I finally realized that I was listening to something good. I asked what it was…and it was Bolero.

I hadn’t heard it since I left and while I was reading the article regarding the man who was deaf, I thought about what an amazing experience it will be for him when Bolero sounds like Bolero again…or if he hears it better than before. I would think it would be like Heaven shining down on him.

I promptly fired up iTunes and found that there were tons of different versions. I took my best guess and downloaded the one that looked like it would be closest to the actual version. I didn’t want to accidentally download some slick synthesized pop version of it…refreshing the melody in my head in some sick mutated fashion. I wanted to hear it in the way that guy heard it (even if the experience is 1 percent the experience he felt). The flute and snare quietly approaching.

Dah…duga diga duga daht diga dah… excellent.

I wonder, do you have a place you like to go when you need to restore yourself? A place that reminds you of who you are? A place that somehow makes so much sense, you never really believe it until you are standing there again? A place you can go to by yourself and worry that if you were to take someone else, it might destroy that relationship or it might destroy that place.

I took a field trip Saturday. I started the morning off with some coffee (because I knew that life makes so much more sense while I am doped on the caffeine). The lines of buildings seem so much cleaner. The reasons behind everything start revealing themselves.

I headed down to the Menil. I exited off onto Allen Pkwy and with Muse’s “Hysteria” blasting away and my windows down, I thought about how wonderful the lines of the street look making their way off into the distance in perfect curves.

I made my way to the East wing of the building. I’ve come to enjoy that side first, it has all the African and Northwest American Indian art. I wish I could say that I learned how to enjoy that stuff on my own. It was a class that I had dreaded taking that opened my eyes to it. I barely care what the artifacts were used for (but I am sure that over time I will care). I love looking at the clean lines that accentuate the forms. I can’t help but feel that these various people were much more honest than those from the pre-ren era. They weren’t try to imitate what they saw (and then seemingly fail miserably at it) like those flat painters, but it seems like they were showing the true form of spirits (or other supernatural beings). The lines on these artifacts are bold and powerful, holding in high regard the beauty of their function.

Seeing the Cycladic sculptures are like seeing the first of some old friends. Visiting the museum is like visiting old friends…a perspective one of my bosses laid upon…and I love looking at it like this…because really this is what it is like. They occupy special places inside of me and seeing that they are still there after all these years is a relief. They make no apologies for who they are. They don’t pretend to be someone they aren’t. Even if they have deficiencies…they don’t try to hide them. They capture a moment in time, they capture a thought, a feeling, a person. The figures are all white with simple shapes accentuating the human figure.

Moving over to the more modern art, I love feeling relaxed. I used to hate the guards…they would make me nervous… stop, stare and admire. I used to have a hard time understanding what I should be doing in front of a piece of art. Now, I simply let me mind run free…like when skipping tracks on an iTunes playlist optioned to random. Stopping and letting my eyes drench a piece, imagining the artist’s hands create, imaging my hands confirming it’s reality, wondering about the artist’s perceptions at various points in it’s creation. I’m lost from all the nonsense, found in things that make sense. I stop when my mind reacts, I move on when I start getting the urge to ask, “what the fuck was this asshole thinking?” I forget about the guards…or maybe they trusted me and let me experience in solitude.

I love seeing “old friends” and I like becoming familiar with new ones. I want to take the art with me, but I like the feeling of thinking I might see them again in several months…or in several decades.

I love the sound of my feet on the wood floors. I love hearing the floors creak under my weight. I start wondering if the guards ever get bored. I wonder why Magritte seems like he was trying to prove something. I wonder if I’m wrong because I think Picasso could have been something really special but it seems like he was lazy.

I walked outside and the day was splendid. The air cool and fresh, the sun shining, the yards green and the sound was quiet. I walked across the street to The Cy Twombly gallery.

It’s hard for me to understand why I love this place so much. I look and look, imagine and imagine. I listen and breathe. I smell the air and look up at the architecture. I wonder if it is ok to think that this place is like a miracle. I wish that I could fall asleep there, I wish that I could see it at night.

I like being there trying to understand why it means so much to me. Why these abstract and mostly child-like “atmospheres” feel like warm blankets during the winter.

I had a conversation while I was there. It was easy. I told the lady that I am afraid of walking around the gallery in a counter-clockwise manner, she pointed out how I miss some neat features of doing so. She told me how deliberate the color of the floors were picked out and how I should notice how the paintings reflect off of them. Blissfulness.

I walked back outside, studied the architecture some more and walked around the far side of the Menil building. I wondered what it would be like to live within walking distance.

I got back to my car and headed to my traditional after-the-art location: Soundwaves. It’s always funny being there after looking at art. I feel disoriented and worry about making a bad purchase. I don’t come in looking for anything in particular and with such a huge selection of albums, I worry about being there for hours on end. I’ve lucked out recently, buying the latest albums from artists I already admire. This weekend it was Iron and Wines, The Shepard’s Dog.

Yes, it is good…

As I sit here, slowly hacking away at a Dave Matthews Band play list (more importantly hacking away at an ad for the Austin market) my mind starts wandering. The title of the thought provoking play list: For The Haters.

I have enjoyed this dude’s music for SO long…SO many thoughts and SO many people intertwined within SO many lyrics and flute accents (you know what I’m talking about). Just thinking I should thought-drop some of my more positive and happy ones…

Random thoughts of people (cause I thought it would be fun…names are withheld to protect the innocent…or not so innocent):

Driving with you down that country road to the old supposed farm house massacre while The Last Stop plays…the lightening, the wind, the bridges, the bugs and that grey bird flying off.

Standing at the phones while we both agree that the flute part in 41 is simply genius.

Getting all choked up thinking about how Grey Street is about you.

The September concert.

All the times I said I wasn’t going to go to a Dave concert (this year, maybe I’ll go next).

Playing 41 for you, because really, it wasn’t for anyone else.

Dave’s last CD, Full Throttle and you will always be tied together.

Every time I think about how obsessive some fans are, I liked to joke by saying that I want to have his baby. The funny thing is, I still think of you when I say that.

Singing The Stone with you, quasi-karaoke style up in that practice room.

Every time I remember that Alanis Morisette sings in two songs on my fav Dave album, I remember you telling me about it.

Dancing with you, with Ozomatli, out on the Woodlands hill.

You singing Two Step with me, with all of your friends.

Getting that dude at that restaurant in Austin to play Ants Marching.

Playing Halloween with you on that stupid drum pad changed my life.

You dragged me out to my first Dave concert and while you left me out on the hill, Dave made me a fan with his cover of All Along The Watchtower.

All the trips, all the Dave virgins, all the Dave songs and Howie Day reminds me of you.

Thinking that it was SO funny that you found Dave attractive.

Learning to play I’ll Back You Up because you and my brother agreed that you both liked the song. I thought it was so funny that I was jealous.

When I hear the Lillywhite version of Bartender, I think about how I told you Bartender was what sex felt like (if it were made into a song).

So, when all of these things (plus so much more) are engraved into every song, I wonder if my love for Dave’s music is more objective or subjective. Do I like his music because of the genuine talent, music and lyrics or do I like his music because of all the wonderful times I’ve had?

No one can deny the talent of this band (including Tim and the amazing banjo solo in Spoon). Amazing.

The music? Think Two Step, 41, Rapunzel, The Stone, Pig, Stay or Leave.

The lyrics? Think Dodo, The Last Stop, Grey Street, So Much To Say, The Dreaming Tree.

Is Dave my guilty pleasure or is Dave enlightenment? When I think guilty pleasure, I think more of my love for Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation.” So dammit, it has got to be enlightenment.

Anyways.

Suck it if you don’t like my list (because some can’t swallow Dave’s twang and touch o’ country and jazz). I promise, I am ok with it. =)

For The Haters (because you know not what you hate):

01 Satellite – Start ‘em off slowly.
02 Stay or Leave – Because it’s like candy that makes you sad.
03 Two Step – The only “country” song I love.
04 Lie In Our Graves – Because I like short walks on the beach.
05 The Stone – Because Dave really is scarier than Manson.
06 The Dreaming Tree – Proof that the DMB was not meant for drinking at frat parties.
07 Grey Street – 12 strings and great words go together.
08 The Last Stop – Because silence is poetry…and the outro is better than the aforementioned poetry.
09 Bartender – How could I ever think of sex during this song?
10 Drive In Drive Out – I just like it, ok?
11 41 – How could this song be named anything else? 1 in my book.
12 Pig – Dave posing as a inspirational cat (not a pig).
13 Hello Again – Because that friggin’ beat is the BOMB.

“What’s your problem now? It’ll all be dead and gone in a few short years…Don’t burn the day away.”

I went to vote today, and it was a good.

…

Remember the good ol’ days when Pam and Jim weren’t together? Aside from all the other funny things that happen on The Office, its’ real drive was this particular relationship. Thick as theives they were (and are thus far) as they did Bonnie-and-Clydes on Michael and Dwight. A true team where their likes and dislikes (true selves) could easily be exchanged amidst a canvas of comradery, creativity and positivity. A belief in each other’s good points and no extended religion of superiority inside or outside of their friendship. It was good and we all (ok, at least I) wanted them to seal their relationship like a true Ziploc bag (with the purple oneness).

Since everyone was like me (because everyone thinks exactly the same way I do),  I once felt that Jim should stop being such a pussy and tell Pam how he feels.

U friggin’ dig her MAN! Man up & tell dat chick Wat up!

But, then, it hit me. Pam was in a relationship. Pam was engaged to be married (yea, I know 8 years or so…but…only a testament to her weakness).

My thoughts changed and I realized that Pam was the true wuss. It became obvious then…and proved now…that Pam didn’t really want to be with Roy. They gave us the fab-reality-show clues that Pam was WAITING and HOPING for Jim to come around. When Jim finally did, that’s when Pam let go of her engagement with Roy. Why did it seem that there was so much pressure on Jim to express his feelings? Why did they not highlight the true problem?

The problem: Pam was in a relationship she was not happy with but too scared to get out of. I felt sorry for her instead of being angry at her lack of assertion to do what was right (for herself). It was like a pity party and I wanted Jim to come along and save her. Funny how geeky and romantic (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little) some of us are (me). But in reality, Jim had no right to say anything in the first place. Besides, why should he? If she didn’t want to save herself, why should he want to save her? Other than the pressure of millions of adoring Office fans begging him to do so.

Jim-bag should have left her to herself…

(because really, it pisses me off when people require new shit to let go of the old shit)