Last night I told myself I was going to blog about Elvis Costello...and I think that sentiment sums up what I've been up to for the past 19 days.
I went to Iowa City, Iowa back on March 6th for my sister's dance performance. She is a ballet/education double major and is now part of the dance company at school. She even spent Spring Break in Mexico City, traveling the show with the company. The experience of being an older sibling, going to my younger sibling's event put everything in perspective in a way that nothing else ever has. Whether it's a performance, graduation, or wedding, watching a younger sibling in her own environment, a place that I have nothing to do with, did a lot to show me what I left behind when I came to Boston. Before she went school, I could accurately picture my sister's life while I was away at school. Going to the same school, hanging out in the same surrounding towns, and at least for the first couple of years, living in the same house.
But now she has her own life, her own setting, a place that I've barely seen, let alone experience. When I was younger, I liked to think that the world stopped when I went to sleep. When I broke up with my girlfriend sophomore year of high school, if just made sense that she would cease to exist...Imagine my surprise when I bumped into her at Barnes & Noble five years later, over winter break.
I've often thought of an idea or a conviction, but kept my conclusions reserved until the idea has been tested. This trip was that test for my thoughts on the lives people lead after I've left them. Yes, egocentric, I know. But lets get honest, how else do I relate to the world? "The reality of the cup is that it is there, and it is not me." --Sartre. I'm just getting gritty.
The company of my turntable last night, was yet another test of conviction, though far more deliberate...
Elvis Costello is one of those artists that's easy to love, and en vogue with his recent collaboration with Jenny Lewis. My admiration/slight addiction with the Rilo Kiley front lady has spilled over onto Costello, though I've enjoyed The Beat ever since I saw Fast Times at Ridgemont high in 1995. I have a couple of his records, and was excited to pick up Momofuku, his newest effort, released in 2008, and featuring Ms. Lewis as premier backup vocalist.
And so yesterday, I put my Elvis Costello fanhood to the test, playing three records...nonstop, until all the Elvis I had played through, and I could, once and for all, claim my love for EC and his assorted backing bands. The test was a success: he's passed the exam of time (his catalog spanning roughly 30 years) and I loved every minute of it. From Pump It Up, to The Imposter and American Gangster Time, it was an Elvis Costello rock-show...in my Central Square bedroom.
My conclusion for the bulk of March, 2009...check in with those you left at home, they've probably become extraordinary, or at least, pretty cool people since the last time you hung out with them. And listen to Elvis Costello/Jenny Lewis. Cheers --d

Viva La Siesta.

They say that a snake sheds its skin four to eight times a year. They also say that you have completely different cells now, than you did some time ago (exact timing I can't quite remember). As I research pesto recipes online I am beginning to realize the truth in what "they say." Granted, I am no snake, boa constrictor or other species, but in certain ways, ways that are certainly more important than skin, I feel like a completely different person than I did...some time ago.
It may all just be a consequence of my environment, though I can't help but feel that there's been a shift leading me toward home made salsas and a new-found interest in the gadgets of Crate & Barrel. Band t-shirts now go under button downs and over dark wash jeans, instead of year-round faded cords. Surface examples, sure, but for the first time that I can remember, I found inspiration in the morning, inspired enough to do something about it, not just sleepily enjoying the sunrise.
Every Wednesday I wake up for work around 6am, a time that I used to think was reserved for high schoolers and those who work the elusive "9-5." But this morning in particular, I opened one of my sets of blinds, allowing in a sun that has just recently began to wake up with me on these mid-week mornings. Everything from the frigid floorboards to my bagle warming in the steam from my shower (me being too lazy to plop it in the oven while I wash my hair) brought some amount joy to an already above average morning.
The day continued on, but I kept coming back to the morning, not wondering why it was so good, but merely wondering how I could repeat it as often as possible (still not fully understanding why it was so good to begin with.) Thinking about such things is not foreign to me, but it still felt different. I understand that the same thought processes feels different when more life experiences are behind them, but understanding something, and experiencing it with that understanding in mind, are two totally different things.
My hands are dry, and cracked with white lines from a day of cardboard and paper. I begin to understand a mid-afternoon pleasure that's been foreign to me, as school was often followed by work, and I could never embrace a proper nap in high school or college. It appears that now, in my twenty-third year (soon to be twenty-four), the nap and I are going to draw closer, from aquantinces to lovers in a matter of months I'm sure.