Scoopin' Tunes...

These days, most scoop nights yield a bit of work, a lot of reading, and a good amount of people-watching from behind the counter and atop a makeshift stool...two milk crates to be exact.
But tonight was different. Tonight, time went by with little thought of when time would go by, and before I knew it, time had gone by. It started with a staff meeting, nothing crazy, just a chance for there to be more than one person in the shop at a time, a rare chance these days. I missed most of the meeting as I was "working" as well, thus preparing the few milkshakes that came my way and missing the musings of my managers reminding us to get back to basics and wear close-toed shoes. I'm sure there was more, but like I said...milkshakes.
Some of my mid-meeting visitors were not ice cream seekers at all, but two communications students from Simmons. Their purpose for coming, if not for ice cream, was to track down willing subjects for a project for a film editing class. They were interviewing folks on their connections with music, as well as gathering answers to High Fidelity-esque questions: favorite record, tracks, genres, etc.
As it would not be appropriate for me to miss out on the dress code review and the upcoming B&J's Facebook promotions updates, I promptly asked them to return post-meeting.
They did, and somewhere out there (well I can probably narrow it down to the Simmons dorms) is me babbling on about rocksteady, The Clash, Belle and Sebastian, and my first concert (other than a handful of Christian hardcore and ska shows in middle school, my first major show was Rusted Root at a small club in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 2001).
A quiet man with minimal distinguishing features came by and ordered a one scoop of chocolate fudge brownie. After procuring and enjoying his purchase, he approached the counter and inquired as to the players we had been enjoying. My tunes of choice this evening focused on Cake and their records Comfort Eagle, Prolonging the Magic and Pressure Chief.
Again, music was the topic of choice, and I couldn't help but muse over my coming weekend, which will include an evening of full of good tunes. This Saturday I'm having a close handful of friends over to enjoy the finer things in life, an evening of BYOB/M if you will.
Each person will be bringing a bottle of choice craft beer and a short mix tape (5-7 tracks) to share with the group. Compiling my selection has been a daunting task filled with light bulb memories of songs long forgotten and the mental thumbing through of my iTunes in search of the perfect musical conversation topic.
The evening winded down with a snowy walk home, the Harvard to Central Sq. trek filled with larger than life flakes, a single worn path along Mass Ave, and a well kept eye out for a new record store opening up on the edge of Central. Weirdo Records is an online shop-turned-store that opens its doors on Friday the 6th. A perfect pre-listening party destination.
As I write this I've been listening to The Cardigans and their record, Life. Recorded in 1996, I was eleven, and I believe my first CD was given to me at Christmas, The Space Jam soundtrack. R. Kelly and I have come a long way. Returning to my past has produced unforeseeable treasures. cheers --d

P.S.

A bit of babble...

The more I wonder through the freedom of schedule-flex the more time I have to wonder and thing. I wonder if I would think of the same things I do know if I was sitting in an office with slacks and a shirt with six-seven buttons. These things that I think, they are trival and mundane, non consequential and timely, but always prevalent it seems. I recognize the patterns as they happen, which is something new, and I believe comes with age. Whether it's listening to Jenny Lewis non-stop for days upon end, or falling asleep to the same forward thoughts of future and fond memories of the past, I have grown to enjoy my own patterns, and at least until this moment...have done so while weilding off the powerful attack of the mid-winter cold.
I've been fighting the sniffles for days now, ignoring the signs of fatigue brought on by bike riding in tempuraturs bellow that of ten, eating nothing but burritos and falafel....though I refuse to believe that the diet of kings has anything to do with my current physical disposition, as I believe it has everything to do with my emotional demeanor. Though at the conclusion of this little writing exerices I will partaking in what I hear, are some damn fine hamburgers at the Miracle of Science Pub. Local MIT hangout I hear, I'm looking to infultrate on behalf of the low brow working class. Welll...not to sure if I am low brow, or can be considered part of the working class? Huh...what young adult plight do I assosiate with? Definitly not young professional...and I'm not currently in school. It seems I lack a peer group at which to identify, not uncommon, in fact, I'd say its down right per usual.
Any stage of life you have yet to live through can only been seen as compartmentalized for convenience. With only so many outcomes, the future appears less scary. But as you get into a stage of life, the variences and x-factors present themselves, and it becomes obvious that no one, and I truly believe no one, does it the same as another. Nothing is as it seems until its over and you can look at it again, and then you realize it is, only what you remember it to be. It's an introspective time here on Watson Street.

The Hulk is Always Greener on the Other Side...

Welcome back New Year readers! While you've enjoyed a semester break, I packed my winter solstice into one fantastic week at home. Chicago brought a first-night Snowsera gig (my best buddies band, who is shamelessly promoted at the bottom of this blog) at Schubas downtown, lots of family focused around Christmas cookies, specifically the little balls with nuts and frosting, and the Blokus board. If you've yet to challenge your loved ones to a game of Blokus, run, don't walk to your nearest board game retailer and pick up this game de force.
Objective: silently make alliances while destroying those who lack telepathic bargaining skills.
A fan favorite in the Allison house hold at the holidays.
I thought I was going to truly miss the "semester break," but whether it be in the Gap stock room or at the Noodles and Co. counter (I realize that you may have never heard of this haven for noodle lovers, but if you ever venture out to the Midwest or beyond, look 'em up, your pallet will be elated) I was always working during these breaks. So slinging ice cream, countin comics and selling clothes were far from a stretch for this workaholic.
Workaholic, a label that I've been pinned with for most of my late teen, and all of my early twenties life. Have I been fortunate enough to enjoy my place of employment, the people I work for and with, and on the whole, the customers who frequent my places of business, absolutely. Do I love my weekends that fall on Monday and Tuesday...without question. So why have I always picked up shifts, stayed late, and had no problem coming in early?
I like productivity, I like contributing to something other than myself, for in turn I feel better about the time I do take for myself. Which is an interesting way to look at it - for all things that I find worthy of my time, is time taken for myself.
Wanting what we do not have is somewhat of a tradition in the human condition. And how we go about it is what differentiates us from one another. Wanting what we don't have can either be interpreted as wanting what another has, or wanting to better improve what we already posses. It can even be identified as wanting to free ourselves of something we are already carrying. Perhaps this has been the catalyst for my love and infatuation with the superhero genre. Modernized archetypes handling the woes of the every-man with challenges that mirror yet idealize our own. The villain most always wants what the hero has, becoming the incarnation of the hero's ideal, turned on its head. (See Iron Man's Iron Monger). Iron Man himself expresses his need to improve himself by improving his armor, taking it through stages that parallel what he is going through personally. Heroes such as the Hulk or Wolverine are on a constant search to expend their past ghosts and relieve the pain that comes with their genetic and genetically altered charges. Though, all the while, they follow Spidy's Uncle Ben philosophy, "With great power, comes great responsibility."
So what it is that I take from my comic readings?
The story isn't told in one issue, or in one arch...a story never truly has an end, merely a lead in to the next adventure. It ain't over until life is so uninteresting that you stop stop picking up your own book every week. Hell, when I stop enjoying life to the point that I can't find even an ounce of worth while experience in the simplest of tasks, the important will never be appreciated, and that is a life not worth living. Cheers --d

I Have Arrived!

Happy Monday y'all...We've made it another week, plugging through Watchman, working comics, clothes and ice cream, and enjoying this 60 degree day here in Mid-December Boston.
The Holiday hits keep on coming, and no punches were pulled at the Watson Street Holiday Fiesta! Last night, my neighbors and I got together with our better halves and enjoyed a little suaree, filled with miniture food, good tunes and some ol' fashioned holiday cheer. Its nice to get to know the people you've been living next to for the past four months, and it felt quite grown up to be at a party that was not focused around drinking and video games...no need to worry, we broke out the N64 late into the evening. Sometimes all it takes is a night of getting to know people over eggnog and shared woes of the landlord to make a place feel a little more like home. Living in the dorm, you not only live with people, but you go to class with them, and eat in the same cafateria...but apartment living yields stairwell passes and the occasional door hold if one is not carefull. Four years ago I moved to Boston with the hopes of making it a second home. Well, eight semesters, seven jobs, two places of residence and a degree later, this place has never felt more like home. One thing they don't tell you on the tours and in the brochures, is that you never lose one home to gain another. With Chicago and Boston under my belt, and while I have no plans of leaving anytime soon, the obvious question is- where to next? With 60 degree days in December (we always seem to start where we end up don't we?) and some early afternoon sales at the shop, life is looking good. And I've even got my moms cookies to look forward to next week. cheers --d

Christmas, comics and crab rangoons... (not in that order)

Happy Monday...it is a rare Monday off for this post-grad, and after some Chinese food delivery, a little Love Actually and a fear of the 15 degree reading on the online thermostat, I've retreated to my bed for a bit of pondering.
"Christmas is all around..." Yesterday, Sunday- it was the first long-lasting snow of the season. A constant flurry whipped around landing anywhere but the ground for the better part of the morning. A setting fit for a slow walk through Cambridge, from Central to Harvard Sq, on a mission for crepes, gifts, and shared memories. There are certain elements of my life that have shifted instantly from one step to the next, "MTV editing" as my old film professor coined for the type of editing that is quick and unforgiving. The acquisition of bills. the compounding responsibility of scheduling your own classes, doctor's appointments...life. But there are other, far more abstract elements that change slowly as my life moves onward. My appreciation for the holidays is one of those tracking-shot type changes.
Each year I wake up on the brighter side of early- the morning after Thanksgiving- and head out to the Christmas Tree Farm for a little do-it-yourself pine cutting. We drag the tree three agonizing quarters of a mile back to the van, place it in the tree vibrator, freeing the dead needles from the ride home strapped to the hood of the Odyssey. Christmas music ensues and a day of tree lighting and ordainment hanging is upon us. As a middle "too cool for" schooler - this was a day I'd much rather spend on the sledding hill, or in the middle of an epic clash between aged high schoolers and us of youth on the snow ball battlefield. Not understanding the importance this day had on my poor mother, waiting for me to grow up and not only appease her, but truly appreciate that which the holidays have always provided...tradition, shared experience, appreciation for a year of work, and damn good cookies.
Well this year, the morning after Thanksgiving left me dozing on a train, city-bound for a day of work. No complaints there...just...not tradition. I didn't think much of it until I was in the middle of bringing home my first, very own Christmas tree. Now, a Christmas tree is never just one's own. It is my girlfriend's, my roommate's, her boyfriend's, and everyone else's who comes by between now and when we all head to our homes, for a taste of aged tradition. But until then...we're making it up as we go along, and I could not have asked for anything more. After yesterday's snowy adventure, there were cookies, there was music, icing, decorating, laughing, crashing on the couch for Christmas movies...new tradition.
I haven't seen any new films in the past week, or done much reading, though I have made a serious dent in The Watchman. It's my second tour through Alan Moore's earth shattering 1985 graphic novel. An old boss/current friend of mine is itching to borrow it, so I must make my way in haste. The piece has been optioned for a film, and is due for release in March, Moore has completely removed himself from the project. Avid readers of this blog may remember a thesis I wrote (and often reflected on here) regarding the philosophy of film. It was a concept that I explored, attempting to pinpoint the importance of film in the development of our subjective reality. In the spirit of my own past studies, I am having a hard time accepting the film as something valid, seeing as its source's creater has declaired that his novel could not be reproduced in any other medium. Regardless, The Watchman is about to impact a whole new audience...though the orginal commentary on mid 1980's global politics, the essence of the super hero and the eternal question "Who Watches Thw Watchmen?" will most likely be lost behind 300-esque effects. Bitter? Not in the least...I'll be first in line, March 8th - midnight. See you there.