Micky D's

I wrote this a month or so ago when coming home from college. I'm not sure if it's really finished or not, but I'm posting it here for the sake of explaining the recent irony. I thought it was funny and satirical, but now I have a newfound appreciation for Mcdonalds.

Coming home from a semester of stress for winter break, I was driving down Interstate-90 with country pastures to my left and forests on gridlocked land to my right. Peaking out from a cluster of trees was a golden glow, the emblematic arch that sways travelers off their designated path towards gluttonous treasure. That’s when it hit me. BAM. It was so appalling and obvious I simultaneously laughed and grunted, a chortle that came out like a stifled sneeze.
McDonald’s is America’s church. It’s what we worship once a week (at least). If we knew who to pray to it would be Epicurus for starting the trend that makes sinful pleasures cool. Worshipping the guy who allowed us to commercialize and capitalize on something that clogs our arteries and leads to heart disease. Instead of looking for the glowing cross in the distance in times of salvation (or starvation,) we look for the yellow arch, the universal sign of trans fats and obesity. This steeple of burger land is an omnipresent being and also a quintessential American representation worldwide. NOTHING shouts America louder than this company’s logo.
In this sense our food of faith has become a global phenomenon. For the rest of the world, it’s like the tribal religions in Africa, an isolated concept everyone knows about, but does not necessarily take part in. The rest of the world doesn’t get it. They understand our country is made up of greedy, overweight middle aged men who frequent Micky D’s, but they don’t get why. Only the American, the patriotic mcnuggeter, can truly get it.

So why is my criticism of America and McDonald's ironic now? Well, driving back to college my car broke down and my central locale on two occasions was McDonald's. I was stuck in a small town with a garage that my car was stuck at and down the road was a McDonald's, the only other commercial sight around. My aunt and uncle rescued me here--"oh ok, the McDonald's right off the exit, yeah we can pick you up there." Then, my friends picked me up near their house met us at a McDonald's. I guess the glow of the arches does come in handy for more than just a rumbling stomach.

Concerts

I decided tonight after seeing the Fiery Furnaces that I should keep some sort of record or journal of all the concerts I have been to. Here's me trying to recreate the list starting with 7th grade.

Jingle Jam-Shaggy, Christina Aguilera, Boys 2 Men
Guster
Ben Folds
Nickel Creek
Guster/Ben Folds/Rufus Wainwright
Sarah Slean
Franz Ferdinand/Death Cab for Cutie
Rilo Kiley/Coldplay
Ben Lee
Regina Spektor
Nickel Creek/Fiona Apple
Kevin Devine
Interpol
Siren Music Fest-The Black Lips/We Are Scientists
Brazilian Girls
Cat Empire
Mount Eerie/Microphones/Phil Elvrum whatever name he's going by these days
Andrew Bird
The Fiery Furnaces
Boz Scaggs
Of Montreal
Akron/Family
Vetiver
Camera Obscura

I'm sure I'm missing a few, but those are the notables.

I also saw Joe Cocker as a baby, but that's only because my parents used my diaper bag to sneak in beer.

When it Snows Outside/Musicbox

The best time for snow is late at night. The hours between twelve and three are perfect for a wintry haze. Insomniacs, college kids and the restless are awake for these showers of pristine glow. The moist whiteness falls onto unclouded roads, left unaltered by footprints or tire tracks. They are the few moments of the day where one can look out and sense the overruling omniscience of nature, enveloping our tiny communities and cities and states, billowing over the work that we’ve done. It’s like a haphazard alarm, sporadically reminding us that there are some things that we can’t control.

Here's another one of my musings, this one about music.

Today as I was sitting in the car at the mall, waiting in the parking lot for Rilo Kiley to end their song and David Dye to take a commercial break and I found myself thinking. What if, human beings could walk around to the melody of their own perpetual and ethereal soundtrack? A heavenly ipod that only the listener can hear. It’s like living in your own bubble that comes fully equipped with an overhead boom box. Everyone would have one, and only they would hear it. It would be like if God were the ultimate DJ and innately knew what each person wanted to hear at each moment. He would interrupt and end their song if someone about to have a conversation approached them or if it were a nuisance. Uncomplicated, it would be. No gadgets, no device to carry and weigh you down. If only our lives were like they are on film, narrated by a beautiful soundtrack that accompanies your scenes and fits your moods.

Someone to Share My Life With

I decided to start this as a medium for my late night ramblings. Mostly I plan to use this as a creative outlet, not just a personal diary. I have always loved to write, and college is allowing me to explore that. Also the urges to write are becoming more frequent as inspiration randomly strikes. I'm going to post a few random things I've written lately, not for anyone but myself. As a wannabe music journalist, perhaps someday I'll post some reviews and recommendations. For now, here are a few random thoughts that I've attempted to capture.