Anti-Climactic Ending

This evening was interesting. After unexpectedly bumping (quite literally) into an old friend at Yats, I went with a couple other friends to a screening of the new movie How to Train Your Dragon. I thought it was a documentary about how to train dragons; I was partially right. After that we went to Broad Ripple to patronize The Egyptian, but upon arriving we decided we didn't want to wait in a line, so we opted instead to go back to the apartment. We drove across town and wound up hanging out a bit, catching up and discussing life over a sampling of beer and hookah, which make for a splendid partnership. It was enjoyable. Then we watched Up, which I hadn't seen. I thought it was quite good, much better than the evening's earlier animated affair.

Many hours later, at about 3:30 in the a.m. I began the lugubrious task of driving home. I got to the intersection of Kessler & Meridian to find a billowing cloud of smoke, and in the middle of the haze was a stationary car. I paused behind it, while through an entire light cycle a handful of other vehicles passed and went on their merry, early morning ways. I sat and thought about it and decided that I wouldn't just pass without inquiring. I considered the relative safety (or lack thereof) of the situation, and decided that I would approach on his driver's side and let down my passenger window. I did so. My caution meter was at guarded.

The guy in the car—who seemed a bit flustered and perhaps surprised to see someone beckoning him roll down his window—rolled down his window. I asked if he needed to make a phone call; he said he did. I'm not stupid, I'm not putting my phone in this guy's hands, nor am I putting my body within arm's reach of him. Still seated in my car, I pulled out my phone and told him I could inform someone of his location. I asked the number, which he gave me. I paused mid-dial: "Northwest Indiana?" "Yeah!" It was a 219 area code. No answer. "No answer! You want me to leave a message?" I tried another number, also 219; also no answer, and again I left no message. Two calls, no answers, and he didn't have me leave a message. My caution meter rose to ominous. I asked where he was headed. He asked which way was south on Meridian, to get downtown. I pointed and told him. He wondered if he could get a ride to some hotel near downtown. My caution meter spiked to portentous. I told him matter-of-factly that these phone calls were all I could offer to him. He seemed to understand my hesitation and thanked me nonetheless. He asked how long I thought it would take to walk; I said it's about five miles, so if he kept up a decent pace, probably a couple of hours. I told him I could call 911 for him. He seemed to hesitate.

Just as it was about to get awkward—I mean, what do you really do at this point in the situation?—a fire truck arrived behind us with lights flashing. This is either some serious good timing, or another passer-by had the good will to make a phone call to the authorities. As three or four of them approached his vehicle and began asking him questions, my light turned green, and I shouted out my wish for good fortunes to him then drove through the intersection.

A lot of thoughts raced through my head before I approached his car. I envisioned a gun being drawn (this would not be the first time I'd had a gun pointed at me); all of my money being taken (which was admittedly only $1 at the time); my car being stolen (the joke is on you if you steal my car); a bullet sliding effortlessly through my thorax (seems uncomfortable). I also remembered the man in the coffee shop, and the prevalence of the good will of humanity, and I decided that I would make a meager attempt at propagating that. It turns out there was little to nothing for me to do to help, and my story tonight ends not with a bang but with a whimper; but I am somewhat comforted by the simple fact that I pulled up next to this gentlemen while so many others were content to ignore his plight. Would I not have appreciated the same if our positions were reversed?

I Stream, You Stream, We All Stream

Last night I was playing guitar and I decided on the spur of the moment that I wanted to hear myself to check out my progress. I didn't want to spend an eternity setting up a mic and running some cables and opening up recording software and going through all that. I had my webcam set up from talking on Skype earlier in the evening, so I turned it on and went to the Facebook video page where you can just hit record. Quick and simple. So I did that. And I played a song or two. And I listened back. And I hated it! I hated everything. I thought that I was singing with as much emotion as I could, you know, impassioned. But I was wrong; it just sounded strained and mostly out of tune. It was a disaster. I wonder: did I sound that bad at McGinnis a few weeks ago? God, I hope not. I got discouraged, posted a pretty negative status update, and went to bed.

Well, I didn't quite make it to bed. I was thinking about that webcam. I got the idea to do live streams of some sort, somehow involving my music, and I wound up making a profile on Ustream. I played around with it a bit, set it up to push Facebook updates when I start a broadcoast, and then finally went to bed.

I woke up this morning and figured I'd give it a whirl by just having it on the whole time I was playing anything whatsoever. I figure in the long run I wouldn't have it on all the time, so I can have a bit of privacy when writing new material or when learning a new song. But in the meantime I thought it'd be fun to see what happens today.

It turns out, not much happened. A few anonymous people dropped by. One or two said something in chat, but by their usernames I could tell that they weren't friends of mine, so I wonder if they just happened upon my broadcast through some randomized link on the Ustream site. I started off doing my warm-ups: scales, arpeggios, finger exercises, etc. Then I took a long break and came back to run through all the jazz stuff I know, which isn't much. After another break, I ran through all the pop/rock songs in the little songbook I've been keeping recently; it's where I write down any song I learn that I'd like to play again, as well as a few songs I've written that I feel are worthy of inclusion. One or two people poked their heads in for a few seconds at a time. Right near the end, with about two songs left to go, someone dropped by and didn't leave until the end. Thanks to the anonymity of the internet, I have no idea who it was, but I have to say thanks for listening and I hope you enjoyed it!

I recorded the whole pop/rock bit and just got done watching it, and I have to say I'm much happier today than I was last night. It wasn't perfect, by any means, but it was a good deal better. I got a little nervous when I realized someone was sticking around, but that's part of what I enjoy about doing this. Ever since I "got back into it", I get so nervous when I start to play in front of anyone. After watching the video last night, I realized some of the things I'm doing with my voice right now (e.g. straining) that result in such a disastrous sound, and I'm pretty sure that it's only made worse when I know I'm being recorded or when someone's watching. Today I tried consciously to take it easy on my voice. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot better than what I heard last night. I've been exploring the lower register of my voice recently, and I'm inspired by Nick Drake's sound, so maybe it's something I should take a closer look at. I just don't feel like I can sing stuff like "Eleven Thirty Fifty" anymore. Oh well.

I don't really think it's worth coming up with anything resembling a schedule. I'll probably just use it on a whim when I feel like it. When I do, Ustream will push an update to Facebook, so if you're at your computer you might know. That's about all the notice I can really give. For now. Anyway, here's the link: Songs from a Basement.

And now, thanks to the title I came up with, I have a very serious craving for ice cream. And when I get a craving for ice cream, it's a very serious thing.

"It's been a while since I could remember when..."

Fifty-Two Books

For those who are interested, here are the books that were sent to me. There are fifty-two in total.

A few notes about the list:

• P or H denotes paperback or hardcover
• Translation credit is included whenever possible and relevant
• Additional information is occasionally included when relevant

Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett, trans. Samuel Beckett, P
Bhagavadgita, trans. Sir Edwin Arnold, P
Naked Lunch, William Burroughs, H
The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays, Albert Camus, trans. Justin O'Brien, P
Alice's Adventures Under Ground, Lewis Carroll, facsimile of manuscript, P
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Other Poems, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, P
Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad, P
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, Thomas De Quincey, P
The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle, P
Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God and Other Puritan Sermons, Jonathan Edwards and Others, P
Civilization and Its Discontents, Sigmund Freud, trans. Joan Riviere, P
The Future of an Illusion, Sigmund Freud, trans. James Strachey, P
The Sorrows of Young Werther and Selected Writings, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, trans. Catherine Hutter, P
Demian, Hermann Hesse, trans. Michael Roloff and Michael Lebeck, P
Magister Ludi, Hermann Hesse, trans. Richard and Clara Winston, P
Steppenwolf, Hermann Hesse, trans. ?, P
Catch-22, Joseph Heller, P
Rhinoceros and Other Plays, Eugène Ionesco, trans. Derek Prouse, P
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce, P
Selected Stories, Franz Kafka, trans. William and Edward Muir, P
On the Road, Jack Kerouac, P
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey, P
The Vonnegut Statement, Jerome Klinkowitz and John Somer, P
Inherit the Wind, Lawrence Jerome and Robert E. Lee, P
Evangeline and Other Poems, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, P
Death in Venice, Thomas Mann, trans. Stanley Applebaum, P
The Jew of Malta, Christopher Marlowe, P
The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, trans. Samuel Moore, P
The Misanthrope, Molière, trans. ?, P
Moby-Dick, Herman Melville, P
The Birth of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals, Friedrich Nietzsche, trans. Francis Golffing, P
The Gay Science, Friedrich Nietzsche, trans. Walter Kaufmann, P
All Quiet on the Western Front¹, Erich Maria Remarque, trans. A. W. Wheen, H
Venus in Furs, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, trans. Joachim Neugroschel, P
The Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger, H
The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare, P
The Essential Frankenstein, Mary Shelley, P
Of Mice and Men and Cannery Row, John Steinbeck, P
Travesties, Tom Stoppard, P
Candide, Voltaire, trans. anonymous, P
Bluebeard, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Deadeye Dick, Kurt Vonnegut, P
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Jailbird, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Galápagos, Kurt Vonnegut, H
Mother Night, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Player Piano, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Slapstick, Kurt Vonnegut, P
Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons, Kurt Vonnegut, H
Oscar Wilde's Wit & Wisdom: A Book of Quotations, Oscar Wilde, P
The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde, P
Native Son, Richard Wright, fantastic 1940 printing with handwritten dedication from wife to husband, H

¹ This is the only book from the list that I have already read, but I'll gladly reread it.

Five Stupid Things

I now present five things about me that you had absolutely no desire nor need to know but that I felt the strange narcissistic urge to write about.

1. I absolutely, positively must fall asleep on my left side.

It's not that the right side isn't comfortable; in fact, in the process of falling asleep, it's quite common for me to spend a bit of time on the right side, and a bit of time on my back. But for some reason, whenever I start to fall asleep, when I start to feel my consciousness slip, and whatever train of thought I happen to be entertaining at the time begins to wander aimlessly and cease making any kind of sense, I simply must find myself on my left side or else I slip back to consciousness and begin the entire process over again. This is actually pretty common for me; it's a process of drifting, returning, rolling over, drifting, returning, etc.

I don't know why it's like this for me. It could be one of many things. My right ear has drastically reduced sensitivity, so maybe I just tended to naturally favor sleeping with the more sensitive ear buried in a pillow; any auditory distraction makes it pretty much impossible for me to fall asleep. In fact, I have been sleeping with earplugs in more and more recently. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm right-handed? I can't see how that would affect sleeping, though. Maybe it has something to do with the proximity of my bed to a wall during formative years, and whether I would have favored facing the wall or facing away. I really just think it's the ear thing.

2. It's really tough for me to drive at dusk.

This is something I've been aware of since I first started driving, about ten years ago. It's not that it's actually difficult, like my motor skills or hand-eye coordination becomes jeopardized, but it's more of a difficulty in maintaining visual focus; it's the contrast between the sky and road. As the sun creeps behind the horizon, the road becomes quite dark, but the sky remains just a bit lighter for a slightly longer period. This contrast between the darkening road and the still light sky causes some kind of strain for my eye. It's fatiguing and distracting, and I find the entire ordeal to be difficult and uncomfortable.

Something tells me this might actually be more common than I originally thought; it might be like writing about how odd it is that I brush my teeth in the morning (read: not very).

3. I like to drive with my headlights off for brief intervals on country roads, during clear nights when there's a full moon.

This could almost be called 2a; nighttime is very different from dusk for me. Driving down Wozniak when there is little cloud cover and the moon is full (or near enough, at least), I like to briefly turn off my headlights and drive for a bit with nothing but the moonlight reflecting off the road. It sounds more dangerous than it is; it's really quite well illuminated at the time. The road glows a gentle, dark blue. It bears a strange, quiet, solitary tranquility that is something I've come to enjoy. It's particularly bright and especially beautiful if there is a fresh blanket of untrodden snow. I highly suggest anyone to try it next winter if the opportunity presents itself.

Safety precaution: turn your lights back on at the first sight of any other vehicle or wildlife, no matter the distance. And don't go very fast; it's dangerous and ruins the experience anyway.

4. I probably don't remember your name.

...unless we've known each other for a while. For some reason, I just can't seem to register names for long-term recollection. I could recall a dozen facts about you or describe your appearance with unfaltering accuracy, but I'm probably at a total loss for your name. I even try to use little reminders, like explicitly saying your name immediately after you say it while I give my own, and then repeating it in my head a few times shortly after our conversation ends. But before too long, I'll think back on it and there will simply be a gaping hole where that information should be.

The worst was the guy I met at the coffee shop who gave me the books. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation and I could tell you the names of every author we discussed, including ones he mentioned or recommended that I hadn't heard of before; but as soon as he had walked back downstairs, I had completely forgotten his name. I actually made the attempt to walk back down and ask him, but he had disappeared. Luckily, I was discreetly reminded of it when I received the box a few days later. (More on this in a forthcoming post.)

5. I enjoy organizing things into numbered lists.

I also enjoy pretentious self-reflexivity.

Busted!

This is easily one of the weirdest/craziest things to ever happen to me. Last night I was driving Joe and Katie (and myself) from the hotel where Katie was staying to the Slippery Noodle. Some time a little after 10 we left the hotel room and got into my car. I drove across the parking lot, came to a stop before entering the street, put on my turn signal, then slowly turned left onto the street. So far, so good.

Within two seconds, there was a screech of tires and two police cars were behind me with lights flashing. Joe and I exchanged incredulous glances; I had done nothing even remotely wrong in the 15 seconds we'd been in the car. I pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and turned the music down. We waited. After what seemed like just a bit too long, a cop walked up to the side of the car and I rolled my window down.

Here's where it starts to get weird. Instead of strolling up to the window and asking to see my license and registration or if I knew how fast I was driving, he stood near the back door and shouted at us.

"Where did you just come from?"
"The hotel."
"Do you have any weapons?"
"What?"
"Do you have any weapons in the vehicle?"
"Uh, no."

I was pretty shocked to be asked such a question and in such a fashion. Also, he had a very thick Mexican accent, and I wasn't even sure of what I'd heard. He told us to stay there and that he'd be back. He disappeared back to the glare of lights behind us. I turned off my headlights and there we sat. We discussed what had already happened and came up with theories about what could be happening.

A few minutes later, a third car with lights on appeared around the corner and came to rest beside the others. We figured it was some sort of sting at the hotel and that my car was mistaken for someone else's. Joe suggested that I turn off the car. I said that I thought there was some length of time for which it was correct to leave the car running, and that you should turn it off if it was longer than that time. He said that for newer cars it was something of the order of about 20 seconds. So I turned off the car and we continued to wait.

We heard the unmistakable and slightly disturbing sound of guns being cocked. Like in the movies. You know, kk-chkk. That seemed odd.

"Driver!" It was a different voice, no accent. I assumed he meant me, although there were other cars around that were slowly maneuvering past the scene. "Turn the vehicle off and throw your keys out the window onto the ground!" Well, the vehicle was already off, and I found the whole thing to be pretty damn confusing, but I figured I could comply with the second part. I pulled the keys out and hesitantly tossed them out the window onto the ground.

"Put both of your hands where I can see them!" I held my hands up to the window. "Higher!" I held my hands up higher. "Now put them outside the window against the body of the car!" I put them outside the window against the body of the car. "Open the door and step out of the vehicle!" I pulled my right hand in to undo my seat belt. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" I put my hand back outside. "I have to take off my seat belt," I said meagerly. "Using your right hand, take off your seat belt, then put your hand back outside!" It seemed like sound advice, so I followed it. "Now using that same hand, open the car door from outside!" What? Okay. So I leaned over and looked and found the handle and pulled it and the car door swung ajar.

"Slowly, keeping your hands where they are, step out of the car and turn around!" I got out, slowly. As I got up, I saw the silhouettes of four or five police offers behind the cars with shotguns pointed at my face. Shotguns. That explains the kk-chkk. "Now turn around!" Jesus, I hadn't even gotten the chance to turn around, but okay. I turned around. "Lift your shirt up!" What? I lifted my shirt a little. "Higher! Let me see the other side!" I lifted it higher and turned. "Now back up slowly." I started to back up slowly, in the middle of the street with cars passing and watching, holding my god damn shirt up to my armpits, doing the moonwalk.

I peeked at the ground behind to make sure I wasn't going to stumble or anything. "Turn back around!" Right, I probably should have seen that one coming. I continued to back up, giving everyone a show of my wonderful, manly physique. "Between the cars!" I assumed he meant that I should continue to walk backwards directly in between the two cars that I was not supposed to look at. This is either very serious or I'm a contestant on some crazy new game show.

"Facing that same direction, put your hands behind your head!" I let my shirt down and put my hands behind my head. A pair of hands appeared out of nowhere and frisked me. They moved my hair around and looked at my neck. "He doesn't have a tattoo!" Yes, I don't have a tattoo. He then took my wallet. "Now get on your knees!" This is about the point where I was getting pretty pissed off about all this. Being ordered to moonwalk with your shirt up to your chest with shotguns in your face and then being told to get to your knees—without the slightest idea of what's going on—can be a little frustrating. I kneeled in the middle of the road. "Put your hands behind your back!" I did so. Almost immediately I was put into handcuffs. They felt pretty tight and not the least bit comfortable.

"We need to figure out if you're our guy. We're going to figure this out."
"Uh, okay. Here or at the station?"
"Here. Just wait."

I heard some shouting a few yards away. They were summoning Joe from the vehicle. He was being given similar treatment, although without the moonwalk peep show.

"Stand up, walk over to the curb, and sit down." With the rather surly assistance of the cop who cuffed me, I was brought standing and guided in the direction of the curb. "Now sit." I sat in the grass. Joe was led there as well. They asked who else is in the car. I told them a girl, our age. They brought Katie out. They didn't aim shotguns at her or make her give them a peepshow or make her walk backwards. They just walked her over beside us.

We were told that there had been an armed robbery just minutes ago and that my car was spotted leaving the scene; wrong place and wrong time. They were pretty sure we weren't them, but they had to be sure. One of them disappeared into a car to run our licenses.

"Where are you headed tonight?"
"The Noodle."
"Ah, the Noodle. Well, you'll have a pretty good story to share when you get there. You might have to get a few more shots."

I think he was trying for humor, but I wasn't interested. Go figure. Joe apparently found the entire situation to be most comical, and tried to jest back at the cops. He leaned over to me. "Not in a laughing mood?" I glared at him. "Not really."

They gave us back our wallets. They took off the handcuffs. They said we could go. No apologies whatsoever. "Where are my keys?" I asked. "I put your keys on the dashboard." We slowly walked back to the car, got in, and drove to the Slippery Noodle.

Back in Indiana

Yesterday I once again made the very long drive back to Indiana from North Dakota. It's amusing to me that you can wake up in one time zone and go to sleep in another. You spend the whole day in a little high-speed vessel, clipping along at a brisk pace against the rotation of the earth, and when you resume normal time you find your body wrenched back into the spin and sway of normal life. You're heading east, but you're really still heading west, only less so. It isn't literally traveling through time but you could almost convince your body of it—only I didn't change time zones; I went from the west side of the central time zone to the east side. The sun merely rises and sets half an hour earlier here. Does my body notice?

It was tough to say good-bye to Elizabeth again. I suppose I should just get used to it, as I have nothing but her entire lifetime (or perhaps the rest of mine, as it's likely to be the shorter) to say hello and goodbye. Still, as someone who has spent the greater part of a quarter-century under the belief that he is A) not good with children and B) not likely to become good with children, it's interesting to find myself in this position. I guess spending several hours with her every day for four months can have that effect. I never know what to do or say around other peoples' children; but in this position, the social awkwardness is replaced by genuine love, and it becomes easy. Conscious thought is replaced by involuntary affection. If I hadn't spent those months there, would it be different? Probably.

I truly enjoyed the moment when we first arrived last Thursday and she dashed over to me for a hug first; the uncle lets out a grin in triumph over the grandparents for the child's immediate attention. I only hope the bond will last as long as possible. It's true that using Skype has been extremely beneficial for preserving that relationship in the 2 & 1/2 months since we last saw each other, but I can only wonder how long it might hold out. Will it diminish by the time she reaches 10? What about as a teenager? And I wonder what it will be like when Lauren gets older as well. Will it be similar? I have to admit—maybe not, since I don't know if/when I'll get to spend such an extraordinary amount of time in North Dakota again.

This relatively short and very late entry was brought to you by the semicolon and the em dash. (Don't let the timestamp fool you; it's really 4 in the morning.)

Back in North Dakota

Earlier today I made the long drive with my parents up to Grand Forks, North Dakota. I got up at 4:30 a.m. after going to bed at 1:30 a.m. and then spent the next 12 & 1/2 hours in the car. Upon exiting the interstate and making the drive downtown for dinner, I immediately felt it: the surreal, dream-like effect of being back here, before I even got out of the car. It didn't feel like I had ever left North Dakota and stayed in Indiana for the past three months; instead, it felt like the past three months had actually been some kind of dream and that I had woken up where I was still living all along. It honestly feels like I never left. I know people say that all the time, that it feels like just yesterday, but it really does.

It's similar to the feeling I get every time I'm in Muncie and I drive past the old house on Neely. It's a very powerful nostalgia. I expect that if I went in the front door, I would find Dan and Greg (and Brian, if we're concerning ourselves with the house on Ashland) hanging out, about ready to start band practice; my bed and all my belongings would be in my old room; my shelves in the kitchen would be well stocked with my favorite foods. It's like that, only it's real. It's 100% real. It's the only time in life that you could ever get to act on that nostalgic desire. You want to open that door and look inside? You're going to be sorely disappointed and disillusioned. Only it's real. I am back in the room I lived in (albeit for only four months), and scarcely anything has changed.

I walked up to the front door with Joe as we carried in my bags and blankets, and it felt like I had just stepped out for groceries. We opened the front door and I went back to my old room and set my stuff down. The mattress I slept on was in the exact same spot as it was when I left. I'm currently sitting on that mattress and I just can't wrap my brain around this concept. My bed is still here. There's my roommate sitting on the couch watching the TV in the living room; all precisely as I left them. The teriyaki sauce and frozen vegetables I left in the refrigerator are still there, untouched, waiting for me to make stir fry right now. Where have I been all this time? Not here, but surely not there.

I can't tell what month it is; it could be September or October for all I know. I feel like I'm in a time warp, that I'm rewinding, like coming here turned the clock back to immediately before I left in December, and leaving again in a few days will then wind it right back to just before I originally came here; I will return to Indiana and it will be August 2009 again. Everything that has happened to me will unhappen. Decisions I made will be unmade. All my mistakes will be unmistook. The people who entered my life will unenter, and the people who have left my life will unleave.

Another Performance of Sorts

Just got home from a night out at McGinnis. I was asked by John Vermilye to play again, and I happily obliged. Luckily I had my songbook and capo in the car. (Okay, it wasn't purely luck; I may have brought them along just in case.) I went for four songs tonight, and I'm glad I did, I really liked the set list. Here it is:

"Your Heart Is an Empty Room" (Death Cab for Cutie)
"If You Don't Mind (Version 2)" (original)
"Doubting Thomas" (Nickel Creek)
"Clementine" (original)

It wasn't perfect, but then it never really is. I know there were a few flubs in there, but significantly fewer than last time. I've been playing a lot of guitar in the last month or so, and I felt pretty comfortable tonight, despite the fact that I'd already had two Dogfish Head IPAs (which make me feel less inhibited, but also probably more prone to mistakes). I think of all things my vocals felt particularly great; my rhythm guitar playing is still rough around the edges, but I thought my vocal delivery was exactly what I'd want it to be right now. I spent about five or ten seconds before each song just sitting in silence, thinking about the song, trying to imagine myself playing and singing it, so that when I started it I could just chill out and get lost in the melody and not be so prone to rush the tempo.

I have to give a big thank-you to Johnny for inviting me to play. It's an awkward transition to get over the nervousness I've accumulated from going so long without playing in front of people, but it feels good, really good. I had an absolute blast tonight. I also have to thank my friends that were there tonight. It means a lot to me to see them there enjoying it and offering words of encouragement. I tend to need a bit of that at the moment.

The Good Things

Here's a brief list of things that have made me happy recently.

1. My mom's vegetable beef soup

This is simply the best soup I've ever had in my life. People who have had it know what's up. My mom has used this soup to 'compensate' friends of mine for doing favors, like fixing a computer or helping to move some furniture. What you might not know is that it oftentimes tastes even better the second day. A bowl of this soup, a piece of lightly buttered wheat bread, and a few pieces of cheese. It's hard to be in a bad mood about, well, anything really, after a meal like that.

2. My aunt getting married

My Aunt Kathy lost her only son, my cousin Chris, in a car accident about 7 years ago. It was extremely difficult for me, and that could only have been a minuscule portion of what she has had to go through. At the time, she was married to someone who was a pretty big asshole. He was selfish and manipulative and emotionally abusive; he somehow found a way to make the hardest part of her entire life even harder. They divorced about four or five years ago, and for the last few years she's been dating a long-time friend of hers. He's a nice, honest guy who treats her right. Everyone in the family is happy and relieved that she has ended up with him. Last Thursday they got married, and they are currently in Hawaii on honeymoon. She's finally got the kind of happiness she deserves.

3. Cake from Truffle's

This could almost be labeled 2(b), as it was at the wedding dinner on Thursday that we had cake from Truffle's (located in downtown Michigan City). The thing to know is that I don't even generally like cake. It's all just too...cakey. And sugary. And oh, the frosting; I generally can't stand the stuff. When it comes to cupcakes, I usually have to scrape off the giant mound of frosting, leaving just a faint paste along the top. A few bites of any kind of cake, and I've usually had my fill. Not with this cake, though. It's extremely light and not very sugary at all. The frosting is whipped cream frosting, and man is it good. Oh, and there's a thin layer of strawberry in the middle, not so much that it overwhelms but just enough to give a little hint of fruity deliciousness. Below that is a layer of what I believe to be cream cheese frosting? I don't actually know, but it's also not overpoweringly sweet. It all adds up to something that I find ridiculously delicious. There isn't a part of my brain that signals when I've had enough; I could probably eat myself to death on it. What a great way to go out, too.

4. Singing "Army" at karaoke night

Show of hands, who saw this coming? Yeah? Me either. I'm not one to generally like karaoke, but I was dragged willingly to a place with karaoke on Friday night. At first, I was my normal, hesitant, self-conscious, awkward self; I didn't want to do it. All it took was few beers and a healthy dose of good laughter and I changed my mind. I sang "Ziggy Stardust" (David Bowie) first and later "Everlong" (Foo Fighters). These were both fun choices. But it wasn't until I was sufficiently drunk and we were about to leave that my third choice "Army" (Ben Folds Five) started. I cut loose a little. I mean I got into it. It was good times. I hardly remember it; all I remember is that I loved it. I also remember that the lyrics on-screen were "Well I thought about the army / Dad said, son, you must be high" but we all know those aren't the real words and that's not what I sang.

5. The library

I have probably been to the library a dozen times this year already. I've checked out tons of books and movies. It's the sole reason that so many uninteresting evenings have been somewhat bearable. Unfortunately, the Michigan City Public Library doesn't have free wireless internet, which is something of a joke, but most libraries these days do. I just can't fathom all the money people can spend on entertainment when so much is available for free at the library. Netflix? Kindle? What's the point? The main library in Indianapolis is four or five floors! You could go in there every day after work for five years and barely scratch the surface. All for free.

Some New Song Maybe

Here's something I wrote in the car earlier this evening. Don't know if it'll ever get turned into a song, so this might be the only chance for public forum as far as it's concerned. I put it to some C and F and Am, and such; maybe something might come of that. I like the rhyme scheme in the verse; it's sort of the inverse of what I used in Metropolis.

there are too many roads
that stretch from point to point
a vast network of nodes
with interlocking arms
that cover all the great expanse
and turn by turn upon each fragile joint
these legs converge into a dance
of endless factories and farms

the seasons wait
but not for long
and state by state
I write this song
and hope it finds you
as I roam
through county lines to
paths back home