Le Tigre - Eau d'Bedroom Dancing
The happiest moments of my life will almost always be in the morning. This is not restrictive to my happiness in the least. It means that every day I get the guaranteed chance for a moment of happiness, unless I sleep in. What about all you people who say, "I hate all Tuesdays"? I'll be having a pretty dynamite Tuesday morning while you're sitting staring at the calendar and cryin' in your cornflakes.
Every single morning for the rest of my life is a sacred time. This morning, I was thinking about how much I love mornings when I'm camping, but I thought again and I knew it wasn't true, I could be anywhere in the morning and enjoy it by default. I could be in Mongolia and wake up, stretch, yawn, and exclaim, "Gosh, I love Mongolian mornings."
The Indiana Dunes were slightly disappointing. I had gotten the impression that we would be camping on the actual dunes, but this wasn't so; we were just on some car-camping sites nearby some drunk Confederates (yes, they drove up to Indiana!). For scary stories, we heard a truly gross nipple story. Seriously, ask me to tell it. Also, I told the plot of that creepy book, House of Leaves. Then it was near midnight and we all trekked up to the rest room facilities in the dark when we come upon Dan Bryan, a kid from our house lurking in the shadows of the bathroom. Keep in mind, this is nearing midnight in the middle of a state park in Indiana, and we find Dan, who told us he was going to catch up with us later but never did so we assumed he'd stayed, and he's hear in the wilderness without a flashlight. Apparently... apparently he got off at one Metra (commuter rail) stop short of the Indiana Dunes, so he decided, rather than wait for another train forward/back, to follow the tracks in the dark for the next 6 miles until he found us. In the middle of Indiana, mind you, outside Gary, the murder capital of the world. And this is him assuming that our campsite was even near the tracks, which it wasn't. I still have no idea how he found it. If we hadn't gone to the bathroom, he probably would have ended up staying in the bathroom all night in the middle of nowhere. Does the enormity of this story getting across the blog? I still have no idea whether I should be impressed, scared, or derisive about this kid.
I went to the Shoreland tonight to help film a movie about, coincidentally, the Shoreland. The brief role was such that I got to reprise the part of Brian Johnson for a few hours. Afterwards, I took the elevator up to see the room I'll have next year. It was smaller and creepier than I thought. Still got the kitchen though. My only stipulation: somewhere I can make toast.
My supervisor, Jenn, sent me this link about a recently deceased radio station. Actually, the link itself is a recording of the last 45 minutes of the radio station, 97X, which was based out of Ohio and played decently indy rock. There's something creepy about the recording, the way the DJ's are all saying goodbye and delivering their final thank-you's, and they're playing the last song, and then the very last word-- it made me think about my own mortality. Because you don't think about radio stations dying, especially since it's a medium that is so rooted in the immediate and the now. Radio stations don't die. But as I listened to the recording, I was unnerved by the fact that the DJ's sounded like they were delivering the last words of their own lives.
I'm always having dreams, not about dying, but about the last few hours of my death, and for some reason I'm always being given the chance to say goodbye to everyone I know, but as the dream progresses I'm never able to find everyone, or I get stuck in the bathroom or in traffic or something. Maybe I'm a little preoccupied with those precious minutes before we have to say goodbye. Two of my most vivid memories are the hours leading up to our departure from Georgia in 5th grade (at which Thomas was present) and the hours leading up to Kristen leaving for college back in August. And this radio station recording, it makes me wonder, what would I say given my last 45 minutes before death? What songs would I play? The last song 97X played was a live recording of "Sunday Bloody Sunday," which happened to be the very first song the station ever played twenty years ago.
I used to have a funeral playlist, I did. It was a running list of songs that the DJ would play at the funeral (I remember that one of Jim Henson's requests was that a Dixieland band play "When the Saint Go Marching In" at his funeral). But I have a feeling these goodbye songs would be different. Maybe I'd take my 10 favorite albums and play the last song from each one. What do you think?
Anyway, the link's here. Sad, but positively fascinating. Notice the 30 seconds of silence they tag on at the end after the DJ speaks the last words. Like putting an ear to your own grave.
The happiest moments of my life will almost always be in the morning. This is not restrictive to my happiness in the least. It means that every day I get the guaranteed chance for a moment of happiness, unless I sleep in. What about all you people who say, "I hate all Tuesdays"? I'll be having a pretty dynamite Tuesday morning while you're sitting staring at the calendar and cryin' in your cornflakes.
Every single morning for the rest of my life is a sacred time. This morning, I was thinking about how much I love mornings when I'm camping, but I thought again and I knew it wasn't true, I could be anywhere in the morning and enjoy it by default. I could be in Mongolia and wake up, stretch, yawn, and exclaim, "Gosh, I love Mongolian mornings."
The Indiana Dunes were slightly disappointing. I had gotten the impression that we would be camping on the actual dunes, but this wasn't so; we were just on some car-camping sites nearby some drunk Confederates (yes, they drove up to Indiana!). For scary stories, we heard a truly gross nipple story. Seriously, ask me to tell it. Also, I told the plot of that creepy book, House of Leaves. Then it was near midnight and we all trekked up to the rest room facilities in the dark when we come upon Dan Bryan, a kid from our house lurking in the shadows of the bathroom. Keep in mind, this is nearing midnight in the middle of a state park in Indiana, and we find Dan, who told us he was going to catch up with us later but never did so we assumed he'd stayed, and he's hear in the wilderness without a flashlight. Apparently... apparently he got off at one Metra (commuter rail) stop short of the Indiana Dunes, so he decided, rather than wait for another train forward/back, to follow the tracks in the dark for the next 6 miles until he found us. In the middle of Indiana, mind you, outside Gary, the murder capital of the world. And this is him assuming that our campsite was even near the tracks, which it wasn't. I still have no idea how he found it. If we hadn't gone to the bathroom, he probably would have ended up staying in the bathroom all night in the middle of nowhere. Does the enormity of this story getting across the blog? I still have no idea whether I should be impressed, scared, or derisive about this kid.
I went to the Shoreland tonight to help film a movie about, coincidentally, the Shoreland. The brief role was such that I got to reprise the part of Brian Johnson for a few hours. Afterwards, I took the elevator up to see the room I'll have next year. It was smaller and creepier than I thought. Still got the kitchen though. My only stipulation: somewhere I can make toast.
My supervisor, Jenn, sent me this link about a recently deceased radio station. Actually, the link itself is a recording of the last 45 minutes of the radio station, 97X, which was based out of Ohio and played decently indy rock. There's something creepy about the recording, the way the DJ's are all saying goodbye and delivering their final thank-you's, and they're playing the last song, and then the very last word-- it made me think about my own mortality. Because you don't think about radio stations dying, especially since it's a medium that is so rooted in the immediate and the now. Radio stations don't die. But as I listened to the recording, I was unnerved by the fact that the DJ's sounded like they were delivering the last words of their own lives.
I'm always having dreams, not about dying, but about the last few hours of my death, and for some reason I'm always being given the chance to say goodbye to everyone I know, but as the dream progresses I'm never able to find everyone, or I get stuck in the bathroom or in traffic or something. Maybe I'm a little preoccupied with those precious minutes before we have to say goodbye. Two of my most vivid memories are the hours leading up to our departure from Georgia in 5th grade (at which Thomas was present) and the hours leading up to Kristen leaving for college back in August. And this radio station recording, it makes me wonder, what would I say given my last 45 minutes before death? What songs would I play? The last song 97X played was a live recording of "Sunday Bloody Sunday," which happened to be the very first song the station ever played twenty years ago.
I used to have a funeral playlist, I did. It was a running list of songs that the DJ would play at the funeral (I remember that one of Jim Henson's requests was that a Dixieland band play "When the Saint Go Marching In" at his funeral). But I have a feeling these goodbye songs would be different. Maybe I'd take my 10 favorite albums and play the last song from each one. What do you think?
Anyway, the link's here. Sad, but positively fascinating. Notice the 30 seconds of silence they tag on at the end after the DJ speaks the last words. Like putting an ear to your own grave.
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