**eastward movement is included


send in the clouds.

reflection is what saturdays were made for. it goes without saying that it's geographical placement in the sequence of the seven day week is conducive for such a thing. when i was younger, there really wasn't anything substantial on which to reflect; i had cartoons, brookside soccer and st. e's football to distract me. high school started to give us a little more to think about, blissful ignorance was starting to lose it's allure, and the hangovers weren't as severe. then college came, we avoided eye contact with responsibility and the hangovers started to become a celebrated art form.

so this is what saturdays have been reduced to; sweatpants. drinking coffee. alone in my studio. blogging.

i suppose the point of all this pseudo-intellectual nostalgia and cheesy sentimentalism? last night i had a welcome run-in with history; my boy kevin, who i've known since kindergarten just moved to portland. the scene in kc has become a little too, well ... crappy, so he decided to skip town, which i totally respect.

homegrown memories materialized over pbr tallboys. we use to carpool to football practice in grade school. kevin's mom shuttled all of us in her giant blue dodge caravan to and from school, listening to cypress hill and the smashing pumpkins. we used to play 21 in kevin's backyard and jump on the trampoline. i'll never forget being in fifth grade, walking up the hill at tower park on holmes, john and kevin explaining the abraisive and sobering lyrics to 'longview.' to this day, i still get choked up when i look at the back cover of dookie. i remember my mom being impressed by chris anton's ability to sing sheryl crow. i also remember chris kicking my ass on the blacktop in fifth grade. we used to take long bike rides to ward parkway screaming 'bad habit' by the offspring. we used to play 'clifford ball' in travis' front yard. ms. levitt would make us mini-pizzas on rainy days while we played risk {dorks!} in their kitchen. we'd go to columbia to celebrate charles' birthday and tackle each other on the hill, oblivious to whatever the tigers were doing on the field.

this was life in kansas city's catholic ghetto. but then again, wasn't this what every other group of middle-schoolers were doing in the mid 90's?

we're told our sense of smell has the strongest tie to our memory, but moments like these make it difficult for me to believe. my sensitivy towards sounds and voices and music only strengthens these memories further. most of the time, i can't even recall the exact emotion that a song or sound or voice will recall, i just know they're feelings wraught with weight and substance. i can feel my heart drop. i get sick to my stomach.

so, thank goodness for portland's music scene; i would be wreck without it. on my agenda for the next month ::

m.ward {tonight},
tv on the radio {10.02}
clap your hands ... {10.12}
sufjan stevens {10.13}
the national {10.14}
the decemberists {10.18}
the heartless bastards {10.27}
silversun pickups {10.28)

what else is money good for, anyway? that corbusier chaise lounge is going to have to wait just a little longer.


sloring said...

i never thought i would be the one to say it, but you go to too many concerts

ercwttmn said...

how was m.ward?

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New York, New York, United States
I take myself too seriously most of the time and I am trying to do that less. I remind some people of Woody Allen. I occationally indulge in the weekend camping trip. I adamantly support the Kansas City Royals baseball club. My identity is wrapped up in a few simple things, most of which are continuously displayed on this here blog.

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