Raindrops on roses and anvils on kittens.

I'm changing this list for the millionth time...
A Top 40 of sorts...
I began this post nearly a month ago, in the vain attempt to list my top twenty or so songs of all time. That's pretty hard--to categorize something as fluid as favorite music. I tried to set up some rules to slim the list, namely the rule that each artist could only be represented on the list once. That didn't help much. I still had to leave off half of my favorite artists. And the list didn't make me look cool enough, because cool bands like Radiohead didn't make the cut. What's worse is that the Radiohead song that was closest to the list was "Creep," their biggest radio hit. So I'm double un-college-indie-artsnob-pseudohyperintellectual-cool. So here is an uncool, imperfect, one-song-per-artist list that represents, for the most part, the songs that would comprise my impossible, imperfect top 40--a list that is unavoidably equal parts all-time favorite and the-strong-gravity-of-the-now favorite:

40) "Quelqu'un m'a dit" by Carla Bruni: This song proves that France is good for something besides the impressionists and soccer players that head-butt Italians. But ha ha Italia won anyway. And somewhere in Florida, Meri C. rejoiced. And my brother and I high-fived. And Carla Bruni, who is married to the French president, probably burned all of her Zidane posters. And I still feel kind of sorry for Thierry Henry, who is a great sportsman and did not headbutt anybody. But I digress.

39) "Light Up My Room" by Barenaked Ladies: It's Canadian, it's beautiful, and, no, it's not Kristen Kreuk. This song reminds me of home--which is kind of funny, because I don't really have one of those.

38) "Looking at the World from the Bottom of a Well" by Mike Doughty: Everyone should own Mike Doughty's Haughty Melodic album.

37) "Polyamorous" by Breaking Benjamin: This is such a great sing-along-in-your-car song. Breaking Benjamin's First album was like Nirvana (sans the suicide) meets Tool (sans the disgusting) meets Korn (sans the oom ah grrrr boo I hated highschool mm grrrrr) meets Nirvana again (sans the same thing as the first visit) meets video games (which are pretty much flawless).

36) "Big Heavy World" by Chris Lizotte: Because it is. And I always seem to need something to remind me that everything is going to be okay despite the bigness and heaviness of it all.

35) "Linger" by the Cranberries: This song is beautiful. Hooray Ireland!

34) "Nothin' But a Good Time" by Poison: I would sooooo be lying if I didn't have this song in my top 40. See how honest I am? This song has one of my two favorite guitar solos of all time.

33) "Sloop John B" by the Beach Boys: My favorite "I want to go home" song.

32) "Hazy Shade of Winter" by The Bangles: My second real boyhood crush was Susanna Hoffs. Enough said. Well, actually, I must add that originally I had "Walk Like an Egyptian" representing the Bangles on this list, but I just today listened to this cover and decided it is a better song. It was originally by Simon and Garfunkel--hence, the amazing lyrics. Thanks, Paul Simon.

31) "Shhh!" by Fleming and John: There is a timpani in this song. There is a guitar with a talk-box on this song. There is a Fleming in this song. This song makes me happy.

30) "Not the Same" by Ben Folds: Ben Folds is one of my favorite live acts. The first time I saw him live was in uptown Nashville with Fleming and John. Ian and Chall and I sneaked into the event as they were setting up. We listened to the bands soundcheck. We met the chick in the Ramones shirt. We witnessed Ben Folds rocking the suburbs. We were not the same after that.

29) "Jerry Was a Race Car Driver" by Primus: Back in the days when MTV actually played music videos, my brother and I, as did many teens and pre-teens, watched it incessantly. Early in the summer of 1991, they started playing the video for this song after dark. I guess the MTV execs thought they might scare off Mariah Carey fans if they played it during daylight hours. It definitely warped the musical trajectories of us two little vampires. The first time we saw the video, we sat speechless, all the while thinking, "What the crap is this?!" But every time it appeared, we watched. It's hard not to watch some guy doing two-hand tapping on a six-string fretless bass. And I still consider the guitar solo to be one of the best ever. And anyone who can play this on drums, call me--we need to start a band.

28) "Stormy Hill" by Fold Zandura: I still haven't forgiven that mild-rock juggernaut Switchfoot for stealing Jerome from one of the best song-making tandems in underground music. Last I heard, the other half, Jyro, was paying the bills by playing with Crystal Lewis. How could you, Switchfoot?

27) "Birds" by Over the Rhine: And I still think Eve is OTR's best album.

26) "How Could You Want Him When You Know You Could Have Me?" by the Spin Doctors: A great underdog love song. Oh, and it has a clever Shakespeare reference.

25) "So Damn Cool" by Ugly Kid Joe: This song has my other favorite guitar solo of all time. The lead guitarist built his main axe in his high school wood-shop class. I'm pretty sure he installed a flux capacitor.

24) "Flowing" by 311: The lyrics are simple, but I really like them.

23) "Keep Me in Mind" by DigHayZoose: It's dreamy and jazzy and just a touch silly, all at the same time. Most love songs suck. DHZ does it right.

22) "Hysteria" by Muse: Because even neo-hipsters need something cool to listen to. I mean, would you want to have to listen to that borderline-emo crap all the time?

21) "Don't Hold Back" by The Normals: While having a mostly random conversation with Chall one day, I accidentally stumbled onto the best way of describing what this song means to me: When I listen to this song, I want to go destroy the Deathstar.

20) "Typical" by Mute Math: Great song, great video. While in Cincinnati, we took a break from recording our modest little cd and went to see Mute Math live. The drummer came out and immediately gaff-taped a big set of headphones to his head. I knew they meant business.

19) "The Red" by Chevelle: This has such a cool music video. Hi, I'm Pete Loeffler, and I am learning to manage my anger. By kicking butt.

18) "Bullshed" by The Apex Theory: I'm still not sure what this means, but it means something. And I'm pretty sure it's something rather complex, since there's a nice little time-signature shift to begin the second verse.

17) "So Real" by Jeff Buckley: The Mississippi River took away one of the best things that ever happened to music. The only other human with Jeff Buckley's super-power (beautiful dissonance) is Jeremy Post (who appears later in the list under the bands Model Engine and Black Eyed Sceva).

16) "Faith Healer" by Tora Tora: One of the best bands of the late 80's/early 90's totally got cheated by being put in the same rock-purgatory as all the other hair rock acts. No fair. These guys were the best thing to ever happen in Memphis. Although I say that without ever having been to Graceland. I'm sure it's really great, but I'm pretty sure I like Tora Tora better.

15) "River of Deceit" by Mad Season: There is no other song that is even remotely like this one; there is no replacement for this song when the mood to hear it hits me. This is definitely the standout on its album. For the uninitiated, Mad Season was a side project that included both Mike McCready from Pearl Jam and Layne Staley from Alice in Chains.

14) "Hard to Get" by Rich Mullins: Rich Mullins proves that popular Christian music doesn't have to suck. This song is simultaneously heavy, liberating, simple, deep, and honest. And it was all done with one tape recorder, one acoustic guitar, and one Rich Mullins.

13) "Drain You" by Nirvana: Everybody always talks about "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but I still maintain that this is the best song on Nevermind. Either this one or "Lithium." Or "On a Plain." It was a hard choice among the three, so I had a rock-paper-scissors tournament with myself to determine which song from this legendary album would represent.

12) "Struggle Enough" by Standing on Earth: This band is almost entirely unknown. Too bad. Their only album, Feeltrip, is one of the best albums ever made, and, out of all the albums with songs on this list, it gave me the most trouble in selecting a representative favorite cut. I just closed my eyes and picked a song. Man, that would have been an ugly rock-paper-scissors free-for-all.

11) "No Rain" by Blind Melon: This song is pretty much the biography of my first twenty-three years on planet earth. And it repeatedly saved my life in high school.

10) "3 x 0" by Pinback: Pinback is probably my favorite currently-active band. Sorry, Mute Math and Eisley. Pinback's new album, Autumn of the Seraphs, put them over the top. But I digress. This song is from the album before that (Summer in Abaddon).

9) "Marvelous Things" by Eisley: And Eisley gets their revenge by clocking in higher on my list. The first time I heard this song, I was driving south on 65, and then somehow I ended up in Trolley Wood. Magic or science? Or a busted GPS? You be the judge.

8) "Sky High" by the Prayer Chain: This song is nine minutes long. Anyone who knows anything about my attention span will realize the importance of the fact that this song is in the top ten. Andy Prickett + single coil pickups + an occasional ebow = nine minutes of highly listenable music.

7) "Rosinante" by Model Engine: This song is from my undisputed, all-time favorite album, The Lean Years Tradition. Lyrically speaking, there isn't even a close second place to this album. Except maybe 5 Years, 50,000 Miles Davis or Way Before the Flood by Black Eyed Sceva. The catch there is that 2/3 of BES is the same as Model Engine, including the lyricist, Jeremy Post. This song ends The Lean Years Tradition and comes complete with an amazingly literate chorus--a refrain which references Cervantes' Don Quixote--and a subtly-applied didgeridoo--an instrument which seems to lack a standardized spelling.

6) "End of the World" by Icarus Aquanaut: C'mon. I couldn't rightfully put my own band in the top five. But I really wanted to. When I listen to this song, I almost forget that I helped create it. Again, anyone who knows me or my tendency toward self-deprecation will realize the importance of the fact that this is one of my favorite songs.

5) "Summertime" by The Sundays: When I listen to this song, for three and a half minutes, girls don't suck, my life is not ruined, falling in love is totally possible, and it's great to be alive. I probably need to walk around plugged into my iPod with this song on repeat.

4) "Naomi" by Neutral Milk Hotel: This song was originally higher on my list, but then I realized that #3 and #2 had seniority. The melodies in this song are both haunting and intoxicating. Neutral Milk Hotel makes some of the most real music I've ever heard.

3) "Would?" by Alice in Chains: A moment of silence, please. This song might be the most important song in my life. And I don't say that lightly. This song is greater than the sum of its parts. And the video made me sure I was meant to be a guitarist.

2) "Primrose" by Black Eyed Sceva: Or maybe the "most important song" honor goes to this one. The first time I heard Black Eyed Sceva was on Christmas day of 1995. My brother bought the album for me because it looked interesting. The music was so rich that I couldn't understand it at first. In fact, I couldn't even tell if I liked it or not until I came to the sixth song on the album. That would be this one. It changed everything. This cut has one of the most tasteful guitar solos ever recorded. And great dynamics. It was number one for a long time...

1) "Vertical Asymptotes" by Dan Warren: ...And then along came Dan Warren. This song sounds like life more than any other song I've ever heard. I'm sure I've listened to this one hundreds of times by now, but I still find it challenging. And that's a good thing. Thanks, Dan.

droning.

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black ice.

“Black Ice”
by john lake moss


There is black ice on every road and a black hole at the center of the universe. The black hole lies in the center of the universe like a cat lying in the tall grass of an open field, waiting to spring on birds none-the-wiser. The black hole is sucking everything down like an open drain at the bottom of a bathtub full of dirty water. While I ponder these amazing, semi-substantiated facts, my feet slip on the black ice, displacing me from terra firma, and I realize that the universe is a very cold place in which to live. I laugh as I fall to the earth.

Black ice earth; black hole universe. The stars are brilliant and beautiful, because God loves to make things brilliant and beautiful; I wish I were brilliant and beautiful. I lie upon my black ice grave and choke on sobs consisting of the discomfort of my existence.

As I lie in the middle of the black ice road, I laugh and cry prayers up to heaven, hoping all the while that the black hole in the middle of this mess doesn’t snatch them away like a greedy little child who, while refusing to let mommy clean the remnants of repast from around his mouth, smiles defiantly and grabs at any unfortunate object that falls within the reach of his gluttonous hands. The stars are still brilliant and beautiful, in a Gloria-in-Excelsis-Deo sort-of-a way; they are brilliant and beautiful, and they remind me of redemption. The stars laugh and play in the winter midnight sky, unaware of the black ice below, unconcerned with the black hole beyond.

At Sea.

I
am a ship becalmed,
alone,
and there is only
silence
as far as eye can
see.

d.w. vs. the previous post.

ok, so maybe life can be beautiful at times. as long as Dan Warren is making music, life doesn't suck quite as badly as i'd have everyone believe. go to the following website--these are the droids you're looking for:
http://www.whatstudios.net/dan/wttef.html
"vertical asymptotes" is still my favorite, but "scrapiron peacocks" is a tie for a close second, along with the new one, "birds in wal-mart."
but i still say watch out for the black ice on the roads-- because there's nothing you can do about that black hole that sits at the center of the universe, sucking everything down like an open drain at the bottom of a bathtub full of dirty water.

Life is hardly beautiful.

There is black ice on every road and a black hole at the center of the universe.

Innocents Abroad. "Is he dead?"

I hope that Mark Twain, before dying, made his peace with God--because I really would like to meet them both, face to face; and in the case that the two have made separate living arrangements, I shall have to forfeit hopes of meeting The Riverboat Genius. And that would be a darn shame.

a neighborhood full of identical cul-de-sacs...

i feel really used up.

Life is boring; I feel disconnected from it.

...

It's a small world after all...

Ok, so my brother just met Mikhail Baryshnikov in a Starbucks in Birmingham, Alabama. How unexpected is that? My brother was having coffee at the time with his friend, Brian, who speaks a little Russian, so they walked up to the guy and gave their regards in the guy's native language. They said he was very nice. I usually expect celebrities to not be very nice, so my brother's transcription of the event was a bit of a surprise, even aside from the expected "what-the-crap" factor inherent in the event of running into a famous Cold War expatriate.

--the management

Verbal pauses.

I wish I had something important and wise to say. But I don't. If I did, I would say it in Hemingway fashion. I guess I'll have to wait around a bit more and see if inspiration strikes me in the coming days. 30 days, 3 hours, and 15 minutes until the Crimson Tide's football season kicks off. Hmmm. How about this weather we're having? Wait, that was supposed to be rhetorical... How about this weather we're having.

--the management

Thank you, Mr Sour.

I've formulated several retrospective observations from little scraps of ideas left in the wake of a discourse I had with a somewhat irrational deviantArt user, whom I will henceforth refer to as Mr Sour. Mr Sour began the dialogue by submitting an ambiguous, dismissive comment in the advanced critique encouraged section of one of my posted fiction pieces: "I'll bother to read this when you bother to format it properly"—I hardly find such critique to be very advanced. I shouldn't have responded, but I sent him a note offering advice on how to be constructive with criticism. I didn't mean to be condescending, I promise, it’s just that I have learned the hard way that a poor attitude will nearly always come back to haunt its perpetrator. I was just trying to help, but Mr Sour totally missed my point and turned what was meant to be friendly advice into fodder for his ostentatious, argumentative exactitude-fetish. Did I mention he was irrational? In looking for proof of my alleged writing ineptitude, the guy exulted over a misspelled word—to him proof positive that I can’t write well. In actuality, the correct correlation between mistake and ineptitude lies in my skill as a typist. And if one mistake in spelling signifies that I'm a faulty writer, then one mistake in reasoning signifies that this guy a faulty thinker. But I digress. Compulsive obsession over who’s correct and who’s faulty is the stuff that divorces, estranged friendships, and job-terminations are made of.

I’ve gained a few revelations from this episode:

1) Save instruction for those on whom it will not be wasted. “Do not give what is holy to dogs or throw your pearls before pigs; otherwise they will trample them under their feet and turn around and tear you to pieces.” –Matthew 7:6. “Do not rebuke a mocker or he will hate you; rebuke a wise man and he will love you.” –Proverbs 9:8

2) I’ve succeeded in my writing. The following is an excerpt from the acrimonious Mr Sour’s ultimate analysis of my posted work: “…what you produce is trash. Looking past your formatting reveals a bleak, toneless waste of textual juxtaposition. You have no concept of imagery.” Thank you. First, the fact that he bothered to give my work that much consideration means that it in some way affected him. Good. My love of Impressionism began with strong contempt for Monet: I couldn't ignore his work, and it eventually won my appreciation. I assume that Mr Sour harbors a passionate love for my work that underlies the apparent tension between my writing and his stylistic leanings. This counterintuitive ardor confuses him, as it defies his pretentious, aesthetically-composed predilections. He's my biggest fan, but what would his friends think if they knew? Second, I’ve recently been trying to compose works that, to a degree, contain all of the attributes mentioned in Mr Sour's ostensibly negative review. For reasons that extend well beyond the scope of this journal, I’ve been trying to construct poems and narratives that feel somewhat empty. A wasteland beneath a veneer of milk-and-honey pastureland. An awkward, empty shell of elegance. Thoughtful nothingness. You get the picture. Like Neutral Milk Hotel songs playing on an antique phonograph in an otherwise empty room whose walls are wallpapered in pages ripped from both Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio and Ernest Hemingway's In Our Time. Sort of.

3) Finally, I’ve learned that it is good to convert pointed, negative commentary into encouragement for the discouraged. As a result of this episode, I happened to take particular notice of a journal entry written by a recent visitor to my deviantArt site—a young girl who had been harassed by elitist dA users over trivial protocols. A self-proclaimed amateur, she was humbly requesting assistance, but received only inexorable criticism for having done so. I left an encouraging comment on her journal page and proceeded to peruse her gallery. As it turns out, she’s a very good writer—much better than I was when I was her age, arguably much better than I am now. I hope my words contribute to her future success, as I have no doubt she possesses the potential to be a famous writer someday. It is good to speak life.

That’s all I have to say about that. Almost. Before I conclude, let me just reassert my belief that formatting, however important, is simply a means to an end. Such a statement would certainly offend the rigid sensibilities of one Mr Sour, and the thought of Mr Sour with an especially puckered expression makes me happy.

--the management

enjoy the silence.

"Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue." --Proverbs 17:28

So one of these days I'm going to learn to keep my mouth shut. I think I'm a much better writer than talker. I mean, my writing might not be eloquent, but I can only think of a couple of times when something I've written has come back to bite me in the butt. Don't get me wrong--I've left in writing my share of idiot-markers along the road, but I don't feel quite as bad about having to retract something I've left in writing as I do about having to clean up spoken-word spills. I guess it's because I'm not as awkward on paper as I am in real life. Telephones, voicemails, and camcorders are my sworn enemies: put me in an arena with any of these contraptions and watch them hack away at my usable intellegence quotient. Hmmm.
So I guess there are one of two lessons to be learned here:
either
1) I am a human anachronism who should have been born before the age of word-capturing devices (and born mute, as an added safeguard)
or
2) I should quit speaking as much as I do.
The first item isn't really a lesson to be learned, but a one-item list looks kind of dumb. Come to think of it, this post looks kind of dumb. I take back that part about me being less awkward in print than in person.

--the management

direction?

Last night I was reminded of how powerful and important are the prayers of a mother for her son.

recently.

the day before yesterday was bad: i managed to put my foot in my mouth every time i opened it, and pretty much every action i took was a misstep. but yesterday was quite the opposite. and the braves won last night, despite giving the indians a 3-0 lead in the first few innings. in fact, if i were writing my own story, i would have put that in the chapter containing the last two days, so that anyone close-reading could have something about which to write an english paper:

The baseball game at the end of the chapter serves as a symbol that ties together the other events of this minor story arc...

I miss writing english papers.

--the management

knots, rocks, and words in between the lines.

my stomach is in knots. i want to crawl under a rock and hide for the next few days. stupid john, stupid john, stupid john.

thirty-one.

I began my birthday by going to a funeral: God loves to write irony into my life. I didn't know the deceased that well.
In other news, I share a birthday with William Butler Yeats. I just thought you, the reader, should know this.
I decided last week that, since I also share a birthday with the Olsen twins, and since I was here first, I should charge them rent or royalties or something.
Happy Birthday to me. I think my b-day present to myself will be a nice, afternoon birthday nap.
If anyone knows the Olsen twins, tell them they owe me twenty-one years worth of Birthday Rent. I'll be happy to take either cash or a personal check.

--the management

i'm on a roll.

i just owned a bunch of my friends at poker, thereby winning gas money for my trip to dothan this weekend. that was only the second time i've played texas hold 'em. i'm kind of proud of myself at the moment.
--the management

utility.

on faith and usefulness...
this is a subject that has been coming up quite frequently these days. i have a friend who recently wanted my opinion on her pursuit of artistic endeavors--muses she felt compelled to explore but, simultaneously, felt guilty for engaging, because in these endeavors the immediate gratification of feeling useful to the LORD was absent. She felt like her artistic vision couldn't be from God, because surely he would have her doing more useful things, like working in a soup kitchen, rebuilding New Orleans, going to Africa, etc.
The following is an edited version of the ideas I sent back to her:

Christians do not function properly for the glory of God when they measure their value along the lines of presumed utility. Conventional wisdom might lead us to believe that the abandonment of creative outlets and the dedication of our time to allegedly practical matters would please God more than the seemingly frivolous creation of art , but who is to say that efficiency according to mortal standards is what God is after? Time belongs to Him; He will give each of us enough time to complete our allotted tasks. Imagine a world where CS Lewis tried to be Mother Theresa. That's not a world in which I want to live.
Actually, the issue of use keeps coming up. You and I just have to remember that neither of us is God. And God knows that every person will not be saved. Either of us might one day be in the position to take a "useful" action and save hundreds of people, whereas we could have contributed to the salvation of thousands, if only we had felt comfortable being a part of something that, on the surface, appeared useless. God is God, and more likely than not, the most "useful" things will not appear very useful. The kingdom is counterintuitive.

So that's all I have to say about that. Well, that's not all I have to say about that, but that's all I feel like writing at the moment.

Crimson Tide expectations 2007: Roll Tide.

Alabama football fans are now happy; the collective opposition, it seems, is not. I'm amused by all the media articles that would like to rain on our parade with dismal speculation concerning Saban's future with the Tide. Some say that this chapter in our football history cannot end well--that either 1) Saban will not meet expectations and will, therefore, get the boot or 2) Saban will meet expectations and eventually leave U of A. The one variable that these naysayers do not account for, however, is the fact that Tide recruiting is off to an impressive start for Saban, and--provided that these recruits pay dividends for the program--Saban is not likely to leave a job as the winning coach of the most storied program in college football history. I agree that if Saban under-achieves he might be lynched; but were I Mal Moore (Bama's AD), I would not plan for that contingency given the present circumstances. The more likely scenario is success in terms that Tide fans can live with, and this will not likely precipitate Saban's departure. Saban has left Michigan State; Saban has left pro football: both times he left for what he perceived to be greener pastures. There is no upward mobility from a successful head-coaching position at the University of Alabama--for evidence of this, see entries on Bryant and Stallings.
...
So what should Tide fans expect? Personally, I'm hoping for a 9-3 record. I will be happy with 8-4. I think that 7-5 under a new system is certainly excusable, especially given Bama's tough schedule. 10-2 wouldn't exactly shock me, but anything 10-2 and up would certainly qualify as fairy-tale status in my book. Then again, Tuscaloosa has been the land of fairy-tales over the last few months. Back in November, most non-Tide voices said a decent coach was beyond the realm of reasonable expectations, but look what happened with that.

Rain, Death, and Other Lame Cliches

It was raining the day my father died, which is the quintessential manifestation of cliched imagery if you ask me. The difference between is and was becomes so great at the point of death that I think a better illustration would have been an earthquake--a gaping crack in the ground leading from my feet in Fultondale, Alabama to my dad's dead body in Murphreesboro, Tennessee. Or perhaps a tornado--a chaotic vacuum that aimlessly roams the earth, impersonally destroying a variety of personal items and lives that are unfortunate enough to fall into its predestined, seemingly random path.
Anything but rain. I've often thought that God could have done better than rain. Perhaps God was aiming for irony. When I was a baby, my familiy lived in Okinawa, where there was only one television station that had programming in the English language. Every night the station signed off with a song whose lyrics state, "I can see clearly now that the rain is gone." According to my parents' lore, if the TV set was left on at an audible volume come 2 AM, I would always wake up, searching for the song's point of origin. My dad died, the rain came, the rain is gone, and I cannot see clearly at the moment. And I'm still not sure where this song is coming from.

All cats should be secured to a wall...

...with Cook's Cat Glue!
Yes, Cook's Cat Glue is an amazing product that no household should find lacking.
Here is what the public at large has to say about Cook's Cat Glue:

"It's amazing--that cat was glued to the friggin wall!
I was entertained for hours!" --John M.
"Time, not space. No. I have no idea
what you're talking about." --Ian F.

Cook's Cat Glue--for all your mounting-taxidermied-cats-to-the-wall needs!
Cook's Cat Glue! Apply straight to the forehead!

syntactical maneuvers.

so, Herndon wrote for me a sentence. Herndon sentences have high market value. The sentence goes like this:

"Natalie Portman plunged into the Potomac in pursuit of a pantomime who had, previously, purloined Zsa Zsa Gabor's pretty pink parasol."

that is a good sentence, if you ask me. i am currently memorizing it. i'll use it in a speech.
so Herndon has the corner on the alliteration market. i think ass-o-nance is more my game:

Herndon's words herd fur coats from Zsa Zsa's closet, across the hard-wood and carpet, and into sentences, through his use of obtuse alliterative dissonances.

or something like that.

time, not space.
no.
I have no idea what you're talking about.

--the management

the places to which insomnia leads me. (revised?)

I still think that this post retains some merit; if taken as hyperbole, its words retain their integrity. However, Proverbs 18:22 says, "He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the LORD." And that verse makes the following post, taken literally, look a bit stupid. But I have opted to leave it up anyway. I have no qualms displaying my sporadic stupidity--it's part of who I am. [added May 25, 2007]...

Sometimes insomnia leads to epiphany. Here's mine for the night, for the day, for whatever:

So God creates light and planets and water and sky and fish and birds and insects and lemmings and Keith Richards and whatever else. His creative impulses finally end up driving him to create man. He sees that all this is pretty good--except for the fact that man is alone, with no suitable companion. God sorts through all the animals, letting man name them one and all. Still no suitable companion. Did God honestly think he was going to end up coming to, say, the duck-billed platypus and decide, "yeah, that'll work"? Well, that's not how it ended up. They went through all the animals and still couldn't find any sort of meaningful companionship for man. So we all know the story: God put man to sleep, took part of his side, and made woman. So that solved the problem--woman was found as a meaningful companion, suitable for man. ...
...
...
I'm beginning to think "no." Here's my insomniac epiphany: I think that God created woman as a means to create other men, so that man could have meaningful companionship, because trying to get anything meaningful out of a woman is like trying to squeeze orange-juice out of a Renoir.

God knew that it was not good for man to be alone, so he devised a clever scheme to increase and perpetuate our numbers, so that we might sit in groups around camp-fires, drinking beer and talking crap about the workings of the universe.

nintendo.

i miss nintendo.

--the management

There goes our "Hero"...there go my heroes...here comes Icarus Aquanaut...whatever, nevermind.

We just finished our St Patrick's Day gig a few hours ago. It was not the perfect gig, perhaps; but it certainly was our most important one to date. Well, it was for me anyway. I think that after tonight I have a better understanding of what this band means to me. I was having a bit of a hard time to begin the night, overthinking everything, dwelling on my mistakes--however minor--as I made them. And then about halfway through the gig, something important happened--I realized how much fun I was having. We finished really strong. Our third song from the end was a new one called "Hero." There was a second or two between the end of this song and the next one, during which there was complete silence, for whatever reason. Perhaps the audience wasn't sure whether or not the song had ended--after all, it was new to them. Perhaps it was so heavy and profound a moment that applause would have trivialized it. Perhaps they all thought it sucked. It doesn't matter--the silence was indeed golden. (not unlike our bass player). For whatever reason, you could hear a pin drop, and the moment felt very important. It was one of the most beautiful moments I've ever had, because it gave me a couple of seconds to realize what a cool ending the song has. It was Seth's idea, the ending. E Major? It works better than anything I could have thought of. It's absolutely perfect; I wish it had been my idea. Just like the drummer boy part that takes the song into its final movement. That was Chance's idea. And Chris's insistence that the guitars take a minimalist approach for the verses. And then, of course, there's the core of the song itself. The first time Hananel introduced it, it was just her and an accoustic guitar, and it was brilliant. And, despite my tendency toward self-deprication, I must say that I'm extremely proud of the little guitar hook that I brought to the tune. The moment of silence in the wake of this song allowed me all the time I needed to realize that each band member has the innate ability to compliment each of the other members--the ability to bring out waves of good things from one another. Even if nobody else is listening, this band is an amazing thing for the five people to whom it offers shelter. And so, free of any objective opinions, this band is a good thing. I really love this band; I really love the people in it. Thanks.
Love,
john lake moss

Please be my valentine, Norah Jones.

Valentine's Day can continue to be the bleakest, most merciless reminder of my loneliness, but as long as Letterman promises to end each Valentine's Day henceforth with a performance by Norah Jones, i promise i'll stick around for each one.
--the management

the trivial matter of the nature of existence.

...and with a swift stroke of the delete key, i here have wiped out a meaningless blog. the dead, mangled, incomplete skeleton of an existentialist ramble.
The problem with postmodern, existentialist thought is that it is, ironically, removed from the soul of existence, and, therefore, it is disconnected from reality. Self-righteous western thought assumes itself to be superior to the simplicity of ancient eastern thought. i do not consider the application of Occam's Razor here to be a stretch. For the uninitiated, Occam's Razor states that assumptions introduced to explain an idea, concept, or hypothesis should not be multiplied beyond necessity; in other words, the simplest solution is the most probable. I say that western thought makes more assumptions about the nature of existence than does ancient eastern thought. Take for example the language of the ancient Hebrews: their approach to communicating ideas required fewer jumps of logic becuase it did not employ abstracts--rather, it was anchored in funcionality.
By all appearances, we seem to be put here to interact with one another. that's close to the heart of the meaning of life. I say that we are also here to interact with God, but that's a different argument. What i'm really trying to say here is that no good has ever come from my attempts to explain how existence works--that's a relatively modern, western approach to things. The most good in my life has come when i have, albeit ever so remotely, approached things from a somewhat ancient eastern perspective--that is that existence is a very practical matter. See Ecclesiastes 5:18-20.

A good article to clear up what i'm talking about can be found at the following web site:
http://www.shamar.org/articles/hebrew-thought.php

for more on Occam's razor, go to
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occam

a matter of Cain and Abel.

---Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil. In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the LORD. But Abel also brought an offering—fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The LORD looked with favor on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.
Then the LORD said to Cain, "Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it." --Genesis 4:2-7

---For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. --Romans 6:23


When I was a kid, God's approval of Abel's offering--as opposed to his disapproval of Cain's offering--always seemed a bit random to me. Why wasn't Cain's sacrifice good enough for God? It seemed to me like each of Adam's sons was trying hard to please God; why is a dead animal better than vegetables? It was later explained to me that the sacrifice of an animal was part of the foreshadowing that God implemented in the Bible--a preemptive, real-life parable. Ok, good enough. I mean, it was apparent that God gave Cain plenty of chances to get it right; it was apparent that Cain knew what sacrifice was expected. And God didn't really swat Cain in the butt until he did something that was obviously evil.
Today, I have realized one implication of Cain's actions that had hitherto remained hidden from me. Abel's offering depended on God's grace more so than did Cain's. Abel kept flocks; Cain worked the soil. One son brought what was given him by God in the first place; one son brought what he was able to produce himself. It reminds me of a passage from Mere Christianity by CS Lewis:

--So that when we talk of a man doing anything for God or giving anything to God, I will tell you what it is really like. It is like a small child going to its father and saying, "Daddy, give me sixpence to buy you a birthday
present." Of course, the father does, and he is pleased with the child's present. It is all very nice and proper,
but only an idiot would think that the father is sixpence to the good on the transaction. 1


Death--the only wage we can earn--results from the best of our work; but, fortunately for us, God's work yields a gift of grace that extends far beyond our comprehension.

1 [C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: Macmillan PublishingCompany, 1960), 125.]

vanity, thy name is intellect.

"I paint because I like to paint. I have no theories." --Jean-Paul Lemieux

I resent people who have more philosophy than passion or sense. People who cling to the philosophy of a thing more than the thing itself are nothing more than vain pedants.
A friend of mine, A___, recently wrote about how she felt inferior to other artists at her college because they were able to effectively complete--whereas she was not--an assignment in which each constructed his/her "artist statement": the philosophy of his/her art. I understand the importance of self-awareness, the importance of focus on an ultimate goal, the importance of understanding the basic outline of one's own purpose; but when priority is placed on the articulation of these abstracts rather than the art that manifests from their consummation, a travesty emerges rather than art. I dropped out of college and ran from the study of literature for this reason: too much vanity, too little life. but i kind of regret having made the decision to leave. This world needs more humble people to create things; this world needs more humble people to thumb their nose at intellectual and artistic snobbery. i think that A___'s lack of pretense is a great gift--it is precicely the reason why she will be a great artist. She will make great art; meanwhile, as likely as not, the rest of her graduating class will be left to idly construct useless philosophies about what makes great art.

mall rat.

i've just realized that i have become the cyber-generation's version of what my generation called "the mall rat." for the past two days, i've been hanging around my computer, jumping back and forth from website to website in much the same manner that a mall rat would make the rounds from store to store. a sad situation. i've been mostly waiting for one particular site to fix their stupid server, but that's no real excuse. i feel really dumb every time i log into myspace and see that the same people that were logged in an hour ago are still logged in. if they see me here, they'll know i'm a loser. wait a minute! they've been online this whole time, too. it's somewhat like not wanting to go to the mall because you don't want your friends to see that you're a mall rat. if your friends are also at the mall, there's not much room for them to launch ridicule. let he who is without constant mall attendance cast the first stone.
but there is a question of ettiquette: do i message these people everytime i see them? is it rude to pass by without a comment? these are questions that someone from my generation is ill-equipped to answer. ... i would know what to do, were i but at the mall instead of at my computer desk...

Whose side are you on anyway?

"God's work done God's way will never lack God's supply." --Hudson Taylor

Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, "Are you for us or for our enemies?"
"Neither," he replied, "but as commander of the army of the LORD I have now come." Then Joshua fell face down to the ground in reverence, and asked him, "What message does my Lord have for his servant?" The commander of the LORD'S army replied, "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy." And Joshua did so. --Joshua 5:13-15 (NIV)

I used to wonder about that verse from Joshua. It seems like the commander of the army of the LORD would have sided with Joshua, against the enemies of Israel. But as it turns out, the LORD just is; the matter of alignment is exclusively ours, as we are measured against the plumb-line of where the LORD stands.

And I say all that to point out the fact that American churches and American christians, as a general rule, make plans for themselves and organize things under their own power, and then try to attribute it to God. Maybe that's why church is so lackluster. We build a twenty-thousand dollar, professional sound system and a coffee bar in a big, multi-million dollar building where we can close ourselves off from the intrusive world and put on a good show and talk about how God has blessed us. We have well-orchestrated programs. We have christian-corporate, political ladders to climb; we build them with money we earned ourselves. Just like we built the building with plans we made ourselves. I guess they'll know we are christians by how well we put things together.

Hudson Taylor's statement about God's work, His methodology, and His supply is such a simple observation. And it would be so easy to implement, if we could just align ourselves with what God is doing, rather than doing our own work and expecting God to align Himself with us.

--jlm

a renoir painting in motion.

downtown thomasville. to the coffee shop. brisk temperatures. misty air. a canopy of gentle grey. brick streets. coffee in hand. back to the office. small shops. warmth beneath my fleece jacket. i like to walk, and the cool misty air that swirls beneath the soft grey sky makes me feel like a pleasantly unimportant person in a pleasantly important small town. and that makes me feel good.
--jlm

nothing of important importance.

i'm mostly writing today to stay in the habit of writing. nothing notable has happened today, so i guess i'll flash back to my december car wreck. i'm still not sure what happened there. i was watching the road. i was not speeding. i looked down at my clock for two seconds, and when i put my eyes to the road again, i noticed that the car in front of me was stopped. i don't remember brake lights, but since my brain went directly from realization-mode to panic-screensaver, i can't be completely certain about the status of my accidental target's brake lights. or maybe they had a radiator-seeking back bumper. i'm pretty sure it was someone else's fault, because, frankly, i'm american. americans pass the buck. we even pass the buck when it comes to passing the buck. it's not my fault that i just passed the buck--i'm american. anyway, one amusing observation that emerged from said events requires an extended flashback: i began the morning by realizing i had locked my keys in my car the previous evening. i was really frustrated about that. to the point of cursing my car. it was obviously my car's fault. a friend of mine, John C, had a slim-jim handy, so we proceeded to remedy the situation. we took great care in unlocking my car, so as not to damage it. i'll pause to let this point sink in. ... anyway, John later said that, in light of the ultimate fate of my car, he should have just opened it the easy way-- by throwing a brick through the window. now that all is said and done, i find it funny that i was frustrated by the adversity inherent in the now obviously insignificant situation of having my vehicle rendered useless due to locked-up keys. it's ridiculous that i complained about that. if God hadn't aquiesced (as if he really ever does that) to my temper tantrum and let me have my way, my keys would have remained locked in my car, and i probably wouldn't be writing about this right now. the moral of the story: don't complain. if ever i need perspective on this issue, i need only step out on my front porch and wonder where the front end of my car went.
--jlm

lunch.

at my office, sitting at the computer table, i longingly stare at my lunch, and it reminds me of my favorite CS Lewis quote:
"He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart.”
And so i hath already commited lunch. The funny thing is that i'm still hungry.

[begin transmission]

one of my best friends has been blogging here for quite a while: this place seems like a classier venue than myspace. i haven't felt like blogging on myspace for quite some time--hopefully this new beginning will be a remedy of sorts. i've been too busy to write lately; i miss writing. i wish i had something important to say. i have stories to tell, but no important words with which to tell them. for now, i'm feeling very Hemingway--sans the abercrombie & fitch shotgun. i have stories to tell about thomasville and new orleans. maybe i'll tell them tomorrow.