Song of the Day (Mr. Dylan) 11.30.12

We've made it to another one! And believe it or not, with this Friday, comes the end of November. Man, where has this year gone? I thought life slowed down after college, not sped up.

But enough about that. Let's get into the music.

When I was growing up, I was fortunate enough to be raised in a house that always had music playing. All hours of the day, all activities - during dinner every night, as background noise during the day, when we were decorating the Christmas tree every year, etc. I honestly can't really remember a time music wasn't on for the majority of the day. 

And. I. Absolutely. Loved. It.

Because of this, music is such an important part of my life. It helped shape me into who I am today. Honestly, I don't think I could survive without it. Luckily for me, since I was exposed to it so young, for the entirety of my life, I grew up listening to some of the greatest of all time, The Beatles (duh), Elton John, Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Joni Mitchell, The Who, David Bowie, Janis Joplin, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Queen, The Supremes, Pink Floyd. The list goes on and on. But there was one artist I looked forward to possibly hearing everyday.

Mr. Bob Dylan.

My god is that man so wonderful. His lyrics are other worldy. So deep and powerful. His rhythms just infect you, right down to the core. He didn't just sing or perform for the money and fame. No - he was there to make a point, to make a change. And did he ever.

Today is dedicated to him and everything he's not only done for music, but for the world.

It's almost impossible to pick out favorites when talking about Dylan - his library is just so massive and wonderful. But here are three of them.

I absolutely adore this song. I don't know how anyone couldn't. It's great. But the best part of it? When Bob laughs throughout, around the 47 second mark and also at 1:30.

And of course - the mecca of Bob Dylan.

Happy listening.

                                                                                                                           19

Video-palooza

It's just one of those weeks. So, I thought I'd throw it back to the older days, when videos ruled Friday. It's a trade off. No stories - but plenty of visual stimulation. Don't worry though - I've got some good ones up my sleeve this time.

Video one is right in line with what I posted last week,"Kluge." First, it is another huge Rube Goldberg machine. Secondly, it is human powered - much like the last one, just a little more physically oriented (free running/parkour based). And finally - it is sponsored by Redbull. Now, this may not be as polished as the previous videos, but the complexity of the machine and scale is impressive. Rather than being spread out like the Kluge, while still in a warehouse, this machine is much more condensed and requires many more contraptions between each larger piece. It really is a bit absurd to think about these people running through this obstacle course, not getting hurt. Especially when you see how they use shipping containers at the end. Absolutely nuts!




Video two is just down right awesome. Yes it is pretty. Nice color saturation. Good usage of depth of field. But to be honest I'm not in it for the production quality - this video is wonderful because it is from Ithaca. It's a great concept for a short documentary piece. I love the question they ask and who they interview. Sure there are the serious answers mixed in with some goofy ones, but what can you expect. Best response? Dude in the green beanie. He gives the absolute perfect answer, "I don't want to to spoil anything." It's really interesting and fun to think about. Do you know what you'd ask?

Good job IC - way to make us proud.




Video number three is something I was shown at film school in one of my classes. It's absolutely awesome. I won't get into a lot of detail and just let it engross you. Be ready to cut out a chunk of your day though - this is a short film that was actually up for an Oscar and clocks in at a whopping 27:00 minutes. If you end up liking this in anyway, consider watching "In Bruges" or "Seven Psychopaths," since it is the same director. Yes its sick. Yes its twisted. But hey - it's Irish!

All I have to say is exploding cow.

SIX SHOOTER (Dir. Martin McDonagh, 2004) from CAJ on Vimeo.

                                                                                                                           19

Night Flight

The only time he could manage to make it to the ledge was during the late hours of the night, sneaking between the shadows that stretched out across the ground - trying to stay out of the glow of the moon hanging drunkenly above. It surprised him how comfortable he felt in the dark. His eyes had always adjusted quickly - pupils dilating, soaking in as much light as possible. As he ran forward, the ground seemed to glide below him. He couldn't feel the dirt underneath his sandals, but he could hear it grinding against his soles. He was moving too fast. Lost amongst the abyss of the night.

When he was growing up, the older boys would always wander down to the edge after school or in the hot haze of afternoon weekends. It wasn't just for fun or refreshment, it was a right of passage. Other boys their age all had done it and were welcomed into the group. The few who didn't, were cast out, heckled, made fun of. Everyone did it. So he had to. Thats just how things were.

It was only a couple weeks until he was the same age. But because he was smaller, younger looking, one of the last remaining boys, he took the brunt of the ridicule. They teased him at school, in town, whenever they could. Saying he was scared to jump. He'd be one of those who wouldn't do it - never fit in. They had told him stories. Boys in the past who had jumped in, landed wrong and never came back to the surface. He heard of deep swelling currents that if he wasn't careful, would sweep him away. Certain spots were deeper than others. If he didn't jump out far enough, he'd land on a rock that was hiding just below the water - breaking him as he broke the surface.

All of these scared him. But not as much as simply jumping in front of his peers.

He knew he didn't need their acceptance. It was just a stupid routine they put everyone through - their own form of hazing. But he wasn't doing it for them. It wasn't like his leap would change how he was seen amongst them. He didn't even want to be part of their group. This was going to show them. His own was of standing up and facing them. Proving himself.

As he stood on the edge looking down, he could barely see the water. Only tiny reflections of the moon played off the surface as if someone had thrown a handful of glitter down below. During the day, the height seemed daunting. Now, it seemed like he'd be in the air forever. Like a cruel joke. Falling and never reaching the bottom. It was now or never though. Backing away from the edge, he took off his shirt and sandals, tucking them away between some rocks. Before him, the stars lit the perfect runway for him to follow to his flight.

Taking a deep breath, his legs began carrying him forward.

As he launched himself into the air, he swore for a second he was flying - just floating there, as high as the moon. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Their taunting, the water that waited below. He felt free, ready for the water to envelope him.

He hadn't even landed and he wanted to do it again.

                                                                                                                           20

Nature Is A Wonderful Thing

Alright, I'm throwing it out there right off the bat. There is going to be no story tonight womp womp. Long day at work + Ultimate frisbee = one tired blogger.

But I do have some videos for you - so don't fret!

Looking around the interwebs today, I found two short pieces that showcase how awesome the world is - more specifically nature. Sitting back and just watching these, it's pretty amazing what goes on around us.

The first piece is actually from the company North Face and showcases the scope of our planet as well as the different cultures spread throughout it. While I'm not exactly sure what the main feature is going to be about (maybe hiking or skiing), I still really love this piece. Favorite aspect of this? The transitions between shots. How the camera literally "falls" into the next - rising up to show you a whole new scene. Amazing stuff. Can't wait for the full length version.

Into The Mind - Official Teaser from Sherpas Cinema on Vimeo.


The second piece is completely different. It showcases the power of animals - specifically cheetahs. Watching the video below, really puts in perspective how amazing the animal kingdom is. This is the first time a cheetah was able to be caught in high definition slow motion. Their movement is absolutely jaw dropping - how the hind legs come as far forward as the front shoulders - seeing every muscle twitch and flex. They just seem to float along in the air.With so much grace. Almost playful. I'm amazed how still their head remains as the rest of their body is in motion - such focus. Mind you - the music is a bit much, but it kind of gets drowned out by the footage.

Another cool aspect of this video? During the credits you get to see how they arranged the shoot. Also, here is a fun fact: the typical film we see at the movies is shot at 24 frames per second. To catch a cheetah moving at 60+ miles per hours, at the speed below, they needed to use a camera that shot 1200 frames a second. Thats so much footage for what probably lasted all of 10 seconds in real life.




                                                                                                                           21

Midnight Melody

He was never quite sure how long it was between when his eyelids closed and he heard her calls off in the distance

Every night he waited for his mother to close the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness. Before she even reached the squeaking floorboards of the stairs, he would have the comforter over his head and be curled up in a ball, eyes shut tight. Each night it was the same. Sometimes it took him a while to drift asleep, other nights, he wouldn't even hear his mother reach the bottom of the stairs.

But every time, he would wake up to her bellowing voice, welcoming him into her world.

It was never too hot or too dry out on the plain. There was always a constant wind swirling about, kicking up small puffs of sand that licked his skin, tickling him as they dispersed in the air. He never needed any lights - the moon illuminated the sky around him in a dull haze. A warm glow that always hung above him. By now, he knew where to go. He just needed to follow her lead. She was never too far off - most times he could see her waiting off in the distance, but he felt secure knowing the stars were above him, ready to guide the way were he to need them. The walk never took too long - the sand cool between his toes, wind playing with his bangs. No matter how many times he met her, the song was always different, as mesmerizing as the night before.

When he finally made it to her, he'd just stand there, waiting for the song to end. It resinated from deep within her core, shaking the air around her body, almost shimmering. He could feel the vibration leaving her body and entering his, messaging and nestling itself deep into his muscles and soul.

Regardless if she was mid verse, she always managed to welcome him with a smile. Large and warm. She always looked so beautiful, just floating in the air. Graceful. As if the ocean was still embracing her. When she was done with her song, they would just relax. Two souls lost in the desert.

They never spoke. Never muttered any words. They understood and appreciated each other. He loved spending his night listening to her music, carried away on the echoing melodies while she adored his never waning attendance. He was the only one who every listened to her and she was grateful. Her perfect audience.

When the night was over and it was time for him to emerge from his sheets, he'd trace his steps back through the sand, towards where he came. Yet every night, even though he left, she'd keep singing, staying with him until the final moments. Sometimes he'd have to stop and listen, for it'd sound like she was weeping. Crying and pleading for him to come back. But each time, he'd realize she was just wishing safe travels.

Bidding him farewell until the next night, when she'd be able to perform for him once again.

                                                                                                                           22

New Inspiration

Ok - this is bad.

I just saw this and immediately have a second project I'll work on for my holiday travels. It's kind of a time-lapse - but not like anything I have ever seen before. All pictures. Taken whenever I want. Gaps between abound. Stitched together. I don't have to worry about creating my photos by using a timeline. No no. This time, the timeline is dictated by the photos.

The photos take creative control. They drive the video I put together - not the other way around.

But don't worry, the other time-lapse I've been talking about will still be made. And if you're at all confused by my mumbo jumbo up there, just watch and you'll understand what I mean.

All I can say, honestly, is "holy fuck."

Roadtrip USA from Mike Matas on Vimeo.

Song of the Day (Last Leaf) 11.23.12

Ah, the day after Thanksgiving. Time to root through the fridge and be creative with the leftovers. Do we make a turkey omelette with gravy for breakfast? Maybe the classic turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce sandwich for lunch? I don't even have to suggest dinner, since we all know it'll be leftovers. A whole smorgasbord of them.

So while you're mulling these options over or waiting for the microwave to beep, letting you know your meal is ready, why not cozy up and listen to a few songs?

Yup. Songs of the week. Thanksgiving style (I'm not sure exactly what style that entitles - but it sounds special, so go with it).


This first song, while a bit melancholy, is a wonderful little tune. Great lyrics. Simple melody. Acoustic. It came on in the car earlier in the week and I happened to read the title while I was singing along and it just clicked. As fall comes to a close and winter takes hold, it just seems appropriate to share with you Ok Go's "Last Leaf."




On a much happier note - lets just get right into it. It fits the weather. It's fun - certainly a bit goofy. Make you feel good kinda "jam." Jack Johnson's "Bubble Toes."




And to finish up this week - we'll kick it old school again. Kind of in the same vein as the Alabama Shakes, this next band sounds like they came from a previous era of music. This is The Generationals, "When They Fight, They Fight."




                                                                                                                           26

Nature's Wake Up Call

It had been a long hike. Longer than he had remembered.

He had set out early, just in case he was wrong about hong long it would take him to reach the top. His coffee was finished well before the sun had even begun to brighten the morning sky. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The houses in his neighborhood were still dark. Everyone was still tucked in - hours to go before the first alarm clocks began to go off. All that lit the path to his car were the remaining stars in the sky.

The terrain wasn't what it once was. Mother Nature had done some remodeling. Knocking down a couple trees, blocking the path with rocks and mounds of dirt. Some of the trail had even been washed away in early spring showers - swept into the river that flowed parallel, to become deposited somewhere else. There was the pleasant smell of wet, rotting leaves seeping from the forest floor. That unique smell of autumn.

The last time he had walked up this way was some time ago. When he was much younger. During the years that energy was still in surplus. He used to bound up the mountain with ease. No problem at all. Now he had to stop every so often to stretch his legs. Loosen them up. They weren't too bad yet - just tight. But he knew they'd complain the next day. Refusing to get out of bed. Moaning on their way down the stairs for coffee. It wasn't something he was looking forward to at all.

But as he stood there, looking out over the land, the sore muscles, blistered toes, and damp boots all became worth it. There really was nothing else like it. He could see for miles. Thousands of trees lined up before him, poking through the early dawn mist, as if they were waving good morning to him. The air was fresh. He could feel the dew in his throat with every breath. The breeze was cool and refreshing. He was in awe of its beauty. How untouched it all looked. Flawless.

And this morning, it was his.

                                                                                                                           26

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there!

Tonight will be an abbreviated post - but I hope everyone has a great holiday and eats way more than they need to. Stuff your faces!

To stimulate your senses, since I'm not writing a story, I'm posting the video below. I just happened to stumble upon it recently and was blown away. It's a lot to handle. Constant shots. Constant edits. Great cinematography. Vibrant colors. It takes you on a visual journey around the globe - through plains, over glaciers, between buildings, along coasts.

Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I do.





                                                                                                                           27

Bumpy Journey

It was a real beauty. From a decade on the verge of being forgotten. A time when the designs were larger, smoother, bolder. Just plain boisterous. Its color screamed for attention. Drawing the eye line of anyone in sight. The roar from under the hood startled him the first time him he twisted the key in the ignition. He could feel the power surging through the pedals, into his body. It wanted to be let loose. Out on an open road, where it could really stretch its legs, shake the dust from within its cylinders and show off.

Luckily, thats where they were headed. Out into the hills, to weave in and out of the tree lined hills. Through snow dusted mountains and secluded valleys.

He was ready for an adventure. To be taken on a journey. Let go of everything and just cruise. Not worry about home, work, where he needed to be the next day. Just disappear for a while. Completely off the grid.

Deep down though he was nervous. It had been years since the last time he used a clutch. Eased it in without the gas. Shifting gears smoothly - finding the right notch - that satisfying resistance. The first couple miles had been bumpy. He could smell the clutch burning, hear the gears grinding. Rather than galloping down the road as it should, the car stuttered and shook. Coughing out exhaust every time he slipped.

Back when he was younger, it seemed so much easier. Sitting next to his father, on a barren road in the middle of a desert on an island in the Caribbean, stalling amongst the sand dunes and rocks wasn't such a big deal. It was an old beaten up jeep - its time had come and gone. Now was the time for retirement. It had no prestige to it anymore, only rust and chipped paint. There weren't any cars behind him, honking in frustration. Intersections weren't jammed because he popped the clutch too early. The smell of grinding metal was carried away on every gust of wind. It was just him and clutch.

By now he had started to get the hang of it once again. The engine whined every so often, but only to guide him in the right direction. It wasn't yelling at him anymore. Pleading for him to stop. Yet every time a squeal came from under the hood, he could hear her snickering next to him. Sometimes it'd blend in with the noises of the car, other times it was rather obvious. Even when she tried to hide it, he'd shoot her a look and see the twinkle in her eyes - the rising of her cheeks. He had done her a favor. Agreed to drive the first leg - the most important piece of the journey - pulling out of the rental lot. Not only did he have to deal with her muffled laughter from the seat next to him, but he could see the employees in the rear view mirrors chuckling, turning away as he struggling to get the car to move the ten feet from the parking space to the exit.

It was alright though. Her laughter trickled down into his system and welled up, bringing a smile to his face. It made light of the situation and revealed its absurdity. There wasn't a better copilot he could ask for.

Yet all he was waiting for was the first rest stop, when they could switch and it would be his turn to let his laughter boil over.

                                                                                                                           28

Bottling the Sky

It was a perfect morning to go hunting. One of those bright spring days that rained down, bathing everything in a bright radiance. The clouds hung there, lazily in the air. Plump from the morning dew that had escaped the clutches of the grass and made it into the sky.

He loved their curves. Their whisps. How they could blend together, crashing into one another, merging into something even more beautiful. He had found them early enough that they were still pure - clean from the exhaust and dirt stirred up by the morning commuted. They looked like giant puffs of cotton, ready to be plucked. He just wanted to touch them - become encased by them. Somehow manage to grab hold of one and float away on it - lost in its haze.

His room was filled with them. Glass jars and boxes littered his shelves, bookcases, and desk. Whenever his friends came over, they always asked him what they were for. Never seeming to grasp that they were filled with his collection. What he spent every day on. Hours of his week devoted to.

And what a collection it was.

There were jars filled with churning storms, cascading down the edges of the glass - dark and brooding. Rainstorms that were caught in an endless loop. There was one for every season - including the thin, elongated clouds that were only able to be caught in autumn or the large bulbous towers that littered the sky in the summer months, much like those that hung above him today. When the sun was high in the sky, unbearable to others, he'd escape to his room, holding between his hands any of the jars that held a winter storm - feeling the cold through the glass enclosure. If he dared, he could even open the lid and empty out a small bit of snow on the floor, shuffling his bare feet through it.

Everyday, as he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen he was greeted by a new jar - sitting on the table, next to his breakfast. His mother knew how much he enjoyed his hobby and only wanted to make him happy. No two jars were ever the same. Some looked old, dumbed down and numb by time and age. Smooth to the touch. Others appeared to be from a foreign land, blown by the most delicate of lungs. Occasionally one bore radical designs - corners that jutted out, colors that were one of a kind. He never knew how his mother found them. Where she journeyed to in order to purchase them. Who she knew.

But every morning, he was thankful.

Because of her, his collection always grew.

                                                                                                                           29

Song of the Day (Talk on Indolence) 11.16.12

So here we are. Again.

Happy Friday to everyone out there. Hopefully your week(s) went swimmingly and you have some fun planned for the upcoming weekend.

But lets be honest, we're here for one thing. It's song of the week time. So let's get into to shall we?

I won't lie. I'm full blown into the Avett Brothers. I can't even call it a kick. I've been completely immersed in them this past week. They sample every style of music; bluegrass, punk, folk, rock and roll (just to name a few). So, it should be no surprise that the first song is by them. The Avett Brothers "Talk on Indolence."




Song number two was a tricky one. It was really a toss up, but "Electric Feel" by MGMT just seemed to fit. "Kids" was a close second, but after the week I had I just wanted something that would pick me up and carry me into the weekend on a high. Hopefully it does the same for you!





Enjoy the weekend!

                                                                                                                           33

Precipitating Memories

When the first few raindrops started to fall, she wasn't concerned. The weatherman had warned of a passing sprinkle. The kind of rain that would lightly dust the skin, only to evaporate a couple seconds later. It was described as refreshing. Brief. Passing.

She had actually been looking forward to it. A temporary escape from how things had been.

The heat of the summer had become unbearable. Shirts clung to her back. Her hair was out of control after a shower, frizzing out in every direction - completely unmanageable. Food no longer carried a taste. Her mouth was too dry. All her body yearned for was liquid. The last time it rained was months ago, just as spring was sneaking out the door, allowing summer to take hold.

As the rain continued falling, she was started by the smell that was wafting from the ground. Faint - but present. It tickled her noise. Brought her to her senses. She had forgotten what it had smelled like. The ozone. The smell of wet concrete. Drops of oil and gasoline that had seeped into the cracks of the asphalt. It was completely intoxicating. Smells that were usually hidden began to bloom as the water continued to soak into different parts of the city. She smelled the forest as the flowers potted along the shop windows opened up, welcoming the precipitation. Her lungs screamed for more of the soil from the trees that sporadically lined the streets.

She was so focused on the scents flooding into her nose that she didn't notice other people running by her - hands held over their heads, protecting themselves with whatever they could. Jackets, newspapers, an occasional briefcase. By the time she looked down, she realized she was completely drenched. The sky above her had cracked wide open, releasing months of built up pressure. The drops that fell were fat and heavy - slamming into the ground with authority. Exploding all around her.

There was nothing left to do but smile. Looking up - it was obvious that there was no sign of it stopping. She was soaked through. All she could do was accept and appreciate. It brought her back to the days when she was a kid, running through the yard with her younger sister only a few steps behind, trying to dodge the drops as they plummeted to the ground. Their parents had created it - told them that since they were smaller, they could squeeze in the crevices between droplets. If they remained dry, they'd win. Too naive to realize losing was inevitable, they played every passing shower. Giggling up their own storm.

Before she could even realize what she was doing, she found herself bounding down the sidewalk, skipping back and forth, zig zagging the best she could between the drops. Smile spread ear to ear. She felt young again, as if her sister was actually there, playing with her.

But this time, because she was already drenched - the game was never ending.

                                                                                                                           33

Kluge

Now - I'm sure they didn't pull this off in one take (I'd put money on it), but I still have to give Red Bull credit for pulling off a Rube Goldberg with such style.

I think its great that they were able to maintain the mechanical, every day object aspect(s) of it, while also throwing in a human element. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe it is as creative as the OK Go version, but this is up there.

It's just plain cool. Friday worthy.




                                                                                                                           33

Morning Blend

It was those cold mornings that he loved the most. When his tea would linger into the air, leaving wisps of smoke to get carried away on the breeze. Regardless if he knew the blend that was seeping in his cup, every time the aroma made it up to his nose, it caught him by surprise. Made him smile. Warm and inviting. The perfect way to start the day.

It'd just be him and the cup. Where, it didn't matter as much. If he could find the space, he'd use his suitcase as a makeshift table. If not, it became a seat. He'd wrap his hands around the china, absorbing the heat from the liquid inside. There wasn't a lot that he carried with him - just the essentials to get by, but he was always sure he had enough matches to start a fire large enough to boil water. And tea of course. Sometimes he'd buy it as he passed through a town, other times he'd collect needles off a pine tree or pick wild evergreen. It had become a routine. A necessity. The day couldn't start without it.

He'd wake up just before the sun was ready to peak over the horizon and pack his things while the water was boiling. It didn't matter if he had slept on the side of the road, in a clearing in the forrest, or a hostel. He was always up and ready before the first few beams announced the beginning of the day. Once the water was ready, he'd find a spot to sit and slowly adjust as the tea leaves released their oils and aromas.

He honestly couldn't even remember the last morning that it wasn't cold. It had been quite some time. He had been on the road longer than his mind could reach back to. He knew it was there, somewhere in the haze of his memory, but he could never find it - the starting point. At times he'd push, further and further, daring it to recall something, but every time it'd come up empty handed. Everyday it was the same thing.

Wake up. Move.

To everyone else he probably just looked like a backpacker. One of those tourists who traveled across the globe. Except, there was no set path. No distinct finishing point. He just wandered. By this point in his travels, he honestly didn't even know what part of Europe he was in. As he bounced around, amongst the changing languages, times, and currency, he stopped trying, and let himself become lost. He just floated along - blending into the masses, accepted by the cultures. Passed off from one to another. Sometimes he'd stop in one place for a few nights, work a manual job, save some money. Buy a nice meal, some water to wash with - sometimes he'd splurge, catching a ferry or bus the next day. He never travelled with a map. Nor did he bother asking for directions.

He just went.

As he sat there, he was pleased to smell the spearmint and lemon grass seeping out of his cup. It was a special blend he had purchased from a small vendor tucked away in the back of a market some time ago. Only to be used at a special moment. And today was different. He had company. Sitting across from him was a young child - her head not much taller than his suitcase when sitting down. She had wandered over right as he was taking his first sip. Without hesitation, he had pulled out his spare cup and poured her some. Nodding, she blew into it for a few moments and brought it her mouth - smiling as the liquid touched her lips. They didn't say anything. Just sat there, enjoying each other's company.

When his suitcase began to rumble - he knew his journey was about to begin again. It wasn't long before the train pulled into station, conductor hanging off the door, announcing the next destination in some tongue he didn't recognize.

Standing up, he packed his things away. Looking down at her, he said "Thank You" the only way he knew how, but she looked back, with a look in her eyes as if she didn't understand, and reached out, offering his spare cup back to him. Humbled, he smiled and waved it off. It was hers to keep.

Maybe someday down the road she'd share her morning with someone else.

                                                                                                                           34

Riding Shotgun

When he returned from his bathroom break in the woods, he didn't expect to find her sitting there waiting for him. Perched up in the van like she belonged there. Her bangs hung over her gleaming eyes, tail wagging. It must have been some time since she had run into someone herself - he could notice the drool starting to form around the corners of her mouth. Her excitement ready to drip out.

At first he simply didn't know what to. He clapped his hands, calling to her. No matter how excited he tried to sound, she remained there, looking at him through her shaggy hair. He tried walking away slowly, trying not to pay attention to her - hoping she would hop down and follow him. No dice. Still, she sat there, not flinching. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a granola bar, its wrapper crinkling between his fingers. Immediately her ears perked up and her eyes glowed.

Bingo.

Slowly unwrapping it in front of her, he could see the drool beginning to drip in between when she licked her lips. Edging towards her, he held out his hand, granola bar towards her. It wasn't long before she started to pitch forward, as if she wasn't even aware that she was doing it. She got to the point that he swore she was going to fall over, out of the van, but before the tumble, she finally realized the position she was in and began fighting it. Her hind legs spread out and her back lowered, anchoring herself. She was almost halfway out of the door, head stretched as far as she could, nipping at the air - still a couple inches from the treat.

This continued for a couple minutes before he finally gave up and began moving towards her, allowing the granola bar to come within reach of her. Before he realized what had even happened, the bar was gone, snatched from his hand. But he was surprised by her politeness. She didn't just scarf it down. She was taking little bites. Savoring it. Making it last.

While she was distracted, he inched closer, until he was able to place his hand on her back - ready for the moment for her to snap at him - protecting her bounty, but it never came. As his fingers ran through her hair, he could feel her muscles begin to loosen - becoming less tense with every stroke. When she was finally done with her meal, she looked up at him, as if to say thank you. Without realizing it, he said "You're welcome."

Maybe he did have room for one more on his journey.

                                                                                                                           35

Emergency Exit Row

Even though they were a couple hundred feet away, he could tell they were miserable. Standing out there in the downpour. Their jackets probably did close to nothing when the rain was coming down sideways. But, regardless of their displeasure, they kept working away. Pushing through the storm. Earning that money to put food on their table. Pay off school. Maybe even save enough to get on a plane one day themselves and see the world.

Looking out from the dry interior of the terminal, everything seemed to trivial to him. As others were outside battling the elements to make sure he was able to continue on his journey he was perfectly content. Sitting there, Starbucks in hand, magazine perched on his lap, and headphones in his ears, he realized something. He was just part of a machine. Every other week he was on a plane, flying to different offices around the world, compiling spreadsheets, checking in and out of hotels, interacting minimally with others. He wasn't really living. He was just coasting along.

And it needed to stop.

Looking up at the terminal sign, it notified him that his flight was already delayed a few hours. He thought about it. He had never really had the time to enjoy this city for as many times as he had passed through it. The time was there. So was the money. There was no rush. He should just get up and go.

So, he did.

He wasn't scared when he walked away from his seat, leaving his bags, his Starbucks, and magazine. It all stayed behind, spread out on the seat. His luggage, wherever it was, didn't matter. As he passed by a garbage, he dropped his ticket in. All he needed to do was find the exit.

He was resetting his life. On his own terms.

                                                                                                                           35

Organic Escape

He couldn't remember when he actually swallowed them. That single moment seemed so far away. Lost amongst a gurgling sea of memories and swirling thoughts. Tucked away somewhere deep in his head. But he did remember how they tasted. How they stuck to his tongue, clinging to his taste buds like they didn't want to go down his throat. The flavor was offensive. Flooding and potent. He wanted to gag. The more he chewed to try and swallow, the worse it got. The texture was like a sponge had been cut up and thrown in his mouth.

Eventually he got them down and he began to relax. His friend who he had bought them from made sure to reiterate that he needed to be calm. In a happy place. Physically and mentally. It just made sense to walk out deep into his family's land, amongst the rolled hay that littered the fields. He had grown up there - run through the meadows and pastures, between the grazing cows, breathed the cool fall air - it felt like home as much as anywhere else.

He found the perfect spot. Flat and open.

When the sky began to melt, all he could do was smile. The world had seemed to stop. Sounds increased, but cancelled each other out - becoming a static in the distance that eventually faded away. His mind cleared. All that mattered were the colors. Above him were brilliant trails, stretching across the sky as far as he could see - as if a thousand snails had passed by, leaving shimmering trails. The sun was brilliant. Burning brightly along the horizon, warming every inch of his skin. Trees glowed around the edges - bright green halos burst from their leaves. Each one of his limbs felt as light as the air, as if he could actually drift away were he to merely think it. He wanted to exit his body. Float up, lost in the passing clouds - becoming one of the blurs.

Just, disappear.

But he couldn't. The grass beneath him felt so comforting. Each individual blade was reaching out to him, touching him, calling to him. As a whole, they embraced him. Soothed his back, wrapped around his fingers, held him up. For this trip, they weren't merely his acquaintances. They were his friends. His family. He couldn't leave them, for they wouldn't leave him.

It was bliss. The world around him was unfolding - revealing itself. For the first time he actually felt whole. One with the planet. Looking to his side, he only wished he had someone to share the experience with.

A hand to hold on his journey.

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Song of the Day (And It Spread) 11.9.12

We've made it! Five more days behind us. Theres nothing quite like the salvation of Friday.

Unless of course, it's accompanied by a song or two.

This week, the first song is "And It Spread," by the Avett Brothers. I really don't know too much about them, but I just recently heard this song and fell in love. It's just so care free and the lyrics are wonderfully poetic. Go ahead, call me sappy - I don't care, I'll admit it.




Song number two is a little different. Still low key - but in a completely different way. This is Filter's "Take A Picture."



Finally, but certainly not least, is a classic. Dispatch's "Two Coins."



                                                                                                                           39

Bus Stop Portrait #4

She knew wearing sandals wasn't the greatest choice, but she went against her better judgement - wanting to capitalize the last couple days of summer before the weather turned sour and forced her into shoes. Actually, the more she thought about it, her whole outfit wasn't exactly appropriate for as far as she was. Not only did her feet hurt, but so did her lower back. And because she wanted to wear one of her favorite tops, which she had well before the pregnancy began, she couldn't sit down on the bench that was right behind her, even though her body was pleading with her to.

It wouldn't be long until he'd arrive. She was ready for it. She'd been through it before. Knew what to expect. Although, she'd be lying if she said she was looking forward to it. When Kyrie entered the world, things were going to change. It had been hard with her husband overseas. Not only because of the danger he was in every day, but because their son was going through the rebellious years, pushing her buttons every chance he got. Deep down she was hoping that a younger brother would put him on the right track - almost force the maturity to the surface. He was a good kid, but he was really wearing her down. The constant calls from school, the back talk, coming home with cuts and bruises from a recess scuffle - it was never ending.

She felt guilty. He was at home, curled up in bed, sick as a dog, and she couldn't be there for him. When she had entered his room to wake him up for school, he was already tossing and turning, coughing away. She checked his temp, pressing her hand then cheek against his forehead, just like her mother used to do, and even checked his palms, which were cold and clammy. He looked run ragged. She had left him a cup of tea on his night stand and some money to order some soup before she left for work. On the way out of her room, she noticed a copy of "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" on the floor and smiled - one of her all time favorites favorites.

She really just wanted the day to be over. To get home and cook him a nice dinner, maybe grab some ice cream on the way home to soothe his throat. She was just to rummaging through her mind with what flavor she should get him when she saw the front door of the apartment open. To her surprise, he poked his head out, looked around quickly and bound down the stairs. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was walking to the corner pharmacy to get something. But the more she watched him, the more she realized he wasn't actually sick.

Thats when it hit her.

The copy of "Ferris Bueller" wasn't for enjoyment. It was for studying and perfecting. She could just picture him, watching the beginning on loop, memorizing the important moments, "The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It's a good non-specific symptom. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you're bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It's a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school."

He had to be so proud of himself, thinking he got away with it - probably headed to one of his friend's houses. Of course she was mad, but she couldn't help but smile. She could imagine the look on his face when he walked in and she was home, waiting for him. After all, her generation was the first to be taught by Ferris. She'd been there, done that.

She just hadn't been caught.

                                                                                                                           39

Bus Tour

I'm sticking with the whole bus stop theme I've have had going this week and showing you this video.

First off, I think it's cut really well. The music completely works and the beats drive the editing. Secondly, it's awesome how you see all the sites of London, but also its people, minding their own business, doing their own thing. Often, I find when filming people that are aware of a camera, I don't get the "real" side of them. By capturing everything through a passing vehicle, in this case, a bus, the filmmaker is able to get the best performance from those every day people. I just love observational pieces.

Plus - it's Friday, so this is my "fun" post.

Enjoy!



                                                                                                                           39

Bus Stop Portrait #3

Deep down in his stomach, it felt like a thousand butterflies were trying to escape. Just fluttering about. To everyone else at the bus stop, he must have looked a little absurd - pacing back and forth, sweat forming along his brow, mumbling to himself. His nerves were kicking in.

There really was no reason to let this all get to him. Yes, it was a big moment, but in retrospect, it didn't matter so much. As long as they were happy, it didn't matter what anyone else thought. Only one thought occupied his brain, would they approve? It had been years. Things had fallen apart, through no fault of his own, but through their stubbornness and standards. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard from them or the last holiday he had received a card. All of this weighed on his soul. Was he making the right decision?

From the moment he saw her round the corner, everything that was occupying his mind disappeared. She controlled him. He just couldn't help the smile that was forming. Even from two blocks away he thought she looked absolutely stunning.

She wasn't one of those women who felt the need to dress up often. Her beauty was natural. She didn't need any chemicals, powders, shaders, or blush. If anything, the more she put on, the more it hid her features. But today was different. A special day. One in which she wanted to look the best she could for him. She had taken the time to sit down in front of the mirror and apply her makeup, if ever so slightly, just to accentuate what she already had. It had taken her some time, but she even straightened her hair, letting it fall just below her shoulders.

He almost didn't recognize her without the curls. For as long as he had known her, he could probably count on one hand the number of times she had worn her hair down. She looked absolutely breathtaking - like something out of a magzine. Her skin was vibrant in the morning sunlight, the dress she was wearing hugged her frame in all the right places, and the aqua blue of the material contrasted her hazel eyes brilliantly. Walking towards him down the sidewalk, he couldn't believe it. Nothing else seemed to matter. The buildings faded away. Graffiti lost its color. The usual smells of the city drifted away. He was completely focused on her. The closer she got, the harder it was for him not to go to her. Embrace her, kiss her, so her he cared.

He could feel the eyes of everyone else glancing over to her as well. The man next to him held a slight smile, nodding his head, acknowledging her beauty, while the woman at the end of the bench looked as if she couldn't believe what was walking her way.

When he looked at her, all his worries melted away. He couldn't wait to introduce his parents to his fiance.

                                                                                                                           40

Bus Stop Portrait #2

He knew it. She knew it. They both had heard it.

This coming weekend they were supposed to be headed to the beach. Slowly but surely, over the last month, their mother had been collecting the chairs, towels, buckets and shovels - everything they'd need for their mini vacation. That was, until they had acted up.

To them, it didn't seem like such a big deal. They were brother and sister. It was inevitable that they were going to bicker. About who was taller. Who was older. Who had more friends. Which toy belonged to who. Their mother had heard it all before, so they assumed that her threats about canceling the weekend trip didn't mean much. Sure, she had warned them plenty. Work had been tough. Her boss was demanding her to log extra hours during the late shift. Their meals were prepared early in the week, with notes left on them instructing them how long each should be in the microwave for, that there was desert in the freezer, to be in bed by nine.

Yet, throughout all this, she was always there in the morning, leaning over them, the smell of her shampoo gently waking them up before she'd kiss them on the forehead, welcoming them to the day. They could see it under her eyes - work was stealing her energy. She moved slowly, more calculated, trying to save what she could for the office. But everyday, she'd have their lunches ready, walking them to the bus stop for school. They weren't quite sure how she did it.

But they still pushed it. And today, it finally snapped. What had seemed like a harmless argument over who's bowl of cereal had more marshmallows in it, turned into an avalanche. They couldn't remember the last time she had gotten so loud. Her voice bellowed from deep within her chest, shaking the glasses in the cabinets. It was short and sweet. She was tired. It wasn't the first time she had asked them to stop - to be civil with one another. There were to be no and's, if's, or but's. The weekend was off.

They were shocked. Speechless. It had been years since last time she had yelled at them, taken something away. Neither had any idea how to react. Of course tears welled up in the corners of their eyes, sliding down their cheeks, but they didn't help. Her face was a stone mask. She wasn't going to have any of it. They had made their beds and they were going to sleep in them.

So here they stood. Looking up at her - puppy eyes in full glory. There were only two days left before they were scheduled to leave. They'd have to be on their best behavior until then - knowing that she was easy to persuade. Maybe surprising her with dinner would be a nice start.

The only problem was they couldn't reach the microwave.

                                                                                                                           41

Bus Stop Portrait #1

He was a morning person. Through and through. Ever since he was a youngster, the moment the sunlight crept into his room, sneaking between the blinds, he would be awake. No matter how much he tried - tossing and turning, throwing the sheets over his head, he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Eventually he just gave up and embraced it. He'd pace through the house, waiting for his brothers and sisters to wake up, so he'd have someone to play with. Some days he'd even beat his parents. So, he'd brew their coffee. Leaning over the pot, making sure not to burn the beans, breathing in the aromas of the deep brown liquid that bubbled below his nose. It wasn't until he was much older that he learned to appreciate the caffeinated beverage, but once his taste buds matured, he was hooked. Every morning he'd have a large mug - not to aid in waking up, but simply for the flavor. No sugar. No cream. He was a purist. Darker the roast, the better.

But today, he wished he had a few more cups of coffee with him. He needed that extra kick of caffeine flowing through his system. The morning was dragging. Barely crawling along. When dawn arrived at the house and the first few rays of sunlight poured in to the bedroom, he immediately hid himself under the covers - something he hadn't done in nearly twenty years. It hurt his eyes, boring deep down to the back of his head, rattling around inside his skull. When the alarm clock started going off, playing Sunny and Cher's "I got You Babe," he wanted to scream. Pick it up and throw it against the wall. Smash it into a million pieces. On a normal day, he would have laid there, almost awake, drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting for the melody to kick in and their duet to begin, bringing a smile to his face.

He could only imagine how he looked to everyone else. It actually made him chuckle. His clothes were probably disheveled, bags under his eyes - he wasn't even sure if his socks matched. The shirt he had on was one he had received as a gift from his mother-in-law and was something he usually wouldn't be caught wearing in public, relegated to odd jobs around the house, but in the haze of getting dressed, was the first thing he pulled out of the closet. Nothing really mattered. All he wanted was the day to be over so he could just crawl back into bed. Unfortunately, it was just beginning.

But then again, it was alright. As he looked down at her, he couldn't help but smile. She was looking back at him, eyes gleaming, new skin still shining and soft.

He was more than willing to lose some sleep for his new daughter.

                                                                                                                           42

Song of the Day (What I Got) 11.01.12

Song of the day!

First group for a new month (Happy November)!

The first song is a bit of an oldy. Many of you have probably heard it, but its worth sharing with everyone. It's just one of those groovin', feel good jams. Hope you enjoy it - Sublime's "What I got."




Song number two is Everclear's "I Will Buy You a New Life." Again, an oldy, but I'm confident that this isn't as well known. Give it a listen - let me know what you think.




                                                                                                                           47

Scorcher

He always waited as long as he could before he'd give in. Some days it'd be hours, others only a couple minutes. It all depended on how sociable the sun was feeling. Was it going to be skittish and protect itself, hiding behind a layer of clouds? Or was it feeling adventurous, presenting itself for all the world to see - illuminating the sky with its brilliance.

On a day like today, the sun wasn't shy. It hung high, in all its glory, smiling brightly on the people below. Its grin beat down on his back, pasting his shirt to his skin. It clung to him, soaked in sweat only after a few minutes. He didn't mind though - it felt nice as the liquid evaporated, offering his skin a brief escape from the heat. It wasn't only him that was feeling the effects though. The other children seemed to labor about, either moving slowly amongst the jungle gym or hiding in the shadows of the structures. Waiting. Hoping for a cloud to pass by to offer a slight escape.

He pushed on though. The park was his for the time being. Swings were open. No one dared touch the monkey bars. Even the slide was wide open, but he quickly learned his lesson the first time he went down it. The sun had left its stamp - the metal heated enough to singe the back of his legs, right below where his shorts ended. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to persuade him to not to do it again. He didn't as much slide and he skidded down it.

The longer he played, the warmer it got. It was a challenge. Who could cave first? Would he give up and abandon his play, or would it? Falling from the sky or disappearing behind a wall of clouds.

It wasn't too much of a surprise that he broke first. It was just too much. His skin was pink, covered in beads of perspiration. He could feel the salt from his sweat seeping into the corners of his eyes. His mind was becoming fuzzy. It just wanted refreshment. He just wanted salvation.

Before he bent down and let his lips welcome the liquid, he let it run first, just for a few seconds. It was always warm at the beginning, carrying with it the irony taste of the pipes. He knew the cooler, fresher water was deeper in the pipes, just waiting to come out.

It was one of the oldest tricks of the trade.

                                                                                                                           47

Windy City

Ok - I had every intention of writing tonight. I really really did. But when I logged onto my photo website, they hadn't updated anything!

They had one new post, which you will see below. And to be honest, I'm ok with it. If it wasn't anything presentable, I'd be more upset. But I swear the admins of the website I use know me personally. What kind of video did they post? You all should know by now...a time lapse! How appropriate. Not only do I adore them, it's more inspiration for my upcoming piece.

I've only been to Chicago a couple times, sadly as a connecting city for flights, so I was never able to make it out of O'Hare and wander about and explore.

If the following video proves anything, it's that I need to make Chicago a future destination.

It just looks to clean and bright. Warm and inviting. How could you not want to go there?




                                                                                                                           47