Underneath

He heard it from all the way down the hall. 

His tossing and turning. Thumping against the bed. Even some of his whimpers as they echoed out of his room. 

He felt badly for his son. Knew what he was going through. He himself had dealt with the dreams, the nightmares, even sleepwalking when he was younger. And deep down all he wanted to do was go into the room, sit on the corner of the bed and comfort his son, tell him that everything would be alright. They were all dreams. Not real. All he had to do was clear his mind and go back to bed - morning would arrive in no time and the sun would push any of the bad thoughts away.

They had gone to the doctor. He and his wife. Sometimes with their son, sometimes without. They had put him through all the tests. Monitored his sleep patterns, tried giving him some medicine, hooked him up to a bunch of devices, electrodes pasted all over his body. He was a trooper, enduring it all - fear behind his eyes.  The machines made weird noises, buzzing, clicking, and hissing around him. When they could - he and his wife would hold their son's hand, coach him through as much as they could. But the times when they had to sit on the other side of a thick pane of glass were the toughest - seeing their son helpless, lost inside the belly of a large machine.

When all the tests were done, they waited. The doctors had said it would take some time. Not only for the results to come back but for them to have the necessary time to analyze the findings. So they went home and the nighty routine continued. The longer it took to hear back from the hospital, the worse the nights became. At first the problem seemed to have subsided a bit. He was sleeping throughout most of the night. Only a few moments here or there. But as time wore on, his sleep patterns were getting worse and worse. It seemed like he was up more than he was asleep. Genuinely scared to go to bed. And when the results finally did come back - they were shocked to find that nothing seemed to be wrong with their son. No abnormalities. No ailments. He was as healthy as he should be - if not even healthier. There was no explaining what was going on each night. The doctor suggested therapy or even medication, but they refused - worried that either could have too adverse an effect on their son. They had raised him properly, given him a great life, so therapy didn't seem to make sense and of course no parent wants to drug their child every night.

So they took turns. Waiting with him until he fell asleep, until the first time he'd sit up in bed, eyes wide - showing him that they were there - everything was alright. Each night as they sat in his room, they heard stories about something in there with him, waiting for him to fall asleep, chasing him in his dreams, breathing in the dark. All things that they had gone through as children too. The dark was scary - but there wasn't anything there to get him. After a week or two, things started to return to normal. He seemed to be more comfortable, knowing they were right there. So they eased off, eventually to the point where a simple kiss on the forehead would be all that he needed.

And then one night he was shaken awake. Startled. He could feel his son's hands on his wrist, gripped tightly, shaking feverishly. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and put his hand on his son's head, tussling his hair, comforting him. Taking his son's hand in his own, he guided him back down to his room, picking him up and placing him back onto his bed. As he pulled the sheets up, tucking the edges below his body, he heard his son whisper,

"Daddy, there's a monster under my bed."

Smiling, to show his son that everything was alright, he bent down and looked under the frame - shocked to see him, another him, under the bed, eyes wide and quivering, whispering,

"Daddy, there's somebody on my bed."

Food for Thought

Long day, followed by an extremely grueling frisbee league game. I'm bushed. My muscles are aching, my whole body is sore. All I want to do is go to sleep but my mind is still racing.

And of course I can't leave you empty-handed. So why not present you with a little video. It's been some time since I've posted something that carries some weight with it or has some social context (instead of something like "check out this cool time lapse or my road trip through a bunch of countries). When I first saw what I'm about to show you, as short as it is, I was absolutely shocked. Not so much by the numbers, but how the waste in produced. You'd assume better practices or technology would be introduced to fix the problems. But then again - that's only half the problem. Think about all the food post consumer that is being wasted. It's absolutely mind numbing that there are still people starving all around the world and so much food is just thrown away. Come on people! What the hell!? 165 billion annually!? For real!? And it's disgusting how much water is used to produce said food. Think about all that could go to the nations that battle for fresh water daily.

I don't want to dissect everything - watch it for yourself. But I know after watching it I'm certainly going to be more conscious about what I buy at the store and order at a restaurant. There is no reason to put anything to waste. There are people out there who need it more than we do.

Two Wheels to Freedom

It had always been there. For as long as he had taken that path to work. Through rain storms, dark nights, hidden beneath snow drifts. Every day he'd make his way to and from the office, following the alleyway behind his apartment and each day, without fail, it'd still be sitting there.

At first he didn't pay any attention to it. He had seen plenty of bikes throughout the city - chained up in all sorts of places. Against trees, street signs, traditional bike racks. There was never a shortage of them. But as his routine of walking to work continued, he began to take notice of a particular bike frame leaning up against the backside of a building, attached to a rain gutter. The more and more he passed it, his curiosity only continued to grow. It was always in the same spot, facing the same direction - he wondered who the owner could possibly be. So he tried adjusting his schedule by a couple minutes in the morning. Standing under the shower for a little longer, taking his time and enjoying his coffee a bit more, even opting to cook something for breakfast instead of rushing through a bowl of cereal. But as long as his pushed his schedule, the bike was always there, waiting to great him.

It didn't take long for his mind to begin wandering. Creating grandiose stories about where the owner could possibly be. The first few weren't anything special. Maybe they had just lost the key to the lock or the bike was actually stolen, left somewhere to not be found and eventually became forgotten about. But as each day passed and he continued to see the bike - his imagination only became more vivid. He pictured the owner defaulting on their taxes, being dragged away by the IRS and thrown in jail. Sitting in their concrete cell, thinking about life on the other side - remembering the stranded bike. Maybe the owner had become blind over time and forgotten where they had placed it. Another possibility was a horrible accident. A car crash, a homicide - even skydiving with a faulty chute. But maybe at the same time they survived said accident and had some sort of amnesia. Completely forgetting that their beloved bike was still chained outside in the elements.

Each day that passed he felt more attached. He had noticed the little things. That paint was chipping on the frame where the seat met the metal or a thick colony of rust had taken residence amongst the links of the chain. He even knew what the bell sounded like, occasionally ringing it to and from the office. By no means was it a bad bike. It looked like it would ride fine - it just needed some tender love and care. A new coat of paint, some new tires - the spokes could be wiped clean. It wouldn't take much.

Then one day he made himself a promise. A deadline. He'd give it two more weeks.

When the morning after the deadline broke, he woke up early, giddy to get the day started. He rushed through his routine, going as quickly as he possibly could before bolting out the door with a full backpack slung over his shoulders and two new tires in his hands. Making his way down the alley, he stopped at the bike and gave a quick glance around. Satisfied no one was around, he got to work. Putting on the new tires, wiping down the frame, chipping some of the rust off. When the cosmetic tasks were done, he reached into the backpack and pulled out a saw. Thankfully the lock had become weakened by the weather and didn't need much coercing to finally break free. Standing up, he was proud what stood before him. Sure, it wasn't brand new nor the best looking bike he had ever seen but he was glade he was able to save it - free it from its shackles.

He was amazed by how it felt beneath him as he coasted down the alleyway towards the office.

He felt like a kid again.

If love is a game girl, then you're gonna win. I'll spend the rest of my life bringing victory in.

Song of the Day (Paranoia in B-Flat Major) 07.26.13

Can you believe it? July. Come and gone. Pretty soon it'll be the end of August and autumn will be just around the corner.

Where is time going!?

But let's be honest - it doesn't matter. It's the end of the week and we should celebrate with some quality music. So here we go.

It's been a while since I've featured The Avett Brothers so song number one just seems appropriate. I know I've been hooked on them for a while, but the funny thing is I actually only heard this song for the first time three days ago. It's a bit odd melodically, but I think it is catchy as hell, and lyrically very poignant - their songs always seem to apply to me. Also, I still think the lead singer has a beautiful voice - so there's that. It's just one of those feel good, nodding your head, driving down the coast with the windows down kind of song, sun setting off in the distance. Anyone want to cruise the PCH with me? This is The Avett Brothers', "Paranoia in B-Flat Major"




Song number two today is coming from a completely different direction. It's 1000x more upbeat and whimsical. I'm sharing it with you simply because it is summertime, the sun is shining, the weather is nice, and we should all be out having at least a little bit of fun. And that is exactly what this song is. Fun. This is Mika's, "Grace Kelly."

Celtic Spring

It's been way longer than I ever anticipated. I'll admit - I let time get away from me and work began to take over, sucking away my energy. Energy that would be used to come home and edit.

Well, this week I turned a new leaf. I buckled down. Picked my head up and dove right in. Color correcting over 3600 photos in two days. Yes, by the end of it my eyes were tired, my fingers were sore from all the key strokes, and my back ached from hunching over the computer, but I did it. I'm only two months behind my deadline...

To recap real quick though - Ireland is an amazing place. I'd highly recommend it to anyone. The people there are so warm and gracious, the scenery is jaw-dropping, the food perfect, and the whiskey and Guinness flows like water. Not only is the destination great, but the trip as a whole was better than anything I could have ever asked for. I got to see my mom truly happy again, down to her core. We experienced things together for the first time, created new memories, laughed obnoxiously, caught up, healed each other. It was exactly what was needed.

And yes mom - my last travel video set the bar very high, but I think I may have surpassed it with assistance from the motherland. Granted - I am aware the music becomes a little wonky near the end, but even with my magic editing abilities I couldn't fix it - for some god awful reason thats how it was composed.

I hope you all enjoy this - you can click "here" to go to my vimeo page and see it full screen HD (which you all should do because thats how it should be viewed - I'd just advise letting it load completely first).


Ireland Road Trip 2013 from Andrew Kalicki on Vimeo.

Don't Let Go

Alright - today was absolutely hell at the office so I'm taking a break from writing a story tonight. Sorry everyone. It was one of those days that when I left the office, I felt like I had run a marathon. My mind was mush. My muscles felt empty. Now don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining - merely explaining why I'm abandoning my writing pattern.

But fret you not!

I'm here to present you with two amazing trailers. Remember last week or maybe the week before when I told you about the film Gravity? Well I have some more footage to show you. They're considered trailers, but to be honest, there are no cuts in either one. Yes - you read that right. No cuts. So sit back and enjoy because these perfectly show what kind of movie we are all in for. And just imagine - both of these are only two minutes. There is a shot that is over thirteen...

Hopefully you're as in awe as the first time I saw the film. Just think about how they shot these seauences. I'm still not sure myself. Did they hang the actors from wires? Shoot everything in a pool and add the background in post production? Did they create some crazy new camera rig? I'm thinking it's a combination of the three - but regardless, it is still insanely impressive.

Sit back and enjoy.

I know I can't personally wait for October. Are you excited?

Morning Melodies

Every morning it was the same routine. No variations. No changes. Like clock work. He'd wake up early, while the stars were still alive in the sky, twinkling the last few times before tucking themselves away below the horizon. As time had passed, each morning had gotten a little trickier. His joints weren't what they once were. They battled him. Argued with him to stay in bed. Just ten more minutes. Sometimes he'd have to sit on the corner of the mattress and massage them awake - coax them to catch up to his muscles. Carry him downstairs so his day could really begin.

He always had it timed perfectly. As he walked into the kitchen the grinder would click on and begin to whirl. Throwing that freshly ground coffee aroma into the air. Flooding his nose. Teasing his body with  the caffeine it would soon be supplied. He swore just the smell alone woke him up - put an extra perk into his step. It was an experience. Just the right amount of sugar, usually a spoonful, following by a splash of milk - enough to turn the coffee a creamy mahogany. Every time it touched his lips it was a salvation, bringing a smile to his face. He could feel it seeping into his pours as it ran down his throat. Waking his core. Releasing his spirit. By the time he was done savoring each and every last drop, the sky would be just be beginning to lighten - the sign that he needed to be on his way. Placing his cup in the sink, he'd make his was to the back door, where he'd pick up the case on his way out.

Aside from the coffee - the walk was his favorite part of the morning. Strolling amongst the tall grass, feeling it play and pull against his pants - the fat dew drops soaking into the fabric, cool against his skin. It was the time he could just let his mind wander. Think about the past, the present, and the future. Nothing specific - just float out in front of him as he made his way up to the ridge. It was his private time. To contemplate.

When he finally made it to the top, he'd always find the chair waiting for him, just where he left it the day before. Sitting down, he'd lean forward and crack his back, taking pleasure in the release. Pulling the case up to his lap, he'd open it and gaze inside at its contents - lost for just a moment at the beauty. Laying there, in all its glory was his grandfather's mandolin. Passed down from generation to generation. The wood was still a rich color, but there were a few patches worn from years of play. Bringing it to his ear, he'd tune it ever so slightly, listening to the string as they sang out into the still morning air. When it was ready he'd wait. Until the sun had begun to crest over the horizon. Then he'd begin playing - letting the melody carry out into the valley. Over the hills, through the trees and pastures - echoing out into the countryside. Welcoming the new day with a tune.

It was his favorite show to play.

Why

It's a question that's asked a lot in life. There isn't one specific answer - there can't be. But here are a few.

It could start with the little things. Small, unseen nuances. The shape of each letter when you write. The way you wrap your fingers around the stem of a wine glass, the pattern in which you brush your teeth. How you walk. One foot before the other. Grace in each stride. Bold and brave. Demanding attention from anyone else around you, even if it isn't purposeful. A confidence in your saunter that can't be ignored. You're strong. Independent. Empowered. How you don't let the world get you down - people can think what they want, say what they want, but you know yourself and brush it off. It could be how your fingers twitch when you're in a deep sleep. Muscles firing off in little spasms every now and then. The warmth of your body. The kind that'll keep someone from wanting to leave a bed in the morning, holding them under all the layers. But in all honesty, those are just the simplest of things.

It's because of your hair. How absolutely lush it is - flowing down onto your shoulders in all of it's auburn glory. I could play with it between my fingers forever. Curling it around my hands, nestling my face in it, breathing in deeply - becoming intoxicated by it's smell. Light and sweet, almost exotic. It's because of your skin. Soft. Perfect. Freckled. Spread out with no discernible pattern. They give you character - reminding me how perfect imperfection is. Maybe it's your legs. The way a dress falls over them, covers them - but only enhances them. It could be their shape. Their length. Their color. How they bend when you're still wrapped in a comforter, early in the morning, amongst the haze that is still lingering in your brain. How your toes curl around the straps of a sandal - holding on but more than ready to be out in the fresh air. To announce their presence to the world. Proud to be out. It's because of your smile. Bright and magnificent. The way your cheeks rise and your nose scrunches. A twinkle in your eyes. Mischievous and joyful. Able to stop me in my tracks. I could become lost in them for days. Deep and inviting. Windows into your intimidatingly brilliant mind.

Because of your soul. It's pure. Honest. You listen. You watch. You absorb. You're not caught up in yourself. The world around you is ongoing and you don't forget that. You realize no one is perfect, including yourself and you recognize the flaws in others, as well as your own, but you strive to correct them, making yourself and others better. You make me smile. Unlike anyone else I've ever known. Gotten some of the deepest, truest, heartiest laughs to echo out from my lungs - made my stomach hurt. It's also your brilliance. I can sit and speak with you forever. About anything, anyone. You're opinionated, strong, sophisticated. Passionate. You make me envious. Push me to be a better person, although you already have. You've pulled down layers, knocked down walls, broken through barriers that needed to come down - helped me grow.

Our adventures. The hours laughing together - howling into the early morning. Laying on our backs on top of a giant boulder, staring up into the sky. Counting the shooting stars that streaked by as they disintegrated in our atmosphere. Falling asleep in my car, listening to the ocean crashing a few hundred feet away. Riding a train to a city we've never been to before, not only in another country, but on a completely different continent. Danced with me until 7am. Showed me some of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. Been my copilot for thousands of miles. The memories. Because you're the type of person everyone longs to have as a friend.

By this point, maybe there is an answer to the question.

It's because you're you.

Song of the Day (Fire and Rain) 07.19.13

Boom.

Another Friday in the books. Congrats everybody. Let's get to it.

This week involves a bit of a throwback. Music has a wonderful ability to stir memories. A certain song can bring you right back to a certain moment. A certain location. With certain people. That's the case this week. It's summer so this song just seems fitting.

As many of you know, growing up I spent every summer in New Jersey on the shore. We'd always have music on, throughout the days, evenings, and into the night. There is one artists that I remember hearing during dinner more than any other. More specifically - one particular song. Just listening to it, I can see the kitchen, smell the grilled steak or chicken, hear the corn on the cob boiling on the stove - the lights dimmed, glowing warmly over the table. I can feel the lagoon behind me, on the other side of the sliding glass door, lapping at our dock. The sky a brilliant orange from the setting sun. And of course, my Mom dancing around, humming and singing along to the song as she brings the food to the table. In  my mind, it's a perfect moment. A memory that will always bubble up when I hear James Taylor's, "Fire and Rain."

Happy listening.

What's Your Secret?

It's crazy to think about. All around us there are billions of people. Doing their own things. Walking to work, buying groceries, minding their own business. Some would call it coexisting. But to some degree that involves acknowledging each other - which a lot of us don't seem to do. We're too focused on ourselves.

Just living.

Wouldn't it be nice to go out and get to know some of them? In a given day how many people do you pass that you don't know? A couple hundred? Do you ever just want to stop and strike up a conversation? Even if it was just for a split second?

I'll admit. I'm a shy guy. It's a fault I have. And while I'm aware of it, I have a hard time addressing it, which is even more frustrating. Because if any of you know me, I'm an extremely sociable person. I couldn't exist alone. I need another people around me. To share space with, to talk to, enjoy a meal with. I just simply couldn't do it alone.

So when I found this video, it made me smile. I don't know any of these people - maybe you do - but I was intrigued by each and every one of them. Sure, some of their 'secrets' weren't mind blowing or necessarily shocking, but they gave me a taste of who and what type of person they are. But what really got me about this video is that people actually answered the question. They weren't forced to and certainly didn't need to, but they still did. There is something about opening up, even if it is just one tiny detail that is therapeutic. Some are extremely sad, others funny, enlightening, adorable - but by revealing them to a stranger, it all harkens back to that we need each other. There is no reason to go through life by yourself. Engage one another. Learn. Don't forget you share this planet.

Trying to east scalloped potatoes makes me gag.

So, what's your secret?


PostSecret: Confessions on Life, Death and God from Frank Warren on Vimeo.

Cruising Altitude

Ever since he was a kid he had the dream. Of soaring through the clouds. Rocketing towards the heavens. Feeling the wind against his face, pushing back the hair from his eyes. He'd feel at home. Weightless. Free from gravity's constraints. Dancing alongside the flocks of birds - aerial partners amongst towers of fluff.

He used to fall asleep every night, the thoughts filling his head. How he could make it a reality. He remembered waking in the morning, memories of the prior night flooding his mind - of being a pilot, sitting in front of a vast array of knobs and switches. Staring down the runway. Eager to throttle forward and take to the sky. There were times that he was an astronaut. Strapped to his seat. Peering through his visor out the tiny window in front of him - straight up to where he was headed. Past the clouds and the Earth's grasp. Into the stratosphere. On rare occasions he would be caught by surprise. He'd find himself under the big top, before a crowd of hundreds, dressed in a bright leotard. Before he knew it, he'd be climbing into a cannon. Shimmying down, feeling the cold steel against his exposed skin, smelling the faintness of the gunpowder as it found its way into his nose. He wasn't nervous. Once his feet hit the bottom, he knew it would only be ten seconds. He'd count down slowly, until it was over in a puff a smoke - flying through the air, large net quickly approaching. The audiences' faces were the best part of the dream. The shock on the mothers, how unimpressed the fathers were, but even more - the look of pure joy on the children's. There was nothing better.

When he woke up each morning, he'd open his eyes, hoping, wishing that he'd be amongst the clouds. Some days he'd fool himself by looking out the window first - only to be disappointed to feel the sheets still below his body. Luckily as the years passed, his passion didn't. He kept his dream of flying alive. Tucked away in his heart for the right moment.

And now as he looked out of his office, it no longer was a wish. It was a reality. No matter where he looked he was surrounded by thousands of clouds. An absolute sea of white that seemed to stretch on forever. He wondered what it was like below, on the surface. Families curled up, still in bed. Only the dedicated few had risen, gotten on the road, continuing to work. Just the thought of them made them seem so small. Not only because of how far they were below him - but because they couldn't fly.

On the horizon he could see the sun just beginning to peak out, greeting him with the new day.

Settling back into his seat, he flipped off the "seat belt" sign and began his speech" Welcome aboard ladies and gentlemen..."

Shore Mornings

Some days he loved to just lie in bed, tangled in the sheets, head buried deep within the comfort of a pillow.

But today wasn't one of them.

When he sat up in bed, he was drenched. Confused. Outside his window the sun had just begun to crest above the horizon. It was barely morning. He was uncomfortable - soaked in sweat. The air was  beyond muggy. The humidity made it hard to breath. He swore he'd be able to cut it with a knife, swim through it - completely unrelenting. The ceiling fan just droned on above him, choking on the thick air, unable to circulate it. Peeling himself from his sheets, he stumbled through the house. The early morning light was pouring in everywhere it could - under door frames, in between blinds, reflecting off surfaces. It burned. His eyes throbbed - they weren't ready for it. Standing near the door, he rubbed them for a few moments, pressing his palms firmly against his eyelids. Massaging them awake, back to life. When he opened them, the world wasn't so loud anymore. It was manageable. Looking to his left, he noticed it was only five forty-five. It was too hot. Too humid. Too bright.

There was no way he was going back to bed.

By the time he made it out to the dock, his body had finally begun to wake up. His head no longer throbbed, his eyes had stopped screaming, and the smell wafting from the cup of coffee in his hands only expedited the process.

It was mornings like these that surprised him. When he could sit on the edge of the dock, feet dangling off - toes only dipping into the water when they were at the lowest point of their swing. Off in the distance he could tell the town was just beginning to wake up. He could see the fisherman making their way back to port - boats filled with an early morning catch. Doors were beginning to open amongst the shops. The occasional pedestrian could be seen walking down to the local bakery to grab a bagel and the day's paper. As the sun continued to climb above him, the seagulls began to leave their nests. Soaring above the bay, looking for their next meal. Chittering and calling to one another - laughing back and forth as if enthralled in a conversation. The flapping of their wings echoed out over the water, not yet drowned out by the engines of the oncoming tourists. They were still at least a few hours away. Cars loaded with coolers, beach toys, sunscreen, and towels - tearing down the expressway, eager to get to their final destination.

He could picture the beaches. Gentle morning waves lightly lapping at the shore. A haze still hovering over the water. It was early enough that the lifeguard chairs were still probably tipped over, up by the dunes - not yet dragged to the water's edge. Only a few dedicated locals would have wandered out of their homes by now to claim their spot on the sand.

The more he sat there, the more he realized how much he truly enjoyed living on the shore and the beautiful mornings it provided. Listening to water in front of him, tasting the salt lingering in the air, feeling the sun beat against his skin. It wasn't always easy waking in time.

But when he did - there was nothing more perfect.

Feel the Beat

You'll have to excuse me. Tonight was a league frisbee game so I got home late and now I am bushed. So no story for you.

But! 

I do have a video the share. I'm not elaborating much on it, but when I saw it, it was one I knew I needed to share with everyone. It's amazing, fascinating, and for lack of a better phrase, it tugs on the heart strings.

Hopefully it moves you as much as it did me.

If I was a sailer, who sailed the seven seas, I'd row across the ocean just to bring you home with me.

Song of the Day (Caroline) 07.12.13

Almost a year ago I was unbelievably nervous - it was almost time for me to embark on my first real vacation and tour the wonderful state of California. God damn. 

One whole year.

Can you believe it? I know I've talked about this on so many Fridays before, but where has it all gone? To be honest, it still feels like that trip happened a few weeks ago. But anyway - we're getting further and further into summer now. The temps are starting to really rise. We've hit triple digits a couples times and I've gotten my first bad sunburn of the summer - but it's alright, it'll be the perfect base tan.

Let's not waste anymore time though. We all know why we've gathered here on this fine Friday. Time for some music. Amongst my friends I was probably one of the last to hop on the Spotify train. I had always been content with my own music or the occasional dabble into Pandora. So when I was shown this new program that allows you to basically listen to anything you want, whenever you want, for free, I was hooked. Not long after using it, I started getting all the notifications and adds suggesting what music I should try and to be honest, it annoyed me. I didn't like it flooding my home screen or constantly telling me to branch out. But finally, early this week, I humored the program and clicked on an album they suggested based off my love for the Avett Brothers. 

I'll be the first to admit. They got me. Technology had beaten me yet again. From the very first song of this new artist I was hooked. The more and more I listened, the more and more he grew on me, until it finally clicked that this had to be the song of the week. Correction - song(s) of the week. The artist, Noah Gundersen is primarily a solo artist at this point who is a strange mix of indie and folk music. He plays a crisp guitar and has one of those great, raspy, rich voices. Lyrically, he's much more of a poet. You can tell he's all about telling a story - not at all interested in anything too 'poppy.' He doesn't seem to have the largest fan base and I can't seem to understand why - he's clearly very talented. I'd certainly say he's worth a listen and a lot of his music just feels like it deserves to be played in the summer. Specifically on a hot day, with the front door open so the music can waft out down the street. The first song I'd like to present is Noah Gundersen's, "Caroline."

Song number two, also by Noah, is just as wonderful. This is "Moss On A Rolling Stone."

Happy listening! 

Babel

This is just perfect. I remember a couple weeks ago talking about how it had been some time since I had presented you with a cool music video - like I used to back in the day. Well thankfully, Mumford and Sons new video is exactly what I've been looking for.

I'll be honest, when I first watched it, I knew exactly how they did it. Some of my favorite music videos of all time use the same technique. What is it exactly? That I'll keep as a secret for now, although I will give a hint and tell you some CG must have been used. But other than that, I want you to watch and break it down - see if you can figure it out yourself. Did they shoot it in all one long take? Shoot it multiple times and splice all the footage together? What if they just shot everything on a giant green screen? I will admit though that it is done really well. There really aren't any major moments that give away the cinematic magic at work or take you out of the piece. All the movement is extremely fluid and it's pretty impressive that everything is in time with the music (their lips, guitar strumming, drums, etc). I also really appreciate the space they chose to use. Since it is barren and shot in black and white, the viewer is really able to focus on the band and not become distracted with other things.

Hell - it also doesn't hurt that it is a great song.

So what do you think - figure out how they did it?

Summer Meetings

It had been one of those nights sure to be engraved in their brains for years to come.

They hadn't seen each other in quite some time. All spreading out across the country, beginning what were to become their own lives. It was the time that they had all looked forward to. Moving away from home, making new friends, experiencing things they had never imagined. Of course they were sad. It felt like they were abandoning everything they grew up with. Their mothers wouldn't be at the kitchen table greeting them with a smile in the mornings, a group of friends wouldn't be waiting for them at their locker - not that they even had lockers anymore.

They had all changed a bit. Grown both in stature and in mind. Came back different men.

At first when they all sat down, there was an awkward silence. Looking at each other, they were surprised by how similar and yet how different it all seemed. There were a couple beards that hadn't been there before, some new haircuts, the occasional tattoo - but most of all the energy had shifted. They could all feel it, deep down within themselves. After a moment they all began laughing, standing, and hugging each other. It didn't matter. Time had come and gone but their souls were the same.

It was all the same bullshit.

As the fire roared into the night, their laughter only continued to echo out over the field. Stories were flowing as easily as the beer. There were the typical freshman year tales about the first party attended, the first time they woke up and couldn't remember anything that ad happened the night before, details about their roommates that probably shouldn't have been told, or trying to out-do one another with how many classes were skipped. Of course there were a few shockers - how a class was passed by sleeping with the professor or someone's first experience with psychedelics - explaining how the walls had begun to melt and their couch was chasing them throughout the dorm.

Slowly but surely as the night creeped on and the moon continued to rise, their barriers started to come down amongst the friends and it felt natural again. It was inevitable. A year apart would do that even if they didn't want it to. They had kept in touch, but somewhere along the line, their new lives had begun to take control and pull them away and none of them had even the slightest idea.

It was all a part of growing up.

But the more and more they caught up, the more they realized how important everyone around them was. They had built their memories together. From their first nights away from home, their first kisses, and even graduation, they had been alongside one another from the very beginning. Pushing each other on.

In the morning once it was done, all that was left were a few chairs, a couple empty cans, and a smoldering fire. Nothing else.

The memories that had been made the night before were tucked away in each and every one of them.

Natural Love

He had worked there for sometime. Clearing the paths, maintaining the signs, keeping an eye out for those who were visiting, picking up trash. He really couldn't have asked for anything else. It made him happy seeing others so pleased with their visits.

Every day was a new adventure and he awoke each morning with a smile on on his face. The magic of it was that it never got old.

Over the years he had seen it all. Families laughing and playing in the large open meadows, rescues of hikers who had dared to get too close to one of the waterfalls - even flash floods. But his favorite was always the different couples that managed to come and go. All different types - from new couples that were trying something new, never having camped together before, to men proposing to their significant other on the top of Half Dome. He had worked weddings and receptions, witnessed a father passing along his daughter's hand in marriage - the surprise on a man's face learning that he was going to be a father. Honeymoon hikes were something he had become accustomed to - guiding them through the lush forest, pleased to see the look of pure bliss on their faces. And sometimes it wasn't all so pretty. A few times he heard arguments echoing from deep within a campsite as he walked by, or tears streaming down a flushed face. But he wasn't too concerned - he knew things would eventually work themselves out.

His favorite couple only proved that.

They had been coming there long before he had begun his tenure. He had heard their history - how they had been visiting since the fifties. Once a year as the summer months began to die down and the winter winds had begun to creep over the mountains into the valley. When he had first heard of them, he was determined to meet them, but thought otherwise, not wanting to disturb their time together. Eventually he met them in passing and each year their relationship grew slightly. They had first bumped into each other down in the meadow sunbathing and from that moment on they were inseparable. Not only did they return each year to honor their love and where they first met, but just being there made them feel young again. Both in mind and at heart.

When he made his rounds, closing the different trails and paths, he'd find them atop of one of the bluffs, overlooking the valley floor. Coats pulled up against their chins, hunched down in the wind, just soaking it all in. Remembering their past visits in silence - just relishing each other's company. He knew it was his job to hurry them along, guiding them back to the resort, but he always let them linger for a few extra minutes. He didn't have the heart to cut their time there short.

It was the spot that they ended each and every evening. Where she had said "I do."

¡Buenos días!

It had been a long couple of hours. By the time they had made it to the cafe, he already felt fatigued. His entire body. There was a lingering haze in his mind and his joints were displeased with any sort of movement. Even his muscles were a bit stiff, not wanting to comply and walk along the cobblestone street. As much as he tried, he just couldn't shake it. Mentally he felt caught up - knew where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. But his body was lagging behind, stuck somewhere back in the states. Longing for a comfortable bed and just a few more hours. He knew what he needed and it needed to come fast.

So when he walked through the open doors of the cafe his heart skipped a beat. There, wafting through the air was the heavenly aroma of coffee. Unlike anything he had smelled before. Deep and rich. Dark roasted. Absolutely invasive - diving far down into his lungs and grabbing hold. Strong enough that just a few breaths seemed to help wake him. He couldn't wait to bring a mug to his lips and taste the coffee as it ran over his tongue. Somewhere behind the counter he could hear the hissing of steaming milk, the dripping of espresso. He could feel his mouth watering. It was torture.

When it was finally his turn to order, it only became harder. He knew what to say and how to say it. He had studied for hours, preparing himself for this exact moment but the exhaustion was fighting against him. His instinct was screaming on the inside but the haze that was in his head made him nervous. Finally after a few stumbles and stutters, he let the words escape from his mouth. Luckily the woman behind the counter understood the barrier he was trying to overcome and immediately smiled back - she knew what he wanted. As she made her way down the counter to prepare his drinks, he let himself become lost in the environment. He was surprisingly hot. It was winter, yet he hadn't needed a jacket while walking outside. The early morning sun poured in through the windows and open doors, illuminating the interior with a lovely glow. Warm and inviting. Above him large fans spun lazily, sending a nice draft throughout the space. He was also pleased to find how busy the cafe was. All around him couples mingled. Old and young, sipping on coffee, sharing assorted breads and accoutrements - lost in each others' words. An older man sat in the corner, sipping from a mug, engaged in a newspaper.

There was an energy about the place that he was beginning to feed off of. Even before the cappuccino arrived.

Turning back towards the counter, he became lost in the collects of cups spread out before him. There was just something about the different sizes and shapes that pulled him in. He imagined who had used each piece. If the one yellow mug with the 'M' was for someone specific. Maybe a regular who hadn't shown up yet. Or if the shape of the kettle determined if it would hold tea or coffee. The more he looked, the more he saw a few pieces that didn't match the others. Maybe the owner liked mixing it up a bit or maybe they had run out at one point and a few needed to be purchased spur of the moment. As he continued to day dream, he didn't even notice that the woman behind the counter had slid a tray in front of him. It wasn't until he smelled the espresso that he snapped back to reality. Looking down at what lay before him, he heart skipped a beat.

Two perfectly poured cappuccinos - lightly dusted with cocoa. Plates that held pieces of freshly baked artisan bread piled with cured meats. A bottle of olive oil. And a jar of what appeared to be pureed tomato.

As he walked over to the table with the tray, his stomach had begun to knot. It was desperate. Ready to meet what was on the plates in front of him. Sitting down, he just hoped he had gotten her order right as well. By the look on her face he assumed he did. From there - he followed her lead. Smoothing a thin layer of oil out on the bread before pouring on some of the puree. Then the meat went back on top before finally being doused again with more tomato. Before he committed and pick up a piece, he tackled his coffee - following his own little routine - emptying out a packet of sugar onto the foam, watching it slowly become enveloped in the froth before stirring it in. The longer it took - the better he knew it would taste. When that was done there was only one thing left to do before diving in.

He lifted his mug to cheers her to what was sure to be a perfect breakfast on a perfect adventure.

Song of the Day (Modern Jesus) 07.05.13

Music time.

This is a great song - Portugal. The Man's "Modern Jesus."

Sea of Mist

This is pretty.

Hope you all had a much better day.

Gravity

Most of you out there know my love of cinematography and that ultimately is what I want to do with my life. Get behind the camera, plan shots, make the cinematic world beautiful and "wow" audiences. And because of these, some of my favorite movies have always been the ones that are the strongest visually. Many time this can be attributed to the cinematographer for said film, but sometimes there is that rare director that sticks with one style for the entirety of their career - essentially taking the reigns of the visuals.

An example fo this is Alfonso Cuaron. He may have the most consistently beautiful movies I've ever seen. Not only that, but he is a fan, my like myself, of the long take. He doesn't like cutting when he doesn't have to, rather, he prefers letting shots run their course, lingering until they absolutely must end. If you haven't seen "Children of Men" - please go do so. The camera work in this is absolutely stunning and the long takes Alfonso utilizes are mind boggling.

But this is all beside the point.

There is a new film I'm lucky enough to be working on now called Gravity. It just so happens to be Alfonso's next film. Did I also mention I've been waiting seven years for it? I can't begin to describe how insanely beautiful, masterfully crafted, and awe inspiring this film is. It stars Sandra Bullock and George Clooney. Thats it. Yup. A two person cast - but ultimately it is Sandra's tour de force. Any hype you may hear about this film, whether it be from me or anyone else is justified. This is the real deal. You need to see it. If you're familiar with Alfonso's other films or even just "Children of Men," just know the camera work, editing, and overall atmosphere of this film is unlike anything you've seen before.

I can't dive into a ton of detail about it, but know it comes out in October and you must see it on the big screen.

This is an absolute movie game changer.

And please, please, please watch this in HD. You owe it to yourself.

Buổi Sáng

When the sun finally broke over the mountains surrounding the city, the first few rays of light met eyes that were already open. Sometime ago the noise from the street had woken him. Specifically the high-pitched beeps of the mopeds that swarmed by below, eager to get their riders to where they needed to be.

Once the sun was up, there was no longer a reason to remain in bed, so he began his day. His body was still tired from the many hours in the air - almost an enter day spent confined inside of a metal bullet thirty thousand feet above the Earth. A shower seemed like a fitting way to bring life back to his aching muscles and wash away the haze that was lingering in his head. Unfortunately he was met with luke warm water that barely managed to make it out of the faucet. When he tried to turn up the heat, he could hear the pipes hidden behind the wall begin to shake violently, sending tremors through the floors below. It just wasn't worth the hassle or waking up everyone else in the hotel. He was sure he'd be able to find a coffee somewhere out on the street.

As he stepped out onto the street, his senses were overwhelmed with the activity unfolding before him. When he shuffled into the lobby late last night all had been calm. Streets were empty aside from the occasional person taking a stroll, windows were closed, awnings pulled up close to shops. Yet this morning was unlike anything he had imagined. Thousands of people stretched out before him in all directions. Moving in large masses. All walking with purposes, with places to go - like a giant line of ants scurrying across the city. Even the middle of the street was no different. Hundreds of mopeds scooted by, darting between vans and taxis, beeping away, letting their presence be known. Every intersection looked like there was going to be an accident - all the vehicles converging at once. But as if by some unspoken language or unseen law, traffic flowed without any effort or incident.

Walking down the street he soon saw that there was much more going on than just people shuffling about, trying to continue on with their day. Lined all along the sidewalk were vendors selling all sorts of goods. Foods, jewelry, books, pirated films, sunglasses, herbal medicine. He was in awe - specifically by the fresh produce. There were shapes and colors he had never seen before. And the smells. Rich and voluptuous. The further he walked, the more the aromas invaded his nose. Smoked meats, the saltiness of freshly caught fish, sweetness of recently plucked bananas, confectioners' sugar from the carts that sold friend dough. Each new kiosk he passed presented a new vendor, ducking out and grabbing his arm, trying to persuade him towards their product. He couldn't fully understand what they were saying, speaking too fast for his untrained ear, but they were persistent. Pulling and pushing him, never loosing eye contact.

Slowly but surely and he continued on he was getting used to it. Quickening his pace before each vendor could catch up with him, waving at the children that were running in and out of the leg of everyone passing giggling at their impromptu game, smiling at the elderly men and women that sat on the stoops lining the street, stopping and appreciating everything that was new to him. There was no reason not to. This was a new world to him. He'd be the first to admit that it was utter chaos.

But it was all just so beautiful.

Wooded Sanctum

There was just something about the forest that always drew him in. Maybe it was how the setting sun played off the vibrant green leaves as it snuck below the horizon every evening. Or how fresh it all smelled. When he was little, he remembered running down the paths behind his house, deeper and deeper, until he felt completely lost and dropped down onto his back. Just lying there soaking everything in. He loved how the rays of sunlight scattered over his body - shattered by all the limbs of the canopy above him, the plushness of the grass and moss beneath his body, cushioning him against the dirt and rocks. But most of all he loved the sounds. The different birds carrying on conversations across the path, the bugs buzzing away, hidden by the tall grass and shrubs, but mainly the wind. How it just flowed through all the life - finding its way through the endless maze of trees, barely audible. Like a distant ocean. Churning off in the distance, not ever present enough to warrant a distraction.

As he grew older, his relationship with nature only grew. He continued on his path, joining the boy scouts and learning to appreciate it that much more. He learned to care for it, how to live off of it by living with it - not diminishing or destroying it. As the years passed, his experiences only grew. By the time he was young man he could survive in the wilderness by himself without any issues. He could walk into the woods on a Friday evening, with just the clothes on his back and a tent and walk out the following Sunday. It no longer was a area he could escape to in order to hide from the rest of the world. It was becoming his home. His sanctum. Every time he stepped foot within, a piece of him became more attached to the environment around him. He could feel his roots beginning to finally grow and take hold. There wasn't anywhere else he desired to be.

But then life demanded he return. And his career began - a complete one-eighty from what he was used to but more importantly what he wanted. Days of strolling aimlessly down barely trekked paths had become daunting walks down concrete corridors. Thin nylon walls where the wind could once blow through and cool him in the middle of the night soon became ugly, solid cubicles. Undistinguishable from the last. His activity throughout the day was no longer determined by the height of the sun but by the queue of emails that flashed on his computer screen.  His skin had paled, become soft - forgotten what it was like to be used for physical activity. The air was stale and lacking life. Each day he sat there, the more he felt like he was rotting away - guilty that he had abandoned the thing he lived.

So one day he packed up and left.

When he got to the head of the trail, he could hardly contain his excitement. He was ready to dive back into the lush green that stretched on before him - to regain his trust with Mother Nature. But this time it was a little different. Upon his back was a bag stuffed to capacity with spare clothes, first aid supplies, a couple rations of food and a few other assorted objects.

For you see, he wasn't planning on coming back for some time.