I have learned that since The Astrosite's inception, my friend, "Scientizzle's," blog link was not functioning -- nor was my Mercy Corps. link. Both problems have been fixed. I encourage you visit Mr. "Scientizzle's" site as it is updated frequently and provides a nice contrast to the heavy self-indulgence of my blog.
...And on an unrelated note, congratulations to the Seahawks for finally representing the Pacific Northwest in the Super Bowl! But my sudden interest in football is quite an anomaly, I assure you. My friends have been shocked that I even knew of "The Game" today, let alone that I wanted to watch it. While it wasn't a great game (in the sense of being nail-biter), it is always welcome to see victory anoint a team for the first time. So yes, when "The Game" is on again soon, I'll be watching and rooting for "D," who I've discovered is always the most popular player in sports.
Jan 17, 2006
To Be Or Not To See?
When I was in high school I wrote a short essay on "The Truth". My inchoate, adolescent mind was able to come to two conclusions: it either doesn't exist or we cannot know it. This fleeting entity has humbled human effort for ages. It flunks to no intellect; fractures to no strength; loses to no slight of hand. The Truth is the deceiver of deceivers; it is exclusively the knowledge of God. So why pursue it? Every person I've ever met has surrendered a part of their life to pursuing something unobtainable. What madness! There is no better example of such a person than myself: an aspiring neuroscientist. But maybe it is the pursuit of the truth that gives all fallacy meaning. If, for instance, the absolute nature of an orange was known, then what? It won't matter how the orange tastes, or its color, or its weight, or its origin. All those things will be known to everyone, everywhere, forever. The orange is resolved. And that is boring. I don't want to eat that orange. It is the mystery in an orange's texture and flavor -- the diverse opinions from people that may describe the orange differently -- that allow the orange to be delicious. 
And it is this type of mystery that oils the sprockets of human purpose. We shall never know The Truth unless we are to be purposeless, or for a more savvy muse, unless we are to be God. But it can also be argued that the truth doesn't exist at all; hence, the orange has no true nature, just fleeting existences. Humans, including myself, have problems with this second perspective. Without The Truth, there can be no pursuit of it, and with no pursuit comes no meaning. So then maybe our lives have no meaning. Obviously this won't settle well either. I have plenty of experiences, people, and places that certainly have meaning to me. In homage to Descartes, we do exist because we can ask if we exist. This ability is truly beautiful; it is God's signature. Our brain -- an organized mass of carbon-based molecules -- knows it exists. But do the mouse neurons I'm culturing in the incubator right now know they exist? If they do not, at what point do they gain "awareness"? On the contrary, if they do know they exist, then must my orange also know that it exists? What madness! Perhaps the only truth we will ever know is that we cannot obtain the truth; to do so would be to know the mind of God. And to know the mind of God is to be God, which we're clearly not. And now I'm back to where I started (how humanly typical!): we know nothing.
No matter your perspective on what The Truth is or isn't, it is imperative to respect The Truth (which is precisely what many cultures have been doing for ages through the lore of deities). Unfortunately, abuse of The Truth is rampant. It is as though our brains have gained some serious evolutionary hangtime as a cost for the launch of our consciousness. We have evolved, are aware, and can now "see," but the sheer glare from the intangible Truth can scare us into believing just about anything so long as we don't have to float in a void of blind pursuit. I've been immensely disappointed in people that are supposedly engaged in the pursuit of The Truth for passion's sake (such as a true [pun not intended!] scientist); yet these same people make perfunctory assumptions to which they prescribe as The Truth. We are all guilty of doing this for time to time, but problems arise when pertinacious acknowledgements are made that "The Truth" has been reached. For example, when I would see dark, black clouds while living in South Dakota, I assumed it was going to rain and acted appropriately -- like finishing my beer in the garage. But I didn't cancel the party because maybe it would not rain despite the ominous sky. In this example I acknowledged the truth as a probability, not as The Truth. Likewise, just because two people are dating doesn't mean they are having sex; just because someone is a beer aficionado doesn't mean they drink too much; just because someone deplores George W. Bush doesn't mean that they are a Democrat; Hence, in the search for meaning, we easily lose it. We cannot, nor shouldn't try to dupe The Truth. It will always have the last word. We must respect that. Just as there are, no doubt, 35 black dots in that image above, the glory -- the meaning -- is in the pursuit, not in the nature of The Truth.
And it is this type of mystery that oils the sprockets of human purpose. We shall never know The Truth unless we are to be purposeless, or for a more savvy muse, unless we are to be God. But it can also be argued that the truth doesn't exist at all; hence, the orange has no true nature, just fleeting existences. Humans, including myself, have problems with this second perspective. Without The Truth, there can be no pursuit of it, and with no pursuit comes no meaning. So then maybe our lives have no meaning. Obviously this won't settle well either. I have plenty of experiences, people, and places that certainly have meaning to me. In homage to Descartes, we do exist because we can ask if we exist. This ability is truly beautiful; it is God's signature. Our brain -- an organized mass of carbon-based molecules -- knows it exists. But do the mouse neurons I'm culturing in the incubator right now know they exist? If they do not, at what point do they gain "awareness"? On the contrary, if they do know they exist, then must my orange also know that it exists? What madness! Perhaps the only truth we will ever know is that we cannot obtain the truth; to do so would be to know the mind of God. And to know the mind of God is to be God, which we're clearly not. And now I'm back to where I started (how humanly typical!): we know nothing.No matter your perspective on what The Truth is or isn't, it is imperative to respect The Truth (which is precisely what many cultures have been doing for ages through the lore of deities). Unfortunately, abuse of The Truth is rampant. It is as though our brains have gained some serious evolutionary hangtime as a cost for the launch of our consciousness. We have evolved, are aware, and can now "see," but the sheer glare from the intangible Truth can scare us into believing just about anything so long as we don't have to float in a void of blind pursuit. I've been immensely disappointed in people that are supposedly engaged in the pursuit of The Truth for passion's sake (such as a true [pun not intended!] scientist); yet these same people make perfunctory assumptions to which they prescribe as The Truth. We are all guilty of doing this for time to time, but problems arise when pertinacious acknowledgements are made that "The Truth" has been reached. For example, when I would see dark, black clouds while living in South Dakota, I assumed it was going to rain and acted appropriately -- like finishing my beer in the garage. But I didn't cancel the party because maybe it would not rain despite the ominous sky. In this example I acknowledged the truth as a probability, not as The Truth. Likewise, just because two people are dating doesn't mean they are having sex; just because someone is a beer aficionado doesn't mean they drink too much; just because someone deplores George W. Bush doesn't mean that they are a Democrat; Hence, in the search for meaning, we easily lose it. We cannot, nor shouldn't try to dupe The Truth. It will always have the last word. We must respect that. Just as there are, no doubt, 35 black dots in that image above, the glory -- the meaning -- is in the pursuit, not in the nature of The Truth.
Jan 4, 2006
Happy Year of the Dog
I'm not sure I know what it means, but my calander told me this morning that 2006 is to be 'Year Of The Dog.' This is somewhat appropriate since the Dog Genome was recently sequenced, but obviously the timing could have been better had that discovery waited a few months. Regardless, it has been way too long since I've updated this, but it's not like anyone has been checking it anyway, so I guess I shouldn't care. But I did have a good friend give me a pumpkin bread recipe (see earlier postings).2005 was an incredibly intense and complex year for me. I'll spare the details, as much of the details are too personal for the public forum. But in sum, it was a transition year. Or better, a reconstruction year. Old foundations were completely demolished and restructured. The glory in this toil is the confidence that my new life structure will be better than the old. Change is hard, but for someone like myself who is constantly searching -- exploring -- for The Human Experience, change is growth. And, unless you're a tumor, growth is good. There is nothing novel or profound about this statement; rather, it's that the weight of the statement is now understood. I have completely reconstructed relationships, beliefs, and perspectives, all of which are very heavy stones in a very human house. I look forward to 2006 as a year of refinement (after, of course, my coming bouts with lots and lots of dogs). I don't think anyone has the capacity to tolerate constant change, nor should they. Refinement is focus -- clarity -- and right now 2005 remains as a tenacious hangover. And so, like everything else, I am at the mercy of time. Patience will be required to allow refinement of the profound changes I experienced in 2005. And in a paradoxical way, NOT working at achieving this coveted focus is likely to yield the clearest picture. Some things are tarnished by effort; they are, in a sense, live entities in themselves that must prosper on their own. 2005 is one of those entities for me and will require time to mature. So I wait in anticipation for 2006. Like the product of a genetic code, a year's product is an amalgam of elements you can and cannot control. And since probability
is required to give you as many deleterious as beneficial uncontrolled elements, utilizing even the smallest amount of controllable elements in your favor is bound to lead to a mostly good year. How's that for an analytical approach!I hope all of you find at least some good reflections in 2005; may 2006 embrace your best ambitions.
Happy New Year!
Dec 7, 2005
Five Feet
Five feet can be a good or bad thing depending on the context. And even within the context of snow, it can be a good or bad thing. I remember when five feet of snow was a very bad thing while trying to drive from Billy's house to my college dorm. My roommate actually contracted a severe case of pneumonia that day helping idiots like me trying to navigate Honda's amongst the drifts. On Sunday five feet of snow was a very good thing. Kristin and I went snowboarding at Mt. Hood Meadows for our first session of the season. Last year at this time, Mt. Hood Meadows lived up to its name -- literally. Vignettes of butterflies, grass, and...no snow come to mind. This year the only butterflies were in our stomachs while gaping at a freshly white-coated Mountain.
We attempted at first to go up Saturday, but a series of unfortunate events pushed the trek to Sunday. But fate was on our side. Friday and Saturday shook snow out of the clouds with violent winds, but Sunday the clouds and winds relinquished to sun and lots, and lots of powder, or "sugar" as I like to call it. I had never seen such outstanding conditions upon Portland's most trampled playground. Mt. Hood was shining. We stayed as far from the crowds as possible, hugging the eastern flank most of the day. The scenery was indescribable. And to stay true to that statement I won't attempt to describe it beyond a few fleeting adjectives: Silver. Floating. Breathless. We were but vapor above the corporal Earth. If I had pictures, I would post them. But your imagination will probably suit the imagery best anyway; lenses have a knack for distorting proportions.
The end of the day brought with it a celebration of our new favorite length: five feet. With our feet emancipated from our plastic snow vehicles, we leaped into snow that crested our chests. The day was heavy, but our spirits were as light as ever. Snowboarding on that much powder can't be too dissimilar from flying; speed is the only tool fighting gravity. We were indeed, light. For those of not fortunate enough to experience Mt. Hood last Sunday, let me remind you of something that rang hollow only a year ago: it's only December!
We attempted at first to go up Saturday, but a series of unfortunate events pushed the trek to Sunday. But fate was on our side. Friday and Saturday shook snow out of the clouds with violent winds, but Sunday the clouds and winds relinquished to sun and lots, and lots of powder, or "sugar" as I like to call it. I had never seen such outstanding conditions upon Portland's most trampled playground. Mt. Hood was shining. We stayed as far from the crowds as possible, hugging the eastern flank most of the day. The scenery was indescribable. And to stay true to that statement I won't attempt to describe it beyond a few fleeting adjectives: Silver. Floating. Breathless. We were but vapor above the corporal Earth. If I had pictures, I would post them. But your imagination will probably suit the imagery best anyway; lenses have a knack for distorting proportions.
The end of the day brought with it a celebration of our new favorite length: five feet. With our feet emancipated from our plastic snow vehicles, we leaped into snow that crested our chests. The day was heavy, but our spirits were as light as ever. Snowboarding on that much powder can't be too dissimilar from flying; speed is the only tool fighting gravity. We were indeed, light. For those of not fortunate enough to experience Mt. Hood last Sunday, let me remind you of something that rang hollow only a year ago: it's only December!
Nov 27, 2005
Pumpkin Why?
Yes, the gluttony is over. Ssssssss...
My Thanksgiving went well -- at least much better than last year. Last year I was hobbling around from a serious bike injury to my leg. On top of that, there was enough personal life-drama for an OC episode (which I've heard is a popular television drama-O-rama...). This year there was no bike injury (save for the remaining scar...I mean "shark bite") and no drama. I cooked a couple delicious (I must say!) pumpkin pies and managed to sculpt some fresh whipped cream -- none of that Cool Whip B.S.! Ahh, pumpkin pie. The pumpkin pie, while a Thanksgiving cliche, is indeed a most delectable dessert. But why has the pumpkin been relegated to such infrequent and selected use? I suppose the fruit itself matures only under that harvest moon, limiting multi-seasonal use. And they look grotesque. I've seen some pumpkins that would make genital warts looks appetizing (sorry...). Sure there are the seeds, which are good but often caked in salt, and I've begun to see a couple pumpkin beers around that are actally to be pretty good (try the Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale). But come on! The pumpkin can make a killer pie...and that's it?! There's got to be other uses that rival the magic of the pie version. Pumpkin soup? -- actually I've had this and it wasn't good. Pumpkin bread? That sounds good. Caramelized pumpkin? Whoa, that sounds REALLY good. Pumpkin cake? Carrots are great in cake...I could think of these all night. I am beginning to wonder if a simple Google search would yield plenty of tasty recipes, some of which may even include a caramelized pumpkin. If so, American society needs to be informed. The pie needs to be evolved. I'll do my part for next year; I encourage you to join me. Mashed pumpkin and gravy, here we come!
My Thanksgiving went well -- at least much better than last year. Last year I was hobbling around from a serious bike injury to my leg. On top of that, there was enough personal life-drama for an OC episode (which I've heard is a popular television drama-O-rama...). This year there was no bike injury (save for the remaining scar...I mean "shark bite") and no drama. I cooked a couple delicious (I must say!) pumpkin pies and managed to sculpt some fresh whipped cream -- none of that Cool Whip B.S.! Ahh, pumpkin pie. The pumpkin pie, while a Thanksgiving cliche, is indeed a most delectable dessert. But why has the pumpkin been relegated to such infrequent and selected use? I suppose the fruit itself matures only under that harvest moon, limiting multi-seasonal use. And they look grotesque. I've seen some pumpkins that would make genital warts looks appetizing (sorry...). Sure there are the seeds, which are good but often caked in salt, and I've begun to see a couple pumpkin beers around that are actally to be pretty good (try the Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale). But come on! The pumpkin can make a killer pie...and that's it?! There's got to be other uses that rival the magic of the pie version. Pumpkin soup? -- actually I've had this and it wasn't good. Pumpkin bread? That sounds good. Caramelized pumpkin? Whoa, that sounds REALLY good. Pumpkin cake? Carrots are great in cake...I could think of these all night. I am beginning to wonder if a simple Google search would yield plenty of tasty recipes, some of which may even include a caramelized pumpkin. If so, American society needs to be informed. The pie needs to be evolved. I'll do my part for next year; I encourage you to join me. Mashed pumpkin and gravy, here we come!
Nov 17, 2005
KO
The pursuit of sleep; or rather, my lack of pursuit. I wish I didn't have to sleep. There are so many other things I would rather be doing, like writing blogs on sleep. I find it so interesting that human beings and most other animals need sleep. How could so many species evolve, yet maintain the need to be unconscious for 1/3 of their lives? I'm shocked that the animal that wasn't tired one night didn't eat all the animals that were tired, thereby dominating the evolutionary race. Now, I must confess my ignorance of the biology behind sleep and its evolution link. I'm sure good explanations exist. Maybe it isn't too dissimilar from the NRA's platform of "an armed society is a safe society:" as long as all animals are "armed" with the need for sleep, no animal can dominate. But think about how silly sleeping humans would appear to visiting aliens. There we are, just sprawled out with our mouth open making gurgling sounds, twitching our arms about like some sort of flagellum. And WE are the ones searching for intelligent life? I doubt science will eradicate the need for sleep in our lifetime, but trust me, they're working on it! If there are any group of people abhorring the need for sleep, it's scientists and medical doctors. In fact, there is a known positive correlation between the class ranking of a medical student and amphetamine abuse. Regardless, being unconscious seems to be so important that the intricacies of "why" will likely take decades to decipher. For example, rats that are deprived of sleep die after about two weeks. But die from what? Red eye? I haven't read the scientific papers with these details (assuming there are details), but evidently death is more likely to occur from not having sleep, than from being eaten by intergalactic hungry aliens.
Oct 31, 2005
Submit Best Costume!
Happy Halloween and Unhappy last day of Rock-Tober (OK, OK, all good things must come to an end)! It is always a bit problematic when Halloween falls outside of a weekend. Good parties need the weekend, but is dressing up on the Friday before premature? Not really, but then you end up dressing up again on Saturday and costume loses some novelty. Anyway you look at it, Halloween this year was less than spectacular for whatever reason. 
Kristin and I tried, but all the parties were a bit "soft" despite our optimism. But we still had a good time at a local "raver" party in downtown Portland. Save for myself, which I'm not picturing for obvious reasons, everyone in our small group was looking festive. I was going to be my anti-hero, Brian Adams, but it just didn't come together. So I went as a failed "Dick Head" by dressing upside down...yeah, it was a stretch. But there was NO shortage of great costumes at the downtown party. My favorite, and possibly best costume I've ever seen, was a complete, flawless Star Wars Stormtrooper complete with gun. This "dude" passed me in the hallway and I thought for a moment that someone had drugged my water. The costume was impeccable and looked exactly like the picture posted above!
I encourage anyone reading my blog to submit this years' best costume in my comment section.
...and yes, I'm on my way down to the Lompoc brewery soon for one last pint of Rock-Toberfest brew.
Cheers.
Kristin and I tried, but all the parties were a bit "soft" despite our optimism. But we still had a good time at a local "raver" party in downtown Portland. Save for myself, which I'm not picturing for obvious reasons, everyone in our small group was looking festive. I was going to be my anti-hero, Brian Adams, but it just didn't come together. So I went as a failed "Dick Head" by dressing upside down...yeah, it was a stretch. But there was NO shortage of great costumes at the downtown party. My favorite, and possibly best costume I've ever seen, was a complete, flawless Star Wars Stormtrooper complete with gun. This "dude" passed me in the hallway and I thought for a moment that someone had drugged my water. The costume was impeccable and looked exactly like the picture posted above!I encourage anyone reading my blog to submit this years' best costume in my comment section.
...and yes, I'm on my way down to the Lompoc brewery soon for one last pint of Rock-Toberfest brew.
Cheers.
Oct 24, 2005
A Title With No Puns!
Ok, Ok...it's been way too long since I've updated this because I know that millions of people check my blog everyday because my life is so much more interesting than anyone else's. I could blame it on a lot of things, namely the NSF grant I'll be married to this week. Ahhh....grants. This is my first of a long career writing to make my science sound interesting enough to have people throw money at me. 
Ok, so it doesn't really work like that; the American tax payers can breath a sign of relief that their money is not being thrown at a deranged burgeoning scientist like me, rather, your money is more likely being thrown on the dusty roads of Mideastern countries. But that's another blog entry. It doesn't help that Portland has been bathing in glorious October days. Last Saturday was truly the worst distraction to my work since the Legend of Zelda Gamecube release. Kristin and I did all things Rock-Tober that day, including a coffee-fueled drift through downtown, a couple of Oktoberfest pints at the Lompoc (yes, while working on my grant), and an evening with friends in the pun-adelic Amazing Maize Maze (I'll leave it up to you to figure that out). But today, it's cloudy! This is good news. I plan to stay indoors and distract myself as long as possible checking my e-mail, updating my meticulous iTunes playlists, and, of course, writing blogs.
Ok, so it doesn't really work like that; the American tax payers can breath a sign of relief that their money is not being thrown at a deranged burgeoning scientist like me, rather, your money is more likely being thrown on the dusty roads of Mideastern countries. But that's another blog entry. It doesn't help that Portland has been bathing in glorious October days. Last Saturday was truly the worst distraction to my work since the Legend of Zelda Gamecube release. Kristin and I did all things Rock-Tober that day, including a coffee-fueled drift through downtown, a couple of Oktoberfest pints at the Lompoc (yes, while working on my grant), and an evening with friends in the pun-adelic Amazing Maize Maze (I'll leave it up to you to figure that out). But today, it's cloudy! This is good news. I plan to stay indoors and distract myself as long as possible checking my e-mail, updating my meticulous iTunes playlists, and, of course, writing blogs.
Oct 3, 2005
Jacksonville's Bright Nights
After a solid seven days of listening, my review of Ryan Adams's latest, "Jacksonville City Nights," is ready. Jacksonville is up, down, left, and right, a country album; rather, it is a VERY country album. The late 90's experimental genre of "alternative country" has rightfully passed allowing Mr. Adams to dig deep into his southern roots. Surprisingly (at least to me), these statements don't automatically imply that the music is bad. Until recently I would have rather decorated my bean burritos with toenail lint than listen to a country album. 
But that highlights the genius of Ryan Adams, or at least his effect on me. Somehow, if HE does it, I give it a fair listen. I suppose a part of this reasoning is because I respect his omnidiretional -- if not schizophrenic -- talent. Not even two years ago the man released an album titled, "Rock N Roll," a three chord tribute to...well, rock n' roll. Yes, the irony is even ironical. But if you can swallow his irony, you'll see that Ryan Adams can write music. A lot of music. So when Ryan Adams writes a country album, I sheepishly put on my earphones. And listen I have. Week one: "wow, this is REALLY country -- GULP!". Week two: "Damn It! I'm at a stop light and I have country blaring...and "dude" over there is looking at me." Enjoying "Jacksonville City Nights" is like enjoying being a horrible bowler: the game gets way more fun once you accept that you suck. There is no doubt that Jacksonville is a good album, possibly a great one. The challenge is ditching the insipid expectation and letting yourself enjoy the album.
In addition to the music, there is the aesthetic to appreciate. Being a roots country album, the recording is rough. VERY rough. There are stray vocal harmonies, piano seat scuffles, guitar mistakes, et cetera. But all of these qualities (or lack of) are the difference between those green bananas loitering above your sink and Grandma's fresh banana bread. The magic is in the "how," not the "what". Furthermore, if there are any of my myriad albums to own on vinyl, it is "Jacksonville City Nights". The aesthetic is as warm as a 1960 Marshall amplifier tube; it is the kind of record that requires a glass of Cognac, a smoky fire, and a beautiful girl. The only disappointment I have are some of the songs' brevity. A great hook or slow dynamic build will tantalize, but then recede back out to sea as though it really did notice that zit on your nose. Songs like "Silver Bullets," "September," and "Withering Heights" are all excellent songs that seem to enjoy watching you beg for a kiss. Yet, others like the evanescent Norah Jones duet, "Dear John," the CMT blip "The Hardest Part," and the opener "A Kiss Before I Go" jump into your arms before you have a chance to know their name. Those points aside, there isn't a single song I skip on the disc.
Among the modern radio montage of musical inebriation, Ryan Adams could be the most sober musical icon out there. "Jacksonville City Nights" is about more than music, but at the same time it isn't not about the music (just say that one more time and it'll make sense). But it doesn't really matter anyway. Ryan has never been one for labels and will record whatever music his guitar sings him, whether country or rock n' roll. So I aptly give the album the a rating of an "H".
But that highlights the genius of Ryan Adams, or at least his effect on me. Somehow, if HE does it, I give it a fair listen. I suppose a part of this reasoning is because I respect his omnidiretional -- if not schizophrenic -- talent. Not even two years ago the man released an album titled, "Rock N Roll," a three chord tribute to...well, rock n' roll. Yes, the irony is even ironical. But if you can swallow his irony, you'll see that Ryan Adams can write music. A lot of music. So when Ryan Adams writes a country album, I sheepishly put on my earphones. And listen I have. Week one: "wow, this is REALLY country -- GULP!". Week two: "Damn It! I'm at a stop light and I have country blaring...and "dude" over there is looking at me." Enjoying "Jacksonville City Nights" is like enjoying being a horrible bowler: the game gets way more fun once you accept that you suck. There is no doubt that Jacksonville is a good album, possibly a great one. The challenge is ditching the insipid expectation and letting yourself enjoy the album.In addition to the music, there is the aesthetic to appreciate. Being a roots country album, the recording is rough. VERY rough. There are stray vocal harmonies, piano seat scuffles, guitar mistakes, et cetera. But all of these qualities (or lack of) are the difference between those green bananas loitering above your sink and Grandma's fresh banana bread. The magic is in the "how," not the "what". Furthermore, if there are any of my myriad albums to own on vinyl, it is "Jacksonville City Nights". The aesthetic is as warm as a 1960 Marshall amplifier tube; it is the kind of record that requires a glass of Cognac, a smoky fire, and a beautiful girl. The only disappointment I have are some of the songs' brevity. A great hook or slow dynamic build will tantalize, but then recede back out to sea as though it really did notice that zit on your nose. Songs like "Silver Bullets," "September," and "Withering Heights" are all excellent songs that seem to enjoy watching you beg for a kiss. Yet, others like the evanescent Norah Jones duet, "Dear John," the CMT blip "The Hardest Part," and the opener "A Kiss Before I Go" jump into your arms before you have a chance to know their name. Those points aside, there isn't a single song I skip on the disc.
Among the modern radio montage of musical inebriation, Ryan Adams could be the most sober musical icon out there. "Jacksonville City Nights" is about more than music, but at the same time it isn't not about the music (just say that one more time and it'll make sense). But it doesn't really matter anyway. Ryan has never been one for labels and will record whatever music his guitar sings him, whether country or rock n' roll. So I aptly give the album the a rating of an "H".
Oct 1, 2005
Happy Rock-Tober!
Feel that? That brisk autumnal breath is upon us, painting our landscape and skies with vigor. My good friend, Rock-Tober has arrived! I'm fortunate enough to live in a place exemplifying the autumn spirit, although I pine for those late Sioux Falls nights in my mom's backyard with good people, good beer, fire, and the watchful harvest moon. And Mike MaCock, of course (pictured below receiving plenty of love). I love reveling in that first seasonal taste of well-crafted, Rocktoberfest brews; having sweaters and beanies taped to our bodies; the crunch of leaves below; our primal fire swarming animated by a Chamberlain soundtrack. Ahhhhh....Rock-Tober.
October, contrary to social custom, is about life. It is a time to reflect on the year's passing as though to be reminded of the color amongst the brown. But unlike the leaves, the "Tober' theme became an immortal entity. What started as "RockTober" my junior year in college soon became "Mock-Tober" (in May), "Uber-Tober" (wow...don't even ask), "Re-Tober" (in response to the only rained-out Rock-Tober), "Cock-Tober" (again...don't even ask), and the sad, yet aptly titled, "Final-Tober" upon my moving to Portland. The stories and laughs that were had are shared by a select group of devout Toberites; and that is probably where those stories should remain. But fear not, the Tober theme truly is immortal. While home this summer, "Tom-Tober" was celebrated in honor of my best friend's marriage. And I suppose when all these laborious years in graduate school come to an end, "Doc-Tober" will be called upon.
But alas, there cannot be, nor there shouldn't be, any "Tobers" capable of supplanting the original Sioux Falls "Rock-Tober".
So in tribute, today is indeed Rock-Tober the 1st. I raise my glass of beautiful amber spirit to you all!
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