No words

If it's not obvious, these last few weeks have been a trip down the halls of my brain, trying to see what comes up.  It doesn't help that my recall sucks.  Quite often, some has to tell me the story of what happened before I really remember.  But, I have had quite a few unprodded memories come floating up.  So far most of them are about my time in Colorado, which makes sense in that I pretty much grew up there w/r/t becoming an adult.

There is a suspicion of mine that some of this is triggered by the music I've been listening to for the last couple of years.  I find myself listening to a lot of post-rock and instrumental music.  It almost seems at this point in my musical journey, I over listening to people singing.  A few good examples of what I've been listening are Red Sparowes, Explosions in the Sky, God is an Astronaut, Mogwai and of course Sigor Ros.  With the exceptions of Mogwai and Sigor Ros, there are no words (and the two that have word, the words are usually unintelligible.  I like this, I like not having to figure out what the singer is trying to say.

Some of the song do have a traditional song structure, but not many.  With the lack of lyrics comes a freedom to escape the verse/chorus/verse structure that is common with many songs in modern music.  Much of what I've been enjoying almost has a soundscape quality to it, there's nuances to the songs that go lacking when words get in the way.  And yet many times there's still a narrative to the song, there's still a story being told, but it's being told with sounds and music not words.  It's approachable in more than one  way.  I can play it as background if I'm doing something else or play it and really focus on the music.

Having said all that, all the shows but one I've been to this summer were metal shows.  Go figure.


 

Digging through the stacks

For the past week or so I've been digging around through the various accounts (gmail, myspace and the like (yes, I actually logged into myspace)) I have scattered around the Internet, not really for any discernible purpose that I can tell.  One thing that strikes me is that I used to have much more and quality interaction with people online than I do now.  There were emails that I had written that were many paragraphs long and if printed may have been multiple pages.  Before the days of everyone having either email or a social site profile, I was a bit of a letter writer, perhaps that explains some of this.  Not to mention I was more motivated to write in general.  Now, not as much.

I was going through a series of messages with someone I originally met online, meet in real life and actually wrote about here a decent amount.  I'm actually going to go see her in less than a month and am pretty excited to see her again.

Back to the point at hand though.  As with real life, my Internet life has become less engaging for a few years.  I mostly lurk on reddit.com, make a status update on Facebook, and then just spend hours going from page to page.  Before, I would occasionally chat with people, write a few emails and try to get a few posts a week down here.  That doesn't happen anymore.  Perhaps I had more free time when I started doing this and being online in general.  Or maybe as time went by, I just got bored.

I look back, and realize in some limited form, I've had this blog for a very long time.  Since 2005.  Sheesh.  Admittedly, I've been ignoring it for some of the last few years.  When I first started writing here, I was still using the dial-up modem built into my iBook G3, a computer that I didn't replace until late 2008.  Dial-up!  I remember how long it would take me to upload a picture to Flickr, and the sound of the modem connecting is etched into my brain.  That kind of connection I don't miss, high speed is definitely and improvement.  The Internet is not the place it was six years ago.

I wonder what's next?

little man

Burney crossed over the Rainbow Bridge a couple of months ago.  It's been a big loss and we all took it pretty hard, especially my brother and sister-in-law.  It's only been recently that she and I have been able to talk about him.  I never wanted to press the issue, but I'm sure she knows how much he meant to me.

Burney was the biggest dog in the world.  Not in size but in heart.  Everyone that met him fell in love with him and I don't think he ever met anyone he didn't like.  He had a gentle soul.  One of my favorite memories of him is how on a warm day, he would come outside, lay down on the brick patio and sun himself.  He couldn't have been happier.  That or crawling into a hamper full of clothes fresh out of the dryer.  He would just look up at you with that little head of his and then burrow back into the clothes.

Like all of their dogs, Burney was rescued.  And from the story they heard after the fact, he was much better off with them than whoever had him before.  That dog found his heaven with them.  They gave him the chance to be the best Burney he could be and he did.

I miss Burney.  When I go to their house, I sometimes think before I realize that I'll get to see him.  But it only makes me sad for a moment.  Because in the end, I was one of the lucky people who got to know Burney.

Ugly Truth

fern
Originally uploaded by surly monkey

Tonight was the night I knew I was getting towards the old side. The realization hit when it dawned on me that old school Metallica is pretty much considered classic rock.

It was at that moment that I looked around and thought to myself that these kids all look so young. Am I now the creepy old guy sitting in a place that I don't belong? I'm not fully convinced that this is the case, but there are placed I'm beginning to think I shouldn't frequent.

Somedays I feel like I'm becoming one of those guy I would see around in the nineties, the ones that looked like they were holding on to a youth that was increasingly eluding them. But at the same time, I'm not so sure. I know what I like, some of it's old some of it's newer.

This process of getting older eludes me even though I know and see it happening to me. I still am not sure what I want, and wonder if anyone ever really does.

My body feels the years go by. Each break and bump has it's own story, and for someone like me there are a lot of stories. But there are days when I still think I'm that lost 22 year old that got off the bus that night in Denver.

I'm not even sure if I have a point here, other than I'm becoming more aware of the years that are behind me. And starting to wonder.