s i l v e r

your anxiety
my keepsake

I'll inhale some for you
sip it out of your shaking hands

when I return it
you'll taste adrenaline
a savory buzz

swallowing stars

We laid on the grass and
spoke about stars
Musing, wondering, hypothesizing

And then we ate them
Because stars are too difficult to dissect

We act like we don't care
but later we'll taste the vomit
as it burns back up our throats
and laughs at us for not understanding
but still caring

Jane and Husband

(Something I wrote a year or two ago that I dug up recently. It's non-fiction, with names changed. No, it's not one of those things where you discover it was all about me in the end; it was someone I knew)

It is Wednesday evening. Jane hums a tune as she prepares a family-sized dinner in her college apartment. Carbohydrates, vegetables and protein. The tune she hums is upbeat and cheery; however, it is no tune in particular. It simply consists of some happy and meaningless stretches of the vocal cords. Jane seems to love life, but has she sat down and thought about which specific and unique things she loves about it? Doubtful. Jane sees the glass half-full; she always has. Sure, she may love flowers and smiles and butterflies, but has she come to realize the triumph in refining her individuality, the adrenaline rush of tip-toeing on the edge, the joy in overcoming true sin?

Jane smiles and hums some more. Matthew walks in the door of her apartment. She smiles absent-mindedly as she stirs the vegetables in their pan. Her failure to greet Matthew is not rude. They are comfortable in silence for a few moments while she finishes portioning out the hearty yet healthy meal onto two plates. This occurs daily. It is as if he is Husband coming home from work, and she is fulfilling her wifely duties. They sit down, pray, and begin eating. Husband strokes her back, and Jane asks how his day went. He replies with a less than amusing and less than dinnertime-appropriate anecdote referencing a liver he dissected in a class of his today.

Jane nods and says something generic about her day. They continue eating. They continue talking. Topics with no meaning; subjects with no substance. When Jane has something to say, she says it with the voice of an eager mother bird explaining the complexities of life in the simplest of terms to her nesting baby birds. But when someone converses with Jane, they do not get the sense that she is condescending. It is clear that Jane is speaking to the psychological child inside herself. Growing up is her greatest fear, yet she craves motherhood and the lifestyle that accompanies it.

When anyone asks, Jane insists Matthew is only her "best friend." However, Matthew is Husband. They play "house." Husband walks into her apartment unannounced, takes out her trash, eats her food, makes meaningless conversation with her, cuddles with her on the couch, and looks at her, eyes dripping with devotion. Matthew is Husband.

After dinner, they find their way to the living room and take turns reading verses of scripture. They make commentary as they go, often mentioning the common minor downfalls of "less faithful" members of their church. They speak of sin with disdain, as they should, but it is a foreign concept to them. They speak of sin and Satan the way a child might speak of a politician that their parents dislike. The child knows nothing at all about the politician. The child simply knows that the politician is to be loathed, and the child follows the rules. The child always follows the rules.

Once Husband has left, Jane starts settling down to go to bed. It is 8:30 p.m. She showers and braids her hair, then slips under her covers and dreams of the day when all her fears and ambitions will come true; the day she will become a mother. This is the day when she will stop torturing Husband. This is the day she will stop playing "house." This is the day she will have a real husband. This is the day that the psychological child inside of her will die, and a living, breathing, crying, human child will emerge. This is the day Jane will mature.

Haddy Birdy, Tiny Kitten.

Today is the birthday of one of my best friends. Her name is Taj, Tiny Kitten, Kitten, etc.
She currently resides in NY and I miss her terribly. Here's a handful (maybe 2 handfuls) of my favorite memories of ours, in honor of her birthday. Happy Birthday, Kitten! I luh you.

I reserve the right to add to this list as I deem necessary.

-The first night we truly bonded: deliriously throwing M&Ms at sleeping Sunnie.
-SUMMER.
-The Beatles.
-Floor-dancing.
-Moulin Rouge.
-Sharing music.
-Taj= Pokemon.
-Painting our faces.
-Our ghetto voices.
-Our phonetic texts.
-Dat haunted house.
-Weekly Battle Plans.
-"Domestic daydream."
-Stealing each other's clothes.
-Using tiny dishes and cutlery.
-Grilled cheeses at the hospital.
-Her glorious eyebrow expressions.
-Bandanas. ALL THE BANDANAS.
-When we'd write each other stories.
-When we played pretend all the time.
-Gifting each other with tiny presents.
-Scouring D.I. and Savers for good books.
-Dressing up as the band Kiss for Halloween.
-Our ambition to be back-up singers for Elvis.
-How freaking adorable Taj looks in an apron.
-Reading peoples' FB comments with varying voices.
-When I made Taj's FB status "I PEE EVERYWHERE."
-Elvis in the car. And all the time and everywhere.
^^ "Just a hunka hunka burnin' love-- WAaaaAAAaahhHH!!"
-Adding money to our "Adventure Fund" (have yet to use it)
-Telling each other fantastical stories before we went to bed.
-"LAMBORGHINI MERCY, YO CHICK SHE SO THIRSTY."
-When she put fake rose petals on my bed on Valentine's Day.
-THAT TIME SHE GAVE ME THE KURT COBAIN POSTER.
-Sitting in the middle of the street in the wee hours of the night.
-When Taj posed as a model for my six-photo series "Death suits you well, darling."
-Meeting Nico Vega, eating the yummiest of sandwiches, and receiving free cookies because the waiter had the hots for Taj.
-When Taj painted beautiful masterpieces as I happily finger-painted like a small child.
-Being there for each other through the crappiest of timez.
-That time when we spent an hour pretending she was dead, and developed our story line accordingly.
-Going on the wrong night to the Area 51 club. And telling ponytail dude we were UVU students with diff names.
-When we would lay in our beds and sing random songs at the top our lungs.
-Sharing a passion for White Oleander, Down With Love, and Moulin Rouge.
-That weird crouching thing she did because she knew it made me feel weird.
-Our Pinterest summer board. Infinitely more awesome than our actual summer. Although summer was great. But nothing comes close to that dang Pinterest board, man.
-That time we wanted to buy kittens, and saw the flier up at Macey's for free kittens, and I saved the phone number in my phone as "cat lady."
-Calling her whenever I was cold and bored, walking home from school, and in need of a story.
-Getting grossed out by overly-affectionate roommates and their respective bfs.
-Discussing our relationship issues and discovering that we are both robots.
-How we always dreamt of having a "gang" like the kids in That 70's Show or Scooby Doo.
-Saying "Yeah, guys. Yeah." as if we had a huge group of friends around us, when it was just us.
-When we created our own new $$ terms: $1= a scoop. $5= a chunk. $10= a wad. $20= a carton.
-That day we went to Salt Lake and visited Matt, who is the best host of them all. We walked away with meaningful gifts and inspiration to fulfill ALL THE LIFE DREAMS.
-The music our white Zimbabwean friends showed us, &the killer dance moves that accompany it.
-Abstaining from desserts//receiving cupcakes//smearing them on our faces since we couldn't eat them.
-When we'd google creative date ideas, but just do the activities together, rather than with dudes.
-When I'd sing "Kitten, I lo-ove you. That's all I have to offer" in the style of that one Saturday's Warrior song.
-Sitting on the floor of the game room with Mike, turning the lights off and letting the mystical color ball entrance us.
-When we were delirious and I'd do that thing where I pushed up her bangs all suddenly and dramatically. And busted up laughing every time.
-The fact that our skull decorations, Henry and Henrietta are in a relationship. (They miss each other right now, and should be reunited soon)


-Getting off the phone with her the other day and fully realizing that she is one of my favorite people on this earth.

The musician who sold himself

He knew exactly what he was doing when he chose to wear that slim-fit suit with the bronze jacket, his hair perfectly faded and coiffed.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he upturned one corner of his smile, giving us eyes that said he knew us.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he exploded onstage, with his theatricality and his intimacy and his smirks and his swagger.

Oh, how the lights and sounds electrified us. Their pulse directed our hearts.

The magnet in his voice, drawing us closer.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he gave us no other choice but to fall in love.

Music snobs condemn musicians who choose the "sell-out" path. They criticize the musician's choice with a funereal disapproval. These musicians become dead to the snobs.

Screw the snobs.

I think the sell-out path suits Brendon Urie, frontman of Panic! at the Disco. 

It fits him almost as well as that slim, shimmering suit.

Brendon walks down the sell-out path with style.

He chooses to sell himself. And he's so incredibly talented at it; it's the center of his artistry.

It reminds me of Andy Warhol. Art critics would be crazy for calling Andy Warhol a sell-out, because that was the point. His art was about selling out. He made art that seemed to warn against the harm that fame, money, ubiquity and objectification could bring. 

Some might say he warned against selling out. But there he was, making art that objectified; and selling pieces for as much as 105 million dollars. His own actions added to his commentary on our culture. Andy Warhol's life was a performance piece.

Brendon is no Warhol, but he's a master of his own craft. And, like Warhol, his life is a performance piece.

He sings about Vegas. He sings about selling oneself, figuratively and literally. He smirks at fake displays of intimacy in one song, and praises the thrill of night life in the next. Through his artistry, he examines a culture. He takes his audience on a tour. But he's not one-step removed; he has lived in the thick of it. He knows how it works.

So he does what he knows best, and he sells himself.

And it makes for an astonishing performance.

Please enjoy these tiny videos I took at their recent Salt Lake concert.

A resolution

I usually avoid writing posts which are primarily about me, but I'm going to right now. I need to express this before I lose my momentum, optimism and selfishness.

Fifteen minutes ago, I was walking to the bookstore, listening to "Do It For Me Now" by Angels and Airwaves.

Some songs grant you power. This one, for example, spouts fiercely vulnerable lyrics. However, I have never associated this song with weakness. It's so empowering because it's so honest. And it moves forward with such an unyielding cadence. Here, the artist admits his weakness and vulnerability, but expressly refuses to remain a victim of his circumstances. This song empowers me, and makes me feel selfish, for better or for worse.

But I digress.

As I walked, I reflected. This semester will likely be my busiest ever.

This is the point where I should probably resolve to give up something big. Like good grades, sleep, or spending time with friends.

However, I refuse.

I resolve to have it all this semester: academic success, delicious deep sleep, and an active social life. No boyfriend though. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Why I love Beck and you will too

BECK.

A few minutes ago I began writing a blog post about 5 songs I love right now. I struggled to choose. There are SO MANY artists and songs I want to gush about.

Whilst trying to pick 5 killer songs, I of course considered Beck's "Debra." I revisited an incredible live performance of this song on Youtube, and it all became clear. I am not going to write about just any 5 songs today.

It is my sacred duty to make you, yes you, just an avid Beck fan as I.

Swagger, grit, falsetto, funk. Beck owns it all. And I don't mean "owns" as in he simply possesses them. He OWNS them.

SWAGGER. Beck transcends all bounds of swagger. Yeah, I didn't know swagger had bounds either. It does. Beck's swagger is on a unique plane from all other swagger. You'll see what I mean.

GRIT. He infuses his funk with grit. The result? An edgy, whimsical masterpiece that will blow your mind.

As demonstrated with his gritty funk, Beck's style incorporates a wide range of musical influences (folk, electronic, hip hop, funk, rock, blues-- to name a few). And as Gestalt's theory goes-- the whole is much, much greater than the sum of the parts.

FALSETTO. Oh my goodness his falsetto. It speaks for itself. I have no words to describe.

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HERE ARE SOME OF MY FAVORITE SONGS:



1.LOSER (1994)

You've surely heard this one. But here are a few things you might not know about it:
-Beck has always created experimental music, but before this track, folk was his home base.
-Beck worked with a hip-hop record producer to create this.
-This song was simply an experiment; Beck considered it mediocre and did not wish to release it.
-A friend insisted Beck release it, so he did. "Loser" hit the radio and became his instant breakthrough single.
-Major music labels fought like wolves for him.




2.WHERE IT'S AT (1997)

I'll show you another of Beck's milder pieces. I believe Beck can appeal to a wide audience, depending on which song you're listening to. I'd wager that this song has wide appeal.

This song introduces you to some key elements of Beck's style: simple melodies, large variety of instruments, repetition, gritty texture, both spoken word and singing, and retro vibes beautifully blended with electronic influence. All hail Beck, king of sampling.

3.GET REAL PAID (1999)

Most of the time when I show this song to friends, they question my sanity. I'm OK with that.

"Get Real Paid" appeals to more of a niche audience. An audience which I am certainly included in. I freakin' love this musical style. Beck's album Midnite Vultures (which this song is on) did not gather a large following.

It's not a bad thing to have a niche audience as an artist. It's actually imperative. You're doing something wrong if EVERYBODY likes what you're creating.

I respect an artist who does what they want, without feeling compelled to defend or reshape it at the first, second or third voice of disapproval. Beck knows what he's doing!





4.E-PRO (2005)

E-Pro is found on Beck's album "Guero." Ironically enough, Beck and his producers went to great measures to give this album a laid-back lo-fi sound and feel.

Another song I love from this album is "Go It Alone." Both E-Pro and Go It Alone move forward with mysterious momentum. They feel like water boiling, heating, swelling, but never quite spilling over.

5.DEBRA (1999)

In my opinion, this song is Beck's ultimate masterpiece.

LYRICS. Beck recites his hilarious tongue-in-cheek lyrics with the utmost seriousness and quirky romantic swagger.
STYLE. Here, psychedelic funk, big band sound, R&B and soul combine to create something truly unique.
FALSETTO. Can we just talk about that for a minute. He's incredible. No matter how strange you find Beck, there is no denying that his talent is endless as you hear his falsetto soar.

The album version of this song has about 2% more polished vocals, but this live performance has so much character. You must watch it.

Death suits you well, darling.

A 6-photo story starring Taj Sivertsen, Jordan Geyerman and Henry the skull.

Life lessons from fellow journalism majors:

During my time thus far in the BYU newsroom, I've collected many golden nuggets of knowledge. Here are a few I found most notable*:

1. Beyonce reigns supreme.
2. Everything is "THE WORST."
3. On a similar note, superlatives are THE BEST.
4. "Hot mess" is a phrase acceptable to describe any and all situations.
5. Broadcast and print journalists are not meant to mix romantically.
6. Moderate stalking behaviors are sometimes necessary, because: JOURNALISM.
7. You can just add "JOURNALISM." to the end of any phrase to validate it.
8. Justin Timberlake. Mmmm. I think we're all in agreement on that.
9. Sometimes you just need to look at pictures of cats.
10. BYU's newsroom is divided almost equally when it comes to opinions on NCMO's.
11. The best kind of people are those who share your taste in music documentaries.
12. In the words of Vampire Weekend-- Who gives a *bleep* about an oxford comma?
13. Channing Tatum's face resembles a variety of potatoes.
14. When you have conversations about your love life in the newsroom, everyone's listening. Whether they're acting like it or not.
15. If you say something witty whilst in the newsroom, it will appear on Twitter immediately.
16. Sometimes relationships reach the point where you just need to go to Guru's.
17. You don't need a Dr. Pepper emotionally. You need a burrito emotionally.
18. You can measure how much you like something by asking yourself whether you'd be in a cult about it or not.
19. Buzzfeed. Enough said.


* I reserve the right to add to this list as I deem necessary.

YOU'VE CHANGED

I love street art. I love street art that is both aesthetically pleasing and intellectually meaningful.

The other day when I was walking to campus I stumbled upon the street art pictured in this photo. I stopped and stared. When a piece of art arrests my attention to the point that I stop and stare, I consider it good art. If the work of art causes me to keep thinking about it after I've left it, I consider it great art. This was great art.

"YOU'VE CHANGED." When I saw these words spray-painted on the sidewalk, I had no choice but to enter self-reflection mode. The bold and anonymous assertion cut me to the core. YOU'VE CHANGED. The negative ways that I've changed flooded my mind. My filters of rationalization became temporarily disabled, and I saw my whole self. Not just a leg or an ear or an arm, but everything that I am. I've changed. I can't deny it.

But then my mind turned to the leaps and bounds I have made. I have consciously changed destructive aspects of who I am, and every day I work actively to maintain those improvements.

I have changed for the better.

I don't know what the ratios are for how much I've changed for the worse vs. better, but I can confidently say that I have changed for the better. And it felt good to acknowledge that.

It's OK to admit to yourself that you are making progress. Self-reflection need not just be a rebuking and punishing of self. It is essential to admit to yourself where you have changed for the better so you can maintain that progress.

I loved the physical placement of this message "YOU'VE CHANGED." It lies on the sidewalk that people tread every day, a path they travel mindlessly on their way somewhere else. I find it fascinating that the demand for introspection lay on a travelling path, rather than at a destination. 

I think we often choose to have our most significant self-reflecting moments when we reach a destination. Destinations can be expected or unexpected. When we graduate school. When someone close to us dies. When we are somewhere beautiful. When a relationship ends. When huge opportunities fall in our lap. It's times like these that we sit ourselves down and make assessments.

However, it is so important to look inwardly and make small necessary changes as we go. While we're on our way to our destinations. If we do not make assessments of how we've changed as we go, then we will often come to harsh realizations when we reach landmarks. We will see our leg and our ear and our arm for what they are, and we may not be pleased with what we see. So think about it now. YOU'VE CHANGED. How have you changed?

The lady at Walmart thinks I'm artsy

This story is true. I'm not sure if it's a social commentary on the culture of the people of Walmart, or if it's just a piece of prose I wrote to amuse myself. In any case, I feel obligated to memorialize it. If not for your sake, then mine.

The other day I felt the need to print some photos I took. So I ordered photo prints online through Walmart. Unfortunately, my photos usually end up over-saturated when I print them there. This dampens my spirits momentarily. But then I remember how inexpensive they are and I cope because I am a poor college student.

I also felt the need to purchase a book I've desperately wanted to read for quite some time now. I was surprised to find that Walmart sold it online, and through its Site to Store Pick-Up, I could buy it for a cheaper price than anywhere else. So I did.

On a Saturday afternoon, I traversed to this magical place to collect my treasures. I quickly bought some groceries so I could sooner start the fun part: retrieving my photos and new book. Bananas, strawberries, avocados, wheat pasta, almond milk, guilty pleasure chocolate protein shake. Check.

I hurried to retrieve my book from the Site to Store Pick-up section of Walmart, where a tall brunette man materialized from a back room. I revealed my intentions of picking up the book. His eyes reflected subtle surprise, and he informed me that people hardly ever order books at Walmart. He gladly gave me my book, I gladly received it, and I was on my way to the photo department.

The Lady sat. The Lady sat in her apathy. The Lady sat in her apathy until she mustered the will to ask, "Can I help you?"

I smiled and said, "Yes! I'm here to pick up some photos under the name of Kristina Smith."

The Lady found my photos amongst her files. She pulled two of my photos from their sleeve and asked "where I got them." I told her I photographed the images, because I did. She gave me a pointed look that undoubtedly carried the subtext: "AND I'M THE QUEEN OF SHEBA." The Lady returned the photos to their sleeve without a word, acting like she'd let me slide on this one.

I asked The Lady why she questioned the origin of my photos. She replied, "Well. they look kinda like...artsy. So if you got them online [here she paused and gave me accusing eyes], they're probably copyrighted or something, and you're not supposed to print them without permission."

I reiterated the fact that I took the photos. I even told her the shots' locations. A smirk sat, fastened indefinitely to her face.

The Lady clung to her opinion like a tiny starfish on an artificial boulder. However, as she married her opinion, she also entertained her apathy. Drenched in her indifference, she ultimately permitted me to print photos which she presumed I stole from the Internet.

As I walked away from this strange scenario, I was mildly ruffled because of my inability to penetrate The Lady's mind with truth. However, feelings of amusement and even gratification prevailed.

I don't how much fulfillment a human being is supposed to feel when a Walmart employee deems their photography to be professional in quality. And I don't know what it says about a person when they feel flattered in such a scenario. But for a good five minutes, I felt pretty good about myself.

The lady at Walmart doesn't know it, but she thinks I'm artsy.

FIND YOUR HAPPY PLACE

In a book called "The Summer Before" by Patricia Windsor, the main character described an attention-hungry friend of hers as follows:

"I can't imagine her reading a book quietly or making herself a sandwich or listening to music all alone. 

It's as if she can only exist when she's with somebody else."

We shouldn't live life for an audience. It's important to actively relate to other people, and to exist in relation to other people. However, I think sometimes we get too caught up in relating. We need to be able to exist on our own.

Every once in a while, I take a step back in my life and think of this quote. Lately, I've been thinking about it in relation to the college years. During the college years, you're constantly meeting new people. When you meet someone new, your immediate impulse is usually to find common ground. It's comfortable.

Even when you're past those surfacey stages and you're really getting to know someone better, there's still often a struggle to relate perfectly. It's like the end goal of every human interaction is a flawless connection. And too many people depend on those connections as their only source of fulfillment.

Disclaimer: I am not advocating that people be antisocial or saying that people shouldn't strive for connection. You should. I love connecting with other human beings just as much as the next kid.

However, it's healthy to nourish our individual existence and autonomy.

I included the picture on the right because for me it represents the role that autonomy plays in personal fulfillment.

During high school, I once found a page in the newspaper that said "FIND YOUR HAPPY PLACE." At that point in my life, I was just starting to discover what my internal happy place was, and what external activities helped me get there.

That newspaper page hung on my wall throughout high school as I made my room my own little haven: the place where I covered one wall entirely with quotes, where I crafted collages, where I penned crappy poetry, where I painted abstractions on my nails, where I sang, where I swallowed novels whole, where music played endlessly, where I wrote and wrote and wrote, where I sipped hot chocolate, where I practiced photography, where I studied scriptures, where I succumbed to sweet, sweet sleep.

I still have that newspaper page today. It's a yellowed and tattered reminder that I established my own internal happy place a long time ago, and that I need to revisit it as often as possible. I value time spent connecting with other people, and doing so keeps me sane. However, I need to remember to cherish alone time and to embrace autonomy.

Today I celebrated my internal happy place by turning out the lights in my room, lighting a candle, lending Miles Davis an ear, sitting still for a while and thinking about where I've come from. I feel at peace and recharged. I'd recommend it to other human beings.

What is the Upper Hand?

Okay so I am obsessed with this book right now. I highly recommend it.

The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. Gibran writes as if he is a prophet about to leave a people he lived with for 12 years. They ask him for some last words on important subjects (like love, reason and knowledge, pain, self-knowledge, time, good and evil, pleasure, religion, death and so much more). He responds with a poem for each topic. It is great stuff.


The following are excerpts from his poem on Love. Afterwards, I'll give you my two cents on the matter. You are so welcome.

Kahlil Gibran on Love  

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
...
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. 
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. 

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
...
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
So What is the Upper Hand?

As I read this poem, it made me think about the struggle for "the upper hand" in relationships. Any type of relationship. There's too often a fight for that ambiguous "upper hand." What the heck is the upper hand?? It seems like it changes all the time, especially in 'romantic' relationships.

Is "having the upper hand" equivalent to maintaining emotional distance? Is it saving face? Is it being less invested than the other person, but still getting what you want out of it?

Gibran's poem reminds me of this "upper hand" phenomenon when he suggests that love "threshes you to make you naked." Nakedness is vulnerability. Love or anything approaching it will make you feel vulnerable anyway. On an internal level, it will thresh you naked whether you like it or not. 

I think we can take the upper hand by voluntarily offering up our vulnerability.
  
When we offer up our vulnerability, we are completely honest with ourselves and others. We live life openly, without cloaked intentions weighing us down. 

Results? We are liberated. We become less concerned with controlling relationships and it's more likely that we'll learn and grow from them. We will get to laugh all our laughter and weep all our tears. We receive a fuller life. Sounds like the upper hand to me.

What if you died tomorrow?

What if you died tomorrow?
What if your most recent exchange with that person was your last interaction with them ever?
Did you act according to what you stand for?
It's not too late to fix things today.
Tomorrow's the deadline.

The Social Chameleon/Bubblewrap Phenomenon

Social chameleons scare the crap out of me.
Who are they really? Is there any substance in their cells?

By nature, they're reactive. Having conversations with them is validating because their responsiveness makes you feel heard. But what do they think? What's going on in their mind? Something meaningful, or just a series of reactions leading to adjustments in behavior?

Social chameleons are like bubblewrap. Everybody loves bubblewrap. Bubblewrap is a thrill; it responds to your touch, and interactions with it often leave you feeling satisfied for the moment. I think we can all agree that bubblewrap is a dang good time.

But when it comes down to it, bubblewrap is only filled with air.
And you reach a point where you realize that interactions with bubblewrap aren't an exchange.
You can give, but all that will come of it is a few stocatto pops and then, the tiniest little poof of useless air discharges into the wide expanse of the world.

Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain

Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain.

So I wanted to write something about Kurt Cobain in honor of what would have been his 46th birthday.  But I can't really wrap words around what he was.

So I'm just going to tell you why I like his music, share some words that came out of his mouth, and show you a video. Rest in peace, Kurt Cobain. You're a legend.

I love Kurt Cobain's song-writing. Melody was his top priority. He always reminded his band mates that it was melody first, lyrics second. He liked creating simple melodies that had a childlike accessibility. Yes, a lot of his works have a catchy pop-rock element, but they're ultimately so gritty and raw. I love how one moment Kurt will whisper an enticing throaty melody with Dave Grohl keeping a trusty straight beat, and the next moment, the world pauses for Kurt to scream a beautiful haunting refrain as Grohl comes back in with a thunderous drum fill, propelling the music forward from there on, full throttle. Oh, and feedback. Their glorious feedback.

I love music of Cobain's that explores controversial social themes. He doesn't necessarily offer answers, but he explores. One example is his song "Polly," which is reminiscent of a newspaper article Cobain read about a 14-year-old girl who used her wits to escape the man who abducted, tortured and raped her. Cobain wrote this song from the point of view of the torturer. It's disconcerting and fascinating. 

I love that Cobain's music embodies who he was and what he stood for. I'm not saying that I worship him or that I agree with everything he stood for. I just love that his music is reflective of himself, society and what he thought about it all. 

It can be argued that the way that Cobain wrote his music was more reflective of his worldview than his actual lyrics were.

Cobain wrote the lyrics to many of his songs only minutes before recording them. As a result, a good amount of his lyrics were nonsensical with fragmented messages nestled within. He was unapologetic about songs written in this way.  However, some songs, such as those found on In Utero were "more focused" and "almost based on themes," as Cobain explained it. 

Cobain commented on his lyric-writing in general: "I'm such a nihilistic jerk half the time and other times I'm so vulnerable and sincere. [The songs are] like a mixture of both of them. That's how most people my age are."

Dissonance is a constant in real life. I just love that Cobain noticed dissonance in his own life and in the world, bottled some of it up, and poured it into his music.


"Punk is musical freedom. It's saying, doing and playing what you want. In Webster's terms, 'nirvana' means freedom from pain, suffering and the external world, and that's pretty close to my definition of punk rock."

“There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fu**ing sad.” 

“Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.” 

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If you want a glimpse into Kurt Cobain's soul, see the look in his eyes at 4:15. But watch the whole thing.

Valentine's Day: it's gonna happen.

Yes, it's stupid to arbitrarily pick a day to celebrate love every year. But it's not the people who are hopelessly infatuated with this holiday who I pity the most.

What's more pitiful is when people are actively anti-Valentine's Day. Just let the lovebirds relish in all things cheesy and cliche for a day. It's gonna happen. You don't have to take part in it. You also don't have to condemn their practices with your loudest kindergarten voice. People might think you have a bitter taste in your mouth.

The Unhealthy Music Addiction: INDIE

INDIE

Do it yourself. Be independent, be diverse, be an outsider.
Explore. Explore a universe, explore a foreign perspective, explore endless tunnels of sound.
Simplify. Be an understated wire of melody woven with texture and understanding.
Evolve. Expand, innovate, integrate, refine.
Be sensitivity and introspection today; be silliness and satire tomorrow.
Be a social commentary on consumer culture, gender roles, short-lived romances, the theatrical nature of 'realism' today. Be a social commentary on social commentary.
Step on a piece of trash, sculpt an elephant out of it. Spend 3 days straight discovering a band. Write an extensive narrative about how subtle his smirk is in blind company. Embrace irony. Re-live a single memory one thousand times. Scribble on used notebook pages to the rhythm of a favorite song. Go outside just to let your skin and mind breathe. Paint abstractions on paper bags. Paint your body. Paint your mind. 
Transcend the world. Create a niche. Create a world.
Be music for the sake of being music.


Some favorites:


Indie Rock: The Smiths, Kings of Leon, The Strokes, Tegan and Sarah, AWOLNATION, Guster, Gotye, The White Stripes, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beast, Jet, Muse,Vampire Weekend, Dinosaur Jr, Imagine Dragons,The Velvet Underground, Benjamin Gibbard, The Black Keys, Cage the Elephant, Spoon, Beck, Ryan Adams, Of Monsters and Men, The Heavy, The Temper Trap, The Connells, The Killers, The Kooks, Fun, The Format, Flight of the Concords, The Gorillaz, The Shins, Shiny Toy Guns, Eels, Wilco, The Raconteurs, Metric, Lana Del Ray, Foster the People, Franz Ferdinand, Arctic Monkeys, Duffy, Alabama Shakes, Fiona Apple, Cowboy Mouth, Paper Tongues, Carolina Liar, Jack White, Rooney, Phantom Planet, Thriving Ivory, Dios Malos, Sondre Lerche, Jack's Mannequin, Hot Hot Heat, Walk off the Earth, The Devil Whale, The Hush Sound, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes

Indie Pop: Passion Pit, Lady Danville, Of Montreal, Sufjan Stevens, Peter Bjorn and John, Dillon, Kimbra, Regina Spektor, The Black Ghosts, Crystal Castles, The New Pornographers, Coconut Records, Mika, Florence and the Machine, Kate Nash, Lily Allen, Imogen Heap, Roison Murphy, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Santigold, Matt and Kim, Lennon and Maisy, Feist, MGMT, Yael Naim, La Roux, Lenka, Lissie, Bloc Party, The Submarines, Charlotte Sometimes, A Fine Frenzy, Postal Service, Operator Please, The Ting Tings, Mates of State, Empire of the Sun, M.I.A., Death Cab for Cutie,Ingrid Michaelson, The Kills


Indie Folk: Bon Iver, Nickel Creek, Modest Mouse, Indigo Girls, Mumford & Sons, Ani DiFranco, Peter Paul & Mary, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes, Alison Krauss, The Open Sea, The Cranberries, The Lovin' Spoonful, Jeff Buckley, Carbon Leaf, Good Old War, Paolo Nutini, Damien Rice, Iron & Wine, Jakob Dylan, Brett Dennen, Matt Costa

The Unhealthy Music Addiction: ROCK

OLD TIME ROCK 'N ROLL

The cool uncle. Fun and sometimes spontaneous, yet restrained. Hinting at unmentionables, letting them glimpse the light. Stylized, a performer. Conscious of its audience, very direct in its simple messages. A dash of innocence and naivety. Catchy, accessible, addicting melodies.


CLASSIC ROCK

The erratic grandfather. By nature, wandering. Creating worlds as he goes. Wise and insane from a life of living. An earthy and mellow ruggedness very often excited by the wildness of life. The wildness of desperation, the wildness of women, the wildness of life's peaks and troughs.



ALT/HARD ROCK

Classic rock's love child, upset with its tumultuous existence. An outlet, a rebellion, a blooming, haunting in all its irony and rage and beauty. A vendetta against all things still, all things simple, all things complex. A confused emotion, exacerbated and beautified in its expression. A pure feeling, a poem by a child, hardened from the unforgiving sun. It's beauty, with thick, rough skin.

GRUNGE

The strange cousin. Awkward at parties, full of idiosyncrasies and conspiracy theories. Poetic and abrasive. Paranoid geniuses, flower children of the streets. Apathetic one moment, angsty the next. Lead a seemingly disconnected life every hour except the hour that they perform, when everything in the world aligns chaotically. Revolutionary. Invitational. Join the ranks of the misfit toys.

PUNK ROCK

Grunge's brother. Loud. Less thoughtful, a deliberate doer. Bored with subtleties, speaks his mind. Brutally honest, sometimes crass, always catchy. A heart pounding, sewn to the thunderous beat of life itself. A hit at parties, the class clown. Messy and to-the-point.





ALT/POP ROCK

The older brother. Has a bit of his brothers' quirk, but is generally much more subdued. Down to earth, melodic, sensible. Pretty far removed from the honest, raw, rugged rock of ages long gone. Stays within bounds, but finds a niche and rocks it. Well-liked. You can take him home to Mom.



Disclaimer: This is definitely not an attempt to give extensive, complete lists, or to eternally compartmentalize bands into one distinct genre. It's more of a gist-giving kind of thing.

Some of my favorites from each genre:

• Old Time Rock 'N Roll:  Elvis Presley, James Brown, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, The Everly Brothers, Herman's Hermits, Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash, The Beatles (yes, some bands fall under multiple categories, depending on the time period and amount of drugs they were doing)
• Classic Rock: Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Heart, Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, Steve Miller Band, Aerosmith, Van Halen, Guns 'N Roses, Queen, Jefferson Airplane, Cheap Trick, Boston, Ramones, Kiss, AC/DC, The Clash, Def Leppard, Eric Clapton, Foreigner, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Jimi Hendrix, John Mellencamp, Kansas, Journey, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Motley Crue, Peter Frampton, Vixen, The Who
• Alt/Hard Rock: Rage Against the Machine, Dead Sara, Foo Fighters, Ra, Breaking Benjamin, Flyleaf, Disturbed, Quiet Riot, Sick Puppies, Dragonforce, Linkin Park, Metallica, Slipknot, Skillet
• Grunge: Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, R.E.M, The Pixies, Garbage, Butthole Surfers, Alice in Chains
• Punk Rock: The Offspring, Beastie Boys, Green Day, Blink-182, Sum 41, Fountains of Wayne, Bowling for Soup, Simple Plan, The Academy Is..., Forever the Sickest Kids, Cute is What We Aim For, Good Charlotte, My Chemical Romance
• Alt/Pop Rock: Third Eye Blind, Cake, Guster, Jet, Sugar Ray, Paper Tongues, Phantom Planet, No Doubt, Hootie & the Blowfish, Stroke 9, Semisonic, Sister Hazel, Gin Blossoms, Ingram Hill, Sugarcult, The Fray, Augustana, Spin Doctors, James Blunt, Train, The Wallflowers, Vertical Horizon, LFO, Switchfoot, Eve 6, Maroon 5, Matchbox 20, Jimmy Eat World, Jack's Mannequin, Paramore, Weezer, 3 Doors Down, Five for Fighting

White Oleander

White Oleander is a universe-expanding, skin-thickening book. It is rough and empowering. It grants readers a connection to people, both ordinary and extraordinary, with all their frailties, their flaws, their beauty, their games, their will. It is poetically realistic.  Some of my favorite quotes from it:

• Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you and allows your soul room to grow.
•  That beautiful girl, she was a universe, bearer of the words that rang like gongs, that tumbled like flutes made of human bones.
•  I realized I was exactly where she wanted me, safely unhappy…a prisoner…brewing into an artist, someone she might want to know someday. When all I wanted was for her to see me now.
• This was an artist’s stare, attentive to detail, taking in the truth without preconceptions.
• That was the thing about words, they were clear and specific—chair, eye, stone—but when you talked about feelings, words were too stiff, they were this and not that, they couldn't include all the meanings. In defining, they always left something out.
•             Life should always be like this…Like lingering over a good meal. Unfortunately, most people have no talent for it…As soon as they start one thing, they want it to be over with, so they can start on the next.
• The mistrust of heights is the mistrust of self, you don’t know whether you’re going to jump.
•  His guitar bore his longing up into the darkness like sparks, a music profound in its objectless desire, beautiful beyond solace or solution.
•  A man I wanted like falling.
• Feel the music, Astrid. Don't look at me. Close your eyes and be inside it.
• How could anybody confuse truth with beauty, I thought as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkempt. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.
• The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.
• The mind was so thin, barely a spiderweb, with all its fine thoughts, aspirations, and beliefs in its own importance. Watch how easily it unravels, evaporates under the first lick of pain.
• I liked Berlin. The city and I understood each other. I liked that they left the bombed-out hulk of the Kaiser Wilhelm church as a monument to loss. Nobody forgot anything here. In Berlin, you had to wrestle with the past, you had to build on the ruins, inside them. It wasn’t like America, where we scraped the earth clean, thinking we could start again every time. We hadn’t learned yet, that there was no such thing as an empty canvas.
• We were the wild children with all the talent.