Music Appreciation: Morrissey

Sunday Morning

We're living in Sunday Morning right now. Its brief existence celebrated with early coffee and a hazy Sun lolling overhead. These are the mornings skin feels its smoothest. Kisses their softest. Sighs their deepest. You're safe here.

Om

I wish I could go fishing today. On a lake in a boat. All day.

The Schedule

Life amidst the Wednesdays. The Sun rises and sets like any other day, but we emphasize our numbers and months so damn much it's hard to remember that when I wake up breathing on a Wednesday I should be just as happy as I am on a Saturday. The only difference is that I get to do a lot more kissing on Saturdays. And I am so much happier when I do more kissing.

Anyway, schedules. Am I right? Maybe tonight I'll pretend it's Saturday and seduce my wife. Maybe. We'll see how it goes. The variables are depressing.

45

Got a box of 45 rpm records in the mail yesterday. Typical jukebox fare. But the cream of the crop was Juice Newton's Queen of Hearts. You haven't lived unless your eight-year-old self played this song on a jukebox while on a family vacation at some backwoods fishing resort.

Harass Me

I have a magic tie bar. You know, those metal things men clip to their ties to keep the back part of the tie from swinging out from behind the larger part. (Now you know.) Every time I wear it people say, "Wow, you're dressed up today!" But I've ratcheted up my attire a month ago. They may have noticed, but was waiting for that neutral window of opportunity to give an appropriate compliment.

It makes me wonder though - Should I say something to someone if I notice a tiny detail about their attire? I have no qualms telling someone their barn door is open, or if there's a streamer of toilet paper following them out of the bathroom. But God is in the details (as they say). I chose this tie bar from a selection of amny tie bars. I tried to find one aesthetically pleasing. I may not get a "Hey nice tie bar!" but the tiny detail really tied the room together

It feels good when someone notices our little things, doesn't it? We adorn them for a reason, don't we? Or are we hoping people keep their thoughts to themselves? Of course, in the workplace I can't tell a pretty woman that she chose today's skirt wisely. Or that her tight slacks gave me a boner. I can say, "Cool shoes," can't I? Or, "You got your hair cut!" Can't I?

Maybe I'll just keep my thoughts to myself.

Hearing the Light

Sometimes (sometimes) you're wrong. About that thing you were so fucking sure about. So wrong.

Last night Lynette and I received a special delivery in the mail. A brand new Audio-Technica LP120 record player. We decided in Magical Minneapolis last month to add a record player to our home after experiencing a wonderful household with a great vinyl set-up. After some extensive research we decided on the brand and ordered it. In anticipation of its arrival, we went record shopping last weekend and I spent a few hours unearthing our old record collection from the storage unit.

Here's what I was wrong about regarding sound quality: vinyl sounds amazing! Holy shit! CD's and MP3's do not hold a candle to the way music sounds on vinyl. It's definitely a realization one needs to make on his own, because I've always been skeptical.

Anyway, here's my gorgeous bride inspecting our new record player moments before falling in love with music all over again.

After a Brubeck Concert

By Miller Williams

Six hundred years ago, more or less,
something more than eight million couples
coupled to have me here at last, at last.
Had not each fondling, fighting, or fumbling pair
conjoined at the exquisitely right time,
thirty-four million times, I would be an unborn,
one of the quiet ones who are less than air.
But I will be also, when six hundred years have passed,
one of seventeen million who made love
aiming without aiming to at one
barely imaginable, who may then be doing
something no one I know has ever done
or thought of doing, on some distant world
we did not know about when we were here.
Or maybe sitting in a room like this,
eating a cheese sandwich and drinking beer,
a small lamp not quite taking the room from the dark,
with someone sitting nearby, humming something
while two dogs, one far away, answer bark for bark.

Trick your brain into thinking you're a guest in your own home

Turn the kitchen table 90 degrees and start drinking hazelnut coffee.

Vinyl and Kayaks, Amen

A lot happened during our Upper Midwest excursion. Wisconsin proved once again that if God exists, he must have rested his elbow there while taking a break from creating the planet, because I can't dip my feet in one of her cold lakes without falling down the spiritual slide of my consciousness. Wild eagles floated overhead and we had to act like it was as ordinary as a candy-coated tree. If unicorns existed this is where I'd send them (and pray they're never seen again.)

Church is a kayak on glassy water in early morning. Its congregation quietly agreeing with the sermon from the back row in the forest. I will get back there again some day.

Church is a vinyl record slowly spinning in the house of a man who wants nothing more out of life than to fish from the banks of the Mississippi River, which can be seen from his kitchen window while Doc Watson praises the lord from a scratchy bygone era.

We're home now. And I want to worship all the gods.

Music Appreciation: Volcano Choir

The Marriage of Elizabeth and Marx

Last week I experienced an event that brought hope to a world so often full of tragedies and pain and cynicism. I witnessed the true, ethereal power of love in its most sought after form. If I didn't have photos to prove it, y'all wouldn't believe me. This event occurred on June 28, 2013, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, on the dreamy banks of an infinite river.

As the bride and groom stood knee-deep in the muddy current of the Mississippi, their guests drank wine from Mason jars while listening to the joyous sounds of a live bluegrass band. Rain and sunshine danced back and forth all day with brief demonstrations of their tumultuous power, and children played on a rope swing that hung from a tree. Bugs kept their distance and we ate deliciously grilled sausages and hamburgers skillfully made by local chefs hired for the occasion. Kisses were captured in the photo booth, and Middy the Dog, wearing a handkerchief that matched the groom's tie, stalked the tables for scraps of food.

The entire day was an organic metaphor for the symbolic union of two lovers who spent their lives navigating the wilderness of life while beautifully nurturing the love they clearly have for each other. Thank God for their endeavor. I have an immense amount of hope for these two people. I can't wait to see what grows out of their lives after this perfect start to the rest of their gorgeous lives.

Love is alive and well.