If you ever have to ask yourself - and you're a girl - how you have so many followers on instagram, you can cull down your answer options to two.
1) You're hot
2) You're exceptionally good at something, but probably it's just because you're hot
November 1st, 2015
November 1st, 2015
It wasn’t especially surprising to me that I woke up feeling lethargic and shitty this morning. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that if I only get three or four hours of sleep in a night that I’m not going to feel particularly good for a couple of days. Not only that, but I did a rather copious amount of drinking on Friday night, and no home remedy is going to save me from a hangover plus a lack of sleep.
Since I started working out in my free time, my weekends have really only become an outlet of that part of my life. Despite the fact that most self supporting adults use the weekends to accomplish various tasks and use up all of their free time with their various lists, errands, and general other shit that adults do, I have never really experienced that part of life. This Sunday would be no different. Except for one very important fact: the weather was as shitty as my head’s feelings.
So the question then becomes: what do I do with myself when I can’t work out and I don’t have any pressing things to accomplish? I guess it’s a football day, but who really gives a fuck about football? It’s over-hyped violence that has grown a conscience and has consequently become pretty boring to watch. Added to that is the fact that I do not care about any particular team. I suppose if the Saints happen to be on TV I’ll root for them but the likelihood of another NFC South team being on TV when the Panthers are playing (unless they are playing each other, I suppose) is basically slim to none. So yea, football is off the list.
Is the World Series still going on? I don’t know and - to be honest - I don’t really care. I can think of few less compelling series than the Royals and the Mets. There’s no animosity, no hatred. If you believe current media trends there’s also much less doping and - consequently - much less excitement. I am somewhat joking on that part, but I am also somewhat serious. I probably sound pretty cynical when it comes to sports. That is not an unfair characterization of my current outlook. I’ll give you that one. I got into baseball when I was in college and truly enjoyed watching and following the sport. Once I moved on in my post-grad world, however, the tune changed. I didn’t want to devote the time necessary to really FOLLOW baseball. The result of that sentiment was somewhat predictable: I no longer followed baseball. If you don’t want to follow something well then, don’t follow something.
Those are your sage words of the day.
I enjoy sitting on the couch pretending like I am watching something. I have my laptop - excuse me, my chromebook - sitting in my lap. The itch to “start” something burns pretty fiercely. I equate starting a writing project (this can be anything: blog, review, elaborate facebook comment, etc) to standing on the pool deck “waiting” to jump in and begin a workout. It sounds so easy to just jump in and let it flow, so to speak. But the reality is quite different. Having an “idea” is something that easily eludes me. When the spark strikes, however, it all comes out pretty easily. Motivation, thoughts, goals, etc all coalesce and it’s almost as if I struggle to type fast enough to get it all out in time. At this point I’ve lost the metaphor to working out, as that is never really THAT easy.
But what do I do when I can’t think of anything? I browse the internet, searching for answers to questions I don’t even have, yet. I could lose myself all day and accomplish nothing because of the world wide web. Opening up Pandora’s boxes left and right, scouring through reams of useless information and diving into wells that I didn’t even know existed before I started clicking through Wikipedia’s hyperlinks.
It’s really quite endless.
People think black holes are scary. They’re not scary. I can’t wrap my head around them and can’t relate to them in any way and so therefore they do not scare me.
The internet scares me.
It’s 11am; I’ve been up for four hours and I’ve accomplished absolutely nothing. Those are four hours of my life that I’ll never get back and for which I have nothing to show. At least if I had been sleeping I could say I was doing something. I love sleeping. Seriously. It’s fantastic.
11am sounds early in some respects, but it already felt super late in the day and the rest of the day had no superior upcoming prospects. What do you do when you’re a thirty year old male that’s reasonably healthy, has relatively few responsibilities, and has no errands that are pressing?
Well I do kind of need to hit the head... That eats up another 5-15 minutes of the day depending on how involved I get in Candy Crush.
I also recently moved and am now at the end of a cul-de-sac, so some neighborhood exploration wouldn’t be such a bad idea. The only problem with that is - as I mentioned earlier - the weather blows. I have relatively little to no interest in walks to begin with and since I don’t have a dog begging to be let out and run around in the dreary weather I’m fine not doing any exploration at the moment.
So it keeps coming back to the beginning. A circle begins when a new idea is presented but then inertia inevitably brings it back to the starting point. The couch is pretty comfortable. The laptop is warm in my lap. It’s sort of cold outside. The television is playing white noise, essentially. There are plenty of things to look at online. I wonder what the best price I can find for an Xbox One would be…?
See?! It just starts again. Before I know it that search will quickly become one of devouring new game reviews which will devolve into watching youtube clips of various games and then listening to music and then remembering to check out the new trailer for the Star Wars movie and then…
Yea, you get the picture.
So I do what any rational adult does in the face of infinite boredom and sub-par (by the way, I hate that phrase because being sub-par in golf is actually quite fantastic) feelings: I take a nap. This nap was fueled by a lot of coffee (which is a paradox, right?) and my cheap bluetooth speaker playing the soundtrack from “The Proposition.” The music choice may not sound prophetic, but if you’ve ever listened to Nick Cave, you’ll understand. It’s a little creepy. Pretty good sleepytime music.
I swear some of my favorite moments in life are those in between moments. It’s almost like you’re standing on a diving board and kind of bouncing in between reality and suspension. You have nothing to worry about, somewhat psychedelic creepy music playing and providing your soundtrack...and bang. Nap time.
Starting Somewhere
A vehicle was such a privilege for him. It represented a new era of being as an individual. All of the lead up, all of the promise, all of the brou ha ha associated with one's "first car" was completely and utterly worth it for him.
It wasn't just the car itself, no indeed. The specific vehicle make and model, style, number of doors, color ... none of that really mattered. What MATTERED was that it was HIS. It was the first thing of his own that had real substance. It offered a promise.
But, because it actually kind of did matter a little bit, the first one was a 1998 Honda Civic. It was a stick shifting, white (but more off-white than anything ... kind of that "they are not brand new socks anymore white"), coupe version of the Civic. It had a bit over one hundred thousand miles when purchased. The only options selected by the original owner were "spoiler" and "air-conditioning." It was a simple, no frills car that could - in theory - last for a couple hundred more thousands of miles.
It was perfect.
It wasn't just the car itself, no indeed. The specific vehicle make and model, style, number of doors, color ... none of that really mattered. What MATTERED was that it was HIS. It was the first thing of his own that had real substance. It offered a promise.
But, because it actually kind of did matter a little bit, the first one was a 1998 Honda Civic. It was a stick shifting, white (but more off-white than anything ... kind of that "they are not brand new socks anymore white"), coupe version of the Civic. It had a bit over one hundred thousand miles when purchased. The only options selected by the original owner were "spoiler" and "air-conditioning." It was a simple, no frills car that could - in theory - last for a couple hundred more thousands of miles.
It was perfect.
Resurrection
Whew, it has indeed been a while. I proposed to a friend the other day a somewhat "outrageous" statement so I'd like to qualify it here and now.
"Jack Reacher is my favorite character of any series, ever."
It almost hurt typing that, because it is so specific. It allows for no misinterpretation whatsoever. It's a highly qualified thing to say, which is something I dislike doing very much. I HATE speaking in absolutes.
And that is perhaps one of the reasons why I like Reacher so much...
Before I go into why I appreciate Reacher so much as a character I must first get one thing out of the way:
Tom Cruise is TERRIBLE as Jack Reacher. There are plenty of reasons for this, none of which really involve Cruise's overall "qualifies" as an actor. I actually like Tom Cruise. In almost all of the roles for which he is most famous he is, in my opinion, quite good and well suited to those roles. Ethan Hunt IS Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise IS Ethan Hunt. TOP GUN!? I mean, he was perfect. So, so good. Risky Business? Perfect. I personally found him fantastic in Edge of Tomorrow (which is an incredibly under-rated movie). He made Knight and Day somewhat watchable; he tried really hard in the Last Samurai to be the solemn, heart broken and broken down soldier on a last gasp effort in a cause that allowed him to find greatness and redemption. I could go on and on and on. Part of what Tom Cruise is best at as an actor is in that sort of wry, self assured wise-guy humor. A certain smirk is very "Tom Cruise-ish." He's also very short and despite, for the most part, being very fit he is not generally regarded as a "big strapping guy."
And that brings me to my next point.
Half of who Reacher is as a character is who he is as a human being. I mean that in the most basic sense of the species. He is a big, hugely strong man whose facial features are cut from slabs of rock and whose stature intimidates others simply by being there in front of you. That's WHO HE IS as a character. When I first started reading the Reacher novels (right around when the movie was coming out which, I admit, was my catalyst for starting the book series) I didn't think too much of the size disparity between Cruise and Reacher. But the more I read (I have now read 16 of the Reacher novels) the more I realized how wrong I had been at first.
Reacher is a big, big man. Not in a body builder way but in a sort of way that lets you know his strength comes half from being a born fighter and half from within. His cold sense of "never lose, never" lets you know that his aspirations are built on the foundation of always winning.
He's never "funny" exactly. He's not sarcastic in a way meant to arouse humor. He's coldly logical, precise, concise. He's never made long speeches, not in 16 novels involving 16 different stories. Tom Cruise likes to talk. His character was constantly trying to be "funny." I think he missed, somewhat, the intent behind many of Reacher's lines in the "One Shot" story (which is what was adapted to the movie in Hollywood).
There's a scene in the movie where the local police officer in charge of the investigation asks Reacher/Cruise "What did you do in the army?" To which Cruise/Reacher responds "I did the same thing you do, except everyone I investigated was a trained killer." In the movie you get the sense that the character is saying this to sort of "one up" the cop. In my opinion, this is never the manner in which Reacher would've responded to this question (from an inflection standpoint). Reacher was being extremely accurate in his statement. It wasn't meant to be humorous, or "one up" the cop, it was merely stated as fact.
I think that's another part of why I love Reacher so much: he is precise, he is observant, he is extremely aware, he is logical, he is factual, he is aloof (somewhat, until you piss him off), he is a drifter and he is incredibly, incredibly curious. I think these are all things I'd like to think I see in my own personality. Many of them are (sadly) not there, but Reacher is a good man who uses his skills to help people who need his help. In many situations (by design, obviously) he is the ONLY person who can help. The police are out of the picture or unable or whatever, Reacher is there.
I highly recommend at least giving the first book in the series a try.
"Jack Reacher is my favorite character of any series, ever."
It almost hurt typing that, because it is so specific. It allows for no misinterpretation whatsoever. It's a highly qualified thing to say, which is something I dislike doing very much. I HATE speaking in absolutes.
And that is perhaps one of the reasons why I like Reacher so much...
Before I go into why I appreciate Reacher so much as a character I must first get one thing out of the way:
Tom Cruise is TERRIBLE as Jack Reacher. There are plenty of reasons for this, none of which really involve Cruise's overall "qualifies" as an actor. I actually like Tom Cruise. In almost all of the roles for which he is most famous he is, in my opinion, quite good and well suited to those roles. Ethan Hunt IS Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise IS Ethan Hunt. TOP GUN!? I mean, he was perfect. So, so good. Risky Business? Perfect. I personally found him fantastic in Edge of Tomorrow (which is an incredibly under-rated movie). He made Knight and Day somewhat watchable; he tried really hard in the Last Samurai to be the solemn, heart broken and broken down soldier on a last gasp effort in a cause that allowed him to find greatness and redemption. I could go on and on and on. Part of what Tom Cruise is best at as an actor is in that sort of wry, self assured wise-guy humor. A certain smirk is very "Tom Cruise-ish." He's also very short and despite, for the most part, being very fit he is not generally regarded as a "big strapping guy."
And that brings me to my next point.
Half of who Reacher is as a character is who he is as a human being. I mean that in the most basic sense of the species. He is a big, hugely strong man whose facial features are cut from slabs of rock and whose stature intimidates others simply by being there in front of you. That's WHO HE IS as a character. When I first started reading the Reacher novels (right around when the movie was coming out which, I admit, was my catalyst for starting the book series) I didn't think too much of the size disparity between Cruise and Reacher. But the more I read (I have now read 16 of the Reacher novels) the more I realized how wrong I had been at first.
Reacher is a big, big man. Not in a body builder way but in a sort of way that lets you know his strength comes half from being a born fighter and half from within. His cold sense of "never lose, never" lets you know that his aspirations are built on the foundation of always winning.
He's never "funny" exactly. He's not sarcastic in a way meant to arouse humor. He's coldly logical, precise, concise. He's never made long speeches, not in 16 novels involving 16 different stories. Tom Cruise likes to talk. His character was constantly trying to be "funny." I think he missed, somewhat, the intent behind many of Reacher's lines in the "One Shot" story (which is what was adapted to the movie in Hollywood).
There's a scene in the movie where the local police officer in charge of the investigation asks Reacher/Cruise "What did you do in the army?" To which Cruise/Reacher responds "I did the same thing you do, except everyone I investigated was a trained killer." In the movie you get the sense that the character is saying this to sort of "one up" the cop. In my opinion, this is never the manner in which Reacher would've responded to this question (from an inflection standpoint). Reacher was being extremely accurate in his statement. It wasn't meant to be humorous, or "one up" the cop, it was merely stated as fact.
I think that's another part of why I love Reacher so much: he is precise, he is observant, he is extremely aware, he is logical, he is factual, he is aloof (somewhat, until you piss him off), he is a drifter and he is incredibly, incredibly curious. I think these are all things I'd like to think I see in my own personality. Many of them are (sadly) not there, but Reacher is a good man who uses his skills to help people who need his help. In many situations (by design, obviously) he is the ONLY person who can help. The police are out of the picture or unable or whatever, Reacher is there.
I highly recommend at least giving the first book in the series a try.
Good music
Little gems here and there
Great use of voice mixing to create a fantastic hook
And, as always, the fantastic RAC remix
Because who doesn't love a little zydeco
Any song that uses voice to create the main beat line of the song has got "it" in my book
And, even more impressively, a live version. Dudes got pipes.
And one more for good measure, this one by a Carencro, Louisiana boy with the last name of Broussard, so you know it's pretty funky and soulful. Although this is one of those cases where if you JUST listened to the song you would NEVER guess what the singer looks like.
I've always kind of wondered WHY I like certain music. Why anybody likes any particular kind of music. What is it? Does it inspire something with us? Does it hit a certain "happy" nerve that resonates and continues on every time the song plays; inspiring those memories over and over again?
There are definitely songs I associate with certain times and moments in my life. There are songs that inspire wannabe greatness. Songs that make me want to go really fast, move really slow, think really hard, love big and hope strong...but...WHY?
Why do we love music so much!?
Great use of voice mixing to create a fantastic hook
And, as always, the fantastic RAC remix
Because who doesn't love a little zydeco
Any song that uses voice to create the main beat line of the song has got "it" in my book
And, even more impressively, a live version. Dudes got pipes.
And one more for good measure, this one by a Carencro, Louisiana boy with the last name of Broussard, so you know it's pretty funky and soulful. Although this is one of those cases where if you JUST listened to the song you would NEVER guess what the singer looks like.
I've always kind of wondered WHY I like certain music. Why anybody likes any particular kind of music. What is it? Does it inspire something with us? Does it hit a certain "happy" nerve that resonates and continues on every time the song plays; inspiring those memories over and over again?
There are definitely songs I associate with certain times and moments in my life. There are songs that inspire wannabe greatness. Songs that make me want to go really fast, move really slow, think really hard, love big and hope strong...but...WHY?
Why do we love music so much!?
Monday Morning
The day started the same day every Monday started: a phone alarm. He reached for it blindly, trying desperately to hit the "dismiss" button somewhere in the middle of the touch screen.
"The hardest part is getting out of bed," he told himself.
It was a lie. But it was a good lie. A falsehood designed to trick your mind into thinking that getting out of bed really WAS the hardest part of a Monday morning. He rolled out of bed, walking timidly towards the bathroom. His heels bothered him in the morning, as they usually did. But that wasn't anything out of the ordinary for a morning such as this.
The best part of any morning is standing over the toilet.
That was a lie too. But...it was pretty close to not being a lie.
Putting in contacts makes him feel human again. It's a process he's done for almost two decades; putting in his eyes never gets old. It's like they take a drink of water and say "Ahhhhhhhh" in a most satisfying fashion. Being able to see is never a bad thing. He throws on sweats because the pre 6am morning still has a chill to it, even in late April.
Ten minutes after the alarm goes off he turns on his car and drives down the street.
It is a short drive but there are a lot of lights to get into downtown Charlotte. Well, technically, if you want to abide by common colloquialisms, it's "Uptown" Charlotte. It amuses him that a city tries so desperately to find a personality that it comes up with a name for its business district.
His destination arrives within 5 minutes of departing home and he pulls into a space. Grabbing the bag from the back seat he walks, slowly, to the swinging front door. There is nothing special about this facility; nothing unusual. Its doors open at 5:30am and close late in the night, catering to all sorts of people and all sorts of personalities.
Swipe his card, grab a towel and head into the locker room.
Getting naked in a room full of other dudes is always an odd proposition. It's socially acceptable to walk around in one's birthday suit, blow drying various things and putting on (or taking off) very small pieces of sports-specific apparel but sweating is somehow "weird."
Oh well.
Once changed, walking out onto the deck is like waking up all over again. Lots of activity, bright lights, shouting, splashing, suffering. The sense of community that Monday morning (and all other mornings that start with a trip to this place) group swim practice brings is undeniable.
Waking up feeling tired, sluggish, resentful, annoyed, tired...sluggish.... You get the picture. Getting out of the pool at 7:30 feeling awake, energized, tired (but in a good way), alive with the energy of your workout and your friends; that's some good stuff.
Every Monday is a great day.
"The hardest part is getting out of bed," he told himself.
It was a lie. But it was a good lie. A falsehood designed to trick your mind into thinking that getting out of bed really WAS the hardest part of a Monday morning. He rolled out of bed, walking timidly towards the bathroom. His heels bothered him in the morning, as they usually did. But that wasn't anything out of the ordinary for a morning such as this.
The best part of any morning is standing over the toilet.
That was a lie too. But...it was pretty close to not being a lie.
Putting in contacts makes him feel human again. It's a process he's done for almost two decades; putting in his eyes never gets old. It's like they take a drink of water and say "Ahhhhhhhh" in a most satisfying fashion. Being able to see is never a bad thing. He throws on sweats because the pre 6am morning still has a chill to it, even in late April.
Ten minutes after the alarm goes off he turns on his car and drives down the street.
It is a short drive but there are a lot of lights to get into downtown Charlotte. Well, technically, if you want to abide by common colloquialisms, it's "Uptown" Charlotte. It amuses him that a city tries so desperately to find a personality that it comes up with a name for its business district.
His destination arrives within 5 minutes of departing home and he pulls into a space. Grabbing the bag from the back seat he walks, slowly, to the swinging front door. There is nothing special about this facility; nothing unusual. Its doors open at 5:30am and close late in the night, catering to all sorts of people and all sorts of personalities.
Swipe his card, grab a towel and head into the locker room.
Getting naked in a room full of other dudes is always an odd proposition. It's socially acceptable to walk around in one's birthday suit, blow drying various things and putting on (or taking off) very small pieces of sports-specific apparel but sweating is somehow "weird."
Oh well.
Once changed, walking out onto the deck is like waking up all over again. Lots of activity, bright lights, shouting, splashing, suffering. The sense of community that Monday morning (and all other mornings that start with a trip to this place) group swim practice brings is undeniable.
Waking up feeling tired, sluggish, resentful, annoyed, tired...sluggish.... You get the picture. Getting out of the pool at 7:30 feeling awake, energized, tired (but in a good way), alive with the energy of your workout and your friends; that's some good stuff.
Every Monday is a great day.
Remixed
What makes a remix fantastic?
It holds true to the themes, ideals and driving forces of the original while creating something entirely new.
RAC does many great remixes of its own accord, but it's great to see them open up their music to other artists for different takes on what is a fantastic song. RAC's "Let Go" is probably one of my favorite songs of the past 6-8 months. Robert DeLong takes a great song and puts a pretty trippy remix beat into it, making the overall "feel" much darker. Which, in a certain sense, corresponds quite closely with the lyrics of the song itself.
Metric's "Gold Guns Girls" is another great song. Mike Shinoda, made famous primarily because of Linkin Park, spun this remix out quite nicely. It's a lot more frenetic and hurried, which makes it very useful as a pump-up song with a super strong rhythmic pulse. Keeping Emily's great vocals completely intact is imperative in any remix of a Metric song.
It holds true to the themes, ideals and driving forces of the original while creating something entirely new.
Metric's "Gold Guns Girls" is another great song. Mike Shinoda, made famous primarily because of Linkin Park, spun this remix out quite nicely. It's a lot more frenetic and hurried, which makes it very useful as a pump-up song with a super strong rhythmic pulse. Keeping Emily's great vocals completely intact is imperative in any remix of a Metric song.
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