Whereas The Postman is a reminder that should America suffer through nuclear winter, you'll still be able to count on Tom Petty and the independent agency of the US government responsible for providing postal service.
Many of you know me from a past life. One which included month-long van rides, small rooms in the back filled with bottled water, playing Tetris with a trailer and seven people's musical equipment, a dry hoodie over a sweat-filled shirt by the end of each night. So let's put it on the record. It's not as though we put a stake through Anathallo's vampire heart. It's more that we wandered the band back to rest, to let it sleep through the day. And whatever or whoever wakes up in its place, we'll see.
It's strange not having picked up an instrument in over eight months. It's hard taking the train into work sometimes. But it's important to finally have an address. Friends to go out with on the weekends. Inside jokes that don't have to be caught up on. Simple things like falling for someone and not having to rely on texts for seven weeks. Ordering at restaurants without setting fire to your bank account. I could go on but it sounds ungrateful. Which no. You don't leave your hometown and see the world... you don't come to the close of a thing like that without shaking your head at how much you've been given.
And it's only the close of an exact thing. In whatever form, I'm sure that Matt Joynt realizes a coffin is sometimes only a bed. I know that Dan, Seth, Jamie, Erica, and Jer aren't done, whether it's music or otherwise. Andrew Dost took a year off and is back at it. I'd like to think that I'm not exactly finished, either.
So here's one last post before I stop acknowledging this site's mascot. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a kick out of anchoring my posts with a quarter page Field of Dreams banner. It's absurd. I know it. But I also know I get misty whenever the movie comes on. It's a reminder to listen to voices. It's a reminder to create illogically. It's a reminder to talk to ghosts and it's a reminder to ease pain. Maybe that raises the bar too high here. But I figure why not build it.
Or I suppose you can't clean house yet if you've just moved in.
Hello again, it's round two. I'm afraid this might be another post about posting... instead of containing, you know, substance. But then again, I can't be shy about my ambition for this thing. Until eighteenforty is under control, this blog will squarely be about being a blog. That is, I'm still not entirely comfortable yet with just flinging out posts like This Is A Good Recipe For Gluten-Free Banana Bread (it is) or Why Has My Internet Presence Devolved Into Detroit Tigers Rants And Newt Gingrich Retweets?
Instead, I can't help but feel that buying this domain name was like buying a treadmill. It felt like a good idea until it was actually in the room. But now it's here and I can either let our good friend Costner gather dust or put in the time and figure out what this is.
Treadmills are generally made for either taking on challenges (work) or getting ready for beach weather (spectacle). I have a feeling this site will probably end up being a little of both.
So with that, a bit of a correction here... the comments section is opened back up. Initially, I kept them closed because (a) I can think of exactly one useful comments page amongst the wreckage of the Internet's countless rest and (b) I couldn't really think of what mine would be for. But! Since these posts are already willfully ignoring the WHATS THIS FOR?, I figure why not open the gates.
And with that, my bagel sandwich and midday wine bid you adieu.
"599" by Ida pretty much captures how I feel about everything right now. It turns out that's also how I felt on February 19th, which coincidentally is how long I've had this site and its corresponding (and overambitious) twitter feed. I was reorganizing my bookmarks on Safari today (I know, thrilling!) and realized I still hadn't posted anything here.
If I don't now, I figure it could be another month and half before I try again.
So! Hello! If you care to hear the song, it's over at my aforementioned and linked-to-the-right eighteenforty twitter account. The number comes from my street address (1840 N. Rockwell St., for you surprise present senders) and I figure a home is a home, internet or otherwise.
Yes, that's a big picture of Kevin Costner. No, I don't really feel like explaining myself right now.
This all is a pretty brief introduction but I plan on making this site make sense as I go. In the absence of any actual content yet, may I suggest my friends to the right. Plenty to read, listen to, and look at over there.
More to follow, definitely before June. Thanks for stopping by.