Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The Eve's of Our Life

This will be my final post of 2008. The new year sort of snuck up on me. Even when one is unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, that next year still always seems a year away. I suppose it's just in the human mentality to not "count on tomorrow" and "just live for today," as Mr. Shaver sung.

It's always a little mind boggling to look back on a year. In terms of unexpectedness, really on any system of scale, this has been a unique year. Last year I was in a castle on the northwest coast of France. Three days after landing in Paris I was driving three Parisians (none of whom knew how to drive) in a rented Citroen down the A-11 towards Bretagne. Though quite frankly it was a bit awkward in the castle, it was one hell of an experience. When one looks at these sorts of things, perspective is always important. I know a lot of people that haven't even seen a castle much less spent an evening in one.

This year, despite possessing the requisite champagne, I'm far from Bretagne and far from any castles. It seems as if this New Years Eve will be a relatively quiet one, comparatively speaking of course. Given the stature of the "holiday," this seems almost sacrilege to many.

Ironically, only three former New Year's Eve really stick out in my mind over the last eight years. These were all memorable for who they were spent with as much as anything else. That said, distinct events happened in each that makes them stand out. There were the massive fireworks courtesy of H in 2001-2002. Drunken tears and screaming always stand out no matter the night. Then of course 2003-2004 provided no end to drama. Getting left at a house party by my girlfriend, trying to pick a fight with a kid I poured beer on the previous summer, walking home in the rain, and then the requisite happy Hollywood ending with Kash, temporary as it was. 2006-2007 brought the inaugural Roost New Year's Eve party. There wasn't much going on there beyond general Roostness, questionable decisions in search of female companionship, and of course the bad/good? decision to put a roast in a the crock pot at 2AM so it would be ready for consumption when we awoke (These great ideas always seem to end up biting you in the ass, metaphorically speaking of course). All of which brings us back to the castle, which beyond the horrible music granted an unforgettable experience, one I was able to share with someone special.

I saw a lot in this intervening year. I'm not sure I'll ever figure out how I got from France to Fort Smith, from a life of somewhat hedonistic gallivanting to static pragmatism but here I am. Tonight, like much of our existence on this earth, should be a somewhat staid affair. Some dinner at home, some effervescent wine, and a party at a good friend's new Fay Jones designed home. Though we might forget them, it is often the quiet nights with close friends that are most affirming for our spirits.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Chocolate and Ice

Every year around this time I began to obsessively listen to a small set of "holiday" songs. My use of quotations is perhaps perplexing. Most assume a song is either a Christmas tune or not. Gray areas don't really exist with quotations. Until I first heard My Morning Jacket's 2000 EP, My Morning Jacket Does Xmas Fiasco Style, I saw holiday songs in black and white.

When one speaks of anything regarding taste or personal preference, there is always an attempt to draw a correlation with something else. A comparison is required so one can adequately and descriptively give an idea as to what one might expect (Dick in High Fidelity grants us a classic example of this pursuit: "She's kind of Sheryl Crow-ish crossed with a post-Partridge Family pre-L.A. Law Susan Dey kind of thing, but, you know, uh, black").

Despite my adoration for My Morning Jacket, I've always struggled in my attempts to relate their sound. As luck would have it, I struck on something close to an apt description for the experience of listening to this particular EP. It is reminiscent of a rebellious Gregorian Monk starting an expansive rock band.

Though there are only six songs (including the bonus track), the record clocks in just shy of thirty-five minutes. What sets it apart--and keeps me interested each year--is the edgy nature inherent in the EP. In the opening track, Xmas Curtain, Jim James tells us about reluctant shoplifters and salacious hypocrites--"hey! The Christmas curtain falls on lawbreakers that pave the way for thoughtless folks like me and J who'd pay, but cant afford the finer things in life so we heist them all..."

This catchy (yet ironically bleak in content) tune is followed with I Just Wanted To Say. It's elegantly stark--"I just wanted to say, happy holidays, today. I just wanted to be just a little part of your cheer. There comes a time in everyone's life when everything shines like a star that falls from the sky"

Utilizing their unique vocal talents, the band follows this with something a bit more traditional--Christmas Time Is Here Again--a song extolling the positively regenerative possibilities of the season. Reminding us that--"Christmas Time is here again. All this joy for girls and boys, life was bad but now is good. All is right, I think we should bring out the joy, light up the tree. Though time moves fast it's not too late, it's only Christmas Eve."

Not to get too engrossed in a traditional spirit, the band opts for Nick Cave's New Morning. They adorn this post-apocalyptic proto eutopian song with lightly elegant instrumentation. In their hands it is transformed into a hopeful statement of the possibilities of our own future--"Thank you for giving this bright new morning, so steeped seemed the evening in darkness and blood. Let there be no sadness, no sorrow, Let there be no road too narrow. There'll be a new day, yes it's today, it's forever."

For good measure a cover of Elvis' "Santa Claus is Back in Town" wraps up the EP (though it is technically followed by a hidden track). This is naturally a rocker, with Jim James sounding a bit fuller than on any other track.

I read recently in the WSJ that we become bored with Christmas carols because the novelty has worn off. We know what will come next. The assertion was that a song must "balance predictability with surprise, familiarity with novelty." Irrationally I fear that fate for Fiasco Style. Fingers crossed, I hope to make it through at least one more season with the soaring vocals, teardrop lyrics, and expressive licks of My Morning Jacket Does Xmas Fiasco Style.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Youth and Young Manhood

Invariably when one sets out on a household clean up project or redecoration, some remembrance of times past rears its head. Though it perhaps should not be, it is usually an unexpected encounter. We cordon off our lives and expect our past to respect the boundaries. Our expectation is for the past to stand politely in the wings and appear only when expressly conjured.

This is out of practical necessity as much as anything else. What could be accomplished if one was to constantly mope over yesterday? Our mind creates these boundaries for self-survival. I think it is because of this that we are always so surprised at the strength of those innocent emotions that can blindside us at the drop of a hat.

Thus it was recently while I was straightening up my room that I came across a particular picture. It was one I've seen countless times without a second thought. Taken the day of my graduation ceremony at the University of Texas in May, 2005, I am standing in cap and gown with my arm around a dear friend (if it's possible, that might even be an understatement). Smiles on our faces, we stare into the camera. Confidence and security seems to emanate from us both.

It is ironic how innocent this all seems in retrospect. Everything undoubtedly seems to have been easier then. This is a false recollection. Our worries then seem minuscule only because we are privy to their resolution. However, I was struck by the ferocity of the emotions that overtook me--a yearning to live again those years of "youth," a desperate guilt at decisions and indecision, and finally a resigned smirk at the circumstances of the day (getting yelled at by the women in my life for wanting to wear shorts under my gown, realizing that I had "outgrown" the slacks I had, having to rush to Old Navy with Kasia for new pants, and finally, tearing down Red River at 60MPH to get to the ceremony).

People use phrases like a "misspent youth" from time to time. Youth is simply spent. Unfortunately, we spend it in a confused haze of vacillation. It is only upon a second look that we confuse the situation and see it as misspent instead.