Perfect Circle

Inspired by "Three Libras" by A Perfect Circle

I will never draw

a perfect circle

no matter how I try.

I can slave away

for all of my years

sacrifice my time and sanity

for a very good circle. 

But even then,

there will be imperfections

flaws

that I can't even see

but a magnifying lens could show the truth.

The circle would mean nothing, 

because it wouldn't be perfect. 

But if I just draw one

a one-second circle

I can move on with my life

and make some mac and cheese

Lyrics Shuffle

All the roads you took came back to me

So I'm following the map that leads to you

It's like I got this music

I'm searching for a song tonight

The beat goes on and on and on and on and

You make me feel good

Cause I know that you're an old fashioned man

Drawing me in, and you kicking me out

I go on too many dates

Come home to me come home to me now

Cause I got

Got nothing in my brain

In that beautiful mind

that all the boys chase 

But I can't make them stay

that sh*t ain't real

Cant stop, won't stop moving

Teachers aren't Yoda

Teachers aren't Yoda. Their only purpose is not to guide us, the students, on our respective journeys. They have lives, too, and bills and friends and families and sometimes they even go out on the weekends. I think that we sometimes forget that. They probably weren't groomed from birth to be a teacher, their fate solid from the time they started lecturing their fellow three-year-olds: they've probably had a tumultuous journey. Maybe some did know they wanted to be a teacher, certain by the time they left high school that they would end up there again. Or maybe they didn't even want to be a teacher. Maybe they wanted to be a musician, or a marine biologist, or a writer, and they ended up teaching by (happy) accident. (Do you think Yoda had musical preferences?)
   Either way, teachers do listen to music. I have proof.
   I started by asking some of my favorites what music reminds them of their childhood. I talked to Ms. Self, my AP English Lit. teacher, and Mr. Moore, my AP Biology teacher. Ms. Self said protest-y folk music. Mr. Moore said that songs from Captain Kangaroo reminded him of his childhood, so of course I had to go home and look that up. It was this old PBS show that ran from 1955 to 1984, and it was kind of adorable, though the main character had a terrifying mustache. My childhood was full of Hillary Duff, who I cringe to listen to now, and Billy Joel, who I still love.

Here he is with a rock for some reason.

    Mr. Moore's favorite artist is Chris Tomlin, a contemporary Christian singer, which kind of surprised me. For whatever reason, I never really thought of Mr. Moore as religious. Ms. Self's favorite song was "Roll With the Changes" by REO Speedwagon. I actually really like REO Speedwagon, I grew up listening to them, though my favorite song by them is definitely "One Lonely Night". 

I was going to show a picture of the band members, but the hair was just too bad.

 My favorite song of all time, though, is probably "The Boxer". It was originally done by Simon and Garfunkel, which is amazing, but I'm in love with the Jerry Douglas and Mumford and Sons version. If you haven't heard it, you need to. 

     Next, I asked Mr. Moore about controversial music when he was growing up and he said that Elvis used to be considered offensive. I probably shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. It's interesting that all the pelvis thrusting, the shimmying and shaking Elvis was famous for, just kind of seems tame now. I mean, compared to Miley Cirus, Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines", and "Anaconda", simulating sex onstage really just doesn't have the same shock factor it used to. 

Sorry, Elvis. Maybe try sticking out your tongue more?

     Finally, we talked about dislikes. Mr. Moore doesn't like dirty rap, which is understandable. For me, though, sometimes I need some Afroman, Dirty Heads, Lil Wayne, Tupac. It's a palate cleanser, like pickled ginger for sushi, but with expletives. I don't get offended easily, and the innuendos are just too clever to pass up. Ms. Self doesn't like country, a disdain we share. Country is the bane of my soul. Too dramatic? Maybe, but the hate is real. Its never-ending presence at my work is literally the worst part, and I work in a fast food place. I feel bad dismissing an entire genre, but there are very few songs I can stand to listen to on country stations. I love folk and bluegrass, but country... Never. 

Music, Simply

Music isn't something I can easily write about. It's so easy to slip into the familiar cliches. Words are beautiful, wondrous things, but music isn't meant for words. Words can pierce and cut, tear and soothe, wax eloquent and snap short. But they can't do anything for music. Music is words, the best ones, ones like "indelible" and "vagabond" but with the words stripped away. Music is emotion, trapped and reduced to its simplest form, packaged and sent out to the masses. Music is more. Sometimes it's being with your friends, dancing with them, sharing a moment of simple joy, "Banana Pancakes" by Jack Johnson. Other times it's forever ago lying on a cheap carpet, staring at the bumps on the ceiling, inexplicably crying while listening to the live in L.A. performance of John Mayer's "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room". Music is catharsis. Sometimes it's "Spread Too Thin" by The Dirty Heads and everything feels crazy but alright and sometimes it's dirty rap or hip hop or electronic or Whatever but it doesn't matter if it lets you feel.

Some songs are like fuzzy slippers. You don't wear them for a while and then you slip them on and exhale, like you've been holding your breath this whole time. You know every inch of them, and they fit you perfectly. Here are some of my fuzzy slipper songs:
     The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice
     Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - John Mayer
     Mad World - Gary Jules
     Skinny Love - Bon Iver
     Gymnopedie No. 1 - Erik Satie
     Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
     The Lady is a Tramp - Tom Bennet and Lady Gaga
     Gravity - John Mayer
     The Trapeze Swinger - Iron and Wine
If any song is poetry it's "The Trapeze Swinger".
A verse:

Please remember me, my misery
And how it lost me all I wanted
Those dogs that love the rain
and chasing trains
The colored birds above there running
In circles round the well
and where it spells
On the wall behind St. Peter
So bright on cinder gray
in spray paint
"Who the hell can see forever?"

This is my song. It's almost ten minutes long, but it never approaches boring. I can fall asleep, write, clean, or do homework to this song. It's melancholy, inspiring, bitter, hopeful, regretful, relaxing, stunning, and just perfect. It's simple and complex and there's an unexpected slide whistle feature there at the end that sounds like the croaking of a swing-set; the perfect touch of nostalgia.

Musing on Movies

I love movies, but I really don't watch them as often as I would like to. I don't pay for TV, so my options are Netflix or the theaters. Let's be real here: most of the movies on Netflix are crap. There is a time and place for crappy movies, but I would much rather read a book. There are a few gems on Netflix: it kind of reminds me of shopping at a flea market, picking through a thousand useless things until you find a quiet treasure. The movie theaters are great with friends. Sometimes I go movie-hopping, where I pay to see one movie and stay and watch two or three. My favorite movie is probably Les Miserables, because I'm a sap and it's one of the few movies that makes me cry every time. That coupled with the incredible soundtrack...perfection. I'm also in love with Ferris Bueller's Day Off: I watch it every time I don't quite make it to school.  

There are my results from the quiz:

YOU ARE 33% EXTROVERTED.
You are moderate in activity and enthusiasm. You enjoy the company of others but you also value your privacy. 

YOU ARE 50% AGREEABLE.
You are generally warm, trusting, and agreeable, but you can sometimes be stubborn and competitive. 

YOU ARE 42% CONSCIENTIOUS.
You are easygoing, not very well organised, and sometimes careless. You prefer not to make plans. 

YOU ARE 42% EMOTIONALLY STABLE.
You are generally calm and able to deal with stress, but you sometimes experience feelings of guilt, anger and sadness. 

YOU ARE 100% OPEN TO NEW EXPERIENCES.
You are open to new experiences. You have broad interests and are very imaginative. 
If my life was a movie, it would be weird and over-complicated, with little coffee cups hidden everywhere. 

Dan in Real Life

Dear parents of teenagers:

               You brave souls. Thank you so much for getting your child this far. You've been there when they were sick, when they were fragile and small and weak, and you've never given up. You were there for their successes and failures; the events that will forever shape their adult lives. And the end is in sight. Soon, they will leave you and go have adult lives of their own. But not yet. Please. Please don’t give up. We still need parenting. We still need someone to tell about our days, someone to help us with our homework, someone to care about our happiness. We need someone to gossip with, to talk about our crushes to, and act stupid around, who can never hate us no matter how horrible we are. We aren't children anymore, but we’re definitely not adults. We make awful, horrible, debilitating decisions. Yes, we should learn from our own mistakes, and the advice you’re giving will, of course, be ignored, but don’t stop giving it. We still need a little guidance. Yes, take a step back, let us make a few mistakes, but please don’t abandon us. Don’t leave us alone in this world. 

My Perfect Day

I wake up, alone, without “help” from an alarm clock. Through the thick blankets covering my window a few ribbons of sunlight peek through. It’s probably around nine thirty, but I don’t glance at a clock. My dog is curled up next to me, her nose a tiny cold spot on my arm. There’s nothing I need to do today. There are no obligations vying for my time. My pillow is satin and my blankets are warm, and I just stay there for a little while. When I finally get out of bed, there is coffee already waiting for me, steaming and perfect. My hair looks amazing, and I spend a few minutes doing my makeup. Then, I go out for brunch at the Aviary with my Angel. She loves me just the same as she used to while Iron and Wine plays half-heard over the cafe speakers. We go to a concert or an art show, and she sings along with Whitney Houston in the car. After I go home, I drive my motorcycle to the park. It's a lazy fall day, the kind where you can't decide whether to feel the thin sun on your shoulders, or be cozy and demure in a sweater with sleeves pulled past your fingers. I read Witch of Blackbird Pond, spread across my favorite blanket. The arms of a perfect tree are hugging the sky right above me. It's the kind of tree that turns every color, from young and bright yellow-green leaves on the bottom boughs to the wizened dusky orange ones that crown the top. Those orange ones have seen the sun every day, been worn down by its relentless beat. They are the most damaged leaves, but also the most beautiful. I've just reached the part of the book where I know that everyone's going to be okay, and that everyone will end up where they are meant to be, when I drift off into a lazy sleep, lulled by the gentle murmurs of the spectacularly dying leaves. 

Is illicit love appealing to us?

Illicit love is always appealing. We fall in love with the situation, with the tragic hopelessness of the love, much more than the person. Often, when we finally get a chance with that person, the one out of our league, the one in a relationship, the one much too old or young for us, the attraction tends to fade. We don't want to love them: we want to be in love with them. This type of love is selfish. We care nothing for the way they feel, only how we are affected. Perhaps something meaningful can come from this initial attraction, but being in love with the idea of a person does not a healthy relationship make. Just ask Gatsby. 

Do you think there is only one soulmate for everyone or lots of options out there?

I believe that the belief that there is only one person for every individual, like matching socks, is incredibly destructive. Who matches socks anyways? Let the socks decide. Maybe the little fuzzy blue sock wants to be with the red and grey sock, even though they're completely different lengths. There is no universal sock-matcher, no hand of fate pushing two socks together, folding them neatly into one little ball, and tucking them away in a drawer, happily-ever-after. Sometimes socks just want to be alone. Maybe the sock is on an adventure, off searching for something more than a stupid sock to complete its existence. Some socks have holes, or pills, or are covered in dog hair: where does a sock like that go? Maybe the sock just wants some time to figure out what it wants to do, okay? Leave the poor sock alone.