The ban on MySpace cleared out the crowd.

Ah, Election Day.

The leaves have peaked around here, and the weather's nice. It took me three seconds to vote. Now, I'm at the public library where there is a book sale, and I wonder what it must be like to be the author whose books have been pulled from the shelves, branded with a bold "WITHDRAWN" stamp, and shoved onto the "Reduced! Unmarked books only 10 cents!" table. I bought one Newbery Award winner. How'd that make it on the table? And a ton of audio cassette recordings. Famous speeches, Charles Kuralt essays, a Garrison Keillor broadcast, and a Studs Turkel series because I know that he just died and I don't have a clue who he was. I'm a sucker. I know.

Anyway, I'm getting ready to multitask -- enter grades and catch up on Nerdfighteria while I sit here with the public library computer lab crew: the match.com dude, the solitaire guy, the YouTube lady. We're pretty cool, all of us.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see John and Hank Green. And that's all that matters.

If I am alive this time next year.

After I had been blogging for a year or so, it became an OCD obsession of mine to make sure that I posted an entry to this blog at least once a month so that my archives list would always show consecutive months. Alas, this is no longer true.

It seems that blogging has fallen out of fashion among people I know. This is reasonable. I did not quit writing on the blog because it was, say, uncool -- whatever that may be. It petered out because I didn't have time to write, or I didn't have anything to say. While I am not sure much has changed, I find myself missing the blog. So here I am with a two-month gap in my archives list.

I am sitting in my apartment on this Wednesday night. I am only here briefly because, these summer days, I try to stay at home as much as possible. At home, I am spending my days trying to get prepared for student teaching this fall. It is still unreal to me that I won't walk Murray's campus anymore as a student enrolled in proper classes. While graduate school has been on my mind lately, it sure hasn't been a vision of Kentucky's Public Ivy bouncing around in my head. So, I am making my oh-so-blurry transition from student to teacher, a hazy area between the two ends of the continuum that I imagine I will never fully venture out of. I am excited to delve into America's literary history with a group of high school juniors this fall, but I can't help but already miss the classroom in which I am the student.

Anyhow, the things on my mind tonight? I am wondering what my hair will look like this time tomorrow. I am bravely handing over my hair to an unknown stylist who will hopefully do some magic to transfigure me from lazy student to semi-professional educator -- avoiding a "teacher" haircut at all costs.

Also, I am geekily anticipating the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I won't lie and say I am not excited. It always bugged me when certain childhood friends of mine used the word "excited" in such a way that it carried a negative connotation, meaning emotionally upset. Perhaps, though, this is what I mean here by "excited."

In the more traditional sense of the word, I am here to proclaim my exultation at the discovery that even the Murray WalMart stocks Nutella, the hazelnut and chocolate spread that enamors all those who have tasted it abroad. I was so excited that I even developed this somewhat-fraudulent graphic to display my relief.

With this probably being the one and only post added to my blog in the light of this "rededication," I say so long. Perhaps I will keep it up. Only time will tell.

There's a reason I love IMDB.

Eighteen-year-old Zach Braff. And to think, I remember watching this episode of Babysitters Club. I didn't have a clue I'd fall for the geeky (or as they say, "really cute, don't you think?") David Cummings, like, twelve years later.

Enjoy the flashback.

It's not you; it's me.

Just this past semester, I wrote on the front of one of my classes' folders: I HATE POETRY. It wasn't true, even then. Maybe it was the class, the professor, the specific poem that we were harassing as a group. Or rather, it was the way the professor was using the poem to harass us that made me write it in capital letters, to emphasize my disgust. That's the thing. Over the past years as a literature student, I've come to view poetry as a weapon scholars use to batter us intellectual fledglings into humble submission.

It makes me sad. So much so that a couple years ago, I wrote a research paper about ways to make poetry seem less intimidating in the classroom. Hoping that students and poetry can be friends, I decided that the microteaching that I have to deliver in a couple weeks ought to be about poetry. So I set out on the search to find the poem to incorporate into my lesson. I still haven't found a poem I want to "teach," but I have found my new favorite poet.

Introducing Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate and NY State Poet, and his poem "Thesaurus."

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast
that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up
on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary,
or some lover in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book.

It means treasury, but it is just a place
where words congregate with their relatives,
a big park where hundreds of family reunions
are always being held,
house, home, abode, dwelling, lodgings, and digs,
all sharing the same picnic basket and thermos;
hairy, hirsute, woolly, furry, fleecy, and shaggy
all running a sack race or throwing horseshoes,
inert, static, motionless, fixed and immobile
standing and kneeling in rows for a group photograph.

Here father is next to sire and brother close
to sibling, separated only by fine shades of meaning.
And every group has its odd cousin, the one
who traveled the farthest to be here:
astereognosis, polydipsia, or some eleven
syllable, unpronounceable substitute for the word tool.
Even their own relatives have to squint at their name tags.

I can see my own copy up on a high shelf.
I rarely open it, because I know there is no
such thing as a synonym and because I get nervous
around people who always assemble with their own kind,
forming clubs and nailing signs to closed front doors
while others huddle alone in the dark streets.

I would rather see words out on their own, away
from their families and the warehouse of Roget,
wandering the world where they sometimes fall
in love with a completely different word.
Surely, you have seen pairs of them standing forever
next to each other on the same line inside a poem,
a small chapel where weddings like these,
between perfect strangers, can take place.

See, I don't hate poetry. Thank God, because this stuff makes me happy.

It was this passage from the poem "Reading Myself to Sleep" that had me at hello: "and the only movement in the night is the slight / swirl of curtains, the easy lift and fall of my breathing, / and the flap of pages as they turn in the wind of my hand." Aaaah.

So now I'm going to go put fresh sheets on my bed and read myself to sleep.

*sigh*

Beautiful, beautiful Order of the Phoenix sneak peek.

Yes, I admit, I got a drinkin' problem.

Does anybody remember that David Ball song from back in 1994, "Thinkin' Problem"? Oh, country music. Oh, childhood. Anyway...

The title of this post is indeed not referring to my fancy for margaritas or my growing fancy for Killian's Irish Red. Rather, I'm referring to the fact that when I go to WalMart, about fifty percent of what fills my cart is beverages or beverage mixes.

Just tonight: orange juice, soy milk (I'm giving it a shot after seeing The Corporation), cranberry-apple juice, Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer tea, and spiced apple cider mix. Also, upon further inspection of my box of Great Grains, I discovered that the cereal people decided that adults like surprises in their cereal, too, and there inside was a three-bag sampler of Tazo tea. I mean, I know that the cereal aisle is laden with subliminal messages -- mostly found kids' sugar cereal shaped like cartoon characters -- but I really think I subconsciously registered the free tea label on the box. Why else would I buy a whole grain cereal? I mean, seriously.

I've just recently become obsessed with interesting things to drink. Perhaps it is the Starbucks culture infiltrating my system. But I've noticed that everywhere I go, I'm either going to have coffee, or more recently, a cup of tea. And honestly, it excites me. Just this afternoon, my mom, sister, nieces, and I had what unexpectedly turned into a tea party. I had, for the first time ever, milk in my tea. Oh, the glory. I'm practically a new woman. Anyway, I took pictures of the event, complete with a miniature Dora the Explorer tea set, and I need to put them up on Flickr.

Perhaps I should go on a diet where I do nothing but drink fluids. Something tells me I could be very happy.

This silence is so loud.

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket -- safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Maybe it's because it looks like Harry Potter could live there.

Words cannot describe how much I adore this house. From the outside, that is. I'm sure if I ever saw the inside, the whole thing would be demystified. It belongs to the university, and it's the Nash House, whatever that means. I have no idea. I almost plough over pedestrians every time I drive down 16th because I am so enchanted by this house and I fail to pay attention to my driving. But it's just so, mm, cottagey? I just think it's adorable. So today when I was taking a different route home from a meeting at Alexander Hall, I rummaged through my bag and found my camera so that I could take a picture. Maybe now pedestrians won't be in so much danger. But I doubt it.

Get ready

This camera -- or one similar -- with be mine come this weekend. It will be nice to have a good digital back in my hands. Oh, the places we will go.

Heart aflutter.

The loves of my life -- at the moment:

• Butterscotch discs, by the bagfull. I've been on a tear to find them. Rite Aid finally got me my fix. Don't know what my deal is. This summer, it was butterscotch-dipped cones from DQ.
• Construction paper. I've taken to making my own postcards to send to people, a la construction paper, index cards, and Mod Podge. I found fun new colors at the store today. Hoorah.
• The prospect of Scrubs being syndicated on Comedy Central starting Monday night. I've been wanting to get into this show. I've looked at every video rental joint in Murray, and ain't a one of 'em got the seasons on DVD. I've never even seen the show, but I hear it's good. You should look at the reviews on Amazon. A solid five stars. Season Four is sold out at WalMart. That's gotta say something. Anyway, I have to figure out how to set my VCR to tape while I'm at class. For the love of Zach Braff, I swear.
• Dictionary.com. A love that will never die.
• "Three More Days" by Ray LaMontagne. It's on his new album Till the Sun Turns Black, and you can hear the song here. I don't handle heavy new-music-saturation very well. With Continuum out there now, it's got the priority. I'm going to try to digest one Ray song at a time, I guess. This one has my attention right now.
• Windows-up / windows-down weather. It depends on your location. Windows up in your house, apartment, or room. Windows down in your car.

We have a good thing going.

What's 'washed up' mean anyway?

I just want to congratulate myself on finally sticking with a blog design for a while -- a "while" being over a year.

In the past when I was a more regular blogger, I redesigned this blog quite frequently. I've blogging a bit more these days, and as it is a fallish Friday afternoon with little to do, I thought, Hmm, why don't I look into changing the blog?

But here's the truth, I like what I've got going. I still like the colors, and hey, it's fall again. It's fall, again?! When I decided to look back at the files I created to develop this design, I was surprised to see things like "Last modified September 15, 2005." At first I just thought that my tinkering around with the computer had caused the system to recognize today as "modification." Oh, but no. 2005. A year ago today.

As normally goes my astonishment by time, I can't believe that a year ago was, well, a year ago. Last night, while I was celebrating Kathryn's birthday at Sissy's, I realized that it'd been a year since I made those Elmo cupcakes. (We had Wal-Mart-made Dora cupcakes this year, by the way.) It's the little things like that mark off time. Seemingly insignifcant moments that are lost in the whirlwind of time, swiftly blown a year, two years into the past before you even know it.

*sigh*

In other news. I want to see the new Zach Braff movie. It is playing in Paducah. Anybody? Anybody?

Also, rumors are swirling that I am getting a digital camera of my choice for my birthday. I can barely contain myself -- from both peeing on myself and spending all day shopping on Amazon.

Twice as much ain't twice as good

Back when I was a groupie -- we'll pretend I'm not now -- I used to write what I called the "obligatory concert post" (see 1, 2, and 3) after a John Mayer concert. Maybe this is it. Maybe not.

Well. I guess it is.

In a way, this was the least exciting concert yet. coughcoughmoreconcertstocomecoughcough That is not to say anything negative at all about the experience. Part of it is that I hadn't had the chance to psych myself up for it. I was more concerned with safely making the 400-mile trip to Muncie, IN. With that finally behind me, it was less than twenty-four hours until show time, and it still hadn't sunk in.

The other factor contributing to this lessened sense of excitement, I think, is a sheer sense of maturity. Holly and I have individually done a heck of a lot of maturing over the past two years since we dropped off the tour circuit. Of course, John Mayer had dropped off the tour circuit, too, to do himself some maturing, which is so incredibly evident -- through his musical finesse and his lyrical explorations -- in the new album that went on-sale today. Like he says in the improvisational introduction to "Something's Missing" on the John Mayer Trio album, "It's only music now." If you need concrete evidence, he's played fourteen shows thus far on the tour and not once has "Your Body is a Wonderland" appeared on a setlist.

I think he's trying to say something. And I like what he's saying, too.

Anyway, the show was beautiful. And I'm not going to pretend that I didn't scream like a twelve year old -- or a trashy forty-year-old woman with rose tattoos, alternatively -- every time he went into jam-mode or announced a set change. But this was the first time I wasn't holding a camera in front of my face throughout the whole show. (Though I would have if I could have. And Holly did the picture-taking this time, anyway.) I just held onto my twelve-dollar beer with one hand and tapped the beat out on my chest with the other as I sang along.

He didn't play one of my favorite songs, though, one he has played on every show of the tour except ours -- "Gravity." (It just made a very poignant appearance on the wonderful show House, by the way.) When that track started playing this afternoon after I bought the record, even though I've heard it a hundred times, I had cold chills. It's that powerful, and I was quite disappointed when he neglected to play it. However, he did dazzle us -- and redeem himself -- in the encore with surprise performances of the throwback tunes "Victoria" and "Love Soon," albeit a fragmented jumble of forgotten lyrics.

There are two types of love. The one that fades in the event of prolonged absence, and upon rekindling, there is no hope because the flame has gone for good. Then there's the one that endures separation, and when one returns to the ashes, the flames jump up and dance just as wildly and even a little bit more brightly, as if no time had passed at all.

Call me crazy for likening the last one to music. That's okay.

Continuum

Thank God.

I got to listen to a preview of John Mayer's new record tonight on Star 98.7. All I can say is that it is convincing. Believable. Know what I mean? It doesn't seem like he's trying to be anything. I know he's said that he wouldn't release it until it felt perfect, and I think he did a good job. No song, from what I can tell from one listen, seems like it was thrown in for the sake of having another song. I'm not sure if this makes sense, but this record feels 3-D. Each song does. It makes everything that came before it feel a little on the thin side.

But anyway, you can ignore all this because love at first sight isn't reliable. We'll see, though.

And P. S. This article is a good example of why I love John Mayer. He uses the word "opine" for goodness' sake. What more might one ask for?

This ain't no time for that ball and chain.

Ray LaMontagne's 2004 Trouble is the one of the best album's I have come across in a long time. Yes, my interest was piqued when Taylor Hicks sang the title track on American Idol, but the countless number of Soul Patrollers who recommend this CD know what they are talking about.

While I really enjoyed Taylor's version of "Trouble," that rendition was no indication of what this record would be like. I was actually a bit shocked when I listened to the thirty-second preview on iTunes and it sounded nothing like what I'd heard on television. But I listened to the other previews, and I liked the sound of this guy's voice. It was unique. He doesn't sound exactly like anyone else, but I would say his voice is unique in the same was that Ben Harper's voice is unique.

I read customer reviews. People were fawning all over the album. When I saw that iTunes listed Iron & Wine as one of Ray's few contemporaries, I knew I was onto something. But I still needed to give him the final test. Lyrics. If I look up the lyrics of an artist I'm considering and the words don't do anything for me, I drop them. I know lyrics by themselves aren't much without the music around them, but you know, even some of the best music has a hard time carrying a crap lyric. So I looked ol' Ray LaMontagne up on Let's Sing It, and I wasn't disappointed. Don't know why, but a line from "Hold You In My Arms" did it for me:

"When you kissed my lips with my mouth so full of questions"

It's a nicely turned line, true, but it's not the only one. There are all these people these days and their socially aware songs, and this artist has his, too. And it is quite thought-provoking. It's called "How Come."

"Love can be a liar / And justice can be a thief / And freedom can be an empty cup / From which everybody want to drink"

Yeah, check out that nice way of not ending a sentence with a preposition -- and then the big ol' subject-verb disagreement. Okay, despite all the grammar incongruencies, he's speaking some interesting truth there.

Also, the song "All the Wild Horses" reminds me so much of the score of Brokeback Mountain, I can't convince myself it didn't make a sneak appearance on the soundtrack.

Anyway, every song on this album is good. Right now, I am sort of partial to "Forever My Friend" and "Hold You in My Arms," but I do not dislike any of the songs. I bought the album Thursday afternoon before I went home. I put the songs on my iPod and played straight through to Calvert City. This is profound, you know. I get impatient with new albums with which I am not familiar, but every song held my attention. I even restarted a couple songs to get another go 'round.

Yesterday afternoon, I tried to take a nap, letting this music to put me to sleep 'cause it's that type. Soft, folky, and a little solemn. But I could not get a wink of sleep until I had heard the whole album. It was too good to sleep through.

Also, thanks to Gray Charles, you can download Ray's version of "Crazy" (think Gnarls, not Patsy) here. Yeah, he might sound like he's gotten a shot of novacaine in the tongue every now and then, but what great singer doesn't slur a bit?

So here's the point. I haven't totally absorbed this album yet, but I have enough faith in it to recommend it to you. Plus, "Ray LaMontagne" is a really fun name to say.

Ain't nothin' like the real thing

Gray Charles has posted a rather long interview with Taylor Hicks. By "rather long," I mean that it was posted in eight segments. So if you do go to try and read it, you'll have to click back a page or so to get to the beginning. It's very good stuff -- a highly recommended read. It was nice to hear a "real" conversation with him. Does it make me a bad person that it was kind of nice seeing that he's not afraid to drop a bomb here and there?

My Soul Patrol t-shirt is supposed to arrive today.

I gotta quit this.

Radio war

I found this survey on someone's Last.fm journal, so I thought I'd give it a spin here. If you don't know about Last.fm, it's a site that hosts taste-tailored radio stations. Honestly, I don't really use it all that much because I end up finding too much music that I like, and I will, in turn, spend too much money on iTunes. But I do use its little tool that tracks what songs you play on your computer, and that's what generates that "10 most recently played" type deal on my side bar. And my profile keeps statistics on artists and songs that I listen to. So on and so forth.

This is, according to the most recent stats, the top ten artists I keep playing on my computer. There are a couple ties, so I am going to combine them. The questions are relative to the numbers.

1. Taylor Hicks
2. John Mayer
3. Iron & Wine
4. Dixie Chicks
5. John Mayer Trio
6. The Shins / Relient K / Better Than Ezra
7. James Taylor / The Beatles
8. Johnny Cash
9. Dwight Yoakam
10. Ben Harper

What was the first song you ever heard by #6?

For the Shins, I'm pretty sure "Caring is Creepy" came first in Garden State, so that one. Relient K? I bought "The Anatomy of the Tongue in Cheek" before I ever heard a song of theirs. "Pressing On" is the first track. And Better Than Ezra? The best guess is "Extra Ordinary."


What is your favorite album of #2?

This is possibly the hardest question ever. Room for Squares has a special place in my heart.


What is your favorite lyric that #4 has sung?

My favorite to sing has been "And it wrung me out / And it strung me out / And it hung years on my face / God help me, am I the only one who's ever felt this way?" from "Am I the Only One." One of the best, though, is actually a Patty Griffin song they did called "Let Him Fly": "There's no mercy in a live wire / No rest at all in freedom / Of the choices we are given / It's not choice at all / The proof is in the fire / You touch before it moves away / But you must always know how long to stay / And when to go."


How many times have you seen #5 live?

Technically, never. But if you drop that little "Trio" offa there, I've seen him three -- going on four -- times.


What is your favorite song by #7?

James Taylor? "Steamroller." The Beatles? I've been on a "Hey Jude" kick, but "Eight Days a Week" was my first love.


What is a good memory involving #10?

Every time that Dad is in my car and "Suzie Blue" comes on, he always gets really excited because he loves the horns. It's kind of cute.


Is there a song of #3 that makes you sad?

Iron & Wine has a way of putting one in a somber mood. However, "Passing Afternoon" reminds me of the fleeting nature of time, which is always a little sad.


What is your favorite lyric that #2 has sung?

Oh, dear. I am really supposed to pick one, solitary John Mayer lyric? I'll just go with the one I remembered fondly yesterday from "Perfect Sense": "If it ever gets bad / I mean really bad / I'll move to Nova Scotia and forget the life I had / I'll be up at nine each morning / Down by the shore / Collecting things that fell off boats in storms / Okay, so I might never / But it's nice to know the option's there."


What's your favorite song by #9?

I am glad you asked because I just realized that I do not own my favorite Dwight Yoakam song, "Things Change." (Just bought it.) "Streets of Bakersfield" makes me happy, too.


How did you get into #3?

Well, I heard Sam Beam's version of "Such Great Heights" in Garden State -- great movie, great music. When I ran across the song a while later, I heard it and instantly knew that I recognized it from the movie. I tracked down the Endless Numbered Days album when "Such Great Heights" wasn't enough Iron & Wine to do me.


What was the first song you heard by #1?

Oh, Taylor. I guess this would be from the American Idol audition when he sang Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come." Love at first bite.


What is your favorite song by #4?

I'm really into "I Hope" from their new album. Good song. It's an anti-war tune, and John Mayer on guitar doesn't hurt a thing.


How many times have you seen #9 live?

I don't think I've ever seen Dwight Yoakam live, but you know, there were a bunch of concerts in there when I was little that I barely remember. Lots and lots and lots of country.


What is a good memory involving #2?

Oh-so many. Just about every memory there for a couple years was scored by a John Mayer song.


Is there a song of #8 that makes you sad?

"Sunday Morning Coming Down," no question. This song is about the most lonesome song in the world.


What is your favorite album of #5?

Well, considering there is only one, I'm going with it. Try!


What is your favorite lyric that #3 has sung?

"A baby sleeps in all our bones / So scared to be alone" from "Passing Afternoon."


What is your favorite song of #1?

This is indeed a difficult decision. I'm going to go with original, non-American Idol tunes. My first favorite was "Hell of a Day." The grooviest song, though, is "In Your Time." Also, he does a mean cover of "Georgia On My Mind."


What is your favorite song of #10?

"Show Me a Little Shame" is on up there.


How many times have you seen #8 live?

That'd be none.


What is your favorite album of #1?

Well, these options are sort of limited, but I'll go with Under the Radar.


What is a good memory involving #9?

Dwight Yoakam reminds me of Justin Downing, back in the B-Unit days. *tear*


What is the first song you heard by #8?

This is nearly an impossible question. I can say that the first Johnny Cash song I ever loved was "Tennessee Flat Top Box," but it was back in the day when CMT was playing the video of his daughter Rosanne singing it.


What is your favorite cover by #2?

I have this bootleg of John Mayer singing Guns N' Roses' "Patience" that I really enjoy, especially when he tries to sound like Axl Rose at the end. Pretty good stuff. Funny, actually.


Okay, well, there's that. Glad I got it out of my system.

Your plans to make me blue

I went home this past weekend. Well, it was more like I went home on Sunday afternoon and came back here on Tuesday morning. Anyhow, I ran the batteries on all of my music-listening technology by the time Tuesday came around, so I spent the entire ride home flipping through radio stations. I was very hard-pressed to find any music at all, much less any that was decent. Once, I gleaned a line or two of "Do I Make You Proud" (not that it's great music) from underneath some static, but when I tried to go back and find it, it was gone.

Finally, when I was rolling down the hill on 641 into Murray, "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" graced the airwaves. I was singing along -- thanking God for Marvin Gaye -- when I remembered that I bought one of his greatest-hits type CDs waaay back in 1996 (omg, ten years ago) for my thirteenth birthday party. You know, it was one of those birthday parties that sold itself as a "dance" party at the community center. So in an attempt to come up with some "cool" dance music, Mom let me buy the "Macarena" CD, and for some reason, she thought it wise to get some "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," too. Now, for the life of me, I cannot figure out what exactly we were supposed to dance to this, but twirling animated raisins come to mind. Anyhow, I'm thinking Marvin and his tunes didn't go over very well anyway. I'm remembering far too many rounds of the macarena dance and something about that choo choo train song.

But that's beside the point.

This is the point: What ever happened to my Marvin Gaye album? Upon research, I've discovered that it was Every Great Motown Hit of Marvin Gaye. The poor thing is probably floating around in a black hole somewhere with Los Del Rio and a mismatched pair of brightly colored bobby socks. And you know, I remember at the time thinking that fourteen dollars or whatever it cost was too much to pay for just one song that I wanted. (Now, you can buy the thing brand new for less than ten bucks anywhere.) But I did listen to the whole album long after the party -- along with Justin Mooney's copy of the Eagles' Hell Freezes Over that I ended up with -- and I did appreciate it. But oh! how I would appreciate it now.

The chances of me finding my copy of it are the slimmest of slims. I could just break down and buy it now. I could. But there's something about the fact that I already own it somewhere that's holding me back.

Oh, what's goin' on, what's goin' on?

Moonlight through the pines

The coroner pronounced the Buick dead yesterday. Hopefully we can all dry our tears, though. There may be life after death. The insurance people calling it a "total loss" doesn't mean she can't be fixed -- just that fixing her will cost more than she's worth. But the family and I are talking it over, and it looks like her mechanic dependability -- and the $800 air compressor we put in less than a week before the wreck -- are worth more than a used car that just might blow up at any minute.

I met with the Fulbright rep on campus today. That went well. We just talked over the possibilities and application and stuff. The application process is a doozy -- that's how dictionary.com told me to spell that -- if there ever was one. Turns out, though, that if I apply this year and don't make it, I can apply again next year for the same program at the same time. Thank you, overlapping 2007-2008 and 2008-2009 school years.

I'm kind of stressed out about all of it, though. Between figuring what to do about my car, the increasingly insane summer class, and Fulbright to think about, I'm getting a little crazy. Just because it's summer. I could excuse this during the school year because it's supposed to be hectic. I just want to relax, really.

To make up for it, I did some impulse shopping. I put my little toe across the line and ordered a Soul Patrol t-shirt from Neighborhoodies. I know, I know. But it's cute. I got it in "asphalt" (err, dark gray) on gray (err, light gray). I should be ashamed, but I'm not.

I had the strangest realization yesterday: I love songs about Georgia. It's true. I must have some subconscious fascination with the state. And I always that it was North Carolina... Huh. It occurred to me when I listen to Taylor's (who would've guessed?) cover of "Georgia On My Mind" for the thirty-fifth time. "Why Georgia" has always been close to number one on my John Mayer list. And then, today, when I was rummaging through some Iron & Wine songs to learn to play on guitar, I remembered that "Sodom, South Georgia" is the song that, every time I hear it, I start making amazing lesson plans in my head -- see, I could be teacher -- about the use of figurative language, specifically similes. Beautiful song. And I ended up learning to play it, by the way.

Papa died smiling / Wide as a ring of a bell / Gone all star white / Small as a wish in a well / And Sodom, South Georgia / Woke like a tree full of bees / Buried in Christmas / Bows and a blanket of weeds -- "Sodom, South Georgia"

Everybody is just a stranger / But that's the danger in going my own way / I guess that's the price I have to pay / Still "everything happens for a reason" is no reason / Not to ask myself, "Am I living it right?" / Why, tell me why, why Georgia, why -- "Why Georgia"

Georgia / Georgia / A song of you / Comes as sweet and clear / As moonlight through the pines / Other arms reach out to me / Other eyes smile tenderly / Still in peaceful dreams I see / The roads lead back to you -- "Georgia On My Mind"

Will it go 'round in circles?

This happens about once a year. I rediscover the John Mayer that I love. I know. I have a tendency to be gross about my fandom. But I don't care. This time, it was Taylor Hicks' fault. Well, there were several things -- some involving Taylor, some not.

One of them happened when I was in the shower, and I had my iPod/FM transmitter/jalopy stereo system going. And Taylor's live version of "Tighten Up" came up on shuffle. He started off the jam telling about how the song was from 1973 -- think that's wrong, by the way -- and he was singing it. You know, the year. And he starts doing this "Way back, way back, way back, way back in nineteen seeeeventy-three" scat type thing. And that's when I had the epiphany. This style reminded me so much of some of John Mayer's stuff. I went back and listened to "1983" and some other live tunes. The pieces started falling together.

I had read -- somewhere in what I like to call my "research" -- that Taylor (yes, first name basis...you want a piece of me?) wants to tour with John Mayer. I kind of laughed at that, but now, I'm catching the groove of this. It all makes sense.

I've been doing this thing which John Mayer once called a musical family tree, or something. Basically, it's just listening to the music that influences the music you like, and you keep moving around, listening to the influencing artists. It wasn't long before I got to the Taylor Hicks/Ray Charles/John Mayer connection. There are some other overlapping things, yes.

Turns out, though, that it's that "soul thing" (I wrote a sufficiently cheesy journal on my Last.fm page about it) that ties them up together so nicely in the music-loving part of my brain. It's when each performance of a song is an individual work of art. The music and lyrics as they appear on a page might very well be art, but when they are given breath, that's when they come alive -- obviously. I've watched somewhere around six or seven versions of Taylor singing that semi-lifeless "Do I Make You Proud" song, and each time, he does what he can to give it breath. He injects a little improv, and you know, soul. And it works. Not every singer can do that. It really does take an artist.

That's why, back in the day, I could listen to three different versions of "Your Body is a Wonderland" or "Daughters" or "Something's Missing" or "Covered in Rain" and it felt fresh and soulful each time. And that's the point, apparently, because as it turns out, John Mayer has a MySpace and uses the blog feature. And on there, he mentions something about the Trio song "Vultures" going on his new album (next month, maybe!) and being a different creature than the one we know because it has grown. A song is not just a song. The performance -- the living soul in it -- has everything in the world to do with it. It's not art until there is actually an artist behind it.

That's the problem. There is so much music right now -- pop crap -- that is just manufactured. For instance, I really like Maroon 5, but I remember at the Nashville show, I was so impressed with how much the song sounded exactly like the record. And that didn't sit well with me. Now I know why.

I mentioned this on the Last.fm thing. I like the imperfect music. It's like that thing Holly talks about -- the "needing to be airbrushed" factor. I like the music that isn't flawless. It's when the sour notes in Taylor's version of Elton John's "Levon" and John's "Man on the Side" become the highlight of the song that you've found something. It's a little bit of Soul peeking out. Paula Abdul might be hopped up on OxyContin, but I think she was actually right when she told Randy that what might seem pitchy to him is really the essence of Taylor. When the song's grabbed ahold of you and those kind of notes bust out, it's real. And that's what I like. Real.

I remember the first time I encountered it. About eight minutes into John's nine-minute version of "Covered in Rain" on Any Given Thursday, he comes up for air after about four minutes of tripped-out jamming. After a little bridgey thing, he starts singing the chorus again, and it is this huge burst of emotion. And the song was no longer just a song. It's the same thing that happened when Holly and I first heard the acoustic version of "Disease." It will make you cry, and you almost cannot explain why. But it's because it's not fake music. Turns out that Rob Thomas has a soul.

So, yes. That's what I love. Real music, warts and all.

As a closer here, I have a few John Mayer things that I didn't know until just recently:

Again, the Continuum album is supposed to come out some time soon.

He's on the Cars soundtrack. The folks at iTunes won't let you just download his version of "Route 66" though. It's an "album only" track.

I bought the new Dixie Chicks album about a week ago, and today, I found out that he's featured as the lead guitarist on the track "I Hope." I don't know how I missed that.

And like I said, he's blogging on MySpace. And has been for a long time. Check it out. The man has the best vocabulary I've ever seen in my life.

All centered now.

I finally figured out how to center my blog. It's a glorious day.

The iPod recovered. And I hooked myself up with an FM transmitter -- as Holly suggested -- and now I can enjoy my music in the car. I very excited about this. Now, I could stand to get a charger to go with it. It really never ends.

Well, I found a new best friend: Last.fm. I'm finding and enjoying all kinds of new music. The problem is that my iTunes bill is racking up. Not cool.

Tomorrow's the first official 5-week summer class Wednesday off. This makes me happy. It's not as if I am dedicated every fiber of my being to this class anyway, but it will be nice to have it out of my hair.

I have a few goals for these five weeks, and I'm not meeting them very quickly. I need to find a job for next semester. I need to work on Fulbright things, and by that, I mean that I need to find out about the program in general. And I need to be working on Spanish. I have hardly practiced since school's been out, aside from singing some along with some CDs I got in Spain. How am I going to be of any use in Mexico come August?

I'm going to watch Kathryn tomorrow while Sissy goes to the dentist. So. Yeah.

I've discovered -- long ago, actually -- that I have a very difficult time finding a way to end a blog entry. Perhaps I should think up something creative to do instead of just concluding with, "Well, I guess that's all I have to say about that."

Thanks, Forrest.