South American Chonicles: Being Bold

So here I am at the airport in Santiago, looking grizzly and feeling like death. I had gone way too hard in the proverbial paint over the course of the last few days and my body was hating me for it. I was just glad to have somehow managed to hang on to my passport through the whirlwind of booze and bars that I had saturated myself with over the past 48. I considered hitting the airport bar, and after a moment’s deliberation, I did. Bourbon please & touch of cola, I told him. He delivered. Money spent. Drink imbibed. Moving on. I said Goodbye to Tom Flynn at Gate 17 and made my way to the east wing of the building. And then, slam. There she is. Gearing up to check people in during pre-board. She’s drop dead stunning, perennial mountain stream beautiful, with twilight hair and sandy freckles. Full-bodied voluptuous, sporting the LAN Chile get up like a runway model on stewardess catalogue front cover parade. There was no way I wasn’t going to take some sort of shot at her. No way. I needed a moment to collect myself. I wouldn’t need to board for half an hour. I stumbled back to the bar. I’ll take another, sir. # 2: Imbibed. Feeling good, feeling bold. Was this the same woman whom I’d seen on my flight down? Had to be. She’d been working behind the rent-a-car counter as a liaison for the airport. But hell, that was three months ago. One more, please. I get to thinking, Hell, I could probably stay down here a few more days. It’s not like I have plans for when I get home. I mean there is a someone but she’s probably taken half the town to bed by now. Oh wait, she has. Because she told me she has. On the phone. Yesterday. Fuck. I hate whores. Moving on. I need flowers, a bear, anything. Something to pass off to this beautiful woman before I board that god forsaken plane that is going to drop me back in to a shitstorm I have seemingly transcended over the last couple of months. I find some complimentary candies and wrap them up as nicely as I can, with a note that has my contact information and the following message: “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I'm such a creep. But who gives. Time to be bold & here goes, Calling Group C now - -Moving forward.  Four away, now three, two away, Balls. I am next. Hi... this is for you I say – smiling genuinely, passing the note and candy off with collected ease. And Holy Mother. Her lips turn up in to a warm and loving smile, whispering how sweet to me. It all happens in the flash of a second. I am going ape shit. I walk down the switchback handicap ramp, turning up to look at her as I board the plane. A wave and a smile are there waiting for me. Victory, Churchill. Victory. When I get home some days later, I've got one of these 21^st century  love letters from her in my inbox. Storal of the mory: Be Bold. 

Bobby Darin - Mack The Knife 

Wed-nes-day?

Always had a hard time spelling Wednesday in my earlier elementary years. No biggie.

Golden Cage (Fred Falke Remix) *AWT

The Rolling Stones - Wild Horses

If You Love Me - BB King &Van Morrison

Garth Brooks - More Than A Memory

Carl Harding (D): Potter County

Standing in the Redford Conference Room at City Hall, Carl Harding thought quietly to himself: Not bad for a kid from Oyster Bay.  He was awaiting the outcome of the election, hand-in-hand with his wife, while scanning the room of constituents before him. His wife’s expression spoke confidently about her feelings on the matter. Addressing the Chrystal meth problem earlier that year had been a tactful public relations move, resulting in unwavering support from the community. His leadership on the case had earned him a reputation as a pragmatic and resourceful trial lawyer, something of a rarity in Potter County. His presence during the initial trial hearings had shown not only a strong vitality, but also an inclination for sensing when the truth was being told and when it wasn’t. He could see the quivering lip of a dishonest man on the stand just as easily as he could sense the truth in the tone of another’s voice. His profession was his identity, and he was one of the finest.

A young clerk brought him a delicately wrapped Remy Martin as he pulled a JL Salazar cigar from his suit pocket, placing it casually in to his mouth. He chose not to light it, knowing that it would breathe best once the results weren’t just statistical projections. He had been the odds-on favorite for the office of District Attorney during the majority of his campaign, even as a New York born Democrat. He stood calmly, trying not to shuffle in his Georgio Brutini’s as a string of local auto commercials made an obnoxious fuss on the television. The results were moments away from being announced over the air. He thought about his time at Denison and the foolishness that had consumed most of his undergraduate studies. He recalled the cavernous apartment in rural North Carolina, and the work he had done for the Outer Banks Monitor. He thought about the exhausting hours on the 2nd floor of the legal library at the University of Houston, and the massive volumes of terminology and court cases he had absorbed during those two short years. He remembered the time he had spent as a law clerk for a lawyer who was later convicted of embezzling money. He thought about the move to Amarillo and how the opportunity, while it had seemed bleak at first, had given him a home and a job as an Assistant District Attorney. It had also led him to his wife, whom had not only been a voice of support, but also rounded the image of his campaign. No, he thought, Not bad for a kid from Oyster Bay at all. As the county commissioner had the results placed before him by a floor member of the KAMM news team, Carl took note of all the people in the room, deciding that it would be most practical to begin thanking people in the left wing for their continuous support and belief in him. This was just the beginning, he thought. He had a skill, a profession, a passion, a wife who believed in him, and an image that was regarded highly by the voting public. He had what it took and he knew it. The commissioner congratulated both parties on their impressively put together campaigns and proceeded with the announcement. Both his name and that of his opposition were emboldened in the upper right corner of the television set. And as the commissioner’s expression shifted, the results were read aloud over the KAMM airwaves. Carl lit his Salazar and took down the Remy Martin. Anything, he thought. Anything. Anything to help numb him to this new wound, as Mike Martin (51% Winner) -----Carl Harding (49%) flickered endlessly upon the screen. 

Bob Schneider - Let The Light In

Foo Fighters - Walking After You

Sun Kil Moon -Glenn Tipton

Western Alchemy

This video knocked me out cold today. Haven't stopped watching & listening. Nothing better than the American West, the road and a little Van...

Even my best friends, Even my best friends;
They don't know
And I'm searching for, searching for
The Philosopher's Stone.

Thermodynamite and the Human Circuitry of Inspiration

Guest post from Seth Morgan, via South America:


"There are infinite means and methods, but with the best in every field energy is the constant."           - Henry Rollins

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, but only transformed from one state to another.  While this idea is typically applied to things like friction, heat transfer, and other scientific stuff I won't claim to be knowledgeable of, I started thinking about it with regards to creativity.  Since energy and matter can't be created or destroyed, maybe ideas work the same way.  There must be a finite amount of energy in the world and we can only take in so much before we send it back out into the world.  Sometimes it goes out unchanged from its previous state.  Other times it is transformed into a state not yet seen before.  Maybe thats what it means to be creative.  People of ingenuity aren't those that create new things, but rather those that take what is already there and present it in an entirely new way.

I used to think of human creation as an upside down pyramid.  There was a small base of information from which all ideas had come from, with people using the ideas before them to create new ones, expanding each level upwards and outwards.  I don't really view it like that anymore.  Instead, it seems more like a circuit.  There is a predetermined amount of energy cycling through humanity and we merely take this energy and transform it into something new.  We are but transformers on the great circuit of human ingenuity with the input being "inspiration" and the output being "art/philosophy/literature/etc..."  The poet takes in experience and transforms it into lyrics.  The musician takes in all he's listened to in the past and transforms it into his own sound.  All using ideas people have seen before and understand,  but presenting them in a new way

In keeping with the piece, I dont think my ideas are exactly new and I'm geussing some philosopher has said this much more eloquently than I have.  However, by actively putting something back into the world, I stand a better chance of influencing something in some way, as opposed to if I merely left them in my head.  I think what I really want to say is this:  Be greedy about energy.  Watch movies.  Listen to music. Read books.  Take in as much as you can but don't waste it.  One way or another that force is going back out into the world.  Why not send it back out different from the way it came in?  Give, do, move, transform.  Be active with your place in the circuit.

JAMES BLAKE - The Wilhelm Scream by Mat Gallet James Blake- The Wilhelm Scream

My Own Sinking Ship by Bill Silva Entertainment The Good Old War- My Own Sinking Ship

The Ephemeral Bluebell (V(eye)BES Remix) by V(eye)BES Bibio-The Ephemeral Bluebell; couldn't find the original so here's the next best thing

Jeph

Where to begin.

Rave On John Donne / Did Ye Get Healed *never fails

Queen and David Bowie - Under Pressure (Virgin Magnetic Material Edit)

Red Light - Jonny Lang

Down Home Girl by Old Crow Medicine Show

10 Jackie Wilson Said *take me back to the old country

 Dying To Live - Jonny Lang

Fairy Tale Ending (feat. Nels Cline)

Tupac - California Love

Wilco - Poor Places (Walls Remix) [Nonesuch]

Friday (syn): Rejuvenation

I had some fiction going for today but it got a bit beyond me and we're a little swamped here in North Austin. Here are some tracks that I have been rejuvenated with for the weekend; see yall on the dance floor.
Rufus Wainwright - Go Or Go Ahead (Kaskade Mix) *give this one some breathing room

Tupac Amaru Shakur - I Aint Mad at Cha (Clean Radio Edit) *passed off to me at work this morning

James Vincent McMorrow – We Don’t Eat (Adventure Club Dubstep Remix) *short wave radio gang*

ELO - Electric Light Orchestra - Turn To Stone

James Vincent McMorrow - Red Dust *justin vernon 2nd coming, more folken-heimered alt country

Garnished Socialites

Robert stood before the mirror in his seersucker blues and leather blacks. He admired his parted hair and kempt eyebrows with his usual narcissism. Where have all the cowboys gone, he joked to himself under his breath. The time spent in the Ivy League had transformed him from the son of a Southwestern rancher in to a sophisticated man of the educated elite. He walked over to the balcony of his 2^nd story flat and looked down at the river below. The afternoon had been cool and crisp, with the night quickly approaching. The river moved with quiet grace, rippling with small pools in different pockets of the stream. It reminded him of days past on his father’s land, fly-fishing the North Fork of the White River. He used to wade in to the shallows and work the cast to and fro, East to West. A different time, he thought. The moment was gone. He lit a cigarette and checked his Cartier for the time. He needed to be out the door soon. There weren’t going to be many more nights like the one ahead. Graduation was to be within the month, and his internship in Massachusetts was to begin the following week. He trotted down the steps and out the front door of the flat on to Rosemary Avenue, where the street lamps were beginning to flicker with life. He had grown accustomed to making the walk several blocks north during the early evening hours, conjuring up his first jokes for when he would make his various entrances on nights like these. As he turned the corner, he could hear the laughter coming from the house. He strode in to the front door and was handed a garnished brandy, along with a cigar. He loved this feeling. The night ahead, a drink in hand, camaraderie all around.

02-Do-For-Love-Vodka-and-Milk-Remix

A Drought Story

Newt hiked along the caliche road wishing the rains would fall, for it already was getting on to be late in the month. This time one year ago the dams were merely overflowing and the cows were happy. Even the marsh at the south end of the property was ripe with tadpoles propelling themselves along directionless in the shallows. But now the cows were ill and had to be watered through a horse trough that had been improvised using cast iron from the barn at the west end of the property.  And there weren't any fish to catch or bullfrogs to spear down by the dam near the main cabin. It was just too dry. He thought about the flood some ten years back and pulling out automobiles by the water crossing using the diesel green tractor’s wench. The crops had prospered for several years after that, as a result of the water table being heavily saturated by that June flood. But these were different times. As Newt walked along, the dust picked up and caked his hands, intensifying his desire for the rains to grace the lands again. He turned toward home once he reached the fence line so that he would be in time to catch the falling of the sun. He knew that the summer ahead might be one of the driest in the history of Caldwell County. His Grandfather had experienced the pains of drought half a century earlier and had essentially quit the cotton game. The back forty had been the first to go when his Grandfather worked the land and the plots behind it went shortly after. But Newt’s attempts at cropping and farming had proved successful since he had permanently relocated there fifteen years earlier. He had brought a youthful zeal to the enterprise of farming, inspiring the ranch hands to move forward with him in his pursuit of raising olive trees. There had even been an attempt at farming Christmas trees, which had resulted in a windfall for the better part of his first three years. As the sun set behind Gambrell Hill, Newt turned for the back porch of the stone house, being reminded of the drought as he felt the crusted dirt between his toes. All he could think of was the drought. It pained him to no end, but he knew that he had to keep going forward with his efforts. If only the rains would fall again. He was afraid of the heat lightning that could crack a whip of flame at any moment during a scorching summer night. He remembered when he was younger how the heat lightning had kept him awake in a hot sweat all night, as it bolted and clashed on the horizon, setting aflame a courthouse in a neighboring county. He strode in through the door and in to the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of black coffee, sprucing it with a touch of homegrown bourbon. There wasn’t much else he could do for anyone or anything that day, including himself. He moved to the front of the house and sat upon the blue rocking chair his mother had found years ago at a market in the hill country. The day had been long and hot and dry and he dozed on the rocking chair, even with the spiked coffee buzzing through his system. Some four hours later, Newt awoke in a flash of terror; the skies alight with thunderous clashes of power and chaos. The cup of coffee that had been resting on his chest fell down the steps of the porch and broke. But Newt cared nothing for the broken glass because he could smell it and he could feel it. The sky threw thunder in the heavens and lightning toward the ground, illuminating the heavy drops of rain as they sunk in to the rejoicing earth. 

  Home to You by Max Stalling

  Long Way to Get by Max Stalling

Books, Man. B-O-O-K-S

When it comes to love and passions, books, music, film, sports and the outdoors are all fighting with one another for first place. But lately, books have saddled up and ridden "15 miles" ahead of the rest. I can't get enough reading time. I was at home this past weekend and talked with Bill about books. We were discussing the Civil War, Ken Kesey and then we lulled in to Tom Clancy, a guy who is famous for his fictional war novels. But did you know that Tom Clancy is just an insurance agent? You wouldn't guess that if you read Rainbow Six or The Sum of All Fears, both of which are really entertaining by the way. I am not trying to advocate anyone reading those type of books, because in truth - they are so empty and void of soul *and I speculate that they are also the work of ghostwriters. But, the best books are the ones that leave you thinking about them 2 days later, rethinking the ending time and again. In many ways, it's like the best films you see - they leave you thinking about them. Moreover, it seems as though the best books are written by the men & women who experienced what goes down in the book (i.e. Herman Wouk novels - fought in WWII). Bill is a big reader. Our library at home is 3 walls of hardcover books filled with authors like Larry McMurtry, Will & Ariel Durant and Gore Vidal. I just picked up PT-109 from Bill's Library; I remember loving that movie as a kid and the story of JFK's pre-presidential heroics. I am also just beginning on 100 Years of Solitude. 

There are many things I do not understand, but what I do know is that life is short and books are the finest way to learn things about this world (only slightly in front of travel). I already feel behind in terms of reading things because there is so much to read and so little time to do it. As of today I am 23, and the clock is ticking. I have got to read, read, read, read, read. And so should you. God Bless.

Hotel California forever (The Eagles x Drake)

Barry Manilow - Copacabana

Elton John - Someone Saved My Life Tonight (Live) Ephesus

Step into the park (a guest post from South America)

Contributed post - via South America - by way of Argentinian interwebs
4/18/11

After graduating from college last May, I realized I hadn't been maximizing my creative oppurtunities as much as I should be.  Stuck in a bit of a rut, I looked forward to EdBaum joining me in both Deerfield, a limbo between San Antonio and the Hill Country, as well as post grad life, a slightly more metaphorical limbo between college and job.  After a swanky graduation party( to which I wasn't actually invited), a few hard drinking sessions at stonestreet, one Negro Modelo feuled jam session, and a game of basketball, EdBaum's perpetually burning flame of creativity started to get me moving again.  Shortly thereafter, I moved to Buenos Aires. 
Throwing myself out of America and into a much more uncomfortable situation only further propelled that creative ball that had long been collecting dust, and had only recently begun to start rolling again somewhere on Heubner and 1604.  Without the comforts/distractions of home, I found myself wanting to write/jam/read/explore all the time.  I realized how incredibly lucky I am to live in a time where I have instant access to billions of pieces of culture and I've tried to take advantage of it. 
When EdBaum asked me to make some guest posts on orcas, I got pumped.  Really pumped.  Reebok pumped.  I was ready to actually do something.  Kind of nervous since this is my first time as a participating member of the internet, I took my time and crafted a slightly deeper piece on the relationship between energy and creativity.  I think there's some thermodynamics in there as well.  And a Henry Rollins quote.  However, that doesn't really matter because it will have to wait for another day.  EdBaum told me to write what comes.  This is what I came.  So, I wrote it.  Here's some music.

02 - Temecula Sunrise by astronauta The Dirty Projectors- Temecula Sunrise
Frank Ocean - Swim Good by BLINDO Frank Ocean- Swim Good
Bibio - Haikuesque (When She Laughs) by Disco_Sucky Bibio- Haikusque (When she laughs)              

The Bris

Orson, Get Out of the Pool

I'm sitting on my back porch at the parent's house here on Fawn Brook looking at the lagoon. Bill has just taken the cover off and Petunia, the polaris, is squirting water and sucking leaves. It's mid April and soon to be high time for summer. Wherever you are, I hope Mexican imports and sunglasses are close by. (And yes that is Orson Welles *Citizen Kane )

John Denver - Rocky Mountain High (Lightning EyeZ Remix)

Turnstiles (Matt and Kim VS Iyaz VS LCD Soundsystem)

Yeasayer - Crazy (Seal cover)

Weekend Co-Op

People Under The Stairs - The Suite For Beaver Part.1 

People Under the Stairs - Acid Raindrops 

Nature Owns

Nature owns. I like the indoors to soothe my brain aches after nights out; but otherwise, the out-of-doors is my domain. People used to dog on me for being in Boy Scouts, but being a Boy Scout totally ruled. I got to hit up the Montanas, Wyoming, Alaska, Swissland & Manitoba. No Philmont here (No Need). I remember coming home to the Americas from an 85 day Leadership course in Patagonia in my post scouting era. It was cool being home, but after 2 weeks in the civilized world, I was more than eager to peace back out to the boonies. People find themselves out there; no really, life moves at this natural pace when away from the crash and dash of the city. No concrete sheets and neon buzz. I'm not planning any trips now, seeing as how I've found a little niche here at Initech (What's Up, Lumberg?); but I am certain that there will be numerous returns to the bush. It's who I am. It's what I do. And now I'm gonna lay it down for you: 

Phoenix - North (Crystalised remix) by Crystalised *diggin big

Million Voices - Wyclef Jean *holy s man, loved this one since my youth. try out 3:25-3:40 and feel that

Phoenix - 1901 (Beat Culture Remix) by Beat Culture

Earth Wind & Fire - Getaway (DJ Mila extended mix and unreleased intro) by djmila

Two Wheel Orienteering

I just bought a used mountain bike on craigslist, for shy of $100 pesos. I've been bit chomping since then to get out to the Grandmother's property some 25 minutes East of Austin for some all-terrain two-wheeling. My idea of a good time these days is waking up in the morning, throwing the laundry in the machine, putting the steaks in their proper marinade, followed by a mountain biking ride across old cotton fields, mini-marshes and dirt roads. Should any of you care to join me in an upcoming ride across the ranch property, maybe this weekend, well -- the Camry seats 4.


Brian McKnight - Back At One

Deer Tick - Smith Hill

Marvin Gaye - Sexual Healing

Ryan Adams - Desire

I miss you - Brian Mcknight

Hot Sands

sublime - santeria (JPOD rmx) by JPOD the beat chef

Early Returns

Got my tax return. I hated working at that law firm, but change chunk I received from the Dept. of Treasury made it all worth it. Enjoy this smattering of Hall & Oates. Have a Great Tuesday, All.

-JB

John Waite - Missing You

Daryl Hall and John Oates - She's Gone

Hall and Oates - Rich Girl (Tony Jacaloné Re-Edit)

03 CAN'T GO FOR THAT 

Eurythmics vs Hall & Oates - Sweet Dreams (No Can Do) (Double M) (410)

Simply Red vs Hall & Oates - I Can't Go For That Sunrise (M&D Mix)

The Notorious B.I.G - Kick In The Door (I Hate Townspec Remix)

Blackasaurus Rex- Hall & Oates vs. David Banner (ft. Magic and Lil Boosie)

Food For Snack

Snacks that I have been enjoying lately: Salami, Cheese & Crackers; Peanut Butter Nature Valley Bars and the fried fish. If you want some really awesome food reviews, please, please, please, Go Here

Right Back Where We Started From - MAXINE NIGHTINGALE

KC & THE SUNSHINE BAND - ESONIC Super Megamix

Willie Nelson - Pancho and Lefty

Vista

Spent the weekend at a tennis tournament in the Texas Hill Country with a group of characters I've been fortunate enough to know via Vista Camps. Stories with this bunch date back for me to 1998 when I was a little guy in Fort 3. But Vista as a place is another story, being the oldest boys summer camp in the land (dating back to 1921). There are thousands of stories to tell about RV and ideally I'll get around to it someday. But until then, I must rest easy and recoop from the 5am song swap that went down at the River Lodge some 18 hours ago.


The Bright Light Social Hour by thebrightlightsocialhour