Wait ten years, we’ll be together
The first time I heard one of my favorite songs, it snuck up on me. I was slumped in the front seat of my car, haphazardly killing time before my shift started.
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‘Firework’ is about sex
Mind the Gap
Between my mom and my friends, I was left with no vocabulary to talk about music with, and no one to justify my opinions to on what a song was about or what made it good.
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A Dog-eared existence
Cutting Room Floor
“Library Property. You are responsible for any damage to this book, including ripped pages, water stains, underlining, highlighting, dog-earing, etc.”
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Green Rabbit
Sometimes, other people’s love of the music you’re playing is only a side effect of the feeling you get from playing that music for yourself.
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The Soundtrack of My Childhood
Cutting Room Floor
I found out on the train ride home from Lake Tahoe, where I had spent the weekend. In honor of him, I listened to his music on shuffle, old and new, Highway Companion to Damn the Torpedoes, and watched golden fields of fried grass and stark black cows run past my window. “Square One” consoled me as I traced streams into orange forests. “Rebels” scored the train’s trek across a Sacramento bridge. Tom Petty was dead, and I wasn’t crying. I was remembering.
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Our TV Club
Mind the Gap
My mom gave me a lot of advice; advice from an infallible person is hard to say no to. But from Berkeley, I didn’t have to say no — she wasn’t there to record the shows.
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What’s your favorite movie? An existential crisis in 3 parts
Cutting Room Floor
To properly answer this question, I’d need to sequester myself in a room for at least a few hours to systematically go through every movie I’ve ever seen.
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The Dance Floor
Mind the Gap
I’ve listened to it from front to back, each minute dragging a volumetric feeling with it, and I don’t need to remember its name to love it.
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For Kyle, who changed the movies I love
Mind the Gap
Kyle’s excitement made my heart flutter. The movie was his — he sent me blocks of exclamation marks and little hearts, unwittingly coloring in magic marker hues over my tangle of nerves.
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Regarding my cat and ‘Kangaroo Jack’
If my internal store of energy wasn’t sucked dry by an afternoon of “Kangaroo Jack” viewing, then I would have likely chased him around.
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