May 28, 2008
April 30, 2008
Hebrews 11:13-16
All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country -- a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.
April 24, 2008
Concealing any bodies?
Yesterday morning, I turned out of my development to head to work, and was greeted with traffic on my road. There's usually not much traffic on my road - only the occasional back-up when there are lots of cars coming out of the Catholic church. This time, there was dead-stopped traffic. And a cop car in the entrance way to the church, with a cop in the middle of the road. He had stopped traffic from completely getting down our road and into the two developments off of the road, and was intermittantly letting traffic out, after first stopping each one, speaking with the driver for a few brief moments, and then checking their license plate/tag.
I automatically assumed that it was one of those 'license/seat belt/registration' stops that I've seen every now and then around the state. So I grabbed my license/registration/insurance cards and waited paitently for my turn in line.
When it came my turn, I was greeted, not with a request for identification, but with an apology.
Police Officer: Good morning, ma'am. Sorry to inconvience you this morning, but we're investigating an incident that happened early this morning in Scottfield [i.e., the development directly across from mine]. We just want to make sure you're not concealing any stowaways in the backseat or trunk of your car.
Me: *shock* Oh. Um. Okay.
PO: I can see by looking in the window to your backseat that there's no body in the back seat. Would you mind popping your trunk so I can make sure there are no bodies in the trunk?
Me: *quirks eyebrow* *briefly nods* *pushes button to pop trunk*
PO: *quickly glances in* Okay, ma'am, I can see you're not hiding someone in your trunk. *closes trunk* Is this your car?
Me: *nods*
PO: Alright then, I'll just get your license/tag numbers and you have a good day, okay?
Me: *nods* *drives off*
I was so surprised by the conversation that I didn't think to ask what sort of incident they were investigating, but had made up my mind to ask my News Journal friend if she knew of anything going on.
She didn't, but said that she would do a little digging, and got back to me with the news around three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Apparently, there had been a break-in, followed by a rape, in Scottfield yesterday morning around 7:30. He had been seen fleeing the scene on foot, but hadn't been apprehended. And so consequently, the police had stopped all traffic flow going into and out of (pending checking) the developments, in the off-chance he might have snuck in a car, or someone was trying to sneak him out.
Yes, I was quite shocked, especially because of the close proximity to my house. But I'm not scared or worried or anything (I do hope they catch whoever did that awful crime). I am just planning on staying safe and using extra procaution until further notice.
Late yesterday afternoon, my News Journal friend called me to ask me if I'd give an interview to another one of her reporter friends who was doing an article for it, and then she ended up calling me later yesterday evening. She told me that she'd been able to speak to several people living the neighborhood directly near where it happened, but hadn't been able to locate anyone in a car that had gotten stopped. So I got to be the lucky one.
I just told her everything that happened, and you can it in today's edition of The News Journal (section B, page 2, if you've actually got a hard copy of it).
I automatically assumed that it was one of those 'license/seat belt/registration' stops that I've seen every now and then around the state. So I grabbed my license/registration/insurance cards and waited paitently for my turn in line.
When it came my turn, I was greeted, not with a request for identification, but with an apology.
Police Officer: Good morning, ma'am. Sorry to inconvience you this morning, but we're investigating an incident that happened early this morning in Scottfield [i.e., the development directly across from mine]. We just want to make sure you're not concealing any stowaways in the backseat or trunk of your car.
Me: *shock* Oh. Um. Okay.
PO: I can see by looking in the window to your backseat that there's no body in the back seat. Would you mind popping your trunk so I can make sure there are no bodies in the trunk?
Me: *quirks eyebrow* *briefly nods* *pushes button to pop trunk*
PO: *quickly glances in* Okay, ma'am, I can see you're not hiding someone in your trunk. *closes trunk* Is this your car?
Me: *nods*
PO: Alright then, I'll just get your license/tag numbers and you have a good day, okay?
Me: *nods* *drives off*
I was so surprised by the conversation that I didn't think to ask what sort of incident they were investigating, but had made up my mind to ask my News Journal friend if she knew of anything going on.
She didn't, but said that she would do a little digging, and got back to me with the news around three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Apparently, there had been a break-in, followed by a rape, in Scottfield yesterday morning around 7:30. He had been seen fleeing the scene on foot, but hadn't been apprehended. And so consequently, the police had stopped all traffic flow going into and out of (pending checking) the developments, in the off-chance he might have snuck in a car, or someone was trying to sneak him out.
Yes, I was quite shocked, especially because of the close proximity to my house. But I'm not scared or worried or anything (I do hope they catch whoever did that awful crime). I am just planning on staying safe and using extra procaution until further notice.
Late yesterday afternoon, my News Journal friend called me to ask me if I'd give an interview to another one of her reporter friends who was doing an article for it, and then she ended up calling me later yesterday evening. She told me that she'd been able to speak to several people living the neighborhood directly near where it happened, but hadn't been able to locate anyone in a car that had gotten stopped. So I got to be the lucky one.
I just told her everything that happened, and you can it in today's edition of The News Journal (section B, page 2, if you've actually got a hard copy of it).
April 21, 2008
Flying Squirrel
One of the highlights from my Sunday:
Getting to hold and pet a flying squirrel.
Doesn't matter that he's part of the squirrel mafia. He was still the cutest (and softest) thing ever.
Getting to hold and pet a flying squirrel.
Doesn't matter that he's part of the squirrel mafia. He was still the cutest (and softest) thing ever.
April 17, 2008
What Can $1 Really Do?
Here's your chance to do something that may seem to be insignificant, but has a huge impact! Terry has the opportunity to do a creative little experiment to help a local Wilmington homeless man named Herman.
He's attempting to raise some funds for Herman (for which he has a matching donor), but there's a catch: anyone who wants to give can only give $1. Yup - only $1. You might think it's a silly idea, but if Terry can get 500 other people to give just $1, then his donor will match it dollar for dollar for a total of $1000.
He isn't going to be giving Herman the cash. He has been taking time over the past year to develop a relationship with him, and knows what sort of needs he has, and so he plans on using the monies collected to help Herman in a much more significant way. You can read about it in his post for more details, but the gist of it is this:
1. Comment here on his blog.
2. Leave your first name and your city/state and tell him, "I'm in."
3. Follow through by sending $1 to:
Herman's Bridge
PO Box 363
Montchanin, DE 19710-0363
I'm in! Spread the word to your friends and help share the love of Christ in this way!
"He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap; he seats them with princes and has them inherit a throne of honor." 1 Samuel 2:8
He's attempting to raise some funds for Herman (for which he has a matching donor), but there's a catch: anyone who wants to give can only give $1. Yup - only $1. You might think it's a silly idea, but if Terry can get 500 other people to give just $1, then his donor will match it dollar for dollar for a total of $1000.
He isn't going to be giving Herman the cash. He has been taking time over the past year to develop a relationship with him, and knows what sort of needs he has, and so he plans on using the monies collected to help Herman in a much more significant way. You can read about it in his post for more details, but the gist of it is this:
1. Comment here on his blog.
2. Leave your first name and your city/state and tell him, "I'm in."
3. Follow through by sending $1 to:
Herman's Bridge
PO Box 363
Montchanin, DE 19710-0363
I'm in! Spread the word to your friends and help share the love of Christ in this way!
"He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap; he seats them with princes and has them inherit a throne of honor." 1 Samuel 2:8
April 01, 2008
Loser's Music
I'm sure that this store didn't intentionally mean to bring the word 'loser' to mind whenever someone thinks of their store, but with a name like that, you just can't help it. Looking at their logo, you can clearly see they mean for you to say 'loser' with a long 'O', but that's just not really possible.
So I'm sorry. No winning music allowed. The only music allowed is for losers. XD
So I'm sorry. No winning music allowed. The only music allowed is for losers. XD
March 28, 2008
"Measure for Measure - How to Write a Song and Other Mysteries"
The actual link to the NY Times blog.
March 26, 2008, 2:38 pm
Words Will Tell
By Andrew Bird
In about a week I will load up my car with amplifiers and guitars and drive to Nashville to begin recording my next record. I don’t drive much anymore and I’m glad for that except that I used to write a lot while on the road. Solitude, boredom, and the desperate need to entertain oneself are ideal stimuli for songwriting.
I’ve spent most of the last year inside a tour bus. I’ve spoken more words to journalists than I have to my friends and family. All of this has kept me from what I realize now is my job, and that’s to daydream. Now I bring my bike on tour and ride every day. Wandering in an unfamiliar town, the rhythm of walking or riding and a few hours to kill is nearly the perfect recipe for a new idea.
I’ve got 11 songs mostly written and several dozen distinct melodies. I never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I’ve had melodies in my head. I chew my food to them.
Almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping melody. If I shape my lips so as to whistle, my breath will take on a musical shape like sonic vapor. Words are much trickier. I would forgo words altogether if I didn’t love singing them so much. My choice of words and my voice betray so much and that’s what’s so terrifying and attractive about it.
I’m not the most forthcoming person — I only speak when I have something to say. What is becoming more challenging of late is dealing with so many fully formed melodies that are unwilling to change their shape for any word. So writing lyrics becomes like running multiple code-breaking programs in your head until just the right word with just the right number of syllables, tone of vowel and finally some semblance of meaning all snap into place.
I’m kind of the opposite of the confessional singer-songwriter who fills notebooks full of poetry and intones them over a bed of chords. Meaning or “the truth what’s in my heart” usually reveals itself well after the record is released. I’m often surprised that the things I care about actually end up in my songs. Until then I’m mostly concerned with shape, tone and texture. I’m really an instrumentalist who sings words and if you care to pay attention you might enjoy them. So in this post, I will begin reporting on the progress of an as of yet unfinished song, with all my doubts and insecurities laid bare.
The song in question is called (for now) “Oh No.” It began, as do most of my songs, with a sound. It could be a creaking door or a delivery truck or the sound of multiple stereos wafting out of bedroom windows. For the last four years the same dancehall beat has been has been rattling the foundation of my Chicago apartment. When I stay at my farm, sparrows, coyotes, chickens and frogs find their way into my songs as well.
In the instance of this song I was on a flight from New York back to Chicago and a young mother and her 3-year-old son sat in front of me and it was looking to be the classic scenario of the child screaming bloody murder. However, I was struck by the mournfulness of this kid’s wail. He just kept crying “oh no” in a way that only someone who is certain of their demise could. Pure terror. Completely inconsolable. It was more moving than annoying.
So when I got home I picked up my guitar and tried to capture the slowly descending arc of that kid’s cry. It fit nicely over a violin loop that I had been toying with which moves from C-major to A-major.
I’ll spend days at my farm creating loops with my violin where I record a phrase and layer on top of it, often starting with pizzicato followed by multiple string lines. This is a handy compositional tool I also use in performance. I can follow any whim and instantly hear how it works in counterpoint with other ideas. It’s perfect for someone who plays by ear and improvises as I do and who is too impatient for notation. This helps keep ideas fluid and ephemeral but with an instant gratification playback option. I’ve found that I can be completely satisfied for weeks by the simplest four-bar phrase repeating over and over again. It’s a fragile thing where your perception of it can change it completely. You can reconstruct all the elements the following day, note for note and go by physical memory but the feel can be elusive.
Back to “Oh No.” All this child knows is that he needs to get off this plane and I can empathize. I often find myself in a crowded room and all I know is “I need to get out of here.” So begins the song with a child’s half-dream of climbing out a window and venturing into the ravines around Lake Bluff, where I grew up.
let’s get out of here
past the atmosphere
squint your eyes and no one dies or goes to jail
past the silver bridge
oh the silver bridge wearing nothing but a one-sie and a veil.
When I was little the “silver bridge” spanned the ravine and marked the boundary of my known world.
Words get under my skin the same way melodies do. Something catches my attention and I file it subconsciously. It often begins with an archaic or obscure word I have not defined. I just like the sound of it and its elusive meaning gives it a mysterious shine. On the menu of a local cafe is an item called “salsify.” Before I reach for the dictionary I let my imagination run wild and decide that salsify is a burrowing bronchial root like a rickety old mine that burrows deep into something. It turns out that’s mostly correct which encourages me further. All I know is “salsify mains” sounds good to me.
Then I might think of what I want to say, what have I been fixated on of late? I have been thinking about how as adults we bury our emotions and I almost envied that kid on the plane who had license to express what we all were probably feeling. And how I have felt frozen and numb of late. (The process may seem more deliberate than it actually is — it’s only because I’m breaking it down for this article and have hindsight that it appears that I know what I’m doing).
In the salsify mains of what was thought but unsaid
the calcified charismatists were doing the math
It would take a calculated blow to the head
to light the eyes of all the harmless sociopaths
What does it take to wake us up, we who feel so little? Aren’t we almost like sociopaths, only the kind that don’t kill people?
The only thing I don’t care for in this lyric is the “calcified charismatist” — it just feels too clever. I’m known to make up words but this is too heavy-handed. So I’m still searching for the right words. For a while it was “unemployed ex-physicists,” but that’s too typical of something I would write. Lately I’m considering “calcified arhythmitist” or just “arithmatist” — something that conveys a physicist’s sketch or formula for what will revive our harmless sociopath. Then the cheerful refrain of “arm in arm we are the harmless sociopaths/in the calcium mines buried deep in our chests.” Followed by the chorus which has only taken shape in the last day, which is “Oh no, we’re deep in a mine/Oh no, a calcium mine.” Sounds a bit bleak as I break it down, but it should be a rousing little number.
Recordings of Andrew Bird’s music can be heard online at his Web site’s A/V page and his MySpace page.
March 26, 2008, 2:38 pm
Words Will Tell
By Andrew Bird
In about a week I will load up my car with amplifiers and guitars and drive to Nashville to begin recording my next record. I don’t drive much anymore and I’m glad for that except that I used to write a lot while on the road. Solitude, boredom, and the desperate need to entertain oneself are ideal stimuli for songwriting.
I’ve spent most of the last year inside a tour bus. I’ve spoken more words to journalists than I have to my friends and family. All of this has kept me from what I realize now is my job, and that’s to daydream. Now I bring my bike on tour and ride every day. Wandering in an unfamiliar town, the rhythm of walking or riding and a few hours to kill is nearly the perfect recipe for a new idea.
I’ve got 11 songs mostly written and several dozen distinct melodies. I never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I’ve had melodies in my head. I chew my food to them.
Almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping melody. If I shape my lips so as to whistle, my breath will take on a musical shape like sonic vapor. Words are much trickier. I would forgo words altogether if I didn’t love singing them so much. My choice of words and my voice betray so much and that’s what’s so terrifying and attractive about it.
I’m not the most forthcoming person — I only speak when I have something to say. What is becoming more challenging of late is dealing with so many fully formed melodies that are unwilling to change their shape for any word. So writing lyrics becomes like running multiple code-breaking programs in your head until just the right word with just the right number of syllables, tone of vowel and finally some semblance of meaning all snap into place.
I’m kind of the opposite of the confessional singer-songwriter who fills notebooks full of poetry and intones them over a bed of chords. Meaning or “the truth what’s in my heart” usually reveals itself well after the record is released. I’m often surprised that the things I care about actually end up in my songs. Until then I’m mostly concerned with shape, tone and texture. I’m really an instrumentalist who sings words and if you care to pay attention you might enjoy them. So in this post, I will begin reporting on the progress of an as of yet unfinished song, with all my doubts and insecurities laid bare.
The song in question is called (for now) “Oh No.” It began, as do most of my songs, with a sound. It could be a creaking door or a delivery truck or the sound of multiple stereos wafting out of bedroom windows. For the last four years the same dancehall beat has been has been rattling the foundation of my Chicago apartment. When I stay at my farm, sparrows, coyotes, chickens and frogs find their way into my songs as well.
In the instance of this song I was on a flight from New York back to Chicago and a young mother and her 3-year-old son sat in front of me and it was looking to be the classic scenario of the child screaming bloody murder. However, I was struck by the mournfulness of this kid’s wail. He just kept crying “oh no” in a way that only someone who is certain of their demise could. Pure terror. Completely inconsolable. It was more moving than annoying.
So when I got home I picked up my guitar and tried to capture the slowly descending arc of that kid’s cry. It fit nicely over a violin loop that I had been toying with which moves from C-major to A-major.
I’ll spend days at my farm creating loops with my violin where I record a phrase and layer on top of it, often starting with pizzicato followed by multiple string lines. This is a handy compositional tool I also use in performance. I can follow any whim and instantly hear how it works in counterpoint with other ideas. It’s perfect for someone who plays by ear and improvises as I do and who is too impatient for notation. This helps keep ideas fluid and ephemeral but with an instant gratification playback option. I’ve found that I can be completely satisfied for weeks by the simplest four-bar phrase repeating over and over again. It’s a fragile thing where your perception of it can change it completely. You can reconstruct all the elements the following day, note for note and go by physical memory but the feel can be elusive.
Back to “Oh No.” All this child knows is that he needs to get off this plane and I can empathize. I often find myself in a crowded room and all I know is “I need to get out of here.” So begins the song with a child’s half-dream of climbing out a window and venturing into the ravines around Lake Bluff, where I grew up.
let’s get out of here
past the atmosphere
squint your eyes and no one dies or goes to jail
past the silver bridge
oh the silver bridge wearing nothing but a one-sie and a veil.
When I was little the “silver bridge” spanned the ravine and marked the boundary of my known world.
Words get under my skin the same way melodies do. Something catches my attention and I file it subconsciously. It often begins with an archaic or obscure word I have not defined. I just like the sound of it and its elusive meaning gives it a mysterious shine. On the menu of a local cafe is an item called “salsify.” Before I reach for the dictionary I let my imagination run wild and decide that salsify is a burrowing bronchial root like a rickety old mine that burrows deep into something. It turns out that’s mostly correct which encourages me further. All I know is “salsify mains” sounds good to me.
Then I might think of what I want to say, what have I been fixated on of late? I have been thinking about how as adults we bury our emotions and I almost envied that kid on the plane who had license to express what we all were probably feeling. And how I have felt frozen and numb of late. (The process may seem more deliberate than it actually is — it’s only because I’m breaking it down for this article and have hindsight that it appears that I know what I’m doing).
In the salsify mains of what was thought but unsaid
the calcified charismatists were doing the math
It would take a calculated blow to the head
to light the eyes of all the harmless sociopaths
What does it take to wake us up, we who feel so little? Aren’t we almost like sociopaths, only the kind that don’t kill people?
The only thing I don’t care for in this lyric is the “calcified charismatist” — it just feels too clever. I’m known to make up words but this is too heavy-handed. So I’m still searching for the right words. For a while it was “unemployed ex-physicists,” but that’s too typical of something I would write. Lately I’m considering “calcified arhythmitist” or just “arithmatist” — something that conveys a physicist’s sketch or formula for what will revive our harmless sociopath. Then the cheerful refrain of “arm in arm we are the harmless sociopaths/in the calcium mines buried deep in our chests.” Followed by the chorus which has only taken shape in the last day, which is “Oh no, we’re deep in a mine/Oh no, a calcium mine.” Sounds a bit bleak as I break it down, but it should be a rousing little number.
Recordings of Andrew Bird’s music can be heard online at his Web site’s A/V page and his MySpace page.
March 17, 2008
May the road rise to meet you
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
March 14, 2008
Have a Cow
I walked over to Karen's office as I was posting next week's schedule, and one of the regular stops on that trek is through her office. I took my animal crackers with me, for I was hungry and needed that last minute sugar rush to get me through the last hour of the day.
I knew immediately upon entrance to her office that she was frustrated about something. Offered to help if she needed it, though there really wasn't much she said I could do. She did start to vent because of her frustrations and in an effort to cheer her up, I set my crackers down, pulled the first one out to hand to her, and immediately put it right back because I'd noticed it's head had been broken off. So I grabbed the next one, which I only recognized because of the udders.
"Here, have a cow."
It was only then did I realize what I had said.
We then spent about 5 minutes going back and forth, amidst bouts of hysterical laughter --
"You planned that, didn't you? You really do want me to have a cow over this!"
"No, honestly, I swear, that didn't even cross my mind."
Maybe you had to be there. It was really funny none-the-less.
I knew immediately upon entrance to her office that she was frustrated about something. Offered to help if she needed it, though there really wasn't much she said I could do. She did start to vent because of her frustrations and in an effort to cheer her up, I set my crackers down, pulled the first one out to hand to her, and immediately put it right back because I'd noticed it's head had been broken off. So I grabbed the next one, which I only recognized because of the udders.
"Here, have a cow."
It was only then did I realize what I had said.
We then spent about 5 minutes going back and forth, amidst bouts of hysterical laughter --
"You planned that, didn't you? You really do want me to have a cow over this!"
"No, honestly, I swear, that didn't even cross my mind."
Maybe you had to be there. It was really funny none-the-less.
March 05, 2008
New Soul
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
But since I came here
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
I'm a young soul
In this very strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate?
Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
This is a happy end
'Cause you don't understand
Everything you have done
Why's everything so wrong
This is a happy end
Come and give me your hand
I'll take you fare away
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
But since I came here
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
-By Yael Naim
I came to this strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
But since I came here
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
I'm a young soul
In this very strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate?
Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
This is a happy end
'Cause you don't understand
Everything you have done
Why's everything so wrong
This is a happy end
Come and give me your hand
I'll take you fare away
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world hoping
I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
But since I came here
Felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la...
-By Yael Naim
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