Reading notes

I’ve always loved the sound of the Piano. 

I took a lesson or two when I was ten, quit shortly after because it was ‘boring.’ 

Now that i’m eighteen, I fully regret every fun activity I did in trade for my boring piano lessons with Sharon. 

I have no clue how to read music, I can play the guitar and I have been for some time now, but all i really want to do is play piano by reading music. How can I call myself a musician if I can’t even read a musicians language?

new mission: teaching myself piano and note reading.

how hard can it be? 

Departing from your phish, departing from your phriends

 Image

 

During the first weekend of July this year (the 7th & 8th) I was graced with the opportunity to join my older brother Will (22) on a camping extravaganza to see three Phish concerts at SPAC-Saratoga Performing Arts Center- which is notoriously good for the band due to the singers past history in the town of Saratoga. 

During the trip I gained a phew phriends, mostly just became close with my brothers pals by passing around some pot and laying low. A good bonding point was the names that they gave to my friends, which also accurately describes how the girls acted on this experience: iPhone1 and iPhone2. It may not have been their forte, but I suppose all I’m looking for is some genuine enjoyment of the music. 

If you haven’t heard Phish before, and you’re generally a jam-band type stuff, I would look into them. Avoid the studio albums, unless of course you LOVE studio music. They are best known for the live stuff, though. If you’re looking for recommendations, a few of my favorites: contact, the moma dance, julius, 2001, the golden age, weekapaug groove, and plenty of covers by various classics like: cities (talking heads) torn and frayed, and loving cup (rolling stones)

They even had the balls to cover the song Sabotage by the beastie boys whilst at SPAC.

Overall, I enjoyed the trip. I had a montage of red glowsticks during the last night. Have you ever seen a red glow stick? the color is significantly more bold than any of the others. I collected close to 100, and it got to the point where strangers were coming up and handing them to me. Along with the glowsticks, I acquired lots of beads. I may have lost the glowsticks during the final build up in the song 2001, but as for the beads, the attachment just grows.

As you can see above, I’ve returned home. however, it’s difficult for me to part with the phrenzy that was SPAC. 

 

The not-so neat and tidy

Cleaning is good. It clears your space, and for some, it clears your mind. Whether you set out to clean your room, your car, your face, or your attitude, taking a step towards clean is always positive.

Whenever I start to clean my room, I imagine myself one of those stereotypical 50’s maids (before the image was known for it’s slutty physique): black and white dress apron bustling around with a feather duster and mop. Each time I do this, the image is in ruin with the very same item: the feather duster.

Do people still dust their rooms? shelves? dashboards? cause I sure as hell never have dusted anything in my life. Sure, the incestuous color changing allergy activating powder gets in my head sometimes, but It happens to be the one thing to which the existence I ignore to the depths of my soul.

The way I think about it is this: when I clean my room, i’m trying to run around and pick up everything on the floor, in order to achieve a clean floor, Simple. When I have to dust a shelf, I need to first pick up every picture and knick-knack THEN move on to dusting, and then put everything back to result in a clean shelf.

I’d like to see a 50’s maid with a leaf-blower in hand.

Bullshit is the word.

Coffee

Image

To be bitter. To be black. To be caffinated

Today, I awoke with the impression that I would make a large advance towards the betterment of my health: 

Less coffee, less anxiety.

Whilst pondering this monumental revision in my daily routine, I found myself back in the kitchen, a familiar groove in the wooden floor…

Smack-dab in front of the espresso machine.

Cut it down to one. I reason, no, I allow. As I blog my conflicting views on this addiction, I drink my second latte of today.

What a wonderful world.