These dull days; simultaneous not

So in the recent days I've been obsessed with Matchbox Twenty, but in a slightly weird way. I found out that they are in fact not on hiatus anymore and had released a compilation album with six new songs in recent years. But instead of checking the new stuff, I immediately retreated to two of their older albums, #2 and #3 to be specific, and with special emphasis on "Bent" and "Unwell."

My appreciation for their music came at that brief, inimitable period of my youth when I discovered popular music but didn't really care about the words that were being sung. It wasn't until later in my tumultuous pubescence that I truly understood the gravity of some of the words that drifted out of my stereo, and by then I had become mired in the likes of Jewel, Goo Goo Dolls, and Vertical Horizon. I was standing still, listening to tired songs on a tired radio, because he was everything inside of me that I wished I could be. Details, details.

I digress. The words in "Bent" and "Unwell" resonated with me particularly well
in recent days, so much so that I used particular lyrics from each as instant messages statuses and as inspiration for tweets. Because, truthfully, I apply greater value to music as a form of poetry rather than as a form of musical expression. And I suppose I agonize and obsess about the words to try to find some way to possess them, to simultaneously declare emotional empathy to and independence from them. To take in all that was to be offered by the music and then be able to cascade its message throughout the course of my life.

Tonight, we walked down the street to sample the fare at Five Seasons Brewery. All along the way, I played the words to "Bent" in my head like a broken record, humming softly to myself between bouts of actual conversation. My mental analysis was in overdrive, ridiculously so. I was thinking myself in circles and reducing the words to meaninglessness. By the time we got seated at our table, I was almost grateful to have the house music blasted into my right ear by a particularly close speaker. It forced me out of my own little world and back into the discussion on beer choices that was going on around me.

Our server arrived, and I ignored him as I hurriedly scoured the menu for something to order. Let everyone else deal with the greetings and niceties, I thought. Luckily, I didn't have to think about the beers too much because they did flights at a reasonable price. All six of us ordered flights, and our server praised our choices but looked visibly flustered. Between all of us, there would be 42 glasses brought to the table, even if they were basically the size of a double shot glass. To make matters worse, we all ordered a different combination of beers, with some overlapping and some not.

By the time he stumbled back out with a heaving serving tray of beer, I still had not thought to take a look at the menu again. I watched the hapless fellow try to identify the varying shades of amber and gold and distribute them accordingly, only to realize he was one drink short. It was only his third shift since beginning work there, apparently. He bustled off to get one amidst a flurry of apology and obvious embarrassment.

He returned with the missing beer, and began to present to me my own six choices. Due to the size of the table, instead of lining up my glasses in a neat line in front of me from left to right, they curved inwards toward me, as to not interfere with someone else. Of course, everyone else thought this was hilarious. The inevitable torrent of comments ensued. And then out of nowhere, the server said:

"Your name is Nate too? Cool, I guess we're all a little bent, huh? Just like those glasses."


And off he went to put in our food orders. I would be lying if I said it was a moment of epiphany for me, but it was meaningful in its own right. I'm not sure if it was merely the combination of so many coincidences that left me breathless: the identical first names, our bumbling natures, the bent presentation of the glasses.

Or maybe it was something more. Maybe it was indicative of a pure and innocent connection that you can make with a complete stranger based on the silliest of things... the similarities in human nature and the human condition that plague and bless us all... the affirmation that each and every one of us must cope with the same things, and that we should find comfort in each other.

This devil on my shoulder

Obligatory "every now and then" music post of pseudo-emo intentions. You don't have to like it. Just drive through if you are not amused.

My solid concession: 2

Day one in China and Shanghai complete.

Before I go any further, let me say that I've had a song stuck in my head all day. The driving bass line of this mix has been thumping in my head to the point where I was catching myself drumming my fingers as if I were playing the keyboard portion. Press play as you read this entry, and let it be a soundtrack of sorts.



Moving on. The day began with an amazing, traditional breakfast, which I failed to snap a picture of because it would have been awkward. Katie and I are staying with one of my cousins; she's the daughter of my dad's older sister. Her mom (my aunt) is also here, as is my other cousin (dad's younger brother's daughter). First cousin's name is Feifei, other cousin's name is Miaomiao (assumed English name is Jennifer). Together with another cousin of mine (dad's younger sister's daughter), Fenfen, we were apparently some sort of Fantastic Foursome as kids. What a hoot. Anyway, Feifei is working as a suit in a Norwegian satellite company in the financial district, and her apartment is posh as hell. It's on the thirteenth floor of an inexplicably nice building in a somewhat slummy neighborhood; there's literally a guarded gate around the building. It was a little disturbing when I first arrived. I knew my cousin was pretty well off, and as Jenn drove us into Feifei's neighborhood, I found myself thinking "this can't be right, she makes more than $100k a year". When I caught myself having this thought, I mentally slapped myself because of what a haughty American I must sound like.

But I digress. The apartment, albeit small by American standards, is large and Western and (as I said) posh as hell. No doubt it is similarly large by West Village standards, or even Manhattan in general. More on this later.



We're staying in Puxi, which is the west district of Shanghai. We drove into Pudong, the east district. Separated by a river, the west is considered more European and the east is considered more American. But you can read this all on wikipedia, so let's move on.










You might have noticed that I stopped writing text. Well, that's because the wireless I was stealing became rampantly unreliable and I wasn't able to upload any pictures until today (Monday). So I'm currently a few days behind. Ack! Moving on!

My tempestuous ardor

Go see this movie. Recently, rarely does cinema appear that focuses as much on the music as it does on the story telling. August Rush is an amazing, touching, and miraculous film. Take note of Robin Williams' performance; to me, his character had the human touch that many actors nowadays are unable to impart.


This next picture speaks for itself.



Excuse my bare midriff.
Rock on!
Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it... happy holidays to the rest of us.

Their fanciful gaze

Sometimes, when you least expect it, you get ambushed by rush of emotion, nostalgia, and wonderment that defies all reason. It opens the door for you. It takes the seat next to you on the subway. It offers you the cream for your coffee. And then it has you.

It ranks high amongst the oddest sensations one could ever experience. That sense of deja vu is expected when in the presence of similar artifacts or surroundings. It's similar to the reason why some people experience motion sickness while in a car but not while driving. When you're in control and can anticipate the movements up ahead, they don't affect you as much.

The aftermath is just as baffling. It hits you and you end up swimming around in a haze of memory, and then you emerge and it dissipates without a word. They're like those dreams that you know you've had but can't quite remember. All you have to show for it is your emotions. And I am no exception. I wish I had more to expound on, but sadly I am left only with those emotions.

Stepping out of the library and suddenly feeling guilty.
Riding in the passenger seat of someone else's car and suddenly feeling a strange contentment.
Reaching for the salt shaker and suddenly feeling indescribably miserable.
Opening my book bag and suddenly being unable to suppress a goofy smile.

Call it a coincidence. But I find that I'm the most susceptible to these attacks immediately following a yawn. Maybe it's the fact that I'm tired. Who knows? As a related side note, however, I find that any facial expression following a yawn tends to be the most believable to me, and the most sincere.

Recently, every time I listen to music, I catch myself secretly thinking of ways to apply that music to video or pictures. I analyze everything: mood, relevance of lyrics (if applicable), genre, matters of rhythm, length, and timing. Sometimes my reveries progress so rapidly that I soon find myself hallucinating the visuals that I'm trying to evoke. I tell myself that it's the residual effects from making the banquet video, and that after time, this will subside and become nothing more than a fleeting thought. But deep down, I fear that I may have awakened a deep seated desire to create, to inspire.

And this scares me. I'm reminded of something I read a few weeks ago from Atwood. Art, and this includes all manifestations of it, exists as the energy extracted from your soul that you have carefully molded and fostered within yourself. Once you've created it in tangible form, it becomes it's own being, and in it you have lost the two aspects that made it yours. First, control over its genesis and evolution. And second, the very energy that went into its creation. And you yourself become what is left over.


My semester is pretty much over.

My formal AIESEC role is pretty much over.

What do I have to look forward to? Montreal over the New Year, and then classes. But what about after that? How else am I going to keep my life dynamic? And until then, I'm left with this stagnant period where I feel like I can't do anything but reflect on my life and my existence. And I don't know about the rest of you, but generally I find that to be an upsetting and disturbing endeavor.

Some subtle memory

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuJP9sC9bxQ

Every time I hear this I think of Morocco and all of its crazy shenanigans...

This one's dedicated to the MENA region, Rabat, and especially Rachid and his car.

Grasses are greener

I'm less than 12 hours from being at the airport to head to Morocco... but all I can think about is not being able to in Miami for the Trance festival that Adi is going to.

Ah well. You can't have everything, right?