The hills are alive

Yeah that's right. It's Christmas. I spent the evening watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and "The Sound of Music".

We finished tracking the new record a week ago. Blake came up for a couple of days to do drums on four of the songs, and Jen hung out on Wednesday to sing harmonies. I'm taking the project to The Panhandle House for mastering on Tuesday. (In the above photo, we're practicing some backup melodies. Mmmmm.)

The past week has been filled with holiday goodness. It all began Monday night, when I met the extended family at Golden Corral for a delightful Christmas meal of Bourbon chicken, hush puppies and powder-cheese maccaroni. A feast fit for even the best-dressed Wal-Mart shopper.

Wednesday, it snowed. It was wet, nasty and beautiful. Texas snow hasn't the elegance of, say, Colorado or New York snow, but Texans certainly get a kick out of it.

Other fun things I've done this week:

-Explored an old cemetary and read pre-Civil War headstones.
-Taken black and white photos of the same cemetary covered in snow.
-Ran a couple of miles with Blake, and helped a random guy move some cabinets after he "hollered" at us from his garage. In return he offered us a good deal on car batteries.
-Sang old country songs with my 85-year-old grandfather.
-Won the family poker tournament.
-Delivered candy to my friend's 2-year-old daughter to win her affection.
-Smoked a pipe with Blake in far-below-freezing temperatures.
-Began reading Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger.
-Watched the first five minutes of "Mary Poppins" as I made small talk with friends.

Here's my favorite story... Wednesday night, Blake discovered how to listen to just the 'hip-hop' genre on my iPod. He then ghetto-danced through the house for an entire hour without stopping. I laughed until my stomach hurt. Every minute or so I'd see him dance past a doorway ... Yeah. Good story.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Life - in general

Those Keebler Elves need to bring back the Tato Skins ... "Tato Skins got baked potato appeal, 'cause they're made from potatos and skins that are real" ... yeah ... those were alright.

I finished my last final this morning. I think it went just fine. Just fine. Just fine. Gosta love that American literature. Dr. LeMaster gave us all copies of his new book. That's kinda creepy, but it's poetry about his travels in China - so that's cool. Maybe he's going for the Matuso Basho thing.

I start recording tomorrow at Troubadour. I'm quite excited about it. Steven (the producer) and I hung around the studio for a while on Saturday night and worked on pre-production stuff. We're meeting tonight at 8 p.m. to talk through some more ideas. Recording starts Wednesday and goes through Saturday, 12 hours each day. Intense, but awesome. The studio is phenomenal ... it has this red velvet Halloween vibe to it. I'm looking forward to it. Hope things come out well.

I finished Beloved last night. I really loved it. Weird book. It's not written chronilogically, and the plot really isn't that long. But it's written all in flashbacks and thoughts, and it changes tense and narrator pretty often. I'd still recommend it ... it's rather lovely at times.

So I'm about to go to the bank, then I'm going to make a pumpkin pie. Thus, I leave you with this:

Death

It's 4 a.m. I've been in bed for two hours, trying to sleep. But sleep won't come. There are too many loud noises coming from the living room. First, it was a random loud movie, then, it was the sound of about 15 people having loud conversations (I'm not kidding. 15 people). And now it's a swordfighting kung fu movie.

I hope I'm not one of those people who never gets mad, then goes postal on someone later.

Overcast days

New photos at you know where.

Stuff in my life

I should be studying, but I'm easily distracted. Thus, I am blogging.

There's really not much to say, so I'll leave you alone. I'm reading Beloved by Toni Morrison, and I'm enjoying it very much. I'm cooking lemon chicken and rice for lunch.

Right after I eat - right after I eat - I'll get out that "Voices of a Nation" book and study for my journalism history exam.

Here's something to hold you over ... a column I wrote a couple of weeks ago:

If I had a penny for every useless thing I’ve bought, I’d still be broke.

I can’t hold onto money for long – it burns holes in my pockets. I’ll buy anything that strikes my fancy. I’ve thrown away mounds of cash on antique gadgets, abandoned photographs, tasteless artwork, rusted cameras, religious candles, broken appliances and ragged books.

But nothing grabs my money like vinyl.

I’m addicted to old records. I like shuffling through racks of tattered cardboard for treasures of the past. I’m smitten by the musty smell of albums buried for decades in a closet, reborn in a secondhand shop. I love the needle’s crackle and hiss as it rides the grooves of a worn-out 45. I melt into the distorted voices of cowboys, rebels and roughnecks singing songs and breathing legends.

It started as a decorating idea.

A summer trip to Half-Price Books set me on the path to righteousness. I flipped though a bin of $1 records in search of amusing album covers to adorn my apartment walls. The stack I purchased sat for six months in a corner.

Life changed when I got a working record player. I stole my parents’ albums and began making special trips to resale and antique shops. In a few short months, I’d built a respectable collection of everything from Bob Dylan and James Taylor to Michael Jackson and Prince.

I’ll buy for any reason. Inexpensive records have introduced me to a handful of new favorites from decades past. I’ve paid premium prices for vinyl recordings of songs my father or grandfather sang – for the sheer sentimental value. Others – like “William Bendix Sings and Tells Famous Pirate Stories” – are good for a laugh.
And sometimes, it just feels good to hold a piece of a music legacy bigger than myself.

Every week or two, I’ll spend an afternoon in some downtown shop, sifting through those soggy stacks of LPs. I’m always on the prowl for a juicy addition to my collection. Record shopping is a hit-or-miss hobby; some days I’ll buy a sack-full, and other days I’ll walk away empty-handed. But here’s a secret: half the fun is in the hunt.

Doesn’t this get pricy? Yes and no. At the right store, I can buy 20 records for the cost of one CD. That’s how I justify it to myself. But when I come across a “rare find,” my eyes sparkle and I forget how poor I am. I’ve gladly dropped $12 for a Beatles single of “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Those classic 45s can add up.

It’s not practical, it’s not cheap, and it’s certainly not necessary. But there’s a world of forgotten music on vinyl waiting to be explored. I refuse to stand by and watch it waste away.