A talking tree! How uncanny!

As has been discussed before, my life is a big joke. On the bright side, whoever is writing the scripts had the good foresight to hire an excellent music director. Saturday, my friend and I went all over Atlanta: Broad Street to Piedmont Park to Atlantic Station to his apartment to home. We are both going through similar life situations right now (slightly downtrodden by a few things, desperate for some new friends, you know) and were discussing these things for a lot of the day. While at Atlantic Station, we decided to treat ourselves to some ice cream and rest our tired feet while sitting on a short wall. As soon as we sat down, a nearby store started playing Death Cab for Cutie's "Your Heart is an Empty Room." At this point I started laughing pretty hard because if I was at home, I'd probably be flooding my last.fm with that song, on repeat.

And then this morning, I was walking back from class and decided to stop into the Shell station across the street from my dorm to see if they had any cereal. It's a really nice morning, sort of cloudy with a chill in the air that promises me that these 95 degree afternoons will not be allowed to continue for much longer. So I was enjoying that, and the nice breeze, and the fact that I am making both friends and art, while I walked across the crosswalk to this Shell station. They were playing their normal brand of bad soft rock from the 80's or 90's or whenever, but! As soon as I walked in, the song faded out, and "1 2 3 4" by Feist piped in through the ceiling. I smiled like I invariably do when that song comes on and thanked my omniscient music director again. Someone knows what they're doing.

I found this the other day. Apparently they're some of the worst analogies and metaphors, but there are some of them which would make me very pleased with myself if I had written them. ("Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like 'Second Tall Man.'")

In other news, I had sushi on Sunday and it was not disgusting.  In addition, I am making some pretty neat art. I did my laundry last night. And lastly, tomorrow is the birthday of the one and only Brittany Morris. Hurrah! 

to the people I love:

this applies to you.

I have been walking around Atlanta for the past few days with an excellent album in my ears. (or part of one, at least. Agh. I will buy the rest of it when I can. I bought the Stars album before I realized I should buy this, and so I don't have enough money to buy the whole album.) 

Anyway.

It's called Hello, Dear Wind, and Page France made it. I love Page France.

A problem I have with a lot of Christian music is that a lot of times the writers just don't try that hard. Maybe they'll make good words and sometimes they'll make cool sounds, but a lot of the times the two don't match up, or the words are a little cliché, or they forgot to use chords besides I, IV, or V. And a lot of the times it all falls in the same generic blah-pop sound. Any time I find an exception to this generalization I get pretty excited. David Crowder's Sunsets and Sushi album got me pretty excited. Sufjan Stevens gets me excited. And Hello, Dear Wind makes me want to jump and shout and be really happy because I'm so excited. Beautifully written, carefully thought out, and so, so honest. 

here are some of my favorite songs

Chariot

("you're a wrecking ball

with a heart of gold

we will wait for it to swing

like a chariot

swing it low for us

come and carry us away

so we will become

a happy ending")

...I couldn't think of a better metaphor for God than a wrecking ball with a heart of gold. I mean, really, people.

Windy

("I believe in windy days when everything gets blown away oh

Please let me be blown I

Promise you you I'm not afraid

I will sing a circus song

About the birds and lion hearts

But please if I forget to stop

Remind me who I am and what you are.")

So, in closing, do yourself a favor. Buy this album. Put it on your itunes. Take a long walk outside and listen, and love.

personal.

I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind, finally.

The problem I have with trying to forget about someone is that you can't just forget them--Joel had to bring everything that reminded him of her. His apartment was so plain after that. Maybe I could forget a person, but I couldn't forget poetry or polaroids or Jonathan Safran Foer or art or birds or books or macaroni and cheese or t-shirts or questionable content or five iron frenzy or dave or everything. Because when someone is important to you, they are in all of the good things.

My room would be bare.