Unfaltering declarations so true, so undying, and so cliché. Thousands of voices calling “I love you!” to thousands more. Roses, love songs, and promises of “this love being different” echoing with a timbre so dreadfully unique. Ha! How original.

These days, I wonder why. This is not a collection of words inspired by a monumental loss; there is no ill-fated love affair wrought with passion, all but gone awry. Instead I feel compelled to share because of the opposite, and the contrast of extremes. These extremes lie under the ever expanding, artistically charged domain of human expression.

The Insecure Lover

One end of the extreme, visited just a paragraph prior, takes the form of an endless barrage of dedication and proof that “this love is true!” Often rife with insecurity, people who fall into this extreme seem to have a hard time remembering that their significant other is still there; that upon their last communication, only 3 hours prior, they were still in love. This drives the Secure Lover crazy.

The Secure Lover

The other end of this extreme is the quiet, often cold opposite. Feeling might seldom be expressed through words, and instead manifested through a look, silence, or subtle action. This appeals more to someone who is convinced that the ties binding two people remain strong for days, weeks, months, and years. This person needs little or no reminding, but also runs the risk of being lost in translation. The Insecure Lover would surely go hungry without any attention.

My Experience

Do not mistake me for thinking that all people fall into these two extremes, or that any one person fits either of these two cases perfectly. I like to think of them only as reference points for my opinions. This is, after all, an opinionated piece of writing.

My optimal relationship combines elements of both the Insecure and Secure lover to create a set of calm, steadfast, and warm expectations. The goal is communication of love through anything but “I love you”. The words carry too many connotations and failures. Instead, a quiet moment that says more than words, a small touch, a carefully crafted sentence, or a hand made gift. This sort of expression is often thought of as “hopelessly romantic”, but it needn’t be public nor at every corner. Keeping affection closer and more private is not for others’ sake, but for my own. Just as routine use of profanity makes it all the less profane, routine gestures of public affection can do just the same. Keeping something safe, for me and my partner alone, leads to a less “overdone” feeling. It keeps the intimacy intimate, and the friendship friendly.

Why am I writing this, though? Why am I sharing what should be kept my own? My blueprints to a perfect existance? I am writing it because I see both extremes every day, and the truth is it hurts to see one side always suffering. The Insecure Lover smothers their partner, while the Secure Lover starves them. No one communicates, and the status-quo remains.

Now I Tell You What To Do!

Face it: everything is different this day of age. We are educated, we are connected, and we are more in touch with ourselves than ever before. Self help exists at every corner, and the Internet alone is filled with billions of words on every topic imaginable. But still, The Lovers remain as they were. The modern relationship remains distinctively un-modern. Why can’t this change?

Communication is Key!

Insecure Lovers should spend time talking to their partner, and making a pact to cut back on the “routine” affection. Perhaps replace it with new and exciting forms of expression. They’ll find the ordinary becomes extraordinary, just “like it used to be”.

Secure Lovers need to communicate even more so, especially towards an Insecure Lover. Doubt and uncertainty should be nipped in the bud. If it’s too late, and the insecurities run rampant, it’s time for yard work. A further note: if being overly emotional is a worry, then the creative! Expression is too grand a thing to be “bolted down” to traditional forms of communication.

In Conclusion

The break down of communication is a serious issue. Time needs to be dedicated to ensuring both partners in a relationship are satisfied and confident. If this balance isn’t acheived, it’s likely that an end to the whole thing isn’t far off.

Take all my thoughts with a grain of salt. I haven’t a true idea of what is ideal. Only what I have found in the form of “x is better than y, and z isn’t what I want at all.”

Yup!

Unkempt hair, going on 48 hours without a shower, not a lot of time to myself this weekend, and it’s all due to tons of “take home” work. Oddly enough, though, “it’s all good”. Normally, I would be stressing and expressing to whomever would listen, but not this time. This time there’s positive, not negative.

I feel like the world is beginning to open up after so many years of being tightly shut. There are shades of light on a leaf and sounds underneath a song that somehow emerge, seemingly from nowhere. But it’s more than sensory, and it’s more than a trite “high on life” syndrome.

This feeling of wonder has been growing within me steadily for the past six months, and with it comes a new found fascination for all of the arts, cultures, philosophies, and - as a dear friend of mine loves to say - “abstract notions” that billow and spin about us every day. Everything feels exciting, all at once, and the world is reinvented, if only in my eyes.

Amazed as I am, and perplexed just the same, I have been cautious. I’ve asked friends and family, older than myself, if this is temporary. If this richness is only an initial blinding revelation that there is so much to be experienced? So far my most reassuring and honest response has been from my mother, smiling widely, knowingly, and replying with, “It gets better every day.”

The sheen and possibility of that “every day” is what is truly stunning to me. I wish so intensely for this to never fade from me, as I have already come to love it more than anything I have ever known.

It’s been a few weeks since I said I’d write up the rest of my Bumbershoot experiences, and while I’d like to begin this with apologies for being late, I am more interested in the positive aspect of putting it off. I only seem to recall the moments that stuck in my head, which are obviously more interesting for whatever reason. Therefore, I’ve gone ahead and received a fantastic filter as to what I should be writing about. Hurrah!

After the initial day of Bumbershoot, I wasn’t too excited about the lineup for the second day, so I decided to visit the Penny Arcade Expo which was occurring only a mile and a half away at the Washington State Convention Center. This proved to be a fun change of pace, and I was able to get my geek on in the exhibit hall with a day pass costing only $30. I saw and/or played: Fallout 3, Spore (which I have since purchased, by the way, and is quite frankly, fucking awesome), Gears of War 2, Warhammer Online, Left 4 Dead, Rockband 2, and… I’m sure there are more.

While I didn’t “accomplish” much, I was able to snag a signed copy of The Guild from Felica Day and a signed copy of Red vs. Blue from the nice guys at Rooster Teeth Productions. My friend was working in the PC area, so I dropped in a few times to play Team Fortress 2 as well as Multiwinia (the offspring of Darwinia with a hopefully obvious name).

Eventually, the sheer number of neck-beards and depressing nerds got to me, and I rocked a taxi back over to the Bumbershoot grounds. That night I ended up seeing the beginning of the Black Keys’ set as well as Ingrid Michaelson.

I was all pumped for the Black Keys after all the good things I’d heard, but really couldn’t get into the two piece setup. Much like the White Stripes, it was just very predictable to me and lacking in interesting harmony. Obviously, this is due to the make-up of the band (drums + guitar) and is surely not the fault of the musicians themselves. Never the less, I excused myself and made my way to what I figured would be an “OK” show by Ingrid Michaelson.

Luckily, Ingrid was unexpectedly entertaining. I assumed she’d play her most popular song, The Way I Am, and would dick around a bit with some other songs that weren’t as catchy, then take off. I was wrong. She started off by humbly introducing herself and playing a few songs. Then, just as another song started normally, she broke off signing the Fresh Prince of Bell-Air theme over her band’s backing, which was almost like a Bumbershoot version of a Rick Roll. Completely rad. After that she spent a lot of time playing varied songs, speaking a lot about each track (I totally love it when artists do this!), laughing, and generally really enjoying herself. Her set was great. I walked about that evening very satisfied.

Day 3 of Bumbershoot, sadly, didn’t contain much of anything for me. I crashed at my friends house the night before and ended up vegging out a bit too much before hitting the grounds the next day — when I got there, stupidly, at 4PM, all the main-stage passes for Death Cab for Cutie were claimed! Argh! To cut a bunch of ambling around and indecision short, I ended up heading home to the Skagit Valley that evening.

My shopping at Bumbershoot resulted in me getting a messenger bag from Alchemy Goods made 73% out of recycled material, the majority of which was recycled bicycle tire tubing. Freaking awesome. It’s my new favorite hipster item. Also got a few shirts, a magnet (fridges need love too!), and a sweet tapestry which I haggled for. Price drop? Free incense? Yes, please.

Overall, I walk away ready to do it all again next year. I’m definitely into it.

Bumberaddict #54129, reporting for duty.

I ended up seeing Beehive, Neko Case, Band of Horses, and Beck on Saturday, day 1 of Bumbershoot.

Beehive was a great act, fusing alt-rock with electronica (namely drum & bass), and gluing the whole thing together with catchy choruses.

Neko Case was beautiful to both the eyes and ears. Alt-country isn’t my favorite, but compared to standard country, it’s like a freaking dream. Neko Case is an amazing artist and earns my highest respect.

Band of Horses was brilliant. Utterly brilliant. The music was great, the performance was second only to Beck’s amazing presence. There was tons of energy and each member of the band ended up breaking a beer bottle over one of the other members (at least once) by the time the show was over. I just heard of Band of Horses a few days before Bumbershoot. I walk away a definite fan.

And lastly… Beck. Oh, man. Beck. Even the name carries with it some sort of electrical charge after the epic performance that I witnessed. I can’t do it justice by chronicalling it in any sort of traditional way, so let me just spew forth a handful of adjectives that I feel describe it well: bright, deep, omni-present, creative, danceable, danceable, energized, fun, spontaneous and glorious. One particular song comes to mind in which Beck had all the band members (even the seemingly technologically impaired drummer) freestyling on wireless samplers. All the while, Beck is rapping into this enormous sports-caster headset which he claimed to be what he’d always wanted: “Just like N-Sync.” I was, and still am, floored. I would recommend a Beck concert to anyone, regardless of their taste in music. Win!

At this point, however, I’m so freaking tired (it’s Sunday night, or, technically, Monday morning), and I need to get some sleep. Look for a write up on the rest of the days of Bumbershoot (and a quick mention of Penny Arcade Expo) in the coming days.

Bumbershoot, a music festival held at the Seattle Center, is coming up soon. Like, this weekend soon! It’s my first proper music festival, and I’m completely excited. Any readers going to be there? Let’s see some music together!

I’m particularly grooved up about Beck, Death Cab for Cutie, Nada Surf, Neko Case, Band of Horses, The Black Keys, Old 97s, and a ton of others that I can’t possibly think of right now.

I definitely needed to share my excitement. All done.

I was sitting outside a Barnes & Noble in Roanoke, VA today. It was 91F, with some mad humidity. Then it started to rain. Just enough so that I didn’t even notice it on my skin, but instead I could smell the hot asphalt being struck by the drops.

That smell — the musty, hot, electric smell — it just does something for me. I love that smell so much! It always takes me back to vacations with my father. When I was younger we’d fly to North Carolina during the summer to visit my grandparents. I remember being utterly fascinated with rain that wasn’t extremely cold, and would spend hours outside as it rained, just walking through the lawn bare foot.

So this entry doesn’t have some deep meaning other than the links between memories and smells, but in that regard, I am hardly an expert, nor a pioneer!

Still, the rain totally made my day today. I thought that was worth sharing :)

I recently flew a Delta airlines flight where I was both pleasantly surprised and horribly annoyed.

The surprise was the safety video. I know, it’s hardly exciting, but when 90% of the videos look like they were created back in the early 80s, it’s extremely refreshing. With all the effort that airlines put into marketing and identity, it’s never made sense to me why things are so disjointed and broken. From the interior of the plane to things like the safety video, they’re all little pieces that I see as “tacked on” because of the inconsistency.  At any rate, the video was very well done: modern, well produced, and acted more skillfully than an 8th grade drama-club production (for once). Happy Aaron!

The terrible annoyance took place shortly after take off, as I was trying to sleep. Crackle goes the intercom, and through the speakers comes the shrill voice of an all-too-bubbly flight attendant. She is sharing her obvious excitement for the Delta SkyMiles credit card. For ten minutes. Repeating the same thing time and time again. I felt like I was inside an infomercial. By the end of her preaching I was freaking disgusted. I am spending far too much money as it is to fly economy flights, and instead of being allowed to sleep - or at least relax - I am forced to listen to an advertisement for a credit card I neither want or need.

The tactful way to handle it would have been to quickly announce that brochures for the Delta SkyMiles credit card were available, and to press your call button if you were interested in further information. Flight attendants could have then distributed said brochures without disturbing others.

The worst part? I know I have another Delta flight at the end of the week. Save meeee!

When separated from my means of creating music, I grow desperate and full of excitement for what could be. Over the course of days it builds and builds, and eventually peaks. It is then that I feel as though I haven’t a single obstacle between my imagination, sequencer and keyboard.

And therein lies the power of deprivation. I forget that things are not so easy to translate from a formless medium like my imagination to a cold, hard, digital existence within Logic, Live, or FL Studio. But there is something wrong with that.

Does my “block” lie in my process? The way I coax the melody from my head? I feel as though I shouldn’t need to coax at all! It should be easy and flowing. Like it used to be. Of course, it is not always easy, and I recognize that. However, should it be this hard?

So the power of deprivation becomes a wild card. Is it my block dissolving when not concerned with MIDI quantization, compression thresholds, and latency compensation? Or is it just me ignorantly forgetting the reality and gravity of my situation? My status as a tortured artist? I hate that term, but there it is. It suits me, and that in and of itself is pretty terrible for me, personally.

As The Animals so eloquently put it, “We’ve got to get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we do.”

As a listener, I find the vast majority of improvisational jazz music to be extremely roundabout and boring. The same instrumentation, the same styles, and the same scales. There are exceptions, such as Miles Davis, but I can say that my attraction to Miles is due to some specific detail that catches me. Specifically, the trumpeting.

However, when given the chance to play in a jazz setup of any sort, I find myself brimming with enthusiasm. If there is something to be said about the improvisational aspects of cool jazz, it’s that a romantic sense of danger is always looming. Your next chord could be dissonant or your momentum could easily result in a fumble. Of course I cannot speak for everyone, as I am sure seasoned jazz musicians fear little aside from a broken guitar string or drum head.

To tangent off, another extremely interesting phenomenon that is born from improvisation is the simultaneous self-reliance and dependency on fellow musicians. If I had to choose one showcase of non-verbal communication, I would be hard pressed to find something more appropriate than a trio of improvisational jazz musicians.

I think it’s this deep communication that makes the experience of playing improvisational jazz so different than listening to it. To a passerby, little more is heard than the somewhat predictable sound of instruments. To a performer, hundreds of words are silently exchanged, a story begins and ends, and through the lack of spoken word, true communication is achieved.

I have been dealing with a thought for a little over 4 months now. Seeing as “dealing with a thought” is a vague and formless statement, I will elaborate — much to your pleasure, I’m sure :)

My last relationship ended on somewhat bad terms. Things certainly weren’t as terrible as they could have been, but they weren’t optimal. Heh, what is an optimal break up, anyhow? Never the less, both parties felt unfairly treated, and our parting of ways wasn’t the most graceful.

Today, I am OK, consciously at least. I recognize why things happened the way they did and see that — truly — I didn’t lose anything, but instead gained insight. I am not bitter nor am I wistful of “better times”. However, whenever I sit down to write lyrics or try my hand at a poem, I find myself manifesting those aforementioned resentments in the words that I write.

This is truly puzzling to me, as I am not bothered by the whole situation anymore — again, I specify: consciously. It doesn’t “haunt me” or pop into my head as a form of brooding material from which I pull hate and anger. It’s really part of past.

My only answer to this is that what comes forth when creating something is obviously not comprised of 100% conscious thoughts. I believe there is a real link between creativity, your subconscious, and perhaps even another parallel of one’s self. Thus, this still bothers me on some level. Either I’ve either learned to cope with it, or have justified it as logical so that I can function normally.

Seeing as I have just recently rekindled my friendship with the young woman this posting refers to, I do not want this to be destructive. I don’t want to create this piece of art that — to me — misrepresents how I feel. Perhaps I need to, though. It’s only healthy. Part of the process, as they say.

I guess when you’ve held your breath for so long, the only thing left to do is exhale. I can only hope that these paper ties aren’t destroyed once more.