Sunday, March 22, 2009

Rantin' n Ravin'

Jamming is like ranting, right?

Well if Phish can turn a 10 minute song into a 32 minute jam (what a concert that must have been), then I should surely be able to rant for 32 minutes while I listen to it. For the first time.

And yes, listening to a song for the first time is different than listening to it for the 30th, 100th, and even 1,000th time. It's fresh and it's new and it's so much overload at once. You can't possibly enjoy it all on the first listen, but everywhere you look there's something new-- a hot bass-burst here, a splash where you didn't expect one there, some sour notes tickling the palette here, an array of blue and green sad chords washing over soul. It's all exciting and exotic.

And that's almost like anything for the first time. You know the first time you drive somewhere you're looking at all the scenery and noticing the condition of the roads and the way the street signs look, the house architecture of the area, all sorts of stuff. Day after day that same road gets more and more phazed out. Phazed out until you're driving along and you don't even notice the road. You can't even see the trees on the side of the road. You'd recognize it but you wouldn't be able to tell yourself the color of a house you passed 20 seconds ago. It's weird.

The same thing happens with your house, your work office, your own face in the mirror, just about everything. It takes new circumstances to bring something old back to life.

I still remember how new my house on Large St looked the day we left it. I had grown up and lived in that house 14 (I think) years and that day it was a stranger. Those little cracks in the ceiling in the living room looked shoddy. The spray paint markings on the cinder block wall looked ghetto. My room looked really small without my bed and my posters and my bureau. The windows looked kind of smudged. I don't really know, it all just looked less big and less like I remembered it.

Wow, decent jam, little lull in the middle. To be expected when guys are going all out for 3 hours and they pick a 32 minute song as their 3rd and final song in the encore. Jamming's weird. I miss it most when I can't do it. Like I really wanna get down and jam with a drummer and a guitarist right now. But I'm at Meghan's right now typing on her piece of shit keyboard with the sticky letter 'E'. If you proofread this and I'm missing any E's-- it's all the keyboard. SOMEone in here forgot to tell me Desperate Housewives was on from 9-10 and she really wanted to watch it and I really didn't and I also really didn't want to walk back home. Who knows, a hot piece of ass like me could get raped or followed home in this neighborhood.

But in fairness to her I do make her watch alot of hockey highlights. And not 30 seconds-out-of-the-whole-day-ESPN-hockey highlights. NHL network NHL on the Fly 8 minute a game highlights. That stuff is fun. In fact, I want to watch them now. Richards totally laid out Talbot today. Those Penguins are utter garbage. I wish we could play them every day. It's total war on ice. It's blood for blood, and it spills out on the redline. It's razor sharp revenge, and it carves a path across the crease.

Man, I want to lace up a pair right now. I want to go flying down the ice and hit a guy with his head down. Because I know he's a dickhead. He's that guy who cross checks the smalles guy on your team. He's that jerk who jabs at your goalie when he's skating by. He's that cockwad who's team is up 10-0 and he takes the puck from behind his own net and skates it up through everyone making insane dekes, scores on your goalie and then fist pumps in celebration. And I'm going to lay him the fuck out.

God I love it. Justice. Hockey justice. Sure, I'm the judge, jury, and executioner in my own hockey world, but I'd like to think I get it right most of the time. Whatever.

Yea, the song ended a couple minutes ago, not the best Phish jam evr, but decent, and mad props for going the distance. I'm finishing up while Megsy watches garbage Desperate Gaywives. I just realized what I looked like at Best Buy today when I bought: The Universe (5 Disc DVD) ((as seen on the History Channel)) Sony Studio Headphones Phish: Live in Durham, NH 1993 paid for in anything-but-crisp $5 bills.

Pothead <-----

But in all fairness, that's some wicked sweet stuff. Ok, show's over. Also of note, new name for the bass came to me last night between sips of my first Mad Dog 20-20. I texted it to myself, and in retrospect, it was before my phone screen freaked out and now displays things in 'fuzzy plaid', the hot new design from T-Mob's. Woodson J Groovebuckle. Nice.

Eh, what are ya gonna do?
"There's nothing we can do."

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