We’re getting to the truly crazy point in my last semester in college. I have just over 21 days left to me before my first draft is due to be submitted to the division. Yet even as my headspace is becoming more and more manic (termed the “crazy steady state” by a charming duo), I’m still managing to take good care of myself, with a good amount of help from some beloved friends. Musical therapy doesn’t hurt either.
The reason I’m here is because I’ve had a couple of serendipitous afternoons, walking down the hill from the coffeeshop to campus, where the shuffle setting on my iPod has rewarded me and coincided perfectly with the fleeting sunshine. And maybe between my slightly manic state of mind and the thin warmth from the spring light, I’ve developed a higher tolerance for pop-y covers and remixes, replete with handclaps and toy xylophone. In any case, the changing of the seasons from gray to gold is what I need and these few covers seem to be the perfect soundtrack, no matter their creative merit. Timing is, after all, everything.
Feist — Lonely Lonely [Frisbee’d Remix]
I’ve been revisiting Open Season. I only love few tracks off the album — this one, and then also the k-os remix of “Mushaboom,” since its freestyle contains some endearing Feist/Broken Social Scene references. Good cherry blossom music.
Thom Yorke — Atoms for Peace [Four Tet Remix]
The perfect combination.
Miles Fisher — This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) [Talking Heads Cover]
Talking Heads holds the special-est of places in my heart. If it weren’t for them, Reed College would not be what it is. I can say that much with certainty. I’m looking at you, “crazy steady” duo.
Anyhow. I know some of you will think this is blasphemous. Whatever. Embrace it. And happy March/thesising.
A rainbow of umbrellas were out in full force during tonight's walk home through the piazza del duomo.
Tonight was doubly blessed. Not only has it started raining here in Italy, finally, but because of the rain I saw a ghost. A ghost.
Okay, fine, maybe he wasn’t really a ghost. Maybe he was actually just a man wearing an over-sized white rain poncho that billowed behind him in the wind while he was riding his bike. However, the poncho was so huge that it covered most of his bike so he just seemed to glide along the streets. In contrast, the hood of the poncho seemed to be rather undersized compared to the rest of the thing, meaning he had a very defined head and therefore more ghost-shaped than he otherwise might have been. Add to the mix the prominent white beard and hooded eyes he had, the glittery night lights bouncing off of the slick, wet streets, and the fact that I didn’t see him coming at first while walking in the centro after dark and you can understand why I thought I’d seen a ghost. It was a close call though. No one will ever really know the truth.
Anyway, this past weekend I went to Umbria with my Italian class and the other beginning Italian class. We visited four different small towns and had a rollicking good time, at least by my account. However, the night is too short to craft a fair rendering of those few days, so I’ll have to owe you one. And, by my record, I believe I owe you stories of San Gimignano, too. San Gimignano isn’t so well explained verbally. Rather, viewing it is a better way of making its acquaintance. If you’re interested you can actually view it, which brings me to my next point: I’ve added another link to my list on this blog — you can now see all of the pictures I’ve taken so far in Italy and around Europe at my Picasa library. Go! Tell me what you think!
Time to go puddlejumping. I’ll be back soon, promise.
Leslie and I, enjoying a good rain while waiting at the bus stop. Incidentally, we're sideways.
Walking home tonight with Leslie was funny in that I realized I probably haven’t been outside around this hour for about a week now. And it’s noticeable. The light’s changing, it’s darker now. Not only that, but we have clouds. Clouds. And not just clouds, but weather that threatens moisture (!). When we were driving home last weekend from San Gimignano, I noticed beginning stains of crimson across the leaves in the wine vineyards, starting to spider outward and spread. This past Sunday, the day that Leslie and I found a sustainable food market (i.e. largest concentration of hippies in one place I have yet to see in Europe) and the day that we both contracted the plague (that’s a story for the next post), I kept seeing leaves twirling downward onto the sidewalk we were walking on. Mostly what I wanted to say is this: somewhere in the last week, somewhere in between going to San Gimignano and standing at the top of a tower caught between Siena and Florence and staring (and staring and staring and sighing) at the rooftops of both, somewhere between spending the better portion of three days in bed while my baby host-newphew made baby noises all around the apartment all afternoon every day, making the apartment even cosier than it was before — somewhere in between all of that a schedule clicked and the season changed officially. What a fulfilling point in time that combination can be.