Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Thoughts for 12/17

"It’s hard to find anything to say about life without immersing yourself in the world, but it’s also just about impossible to figure out what it might be, or how best to say it, without getting the hell out of it again." -Tim Kreider in a New York Times opinion piece

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Transformation of a Stranger

There's always an excitement associated with starting over in a new town—a cliched blank canvas with its multitude of exciting paints in the form of new friends, new sights, new restaurants, new museums, new dance partners, just waiting to be colored in.

But what about the old paintings? The ones that took you years to create, beautiful mixtures of purposeful and non-purposeful strokes that was "your life" one plane ticket ago. What about those? Do they get thrown out, moved to the side, forgotten?

I'm struggling with these old paintings. Sure I helped paint them, but they didn't stop when I left the project. I know that they are continuing to evolve, and I know that my other lives don't stand still just because I switched area codes. It's scary. I'm terrified beyond belief that I'll return someday and not recognize my own work.

Take for example my sister, a senior in high school. The same sister that I got called out of Mrs. Kennedy's first grade class to see for the first time in the hospital. The same sister that used to hum like a motor while she ate her vegetables. The same sister that dressed as an old lady for Halloween even though all her friends were dressing as princesses.

For the last year, I've felt completely disconnected. I don't know how high school is going or where she is looking at colleges. I haven't asked her what music she likes or what movies she's seen recently. I'm turning into my worst nightmare. I'm the absent brother.

I found myself going through Facebook photos to find out the broadest details of family life back home, and it really bummed me out. I talk with my mom on a pretty regular basis, but a phone is a tough medium to connect over (though it is better than nothing). Even then, my sister jumps on the phone for a second and before we can even warm up, we part ways. It's a strange dance that ends all too quickly.

I could go on and on, but complaining to a computer screen is a piece of my problem to begin with. If I'm going to be more present in my sister's life, I need to rehang that picture in a spot where I can see it and stop making excuses. I need to start calling her more often, even if it's just to say hi, or how proud I am of her for everything she's doing (and she's doing a lot). Hopefully she feels the same way, but even if she doesn't, I'm going to be obnoxious and persistent until she just accepts that I'm going to be around. Right now it's all talk, but I have to start somewhere. All I know is that life is short, and that I owe my sister a big hug.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Nothing here is what it seems

I still remember watching The Naked and Famous for the first time. My friends Eric and Lange had showed me them while I was still interning in Utah, and I'd immediately become a fan. When I got back to Boston, Lange had grabbed tickets to an outdoor show of theirs on Landsdowne Street, and I couldn't have been more pumped.

 I stood on Landsdowne, the iconic Fenway Park looming over my shoulder, watching these guys kill it on a sunny May afternoon. Awesome performance, fueled by an electric crowd and amazing weather. Every time I hear them my mind wanders back to that Boston block party, so even as the rain pours down in Seattle today, this song has me back in Sox Nation with one of my favorite bands.

Enjoy beezys.


Just a thought

It's true that my vocabulary was better when I was ten. Somewhere along the way, my path deviated.

Instead of learning the big words, I'm dedicated to understanding the small ones.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Post Father's Day

Well, I've been mulling over how I'm going to put together some posts about my most recent trip to Cuba, and time has been slip, slip, slipping away. Enough of that, it's time to drive the stake in and hold tight.

Yesterday was Father's Day, and I was lucky enough to have a good chat with Papa Krich. Ideally I'd be doing that from across the table, but across the country will have to do for now. There were plans for a rendezvous over the 4th of July, and I really hope we can make that happen.

Since being back in the States it has been sensory overload. SO much to smell, taste, touch, and, most importantly, HEAR. Here is a group from Seattle that is making some pretty decent rap over delectable beats. Always appreciate some old school instrumentals, so thanks Brothers From Another. Vibe out to this, and look forward to some Cuba in the near future! B EZ, and shout out to them girls on the bus...

Thursday, April 25, 2013

A new day

One thing cool about being in a new city is discovering the new music scene...and Seattle has no shortage of that. And don't worry folks, I'm not talking about Macklemore (have to admit the guy is on fire these days).

I'm talking about Hey Marseilles, a group that sounds eerily similar to another Seattle export, Death Cab for Cutie. Really digging this Bright Stars Burning song though, and the video is pretty rad too. Take a listen and see where I'm coming from on this. Then, put them on your playlist!

Friday, April 19, 2013


Well, I'm just at a loss with this whole thing. Here's some tunes I've wanted to share for a while, haven't had a chance to do that this week, so yeah...deep breaths.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Speechless, but not without words. Boston.

Let's start with a fact:

What happened in Boston yesterday, April 15, 2013, was nothing short of tragic.

The rest of this entry is an opinion, my opinion, so feel free to take it and feel free to leave it....

I have never felt the way I did yesterday when I heard about the explosions at the Boston Marathon. I don't believe in comparing one tragedy to another, but I can assure you, this feeling was unique.

Boston was my home for the past four years. It was supposed to be my home this year. It shaped me in more ways than I can ever conceive, turning me into who I am today. I made friends, had relationships, laughed, cried, celebrated, learned, and experienced in that city, and for that I'll never be able to thank the Bean enough. I'll always consider Boston "my town", whether she'll have me or not.

So yesterday I was scared. Scared for the obvious reasons, yes. Scared that my friends were hurt or worse. Scared that there was more chaos waiting to unfold. Scared that no one could be safe in this world. But more importantly, and perhaps this is a tad selfish but I can't leave this, I was scared to lose a memory.

Marathon Monday, Patriot's Day, the greatest day in Boston, the greatest day to be a Bostonian. I had always made a point to be down at the finish line on that Monday. It didn't matter how steep the hangover was or how much studying needed to be done, this was a day that I never missed. Nothing like thousands of spandex clad, visor-sporting, Aasics-rocking ultra milers to turn a mature twenty-something into a wide-eyed 10 year-old. I would cheer at random strangers, promising myself that someday I would be on the other side of that fence panting down Boylston Street as the lactic acid started to build in my legs, my finish line in sight.

This particular day, my friends were less than a block away from the finish when tragedy struck. Thankfully, as Bostonians tend to do, they were in a bar enjoying a celebratory pint. Still, they felt the blast, saw the blood, choked on the smoke. And I can't help but think that if I had been there, that that pint would have been overpowered by the boyish wonder that only the Boston Marathon can produce. I would have wandered down toward the finish line, cheering with thousands of others as runners crossed the yellow line into immortality. I would have been in good company too—smiles, high-fives, cowbells, and flags from around the world—on the most joyous 400-yard stretch of asphalt in the world. That's exactly what hundreds were doing when their lives were altered by senseless violence.

But I never made it down there. I heard the news from a bedroom in Seattle, thousands of miles from my city, thousands of miles from my friends. I have never felt so far away. I wanted to pretend it wasn't real, but even the distance couldn't convince me of that. I can't blame anyone for this, but Seattle didn't seem to react to the news the way I did, making me feel even more helpless, more unable to reach out to the people I loved and cared for. I still tried of course, texting anyone I could just to make sure that I could get some sort of pulse from the other side. I was lucky to get responses, "I'm safe", "I'm ok".

But I wasn't ok, and I knew they weren't either. We had lost something, we had lost the day, our day. Last year I sat on a rooftop on Newbury Street, barbecuing with close friends, the mid-afternoon sun reflecting off the Prudential Center, and the roar of the crowd still audible one street over. It was one of those moments where you think, "life can't get better than this," and honestly I don't know if it could have. That should be my memory of the Boston Marathon. But I'm scared it won't be, scared that Monday's senseless violence will forever taint what once was a treasured memory of a special day in a special city. I'm scared that I crossed a different line than the yellow finishing stripe on Boylston Street, a line much harder to return from. At this point I don't know, but I really hope I'm wrong, I really do.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

More Catchy Tunage

So this one is going to be fire as well, that guitar rift, oh that catchy guitar rift....

Hope these guys have more creative stuff in them. What a playful little song about stalking your ex-girlfriend, hah.

The New Pumped Up Kicks

This song is going to blow up. I've done this with several songs previous, and I figured I'd post just to say 'I told you so' 4 months down the line. From my Seattle couch to your earbuds, you're welcome.

The Open Range

Land as far as the eye can gather. A sea of softly rolling hills covered in white, an overwhelming expanse. The settlers must have felt it when they first saw it. Now portioned, split, quartered, and fenced, the range still holds the mystique of endless opportunity to my open eyes. Imagination takes over and I can't believe how beautiful this stretch of nothingness is. Ignoring reality, the blank canvas of the open range is full of possibility.

Sunday, February 3, 2013


I'm most at peace watching the sun dip behind the mountains as it paints the sky.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

The end of January...2013?!

I have been terrible at updating this thing, but I think things are going to shift.

I miss writing for writing's sake, I miss the musing. I'm in a constant state of transit these days, both physically and mentally, maybe this is something that I can hold onto a little bit, a home base. So here we go.

I'm currently in Colorado, a little place called Aspen, with a good friend from high school, Chris Loehr. I got to watch my first X Games, catchup with old friends, and ski powder in the legendary Highlands Bowl. Along the way I got the flu, slept on a series of couches, and got some pretty gnarly frostbite. This is par for the course these days, but it's all about rolling with the punches. I'm lucky to have people that can put up with my vagabonding and this stop was no exception!

Now, on to Park City for the Grand Prix and hopefully some more skiing. Here's to a safe day of travels through the jaw-dropping regions of Western Colorado and Eastern Utah. Truly a piece of Mother Nature's masterpiece.

A little tune to send you to a better place (if only for 4 minutes) and to send me on my way. Cheers all, missing you and seeing you soon.