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2006-03-06 - 12:01 p.m.

Beautiful things and March is windy and somehow cleansing:

So it turns out that all those Sufjan Stevens people really were on to something. I haven't heard much, but the song "Chicago" is the most beautiful song I've heard in a long time. It has a lot of what I really love about my favorite rock music: soaringness, lushness, choral arrangements, strings/horns, lyrics that give me chills. And, I don't know, the way I read this song, he's talking about something I think about: getting older, moving on, death and rebirth. He's putting something to bed and telling himself to get over the fact that "all things go." Things die and then you keep going. Works for me right now.

Broken Social Scene's song "7/4 Shoreline" is another lush one. This song's got haunting vocals. I really like it. I don't know why I do this, but with ninety-five percent of music I hear, I instantly either place it in one of two categories: happy or sad. It rarely has to do with the lyrics. It's got something to do with just overall feel of song, and I don't know enough about the guts of music to really identify what it is I'm responding to when I do this. This song is a sad song, but I could listen to it all day. It's really nice.

My girlfriend played a Kelly Clarkson song for me the other day, "Since U Been Gone." I'm guessing about the "U" but that sounds about right. And it's a shiny little package.

I think I took some really good pictures of the boys and me at Druid Hill park yesterday. I hope to have them posted to the flickr site shortly. Fast shutter speed because yesterday was blue-skied and windy and perfect for outdoor shooting.

I wonder a lot about why we are such fragile creatures? Physically, sure, but aren't we just comedy sometimes? And incredibly beautiful? I'm working this out in this essay I'm doing now. It's about my coworkers at this office job, and about how they're something else on the inside entirely. It's got a lot of Radiohead in it, "Let Down" and "How to Disappear Completely." I'm trying to keep it grounded in the textures of the place, the setting: reams of white paper and plastic cups of water and motherfucking out-of-office replies, that sort of thing, and trying to keep it away from the kind of thing I do when I want to flex my muscles, the writerly stuff that's a flight of fancy and not based in textures and facts and all the stuff that shows more than tells. Because even though this place is not for me and even though it stubs my toe that Beverly, say, just said of "Brokeback Mountain," "I was, like, waiting the whole time for something to happen," I think that these people who surround me and even the worst drivers on I-95 have some beauty inside of them and I'd like to crack it wide open, so that it strikes the clouds' bellies like a spotlight.

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