Save the Date

So, the primary person responsible for getting me through high school, for unintentionally giving me hope, but unquestionably giving me love, friendship, compassion, and respect, is getting married. I got the Save the Date letter in the mail yesterday. October 17th. A week after my 24th birthday.

I'm not sure why I lead in with that, but I guess it leads me to the idea of nostalgic memories from high school and college, even if I'm barely removed from the latter. Thinking about how many times one person dominated 2 months of my life. When someone was a staple, a constant, but only for a short period of time, ultimately proving to be a paper clip, a moon phase. So much of my teen life was built on mini-foundations. Foundations, while unbelievably solid and rooted, never amounted to a large-scale structure. Foundations that could be a part of something bigger, but as they are now, lie dormant and vacant, scattered and unfinished. Like Machu Picchu.

Now some of these foundations have resurfaced, adding a few more layers of brick. Some of them have left the past in the past. Some of the, have started a second foundation, realizing the first was based on nothing but notebook paper and poetry. On AIM and Facebook. On and gym shorts and detention.

But those foundations grew so strong, so quickly, because I needed them. I was like Chris Farley tumbling down the mountain in Black Sheep: if I didn't perforate the ground, drag my nails, and grab on to anything with a root, I was toast. I was gaining speed. I was hitting trees. I was forgotten. So i did. I latched onto anything I could. I launched spikes into the ground, hoping I could stop some of my momentum. And I built so much out of so little. I used my future advice to find the perfect in the damaged and the beautiful in the ordinary. A made something, everything.

So now when I look back, I see tiled layers of foundations that were imperative to my progress because I put so much stock into who they were and what they did. But like the stepping stones at the end of The Golden Child, most of them have disappeared during my journey.

So, to bring this full circle. To look back on all those 'foundations' and 'stepping stones' and 'bricks in my wall' and any other reason to use the single quotation mark... there's only one that I still have unconditional love for. So I'm saving the date. For October 17th. A week after my 24th birthday. And I don't know what to feel.

A Walking Dichotomy

"Division into two; especially, the division of a class into two subclasses opposed to each other by contradiction."

While that may be a pretty official definition, found on Wiktionary, I like to take it a step further. Think of a dichotomy as an array of clashing ideas, squeezed and manipulated in a revolving batter. Now think of that batter residing inside walls of skin. This is how I see myself.

Take the most recent example:

I decided to start liking country music. I did it mainly as a joke. I was never someone that says their preferred music is 'anything but country,' but by no means was I ever a fan... well over the last 3 or so weeks, I have started listening to so much pop country: on the radio, on you tube, on my ipod at work, on tv, and i'm on the verge of buying tickets to a country show at Joes on Weed. I say pop country, cuz deep down, I know most of what's on US 99.5 America's Country Station is as close to pop music as it is to country, but it's still quite a leap from Demon Hunter and Killswitch Engage...

But with country music comes a new mindset. From a tin roof, a front porch, and a gravel road to splashing through the sand bar, talking by the campfire, the simple things in life. The simple things in life, and a simple life. A slower pace. A longer fuse. Patience. Passion. Who wouldn't want all that? The more I listen to it, the more I think about it, about who I am and what I've become, I realize that this sounds pretty decent. Not to mention Taylor Swift is performing right now with Def Lepord. And it's spectacular. The whole life style, it's something that I'm there for. Aside from, yanno, the shotguns...

Then I pass some rusty pickup truck limping along on the Edens after throwing it into 6th.

I thrive in a fast paced world of el trains and loud music and quick shifting and low sleep totals and high story memories with everything that comes with expressways, DVR, and all you can drink bar deals. I love being 23 in the city, loop or not. I like excitement. I like feeling alive, because I'm barely alive. I like being exhausted, and decided to go do more. My commonly used 'over-extending' myself. Leaving everything out there and putting yourself on the line every time. This all appeals to me. And these theories resonate in so much of my music. Besides the actual tempo, my bands are talking about F the system, break rules, avoid conformity, be an individual, and never slow down. And I will sing every word, feeling passionate about it.

And what I've come to realize, is that having two living creatures within in, is completely healthy, sane, and at times, imperative. I admire people that can live their life one way, according to one philosophy, and stay true enough to never waver. And often times, the very people that are inspiring me, are usually the ones that are strong enough to follow those feelings. And I realize that never finding your 'true' identity is easier, never having to pick sides... but I love it. I won't compromise by saying that being a mutt of music and feelings and life goals ends up being 'me,' I just don't think I need to figure that out quite yet.

So I'll stir at night, dreaming about May 16th when I get to see Disturbed and Killswitch at Northerly Island, while i dreamily stare at Taylor Swift, just beyond my computer screen, talking about country nights and love stories. Fitting the show is called 'Crossroads.'

A New Audience

Continuing to analyze my writing instead of actually having to write, I never really thought about my audience. For everything that piled, or didn't pile, in my previous online writing attempts, everything I did was trapped within the walls of bar-hopping photo albums and music inspired profiles. Never did I realize that I was unconsciously catering to my readers, finding my over-dramatic rants and stories contorting themselves to the rest of who are found in similar situations.

It is here that I realize that the affirmation I once saught was often nothing more than self-identification. Something I, in no way, am faulting. Most of the literature I am drawn to usually says what I'm thinking a little more impressively. But I fear that some of what I thought was mildly gripping writing may not have been anything more than something my peers were also going through.

I'm not sure if any of this is 'bad.' The writing i've accomplished, and it has been an accomplishment, over the last year or two, still holds a certain amount of aritistic freedom and personal interconnection. That being said, it was farther from writing than it was from keeping a creative diary. While fun and interesting, this new opportunity allows me to draft to a new audience by exploring the day to the night, the big to the small, from high to low and shore to pschorr.

Sorry, no picture of inspiration.

Change?

So, today's a little different. Today doesn't earn a concentrated spotlight on some seemingly insignificant part of my life. Today was a pretty important day as far as this country goes. Today was a day that forced companies to turn away when people walked to a TV, brought in portable monitors, streamed online. Today was a day that saw more than a million people gather in a single location. Today was a day that promised change.

So, it's odd that I have less to say.

And it's not that I don't care, or that I'm unamerican, or maybe I am, but in my opinion, the impact that this country will feel as a result of today has already peaked. Hell it peaked almost two months ago when he was declared the winner. The winner of what? Who's the best salesperson? Who can convince the people of this country that he's telling the truth, when so many years have taught us otherwise? Have you ever trusted a politician?

The mere act of having the most votes is much louder, and speaks many more volumes than anything he can accomplish in office. Who knows what hardships this country will face during his term. Who knows how long his term will be. But the symbol he now portrays might be enough to change a few people. It might not. I have a small hunch that change is inevitable. Doesn't matter your race. Change is constant. This society goes through waves of change, and progression, and recession, and you start to see patterns, flow, repeats of history. Do we really think it was the minds of a few select humans that controlled the fate of our lives? Or are we, as a whole, destined to perform this dance?

I tend to shy away from personal destiny. Too much, faith... But who's to say that the sum of all the parts, the population, added together, might have been poised for change anyways? Did we just prove we already are?

Sometimes questions are better than answers.

Oh Go Blog About It

As I sit here, still reeling and hungover from the extended weekend, I realize that this experiment of Shore to Pschorr will be pretty challenging. Being inspired to write was easy. Something would happen in my life that created instant words. Nothing was forced. Nothing was consistent. And some cool things came out of it.

This new trek into the worn out world of BlogSpot brings on so many new opportunities to explore. Instead of waiting for inspiration, I am finding it. I'm drawing the most out of the least. I am grabbing the something out of the nothing. I'm taking my own advice to "take in the nuances of life and make it reverberate with passion. Find the great in the small. The perfect in the created. The something in the nothing. And embrace it."

The outcome, so far, has been 2-fold.

Upping my frequency of writing supposedly helps the quality of my writing. It allows you to see a trend. A progression. A flow. I like these things.

But if I am now, in fact, 'finding' my own inspiration instead of just waiting until i move out or start a new job, I am shining a brighter light on parts of my day that were never lit up. Looking at your daily life with a stronger lens, a better zoom, a brighter light, makes you see so much more that you would have never realized.

It's a dangerous tool to have. I don't want my life to turn into constant recycling blog ideas.

Is it knowing where the line between writing and living lies, or is it knowing that there isn't a line, that can make a writer?

Oh go blog about it:

A Warm Frigid

So as I walked out of work today, the sting of the Friday afternoon air didn't seem to hurt as much. True, 4 degrees is better than the -15 that I woke up to. But the funny part is, if -15 makes 4 seem acceptable, then 4 makes 25 seem reasonable, and 25 makes 45 feel great, and this process continues...

Over the last few weeks, I have dealt with car troubles, tire troubles, parking outside, frost biten windows, frozen doors, feet of snow, sheets of ice, 3 to 4 times longer morning and afternoon commutes, salt rippled frames, giant potholes, intolerable winds, drained batteries, and some mix of rain and ice and snow and anything inbetween.

I am not egocentric, most of you have dealt with the same things.

But after this barrage of winter's fury, I made a mental note that Florida is next on my wish list. Beaches and palm trees and a healthy car, oh my.

But just like Butters in 'Raisins,' I learned something today. While these windy city winters break spirits like they're egg shells, we here earn something that is uncommon in the desert, on a beach, stranded in the tropics. Because, without the cold and the miserable, the warmth and the bliss wouldn't seem so great. It may physically hurt to walk outside tonight, but without this angsty reminder that things can be this bad, maybe things would never seem so good. So, I guess what I'm feeling is like a, a warm frigid. A feeling that lets me know things won't always stay this way. Plus, i'd rather be a Chicagoan than a pansy Floridian.

Below Zero

Current Temperature: -10
Current Windchill: -28

What kind of masocists are we? Why do we put ourselves through frozen snot and immobolizing wind gusts? How long have I lived in this area when I see the temperature is subzero, the I walk outside and think, "oh this isn't so bad."

It's strange, but I believe the emergence of negative degrees slows down your mind along with your body. I am slower to process things. My usual constant hop scotch from thought to idea to notion to quote to story to person, and back, has slowed in tempo. I'm not killing myself with thoughts. Not ruining myself with tangents. My premonitions aren't murderers. I'm not over analyzing, cause I don't have the quickness. For those that don't know me, that's a good thing.

Even stranger, I don't have to physically be cold for this effect to occur. The awareness that on the other side of my wall, homeless people are dying, makes everything feel like it's running through peanut butter. swimming through jelly. Believe or not, this makes writing, more difficult. But maybe that's what this world needs more of. Everyone seems to be sprinting with cleats and dolphining through water. Maybe a hearty dip into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich will makes things a little easier on everyone. People are trying all the time to speed things up. The truths in life may only be felt when there is time enough to embrace them.

So instead of fleeing this ironic hell with a paradisal getaway, bask in its innate ability to alter the basic speed in which your mind, and consequently your body, functions. You never know what you might discover.

The Blog World

So this has been a long time coming for me. I'm sick of myspace and facebook as my creative outlets. Although I plan on importing a lot of previously written posts from those websites, I'm looking to take advantage of this medium to do my best to write as often as possible. Maybe people will enjoy it.