Sunday Night Dance Party

You might have seen one out in Minnesota
Or maybe down by the sea in Sarasota
But they were made back in Worcester Mass
Of aluminum and bakalite and glass
- Martin Sexton

Immediately after completing this run, I got a voicemail and a couple of text messages telling me I had an opportunity to see Martin Sexton at the Fitzgerald theater, in downtown St. Paul.  He opened his show with the song Diner, from the album Black Sheep.  I've seen him at the Cedar Cultural Center, the 400 bar and now this, making three concerts I've witnessed his scatalogical singing and blues hammering guitar playing.  Totally enjoyed myself and still enjoy his ability to nail incredible vocal ranges as well as percussive-like syllable phrasing amidst gutsy and folksy ballads. 






While running tonight, I listened to the following music;

Something, The Beatles
Lime House Blues, Birelli Lagrene
Vamos, The Pixies
Crane Wife 1 and 2, the Decemberists
Miles and Miles of Texas, Asleep at the Wheel
Voodoo Child (Slight Return), Jimi Hendrix
Pot Kettle Black, Wilco
Wall of Death, REM
Little T & A, The Rolling Stones
Be Be Your Love, Rachel Yamagata
Prodigal Son, The Rolling Stones
Hoodoo Voodoo, Billy Bragg
ELT, Wilco
The Late Greats, Wilco
Viva la Vida, Coldplay
Rain King, Counting Crows
Start me up, The Rolling Stones
That's not my Name, The Ting Tings
Bone Machine, The Pixies
The Woods of Old Limerick, Patrick Street
The Smoothie Song, Nickel Creek
Wave of Mutilation, The Pixies
Yellow Ledbetter, Pearl Jam

During the run I tried picking up my pace between lightposts, for about a mile and half.  I remember reading that book, Into The Wild, about Christopher McCandless - one of the things Jon Krakauer mentioned was his passion for cross country running, his ability to take a cross country training run that had become mundane, and turn it into an adventure, with sprints, new trails and occasionally deliberately getting lost, just to keep running long enough to find his way home again - as captain of the team, his workouts were legendary.  The lightpost sprints is an idea from another captain, from a long, long, time ago.  Thankfully, neither of us have starved to death in an abandoned VW bus.

Another Re-Post

From December 7th, 2011

The list

So, I sent a text message the other day, sort of half in thought and half distracted, a meddling segue had just passed into my transience, as if having a thought had been replaced by a cognitive function dependent on not thinking at all. I passed along the text, closed my phone and resumed watching television. The after thought is this, how many ways could I attach meaning to, and how many different stories could I ascribe a certain genre to, the story of Christopher Mccandless? So, my quick text, in my mind, has started to gain a little attention.
Why else would I compare his story to the story of My side of the mountain, or Jack Kerouac's Desolation Angels, or the Dick Proeneke story Alone in the Wilderness, or Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire? I think each has merit to stand alone as interesting stories, but do each of them have and share some central theme of isolation, selfishness, ignorance and loss? Is there triumph in being able to claim self-sufficiency? Is there tragedy in losing one's life if that life has been spent pursuing something so honest and abidingly ephemeral as finding a sense of place? Is theirs an issue of empowerment or entitlement?
A lot of spiritual geographies have been written that address that topic, Kathleen Norris, Wallace Stegner, Michael Dorris, Seamus Heaney and many, many other writers could be said to deliberately pursue and achieve a sense of place as a central character or major component of their novels and prose. Moreso than the characters themselves.
What then, draws in an individual, past that fictional realm of the spiritual, and causes one to actively pursue something which does not exist?
so my text was this;
Alone in the Wilderness versus Into the Wild versus Desert Solitaire versus My Side of the Mountain versus Desolation Angels versus Walden Pond. Thoreau always changes the camber of this topic for me. That may be the thread that unravels this ball of twine.
Walked today, yesterday, the day before and the day before. I also skied today, which was fun and appreciated, like a piece of toffee.