Of Mirrors and Motorcycles

How do you share a piece of art that you love as deeply as some people with another who is free to feel whatever they will about it? It's a conundrum I bet most have dealt with: do I choose to extend this precious thing from me with the possibility that it return empty, spilt, devalued? Or, safer but understandable, do I hold it as mine and mine alone thereby preserving it for myself and preserving my world from the possibility of it being tarnished and, by extension, others being tarnished to me for their opinions of it.

I go through this thought process every time I loan out a certain couple of books, as well as every time I show The Motorcycle Diaries. I will have little to say about Ernesto Guevara here. The movie is about him, but its significance reaches much farther, and its relevance to the Costa Rica program could not be more emphatic. The moment is simply too opportune for me to keep it to myself.

Here you have two travelers on an adventure that undeniably serves as an axis point for both of their lives. Here you have ten students on an equally thrilling adventure, which could easily have a similar effect. The question is, are they ready to catch it flying by in the blur of class, homework, night clubs, and Guaro? 

Like most ideas that are "beyond us and this moment in time," a tangible source by which to cut through the abstractness can help understanding greatly. For this movie and this situation, my metaphor par excellence is the shower drain or the air filter. Because of the reality of being in a new country and studying a second language, the rushing stimulus of all this newness can be quite overwhelming. Not unlike nearsightedness, there is a world out there that I interact with but cannot fully ascertain. To help manage this hugeness I like to think of us as semipermeable objects that allow any number of substances to flow through us. We trap the big things. We hold onto the interactions that meant something to us. "Walk through your days with open hands ready to grab what is there to grab, and to merely touch what you do not need to hold close," I say.

And then we watch our heroes Alberto Granado and Ernesto Guevara, one of them significantly skilled in this practice and on display for two or so hours. Writing this just now I've realized that debriefing the movie with this kind of discussion before hand lessens the weight of the "OMG PLZ LOVE THIS!!!" feeling that I would otherwise have if I simply popped it in the DVD player for movie night with some friends. 

Digression, but on topic: looking in the mirror. Is it a positive action? Do we go to the mirror expecting greatness? To me it more often functions within the "Oh-geez, I hope I look ok!" mindset. So (and I may be leaping here), not loving what we see in the mirror is very much a common part of the human experience, but I think as long as we see what there is to see and really take it in, love it or not, then we are probably as much ourselves as we could hope to be. They don't have to love The Motorcycle Diaries, because whether or not they do isn't the point. The point is that they are it, and that they see themselves fully in this mirror.

"¿Es que Ud. es Tico?"

Q: Who am I?

A: Where are you?

A man actually asked me that today. The question in the title, that is, and it felt as if he'd carefully wrapped the moment of silence just before around my head and then yanked the string off, leaving it spinning on my shoulders.

I've thought and read before that place defines identity to a large extent, and that personality and cultural norms are also deeply shaped by place. Place-identity theory is pretty much the central theme of a recent read of mine, Imagined Communities by Benedict Anderson, which is highly regarded for its dissection of Nationalism and the growth of the corporate self (or nation) as an imaginary body of like-selves. I will never meet all of the people that are considered my countrymen, and yet we are bound invisibly, invincibly. We are from a place that we share.

The person in question was Melvin, a biology instructor whom I was sent to meet by current Lincoln Tico, John Vargas, a PhD student in Chemistry and lifelong resident of San Ramón's neighbor town Palmares. John made sure I would stop by the Biology department and say hello to his good friend and work partner for the last few years. After talking to Melvin for a few minutes about how I knew John and what I was doing on campus, he dropped the bomb: "So, are you Costa Rican?"

It's difficult to know what Melvin was trying to ask, but there are a few possibilities: (1) Were you born in Costa Rica? (2) Do you live in Costa Rica? (less likely) (3) Are you Costa Rican? Now, the difference between one and three is quite subtle, but significant. It's probable that he recognized my foreign heritage. This is an unconscious leap for most Ticos meeting a red-beard. The second leap, though (that I may actually be a fellow countryman), is the one keeping the gyroscope spinning. To get past the first leap and actually consider the second means that one reality (assumed origin based on observation - visual) must have been trumped by another (our conversation - verbal) in his mind. I guess I've felt today that my fluency had come back after a month out of UNL, but not to the extent that a Tico would think I was one of his own--that he would think perhaps we are bound by the Costa Rican imaginary community.

This is for an entirely different post, but I do think one of the more pleasing aspects of fluency in Spanish (and for that matter being in another country) is that I get to start over with myself. I can be almost any "Aaron" that I like. It's taken years to feel that way about myself in Spanish, but I certainly wouldn't have had the conversation that I had today with a girl in the hallway if we were in English. It wouldn't have felt right. My tone was different than the me I think I am. My mannerisms felt alien to me. I felt Tico. This came just after conversing with Melvin, so there's no telling how much his question influenced the next couple hours of my day (or the next several weeks?), but it feels significant for the moment.

It wouldn't surprise me if language and place were the two most indicative factors of a person's identity. In that case (and now I'm getting into even more future posts), have I been living split in two as a Spanish-speaker in Lincoln? No, I don't think so, but it does make me consider why I get such a release when I roll into and out of conversation after conversation with Ticos knowing I didn't miss a beat. It feels like something I've been carrying around in a box (academic environment) has finally been set free (real world).

Tonight is ripe for reading books. I shall keep digesting this day and expect its nutrients will feed me for many to come.

Por El Otro Lado

Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.

Several moments of interest from today.

First, we had class in the jungle. There are some nice painted steps out in the jungle behind campus where we could all sit and have a little class this morning while the bugs scurried around us. There isn't really anything unusual about the place except that it's the jungle and no one holds class in the jungle. The juxtaposition was enough to startle their attention for the 1.5 hours that it was needed: "We thought we were just going for a hike!" "Yes. Yes, you did."

Second, I had my first two run-ins with drunk do-badders. They may be a thin group, but their gringo divining rods are refined, and with them they assail any and all fairer-skinned in their stumbling vicinity:


(1) This afternoon, three girls trailing the group were being hounded by a mostly gentle drunk who wanted to take our picture for us. This was clear because he kept sticking one arm up in the air for the flash while he ducked behind an invisible (except to him) cape to peer through the viewfinder."¡Púm! Yo les saco la foto. ¡Púm!" Written phonetically, it was a bit more like "¡Púm! Yer leh sagah leh fuhduh. ¡Púm!" The students went into the store behind us leaving me to dispense with the annoyance. Usually, my dealings with these people end quickly with a few Gracias, pero no. No queremos foto. Ya tenemos foto, señor. Vaya con Dios. Mucha suerte, señor. Que le vaya bien. Hasta luego. Et cetera. It tends to work quite well. You say goodbye as if you've been talking for hours, and they seem to think that's the case and leave politely. This caballero was much more persistent. My plan two is to start making them talk. Sometimes they forget what's even going on and just leave of their own accord. ¿Cómo se llama Ud.? ¿En dónde vive? ¿Ud. trae cámara? ¿Es fotógrafo Ud.? ¿Le gusta San Ramón? For the persistent, this apparently means a chance to have me share in the smell of his breath and hold his ID for proof of a name I never cared to know.  The employees of the store started to notice and were making passive-aggressive attempts at removing him from their door (like, slapping the cement wall right next to his head). After a couple whiffs of his breath and no progress from the workers, I had to change strategies again. So I told him to have a nice day and walked around the block. By the time I returned he must have been taken with clamoring after another pair of pinkish legs.


(2) The second happened immediately after leaving that store. Two men standing in the doorway of the bar ogled a couple of the girls with us, so I slid back through our group to make sure nothing was going to happen. One of them gave thumbs up, which is... unnerving but not exactly foul. The second stepped out and kind of bumped one of them, or at least made her step around him to keep walking. I would normally suggest ignoring his type, but I felt like this public rudeness needed calling out. I don't remember exactly what I said (something like, "this is not something men do to women, sir.") except that it was quite damning. After two or three shaming phrases, he appeared to lurch toward me. Figuring he was drunk enough to fight someone who pointed out his lowness, I caught up to the group.

Third, the kids in the barrio were out again, this time with a couple other friends I remembered well. Justin and I learned a street game called "Stop", pronounced "Eh-stope", in which you call out a name as you toss a ball in the air, and that person must catch the ball. If s/he drops the ball, s/he must collect it while all the other participants run and hide. Once s/he has it, s/he yells "STOP" and the rest of the players must freeze. Then, s/he gets three giant steps before s/he must try to hit another player with the ball. If s/he misses, s/he is out. If s/he hits someone, that person is out. We played for a half hour. We made plans to play Cops and Robbers next week in the barrio with as many of us as can come. Fútbol in the field down the hill is also in the works.

Fourth, laughter peeled the walls around the house today as I presented Yolanda (mom) with my gift from the USA, a Tingler Scalp Massager. There were escalofríos as giggles came unrestrained from the three sisters + mom as they each took their turn "melting". "The best gift we've ever gotten. Bring us a box of these and we will make you so much money," they said.

Maybe I've found my calling. Aaron Chambers (1982-20**): he tingled the Tico spine.

¡Que Sí, Mae!

¿Qué es lo que se pierde al cruzar una frontera? Cada momento parece partido en dos, melancolía por lo que queda atrás, y por otro lado, todo el entusiasmo por entrar en tierras nuevas.
"What is lost when we cross a border? Each moment seems to split in two, melancholy for what is left behind, and on the other hand, great eagerness for entering new lands."
- The Motorcycle Diaries



These are the faces of borders crossed, of 8-hour layovers, and of unironic exuberance for the unknown. We touched down in San José 13 hours ago, and I can hardly believe today is the same set of 24 hours that saw us depart from the USA. As of this moment, I've tallied 4 legitimate attempts at sleep and 5 hours actually slept in the last 48, and I couldn't be more alive.

Sitting in bed right now, and miraculously more interested in getting this blog afloat than drifting off on another ship (sleep ship), I am wide-eyed before our world. Still, the most I can manage right now is a few sparse highlights. All of them are people, not surprisingly, because when you come to Costa Rica and only see the volcanoes, beaches, and nature reserves, you've missed its greatest treasure of all:

1. Julie, the hilariously self-aware woman with brain damage whom I sat with on the way to Denver. So excited about life in spite of all the half-finished sentences, instant amnesia, and fits of laughter. I can trace a clear line from her unapologetic, "This is me!" uniqueness to a reminder to be equally cheerful less serious about myself.

2. Seeing Eric, the two-fingered airport bag boy, who sat with us for three hours last summer while we waited for our ride to San Ramón. I always remembered him and the bits of insight he offered into the Tico lifestyle. He will always be the first Costa Rican I met, and seeing him standing there doing what he's done for 28 years with the same smile on his face was some kind of proclamation to me from the world that the good people keep smiling even when out of sight.

3. I've had the deepest pleasure of running into some 7-8 acquaintances from last summer that are now surely friends following screaming ("¡Qué alegría!"), hugging, and catching up when we saw each other again.

4. Luz, our old program director, honked like crazy, hollered out the window, pulled her car over on the side of the highway, jumped out and gave me the biggest hug. Or maybe it was I giving the biggest hug?

5. The 10-12 kids from the barrio remembered my name, called it out, and then gave me a giant group hug. I've been in group hugs before, but never when every person was trying to hug only me. Unforgettable.

The first thirteen hours are written. Sleep attempt 5 feels very promising. Pura dormida.

On Leaving and Returning

There are many ways to speak of life. From the infinitesimal to the enormous, most every bit of existence can be taken as a cryptogram of the Great Mystery if properly approached and analyzed. Having travelled to Costa Rica last summer, and having seen any number of strange and new bits of existence, I happened upon a wee thought that I would like to develop further: that going out and returning is, as a twin action, one of the more pervasive and relevant occurrences of life. A meta-narrative? Perhaps. An often repeated phenomenon? Definitely.

It happens in small ways: I go to the store and I do not stay there. Rather, I return home. Large way: I left the US of A. Then, I came back. Metaphysical way: I go through any number of emotional states in a day. Leaving a fixed, rational me behind and becoming either sad, frustrated, glad, etc. Yet I always return to soberness. "Dust to dust," and so on.

It occurs to me that the leaving-to place is less significant than the leaving-from place. That is, the origin--or constant--contains more meaning than the destinations. The origin is home, it is family, it is native country, state and city. It is the self and the identity. Right? When I say "I am from _________." Does that imply that I return there?

I've always been fascinated by people who seem to be from no particular place or who don't appear to have roots in any country or city. To where do these people return? Perhaps they have stronger senses of self and personal identity and so do not need a physical place to go back to, but subsist on their own, internal retreats.

I better keep thinking this one through.

2011 Music Lists (3)

Long time coming: 2011's #5-1

5. Tune-Yards – Whokill

“My Country,” the stunning opener of Whokill, is a barbaric yawp, a righteous tantrum and a declaration of independence. For 3.5 minutes, Merrill Garbus absolutely shreds my country with X-Acto jabs, and then defies genre-fication over the remaining nine tracks. This album bulges with Hard Rain pictures of life in America, and Garbus is raw, hopeful, seductive, ruthless and terrified in the face of her homeland experience. This album astonishes both lyrically and sonically, as each track builds into an agile sonic vessel for such diverse and powerful subject matter.

4. Miracle Fortress – Was I the Wave?

Over the last few years I’ve seen more of this “chill wave” creep into my discography. It isn’t an accident, it turns out. Was I the Wave? was immediately easy to love. Icy intro “Awe” seamlessly blurs into “Tracers,” setting an unaffected mood, but Miracle Fortress get more melodic and more sonically interesting on “Raw Spectacle.” The Drop comes about halfway in while maintaining its breathy melody and flitting synths. “Spectre” evolves further with bright melodies and harmonies riding a tide of 80s dance pop. Several songs hit the sweet spot of melodic and standoffish, dance-y grooves. I can’t help but shake my white self. “Everything Works” and “Miscalculations” continue in the same vein. You get the picture.

3. Davila 666 – Tan Bajo

“Menudo on drugs” can only partially describe Davila 666’s squalor-filled Puerto Rican punk. Cringe-inducing lyrics such as “no te gusta que te toquen, pues cabrona no provoques” abound as do tales of societal unrest (“Esa Nena Nunca Regresó”), frustrated relationships (“Yo Sería Otro”) and general angst (“¡Diablo!”). Aside from aligning themselves with punk’s thematic cannon, Davila 666 string plenty of hooks together to give extra thrust to their desperation. I like “Noche de Terror” in particular; it might be the strongest single song for its bouncing chorus that celebrates horror and pleasure. This blending of fear, anger and vulnerability make for a unique feel throughout and is one of the reasons that Davila 666 made the best album foreign album I heard all year.

2. Kurt Vile – Smoke Ring for My Halo

“I don’t wanna change, but I don’t wanna stay the same

I don’t wanna go but I’m runnin’

I don’t wanna work but I don’t wanna sit around

all day frownin.”

He’s a bit more depressed than the restless troubadours of On the Road, but Kurt Vile hangs his hat on a come-what-may ethos fleshed out in these acoustic musings. I’m mostly reminded of Tom Petty on songs “Jesus Fever” and “In My Time,” but other forefathers may surface elsewhere. Smoke Ring for My Halo: bed-ridden folk in a bottle that washed up on my shore. It might not have.

1. The Dodos – No Color

2008’s Visiter’s torrent of acoustic fury and chaotic percussion was just so damn unexpected. The following year’s Time to Die collapsed under its predecessor’s weight (for me). A sophomore slump? Perhaps. The Dodos experimented with more ornate arrangements (strings, etc.) in lieu of their earlier base formula: rabidly-strummed guitar and manic banging of sticks on drumlike things. 2011’s No Color was a cautious reach for me; I didn’t want The Dodos to end up a one-off in my memory when their sound was so unique and expressive. Happily, as you may discern from the ranking, to my ear No Color is everything Time to Die wanted to be so badly. Here, The Dodos careen through nine tracks of the same acoustic earnestness that made Visiter so exciting while also finding time to work in a decent amount of peripheral instruments. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” I’m listening to it now and that’s the only sound that expresses what it feels like to hear any of the first several tracks. They carry so much emotional intensity with just the instrumentation. Then, overlaid with sincere (and occasionally deeply profound) lyrics, sung in increasingly inviting melodies is just too. damn. good. for me to express. Loud live The Dodos.

2011 Music Lists (2)

Favorite Albums of the Year #10-6

10. Deerhoof - Deerhoof vs. Evil

Ranking among the most accessible collections in their run of great albums, Deerhoof still hold true to their sprightly garage rock sound. At this point, I’ve stopped wondering whether I’m going to enjoy their releases or not: just purchase and enjoy. Satomi Matsuzaki’s youthful vocals continue to be counterbalanced by other band members’ chimings-in, which lends the band broader emotional dexterity. Consistent, inventive and playful. This is Deerhoof.

9. Youth Lagoon - The Year of Hibernation

This series of warm-blooded broodings flickers best in interior spaces: hollows, hallways and nestled dens. However, I feel confident that, given the ability to embed speakers into the ground, this album would thaw my wintery yard over 42 minutes. As such, it’s been a grower for me over the cooler parts of the year, and its soft melodies have soundtracked many early winter sunsets.

8. Real Estate - Days

Can my catalogue possibly hold another guitar-driven indie band? Yes, apparently. A good jangle here, some wholehearted melodies there, and you’ve got Ways. Standout “It’s Real” is a top five song-and-video of the year both for combining its theme (love’s sobriety) and sound (textbook jangle rock) with the joyous memories of family dogs. These guys may be LATFH material, but they’re also a kind of Shins Light – and that ends up not being such a bad thing at all.

7. ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead - Tao of the Dead

It’s been nearly ten years since 2002’s once-in-a-decade burner Source Tags and Codes. Since then, the Trail of Dead have received a couple of second looks from me, but nothing has (nor could ever) come close to that enduring record. It’s time to recognize that even though they may never repeat that, they shouldn’t be expected to – and furthermore: this album rocks pretty damn hard and without some of the overwrought tendencies they’ve become known for. Rocking and getting rocked: this defines our relationship. That’s how it should have always been.

6. Wilco - The Whole Love

After a forgivable misstep in the eyes of many (2009’s Wilco: The Album), Wilco once again cement themselves in my mind as one of the most consistent bands churning out albums today. I keep wondering just how deep Jeff Tweedy’s song well can reach, cause he’s still pulling out gems (“I Might”, “Born Alone”). The biggest, though, is the 12-minute acoustic closer, “One Sunday Morning.” Like a 12-mile drive down a sun-baked gravel road, the scenery doesn’t change much, the sounds consistent, the hills rolling in rhythm, an apex on the horizon only opens up to more of the same, vast and unending. “One Sunday Morning” weeps softly with well-earned laments about religion, family and death. Nearly 20 years in, Wilco show no signs of letting off the gas.

2011 Music Lists (1)

Songs I loved on albums I didn't:

"Me Gusta La Noche" - Adrianigual (from Éxito Mundial)

Everything I know about Chile I learned from Adrianigual and this video. And Pablo Neruda. ...And Diamela Eltit. Ok, so I know some things about Chile, but this song/video opened a Whole New World for me. They pose a cross-cultural question: are these guys heroes of the uncool or just coolyears ahead of everyone? I always sensed that there was more behind the Latin music curtain, but never something so fresh and perfectly odd. Song and video of the year on a disappointing album.

Atlas Sound - "Mona Lisa" (from Parallax)

Expectations were high after Bradford Cox's excellent Logos (2009), and Deerhunter's stellar Halcyon Digest (2010). Parallax didn't resonate with me as strongly, but a couple songs stand among my favorites from his catalogue. "Mona Lisa" putters along sweetly for three minutes. The weightlessness of the acoustic verse and chorus folds nicely over a middle section of warm electric strums. Hits me right in that indie rock sweet spot.

Battles - "Ice Cream" (from Gloss Drop)

I'm overwhelmed by this band. Even at low volume, the sheer intensity of every sound coming out of the speakers threatens to deafen. At higher volumes, you're just bringing new epileptics into the world. With this in mind, it hardly seems fit to call "Ice Cream" a "song." It's more of an experience. As rough as the first 50 seconds are, they appropriately introduce the onslaught of noise waiting on the other side. This is aural caffeine.

Neon Indian - "Polish Girl" (from Era Extraña)

Alan Palomo apparently isn't the best of singers, but he's found a place for himself in the world of electropop. The futuristic video pairs well with this robotic jam, whose unfolding synthesized layers grow in warmth from an icy intro - aided by Palomo's breathy, falling melody. I like. The rest of the album's actually pretty durn good, too.

Young Galaxy - "Peripheral Visionaries" (from Shapeshifting)

I heard this song on a blog and found its infectious groove hard to shake. The soft pull of bongos, wavy synth, bouncing bass and some delicate riffage sets you drifting past a verse/chorus before soaring vocals and newer, moodier riffage takes over. Then a stadium-sized coda?? The rest of album failed to live up to this single, but Young Galaxy nailed this song.

Costa Rica

"¡Pura Vida!" says the teacher.

"¡Pura Vida! ¡Pura Vida!

Everything is Pura Vida!

Hear, oh you streets!"

The sun rises and the sun sets,

the ocean and the gulf nestle,

the rocks lie and trees wave,

the leaves grow eternal green.

"¡Pura Vida!" says the teacher.

"¡Pura es la Vida! ¡Santa sea la Vida!

Listen, you wanderers of earth!

Be understood, you mysteries!"

What is Pura cannot become imPura.

He who knows Pureza has Vida.

It was Pura long before the word.

It will be Pura long after all words fade.

"Pura, Pura, Pura es la Santa Vida!"

What I Know Now

This is an attempt at retrospective musical analysis, specifically to enshrine a few of the artists that I've recently uncovered that did not form part of my recent listening diet. The most significant musical landmark is Davila 666, a Puerto Rican indie garage rock band that flat out rocks. Following the release of their excellent album Tan Bajo this year, I began to peruse the internet for reviews and stumbled upon clubfonograma.com, a site that specializes in reviewing and promoting independent Latin music. A flood of new music soon flowed downhill into my eardrums, so I've only just scraped the surface of the thriving Latin indie scene that I've been wanting for years.

Café Tacvba - Cuatro Caminos (2003)

Released in 2003, this album plays like a time capsule of best indie rock of the past two decades. Often irreverent and straightforward, with an equal dose of genuineness, this album holds its own as a monument to off-kilter rock/n/roll Mexico style. The particular flair of the singing style affords enough versatility to be able to include such tracks as "Eres" and "Cero y Uno" in the same cohesive body. Fresh and accesible, I can't believe this album is almost a decade old.

Javiera Mena - Esquemas Juveniles (2006)

Her voice is weak, her style is shamelessly retro/hipster, yet Javiera Mena has a trump card: she means every bit of it. After my first listen through of "Al Siguiente Nivel," Mena's major single from the album, I felt like I'd heard an inspired, once-in-a-generation claim that I couldn't help but embrace. She stamps the end of the song's chorus with "This is going in the direction of my generation, which is going to move on to the next level," and, cynic that I am, I was helpless to oppose her anthem despite the retro overkill and synthe-saturation. She's got my ear. 2010's "Mena" wasn't quite as revolutionary, but it still makes Mena an artist that I'll be following for some time to come.

Cass McCombs - Catacombs (2009)

This album was on my year-end list for 2009 in the 9th spot out of 10, so it may seem strange to speak of it in the same breath as these newer-to-me albums. All I can say is that this album refuses to leave me alone. I walk down the street and find myself humming a melody, pigeoning my head forward and back to a riff, or concentrating on a specific lyric's meaning. It's a collection of songs that are sarcastic, clever and soulful, all while being just catchy enough to keep my interest - like that pinch of salt that seems to pull all the flavors together. There is a palpable world-weariness throughout the songs, leaking out through the restrained sincerity of McCombs's voice. Good song: "You Saved My Life". Fun song: "The Executioner's Song".

Odisea - Odisea Odiseo (2010)

These guys (this guy) sound not unlike a Chilean version of Scissor Sisters, employing plenty of hooky poppy dance-y "hooky dance-pop". "Cabros" is the single and standout, but there's a whole summer's worth of fun crammed into this one. Lucky I found it before the heat did this year. Now I'm ready.

On patriotism and USA soccer fandom

So I've never put on an american flag poncho, unlike formidable patriot Kid Rock. I've probably never bought a flag in my lifetime. The only times I remember donning patriotic apparel or chanting things like "U-S-A," are when I get riled up to see the USMNT (United States Men's National Team) play. This could be part of a larger series about patriotism in general, but I mainly mean to address sports today.

I own two USA shirts, one is a jersey and the other a vintage T from the '84 olympics in L.A., but I wonder: does this make me a minority in my country? I wonder how many patriotic articles of clothing my peers own. I wonder if they're ever worn, additionally. Part of me thinks there must be something wrong with that, but I'm also fairly certain that I'd fall on the "more patriotic clothing" side of the divide.

When standing for sporting events to honor the flag I feel strange. Two equally powerful thoughts run through my mind simultaneously: 1) Honor the fallen soldiers. Do it. Just think about them. Think about the suffering and how they contributed to your freedom, Aaron. It might not make a lot of sense, but just stand there and THINK. Think think think and think. Thank them from the inside of your brain. .....There. See? Easy. 2) You are opposed to war, so think about what the country means to you in other ways. Think about how hard life would be elsewhere, or something. Yeah, think about that. Get all of the cerebral frustrations out of the way and just think that this place is great. Think it!

You see, I have some misgivings when it comes to being proud of my country, yet I'll turn out for any USMNT match with a flag-bandana around my neck and a redwhiteandblue jersey across my chest.

In my time in Spain and the rest of Europe, I learned to speak Spanish first, even in the middle of Belgium where it was certain no one spoke the language, just to distance myself from the hailstorm of incursions and assumptions against me that were often the result of realizing they were speaking with an american. The man who yelled "Bush is Hitler!!" two inches from my face didn't alter my already dissatisfied view of our president at the time, but he did make me wish I were Canadian, if only for the normal conversation we would instead be having.

All foreign experiences aside, when I consider how much I care about the USMNT, I am reminded that my passion has grown because of the USMNT's underdog status. As americans, we're underdogs in almost nothing. How unexciting does the olympic medal count become when we continue to sit atop it? Isn't it more of a story when we aren't leading the standings? To reduce my/our patriotism or lack thereof to sports would be foolish, though. The reality is, for decades we have sat on top of the leader board of the world as well. Since Britain began to fade as a world power after WWI, it's been the U-S-A's party to reign over.

My lifetime has been an experience of this hegemony, and the centrality of my country on the world scene has only slightly shifted. Things may be changing little by little, but that is beside the point: everyone loves an underdog. My country hasn't been an underdog since I've been alive - neither in the sporting sense nor the political/socio-economic sense. The USMNT is one of few (and probably permanent) refuges for the underdog lovers in this country. There's just not as much joy in watching your country's teams accomplish what they should be able to accomplish at the olympics when compared to watching Landon Donovan bury the loose ball in extra time against Algeria at the World Cup. If we were once a nation that claimed the underdog spirit as a fixture of the american way (i'm thinking the Revolutionary War here), that spirit has long dissipated in almost every international arena but soccer.

So tonight I'll go wearing my shirt to watch the USMNT play Argentina, no longer wondering why I only bear these colors for this particular event: the spirit of the underdog still lives.

Words

In closing his chapter on "Corners," Gaston Bachelard remarks extensively on the spacial qualities of words. The Poetics of Space has been a very enjoyable read so far, and there's this small section that I will likely read and reread for years to come. So I'm gonna write 'bout it!

My love of words and language is still in its infancy. I have yet to learn Latin, French or any other non-latin alphabet language. This text put forth an as yet unimagined understanding of words that involves their spacial properties:

"The intellectualist philosopher who wants to hold words to their precise meaning, and uses them as the countless little tools of clear thinking, is bound to be surprised by the poet's daring. And yet a syncretism of sensitivity keeps words from crystallizing into perfect solids. A new environment allows the word to enter not only into one's thoughts, but also into one's daydreams. Language dreams.

...We find ourselves experiencing in words, on the inside of words, secret movements of our own. Like friendship, words sometimes swell, at the dreamer's will, in the loop of a syllable. While in other words, everything is calm, tight. Words--I often imagine--are little houses, each with its cellar and garret. Common-sense lives on the ground floor, always ready to engage in "foreign commerce," on the same level as the others, as the passers-by, who are never dreamers. To go upstairs in the word house, is to withdraw, step by step; while to go down to the cellar is to dream, it is losing oneself in the distant corridors of an obscure etymology, looking for treasures that cannot be found in words. To mount and descend in the words themselves--this is a poet's life. To mount too high or descend too low, is allowed in the case of poets, who bring earth and sky together. Must a philosopher be condemned by his peers always to live on the ground floor?"

Language furnishes our lives. It allows us to explain away the day, to communicate pain and to dissect the nuances of all that existence brings our way. The nature and function of language as a human tool has often kept me daydreaming semiotic theory instead of whatever I would have otherwise been doing. But to speak of words themselves as having interior space--that is, etymological, poetic and generally malleable space--is a strange yet completely understandable thought. There is always a past beneath the linguistic dust (the cellar), as revealing as it may be dormant. And often, we use words beyond their literal meaning (going upstairs), knowing we have taken a step away from the word itself, but afforded no other morpheme that both speaker and hearer could agree upon.

The final lines of the text are perfect in their explanation of the function of poets and poetry in the world. They are the great stretchers and shapers of words, the ones who furnish both our waking and sleeping dreams, and it is because of this that they may be the ones most worth our ears' attention.

My Favorite Albums of 2010 (3)

See previous posts for:
10. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
9. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
8. Women - Public Strain
7. Pomegranates - One of Us
6. Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest
5. Surfer Blood - Astro Coast

Part 3:

4. Caribou - Swim
I recognize that I am predisposed to love Dan Snaith's (aka Caribou) music. Ever since 2003's Up in Flames made me weak in the knees (read: ears), I've anticipated and mostly cherished each release since as if it were nectar from the gods. Swim threw me for a bit of a loop, though. I didn't anticipate the mutation of Snaith's song sense toward a dance-ier, more angular direction as in tunes like "Found out" and "Sun." What I've enjoyed so much about past Caribou albums is the saturation of melody. Songs like "Desiree" or the more psychedelic "Hendrix with KO" pushed the melodic elements to their limits. Restraint, or, perhaps more precisely, standoffishness, did not appear much in Snaith's repertoire before. Upon hearing the first single, "Odessa," I was skeptical about an entire album of this "watery dance music" (as Snaith has aptly called it). Later, after several listens through, I found that the more economical sound of the dance-ier tracks like "Sun," "Leave House," and "Odessa" left room for the more melodic-leaning tracks to stand out. "Kaili" swirls colorfully, growing and retreating, dancing between the ears, yet always spinning away. Listening to the "chorus" in headphones is an out-of-body experience, and the entrance of the saxophone near the end does inexplicable things to my body: I twitch, I shake my head, I squirm, I breath deeper... exhaling now - anything to FEEL all of this song. It may be my favorite song of the year. My hair stands on end; chills spring up and down my spine. "Lalibela" meditates further on "Kaili"s excellent melody. "Jamelia" reaches similar heights, climbing upward, surging chaotically before suddenly receeding. I cannot explain my connection to Snaith's music, but it almost always makes sense to my ears. It gets me, and I it.

Must hear: "Kaili" Other highliths: "Odessa," "Sun," "Leave House," "Jamelia"


3. Fang Island - Fang Island
"Fun" is not a word I have ever associated with shredding prog-metal bands, but there's no mistaking the significance of the distant snapcrackling of fireworks as the album begins: Fang Island are here to celebrate. Fang Island have described their music as "everyone high-fiving everyone." Pick any song here, and you'll listen to a moment or two that made me jump off my couch, whip my air guitar around my back, catch that air guitar and go down on my knees in total RAWK OUT MODE. It's an instinctual reaction. This album was made for guitar hero; it makes you feel like a rock star. I tried to control this response, but no: traveling with the fam in the car during the holidays did not stop Fang Island from sending my entire body into rock out mode alone in the back seat. Yes, I am 28. Yes, my parents asked what was going on, but I don't think the metal fists I showed them really said much. You try listening to this circus of high-flying guitar shredding, death-defying drumming and lion-taming jams. It's not hard to imagine the band smiling their way through all ten tracks. The only speed they know is EPIC-speed. Tenacious D must love these guys. Let there be rock.

Must hear: "Welcome Wagon" Other highlights: "Daisy (fav video of the year) " "Sideswiper," "Davey Crockett"


2. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Before Today

What a weird album! Why do I like this so much? At some point during my first listen through Pet Sounds, I remember thinking that I was experiencing timeless music. A scroll written in a strange yet familiar language was unrolled, explaining all the music that I had enjoyed and thereafter was to yet. The language of pop, or, a history and future of Aaron's liking music by The Beach Boys, it was called. Before Today isn't nearly as monumental, but it was a similar experience. Before Today is ultimately a pop album masked in its diverse draw of influences and styles. As some sort of artifact containing the last four decades of pop music, the album sounds at times like a corroded, thirty year-old battery which, having been exposed to the elements, has become a jumbled timeline. Some moments surface from the past; others point toward the future. The corrosion damage is ascertainable: fuzzy production, singers unconcerned with intelligibly pronouncing all lyrics, songs veering in unexpected directions, and the foolishness of the word "genre" to define the wash of sounds. The pop instruction manual checked out this morning. This oddball world that Ariel Pink has put to tape, replete with unpolished gems, centers on "Round and Round," a song that works as a kind of collage of all musical styles represented on the album. It's indescribable for me in terms of sound, so i can only praise as wonderful these partially decomposed songs whose pop souls show through the virtual decades of dust. I hear Stevie Wonder, Bowie and Talking Heads to name a few. Hear the past, hear the future. Hm!

Must hear: "Round and Round" Other highlights: "L'estat," "Fright Night," "Butt-House Blondies," "Can't Hear My Eyes"

1. Hot Chip - One Life Stand

I just said to myself: "I feel so warm when I hear this album." Wait, isn't this dance music? I have no idea. In my musical ignorance or inexperience, I've found this kind of music (dance? I'm not sure yet) to be alienating, often too distant in its precision to affect. So 2010 has shown me through a couple albums on this list that this music can have power over more than my spinal cord and hips. Where One Life Stand succeeds for me is in the welcome mat of hooks that unfold slowly, or spring from nowhere as if from a pop-up book. "Hand Me Down Your Love" throws jerky jabs for 1.5 minutes, and right as I'm reaching to skip tracks the tender, melodic heart of the song is revealed. The strings reach in and stretch our chests open wide. The title track is similarly standoffish until the two-minute mark when the song's bouncy lurch is replaced with sweet sentiments and molasses-thick melody. Stretch it over your toes when it gets cold. "Brothers" is also a standout and personal favorite for its heartfelt tribute to brotherly love. The song's mild verses are, once again, shot through as the song accelerates, but the sentiment grows softer, more human. It's a shift that knocks me off my feet even though I know it's coming. If there is an album this year that I would say reminded me how carefully to treat songs, it's this one. One Life Stand knows when to let them smolder, when to let them grow, and when to flip them on their heads. The dynamic of cold giving way to warm and vice versa is what has kept this album so fresh all year. It's season-less, or, maybe more appropriately, season-full, and the seasons of life from my 2010 have only proved its breadth.

Must hear: "Hand Me Down Your Love" Other highlights: "Thieves in the Night," "One Life Stand," "Brothers," "Take It In"

Hooray! That's it for 2010!

My Favorite Albums of 2010 (2)

From part one:

10. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (needs proper comma use)

9. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

8. Women - Public Strain

Part two:

7. Pomegranates - One of Us

I love this fruit. As an enticing band name that caught my eye (mouth?), Pomegranates did quite a number on my ears, too. The opening title track sonic-booms after a pensive first minute, propelling me spaceward where reverb dreams and guitar drones float along side me weightlessly: "I wish that I could just let go / I've closed my fingers way too tight on what I think I know." Yeah. I'm with you there, Pommies. Some tracks rock a bit; some tracks drift as looser compositions or transition from "song" to "song." I'm happy to simply categorize this album as "indie rock," even though the term is almost meaningless at this point. The term is a hurricane: all that radiates from the center interacts, blows, and...is, but the eye's a nothingness - a controlling but empty sign of the larger swirl. So, "indie rock" will have to do. I found much to enjoy here, whether it was a more beat-heavy rocker ("50's," "Prouncer") or a mellow, meditative dreamscape ("White Fawn," "Between Two Dreams"). One highlight, "Anywhere You Go," starts with a chest-thumping swell of yelps ("I can be / pretty desperate / about a lot of things / but all I want / to want / is love") before stepping away into a back story narrative of new lovers. The final punctuation of "I'll go anywhere that you go / I like you / I REALLY LIKE YOU!" strikes a wistful and anxious mood that lies at the heart of this collection of songs. It's heartfelt all the way through as a good indie rock disk should be, and that reminds of the bounty of life experiences that 2010 brought me.

Highlights: "One of Us," "50's," "Prouncer," "Anywhere You Go," "Between Two Dreams," "Demond"

6. Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest

Deerhunter make great music. This is no surprise as they and side projects have been in my top ten for three straight years. Good good good. End of story.

Highlights: "Don't Cry," "Revival," "Memory Boy," "Desired Lines," "Helicopter"

5. Surfer Blood - Astro Coast

Some albums here required no thought at all for me to love. For forty minutes, Surfer Blood let the pop-rock flow from them seemingly effortlessly. The hooks are bouncy, the lyrics contemplative yet light; all in all, the album efficiently delivers blow after blow of crunchy pop-rock. "Swim" is the most perfect example here: huge riffage, vocals in booming reverb, and a cheerleading chorus. It's simple, effective and air guitar ready. Rock on.

Highlights: "Floating Vibes," "Swim," "Take it Easy," "Harmonix," "Anchorage"

Top four this weekend!

My Favorite Albums of 2010 (1)

I've made it a small new year's resolution to blog more here - and about other things besides music. However! This is the fun time of year that I get to delve into music nerditry and talk about why certain albums made my ears have a great year. This has taken the form of a top 10 list, but in reality it's nothing more than an ordered catalogue of music that has worked its way into my life, invariably but somehow staking a claim on how I experienced 2010. Here is the first installment:

10. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

"Huh? -Actual thought as I read all the year-end lists from magazines, e-zines, friends, etc. So many of them had Kanye on top. Admittedly, I kinda despise the guy, but I guess we probably all do just a little bit. He's like me in a lot of ways, and that scares me. So despising him makes me feel as if I have control over those things. I picked up this album half out of morbid curiosity and half out of genuine hope that it was awesome. Well... It took a few weeks. Immediately, "All of the Lights" was a favorite, as well as "Who Will Survive in America," a brief segue track that features some passionate/bizarre Allen Ginsberg-esque poetry reading, but I left it there: content to be unimpressed. Something happened though: I started to like MORE of it. If you know me, you know I'm not into the rap/hip-hop that much. Even the most classic of the classics in the genre have probably never graced my ears. So there I was stuck in a car with people that wanted to rock this album all the way to Colorado (eight-hour drive from Nebraska), and somewhere along the way I let me guard down. "Lost in the World" was allowed to sound its anthemic YAWP in my ear, unobstructed by my resistance. Putting this album at 10 on the list is not simply a token acknowledgement of an album that so many others have praised. I experienced it and loved it in my own way.

Highlights: "Dark Fantasy," "Who Will Survive in America," "All of the Lights," "Monster," "Lost in the World"

9. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

Arcade Fire became, through Funeral and Neon Bible, many people's favorite prophets of the 21st century apocalypse. On this record, as Win Butler has alluded to, the band seems to step back a bit from the exasperation of earlier albums. I hear what Butler means when he says that this album is simply meant to be "from the suburbs," and not a critique of them. There is less satire here, less irony, and this translates to more earnestness, happily. "Modern Man," among others, communicates adult paranoia in more personal and less political ways, and Butler's quivering vocals have never sounded quite so hopeful and helpless as on the title track: "I want a daughter while I'm still young / I want to hold her hand, show her some beauty before all this damage is done / But if it's too much to ask... / Send me a son." It feels like Arcade Fire is ageing well. It's easy to forget - probably because of the emotional and critical weight of the previous two - that The Suburbs is only the third major release from the group. As an evolution of the riotous passion that Arcade Fire is capable of expressing, this album sees them move inward toward the more personal - away from overindulging the socio-political. For me, the inward turn produces some of the more poignant expressions of the corporate experience of suburban life. Artistic success does not lie solely in how convincingly the subject is rendered, however, so it's to their credit that they've conveyed that subject through this great collection of songs.

Highlights: "Ready to Start," "Modern Man," "Empty Room," "We Used to Wait," "Sprawl II"

8. Women - Public Strain

Haha... OOPS! I put a song from this album in my not-top-10 list! I know. That was before Women completely took over my iPod, car stereo, computer and the musical part of my brain. You must blame them for this! The first time I listened, I thought, "I loved one song (see previous post) and was bored by the rest." I heard a voice saying, "Give it some time, Aaron!!" "...OK VOICE!" I said. And, then, two weeks later: "Good GOSH, thank you, voice!!!" The thing is, I dont' think my first impressions were all that off; there isn't a lot to grab your attention here, honestly. But slowly, surely and unintentionally, I started to hear things I liked - no, wait... - loved. First of all, I hear so many other artists I love throughout this album: Sonic Youth ("Drag Open"), Embryonic-era Flaming Lips ("China Steps"), Strokes ("Locust Valley"), Velvet Underground ("Narrow with the Hall"), and Television (all over). But Women hold it together and are able to forge their own sound from these parts. The guitar interplay is one of my favorite parts, as the crunchy hooks seem to surface form nowhere. In much the same way, melody bubbles up somehow from the seeming a-melodic, and the atonal reveals its tonality. Much like the album cover, it's a blurry, dizzying blitz of noise, but there's still living breathing people behind it all if you care to pick them out.

Highlights: "Heat Distraction," "Drag Open," "Locust Valley," "Venice Lockjaw," "Eyesore"

A close few that will miss the cut this year:

Gorillaz - Plastic Beach

Vampire Weekend - Contra

Tame Impala - InnerSpeaker

Girl Talk - All Day

Favorite songs not on a top 10 album of 2010 (4)

A couple more songs from great albums that aren't in my top 10 list:

Joanna Newsom – “Baby Birch”

Beautiful is not a sufficient word for Joanna Newsom’s Have One on Me; it’s too broad. Beauty wears many faces. For example: “Baby Birch,” although beautiful, is devastating. My chest caves in four inches, my head falls: “This is a song for baby birch,” she welcomes. Be ready, my heart, you will fall farther, sigh heavier: “I wish we could take every path / I could spend a hundred years adoring you / Yes, I wish we could take every path, / because I hated to close / the door on you.” Some have speculated that the song is about abortion or a stillborn child. Could be. Regardless of the subject matter, it’s still a “nine-minute-ache” – to borrow a description I’ve read. Indeed, it has haunted me at times with the weight of its sadness. Although difficult to digest in its fullness I’ve known early on that this was a superb album, and “Baby Birch” fills me with so much of whatever it is filled with that I cannot deny how often I have carried its weight with me.

Liars – “Scissor”

The song’s basic plot: man finds body, man drags body to the car, body awakens. Liars have always seemed to gravitate toward the grotesque, but even when this is not their theme they manage to spread their dementia through the music. Take “Scissor,” the first track from Sisterworld. Here’s a song that, regardless of lyrics, would still sound fearsome, cowering and ominous. The minor-keyed chorus of falsetto-ed harmonies that opens the track is exposed as sinister by the lower, quivering octave. Even Billy Corgan opted for that softer, lace-thin voice at times, but it was rarely mistaken as a voice of comfort. So it is with Agnus Andrew. By song’s end, he’s the boogeyman once again, howling in the corner: “When I saw her blinking eye / she was a-LIIIIIIIIIIIIVEEEE!!!!” “Scissor” gave me chills all year. So did the excellent video.

Favorite songs not on a top 10 album of 2010 (3)

Take a listen to these tasty treats:

Beach House - "Take Care"

This album ultimately suffers the fate of being left out of the top 10 because I lost track of which songs were which after so many listens. As albums become more familiar, their parts should become more distinguishable in my mind somehow. In Beach House's Teen Dream, but for this nitpicking, I found a highly enjoyable listen, and "Take Care" was immediately and remains my favorite track from the album. Unfolding from simple verses, I've described the chorus as the birthing of a musical thought the song had been pregnant with since the first note. It's a wonderful climb, and one that you can almost sense coming. Often those moments that can be anticipated musically fall short of their anticipation, but this one surprisingly fulfills as the mood and music swell to reach the altitude of Victoria Legrand's bounding melody: "I'll take care of you / if you ask me to". Anticipation: fulfilled! One of the better album closers I heard; one of the better songs I remember hearing.

Andrew Bird - "Master Sigh"

I have to check myself here, because Mr. Bird's Useless Creatures was available beginning in 2009. It didn't receive its own release, though, until this October, which was when I first made its acquaintance. It's terrific meditative music to lazy away any afternoon with, curled up with a book or fast a-study. Bird's work has grown increasingly farther from my tastes in recent years since 2005's brilliant The Mysterious Production of Eggs, but with this sparse release, I'm beginning to believe again. "Master Sigh" introduces the meandering orchestral strolls of Useless Creatures quite well while indulging in a swooning melody accompanied by his patented whimsical whistling. Soon the string section pulls up the blankets, drifting into and over the tranquility, weightless and floating off into nothing. It's breazy, airy and charming. More of this, please, Mr. Bird. Plz.

More to come! Top 10 albums list coming early next week!

Favorite songs not on a top 10 album of 2010 (2)

Yeasayer – “Ambling Alp”

What a thrill this song was the first time I listened! The other times, too. The first listen with headphones was even more dizzying. The album didn’t live up to the promise of this, its first single, but geez I’d be satisfied to have recorded a song this sonically affecting. It almost elicits a physical response from me as a listener. I shake my head violently as the main thrust swoops in, mimicking in any way I can the thrashing and throbbing; I bob and skip to the chorus’s charge: “Stick up for yourself, son / Nevermind what anybody else done.” The sentiment fits well, but it will always be the maddening, chaotic rush of the first minute that brings me back to this song over and over.

Favorite songs not on a top 10 album of 2010

I enjoyed too much music this year to limit myself to a top 10 albums list! So here are some songs that made my year better but would be left unacknowledged in the top 10 albums format because the album they appeared on will not make my list. The song titles will have links for your (and my!) listening pleasure. Let us not grow weary of discussing/hearing/dissecting music!

Sufjan Stevens – “All Delighted People”

Of the three epic, 10-minute plus tracks that Suffy put out this year, only one truly affected me. “Djohariah” loses itself in cronky soloing for several minutes, and “Impossible Soul” loses my interest at the first instant the autotune creeps in. This one, though, Sufjan got right, and wonderfully so. From the chorus of ladies behind him, to the fitting tribute to and/or repurposing of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Sound of Silence,” to the variety of melodies that find their way out of the progressions, it is marvelous and thrilling for all 11+ minutes.

Women – “Eyesore”

On the strength of several tracks this album was close to making the top ten, so there is much more here than one song. “Eyesore” is a monstrously disjointed jangle, snaking through sections that seem melodically unconnected, which stand in for verses that eventually give way to the rockin' finale its been stowing away all along. The dissonance and atonality in some of the album’s tracks is close to intolerable – if not at least confusing – but when they put their minds to it, Women are capable of utilizing these more distancing elements to enhance, stimulate and draw nearer. This is apparent on the album’s closer, “Eyesore,” the most affecting song on their album Public Strain, and my favorite album closer of the year. I can't get enough.

More to come!

On clothing

Colossians 3:12 ...Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

It occurred to me this evening that clothing may be an under-examined aspect of a.) the human experience, and b.) the bible. Mostly the latter has interested me. So I thought about it:

Adam and Eve, if we are to take the book's word for it, fashioned clothing in a last-ditch attempt to hide the shame of the reality that they were human. The first humans, in the very moment they became human, found their most pressing need to be that of clothing - of a covering for what should not be exposed. Was it not also a shield between their real selves and the world that they now understood? Was it not a shelter from all that wounds and, therefore, did they not ultimately see themselves as the first wounded ones?

I have selected a verse above that also encourages clothing, but this kind is more ethereal. If this is the "clothing" we are encouraged to stretch over our heads and tuck in around our waists, what of the clothing that we shed? Earlier we are urged to shed "all such things as these: anger, rage malice, slander and filthy language..." We clothe ourselves also in these things, I wager, because in our minds they do quite a bit better at protecting us than mercy or humility ever could. I shield myself from others with pride; I am ruthless and grace-less because these qualities shield me from my shame, from nakedness. They keep me from seeing the mirror; they keep others from seeing inside me.

What if we put on these new clothes, then? How can I be shielded by gentleness, kindness, compassion? Are these not attitudes that make one vulnerable, more accessible instead of defensible? Which is the natural clothing?

We clothe ourselves, if it is up to us, with that which will shelter, protect and cover. Following the line of Adam and Eve, who taught us well, we cower behind malice, blind hatred and cynicism. Shame cowers there, too, and it is not exposed for its cowering. Our shame, which is that we are failures, that we are those lost flounderers who lay at the mercy of the world, is too much to bear exposure. We brace ourselves against that harshness with our own version of it, but inside are we not still beating hearts and wide, blinking eyes before it all?

Putting on new clothes, then, seems a kind of re-veiling of that vulnerability in such a way that it exposes us to all. And yet, in the end, all are also exposed by it. All who will receive that compassion, mercy, and kindness must too perceive their own selves as they are.

New clothes, transparent clothes, and now, finally, we have become who we were all along.