In reading about the latest wonder widget, the writer reminisces about comic book swamping and how all the fun of comic books was sharing, seeing what other kids had found, and setting their own definitions about what they were worth.

This article found a radio piece, filed deep under the clutter of the desktop of my mind, about how we experience music. By “we” I mean “the kids these days”, though extension to anyone over the target demographic is unconsciously implied. Also by “we”, I mean one, individual person, because “we” don’t do anything together.

We used to wait for an album to come out, anticipated maybe a week in advance. We used to pile in a friends car and drive to the record shop and buy (for what seems a pittance today) a - vinyl. record. album.  The cover art was as much the experience sealed beneath the cellophane as the music. Music, which, we would then go over to another friend’s house where there was a hi-fi stereo, gently crack and peel back the plastic, and listen. Together. We would listen to the album, from beginning to end, just the way it was arranged and ordered by the original artist. Then we would talk about the music, trying to express an ineffably incredible but shared feeling that welled up and made us connected, and hopeful. We found ourselves in each other, gained footing and took off; making our own music, our own art. We shared, we connected, we created.

Now we drive our four-passenger cars alone, listening to a customized playlist, a personally tailored internet radio station, or a genre-specific airwave transmission. iListen to iMusic with our iPhones while iIgnore and/or complacently iDismiss and iDistance ourselves moodily from the casual connections around music. We don’t listen together, we don’t have to. We all have cars and our own stereos and our own living rooms. There’s too much going on to hang out and listen together, but we’ve got them! We don’t even have to buy music from a slightly self-superior music aficionado, who, with a raised eyebrow, may nod or non-nonchalantly smile as he rung up your latest collection piece. {In my mind, music guy has a goatee.}

The connections still happen. They do. Sometimes it seems a little sterile, a bit less personal, smoke-like and intangible; we’ll always find new and fascinating way to connect.

Of course these are all imaginings, hued with the rosy lenses of nostalgia. When I say “we” I mean my parents’, or almost even my parents’ parents generation. I had a walkman.

if anyone asked (which no one has) if i missed the places i used to live, i would say no. No more than i miss the breath once it has gone out of me. No more than i anticipate tomorrow, knowing that the only realness… is now. I loved Seattle, with her rain and her high minded ideals. I loved Helena, my cradle. But nothing binds me to them, nothing keeps me in those places that were home once I’ve decided to go. I don’t regret that much at least, going forward and never fearing to look back.

but i do wish someone would ask.

It’s supposed to be a one or two word answer. Genre, Artist, Era… all appropriate categories of description. I don’t think anyone really has only one answer, but when asked it is usually a skimming over the top of preference. The answers to which may be as vague and as random as.. “Oh,  anything by Danny Elfman”, or “the first 4 Pink Floyd albums.” These examples are oddly specific definitions, but when asked, we want to give an accurate impression. I don’t want anyone thinking i listen to Rachmaninoff on the weekends, oh the shame!

I was asked by someone close what kind of music do i like. To which I first had to respond by torturing myself with this, my own question: is it an indecision or a lack of creativity to bypass discretion; musically or otherwise?

i thought it was open-mindedness, but it could also be an ambivalent dispassion, lack of commitment. Though I doubt this very much. Choosing music, what i thought was a handle people could use to identify you with, is some reflection of cognitive process. If your iPod is filled with the top 40 singles of the last 5 years, that might indicate a lack of creativity, a sort of droning trail of breadcrumbs from the car stereo to the door.  Or did you bail on anything popular out of rebellion and intentionally seek out the underground? Why? What did you find?

i was thinking about the very subject when i found this article on Curved White. I went into design because i love art as expression, but i love design as a high-minded concept of combining utility, intent and elegant form to convey ideas to more than one capitalist philistine at a time. forgive me if this sounds communist, but imho design - marketing, branding - is [useful] art for the masses. a brand tells you something about what it is you are considering. okay, we’re using it to advance capitalism… i’ll explore that another day.

Whether its pet food or a Prius, you are not meeting a stranger in a brand when you have heard its name and been introduced to it before making transaction. The idea is that you are meeting a friend whom you may trust, and not a fly-by-night gypsy caravan of questions. (no offense to gypsies - creative industry is essential to the market)

The point is connection. In every interaction is a tentative “Hi… what’s your name..?”; design in all its forms - ads, logos, promotional booklets, web representation etc - introduces with manners and stylized cordiality the crowd of faces in a way that organizes and tailors the meetings to your tastes.

My big idea is that if you create something, anything, with intelligence and respect for the recipient, you’re not just adding to the pile of meaningless pablum frivolously presented to the world. You might, in some way significant if only to you, change it. Just a little.

Reality: the ultimate killjoy.

She had a thousand pieces in her; he was only interested in the most obvious ones.

I can sometimes feel the rain.

… permitte-moi reves de plien courage et forte pour ma couer le besoin dan ces jours de difficultés et des troubles.