blog.big-woop.com

I thought of something today, and it made me very happy. But was it a great idea? An invention? A set of words that, when strung together, made me smile? Some amazing, as-yet unwritten movie? Another cogent simile? The name of that kid I went to pre-school with? The word fluffy? Bacon? Cheese? Lyrics, drugs, or photos?

It was only there for an instant, and it felt foreign and exciting and new, but somewhere along the course of my day, the thought was sucked from my brain. And now I can't remember.

Also, this is one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

It's time for the 2004 Zeitgeist! The year-end compendium of things that, in some way or another, found their way onto my list of things experienced—and enjoyed—since the year's onset. So we have...

...in music: The Streets, A Grand Don't Come For Free; Heiruspecs, A Tiger Dancing; Jeff Austin & Chris Castino, Songs From The Tin Shed; Beastie Boys, To The 5 Boroughs; Lyrics Born, Later That Day; Simple Kid, 1; Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News; The Music, Welcome To The North; Ted Leo & The Pharmacists, Shake The Sheets; David Byrne, Grown Backwards

...in film: Collateral; The Incredibles; The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou; Napoleon Dynamite; Touching The Void; Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle; Garden State; Dawn Of The Dead; Fahrenheit 9/11; Anchorman

...in print: The Fortress Of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem (2003); Strange Days, Dangerous Nights by Larry Millett; Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris; Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss; "The Promise Of Something" by Cheryl Printup (2003); Ex Libris by Anne Fadiman; "The Futile Pursuit Of Happiness" by Jon Gertner (2003); "We Have A Pope!" by Christopher Buckley (2003); "Secret Names" by David Mamet (2003); "Screenwriter" by Charles D'Ambrosio (2003)

Okay... I haven't actually seen The Life Aquatic yet, but first, I know I'll love it, and second, I didn't actually see that many great movies this year, as is obviated by the presence of the likes of Anchorman and Harold & Kumar, which, though fantastic films, aren't exactly the kind of brass-garnering ones I'd generally feel comfortable putting on a list of movies enjoyed by myself over the course of this spin 'round.

And the books? And the articles? Here's the thing... I don't read that much. At least not outside of those time-consuming, mind-blowingly expensive tomes prescribed to me by professors in whose classes, it turns out, I may have not done so well after all. So do not add to that list the several thousand pages on Museum Studies, Modern Art, Stagecraft and Sociology that I misread and bungled along the way this semester.

Mom broke her ankle.

The wind hits my window in just such a way so as to perpetually whistle and whine. And when the leaking, whistling, whining, frigid air finds its way through blankets and sheets to the surface of my skin, it's as if skeletal fingers were tearing me from beneath the film of sleep. In fact, I woke just now to one of these jets of deathly, chilling cold.

This weekend my girlfriend's parents came to see their daughter perform in the school's Symphony Orchestra. So I was thrust into uncomfortable silences and chairs at too-small tables. Mom's a librarian. Dad's in equipment rental. They're both wonderfully entertaining and interesting people; I actually had a lot of fun, and a pair of decent meals, for a change.

A handful of my pals performed in each of the big student recitals this weekend, both of which were phenomenal. I've found myself humming Miles or Holst or The Average White Band ever since.

Last week I gave my presentation on photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson, and have been contemplating his theories and compositions quite a bit. This has led me to realize how much I miss the open expanses of time I once had at my disposal, during which I would meander about, carefree, camera in hand, snapping whatever caught my fancy. Now, the camera sits unarticulated and stagnant, and all I see are decisive moments passing uncaptured.

But I'm not doing anything tomorrow.

The semester and year are almost over. How did this happen?

Now I'm through with classes and a five-week break from academia is fast approaching. Most of this time will likely be spent lying in bed and lounging in chairs and couches. The snow will fall and the wind will howl; the jazz station all soft pianos and brushes across snares. The brass a soundtrack for streets and highways, viewed through a windshield obscured by the residue of winter salt.

Let's go sledding.