bruises by train

Not long ago, I was tooling around in my car and a Train song came on the radio. I really liked the song, and as Amazon would have it, the album was on super-sale just that day. So I plinked down my two dollars and have been enjoying it ever since. Today, I thought I'd share a different song from that album with you.

If I hear it correctly, it's two friends from high school who haven't seen each other in ages -- 10 years or more. They're catching up on each other's lives, careers, relationship statuses, etc. It's kind of a cute conversation, and they each have some big ups and downs to share. It's the chorus that I like, though. It refers to the "downs" as bruises, and it says that everybody's got 'em and they are what make for good conversation.

That idea -- that our willingness to show our "bruises" contributes to good conversation -- has been rattling around in the back of my mind as I get to know my new friends here a little better. As I share more of my history with people who haven't been around to witness most of it, I feel the weight of there being too much...too much drama, too much pain, too many seemingly bad choices (even too many babies!). I worry that my story is too much, and that I bring too much to the table, and therefore I am not enough. My friends have not once given this impression, but the insecurity persists.

This song has been a nice reminder, popping up in my memory here and there and speaking a sort of peace into the occasional storm of thoughts. It's ok, it's really ok; people will still love me, and I am not inferior...I'm even possibly more interesting! Pat Monahan is maybe not the calibre of spiritual advisor I'd seek out, but I do think he'd be a good friend (and, in my case, a celebrity crush that has lasted 13 years and counting). And with that thought, I'll leave you with this:

next best thing

I've been digging this funny, funky Sara Bareilles song lately. It's fun to listen to while unloading the dishwasher, perhaps the worst chore ever invented. Catharsis? I think so.



What do you think of it?

take me to your leader

After about 7 weeks of illness and healing, I'm easing back into posting here. And because lately I've been in a major music acquisition mode, I've got songs on the brain.

As such, I thought I would share with you one of the first videos I ever loved, by one of the first bands I ever loved.

Behold...

Take Me To Your Leader, by the Newsboys
(from back in the day, when they were awesome...dare I say?)



In case you were wondering, Duncan (Dunny) Phillips - the one on the hand drums - is the one I had a crush on.

boy you must be crazy

When I was in the third grade, my class took a field trip to an aquarium downtown. Or a fish store? Or maybe it was a swimming center. I don't remember much, just that there was water and maybe fish involved. I rode with a couple other kids with one of the moms. As we were making our way back to school, the kid whose mom was driving (Chris F, for my Res friends who might be reading) put a CD in the player. (You remember CDs, right?) It was music I'd never heard, by a band I'd never heard of. I liked it, mostly because it was Christian but it 'sounded cool' so - apparently - I told my mom about it. That year for Christmas, I received my very first CD: dcTalk's Free at Last.

This song is from that CD. There's a part in it where a girl says 'Boy you MUST be crazy.' I admit, I have been known to say this phrase, sometimes with the same inflection, on occasion (though not in the circumstances depicted in the song). It's amazing how some aural things stick with you for so long.

have a lovely day!

Check out this video for a fun dose of goofy 90s wardrobe and bad 90s music videos. Have a lovely day, everyone!

When I was in high school, I loved the song Lovely Day by a CCM group called Out of Eden. One summer I spent a week or two in Florida for a ballet intensive, and every day on the way to the studio my group of friends listened to this song. It brings back good memories and I'll still listen to it every now and then.