Some things that happened in 2008:

Rang in the new year at Sara's with Brian rolling down her backyard hill.

Gave a violin recital.

Went to ACTF and rocked the piano for Matthew and Tracey.

Student taught, and had a blast.

Auditioned for grad schools.

For the first real time in my life, tasted cold, nasty rejection.

Took Counterpoint with J-C.

Graduated college, almost suma cum laude.

Said goodbye to who will remain the coolest people I have ever known.

Worked for the first (and with any luck the last) time as a waitress, and met some crazy, fantastic folk.

Toured for two weeks with the Guard band.

Spent endless awesomely bored summer nights at Justine's, and Memorial Park. We had plans, man.

Moved to Minneapolis with Matt, Lindsay and Nate.

Paid bills for the first real time.

Started working for The Man at Gap. Then started a private studio of sorts. Then started substitute teaching.

Auditioned into a FABULOUS orchestra.

Saw Ben Folds in concert and screamed my ass off.

Saw Joan Baez in concert and my life was changed.

Saw Prairie Home Companion live and was... perplexed.

Said goodbye to Justine, the love of my life, for eighteen months.

Was promoted to Sergeant in the Army. Weird.

Found what will hopefully become my spiritual community, as it were. Solomon's Porch in Minneapolis.



I've done the whole "look through the journal and write down stand-out-ish portions" thing... so read if you like, more for my benefit than anything. Although, be warned that the times when I write in my journal are usually the times when I'm feeling totally lame and quasi-poetic. So take with a grain of salt, or some other better-suited idiom.

My recital is coming. Like the plague. The plague followed by cake and punch.

Update: middle schoolers have ADD.

When driving back to OC after drill, break, etc., I find the sight of the obnoxious orange water tower extremely comforting.

Saw Terror Texts today. Sarah Palsma is a goddess.

WHY do the gods of grad school think I have nothing to offer? Is Iowa SUCH a foreign country?

I ran out of peanut butter so today I had to pack a jelly sandwich.

It is strange and theraputic how messy my apartment is right now.

Although much of myself is throwing a complete tantrum, screaming through a sizeable amount of swear words that everything I've worked for in my entire life as a musician turned out to be a total bust, my long-suppressed inner legitimate adult is rolling her eyes and scolding me to get an f-ing hold on myself and grow the hell up. This is not the end of my life.

I think my greatest talent is transforming completely insignificant events into Shakespearean tragedies in my head.

I have yet to find an ail that cannot be cured, or at least ameliorated, by Adam Sandler night at Rae's.

For those of you who have not heard: John Hodgman is a GENIUS.

I have figured out that whether or not I'm a total cynic or a total idealist is largely dependent on how much coffee I've had.

Why am I so afraid of silence?

I like the thought of possibility, the idea that a person can live without detachment, with pain and righteous anger and with full, untainted joy at the simpleness of beauty and the capacity to be loved.

Why am I such a tool when I'm in Huron?

I think that life, like art, is pointless when it's not collaborative.

I had a dream last night that Barack Obama had a HUGE afro.

It is strange that God and Satan, these transitory, ambiguous concepts, are supposedly messing with my brain from outside, my inner monologue determined from without, not within. Isn't it more likely that God and Satan are just tangible conceptualizations of things that are inborn? Is the choice to follow God really no more complicated than choosing to do good things rather than bad? To choose to listen to the better parts of myself?

"The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits."
- Chesterton

I wonder if the person I am actually exists, or if I'm just a reflection of random parts of other people.

My ideals aren't my own. They're pieces of other people's long-developed passion that I've pirated to make myself feel more worthwhile. The question is, can they be made personal to me? Or in time, will they wither and die, leaving me an older and fatter version of who I was before I went to college?

I hate dormancy.

I want to go back to England, where the earth feels alive of love.

I cannot be an island. I cannot make my own life. I need to be part of a bigger picture.

The world is at peace when I'm here, Memorial Park.

I want to find where self worth comes from.

I wonder if there is hope for redemption. For myself, and the world. I wonder what it takes for people to change for the better.

"We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane."
- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

God, let me not wear my ideas like badges. Let cities live, and art save and destroy me for the better. Let peace be a verb.

Three cures for any ail:
1) stargazing
2) That Thing You Do
3) Joan Baez, "Diamonds and Rust". Belted out. From an empty stage at the fairgrounds.

Long-distance friendships are possible, and necessary.

Home is more a state of mind than a place. I do not need external affirmation of belonging, if I belong to myself. Wherever myself finds purpose, there I am home. In Steph's basement, in Kathleen's apartment, in my car parked full of my belongings, at Memorial Park, in London, Orange City, Huron, Burnsville, Chihuahua - there I am home, if I bring myself.

I think that Justine is a huge part of my feeling of legitimacy.

It is possible for things to not be a big deal, if I decide that they're not a big deal. For instance: muddy shoes on MY dining room table? Will this matter in ten years? I'll have to think on that.

Money is a powerful, legitimate force.

The reasons why four-year-olds should not take piano lessons are infinite in nature.

Excessive swearing isn't as offensive as it is tiresome. And downright embarrassing.

Consult with roommates before going grocery shopping, or you just might end up with eighty servings of oatmeal in the pantry.

It sucks to be on the receiving end of evangelism.

To God or spirit, or something more worthwhile than myself: I pray for discernment. I pray for peace, in every sense of the word. I pray for life. I pray for art. Save it all from itself.

I am the most destructive force in my life. Actually: the single most deadly enemy in life is lethargy. Lack of energy. Sleepiness. I am so sleepy. God, are your eyelids heavy?

I. Hate. Drunk. People.

I cannot register that Justine is gone.

Today I cooked for the first time. It was awesome and expensive.

I think that if Sara weren't here I would fall down dead.

I need to understand my own insignificance.

Joan freaking Baez is completely PROPHETIC.

God, I need you, or something like you. I need you to tear off my cynicism and let me see your beauty as you meant it to be seen.

I do search, but not well.

There is love, in me and around me, always, even when I can't or choose not to see it. It is there, and will be there, absolutely no matter what.

Today, the amount of love I feel is huge. I am storing it here for when I need it later.

There is so much doubt, insecurity, sadness, depression, egocentrism, cynicism, closemindedness in this world, in every person, around ever corner. But there is hope also, and humor, and betterment, and compassion. Which I choose today is under my control.

Hope is a gift. Even more, FAITH is a gift.

There is nothing not futile about physical intimacy. The moment lived, prolonged, loved, impassioned - but always, always over.

This is not life. It is an hours-long wait for a two-minute ride.







So there's THAT.

Also!!!!

Favorite music from this year...

As always, Beatles, Dylan, McLean, etc. to infinity they are my SOUL. But some new artists/albums I've discovered:
Iron & Wine, "Our Endless Numbered Days"
The Frames, "Set List"
Elliott Smith, "XO" and "Figure 8"
The Fireman, "Electric Arguments"
The Avett Brothers, "Live, Vol. 2" and "Emotionalism"
Jenny Lewis, "Rabbit Fur Coat"
Original Soundtrack, "I'm Not There"
Andrew Bird, "Armchair Apocrypha"
Sufjan Stevens, "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!"
The Killers, "Hot Fuss"
David Bowie, "Changesbowie" (guilty pleasure)
Snow Patrol, "Final Straw"
Joan Baez, "Day After Tomorrow" and "Ring Them Bells"
Don McLean, "Tapestry"
Cloud Cult, "Feel Good Ghosts"
Mojo, "Revolver Reloaded"
Wilco, "Being There"



Some books I've read, sadly can't remember all of them...

Flannery O'Connor's short stories
Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Breakfast of Champions, Slaughterhouse Five, Deadeye Dick
G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's
Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Thich Nhat Hahn, Living Buddha, Living Christ
Steven Hall, The Raw Shark Texts

Olena Kalytiak Davis, shattered sonnets love cards and other off and back handed importunities
Dave Eggers, What Is the What
John Hodgman, The Areas of My Expertise


That's all she wrote, I think. Yawny yawn, it's bedtime!