He's Just Not That Into Phoenix

Last year when I recounted my favorite albums of the year, I lamented, "it's clear that 2008 was no 2007." I have since bitten my tongue. While 2009 did in fact birth an abundance of highlights, fewer than usual left me swooning. If for some reason you haven't heard some (or any) of these, see to it that you do--you can thank me later.

20. Bishop Allen - Grrr...

--As far as bands I've been turned onto this year go, Bishop Allen is among my favorites. They're hopefully dorky and unquestionably infectious. Serving quite well as my introduction, Grrr... epitomizes catchiness with adorable boy-girl harmonies, candy-sweet strings and a veritable grab bag of percussions, but it doesn't hold a candle to 2007's The Broken String. If these guys roll through your town any time soon, however, make the effort to catch them; they were hands down one of the best live acts I caught this year.

>>LISTEN: Oklahoma; The Ancient Commonsense of Things; True or False.

19. Islands - Vapours

--I've never expected much from Islands. Their first album had bright spots, as did their second, but neither had much impact as a whole. Even singles like 'Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby' and 'Creeper' have been relegated to the back shelves of my memory bank by now. A year after collaborating with Nick Guthrie last year as Human Highway, however, Nick Thorburn reignited my steadily dwindling interest. To say Vapours is Islands' best goes without saying; but in borrowing sparingly from influences like Talking Heads and Pixies on a handful of impressive tracks and finally making a listenable record from front to back, the third time really is the charm.

>>LISTEN: Vapours; Tender Torture; Disarming the Car Bomb.

18. Princeton - Cocoon of Love

--I'm thrilled to incorporate a little school pride into this year's list: twin vocalists Jesse & Matt Kivel and keyboardist Ben Usen are all Santa Moncia High School alumni; Usen, whom I got to know on the golf team at Samo, is also a fellow Arizona Wildcat. Affiliations have little to do with the merit of this much-anticipated debut LP, however; after amassing a solid resumé of EPs (highlighted by 2008's 'Bloomsbury'), these Santa Monica natives have put together a delightful scrapbook of breezy chamber pop. Rife with literary references on par with Vampire Weekend, and a sound somewhere in the neighborhood of a Jens Lekman/Camera Obscura lovechild, it's hard not to want to wrap yourself up in Cocoon.

>>LISTEN: Show Some Love, When Your Man Gets Home; Sylvie; Shout It Out.

17. The Thermals - Now We Can See

--A guilty pleasure of sort, there isn't much to these 11 songs that doesn't meet the ear; they're certainly nothing we haven't heard before, and more than likely constitute the greatest number of "whoahs" on here. Pitfalls aside, sharp hooks and rabid crescendos on tracks like 'I Let It Go' will get your blood rushing and your feet moving, and this in turn makes for guaranteed repeat listens. For a period where so many of us questioned our direction and longed for the days of being "sick" in college, this little gem turned out to be a desperately needed breath of freshly recycled air.

>>LISTEN: I Let It Go; I Called Out Your Name; At the Bottom of the Sea.

16. Noah and the Whale - The First Days of Spring

--What a difference a year makes: one year removed from gleeful Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down, Charlie Fink breaks up with girlfriend/(former) bandmate Laura Marling, takes a step away from twee pop brilliance and bares his soul on a breakup album. Even within the confines of sorrow, however, N&TW's trademark optimism manages to seep through the cracks at every possible opportunity. On standout track 'Stranger,' Fink opens with the most uncharacteristic of lines: "Last night, I slept with a stranger for the first time since you've gone" (it's even more unsettling to hear him sing this in person), yet within 4 minutes, we're back in 'Give a Little Love' country with the victorious chorus "You know in a year, it's gonna be better/You know in a year, I'm gonna be happy." While I can't say the new material translates as well to the live stage (they killed with a quick set from their first LP at Coachella in April, but practically put us to sleep with this one in October), Fink's dark side doesn't end up begging too much for listener sympathy--and when the catharsis is through, he walks off into the sunset, pronounced chin held high.

>>LISTEN: Stranger; My Broken Heart; Blue Skies.

15. The Avett Brothers - I and Love and You

--It appears I started listening to the Avetts just in time; I'd stumbled across Four Thieves Gone a few months before their latest came out, and boy am I glad that happened. Plain and simple, the North Carolina bluegrass band offers up a handy helping of songs about love and life, sung with sincerity over some perfectly placed strings and keys. "Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in/Are you aware the state I'm in?" are certainly among my favorite lyrics from '09.

>>LISTEN: I and Love and You; Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise; Slight Figure of Speech.

14. Decibully - World Travels Fast

--Hardly hot on the heels of 2005's Sing Out America, here comes another solid and beautifully haunting release from this ridiculously underrated Milwaukee band.

>>LISTEN: Prom Jam; Don't Believe the Hype; If I Don't Work.

13. Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - Up From Below

--Planning a trip through the desert anytime soon? Driving out to Arizona in the middle of the night couldn't have been a better occasion to first give these charmingly twangy, whiskey-soaked songs a listen. Kind of makes me want to invest in some boots and maybe a hat. (Jenna gets points for the introduction; she put 'Home' on a mix for me; it's one of my favorite songs this year from anyone.)

>>LISTEN: Home; Janglin; Carries On.

T/12-11. Girls - Album/Real Estate - S/T

--Ranking these two albums has been quite difficult. Hell, I can barely make a distinction at times. Given that I think of the two in such a similar light and that they share so much common aesthetic and feel at times, it's only appropriate to pair them together. Much like Real Estate, San Francisco's Girls have slapped together a remarkably simple, melancholy album of beachy compositions. Where Girls throw angsty Costello-esque vocals and sweeping synths over their surfy Pacific riffs, Real Estate offers a slightly more collected, cooler, crisper Atlantic angle with tastes similar to Yo La Tengo. While it's 50 degrees out and raining and I've never been surfing in my life, Girls have me convinced I should be packing a bowl and waxing my board. Real Estate, on the other hand, have me primed to sit on my imaginary porch with something stiff in my coffee and just watch the waves roll. Either way, looks like I win.

>>LISTEN: Lust for Life; Ghost Mouth; Darling.

>>LISTEN: Black Lake; Atlantic City; Snow Days.

10. Vetiver - Tight Knit

--Every now and then, you get sucked into a band or record that makes you want to drop everything, throw a few essentials in a knapsack and wander into the woods for a while. This, my friends, is that record. With everything from jaunty, toe-tapping beach folk to strutting funk to starry, atmospheric lullabies sure to enhance anyone's "go to sleep mix," Tight Knit pleasantly winds the listener along Pacific Coast Highway to California's central coast, the only problem being that when the trip is through, you won't want to leave.

>>LISTEN: Everyday; Another Reason to Go; More of This.

9. Coconut Records - Davy

--As much as I adore Jason Schwartzman and his cheeky little mannerisms, it's hard to deny--as my girlfriend points out nearly every time I mention him--he's kind of a dweeb. As his surprisingly funny at times yet generally boring HBO series Bored to Death demonstrated, he just can't carry the load as a leading man. Both on screen and in the recording studio, everyone's favorite Rushmore student is a bit of a remora; his presence is best when supporting something larger. Regardless of his musical ability--there's not much question there; Davy boasts a host of instantly memorable songs, several of which became B-sides providing one of the very few likable facets--the score--for Judd Apatow's Funny People--I'd never expect even the best Coconut Records LP (which this is, and deserves praise) to stack up against richer, more developed competition.

>>LISTEN: Any Fun; Saint Jerome; I Am Young

8. The Antlers - Hospice

While I might listen to a track here or there in the future, there's no guarantee I'll ever listen to Hospice from front to back again; the experience is just a little staggering. Intensely beautiful and overwhelming in every sense of the word, but staggering nonetheless.

>>LISTEN: The Bear; Two; Sylvia.

7. Bowerbirds - Upper Air

--Getting me hooked on a folksy boy-girl outfit isn't particularly difficult; throw in a crooning accordion and a cast of delicate, distinct strings, and I'm butter. Akin to Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago, Upper Air is a simple yet rare joy in today's vast sea of exorbitantly overproduced music: accessible, clean, and natural.

>>LISTEN: Northern Lights; Ghost Life; Teeth.

6. Foreign Born - Person to Person

--The Afropop resurgence just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it? Here's 40 minutes of endless summer from right here in Los Angeles, complete with colorful riffs and diligently layered percussion evoking everything from Venice drum circles to sizzling carne asada on Echo Park grills (or maybe in 2009's case, something savory from the Kogi truck). And who knows, with the upcoming Olympics in Vancouver, 'Winter Games' might make for fantastic montage material. NBC, get on that.

>>LISTEN: Winter Games; Early Warning; Lion's Share.

5. Deer Tick - Born on Flag Day

--One of countless bands I'm indebted to Jenna for introducing me to this year, we had the good fortune of watching John McCauley & co. storm the stage at the Joshua Tree Roots Music Festival in October. Given their frontman's pack-a-day rasp and gold-toothed desert swagger, you'd never guess these guys were from Rhode Island.

>>LISTEN: Smith Hill; Easy; Straight Into A Storm.

4. Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career

--For the last decade, Tracyanne Campbell and Camera Obscura have steadily carried the torch bestowed upon them by fellow Scots Belle & Sebastaian. Thus far, this might be their masterpiece; their If You're Feeling Sinister, if you will. On My Maudlin Career, Campbell, part hopeless romantic and part seething pessimist, lends her warm silky vocals and sardonic wit to golden orchestrations that masterfully evoke the ghosts of doo wop. After spending much of this past holiday season with A Christmas Gift For You, I can't help but hope Phil Spector got to hear this before he went to the slammer.

>>LISTEN: Swans; French Navy; The World is Full of Strangers.

3. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - S/T

--Some might argue the best publicity this buzz band received for their debut this year came from (what does he do? music? whatever) Jay Reatard, who oh-so cleverly tweeted about POBPAH, "The Pains of Being Boring at Heart." He's since carried on with a vendetta against half of Brooklyn's indie scene, had his own band members abandon him, and to the best of my knowledge, inspired thousands more who didn't give a shit about him to continue not giving a shit about him. Meanwhile, without RT-ing the situation to high hell and making cheeky "Reatarded" jokes (that's my job), POBPAH have already followed this acclaimed debut up with the similarly impressive 'Higher Than the Stars' EP. So while this album very well may be enshrined alongside a PBR tallboy and a pack of Parliaments in the scenester hall of fame in an a half-finished Williamsburg apartment, let's not ignore the fact that what we have here is a virtually flawless helping of trebly, unforgettable noise-pop that takes internet buzz bands into the next decade on a very high note.

>>LISTEN: Young Adult Friction; This Love is Fucking Right!; Gentle Sons.

2. A.A. Bondy - When the Devil's Loose

--Auguste Arthur strikes again! The only problem I'm having with the former Verbena frontman these days is trying to decide whether I treasure this LP or last year'sAmerican Hearts more. (Thankfully, I don't actually have to.) Bondy's sophomore album may lack some of the punch of his debut, but it allows him to pick up right where he left off--singing velvety ballads over watery guitars and sorrowful strings. In this installment, we find Bondy somehow even more at ease in his southern ether; and while individual tracks seem to stand out less here than last year's model, this gently rolling album is all the richer as a whole.

>>LISTEN: I Can See the Pines Are Dancing; A Slow Parade; On the Moon.

1. Andrew Bird - Noble Beast

--Every kid at some point dreams of spreading his or her wings and taking flight as a bird; Frankly, I'd be content enough to be Andrew Bird: handsome, a sharp dresser, and one of many things I know I'll never be: musically gifted. (In Bird's case, "gifted" is a gross understatement; aside from his ingenious songwriting, he's quite adroit with the violin, guitar, and piano. And then there's the whistling. I didn't learn to whistle (barely, at that) until I was in high school. While Noble Beast might not be his best offering to date (or maybe it is), it's another glorious contribution to a string of unmistakable opuses that have put him in a league of his own. As far as solo acts go this decade, I'm not too sure anybody did it better (or in a more fascinating fashion).

>>LISTEN: Effigy; The Privateers; Souverian.

Oh, and in case you missed 'em, here are my annual individual song picks. Happy '010, y'all.

with but a few hours left...

...my 30 favorite songs of 2009:

30. m. ward - never had nobody like you (hold time)

29. bishop allen - the ancient commonsense of things (grrr...)
28. the thermals - i let it go (now we can see)

27. handsome furs - all we want, baby, is everything (face control)

26. metric - sick muse (fantasies)

25. the avett brothers - head full of doubt, road full of promise (i and love and you)

24. the antlers - bear (hospice)

23. bowerbirds - teeth (upper air)

22. wilco - you and i (wilco the album)

21. princeton - show some love, when your man gets home (cocoon of love)

20. phoenix - lizstomania (wolfgang amadeus phoenix)

19. islands - vapours (vapours)

18. n.a.s.a. - gifted (feat. kanye west, santigold & lykke li) (the spirit of apollo)

17. david byrne & dirty projectors - knotty pine (dark was the night)

16. noah and the whale - stranger (the first days of spring)

15. camera obscura - honey in the sun (my maudlin career)

14. vetiver - everyday (tight knit)

13. deer tick - smith hill (born on flag day)

12. andrew bird - effigy (noble beast)

11. girls - lust for life (album)

10. grizzly bear - two weeks (veckatimest)

9. foreign born - winter games (person to person)

8. throw me the statue - waving at the shore (creaturesque)
7. akron/family - river (set 'em wild, set 'em free)
6. coconut records - any fun (davy)
5. matt & kim - daylight (grand)

4. a.a. bondy - i can see the pines are dancing (when the devil's loose)
3. st. vincent & the national - sleep all summer (score! 20 years of merge records)
2. edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros - home (up from below)
1. the pains of being pure at heart - young adult friction (s/t)

>>DOWNLOAD:
[1-15]
[16-30]

...now, for the real work: albums.

You Betcha.

10--wait, 11!--Possible Reasons Sarah Palin Resigned:



11. Fox News needs a weather girl.
10. Taking a little time off to work on her sports analogies.
9. Letterman offered her a job as a writer. (Actually, it was Jimmy Fallon; but that pit bull joke was just the tip of the iceberg, folks.)
8. Felt she needed more time to train for upcoming marathon against Barack when she realized he's "from Africa, which is where all the good marathon runners come from."
7. Troopers caught her trying to park a state-owned chopper in a drive-thru after shooting down wolves.
6. Russian coaches saw her shooting hoops from their house and they want her to play for the national mens' team.
5. Levi Johnston knocked her up.
4. Pressure from the "special needs" community, who felt they were being poorly represented.
3. Recently started listening to Michael Jackson; touched by the line "the doggone girl is mine," she really wants to meet the singer.
2. Todd took her on a walk without a leash last week; she defecated on former Sen. Ted Stevens' lawn and he called animal control.
1. Because it's summer, and that means 20 hours a day to drink hot blood from freshly slit deer necks!

Mother's Day

My mom is coming to visit for the weekend.

It's been a long time coming; I've been away at college for just a shade under a year now, so it makes plenty of sense that she'd want to come and see where all that money my grandfather left me is going. Since the weekend coincidentally happens to include Mother's Day, she's bringing Andrew along; it's a hallmark opportunity to spend a weekend with both her boys.

Saturday morning, I somehow manage to pull myself out of bed at 8 to pick them up at the airport, still hung over and dressed accordingly. My mom asks if I brushed my teeth, which is completely pointless; we can both smell what's left of a long night with every word I say. I drive the two around town, showing off all Tucson has to offer. This takes us up until about 1 in the afternoon. We grab lunch at East Coast Super Subs, and excited just to have a free meal, I take advantage and go to town on 18 inches of pure bliss (meatballs, tomatoes, mozzarella... the real deal.)

Given that I strive to be the cooler older brother that does nothing more than drink and screw, I've promised Andrew a party of epic proportions, so I suggest we head back to my place and rest up a little after lunch, which we do.

While my description of our party as "epic" is questionable at best, we're at it by 6 and we've got enough moderately priced alcohol to take down an entire sorority (not that this is saying much--a 30-pack of bitch beer will usually do the trick). We've got a dozen kids on the back patio playing beer pong on our hand-crafted and aptly named "Beer Down" table (the University of Arizona's motto and fight song make use of the phrase “Bear Down,” which, after almost two full semesters, I still do not understand), another handful in our immaculately-clean-solely-for-the-purpose-of-family-visiting living room (foreshadowing), and a few more in the kitchen doing shots.

Seeing her hotel is right off the freeway, which in Tucson (and most anywhere else, I'd assume) equates to dirty and loud, I've volunteered my room to my mom. I hardly feel it courteous to subject her to that mess. Never much of a drinker (even in college), she calls it a night by 9 and shuts my door.

I take my eighteen-year-old protégé-for-the-evening outside for a pep talk of sorts, in which I explain in brief, broken English the rules of beer pong, placing the utmost emphasis on the consumption of alcohol and the ut-least emphasis on rules. What starts out as a few friendly rounds evolves into in a complete forgoing of the athletics on my behalf, as I take to sitting in a foldable nylon chair best suited for corpulent white trash ass at a golf tournament and drowning my insides in Keystone Light.

Over the next two-to-four hours (several years removed from these events, this is still open to interpretation), I shift from beer to other endeavors, namely amaretto bombs. These taste surprisingly similar to Dr. Pepper (even more so than Diet Dr. Pepper!), and they go down just as easy. Normally, this sort of thing wouldn't pose any problem whatsoever for me, and it doesn't tonight, which seems to be the problem in itself. As the night unfolds, I fail to notice that while my brother and my friends Oliver and Eric are each taking turns racing me, I'm motoring through one sweet bomb after another. Before long, I'm riding Eric's wheelchair (with him in it, coincidentally) down our barely-wide-enough hallway and into my own room, where my mother is shockingly still up and reading. She brushes this off with a motherly shrug and sends us on our merry way, so I wheel us over to the living room. After all, boys will be boys.

I get off Eric's chair (and his lap) and sit down to make incomprehensible small talk with our friend Sara, who is currently in the early stages of what will end up being a multiple-year stint as my best friend Josh's object of affection. Unfortunately for the sake of the story (yet I suppose fortunately for my drunk ass), Josh is back home in Santa Monica for the weekend and doesn't get bask in this glory.

[Interesting side note: roughly 15 months later while drinking my way through yet another game of "never have I ever" with both Josh and Sara, I'll learn for the first time that I've stuck my tongue in Sara's mouth, which, surely enough, took place on aforementioned evening. In addition to this being news to me, the same can be said for Josh (and mildly disturbing news, at that). This is easily one of the three most uncomfortable moments since we've known each other... and we've hooked up (with different people) in the same room.]

Some hours later, I'm passed out on the couch in the living room as the party lives on around me. In vintage collegiate fashion (whatever the fuck that means), Eric decides (and justifiably so) to have a laugh by writing on my leg with a Sharpie. [Another side note: I only say "justifiably so" because during the prior week and under similar circumstances, I had passed out, piss drunk, in my bedroom with the door open. An hour or two later, I woke up, still sauced, sauntered into the bathroom, and realized what must have been fifty percent of my visible skin was covered in cartoon genitals, signatures, and improvised Chinese characters. From what I've been told, I stormed into the living room, where people were still drinking, shouted "look what the fucking cats did to me!" and went back to sleep.]

As Eric starts to scribble his name and what later appears to be half a Star of David along my calf, I jerk awake, and before I even have the chance to determine whether or not this is in fact our cat, I turn my head and projectile vomit all over the place. Now I usually try to abstain from using such generalities as "all over the place," but this occasion merits my diction, as I upchuck what feels like a good gallon or two of the most radiant red (presumably an intestinal concoction of tomato, meatballs and amaretto) I've ever seen upon our living room floor, our coffee table, our couch, myself, my clothes, and I'm pretty sure there is some airborne mixture that reaches the wall. In addition to this being the first time in my life (I believe) I've thrown up from the excessive consumption of alcohol, I also learn that I'm "a yeller" in doing so, which means exactly what you think.

The next morning, I wake up at 6. Piece by piece, I arrive at the following conclusions:

1) We need new blinds, because our current ones can't keep sunlight out for shit (otherwise, I might have been able to sleep past noon and ride out my pending hangover, which I've grown accustomed to on Sundays like football in the fall, or church, if I'd ever had to go).

2) I did puke last night; it's caked on our leather couch and I can taste it on the back of my teeth. Ain't that some shit.

3) Somehow, our living room is spotless, or at least close. Either way, no vomit, no beer cans, no liquor bottles. I immediately realize there was only one person sober enough (or at all, for that matter) last night to take care of it.

I struggle to sit up and rub my aching face. I've got four voicemails and a couple text messages, all of which will inevitably shed a little light or provide insight on a common subject that I can hardly remember. The first one is an excited and practically—no, shouting Josh: "Dude, Oliver just called! He said you th--" I hang up. My stomach starts to turn and I run to hug the toilet once more. (See? At least I cuddle the morning after.)


Some hours later we're celebrating Mother's Day in the equivalent of a less extravagant Coco's in a strip mall at the corner of Grant and Euclid. I can barely sit up in the booth, and there's a singing clown who's got to be damn near 70 working his way around the restaurant, making balloon animals. Andrew can't keep a straight face and my mom stares at me like we've never met. With what I can't tell is either disappointment or maternal affection, she reminds the both of us (me) how fortunate we are to have a mother who will clean up vomit. I silently note that of the 21 Mother's Days I've been a part of, this is by far the most memorable.

Love you, Mom.


(written in 2007.)

january 13: smil-e

when i woke up this morning, i stepped out onto the balcony (where else?) and it didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that it was simply too warm for a mid-january morning for me to spend the day in the apartment pretending to be productive.

how my train of logic led to the place it did is still a bit of a mystery to me, but i went up on the roof, scoured the horizon to see if there was still snow on the mountains, and figured that at this rate, there probably won't be snow around much longer, so i hopped in the shower at set off around noon. after all, the last time i played around in the snow was probably a good four years ago, when i drove up to mt. lemmon outside of tucson with katie and whitney. (come to think of it, i really miss mt. lemmon. and the pie. mmm.)

by 1:30, i was up at mt. baldy slipping around on the ice and making a silly excuse for snowman which, with a little imagination, vaguely resembles a combination of myself and wall-e. (well, that's what i was going for.) i've still yet to take into consideration the necessity of gloves for this type of activity, so my hands lacked any sensation for a few minutes shortly thereafter. nonetheless, it was so incredibly worth it. (not to mention the fact that i was back in time for the 3pm sportscenter.)

it's little excursions like this (and leo carrillo, and whatever absurd adventures i come up with next) that make me so glad i decided to stay in los angeles; sure, i had to drive through an hour of pure nothingness between the westside and the base of angeles national forest, but the moment i hit mt. baldy drive and curved my way up and into the mountains, i'd completely forgotten where i was.

• distance from my bed: 62 miles

january 5: jackson pollock study from the balcony

after a blurry night of all-you-can-eat brazilian meat and veggies, magnums of cab, and a series of high stakes pool involving shots of absolut los angeles as punishment for scratching (we still have zero clue how this vile bottle came into our possession), i wrote the following on alex's facebook wall this morning:

"so. i got hammered drunk last night. surprising, i know. pretty certain i'm still incapable of operating heavy machinery. i'm sure justin can fill you in with sufficient play-by-play.

anyway, when i woke up this morning, i didn't remember shit, but i was pretty convinced i'd puked. upon checking our bathrooms and kitchen and my laundry, however, i couldn't find any evidence; and seeing my mouth tasted surprisingly fine, i just shrugged it off and figured i'd dreamt the whole thing up.

just now, i stepped out on my balcony to have a cig, looked down at the alley, and found more than enough purple evidence."

disgusting, yes. and yes, our alley neighbors were probably less than thrilled to be treated a veritable aria of bodily sounds (i'm a "yeller") somewhere around midnight. frankly, i'm deeply apologetic toward anyone who even read any of that.

i suppose what troubles me most--aside from the fact that i'm apparently 26 going on 21 and throwing up from my second floor balcony--is how, in this time of crisis, i opted for the balcony over my bathroom. given, the former is attached to my room and closer to the side of my bed i sleep on... but we're talking a difference of maybe six steps here (four or five, if i'm hurrying, which i'd imagine i was).

clearly, all the quality time i've spent out there these last couple weeks is starting to rub off on me.

• distance from my bed: 10 feet

january 1: salutations

shortly after returning from a week of substance-induced, photographic bliss in new york last year, i decided to try my hand at taking a new shot every day for as long as i could, my ultimate goal being a year.

given, the project turned out some memorable work and i fell back in love with the art of taking (and in some cases, making) photographs, but i only made it 84 days. (after returning from the middle east immensely satisfied yet completely drained, my focus had turned to other things and i suppose i found my surroundings here in los angeles less than inspiring.)

that being said, this is round two. here's to making it to 2010!

(woohoo, no leap year.)

• inspired by noah's 'man bites world' approach, i'll be including the distance i traveled from my bed to take each photo... so... 10 feet. go get 'em.

9 resolutions for '09:

1. find my muse.
2. (over)think less; do more.
3. learn more about my faith.
4. appreciate everything and everyone around me more.
5. get my act together and find a little direction.
6. finish what i start.
7. get back into the shape i was in two months ago.
8. treat my lungs with a little more respect.
9. visit a new country.

oh, and get new curtains.


8 years bonus time and counting...