Paper swatch books. Appalachia. The sounds of stringed instruments, the act of drumming. Fall wind. Camp fires. Tubing. Architectural theory. Perspective. Mid-90's bands. Constraints. Friends. Painted type peeling off of brick. Road trips. Adrenaline. 20/20 vision, which I no longer have. Brewing.
Whoever wrote this: "Clouds are high-flying fogs. I am not sure how clouds get formed. But the clouds know how to do it, and that is the important thing. Clouds just keep circling the earth around and around. And around. There is not much else to do."
Recently it's been Hex, Sweep the Leg Johnny, Breaksea Caravel, Dark Dark Dark, Marnie Stern, Pat Benatar, the Unread stuff, Lightning Bolt, Hank Williams, Snake Apartment, frail, Double Dagger, Government Issue...and the Talking Heads = perfect summertime music.
The commentary-track on the re-issued version of Road House. Nothing is better. No joke. Not even ironic joke.
A Thousand Splendid Suns was excellent, though it may damage the weak of heart. I'll probably finish The Omnivore's Dilemma someday when I get over feeling disgusted with corn byproducts.
My grandfather.