Under a Black Rainbow

John Minchillo / AP I've been trying to avoid posting things that are personal to me at the moment - no new mixes, no new writing, no nothing - in an effort to keep the conversation on the protests revolving around the death of George Floyd (and numerous others in the last several months). I've been firmly focused on the events happening in my own downtown area, as well as those of other cities across the country (and the world, at this point!). But I think this is an important thing to speak on, if only because I'm sure others are feeling it too. When I moved into this apartment right before quarantine, I thought I was mentally prepared to be cooped up until August. In fact, I told my coworkers that's how long I thought it would probably last and that I was ready for it. I moved into this new place because it had a (tiny) gym and a pool and teh apartment was spacious enough for my current needs. I expected to be bunkered up with my books and my vinyl and my movi...

My sleep has been absolute garbage for a while now. Previously, there's been a pattern of going to bed at a relatively normal hour (for me) around 10 or 11 and then waking up around 4 or 5 to get an early start on the day the way I tend to do. Recently, however, I'll fall asleep and then be awakened an hour or two later, shaken awake out of some chaotic fever dream, most of which I've forgotten, but this week's have been vivid and memorable for some unknown reason. A single moment in one found me in the middle of an important test, one that I'd studied for, but for which I found myself woefully unprepared. I could feel the immensity of my anxiety even in the dream state. Another moment found me outside on a tarmac, watching this behemoth of a machine composed of rusting metal; copper, steel, brass. All kinds stitched together with what seemed like bad soldering and frayed shoelaces. It was a monstrosity of machine parts, many of which looked like the nose o...

This is pretty new territory for literally all of us. It's mad weird and I don't believe there's a single guidebook for us to follow. Suffice it to say, I am probably handling all of this poorly. Last year did not end great for me. In fact, if I could erase the majority of the second half of the year, I'd be thrilled. Alas, it remains clinging to me because that's how the past works. I am seven months on from my father's passing and I believe he's not been grieved properly. Then again, the more I turn the events of my last visit with him months previous over in my head, it feels like we both knew that was it, that our time had come to a close. I don't know; I can't speak for him, but that's just how it felt. I'm guessing plenty of that has snowballed into this current moment. Professionally, I'm in the best headspace I could possibly be. I continue to enjoy the luxury of working from home right now and my confidence with my posit...

I should start off by saying that clearly the other senses also elicit strong reminiscences of time and place throughout the backlog of our personal timelines. They're all innately tied together. I don't think one is more important than any other, only that we are wired (depending upon our lifelong interests) in favoring one over the others, who all end up playing roles. I don't have any interest in discussing the science of it, only in discussing the very real and tangible (to me) aspect of it. But for me, music is the strongest one. I've played the violin, the bass guitar, become a DJ. I was the cliche of a child who made mixtapes from the radio, recording my favorite songs when they came on and hoping the DJ wouldn't cut off the end with their incessant and unnecessary ramblings. There was a radio show on the hard rock channel in Oklahoma City called "The Seventh Day." Every Sunday night, they'd play seven heavy rock or metal albums in their en...

This may feel a little scatter-brained, so apologies in advance. I believe a textual sprawl is about happen. By the end of November of last year, I really thought the worst was over, that things could not possibly deteriorate into a space worse than the headspace I had found within myself. That was incorrect. Perhaps I was simply too busy with life and its actual momentum (and its potential momentums) to allow myself the necessary moments to stop and simply breathe. Perhaps I had been more focused on the pain and suffering of those around me to really allow myself a moment to truly take stock of where I was and how I was doing. For all intents and purposes, I myself am doing much better than I was six months ago. A sick mother, a dead father, a dear friend on the run from her own very real demons - these were the things taking up space in my head. Some of that lingers, but it should be stated that I am perfectly fine and that I thrive in quiet moments like this. But as my own...

It’s rare that we get to witness the happening of someone or some event and know that it’s the beginning of a fundamental shift in that particular industry or part of time. Season 6, episode 18 of “Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations” titled “Where it All Began” is one of those lucky time capsules. It's been a year and a half since his suicide and it’s weird to not have new episodes of this or “The Layover.” It’s weird to not get his regular patios of “Gonzo journalism” meets punk rock “fuck you” meets dining of all social castes. For me, everyone else who’s attempted this kind of culinary reporting pales in comparison to his style and approach to illuminating the unbreakable bonds that exist between the history of nations, the blending of their taste buds, and the politics of their region. Whether you agreed with his personal politics or not, it’s hard to disagree that he made those connections clear with every episode. But with this one…this is the sheen of a fresh-face...

What started out as something I believed to be a minor experience exploded into a full on thing, which tends to happen when I latch on to a new passion.  And it's not that putting a record collection together is a new thing for me; I sold (most of) my entire collection of nearly 5,000 records back in 2009 in order to move to San Francisco for grad school. And I gotta tell ya, that was the dumbest thing I ever did. Not because of how much some of those records are worth now, but because of how much it would cost me to put some of those records back into my collection. Some of my favorite albums (particularly those by the People Under the Stairs and Massive Attack's "100th Window") are now very nearly cost-prohibitive as to be almost unattainable.  So I've started over. Not quite from scratch as I kept about 50 or 60 records back; the important ones I didn't want to part with for one reason or another. But my approach to buying is different than it us...