When I came across a memoir wrapped up in a series of mix tapes, I knew I’d found something special. Even though I had other books to read, they had to be paused for Love is a Mix Tape.

Written by Rob Sheffield, a rock journalist and long-time fan of pretty much any good music, Love is a Mix Tape is an autobiography of sorts. Each chapter starts with a mix tape — a listing of songs important to that point in Sheffield’s story. He traces his roots, telling the reader how music has always played an important part of his life. He talks about growing up as a Catholic boy in Boston listening to Zeppelin, a twenty-something listening to Pavement, a thirty year old discovering Missy Elliot. But, most importantly, he tells us how he met Renee, the love of his life.

It’s no spoiler: Rob and Renee aren’t together for long. They got five years before she died suddenly. I knew it was coming, and yet was still surprised when it happened. Halfway through the book, Sheffield’s memoir suddenly transforms into a reflection of how he coped with loss, sometimes through friends and family, but mostly through music.

Perhaps I took this story more to heart than most. After all, as a wannabe music journalist with a girl by my side who has drastically altered the playlist of my life, I get where he’s coming from a bit. Reading what it was like for him to suffer was nearly unbearable for me; I hate hearing what it might be like to lose my other half so quickly and suddenly.

I guess this was a book meant for me. It was encouraging to see that someone else keeps track of what he was listening to, and has found a way to use it to learn and grow and reflect from his own history. I hope I can find a purpose for my own history-recording someday as well, though I’d prefer for it to be a happier experience.

If you feel music, if it helps you to live and love and grow and reflect, Love is a Mix Tape is for you. Call me a sap or an over-dramatic fool, but love and music were meant for each other and this book nails down the idea like none other could.

You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

Ernest Hemingway

I don’t think I have SAD, or if I do, it’s a very mild variety. All I know is that when the fall comes around, my mind goes into overdrive, pushing me into a place where I analyze my place in the world.

Maybe it’s because school always started in the fall, or that autumn ushers away long, sunny days, but fall always brings about an analytical side of me and a sense of urgency for spring to arrive.

The combination of being in Nashville (where fall is much more obvious than here), seeing and saying goodbye to my girlfriend and brother far too quickly, a few dark nights and a few weights I carry on my shoulders, this time of year has arrived.

It feels like sitting in a dark room just after twilight; that period of time when you’re wrapped up in a book in an empty house, the sun is going down and it’s just getting to the point where you need to turn on a light or start a fire to continue reading. It’s comfortable, but slightly off-center. There’s a sense of loneliness, but while still knowing there is company a room away.

For me, fall has a soundtrack. mewithoutYou’s second and third albums, Ryan Adams’s Love is Hell, Neko Case, Joshua James. They’re all sad, full of thought and despair, looking back on better times.

I know this seems dark, but I welcome this every year. It’s a part of who I am, and it’s the one emotional season I am guaranteed to experience year by year, regardless of the circumstances.

Is there anyone else who feels the sadness of fall?

A few weeks ago my friend Molly and I made quite a bet.

We were talking about things in our diet that we don’t need. She was shocked at the amount of soda she’d had lately. So we decided we would create a bet to see who could go the longest without soda. But, strong-willed people that we are, we decided that wasn’t nearly difficult enough. This is when Molly and I decided that we will not drink soda or eat cheese for two years.

Why are we doing this? Because soda and cheese are two things with almost zero nutritional benefit and plenty of nutritional detriment that are a daily part of most of our lives. Soda is sugar and bubbles; cheese is sodium and saturated fat. The only argument in favor of either is that they’re good for the soul. I understand this, but if it’s hurting my body more than helping my soul, I’d rather find other ways to find joy.

Neither of us has any weight or personal appearance goals we’re trying to meet, though we are a bit curious what the end result will be.

Oh, and there are exceptions. We get two freebies a month for accidental or intentional slip-ups. Major holidays are exempt and other exceptions will be made on a case-by-case basis. Like when I meet my girlfriend’s family and eat her mother’s world-famous Italian food.

So far this hasn’t sucked too bad. It’s actually kind of fun to get creative, especially when I go out to eat. And it puts me in a healthier mentality generally speaking. I went to Subway yesterday and, because I couldn’t get soda, I opted out of the “meal deal” entirely and didn’t end up scarfing down some greasy chips with my cheese-free sandwich.

Anyone want to try this out with us? It’s a fun test of will power and hey, after two years, maybe your long-term desire for cheese and soda will be diminished forever, leaving you to be a healthier person.

Oh, and I should mention that the wager is that, if either of us breaks the rules, the rule-breaker has to get a tattoo of the other person’s choosing. Ba-zing!

Bonus question: should I do some quick math to see how much I spend on cheese and soda in a year and donate that amount to a hunger relief organization? Just a thought.

I’ve talked about Ramit Sethi a few times. And Twitter, too, for that matter. Who knew I’d cover both in the same post?

As a strong advocate for Twitter, I have to say this is the best that’s come of it thus far: after loaning Ramit’s book I Will Teach You to Be Rich to a friend, who subsequently had her purse stolen with the book inside, I tweeted about it and Ramit responded personally, offering to replace my copy of the book and give one to my friend as well.

If I weren’t a fan of his before, I certainly would be now.

Other things Twitter has done for me:

• Gotten a response about a technical issue with Mozy
• Gotten a response from Rhapsody that led to me being included in a private beta of the next version of their player
• Multiple personal responses from record labels and musicians that I respect
• Getting to know my girlfriend better before we started dating
• Learning the power of brevity
• The ability to track last year’s Los Angeles fires in real time for a friend who was visiting me while his family was facing evacuation

If you aren’t using Twitter, maybe now’s a good time to start.

So my iPod was stolen. I’ve only had it for a few months, and I really did like it. But I made the mistake of leaving it sitting in my car when parking it downtown for a few hours. I didn’t figure anyone in this town would go to the energy of getting into a locked car just for an iPod. Consider me proved wrong.

On the positive side, this thief didn’t take anything else or cause any damage to my car. And whoever it is gets a huge collection of really good music! For some reason I imagine a kid that gets into a locked 1998 Honda Civic to steal an iPod (and nothing else) probably listens to crappy music. Like Insane Clown Posse. Or Staind. I listened to Staind in high school when I didn’t know any better, but that’s another story

I haven’t decided this for sure yet — since my discovery of this theft happened less than an hour before writing this — but I might take this as a challenge to live simpler. I don’t really need an iPod. It’s a nice convenience, especially for someone that does music journalism as a hobby. But I don’t really need it. So I might see how long I can go without it. Any bets on how long I last?

If you had told me a year ago that I’d no longer be going to church and flirting with Anglicanism… well, I actually might have believed you. That’s because last year on Easter, I became an atheist in the pew of my own church.

Okay, not really, but close enough. That Easter Sunday, I sat in church and listened to the message given, as I always had. And yet, for some reason, on that day I heard a message that made me realize that everything I’d been taught had little ground to stand on. You want an easy way to spin into frustration and depression? That’ll do it.

Months later, while still harboring bitterness (some justified, most not) against the evangelical church as a whole, I decided I wasn’t getting any better. So I left.

And now, here I am. One year later, and my flailings and failings have tossed me into the last place I ever would have expected: the Anglican Catholic Church.

When I decided to leave, it was suggested that I look at the early church for guidance. Seeing the history of the Church might help me understand what the apostles and their direct-descending church leaders created. So I started reading, and what I found surprised me: the early church has a lot more in common with the traditional, liturgical church than any other church model I’ve seen or heard of.

So now, I’m dipping my toe in. The tradition is foreign to me. It honestly kind of scares me. But you know what’s funny? It’s the closest I’ve felt to understanding what it means to fear God, and what it means to embrace a mysterious, seemingly contradictory story that goes beyond our understanding. It took me a while to get here, but I’m trying (which, I think most can agree, even if you don’t understand or agree with the liturgical tradition, is better than doing nothing).

I’m writing this at one in the morning in the spare bedroom of a family I love dearly. A family who has shown me great care, given me much love and acted as a major sounding board during this frustrating yet fruitful time of my life. They are also the ones that have brought me here. Tomorrow, on Easter, I will be sitting with them in a pew, breathing in the incense, watching my good friend in a funny white-and-purple robe, stumbling over prayers read out of a book, all in great wonder and bemusement, because I won’t understand most of the ceremonial procession I’ll be seeing. And somehow, that feels more right than I ever would have imagined.

As many people know, I am extremely susceptible to inner ear infections. About once a year, soon after having a cold or some form of congestion, my right ear will cease all operations. I guess fluid drains in from the inside behind my ear drum or something. All I know is that it’s both painful and frustrating. What a supreme irony it is that a music freak should have a chronic hearing problem.

Being a regular part of my life, though, I have become familiar with the symptoms and stages of an ear infection. The worst part, for me, is two or three days into it, all the sounds entering my right ear get garbled. It’s like listening to a radio station that doesn’t come in quite right, or a warped cassette tape. But only in one side of my head.

Earlier this year when I read Musicophilia I was empathetic to the subjects dealing with amusia, the inability to recognize musical tones. Imagine hearing your favorite songs perfectly clear through one ear, and in the other it’s almost as though the musicians intentionally play everything just slightly off-pitch. It’s one of the most frustrating things I’ve ever experienced.

Maybe someday I’ll find a solution to keep these infections from coming back. Or maybe I’ll always be cursed for a week or two every year as a painful reminder to appreciate my most valuable possession: my ears.

2008 is almost over, so let’s have a look at how I did on my goals!

Read the rest of this entry »

On Friday night, Craig and I got to see Sigur Rós at UC Berkeley’s Greek Theater. It’s an outdoor venue and rain was in the forecast. I hoped it would hold off, but I never could have expected what actually happened.

We stayed dry for the entire show and were thankful, and the band came out to do a final song for the encore: Untitled 8 (aka Popplagið). One of their most popular songs, and definitely one of the grandest and most epic songs I’ve ever heard. As the song started to build to its climax, a mist started to form over the crowd, and as the song progressed the rain began to pour harder and harder.

Watch this video that someone got of the song. It’s hard to see the rain in the video, but when the crowd starts to cheer a couple minutes in, that’s when it started to come down.

Craig said I looked happier than I’ve been in a long time in those few minutes. It’s true. I might sound like a complete sap, but it was one of the most worshipful, beautiful moments in my life thus far. I still get goosebumps thinking about it.

Tonight is the night I see Radiohead. (And Liars!) It’s also the night I get to hang out with Leah and commemorate what would be the birthday of JD Rhea. We’ll both have goosebumps and tears for more reasons than can be counted.

The best part of all this, aside from having the potential to be the most memorable night in recent years, is that there’s a rumor buzzing that video of the show is going to be broadcast online. That means that, by next week, I’ll be able to find a professionally-shot video of the most significant concert I’ve ever attended that I’ll be able to keep forever. Now that’s cool.

If you care to get a play-by-play, you can be watching my Twitter for updates.

This is shaping up to be a wonderful day.