and the poets do push-ups

christmas at the cradle: filthybird

[Posted elsewhere as well; apologies.]

Since the mid-nineties, Justin has been saying, ironically or not, that this is how your first entry of the new year should always be, and so it is.

  1. tales of new year’s festivities I sat on the pineapple couch in my pajamas and drank wine and ate chicken curry and watched football and rearranged my iTunes and petted cats. It was sincerely old-person awesome.
  2. accounting for some unfinished business From last year: I saw 41 baseball games. I have 200+ hours of leave between annual and sick. Two Cow Garage made me an album that sounded like my heart. I saw 73 shows. I rocked dozens of list spots and press passes, and faked it ’til I made it with talking to bands.

    I struggled with people this year. I spent a lot of time in my own head, working really hard to be sane, and I was not always as good to my friends as I could have been. But at the same time, it’s hard to be good to people when you’re totally crazy. It’s a balance, a fine line, and I’m still walking it.

    But for all its faults, 2010 was actually pretty awesome. All the hard work I put in that nobody saw, it finally started to pay off. So that was A++.

  3. envisioning the year ahead I’m going to see more, new, different local bands. Ash’s sister’s getting married. I’m going to eat a lot of hot dogs and blog about them. I’m going to see 50 baseball games, god damn it, and 100 shows. I’m going to spend more time outside, because North Carolina is beautiful. I’m going to go to the beach more often. People are going to start paying me for my photos in currency other than beer. I’m going to get my work published regularly.
  4. any sort of resolutions I have a ton of specific goals, and projects, and things I want to do, but my only two resolutions are that I’m going to be kind, and I’m going to be awesome.
  5. an extended and unfortunately eloquent harangue i want to be in love like an old soul song/i want to feel like the second verse of let’s get it on
  6. a final thought composed in silence shep. is my partner in every crime but especially the ones involving creeping on bullpens, alcoholic shortstops, and destination road trips; Sid got married; the Axis, scattered as they are, remain my favorites, all over the world; cee, H., Michelle & Megan were my best brainstormers, idea-bouncers-off-of, cheerleaders; Art always had a thoughtful reply to my scattered messes of emails, and great taste in almost everything; Martha knows that every day is Brian Fallon Day; Pam is as crazy as me and it works for us; the greader creepers always make me laugh out loud; American Aquarium and Holy Ghost Tent Revival spent too much of the year on the road, but that doesn’t mean I love them less; and Billy Donovan keeps pooping, flopping, licking shoes, and loving me unconditionally in all his fat furry glory.

    I remain thankful, as always, for prime lenses, Yuengling Light, Glenn at the 506 and Frank at the Cradle, the local scene, food from trucks, owning a car with air conditioning, the third base line in Boshamer Stadium, fuckyeahgaslightanthem, idiot man children playing infield positions, Elliott Johnson and Justin Ruggiano, Long Island Night at the Pour House and band shots at Motorco, Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion, vacation time, Two Cow Garage and Suburban Home Records, and Townes Van Zandt’s songwriting.

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