Tales From This Side

**Cross-posted from ADT Music **  Song:  Trinity Road ( listen ) Album:  Chapter Eleven (1995) ( listen ) Artist:  Michael Lee Firkins I'm a sucker for a lot of things: baroque writing, painfully arduous hikes, and really, really hot salsa, to name a few.  Although this song is none of those things, it is something else that I'm an absolute sucker for:  melodic guitar music.  I tend to like music that was once cool (like 70's guitar rock), music that has never been cool (like progressive, conceptual rock), and most certainly music that would get any red-blooded male laughed at in a biker bar (like the sort of guitar balladry that Joe Satriani and Steve Vai have become semi-famous for). Michael Lee Firkins falls into step with this latter group of musicians for writing complex, guitar-based, instrumental music.  The origins of this "genre" are oftentimes attributed to Joe Satriani, who first made a ...

It seems to me that the fellow with Pornstar emblazoned upon his shirt seems least likely to be one in a starring role; That the girl with Love boldly across her chest seems not to love me looking at her; That the seat in the pants labeled Juicy is really a bit more than overripe. Would he be less or more if the Chinese tattoo that he thinks says Loyal actually said Lonely ? Would you know that the calluses on her fingertips said that she played the guitar every Friday night; That the sawdust on his pant leg said that he worked with his hands; That the faded, green t-shirt on sale at the Salvation Army fit snugly over a label once, but that he outgrew it? I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman, You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can.

The sun was already well beyond its afternoon zenith, shining brightly off the distant waves, when Lonnie showed up.  She glided around the edge of the patio fence, her lower body hidden.  I was sitting at a small table – only two seats – facing out, away from the restaurant’s porch, and she waved and smiled, mouthing a “Hello, Davey!” even though she was only a few feet away.  Her wave was childlike, a rapid flutter of fingers, bending from the knuckle.  I smiled back, involuntarily. Lonnie stepped onto the porch and crossed the patio to my table.  Each step of her platform heels clacked against the stone, announcing her arrival, and her leather shoulder bag bounced off her hip in time with her footsteps.  Long waves of blonde hair fell from her head, cascading over and around her chest, wreathing her slim figure in a moving frame.  As she got close to the table she mimed a sprinter’s dash, in place, and her deep blue, tight fitting jeans scuffed ag...

Under the sterile, white, neon lights, everything seemed to jump out at the young man.  Under the sun, with the movement between light and shade, there were depths and dimensions.  Here, however, in the store, it was more like a single plane; only the loudest colors, the most garish statements, had any chance of standing out.  Buy One, Get One Free! (it had yellow, serrated edges); 20% Off This Entire Shelf! (the green background made the red letters appear to shimmer). The man dragged himself down the flatness of the aisle, eyes catching on sign and display, until he reached the notebooks.  Spiral ring, college ruled; 1 subject, 3 subject, 6 subject; 3 pack, 6 pack, 10 pack, each wrapped in cellophane.  The man thought about his uncle.  He had always said that he was a writer, though he didn’t seem to write very much.  The man was a boy, flipping through his uncle’s notebook, 6 subject.  His uncle coughed while he spoke.  “What a waste ( c...

Much has been said about this, one of Twain's less well known texts, regarding allusions to the divided America of Twain's age: the knight-errantry of Camelot that Twain derides is a mirror of the proud and genteel American south; the pitiable English slaves are a thin disguise for Twain's contempt for American slavery; the inevitable routing of Camelot by the rational protagonist's forces lay bare Twain's notion that the old customs of the American south were doomed to failure. However, where Twain's most famous work - The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - is almost entirely dedicated to the moral dilemmas of the north/south conflict, A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court puts on display many other bits of Twain's multi-faceted persona. Anyone familiar with Twain's personal history will know that he was an unrepentant gambler of funds when it came to investing in new ideas and inventions. Unfortunately, history proves Twain's busines...

As far as novels goes, it would be easy to dismiss this book. It is virtually plot free, lacks character development of any note, and verges on tedious repetition in many areas. To treat it as a novel, however, would be an error. Ishmael is designed as a Socratic dialogue and as such is never intended to convey much of a story or present particularly robust characters. Rather, Quinn's clear objective is to use the tale's two speakers (Socratic dialogues are generally limited to two speakers who converse in a question-and-answer format) to convey a philosophical idea, and given the nature of this particular idea, it would be difficult for Quinn to have chosen a better vehicle. This idea that Quinn seeks to impart is a difficult one to summarize but it is suffice to say that he challenges the nature and origins of human civilization, beginning with the human discovery and adoption of agriculture. Quinn ultimately uses his "teacher" character to condemn the practi...

One of the problems with returning to your childhood home is the disturbing tendency to find your internal progression, as an adult, in vicious retrograde. Try as you might, old locales revive old feelings and ways of thinking. The coffee shop on the corner reminds you of those whispered puffs of tobacco in high school…and you suddenly crave a cigarette. Your mother asks where you are off to on a Friday night and you are struck with worry about whether or not you are going to do anything “cool” tonight. Maybe it’s the old town, maybe its being under the old roof, but regardless of the factors, there is no denying that you feel sixteen years old, and what poor soul really wants to go through that again? So it was with gusto that I set out to rein in this ridiculous trend that had set in during the recent time in which I had remade residence in my hometown. I’m an adult, dammit, and things will go the way I want them to! (Please ignore all historical evidence to the contrary.) A...