Revelry

Track #2

"Revelry" by Kings of Leon

Feel free to listen as you read:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZyGWg0uqkw

I think of the night. It is dark and cold, I can see my breath as I exhale; and the moon is so bright that I mistake the glowing white orb for a streetlamp. The stars are out, crystal clear, and I am standing outside of my apartment, facing the track field. To my left is Lacey and Riley's apartment, and one apartment block over from them is Kari and Jen's apartment. Behind them and around the corner is Matt, Josh, Conner, and Adam's apartment. Dax, Joe, and I live together, and on the other side of our wall live Dani, Kristen, and Ann-Jean (who has an amazing morning voice, by the way ;)  These are just some of my friends in the Olsen apartments surrounding the courtyard. At almost any time I could go and hang out in one of these apartments; they were just a short walk away. And now they're not. I knew I was thankful for my friends at the time, but even still it's hard not to regret not taking full advantage of those months at that apartment. It's hard not to get sappy over even the most mundane things, like Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough/Oreo blizzards (again, thanks to Ryan). I miss walking over and just hanging out. I miss being able to count on Matt coming over at night; and I miss Joe yelling obscenities at the most random things (like Home Improvement or John McCain). However, I DO NOT miss the life-size cardboard cutout of McCain staring creepily at me from the corner of our apartment. Though, it was hilarious when Joe snuck him into our closet to surprise Dax in the drowsiness of the morning.

A big thanks goes to Ryan who introduced me to Kings of Leon, without whom I would not have one of my favorite albums of all time. "Only By The Night" could take up a whole handful of posts all by itself. But that is not the subject of this post. This song serves two purposes: 1) it recalls a few really good memories, and 2) the sound of the song itself portrays the feelings perfectly that it conjures up inside me. But it is not so much revelry of which I daydream, but the line right before. "The time we shared, it was precious to me."

The strongest memory I have when I listen to this song is Wall Ball. Occasionally I would try to take a break from my homework and walk over to the apartment of two of my best friends, Ryan and Phil. And if I chose to head over to their apartment at the right time, I could catch them in the middle of a game of wall ball. You'd never imagine you could get such pleasure by throwing a racquetball at a wall and a broken light. And then after the game there was always the chance we'd go to DQ for some blizzards or to Jack in the Box. The random adventures may be what best characterize life in college. That and the nearness of your best friends. I loved that time and that place. And I love those friends of mine. Though, there are always regrets. Did I spend too much time doing homework, too much time at the library, too much time alone in my room? Did I miss out on too many basketball games or midnight-movies? I suppose so. But regret doesn't get you anywhere. You can't get back the time you had, whether you enjoyed it and took advantage of it or not. That's a big lesson I am learning. So what do you do? I want to say that you just remember the good times for what they were. But that sounds too easy. You use those memories to make sure you take full advantage of everything you have at your fingertips right now. And if you feel regret, let it make you understand the importance of even the most mundane evening.

My conclusion (as hard as it is to accept): I need to become a more avid user of Facebook.... Maybe I'll become part of Matt's Mafia family....maybe.

Thanks for listening,

Seth

Steppenwolf

An old and generous book can be as strong as a shot of whiskey, but as smooth as the clearest wine; as intoxicating as an unexpected kiss. In my room I have a rocking chair. It's nothing noticeable - not an antique or anything; not the chair of an aged gentleman or a widowed grandmother. It is more like a child's chair. The back comes not to my neck, and its design is simple, bordering on the uncomfortable if used for too long. But I sit in this chair and read on occasion. I play some nocturne's of Chopin to drown out the background noise; but more in order to set a soft, gentle, and unobtrusive tone in the room. And then after I have sat down and I've got the music playing behind me, I read a bit of Hermann Hesse. Steppenwolf. But before I get two pages in for tonight's reading I catch the smell of something that does not smell like Africa at all.

No, this smell is something of home, something that I am fond of, something that puts me right back at home. It is the smell of this old book. It is hard to describe. It is not living, the book, so it can't be the smell of something that has died. And indeed, the smell of something that has died has a negative connotation to it anyhow. Instead, as with a wine or a memory, this smell is something that gets better with age. It is not musty, it is not ragged or derelict. It is unique, and the moment you smell it you know exactly what it is. Those are old pages! They are not plastic, they are not coated. These pages are simply wood pulp, dye, and ink. Nothing more. Nothing fancy. But I like this smell. I absolutely love this smell. I like what it makes me think of. It is simple, and it reminds of a place that is comfortable, a place that is familiar; a place I call home.