I've wondered if my attempts at writing a legendary Christmas song the likes of which hadn't been heard since 'I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day' weren't curtailed by bitter weather (lacking sufficient skill and life-experience aside). I love the snow, personally, and I even get a sick pleasure from rainy days and Mondays (yes, even combinations of the latter two). But for some reason my ability to experience the thrilling rush of joy that Christmas is for me gets cut short some when I can't feel anything underneath my shins. It's pretty much the pits.
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| This is what my legs feel like. Pizza boxes included. |
The truth is that despite living in Montana for two years, getting saturated by the east coast's humid freezes, and surviving the frozen valleys in Utah, I'm still a west coast baby who craves constant sunshine. A Californian, to my increasingly great shame as I notice disaster after disaster from that part of the country make headline news.
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| Unless I was allowed to live in the middle of that giant sequoia tree. That's the only exception. |
All that being said, there's good reason to write music in this oppressive atmosphere. I usually find when things are unpleasant outside and I'm increasingly frustrated by futile attempts to write philosophically grounded music inside, that my capacity for whimsical fun increases by a factor of roughly 2 billion. It's true. I measured it on a scale that I invented myself. The scientific article documenting our research team's findings will be shortly published and distributed on JSTOR under the heading,"Why All Nutritional Data is Subjective."
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| I take a lot of my inspiration from a selection of C.S. Lewis books that no one's ever heard of in order to keep the hipster mystique alive. |
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