Paris in the early days

I’m old.

Not in any global sense, of course. I am not old enough to be President of the United States. I am not as old as my mother was when she had me (although she’d had her first child by now). I still get carded on occasion, which I consider quite a compliment.

But this may be my last season of elite women’s ultimate.

I’ve been extremely lucky in that I’ve never had a serious injury in 12 years of high level play. This in spite of the fact that I am less mindful of my body’s condition than others – I’m very bad about stretching, I hate warmups, and I hate running in general so each winter I allow myself to get thoroughly out of shape. Over the past three years, what with going through a hard breakup, writing my dissertation, and moving to France, I’ve found myself in the worst shape of my life. (I think the low point was February 2009.)

And now, at 30, getting in shape and retaining it has become so much harder. I am quite measurably slower, in both endurance speed and quickness. Luckily our team has already begun the process of training for Prague, with nothing but track workouts twice a week (i.e., no frisbee) for the first two months of the year. This is already helping, of course. And I’m pretty excited to actually be in shape for Yaka – they’ve never seen me play anywhere near as well as I can. My play makes a difference, too, with this team, more so than with Viva, because the team is smaller and my role is bigger. I am on the field all the time; it’s like college all over again, except I don’t have to captain. It’s really exciting and fun.

But it’s beginning to feel like the end. Like the competitive drive within me has died a little, or been replaced by my career. Like the other things I get from frisbee – camaraderie, an athletic outlet, the reward of hard work – I can find in other venues, like book club, soccer, dinners with friends, my lab. Frisbee is a kind of obsession, and I don’t think I really noticed that when I myself was fully obsessed. Track workouts are harder and harder. Practices take up a good chunk of time. Tournaments pepper the summer and fall weekends, making it difficult to embark on any long term project, or even to spend a lot of time with people who don’t play frisbee. Travelling is expensive and leaves less room for pleasure trips.

I love the sport still. And I know this is the time of year when everyone over a certain age, even Brett, starts talking about retirement. Talk to me mid-season, or at Prague, and you may well hear a different story.

But my playing years are numbered. Hard to envision a time when ultimate won’t be central to my existence. Hard, but no longer unimaginable.

Have to go to dinner, just throwing this up here. Linked on facebook.

1. Bad Romance Lady GaGa
2. Put it In a Love Song Alicia Keys (featuring Beyonce)
3. Bizarre Love Triangle (12″ Version) New Order
4. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight The Postal Service
5. Horchata Vampire Weekend
6. Combat Baby Metric
7. HATARI tUnE-YaRdS
8. Lil Freak (feat. Nicki Minaj) Usher
9. Paparazzi (Redlight Remix) Lady Gaga
10. The High Road Broken Bells
11. La Marée Haute Lhasa De Sela
12. This Blackest Purse Why?
13. You Saved My Life Cass McCombs
14. There are Listed Buildings Los Campesinos
15. Running Up That Hill Placebo
16. What Would I Want? Sky Animal Collective
17. Bizarre Love Triangle (New Order cover) Frente!
18. Don’t You (Forget About Me) Simple Minds

Our elevator is having an existential crisis. It used to be that I’d come to work and call the elevator and hear her say: “Entrée principale. Porte ouverte.” The doors would slide open, I’d select the fifth floor, and she would reassuringly tell me “porte fermée, en monter”. After a quick ride up to the top floor, she’d say “Cinquième étage. Porte ouverte.” Every day it was the same thing. She’d repeat these phrases over and over again with nary a change in routine.

I started to notice the problem at night. Occasionally I’d go into the elevator and press “RC” (ground floor) and she would say “Porte fermée”, but the door wouldn’t close. Then she’d say “Porte ouverte” then “Porte fermée” again, but in rapid succession. It was strange, her tone didn’t change at all, but the repetition really made me uncomfortable. I was afraid of being near her when she was like that and would take the stairs.

But now it’s become a permanant state. It is possible to take her from the ground floor up, but she never wants to go down. She’ll say “Porte fermée” and start to close her doors, but then immediately contradict herself by thrusting them open again with a firm “Porte ouverte”. It seems someone stopped her too many times by sticking a leg in the door, so now she’s afraid of closing; if you back into the far corner, she’ll sometimes be reassured enough to close the doors and be on her way.

Or maybe there’s another explanation:

Not unnaturally, many elevators imbued with intelligence and precognition became terribly frustrated with the mindless business of going up and down, up and down, experimented briefly with the notion of going sideways, as a sort of existential protest, demanded participation in the decision-making process and finally took to squatting in basements sulking.

– Douglas Adams

(linked in facebook or email me)

My best best of ever (it helps that I’m looking for more music than ever before, and that I have lots of walking/metro time to listen to it). For those of you who faithfully download my mixes, this contains repeats. I thought about replacing some favorites with others, but it’s my damn best-of mix, I’ll do what I please. (If you’re generally interested in such lists, please check out Pitchfork for a ton, including best of 2000s, and my favorite music blogs Pretty Much Amazing and Said the Gramophone.)

There is less pop than in previous years. Music magazines keep declaring the death of hip-hop; I hope not, but there was very little that made Billboard’s Top Ten that I found listenable. There is way more electronic and other noisy stuff, best exemplified by “Crown on the Ground”, a song I love that I expect some of you to hate. And, well, I’m happy, so the mix is, too.

What follows is the song list and my attempt to write about the songs. My favorite quote about this is usually attributed to Frank Zappa: “writing about music is like dancing about architecture”. In other words, listen for yourself. And I hope your enjoy these as much as I do.

Percussion Gun by White Rabbit
the drums skip ahead, stumbling over each other, urgent, pulsating. his voice grows raw, scratchy, full of unrequited desire, anger, longing, need. he spits out “I know which way to run” and suddenly his fury fades. “oh, just give me some peace of mind”

Daylight by Matt and Kim
pure, unadulterated happiness. call and response like a child’s song, a strong, melodic rhythm, comforting, easy. the lyrics are obscure but have a certain beauty in imagery: “sit back and wade through the daylight”

Crown on the Ground by Sleigh Bells
an assault, too loud, violent, harsh, pay attention, hey! muddy distortion, squealing noise, yet so demandingly catchy. be careful with this one, it makes everything else sound boring.

Nothing to Worry About by Peter Bjorn and John
cheerful but not quite sane, with syncopated knocking over a strong melodic beat. a weirdly bright run introduces the children’s chorus and they exhort us with mostly nonsense lyrics to be happy. and I am.

Summertime Clothes by Animal Collective
welcome to summer: kids playing under a sprinkler, drinking beer at the baseball game, sun setting after 9 pm, late night barbecues, way too hot to sleep, kissing your sweaty, salty face. “just you, just you, just you, just you.”

Dreamer by Lightning Dust
her voice trembles with the effort, melancholy, defeated. singing over herself, not quite in time, the chorus feels half-finished, unsatisfying. with disgust and pity in her voice she tells him “you’re looking so confused, not sure you want to go and live a lie”

Where Do My Bluebird Fly by The Tallest Man on Earth
his voice isn’t beautiful, at all; rather, strange and scratchy, yet tuneful and melodic. the imagery is lovely, referring back again and again to her “kerosene eyes”, over the plaintive notes of the banjo.

Wake by The Antlers
this is a conversation for the bed, a confession, an opening, intimate, exposed, vulnerable. all my regrets, all my hopes, all the things I ever wanted to say to you. and you hold me, and stroke my hair, and forgive me.

Heart Skipped a Beat by The xx
spare, simple, the same side of the same conversation, but not quite in sync. they talk past each other even though they want the same thing. “sometimes, I still need you.” hope and regret tinged with bitterness. “I was sure you’d give me more.” “you made it clear you weren’t near enough for me.” listen for the heart’s beat.

Halo by Beyonce
her voice begins deep, low, and ascends slowly, optimistically, the lyrics more prose than poetry, her runs impossible to imitate. a gorgeous love song, without complication. “you’re the only one I want”

Kids by Chiddy Bang
catchy rap over a sample from one of the most addictive indie rock songs in recent years, MGMT’s Kids. exuberant, cocky, arrogant, fun-loving. “tell Mommy I’m sorry / this life is a party / I’m never growing up.”

No One Sleeps When I’m Awake by The Sounds
the basics: electric guitar, bass, drums, all the elements of classic rock, but a female singer and a woman’s sentiment. she’s demanding attention the only way she knows how, and doesn’t care if she causes a scene or embarrasses herself. she’s addicted to him and can’t get out of it. “you know, it hurts so bad, just like I knew that it would. but I’d do it again if I could.”

Moth’s Wings by Passion Pit
hope, amazement, excitement, delight, in someone completely new and interesting and completely incomprehensible. bells trilling, glittering, propelling restlessly forward. it could blaze brightly and burn out, or stabilize and glow. impossible to know. just enjoy the ride.

Soft Shock by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
of course it’s not a soft shock – rather a “sharp shock to your soft side” (love that alliteration). blindsided, damaged, wanting now to control everything, unable to trust. “what’s the time, what’s the day / gonna leave me?”

Ashamed by Deer Tick
remorse, nostalgia, but without bitterness, for all that we are, and all we could have been. the end is abrupt, unfinished. there was more to say but we never got the chance.

The Trapeze Swinger by Iron and Wine
“please remember me happily by the rosebush laughing” this song is impossibly gorgeous and incredibly sad. the lyrics say it much better than I can.

I saw The Antlers last night at Nouveau Casino with Jan. It was a fantastic show. They played their entire album, Hospice, which is essentially the story of watching a loved one die in a hospital. It’s very beautiful and very sad, and the lead singer is amazing at conveying pain in his voice and face. Nouveau Casino is another one of these small, intimate Parisian venues that I so adore. We were very close to the band, and I told them after how much I enjoyed their music (bravery due to Molly’s excellent example). Here is a fan video for “Kettering”, the first real song on the album, and lyrics below.

I wish that I had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that I owed you
‘Cause you’d been abused by the bone that refused you and you hired me to make up for that
And walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms, those singing morphine alarms out of tune
They had you sleeping and eating and I didn’t believe them when they called you a hurricane thunder cloud
When I was checking vitals, I suggested a smile; you didn’t talk for a while, you were freezing

You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone, so you told me I had to be leaving
But something kept me standing by that hospital bed. I should have quit but instead I took care of you
You made me sleep and uneven and I didn’t believe them when they told me that there was no saving you.