Late Night Fright, Watsky, & Updates

It’s the middle of the night and I’m in my childhood home and everyone is asleep. I can hear my parents snoring (not so softly I might add) through the thin walls. It’s the soundtrack to bedtime that I’ve listened to most of my life. It might be the reason why I can’t fall asleep without a little white noise. But then, out of nowhere, my dog starts barking like a crazy. He is an old man who can’t really get around anymore. We have to lift him onto the bed so he can sleep with my parents, but regardless of his impediment this evening he launches himself off the bed with a thud and runs out to the back door barking all the while. He kept sniffing and barking, like he was tracking something (he is a beagle after all). Meanwhile, I’m trying to shush him and keep him quite because my mum needs to work at five am. Eventually he calmed himself and I put him back to bed. And now all’s quiet again.

I think there may have been a skunk outside. I don’t know how he knew it. Animals and their weird sixth senses. But it was unnerving, knowing he knew something I didn’t. We always joked that if we were robbed Sam was so friendly he’d show them where we kept the good silver, but maybe not.

It’s been an odd few days. I’ve been catching up with friends from high school and catching up on YouTube. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries had a thrilling conclusion and I’m finally caught up on Squaresville! It makes me want to start vlogging again. I have been toying with the idea of Vlogging Every Day in April, but I don’t want to commit to it unless I go all the way.

I’ve written a little bit the past week, all random things. It feels good, but like not enough. I feel so funny these days. What on earth do I want? What am I looking for?

I’ve been listening to a lot of George Watsky. His new album Cardboard Castles blows me away. I’m not a fan of a lot of rap, but he’s one of the few rappers that I really appreciate (there are a few). I like rappers that make me think. Good beats are important, but I like an interesting story and clever lyrics. Plus some of his stuff is just plain poetic. Or just funny and amusing. I really like Ugly Faces, Hey Asshole (which is featuring Kate Nash – SO GOOD), and Tiny Glowing Screens, Pt. 2 (which is just utterly fantastic lyrically that it pains me). But nothing on that album is bad. I think it should also win for album with the absolute BEST transitions. They are out of this world.

I went for a run today and I listened to Cardboard Castles while I did. It was awful (the run, not the album). I always have really great intentions with running and then I start moving and remember that it feels like I am suffocating very, very slowly. I felt like I was going to be sick, but I did it anyway. I guess that just means I need to do it more often.

I’m reading Jane Austen’s Emma. It’s one of the last few Austen novels I have left to read. I decided to dive into it because I’m looking for comfort, literature to wrap me tight and also inspire. So far I’ve just been annoyed with Emma Woodhouse. She may be clever, but she’s no Elizabeth Bennet. Hopefully Jane can turn me around.

This has been a life update with Jordan. Until next time.


P.S. If you have any interest in Giant Squids check out this video and this article from the Mental Floss website. I recently subscribed to the e-newsletter. I have no regrets. Also, the Giant Squid is simultaneously terrifying and fascinating.


Review: The Yiddish Policeman’s Union

I love the last thirty pages of a novel. If you’re reading via conventional means (i.e. a book made of paper) you can visibly see the end of the book coming near, but you can also feel it. I love the gallop, the race toward the end and then the finish. Whenever I finish a book I am simultaneously happy and sad; glad for such a good thing to exist in the world and simply sad that it’s over. That’s why the second I finish one book I immediately pick up another. No need to let that misery stew when there’s so much content going unread.

by Michael Chabon (also, tea)

I just finished Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union this snowy afternoon; an afternoon I thought I would have to be at work, but the weather gods deemed fit to declare what is likely the last snow day of this abysmally snowy season. Chabon’s novel is a thought experiment. What if after WWII instead of that whole business in Israel, the European Jews relocated to Sitka, Alaska and developed a thriving community, almost sovereign? The novel follows Detective Meyer Landsman of the District Police of Sitka, the looming reversion of the District, and the murder of a man in a crummy hotel room.

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I am often overwhelmed by directionless feelings. I can have all the drive and all the ambition in the world, but I can’t get past the sense of helplessness in executing what I want to become. John Green addressed some of this feeling in his speech at The Evening of Awesome at Carnegie Hall. It’s the idea of the point of one’s life – of wanting the universe to pay attention to you. Can my life be meaningful and matter even if I only live in one place, only do one thing, only directly influence a small circle of people? I feel that John would argue yes, of course. I want to feel that way. I do, but there is this voice in my head that is akin to fear and asks me would that be really so?

I am overwhelmed by the many things I want to do. There’s so many projects I want to embark on. There are so many stories I want to tell. I want to learn guitar and piano and mandolin. I want to sing every day. I want to cook better and be in a short film and make YouTube videos. I think all my floundering comes mostly from the immensity of possibility. How do I even begin?

I could live my whole life and do one thing, but do it extraordinarily well. I might never move to New York. I may only write a handful of sub-par short stories. I might not sing the songs I want to sing or see the places I want to see. But those are all hypotheticals. It all could go the other way as well. Uncertainty is mixed with being young. There is the whole of the rest of my life ahead of me, as long or as short as it’s intended to be and I want it to be a good one.

Even if I don’t succeed the way I want to, I know I won’t be alone. There are people in my life I care about so much it makes my chest ache. So that is something, at least.