Lost MP3 of the Week: The Dismemberment Plan, “The First Anniversary of Your Last Phone Call”
Friday, July 4th, 2008 by Taylor Long
Fourth of July is, without a doubt, my favorite holiday. Firstly, because it’s not religiously affiliated. Secondly, because it generally involves some combination of the following three items: fire, grilling meat and alcohol. All in the name of patriotism. I’m not sure how our fourth of July traditions evolved to include these potentially disastrous things together, but I’m thankful they did.
However, there are few songs that connect with the holiday for me. Sure, there are all the patriotic anthems if you want to get stereotypical. There’s really only one song that reminds me of a particular fourth of July.
While I was still summering at home on the West Coast, it was something of tradition to go out to the cabin of some family friends on Harstine Island, which is in Puget Sound. It’s right on the water, so it cools off at night, and it’s far from any big cities, so it gets really dark. Because it’s so quiet and woodsy, everyone is shooing off fireworks. You can stand on the shore and be surrounded by bright, colorful lights in every direction — including an Indian reservation. They always delivered. Big time.
I was more or less left to my own thoughts at these holidays, and often I’d clear my mind of everything associated with my life in the cities, my life in New York, my life in Seattle, and just spend hours using as many senses as possible. Watching the water roll in waves, skimming my hand on top of soft, pointed blades of grass, listening to the sounds of voices from far away, smelling the musk of the forest and the smoke of barbecues in the air… the taste of alcohol. (more…)
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Okay, who hasn’t thought America’s favorite family has jumped the shark by now? Even with the success of last year’s movie (which I found quite funny) still fresh in the audience’s mind, the actual show has become something not so much unfunny as it is unfriendly.

Here’s one I’ve been saving because … well, I’ve been too lazy to break out the USB turntable.

If you should find yourself in North Olmsted, Ohio with a few extra minutes, you can drive past the North Olmsted high school. There, if you know where to look, you’ll find a brown brick, perfectly centered between two windows on the way to the soccer practice field at the back of the school. Because it is brown, this brick blends in nicely with the rest of the orange and tan skin of the school. That layer of burnt umber, oil-based paint was applied to the wall on a humid, scorching afternoon in August 1990. At the tail end of my time working on the North Olmsted Board of Education summer maintenance crew, I decided to leave my mark on the school in which I grew up and started the path to adulthood.

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