A few weeks ago I spoke to Jonathan Meiburg at his home in Austin, before he headed out on tour with Shearwater. You can read the interview here.

My favorite exchange is below:

Has [your] scientific background had an influence on your songwriting, musically, mathematically?

…I think that the same spirit of curiousity and fun that informs the best academic work is also present in the best music, and the thrill you get out of working on a research project in the field that’s going really well and the thrill of doing a performance at the level you like it to be, or getting a recorded song just right, is very similar. I don’t know about mathematically.

Ultimately, music is just a funny way of dividing up time. People think of science as sort of a dry pursuit, but it’s really not. It relies a lot on intuition, and being able to see sort of gestalt, whole picture, for brief moments of time, so you know what questions to ask. Music is the same. You have to have an overarching sense of what you’re trying to achieve and what emotional affect you’re going for while you’re making all these smaller decisions.

I first heard Shearwater in 2008 when Rook came out. Thrilled to finally catch them live on Saturday night at the Black Cat after being out of town during their previous DC gigs. Jonathan’s singing voice is uniquely enthralling, and the new touring lineup he has assembled has an expansive wall-of-guitars feel to it. And they’re nice guys in person, to boot.

Stopped home for an hour before heading to the show just as the news of Whitney Houston’s death broke. We immediately broke out the best of hits and danced to them. At the show, fans shouted out to Sharon Van Etten about playing a Whitney cover. She said, “Not cool man,” but it was only in talking with her after the show that I learned that was the first she was hearing about the death and was fairly shocked. Celebrity deaths fascinate me by the way they cause such diverse reactions in people, but in the end I try to remember that when a celebrity dies too young, “alone,” they aren’t isolated. They were a child, sibling, parent, or friend to someone, even if they were a 2-D autonomous figure to us.

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Disclaimer: Do not read on if you do not want to read about sinuses, or boobs. If neither of these things bother you, solider forth!

The new shoes? A dream. Shin splints significantly reduced. I also realized since last writing that my previous pair of shoes were EIGHT years old, not five. I was so excited that I didn’t take a day off last week, and two nights in a row I went to bed with sharp shin pain, which I took as a warning sign to take a day off. And what should happen? Boom, second epic sinus infection this winter manifests on my rest day. Last time this happened, I continued running when the congestion was confined to my skull, but I’m afraid it’s moving to my chest, and this makes breathing deeply impossible. I don’t like taking more than one day “off” in a row, as I find it’s harder to get back to the distance I’d worked up to, but as someone who has been hospitalized for pneumonia more than once, and someone lacking decent health care options, I’ve got to play it safe.

So, upgrading the footwear situation has demonstrated immense benefits in just a week. Next on the docket is sports bras. I have had the same Target sports bras since college, which are fine for light cardio or weight lifting, but do nothing in terms of minimizing movement during “high impact” exercising. Since I’ve been running, I’ve resorted to some compression bras from another big-box-retailer-that-shall-remain-nameless (I’m from Florida, what do you want from me?) which are so restrictive I feel like I’m binding my chest. Usually I have to double up with two bras. Moving Comfort has some rave reviews by ladies with larger cup-sizes, and you can even order in your actual bra size. Do you understand how hard it is to find high-impact sports bras in a D-cup? Very, very hard. I think most manufacturers give up. I’ll be testing out some of their styles this week and will hopefully find a winner soon.

My running routine is nothing like the above image (although I am intrigued by running dresses).

I buy everything online. I pride myself on my ability to stalk items on eBay until I can snap up at a lower cost , or use my Amazon Prime membership to get staples sent to my door (PSA: Have toilet paper sent to your house. Then you never have to lug it home from the store again! You’re welcome.). I know what sizes in what brands of shoes, bras, clothing, etc. fit me, so I don’t always feel the need to try things on. But I know that running shoes are a different matter, so I braced myself for an in-person hard sell.

For the last two months, I’ve been running pretty consistently wearing the same pair of running shoes I purchased at some point in college, which means they are at least five years old. It’s recommended that you replace running shoes every 300 miles clocked, or every 6 months. In the last week, I’ve developed shin splints. Not much was different–I’ve slowly been increasing my speed and mileage by the recommended ratios, and for the most part I run the same handful of paths on city blocks. Then it occurred to my equipment, not my technique, might be my problem.

After a day of polling friends in DC, I decided to give Fleet Feet DC a try. A family-owned local franchise, it’s been run by the parents of former mayor Adrian Fenty since 1984 (They even have a photo of him finishing the NY Marathon on the wall behind the register – I think that’s kind of adorable.) The very kind Roger spent nearly an hour (!) assessing how I run (I’m sure I looked a sight running up and down Columbia road in running shoes and a tea-length skirt) and helping me try different shoes to compensate for my pronation. He also showed me a different way to lace my shoes, which sounds insignificant but OH MAN it completely changes the way the shoes fit in the back. I have no idea what it’s called, but I’ll figure it out and share here later.

Yes, I settled on a pair. I’ll be taking them out for a spin today, and will have a full report next week.

The 100th episode of Gossip Girl aired Monday night. “G.G.” surprised me in a few ways, including Blair’s decision to go through with the marriage itself, and the fact that it showed it’s final hand by revealing the true identity of Gossip Girl.

That is, if we are supposed to believe that Michelle Trachtenberg’s slithering Georgina Sparks is actually Gossip Girl. She crows something akin to, “Like a phoenix from the ashes, I am reborn!” in her “I’m baaaaack, bitches” sign-off missive as the camera pans from her tiny hands to her chop-licking face. I don’t buy this for a second. I am still unclear as to how Serena and Nate were able to “take down” Gossip Girl after all this time, but I think the real Gossip Girl, the Kristen Bell-voiced omnipresent force of chaos, is lying in wait. Perhaps completely in cahoots with Georgina-as-marionette, but Gossip Girl has demonstrated far too much strategy in her machinations to be Georgina Sparks, who, by the creators’ own admission, would take down herself if it created a ruckus.

To paraphrase Heath Ledger’s Joker: some girls just want to watch the world burn.

I agree with Kelly Conaboy of Videogum who said, “Blair doesn’t let a God she didn’t believe in until two seconds ago stop her!” When Blair marches back out into the sanctuary against the protests of Chuck Bass, perpetual thorn of her heart, her best friend, Serena, and her very smart and reasonable-sounding mother, I thought, “There is the Blair we’ve been missing this season, the Blair who does what her gut tells her and bulldozes everyone around her.”

I took the royal marriage plot for a lost cause until those thrilling final moments, when Prince Louis leans in during the couple’s first dance and hisses, “Smile, Blair, smile for the cameras.” The happy prince shows his true colors, after seasons of vascillating between long-suffering admirer of Blair and creepy, controlling royal brat who pays clinical therapists to commit sabotage and private investigators to stalk his beloved. I knew something was up when Blair first arrived at the wedding-day brunch and Louis shakes his head, in disbelief of his good fortune. “I’m marrying Blair Waldorf; I’m ze luckiest man in ze world.” I suppose we are supposed to believe that up until the mass-texting of Blair’s embarrassing confession, Louis was prepared to love Blair, flaws and all. I think he’s probably having secret incestuous sex with his mom, or sister.

The final surprise, of course, was Blair’s decision to call Dan, not Chuck, for her escape. I won’t let myself believe the writers will let “Dair” happen in earnest. This interview made me wonder how deeply Gossip Girl and other cult shows can be directed by their fanbase’s desires for certain pairings or plot twists, since the “will-they-or-won’t-they” arc came after fans clamored for it.

Over Thanksgiving, my aunt gave me two small, round soap bars in a brown paper bag. Or so I thought. One is a solid shampoo bar, the other a conditioner bar. She’d procured them from Naples Soap Company, not far from her home. Word was spreading about the incredible healing properties of the founder’s special-blend sea salt soap, concocted with the explicit intent of battling psoriasis and eczema. Having tried a Lush solid shampoo bar once upon a time, I was dubious. Plus, I shampoo my hair very infrequently.

Fast forward to Christmas. In a packing frenzy, I’d thrown both bars into my bag, unsure of what supplies I’d last left at my parents’ place.  And boy, am I glad I did. They are amazing.

Fun fact: I have a lot of hair. A lot. And I go through large bottles of various cheap conditioners (alternating between Trader Joe’s citrus scent and Suave coconut – classic!) like the water that accompanies each condition. And sometimes I feel guilty about the amount of plastic waste this generates.

The conditioner bar is small – I thought it wouldn’t last more than a few washes – and here I am a month later, with near-daily use, and there’s plenty left. It’s amazingly moisturizing, and the smell is as strong as it was when I first used it (a rarity for “bar” bath products – I find that most bar soaps get a weird musty smell pretty quickly, or lose any discernable scent entirely). My hair is softer for it, quite the feat in this daily battle against dry winter air, indoors and out. And I feel better about not having to throw out a plastic bottle every two weeks.

When I replace my current supply of bergamot grapefruit bars, I’ll be trying some of the famous sea salt soap as well. I’m a sucker for citrus scents, and intrigued by this “regular” bar soap labeled “Florida Sunrise.” What would that smell like? Home, I hope.

I like reading about minimalism. If you were to look at my life, and my surroundings, you wouldn’t know this. There’s a stack of framed art that I haven’t hung on the walls, because I can’t choose what should go up: I love it all. Until this week, my nightstand was covered in three separate stacks of books that I am reading, or want to read, or have read. The books; that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But it’s demonstrative of the way I go through life. I want to read, see, hear, touch, taste everything. But the stack of art? My inability to choose means that I don’t enjoy much of it at all. There needs to be an editorial voice if anything is ever going to be seen.

I’ve been putting things in bags that I don’t use anymore, or don’t resonate with me. Now that I’m back from a trip, I’m going through them again and try to capitalize on that moment of questioning my friend described. Or, I’ll start to, and realize that if I was willing to put them in the bags in the first place, perhaps the time spent sorting them a second time would be better spent getting them out of my home, so I can enjoy what I chose to keep.

This is how people look at you when you tell them you haven’t seen the show yet.

I became aware of Downton’s runaway popularity months ago at a public broadcasting meeting here in DC. Execs were shown a preview of the BBC miniseries’s second season. Figures showed viewership was up when Downton was on. This could be The Next Big Thing.

Then, my friends started in on it. And not just my friends who usually go for Masterpiece Theatre…You know who you are. Boys, girls, gay, straight, young, old. Then, my parents! What’s the fuss about, I thought? What on this green earth could be so beguiling about a television drama set in the late Edwardian era, that had a teenager and a 93-year-old separately telling me it was their favorite program?

The second season premiered in the US on Sunday night. Armed with a limited knowledge of the first season’s plot structure, I dove in in the company of a hardcore fan. From there it was a slippery slope into a vortex of Netflix streaming.

The cinematography, the elaborate sets and lush landscape, the beautiful people: all key ingredients for a runaway hit. But what really hooks you is the writing. I think dramatic miniseries set in times of yore often get a bad a rap for stodgy, unrealistic dialogue. Granted, the characters in Downton Abbey talk differently than we do, but it’s realistic. They gossip! They mutter! They say really cruel things to one another, then turn on a dime and say the most tender, raw things. Late-Edwardian servants and nobility: they’re just like us!

I observe the second-to-last sunset of the year. Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. This past year had some very tough spots. In my mind’s eye director’s cut, it was a pretty excellent year. Still, there were moments of sadness, loss, mourning, heartbreak, defeat. To which I say, so long.

I’m ready for you, 2012.

What can I say about Ryan Adams? His music’s been fairly ubiquitous in my life for the better part of the last decade. From romantic escapades to lie-on-the-floor-and-pray-for-death heartbreak, he just gets it. I’d never seen him live before, and I feel fortunate that my first live Ryan Adams experience was a two-hours-plus solo set that spanned his Whiskeytown days to the present era, all in a beautiful theatre. I reviewed the set for DCist here.

This autumn, I had the pleasure of interviewing Will Oldham, aka, Bonnie Prince Billy.

One of my favorite pieces of music journalism, “The Pretender” by Kelefa Sanneh from the January ’09 issue of The New Yorker has left a lasting impression on me. I felt fortunate to be able to interview an artist I respect so much artistically, but really know very little about, as a person. Conversation flowed naturally, and he had some fascinating responses. It’s good to be able to dig a bit deeper sometimes than “Tell me about the new album,” however topical. I especially loved this exchange below:

You’ve performed under several names over the years. I read a quote of yours that said, “The primary purpose of the pseudonym is to allow both the audience and the performer to have a relationship with the performer that is valid and unbreakable.” How do you think this bond is affected with each new pseudonym, if the heart of the artist is the same? Is it easier to write in a specific way if you have a different name? Is there an alter-ego associated with it?

A lot of my recognition of mass-produced media and arts as a powerful medium came from my experience as a kid watching movies, and getting enthralled by cinema, specifically, the old Hollywood cinema of the 30′s, 40′s, 50′s. There are these people like Marilyn Monroe or Cary Grant who have names that they weren’t born with but they are fully allowed to occupy these grand titles. If you are going to be perceived by the audience as something, and rather than be disarmed, or alarmed, or confused by what they see, it seems to be a productive move to be among the audience in terms of perception of this identity. You can create an identity that everyone is looking at, from one angle or another, but that everybody is looking at.

I’ve never been able to have perspective on my birth self, this Kentuckian that is the son of my parents and the brother of my brothers, or a guy with a Social Security number. I still have no idea who that person is, but I don’t want to be singing from a stance of ignorance. I want to be singing from some sort of confidence, or some direction and I can do that by inhabiting the identity of the pseudonym. It’s the created structure, character, being, similar to Marilyn Monroe saying, “This is the person that everybody is looking at in a photograph or a movie, and this is the identity I’m developing, in conjunction with the points of view of the audience.”

Fascinating, no? We also chatted about his role in R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet and how he came to star in the music video for Kanye West’s “Can’t Tell Me Nothin’” with Zach Galifianakis. When you’re done reading, check out the interview my friend Alexandra Gutierrez did with Oldham for KUCB in Unalaska, Alaska here.