la chouette bleue: We are all on drugs.

I finally realized the other day why my Dad didn't want to listen along as a younger version of myself discovered the joys of Weezer or other bands of my formative years. It wasn't that he didn't like music. He's always had a vast library of songs from years past. He simply didn't have time appreciate the angst-filled heartbreak that Rivers Cuomo so deliciously delivered.

He was too busy worrying about switching from cable to satellite...again...or what the neighbor's lawn looked like.

As I walk the cold, uneven pavement of Medina I often observe the neat rows of cars filling the driveways. All of the roads named for trees that no longer live here. I imagine what each house could be busy doing. What brings everyone together tonight? A Tupperware party? A book club meeting? Maybe a group of middle-aged housewives are blushing over a pile of marked-down neon-colored vibrators and talking about the sex they don't have? All while drowning their worries in chip dip and boxed wine.

It's all the same. Somewhere along the line we just start ordering our lives from catalogs. Prepackaged notions of what it all should look like. For only three payments of $19.95 + S&H.

Somehow THOSE things become more important than actual moments, real feelings. If you managed to escape it in or after high school it's there waiting for you to move on in to the suburban dream. To fill your garage with the most impressive power tools and closet full of safe, business-casual attire.

So, to the king of the road over there, "The World Has Turned and Left Me Here" sounded like a bunch of whiny assholes who needed to grow up and start balancing a check book already. "We Are All On Drugs" spoke for itseḷf, never intending to cater to grown-ups anyway.

I come to you today open, honest, and genuine. With my words, music and playthings I try to be me. What feels right and natural. I allow my whole self to shine through.

I recognize the importance of expression.

"One day", he said, "you'll get your head out of the clouds."

"Someday you'll stop living in a dream world."

Twenty-some years later, no such luck.

You don't have to think inside the box or even outside--as they often tell the free-spirited. It really doesn't even have to be a box. It could be a bag. Whatever it is, we don't have to subscribe to the idea that we shouldn't be what we are, who we are.

All of the beauty waiting to burst forth should not be contained.