9 Drafts, 9 Days

I'm going to be trying something a little different over the next few days.  Starting today, I'm going to start writing the first draft of a new piece every day, for nine days.  Each of these works will be based on a prompt given me by a friend, that I have simply asked for a subject to write about and a form to write in.  Based on their brief responses I will write a short piece that will stay at least mainly within their framework.  My goal?  To advance my versatility as a writer, to be an active creator over the next week and a half, and to gather ideas for work in the future.  Well, here goes.

The Only Man Who Could Turn Me On To Folk

Iron and Wine is a band I heard of three years ago in the beginning of my freshman year from the same man who introduced me to bands the likes of Death Cab for Cutie, and The Shins.  Steve Rigby, seriously, thank you.  Now of the bands my dear friend Schtv (above) has introduced me to, two of them now have albums in my top five of all time; one of these being Death Cab's Transatlanticism which is, I feel, given its dues.  The other, is Iron and Wine's The Creek Drank the Cradle.  Oddly enough, I heard about Iron and Wine back in two thousand and seven and I honestly don't listen to any of the stuff he's produced since then nearly as much as his first album.

Iron and Wine is Sam Beam, plain and simple. Yes, he has a full band on his later albums.  Yes, his sister does backup vocals on a good share of his tracks.  Yes, sometimes he tours with... guys, you're missing the point.  Sam Beam's later music, as good as it is, is nothing compared to his first album.  It may be just him and a guitar, however, it was just him and a guitar.  He recorded his first album The Creek Drank the Cradle alone in his basement. Seriously.  This guy lives in Florida with a wife and a few kids, has a masters degree in something having to do with film, teaches at a local college, and in his spare time writes some of the best music of my generation in his basement.  I'm sorry, I'm gushing, aren't I?

You have to understand, Sam Beam is like a mentor to me.  His work is incredible, his beard is incredible, and on top of that he's a quiet family man.  In my intro to literature class we were separated into groups, actually allowed to choose our own, score right?  So Tay Beals, Luke of Luke and Jim's Bluebeedew, and I sat down after class to pick a poem.  I told them, we're doing a song, it's by Iron and Wine.  We then dissected, interpreted, preformed and presented the song The Trapeze Swinger for our class.  We literally spent hours working through just the lyrics of the song.  Studying his intricate rhyme scheme and his careful meter.  I'm sorry, I'm gushing again, aren't I?

Well I suppose I will leave you with this.  When I left to study in Belfast I ran into Sam Beam in the Dublin airport.  Said hey, shook his hand, and made small talk about my studies and his work.  The very next day, jet lagged, no local currency, in a foreign city; two friends of mine and I walked down the street, hailed a cab, and went to see him live. It was possibly the best concert I've ever been to, and it was just him with an accompanist for a few songs who jumped from instrument to random instrument.  Sam Beam proves that he is truly an artist in his comprehension of when enough is enough, and that less is often more.  His lyrics could stand alone as poetry, but who would want them to after hearing him sing them?  I'm sorry, I'm gushing again, aren't I?

Check him out for yourself.  The songs: Upward Over the Mountain, The Trapeze Swinger, and Naked as we Came wouldn't be a bad start.  And come on, look at that beard.

Welcome to the Exhibition

Fastforward to two thousand and thirty dirty thirty pabst blue ribbon college cribin is twenty years behind me remind me confide in me again the way you used to abuse my sensibilities because I was mad for you sad for you and now a grad for you I would do anything the funny thing is a ring does not define you but confine you to another so you prefer I call you lover than wife all my life I've been begging dredging hedging my bets I'd find someone like you two peas in a pod of whales sings us the most beautiful song it's all wrong you know that dress always turned me on again off again are you kidding sinning is what we did best man I expect to have to choose loosing you was something I never could have imagined managed to break my heart don't start with me you knew I felt flat on my face lace and pillow talk are far behind us now how did we get here sneers and jeers I'll shed no tears you're not the girl I fell in love with yes I'm covetous I want you to be mine fine tinsel and twine Christmas has come and I've lost you cost you everything you ever wanted I'm daunted by the task of moving on pawn the ring I bought for a queen I'm careening there's no weaning me off of love hate consecrate your marriage to another your druthers left me in a gutter my heart flutters every time I see a picture of you a dinner for two the hullabaloo is over red rover red rover let Jenny come rum is what I need to feed no starve my inhibitions welcome to the exhibition of Jacob at his finest

Attempted Transatlanticism

The waves crash over the cracked foot path, submerging the rusty bemoaned ladder under salty sea.  Behind the cackles raise up as the two philosopher kings shed their clothes and walk down the tiny pier.  To the west a lonely road gently makes its way through the emerald hills.  To the east, the town of summer cottages abandoned to the cold breeze of  September.  To the west the Atlantic, the states, home.  To the east a far off horizon, an ancient isle, the land of our fathers.  And in front of us a rough sea, and a blue sky, an endless view of blue and white.  We stand there, he and I, naked and crownless kings.  We stand there, on a the precipice of an abyss, that beckons with open arms.  We stand there for but a moment and then we leap. Enveloped by the sea, a baptism of sorts.  Brought back up through the waves.  Born again.  New men.

Strawberry Banana Bliss

I went to Blue Fig again tonight.  Thought I'd let you know the verdict, Strawberry Banana Smoothie.  Worth every cent.  Great Turkish Coffee as well.  Actually, everything I've had there is good.  Thought I'd keep ya'll posted.

The Lake That Is Fed With A Burning River

I drag deep on my cigarette.  The slow smoldering flame burns closer to my lips beginning to burn the letters in black on white paper that read Turkish Royal.  The smoke filters out of my lungs, caught on the breeze like the wings of a bird.  To the West, dimly lit by the glow of a hundred candles in paper bags I see the creek pouring into the lake, the tall lonesome tree with roots sunk in sand, and the pier that the bags sit upon so precariously perched.  A memorial.  A reminder.  A swan song. A threnody.  To the East jutting out from the shore is a city, a string of lights, like a pearl necklace on this dingy bemoaned shore.  A handful of buildings reach to the sky, kept company by pillars of smoke from factory stackhouses. As I take another pull I look upwards, as a lonely cloud strolls across the sky, in a friendly game of tag with the stars that have come out early to play. I exhale slowly and flick my cigarette into the waves.  I quickly strip down, and within a few seconds I'm amongst the waves, swallowed up by the lake that is fed with a burning river.

This Big Bad Wolf Puts Those Little Piggies to Good Use

I was up in Grand Rapids for this past weekend for a friends wedding, and while I was hanging out with some friends someone brought up that I hadn't posted in awhile, my bad guys.  It was great seeing my friends get hitched, and just catching up with old friends... ahhhh, refreshing.  That's what summer's really about.  Between all the wedding shenanigans hanging out with the groom, catching fireflies and catching up with my friends at the infamous Ball House, and the rest of my friends, it was a busy weekend and I ended up leaving GR hours later than I wanted.  I woke up Monday and before packing up at the ball house and being detained by my good friends for an extra three or four hours (thanks Alex, Jamie and Melissa), I was picked up by my good friends Josh and Luke and taken to a place I'm not sure I had ever seen open.  Wolfgang's Restaurant.  

Now Wolfgang's is my kind of place, it's all about breakfast and it doesn't try to do everything.  In fact it tries to do very little, but begrudgingly has a few lunch options and closes up shop at 4pm.  I had told a couple friends only a few days before that they needed to come visit me and we'd go to Melt (an amazing grilled cheese restaurant which I'll write about sometime), and they proceeded to comment on how thats the new thing.  Niche restaurants.  You do one thing, you do it well.  It's taken off in chains like Five Guys Burgers and Fries and Chipotle Mexican Grill.  And as much as I love a fast food chain that makes food like a sit down restaurant at half the price, my heart belongs to those little corner dinners and hole in the walls.  And that's Wolfgang's.This is not to say Wolfgang's isn't a nice restaurant.  Oh contrare!  Great atmosphere, clean, good service.  But it's no chain, it's cheap and it's in East Town.  

Now I love breakfast but I'm never up that early, so I felt like an early bird walking in even though it was noon. After all, in my three years in Grand Rapids I've never been past the place before 4pm. The menu at Wolfgang's is fairly large and almost all breakfast dishes with pop culture references or inside jokes for names.  My dish was called the Mossad. Why?  Not really sure.  It had pork and cheese in it, so I'm fairly certain no member of Mossad would be eating it (for those unaware, Mossad is the Israeli Intelligence Agency).  

Now this dish was such a mystery we had to ask the waitress how it was made, who was forced to admit she was herself unsure.  However consensus was that the cook scrambled about six to eight eggs in a giant frying pan tossed in peppers, onions, sausage, mushrooms, cheese, you name it.  After everything was mixed in, we suspect the hash browns he'd been cooking on the side were dropped in the middle, followed by a layer of cheese, then a slice of toast.  At this point the entire foot wide pile of yum was flipped over on my plate, leaving a mound of egg literally the size of my face. Of course I smothered it in hot sauce and went to work, but the thing was so big even I couldn't finish it without causing myself considerable bodily harm.  Luke's dish was large in it's own right but nothing like the mossad (which Josh also ordered).

All in all, Wolfgang's is breakfast done East Town style.  It's reasonably priced, delicious, bang for your buck dining.  So if you're in GR and it's too early for hot dogs, gyros, Ethiopian buffets, hooka, or cheap drinks, fret not!  East Town is still the place to be.