Friday, August 5, 2011

Your Baby Is Not a Car

They say there are no "Bad" ideas in this world. That each idea has it's own viewpoint and perspective, and that even in the slightest sense, any concept must have a positive side.

This does not apply to the notion of treating your child like a motor vehicle.

My friends, children are God's little gifts to the world and should be treated as such. If your dear young one is suffering from any illness or injury, don't take them to a mechanic. Take them to a pediatrician. They're not a car, they're a miniature person, believe it or not. You were never a Ferrari in your early years. Your mother didn't give birth to a Porsche in that hospital. Thusfore, it is entirely illogical to treat your child the same way you would treat your car. Your blessed infant doesn't power on with the turn of a key. You don't head into a Shell or a Texaco station to gas up your infant. No, you let it suck on your nipple. Treat your miniature person with kindness.

You here that whining in the night? No, that's not a car alarm. That's your baby. It's crying. It's hungry. Feed it. No, don't pour gasoline into it's open mouth. You're doing it wrong. Feed it mushed carrots or something like that, baby's like that stuff. Don't try to park it. No, no, no, you can't throw a baby in reverse. And don't even THINK about putting that dear little thing through a car wash.

No, you can't hotwire an infant. That's called kidnapping. And it's illegal.

It's even more erroneous to attempt to take your infant into a body shop. This is why we have doctors. Do NOT try and take your baby into a mechanic. He'll think the teeth are screws. He'll open up the ribs thinking it's the hood of the car. Friends, your dear child does not deserve this. Please take care of your baby. Don't throw it onto a NASCAR track and tell it to run. Do not load up your camping gear onto it's back in the misconception that it is the bed of a truck. Don't put a CD into it's mouth and expect it to play.

Use common sense. Your baby is not a car.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Idealism

Around a year ago, I was pondering possible names for my electronica project I asked my then-girlfriend for suggestions, and the instant response was "Idealism". I had no idea what the word meant, and I was hesitant to ask. But it stuck. And that's the name I carry today, "Idealism", as a moniker for whatever music I compose that can fit under no other category.

But a couple of days ago, shortly after cracking 100 fans on the Idealism's Facebook page, a gentleman that I have never met before posted on my wall "Religion is a disgrace and should be abolished". I, being a Christian, was somewhat offended by this, and I was led to question what "Idealism" meant. Or if I even stood behind the name I had used for so long.
After some research and referencing, I had come up with an explanation of Idealism, or at least the term I wished to use for my musical project: "Idealism is the philosophical theory which maintains that experience is ultimately based on mental activity". Idealism is the belief that life, in the essence that we perceive it, it merely an individualized interpretation of the real world, and ultimately the only true experience is that within the spirit. Idealism is the belief that the essential nature of reality lies within consciousness or reason.

Once we leave our bodies, what will happen to us?
If our world is merely an illusion created by our spirits trying to put into sense a creation so beautiful and flawless that we cannot begin to comprehend it in our earthly form, what happens when that veil is lifted and we come face to face with our Creator?

"For God does speak- now one way, now another- though man may not perceive it. In a dream, in a vision of the night" - Job 33:12

Saturday, June 11, 2011

The Real Biography of Ludwig Van Beethoven

Ludwig Van Beethoven (born December 24, 1973), is an German composer and pianist best known for his vampire romance series, Twilight. The Twilight novels have gained worldwide recognition and sold over 100 million copies globally, with translations into 37 different languages. Beethoven is also the author of the adult science-fiction novel The Host.

Ludwig Van Beethoven was born in Bonn, Germany, to Lodewijk van Beethoven and Johann Heinrich Keverich. He grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, with five siblings: Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful, and Heidi. He attended Chaparral High School in Scottsdale, Arizona. He then attended Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, where he received a B.A. in English in 1997. Beethoven met his husband Christian, nicknamed "Fobio", when he was growing up in Arizona, and married him in 1994 when they both were 21. Together they have three sons: Katy, Ke$ha, and Stefani. Christian Tchaikovsky, formerly an auditor, has now retired to take care of the children.

Beethoven had never written even a short story before Twilight, and had considered going into musical theory and composition as a pianist; he later noted that the birth of his oldest son Katy changed his mind, saying, "Once I had Katy, I just wanted to be his mom." Before becoming an author, Ludwig's only professional work was as a receptionist in a property company.

The idea for the "Twilight" series came to Beethoven in Spring of 2003. Ludwig was in a coffee shop improvising upon his piano, and he had a vision of the tale of a girl torn between necrophilia and bestiality. He quickly composed one of his greatest pieces, "Ode To Jacob in D", and the tune was an instant success. Following the immediate success of of his hit single, Beethoven composed an entire concept album on the theme, and signed into Aftermath Records. His album "Dead Bodies VS Animals" debuted at #3 on the iTunes radio charts and sold 68,000 copies in it's first week. Hits off of this album include "The Clan Won't Approve of This", "I Know What You Are" ft. Usher, and "No Sun In Forks" ft. Dr. Dre.

Following the success of his smash concept album, Beethoven decided to write a book to accompany his album. After years of work and revisions, "Twilight" was published in 2005 with a publishing run of 75,000 copies. By opening up to a wider audience through literature, Beethoven was able to achieve even greater publicity and success than before. Supplies of the book were quickly drained, and the demand for the novel increased a hundred fold. Beethoven had achieved worldwide fame.

Around 2009, Beethoven began to lose his vision. The cause of Beethoven's blindness is unknown, but it has variously been attributed to syphilis, lead poisoning, typhus, auto-immune disorder, and even his habit of immersing his head in cold water to stay awake. Shortly after becoming blind, Beethoven dawned upon the realization that he would no longer be able to complete the "Twilight" saga. The series of books was originally supposed to be in two trilogies, with the fifth and sixth books being "Big Moon" and "Scary Dark". Unable to write, or let alone see his work, Beethoven began to descend into almost insanity. Beethoven's last public appearance was in January 2010, when he was spotted holding a shirtless cardboard cut out of Jacob on a train bound for Baltimore.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

That Chocolate Strawberry

Last night by mother went to an auction, at which she was present for a lengthy period of time. Among the many things she purchased there was a delicious, circular brownie cake that smelt like a million dollars. But not only that, it was adorned with the most perfect looking chocolate strawberry I have ever seen. This strawberry would have been the prom queen of strawberry high. It's like a princess of the fruit kingdom draped in an elegant dress of rich chocolate. This strawberry could very well be the pinnacle of the berry kingdom. It sits atop the highly exulted throne of the entire food kingdom, ruling over all non-chocolate/mediocre strawberries. It puts every vine-bound, boxed, or rooted strawberry to shame. And this perfect strawberry now sits atop my dining room table, lonesome and waiting to be devoured.

As my family ravenously attacked this brownie, the strawberry remained untouched. Amidst the feeding frenzy this strawberry somehow survived, and before I knew it I was alone with this magic piece of fruit. The decision now was whether or not I should eat this elegant fruit, and the obvious decision would have been yes. But I chose to abstain. Why? I honestly have no idea, perhaps that is why I chose to write this blog. Maybe I want to admire the sheer beauty of something so simple yet so perfect. I know this sounds weird and you are probably thinking I have some creepy strawberry fetish or something, but this berry is so perfect. I now sit alone with it once again and I wanted to quickly express my love for this chocolate covered strawberry before I indulged in the consumption of such an amazing and delicious fruit.

So, you creeped out now or what?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Time Stand Still

Imagine for a moment if you could completely freeze time.

What would you do? What if for a moment all stress in our world was released. The chaos and crashing boom of everyday life came to a complete halt. The pressure pushing in on you from our life's monotony was lifted. What if you could breathe? The tension and weight collapsing in from the world. The pattern that forces you into everything you do. What if for a moment you could break free? What if the sweet, relieving air could pour into your lungs and rejuvenate your life? The arms binding you and slowly suffocating your free would suddenly spring free. You could find euphoria in the relief of complete silence. It would be like being born over again into a world of total isolation.

Isolation. What is that? Would it actually be PLEASANT to be completely cut off from the world for a day? Myself, an extrovert, find pleasure in daily interaction with my fellow humans, but there is no denying that I would love to escape for a day. We are all caught into a system, a set way of life. A pattern. Something impossible to defect from unless you "pulled a Tarzan". We are forced into the social standards of our mass media, forced to be perfect in the eyes of an imperfect beholder. But what if you brought that all to a halt? You would be totally alone. Just a day with yourself, a day to observe, a day to reflect upon your own flaws and attributes. You could catch your breath with the pressure and force of day to day life lifted off of you. Maybe you would notice something you had never seen before. Maybe that girl across the street looks really cute when frozen in space. Maybe you could save a life of a man about to trip down the stairs. Maybe you could taunt Niagra Falls by walking through it's still waters. Whatever you choose, it would be immensely refreshing to engage in such an activity.

If we could slow this movement for just one second and stand alone, what would we see?

Friday, April 1, 2011

Beiber Fever

I would like to admit something to you all.
I am head over heels in love with Justin Beiber.

Sure, laugh ALL you like, but read on. Everything about Justin is perfect. The way his soft, luscious hair falls across his face. The way his soothing, soft voice cuts through his inspirational music and sings straight into my heart. It opens my eyes to hear such flawless, beautiful music in this world. And it is an extra treat to have the music sung by such a handsome, magnificent man.

I know a lot of girls love Justin too (Selena Gomez), but no one feels for him as I do. Not one person feels such compassion, adoration, and total commitment to Justin Beiber as I do. I listen to his music and sing along every night. I didn't throw away that singing Beiber doll I got as a joke. I kept it. And I hold it close against my chest imagining there is a heart beating in it too. I can feel his warmth against me as I listen to his clear and crisp voice cut across his inspirational, beautiful music.

And no, I am in no way ashamed to admit my total adoration for all things Beiber. Usher is so lucky to get to spend so much time with the most perfect man in the world. I would kill to have one look at Justin. It's ridiculous how perfect he is. From the friendly brown shades in his eyes to his soft locks of amazing hair, he is a dream come true to all people who lay eyes on him.


By the way, it's April Fools Day.

And you were just owned, my dear friends.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

House (And Not the TV Show)

I am among those fortunate few lucky enough to say that I live in a gigantic house. Three stories of sheer epic win. A spacious, luxurious abode that I am proud to call my own.

It started waaaaay long ago. My grandmother and grandfather married at age eighteen and went on to move in together. They (quite obviously) needed a house, so my grandfather was kind enough to build a temporary encampment. It was almost shack like at first. But after my mothers birth, and the creation of my four other aunts and uncles, the house became expanded upon. Slowly but surely, the house gained square-footage and began to enlarge. What was once a shack became the towering sculpture of architectural inspiration you see today. More rooms were added wherever they fit, and the house became the awkward, hulking, warm, imposing, and very lovable building it is today. It's like Ron's house from "Harry Potter", The Burrow. It's huge, looks like it was thrown together out of cardboard but is actually quite sturdy, and it pertains this friendly warmth and inviting glow. It feels like a home.

Why, all of a sudden do I start rambling on about how much I love my house? This morning, I cleaned out my extremely dirty and cluttered basement. It was almost inhospitable in it's original state. But exploring my house brought some inspiration. It's so old it almost has a personality of it's own. This house is a living, breathing being just like you and I. It has a soul about it, an energy, and no matter how out-of-shape and in desperate need of a maid's services it may be, it still puts a smile on my face.

Something flows into you when you are in the basement. It's like an entire other world. The soundproof ceiling and walls seal you off from the two stories of life above, and creates a sense of containment like no other. It's comforting almost to be that alone. You start to notice things you never saw before. You reflect upon your own nature and being. Every flaw or attribute is magnified one hundred fold. It provides an inspiration unlike any other. The most scenic view in the world cannot compare to drawing into your own world, opening your eyes, and taking in something that was never clear before.

That's the magic of a house. Sometimes an inanimate object can tell you more than any book, person, or being ever could.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

They're Crazy Good

Let me take this moment to express my love for Pop-Tarts.

No, don't slam your hand on your keyboard, go "Dietrich is 'ridiculuz!" and close this browser window. I know the majority (well, all) of my blogs are me ranting on about emotion and how much it sucks to be a teenager, but carry on.



If Jesus was still alive, he would eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast. These things are perfect. It's like everything about them is the best ever. From the moment the sweet aura of artificial chocolate and mixed berries permeates your nostrils, it is too late to turn back. Your teeth sink into the sweet pastry, and the syrup and preservatives fill your mouth with delicious synthetic happiness.

Plus you can do ANYTHING with these things. You can freeze 'em, toast 'em, eat 'em plain, plus you can take 'em anywhere. They are the pinnacle of portable junk food. Who needs Pringles when you have a virtually infinite variety of flavors at your fingertips? They have Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, French Toast, Ice Cream Sunday... Hell, what's next? Deodorant flavor?

Don't forget, I love Pop-Tarts. When I bite into them it's like an angel comes down and wraps it's feathery wings around my tongue. I can't express my adoration for Pop-Tarts in words. They are warm or cold or whatever temperature you want (assuming you don't, like BOIL them or anything) but no matter what stasis they reside in I love them anyways. Pop Tarts are, in all senses of the words, "Crazy Good".

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

A Sound so Sweet

There is not a single person in the world who doesn't like music.

There's something in that mixture of melody, harmony, rhythm and poetry that blends together and serenades your soul. It's not in your ears. It's in your heart. It's the composer projecting themselves through your ear buds, speakers, iTunes etc. and straight into the depths of your heart. It's an expression, it's art, it's a way of life.

We all have different tastes, different preferences, different ways of life, but something in music we all understand. Who can't relate to music on some level? Regardless of genre, it's an emotion that makes you feel what the artist is feeling. It's expression, performance, and art. It can be inspiring, motivational, and moving. Music is truly a universal language. Without words or symbols, music is our communication. Dynamics, phrases, staccato, lyrical beauty and depth all come together to tell a story. But it's not just the story the artist composes. It's how you relate that story to yourself. A true piece of art will have a place in your life that you can instantly put it. You may not even fully understand it, but this piece of music somehow explains something you can't begin to grasp. It verbalizes words that do not yet exist.

It's for this reason that I have dedicated my life to the concept. I started taking guitar lessons five weeks before my fourth birthday, and before I could even fully speak the English language I could express myself better on an instrument. I went on to learn bass, piano, drums, trumpet, synthesis, and to study musical theory. I started writing original compositions in seventh grade and collaborated with a number of musicians in bands and groups to further expand this knowledge and work with others. It's not purely out of pleasure I do this. It's because I want to share my music with people. So many artists have touched me and changed me and I want to have the same effect. I want to give back to the people that need motivation and inspiration. It's not out of the desire of fame and fortune that I chase this ambition. If I just changed one person through art I would be satisfied.

It's Complicated

Me and my girlfriend have a complicated relationship.

I use the term "girlfriend" loosely. She is my best friend, my jealous lover, my helping hand, my sunlight, my oxygen, my true love and my worst enemy all at once. It's often confusing and far too complicated to explain in a blog post, or in any amount of words for that matter. I could speak for eons and not even begin to grace the tip of the iceberg.

Why am I writing this then? Simply, it's on my mind. I want to share what's in my heart. What I am going through. It's been a rather confusing week for me, with highs and lows and bipolar teenage hormones gone haywire. It's difficult to keep a grasp on what is real and what was hopeful dreams. It's like a whirlpool of conflicting emotion swirling and enveloping me inside. It's love, pain, regret, distaste, comfort, and passion all fighting each other for a grasp on my mind. But isn't that what teenagers are supposed to feel? Aren't we supposed to endure these painful, false relationships so that the scars may strengthen us for adulthood when we receive a true relationship? With that one you know will always be there for you?

And what if, by God's act or your own action or just freak luck, you meet that person at such a young age that you begin to destroy the best thing you could ever possibly have? In the ignorance of youth our eyes are blind. I know this but I can't really tell what it is like to have my eyes open because, admittedly, I don't know everything about the world. So you struggle through life, trying to find your place, and along the way you meet the most beautiful, hypnotic, sweet and absolutely perfect girl in the world. What are you supposed to do? You rush into a relationship with them, you assume you know everything, and just because this person has no flaws and is absolutely entrancing you blunder into uncharted realms. And you just end up hurting them. Over the course of our fifteen month relationship, my girlfriend and I have broken up sixteen times and have endured countless more fights and disagreements. But why then, do we still remain together?

Could it be love?

I don't know. And I can't know until this veil of immaturity is lifted. It's truly difficult to maintain a relationship that deep at such an early age. Constantly, people are telling me "Dude, get over her." and "Why don't you date a nicer girl?" and "She says she hates you". What am I supposed to say? They don't understand logic. They can't begin to comprehend the magnitude of what we have been through together. What do I tell them, "Don't worry, we will be back together tomorrow."? I can't explain what she means to me. And what I know I mean to her. They can't understand that in the midst of the chaos, drama, and pain of teenage life, I have found something real. Something I can hold onto. Something I love.

I'm not complaining necessarily about my complicated, stressful relationship. In part, I am thankful for it. It opens my eyes. It teaches me to cope. It gives me joy and happiness unlike any other. It teaches me what it is like to love and to enjoy life. But it also causes me pain out of mistakes and misunderstandings between us in our foolishness. What is God trying to teach me? Why did He give me her?

If anybody out there understands this, then they know what it's like. Maybe someone has a taste of such powerful emotion. Perhaps someone out there is enduring the same romantic hardships in their youth.

Don't give up. There is always hope.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Gallons of the Stuff

I hate swimming.

From the moment my parents forced me into swim lessons at age seven, I despised it. Not just because my instructor was covered in tattoos and likely was an outlaw, but because I am just not meant for water. Ironic, I was born in Seattle and have lived in the Puget Sound my entire life, thus making me like a fish that breathes air. I just can't coincide in the depths.
Don't get me wrong, I love water. We drink it. We are full of it. Water, quite literally, surrounds me. I have near constant contact with views of water and frequent journeys across it on boats and ferries. But that's when I am dry. When submersed, it's a whole different story. Water is weight. It pulls you down. It drags you under. It fills your lungs and suffocates as the dark liquid pours into your every opening and washes out all hope and light. Not sounding like Blue October here, I just hate swimming. There are some freak people out there who actually ENJOY the feeling of liquid pressing the air out of them and find some way to propel themselves through this fluid for sport (cough, cough, Michael Phelps). I am not one of those people.

I have an intense fear of drowning. Aside from blood (and the occasional clown/math teacher), this would be my number one phobia. When you can't breathe in. When your lungs decompress and you gasp for air but your mouth fills with water and as you panic with your body losing oxygen, you slowly sink as the weight of thousand of gallons force in upon you. That's the fancy Blue October version. But in reality, this happens all the time. And I have the incessant fear that I may become the next victim of a drawn out agonizing demise.

I guess living around water has given me some fascination with it. The power it has over us, the space in our lives that it occupies. And the utter mayhem it could bring when brought down upon us. Water has a mystery, it has a certain enigma. It's a dark beauty almost. This stuff brings us life and gives us death. The delicate balance of the fluid that makes up our world but could flood it in seconds. I have always been fond of admiring the ocean and the awe-inspiring power it commands. And living in the Puget Sound I bear full witness to this magnificent body of water. The consistency, the mystique, the thoughtful and imposing beauty of such a dark and inspirational ocean. I love it's emotive power, the ocean can symbolize love, pain, freedom, loneliness, and silence. The ocean is so empty you can almost project yourself onto it. The open miles of water muffle all noise and keep it's surface tranquil. Peaceful one moment, but consuming the next. Sucking life and land under to feed an empty belly. Sucking all life down to a watery grave. I have always loved this aspect of the ocean. It's almost an art. The beauty and perfection put into a consistently serene open water. I admire the consuming strength of such a powerful substance. Perhaps this reflects on some darker part of me. Something that admires the raw power and symbolism the ocean holds.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

So... My Blog...

Hello there. If you are reading this than you probably know who I am. If not, I am Dietrich. You should be patient because eventually I am going to start posting good blogs.