Archive for 2025-05-29
- 1The Song of the Earth
I am stuck in a narrow, crowded road. I can see the beginnings of a traffic jam. This part of the city was, after all known, for its nightmarish traffic situation. One could get stuck among honking cars and two-wheelers, for hours on end. I throw up a silent prayer to the gods, to spare me from a traffic jam. I just dont have the energy to navigate cursing drivers, and pedestrians who didnt have a lick of road sense. "Why couldnt people in this blasted country just follow the damn traffic rules?" "Why did I choose to come here for school?" I can feel my thoughts spiraling as I quietly resign myself to being stuck here for hours. A sudden cool breeze, breaks my reverie. This wasnt just any kind of breeze, it was the sort that brought the sweet promise of rain with it. I feel a new sort of awareness, as I sit up a little straighter. I take in my surroundings as if for the first time. A broad smile, splits my face, as I breathe in the wind carrying the scent of the earth. It reminds me of home, of the many many evenings I spent dancing and laughing in the rain with my siblings. I tilt my face up to the sky as if to greet a long lost friend. I relax, as the first drops, of rain hit me, causing delicious shivers to race up my body......
- 0Bonjour, Plattsburgh? Reflections from America’s Quiet Border
I stopped for pancakes at a diner just off Route 9 in Plattsburgh, NY (ZIP: 12901, for my fellow map nerds). It’s one of those places where the menu hasn’t budged since about 1983—and neither have the prices, bless their hearts. As I drowned my short stack in syrup, I overheard the table next to me stumbling through their breakfast order in hesitant French, earning bemused smiles and gentle confusion from their very-much-English-speaking server.
Here’s the kicker: Lacolle, Quebec, is a breezy 40-minute drive north. Cross that line, and French flows effortlessly—c’est naturel. But in Plattsburgh, French feels oddly out of place, like cowboy boots at a vegan potluck.
Contrast that with Texas, where you can be miles and miles from the Rio Grande and Spanish is as comfy as old denim. Of course, Texas spent a significant chunk of its formative years as part of Mexico—history has deep roots, deeper even than pecan trees. In fact, there's still a quiet undercurrent among some Texans who feel the border never quite landed right, culturally speaking. Texas is practically its own country—Tex-Mex traditions, bilingual street signs, and communities where crossing linguistic boundaries happens every day without a blink.
Why the stark difference in Plattsburgh, then? Historically, the border between the U.S. and Canada was largely shaped by treaties between distant governments rather than by cultural or economic tides. The northeastern U.S. border, once delineated, hardened into an identity line. Economics played its role too: trade, jobs, and daily life largely stayed separate, preventing cultural blending.
Meanwhile, the U.S.-Mexico border region remains fluid, economically intertwined, and culturally overlapping. Families and businesses sprawl comfortably on both sides. The flow of goods, people, and especially language has softened that border into something more porous, more natural—more human.
America’s borders are funny like that. Sometimes they split cultures cleanly; other times, the lines blur beautifully. And as I wiped up the last sticky bits of syrup, I thought about how borders are drawn in ink—but lived in pancakes, language, and the raised eyebrows of a diner waitress.
Until next time, keep braking for historical markers.
- 0Is It Good, or Is It Just Familiar? A ZZ Top Thought Experiment
I hadn’t listened to ZZ Top since I was a kid, but the other day, out of sheer curiosity, I dove into their This Is ZZ Top playlist on Spotify. My mission? To find out whether the band’s hit songs—you know, those catchy tunes constantly playing on the radio in the ‘80s—are genuinely their best, or simply the ones I’ve learned to love.
As I listened, something immediately became clear: the hits still slapped. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting that. I thought I might discover hidden gems, deep cuts clearly superior to their radio singles. But, surprisingly, “Sharp Dressed Man” still dominated with its relentless groove. “La Grange” still had that magical ability to transport me back to carefree days, cruising in a hot car without air conditioning, enjoying a greasy burger under the summer sun.
This led me to a deeper question: Is a song “better” because it’s masterfully crafted, or because I’ve grown accustomed to hearing it associated with good memories? Am I objectively responding to the musical structure and artistry, or simply reacting to the memories and emotions woven into the song?
Things become even trickier when considering that popular songs might become hits precisely because of this positive familiarity. It’s like classical conditioning—we hear a song during happy moments, and our brain registers it as a masterpiece. But does this make the song objectively superior? Or does it simply confirm that our love for certain songs is an endless loop of nostalgia and emotional association?
Fun fact on the side: ZZ Top’s “Tush” was written in just ten minutes but became one of their most enduring hits. Sometimes hits strike like lightning—or perhaps they simply fit perfectly into radio rotations of their time.
In the end, maybe the answer to what makes a song good isn’t tied strictly to sophisticated musical structures or universal objective value. Instead, perhaps the better question is: what song helps me feel most like myself right now? Maybe that’s enough. Because after all, music doesn’t have to be good for everyone—it just needs to be good for you.