This is essentially a journal post. There’s a lot of pressure to commercialize every ounce of creative output, so for a moment, I thought, “Do I now have to start a Substack or — god forbid — a podcast of my own?” I have nowhere else to put it since Tumblr is no longer an especially relevant source of information, but it very much fits in with the stream of consciousness that I was once accustomed to planting there.
Topics in this entry include:
How religion usurps people’s collective sense of wonder for control
How I both cringe at and miss the easily found inspiration of my coming-of-age Tumblr days
How I wrote 18 songs between 2018 and 2023 for an album that is not yet released
How I work for my crown-jewel employer, but I feel like I’m living a double life with one foot in Phoenix and another in the Pacific Northwest
How being a dad has eased my anxiety in the world
How I embraced my personal style and confidence with new glasses and a precise haircut
How I decided that cooking is actually one of my favorite hobbies
How modern politics baffle me, especially in the context of my profession
The three rules in life that I will teach my son and the indie media plushes I bought to represent three big life lessons
Addendum: Lego Masters and Roddy Nikpour’s Lego Island
1. How religion usurps people’s collective sense of wonder for control
What Christians attribute to the so-called Holy Spirit, I attribute to a collective sense of wonder. You don’t have to be specifically in the context of a Christian worship session to feel the ecstasy of sharing music with hundreds or thousands of other people. Crying at concerts is very normal for most people (just ask me about seeing Explosions in the Sky for the fifth time in August 2024, that time in Portland).
This goes beyond the wonder of music. It touches on basic existential questions like “What is the purpose of life?” and “What happens after you die?” — the former of which I address later in this journal-turned-treatise, the latter of which I chalk up to the Epicurean symmetry argument and Socrates’s hunch that it’s either nothing, something neutral, or something good, but not anything bad, because like my high school senior humanities teacher Mr. Crawford (Bob) said, “It doesn’t make sense that an infinite being (God) can punish finite beings (humans) for their finite actions (“sins”) in an infinite way (hell).”
The point of this first rumination is: As long as people have not only had a sense of wonder, but been afraid of it, other more powerful (and arguably smarter) people have learned to prey upon this fear by providing answers that build a sense of community through tribalism. While the sense of community in religion is very real, so is the tribalism (hence the impact of Voltaire’s Candide, especially in chapter three when both sides are singing Te Deum hymns).
This isn’t a proclamation of atheism — much like my view on politics (also discussed later), I’m entirely open to all points of view. The problem — or, I should say, my understandably consistent lack of conviction by any definitive answers in these mysteries of life — is that I keep hearing the same points of view over and over with no compelling reason to join them. Instead, I’m more interested in allowing the mysteries of life to remain mysteries, spend time meditating on them (not in a spiritual way, but in a playing ambient guitar and feeling something about it way), and taking the “long road” to community-building — the road that doesn’t rely on othering people who don’t have the same answer as me. Let’s bond through a shared sense of awe.
2. How I both cringe at and miss the easily found inspiration of my coming-of-age Tumblr days
My transition into adulthood was founded on this feeling of being shaken by the revelations above. That’s not only the time when I was writing my cringiest poetry, but I was also writing my best songs. The Ursus Colossus (formerly Anchors) song called “If Imagination Had a Limit” was the first song I ever wrote, inspired by the idea that religious faith requires a limit to imagination. The song represents my refusal to accept that limit. Likewise, “Glimmer Into the Great Unknown” is another early song that I wrote in which I was trying to fathom the experience of rising above the cloud line and experiencing even a mere glimmer of the metaphysical.
As I write them, these explanations of songs seem cringey — almost as cringey as the poetry I mentioned earlier. Then again, who’s to say that they’re cringey? Why should I be embarrassed about it? The poetic confession to an unrealized love, “I was unfaithful before I met you,” is gold. I just wrote it in Latin so that nobody could cringe on my behalf (and, arguably, to emulate the style of Catullus).
Cringe or not, it was inspired. This whole era of my life was inspired. And while I can’t conjure real conviction out of thin air, I miss when the muse would walk through my mind on a nearly daily basis. Now, it’s more like she’s an old friend who checks in every few weeks — unfortunately, often between 3 and 7 a.m., my most creative hours — but I take every (waking) opportunity I can to meet her.
3. How I wrote 18 songs between 2018 and 2023 for an album that is not yet released
My best friends and I started a band in high school called Anchors, which we swiftly renamed to something more searchable: Ursus Colossus. We put out two albums and an EP, played dozens of sweaty shows as an instrumental rock trio, then pretty much stopped in 2014 when the physical distance between us became too vast to warrant regular enough practice.
In 2018, after going through a cross-country move that ended up leading to breaking up with my now ex-fiancee (that’s a whole other story, including the part where she got diagnosed with cancer shortly after that, and to my knowledge, she’s fine now!), my drummer proposed that we write again because our chemistry as musicians was undeniable. After all, we’ve been best friends since about eighth grade. Granted, at this point, we still lived states apart, so we started sending riffs back and forth via Dropbox (not a novel concept in the music world at this point, especially since the pandemic).
Years later, we’re sitting on 18 songs that I’m extremely proud of — so proud of that I want to press them in vinyl. (To be fair, that financially imprudent instinct is also informed by the increasingly unappealing tactic of making music available on streaming platforms like Spotify.) While I wait for my friend to finish the master recordings of his parts, I’ve been performing the album over and over in my room — sometimes along to the stems to get the “full band” effect, other times by myself looping parts on a guitar, dreaming of a day when I might be able to perform these songs in a live, intimate setting.
No matter what, this album is something we made for us, and I’m damn proud of it. And yet, my muse has been living in a cage. I’m not as easily able to write new music until this comes out, so I’m hoping we make that happen sooner than later.
4. How I work for my crown-jewel employer, but I feel like I’m living a double life with one foot in Phoenix and another in the Pacific Northwest
I was one of those people in 2011-ish who always said I’d live in Portland, Oregon. But, then, it made more financial sense to stay in Phoenix — heck, eventually it made more financial sense to live in Portland, Maine. Somehow, though, a solid job opportunity never manifested itself to me, so that dream remains unfulfilled.
Meanwhile, one dream that has been amply fulfilled is working for a dream public radio station: KEXP. I discovered this station in college after my internship with the Phoenix-based NPR station with a Google search using some keywords: “public radio music station.” With KEXP being based in the Pacific Northwest, I knew this would be close enough to fulfilling my (wet) dreams of Portland.
The catch, of course, is that while I work for KEXP, the job is remote. I’m in Phoenix.
Don’t get me wrong — since leaving the desert in 2017 and returning in 2021 (and returning to a different part of the city) — I’ve found that Phoenix has a lot to offer that I took for granted growing up here. I’ve learned to love certain culinary haunts, and some of my closest people are still tethering me here, including my mom and deepest friendships. On top of that, my employment situation is — to put it simply — extremely fortunate. My wages are solid, my schedule is flexible, my coworkers are agreeable, and above all, my work itself is fulfilling. This may not be the job that I envisioned doing at this stage in my career, but I’ve also never said no to good career opportunities — especially when, at the time of the offer, the opportunity includes a $15,000 pay increase from where you were at before (no matter how fun that previous job was).
Arguably, I’m living the best life possible: I have the social benefits of being near my closest friends and family while working in a comfortable job and serving as a contractor for KEXP.
Even though I’m no longer trying to “escape” Phoenix in the same angsty teenage way I was in high school, I know I don’t want to die here. If it were up to me, independent of jobs and relationships, I’d end up in Portland in a heartbeat. It’s the kind of place I could see myself working in any job and being happy. One of my dad’s friends once said of his chosen city that that was how he knew he wanted to stay.
Then again, I could see myself in Seattle if only to pursue to KEXP dream and be closer to other friends and family.
Then again, I could see myself in British Columbia because my spouse is from there.
Then again, I could see myself staying in Phoenix because I’m already here now, opportunities are fruitful, and life is long.
Then again, I could see myself in Portland because… well, I don’t have a convenient or logical excuse. It’s just Portland.
How much of a pay cut would you take to live in your “dream city?” My curse is not accepting a pay cut or pivot in career in order to obtain a very specific quality of life.
I’ve also known several desert rats who moved to the Northwest and within a few years moved back to Phoenix because — surprise — moving didn’t solve all their problems.
But, I mean, come on. It’s Portland.
5. How being a dad has eased my anxiety in the world
One of my dearest colleagues, a mother of two now, said it best: Having a child makes your world smaller — not in a bad way, though. It’s just that, when you have this little being to protect and nurture, the problems of the larger world fade into the background. Sensationalized headlines (no matter how dire the actual situation is) cannot drown your hope when you’re staring into the sparkling eyes of your infant or squeezing his roly-poly arms.
Admittedly, being a dad is not as spiritually profound as I was expecting to feel based on the reviews, but I’m having fun. People have said, “The second you hear the heartbeat,” or, “The second you see their face for the first time,” then you’ll realize your world will never be the same again.
I never exactly had that moment. My son was born on the day when the planets were aligned, though, so I joke that he’s the chosen one (chosen for what, I don’t know). But I don’t feel radically different — and that’s not a bad thing. I just feel like we now have this little guy living with us, and we have the privilege and responsibility to make sure he’s safe, fed, loved, and clean when we can manage (that was the checklist I’ve surmised based off people’s advice).
6. How I embraced my personal style and confidence with new glasses and a precise haircut
I figured out my haircut: tapered from the bottom to the top, size two guard around the ears (to match my preferred beard length), size four guard at the top of my head, and the top is long and textured (not “layered,” like I regrettably used to say as a holdover from my faux emo days).
Likewise, I’m trying out a new pair of glasses that are marginally different from the ones I had before (I joke that this is my time-skip look). They’re perfectly round, clear, plastic frames. Yes, I realize I look like a caricature of my profession (i.e. a college professor), but in some ways, that’s the point. My only regret is that my peripheral vision is slightly limited, so I’m evaluating it from that lens (pun intended).
I’ve definitely received some positive feedback, and I definitely appreciate the feedback that’s less-than-positive from people I trust. The words “small and interesting” without a further qualifier will always ring in my head.
7. How I decided that cooking is actually one of my favorite hobbies
As someone with a screen-based desk job at home, in an office, or at a radio studio, I don’t often use my hands to create unless you count playing an instrument.
Meanwhile, my mom has been an incredible chef for as long as I can remember. I joke with myself (and any other Latinists) that she only learned one definition for the Latin infinitive, esse. (My mom does not know Latin.) Her cooking was so expert that, when I heard the electric steak knife turn on as a kid, I paused whatever game I was in the middle of just to fly downstairs for the first nibble. (My mom has since given me this steak knife, which I obviously treasure and use lovingly to carve.)
I only plan about two home-cooked meals per week (with leftovers, so we only eat out about two or three times per week), but I plan those meals with care.
When it comes to why I love cooking, there are many factors. Certainly, there’s the vibe that I curate in the kitchen: I usually turn on music, put on a ragged apron I received as a kid when I told everyone I wanted to be a chef (it says “Roddy’s Roadhouse Grill,” a place that has never existed), and zone out for the hour or so it takes for me to create the meal.
Another aspect of cooking that’s led to my appreciation is that I’m at the level of expertise (or hubris, you decide) where I’d almost rather eyeball increments rather than measure them. It’s a form of play. I feel so free putting something together that’s based on instinct.
Above all, I think any chef will say that the joy of cooking will come from serving others.
Unlike radio and music, though, I’ll try not to sully this hobby by trying to make a living from it (even though I’ve really taken to pulling espresso every morning and have made a new tradition of Thanksgiving called Pizza-and-Wings-Giving).
8. How modern politics baffle me, especially in the context of my profession
The headline itself is perilous, and I’m trying to be careful about how revealing I choose to be here given the nature of my career.
Despite my historically indecisive tendencies in life, of course I have convictions and biases like everyone. I certainly vote.
That’s just the irony of this feeling I’m having amid contemporary politics. People in media careers (I hesitate to describe myself as a “journalist” in the traditional sense) are advised to remain unbiased (we don’t talk about the laughably obsolete standard “objectivity” anymore). Truthfully, I’ve always perceived myself as a fairly neutral person in almost all situations — I’m the trusted Arnold in any given friend group, willing to hear and relate to all sides of an issue and dispense equanimous advice when asked.
With all that said, when the current administration is not only bullying Congress into dismantling public media in the United States, but also disparaging the career of journalism as a whole, one must wonder — I must wonder — at what point are we allowed to be biased toward self-preservation? How do we advocate for the fact that what we do is important without being too “biased”? Or is the ethical action simply to play our strings while the Titanic sinks? To me, this seems naive. At the same time, I understand and even agree with our obligation to remain unbiased — especially in the political sense. I’m not trying to be a people-pleaser.
Ultimately, I believe that we “the media” do have biases that we stand for — we just don’t vocalize them. For example, we’re biased toward democracy. That should be uncontroversial.
9. The three rules in life that I will teach my son and the indie media plushes I bought to represent three big life lessons
Be honest and forthright: Tell the truth and reveal information proactively.
Be yourself: Embrace your unique identity and only conform to traits or activities that feel natural.
Relatedly, I bought three plushes from indie media (two video games and one TV series) that have impacted me so much that I bought plushies of the main characters to remind me — er, I mean, to teach my son — of some useful tips.
Sans (of Undertale) reminds us to choose to be a good person (though, in another diatribe, I would argue that morality doesn’t exist outside of human existence; what we call “good” simply coheres with what has benefitted humankind over years of evolution), because nobody is going to tell you to be good, and it’s so easy to be bad and hurt others. Plus, if you don’t choose the good path, you’re going to have a bad time.
Peppino (of Pizza Tower) reminds us to find strength in ourselves and don’t worry about what others think. Confidence in yourself will take you much farther than you think.
Pomni (of The Amazing Digital Circus) reminds us that, ultimately, there is no purpose to existence, so you have to make it up for yourself — and, decisively, the best way to make meaning out of existence is to find it in taking care of the people around you.
Honorable mention: Hazbin Hotel is a guilty pleasure of mine — and I normally hate musical cartoons and movies.
10. Addendum: Lego Masters and Roddy Nikpour’s Lego Island
My longtime friend and I auditioned to be on season six of the reality TV show, Lego Masters. This rekindled my love for Lego — yes, the bricks, but arguably more so, the wholesome narratives I found in the sets and in the early video games.
In a quest to free my muse from her cage, I sometimes have taken it upon myself to cover familiar songs, such as “Siris” and “Eye in the Sky” by Alan Parsons, or even some tracks from another indie game, Stardew Valley. I found a lot of peace in those processes.
So, I had the thought of covering a few of my favorite tracks from the CD-ROM game, Lego Island. I might also narrate a few of the L-E-G-O Radio interstitials — both as a creative flair, but also as a commentary to myself about how radio has somehow been a touchstone of my life since I was a kid.
