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When my father found out I listened to classical music, he helpfully told it to an uncle whom we were visiting. My uncle said we finally have something in common. It turned out he had renovated his home to accommodate a ceiling projector, a slide screen and a high-end sound system, along with a few air-conditioners, to magnify his musical experience. As he escorted me to his TV room of leather seats and heavy curtains, he insisted that I feel comfortable. Put your legs up, he said. Have a pillow, or more. He then wasted no time and slid a shiny plastic into the player. My uncle had put on Yanni. Things went downhill from then on. For an hour, I endured Yanni's wavy long hair, his white robe, his face bathed in yellow spotlight, his burdensome crescendos, cheesy editorial fade-ins and floaty double exposures. I will never forget him.

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passerines

deerhoof, rachmaninoff, stereolab, erik satie, xiu xiu, nick drake, the carter family, steve reich, kimya dawson, beirut, debussy

cuts

the squid and the whale, ed wood

therapy

the office

spines and margins

old national geographic magazines, jd salinger, jeffrey eugenides, flannery o'connor, blankets, gabriel garcia marquez, the little prince

commas and ellipses

art, craft, moving, settling, noise, silence, howard finster, henry darger, normal-looking goldfishes, cats, the weather, supermarkets, wet markets, bodies of water, giant trees, birds, breakfast, spontaneous supper arrangements, learning to ride a bike