Memoriam

Bob Dylan once said "take care of your memories, for you cannot relive them."

Isn't it funny what types of things set off memories? And isn't it odd how sometimes two of the most random things become so inexplicably intertwined in your mind that you can't possibly think of one thing without thinking of the other?

For me, the one thing that tend to associate with more memories than anything else is music - certain songs instantly remind me of some time, some place, or someone in my life. It's nice, actually. I can't really think of any songs offhand that I've subconsciously linked to bad or painful times in my life, but that's a good thing. Bad memories are worth having because they make you appreciate the good times and teach you things about your past, but good memories are the only ones you ever really want to reminisce with.

Some examples of music that spawns memories for me:

Bubba Sparxxx's album Deliverance for example reminds me of living in Knoxville, Tennessee. I would pop in this CD in the morning on my way to work and while I was driving around town. Southern music for a southern town. I miss my time in Knoxville.

Ozma's "Bad Dogs" reminds me of one of the days in my life where I felt most vulnerable, the day I was moving to the oh-so-foreign Detroit. Driving through the driving snow in the near pitch-black of northern Ohio and southern Michigan, this song came on and I just screamed it louder than anything I've ever sung before.

The Counting Crows' "Another Horsedreamer's Blues" and "Baby, I'm A Big Star Now" remind me of an ex-girlfriend. Fitting that those two songs are so tied together for me (I can't hear one without immediately needing to hear the other) as one song was her favorite, the other mine. They're two somewhat sad songs which in a way mimic the regret I feel for the way things ended between the two of us (unfortunately, we're less than friends at this point), but also just remind me of the whole concept of two separate unique things becoming even an even better thing when paired together.

"Laughing Out Loud" by the Wallflowers reminds me of blasting demons. I left it in the CD drive when I played Hexen II, and now I can't hear that song without thinking of throwing a giant, lightning striking hammer at some flying imp. Odd, I know.

Of course "The White and Gold" and "Ramblin' Wreck" bring back fond memories of GT football games, but even further back the FSU War Chant does the same.

"Burnout" by Green Day reminds me of a close friend from middle school who fell into hard times in late high-school. Frighteningly appropriate.

"Vehicle" by The Ides of March reminds me of driving around the middle of nowhere near Kennesaw, Georgia, looking for some gigantic arcade which ended up being right next to the freaking interstate.

"Proper Propaganda" by The Dilated Peoples reminds me of riding on a packed train in Scotland, talking with two school teachers from Birmingham. I had my headphones on, listening to this song, staring out the window, when across from one of my fellow study-abroaders (horrible English, I apologize) sat down two young teachers. We must've talked to those girls for hours, and it almost felt like a dream. Before we knew it we all parted ways at a train station in Bristol.

"Amores Perros (Love Is A Bitch)" by Dover will forever remind me of strolling Las Ramblas in Barcelona, eating paella.

"I Want It That Way" by The Backstreet Boys will forever remind me of Zack Brown. We jam to that song on every single road trip we take, it's an absolute necessity.

Outkast's "Bombs Over Baghdad" reminds me of feeling alive, driving home from one particularly great date, feeling like I'd finally put it together and found a girlfriend.

"A New Friend" by The Good Life reminds me of just the opposite - a recent blown opportunity.

"Cease" by Bad Religion appropriately enough reminds me of the first person that I died on me while I was trying my hardest to keep him alive. I've never done CPR so vigorously in my life - I cracked clear through his sternum, 100 compressions per minute, and we just couldn't bring him back. "Everything must cease," indeed. I don't consider this a bad memory - it's a ridiculously important one. It helps to remind me that no matter how hard I try, you can't save everybody - but that I should never ever stop caring, that every person I lay a hand on and try to help out is important. That every single life I possibly can help I should do my absolute damnedest to help.

Sure, other things can bring back memories, but the strongest ones for me always have relied on attachment to music. Even visiting the actual locales themselves just doesn't bring back the sense of euphoria that hearing the first few seconds of a song tied to a fond memory brings me. The locales, people, and situations in my life are constantly changing, but my memories will hopefully be with me for a long time. And I'm always listening to new music and making new memories.

Here's to hoping I've got many more happy, good ones to create.