Jawbone, Kentucky

I sat on the front porch for over 3 hours, listening to music and writing about each song as it came on. An experiment I've tried before with mixes, but never had the patience to sit through a whole mix and write your justification for each song on the mix to the person you made it for. I listened to the music and the crickets and the sound of the neighbors sprinkler in the cold with tea and a sweatshirt on. It was one of the most theraputic things I've done in a long time. Writing and listening and just being outside while doing it was like meditation. It focused all of my senses on the moment. My left side and rights sides of my brain were simultaneously operating and communicating with each other, and I had a serene sense of being and connection with Rachel. I could imagine her listening to the mix and reading the letter and he reaction to certain phrases or songs.

Then I cam upstairs and saw my two room mates, each doing their own thing. One, laying on the recliner with a bowl of popcorn, headphones on and a movie on her laptop. The other, taking an on-line quiz for one of his Philosophy classes and we joke like old college buddies should. I felt inspired. I felt happy. I felt that even though America is in such a terrible mess, everything we've ever thought about American government will soon change, I'm not making enough money to get by,and neither is my mother or grandmother I know that this house will be a sanctuary from all of that. A place that like-minded people can live and write and read and learn together. Learning how to make the world a better place, as soon as we get around to changing it. Good music everywhere all the time. Laughter, jokes, spontenaeity, coffee, beer, sushi, card games, these things are what make it all worth it.

Dear Captain Zissou.

I am 11 and a half years old
and live in Jawbone, Kentucky.
A creek runs behind our house
where I live with my mother.
She met you once some years ago...
and I collect and catalog amphibians,
reptiles and insects.
I don't know what this one is called,
so I named it myself.

You are probably my one of,
if not the, favorite person I've ever studied.
I plan to be either,
"A, "an oceanographer...
"B, "an architect, "C, "a pilot.

Thank you very much for your good work.
Sincerely, Ned Plimpton,
Blue Star Cadet, Zissou Society.

P.S. Do you ever wish
you could breathe underwater?

I still wish
I could breathe underwater.

Me too, Ned.

- Fluorescent snapper!
- What?

Really? What's that?

- A good sign. The last time
we saw that big shitkicker, he -

Somethin' popped up there,
didn't it?

I heard a pin snap loose
in the rotator mechanism.

This is gonna hurt.

Ned!

Ned!

- Ned!
- Hey, Stevesy.

Are you okay?

I think I'm okay.

What happened?
Did we hit something?

Most likely not.

I think maybe
the pushrod failed.

I'm sorry, Ned. I should've scrapped
this chopper years ago.

You know, maybe
I should've autorotated...

and performed a high bank
through our descent.

We might've crashed
a little softer.

Probably wouldn't have made
any difference though.

Oh.