Stephen Mejias

"Stephen, how come you like such pretty music when you’re in such a loud and raucous band?"

I had just clicked play on Paul Duncan’s "Oil in the Fields," a delicate song for this delicate day. Elizabeth seemed to respond immediately to it. If I were searching for a gift to offer Elizabeth, I’d keep this song in mind.

"That’s not a question I can answer, E. I haven't figured it out yet."
"I mean, it’s weird, isn’t it?"
"Hmm-mmm."
"Well, not exactly weird, but it does make you wonder."
"Yup."

I don’t know the whole answer. But I have wondered about it a lot. Part of it is simple: I am not the band. If I were to make music by myself, it would probably fall in the "pretty" category. Generally, I take the songwriting lead, and, while the other guys do make it better, they also make it louder and harder.

The other thing is: I like such pretty music because I am in such a loud and raucous band. And that’s the part I don’t entirely understand.

I begin to wonder again about relationships, and how they work, and why we choose certain people to satisfy our certain needs, when JA comes by, as usual, to help us understand.

Elizabeth: "He listens to such pretty music, but he plays in this raucous punk band. How does that work?"
John: "The same way you can eat all day and not gain any weight."

I think I'll end right there.

Thanks, guys, for writing today’s blog entry, because I was just going to write about rain again. My jeans are still soaked from this morning's commute. New York City doesn't often see rain like this, but I suppose we need it for something. Like everything else, it must make sense, if only we could get up high enough to view the entire picture.