The theme of today's Sunday Sound post: RETURNING HOME.

First, I am beginning the process of returning to my commitment to creating. That sounds so non-committal, I recognize. I simply haven't had much creative inspiration lately (I can come up with a number of reasons for this, but that isn't the point). I haven't posted a Sunday Sound in weeks, and the ones I have posted have been decidedly lackluster. I am hoping to move forward and resume the series; my posts may not have the same Colleen sparkle right at first, but I am convinced that forcing myself to resume will stir up some creative juices. So there we are. Returning to my creative self. Returning home.

Second, I have been blessed with another option for decent Mexican food in Massachusetts. While there are countless world cuisine options around these parts, there is no MEXICAN. This has always depressed me as a sizable chunk of my life (ten of my nearly 28 years!) was spent in the El Paso, Texas / Ciudad Juarez metropolis. Living in a border town offered all sorts of delights... knowing plenty of Spanish by age 10, an enduring fascination with el Dia de los Muertos, walking amongst a group of Crip Killers (I was excited that they were throwing out my initials!), and a dependence on copious amounts of tortillas, cheese, salsa, and beans.

And I returned home when I walked in to El Potro. My roommate and I strolled in and were greeted by the familiar and comforting sounds of Mariachi. That's right. REAL MARIACHIS IN SOMERVILLE. I was immediately transported to the days of my youth when I could easily cross the border in to Juarez and eat outside the mercado on Avenida 16 de Septiembre. That was before all this drug cartel business. I captured one of the most amazing moments of this night... when the lead vocalist held out a note for TEN SECONDS. I couldn't keep myself from screaming out (don't worry, I captured that, too). Here's a listen...

And finally, General Conference was this past weekend. It always has a way of re-centering me, but I felt particularly calmed by it at this moment in time. And, truth be told, I really needed some calming.

The President of my Church shared a portion of Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth. I cut the below audio snippet from his talk. The entire poem strikes me, but mostly this line:

We come from God, who is our home.


THE SUNDAY SOUND: April 1, Mariachis and Monson.
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_A few weeks ago, Brian told me about The Room. I had never heard of it, but he described it as a movie so terrible that it's amazing; a cult classic. How have I never heard of this? Not content to live in the dark, I sought it out. And as miraculous luck would have it, there was a midnight screening at the Coolidge Corner Theatre the weekend Brian would be visiting me in Boston. Which was this past weekend. It was obviously meant to be.

Right out the door, you see Tommy Wiseau listed three separate times in the opening credits. Not "Written, produced, and directed by Tommy Wiseau" but three separate title screens:
"Written by Tommy Wiseau"
"Produced by Tommy Wiseau"
"Directed by Tommy Wiseau"
Oh, and I almost forgot... brought to you by Wiseau Films... a new production company.

The viewing audience is then accosted with unnecessarily long sex scenes featuring Tommy Wiseau's vein-covered body, concentrating mostly on Tommy Wiseau's thrusting. What is it with this dude? And then, the awful dialogue and Tommy's completely deadpan delivery that later contributed to a lovely weekend of near-constant quotes by me and my boyfriend.

I LOVE THIS MOVIE SO MUCH.

Because of the sex scenes, it is not for the faint of heart. But holy crap, if you can get past those, it is so worth a viewing. I'm pretty sure Brian would disagree, but being opened up to the cinematic brilliance of Tommy Wiseau has changed me. For the better. Today's Sunday Sound: the Program Coordinator of the Coolidge Corner Theatre introduces the film, urging people to keep their audience participation reasonable. And to make up for this post being late, may I suggest the following:

- A soundboard featuring all the greatest lines. Make sure you listen to "Anything for my princess" (the very top link).
- The flower shop scene ("Hi doggy!")
- Tommy's true emotive moment: I fed up with this world!
- If you can take the time, over six minutes of the best Tommy quotes!

THE SUNDAY SOUND: February 12, The Brilliance of Tommy Wiseau.
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I should never skip another Sunday Sound post. Today's post is lacking something. I attribute this to my three weeks of absence. Since you last heard from me, I have not done anything creative outside of the work I get paid for, my spiritual responsibilities, and my relationship. While all are worthy ways to spend my time (and all creative work in their own right), the extended hiatus seems to make subsequent projects a bit weak. Lesson learned.

I have a complicated relationship with El Paso, my hometown. Does El Paso even count as my hometown? I lived there for ten of my twenty-seven years, so I'll say yes. At least for the purposes of this paragraph. The circumstances surrounding my move to El Paso were distressing, and my home upon arrival was less than ideal. After a few hard years, my mother made circumstances better and I started to flourish there. But there's a certain slowness to El Paso that never quite matched my natural metabolism. I describe El Paso like I describe my parents: I can talk trash all I want, but should anyone else talk trash... they're gonna get a beat-down. And thus the complication.

Today's Sunday Sound: some video of the mountains and light of El Paso, all captured from the backseat of my step-dad's Ford Focus. We were on our way to a casino in New Mexico, if that puts things in context for you. This mostly formulaic video is set to some sound doodling I did with Björk's Jóga, a song that has not left my brain since Friday.

THE SUNDAY SOUND: February 5, El Paso. Mountains. Light. Sound.
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