A Manifesto on Advice

Don't come to me for it. That's the gist of what I want to say here. Why do people continually return to me for advice? Sample tokens of wisdom from me include "Hold your ground, soldier" and "I don't know." I have absolutely no idea what's "going on." "Real life," per se, is a mystery that constantly eludes me. Now, don't get me wrong: I enjoy giving advice, and helping my friends. And I like pretending I know what I'm talking about. But I don't know what I'm talking about. So I give out these....euphimisms....because I don't know what else to say. And besides that notorious one time only "Strap on your snowshoes and take a victory lap around the Parthenon," (A piece of advice that I did actually receive; I still don't know what it means) I often times find the advice given by others, even those in parallel situations to my own, (cough, cough) better than anything I can come up with. So yeah....I would love to help everybody with their problems. But I can't even figure out my own.

On to music. Now, this song is not a "present time and mood" song. It's not meant to reflect anything about my own life...it's just a song I like. That's the only disclaimer. I first heard it, if you must know, the day of my sister's senior prom, and my AP US History exam. My first impression was "wtf, country music?" because I didn't remember ever saving a song of that genre when I was listening to the South by Southwest 2005 mp3's. But, apperantly, when I first heard this song, I was so taken in by the energy, the harmonies, and the sweet little violin section, that I decided to keep the song. I don't know much about Doyle Lawson, but apperantly he's an expert mandolin player (which shows) and he's also really old (which doesn't show....he sounds like he could be 26.) So give a listen to Doyle Lawson's Heartbreak Number Nine