Bands I Never Thought I'd Listen To Again

I've found that blogging every day due to a brutal New Year's Resolution really takes it out of you. Your creative edge becomes a little less sharp; you stop paying attention to details. You get fat and slow and ugly, like a spoiled in doors cat.
This is why I have decided to purposefully break my NYR (totally against my nature, I know (Jk, Jk. Lol? (Joking, Joking. Laugh Out Loud?))). Writing needs to be sporadic for me-- something done on my watch, on my time. Which, my writing isn't that flavourful anyway, so maybe I'm flattering myself to an absurd extent to think that this will make much difference either way.

My visit to Pennsylvania has reached its flowery end, with a marble box of ashes on a lonely counter in a lonely corner, a seal on it bearing the name Senior Master Sergeant, James Arnold Bradley, surrounded by a tightly folded American flag and a navy blue Air Force hat that was once his.

At the funeral, it wasn't the nice words about my Grandpa or the sincere prayers that got me. It was the French Horn that played that simple melody right after the twenty-one gun salute. I don't know what the tune is called, but it was beautiful-- a tune only played for men with legacies, probably.

Pennsylvania's behind me now, bearing lots of memories inside its borders. Now, I'm back in Bowling Green, listening to a band that I never thought I'd listen to again: Dashboard Confessionals. He has new stuff now, and some of it is actually very beautiful (some of it is just the pathetic emo crap again, but whatevuh...).