We’re clearing house right now to make way for Baby Briggs I’ve posted quite a bit of stuff to Craigslist and vFlyer this week, so here’s a convenient summary of the Briggs Liquidation Sale.

• PAS PA Speakers – $350
• Sony 1/2 DASH Digital Audio Master Tape – $15

E-mail inquiries to aaronwbriggs at gmail dot com.

Update: Cleared quite a bit of stuff out. The things above are the remainders. No one wants PA speakers!?!?!?

I’m sad to say my Grandfather, Reverend William Childress, passed away today. It’s hard to say exactly how much of an influence my Paw was on my life: when I was younger, there was no one in the world more important in my eyes, and even into adulthood he’s been a watermark for me. I’ve learned everything I know about being a good man from his example, and I miss him deeply already. This afternoon has been a flood of remembering our time together.

I recalled this rushed short story I had scribbled out a few years ago. It’s still very unfinished and breathless, but it feels like tonight is the night to post it here, warts and all.

Heredity

“Aaron, will you lead us in prayer?” I could sense the pride in my grandfather’s question, and I knew the satisfaction he’d get in watching me bow my head with three generations of family surrounding.

My legs dangled from the chair, only a few inches of space between scuffed sneakers and the worn warped hardwood of the dining room floor, a room full of the smell of cornbread and linens and the anticipation of forks and knives and the clatter of plates and the sound of ball bearings twisting in the spin of the Lazy Susan.

But for now the room was silent in waiting. It was a simple task, something I could recite as effortlessly as the Lord’s Prayer — words that tumbled from my lips as they had since I was old enough to recreate them. I closed my eyes nightly in my bed at home, spilling that God was great and God was good while my eyes grew accustomed to the dark. I held hands with my parents at the table and uttered to heaven in a breathless cadence over the sound of the Channel 9 news. But here, in this room, there was no beginning to my prayer — no sucking in of breath before the capital letters, no first thanks or simple summary, no name for God.

The stillness split with a weathered voice: “Heavenly Father…”

The manse echoed with the humid stress of August and the sound of prayer. My mother’s quiet face was cast downward as the preacher’s daughter should do; my great-uncle clutched the frame of the kitchen door, and my grandfather delivered the words in a patient baritone, worn and familiar.

This voice was one I heard only in prayer or pulpit — half-sung in waltz time, like an orator reading slowly from the pages of a book too delicate to open completely. It was a sound passed down through four generations of Presbyterian ministers, generations who had built the barn in the Johnny field, this old house, and seven stone churches in the Virginia mountains.

The foundation was settled against a slab of Virginia mountain stone. It was the same stone that my great grandfather had helped pull from the ground to build church houses. I found it hard to imagine there was even sediment between the foundation and the bedrock.

Later, once the plates were clean, I slipped out the screen door and crossed through the rusted barbed-wire behind the pump house, prying apart the burnt orange wire with my clean thumbs. I wandered into the brush, away from the house, through thickets of brambles that snagged my shoelaces and scratched at my jeans. And I considered how I should have begun the prayer: how many seconds of silence were enough, how much sound to make as I parted my dry lips, what to give thanks for.

Nested among the pines I found my great-grandfather’s vineyard, a solitary Muscadine coiled between two wooden crosses. It was entangled intricately amongst itself, forming sinew around a skeleton of taut silver wire, the scent of wine heavy in the underbrush. I crawled into it, and I picked through listlessly as the fruit stained my fingers.

And I brushed the soil away to find the root. It’s veins were spread wide and thin under the soil. There were decades under my fingernails as I realized the intricate span of the vine around me; years spent clutching permanence, covering the first lengths and turning once again towards the elusive sunlight that scattered into shadows through the canopy.

Looking back, I think of names, how there is no name for the smell of that vine, no name for the quiet hum in its shelter — and I recognize that I still have no name for the mystery of God that feels big enough.

As the summer evening settled into the valley, my father smoked a cigarette in the stale northern shadow of the house, and my grandfather – still silent in prayer – watched me from the weathered stone porch.

Love you, Paw.

Had a great instore performance at Grimey’s yesterday from Andrew Bird, who was on his way to Bonnaroo. His performance was really great, and the Grimey’s crowd was very appreciative.

I’ve put up videos of the entire performance at YouTube. Embedded a few of my favorites below, including a cover of Smog’s excellent “Cold Blooded Old Times.”

I spent Saturday evening with the guys at Black 13 — a highly recommended shop in Nashville — getting my second (and most likely, last) tattoo.

The text comes from the song “Say Valley Maker” from one of my favorite records — A River Ain’t Too Much To Love by Smog (who’s just going by Bill Callahan now).

As for the significance, this is a reminder of what life has been teaching me in the last 6 months: that nothing worth having comes without effort, that life is often more rewarding when you take risks, and that — as my mother told me just a few weeks ago — we are given obstacles so that we can grow enough to move forward.

Next: a Tony Danza tattoo, obviously. Or maybe something more direct.

It’s been hanging over my head for about five years now to edit down the archives of live Avenues video and place them on a digital format so I can share them with, well, the other 4 guys from the band. Slowly but surely I’m getting to it — I have the raw files imported and separated, and now I’m just sorting through them.

The majority of video comes from our EP Release / Farewell Show from February of 2005 — a show memorable for many reasons (it was our likely our best, drums were caught on fire, Hulk Hands, Crocodile Rock, secret t-shirts…).  Here are the first two songs from that show.

We saw Neko Case at Workplay in Birmingham last night. Amazing show. Her voice is absolutely outstanding, she comes across as very humble and grateful, and her band is excellent — the songs from Middle Cyclone sound even better live. Which is saying a lot.

So tonight with the light on the back porch fading I sat down and figured out how to play “The Pharoahs.” Since I use Delicious.com to bookmark the tabs/chords for all the songs I know how to play, I need some sort of source for publishing the chords to the song, so I’m using the old blog. And bookmarking myself. Special. So this is really for me, and not so much for you. But play along if you’re interested — this is a really great song.

Neko Case
“The Pharoahs”
From Middle Cyclone

Capo: 2nd Fret

E* = 022110

Am                        C
You were married in the mirrored hall
C
when I was 16
G
You spoke the words, “I love
F             G
girls in white leather jackets”
Am                       Fmaj7
That was good enough for love, it
C                   G                F
was good enough for me

E                E*

E                               E
I listened in when you thought you were lost
E                               E
Caught in those fangs on a tornado sprawl
Am                G
Who knows what you know
E              E*
I only heard what I wanted
E                         E
You said I was your blue, blue baby
A                          E
And you were right
Em                        E
You said I was your blue, blue baby
A                            E
And you were right

Solo
Am       C           C
G    F       G         C

Am                  C
Wondered the halls of the nighttime
C                      G
My body burned, my legs ached
F                      G
But you never came to bed
Am                   Fmaj7
You just left me there awake
C                       C
You kept me wanting wanting wanting
G                                F
Like the wanting in the movies and the hymns
C                       G                                 F
I want the pharaohs, but there’s only men
C                       G                                 F
I want the pharaohs, but there’s only men

E                       E
You said I was your new blue baby
A                       E             E*
And you were right
Em                    E
You said I was your new blue baby
A                        E
And you were right

Nashville was nice today, but my head is admittedly still wandering the desert of Joshua Tree, CA. Here’s the recap:

Rick and I flew out of Nashville on Friday to the bright (and overwhelmingly unhinged) streets of Las Vegas. Flight was commemorative if only because Rick asked the guy between us, “Are you Rod Stewart?” (He wasn’t, but he was Dolly Parton’s drummer, and old-school prog rocker, and a part-time stem cell enthusiast.)

Vegas felt like a brief stop on the way to something bigger. We wandered the streets for a while before settling into O’Shea’s — easily the most white-trash casino on the strip, but cheap and ace for people watching. I mostly laughed at sorority girls dancing enthusiastically to the worst cover band I’ve ever heard and dealt with the bad choice of a falafel burger from earlier.

Saturday began early — rental car pick up, Whole Foods for luxuries, Panera for breakfast, REI for fuel (and a hat — thanks to the money I managed to not flush away gambling), the grocery store for $100 in snacks, and then the long drive through the Mojave. By the time we reached Joshua Tree (NOT at the foot of Mount Shasta, although we’ve seen the signs), the sun was getting low. We found our campsite, discovered that we had perfect cell reception, and made contact with Brad and Jamie — who were climbing a mountain nearby. In an awesome experiment, we discovered how well sound travels through the desert AND I had bromance proclaimed for me from a mountaintop. Beat that. Whole Foods Box Wine and steak and veggies closed out the day, and the weather was perfect. I waxed about the beauty of life on my phone, and slept like a rock in my tent.

Sunday turned out to be a day of figuring stuff out. We jumped in expecting to be climbing first thing, but we quickly discovered that logistics were tougher than expected — ropes that were far too short (“Didn’t look 300 feet tall from the bottom!”), impromptu bouldering on rocks made of what felt like tiny shards of glass, climbs that demanded we either be GOOD climbers or have trad equipment.  We ended up wandering about, looking at boulders, hunting for climbs.  The hike was nice, although I ended up completely destroying a pair of pants (as in there was no seat in my pants beyond my underwear) and the walk was longer and harder than necessary since we insisted on bringing a load of climbing gear we never used.  We ended up abandoning beans and franks for two large pizzas and resolved to get a better gameplan for Monday.

And Monday was incredible. First, I attribute this completely to the fact that we listened to all of the Roth cuts from the Best of Van Halen during our drive into the park (plus “Poundcake,” which is a great Van Hagar song). We got back to Echo Cove early and set up at the bottom of a rolling 5.9. After some debate, Rick agreed to lead it. We checked the gear three dozend times and coached from the ground while he Spiderman’d his way to the top with very little cursing. With the top rope set, Nick and Michael both climbed it, and then I jumped on.

This was nothing like anything I had climbed in the gym before — there were essentially no holds, just friction. Shoes smeared on the wall and held like glue, which was a godsend considering my fingers and palms were pulling on nothing. It felt tenuous and was all about balance and hunting out the smallest of pockets and dips for toes and fingers. Nerve-wracking, but by the time I was halfway up it started to feel natural. And right when it got totally vertical, there was a hairline crack to use as a pullback.  Getting to the top was incredible, quite a rush.

Jay topped out and we bouldered a while afterward — with some newfound confidence we wandered through snake country and tried things way over our heads. While we traipsed around, Jay found another easy climb just down the road — a 5.6 and 5.8 with adequate bolts and anchors for a top rope. Headstone Rock. All to the van. Cue the Van Halen!

Once at Headstone Rock, we were quickly clueles. This was essentially a 200 foot high pile of rocks, with a flat-faced tombstone sitting on top.  Four of us circled it for a few minutes trying to find the way to the top, but met back up perplexed. Meanwhile Nick had found a mountain-goat-style scramble up to the base of the headstone, and expressed through shouts his particular reluctance that this climb was at all possible. Wanting to see for ourselves, we followed his route — a 5.5 free climb by my standards, with lots of jumping over chasms and ducking under giant boulders and backstepping up tiny chimneys.  By the time we got to the top, we were too scared to hardly move, much less try to climb the rock face in front of us. The 5.6 — the EASY ROUTE — required that the leader traverse out over the side of the boulder pile and above a 50 foot fall before even reaching the first clip. The 5.8 looked terrifying. In fact, it looked stupid. We sat in the nest of rock and agreed that it was over our heads. All of us, I guess, except for Michael.

Props to Michael, Master of Disaster — he studied the rock for 15 minutes and then stated that he wanted to do the 5.8. We worked out logistics — first clip was easy, second was scary and dangerous if he missed. We agreed that if he fell we’d push him against the wall in a football tackle, and he agreed that he would do everything in his power to avoid falling (easy to say). And with my stomach in my throat I watched the dude jump up on the rock, make the first clip with a big reach, and hit the second clip with supreme confidence. He climbed the whole thing — maybe 50, 60 feet of straight vertical face – in 15 nearly-silent minutes (minus one loud proclamation of “SLACK! SLACK!”). Everyone in 20 miles probably heard us celebrating when he got to the top. I think I screamed like a little girl.

Nick climbed next with the same confidence. On his way down, however, the rope got hung, and Rick and I got spooked. Nick dealt like a pro — climbing back up and pulling the rope free. Twice. The second was the deal breaker, and Rick and I looked to each other and silently shook our heads. We made our way back down to terra firma and decided instead to climb something with a more gradual pace — strolling up to the summit of nearby Ryan Mountain by trail for an awesome view of the whole park. From the top, though, Headstone Rock looked small and the world looked big and I had no intention of leaving this place with regrets. Rick and I agreed we’d be crazy not to climb Headstone Rock before heading back to real life where the views are much more level and much less dramatic. So we went to Pizza Hut, split a mountain of pizza, a few pitchers, washed our faces in the hot water sink, and plotted Tuesday — up by 4:45 to break camp, drive into the park to watch the sun rise, climb Headstone Rock like a real man, beat our chests, and soak up the park for a last few hours before driving animal style to In N Out Burger in Vegas.

I didn’t sleep very well Monday night — mostly dreams about tense situations and getting stuck in tiny spaces. And it was cold that night. But 4:30 AM rolled around and I was ready to get going or at least chicken out with gusto. We broke camp quickly in the dark. I washed my hair in the bathroom sink. And we drove into the park with the sun slowly rising over us. We let Headstone Rock get a coating of sun to heat it up, and then shimmied our way to the base. Rick set up lead, and climbed flawlessly while the nearby campsite watched on.

And once he was back down, I jumped on the rope and just swallowed my fear and got up on the wall. The climb was so different than anything I had ever done — not so much of a strength climb as just a confidence, fear-management, and unbelievable balance climb. The holds were flakes just big enough to get fingertips behind, and the footholds were tiny but the friction between rock and shoe was surprising. I took lots of big steps to try and give my arms a rest and rely more on my shoes than the panic I get from tenuous hand holds. The crux was near the top — just 20 feet from the peak the rock smoothed out to the consistency of a countertop and I hung back looking for handholds. After a few minutes of trying to figure out how to make this happen, I determined the only option was to use the pinky-width ridge running just above waist level. I swallowed hard and just went for it — I managed to just barely get a toe onto the ridge while turning my right hand into a mantle, held my breath, and shifted everything onto that toe. And as I stood up into it with a shaky knee I took both hands out of their holds and leaned my face into the wall and essentially balanced up into one foot, then rolled my weight over onto a right hand hold on the far edge of the wall. Realizing I’d made it work was completely exhilarating, and then with two big steps I was on the top — a 6 x 6 slab of rock standing in miles of empty space, easily one of the most incredible, life-affirming experiences of my life.

Afterward, with our rope set, Nick climbed the 5.6 that had looked so terrifying the day before, and Michael and Rick climbed a 5.10b while Jay watched from the nest. I sat by, took photos (1045 at trip end on my camera alone) and just soaked the morning up — I wanted to keep climbing, but just felt satisfied. Once back on the ground we gorged on our leftover food, make a short hike to see Skull Rock (letdown), Jay made me choke on water with a good 30 Rock reference, I ripped a hole in the seat of my backup pants (seriously!?!), and then drove back to Vegas via a road through the middle of nowhere for that Double Double with fries, all animal style, and a shake. (Unless you’re Rick, in which case a “Veggie Burger” means lettuce and tomato on a bun.)

So….. Jay, Michael, Rick, Nick — when are we going back? I’ll bring the peanut butter and an extra block of cheese.

See more photos at this Flickr Slideshow.

I was profoundly moved by The Story of Stuff this week, which a client introduced on Monday. Please take the time to watch.

Since watching this on Tuesday, I’ve had a strong realization: I don’t want to raise kids super-saturated by marketing messages. Think about it: Saturday morning cartoons are one long commercial designed to teach kids that you’re supposed to want STUFF for happiness. Toucan Sam and Tony the Tiger are teaching kids that the only way breakfast can be satisfying is if you use a chintzy plastic spoon shaped like a rocketship (free with 3 UPC codes!) and ONLY if you’re eating the newest version with the marshmallow shaped donut clusters that turn your milk purple.

Everybody’s doing these things, and I’m down with the bandwagon as much as anybody. I debated on whether or not to post it here, but I figure the only people reading are doing so because they know me, not because they Googled “deep political insight” or “the meaning of life” or anything.

25 Things About Me That You May or May Not Find Interesting Or Already Have Figured Out By Simply Having A Conversation of Length With Me (Because I’m Not That Great at Hiding My Personal Hang Ups)

1. The “economics of life” boil down to a very simple equation for me: you round down for money, up for time. For example, if something costs $22.00, my brain says that it costs $20. However, if I look at the clock and see that it is 7:39, my brain processes it as being 8:00. My wife is perplexed by this, but I have this solid rationale: you’ll always make more money, you’ll never get more time.
2. As hinted in #1, I’m a bit obsessed with time and how I spend it. Life is beautiful, and short, and I don’t like wasting moments. I am fiercely guarded of my free time, because I have a strong desire to do (admittedly) too much with my life.
3. I haven’t vomited since early June of 1999. I was in the Bahamas at the time. I don’t remember the last time I vomited in the continental US. 2009 = Vomit Free for 10 years! Here comes 15, baby!
4. Love at first sight? Not practical. But I had a suspicion that I could fall in love with my wife the night I met her. And a year later, when I finally kissed her, I knew I loved her immediately.
5. I have one tattoo, and it means something very important to me. “Great Moments Move Through You” is a sort of mantra for how I want to live — every moment carries the possibility for greatness if you’re willing to seek it. And I plan on getting at least one more tattoo. (sorry mom, but don’t worry — it won’t be on my face or anything.)
6. I need to pace when I talk or think hard. This is not entirely conducive to working in a shared office or dealing with computers.
7. I am most proud of three things I’ve created: First, the EP I recorded with Avenues in 2004. Second, my poetry portfolio from college. Third, an awesome paper I wrote for Critical Reading and Writing that applies deconstructionist literary theory to R.E.M.’s “Murmur.”
8. I try not to care about material things. And I’m mostly pretty successful in this, but man, I really love buying records.
9. Traveling makes me feel small and makes life feel full of motion. I’d rather use my vacation days to go on whirlwind trips with lots of moving than use all my days to go sit on the same piece of beach for 5 days straight. (Not that I’m complaining about the idea of beach sitting. I’m not crazy.)
10. The most amazing place I’ve ever seen is Glacier National Park, from foot, carrying a backpack. Second is Point Reyes at sunset.
11. I have a life goal of owning a second home in Wyoming.
12. I love backpacking, for three reasons: buying the gear is fun, I love great views, and sunny mornings crawling out of a tent feel SO GOOD.
13. I’ve never been an athlete, but rock climbing makes me feel athletic and challenges me mentally, and (as hokey as it sounds) has been a life-changing hobby.
14. I’m a bit obsessed with R.E.M. — first band I ever loved, and I’d argue ’till death that 70% of their catalog is genius.
15. When I was in the second grade I went through a phase in which I cried every day during the pledge of allegiance.
16. Ashley and I decided the time was right to get married as soon as some very practical criteria fell in place: it was financially a good decision, we had agreed on a song for our first dance (Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend”), we had a strong desire to throw a great party that year, and we realized there wasn’t much going on in 2006.
17. Multiplication blew my mind in the third grade; it may have well been quantum physics. It’s the first time I remember failing at something. I only learned to multiply by force of will, and help from a computer game that somehow melded rocketships with the times tables.
18. The scariest moment of my life was almost tripping over a grizzly bear in the Grand Tetons.
19. I was a notoriously picky eater for most of my adolescent life, and now I think I’ll eat almost anything. Except beans — slimy on the outside, gritty on the inside.
20. In the past 10 years, I’ve wanted to be a lot of things when I grow up: a musician, a writer, a film director, a music producer, a park ranger, a graphic designer, a business owner, a professor, a record store owner, an architect. My advice: ambition is good, but you have to narrow it down.
21. I’m lucky to have a wife with whom I have so much in common. My favorite of these are: zombie films, a love for music, political beliefs, taste in food, sense of humor, and the unquestionable belief that David Lee Roth was the better front man for Van Halen.
22. I’m not really embarrassed by the fact that I have a lot of love for people. I find it easier to love people than dislike them, and that’s fine with me. I think I fell in love for the first time in the second grade (as much as a person can at that age).
23. Yeah, I miss being in a band more than anything.
24. Regarding loving people: I have a hetero man-crush on Elvis Costello, Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and Tom Selleck. And I’m also completely in love with Neko Case. Ashley’s just learned to accept all this business as part of who I am.
25. I don’t really like westerns, but I could watch “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” on infinite repeat.

…but this was the highlight of my day: download Neko’s new single “People Got a Lotta Nerve” here. (You can also stream it at MySpace…)

My verdict? It’s excellent. Seems to shake out from under the country-noir sound of “Fox Confessor…” a bit in favor of something more polished and tightly structured, but it doesn’t make her voice any less entrancing, her humor any less alluring, or the natural pop-craft of her songwriting any less stirring.

I’ll make my next post about something else, but this is all I have the energy to get behind right now.