Kitchen Time

My poor roommate. His schedule is pretty regular, but the hours I keep change from day to day.

It's a good thing he's a hard sleeper because at 3 AM, I was in the kitchen, music blaring, cooking up one of my favorite new snacks: goat cheese and asparagus quesadillas.

To make these, you'll only need a few ingredients:

• 4 ounces herbed goat cheese
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 1/2 pound asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 2 10-inch flour tortillas
• olive oil 
• salt and pepper
• a favorite album

Directions:

1. Turn on your favorite album. This dish requires constant attention, so you'll want to pick something you want to listen to the whole way through. I chose Father John Misty's Fear Fun.

2. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet on medium-low heat and cook the asparagus, seasoning with salt and pepper to taste. Once the asparagus is tender, remove it from the pan.

3. Split the goat cheese in half and spread a portion onto each tortilla. Add 1/8 cup of chopped cilantro to each tortilla. Then add your cooked asparagus. Fold the tortillas over to create a quesadilla.

4. Brush both sides of each quesadilla with olive oil before putting them in the pan to cook at a medium-low heat until lightly browned. This should only take a couple of minutes.

5. Let these cool and then devour them!

My first attempt last night - I left it on a little long

I'll admit this is the extent of my culinary prowess. I'm much better at using my credit card than my hands to make food appear, but it was fun.

I highly recommend trying these or a variation of them. They only took about 20 minutes to make including prep time. Next time I make these, I'll make enough for my roommate, too, for putting up with the loud noises and smoky air I created so early in the morning. 

When you venture into the kitchen, what do you make? Do you listen to music while you cook?

Graduation

With my LSU graduation looming on the horizon, I can't help but think back four and a half years to my high school graduation. All year, I'd been driving around, spinning a 109-track disc my best friend's oldest brother gave me.

His taste in music was so cool. He was in college, he knew about good bands, he used phrases like "indie underground" and "post-punk" to describe the songs on his CD.

But on May 13, 2009, the day I would officially cease to be a high school student, there was only one song I listened to: "Graduation" by Vitamin C.

Despite knowing about all these hip, upcoming bands whose songs I'd been worshipping for months, I just wanted to listen to "Graduation."

The lyrics talk about how moving on is scary and wondering if the people who are your best friends now will still be your friends years down the road. And at that point in my young life, with no real responsibility, my friendships were all I had to worry about. 

My best friends and I were all going off to separate colleges, and the future freaked me out.

And Vitamin C understood that. Not to get all after-school-special cheesy on you, but that song really made me feel better about graduating. Going from high school to college is a big deal, and sometimes you just need some reassuring words for that transition.

Post-ceremony goofing off - I'm the one on the right

Fast forward to present day. 

The girls and I who parted ways are still friends, but not of the "best" variety. The future I was so worried about turned out to be awesome. In my four and a half years at LSU, I've met some fantastic people, worked at a top-notch radio station, and gotten a better idea of how I want to make an impact on the world. 

My upcoming graduation feels more like a beginning than an end, and if you've learned anything from my blog, it's that this momentous occasion will have its own tailor-made playlist.

While "Graduation" isn't one of my favorite songs, it will always hold a special place on my iPod.

It's what I'll be jamming in four weeks while I get ready to walk across the stage of the Union Theatre. This time, it won't be my security blanket, but a reminder of how far I've come in these past few years and of all the people who helped me reach my end goal. 

"Graduation" is just another example of a song that makes me feel like I've chosen the right career path. I can't wait to be a professional "sharer-of-music."

In most people's eyes, it's a silly pop song, but it made at least one person feel better about their situation, and that's what matters most.

Choice Tunes

What constitutes a "classic album?"

In a discussion with someone whose musical knowledge far surpasses mine, I was given a better idea of how to answer my question.

My friend argued two important elements of classic album are importance and greatness.

Because these are vague terms, I'll try to narrow the definition a little. Importance refers to the influence the album has and how innovative it is in its genre. Greatness refers to how good the music is and how it holds up through the years.

By his definition, "The Velvet Underground is a perfect example [of classic] because it's both influential and the music is still enjoyable today. Whereas a band like Kraftwerk was hugely influential to pop and electronic music, but only the nerdiest of nerds still listen to them."

I can accept this definition because I know all of the words to The Velvet Underground's self-titled album, while I don't know even one song by Kraftwerk.

I did a little googling and found that among mainstream music media, there are a handful of albums that are considered classics. These include Led Zeppelin's, Black Sabbath's and the Doors' self-titled albums, as well as Rolling Stone's Exile on Main Street, The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon, The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds and more.

By and large, these "classic" albums hail from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.

(I want make it clear that I think an album has to be around for at least 25 years before its test of time result can be determined. Just take a look at these early reviews of now classics.)

Even turning to Facebook friends to ask which albums were classics, a lot of the same names cropped up.

Seeing as most of the albums mentioned are older than the people who replied, I'll go ahead and give them the "greatness" factor. They've stood the test of time. People are still listening, so they must be good.

But what about the "importance" factor? 

This is a bit harder to judge. Importance is more than just being around for a long time - it's about the impact the album had on its genre - the ability to be remembered for something new or beautiful.

Some brief research will show that each of the albums mentioned somehow held innovative and inventive characteristics. 

Led Zeppelin was considered a turning point in hard rock. Sgt. Pepper was a departure from the norm of the decade, daring to use "balladry, psychedelic, music hall, and symphonic influences." And Black Sabbath was "the first major album to be credited with the development of the heavy metal genre."

These ground-breakers of their time are today's music education staples. 

While my observations are by no means scientific, I think they show that there's definitely a common thread in the music that gets passed down to us.

It will be interesting to see what albums we're calling classics 25 years from now. I've got a few ideas, but I'll have to wait and see. What do you think today's will-be classics are?

*Special thanks to Aaron Muse for sparking my interest on this matter.

Do You Love Me?

I walk toward my crush, knees weak, clutching two compact discs adorned with carefully drawn bubble letters that spell out his name.

Before I hand them over, I want him to know I put every one of the 115 songs in a specific order. I want him to know why I started off with classic metal and transitioned into folk. I want him to know the reason I chose the songs I did. 

But as the discs make their way from my hands to his, I only stare at my shoes and mumble, "I hope you like these."

In my opinion, it isn't my place to dictate how someone listens to a CD I give them. 

In an perfect world, my crush will take my CD and listen to every song in the order I intended, then call and ask me to marry him. 

Wait, scratch that last part. 

Maybe he'll just text me "cool mix."

I'd be fine with either.

What I'm getting at is no matter how much effort you put into making a mix for someone, it's not up to you to dictate how they listen to it.

Maybe they'll send you a song-by-song breakdown of your mix, praising your immaculate taste in music - and maybe they throw the CD in the side pocket of their car door and forget about it.  

Back in July, Stephen Thompson of All Songs Considered wrote "The Good Listener: When You Make Someone a Mix, What Do They Owe You?" and it got me thinking about mix tape etiquette. 

The article focused on a tangible return, but the consensus from commenters was that a mixtape is a gift and doesn't necessarily require a mix in return, but acknowledgment of the gift is appreciated.

Personally, I give the recipient a month or so, and if I haven't heard anything, I'll ask, "So have you listened to that CD yet?"

Inquiring any further is rude.  

All I can ask is that the person I create a mix for listens to it with an open mind. They don't have to love it, or even like it, but I'd like them to appreciate the time and effort I put into crafting it. 

So until my crush finishes listening to the 8 hour mix I made him, I'll wait patiently and hope he finds a song he loves, a song that he connects with, or a song he wants to call me up and talk about.