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Halee Bernard
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Posts by Halee Bernard
Walden Pond meet Bon Iver
Jul 21st
In One Tree Hill, Peyton Sawyer (whom I vicariously lived through during high school) says:
“There are lyric people and music people. You know, the lyrics people tend to be analytical…all about the meaning of the song. Then there’s the music people…who could care less for the lyrics as long as its just got like a good beat and you could dance to it. I don’t know, sometimes it might be easier to be a music girl and not a lyric girl. But since I’m not, let me just say this. Sometimes things find you when you need them to find you, I believe that. And for me it’s usually song lyrics.”
When I think about this quote, despite that I’m slightly embarrassed I have all 129 episodes memorized (discarding season 6, it was horrible), I find this quote to be overtly true. In times of need, emptiness and heartbreak I have been found by music and changed, ultimately by its lyrics. A few artists come to mind when I consider who has spoken to me the most, and one of these is Bon Iver. At my high school in Texas, Bon Iver was almost unheard of simply because the general public did not accept those who did not sport cowboy boots; ass-less chaps optional. But in Boston, he seems to be a more noted artist.
Bon Iver, pronounced “bon eevair”, is actually Justin Vernon who wrote Bon Iver’s first album, For Emma, Forever Ago, in a remote cabin in Northwestern Wisconsin over a period of three months post breakup with band, girlfriend and with mononucleosis. Vernon was not planning on writing an album, but in the progression of his own personal recovery just happened to do so. He came up with the name while watching Northern Exposure on DVD, where a group of men in Alaska wished each other a ‘bon hiver’ or a good winter. When I first heard Bon Iver’s creation story, I immediately thought of Thoreau and his work Walden, the prodigious product of his own solitude. And in the same way, I think Vernon’s seclusion along with the selfishness in which he made the album is undoubtedly the genius of For Emma.
When For Emma was released in 2007 it received extremely fragmented reviews but I understand why. It’s whether you’re a lyric person or a music person. Some find it an instant epic, while many think its hushed vocals and constant demeanor which evokes an almost dismal sadness is simply boring and depressing. I recommend you take a listen to the album, but approach it as you would a novel rather than individual tracks. Listen to it all the way through as a body of work to appreciate its evocative and haunting beauty. However, if you are too impatient, I suggest Skinny Love, which suffices as a seven-course meal on its own.
Here is a video of Bon Iver performing Skinny Love on The Late Show:
Since For Emma, Bon Iver has released a four-track EP album titled Blood Bank in 2009 and has mainly been collaborating with other artists such as St. Vincent for the New Moon Soundtrack. If you ask me, this might just be Twilight’s one redeeming quality. Way to go, Edward.
Gringa Going Latina
Jun 18th
After three weeks here in Spain, it is safe to say I have broken free of my gringa chrysalis and displayed my inner-latina for all the world to see. Sure, I might lack the large hoops (no thanks) and the Adriana Lima bod (por favor) but I can roll my rr’s mind you. Here are a few minor transitions I have completed over the last week, completing my right of passage as wannabe to successful poser. 
1. Someone asked me for directions in Spanish and I answered in Spanish. I’ve been alienated as the obvious english speaker on various occasions, and have therefore become a hot-spot attraction to embarrassing tourists. Not today, chica.
2. A successful white chocolate mocha with skim milk, sugar-free syrup, no whip, no foam finally ordered. I see not all our bloggers have had such luck, but this was roughly attempt 21.
3. I got the balls to sneak in the kitchen, well this I often do (the secret life of every foreign exchange student), but opted to get some chocolate chip cookies for a mid-night snack rather than the usual slice of wheat bread. Adjusting to two meals a day at 2 pm and 10 pm is rough- my housemate and I used to underground-railroad food together, but last night she chickened out on conquering level 2: the cookie jar. Enjoy the wheat bread biatch.
4. I successfully bartered a bouquet of flowers for almost half the asking price. This might simply be the first time I have not allowed myself to be taken advantage of, but I would prefer to look at it, or rather, myself as a skilled manipulator.
5. Spanish music is on the iPod, and actually, playing now: Estopa.
But nonetheless, I still have a long way to go over the next three weeks.
A few things I’m still scared of: bullfights, bull testicles in my soup, late-night creepers.
Oh and leaving my room…Spain just lost to Switzerland, 0-1. Mierda.
A Hostile Flight Home
Jun 2nd
Today, I write from seat 14B on my flight from Boston to Dallas and it feels as though it is first time in the last week that I have truly taken a second to breathe. As I’m sure many of you know, the past few days have been consumed with studying, packing, trips to storage, saying goodbyes and everything else, minus sleep and relaxation. But once I checked in my bags, passed security, and boarded, I finally felt at ease, despite the fact that the man in 14A slightly resembled Jabba the Hutt (Yes, I like Star Wars), and was strategically using his stomach to completely steal my right armrest. This was of course, until I realized I was freezing cold.
First things first, I press the assistance button calling the flight attendant. I then proceed to politely ask her for a blanket. She counters, “That will be 8 dollars…we only take card.” My meek “Oh right, no thanks” response covers my mental uproar. Now, not only must I deal with the emotional repercussions of no complimentary lunch or snacks (we all remember our tearful goodbyes to the honey-roasted peanuts), but I also must suffer through the hunger and the cold which is not suited for my Texas-raised internal climate, mind you. As I shiver and my stomach growls a series of expletives towards the flight attendent, I reminisce on the glory days of my childhood where blankets were provided and food was abundant. This contemplation led to my further research of the additional expenses for what were once free commodities while 30,000 feet in the air. To name a few:
>>Blanket: $8.00
>>Cookie: $3.00
>>Nut Blend: $5.00
>>Sandwich: $7.00
>>Headphones: $2.00
These items above together become a whopping $25.00 extra, and don’t worry, plane ticket prices have only inflated. So a word of advice: on your next flight, consider the following two options. Either be careful to fit all necessities into your 45 linear inch carry-on or be prepared to swipe your card. If not, you will most certainly suffer the hostile consequences.
May the force be with you, fliers.
On the Road
May 26th
Unlike Boston, Texas is relatively pedestrian free. I was never acutely aware of this since I knew no different; but now that I have returned to my once constant mode of transportation, I seem to love driving with the same intensity as a sixteen year old. Texas is pretty damn big (you’ve heard the aphorisms), and after spending so many hours driving through the country this past week, I feel I have developed a deep appreciation for the road. I’ve heard people say similar things before, “respect the road”, “just me and the road”, that sort of thing, but I never understood what it really meant. But it is that solitude, the distance, the endless sky and seamless scenery stretching on forever that somehow, over the course of a few gas tanks and a handful of small mammal carcasses, gives you a broader perspective.
The road reminds me that the world is an incredibly big place; that there’s a lot of people, businesses, schools, dreams and hearts out there. The road takes you from one place to the next, to more opportunities and to new beginnings. But unlike the highway extending over vast Texas plains, I’ve never felt my life has moved in a straight-forward, 70 miles per hour sort of manner. It’s always been a series of accelerations and slam-on-the-brake moments, destinations and in-betweens, and I think those in-betweens are what has made all the difference. It means I’ve chosen to grow, to move forward from who I’ve been to become who I am, or more importantly, who I want to be.
Now that I am back in Texas, I am seriously considering a road trip. A road trip has always placed in the top ten on my bucket list, probably because one of my favorite books is Jack Kerouac’s, On the Road. So in the words of the most infamous roadway-nomad probably ever, I thought I’d finish this blurb with my favorite quote from the novel.
“And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotus-lands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn’t in my ear but everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn’t remember because the transitions from life to death and back are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it.”
Respect the Road, man.
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