be•gin•ning (bĭ-gĭn'ĭng) n.
1. The act or process of bringing or being brought into being; a start.
2. The time when something begins or is begun: the beginning of the war.
3. The place where something begins or is begun: at the beginning of the road.
4. A source; an origin: What was the beginning of the dispute?
5. The first part: The front matter is at the beginning of the book.
6. An early or rudimentary phase. Often used in the plural: the beginnings of human life on this planet.
(source: American Heritage Dictionary)
Sometimes a beginning, though truly a starting point, is merely a continuance. Each day we begin our journey anew, after resting from the prior day’s (or night’s) exertions, prepare ourselves, and step forward to begin again. To begin to travel forward, to begin to cross from one point to the next; it’s all the same, yet it’s all new, so, hence, a beginning.
When a band creates a new record (if they are a good band, and worth listening to), they must begin anew each time. Every song a fresh start, beginning to create a whole; a nod to the past with their eyes on the future; growth is imperative, and growth is a beginning.
When cooking, and following a recipe that you may have made a hundred times (so many that it’s etched into your grey matte)r, you must still begin again. You begin to remember, you begin to create; each pepper, each clove of garlic has a character and personality different than the last that will cause countless adjustments to be made, though it’s unlikely that you will be conscious of doing such. In any event, each dish is a subtle variation on the last; each is something new, the process of creating is a beginning.
Sometimes beginnings happen years and lifetimes ago; sometimes beginnings lay the groundwork for something tangible in the future. Beginnings may be created with thought, with raucous, drunken conversation, with hope, with fear, with anything at all, really.
So this beginning is simply a foot on a path, and, as with all other beginnings, you never quite know where it will lead. With hope it will lead to someplace a bit less metaphysical, and much more fun and clever than it’s own beginning (which really wasn’t the beginning at all, but merely a statement on beginning as a beginning). A magical land of food and records, where the perfect song is always on the ipod, or, if it’s too perfect, perhaps even the radio; a place constructed all around two people’s very whimsical likes and dislikes, and an amazing capacity to fall head over heels in love with a song by a band that maybe, just maybe, no one else has ever heard. Other days it may be taxidermy, green building, pong, or a recipe for a perfect end of summer tomato and bread soup; all merely a collection of whim and fancy.
In short, welcome to Duck & Cover. We'll be writing about the things that we like, and we hope that you like them too. Also, if there's something that you like so much that you want to share with us please do!
Coming soon: a review of the Beirut e.p. Lon Gisland
1. The act or process of bringing or being brought into being; a start.
2. The time when something begins or is begun: the beginning of the war.
3. The place where something begins or is begun: at the beginning of the road.
4. A source; an origin: What was the beginning of the dispute?
5. The first part: The front matter is at the beginning of the book.
6. An early or rudimentary phase. Often used in the plural: the beginnings of human life on this planet.
(source: American Heritage Dictionary)
Sometimes a beginning, though truly a starting point, is merely a continuance. Each day we begin our journey anew, after resting from the prior day’s (or night’s) exertions, prepare ourselves, and step forward to begin again. To begin to travel forward, to begin to cross from one point to the next; it’s all the same, yet it’s all new, so, hence, a beginning.
When a band creates a new record (if they are a good band, and worth listening to), they must begin anew each time. Every song a fresh start, beginning to create a whole; a nod to the past with their eyes on the future; growth is imperative, and growth is a beginning.
When cooking, and following a recipe that you may have made a hundred times (so many that it’s etched into your grey matte)r, you must still begin again. You begin to remember, you begin to create; each pepper, each clove of garlic has a character and personality different than the last that will cause countless adjustments to be made, though it’s unlikely that you will be conscious of doing such. In any event, each dish is a subtle variation on the last; each is something new, the process of creating is a beginning.
Sometimes beginnings happen years and lifetimes ago; sometimes beginnings lay the groundwork for something tangible in the future. Beginnings may be created with thought, with raucous, drunken conversation, with hope, with fear, with anything at all, really.
So this beginning is simply a foot on a path, and, as with all other beginnings, you never quite know where it will lead. With hope it will lead to someplace a bit less metaphysical, and much more fun and clever than it’s own beginning (which really wasn’t the beginning at all, but merely a statement on beginning as a beginning). A magical land of food and records, where the perfect song is always on the ipod, or, if it’s too perfect, perhaps even the radio; a place constructed all around two people’s very whimsical likes and dislikes, and an amazing capacity to fall head over heels in love with a song by a band that maybe, just maybe, no one else has ever heard. Other days it may be taxidermy, green building, pong, or a recipe for a perfect end of summer tomato and bread soup; all merely a collection of whim and fancy.
In short, welcome to Duck & Cover. We'll be writing about the things that we like, and we hope that you like them too. Also, if there's something that you like so much that you want to share with us please do!
Coming soon: a review of the Beirut e.p. Lon Gisland
Comments