When Life Gives You Lemons, Make a Crude Electrochemical Battery

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Not quite the saying that we’re all familiar with, but it does add some flavor to it.

Here’s another Tuesday night project that I wound up immersed in: the lemon battery. I’ve seen this project posted in a multitude of places (along with the notorious potato battery), but I wasn’t quite sure how it worked. I knew that fruits are great conductors of electricity…but how? Naturally, when I encounter something I don’t quite understand, I obsess over it until I actually do.

[By the way, it takes a very special partner in crime to simply say, “Okay, honey,” when one spontaneously declares, “I want to build a lemon battery!” outside of any sensible context. Joe is clearly a winsome catch. And lab partner, to boot.]

Constructing the battery

Making the battery is pretty simple. First, squeeze the lemon to release the citric acid from the pulp — the juicier it is on the inside, the better. Then insert something made of mostly copper and something made of mostly zinc on opposite ends (I used a penny and a galvanized screw). Why these elements in particular? For one, they’re fairly easy to find in household items. Secondly, well, we’ll get to that in a little bit.

Hook up each end to some alligator clips if you have them, and connect those to a voltmeter or multimeter. (You can also do without the alligator clips and merely touch the tips of the voltmeter/multimeter wires to the copper and zinc ends.) Then, ta-da! You should see a charge! But…why?

What’s happening here?

The answer is an oxidation reduction reaction, or redox for short. Don’t be discouraged by how many syllables there are in that term!

As zinc enters citric acid (C6H8O7), it dissolves as positively charged ions (Zn2+); this is because it sheds the two electrons in its outer shell.

[Note: Because of the way electron valence shells are organized, zinc has 2 valence electrons in its outer shell, but it wants either 0 or 8 total to be more stable. So, it chooses the easier route — to shed 2 rather than gain 6.]

Typically, these shedded electrons will bond with hydrogen ions floating around in the citric acid to form H2, a gas that ends up bubbling off of the copper electrode.  This reaction is called oxidation (the giving of electrons):

Zn → Zn2+ + 2e-

2H++ 2e- → H2 (stable & gaseous)

Copper, which has one electron in its outer shell, will also give away its valence electron. However, because it has a greater potential for taking electrons, it will attract free electrons in the citric acid. The electrons in the citric acid lost to the copper are made up for by moving electrons from the zinc through the external wire, creating a current. This itself is called reduction (the taking of electrons).

Remember when I asked why copper and why zinc? This is why. We want one side to be more positive (cathode) and the other to be more negative (anode), just like in a real battery!

Since we’re dealing with electricity, we only care about electrons and how they move. As far as we’re concerned, electrons are negatively charged and are attracted to positive charge (opposites attract, no?). It’s this flow from negative toward positive that creates electricity.

As Bill Nye would say, “It’s not magic — it’s science!”

Next time life gives you lemons, don’t skip the lemonade, but don’t hesitate to think about batteries or electrons either!

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Science, Sound, Tattoos

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First tattoo, my design. Here’s the story behind it.

Tycho Brahe’s Universe

The main part of the design is the Tycho Brahe model of the universe, a compromise between the geocentric (Copernican) and heliocentric (Ptolemaic) models. Brahe believed the Earth was at the center of the universe and that the sun and moon orbited the earth, while the planets orbited the sun. As you may already have noted, this is inconsistent with what we observe of the universe today. However, it was a paradigm shift in thinking that nudged us — and our egos — from the center of the picture, building toward a more accurate model. In fact, one of Brahe’s apprentices was Johannes Kepler, who, in later years, used Brahe’s work as the basis for the laws of planetary movement.

Here’s where it gets a little weird.

While I was doing some more research about Brahe, I learned that he apparently wore a prosthetic nose, allegedly a result of a sword duel:

“Tycho had earlier quarrelled with Parsbjerg over the legitimacy of a mathematical formula, at a wedding dance at professor Lucas Bachmeister’s house on the 10th, and again on the 27th. Since neither had the resources to prove the other wrong, they ended up resolving the issue with a duel.”

I kind of dig the fact that the nature of drunken academic disputes has barely evolved in the last few centuries. (I’m smarter than you. No, I’m smarter that you!”) Not to mention, this wasn’t Brahe’s only memorable brawl. He also got into a feud with Galileo.

And then…there’s the bizarre story about his pet moose:

The hoofed critter would trot alongside Brahe’s carriage like a loyal dog and lived inside his castle. But, unfortunately, it also appears to have developed a regrettable taste for Danish beer […] A nearby nobleman had asked him to send the moose to his castle to entertain the guests at a party. As the dinner wore on, the creature grew increasingly tipsy until it eventually wound up roaring drunk. According to Brahe’s biographer Pierre Gassendi, shortly thereafter, “the moose had ascended the castle stairs and drunk of the beer in such amounts that it had fallen down [them]” to its eventual demise.

Voyager and the Golden Record

On the outermost ring of my tattoo is an aerial view of a record needle, a symbol etched on the Voyager spacecraft’s Golden Record:

 

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The Voyager space craft is best known for being the only man-made object to have exited the heliosphere, traveling farther than anything else humans have ever built. The Golden Record was a project (directed by Carl Sagan) to create an all-encompassing sonic record of life on Earth to send off into space. Think of it as an audio time capsule of our existence, meant for anyone or anything that may eventually find it.

The ethos of that project was this: “To the makers of music — all worlds, all times.”

On that record are sound samples of 55 languages, whale calls, folk songs, heartbeats, you name it. Listen to an excerpt of an ancient Chinese folk song on that record:

Not surprisingly, a radio piece made me fall in love with this project, the story of how Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan fell for each other:

Mandalas

On a macro level, the tattoo design also resembles a mandala, elaborate and artful circular symbols in Hinduism and Buddhism. The psychologist Carl Jung once wrote that mandalas are expressions of the “totality of the self.” They are also used as representations of the universe:

In common use, mandala has become a generic term for any plan, chart or geometric pattern that represents the cosmos metaphysically or symbolically; a microcosm of the universe.

Monks who are trained to create mandalas spend days, even months working on meticulous designs, only to destroy them after they are finished. They are reminders of the impermanence of life itself — how the things we build, no matter how beautiful nor coveted, will eventually give into entropy. This follows the Hindu cycle of the universe, a belief that things are created and destroyed repeatedly, which I believe to be true in science and in ourselves. Matter and energy within the universe combine in a multitude of permutations to give us elements, planets, stars, and life. Within us, the energy and matter that encompass us allow us to experience life through suffering, joy, and healing (forces of destruction and creation in their own right).

THE MANDALA (A Short Documentary of the The Celestial Palace)

Circles

I also have a penchant for circles.

Mathematically, circles incredibly intriguing. They have an infinite number of tangents, and all points in a circle are equidistant from a center point, giving it a unique symmetry. Then, there’s the infamous value of  π, taken from a circle’s circumference divided by its diameter (C/d), which has maddened mathematicians and mystics alike. The number continues without a sensible pattern into infinity; the fact that such an irrational number can be derived from such a symmetrical shape is simultaneously fascinating and perplexing.

In nature, circles occur almost everywhere you look: ripples, halos around the sun, craters, bubbles, hurricanes. They also occur in man-made objects, e.g. clocks, wheels, bowls, compasses, buttons. They have come to symbolize balance and perfection, despite the fact that perfect geometry only truly exists in abstraction.

…Which brings us to the whirling dervishes from the Mevlevi Order. You’ve probably seen movies or photographs of whirling dervishes: men dressed in white gowns and tall hats spinning continuously – as if in a trance– usually on a stage or in a large hall. This dance, called the Sema, originated in the 13th century:

The Sema represents a journey of man’s spiritual ascent through mind and love to the “Perfect.” Turning towards the truth, the follower grows through love, deserts his ego, finds the truth, and arrives at the “Perfect.” He then returns from this spiritual journey as a man who has reached maturity and a greater perfection, able to love and to be of service to the whole of creation. The Sema is a testament to the dizzying effects of attempting to reach perfection.

If you think about it, the earth spins on its axis; the planets rotate around the sun. The quantum particles around and in us vibrate and spin, though undetected by the naked eye. Because we are rooted on the earth and made up of these particles, we are all eternally spinning. We are all constantly attempting, reaching to be better than ourselves.

Whirling dervishes

In short, the synthesis of all these symbols is a reminder of our collective longing for perfection, the perpetual pursuit of knowledge, our impermanence in this world, and two things that have made a lasting impact in my life thus far: science and sound.

Pop Art: How Popcorn Works

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I had never seen popcorn pop, so I decided to take the kernels outside of the bag and heat them over a stove. It’s a little creepy to watch them start expanding and then rupturing, but it quickly becomes amusing and subsequently delicious.

popart from Lilian Bui on Vimeo.

If you’re wondering how popcorn “works,” here’s the description according to about.com:

Popcorn kernels contain oil and water with starch, surrounded by a hard and strong outer coating. When popcorn is heated, the water inside the kernel tries to expand into steam, but it cannot escape through the seed coat (the popcorn hull). The hot oil and steam gelatinizes the starch inside the popcorn kernel, making it softer and more pliable. When the popcorn reaches a temperature of 180 °C (356 °F) the pressure inside the kernel is around 135 psi (930 kPa), which is sufficient pressure to rupture the popcorn hull, essentially turning the kernel inside-out. The pressure inside the kernel is released very quickly, expanding the proteins and starch inside the popcorn kernel into a foam, which cools and sets into the familiar popcorn puff.

Given my new, buttery fascination, I would push for a redesign of popcorn bags far and wide so that more people could enjoy the process. Then again, there’s probably a safety hazard attached to standing too close to the microwave for too long.

 

Unique New York

I’ve been to New York City before. But just because you’ve gone once, twice, or even twenty times, it doesn’t mean you’ve been to New York City. Every single trip I’ve taken has been entirely different from the last, and that’s because this urban jungle lends itself to everything from serendipitous encounters to the inexplicably bizarre–the kind of magical realism you can only hope to encounter in a Gabriel Garcia Lorca novel.

Joe and I saw this clip on Louie CK one night. We immediately decided we had to go. (Well, we decided immediately but didn’t really get around to doing it until 3 months later.) The episode (Season 3, Episode 4) is a love poem to New York told through a lens tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, thanks to the tactful eye of Susan E. Morse, Woody Allen’s go-to editor. Among so many other things in Manhattan, the episode features Russ & Daughters, an appetizing store on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

The word “appetizer” comes from the Latin word appete, which means “to desire.” At Russ & Daughters, one can very easily deduce its colloquial meaning: “the foods one eats with bagels.” Even further, there simply isn’t a better word to describe what you feel upon entering the store. It’s as much a feast for the eyes as it is for the belly. We ordered almost everything you can see in the clip: pickled herring, bagels with lox, and the chocolate babka. (It was all mind blowing.)

…And then there was the Birdman. Maybe you’ve heard of him. We definitely hadn’t before last night. But let me back up a bit.

After dinner, I had a specific musical craving for Black Sabbath (you know, to wash down the pickled herring.) Naturally, Joe and I wandered into the nearest record store that we could find–Rainbow Music.

Imagine, if you will, a pack rat’s paradise. A sizeable space made small by tons and tons of stuff. In this case, it was music. We squeeze into a narrow aisle of CDs stacked up to eye level–and then some. There’s barely enough room to walk through it face forward; you have to sidestep your way through to browse the CD titles. A short, older man approaches us and asks us what we’re looking for. Although I have no idea how, he knew exactly where the Black Sabbath CDs were and pulled them for us within seconds.

“They call me the Birdman,” he says, without us asking. “They made a documentary a few years back. It won some awards. People come in here asking me for pictures and stuff.” At this point, I’m hooked. There was no question that [1] we would stay and chat and [2] we would buy something. Talk about sales strategy.

The Birdman, a 73-year old Wall Street veteran who speaks with a thick New York accent, runs Rainbow Music as a sort of passion project. Having cashed out on his hedge funds long ago, he says the store isn’t about the money. (I asked him for any helpful trading tips, but like any good poker player, he kept his cards close to his chest. However, he did let slip his endorsement for pharmaceuticals and food stocks.) Despite not actively researching what’s trending these days, he’s managed to intuit what “the kids” are listening to. In the organized mess of an inventory, I spotted Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Miles Davis, Janis Joplin, Joan Jett, Michael Jackson, Frank Zappa within easy reach. Somehow, he even pinned me for a Django Reinhardt fan within two minutes.

(I realize that the organization of the CDs could probably just come from people sorting through them and setting them down closer to the front of the stacks. For my own purposes, I may just stick with my theory that he’s a musical clairvoyant.)

“This is all going away next month,” he tells us while ringing up our CDs (by hand and on paper, no less). I can’t tell whether there’s sadness in his voice or if I just imagined it. “We’re moving all of it to the Internet. You sell things a lot faster there.” We learn that the building landlord is leasing the store space out for something else, so the Birdman’s son is going to help open an online store–even though he doesn’t currently own a computer. They’ve been there for 14 years.

After stepping back out into the litany of Manhattan on a Friday night, it’s hard to tell whether being in the store was like stepping back in time or if it was just a crude affirmation of the current times. Even though Lower East Side counterculture  warrants the existence and perpetuation of vintage music stores like Rainbow, the Birdman has decided to resign from a brick-and-mortar setup to sell his stuff using digital means. I can’t imagine the buying experience being the same without meeting the Birdman face to face, and goodness knows I wouldn’t have paid $23 for a used CD if he hadn’t chatted us up.

The Birdman from Jessie Auritt on Vimeo.

Joe and I drove back to Boston blasting Black Sabbath, full of good food and good stories. I know that the next time I trek to New York, it’ll be completely different and probably even stranger than the last. I can’t wait.

Desert Deviation

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“Madness plants mirrors in the desert.”
― Floriano Martins

Quiet. That’s what I miss the most about the desert. There’s no Boston banter, no city litany, no traffic tumult. Just open space and skies deeper than your eyes can reach. Desert protagonists and antiheroes alike will tell you that once you spend enough time there, eventually, there’s nowhere to look but inward. That’s when you end up running into yourself.

Buried in northern Arizona is a place that almost prides itself in being a little out of the way. Highway 89 stretches across it, inviting views of purple mountains during sunset and star-studded skies at twilight. In the distance, you can catch a glimpse of Thumb Butte (facetiously dubbed “thumb butt” by the younger population). This is Prescott Valley. And you can believe the rumors–it’s just as small as they say.

Joe and I touched down here after spending a weekend in Vegas. (Prescott Valley is home for Joe.) One couldn’t imagine a more stark contrast between the two cities–from casinos and yard-long drinks to dust devils and ghost towns. Here, your best friends are the same kids you grew up with, and your kids become friends with theirs. You’re on a first-name basis with the post office staff, and buying anything other than groceries requires “going into town.” For an urbanite’s idea of fun, you could drive to the modest array of bars at Whiskey Row, but inviting some friends over for drinks and conversation is more the status quo. Here, you live on stories.

I’m a firm believer that a good story is the shortest distance between two people. This is helpful to keep in mind when you’re meeting someone for the first time–especially your boyfriend’s family. Lucky for me, Joe’s mom had plenty of stories to tell off the bat, and we found ourselves laughing over homemade meatballs and wine in no time. I had forgotten how good it feels to give up control and let the conversation run its course.

Through meeting his friends and observing relics of his past firsthand, I was also able to confirm the stories he had long told me about his Prescott Valley years. (I may or may not have snagged pictures from old photo albums for safekeeping. I mean, blackmail.)

I have big things to say about this small town, but most of it is logged elsewhere for my own records. Among the manifold memories made were a stargazing date off the highway, a four-wheel adventure in Sedona, a wedding by Watson Lake, a birthday road trip to California, an exponentially hilarious excremental situation, and so on.

You know you’ve had a good trip when the stories from it cover the broad spectrum–good to bad. Sometimes, we’re too eagerly inclined to scrap the bad and only remember the good, forgetting in the process that we need both in order to grow. An escapist by habit, I was convinced at the beginning of this trip that leaving the city would somehow mitigate my stressors. However, I re-learned that places don’t carry problems; people do.

Now, upon returning to Boston, I feel refreshed and equipped with an arsenal of travel tales–but also with a commitment to looking inward, not wayward, to let go of heavier loads.

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Dome Diving on Cape Cod

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There’s nothing like breaking and entering.

Before you cast any judgment, hear me out. Imagine discovering a place seemingly untouched by other human beings for an indeterminate length of time. You spot it from the road, overgrown by the trees around it. An allure lingers despite its abandon.  Normal people might see it and think, “Cool,” then drive on. Then again, Joe and I are as far removed from ‘normal’ as possible.

The locale in question is a geodesic dome built in the early 1950s by Buckminster “Bucky” Fuller—-architect, designer, futurist. From the road, it doesn’t look like much. Guarded by a motel and a wall of trees,  it dwells in stolid silence. How could we resist getting a closer look?

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We tried the obvious ingresses first. Doors, windows, side entrances—-all locked. Joe pointed out that someone had cut through a screen that led into the basement storage area of the building. Next to a pile of discarded wood was a low window that led into the basement. The opening was just large enough for a person to squeeze through. So we slid in.

If you’ve ever snuck into an abandoned building, you’re familiar with the initial rush. It’s a colloidal mixture of adrenaline, fear, and wonder. There were objects old and new laying around. Kitchen stoves, ladders, a lawnmower, a restaurant sign, lamps—-artifacts from a past era. Eerie and fascinating at the same time.

On our way out, we left a couple entrances open for future explorers. Although we did our fair share of looking around, we left everything as it was. Well, almost:

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Lesson learned: If you want an adventure, you have to go look for it. Clandestine domes don’t go exploring themselves, you know. And if you’re lucky enough (like I am), you have a partner in crime to do it with you.

My friend and former colleague Katie Klocksin previously came across this dome and produced a stellar radio story about it. Give it a listen. I highly recommend it for a historical perspective on the dome itself.

Creative Ebb, Creative Flow

A few years ago, a good friend of mine gifted me my first Moleskine notebook on New Year’s Eve. Since then, I’ve always kept one close at hand, no matter where I go. As someone who constantly consumes information, my brain is oftentimes an unreliable palette on which to store information. These tiny notebooks have come to the rescue many times over, helping me preserve otherwise ethereal ideas.

That first year, I found myself constantly jotting down song lyrics in my notebook. (In fact, almost all of Daydream at Midnight was borne of my first Moleskine’s pages!) At the time, I’d jumped headfirst into the world of poetry, so the words of Dickens, Auden, Frost, and Whitman looped in my head as if they were songs themselves. My own song lyrics flowed as freely on paper as these authors’ lines of poetry did in my head. It’s times like these, when the flow has been reduced to a sputter, that I look back on that first year with considerable envy. My notebooks, once a diving board from which I leapt into my most creative projects, now feel more like a wade pool of scribbles, sketches, quotations, excerpts, tallies, and trivia.

Within the course of any creative life, one confronts (perhaps multiple times) the paranoia of having run dry. My habit of notebook toting persists, yet I’m not producing at the same rate that I used to. Ideas for songs, radio stories, letters, and blog posts lay in dormant lackadaisy. It’s enough to drive me into creative hypochondria–checking my creative pulse every so often to see if it’s still ticking. And if it is, I ask, where’s the creative beef, yo? (Or eggplants, for creative vegetarians.) In large part, I think this blog survives because when all other outlets are blocked, I can always, always, always write.

I have to remind myself, however, that I’ve gone through these motions before. My creative atmosphere always conjures the inverse of the proverbial “calm before the storm.” For me, I’m first disoriented by a whirlwind of ideas and information before inspiration comes to parts the clouds. Only time will tell when or whether I’ll find my answers. Meanwhile, these are two TED Talks that never fail to reassure me that another burst of inspiration is always within reach.

David Kelley on Creative Confidence:

“[Dr. Albert Bandura] called that confidence ‘self-efficacy,’ the sense that you can change the world and that you can attain what you set out to do.”

Elizabeth Gilbert on the Creative Process:

“Don’t be afraid. Don’t be daunted. Just do your job. Continue to show up for your piece of it, whatever that might be. If your job is to dance, do your dance. If the divine, cockeyed genius assigned to your case decides to let some sort of wonderment be glimpsed,…then “Ole!” And if not, do your dance anyhow and “Ole!” to you, nonetheless. I believe this and I feel that we must teach it. “Ole!” to you… just for having the sheer…stubbornness to keep showing up.”

Perhaps creative frustration is a sign that you’re on the right track. Sometimes, the simple desire — the need, even — to create is the initial state of being one needs to achieve before something great happens. Why else would Monet continue to paint despite being practically blind? Perhaps the same reason why Beethoven never stopped composing despite his loss of hearing and Proust never stopped writing even when tragically ill. They simply couldn’t help it. The need to express the inner self is inherent in any conscious being, a kind of twitch that can’t even be mitigated by physical handicap or a life-threatening malady. In a very dark yet essential way, that’s comforting.

I have to remind myself that my best work still lies ahead of me and that creativity will ebb and flow. For now, it’s a matter of showing up. “Ole!” There’s still work to be done yet.

Slow News Days

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I recently watched Paul Salopek’s talk from the MIT-Knight Civic Media Conference: The Story and the Algorithm. He’s a peculiar fellow with plenty of idiosyncrasies to boot. Soft spoken and hoarse, he paced around the stage while reading from a stack of stapled papers to an audience that strained to hear him. He was a stark contrast to the bombasters who preceded him, yet it was all so appropriate for the topic at hand: slow journalism.

Taking inspiration from the slow food movement, Salopek advocates the slowing down of our tendencies to overshare our lives. We have so many ways to tell stories these days that we inflate news feeds with minutia–from photos of our food to passive-aggressive tweets about things that irk us. We have so many outlets that we have begun abusing the media that make it possible to share our lives in meaningful ways.

Don’t get me wrong. I completely acknowledge the value of being able to instantaneously share my newfound obsession with the BBC series Dr. Who at the exact moment that I realized that I loved the show. (I immediately received reactions via tweet and text message from the same friends who have been trying to convert me into a fan for the past two years.) The 21st century is an amazing and important time for technology. Like Salopek, though, I fear that our hyperconnectivity with others attenuates the connection we have with ourselves.

Salopek chooses to endorse his slow news movement by walking (yes, walking) across various continents while inviting his audience to follow along online as he documents this journey. He calls it a “collective walk into the future.” It’s undeniably experimental, and I’m still dubious as to whether or not it is going to make a big enough impact to affect a large-scale change in technology. However, it’s worth thinking about. I realize that I’m guilty of inflating the importance of everyday trifles, so I welcome this shift in thinking.

I’m not about to start any cross-continent treks, so don’t get your hopes up. What I’m going to try is a social media diet. No Twitter, no FourSquare, no Instagram, no Facebook for a few days. These instantaneous methods of sharing take away from being in the moment itself, and they take away from the time we have with the people we share these moments with. I’m invoking the days of old in which photo uploads happened AFTER the fact and blog posts (or dare I say it–xanga entries) were fully thought-out reactions to life instead of impulsive comments that we push out the proverbial (though technologically advanced) door.

Technology provides so many ways to tell stories, construct our identities, and share our lives with each other. Let’s not diminish our attention spans, shorten our tempers, and cheapen the process of learning about ourselves along the way.

CARMA: What Goes Around Comes Around (In Space)

A radio story for the new Lily Bee Music Podcast

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Music and sound clips from this episode:

Hoagy Carmichael – “Stardust”

Bill Nye the Science Guy (PBS) – Outer Space

ACME School – radio waves

Helpful links:

How Radio Astronomy Works

Owens Valley Radio Observatory (OVRO) and CARMA Official Site

“Star Sailor” – original song from far too long ago in my YouTube history:

[youtube  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m3UYOtTYS4%5D

Southwest tour wrap-up, April east coast tour, and other announcements

Traveling becomes something entirely different when you make people — as opposed to places — your destinations.

Before this tour, I’d never driven down the desolate, desert road leading into and out of Phoenix, AZ, or walked through downtown Austin’s motley portrait of nightlife on a Thursday evening. I never could have imagined the modest beauty of Ohio in winter. And because I’d been to San Diego before, our tour stop there could have easily been like any other previous trip, had it not been for all the incredible people that met us there. The same goes for each and every stop: these places and experiences would have meant nothing if I had no one to share them with.

In case I haven’t said it enough lately, thank you to ALL of you who have supported my music in one way or another. I’m fortunate to have been able to thank those of you who came to live shows in person – if I haven’t been able to do this yet, please know that I intend to at the first chance I get!

I am undeniably blessed to be able to share my music with others who so quickly and ardently support it. I know full well that opportunities like these can be fleeting, few, and far between.

After being on the road and meeting fellow musicians, music enthusiasts, and artists alike, I feel increasingly connected to the limitless network of creative minds that encompasses this world. I am humbled to know I can contribute to it.

March will be my most sedentary month yet, though there will be a lot of creative activity. Here are a few things to look forward to this month:

1) Release of another official music video;

2) Recording of my second album; and

3) Planning/coordinating April’s east coast tour (poster below).

I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me, so it’s best I don’t lag! Again, thank you to each and every one of you for your support. I wouldn’t be doing this without it. 🙂

Your traveling (now sedentary) musician friend,

Lily

P.S. For live feeds and updates, follow me on Twitter @dangerbui and like my Facebook page at facebook.com/LilyBeeLovesYou 🙂