THIS IS A TEST. If you can’t waste 2 minutes and 57 seconds listening to this Song of Summer, then you’re probably not Bastard material. Can you dig it?

The sun beaming down between the leaves
(Grazin’ in the grass is a gas, baby, can you dig it?)

And the bir-ir-ir-irds dartin’ in and out of the trees.
(Grazin’ in the grass is a gas, baby, can you dig it?)

Everything here is so clear, you can see it.

And everything here is so real, you can feel it.

And it’s real,

so real,

so real,

so real,

so real,

so real

Can you dig it?

“In medieval Japan, poets and priests directed the Japanese toward cherry blossoms, deformed pieces of pottery, raked gravel, moss, rain falling on leaves, autumn skies, roof tiles and unvarnished wood. A word emerged, wabi, of which no Western language, tellingly, has a direct equivalent, which identified beauty with unpretentious, simple, unfinished, transient things. There was wabi to be enjoyed in an evening spent alone in a cottage in the woods hearing the rain fall.”

– Alain de Botton,
The Architecture of Happiness, p.260