%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   The catch-all for items related to and/or inspired by the music that shaped me. |
Music has played a role in nearly every situation of my life. This is where I'll be collecting items inspired by those moments- poems, lyrics, blog entries- the soundtrack of me.  I may also contribute blog-style entries here from time to time:
And this month, I've decided to take part in... ![Merit Badge in Quill Award
[Click For More Info]
Congratulations on winning the 2017 Quill Award for Best Music for [Link To Item #2072393] . *^*Delight*^* See [Link To Item #quills] for more information.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)    Best Blog |
** Image ID #2076190 Unavailable ** Hey folks! I know I said I wasn't gonna participate in "Invalid Item"  ...I don't own the collection of poetry I used to have, and I can't just whip off some names and verses from my favorites from memory, but I think from time to time I might be able to share something here and there. Cinn  suggested one night to check out Tony Hoagland, and after some of her recommendations and a li'l Google help, I took her up on it. The only book my local library system could get in was Unincorporated Persons In The Late Honda Dynasty , and I recently finished it so I should probably talk about that a little bit. First off, when Ky suggests something, you take it. If you didn't already know this or you're just finding it out, she knows her shit. Her rec wasn't casual, it was informed...and she was absolutely right when she said he'd be right up my alley. I recommend stuff all the time because I think the unwitting uninitiated might enjoy it; she knows. It's like a gift or something. So yeah, I made it through Honda Dynasty and took sparse notes here and there, and of course not all of the ones I liked are available online via a tidy Google search and I don't have the book in front of me anymore to hand-type some favs (nor do I have that kinda energy), but here's a few I dig for reference in case you decide he's the kinda guy you wanna kill an afternoon with like I did: "Hard Rain", "Poor Brittney Spears" (I wrote something like this once, and used her name as well for similar effect...damn if I can remember what it was right now, but I have an idea where it might be, and it's probably nothing like how I'm imagining it now  ), "The Loneliest Job In The World" (which reminded me of playing hockey- more specifically, being a stay-at-home defenseman or a goalie, both of which I often was- and The Tragically Hip's "The Lonely End Of The Rink" ), "Visitation" (where I couldn't help but remember the feeling of being 15 again and messing around with the first girl- Ellen, a younger, adorable cheerleader who lived a block over- I'd ever been physically involved with), and "Disaster Movie" (an item that calls to mind the current political climate in a medium made more acceptable for and by the masses other than just talking politics)."Cement Truck" is a beast of poeticism that I think everyone who has ever tried to write any kind of poem, or more specifically, certain poems for certain reasons, can relate to. The imagery in relation to the feelings we all get when we have a line or a "perfect title" (and right now, I have more titles than poems at the ready for my own personal "Give It 100!" challenge spot), and how we have to work all that in into another body of words and hoping it'll all fit so it looks like it's already been there and not like some freak of concrete embarrassment or word salad...y'all know that's real. And "My Father's Vocabulary" ...again, very relatable. Don't we all have dads or uncles or older family members that speak a language inherent to where they came from? They use their words and turns of speech and catchphrases from their youth, still to this day, and you're like "Huh?" Like kids in the next generation will see this and wonder why we say shit like "lol" (which I fucking hate) or question everything sarcastically (or not) with a high-pitched "Whaaaaat?!". It happens...some things resonate more over time than others. We can have a conversation now about the same places 25 years later like it was 1991 all over again and be like "Rad!" as if it were nothin', but then y'all kids be lookin' at us like we're speakin' Jupiter or some shit...meanwhile, you're havin' babies who will have no idea how on fleek your eyebrows were when you met babydaddy and how turnt up shit was that night of conception. Hoagland says "tits", and I understand that, but I also understand that not only to mean "breasts" but as something being amazing or good, like "Oh, his Nintendo is tits!" like we'd now in our more decayed society would say "Xbox is the shit!". I'm rambling now, but you'll get it someday. I still think "tits" and "titties" should mean more than "amazing", "awesome", and "boobies", but I'm no linguist either [I-ther, not ee-thur].Anyway, the piece I wanna talk about most of Hoagland's is "BIG GRAB" . I will gladly copy/paste it here now for your enjoyment...The corn chip engineer gets a bright idea, and talks to the corn chip executive and six months later at the factory they begin subtracting a few chips from every bag, but they still call it on the outside wrapper, The Big Grab, so the concept of Big is quietly modified to mean More or Less Large, or Only Slightly Less Big than Before. Confucius said this would happen: that language would be hijacked and twisted by a couple of tricksters from the Business Department and from then on words would get crookeder and crookeder until no one would know how to build a staircase, or to look at the teeth of a horse, or when it is best to shut up. We live in that time that he predicted. Nothing means what it says, and it says it all the time. Out on route 28, the lights blaze all night on a billboard of a beautiful girl covered with melted cheese-- See how she beckons to the river of latenight cars; See how the tipsy drivers swerve, under the breathalyzer moon! We’re in the wilderness now, confused by the signs, with a shortness of breath, and that postmodern feeling of falling behind. In a story whose beginning I must have missed, without a name for the thing I can barely comprehend I desire, I speak these words that do not know where they’re going. No wonder I want something more-or-less large, and salty for lunch. No wonder I stare into space while eating it. That's batshit everydayman geniusery! That's the shit we don't know we're missing! Day-to-day simplicities broken down with a language we can all understand about something we all experience. But why is that so amazing? Why does it resonate? Why am I in awe? It's a "close the notebook, put down the pen, and take a nap" sort of closure. An "I can't beat that, so I'll join it" movement. Big Chip has our number, our details, our souls...the package remains the same size as the contents slowly wane throughout time. How he...how they...how he and they- they know us. They get us. We struggle with serving sizes, they struggle with profit margins. Either way, we'll eat ourselves fat. We'll buy anything if it's bigger. We see value in bullshit. Because we've let these people do it to us for so fucking long! Sonuvabitchin' advertizin' fuckers! They get us comin' and goin'! Because who's truly economical when they shop? Who has time for the analysis of who carries what and for how much and what's the worst it can do to me and/or my person? The belly fucking wants what it wants. If them damn chips go up ten cents in price, I'mma still buy them, even if I don't notice that every year they're going up. And every so often they slip a few chips out of the bag, to the point that I may need to buy two (arbitrary) single-serve bags to achieve the same feeling of contentment one used to give me? So fucking be it, because my once-nonfat-now-fat ass needs to be happy because billboards and adverts implore me to be happy with their chips like I'll feel an empty spot in my heart without them. Damn you to hell, all of you!! And how many things do you buy because they're packaged as "multiple servings" but god forbid you can stop yourself from saving some for later? Are you fucking kidding me? Pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream? "King Size" candy bars? Bottles of pop at gas station convenience stores? Naw man...none of that's meant to be consumed over a few days. It's one sitting, or fuck it- throw it out, because it doesn't stay fresh. "Let's get the masses hooked on this, and then make it smaller, so we can sell 'em more...and then we'll make a slightly smaller package, but charge more per ration." Fun fuckin' game they play, those highly-educated pricks who only care about taking your money and not how your now-fat ass is gonna work those extra calories off. This makes me angry, and I can't do anything to change it because I can only change me, but god damn this is a fucking problem...and here come the big-biznitch supporters to tell us that corporations are right and people are wrong, but corporations are people, and durr-durr-durr and lose some fucking weight and get a job and don't be sad because you have this big-ass bagga chips to make your broke ass happy, poor peasant. My lawd... Ok. Sorry for the slightly off-topic rant. Seriously though, go read Tony Hoagland if you can find him in your neck of the woods or the concrete jungles of your neighborhoods. Do it for your soul, so it knows it's not alone in the intricacies of your everyday life. It won't hug you to let you know you're ok, but it'll stare at you in solidarity at least. Like a creep who wants you more for your understanding, and less for your social security number or demographics. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** Today's theme: Comedy! Woo hoo! So now I can go back to being my normal, sorta odd, randomly funny self?  This is, like, almost the best day ever! The weird thing is that I don't really have a whole lot of "funny" songs in my arsenal. Oh, I've got comedians in my library. And they used to be funny. But maybe it's me...maybe I've grown bored with them. And when bands try to be funny sometimes it comes off as insincere, or sarcastic, or no one else is in on the joke. And so much humor is topical nowadays. It has a shelf life, and it's not very long. That's probably half the reason why I don't go back and reread some of my old blog entries anymore...whatever was soooooo funny five or two years ago either isn't now, or it's sadly true (look at how so many of us thought Donald Trump wouldn't be taken seriously as a presidential candidate six months ago). Plus, we're shifting gears from a really emotional week to this now. It's taken more out of me than I realized, and the transition doesn't feel smooth. I'm seriously not used to writing blog entries like I was doing last week. It's not my style. Like, I was nominated for a Quill Award for comedy one year! I was funny!! Case in point: what was considered funny in the past isn't always what it is now.  Anyway, I'll give this "humor" thing a shot. It's a Leap Year day anyway, so it's ok to go off script and do stupid shit today...ain't like it's gonna show up next year or the year after like on the Timehop app or in your Facebook Memories, right? And four years from now, when whatever you posted up there does show up as your Feb. 29th memory, you can just shrug it off like you don't remember, or be like "That's my old self  ".So, to the surprise of no one, I didn't watch the Oscars last night. Not because I'm boycotting because #OscarsTooWhite or #NotInvited or some other social justice/injustice/butthurtery cause or whatever; I just didn't care. I didn't care so much that I actually tried going to bed at an hour that was way early even for my old man sensibilities. Of course, that's all relative, because the time I ingest my nighttime pharmaceutical cocktail for sleep purposes and the time I actually fall asleep vary wildly. I probably could've made it through most of the entire "ceremony"; instead I read emails I've yet to respond to during commercial breaks in the Hannibal Burress stand-up special I decided to watch for like the fifth time because I can't remember if I've watched it before until about three bits in and then I'm like "Ohhhh yeah...I have seen this, but I'm too lazy to find something else to take me to that magical dreamworld of sleep". And because I'm a wizard when it comes to finding things on the internet like it's 1995 again, I was all like "I'll catch Chris Rock's opening monologue in the morning, when I'll care a little more". Because that's what I really wanted to see of the Oscars. The funniest dude from 2002 still makin' jokes about entitled while people, all over again. And I woke up this morning, and I still didn't care. I checked Facebook and Twitter and even my non-WDC emails and made coffee and even went to the store somewhere before noon, which is absolutely unheard of for me but I was out of coffee creamer...that's how much I didn't care. Going out in public came before something I wanted to see online. And once I was settled and out of things to kill time with but before getting into the things I really needed/wanted to do, I broke down and read a transcript of his monologue . It wasn't that funny. I mean, it served a purpose. It was alright. It wasn't Dave Chappelle in his prime funny either, which would've been perfect for the occasion in my opinion. But I'm glad I didn't go out of my way to watch it. Not last night, not this morning, not now. I probably could've written a better monologue...but I'm also not part of the establishment, nor am I a sect of that same establishment that has been marginalized (and by "establishment" I mean "Hollywood-famous", but I'm assuming you knew that). So I could've taken my shots and emptied my chamber because I'm never gonna work in Hollywood anyway, so screw you guys! and all that. I probably would've made DiCaprio jokes about never letting his trophy go and him drawing it like a French girl or some other nonsense, and tossing in some wildly inappropriate racially insensitive remarks about Trump controlling the Academy and him being down with the KKK. It woulda been a good time. But I wasn't invited, and I didn't care, so I didn't watch, because burn, Hollywood, burn and that's not me . So anyway, in between following the NHL's trade deadline chatter (my favorite day of the year...it is, mind you), I was trying to think of funny songs. I wanted to use something from the Bloodhound Gang, because they're consistently attempting to be funny (notice I didn't say they actually are funny...because even though I might think they are, most of you will not, and I'm playing to the crowd today more than just myself). The problem with them is I've used a couple of their songs so many times and I wanted to use something different, but I couldn't get this track unstuck from my head for awhile and it's too inappropriate for me to want it associated with my fair name during "The Soundtrack of Your Life" this month. And then my analytical mind went to work and somehow I decided this song would be better because it's funny even though it also has to sorta do with strippers even if there is also life advice in it...it's like an educational song! And it's the censored version, so you can listen along to it at work or in the car with the kids or during Bingo games with grandma...it's all good! See how I look out for you guys? Reaching the masses and informing them with quality humor from a decade and a half ago. Pop culture references I barely remember! And cornbread! Ain't nothin' wrong with that! "If a woman tells you she's 20 and looks 16...she's 12. If she tells you she's 26, and looks 26...she's damn near 40." Lyrics. Dude...it's been an awesome month. I got to meet some amazing people, get reacquainted with some old friends, and listen to a buncha sweet-ass sweet tunes. It's my favorite WDC event of all-time every year, no bullshit...and it keeps getting bigger and better. Thanks for the opportunity to share all this stuff, lizco252...and thank you, everyone else, for reading it. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll spend the rest of the night prepping for March's Official run of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" and chillin' to the relaxing dulcet tones of the Bloodhound Gang. Hooray! |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few I couldn't do it, you guys...even though I feel like I've repeated myself a lot this month in relation not only to previous Soundtracker events but just in songs I generally use when I'm randomly blogging, I couldn't leave Wilco out. I feel so predictable...and on the 28th day of a 29-day month I also feel like I've left a ton of other great bands and songs on the shelf. In the last...I dunno, however long I've owned these albums for, whenever I've made a mix cd for someone there is a really good chance it's opened with "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart" or "Misunderstood", or had "Sunken Treasure" somewhere in the middle. There are just some songs that always show up for some reason. And having a kickass opening song is the sign of a good cd...it sets the tone and pulls you in. It's just as important as the closing song, and equally as important as the rest of the content combined many times. The three songs I just mentioned...technically they're all "first songs". "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart" is off of Wilco's greatest album (in my opinion), Yankee Hotel Foxtrot . "Misunderstood" and "Sunken Treasure" are the first songs from each disc of Being There ...a double album, and I'm not crazy about most double albums because there is sometimes too much to take in at once, and not all of it is good. But Being There, to me, isn't like that. I guess you could say it meets expectations, rather than just being a couple really great songs topped off with extra filler. It's not awesome all the way through by any stretch, but it's solid and consistent. Nineteen songs that don't suck is always better than two batshit-amazing songs mixed in with ten that blow. So anyway, I was layin' in bed this morning scrollin' through Facebook, and one of my brothers shared a meme and tagged a couple of his and our friends in it...it said somethin' like "Do you ever want to move somewhere new where no one knows who you are and start all over again?" And I don't get it, because he's got a great job and a lot of friends, even if he still lives with our mom. It's a safe, comfortable situation. I'm not sure what the risk or gain would be in giving that up to start all over somewhere else. And I say that because that's basically what I've done. I had my biggest breakdown almost four years ago and an opportunity presented itself for me to actually GTFO and start a whole new life in an area about 3.5 hours away from home where I only knew one other person. I could leave the old me behind and be a new person. Almost. You don't just change zip codes and suddenly you're someone else. It's not like stripping off the t-shirt and ripped jeans and throwing on a tuxedo. Moving doesn't work like that. It also, well, it backfired on me as much as I haven't totally bought into the concept of meeting new people. Some unexpected shit happened, like when I broke my ankle. That didn't exactly do me any favors with my anxiety or depression. And some doors opened, like the volunteering position I had, or the semester I spent back in school...but I couldn't capitalize on those opportunities either. Things haven't gone as planned so far. I came out here to get away from who I was, and I've had some small victories, but I'm reverting back to the stagnancy I was running from in the first place. Even in big groups, surrounded by friends or in successful career phases, I was still starting to feel very alone. In some way, shape or form, I've always stood out. I've got a funny name, or ugly clothes, or a dumb haircut. And even when I was fitting in more, I was still somewhat of an outsider. The whole "fear of having good things because good things always go away"...that's very real to me. I'm afraid to open up, because I will likely wind up scaring people away at some point. And it isn't always because I've done something wrong (although there's been my fair share of mistakes). It's because I don't give people the chance to understand me. Even when I deliberately try not to be complex, it comes off the wrong way. It's hard to describe; it's certainly one of the reasons I'm seeing a therapist, and I still can't seem to get out what I want to say or what I mean. And now I feel like I'm babbling. Over the years this song has meant a lot of different things to me; mainly toward other people, and it's written from the perspective of a fan toward the changing attitudes of his favorite performer. But as time goes on, and the more distance I put between myself and my home and everyone and everything, the more I turn it in my direction. The more I write, and try to understand myself and clarify myself, the more confused I seem to end up sometimes. I don't want to think that that's my destiny or anything, but the longer it goes on, the more likely it seems. Ya know...something like "Make a mistake once, it's an accident; make it again, it's a decision." What if my decision has been made for me? What if I'm not supposed to be figured out? It's not as empowering as it sounds...it's frustrating, in reality. But it's my normal setting, I guess. I have a folder in my port I've titled "Sunken Treasure" ...you don't have to click on it or check it out or anything; you're already in it anyway. It's just where my blogs are stashed...all the long-form writing. Everything that isn't little shards or leftovers or spare parts, I guess. There's not much of a description for it, other than "These are the conversations we don't always get to have." That's really all these 1,000+ entries are...my talking at you. And sometimes you talk back in the comments, and that's nice because then it doesn't feel so one-sided. But eventually someday I'm gonna hafta start talking to real people again (not that y'all aren't real...but, you know...). People who aren't doctors or drug store cashiers. I used to be pretty good at that, and I'm not anymore...I'm outta shape mentally for that, I suppose. There will be human interactions and relationships will form and information will be shared, and all of this stuff that I've ever mentioned in any kind of writing will come up over time. Judgments will be made. And I'l have to live with that, one way or another. There might be revelations. There might be more solitude. More opportunities to either mine for some kind of gold, or mint more instead. Whatever happens happens. Music will always be there. Not just because I need it, but because someone else needs it more than me. And maybe that's why all of this whatever stuff surrounding my life exists...because I'm the one that needs these words the most. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few Ok guys, this is it; the penultimate entry for our Precious Few. Fair warning: there will be some memes, pictures, and explicit lyrics in the videos. Avert your eyes and ears if this portion of my existence doesn't interest you in the same way it excites me. Life isn't always white linens and bible verses.  Again, I don't have a funny anecdote regarding this song itself, but it's more of a guiding principle of mine. In life, along with everything in it, there should be balance. And that doesn't necessarily mean 50/50 evensies and shit...it's ok if the numbers skew a little as long as you're comfortable with what they represent...sometimes a true split isn't possible. For example: maybe you think your life is perfect if you can achieve a 65% work life versus a 35% non-work life. Or 50/25/25 between family, work, and friends. 1/2 Cheese, 1/2 Cheese & Pepperoni. 1/2 Cheese & Pepperoni, 1/2 Sausage. Whatever it is, it has to work for you. If you don't have balance, you fall. Life doesn't get any less complicated in description than that.  Atmosphere...it's just a 10-letter word. Huge part of my musical lineage, from the days of reading magazines and write-ups and album reviews...and then browsing a used CD bin at a record shop and going "Hey, I've heard about them..." when I spotted You Can't Imagine How Much Fun We're Having . The first time I'd heard the term "Emo Rap" was in conjunction with that record. I picked it up on the cheap and went a few months straight listening to it at least once a day. I don't know why, to tell the truth. The beats were good. The bass was alright. The samples were fresh. The production was on point. And lyrically...very impressive. It's not the greatest album of all-time, and it's not even the best hip hop record of the last two decades. Well, maybe it is. I don't have a good reason. And I don't think I owe anyone one. I know what I like.  And then, like any musician or band or artist, you start going backwards into the catalog when there's no more room to go forward. Seven's Travels is just a really solid album. It's not one of those long plays that bounces all over the place like some albums do...this settles nicely into one lane and stays there. Is it abrasive? Yes. Suggestive? Violent occasionally? Angry? Check, check, check. But it's real...because life is real. Our lives consist of about ten percent of what the public actually sees of each of us. Our social media accounts, our pictures, what we wear to work and school and the grocery store. There's almost this whole other world that people don't get to see. Perhaps our most vulnerable side...that's who we are the most, yet it's what everyone sees the least of. At best, we're only balancing out our fears, our image, ourselves, into some fit-for-consumption box that we're always trying to get more comfortable with. Some do it better than others. Some get paid a lot of money to fit into other people's souls. And some of us just stay inside as long as humanly possible. "In the days of kings and queens I was a jester. Treat me like a god or they treat me like a leper. You see me move back and forth between both... I'm trying to find a balance; I'm trying to build a balance." Lyrics. I'm not gonna tell you I identify with the lyrics, because I don't. The chorus, yeah, but not the entire body of work. No matter what, there will always be differing opinions of me. I can only do what I think is best for me, not what everyone else thinks I should be doing. I try to be a good person, even though I realize there have been plenty of times I've given people reasons to believe otherwise. I'm not perfect. No one is. But so many of us want others to believe we are...like it's so important. Like there's some kinda prize at the end or somethin'. There ain't. All we ever really wind up doing is balancing...projecting our good versus our bad. Our rights and wrongs. What is liked about us against what we like. Wants and needs. That's it. And sometimes we need help doing that.  This is so when I look down, I know to remember that I need to find balance in everything. There are wrongs to right, even if they're just for my own sake or locked up in my head. I need it. Even when everything around me is falling apart, there's something grounding me in the chaos. If I can still look, then it must be worth looking for. And if it's worth looking for, it's worth having. Even if it's just a little tiny piece. It's better than nothing, and it's something to build on. What's the sense of anything if there isn't at least a little somethin'? With that you can begin to grow and build and make things better whenever you start slippin'. I know, that sounds vague and boring and I'm not really sayin' much. But there's not much to say.  Two legends. One's a famous rapper guy named Slug; the other one is Norb, a not-famous writer guy. Here's how to tell which is which: I'm not the one from Minneapolis . This was from the second-to-last concert I ever attended in Buffalo. I was waiting in line with my boy W!nkz and his girlfriend for the club to open up...Atmosphere was one of those shows that I had to go to. June 2012. I was mere days away from bottoming out and losing everything. Relationships, belongings and possessions, sanity. Clinging on to last hopes and calling all the bluffs I could muster and not fathoming making it out alive if I was wrong. And was I ever. I still don't know why I'm here, but I at least know now I'm supposed to be; nothing's killed me yet. Sometimes I think I've reached a whole new level of invincibility; the kind that comes after you've seen what death is supposed to do. It's not the type of existence you fuck around with anymore; it's not "let's crash cars, and jump off bridges and buildings, and see how long we can float for with these bricks tied around our ankles!" It's the quiet "I did this" nod of acknowledgement. The secret password for the existential treehouse of survival. The bass got so loud and distorted that it rattled the walls in that little room but everyone singin' the same song carried the words like they were crystal clear in your headphones when you'd be walkin' along your way on any other day. The push/pull, give/take in full effect. Life bounding out of you and bouncing back at you. All in the chorus of one song.  "A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life." Semi-unrelated Fun Fact #1: I used to use a website called Myxer back in the day to make ringtones, and my ex wanted me to make her a couple. She actually asked me to do one up for her of "Trying To Find A Balance" even if hip hop was something she really wasn't into all that much, so she could set it to my phone number. And yes, she specifically wanted that part . And this tiny little 40-year-old blonde chick would totally thug out to it whenever I called her. True story. I went to pick her up at work once not long after making it and she made a point of telling/showing everyone. I was somewhat embarrassed and entirely proud. Semi-unrelated Fun Fact #2: Atmosphere released a new song the other day, as they do on occasion. It's not "Party For The Fight To Write" , and it's not anything remotely life-altering...I'm still trying to figure out if Slug is saying "You right" or "You write" or both. It don't matter. Any day that starts off with new Atmosphere in my inbox is a good day fo' sho'. I know, it's not for everyone, and you probably don't like it, and all that and whatever. I'm not for everyone either...but at least you sorta like me sometimes.  |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few I don't know much, but I do know how to waste time, and I've done a fair bit of that in the just over two hours I've been awake so far today. Didn't even unplug the laptop from the TV until just now...I got so lazy, I was playing Candy Crush from across the room and I started using the on-screen keyboard instead of getting up to type things physically. It's a glorious sin.  And I still haven't come up with a song I feel like using today for "The Soundtrack of Your Life" . I gave myself one option yesterday, but of course I've changed my mind already because I've been in more of a Brit-pop mood than hip hop lately. My nighttime routine has consisted of British sitcoms that Hulu seems to think I'd enjoy...first it was Miranda , and now it's The IT Crowd (where I've developed a little crush on Katherine Parkinson  ). Hulu also seems to think I've watched seven episodes of some show called Monday Monday and keeps pushing me to watch it again. This is why I hate falling asleep with Hulu in charge . I have figured out that I want to choose a song off of The Verve's Urban Hymns record. Definitely an all-time favorite album, even if it's one I tend to forget about from time to time. I think in the US they've gotten buried behind Oasis and Radiohead and even Blur and other great bands from that era that I haven't spent much time listening to, like Pulp and Suede, because they didn't have as sustained a successful period. But what a time to not be British in the States for a music lover! So I remember a lot from this time, actually. I'd just moved into my own place, went out and found a grown-up job all on my own for the first time rather than using connections, and decided that since I was between three girls in the most awkward love-rhombus (not even a damn triangle for chrissakes, because that's not complicated enough) ever during the holidays, I'd say fuck it and get trashed. Often. What had been the point of remaining sober and boring and alone, when I could go out with friends and have a good time, or even stay home and at least entertain myself more easily by seeing what kind of shenanigans drunk me could come up with? And I got outta control in a hurry. I'd gone to Target one evening after a few beverages with the boys from work to see one of the aforementioned ladyfriends...who was decidedly not a fan of me showing up to her workplace smelling like a freshly-opened bottle of Crown Royal. In my defense, I was also making a purchase (Urban Hymns actually, because "Bitter Sweet Symphony" was the jam going into '98. So I'd go home and wait for the other girl to get off her shift at a local restaurant (it's kinda awkward showing up to a restaurant if you don't plan on eating there). Sometimes she'd stop over unannounced, just to hear "Shiny Happy People" by REM or watch reruns of The Golden Girls . Unless I was ending my evening with a few beers...and she didn't want any nor felt the need to stay long. But it was a different story when she was drunk though... that's how it goes sometimes. And the third girl? I didn't understand it. She'd moved away for school and then showed up at my door once with a Christmas present. How she knew my address and why I was drinking a wine cooler in the middle of the afternoon on the day of some peoples' lord and savior's birth are a couple of life's greatest questions . I went in that Xmas evening for a shift at my second job, a local gas station/convenience store. I figured it'd be dead in there...holidays, overnight, not a really busy area. I lugged in my radio and my new copy of Urban Hymns, visited the back cooler, and kicked back with a six-pack of Budweiser. There's "time-and-a-half" holiday pay, and then there's my sort of "time-and-a-half" pay, with benefits  . Let me tell you...that cd is an absolute joy to get hammered to at work (and that's a sentence you don't see often ). Well, not just joy...it carries you through a full range of emotions. You're hitting every touchstone on the path to somewhere uncertain, but you know you want to be going there. You're hopeful, you're lost, you're found, you're unsure and unstable, you're ready to fight someone with your bare hands, then you wanna dance through a field arm-in-arm with them, and then you're ready to pass out in front of a television right before the national anthem plays and the screen becomes images of test patterns for the next six hours. And then you wake up and realize you've just had the best dream ever, only it wasn't really a dream even though you didn't do any of those things...but the door chimes are ringing and the delivery guy is dropping off the morning's batch of newspapers, so you'd better get back to work and finish cleaning out all the coffee pots and get that brewin' before the boss shows up. And don't forget to take out the trash and the empty beer cans. It was like that for a couple months. I didn't work at the gas station often- maybe one or two nights a week- but there was always some kind of nonsense going on there. Tossing a basketball all over the parking lot, having a war in the entire store with a box of water toys (those little sorta-foamish cloth-covered balls that you're supposed to only throw around in a swimming pool), crackin' beers with my homies, hookin' up with drunk coworkers away from the security cameras when they stop in at 4am just because you're working. That place was a freaking mess...but I loved it. I tried quitting once when my regular job gave me a substantial raise, but my boss wouldn't let me because he didn't want to hire anyone else, and the assistant manager didn't want to go back to third shift. They were like "You don't even have to do any work...just watch the register, make coffee, and don't get robbed." Easy enough. Stuck it out as long as I could and had almost all the fun a person could possibly have at some kinda gig like that, until I absolutely no longer needed the job and my boss got fired for misappropriating pizza funds (I couldn't even possibly make that up...he would buy a pizza or two from the place down the street to resell the slices in-store, which was perfectly acceptable by corporate's standards, but he made it look like he was buying a lot more pizza than he actually was, and pocketing the rest of the cash...and somehow even though the accounting system was archaic and flawed he got caught). I couldn't have picked a better time to bail. Anyway, I guess I should pick a song to tie off this entry like the balloon animal it is. "Bitter Sweet Symphony" would be the obvious choice, but everyone's god damn lives are bittersweet and follow the same basic roads the lyrics describe. "The Rolling People" is my personal favorite off the album, and the chorus describes my friends and I all well and it has some great lyrics ("I'll be the first to toast, yeah, to my rotten soul!" ), but it doesn't fit this particular entry in my opinion. "Sonnet", "The Drugs Don't Work", "One Day", "Velvet Morning"...all amazing, and all of them have their own stories attached to them. "Lucky Man" may just sum up everything in general. Sometimes I can admit that I've been though some excellent experiences as well as some really shitty ones. There's a sort of balance at play, even though there's a tendency to sit on the side of the negative things in order to make more sense of them rather than just lay back and take a bath on the fun side of the scale. We're all guilty of that...plopping our asses down in the bullshit thinking that'll help us dig out from it. Naw man, we just have to figure out how to roll over to the other plate to offset that. That's all. Easier said than done...don't I know it . And I read the other day that The Verve's singer, Richard Ashcroft, is working on new solo music (no offense Charlie ~  , but when I first started reading your blog years ago during the first Soundtrackers thing he's who I pictured you more to look like... my bad). I wasn't crazy about some of his other stuff, but I heard a snippet of a new song in this NME interview and it sounds kinda interesting...so I'll check it out. Eventually ...I've got too much other stuff goin' on today that can't be put off much longer. I have to catch up on "Give It 100!" , I need to figure out which poem I really want to read for Elle - on hiatus  's "Poetry Readings" and decide if I'm gonna try to record again today while the lighting in my place is still decent (and I tried reading/recording "Good Ideas" last night, but the end result is awful and I've decided when my Greatest Poetry Hits DVD collection comes out that clip'll show up on there as an outtake) provided I also learn how to read (amazing how the fundamentals are always the first to go ), I have to edit my feature for this month's Blogging Bliss newsletter (catch some archived issues here: "Blogging Bliss Newsletter Archives" ), there are tabs open from items I was tagged in yesterday that I need a li'l attention, I should probably update my team's playlist for "The Soundtrack of Your Life" , and Nixie Martell cheerleader  says I need to write my mom a message this evening 'cuz my primary care doctor said I'm not gonna die of anything too serious in the near future. So as you can see, I'm clearly running out of time to waste, and I must go do other things now. GOODNIGHT NOW!! (Feels weird typing that here; not gonna lie. It's been awhile since I took "Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am" semi-seriously .)Rooftop hockey...one of the few non-achievements in my convenience store career. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few "Tender" by Blur...no long, crazy stories today or sad love letters or anything like that. Just a song. Even though it was written in the aftermath of the relationship between singer Damon Albarn and Elastica's Justine Frischmann, I don't consider this a breakup song. I've been in love too many times before, and I don't think this has ever come up before, during, or after any experiences I've had. I guess I don't have any opinion of it in that respect. The lyrics are very simple, if not self-effacing: "Tender is my heart; I'm screwing up my life." I've been there...but haven't we all thought that of ourselves at least once before? Perhaps the one line I can most relate to is "Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come."...I didn't sleep very well last night and although nights like that are fewer and farther between technically that's not even supposed to happen. And I still have mornings when I wake up and can't wait for anything else but bedtime again. But none of this is groundbreaking poetry. I will say that I didn't care for this song when I first heard it. I thought it was too long, too mellow, too...blah. It was on Blur: The Best Of , and I only got the cd because I wanted "Song 2" . It was one of those record club buys..."Get 12 CDs for $1" or somethin', and then purchase four more over three years at their gaudy prices and outrageous shipping fees. Columbia House or BMG or whatever. And I probably never paid for anything since from them, like most everyone else...which is why these companies and their business models don't exist anymore. "Tender" was the song I'd skip over...I didn't even listen to the whole album all that much until a Caribbean Cruise, actually. But then I couldn't stop listening to it, even though I brought tons of other music to vacation to. Something must've clicked. Maybe it was the whole relaxation vibe; I dunno. Ever see one of those videos on YouTube where a person stitches together ten straight hours of the same thing over and over, like a crackling fireplace or an oscillating fan? I'm convinced someone could do something like that here with this song, eliminate the pauses like the beginning or end, and I'd put that on. It's the perfect song for something like that. I wouldn't get sick of it. Verse, chorus, verse, chorus, solo, chorus, repeat. I could handle that all day long...and there aren't many tunes at all out there I could say that about. Sometimes, all you need is the message...no bombast or preening or physical/verbal hi-jinks. Just the song. Even the gospel chorus in the original version of the video can be a bit much. "Love's the greatest thing that we have." What more is there for anyone to want at the most basic level? I had to include this version only because it's pretty much a modern rock miracle...Albarn and Blur's guitarist Graham Coxon hadn't always gotten along well by this point, and Blur had always been compared to and competed against Oasis and Gallagher brother Noel, so for them to all put their feuding aside for a charity event was pretty stellar. And on the drums...Paul Weller of The Jam/Style Council. An epic lineup...of all the live versions circulating, this might be my favorite. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few Ok...now seems like as good a time as any to take a little break from the overemotional stuff because I don't wanna get to weighed down by everyone's sadness (and props to those of you who have tried to balance us Weeping Willies out with songs that make you smile or relax...you've been a big help, especially after reading our first wave of sad songs ). So yeah, let's go a little more in an upbeat direction today, shall we? And these are some of the sweetest Canadian dudes you'll ever meet. I've probably shared the story and this song a bunch of times (maybe not for Soundtrackers, but definitely in general before), so one more time isn't gonna hurt. But before I do that, here's some background... In the early 2000's, I was spending the night at DMFM's dad's house. His family was out of town, so he was house-sitting and I somehow coincidentally ended up with the weekend off. And no one throws a 2-man house party like me and Dave. I remember this night because we went overboard purchasing alcohol, my roommate showed up semi-uninvited and tried to kill our buzz (although it's the first time I ever heard Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and thought it was amazing), we somehow trashed the kitchen, the living room, and the upstairs computer room, and he played for me Moneen's The Theory Of Harmonial Value ...an incredible Emo-pop jaunt that gets a little comically scientific at the end but it's still fun. That whole weekend was a mess...one of the funnest messes ever though. I don't know why we bought so much beer for just the two of us on a Friday night, but it was ridiculous. One of those $15 mini fridge kegs of Warsteiner, a couple 22oz. "oil cans" of Fosters, and probably at least a six-pack each of Heineken and Red Stripe. I'm guessing Miller High Life was in there somewhere as well, because we seemed to have an affinity for 30-packs when we would get together like that. And somehow one of the Fosters cans ended up in the freezer, opened minus one sip, because Dave thought it wasn't cold enough...and forgot about it until the next morning. Don't do that. It's the worst non-bodily fluid mess you might ever have to clean up (and it's entirely wasteful). And lord knows why that Saturday afternoon we ended up at a liquor store with a married-couple friends of ours, because it was a beautiful day for a cookout, and that would've involved copious bottles of wine (for the wife), Grey Goose (for the husband), and Southern Comfort for Dave and myself. Ya know...stuff that pairs well with 20-somethings that have money to burn and steak. Good times, until a clearly overserved DMFM knocked over his glass of SoCo, emptying its contents all over my brand new Motorola V-60 with the neat little plug-in speakerphone thingy (and the phone was super-expensive and hard to find, but I had won one as part of a sales contest when I was the Advantage Co.'s Cellular Department Manager). This spillage incident caused Dave to simultaneously panic while cleaning and rue his clumsiness (he was always knockin' shit over), and Habby and Veronica took it as a sign of the night ending horribly so they split (which was not the case, but whatever). We got things cleaned up, I took apart the phone and aired it out overnight, Dave passed out, and I watched MTV until I fell asleep as well. The phone ended up working great, although every time I tried texting you could hear the keypad stick from the SoCo, and sometimes when I used it too long or kept it plugged in awhile, it would smell like a whiskey-scented candle was burning (kind of a pleasant aroma, actually ).Glad you read all of that...because it's not really related to the rest of the story at all. Dave and our boy Adam had seen Moneen a few times at that point. Like most up-and-coming Canadian bands, they can hit the Buffalo area a couple times a year. Small club shows mostly, although they did travel out to Rochester to see them play an acoustic show at a coffeehouse. I was always invited to come along, but I'd never really heard them before and something always came up (likely excuse ). But now that I'd had the chance to listen to them, there was no getting out of it...the next time they were in town, I had no choice but to attend. And so the new album (Are We Really Happy With Who We Are Right Now? ) comes out...and there's no Buffalo stop on their tours. We get all the compilation cds they're on, we stalk them online waiting for new videos and stuff...and nothin'. Another album, The Red Tree , is released. Same thing...buying stickers and random cds, waiting out website relaunches; we were determined to see them. We knew what they were doing before the band knew. Crazy psychotic fandom, ladies and gents. Over a dinky little Canadian Emo-punk band that would at best have the second slot and maybe a half-hour's worth of time on a major label band's 4-up show. We would've taken it at that point. But our patience and perseverance paid off...they finally came back to The B-Lo for a tiny club gig as the headliner (at the same place, if I'm not mistaken, the TBS "Timberwolves At New Jersey" show happened). I believe this is how it went down: Dave got dropped off at 542 by his pre-fiance girlfriend, and offered to pay for a couple beers if I drove. No problem...I can be responsible. I bought a t-shirt and a live EP/DVD. Dave...got all sortsa hammered and bought a couple shirts, two hoodies, all the beers, a few cds, more stickers and pins, more beers, and then we split a vinyl copy of The Red Tree that we agreed to share joint custody of because I had a turntable and he didn't. Dude could barely carry all the shit he bought...he was trying to wear all the shirts, plus a hoodie, plus what he was already wearing, with another hoodie tied around his waist, in a small, sweaty club in the middle of May. While I tried to jam everything else in the pockets of my cargo shorts. It was god damn trip. So we're standing by the soundboard and we see a tiny little guy in an overcoat of some kind with a beanie on, and we realize it's Kenny, Moneen's lead singer...and he's runnin' the board for one of the opening bands. But because we were little pussies, we didn't wanna say hi or bug him, even though he was ten feet away from us and knew we were staring at him and whispering like we were little teenage girls fawning over our indie ginger Bieber. Eventually, Moneen comes on and just shreds everything. Their live show is 100% what you see them doing in all their videos. Jumping, bouncing around, backflips and mic swings and hair flying everywhere. It's exhausting just watching. They're truly having fun and you can tell; they don't care if they're opening for Jimmy Eat World or Weezer in front of 12,000 in Toronto, or headlining a stank-nasty club in Buffalo for less than 200 drunk broskis. And I'd say the coolest part of the show was right after the last song, when Kenny yelled "GROUP HUG!!" and they jumped off stage into the crowd...and instead of bumrushing the band, everyone just sorta gently huddled into- no shit- a giant group hug. Possibly the least and most rock 'n' roll thing I've ever seen happen at the same time, and I've seen a lot of concerts. But no, that wasn't the coolest part. A few minutes after that, we saw Kenny just millin' around off to the side of the stage, so we went over and chatted him up for awhile...and he was so cool about Dave's request to autograph our copy of The Red Tree.  But that's not all! Kenny then pulled out the guitarist, Hippy Chris (that's how he's credited on the albums, because of his dreds...no joke!), from backstage and we were talking to him for a few minutes...and then I realized I had one of those new Motorola Razr phones with a camera, and Hippy was supersweet about having his pic taken with Dave (who may have been salivating by this point). I wish I still had a copy of that...it was grainy as fuck but it didn't matter; Dave met a "rock star" (really/not really) and got an autograph and his picture taken and it was the best show ever!! Woo hoo!! And I knew what was coming right after that. As soon as we got in the car, Dave did some quick math in his head. He probably spent over $200 on tickets, beverages, and merch. He was drunk and covered in sweat, cotton, and adhesives. The perils of a good time. He would not be able to face his girlfriend like this. He would be spending another night on my couch at 542...practically his second home. He didn't even have to call her right away, nor did he have to clear it with me. I knew it. I knew. We went back to my apartment and he called her from there. He even went into another room, and I could still hear him trying to whisper (Pro Tip: Whispering when you're drunk doesn't always work). "Baby, baby...I'm sorry. Yeah, I'll stay here. Yeah, it's fine. Baby...I'm sorry!" Lotsa "baby" this and "baby" that and all kindsa sorry. It was pretty funny, actually. And he was passed out soon after that call, while watching the acoustic DVD I grabbed. He had to pay the piper in the morning...my job was to drive him to the store so he could get a Wegmans sub for the lady, and then take him over to her workplace so he could drop it off. A bit of a peace offering, I presume. Coincidentally, I didn't see too much of him after that night until we got closer to their wedding. I don't think Regan liked me too much because of that experience (none of his friends thought she liked any of us, actually)...and he's had a solid career of getting excessively shitfaced when he's been out without his significant others (I'll have to tell the 5am kidnapping story again some other time) and talking relationship smack that we didn't always need to hear. I may or may not have been a bad influence, just as much as he may or may not have needed to get out a little more often. "You said you want it. You said you need it. What you don't know is I know...that you can't get it." Lyrics. The song? I can't hear it and not feel like I'm in a pretty good mood. It's high-energy, and it makes me wanna bump around and knock things over, like Dave and a carafe of coffee at Perkins. I wanna flashmob group hug a crowded downtown intersection of strangers (in 2005; not now...I just wanna stay away from people as much as possible now). I wanna be younger and give even less fucks. It convinces me I wanna be happy at least sometimes, even when I know better not to be...even when I know that maybe happiness isn't exactly attainable or what I need at that particular moment. It's more like accepting it'll eventually happen. Like it's ok to question it, but don't outright just keep me from it...I can do that fine enough on my own. Are we really happy? Ask yourself. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few It's way too early to feel like this right now. Had I not figured out a few tracks to use maybe later on this week as songs that kinda put me if anything at least in a relaxed mood, I could've used songs from Four Minute Mile by The Get Up Kids a good chunk of this week...I have a lot of emotional attachments to this album I guess. "Coming Clean"? That's about trying to convince people I've fucked over in the past that I really have become a better person...if they're willing to listen and give me another chance. "Don't Hate Me"...because of those awkward moments when I haven't realized the relationship was over until it was too late to salvage it or stop myself from sabotaging it. "Fall Semester" sums up the (lack of a) relationship with my dad for most of my life...now I'm just a name he's got tattooed on his arm and nothing else. "Last Place You Look": that girl who lived in Florida but went to college in NYC; my first ever experience with internet dating and long-distance relationships, really. "Better Half" could've showed up somewhere later in this entry if I was smart enough to figure out where to put it. "No Love" could just be another song on the soundtrack of the most toxic relationship I was ever privileged with being a part of. "Shorty"...for those friends I've wanted to slap when they were caught not actin' right...oh, wait, that was usually me. And "Michelle With One 'L'" is my mom's name, but it's just a sad song...maybe the perfect song to close a nearly-perfect Emo album with; I always expect there to be another song after it because I don't want to be left alone on that note (and that's sorta what the song is about, in a way). And that's just one album out of however many The Get Up Kids have put out (I don't feel like actually counting). Seeing them play "Woodson" live and going nuts with my best friend and my little brother is a great memory. Having a large, assorted pack of friends from all different parts of my life get together and stand front row at a tiny club show is another, especially during "Ten Minutes". Randomly slow-dancing in my living room to "I'll Catch You" when my girlfriend at the time was going through a rough spot. Dedicating "Holy Roman" to a relationship with a super-tight friend, or drawing the cover of Something To Write Home About on said friend's birthday card one year. I could go on. But I'm gonna tell this story instead, because it probably stings me the most and even though it's been about ten years it still gets me almost every time I think about it and hear "Stay Gold, Ponyboy". And I don't much care about telling it now because most of the people involved are either out of my life completely or are so far removed that they probably won't give a shit one way or another even if they did see this. I've got a half-brother, my youngest brother, who is fourteen years younger than me. The baby of the family. The, uhhh, "oops baby", if you will . And he absolutely adored and looked up to me. The day before I graduated high school I finally/officially moved out of my mom's apartment and into my dad/stepmon's house because I thought I'd be giving myself a chance at a better future. And it was a small house, so I had to share a tiny-ass bedroom with him. There was barely enough room for two twin beds, two dressers, an 18-year-old, a 4-year-old, and a little 20" tv...but the attic was off our room and it was huge, so we kept a lot of what wouldn't fit in there. And yeah, Li'l Mikey was my dude. My little man. Loved comin' home from school or work and playin' with him. Doin' whatever. Coloring, Legos, playin' hockey in the backyard, getting on my knees to wrestle with him and throw him around, taking him to Sabres games and Mighty Taco. I lived with him for about four years or so. We were tight. But things change...I was kicked out of the house and sent out on my own. I still tried to make time for him as much as I could, but I was working full-time and sometimes I'd hold down two jobs...it wasn't easy. And as he grew up, he had his friends from the neighborhood and all, plus his other activities. I tried to be a part of his life as much as I could, but maybe it wasn't enough. I don't know. Him being the youngest, he was also the stereotypical spoiled baby. He got everything he wanted. My sister Chrissy and I had to work and save and scrounge and live as by-products of the struggles our parents went through when they were comin' up: I practically took out a loan for a Sega Genesis because I bought it out of a catalog with an overblown monthly payment plan; she used all her First Communion money for a Nintendo many years before; he just asked for a Playstation and got it, no questions asked. Clothes, shoes, jackets, toys...anything. He got it. We were jealous, but what could we do? Nothing was gonna change or make up for it, so we lived with it. We could buy our own shit now, but it wasn't the same. Whatever. Maybe that's why we were all surprised when he started getting in trouble...he had everything; what more could he want? First it was the paintball gun getting confiscated by the cops. Then it was sneakin' out the house and getting into fights (he even had that easy too...his mom worked 3rd shift as a nurse and dad was a combination of "don't care" and "oblivious"). Then clothes started showing up in the laundry that my stepmom knew she didn't buy, and weren't mine (because I'd still pop over to do my laundry at their place often). Still, nothing was brought up. Even when my stepmom's Lortabs went missing, all he had to do was deny it and he was in the clear. He says he didn't take 'em, then he didn't take 'em...I guess that was their call. My sis was getting fed up; she had moved back home after breaking up with the guy she had been living with and she saw a lot of what was going on, but it was kinda her word against his, and even then it wasn't much because she wasn't around a whole lot either...she just knew he was gettin' fucked up a lot. Way more than a high school kid should've been. And maybe it's because there wasn't a drop in his grades (they were actually better the more he was using). His daytime relationships looked legit...he could be down the street skateboarding and porch-sitting whenever we drove by, and for all we know that's all it was. Cute cheerleader girlfriend. A likable kid. But he was a walking pharmacy. OTC pills, most of which you needed an ID to buy (and he was still underage, so him and his friends were shoplifting them most likely). Prescription meds going for $10, $20, $40 a pill...some I couldn't name, and I worked in a drug store. Street drugs. Hard drugs. Maybe even a little booze, just for fun. And no one really knew. Like I said, my sister had her suspicions, but with no real proof all she could do was plant seeds of doubt in her mom's head...but not the baby of the family! Not our little angel! Until the cops brought him home. Again. While my parents were home. And the woman whose window or screen door or whatever it was he kicked in pressed charges. I don't remember the whole story so I don't know all the details, but I doubt anyone's reading this that does know what happened so now it's my memory over theirs. He was fined bigtime, ordered to pay restitution and damages, and put on strict probation: no drugs or alcohol, a curfew, maintaining good grades. Thought he was scared straight. But eventually he got caught back up with the shitty group of friends he was fuckin' around with, and everything went to hell fast for him. This was it: jail, or rehab. There's a teenage drug rehab facility about twenty minutes from my folks' old place. And it's no surprise that there's always a wait to get a bed there; supposedly it's one of the best options as far as rehabilitation goes in WNY for kids under 18...but it's also a bigger testament to the growing drug problem in the area. And at first he wasn't able to get in right away. Somehow, someone pulled some strings for him...I don't know if it was his judge, his probation officer, a teacher or counselor, I have no idea. All I know is he avoided the pokey. Now, at the time I was an Assistant Manager at an Eckerd Pharmacy. On a good day my store was a six minute drive from my house, and it took approximately one more minute to drive past that to my parents' duplex. I vaguely remember my sister telling me Mike was in some trouble and might be "going away" *wink wink* *nod nod* for a little bit, but she wouldn't go into detail I think because she wanted him to tell me everything...this is roughly around the very beginning of my family falling completely apart. Chrissy and I were no longer as close as we used to be, I wasn't coming by as often and when I did my dad was practically catatonic in his recliner in front of the TV, and conversation between everyone was usually stilted. Birthdays weren't the same, holidays weren't the same...nothing felt right anymore. And to make things worse, I was dealing with my own personal issues...I was trapped in an abusive relationship with a narcissistic woman who refused to divorce her husband, I absolutely hated my job because my boss was the "perfect manager" and I wasn't very good at it nor was I trained very well by my previous manager...and their boss kept hitting on my married girlfriend, who was also an assistant with the company at another store. So I handled the nights I didn't spend going out and getting shitfaced or fighting verbally and physically with the crazy girlfriend the best way I knew how to cope...getting drunk in my dining room alone, writing until I could barely read what I was trying to piece together (I wrote a lot of "Ribmeat Of The Family Tree" around this time...I think that's the last one I started working on getting archived at WDC last summer...I'll finish doing that someday  ) and basically driving myself crazy because I wasn't being the best person I could've been. I was getting way too far into my own head and into everything else instead of doing the things I was supposed to be doing: being a good brother and family member, being an ideal boyfriend even if the relationship was not ideal, being a good and dedicated employee, etc. Instead of doing all that, I was stressing about not doing all that, and I was being, for lack of a better tern, unhealthy about all of it. I was orchestrating my own nervous breakdown. I don't even remember anymore which came first...the first of mine, or Mike's rehab. I'm assuming mine did, but I'll save that for later this week maybe. So anyway, I was a barely-functioning mess, and on top of that I now had to face the emotions of feeling like I failed my family again because of Mike and him going into rehab. And for whatever reason, The Get Up Kids were playing. I may have had their cds loaded into the 6-disc changer in my car, or they may have shown up on my iPod, but that didn't matter. The day he was to be taken in, I left work on my lunch break to say goodbye. I was a bawling mess...I hadn't cried that much in a long time. Certain lyrics from different songs would just throw boulders into my gut, and I'd shudder with tears. Ugly crying, the very definition...while driving the short distance from 542 (my apartment, as it was known) to work, and from work to my folks' place. "We're loyal, like brothers...just us vs all the others!" "I'm sorry...I hope you'll forgive me. But what you want from me is killing me." "Don't be scared 'cuz you're not something I'm willing to lose." "Saw my baby boy, diggin' his own hole. Keepin' alive family traditions." "You build me up...you break me down again. And I take it." "I hope you don't think less of me. If i'm cold, I don't want to watch you go. I'll cry, until I can't see the whites of your eyes...for two more years." Every song that came on, it seemed. I was wrecked. Heartbroken. And there was nothing I could do but say goodbye. We could visit occasionally once he got settled, and he could write letters to certain people (all monitored), but no phone calls. Well, family had limited visitation rights...except me. I was "too much of an outside risk" because "I had problems of my own" and was considered a bad influence. I was devastated...that's the only way I know how to put it. Yet I didn't exactly celebrate it either, if that's what you want to call me not doing anything about it...instead, I played right into it. I got worse the more I tried to get better. I was losing my grip on everything. All I had to do, all I had to help this kid, my brother, was his letters from inpatient longterm rehab offering me encouragement, when it should've been the other way around. I should've been the older, responsible brother...leading by example. And I was anything but. Somehow I managed to secure some visitation privileges. Every other Saturday when it was my weekend off I'd meet up with him at an AA meeting...it was part of his treatment and how he could earn some free time, and afterwards I'd take him out to lunch and we'd catch up. And every single time I felt like a shithead for all the little things I did wrong between us, and for not paying more attention to him as he got older, and for still using even though he was working on getting clean. I was still every reason not to have any time or contact. It wasn't lost on me, any of it. And eventually, I wanna say after nine months, he earned his release and was able to graduate from high school with his class. Here's a testament to my family's tone-deafness when it comes to addiction issues: It was either his "Welcome Home" party or his graduation party...one of them was held in the back of a VFW post my dad was a member of or hung out at or somethin' like that. And my only experience with VFW halls has been that's where all the old guys go do drink by themselves. So this kid's fresh outta rehab, and we're all havin' beers to celebrate. Just one of the many reasons in the Owners' Manual Troubleshooting Guide as to why we're not really a family anymore. I played my role, and I acknowledge that. Mikey has owned and acknowledges his part. And everyone else is just as selfish as they've portrayed me to be in their own special ways. Nobody else wants to admit it, and everyone wants to think they're some kind of hero in their version of our little story. I don't have time for that...I'm trying to be a better me first and foremost. On a positive note, as far as I know Mike's doing well. We don't talk much but he's the only one I still have any contact at all with, and that's the way I prefer it. He's got a steady job and a kid now, and we had tentative plans last summer when I was back home to meet up, but they fell through and that was the last of things for awhile. When I make it back to WNY I don't really make a big deal out of it anymore...everyone misses you and wants to see you again until you actually come back, and then they're all really busy and shit comes up. Even when I've been able to give people plenty of notice ahead of time, plans always seems to fall through. So whatever...I don't go out of my way for anyone anymore because I see how it is, and I don't want the letdown. And it's probably for the best. "State your distance, but it's not a million miles away. If this is what will really make you happy... then I'll say...that we'll be... old enough to know better; young enough to pretend. This is the last of my letters until I see you again." Lyrics. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: The Precious Few Well, I didn't see a category like this comin' as part of "The Soundtrack of Your Life" ...hats off to lizco252 for requiring us to drop the iron sac on the table. Before I get into my entry this afternoon, here's the deal for anyone outside of The Soundtrackers who might be unsure of what is expected of us this week (in Beth's own words): "These are the songs you always embrace when you need strength or inspiration or comfort or an outlet to just deal. They're songs that make you laugh or smile when you need to, the songs that make you cry when you need to, the songs that help you work through the anger or frustration when you're mad at the world or just plain life itself; the songs that remind you of your greatest loves and passions, or the songs that help you make sense of the world and your place in it." I started trying to come up with a list last night, and didn't get very far. Some stories are too personal, or still too fresh, or maybe too depressing. And my playlist is full of songs most people are either unfamiliar with or wouldn't get into as it is...how much do I really want to add onto that? On top of that, I don't really have a set playlist of go-to "happy songs" (and I tried once...see "This one's about spirit, a happy playlist, and Tannenbaum!" )...I just don't do strength and growth very well. I generally need angry and/or sad music to release the anger/sadness from within...and sorry/not sorry if that doesn't make sense to you; my head, my heart, my songs. That said, I'll try not to bum out too many people this week...but no promises. It may not be pretty. Moving on... Here's something I've noticed this week throughout my travels, and not just in our Soundtracker entries but in blogs and poems all over WDC: the feelings of loneliness; of being lost; not fitting in. And each one breaks my heart a little bit more when think about what I've read so far or see someone else struggling with something they're tired of going through. I wanna grab all of us in one big group hug and drop us down on an island where we'll all have each other and not have to worry about anything else forever. I wanna comfort you, stroke your hair, rub your shoulders, and make the pain stop. I know it's just words on a screen but to you it's real hurt. And you might think you're seeing words back on a screen, but it's a real embrace...of your brain, your soul, wherever you need it most. And I know I joke around a lot and sometimes I say some really stupid things or tell stories about all the dumb shit I've done, and it's all fun and games (most of the time), but when you're falling apart chances are I could be one of the first people trying to put you back together...because at any time I could be falling apart myself. I know what it's like to let people down and be let down. I've lived through some unimaginable experiences. I've questioned my place many, many times...in school, in families, in life on this planet. I'm still here. You're still here. The Tragically Hip- "'It's A Good Life If You Don't Weaken'" "Let's swear that we will get with the times, in a current health to stay. Let's get friendship right; get life day-to-day." Lyrics. This is the reset button for me. This is where I realize that broken can be beautiful, and that I'm not alone. We're all going through something; if not now then in the past, and sometimes it pokes its head up from the shallow grave we thought we buried it in. See, there's no such thing as "the perfect life". You can't fathom all the beauty until you've seen the disaster it came from. In nature; in ourselves. We weren't all meant to thrive where we were put or with what we were given...but that doesn't mean it's impossible. "Success Stories" don't start out with hard work and a positive attitude...there is despair, loneliness, heartbreak, pain; there is a need for something that we may not even know of or how to grasp it. No one wins the race just by crossing a finish line...some of us are trying to win just by showing up. That's what we need to celebrate more of. It's us who stand to gain the most...when we find our community, our people. The Tragically Hip- "A Beautiful Thing" "Your beautiful thing- It'd be a beautiful thing to see that beautiful thing continuing." Lyrics. And I'm guilty of this. We're all guilty of this...we spend so much time wrapped up in our own heads and our own faults because we need to be, but we tend to forget that there are other people who need our attention, our love, a few kind words...we may not see them as hanging on the branch sticking out of the cliff, but we can unknowingly save them from the suffering a little just by letting them know we care. And it doesn't even have to be anything more than subtle...as long as it comes across that forever won't be the same without. There are reference points that I can't explain, but I know what I'm trying to say, and that is we must do something to make the world more beautiful if we're gonna continue to be a practicing member of it. Whether it's just holding someone's emotions briefly as if they're your own for their comfort, or answering the proverbial 3am "You better be dyin'- and you were" phone call. We learn more when we're building others up and not tearing them down. In turn, the care you place in other people becomes a little stronger part of your own self...and every one true beautiful thing continues.At least, this is how I see things. I would rather help others, because I know there are more times than not when I struggle to fit in, and I know how that can lead to isolation and life getting away. All it takes is reaching out to one person, and two people reaching out to two more, and suddenly everyone who doesn't have a place in their respective societies becomes one giant community of people who care about each other in a more powerful regard because no one else paid attention when they may have needed it most. We're the strength now; we're the numbers. And maybe most importantly, we're the people we've always seen ourselves as, and today we're being appreciated by other like-minded individuals who understand us for who we are and what we've been through to get to a certain point...and want better for us all. I'm done rambling for today. Like I said at the get-go...I can't promise this week will be filled with good times and happiness and positive messages, because life doesn't always work out like that and we are who we are in part because sometimes a song took a good chunk out of us along when life itself was trying to gut our existence. We remember that because we survived. You're still here. I'm still here. That's the most important part. |
** Image ID #2070351 Unavailable ** This week's theme: Soundtracks Ok...it's the last day of movie/tv/whatever soundtrack week. Just for fun, here are a few of the songs I came really, really close to using and then changed my mind at the last minute (and this is not a complete list, because I don't wanna be here all day...also, I'm not providing links, because you're all smart people that know how to YouTube things on your own ):  "Fight The Power" by Public Enemy (from the movie Do The Right Thing) "Looking Down The Barrel Of A Gun" by Anthrax (a Beastie Boys cover from The Beavis And Butthead Experience Soundtrack) "The Real Thing" by Pearl Jam and Cypress Hill (from the movie Judgement Night) "Colors" by Ice-T (from the movie Colors) "Big Yellow Joint" (from the TV show Arrested Development) Anything from the movies CB4, Empire Records, Across The Universe, Straight Outta Compton, Office Space, Purple Rain, or The Virgin SuicidesI also promise after today's entry I will try my damnedest not to beat myself up too much after the shellacking I put upon my person in "High" . But it is important to understand sometimes why things happen the way they do...usually in order to prevent them from happening again. Or to better navigate the poor decision-making when it happens a third, fourth, or more-th time. I would say probably most of the relationships I took part in for a period between the mid-90's and mid-2000's were predicated on terrible decision-making abilities. Mostly mine, although I did attract the random female who would turn out to be even less socially adept than me on occasion. Here's a dating tip from someone who has no business giving out relationship advice: Free tacos is not a reason to date someone for an extended period of time. Like, I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved. I was planning on having surgery that I had been putting off for months because I wanted to get through another floor hockey season and my doctor was going on vacation...I didn't want anyone to feel obligated to care about or for me, and I didn't want to deal with being in a relationship while I was gonna be in a lot of pain for a few weeks. But the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes it wants the girl who works at the taco place in the same mall you also work in. And you like cute chicks with pretty smiles who give you free tacos and don't charge you the quarter for beverage refills. You go out to dinner with her one night and suddenly her past and her abusive ex-boyfriend don't matter. Your personal health isn't important. The guys at the electronics and neighboring t-shirt stores are gonna tease you a bit because you've got a girlfriend and they're still playin' the field, but so what...you're getting constant, reliable action while they're just nipping at whatever they can get. Life is perfect in a sense. Also, free tacos. Yet it all comes with a price. You have to be responsible for feelings. You have to meet each others' families and work for approval. You have to be on pretty good behavior. And you can't flirt with the girls who work at the accessory store on the other side of your store, and you definitely can't mess around with the girls at the coffee shop anymore or go up to the bars in Canada with them, and definitely, absolutely, don't hang out with girls who come in looking to buy pagers and cell phones and then invite them over to your place to watch movies and make out with you and your co-worker bro simply because the best way to get a girl's number is to issue it to them. "I want a new girl, the kind everybody wants." "She's got a smile so wide it eats the pain, the pain I'm going through... and then she gets in bed with you." Lyrics. All those unwritten rules? Broken. Tried to justify my behavior by telling myself I didn't want a girlfriend anyway in the first place...so breaking up with one girl so I could spend more time with another girl who would only continue to see me if I'd break up with my girlfriend (I fell for the ultimatum ) felt like the right thing to do. Funny how the girlfriend breakup coincided with the ultimatum girl deciding she wasn't interested anymore and no longer wanted to convince me I should be spending all my ladyfriend sexytime with her. When you make bad decisions, expect bad outcomes.So what does the movie American Pie have to do with this? At some point after breaking up with free taco girl we started hangin' out again, and we went to see it because I guess that's what people who like spending time with each other do once in awhile before having coital relations and then going home alone and not being boyfriend/girlfriend. Poor girl...after all she had been through I really broke her heart. We'd bumped into one another a few years later after I'd been transferred out of the mall and her restaurant closed, and she told me I was her "one that got away", which made me feel like even more of a dick for the way I'd treated her throughout the times we were mostly together. But then I stopped feeling so bad when she said she was engaged and wanted to be with me one last time before never seeing me again because I was also "the best" she'd "ever had". Maturity, folks...it's a two-way street I guess. Anyway, the American Pie soundtrack is honestly way better than the movie also...lots of great songs on it and one of a handful I can listen to pretty much straight through and not think about the movie itself, which was kinda dumb...guy gets busted humpin' a pie on his kitchen table, another guy sets up a webcam and talks to a hot chick (who in my opinion is alright, but also outta my league), and one of the other guys bangs his buddy's mom, while the pie-humper meets his dream girl (way cuter than the hot girl- again, my opinion) who goes on about band camp (and seriously, when anyone mentions "band camp" all I think of is the green Get Up Kids t-shirt I used to wear around that same time). Very solid cd, excellent Third Eye Blind opening cut, and I'm gonna put all of this back in the past where it belongs . Except for the song, which I'm gonna link to again only because the opening part with the girl karate-kicking the notebook into the guy's bag is super effin' amazing and girls on longboards or out surfing is never a bad way to spend a minute or so watching YouTube. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Still remember your address on Penora.
. 
But, with extreme shit hitting me I bury under ground and neither internet nor real life can find me then.
