Some New/Old Stuff

I tend to be pretty behind the times when it comes to music. I've never really known how to wade through all the shit to find flecks of gold, and have often relied on others to take me by the hand and lead me straight to the good stuff. I also really like music from bygone eras and mostly listen to hits from the 50's-80's, so when I finally catch wind of something new and amazing, it's usually blown up. And then I feel like I've missed the bus and I'd be a poseur and jumping on the bandwagon if I started listening, so I just watch everyone go by on the Cool Music float in the Parade of Life and wave to them. That's a lot of vehicle metaphors. 

One such artist was Amy Winehouse. I was into her singles, and it was obvious she had incredible talent, but I never bought her albums. And now the poor girl is gone. That's another thing. Most of the musicians I like are dead. (Just like my celebrity crushes. I'm so goth!) I finally bought Back to Black and what the FUCK?! Why did I wait so long? It is so perfect. It's the best break-up album for someone getting out of a really sick relationship. It gives me an ache that's like pinching a bruise. In particular I've been listening to Back to Black on repeat for two or three weeks. Oh Amy. I died 100 times. 

There wasn't really room for country music in our house. My parents like rock n roll--they both saw Jimi Hendrix, my mom watched Jim Morrison swing over the crowd on a rope at a Doors concert, my dad would go see Springsteen when he still played bar gigs. So they were a couple of rockers (and also had a soft spot for smooth music but that's another story), and I guess I followed in their footsteps because my musical interests are pretty much that of a 60 year old man. I think if there was a mirror that reflected your spiritual self I would look like ZZ Top. 

Still, I'm surprised I was never exposed to any country music (except some Garth Brooks at weddings), not even Johnny Cash. In the last decade I've become somewhat enamored with classic country, like Patsy Cline and Hank Williams and Willie and Waylon and that one Conway Twitty song where he's singing all soft and then he's like "IT'S BEEN A LONG TIIIIIIME." And now I'm exploring some of that newer stuff hat pays homage to the greats. Part of my new weird country thing is watching Nashville (because Connie Britton is a goddess). They featured Emmylou by First Aid Kit tonight and I've already downloaded it and listened to it a bearzillion times. I am a huge sucker for a steel guitar, and I love that it's about finding a partner, someone to inspire you and make you better. Not even necessarily in a romantic way (I could be wrong, but I don't think Emmylou and Gram were ever more than friends?). It's a really lovely song and you should give it a listen. 

The Cruise

I found this when I googled "Tampons Cruise Ship."

I was afraid to use a tampon until I was a sophomore in college, when my family went on a cruise over the Christmas holiday. My sister and I were sharing a cabin, and I told her I couldn't go swimming. When she found out why she gave me a fist-full of tampax and trapped me in the bathroom. I tried to get out but she leaned all her weight into her shoulder and kept the door pinned shut.

"Do it," she said.

At least that's how I remember it.

This post is brought to you by me getting my period  Every. Single. Christmas.

Last Minute Halloween Costumes, 2012 Style

I decided to help you out again this year, slacker. 

PSY, Gangnam Style Music Video

Duh. I have a feeling PSY look-alikes are going to be riding their imaginary steeds all over the country this year. So you're not going to stand out in your blue tuxedo jacket and bowtie and shades, but you at least know in ten years you can look back on the pictures you took this holiday and wonder what the fuck you were supposed to be. For the pros: Get one of your friends to dress as the guy in the yellow suit, and your other friend to dress as humpy-humpy guy in the elevator. You could also ask someone to precede you with a giant fan and spray trash in your face all night.

Maddie The Coonhound, Maddie on Things

To truly capture the essence of Maddie the Coonhound, you're going to have to focus more on your energy and state of mind than your physical props.  You can make a quick dog costume by cutting out some floppy dog ears (you can use felt or brown paper or even a paper bag!) and tape them to a headband, and paint a dog nose on your human nose, and make a tail and wear a collar. Then all night, be very patient, and polite, and climb up to very high, precarious, unexpected places and just stay there. For the pros: This would work really well if you have lots of sunspots on your skin. 

 Brandon, Shame

Dress really sharply, comb your hair neatly, speak with just the barest hint of an Irish accent. Also get a huge fake dong and hang it out of your open fly. The girls will love it. For the pros: FUCK EVERYTHING. 

Hannah Horvath, Girls

Strip on down to your birthday suit and be kind of awful to everyone. Don't forget your cupcake! For the pros: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to the bathroom alone or let your bffs go to the bathroom alone! This includes doing number ones and number twos and also bathing. Don't forget your cupcake!

The Higgs Boson, The Beginning of Space and Time

Pipecleaners. For the pros: More pipecleaners. 

HALLOWEEN DON'T!

Hey Mom, I'm going to be a fucking toadstool for Halloween.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(If you really want your kid to look like a stupid mushroom you can buy this at Pottery Barn Kids. But I wouldn't recommend it!)

They've got my vote

The Script I

Trying to format a script as I write is reminiscent of when I first learned about quotation marks and would randomly use them in a sentence without any actual understanding of how they worked. Like the entry in my diary about the "new" girl in school from Japan, who I "hoped" would someday become my "friend." Reading it today, I sound like a sarcastic asshole, but I was actually just an "idiot." 

In this instance I am just CAPITALIZING random words OF LITTLE significance and hoping it is IMPRESSIVE.

Why I Can't Sleep

One Christmas my grandma gave me a clown doll. Wind a key in its back and a music box would play from from its bowels as its head rolled around on its neck. My mom put it on the dresser across from my bed where it could watch me as I lay rigid under the sheets, too fearful to sleep. It had a big red smile and orange yarn hair and loose, long arms that I imagined knotting around my throat like in Poltergeist. Sometimes in the middle of the night it would suddenly start moving, playing just a few notes as its head turned. If every muscle in my body weren't clenched I probably would have wet the bed.

When my parents noticed my fatigue, my dad recorded some soothing music to play at bedtime. He called it "space music," and you can still hear it on NPR late at night. It is weird and lonely sounding. It uses synthesizers to create desolate planetary soundscapes. It's new-agey and probably what you would find playing in a book store in Scottsdale, Arizona. This helped with my fear of the clown doll because it actually scared me more.

Help me Mr. Rogers

When the music played, I imagined myself on an icy planet with a huge, rusty apparatus bolted to my ribs. The machine attached to the poles of the planet and I was forced to walk and walk and walk forever, slowly turning the great frozen rock. The only thing worse than the 90 minutes of creepy music was when it was over. The final song would fade to silence. How long until the tape would run out? I would curl my toes, chest constricting, anticipating the BANG of the play button popping back up, deafening after the quiet of space.

Okay. Just don't listen to it, right? Hide the clown in a box somewhere and pull yourself together, child. Believe me, I tried, but I was too afraid of hurting my grandma or dad's feelings by rejecting these kind things they were doing for me. They didn't know I had a demented imagination. So, despite my efforts, the clown would find its way back onto my dresser, and my dad would tuck me in and suggest I listen to some cosmic tunes. And I would nod and say "Okay."

I understand now that he wouldn't have cared. He would have put on my Mister Rogers tape about being brave, kissed me goodnight, and never given it another thought. A few years ago we were driving and as he scanned through the stations on the satellite radio, I heard the familiar, abyssal drones. "Hey! Space Music! Remember how you guys used to love that?" he said. He lingered on the station, and I thought about confessing my true feelings on space music, but I kept my mouth shut. He remembered it as something nice he did for me, and I didn't want to sully that. And it was nice. How many fathers would stay up and record weird music to help his daughter fall asleep?

But I took that clown into the basement, broke its neck, and hid it behind a box of Christmas ornaments. You can't tell me that thing wasn't possessed.