Saturday, March 26, 2011

Mrs. Robinson and the epilogue.

I'm on an album kick. "It's A Shame About Ray" by The Lemonheads. I know I'm obsessing when the cd has made it upstairs into the bathroom because, Ladies and Gentlemen! that's where the magic happens. By magic I mean hair and makeup, which takes a bit of time because there are three girls in the house and we're lovely ladies who become even lovelier once the album repeats. Anyhoo.

I got the tape when it first came out, partially because I liked the band, but mostly because Evan Dando is omg hot. I listened to it all the time, but it fell out of heavy rotation when my cd collection grew and outnumbered my tapes, and out of mind completely when my tape player broke. (Btw, one of the saddest days of my life.) Not quite a year ago, I was rummaging around the cds at Disc Replay and saw it there. So I repurchased. It's a great album. The songs themselves- the chord progressions- are simple (which is to say that even I, a horrorshow on guitar, can play them) and the vocals are catchy. You can't help but sing along. I actually am, right now. There are some killer lyrics. Little gems like those lines in books that you read and think, "Yes. This."

For instance.
"Slipped my mind that I could use my brain."
"I'm too much with myself, I wanna be someone else."
"She's the puzzle piece behind the couch that made the sky complete."
"We'll repeat the same stories but of course never in front of friends."
"The sidewalk lines gadunk gadunk gadunk gadai."

Okay, that last one looks weird until you realize it's the exact sound of wheels on sidewalk lines (the song's about a baby in a stroller) and then it's pretty freaking cool.

So. This album kicks and I love it. It's loud at times, brash, moody, contemplative, silly, and unexpected and it should end exactly after Frank Mills. Finished, but I wouldn't mind another listen. It did end there originally, but after the huge success of the Mrs. Robinson single the record company decided to re-release the album with MR at the end. WRONG CHOICE FOLKS! It has a totally different feel, it just doesn't fit. I hate it. I literally will run to the cd player to skip the song. And it's unchecked on my itunes so I don't have to run to my computer.

D'you know what Mrs. Robinson reminds me of? An epilogue. Good lord, I hate me an epilogue. It's like an author's personal fan fic for the book they just wrote.

I remember when I read the end of HP7. It was so awesome. And then there was more. I pray that this isn't a SPOILER ALERT for you all, because I'm assuming you've either read the series or have no interest to, but when I read that Ginny and Harry hooked it up and had kids and same with Ron and Hermione, I just about died. I punched the book right in its face, which hurt my knuckles, not gonna lie. For reals, J.K.? Couldn't you have trusted me to imagine it? Couldn't you have trusted your own story to have resolved itself? Did you have to spell it all out? Just like those record execs who didn't believe that "It's A Shame About Ray" could sell itself without the help of a hit, a happy ending.

It's not about the bit of fluff at the end. There should be a feeling of being unresolved. A good story, a good album, should keep me interested after it's over. I should want to understand more, want to go back and see if I caught all the details, wonder what's next. An epilogue tells me that the journey hasn't as much worth as the result.

I don't believe that for a minute.

Listening to: your mom.


Sunday, March 13, 2011

Giving yourself permission.

I haven't written in a while. I mean, really haven't written. Not here, not anywhere. Okay, so there have been some tweets, maybe a facebook status update now and again, but that's it. I wouldn't say I've had writer's block specifically. It's not that I couldn't think of what to write, or how to express what was on my mind. I would instead say that I haven't wanted to write at all. Not the slightest desire. So I didn't write.

I understand that I'm going completely against my "Eat Your Vegetables" post, where I pontificated on why you work, even when you don't want to, because it's good for you. I guess I should amend that entire post. I won't, because it would require work and because it seemed like a good idea at the time and I like to be true to the me who felt that way when she wrote it, but I should.

Here's what I'll say instead. Sometimes I get freaking bored with running the same run every day. I used to think that I had to be consistent with my workout in order to build a good habit and to see results. So I was consistent for a long time, and I grew to HATE my workout. Like dreaded it all the time. Which was stupid, really, because that's the best way to set yourself up for failure. For quitting. And one day I planned to blow off my workout entirely, and would have if it weren't for that little voice inside me (whom I've named Guilt and picture in a frilly pink dress with curly hair and a sweet voice that is as unrelenting as my daughter when she wants ice cream) telling me to do something. Anything. So I ran. Just not my usual run. A shorter run at a slower pace. But it was something.

*Light bulbs flash*

I realized that I don't always have to be hardcore. I don't always have to be Miss Badass Workout Girl. Sometimes I can be Miss Likes To Elliptical To Chill Music For Twenty Minutes. And once I gave myself the permission to achieve less when I felt like I needed it, to vary my routine so it wouldn't become stale, a giant weight lifted. Why I didn't figure this would hold true for writing as well, I'll never know. Especially since most of my analogies are workout/writing. Anyhoo.

I've been spending all this time working on my Nano project, filling it out, editing, whatever, and hating every minute of it. Wondering if it was worth it, wondering if I should instead focus on revising another work, start a new project, or quit altogether because I couldn't stand it anymore.

Not many days after the Veggies post, I just stopped writing. I wasn't getting anywhere with it and I needed a break. I needed to revise my strategy. To give myself permission to achieve less. To vary my routine. I went to the library and checked out a crap ton of books. A literal crap ton which, if you look it up in the Urban Dictionary, is equal to 4 shit loads. That's a lot, for those of you who don't swear. And I've been reading. Like crazy. Drag it out for three syllables to get the real effect of how much I've been reading. Or look at my Books 2011 blog post to see the list of books I've read. I think it's been good for me. I've infused myself with stories, renewed my love for them, and- FINALLY- have begun thinking of my own again. With interest. I'm ready to write now.

Listening to: Band Of Horses "Infinite Arms"


Monday, March 7, 2011


I spent Friday night listening to music. Here's who I heard:

The Love Language