I recently spent three days in a car with classic rock on the radio, and it gave me a lot of time to think. About opening the door and hurling myself out of the car.
But no, instead I kept my hands and feet inside the moving vehicle and quietly turned questions over in my mind. So many questions. Questions like:
Does some FAA regulation require that classic rock stations play at least one Led Zeppelin song every half hour?
I'd just put on LMFAO's "Shots" and the beau was dancing in the most ludicrous manner possible: lots of hip-wiggling and butt-thrusting. He stuck his tongue out in concentration and pumped his arms vigorously in the air as I laughed with appreciation.
He's not the kind who listens to lyrics. That's my role. I'm the music-obsessor in this relationship. But that's fine. He's the food-obsessor; it all evens out. But this time, this one time, one of the lyrics caught his attention:
I'm not gonna lie to you. It's been a hard week. This is a week that's been full of disappointment, swollen eyes, too little sleep, and setbacks. It's one of those weeks where I'm tugged in so many directions I don't know where to begin. And furthermore, I don't even want to begin. So I've retreated inside to that place where things are always okay. Bad behavior is given the green light, because I simply can't cope with doling out self-discipline.
So I know that last week I was talking about making a Cure playlist, which I never did get around to. Then again, last week was also chilly and rainy.
Right now, not so much.
Yesterday afternoon, in fact, it got so hot (87° F) in my house that I resorted to wearing a swimsuit while was working. The swimsuit ended up coming in handy when I called the beau and convinced him to come home and have a margarita with me while laying on a blanket in the side yard before going back to work. Let's just say that I was delighted to be reminded that there are actual benefits to working from home, after all.
This is a day late, but I had to post. Sorry thank you goodbye.
A year ago this weekend, I found myself with a group of friends in Newport Beach, CA.
It was a perfect storm of happy coincidence: our friend Randall was in the southland visiting our friend Fabio, and the beau was already going to be in the same area for a rugby game. My best friend and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, hopped in her car, and drove down on Friday night to help get the party started.
I have to admit I was reluctant to spend the weekend crashing in Fabio’s living room. At the time he was living separately from his fiancée – family pressure made cohabitating before marriage impossible — in an apartment just two blocks from the beach. It was a proper bachelor pad that came furnished with half-broken wicker chairs and nautical-themed wall hangings, such as miniature wooden oars. The fluorescent light flickered in the kitchen and the sink was rusty.
Gross.
Fabio has a music habit, and he indulges in it loudly. So that weekend, whenever he wasn’t drunkenly playing the keyboard and singing at the top of his voice, he was playing music videos on YouTube for us at top volume. That was the first time I ever listened to Lady Gaga. In fact, it was the first time I ever listened to a number of things.
It’s safe to say that after that weekend I was never the same.
Okay, so.
I almost didn't do this playlist. Even though I skipped last week's playlist. I've just been so busy lately, and what's more, I have been listening to the same two albums over and over and over again. I've got ears for nothing else right now. So I waffled for a bit before finally giving in. The people want my playlist, I reasoned. And I must give the people what they want. Even though "the people" in question, here, are in fact imaginary characters I invented just now. Never doubt the make-believe abilities of an only child.
SO THEN! I started working on the playlist. 40 minutes in, I find out that Mixpod has disabled linking to URLs, which means that I cannot host MP3s in my public dropbox and link to them anymore. Which means that my playlist world has just become limited solely to YouTube. Have you SEEN what music is actually available on YouTube? Jack fucking shit. And if they DO have a song I am looking for, 98% of the time it's some low-quality live version. I'm sorry, but 98% of the time I despise live versions of the original songs I have come to love.
The summer between sixth and seventh grade, my mom and I moved down south to join my dad, who had already settled into his new assignment ahead of us. I saw the move as my chance at reinvention. An opportunity to shed my well-established reputation as a bookish, awkward dork and start anew. In my mind, I saw myself walking into my new school that fall stylish and confident, charming my classmates with my sharp wit and cool demeanor.
Of course, that didn't happen. Not even close. But I'd be damned if I wasn't going to try.
Up until this point in my life, I'd listened only to what my parents liked -- having lived solely with my mother for the previous four months, at the time this involved a lot of Wilson Phillips, B-52s, and other adult contemporary tunes. But a key part of my reinvention efforts was music -- if I wanted to fit in with my peers, I had to listen to what they were listening to. So one day not long after we'd moved, I plugged in my purple plastic radio and scanned the band until I found what I was looking for: Y97.
First of all, this post is late. Sorry about that. Yesterday I was just too darn busy baking cookies to get this thing up in a timely manner. I know. It's a crying shame.
Second of all, this post features holiday music. I'm also sorry about that, because this is the Special Time of Year of Holiday Music Overkill. I have mostly avoided it by avoiding shopping at actual stores, but the other night I had the misfortune of spending 25 minutes inside of a Sur La Table and by the time I left I was on the verge of murderous rage over the term "Jingle Bells."
