Category Archives: Sounds

Occasionally I talk about music, but not extensively.

At least we’ll be loved.

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Sometimes there are those days where I soak in my own melancholy by losing myself in my fears, and my regrets, and my burdens, and my doubts. I feed that melancholy with terribly depressing music, burying myself up to my neck in self-centered bullshit until all I want to do is sit in a stupor, repeating my failures and fears of failure until someone wakes me up.

There’s always a Rilo Kiley song for that, though, and that’s why I adore them.

It’s only doubts that we’re counting on fingers broken long ago. I read with every broken heart we should become more adventurous. And if you banish me from your profits, and if I get banished from the kingdom up above, I’d sacrifice money and heaven all for love. Let me me loved.

And if my brain quits, well I guess that that’s just it. And if my hands stop working you can call me lazy. And if I get pregnant, I guess I’ll just have the baby. Let it be loved, let me be loved.

I’ve been trying to nod my head, but it’s like I’ve got a broken neck. Wanting to say “I will” as my last testament. For me to be saved and you to be brave we don’t have to walk down that aisle, because if marriage ain’t enough, well, at least we’ll be loved.

I felt the wind on my cheek coming down from the east and I thought about how we are all as numerous as leaves on trees. And maybe ours is the cause of all mankind: give love, make more, try to stay alive.

They always manage to pull me out of a slump, that’s for damn sure. But why the hell have I fallen into one to begin with? I mean, really?

Maybe it’s the fact that I leave in a mere 43 days, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m constantly feeling underprepared and behind on getting ready to go. Or it could be that I feel my time before I leave is utterly wasted alone here in this tiny town, and it should be spent with friends and family north and south. Maybe it’s the anxiety of having to ask for something that should be easy enough to get.

Or, it could be that my washing machine has destroyed $200 worth of clothing, including a few (new) favorite shirts, my boyfriend’s shirt, two pairs of sweats, and 90% of my good panties. And the panties is the worst of it — I’m very particular about underwear, and to have all of my cute, lacy, and cotton undies be absolutely destroyed by a merciless machine that’s torn holes into the crotches of ALL of them is a travesty. Mostly because I can’t afford to replace them, so I’m sitting here in my 6 for $10 Costco panties that aren’t nearly as terrible as I’m making them out to be.

And it could be all of those above when paired with that lovely menstrual cycle we’re all so familiar with.

In any case, let me be loved.

Karaoke and blogging. They go together.

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Aw Hay. So some awesome bloggers over at 20sb came up with this absolutely brilliant idea: a karaoke blogring. I was super sad to have missed the first round, which was 90s tunes.

Anyway, I got the pleasure of hosting the always hilarious Sara from Sara Swears (a lot). (Note to my mother…she swears a lot, and we you were warned.)

I’m trying not to read into the fact that I was originally supposed to be over at Harley’s blog, but she was having computer trouble. So then I was supposed to be over at Justin’s blog…but he was having computer trouble. So now I’m supposed to be over at Matt’s blog, but I don’t even have the correct link. So hopefully I appear somewhere. If not, I’ll post my video later. It’s halfway decent, so I’d hate for you to miss it…

So here’s Sara. She’s rad, so be sure to check out her blog.

 

Please don’t watch this video. No, seriously. Please. Walk away now before you lose any sort of love you have for me. Also, I really can’t afford to lose any more dignity at this point, y’all. I’m going to go ahead and blame every single thing that happens in this video on Four Loko.
So the song I chose isn’t from a broadway musical exactly, but it is from a movie which is close enough, so there. All I can say is if you haven’t seen this movie, you’re going to think I’m out of my mind (what’s new?). Oh, and you need to buy it immediately because it’s just that good.
This video was recorded at 6 in the motherfucking morning because we were all hyped up on caffeine and alcohol. It features my best friend (the first one to be seen on camera), me, and my sister-in-law. At the time, I specifically remember thinking, “I don’t even feel that drunk.” That? That is a bad sign, my friends. If you ever think/say this, beware. Also, I look like an obese trucker in this video. I did not realize this at the time. The reason I had that shirt tied around my waist was because the girl in the video had one. The reason we were wearing baseball caps? Well, honestly, I don’t have an answer for that. When we watched it back a few nights later, my best friend’s first response was, “Why the fuck are we wearing baseball caps and why the fuck do we look so goddamn retarded?”

Oh, and I’m obviously kind of amazing at lyric memorization.

Sigh. I think I’ve made enough excuses for this video. Stopjudgingme.

 

…it’s amazing.

old familiar sounds

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Lately, I find myself listening to the same things over and over and over again. I want nothing to do with new music. It’s all about those old favorites, those serious favorites, the ones that have carried me all the way through for years that I find myself pulling together time and again.

This happens occasionally. I’ve found a lot of great stuff lately, new to me, to whatever, but I keep reverting to the old things. The Rilo Kileys. The Keys. The Beatles. Jeff. Familiar favorites that have made many, many appearances on my playlists throughout the years.

I wish there was a rhyme. Or a reason. Or anything at all that could shake me from the cocoon and introduce me to a few things that aren’t the same wonderful songs over and over again.

These tunes are comforting. They’re security blankets, panic rooms, and bomb shelters. They’re where I retreat to when I need to take cover.

Or, they’re reminders. That’s what they are now, anyway. I think. They’re reminders. They remind me of where I’ve been, especially in the past few years. They make me look back. They make me grateful.

So here are those songs. Those ones that got me through the shit these past few years. Those ones that I keep losing myself in when I need a reality check. When I need a reason to be grateful.

From the top of my head…

(Grooveshark Link)

Rilo Kiley: My Slumbering Heart, Three Hopeful Thoughts, The Good That Won’t Come Out Of Me, More Adventurous, Love and War

Black Keys: You’re The One, Strange Desire, Keep Your Hands Off Her, Girl Is On My Mind, Have Love Will Travel, These Days

Beach Boys: I Know There’s An Answer, Caroline No, I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times

Beatles: Golden Slumbers, Lovely Rita, She Said She Said

Jeff Buckley: Grace, Last Goodbye, So Real, Lover You Should Have Come Over, I Want Someone Badly, Forget Her

Johnny Cash: Give My Love To Rose

Kate Nash: Nicest Thing, Pumpkin Soup

Nick Drake: Black Eyed Dog, Pink Moon

Noisettes: Every Now And Then, Never Forget You, Cheap Kicks

Tom Waits: Bottom Of The World, You Can Never Hold Back Spring, I Hope I Don’t Fall In Love With You, Martha

Cee Lo Green: No One’s Gonna Love You

Christmas music, obligatory *squeeee*

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Shut up. I love Christmas more than you could possibly imagine. The giving, the spirit, the lights, the love, the friends, the magic, and the music. And I waited until now, November 22, a rare day in the northwest in that the snow is dumping on us, to listen to it in earnest. So here we go. Christmas playlist, bitches. Consider it an early Christmas gift.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Judy Garland

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – Dean Martin

Christmas Wrapping – The Waitresses

Up On The House Top – Jackson 5

Little Saint Nick – Beach Boys

All I Want For Christmas Is You – Mariah Carey

Christmas Eve/Saravejo – Trans Siberian Orchestra

O Holy Night – David Hasselhoff

….just kidding, Brian Setzer Orchestra

Winter Wonderland – Eurythmics

Santa Baby – Eartha Kitt

Last Christmas – Wham!

Wonderful Christmastime – Paul McCartney

Fairytale of New York – The Pogues, featuring Kirsty MacColl

I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas – Gayla Peevey

What Christmas Means To Me – Stevie Wonder

The Christmas Song – Al Green

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! – Ella Fitzgerald

And I’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones.

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This song just keeps beating me over the head when I’m awake, haunting me in my sleep. It’s an ancient favorite, from an album long forgotten, and it never meant much to me even when I did listen to it constantly. Picaresque was one of my Pullman staples…one I listened to really loudly in an effort to keep me awake when I drove through the barren landscape of Eastern Washington.

But that’s the good thing about “shuffle,” I guess.

I am a writer, a writer of fictions.
I am the heart that you call home.
And I’ve written pages among pages
trying to rid you from my bones.

Maybe it’s striking a nerve now because I’ve only recently come to really think of myself as a “writer.” I’ve picked it up more and more this year, in part because I had so many changes in the boy front. I went from just dabbling in this blog, updating it every few months, to maintaining it fairly regularly, writing better posts, and, on top of that, maintaining two other blogs.

(A fiction blog, a collaboration between myself and some other fantastic writers, which can be found here, and a super secret blog that almost no one is allowed to read.)

And it’s good. It’s really, really good to write, to think about writing on a daily basis, to turn words and ideas over and over in my head.

It’s becoming a near obsession. I’ve gone back to read over the last part of my last fiction post at least five or six times. Why? Because the dialog bothers me. Dialog has always bothered me. It never feels natural. It always feel contrived. And this particular dialog is haunting me along with this song. I can’t seem to shake it, nor can I figure out how to fix it.

Then there’s the other torture out there. The other day, my googletalk therapist messaged me and said:

“i was reading your “real” blog. and I am consistently amazed by your writing in that one.
it’s really head and shoulders above your other blogs, which are good in themselves.”

This. Is. Fucking. Torture. Because I know that it’s true. This third blog is really private. Because I tell stories. About people I know and for some reason, telling stories about the people I know makes the words come easier. Prettier. Just fucking better.

I’ve been racking my brain (with these stupid lyrics following me, of course), trying to figure out how to transfer that style into my fiction or even my blogging. Because pretty words are pointless locked up like that.

And then there’s the worry. This influx of writing was spurred when I was unhappy and lonely and hurting. Remembering. And the pages and pages I wrote really were cathartic, they really did rid him from my bones.

So now that he’s gone, what do I write about? It’s been a chore to bring myself back to the blinking cursor, opting instead for drinks with friends, late night movies, and conversations late into the night. What exactly is there to write about if I’m content?

It’s harder to write well, to do any kind of art well, without pain. Pain is inevitable, yes, and it’s the best fucking muse for creativity. My ex, actually, when we went through those good stages, would complain that he wasn’t writing music. Happiness, fulfillment, just didn’t allow for it.

This is a ridiculous post. See, I just wish that I could share something of substance.