March 2004 Archives

I realize I should probably wait until tomorrow to do this, but I think tomorrow I will be hard at work at the business of being 30, so all the adjusting must happen today while I'm still 29.

Because I can't begin to write how I feel about this (and yes, I know it's ridiculous that it even bothers me at all), I'm turning to poetry. While neither of these poems is actually about turning 30, either could be.

First, here's Self-Portrait at 28, by David Berman. It's one of my favorites. An excerpt:

There are things I've given up on
like recording funny answering machine messages.
It's part of growing older
and the human race as a group
has matured along the same lines.

Also, another Billy Collins poem, On Turning Ten. An excerpt:

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

p.s. If anyone has a time-stopping invention you could patent and get running by midnight, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Song of the Day

"One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer" - John Lee Hooker

I'm afraid the last three entries on the main page have shown three regular contributors' falling desperately into self-parody.

First, let us consider H.J.'s tribute to Lincoln, which evinces his affinity for Civil War history (stopping short of re-enactment, of course). Does this fit the profile? As I peek from the office into our living room, I see a bust of Lincoln perched atop a DVD case (the same bust of Lincoln that inspired an impromptu song "Lincoln Sees Us All.") And H.J. spent his cozy Sunday evening watching C-SPAN's Book TV: "Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation: The End of Slavery in America."

Next, we move on to my quasi-comic of the Adventures of City Mouse and Country Mice, which could easily have been an entry here on Teapot Dome. Let's see -- relating a personal story about a potentially alienating 21st Century invention -- yeah, no surprises there.

And finally, Mattthew's review of "Fatwood" versus lighter fluid suspiciously recalls an earlier Teapot Dome entry, where I described his penchant for the product review by excerpting his email about Fresh Step Crystals. Note also the comment where H.J. refers to Mattthew's Zicam review.

Arrrgh. We really are the nerdiest of the blogazine set.

Check this out.

Wow - I found this through my stats. Jackpot.

And sad comic.

Happy Jen.

Don't have time to write much today, but I had to tell someone about what just happened.

I've worked for about 6 years with a guy named Dennis who is notorious in the firm for being extremely antisocial but with a wicked dry sense of humor. Although he's tough to get to know (I thought he hated me during my entire first year, but he's since said he doesn't "get attached" for a while), he's come to be probably my favorite co-worker, and I've met his kids and had dinner with him and his wife a few times.

Anyway, he just called me in a flurry to ask about a page he needed right away for a document. I told him where to find it, and in his haste to hang up, he said, "Love you!"

Then just silence and confusion for a split second, until we both burst out laughing. He was mortified.

Check out the second comment on this entry. Is this the brave new world of spamming -- posting nondescript comments on puny little (pun unintended) blog entries?

The link he (I assume it was a he) posted is NOT work safe; however, since I work at home (and because I'm a curious kinda gal), I have investigated for you. Apparently the text of the site has been translated from Mandarin to English using some sort of online translator.

I quote:

As the logo say, this site is dedicated to men's most precious asset: the penis. Here you can find detailed information about penis, sex, male sexuality, male sexual health, and how good it is to be a man!" [A man with an "enhanced" penis, you mean!]

One controversial subject is penis enlargement. Many of scientists are skeptical about the real results. If we look back into the history, we will see that all good and new things are rejected by peoples with short vision.... With time passing by, the number of people using it is increasing and the ones against is dropping.

I will leave you with this rather disturbing yet amusing image from the site:

Please, friends, along with the good penis enlargement people of the world, I implore you -- do not shoot your penis with a gun.

p.s. Yes, this is all I have for you today. I apologize.

We interrupt this work day to mention that I just got tickets to see Prince at MSG. I never see stadium shows, but I have a feeling this one will be worth every last penny.

Hell yeah.

I'm including this picture because I found it in a box, and it reminds me of spring, which I am desperately looking forward to this year.

I don't have much to say today after a fairly quiet (but nicely so) weekend. I read a lot (Breakfast at Tiffany's and a Jane Austen biography), walked around a lot (bagel procurement at Ess-a-Bagel, library visit, customary window shopping, then reading in Madison Square park), and saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which was even better than I'd hoped.

On the latter, I'm working on an idea that may or may not pan out. After seeing ESotSM, it occurred to me that there have been quite a few movies in the past few years of all different genres dealing specifically with memory (ESotSM, 50 First Dates, Memento, Mulholland Drive, and in a different-but-similar vein, Groundhog Day). Particularly in these first two (yes, I did see 50 First Dates), even though the physical memory is damaged, a sort of "emotional memory" persists. I don't know what all this means yet, but I'm thinking there may be a little article here.

A side note -- is there anything sadder than Jim Carrey and Bill Murray when they play it straight?

Well, it's going to be a busy work day, so I must move on to the more prosaic occupation of chart-making and bullet composing.

Song of the Morning

Blondie - "Sunday Girl" (Hurry up, hurry up and wait!)

I'm feeling much better today... thanks for all the kind comments, and I apologize for the shameless pandering (sham-pan, as Mattthew and I call it).

I was thinking this morning that one of the redeemable things about feeling down is listening to sad songs. There are many kinds of sad, of course, and sometimes listening to sad music is the last thing you want. But I find that listening to sad songs when I'm down can have an opposite effect -- sometimes it just feels good, like pressing on a bruise. It hurts, but in a proud sort of way.

So, in that spirit (and because i LOVE making lists), I decided to put together a list of ten of my favorite sad songs. Of course this list could be pages long, and I'll probably think of five better ones tomorrow, but I thought this might be a good starting point for some discussion.

Without further ado, ten sublimely sad songs.

1. Don't You See That Train? - The Delmore Brothers

My friend Greg put this on a mix CD for me several years go, and I've put it on several since then. The idea of a train is sad enough -- the moan of the whistle as the train slowly (not even mercifully quickly!) pulls away with someone you love. The concept, coupled with the perfect harmonies of these two real-life brothers, makes the song nearly too much to bear.

"Don't you see that train, dee-dee-dee / See that train, hey hey / She's leavin', she's leavin' on that train / And I'll never see my sweetheart again."

2. So Lonesome I Could Cry - Hank Williams

I could have simply spun a wheel to pick a Hank Williams song -- they're all sad. My friend Toby accurately described his voice as "like the wailing wall." And the accompanying guitar always sounds both drawn out and ploddingly on-rhythm, as if Hank is willing himself, through song, to keep going.

"The silence of a falling star / Lights up a purple sky. / And as I wonder where you are / I'm so lonesome I could cry."

3. Long Black Veil - Johnny Cash

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a sucker for the narrative song, particularly if it involves death. Although Johnny didn't write this one, his rendition has a particular poignancy because of his relationship with June Carter. The (dead) narrator in the song hangs for a crime he didn't commit because his only alibi -- "I'd been in the arms of my best friend's wife" -- would destroy the two people he loves the most. He describes how she visits him "in a long black veil," both of them keeping their secret beyond the grave.

Sad yet?

4. You Will Miss Me When I Burn - Palace Brothers

From one of the saddest albums of all time, Days in the Wake, this song is so quiet, yet so packed with Biblical-proportion vengeance. I never realized the extent of its wrathful goodness until years ago when a friend listened to it continually during a particularly bad breakup. Consider the mere mention of wolves in the following:

"There is absence, there is lack / there are wolves here, abound / You will miss me when I turn around."

I'm not sure about this, but I would swear Mr. Oldham is willing someone to be torn apart by wolves.

5. Out in the Streets - The Shangri-Las

Lesser known than the oldies radio staple, “Leader of the Pack,” the Shangri-La’s “Out in the Streets” is another example of the subgenre of Bad Boy Songs particularly popular in the late 50s and early 60s. But instead of the “I love him, but he’s so bad,” or “I love him because he’s so bad” themes, “Out in the Streets” adds yet another, more nuanced twist: “I love him because he’s so bad, and that’s why I have to let him go.”

This song even starts sad, with a chilling drawn-out “ooooooh,” followed by a pulsing bass line lurking under the vocals that confide, “He don’t hang around with the gang no more. / He don’t do the wild things that he did before.” Instead of celebrating a conquest, though, she knows that his heart is "out in the streets."

I think I must be attracted to acts of sacrifice in my expressions of sadness (see "The Long Black Veil" above). That this girl will let this guy go because she doesn't want him to change just breaks my heart every time.

6. Which Will - Nick Drake

In this song, the narrator is asking someone he loves to make a classic choice -- him or me. But he seems to know all along that the person isn't going to pick him: "Which will you dance for / Which makes you shine? / Which will you choose now / if you won't choose mine?"

My friend Joni who first introduced me to Nick Drake handed me the CD with a sticky note attached that said, "By the way - he says 'tell me now,' not 'I don't know.'" Until I listened to the song, I didn't know what she meant, but at the end of each verse, he quietly insists, "Tell me now / which will you love the best?"

7. You Could Make a Killing - Aimee Mann

Aimee Mann is a slight guilty pleasure for me. I know, I know... some of her songs are overproduced, and she tends to be a little precious and overly clever with her love of a convoluted grammatical construction. But so can I! And I return time and time to this song when I'm feeling low, despite a) its inclusion on the Cruel Intentions soundtrack, and b) her own admission that she wrote the song about one of the whingey Oasis brothers.

Still, this song really captures what it's like to know something is so obviously shallow and bad for you and STILL WANT IT.

"I wish I was both young and stupid / Then I too could have the fun that you did / Till it was time to pony up what you bid / So you could make a killing."

8. Crazy Love, Vol. II - Paul Simon

The whole Graceland album could go on this list -- what part of divorce isn't sad? Unlike some of the other songs on the album (and on this list), however, this song doesn't really sound sad at all. It's got a lilting little melody with a lacy layer of steel guitar over it. Ah, but the lyrics.

The song describes "Fat Charlie the Archangel" who is going through a painful divorce. He strikes me as a man whose life has just been happening to him for years when he finds out everything he's put stock in -- his marriage -- has been a sham.

"She says she knows about jokes / This time the joke is on me. / Well, I have no opinion about that / And I have no opinion about me.

Somebody could walk into this room / And say your life is on fire. / It's all over the evening news / All about the fire in your life / On the evening news."

8. Ever Fallen in Love? - The Buzzcocks

"Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?"

But of course you have.

This song is fresh in my mind because we heard Lianne Smith sing a great cover of it at Tonic last Sunday night. Her voice is the perfect combination of sweet and salty to pull off a sad song, even a punk-rock sad song. (Thanks, Lianne!)

9. Don't Explain - Billie Holiday

Again, sacrifice as a cause of sadness. I first heard of this song years ago in the Saul Bellow novel Herzog, where the main character makes one of his girlfriends listen to it so she'll learn not to take the relationship too seriously. After I heard the song, I realized just how cruel an act that was. Later I also learned that "Don't Explain" was co-written by Billie and Arthur Herzog.

In one of the saddest songs I've ever heard, Billie urges her man not to explain where he's been, even though it's clear that she knows.

"Quiet, don't explain / What is there to gain / Skip that lipstick / Don't explain"

Billie could sing bubblegum jingles and forests would burn.

10. Our Town - Iris DeMent

This song is about a death of a town, not of a clown (which we would drink to, because it would be funny. And, ok, maybe a little sad). You can hear the mourning in Iris' voice, and you know that part of her is dying with the town, but she has to get out. Reminds me of the line from David Berman's "Tennessee" that says, "You know Louisville is death / We've got to up and move / Because the dead do not improve."

Please write in comments with your favorite sad songs. Sad days always come back 'round, and next time we'll be prepared.

I love living in New York. I really do. It's by far the best place I've ever lived, and even the thought of leaving to live somewhere else saddens me almost to the point of tears.

That's why it pains me to admit that every so often, living in New York fucking sucks.

At its best, New York is intensely stimulating. Every walk to the store, every conversation, every stumble out of a bar onto the sidewalk feels like something creative, a small part of something bigger and somehow more important.

At its worst, New York is also intensely stimulating. But it also can be pathologically competitive and crushingly isolating. Even getting a sandwich, boarding a train, or simply finding a space to walk on the sidewalk is inherently an act of competition. And the "little fish in a big pond" thing can get out of hand. Chances are, you won't be the smartest, wittiest, best looking, or generally most fabulous ANYWHERE YOU GO.

And if you're ever sad, ever feeling the slightest bit cut off from the world already, New York will not stop for you, to ask if you're ok, to pat your pathetic little head. It goes on being fabulous even when you feel like dirt.

Anyone for a little vacation to the country? We'll be ever-so-glad to come home.

I'm trying to figure out what to do about this page. Most anything worth writing about will be fodder for the main page, and anything else is probably self-absorbed nonsense, anyway.

It's a dilemma! If anybody still reads this page, feel free to comment on whether you want to continue to bother coming here or not.

Oh, the pain. Hope to be back soon from this misadventure.

A companion piece, if you will. Naught but blogging today.

If anyone cares...

Yesterday my cable was out all day. Talk about an isolating experience... working from home and having no internet lifeline to anyone!

Today I've written something small for the regular Gusto, so go here if you haven't already.

Too lazy to attempt to be funny and/or clever twice in one day, you know.

p.s. I'm VERY excited about the John Waters movie marathon tomorrow night (scroll down down down), but shhhh!!! Don't tell anyone, because the Pioneer is awfully small, and I want to sit next to JW!

Last night I dreamt that the company I work for called a meeting to roll out their new "Anti-Blog" Policy, specifically aimed at people who update blogs during the day. The policy was an oversized piece of paper with "Anti-Blog" in huge red letters. I remember being surprised that somebody else at my work had a blog, too (making mental notes to check it out and/or link to it), but then I realized the whole policy was for me.

I think this may be what Freud would have called an overdeveloped superego.

Happy Birthday, Mattthew!

No! The extra T is for exxxtra, um... togas? tenacity? tokes?

In honor of his birthday, I've been reading over some old emails from him. One that really made me laugh (because it's just so quintessentially Braulike) was a five-paragraph product review of Fresh Step Crystals brand cat litter, subject line: "Cat Poo." Here's an excerpt:

Bottom line: So far I like them better. More expensive, but you pay for convenience. I wish my cats would bury their poo. That would make the crystals perfect.

Other

Unholy movie ticket! This, of course, doesn't hold a candle to the unholy Junior Mints they sell in the snack bar.

p.s. Spiffy new design! And comments!

This story makes no sense to me at all. Sure, it's all about taxes, but c'mon... have these people ever BEEN to New Hampshire? (No offense, Dad!) After Connecticut, New Hampshire is the ampit of New England! And Vermont -- beautiful, green, liberal, civil uniony Vermont!

The only thing I like about New Hampshire is that the road signs say "Common Sense for All." So perfectly New England.

Meh. No accounting for tastes, I guess.

Yesterday evening I was wrapping up some work when I began to feel a slight chill. I suddenly remembered that I had opened a window in the living room, so I flip-flopped out (ah, the joys of working at home) to close it. I reached decisively into the window space when the cactus in the windowsill made its prickly presence known to my hand.

So, now I've got 30+ pieces of spine in the base of my palm and wrist. Anybody have any good suggestions? (Other than the Elmer's Glue trick that doesn't work, please. You coat the area with glue, wait for it to dry, then pull it off -- it's fun in a third grade kinda way, but completely ineffective.) They're imbedded fairly deeply because I reached for the window with such enthusiasm.

People are dumb.

I'm back in business. Smarmy's home and all is right with the world. He snores on my desk as I type.

I had to work this weekend, which was particularly vexing given the lovely weather.

Commie Baiting at MoMA

Friday night went to see the terrific Pickup on South Street at MoMA Gramercy (how I will miss you, sweet comfy neighborhood theater). I think it was only the third Samuel Fuller film I'd ever seen, after Shock Corridor and the outrageously good House of Bamboo.

Talked before the movie with two reluctant purists (one film, other music) about purists. Obsession makes for lively conversation as well as documentaries.

Award News (NOT boring Oscars)

Congrats to Will Robertson who won four Addy awards in Western VA this weekend for his amazing Grandin Theater trailer, which not only is just fucking amazing animation, but also brings back memories of my hometown, Roanoke, Virginia.

Good old Star City of the South. Any town with a 100-foot man-made star on a mountain (no longer the largest in the U.S. - thanks a lot, Texas) is A-OK with me. My best friend Alician and I have a hard-and-fast ritual that whenever we drive up, we must read in unison the entire text of the sign -- "Height of steel structure: 100 feet...."

Song of the Day

Vic Chesnutt - "Band Camp" (with one of the most perplexing lyrics I've ever heard - "You soaked a tampon in some serious vodka"!?!?)

Miscellany

I will leave you today with this photo, which was taken in the seventh grade. Next to me is my junior high mortal enemy, Stacey Pilcher, who once pulled a chair out from under me. As Moe says, "That was funny, taking away my dignity like that... ha ha ha."