One Pretentious Bastard

Teh Gnu Blog

2007-06-02T16:55:00.000-05:00

Its more customizable than Blogger--but I have yet to customize it. Good job me.

For Jackie

2007-05-19T16:38:00.000-05:00

My dear, sweet, wonderful and caring sister has stated that she thinks that, given my job (let alone any other issues in my life), I should talk to some type of counselor. I am not opposed to this. I have seen counselors before after particularly traumatizing events (exceptionally bad break ups and death in my family). Right now I don't think I need to go see one; however, In order to show Jackie that I value her opinion, I will now write up how the first session would go.

Counselor (C): Marty, very nice meeting you. Sorry about all the paperwork, but that's the price of managed care (small chuckle). So, can you tell me what brings you here?

Me (M): (Scans the room for certificates, awards and) Sure, but i have a few questions first.

C: (Non-plussed) Sure, fire away.

M: Thanks, can you tell me a little bit about your therapeutic approach?

C: What do you mean?

M: You know, what sort of theroies of personality you subscribe to, your methodology in regards to to treatment. Cognitive Behavioral, psychodynamic, biological?

C: Ah, I subscribe mostly to a CBT approach, with a few other philosophies thrown in for good measure. Why do you ask?

M: Because if you said Psychodynamic or hinted at Freudian crap, I would have walked out right away. (here I smile to show that I'm kind of kidding) Anyway, I have a few more questions. Have you ever worked with kids with sexual behavior problems.

C: I've worked with victims before--were you victimized as

M: Nope. I just work the abusers. Since you've worked with victims, do you have any experience at helping others develop better self-care plans?

C: Not particularly, no, but I do have my own plan.

M: Well, thats something we could talk about.

C: Do you need help with work issues.

M: That's only part of it. Do you have any experience at grief counseling?

C: A little bit. My, I've never been asked so many questions before. Have you seen a counselor before?

M: Yup. I'll sign the release so you guys can compare notes if she has any--I'd go back to her if it wasn't back in suburbia. I am looking for places closer to work and home.

C: Well that's entirely understandable. What did you processes with her?

M: Grief issues, mild depression, a terrible relationship and a little bit of secondary trauma.

C: How did it work out?

M: Well, fine I supppose. It lasted for maybe 15 months. The death of my father kicked it off; my mom's death and the horrible engagement I was in extended it.

C: I'm sorry for your loss--how long ago did they pass away.

M: My mom passed away in sept. of 05, my dad June of 03. It hasn't gotten any easy, I just have better ways of coping.

C: And you said you were engaged.

M: Yeah, that was a bad idea. It didn't work out--and we just brought out the worst in each other. She meant well and I loved her more than anyone--but she could only handle things by being, well, abusive.

C: I see. What do you mean

M: (Stare). I am not comfortable talking about that right now. this is just an intake--to see if we're a fit as client and counselor. Nothing personal, but, I can only talk to one person about this right now. ITs been two years and I'm still a bit upset about it.

C: I understand, take your time. What are the other things you might need to talk about?

M: Lets see. Failed relationship that still bugs me and, on occasion, complicates my attempts to date other people. I miss my parents terribly. My job is draining--on every possible front--and it gets more complicated every day. My brother and sister and law thing I'm a whiney little bi--I mean brat. I also want to go back to school, but I don't feel like i have moxie, wherewithal, support or brain power to do it. I also feel rather bitter about life in general. That about covers it.

C: I sure we would have a lot to talk about then.

M: Oh, I know we do. But what is that going to accomplish? Seriously, talking to an independent and non-judgmental would be good for me, but I think I know what I need to do?

C: Then why aren't you doing it?

M: Good question. I'm not entirely sure that talking to you about it, or talking to anyone else particularly, will help me out either.

C: But, and I'm sure you know this, talking things out can be helpful.

M: I whole-heartedly believe this. AT the same time, I feel so pressured to get things together and have a great life--and to be honest, there isn't anything you can tell me that I can't direct myself to do or find--I feel that this may be a waste of time.

C: Did you feel that about your otehr counselors?

M: The psychodynamic one that wanted to talk about my dad, yeah. The grief therapist, not at all. But I only started seeing her when I was at my wits end. I've got a few months left before I feel that way.

C: But why wait?

M: Because I think i can do this on my own and with the support I have. I just need to do more and not burden my brother and sister-in-law.

C: Do you often feel like a burden?

M: (Stare). Oh gee. Its been a clinical hour. I'll schedule a follow up next week. Thanks.

Lists

2007-05-12T22:30:00.000-05:00

I am not fond of to-lists (hereafter referred to as Lists). Every time I make one I am compelled to go into obsessive detail about each and every item. Given the number of details, each objective becomes more difficult to attain. In about five objectives, i am overwhelmed and i give up on the list. For example, in this post, I am giving up on punctuation and proper capitalization.

I am doing this becasue I am old and tired. Old, tired and thinking about making a new list. This list, unlike most of my lists, would be public. It will also be manageable.

Part of this list will include kicking Chuck in the nuts. Don't get me wrong, I like Chuck a lot, but reminding me to blog in the comments has earned him a nut-kicking.

Bored

2007-04-24T21:45:00.000-05:00

You Are Mud Pie

You're the perfect combo of flavor and depth
Those who like you give into their impulses

What Kind of Pie Are You?

April 25

2007-04-24T00:41:00.000-05:00

It isn't 4/20 or 4/24 but 4/25. It strikes me as odd that I can't remember anyone's birthday. There are notable exceptions:

Jack: 7/4
Tony: 4/3
Jackie: 4/2
Mom: 7/20
me: 7/14
Canuk: 7/16

I can narrow a few people down to a few days too:

q: 6/14-6/16
Zach: 7/12 or 7/13
Will: 8/28 or 8/29

That's it. I can't remember my godchildren's, friends, or cousins' birthdays. I should write them all in one of my many address books...but I keep forgetting to do that too.

What bugs me is that I forgot my Dad's birthday. I didn't miss it--it's wednesday--but I forgot it. To make up for this, I'm trying to remember a story about my dad. One that I haven't written down before.

-
I can't think of one that I'd like to share. Tonight, I'm keeping those memories to myself.

Because we, as American's, are Fat, Lazy and Stupid...

2007-04-22T12:07:00.000-05:00

Democracy is a device that ensures we shall be governed no better than we deserve.
- George Bernard Shaw

On the other blog (the link is around here somewhere) I am doing more than writing quotes...but today is a nice day in chicago, and I am going to go for a walk and rent power tools to liberate my bike.

What about Willful Ignorance?

2007-04-20T16:17:00.000-05:00

A little learning is a dangerous thing but a lot of ignorance is just as bad.
- Bob Edwards

I propose the following addendum: that willfull ignorance is worse.

Quotes

2007-04-16T20:10:00.000-05:00

We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?

Ray Bradbury (1920 - ), Fahrenheit 451, 1953

Atlanta Breakfast

2007-04-02T22:29:00.001-05:00

Atlanta Breakfast
Originally uploaded by officergleason.

All I wanna do is drink beer for breakfast
All I wanna eat is them BBQ chips
All I want is someone just to try to protect us
You can try but you'd never wanna try to defend us

Hey, well I'm broke
But I'm gonna pay for some rum

All I wanna do is stand in this lie
All I wanna pick is your nose honey, hi
Sweet little corner, know you gotta be... aha!
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

Honey, well I'm broke
But I'm gonna pay from some rum

Honey, where I'm from
Halle-fuckin-lujah
Where I'm from...

Baby boy's fine...
Baby boy's drunk...
Baby boy's a ... bah bah bah

All I wanna do is drink beer for breakfast

On Cooking

2007-04-01T23:28:00.000-05:00

Currently, I'm reading Heat by Bill Buford. It's a memoir of his time in Mario Batali's restaurant, Babbo. One of the sous-chef's taught Bill how to, "cook with love." He goes on to write that the success of a meal is determined by how much love is included in the preparation. Simply put, this sums up my entire families history of cooking.

What made my father's pancakes the best pancakes in the world was not how he tweaked the recipe. It was the amount of care he put into each batch—and anyone who had ever eaten breakfast at my house can attest to that fact. My dad wanted to make sure that everyone who ate at our table knew that they loved.

My dad cooked breakfast for Tony and I from kindergarten to high school. On those rare occasions where my mom had to "fill in" she invariably got it wrong. She didn't know what my dad called the various breakfast items (all star-wars references, of course). Also, breakfast wasn't her thing. As much as my mom loved tony and I, breakfast wasn't he way of showing how she cared.

With one major exception.

My mom made Crepes once the year after my dad died. If breakfast was his thing, then crepes were his specialty. Technically, this is brunch—but I don’t want to be too bogged down in minutiae. This was his Mother's day gift to my mom. The meal was always this: Home-made crepes, home-made maple-butter, chicken livers in Madeira sauce, bacon, sausage and Mimosa's. Tony and I were to clean the table and do the dishes. A few times, I made sure that fresh flowers were available for my mom too. It is impossible to understate how my dad prepared this meal and what it meant to my mom.

I want to say she made it on Mother's day. I spent the night at home, tony and Jackie came for brunch. She spent the morning attempting the recipe, trying to make the maple butter and getting the crepes perfect. I think she even did the chicken livers. The hardest part of the meal was cooking the crepes right. We had this persnickety old crepe maker, and according to my mom, only my dad knew how to use it. After she ruined the first five crepes, she threw a fit.

According to my mom, she slammed the lid of the crepe maker down and, nearly in tears yelled, "Alright Pat, I know this is your meal, but I am going to make it. Either you help me or you get the hell out of my kitchen." Her next crepe cooked in the shape of a heart. She said it was cooked perfectly.

That is how I want to cook. I want to master all the recipes that my mom and dad had:—From the grilling to crepes. This means I am going to need more people to cook for.

This also means I an going to have to buy groceries instead of a variety of beer.

Lists

2007-04-01T13:23:00.000-05:00

I am going to Atlanta to visit Will and Sara. The trip is far too short to qualify as vacation, and I suspect I will be drinking enough to kill off a number of weak brain cells. As long as this drinking does not include any Rum, I believe I will be okay. If the trip does include rum, I would like my possessions to be divvied up in the following way:

•Sara can have my condo.
•Tony can have my car
•Lauren can have my music (just make copies of it for others)
•Jessie can have my desktop
•Gina can have my lap top
•Michael can have my bike
•Williamson can have my debts
•Jackie can have my share of the cabin, paid for by my 401k
•Greg can have the old katana's
•Will can have my dad's law books and notes
•Seth can have the Guinness glasses.
•Eric can have the old g4 desktop
•Wagner can have my badge.
•Caitlin can have that Yeats book I promised her

Whatever cash I have in my pension is to be split between Eli and Sydney

rambling when I should be asleep

2007-03-24T00:20:00.000-05:00

For stupid reasons I woke up in a bad mood this morning. It took me a while to get motivated and feel good about myself and what I do. Part of the process included: Wearing pants that Tony can't fit in anymore, crap in my hair that makes me far too metro, and listening to music as loud as I can in my car. The problem with this solution rests primarily in my car. On Feb 12, I was in car accident. i am stuck in a Corolla that I cannot stand (its saving grace is that it's free). The car drives fine but the radio reception is bad. Worse still, the speakers distort when the damn thing gets to a decent "Windows Down" volume. I was enjoying all of the music I recently purchased (Andrew Bird, Modest Mouse, Ted Leo and Regina Spektor if you need to know) and it would get so static-y and crackly that I couldn't listen to it. Hell, I couldn't listen to WBEZ for the same reason--no fm reception.

By the time I finished my visits, I had come to the conclusion that I creating too many obstacles for myself. My most recent excuse for not finishing my grad school apps, "I need more balance in my life, and lord knows I want more than just work. Grad School would have me doing even more work." I justify my failure by saying, "I need a better social life." When I get a better social life, I say, "I need more cues."

No, I'm not going to explain that.

Starting sunday , I am going to just do a few things. No to-do lists, no organizing tasks. I am going to write more of this stupid personal statement and realize I have been given cues.

Blog Change

2007-03-23T23:40:00.000-05:00

I am moving the blog. My original plan of hosting it myself has fallen by the wayside for now, but I have been thinking about it for so long that i feel that I just have to do it. that being said, a few goals have to be reached:

1) Figure out how to do enough CSS for the blog to make it pretty
2) have a real comment system

Because I want more flexibility I am switching to wordpress. I've staked out a url and even posted a, "Coming soon" thread.

This also means I get to use ecto again.

Draft

2007-03-21T13:50:00.000-05:00

I started this at 1:30. I posted it at 1:51. This is still in draft form.

She asked me, "how do you deal with people like me." I made therapuetic eye contact with her, avoiding looking at her shattered nose and said, "Easily." I smiled softly, she brightened and calmed down. Granted, she was calm for thirty seconds before she lost her focus again--but for thirty seconds, she was lucid, calm and almost at peace.

I lied to her face. Her nose was crooked, bulbous and had a third nostril, courtesy of her paramour of over 19 years. She stayed with him because she hoped he would change. She didn't leave him after he hit their oldest with a broom. She didn't leave him after she threatened to kill the children because of the abuse. She didn't leave him when he beat the middle child, my client, into unconsciousness with a shoe. She won't leave him because he provides the money for her drugs.

I don't know her coping drug of choice: The state of her body screams heroin, her behaviors indicate meth, but she was in desperate need of a fix. Getting her to talk about her children, the ones who sexually abused her daughter well over 60 times, sent her into hysterics. One minute she was yelling, the next she was crying, then she was laughing. She didn't say who abused her--she just said she called it, "incest, because rape is what happens outside of the family."

The most outrageous part of this entire affair: We knew about it. We, meaning the System, knew about this family. When DCFS heard about the oldest son's abuse of the middle child and the little girl, they put him in Hartgrove, Michael Reese and one other hospital. Mom, in a fit of hysterics, says she has the paperwork somewhere, but she can't remember.

Father doesn't want to. He's a real south sider, "I don't talk about my fucking problems, I just fucking deal with them." He doesn't even remember when the oldest one came back. He says he doesn't remember that the oldest one re-offended the llittle girl a week after coming home.

DCFS gets him 6 months of treatment then sends him home; SASS provides 4-5 years of individual counseling. It was not JSO specific. The oldest son continues to abuse for at least four more years. We failed this child.

Probation didn't know. We didn't get this case, at least, not initially. Because of the law, he'll be treated as an adult. That same law allows him to receive juvenile court services. We may see him yet. The damage is done: We failed this family.

We got the middle child. Before I retire, we'll get the little boy and the little girl. We failed the oldest, we failed the family. God help us if we fail these two.

Comments!!

2007-03-21T00:52:00.000-05:00

If Marianne is Marianne M, then she should know she is my favorite Marianne.

Jack: I will write however the hell I want. Go finish a term paper on Dylan.

Jess: The writer's circle is on hold. Which means I've been editing my piece for a few weeks now. It still isn't done, but it's getting there.

--

When I started blogging, I turned off comments. I didn't really care what other people wanted to say or bother trying to decipher their input. Blogging was a way of venting. Now, despite my lack of regular posting, blogging is something else. Christ if I know what it is yet, but comments are more important to me than ever.
.
--

Last thought: Warren Ellis wrote this on his blog:

When you start worrying about whether someone likes you, or whether you’re going to get what you want, or whether you’ll ever become the person you want to be, just remember –

– we’re all doomed.

Doom. It's on everyone's to do list.

Good Times

2007-03-19T19:24:00.000-05:00

Two people, completely independent of each other, have both mentioned that 1) I am sounding far too melancholy for my own good and 2) I haven't written anything of consequence. This is no where near what I want to portray. I'm busy, poor and living alone--but I am, more often than not, having a grand old time.

For whatever reason, I don't write when thing are going well. I started this blog to cope and to vent. It turned into a way to update dozens of people quickly. Along the way, I posted stories on Chicago, Canada and how my family has changed. Nowadays? I only post when I'm feeling lonely, bored or tired. One of the reasons I haven't posted? I'm tired of writing that shlock. Besides, it really isn't that bd.

My problem isn't getting out more. The problem is money. I need to find cheaper ways of having fun. Drinking gets bloody expensive after a few beers, especially in Chicago. However, it is has been a long time since I've hit bars, so I find this completely acceptable.

--

I need to write something different, but I don't know what or how.

Thought for the Day

2007-03-15T11:58:00.001-05:00

Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man's original virtue. It is through disobedience and rebellion that progress has been made.
- Oscar Wilde

7 Minutes to Group

2007-03-14T14:38:00.000-05:00

I have seven minutes before I have to make an appearance at the sullivan house for an individual counseling session. This client convinced the judge that he is not able to talk in group because, "I'm uncomfortable."

This, dear readers, is a lie. He is not uncomfortable. He went to group and acknowledged his offense, talked about his offense and participated in group completely. Then he decided he didn't need to come to group anymore because he was cured. When his probation was violated, what did he do? He cried. For once, it worked.

So I agreed to see him individually. I think i am going to have to confront him too.

I had more to talk about as well; namely, it looks like my desktop has had a massive power/supply problem. Also, I had to announce that I am dork.

More on the desktop later. The dork stuff should be fairly self-evident.

Oh. and Ecto is still broken.

What to write?

2007-03-12T22:54:00.000-05:00

There is so much to write about but I am afraid to jinx it. I should know better than to be superstitious, but I can't help it. Maybe this has more to do with getting hopes up to unrealistic levels.

I don't know what I mean by unrealistic levels. I don't even know what I'm going on about.

Actually, I do. I have a few things on my mind, from my short, mid and longterm goals, to the the books I am going to start reading. I don't know where to start, how to break each goal down or even write any of this on a blog.

I'll summarize: Things are good. 2006 good. It doesn't look like anything is slowing down either.

Nerd Score

2007-03-11T22:57:00.000-05:00

Draft 2

2007-03-08T12:00:00.000-06:00

Letting Go and the Art of the Internal Soundtrack

I only have three regrets from college, and two of them are directly related: 1) going back out with Heather because 2) I was too scared to ask out Jenn. My third and final regret is not having a freshman follow me around either of my senior years with a boom-box to provide a soundtrack to my campus life. On the surface, it may appear that these regrets are unrelated. However, a quick glimpse into my psyche would reveal that I could have prevented my love life woes if I just had a sound crew. Imagine if shrill, annoying techno played while I talked with Heather and a soft, romantic ballad filled the room when I talked to Jenn. The choice on what to do would have been obvious. The cues that music provides is impossible to ignore. Personally, I don't think I would have any regrets if I had some an impressionable kid following me around with a pre-approved list of songs to play at certain events. This kind of external soundtrack certainly would have made my life much easier. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with having an internal soundtrack. Internal soundtracks, while easy to ignore, have songs that you can't let go of. It seems that songs, just like regrets, aren't that easy to let go.

My internal soundtrack is easy to ignore only insofar as it is easily changed. I have music--an external soundtrack--on in the car, at the office, at home, on the bus, while doing laundry and even in the bath. With music on all the time, it 's no wonder that my internal soundtrack adds any catchy song. I don't regret a single one, even the crappy top 40 hits.

The internal soundtrack is also fickle. If someone says a few key phrases of a song that I know, all the lyrics I can remember come flooding back. A coworker can hum a few bars of a song and I'll be right there, whistling along with them. God help me when muzak plays. While this fickle soundtrack is easy to ignore, there are times when it can still evoke emotions. Typically, this emotion is fear. Fear as in, "Dear lord, why do I remember this?!" Recently, I have come to terms with this: But that is an essay for another time.

The converse of this is also true: Certain emotions bring out certain songs. Luckily, when I'm happy, I don't sing along with Shiney Happy People, or Don't Worry, Be Happy But when I get nervous, I hear The Minstrel Boy, complete with, "In the ranks of the dead you will find him." These lyrics, as morbid as they are, does have a calming effect on me. No matter how nervous I get, I know when I screw up, I won't be killed over it. When I'm upset, any number of Nine Inch Nails songs—songs I haven't willingly listened to in years—fill my head. When my dad died, the soundtrack was limited to God's Promise, in my head and in my car. A year later, when my mom died, the soundtrack went back to God's Promise. Anytime I miss either one of my parents, I can't shake the song out of my head until I listen to Ellis Paul sing Woody Gutherie's lyrics. When I'm sad, any number of embarrassing, depressing or sappy songs are in my undercover soundtrack. It just depends on the kind of sadness. If its just general blasé, the soundtrack can go anywhere from, The Thrill is Gone to the Adagio for Strings. If there is a specific cause for my sadness, there may be a specific song for it. For example, if I'm sad and it's because of something a family member did, or didn't do, you can bet your ass that the song will probably be an Irish one.

Eventually the emotions and the songs fade away. I haven't really learned how to let them go. The best I have ever been able to do is swap out one song for another. The same holds true for regrets--I can't let them go, but I can swap them out.

This is where love, and love songs, come in. Love and regret as intertwined as Beatles harmonies. Because love is a complex emotion, all the songs in my head vie for attention. Sometimes my soundtrack has soft, sweet and meaningful songs by Ellis Paul. Other times the songs are cotton-candy (sweet yet empty) tunes by Matthew Sweet or Kelly Clarkson. A lot of the songs I have in regards to love are tinged with some sort of regret. Those are songs with minor chords. But lately the songs have been short, fast rock and roll songs--I attribute this to my new-found love for Ted Leo. None of these songs compare to what was featured on my soundtrack the last time I was in love. That song was Cannonball by Damien Rice, and like any good track, and regret, it isn't easy to let it go.

Cannonball did not start out on my internal soundtrack. Honestly, before Ginnie, it was just pretty background noise. In soundtrack terms, it was scene setting music. Looking back, at this point in our relationship, talking and emailing Ginnie was the same thing: Pretty background noise. When our relationship changed Cannonball changed. Pretty background became important foreground. Cannonball became a theme. Like any good theme, ever time I was with Ginnie the song was playing. We fell in love to this song. It was on the radio--Chicago's soundtrack if you will--a lot but it wasn't over played. The night I told her I loved her, it was on a local Chicago radio station. Each and every time we were in my car while she lived in Chicago, it was on the radio. Whenever we were driving in Canada, including the day I asked her to marry me, it was playing. Who needed to call in a request when fate supplied the music?

Shortly after one trip to Canada, I ended up buying O and the Cannonball EP. I probably didn't need to, considering how often it was on the air, but, I wanted to dissect the lyrics and the music. I was examining every detail of the song so as to better understand it. If I understood all the nuances of Cannonball, I would have some sort of insight into the relationship that we were in. This should have been a clue that something was wrong. In order to make things right between us, I had focused to my internal soundtrack for cues, as the external one screamed, "Ship her back to the frozen wastes of Canada!" Typically, it was a suggestion--again, scene setting songs--such as a carefully worded comment from my mom, an aunt or a close friend. Sometimes it was a flat out declaration. Those stark and truthful words were an attempt to change my soundtrack, or at least to make me change the song.

It didn't work. Cannonball, as a song, is about love and regret. Where as my friends and family were tired of Cannonball, I was still trying to figure it out

HA! Take that New Years!

2007-03-02T00:54:00.000-06:00

I skipped one day of writing while I was working with my old parish on an overnight retreat. This is officially my longest commitment to a resolution.

This means nothing, however, as I haven't posted anything in three weeks. I am still working on getting more stuff up.
I would love to rant and rave about This American Life's live show, but, I am off to sleep. I will say that Ira Glass has the best goddamn job in the world.

Rough Draft

2007-02-10T20:15:00.000-06:00

Letting Go and the Art of the Internal Soundtrack

I only have three regrets from college, and two of them are directly related: 1) going back out with Heather because 2) I was too scared to ask out Jenn. My third and final regret is not having a freshman follow me around either of my senior years with a boom-box to provide a soundtrack to my campus life. On the surface, it may appear that these regrets are unrelated. However, A quick glimpse into my psyche would reveal that I could have prevented my love life woes if I just had a sound crew. Imagine if shrill, annoying techno played while I talked with Heather and a soft, romantic ballad filled the room when I talked to Jenn. The choice on what to do would have been obvious. The cues that music provides is impossible to ignore. Personally, I don't think I would have any regrets if I had some an impressionable kid following me around with a pre-approved list of songs to play at certain events. This kind of external soundtrack certainly would have made my life much easier. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with having an internal soundtrack. Internal soundtracks, while easy to ignore, have songs that you can't let go of. It seems that songs, just like regrets, aren't that easy to let go.

My internal soundtrack is easy to ignore only insofar as it is easily changed. See, I have music--an external soundtrack--on in the car, at the office, at home, on the bus, while doing laundry and even in the bath. With music on all the time, it 's no wonder that my soundtrack picks up any catchy song. The internal soundtrack is also fickle. If someone says a few key phrases of a song that I know, the lyrics I can remember come flooding back. A coworker can hum a few bars of a song and I'll be right there, whistling along with them. God help me when muzak plays. While this fickle soundtrack is easy to ignore, there are times when it can still evoke emotions. Typiclly, this emotion is fear. Fear as in, "Dear lord, why do I remember this?!" Recently, I have come to terms with this: But that is an essay for another time.

The converse of this is also true: Certain emotions bring out certain songs. Luckily, when I'm happy, I don't sing along with "Shiney happy people," or "Don't worry, be happy!" But when I get nervous, I hear "The Minstrel Boy," complete with, In the ranks of the dead you will find him. This does have a calming effect on me. No matter how nervous I get, I know when I screw up, I won't be killed over it. When I'm upset, any number of Nine Inch Nails songs—songs I haven't willingly listened to in years—fill my head. When my dad died, the soundtrack was limited to "God's Promise," in my head and in my car. A year later, when my mom died, the soundtrack went back to "God's Promise." Anytime I miss either one of my parents, I can't shake the song out of my head until I listen to Ellis Paul sing Woody Gutherie's lyrics. When I'm sad, any number of embarrassing, depressing or sappy songs are in my undercover soundtrack. It just depends on the kind of sadness. If its just general blaise, the soundtrack can go anywhere from, "The Thrill is Gone" to "Adagio for Strings." If there is a specific cause for my sadness, there may be a specific song for it. For example, if I'm sad and it's because of something a family member did (or didn't do), you can bet your ass that the song will probably be an Irish one.

Few things can compete with love for making one sad. Love, and love songs, are always a kicker. Becaue love is already a complex emotion all the songs in my head vie for attention. Sometimes my soundtrack has soft, sweet and meaningful songs by Ellis Paul. Other times the songs are cotton-candy (sweet yet empty) tunes by Matthew Sweet or Kelly Clarkson. Lately, the songs have been short, fast rock and roll songs--I attribute this to my new-found love for Ted Leo. None of these songs compare to what was featured on my soundtrack the last time I was in love. That song was "Cannonball" by Damien Rice, and like any good track, and regret, it isn't easy to let it go.

"Cannonball" did not start out on my internal soundtrack. In fact, we fell in love while this song was on the radio--Chicago's soundtrack, if you will. Literally ever time I was with Ginnie, the song was on the radio. The night I told her I loved her, I heard it on a local chicago Station. It was on each and every time we were in my car while she lived in Chicago. We heard it both times we spent a day driving to Calgary, including the day I asked her to marry me. It's no surprise that Cannonball went from an external soundtrack to my internal soundtrack.

Shortly after one trip to Canada, I ended up buying O and the Cannonball EP. I probably didn't need to, considering how often it was on the air. But, I wanted to dissect the lyrics and the music, examining every detail of the song so as to better understand it. I figured if I understood all the nuances of Cannonball, I would have some sort of insight into the relationship I was in.

I turned to my internal soundtrack for cues; as the external one screamed, "Ship her back to the frozen wastes of Canada!"

There were new songs, but nothing took the place of Cannonball.

I'm sold

2007-02-10T10:30:00.000-06:00

I'm in.

Day 38: The Day I didn't write

2007-02-08T23:53:00.000-06:00

For the past month, I have been rather diligent about my resolutions. Yesterday was the first day I did not write anything substantial. Today I have spent most of my free time writing and rewriting things for the writing circle I mentioned in an earlier post. I am not that happy with it, but it is taking shape. Depending on how I think it reads, I may post the rough draft (or proto-rough draft) here tonight.

Until then....I will post random shit.