Just Take a Deep Breath, and Calm Down.

In keeping with the theme of the last post, music will be my topic for today. And, no doubt you’ll be surprised to hear this, but I’m not as hip as I once was.

You see, sometime over the last year I’ve come to realize that my music taste is pretty bad. Which, is a little strange. I’ve always thought of myself as a little bit ahead of the game. I mean, yeah–I know Ace of Base isn’t exactly with it, but its nostalgic. No–Enrique isn’t hot and hasn’t been since the early 2000s, but I have a special place in my heart for lame pop. But Coldplay, U2, Modest Mouse, Counting Crows–these are perfectly respectable bands right?

Turns out the answer is no if you’re not an angst filled teenager, or a 30 something soccer mom.

For a while I refused to believe it too. I though “I’m still hip, I’m still trendy,–just look at my semi-cool runners.”

Anyways, it turns out that my music taste consists of bland pop that has been fed to the masses. I’m not hip at all. My two year old runners, are, well, two years out of style.

Thank goodness a former housemate is ahead of the curve.

Here’s what I’ve been listening to for the last year that you haven’t:

Alexi Murdoch-Something Beautiful
Alexi Murdoch-Orange Sky
Matt and Kim-Daylight
Comme Des Enfants-Coeur De Pirate
Patty Griffin-Poor Man’s House
Patty Griffin-Long Ride Home
Willy Mason-Oxygen
Great Lake Swimmers-Moving Pictures Silent Films
Fleet Foxes-White Winter Hymnal

Now, after you listen to these you’ll probably be thinking something like “why does hip have to be so slow and depressing?”

You probably aren’t asking me in particular, but I’m going to tell you anyways. Slow and depressing shows you’re deep. I mean, lets not kid each other–its hard to be you. You’ve got that inner angst thing going on–you’re tortured by how hard your soft life is, and by how you were born a delicate flower in a world full of invasive weeds.

Now–if I was you, this is what I’d be thinking. “Really? Did the guy who’s last two blog posts talk about a ‘wounded heart’, being ‘hurt’, and being ‘lonely’–did he really just call me a delicate flower?”

Yes, yes, I did.

You see, if you’re a delicate angst filled flower who is trying to be hip, and you happen to find yourself crying before you go to sleep every night ’cause life is just so tough, then I’d like you to think of me as a big bottle of industrial strength Round-Up. And, this blog right here–is you getting a light sprinkling of my Round-Up-ie goodness.

Yeah–that’s right, at some point the narrative in this post became gibberish.

Don’t get all angsty about it.

Emotions, and Fiction.

[Push play:]

The house is empty, and because it’s so late, it’s also dark. Your eyes adjust slowly.

The moon’s faint glow gives you enough light to work your way to the stairs. Slowly ascending, your hand slides along the banister, and for the first time you notice the tactile feel of the wood. It feels cold.

Sinking into your bed feels good. The warmth of the blankets feels good. But, after a few minutes you realize that you’ve been staring up into the darkness. You’ve been thinking and remembering the past with a nostalgia that might not be all that healthy. Remembering enough of the good times to regret that they’re gone, and missing the people you used to be close to.

You prop yourself up against your pillow, take a deep breath, and sit wondering. Wondering what the point is; wondering where this is all going; wondering why.

And then, you fall asleep in a silence you wonder if you’ll ever shake.

D.R.T.