For those of you who are unaware, I am writing a new novel. It's for NANO. Those of you who are privy to my NANOing struggles will be happy to know I am about eight thousand words behind with high hopes of catching up and 'winning'.
This new novel is sort of based off of time travel. Kind of, but not really. No one actually goes to a different time or place, but there are ripples into the future. I'd explain it all to you, but you should just wait until it's published. (wink-wink)
Anyhow, part of the novel, the good part, takes place in the nineties. (The bad part takes place in 2013) The main character has an affection for music and I've been drawing inspiration from the hits of my youth. Just between us, I totally remember the lyrics to all the songs I loved as a kid. My tastes were fairly broad, my main character's isn't. He seems to have a problem with R&B. What I have been partaking in is a lot of grunge and punk stuff, and I must say, this stuff is awesome. The Pixies, Nirvana, Rancid, Green Day, Hole, The Cranberries, Flaming Lips ... hell, I've been singing Better Man by Pearl Jam in my head all morning and don't even mind. (Peal Jam being a band I've never really liked. At all.)
The truth is, I love all kinds of music, but there is something about the nineties that makes me incredibly happy. Nostalgia is a funny thing. But as I am sitting there, hammering out a chapter from my novel, I am singing along to all these songs I kind of forgot about. Not truly, I mean, obviously they've just been on the back burner simmering away because I remember every single word, but I think I overlook how awesome the nineties were.
You'd think because I grew up in that era I'd be able to paint a vivid picture of it, except I've had to do a fair bit of research. From computers to clothing and right on to world events, I have a hundred tabs open at once. (A bit of a hyperbole). But each detail I manage to filter in makes me giddy. I've dressed my characters in Doc Martens and made them drive a Volkswagen Cabrio, they've gone to the Kennel Club and smoked indoors, their computers strain the eyes and use dial up to connect to the internet, and so much cocaine has been snorted that even my nose feels raw.
Conclusion? This is fun. I think the last time I've had this much fun writing a book was when Billie was delivering revenge on the open sea.
Honestly, you wouldn't believe what pops into my head, from shows to clothes and bands I have no idea whatever happened to them. (Like how the Sneaker Pimps' song 6 Underground just randomly came to mind) It's weird what snaps back to you when you start thinking about it. Tomorrow I will be wearing a baby doll dress, Sketchers, way too much black eye makeup, outlining my lips with brown eye pencil, using concealer as lipstick, and wearing a floppy hat with a huge flower on it. Don't worry, I won't go so far as to bantu knots. Never.
And I hop you will be pleased to know one of my characters does in fact have angel wings tattooed on her back. For authenticity, of course.
For those who forgot, I'm a music nerd, loving everything from sodapop rock to old school country, classical jazz to that good soul music, bubblegum pop to boy bands, metal to punk, and right back around to rap and hip-hop. Everything and all. I've yet to find a genre I truly dislike, though I have to say, I'm not a huge hardcore/metalcore/black metal fan.
Now, for those who don't know, Songza is a live streaming website that has a plethora of playlists for all sorts of occasions, including mooning over a sparkly vampire and long sorrowful road trips. After much shuffling and listening, I've come up with five playlists for five moods I find myself in all the time. And here we go:
The Hey, Baby, Sing Me To Sleep Mood
This is when you're so tired, like every last inch of your godforsaken body has surrendered to the battle of life. You are shutting down. The mere thought of getting up to brush your teeth is too much to handle and the idea of going out makes you want to weep into the plushness of your pillow. The only remedy for this sort of weariness is sleep, deep, peaceful, slightly sad sleep, and you can get there by indulging in Mr. Sandman. This beautiful compilation will send you into slumber with the soft gentle coos of the most popular hits and artists from the 50's and 60's. Melancholic and reassuring, this is one of the most comforting mixes I have ever indulged in.
Promise me you will never listen to this playlist when you're at work.
Remember When
Anyone born around the same time as me will understand the importance of a fabulous mixed tape. We used to record songs off the radio on tape cassettes and listen to them on repeat for weeks. Sure, a lot of us don't want to admit that we loved the pop we grew up with. Not now. Not when people are so quick to turn their nose up to the Backstreet Boys and Rhianna, but it doesn't matter. We all want something to shake are butts to. We all want our guilty pleasures in one epic playlist. Well, lucky for us, it's on Songza and it's calledGet Pumped: Pop Anthems. These are the songs from those tapes we made on our bedroom floors. These are the songs that will take you back to the days of slouch socks and snap bracelets. These are the songs you'll sing at the top of your lungs as you're cleaning your house and slip into the waters of nostalgia.
Feeling Eclectic
Good music is all about the past. The past past. Back in your parents' days. When Bowie rocked the air waves and Fleetwood Mac wasn't considered 'classic rock' but simply ROCK. Bands these day emulate those we cherish from our youth, and our parents' youth. You might have heard these as your mother made dinner or sitting in the back of your Daddy's Toyota Tercel. When all you want is a foot-stomping, hand-clapping good time put on Hang Out Rock and prepare to bob your head and remember the days when you thought summer would last forever and all you wanted was to kiss the stars.
Jump Out Of Bed
Some days we need a boost, a pick me up, someone to drag us out of bed and dance us around our living room. A great playlist can be the difference from a meh morning to a magnificent one. Wake Up Smiling will do exactly what it sounds. Sit up.Shake your booty. Shower. And face the day head on. You can do it. You can tackle this. Might as well get in touch with your soul roots while you're at it. Disco out your door. Drum on the wheel. Let the wind whip your hair. Because some days, you need that extra push to get the day underway.
The Rain Is Tapping On My Window
You want moody. You want gloom. You want songs to stroke your disenchantment. Well, you've found it in the stellar list called Brooding Over Biters With Rick Grimes. On any given rainy night, when the storm of melancholy is brewing, you will come here, to this playlist and you will celebrate the fact someone took the time to put together this ruminative mix. I can't sing the praise of this one enough. It soothes my sad, sad soul.
4. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Opium Tea - Well, I'm a prisoner here, yes, but I'm also free. Cause I am what I am and what will be will be. Some opium tea might be nice, actually.
No less than an hour ago I was in the worst funk. It came out of nowhere, side swept me and left me with a tiny storm cloud over my head. Instead of writing an angst filled post here, I decided to put my laptop away and work on the candy puzzle I picked up from Too Good To Be Threw, a local thrift shop. Anyhow, I started singing 'Pretty Fly For A White Guy', that abhorrent song by The Offspring. I am not too sure why it popped into my head, but when I stopped after the 'he's getting a tattoo, yeah, he's getting ink done, he asked for a thirteen, but they drew thirty-one' verse, I asked, "Why I am I singing this?"
The Sidekick said, "I have no idea." It was clear by the tone of his voice he felt the same way I did. Then we started discussing how The Offspring's music went downhill as time went by. We both distinctly remember Smash being one of those front to backers. You know, an album you could listen to without skipping a song. Then we started talking about other albums and bands from our pasts.
As you can see, I've always been a bit of a varied girl. They are all linked because YouTube has all the full length albums up there, for anyone to listen too, if you want. Truth is, there were tons of amazing albums from my youth that I really got into later on in life as my music nerdiness truly developed. I am grateful I remember these. And also, that I can still sing them word for word. I now know what my brain cells are being used for.
What about you? What are some nostalgic albums from your youth?
You don't exist any more. At least that's what the internet wants me to believe. Funny how you can delete and remove and erase, but nothing is ever truly gone. The intersnacks is a fickle creature. As is the heart. Even after we delete ourselves, we still exist. In each other. In the world. In cache.
You exist in me. As long as I exist, so do you. Take that! There's a smug reality to that, isn't there? In my past life, I would have been sad when someone disappeared, or tried to disappear, but there simply is no room for goodbyes in my life. They don't exist. It's funny how the heart knows, but the brain still tries.
Motherboard meltdown. Cerebral silliness. Malfunction in the mainframe.
Before I was a sarcastic teenager, before I was a bitter twenty-something-year old, before the mess of over thinking and under feeling began, before I was a mass of raw nerves and doubt, before I was a lost kid wanting nothing but the approval of my parents, I was a music nerd.
When you disappeared, a song came to mind. Perhaps the song isn't important. Maybe it is. But the lyrics reminded me of you. Past you. Present you. Future you. Past me. Present me. Future me.
Ghosts that we knew. That's the song.
The thing about music, we can all find something different in it. We can find ourselves and other people. And we can love or hate it for different reasons.
My obsession started long before I got Snoop Doggy Dogg's Doggystyle album. Long before I fell in love with the Lady & the Tramp song that Peggy Lee sung. In truth, it started with my mother's voice. She used to sing a lot. Maybe she still does, I must ask her.
My father sang too.
And I remember the soundtrack to Good Morning Vietnam. Sitting in the back of his Toyota Tercel, I remember reciting that soundtrack word for word. My father couldn't believe I memorized it all, dialogue from the movie as well. I have always been very good at remembering things.
Even now. I remember well.
That's a funny thing to say.
My ex once told me that I have revisionist history. He said while other people remember the good things from the past and paint over the bad, I work in reverse. That was then, though. I highly doubt he'd say that about me now. In fact, I sometimes wonder if he recognizes me as the person he dated at all. Or my ex-ex, for that matter, the ex before this last ex. What the hell does he think about me?
Only good things, I'm sure. (Can you hear my wry smirk? I am wearing one, you know.)
They both have songs. Different songs. Unusual songs. Songs they might be surprised that are theirs. But exs deserve songs because they got to experience so many of your moments and emotions. Sometimes they stay your friends, so they have more than one song. Sometimes they have a hundred songs.
For being this young, my history is quite long. Not as messy as some may assume, yet far messier than most think. And the truth is, I have always felt older than I am. Like when I was fourteen and listening to golden oldies in my basement and wishing with all my heart that I existed with poodle skirts and drive-ins. I wanted to be a teenager in the fifties or sixties. My love for the cars, music and clothes drove me to want to go back in time, a la Marty McFly, because I thought I belonged there.
Of course, I didn't belong there. Just as I don't belong here. I was far too mouthy to exist happily in a word where I would always be second. Granted, I am far too mouth for this place as well.
There have been so many stages in my life and it isn't even half over. (Actually, I can't possibly know that, but if we go based off the average life span of a woman, then I have more than half to go.)
Through all these stages, I remember the music.
These moments of my life have always been so clearly defined by song. Each and every person in and out of my life, the ones who have come and gone or come and stayed have a song. They might not understand their song. They might not like their song. They might not even care to know they have a song. It doesn't change the fact that they do in fact have one. Hand selected. By moi.
You have a song. Yes, you - the person reading this. Well, at least you do if we have exchanged a fleeting moment in history. Hell, even if we haven't, you have a song. Just one to be determined, which it will be when our paths cross. You will know your song when you ask. Until then, assume it is something by Matt & Kim and dance around your living room in your underwear for a change. Have some fun. We all need fun as we walk our path. Without fun, what's the point?
Dourness no more!
I find it incredibly interesting how paths cross. The other day, I was thinking about exactly this, about how and why paths cross. Sometimes it takes years to figure it out. Months. Days. If you're lucky - hours. And some paths uncross, only to cross again down the line. Maybe in another lifetime. Maybe on a different plane of existence. I always try to learn from the people I encounter. Even if we are only crossing into each others lives for a second or two. I try to be observant.
But when I look around, people look so distracted. Preoccupied. They certainly don't notice me. Not most of them. Because they are in their lives. Participating in their own worlds. The starring role in a movie I have never seen and might possibly never seen.
Examples are always a must.
The other day, I watched a woman at a red light smoking. She was sitting in her blue Passat with a cigarette between her fingers and a furrow between her brow. Technically our paths crossed. Because I noticed her. Isn't that all it takes for two paths to come together for a moment, acknowledgement? She didn't notice me, though. Not that I know of. She simply stared straight ahead. Her eyes fixated on the set of lights, waiting for it to change to green, waiting to go, to get her day under way. Mine was already in full swing. But we both sat there at that light, her looking so sad and preoccupied, and me watching like a creep. I like to imagine I wore a mask of concern with a gentle smile and a subtle non-bragging peace in my eyes. Of course, it was a Wednesday, so I was actually looking a little bedraggled because it was early in the morning and I'm sure I looked a mess. For some reason, I was tempted to honk my horn and wave at her, but then she flicked her cigarette onto the ground and sped away.
She didn't look left or right to make sure the way was clear, which probably seems so insignificant. But it isn't. Not really.
She kept looking straight forward. Concentrating on herself. And probably her discontentment. We like to look straight ahead. Pretend there isn't people all around us. Because we are what is important. Our little lives. Our little insignificant lives. Our little, fleeting, insignificant lives that we are so preoccupied with. So fixated on ourselves.
It's funny how your path can cross with someone you don't even know it crossed with. It happens all the time. And I think about that, you know. I think about that a lot. Not about how I have affected the people who I love and who have loved me, or who love me, but also the ones who don't know me. The ones who take a glimpse at my silly vlogs, who stumble across a random picture, or blog, or story, or comment. I think about all the paths that I have crossed unknowingly, and I wonder what sort of impression I left behind.
This random woman in her car smoking left an impression on me. She taught me to always look left and right. And not just when driving. But when walking. When in line at the grocery store. Stepping out of the house. Walking the dog.
There is something beautiful about being aware.
Making eye contact. Smiling. Acknowledging that there are people around you every minute of every day, even if you are agoraphobic and can't leave your house. Someone is close by. Unless you're that man who lived on his own personal island with his gigantic turtles. In that case, something was close by. Turtles. And it is important to recognize that as well. Not just turtles, but other creatures. And trees too.
And that woman smoking in her car has a song. The turtles have a song. You have a song. I have a song.
The world has a song.
There are so many songs for the world, though. But this one kind of has always been the main theme song, hasn't it? And with the music stripped out of it and the bare bones vocals left behind, it becomes haunting. It reminded me of you. Of me. Of us. Collectively.
The world.
But what I'm simply trying to say is, I'm just a music nerd. No more. No less.
