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Monday, 02 November 2009

  • I met a girl today through two police officers who looked like a Tom Waits song. Unfortunately, we didn't meet on good terms, she left the situation in tears, and I was left walking at 4 a.m. across a cold, empty, gloomy college campus, afraid that everything I hoped I would achieve by calling the police would be shattered, even the intentions.

    I called the police after hearing a man screaming, a girl crying, and violent banging. I hoped maybe I was hearing a story being re-enacted. There's lots of other explanations for this, right? The thing is, I heard the guy hit something, and then I heard the girl plead, sobbing, for him to stop. I called the police because I didn't want to have to call an ambulance.

    This girl I met, I can't seem to remember her name, but I don't think I'll ever forget the way she looked. She opened the door with a look of angry defiance, the type of thing that probably would have pissed me off if everything else with her hadn't been going on already. See, she had this look on her face like she might not have been the one who got hit, but life had been dealing her some pretty nasty abuse already. I tried to be partial about the whole situation. I heard screaming, I heard potential violence, who are you to be hostile towards the police?

    It was all really pretty scary. This is coming off as very hodgepodge, and I apologize for that, but the whole thing was just very sad, scary and upsetting. I guess the point is, if you ever suspect anything like this, Please Fucking Say Something. If you're not sure how to do it, talk to someone you trust, or visit http://www.theredflagcampaign.org. Trust me. It will always be better to piss someone off for invading than to let such deplorable behavior continue.

Thursday, 29 October 2009

  • Holy Shit, I'm Back.

    We met on the train, although neither of us ever mentioned where we were headed. I was reading, although to this day, I can't remember what it was. Knowing me, I probably was paging through a Klosterman book acting like it was fucking Camus. You sat down quickly, exhaling in a way that spoke of long nights, hard days and a possible nicotine addiction.

    It was one of those sighs that doesn't really speak of ghosts, or some awful distress, but instead, one of those weeks where you're too busy to really know how to function. We didn't sit next to each other, but we were close enough that when you looked up and our eyes met, I knew I'd be crazy not to return those soft, chestnut-brown eyes with at least minor conversation.

    "Long day?" I asked, and you responded with a wry chuckle that was just as much an acknowledgment as it was a non-verbal way of saying "well, it hasn't been that bad."

    It was always my favorite time of day to be on the Metro, that perfect spring day giving way to eventual darkness, but right now, the reds, oranges and yellows of sunset hung like a Monet over the Wilson Bridge. As we talked, you mentioned internships, too many credits and an ex-boyfriend, but I have to be honest, all I really noticed was the way your words didn't just come one after another, but really seemed to flow. You had asked me a question, and it was at that point that I guess I probably blew my cover. I was paying attention, but listening around the words instead of to them. The question, once I finally got it repeated, was simple: "what brings you here?"

    The answer wasn't simple, and it was tough to really talk about it. I opened up, I was honest, two things that probably shouldn't have happened on a first conversation, but I think it was pretty clear that I had a lot on my mind. "I knew...know...I had a friend at Tech. Three years later, I guess I finally have it in me to say goodbye."

    Voices and intentions trail off, you glanced quickly out the window, and when our eyes finally met again, you said "me too." I remember at that moment, really wanting a cigarette, a beer, or possibly both. At that moment, something in our eyes told each of us "it's okay. you can trust this one." I told you that her name was Leslie, and while I never got to know her the way I should have, she always went out of her way to be everyone's friend, even if just for an hour or so. She was always able to do the one thing that terrified me the most, which was talk, to anyone, about anything. Fighting tears, I explained that was the reason I was mad that I didn't have more to say, that I felt like my goodbye was cheap, forced. I told you about the girl I saw walking towards her grave as I left, and knowing that other people came to say goodbye (hello?) was enough. I explained how the night before had been rough, and I was listening to old Tom Waits records just to know that there was someone in the world more upset than I was.

    I told you how from Arlington, I had gone further into the city, just to walk around, and you cut me off, saying that you'd spent the entire morning running, because you knew that if you just focused on the miles (1...3...5...) instead of the phone calls you got that night, you wouldn't have to think about them. You mentioned how once you got home and caught your breath, stripping off the shorts and sports bra and getting into the shower, you lost it just as hard as you did on 4/17. It wasn't fair, and you figured you were probably going to be this upset for a while.

    We talked for a while, and you had a lot to say. I remember just listening, having a lot to wonder about, and even more to ask, but knowing this wasn't the time. We both got off the train at Franconia, you went your way, and I went mine. But I remember, vividly, you stopping me before our paths diverged, grabbing my hand and saying "hey. do that more. talk, to everyone. you never know who needs a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen."

    I guess all of this is my way of saying thanks, Carrie. I should have said it then, and maybe I should have offered to get coffee. But for some reason, everything seemed more logical with the goodbye occurring when it did. I hope you're happy, and I hope you're still chasing life the way you were back then. I hope we all are. Just remember, talk. To everyone.

Thursday, 19 February 2009

Wednesday, 04 February 2009

  • There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey. You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet.

    Much like the song that the above title accompanies, this blog entry has nothing to do with it. I just really like that title. And Panic At The Disco. But that's where the similarities end. Clearly, I'm a little punchy. It's been a long day and cleverness is at a minimum.

    However, I realize I've flaked heavily on following you guys up on my nineties music posts that I promised. So here you go. A new batch of 90s song that you need to know, and need to know now.

    90s Rawk: The Speaker-Blast EP.

    1. Nine Inch Nails - "Wish"
    Put my faith in God, my trust in you
    Now there's nothing more fucked up
    I can do.

    This song was fucking MADE for it's generation. Anyone who remembers Nine Inch Nails back when Trent still used guitars remembers a band that was heavy, loud, angry, dangerous and more terrifying than anything Marilyn Manson could have ever put out. (Writer's Note: that being said, Manson has an entry. Read on.) Trent Reznor made the world realize that Gen-X wasn't just disaffected and bored, they were really, REALLY angry as well. Broken was only 8 tracks long, but it was the album that defined what happens when you send your kid to his room and forget about them.

    2. Marilyn Manson - "1996"
    Anti-choice, anti-girl
    I am the anti-flag unfurled
    Anti-white, anti-man
    I've got the anti-future plan

    There was a time when Manson didn't suck. I promise, those years existed. 1993-1998 were great years for industrial metal, and great years for Mr. Manson. Anyone who doesn't own Portrait of an American Family or Antichrist Superstar needs to splurge immediately on both and have your minds blown. Loud, brash, arrogant, violent, offensive, crass, abrasive and highly conceptual. Essential.

    3. Smashing Pumpkins - "Tales Of A Scorched Earth"
     
    Inside the future of a shattered past, I lie just to be real, and I'd die just to feel

    This may end up being the defining album of the 90s, due to the fact that there are honestly about five different types of rock on the whole thing. From the piano-and-violin opener of the opening title track, to this song, which is sheer death metal at it's finest, Billy Corgan shoved a generation into 2 discs of Pure. Fucking. Rock. This song is the first one that actually ever SCARED me, and that was before I even knew what made music so affecting. If I had been a parent in the mid-90s and I had seen the videos for Zero and Bullet With Butterfly Wings, I might not have let my kids watch MTV either.

    4. Tori Amos - "Precious Things"

    I wanna smash the faces of those beautiful boys, Those christian boys, so you can make me cum. Oh, it doesn't make you Jesus.

     

    Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit.

    While as a COMPLETE album, I think Little Earthquakes is a bit shaky, the first 5 tracks are perfect. Without Little Earthquakes, Jagged Little Pill could not have happened. Ever. EVER. This song in particular takes the attitude of Jagged Little Pill, tears it in half, and asks it to try harder next time. As a piano album, that is obviously the instrument pushed to the forefront, but the guitar comes in exactly where it needs to, with dissonance abounding. Also essential.


    That's it for now. I realize it's lacking, but I need to get to posting again, and I'm hoping this will help open the floodgates. Do yourself a favor and buy these albums.

Monday, 19 January 2009

  • Revenge: A Dish Best Served Online.

    I wasn't sure how to title this post, and I'm not entirely sure how to preface it either, except to say that whoever thought of this is the most brilliant and vengeful man alive.

    Turns out this cat got wronged by his girl, who, for whatever reason, was stupid/naive enough to pose for what I can only assume are a series of increasingly more suggestive photos. You spread the link, each click on the link opens a new photo. Sucks to be cheating girl. Now, my thoughts on this are thus:

    1. The internet is a home for information, misinformation, and open-forum opining. As such, this site has every right and reason to be online. Dude got screwed, so dude's fighting back.
    2. In Man Law, generally, if you're going to pose for such photos, especially with a digital camera, expect them to get posted somewhere. It's Man Law.
    3. Don't Cheat.
    Girls, if this strikes you as horribly anti-feminist...you're right. But the thing is this. Either these are planned, posed, published photos of a girl who signed a waiver and the story is a hoax, or these are photos taken by a dude who had (in my mind, at least) the worst possible offense thrown at him: infidelity. You are generally allowed to hit back harder in that situation as far as I'm concerned and that's all dude is doing.

    I'm not going to post photos, but I believe this dude has every right to have his story told. So if you wanna follow the link, it's as follows. Join the fun.

    http://ihatekaty.com/?id=253215#6dzz5z54fsdq7ez78z8d

Chicagochild87

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  • I laugh. Often too hard, often at the wrong time, but always heartily. I care, and the above conditions are also true here. I learn, and never enough each day. Teach me. I'll show you a thing or two in return.

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