As I walk down the street, I'm frustrated and angry and upset and generally in a bad mood. Things are pretty shitty so I'm walking it out, storming down the street. My muscles are tensed up; if you'd said anything to me, I would've walked right by. I was NOT a happy camper.
Then I heard whistling. It wasn't a particularly nice day out, and Hall & Oates wasn't playing over loudspeakers somewhere, so I assumed that people wouldn't automatically be happy and smiling and whistling. But someone was. Who was happily whistling?! I needed to know who and why.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Study Lounge Mayhem
As I sit in a lounge area of the student center, I notice several types of students. The studious ones, the socialites, the lovebirds, the slackers, the obnoxious, and the "I'll take what I can get"s.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
It's Clapton, BITCH
A little while ago, I had the fortunate pleasure of seeing Jeff Beck and Eric Clapton in concert. To say the least, it was an experience. Such pioneers in the music scene live and right there in my face was just incredible. The show did lack some iconic songs, such as "Layla," but was nonetheless a fabulous show and performance. I by no means left the Garden with a lack of musical satisfaction and elation.
But the musical euphoria was interrupted on my way out by a woman who I can only nickname as Clapton BITCH. This may seem harsh and callous, but she was a bitch. She was a perfectly stereotypical ditz. Fake blonde hair, fake boobs, obviously fake Coach purse, corn-chip nail tips (not really, but hideously fake), heels so high and uncomfortable she had that very noticeable I-have-to-lean-forward-to-attempt-to-walk-because-if-I-don't-I-know-I-won't-make-it-anywhere waddle, etc. And the man she was with was this big, rugged, tough looking guy who just kept a completely blank face the whole time she was bitching at him.
And she would NOT stop BITCHING at this poor man! He clearly dished out a LOT of money for probably the biggest show in all of Manhattan that night, and she was standing there, endlessly complaining about it! Talk about ungrateful. She kept insisting Clapton should have played more acoustic songs. He opened with about five or six consecutive ones. She bitched that he didn't play "Layla." Okay, well he has SO MANY hits, he's bound to not play ONE of them. She proceeded to say Clapton played "too much of that new shit." Well, lady, he is touring NOW and not THEN. "Jeff Beck shouldn't have stayed on as long as he did. And there was NO reason for him to come out again at the end and stay for so many songs!!" Ma'am, he was the opening act and played an appropriate number of songs as such. He came out at the end to play with Clapton because they got their starts with each other. Without each other, without the Yardbirds, neither of them would be where they are now. And the best part, she left off with this gem:
"Next time, we should go see 'WICKED!!'"
Complete with jazz hands and all.
I wanted to scream. Okay, yes, I have seen 'Wicked;' yes, it was a good show. But not crazy great, as many critics had led me to believe it would've been. I can appreciate Broadway very much--I have substantial experience in acting and I can absolutely cherish all the work and dedication every individual show takes. ...but does a popular Broadway show about teenage acceptance and fairy tales and love and cheesy shit really outrank Eric Clapton?? Seriously? Come on, lady.
Where have our values gone? We don't cherish the pioneers, the raw talent that created so many followers and grew so many branches of variations, the very men who shaped so much of music that today would not be the same had they not done what they did. Instead, we cherish make-up, fancy dresses, and splendor. So I guess this post is turning into a "oh, the superficiality of it all!" one. In all seriousness, this woman exemplified superficiality to me. From her appearance to her tastes, all of which she showed me in a matter of seconds, this woman was trash to me.
Call me a bitch for being so judgmental of her, but honestly. When someone conforms THAT much to societies pressures and stereotypes, something HAS to be wrong. Be it a lack of confidence, a personal image issue, a superiority complex, whatever, no one is naturally like this. No one naturally thinks those huge fake nails actually look good. No one thinks their platinum blonde hair looks real, especially when their roots are showing a deep brown. No one thinks that a Coach bag with only backward "C"'s looks authentic. No one can say and believe that an Eric Clapton concert was a waste of time and money. She is the epitome of conformation. She believes "all you need are looks and a whole lot of money." She thinks that bigger boobs are better, blonde is prettier, those shoes flatter her, the purse makes her look fancy, and loud-mouthing her bashing opinions of Clapton to all the people herding out of the arena will make her stand out and be intellectual and different and smart and superior. Wrong. SO WRONG! You look fake, handicapped, stupid, and just plain pathetic.
So, I suppose the motivational, activist message of this all is to just stop. Stop valuing lame shit that everyone else says you should value because it's popular right now, at this moment. Stop glorifying the sparkling, glittered, beautified stuff and glorify the ground-breakers, the innovators, the milestones. Stop conforming to societal pressures regarding your physical appearance and if you truly want to change yourself, do it in a way that YOU WANT and that will compliment you, not the way that you see on TV. Stop dissing men who may very well be past their prime but are still extremely capable and still ridiculously talented and still deserve nothing less than respect for their incredible accomplishments. Dig in, get down and dirty, and value the roots of today's foliage.
I apologize for this post being more emotionally driven and less artistic and well-written. A bit of a rant, yes. A bit of a commentary on modern society, yes. A denunciation of superficiality, yes. A judgment call, yes. A statement on musical legitimacy, yeah. But was it my honest opinions? Absolutely. This is my blatant, blunt truth. While "everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound," "it's still rock n' roll to me."
Clapton, you had a brilliant show.
The A.S.S.
Disclaimer: As is the case with everyone, my judgments are not always accurate, and I am not claiming them to be. At that very same concert, a bassist came out to play with Jeff Beck. She was this gross looking lady with 80's hair, a leather sleeveless top, TIGHT pants, and KILLER heels. My first reaction (before I saw those BALLER heels) was "dyke," no joke. Yes, offensive, but I'm sure many people would've thought the same. Then she started playing. And she fucking ROCKED that whole arena. She was amazing! One of the best bassists I've ever seen! She absolutely blew me away. Her name is Rhonda Smith, for the record, and she's boss.
But the musical euphoria was interrupted on my way out by a woman who I can only nickname as Clapton BITCH. This may seem harsh and callous, but she was a bitch. She was a perfectly stereotypical ditz. Fake blonde hair, fake boobs, obviously fake Coach purse, corn-chip nail tips (not really, but hideously fake), heels so high and uncomfortable she had that very noticeable I-have-to-lean-forward-to-attempt-to-walk-because-if-I-don't-I-know-I-won't-make-it-anywhere waddle, etc. And the man she was with was this big, rugged, tough looking guy who just kept a completely blank face the whole time she was bitching at him.
And she would NOT stop BITCHING at this poor man! He clearly dished out a LOT of money for probably the biggest show in all of Manhattan that night, and she was standing there, endlessly complaining about it! Talk about ungrateful. She kept insisting Clapton should have played more acoustic songs. He opened with about five or six consecutive ones. She bitched that he didn't play "Layla." Okay, well he has SO MANY hits, he's bound to not play ONE of them. She proceeded to say Clapton played "too much of that new shit." Well, lady, he is touring NOW and not THEN. "Jeff Beck shouldn't have stayed on as long as he did. And there was NO reason for him to come out again at the end and stay for so many songs!!" Ma'am, he was the opening act and played an appropriate number of songs as such. He came out at the end to play with Clapton because they got their starts with each other. Without each other, without the Yardbirds, neither of them would be where they are now. And the best part, she left off with this gem:
"Next time, we should go see 'WICKED!!'"
Complete with jazz hands and all.
I wanted to scream. Okay, yes, I have seen 'Wicked;' yes, it was a good show. But not crazy great, as many critics had led me to believe it would've been. I can appreciate Broadway very much--I have substantial experience in acting and I can absolutely cherish all the work and dedication every individual show takes. ...but does a popular Broadway show about teenage acceptance and fairy tales and love and cheesy shit really outrank Eric Clapton?? Seriously? Come on, lady.
Where have our values gone? We don't cherish the pioneers, the raw talent that created so many followers and grew so many branches of variations, the very men who shaped so much of music that today would not be the same had they not done what they did. Instead, we cherish make-up, fancy dresses, and splendor. So I guess this post is turning into a "oh, the superficiality of it all!" one. In all seriousness, this woman exemplified superficiality to me. From her appearance to her tastes, all of which she showed me in a matter of seconds, this woman was trash to me.
Call me a bitch for being so judgmental of her, but honestly. When someone conforms THAT much to societies pressures and stereotypes, something HAS to be wrong. Be it a lack of confidence, a personal image issue, a superiority complex, whatever, no one is naturally like this. No one naturally thinks those huge fake nails actually look good. No one thinks their platinum blonde hair looks real, especially when their roots are showing a deep brown. No one thinks that a Coach bag with only backward "C"'s looks authentic. No one can say and believe that an Eric Clapton concert was a waste of time and money. She is the epitome of conformation. She believes "all you need are looks and a whole lot of money." She thinks that bigger boobs are better, blonde is prettier, those shoes flatter her, the purse makes her look fancy, and loud-mouthing her bashing opinions of Clapton to all the people herding out of the arena will make her stand out and be intellectual and different and smart and superior. Wrong. SO WRONG! You look fake, handicapped, stupid, and just plain pathetic.
So, I suppose the motivational, activist message of this all is to just stop. Stop valuing lame shit that everyone else says you should value because it's popular right now, at this moment. Stop glorifying the sparkling, glittered, beautified stuff and glorify the ground-breakers, the innovators, the milestones. Stop conforming to societal pressures regarding your physical appearance and if you truly want to change yourself, do it in a way that YOU WANT and that will compliment you, not the way that you see on TV. Stop dissing men who may very well be past their prime but are still extremely capable and still ridiculously talented and still deserve nothing less than respect for their incredible accomplishments. Dig in, get down and dirty, and value the roots of today's foliage.
I apologize for this post being more emotionally driven and less artistic and well-written. A bit of a rant, yes. A bit of a commentary on modern society, yes. A denunciation of superficiality, yes. A judgment call, yes. A statement on musical legitimacy, yeah. But was it my honest opinions? Absolutely. This is my blatant, blunt truth. While "everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound," "it's still rock n' roll to me."
Clapton, you had a brilliant show.
The A.S.S.
Disclaimer: As is the case with everyone, my judgments are not always accurate, and I am not claiming them to be. At that very same concert, a bassist came out to play with Jeff Beck. She was this gross looking lady with 80's hair, a leather sleeveless top, TIGHT pants, and KILLER heels. My first reaction (before I saw those BALLER heels) was "dyke," no joke. Yes, offensive, but I'm sure many people would've thought the same. Then she started playing. And she fucking ROCKED that whole arena. She was amazing! One of the best bassists I've ever seen! She absolutely blew me away. Her name is Rhonda Smith, for the record, and she's boss.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Good Wine, Great Friends, and a Kitchen Table
I've been gone for awhile, I'm sorry. A LOT of stuff came up out of nowhere, basically, and my life got flipped upside down for a few weeks there. I am now coming out of my spring break and hopefully, things will get back to normal. But t
hat's why I've been hiatus. Shit hit the fan; I didn't take it too well. Maybe I'll write about that stuff at some point in the future, but no guarantees.
Let's get back to business, shall we?
So, my mother decided to host a birthday party for her friend. Although her crowd's idea of a birthday party has included strippers in the past, the approach tonight was more subtle. Just a quiet night in with a few friends from the neighborhood, home cooked foods, a cake, and a lot of wine. No men, just the ladies. Since I'm home for break, my mother invited me to take part, apparently feeling guilty to not be spending time with me. Despite the caddy drama that ensued after the hanger-on decided to bring her 6-year-old child along with her, the evening was very lovely. Lots of laughter, good food, good conversation, stories and jokes were flying. Once the cake came out, the birthday girl raised her glass and made a toast so moving, it brought tears to my eyes.
Her back-story, she is finally conquering breast cancer. After fighting it for years, she is clear and about to have her port removed. She is turning 51 this year, but due to the cancer, she did not want to celebrate her 50th last year. So not only was this party a "Yay, you're 50 (belated)" party, but a "You beat cancer and we couldn't be happier" party.
Obviously, I don't remember the speech verbatim, but I'll do my best to put it back in her words.
Her speech was beautiful, impromptu, and so genuine that of course I felt it and believed it. And everyone has those few close friends they can go to for anything. But her speech got me thinking--who would these people be in my case? Do I even have these friends? Do I have anyone who truly cares about me the way this room cares for this woman? And honestly, I'm not entirely sure that I do.
When I thought about it, I can only think of two friends who would come if I called, but that's about it. Maybe three, but I'm not sure. I'm so used to being the third wheel in groups, being the one that doesn't really make a difference, that I guess I stopped trying and stopped caring. I've realized through the past few years that my groups of friends never really cared about me. If they made plans, I was never personally invited. I'd only be invited if I contacted the host myself or if one random person happened to remember me. Generally though, I had to ask to be included in anything. I was never missed. My absence was not an issue, my presence was not a pleasure--I was just a whatever. And this trend has continued into college. I thought for sure things would change once I moved away from home and was immersed in a new environment, but things are the exact same. While Malibu and Ritz go NUTS for each other and freak out when they're separated, they could care less whether I'm with them or away from them. My roommate never comes into our room to just sit and chill and talk, but always goes to Ritz's, where Malibu will always be too. They sit there for hours and I just wait to see if maybe they call for me or anything. And they just never do. There are a million examples I could share, but I don't want to dive into too much detail.
Have I not made an impact on the lives of my friends? Am I just not an interesting, fun enough person? What is it that I'm doing wrong that makes people completely apathetic towards me? I don't know. I don't know why my social life is the way it is and the way it has been for years. I don't know who would be sitting at the table with me forty years from now drinking wine and toasting my cancer survival. Perhaps I'm not meant to know yet and that'll all come with time and settling down somewhere.
It just makes me nervous to see the people around me all so deeply tied into relationships. I am the only single person left in my entire family. Many of my friends are dating and if not, they have that solid, core group of friends. I don't have either. Yes, I have my family, but I can't rely on them for everything. I need to break away and become my own person. It makes me incredibly nervous that I'm truly doing something horribly wrong. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier for the ones in my life that have that security and those relationships. And I hope that my friends view me as one of those people, as someone they would sit at their tables and drink away with because I most certainly would go to the end of the earth and beyond for them if they ever called. I just hope that--when my time comes--I'll have a bottle of red, a bottle of white, and those amazing friends filling my kitchen table.
hat's why I've been hiatus. Shit hit the fan; I didn't take it too well. Maybe I'll write about that stuff at some point in the future, but no guarantees.
Let's get back to business, shall we?
So, my mother decided to host a birthday party for her friend. Although her crowd's idea of a birthday party has included strippers in the past, the approach tonight was more subtle. Just a quiet night in with a few friends from the neighborhood, home cooked foods, a cake, and a lot of wine. No men, just the ladies. Since I'm home for break, my mother invited me to take part, apparently feeling guilty to not be spending time with me. Despite the caddy drama that ensued after the hanger-on decided to bring her 6-year-old child along with her, the evening was very lovely. Lots of laughter, good food, good conversation, stories and jokes were flying. Once the cake came out, the birthday girl raised her glass and made a toast so moving, it brought tears to my eyes.
Her back-story, she is finally conquering breast cancer. After fighting it for years, she is clear and about to have her port removed. She is turning 51 this year, but due to the cancer, she did not want to celebrate her 50th last year. So not only was this party a "Yay, you're 50 (belated)" party, but a "You beat cancer and we couldn't be happier" party.
Obviously, I don't remember the speech verbatim, but I'll do my best to put it back in her words.
"I just want to thank you all so much for this evening. After my whole ordeal, I've learned just how incredibly lucky I am. I've re-evaluated so much in my life and have realized that there is very little that is genuinely important to me. Besides my family, of course, the only other thing that truly matters is my friends. You girls. I can't say I would have made it without you all. I cannot stress enough how much you all mean to me and how much of a difference a few good friends can make in someone's life. So thank you all, thank you, thank you endlessly. For this party, for being there for me, for supporting me through this all, for just being my friends. I love you all, truly."Everyone around the table nodded in agreement and I knew the sentiment was mutual.
Her speech was beautiful, impromptu, and so genuine that of course I felt it and believed it. And everyone has those few close friends they can go to for anything. But her speech got me thinking--who would these people be in my case? Do I even have these friends? Do I have anyone who truly cares about me the way this room cares for this woman? And honestly, I'm not entirely sure that I do.
When I thought about it, I can only think of two friends who would come if I called, but that's about it. Maybe three, but I'm not sure. I'm so used to being the third wheel in groups, being the one that doesn't really make a difference, that I guess I stopped trying and stopped caring. I've realized through the past few years that my groups of friends never really cared about me. If they made plans, I was never personally invited. I'd only be invited if I contacted the host myself or if one random person happened to remember me. Generally though, I had to ask to be included in anything. I was never missed. My absence was not an issue, my presence was not a pleasure--I was just a whatever. And this trend has continued into college. I thought for sure things would change once I moved away from home and was immersed in a new environment, but things are the exact same. While Malibu and Ritz go NUTS for each other and freak out when they're separated, they could care less whether I'm with them or away from them. My roommate never comes into our room to just sit and chill and talk, but always goes to Ritz's, where Malibu will always be too. They sit there for hours and I just wait to see if maybe they call for me or anything. And they just never do. There are a million examples I could share, but I don't want to dive into too much detail.
Have I not made an impact on the lives of my friends? Am I just not an interesting, fun enough person? What is it that I'm doing wrong that makes people completely apathetic towards me? I don't know. I don't know why my social life is the way it is and the way it has been for years. I don't know who would be sitting at the table with me forty years from now drinking wine and toasting my cancer survival. Perhaps I'm not meant to know yet and that'll all come with time and settling down somewhere.
It just makes me nervous to see the people around me all so deeply tied into relationships. I am the only single person left in my entire family. Many of my friends are dating and if not, they have that solid, core group of friends. I don't have either. Yes, I have my family, but I can't rely on them for everything. I need to break away and become my own person. It makes me incredibly nervous that I'm truly doing something horribly wrong. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier for the ones in my life that have that security and those relationships. And I hope that my friends view me as one of those people, as someone they would sit at their tables and drink away with because I most certainly would go to the end of the earth and beyond for them if they ever called. I just hope that--when my time comes--I'll have a bottle of red, a bottle of white, and those amazing friends filling my kitchen table.
I'll come when you call,
The A.S.S.
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