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Meredith Brooks is a fine performing artist. She puts on a decent concert. She was in a band in the 80’s, which lends plenty of credibility to someone the next time they are proclaimed a 1 hit wonder. She plays all of her own guitar, which was a major selling point for her. Meredith went so far as to criticize female artists like Patti Rothberg who played all the guitars on their albums but didn’t often appear in promo material with guitar in hand. That’s not to say Meredith’s album is all amazing guitar technique, but it is solid and it belongs to her. Or, at least it partially belongs to her. Meredith co-wrote every song on the album (ah, try to critcize Patti now, “Bitch”), which always leaves me wondering how much of a musical or lyrical talent an artist is. I never bought the second Meredith Brooks album, nor did i ever hear a song from it. I think Blurring the Edges was the perfect halfway point between Alanis (edge and angst) and Nina Gordon (fun and gut). I don’t know if that will ever matter, but it’s true.

I have this crate of CDs. Going through them is an interesting journey through the last few years of my life. There’s a few like Green Day and Nirvana that i bought just because everyone else did. Then there’re one’s like Alanis Morissette and Sheryl Crow that wound up turning into cultural phenomenons. But, there are quite a few of them that i listened to nonstop for months, and then gave up on totally. Are they bad music? Mostly, no. Instead, i bought the albums on the strength of one popular promo single, and while i enjoyed them i never accepted them as part of my musical cannon.

With my glorious three days off, i want to listen to every CD that i own which i haven’t listened to so far this month. That’s probably only a little more than 150. I’ll keep you updated.

Liberated from Viktor, fully stocked kitchen, comfortable bed, freedom to play guitar as loud as i want, good shower pressure…

I’m so bored.

Please, all you junior-Freudians and psych-majors in the audience, keep your interpretations to yourself. I think experiencing that narrative while sick is enough mental anguish for one day without having to hear what that says about my subconscious psyche.

I’m usually quite a dancer, but for some reason i was having trouble keeping beat to this particular song. Making the situation even worse, i was very close to the middle of the semi-circle, which meant that i would definitely be on-camera when this bit aired on television. I desparately tried to bop back and forth and look merry, but something just wasn’t right. To my right a high school classmate of mine was dancing (not just any classmate: a girl with nearly the same last name who i referred to as “sis”), and she was breakin’ it down. She encouraged me to engage in a box step, or my infamous mashed potato, but i couldn’t. Finally, i figured out that my knees were virtually locked together, restricting my movement to the most basic steps i knew.

As the cameras panned away from the shot that would include me, my mind wandered, thinking about my locked knees. Just flailing my calves and feet in any direction made me think of myself as a merman, for some incredible reason. So, i pictured myself as a merman, and tried to decide who had a pool that i could bathe in.

It was around there that i awoke to go take my medication.