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by krisis
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Blogathon: 6/24 – Satellite
I feel like a total fucking rock star this morning. I’m not sure what it is: the two incredible songs Gina and I recorded last night for the ‘thon, being asked a question about my intended slate of songs by a real-life honest-to-goodness reporter, or my girlfriend’s adorably punk pink hair.
Well, it’s certainly not from sitting in a cubicle from eight thirty, that’s for sure.
I am not a car guy, but this weekend i found myself catching my breath when I was first introduced to Ross’s gold 1967 Camaro in full daylight, its top just finishing its retreat to the back hood. We rode in the Camaro almost exclusively the entire time we were in New Hampshire. My favorite part was the looks… at gas stations and stop lights, wide eyed, covetous, keenly appraising the four of us in the car (five, after we were joined by Martha).
I had never been to New Hampshire before. The names and numbers of the highways that got us there were meaningless to me, made all the more alien by the day-early fireworks that exploded in the night all around us. The state itself was equally as foreign; different slang, different prices, a different way of driving. Vehicles on the Maine beach’s parking lot all open and empty, the Philadelphian in me feeling almost compelled to vandalize them for being so trusting.
It felt more real than Philadelphia, though, as if the commonality of an experience makes it less like reality. Like I was a trendy kid eschewing the new pop album to embrace indy critical darling, only with New Hampshire instead of something off of Barksuk records and irreverent, heathenish, treasonous wit rather than any kind of nationalistic spirit. I still wondering the same wonder: is it good because I like it, or because no one else I know does?
Friday morning I woke up at eight twenty seven, so that by the time I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and walked to the kitchen it was eight thirty. Time for work; not even alien surroundings can convince my brain that it is not time to communicate efficiently at half past eight. Saturday saw me rise at the same time, again unprovoked and exactly.
I resolved that over ninety percent of my liquid intake would be alcohol. I was that guy, the guy from the big city turning a peaceful sub-urban vacation into a bender. I was that guy, drink in hand at all times, but even while i went through the motions i knew that it wasn’t me; it felt exactly the same as playing a snooty New York writer trapped on a Pacific Island for my acting class: i knew the paces to go through, but I never felt connected to the character.
On Sunday morning, hung over and ready to head home at eight thirty on the nose, I finally felt like I understood the both of us; we were using a change in location to attempt to focus our image, but without any normal references to work from we were skewed, suddenly out of control and unlike the selves that we had grown accustomed to.
If New England can at once transform and fascinate me to such a degree, how would I react to Alabama or California, England or Denmark, India or Australia? How frightening to think that all of my weakness and confidence might stem from a place outside instead of a place inside, and that a simple change of scenery could alter or even invert it.
Not the sort of independence I had intending to be commemorating, but fitting nonetheless.
In my many, many months of blogging i have to say that in title, intent, and content, Random Fixation most closely resembles what my original intent for CK was: a voyeuristic peek into the things that can derail an otherwise normally scheduled life. If blogger Cory keeps it up he has definitely scored a life-time subcriber.
Also, elsewhere in the Crushing department:
I don’t exactly remember how our conversation on Sunday lead to it happening, but i am currently in possession of Elise’s clarinet. After a not-so-brief lesson on Sunday i bought my own brace of reeds and a method book that i can thankfully navigate without much instruction as i already read music quite fluently. I have to say that the thing looks a lot more intimidating than it actually is, as all of those little keys and buttons wind up making a lot of sense once you start learning scales. Clarinet practice has so-far supplanted my regular guitar practice this week. In an unsurprising turn, i have already played one Tori Amos song all the way through on the instrument.
I cannot stop buying things on BlogShares. A few days ago i created a user name so i could claim Crushing Krisis as my own, and i innocently bought a few cheap blogs a couple of days ago to see how the system works. Of course, knowing me as well as we all do, this obviously resulted in my paying a subscription fee this morning and turning my initial $500 (not including a hefty gift from Rannie, which i wisely did not sell) into what is approaching a two million dollar fortune of untapped wealth. And, of course, being the blog-snob that i am, i quickly switched to buying only domain-name blogs as soon as i could afford it … blogspotters are for day trading only.
And, finally, through my intense day of trading i have discovered an interesting blog that is the tip of a potentially nauseating phenomenon. The blog is that of the so-called Tarot-Kid who is an Atlanta-based [insert my jaw dropping as i read his page] a blogging singer songwriter, who not only makes literate posts, but even goes so far as to post some of his music for readers to listen to. As we all know, i often lament the lack of DIY songblogging, so you would think i would be incredibly excited by this development. However, it turns out that 1sound, the domain he is hosted on, actually touts itself as “Music Online, featuring Streaming and Downloadable music, graphics and blogging.” Or, essentially, MP3.com humping Blogspot’s leg. Though i find the idea intriguing, i think i will vomit profusely if the concept suddenly takes off after all of my hard work on doing the same thing on my own.