The warm smell of pavement after rain, the deep fragrance of pot, and the moon-less sky. This was my dark walk to where I would be sleeping before typing this post. The words that follow will be completely ambiguous. I will not point out my own faults (I have enough people who do that for me) nor will I dive into a unnecessarily long rant. I will describe how I feel following said events.
I fail at every job. Spare me the “In order to learn or feel real success we must fail” speech. If that’s the case I am not learning and I sure as hell am not succeeding. If this is success it’s coming at the pace of water falling off a leaf into a bottle while I am dying of exhaustion and dehydration.
I identify with the underachievers more than the overachievers and not for the reasons you might think. There is a level of life you have not lived until you have lived from pay check to pay check; drank too much, danced under power lines in a thunder storm, and thought a job paying $10 an hour with no benefits was a pretty good payday. I would be lying to you if I said, even now, that I have achieved anything better than that.
I am 25 I don’t foresee my energy or intelligence level getting any better. This is my conundrum. You know how that makes me feel? Do you really wanna know how that makes me feel? Like a loser but free…I am free of a title, a commitment of clocking in, clocking out, free of having a boss’s ass to kiss, free of feeling like I have developed friendships with coworkers when really they just talk about how I don’t know how to load the receipt paper correctly, free to pack up and leave and head to a new town whenever I want. Underachieving is the best…except you’re a loser and every now and then between the glorious late nights with old friends from this town or that town, or your favorite episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and writing articles that will get published but you won’t get paid for you are reminded, you’re a loser. I’m a loser.
This was written while working an overnight shift @ a gas station a few miles off the coast…
Listening to pop artists drone on and on about being a tortured artist just breaks my heart. My creative veins start boiling with resentment. A struggle is not a new found love with pot or a new tendency towards pouring a few too many and dancing in your own urine. Although, I will admit these moments make for fantastic stories. These events make terrible songs; full of repetitive lyrics that numb the brain into submission. While these cheap songs excite us like phases of our life, college buddies, and first boyfriends we come to realize they are like cheap amusement rides. The real passion, personality, and sincere lyrics, poetry, whatever come from self reflection and self deprecation. Being able to look within yourself and become friends with your faults. Stay humble, pour yourself, your true self into your art and if it stands the test of time above the rest, great. If not? You’ll forever be a hidden treasure lurking in a shoebox under your bed for someone, or no one to find. The point and the purpose is: truth, absolution, and fearlessly presenting yourself in whatever way you know how.
So, I don’t mean to be so overzealous with the word “hate” but sometimes there is no other way to express it. You are the reason people call feminists over opinionated nags…because you are. You can’t negate hate by being so fucking judgmental on others. Take into account the gays and straights who use the word gay synonymously with something that is dumb; stop complaining about that! My best friend in high school was gay and we used the word on the daily. It’s just a word, seriously. People equate this with ignorance and homophobia but sometimes it is just high school slang (and yes this goes for the word retarded as well). Also, stop being so critical on famous people. If your life was under a microscope I am pretty sure you would be quoted for saying more than: “Sometimes, you need your knight in shining armor” (Yes, I am referring to Kirsten Dunst) or dumping all your anger toward someone currently more successful and fake than you (Yes, I am referring to Lindsey Lohan venting about J.Law over a vodka cran in a recent interview). STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT EVERYTHING. Start talking about things that matter and spreading love to everyone you know. Make time for people. I realize I am complaining about people complaining but I just couldn’t hold it in an longer and since I am not one to start fights over social media I have come to the one safe place (I think) to vent my very own frustrations. My problem is that you are finding so many problems where there are no problems (to which I can already hear their nagging rebuttal, “That is why nothing changes” bull shit). Listen you: People can cuss, fart, fuck, cheat, steal, be politically incorrect on the daily, be poor, ugly, and angry, but they can still have more of a heart and be more open minded than you. I said it *drops microphone*”
You know that girl in the horror movie who is the first to die? She wears a piece of fabric that matches the dimensions of a paper towel covering her nipples and then tip toes into a dark cellar after the electricity mysteriously turns off. She continues down the steps even after the audience hears the distinctive sound of a pistol going off. Here comes the masked intruder.
A girl in a pink cardigan with class and a degree in BioChem carelessly tosses popcorn into her mouth as she whispers to her boyfriend:
“That girl is so stupid!” Her face scrunches in annoyance.
To which her surprisingly relaxed boyfriend who listens to good music and cares about the environment replies: “Hun it’s just a movie”
“I know it’s just a movie but couldn’t she as least put a shirt on?”
To which my reply is:
“Listen alright you adorable little sass mouth it might have been warm that hot summer night okay? Also that pow noise could easily be the next door neighbors car back firing. Don’t forget in this hypothetical situation I am a celebrity that had a nice enough body to get Liongate to hire me hence the revealing attire.”
Play devils advocate every once in a while, never judge a book by it’s cover, and above all else be stupid, make mistakes, be a lush. Living life by the convention of a normal level of intelligence is so mundane. Make people figure out you’re smart through weeks of drunken arguments and long metro rides and many a vegan salads later.
Listen up, it’s Vampire Weekend: STEP
Vampire Weekend released their latest album Modern Vampires of the City in May and it’s in one breath, amazing. Vampire Weekend formed in New York at Columbia University. Their intellect allows for puzzle like lyrics and their unlikely rise to fame sincere modesty.
“Step” received its chorus from a web of sampling. Vampire Weekend took the lyric line, “Every time I see you in the world you always step to my girl” from a song by Souls of Mischief who sampled the line from rapper YZ. The creativity and intoxicating musicality that has been poured into this song is apparent.
Haunting charm appeals to the visual listener. Listen to it 15 times in a row and it will still provide new interpretations, sounds, imagery, and an elusive beauty. The lyrics just place pieces of a film strip in your mind, “While home in New York was Champagne and disco.” It creates a grandiose sense of a constant party. Then the bridge offers a third party view of premature aging. “Everyone’s dying, but girl you’re not old yet.” While the end of the song hums like a church choir and leaves you with a sweet taste in your mind.
The entire album is to die for but Step is the first song you should bite into.