earthquake weather
I would just like to start this post off by commenting on the influx of friendly bus and train conductors I've had the pleasure of encountering recently. A few weeks ago, I was on the 72nd crosstown bus and well, and first of all, it was a free ride because the machine was broken, but secondly the driver was insanely nice and at every stop would say "have a wonderful weekend" over the intercom, which is a small thing but so great. And today on the train the conductor was a.) coherent, which is a miracle in itself because usually I can't understand a thing they're saying over the crackly intercom and b.) referred to the train as "Choo-Choo Charlie."
Is this the beginning of a revolution? I hope so.
While on the Choo-Choo Charlie train today, I was reading an Elle magazine article on John Mayer that made me reconsider my status as a fan turned anti-fan. Back when Mayer was relatively unknown - at least, before "No Such Thing" became the most overplayed song on the radio that one summer - I was a big fan of his. He had a tiny blurb in Rolling Stone that led me to looking him up and listening to some of his stuff. Yeah, he was hot, but I think the fact that he could actually play/write was what attracted me to him. Also, given the boy-band craze going on at the time, he had a different sound. More genuine and laid-back, less artificially produced. Anyway, one thing led to another, he got famous, teeny-boppers started flocking to him screaming they wanted to have his babies, I marked him as a dead man/sellout and walked away. Plus the second album wasn't anything new.
Then I heard that he teamed up with Pino Palladino and Steve Jordan to play some blues, which was interesting because (being a crazy fan at one point) I remember reading about the blues having a huge influence on his life, etc. So completely changing gears after reaching a certain level of success being a teen idol deserves some kudos.
Then today I read this article in which he's sounding like his semi-jackass self, but frank and without the bigger than life ego. Basically, defending the point that he's "not just a white guy singing sappy love songs." I don't know, I guess I appreciate it when people are self-aware to the point where they can articulate how commercialism can totally warp the original concept of a song like "Your Body Is A Wonderland," making it sound like a manipulative, skeeze-ball of a piece.
Anyway, he has a new album coming out in a few months. We'll see.
Well-written article, though.
But I bought the Elle magazine not even knowing there would be a John Mayer article in it; instead, I got it because I saw that Hilary Duff was on the cover under "Last Girl Standing: Why Hilary Duff Matters." I guess I was curious to see if the newly emaciated Hilary had developed a personality to go alongside her eating disorder.
Well, curiousity killed the cat, and my $3.50.
What I learned from the article: Hilary Duff doesn't matter. Not one bit. The End.
What's with the line-up at Bonnaroo this year? I'll use a simiply analogy (WHAT WHAT, SAT'S!) to illustrate:
Bonnaroo 2005: Allman Brothers
Bonnaroo 2006: Radiohead
W-T-F?
Anyway, moving on.
Last week, the piano movers came to take my piano away. We sold it, in anticipation of selling the house and moving and not having to deal with moving the baby grand AGAIN, and I think everyone was expecting me to be a mess the day they took it away, given that I've basically grown up with it.
I was fine, didn't bat an eyelash. I keep telling myself I'll buy a new piano when I get my own place.
A few days have gone by, and its absence is slowly starting to chip away at me.
Joni Mitchell seriously knew what she was talking about with "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone."
The sheer fact that it's simply not THERE anymore is what's bugging me. The fact that I can't just amble over, sit down, and play around whenever I feel like it. I mean essentially, that's exactly how I came to write my first song, just sitting around and playing random songs and chords until something hit.
How many hours of my life did I spend sitting on that piano bench?
I guess I'm realizing that I can't fight missing what had become a habit, a stable routine and thing in my life. Everything else in my life has shifted and changed, but that piano was always there. Same sound, same melodies, same muscle memory in my fingers.
And now, I don't even have the option of just sitting there on the bench, either staring at the keys or out the window. Now, if I want to play the piano, I have to - what, go all the way into the city and to Kimmel to get a fucking rehearsal room? Because that's the next best option to have any sort of privacy when I'm playing.
Goddamn me and my fucking sentimentality. It's a goddamn piano. A piano I've had for 14 years, but just a piano nonetheless. I keep telling myself that.
But then why do I feel like so much creative energy has been drained from me? I haven't been writing, I've just been thinking about writing, and that's not good enough.
Mmmmm but I did keep the spare key to the piano as a memento; the other copy went to the new owner.
Ah, that's enough depressing myself. I'll write about the fun times from last night instead.
Mike's parents (or just mom) made a deeeelicious dinner for us ("us" being Mike, Kyle, Elena, Justine, and myself), which included some fantastic pre-dinner punch, a Rod Stewart CD to croon all throughout dinner, Mike's dad telling the AOL telemarketer on the phone that they should arrange a time to go bowling, and some cheesecake and coffee afterwards.
Jenna met up with us afterwards for the post-dinner festivities: kaaaaraoke!
We headed over Duet Karaoke on 49th with our spiked beverages. I have to say, Duet Karaoke has always served me well, all throughout high school (when Teri and I would go in the afternoon, just the two of us. Because we were karaoke fanatic losers back then. And still are.) and even now. Who knew they would have the super depressing/suicidal thought inducing Gilbert O'Sullivan song?! Although it was supremely disappointing that they did NOT have Kelly Clarkson "Since You've Been Gone," which is the uber-karaoke song if I've ever heard one.
Nonetheless, we six of us karaoked HARD for 3 hours nonstop.
I think we covered everything there was to cover, including the classics (Spice Girls, Lisa Loeb, Aaliyah) to Mike's "Goldfinger" solo (which was gold. No pun intended.)
However, I think the award for best karaoke moment goes to Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" which we ROCKEEEEEEEEDDDDD. Led Zeppelin and "Hollaback Girl" were pretty hardcore, too.
It was a good time.
Then this morning, I called Mike and when he picked up I just croaked "Cooooofffeeeeeee." Which he agreed to, so we had breakfast at Chez Laurence (which is not as french as one would imagine it to be), during which he told me I was a bro and not a ho, which I suppose I can only take as a compliment. And then we wandered through a street fair and went browsing stores.
And now I'm hungry again. Ugh.
Oh, one last thing:
It has come to my attention that I've been writing longer entries recently. It hasn't really been a conscious effort - I've just taken to rambling to my heart's content. Well, here's why (yes, I believe there's a deeply rooted reason):
I think a lot.
Excessively, even. You probably know my spaced-out look; yes, I may look slightly retarded, but that's just the effect of the wheels turning in my head.
But most of the time, I don't really articulate what I'm thinking when I'm around others. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I grew up extremely shy; I've outgrown my muteness (if that's a word), but I'm still very much the listener than a talker. Maybe I surround myself with bigger personalities so that I can be in my element, just listening and making the occasional awkward/funny remark. But think about it - when was the last time you had a real, in-depth, intellectual conversation with me? The answer is most likely "Hm. Can't remember." or "Ummm........well there was that one time when you were drunk..."
Well the fact of the matter is, I still don't like attracting that much attention to myself (except when I'm performing, strangely enough.) I think what triggered this whole epiphany was when I was in Central Park the other day with Julia. Just the two of us, talking at length about the UN, Africa, politics in general, movies, etc. - I remember thinking, "Shit, I can't remember the last time I've talked this much about politics." I mean it's probably because I have a tendency to distance myself from scary politics majors at NYU (and in general), and the fact that Julia is one of my closest friends, but still. It made me realize I wasn't providing myself with any sort of outlet to just....talk.
So granted, the songwriting explains a lot; it's a canvas/outlet with which I'm comfortable expressing myself freely, etc.
This little online blog thing, I realize, is just another outlet where I can write whatever trivial thoughts are running through my head at length (e.g. my multiple paragraphs in a previous entry pertaining to a single restaurant), and you can choose to either read it, or click and exit. But I can just get my thoughts out there without being interrupted, which is nice.
So, if you are someone who actually takes the time to read all of my nonsense, thank you.
P.S - I didnt dream about Brian Greene last night.
Is this the beginning of a revolution? I hope so.
While on the Choo-Choo Charlie train today, I was reading an Elle magazine article on John Mayer that made me reconsider my status as a fan turned anti-fan. Back when Mayer was relatively unknown - at least, before "No Such Thing" became the most overplayed song on the radio that one summer - I was a big fan of his. He had a tiny blurb in Rolling Stone that led me to looking him up and listening to some of his stuff. Yeah, he was hot, but I think the fact that he could actually play/write was what attracted me to him. Also, given the boy-band craze going on at the time, he had a different sound. More genuine and laid-back, less artificially produced. Anyway, one thing led to another, he got famous, teeny-boppers started flocking to him screaming they wanted to have his babies, I marked him as a dead man/sellout and walked away. Plus the second album wasn't anything new.
Then I heard that he teamed up with Pino Palladino and Steve Jordan to play some blues, which was interesting because (being a crazy fan at one point) I remember reading about the blues having a huge influence on his life, etc. So completely changing gears after reaching a certain level of success being a teen idol deserves some kudos.
Then today I read this article in which he's sounding like his semi-jackass self, but frank and without the bigger than life ego. Basically, defending the point that he's "not just a white guy singing sappy love songs." I don't know, I guess I appreciate it when people are self-aware to the point where they can articulate how commercialism can totally warp the original concept of a song like "Your Body Is A Wonderland," making it sound like a manipulative, skeeze-ball of a piece.
Anyway, he has a new album coming out in a few months. We'll see.
Well-written article, though.
But I bought the Elle magazine not even knowing there would be a John Mayer article in it; instead, I got it because I saw that Hilary Duff was on the cover under "Last Girl Standing: Why Hilary Duff Matters." I guess I was curious to see if the newly emaciated Hilary had developed a personality to go alongside her eating disorder.
Well, curiousity killed the cat, and my $3.50.
What I learned from the article: Hilary Duff doesn't matter. Not one bit. The End.
What's with the line-up at Bonnaroo this year? I'll use a simiply analogy (WHAT WHAT, SAT'S!) to illustrate:
Bonnaroo 2005: Allman Brothers
Bonnaroo 2006: Radiohead
W-T-F?
Anyway, moving on.
Last week, the piano movers came to take my piano away. We sold it, in anticipation of selling the house and moving and not having to deal with moving the baby grand AGAIN, and I think everyone was expecting me to be a mess the day they took it away, given that I've basically grown up with it.
I was fine, didn't bat an eyelash. I keep telling myself I'll buy a new piano when I get my own place.
A few days have gone by, and its absence is slowly starting to chip away at me.
Joni Mitchell seriously knew what she was talking about with "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone."
The sheer fact that it's simply not THERE anymore is what's bugging me. The fact that I can't just amble over, sit down, and play around whenever I feel like it. I mean essentially, that's exactly how I came to write my first song, just sitting around and playing random songs and chords until something hit.
How many hours of my life did I spend sitting on that piano bench?
I guess I'm realizing that I can't fight missing what had become a habit, a stable routine and thing in my life. Everything else in my life has shifted and changed, but that piano was always there. Same sound, same melodies, same muscle memory in my fingers.
And now, I don't even have the option of just sitting there on the bench, either staring at the keys or out the window. Now, if I want to play the piano, I have to - what, go all the way into the city and to Kimmel to get a fucking rehearsal room? Because that's the next best option to have any sort of privacy when I'm playing.
Goddamn me and my fucking sentimentality. It's a goddamn piano. A piano I've had for 14 years, but just a piano nonetheless. I keep telling myself that.
But then why do I feel like so much creative energy has been drained from me? I haven't been writing, I've just been thinking about writing, and that's not good enough.
Mmmmm but I did keep the spare key to the piano as a memento; the other copy went to the new owner.
Ah, that's enough depressing myself. I'll write about the fun times from last night instead.
Mike's parents (or just mom) made a deeeelicious dinner for us ("us" being Mike, Kyle, Elena, Justine, and myself), which included some fantastic pre-dinner punch, a Rod Stewart CD to croon all throughout dinner, Mike's dad telling the AOL telemarketer on the phone that they should arrange a time to go bowling, and some cheesecake and coffee afterwards.
Jenna met up with us afterwards for the post-dinner festivities: kaaaaraoke!
We headed over Duet Karaoke on 49th with our spiked beverages. I have to say, Duet Karaoke has always served me well, all throughout high school (when Teri and I would go in the afternoon, just the two of us. Because we were karaoke fanatic losers back then. And still are.) and even now. Who knew they would have the super depressing/suicidal thought inducing Gilbert O'Sullivan song?! Although it was supremely disappointing that they did NOT have Kelly Clarkson "Since You've Been Gone," which is the uber-karaoke song if I've ever heard one.
Nonetheless, we six of us karaoked HARD for 3 hours nonstop.
I think we covered everything there was to cover, including the classics (Spice Girls, Lisa Loeb, Aaliyah) to Mike's "Goldfinger" solo (which was gold. No pun intended.)
However, I think the award for best karaoke moment goes to Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" which we ROCKEEEEEEEEDDDDD. Led Zeppelin and "Hollaback Girl" were pretty hardcore, too.
It was a good time.
Then this morning, I called Mike and when he picked up I just croaked "Cooooofffeeeeeee." Which he agreed to, so we had breakfast at Chez Laurence (which is not as french as one would imagine it to be), during which he told me I was a bro and not a ho, which I suppose I can only take as a compliment. And then we wandered through a street fair and went browsing stores.
And now I'm hungry again. Ugh.
Oh, one last thing:
It has come to my attention that I've been writing longer entries recently. It hasn't really been a conscious effort - I've just taken to rambling to my heart's content. Well, here's why (yes, I believe there's a deeply rooted reason):
I think a lot.
Excessively, even. You probably know my spaced-out look; yes, I may look slightly retarded, but that's just the effect of the wheels turning in my head.
But most of the time, I don't really articulate what I'm thinking when I'm around others. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I grew up extremely shy; I've outgrown my muteness (if that's a word), but I'm still very much the listener than a talker. Maybe I surround myself with bigger personalities so that I can be in my element, just listening and making the occasional awkward/funny remark. But think about it - when was the last time you had a real, in-depth, intellectual conversation with me? The answer is most likely "Hm. Can't remember." or "Ummm........well there was that one time when you were drunk..."
Well the fact of the matter is, I still don't like attracting that much attention to myself (except when I'm performing, strangely enough.) I think what triggered this whole epiphany was when I was in Central Park the other day with Julia. Just the two of us, talking at length about the UN, Africa, politics in general, movies, etc. - I remember thinking, "Shit, I can't remember the last time I've talked this much about politics." I mean it's probably because I have a tendency to distance myself from scary politics majors at NYU (and in general), and the fact that Julia is one of my closest friends, but still. It made me realize I wasn't providing myself with any sort of outlet to just....talk.
So granted, the songwriting explains a lot; it's a canvas/outlet with which I'm comfortable expressing myself freely, etc.
This little online blog thing, I realize, is just another outlet where I can write whatever trivial thoughts are running through my head at length (e.g. my multiple paragraphs in a previous entry pertaining to a single restaurant), and you can choose to either read it, or click and exit. But I can just get my thoughts out there without being interrupted, which is nice.
So, if you are someone who actually takes the time to read all of my nonsense, thank you.
P.S - I didnt dream about Brian Greene last night.
posted by Deb Oh at 3:18 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home