On Tana's Hatred of the Human Race

I'm sick of ignorant asses.

That's all there is to it. Forgive the language, but really.

First: I am sick to death of idiots who base all of their music preferences on what is or isn't popular. On the one end of the spectrum, you've got people who listen to whatever is "cool" simply because the nebulous collective (of which I refuse to call myself a member) has deemed it so. And at the opposite end, you've got people who refuse to like something because other people embrace it. These people irk me even more, if possible, than the first group. They're people who approach popular bands, both the good and the bad, and reject them on the premise that if several hundred people have stupidly latched on to one or two songs, the band's whole repertoire must be full of opiate for the masses.

What the hell? The public in general is not a particularly keen body. Persons are smart; people are not. Look at how people act in mobs, in wars, etc. It's chaos. YES, there are exceptions. I'm not addressing them. I'm saying that as a whole, humans don't always make the best choices. So why on Earth would you base your preferences on "popular opinion"? Try actually listening to music for a change. And, by the way, it's still possible to realize a band's talent and see what they've done for the progression of music without worshipping them. If you have a legitimate reason for disliking the Beatles or Queen, you can still acknowledge that they were groundbreaking. But popularity does not equal ability. Open your effing ears.

Second: Why on earth do people feel the need to say unkind things about appearances or choices that they don't agree with? Yes, my hair is short. No, you don't need to write rude poems about short hair and then read them aloud. It's fine if you don't like it, but you don't have to be mean about it.

Finally: It's just common courtesy that when you tell someone you're going to do something, DO IT.

Sorry. I'm angry. I don't want to talk anymore.

Apology #287

Again, I have been lax. Again, I beg your forgiveness. You, that imaginary, ever-demanding readership. So needy.

I ran the Dirty Dash. It was lovely.

I work at the Parlor. We listen to good music and make good food. Please come visit me.

I have an essay to write: Revulsion. But when oh when?

I'm keeping my head above the water, but just barely. Just. Barely.

I have to write a poem, but I'd rather use one of my old ones. I don't feel particularly poetic. Or, maybe, I don't want to feel particularly poetic. Because who am I anyway? Who am I to put words where they belong? Who am I to arrange them to sing when all they want to do is cry, cry, cry.

I still love baking, though I have little time.

Halloween? Hah. I haven't a costume.

I want to paint and sing and dance and love and hike and live, oh how I want to live.

Take comfort, readers. I'll be back to myself before long. And then some real posts, not just this inane drivel.

While you're waiting for me to get back, though, listen to this:

Sprawl

I propose a reinvention of good intentions.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Arcade Fire's new album is white hot. Buy it. Put it in your CD player. Crank the base until you feel it deeper than your own heartbeat.

Hopes and Dreams

Good morning all!

School has started once again, and I am just so dang happy about it. My classes are lovely, my classmates are lovely, and my teachers are lovely.

Rick Duerden, in particular, is going to be one of my favorite this semester, I can already tell. He's passionate and funny, and just what I need in my life right now. See, I sometimes have this awful habit of second-guessing myself. So right around the beginning of the semester every year I have a mini-panic attack because I'm worried that maybe studying English and German isn't going to be a sound enough choice. That maybe I ought to suck it up and swallow back my distaste for Chemistry or Biology or whatever and start getting a more specific education.

And then people like Rick come along, and explain that in studying English, we don't have to be good little fascists. We can think for ourselves! No no no, I can think for myself! An' that's the truth, isn't it? Because by thinking independently, perhaps we really can, as Rick put it (in his best imitation of the Brain), "TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"

Some of my other classes terrify me a little bit; they're going to challenge me. But I love that. I love trying to break out of my little self-contained world and talking to other people.

And despite the fact that I'm going to have to kiss my social life goodbye, this semester seems like it's going to be a good one. I almost got to move into a house, which made me really really happy (because I love old houses very very much), but it didn't quite work out. But I'm happy with that, too, because I have two of the best roommates anyone could ask for. So if this is where I'm meant to be (and there's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be), then I'm just pleased as punch to see what lies in store.

Flight of Fancy

Oh how the sea,
To you and me
sings a longing ecstasy.

Hey friends. I know it's been a while since we last talked. I didn't mean to neglect you . . . It'll never happen again. Or, it probably will, but it doesn't mean I love you any less.

Wow, a lot has happened since I posted last. After McCartney (and the confirmation that perhaps we really might be able to give peace a chance), I fled.

I don't know what from; maybe everything, or maybe nothing. All I know is that I jumped into Artie, and sped off after a dream. Following were a night of satisfaction, a day of joy, a night of terror, a day of bliss, a night of despair, a day of anxiety, and a night of relief.

My birthday was gear. We saw Inception at a drive-in, which brought back a childhood euphoria that I haven't felt in YEARS. It was a funny way to kick off my entrance into (what I feel to be) the real realm of adulthood. My doll of a coworker called these my "salad years." When I inquired as to what he meant, he simply replied, "You know, fresh!"

I'm dismayed by how little I read this summer, but I've seen more movies than you can shake a stick at. I've become a zombie-movie connoisseur, a die-hard Woody Allen fan, and a sucker for indie films. Micmacs, Into the Wild, and 28 Days Later are probably some of the most beautiful movies ever made.

Sir Macca's Meat-Free Monday campaign has renewed my enthusiasm for vegetarianism. Go veg!

Ich liebe dich. Je t'aime. Yo te amo. I love you.

I guess I'm done

I love these people.

And these people, too.

So yesterday, after my third consecutive day of being at the store for 10 hours, I lost it. I closed early, and blew off cleaning to go see a couple of shows (the above-mentioned beloveds) and get a strawberry-oreo milkshake.

Totally worth it.

And as a side note, in less than 72 hours, I will be watching Paul McCartney. It's funny: I've been brushing up on the Beatles songs that I can play on guitar. I think it's because I secretly hope that Paulie will hurt his hand (in a very mild way), and that no one else in his band will know the songs, so he'll have to ask the audience, "Can anyone here play Jenny Wren?" to which I will triumphantly respond in the affirmative, and then me and my favorite Beatle will rock out together.

Don't judge me.

Macca, baby!

"There's a fine line between recklessness and courage"
- Paulie . . . Who else?

Hello friends. Life is swell.

There's a very deep-seated comfort that seems to be engulfing every aspect of my life, and it's so beautiful.

The agenda for this week is looking a little intimidating: Work everyday from 11-9. Yikes. But I do get to have a movie night with Taylor, and I also start official half-marathon training. Which is something that makes me wicked excited, because it's about progress and self-betterment - things that I am quickly discovering give my life a thrilling new energy. I live to strive!

But I also live to be happy. So after Jon is back from Havasupai and can cover my shifts, I am Oregon bound. I've got a beautiful friend who gave me a nice little list of things to see and do while I'm there, too.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm going to see Paul McCartney in concert?

PAUL EFFING MCCARTNEY. Like, the real live (vegetarian) Beatle!

Sometimes my life is just too marvelous for words.