Stupid Songs and Stupider Lyrics

The whole of yesterday and today I have been listening to my music player on random, and one after the other all that is playing is some sad, mopey romantic song or the other. I don’t WANT to hear any of that, because it is jarring my mission of not thinking, but every time I press ‘next’ another stupid song starts playing.

Why does every song nowadays have to have some deep intellectual lyrics with soothing romantic music that make you think and be philosophical man? Tejas says that when people are in a particular mood, they want to listen to music that reflects the mood they’re in. I think he’s wrong. When I was walking the long distance from my house to my friend Lara’s house, no doubt I was sad and hurting and moping, but I did not want to listen to Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk singing “Play me a song, your newest one/Please leave your taste on my tongue”, or friggin John Mayer (I love him with all I’ve got but COME ON!) singing a love song for no one about how half of his damn heart’s got a grip on some situation while he’s slow dancing in a burning room. I did not want to know that all Martina Mcbride needs is her love, her valentine. And then there was Jack Johnson with his combination of words that he can’t put on the back of a postcard and asking me if I remembered the first time we met because he sure did. Colbie Caillat was falling and dropping so quickly for some guy, that she probably should have kept it to herself until she knew me better and Owl City was obsessing about his fireflies. Of course he’s not weird because he hates goodbyes, no one LIKES them. He really should think before he writes these goddamned lyrics. Even the Weepies - while they are an awesome band, I didn’t want to hear them talk about waking up and wishing they were dead as the world continued to spin madly on.

Whatever happened to the songs that make no sense when I needed them? – The songs that have lyrics like they were written just for fun, not for the real love of music or out of a real need to express. I didn’t have most of them on my play list, I realized. Because, I mean, they’re so silly and stupid right? I obviously gave preference to the “good” songs when I was putting them onto my player. Bad move. Because while I was walking for over an hour, I was stuck with the good, even great songs, when all I wanted to listen to was Metrostation asking me if I would do it like this if she does it like that. I wanted to listen to Robyn describe her style as “the bom-diddi-bom di-dang di-dang diggi-diggi”. I wanted Soulja Boy to crank that and Sean Kingston to call 911. I wanted to know all that Scotty didn't. I missed Kesha singing about how she woke up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy and I missed Alexandra Burke singing about the bad boys that catch her eye. I even missed Akon singing about that sexy bitch, a song that I cannot STAND otherwise.

SHIT. What is this world coming to?

Bittersweet weirdness

Three hours. That’s how long the no-crying promise lasted. It can’t be helped; it’s something I have to do. The pain is too much. It’s a dull constant pain, not the screaming throbbing kind. It went away for a little while, lost among unrelated conversations about Joey and his nonchalance, hunger strikes, “basically lots of”, doing things WITH people or FOR, figuring out the best time in the year, trying to describe a philosophical self with words so apt that they wouldn't come easily, trying to lie straight facedly like Harry, chocolate wrappers in pockets or dustbins, pearls of "advice" and building shrines in memory of the other. Laughter pushed it out – inappropriate laughter for the moment we were in, yet so appropriate because of who we are. I see that now, vaguely. But now it’s back, that pain. It hurts. It’s bound to, but it shouldn’t be so awful. It wasn’t that bad really, today. It was strangely NICE. And the pain is bittersweet. It has to be – it’s born out of complete agreement and yet, utter lack of understanding. Why is it so half and half?

Chocolate is not helping. There is already too much in my system from the past week, for it to satisfy any sort of craving. Stupid bags of chocolate from the last night out shopping in Edinburgh. Breathing helps, but it’s coming out in rasps because of the crying. Which is fine, because trying to control it gives me something to do. Typing helps, especially LOUDLY while banging on the keyboard. Hitting him and calling him names helped too, but then that may have to do with the inevitable laughter that followed. Is it weird, that laughter? It didn’t feel all that weird, and that felt weirder. Light-hearted, nonsensical banter – that was the essence wasn’t it? Hell yeah, it was. It was the friggin definition. It had vanished for a while, but now it’s back. Yay. But is it weird that it returned in such a twisted situation?

Diaryface was right, as she always is – it IS a rite of passage. It happened to me just today, and I really didn’t expect it to happen so soon after that particular mail she sent – like an omen, almost. Sshh, I’m not supposed to talk like that. But then, I’m cheating on the no-crying promise, why not on this one too?

I can’t concentrate. I think I’m rambling, but I can’t be sure because I can’t concentrate. This is it. What? I said, this is it. WHAT is it? THIS, yes, this is it. It doesn’t have to be, but it is. And, strangely enough, it feels like even before the beginning. That IS weird, isn’t it? But it doesn’t FEEL weird. It feels so right and so horribly wrong. I don’t know how and what to feel. GO. I’m sick of you. Yet, you’re right, I’m not. How CAN I be, you semi-good looking North Carolinian Gulfy asshole? “HEY! Watch it. You’re not allowed to say asshole anymore.”

For a comfort level that is one of it’s kind, for crying as an energy releaser, for the best conversation we've had in over a month, for random statements filled with utter time-pass, for rumbling tummies, for something that I knew I could never live up to, for excessive drinking of water, for a confused secret that will be safe no matter what the bribe or bet – I will remember today.

Bonnie ol' Scotland

Hello to you, hello to you.
I know, I know. Everyone was expecting at least one blog post for every day that I was away on holiday. I was one of the people who thought that would be the case. After all, it was supposed to be my happy snowy Christmas getaway. And it was! The last three weeks of my life have been brilliant. Don’t let the lack of posts make you think otherwise. It’s just that while I was there, all my spare internet time and writing prowess got spent on writing super long mails to my super awesome Diaryface and my equally awesome hoity-toity baby boy T. (Teehee. I have never called him that, ever. I totally just came up with it right now while typing. Not the term ‘baby boy T’, the hoity-toity prefix. I think I’ll keep it.) So then I thought I’d do one big post about the whole holiday once I’m back – which is what I’m doing.

My holiday was superb in the sense that I couldn’t have asked for anything more to happen. I had a white Christmas for the first time, complete with stockings over the fireplace and a ceiling to floor tree with the biggest pile of presents under it that I have ever seen. New years too was awesome with the fireworks display at midnight and the champagne induced giggliness after, but later I saw pictures on Facebook of the party my friends had and I got so homesick that I was physically ill! However, other than that, the vacation consisted of lots of sightseeing, snow angels, sampling of new things, traveling, shopping, movie watching and picture taking. My camera Rose Red was most excited and went clickety-click at everything in sight.

I met some really nice people, with whom I had some really nice conversations. I found the yummiest cutest baby whom I wanted to put in my big bag and bring back with me. I saw some marvelous buildings which quite literally took my breath away. I sampled things that I had never before, like Haggis (YUCK). I shopped like I have never done before and bought clothes like never before. I went off on my own for a day, which for someone like me is a huge thing. I don’t like doing things alone and I need company in everything I do – someone to pass comments to, to experience with. The only thing I can do on my own and enjoy it thoroughly is WALK, and even for that I need music to accompany me. I made snowmen and snowangels. I cut a lot of vegetables. I watched a lot of movies. I went for a cruise around the Loch Ness. I ice skated and fell flat on me arse, but it was worth every minute!

The holiday gave me a lot of things. It gave me exposure to a different country and a different type of people. It also truly made me believe that I should take up landscape photography seriously because, at the risk of sounding vain, I think I’m really good at it. This opinion is shared by my event manager cum photographer best friend, David “giggling idiot” Selvam, so I know I’m not imagining it. Maybe as a profession, maybe not. But I think I should hone the skill. The holiday has no doubt given me a lot more than what I have mentioned – the effects of which I may not feel immediately and will probably feel as more time goes by. But even then, it has been an experience like none other.

PS. The accompanying picture is a view from the ferris wheel at the Edinburgh Winter Wonderland. On the right, it captures one of the main streets of Edinburgh, the Prince’s Street. But the picture was mainly taken for Kyra and her fascination with twinkly lights in trees.