I’ll be honest. I am reading Stacy’s blog more out of competition than not. Meaning, I have started at the beginning of her entries and begun reading her musings. I think in a way, it is inspiring me to keep blogging.
She rambles. I ramble. So what’s the difference? I think it’s the delivery. She has these esoteric, lofty comparisons of life like how you should take an avalanche and make snow cones which is just another tired take on the lemons-to-lemonade comparison. It is very educational insofar as I do not want to be a blowhard longwinded armchair philosopher. NOT that I am calling her a longwinded armchair philosopher, mind you. It’s just that her blog is a little, well, dry.
For instance, she talks about how music can inspire your soul and get you thinking about life and blah blah blah. Me? Fuck that. I am ALL about the hook. If the song has a hook, then I am all over it. She talks about the deep possible stories between a homeless man talking to a business yuppie on a street corner that she witnessed. In my mind, I have twisted it into some type of solicitation for prostitution from Mr. Wall Street looking for some low budget loving. She has these gloriously sweeping analogies on how some things in life are simple like hummingbirds floating between flowers. Me? I hire the Mexican to come with a weedwhacker to mow down the fucking garden and then take pot shots with his b-b gun at the hummingbird. In other words, I want my blog to be colorful because I think colorfully. Well, make that OFF color.
The Art of Rambling is indeed an art. It’s taking the mundane and making it germane without you realizing it. Once you start making all these fantastic Dali Lama-esque allegories and life lessons, you lose the audience. To keep the masses entertained, you need to throw some spices into the stew.
For example, let’s go back to her music musings. She expounded upon the relevance of music and lyrics and so forth. Not me. To me, music is 90% escape, 5% meaning and 5% this crap they have filtering through the sound system at Starbucks. I mean really guys, REGGAE? More like REALLY gay. I mean JESUS… we are in FUCKING VAN NUYS, CALIFORNIA!!! Like do I see ANY Carribbean themed ANYTHING in this place? There isn’t even a black person IN here! Godforbid if they piped in some 80s tunes. Instead, it is the 92 minute version of “I Shot The Sheriff”.
I digress. Music to me is something to sing along to and for that reason, it needs a hook. For those who are oblivious to “the hook”, it is that part of the song which you walk away to still echoing in your head that sticks like bubble gum to the bottom of a shoe.
It includes guilty pleasures, rock mantras, big hair bands, one hit wonders, obscure songs from Broadway plays…ANYTHING goes. I’ve got a tune from Schoolhouse Rock, “Man of La Mancha” and the opening theme from “The Adventures of Pete and Pete” all in the same playlist. If you could psychoanalyze someone based upon their iPod contents, I would be committed on the spot! I’d be thrown into the deepest padded room and be forced to forever listen to the 92 minute version of “I Shot The Sheriff” until I was begging for dreds and a bale of marijuana. I have a slew of one hitters and no namers that have some of the best hooks ever known to hit a recording studio. Substance? So overrated. Give me a dose of Britney Spears’ “Circus” any day over the 23 minute Pink Floyd masterpiece “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”. If it’s bubble gum, I’m blowing bubbles. But any sign of actual substance, you can just keep it to yourself. I guess what I miss most of all are the days when fun did not come loaded with judgements and deep meanings (aka the 80s). Just like this blog, empty calories are sometimes just the thing you need. So, on behalf of all those superficial people out there, for this installment, I hope you snacked well.
