C-130

I have so many thoughts that I wish to express today, but I can't yet clearly tease them apart. I feel absolutely incoherent, off-kilter, though I'm disappointingly not surprised at the outcome of any of the results of yesterday's hectic publicity.

As such, I'm going to finish the day with the last glass of wine (thanks, Steve) and a tastefully sorrowful blend of The Cure, Boards of Canada, a little RHCP, and some Interpol thrown in for depressive flair. There's plenty of time (four years, I'd say) for more lucid commentary.

Everyone should enjoy, though, a nice comment from Arkansas Governor and reverend Mike Huckabee, whose election night comments summarily depict the nature of Americana circa 2000-2008: "Kerry is too far left; changing the consistution is one thing, but changing the bible is another."

Hyuk hyuk... sigh...

It's finally upon us. I'm amazed at how tense I am, how tense everyone is, but not surprised; I think we're all going about the day with pursed lips trying our hardest not to lash out with four years of steam at a stupid public that aims to re-elect a fucking gaggle of lunatics. As such, I can offer only one token for today, one which features my black bracelet of remembrance that I had worn since the conclusory events of the last election (but which finally disintegrated away late this summer):


Best of luck to Kerry, Edwards, et al.

While riding home on the Green Line after class this evening, I heard a snippet of song seeping from beneath someone's padded headphone. I'd been hearing the indiscernable hiss for a couple of minutes before some section of the tune, faded by distance and muffled by the screeching rails, suddenly sounded right, familiar, and my mind snapped down on it as a long-tensed mousetrap. For the remainder of the ride I desperately looped that familiar four seconds, trying to hold onto it long enough to get away from the noise of the subway and into some quiet where I could tease the rest of the piece out of the fuzz. It was while walking home, down Irving but before 13th, that the realization of the source of the loop snapped into place as suddenly and inexplicably as had the little segment: Screaming Trees, "All I know."

I paused for a moment in the street and sang a few bars, as hushed as I managed, to make sure that I was right, and to make sure that I would remember it.

I came up to my room about three hours ago and, driven by that weird recollection of a forgotten-but-not-forgotten detail, I have spent the entire time sleuthing, from the initial frayed thread of the Screaming Trees song, for music from, you know, back then, all of the stuff that I've forgotten-but-not-forgotten.

What a weird wave of nostalgia. I remember Patrick Smith bought the Dust album on which that song appears, and I remember that he leant it to me on the school bus one day, in the fall of our junior year in high school. I listened to that song on repeat for days, each way on the forty five minute ride to school. So what else was I listening to around then, what, almost ten years ago? I was an early teen so, outside of some of the more obvious and persistent tastes in music, what had I forgotten about?

Suede's self-titled album was the first CD I bought with my own money, in 1993, I think for Christmas. I was 13 years old. At 13 I was watching Beavis and Butthead, all of MTV for that matter, religiously. Beavis and Butthead gave me a huge inlet to music I'd never heard through their video critiques, so I found Art of Noise, Daisy Chainsaw and a few others. I remember watching Alternative Nation and adoring Kennedy for her quirkiness and neat-o glasses, and, of course, her love of Nine Inch Nails brought me closer to, well, Nine Inch Nails, after my sister and her boyfriend were listening to "Pretty Hate Machine". My broughter bought me "The Downward Spiral" for my 14th birthday, and I remember making him and my dad listen to "Closer" with me on my new CD player boombox, to which my dad calmly warned, "Don't let your mother hear this." The Smashing Pumpkins toured through little rock around the same time, so I got "Siamese Dream" fever, and Crystal had to get her mom to buy the CD for me because of the track titled "Silverfuck"--the record store wouldn't let a minor have it (stupid Tipper Gore, as we got older your Parental Advisory stickers simply taught us that it was really easy to steal CDs). 120 Minutes was amazing when I stumbled upon it, and I totally had a crush on Ricky Rachtman (but Matt Pinfield was a dick), so I got to see the video for Placebo's "Nancy Boy," which I still consider one of those moments of jaw-dropping awe that would go on to mold my gay little brain and behavior.

Those are all easy, though, things I still like and listen to when the mood strikes. What else?

Three hours later, I've got a short list of songs I hadn't thought about in ages, probably entirely contained by 1992 to 1998, that makes me hilariously happy. See if you knew or loved any of these:
Ruth Ruth--Uninvited
Mr. Mirainga--Burn Rubber
Dandelion--Weird Out
They Might Be Giants--Particle Man
Catherine Wheel--Waydown
Overwhelming Colourfast--She Said, She Said
Bad Religion--21st Century Boy
Wax--Jiffy Boy
The Cramps--Ultra Twist
Veruca Salt--All Hail Me (Impactful enough that I named my dog Veruca)
Babes in Toyland--Sweet '69 (I felt so cool when Amanda let me listen to this CD of hers on a field trip to Memphis)
Grant Lee Buffalo--Mockingbirds
Sponge--Plowed

Oh, goodness, I could go on, and I probably will, but not here.

I feel like one of SNL's parodied "Delicious Dish" ladies; good times, good times.

One year ago, right now, I was drunk in a Riverfront bar (or several) with these fools, and shortly thereafter we left to lecherously pursue a lascivious photo shoot (of which I'd love to post a few choice images, but someone in particular would likely send me a mail bomb). Hope your e'en is as hallowed and spooky as possible.

Boo(tie)!