January 12th, 2005
|jimbojones||11:26 pm - three songs and a couple of random frustrations|
It's so fucking weird to me
... to listen to Blink 182's What's My Age Again and hear the guy singing
nobody likes you when you're 23... and realize that I'm about to be thirty-three, and it is freshman year. Fuck, what is my age again...?
and still act like you're in freshman year
what's my age again?
what's my age again...
Some songs you just have to grow into
... like the Smiths' incredible classic How Soon Is Now. When I was a teenager, I loved the vibrant, discordantly broken guitar line and plaintive synth, but the song itself meant nothing to me - I just couldn't get past the opening line I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar without thinking "aw man, another supposedly deep rock lyric that doesn't mean a fucking thing, it just supposedly sounds cool." (And to be fair, the 80's was FULL of utterly meaningless song lyrics, so hey.) And I just didn't have the life experience to appreciate the rest of the lyrics, especially the part about going to a club hoping to meet someone and going home alone. But dear lord, that song is an anthem for the people who are strong in all the wrong ways, and lonely because of it, and probably doomed to always be that lonely if they can't manage to unlearn that misplaced strength and open themselves up to people.
MC Chris cracks my shit up
... okay, I'm not incredibly captivated to the point of obsession the way I was with Bobby Jimmy and the Critters or the Bloodhound Gang when they were fresh and musically productive, but still - how can you not love a guy who sings about Boba Fett trying to make car payments, or (and this isn't funny if you aren't listening to the song, I know) coins the phrase "bitch is fuckin' up my christmas" to describe getting distracted by a hottie, and raps frenetically about it to a catchy beat? Well, maybe you can manage not to love that. But I can't.
Teacherreviewdotcom girl needs to grow a set
I swear to fucking god, if [teacher] from the last post doesn't
- quit being so goddamn afraid of the class
- start using WHITE FUCKING CHALK instead of bringing in that dingy-ass yellow shit (why? WHY would somebody WANT to use dingy-ass yellow chalk to write EVERYTHING on the board with?) that you can't read from the back of the classroom ESPECIALLY GIVEN THAT SHE USES IT LIKE SHE'S AFRAID OF HURTING THE BLACKBOARD IF SHE PRESSES TOO HARD
- doesn't quit standing to the left of what she's writing so that you can't read what she already wrote, and
- doesn't get some kind of goddamn personality...
Well, hell. I don't know what I swear to fucking god I'll do if she doesn't, other than give her a really scathingly bad review on ratemyprofessor.com. But I'll certainly do that much. Nobody THAT damn afraid of a class of maybe 20 students should be GIVEN a class to teach without supervision.
I kinda feel for her, really - I mean I know she's not an Evil Person or something, she's just a scared grad student, but I'm frustrated because I feel like there's no social norm for a self-confident student ten years older than she is to approach her and talk to her about these things without triggering a defense mechanism. She's just too damn brittle, and I really don't need to piss off the person who's going to be giving me my grade. I did THAT enough in high school, lo those many years ago, and I haven't forgotten how THAT worked out, and I actually care about my GPA this time. Le sigh.
I was reading my Soc 101 book today and
I wound up hitting the section analysing the comparatively high divorce rate in the US with that of the rest of the world. It really does so in a pretty neutral light; but of course one of the many things that comes up is the endemic nature of lack of commitment so prevalent in modern American society. People just sort of do this "well until things don't seem to be working" thing, and yeah, unsurprisingly, the relationships wither and die - partly because of stresses on the relationship, but at least as much (I believe) because of fear of the other person leaving. It's one thing when things are tough, but you know that both parties will stick together through them, but it's another entirely when things get tough and you're thinking "well shit, this isn't a no-brainer anymore, they're totally going to leave... I should start looking around for options myself."
Nobody should feel like they have to put up with an abusive relationship, but god damn, people need to commit to one another. I hate how in the midst of incredible population densities, it's so easy to wind up so fucking alone because people are so tentative to form relationships and so quick to leave them. Sometimes you just need to decide "this person is [x] to me, and that means a lot, and it will take a lot to cause me to abandon [x] relationship." That relationship might be "friend", or it might be "lover", but I'm really sick of the way it's so normal for our society in general to make these shallow, tentative, meaningless little attachments and dissolve them just as easily. People need stability, and they need to know that there are people in their lives that they can count on, and that the slightest little shift in the wind won't suddenly leave them grasping for support that is no longer there.
Okay, I'm done. I guess I need to go read a chapter or two of Music Appreciation now. Sigh.
Current Mood: empty
Current Music: Blink 182 - What's My Age Again?
I am the son and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
of nothing in particular...
The verse about the club runs something like...
There's a club and you'd like to go
because you could meet someone who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die
Honestly, there's no part of the lyrics of this song I don't
feel like I could point to and honestly call them brilliant. Even the bit about being the son and heir of shyness, and of nothing in particular - it just took me something like 20 years to grow enough to appreciate them.