Bah. I’ve had a bad day. Okay it probably hasn’t been so much bad as annoying and cranky-making. I don’t want to use the badge bad day on this kind of day. You have to save bad for a day worthy of it. Work and money anxiety paired with a stupid mistake made on a client project is hardly bad, right?
But I’m cranky. I’m cranky and I’m blogging, as Christa would say, like it’s 2001. Yeah, back in the olden days people blogged all the time about their shitty days. And lunch. And masturbation. We’re fucking Puritans now in the 2012. Boring.
Back to my cranky day. I wish I was the kind of peson who could shake off an annoying, anxious day. Just toss my hair and smile big and thinks, well that stinks but I’m on to the next thing. I am not that person. I am a wallower. I’m a cryer of tears salted with self-pity*. I’m a sincere singer of bad songs about the painfulness of being the most, tender unique snowflake that ever fluttered to Earth. Yes, when I have a crappy day I’m fifteen years old.
I wallowed the crap out of this afternoon. I ate instant mashed potatoes for lunch while watching two episodes of Dawson’s Creek (shut up, it’s part of my personal artifacts project). In case you are wondering, I don’t think instant mashed potatoes actually contain anything that ever resembled a potato at any point in time. However, when you’re busy getting your wallow on you hardly have time to make real mashed potatoes. Who can peel a potato when they’re wallowing? Not me.
After I was done with the Pacey and the potatoes, I put on some headphones, closed my eyes, and listened to Matthew Sweet’s “Altered Beast.” I may or may not have sang out loud in really dramatic fashion, “Someone to Pull the Trigger” which for reasons I cannot yet find the words for is my favorite Matthew Sweet song.
I need someone to pull the trigger, cause there’s a hole in my heart getting bigger, and everything I’ll ever be I’ve been. And I need someone to pull the trigger. So if you’re what I think you’ll be, if you’re who I think I see. . . shoot.
While I might have been singing Matthew Sweet I was definitely thinking about how I’ve been trying since. . . let me check. . . January 19th to write about this album, “Altered Beast,” and why I’d choose it over all the other Matthew Sweet albums to go in my basket of personal artifacts.
But I’m stuck. I’m stuck because, well I’m just stuck. I told you about how I’ve started 827 posts the past few weeks and not published a single one, right? Well, I have.
So I was thinking about writing about music and what a shitty record reviewer I was in the 90s and how I’m probably shitty record review reader, because half the time I have no idea what the fuck those men who write most of the record reviews are talking.
Like, for instance, in the 90s people often wrote about crunchy guitars. Crunchy guitars. What the fuck is that? I don’t know. Wait, I’ll Google it. I still don’t know exactly. It has something to do with either a lot of distortion or just a little bit of distortion and can be heard on perhaps Metallica’s “The Four Horsemen” or Generation X’s “Dancing With Myself” or Joan Jett’s first album.
I’m convinced crunchy guitars is something some music dude invented so he would have something to say because writing about music is hard and crunchy is a fun word.
I’m still cranky and I have nothing else to say. This is how we blogged in 2001. We just stopped without endings.
*incidentally, I did not cry today. Well, I cried but not about my work-anxiety. I cried because I watched some Gabrielle Giffords stuff.