The truth about why I haven’t been blogging

July 2nd, 2009

The Spring semester kind of kicked my ass. For reasons that now seem mundane and trivial, I barely made it to the end. When I came home after my last final, I cleaned my house and then I went to sleep and I’m only just now waking up. Sure, I’ve been doing things. I’ve been reading and cleaning and reading some more. I went to see Billy Joel and Elton John in Indianapolis. I even went to a skeezy bar with good, cheap drinks and a very loose interpretation of Fort Wayne’s smoking ban. But, mostly, I’ve been at Taco Bell.

Friends, I do not know how this happened, but I think I can partly blame Andy. You see, since he can’t eat gluten anymore, the only fast food place he can really frequent is Taco Bell. We don’t eat a lot of fast food, but sometimes it’s nice to have somewhere to go to get a snack or a cheap and quick dinner, you know?

I have never been a big Taco Bell fan, and I can’t really remember why so you’ll just have to take my word for it. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m making up for it now. The first time I went to Taco Bell after the semester had ended, I didn’t have any Lactaid (a pill for my lactose intolerance) with me which meant that everything with sour cream was not an option. Usually, I get a chalupa or something with a sour cream-based sauce. If you’ve never eaten with me, you can’t imagine how incredibly one-note my appetite is. I have a certain thing that I eat at each place I go (except Henry’s, where I switch between three things). With my thing being unavailable to me, I was forced to reevaluate the Taco Bell menu. Have you ever looked at it, I mean really examined the menu? It is quite extensive. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed. I wanted one of everything. There are simple and fancy burritos, all kinds of taco-shaped items, and more than one way to get nachos. Who knew?

And we haven’t even gotten to the embarrassing part yet.

First, let me tell you about the chicken burrito. It’s basically just some chicken, some cheese, some rice, and some avocado/ranch dressing wrapped up in a tortilla but it is delicious. Did you get that? Say it like this “DEEEE-LISH-USSS.” And here’s the best part: It costs 89 cents! That is the real genius of Taco Bell. Everything is so cheap.

Now for the real reason I haven’t admitted my Taco Bell problem until now. They have this special kind of Mountain Dew there. It is called Baja Blast. This is what it looks like:pict0046

Pretty color but not exactly a color you want to drink, right? Well, that’s how any normal human being would react, but not me. No, I went there. I looked at that color and said, “I want to put that in my mouth.” Once I crossed that line from “pretty” to “drink,” there was no going back. I was in love. Baja Blast Mountain Dew is one of the most satisfying (non-alcoholic) beverage experiences I have ever had. I haven’t liked regular Mountain Dew for years, and although I had a brief but passionate affair with some kind of blue Mountain Dew with ginseng* during the last few weeks of the semester, I have never loved a Mountain Dew the way that I love the green Mountain Dew. The fact that it is only available at Taco Bell just compounds my shame.

If at this point you’re starting to wonder if I have become ridiculous, the answer is yes. Clearly, stable adult people do not develop emotional attachments to beverages with names like Baja Blast. Not to mention that even though it is only 4:30 in the afternoon, I could totally go for a chicken burrito right now.

So when you check my blog and see that it STILL hasn’t been updated and you wonder to yourself where I’ve been, now you know. I’ve been at Taco Bell.

*The internets tell me the blue Mountain Dew is called Voltage. Of course.

Posted in Mangled Circuitry | No Comments »

Spreading my influence

July 2nd, 2009

Madeline has a little brother now, and that means there is another person in the world who will call me Aunt Katie.

Logan is very cute. His little tiny face is so little and tiny, and when he yawns, it nearly takes up his entire face. His face is a little bit skinnier than Madeline’s was (the comparisons are inevitable but I am trying to be conscious of them) but he kind of looks like her. His hair is dark, though, and I can’t stop thinking of how adorable it would be if they looked alike but had different coloring.

My sister and I look similar. They are obvious differences, but we look like we’re related. I like the idea that Madeline and Logan will go through life with obvious, visual links to each other. Of course, growing up together will bond them, and they’ll feel connected even if they don’t always like each other. There is nothing like the sibling connection, nothing else like knowing that there is someone to whom you can say “My mother…” and not need to say anything else. Madeline and Logan are starting what may end up being the most important relationship in both their lives. It is likely to be the longest relationship either of them ever has. Today I watched as Madeline totally ignored Logan and acted as if she hadn’t noticed his presence in the room, but I couldn’t help but feel like something really huge was happening for both of them.

But let’s talk for a bit about Logan’s fate. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I have a weird fascination with little boys dressed like grown men. You know, when they’re wearing little suits and ties and sweater vests and other things that are probably uncomfortable. It isn’t a creepy fascination; I’m not a perv. I just think little boy clothes are really, really cute. Yvonne was probably relieved when Madeline was a girl because she didn’t have to worry about me buying up Babies R Us’s entire stock and bringing it to her apartment. Well, it turns out that there is something about Madeline that makes me want to spoil her, and now Yvonne has a boy, too, so watch out, world. If you’re over near the boy clothes at Babies R Us and you see me coming, just get the hell out of the way. Logan already has a lot of clothes which means that I can buy him absurdly impractical things that he won’t like and won’t want to wear but will make him look insanely adorable.

I do it out of love, Logan. You’ll learn to like me. Madeline did.

Posted in Logan, Madeline | No Comments »

“Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the field so happy and free?”

June 3rd, 2009

I finally got around to watching The Wrestler this week. When I first saw trailers for the film, I was immediately intrigued. Something about it reminded me of Million Dollar Baby, although now I can’t pinpoint what made me draw that connection. I’m attracted to movies in which the characters are more important than the plot. What affected me about Million Dollar Baby was the ways in which the three main characters (played by Clint Eastwood, Hilary Swank, and Morgan Freeman, actors whose presence is so singular and overwhelming that I cannot recall the names of their characters) struggle against themselves, against selfish impulses, and with personal demons. This same basic strain runs throughout The Wrestler’s Randy (played of course by Mickey Rourke), but we do not get to know the other characters (namely Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood) enough to understand their motivations.

The Wrestler did nothing to invite the Million Dollar Baby comparison, though, so I will drop it now. I only mentioned it to explain my person context (however arbitrary) for the film. I expected a quiet and serious contemplation of the ways people treat each other, with wrestling as a kind of backdrop for this character study. That is pretty much what I got, but the effect fell short of my admittedly high expectations.

Where I first became disenchanted with The Wrestler was with all the wrestling. I realize the absurdity in my being shocked by the presence of wrestling in a movie called The Wrestler, but I am content to own that absurdity. Wrestling is kind of gross. I’m told there are different kinds of wrestling so I will allow that perhaps all wrestling isn’t gross, but in The Wrestler, wrestling is gross.

The wrestling in this movie reinforces the sport’s “wrestling is fake” reputation. In this case, “fake” indicates that the fighting—the moves, the stunts, and the knock-outs—is all staged. Indeed, we see the wrestlers working out how each match will go beforehand. The injuries, though, are far from fake. Even when Randy cuts his own forehead with a razor to maximize the blood-and-gore factor, the wound is real.

Ultimately, though, what disappointed me most about The Wrestler was the story’s execution. The basic theme is that Randy has to be a wrestler, even if it kills him, and we are pretty sure it will. I can get behind that idea. There are people who commit so completely to a specific notion of who they are that any other interpretation (even if it isn’t opposing, just adding) becomes impossible. However, the movie spent too much time on the actual wrestling and not enough on exploring Randy’s idea of himself as a wrestler.

Marisa Tomei’s presence in The Wrestler was one of its selling points for me. I really like Marisa. I mean, who doesn’t love My Cousin Vinny? I have seen some bad Marisa Tomei movies but none where Marisa herself was bad. And in The Wrestler, as Cassidy/Pam, she was again very good. The movie took an interesting turn on the stripper angle. Instead of Randy having trouble reconciling Cassidy’s stripper self and Pam’s real world self, it was Pam who couldn’t figure out how to play both roles with the same audience. At the end, it seems as if Pam is trying to bridge the gap, but whether or not she succeeds is one of many questions the movie leaves unanswered.

Finally, there is the issue of Evan Rachel Wood, whom I have adored since her days on Once and Again. As Randy’s daughter, her character is perhaps the biggest question mark of all. Through bits of dialogue, we learn that Randy left his daughter’s life abruptly and she harbors a lot of resentment toward him. His attempts to make amends are achingly tender and sweet, and, of course, he mishandles their tentative truce and likely destroys the relationship for good. All that makes sense, but here is something puzzling. In what feels like a throwaway line, Randy remarks to Pam, while they are shopping for a gift for his daughter, that he suspects she is a lesbian. There is no more mention of her sexuality. What could be the point of the observation if there wasn’t going to be any follow-through?

More attention to follow-through is something The Wrestler could have used. I don’t need my movies tied up with neat bows at the end, but this conclusion barely concluded anything. I didn’t hate the movie, but I couldn’t help but be distracted by what a terrific, moving film it could have been.

The Bruce Springsteen song over the closing credits was quite good, though.

Posted in movies | 2 Comments »

Olivia Falconeri and the State of the American Soap Opera Heroine

May 29th, 2009

I was away for awhile, and I guess no one was minding the store, because when I checked back in with General Hospital after having neglected it since January, I couldn’t find Kate Howard anywhere. Throughout the semester, I had been dropping in periodically and I think I actually watched an entire episode during Spring Break, but I wasn’t able to give it my full attention until now.

I knew that GH had taken Megan Ward off contract in March and that she was now appearing on a recurring basis, but I guess I didn’t want to face the truth. When I noticed how much screen time Olivia is getting, I started to wonder if Kate’s disappearance is indicative of a larger issue within the soap world.

You see, there are really only two kinds of soap heroines. I am too lazy to come up with cute nicknames for the types so we’ll just call them Type 1 and Type 2. Type 1 is the classic cat-fighting, drink-tossing, tough broad who doesn’t take shit from anyone and makes terrible decisions that she gets away with because of The Sexy. Representatives of this category include (off the top of my head): Carly (GH), Maxie (GH), Blair (OLTL), Phyllis (Y&R), Erica (AMC), and Kendall (AMC). The second kind of soap heroine is the innocent, good-hearted angel whose compassion and grace ensure that she has no enemies, except of course those Type 1 bitches who are jealous. The current crop of Type 2 ladies includes Bianca (AMC), Robin (GH), Elizabeth (GH), Emily (GH), Jessica (OLTL), and Mac (Y&R). It is also interesting to note that the Type 2 heroines almost always are daughters of one of the show’s major families: the Quartermaines, the Buchanans, etc.

The problem with Kate Howard is that she is neither type. This happens occasionally. A show will give us a strong woman who isn’t afraid to be book smart and street smart, who wears suits and also gets her drink on every once in a while, and who decidedly does not fit in. Eventually the show just does not know what to do with her. (And I’m almost always in love with her.) The first time I noticed that this kind of woman doesn’t fit into the soap world was when I met Alexis Davis. Neurotic isn’t part of the soap heroine mythos. In her nearly 13 years on GH, Alexis has struggled to fit in. Like every other character, she has had good storylines (Ned), bad storylines (lung cancer), and just plain silly storylines (Eddie’s Angel). I am a huge fan of Nancy Lee Grahn, and despite my adolescent love for Brenda Barrett (definitely a Type 1), Alexis is my favorite soap character of all time.

While I love the soaps the way I love my family (with few reservations and fewer standards for quality), I don’t often find there the kind of woman I like most in fiction: professionally successful, emotionally strange, slightly uptight, awkwardly hilarious, and endearingly neurotic. They’re all over primetime. There is Dr. Addison Montgomery on Private Practice and Dr. Temperance Brennan on Bones right now, but my past is littered with names: Bette Porter of The L Word, Grace Van Owen of L.A. Law, Laura Holt of Remington Steele. I could go on and on, but we’ll leave it at a recognition that Alexis and Kate are in good company.

Of course I can see in these characters the problematic assumption that professionally successful women cannot have emotional stability. It would seem that intellectual achievement makes all other achievement impossible. But we’re talking about TV here. TV people don’t work like real people because TV people cannot be boring, and real people are most of the time just that.

Now that I’ve established a context for the Kate Howard problem, I need to, with a heavy heart, ask why her road seems to be even harder to hoe than Alexis’s. I flipped on my TV a couple weeks ago and discovered that Kate’s less-complicated, obviously Type 1 cousin Olivia is stealing all her screen time. In the soap world, Olivia is a much easier character to write. She is another one of those tough, emotionally bruised and therefore guarded women who owns her life and all the shit that comes with it. She doesn’t make excuses but we know what her excuses are anyway because that is how this kind of character works. It isn’t that I don’t like Olivia. I actually kind of do like her. I especially like whatever is going on with her and Johnny because a soap needs a little clandestine sex every now and then. And I like that she cares about Kate because I care about Kate. (Surely you remember all the caring about Kate that went on here way back in ‘08?)

But there has to be room for both Olivia and Kate on GH. There has to be room for a new type of soap heroine. As usual, I am superimposing standards on to something from which I have heretofore not expected much. In other words, GH and I have been going along in our relationship like this for more than a decade. Is it fair for me to change the rules now? I could just walk away, but we both know that isn’t going to happen. I still need whatever it is that I get from this stupid show, but because I love it, I will continue to point out its failings so that it may better itself. (Which reminds me, why doesn’t the new Michael have red hair?) If Kate Howard disappears altogether, written off via an offhand remark that dishonors the character a la Keesha’s departure (oh yes, I do know how to hold a grudge, don’t I?), I will pout and be grumpy for awhile and then I’ll add Kate’s name to my list of grievances (remember V.?) and I’ll move on. I mean, really, I should know better than to view GH through a feminist lens. That’s the problem with feminists; we never learn to accept the status quo.

Posted in Soap Bubbles | 3 Comments »

Best friends

May 15th, 2009

When I was in high school, I was rather odd. I know this is hard to believe, as I am so well-adjusted and mainstream now, but trust me, back then, I was not the confident, self-possessed, and easy-going person you know. First of all, I was skinny and my long, bony legs could not find pants both skinny enough and long enough for them—so most of the time, my pants were too short. On top of that, I was just weird. I don’t know how else to describe me. I was quiet and crippling self-aware. I always knew just how dumb I sounded and just how silly I looked. In case you haven’t noticed, this is not a common trait among high school students. Most of them are blissfully ignorant, and that is what saves them. In freshman honors English, I met a girl named Yvonne who laughed at me. Instead of wondering why she was laughing, since I wasn’t trying to be funny, I just let her laugh. I liked it. Sometimes I tried to be funny; sometimes I was just myself, just doing my normal stuff.

I wasn’t the class clown type. Yvonne was really my only audience. Picture freshman biology class: rows of desks next to rows of lab tables. I’m sitting in a desk wearing a pair of purple gym shorts over my jeans. Yvonne is in the desk next to me, doubled over in laughter. Everyone else in the class is otherwise occupied. That’s how I rolled in high school.

As my pants example illustrates, it isn’t exactly difficult to make Yvonne laugh. She became my primary audience. Even now, when I am writing and I want a joke that isn’t forced and is maybe a little bit sarcastic, I ask myself, What would Yvonne think is funny?

So I kept Yvonne around and here we are, 12ish years later, still best friends. And now I am troubled.

You see, Yvonne is exactly the kind of best friend I need. She’s steady and rooted in the real world, and she thinks I’m funny. She has a kid and a mortgage, and she doesn’t spend so much time inside her head that she is genuinely surprised to discover that it’s Tuesday. What I’m saying is that she always knows what day it is.

But I am not the sort of best friend that Yvonne needs or deserves. Let me share a brief anecdote, the Monday of Spring Break (of this year), Yvonne and Madeline dropped by my house at three o’clock in the afternoon and I was still sleeping. I am 27 years old, and I freely admit that I am too old to sleep until three o’clock in the afternoon. Yet, there I was, asleep at three o’clock in the afternoon. I wasn’t even sick or particularly hungover.

I can still make her laugh, but Yvonne deserves a best friend who doesn’t sleep until three o’clock in the afternoon on a Monday. (That sleeping thing is standing in here for a bunch of my hipster/slacker/writer traits that are either not fit for the internet or I am just too lazy to list—so typical.) That she doesn’t complain, doesn’t judge, and accepts me just the way I am proves my point: She is precisely the sort of best friend I need. She trusted me to babysit her only child when I was perhaps the least-qualified person on Earth, and although I’ve already written extensively about that experience, I will say once again that Madeline changed my life. People like me need people like Madeline so that we don’t shrivel up and die from lack of exposure to the sunlight. Yes, Madeline is my sunlight. I like that metaphor more than I thought I would. Yvonne brought Madeline into my life, and there is nothing I could ever do to even out the scales of friendship. It’s a good thing that friendship doesn’t work that way.

Don’t think that I am giving up Yvonne, setting her free to be somebody else’s best friend because I am unworthy. No, I plan to hold on to Yvonne with both hands. I am selfish that way. I will continue to try (and fail) to be the best friend she deserves. Today is her birthday. I was just thinking about her (and that criminally cute kid of hers) and I wanted to tell the internet how much I love her.

Happy birthday, Yvonne.

Posted in Madeline, Mangled Circuitry | 3 Comments »

She touched me.

April 25th, 2009

pict0023

Posted in Amy Ray, Indigo Girls | 3 Comments »

Not as evolved as I thought I was

April 23rd, 2009

For a while now, I’ve been intrigued by the commercials for Whatever, Martha on FLN (the Fine Living Network? Yeah, I don’t know what it is, either). “What is this show?” I would ask whoever was near—Andy, Sachen, sometimes the empty room. No one seemed to know what was going on there. It appeared to be a show wherein Alexis Stewart and some other woman watch old episodes of Martha Stewart’s show (I don’t know what it’s called) and make snide comments.

That is exactly what it is—no more, no less.

Before I go any further, I ought to explain about Alexis Stewart a bit. If you follow me on Twitter, you already know that until yesterday, I thought she was a lesbian. I don’t know how this happened. I poked around on the internet for rumors but I found none. Apparently, it was something I made up entirely in my own head. Great, now I’m inventing lesbians—or at least superimposing the gay on to otherwise straight people. So now you know why I was interested in Alexis Stewart in the first place.

Now back to the show. It appeals to a juvenile side of me that I had assumed was mostly dead. It turns out the side of me that wants to make fun of my mom on TV is not dead at all. Alexis Stewart brought it back to life.

Let’s talk about Alexis again. Lesbian or not, she is hot in a severe kind of way. Severe and cranky. Her friend Jennifer Something Orother is flat out obnoxious. She is loud and her comments just feel mean to me. For some reason, it’s OK if Alexis says that stuff because Martha is her mom, but Jennifer is not Martha’s daughter. I used to know this guy who would always say, “I can kick my dog but you can’t kick my dog.” He wasn’t a dog-abuser; he was really a sweet person. The dog kicking thing was just a metaphor, and it can be used for Whatever, Martha. This Jennifer person whose last name I have not bothered to learn is a lawyer, which usually makes me like otherwise unlikable people but in this case is just a waste of a law degree. Apparently, Jennifer and Alexis have a show on Sirius Radio so they have made somewhat of a career out of snarky banter.

Although I’ve only watched one episode of Whatever, Martha, I feel like I was able to get a really strong sense of the show. I am currently searching for full episodes on the internet so that I can watch this show when I have more time. In the next two weeks, I have to grade research papers, study History of the English Language, and write three papers, and all I want to do is watch Whatever, Martha.

And for the record, I fully acknowledge that I misinterpreted Alexis Stewart’s sexuality.

Posted in "Mainstream" TV, Mangled Circuitry, Scenes from The Cave of Dullness | 3 Comments »

“a pack of dreams that just weren’t allowed”

April 15th, 2009

Like “True Romantic,” “Ghost of the Gang” reminds me of Amy’s solo stuff, specifically Prom. Surely you’ve noticed it, too. It’s about the past and youthful friendships in the same way that those songs on Prom are, but it’s also about suicide. What is up with all the suicide on this album, by the way? That’s its own blog post, and this one is just about how much I like listening to “Ghost of the Gang.”

When I first started listening to Poseidon and the Bitter Bug, I had already heard a handful of the songs (”Fleet of Hope,” “Sugar Tongue,” “What Are You Like,” and “Second Time Around”), but of the ones I hadn’t heard, “Ghost of the Gang” stood out. It’s rather upbeat for a depressing song, but then, that’s how Prom is all the way through.

But is “Ghost of the Gang” a depressing song, after all? Amy is rarely explicitly depressing the way that Emily is. (See “Hope Alone.”) Of course, the situation in “Ghost of the Gang” is not good. The narrator is contemplating suicide. I’m not sure that she actually wants to kill herself, but she is considering the phenomenon of suicide. It seems to be happening a lot to the people around her. That theme, then, gives the song an underlying depressing tone, but the overall mood of the narrative is not depressed.

The image of the narrator sitting in her car with her unlit cigarette (”wishing I could bum a light”) is especially powerful to me because I do most of my good thinking in my car, although not when it is stalled. Even though I like sleeping more than doing most anything else, there are days when I wish my commute to work was longer so that I could ponder over the Big Issues more deeply. (Yes, “Ghost of the Gang” qualifies as a Big Issue in my world. Are you really surprised?) I know it’s bad for the environment for my car to be running longer, but I just like to be in it driving and thinking. I would like it even more if the device that plays my iPod using the cigarette lighter would work properly.

I like it there at the end of “Ghost of the Gang” when she changes up the “bum a light” to “bum a ride.” Now she just wants to get out of there—out of the contemplative mood, out of the crushing nostalgia. I recognize the sentiment she is expressing in the urge to overindulge in recollection, and I get that it has to stop at some point. But I never want “Ghost of the Gang” to end.

Posted in Indigo Girls, music | 1 Comment »

“if you get lonely for the trouble and the chaos”

April 9th, 2009

I like the acoustic version of “True Romantic” more than the band one. Because I am generally more interested in the lyrics than the music, I don’t usually react differently to the acoustic versions of the songs on Poseidon and the Bitter Bug. What I like about the acoustic version of “True Romantic” is that it is so quiet and so intimate that it’s almost uncomfortable. In this way, it reminds me of “She’s Got to Be” and “Stand and Deliver” on Didn’t It Feel Kinder.

The thing about the two versions is that the band version of “True Romantic” doesn’t sound like an Indigo Girls song; it sounds like an Amy Ray song. I mean, at the end there, she makes that growly sound (is it a yell? is it a note? what is it?) that was off-putting the first couple of times I heard her do it. Then I started to get used to it, and once I saw her live, I started to see her in my head whenever I heard her sing. Now I can imagine what her mouth looks like when she’s singing those great lines like “I want you to look the other way/ When everything goes wrong.” By the way, I love that it’s “when” and not “if.” Way to be optimistic, there, Amy. If she were all cupcakes and sunshine all the time, I wouldn’t love her so much.

“True Romantic” is reminiscent of Amy’s solo stuff lyrically as well. She does that the-boy-in-me thing here: “If you took all the good stuff/ And put it all together/ And you took all the bad stuff/ And threw it all away/ Would I still be the girl that suits your fancy?/ Would I still be the boy that rocks your world?” On the aforementioned, superior acoustic version, Emily sings that part with her. That really gets me. When I first realized what was going on there, I backed it up and listened to those last two lines over and over. It is SUCH an Amy thing to write, and when Emily sings it, too, I just get chills, like something really important is happening there. If for no other reason than that moment, I am so glad they did an acoustic version of this album.

Posted in Indigo Girls, music | No Comments »

“you may as well feel good/ you may as well have some pride”

April 8th, 2009

I am pretty sure “Second Time Around” is my favorite song on Poseidon and the Bitter Bug. In keeping with my usual way, it isn’t the best song on the album. That distinction probably belongs with “Fleet of Hope” or “Sugar Tongue.” My reasons for loving “Second Time Around” aren’t entirely or even mostly musical; they are personal and nostalgic. The first time I heard “Second Time Around,” I was standing no more than ten feet from Amy Ray. Throughout the rambling, rolling tune, I could not take my eyes off of her. That reaction admittedly isn’t specific to this song, but I was completely mesmerized by the overwhelming feeling that Amy was making it up as she went along. Of course this wasn’t the case, but I remain surprised that every time I hear it, it sounds the same each time.

Another reason I love “Second Time Around” is that it feels like, if not my personal anthem (which still may be, somewhat unfortunately, John Mayer’s “No Such Thing”), then one of the major songs on the soundtrack of my life, along with “Language or the Kiss” by these people you may have heard of who call themselves the Indigo Girls, “Alone But Not Lonely” by Mary Chapin Carpenter, “Summer, Highland Falls” by Billy Joel, “Real World” by Matchbox Twenty and other songs that use big words to talk about language and solitariness and/or express a disconnection with adult responsibilities, colloquially known as “the real world.”

As for “Second Time Around,” I know that I’m not a “God-fearing lesbian.” Sadly, I fall short on both counts, but the overall feeling of the song seems familiar in a nodding along kind of way. For example, I have always suspected that things come too easily to me (”it’s sort of always gone my way”) and that I sometimes act like I’ve “had hard knocks all my life,” which couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s just that most of the time, “I’m just a little bit off these days.”

And, maybe because I’m a writer, I generally feel “weary of the world” a good portion of the time. The song’s narrator may have better reasons for the way she feels; my mood is just part of my personality. One of my favorite professors, who loves writers the way only a good literary critic can, likes to say, “Writers aren’t like other people.” It took me a long time to absorb that idea. I’m probably never going to fit with other people. I have moments—shared memories, mutual laughter, and reciprocated emotions—but for the most part, I’m on the outside. Of course, if I didn’t like it there, I would move. If I moved, though, I would lose my perspective and cease to be a writer—and then where would I be?

And I react to stuff just the way Amy describes: “like I didn’t see it coming/ like I didn’t walk in willingly.” I’m genuinely shocked when I stop in the middle of getting ready and sit on the bed and watch MSNBC for ten minutes, and then realize that I’m ten minutes late leaving the house to go to work. This happens more often than I’d like to admit, and I know it is because my head is never 100 percent in the real world. On a good day, I’m operating with 85 or 90 percent of my brain, and I get by adequately. I’ve got “my wits about me” and “my heart in line” enough to “sing again/ la la la like a butterfly.” (But of course I use Amy’s “sing” as a metaphor for being in the world because all the wits and heart in the universe couldn’t make me a good singer.)

I adore that this song doesn’t have a chorus. It just kind of meanders around some issues about situating yourself in the world and then it finds its way back to the last line of the first part: “If you ain’t got nothin’ good to say/ Don’t say nothin’ at all.” That’s the only line that gets repeated in the whole song. Is that, then, the message? “Second Time Around” isn’t a song about dissatisfaction or discontent. It’s more like a state-of-the-writer song, although I read somewhere that Amy wrote it about Emily so perhaps it is a state-of-the-Emily song. At any rate, Amy isn’t making judgments; she’s just presenting the situation. She connects some dots for us, but mostly she lets us draw our own conclusions. These are mine.

Posted in Indigo Girls, music | No Comments »

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