Category Archives: Music
First is the intro of the music and the slight anticipatory sway of my body.
First is the blank page and the eager word choice.
Suddenly, there is an intense looseness of my movements to the beat, and the feeling of fluidity sets in.
Suddenly, there is a spark of clear thought, and all distractions are mute.
I’m in synch with the sounds. Every pirouette, every move. All with explosive grace and erratic control.
I’m in synch with knowing exactly what I want to say. Every word, every point. All with no regard or doubt.
Now nothing exists but my body across the stage.
Now nothing exists but my mind on the page.
The entanglement of song and dance is about to end. I could keep going, but the rush of the conclusive crescendo satisfies me.
The entanglement of mind and screen is about to end. I could keep going, but my mind is purged, and I am proud.
Dance is writing. Writing is a dance.
Last week I wrote about the aggravating dance I have been doing with a certain loitering phone book. Seeing that it wasn’t backing off, I decided to go forward with taking matters into my own hands. Looking back, I am not exactly proud of the ways in which I tortured the poor publication. However, in the end I think I did the right thing… Read the rest of this entry
Some musicians just have it, you know. That spark that let’s them enter a part of our brains in which they can do no wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens to me it is sort of otherworldly. The rhythm of the songs don’t get old, even the most asinine lyrics make sense, and I begin to think every album was written specifically for me.
For example, I give you Alanis Morissette. First of all, her name is fucking Alanis. That is the kind of name that makes the Sarahs, Lindseys, and Beccas of the world feel like lemmings. Then there is her voice. Hurry, think of someone else who sounds like her (okay, besides that Meridith Brooks girl). You can’t.
So you get it, I like Alanis.
I like her regardless of her blatant misuse of the word ironic. I like her regardless off the fact that she either has something very secret and important in one of her pockets at all times, or she’s trying to be discrete about getting off in public. I even like her regardless of the fact that she sings about cross-eyed bears. Those are the lyrics, right? Right?!
That being said, this post isn’t actually about Alanis but rather inspired by her. It may sound jabby but remember, I already said that I liked her, so it is okay.
You all know her little song about “irony” (also known as things that are unfortunate). With all due respect, I can think of a few things that are worse than a free ride when you’ve already paid. If the ride is free you probably don’t want it anyway. Bam!
Here are five things worse than the original “Ironic” lyrics, because I am clever like that:
1. Ten thousand knives when all you need is a spoon. Think about it. It is way more painful to eat soup with a knife than to cut your PB&J with a spoon.
2. Your wedding day… in general. Zing!
3. A traffic jam when you’re already late to your last-chance court date. You’re going to jail, and it looks like someone else is going to have their hand in your pocket. No, probably just completely in your pants without your discretion.
4. Just a “no smoking” sign. Obviously I haven’t quit yet.
5. Meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting all five of his wives. Say what you want, I just wasn’t brought up that way.
BONUS VLOG: About junk. The kind in your drawers. Not drawers as in underwear. Pervert.
- Breaking Up Songs Are Not Hard To Do (anthonymercado.wordpress.com)
- King Again and Empathy from Alanis (iamoceansroar.wordpress.com)
- Ironic Lyrics By Alanis Morissette (lyricsjunction.wordpress.com)
In yesterday’s post, I revealed a secret about my disdain for sharing my music preferences with other drivers on the road, specifically at red lights. In the comments, there were a few others who expressed secrets involving music. Jillian was educating people at the same red lights, Amber was performing accidental serenades, and TBM revealed his faux music career. Sam also sings T-swift better than me, but that’s okay because much more people show interest in hearing me spit some Eminem.
Me and Slim go way back.
I vividly remember the period in my life when I was first introduced to the exquisitely crude lyrics of one of my favorite rappers. I can still smell my old 5th grade classroom and hear the sounds of me cracking pencils out of frustration over those logic puzzles. Isabella, Amy, Tony, and Michael can figure out their own damn class schedules or which gifts they gave to whom for Valentine’s Day. Shit. But this isn’t about them. This is about my favorite rapper, Mr. Marshall Mathers himself. You will be okay with this once you understand our history.
When Eminem came out with My Name Is, I remember being scared and delighted all at the same time. Scared, because I knew if I got caught singing the lyrics, “I don’t give a fuck, god sent me to piss the world off” at the impressionable age of ten, I would surely be put in jail and condemned to hell. My delight came from Eminem being my first true taste of secret rebellion. It was a simple infatuation that I couldn’t fully understand. It wouldn’t be long, however, before I was able to start understanding and appreciating the verses I was performing for the hair ribbons and stuffed animals in my closet. Read the rest of this entry