Tomfoolery & ballyhoo
About
Social observations of a curious nature
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Indie has such a rough life.
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Inspired by @toddbratrud
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Ronnie, watch out! There’s a gap in that le….oh, never mind.
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HOLDE MINE HAIR
ye olde partie times
Verily, thou art...
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Illustration by Fabian Ciraolo
Chilean illustrator, Fabian Ciraolo, has turned our historical icons into hipsters, and he’s done it in style. View Frida as the bad girl, Dali in a cut off shirt and tight jeans, the Dalai Lama rockin’ his boombox, Che Guevara in his bomber jacket waiting to run the pool table and Cleopatra being risqué in a leopard print top! You can find more of this pop culture artwork on Ciraolo’s blog.
Those white birds with the long necks.
Today’s song is “Swans (Life After Death)” by Islands.
I think swans, and I think they used to be fugly duckings. Their fascination is their transformation. We’ll all succumb to change, like we’ll all succumb to death. But swans always bring sunny feelings about the inevitable.
This didn’t occur to me the first time I heard it.
It’s quirky and upbeat, opening with a synthesized bird call. (It sounds better than you think.)
Then, it’s an odyssey of positive.
Much later, it breaks into ballad-y, 90’s guitar, which makes me ache for something specific from my past. Like wanting to feel the low-fi effects of my first breakup.
It goes on. His voice is balls-deep in chromatic notes. A devastating change, and I descend from nostalgia.
The end is my least favorite. More 90’s guitar. Then, they throw in some piano, and I catch a whiff of their Guns N Roses penis envy.
Ultimately, what I take from this song is hopefulness.
It hurls me toward my adolescent emotions … and makes me regret their loss, if only for 9 minutes.
Like, on repeat
I can’t stop listening to “West End Blues” by Louis Armstrong, which may mean I’m 90.
It’s old and rag-timey. You can almost hear the record player needle in the recording, but it’s a great listen if you wanna chill and think back.
It’s sassy and lazzily expressive. The piano beat and wooden block are clumsily intoxicating. Louis’ trumpet howls in staccato, his croons mimic bashfully.
Check it. *I guess you hafta click on the title of this post to get to the damn link.
In the words of Gloria Gaynor
One … two … three … how many hangovers do I need to survive?
Ok, the hangover isn’t the worst part. The kicker is the the “morning after.” The series of embarrassing flashbacks from “last night.” I sing. i dance. I make an ass outta myself, like we all do, whilst drunk.
So, I decided to take on 30 days of sobriety … to cleanse the palette.
This is Week Two. Here a some of my observations:
1. Bars are really shitty when you’re sober.
Not to sound all judgy-wudgy, but seriously. People can be touchy, needy assholes, and when you’re not under the generous light o beer goggs, many can seem over-the-top. (I am NOT immune.)
2. I realize I need some kinda chemical to chill out.
I couldn’t make it through my poker game without a couple a fake beers. Dependent? Hmmmm….
3. I’m being a little more creative with my time.
I signed up for a freelance editing/writing website, which I’ve been meaning to do for months. I got farther in a book that I’d owned for 9 years than I ever have. Aaaand, I actually started looking at what I wanna do with my future.
It’s kinda hard to deny qualms about where your life is going when you’re always sober.
4. I’m saving a boatload of money.
(So “buttload” came from “boatload” or vice versa?)
5. It’s SUPER nice to feel physically well every day.
I know that makes me sounds like kind of a alky, but (here come the excuses) I only drink every two weeks … I just consume enough to get a cheerleading squad tanked. Still, it’s not OK.
But to not have to suffer through a hangover when I’m at work. To not have my intestines always feel like they’re in recovery mode. To be able to brush my teeth everyday and not wanna puke. Not once. Ahhh…the admissions of an alcoholic in training.
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So I can’t say that I’m entirely upset about my decision to “go sober!” It’s nice to feel like I’m exercising self-discipline. It’s great to show some resistance for something all positive. And if I drop a couple of beer pounds, fuck yeah.
I love this man.
Quarter-life crisis
I think I’m onto something.
Lately, I’ve been feeling restless.
This happens often.
Unfulfilled. Unchallenged. Maybe even unhappy.
I think it’s because I finally figured out what I wanna be when I grow up, but repression’s a helluva drug.
I wanna be an art director for a progressive publication. I wanna be immersed in creativity and fulfilled in the final product of the printed page.
But I’m not qualified. Yet.
I know what I need to do but the thought of adding more debt to my stack makes me wanna blow chunks.
But honestly, I need to weigh that against the pressing feeling that I’m wasting my life away. (Dramatic? A bit, but honest.)
I see the rest of my life playing out I front of me if I continue to opt for inaction, and …. again with the chunks.
My education debt ain’t shit compared to a med student’s. I think I’m hiding behind that concern.
I’m more afraid of life’s god damned curve balls.
It’s a scary thing - FINALLY realizing what you wanna be. Making a goal for yourself…. Holy shit with the chunks again.
I’ve arrived at a possible crossroads to my future. And it would be a happy one.
I guess I’m just afraid of bridge trolls down the way.
The Hasties, NDMOA
(Source: mai-lai)
Ghetto tip of the day
Ever have to pay for something in change?
I once had to dig under my car floor mats for a dime so I could pay for a stamp to mail my mother a credit card bill. Ghetto? It was college.
Now, I’m an old, “young professional” digging through change in my car so I can buy a pack of generic cigarettes. No pity here. It’s a stupid habit that, along with being broke, I also I acquired in college.
It’s embarrassing and shitty having to pay for things with all change. But the plus side to today’s experience is at least I didn’t have to do pennies. And I went to the Valley Dairy by The Mission.
I’m not talking smack about Grand Forks’ homeless shelter because those could one day be my people, and like me, they pay for items with money that jingles. So, I imagine the Valley Dairy attendants have to sort through countered pocket lint on a somewhat frequent basis.
Today, I was in there, change in hand, and the attendant made me feel great. Accepted. She lacked judgment. She didn’t sigh when I pulled out my nickels and dimes and act like I shit on her lawn as she counted them.
Thank you, Valley Dairy attendant. You deserve a tip, but this is the only kind I could afford: Keep up the good work because you’re lovely!