Crush of the Week!

Hello, again, hello.

I'm going to let the cat out of the bag early tonight.  My Crush of the Week, for the week of September 6, 2010, is Ryan Adams.  If you know me, you knew this was coming.  Well, maybe not.... those of you who know me best are probably wondering when Mr. Timberlake is going to make an appearance already, but that is just because you people are living in the past, in a time when I talked incessantly about Justin in order to distract myself from the real world and other people from the concept of me as a real person, however subconsciously that all may have been.  Heavy.  Let's just say, if you live with me, or have in the last four or so years, you knew this was coming...

I'm not one of those people who gives a hot shit what kind of music someone likes.  I mean, if we like the same music - great, we can go to concerts together, and sing in the car together, and enjoy whatever else might co-inky-dinkily arise due to our mutual taste.  But, if we don't, I certainly will not fault you for it.  Sure, if you are really into some really cheeseball band (speaking of cheeseballs, how nice was it of me to post twice today?!?), I may question your intelligence, but that's only if you are seriously, really into this band.  Like, for example, if you're telling me how much the ridiculous lyrics of some band like the All American Rejects speak to you, then I might never trust your opinion of anything that involves words, or feelings, or basically any of your personal thoughts or judgements.  What I'm really saying, though, is that I won't think less of you as a person just because you listen to the All American Rejects.  One big reason I do not care is because I, myself, have no room to speak to anyone's tastes; I listen to music that makes me happy, and I have little concern for the relevance or the reverence of the musicians.  Due to my preference for pop music over the "indie," screaming bullshit with which everyone I met in college tried so hard to align themselves, I often felt like I needed to hide this, but... I like to sing along, guys.... verse, chorus, verse... in a catchy tune... that's what music is to me.  I just want to sing and dance in my room like Elizabeth Shue in The Adventures in Babysitting... and I do, like, nearly everyday.

 

That being said, there is one artist that I will openly say "speaks to me," even though saying things like like that is a behavior that I do not tolerate in myself or others.  But, it's true.  Ryan Adams writes great lyrics, and is a really great musician, and his music is the soundtrack for all of my bad mood drives, surly showers, and shut-in weekends.  And sometimes, when listening to a song like, "Touch, Feel and Lose" or "Everybody Knows" or "Come Pick Me Up" or even his cover of "Wonderwall"... I have a moment.

Easy, Tiger :)

Lately, I've been spending a lot of my time in my room, always trying to get rid of more stuff - CD's, clothes, whatever is cluttering my space, and also going through boxes of stuff that I've been storing in various places of mine and my family's over the last several years.  It's hard to explain briefly, but basically, all of my stuff has been here, there and everywhere, without my full knowledge of what I've even been accumulating, for the last several years.  Then, two things happened in the last year-ish of time:  my mom sent a bunch of it to my former residence in a U-Haul, and then, upon her decision to move to Florida, every last bit of what I had at her house as well as all kinds of crap of hers that she decided I should have, were also put in/back in my possession.  I'm not going to lie - at one point, I was living very similarly to the way the people you see on Hoarders and Clean House are living.  But, this was at my old house, and upon my decision to move, I knew I wasn't bringing all of the boxes and "memories" with me to my new place.  Very seriously, I hope to one day have my living space so concisely organized that I could uproot in a moment's notice. 

Okay, so I've gotten off track, but my point is just around the corner.  Even before I found the apartment, I was spending every weekend pitching old stuff to which I no longer understood my attachment, and packing up and taking carloads of stuff to Goodwill.  I made serious progress, and even eventually just piled stuff I was junking into my garage and paying someone to come dispose of it.  I should mention that it gets easier to part with things after your basement floods and much of these "mementos" are now just clumps of mold.  I'm very happy with my efforts, as I am now down to six boxes of storage in my basement, having gone down from the nine that I brought with me.  It wasn't easy, though... physically, so much cleaning up clutter, unpacking, re-packing and carrying boxes and stuff was difficult, sure, but mentally, both looking at some of the stuff and letting go of some of the stuff, wasn't always as easy as it seems it should be when you are watching some disgusting slob refuse to do it on television.  But, through all of the work, Ryan Adams was there to say, "Chin Up, Cheer Up." 

This is basically how my old dining room looked.

If you're familiar with Ryan Adams, then you know that he has enough music to provide a soundtrack for endless hours of housework.  When I collected CD's, I was somewhat overwhelmed by the amount of music he releases (now that he's married to Mandy Moore and apparently spending all of his creative time writing music for her, he no longer releases 2-3 albums a year... or any albums in like two years), but my extensive Ryan Adams playlist has certainly been welcome in my life this year.   When I'm in a grumpy place and in the mood to get really distracted with work, I like to put on something like "Halloweenhead" and pretend I'm not just bummed out, I'm also trying to escape the drug craving demons in my brain!  When I'm feeling like I might start crying because I'm digging through a box of pictures and stuff I saved from college because I intended to make an incredibly detailed scrapbook that never saw much light due to my, you know, incredible level of depression after what was basically a terrible college experience and lack of motivation to put together a book that celebrated it all... and I'm getting seriously disturbed by looking at pictures of myself from a time when I had such low self-esteem that I barely functioned, yet look so young and just... at least ten times better than I do now... and I'm so furious with myself for not figuring out how to be happy then, because I can't go back and be 18-22 ever again.... uh, then I listen to something like "I See Monsters."  Or, anything from Love Is Hell.

Other than yesterday when Chrissy came in and we went out to watch the Labor Day fireworks, I basically shut myself in my apartment all weekend and forced myself to clean out two boxes that I had been putting off both opening and taking to the basement.  I knew I had to do one or the other, because I got a sweet desk at Goodwill for fifteen bucks, and I needed to put it in the space in my room that these boxes were occupying.  I know it sounds like way less than a weekend of work to clean out two boxes, but I am very easily distracted, especially when the task is any sort of cleaning.  I knew it would be a steady rotation of 30 minutes with the box/45 minutes looking through something I found/2 hour nap/get on facebook for longer than necessary/see what's on tv/nothing's on tv so I guess I'll pull something else out of the box/30 minutes with the box....and so on.  By the way - when I say "box," I'm talking about those 18-gallon plastic tub things.  I learned my lesson with basements and flooding, so when I packed my house up, whatever was coming with me that wouldn't be immediately unpacked due to necessity was coming in one of those and not a cardboard, mold-factory box.

So, anyways, one of the boxes was full of framed photos that were actually from my mom's basement... and I had cracked into this one a few weeks ago, when I was looking for that bathroom stall picture of me and my friends from high school, but I hadn't officially cleaned out the box.  To be honest - although I have pulled them all out, I have no idea if they are just going back into the bin and to the basement, or what.  It feels so strange to dispose of pictures, for some reason.  That reminds me of when those missionaries with the little Bibles hand you one, and you know you don't want it... I mean, if you want a Bible, you probably have a full sized one at home... but you can't just toss it... well, maybe you can, but I guess I feel like it's weird to put a Bible in the garbage... hang ups, what can I say?... but then every time you're packing to move, you find like four of them, and you're like, "what do I do with these?" and if you're like me, you leave them there, for the next person, but you for sure take your full sized Bible, because maybe it will protect you from whatever fate you've earned by littering with tiny Bibles.

Alright, so the second box... it was my notorious, full to the brim, "scrapbook box," which is made of the highest grade plastic Rubbermaid offers, which I have not opened or added to for six years, and that I've taken with me to every place I've resided and stored in my bedroom, never basement, because I have been so ridiculously protective of this box and it's contents, while also not allowing myself or others to peruse what is held within.  It took me two entire days to get through this box.  I needed you, Mr. Ryan Adams, and you were there for me.

I think this is from the same tour that my friend Staceface and I went to see in Louisville.  I think... not sure.

I actually did pretty well this weekend, in all honesty.  I didn't cry once, and I didn't stop being productive because I was so stifled from self-hate, either.  Some days I'm made about the time I've wasted, and some days I'm happy about the perspective I've gained.  I should probably tell you guys that when I said that I haven't opened "the box" in six years, I actually mean that about three weeks ago was when I opened the box for the first time in six years.  I didn't get through much of it, but I got through enough to put me into a serious downer of a mood for like... well, about three weeks.  So, yeah... it was better this time, and I'm feeling even better now that it's over!  It was fun to laugh at myself for thinking I'll ever need things like yard signs from the 2004 Election (and like 8 of them.... seriously)... and also, I dug through enough to actually stir up memories from college that were positive, of all things.*  I think Ryan Adams would call this Magick.

So, Ryan Adams, thanks for the help in cleaning up all of my Cold Roses this year.  I really appreciate it.  I can tell from that picture above that you are pretty content with the work you've done here.  I think you're saying "you're welcome," but not necessarily sarcastically, which is how I usually say it... before being thanked... but, I take back the part where I said I mean that sarcastically... I mean it sincerely, but I also feel the need to emphasize the part where you forgot to thank me in the first place.  But, I totes just thanked Ryan Adams, so he was just being real when he said it... in the conversation that takes place in this picture and in my head.  :)

For those of you who are a little bit concerned that my Crush of the Week feature will now include weird stories about my emotional instability and such, I am telling you to fear not.  Every once in awhile I just have things to say that I don't know where else to put, and also that have inspired or are somehow connected to something I would be writing about under one of these predetermined topics, anyways, and well... it's my blog so I can get serious sometimes if I want!  My apologies if you found yourself digging around  in here for the funny parts, but, you probably gave up somewhere North of this, so to whom am I even speaking?  Lightweights!

Goodnight, Rose.

*This all sounds very dramatic... but I really don't have the energy to edit or further explain. I honestly don't mean it to sound that college was devastating for me... it wasn't college that was so bad, it was just that life got kinda crazy during the exact time I happened to be in college.  So, I don't look back on the time 100% fondly.  Or maybe even 50% fondly.  I just really don't want anyone I know from BG to be offended, because, I did meet some special little buddies while I was there that I will love forever, and you hos make up most of the fond percentage. :)  Okay, so much for not having energy to edit and explain... this blog entry is a mess, and if I didn't just spend an hour writing it, I would SCRAP this shit and write a Crush of the Week about the drunken hiljack who fell on some rocks in front of me on the river bank last night, and then introduced himself, and then told me I had a great name because his mom was named "Elaine."  He was really gross and old and had long hair and all, but I think he was the first guy to speak to me in like a month.  So, that's where I'm at, duders.