the sloppy copy

My mom was waiting in the hallway for me this morning.
“My Aunt Ruth died,” she said.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I said.
“She died yesterday,” she said.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I said, again.

I didn’t know what else to say.

There are several distinct pockets of my family that I’ve either never met before in my entire life, or have only met once, more than 20 years ago. And when I say “pockets,” I mean “gigantic branches of my family tree.” I never understood this. We all live in the same town. It wouldn’t require more than 20 minutes of travel by automobile to get everyone together. So why don’t we?

Each time I raise the issue, it’s brushed aside. I mean, I understand that when everyone has jobs and kids or whatever it’s more difficult to get things together, but not even once a year? Really, people?

I think I’m just being whiny. And immature. And, yes, jealous of people who have big family reunions that they actually attend. I’m not suggesting that these families all get along and love each other and travel the country in a flamboyantly-colored bus singing C’mon get haaaaaaappyyyy! I’m saying that these people – whether they realize it or not – know that family is important, and not to be taken for granted.

So I guess that’s the moral of this story: Don’t take your family for granted! You only get one, so make the time to make it count!

Holy hell, there’s a reason there’s a warning on this one.

“Flashing Lights” / Kanye West ft. Dwele (2005)

Also, this video couldn’t be made the other way around (girl cheating on guy) without a major shit-fit being raised.

If you’ve not seen the SNL sketch “The Mellow Show with Jack Johnson” you should check it out. Vegan cookies!

“Banana Pancakes” / Jack Johnson (2005)

This dude is alright.

“These Arms” / Matt Costa (2006)

Sometimes I forget this song exists, and then I remember, and then I’m happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L284UgTLA3c

“Heroes and Villains” / The Beach Boys (1967)

T-Pain might blame it on the a-al-a-al-a-alcohol, but we all know the truth: getting buzzed, tipsy, drunk, trashed or otherwise intoxicated is, never has been, and never will be an excuse for “uncharacteristic” acts.

To clarify: it does not cause the imbiber to do something he or she would never otherwise do. It only lessens the personal inhibitions against engaging in a particular behavior. There’s a reason the stuff is called a “social lubricant” or “liquid courage.”

Am I in the minority here? Maybe, but this is my story and to it I shall remain sticked.

Want an example? I’ll give you one, full disclosure: Say I’m in a bar. A nasty, dirty, townie bar full of dirty, nasty townies. The bartender has mixed me my severalth Mr. Pibb and vodka (am I the only one who orders this drink at this bar? Could very well be) and I spot a dude with whom I need to make a connection. Like, must. Were I to be sober, the thought that would cross my mind might go something like “Hey, that guy looks interesting. What’s his story?” Drunk me has the same thought, only it kind of glides across my dura mater, bypassing the part of my brain that might more coherently form such neural connections. To shit-faced me, the thought comes across something like “Dude that guy over there is hot! And I like his hat! What his story is? I like his hat.”

Sober me finishes her drink, continues chatting with her friends, possibly points out Hat Guy, maybe smiles at Hat Guy, and will engage in conversation with Hat Guy if we happen to be at the bar at the same time, or maybe waiting in line at the jukebox together, et cetera, et cetera. The acknowledgment of Hat Guy’s presence, the potential for conversation or, more likely, the hypothetical backstory that my friends and I create is enough to quench that particular impulse.

Drunk me will finish her drink, order another, and proceed with her cold open: walking straight over to Hat Guy and striking up a conversation about the first thing that slowly flickers inside her head. It could be the state of the nachos he is eating, the logo on his shirt, the smell of the bar or the availability of the shuffleboard table. It does not matter, because with this verbal exchange I will have satisfied that original impulse within my brain.

Two different scenarios, just viewed within disparate lenses. Think of one as the correct prescription and the other as a pair of Walgreen’s readers.

So while the drinking might make Shorty feel loose, she’s not suddenly thinking and processing with someone else’s brain. To blame it on the alcohol, and mean it, is essentially bullshit.

A favorite from my favorite artist: What a sweet little song. Also, more charming in lo-fi.

“Thirteen” / Elliott Smith (2005)