the sloppy copy

“Chemo Limo” / Regina Spektor (2004)

I cracked open a new-ish stick of deodorant today, and before you get your underthings all in a wad at my addition of “ish” to “new,” it was a stick that I bought for a trip taken a few months ago. I used it while I was out of town, then carelessly tossed aside.

Or so I thought. Turns out the tossing was thoughtful; as I sit at my computer, I am overcome with a stench that can only be described as “shit-nasty.”  Unfortunately, it’s all I have, and I’m going to work soon, and I should probably not reek of the charcoal-grill smoke, after-rain, and extreme humidity smells I accumulated on my person this afternoon.

Or should I? Those odors are certainly more pleasant than the one currently radiating in horrific, tear-inducing vapors from my axillae. I’m pretty baffled, actually. The label describes the scent as Fabulously Floral. False advertising, indeed. I’d describe it as more Fabulously Fucked-Up.

And yet, I am stuck. I could thoroughly cleanse any traces of deodorant from my skin, but what happens later this evening, when I am stuck indoors in a building that is essentially full of hot air and steam from the cooking of so many dinners? A quick search of my Mom’s cabinets-upon-cabinets of “spare” soaps, shampoos and razors produced no satisfactory result. I found a stick of some solid with a passably-pleasant aroma but yet: I am wearing a black, short-sleeved shirt to work and have not yet mastered the skill required to pair solid under-arm fragrance with the wearing of dark colors.

So here I am, digging through a plastic baggie of perfume samples that Carynn sent to me as part of one of her famously-random care packages. If that fails me, there’s always the Sample Page in this week’s Macy’s ad to rub on my pits.

Desperate times, friends. Desperate times.

It’s not Friday, but hey – who’s counting?

“This is how we do it” / Montell Jordan (1995)

Aw, I admit it. I like this song. Also, Hayley Williams puts on a hay-ell of a show live. Like, holy moly. Also-also, she’s, like, 20. What am I doing with my life?

“The Only Exception” / Paramore (2009)

Once I had a job that I didn’t particularly like. Some days, I would become so angry at my supervisor that I would go home and spend a considerable amount of time fantasize about quitting. And for whatever reason, replaying the “march right up to him and quit right there, on the spot” scenario in my head was enough comfort to keep me going for another day or so.

At the time, I wasn’t in any sort of position to do any marching, or impromptu quitting. So I hung in there, all the while constructing elaborate scenarios in my head during which I walk out, perhaps to the cheers and applause of my co-workers.

I’m lucky enough to enjoy the job I have now, and the folks with whom (and for whom) I work. Heck, I even enjoy the people with whom I interact daily – most days. So when I go home, I have no Quitting Fantasies into which I can retreat. I don’t need them. Things are good now.

But lately, another sort of fantasy has crept into my conscious mind. This one involves quitting, yes, but not in some sort of blaze of indignant glory. Rather, I quit in favor of Something Else – some Great Adventure that’s still up my sleeve and not quite completely thought-through.

Nothing – nothing – ties me to where I am right now. Family? Yes. Friends? Yes. The convenience of a Major League Baseball Franchise that I follow with more diligence than some worship their God? Yes. But these are people to whom I can always, always return. I’ll be home for Christmas. I’ll return for a Game Night. I’ll catch a home game. Or two. But what to say of the in-between?

My friend Erin uses the term “itchy feet” to describe her urge to travel, to move on, to discover something new (and boy, has she done some traveling and moving and discovering!). And right now, I’ve got a case that absolutely nothing – short of an open-ended trip – can cure.

So what’s next? I imagine that I’ll stick around here for awhile, there’s a series of things I gots to do. But after about September-or-so, the world is pretty much my oyster.

I know that I’ve said it before, but stay tuned, I guess.

I admit that NMH is…an acquired taste. It’s one of those groups whose off-kilterness I absolutely adore, yet I am able to appreciate the fact that the fuzzy, lo-fi weirdness of it all might not tickle everyone’s fancy.

“Two-Headed Boy” / Neutral Milk Hotel (1998)

this song reminds me of the classic rock station I listened to when I lived in Oklahoma, and playing it at maximum volume some nights as I did the dishes, in my own kitchen, in my own apartment.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SEULZIHru0

“Sultans of Swing” / Dire Straits (1978)

“Not to put too fine a point on it, say I’m the only bee in your bonnet…”
Also, I used to have Flood (the album on which this track was included) on cassette; a friend made a copy for me. Sign of the times, I guess.

“Birdhouse in your soul” / They Might Be Giants (1990)

Some more Elliott.

“Whatever (Folk Song in C)” / Elliott Smith (2007)*

Again, released posthumously.