Handle Me With Care
It has now officially been so long since I’ve written here that I wonder if anyone even reads this anymore. I apologize. It’s been hard to come home and write on my computer since I started the new job where I spend all day writing at my computer, but I promise to try and be better.
Today is my birthday and lucky me (and Neil Diamond and John Belushi—RIP—who share my birthday with me), British scientists declared January 24th the most depressing day of the year. Awesome. I did have a great party with Jon on Saturday night and I was thrilled at how seriously most of my friends took our costume theme. When I develop some patience I will upload at least a link to the photos. They are hilarious. I look very naked. The evening would have been better had I stopped drinking one hour earlier than I did, but what’s done is done. Unfortunately now that I’m old, I don’t recouperate like I used to, so Sunday was a blur of television, heavy water consumption, and dizziness. Now that it is my actual birthday, I feel kind of let down. I mean, it’s Tuesday. I’ve worked all day. I don’t feel like going out tonight, nor do I have plans. So, in short, the British scientists were right.
I’ve decided not to write about music here anymore, since that is what I spend my days doing now and I can’t bring myself to come up with clever adjectives twice to describe the same record. But I will say this…..the new Jenny Lewis album is awesome. My favorite song is her cover of the Traveling Wilburys “Handle With Care.” Jenny sings the George Harrison main melody while M. Ward sings the Jeff Lyne parts, Ben Gibbard does a nice job with the Roy Orbison parts, and Conor Oberst gets to live his childhood dream and be Bob Dylan. I must admit I get kinda jealous when I listen to this song. It gives me weird little, middle school chest pains. It sort of reminds me of how a friend of mine tells a story about crying herself to sleep as a little kid because she knew that Brice Beckham (a/k/a Wesley from Mr. Belvedere) would never be her boyfriend. I’m weirdly jealous that Jenny got to sing on this song. I can just imagine how fun recording that song must’ve been. I want to be in that recording booth. And I want to take a break with those guys to go smoke in between takes. And I want to be the one to run out for pizza when the session is going late. The knowledge that this will never happen, hurts me on the inside. This song has also made me think about Conor and his quaverking, emotional voice. It might actualy be my favorite voice in rock. It isn't pretty and it isn't perfect, but when I'm sad it's the only thing I want to hear. It's like pressing on a bruise. It makes it hurt worse, but in a good, deliberate way.
Today is my birthday and lucky me (and Neil Diamond and John Belushi—RIP—who share my birthday with me), British scientists declared January 24th the most depressing day of the year. Awesome. I did have a great party with Jon on Saturday night and I was thrilled at how seriously most of my friends took our costume theme. When I develop some patience I will upload at least a link to the photos. They are hilarious. I look very naked. The evening would have been better had I stopped drinking one hour earlier than I did, but what’s done is done. Unfortunately now that I’m old, I don’t recouperate like I used to, so Sunday was a blur of television, heavy water consumption, and dizziness. Now that it is my actual birthday, I feel kind of let down. I mean, it’s Tuesday. I’ve worked all day. I don’t feel like going out tonight, nor do I have plans. So, in short, the British scientists were right.
I’ve decided not to write about music here anymore, since that is what I spend my days doing now and I can’t bring myself to come up with clever adjectives twice to describe the same record. But I will say this…..the new Jenny Lewis album is awesome. My favorite song is her cover of the Traveling Wilburys “Handle With Care.” Jenny sings the George Harrison main melody while M. Ward sings the Jeff Lyne parts, Ben Gibbard does a nice job with the Roy Orbison parts, and Conor Oberst gets to live his childhood dream and be Bob Dylan. I must admit I get kinda jealous when I listen to this song. It gives me weird little, middle school chest pains. It sort of reminds me of how a friend of mine tells a story about crying herself to sleep as a little kid because she knew that Brice Beckham (a/k/a Wesley from Mr. Belvedere) would never be her boyfriend. I’m weirdly jealous that Jenny got to sing on this song. I can just imagine how fun recording that song must’ve been. I want to be in that recording booth. And I want to take a break with those guys to go smoke in between takes. And I want to be the one to run out for pizza when the session is going late. The knowledge that this will never happen, hurts me on the inside. This song has also made me think about Conor and his quaverking, emotional voice. It might actualy be my favorite voice in rock. It isn't pretty and it isn't perfect, but when I'm sad it's the only thing I want to hear. It's like pressing on a bruise. It makes it hurt worse, but in a good, deliberate way.
