Archive | August, 2008

The Beach & The Jonas Brothers

29 Aug

Something is very wrong with me. This morning, as I slowly prepared for work and mused on the cloudy, dreary day that awaited me outside (more on that later), I turned the channel to one of the music stations. A video began. A Jonas Bros video. And I, um, enjoyed the video, found the music unbearably catchy, and um…thought one of them was kind of cute.

Somebody help me.

Just a few posts ago, I was talking about the wonder of boy bands, right? And that it’s all right; it’s generational; it’s a rite of passage. How it feels great to stand in a stadium and scream your head off for a campy song that will be forgotten when you leave said stadium?

I had that. I have that. (See post and awesome picture below). I don’t want it again. I went through this with Hanson. (I still heart you, Taylor Hanson, even though you’re younger than me and you have 12 children). I don’t want to sit around and wonder what Nick Jonas is doing. Or YouTube that video I saw this morning. I want to be free, encumbered only by musings on what Jordan Knight is doing at this moment (NKOTB) or happy that JC Chasez has a steady job (‘nsync). So no Jonas for me. I’m sorry. Get out of my head, catchy, campy song!

So, the day is cloudy and gloomy and dreary. My bones hurt. I hate days like this. To add further insult to injury, I’m headed for the beach today. The only vacation I’m taking, and the weather has to be like this. Nevertheless, I resolve to remain careless about it all and enjoy my time with my friend. Yeah.


28 Aug
It’s so cheesy and I loves it.

Prose? Have You Met Poetry?

22 Aug

I’ve always considered myself a fictionist first–short stories, the occasional abandoned novel–before anything. It’s what I aim to do, if I ever do it one of these days; to write a book, to write books, to put together a book full of my stories. (Whether desire will meet action is entirely another issue). Having said the latter, I have to also say that I’ve always loved and enjoyed poetry. Writing it, reading it, everything. I took tons of poetry courses in college to feed that love; I wrote tons of bad poems in high school to feed that love, as well. A good poem makes my day.

My point is that I’ve writing more poems lately. A lot lately. And I like it. There’s something freeing about pouring out my feelings in stanza form, of really playing around with language and thought. And my poems (something I can’t always say about my fiction) are wholly and completely comprised of me, my life, my experiences. It just feels real. I’m not saying that I’m leaving my short stories behind (or have they left me?), but maybe it’s time to consider (which I haven’t always done) that writing poetry is still writing.

You see, I haven’t been very fair to poetry. Because before? When I would lament that I hadn’t written anything? I meant stories. And, sadly, I equated true writing solely to fiction. (Sorry, Emily Dickinson. Never said I was perfect). Mainly because it’s what I’ve done for all these years. My cushion, my truest love. But the pen was moving all along. The pen was moving all along! For a professed lover and dabbler of poetry, it’s time to be real. In fact, poetry, stories, essays, a JournaBlog–it’s all writing. So I’m doing it and I’ve been. In your face, writer’s block.

I’m no poet, though. Yikes; there are true poets out there, seriously. Nevertheless: yes, I can happily say that I’m a writer of poetry, and that suits me just fine.

LeRoi Moore

20 Aug

He’s the saxophone player from one of my favorite favorite groups, the Dave Matthews Band. Sadly, he passed away yesterday from injuries related to an ATV accident in June. What a cool guy. He was quiet and hung out in the background, but he was amazing and always added that significant touch to DMB’s music. Sigh. Really sad, indeed.


19 Aug

It’s a new layout, a new day. I decided to at least help brighten the day by changing the layout to my JournaBlog. You like?

(By “you”, I refer to the three people that happen upon this place. Thank you, three people.)

The pre-scream madness of yesterday still sits at the bottom of my chest, slumbering, waiting for the next opportunity to push me to dizzying heights of scream-dom. I certainly hope the opportunity doesn’t come, but who knows? Those crazy days we all tend to have come in either drips or waves. Yesterday was a typhoon, apparently. I think it’s that old restless feeling. It visits me every now and then. If anything, perhaps a good poem can come out of it. Perhaps. (I make no bones about it anymore: I am currently not writing a thing. I only hope to do so, but the delusions of completing something with a beginning/middle/ending/plotline have worn away. Life stinks sometimes, don’t it?)

Over and out, Idaho. I shall return at some point.

Standing on the Precipice of a Giant Scream.

18 Aug

Ever have one of those days?

When you want to open your mouth and let out the longest, loudest wail ever heard from a girl?

I’m having one of those days. I won’t go into too much detail, but it’s bad. It’s horr-i-ble. I’m about 5 minutes from turning into the Hulk. I hate this feeling. I HATE this feeling.

To make things worse, it smells like maple syrup in my cubicle. Which means that my desire for French toast–which manifested itself this past weekend when I dreamt of once again walking into an IHOP after nearly a year of not walking into an IHOP–will become a reality at lunchtime. I’ll find French toast and I’ll eat it. With scrambled eggs. And wild abandon.

I really, really, hate this feeling.

Cheesy Goodness!

13 Aug

That would be Phil Collins. In the vein of my music entries this week (totally unplanned, mind you), I deem this Phil Collins day. People decry his musicality; his talent; so on and so, so forth. Who cares? He’s amazing. He was amazing with Genesis, amazing on his own, everything. I so enjoy him. Right now, this one is playing in my ear: It makes me want to…I don’t know, buy a gingham dress and skip down a sunny avenue somewhere. (I’m really quite ready for some psychotherapist to stumble onto this JournaBlog and request that I sit on his couch and discuss some of this imagery I tend to associate with music). Anyway, yes, woo hoo for Phil Collins.

While we’re on Genesis, let’s make this Peter Gabriel day, as well. Red Rain? Red Rain? I heart it. In Your Eyes? IN YOUR EYES? I need not say more. Here’s one where Phil was still the drummer for Genesis and Peter was singing lead. Great harmony.

What else? Nothing. I’m restless. Impatient. Feeling like I’m on the cusp of something and I’d like to jump in, but waiting for the very important push. (Intentionally vague, yes). Standing outside an open door; can’t move until I get the nod. Yes, that weird feeling. Knowing that I may not even get the opportunity to jump over or walk in, certainly a possibility, but wanting to know just the same. One of those days.

Ever stared at the computer so much that it seems like you’re shrinking? Or that your chair is descending to the ground? I have to get up now.

Counting Crows with Springsteen while Dancing in the Dark.

12 Aug

I love the Counting Crows. I love, love, love Springsteen. Today was definitely the day for those guys; I’ve listened to the Crows for most of the morning, and will hang out with Bruce for most of the afternoon. There’s something about both artists. Adam Duritz writes lyrics that can be esoteric, but then he puts a few words together that go straight to the old ticker. Amazing. I’m not coming undone…

And then Springsteen. He makes me want to be a welder. To work on a boat. To haul machines for a living. To…I don’t know, cover myself in grease and look toward the horizon and long for a change to the boredom and inertia of my blue-collar world. Does that make sense? For me, his songs typically call to mind people who ache for personal change. However, for some strange reason (things are usually strange in Girley’s head) these same people work, um, blue collar jobs. Maybe it’s because of “Dancing in the Dark.” I just imagine a guy–a trucker, works at the docks, whatever–so sick of his small town and his routine, so eager to get his girl and get out of the town. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark. Holy cow. Gives me the sweet chills. It must also be said that I interpret songs exactly for what they are…and then I throw in the entire kitchen sink. Good times, though.

Adele is coming to my town. And I’m GOING TO SEE HER. Adele will have me arrested, because I will be acting quite the public fool. Way too excited. Adele!

It feels like autumn. In August. The weather needs anti-depressants. Seriously. Almost mid-August and I get the dreamy-eyed look of a Girl aching to wear her fall boots? It’s totally insane. Feels great, though.

Today’s quote: “Books are the most quiet and patient teachers.” Who comes up with this awesome stuff?

So Whistle down the Wind…

11 Aug

The title means nothing. I was humming it a second before logging on, so here we are. Monday Monday, again, the week starts anew. Sigh. The weekend was good; got to spend time with some good friends and play games and eat, so that was a blast. Also got to run around town and run errands, which reminded me that I miss the days when regular gas was like 89 cents or something.

Actually, the title is from a Broadway show of the same name by Lloyd Webber, and I was just looking around on, one of my favorite sites. I want to see live theater. I really, really want to. But tickets to Broadway shows these days? Holy large cow. I’d be shelling almost 200 bucks for one ticket! No.Way. So, it’s time to do what I keep telling myself to do: fall in love with local theater. Time to keep an eye on the Signature Theater and Arena Stage and the others and see what’s playing.

Time to get to work. Thank God for the Ipod.

Archie…and Other Things

4 Aug

So Archuleta has a new single. And, despite my raging bias, it’s such a cool song. Catchy, cool, and filled with enough material to transport me back to those adolescent days of old when what he’ s singing about was the constant theme of my day. Title? “Crush.”

What is it about infatuation that makes it both sweet and vomitous at the same time? Actually, that’s a fairly unecessary question. I know the answer: It’s gleeful to think of the possibilities. It’s time to throw up when you think of the realities. Simple. I made a little promise to myself eons ago to leave that childhood stuff alone. For the most part, the childhood stuff has been left alone. Once in a while, though, someone catches the eye and the old brain gets a little excited. But, with enough pessimism and discipline, the brain can be trained to refuse the fluff and return to far more important tasks, like how quickly I can itune Archuleta’s new summer jam. I love it so.



Sincerely, Taj

Dear World, I have stuff to say, so get cozy. Here, I've got cupcakes.

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