Wednesday, November 12, 2008

The Plaid and the Aspens

So this post is actually inspired by a line from a TV show, which makes me feel lame. Because it demonstrates how much TV I watch, which can get into some pretty extreme numbers sometimes, I am just waiting for the day when I'll turn down a date because "mah stories" are on. I'm guessing that day will come about in approximately 1.3 years. Ok, that's a joke, because who am I kidding? I don't get asked on dates, so I wouldn't have the opportunity to turn anyone down.

Wow that sounded a lot more bitter than I intended, please forgive that, I swear I am not one of "those" girls. Honestly, I would probably just roll my eyes if most of the lovely boys of my acquaintance were foolish enough to think we were compatible.

Anyways, you are about to kill me for not telling you what the line from the show was, aren't you? It was used as a description of a character, and said "she wears her individuality like a shield." Immediately I felt like that had struck a little too close to home. I swear I looked over my shoulder to make sure someone in the room wasn't talking about me. My secret was blown!

I started to do this downward spiral of analysis: is that what everyone subconsciously thinks about me, or am I the only one that knows that I do that? And if they know, do they find it annoying? Do they think they have to be constantly muscling aside what I am trying to push into their face in order to find the real and intensely ordinary me, or do they just wave me aside as the perpetual weirdo?

And if they do wave me aside, should I be happy with that? Doesn't my behavior support that response? Am I ok with being the weirdo, or am I wearing that individuality in a desperate attempt to filter through everyone who is never going to get me no matter how much time is invested so that the few who see ME and immediately want all this big mess that put together equals Mary are easy to find?

Ok I just surpassed myself on difficult to discern sentences. I don't know if my two fans have noticed (love you, Kristen and Luke), but commenting on my grammar is my favorite way to step away from an intense paragraph.

By the way, the title of the blog comes from a promise to Melanie to have that be my next heading, since she used that concise wording to great effect in an attempt to describe my least-favorite family picture. For the record, establishing permement evidence of just how hideous and awkward and in need of orthodontia you were in fifth grade should be a federal offense. And accentuating that professionally framed monstrosity with the family in matching lumber-jack type apparel and highwater jeans with the legs tucked into sneakers should add another five years to your sentence. Also 19-year-old blond model-looking sisters shouldn't be allowed in the same frame as their 11-year-old bucktooth-rabbit frizzy-haired genetic counterparts. It's just inhumane.

So I think my name is keeping me from reaching my full potential. Not my last name--dude, it's an article of clothing but with a z, you can't get better than that--but my first name. This came to me as I was helping my roommate's boyfriend with his art history homework (a favor he probably thoroughly regrets asking for considering how nerdy I got about the whole situation and how lovingly I looked over his textbook).

During the Renaissance, all of the truly great artists of the time knew they had reached their pinnacle of fame when they became know by their first names only: i.e. Michaelangelo, Raphael, Donatello, the very best of the TMNT. In essence they were the rockstars of sixteenth century Italy--Madonna, Bono, Prince, etc.

So, based on that, I am doomed to mediocrity. Because some inconsiderate 2,000-year-old chick already stole first-name-only rights from me, and I will always need to be two-name gal for clarification. And just in case some smart-aleck tries to post a comment about my middle name, I'll just get it out there now: it's Ruth, so same basic issue. I guess I'm pretty much done then, I have reached the glass ceiling of achievements, my life will never amount to anything because I will always be a two-named gal just like the rest of you losers. How sad.

Wow, my mind just went on this amazing tangent where I was picturing people saying stuff like "Man, did you check out that depth of field in "School of Athens?" It was beyond tight, like mind blowing stuff, dude. And you still haven't seen the musculature in The Creation of Adam? It's totally wicked." Yeah, that's right. I am just that nerdy. And in my tangent the speakers were vaguely British. I couldn't tell you why.

I just realized that unlike most times when I have blogged, I have no music to put up there that I've been listening to. No wonder I feel like I have done nothing and have nothing to say, I didn't have a cool soundtrack to go along with it, so I didn't notice! I will definitely fix that, I hate when I lose track of important things and accidentally go on a music fast. Although, I did go to a Joshua Radin/Missy Higgins concert a couple weeks back and that was tight. It was a very chill evening, no basses booming so loud and low they could jumpstart my heart (which is they way I usually like my music), but their individuality and passion for what they were doing really came through in that tiny venue.

Also, I put on some Ella Fitzgerald music the other day and that was like coming home. It's really as easy and as soothing as breathing deeply for me to listen to that stuff. When Jessica came home to me chilling to "Sittin' and A Rockin'" she made the very astute observation that "this is music you listen to when you want to feel classy." And it does just that.

Plus the lyrics of those times really just knock my socks off, I don't know how people like Cole Porter, Sammy Cahn, Lorenz Hart, Iriving Berlin, and Ira Gerschwin did it. Lines like "your looks are laughable, unphotographable, yet you're my favorite work of art" and "Or will this dream of mine fade out of sight, just like that moon growing dim on the rim of the hill in the chill still of the night" make my stomach knot up in a painful joyous way.

Go ahead and compare those lyrical gems to Backstreet Boys' immortal "I Want It That Way"--my go-to example of the most meaningless lyrics ever, I'm pretty sure the "it" that is referenced in the title changes at least five times--and throw up your hands as a sign that you, too, give up on humanity. My old voice teacher Flora was right, I was born in the wrong generation, I really do belong in the 40's. I would have rocked those little hats with the veils.

I'm gathering my strength for a complete rant that I already have worked out in my head, but I'm saving up so that it can have it's own post, so I won't be silent for long.

With that I will close with a quote from the best movie in theaters at the moment, Rocknrolla:

"If someone won't do what you want, give 'em a slap. If they still won't co-operate, cut 'em or pay 'em, but keep the receipt, this ain't the mafia."