Suzanne Vega - "Gypsy"
I've been listening to that song every 15 minutes or so tonight; the only thing that's keeping me from putting it on repeat is my historic distaste for the "repeat" option. This probably goes back to Thomas, and his well-meaning but misguided intentions to rape and leave for dead every new favorite song he came across in middle school (your looped tape of "American Pie"? and must we drag "Weird Al" Yankovic back into this issue?). But this song "Gypsy" is one of those songs where I purposefully ignore the lyrics because I'm afraid it will ruin the emotional "story" of the song that I derive from the music alone. I find that a lot of my favorite songs have conflicting meanings being represented by the lyrics and the melody. Like "Brick," by Ben Folds Five, and my now-infamous late epiphany that the song is about abortion. I really love the lyrics now, and I think it's a really well-written song, but somehow I still get the feeling that what Ben Folds is singing about isn't the same thing that I'm hearing in the song. I remember that the first couple of weeks I listened to the album, I mistook the line "'cause I was tired of lying" for "'cause I was tired of flying." Once I had corrected myself, though, I realized I kind of liked my version better. It was a neat little idea... to be tired of flying, tired of experiencing something that we consider exhilarating... well, it seemed to fit the music. Deep down, I consider "Brick" a song about being tired of flying.
This all actually mirrors a short response I wrote for W.E.B. Dubois's The Souls of Black Folk. I'm afraid this blog is going to be sticky with pseudo-intellectual residue leftover from the stack of papers I'm being forced to slap together this week.
After a really depressing and lonely Friday and Satuday afternoon, I put in The Shawshank Redemption at the same time that, 350 miles away, Kristen was putting in Dirty Dancing alone in her room on Valentine's Day night. I guess we all have our comfort movies. Gradually, Jeremy and Ayesha and Josh and the girls filtered in and we all watched it. It got me thinking a lot about home. Especially the music. I used to listen to that soundtrack in the springtime a lot, mostly when I was driving to the library or something on Sunday afternoons to do homework or to peruse a ("Friends of the Library") used book sale. The feeling lingered into yesterday morning, when I kept feeling more and more nostalgic about Georgia. I know exactly how much I complained about Alpharetta back in high school, and I can almost revel in the fact that I still hopelessly romanticize everything I experience, even when I resent it. To me, being nostalgic means you're extracting the best parts from your past; it's harmless, unless you're looking for an honest assessment of your life or you're trying to unify a German state or something. I'm perfectly happy in my contradictory memory. Who wants honesty? I get enough of the truth from the Core Curriculum at school here.
To make this the typical Drew blog, I should make a laundry list of all the people, places, and songs I'm feeling nostalgic about, but that would be so... (emo)?. Every once in a while it's a good feeling to let all those sentiments flutter around in your head for a while. It makes me sad, but it's a bittersweet sadness, not like the kind I've felt at all lately. And it makes me look forward to spring break at home, whereas before I didn't think I had much of any reason to look forward to.
(By the way, the good Perks of Being a Wallflower reader will notice that that Suzanne Vega song is from the "One Winter" mix tape from the book. And if you were a devoted, ostracized geek way back in early high school, you hitched up your Napster and made yourself a copy. I'm listening to that CD tonight; that's how deep in nostalgia I am. Incidentally, I just got Julia, Rita, and Julia's Oberlin friend Julia to read Perks a few weeks ago. They weren't blown away by it, which disappointed me, but I doubt if I would have been either if I'd waited until college to read it. That's why I'm reluctant to read it again... I'm afraid it's turned into something unfamiliar and false, even though that book was like Holy Writ when I first read it. Oh well. Such was being a teenager.)
I've been listening to that song every 15 minutes or so tonight; the only thing that's keeping me from putting it on repeat is my historic distaste for the "repeat" option. This probably goes back to Thomas, and his well-meaning but misguided intentions to rape and leave for dead every new favorite song he came across in middle school (your looped tape of "American Pie"? and must we drag "Weird Al" Yankovic back into this issue?). But this song "Gypsy" is one of those songs where I purposefully ignore the lyrics because I'm afraid it will ruin the emotional "story" of the song that I derive from the music alone. I find that a lot of my favorite songs have conflicting meanings being represented by the lyrics and the melody. Like "Brick," by Ben Folds Five, and my now-infamous late epiphany that the song is about abortion. I really love the lyrics now, and I think it's a really well-written song, but somehow I still get the feeling that what Ben Folds is singing about isn't the same thing that I'm hearing in the song. I remember that the first couple of weeks I listened to the album, I mistook the line "'cause I was tired of lying" for "'cause I was tired of flying." Once I had corrected myself, though, I realized I kind of liked my version better. It was a neat little idea... to be tired of flying, tired of experiencing something that we consider exhilarating... well, it seemed to fit the music. Deep down, I consider "Brick" a song about being tired of flying.
This all actually mirrors a short response I wrote for W.E.B. Dubois's The Souls of Black Folk. I'm afraid this blog is going to be sticky with pseudo-intellectual residue leftover from the stack of papers I'm being forced to slap together this week.
After a really depressing and lonely Friday and Satuday afternoon, I put in The Shawshank Redemption at the same time that, 350 miles away, Kristen was putting in Dirty Dancing alone in her room on Valentine's Day night. I guess we all have our comfort movies. Gradually, Jeremy and Ayesha and Josh and the girls filtered in and we all watched it. It got me thinking a lot about home. Especially the music. I used to listen to that soundtrack in the springtime a lot, mostly when I was driving to the library or something on Sunday afternoons to do homework or to peruse a ("Friends of the Library") used book sale. The feeling lingered into yesterday morning, when I kept feeling more and more nostalgic about Georgia. I know exactly how much I complained about Alpharetta back in high school, and I can almost revel in the fact that I still hopelessly romanticize everything I experience, even when I resent it. To me, being nostalgic means you're extracting the best parts from your past; it's harmless, unless you're looking for an honest assessment of your life or you're trying to unify a German state or something. I'm perfectly happy in my contradictory memory. Who wants honesty? I get enough of the truth from the Core Curriculum at school here.
To make this the typical Drew blog, I should make a laundry list of all the people, places, and songs I'm feeling nostalgic about, but that would be so... (emo)?. Every once in a while it's a good feeling to let all those sentiments flutter around in your head for a while. It makes me sad, but it's a bittersweet sadness, not like the kind I've felt at all lately. And it makes me look forward to spring break at home, whereas before I didn't think I had much of any reason to look forward to.
(By the way, the good Perks of Being a Wallflower reader will notice that that Suzanne Vega song is from the "One Winter" mix tape from the book. And if you were a devoted, ostracized geek way back in early high school, you hitched up your Napster and made yourself a copy. I'm listening to that CD tonight; that's how deep in nostalgia I am. Incidentally, I just got Julia, Rita, and Julia's Oberlin friend Julia to read Perks a few weeks ago. They weren't blown away by it, which disappointed me, but I doubt if I would have been either if I'd waited until college to read it. That's why I'm reluctant to read it again... I'm afraid it's turned into something unfamiliar and false, even though that book was like Holy Writ when I first read it. Oh well. Such was being a teenager.)
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