My mind keeps spinning closer and closer to the rain on the roof

Sometimes I wish it were socially appropriate to say things like this:

Hey, guy studying at the Exposé. You see me, and I see you. Yes, it's true that I find your eyebrow ring distasteful, and I'm sure there are things about me you find unsavory--my skinniness perhaps? or maybe the sound of my voice is a little grating?--but I'm tired of making and subsequently averting eye contact. Let's just address this elephant and get it over with. I think we should get some coffee some time or go on some other kind of outing. I'm willing to try you on, to ignore that eyebrow ring and the fact that you sometimes look a little angry. The number of gays out there is limited, and at this point, I feel like I'm steadily moving through them. So let's give this a go. I'm Sam, by the way. What's your name?

Admittedly, I could probably get away with just saying those last two sentences, but I feel like the whole rant would just make everything much easier.

Those tears they cry have come too late.

Yesterday, I was sitting at the Kitty Cat Klub with Lauren, enjoying a nice and surprisingly well-priced gin and tonic. A instrumental jazz trio consisting of an electric guitarist, a string bassist, and a drummer were playing some soft tunes at a unnecessarily loud level. Lauren and I were chatting, laughing, gossiping. At a lull in the conversation, my ear turned to the music. The melody sounded vaguely familiar; I sorted through my knowledge of Frank Sinatra, Edith Piaf, Ella Fitzgerald, Billy Holiday. Then suddenly, as I traced the pronounced staccato of the bassist's notes, it hit me:

They were playing "Gollum's Song."

As in that wonderful tune written from Smeagol's point of view as he articulates his sense of betrayal at the hands of Sam and Frodo and his willingness to lead them into danger, to a point at which "they can never go home."

The rest of the audience reacted with graceful tact, as I immediately called Erin and filled her in, laughing rather obscenely and repeating over and over: "'Gollum's Song,' Erin! 'GOLLUM'S SONG!'"

It's moments like these that make me love my life.

Tell them now your pleasure's set upon slow release

Spending extended periods of time at the same table outside the Exposé has offered me an unprecedented glimpse into the lives of canvassers for Environment Minnesota, Amnesty International, and that one group that carried around that cardboard cutout of Rush Limbaugh, which I always hoped they would burn in effigy. Regardless, having observed them for this long, I've come to learn a few things. For example, they are a resilient people. Even though there are passersby who are incredibly rude (more than one person has shouted, "I've already talked to you!"), they nevertheless maintain a pleasant disposition and a cheerful smile. Despite people's general hostility and unwillingness to listen, these canvassers nevertheless attempt to stop each and every person and convert them to their cause, a cause which I like to believe is their only motivation.

In some ways, canvassers are my heroes.

Until I have the heart to tell you that the picture that you just drew wasn't me.

Here is a list of the reasons why I am a product of my generation:

1. Every word that comes out of my mouth is an abbreviation for another word.
2. I have been broken up with over the Facebook chat.
3. I have sexted. (Sans pictures, guys; I'm not that much of a perv.)
4. I cannot drive anywhere without google maps.
5. I'd rather watch a film that's up front about its gratuitousness and manipulativeness than one that tries to hide it.
6. I listen to playlists way more than I listen to whole albums.
7. I consider Daniel Craig the best Bond.
8. Every time my iPod skips, I die a little.
9. I am perpetually hounded by guilt over the impact that each of my actions has upon the environment.
10. I am growing increasingly disillusioned and apathetic about politics.

Let's talk about this last point.

When I was in high school and even before that, I couldn't get enough of politics. I watched the confirmation hearings of Justices Roberts and Alito with intense, if not obsessive, interest. I volunteered for the Kerry campaign once a week for two months and personally knew the staff of the Waukesha branch of the Democratic Party. I watched the West Wing with fervent adoration. I loved politics; I felt chills down my spine when a Senator or Congressperson said something I totally agreed with, and adamantly agreed with what almost every member of the Democratic Party said.

But today, as I watched Meet the Press for the first time in a year, I was totally and completely annoyed. I missed almost all of the interview with John McCain, but I caught the whole of Chuck Schumer's commentary. Everything that came out of his mouth was simultaneously so loaded and so vacuous that absolutely nothing was said. Democrats are not required to agree with Obama; Republicans are not required to hate him. The stimulus isn't working as planned, but punditry, denial, or exaggeration is doing nothing to address the problems that our economy faces. We looked to Obama to change the way politics is done, but what I think I failed to realize is that this is completely impossible. Obama isn't Bartlett, and the world isn't written by Aaron Sorkin. And while I don't want to speak for the generation that created me, I believe that, until the people who are supposed to be our representatives stop bickering about which president is to blame for this crisis and actually address the issues that are being left for us to deal with (the environment, the war our generation is being forced to fight, the recession), it's too overwhelming and disheartening to care.

It's Only Been a Couple of Years, Right?

I'm very obviously a terrible blogger. In fact, I totally forgot about this blog until my dad told me that I should really have a blog. He says things like to this to me on a very regular basis, but this time it stuck, and I decided to revive "The Things I Think But Never Get the Chance to Say."

I want to talk about country music for a second. I firmly feel that the country music genre never gets its due. I was thinking about what Chuck Klosterman said about Johnny Cash, and despite my general annoyance with Klosterman (which is admittedly unfounded), I can't deny how right he is about this. What makes Johnny Cash so spectacular is his ability to make complex emotions simple. When Cash hears that whistle blowin' and subsequently hangs his head and cries, it's not because he wants freedom, or redemption, or some sort of abstracted concept or feeling; he just wants to sit on the goddamn train and drink some goddamn coffee. That is seriously some of the best poetry I've ever heard.

Furthermore. Johnny Cash: biggest badass in music history. Forget 50 Cent, forget Tupac, forget the Notorious B.I.G. Johnny Cash shot a man in Reno simply to watch him die. In concession, Cash did not actually shoot anyone or get murdered on the street, and he also didn't have seven bullet wounds in his body. But his ability to get into the mind of a killer and to articulate what an inmate would feel is beyond awesome.

Which brings me to my second point, which, like the first point, is not even my own. I read an article in Newsweek recently about country music and how the genre has gone from Cash singing about shooting someone to the insipid and watery hodgepodge currently being labeled "country" today. Newsweek claimed that this has to do with a changing demographic; the people who now listen to country music have kids and live in the suburbs and want to hear songs about children spilling their happy meals. I think there's something to say for these artists' abilities to identify and help articulate the issues of a certain type of person, but I'm still skeptical about whether these changes are for the good. Country music is now kind of crock; a hyper-glamorized image of something that once had meaning, a conforming to and enhancing of the signifiers of the genre without appreciation for where and how those signifiers get their meaning. And one can recognize that it's definitely a sad state of affairs when one considers that country music created these lyrics:

"Save my love through loneliness,
Save my love through sorrow,
I gave you my onliness,
Come give your tomorrow."

Moral of the story: Romantica, a Minneapolis-based band with a front-man from Belfast, is doing more to preserve the awesomeness that is country music than Toby Keith, Keith Urban, Carrie Underwood, and Tim McGraw combined. Just sayin'.