Let the music heal your soul

I’m a bit of a music junkie (all: No, really?) and from that perspective I strongly believe music is the highest of all art forms. It’s not that I don’t appreciate paintings, statues or photographs, because I do (well, specific photographs). It’s just that at a certain point they just get boring. Books and movies are in the same category as music but, unlike music they are of a more difficult material to work with. A normal pop song generally takes 4 minutes to digest, while a book or movie takes at least 2 hours. It’s true that this means that music can pass you by much quicker than a book, but it also means you can revisit it much easier and more frequently.

The part that I love most about pop music are the lyrics. Granted, not all lyrics, a lot of them are pretty darn bad (all: The Ketchup song!) but sometimes you run across some really nice lines. For some people it’s tough to follow the lyrics, but when you do, the lines do stuff for you. When you’re feeling good they help you feel better, when you feel crap because you’ve been dumped or something, they make you feel… well… less crap. And in case of a light depression (or in my case severe post-teenage angst) it works too, but it’s more difficult.

Problem in that category is that a lot of my favourite artists fail me there in subject matter. Although Ben Folds comes pretty close (“All I know is I’ve got to be/ Where my heart says I ought to be/ It often makes no sense/ In fact I never understand these things I feel” – Don’t change your plans), he loses me when writing about abortion and joining the army. Ryan Adams is a genius but most of the time too self-centred and Jason Mraz is just too darn sweet. Zucchero is God but his songs are all about either being happy because you love someone or being sad because you love someone, which are pretty interesting subjects, but sadly enough in angst- and depression-fighting he falls short.

Which is why I thank God on my knees at least once a month (or in bad months twice) for giving the world Bruce Springsteen.

When you’re down, listening to a Springsteen compilation is like having this guy sitting next to you, hand on your shoulder, saying “Dude, I feel your pain”. Bruce has either been there himself (Human Touch, Born to Run) or he knows loads of people who have (The River, Born in the U.S.A., Streets of Philadelphia, Darkness on the Edge of Town). He gives you lines like “Everything dies/ baby that’s a fact/ but maybe everything that dies/ someday comes back” (Atlantic City), “Will you walk with me out on the wire/ ‘Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider” (Born to Run) and “Roy Orbison singing for the lonely/ Hey, that’s me and I want you only” (Thunder Road), lines which match your mood. But he also gives you “Glory Days”, “Dancing in the Dark” and “Waitin’ On A Sunny Day”, songs that can’t help but cheer you up completely. It’s a bit of an addiction this music thing, but some folks like to use alcohol to fight their problems, I buy Springsteen albums. I'm not sure it'll work forever but for right now it does and at the end of the day, I think we spent about the same amount of money… but my liver still works.

Of course Springsteen occasionally misses a beat (all: If he goes on about Crazy Janey one more time we’ll hit him! With a baseball bat! Hard! And often!) but when he does, he comes right back and hits me between the eyes with something like this:

Now a life of leisure and pirate’s treasure
Don’t make much for tragedy
But it’s a sad man my friend who’s living in his own skin
And can’t stand the company
Every fool’s got a reason for feeling sorry for himself
And turning his heart to stone
Tonight this fool’s halfway to heaven and just a mile out of hell
And it feels like I’m coming home…

People, oh, people

I've decided I've given up on trying to understand 50% of all people. I know, I know, I hear you saying "Ha! Boris, you're way behind us! We already did that last november when 51% of the American people voted for George W. Bush!" and you'd be right, but, ya know, I'm slow.

Anywayz.

A few weeks ago I was sitting in the bus on my way to a Joe Cocker concert (decent show btw, band sucked, Joe was great). After a few stops a woman sat next to me. No problem so far. Then the woman got her mobile phone out and started playing all her ringtones. No kidding! ALL of them! Then after doing that for five minutes, she stood up, walked to the other end of the bus and sat down there till the last stop. QUE? (For the record I would like to point out I did not smell funny either).

Then in the concert hall we (I was there with my parents) decided to sit down for the show and we picked a few pretty decent seats at the end of the hall. In between the lines of seats were stairs leading to the seats. So, most people would understand that you walk up the stairs, to the seats and sit down, right?

Nope.

After the seats filled up hundreds of people decided to sit down on the stairs. Now, if you want to do that at home, be my guest. But in a concert arena with a couple of thousand people there it might be a smarter move to keep the escape routes open, wouldn't you agree? They wouldn't. Every 15 minutes a security guard would come up to all the people sitting down explaining them they weren't allowed to sit here and asking them to leave. Which they then did (veeeeeeery slowly).... for 5 minutes and then they returned. And then the security guard came again, and they left, and returned, and... and... and....

Then this morning I was sitting in the university library wrestling myself through another G.E.R. Lloyd book for my exam on the 4th of july (lemme tell ya: after studying for this thing I can tell you for sure that all the stuff that was even remotely sexy about the words "oral exam" has totally dissapeared). Now you may never have visited this particular library but it's much like most libraries in that it has more signs telling you to 1) not talk, 2) not drink or eat and 3) most importantly NOT USE YOUR MOBILE PHONE. They're simple rules, anyone can follow them and it only means you're talk-, food- and phoneless for an hour or two.

Enter two girls that sat opposite me. They ate, they drank, they talked (in that annoying whispery tone that's always even worse than normal talking), they laughed, they didn't do anything constructive, and they talked on the phone. After an hour I felt the urge to grab one of them and pinch my ballpoint through her eye (and it's been done before and apparently it does kill).

And then I figured some of the other people in the library would probably write a post tonight on their weblog saying:

"nothing was happening and then some overweight guy suddenly screamed "WHOOOOOOOOOORE!", jumped over his table and strangled this one girl while clobbing another girl to death with her little water bottle! Proves once again 50% of the people are just completely insane".

So, I didn't. Instead I decided that there are many people in the world that I just do not understand and that the feeling is most likely mutual.

(Also, I'm afraid of going to jail.)

RE: Hmm... odd.

God it's chilly here, let's check the temperature....

yep...

just as I expected:

hell just froze over.

Dear Howard Dean,

Hi! I'm not sure you remember me, but I was one of those people that were on your e-mail list back in 2003. You know, when you still thought you could become president?

Yeah...

Don't feel too bad about that one, we for a moment thought you could too! Obviously in our enthusiasm we forgot a few rules in politics. Rules like: just because you're hot on the internet doesn't mean you're hot in real life. Or: just because you raised the most money, it doesn't mean Dick Gephardt will shut his f-ing face and give up. Or in the same category: screaming during a rally, doesn't always make you look good.

Anyhoo, I'm glad you have a new job! Chairman of the Democratic party. Well done! Now, it's obvious that your style is a little different than that of the guy you're replacing, Terry McAuliffe. For example, people actually know you. And you can actually talk. And you have opinions. And you're not afraid to state them.... And that's sort of the problem, isn't it?

See, in the past few weeks you've been in the news for saying you "hated Republicans", you claimed that most Republicans "never made an honest living" in their life and you also said that Tom Delay should be send to jail (which is probably true, but I don't think you should say it). And then last week you said that "(the Republican party) is not very friendly to different kinds of people, they are a pretty monolithic party ... it's pretty much a white, Christian party"..... Ehm, Howie, to quote Jon Stewart: "It's pretty much a white, Christian nation. Shhhh! They can hear you!".

So I figured I'd give you some advice on public speaking. Now, don't mock it! If John Bolton and Jacques Chirac would have followed my advice they would be in a whole lot less trouble right now (... and I would probably be the prime-minister of France, see below). Anyway, my suggestions:

- whenever you plan on saying anything, ask yourself if FOX news is going to have to spin something with your statement. If they don't, for god sakes don't say it!

- right before giving a pressconference, sing along to some music on your Ipod. You know, calm, soothing songs to relax you and get rid of some anger. Like Rage against the machine or something.

- please don't do the entire 360 degrees head spin and please please don't say that Bush's mother is "sucking cock in hell", you tried it once and John Kerry is still not talking to you.

- and for crying out loud DON'T SCREAM! I know states are exciting but it really sends out the wrong message.

See ya during the next Anonymous Rush Limbaugh listeners convention!

Boris

Wanted

Usually I'm not a big fan of filling out virtual question lists, you know the kind: what song were you listening to when you opened this e-mail, what book are you reading, do you have any weapons of mass destruction. All so demanding. However the other day I ran into one that I thought was quite amusing:

"If you would post a lonely hearts ad (which of course you don't cause you're not that desperate) what would it be like?"

Now, if this was my old Dutch blog I would just post the fake ad and continue with what I was doing before (googling you). Sadly enough my Dutch blog has passed away a month or two ago (don't be sad! it's in internet heaven with Netaid and Altavista!) and the entire set-up of this blog is that the articles posted on it should be at least one page long. And I'm not making that ad, even a fake one, one fucking page long. I mean seriously, do you KNOW how expensive these things are?

Anyway, most of the times my ideas about relationships are best described by Stephen Stills' song Love the one you're with, but not quite. The song's message is that if you can't be with the one you love, you might as well love the one you are with. Which is true, maybe not completely fair to the one you're with, but true.

However my main problem is not so much being or not being, it's finding the one you love. My bestest friend Merel (who also has a blog since yesterday btw, nothing's on it yet but you can click on the link to the left.... and then come back and read the rest.... helloooo???) is fond of saying that stuff like that always happens when you least expect it, but I'm not too sure. If that theory was true, wouldn't we all be having sex at age 5 (does explain the catholic church's problems though, I'm sure those altar boys really didn't expect it)? The main problem also isn't that I want someone now. As a matter of fact, right now is not that good a time since my ear hurts and I have to take care of my parents dog till sunday morning. It's just that a time frame would be appreciated (HEAR THAT GOD???).

But even in moments of great dispair and confusion I think of a show I once saw on MTV. They were following a bunch of people around that claimed they would do anything to get some money, for example one of the guys they interviewed was a kickboxer... slash sperm donor (and I swear to god I did not make that up!). Another guy they showed was this fellow that worked in Vegas as a freak show act known as the lizzard man. His entire face was tattooed green and his tongue was cut in half so that it seemed more, well, lizzardy. I also did not make him up. Anyway, in the show they followed Lizzard man around and towards the end of the show he married his longtime girlfriend (who I should add seemed fairly sane). And it made me think: if in this world lizzard man can find a soul mate, I'm sure it'll work out for me too.... (during my more depressed days however I think: lizzard man has someone and I don't???).

Oh and to answer that question:

"21 year old guy with unhealthy, and probably at times annoying, music, politics, books, and history addiction and a pathological fear of being left seeks likewise"

wow.... now there's a fucked up mix in the making...

Part-man, part-monkey (baby, that's me)

Darwinism has me cornered and I think I have myself to blame for it.

Sigh... explanation.

For a long time I was a strong believer in survival of the fittest, mostly cuz it's like totally scientific and stuff but also because it seems to make sense. Species are confronted with a living environment with specific problems the species have to deal with. Some manage, through generations and generations, change and they survive at least a little longer, others don’t and die. It’s not a pretty picture (and if you don’t believe me Animal Planet has Slaughtering Bullies Night next Tuesday), but it seems to make sense.

That is in a world where physical strength and adaptation is everything, which is no longer the world we live in.

You see, in Europe and the U.S., anyone can survive these days. It hasn’t got anything to do with being the fittest. The problems animals used to be confronted with (food, other animals having them for brunch) are totally lost on us. If we want food all we have to do is walk (or if you’re American drive) to the nearest McDonalds (which I will pronounce as MACDonalds for as long as I live no matter what my insane American friends tell me) restaurant and eat. Really, the only thing that we can add to the human body for future generations is the ability to smell deep fryers from six blocks away.

So surviving is no longer a day to day affair for most of us (unless of course you were born in Africa or certain parts of Asia or the Middle East, then you’re just screwed and have to wait for Bob Geldof to save you). What’s important these days is being successful at living, or in other words in the age we live in now it’s about survival of the smartest. Think about it, if you manage to get into Harvard (which apparently 10% of the people who try to get in succeed in doing) you can pretty much be sure you have a job the rest of your life. If you’re smart (or better said if you use your brain better than some others) you generally get a better education, because of that a better paying job and eventually you live longer because you tend to eat better and you can afford better medical care.

Now those last two may sound like survival of the fittest, but it has nothing to do with the original theory. In this case it hasn’t got anything to do with the strongest parts of each specie continuing, it has to do with the most successful ones having the money to do those things that will keep them alive. And, since I’m not extremely stupid and rather successful in the educational department, I totally dig this new concept. But then old Darwinism reared it’s ugly head.

Enter my ear.

Specifically my left ear (that is, from my perspective, the right for you…. Unless you’re standing behind me, then also my left…. See, smart!). For years the ear has been causing me trouble. You see, normally there’s a little tube somewhere between your head and your ear that is supposed to take fluid out of the ear but sadly enough mine doesn’t work. This means that when fluid does enter my left ear it doesn’t go away and leaves me practically deaf on one side. Me and my ear-doctor (his last name is Stanojcic but everyone calls him by his first name Laki, which gives me a very safe E.R. like feeling) have come to the conclusion that it’s a problem that well never go away and actually might in the end cause me to lose all hearing in my left ear. Which is actually not as bad as it sounds, it just means I can’t hear stuff that happens to the left of me (SEE, smart!).

And then it hit me. This is survival of the fittest historian style! Say, in a couple of years I’ll be out in the open field, munching on a fresh biography I hunted down and killed in it’s natural environment, the library. Then suddenly a young historian approaches me from behind, but from the left so I can’t hear him coming, leaving me totally unprepared. Then suddenly he attacks me with a totally new thesis on Bobby Kennedy and the 1968 Democratic primaries. Not hearing him, I can’t defend myself making me look stupid in front of the other historians that have come to the drinking place to argue about whether Alexander the Great was gay or not.

Believe me, it’s a jungle out there!

Ps. Extra Boris-points for the one that can figure out where the title comes from.

Hmm… odd.

Things are going pretty good lately.

Actually, suspiciously good. It’s not that my life normally is just one sad mix of depressing failures and bad luck (quite to the contrary actually). It’s just that I don’t really trust it when there’s too many good things happening in a row. I’m not a big believer in karma, but when things are going my way too much I suddenly do. In those situations, I’m always afraid I owe something to bad karma and it’ll want to be repaid by setting fire to my house (which brings us back to another issue, but you can check that out in an earlier post… did I ever tell you, you have lovely eyes?).

Ok, you seem a bit confused (you look really nice today by the way, did you lose weight?) so let me give you a few examples.

First of all, a few weeks back, my application for entry in the research history master at the University of Amsterdam was approved. Which is a huge deal, because it means I can study an additional year. Now, I understand most of you are yawning at the thought of spending another year studying history (I know that because I can look at you through your computer screen, love your hair that way!). For me, however, it’s another step to LifePlan A, do something intellectual at a university, and a step away from SadLifePlan A, which is teach history at Michael Bolton High until I feel like shooting myself (or until a student does that for me). So: good.

Second: I recently had my 21st birthday. Now, birthdays and I have a bit of a hate-despise relationship. But this years birthday depression has been surprisingly mild. Last year this time, I was spending a week looking in the mirror, wondering where my youth had gone (sigh, yes, I know, it comes with the drama queen territory) and being convinced that nothing would ever work out in life. This year, I only did that for a day or two. And I got loads of cool gifts. Like books and stuff. Also I can now gamble and drink in every U.S. state. So, goodie!

Third: I got a call Saturday that I got this part-time job I applied for. It’s not an extremely exciting job. It’s also not that glamorous. Or fun. But it’s a job and it pays. Not real good, but still something is better than nothing. Plus, the people working there seem like nice fun people. A bit too excited about their profession maybe, but still nice. So: money for my vacation. Plus it’s nice to know that at least some people agree with me that speaking clear and slow is an overrated virtue (again, see earlier post. Did you pick that keyboard out yourself? Love your taste!).

Which brings me to point four: my vacation is coming up. Ok, it’s still six weeks away, but that’s a whole lot less than the ten weeks it was four weeks ago (yeah I know, I’m a math wiz and a psychological genius!). Which means that in no time I’ll be in Italy. Which means, well, I will be in Italy. Which is not just good (or goodie) but FUCKING good.

Add that all up, and things are going way too good. As a matter of fact, the only thing I’m really missing is the Blackadder DVD box and someone to keep me from thinking Bruce Springsteen’s Human Touch is my theme song.

So, basically I’m doing what Wilie E. Coyote would do, if he eventually would catch The Roadrunner: I’m looking at the sky waiting for the grand piano to fall on my head