Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Why Can’t I?
I was going through my mix CDs last night (yeah, I know . . . THEY’RE [not yet] ON THE WAY!), and I realized there was one missing . . . the one I wanted to hear. Luckily, I found it in my car this morning. I popped it into the player on the way back to work from my lunchtime visit to check on mom, skipping to track #8. That’s right, the über-cheesy “Why Can’t I?” by Liz Phair.
I have no shame. Sure, I front like I’m all indie-cool, but I’m a whore for loud, anthemic schmaltz. With curse words.*
I’m growing old, y’know. I remember being in my 20s, thinking, “Man, I will never stop listening to this stuff.” But The Cure’s Faith isn’t my favorite album of ALL TIME anymore. The Sisters of Mercy and And Also the Trees and Christian Death and Death in June don’t hold that special place in my heart anymore. It just doesn’t feel the same. Now it’s all adult-contemporary. Luckily, I’ve been phasing into that stuff for the past decade, so it’s not a total culture shock.
But it’s not like I’ve totally abandoned the indie thing. Maybe it’s just the Teat of Doom and Gloom that I suckled on for much of my teens and early 20s. I’m actually going to buy the CD re-issues of the first two For Against albums. So, I’m not a total lost cause.
Not yet, anyway.
* I was listening to this song with Michelle one day, and I wrote down what she said about it in my notebook:** “It’s adult-contemporary with the word ‘fuck’ in it. It’s probably the only part of the song she wrote!”
** I have lots of odd things written in here. Some of them attributed to other people. It’s supposed to be all for my poetry, etc., but I have strange lists. Two things in particular stand out, though. The first was actually written by CW during the Meetup last November. There was a discussion over dinner about how Miss America waves . . . you know, the WAVE. Anyway, he wrote, “Miss America has to have her hands chopped off.” I suppose this is so they can be replaced with mannequin hands. The second thing was actually written the next day to remind myself that I’d just coughed up something “ridiculously nasty into my mouth” while driving alone, and didn’t have anywhere to spit it out, so I had to spit it into an empty potato chip bag from the floor of the car. I even added the note that, “This, more than anything, is why people should ‘blog.”