The Return

I’ve been listening to a lot of pop and rap and radio rock recently (though I think finely mixed with some real substance). I think every once in a while I like to enjoy something in a more shallow fashion; to approach a song and tell myself that it doesn’t have to change my life, alter my perception of the world, tug on my heartstrings, or anything else. It just has to make my head bob. Not everybody can do this. Not everyone can admit they like these songs because sometime around 1998 it became uncool to admit that you listen to the radio or get your musical picks from the space between “The X Effect” and “The Real World”. And that’s fine. Musical taste is a virtue, something I actively look for in friends, girlfriends, random homosexual encounters. But some people, I think, miss out on a lot of fun music simply because it isn’t up to some standard they’ve set for themselves and their auditory canal. And maybe that was me at some point. I’m glad I’ve gotten over it, if so.

So what, exactly, have I been screaming along to in the car, unabashedly? The new Lil’ Wayne, remix or no, really has me going. The song is absolutely ridiculous, but I love Wayne. Best rapper alive. I’ve also been sucked in by this indie pop rock Cartel-sound-a-like We the Kings that make no illusions about being solely about radio-friendly emo ballads targeted at those poor tweens on the back of the middle school bus with the asymmetrical hair and four belts sitting uselessly around their waist (but suspiciously outside of the belt loops, go figure). And it’s great. It doesn’t sound unique. It’s not overly technical or substantial. But it’s got a good melody and a solid rock beat. I would recommend “Check Yes Juliet” if you’re able to leave your musical snobbery elsewhere and want to get in touch with your inner angst-ridden fourteen year old. Having done that, “Skyway Avenue”. Oh, and “It Hurts” from Angels and Airwaves. Because I do what I want.

I still can’t get over the new Weepies album, nor can I get over this song by some total bro named Joshua Radin (featuring the lovely and stellar Ingrid Michaelson) that I managed to hear on Grey’s Anatomy while waiting for LOST to come on, named “Sky”. You should also feel free to check out “Fear You Won’t Fall”. His EP might have something you like outside those two (there are two others to pick from), but those are the highlights for me.

London was great . . . for the first three days. Then I managed to come down with some terrible stomach virus which saw me on the toilet every thirty minutes for about 72 hours, including the ten hour flight home. I’d rather not talk about the depth of depravity that was reached during this time. Recalling the events in even such a fleeting way as to write this paragraph is crippling emotionally. It is safe to say that the plane ride home was one of the worst times of my life, and (though this may be attributed to its recent occurrence, comparatively) may rival my jaw surgery in terms of excruciating pain and “WHY GOD” moments.

I’ve been able to keep my insides relatively intact for the last 48 hours now (with considerable effort), and I’m actually back at work as I write this (for the second day in a row), having actually slept and eaten several-hundred-infinity times more than I did over the weekend. But I am not 100%, and I have plans to see the Doctor on Friday afternoon in hopes that he’ll get everything sorted out permanently. I need to get my energy back prior to my move next weekend so that I can actually pack and get everything ready. I set up my electricity today, which I guess was a step in the right direction. I still need to call the cable guy later this week too. Someone remind me to do that.

I’ve gone on for long enough. I’ll try and throw some pictures up when I get home, or at least, I’ll throw a link up to somewhere on the web where you can go look at them. I’ll save any recounts of my travels and travails until that time.

Edited to Add: I think Cheese Rolling might be my all-time favorite sport to watch. I like to think of it as the Ninja Warrior of England, in that I've only ever seen one man make it completely down the hill without fucking himself up severely.