7.14.2008

it's alright ma, it's life, and life only

When I first heard about the New American Music Union concert/festival in the infamous South Side of Pittsburgh, I thought it was interesting.  This was partly because I got the news about the festival at the same time I learned about the next pair of jeans I would probably buy--the concert, and the jeans, were created by American Eagle, of all things, and as I regularly ship a pair of khakis or a fun, cheap t-shirt to myself, AE sends me floods of mailers so I can keep up with the latest and greatest pseudo-prep styles.  Apparently, as I soon learned, pseudo-prep now includes The Bob Dylan, a legend so big that this rookie writer is at a complete loss for adjectives.    
Poofy-haired, scratchy-throated Dylan and his damned harmonica have been around everything interesting that has happened in this country in the last forty years.  It would be ineffective and unnecessary for me to explain how important his work has been and still is--go rent No Direction Home, or better yet, just listen to Blood on the Tracks.  I can't really imagine most of the music that I love the most actually existing without his wretched squawking of those beautiful lyrics breaking in and making folk music tolerable and just cool.  Granted, he has his flaws, and I can only imagine that in his old age that voice hasn't exactly gotten sweeter; I keep joking (though I think I actually mean it) that the best covers are of Dylan songs, because there are an awful lot of people in the world with better voices than the old boy, but not many can write better lyrics.  Maybe John Keats.  
As I read more about the concert, I pretty much fell on the floor.  Then tipped over.  Jack White is playing at the festival, with his new band, the Raconteurs; if it were possible for a human being to mate with a song, I might take "Old Enough" out for some tapas, sangria, and cuddling (by the way, the whole album is so good, it was hard to pick which song to use for that joke).    Also starring at the event will be the Roots, The Black Keys, Spoon, Gnarls Barkley, and likely, Primanti Brothers' sandwiches and I.C. Light.  The only downfall I could find was that my Ryan Malone t-shirt is about a month outdated (yes, I'm still bitter).  Oh yeah, and the price--I am, after all, out of work, and even if I could afford the gas money to migrate five hours north for Prep-Stock '08, how could I afford tickets to the two-day event?  I had already, painfully, turned down VirginFest, which is playing right in Pimlico, practically my own backyard, because $90 a day is a price I could only afford if I decided to walk Baltimore Street a few weeknights, and Mr. Dylan and Mr. White sound decent enough blasting from my little green iPod.  So, just for sheer amusement, I check prices online:  $25 for students!  Sure makes that $160k my family spent on tuition look a bit sweeter.   I tell my sister--"Buy your ticket now--we'll figure out how to get there/where we're staying later."  Which is the plan right now, and is actually a hell of a lot more structured than my plan to see Ripken's Hall of Fame induction ceremony ("Let's just drive and stay awake for 38 hours!").
I'm still stuck in a bit of confusion.  It seems as though this concert was designed specifically for me:  it's in one of my favorite cities to visit, with headliners that I never imagined I'd be able to see, and oh, yeah, I can actually afford it.  It's also sponsored by American Eagle, which I find weird from a ridiculous amount of angles.  AE is clothing for young people who want to be hand-fed an easy, affordable style; one can deduce this from the dozens of mailers that arrive from the company each month, explaining how to wear these shorts with those flip flops and that goofy scarf.  It has never tried (thankfully) to be hipster or folky, and has championed bands like Fall Out Boy as the epitome of the high school soundtrack--"Listen to this; it's better than writing your own angsty poetry."   I can see how Spoon, the Roots, and to some extent, Gnarls Barkley, fit in to the equation: they're perky, catchy, and simple, and are always fun dance beats for parties in Mom and Dad's backyard.  Yet somehow I just can't picture Emmett Grogan dropping his IRA cap and combat boots and popping on a few polos and carefully distressed, whiskered jeans to blend in with what has become Bob Dylan's type of crowd.  
On the flip side, there are all kinds of people in this world, and I'm all too aware that I don't look like the prototypical Dylan fan, so I am probably judging the crowd a bit early.  I hope the fine fans in Pittsburgh surprise me (they usually do), but I'm pretty excited and very interested to see how thousands of high schoolers and undergrads react to old Bob croaking out "Beyond the Horizon" as the closing act of the night.  I'm selfishly hoping that most of these kids head home early, allowing my 5'0 stature a better view of that poofy hair and that quirky smile.  More than that, though, I'm hoping for the kids of my generation to impress me and give Dylan the attention that forty years digging away in the music industry have earned him.  Oh, yeah, and I'm hoping that Jack White proposes to me, but that might be a long shot, even if I decide to rock out in my cutest AE polo.  
G'night----Ang (White...sigh.)

worth the $.99 on itunes: jason mraz's cover of "a hard rain's a-gonna fall".  like i said, dylan covers are the best, and mraz can cover just about anything.  the acoustic-y deliciousness of this one brings back all the memories i never had of the sixties. 

7.07.2008

probably not my last fitzgerald quote

So it's been awhile and you'd think that's because I was doing something valuable with my time--you'd be wrong.  It's more that not much of the past week of my life has been worth recording or remembering.  Though, as I've spent the last week raising a baby kitten in an empty household, I've had a lot of time to think about and question my impending future, which is less than sixty days away.  
What do you do when you realize that you don't exactly want to do what you've been working towards for years?  When the finish line is in sight but all you want to do is turn and run far in the other direction?  One option is to stick it out--it could just be nerves, or just the disappointment of reaching the end.  Maybe actually accomplishing a goal will bring all of the excitement and desire back.  Maybe it really is just Amory Blaine syndrome: "it was always the becoming he dreamed of, never the being."  I'm pretty sure one of the most crazy (and therefore common) fears is the fear of achievement, because most people have this tiny feeling that what they've been hoping for won't actually make them as happy as they had planned.  Disappointment in an accomplishment: I'm sure everyone's been there, and it's that nagging memory that makes that finish line about as appealing as cut-off jorts on a townie.  
For me, I'm pretty sure it's a fear of stability.  I used to be amazed at friends that planned on graduating college without a definite plan for the future--I couldn't imagine leaving my tiny, cozy campus without an exact idea of what the next few years of my life would look like.  And true to form, I didn't; I know exactly where I'm going to grad school (it's my dream school, actually) and I know that the program I'm going for will prepare me for a career that I can have, if I want, for the rest of my spry, working years.  Yet, as I look for part-time work I'm finding out that my future didn't have to be set in stone in February; there are so many other things I could have done if that fear of doing nothing hadn't held me back.  I realize that everything I'm writing is incredibly trite and cliché and looks like it could have been scripted into an ABC Family original drama (I'm not knocking the channel--I love the new Secret Life of the American Teenager), but I swear, these ideas never occurred to me until yesterday. 
Who knows?  Maybe this is just cold feet, or boredom, or both.  I love my new apartment and new campus and new city; maybe I'll fall in love just as easily with my new career.   
See ya 'round----Ang.

worth the $.99 on itunes: "sour cherry" by the kills.  a fantastic beat that's obnoxiously fun to sing at red lights with your windows down.