Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Song for a Crappy Tuesday

A few days ago I was driving my sister's car and taking advantage of the time to listen to the radio.

(Listening to the radio is neat. As much as I enjoy the control I have over what I listen to via CD's or my iPod, there is nothing like driving and listening to an FM station, when suddenly a song you forgot all about, a song you once loved, plays. It's rare anymore, but it makes my day when it happens.

Of course, the commercials I could do without.)

There was a break in the music and I forgot to change the channel right away. Over the airwaves and into my ears came a commercial for Buffalo Wild Wings Restaurants. Its some tired, god awful premise - hipster sounding dude talking on phone to a bored secretary, who, I would guess, wants nothing of his monkey shines, but for reasons unknown to the listening world, she doesn't hang up.

I guess there is some special happening now at Buffalo Wild Wings called "Boneless Thursdays" (which sounds like a guarantee that the fellas will be going home alone that night - insert uninspired rimshot). The gist of the commercial is that because these Thursdays are so great, they should start the weekend on Thursdays. The Dude, then proceeds to go through the days of the week with the secretary talking about which days are which (Humpday, Tuesdays suck, etc.) I was sourly reminded of my post about How Tuesdays are the worst day of the week.

I'm positive that plenty people besides myself have offered some commentary about what the days of the week mean. But it's a little deflating when the shadow of a thought you had is reflected in an lame advertisement.

Tuesday is the day when part of the collective unconscious sells out.

(Sigh, moving on)

My friend S. gave me a mix CD several months before he left for 'Nam. I've known S. for fifteen years and, though I have only met a very few true iconoclasts in my life, he is easily among them. Somehow, through the din of hype and mixed signals we get from the from dawn to way past dusk and on into our sleep, S. has managed to hear his own voice and follow his unique calling. For that, he is one of my heroes.

If I had a brother, I'd want him to be S.

The CD he gave me was not a casual listen and took me a while to get through the entire thing. Sometimes, I just wasn't ready to hear the songs (Which, I believe, is the truth when it comes to CDs and books given as gifts. When the time is right - and that time may never come - the recipient will read the words or hear the music and all the ideas and feelings you hoped would reach them will. In that instance, patience is a virtue.).

Today's song was one of those. I put it in rotation on my iPod and, at first, I'd skip it when it came on. Then, probably when I wasn't thinking about it, I let the whole thing pay through.

I have an affinity for songs about those among us who are alienated, outsiders pressing their noses up against the glass to see inside, their own breath fogging the window and distorting the view. Ever since I was little and heard SuperTramp's Logical Song (which scared the living crap out of my 6-year-old soul), music expressing that intense amount of loneliness or obsession or loss of some intangible thing, sticks to my ribs. For Real by Okkervil River is just one such a song.

Enjoy...or, well, not.

(I stalled on watching the video to this because I've entertained the idea of using it in an opening sequence in a play or short film. But I was missing out. It's a beautiful, sad and strange little film...just how I like all my entertainment.)

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