A Brief Note on Joy

I have a glass of wine next to me and I’m listening to the vinyl of West Side Story (given to me for my most recent birthday but a good friend). Also, I only got a couple hours of sleep last night and I’m forcing myself to stay awake for at least the next hour so I that I don’t wake up randomly at like 3 am. I’m putting all that out there before continuing so you understand that I might be feeling a bit punchy at the moment.

With the season changing and the air cooling and an impending trip to Italy on the horizon, I have a lot to look forward to. Sweater weather, day trips to pumpkin patches, the holiday season, visiting friends, and disconnecting over Christmas with my family! I know that this holiday season will be difficult, for sure – I miss my father deeply and I cannot imagine what the season will be like without him – but there is also a feeling of peace that I haven’t had for years. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas over the last couple of years has had a certain weight to it, a pressure like, “Is this Dad’s last one? We have to make it AMAZING!” Nothing ever felt like it was enough and with his health getting progressively worse and with alarming speed towards the end, there was always a darkness hanging over us. But the great thing is we’re no longer presented with so much physical suffering and, as for the loss, I have a crazy huge support system to help me through it. I know it’ll be hard but my father LOVED the holidays, to a near obnoxious level (just so you know where I get it from), and was OBSESSED with making sure his kids always had better ones than the when he was growing up. It would be a dishonor to his memory to let it pass without a degree of excitement that he would be proud of.

And with the turn of a new season, I have created a new playlist to fit my calmer state of mind and the slight chill entering the air. Lots of Miles Davis and Ben Harper and Wilco and Nina Simone and Simon & Garfunkel. Nat King Cole. Louis & Ella. Neko Case. Music is always the best way to compliment my psyche and keep it on the right track.

Also, this is the one and only time of year that makes me momentarily forget my West Coast pangs because the weather doesn't get better than this, right? It does make me miss my years in Boston a little, though.

In general, I’m pretty happy. Embracing the joy. Loving my current path. Moving in the right direction. Yay for proper footing and positive outlooks! Hugs all around. Kumbaya and all that shit.

Ode to Bibliophilia: Ten Book That Have Influenced My Life

I'm going to take a break from posting something super sad and depressing, despite the events of this past summer. Instead... I'm going to answer a Facebook post that my amazing friend Caraline tagged me in - name 10 books that have influenced my life. So appropriate, as I'm just starting a new creative writing course and I have books on the brain.

I was simply going to respond with a list of books, no explanations, on Facebook but then I realized that I needed people to understand how and why some of these books have impacted my life - in good and bad ways. And because I'm the most verbose human ever, the response on Facebook I was getting ready to post was obscenely long. (PS - didn't Facebook used to limit the amount of characters we were allowed to use? I feel like they did. I probably need those reins.)

Anyway without further ado, my ten picks below - feel free to hit me with your feedback:

1. 

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote: read this book later in life but it stuck with me for weeks after reading it, haunted me almost like the subject of the book had haunted Capote those last years of his life. To this day is almost always one of the first books I recommend when someone is looking for a really good book to read. Makes you understand that sometimes in life things just happen that are senseless and also people are more than the worst or best thing that they have ever done. All people are capable of all things.

2. 

On the Road by Jack Kerouac: I feel like kind of a tool for picking this book but honestly…. this was one of the first books that made me interested in creative writing because it made me realize that it’s OK for the words on a page to come out exactly like the thoughts in your head and it would still be interesting and compelling – at least for me. Also it made me feel like it’s OK to kind of question what the American dream actually means.

3. 

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll: a set of books I love so much that I based a dissertation on it. Incidentally, I've never read any book more times than I have read Through the Looking-Glass. I still have the ratty old copy that my dad bought me when I was about 8 years old and I still have the VHS Disney version of the movie even though I don't have a working VCR. The magic of youth and discovering new worlds! This is all me all the way.

4. 

Maus by Art Spiegelman: this book taught me about the power that a graphic novel could be capable of – that it could be more than just superheroes and the like (not that I don’t love a good superhero comic book because I definitely do). One of the best pieces of literature I have ever read regarding the Holocaust and one that has stayed with me for years.

5. 

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: I can’t even convey to you the importance of this book to me. There aren't enough words. I grew up with my parents (my mom, in particular) reading this to me. My grandfather used to read that book to my mom and her siblings. It sparked my sense of adventure and wanderlust, my love of seeing new places and finding new things.  Probably the single most influential book of my childhood.

6. 

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare: I love much humor I found in this, even when I was 15 years old and bitter about all the books that were being forced upon me (even though I secretly actually loved having books forced upon me). It’s the first Shakespeare play I ever read and still my favorite. People always would tell me how dark his work was when I was in high school and I’m glad this was my introduction.

7.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon: this is actually not my favorite book of his (that would be Wonder Boys) but this book, even though I am not a boy, made me think about my best friend in elementary school whom I still write letters to. And how much we've been through together. And how even though we don’t really see each other and aren't really even in each other’s lives anymore, we've been through a lot and she helped to shape me into the person I am today. We made this really horrible series of comic strips together (Miss Lilly Pad, a story about a really rambunctious sassy frog who was probably 15% Kermit, 30% Disney Princess and 55% Carmen Sandiego). We would camp out in our backyards and stay up at all hours of the night working on this ridiculous thing. It caused us to fight. It caused us to laugh. We cried and we yelled at each other. During the process of making these comic strips – the years we devoted to it – so many things happened in our lives. Deaths occurred in our families (my grandparents, her mother). Boys broke our hearts and we broke theirs. Also we both had parents (my mom is Italian and her mom was Swiss) who were pretty much immigrants and instilled in us the traditions of our families that date back centuries. I don’t know. I saw a lot of our friendship in this book; I related to it a lot. So much so that after I read it, I shipped her a copy as well with a note that said, “Miss you, Clay. Love, Kavalier”. Goodness I can’t believe I wrote so much about this one! Makes me want to re-read it (again).

8.

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende: one of the most beautifully written books I have or will ever read in my life. It’s the first book I ever read, as an adult, from cover to cover in one sitting. It’s the book that re-ignited my love for literature post-college when I was feeling kind of burnt out on reading in general. Highly recommended.

9.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway: I’m actually going to list a book because for better or worse (read: WORSE), this book was the first book to teach me what I do NOT want in literature. A) I don’t need serious action to happen but I need something compelling to take place. B) I need characters I can relate to on some level, any level. C) I need you to not stick Christ symbols down my throat the whole time. Horrible horrible book. Horrible! It’s the first book I actually remember being able to identify, as a piece of literature, that I didn't like it and I could solidly discuss why. Frankly I could devote an entire blog post to it, if I really felt like it (but this book has already stolen too much of my time as it is).

10.

The Autobiography of Malcolm X with Alex Haley: I took a lot from this book but the biggest thing I took from it is the importance of individuality and putting yourself and your people before the systems that our “leaders” force onto us. Do I think that every system that exists is evil or the purpose is always to take away our freedoms? No. But I do think we have a responsibility to ask the hard questions and to push back when the systems DO take away our freedoms as human beings – and pacifism isn't always the way. Sometimes you have to be willing to risk a lot to gain a lot. I thought this book was going to be a very angry one but honestly it was passionate but actually more pragmatic and spiritual than anything else. A surprising and beautiful read.

Post Father's Day Reflections

Last Sunday night I start writing a post about my dad for Father’s Day and I couldn't quite bring myself to finish it. I have a lot of “feels” happening right now in terms of our relationship and part of it is I know that I have some unresolved issues there. As I’m sure most of you readers know or have assessed, my parents are divorced. In most of my posts about my parents, I really only talk about the good things – and there are a lot of great memories and experiences I've shared with them – but the truth of the matter is a lot of it wasn't so magical. There were times of music and levity and comical road trips and holiday movie marathons. But there was also a lot of fighting and a lot of my father not being around, especially during my teenage years.

Let me back up a bit and give a little background into my father, if you’ll indulge me. My dad grew up in rural Louisiana, in his younger days – before experiencing his own parental slit up (though I don’t think they ever officially got divorced). His parents had an incredibly volatile marriage and his father was prone to alcoholic-induced bouts of violence. His parents had met during a turbulent war time and like many couples of the time, got together probably too quickly – before really knowing each other – and had a baby (that never quite made it to term)/got married. My grandfather got injured during WWII – a topic he did not like to discuss – and when he was sent back home, he wasn't the same jovial, loving person my grandmother had fallen head over heels for. He was angry a lot and, as cliche as this may sound, haunted by things he had seen while he was stationed in Tunisia. I cannot even imagine what this must have been like for him – understanding, in a way I would never know, the horrors that humans are capable of inflicting on one another. Today, it would be clear to anyone that he was living with PTSD but in 1943 he was expected to just go home and continue on with the status quo and pretend that everything was fine.

This resulted in years of night terrors, violence, and drunken benders. I think, however, the worst part, is that some rare days he would show glimmers of his old self. He’d play some old tunes on the phonograph and dance with my grandmother just because. He’d pick her daisies. He’d take her on a road trip to New Orleans and treat her to a nice dinner. It didn't happen often but it happened often enough that she really thought maybe maybe they had a chance and he could be whole again. When she got pregnant again, this time with my father, she thought that this would be enough to inspire my grandfather into staying happy and healthy. Unfortunately, that’s not how PTSD works – it doesn't just get better on its own. So their family was ultimately doomed to crash and burn.

Anyway, fast forward – by the time my dad was five or six, his father’s bouts of “good days” had disappeared entirely. He was frequently abusive, both physically and verbally – and never, not in all his 82 years, did he ever acknowledge the permanent damage he inflicted on my dad. When my dad was 12 years old, my grandmother decided she’d had enough. She had a bruised eye and a sprained wrist and she was afraid that next time he would kill her or my dad. So she packed a suit case, got together every last dime she had, and in the blistering heat of the summer of 1960, she and my dad got onto a bus and traveled all the way to Sandwich, Massachusetts – where her sisters lived, cleaning houses for the upper crust of Cape Cod. She worked 5 jobs in order to take care of my dad and struggled and sacrificed so my dad, feeling like he was a burden, enlisted in the Navy the second he was of age so that he could stand on his own two feet. And through the Navy, when he ended up on leave in Rome (years later, obviously), he met my mom. Talk about history repeating itself, am I right? Another whirlwind romance, another unhappy marriage.

I know this story is getting super long now and you probably want me to get to my point. So I’ll make it: my dad grew up with only one true goal in life – to not become his father. To some people, that would mean that they would try to be the very best father figure they could be. To my dad, who never really wanted to be a parent because he was so afraid of how terrible he would be at it, his solution was to NOT be a father figure at all – but to be best buddies with his children. It seemed fun when I was a kid – he let me live in a tent in the back yard for an entire summer, he let me watch whatever I wanted on TV (no matter how graphic), he’d take me on trips to Tijuana, he would sneak me into concerts when I was like thirteen… he encouraged every single indulgence I had, every single one, always. And while I do think that parents should let their kids make mistakes and live and learn through them, he had almost a pathological aversion to refusing us ANYTHING, regardless of how dangerous it may be. My brother once “borrowed” the car when he was 15 (well before he had a driver’s license) and was pulled over by the cops. When he was returned to our house, my dad was very “boys will be boys” about it despite the fact that the cop told him he was pulled over because he almost hit a person in the crosswalk because he was going too fast and panicked and almost didn't stop in time. My dad laughed it off, as usual.

Also, my dad was gone a lot. He traveled all the time and when he was home, he preferred to spend his time at the office or going on hunting trips with his buddies. It was one of the biggest things my parents fought about. To my dad, however, he wasn't yelling or hitting us so he was succeeding as a parent. In my teen years, I started to resent him for it. My parents had divorced and he wasn't interested in sticking around to deal with the fallout so he moved back to California (we were in VA at this time) and there was a solid two years of radio silence, except for the occasional birthday card/check. I had a lot of anger about that time and it’s nothing we ever discussed. I came to terms with it through therapy and just… accepting that our parents are people too and they screw up and while I wish things had been different, life isn't perfect. When I got older, he would tell me how he would have done some things differently but when a parent acknowledges how they’d screwed up where you were concerned, it’s hard to really convey to them what it was like for you.

But, even so… there are things that I’ve always wanted to talk to him about, even if it’s just to let him know that I understand why he was the way that he was when I was growing up and while it makes me sad, I’m okay and he’s okay and he’s still my hero and always will be. He is a person that grew up with so much adversity and he pulled himself up out of nothing and he joined the Navy, put himself through law school, and started his own practice. He taught me the power of self-reliance and resilience. He didn't support every single decision I ever made, but he supported my right to make my own choices every time. He showed me what it meant to be independent. I put myself through college and learned how to support myself without any real financial backing from him (or either of my parents, really) and it has been really hard but thank God for it because I wouldn't be the person I am today otherwise.

I guess I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to say. My intention isn't to paint an ugly portrait of my father – mostly to show him as a whole person, who had faults and weaknesses like anyone else. He is an amazing person but he is also a person who was screwed up by some things growing up and never really shook it off.

That being said, over Father’s Day week, I did a list of songs that reminded me of my dad.  I stopped midweek not because I forgot or lost interest…. but I was concerned that I was giving everyone an unrealistic depiction of my dad. Saying bad things about him at this juncture is pointless but I don’t think it’s doing a favor to anyone by acting like growing up with him was nothing but Cosby Show-esque larks. Also, creating the list was getting harder and harder the closer I came to Father’s Day…. but I think it’s important for me to finish this, for better or worse. So without further ado:

Day #5:

“Today I Sing the Blues” by Aretha Franklin: This was chosen because it was a song that my mother listened to a lot whenever she and my dad were fighting. I get that from her – feeling my sadness at its fullness through music. Anyway, I knew whenever I heard that song that my dad would be gone for a few days. Towards the end of their marriage, during my 13^th and 14^th years, I heard this song a lot. I remember very distinctly the last time I ever heard this song. My parents had a particularly big row in the backyard and my dad, who to this day probably doesn't realize I was awake and could hear every word, said to my mom, “You make me feel like I’m a prisoner in my own life.”

And when he left the house, storming away from his prison, my mom went to her room and played this song just one time and I never heard her play it again.

It should probably be said that my dad saying those words stuck with me for a very long time. Again, I’m not trying to paint him as a villain, but there’s a reason why I gravitate towards shows like Mad Men and books like Revolutionary Road so deeply – because I feel like they give me insight into my father that has been hard for me to pick up on my own.

Day #6:

“Singin’ in the Rain” by Gene Kelly: Now this song is my happy song. It’s a lot of people’s happy song, actually. And while, yes, it does make me happy… I also recall that it is the song that I was listening to when my dad called me to tell me that his father had passed away – of cancer (surprise surprise) of the lungs. My dad, at the end, had tried to find peace with his father and never quite found closure. I was living in New Mexico at the time and it was a very… difficult conversation. I remember every word of that conversation: he said, “He’s gone, Natacia. My dad’s gone.” I had never heard him sound like such a kid and never did again. We chatted briefly about how I was going to come out to New Orleans (where my Grandpa was living when he passed away) and I’d help him with funeral arrangements – though my mother, who actually came all the way out from Italy, decided to take the brunt of that responsibility (their relationship was complicated). At the end of the conversation, my dad was almost laughing when he remarked, “Old coot had to hurt me just one list time, didn’t he?” Nothing my father has ever said pained my heart as much as that did. Nothing. And sadly, part of me always thinks of that whenever I hear “Singin’ in the Rain.”

Day #7:

And for my Father’s Day selection… “Christmas (Baby PleaseCome Home)” by Southside Johnny Lyons: Here’s the thing. Christmas was a big deal in my family. A really really  big deal. We barely acknowledged birthdays or any other holiday. Growing up, my mom had a very strict household (I can’t even get into all the things screwed up about her relationship with her own parents, that’s its own blog post) but Christmas the one time a year that joy was overflowing in her family’s home. My dad, on the other end, had mostly bad memories of Christmas growing up. His father was always particularly agitated when the holidays came around and even after they left him, his mother was often working too much to actually spend much time with him. (Not to mention the one Christmas my mom sent my father to stay with his father over the holidays, after the separation, and my father left my dad alone on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to go on a fishing trip with his buddies. My dad was utterly alone, in a relatively unfamiliar place, and the only food he had to eat was stale bread and eggs. Happy Holidays, one and all!)

Anyway, one of our regular Christmas movies to watch while growing up was Home Alone. This was my dad’s favorite to watch (until the year that it was banned from rotation due to the 1994 year of watching it every single day during winter vacation) and he even bought the soundtrack on tape and would play it often over the holidays during dinner or while putting up decorations. Then our old tape deck, much like the bit in How I Met Your Mother, wouldn't spit it out and would play “Please Come Home for Christmas” repeatedly. It drove my mom C-R-A-Z-Y but my dad seemed to never get sick of it. One of the best years of my childhood was 1992 and that Christmas was one of the best. My parents were still in denial about the problems in their relationship or at least hadn't realized how deep their problems were – and my dad worshiped the ground I walked on. That Christmas, he danced with us a lot. He didn't disappear with his drinking buddies. He didn't make excuses about needing to work late. He cherished every moment with us. One Sunday morning when we were listening to the soundtrack again, after church, my mom begged my dad to just put in a record – anything other than that song – so he turned it off and pulled my mom away from the omelets she was trying to make. He told her that if this was the worst thing she had to deal with then they had a pretty great life and then he started singing “Please Come Home for Christmas” as they danced in the kitchen and my brother was complaining how his eggs were getting burned.

It’s a bittersweet memory because while that was wonderful and I was so lucky to have such a wonderful Christmas with such a wonderful family… it was the last year I truly felt the magic of the season. I love Christmas very much but every year after that was harder and harder because my parents’ marriage slowly deteriorated until it finally imploded. Every year, I feel like part of me keeps trying to recreate the magic from that one Christmas even though I know it’ll never happen again. I know it’s better to look forward rather than stay locked in the past but sometimes it’s harder than you’d expect.

So yes – I will take the good with the bad. Because, as I like to say, a person is more than the worst thing that they've ever done… and all people are capable of wonderful and terrible things. It’s about degrees, I suppose, and all things considered, I still think I was pretty lucky. And perhaps I’ll never receive the exact type of closure I've wanted, a part of life is acceptance and I think I’m getting there – slowly but surely.

Making Life Wonderful: The Bailey Effect

Over the last few months, I've discovered a few things about myself:

1. I’m a bit more prone to body hate than I would like. But I’m trying to be better about loving myself. 
2. I've become more and more introverted – or at least, I find more joy out of one-on-one experiences and nights in with a small group of close friends than going out on the town with big groups for crazy adventures. 
3. I don’t read enough anymore – I average maybe one or two books a month and that realization has made me very sad. And really, the books I am reading aren't exactly modern classics. 
4. I think I may officially be done with cigarettes, even at my drunkest moments, as they only serve to make me physically ill. Which I guess is good but odd. 
5. While I love learning and schooling more than works can say… I've become less and less career-focused and more focused on what I can do in my community and what I can take away from my classes. I no longer care about “moving up” or getting more money because whenever I have made decisions based on those desires, things have always gone downhill for me in some way.

None of this is ground breaking information, I guess, but it goes to show how people are constantly changing and how we’re constantly learning more things about ourselves. Every time someone asks me what I plan to get out of school, I feel like my answer changes a little bit more each time and now I can honestly say that it’s not career-motivated at all because I don’t think I really care about that anymore. To the average person, that probably sounds ridiculous. Why would one go through this much schooling if it didn't impact their career? It’s a valid question and I get why one would find it a waste of time. But the act of learning and growing as a human being is where I’m see the value. And I’m finding more and more that I see the value of life outside of the office and I care less and less about the “daily grind” that I have to go through to get a pay check. That isn't to say that I don’t care about a decent work ethic – I still believe in putting my all into whatever project falls in my lap. It’s just… life is so big and so short that getting emotional and drained by the portion of it that matters the least seems so backwards.

I guess these are the sort of things I think about when there’s personal crises in my life. It really puts things in perspective.

The truth of it: as lame and obvious as this may sound, I’m really embracing the idea that life is about the journey and not about the end result. My whole life, I've been chasing things and never finding the happiness in it that I've expected:

1.  Get a great GPA and go to a good school. 
2. Graduate from said school and move onto a job. 
3. Get the job and make money enough to own your place (though I never quite made it there).

I've been so laser focused on doing well not because I should just… want to succeed but because it was constantly leading to the next step. And that step leads to the next step and that one leads to the next step and the process never ends until… I die? What the fuck?

School has been great because it forces me to push my mind to places that stay dormant otherwise. Spending time with my close knit group of friends is wonderful because they both force me to question ideas that I've been holding onto for most of my life and to just shut off my brain and live in the moment and LAUGH. My family has been wonderful at keeping me grounded and telling me what I need to hear even when I don’t want to hear it – and you really need those kinds of people in your life sometimes. Volunteering has really forced me to understand the value of our community and being involved in it and also that the world is bigger than our own personal trials and tribulations (though we shouldn't take this to me we’re not allowed to own our pain as well).

My job has really just come a place where I need to get things done for a few hours out of my day so that I can afford to do the things above that I actually care about.

I’m never going to be a wealthy person. I’m always going to be scrambling by, perhaps. And you know what? That’s OK because I plan on filling my life with the things that really matter. I think after years and years and years of watching/loving/obsessing over It’s A Wonderful Life, the message is finally starting to sink in. Call me “Ms. Bailey” because I’m reworking my priorities and feeling pretty good about it.

Body Loathing and Acceptance

I have a very honest and embarrassing admission to make, you guys. And I felt like it's one that actually requires the rare blog post:

I hate my body.

Now, admitting this is hard for several reasons. Reason #1: I already make a big deal about how pro female empowerment I am and how much I'm against distorted female body images in mainstream media. Reason #2: Two years ago, I was very much on a very healthy path as far as having a strong exercise routine and great food habits and this has completely been thrown away over the course of this past year and it makes me feel like a failure. Reason #3: This has all resulted in igniting my previously dormant body-related depression that I thought I had overcome a decade ago.

This disgust that has grown inside of me and, until recently, has been one I've been able to poke fun at. I see the rolls and flab that have appeared on my body and I've laughed about what a "fat ass" I am and follow it up by eating a plate of nachos. I say things like, "Yep! Still single!" because clearly the reason is because no guy would want someone who looks like how I look in a swimsuit... and so I go to the local pub and get an order of wings. I have a hard day at work and feel like I'm not where I want to be in my life and I change into a pair of sweat pants as soon as I get home and I feel disgusting and decide why not have a pint of gelato for dinner? I post on Facebook about it and make myself a punchline and everyone laughs with me and it seems like it's OK because at least I have a sense of humor about it.

But the truth is I don't find it funny. Over the last couple of months, especially, I've been less willing to poke fun and more prone to laying in bed wondering if I'll always hate myself this much.

Every once in a while I'll tell my friends or family how I feel (though I won't go as far as using the "H" word) and they'll say things like, "Shut up! You look amazing!" or "You have a great figure!" You know, something like that. But then I look at them and all I can see is how great they look and it makes me feel like a charity case somehow. Because the truth is... and this is something I've said recently in regards to something else entirely but it still applies... no one can make you feel worthwhile. You have to be willing to feel that way about yourself and the awful truth is I don't know how to get back to that place again.

Now, part of the problem is I have other things going on in my life right now and one way I've always found comfort is by eating. But that's a dangerous path because while eating ten Oreo cookies may feel amazing while I'm doing it, it only leads to feelings of self-loathing which then.... causes me to eat more and the spiral goes on forever.

I would also like to acknowledge that intellectually I understand that I am not actually "fat" - or what our society generally considers "fat." I'm about 5'2 and I weigh around 130 lbs. That's pretty average. Also, being that I live in a city, I walk quite a bit (not to mention that I go on adventures with my dog fairly often) and I'm a regular member of Washington Sports Club and I take archery classes out in Bethesda... so I'm pretty active. Hating my body isn't about just looking at myself and telling myself I'm fine. I can do that all day everyday but if I can't allow myself to believe it, it doesn't matter.

So recently I decided that maybe if I really take care of my body, everything would turn around. I've been making my own food more often, eating more salads, running in the mornings before work, signing up for more classes at the gym. Granted, I've only started doing this over the last couple of weeks (prompted, I'll admit, by the dreaded bathing suit season) but for the most part this has done little for my self esteem and more for making me see how little progress I'm actually making and giving me more reason to be disappointed in myself whenever I slip up and eat a cookie.

Then last week, I found two things on the internet: an article by Sarah Silverman in Glamour Magazine about women needing to shut the fuck up and love themselves and an amazing Huff Post articles/video about a woman making a documentary on the hate women feel about their bodies because of the pressure society puts on them. Neither of these things are ground breaking but I was in a place where I really really needed to hear these things and I didn't even realize how much so. I was feeling pretty defeated but seeing these things really made me feel less alone at a time where my self-loathing was making me feel kind of isolated and ashamed.

Now I'm not going to say that some miracle has happened and I woke up today and looked in the mirror and suddenly saw a goddess. However, I'm feeling less angry at myself and more focused on other things. This isn't to say that I don't care about eating healthy or exercising anymore.... I'm just feeling a little less desperate about it and that's one step in the right direction. Hopefully, I can look at myself one day and see myself the way I see the people I love (as beautiful and courageous) and I'll care less about how slim I look in whatever new dress I've bought myself because life is too short to be obsessed about how Hollywood and Vogue Magazine is telling you to look. The Powers That Be gave me some curves and some would consider that a gift! And as Sarah Silverman says, "If we were half as nice to ourselves as we are to any fucking stranger on the street, we'd be winning."

Musical Musings: Best of 2013

The biggest advantage to being housebound for many many days over the holiday season is having a lot of time to explore every facet of the internet – and one of my favorite things to do on the internet around this time of year is looking at “best of” music lists. It’s always a catch-22 because while I absolutely love looking at other people/magazine/websites’ top lists, I always get infuriated with them too (like Pitchfork, who gave KANYE WEST the honor of best album of the year because they’re hacks).

Anyway, exploring all these lists always inspires me to create a top 100 playlist of my personal favorite songs of the year (which is hard because it’s difficult to keep it down to ONLY 100) but this year I decided to challenge myself further. Instead of just doing a crazy playlist (which you can check out on Spotify, if you’d like), I am forcing myself to bring it down to just 25! I attempted a top 10 but it was impossible. How do people even do that?

I genuinely love every single song on this list. Yes, Justin Timberlake is on this there, OBVIOUSLY and yes, so is Jay Z and Drake. But there’s also Daft Punk, Janelle Monae and Atoms for Peace. Hopefully you’ll find something on here that you discover and say, “Hey ain’t too shabby” or maybe you had already considered some of these tracks for your own favorite of 2013. I tried to keep it pretty diverse and I don’t think there are toooo many surprised in here for those of you who know me fairly well.

So let’s get on with it, shall we?

1. Atoms for Peace, “Ingenue”: I could go on and on for days about how good this album was. Definitely my favorite for the year (or at least tied with Daft Punk and Foxygen). But this track in particular hooked me, right from the get go. Stays with you and every time I hear it, I’m almost hearing it for the first time.
2. Irene Diaz, “I Love You Madly”: Stripped down and gorgeous. Sometimes the best songs are nothing more than the right voice and a guitar. And this song is so so right.
3. Eleanor Friedberger, “Stare At the Sun”: I am obsessed with this woman’s voice. It’s so unique and strange and beautiful and every once in a while, the perfect song really brings out everything that’s great about it. I want more solo albums from her.
4. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Sacrilege”: Another lady voice I’m obsessed with. Karen O is a BEAST with that wail of hers. But I love when it’s turned ethereal, like in this song, and you feel like you’re transported to a tribal world. Her voice belongs in another era.
5. Foxygen, “San Francisco”: I cannot even tell you how hard it was to pick just one song off of this album. Foxygen is currently my favorite “up and coming” band and I really hope to see them live one of these days. I almost picked “In the Darkness” (which stayed in my head for months, after seeing Drinking Buddies) but “San Francisco” is the most infectiously 60s pop-like single off of this very retro album so I had to pick it.
6. Janelle Monae & Erikah Badu, “Q.U.E.E.N.”: Personally I think Erikah Badu is crazy but man that loony lady can saaaaaang. The combination of her and Janelle (whose latest album is GORGEOUS) is just unstoppable.
7. Daft Punk, “Instant Crush”: I feel bad that I put this all the way down in the 7^th spot. I really do. While I had my doubts about this Daft Punk album at first (mainly because people wouldn’t shut up about it for months), it grew on me over time until suddenly it was on my regular rotation and I’d find myself dancing alone to it in my apartment (or, y’know, my office) all the time. I know I probably should pick “Get Lucky” (and hell, I almost did because I love that song no matter how overplayed it is) but this is actually the first song off of this album to make me go, “Hey wait a minute now, there’s something here!”   
8. James Blake, “Retrograde”: I’m not convinced that James Blake isn’t a ghost. His music is not of this earth, I swear. But none the less, I actually believe that this is his best single yet. Sultry as usual with a somewhat harder edge than his music typically has.
9. Charles Bradley, “Victim of Love”: My old soul flutters when I hear this song. I love me some Charles Bradley. Who knew that a guy who started off as a James Brown impersonator could make his very own awesome imprint on the musical world?
10. CHVRCHES, “Recover”: Let’s all be honest. This band/song was this year’s indie (read: hipster) darling. I admit it. But I don’t care because this song is just so infectious that it deserves the attention.
11. Thundercat, “Oh Sheit It's X": Usually not my type of jam but it’s so funky and retro. It makes me want to put on a pair of platform shoes, get an afro wig, and bust a move. Admit it… you’re listening to this right now and wanting to do the same exact thing.
12. Drake, “Hold On, We’re Going Home”: Even I cannot believe I picked a song by Drake for my top 25 list. But like so many other songs on this list, it’s totally from another era. While “Oh Sheit It’s X” makes me want to bring out the platform shoes, “Hold On, We’re Going Home” makes me want to invade the 1980s club scene. Also this music video takes me back to a time when music videos were elaborate stories and not just big booty dancers or bearded hipsters crying into a camera. I mean the music doesn’t even start until minute 2:35 and I love it.
13. Haim, “The Wire”: I was embarrassingly late in discovering this band. But better late than never! I dare you to listen to this song and not at least bop your head. If you manage to resist, you are a cyborg. Sorry you had to find out this way.
14. Jay Z, “Picasso Baby”: I know I have a double standard. I don’t care for Kanye (though, truth be told, I don’t think he’s untalented; I just hate his verbal diarrhea). I loathe Beyonce. But man, do I love me some Jay Z. I always have and I always will. I can’t even really explain it. A lot of things I hate about Kanye are character traits that Jay Z has. Same with Beyonce. And yet, here we are – with me loving this track to death, right down to the lyrics, “I’m the modern day Pablo Picasso, baby.”
15. Justin Timberlake, “Pusher Love Girl”: Guuuurl. I love this man. I still hate Jessica Biel for crushing my dreams. But honesty time? I wasn’t crazy about this album. It’s grown on me but this is one of the few tracks off the album that I have consistently loved from the first moment I heard it. I keep daydreaming that Justin is singing it to me, hrrrmmmmm…. Ahem. Yes. It’s a good track.
16. Yo La Tengo, “Ohm”: More honesty? I didn’t even know they came out with a new album until like two weeks ago. Pretty sure it came out like 5 months ago. Pretty sure every music magazine made a big deal about it. I felt a little like Donna Noble when one of my nerdy music buddies mentioned it to me – all “Huh? What?” And yes, I just made a Doctor Who reference. Get over it. But back to YLT! Great album (as usual) and this is my favorite track off of it.
17. TV On the Radio, “Mercy”: Oh, TV On the Radio. AKA the Ol’ Reliables. They are just consistently great and this track does not let me down. I’ll say that it’s probably one of their more accessible songs – far more palatable than some of their more static, experimental ventures – but still has the same level of mania their music always has. I just want to crowd surf when I listen to one of their albums.
18. Phosphorescent, “Song for Zula”: What genre is this? Folk soul? Is that a thing? Because it should be, because it’s fantastic. The shout out to Johnny Cash doesn’t hurt either. I originally had this track at the #20 spot but decided to bump it up a few notches.
19. Alice Smith, “Shot”: I read a review of Alice Smith’s album She that sums up everything for me: this is basically what would happen if Fiona Apple decided to put together a string of afro-funk songs. This song in particular has some great hooks and a truly fantastic groove.
20. Disclosure & AlunaGeorge, “White Noise”: A club favorite of mine. I mean, I don’t go to many clubs, but I imagine this song would play at a lot of the types of clubs I’d frequent if I was the type to… y’know, go clubbing. I like Disclosure but I love love love AlunaGeorge. Her voice loans the right amount of emotional depth and power to this already very danceable track. Great stuff.
21. Bonobo, “Cirrus”: Jazzy and fun. A song not afraid to be filled with joy. Fantastic beats. Great arrangement. Only reason why it’s not higher on my list is because it’s not really my breed of music so I have to be in the right mood for it. But man, when I am – blamo! My dancing feet take over.
22. Beck, “Gimme”: My favorite of the three standalone singles he released this year. One of his techier, more experimental sounding tracks of late while still managing to keep a consistent melody and an interesting arrangement. That man proves over and over that he knows what he’s doing in the music department.
23. Kurt Vile, “Wakin on a Pretty Day”: Lovely and languid. A breath of fresh air. Contemplative without overthinking it. Just a simple, beautiful song. Another favorite album of mine, by the way.
24. Thao & The Get Down Stay Down, “We the Common People (For Valerie Bolden)”: Playfully political. Happily bleak. A real toe tapper about the bullshit we surround ourselves in. I heart everything about this song.
25. Ariana Grande, “Honeymoon Avenue”: I adore this song for being such a throwback to 90s pop soul. Like Monica could have sung this, or Brandy – or hey, I’ll be honest, Mariah Carey. And hate all you want, but this song reminds me of listening to the radio on my bedroom floor with my cassette player and attempting to record my favorite hits off of whatever Top 40 station I was obsessed with at the time (probably 93.3 – San Diego’s most Top 40est station there is). This song makes me wants to think about my 8^th grade boyfriend and practicing cheerleading moves with my junior high besties and rolling skating on the pier. Nostalgia is a powerful drug, my friends, and this track is chock full of it.

Any tracks you totally disagree with? Anything you would add? Let’s dish!

Lou Reed: You Just Keep Me Hangin' On

Have you ever had SO many things that you wanted to blog about that you don't even know which one to start with? I considered giving yet another update on my life and how my family is holding up. I considered posting about my recent holiday blues. I considered posting about all the crock pot successes (and failures) I've had in the last month or so. I considered posting about a recent Huffington Post article I read about Russell Brand that I have quite a lot to say about (and will touch on for certain another time). But eventually the topic that won out for me... Lou Reed and his recent death.

Before I go on what will surely be the sickest, most gush-tastic post on how much this man has influenced my extreme love of rock 'n' roll, I want to say that Lou Reed was not only a great artist. In a lot of ways, he has shaped how I look at music and how I connect to it. I know in the grand scheme of things, especially given the crap year that I've had, this probably shouldn't shatter me as much as it has but few artists have truly touched me as much as he has.

Now, onto the really gushy shit. I'd stop reading now if you don't think you can handle it.

To explain why I love Lou Reed so much, I think I should start by saying that White Light/White Heat was the first tape I ever stole from my oldest brother Patrick, whose musical choices were worshiped by me at a very young age. Now like all music nerds and Velvet Underground lovers, I grew to kind of romanticize this album, but if I have to be completely honest, I didn't love it at first. It's fairly experimental and I was eleven years old when I swiped it. I'd like to sit here and say that even at eleven, I was so much of a music snob that I could appreciate a song like "The Gift" (which, if you are unfamiliar with it, is a tale of promiscuity, jealousy, and a tragic death).... but let's be serious. I was still pretty much obsessed with Madonna and The Bangles at that time and WL/WH isn't exactly the best transitional or accessible album to pick up for a young kiddo.

However, that being said, I became hopelessly obsessed with "Here She Comes Now". I would play it over and over again. Years later, when I'd make mixed tapes for prospective boyfriends and best friends and well, any goddamn person who would let me, it was a song I pretty much always included in there (even though its meaning is relatively ambiguous), regardless of the theme of the mix or why I was making it. When I was in college and a member of what was probably the worst chick band to ever exist on this planet, the first song I ever wanted to learn (well, after "Hey Jude") was "Here She Comes Now". To this day, it's still one of my favorite songs. And as the years of me listening to that song went by, I listened to the whole album as well, many times, until one day I realized how much I had grown to love the whole thing. I don't even know when it happened. But one day, when I was like fourteen years old, I was listening to"Sister Ray" when no one else was home. I turned that sucker up as loud as I wanted and bounced on and around my bed like a maniac for fifteen crazed euphoric minutes, knocking over a lamp and banging my knee on my nightstand. That's what Lou Reed did - he made you feel the music in your gut, in your bones, in your toes, in your fucking blood until you have no choice but to fall into it.

This was music that had no interest in being polished or studio perfect, in placating the masses. It was music that was only interested in making you get lost in it – or maybe even find yourself. But beyond that, it is music that made you realize that it can be more than some catchy tunes with a killer hook and a happy finish. Lou Reed said a lot of amazing things during the 71 years he graced us with his presence but one of the best things he ever said was, “I don’t believe in dressing up reality. I don’t believe in using makeup to make things look smoother.” He believed in getting dirty, expressing truth at all costs, and shoving those truths right in your face. He gave voice to people who were angry or sad or damaged and didn't know how to express it. He was one of music’s glam movement pioneers who gave a community of transgenders a place to fit in – not because it’s OK to be different but because it’s OK to be whoever the fuck you want to be, especially if you’re loud and real and throwing your proverbial (or not so proverbial) crotch at authority. He believed that every single goddamn second of life was important and meant something. He understood hopelessness but he didn't accept it as a reality that anyone needed to live. This all comes through in his music, in his voice, in his words, in his poetry. 

Transformer is one of the most perfect albums ever recorded but for me, it was the rawness and pain and flawed beauty of Berlin that made me really see Lou Reed for the first time. I could go on and on about his time with the Velvet Underground – a band so important to the world of music, it practically birthed other legendary artists like the New York Dolls and the Pixies and Siouxsie and the Banshees and the Sex Pistols and the Stooges. However, when all is said and done, Berlin is and always will be Lou Reed’s masterpiece. After receiving some mainstream adoration for his hit single, “Walk on the Wild Side,” everyone expected him to take his new popularity and run with it. But Lou, as always, was never interested in creating music that was comfortable or expected. He wanted to bear his soul because that’s the only way to produce art that’s worth anything and he didn't care if it sounded pretty. And while Berlin was never quite appreciated in its time nor was it any sort of commercial achievement, I like to believe that he was always proud of what he created there – even though it’s widely known that the harsh reviews it received eventually took its toll on him. Yet, despite the years of under appreciation, Lou Reed was finally able to realize a dream and perform his masterpiece - his rock opera - the way he had always wanted: live and with an entire 30 piece band. I always wished I could have seen one of those shows.

In the end, he was a man who lived hard for a lot of years and eventually realized how much he wanted to stay here, living and creating, for as long as possible. He probably lived longer than he ever thought he would or any of us believed – but that doesn't make his death any less heart wrenching. People get so lost in what they think they should do with their lives and then sometimes you run into a person who just opts to go out there and fucking do it. Really, it’s easy to convince ourselves that we’re not capable of doing this or smart enough to do that. It’s so easy to just get comfortable and put our dreams and desires on a shelf “for another day” even if that day never comes. But a person like Lou Reed can teach us all a lot of lessons about daring to be different, to be brave, and to be expressive. He understood the importance of literature and words but as a means to live, not as a means to escape – and I’m the sort of person who has always been far too comfortable with the concept of escaping from life. Listening to his music, even for a moment, challenges me to… challenge myself. And isn't that the testament of true art? I’ll always be grateful that he brought such diverse and emotionally complex music into my life and opened me up to a whole world of artists who would give me a swift kick in the ass, which is something I truly believe everyone needs from time to time.

And on that note, I’d like to close this post with my favorite song from Berlin, the closing song, which to me is also the quintessential Lou Reed creation – sad, tragic, pain stricken, challenging… the sort of song that gives you a sense of disquiet but somehow also provides a sense of therapeutic relief. It’s also appropriately named and expresses my current heart ache perfectly.

We love you, Lou. You better keep making waves where ever you are right now.