The Deal

It seems that, unintentionally, I've begun doing weekly blog posts. I just want you to know now, how sorry I am. I really never meant to do this to you, I never meant to subject you to the inner workings of my mind on a regular, weekly basis. It was so much nicer for everyone, I know, back during the summer when I only posted once, maybe twice a month. Or how about the past year, when I didn't even have a blog at all, after I deleted my first one (I DID have a blog before this, believe it or not, but thank God, nobody has access to it anymore, not even me.) So anyhow, I'm sorry, but I just can't help myself. I've come to the conclusion, this week in particular, that it's just too exhausting to be me, to have to hear the incessant thoughts going on in my own head all the time. I honestly can't stand it. So I need somewhere to unleash it all, and I think that my friends, as much as they love and adore me, kind of want to punch me in the face...

So here I am, blogging my thoughts instead.

I have nothing further to say here, maybe I'll come up with something in the near future (your screams of protest are noted). I just wanted to let you know what the deal was gonna be from now on.

Once again, my deepest, sincerest apologies.

Mainers

My relatives from Maine are a strange assembly of people. I could do a really long, detailed post about it and analyze exactly how growing up with this bunch of characters affected my father and how that, in turn, affected me. Not gonna do it though. I just want to give you a brief rundown of my family right now:

Conrad: My father. Average-sized man. Full head of hair. White goatee. Tells bad jokes. Drinks coffee with three creams and three sugars. Quotes a lot of Bible verses. Doesn't understand almost any pop culture references, even a little bit.

Tammy: My father's sister. Redneck Ellen DeGeneres.

Roland: Second son. Construction worker. Kills deer, and moose, sometimes. He fell off a roof last February and his left eye still looks smaller to me, like the swelling never went down. Gruff.

Rick: Born Ricky. Legally changed to Jonah. Hairdresser turned banker. Loves his iPhone more than any person should. Flamboyant. Lives in two bedroom apartment with one ex-boyfriend, one fat chihuaha and...well I don't really know what else.

Steve: Unemployed. Divorcing. Beet-red face, from being outside all the time. Beer and cigarettes. Misses his kids. Loves my little white dog. Lives with my Nanna now. Crier.

These are my father and his siblings. They all grew up with an alcoholic lobsterman father and a mother who was probably too young. Now, they are all so very very different from each other. They all live in Maine, except my father, who got religion and went to Gordon College in Massachusetts, became a youth pastor and married the assistant youth leader.

Seeing them all in the same room together is very odd. They get along well enough. My dad is just talkative; he will talk to anybody. Uncle Rick is that gay man we all know: hysterical, probably should use a filter more often. Aunt Tammy makes everyone laugh. Uncle Roland never cracks a smile: he's got that deadpan sense of humor that's kind of scary till you're used to it. Uncle Steve teases everyone, like a child, maybe because he doesn't know how to be a grown up, maybe because it's easier not to take anything seriously. My Nanna bustles around trying to feed everyone and treats them as if they were still little kids, saying things in her backwoods Maine grammar, like, "You gettin' into trouble Connie?" to my father, or "If you wasn't so busy watching that foolish television, maybe your food would still be hot, Steven." They all laugh and joke and fool. To mask the pain, to mask how hard it is, for them all to get together and put aside their issues and their memories and their huge, gaping differences and get along.

I wish I had a conclusion to draw, or even one measly thought to offer up on all I've just written. I don't really. It's just, interesting that's all.

I Didn't Wash My Hair

I want to write tonight about home. Home is such an abstract concept and I don't even really think I understand it, or have the words to describe what I think it is.

I actually feel very conflicted about the concept of home right now. I've just returned to my little town in Massachusetts for the first time after leaving for New York three months ago. We drove in around nine o'clock last night. Everything was dark and sparkly, the lights were on and there were cars were on the road, lots of them actually. It felt nice to feel, I don't know, like I was in the world again. I love my college, but it's easy to feel like you're lost there sometimes. Or like the world is rushing on and leaving you behind. Maybe that's because I'm young. I think when I am old, I will like the feeling of being tucked away somewhere, untouched by the world as it goes faster and faster and faster, like the Tucks in Tuck Everlasting (a movie which, let me tell you, absolutely broke my thirteen-year-old heart the first time I saw it).

I looked at all the familiar road signs. The stretch of highway I'd seen before, my father's white beard and the driving glasses he's so proud of, the fast food restaurants in exactly the same location I'd left them. That ugly mustard-colored house that sits across the road from the complex we live in. The sight of my little dog in the headlights, because my mom was walking her to the mailboxes when we pulled up.

And then we got into my house and it was exactly the same but exactly different. The living room, so comfortably messy, as its been as long as I can remember. I went to my bedroom, and it was...empty. My nightstand was gone from my bed, and there were new fancy pillows on the sheets. I set down my laundry bag and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my sister unhappily. "This feels wrong," I said to her. "This feels all wrong."

"It's the same old room," she said and settled right into her bed like she'd never left it for a second.

Today I saw friends. I went to my old high school, and saw how it had changed. I visited my old band teacher: this man was like a second father to me, I don't know that I would've survived high school without him. He sat at his desk and I told him not to judge me because I'd slept through my alarm and hadn't had the time to wash my hair that morning: he showed me pictures of his daughter, who is one now, and has teeth in her head and blue eyes like him. I hugged people, people I never used to hug. We were too familiar to hug, if that makes sense. But today, I hugged them all.

I watched my best friend step off a bus and walk toward a car, where his girlfriend and his best friends were waiting for him. His girlfriend couldn't contain herself, she flung the door open and climbed out of the backseat and toppled into his arms. It was really like those reunifications you think only happen in the movies. They were so happy to see each other. They stopped hugging and kissing finally and he gave me a big long hug. We never used to hug much, only one or two notable times in high school. It felt good, but strange.

"What's wrong?" he asked me when he pulled away.

"I didn't have time to wash my hair this morning," was all I could say.

We talked a bit, but it was freezing in the wind and every time he'd catch sight of Lindsey again, he'd grab her, pull her back to him, like he couldn't stand to be away from her another second.

We went to school then, and I saw my old best friend from forever. I don't really know what to call her now. Our relationship used to be too close and then too far, and then just confusing. We've had a lot of hurt and misunderstanding and that sort of thing between us: we've been through everything together, and I don't really know where that leaves us now. I don't know what to do with it now. It was good to see her, she didn't care that I hadn't showered. She hugged me and told me to save time for her before I left. I mean to.

I walked through the hallways of my old high school and remembered what it used to be like to go there. All the things that happened to me there. All the things that changed me there. I thanked God that I didn't have to go there anymore. It had changed, and I felt an intruder, but I didn't mind that. I don't want to be familiar there anymore.

Anyway. This is just a lot of recounting and I don't know exactly what the point is. I don't have much to say about it. I just, wanted to write it down I guess, maybe to figure out how I feel. I'm not sure. It's just all surreal. It's strange.

It's strange not to know where your home is anymore. I've lived in this little town in Massachusetts for my entire life. My family's never even moved houses, not once. Suddenly, I left, for three months, and moved to New York. And now I come back here and everything has changed. I miss being home. And by saying that I don't mean in Massachusetts and I don't mean in New York.

I guess, I mean, I miss that comfort. I miss being certain of my life, certain at all, of anything. I miss feeling like I knew where I was going. I miss feeling like I wasn't scared of where I'd end up. Growing up has many lovely aspects to it, that's for sure.

But I'm frightened too, I won't pretend.

The Quin Sisters and the Lesbian Culture

I have long been a fan of the Canadian twin sister musical duo Tegan & Sara. In fact, our history is more long and convoluted, more passionate and committed than that of most relationships I've had. It makes it so that writing a blog post about them is an overwhelming task, to say the least.

But I'm going to attempt it, mainly because I want to address a problem I have. A problem with the lesbians, actually. A problem with the lesbians stealing Tegan & Sara all for themselves.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe I should give you a little background history about my relationship with the Quin sisters. I was first introduced to the girls my sophomore year of high school. Fifteen years old. It was love, instantly. At the time, the name "Sarah" was a sort of inside joke among my close friends (we thought dumb things were funny then; we still kind of do), and so when my best friend stumbled across a youtube movie about a lesbian named Sara, he sent me a link:

The song, called "Creeping Out Sara" by NOFX, details, through the use of lewd lyrics and the employment of several derogatory lesbian stereotypes, lead singer Fat Mike's (fictionalized?) encounter backstage at a German music festival with Sara Quin. The situation proves an embarassing one for Fat Mike who (in my opinion) crudely attempts to hit on Sara before realizing just who he is speaking to and her lesbian identity.

While I could go on about the inanity of that particular satirical song, I won't (afterellen.com covered it pretty well for me, I think*), I can't hate entirely on what NOFX did, simply because, were it not for their idiocy, I may never have heard of Tegan & Sara myself. I find that an unlikely assertion, because I've been around the music world enough to feel like it's safe to say I would've found out about T&S eventually some other way. But I do think it's interesting to note that this right here is a real-life example of the mantra "any publicity is good publicity". Watching that stupid movie my sophomore year of high school ushered me into the world of Tegan & Sara, a world that would welcome me with open, alluring arms and never let me go. Seriously, T&S is like a drug to me, and no matter where I've been in my life, I haven't been able to get away from my intense love for these gay Candian girls.

But now I finally get to my point. Yes, we're talking about The L-Word (no, not love, and not the TV show either,) but the actual word. Lesbians. The lesbians have taken Tegan & Sara for themselves. And it's a problem.

This blog post is not and I repeat not meant to assert any sort of opinions or judgments on lesbians one way or the other. Gay culture is a hugely loaded topic and not one that I want to tackle at this time, for various personal reasons. The point at hand is the stigmas associated with listening to (and loving) T&S.

Now I'm someone who listens to a lot of different music, and a good deal of it is music more commonly associated with gay culture. What can I say? Lesbians have some good taste in music. So does it make me a lady-lover, because I love to listen to lady-lovers?

Absolutely not. But that doesn't mean it hasn't been challenging. Listening to Tegan & Sara, admitting they're my favorite band, has been something that has changed in meaning for me over the years. I have a problem with two of the reactions I've seen.

If you're a heterosexual and you love Tegan & Sara, the assumption is you must be closeted.

If you're a lesbian and you love Tegan & Sara, the assumption is that you're just fullfilling the lesbian stereotype and why don't you go find a new band, get a little bit original for a change, and not be just exactly like every other lesbian this side of the Atlantic.

Either way, you can't win.

It's frustrating to me, because Tegan & Sara's sexuality influences so much of their fan base. It either draws people in or pushes people away, and if you listen to them, that sends out a pretty definitive message about your sexuality in our culture's eyes.

What I want to know is why can't I just listen to Tegan & Sara because they make lovely music, because their lyrics speak to me in a profound way, and because I just like them? Why does it have to say something about me? Why does it have to mean that I'm either keeping a secret or subscribing to a cliche? Why can't it just be about what it is: music.

This may always be a losing battle. Tegan & Sara are pretty open about their sexuality and politically, they're very involved. I don't reprimand them for this; on the contrary, I appreciate their honesty. But it has made it so that they've developed a sort of cult-lesbian following, an ever-growing group of frighteningly obsessive she-stalkers. And it's a little unfortunate, that one can't listen to Tegan & Sara anymore (I've found) without incurring a million different judgments from different people, no matter whether you're gay or not.

I think it needs to be said that some of us just like T&S. We just think they're great, plain and simple, all sexual preferences aside. We may even just blow out the remaining $62 of our old bank account on a pre-order of their new tour DVD and included signed posters. Cause we may just really appreciate some good tunes and talented artists.

Can't we just leave it at that?

*http://www.afterellen.com/blog/stubbs/pop-punk-band-nofx-writes-a-song-about-creeping-out-tegan-and-sara

**On a side note, if you've never listened to Tegan & Sara before, look them up. They're one of those bands that's so very diverse, it's hard not to find something you can like about them. Or many things you can fall in love with about them.

My Sex-Drive's Impending Doom

Talking with my roommate about the fact that I'm going to lose all my sex-drive pretty soon. I'm not joking people, (and yes, I know, this is a little bit personal to be posting online, but I'm DRUGGED UP I DON'T CARE), my sex-drive's days are numbered. See, I got these new pills today...a lot of new pills, for lots of fun, different things. One of the pills, according to the doctor, is going to wipe out my sex-drive like a freight train over a pancake. Gone. Just done. Wonderful. I will be eighteen-years-old and have absolutely no desire in me for sex whatsoever.

I think it's a little unfortunate, seeing as how my sex-drive influences somewhere around 82% of my behavior. My sex-drive is the only reason I have the will to get out of bed in the morning and go through the exhausting process of showering and attempting to look half-way-maybe-in-an-alternate-universe-some-semblance-of-the-word-appealing.

I haven't started the drugs yet though, so there's still time. Only like twenty-four hours left where I'm going to have any libido at all! What to do, what to do...

Probably gonna go finish my homework and call it a night.

Autumn Playlist

Autumn will soon be coming to a close, and, in the spirit of continuity, I thought I'd post an Autumn playlist.

Enjoy.

My Autumn Playlist:

1. Shame: PJ Harvey
2. Embrace: Chase & Status ft. White Lies

3. The Rockefeller Skank: Fatboy Slim

4. Summersun: Miami Horror

5. Another Case: Uh Huh Her

6. Godless Brother In Love: Iron & Wine

7. White Blank Page: Mumford & Sons

8. Body 21: Morningwood

9. Kiss Cam: Arkells

10. Where Eagles Have Been: Wolfmother

11. You Know You're Right: Nirvana

12. Day Old Hate: City & Colour

13. Barbra Streisand: Duck Sauce

14. Feel Good Inc.: Gorillaz

15. Fool: Cat Power

16. Back Stabbin' Betty: Cage the Elephant

17. Hurt: Johnny Cash

18. Fly Away: Lenny Kravitz

19. Adelaide: Old 97's

20. Body Work: Tegan & Sara (not the collaboration with Morgan Page, look up on Youtube their own version they did live over the summer)

21. Cupid's Trick: Elliott Smith

22. Broken Jaw: Foster the People

23. Space + Time: The Pierces

24. Heart of Stone: The Raveonettes

25. Forever: MEME

26. Destroy Me: Lilofee

27. Is This It: The Strokes

28. MMMNN: Grandadbob

29. Mongrel Heart: Broken Bells

30. Next Girl: The Black Keys

31. Only Girl: Ricky Eat Acid

32. Glad Man Singing: Iron & Wine

33. Heart's A Mess: Gotye

34. Judas: Cage the Elephant

35. A Million Miles An Hour: Eastern Conference Champions

36. The Only One: The Black Keys

37. Don't Stop (Color on the Walls): Foster the People

38. Sleep the Winter: eagleowl

39. His Love: Tegan Quin

40. Love Me Tender: Norah Jones

(This is just what I have been listening to this Autumn, or listening to the most rather. This is not my comprehensive, pervasive, all-time epic Autumn Playlist. Maybe someday I'll post that one. Probably not though.)

*Recent Honorable Mention: Cheers (Drink to That): Rihanna

Swearing and Christianity

I have always been under the impression that Christians aren't allowed to swear. It's just not something we do. It is universally understood among us that there are naughty words that we absolutely cannot say. How scandalous would it be if the pastor's wife walked up to a member of the congregation one day and said "What an ass that man is." Or "This damn heat is killing me."

I can answer that for you: It'd be pretty scandalous.

In fact, I'm not even sure if the pastor's wife is allowed to say the word "sucks" or "screwed". I know growing up I wasn't even supposed to say "shut up".

In high school, of course, I was exposed to a variety of bad language. From the graphic to the crude to the racially insensitive to the very, very explicit, I've heard it all. And to be honest, I've probably used most of it too.

It's fair to say that my level of profanity usually fluctuates with my spirituality on any given day. If I'm feeling really close to God, going to church a lot, praying, being all convicted, then I'm going to be trying to keep my language pretty clean. If I'm in a slump and I've decided I just can't even try anymore, those days of deep discouragement...you're apt to hear an f-bomb or two escape my lips.

The odd thing is though, that sometimes, even when I'm feeling really close to God, even when I've been reading my Bible and really consciously trying to live the right way, swear words still abound in my life. Now I'm a writer so obviously I have a pretty varied vocabulary (or at least, I ought to). There are so many words in this world I could use, and no one is more aware of that fact than me. So why do I resort to vulgarity?

Because sometimes, it's just necessary.

I have experienced great inner turmoil regarding this subject for years, and it's something I'm still debating now. Should we, as Christians, use swear words? I just don't know. See, I've met Christians, great Christian people, and even moreso since coming to college, who use some pretty colorful language. Maybe not even colorful. Maybe they don't run around saying "fuck this shit" all the time, but their language isn't necessarily all sweet and mild-mannered either. They'll say ass or damnit or what a bitch! Often the people I respect the most, both as humans and as God-fearing Christians, use some questionable language. And it's confusing. What's the deal?

Here's the conclusion I've reached right now. I'm eighteen years old, living in America. I grew up in Massachusetts; I now live in New York. I went to a public school all my life and I'm a writer. Though I attend a Christian college, I'm very much in the secular world.

I hear swear words. I listen to music with swear words (and for this, I don't feel that guilty. Perhaps I should, perhaps the Lord will convict me. But for now, I don't really have an issue with it, unless it crosses a line), I watch movies with swear words. I have friends at home who swear and as a writer, my characters often need to swear, because they're real people and that's how real people talk. Some of the people I think are funny, some of the people I talk to and respect, they swear. I read a lot of literature, not even for pleasure, just as a part of my major, that uses swear words.

I know a lot of Christians, some that are very very close to me, that won't let a word even mildly profane cross their lips. And I guess that's their personal feeling about it. But my feeling is, I live in the world. I may be attempting, as the Bible says, to live in it and not be of it, but the fact remains that I am in it. Very much so. And it's real and it's here. And I don't want to be one of those prissy little holier-than-thou types who frowns down at those who use language that's a bit more, spicy, shall we say.* I think there's a line, of course. I don't think Christians need to go out and string a bunch of bad words together and scream them at the world. I don't think that's how Christ should be represented and I don't think that's mature, or necessary. But a little mild language once in a while, in the appropriate setting? I think there are worse things to worry about, greater issues that we need to battle, bigger fights we need to fight. I think that sometimes, bad language is just honest. Just as graphic, sometimes vulgar, not-nice descriptions are honest. That's real life people. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. Yes I'm a Christian, I go to church and Sunday School when I'm home and chapel three times a week. I went to youth group all through my adolescence, I do VBS every year, nursery one Sunday a month and I volunteered for Awana my whole senior year.** And I love it all, just like I love God. But I also know what a penis is and I'm not afraid to say that word. So that's how I feel about it.

Also. Sex.

*Wow I sound really judgmental. I know it's just furthering the cycle when people judge the judgers. But I don't feel like censoring myself right now.

**I mention those things, not because they make me a Christian. Obviously they don't. But they do make me a "church" person I guess, and those "church" people are the ones (and here you'll have to allow me to generalize) that are most easily scandelized by inappropriate language.