put a ring on it

had one of those heart-in-your-chest moments today, so i thought i’d write about what caused it.

was in the shower, angry at myself for seemingly not losing any weight at all this week. i’ve been working out pretty hard and not eating much, but, on the scale last night, i saw a number i did not want to see. so, i was in the shower, cussing myself, when my claddagh ring slipped off.

it’s never done that. granted, i was all soapy in the shower. still. the second it was off my hand, i panicked and realized i hadn’t been without the ring in 10 years. of course, it was just beside my feet, but i was scared anyway.

so, i thought i’d tell you the story of my beloved claddagh ring.

i’d never heard of them until i saw “surprise,” an episode of my favoritest show of all my favorite shows, “buffy the vampire slayer.” angel gives buffy a claddagh ring for her birthday. see below:

i decided right then and there i wanted one. i found a few cheap ones here and there, but then one of my besties, debbie, told me her mom had bought one off qvc. i had to have one.

i don’t remember the details, now, like if deb’s mom gave it to me or if i paid her back (but i do remember it cost $20…i think). but i know she gave it to me the night of the class of 2000’s graduation. we were all there to see our friends go, and debbie’s mom gave me the ring that night. i was in love with it from the second i saw it. it was so shiny – not a scratch on it. inside, on the heart, reads, “made in ireland.”

i think i might have not worn my claddagh for a few years, but i honestly don’t remember when and for how long, but more or less, this ring has been on my hand for 10 years. it kind of blew my mind today to think about what all this ring has seen… my first kiss (and first other things, i’m sure). a few seedy bars. college. lots of newsprint and ink. new york city. savannah. countless nights of sleep. simon cowell’s hand (get your mind out of the gutter, we just shook hands). and yes, i know you’re not supposed to wear a ring absolutely everywhere all the time, but my little ring has stood the test of time.

angel tells buffy in that episode that if you wear the ring with the heart pointing toward you, that means you belong to somebody. in 10 years, i’ve only done that twice, for my only two truly serious boyfriends (though there have been a few beaux here and there…some i’d like to forget, mmk?).

debbie’s mom passed away about six months after she gave me the ring. that’s another thing the ring means to me – as cheesy as it sounds, it’s true: life can be over in an instant.

i guess this ring may be my favorite possession. it’s never left me, and i’ve never lost it. it reminds me of one of my best friends and her sweet mom, it reminds me of my favorite TV show, it reminds me of love. it reminds me of me.

ps. if i’m only losing weight on my ring finger, i’m seriously ticked.

on being the butt of the snake

i’m not so much writing this blog post for you, dear reader, as i am for myself.

that’s the case most of the time, come to think of it. oh well. i’ve realized recently i have a terrible memory, so i’m trying to remember (ha) to take more pictures and write more things down. so, here you go.

a few weeks ago, i went to hernando with one of my besties, laura, and we met charlaine harris.

we got there a little late – sigh, should’ve relied on svetlana from the get-go – so we arrived at the library almost right at 7 p.m. it was packed. we finally found a space off to the side and stood while charlaine answered questions from the audience.

most of her answers were the kind you’d expect from writers.
a few things i found interesting:
-she’s contracted to write at least 3 more sookie books, may or may not continue after that. she says she knows how sookie’s story ends.
-she regrets killing claudine. that means a lot, because her death has really bothered me.
-she recently had lunch w/ alexander skarsgard. sweet baby jesus up on his roof, i swear, i’d fall out if he even came within a mile of me. someone, fetch me my fainting couch!

the librarian powers that be let the seated folks go first to get their books signed…which meant that we would be last. we were, as laura put it, “the butt of the snake,” which made everyone around us audibly wonder, “do snakes have butts?” that would’ve been the deep thought for the night, but one woman brought up the life of her one-legged chicken.

the people we met in line were.. interesting. but i guess we were too. one woman, after staying in line for more than 3 hours with us, eventually left, worried about her dogs, who were afraid of storms (and it was coming a hellacious one outside). laura took her book to get it signed for her. laura said at one point, i got the eyeball from a tranny. i have no idea if this is so, but i doubt laura would lie to me.

after standing for three and a half hours, we finally met charlaine. i don’t even remember who got their books signed first, me or laura. charlaine didn’t ask us where we were from, like she did almost everybody else, we just made small talk. she was so sweet; sweeter than she should’ve been. one of the librarian powers that be took our picture.

we were probably with charlaine about a minute, maybe two – all that standing around for just a few minutes and a total of four signed books, but hey, it was worth it. it was also worth it to spend time with laura, who i haven’t seen much at all this summer. we had such a good night, talking about guys, jobs, our lives. guess it’s not so bad to be the butt of the snake.

forever and ever, amen

or, only the good die young.

in an attempt to Be Friends, the ex-boyfriend (of the “she doesn’t love you” post) came over recently for a chat.

i suppose it went well, since no yelling was involved, although there was an overabundance of eye-rolling (he’s bought into some sort of self-help/scientology-sounding system, full of stars and collisions or something. i stopped listening after he said we were all stars…or maybe he said planets. anyway.).

ex tells me he’s getting all these new tattoos, or getting some filled in, soon. his tattoos usually make an appearance at least once per conversation.

and, as always, he tells me: “you need to get a tattoo.” (this is usually followed by, “it would be so hot,” which is usually followed by me rolling my eyes some more)

and i give him my same response: there is little in this world i love enough to get it tattooed on me permanently.

looking around the room, full of pictures or references to music, tv, books and movies that i love, he tells me, “you can’t tell me that out of everything in this room, there’s nothing you’d want a tattoo of.”

i told him no, there wasn’t. outside my family, there are only two things on god’s green earth that i’m certain i will love FOREVER: my very, very closest bffs (only like 2 people), and bette davis.

i thought more about it later and decided i could amend this to include jeff buckley and the beatles.

therefore: give me my best friends, my bette, my beatles and my jeff, or give me death.

death.

then it hit me. so many of my artists i love – and the ones who especially mean a lot to me, who are like idols – are dead.

this really hit home a few weeks later, on the anniversary of michael jackson’s death. mj meant a lot to me – he, my cousin shawna and my barbies were my constant companions growing up. i remembered him on june 25 by watching “this is it” with my mom…while wearing my john lennon shirt.

john lennon, michael jackson, bette davis, jeff buckley, michael hutchence, ian curtis, hank williams.

all artists. all artists i love, almost worship. all dead.

i’m sure someone smarter than me has written blogs or books or something about why people are so enamored with celebrities, especially dead ones.

i think some of it is the entire romantic/tragic aspect, as so many celebrities seem to pass away way, way, way before their time, if in fact they ever had a “time” at all.

and it’s interesting to see how so many of these people are turned into near-saints after their death. i’m not saying mj was guilty of anything in particular, but come on, we’re all guilty of things, big and small. jackson was only ever perfect on the dance floor, but since june 25, 2009, his reputation glows as a child’s might.

i wonder, too, how safe/lazy it is to idolize someone who’s passed away. they have no way of ever letting you down. they can’t make a bad album or movie, they can’t attack a car with an umbrella, they can’t go on rants (and those rants can’t be made into awesome remixes), they can’t jump on couches. death can turn a b-movie into a classic and a forgettable song into the kind you cry to.

maybe i’m overthinking all this, but it’s just funny how i give such love and devotion to late stars, while the ones who are still here, well, i love them, but not to that scary degree. i don’t know. i guess it feels like, if i ever met joss whedon, or jack white, or jay-z (what is with all these j’s?) or gerard way or cyndi lauper, i’d feel love and fascination and want to ask them a billion questions. for my dearly departed idols…it’s just a stronger feeling.

kinda funny how that is, i guess.

who knows. maybe ex was right. maybe we are all stars. or planets. or something. and maybe we’re all colliding…just in different ways, in different times.

ok. somebody stop me.

you’re right on the ‘anthem’ part

nothing’s more aggravating than being in a love-hate relationship with a band.

i’ve written previously about my love-hate with kings of leon – which is, 99 percent of the time, a lovey-dovey relationship, unless i’m in one of those Rare Moods – but right now my love-hate is with the gaslight anthem.

my first intro to the band was its song “the ’59 sound,” which blew my mind. that song can either make me cry or almost make me cry nearly every single time i hear it.

recently, on the way back from an assignment, i put on my rock mix and “great expectations” came on. just like i did with “the ’59 sound,”  i felt an immediate connection to the lyrics and the feel of the music, and i almost wanted to cry again. i also felt a little, like, back off there, gaslight anthem – stop saying everything i worry and think about!

i felt like – and this is a pretty big thing for me to say – i’d found my new, or my generation’s, new “the pretender” by jackson browne.

“the pretender” is one of my all-time favorites. i loved the music first, and as i got older i loved and identified with the lyrics. “great expectations” follows in that same vein. i love the feel of the music, but once i really listened to the lyrics, i heard myself in there, wondering the same things brian fallon’s wondering.

the rest of the band’s debut album, “the ’59 sound,” isn’t quite as magical to me. i like it, though. but the whole is weaker than some of its parts.

gaslight anthem’s always been accused of ripping off bruce springsteen, who, i’m sorry, i’ve never really liked.

and i can totally hear how people could say they’re ripping him off, cause yeah, it’s all kinda springsteeny. and yet i like it. UGH. frustrating.

another double-edge sword: the whole anthem sound that gaslight anthem can make so effortlessly. part of me loves it and wants to scream along at a show, and pump my fist in the air and maybe (ok, probably) cry. another part of me hates that the band’s created these anthems that hit just too close to home and are too much like my life and my childhood and MAKE IT STOP I DON’T WANT TO GO THERE.

but am i buying the new gaslight anthem record, “american slang”? tonight, probably.

despite all this debate, this song makes me cry:

and this is just pure genius:

301

what’s your favorite beatles song?

that’s a question i posed to some friends, musicians and music lovers about a week ago.

i had the inspiration to ask after a conversation with todd, a photographer at our paper. we were on our way to an assignment and, being such big music fans, we started talking music, and the beatles. much of the conversation was just about how amazing the beatles were.

then todd asked, “what’s your favorite beatles song?”

two things popped up in my mind the minute he asked: one, almost no one has ever asked me that, and two, “dear prudence.” of course.

he seemed surprised by my answer. “dear prudence” is sort of a new-ish choice for me; previously i probably would’ve said “in my life.” but as i’ve gotten older, i’ve come to love “dear prudence.” the music, the feeling behind it – i just think it’s one of the most beautiful songs ever written.

another reason why i love it is because i see things when i hear it. colors, images, shapes. i don’t do that very often with music and i think only the most special songs really have that affect on me.

todd’s favorite is “strawberry fields forever.” he said he thinks the music is beautiful, and that it sounds dangerous. i’d never heard the song described that way.

i’d ripped my vinyl copy of “revolver” to mp3 and burned him a copy, so we gave it a spin. he wondered why the beatles started the record with such a punk rock song as “taxman” instead of something like “she said she said.”

i really enjoyed talking with a true beatles fan about the music and what made them excited about it. so i decided to ask my friends, out of the 301 beatles songs (according to wikipedia), which is your favorite? why?

here are the responses i received.