springbroken

The Kids are reprieved from their studies this week, Randal is a-darkthroning through Parmastan, and yours truly is continuing on the daily grind with the usual inherent after-work straungeness and such. I'm finding this whole daylight savings time a bit of an adjustment, though I like that extra hour for my wanderings, and it's never made me as ragey as others.

Still, the caffeine consumption has continued to rise, there's snow blowing outside, I'm digging through piles of 1980's local newspapers full of strange ads and figures from a different time... Rick James, Jesse Jackson, Louis Farrakhan, Tawana Brawley, World B. Free, a Cavs team with Mark Price and Brad Daugherty, vaguely remembered names and faces from my toddlerhood, now-disgraced Clevelandia politicians.

But last night, my neighbor and another college radio DJ was in the mood for a mini roadtrip and some live tuneage and so we ended up driving out to Oberlin to see Cult of Youth, pondering punk rock and politics on the drive there and finding it supremely ironic that a neofolk band was booked by the college to play in their student union within a week of certain, well, incidents. 


Oberlin's got a fascinating history and aesthetically it's a beautiful little college town. One of my friends from high school got married underneath the arch commemorating martyrs from the Boxer Rebellion, the village green is beautiful, the architecture lovely, the free art museum is quality. On the other hand, it sometimes feels a bit like a Portlandia episode in its overcompensating earnestness and general rich hippieness that reminds me of the targets of Camper Van Beethoven songs.

I learned from my previous roommate and her brother that black residents on the outskirts refer to the college itself as "the plantation," and the school itself has a secret list of people who aren't welcome, which makes me wonder if things aren't quite so kum-bay-yah to begin with. So while I think racism and other -isms are as bad as the next person who has any empathy, I find things like this a bit over-the-top, given the overanalyticalness and the presence of uber-helicopter parents. Most of us can point to something in our background that marginalizes us but sometimes this seems like firstworldposturing more than anything else. Those of us who live in craptastic neighborhoods and don't have rich parents and aren't hermetically sealed deal with these issues way more.

Part of this maybe has to do with working at a very racially and economically diverse place where we  have to peel off National Alliance stickers from the black history books and deal with all sorts of clownery, and some people did get shot here a few years back by some neo-nazi freako who wanted to start a race war.

Still, most of these clowns want attention and making a big stink only gives them what they want and while I appreciate the ideals of The Kids, it's hard for me not to roll my eyes at the usual tropes of 1960s protest with the bongo drums and whatnot. Perhaps we Clevelandians are tougher? Or just not as enlightened? Who knows?


Anyways... neofolk. We've had the new record up at the station, and I've played a few cuts that I liked and didn't find any red-flag moments in the liner notes, and they don't seem to play that up as much as certain other parties, but my compadre told me that there were a lot of shaved heads at their last jaunt through our city and the songs translated to a live setting were definitely more punky, or shoegazing with dubby basslines and some stomp to it that I enjoyed. The girls in front of me seemed a little freaked out, it seemed like more people were there to be there than anything else but what do I know except I was feeling pretty damn old and like I'd walked into an H&M commercial. Still, sometimes it's nice to get out and be somewhere else.

my bad.

“Settle matters quickly with your adversary... Do it while you are still together on the way... "
 
So I got a little huffy with someone today, and while they were being a little ridiculous, I totally didn't treat them with the respect that I should treat even the most absurd people with to the point where even Randal said I screwed up. It was that stupid. So on top of feeling like a hypocrite (because I've been known to call out my comrades in customer service on this and students who get into arguments with our more mentally unhinged regulars), I feel foolish and jerky and everything I can't stand in other people. I know this is probably overreaction and not the end of the world, but I hate when I do this and upon regretting what I say, I apologize, and own up to my lack of kindness. This goes unheeded and so hopes of resolution are at the very best deferred.

Do not judge, or you too will be judged.  For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.


Even though this isn't a big deal in the great scheme of things, I still feel awful. I don't want to deal with Powers That Be on this though it may not even reach them (though she seems like the type that'd go to the top). For all the thousands of interactions where I'm a class act and then some, it's going to be That One Time I Fuck Up Every Three Years that overshadows all other things.The Powers That Be tend to turn every molehill into Everest, especially when image is tantamount. Being so low in the hierarchy, it's hard enough when it's your word against someone higher up in the foodchain when you're in the right, let alone when you're dead wrong.

"...Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry,  because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires..." 

 I wonder how many less hurt feelings and frayed dynamics there would be if I just learned how to shut the hell up once in awhile, keeping those thoughts in check. It's hard not to extrapolate this into some of the other relationships I've had where one the or another has happened and the tongue-lashing begins. Most of the time I regret what I have said more than what I haven't. I just hate when things get volcanic. 

So yeah, Reflective Powers... learning to not let it happen again, to be more gracious than automatic, to treat others the way I want to be treated, and not beat myself up too badly for not being perfect all the time. It's hard as hell, but at least it's not the end of the world like some things could be.


 

make a cup of tea, put a record on...

I rolled over after strange dreams involving bit part acquaintances to the alarm on my phone, stumbled out the door with a bag full of music to the station, the show was an extended edition this morning due to the other disc-spinner's car trouble. Since the laptop died, I'm unable to make mix CDs, but shifting the show back to analog/digital before the imminent demise has tempered that, though I was scatterbrained this morning and sometimes wonder if I really do just play different rotations of the same 50 favorite bands that sound good at 5am, leaning heavily on Aging Alternative Rockers and all.

The annual station shindig is coming up in a matter of days now, I bought a beautiful bass guitar off a former bandmate and haven't even had a chance to play it. I still find the whole lack of similarly minded people to jam with occasionally vexing. Now that I finally have instruments I like playing I've got less and less people to play them with, not that the social life and creative pursuits have been wanting in any way but I miss the heck out of creative noise making.

Meanwhile, there's homework, and so I'm at the computer lab at the public library procrastinating and being a bit creeped out. I forget how much worse this segment of the public is and that I'd rather deal with The Kids than the Creepy Old Men. Just because we serve you doesn't mean we like you, and this paper might be even more stupid than the last one. I feel like a creep just being here. .