Pub time

Apparently, fitting in is important.
So anyone wanna go the pub tonight?

I pick the pub though.
And it's gonna have some gluten-free fare.
It better.

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In my world: a musical note

Whew. A lot of my previous posts have been somewhat dark. The good news is that I'm not really a dark person. Not anymore, anyway.

So to lighten things up a bit, I figure I'd share some of my rules. Rule isn't really a good word. Hmm, something like... code? Maybe. A code, yeah.

Anyway, here's one of my music codes. It's a personal code, of course, so don't think that I'm trying to say that everyone should adhere to it; that would be lunacy. Definitely not sunny today.

#1
Only in very rare exceptions should lyrics in pop music ever reference self-grooming.

Want some examples? I've got a couple.

Firstly. Avril Lavigne. Oh yeah, she's pretty great. I'm talking pre-Girlfriend era, of course. Anything after Under My Skin is pretty trash in my books.

So My World is probably my favourite song sung by her. It never fails to make me feel happy: most of the lyrics are quite smart and the actual guitar chords (a lot of majors, I believe) never fail to up my mood.

Ah, but there's a caveat. Check out this bad boy of a lyric:

I never spend less than an hour,Washin' my hair in the shower,It always takes 5 hours to make it straight,So I'll braid it in a zillion braids,Though it may take all friggen day,There's nothin' else better to do anyway.

Oh come on. Luckily, the lyrics return back to the real daydream she sings about... whatever that means.

The rest of the song is fantastic. The whole song is fantastic. And this part doesn't really bother me; I mean, I still sing along to it. It just irks me to have such a mundane section of a song take up six whole lines.

Alright. I'm feeling pretty tired. I should be in bed.

But I need to get just one more lyric off my chest. I'm being punny; you'll see.

I'm so obsessed, my heart is bound to beat right out of my untrimmed chest.

Here's some mad poetry I wrote that explains how I feel about your lyrical genius, Espionage (production team).
If you don't know the song, try and guess.
Spoiler to the right: Hey, Soul Sister - Train

Trimmed or untrimmed, I honestly don't care/
But it seems like you just didn't know what to wear/
Honestly, I think that's pretty gross/
And your boring lyrics have a funny way of making me feel morose

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The allegory of the ship

If you would prefer to listen to this short story as read by me, click here.
Hollowed out and filled up with hate/all we want is you to give us a break!

You were cruising on a mighty fine ship, headed straight for the open sea. You were master and captain and had all you needed to succeed. The first storm breezed by like nothing; after all, you were prepared. You had retouched the sails, polished the deck, whittled the bow to perfection. You had even met a mighty fine wench to guide you through the trip. And for the first time in a very long time, you felt free. For weeks at a time, you breathed the free air like a new man, excited for all the mystery and adventure that lay ahead.

But it was too good to be true. At the second sign of trouble, you were tempted. And you were hoping this wench would back you up, but she was gone somewhere else. You scared her away, and in your own moment of fear you reached out in the wrong direction.
Master and captain of your ship, but not master of your own afflictions, she took over again. Slowly, at first, to deceive you into thinking everything would be all right. So carefully, she crept into your life again, filled with promises of hope and glory.
At first, it seemed like all was well. You had, in your mind, conquered her already, this affliction a thing of the past. And there lay the real danger.

Blissfully, you ignored your own warning signs and plunged right in. Thinking someone else would fish you out if there really was trouble, you left your careful nature behind and played with the tiger's tail for a little too long. For days, you shut yourself up in your cabin, ignoring trouble in your bubble and living with the pleasures of instant gratification.

The question, then, is how you will get out of it now that you've realized your mistake? Oh, you have plenty of fantastical ideas to help you keep a steady course, but they're nothing if they're not in the real world.

Your ship is not sinking; no, it's merely drifting, waiting for its captain to take command once again and to sail on to less dangerous waters. You just wished you weren't so terribly alone on your journey. The wenches come and go, but what you really need is a mate. And in your head, you can only get one if you complete your journey.
But how are you to complete it if you're blind to all the magic that surrounds you?