Day CLVIII: Jay

Last night, Garrick and I went to a concert.

If you haven't heard of Jay Brannan, you should give him a listen.

He's a melancholy sort of guy. His stage presence is calm, with a certain jitteryness that is so damn endearing. I appreciate his lukewarm demeanor: there's a gentleness to him, tinted with small tinctures of sadness, that give his aura a much more approachable feel.

Compared to his tour-mate, Bitch (seriously that's her stage name), and her partner, DJ Alligator, Jay is far more relatable. With a name like that, though, you can't expect to feel too enamored. Still, Bitch possesses a humanness all her own. She's fun, for one, and more than willing to connect with her audiences. I think the latter is pretty important, especially in an intimate venue like Triple Rock.


My favorite thing about Jay, not counting his soothing voice, comfortable attire, and heart-breaking songs: his barbie toe. Oh, you're not familiar with the concept?

Allow me.

Barbie toe is a term that was first introduced to me via America's Next Top Model. It's a phrase that describes the pointing of one's foot to appear as though it might fit into a Barbie's stiletto shoes. It's an easy trick to elongate your legs and maintain a more poised, high fashion elegance.

And Jay is excellent at it.

Rarely ever did I spot a slip in the barbie toe. Especially in the right foot. It was always posed, heel-up-toes-down, a steep and beautiful angle between his ankle and world.

And, damn, doesn't it make you want to buy those shoes?

Day CXVI: Fighter

After all you put me through, 

you think I'd despise you.

But, in the end, I wanna thank you, 

'cause you've made me that much stronger.

I think Christina Aguilera--er, excuse me, Xtina--is probably a Slytherin. 

Perhaps not these days, but definitely in the late 90s and early 2000s. She's a yellow python at the VMAs away from certainty.

Between her overt sexual nature, diva drive, and resourceful, ambitious spirit, I think she might be a pop star straight outta my house, plucked from the same tree, cut from the same (green and silver) cloth. I had this particular revelation during my run this afternoon around Lake Harriet. 

Specifically, it happened during this song. 

Don't worry, take a listen/watch, what you're about to read can wait. 

Ignoring the fact that this video is a hot mess of, ahem, interesting outfit choices and a cesspool of egomania, this is probably one of my very favorite songs from the most influential songstress of my adolescence. (That's not an exaggeration. I can literally pinpoint four different moments of middle and high school that her albums warped my world. Alas, that's a story for another day.)

Let me quickly tell you about my day. An early one, into the office before eight, ready to get a good head start on the new summer hours at Scarletta. 

Half-day Fridays? Fine by me!

And the office was lovely, almost all day. I felt productive and on top of my game; I felt efficient and ahead of the curve. We are currently prepping for the biggest trade show we attend all year, and I feel like everything might actually be coming together, and that is a lovely change from last year's nail-biting, nerve-wracking countdown. The rain, though beautiful, was dissipating, making room for some sunshine to burn through the clouds. The wind was subsiding, barely, and the city was beginning to regain some of the warmth from the weekend. Lunch was spectacular. Progress was palpable. Books were selling. Books were printing. Submissions were flying out the doors.

And then.

Because isn't there always?

It crashed. And, I swear, the rain started back up, the wind actually howled, and the city froze over. (Well, okay, fine, the city didn't freeze over. But I swear the rest happened just as I've written.) 

It was a frustrating interaction with another person at work. Opinions were exchanged, one-sidedly respected and heard, and, then, condescended and ignored from the other. 

I'll give one golden dollar coin to whoever can guess which side I was on!

It's a frustrating thing to work alongside someone you don't feel respects what you have to say or holds your thoughts and opinions in any sort of regard. I sincerely do my best to be understanding and fair and empathetic to whatever it is I hear from others. And when those same sort of sentiments are not returned, even remotely, I tend to feel particularly agitated. Add that to my severe distaste for conflict, and it's more or less a recipe for one exceedingly uncomfortable hour. 

Basically: I've asserted something is going to work and be beneficial. The other party has rebuked that notion right out. I have always been open to try new ideas or listen to other thoughts or engage in different experiences with whatever this person has brought to the plate. Period. I've tried and learned and given in and grown. The lack of reciprocity is just exceptionally hard to deal with.

So when I left work, I was feeling understandably frustrated. 

And then, during my run, Fighter came on over Spotify. 

And all I could think, with every foot that hit the asphalt, ever imprint my shoes made in the dirt, was "thank you" 'cause it...

Made me learn a little bit faster

Made my skin a little bit thicker

Made me that much smarter.

So thanks for making me a fighter.

I don't know if Christina Aguilera is actually a Slytherin, even if her fashion sense and 90s sex appeal would have me believe it is so. 

But I do know that I am. 

And if that is indication of how this interaction is going to pan out over the next few days, you can chalk me up to for three points of resolve, two points of sarcasm, and another four in the category of ambition. 

I don't harbor any animosity or ill-will. That's not me. 

Still, I am stubborn.

And I am ready to brawl.

Day LXIV: Music

I let it fall, my heart, and when it fell you rose to claim it.

I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as I touched your face.

I set fire to the rain, and I threw us  into the flames.

           

Unfortunately, I clearly need new headphones. They do this weird scratchy thing every time I plug them into my iPod or laptop—you know? It may just be white noise, but I like to think that there is a tiny elf living inside the earbud and taking a small rake to the screen surrounding the sound buffer.

Yep.

It’s irritating. More irritating though? Having to spend money on new headphones. I am sure that I could find some cheap ones in the grocery store, or Target, or Best Buy, or whatever, but that’s still $15 I don’t want to spend on something that shouldn’t be broken in the first place! I mean, c’mon Apple, make a product that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve just wasted a whole-lotta-money.

(To be fair, my iPod and iPhone are actually great products and rarely have a negative thought about them.  Still: lemme complain! I don’t do it often, about trivial things, so maybe just this once? I think you’ll deal. If you can’t, click the red ‘x’ at the top of your screen on the right hand side. Sorry…that’s PC normative.  Actually: not all that sorry: Macs can K my A)

But for real, these damn headphones, which I have now discovered are only damaged in the left bud, are going to drive me up the wall. You know something is wrong when you cannot even bare to listen to the key change in “Don’t You Remember?” Speaking of…

Do you ever find yourself wondering: Who did this to you, Adele?  Who put you through all this pain?! Lately, I have been asking this question too often. See, her new album dropped a week or so ago and I have spent a large portion of time listening to her new tracks over and over and over again. Then I do this funky thing that I do with most music, I try and use it to narrate my life. 

(As an aside, when we were introducing ourselves in my J Term years and years ago, we were asked to give the standard name, major, and interests, but we were also asked to share a super power we’d like to have:

“My name is Josh. I am a Psychology Major and English Minor. I really like music and plays and novels and video games—the usual suspects if you will. If I could have a super power, I guess I would really like to have the ability to play a loud soundtrack to my life at all times.”

Clever, right?

Sure, I would probably choose shape-shifting if I didn’t feel like being interesting or like standing out in a crowd of students, but on the first day of class it’s very important to make a lasting impression, to assert yourself, to be that guy. Let’s just say I didn’t have much trouble.)

Yikes, that was quite the parenthetical!

Still, I have this funky habit of reading too far into lyrics and applying them to my life in ways that, often, do not warrant lyrical adaptation. Usually, the lyrical coating of my life reaches too far into meaning—I typically tap into things that aren’t really there. Now, I would like to assert that this is in no way a bad thing, just something that is rather typical of Josh Plattner. 

I read. I analyze. I over analyze. I freak out. I jump. I run. I realize. I sigh. I laugh. 

It’s a fun cycle, really, one that usually culminates in copious consumption of alcohol. To which I say: Cheers! 

I don’t know why I’m scared, I’ve been here before.  Every feeling, every word, I’ve imagined it all.  You’ll never know if you never try to forgive your past and simply be mine.  Dare you to let me be your—your one and only.  Promise I’m worth it to hold in your arms.  So come on and give me the chance to prove that I am the one who can walk that mile, until the end starts.

This is from “One and Only,” a track from Adele’s 21. It’s part of one of my favorite songs from the album. Anyway, it’s been ringing in my ears for the last few days--regardless of how very, very old it is--and I have been debating its application to my life. Part of me says: you’re crazy, Josh, this song has nothing to do with you presently. And other forces in me are literally bursting to scream these lyrics aloud in a cafe or on my way to work. That’s a nice gesture, right? A tad (read: monstrously) crazy, but still nice. And, terrifyingly, something I would actually do—I’m quite the romantic when I feel like it. 

In rereading that rambling above, I audibly giggled: sometimes I’m just a little whacked. 

Speaking of whacked, I’ve decided I would like to make out to some Beyonce or Ke$ha in the near future, or maybe some Azelia Banks? Nicki Minaj or The Elephant and the Whaler? 

Maybe I just wanna make out?

LOL. Adulthood.

For now, my mind does not wander from skeezy lyrics to debatably talented musicians—though I happen to be a fan of all the above. Instead, I find solace in reaffirming everyone’s individuality in this beautiful world of ours:

‘There’s nothing wrong with loving who you are’ she said, ‘because he made you perfect babe!’

Tonight, tomorrow, and forever.

Day LX: Footsteps

So lately, been wondering who will be there to take my place.

When I'm gone, you'll need love to light the shadows on your face.

If a great wave shall fall it would fall upon us all.

And between the sand and stone, could you make it on your own?

I was consistently one of the shortest kids in class. And not only was I vertically unimposing, I was tiny in stature. Never one of the big-boned guys or hulking behemoths that roamed the hallways, I remember feeling very underwhelming. I didn't quite have the presence that height affords others. Fortunately, when you're a juvenile spitfire, personality can gift a taller impression.

If I could, then I would. I'll go wherever you will go.

Way up high or down low. I'll go wherever you will go.

An energetic child, I spent most of my adolescent years in the woods, lost in leaves and sticks and fallen trees. Too often, I'd lose track of time and realize, suddenly cold and quiet, that the sun had set and I was late for dinner. My father spent a lot of time dragging trails through the woods for us to walk along and enjoy, a trend that continued well into growing up. So, I suppose I felt like I owed his work some lost time? 

And maybe I'll work out a way to make it back some day.
To watch you, to guide you through the darkest of your days.

If a great wave shall fall it would fall upon us all

Well I hope there's someone out there who can bring me back to you.

Somehow, I find myself in those same woods all over again, lost, the sun hiding beneath the surface of the horizon. Archie peeps out a window, watching snow flutter in little breathless clumps to the ground. Snow. Snow. Snow. Haven't we had enough? Is spring really so far away? So out of our reach? Like the top of giant pine tree, looming and ominous. Branches stagger like fence posts, jutting here and there, whispering to the gray sky. I wonder if this evergreen giant is equally ready to leave the cold and wet behind.

If I could, then I would. I'll go wherever you will go.

Way up high or down low. I'll go wherever you will go

Beyond the needles, beyond the bark, a power line ripples. A roof collects flurries. A door opens and shuts. A light turns on. A table is set. A blind shuts. A car crawls. A cup steams. A man stands.

Run away with my heart

Run away with my hope

Run away with my love

And you stand. Against all odds, you are tall, like you've always been. Not imposing, I don't think, just taller than me. So I notice it. And strong. Strong like steel or rope or bourbon. Strong enough to say "no." Strong enough to say "think." Strong enough to say "please." 

I know now just quite how my life and love might still go on.

In your heart, in your mind, I'll stay with you for all of time.

Too strong to say "stay."

If I could, then I would. I'll go wherever you will go.

Way up high or down low. I'll go wherever you will go

If you care deeply enough for something, you can let it go. When something is someone, it's much harder.

If I could make you mine, I'll go wherever you will go

The snow subsides. Smaller chips of sky break and dance until nothing visible makes its way to the white earth. Pull back, through the window, watching the cat's tail flick and pester, masking the woods in passing lines of black and white. I wonder if my adolescent self would have envisioned lying in bed, pressing keys, and remembering the snow. Would he be proud? Or sad? Or ready? Would he stand tall, watching the weather change and shift? When the key turns and the brakes glow, would he wonder what could have been done differently? Would it matter?

If I could turn back time, I'll go wherever you will go

Too often, I lose track of time and realize, suddenly cold and quiet, that time stops for no man. And when the sun sets, dipping into the beyond, all that's left is footprints.

I'll go wherever you will go

Day XXXVI: Never Let Me Go

Looking up from underneath, 

fractured moonlight on the sea. 

Reflections still look the same to me 

as before I went under.

I've learned things. Some about myself, some about others. Slices of general knowledge found their way into my head and heart somewhere in there as well. And for all the different places we go and trinkets we acquire and snippets of truth we find, I'm inclined to believe that the most important and powerful belong to the individual. What I mean is this: whenever we learn about ourselves, our learning is vital. 

And it's peaceful in the deep

cathedral where you cannot breathe.

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under all.

After all, you can never escape yourself.

And it's breaking over me

A thousand miles down to the sea bed

found a place to rest my head.

And, often, that can be a suffocating feeling. You are never really alone because your shadow, your soul, your being will always be right there with you. 

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me.

And all this devotion came rushing out of me.

And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me,

but the arms of the ocean deliver me.

Unless you don't believe in your own shadow, in your soul. I suppose, then, you can be as lonely as you choose to be. But maybe we don't choose loneliness? Perhaps it's some invisible specter that floats, person to person, tickling the hairs above your ears or trailing an icy finger along your spine. Maybe loneliness is a spider, crawling along the floor and into your mouth while you sleep, tracking dust and grime as it finds its way silently down your throat.

Though the pressure's hard to take,

it's the only way I can escape.

It seems a heavy choice to make,

Now I am under.

Or maybe she sits across from you in the office, at lunch, in your home. Does she wait for opportunity? Does she slither like a serpent across the wood and wind her way over the cook of your knee and the curve of your hip? Perhaps she strikes, fangs bared and warning. Maybe she's loud like a clap of thunder or the explosion of steel and sparks in a car wreck.

And it's breaking over me

A thousand miles down to the sea bed

found a place to rest my head.

You would notice her then, right? You would foresee loneliness rising back on it's haunches, preparing to leap and pounce and tackle and bite. You would feel the wind drop and ground quake. You would see the trees stop and snow melt. You would watch the birds listen. You would hear the cats stop.

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me.

And all this devotion came rushing out of me.

And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me,

but the arms of the ocean deliver me.

But would you do a thing about it? Could you do a thing about it? No matter what form loneliness takes, perhaps her inevitability is what sets her apart. She does not subside like rage or bloom like happiness. She settles. She lingers.

And it's over,

And I'm going under.

But I'm not giving up:

I'm just giving in.

Slipping underneath.

So cold, and so sweet.

She moves in.

In the arms of the ocean, so sweet and so cold

and all this devotion I never knew at all.

And the crashes are heaven for a sinner released.

The arms of the ocean deliver me.

And frightening, isn't it, how you can let her live, so complacent and unbothered? How used to her fingers, wrapped like tendrils around bricks, increasingly unsteady and worrisome, you can become? You didn't let her in, but you chose to let her stay. At her worst, she can make you ill. At her best?

Never let me go, never let me go.

Never let me go, never let me go.

At her best she'll never let you go.