Life’s Rich Pageant

So I was re-alphabetizing my CDs–oh my God this is your favorite blog ever because I write such interesting posts, right???–and every time I do that I’m like, THIS IS STUPID FUCK IT I’M GETTING RID OF ALL OF THEM RIGHT NOW, because what are CDs even? And then I usually do get rid of a third of them, which is so easy: I just picture people coming over to my house and laughing at me. So, downward spiral of self-loathing, i.e. why do I have all these horrible CDs, and why did I have to write my name on every single one, and can I do my life over again?

This time was no exception. Because fuck, I have 47 R.E.M. CDs!

I can admit to having been fourteen and besotted with the music of R.E.M., and somehow (??????) with Michael Stipe–I’m talking in a romantic boy-girl kind of way, gah!–and to once being humiliated by my parents at a dinner party with their creepy hippie friends wherein a basket of questions written on slips of paper was passed about the table, and the questions were about feelings, and the one I got was “What are you passionate about?” and I stared at the space in front of my face without looking at anyone, and I was pretty sure the question was secretly about sex, because everything at those dinner parties was secretly about sex, blech, and then my father was all, “Well Pistol, what about R.E.M.? You are so passionate about R.E.M. Right?” and my mother said, “Yeah, that Michael Stipe is sooooooooooooo cute, right?” and I put my head in my hands and tried not to cry, just like pretty much every day of my wretched life, KILL ME I’M FOURTEEN WRETCHED WRETCHED.

But what is hard to admit to is that I kept buying R.E.M. CDs for a quite awhile after that. Hadn’t I learned my lesson? At the end (late 90s) I was apparently buying them because I’m sentimental. There’s one I can’t remember ever listening to.

Then there is the matter of Guided by Voices. I own one Guided by Voices CD, and that is Bee Thousand, which is the sellout record or whatever. I really loved it for two weeks. Then I had the what-music-do-you-like conversation with my friend’s older brother. He and I had mutual vibeage, and dude totally would’ve sealed the deal if I’d green-lighted it (you love mixed metaphors!), and that’s pretty crazy considering I was a mid-teen and he was ten years older and it totally would’ve been statch-rape and what was he doing pursuing blushing teenyboppers when he was several years out of college anyway? Anyhow, I did not green-light it, partially because he made me feel so terrible about owning and liking the Guided by Voices sellout record. He told me there were other Guided by Voices records I should listen to, blah blah blah, and he was lying on Friend’s futon and his hair was scraggly and too long and I hated his shoes and I couldn’t believe I had ever found him appealing even for a second.

But I could never listen to Guided by Voices after that, so shamed was I. I readily admit that that is my fault and not Older Bro’s. Because: delicate Pistol, altogether too easily bruised! Like even by dudes who have so little self esteem they have to make teenage girls who adore them feel bad about their taste in music.

Yesterday during Self-Hate Spiral I picked up the Guided by Voices CD and winced. Then figured what the hell and put it on. (I thank my lawyer for my increased resilience!) And then, Reader, I listened to it FOUR TIMES. Because I LOVE IT.

After that I only had to get rid of a couple of R.E.M. CDs.

by Pistol Whip | 6 December 2007 | assholes, losers, music, hate, haters | Comments