It Was a Really Crappy Day

You know the day, the one where everything in your universe goes wrong. A dot of red ink on the cream sweater. Project FUBARs. The crabbiest man this side of Mr. Wilson’s fence. Blogger crashing every couple of hours. Just a general argh, followed by a scan of the circus want-ads.

How did I deal? Maturely and sanely: I went CD shopping. After all, I want to be Ben Heller when I grow up.

I don’t go CD shopping much these days. I’m an MP3 addict, so I get most of my music from eMusic and iTunes — instant aural gratification, open twenty-four hours. But sometimes I need to wander the aisles, listen to something new, discover something I didn’t know was out. I grabbed my purse, hopped in the Beetle, and zipped down to road to Ella Guru, where I spent a glorious hour wandering and listening and discovering.

So what did I buy? On first listen, a damn good stack of discs.

The Decemberists: The Crane Wife. The Scriveners and I going to see The Decemberists on Friday, so it was imperative that I get the new album (which, surprisingly, has yet to be offered on eMusic). The album is brilliant; I’ve listened to it four times since I ripped off the cellophane. Very excited about the concert; the Northwest doppelganger saw them a couple of weeks ago and has yet to stop raving about the show.

The Hold Steady: Boys and Girls in America. The Connecticut beloveds are huge fans, and turned me on to The Hold Steady years ago. I didn’t know this album was out (I guess I need to call Renae and Greg) until I found it on the new releases shelf; getting a high thumbs-up so far. They’re a great Brooklyn-via-Minneapolis band; if you have yet to hear them, I recommend checking them out.

Badly Drawn Boy: Born in the U.K.. I love Damon Gough — his voice, his songs, his thoughts. On first spin, this is a worthy addition to my BDB collection. Will over at Will and Ben's Record Room wrote a very good album review last week (those two always do).

The Pernice Brothers: Live a Little. A great eMusic discovery from a couple of years ago, I enjoy Joe Pernice’s slice of indie pop and think he has a lovely voice. The new album is quite good. Hey, Atlanta and Atlanta-bound readers: The Pernice Brothers are going to be at The Earl in early December; anyone want to join me?

Lambchop: Damaged. I think Lambchop is recording some of the best alt-country music out there these days, and this album doesn’t disappoint. In fact, it’s quite good. Ben, I’m looking forward to reading your review later this week.

At least the lunch hour went well. Been a while since I bought a stack of CDs and really enjoyed each one. Maybe that’s a good sign for the rest of the week? There's a concert and a costume party this weekend, so hopes are beginning to soar.

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Bob and Karen Had It Right

I hate Mondays. Always have, since the second grade. For forty years I’ve suffered from a raging case of Sunday afternoon malaise. Nausea begins its swirl around 4:00 p.m., when I hear the clock chime and realize the weekend is nearly done.

I don’t have a reason to hate Mondays. I have a decent job, one that allows me to be creative. I like my boss and coworkers. I work in an environment where I can be any one of my selves — the outrageous girl, or the arty tart, or the sociable hermit.

But I do. To quote that demigod Bob Geldof, during his tenure with the Boomtown Rats, “I Don’t Like Mondays.”

Did you know that Bob Geldof read the news wire that inspired "I Don't Like Mondays" in the WRAS studios? 'Tis true.

I run late nearly every Monday morning. I rarely sleep beyond 7:30 on weekends (I’m a world-class napper). But it’s all I can do to get out of bed by 7:45 on the moon’s day. I stay up until at least 1:00 a.m. Sunday, trying to squeeze in every precious second of weekend freedom, so I’m dead tired when that damn screeching alarm announces the birth of another work week.

And my Monday mornings are peppered with meetings — thirty minutes in a meeting, half an hour at my desk, another thirty in a meeting, and so on until early afternoon. I hate meetings.

WARNING: If you have bad news to deliver, save it for Tuesday. I don’t always handle it well on Mondays. As Ms. Carpenter sings in “Rainy Days and Mondays,” they always get me down.

So I do what I can do to survive. Buy baubles online. Flirt via e-mail. Daydream about my secluded life as a writer. Concentrate on brainless tasks. Listen to my dance and alt/rap playlists (nothing like The Replacements and Public Enemy and The Ramones to soothe my Monday soul).

But sometimes Mondays bring surprises, something that chases away my blues. I came home tonight to Oh-OK’s complete recordings. Lively, alive Athens pop, finally on CD. And I danced as hard as I could to “Lilting” and “Person” and “Such and Such.” I haven’t danced to these songs in years, maybe decades. I feel twenty years younger. And this Monday ends in ninety minutes.

And just this moment I bought a ticket to tomorrow's Tom Waits show — at face value. Craigslist never lets me down.

So, maybe sometimes Monday is a good day. At least the evenings can be.

… But Not Mine

At the beginning of her glorious cover of “Gloria,” Patti Smith growls “Jesus died for somebody’s sins … but not mine.” That sums up my mood this week, kids. Even a Peter Buck blog search hasn’t helped. Mind if I bitch for a few lines?

I’m playing party planner this month. We have a huge luncheon for our division on Friday — full of theme and tie-ins and messages and the Introduction of Our Charter (feel free to salute) — and I’m in charge. I’m the creative, the project manager. I’m damn good at it. But. I. Hate. It. With a passion. Hate, hate, hate it. Concepting the big idea is fun … but the execution phase blows. It has been a month of interruptions and decisions: white cloth napkins, or black? square plates, or round? this photo, or that one? two-color or three-color logo? roasted potatoes, or garlic mashed potatoes? At least I got to put together the soundtrack for the luncheon; that I enjoyed. The stress of the final days is overwhelming … and I don’t do overwhelmed very well.

But, Cup of Coffey, you might ask, when do you have time to do your actual work? Well, between 3 a.m. and 7 a.m., my friends — which is why you’ve seen posts at all sorts of ungodly hours of the night. So maybe the sleep deprivation is contributing to my grumpy state.

The professional isn’t the only dark cloud this week. The personal is stormy, too. Judgmentals passing their judgments instead of letting me talk. Being told I shouldn’t be swinging on this playground, or merry-go-rounding on that one. Do they really think I'm too much of a ditz to make my own decisions?

And I can’t go to Renae’s opening in Reston on Friday … because I’m hosting a stupid corporate luncheon. Son of a …

Off to crank up Patti’s “Gloria” for the eighth time and dance out the frustrations.

BTW, if you’ve never heard Van Morrison and John Lee Hooker’s duet of “Gloria,” contact me. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

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