Wordsmoker Anthropology – Songs That Make You Cry, And Why
By VirusWithShoes
Published: March 15, 2010
Published: March 15, 2010
I’m no stranger to tears. Crying and I go back awhile, more years than I can remember. Lots of things make me cry, notwithstanding the almost comical amount of sorrow I feel everyday recently. Luckily for you I’m not here to bore your undies off with my regularly-punctuated-by-weeping life bubbles. No. I’m here to ask what song makes you cry, and why. My tearmaker is a song called “Tender”, by popular British beat-combo “Blur”.
We had some friends over this weekend and somehow began discussing the show “Hoarders.” Since we don’t have real cable, I’ve only heard of this fascinating program, and am afraid of two outcomes if I ever get a glimpse of the show:
Hey there. A friend of mine – let’s call him “Ricardo” to protect his identity – Ricardo has a pressing, modern dilemma. You see, my good friend Ricardo has a telephone you can carry around with you wherever you go. Indeed, many of us can relate for many of us have these magical things now. They are popular. They are popular because they feature glowing square pictures, and glowing square pictures have fascinated us for years. These telephones also make sounds.
You know what they are, the small luxuries that make life worth living. And I’m not talking about some bullshit answer like “the way my dog runs to greet me when I get home from work.” This is cold, hard, materialism. They don’t necessarily need to be expensive or exclusive (# 5) but you’d rather take a job spreading “pixie dust” at the tilt-a-whirl than give them up.
HAHAHA! I’m just having another stupid IM conversation with Intern Strawbs – this one was about me eating tomato soup for dinner, and having Skittles for dessert, because I’m classy like that, and all my meals usually come in cans or in packets because it’s always post-apocalyptic in Scotland at this time of year. I was describing how the little Skittles would be jumping around in my tummy, swimming in tomato soup, enjoying themselves. Then I thought about sex. Of course.
HOLY SHIT IT’S COLD HERE. I mean, okay this may be the lamest article ever posted here, but I just popped out to the little shop down the road – appx 100 yards (3 metres) – and came back CHITTERING like an old man with a phobia of banjos being presented with a Birthday Banjo by his unknowing grandchildren. That’s chittering, folks – the kind of chittering that is normally mistaken for fear. THAT’S HOW COLD IT IS HERE.
oh – i have to type in lowercase because i’m very hungover and the shift key is too noisy. hello. did you have a nice time last night, you drink-and-drug-soaked heathens? i had a drunken time, and i still am, because i’m still drunk. i don’t normally drink alcohol – all those spree-killings, you see – but last night i surprised myself and “put away” a whole bottle of chilean white. i didn’t kill anyone this time, but i did spend a lot of time online saying inappropriate things.
Is that what we’re meant to call them? Naughties? I dunno. I should maybe call Oxford University. Or a large metropolitan area filled with people who have an opinion on the matter. Well, whatever we call the period from 2000 to 2009, unless you’re less than ten years old or now dead then you went through them too. And if you went through them then you must have had some experiences during them, it stands to reason. Unlike the decade.
“America – we are passing through a time of great trial. And the message that we send in the midst of these storms must be clear: that our cause is just, our resolve unwavering. We will go forward with the confidence that right makes might, and with the commitment to forge an America that is safer, a world that is more secure, and a future that represents not the deepest of fears but the highest of hopes.”
Yes it’s Thanksgiving soon, maybe even tomorrow, perhaps yesterday if you’re reading this the day after Thanksgiving WHATEVER – anyway, Thanksgiving is here and I can barely summon the energy to write anything about something, or even the other way around. If there’s something or anything you’d like to write about Thanksgiving then put it in the comments where it belongs, and I’ll feed it grass and keep it watered while you stuff your cheeks with turkey.
Hello. It’s raining here again – big drops – but that’s got little or nothing to do with what happened last night, voting-wise. Yes, some parts of America (and maybe Canada, I haven’t checked) exercised their democratic right to press a button or make a cross for the human they best think mirrors their own world-view. I’m too far away and too busy sleeping with my kittehs to pay much attention, but as far as I can make out, you can’t marry your gay partner in Maine any more, but you can marry your marijuana plant, as long as both of you don’t have a penis or vagina, of course.
Hello and BOO! Before I continue scaring you out of what little wits you have left, I’d like to make a confession of slight stupidity. As you know, Halloween seems determined to occur on Saturday no matter what I say or do, and I’d forgotten this fact, alongside the other pertinent one that some of the slightly more gregarious amongst you may have plans to do something, like dress up like a massive vampire paper-clip or whatnot.
No, no, this is totally different from DahlELama’s 20 Questions–you’ll see! Please note, I was going to put this in Mad Lib form, but too many of you dirty Smokers can’t be trusted.
As a longtime lurker (pure, unadulterated laziness), I have recently been made aware of the fact that I should contribute to be an upstanding member of the Wordsmoker community, so I thought that I would tell you about the dream that I had last night (WHO is paying NOW?? *insert maniacal laughter*). It wasn’t so much what happened in the dream that was unusual, as it was the texture of the dream itself. Also, please excuse my dream for somewhat reverting to stereotypes, as some dreams I can control, but this one was not one of those.
Ok, gang, I need your help. I took this picture a month or so ago, and I’ve been convinced ever since that it has to be a metaphor for something … I just don’t know what.
