That awful moment. . .

It happened today. The thing we’ve all been trying to avoid; the pain that we don’t dare speak of. But sometimes fate rides on the wind, and it doesn’t matter how fast you run. Then it happens—that awful moment when you realize you can’t get away, that the fires of perdition will burn and you can’t do anything about it. And all you know is that you’ll be changed forever.

So you close your eyes, and let the feverish pain wash over you, because you know deep down that some things simply have to be endured.

It happened to me today. I finally heard Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen. The song was released in September of last year.  It is currently #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, and is also the most played song on Spotify in the United States at this time. I have successfully avoided listening to it for 288 days. I had a good run, but as they say, all good things. . .

I was minding my own business, simply driving home from the grocery store. The radio was on, I didn’t think anything of it. That was the worst mistake of my life. The chorus rang out, over and over—the repetitive strain was simply words, gibberish. I don’t always pay attention to pop songs. They are like wallpaper, always there but you don’t consciously notice the pattern. But the words kept repeating, and I noticed a phrase—could it be? No, I’ve been good; I’d been diligent, disciplined, all those horror stories you hear about couldn’t happen to me.

But it did. When it was all over, and the screaming stopped, I tried to gather myself together. Truth be told, I’ve already blocked the experience from my mind. However, deep down I know that won’t be enough. It’s still there, embedded in my subconscious, waiting to reveal itself when I least expect it. Maybe in a dream, maybe in a simple quiet moment. The possibility will haunt me til the end of my days.

In a desperate search for atonement, I went to see a priest. He told me for my penance I would have to listen to three hours of The Clash and two hours of The Who. Then he added in a low voice, “And throw in an hour of Miles Davis just to be safe. . .but the old stuff, not those funky techno jams he did toward the end.” I asked if there was anything else, and he told me to watch Fight Club with the subtitles on, and mentioned it would probably be best to avoid any Wes Anderson movies for a couple of weeks. I thanked him and left, unsure of my future, but assured that I at least had a recipe for healing.

The Fickle Muse or: Oh Muse, Oh Muse, Why Have You Forsaken Me?

Throughout time, mankind has tried to rationalize the true source of inspiration. Though some artists attribute their oeuvre to their own hard work and diligence, there are still many who say it came from a source outside of themselves. This outer creative influence can take many forms:

  • The Muse: This always makes me think of the movie Xanadu. Because muses have nothing better to do than inspire slacker types to make giant disco roller skating rinks.
  • A higher power, i.e. God, the Supreme Being.
  • Though the two above are the most popular, there is another idea that comes from author Sage Cohen who wrote The Productive Writer:

“. . .but I have come to think of [the muse] as that fickle lover you can never count on to show up in a pinch, and one would would never want to leave alone with your best friend. This is where the genius comes in, a kind of archetypal companion invested in you, like a fairy godmother.”

The genius concept is compelling, however, I always went with the muse. The idea that there are guardian angels, so to speak, who can both guide and inspire us seems comforting. They can’t do all the work for you, but instead simply ignite the kindling that can later become a fire. Building that fire is our job here on Earth, and as we do we learn about each other and the universe itself.

But Sage Cohen was right, the muse can be fickle. Once the spark has been ignited, if you don’t stoke the fire and keep it going, it can go out. And then bored or insulted, the muse will move on to someone else. Someone along the line will take that idea and actually do something with it. Haven’t you ever had an idea—a story, song or anything, really—let it go, allowed it to fizzle into nothing, then later seen or heard that idea somewhere?

Maybe that is why we see such similar themes throughout history and world cultures. Perhaps there are only so many muses that exist, and they just keep inspiring mankind to repeat the same stories throughout history, with each iteration slightly different— making us repeat these themes until somebody finally gets it right. . . a perpetual cosmic game of Telephone, with each generation informing the next.

This could be why George Harrison got into so much trouble when he released his single, “My Sweet Lord,” in 1970. Some thought the melody and music was too similar to The Chiffons song “He’s So Fine.” Harrison was sued for copyright infringement, in a legal battle that lasted for over 10 years. Now, The Beatles were perhaps the greatest popular music songwriters of all time. Nobody thought George Harrison had deliberately plagiarized an old song from the 60s. Regardless, it was determined in the end that he had “subconsciously” copied the tune.

And so, even former Beatles are at the mercy of the muse. Perhaps Harrison’s  muse thought that the spiritual concept of “My Sweet Lord” really needed expressing at the time, and “He’s So Fine” was just easily accessible in his subconscious. Unfortunately, muses—though brilliant creative machines—don’t have any notion of modern copyright law. Sorry George.

Some time ago, I was going to write a story about a muse who came to Earth. He had to become human to solve a crime and chase an angel who had also come to earth to cause various shenanigans. But, alas, time has passed and the fire has fizzled. Now I fear it may be too late. I have squandered my inspiration, and the muse has left me. I fear if I go it alone, it will all just come out like some Paul Bettany B-movie action flick.

But who knows, maybe the muse was toying with me and somebody has already done that idea before. Or maybe I should just go and build a giant roller skating rink.

Source: Wikipedia

Two Great Drives: How Super Bowl 2012 Embodied The American Experience

It was that time of year again. You didn’t want to be left out, so you broke out the chips, got a beer, and parked it in front of the TV. You’ve were told this was going to be the nature of competition at its best, but instead you were assailed by America’s free market capitalism on steroids. Even the commercials were made to compete, in a knife-edge death match where only one could survive. Each tried to outdo the next with enough glitz and pop to make your teeth rot just looking at them. The network itself—not wanting to let this golden opportunity go to waste–competed on its own macro level, constantly reminding you of its featured show playing after the game. But you were smart, at least you didn’t start at noon to catch all of the pre-game hoopla. Because almost four-and-a-half hours of this mind-numbing monstrosity is enough. . .right?
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The Awesome Liebster Blog Award

Yeah! Kat from Keeping Sane nominated me for the Liebster Blog Award, so I get to have one of those fancy bloggie badges on my page. Now I look all official and stuff. But seriously, thanks to Kat for thinking of Five Things At Once, and I suppose thus there is some bookkeeping to do.

The Liebster Blog Award is all about giving recognition to worthy blogs and raising their visibility. In theory, it is meant to bring attention to blogs with less than 200 followers. As Kat wrote, ” In German—“liebster” means “dear,” from the verb “lieber” [to love]. A Liebster Foundation? I have no clue, but it’s a great idea.”
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