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Archive for February, 2009

 
|| February 27, 2009 || 1:44 am || Comments (7) ||

I’m giving that fucking ‘progressive country’ station about two minutes to whip out some Clem Snide before I bail and never give them another shot at capturing my music-crazy attentions.

You know, two months after I’m finally past it, I can realize that two-thousand and eight was –for me, that is– The Year Of Getting The True Concepts Of Peace And Love Hammered Right Into Your Meager Skull. At least an embarking on the effort to understand/embrace the two, anyway.

So, okay.

Dear Rodney Crowell,

I’m super-sorry that I doubted you. Sex and Gasoline is the perfect album title. I hate your delivery, but MY GOD do I love your lyrics and I bite my lip in spite of myself (“She’s so cool it breaks your heart/She’s a moving work of art”) when I’m hearing them.

Oh Hooray,

Jett “well, now” Superior

So, as I was saying, okay.

I think I’ve finally figured out a little something about myself recently. That thing is that maybe I’ve always been drawn to quotes and verses and ruminations on peace (and, to a degree, happiness) because it was so foreign to me, this innate peace business. I’ve been putting my fucking dukes up as long as I can remember, you know?

So I ponder things like

Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

and

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

and

Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. In the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

trying to get a handle on the specifics of it, the working-out of my own salvation, as it were.

There is this little Compare All Your Folk application on Facecrack and I’m five for five on being a person to be trapped on a desert island with. I guess my inherent neeeed for survival and crazy gift for it (is stronger than my death wish) is easily recognized by others. That particular ranking has, from the beginning, traded places consistently with Rather Be Stuck In Handcuffs With (A wish fulfilled! Where on *Earth* shall I pick up my tiara?). Lately the stuck in handcuffs thing has fallen way, way down, to something like eighth place, so I figure it finally dawned on people how relentless in the pursuit of survival I just might actually be; they have less of a chance of being eaten as last-ditch sustenance if they weren’t, say, actually already attached to my stabbing arm. Oh, internet friends, I think you may be catching on until I find that you’ve also labeled me unhappy and unfunny on the Friend Compare Application-Thingy.

The interwebnets! doesn’t!! view me as happy!

Fuck you, internet judgey-people. Pblthththt.

Okay, let’s haul this ship back around to its initial heading.

Real love doesn’t have to control or judge or force conformity. Real love is hallmarked by the obvious absence of those exact things, plus a few more. Real peace isn’t defined by anyone but myself where I am concerned. I determine to what degree my peace is attained or surrendered.

In the past I have for sure frittered away peace and perhaps at times love. But in the last couple of years I have been in a place where I’ve placed a premium (sometimes more expensive than I was willing or able to pay, but still I stretch) on both.

In two-thousand and eight, my best friend of two years confessed to me that she was in a relationship with a woman and they were likely going to be cohabiting before long. She had been seeing this woman for some time, yet stalled and stalled telling me, fearing I would be appalled by her ‘behavior’.

I was furious, all right, but not because someone whom I loved immensely and knew as straight suddenly emerged from a closet I’d no idea even existed there in the house of friendship and emotional intimacy that we had built. I was furious because she let extreme fear cloud her judgment and paint me as someone whom I’d never really been. Sure, I’m outspoken as fuck, but judgmental is not a yoke I’m ready to cinch myself in right now. Or ever, likely.

I was mad that she far underestimated me, because that shit hurt. This is what fear does: It digs divides and it causes pain. I know of nothing it benefits greatly.

I’m pretty active in church, and there are those there that would maybe be really discomfited by my being a female and spending so much time with a woman living her life as a lesbian. They might view me as just as ‘guilty’ for my association with and support of a gay person as if I were of that persuasion myself. That there are people I know and love and –for the most part– respect who might believe me damned to hell or in error because I love my best friend unequivocally and wish only for her to be loved and happy (which, coincidentally, might just be her own fucking wish for herself, you know) and valued….well, I have no mechanism for processing that right now. Maybe not ever, if the truth be known.

Somewhere along the way I have become a person who has become loudly uncomfortable at the way a lot of churched people imagine themselves better or more enlightened or less culpable than non-churched ones. This is not to say I believe in blanket tolerance, because stupidity is stupidity no matter its dress-up suit. What I’m fair sure that I don’t believe in, however, is the act of forgetting that the New Testament brought about a NEW covenant, one whose weight and sole instruction rest in pure-d love. There were so many people that Christ unbound from the strings of the conventional governing religion(s) of his day. He charges us to do what He did! Why does a good percentage of the so-called Christian population forget the love that is at the crux of our imagined arguments?

Look, you know what? I would venture so far as to say that if Jesus were to pop in front of me right now and offer to change any one thing about my flaming lesbian best friend, I would probably ask him to back her level of stubbornness off about five notches because sometimes I’m all REALLY, TESS, GIVE IT A REST, ONLY ONE OF US AT A TIME GETS TO BE RIGHT. And also I’d maybe hit Him up for an extension of the time period in which she could do without actual sleep before being laid flat out like a lizard. Our adventures are sometimes cut woefully short by her need for a deep and seamless nap.

Though sometimes her sick delirium gives rise to great hilarity, as some of you can personally attest to, having been in her presence.

I love my best friend because she is amazing in so many ways, loyal and fun and expansive and clever and terrifically, terrifically compassionate. I am at peace with that love because I’ve got my own sins to account for and am really focused on picking them out one at a time so that I can be healthy to stand accountable for myself. As I recall, I’m the only damn person that’s gonna be in front of the throne when He goes to rolling my credits. Those credits are going to look pretty unkempt, incomplete and downright shabby if I waste all my time scattershot cataloging and subsequently ‘fixing’ what is ‘wrong’ with others.

Remember that one of our prime directives, Muffinasses, is to Fuck The Dumb Shit.

pee ess….Interwebnets, I feel terribly guilty for not having listened to The Hollies for some time. However, I am just fine with the fact that I probably dropped what likely amounts to fifty-lebbum effbombs throughout the course of my day today. Surely upon hearing this you will judge me to be slightly ‘off’ (to which I will heartily concur) but maybe still palatable. You know, somewhat like milk ON the expiration day, heehee.

pee pee ess…my knees hurt, ow. stop hurting, knees, you disloyal fuckers! I was SURE my kidneys would abandon ship long before you guys did. I really pummelled the fuck out of them and my liver quite spitefully and unrelentingly for a solid chunk of time. Who’d have thought that my days of heartfelt and eagerly-pursued addiction would take a backseat to and ultimately weigh out less than my career as a cheerleader? shit

pee pee pee ess…I’m either pregnant or doing the old pre-menses EATITIFITSITSSTILLLONGENOUGH dance. Why else would I be craving bites of ice cream dipped in trail mix? Just why the fuck have I never heard of a trail mix ice cream? If Ben and Jerome’s comes out with that flavor in the next six to eighteen months I will fucking FLIP. OUT. and demand a share of the profits because of that Intellectual Property shit that is all the rage these days.

pppps….speaking of which, them quotes up there? unknown, jesus, ehrrman, in that order.

 
|| February 14, 2009 || 4:10 pm || Comments (5) ||

>:o)

Typically I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. This is not because I am cynical or making a statement. I mean, I buy the kids a little treat and leave it by their beds for them to discover when they wake, but that’s really the extent of it. Maxim and I shared our first kiss on February eighteenth, so that’s really the milestone day –if one truly exists– in our relationship.

It’s like this: I love whom I love hard and with a slightly psychotically sentimental edge. I love everybody I love like it’s been pronounced that they each have a wicked brain tumor and could leave at any time. Not a panicked love, but a profound one. I don’t like being told that one day has more weight in the love department than any other, so I choose to ignore that Hallmark shit. Valentine’s Day is for third graders and their stuffed-full, glittered and doilied brown paper sacks.

Valentine’s Day is for goofy people like my friend CJ, who painstakingly make badges for the entire senior class that say “HAPPY VD” and hand them out to delighted giggles. “What?” CJ said, her green eyes wide, “WHAT??” She wasn’t the smartest cookie, but one of the sweetest and that made up for teh dumbs.

Valentine’s Day is also for daddies walking through the door, grinning ear to ear, and handing over a bundle of bright red gerberas to surprised daughters, just like my dad did this afternoon.

 
|| February 4, 2009 || 6:35 pm || Comments (0) ||

hello, oh gosh, hello

Dear Precious, Precious, insanely-precious-to-me Muffinasses,

There is a new Damnwells album coming out. It drops next Tuesday (the tenth, hophead, the tenth of February….). As if that weren’t enough of an awesome telling, I’m here to let you know that it is absolutely, one-hundred-percent fuhhhh-reeee. Yes, I said ‘free of charge’.

Says Alex (Dezen, head Damnwell extraordinaire),

I suppose the hardest thing to explain to people is why I’m giving this record away. “You’re just going to give it away?” seems antithetical to the human brain. “Is this just a bunch of b-sides or something? Some ‘give away’ material you don’t mind releasing into the ether?” No. Quite the contrary. I have never worked so hard or put so much of myself into a collection of recorded songs. It is for just this reason that I want to give it away. To me it makes perfect sense. I just want people to hear this music, and I don’t want them to have to enter into some kind of contractual agreement with a third party to do so. Download the record, copy it and give it to your friends, lovers, and enemies. Whatever. It’s so hard these days just to get the actual music into people’s houses and cars, let alone their ears. Besides, I know everyone’s broke, maybe I can supply the soundtrack. So, I just want to give this music away because I want people to hear it. I should have done this years ago. I’m starting over.

which is a wholly and superbly amazing sentiment. The only thing a body can say is maybe “Amen, man.” with a “Thank you so much.” chasing its heels.

You can download One Last Century from Paste Magazine on the tenth. Them there Damnwells have never put out a product that I consider less than amazing; if you’re the guy that doesn’t want to drop a nickel until you’ve sampled off the goods, this is your dream opportunity.

Looking out for your best interest(s),

That Jett Grrrl

 
|| February 3, 2009 || 12:33 pm || Comments (7) ||

ever the optimist

JETT: If you don’t cut it out, I am going to punch you in the dick.

MAXIM: With your MOUTH??

JETT: *sigh*