Thursday, February 16, 2006
Random Statement

So, I was just thumbing through my blogroll, and I came across this post, which references this post, which is about this column in the Washington Post. And nobody's asked my opinion, but it's my blog, and I feel compelled, so here you go.

Before I begin, though, I should preface by saying this: I have cultivated a very intentional habit of often being emphatic purely for the sake of it. Women particularly have a reputation for being (and indeed, a real tendency to be) wishy-washy on opinions. This is as true for me as for anyone else, but it's something I've decided to try to combat in my own intellectual life. The problem, of course, is that nothing is that black-and-white for me; whatever I say, when throwing out ideas like "always" and "never," "I believe this" and "I reject that," "I hate it" or "I love it," you can generally rest assured that whatever I say is true, the opposite is also sometimes true. I am not bothered by contradiction; exceptions are also my friends.

That said, some things simply are what they are. This is one of those things. Believe and take to heart what I'm about to say:

I hate hate hate this song.

I don't think I have to name it here; checking any of the links above will reveal its identity readily enough. It's unquestionably on my top ten list of songs that will instantly turn my heart into cruel, jagged ice. My soul dies a little every time I hear it. This song kills love.

I didn't always hate it... before the age of 26, I'd never even heard it. I have no real opinion on its musical or lyrical quality. And it's nothing against any of Gabriel's other songs. This is a matter of context, of personal experience. I've also never actually seen Say Anything; by now, I plan not to. John Cusack was adorable in High Fidelity, and I don't want that to be ruined by introducing into my mind the image of him standing with that fucking boombox, playing that fucking song.

Yeah, it's down to a guy. Not one who hurt me... the one who hurt me made me viscerally hate Shania Twain forever and ever; but nobody ever argues with that. This guy I'm talking about now was the one to whom I played the asshole. He was a nice guy, never anything but sweet and generous; I won't say a word against him. This was his song -- he was the first person who ever played it for me, and so the way I feel about it is inexorably linked to the way I felt about him -- which is to say, it makes my skin crawl, but for reasons I can't really explain. He was good to me, and I was good to him until I was done with him, and then I cut him loose. I meant to do it gently, but circumstances spun out of control and the whole thing turned harsh. I felt bad about it afterwards, but my guilt still paled in comparison to my relief at being rid of him -- I considered it a net gain. My distaste is one of those irrational things, it can't be logically explained -- I can only say that it was fun for a few months, but it was never, never going to last. One of us would've ended up crushing the soul of the other, and I think it's safe to say that I was considerably stronger than him. I didn't want a crushed soul on my karmic rap sheet.

But like many nice, sweet guys, he thought if he just laid it on a bit thicker I would cease to resist. He actually threatened to do a Dobler -- standing outside my window playing this fucking song.(Because obviously mimicking something you saw in a movie is the best possible way to demonstrate how genuine you are.) Had he gone through with it, I'd have been burying the body by sunrise.
9:02 PM ::
Amy :: permalink