airy fairy hippie bullshit nonsense with a fake string section

Tonight was good, though I must now announce that I am the BEST FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IN THE WORLD.

Yes, many of you my ex boyfriends out there might not have realised this. And Lord knows that LiveJournal is like a Tara ex-boyfriend hoedown. But! I feel the need to make this announcement. And I've already informed the Engineer of this.

I am the BEST FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IN THE WORLD because I let my boyfriend play his goddamn hippie "ambient" music that I HATE in my car. MY car. When I do not request to play my techno beep-beep music in his car.

See, the Engineer normally has good taste in music. Except for his liking of Type O Negative, Rush, and this ambient crystal waving crap. And every weeknight, there is a radio show on WXPN that plays ambient music for a couple of hours (on the weekends, it's even worse. SIX HOURS of the shit.) So, when we are driving in my car around midnight, he will request that I change the music from whatever cd I'm playing to this radio station so he can hear what's on.

And because I am the BEST FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IN THE WORLD, I allow it. Despite the fact that it is my car and I am a fucking dictator when it comes to the music played in my car. And despite the fact that this radio show is primarily made up of a bunch of plinkity plink wooooaaarrrrhhooow synth shit that makes my ears twitch.

I just know he's going to have something to say tomorrow when he reads this. ;)

In other news, nefarious plans have been made with Miss Robin regarding this weekend. Although we haven't hashed out definitive plans for Saturday yet (like the whens of meeting up), it is all sure to be a good time. Furthermore, Miss Janette is scheduled to arrive at around six pm or close thereabouts.

I have also decreed that there will be absolutely NO singing of "On the way to Cape May" in the car during our car ride to the ocean, because I will seriously put people out on the side of the fucking road for such transgressions. I'm looking in your direction, Miss Robin!

should you go first, or if you follow me

This is probably fairly redundant at this point and I feel like a retard, but it still needs to be written. I had a small blurb about it up earlier, with a link. But, that didn't seem like enough to me, so I took it down to write this.

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It's no secret that both of my parents are both VERY into country music and have been, for my entire life. I was raised on this music and I know the lyrics to more songs by the greats then I could ever possibly recount for you. To this day, I will argue that the people in the modern country music business now are hacks. They don't have the soul or the talent of the artists who came before them. On a number of occasions, while I've ridden in the car with my mother and she was listening to the local country radio station, I have shouted at the radio in frustration.

Why don't they play any of the classics?! This stuff is crap!
Because they think it's not popular anymore.
That's just fucking ridiculous.
I know, Tara. I know.

I remember being very, very young and asking my father why the one man on a lot of his records was always dressed in black. I used to sit on the floor and flip through the album covers, looking at all the pictures on them, wondering who the people were and what they sounded like. It was a game to me, to try and imagine their voices. When I asked my father that question, he looked at me and said that the man in black was Johnny Cash. And he always wore black to symbolise the downtrodden people of the world. I asked what downtrodden went and he sent me to the dictionary I had been given for occasions such as this.

I smiled after I read the definition, marvelling at how noble this man was. I asked my dad how could he do this for people he didn't even know? He played for me the song, "Man in Black". And I cried, unable to help it, as I listened. My father put his arms around me and whispered, "He knows you now."

I grew older and received my own stereo as a gift. And I'd nick my parents' cassette tapes and records and listen to them on the sly. Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash. And in my early teens, I started to dress in all black as well, for my own private reasons. As I got even older, I discovered the music of Nick Cave and in him I heard a distant echo of the records my father would play for me. My dad even made that connection on his own one day, when I was about twenty-four.

We were cleaning up a house I was about to move into, it needed a lot of work. And I was playing a cd of "The Boatman's Call".

What's this you're listening to?
It's Nick Cave, Daddy.
Sounds a little like Johnny Cash, some of it. You
remember when we used to listen to his records?
Yeah, I do.

And I smiled, remembering.

Today, I woke up like any other day. I turned my computer on and went into the kitchen to make some tea so I could clear all the cobwebs from my brain. Sitting down in front of the monitor with my a cigarette in my hand, the very first email I read was from an e-list I belong to.

The subject was "R.I.P. The Man In Black" and the body of the message consisted solely of "It's a sad day..." and then a link to a web page. I didn't follow the link, but I knew what it meant. My heart sank and I started to cry.

For the man I never met, but still somehow knew.

Can't be sure of how's it's going to be
When we walk into the light across the bar
But I'll know you and you'll know me
Out there beyond the stars

We've seen the secret things revealed by God
And we heard what the angels had to say
Should you go first, or if you follow me
Will you meet me in Heaven someday?

die cricket! die!

If this hurricane everyone's talking about actually effects the East coast, I'm praying it drowns the fucking cricket that's been pestering me all goddamn week.