monday january 8 2001    |    10:22 a.m.

[there has already been an entry today. i'm on a writing spree.]

i couldn't tell him. i've been talking to my dad for about two hours, over breakfast, about interviews and futures and potential and attitude towards life and a million other things. we like to philosophize, my dad and i. we're idealists, we're dreamers. on a certain level we have a deep fundamental understanding. with my mother it's more visceral, more of an umbilical cord thing, whereas with my dad it's more of a wavelength. if that makes sense. we're so similar in character it's frightening sometimes.

and still i couldn't tell him about erick or the plans to go to california. we had a great uplifting talk and i just could not bring myself to mar it. no idea what i'm going to do about this.

a lot of things were called into question yesterday, so late at night i called the loverboy to sift through them all. and well. we didn't come to any new conclusions, but it was reassuring to talk and hear his voice and know how his day went all those miles away. he went to santa monica in the afternoon to buy some incense and he told me he saw a t-shirt that reminded him of me and he bought it for me. [excuse me while i beam.] he wouldn't tell me what it was, so i can't wait for the care package to arrive in the gambier post office and melt several layers of snow.

i said last night i had some things to say about pop music. i think i would better say them if i could have a cigarette before typing them out, but alas, the last one of the pack was smoked yesterday afternoon, and i have to take a shower and get dressed before i can run across the street to buy a fresh one. so in the throes of nicotine deprivation i'm writing this, just keep that in mind.

i think the realization (which has been gestating in my head for a while) came to me the other day while making erick's mixtape and looking through my cd case. i was kind of rolling my eyes at a couple of "ultrahip," unlistenable albums i own, wondering why i'd gotten them instead of, i don't know, more josh rouse or more boo radleys or the new figgs. i'm gonna try not to name names or dis bands, but i can tell you i'm no fan of math rock, dammit. i strongly believe in rocking out, i think it should be one of our inalienable human rights, and i don't think it should be foregone in favor of "technical prowess" or whatever bullshit the indie kids are feeding you. i mean, the fusion of the two elements worked just fine for king crimson, and don't even get me started about musicianship in that band. fine, they might have been pompous, boring bastards at first, but then adrian belew hopped on board and infused the band with a mind-blowing pop soul. more recently, look at any rob crow project: a pop genius and a sonic innovator. there's nothing wrong and nothing innocuous about ear candy of this variety. kurt cobain almost titled nirvana's in utero verse chorus verse, and aside from a slight twinge of irony, there's a reason for highlighting this most pop of structures. listen to aimee mann. the rolling stones. depeche mode. u2. dahveed. guided by voices. sebadoh. elliott smith. michael penn. paul westerberg. grandaddy. sparklehorse. hayden. g love. hell, even robbie williams or george michael. pop music is alive and well and innovative. i have grown up with it and been shaped by it and walked through life to it, and i will defend it to the death, which will be a long time coming, if ever. i would love to argue with you about it, but don't expect me to make any concessions.

ahh. it's good to get that off my chest. as a teenager of grunge in the early years of the last decade, i was embarrassed by and swore off my pop roots, but as i've gotten older, like so many other things, i've just assilimated the fact that, hey, this is who i am. i am not ashamed to admit (well, not too much) that i still dig out my milli vanilli, fine young cannibals, londonbeat, michael jackson, mecano, pet shop boys, and various other europop cassettes from time to time and listen to them and just groove. i have the jangly gene. it's been hyper-developed.

oh, but it feels good to get this out of my system! these small manifestoes. (that plural looks a bit sketchy.)

and now, a break for the eyes. a list of things to do:

1. call Small Miami Record Label Guy. time is running out.

2. write an e-mail to the lovely globetrotting rick, of whom i am very envious -- i think he is somewhere in asia or australia right now.

3. e-mail my cousin in barcelona.

4. fix the spacing of my résumé and print out some copies and pack minimally for NEW YORK tomorrow.

5. call rolando and apologize profusely for not going to his birthday party on friday. develop the excuse till even i'm convinced.

6. work on comps. work on comps. work on comps.

7. laundry. laundry. laundry.

8. e-mail flight time to julie.

9. finish her tape. and hers. and hers.

10. write long overdue e-mails.

11. get in my daily rockout dose. hell yeah.