Auditory Feasting

I don't pretend to be a music critic, nor anyone who really knows that much about music in general. I was once told by someone in a band that they sort of hated people who gushed about music when they weren't actually musicians. But here I am, gushy gush.

Anyway, December is the time of year when we look back on the twelve months that were, and reflect. And though I can't think of that many positive world events (which I will probably delve more into later, though given my less than perfect blogging schedule, will not jot down on this or any site), films (the summer season was lackluster, at best; I was pleased at finally seeing The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, though that's the only thing that really stands out for me), or television shows (The good is still good, and.... yeah), I can at least attest that it's been a damn good year for music.

How can I say that confidently? The same as anyone should. When I say "it's been a damn good year for music", what I mean is "it's been a damn good year for music that I like." Small-minded? Possibly. I have no problem with understanding how you might like something like Lady Antebellum or Taylor Swift or Katy Perry, because to each one's own (a response I like to call American Shruggism, which is what you get when someone says "whatever, man, it's a free country"). But I won't really be behind admitting that the release of these albums did anything to solidify 2010 as a good year in music, no matter how many undeserved Grammys they will, undoubtedly, win, as the former two examples are nominated for, like thirty awards.

Note to those who trust the Grammy awards to dictate the best of the best: don't. The Grammy award will go to the least innovative, smiliest, most likely to appeal to baby boomers nominee.

So anyway, my personal year in music has nothing to do with anyone else's year in music. I sounded off in reader polls, I've done my part. And now I have to think; do I send out recommends to other music-lovers? Just in case they've missed something? Though I am asserting my own individual taste in music, I'm sure my choices won't come as a shocker to that many people. And truthfully, I'm not going to be completely informed: I've never really listened to the The National. I don't like Sufjan Stevens. Such is life, such is taste, such is experience. That's how it works out.

Here's what I thought of my favorite music of 2010: badass. It made me want to assert myself and be happy and spend an entire day carrying a baseball bat over my shoulder just because I can. It was dark sunglasses and smirks. And when it wasn't that, it was sweet, and dreamy, and creative, and poppy. It was standing on the roof of a skyscraper during the day, where you can watch birds flutter by and write poetry and look over the beauty of the world. And it was standing on the same roof at night, when you're having a fantastic dance party, and it was standing on that roof a few hours later when everyone had danced themselves weary, and you can look over the city alone, and feel infinite possibility, and be Batman. Here's the soundtrack that makes that possible, broken down fairly easily:

If you're only gonna get a couple albums, get:

Titus Andronicus - The Monitor

I've already spent a little time discussing the garage-punk New Jersey team that has renewed my confidence in a genre that has, in my opinion, become too muddled by old rockers who won't leave and young rockers who prefer crying and tight pants and clichés to actually saying anything worthwhile. Patrick Stickles' Oberstian warble finds its place in a sound that somehow seems to be the true bastard great-grandchild of american folk. It's a sound of a snake growing out of the skin that it needs to shed but can't truly get away from. "I never wanted to change the world," he sings in "A More Perfect Union", "but I'm looking for a new New Jersey." The Monitor takes inspiration from the Civil War, but sounds hardly archaic, Stickles observes "you'll see blue trampling over grey, and green over brown" as though it is still happening in someone's backyard in Virginia. The conflict of blue and grey is a backdrop for conflicts that resonate long after the blood has dried in the battlefield; it seems eerily apropo that, at a time of Tea Partiers and divisions within political parties and unpopular wars and the growing gap between rich and poor, old and young, that the album would open with a quote from Honest Abe himself: "As a nation of free men, we will live for ever...or die by suicide." But a few pounding bars later, and ten drinks into the night, you find yourself crying out to another altruism, and finding delight in the Bacchanal brutality of American history: "Tramps like us, baby, we were born to die!"

Vampire Weekend - Contra

"Did he really just say 'I looked psychotic in a balaklava'?" a friend asked after hearing the opening lyric to Contra, Vampire Weekend's sophomore album. It sounded ridiculous. And it is. You almost want to hate Vampire Weekend for being such a Cupie Doll of an indie band (a title which I would only give to the likes of Sufjan Stevens). But then, you'd realize that you're hating them out of a Scrooge-like contempt for joyful things, and that Contra is, at its heart, a love letter from someone you met at summer camp years ago that you just rediscovered under your bed and are reading out on the porch, in the sun, probably drinking Horchata. It is brimming like a root beer float with afro-pop and M.I.A. samples. Contra is perfect, and it is unapologetically sincere. This is not music to be kept secret by those who covet so that their beloved bands won't sell out. The way I see it, a Vampire Weekend song on every radio. As ridiculous as it might be in its lyrics and its preciousness, there's no reason not to like it.

Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Where to begin. In terms of entertainers, it may have been a year dominated by Kanye West; after retreating from the world in the shadow of his humiliating faux pas at the VMAs, West slowly re-emerged on Twitter, on the arm of a new model, and he began to show that he was not going to retreat and lick his wounds and never return. As followers of his website learned, he had been engineering an incredible ensemble album. The first single "Power" was released, and West reassured those who were hoping for great things: beneath a chanting chorus and a pounding beat, he rhetorically declared "How Ye doin'? I'm survivin'/I was drinkin' earlier, now I'm drivin'." "Power" proved to be the perfect song to introduce us to the songs that would soon compile Fantasy: as innovative as the promising music West produced before his rap career, as egotistic as the pink polo-wearing playboy on Graduation, but as self-aware and the autotuned mourner of 808s and Heartbreaks. Kanye West seems to have figured out his place as the 21st century celebrity, where it is impossible to hide from criticism even for a moment, where every mistake or act of stupidity might be broadcast within a few minutes. Instead of hiding like Michael Jackson or crying with anger against it, West has embraced the power that he has, and is nursing its potential as a tool to understand himself, rather than a mask that will destroy his humanity. "We found bravery in my bravado" he declares, and you realize that he's hit the nail on the head: that cockiness is douchey, yes, but it's also courageous in its own, dark way. It's the darkness that this album, as the title suggests, embraces: on "Monster", a song already famous for Nicki Minaj's schizophrenically perfect guest verse, the chorus declares to any naysayers: "I'mma need to see your fuckin' hands at the concert," daring them to criticize West for his music instead of his easily hated on public image. And, at least in this case, criticism seems difficult. If nothing else, he's put together an outstanding house band, with enough talent to make Quincy Jones' phone book seem scant. Bon Iver. Elton John. La Roux. Rhianna. Gone is the image of Kanye West as a rogue douchebag that no one will talk to because he was mean to poor Taylor Swift. This is a man who, apparently, does have all that power; and the best we can do is enjoy every damn second of it.

If you only want to hear a few songs, listen to:

Florence and the Machine - "Dog Days Are Over"

Florence and the Machine are up for a Best New Artist Grammy this year, and it'll be a shame to see them lose to Justin Bieber. Don't despair, though: because "Dog Days Are Over" might be the most uplifting song of the year, and in this recession, we need it. Light and flighty harps, soaring vocals, and a heart-pumping chorus that really does make you want to do that running-through-a-crowded-city-street-because-you-can thing.

Cee Lo Green - "Fuck You"

At last. Someone said it. And they said it with soul. As much as I like to be picky about good, deep lyrics, there's really nothing better than knowing that, instead of being Byronic about a lost love, you just want to go "Fuck you, and fuck her too." The censored, Gwenyth Paltrow version of the song has it as "Forget you", which is a bit too hopeful, suggesting that the act of forgetting someone is the best way to deal with the situation of feeling rejected. The truth is, it isn't. The best thing to do is to just say "fuck it," with anger and humor and hubris. This is the real message that every advice columnist should give but is too afraid to: if someone gets you down, they can go fuck themselves. It's a rejection song that serves as a realization of this freedom, and thus a celebration of it. And you'd better dance to it.

Janelle Monáe - "Tightrope"

It's nice when people are have fun that inspires you to have fun. I'm noticing that pretty much everything I'm listing on this post fills me with some sort of happy thought. No matter how depressing this year was, there was music that made me smile and bounce and know that I was going to get through it. And then there's this, introduced to me months ago but not really appreciated until recently for, shall we say, personal reasons. I'm too young to have any actual memory of James Brown at his heyday, but it had to be something like "Tightrope"-- you can almost hear the ghost of "Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine". And then Big Boi (who had a damn good year of his own) shows up and I'm fucking sold. And I have shoes that look like that, so, you know how it is.

Sleigh Bells - "Riot Rhythm"

I don't know if Sleigh Bells is for you. Sleigh Bells is what happens when you take airy electro-pop and bury it alive and it punches through its own coffin. Theirs is, in my opinion, the best debut of the year, Treats is abounding with extremely loud rhythm and sweet vocals, and "Riot Rhythm", with its choral "You gotta march!" sounding like a playground chant, is a solid, standout track. It's a song that should have been played during Spike Jonze's adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, instead of what Karen O recorded. In fact, you could see Sleigh Bells as a proper heir to Master and Fever to Tell Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and thankfully so, since the genre of "pounding drums with shredding guitar and screaming lady vocals" need never die.

Girl Talk - "Let it Out"

Girl Talk might be the true artist of the twenty-first century. Where others do various incarnations of "post-" genres, or sample and cover 80s classics, or try to sound like something we've heard before, noone embraces the present and the past as honestly, as joyfully, and as skillfully as Greg Gillis, alias Girl Talk. All Day, this year's offering of Gillis' illegal art, is an astounding feat in and of itself, but just listening to six minutes exemplifies just what it is that makes Girl Talk unique. While there are plenty of mashup artists, or at least people who attempt to put a couple songs together to make a new product, no one does it as well, or makes it sound so fresh.

And, if you only get one thing from the entire year, it ought to be:

Joanna Newsom's Have One On Me is an album that is daunting to listen to all the way through. It clocks in at just a bit over two hours, and this is something you really ought to listen to. And if you know Newsom's style, you wouldn't be in the least bit surprised that she made a triple LP of completely new material. Have One On Me is funkier than the folky Ys and the freaky Milk-Eyed Mender. This is something Joni Mitchell could have done if she was the type to write songs that average in at about seven minutes. It's an album that you could listen to all the way from my house to Seattle and never get bored with, and one that goes perfectly with the road; she's singing about love, kindness, loss, and hope. If there's anyone who can truly symbolize the flicker of light at the bottom of Pandora's box, my money is on Joanna Newsom. Have One On Me is her fullest album yet, and only the late arrival of Kanye West could have ousted it from its rightful spot at the top of the list.

In the end, there were a couple dozen really great albums that came out this year, which I either haven't heard or haven't listened to enough to know what to write about them. But for me, the above albums and tracks will be what I remember of the year that was, that will carry me into the year to come.

This is going to take me a while.

Nothing is better than a giant philosophical revelation at midnight. Here we go.

Our human understanding of the world is based on opposites, dualities that are based on incomparable polarities. Some would refer to this as a more "westernized" way to see humanity and society, but that is frankly for another blog to discuss. I will, however, be discussing things that exist within a mainly Western tradition, so I'll keep it in mind. The stigma against dualities is that they create a "black and white" understanding of the world, i.e. an "us or them" scenario, in which there is no room left for interpretation or the so-called "gray matter" in the middle. But I find this understanding of duality as stubborn as it claims duality itself to be. I am comfortable in this interpretation because I know that both the black side and the white carry so many complexities within themselves that their essence as overruling opposites only strengthens one's understanding of what they contain; much like the highest dogma of a religion lends to all of its mythology; Christian parables are varied, yet they all carry the same undertone of piety, sacrifice, Christian love, et cetera. Opposites are not so much unwavering structures as they are themes through which to understand the world and culture we live in. It is this definition of duality which I will use for my argument.

As stated above, one commonly phrased set of opposites is black and white, through which we can understand the basic nature of duality, at least in the Western tradition. Opposites are, by definition, extremities that have nothing in common, save for the theme on which they rest. And (especially in the Western tradition, though I have no doubt that this thought is more or less natural) they have values: Good and Evil, Love and Fear, God and Satan, Heaven and Hell. Each of these values lends to other, more seemingly neutral opposites: Day and Night, for example, are often valued as positive and negative (respectively), much as Up and Down are, given associations one might have with the brightness of Heaven and the darkness of Hell.

And then there is Life and Death. There is probably not a more potent set of opposites. On the plane of existence, there is no gray matter: a thing is either living, or it is dead. A human being is either living in some capacity, or they are a corpse, and where the rest of them goes is up to whomever buries them, and it certainly does not make their body less dead. And, of course, the values associated with Life and Death need not be described. It is positive to be alive. We have always viewed death with negativity; the only idea that makes it tolerable to most is the idea of a return to life--through reincarnation, perhaps, or in an afterlife--so that one does not have to exist on the negative pole. I believe that it is in human activity that we can see our homage to both Life and to Death, with a pair of opposites that is not so clichéd: Art and War. In this I propose that Art pays homage to Life, and War to Death. Though this interpretation may seem a bit obvious for such verbosity, hang on for a sec. I'm getting somewhere.

I'll start with Art and Life. Life, in the human understanding of it, has a great deal to do with Creation, not only in the religious sense, but in our day-to-day observations: pregnancy and birth are "the miracle of life." Evolution is life's show of creativity, even: the traits adapted by a species like the molding of a sculptor's clay. Thus, the creation of art is, as the saying goes, an imitation of life; not in the sense that art merely mirrors what happens in reality, but that it attempts to do what existence has done for millenia. It is man trying to replicate the mythic acts of Gods, to repeat the creative action on a much smaller scale. Art exists, also, to validate life: since it replicates what might be the ultimate positive pole, art is proof that life works. You needn't go further than consider that religion itself--the tool which so many use to validate and explain life--may be the highest form of human artistic accomplishment.

War is easily comparable to Death. War serves as a vehicle for death: it is defined by lives destroyed, by civilizations obliterated, ultimate weapons that destroy life's chances of continuing. But war is also conflict of any kind; quarrels and barbed statements, childlike destruction as well as adult cynicism. Politics, for example, will always be warlike, especially within the United States, where they rely so heavily on the Liberal/Conservative structure. I am not assuming that politicians are agents of death, but I will suggest that the destructive tendencies within politics occur more out of Freud's Thanatos than his Eros. This is also what I meant earlier, by the complexities within the polarities: Politics are Conflict, and Conflict is War, and War is Death, but that is not meant to conclude that Politics are Death. Merely that they bear that connotation, that subconscious understanding that to make a career of disagreement is to invite negativity into one's life.

I have always believed Virginia Woolf's idea that good art is not political. This does not mean that politics and art need to be separated. Art can--and, in many cases, should--comment, critique, satirize, or at least acknowledge the political and social issues of its time. But Art cannot be used primarily as a weapon, it must exist, as I have said, as a validation for the importance of life. Even nihilistic, absurdist art can do this; so long as the effect it has is profound to the point that the observer or audience feels moved (intellectually stimulated, "alive"), they have validated life. They have made the audience aware. This is not easily accomplished. Yes, I love art for art's sake, and I will always encourage others to create it, but one cannot validate life while creating something that refuses to be aware of as many facets of existence--good or bad--as possible. But art that does not have that great profundity, the transcendence which we crave which fills us with the life-affirming sensation, eventually suffers for itself. Sometimes this is simply bad art, which there is a lot of in the world (which cannot be blamed, after all, not every living thing is an agent of love, and besides, bad art is still done with the hope of celebrating creativity, so in application, it is very good), but when it is combined with the political, the cynical, the biased or enraged, the bad art fails to cover up the message within, and so it is revealed as a wolf in poorly shorn sheep's clothing.

You can probably find dozens of examples of such failures. In my opinion, for example, the dystopian futures in Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale and George Orwell's 1984 are similar, yet Atwood's over-arching political ramblings and observations eventually kill her prose, whereas Orwell's gift for suspense and terror make us almost forget what we're reading about, though we remain aware of his message, letting it rest between the lines as opposed to in bold print. Artists who go for so-called "shock value" bear the same cross as faulted political tellings: they introduce jarring, conflicted elements without using them as small additions to the overall piece. The Saw films will never be real art. Eraserhead tiptoes along the line between meaninglessly disjointed and truly moving, and depending who you are, it falls too easily on one side or the other.

Now I am not saying that all works of art should be positive and have happy endings, the affirmation of life that I seek out is not so much a wedding at the end of the play as it is that unspoken gut reaction one feels after experiencing real art, an understanding below the skin, that effects your life. Think of how many times you have heard someone say "this album/book/movie changed my life"? Even the saddest things confirm this: Think of "Eleanor Rigby," or Johnny Cash singing "Hurt," the pain in Mozart's Requiem, the trembling, mad look on Saturn's face as he devours his children in Goya's painting, all are profoundly effective and possibly timeless pieces of art that are not "affirming" in the kindergarden graduation sense of the word. They make the air shimmer, they shift your perspective, they help you feel more alive.

I can think of countless experiences like this. But what is truly unfortunate is that there are more experiences of the former kind: art that is destroyed by its own "message." Art should not have an overall message. It should contain a message, yes, perhaps, but this is only a portion of the entire experience. Political ideas themselves do not change people. Art changes people, and gradually the politics inherent might slip through and help create an opinion. I never said art was perfect. But I will say this: it is not War. It is not Death. It is Life. Artists, as few as they are and as much as they seem overshadowed amongst others with different careers, are, in a way, the medieval monks of modern art, slaving away in the candlelight so that they might give the might of creation permanence and glory. Keep up the good work, guys. Make us feel alive.

Nicknames:

I have several. Off the top of my head, from several eras of my life:

Meggie

Megara

Bagheera

Megasaurus

Shmeg

Megatron

Divney

Tiger-Eye

Scooter

Egg Meg

Nutmeg

Panther

Emo Panther

Major League Baseball

Megala

Megnifisance

I think there's a trend here.

Stencils? Stencils!

So I've been making some stencils lately, and putting them on T-Shirts. Standard DIY fare. They're out of order, but I can't figure out why the Facebook uploader is a stupid ass jerk whore.

This is the back of a peacoat, complete with a Hamlet reference. What is the Hamlet reference? It's a compass with a mark at north-north-west. Get it?

Power to the left! I am going to re-make this in a different color, because black fists are sort of taken by that one group.

Tools of the trade: the four stencils that I've made thus far.

Skele-hands and Jackalope shirt completed.

The beginnings of the Jackalope shirt.

Skele-hands.

This and the next one show the process of stencilin', which is really not worth photographing.

See? How exciiiiiiiiiiiiting.

Colin's skele-hand shirt, up close. Of all the skull hand stuff, this is probably my favorite.

Colin's shirt, again. I never get tired of this stencil. Don't mind that spot on the right side of the hand, that was a drop of water that Colin put on it to get a bit of paint off.

WoMonday

Happy International Women's Day!

It is bothersome that, of the 365 days in a year, there's only one that's meant to commemorate women. True, March is also technically Women's History Month, but that's not as recognized as Black History Month (and hey, did you know that November is Native American Heritage month? I'll bet you didn't). To put it lightly, to represent any minority with a day or a month is more or less a conundrum: "Hey, sorry you've been all oppressed and misrepresented and stuff, nice job still being tough and overcoming obstacles. Can't we just give you, like, a Monday in March and call it even?"

Honestly, I would hate being a white man. You never get the opportunity to be interesting or badass.

Despite my misgivings about the whole "you get one day, ladies" thing, I would like to take this opportunity to point out a few of my favorites, the women that I'd have on my Fantasy Football Except Not Football, More Like Historical Figures Or Something team. If you don't know them, Google them. Learn a little somethin'. Most of these gals should be familiar, though:

Abigail Adams

"Remember the ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice, or Representation." Basically, yeah.

Ada Lovelace

First computer programmer. Take that, nerds.

Clara Bow

Star of the silent screen, the original "IT" girl, helped re-define femininity and, with her flapper image, helped open the doors for female sexual freedom.

Virginia Woolf

"The story of men's opposition to women's emancipation is perhaps more interesting than the story of the emancipation itself."

Kate Chopin

Wrote The Awakening, possibly the first true work of Women's Fiction in the United States.

Dorothy Parker

Wit extraordinaire, poet, socialite, co-founder of the New Yorker, my personal goal in life.

Marie Curie

First person to win two Nobel Prizes. In case you didn't know.

Mary Seacole

The other heroic nurse in the Crimean War.

Hillary Rodham Clinton

First female senator from New York, first First Lady to run for elected office. Oh yeah, and she was almost president.

My Mom

Quite possibly the best.

Quick Post: Albums That Own My Life Right Now

I don't pretend to be the type that's an expert on music. Usually, I'll love something for its lyricism, or I'll say something stupid like "and then there's this part where the strings go wraaaaaaaaah and it's awesome!" The truth is, for those of us who aren't really musicians (I play guitar, but that's it, and I'm not even remotely good), all we can say about music is what we like, and damned if we can say anything smart about technique or composition. That doesn't mean that I don't know what I'm talking about, just that I don't have the know-how to say it. In any case, here are three albums that are owning my shit, for no other reason than I like them. Look them up, listen for yourself, I doubt you'll regret it. And with the exception of Knives Don't Have Your Back, they're pretty new.

Edited out the parts about France and husbandry.

GIve thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habits as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparent oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Hamlet, am I right? Even if it is from the dumbest character in the play, the words themselves are more or less helpful. It seems contradictory at first: do all these things to please people, but be true to yourself! And yet, at this point in my life, it makes a sort of sense to me:

"Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act": Keep your thoughts to yourself, and don't act rashly.

"Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar; The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.": be nice and open to other people, but not too casual, keep your old friends close to your heart since they've been there for a long time and can be trusted, but don't waste your time with new friends who don't know you yet.

"Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.": Don't fight, but if you fight, you win! I like the phrase "the opposed may beware of thee." Don't beat them, but let them know that you don't appreciate your shit being fucked with.

"Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.": pay close attention to people, but don't make yourself very well known, size everyone up, but don't judge them immediately. A lot of this makes me think of the "every time I meet someone I think of how I could fight them." idea. Listen closely but don't be too loud, don't get into fights but by all means finish them, don't judge people, but size up their weaknesses anyway.

"Costly thy habits as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparent oft proclaims the man." : Don't be tacky. Clothes make the man. Buy LOTS of them.

"Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.": So this is the best-known and most often quoted thing that Polonius ever does in the play. "To thine own self be true" is a pretty heavy mantra, in any case, but I totally dig it. The hard part here is reconciling being true to oneself while also being more or less a spy to everyone else. I think it's perfectly possible.

Pooooooooooooooooem

I am confessing and repeating

(doing what poets have done too long

and too often

and with every metaphor)

My heart is yours to grow.

It will be poetry, for you

it will have assonance

and rhyme with penance

laughing and skipping

behind your shadow,

like a small girl in a blue coat,

so slight her balloon lifts her

off the ground as she goes, so oh!

That will be my voice,

the hopes in my mind,

a breath that will emerge

so light from this heavy frame.

Poetry, mostly love

from a mostly heart:

something shuddering shimmering

off in the water, far out

from where your feet rest,

the sand creeping on your toes,

the sun crawling down.

Books To Get Out Of The Way

Having now read On The Road, the apparent crown jewel of the Beat Generation (at this point, I prefer "Howl", Allen Ginsberg's poem, but whatevs), I can safely summarize it as: meh.

I should go into some detail, just in case someone 1) reads this blog and 2) loves On The Road to no end. I got what Kerouac was doing easy enough: taking wanderlust, individualism, jazz, and a new idea of what writing should be and setting it down to paper. And though Sal Paradise's adventures gave me a serious desire for being out on the road myself, there wasn't anything within the book that struck me as divinely profound (see the "the only ones for me are the mad ones" quote, which may be one of the most common amongst the hipster set). The language, once, jive, was archaic, the motivations less rebellious, the sex and drugs blasé. At it's heart, it was a good story, but in all honesty I don't see what all the fuss is about, so shoot me.

Anyway, this brings me to my big point of this post: a list! List list list. Today's theme is:

The Top 10 Books To Get Out Of The Way Before Graduating High School

Like it says, these are the top 10 books to read before graduating High School. These aren't necessarily the cream of the literary crop, but they do contain all that profound self-realization crap that most teens look for in books, as well as giving them a good idea of just what a good book ought to be. Naturally, most of these books are on school reading lists, if not, then hand-worn paper back copies of them are shared over the lunch table, where sixteen-year-olds declare things like "dude, this book changed my life" or "read this, though really, it's seriously deep shit". And these words ring true when we are young, I remember feeling like my brain worked differently after reading some of them. But then something happens when we graduate and grow up: is it a loss of idealism? The immersion into deeper, more nuanced things? Whatever it may be, when we read these books for the first time after reaching a certain age, the tone shifts, the language becomes sour, and we are left unimpressed by revelations that would have floored us five years before. Like an inoculation, make sure that every teenager you know reads these books before turning 19:

10.

Farenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

9.

Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brönte)

8.

The Old Man and the Sea (Ernest Hemmingway)

7.

To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

6.

The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath)

5.

On The Road (Jack Kerouac)

4.

The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)

3.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Mark Twain)

2.

1984 (George Orwell)

1.

The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)