Summer of '98

This morning, while finalizing a mix for my brother, a bolt of genius struck my brain.

Why not make a time capsule mix for tonight's camping expedition? Say, perhaps, the summer of '98?

GENIUS!

This idea was actually partially sparked by Sirius Faction Thursday afternoon, when I happened to tune in right at the time "Sell Out" started. Volume cranking, and top-o-the-lungs singing ensued; I even contemplated stopping for a pack of Camel Lights for a split-second.

The Summer of '98 was one of my best, probably because it the summer between high school and college, the summer I moved out of my parents' for good, the summer I started working full time hours at Slackers, the summer I saw Pearl Jam from the front row at Riverport with my best friend ... so it was my real first taste of "freedom." I was a kid in an adult's world. And it was pretty awesome.

"Turn The Radio Off" was the #1 CD of that summer -- played in the old Corolla through my portable player via tape-deck adapter -- and a close second was Save Ferris' "It Means Everything;" in heavy rotation were also Less Than Jake's "Hello Rockview," Rancid's "And Out Come the Wolves," Sublime's self-titled and Squirrel Nut Zippers "The Inevitable." The hip hop tracks were all Tanya, my college roommate's, influence.

I know it seems like a juvenile mix, and there's so much pop here it kind of makes me cringe sharing it, but what the hell. I can't deny who I was -- who I am still, to a certain degree -- and although the following season was when I delved deep into teenage depression, and discovered the likes of Modest Mouse, Piebald, and the other reaches of indie and emo culture, I can't ignore the fact that even though I was working for the rekkid sto', I was still quite the pop princess.

... and blonde!

Me in the summer of '98 with my graduation cake.

My college roommie Tanya, me, and my best friend Kerri.


Summer of '98
Good Enough for Granddad Squirrel Nut Zippers
Red Sweater! The Aquabats
Doo Wop (That Thing) Lauryn Hill
I Can't Wait Hepcat
Where'd You Go? The Mighty Mighty Bosstones
You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three Big Bad Voodoo Daddies
History of a Boring Town Less Than Jake
Do the Evolution Pearl Jam
April 29, 1992 Sublime
Ghetto Superstar (That is What You Are) Pras w/Michel, ODB & Maya
Closer The Urge
Come On Eileen Save Ferris
Build Me Up Buttercup The Goops
Sell Out Reel Big Fish
Santeria Sublime
Gone Til November Wyclef Jean
Pharoah's Dreams Hepcat
Baby Got Going Liz Phair
My Skateboard Aquabats
She Has a Girlfriend Now Reel Big Fish
All My Best Friends Are Metalheads Less Than Jake
Roots Radicals Rancid
This Lonely Place Goldfinger
So Long-Farewell-Goodbye Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Sounds Of My Life: Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor

The year was 1998, Electroshock Blues was just released, and my mind was effectively blown. Beautiful, clever, cynical yet hopeful pop songs. Wow. This guy was just my speed.

This song reminds me of a particularly awkward social moment in my life, which echoes many of the foot-in-mouth moments I have and will relive over and over again. Try as I might, in practical application, my gob just isn't as eloquent as my mind wants it to be.

At the record store, I absent-mindedly mention to one of the new hires that her name reminds me of a lyric in an Eels song. The song itself is beautiful and complex, but instead of going into all of that, I lquote a portion of it to her:

"My name's Elizabeth ... my life is shit and piss."

This girl was very much an Elizabeth, not Liz or Beth; Elizabeth to the core. I realize, immediately, as I say this that this was a horrible thing to say to someone I've just met; even though I didn't mean it to be derogatory or negative in any way. I was having a moment where I wanted to share the profundity of the tune with someone ... but ruined it. Horribly.

Fortunately she was a sweet-natured enough girl that she didn't seem phased ... but, even worse, I didn't apologize for my misstep. That was the weird thing about this moment, and so many others that I've lived since: I make these incredibly bone-headed comments, realizing immediately the unintended double entendre, but utter no word of apology largely because I just don't want to dig the whole deeper (a la Larry David).

I just go on with the conversation, hoping the slip is just ignored or that it just is understood that I realize what a putz I am. Instead, the whole world probably just sees me as the gigantic, unapologetic a-hole that I am.

Artist: The Eels


PS I finished E's autobiography a couple of days ago. It was just what I expected (this is a good thing).

Sounds Of My Life: Raining In Baltimore

I can't hear this song and not think about Baltimore.

Not because the name of the city is in the title, but because it reminds me of a very specific moment in my life that just happened to be after a 3 day stay in the greater Baltimore / DC area.

I was traveling alone back to St. Louis, sitting in the middle seat of a three-seat row; the plane was shuffling toward the runway of Reagan National when this song seeps into my earbuds ... at a moment I least needed it to.

It struck me during the opening line so violently that it took every fiber of my being not to break down, sobbing, amongst the complete and total strangers who surrounded me.

The weekend, while generally a fun trip with friends, had been such a colossal failure on so many levels. Instead of a momentary escape from the disaster that was my life back in St. Louis, it ended up being just another painful reminder of how horribly bitter and meaningless life can be.

So here I was, life in shambles; sad song stinging very much in the foreground of what already felt like such a desolate, lonely existence ... stranger in a strange town, surrounded by strangers ... rain falling outside the window, one seat over to my right, four and an aisle to my left.

It rained, snowed, sleeted, every day that weekend; from the day I arrived up until well after I left.

Even if I wanted to skip the song over, I couldn't. The moment seemed too appropriate to ignore. The plane nosed homeward, no ... a house no longer a home. The moment suddenly was a glaring reminder of how I had to contend not only with my own heartbreak, new found borderline addictions, past failures and regrets, but also the heartache of knowing that it wasn't only my relationships that weren't immune to such devastation.

It represented the perfect moment of uncomfortable, unwarranted, unwelcome solitude; so eerily in tune with the song's theme, forget the spooky coincidence of the song title. And while instinct would rather leave me weeping for hours on end in response, much like my life at the time, I forced myself to suck it up.

To stare into the headrest of the seat in front of me, bite my lip, force those tears back ... and just let the moment pass.

One note at a time.

Artist: Counting Crows

This is a new feature section that I plan on recurring at least monthly, because I like the idea so much ... it just dawned on me in the car trip home from Ellisville this afternoon, when I realize how much of my life I relive through song.