I've never been good at keeping people in my life. In a journal I wrote a few years ago, I said I hated being in the Momence/Bourbonnais/Kankakee area because "it's full of ghosts." Some of the people are still there, but most are gone, and there are all of the places and all of the memories.
I'm no longer so terribly averse to going back there to visit, but I'd never want to live there again. I'd live anywhere else first. I would never want to move back to any of the towns where I've lived previously. If I got a job in Plainfield, I'd deal with an hour commute not to live there.
But there's one place where you can never get away from the reminders of how things have changed and that's Facebook.
A few years ago one of my friends shut down his Facebook account. I remember his last post before he deactivated his account was how he felt so free, and it was like graduating high school all over again. I didn't understand it back then. I didn't see how it was such a big deal. Maybe I do now, because I'm about to cancel my internet (by October 1, if I can get in touch with AT&T) and I feel free. Granted it's more than just freedom from Facebook, it's freedom from all my internet vices. I decided to cancel when my one-year promotional price ended, meaning the cost doubles, but I'm realizing that even aside of financially this will probably change my life for the better. There will be no more wasted evenings (I don't have TV either), no more hours on end spent reading comedy sites, and I can put some distance between myself and the ghosts.
What am I going to do with that time now? I don't know. But it'll have to be different from what I've done before. Maybe the simple act of cutting off internet will finally prompt me to make positive changes in myself that have been needed for years. If you make changes you can control, maybe the things in your life that have changed beyond your control won't hurt so much anymore.
"The world changes. We do not. Therein lies the irony that finally kills us." -Antonio Bandares, Interview with the Vampire

You watch the actions, you hear the words, and you wonder who this person is because she disgusts you. You can't reconcile your feelings with the fact that she is yourself, and somehow you have something to do with this unredeemable blob spewing her constant streams of stupidity. It would be better if she were always alone, when she's alone she's paralyzed, and just sinks into her couch, every minute getting closer and closer to becoming nothing. You feel like she might want to change, but that emotion can't possibly run very deep. It's just something that flickers across the surface. Because beneath, it's just empty.

The best emoticon ever

Last night, while watching Sweeney Todd and being somewhat intoxicated, I felt the need to text my boyfriend an emoticon that was expressive of great angst. However, my phone's library of smileys had nothing that suited this need. I realized I was going to have to put on my creative hat and invent my own angsty emoticon.
My first attempt was kind of on the right track:
:-[
But it wasn't quite angsty enough. My second attempt, however, was even more uninspired:
:/
Finally, at 2:32 a.m., enlightenment found me and I produced the absolutely stunning masterpiece below:
Love yo:-[:-[angst
This is effective on so many levels:

• Double the faces for double the angst
• Actually incorporates the word "angst" into the emoticon
• Tricks you by making you think it's going to be an "i love you" text and then BAM, you're hit with the angst

Aaron either was busy or had the discretion to ignore these texts, which is fortunate, because I don't really know what would have spewed forth from my phone if he had asked for any kind of explanation.
Good lord, I suck. I'll never drink again, probablypossiblymaybedoubtfulnevermind.

Strange Things My Brain Does

I'm sure there are plenty. But in this post I'm going to limit it to three.

1) JUSTIFICATION OF PAIN
Whenever I hurt myself (stub a toe, bump my head against something, trip and fall), the first thing that goes through my mind, other than the pain, is a short and frantic list of reasons I deserve it. Yes, I see papercuts and bitten lips as justice, and I find absolution in bee stings. For example, yesterday I slammed my knee so hard against the handlebars of an exercise bike at the gym that it is now swollen and turning varying shades of red and purple. When this happened, I froze there on the bike for a minute, jaw clenched and eyes filling with tears as the pain pulsed through my leg, and what was going through my mind was:
That's what you get, Mandie, remember that really socially awkward conversation you had with your coworker yesterday, and that muffin you ate from the gas station even though you're supposed to be giving up gas station food, and last night when Aaron wanted to watch a movie but you just fell asleep, and God your car is a mess, and you have fat thighs, and there was that one time you drunk texted your boss.
(I should note that I think I believe on a subconscious level that drunk texting my boss is the worst thing that I've ever done, because when I'm feeling bad about myself or like a complete failure, I always encourage myself by telling myself, "At least you didn't drunk text your boss... today." It always works. If I can go the rest of my life without drunk texting my boss again, maybe I can actually work my way toward building something akin to self-esteem.)
I do appreciate the exercise bike and its swift, effective justice. I feel like that was supposed to teach me a lesson. The lesson was probably one about adjusting the seat height before I ride the bike, but my messed-up brain holds out hope that pointless pain will actually make me a better person on some deeper level. I'd been screwing up a lot lately. That handlebar was sent to keep me in line.
Along these lines, my dentist thinks I should get my lower right wisdom tooth out. She actually wrote me a referral for all three of my remaining wisdom teeth, as a better-safe-than-sorry kind of thing.
I am considering the surgery as a means of keeping myself in line. If I could somehow get them taken out separately, in different operations over the course of a year, that would be AWESOME. I mean, no matter how bad I screw up, having oral surgery every couple of months would definitely be enough to even out the universe.

2) FOOD PURCHASE SHAME
I feel extremely ashamed when purchasing food. I feel ashamed going to grocery stores, though at least I can tell myself they might be thinking it's for other people, and there is the glorious refuge of the self-checkout aisle. But despite these reassuring factors, the grocery store is still terrifying because it usually contains LOTS of people to witness my shame, so I have an empty fridge most of the time.
I feel ashamed buying food at fast food restaurants if I'm by myself. If I'm with another person, it's ok somehow, but you will never see me in a McDonalds or Wendys solo.
But the absolute worst shame comes from gas station food purchases. I hate myself more when I'm in a gas station than I do at any other time. I kind of feel like instead of crappy burritos and clif bars, I'm buying clown porn. I hate the fact that some of the gas station clerks recognize me. I hate the look in their eyes, the knowing smirk, as they ring up my purchases. They can tell when someone's addicted to clown porn. No matter how many times she tells herself she's clean now, she'll ALWAYS be back for more.
My goal when buying gas station food is to get in and out as quickly as possible without anyone making eye contact or conversation and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD do not comment on what I'm buying or ask if I'm hungry. You wouldn't try to guess my mood based on the type or volume of clown porn I was purchasing, at least not out loud, and I see this as a vice just as bad, so LET ME DESTROY MYSELF IN PEACE.
I actually boycotted a gas station for a while because the clerk commented, "Hey, you don't look like your usual self today. Everything ok?"
She was just being nice, but the fact that my "usual self" would be registered at the place where I hurriedly buy my clown porn and scurry out as fast as I can just kind of shattered me. I wasn't even capable of buying anything. I just said, "I'm fine," forced a smile, and left the store with no string cheese. (I did buy string cheese later at a Walgreens to make up for this deprivation.)
But, you know I'll always be back. I lasted several weeks but finally found myself in that gas station again, and guess who was working.
"Hey, I haven't seen you in a while!" she chirps as she rings up my porn.
"That's probably a good thing," I utter, my eyes darting back and forth as I clutch the bag tightly to my chest and prepare for the sprint to my car.
On that note, I swear that starting tomorrow I'm giving up gas station food. This time really for good... I mean it... why don't you believe me...

3) BOWLING
I don't bowl often, and it's been years since I read the Dark Tower series, but every single time I step up to throw the ball, this phrase goes through my head: "I do not bowl with my arm. He who bowls with his arm has forgotten the face of his father."
I really can't make it stop. It's probably a good thing I don't bowl often.

Bridal Shower Review

So, I know I said I wanted to write a blog for every day in April, but I am experiencing a period of low-even-for-me self esteem currently, and I kind of hate everything that comes out of my mouth and fingers, so most of my posts were deleted shortly before or after publication. I guess also I am more comfortable with failure than success because it's what I'm used to, and if I ever actually accomplished a goal, it might cause me to have some kind of identity crisis, possibly followed by a dissociative fugue, and all resulting in me wandering the streets in a homemade gladiator outfit, occasionally pausing to curse people in Latin or eat things off the ground. Anyway, despite my fear of success (yes, that's what I will blame for all my failures from here on out), I am going to go public with this blog because I SPECIFICALLY said that on the sixth, I would write a play by play of Maryam's bridal shower, and, maybe one time out of ten, I am a woman of my word.

Anyone who points out that today is actually the seventh is a jerk.

The Bridal Shower (initial points = 0)

+1 point: Bridal shower is held very close to Cool River
-1 point: Bridal shower is held early in the day, prior to Cool River being open
-1 point: Bridal shower not catered by Cool River, even though it would have been SO easy
+1 point: Bryan actually in attendance at shower
+1 point: Bryan wearing spiffy pink shirt
+1 point: Maryam wearing pink dress that matched Bryan's shirt (I can only assume she planned her wardrobe to match his choices)
+1 point: Meal was saturated with cheese but also contained enough vegetables that I could convince myself it was healthy
+1 point: Cookies with frosting
+1 point: Cupcakes with frosting
-1 point: I think I gained five pounds in one sitting
-1 point: Maryam stating that Green Day and Coldplay are the same band
-1 point: Maryam stating that Green Day and Coldplay are the same band, even AFTER she and I were like front row center as Green Day played a two and a half hour set at Lollapalooza and I thought it was a magical experience we shared that would be etched in her memory forever, but, hey, maybe not, whatever
+1 point: Really pretty centerpieces at each table that were vases with flowers and lots of orange bead things in them
+1 point: Because my birthday was closest to Maryam and Bryan's wedding date, I won the centerpiece at my table
-1 point: I then had horrible visions of orange bead things filling my car, my apartment, and my cats' stomachs
+1 point: I gave the centerpiece away to someone hopefully less accident-prone who was enthralled by it, and therefore I accomplished my good deed for the day
+1 point: Maryam gave very touching thank you speech for the gifts
-1 point: None of the gifts was a new puppy

TOTAL POINTS: 4

Now, that may not seem like a lot, but you see, this works kind of like the stars assigned to movies where 4 is actually a pretty high rating, and unless your bridal shower earns the Cool River bonus or the new puppy bonus, you really can't hope to do a whole lot better than this.

If I made a mistake tallying up the points, anyone who points that out is a jerk.

Autobiography of a girl destined for fast food employment

I was looking for some notes from my "Writing for Television" class so I can brush up on the basics as I attempt to help a friend write a screenplay for a short film. Needless to say, I haven't found the notes yet but am reading all kinds of other things I wrote in college. Most of them make me cringe, but I still much enjoy some of them, including a reflective essay I had to write on "my history as a writer and my future in the publishing world." So, I'm going to force a small portion of it on my blog audience. I think this is a fairly accurate account of my formative years and sums up why I am doomed in pretty much every way.

            For literally (no pun intended) as long as I can remember, I’ve loved books. What kinds of little girls love books? I can’t speak for all of them, but when I was growing up I thoroughly, passionately resented the stereotype that little girls who love books are typically quiet, spectacled, mousy-looking, pastel-wearing, extremely unathletic types who get excellent grades and are afraid of just about everyone and everything.

            Perhaps this is because in elementary school, I was a quiet, spectacled, mousy-looking, pastel-wearing, extremely unathletic type who got excellent grades and was afraid of just about everyone and everything.

            You might pose a “Which came first, the chicken or the egg” type question here, but, I would like to believe my love for books was unrelated to any of those qualities, because while my lazy eye was corrected and I finally gave into team sports and basic black, I continued to cultivate a passion for literature—reading and writing it. Looking back, I can’t remember a time that I was reading books and not writing my own. I filled a plethora of spiral notebooks, was allowed to graduate to my father’s typewriter when my parents feared that my hand might end up deformed, and, when my family got a computer my freshman year of high school, I took up more memory space than anyone else in the house. Whenever I was bored, my mind would be working out the complexities of one plot or another. The other kids in my carpool might only see the bleakness of a Momence morn, but I saw midnight excursions into an enchanted forest! A creepy cave whose floor is a vortex leading to another century! The protagonist’s heartwarming reunion with her long-lost dog!

            The rest of my family may have assumed I’d be a writer. Or they may have been humoring me. When kids are young enough, there’s not really a whole lot of difference. Regardless, I remember, at age ten, giving my parents what I thought to be the opus of my career, 60 pages of typewritten and painfully historically inaccurate Little-House-on-the-Prairie style melodrama entitled “Wolf Moon.” They read it. They loved it. They gave copies to aunts, uncles, even a few unfortunate coworkers, and started talking immediately about how this could be published. Published? I solemnly agreed that I must have created a masterpiece and would inevitably be a published author one day.

            Here’s what made “Wolf Moon” good:

1)      I was ten.

2)      It was grammatical and neat and spelled right and had all the components of a story, including characters, conflict, resolution, a beginning, middle, and end.

3)      Did I mention I was ten?

Basically… “Wolf Moon” was “cute” at best. It will also forever be remembered as the best thing I ever wrote, because I didn’t really show my writing to anyone after that, and, on the occasions when I did try, it had gotten too complex (a.k.a. weird) to really be appreciated, especially now that I was too old to be a child prodigy.

I chose to major in English, and as soon as I dove into college writing courses, I learned something I’d kind of suspected all along: my writing was bad. I mean, really, really bad. I shall forever remember the day my creative writing professor shared with us the Seven Deadly Sins of fiction writing. I’d committed just about all of them but the one that sticks in my mind the most was the Twist at the Ending. Stripped of my twist-at-the-ending powers, I was absolutely useless at writing fiction. The way my mind generally worked was to come up with the twist at the ending first, and then work my way backwards. If not a twist maybe a kick? A small shuffle? No. We are not writing choreography or Twilight Zone episodes. We are learning to write literary fiction. Well, that shouldn’t scare me. Surely I’ve produced something literary over the years… wait… no… I definitely haven’t. If the Seven Deadly Sins of fiction writing really do come from an authoritative source, all my fiction will have to go through purgatory at least twice.

And so, college taught me that everything I’d ever written was trash. But that was okay, because now that I knew what literary fiction was, I was armed with the tools to assess and critique all the literature around me. While I didn’t entirely cross the line that divides the literary snobs from the rest of the reg’lr folk, I could tell my father why his Michael Crichton and Dan Brown books would do little for our culture and explain to my mother why E. M. Forster would call Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander a romance rather than a novel. My parents hoped that I would use my English degree for something other than offending them and finally become a writer.

“A writer? But I’ve never written anything publishable.”

“You wrote Wolf Moon.”

“That is definitely not publishable. Do you actually remember anything about that story?”

“Well, there was a family, and… um… you were ten.”

I’d cast away my dreams of being a published author. Well, perhaps not cast away so much as buried. No matter how disillusioned I become by my lack of talent, by the decline of the publishing industry, by the fact that getting a book published is a far more complicated process than my parents had me believe, by the fear that everything that could possibly be written already has been written, part of me still idly toys with the idea of writing a novel someday. That part becomes alive and engaged (though keeps a somewhat protectively detached perspective) when I read the work of my writing class peers, or of my friends who religiously observe National Novel Writing Month. Because I can still remember the thrill of spinning stories and breathing life into characters, the giddy rush when you manage to plug up another plot hole (and my Twilight Zone-esque tales had lots of them). I think everyone should experience this high.*
 

*Note: It has been a couple years since I penned this endorsement for getting high. Write fiction at your own risk.

Living It Wrong

I know I haven't written in a while. I've thought about it several times, but each time have stopped because right now, I kind of feel like I'm nothing, and nothings shouldn't write.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not depressed, and I don't feel depressed about being nothing. I just feel like it's a temporary setback and it's something I can easily change, once I figure out how. I am fully capable of being something. I'm just not... realizing that capability right now. I am unbelievably grateful for all the good things in my life, and there are plenty. But I'm not living this life the way I should. I'm just taking in food and air. Oh, and beer. That too.

It's been six days since...

I exercised.
Now, you may not guess from looking at me, but before my surgery on Monday I was exercising almost every day. When I was told I couldn't exercise for two weeks, I nodded grimly, telling myself in my head, "That would be OPTIMAL, but I'm sure just taking ONE week off would be fine. We can get through one week, Mandie, we can do it."
And so began a week of my leg muscles perpetually screaming at me. If you're used to working out and suddenly have to stop, you might be familiar with the extreme discomfort that ensues. Sitting at my desk at work shifting the legs again and again, I'd tell myself, "It'll be ok. After this week, you'll work out like it's your job. You'll get a sleeping bag and camp outside of the gym so you can have the pick of the machines at 5 a.m. You're going to break your distance record this year. Running and biking. You'll run 40 miles. Why not 50? You'll bike across the midwest. You will banish your beer belly to the land of wind and ghosts."
But, when you're coming down from any addiction, it's my understanding that only the first few days are tough, and then there's this hump you get over, and it's easy from there.
I've gotten over the hump. Why, oh why oh why, did I have to inadvertently kick the only addiction I've ever wanted to keep?
Yesterday I felt like I was at a breaking point. During the 10 1/2 straight hours I sat at my desk working on release notes, I felt like my leg muscle cells were beginning to commit suicide, one by one. It started with my left calf but the rest of them followed like lemmings. Ignore the mass suicide below your waist, Mandie. Make sure all the feature descriptions are in bold font. HOW CAN I THINK ABOUT FONT RIGHT NOW? THAT'S IT. I CAN'T DO THE WHOLE WEEK. TOMORROW I'M GOING TO THE GYM. THE GYM OPENS AT 7. THEREFORE I AM 14 HOURS AWAY FROM SALVATION. 13:59...
So, this morning, I woke up right at 7, as I promised myself, and realized... dear God... I'd kicked the habit.
My legs felt awesome. In fact, they'd realized inactivity was their favorite thing. If anything, they were a little bit tired by all that walking I'd done this week from the car to the apartment.
"Come on legs! We're going to the gym, just like I promised you! I'll never put you through 6 days of inactivity again!"
My legs slurred something along the lines of "hellllllll naw" and told me their plans for the day involved nothing other than being horizontal and being warm. In fact, if I really wanted to give them a treat, I'd take them to a tanning bed. I tried to reason with the legs and explain that no tanning salons were open yet and if I did go tanning, I'd have some pretty hilarious lines due to half my chest being bandaged up. They were like "Whatever, just don't you dare try to put us on an exercise bike, we will shin splint you up BAD if we have to."
So. It doesn't look like I'm working out today. But maybe tomorrow... or maybe I'll at least find a mall to walk around... or do a sit up... or... I did watch Super Size Me recently, that has to count for something...

It's been two weeks since...

I took my foster cat to his first and only adoption event. I'm planning on taking him to another one today, despite the fact I'm not supposed to lift over 10 pounds and my cat's rear end (I couldn't get all of him on the scale at once) weighs 10.4.
I suck at giving back to the community. There are some causes I really care about, animal welfare being one of them, but I kind of feel like every time I try to volunteer for something, the volunteer organization and even the people (or animals) I'm helping are just kind of humoring me.
My foster cat is a marshmallow with fur.
I mean, I like him a lot, but I don't think any volunteer work could feel less like volunteer work. I just basically go about my life but sometimes have a catblob on my lap. In fact, for three months I just owned said catblob and didn't have to do anything with him, because the organization hadn't yet scheduled a vet appointment so I couldn't start trying to find him a home.
Despite being a blob, my cat is generally happy and friendly. He'll come greet any guests I have in my apartment and rub against their legs.
That's in my apartment, though. When I brought him to the adoption event two weeks ago, he transformed into a dense immovable object made of misery and fur. He devoted the entire two and a half hours I was there to attempting to fuse himself to the corner of his cage at the molecular level. (I promise the girl who got a C in high school physics will never try to make a science analogy again.) Most people did not realize the cat was there. One toddler tried to reach for him, saying "kittycat," but said toddler's dad pulled him back, saying, "No, kittycat is sleeping. Why don't you look at a puppy?"
The head of the volunteer organization told me I didn't have to stay there. So, probably the most charitable thing I'd done for animals that day, I took my kittycat home.
I'm supposed to bring him to at least two events a month. I don't know if he'll get any better at this. I'm pretty sure no one is going to come to an adoption event saying, "I want a pudgy three-year-old tabby who hates everything."
But, doing my part. Sometimes there may just be a fine line between helping animals and abusing them...

But it's also been two weeks since...

I filled out an application for another volunteer organization, this being one that helps homeless people in Chicago. I finally heard back from them, and to find out more, I'll need to go to an orientation a week from today.
The orientation, obviously, is downtown. Me + downtown = several hours of studying maps and train schedules. So, if I'm going to go, the planning phase has to begin now.
But in order for me to do this (especially if it involves going downtown on a regular basis) I'm going to have to feel like I'm actually doing some good. I'm a little afraid that, like most of my attempts to give back, it will be me just kind of hanging out asking, "Can I help anyone with anything? No? You got this? Okay, I'm... uh... here if you need me..."

It's been nine months since...

I traveled. I don't have a whole lot to say about this one. Just that I'm ready to travel again. I'm finally over the jet lag and ready for a new adventure.

It's been over two years since...

I lived with someone who talked to me.
I think that, paired with the fact that I work in a cubicle instead of in a customer service type job now (which I'm fine with!) is part of the reason what little social skills I may have had are gone. You'd never guess this if you met me in the past two years, but I used to classify myself as an extrovert and now I'd imagine most people would call me shy at best and antisocial at more likely.
Everyone has to live alone at some point. Well, not everyone, by "everyone" I really meant "me." But it's amazing sometimes thinking of the things I used to take for granted. Like that I had someone to say hi to when I came home from work. Like if I wanted to go to a store or restaurant I had someone to invite along. Or rent a movie. Or go for a walk.
And more than that, I had some degree of accountability when I lived with roommates. People who knew what I was doing or not doing with my life. A reason to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
Things weren't perfect but there are some things I miss.
Last night I had a dream that I was living with a friend. A friend I used to be really close to. There was nothing to the dream, really. It was morning and we were just lounging around and talking. Kind of like when I used to have roommates, except one thing was different in my dream. I wasn't really talking much, I was listening more. My friend was telling stories and I was intently listening, laughing at the funny ones, feeling like she was glad I was there to lend an ear.
And in my dream, I felt like life was good. I felt like I was living it right. I don't feel that way when I'm awake at all. Could listening be the key? I know I'm not a good listener. If I could have those years back and talk half as much and listen twice as much, would I feel like I hadn't failed them? (Yes, I look at myself as "passing" or "failing" certain years of my life. I've failed some of them. Worse than high school physics.)
So, I could pick that dream as the lesson that life is giving me today (rather than looking for meaning in my other, more depressing dream from last night, where I lived alone in a small apartment with about 10 cats). I want to have that feeling in real life, that I'm okay, that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, that my life is on track and I'm not a waste of space. Maybe that feeling is not found in running 50 miles or being a pet savior or volunteer work or traveling across the world (though there's nothing wrong with pursuing any of those things) but just in listening to a friend.

*                                                                               *                                                                           *

I didn't really plan this post to reach any kind of conclusion. It kind of got to one, though. That tends to happen when I write blogs. Random unrelated thoughts get tied together into a cohesive whole. It's the English major in me, I suppose. The majority of literary analysis is just comparing things to other things and finding our own subjective meaning of things. We leave the objective analysis to the physicists.

It's the most wonderful blog of the year

Considering this is at least my sixth annual music blog... I don't think I need much introduction. I present to you my reviews of the 25 most popular rock songs of 2012 (according to the Billboard charts).

25) THE BLACK KEYS. "LITTLE BLACK SUBMARINES."
I don't know if I like the Black Keys infiltrating the world of rock music. I am not entirely comfortable with their presence on this list, and I stare at them warily, frowning, through narrowed eyes. That said, this is probably my favorite Black Keys song, or at least it's the Black Keys song I dislike the least. The vocals are honest and haunting, and when the instrumentals kick it up a notch midway through the song, it really does actually qualify as rock.

24) MUSE. "MADNESS."
This song is so bland, slow, boring, and devoid of substance that it barely exists, so it is fitting that it would be performed by the lifeless shells of people that used to be Muse. Back in the day, listening to Matthew Bellamy was somewhat like watching a stunning acrobatics show. Seriously, check out Origin of Symmetry. It's like the Cirque du Soleil of vocal cords. This song sounds like he conceived, wrote, and performed it without even getting out of bed, or even sitting up, or even waking up.
I understand that doing that Twilight song somehow killed Muse's creative career (when it comes to rock bands, I am a believer in 'the Twilight Curse') and in a devastating scene reminiscent of the ending of a Henry James novel, they realized they could never be as they once were but yet they still had to find a reason to keep living, and along those lines they should probably release a couple more albums as long as people would still buy them. And so they began doing lame covers of opera songs (I wish I were kidding about that), Chopin etudes, and, apparently with this new album, which I never plan on listening to, they make a halfhearted venture into dub step. But, I haven't given up on poor Muse, because they could actually be on to something with their new musical style. I really think that "Madness" could be a viable alternative to anesthesia.

23) CHEVELLE. "HATS OFF TO THE BULL."
Remember when more music was like Chevelle? There was no reason to really take much notice of Chevelle when they were just one of many quality rock bands topping the charts. I liked them, but I didn't love them, especially after they released that crappy "Shameful Metaphors" song in 2009 and I kinda wrote them off for a while. But now, I look to them as the potential saviors of rock music. You'll understand once you've read more of this list. This list is mostly made up of music that I don't believe to actually be rock, and the sleepy skeletons of bands that used to rock. Chevelle sounds just like they always did. And this year, that's what puts them in a class of their own. I feel that I've been thirsting for rock music, staggering through the desert that is this new alternative crap, and just as I am about to collapse, parched, onto the sand, Chevelle shows up, luminous, and offers me a drink of water. Water I'd have taken for granted a few years ago, but after my time in the desert, it sure is sweet.

22) GREEN DAY. "OH LOVE."
Let's go back in time a few months. Before Billie Joe's breakdown. Before the Twilight Curse killed Green Day. When this song suddenly burst onto the airwaves, promising a bountiful season of Green Day to come. It's not your typical Green Day song, but it's similar enough to their signature sound; it's not like they pulled a Muse or anything. It's a happy, likable song, and I look at it with a bittersweet fondness, forever to be remembered as the last single released before Green Day became dead to me.

21) OFFSPRING. "DAYS GO BY."
Poor Offspring. Poor Days Go By. This somewhat generic but well-meaning song had plagiarism threats hurled at it because some people decided it was ripping off the Foo Fighters' "Times Like These." Honestly, I don't see it. I mean, if you were going to accuse the Offspring of trying to copy the Foo Fighters, you probably should have done so in 2007, the year that saw the release of the Foo Fighters' "Echoes, Silence, Patience, and Grace" and Offspring's "Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace." I remember I wanted both these albums for Christmas, but could never remember which nouns went with which band, so they never made it onto my list.
All Foo controversy aside, this song is ok. I miss the Offspring of the 90's, but I really did appreciate the aforementioned "Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace." With infectious, energetic anthems like "Hammerhead," "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid," and "Half-Truism," that album was one that was meant to be blasted at top volume. And now, with "Days Go By," it's as if... as if the rebellious youth ready to take over the world in their 2007 album endured some hardships on his quest, some disillusionment, some Lifetime-movie-esque coming-to-terms-with-things, and now he has returned a failure, a sadder but wiser man, bent but not broken, and seemingly aged twenty years. Rather than telling us to hit 'em right between the eyes, he's sitting us down on a park bench, much like the bench the old man and the little boy are sitting on on the front of the album (who EVER thought that would be Offspring album cover art?) and sharing the life lessons that he learned the hard way. And it's still a pretty decent song. Thanks, Grandpa.

20) SOUNDGARDEN. "LIVE TO RISE."
Decent song. Typical Soundgarden fare, but I don't think it's got the staying power of some of their old classics. We're happy to listen to it this year, but will we remember it when the end of 2013 rolls around? I doubt it. Of course, I can be wrong about these things (see #15).

19) MUMFORD AND SONS. "I WILL WAIT."
Mumford and Sons have their place, but it's not on a rock station. This song sounds like something I'd expect to hear in the following scenario: I'm walking down the main street of some city whose downtown area is merely a single street, like Plainfield. It's a Saturday night and all the bars are packed, so I slip into the one that looks most promising as far as getting a seat, a quiet little pub. A couple guys are setting up guitars and sound equipment in the corner of the bar (I'm not thinking a bar with a stage here) and I'm pleasantly surprised there wasn't a cover. These must just be some locals glad to get the exposure. Then they play the song "I Will Wait," and I enjoy it while tapping my foot and sipping a beer.
That's where this song would make sense. But hearing it on a rock station? Wtf.

18) COLDPLAY. "PARADISE."
Initially I liked this song more than most Coldplay songs, even though the chorus is a rather annoying repetition of "Para, Para, Para Dise, Para, Para, Para Dise" and there's lots of that "OOOWOOOOOOoooooOOOO" stuff Chris Martin usually does that sounds like someone is torturing him by twisting his balls or something. I liked it because the lyrics are quite relatable, it's about a girl whose life isn't what she hoped it would be, so she can only escape in her dreams.
Then I lost all respect for the song after seeing the music video. The music video is a few intelligence-insulting minutes of people running around in stupid-looking elephant suits.
Elephants or no elephants, I'm once again not sure how this song is considered "rock." But then again, that goes for about half the songs on this list. Maybe I don't know what rock is anymore.

17) FOO FIGHTERS. "WALK."
This song was #5 last year, and I wrote the following review:
Foo Fighters, you are gods of rock and people are going to worship at the church of Grohl no matter WHAT you do, but would it kill you to put a little more effort into your music? Actually, it might kill you, because you've got to be getting kind of old, so if this is the most effort you can put forth, that's fine, it's still not a bad song, and it's SO much better than "Wheels" (which made me strike you from my list of favorite bands forever, even my long list of favorite bands, whereas before "Wheels" you were actually on the hallowed short list). But it sounds just like at least two of your other recent songs. And did you REALLY rhyme "Learnin' to walk again" with "Learnin' to talk again"? Oh well. I can't really criticize you. I am a mere mortal after all.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Reminds me of another kind of older band who are slowin' it down a bit imparting wisdom and life lessons in their songs. Kind of makes me wonder if the Foo Fighters are copying Offspring...

16) SHINEDOWN. "BULLY."
I'm happy to see this song on the list. Sure, there are Shinedown songs I like better, but this song gets played on my favorite station. It's a station that only comes in when I'm driving north or when I'm in Joliet or Kankakee, and it's a station that doesn't stomach any of the new alternative stuff (you will never hear Black Keys, Group Love, Foster the People, Fun, or Of Monsters and Men on this station). Their frequently played motto is, "We drink beer, ride motorcycles, and play rock and roll." That's the kind of song this is. It's the motorcycles and beer kind of rock, not the skinny jeans and bottled water rock. Not saying there isn't a place for both, but I wish this top 25 list weren't so lopsided.

15) BUSH. "THE SOUND OF WINTER."
I can't believe this song made the top 20 AGAIN. It was #18 last year. And it's such a mellow, bland, innocuous song I couldn't even write anything witty or interesting about it, so I'm not even going to bother copy-pasting my review. It's not a bad song, but... is this really going to be the anthem of the 2010's?

14) ALEX CLARE. "TOO CLOSE."
My boyfriend hates this song. When it comes on in the car, he undergoes a transformation much like David Hasselhoff's in the musical "Jekyll and Hyde," except with slightly less pyrotechnics. I think he has chosen this song as the one target onto which he projects all his hatred for dub step, and that's a whole lot of hatred for just one song to bear. I really think he should consider distributing his dub step hate across multiple songs (like, say, #24) so he's not setting himself up for a Too Close-induced aneurism.
I guess my boyfriend isn't completely alone in blaming Too Close for all that is wrong with music today and labelling Alex Clare as the dub step AntiChrist. I did find this review that seems to agree with him.
However, when I'm looking for songs to hate from this year, I find MUCH better targets than "Too Close." I think the vocal performance is good, the lyrics actually meaningful, and the dub step not that offensive. I'm not gonna run out and buy an Alex Clare album, but I really don't mind the song.
Don't tell my boyfriend.

13) FUN. "SOME NIGHTS."
What the heck is this. This sounds like it was written for a high school choir. It sounds like it was written for an ABC Family Movie of the Week about a boy and his dog. I can hear them playing the chorus "OOOH OHHH, OH OH OHHHH OH" as they show the dog romping through a field, the boy chasing after him in overalls with a jar ready to catch dragonflies or some other mischief. Whatever this song is, it's not rock.
I was really surprised recently to learn that the lead singer of Fun used to be the lead singer of The Format. This mainly surprised me because The Format didn't suck. I wonder what caused this shocking descent into suckery. Then again, Fun is experiencing success that The Format never could have dreamed of, so who am I to judge...

12) M83. "MIDNIGHT CITY."
The intro to this song is really annoying, whatever the heck instrument that is. But if you don't turn it off right after the intro, and the song actually starts, it's so boring and bland that you're kind of anesthetized and don't even realize music is playing anymore. It's kind of like when a mosquito bites you. You feel the prick at first, but if you don't swat it right away, you stop feeling it and you're totally unaware you're being bitten. So, I guess the best thing I can say about this song is that it probably won't give you West Nile.

11) CHEVELLE. "FACE TO THE FLOOR."
So, I've already discussed how Chevelle is the one glimmer of hope in this list, and that assessment is actually more due to "Face to the Floor" than "Hats off to the Bull." This song rocks more than any of the others listed. So, as a New Year's present to everyone, I'm going to link the music video.

10) THE LUMINEERS. "HO HEY."
What the HECK is this. WHAT. THE. HECK. This song makes me think of a youth group, we're talking like 7 or 8 years old, but idealized 7 or 8 year olds from a 1950's sitcom, having their Friendship Week bonfire and then the youth group leader pulls out a guitar and is like, "Hey kids! I'm going to treat you to a song I wrote!" "Oh boy, a song!" exclaim the fresh-faced youngsters. And for added interactive joy, the song includes lots of yelling, "Ho! Hey!" so the kids are squirming with delight as they get to join in the musicmaking. In fact, by the end, they may have even cutely learned some of the lyrics of the chorus (considering it's just, "I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweetheart," it's really not hard). They're having so much dang fun that the youth group leader has to inform them, between the last "ho" and the last "hey" that this is the last one. After all, it's almost 8 p.m.! Yikes, it's bedtime! Actually, the inter-hohey "last one" announcement is the only part of the song I like, because at least I know it'll be over soon.

9) IMAGINE DRAGONS. "IT'S TIME."
This song does not belong on rock stations, but it does belong in commercials for every uplifting coming-of-age movie ever made. I am actually pretty convinced that's what the song was written for. Imagine Dragons were sitting around browsing imdb, and one of them suddenly announced, "Hey, there's gonna be a movie version of The Perks of Being a Wallflower in 2012! We better get on that. Where's the song we wrote that got rejected for the Marley and Me commercials? That could work."

8) FUN FEATURING JANELLE MONAE. "WE ARE YOUNG."
More Fun. Well, you already know what I think of Fun. This was the first single I heard of theirs, then "Some Nights" was worse, and don't even get me STARTED on the crap they have on the radio now.
But I don't hate this song. It does get old, but- it's more interesting than their other songs. It tells a story. I actually stop mourning the death of rock music for a moment and instead I find myself picturing the bar the guy is in, he's maybe a little drunk, he's trying to pour his heart out to his ex, yearning to just somehow, just for this night, make everything ok again. At least that's how I interpret it. Part of it actually kind of tugs at my heartstrings. The lines "Now I know that I'm not all that you've got, I guess that I, I just thought maybe we could find new ways to fall apart" are actually somewhat moving in the little storyline I've pictured. But, then the chorus kicks in, and mentions setting the world on fire, which I think is one of the most overused cliches in song lyric history. And there are some annoying Na Na Nas and stuff.
Still. If you only listen to one Fun song this year, a) you're lucky and b) make it this one.

7) OF MONSTERS AND MEN. "LITTLE TALKS."
I hate this song. So. Much. I don't think I can write anything coherent about it, because my brain is trying to eat itself right now. You see, when this song comes on the radio, I instantly go into kill mode, but in that instance, my killing energy is directed toward the radio (I want to find a way to sue Of Monsters and Men for the teeth marks on my radio's tuner button). But right now, I'm just listening to it in my mind, so my killer instinct is directed toward myself, and my brain is doing something akin to a rabbit caught in a bear trap chewing its own leg off because having three metaphorical brain legs is better than having to listen to "Little Talks." See, I'm not even making any sense anymore, so I think I'd better take my remaining brain matter and move on to #6 beforewraeworiewtwetgh4riuhgtta4t80

6) GROUP LOVE. "TONGUE TIED."
Whew. That was close.
This song is grotesque. First of all, it's so dumb that I am embarrassed for humankind when I listen to it. Second of all, it actually has the words "beddy bye" in it. But mostly, it's grotesque because midway through the song, the already terrible vocals dissolve into lots of hideous moaning and wailing that can only mean one thing- the guy who was twisting Chris Martin's balls during #18 has moved on to a new victim and is now disemboweling the lead singer of Group Love.

5) THE BLACK KEYS. "GOLD ON THE CEILING."
This song is one of the biggest disappointments of the year. The instrumental intro kind of draws you in, you think this is going to be an interesting song, and then--all the energy is completely zapped when the lackluster vocalist starts warbling. It's kind of like getting a beautifully wrapped present, excitedly pulling off all the layers of shiny paper, and then realizing whoever gave it to you forgot to actually put anything in the box.

4) GOTYE FEATURING KIMBRA. "SOMEBODY THAT I USED TO KNOW."
Oh, what to say about this song. The first time I heard it, I remember thinking, "That's kind of interesting." Not interesting as in I wanted to hear the song again, but interesting as in, hmm, it starts off so quiet and then gets loud, and it's kind of cool that a girl (presumably the other side of the story Gotye is telling) comes in and sings one verse, and is that like a xylophone or something?
But I didn't really care to hear it again. Especially not 7000 times.
The frustrating thing about this song was that not only was it overplayed, but it fell into every defined genre. It was pop. It was "alternative rock." It was soft rock. It was top 40. They made a dance remix, so it was dance. So there was no escaping it. So many times I'd flip between the stations looking for something, anything, that was not Gotye, but would just find that every station was at a different point of "Somebody that I Used to Know."
I can kind of tell why Gotye's ex had to go to such great lengths to block him out now.

3) LINKIN PARK. "BURN IT DOWN."
Linkin Park. Another victim of The Twilight Curse.
After Twilight killed Linkin Park, the empty corpses of what used to be Linkin Park managed to zombie together an album called "A Thousand Suns." The devastation caused by this apocalyptically crappy album cannot be accurately measured, because in addition to the body count and the destruction of property you also have to figure in the emotional damage.
Linkin Park actually snapped out of it a little bit when they realized that the first single alone from "A Thousand Suns" had caused five hurricanes, made gas prices soar, and led to the extinction of 40 endangered species plus 6 species that had not been endangered prior to the album's release. Therefore they promised that the next album would be more true to the old Linkin Park sound.
That album, which includes "Burn It Down," doesn't really sound like the old Linkin Park. More like Linkin Park Lite. But, I'm willing to forgive them for not quite rediscovering their roots, because, after all, they were zombified by Twilight, and, more importantly, this song is roughly a thousand times better than "A Thousand Suns."

2) FOO FIGHTERS. "THESE DAYS."
Oh Foo Fighters. More life lessons from you wise old men. Yes, one of these days, I bet my heart will be broken, and I bet... HEY, WAIT A SECOND! Doesn't this sound an AWFUL lot like the theme of "Days Go By" by the Offspring?
Seriously, Foos, it kind of sickens me that you insist on copying the Offspring's every move and capitalizing on the Offspring lead singer's devastating but enlightening failed world conquest. I will let it slide, just because this is still better than "Wheels," but please, TRY to do something original next time.
Actually... I did kind of like some of the other songs on your latest album. The ones that never made it onto the radio were more interesting than "Walk" and "These Days." Even your other single released this year, "Bridge Burning," was better than these. So why do only the blandest songs become superhits?
Foo Fighters are actually going on indefinite hiatus. I assume they will use their time off to ponder the mystery above, to learn to walk and talk again, and to stalk the Offspring so they can continue to steal and remarket all of their life lessons.

1) THE BLACK KEYS. "LONELY BOY."
I don't think we can call this the top rock song of the year. In my mind, "These Days" will have to be considered the top rock song of the year. Whatever else I might say about that song, it's at least in the genre of rock.
What genre is "Lonely Boy?" Well, it's maybe one of the more upbeat songs you'd hear while you're browsing the merchandise in the store portion of a Crackerbarrel restaurant, post-biscuits and gravy. Or maybe it's a song you'd hear when you reached Fort Kearney in the old Oregon Trail computer game and you were stocking up on wagon parts and oxen feed. And I don't really know what I'd call that genre, but the Black Keys seem to have mastered it.
Yes, Black Keys, this really was your year. And the interesting thing is, you've actually been around for a long time. You were in the music business for several years before really making it big, lying dormant, waiting for the right time to strike. And as soon as rock music showed signs of weakness, you went for the throat.
Oh, but rock will fight back. True, most of our heroes are now grandfatherly figures or Twilight zombies, but new heroes will rise, and we'll go headbanging our way to the top of the charts again...

...won't we?