Again from the top now and tell me everything -

[This, is not about maple.]

These were the first lyrics I heard tonight when I sat down to force myself to write this entry tonight. I'm not going to promise this entry to be coherent, I'm not going to promise everything to be spelled correctly. I'm not going to promise that'll stay on topic. What I will promise is that I'm going to be as genuine as possible.

Please try to read what you can.

Some things here are going be weird, but try to bear with me, I haven't seen any friends in about 4 days.

Sometimes I feel as though my life is being narrated by the Wonder Years guy. It's a completely unnatural way to live life, and yet it gives some context and flavor to mundane events. Or so I suppose. Most of the times I think the things I hear from the wonder years narrator are the most inane things ever. He tells me that he'll remember them for the rest of his life, but I can't imagine why. None the less, I love the format and I suppose I'm glad it exists.

Given my present motivation to write, I will never be Chuck Klosterman, nor will I ever write an episode of the Wonder Years(something I'm sure many people are grateful for). This disappoints me. Several times I have considered myself to be a rather gifted writer. Yet even with the number of people building me up, I can't help but feel my work is rubbish. On some level I suppose I know there will always be people that do things better than me, but I'm just not able to come to grips with the fact that I won't be the best, and that some times even the best you can do will never match the crap someone else might turn out in a second. I occasionally wonder if bands I listen to feel this way.

I have a band in my collection called Secondhand Serenade. I don't know a particularly large amount about the guy, other than that he at one point reminded me of pre-Dusk and Summer Dashboard Confessional. Yet, pending a miracle or a considerably better sophomore release, Secondhand Serenade will arguably remain nothing more than an underground success. I suppose that if you were to consider the success of the Rolling Stones or Aerosmith you could say that Dashboard Confessional won't truly ever be successful either. What would happen when the followers out grow Chris Carrabba's soulful and whiny guitar playing? Will they continue to throw their hair to one side and wear their sister's pants for eternity, or move on to the new sound?

It would be expected that some new genre would replace emo and rap, but what it is isn't fully realized yet. Powerpop doesn't rule the charts, and while Indie is the rage, too few people are willing to take Bono approach to music. This is why indie will never truly become viable as the next generation of music, it's not that the music lacks talent or an enjoyable sound, it's that it doesn't lend itself to postmodernism and Capitalistic greed. People listen to indie music because it is independent and because it's not a slave to the system. If it were to somehow make a copious amount of money people accuse the group of being sellouts, who's only true option is to morph into some other thing than what it started as. Fall Out Boy anyone?

The amusing part is, I can't imagine old blue eyes ever having this problem, and yet his music remains as timeless as ever. Even The Lady is a Tramp remains a relatable song that people still listen to and understand. Sure, Sinatra, The Rat Pack, Aretha, and the rest of the classic singers aren't as popular as they used to be, but we've lost something in losing them. It feels as though people are apathetic to this though.

Apparently, todays tramps are dirty cheating bitches though. Screaming Infidelities is the new tramp, and the man is crying about it. Worse yet, for some reason this song gets remade repeatedly with different names, but the premise is the same. Have the people gotten worse, or were the individuals in Sinatra's time just more likely to less publicized quickie divorces in Vegas where the media didn't find out about them immediately? Some how I can't help but feel DiMaggio, JFK, and Norma Jeane are some how responsible for this.

Yet, I'm confused. DiMaggio was anything but a whining little man dressed in jeans too tight for himself. Somewhere between 1970 and 2008 we lost something as a people. Specifically, at some point American men have lost their masculinity. In the past 4 weeks, I've had no less than seven different girls I know tell me how upset they are that they feel they're wearing the pants in the relationship. This number isn't all that impressive I suppose, but it feels sizeable due to the frequency. While I'd love to blame this on the 1990's and the early 2000's, I can't fault it entirely. Somewhere along the line sincerity, crying, standing in the rain, and pouring your emotions out had to work. Some girl must have told her friends how awesome it was that Johnny B. Goode from the wrong side of the tracks was really this sensitive guy and it was wonderful. Somewhere we lost the zip from Danny Zuko, and only got the side of him that was nice to Sandy.

Lets face it, guys are impressionable, if it works in the movies, they assume it works in real life. Dungeons and Dragons and Star Trek/Wars might be two of the best examples of pop culture going off the deep end. How many of you really need that $200 light saber you bought, or the $35 Dungeon Master guide? (D&D anyone? [Sorry too soon, I know Gary Gygax just died, condolences]).

Yet, this is where it gets confusing for anyone that's ever seen Pride & Prejudice. Perhaps the most understandable thing about Pride & Prejudice is the idea of a Mr. Darcy complex. What the Mr. Darcy complex states is that girls are primarily attracted to assholes. I'm not sure how many sensitive (emo) individuals that the reader has met, but they're not leading this category in anyway. If anything thing they tend to be less of dicks than regular guys. Now, what further makes the situation confusing is that most girls I talk to tell me how the guy should be sort of an ass until they're dating him. Then he's apparently supposed to undergo some sudden catharsis where he's no longer an ass but a beautiful butterf--... I mean a great guy. There's some ultimate fascination to the Mr. Darcy complex that suggests a man is like a car. Apparently, all you have to do is tighten the nuts and suddenly just like your car he works great again.

Time and time again, this just isn't the case it seems. Now, I in no way advocate the continuation of this wallowing in self-pity and wearing of mascara. Yet, I think it foolhardy to believe that anyone, girl or guy will change like this.

I have just realized, that I'm bitching about exactly what I'm doing.

I was just sitting here going through my away messages (I stepped out for some brandy), and I was thinking about Felecia. Over the past few days I've been thinking about IMing her. What amuses me about this, is that I'm pretty sure it would end poorly. She'd probably block me and I'd pry get all emo. This reaction seems completely illogical to me the more I think about it. What's she going to do, tell a whole bunch of people that I don't like, how I IMed her? So what, at most it's passing conversation over drinks. Big deal, people move on.

What makes this truly great is how I can't seem to carry this over to the girls of the present. Half of them it's because I don't care about them enough to do it, and the other half is because I'm too damn nervous of rejection. Sure, some of the girls I know are great, but I'd never date them. It's not personal, I find them attractive, but not interesting. The girls I do like, well hell, I'm a fucking clam. I can't get it out of my mouth, and even when I do, I just insert my foot into my mouth and tell myself that she could never like me, or that some other guy definitely has her wrapped up. It's great, honestly. Haha, all the girls, Erika, Ashley, Steph, Felecia, Mandee, Bridget, Claire, Jackie, Caitlin, all of them, I don't even know who I'm leaving out any more. It's awful to think that I can't even remember.

Lately, I'm so frustrated at my failed relationships. I want things to work so badly, but they never do. To some extent I know I'm trying to hard. On the other hand, I'm just so shy around girls that I feel like I need the planet to have 3 billion of them so I have a chance.

She's the kind of girl who gets her slings and arrows from the dumpster
The kind who tells you she's bipolar just to make you trust her
She's the kind of girl who leaves out condoms on the bedroom dresser
Just to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her

That's all for you babe, take the rose and play the song.

And that's it for now, I might add more later...