Saturday, July 20, 2013


I wrote this on my blog almost exactly 3 years ago:
I prefer to think that I am more interested in the stories behind an album or an artist, but sometimes that story can be so hard to crack through indecipherable lyrics and shady phone interviews. I was really thinking about just the ability to find a journalism job where I can explore these things in-depth, where I can contribute days upon days to finding more out about people and situations and ideas in this world around me, and learn about the most efficient and interesting way to communicate these things back to the world.
 In the same entry, I also wrote this:
I'm sick of reading music blogs with literal reviews and lofty descriptions that don't mean anything, and don't have relevance to my life. I'm ready for the real. I want someone to make the comparison between the struggle of climbing mountains and the sound of an album. I want things to relate to my everyday life. I want the M.I.A album to remind me of that time I got an MRI.
It really freaks me out that I may have become the opposite of what I hoped to be as a journalist. As a music journalist, at least. When I wrote this entry, on 7/7/10, I wasn't working in journalism. I am now. I churn out cut and dry news stories for a local TV station. I do enjoy my job, and I feel creative freedom. I don't take it for granted for a second.

But when it comes to my creative writing passions, I fear that I have lost some of my eagerness and some of my earnestness. Even some of my post-college angst, where I was angry with the world, but that fueled my desire to strive for things.

I still remember this period of my life where I would isolate myself in my childhood room of my parent's house, listening to Cloud Nothings. I hated the world. I hated everything at that time. I was miserable and had little hope of finding a career that would satisfy me. It was that period of time that I think most college grads (with non-science/math degrees) face so much rejection that nearly all the hope is sucked out of you.

But back then I strived. Then I dedicated myself to spending hours, analyzing music, enjoying the creativity that would flow from my fingers when I wrote about it. Now, I go about my daily life, very rarely finding time to sit and think and ponder. And is it because I'm generally happy that my creative drive has flickered?

I don't really feel much pride in the reviews or music journalism I've written of late. Some of the spontaneity seems to be missing.

Gonna turn on some Cloud Nothings, I guess, and think.

Also, a sidenote: my blog analytics tell me that I have nearly 6,000 page views from Germany in the last week. WHAT?! Can someone please tell me what German site has linked to one of my posts? Because I'm puzzled.

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