This is an mp3 blog attempting to document the gross amount of music I listen to. About once a day, I'll post something I like. If you're a copyright holder on anything I host, get in touch, and we'll settle things in a steel cage instead of a courtroom.

Monday, August 07, 2006

The Mountain Goats

This isn't really much of a post about the Mountain Goats. Yeah, I'm as much in love with John Darnielle's lo-fi croon and literate folk as anyone else. Hell, when I'm listening to the Mountain Goats, I almost believe I'm in a Wes Anderson movie, and what indie kid could want more?

This is more of a post about a friend of mine. I doubt she reads this, which is the only reason I feel comfortable writing about her. S'funny how much you can share with a stranger at a bus stop, stuff you wouldn't tell your own mother or dearest friend. That's what you are to me, dear readers - strangers in a bus station. Well, except I don't have to smell you or note the lone tooth hanging on for dear life on your top gum.

Ever meet someone and just click on almost every single level? Not necessarily in a romantic way, but just someone who was operating on the same wave length as you, had the same DVDs on their shelf, were familiar with all your haunts, cared about the same things you did, had the same immature tendencies as you did. This is how it was for me when I met her. For all the shit I give her ("why are you bothering me?" "stop drinking all my wine!" "I will so punch you in the vagina!" etc.), I actually looked forward to her nightly visits. Even when we would just sit on my porch, drinking and listening to the Drive-By Truckers, it was hoot number one. She's the kinda person that you never know when she might light Raid on fire or grab your hand and make you dance to the Weakerthans at 5 AM or steal your Cosby-esque sweater and not give it back for the whole fucking semester, even when it's 90 degrees outside.

I made a promise that I would be back to Atlanta, and I intend on keeping it, but the timetable has been altered significantly. I've been dreading breaking the news to her. I dunno why it's tearing me up. It probably matters more to me than it does to her. She's got about eight million people always clamoring for her time; I'm just #8,000,001. It's not that I think I don't matter to her, it's just a feeling in my gut that if I'm not around it's not going to be terrible news for her.

Anyway, the Mountain Goats. Being a rock critic, I'd abandoned the idea that people were going to intorduce me to bands I would fall in love with. Yeah, snobby and all, but it's the truth. However, the very first mix she ever made for me (which still stands as the best one anyone's ever made for me) contained an odd little ditty called "Fall of the Star High School Running Back." It kicked off my love affair with the Mountain Goats, and those songs always make me think of her. I suppose if we have Our Songs, these would be it.


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