I want people to hear this song.

This is for the fear.
This is for the uncertainty.
This is for the frustration.
And the damn rain.



AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH







......that's all.

In a Minor State of Nostalgia...

Forget Memory Lane. This whole day I've been cruising down Childhood Fantasy Highway just after the 90s Memorial Bridge.

It's difficult for me to believe that 12 years have passed since the days when trying new Easy Bake Oven recipes and creating recess plots to outrun all the boys were daily priorities of my friends and mine. Primary concerns were determining which friend got to "be" Sporty Spice, having the best Mad Minute Math score, who, if not Ruthie, was hosting the next sleepover and making sure the school bus didn't leave me behind.

A few other things that just came to me, for the record,
-Disney movies (Lion King, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid and Pocahontas, top 5)
-Hanson/Spice Girls/LFO/
-Skip-Its, Barbie, Pokemon, Nintendo, Furbys, Gigapets, Spinning fairies, WNBA ball
-Dressing my brother in ridiculous costumes and in turn, playing Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles, Donkey Kong, Pokemon and Transformers with him
-Being a proud member of brownie Girlscouts and the Olsen Twins fan club
-Constant desire to be the fastest, strongest and best at everything
-Fantasy mermaid escapades in the pool
-The Chelsea playground (getting chased, racing, the monkey bars, the caterpillar, the "big" swings, jump rope and concerts)
-Chester Fried Chicken runs after sporting events, always with dad of course
-Advanced spelling and grammar class (all 6 of us!)
-The big playhouse I grew up in that was what my dad had built as our home

Being a kid was fun, plain and simple. Because who cares about who the president is, how much the insurance bill was or what time Daylight savings occurs when Caleb keeps cutting you in the lunch line and you have 3 reading logs and a permission slip to get signed? Really.

We all have so many memories of our childhoods and when you get to thinking about it, it can quickly become overwhelming. At the same time, while we retain so many stories from the past, there is also so much that doesn't come back to you.

Wouldn't it be cool if the human brain had the capacity for remembering every single thing that ever happened to you within your lifetime? When I picture the future, I see development of a type of software that can be installed into the human human baby brain (without surgery of course) and will act as a drive on a computer, i.e. : Life of Stephanie Hannah Whittier

Life of Stephanie Hannah Whittier:\Childhood\1996\October\Wednesday the 14th\3:02:58 pm

And in that folder I'd find the memory of me getting off the school bus at the end Whittier Dr., only to trip on my way down and drop my purple L.L. Bean bag, sending papers flying out left and right.

Wishful thinking, but part of me doesn't see that being so far out of technology's reach.


I'm getting to the "Okay, I sound a little ridiculous" point, so I'm going to call this a post! More to come, of course. Stay classy, blog readers.

My computer might catch my comforter on fire.

It's been a bizarre day to say the least. I really don't even want to talk about it. I'd rather let the emotions seep through my anger-ridden fingertips and onto the screen of my laptop, because that's what feels good. I type at LEAST 60 WPM, and I can really get hammering on this thing. It's almost equivalent to nailing my fist full-throttle into a punching bag or squeezing the shit out of a stress ball. There's a sense of relief people probably wouldn't expect from a little extra force behind the hands as they come into contact with the keys. Of course, for this to be effective in the whole stress-relieving aspect, you have to be sufficiently teed-off. Irate, even. It's working for me. To be frank, I don't care how crazy that might sound to anyone.

I suppose I'm what some would consider crazy, but if you've been reading this blog or anything I've ever written via social media or the Internet, you didn't need my personal confession. Pretty self-evident, mm?

This morning didn't start out the greatest, was pretty mediocre throughout the work day, and quickly became miserable by late afternoon. The deaths of two great American icons threw the entire country off, sending waves of shock and disbelief throughout... everywhere? That kind of pushed the already horrid day deep into the negatives for me... and what's up with all the recent Hollywood deaths? Something to think about.

At least after waiting 3 hours to be helped at the hospital this afternoon, I was able to obtain a prescription. With doctors, it's always hate/love for me. I hate going, waiting, waiting, waiting, more waiting, being prodded, poked, questioned and stared at. But I do love being helped. I think in general a lot of people would agree.

It really wasn't too terrible until I had to change out of my clothes and be examined from head to toe by a male doctor, when I just-so-happened to be wearing see through underwear. It's like fate picked them out on purpose this morning, knowing of course, that I'd end up having to showcase them in front of a man I didn't know. Just one of those things you can't explain.

I was also surprised to see the same woman that took my Chai latte order earlier this afternoon at Jorgensen's enter the ER I was waiting in, with her baby. The weirdest part--every time I go into Jorgensen's, which is at least a few times a week (it's right across the street from the office I'm working in this summer), that woman is working and I always paid her special attention. I'd watch as she paced frantically around the happening coffee shop, running out orders to customers dining in the cafe lounge or dashing out back to grab refills for the straw dispenser. And she appeared to be in an early stage of pregnancy. Though that was just my personal observation, I would consider it every time I walked into the place and saw her. I'd wonder if she was pregnant, or if she already had children, and even what kind of person she was.

That might sound creepy, but for a reason I can't explain, I always paid specific attention to her in the store while I waited for my orders to be up. And seeing her walk in the ER, of course, at the time I happened to be there, of all places... with a baby that needed immediate attention... was just a very unpredictable sight. It caught me off guard. And then I started thinking about the movie Crash and my brain went in 50 different directions as I considered possibilities that ultimately just gave me a piercing headache, so I eventually brought myself to focus on the task at hand... getting in and out of my least favorite place to be kept waiting.

You know, I think the last couple paragraphs put my aggressive mood to rest. Having realized that, I remember some other things I was really pissed off about when I started this entry. Best to not bring them up at this point, especially since I had forgotten about them anyway. Okay, I'm done rambling for the night.

Music as Medicine

As human beings, we are inclined to experience some not-so-pleasant things throughout our lifetimes. The sources of the pain we feel are not always the same, but easily the most unpleasant one is Loss.

Loss pays us all a visit at some point in our time here. Some more often than others, for reasons far beyond my comprehension. A mysterious thief, he'll come knocking on your door, sometimes when you least expect it--to take things from you against your will. Parents, relationships, jobs, pets, wallets, car keys, favorite sweatshirts and worst of all, lives.

Sometimes you get a warning, a heads up that he'll be coming soon. Other times it's just an unwanted surprise that you have no choice but to eventually accept and go on with your life without whatever it is he took away.

People have different ways of coping with this kind of pain. With something minor, it can be easy to continue living the same way you always had. But in extreme cases, it's hard to fight feelings of hopelessness, anger and despair. Of course, these feelings are only natural, so you shouldn't fight them. I agree with all the psychiatrists that say it's necessary to feel in order to acknowledge reality and repair any damages to your heart.

The thing about it is, we all have different ways in which we do so. Some people grieve in silence and appear unaffected. Some are optimists and able to find good in the bad. Others self-destruct.

The list goes on and on, but for me, it's always been music that I turn to for comfort and recovery when I feel like the world is coming to an end.

Like millions of teenagers, I hit a few rock walls in high school. Something that stands out to me is my sophomore year. I was a 15-year-old victim of--you guessed it--a divorce, at a new school in a new town, feeling like life couldn't, but knowing deep down it could, be worse. I lost interest in things I once loved, turned into a quitter and let my nonexistent efforts to make progress with a boy I liked frustrate me on a daily basis.

And then I found Coldplay, aka my "light at the end of the tunnel". Cheesy as that sounds, it's a great way to put it because that's exactly what it was like. Ironically, listening to their music made me feel so sad. It sounded like crying, depression and pleas of sorrow. Deep and melancholy, it reflected everything happening inside of my body at the time. Even though my pain felt magnified while I listened to Coldplay's music, it did help to eventually iron the kinks out and I let myself be happy again.

Recently, I've discovered another sound with this kind of emotional power. Except this time, it's not a forum for a juvenile depression or deep sadness. While Coldplay's songs never made me forget about my problems, they reminded me of them so I could feel both sad and comforted simultaneously. The new music I have so luckily stumbled upon has the same effect Coldplay had on me, only unconditionally.

Listening to Matt Hartke (pronounced heart*key), the feeling is one-of-a-kind. His soft and gentle melodies project a kind of purity that pacify and protect, making me feel devoid of any outside complications or responsibilities. As if I'm practicing a meditation, I am able to forget the negative things in my life and slip into a state of authentic satisfaction that I've never experienced listening to anything else.

You could say Matt's "easy listening" and acoustic style is similar to that of Jack Johnson, Coldplay, O.A.R, and the like, but really, he's in a category of his own, and on a level that can't really be categorized.

Rarely do I come across a new musician these days that I feel is 100% real. It seems like many of them have been so willing to compromise their identities for fame and recognition. A true artist, Matt's unique sound and words are honest and come straight from the heart. His music is a mirror of his deep spirituality, and there is no denying the passion and authenticity behind his work.

Joy, harmony, stability, comfort, love...

Hear it for yourself: http://www.myspace.com/matthartke

(Listening to: If I Go Home - Matt Hartke)

SHW.

It matters

I was thinking today about how fun it would be to write music reviews and post them for people to read. Then I got to thinking about it more, and wondered who would actually read them and take them seriously.

I imagined most people would think, "So what? Who cares what a hardly 20-year-old music-obsessed woman from New England has to say about music?"

Perfectly reasonable, considering you don't know me or anything about me. Why should my words and reviews have even the slightest bit of credibility?

Here's the thing--I can actually think of a legitimate reason, which is this:

I'm not a professional in the music industry, nor do I have enough fame or power to sway public opinion... BUT, what I represent is arguably more important than that.

Living in a society where people my age make up the majority of the music and entertainment markets, it makes sense. True, I'm just another SWF, enjoying the eclectically arranged playlists on my ever-present iPod, working all week in an office and meeting up with friends at night. I'm just one person, taking my life one day at a time, just like the rest of us. But that's exactly my point.

There are millions out there just like me. Every day people. The music that artists create is FOR US. It's up to us to listen and like it, otherwise they cannot be successful.

What I'm saying is, I'm just one person, and quite possibly the most random one at that, but that doesn't mean I'm alone in my thoughts and feelings. Nobody ever is, and it's refreshing to remind yourself of that every now and then. Just a comforting thought.

Cold tea

I like it, but not when it started out as hot tea. I'm slightly disappointed that I let that happen. But that's why we have microwaves. Thank you, Percy Spencer and thank you, Aunty J. for having quite possibly the coolest one I've ever seen. It's nice being able to throw popcorn in and walk away... just walk away like you don't care about babysitting your cute little Orville Redenbacher baby. Because you really don't... when your microwave has built-in ears to sense when your popcorn has stopped popping. Beautiful.


So I hear a lot is happening in the world. Nothing new there... but recently there has been an outrageous amount of news about the protesting chaos in Iran. And Twitter, which appears to be taking over the world. Not just my world, THE world. All of it. Earth. A global movement. Should I change my location in my bio to say Iran? Seems to be the cool thing to do. Which means I probably won't do it... because I want to do the "cooler" thing. Same reason why I don't have a tattoo right now.

OH, and guess what? I gotta go. More later.

Sounds familiar

Music as a noun is simple. I know what it means, you know what it means. So does my five-year-old sister. There are possibly a billion different words we could put together to describe it, but really, that's never necessary because as a unit of language, it's generally understood. Musik. Música. Musique. Or even, 音楽. Spelling and pronunciation don't change anything about it. There is a universal acknowledgment of what the word means.

I personally speak this word several times a day. And I know it's buzzing all over the world this very instant. In conference rooms, dance halls, 5th period algebra, flight 791 to Luxembourg... In the canoe off the dock you drove by the other day. The traffic lights on the corner of Park Ave and East 57th. That farm you passed on the train last September with the big apple tree and tire swing out front. Under the Côte d'Ivoire sun.

But it's more than a piece of diction or topic of discussion... for me and for so many like me. Music as a concept, an idea; an abstract to which you assign meaning... is something else. Getting down to basics, yes, it's a sound... or combination of sounds. Sounds that can be made to please others, express emotions, or created for the sake of making noise. But furthermore, it's a unique embodiment of everything that means anything to anyone. Did that make sense? Let me try again.

Take a look at what you're listening to now. Band names, artists and any genre classifications aside, notice the projection of emotion through a particular sound. You listen to this because you like it. You like it because it speaks to you. It reaches out to you, just as you are reaching for it, and you feel connected, understood, pacified.

Or, maybe you don't like it under normal circumstances. But for some reason, you're listening to it. Same thing... You're listening because something inside of you says, "I know this..."

In some way, it's a reflection of you. Otherwise, you'd hit "stop" and move on with your life.


I'm not sure where I'm going with this... it's just something I was thinking about. Maybe I'm just having one of those "deep" Stephanie moments, where I think until my thoughts turn into something completely nonsensical. Maybe I'm having an ephiphany. No--I've always felt this way. ANYWAY, it's out of my system, and that's all there is right now. If you read all of that, you should get a coupon for 1/2 off your next venti chai latte at Starbucks. Too bad I can't give you one. Know that I love you anyway.

Oh, and in case you're wondering what I'm listening to...
South- Paint the Silence

Do I lose credibility for fake pink reading glasses?

Whatever...

Resurrection

Once upon a time, I had this blog... got really frustrated with something (who knows what) one day, and said to hell with it. All my old entries... gone. Nothing to be done. I'm over it if you are. And so, in an attempt to piece it back together, I'm going to write something.

I just have to do a few things first. I'll be back. I'm calling this one "test". Test.