At long last a LiveJournal by Jeri Smith-Ready

(Another quasi-personal post exclusive to the LJ community of like-ish minds--i.e., not cross-posted to my other blogs.  Which is another way of saying I don't want my mom to read this.)

Just now, for the first time in years, I drank a cup of French Roast coffee. French Roast is my favorite, but I haven't bought it lately because at my local Giant, the organic fair trade brand doesn't offer that variety. But for several months they've sold Newman's Own French Roast one shelf over. Newman's Own--fair trade, organic, profits go to charities, etc. You'd think I'd grab it with glee.

No. It costs fifty cents more. I was "saving" it for a time when I really deserved it.

But for some reason last week I'd had enough. I bought the Newman's Own. This morning I took a sip of the first cup and thought, hmm, I made it too weak. But as I kept drinking I realized it wasn't too weak, it was just smooth. Sweet. It didn't burn the back of my tongue with bitterness. It didn't make my stomach roil and rebel and crave the Pepcid AC.

It got me thinking: what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I such a masochist? Why do I habitually deny myself the things that would make my life a little brighter? What did I do to deserve such self-loathing? (Don't answer that.) Or am I just a modern-day Puritan?

For instance, the books I most want to read, the ones that would make me happy (such as Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job and a handful of funny contemporary romances) aren't even in my TBR pile. They're on my bookshelf, the place for books that will be read someday but right now don't even qualify for the on-deck circle. Because I don't deserve them until I've slogged forty-nine more dreary, "edgy" novels where tortured souls try to stop the Apocalypse of the Week. (Right, like there's a lot of suspense there. Gee, I wonder if the world will end? Please please please let it happen and put these characters out of my their misery.) 

Fuck that. Life's too short. From now on I'm going to read books that make me laugh and coffee that makes me go "Yum!" I'm going to reward myself for reaching milestones, instead of just telling myself I should've reached them sooner.

But I don't know how.  How do you reward yourself?  Can you teach me?  Can joy even be taught? 

What about you other workaholics?  Do you punish yourself for not living up to your own impossibly high goals?  Or am I the only one half-soaked in this ever-present puddle of dread?

I just had one of those, "Wow, my mom and dad were once young" moments.

I was doing research for Spencer the vampire DJ's short story and read about the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and J.P. ("The Big Bopper") Richardson on February 3, 1959.  Folk singer Don McLean later referred to this incident as "The Day the Music Died" in his song, "American Pie." 

It was the first time that rock 'n' roll had lost a young star to an untimely death, and to lose three at once--it was a tragedy of epic proportions.  So much talent wasted, so many records the world would never hear.  It's hard for us young'uns to imagine, after the parade of dead rock stars like Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, etc.--all of whom died at the age of 27. 

What made it even worse was that the stream of great hits that had flooded the radio in 1956-57 had slowed to a trickle.  Elvis was joining the Army, Chuck Berry was in jail, and Jerry Lee Lewis--well, there was that little thing about marrying his 13-year-old cousin. 

The point is, music was getting tame again--the powers that be were fighting back against the racial integration and "moral depravity" that rock 'n' roll represented.  Buddy Holly and Richie Valens were the only guys who could save America from Death by Pat Boone.  And then they were gone, and music pretty much did die until four boys from Liverpool resuscitated it.

Anyway, I always knew that my parents had named my older sister Donna after a song by the same name that was out that year, but I never knew until last night that it had been performed by Richie Valens, who died in that crash at age 17, a few months before Donna was born.  Yeah, 17--that's not a typo.  (People my age might recognize Valens as the guy Lou Diamond Phillips played in the movie La Bamba.)

It made me realize that my folks were really touched by this tragedy, as much as if not more than I was affected by the death of Kurt Cobain.  It was the equivalent of me having a kid in 1994 and naming her "Polly."  (But can you imagine her growing up and listening to that Nirvana song?  She'd think I was insane.)

I wish my dad were still around to ask about it, but I'm going to call my mom and find out what it was like to get the "bad news on the doorstep."  And one of these days I'll turn this into a blog post by Spencer for the WVMP Radio website.  His version will no doubt be more eloquent.

(Speaking of Spencer, I've redone his playlist--added some more familiar tunes and rearranged them all to flow better.  And Nitro by Dick Dale?  The earliest punk song ever.  Go listen and tell me if it doesn't sound like it.)

How about you?  Ever have one of those "Holy cow, my parents are not aliens" moments?

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Now playing: Link Wray - Rumble
via FoxyTunes   

The winner of the CD giveaway for Monroe's story is...alishsmom!  So just send your mailing address to jeri AT jerismithready DOT com, and I'll see that your brand-new copy of Alvin Youngblood Hart's Big Mama's Door gets on its merry little way.

You have until 9pm eastern tomorrow night to enter to win a signed copy of the phenomenal debut novel by Stephanie Kuehnert,  I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone.  See my interview with Stephanie for details.

Now...my birthday is Friday, and I'm hoping to get all my work done before then so I can take the day off.  I'm trying to figure out how I want to spend my day.  So far I have two ingredients:

1. Sending Chris to Sam's Bagels for breakfast sandwiches, coffee, and a dozen bagels, a treat I usually save for Deadline Hell.
2. Reading the entire Y: The Last Man comic series by Brian K. Vaughn. The tenth and final volume just came out a couple weeks ago.  I've read the first two, but then stopped and waited for it to be over so I could glom it all at once.  That's how I tend to operate with series.  Does anyone else do this?

Other than that, I'm coming up dry.  I'm so unaccustomed to days off that I don't know what to do with them, and I'm afraid I'm going to end up wandering aimlessly around the house, then accidentally fall into a mad fit of filing.

So I'm looking for inspiration.  If you had a free day with no responsibilities, how would you spend it?