I’m going through kind of a scary time, financially speaking. The company that I work for is struggling, and decided to boot me off the payroll and hire me back as a part-time “contractor.” That means that where I was getting over $2,000 a month take-home pay, I’m now getting $1,000, and over $300 of that will have to go into COBRA payments.
It’s been kind of heartwarming to see corporations and artists boycotting the state of North Carolina to protest the passing of HB2. Born out of mass panic about trans people having the right to use public restrooms appropriate to their gender, the law bans cities and counties from granting any rights or protections to LGBT people that aren’t already in state law. It’s just the kind of hateful shit that you’d expect from the state that kept sending Jesse Helms back to the Senate decade after decade.
Like virtually every person on the planet with some sort of a conscience, I was appalled by the massacre at the offices of the French satire magazine Charlie Hebdo last year. How could you not be? It was an act of appalling violence. But the evidence that Charlie Hebdo had a mean-spirited and racist streak piled up so quickly in my social media that I never wanted to declare “Je suis Charlie.” The same conscience that made me sickened at the murders of 12 human beings made it impossible for me to join in solidarity with the magazine they worked for.
Frivolous Fridays are the Orbit bloggers’ excuse to post about fun things we care a lot about that may not necessarily have serious implications for politics or social justice. Although any day is a good day to write about our passions outside of social issues, we sometimes have a hard time giving ourselves permission to do that. This is our way of encouraging each other to take a break from serious topics and have some fun.
After writing about depression and music today, I thought that the first Frivolous Friday would be a good opportunity to show off the lighter side of my musical tastes. Here’s a selection of seven fun, frothy songs to close the day out.
The following goes into pretty heavy detail about my own decades-long issues with depression and a song that’s about violent domestic abuse.
One of the things that I want to do with this new blog is to start talking about music, and its place in my life. I’m not particularly interested in music reviews: One way or another, the intent of music reviews is to tell you whether an album or song is “good,” according to critical standards. Implicit is the idea that there’s some mysterious, objective standard to separate the crap from the good stuff.
It’s true that I can’t resist the occasional mean-spirited potshot at Nickelback or the entire genre of Christian rock, but for the most part, I long since gave up on the idea that there’s an easy, bright-line distinction between the good music and the bad music. That’s an idea better suited to 20-year-old hipsters who use bands to define their social cliques. I’ve long since left behind my 20-year-old hipster phase, and I’m glad of it.
What I’m more interested in is writing about music and its role in my life. These pieces are less about telling readers which music they should load onto their phone or Spotify playlist, and more about writing a personal biography of how certain songs have affected me over the years.