Est. 1978
Just Like Starting Over – Why I’m Taking The 30 Day Song Challenge
Apr 5th
Image by Flickr User blankdots. Used under a Creative Commons license.
Once upon a time, I used to write about music.
I used to write about it a lot. Most of the time it was scribbles in one of the notebooks that now fills a shoebox on top of the bookshelves behind my desk. Most of the time, it was the sort of short thoughts that get scribbled in the margins of books by English Lit students, except not nearly as well thought out.
Then I got a music blog. Most of the time this involved making tedious and embarrassing observations about emo bands and what I was listening to that morning. From time to time this involved reviewing albums and gigs. This was great: I got – legally and legitimately – albums weeks ahead of their release dates and I got to go to gigs for free. I met Michael Stipe and got headbutted by a teenager in a moshpit. I had an incident I jokingly refer to as “my feud with Coldplay.” I spent half of a Death Cab for Cutie show checking my phone to make sure my wife hadn’t gone into labour, all the while trying to enjoy the show and make enough notes for a worthwhile review. I loved it.
I haven’t written about music in ages, and I miss it. I’ve started listening to so much good stuff since I last blogged about music, but I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to say about it. I’m too rusty to make comparisons between Bryan Ferry and Jay Gatsby like Rob Sheffield does in ‘Talking to Girls About Duran Duran’, but I do want to talk about… something. I’m fascinated by how songs can push you up against a wall and either shove their hand down your pants or punch you in the face and run off with your wallet.
So with that in mind, I’ll be blogging about the 30 Day Song Challenge. You’re going to hear one song a day, for the next month, and a little bit of backstory on my relationship to that song. This is going to be embarrassing.
Here’s the list of themes. Brace yourselves.
Day 01 – Your Favorite Song
Day 02 – Your Least Favorite Song
Day 03 – A Song That Makes You Happy
Day 04 – A Song That Makes You Sad
Day 05 – A Song That Reminds You Of Someone
Day 06 – A Song That Reminds You Of Somewhere
Day 07 – A Song That Reminds You Of A Certain Event
Day 08 – A Song That You Know All The Words To
Day 09 – A Song That You Can Dance To
Day 10 – A Song That Makes You Fall Asleep
Day 11 – A Song From Your Favorite Band
Day 12 – A Song From A Band You Hate
Day 13 – A Song That Is A Guilty Pleasure
Day 14 – A Song That No One Would Expect You To Love
Day 15 – A Song That Describes You
Day 16 – A Song That You Used To Love But Now Hate
Day 17 – A Song That You Hear Often On The Radio
Day 18 – A Song That You Wish You Heard On The Radio
Day 19 – A Song From Your Favorite Album
Day 20 – A Song That You Listen To When You’re Angry
Day 21 – A Song That You Listen To When You’re Happy
Day 22 – A Song That You Listen To When You’re Sad
Day 23 – A Song That You Want To Play At Your Wedding
Day 24 – A Song That You Want To Play At Your Funeral
Day 25 – A Song That Makes You Laugh
Day 26 – A Song That You Can Play On An Instrument
Day 27 – A Song That You Wish You Could Play
Day 28 – A Song That Makes You Feel Guilty
Day 29 – A Song From Your Childhood
Day 30 – Your Favorite Song At This Time Last Year
Giving Up
Mar 9th
A week or so ago, I made the decision that I was giving up sweets for Lent.
I know – this sounds like something you do in primary school. I’m a 33 year old man with a wife and a kid and a mortgage. I’m supposed to be beyond such things. But I’m not. You are right, though – It is something you do in primary school, and I suspect that’s the last time I gave anything up voluntarily and treated it with any sort of seriousness. It’s about time.
Why sweets, and why now? The first part’s easy. I eat far too many of them, especially now that I’m at home all day and have ready access to the sweets and cakes and biscuits lying around. I’ve thought nothing of having a couple of chocolate bars and more over any given day. I’ve gained over half a stone since the start of February (and I wasn’t exactly slim to begin with) and I spend a good bit of the time feeling generally rotten lately. There are other factors, but this – this is one I can readily and easily change. So I’m making a full stop. No sweets, chocolate, cakes, biscuits, cookies, trifles, ice creams or desserts. It ends now.
Why now? Well, as arbitrary as it sounds, it’s Lent. It’s traditionally a time of sacrifice. Whether or not you believe in God I think sacrifice, however arbitrary and even if it’s simply delayed gratification is good for the soul or the human spirit or whatever you want to call it. For the record, I do believe in God – don’t worry, I also believe in evolution, dinosaurs, medical science, Copernican motion, subatomic particles and the idea that any two consenting adults should be allowed to marry each other -but I don’t think His will is best served by me no longer having a Cadbury Double Decker for lunch. Even if it was, I don’t think He cares that it’s on a 44 day span the timing of which is determined by the phase of the moon. The only honest answer I can give to ‘Why Lent?’ is ‘It’s tradition, and it’s there.’
Now the rules. The ban covers sweets, jellies, chocolate, biscuits, cakes, biscuits, cookies, desserts, ice cream and anything that might fall under those categories. I’m not allowed dramatically increase my consumption of anything else – other than water, fruit and vegetables – to compensate. I’m still allowed sugar in my tea and coffee, I’m still allowed fizzy drinks. If I go to the cinema or if I’m watching a DVD at the weekend, I can have popcorn or pretzels or nachos – in moderation. There’s no point in me doing this if I’m going to suck down an entire can of Pringles because I fancy a snack.
So that’s it. No more sweets until Easter Sunday, by which time I hope to be feeling a little healthier. Wish me luck.
In Memory of Baby William
Sep 5th
Note: I haven’t decided whether or not I’ll leave this post up permanently. Permalink if you need to, but be warned that this is intended as an answer to questions I can’t answer respectfully on Twitter or Facebook, and as such it may be gone within days or weeks.
I tried to write something more detailed on this. Some sort of summary of the past two weeks. Something that explains it all. But I can’t. So here are the facts I can talk about at this point.
Two weeks ago, we found out we had lost the baby we’d been expecting.
There was nothing expected about it. My wife had been healthy and happy, it had been an uncomplicated – we’d honestly have said relatively easy – pregnancy. Then two weeks ago a routine scan showed that there was no heartbeat. All the way into the hospital after getting that phone call I was praying hard for it to be a mistake. There’d been a recent scandal with ultrasound machines in Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in Drogheda, and I wanted this to be that same mistake. But it was two machines. Two doctors. The (we’re told) most skilled and experienced ultrasound operator in the country. His little heart had stopped several days earlier (my wife had felt definite movement), but fetal development had stopped almost six weeks previously. William Michael Madden was stillborn three days later. One week after that, he was buried with my maternal grandparents in Glasnevin Cemetery. There is a sad symmetry, as he is named for my grandfather (actually both my grandfathers, as they were both William Francis. Michael comes from my wife’s grandfather); and as my grandparents lost a baby at three weeks old in 1945. When we visited the grave while trying to make a decision on Baby William’s resting place, it felt right that he be with them.
We’re both coping well, we think. We’re able to talk about it, even if only briefly. We’re comforting each other, we’re grieving in our own different ways (I’m fairly religious, my wife is not), and having a toddler who still requires our love and attention and who is currently showing off with pride his newly learned words and animal noises (and a damn good Animal from the Muppets impression) is a welcome source of light and laughter. Family and friends have been incredibly good to us both. The hospital – The Rotunda Hospital in Dublin – have been both supportive and professional. We don’t know how we’d get through this without any one of these, and we are both grateful beyond words.
Right now, we’re trying to decide what normal is and how to get it back into our lives. I don’t know if it’s fair to say we’re trying to get over it, because I don’t know if such a thing is possible, or if ‘getting over it’ accurately describes it – I’d always thought of that as trying to forget a trauma and I don’t want to forget about William. He’ll always be our little boy, we’ll always miss him and we’ll never forget the joy we had for six months while waiting for him. We want to move forward while honouring his memory. It’s slow going. But we’ll get there.
Rest in peace, little fella.