barbara streisand as the altered beast

I can’t not share this song with you guys.  I found it on hypem.com which is well, a popularity contest between obscure remixes and bands.  It’s based on wicked music blogs with um, ballin’ style.  And lots have free downloads if you follow the links. YEY. Anyway, this song is called The Altered Beast by Ghost Train (Poka Remix). On repeat, guys. Like, mind-exploding repeat.

click me to listen

You know, I’m still fascinated by people who aren’t plugged in to their passions. Like – I feel like I know quite a bit about the magazine/writing industry for my age (I don’t want to throw up from patting myself on the back or anything), but I do! I RSS like a million magazines that I could potentially submit work to, I read these magazines, I follow writers and writing job postings on twitter and I write for a job “ezine,” as well as keeping up to date on trends and skills that I should stay current with. I have a tagged writing folder on my internet tabs that deal specifically with contests and other money-grabs. And yet, I haven’t applied to many of these things, submitted any work, or given much thought to any of them. I know I could, and if I put the time in I’m sure I could score SOMETHING (perhaps even with money in the deal!), but I don’t. Maybe not having a stable job will force me to be more pro-active about this stuff.

The reason I bring up this obsessive mindset of mine (which I’ve had ever since having a giant panic attack in grade 11 after missing the university fair and “not being in the know” about things I wanted/needed to know for my future), is that I kind of get on my boyfriend’s case about it a lot. I read a lot of blogs where girls either appear as these perfect, ethereal companions or they acknowledge their weaknesses and self-mock in order to humanize it all.  Personally (I don’t know how I could impersonally prefer something, but just deal with my cliché for a sec), I prefer the latter. I’m mad imperfect, just not about knowing stuff that will eventually help me get ahead.  My boyfriend is also imperfect, but in a different way. I always push to know more about whatever I’m stepping in to and he.. I don’t know what he does. I can’t fully say yet, I don’t think. Either way, I should probably climb off that really tall horse of mine and let the dude do his thing.

It’s just funny because I always talk to people about doing this and doing that, and I’m at the point where I’m tired of being scared of working on things and sending them out. I’m tired of not getting rejected. At least rejection is progress. At least rejection is experience. Knowledge is, yes, incredibly helpful and I’m sure (or hoping) that it will make my path more cobbled with nice, Italian marble, but in the end, nothing will help me except sending out work, getting my name published, getting my words published, and getting my portfolio looking like a nice, multicultural lasagna.

That metaphor didn’t exactly do what I wanted it to, but I want to commemorate its strangeness and remember it forever, so I’m forced to leave it there.

I’m pretty sure you get what I mean anyways, so I’ll just leave it at that.

ALSO:

BARBARA STREISAND

PS. I am still waiting for my watch (my soon-to-be-baby) to arrive via UPS. Bring me my baby!

PPS. It is my last day of work at the bar. This might get me out of my February Funk. I have high hopes.

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