life is a rock, but the rick rolled me

I’d say by now, everybody knows what it  means to get Rickrolled.

In case you don’t, Wikipedia sums it up with more information than you’d ever need.

This morning, I sort of rickrolled myself. It wasn’t bad enough that I sort of rickrolled myself, but I actually took the extra effort to play the song again on my iPod.

I’m not sure when I put that on the iPod, but I remember exactly when I downloaded that song — it was at my old job and I did it in one of my “this would make a great theme song for” moments. I also will sheepishly admit that I didn’t mind having the song on my iPod. There’s something just whimsical and fun and a special feeling you get when you hear Rick Astley’s soulful voice tell you he’s never going to let you down. It’s like you can almost believe it. So far, it’s true. I can’t think of a single time Rick Astley’s ever let me down.

I have a friend who observed that everybody on public transportation looks defeated. I wanted to believe this wasn’t true, but after nearly eight months of daily exposure to public transportation, I can’t dispute his observation. At 8:30 in the morning, every single one of us getting on the train at Greenbelt have that same “back to the grind, please shoot me” kind of face. If you see someone without that face, they’re a tourist who came to Greenbelt for the ample parking. Or they’re new at their job downtown. I was that face of shining optimism once.

Once.

I didn’t use my iPod for a while after I moved to DC because I didn’t have a charger and I lacked the drive to ask my co-workers if they had one. Finally, when I could stand no more conversations about anybody owing any other aggrieved party child support for any number of children, I dusted it off. I brought in my external hard drive, loaded it into my work computer and found an iPod charger from a co-worker. I have about 1,000 songs on the iPod and I just hit random when I get on the train and let it go.

It started out normally enough with some Collective Soul, followed by Rolling Stones, some Pearl Jam, a song by a band I love from Arizona called Radiofix. I figured pound for pound, it was a better music day than I’d had in a while. I had a seat to myself until Georgia Avenue-Petworth when an ill-tempered looking girl who glared at me with that “I hate you for being alive” face sat beside me with a heavy sigh. When she sat down, I was deep in a Dave Matthews Band zone thinking about the lyrics of “The Best of What’s Around.” But that’s neither here nor there.

Less than 10 minutes later, I heard the sweet beginnings of “Never Gonna Give You Up” and laughed. I didn’t intend to actually laugh out loud, but it happened, and “I hate you for being alive” girl looked at me with such harsh judgment I was tempted to turn it down. I’m sure that on a quiet, inbound train, she could hear that it was Rick Astley. It was written all over her “I hate you for being alive” face.

But I didn’t let her shame me into turning it down. And when the song ended 3:36 seconds later, I proudly hit the back arrow to play it AGAIN. No, “I hate you for being alive” face girl. You’re not going to get inbetween me and my unintentional quasi rickroll. I was going to enjoy every sweet Astley moment whether you judged me or not.

But then the train ride’s over. And you come out of McPherson Square to see traffic backed up on both I Street and K Street and realize what’s coming. And you need some Rick Astley to make it better again.

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Today’s edition of “I <3 the ’80s” is dedicated to my friend Eric. After a few months, Eric and I had the chance to catch up a little today over IM. We talked about work (both of us in are newspapers), friends from 10 years ago (where are they now?), some of the craziness he saw when he tried to vote in New York City. Eventually, the conversation got around to him asking, “So, are you happy in DC? Is this what you thought it would be?”

I paused for a minute before I answered.

“No, it’s really not. But that’s not a bad thing. This certainly is as far from where I thought I’d be at this stage in my life as it could be.”

I love:

The oddly uncertain energy in the air here. It doesn’t really feel calm to me. I like chaos.

My job. I love what I do. I’m having a great, great time doing it. I’m starting to feel like I’m growing into it, I’m making friends, I’m learning more every day.

WTOP. Sure, it’s no 1010 WINS, but for our nation’s capital, it’ll do just fine.

Having that 45 minutes at the end of the day to be alone in my thoughts on the train. It’s a good way to shake off the work day so I don’t bring it home with me.

The future. Who knows what it holds here. That’s what’s exciting. For the first time in many, many years, I feel like I don’t know what’s coming next and it’s actually put a little spring in my step.

I don’t love:

Honking. Seriously, people. Honking all the time. I promise you nothing has ever happened faster because you lay on the horn. Trust me on this one.

Everything costing twice as much as it did at home. That’s mostly because I’m cheap.

Four words: Fourth floor walk up.

How much I miss my family and friends from back home. I always said Charleston I could live without. It was the people IN Charleston that made it tolerable to me.

Maryland taxes … on everything.

All in all, I don’t know what I was expecting when I made a snap decision with absolutely no forethought that sure, I’d pack up the only life I’d ever known to carve out a brand new life in a place that twice as many people in the metro area than my entire state had. But now that it’s been almost six months since I made the jump, I’m happy I did. Even if my time in Washington is short-lived, I’ll always look back on how much I learned and grew during this time and how thankful I should be that I had this once in a lifetime chance to see what I could do here. I could have taken the easy way out and been afraid and happy in complacency, but I decided to hell with being satisfied with “just enough.”

I did it. And some days, I’m actually good at it. And some days, it feels like it’s the same as it ever was.

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Today’s “I <3 the ’80s” takes a bit of a twist to share B-Dub’s contribution. In today’s edition, we’ll show you two videos: The original … and then if the video just said exactly what was happening.

First, the original, classic video “Take On Me” by A-Ha. Easily one of the most spoofed and replicated videos ever.

Now … if only they were actually telling you what was going on …

I gotta be honest, I could get used to videos telling me exactly what was going on rather than leaving it up to interpretation.

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This is among the first videos I can remember seeing on MTV. When I was growing up, my hometown didn’t have cable to speak of, but my aunt and uncle had a satellite … and teenage sons. I’d spend my summertime afternoons at their house swimming in the pool, putting on plays we’d write for each other and watching MTV. I remember this video and the first time I saw it like it was this morning. I can smell the chlorine from the swimming pool and the goosebumps from coming into the air conditioner.

This is just a fun song, too. There’s nothing you can’t love about this one.

A re-post for great radio

I finally got into this station this morning when I got to work, but Paige couldn’t have nailed it better.

Shoutout: Radio from the great beyond

Tune into this and thank me later. There’s not a bad song to be heard on the playlist … and if there is a bad song, at least you can take comfort in knowing they won’t make any more.

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I’d be a failure if I didn’t put this one up here.

Ah, the one phone number that everybody knows. Disappointingly, it wasn’t real. However, you can bet that the second I live in a place where my exchange starts with 867, I’m offering to pay extra just to have the number.

they’re on it.

Today’s half-hour of the Mr. Obvious program is brought to you in color by the New York Daily News.

Well played, staff. Well played.

laboring day

Happy Labor Day, everybody. Labor Day, which was created to give the workin’ man a day off, has signaled the end of summer for generations. It’s also one of many holidays that don’t apply to journalists.

Not that I mind being at work on a low-key kind of day like today. I got my copy pushed early and I’ve been uploading to the Web and watching episodes of “Maury” on Fancast.

In a shocking move, this episode also deals with a woman who has about 11 possibilities for the father of her baby. In her epic words of wisdom, she observes, “I din’nt make him on my own, I ain’t gonna raise him on my own.” She then proceeds to beat the living crap out of the guy when he comes out on stage.

Maybe I’m still Mary Sunshine, Pollyanna of the Northern Panhandle, but I really can’t imagine NOT knowing who the father of your baby is. Maybe it’s because I’m good at serial monogamy. Managing ONE man is a full-time job for me on top of actually going to work. I couldn’t imagine trying to throw another one or six into the mix.

Oh … breaking news … You are NOT the father. And I love when they argue with science. “That test is wrong, I know he my baby daddy.”

My friends, knowing as you do that I love trash TV, got any other show recommendations for the second part of the day? Or should I not mix it up and keep on loving the decline of the human condition with paternity disputes?

epic fail

Jessica Simpson continues to prove that she sucks at life.

(Also see the reviews in The Superficial and I Dont Like You in That Way, along with a great one in Dlisted.)

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I can almost promise that 90 percent of you haven’t heard this song in 15 years, if not longer.

You’re welcome. That one’s going to be in your head for the rest of the night.