Love Me, Hate Me, But Can't You See What I See?

You know when you ask people "So what kind of music do you like?" and they always answer something like "Oh, I like everything!" and it's really, really annoying?
It's a pity that the statement is actually true for so many of us. It's so hard to push one's music interests into compartmentalized genres, especially since music in itself is meant to be a form of self-expression and personalization.
(P.S. The title of this post has changed according to what song is currently playing. So far, we've gone through lyrics from Lil Wayne, P!nk, Lady Gaga, Selena Gomez, Britney Spears, Akon, and Lil Wayne again.)
How exactly does one classify one's music tastes without sounding so generalized? For instance, my music library contains varying amounts of:
Goth Rock
Symphonic Metal
Prog Metal
Screamo
Dance
Electronic
Gothic Techno
European Dance/Trance/House
Dance Pop
Country
Country-Pop
Adult Alternative
Girl Pop
Top 40s
Pop
R&B/HipHop
Rap
New Age
Alternative
Soundtrack
Instrumentals
Classical
Emo
World
Audiobooks
(courtesy of my itunes library)

How do I not say I listen to everything? I don't quite understand. So far, I gone along telling people selective genres according to what they might like (for instance, a discussion with Davey Havok would involve "Oh , I really like Goth Rock and Metal, and sometimes Pop." while a chat with Nat King Cole would have "I don't listen to your music in the least, but I like Enya and Classical music.")
Hmmm.
On a tangential note, have you ever heard a song somewhere and absolutely hated it? You go around condemning that song to everyone who mentions it, and groan everytime you hear it.
And then, something odd happens--you've heard that song so many times that you now know the words, and you sing along to the song, and you eventually end up liking the song.
Happens to me all the time, which makes me feel lame.
Oh, life.

--amaranth

Two Children?!?!

My favorite author of all time is Maeve Binchy. Her novels draw you in with well-rounded, realistic, and often relateable characters; believable situations and circumstances, and a touch of magical comfort and hospitality that makes each page a delight and wonder to traverse. To me, her novels are the ultimate comfort, and they allow you to immerse yourself in a different scan of our own real world.

Recently, however, one of her novels --or should I say an element of one-- caused me a bit of a fuss. In the novel "Tara Road", which I have read countless times, central character Ria Lynch and her companions visit, on several occasions, a fortune-teller (palm reader), and are subsequently told their fortunes. Now, this distinct aspect doesn't really phase me; while I don't believe in fortune-telling, etc, I was always totally fine with this in the story.

What caught my attention this time around happened very early on in the book, with Ria as a young girl with her older sister Hilary. Hilary has visited the fortune-teller and is in the process of describing her fate to a very skeptical young Ria:

" "And where did she see all this good health and the fellow called M and no children? In tea leaves?" [Ria said]
"No, on my hand. Look at the the little lines under your little finger around the side of your hand. You've got two, I've got none."
"Hilary, don't be ridiculous. Mam has three lines..."
"And remember there was another baby who died, so that makes three, right."
"You are serious! You do believe it!" "
(Tara Road 4-5, Binchy)

For some reason, the notion of telling how many children one might have simply by looking at the side of one's hand distracted me. Could such counsel hold true? I wondered. And against my general better judgement, I thought I'd check it out.
You read your left hand, that much I know, so when I looked at the side of my left hand just beneath the crease of my pinky finger, I saw two lines. Which, as we now know, means two children.

Now, I believe that this whole children-hand-reading thing was in part fueled by the fact that I currently do not want children at all, and that I was curious to peek into my future to see if my mind would somehow change. Of course, I have no idea of the actual future, since I don't quite believe in palm-reading and I also don't believe in deciphering one's own future.
But still, the temptation was too great, or my will was too weak...so now, after "learning" that I may or may not have two children in the future, I am not really satisified, but rather filled with a lingering curiosity as to whether it is true or not. I suppose this is a lesson for me, something about not opening a door if you can't handle what is inside the room...and a nod to the old saying, "Curiosity killed the cat."

-Amaranth

Runaway

Rhodora! If the sages ask thee why
This beauty is wasted on earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing
Then beauty is his own excuse for being.
The Rhodora, Ralph Waldo Emerson

I'm feeling so incredibly lost right now...like I'm a dying leaf drifting in the wind with no sense of direction. The fact that I'm listening to the sad part of the LotR soundtrack doesn't really help either :P
I just want this time to be over, I want to forget about everything that has happened...I want to start over, in a sense, and make up for mistakes I've made.
I feel like I ran into some relationships (not lovey-dovey ones, just relationships in general) too fast, mainly because I was desperate for social interaction. I fee like I'm reaping the consequences of such decisions now.
But that's the past, and all I can do now is to start over with the future. And stop being so emo ^_^

-amaranth

Lunchables

I came across a shelf of Lunchables in the cold section of my local corner store today, and it was like a flashback to 1st grade. Do you remember those? Bright yellow cardboard boxes with flashy writing proclaiming the covetous contents: turkey or ham and cheese cracker-stackers, and later, the pizza, nachos, chicken nuggets and mini hotdogs and hamburgers. And as if that weren't enough, it came with a drink (usually the ever-desirable Capri-Sun) and candy too! All inside a little box!
As a youngster, I loved Lunchables. My parents rarely let me have them, so a day when I could take a Lunchable to school (or even just eat one at home) was a special day indeed...a treat, if you will. A Lunchable could brighten the very worst of days. And the times when I didn't have one? I would enviously watch the other children who were lucky enough (or so I believed) t0 have a Lunchable most days of their childhoods.
But something I didn't realize then was what my parents (specifically my mother) were trying to do. They knew that behind the excitable packaging and miniaturized delights of Lunchables lay a world of detrimental preservatives and calories and sodium and so much more. They tried, with a fair amount of success, to keep me embedded in the world of home-cooked, healthier foods for as long as possible. And I believe that my mother packed my lunch each day with care and love, something that I oft disregarded (out of youthful rebellion and ignorance) by spitefully discarding my sandwich (and god forbid that she packed ethnic food, because I often felt embarrassed by my little tupperware box with rice and curry when my friends all had ham and cheese sandwiches with crustless white bread).
My mother doesn't pack lunches for me anymore, because I am grown and live away from home. I now eat food that is usually low in nutrients and flavor and high in everything that's bad for you, and I miss everything my mother used to make. I wish I hadn't thrown away all of those sandwiches and little packs of chutney and rice and dal. And I sure wish that I hadn't bought a Lunchable from the corner store, because it reminded me how much I miss some aspects of home.

First post!

So here it is....my very first post!
This is my first official blog, although it is not my first experience in posting in an online journal. I'm not sure if anyone will ever read this, but it would be nice if someone did. I'll try to keep my words intelligent and eloquent...for your benefit as well as mine. But I am inexperienced to a point, so forgive me if need be.

At the moment, I have little else to say, except that life is quite hectic (as it is for the rest of the world). So I'll post one of my favorite poems, the namesake for this blog:

The Rhodora

On Being Asked, Whence Is the Flower

IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

---Ralph Waldo Emerson


Now let us see where that takes us. Good night!