Monday Music: the melancholy dust edition

I had a ton of work today, and was stuck trying to catch an errant signal outside (while the wind blew my fringe into my hair, making my eyelids red and itchy) and trying to figure out the continously failing signal at Starbucks. It is official, I HATE Orange Jordan (I’ll have a post coming up about that soon, as part of a little thing that Jad is doing). The word “annoying” doesn’t quite do the situation justice.

I’m also going to Ukraine next week, probably for a while, and I am starting to feel an entire host of emotions – fear, sadness, anxiety, and doubt about for how long I am willing to put up with the garbage and the swearing outside my window. I don’t want to be apart from Habib either. There is a melancholy cloud of yellow dust hanging over me, so I have to turn up the Verve and go from there.

Lucky Man – the Verve
Run Baby Run – Garbage
A Sunday Smile – Beirut
Everything Old is New Again – Barenaked Ladies
John Saw That Number – Neko Case
Let the Drummer Kick – Citizen Cope
Satellite – Dave Matthews Band
Mr. Brightside – the Killers
Contramundo – Manu Chao
Every Ghetto, Every City – Lauryn Hill

“It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this” indeed. I love Jordan, but I can’t say that it’s easy on a relatively young couple. It’s good to be a writer in Jordan, it’s not so good to be a lover. I hate essentialist arguments surrounding gender, but considering the way we are socialized, it’s fairly obvious that it’s hard on a guy when his girlfriend complains about getting sexually harassed, and he can do nothing short of accompanying her everywhere she goes. It’s hard on the girlfriend too, of course, and it creates a little rift. The little rift is joined by other little rifts. Before you know it, you are shouting across a Grand Canyon at each other.

I have faith, though. Not religion, because religion in this day and age is largely a crass, claustrophobic insitution. Faith is the fire in my heart and the star over my shoulder. So here is “Visions of Johanna”:

“But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles.”

I love you, Habib.

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