The Fame Monster

I'd like to tell you about how I was whisked away in Lady Gaga's tour bus on Sunday night and only just regained consciousness this morning, glitter still stuck to my eyelashes...but that didn't actually happen. I just fell into a work hole - better known as getting-distracted-right-when-you-might-be-forming-a-good-habit.

Turns out Gaga might not be so fun to hang out with anyway based on this whole Weird Al fiasco. Did you see his blog post on his "Born This Way" parody? Please read it. I've mentioned before that I have a special place in my heart for Weird Al, but doesn't his telling of the tale just reconfirm what a decent and nice guy he is? Seriously. He's just an artist trying to make his art. (Art that has withstood the test of nearly three decades, I might add.)

I like Lady Gaga. I planned to buy her new album, but this is just bullshit. Anyone who can't accept Weird Al parodying their song as the ultimate compliment doesn't deserve the honor. Add in the fact that he planned to donate all the proceeds to the Human Rights Campaign and it's just a disgusting ego trip on her part.

I might be irrationally upset about this, but I just can't abide anybody screwing over the beloved Weird Al. Especially not someone who has risen to stardom by being a completely over-the-top media whore.

Anyway, please enjoy what could have been his new hit song:



UPDATE: In case you haven't heard, the whole fiasco has been resolved! Oh, internet, you are so magical. So happy to know that it was a misunderstanding and kudos to Weird Al for not being nearly as bitter as the rest of us...

Sleepless

I've been having trouble sleeping. I've never been a great sleeper (I wake often and easily), but I typically stay at least mostly asleep for a good 7-8ish hours per night.

The last two nights I think I might have gotten 5 hours of sleep total. Why? I have no idea. My husband is out of town, but this typically has the effect of making me sleep better, sprawled sideways across our entire king-sized bed. (Anyone who says they like to snuggle while they are asleep is lying or insane...or possibly addicted to sedatives that prevent them from noticing how heavy limbs can be when draped across your unconscious body. Snuggling is a great awake activity, but once I'm ready for sleep, you can keep to your side, thanks.)

So yes, I've been up all night, starting somewhere around 12:30 a.m. (I usually fall asleep around 10:30 p.m. because I am old and I get up by 6 every morning) and lasting off and on until around 4:30 when my body decides it would suddenly like to sleep very deeply. If I am treadmilling in the morning - and I've been trying - I have to get up at 5:30 a.m. It's not good.

My only explanation for this sleeplessness is anxiety. And possibly Lady Gaga. It didn't start until I downloaded The Fame Monster and I will admit that "Paparazzi" did run on a constant mental loop last night. Perhaps I am anxious about the fact that I would rather have "Bad Romance" or even "Speechless" stuck in my head all night? No, I don't believe that's what's waking me.

Am I anxious about work? Maybe. There was (again) talk of making me an employee and now that's back on hold again for budgetary reasons, so I do often sit and weigh the pros and cons and wonder what it will take to find a job I just know that I want...if suddenly I could have any career, what would I do? Would I wish myself the courage and willpower to sit down and write finally? Maybe so.

Maybe it's Chuck Klosterman. Come to think of it, I just started his "Killing Yourself to Live" audiobook (audiobooks make my commute so much better) on Monday. The narrator (who is not him) drives me a little nuts, but that's at least partially because I've been listening to David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs for the last several months, so I am now accustomed to having the author narrate.

Anyway, I really like this book. His musical commentary is both irritating and endearing, as rock critics generally are. It makes something ache inside of me. As with everything I like, it seems, I am envious. My inner voice could be a kindred spirit to his narrative voice. I am envious that he learned (or perhaps was born with the ability) to articulate his inner monologue. And I do mean articulate as in it's articulate. Sure, he rambles, but his observations can be witty and fleetingly concise and fully-formed in a way that I have not mastered. To be clear, I don't have rock critic envy, just writing envy.

I wonder how much more I would enjoy books if I wasn't constantly thinking, "Why can't I write like that?"

So it seems we've got career uncertainty, fear of failure and Lady Gaga as possible causes of my sleeplessness...since two are fairly routine parts of my life, I'm going with Lady Gaga on this one. Those infectious beats must have triggered some sort of epinephrine-like response. Maybe that's her super power.