Boyfriend, Thy Name is School.

I have been in a steady relationship for a long time now. Over the past four years it's gotten pretty serious. However, although it's always been something of an emotional rollercoaster (forgive the cliché), I've begun to notice that lately, our relationship has taken on a sort of "downward spiral" motif.

Folks, I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend. His name is School. And he is an abusive tool.

Poetry achieved.

Below is a checklist of 10 items I have established as irrefutable signs your boyfriend is also an abusive tool.

The unfortunate truth to this checklist is that for me, each and every shitty god-forsaken item is followed closely by a resounding "check!"... If anyone has any recommendations for counseling, I welcome them.

And by "recommendations for counseling," I really mean "favorite creative ways to drink vodka."

Your boyfriend is probably abusive if:

1. He makes you feel stupid.
2. He makes you feel suffocated or stifled.
3. He doesn't allow you to hang out with your friends.
4. He intentionally disrupts your sleep pattern in order to better control you.
5. He keeps you around by repeatedly and expertly manipulating you into thinking you still love him.
6. He occasionally rewards your good behavior with small surprises, giving you hope for the future, only to immediately revert to his previous pain-causing douchebaggery.
7. He constantly reminds you how disappointed in you he is.
8. He gets extremely jealous of others, purposely making it difficult to maintain any other relationships at the same time.
9. He drives you to drink.
   
   And last but not least:
   
   
10. He is so expertly manipulative that despite numbers 1-9, your family seems to love him; the only question they ever seem to ask you is "How's School?"

Possum & Taters.

A couple of weekends ago, I was at home visiting my parents, and I was charged with the task of going through our two giant plastic buckets full of old sheet music that we keep hidden expertly behind one of our pianos. Lots of them were from the 1930's, and some were even older; there were a few ragged, dusty scores from over a century ago that had faded until you could barely see the text. Pretty neat shit, right?

Well, as it turns out, old sheet music covers are a hoot. Witty, racist, and delightfully bawdy. Not unlike your grandmother.

Anyway. Here is a collection of some of my favorite findings. Also captions, because I love captions.

She keeps needing to be reminded, I guess.

 

...Bastard.

Yeah you do, slut.

The lady's ankles have been censored. This is a family blog.

 Cute dog.

 This one's title made me chuckle, because it's a little strange. But a few seconds later, I noticed the baby doll's face:

And then this Carl Orff clip played in my head and my own face melted off.

Yeah right.

Get jiggy wit' it?

Sorry, bro.

 

What delighted me about this one was actually the titillating nature of that bell-boy:

"Mmmmmmmadame."

I couldn't decide between two captions: "The murder weapon?" or "Cash only."

 

T-t-t-TODAY, JUNIOR.

I had no idea black people had such ruby red lips in the 30's.

 "Help me itch my butt."

Just... just take him.

Well, they're very different from the gay 2000's.

Yes. It's a real dish. I googled it. It's also what musicians think black people eat.
Behold, the close-up:

You're darn tootin'.

The birth of peer pressure.

Imagine breaking the news to your boyfriend that you're pregnant in this decade.

Real women get post-depression kinky.

And finally, this last one made me chuckle; not because of its off-color nature, just because I like to make fun of inanimate objects.

So like... South Carolina?

Just a Normal Day at Home.

Once, a few years ago, my dad told me a story that sort of... opened my eyes to the unwavering chaotic hilarity that is my parents' house.

My dad was sitting with my Uncle Phil on the front patio, having a beer in the adirondack chairs and exchanging increasingly more witty and less appropriate middle-aged man banter. I can only assume it was also a sunshiney Saturday afternoon... but maybe not. There were probably birds chirping though. At least in my version.

Anyway. The conversation went something like this.

Dad: You know, nothing exciting ever happens around here.

Phil: ...What are you talking about?

Dad: It's boring, nothing exciting ever happens!

Phil: Okay. Let me tell you what's happened in the past two minutes we've been sitting here. The big dog [Snuffy, our late border collie] has been carrying around that tennis ball chew toy thing of his. The little one [Lily, our late Boston terrier who developed cataracts and subsequent blindness, grey hair and bald spots, papery-thin ears, and extreme breathing problems in her older years] has been growling and snorting and holding on to the same chew toy with her teeth while her feet hang about three inches off the ground, and the the big dog has been running FULL TILT back and forth across the patio with her. MEANWHILE, the fluffy one [Rocky, a blond pom-poo who bears an uncanny resemblance to a toilet brush, who is alive and kicking and is also a total asshole] has been following them, barking at the top of his lungs, and trying to MOUNT Lily while she hangs on for dear life to said chew toy. This has been going on for several minutes. And you say nothing exciting ever happens here?

Dad: (pause) ...Well that's not exciting, it's just normal.

Ahh. Ladies and gentlemen, just a normal day at home.

And for your relevant enjoyment, my most recent photo of Rocky in his element.

My Mother's Reaction to My First-Ever Homophobic Slur.

I love gay people. My uncle is gay and awesome, as is his self-proclaimed "gay lover." One of my greatest and longest-known friends is a lesbian. I am a pianist so I am constantly surrounded by delightfully (and often superfluously stereotypically) gay men... mostly vocalists. And there are plenty of other examples.

That being said, thanks to Louis C.K. -- perhaps the funniest man in my life -- I've been saying the word "faggot" a lot. (I've also been screaming the word "faggot" a lot out of my best friend's car window whenever we go anywhere.) Only in the right company, of course, and only by itself, not in sentences. Because it's just such a darn funny word. Faggot.

Which is why today, I'd like to share with you the reaction I got from my mother when I was 10 years old and said the words "George Bush is a faggot" at the dinner table because I'd heard an older kid say it at school:

Actual video. I'll never forget it.

20 Ways Your Sex Life is Like Music.

Warning: self-important cliché alert.

Today I was thinking (against my better judgment), and I realized that life -- or, more specifically, sex -- is, in many ways, like music. (Told you.)

It doesn't matter whether you're a musical being with nimble fingers and a perfect ear, or a tone-deaf business major with the pitch recognition of Helen Keller. It doesn't matter if you think "Ride of the Valkyrie" is actually called "Kill the Wabbit," and it doesn't matter whether or not you actually are a pretentious and/or classically trained douchebag (and by that I mean "musician"); whoever you are, the concept of music can (and will now) be crudely fashioned into an analogy for your sex life.

Examples, you ask? Why, surely.

1. Practicing by yourself is a lot easier than practicing in front of other people.

2. The fact that your piece is longer than someone else's doesn't make it any better.

3. On that note, painfully long pieces with multiple variations and repeat signs are impressive at first but, ultimately, can be exceedingly boring to play. No one is interested in performing a piece that never finishes.

4. The best duets are the ones that finish at the same time.

5. In a good trio, everybody gets to play a part. No one likes to be left out, and they look really awkward just sitting there next to the other two performers not doing anything.

6. If you're going to learn to play an instrument, it's often best to select one that isn't too big for you. There's a reason you've probably never seen a 4'11" girl play the tuba.

7. If you play loudly at 3am, your neighbors will probably hate you. Unless you sound really, really good. And if you're lucky... jam session.

8. Clean up your mess. Nothing worse than walking into a room after someone's emptied their spit valve all over the floor.

9. Lubricate your bow. This is very important; nothing worse than a dry, scratchy bow.

 This man is not enjoying your performance.

10. It's important to be open to new ideas. When someone asks you to try doing something differently, it won't do to reply with "but this is how I learned it."

11. Try not to get too frustrated. This leads to shoddy technique and sore fingers.

12. You can't rush through music. If you do, you'll miss important subtleties that are an integral part of the, um... ahem. Piece. The whole ordeal will be over too quickly, and you (not to mention your audience) will be left wanting. Also, depending on the complexity of said piece, you run the risk of experiencing stress-induced heart failure or, in extreme cases, shitted bedsheets. I mean, pants.

13. Details are very important. Focusing only on the big picture with a "just get 'er done" mentality makes your performance bland and unoriginal, and it indicates to others that you aren't invested (or skilled) enough in your work to fine-tune. In other words, you are lazy and boring and nobody wants to... listen to your music.

14. There are trained professionals out there who know what they're doing a hell of a lot better than you do. Don't beat yourself up if you can't immediately rise to their skill level. Living in a constant state of self-loathing and disappointment will only hinder your improvement with future audiences.

15. Got stage fright? Alcohol is not the answer (with the exception of a few rare cases). In this analogy, "stage fright" is the rough musical equivalent of "whiskey dick." Neither of which will likely be improved whatsoever by tequila shots.

16. A rush of adrenaline will often cause you to frantically pick up the pace until you are cramping and sweating and spiraling out of control. If this happens to you, take a moment to regroup before you throw out your back (or break somebody's furniture). This isn't a race. Seriously. It's not.

17. Be open to different performance styles. Sometimes solo concerts are just as fun as those featuring an ensemble.

18. It's okay to swear loudly while practicing. Nothing wrong with a little emotion. However, depending on the venue, sometimes less is more.

19. If you're a one-trick pony whose main event is the chorus of "Hey There Delilah," I promise you, you won't impress any girls that have even a shred of musical experience. Nope -- not even the ugly ones.

20. It's okay to make funny faces when you're playing music. Don't be deterred by the fact that members of your audience will probably talk about your faces amongst each other later, and probably perform their own renditions of them for each other's amusement.

There are a number of common faces you will see over the course of your musical career.

• The over-concentrator:
  

• The over-eager:

• The easily frustrated:
   

• The excessively responsive:

• The one who doesn't actually seem to be enjoying the music:
  

• And, of course, the musician who sweats too much:
  
  And will, apparently, kill and eat you for afters.
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  In conclusion, my fellow artists, I wish you luck on your musical quest. And remember: use protection!

  
  

  

  And don't be afraid to go ribbed.