Is it Meta or is It Crazy?
My best friend Anna came running into the bar last night powered by excitement.
“Rachael, Rachael, I’ve been validated! I’m talented!”
My best friend Anna is a folk singer so I asked, “Did you get a record deal?”
“No, no better.”
“Have you been booked at the Newport Folk Festival?”
“No, shut-up. It’s not like that.”
“You’re going to be on TV?”
“Stop! No.” She paused for second. “TV? How is that validating there are 500 channels out there mostly filled with crap. No, it’s not that. It’s a true testament to my talent as a singer. Boys I once dated still check out my music. Dudes, who want nothing to do with me can’t get enough of my art. Some of them even disguise themselves so that I won’t know they’re watching.”
“This is your validation? Now you’re confident in your abilities as an artist? Not that other people seem to shut up and listen as you play?”
“Rachael, those strangers who shut-up and listen might just be being polite. But what other reason does a dude I had a one night stand with a year ago have to check out my music other than it fucking rocks.”
“Folks.”
“My folk music rocks.”
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about that Gary guy who wound up being a tool?”
“Yeah, he’s one of them.”
“Didn’t you write a song about that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t he find out you wrote a not-so-flattering song about that night?’
“Sure.”
“So maybe he’s checking out your stuff, on the down low, to see if you written anymore stuff about him.”
“What! That’s crazy. Why would I write anything else about him? It was one night a year ago. What would I possibly have to write a song about? A longing, pining, love song of me wanting to rekindle awkward making-out on a couch?”
“I’m just saying.”
“What you’re saying is stupid.”
“Well, you’re writing about it right now.’“No, Rachael, you are. This is your blog. I don’t have a blog. Besides he’s not the only one. I could have sworn I saw another dude from my dating past standing in the back of the music hall with a big hood over his head.”
“A big hood?”
“Yeah like a monk’s hood. I forget what you call those things.”
“And you’re sure this guy in the back wearing a cloak is someone you went out with?”
“I would know his posture anywhere. The point is I’m awesome!”
“The point is your work is very personal and these ego-maniacs are hoping you think of them and write about them still!”
“That’s stupid I haven’t dealt with these people in forever. It’s my music that draws them.”
“Fine. You’re very talented. You’ve been validated. Let's just hope they don't over hear you in this bar screaming about it, and get all self-conscious about being a fan and then you lose them from your fan base.”
“How would they hear me?"
"Maybe they're stalking you?"
"They're not stalking me they're just fans. Normal fans whom I've made-out with."
"Let's hope they don't read my blog in hopes to find out more about you and your music."
"Rachael, if they do we'll never know."
“Rachael, Rachael, I’ve been validated! I’m talented!”
My best friend Anna is a folk singer so I asked, “Did you get a record deal?”
“No, no better.”
“Have you been booked at the Newport Folk Festival?”
“No, shut-up. It’s not like that.”
“You’re going to be on TV?”
“Stop! No.” She paused for second. “TV? How is that validating there are 500 channels out there mostly filled with crap. No, it’s not that. It’s a true testament to my talent as a singer. Boys I once dated still check out my music. Dudes, who want nothing to do with me can’t get enough of my art. Some of them even disguise themselves so that I won’t know they’re watching.”
“This is your validation? Now you’re confident in your abilities as an artist? Not that other people seem to shut up and listen as you play?”
“Rachael, those strangers who shut-up and listen might just be being polite. But what other reason does a dude I had a one night stand with a year ago have to check out my music other than it fucking rocks.”
“Folks.”
“My folk music rocks.”
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about that Gary guy who wound up being a tool?”
“Yeah, he’s one of them.”
“Didn’t you write a song about that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t he find out you wrote a not-so-flattering song about that night?’
“Sure.”
“So maybe he’s checking out your stuff, on the down low, to see if you written anymore stuff about him.”
“What! That’s crazy. Why would I write anything else about him? It was one night a year ago. What would I possibly have to write a song about? A longing, pining, love song of me wanting to rekindle awkward making-out on a couch?”
“I’m just saying.”
“What you’re saying is stupid.”
“Well, you’re writing about it right now.’“No, Rachael, you are. This is your blog. I don’t have a blog. Besides he’s not the only one. I could have sworn I saw another dude from my dating past standing in the back of the music hall with a big hood over his head.”
“A big hood?”
“Yeah like a monk’s hood. I forget what you call those things.”
“And you’re sure this guy in the back wearing a cloak is someone you went out with?”
“I would know his posture anywhere. The point is I’m awesome!”
“The point is your work is very personal and these ego-maniacs are hoping you think of them and write about them still!”
“That’s stupid I haven’t dealt with these people in forever. It’s my music that draws them.”
“Fine. You’re very talented. You’ve been validated. Let's just hope they don't over hear you in this bar screaming about it, and get all self-conscious about being a fan and then you lose them from your fan base.”
“How would they hear me?"
"Maybe they're stalking you?"
"They're not stalking me they're just fans. Normal fans whom I've made-out with."
"Let's hope they don't read my blog in hopes to find out more about you and your music."
"Rachael, if they do we'll never know."
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