#shit you keep

No one needs a scholarly dissertation about Turkish psych-folkie Selda Bagcan... well actually there's a large percentage of the WFMU record fair lurkers that would have appreciated it at some point--probably before they got into Ethiopian Minimal Electro or something. If you want to get the background on Selda, just lurk the web or email her as her personal site has that info if you so desire.

This album is one I stumbled on in a bar during my horrific "Gin Phase." For those who don't know, gin turns me into a mix between Don Draper and Ric Flair. If you aren't getting the pop culture references or were born in the '90s and have no clue who The Nature Boy is, it's a combo of two cocky assholes, but one is a wrester with a "finishing move" and the other... I mean he's really good at being a prick. 

At that point when things feel fuzzy and the air pressure in a bar on a cold night feels like that of an airplane, sounds get familiar. Everything vaguely bounces around your ear cavity differently. Yes, this is because you're fucking drunk, but that's not a bad thing. For the most part, this is a good thing, as shitty songs by the Bee Gees or Staind become comical, tolerable, or "fun," but on the downside, hearing The Foo Fighters and Dave Grohl's overly emotive "third verse screams" can cause full on bar fights. 

This night was peaceful, despite the Hendrick's saturating my blood, beckoning me to run through walls like Bugs Bunny or just throw candle wax on someone. "Niye Cattin Kaslarini" came on, and if it didn't sound so '70s analog, I would have thought it was one of four million Sun City Girls songs that I haven't heard. Instead of being "that guy," I was able to spot the record sleeve and make a mental note of what was being played, instead of having to ask and either engage in a conversation about rare psych music that I have no interest in or be shut down and let the gin respond to the snark for me.

Much like any Cocteau Twins song, I really don't want to know what the hell the lyrics are or what they're about, the cadence, phrasing, and tone do enough. Besides, it's the worst when you find out something is about a mountain or some object, not this dramatic incident you're imagining in your head that could drive someone to etch sorrow only vinyl via magnetic tape. It was even a mild let down knowing the first line of the song when translated is "Why did you knit your brows." Uhg. 

For whatever reason I chose to write "Selda" in fairly ornate block letters on a Bud Light coaster and stuffed it into my coat pocket, only to be discovered about ten months later, along with a movie stub and a 5 dollar bill. I should remember what the movie was, since I never go to the movies and don't like movies, but I do remember being psyched on the fiver because no one in Brooklyn takes credit cards for anything--it's smart to have a business, yet deny potential sales--and this meant I could get coffee without a trip to the ATM. I was impressed at my typography skills on the Selda Coaster and kept it in my pocket for a few years, eventually throwing it out after a purge of "dumb shit that reminds me of drinking gin."

For a good portion of my life, I hoarded. Receipts, sentimental match boxes, backstage passes, action figures, magazines, rubber bands, rings that don't fit, yellowed T-Shirts that once were white and fit properly, stickers, and just random shit. I even had this habit of always buying some plastic thing out of random gum ball machines when I stumbled upon them with exact change--only exact change. This leads to having a lot of weird shit, that's ultimately just that: shit.

I'm not coming down on the little things we hold onto for the sake of memories or whatever, I just have a problem and overdo it, and if left to follow whatever natural impulses my brain fires off, would keep the lint in my pocket that I found when someone held a door for me or something.

Keep things, I'm not going to stop you. It's actually a good time to think about things, as we all probably got "things" during the last few months of 2013. Appliances, unsurprising books that you requested, and hopefully something thoughtful that makes up for how fucking crazy everyone gets during the holidays no matter how sane they actually are or little they care about them. That's the shit you'll keep and should keep, along with the other things you acquire the other 11 months of the year that give you that little shot of happiness and slight sting of nostalgia when you pull them out.