I previously posted about what I/we thought of as the best album of the last 20 years.

What do you think is the best and/or your favorite album of the last 20 years?

This month marks the 10th Anniversary of Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over the Sea. Perhaps the greatest album of the last 20 years, Jeff Mangum’s magnum opus still manages to monopolize my heart more than any other album I own (or have heard). The intimacy, the warmth, and the genius that were evident the very first time I listened to the album are no less striking when I listen to it now. Ostensibly, it’s a concept album “about” Anne Frank. To me, it’s about finding comfort within your own isolation.

I can’t praise this album enough. In fact, the name of this blog is a quite obvious reference to my favorite song on the album–”Two-Headed Boy.” In my mind, Aeroplane is as beautiful as music gets. If I were stuck on a deserted island, this is the one album I’d want to be able to listen to over and over. When I die, I hope the title track is being played softly through speakers somewhere:

And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly
From the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see
Love to be
In the arms of all I’m keeping here with me

I can’t put my finger on the beauty of this album. I can’t point to the one thing that distinguishes it from other great albums. I mean, who would’ve thought that my favorite album would contain the repeated lyrics: I love you Jesus Christ/Jesus Christ I love you/Yes I do. In some ways, you can look at this album from a religious (Christian) perspective. But in other ways, you can look at it in the full absence of God. I think when we’re lonely and isolated and on the verge of tears because we don’t know where we’re at…I think at those times, we look for something beyond ourselves that offers solace. Some people look to Jesus Christ for that comfort. I look elsewhere. In The Aeroplane Over The Sea is one of those places that I look.

It seems Jeff Mangum and Neutral Milk Hotel have faded away to never be heard from again (see Slate for an account of Mangum’s vanishing act). Certainly, I wonder what could have been. But, I’m more than happy with what was. I continue to be.

File this one under “Overanalyzing Shit to Death:”

Earlier this afternoon, a coworker stopped by my cubicle. He peered in at me for a moment. “Are you losing weight?” he asked.

Okay. If you know me, you know that this is one of my least favorite questions in the world. I’m that weird person who doesn’t take this as a compliment, which tends to create a sticky situation when it comes to responding to such a query.

The normal response would be, “thank you.” But I see no reason to thank someone for thinking I’ve lost weight. People lose weight all the time. It’s not like, some big moral triumph or anything. You just weigh less than you did before. Big deal. And, of course, the rather insulting implication is that you look better now than you did before. Even if I have lost weight (which I don’t think I have, and wouldn’t know anyway because I haven’t weighed myself in years), I still think I looked pretty good before.

I appreciate the intention behind the comment, I truly do, but why do people think that the best way to compliment a woman is to ask if she’s lost weight? That seems so bizarre. I’d much rather be complimented on my intimidating intellect or devastating wit. I’d even rather be complimented on my choice of shoes, which are quite wonderful today, if I say so myself.

Yeah, if I say “thank you” to this, I’d just be giving into The System. I’d be implicitly endorsing a culture which values a woman’s appearance above all else.

All of these thoughts flew through my head in the span of just a few seconds. Meanwhile, my well-intentioned coworker is still standing there, waiting for a response. So what did I end up saying?

“Thank you.” Arrggh.

I know I’ve been watching too much television when I catch myself, in the middle of class, thinking intrusive thoughts about school shootings. Ever since that shooting at NIU a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been somewhat obsessed. Each time I hear loud voices or a slamming door somewhere down the hallway, I jump just a little in my seat.

Sometimes, I even find myself formulating escape plans. I wonder if that closet is unlocked? Should I flee out the window, or simply duck under my desk and hope for the best? (Since my classes are all on the second or third floor, ducking under my desk is probably the better option.)

I really need to quit watching the news before I turn into one of those pitiful old ladies, too scared to leave her home.

I’ve been wrestling a lot lately with a most persistent and annoying thought – no matter how much I learn, how much I’m exposed to, it will never, ever be enough. Equally irritating is the realization of my own ignorance. In fact, the more I learn, the less I feel I actually know. I’m overwhelmed by the thought of all the books I haven’t read, the films I haven’t seen, the music I haven’t heard, the subjects I haven’t mastered. Worst of all is the knowledge that no matter how hard I try, I will never even come close to experiencing all that I want to experience. It’s kind of like when some dumb little cartoon character steps into a tunnel, and the tunnel suddenly stretches out before the character into infinity.

That’s pretty much how I feel.

In addition, I’m obsessive (or unconfident) enough to feel that unless I know every last detail of a particular subject, I’d just be embarrassing myself by discussing it with anyone. It pisses me off that there are so many people in this world who seem to think they’re experts on everything. They have it all figured out. They know this with absolute certainty. And no matter what anyone says, it will likely never cross their minds that they could be wrong. (Sadly, many of these folks seem to be running our country.) While I don’t envy their obstinate stupidity, I do sometimes envy their confidence. I’m the kind of person who constantly questions herself, and everything else in the world, often to the point that her feeble little brain feels like a jumbled mess of confusion. I mean, who knows? Maybe these people I just pegged as bull-headedly clueless really do have it all figured out. Maybe they are right about everything.

At the same time though, I like all of the doubt and uncertainty. As frustrating as it can be, I don’t want to feel like I have all the answers. If you feel like you have it all figured out, then what’s the point of living? What’s the point of anything?

These were all thoughts I kept returning to while researching my latest paper on political rhetoric. I spent about a week thinking about little else than the state of discourse in this country (or what passes for discourse, anyway). I thought about how often we see two sides bickering rancorously, each convinced that they alone have a monopoly on answers. And not only is the other side wrong, they’re Bent on Destroying Humanity as We Know It.

That’s so depressing. And what’s even more depressing is realizing how often I slip into such ridiculous, narcissistic, intellectually lazy rhetoric myself. It’s easy to demonize the other person in an effort to make you or your position seem superior. It’s a little harder to try and understand where other people are coming from, rather than trying to ensnare them in a never-ending game of “gotcha.” It’s just not as much fun to try and see the other side as something more than a caricature of everything you hate.

So where to go from here? I don’t know. I guess I should probably vow to tone down my own rhetoric on this blog and elsewhere. I should strive, beginning right now, to be cooler to other people. However, I suspect that it would just be another instance of writing checks my ass can’t cash. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a complete and total hypocrite, but I’m trying to be better.

So, yeah. Kumbaya and shit.