Better Man

Hello there. The prodigal daughter returns. I haven’t written an iPod Challenge post in two weeks because I did what I knew I would inevitably end up doing–loving the idea hard, go strong with the concept for a while, then grow bored with it and stop. I’ve lived with myself for thirty-two years. I know how I roll. So, I’ve decided to come back, but on my damn terms! Because I’m an adult and I do what I want!

I just can’t do daily writing that’s based on a structure or plan. If I want to write daily, it’ll be loosey-goosey. This is also why I refuse to take part in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, for those who don’t know what that ridiculous Mork from Ork word is.

Nanu Nanu, bitches!
Nanu Nanu, bitches!

It’s the same idea–daily writing goal of 1500 to 2000 words to make your final monthly goal of 50k words, or in other words, the most poorly schlepped together novel ever. Don’t get me wrong; it’s been done. Shittily, but it’s been done. Look at me criticizing something I’ve never been able to finish! I’m terrible! The farthest I’ve gotten with NaNoShaNaNa is 2 weeks of writing, then I damn the man and give the proverbial middle finger to such ridiculous rules on creativity and stop participating.

Anyway, tangent aside. Music time! Hooray!

I’ve mentioned before I have a pesky habit of ignoring lyrics to songs, or in some cases, misinterpreting them, which in some instances is worse than ignoring because it seems like a bigger form of not paying attention. Kind of the musical equivalent to buying your kids books and all they do is look at the pictures.

I shamefully admit I have taken the lyrics to this song to mean not as intended, but have seen the folly of my ways and now I come here to discuss it with you because that’s what I do best. And in my defense, I realized how dumb I was years ago, and no, by “years” I don’t mean just last week. I really mean years.

The song is…drum roll…”Better Man” by Pearl Jam. Props to PJ for making another appearance in this musical writing series. Your Omaha Steaks gift basket is in the mail. Keep up the fine work, gentlemen.

Okay. Better Man. Here are the lyrics.

Waitin’, watchin’ the clock, it’s four o’clock, it’s got to stop
Tell him, take no more, she practices her speech
As he opens the door, she rolls over…
Pretends to sleep as he looks her over

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man…
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man…
Can’t find a better man
Can’t find a better man
Ohh…

Talkin’ to herself, there’s no one else who needs to know…
She tells herself, oh…
Memories back when she was bold and strong
And waiting for the world to come along…
Swears she knew it, now she swears he’s gone

She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man…
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man…
She lies and says she still loves him, can’t find a better man…
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man…
Can’t find a better man
Can’t find a better man
Yeah…

She loved him, yeah… she don’t want to leave this way
She feeds him, yeah… that’s why she’ll be back again

Can’t find a better man
Can’t find a better man
Can’t find a better man
Can’t find a better… man…

I will now reveal to you all that I may have a slight mental retardation that if it wasn’t clear now, my god, it should be. The line “she lies and says she’s in love with him”? Yeah…totally used to think that in context to the previous line of “pretends to sleep…” that instead of the act of fibbing, as in liar, liar, pants on fire, it meant laying in bed because she was pretending to sleep! You guys, come on! Honest  mistake. A stupid, stupid, stupid mistake, but I totally cotton to it. Finally understanding it was the former version of lying and not the latter made me have a Keanu Reeves Moment: Whoa. This isn’t a sweet love song after all. 

No, Erin. No, it isn’t.

The bitch is lying to her man! This isn’t a touching song about a gal realizing the man she’s with is the bees knees! It’s a horrible cunt of a cunt realizing she’s settling in life and she won’t find a better man to put up with her cuntiness! What a cunt!

That'll do, pig, you settling whore.
That’ll do, pig, you settling whore.

Some of you may be scoffing at me, and that’s fine because it’s definitely scoff-able, but I’m going to share  a story that proves I ain’t the only dim bulb out there when it comes to this song.

This past week, I was given an opportunity to see a local Pearl Jam cover band called the Ten Club. Shameless plug for them: they’re pretty awesome and rock fairly hard. Go see them. End promotion. Anyway, I’m at the venue listening to the band and they start playing this song. I’m sitting next to a fairly cute younger couple. They’ve been canoodling all evening and obviously in a good place with their relationship and are in love and holding hands and sneaking kisses and all that. I hope they die in a fire. Wait, what? So, the song is playing and the chorus starts and Little Miss turns to Mister Guy and I know what’s coming and I brace myself for it and simultaneously feel like mocking her and feel so nervous for her for what she’s about to do.

She stares lovingly into her partner’s eyes, puts her hand on his chest, and mouths along: can’t find a better man. 

Oh god, woman. Stop. Stop it. Please. 

You keep using that phrase. I do not think it means what you think it means. And I should know; I'm Mandy Fucking Patinkin.
You keep using that phrase. I do not think it means what you think it means. And I should know; I’m Mandy Fucking Patinkin.

As the women in the South are fond of saying: Bless your heart. Translation: you stupid, stupid sow.

It was seriously hilarious to me and so awkward because I knew exactly where this poor little gal was coming from. She was all “blah blah blah rest of the song, oh wait, here’s my jam!” then sings into her lover’s face about not being able to find a better man. I wanted to stop her, to pull up the meaning of the song on my phone, but decided against it. She needs to learn the hard way like I did.

Until then, keep living a lie, sweetheart. Chances are you are anyway and just don’t know it, which makes you an ironic figure and that’s what schadenfreude is, folks.

That’s all for now, friends. I’ll make an effort to write more about music because I really love doing so. It’s fun for me, and hopefully, you get a charge out of it, as well. Thank you for your time. I can’t find a better audience.

Ohhh! You see what I did there.

 

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