01/18/04 - "FUCK THIS SHIT" RE-VISITED

So, after being home for an entire two weeks and having alphabetized my tea and having scraped the lint from my electrc fan with a paring knife and so forth, i haven't been able to actually write (i think i've just over-exercised the organizing side of my brain...which weakens the creative side....at least, that's my lame theory/excuse). so instead,
acting as the productive adult that i've become (real health insurance!!! old silver fillings redone with white stuff!!!
financial planning!!! matching mugs!!!!) i finally set myself to the task of sorting through hundreds and hundreds of lyric drafts and
trying to do something with them. Without actually DOING anything, you see...it's a "sorting" process. Oh, bloody hell, yes i'm wanking, but it's a start.
Anyway, I came across this hilarious and rather revealing song, which i never recorded (i don't think), and the music to which I can barely remember.
And I think it will breathe it's dying gasp here, since i'm never going to work on it. it's time came and went.

It was an upbeat little ditty, the words came out fast and furious (not unlike "girl a") and the end, the "fuck this shit" part had kind of a major-key, grand finale feel to it....very broadway and sing-along (think "let the sun shine in").
Enjoy.


"Fuck this Shit"
(written around Summer/Fall 2003)

--Intro--

I’m going to finally write a song;
just once and only play this song
in very small intimate settings
where I won’t end up regretting it.
ok. all right. I’m going to finally do it.
ok. here we go. please know this will be very
difficult for me.

--verse one--

today I faxed the publicist and called up different fedexes
to see which one was open and still close to my apartment.

today I spent at least an hour
putting stamps on presskit folders,
including letters that I wrote to interested record labels.

i’m hoping if I do this now I’ll never write another song
about the boring fucking shit I actually do all day long.

--verse two--

I drove to needham to pick up the execution contracts
(I love that they’re called that) and I got more
minutes tacked onto to our cell phone plan.
I cut some checks: one to the photographer, one for the insurance adjuster,
one for merch and one for my piano teacher.

I spent a couple hours sorting
email into folders and I copied brian
on what I thought was important
and two times just to treat myself I made some tea and surfed the web
for live reviews of dresden dolls shows.

managers won’t be our friends.
booking agents hate our band.
we’re not new york and not LA,
the boston rock scene thinks we’re gay,
and at the end of every day
(it seems like every day’s this way)
we barely even get to play
and this is all i have to say…..

--grand finale--

I quit.

fuck this shit.

won’t somebody save me please?
I am being eaten by the music industry.

everybody sing:
FUCK THIS SHIT!
(la la la la la la)
FUCK THIS SHIT!
(la la la la la la)
FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK THIIIIIIIIIIIIS SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!