The "toughest law in journalism..."
I enjoy talking to people, whether that's on the phone or in person. Really, whatever kind of social connection is available, I'll try to take advantage of it to keep in touch.
The interesting thing that I discovered was the call history log on my cell phone. Scrolling through its record of the previous three months that I've spent in Toronto, I discovered a very thin log of friends. Being all emo at 3 a.m. I obviously decided to tweet about this, labeling it as the "toughest law of journalism" or something else melodramatic like that. Anyhow, the majority of contacts and calls placed and received over the past three months came from people that I don't know. Most of them were people I haven't even met face-to-face. It was weird to think that the most phone contact I've had over the past three months has been with people whose hands I've never shaken.
I'm not sure what enticed me to look at this while I was wandering home. But it is definitely an interesting detail to consider if you're a journalist.
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I've got this ever-growing guilty pleasure for bubble-gum pop top-40 music. Unfortunately spending the summer without my iPod, this guilty pleasure has continued its small take-over because I've been forced to listen to 8tracks and commercial radio.
Anyways, I hate Maroon 5. This distinct dislike for them has existed for a long time. I remember first hearing them in high school and thinking to myself, "wow, these guys are no-talent ass clowns." They have managed to maintain that reputation in my mind with disgusting cellophane-wrapped pieces of garbage such as "Moves Like Jagger."
Then this song hit the airwaves. And I found myself tapping my foot to it. Shortly after, I found myself despising the fact that I actually was finding some level of enjoyment in a Maroon 5 song.
Considering this entry, I gave in to Maroon 5 (only for this song). It's fitting for today.
I'm not going to tell you to enjoy this song. It is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less. But it fits with my mood today and goes nicely with my little cell phone revelation.
Payphone by Maroon 5 ft. Wiz Khalifa
I enjoy talking to people, whether that's on the phone or in person. Really, whatever kind of social connection is available, I'll try to take advantage of it to keep in touch.
The interesting thing that I discovered was the call history log on my cell phone. Scrolling through its record of the previous three months that I've spent in Toronto, I discovered a very thin log of friends. Being all emo at 3 a.m. I obviously decided to tweet about this, labeling it as the "toughest law of journalism" or something else melodramatic like that. Anyhow, the majority of contacts and calls placed and received over the past three months came from people that I don't know. Most of them were people I haven't even met face-to-face. It was weird to think that the most phone contact I've had over the past three months has been with people whose hands I've never shaken.
I'm not sure what enticed me to look at this while I was wandering home. But it is definitely an interesting detail to consider if you're a journalist.
--------------------
I've got this ever-growing guilty pleasure for bubble-gum pop top-40 music. Unfortunately spending the summer without my iPod, this guilty pleasure has continued its small take-over because I've been forced to listen to 8tracks and commercial radio.
Anyways, I hate Maroon 5. This distinct dislike for them has existed for a long time. I remember first hearing them in high school and thinking to myself, "wow, these guys are no-talent ass clowns." They have managed to maintain that reputation in my mind with disgusting cellophane-wrapped pieces of garbage such as "Moves Like Jagger."
Then this song hit the airwaves. And I found myself tapping my foot to it. Shortly after, I found myself despising the fact that I actually was finding some level of enjoyment in a Maroon 5 song.
Considering this entry, I gave in to Maroon 5 (only for this song). It's fitting for today.
I'm not going to tell you to enjoy this song. It is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less. But it fits with my mood today and goes nicely with my little cell phone revelation.
I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?
Yeah, I, I know it's hard to remember
The people we used to be
It's even harder to picture
That you're not here next to me
You say it's too late to make it
But is it too late to try?
And in our time that you wasted
All of our bridges burned down
I've wasted my nights
You turned out the lights
Now I'm paralyzed
Still stuck in that time
When we called it love
But even the sun sets in paradise
I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?
If "happy ever after" did exist
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of sh*t
One more f*cking love song, I'll be sick
You turned your back on tomorrow
'Cause you forgot yesterday
I gave you my love to borrow
But you just gave it away
You can't expect me to be fine
I don't expect you to care
I know I've said it before
But all of our bridges burned down
I've wasted my nights
You turned out the lights
Now I'm paralyzed
Still stuck in that time
When we called it love
But even the sun sets in paradise
I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?
If "happy ever after" did exist
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of sh*t
One more f*cking love song, I'll be sick
Now I'm at a payphone
Man, f*ck that sh*t
I'll be out spending all this money
While you're sitting round wondering
Why it wasn't you who came up from nothing
Made it from the bottom
Now when you see me I'm stunning
And all of my cars start with a push of a button
Telling me the chances I blew up
Or whatever you call it
Switch the number to my phone
So you never could call it
Don't need my name on my shirt
You can tell it, I'm ballin'
Swish, what a shame, could have got picked
Had a really good game but you missed your last shot
So you talk about who you see at the top
Or what you could have saw but sad to say it's over for
Phantom pulled up, valet open doors
Wiz like, go away, got what you was looking for
Now it's me who they want, so you can go and take
That little piece of sh*t with you
I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?
If "happy ever after" did exist
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of sh*t
One more f*cking love song, I'll be sick
Now I'm at a payphone...
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