Musings on "Jagged Little Pill"

Alanis Morissette's "Jagged Little Pill" was the first album that I ever felt moved by and loved. It was released in 1995. I was in seventh grade, squarely in the middle of puberty and out-of-control hormones. Yesterday I heard "Hand In My Pocket" on the radio and the memories of this album came flooding back. Let me share them with you.

I asked for and received the album for Christmas in 1995. I have no idea where I heard about Alanis Morissette or why I wanted this music at the time. Maybe I'd heard her first single on the radio? Don't know. Anyway, Christmas of 1995 was spent with my Uncle Bob and Aunt Kathy in their (super cold) South Dakota home. I remember I got the album that Christmas for two reasons: 1) I took a photo of all my Christmas loot, and I can clearly picture the album cover laid out on the carpet, along with a pair of fruit-patterned tights, among other things; and 2) I recall sitting in a room by myself, listening to the music over the stereo, when my Uncle Bob walked into the room during "Hand In My Pocket." He entered the room just in time to catch the line "I'm brave but I'm chickenshit" and he totally called me on it. "Did she just say 'chickenshit'?" he asked, laughing. My cheeks burned bright red from embarrassment to think that someone in my family heard me listening to something that had a cuss word in it! What if Bob told my mom?!? Shit! I mean, shoot!

For reasons I cannot recall, my best friend Emily and I decided to lip-synch to "You Oughta Know." But it wasn't just any lip-synching. We did that thing where we painted a nose and eyes on our chins, then flipped upside down and covered our real nose and eyes, creating a weird little face with an oddly large mouth. Then we performed the song for Emily's mom. Obviously. With such lyrics as "Would she go down on you in a theater?" and "Are you thinking of me when you f**k her?" I'm not sure why we WOULDN'T sing it for one of our mothers.


An example of upside-down singing for you. Nice, right?

Someone once pointed out to me that the last lyrics in "Hand In My Pocket" were "hailing a taxicab." Not sure why anyone thought this was worth mentioning, but for whatever reason, it stuck with me. Even now when I hear this song, I still think about that.

When I found out that the song "You Oughta Know" was probably written about Dave Coulier, I was shocked. SHOCKED. Uncle Joey? What?

The song "Head Over Feet" used to be "our song" to my high school boyfriend and me. Even after we broke up, some of the lyrics still fit our relationship: "It's all your fault."

I was intensely irritated by the fact that all my classmates seemed to think that the things mentioned in the song "Ironic" were actually ironic. They weren't. They were mostly just a bunch of unfortunate instances of rotten luck.

Milo, Meet Eli

I stole this from Emily. It is awfully damn cute. Milo and I shared a hotel room with Emily and Eli during our trip to D.C., and it was so fun to see the boys interacting with each other. I hope that when they are older they become great friends.

J is for Judgment

Sometimes I really hate people. Especially the seemingly well-intentioned yet critical people who exude passive aggression. But let me back up.

Before Milo was born (how many times have I used THAT phrase lately?) I read about the Moby wrap, and I desperately wanted one. The reviews were great. It seemed that once you got the hang of it, it was easy to use, easy on your back, and adored by babies everywhere. And to my delight, I received a Moby at my shower.

But (you knew there had to be a but) it wasn't everything it was cracked up to be. It was difficult to tie properly. It stretched out far too quickly. And whenever Milo was in it, he slowly inched further and further down until I was afraid he'd fall out the bottom. Except when he cried before he even had time to start sliding down, that is. Needless to say, it was not a great success, and after a few weeks, the Moby had been relegated to a pile of stuff that we're not sure what to do with, all the while wishing we had a simpler way to carry Milo around when he refuses to be put down.

Meanwhile, Emily was raving about her Bjorn and how much Eli loves it. She said whenever he goes in the Bjorn, he calms down and stops fussing. I was hesitant to get a Bjorn because I'd heard it can be bad for babies' joints, or something. But my sister used it and never noticed any problems with her son, and of course Eli loved it, and it did look so easy to use...

So I started looking for a used one (these things aren't cheap, people). I mentioned to Emily that I was planning to try the Bjorn, and like magic, she called me two days later saying her mom had found one when she was out at a garage sale, and did I want her to pick it up for me? Yes! Yes, I did want her to pick it up for me! And this afternoon Emily's mom, Judy, brought over the Bjorn (that she had so nicely cleaned for us), and just a few hours later we took it to the grocery store where Andrew wore it to carry Milo while I pushed the cart.

And no kidding, Milo had been in the thing for less than fifteen minutes (ever, in his entire existence) when this lady in the organics section strikes up a conversation with Andrew. I got there just in time to hear her tell us how dangerous the Bjorn is because it cuts off circulation to the baby's legs. "But I'm sure it's not every baby," she said before proceeding to tell us about how she carried all four of her boys in a sling, at one time, all the way up until the 8th grade. Or something. I couldn't quite hear her over the sound of my rage. How dare she tell us how to parent, that we're doing it wrong? She has no idea who we are or why we do the things we do. For all she knows, we could have a sling in every color of the rainbow at home but put Milo in the Bjorn because he has terrible reflux and needs to stay more upright. (Not to worry, he happens to be just fine.)

I just read an article by my favorite blogger about this very topic, and I hope you follow the link and read it, too. After just six weeks of parenting, Andrew and I already feel a little less judgmental about others' parenting techniques, because you just never know. They have their reasons for every choice they make, and chances are, they're just trying to do the best job that they can. And that's all we're trying to do, too. I just wish we didn't have to deal with passive aggressive, judgmental comments from complete strangers while we're at it.

Hi Emo

This morning I got a request from my-best-friend-since-kindergarten Emily to update this so that she would have something to read. So here you go. I’m not convinced that this will be the most enlightening thing to read, but it might help pass the time.

Since I’m writing for her, I’m also going to write about her (aren’t you glad you requested an update now?). I’m going to use my preshus blog space to pimp her loft. Emily and her husband bought a hip urban loft in the crossroads district of KC. They need a renter. Do any of you know anyone in the metro area who is looking to rent a hip urban loft? Could it be you? Or one of your coworkers is looking to move, perhaps?

Emily, if you send me some pictures I will post them. And trust me, people, you’re gonna want to see it. It’s very fun. Reasonable rate. Nice balcony and fantastic landlords included.

Leave a little comment if you’re interested. Or just because.