Bedtime, pie-eating contests, and butter substitutes

I decided to start a list of good songs.

It started as a digital list, housed on my phone. I thought it'd be perfect since at any time the urge struck, I could modify, add, and subtract from the list. Usually it happens in the middle of a run or on the bus when it's freezing, neither of which are good times to add songs to a list.

It felt wrong. It felt like blasphemy. My thumbs struggled to type in words like Styx and Beatles, sharp text on a jarring neon background. Words like that should be written on dry paper with yellowed edges and a stub of a pencil with half an eraser.

Eventually I found suitable material, worthy of keeping a record of songs that I deem to be Good. It was a scrap of red construction paper, one torn edge, faded from the sun near the top where the corner curled under. I found a red pen with ink globbed at its point, so the first marks leave a bump of blood at the beginning of each first letter, and are then flattened by magazines and bills stacked on top later.

The list is growing, slowly. It had a good start, initially formulated by a burst of energy where the same handwriting made each addition seem like a border of a puzzle. Soon I'll need to fill in the inside pieces with creamy, thick songs that ooze when you squeeze them with both hands and make you think about your life or what it was like to be a child. As I enter a new phase of adoration for rock and roll made in the 1980s just like I was, it might look completely different from when it was started. When it's done, the list will read like a disjointed photo album that fell apart and was hastily reassembled by someone's Grandmother.

It's not ready yet. Right now it's got the standard litany of Beatles songs, most of the soundtrack from Death Proof, and a number of electronic songs that belong to bands with dumb names. What it probably won't be is a way for deep introspection into my soul, where you can read it like a journal entry from five years ago in an attempt for self-reflection. It will end up being messy, shallow, and dirty, but the impeccable penmanship will redeem its validity as a list of Good Songs.