Jessica C.

I was a very big Enya fan back around the fourth grade, or so. A friend and I even had a lovely, choreographed dance to the song “Orinoco Flow.” Had you seen us perform it, we probably would have blown your mind with our incredible beauty and grace.

At least, that’s how I remember it.

You should read this post by Brainland, and then you should start following her. She is excellent.

I think she’s a she. If not, I’m sorry Mr. Brainland.

brainland:

Some real cool old Polish ladies were driving down the street today in a maroon Subaru, blasting “Orinoco Flow” by Enya.  For those of you who’ve never 1) been in a store that sells hemp-based or blown glass products, 2) closely watched commercials for uncreative Alaskan cruise lines or 3) gotten a massage that costs more than $25 but less than $75, you may not know the song by name.  It is the “Sail away, sail away, SAIL AWAY” song you vaguely remember from your nineties childhood, in which your parents took a $30 bottle of red wine to embarrassingly bougie dinner parties and their orthodontist friends milled around indifferently while this song played.  Your childhood sucked, btw.  For a little help, and some really cool jams, click here.

So, Brainland was strolling down the avenue and thinking, wow, it must be a pretty great life when you can drive around and think nothing of blasting Enya.  When I came upon the car, there was an old lady driving and an even older lady with her, and they were just smiling.  What I wouldn’t give to feel that way.  Totally unaffected, like, you’ve got nothing to prove, so who cares if you play a little Enya?  You can eat pastries all day because your husband won’t fuck you no matter what.  The very worst that could happen is some smug, humorless kidney stone of gentrification like me might judge you.  And I didn’t fucking judge them.  I felt sorry for myself.   

So, fuck this shit, right?  Fuck this life.  I don’t own a car because whatever I could afford would be ugly and stupid, all I care about is what people think of me, and how desperately I want them to like me, and if I so much as look at a cookie, my armfat waggles for two weeks.  You know what I want?  I want to drive lame cars and be old and unattractive and play whatever music I feel like.  I came back here and thought I should dedicate a song to those fat, cool old ladies, wearing their comfortable shoes and just having a great Sunday time.  

But when I turned on my computer, surprise: I’m an asshole.  My whole music library is filled with a bunch of shit that’s there to hopefully impress people on the (extremely) off chance they investigate my iTunes and decide to like me because I listen to Neu! or The Wipers or some shit like that.  No Enya at all.  I let my iTunes library be dictated by people who aren’t even my friends.  But, Brainland can think on Brainland’s feet: here’s “Return to Innocence” by Enigma, which occupies the exact same space in my mind as “Orinoco Flow.”   

What?  Fuck you.