Friday night was spent at a small party drinking far too much while listening to a playlist I'd worked on the week prior with a group of lovely people. Choosing the soundtrack by which you'll be spending your evening is a strange and yet comforting situation. There are too many variables brought on by other people for you to possibly know what the evening has in store. At the same time, you at least know that you'll be acoustically taken care of for the night. Maybe I'm the only one who pays such close attention to the background music that it affects their level of ease with the world. It's one of those things that I can't turn off in my brain, no matter the situation. The neuorsis doesn't occupy much space in my head, but it takes more effort to ignore it than it does to just accept it.
In any case, as "at ease" as I tend to find myself, sometimes I find it easier to be the upbeat and "fun-time Hurley" side of me when I've got a safety net. This all hinges on whether or not the music chosen for the evening goes over well with the whole as well as with myself. When you've accumulated as much music as I have, the task becomes much more complicated. While you're more likely to have enough music that others will enjoy, it's harder to a) pick them out of the mass, and b) narrow them down to a select few. For Friday night, the latter was not so much an issue since I knew I'd need HOURS of music. High Fidelty's rules on the making of a good mix tape are fuzzier when you're working on a general theme of "music to drink and dance to" with a minor in "fun 80's music" and know that you have 5 - 8 hours to work with.
I've been working on a handful of mix discs lately. As much as I disparage those who make a big deal out of Valentine's Day (either for or against it), it always puts me in the mood for songs of love. Sometimes forlorn songs of love lost and long gone, sometimes happy bouncy songs about how wonderful it is to fall and fall and fall. Once upon a time I'd find myself writing poetry in moods like this, now I piece together poetry using other people's words instead. I'm not sure if that's an example of self-evolution or regression. With a veritable dictionary of theme and tone, melody and harmony at my fingertips, I can write epic poems of love, war, anguish, peace, or even just short tales about food. The subtle art of using the poetry of others to express a message is one I enjoy far too much for someone who isn't making a living off of it. I'm comfortable with being my own patron though, as long as I can find people to appreciate my art.