I'm not a Regina Spektor fan. I can't be: I lack the necessary equipment, namely a vagina, and I am far too self-aware to not feel silly when I listen to the majority of her music. Years ago, when I was barely a teenager and spent a lot of time hiding under my comforter contemplating the never ending pit of sorrow manifesting itself in my navel, I probably would have loved her a lot. As it is, though, she just makes me feel kind of silly. If someone caught me listening to a Regina Spektor record, say, my mother or father came in the room without knocking first, I would feel the same amount of shame that I would if my cock was in my hand and I was pounding at it with the utmost furvor while clown porn lit up my face with whites, reds, and pinks. Hell, perhaps Regina Spektor would bring me more shame.

Regardless, I gave her live show a very nice review, and mentioned in it how this was the song that really got to me, really pulled at my heart strings, and for about a month or two afterward hearing it was enough to bring tears to my eyes. It still kind of does.

I don't have much to say about this song. It is oblique and sad sounding. I was contemplating reposting something I wrote on my personal site, because the mood between them is similar, but I won't paste it here. If this post isn't enough reading for you, I recommend that you check out what I wrote last night in defense of suicide and Andrew Koenig.