Resentment: the number one offender

The kind of shit I'm talking about

When I read any E.B. White, I get jealous (and, yes, what a terrible way to start a post).  Maine, they seem to have plenty of money, clever as shit, comfortable in the knowledge he's being wise all over the place.  Then I just realized, listening to the God Help the Girl soundtrack, that I feel the same way about Stuart Murdoch, although maybe switch out "Maine" for "Glasgow." But, yeah: great songs, clever as hell, an audience that respects him, decides to spend five years on a movie and the world then applauds it, and let's not forget coming out into the crowd at Pitchfork and putting eyeliner on some random tall dude during "Lord Anthony."  Christ!  It bums me out - one can only get away with that sort of shit by  being smart as hell and/or Scottish.  I mean, I could, in theory, write a stack of songs that were sort of approximate in theme or quality, but who would care (I should mention that I'm 71 years old)?  Murdoch looks out his window and it's all pretty girls lying on grassy park lawns reading CS Lewis and Patricia Highsmith, I look out my window and it's grown men on kid bikes going to the gas station to get an energy drink and some Kools.