Filed under: Uncategorized
If I were participating in that February Facebook meme where you post your profile picture as your celebrity look-alike for one month, my profile would not be Camilla Belle or Audrey Tautou or Jenny Lewis (hah). It would be Kaki King.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Animal Collective, Ben Gibbard, Bradford Cox, Britt Daniel, Deerhunter, Feist, High Places, Joanna Newsom, King Khan, Lookaftering, mp3, Pitchfork, Prospect Hummer, snow, Vashti Bunyan
I tried on Deerhunter for size because I have tickets to see them with Spoon and Strange Boys in March, and they fit. This trying-on also caused me to intensely long for the ability to take Bradford Cox into my arms and carry him everywhere. Here’s why I fell in love with Deerhunter: Alex showed me this video on Pitchfork, which follows Bradford Cox around 2008’s Pitchfork Festival. Guest stars include King Khan, High Places, Britt Daniel, and the late Jay Reatard. It’s seriously the most hilarious and uplifting video I’ve seen since Will Ferrell’s Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. I know that you want me to be joking, but I’m seriously not. If there is one useful fact to know about me, it is that I actually adore that film.
Anyway, here’s my favourite track by Deerhunter, “Agoraphobia”. It’s actually one of the few songs penned by Lockett Pundt and not by Bradford Cox, and it therefore retains a far different, more mellow, more spaced-out feel, but it’s a great introduction to Deerhunter for those who have only heard stray tracks. To give you a more typical Deerhunter sound, I’m also going to throw in the album’s title track, “Microcastle”, because it completely changes by the end and really, how can you not love the transition in the middle?
Agoraphobia | Deerhunter
[mf] [buy]
Microcastle | Deerhunter
[mf] [buy]
I just managed to cover my glasses with accidental glitter for two reasons. One, I am wearing one sparkly-ass skirt and two, I just returned from a Valentine-making sesh. Here is the front of one of the few sweet-ass valentines I made. Um, plus my face? You might have noticed, too, that over the past four or whatever years that I’ve been maintaining INDIEchouette, I’ve omitted my face. You can click links to get to my Facebook, MySpace, whatever <<< that way somewhere, but I’ve kept my face out of it. I recently realized, however, that this keeping-my-face-out-of-things has rendered certain years of my life more graceful but completely undocumented in photographs. Upon sifting through my Photobucket for photos of my olde “emo” self (harhar), I realized that I couldn’t really find many. This might be for the better, but I remembered that when I took the ones that I did find, I felt extremely ugly in one hundred percent of them. Looking four, five, six years into the past, I realize that youth is fleeting. I thought I looked ugly then, but I’ve got to give myself some credit. I looked young, and even though I didn’t look the way I wanted to, I still wasn’t unattractive. Just uncomfortable. Now, however…
I suspect that the cycle will continue so that by the time I have gained a mere thirty years of age, I will simply begin to wear a bag over my head. And maybe I’m wrong.
Speaking of thirty years, let’s talk about the thirty-some-year hiatus Vashti Bunyan took from the music industry! I am late to catch on to things, but when I found out that Feist and Ben Gibbard’s “Train Song” was a Vashti cover from long, long ago, I was kind of impressed and excited, because I love to hear covers. I immersed myself in Vashti Bunyan and in the work she did with Animal Collective, and from three of her most renowned works, I surfaced with three favourites.
First of all, you have to love “Train Song” from Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind. Lyrically, there is this sense of anxiousness for the singer to finally see her lover (if this person would still accept the title of lover) after an incredibly long time, and you can’t help but grasp some of that anxiousness too. But if you didn’t listen to the lyrics, it would be a chill and slightly melancholy piece. Feist’s proud voice and Ben Gibbard’s lullaby croon make the cover a real keepsake. Vashti’s got a voice like cotton candy clouds, which washes over the song with an air of effortlessness.
Train Song | Vashti Bunyan
[mf] [buy]
From her work with Animal Collective, I prefer “Prospect Hummer”, the title song from the Prospect Hummer EP. According to ReynoldsRetro, Vashti says of her work on the EP, “My daughter says she can hear me smiling on the title track [...] and I was. I loved having the freedom to sing as I wanted. I was still finding my voice after burying it for years.” That’s why I love this song.
Prospect Hummer | Animal Collective & Vashti Bunyan
[mf] [buy]
And of course, on 2005’s Lookaftering, the track that stands out most is “If I Were”, featuring the harp stylings of sweet, sweet Joanna Newsom.
If I Were | Vashti Bunyan
[mf] [buy]
But I haven’t even told you that I’ve developed a huge crush on Joanna Newsom’s Appalachian voice! Agh. Right now, my favourite is “Bridges and Balloons”. It makes me feel cool and floaty, possibly because somewhere in all that seriousness is a bit of whimsical crazy. In case you’ve been living under a rock, she has a new album due out on the twenty-third of this month, entitled Have One On Me, which sounds strangely drinky and down-to-earth for the country fairy tale girl who wrote Ys.
Bridges and Balloons | Joanna Newsom
[mf] [buy]
Some day, I will take music reviews more seriously, but for now, I will just write from the heart. I like these songs. They make me happy. That’s all you need to know.
Also, if you get bored, you might as well hit me up with questions on formspring.me/almostness, where I am trying to figure out whether or not life has meaning. I am kind of kidding, but I know that truth box-esque formats like this can tend to lead to many interesting escapades. If you have a formspring ID, tell me so that I can pose you some questions. Since I now have a Twitter, a Tumblr, and a Formspring.me, I’m starting to think that I’m almost too tech-savvy. Something is bound to go wrong!
It will snow this weekend in Richmond after last weekend’s humongous catastrophe of a blizzard, and I will not be prepared.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Lewisburg, mp3, Richmond, TV on the Radio, Video Fan
The other day at Video Fan, I heard a series of two songs by the same artist. I had no idea what the artist was, so I asked the kindly female at the counter what she was playing. Answer: TV on the Radio.
EDIT: Ummm Lindsay pointed out that I mislabeled “Wolf Like Me” earlier, so I’ve relabled it.
Wolf Like Me | TV on the Radio
[mf] [buy]
I Was a Lover | TV on the Radio
[mf] [buy]
Last night, I had a dream that I had really wide, hairy legs. In my dream, it made me uncomfortable because my legs are, I think, the only redeeming part of my body. But in reality, I have lost about five pounds just from being home over break. I’m in Richmond now, and I don’t see myself keeping off this weight that I did not mean to lose. This is simply because I lack self-control.
In other news, this is a series of things that do not matter: One of my sisters got a detention, and the other one was sent to sit out in the hallway. How these things happen, I don’t know. For one thing, I never had a detention in all my however many years in grade school. In fact, I never came close to getting a detention. I’m too much of a perfectionist with my behavior. For another thing, my sisters aren’t even nearly bad kids. All three of us are too shy, or too obedient, or too wary of offensiveness to act out in public places like school. Rachael got a detention because she was late to school too many times. Fair enough, because it’s usually her fault that she’s late, but sometimes she’s late because she has to drive my mom to school. The day they wanted her to serve her detention, she couldn’t because she had to pick my mom up from work (my mom works in the school system). Funny how that works.
As for Alexa, the whole situation is out of line. Some kid in her class said something funny, she smirked at it, and she was sent to sit in the hallway for thirty minutes with the girl who forgot her homework. When the teacher came out to retrieve them, she asked them if they knew what they had done. Alexa said, “Sorry, but no.” She’s so sassy when she’s right. The teacher never explained it to her, probably because she doesn’t even know what Alexa did. My sister put on a happy front at school and then cried at home, which is better than I would have done. Behaviorally, Alexa is like me–very prim–but she has an added advantage of charm, which I never had at her age. Her charm allows her to impress people her own age in a relatable way. And work-wise, she’s a perfectionist like me, but she’s more motivated than I am. I think she’s escaped the family curse, and because of it, I think she may easily be the smartest one.
As a dedicated francophile and one who is in love with La Science des Rêves, I listened to Charlotte Gainsbourg’s whispery sophomore album, 5:55 a whole dang lot. Naturally, I was ecstatic when I found out earlier this year that she was due out with another album, which turned out to become IRM. When Alex showed me the video for “Heaven Can Wait,” I was not disappointed. And when I obtained said album, I still remained undisappointed, which is a grand feat for me ever since Rilo Kiley’s Under The Blacklight killed me. It took me a while to get used to Charlotte’s new, very Beck-influenced style (obviously), but I’d say that all in all, Ms. Gainsbourg’s musical career has taken a turn for the better with Beck on board. The percussion is heavy, gritty, and groovy and her voice rises at times from a Jane Birkin whisper to new, messy volumes. And just like in 5:55, she doesn’t shy away from using bells. And it’s brilliantly beautiful. Now I just wish she’d begin writing her own lyrics instead of collaborating for everything she does.
Highlights: “IRM”, “In The End”, “Heaven Can Wait”, “Me and Jane Doe”, and “Time Of The Assassins”, but I’m really in love with most of the tracks here.
Me And Jane Doe | Charlotte Gainsbourg
[mf] [buy]
In The End | Charlotte Gainsbourg
[mf] [buy]
Kelsey, Michael, and I just finished making an AMAZING vegan gingerbread house. Here’s a gallery of photos from our masterpiece.
I got the recipe for the gingerbread from Vegan Dad, and the recipe for the royal icing from here. Maybe later, I will edit this and include the recipes so you don’t need to jump around. For candies, we went to Weis and pretty much cleaned them out.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Why should I join the Vegans & Vegetarians group on Last.fm? I’m not vegan for street cred.
Why is it that many of the people who enjoy the music that I enjoy are often pretentious and inaccessible assholes? Who gives a fuck about celebrity status or secrecy? I’m not cool, but I am more diligently and loyally in love with Miss Jenny Lewis than your way-more-attractive neighbor, and you could hold more of a conversation with me, because I actually think.
I shouldn’t have read Teen Vogue yesterday.
Well, good night all, and I’ll have you know that I plan to write about Charlotte Gainsbourg very very very very very soon to bring in 2010.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Edward Sharpe, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, mp3, Norfolk & Western, NYC, Twitter
I don’t entirely know why, but lately, I have been having some fucked up mood swings. One moment, I am on the verge of crying at the jewelery counter at Boscovs with my dad because everyone there is totally insensitive to the blood diamond crisis. The next moment, I am giddy with delight at the fact that I can eat a tangerine and play The Sims 3: World Adventures. One moment, I am curled up in fetal position because I miss you so much, wondering how I would get on without you if I never spoke with you again. The next moment, I am elated at the fact that I get to go back to Richmond on Sunday. I am deflated because I feel so spoiled at any gift-receiving opportunity, so self-righteous, I hate myself for being warm in my parents’ respective homes, for being able to cuddle with their cats who are held there against their will, or because many other people my age don’t get these comforts. Everything wonderful has some problem, simply because I am able to enjoy luxuries. And technology mostly distracts me and provides temporary relief and more cause for distress. Reading absorbs and depresses me. I want to read. I just can’t bring myself to do it.
One thing I do love unconditionally is giving gifts, though. Holiday gifts are okay, but I really prefer giving spur-of-the-moment gifts, like monthly mix CDs and crafts and love letters and vegan food. No matter what, gift giving always makes me feel better.
The only real solution here is to cut back on playing The Sims 3, Country Story, Restaurant City, and Crazy Planets and to start living unvicariously. I will still write.
I want to take more photos with my Diana+ Dreamer, too. I want to take more photos and get more developed and take photos of my crafts and read more and quote more and live more and cook more and eat more and give you recipes by which you should live. I want to quit eating processed foods. It all sounds like a New Year’s Resolution, but it’s not. I’m just realizing that I’m unhappy. And maybe it’s because I’m home for break, dependent once again. I resent being dependent. I do not resent my friends or my family, but I do resent being dependent on them for everything from rides to groceries to entertainment.
At my dad’s house today, Rachael, Alexa, and I tuned in to the middle part of Into The Wild, which is a movie that I would love to see. It was extremely sunny and beautiful except for the part where he kills a moose, which I have mixed feelings about because it would be okay if maybe he won in hand-to-hand combat with the moose, but he used a gun. And it would be okay, maybe, if he were truly desperate, but he is not. I mean, I know that he plans to eat everything, but there is no compassion in the scene. Even Avatar has some damn compassion for animals.
It was sunny outside of my father’s house, and the sun was making its descent behind the snowy mountains littered with hibernating trees. At that moment, there was no way that I wanted to die. I wanted to drag you out onto the Pennsylvania highway with me so we could look at houses from the roads and take photographs of the Lehigh Valley. I was in one of those moods where I could listen to any song, so I listened to “tinsel and foil” by Paik even though I don’t like it very much even if it is Charlatantric’s favourite song of 2008 or something. Do you ever get romantic like that on car rides? Ridiculously idealistic? Do you fall in love that way? I fall in love on car rides and journeys of all types.
Here’s a song I listened to in the car today which I enjoyed. I got this song from a mix CD that came with a book that I am going to give SOMEone for Christmas when I see her. I wish someone would put this on a mix CD for me. Instead, I will put this on a mix CD for someone else.
My Funny Valentine | Norfolk & Western
[mf] [buy]
Speaking of excellent songs from mix CDs, Kelsey made me a CD of her favourite songs about a month back, and while the whole entire thing strikes me as brilliant and thoroughly playable, this one song stuck out above the rest. “Home is whenever I’m with you.” Yeah, that’s true. Plus, I can’t get over all of the old-fashioned sayings throughout the song. It’s the most beautiful piece of elation I’ve ever heard.
Home | Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
[mf] [buy]
Tomorrow, I am journeying with my amigas to New York City, probably the Village, and I will probably fall in love on the car ride and I will miss you dearly. This travel time will probably clutter my Twitter a little bit. By the way, pleeeease don’t resent me for having a Twitter. I don’t think that anything I tweet is important.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Beyonce, Bitch, Bitchfest, body hair, Britney Spears, Camera Obscura, Chan Marshall, Charlie Kaufman, cooking, CSI, CSI: Las Vegas, Cunt, Eisley, existentialism, fat, feminism, Fleet Foxes, Florence + the Machine, Florence And The Machine, Florence Welch, Frida Kahlo, Gabby Sidibe, george clooney, gray hairs, Inga Muscio, Jenny Lewis, jewelery, jj, Jon & Kate, Kelly Clarkson, Kierkegaard, Kundera, media, Milan Kundera, Milan Kundera & Feminism, mp3, olives, Ouija, Ouija board, RayBans, Restaurant City, skirts, Songbird, Soren Kierkegaard, Tamagotchi, Tiger Woods, VA, veganism, video, Yeasayer
If you want to take the title line analytically for a second, you can gather that being nude allows me to take a moment or two to assess my body. If you don’t want to take the title analytically, then I am just trying to put images into your head. Much like Ali does every time she writes me a letter.
THINGS I AM SICK OF:
1. Inadvertent accusations of fatness.
This rarely comes from people in my life (except sometimes from my roommate when she accuses herself of being so fat). No. More often, it comes straight from the media. Today, Virginia (my roomie) and I were channel-surfing during CSI commercial breaks when we came across some documentary on Britney Spears and how she was so fucking fat during her performance at the 2007 VMAs. Sadly, not only did the celebrity gurus assert that she looked terribly un-sexy in her underwear getup, but Spears herself added that she looked like a “fat pig.” I have a few problems with this. One, I have a “fatter” belly than she does–in fact, those photos of her puffed-out tummy and less-than-toned arms are reminiscent of my own. But I could never rock that underwear getup like she did. I’m too pale (and in love with paleness). Two, I think she looks perfectly healthy and sexy, so what’s wrong? I don’t even want to mention that Spears isn’t acting like a super-good role model (though really, Paige, when does she?) by putting down her own perfectly healthy body, or that the media’s expectations of celebrity women are really just fucked up.
If I got this from you, shoot me words and I will link to your site.
Why am I talking about Britney Spears, though? Don’t you expect me to be talking about some indie goddess? Thing is, indie goddesses don’t give me these sorts of problems. Sure, I’ve been confronted with photos of Jenny Lewis in near-undies and Chan Marshall unveiling her pubes. But the media simply doesn’t comment on their figures, however nice they are. This is probably because they’re not pop-icon formulas. Jenny Lewis does not make me feel bad about my body. The media pressure on female celebrities does. And it puts women in competition, too. I am sick of sizing up other women to determine how much better their bodies are than mine. I am sick of feeling in competition with my own female camarades on occasion. That’s something that I feel should never, ever have to happen. But it does, because instead of accepting many different body types as beautiful, the media accepts one: thin. I’m not arguing, by the way, that thin bodies are not beautiful, or that we should apply pressure on thin women to gain some weight. Thin bodies are beautiful. But voluptuous (I am not talking Beyoncé; I am talking Gabby Sidibe) bodies are beautiful, too.
I choose to fall in love with women such as Jenny Lewis because I can relate to them. She is perfect in her imperfections. We saw her evolve imperfectly in the limelight. She makes mistakes, she writes about them, she is relateable because her goal does not seem to be being sexual or stunning or unrealistically beautiful. Her goal seems to be being. I can do that, too. That’s where the problem comes in for people like Britney Spears. Their goals are unattainable, even for them. Or if they are attainable, they are fleeting. You can’t hold onto a perfect body forever. Eventually, even George Clooney will sag a bit.
Another thing is that maybe it’s just a morbid curiosity, but because everyone is telling me I’m fat all across the board, I have gained this terrible, insatiable interest in the way my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends look[ed]. It’s not to make myself feel good. It’s to make myself feel like shit.
2. Hating on body hair.
If this is yours, hit me up and I will linkety link link link.
I have not shaved since early September [EDIT: My mom has compelled me to shave twice since then]! My legs are hairy. My armpits are hairy. And my mom will flip if/when she learns this information, which is why I have to shave on November 24th or November 25th before I return home for Thanksgiving break. Refraining from shaving has made me a little more comfortable with myself. Body hair is natural, even on women. Why do we shave it? We do it for men because we think men like it. Why do we think men like it? The media projects expectations on us to look like prepubescent girls. Sometimes when I leave my apartment in shorts, I have to prep myself as to all the reasons why I don’t need to shave, but it’s not like I get to explain the political context to people. They just believe I’m hairy or dirty or a crazy feminist without even really thinking about any other possible reasons. I am a crazy feminist, but I’m resigned to the fact that a woman does not need to be hairless to be beautiful, especially if the hairiness comes so naturally. I’m done with fighting my body on that one. Unfortunately, I’m even more resigned to the fact that my mom will not take any explanation for this, and that on the sight of unsightly body hair, she will yell and hand me a razor tout de suite. The only comfort she would probably take in this is the assumption that I’m not getting laid, because what man wants a hairy gnome?
Added afterthought: Who determined that head hair and eyelashes on women are sexy and that every other bit of hair (besides some very specific eyebrow hair) must go? If a woman is completely devoid of any hair whatsoever, she is not sexy. If a woman has lots of hair, she is not sexy. It all seems like a game. You can’t have it both ways!
PS Frida Kahlo is beautiful.
3. Sexist notions in existential novels.
Want.
Male existential novelists are guilty. Do I even need to put the “male” there? It seems like every existential novelist, philosopher, and filmmaker is male. I am an existentialist. I love existentialism. But I am sick and tired of the sexist notions littered throughout the books I’m reading. Kundera says women are sex objects. Kierkegaard says women are not to be trusted. Kaufman writes women as obstacles in life. You can forgive Kierkegaard a little bit because he probably never expected women to gain access to his novels. You can’t forgive Kundera of Kaufman, though. I love them both–Kundera for his animal rights reasoning and Kaufman for his ability to write a kickass film–but I am so sick of this unfair portrayal of people like myself. Not to mention that besides being predominantly male, existentialists are white, middle class, and Christian or atheist. I guess it can go one way or the other with religion. If you’ve found any female existential novelists, let me know!
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the reason I’m pointing this out is that I’ve been reading loads of existentialism this semester because of a fifteen-page essay I wrote and aced on the influence of early existentialists on modern-day existentialists. All of my sources were penned by white, middle-class males.
4. Jon & Kate/Tiger Woods media coverage.
They are simply people living their lives. I don’t care.
5. Not being able to level up in Restaurant City because okay, I forgot to feed my staff, but does that mean that my approval rating should drop?
That's mah homeboi.
I like to give my customers a little bit of credit. Like, if they see that all of the employees in my restaurant are passed out on the floor from sleep/food deprivation (and/or hardcore partying at Erika’s El Paso the night before), don’t you think they’d leave instead of sitting down, waiting for these unconscious waiters and chefs to serve them? Low approval rating means fewer customers, which means fewer experience points, which means it is going to take me forever to get to level 22.
6. Songbird freezing.
Meh. After the latest iTunes update, I’m thinking about converting back to iTunes anyway. I guess Songbird and Vista just aren’t meant to be.
7. Ouija Board.
I can’t sleep too well ever since I found out about my apparently long-present secret roommates, Rubi and Zach.
8. That Kelly Clarkson song.
It is soooo repetitive, SO annoying.
9. Explaining to people that I am vegan.
Since I’m a mild-mannered, gentle, shy person, I generally don’t want to offend. In fact, you could say that part of why I don’t want to eat animal products is that I find them offensive. So it’s a difficult thing for me to explain to people that I am vegan because it is so often offensive. I won’t eat their food, I can’t share their love for cheese, and I don’t find their jokes about my eating habits funny. But I’m stuck on the fence because it’s obvious to me that non-veganism is really the offensive route and deviant and just wrong (morally, ethically, environmentally, and taste-wise), but so many people seem to believe that I am the one in the wrong. Even some of my friends who occasionally declare my journey as noble seem to believe that my dedication is offensive. Or when they choose a restaurant where I absolutely cannot and will not eat anything, it is I who chose to be vegan, and not they who chose an offensive restaurant. Fortunately, my mother has finally accepted my veganism and my nose ring.
10. Jewelery.
Yesterday I had to go with my dad to a jewelery counter at Boscovs so he could exchange some stuff. The people who shop here are ridiculous, and they don’t know or particularly care that the blood of children was shed for their shitty-ass diamonds. Another thing is that I am a fan of handmade jewelery that is askew and imperfect (but I guess it wouldn’t be considered jewelery, per se, because I hate jewels). Jewelery counters sell shit to people who have sticks up their asses.
THINGS I AM NOT SICK OF:
1. Camera Obscura.
T & The Fonz in Philly
Since August, my life has been set to the tune of this Scottish group. I’m not ashamed to admit that I am behind the curve on this one. Camera Obscura is a sixties-reminiscent indie pop band, and they make me feel legitimately amazing. When I listen to Camera Obscura, I’m ready for whatever Monday chooses to throw in my path. When I feel ugly, I listen to Camera Obscura and feel prettier. When I need to brush my teeth, I tune Songbird to Camera Obscura. When I am behind schedule in the morning and running late to class because I can’t find my keys (and little do I know that they are in my jacket pocket), Camera Obscura is the band for me. I am a Camera Obscura kind of girl.
Also, I got the amazing opportunity to see Camera Obscura with Alex in Norfolk the weekend before Thanksgiving and they were awesome, as was expected.
Swans | Camera Obscura
[mf] [buy]
2. Florence.
Florence Henderson.
Just kidding.
Florence Welch. Ali and I have been raving about her for many months now, with that stadium-filling voice, but when I passed Ali the Flo-torch, she took it and ran with it. So now we’ve both got serious lesbian fixations on red-haired women!
Postcards From Italy (Beirut Cover) | Florence & The Machine
[mf] [buy]
3. Fleet Foxes.
There is nothing to say, except that I never talked about them this summer even though they formed most of it with their sweet crooning ever since I heard them in Paige H.’s car while sitting next to Kelsey in the back seat on the way to Knoebel’s.
Ragged Wood | Fleet Foxes
[mf] [buy]
4. Bitchfest!
I read it on the toilet, which says a lot because the books I read on the toilet must be captivating and absolutely cannot be nauseating. Not only does Bitchfest educate me on oft-overlooked feminist issues, but it also teaches me how to write a well-structured essay! I highly recommend this one to men and women, boys and girls alike. And if you’ve already read it, I recommend Cunt by Inga Muscio. BITCHfest made me a better woman, and it will make you a better man, woman, girl, boy, or what have you after you’ve read it.
5. CSI reruns.
I am not much of a television junkie. In fact, this (CSI: Las Vegas, of course) and [adult.swim] are the only reasons I will usually turn on the television. It’s a puzzle.
6. Gray hairs.
I have a lot of them. Maybe I don’t have enough to consider myself a gray-haired individual, but I imagine I will get there before long. I’m excited about them because they constitute a natural change in my body. Plus, how many under-twenties besides Holden Caulfield get to rave about having gray hairs?
7. Black pitted olives.
I think it’s the vinegar in the holding solution.
8. jj.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier. jj is a mysterious Swedish band that makes incredible dream-pop dreamy dream music. And hey, don’t take my word for it. Chris recommended them in the comments section of my last post, too!
It was ecstasy when I heard this song.
Things Will Never Be The Same Again | jj
[mf] [buy]
9. My roommate, Va.
She just asked me, “Oh man, do you write about me in your blog?!” Now I do.
10. Eisley.
Note the velcro shoes.
They are dreamy and melodic and beautiful and even my sister, Rachael, likes them. I wish that Chauntelle still sang. Her name, when stretched to French, practically dedicates her to the singing tradition (chanter). I like to quote them and sing along to them badly.
I Could Be There For You | Eisley
[mf] [buy]
11. Yeasayer.
With such a sicknasty sound and a great Blogothèque presentation, how could one get sick of them? Alex introduced me to them, and now they are a staple in my collection.
Wait For The Wintertime | Yeasayer
[mf] [buy]
12. Vegan cooking.
It always seems like it’s going wrong, but it always turns out so, so right. I can guarantee that I never would have learned to cook this well on my own, even if I were vegetarian. It takes the vegan push.
13. My RayBans.
I was going to get wire-framed cheapo glasses, but the woman at For Eyes told me that my prescription is so high that even with a thinning procedure, the lenses would be too heavy for the frames. So I “had” to get RayBans Wayfarers. While I used to wear contact lenses every day (and night), I now wear glasses all the time. I’m materialistic in this sense, but only because I can see…clearly…in all directions…without my eyes drying up and shriveling within my eye sockets. It’s also been established that I have worse eyesight than any one of my friends. It’s also also been established that I am happy to do a five-second trade with any glasses- or non-glasses-wearer who wants to try on my funny-looking, humongous glasses to try out my horrible vision. I have been told that it’s like wearing drunk goggles.
14. Tamagotchi.
His name is Fart. I got him for 5 bucks at Five Below. I’m sure some of my readers know that I’ve been an on-and-0ff Tama user for years now, especially since my junior year of high school. Well, now it’s on and I am not ashamed.
15. Skirts.
I will wear them for the rest of my life.
16. This.
Presented to me by Nim, who left me a beautiful comment.
I also wanted to tell you all that I love you. Yes, you. I will not leave you. This particular absence was a vacation to stupidity. I will write you more petty things very soon. The whole being-professional thing just doesn’t work for me.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I want to hear from my readers today. Tell me anything. Ask me anything. Give me advice. Ask for advice. I’ll do my best to respond thoughtfully. Later today, I’m going to post a mass music post and stuff, so get ready.
PS If you get the memo late, like if you read this a week or a month or three years late, you can still tell me anything or ask me anything. And I’ll still try to respond thoughtfully.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: backpackers, backpacking troubadours, music, Richmond, sister, troubadours
Mmk, I don’t want to push down the Intimacy Project post or anything, but I just had to tell you two stories. One isn’t really a story. The other is.
The first happened probably two nights ago. I’d just gotten home from a fairly rough hangout and Virginia wasn’t home and I didn’t want to just sit around on my ass in front of the computer. On the ride home, I’d seen this guy a few blocks away holding up a sign saying, “ANYTHING HELPS.” I’d seen this guy before. He was a part of the backpacking troubadours wandering through Richmond lately. When I saw him, I immediately thought of the vegan pasta in my fridge and my birthday money. I knew exactly where the majority of the backpackers were stationed, right by the ATM. I packed up a good deal of pasta in a tupperware container, warmed it in the microwave, grabbed a fork, and set off for the ATM.
I got out twenty bucks and actually considered giving them fifty, but as I walked away from the ATM, some kid asked me for some money for fighting drug abuse by school-age children, and I guess if he’s talking about pot, then fuck that shit, but I can rarely say no, so I gave him five and then walked over to stand a couple of sidewalk squares away from the backpacking troubadours.
I was nervous as fuck. I’m really intimidated by anyone new, but these were people I admired a good deal. I mean, you can first identify them by their backpacks and all-over brownness. They are grody in a way that I love. They have dogs on worn-out leashes with bandanas around their necks. And let me tell you, these dogs are not depressed to be backpackers. They are overjoyed. The backpacking troubadours care about them. The backpackers take them on walks all the time and they love the dogs in a way that most suburbanites cannot understand.
I should also explain that the backpackers are troubadours because they all have some form of an instrument and they play on the streets to earn their money. You see a few guitars, a musical handsaw that is bowed (yes, like amiina and yes, it sounds incredible and yes, Matthew the handsaw player does let other people try it out) and an alto saxophone and singers and a shaker. And they are determined.
I stared at them from a couple of sidewalk squares away for a few minutes, too timid to approach them, but they definitely saw me staring, so I couldn’t chicken out. I walked away and slipped a fifteen into their open saxophone case and they asked, “Would you like to hear a song?!” I replied, “Yeah!” They asked, “What kind of song do you want to hear?!” And I said, “A good one!” So they started playing. I felt awkward standing in front of them for the serenade, so I sat down with them like a few other interested passers-by had. Their sign said, “Dog In Hospital. Anything Helps.”
I stayed for a few songs, which they played energetically. I watched them try to woo passers-by, but it’s hard for them to even get college kids to stop because most are apathetic or maybe shy like me, and most don’t want to part with their money. Sometimes they get frustrated with the people who ignore them, but mostly they just keep playing.
Between songs, they sometimes asked me questions. What’s my name? Where am I from? Do I live here? Do I go to school here? I offered up the pasta, which Matthew, Adam the guitarist, and a few others happily ate with many compliments and shared a bit with one of their dogs. What am I going to school for? Am I vegan? Adam was vegan for a long time. Matthew scooted over to sit next to me and asked me more questions. “You know, that sign is true.” Turns out, one guy’s dog is in the hospital. He contracted Hepatitis A from eating some fish so his eyes are all yellow and he’s in the hospital and they don’t know how much his treatment will cost until he’s actually done in there. How old am I? Have I ever been to Pittsburgh? Philly is Matthew’s town because the black ladies love him. One of the dogs who wasn’t in the hospital came up and gave my face a good licking. Secret: I don’t mind when dogs lick my face, but I never know what to do.
They played a song about a pretty girl who they wished had dirt on her face, hair on her legs, greasy hair, and a stench about her. They sang about fighting the government. They sang about being houseless but not homeless. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Eventually, they began to stand up, I assumed to leave, so I shook some hands and left feeling mighty happy, but also a bit sad deep down. It wasn’t because I pitied them, but it was more because I wished I could have helped them out more by giving them a place to sleep and giving them more food and giving them more money. And I kind of envied their lifestyle. Fighting the system. They’re doing something. I’m just sitting here so comfortably. They have everything they need and nothing more, and they have all the friends they could ever want. The only reason I’d have a hard time taking up their lifestyle is because I have a problem asking for help. But I could learn to play the bells and join another pack of backpacking troubadours. Someday. I’ll start planning now.
The other thing I wanted to say is that I’m proud of my sister, Alexa. I swear she must read this thing.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: body, body image, Completely Naked, Intimacy, nudes, nudity, sex
For most of my life, I have grappled with my body. If I didn’t hate some aspect of my body, then I felt neutral about it. I hated the way my stomach puffed out just before the drop to my nether-region. I hated my absolute hairiness. I hated the shortness of my arms and the roundness of my upper arms. I hated the weird } { shape of my hips and the way I had pudge next to my hips but firmness next to my thighs. I hated my childish hands. But I was neutral about my legs, no matter what other people said about them. I was also neutral about my eyebrows despite my careful landscaping.
Well, I don’t know if she suspected this or if she just wanted to show me something beautiful because we both love photographs and the honesty that emanates from them, but Kelsey introduced me to Completely Naked’s Intimacy project. It was essentially love at first sight. Naked human bodies in more than one form with all sorts of hair, all sorts of shapes and scars and sizes captured in the midst of all sorts of remarkably intimate actions. I saved my favourites to my computer, and I plan to present some of them to you.
What did Completely Naked’s Intimacy project do for me? It made me comfortable with my own body, with my pudgy stomach, my } { hips, my hairiness. After spending a few days basking in the glory of other people’s naked bodies, I felt as though I walked around with the most fulfilling secret that nobody else knew. My clothes may cover me a certain way, but nobody really knows my body as intimately as I do. I think that in one aspect, it’s impossible for anyone else to know my body functions as well as I do–you can’t tell me when I’ll be nauseous or when I will sweat–but on another plane, I think it’s entirely possible for someone else to understand my body on an entirely different scale in relation to them, from the back, in the places that I can’t see. That secret made me smile.
This is the first time in the history of my blog that I’ve seriously thought about doing a jump because it’s “not safe” for work/school, but I just decided that Fuck It I Am Not Going To Do A Jump. I’m not going to do a jump because I don’t feel that the secrets of the human body should be hidden behind a jump. Fuck your workplace’s/school’s standards. This is the human body. Everyone has one. Don’t be ashamed of yours. It’s beautiful. Most of you are going to have sex someday and you’ll be faced with another naked body. Another pair of eyes and/or hands (if you have sex with someone who is blind, which I think I should put on my list of things to do) will presumably analyze your body in a way that you couldn’t possibly understand. I’m afraid that some people won’t read this if I put everything behind a jump, and that’s a shame because I find it crucial.
So here are a few of my favourites from Completely Naked’s Intimacy project. I hope you get as much out of them as I did.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I’m nineteen, bitches! I’ve been nineteen for about two days, actually. And I love my readers. You have brought me back to the blog.
This will be a filling-you-in post.
I don’t know why I stopped writing, exactly. You could say that I went through a rough period in July, which surrounded my last post. And then by the time I’d gotten over that, I’d made a new close friend and I was already moving back to Richmond–this time into an apartment on the edge of the Fan and not a dorm. Virginia and I are roomies! We can cuddle all the time! I also have my own room now, so I’ve been a partial hermit.
Another reason it’s been difficult for me to write is that I also started keeping a journal. I began this journal way back in March, but it’s grown into somewhat of an epic effort. At first, this helped me to keep my most personal thoughts private and organized, but then it seemed that everything I wanted to write about was most personal. Of course, this is no longer the case. I could write about a whole mess of not-so-personal things. I may still indulge from time to time.
I guess I’ve omitted a whole lot of things lately. I got my nose pierced way back in June but I guess I forgot about it. I forget about it most days. I can’t really pinpoint why I got it pierced, except that we were in Rhode Island and it seemed like a superb idea at the time. I figured that I would like the way it looked, and I do like the way it looks. My mother is not fond of the fact that I wear a hoop. Not fond at all.
My sister’s petite cat, Todd, had three babies. I wanted to name one of them Lloyd after the Camera Obscura song, “Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken.” I think I succeeded, but I haven’t even seen Lloyd. I don’t know which one is Lloyd. There is also a Fez (probably from That 70s Show) and a Noah or Nell. Not really sure there.
I’m in three French classes, meaning that most of my weekly credits are in French, meaning that I will gain a bit of knowledge in my subject of interest each week. I’m still madly in love with French, but I’m intimidated by my peers. In French class, it’s not so much competition as it is self-betterment, I guess. You can tell who’s studied abroad by their accents and speed of speech. I’m not sure whether my peers gather that I am timid or just not very fluent. It’s a pretty sudden reversal from high school, where I was pretty fucking rad at French. What is fluency, anyway? I am decently awesome at understanding spoken or written French, but I am also decently shitty at speaking French myself, partially because my language is choppy even if I’m speaking English.
Considering my study abroad options, I want to study abroad for an entire year instead of just one semester. This will be emotionally difficult, I think, but it will be more worthwhile. I’d like to go to a smaller town. I do not want to study in Paris.
It’s good to be back, friends.
I owe an entire post to Synecdoche New York and a different one to Completely Naked, specifically Intimacy. And yet another to photography of all sorts. Sometime soon. I’ve been gathering material for you.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Lexapro is helping, but right now, I’m so depressed. I can see right now where depression can be anger turned inward, though most of the time for me, it is not.
To begin with, for most of my summer, I have been the less attractive sidekick. It doesn’t matter whether this is true or not, because it’s true to me. My looks are plain. My personality is hidden under layers and layers of cautiousness. Layers of wondering if it’s okay to reveal this or that, to say this or that. Will they think I’m weird? Will I be able to explain myself or cover it up? Is this universal? Everyone who encounters us has to go on looks alone first, personalities second. In looks, I come in second. In personality, I default in second because it seems like I have none. So yes, I’m sick of being number two. Paige 2, the second best-looking, the one you know second-best, the one you go to second, the one you settle for because you can’t get the one you really want. Know why? Because in my friends, I don’t settle for second-best. And in my romantic relationships, I don’t settle for second-best. I know what I want.
And you know, if you’ve settled for me, it doesn’t even matter if I turn out to be better than you expected, or if you grow to love me more than what you wanted. The truth is that I was number two. I was not what you wanted. That will taint everything.
I wonder what I would have to do to be what even one person wanted the most, and I wonder if I’d even do that.
I think this is why I’ve started picking at my scalp again. It bleeds. It hurts. I pick through the pain for no real reason, except that it’s a scab. It’s there.
One of my biggest fears is that I’m not good enough. I try hard. Does anyone know how difficult it is to communicate? Even to send an IM, let alone to approach someone in person to deliver a simple “hello” or a few words’ worth of an exchange. So when I hear the superhero talking about how she doesn’t think she’s good enough, I just think, “Where does that leave me?” I know it’s not her intention. But her seeing her own flaws does not make me feel better about myself. In fact, I feel bad when anyone sees his or her own flaws. It doesn’t make me feel awesome.
I know we are friends now. I don’t want to give you any reason to wallow in self-pity for what you did to me the other night. There is no reason you should be able to wallow in self-pity for me being angry with you. I don’t want to wallow in self-pity myself, either. It’s an absolute waste of time. I just have no idea what I did to you to give you the signal that it was okay to say those things to me, that it was okay to attempt to invalidate our relationship, that it was okay to attempt to even slightly invalidate our friendship. Was it an attempt to hurt me? Is our friendship really that valueless to you, like our relationship apparently was? Was it an attempt to hurt yourself? Anyway, it was a selfish move, and it hurt me directly and is in turn going to hurt you because of the effect it had on me. I have no idea what you want with being friends with me now, or if I’m even “good enough” for that. Why did you contact me in the first place? Did you intend for me to be number two, a replacement, and did you really think I would never find out or just not give a shit? I knew from near the beginning, and I did give a shit. Are you mad at me for prom? I don’t think that’s much of a huge deal. Are you mad at me for parties? I didn’t ignore you; I didn’t want to cockblock you. Are you mad at me for not making much of an attempt to hang out with you this summer despite your near-complete lack of attempts? It just frustrates me. Why are you doing this? Are you sick of me? Trying to break ties because I’m not what you wanted romantically, so I can’t even be your friend? I think that if you knew in advance the effect it would have on me, you probably would have held your tongue.
Oh, and by the way, your number one is an amazing person. I’d never be able to write her off as anything less than that. I can at the very least see why you value her, but I don’t know why you’d try to compare time spent with me to past times spent with her. I’m a different person. It’s like you don’t even want to give me a chance as a friend anymore.
Filed under: Film | Tags: Film, films, Linkin Park, Megan Fox, military, movie, movies, obscenity, sexism, Transformers, Transformers 2
Transformers 2 is the shittiest film I’ve ever seen in my life. It was a painfully disgusting 2.5 hours.
See:
Tasteless obscenity
Sexism all over the place
Racial stereotyping
Plot holes
Terrible acting
Terrible writing
Terrible cinematography
Megan Fox’s character = useless
Lack of foreshadowing/plot connectedness
Blatant glorification of the military
Blatant glorification of the US
Dissin’ France
Product placement galore
Unrealistic/stereotypical portrayal of college life
Subtle promotion of Christianity
Subtle dismissal of/lack of consideration for existentialism
A butcher shop complete with dead pigs hanging from their feet from ceilings
Yeah, if you don’t mind all of that, then you’ll probably like it. And you’ll love that it all ends with a Linkin Park song. That will be the icing on the cake.
What if I only wore mascara to accentuate my eyeballs? I thought about it, but the problem is that then you wouldn’t be able to touch my eyelashes without getting your fingers black and waxy. You wouldn’t be able to feel just how soft they are (and soft they are, they really are), and butterfly kisses would just be a mess.
Then I thought, What if my eyes were blue or green? Because that is something I’ve always wanted. I can’t see myself with light eyes, though. If I had light eyes, then I would take other people’s light eyes for granted. That would be a terrible thing. I also probably wouldn’t appreciate the chocolatey depths of Divya’s eyes, or the brown swirls within Carol’s hazel eyes.
I like to tell my mom that I got the short end of the genetics-stick.
This week, I’m going to Rhode Island on a long road trip. I’m so excited, but it doesn’t feel like we’re leaving tomorrow.
The strange part is that I’m most excited for the car ride itself. I love car rides. I may enjoy bike rides a little more because of the lift I get from them (especially ones at midnight when I’m positive that someone is going to jump out of the darkness on the side of the road and grab me). But car rides provide time for thinking. You can be close to other people, so physically close, but so mentally distant. I replay best scenes to music, I look out the window and think of the best places to have picnics, I think of what will happen when I see this person and this person and this person, I think of what if we all died right now. I think of that a lot.
I’ve provided a mix for my adventures (even though I think that I won’t really need it, except for at times when nostalgia hits really hard, because Nathan’s will be more than sufficient).
I will post it when I get back. But for now, I must present you with this outstaaaanding track.
I can’t say anything about it. You just have to listen. It’s urgent.
Cosmic Love | Florence And The Machine
[mf] [buy]
