Filed under: Music
Am I alive? Is this real? Is it really April 30th? Is it possible for a group of seven to ten people to be this ground-breaking, mystical…gloomy yet cheerful…so sorrowful it brings tears of absolute, undeniable joy to the eyes?
The Arcade Fire still hasn’t sunk in. I love both their albums so much that when I listen to them sometimes, I’m caught off-guard with tears in my eyes, especially at “Neighbourhood #1.” There really is no way to accurately describe them. They’re human, yes, and Blender’s May 2007 article on them explained that to me. If anything, it made me love them more. Not as individuals, because I don’t KNOW them, but instead as a group of people. Let’s put it this way–I love their music, I love their ideas and their symbolism and their intellects. They honestly don’t perform for me or for cheers or money or groupies. They do it all for the music. I mean, Jonah Weiner asked Win Butler if he liked playing for other people when he started, and his response was this:
“Not so much. I didn’t not like it, but you hear musicians say, ‘The first time I heard people clap, that’s when I knew what I wanted to do.’ I never had that experience, where feedback from the audience was the really exciting thing.”
Seriously. I love the Arcade Fire, or rather, I love their music. And I’m seeing them with Derek in DC on Friday night. My first real show. What do I wear?! This is all so amazing and I wish I could write more, about the excitement, not only at seeing them, but also about seeing them with Derek. In DC. Holy crap.
Filed under: School
Just now, I was blog lurking, and I found someone had written something about Deep Run being the “gayest school out there.” It kind of pissed me off. Yes, we’ve got our stereotypes and most of them are true, and there’s lots of discrimination and cattiness. But if you’re too much of a pussy to try it out and see what Deep Run is really all about…if you don’t even go here, you really have no place to say things like that. If you attend Deep Run, though, treat it as an unrestrained privilege to be able to say whatever the hell you want about it.
I’ll probably delete this post later on…
EDIT:: Who ever said that being a really gay school was an insult? I guess I should have thought about that when I made this post.
In the smallest pouch of my backpack is an unsealed envelope with exactly nine pieces of notebook paper folded into thirds snuggled neatly inside. The top page is the largest, with the freshest ink and purest emotion. The next five pages are slightly smaller, with messier handwriting, the oldest ink, and mostly updates. The last three pages are even smaller pieces of paper ripped straight from an English notebook, with blue ink and pencil smoothed over them in desparation. I wish I could just send the first page and be done with the whole package. I could send more updates at a later point, after the initial message was sent. But I’ve written for two months, and still the envelope remains unsealed, unaddressed, and unstamped. My opinions on the matter have remained under my skin, in the depths of my brain until recently, and their bubbling to the surface is what triggered me to record them on a single sheet of paper, to find an envelope, and to search high and low for a stamp and for that address I received so long ago.
For the most part, I’ve had an excellent day for the past three days. I’ve been able to complete my homework because I haven’t been on the computer, and I’ve been able to straighten my hair and get dressed at a more decent rate and get more sleep because I’ve taken showers at night and set my bedtime for ten. I’ve raised my grades, too, by getting extra credit done, and this makes me an allaround happy person. This morning, I was kind of in a crunch, so I didn’t get to wear the pants I wanted and I didn’t have a lunch, plus I left my pod at home, which always makes for a bad day since it’s one of my many security items, but I found two dollars in my pocket because I wore the wrong pants, and two dollers is just enough to buy me a healhty veggie sub, provided that they have them (they probably won’t because they never do on Fridays).
That leads me to something that’s been bugging me all year–vegetarian food in the cafeteria. There is virtually none. There is DEFINITELY no vegan food, by the way (save for fruit cups), so I won’t even go there. Yes, there are veggie subs at our Subway stand…but by Thursday, they run out of tomatos, so the veggie subs are just cheese and lettuce on bread, and by C lunch on Friday, there are none. They’re not worth the two dollars you have to pay for them–in a real bargain world, I’d pay fifty cents or a dollar tops for those pieces of crap. The only reason I buy them is because they have oil and vinegar at the condiment stand, and I LOVE vinegar. Yes, there’s cheese pizza…but they run out of that like crazy, and it’s not remotely vegan. Plus, it’s oilier than a sixth grade gamer’s face (it drips) and it’s just unhealthy, period. Yes, there are salads (with cheese!)…but should the school system really expect all the little vegetarians to eat salad every fucking day of our lives? Vegetarians are supposed to “like” salad, but we shouldn’t have to rely on that every day–plus, occasionally, the school salads have bacon bits in them. Yes, there are fruit cups, but same thing–I love fruit, and I’d love to eat it all the time, but sometimes, I need cold, hard CARBS for energy. Don’t even get me started on the french fries or on the vending machines. I’m like sixty percent sure that they cook the already fatty fries in animal fat, and this week, I realized that chicken with fries essentially makes fries soaked in meat, so I refuse to eat the ones friends offer me anymore, even if they come straight from a cup. I love potatos, though. Vending machines offer the “Baked” variety of chips, but at least for the Cheetos (fiery kind), there’s a huge possibility that they use carmine to get the distinct red colour. Plus, they sell tons of sugary snacks in the vending machines and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to make myself obese because I didn’t have a lunch one day.
I would bring it up to the school system, but it doesn’t matter anymore because I’m leaving. In Lewisburg, I doubt they have a mondo Pizza Hut/Subway/Squeeze/Taco Place cafeteria where I’ll find slim pickings. I bet it’ll be just like any other lunch line in the country, and I’ll bet I’ll find a way to bring my lunch every day. Buying lunch sometimes kind of pisses me off.
This will be another “nothing” post.
Something clicked in me this morning after I posted my first entry du jour that allowed me to have an amazing day. First, I received back a Math Analysis quiz on which I’d earned a perfect score, so I really am showing improvement because I’m motivated. Then, I got to eat lunch with my beloved D-Slice, and although we were a somewhat silent crew today, it was still more than enjoyable. Luckily, Chandana is not like everyone else and doesn’t ridicule two people who care about each other being together in a state of union which is informally known as being a “couple.” She and I normally giggle back and forth at lunch, but I sensed that she enjoyed herself immensely today. Soon after lunch, I received my first stellar report card in a long time.
At home, I kept to my plan, replacing the bike ride with a half hour of exercise and a shower. It felt good to wash my face. When I settled down to read “The Things They Carried” my smooth legs felt comfortable against each other. After reading almost 40 pages, I picked up where I’d left off on Chemistry extra credit and finished. All this time, I’ve had the windows open, and the breeze feels good in my untouched nest of hair and on my clean legs and arms. Today was all about rejuvenation, and I was alarmed but satisfied that I’d changed a bad start into an amazing day, even if I never got to see Derek after lunch. It picked up my self esteem a good deal and made me happy to be me just for the hell of it, not because of assets–two somethings I’ve needed since last summer.
I have no Cs on my third Marking Period report card. Two Bs, four As…Nothing below an A in French all year. I’m so not grounded. I’m so hanging out with Derek today, I’m so going to The Arcade Fire, I’m so having a good day. Until I get to English. Wow, though.
At lunch today, I won’t eat the fries that my lunch pals generously offer me daily. When I get home from school today, I’m going to have a glass of water or maybe two and head up to my room instead of eating the entire contents of the kitchen. Instead of getting on MySpace directly, I’m going to slip into shorts and take a nice bike ride around the neighbourhood. That will make me thirsty and I’ll have another few glasses of water and take a shower. I’ll then do homework and read some cool literature. If my mother permits, I’ll visit Derek, and after our rendez-vous, I will go to bed early and happy. I’ll wake up early and happy, too. I know that I have to write this on my blog because once I’ve made a promise outside of my mind, I have to fulfill it. I did it with the Day of Silence (which I was actually considering not doing because of discrimination–but then I realized that A, I’d already promised and B, what’s the point in going through with a day to defeat discrimination if you don’t face some yourself?). Now I’m going to do it with a challenge to myself to become healthier. After being refreshed by all the positivity of yesterday’s post links, I realized I should do something for myself. Instead of living up to everyone else’s expectations and continuing Facebook poke wars and replying to MySpace messages and comments and IMs, I’m going to do something I want to do that will raise my self esteem for at least until strained muscles calm down.
Although I woke up at 637 am instead of 530 am because I set my alarm clock for 530 pm intstead of am, which made me have to wash my hair, style it, me maquille, get dressed, and put on shoes in attempts to be ready for band practice in about 15 minutes’ time, I’ve realized that one mistake last night (setting my alarm clock wrong) doesn’t mean I have to let this whole day rot and let said mistake be my excuse for being unhappy. Today’s sunny out and new and fresh and it’s 1017 am, and I’m going to have an awesome day. I’m listening to “Cha Cha Cha” by The Little Ones. There’s nothing to be unhappy about when I’m seriously listening to that song.
Filed under: Uncategorized
You should probably read this, and then go here. I know it’s all awfully random, but the first reminded me of the second, and I figured everyone in this world could use a look at both. That includes you.
Filed under: School
At 1145 instead of 1200 (since lunches start at 1155), they showed us a memorial video for the Tech massacre over the TV announcements. I would have cried, had I been in any class but math, where I know no one and no one knows me.
This morning, I am in the most awfully romantic mood ever. I’m eager for a picnic this weekend, but I’ve been saying that for almost a year, and we all know it will never happen. Supposing I got my picnic, I’d go to Ukrop’s to get my supplies. I’d pack either egg salad (sorry, not vegan) or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bring along some vinegar-y pasta (even if it would give us rancid breath…oh well). Fruits and vegetables would be in abundance–we’d have strawberries and apple slices and blueberries and blackberries and cherries and mango slices and canteloupe and honeydew…and as for veggies, I’d want cold brocolli and carrots with dip. For dessert, we might have cupcakes or better yet, bluuueberry muffins! We’d bring water and whatever other drinks we needed, like Kool-Aid or lemonade or whatever. We’d have a stereotypical picnic basket and a stereotypical red-and-white checkered blanket to set down under a tree near water and it would be nice and sunny and warm and not windy at all. I’m not sure where exactly, but surely somewhere grassy and sunny enough to accomodate our purposes. And I’ve got no idea what the conversation would be like, except intelligent. We wouldn’t eat everything, I’m sure, and after, we wouldn’t feel fat and guilty. Just content. Everything would be reminiscent of something The Postal Service would sing, but we wouldn’t be thinking about it at the moment, so we wouldn’t be embarrassed. If a filmmaker happened to be making a movie scene out of our picnic, though, he would choose one of their songs.
I’m using Rachael’s backpack because one of my cats took the liberty of peeing on mine. Hers is light blue and has “RACHAEL” written on the back, with inscriptions from her many friends all over the place. It’s gross and I have to deal. I don’t get why this sort of thing always happens to me and never to her! I bet it wasn’t one of the cats. I bet she came in and peed on my backpack herself just to make my life miserable.
Seriously, though, I wish she would give indie a chance. She’s asked me for recommendations before (via MySpace, and it came about as, “Tell me some music I’d like, BIIIYITCH!”), and I’ve gotten excited just thinking about being able to talk with someone in my very own house about it. She never took my offers, though, except she borrowed “Illinoise” yesterday just to get “Chicago,” because she only likes singles and songs she could potentially hear in pop culture (and because of something else that would just be mean to mention here). I don’t blame her, but she’s missing out on self-exploration and realizations and mysteries imbedded in songs.
That’s why I like indie as opposed to pop–pop does sometimes have a pleasing sound, but it’s meaningless. The lyrics don’t make sense and the songs are just for distribution purposes. It’s like they won’t broadcast something on the radio if it’s too smart, or has references to history or to literature, but they will broadcast things about sex. Who decides these things? Who decides what goes on the radio? We should rethink some things. Suppose they took all the pop off the air (except Akon, who isn’t “pop,” not really) and started broadcasting things like Bright Eyes and The Arcade Fire and Of Montreal and Sufjan Stevens and Jason Mraz rarities (before he sold out)? Would people like it just because it’s easily available? I’m extremely curious. And I don’t mean to sound like a resentful nonconformist.
While I’m publicizing my imagination, I might as well throw in there that I’ve always wanted to be the bass girl in a band, except that I can’t play music to save my life, seriously. Maybe I could just learn piano and settle for being the synth girl? Kind of like Jenny Lewis! Only I would never sing because I can’t, which would likely make people reluctant to let me join their band. And I’d never start a kick-ass solo career, either, and I wasn’t a child star, although technically, since I’m not “legal” yet, I still have a chance! Wait–I forgot about social phobia. Oh, well. I’ll deal.
I’ll also deal until this evening, when I’ll get to see/chill with D-Slice again, after not seeing him ever yesterday. AIEEE.
By the by, happy 4/20. I never write my dates like that (I do dd.mm.yy), personally, but for today only, I think I will. It’s a good cause! Well, not really, but it is a day to celebrate. Kind of. I don’t think I’ll be joining in festivities. Whatever.
Today was the Day of Silence. I can’t tell you how many people asked if I was lesbian today. For those of you still wondering, no, sir or madam, I’m not–I have a Super Boyfriend (you think I’m kidding). The whole experience caused my anxiety to go down because I didn’t have to talk to anyone at all. Many people, upon hearing my proclamation (from someone else), voiced their own opinions on gay marriage–but only the ones who didn’t support it. They shunned my efforts and got extremely defensive. That’s not what the Day of Silence is about, though. You can participate in the Day of Silence even if you don’t support gay marriage. All today was was an announcement that we disapprove of discrimination against gay people. It’s wrong. In my mind, if you say the Day of Silence is stupid, you’re advocating harassment and creating prejudices.
A few people voiced their opinions on the gay community as a whole. One girl told me that if she met a lesbian, she wouldn’t be friends with her because that’s “gross.” A few years ago, a SuperChristian told me that being gay was wrong because it was solely based on pleasure, and that because two men or two women together can’t reproduce, it’s wrong. I just can’t identify with these people’s minds. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people are just that–people. And they deserve the same level of respect as any straight person does, and they should be able to go to school without being talked about/being the butt of jokes because of their sexuality.
Really, I know this post is detached. But in being silent for a cause for a day, I questioned why people even make fun of the GLBT community. It’s all ignorance. It’s all apathy towards trying to find out something outside of a comfort zone, and a kind of selfishness. Conformity, “I want everyone else to be just like me.” It makes me angry when things aren’t fair. Even though there’s supposed to be separation of church and state, I think the lack of proper representation in our government makes that a farce. It’s not a democracy. It’s a Christian dictatorship, and although I’m Christian myself (the type a lot of gay people dislike–Catholic), the unfairness in it all makes me angry.
Other updates! I was number 67 on the WordPress Blog of the Day list because of Richard McBeef–how twisted is that?–which beat my favourite blog by 3 places for most of the day! I felt bad, but now they’re royally pwning me again, so there’s not too much to be sorry for. It was just one day.
Derek came over today after school and I made some money picking dandelions in the front yard. Not in that order. It was all groovy. And now, I need to finish updating my pod. It would be cool if I could get some comments from the Google paupers who wander on here once in a while…or not…thanks for HB’s, though, and Mary Beth’s was greatly appreciated and definitely not taken the wrong way, although she is not a Google pauper, but a fellow blogger and schoolmate and family friend whose writings I hold near and dear. By the by, RACHAEL GOT A BLOG! See how f***ed up my family is! Bye.
Filed under: Uncategorized
This is so disgusting but so crucial in digging into the roots of this man. I know everyone else on down the line is writing about the Tech massacre today, too, but I found something interesting and disturbing that I feel I have to share.
Richard McBeef, a play by Cho Seung-Hui, the Tech murderer. Initially, my only concerns were about the surviving students, injured or not, and the friends and families of the casualties. But then I wondered why someone would commit such an atrocity. What was his motivation. I’d heard the girlfriend rumour about how I guess his girlfriend left him and he thought she was cheating (which turned out to be false), but the whole massacre seemed so planned out, maybe not meticulously or perfectly, but certainly not recklessly.
Apparently, the kid–or, well, 23-year-old–was a student at Tech, a loner who never said a word, never smiled, and took photos of his English teacher on his cell during class. He also wrote plays, such as the aforementioned Richard McBeef.
The disturbing play is about a 13-year-old kid named John whose father recently died in some sort of a boat accident. John’s mother, Sue, remarried immediately after his death, and her new husband was Richard McBeef. John does everything in his power to torture Richard, from making accusations that he’s a pedophile to ironically making it look like Richard (or, as John prefers, “Dick”) is about to hit him. When Sue walks in on looks like a violent encounter between the two, she becomes frightened, eating up the lies that John feeds her. She irrationally starts throwing objects at her new husband, then stops when Richard calms her down with the offer of having sex. John sits in his bedroom and shoots darts at a photo of Richard’s head and then runs into the basement to tell his mother more concocted lies, which prompts her to grab a chainsaw and chase her new husband until he’s trapped in the family car. Later on, John joins him in the car and verbally abuses his stepfather, which eventually prompts Richard to strike him, which kills the boy we’ve all grown to despise.
It’s so awful–filled with strangely exaggerated reactions almost, ALMOST reminiscent of those in manga. And the lack of quality and taste and the utter ridiculousness of it all render it humourous in a creepy, completely eerie manner. I’m not gonna lie–I laughed, but I was freaked out, too. There are references to Catholic priests which offended me personally. The whole thing was graphic and disturbing, almost as though this man had grown up immersed in the worst of America, full of sex and violence and negative connotations about anyone not sexually oriented as straight. I’m not sure whether Richard McBeef–the “good guy,” although not really the protagonist–is supposed to be symbolic of Cho or if John the tormentor is more accurate. Although Richard’s actions were exaggeratedly soft even when everyone was pitted against him, he seemed to be the only remotely normal character in Cho’s horrific fictional world. But then, John’s a kid, and he’s so sure of everything, so who knows what Cho intended. Who knows.
It terrifies me that there really are people like that in the world.
Maybe this time, I’ll grow my hair out. Not positive yet.
Today, I was alarmed and disgusted at how someone could so mercilessly kill 32 beings that he doesn’t even know (it’s already on Wikipedia). I was aggravated by the Cro-Magnons and Australopithecus afarensis in my chem class. I experienced a sort of “don’t judge a book by its cover” scenario in English, when I learned that possibly the most gorgeous girl in all of my classes put together is vain and lazy. I was touched at the hospitality of freshmen in my French class–although I’m a self-sufficient junior who gets excellent grades, they realize that I’m a little quirky and that I don’t really talk to anyone, and they’re so naive, it’s actually cute. I also had a short discussion with my mother about social anxiety disorder that didn’t end in defensiveness.
Today was a good day, even if there was a morbid sense hanging around all day, and even if it can’t compare to the best days of my life. I’ve been so sick of being in the same however many places inside for the past week, and the windy walk to the bus was refreshing. Tomorrow, it’s guaranteed that I’ll be sick of everyone again and more than willing to travel the world, but the prospect of the Arcade Fire on my ears and eyes is enough to keep me going at least for the next two weeks, if not longer.
Also, heads up for Day of Silence 2007. Basically, you’re supposed to take a vow of silence all day on this Wednesday to represent the silence gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgenders must endure daily, essentially because of fear of persecution. It’s a student-organized event to raise awareness, and although it won’t make any big impact on any of my scholarly endeavours, I’m going through with it. Thanks to my lovely Derek for letting me know about it, and to Spencer pal (I need to come up with a terrible misspelling of his name just for blog purposes) for posting an informative MySpace bulletin. I suppose over the course of the next two days, I’ll be posting more on my thoughts on anti-gay vibes all over the place and political standpoints and icky things that no one wants to talk about because they’re controversial.
I did all my homework, and now, I’m afraid I need to “hit the hay,” even though this post did not by any means fulfill my writing quota for the day. Or at least, it didn’t live up to my standards. Kind of disappointing…
Filed under: Uncategorized
Uhh mah gahh. I hate that spring break is over, but in the back of my mind, there’s this twinge of longing for school. I don’t look any different, I don’t have new clothes, and I’ll never be particularly impressive, and even though I hate high schoolers in general (myself and a few others excluded), I want to see everyone again. I want to go back to being that obnoxiously plain, unopinionated girl with nothing to say. I know it’s a lie, kind of like Dolphus Raymond drinking Coke in a brown paper bag to make everyone think he’s a stupid drunk and they’ll have a reason to hate him…mine’s the opposite, though, I think–I lie so that no one can hate me, even if they want to.
J’ai sommeil et j’ai soif and I kind of like how it’s raining.
And holy crap, not to sound like your typical teenaged Family Guy weirdo whore, but OH MY GOD, Stewie looks like a fucking tomato. HAHAHA. Oui, j’ai sommeil.
Filed under: Music
So in making my usual morning blog rounds to AllThingsGo, Good Weather for Airstrikes, and You Ain’t No Picasso, I stumbled across yet another piece of Sufjan Stevens. This time, it was in the form of an interview held in 2005. Our Sufi (I’m referring to him as “Sufi” from now on instead of “Soofy”…so all you folks unschooled in indie, BEWARE) is more ambitious than we initially knew he was.
Here’s an excerpt from the interview:
When asked where he sees his career going from here, he gave us a peak into his broad ambitions. “I would like to publish a novel, or a book of stories,” he said. “I would like to start teaching again, fiction writing workshops, for undergraduate students. I would like to have ten children.” Wow. To think that I expected a straight forward answer along the lines of “complete another album.” But wait, he’s not finished! Sufjan then added, “I would like to start my own restaurant. A cooperative restaurant with a rotation of chefs every night, a vegetarian prix fixe every evening with live entertainment.”
He and I have a little more in common than I figured, even though I should have because obviously, he’s a writer, and I consider myself one–and then there’s the whole vegetarian restaurant (but why not make it vegan?!). Frankly, this whole segment freaked me out a bit. We all knew this folksy indie artist had quirks and mystery about him, but…ten kids, a restaurant, I don’t know, he seems a little more full of himself than I want to believe. It’s Sufjan Stevens, my hero, but he kind of already assumed he was my hero before I said anything.
I also decided to grab Bright Eyes’ “Four Winds” video. Since their Four Winds EP, my interest in Bright Eyes has declined a great deal, probably because of several things. One, I now have an entourage of blogs to get NEW music from. So I’m not as interested in “old” music. Two, I was always more partial to the Digital Ash-esque Bright Eyes and not so fond of its twin, I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning (although I would say that IWAIM was their best album–I have to be in a certain mood to listen to it). Cassadaga is a lot like IWAIM. Three, Conor Oberst has too much mystery around him. I like bands that I can find out about, now. The Arcade Fire has always been more than accessible, as has Jenny Lewis. The new bands I listen to have fresh MySpaces, and I don’t have any competition for being the Top Listener on Last.fm, because no one else listens to them! I don’t have to deal with die-hards or emo kids or people who can and will patronize me for the few hip-hop or rap tracks on iTunes, or for maybe sometimes enjoying a Fergie or Gwen or Akon track, because there’s some unwritten rule that indie kids are allowed to listen to that for fun, or maybe not solely for a few minutes of entertainment.
Well, watch the video, then read what I have to say below:
DESPITE Stereogum’s mildly humourous evaluation of the video, I enjoyed it. I’d wager that my favourite track off Cassadaga is “Four Winds,” so I was bound to like it anyway. To start off with, I don’t like his new hair when he’s standing still, and it seems that neither does anyone else. It’s like he and Win Butler did a trade. For some reason, in this video, it seems to fit him. Actually, the video confirms all suspicions that Conor Oberst has grown up. When he starts out singing, you can tell he means business, and he’s not going to give you all that kiddy teen angst crap he gave you on the last few albums. He doesn’t need to hide behind a screen of cartoons or scenery or other people for his music videos anymore (Lover I Don’t have to Love/A Bowl of Oranges/First Day of My Life)…he’s here for real for the first time ever without crutches! Woo-hoo! It’s interesting observing his facial language outside of an unsmiling photograph, though. We get to see his doe eyes blinking and looking around, and closing tight and then opening again all unexpectedly, and he’s ready for it all. His mouth stretches out into this silly almost-grin and then when he’s not singing, he either purses his lips to “make do” with the booing crowd, or inhales with an open mouth, or gently licks his bottom lip. I love watching his mouth most at the chorus, mainly when he sings and sustains, “BREAKS!” because you can see all his teeth and some of his gums…why has he been hiding perfectly straight teeth from us for all these years? It kind of distracts you from what seems like a (sorry) greasy pool of black Snape hair. There was something strange about seeing him up on that stage dodging trash trying to get through his guitar solo that let me know that he’s now surpassed my span of imagination, of maturity, of understanding, and now he’s a man.
Oh, and an added note: I loved little Maria Taylor sitting in the back looking lusty but pissed off while playing the drums and adding harmonies. Someone threw a drink at her and I had to wonder a) Why, and b) How did it get that far, because I thought she would surely laser any incoming objects down with her gorgeous eyes.
ALSO::
Not that it matters so much, but I’m editing my tags and my picture at the top as we speak. The tags should eventually be settled, although I have a good amount of tweaking to do…and then the top picture should go up sometime in the next week. I originally chose the grass thing because of “underground,” but now I realize that it just makes me seem kind of lazy that I haven’t personalized enough. I’m also working on posting the correct time and date I began writing an entry because for some reason, I can’t get WordPress to recognize the EST time/date. I don’t know.
Filed under: Music
Someday, at “feeding time,” I’m going to take a picture of all the cats eating and it will be splendid. When I told my mom that, she groaned in exasperation.
Guavamaffiosa, I swear, that fille is my hero. Come to think of it, she must be the living essence of Motorrrju, only a little older. She was certainly born with the same amount of spunk as her book character alter-ego, if not with more. Well, I very much enjoy uncovering the past two years in music by reading her writings, downloading an mp3 here and there. But for me, the difference between obtaining mp3s on AllThingsGo and gettin’ some from Guava is that AllThingsGo is like picking an apple off of a voluptuous apple tree–it’s kind of a natural thing, and you know they’ll grow back. Plus, who doesn’t like apples? Guavamaffiosa’s mp3s are much-loved like Linus’ blankie, and you know you’d better listen to the songs she gives you all the time, because she passed them down with heart, not solely with wanting to get the word out. Yo.
Today, I felt it was finally time to see where this femme mysterieuse began her blogging on WordPress, and if it was as awkward a transition from RL to the virtual world as mine was. It was endearing, though, knowing that she began her site with tons of voice and gusto and Spanish and humour. Her first post was about Sufjan Stevens. She provided us with a minimalistic greeting, a transition about summer, and then a fine description of our Soofy. And then the tracks, which, after realizing that she was generous enough to keep them up for going on two years, I hastily downloaded.
Right before I listened to “Jason,” one of Sufjan’s first chasons, I started munching on a white chocolate bunny that Peter Cottontail brought me. When the song started, I had to stop. Did I start playing the wrong track? This sounded way too much like Bright Eyes! But no, it seems that Sufjan Stevens began in a low-fi setting just like Bright Eyes. Only Sufjan Stevens matured into a sort of clarity and happiness far more rapidly than Conor Oberst did.
