Today was possibly both the most and the least eventful day of my life. E-Dawg, Marti, and I went to the Armenian Food Festival, where we ate amazing food and had games and fights with some of the boys (except Gil and Corey). On the car ride back, John decided it would be funny to separate the van’s seats (I was supposed to fall on the ground), and ended up choking himself instead because he’s a smooth operator. We watched half of Super Troopers at Gill’s (HA misspelling on purpose to be obnoxious, plus that’s his new alias for this blog) and then we walked to Tropical Smoothie in clumps–the guys, the Paiges, and E-Dawg and Gill. We stayed there for about an hour, which ended after the boys had all left, and I almost wet my pants at some Oval person’s lame joke. Oval because they were oval-shaped, allegedly. ALLEGEDLY. And Paige drinks everything, and she’s a lifeguard, so to save kids, all she has to do to save a kid is jump in the pool and she drinks all the water. And after everyone’s out of the pool since it’s empty, she gets in, all inflated, and wrings herself out, and all the pool water is back. We ran over to Food Lion bullet-dodging n00b style (my addition to the night), tried to fly, almost got hit by several cars, and bought some cough drops. I bought a 50-cent hub cap necklace since Paige and Erika already had some, but I got a spinning rim one, which they wanted, so we went through about $10 worth of non-spinners until we got two more spinners, one for each of them. We also met the DARFUR supporter Jacob there, who went in and got us change for a five so they could get their spinners. On Monday, by the way, we’re handing out our kazillion spinners to cool people, or the first kazillion customers. We wasted a fucking lot of money. Even more than we did on that super-cool plane we got at CVS that one time that was supposed to go ten yards, but didn’t even go ten inches. After all that commotion, we bullet-ran home to E-Dawg’s vagina couch and each got a running start and ran head-first into it, for sexual innuendo purposes. In the process, we all hurt our heads and necks, and I think we’ll all be sleeping on ice packs tonight. There were a lot of penetration jokes. Heh heh. For example…I ran into the couch head-first and keeled over laughing and in pain.
ME: OW THAT HURT SOOOO FUCKING MUCH.
PAIGE: IT ALWAYS HURTS THE FIRST TIME. (loudly/obnoxiously) HAAAA.
She made another joke about someone, but…I’d rather not write that for the whole world to see. It would be amazingly funny (since everyone at my school would know who I’m talking about), but mean. It had to do with someone’s head not hurting when they did that, and for a reason. So I’ll just leave it for us to laugh at lamely.
That’s probably the most I’ve ever written about my life on this blog thus far. Moving on to more pressing indie matters, hopefully, in attempting to stay on the subject of indie, or music, maybe. Life in general? Ponderifficness?
The fall is my favourite season, so naturally I’m stoked that this is the first day of autumn, and that it began so well. I love the smells, and having to wear cozy clothes like thermal shirts and jeans. My favourite thing about fall, though, is the unnatural colours. You’d think, my favourite colour being green, that I hate fall because it fades during fall, but I love the yellows, reds, and browns, and especially the leaves and the leaf piles in the front yard that you jump in and hurt yourself in because they’re really NOT cushy.
Most of all, the fall reminds me of Bright Eyes, because E-Dawg lent me my first Bright Eyes experience, “Lifted” on a fate-filled fall day during French class, and after school, I popped it right into my handy Dell and listened for the first time to the music that would eventually consume my whole life. That first time, I lost my virginity. I didn’t understand that music could be deeper than they stupidity that was Avril Lavigne or Switchfoot, and I didn’t think that something could sound so amazing. Maybe it was too much for me. There were connections throughout that whole CD that made my spine tingle that first time, in deep concentration, a state of nirvana. I took it all in, right there, no breaks and no skips, because I so trusted E-Dawg’s faith in this band, in this man, the foreign Conor Oberst. There were parts of that album that I wouldn’t figure out until almost a year later. Like in “Big Picture,” Jenny Lewis (the red-head from Troop Beverly Hills and such) is that female voice. I didn’t listen to Jenny as Rilo Kiley until maybe February or March? And I definitely didn’t figure out that it was her in that song until mid-August. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I read that. The whole song still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The whole album. Nobody could understand the changes this album brought. It was the road to change for me; I am who I am today thanks to my present friends and thanks to this album.
Granted, though this awakening was awe-inspiring, I didn’t like Conor’s voice at first. I thought it was a joke, sometimes. I thought I could sing like that and make millions. But it took me a few listens, deep listens, several chances, to realize that he has guts, and also that his imperfections make him better than all those perfect voices. Once you’ve heard and fallen in love with an imperfect voice, it’s impossible to drop that love. You crave more. And that’s where Desaparecidos and Commander Venus come in. I craved more orchestral music, and Azure Ray and Now It’s Overhead filled that need. Eventually, I fell in love with folk, so Rilo Kiley was perfect, and Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins, and The Elected. It was a journey, and it’s continuing to this day. It’s a cycle. Never have I heard of a more phenomenal and intertwined record company. It’s not a sell-out. If you like one band, you’ll like them all (except Beep Beep, haaa).
I’ll be wearing my Bright Eyes “Going For the Gold” shirt when I’m thirty and probably a fat, ugly, worn-out soccer mom in Canada or Omaha or wherever I settle down. I’ll wear it in my coffin. The music is timeless, too; his oldest stuff is from 1995, and Commander Venus and Park Avenue are way before that. It sounds like the present to me, or else the way the 1930s or 1950s were supposed to be. Well, not Commander Venus and Park Avenue. They’re timeless in the sense that they sound like they were formed today and never broke up. Bright Eyes is truly timeless, though.
If you remember a while back, I wrote an entry about reaching out to the freshmen. This is what I’m talking about. Last year, and even as a freshman, I wanted something new; I was virtually in the process of committing social suicide, and I would grab onto almost anything to get me out. As a freshman, I had boyfriends to occupy me, so it wasn’t until that drama was over that I really started thrashing around, looking for something new. Because as a freshman, there was nobody there to help me, and nobody to realize that I wanted to be impulsive and different. I still wish there was someone. As a sophomore, there was someone; ironically, someone younger.
Anyhow, the fall reminds me of “I think I’m cured. No, in fact, I’m sure of it. Thank you, stranger for your theraputic smile.” It reminds me of, “I got the money if you’ve got the time,” which, I can play the vibes part to, if I remember it. I know it’s sort of lame, but I think of the whole album as mainly fall, but some winter. It’s quite romantic and orchestral and warm, with cold edges. Dark themes. Jesus references. Conor Oberst is, or used to be, a Catholic man, but he opened my eyes a little. He, E-Dawg, and Sarah Yi propelled me to respond to and allegedly semi-own Alex Hill. I’ll always look down on Sarah and look eye level with Alex. I was that annoying bitch who had to respond to everything with book-long comments. I’m owning up to it, but not in a proud way, since that’s all gone now.
God, I love fall more than words can explain.
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