INDIEchouette


NOBODY GIVES A DAMN ANYWAY
30 November, 2006, 949 pm
Filed under: Music

An intensely close friend of mine was arrested.  I don’t know why.  I’m confused.  I’m maybe a little scared, not of him, but for him, definitely.  I’m worried and…stressed would be a good word.  The most frightening thing is being left in the dark about it all.  I don’t even know what happened, but I know he’s a good kid, so it must be a mistake, or maybe something situational.  Wrong place, wrong time.  And he must be terrified and more insecure than ever.  I feel bad for not knowing anything, and maybe for not being the one he confided in.  I was the one he confided in, but more of a psychiatrist than anything, I think.  I just want to talk to him, not for my satisfaction, but maybe to calm him down because I know that’s what he needs.

I can’t dwell on this, though, even though I am, and my stomach churns every time I think about it.  I had a good day.  Lots of history participation, shortened playing in band, nothing to do in chem, and an oral quiz in French, which went surprisingly well.

Oh, by the way, I want to sex the Arcade Fire.  I’ve decided that they kick Andrew Bird out of the tied three favourite bands spot.  I’ve always been in love with them; they are irreplacable.  French (actually Canadian, but they sing some French), indie, and a sort of 1930s-reminiscent nostalgic sound (even though you weren’t there, you feel like you were supposed to be) would describe them.  Whenever I’m listening to one of their songs (minus Haiti), I feel like I’m supposed to be under the stars at night at a small bonfire, just looking up, and there are no lights except the fire and the stars, and everyone’s getting ready to go to sleep.  Yes, we will sleep outside.  Yes, Win Butler and his beloved Regine will protect us from monsters, bears, and rapists.  And cannibalism.  Listening to one Arcade Fire song prompts another.  When you’ve listened to them all in that marvelous chain reaction that is an album, you can go back and listen to another, because they’re that symphonic, emotional, and amazing.  It’s okay to listen to the same song twice or five times in a row because it brings back a different emotion within a huge umbrella of like emotions each time.

Those who will protect us at our bonfire.

A lot of people, upon hearing my music, tell me that the song starts out sounding epic, and then a voice comes in and it’s kind of frightening because the voices aren’t those you’d typically consider being cut out for singing.  Jenny Lewis (Chandra and Leigh Watson), Matt Costa, and Ben Gibbard are the only singers that are “cut out” for that.  Otherwise, I like scratchy, imperfect, eerie voices that crack and waver.  Especially the drunk-like tones of Wolf Parade.  I love it.  They don’t give a shit if they sound like shit, but they know they don’t.  And I don’t give a shit if people think my music sounds like shit because I like it.



JUST SOME WATER GETTING HOTTER IN THE FLAME
30 November, 2006, 549 am
Filed under: School

Let’s talk politics, okay? I’ve been in a political mindset lately; I can decide my stance on issues in a heartbeat, or, okay, a few minutes. This year, history is enjoyable because we have debates, and good old Dunavant (he’s not really old) encourages us to think and to have opinions. I’ve always had opinons, but nobody asked, so I didn’t share. He asks, though, and expects us to care, so I get to share. I can’t understand the people who have no stances on anything, or no social causes that they’re advocates of. This is how much becoming vegetarian has changed my life–I’m more politically aware and involved, and certainly more passionate towards people and for debates. I have that one cause that I would go to the end of the world to argue for. Because of the research papers and people’s indecisiveness, I’m starting to realize how much meaning my life has opposed to theirs, and how unaware my peers are. I’m not talking freshmen or sophomores–I’m talking kids who should start applying for scholarships soon. Kids who are going to start taking SATs in the spring and applying to colleges shortly thereafter. Juniors. Juniors who are not passionate about anything.

My English class also annoys me a lot as a whole. Not everyone. Just some individuals. There’s one kid who seems to have a better sense of the world and more of a knack for politics and current events (and maybe history, too), and most everyone has to go and rain on his parade of opinons and the exposure of the truth.

I’d always assumed that teenagers were more rebellious and liberal; most of my friends approve of gay rights, animal rights, et cetera–or they have up until this year. There are some who still don’t know about factory farming, and that’s probably in part because I shelter them–I don’t want them to be hurt by the government that’s already hurting them by placing a thin veil over everything that is factory farming, as well as a bunch of other conspiracies infringing on our rights. I know it would mess up their whole style of thinking, and they’d likely be defensive and angry at first, although after considering the concept, there is nothing to defend unless you’re heartless or economically blinded. Animal rights is one of those causes that is best left up to those who will stumble upon the answers on their own.

Well, it turns out most kids these days aren’t as liberal as me, and I’m not even an extremist. I just want equality, mostly. A lot of kids in these parts are surprisingly conservative. They don’t use “gay/ghey” as a play-around word meaning lame (which they shouldn’t do anyway); they use it as a derogatory word and actually go out of their way to poke fun at gay people. They don’t want to go veg because there’s “no harm” in meat because it’s so socially acceptable. They are okay with war because they don’t know the implications of it–there’s little impact on everyday American citizens, so obviously it’s not as bad as, say, WWII. There aren’t casualties–but war is brutal; you’re killing people, even if it is for a “cause.”

For the words “population control” to touch their pristine ears is blasphemy. Why would someone want to limit the number of children individuals are allowed to have? I mean, the population is only at 7 billion (and rising). It’s not like there are more babies born every day. That’s so…communist (even though, in reality, there are tons of children waiting to be adopted around the world–including here in America). And people are paranoid of communism, even today. It’s condemned, even though we’re entitled to think and speak and write as we want. McCarthy much?

Not that I agree with communism, per se. I don’t think American-born diehards who have never been out of the country can really even begin to appreciate what it has to offer. The most appreciative are likely those who have immigrated here from less free countries. That’s why I want to travel the world, partially. I feel bad sometimes for not being appreciative, or for not having real reason to appreciate home.

I want to see Fast Food Nation with whoever’s willing.



HEAVEN IS CALLING
27 November, 2006, 532 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, School

Miss Misery

God says I should read this book, pronto.  I read a few pages at Barnes & Noble today, and he mentioned Rilo Kiley on the first page.  I learned that “The Good That Won’t Come Out” is creative constipation.  I’m in love.

As for real life, I’m so confused, it hurts.  I wish I had a reset button.  I want good hair and good clothes and good self esteem so I can figure things out.  Today, I laughed too much.  I talked too much.  I felt like a donkey.  I felt…awkward.

But tomorrow, it’s back to school and back to not talking and sitting in new seats in Math Analysis, not next to the asians.  I think the kid I currently sit next to will at least be slightly sympathetic.  I know his music.  I wear Chucks.  That’s two things in common.  Cool.



BEE’S BOOK!
25 November, 2006, 614 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

There’s another one

PROLOGUE
Once upon a time there were four girls. Young women, you might even say. And though their lives traveled in different directions, they loved each other very much.
Once upon a time before that, these same girls found a pair of pants, wise and magical, and named them the Traveling Pants.

The Pants had the magic of teaching these girls how to be apart. They taught them how to be four people instead of one person. How to be together no matter where they were. How to love themselves as much as they loved each other. And on a practical level, the Pants had the magic of fitting all four of them, which is hard to believe but true, especially considering only one of them (the blonde) was built like a supermodel.

Okay. Full disclosure. I am one of these girls. I wear these Pants. I have these friends. I know this magic.

I am in fact the blonde, though I was kidding about the supermodel part.
But anyway, as it happens with most kinds of magic, these Pants did their job a little too well. And the girls, being extraordinary girls (if you don’t mind my saying so), learned their lesson a little too well.

And so when the girls’ lives changed that final summer, the Pants, being wise, had to change too.

And that is how this tale of sisterhood began, but did not end.

Yes, I read the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series.  I’m a girl.  People may refer to me as a manly girl (although I’d hardly call myself manly…I’m short, weak, and I shave my legs and armpits), but there are some things that define being a girl, and one of them is reading lovely sappy books.  For some girls, that would be shoju manga (heheh).  For others, that would be Mitch Albom books (heheh).  There are even some who read the Princess Diaries or Bridget Jones (heheheheh).  And then there’s the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, an essential series for girls this day and age.  Oh, and there are some people who have read all of the above.  Can’t forget about them.

Just, there are books that are interesting that make you learn something new about pop culture or the world or maybe even yourself, and then there are the books that relay the familiar and make you feel so good inside that when it’s over, there’s a burning nostalgia left that you can’t compensate for.  And the best thing about these books is that there are four very different girls…so different that you can relate to each of them in some way, but everyone has her favourite, and there isn’t just one utterly outstanding character.  For me, my favourite is Tibby.  I guess it’s because I can relate, a lot, minus her escapades in the last book.

Divya and I should throw a party for this book.  This entry, by the way, was curtosey of Divya.



RULE OF FOREVER
23 November, 2006, 426 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Sympathy comments are prohibited. I will not allow them. I keep a blog not so that people can weep for/with me about how I’m failing Math Analysis. I keep a blog to let people know what’s going on and about music I’m listening to.

I appreciate comments in the form of anecdotes, opinons, expanding thoughts, additions, and corrections. Although I don’t really want to hear about your fantasies of sucking Andy Dick’s toes, you can leave off-topic comments as much as you want. Inside jokes are fine, too.

Again, I will not tolerate sympathy comments henceforth. If you didn’t read this blog, you get one chance, after which I will delete every sympathetic comment you leave. I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough hair left to keep reading these pity words.

This is not directed at anyone in particular.

Thank you.

P.S. I’m not really balding. It’s called hyperbole. Or just exaggeration.



TUESDAY?
22 November, 2006, 339 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Note to self:  Never let Rachael have even an inkling of who I like if it’s someone she knows.  Especially if she talks to him.

Haha, fuck.

Wow, Paul Dano.  Um, go here.  Ahh, I want to see it.



EFF.
20 November, 2006, 136 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

My dad has been working for almost 24 hours. He went to work from 8-8 yesterday (8 pm to 8 am), which turned into 8-1230, then came home and got right on the phone for a conference call. He’s been on that since 1, I guess (it took him time to get home from work), and now it’s 430 almost 5. That is 21 hours, mister. He pretty much looks half-dead.

This is stunting, because my madre is not home, and so I was unable to do anything all weekend. I would have ridden my bike to the mall today, but Rachael didn’t feel like going there. So. Fuck that.

I would also call people and just talk, but my dad’s on the phone. The cellular is under Rachael’s care. Rachael’s actually getting dressed up for youth group.

I’m a Confirmation drop-out. How Catholic of me. It’s because I couldn’t get a sponsor who would come down three times a year to get me confirmed. Shit.

I watched some shit show on the History channel about USOs. It was…creepy. They speculated on some craft that was shaped like a lightbulb. For a while, I thought they were just really frustrated and said, “crap,” a lot. Then I realized, “Oh. Craft.”

God, this weekend was le suck. I wish I’d gone to Pennsylvania and not to the playoffs. We didn’t even get third quarter break. Eff.



GETTING PWNED BY GHIRARDELLI
19 November, 2006, 1256 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

My dad got this sweet Ghirardelli mocha mix from his boss.  Three packets–a chocolate and two white chocolates.  He gave me and Rachael the white ones.

I haven’t had plain milk in two years.  I eat dry cereal, dry ramen, and lame macaroni.  I thought, “Hey!  I drink coffee a lot, and I eat ice cream on occasion.  I’ll be okay.”  In fact, I didn’t even think that.  I just read the packet, and it said to mix with warm milk.  So I grabbed the milk out of the fridge thinking, “Ew, milk, I hate milk…I should go vegan,” and poured it in this huge bowl and threw it in the microwave.  I drank the whole mug of mocha.  And it was good, despite the fact that I find milk revolting.  I looked beyond that.  It was fucking good and expensive.  I enjoyed it.

I wasn’t even finished with the mug when I felt my stomach rumbling in discontent, and then my intestines and my throat.  And now, it feels like my stomach is a jug of milk because I guess I can’t handle it anymore.  I’m in absolute pain.

And that teaches you…fuck milk.

P.S.  I found out a place where you can get shirts like Derek’s (I saw one of his shirts on there, but I’m not sure if he got that shirt there…in fact, I think that one was featured at Urban Outfitters…hmm…), even for chicas.  Like this one (so cool).  LOOK AT IT.

Window!



YOU CAN’T RIDE THE CONCEPT OF THE HORSE
18 November, 2006, 635 pm
Filed under: Music

F.U.C.K.  I just realized that Last.fm’s “Recently Played Tracks” updates itself automatically.  Fuck that shit.

I talked to Lizzypoo today (cousin Liz, 16 almost 17, BCFEAEAE), actually like ten minutes ago, and she says that Granddad’s birthday party in Bethlehem is jumping like a Mexican jumping bean, and you know what that means.  It’s hot.  My mom was laughing like a psychopath on the phone.  Rachael’s at the mall right now with her guard jacket on, thus, she’s cold.  My dad has to work tonight.  Derek just called to get a name for his video game character, and apparently Tim was watching or something, since I could hear his voice, too.  I think my ping pong’s name was Lloyd or something, but I don’t remember.

Last year is so far away.

OH, by the way, I’m in love with a man named Andrew Bird.  I actually couldn’t care less what he looks like; he makes me appreciate xylophone, and you have to love a man who does that.  His looks do help, though.  Dark hair, eyes, this isn’t the best picture of him, but I like it.

the love of my life (psych)

You wonder how I stumbled upon his brilliance.  I tell you that WordPress was the general root.  I looked on my dashboard (something I rarely do) and saw the words, “All Things Go.”  I am a Soofy addict.  Okay, I don’t listen to him as often as I should/could, but I do listen to him a lot.  I was a Chicago addict for the longest time.  I should have gone into rehab.  That’s half the reason why I wanted to see “Little Miss Sunshine”–the music.  It was right after I’d had an indie revelation.

Being this self-declared Soofy addict, at nine forty-five in the morning, I clicked on this link.  It brought me to the world I’d been looking for for months on end.  I bookmarked it on sight.

“All Things Go” was, in fact, influenced by Soofy.  They had articles galore about indie music…and the best part was that they had written them on their own.  No borrowing.  Originality is the key.  I also noticed that a recent entry was titled “All Things Go Hip-Hop Mixtape.”  I thought two things: “Hip-hop” and “Mixtape.”  I love mixtapes.  I’ve never gotten one, but the idea is nice.  My sister’s gotten a few, and the best thing is that if you don’t like the song, skip it!  And you’ll probably like the next one.  They’re also very personalized.  For months, I’d wanted to expand my horizons to hip-hop music that I, as an indie fanatic, would love.  And I was starting to think it didn’t exist, but lo and behold!  Here was the Messiah, “All Things Go.”

I assumed naturally that I’d have to redownload Limewire to get the songs (damn), and I’d been clean of Limewire for a few months.  But the tracks were right there for me to “Save Target As…”  Then I worried that maybe I wouldn’t like the songs, and, okay, I’m not a full-fledged hardcore hip-hop kid (is that terminology correct??), but I did pretty much fall in love with Dizzee Rascal on the spot.  Well, one song, “Fix Up, Look Sharp.”  His accent is hot.  I just like the feel of the song.

I also noticed the entry “Some New Music” (on November 13, they update frequently!), and that’s where I found Andrew Bird.  I downloaded all the songs, natch, and listened, but Andrew just stuck around.  And my life stopped temporarily.  And then it started up again quickly, and I was dizzy all day.  Literally, I keep feeling like I’m going to fall over or something, but I’m perfectly awake.

Andrew Bird, though, is an incredibly talented violinist, a professional whistler, and a big user of the glockenschpiel and xylophone (much like Sufjan Stevens aka Soofy, he’s quite the Renaissance man).  He writes his own music and he sings his own songs, and sometimes he plays in his socks.  I was smitten when I first heard the beginning of “Tables and Chairs.”  I felt like my room got warmer and sunnier.  He has that effect.  He’s one of my top four all-time favourites, which are J-Lewis (Rilo Kiley, with Watson Twins), Bright Eyes, and the Arcade Fire.  Just like that.  I’ve been listening to him for mere hours…he makes me feel happy and complete, like I can have picnics every day.  I could have a picnic with one of his albums in and be very content by the end.  Very content.

I also greedily thought that I should keep “All Things Go” to myself for a few weeks, as well as Andrew Bird, but that’s it–I just can’t.  I couldn’t.  This was an enlightening moment.  It won’t go away tomorrow or next week.  I’m really dizzy.  Just listen to one song.  He’s hooked me.

Andrew Bird | Case in Point
Andrew Bird | Tables and Chairs
Andrew Bird | A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left



PETRIFIED SOCKS ARE GROSS
18 November, 2006, 855 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

All this relationship talk is desperation.  Everyone wants to cling on to a little piece of the togetherness that was marching band.  The friendships formed.  The inside jokes.  I’m missing it.  I hate it, but I miss it.  I’ve decided that I probably will do winter drumline, because I want the mallets anti-stress to balance out oboe stress, and I love my section.  Plus, I’ve still (maybe) got next year with them, and if not, then I want to get in as much time with them as I can.  The drumline’s not horrible; I don’t hate any of them at all, and I’m friends with…well, three of them, underclassmen.  I don’t know how annoying they think I am (I know some people get openly flustered with me, but I don’t know why), but I don’t care.  At least I’m not attempting to go out for drumline when I’m so obviously not a percussionist.

I feel like I’m finally getting a grasp on Math Analysis, but in doing so, I’m letting go of English.  Lame.  It’s like I’ve been hybernating or something for a year or two; I finally almost feel alive again.  Granted, I haven’t chilled (just hung out, it’s been many weeks) with my friends in a long time, but everything is coming together.

There are attainable boys, unattainable boys, assignments, classwork…I’m starting to love history, which is strange since we’ve done American history since preschool, and I hated it (but loved World History).

My musical tastes are becoming enhanced, and I’m broke and my parents are splitting more clearly every day, but I’m happy right now.  I don’t want to leave, but it’s almost inevitable.

I’m tired, and my Runescape level is like 43 now.  Movin’ on up.  Sweet.

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AVEC UN COUER INNOCENT
17 November, 2006, 812 am
Filed under: Music, School

This day is sixties day. Upon looking for a new song for my MySpace, I found Pitchfork Media’s summary of “The 200 Greatest Songs of the 1960s.” Well, I was looking for a 70s song for my space, but I figured I would probably be a little familiar with the Temptations and such…no…it was like reliving my childhood.

First, let me explain my choice of song. I settled for France Gall after searching the pages for some mod chicks; they normally have okay songs (not Twiggy–she sucked as a singer). Francoise Hardy was okay. Same with Brigitte Bardot. It only helped that their songs were in French; I love French. But France Gall’s song was very loungey and catchy. So I listened to it about ten times and then dubbed it my new song. The weird thing? She’s a crappy singer, she’s not in tune, and she’s very sing-song and childlike. Why not like her, though? It’s James Bond, baby. “Laisse Tomber Les Filles.” Okay, she’s singing about crying about a boy who she wants to drop the girls…but it’s a fucking catchy tune without being annoying.

Upon my searches of the pages of this ultimate 60s music refresher, I found the Byrds (“Turn, Turn, Turn” among others), Del Shannon (“Run Around Sue”), Bobby Darin (“Beyond the Sea”)…I did not manage to find the song whose keyboard run is perpetually stuck in my head reminding me of a kaliedoscope, and I gan never figure out what song it is. I’m pretty positive that’s 60s.

Anyway, my Last.fm account probably looks really queer with all those 60s icons mixed in, including some of my Motown favourites. Yes, I’m an early Motown fan. RahRahRah. Lap it up.

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Regarding the game tomorrow, I’m pretty stoked to make it count for something. I want to hang out with my band friends for the last time, and I want this to be fun. I like football games but I hate football.

I wrote a short story yesterday, and you can find it here, although I’d recommend that if you read it, you should take caution and not read anything else on that account for your own benefit. It’s piles and piles of crap. The story itself is vague and I promise that it’s not autobiographical. In fact, the girl character, aside from having knocky knees and writing too much (and some of her insecurities), isn’t like me much at all. She’s bubbly and kinda hyper. I’m too mellowed out. I drew from my own experiences to write it, obviously. It’s not great and it’s very stereotypical, but I’m proud of it. Proud enough to include it on here.

I feel very bored with my life these days. I keep seeing the same people, the same places, the same foods…I do the same thing pretty much every day. I listen to some new things, but are they really new? No. I need some variety. I wish Emeril could come over and kick it up a notch or something lame like that. I need some drama or a haircut or a new friend. I need all of the above, actually. Maybe some hair dye? I like my hair colour, though. I try to get people to not take me seriously, but they just think I’m really odd when I do that when, in fact, I’m acting more like myself. It’s stunting my growth as a person. The only class that’s not doing this to me is Extended Study, and that’s because we make dumb jokes all class long and talk about RPS-101. Then we get into music, and that’s always an interesting argument. It’s the Pillows versus whatever band I can pull out of my sleeve, which is a lot. The Pillows, by the way, are basically an anime band. Bwahaha. They’re probably good.



WE WILL BECOME SILHOUETTES
16 November, 2006, 733 am
Filed under: Music, School

Wow.  Let’s summarize today.

Driver’s Ed
-Stress-free
-Sara got a nosebleed; let’s broadcast it

Math Analysis
-I get logarithmic functions because I lack the ability to overanalyze math
-C!!!  I’m so happy.  When have I ever said I was proud of having a C?

Chemistry
-Fuck.  Packet due tomorrow.  Ugh.
-How are some people bad at nomenclature?!
-I like the seating arrangements because everyone around me is nice

Lunch
-Kicked Tim’s backpack about five times ninja-style
-Told Jordan about interest
-Jordan’s eyes bugged out of his head and he laughed

Extended Study
-There is a guy in there with my tastes in music
-He was in my second grade class; I’ll let him figure that out on his own
-Lame RPS-101…NUKE!  and TURNIP!
-Gay jokes, innuendo, me being impressionable

English
-UGH
-Group projects; my group is pleasant but we’re kind of repressed
-C. Fuller should tell you something

Bus
-Crazy driver says bus will be 20 minutes late from now on
-AKA we will be 20+ minutes late to school from now on
-I wish I could drive

Home
-Dark + evil
-Hair = bad
-Cats = actually not present

Mumz
-Evil
-Perpetually on her cellular with Lewisburg

This drives me crazy.  I’m sorry to break the simplicity, but it flusters me that she doesn’t even inquire about our needs or our feelings anymore.  To you, she’s the coolest mom ever, and you wish she was your mom.  She’s lenient if you have good grades and a clean room but most especially if you dress like her and listen to Q-94.  And you can share her clothes.  Perfect, right?  Just ask Rachael; she’s not, and it’s annoying how childish she acts to gain friendships and then she’ll use the “I’m the Parent” card every time we try to tell her off on it.  And she pretends she’s offended when someone says she’s too skinny.  After sixteen years living with this woman, I don’t understand how that’s such an insult.  It hurts to be called fat because that’s always been frowned upon.  It’s fine to be skinny because that’s what everyone sees as the ideal.  And if you’re average by the doctors’ standards, then you’re overweight by everyone else’s.  I hate it.  You can have my mom.  I’m sick of it.

Just wait, tomorrow, I’ll feel guilty for writing this.  Again, rule number one of my blog:  Do not sympathize.  I want feedback, not weepy offers to help me out.

In other news, I am in love with “We Will Become Silhouettes” ever since yesterday, when I watched the video and saw Jenny Lewis sitting there plain as day with a cheap keyboard in her lap.  The video is amazing, and the song is super without the video; it sparks ideas and creativity.  The Postal Service one.  The Shins one isn’t bad, but it lacks Jenny.  I should just dedicate this whole fucking site to Jenny Lewis.  I’m only partly kidding.



MOBOCRACY FOR JENNY, LEIGH, AND CHANDRA
15 November, 2006, 529 am
Filed under: Music

That Jenny Lewis show will haunt me for the rest of my life; I swear to God, Jesus is hanging it in my face like, “HAH your dad ‘forgot’ to get the tickets, so you couldn’t see this most epic show that’s now downloadable on NPR.”  I’m pissed off.  I could have seen her and heard this genuine epicness, including her unreleased songs and covers, but no.  I stayed home, went to the Armenian festival the day before, and moped like a LAMF.  It was the perfect Jenny Lewis opportunity, and now I have to wait for her next album release (if there is one!!!) and her next tour, which will be in years, or else until I’m 18 and can drive me, Erika, and Gil and other Jenny fans down to the closest concert–or to OMAHA.

Jenny and the lovely Watson twins at a bigger show

This is the recording of the concert we would have gone to at the 930 Club in D.C.  If you really want it, the right-click and “Save Target As…”  And let me tell you, it’s an amazing show.  The crowd is silent and they cheer at the right points.  Jenny sounds great.  The set list is perfect (although I think they could have done some Rilo Kiley tunes to jazz it up a little–but still, it’s gerrate).  You can hear her counting off faintly, and it’s just perfect.  I wish I could see it.  It sounds like something I definitely missed out on.  “Happy” is chilling and sexy.  I’m in love with “Fernando.”  It’s dirty and adventurous.  More adventurous.

Gosh.  Jenny Lewis is so cute (platonic), and the Watson twins are so memorable and perfect…I am grieving.

“Jack” is kinda weird, but…uh, soulful.  “Born Secular” is fantastic; that was one of my favourites on the album anyway, but live (or on a live recording that I should have gone to), it’s very powerful.  “Rabbit Fur Coat,” too.  It was amazing.  Just like on the album.  Solo.

“Acid Tongue” is heartwrenching and true.  It speaks to me directly.  Probably one of my favourites is “Sunday,” because one of the Watson twins’ voices kept cracking (twice!) when they tried to do it, so they started over.  The way the crowd “Ooooh”ed and laughed at the humour and innuendo and ownage in that short, sweet song was inspiring.  It was just the way I pictured the concert to be.

Except that we weren’t there.



ALL MY FRIENDS WERE VAMPIRES
14 November, 2006, 649 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

For some reason or another, today I was both incurably cold and incurably depressed.  This isn’t to be attributed to any boy or any realization; it was just my mood today.  I’m healthier than normal and I weigh less than usual.  The strange thing?  I don’t care.  I’ve always obsessed over my weight and my looks, ever since I was thirteen, but when I stop caring, I’m at my best.  I guess it’s because I’m focused on other things, so I’m healthier?

I wish I did not have hazel eyes.  I’d give anything to have plain brown eyes or even blue eyes.  I adore hazel eyes in guys (I also adore blue and brown and green and grey eyes in guys), but I hate them on myself.  I see them as a reflection of my soul, which would be impure.  Or maybe you could consider hazel as a plethora of colours.  Or dirty.  Or deceiving, because one moment they’re brown and the next minute they’re hazel.  With mine, you can only tell they’re hazel if you’re close-up or if I’m in the sunlight.  That might mean that you can only really get to know my true personality if you’re close to me, or if you make me happy.  Come on, though…that’s applicable to pretty much everyone.

Also, do you ever hear guys raving about chicks with hazel eyes?  “Man, I love girls with hazel eyes.”  No.  You hear about brown eyes and blue eyes a lot…mostly blue, but brown is pretty pure, too.  There are songs about them both.  The only hazel-eyed song I’ve ever heard was a Kelly Clarkson one, and it was about her.  Go figure.  It was also lame.

Conor Oberst has hazel eyes.  They are doe-like.  Jenny Lewis does not have hazel eyes.



FLATTERBUG
13 November, 2006, 754 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Update: This post was only temporary because I decided that I don’t want to use this blog for pictures of me and that it all reads best when it’s anonymous. Well, relatively anonymous…when you can’t pin a face to all the writing. Plus, as Erika always reminds me, Q-94 is a dead giveaway to where I live, and I don’t think I want to run the risk of being kidnapped, et cetera. So. Let’s keep it this way.

EDIT: I’d hate for you to think it’s some fat, obnoxiously outgoing gothic/emo/mainstream chick writing with her ugly friends commenting (not that there’s anything wrong with that…but it bugs me how opinonated some fat gothic/emo/mainstream chicks are…and unrealistically idealistic, especially when their friends encourage them to date someone/commit suicide (damn, that was mean…sorry)), so I’m going to inform you that it’s not. I’m not fat or gothic/emo/mainstream (compared to many). Neither are my friends. We are suave, but not photogenic.

Except like Derek, but that’s only on Artpad. Otherwise, his face is the colour of we.

Owned. Pwned. “Pooned.”

Sorry for the inside joke. Explanation: One day, Derek wore a shirt that said, “The Colour of We,” and we (as in me and “the” guys, not “our” men–two completely different groups of people here) were looking into the meaning while I kept being immature and saying, “Your face [fill in the blank],” and then he pwned me with some “Your face” insult, and then I super-pwned him with “Your face is the colour of WE.” I meant wee. As in camel piss. Not really. It was one of those “you had to be there things.” Yeah, be ashamed that you weren’t there. Whatever.

I’m joking. I need to stop hanging out with underclassmen so much. They’re warping my mind into the Land of Incessant Bad Jokes.