31 January, 2007, 749 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun

Completion. Hanging out avec les filles. Avec mes filles. Having that Flava Chains machine eat some of the $$$ Erika lent me for buying toys at CVS. Getting talked into using this piece of shit in Kirby: Air Ride.

By the way, if you’ve never played Kirby: Air Ride, then ignore everything I just said; buy GameCube and that game, and hop on that brilliant ship. Watch it go! It’s so fast. And the steering is nice and easy.

Being King Dedede, who has, okay, well, maybe a little in common with the Carlos Mencia “de-de-de.”

Being METAL SONIC, who has nothing wrong with him; HE HOVERS!

Watching Scrubs and eatin’ churros, not at the same time.

Spinning in circles back to E-Dawg’s house, I guess because we’re just all really cool.

And then leaving with all that rejuvenation, even if we’re not caught up with one another’s lives at all (or, well, me with theirs and them with mine), to join someone who has been the most prominent part of my life ever since I lost a firm hold on them. Someone who, and this is admittedly very frightening (and probably really sappy-sounding, WHATEVER), if I lost hold on him, I don’t think I’d have any life whatsoever, or at least, it would be lacking in so much substance and happiness and clarity. Technicolour. It would be black and white.

I’m lame, though, and I steal clichés. Why don’t I just exploit? With the girl-pals, or “bros,” I guess, it’s almost like a bragging right to be able to share everything you’ve done, or almost everything, and probably leave out some of the things you said, just to make an inside joke. With “hos,” it kills the moment to share pretty much anything you’ve done. Except if it made that huge an impact on you that you want to share with like one to three people. You probably won’t talk about it with anyone else ever again…but that’s what makes it special.

Well, those are my rules of thumb; I don’t really give a shit what anyone else does regarding bros versus hos

But we are moving to Newfoundland to start a snow-shoveling business so we can afford $$$ to buy couches, Fruit Roll-Ups, and brownie mix, and I guess a stove and some baking mitts, too. A brownie tray. Whatever. We will live there, though. And maybe I’ll grow…

29 January, 2007, 858 pm
Filed under: Music

I like my morning routine. Get up, rub my eyes a lot, turn off the TV, go to the bathroom, play GHII or do something otherwise considered unproductive by the masses (BUT I’M WORKING ON GETTING THE BATTLEAXXXx!!! How is that unproductive?!), then hop in the shower, and when I get out, sit in my underwear at the computer figuring out what I’m going to do for the rest of the day, as my chair leaves an imprint on the back of my thighs. I save contemplating life for the evenings. I hate mornings, and I’m totally not a morning person, ever, but I have fun in the mornings. Well, “fun.”

This morning, I managed to find my Pokemon, Sailor Moon, Yu-Gi-Oh (It’s on! And I got the cards from my g-ma when I was like 12, so I was kind of disgusted…), and American Girl trading cards. Most of them were Pokemon, though. It was a rewarding experience.

I also actually had breakfast for the first time in…probably in months, actually. In about eighth grade, this would have been news, shocking news to me, just terrifying, because I always used to eat breakfast back then. I was pretty dependent on food. Well, after I lost the weight and didn’t care about food anymore, I was like, “FUCK THIS!” Screw breakfast, after school snacks, the munchies…meat, high fructose corn syrup. You could say I enjoy the vegetarian cuisine a lot. And, okay, sometimes, I get the munchies.

Normally I’m good at segways, but I guess I don’t normally write in the mornings.

I was listening to Wolf Parade’s “Grounds for Divorce” one day, and I decided to look up the lyrics. At one part, it sounds like he says, “Look at the lovers/In the telephone stands/And the way they move/And the way they move their hands/And look at their babies/Playing in the sand/And the way they get loved/And the way they get loved, oh.” And I’ve listened to the song multiple times since, and that sounds about right. However, every last lyric site I’ve gone to says, “Look at the lovers/And the way they stand/And the way they move/And the way they move their hands/And look at their babies/And their tiny little hands/And the way they get loved/And the way they get loved, oh.” It does NOT sound like that! I’m sorry! I don’t hear it! The syllables don’t match, the sounds don’t match!

Oh, but did you ever realize that Andrew Bird’s “The Happy Birthday Song” has the same little riff at the beginning as “Grounds for Divorce” does at the end? Same notes and everything, same rhythm. Maybe I’m the only one who listens to both…

With combined brain power, Derek and I managed to discover that my “lyrics” were totally off because some nasty little fuck thought it would be funny/I don’t even KNOW to put a wrong version on Limewire.  That teaches me not to trust downloads.

28 January, 2007, 736 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Today, in the car, I considered this revival of my self, or I guess myself.  I was thinking about people who act themselves and 99% of the time don’t restrain themselves, or rather, who are not fake.  They voice their opinons, make themselves heard, and let people know what kind of mood they’re in instead of trying to conceal it.  And why the fuck not?  A few people whizzed around in my brain, but they were detached, fuzzy, and frankly, I didn’t care about them at all.  Then someone incredibly genuine came to mind, someone who, not only is she always her genuine self, but she’s also incredibly loyal, a great friend, who is, in fact, the only person in the world who can tell what kind of a mood I’m in without only extremely subtle hints, because she’s very detail-oriented.


This isn’t just a flattery blog either, for a best friend…it’s not that I felt an obligation to write about her because I haven’t done so yet…it’s a gratitude blog as much as it is a completely relevant record of a mark in my life, where I’m trying to figure myself out, and Divya has always been there as the symbol of truth and just honesty right under my nose.  She knows what other people think of her, and whether that’s good or bad, she doesn’t care, but it’s not a broody rock-hard type of don’t care; it’s a really flimsy, liquidy, almost pleasant and laughing type of don’t care, where if she needed to, she could care, but she doesn’t need to, so she doesn’t.  But I think more people should appreciate her than not because she’s real.  And I find it interesting because while she’s somewhat outgoing (or talkative, I guess) in certain social situations, and she makes her mind known, there’s so much that nobody else knows about her, likely not even me.  And every day, you find out something new and appreciate her more.  I love having intelligent conversation, even in the mornings when I probably look and sound like I could care less.  I think tree talk is funny, even with my occasional halfhearted chuckles.  And man, this is going to sound fucking borderline homosexual, but I don’t care–I’ll say what I want on my own blog!  You can tell all this by the lack of imputiries in her eyes, especially in the sunlight, where it’s a rich milk chocolate tinged maybe with some caramel?  But the caramel’s mixed in really well.  And her eyes are framed by thick black eyelashes, and protected by good-shaped eyebrows (I am obsessive over eyebrows).  It doesn’t matter if she has to wear contacts or glasses to see; she still has gorgeous eyes.

28 January, 2007, 1215 am
Filed under: Music

There was something about hearing “Needle in the Hay” on “The Royal Tenenbaums,” especially its placement, that made me start to adore the song. Of course, I’d heard it before, on my own without any guidance–I mean, do you really need guidance to start to listen to Elliott Smith? I can’t say I loved it, though. The irony at its positioning in the movie, though…in the midst of an attempted suicide scene–and we all know how Elliott went down–it would almost seem tasteless, but it’s like a tribute that was before its time. And it’s such a gorgeous song.

Bright Eyes, though, is sold out, and probably have been since minutes after the tickets started to sell. I think Sufjan will put on a better show, but we’re not going to that one, either.

Because of talk in the forums (know that I can see ’em, and I’m pleased that someone linked this page), I feel like I have to justify myself in something, even though I know already that I don’t have to. Jason Mraz is wonderful, but–and I may sound biased for saying this, but it’s the utter truth, try to prove me wrong–he’s not Conor Oberst or Bright Eyes or any of that. He’s creative, he’s interesting, colourful, and he’s got great people skills (just watch that MadTV episode where he plays/acts–he is damn good at interacting with the crowd there), as well as fast-talking skills. He takes “Love is Real” to a different level. But is it just as genuine and sincere as Bright Eyes’s original? It has a different meaning to Jason Mraz from Conor Oberst’s intentions. And that’s fine–Bright Eyes has some good and not-so-good covers out there, and he always takes things at least slightly differently from the originals. “Love is Real,” though, is a song that’s very personal and hits close to the heart. You’re likely to like the one you heard first the best. Jason Mraz has earned the title “pop artist” by being played on pop stations–it’s nothing intended to be insulting. If you wanted to, you could call the Strokes pop, and I probably wouldn’t argue. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too impressed if Bright Eyes covered a Jason Mraz song unless they did it similarly to the original, and stylistically, they’re very different artists, so that’s unlikely. Over the months since, though, I’ve found ways to appreciate Jason Mraz’s version, although admittedly, I don’t listen to either one much anymore. Download Jason Mraz’s version below, si vous desirez, and enjoy.

Jason Mraz | Love is Real Cover

26 January, 2007, 648 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Be pertinent or be silent.

I’m in a super mood right now.  I think for the past week, I’ve actually been real for the first time in a while.  The people who annoy me, I brush them off my shoulders because I don’t feel like putting up with any more bullshit.   I don’t feel like pretending I care anymore, and I hate having to fake laugh and paste a gaddamn fake smile on my face and look forward to 5 minutes from now or 10 minutes from then.  So instead, I skip all that crap and just do what I’m thinking in my head.  I can have a good time right now.  Of course, I know that in expressing myself a little more, I’m also invading other people’s territory, mainly via MySpace with ugly and lengthy comments, but I feel really giddy and rejuvenated and energized, so I feel like I need to tell someone.  At least it’s not in their faces, though.  They can read and respond if they want to, or if they feel polite, but they certainly don’t have to.  And I don’t really care if they don’t; my impression of myself is that I’m not too cute or bright or interesting, but that’s okay in a transition period, and during this transition, I actually don’t care what anyone else thinks about me.  That’s not to say I’m not putting in an effort and washing myself; I like to feel clean, and I like to see my acne disappear daily as I use Noxzema and moisturizer, and I like to look pretty and awake.  And, you know, as my mother reminds me whenever she catches me without makeup on, or when my hair’s looking oily, or when I’m just wearing a tee shirt, I have to at least keep up my appearances for Derek, whether it be for his satisfaction or so that other people aren’t calling me ugly.  Or both.

Actually, I never thought I’d say this, ever.  But I’m making one small attempt at finding myself.  And the first thing I have to do is act like myself consistently around everyone.

One of the main triggers for this was my mother asking about the girls.  Marty and E-Dawg and why we haven’t chilled in a while.  Just writing that down, I feel a catch in my throat, no exaggeration.  See, as much as my mother may want me to hang out with juniors who will go to the mall and take me to Hollister, as much as she wants me to hang out with “normal” girls not involved with the animal rights movement and the outlandish music I listen to…or maybe real studious girls who are smart and read a lot and don’t have a sense of style at all…now she understands why I hang out with them, and that would be because we have similar interests.  Do I have any major factor in my life in common with any junior I’ve met yet thus far?  No.  Well, okay, one, but I couldn’t carry a conversation with him.  Doesn’t matter, anyway.

Dude, I DON’T FEEL LIKE WRITING THIS ANYMORE.  I’m fucking happy, man.  Fuck this.  But I do miss my girls, a lot.

26 January, 2007, 439 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

[18:44] indiechouette: d00d
[18:44] indiechouette: i just had a revelation
[18:44] indiechouette: and you’re going to question my intelligence, maybe, for asking this
[18:44] indiechouette: but
[18:44] indiechouette: or, well, stating it
[18:44] indiechouette: but
[18:44] indiechouette: you know how in spanish, “burro” means donkey/ass?
[18:44] indiechouette: or mule
[18:44] indiechouette: or w/e?
[18:44] Mastashake91: yeah
[18:45] indiechouette: well, maybe i should have started with this
[18:45] indiechouette: the normal word for brother is hermano
[18:45] indiechouette: but
[18:45] indiechouette: when you’re talking about a little brother, you call him a hermanito
[18:45] indiechouette: so
[18:45] indiechouette: burro + ito = burrito
[18:45] indiechouette: eeehhh?
[18:45] Mastashake91: haha
[18:45] Mastashake91: uhh
[18:45] Mastashake91: idk
[18:45] indiechouette: i dunno either
[18:46] Mastashake91: never thought of it like that
[18:46] indiechouette: i was just thinking…MAYBE that’s how it got the name, but then i dunno, how is that like a little mule?
[18:46] indiechouette: unLESS
[18:46] indiechouette: it’s because it carries many ingredients, like packmules carry many things
[18:47] Mastashake91: i think you’re thinking about this too hard
[18:47] indiechouette: probably
[18:47] indiechouette: haha
[18:47] Mastashake91:
[18:47] indiechouette:
[18:48] indiechouette: OH, WIKIPEDIA!
[18:48] indiechouette: The word burrito literally means “little donkey” in Spanish. The name burrito possibly derives from the appearance of a rolled up wheat tortilla, which vaguely resembles the ear of its namesake animal, or from bedrolls and packs that burros carried.
[18:48] Mastashake91: what would we do without wiki
[18:48] indiechouette: sweet mother
[18:49] Mastashake91: YOU’RE A GENIUS PAIGE
[18:49] indiechouette: and i’ve gone sixteen years without knowing why a burrito was called a burrito…when i could have just looked on wikipedia
[18:49] Mastashake91: YOU SOLVED IT
[18:49] indiechouette: hahahaha
[18:49] indiechouette: we just figured out blue’s clues!
[18:49] Mastashake91: that’s like solving the rubiks cube
[18:49] Mastashake91: good work
[18:49] indiechouette: hah, THX
[18:50] Mastashake91: ROFL
[18:50] indiechouette: LOLZ
[18:50] Mastashake91: IWBLHBMCIAAIDWTWH
[18:51] Mastashake91: (I would be laughing harder but my cat is asleep and I don’t want to wake him)
[18:51] Mastashake91: beat it sucka
[18:51] indiechouette: what, what you just wrote?
[18:51] indiechouette: OH
[18:52] indiechouette: i’m dumb
[18:52] Mastashake91: dood
[18:52] Mastashake91: you know what
[18:52] Mastashake91: just forget it
[18:52] Mastashake91: oh my gawd
[18:52] indiechouette: =\
[18:52] Mastashake91: you can figure out the mystery of a burrito
[18:52] Mastashake91: but man
[18:52] indiechouette: LO SIENTO
[18:52] indiechouette: SEN(~)OR!
[18:53] indiechouette: NO HABLO ESPAN(~)OL
[18:53] indiechouette: YO HABLO FRANCE(‘)S
[18:53] indiechouette: YO NO SOY ESTUPIDA
[18:53] Mastashake91: it’s stupida
[18:53] indiechouette: JE PROMIS
[18:53] indiechouette: WHATEVER

23 January, 2007, 748 am
Filed under: Music

Mmk, stats show that I am getting more lurkers than usual. That’s good. Just, je voudrais for a variety of people to comment, okay? I want a variety of opinons circulating, and I want a bunch of different random reactions and ideas. Lurkers keep that in mind.

Where to begin for today? Myth: Two-hour delay does no good. That’s…true, and we didn’t even need the Myth Busters to come in and prove it. While most of the catty girls in my HUSH class were making weird faces at one another at 1050 AM, completely unamused by the part-time Wildcat News anchorman and his daring to be different (haha, YEAH! Someone should have picked up on “Dare to be Different!”), I appreciated his sarcasm and I guess his false excitement voice. I hate catty girls. Really, I do. I also hate liars and cheaters, and I hope that wasn’t too pointed a glare in any direction. I know it wasn’t.

That, though, leads me to the point of this entry. Obviously…I’ve been writing a lot lately about how much j’adore Régine Chassagne. She is not Jenny Lewis, but she has new material, and I think I may love her as much as I love Jenny. However, Régine is married, so I cannot have her. Ugh.

Who is Régine, though, really? I know a shitload of you are stumped out of your minds, even ones who should know who she is. Well. Régine is the haïtienne female vocalist, accordion player, drummer, xylophonist, and keyboardist of the Arcade Fire, yes, that band I want to sex. Her husband, Win Butler, is the lead guitarist and vocalist mastermind behind the Arcade Fire. She’s fucking amazing.

Now here begins the countown you’ve been waiting for since you read the title of this here little blog! Exciting, I know.

The Top 5 Reasons I Love Régine Chassagne

Keep in mind that absolutely everything about little Miss Régine is game for my wonderful observations. Just know it.

5. Her arms. I know this sounds really weird, like I might be interested in her in more than a platonic manner, and yes, it’s okay to have girl crushes, but when I notice her arms, you must think I’m hiding something, right? If you watched that Laika video I put up, and maybe looked into other Arcade Fire live performances, you’ll notice that Régine always wears the same outfit. This may sound unsanitary, but it’s a nice outfit, a black dress complete with red glovelike things up to a little below the elbow. This is also why I love Sarah Neufeld a lot…If you observe her body proportions, they are not famished, and her husband is really hott (you should know I’m poking fun at America when I use that word). When I first found out that Régine and Win were married, I was disappointed, because I thought, “Along with this luscious indie rock voice must come a skinny, marketed-to-the-public, ugly-ass indie rock girl.” Not that our Régine is not skinny. She is perfect, though, and her arms, well, they reassure me that I do not need biceps to be happy. I can have all the globs of fat I want (not that Régine’s arms are fat–they aren’t at all! They’re just not substanceless.), and some attractive male out there won’t give a shit that I don’t have biceps. He’ll love me because I can make lustrous indie rock music. Or, well, for some other reason. Ha-ha.

4. Her pronunciation of the word “envelope.” From the time I was in preschool, I began to notice a discrepancy in people’s pronunciation of words depending on what part of the state or country they were from. Like, the simple word coupon was pronounced “coo-pawn” by me and “queue-pawn” by many an adult. Nevada was “nuh-vaw-duh” or “nuh-vaaah!-duh.” Philly people pronounced “berry” like “burr-y.” When I moved south, I had to train my ears to learn a new crayon (no longer “cran,” now “crown”) and a new aunt (now “ont,” not “ant”), and our (“ahh-wurr,” not “arr”), the last of which still kills me to this day. So envelope was “n-velope” instead of “on-velope.” When I looked up the lyrics for the Arcade Fire’s “The Woodlands National Anthem,” I noted this very word, and since Régine sings a good majority of this chanson, and also since she speaks fluent French, having been born in Canada and all, and then living in Canada for like forever, and since in French, you pronounce “en” as “on,” I figured that our darling would disappoint me and pronounce envelope as “on-velope.” But as I cringed there, listening for this disappointment, I realized she’d already said, “You just licked the envelope,” normally like twice. Gaddamn, GOTTA LOVE HER.

3. Her French. What can I say? ‘S cute!

2. Her hair. Man, REGINE! Her hair is curly, dude! And you know what? I love it. She doesn’t go out of her way to tame her hair and get it to go straight just for a silly photo shoot or a concert. She wears it naturally in a fro-like state. That sounds insulting; I don’t intend for it to be.  But you know what? It works infinitely well for her. It’s gorgeous. It defines her and she defines it. If she ever straightened her hair for a photo or something, man, I think I’d be a little upset that she sold out! She has gorgeous, healthy hair because she doesn’t do that. Oh, and an added bonus: In the MTV2 Laika video, she’s a character, and the animators gave her like Medusa hair. Haha. J’aime Régine. Not J’aime Tambeur, ha-ha, I’m clever. The Unicorns…anyone? The Islands? No, okay.


1. Her voice. I had a hard time with Numero Uno parce que I wanted to choose her height or lack thereof (look at the Conan video!  Then again, Conan is mammoth-sized.) because it’s something else she and I have in common, but then I was listening to “Laika” (THE! POLICE! DI-I-I-SCO LIGHTS!) and “The Woodlands National Anthem” and “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations” and I decided that something musical had to go in the number one spot. I honestly, man, I love her voice. It’s eerie, realistic, fairy-like. She can do happy. I’d so love to hear her speak in an interview. Hell, I’d love to hear her speak in person, to me.

*If you notice that these photos, or any on my blog, for that matter, were taken from your Flickr, and you want due credit, just post me a nice li’l comment with your Flickr account name and which photograph is yours, and I’ll get you the credit you deserve.  KTHX.  Again, poking fun at online LINGO.