30 March, 2007, 619 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

For some reason, I’m immensely satisfied with the way “To Kill A Mockingbird” turns out.  I loved it.  The line, “I never saw him again,” depresses me a great deal.  It always happens with the great books I read, though.  I get depressed when they’re done.

Boo Radley, though, I miss the most, even if he was such a hidden character, even if he only spoke a single line in the whole novel.  If I wasn’t at school when I finished it, I would have cried.

By the way, I must have some type of math dyslexia.  I actually got an 1860 on my SATs, just like Divya, so I really didn’t suck at them like I thought I did.  I’m relieved.  For comparison purposes, I’ll leave you with my scores, since I now know there’s nothing to be ashamed of, having my SAT scores 40 points lower than my PSAT scores.

Critical Reading –> 640 (87th percentile)
Math –> 600 (74th percentile)
Writing –> 620 (85th percentile)

On the multiple choice, I got a 63, and on my essay I only got an 8 (and THAT, I am VERY ashamed of).

ONLY 1820
30 March, 2007, 316 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I blame my parents.

Not really. Except that they gave me lots of stress on the actual test day, right before the test. I was hoping for at least a 1900, like I got on my PSATs, but instead I’m crying over an 1820 (1240 on a 1600 scale, so I beat Dubbya). Some people would kill to be me, but I’m dying to be someone else. I could get into JMU in a snap, if that was my choice school. But no. I have to shoot high, for Oberlin and Kenyon. In Ohio. What the fuck is so special about Ohio, anyway?

Oh, ya, it’s for lovers.

I’m swear I’m totally just kidding.

EDIT:: I realize that by saying, “so I beat Dubbya,” it seemed like I was saying Divya in a slurred manner; I actually meant George W. Bush. Divya scored higher than me. =]

29 March, 2007, 334 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Today, I thought my history teacher called me Conny and I got scared. He actually said, “I got it,” and I couldn’t hear him.

Let’s talk about Diana. She’s a whiny asswipe. Let’s talk about Jenny. She treats me like I’m two years old when I try to make an effort. She actually changes her tone of voice as though she’s talking to someone stupid or significantly younger than herself when she talks to me. I guess some people find me strange, since I normally can’t hear when people are talking to me, but I always overhear things. It’s almost like eavesdropping, but I can’t help it. I want to be in conversations that I’m never in. And I despise helping people with chemistry and with math. I suck at that side of the brain, but I still get good enough grades, and then everyone thinks I’m some fucking brainiac tutor or something–I’m not. I just have a slightly higher IQ and I went to Moody, which gave me life skills. I’m also academically independent, meaning I don’t ask for help and nobody should ask me for help (unless it’s with French or English).

23 March, 2007, 547 pm
Filed under: School

If I went to Kenyon, I’d be able to see people like Maria Taylor and Headlights play ALL THE TIME at my college.  So now, it’s Oberlin and Kenyon and who knows where else.

By the way, I have a friend on MySpace named Michelle, and her hair is as amazing as/more amazing than Erin Fein’s.  They both have swooping bangs.  I envy that and attempt it every morning, and only accomplish my goal 1/5 or 2/5 of the times I attempt it.

22 March, 2007, 732 pm
Filed under: Music, Uncategorized

Let me outline this post. First, I’ll write about music, like Maria Taylor and The Blow and Bright Eyes and The Arcade Fire. I’d also like to throw in there that I love Arizona, but that I won’t write about them today. A good portion of this entry is thanks to All Things Go, but some of it isn’t. Once I’m done writing about all this fantastic music, I’m going to write about what’s been happening with me. Mmmkay.

Maria Taylor’s debut album, 11:11 was incredible and intimate. I wolfed down all those pulchritudinous lyrics and imbibed her delicate and angelic voice. My ears were pleasantly surprised that Saddle Creek was able to produce something so ambrosial, and that it would be projected from this reservedly ravishing Alabama girl from Azure Ray and Now It’s Overhead. Granted, it wasn’t and still isn’t an album that I could listen to absolutely any time of the day; I had to be in the mood. And my favourite songs from the CD weren’t as solid as those from, say, Lifted by Bright Eyes or any of the Rilo Kiley albums. But it was more than a good start. It was enough to make me buy the album on first sight, which is rare for my financially conservative self (despite the fact that last weekend, I had a vagary to buy almost $10 worth of candy that I didn’t even want a few hours later). It was money well spent (11:11, not the candy). On March 7th, though, her sophomore album, Lynn Teeter Flower, was released to the waiting world. Normally, a sophomore album or a sequel or a second season determines whether or not the band or the book or movie series or the television show will continue, or for how long. Granted, “The Land Before Time” and, much to my dismay, “Shrek” didn’t listen to that rule (I think their sequels are ruining the original for me), but it generally works. I’ll admit that I haven’t bought this album yet, and thus I can’t give a full analysis of it, but her sound is heavier with less of a backing from harmonies, and she’s got more synth, more drums, more passion in her voice. I’m especially obsessed with “A Good Start.” So basically? I think that Maria Taylor’s a veteran who’s going to be around for a long, long time.

I’m going to skip over The Blow for about two seconds and discuss two other bands. First, Bright Eyes. I was originally despondent that Conor Oberst let his short mop of hair grow out into a long mop of hair, although he is now growing up. I guess they you grow up, girls realize that they don’t have to have long hair and guys realize that they don’t have to have short hair. There’s one senior at my school who keeps her hair shorter than most guys’, but it accentuates her heart-shaped face and her glowing, orb-like blue eyes and her ivory skin and radiant blond hair, and it makes her look more feminine, elegant, classy, and alluring than even the longest-haired, tannest, darkest-haired girl at this school. I could consider her my role model, but then, I’ve decided that I can’t have my hair that short unless I lose maybe 30 pounds. I also could not pull off blond hair and (trust me) I’ve tried hard to get my skin to be fair, but it takes to tan too well. Oh, and my eyes are hazel, which isn’t something I could change with peroxide or diet and exercise or sun exposure. So I’ve just settled for buying most of my clothes from Delia’s and H&M, which I would have done regardless, and it’s not like she acquires all her apparel there anyway. Back to Bright Eyes–March 7th, their Four Winds EP was released to the ravenous planet. This is another one that I can’t completely recapitulate, because neither Best Buy nor Barnes & Noble had it in stock (yes, I was even willing to overpay for it), but I’ve heard several songs off of it. I can say with absolute confidence that the song “Four Winds” makes the purchase worth it. Now, yes, it electrocuted the pants off me that Conor Oberst did not have a tremble to his voice, and that there was not even a hint of depression or angst or alcohol abuse in the voice or in the lyrics (so far as I’ve heard). I was a tad resentful at first–why would he sell out? Isn’t this the Conor Oberst who doesn’t WANT to sell out? But he’s growing up (he’s 27 now and he probably doesn’t want to be killed by the Curse), altering his image, and maybe the rest of the world will test him out now. He’s released what–5 LPs and countless EPs with Bright Eyes alone since 1995, and multitudes more with Park Ave and Commander Venus! It’s about time the world started listening instead of just hearing. Maybe he’ll get a few positive reviews this time.

I’m not gonna lie–I loved Funeral. It was an anytime album for any song at all. I discovered something new every time I listened. I was afraid Neon Bible couldn’t match up, but after I heard two singles, “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations” and “Black Mirror,” I was assured that it might even outdo the debut. On March 7th, Neon Bible was unleashed, too (despite the fact that several weeks prior, the whole album had leaked). I bought the album and then kneeled outside of Circuit City on the concrete and tore the plastic wrap off the case to let it breathe. I stayed up late at night listening, searching for hidden meanings. But to be honest, on the first and even second listen, Neon Bible disappointed me. I like hearing things new instead of three years later, but this kind of sucked. The rhymes and lyrics lacked substance and sometimes didn’t even make sense. I became glum. But I pulled my britches up higher and gave it a final opportunity to impress because I knew there had to be something else to this shiny disc. And I was right. Soon, Neon Bible was all I could listen to. There seem to be direct references to America sucking, and certain Americans sucking, and MTV sucking. This made me overjoyed and then doleful in such a rush. I agree with them, but it’s weird seeing this aloof band that dwells in a realm all their own preaching to me about all these affairs they aren’t even supposed to be aware of. I’m such a wannabe Canadian and a wannabe European, but I’m not old enough to quench my yearning. I suppose I’m a lot like Win, who’s Texas-born but married a Haitian goddess and lives in Canada. Win Butler is almost 27 himself (April 14th). It’s odd to find that two men so unrelated–Conor Oberst and Win Butler–are the same age and at such a risk of a Curse, but they’re only ten years older than me, both of them. When I see them and hear them now, I think of someone so much older, someone at least 30. But they’re Herce’s age, maybe a little younger. Like a few centuries younger. Or, well, a year younger.

Speaking of which, I miss Herce. David Herce, Dave Herce, dentist, percussionist, precussion instructor at Deep Run, Thomas Dale, whatever, I’m trying to make it easy for him to Google himself in the event that he decides to be a little/quite narcissistic (ab or rib?), WE MISS YOU. Or I do. But really, we do.

Now I have to, have to, haaaave to talk about The Blow at the risk of…death. I heard then on a few people’s MySpace profiles and fell in love on the spot each time. They’ve got this simple sound that’s too good to pass up. Like…”True Affection” has this elastic “Laffy Taffy” beat but this white girl, Khaela Maricich comes in with this cute song about love, and her voice has this pure affection that can’t be matched by anyone. It’s not like Amy Millan’s affection, though–it’s a rough and raw affection. And “when you’re holding me, we make a pair of parentheses” proves that they have cute lyrics, too. But the adjective “cute” doesn’t just bubble to the surface automatically when one ponders on the band. In theory, they’re not cute. But there’s not really a word for The Blow’s sound. They just are. Actually, I’m not even sure that they are. That they exist, I mean. The Blow is simply too fantastic.

Now to real life.  Tuesday, I experienced utter relief at a confessional.  For some reason, writing my story doesn’t always help the most.  I never realized how much moving would affect me or the people I love who live here until I had to narrate my feelings.  I just thought of the positives–that I’d be the smartest kid in my grade, that I’d be new and fresh and people might like me.  I’d get a new start.  And I’d still be able to see Derek every weekend.  I’ll be able to drive by the time we move.  But that’s not really the whole story; you have to look at both sides, something that I’m always capable of, but for some reason, this time, I was blocking out the cons in favour of the pros.  I want to travel the world, so moving would be good, and I didn’t tell anyone that because I knew they’d think I didn’t love them anymore.  The only visible negatives before Tuesday were that I wouldn’t live near my friends and that I have social phobia.  And it would put a definite strain on me and Derek and what with Prachi and Drew and everyone else whispering in my ear, “It’s not going to work,” or, “Long-distance relationships are stupid,” I didn’t feel any better about it.  I mean, I always thought they were dumb, too, but then, at that point, I never thought I’d have one, much less that I’d have a boyfriend, period, to make me have to worry about things like that.  But otherwise, not much to worry about.

My house is almost done now, though; my parents are getting a new shower door today, the driveway’s sealed, the new lightswitch covers are in place, the photographs are off my doors and off my walls, things are gradually and stealthily coming out of the attic, being sold or kept in new places.  When I said, “Maybe I should leave,” it was in sarcasm.  When I was asked, “Where?” I figured that was also in sarcasm.  And so I answered, “To Piñata Island, so you can go to rehab.”  But I didn’t realize that it was real until an awkward silence hit and I couldn’t find a face; it shifted out of view every time I tried to locate it.  I had my suspicions, since I’ve found myself sheltering my eyes from the cruel world time and time again; nobody could make fun of me if they didn’t see my emotions.  But this was something else entirely.  This was maybe fear and agony; I doubt I’ll ever know.  But it changed my views.

Maybe I want to travel the world because nobody in these new places will know me.  They’ll think I’m snazzy and new and they’ll be deceived.  I think I could get over my social phobia that way.  And my family won’t be around to remind me of who I was and who I’m supposed to be.

But moving isn’t the best thing because I’ve been reminded and it’s been certified that there are some people here who I care about more than I do about the world or about travelling or about French.  And there may be people like that all over the world, but I don’t want replacements for the originals.

By the way, Erika is wearing a shirt today with Prince naked on it, and I am making Mock Apple Pie on Sunday to bring in for my band class on Monday.

17 March, 2007, 353 am
Filed under: Music, School

After all the unfocusedness at Festival yesterday, and all the feeling sick of playing “When Angels Weep,” “Havendance,” and “The Invincible Eagle” (the third of which we’ve been playing literally all year), we swept the judges away with straight Superiors. That’s right, we’re still a Virginia Honour Band. Had the chorus stepped it up and gotten Superiors instead of Excellents, we would have earned the title of Blue Ribbon School of Music. At least we keep our end of the bargain high, along with strings/orchestra and symphonic band. I feel bad for saying all that, but we did it and they didn’t and it’s as simple as that.

13 March, 2007, 711 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I want a job.  I need a job.  I know I need a job.  I need money.  Derek tells me I need a job.  So I need a job.

Where does one such as myself work?  I think I want to work at Borders, very much.  I cannot work at Borders.  Why not?  I couldn’t bring myself to ask for a job application.  why not?  I have an ingrained fear that the workers will laugh at me because I’m so shy.  “She thinks she has a chance getting a job here?!  HA!”  They’ll laugh in my face.  They’ll refuse my request.  And even if I get the courage to turn in the application, they’ll know how phobic and incompetent I am, even if I’m the hardest worker alive.  And they’ll refuse me, and I’ll be humiliated.

I’ll be stuck at Food Lion (if I get the courage), I suppose, stocking shelves, scanning items, perpetually cold, and everyone will think I’m alright with minimum wage, that I’m too lazy to get a better job, maybe that I’m not smart, but I’ll be the only one who knows my PSAT (and eventually SAT) scores and my full potential.  How will I survive college and where would I be without Derek?

Probably not here.