Filed under: Uncategorized
Before I write my meme post or write more about music, or about French, I’d like to write something quite short on social phobia. There are few novel characters who have it–few or none. Some day, I will write a grand novel, where my main character will have social phobia and be completely misunderstood, and a friend of hers will had schizotypoid personality disorder, and together, they’ll overcome some tough social challenge. You will all be able to relate. I’ll write it for all of you.
The main thing that brought this sudden decision up is that I’m reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Christopher somehow reminds me of myself, only more intelligent, more distant. And a boy.
Sorry.
Filed under: Uncategorized
A while ago, I was blog lurking and I came across this one called Musica Religia. It’s unclear as to who writes it, as posts come in different languages, but as far as musical taste goes, it really, really doesn’t matter (although I would certainly like to know). I downloaded a few tracks, bookmark’d that jank, and left and let the tracks sit on my Dell for a week or two until I visited them, because sometimes, I vainly download music hoping I’ll like it, and then I hate it and never do shit with it. When I did visit them, one song stuck out in my mind, and I had to listen to it over…and over…and over…and over…and over again. And that’s why “Young Bride” by Midlake is the Song of the Week! Or rather, la Chanson de la Semaine!
If you don’t have the time to visit Musica Religia, you should make time, but just in case, I’ll post the track here, cause I love it. There’s something I find addictive about the combination of orchestral strings instruments combined with guitar and a drumset. And tons of mellow bass (possibly my favourite instrument ever). The song isn’t a partying, danceish one or a particularly happy one, but there’s something about the melancholy tone that makes it nostalgic and thus kinda happy. It makes me think of sipping a coffee at Starbuck’s on a rainy day or else about a kiss in the absolute darkest of nights. And as much as you guys may patronize me for it, the lyrics tug at my jacket and speak to me.
Young Bride | Midlake
Midlake’s Official Site
ADDED TREAT!! In English class this year, we had a student teacher named Ms. Wells, and she was possibly the most splendid teacher I’ve ever met. When we were reading “The Things They Carried,” she made a slideshow of photographs from the Vietnam War, showing all points of view and explaining the pictures, and one of the songs stuck with me–“Imagine” by John Lennon. Ms. Wells is gone now (although she substituted for my Extended Study teacher one day last week, which maybe made my day), but I’d like to include this song as the Honourary Chanson de la Semaine in her honour.
Imagine | John Lennon
UPDATE 02.12.07: I’m going to put this in a .zip file which you can access in a link below. The other links won’t work right now because I haven’t put them on MediaFire yet, but I’ll get to that later.
Ultimate Running Mix, Volume 1
So I’ve been running about a mile day for the past few days (and every other day for the weeks preceeding that), and sometimes, I need a little adrenaline rush to keep me going. Since I got these new running earbuds, I thought, “Why not make a running playlist?” My mood while running is both pondersome and kick-ass, and making the right playlist wouldn’t be tough. So I threw some crap together and Voila! Running Mix. They’re in alpha order, mostly, mainly because I always like to shuffle them up. Of course, the whole playlist generally lasts three miles without repeats, but just in case…
1. Heretics | Andrew Bird
“Thank God it’s fatal/Thank God it’s fatal/Not shy/Not shy and fatal/Not shy and fatal/Thank God”
I catch myself listening to this one as I walk from class to class. It’s not invasive and definitely thoughful, which makes it a great travelling song. There’s faint whistling and definitely one of those songs you just have to pin as universally atmospheric. I can fall asleep to it, but I can also run to it. This song is one of those that makes me look around and appreciate the way the sun falls on the ground.
2. Don’t Panic | Coldplay
“‘Cause here, everybody here’s got somebody to lean on”
This is the single most pondersome earthly song I’ve ever heard. But it comes from Coldplay. And the lyrics are nothing new. Garden State Soundtrack, I rest my case.
3. This Is the Dream of Win & Regine | Final Fantasy
“But what if they like it/And lock us in a cannery with your accordian?”
Clock-like ticking in the background, beautiful violin, mellow but astonishing voice. It’s all driven by the drums and the clock. The lyrics propel me, but it’s not like Owen Pallett is singing a love song to me–he’s singing it to someone else, Regine, from Win. This is another one that I walk from class to class with. That’s rare, because I don’t want to be embarrassed by something not thought-provoking. Other kids can read my mind, I’m sure.
4. When You’re Around | Motion City Soundtrack
“‘Cause I can’t fuckin’ stand it/When you’re around”
It’s a skeleton in the closet, especially since when I asked for this album when I was fourteen, my mother bought me the um…radio-friendly version. The curse words are a little “I’m-a-hip-punk-band,” because they don’t use other “bad” words, but in this case, it makes the song. Although I’ve changed a million ways since I was a die-hard, including (but not limited to) dressing differenly, hating cymbals, dropping FOB, making fun of emo kids, not really caring too much about Warped Tour, I still adore this song. In my closet. With closed doors and windows. It’s liberating listening to more pop-like music sometimes, though. When You’re Around is summer.
5. You Are What You Love | Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins
“I’m in love with tricks/So pull another rabbit out of your hat”
As everyone knows, I love Jenny Lewis. Rilo Kiley or solo, she can bring pictures to life. Her synthy sounds are bittersweet but air more on the pleasant side. This particular song has more drive than her other solo ones, and it’s probably the only one you can listen to when you’re pissed off. It just gives more motivation to keep on truckin’.
6. Antarctica | Page France
“You take your mother’s hat/And I’ll wear your father’s shoes”
I’ll get married in a garden in the sun in the warm spring, and this song will play for no apparent reason, except that I enjoy it.
7. Ruby | Kaiser Chiefs
“Could it be, could it be/That you’re joking with me/And you don’t really see/You with me?!”
I feel so bad, because it’s a really pop song as far as indie goes, but it’s soooo gooood! It could be a GHII song if only it had more excellent guitar solos (and maybe sixteenth notes for like…Expert). Well, not really. It’s still powerful and sing-alongable. Basically, I saw/heard it on IMF and fell in love.
8. For Energy Infinite | Mazarin
I could have sworn I’d heard this song on a commercial the first time I heard it. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first of the indie-pop wave to be chosen for a commercial. Look at Hustle Formation and Portions for Foxes and that Melanie Horsnell track, as well as some by the Strokes. Well, a friend confirmed my suspicions yesterday via a MySpace message. For Energy Infinite is a dance track at best, and a sprinting song at a little less. I can’t find the lyrics ANYWHERE, by the way.
9. Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) | The Arcade Fire
“I went out into the night/I went out to find some light/Kids are swinging from the power lines/Nobody’s home so nobody minds”
At first, it sounds evil and empowering. Then it sounds almost sing-song what with all the bells, and then, it’s just the essence of happiness. This is one of The Arcade Fire’s strongest songs ever, period. Win Butler kind of sounds like Satan at some parts, especially when he says, “Light a candle for the kids/Jesus Christ don’t keep it hid.”
10. Your Heart Is An Empty Room | Death Cab for Cutie
“And out on the street/Are so many possibilities/To not be alone”
This is the only Death Cab song that I can stand any time of day, because it’s upbeat enough to run to, it’s mellow enough to be able to enjoy on the bus, and it’s pondersome enough to be able to fall asleep to. It can cheer you up if you’re sad (and it’s exactly what you want to listen to when you are upset), but it won’t bring down your mood if you’re happy.
11. Phantom Limb | The Shins
“This is that foreign land with the sprayed-on tans/And it all feels fine/Be it silk or slime”
Oh, my gawd. Phanton Limb was on Fuse one day when I got home from school, so I dropped everything I was doing, ran into the family room, and danced like the silly little girl I am. I hopped up and down, sang along, and an onlooker would have thought I was incurably insane.
12. The Execution of All Things | Rilo Kiley
“Then we’ll murder what matters to you and move on to your neighbours and kids”
In a normal situation, no. It’s not a travelling song. It’s a chilling in the back yard song. For running and being in the raw air, the locomotive sounds change this. There’s nothing upset in this song. It’s all about apathy and mellowness, in the lyrics, in the sound, in Jenny Lewis. I like to be outside when I listen to this song, just because it mixes well with the humidity of a Virginian spring and the green of the leaves on the trees at sunset and the dust and the gravel in my sneakers.
13. Goodnight and Go | Imogen Heap
“Follow you home/You’ve got your headphones on/And you’re dancing”
Imogen Heap has a way of catering to everyone–the preppier sort who listen to The OC for Ben McKenzie, the indie sort who crave something else that’s indie as fuck, the people who really “appreciate” music. This is arguably her happiest song. There’s no gender discretion, either, not really, so you’ll likely end up thinking of someone if you pay attention to the lyrics.
14. Parentheses | The Blow
“If something in the deli aisle/Makes you cry/Of course I’ll put my arm around you and walk you outside/Through the sliding doors/Why would I mind?”
Sailboats, hula-dancing in New Jersey, and fancy French boulangeries are the things this song reminds me of. Hula-dancing in a fancy French boulangerie on a sailboat can’t be bad, either.
15. Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa | Vampire Weekend
Gawd. Whenever I hear this song, I feel like I’m either at the beach, on a yacht, or in Massachusetts (I’ve never been there). It’s SUMMAH!
16. Elevator Love Letter | Stars
“My office glows/All night long/It’s a nuclear show/And the stars are gone”
I want to sing along every time I hear it. It’s a little too dolce for my taste sometimes, but it’s about a bad day, and it relieves a bad day–such an uplifting two-sided love story, though–just like running a mile. You’re invincible. You just don’t know it yet.
17. Keep The Car Running | The Arcade Fire
“They know my name ’cause I told it to them/But they don’t know where and they don’t know when/It’s coming”
On CD, it’s a lady-killer. Live, it’s a spiritual revival. You don’t really get the lyrics, but they hit like stones thrown against your window by your lover. Anything could potentially send chills down your spine. When I’m walking, I try to step to every beat because I want to be a part of it.
18. Four Winds | Bright Eyes
“The Bible’s blind, the Torah’s deaf, the Qu’ran is mute/If you burn them all together, you get close to the truth”
Haha, amaaaazing. One of the few good ones off Cassadaga, actually (Uh, I didn’t like Cassadaga). As promised, Four Winds is the folky new sound of Bright Eyes. The same profound lyrics spill from Conor Oberst, but his voice lacks the waver. We know that. It’s a quirky travelling song, though. Everything moves along.
19. Thimble | Arizona
At the beginning, during the rain sounds, I hear my footsteps, and I feel like I’m in a music video, just a sole runner on the track on a sunny afternoon, pwning. For a short person such as myself, it’s easy to run to the beat.
20. Take It Easy (Love Nothing) | Bright Eyes
“Everything is as it’s always been/This never happened”
Bright Eyes rarely has anything danceworthy or driven, but when they do, it’s going to be highly-refined, like this. You don’t notice the guitars, but you don’t notice what they’re lacking, either. You notice the bass, but you think it’s percussion. It’s a trippy, money-filled (sounds like that of money in the pocket), joyous song for no reason at all.
21. The Calendar Hung Itself | Bright Eyes
“Does he walk around all day at school/With his feet inside your shoes/Looking down every few steps/To pretend he walks with you?”
Conor Oberst is quite hot and heavy here and a tad stalker-esque. I saw an anime music video for FLCL with this song, and the clips and music went well together. Although this song is about stalking an ex-girlfriend and being a coward about suicide, the essence of it all is sex. The beat is mainly why I use it for running. There are percussive sounds going on all over the place, and it’s easy to get caught up in the naughty sweatiness of everything.
ADDED TREAT!! This version is live from April 17th, 2007. Enjoy my hard efforts to find you this song.
22. Portions for Foxes | Rilo Kiley
“The bad dreams lead me to calling you/And I call you and say, ‘C’MERE!'”
Just like The Calendar Hung Itself, this song is sex. Just a little more subtle and gentle, I suppose. Less hot and sweaty, more “Come-on-over-to-my-air-conditioned-flowery-pink-and-beige-garden-mansion-and-let’s-get-it-on-in-mid-afternoon.” Yeah! Oh, and E-Dawg and I have all the choreography down for this one.
23. Rebellion (Lies) | The Arcade Fire
“People try and hide the night/Underneath the covers/People try and hide the light/Underneath the covers”
I walk perfectly in step with this one, no matter where I’m going. The tempo is my walking tempo. Drums, piano, guitars, voice, full band singing, violins. This is a dance song. And I love it.
24. Spectacular Views | Rilo Kiley
“Indifferent but distanced perfectly, projected endlessly/It’s so fuckin’ beautiful”
Not gonna lie, I hate highhat, I hate suspended cymbals, I hate all that in songs. This is one of the few I can stand, though. One of my favourite places to listen to it is on the bus rides on fall mornings. Buses are such ugly, disgusting inventions, but you can look out the window and see that beautiful sunrise and hear those notes that dictate it perfectly. I don’t think I could ever truly listen to this song except in the sun.
25. Combat Baby | Metric
“Ever since you’ve been gone it’s all caffeine-free/Faux punk fatigues”
Emily Haines knows how to please people with her music. The first hundred times I heard this song, I was on my cousin’s back porch. He was addicted. When I got home, I kind of forgot about the song, then a year later, I picked up Metric and was shocked to find that she’d penned this song. I understood why he was addicted.
ADDED TREAT!! This one’s live and pretty great, too.
PS -> Would you believe that this post took me a WEEK?! The writing took a few hours (I had to go back and listen to/relive every song), then finding and uploading the songs took a few more. Gawd. I enjoyed almost every minute, though. Almost.
Filed under: My Experience with Existence
I must throw an apology out there for my last post, which was done in self-pity, which is an emotion which I disapprove of in myself. I’m not sure what came over me. Actually, come to think of it, I know exactly what upset me. It’s kind of fantastic but lame, and it’s something that I greatly fear, and it made me miserable for about twenty-four hours. It wasn’t because of Le Grand Concours, not really. It was something else entirely. Something before that. Le Grand Concours just triggered it.
I straightened my hair for the second day in a row today and ran a mile for the third day in a row yesterday. I’ve lost a small amount of weight, though. I feel good. I just need to stop eating those damn ice cream sandwiches after school. I love them. But I hate them.
I got blood from my knuckle on one side of my shorts and eyeliner from my fingers (because I messed up) on the other side. I look so scenexcore. Except not really. Today, I threw on my Jim Morrison shirt, the one that’s a little large and doesn’t take to shrinking. For a little glam effect, I threw on my silver flats. And my black hoodie. I thought really hard about wearing my bangs out of my face today, letting everyone see that there’s nothing wrong with the left side of my face, but when I’d walked two steps inside the building, I released my hair from the clip that restrained them. It’s a security thing.
I feel better today for some reason. When I was little, I used to cry so much that I’d start to hyperventilate, which would somehow calm me down and make me want to go to sleep, and then I’d feel optimistic and fall asleep, knowing that in the morning, it would all be better. Before yesterday, I hadn’t hyperventilated while crying for years, but it felt good to retain the satisfaction that I was crying about something legitimate that hurt me, and I got to tell my mother about how much I dislike everyone at school, how I despise Richmond, how I hate those rednecks who support the war, and how I haven’t found my niche and never will, and how you have to stand on a soapbox and yell your life story to anyone within a thousand-mile radius in order to get the recognition you deserve. Except, by the time you’ve accomplished that, you don’t really deserve the recognition anymore. You’ve already got the confidence you need. It’s the people who have to listen who deserve that.
WHY do I blog? It’s a way for people to gently stumble upon someone else’s point of view. Unlike those coming from the mouth and from the vocal chords of a live person, the words I’m telling you aren’t forced upon you. You can easily, quietly, gently click the “X” in the corner of the window, or softly press a button to make all light and colour vanish from your monitor and then you’re safe in your room or your office or in your classroom, away from me, freed from whatever I’ve written that you just poured all over your brain.
For some reason or another, I feel disappointed. I’m not the BEST at French. I’m not the PRETTIEST. I’m not the THINNEST. I’m not the HIPPEST. It’s the perfectionist in me speaking, saying that because I only got four unsolicited comments of approval today, I’m not good enough. Probably a good 500 people heard my name, but they weren’t paying any attention. They didn’t care. No one treats me like I’m one of the Top Ten. No one treats me like I’m intelligent or worth the time of day, not ever. I don’t feel like a girl. I feel like some dirty, nasty old hermit who lives in a fucking cave. Or an owl. A completely reclusive owl. But that’s what “chouette” can mean. It’s either owl or neat.
My mom says that it’s the Deep Run Syndrome. The Richmond Syndrome. That in any normal town, you wouldn’t HAVE to share your fucking life story with your teachers to get recognition for being a good person. Like Mary Beth said in one of her recent posts, “I feel cheated.” I wish there was one being who I didn’t know who paid attention to me not because I’m a fucking teenager but because they KNEW, and they were interested in my personality and in my well-being, and that they’d just tell me once that I’m gorgeous and that it’s okay. That would make my day. It’s all I really need. A stranger. I wouldn’t care if they had to blatantly lie to me. It would change my life. I keep waiting for this, and it never happens. I’m waiting for a change to fall in my lap.
But I pay attention to a few select people like this. Fellow hermits who I don’t know, who I wish I knew, who don’t have that many friends, who don’t seem to have the greatest self esteem, who are the most intriguing people in the world as far as I’m concerned.
I’m waiting for the day when someone doesn’t respond to my misfortune with a “=\” or with compensation. I want something that will make me feel good or great or amazing, not something that will make me continue to feel mediocre. I need something to distract me. I mean, as unrealistic as this sounds, I just want a fucking picnic. That’s all I want from my life. A picnic. I’m so pathetic, and it seems like the cinchiest thing in the world, but I’ve never had one. No one in the world knows how important that one thing is to me. I’m not joking here. I’m more serious than ever when I say that the key to my heart and happiness is an amazing picnic. The perfect picnic. A picnic without awkward silences. A picnic.
It would also be nice if someone of the opposite gender told me I was gorgeous and didn’t have to lie or use sarcasm to attain the truth. Not only do I need affection from strangers, but I need affection, period.
Erika and I are champions. You know why? We scored high in the National French Concours. In fact, we scored so high, we’re both in the Top TEN. The big one-oh. Unless I’m mistaken. Anyhow, that’s two years in a row. I’m not gonna lie, I’m excited. And it’s making me rethink college. Don’t get me wrong–I love writing. I’d love to write for a music magazine like Blender for the rest of my life, maybe starting out with little to no money. As long as I’m happy, right? Prachi threw me a look of disdain when I told her that I don’t care about the money of a job as long as I’m happy. It’s true, though. Happiness is more important than money and I like to write. But what I really excel at is French. I don’t like to deal with all the crap we have to in English class. I can spell fine, and I’ve been told that my writing can be eloquent when that’s what I aim for. Otherwise, I write with a voice and I write what I’m thinking. I hate analyzing literary works. As for French, I don’t have much American competition. I could get a scholarship somewhere to continue my French studies. I’m not sure exactly what I’d make of such an endeavour, though. I mean, I could become a translator…or a boulangerie owner. Ou quelqu’un qui vend de la cuisine végétarien. I suppose all that matters to me is being French.
Friday was a tired, lazy night where we watched FLCL and tried to stay awake. Saturday, we tried to watch Pan’s Labyrinth but didn’t get far. Sunday, we tried to go to the mall, which is never even remotely a good idea. This time, we ran into Zach, my little ex-boyfriend from two years ago.
We dated because he wanted the exitement of dating an older “pretty” girl, and because I had no other options and he was cute; he was nice. In retrospect, I feel bad for running off away from him at the mall because he’s a good kid. It’s not like we fought ever, or like anything ended badly. I was just too old, and he apparently retained three girlfriends at a time. His parents didn’t know we were dating. I resented that. I suppose I’m protective of Derek.
I’ve never been dumped. Within a good two weeks, I know whether or not something’s going to work out in the long run. Connor and I decided rather mutually to break it off, and it was actually the best idea, and both of us are kind of upset that neither or us came up with that earlier. He was in to make me feel good and try to temporarily ward off gay accusations and I suppose because I’m so passive that I’d never make him too uncomfortable, and I was in it because he was the only person in the world who flirted with me when I was fat, aside from Tyler.
Derek, though. We were close friends for a good year and a half before we dated. So it’s real. It’s for real reasons. It’s not because he offered me Goodwill services to boost my self esteem. It’s not because he was the only thing on the face of the earth that made eyes at me. Which, those were pretty much the only reasons for my two prior “relationships.” They were shitty reasons, and I want to shelter him from my bad choices of the past. I want to shelter him from the guilt and the peer pressure and the happiness I once felt, because everything’s different now. I’m a different animal, and no one has ever known me.
After we went back to my house and finished Pan’s Labyrinth (which was amazing and almost made me cry at the end–I would have cried if I was alone), and after we had dinner with my family, who must have made Derek think I live in a mental institution, and after he left, I went for a run with Rachael on the elementary school track. Normally, I’ll walk one, run two, walk one, run two…until I’ve run a full mile and walked somewhere close to a half a mile. Right in the middle, I’ll do about fifty curl-ups or crunches and thirty push-ups. This time, though, I walked one, ran four, walked one, did my curl-ups and push-ups, and ran four. It felt amazing. It temporarily distracted me from all the guilt from those dumb relationships and made me think about the scenery and the way the light fell on my skin, and how I like the isolation of the track because when you’re pigeon-toed, you know everyone’s got something to say.
As much as I hate to think about running because of the images it digs up from grades K through 10, I like to have the motivation to do it out of my own free will. It’s empowering. Mostly, I like the feeling of freshly pulled muscles, and pink sunset rays on my face, and the cooling air, and the sound of my feet kicking up gravel as I push on. I like wearing a crisp, clean tee shirt and shorts, and having an excuse to have my hair out of my face. Gym class is a race to see who finishes first. This isn’t. This is endurance to see how many laps I can run. How far I can run. How many curl-ups it will take to make my abs ache, to make me feel like I’m all toned and fit. Time is not an issue. I hate running, but it makes me feel good. I’m happy after I run.
I remember when I was real little, I used to read books about people who ran as their drug. Like Bee in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Or, well, I can’t think of anyone else. I’m not like that. Running reminds me that I’m clumsy and pigeon-toed and out of shape and that I never did sports as a child. It reminds me that I’m not athletic in the least. Being able to do it, though–being able to run a mile every day–I’m proud. I’m not one of those lazy asses who can’t run a half a mile without stopping, without struggling for breath. Maybe someday this week, I’ll run a whole mile without stopping. And maybe someday, once I can do that, I’ll tack on an extra quarter of a mile, or a half a mile.
When I run, I don’t have to go on MySpace after. I’m THAT happy. I should run in the mornings.
And then there’s my Pod. Later on, I’ll upload my Running! Playlist, and we’ll call it a mixtape, and you’ll all be motivated to run, even though you’ll have most of the songs already. You’ll pick the new ones off me like pigeons picking bread off the ground. Just you wait.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I hate my computer because it’s slow as fuck. I know that makes no sense if you are trying to make sense out of it, but I don’t care.
I smell like cucumber melon, which is the most generic but possibly the sweetest toiletry scent ever.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Prachi showed me her brand new iPod nano case on the bus yesterday. It was from Office Max and it was worth a good $46, but since they had to do a price check, she got it for $6. Some weird situation like that. It had like pink and brown corduroy on the inside, and then it was black on the outside. Black as in leather.
Now, Prachi is a good little Indian girl, and thus, she’s a vegetarian. I don’t understand why she doesn’t eat it, though, if she doesn’t care about the principles that began the whole trend: non-violence and animal rights. Non-violence first, animal rights second, I’d assume (but animal rights are really a part of non-violence). Not that she’s a total barbarian. After non-violence, health benefits came along later, and then there were other reasons that strayed completely from the initial two. Just, within that whole diet and lifestyle–the lifestyle of a vegetarian who’s doing it for non-violence and animal rights–the use of any excess animal products is discouraged, especially the use of animal body parts, such as bones, skin/leather, fur/feathers, whatever. When I brought it up that why would she buy a leather case, she gave me a look and said something along the lines of, “Oh, gawd.” As in, “I don’t care about the animal rights situation and you know it.”
As much as I appreciate that she won’t EAT animals (as in animal body parts, not animal products altogether–and that’s a huge step), it always makes me angry when I find someone who so utterly lacks compassion for our fellow animals. How would she like to be kept in a fucking factory farm? How would she like to be debeaked? How would she like to be fed so many fucking steroids that she couldn’t walk anymore? And what about laying eggs, and what about the way her babies would be treated?
Don’t get me wrong, though. Solely religious reasons aside, a good deal Indian vegetarians care about animal rights, such as Divya. She’s a super vegetarian. She tried to go vegan once, and she and I both plan to once we’re grown.
I don’t like people who do it for popularity reasons and attention. Although some people have a personal preference to post their eating habits in their About Me sections on their MySpaces, I choose not to. It’s not a matter of being ashamed–I did it for a reason that I care about. It’s more because it’s an aspect of life that has blended into my being. I don’t have to think about it anymore. I don’t think I deserve bragging rights for being vegetarian because it’s something that everyone should just DO, then kick it up a notch and become vegan. No questions asked.
Filed under: My Experience with Existence
Yesterday, I posted a bit of a rant at administrators at the end and how they’re fucked up and they don’t know kids one bit. Well, just a few minutes ago, I was tramping down the corridor on my way to the band room, iPod in hand when an administrator gave me the once-over and told me I needed to put my iPod away. For some reason, this sent a shot of rage through my body, and I felt like a Charizard. I said, “Why? It’s not hurting anyone! FUCK YOU for racial profiling!” and stormed down the hall. She was appalled, so she ran after me, grabbed my arm harshly, leaving a bruise, and got on that fucking walkie-talkie that all admins in our school carry. So now I’m in detention, and I’m supposed to be writing “FUCK YOU” on a piece of paper over and over again until the end of the day, but the teacher’s out of the room. Fuck her.
Not really. Scratch everything from that last paragraph after the word “Charizard.” I really just said, “Okayyyy,” and kept walking, ignored her fucking irrational request…what the hell? I did feel like I was racially profiled, though. Okay, not really–we’re both white. And her request wasn’t irrational, but it’s kind of like the time Derek, Erika, Paige, Gil, Steph/ven, John, Corey, and I were kicked out of the mall for breathing in arrogant air. Most authoritative figures at my school and in this area are discriminatory against people who don’t blend in with the local scene, and I resent that. They live and breathe enforcing the rules as far as individuals go, but they let everyone who’s “normal” do whateverthefuck they want. It’s like them saying, “Fuck you for being different. Fuck you for using your own head and having your own identity. You’re American. Now blend in!” Dude, I have no bad grades and I’ve never cheated on anything before, never had alcohol, never smoked. No one has the right to hold any prejudices about me. I’m sure they don’t do anything like that in Canada. I’ve never heard a Canadian complaining about conformity in their home country. Or a European. Only Asians (thanks to their parents, mainly) and Americans (because of what society tells us).
I wish I’d said what I pretended I said, though. I said it in my head. How is putting my iPod in my pocket going to make me a successful person? Because I mean, when I grow up, I’d kind of like to work for one of those music magazines (like Blender), even if I’m nowhere near that point today. Are they concerned that someone’s going to be tempted to steal my iPod from my hand? I’d be more concerned that someone would steal it from my backpack or my pocket, or that it would fall out. Did my iPod hurt someone accidentally? I mean, I wasn’t swinging the headphones above my head like a barbarian like I normally do. Maybe that administrator was offended by it…? Perhaps in the event of a fire drill or a real fire or a tornado drill or a sniper in the school, if I was blasting “Chicago” by Sufjan Stevens, I wouldn’t be able to hear it. So she was trying to save my life.
It’s a school rule not to have iPods or cell phones on during the school day, but it totally doesn’t make sense. Cell phones, yes–I’m a sixteen-year-old rising senior without a cell phone, and I know all the rising frosh have ’em, and they text and crap. iPods, no. Is it so we don’t make other kids jealous that our parents could afford a $150 iPod nano as our only birthday present from them when we turned 16? Because I mean, I know tons of girls who have iPod videos that they can’t even fill a quarter of the way (I’d kill for one, and I’d fill it up all the way if I had one), and they have these fucking expensive Vera Bradley bags to carry their books in, and my parents have trouble scrounging up the money to buy me a new backpack from Wal-Mart, mainly because it’s a cut of the grocery money.
We’re not poor at all. We’re just not as well-off as anyone else around us, and living here takes a toll on even the richest of people.
I’m so DONE with this school. SO done. I need summer and days off and getting up at nine and being out and about by ten and wearing shorts and Chucks and being tan and having longer hair. I’ve decided that I might try and get some colour to my skin this year, and that I’m growing my hair out. I’m going to get a job, and I’ll make money, and I’ll go to Carytown every weekend and spend my earnings at Plan 9 and Need Supply Co. and Smoothie King and dinners at Chipotle.
I can’t wait.
Once in a while, I’ll get a brainfreeze and be unable to post. Everything’s happening fast around me–maybe not really fast, but I’m shellshocked and stuck in slow motion. I mean, the Arcade Fire. Last weekend. Today. Life changed colours. It’s brief, I think.
As I first watched them gently stampede onto the stage, into the circus ring, I couldn’t breathe. I knew I’d either throw up or pass out. Neither happened. Instead, I receded into my brain for the first two or three songs. I let those slithering bass lines take control of my body, and I stared down at Regine and knew this couldn’t be happening but that it had some sort of reality to it all the same. And then Haiti…it changed everything. I’d already adored the song what with its French and cultural references and all, but just to see Regine dance up there, I knew she was a crowd pleaser. No one goes to see Win Butler, regardless of the fact that he’s the fucking Lurch-like six-foot-five lead singer who gets all the interviews. He doesn’t light up the stage. Not even Richard Reed Perry, who, during the encore, threw his tambourine some twenty feet in the air and managed to catch it…it’s all on Regine Chassagne and violinist Sarah Neufeld. They’re filled with this energy that no one else has, no one in the world. They’re all smiles and dancing. They’re friendly crowd pleasers. And they’re beautiful.
Win Butler asked us to get the fuck down into the orchestra section come Rebellion (Lies), I think. I like to pretend he cordially invited us. All those fuckers who stayed up in the tiers or whatever…fuck them.
I also like to think that Regine smiled at me during Wake Up. Not everyone around me–JUST at me. It was a personal smile. We share a secret. That’s why it’s been my mantra for the past weeks. “I guess we’ll just have to adjust.” The whole song.
My camera sucked, and Will Butler was far too fast for it.
I danced. More like hopped up and down, swayed back and forth. It was after I snapped out of that initial shock. I just decided…”Well, it’s my first concert and the best one I’ll ever see. It’s going to change my life. So what? I’d better enjoy it.” There were old people sitting in front of us, bobbing up and down, too. I giggled at them, but they couldn’t hear me.
And then there was Derek. Yes, I owe him gratification for even making that experience POSSIBLE, but it’s so much more complicated than that. We fell asleep on the car ride home–me first–and as I started to fall asleep, I could feel him softly brushing my arm up and down. I thought, at first, that it was cute, plus I’ve always liked to be the receiver of affection when I’m asleep, as though I’m some adorable movie character (and I don’t drool in my sleep ever (only when I’m really tired…)), but I didn’t even have time to realize that I was falling asleep before I was out cold. I want my jawline to look like that girl’s when I kiss.
The next week, though, we were both sick, just like that. For me, it was stomach cramps on Tuesday. It was really nothing compared to the fate I’d expected the week before–some horrible train accident, or right before the show, dying of trembling or of falling down all the seats at the DAR Constitution Hall. Maybe I could’ve met the Arcade Fire that way. Pity, you know? For Derek, it was an exaggerated version of the cold I’d had the week before. We saw one another at band practice on Wednesday (we didn’t get to talk), but neither of us were well again, so he stayed home Thursday and I used my balls of steel to tough it out.
Friday, Erika had lunch with me, so she incorporated me into hers and Paige’s plans. I sort of felt bad for being an invader, almost like an outsider, but I did it to myself. I distanced myself. Because of moving, because of wanting to be alone, but…I shouldn’t have. And now, I’m kind of the eldest member of the triad, but also the clumsy, detachable third leg.
Spiderman 3 sucked. He looked like Conor Oberst when he was “bad,” and we couldn’t stop laughing, so we just left right away. We went to Paige’s and played GHI and GHII before Paige fell asleep and then we all went to bed. In the morning, Erika’s dad took us on rounds to El Paso (AMAZZZING #1 vegetarian meal and CHURROS!), Best Buy (we played the GHI demo), Ukrop’s (Erika treated us with her paycheck), Bailey Bridge Middle School for a soccer game (long story), Barnes & Noble (long, awkward story), and finally Carytown.
Plan 9 and Smoothie King made me want a job and a car, and Need Supply Co. confirmed that–I would buy all their dresses if I had the money. When I get a job and a car, I’m going there every fucking weekend. I found the below photo, by the way, in a Flickr search for photos of Carytown. Quirkayy.
Pwns.
We left early, and by the last car ride, all our airbanding had tired us all out, so we were kind of slumped in our seats grunting as communication. It was attractive.
Seeing John and Steph/ven, though, as distant as they were from my world, gah, it made me miss being Whatserface, the kinda trashy tomboy whatever one who’s forgettable and rather awkward. No, I don’t wanna be eeeemo anymore, but regardless of the fact that I was never even remotely their friend, I miss being a little less girly, even if I used to feel like shit all the time, and being a pushover, no boy would ever want me.
Back in the day, I waited for all these revelations to come to people, but it seemed that the only one getting constant revelations was me. I’m a fucking conformist, just to a different scene. I can’t change someone’s life. No one looks up to me or sideways at me like an equal. I’m just as low as the rest of the lot. I’m always hyperanalyzing shit, but does it really make a difference in the long run? I mean, if I realize that I weigh the same as Jennifer Lopez, except that all her weight is in her ass, and mine is all in my stomach, so therefore, every bit of fat on my body is really what’s on J. Lo’s ass…what does that matter? Is it going to help anyone in the long run? What if I realize that this guy in my history class isn’t so much of an intellect as he is someone who gets high all the time? I know a secret of his. Who cares? Why try to relate that to anyone? I’m such a fucking moron.
I give up on trying to make new friends because of these stupid fuckers who hold me back…people who enjoy FOB and Avril Fucking Lavigne, both of whom are so fucking punk rock! So badass! So hardxcore! And they’re pushy and argumentative, and I’m just a pushover, so I take all their shit day to day as they prevent me from ever making friends because everyone hates them and everyone thinks they’re my best fucking friends in the world. And I did come to realize that maybe sometimes I’m too hard on them. Not everyone has a young-spirited, direct mother like I do; some people have old-fashioned, wannabe coy moms who are OLD. And I was blessed with a young modern mom. And I’m a hypocrite. But if someone can’t pick up the signal that I don’t like them, that’s too bad. It’s a misfortune, but I’m too mean to say otherwise. No, not too nice. Too mean. I’m mean.
I watched FLCL today, all six episodes, and the last one brought tears to my heart. How could Haruko just leave him? He may be only twelve years old, but he loves her.
I enjoy the scent of spring mixed with the sounds of Rilo Kiley. I like warm breezes. I can’t wait for summer because I’m a showoff and my best assets are my legs and my eyelashes. No makeup in the summer and no long pants in the summer. Best season ever.
Plus, it means being able to curl up outside all day, and having picnics, and going to the beach in New Jersey. I’m a sucker for the beach, even if I don’t ever have a body fit for looking at.
I need to run more.
Rilo Kiley album due August 20th in the UK and I’m STOKED as hell.
I can’t tell you how many mood swings I’ve gone through today. I feel like I look good, but I feel like it’s a facade. I am crappy. No one can reassure me and everyone’s saying the wrong thing.
I need someone new to just tell me I’m gorgeous and beautiful and that it’s all good and then just walk away or be done with it. Leave me as though I’ve been slapped in the face with a brick. A good brick. I don’t know.
I can’t tell you how lonely I am at school all the time, or how loved I feel when I’m not stuck in this crappy desk in this cramped room, not in Short Pump but in Carytown or in DC even if I’m a complete invasion.
Yesterday, walking up les grands escaliers, I encountered an administrator who told me to take my headphones out of my ears. I was still pissed at her from last year with the whole fucked up janitor situation where she told me to get new friends, so I took one out, took five steps away, and put the bud back in my ear. My excuse is that I’m lonely. Fuck school administrators. They don’t know kids, anyway.
Here’s something for you to consider: I never write anything new. It’s all been said before, thought before, mulled over for a long time, and I am recording everything after it’s already died. I already know that. I’m not a trendsetter. I never catch onto things until they’ve been around forever and are starting to flicker out, and then I realize their novelty. The bands I listen to–no, I’m not one of the original however many hundred listeners. I didn’t see their first show, and I was never friends with a member. I’m one of the people who caught on later. I never knew the tension building up to their first album or their new EP, or any album or any EP, because they may have stopped making music together. That doesn’t mean I’m a dispassionate person, or that I’m slow. I’m intensely passionate about the music I listen to and the clothes I wear, and while love does dawn on me slowly, it’s a gradual but ferocious notion that will be there forever. So just because I record things posthumously doesn’t mean that what I write isn’t worth reading. My blog is for those people who bud slowly and gradually. It’s for people who come to gradual realizations, who like to observe the way people look when they’re reading books, who notice that caterpillar squirming along the sidewalk from the bus window. My blog isn’t a music blog; it’s a life blog. Then again, I’m not sure that anyone would consider it a music blog. If you do, it’s appreciated.
Presently, I’m sixteen and a half, and everyone at my school thinks I’m a boring, polite, and prudish person who only understands grades and never speaks to say otherwise. I know. No one talks about me behind my back because I never do anything. I don’t make public appearances, I don’t talk in class, and I don’t do drugs. I know teachers are stern on thinking I do, but the students mostly know otherwise. I am just a boring person. And I always have these plugs in my ears. Whether they’re to shut out everyone else or to shut in whatever’s in my head, no one knows but me. It’s a little of both. I don’t like the sounds of friendship unless they’re emanating from me and my friends. Paranoia that other people are laughing at me, yes, but sometimes, it’s accurate. And then again, some of the people I’ve pinned as most observant never notice me, or if they do, then they’re real stealthy about it.
I’ve taken up the habit of noticing the least visible of people. There’s a boy in my English class who never talks, never laughs, rarely smiles, and he’s got the pearliest skin ever, and his eyes are hidden by this dark mass of hair and eyebrows. He slinks through the hallways alone, and I know he must have friends, but I wonder who they are. He seems quite literate and writes with intensity, but my English teacher doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t get even nearly perfect grades, it seems. He reminds me of the connecting bead between myself and Boo Radley. The quiet sensibility, I suppose, and the reclusiveness mixed.
There’s a girl in my History class who rarely talks. She’s pretty, she has loads of friends, but I suppose she doesn’t know anyone and never took the time to make good friends in there. All class, she stares at her notes on her computer.
In my Chemistry class, there’s a vocal boy, but I’d swear that in French, he must trade places with a silent brother.
Society normally hates these people. Yes, sometimes people notice them, but they’re annoyed. It seems everyone in America is annoyed by the reserved, but I’m annoyed by the outgoing. It’s all about self control, and the most outgoing have no self control. My transition from middle school to high school was a strange one. At Moody, we were conditioned to shut up. At Deep Run, we’re encouraged to talk about ourselves until someone else’s ear falls off. They tell young intellectuals to practice silence and restraining themselves, but they allow and even force run-of-the-mill teenagers to blabber on. There’s something wrong with that.
I’m a boring person, though, so I suppose it’s good they nailed my mouth shut at an early age. The advantages are that I never get yelled at for talking too much, which I equate with lack of self control, and that I never have to flex my nonexistant social skills. Cool.
If you don’t know me, I’d say that a good person to compare me to is Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle. Sophie is plain, and so am I. I suppose that at the very core of my being, my heart is young. I have my moments, but most people view me as boring, plain, dull.
Do I care? No. Sooner or later, they’ll know otherwise. It will hit them like an animated frying pan in the head, and they’ll ache with wrongness for a long time after.
This was somewhat touching. Relatable. Amazing. It’s called “This is the Dream of Win & Régine.” Guess who it’s about? It’s by Final Fantasy, and the title is obviously based on Dntel’s song “This is the Dream of Evan and Chan.” It’s a beautiful song and a beautiful video.
Here are the lyrics…
Crown myself the prince of buzz
Can’t wait until you, can’t wait ’til you unsubscribe
I’ll be a lonely scribeBut – what if they like it,
And lock us in a cannery with your accordian
Until we canned our love?
We can get along
We can get alongMontreal might eat its young
But Montreal won’t break us downNow I got a VCR
If we put our hearts in twenty thousand tiny jars
They’d never leave their homes
We can get along
We can get alongMontreal might eat its young
But Montreal won’t break us downI tried and tried and tried and tried
and tried and tried to keep the crowds away
I tried and tried and tried and tried
and tried and tried to keep the crowds away
I had a spiritual revival last night, and it feels like I’m keeping some immense secret. But I’m not. I’m upset that it’s over, but I won’t be able to stop reliving it ever. More later.
INDIEchouette 