INDIEchouette


CE MATIN
19 May, 2007, 909 pm
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.

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18 May, 2007, 805 pm
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.



NOT AGAIN…
16 May, 2007, 804 pm
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.

charizard

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.

burrito

I can’t wait.



IT’S ALL ABOUT THE HEADPHONES
15 May, 2007, 954 pm
Filed under: Music, My Experience with Existence, School

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.

new1

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.

affection

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.

spidey

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.

voldy

Pwns.

smoothie

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.

furikuri

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.

lbi

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.



BASICALLY ALONE
9 May, 2007, 1044 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence, School

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.



MONTREAL MIGHT EAT ITS YOUNG
7 May, 2007, 650 am
Filed under: Music, Nouvelle Musique

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 scribe

But – 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 along

Montreal might eat its young
But Montreal won’t break us down

Now 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 along

Montreal might eat its young
But Montreal won’t break us down

I 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

regine



I FOUND IT
5 May, 2007, 1030 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, My Experience with Existence

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.