30 September, 2007, 1012 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence

I’m upset and I feel a bit neglected.  Actually, fuck that–I could have gone to bed at eight without ruffling anyone’s feathers.  My whole weekend always revolves around a few hours.  My whole week revolves around a few hours because perhaps I am painfully loyal.  And this week, those few hours sucked.  Here it is:  My cousin (eleven years old) was all over my boyfriend (she kept kissing him on the cheek and neck, which is more than I can say for myself), who kind-of resisted and then flirted with evvvveryone except for me (that would include my sisters, cousin a bit, and some of our guy friends, haha).  And I’m unable to get attention during daylight hours from him or during school from anyone else AND I only see him two or three days a week; today, I was unable to get any attention, period.  I shouldn’t even have to talk about getting attention; I should be talking about something like…I dunno…what to make for lunch tomorrow.  Just, fuck today.  I mean, tomorrow might suck more, or it might actually be good, but today was fucking awful just because by the end, I was ready to heave a humongous sigh and start yelling at people–Shannon for obvious reasons, Rachael for flirting with everyone and laying on a bed and sending mixed messages to people, Alexa for being awkward, Adrien for reciting lines from “Unforgivable.”  Everyone else for failing to notice how much of a one-track mind Rachael has, and how mean she is.  I fucking hate peer pressure.  It ruins everything.

I have not cursed so liberally in a while.

27 September, 2007, 957 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I’ve just realized that my URL is wrong.  It should be l’indiemeister.  But since apostrophes aren’t typically included in URLs, and since someone would think that my name is Lindie, I suppose it’s alright.  Specification, y’know?  Except for the fact that it would be “la” since I’m a female.  Ugh.

While I had a grand time at the Fall Fair, uhh, weekdays are tense for me.  I procrastinate way more than I ever have before, and something else that’s not all too foreign to me that comes with dating younger guys at other schools:  Only being able to see him once a week and having absolutely no time to ourselves when we do see one another, save for maybe five minutes late at night when he’s going to get his ass (or leg) kicked (possibly six times) if he doesn’t go inside, with the added bonus of some unwritten “No affection during daylight/Pretend we’re not even slightly attracted to each other when around friends or your mom” laws.  Ugh, fuckkkk.

So I feel wanted for maybe ten minutes out of my week, which is alright, but look at it this way.  I’m thinking about picnics, pumpkin muffins, and epic movies (all very romantic and generally pleasant unless you add a cyclone, take away sugar, and throw in an obnoxious sibling) while everyone else is thinking about jousting with tree branches, running for their lives across 15 to go to Citgo, and throwing stones into the street for the hell of it.  I think you can see where the maturity lies.  Although I’m probably lacking some sanity, I guess.  I mean, I spend a bunch of my spare time looking up band biographies and eating hummus, and my pet peeve can only happen in restaurants.

Speaking of Andrew Bird (I know I didn’t mention him), if you live in Virginia, fucking GO on October 6th or whatever!  He’s in Richmond!  He plays in his socks sometimes!  You’re a moron if you miss it!  A hacking MORON.  It might be October 3rd, I forget.

And tonight, Rilo Kiley is in DC.  Fucking epic.

26 September, 2007, 427 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Today we used the school laptops to do a survey asking about whether the school lives up to its duties. They’d present four questions at a time, sometimes one or two, and at the end of each set, they left a box for comments on our answers to the questions on that page, clarification. In every comment box, I stated that I am dissatisfied with the French program here and that it’s inefficient and that I want Vic Firth mallets and new instruments for our pit, now. I even added that Mike Balter mallets are a joke. Do I really have to stoop to this kind of desperation to get the things I want?! The people who read these things are going to think I’m a joker, but I’m COMPLETELY SERIOUS, which is actually…really sad. Haha. Who is going to read those things, anyway? But honestly, look at the comparison between my personal xylophone mallets for Winter Drumline sophomore year and the typical pit xylophone mallets at Lewisburg (xylophone uses Musser, but we do have a lot of Mike Balter pieces of shit).

Exhibit A: The Cannonball
I know what you’re thinking: BADASS. And rightfully so. These mallets are godly. They’re tough. They are loud and proud and freaking humongous.

Exhibit B: Ballsack
What we’re working with here is the mallet on the far left, the shit-coloured piece of shit mallet right there. First off, let me mention that the shaft bends, so it’s really hard to do the piston stroke successfully. Then, the ball is fiberglass, which is cool and all, except for the fact that the sound sucks, and the mallet gets dented, which is the sign of a pansy, unworthy mallet. Musser has got to be joking. You’d think that with the price you’re paying for the halfassed instruments, you’d get decent accompanying mallets. But nooo. Then again, I’d assume that our band director had no one to direct him to a good instrument when he was purchasing. Otherwise, he would have aimed for a more badass instrument, like the Adams marimba seen here:

Adams Marimba, eh eh

Instead of this so-so junkmobile (on the right):

Musser Marimba, not so eh

Um, unfortunately, one of my godly mallets broke, no doubt a manufacturing issue, or maybe it just exploded from AWESOMENESS, but they really are awesome, I promise.

26 September, 2007, 1006 am
Filed under: Music, My Experience with Existence

So King Lear, friends, fun.  King Lear first, though.

I find myself almost feeling sorry for Edmund even in Act II.  Almost.  And that is because Edgar is so blind to everything.  He saves himself a little in my eyes by disguising himself, and maybe it’s cute that he would never suspect his family of plotting against him, but really, he must not pay much attention to them!  And he must not know Edmund very well since he doesn’t even really suspect him of any foul play.

As for Regan and Goneril, ugh.  I hate Goneril because she’s kind of dumb and, of course, incredibly vain.  She reminds me of someone I knew, very vain, who wanted one thing and ended up ruining a bunch of people’s lives.  Of course, when I get around to rereading this, I probably won’t remember who it is I’m talking about.  I’m being vague for a reason.  Regan, on the other hand, is clever and wicked.  And although that should lend me to hate her, it’s really fascinating how she can scoop up Goneril’s half-assed insults and throw them back so much more cleverly.  She really has her eye on the prize.  I also like Kent for his loyalty to the king, and his cleverness, but for some reason, I somewhat dislike the Fool.

Here’s the thing about music.  I find that as the seasons transition, so do the bands on most frequent rotation in my muzak library.  I’m spinning Andrew Bird, Elliott Smith, some old Rilo Kiley, and lots of Shins currently.  Headlights and Death Cab by night.  Sean recently introduced me to a band and a song, though, that I can’t get over.  I don’t think anyone’s ever read into my taste as well as he just did, actually.

First, the band.  Psapp.  Pronounced, “sap.”  They’re English, they sound like they play with toys, and they’re awesome.  In “Rear Moth,” you hear a rubber duck squeaking and are carted instantly off to a sunny and sophisticated castle, straight into the resident Wizard’s chambers.  In “Hi,” it’s bath water trickling, and you feel like you’re riding some locomotive to Candy Land.  In “Tricycle,” the vibraphone strikes you as childish, but you feel like you’re back on a swingset in your childhood back yard.  Every song makes you feel like you’re in some fairy tale jazz land, and you don’t want to leave.


As for the song, “Diana Ross” by the Concretes, it is teenaged nostalgia at its finest.  Lovehangover.  Dancin’.  Insecurities.  They’re a Swedish band, and I get the vibe that I should listen to them some more.  So you’ll be hearing more of them later.

The Concretes

Regarding friends, I’ve come to find that Travis is less demanding and more just straightforward.  He tells it like it is, and he likes to be clear with people as far as what he thinks of them.  If he has a problem, he’ll address it.  If something’s awkward, he’ll mention that it is that way.  He dislikes vegetarians for the most part, but I believe it’s more of the fact that he’s scarcely met educated ones.

Shannon enjoys watching interaction between myself and Phelan, extracting details from it, and dangling my insecurities in front of my face.  For example, he is hard to read, so she’ll alert me that he told her personally that he doesn’t like me, which I can’t discern is a lie until our next isolated interaction, since daylight apparently brings with it distance.  Shannon will watch that next interaction, even if she has to hide out next to a van in the street late at night and hold her breath to do so.  I’m sure she gets loads of satisfaction out of that.  Since she actually did that on Saturday night, and would have on Sunday night if she’d been alerted that Phelan was still around.  Which she wasn’t!  Except that he returned her peanut butter, which he’d stolen the night before.

24 September, 2007, 852 am
Filed under: Music, My Experience with Existence, School

My cousin recently adopted a barn kitten who she has named Moose Phelan.  Moose hangs out at our house most of the time, and she is currently cleaning herself right next to me on my bed.  At least, I believe she is a female.  Almost everyone else seems to think othersise.  She’s tiny and she’s an attention whore and I love her.  She’s never sleepy.  Or at least, her humongous Dobby-like eyes never let on that she’s sleepy.

I’m a bit bored with everyone lately.  My eleven-year-old sisterAlexa comes home from school and complains for about an hour every day.  If you try to give her a solution, she’ll complain about it.  She keeps on trying to follow Rachael (my fifteen-year-old sister) and Shannon (my eleven-year-old cousin) around, and Rachael hurts her, and Alexa will tell on her, but then she’ll just go back to following her around.  I feel like Rachael should be punished for this exclusion and bullying, but Alexa really encourages it by behaving so much like a lemming.  It’s ridiculous.   When I’m treated that way, I alert some authority figure, but then I do my best to avoid whoever’s acting that way towards me.  She really needs to give them some space and stop acting so desperate.  It just makes her seem like an even less desirable candidate to hang out with.  I know that Alexa’s about as small as a seven-year-old, and Shannon’s got the size and maturity of an eighth grader, and that while Alexa’s some two weeks older than Shannon, she’s restricted in what she’s allowed to do, but I feel like she should get a hobby, honestly.  At her age, I probably listened to music, drew pictures, and wrote stories in my spare time.  I never pined after some nonexistent affection.  Yet, I never had a bitch of an older sister because I was the oldest.  And still, I keep to myself unless someone calls on me.

I also feel like my mother’s not doing anything to enforce order in our house, which makes for a chaotic existence.  Rachael’s allowed to wreak havoc and hurt people, and though she may be reprimanded verbally, she’s still allowed to go wherever the hell she wants with Shannon.  Alexa sees this and when she tells off my mother for it, she gets grounded.  I don’t think Alexa’s approaching it right, though.  All we can really do is sit tight and be submissive.  I suppose that’s easier for me to do, though, because I’m going off to college in less than a year, and I’ll also be legal then.  I just know that once I’m grown up with kids, I’m not going to let any spawn of Satan govern how I keep my kids in check.

But then, my mother doesn’t pay attention to us anymore, anyway; after quitting work to be with her first baby seventeen years ago, I feel like she sees that as a suffocating mistake.  She’s taking another stab at being young and unmarried again, and in the process, she’s hiding a lot from us.  And she’s forced to lie to us.  While Rachael and Alexa scold her and pursue the truth, I already know everything that’s been going on.  And I’m shocked a bit, but I don’t really care about what’s happened so much as I’m disappointed that she lied and continues to lie to me.  She takes no interest in my life, which I feel is a mistake, since I’m going away in a year, and if things continue in this direction, not only will I not communicate so much with my father, but I also won’t communicate much with my mother.  I felt like she trusted me.  She was the only one who treated me like I felt I deserved to be treated, but to know that I’m still a child in her eyes when she’s acting so childish, it makes me mad.  And she never apologizes.  I feel like there’s so much she should apologize for that she denies being faults.  Not taking care of me when I’m really ill, getting angry at me for showing emotion, blocking me out when I’m angry.  Not even listening to me when I’m happy.  I feel that she is selfish for acting that way.  And maybe I feel a bit selfish for thinking that, but she had years and years before I was born to act that way.   And I guess right now, it’s my turn to act that way and I feel like she’s taking it so I have to act responsible.  Not that I don’t already, but…still.

And then I feel like all the morals she’s tried to thrust on me all my life don’t seem to matter anymore.  If she doesn’t follow them, then why should I?  They obviously don’t matter enough for her to stick to them.  And today, Alexa said, “I hate my life; I wish I would just die.”  Because, of course, my mother was ignoring her, which she shouldn’t do, but Alexa also shouldn’t complain so much.  And my mother said that she should not say that and that she was being disrespectful to God who gave her that life.

Since when, though, did we rely on religion to get us through anything?  We’re “Catholic.”  We haven’t gone to church regularly since I was in maybe third grade.  That was about ten years ago.  And we stopped.  And my parents grew apart.  The last time I actually went to church may have been at my Uncle Leo’s funeral about a year ago.  So when the family falls apart and everyone’s miserable, my mother turns to God, but otherwise, she doesn’t follow any of what Catholics are supposed to do or be.  She doesn’t turn to God in the face of divorce.  She doesn’t turn to God when her kids are miserable.  She turns to God so that she can make her kid feel guilty so that she’ll leave her alone.  I think that’s awful.

Anyway, what is religion to kids who don’t have parental influence in their lives?  I don’t know who or what God is.  I want to believe that there’s a Heaven, and it’s amazing, and that as long as you’re sorry for whatever wrong you’ve done, you’ll go there.  Truly remorseful.  And you’ll pay for it if you haven’t already, but you’ll eventually go to Heaven.  And you’ll see everyone you love, and it will be comforting to you, and you won’t have to worry about anything.  All the animals are there, too.  And no one is superior to anyone else, because that is how the world is supposed to be.  I believe that you get a “last chance” after you’ve died to be sorry if you weren’t already when you’re died, because I think that…if you aren’t, then Hell is just the absence of existence.  You’re wiped from a chance at eternal happiness.  You just don’t exist anymore.  I think that’s the worst fate.  I think that Catholicism is stupid and I love gay people and I love animals and I think that the separation between different sects defeats the purpose of religion.

Charles and I talked about religion once.  I told him my views and then asked him his opinion on everything.  He said that he is agnostic.  I find that this is perhaps the most open-minded view.  Not really accepting or rejecting anything.  I find that atheism is just as narrow-minded as choosing a specific religion.  It’s not for the hopeless or the angry.  It’s just for the skeptical, mathematical beings.  I don’t think I’m ready to be skeptical about an afterlife.

All day today, I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  I’m not done.  I know what happens.  Don’t tell me.  But when I’m done, do expect a post about it.  I am quite the Potterhead.

I saw Phelan for a minute or so, too, right before he left, and his mother.  I am such an awkward being.  I’m always a deer in the headlights with social things.

Speaking of Headlights, I am in a very Headlights mood.  For my birthday, I received from Derek “Kill Them With Kindness,” along with The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Nothing Feels Good.  And the album has grown on me very much.  It just caps off a bad day, or a bad week.

Aside from family matters, I was also approached by my English teacher about an in-class essay I wrote.  It was too informal.  She even termed my voice as inappropriate.  For some reason, being reprimanded always makes me uneasy to the extent of being upset.  I always try to carry myself as an appropriate person, and I feel that I write well (this post is REALLAY bad because it’s so sentimental).  I think I just made a mistake, nothing too awful.  I only used the wrong voice.  And my English teacher is thus far my favourite, so I felt ashamed that I’d gotten off to such a bad start with her.  I mean, she’s vibrant, she makes Shakespeare interesting, and she knows what I’m about to go through as a wannabe English major.  I think what mostly upset me was when she pulled me out of my Calc class to talk to me.   She said that I’m new, so she’d give me another chance, and that she wished I’d speak up in class, and she even sensed that I was upset, so she willed me not to cry.  And I think that’s what made me teeter so delicately between tears and control for the rest of the period.  She cared enough to know that it’s hard for me to settle in, which touched me to no end (even my mother doesn’t understand me that well), but I feel bad–I don’t want special treatment just because I’m enduring something that the other kids aren’t (a move, a separation of parents, a whole shift of equilibrium).  And that she asked me to speak up in class kind of stabbed me a little.  I know she meant it as I’m smart and she wants to hear what I have to say, not as an attack on my personality, but I can’t even speak up enough to say, “Yo, I am socially anxious,” partially because it would be irrelevant, and then people would treat me awkwardly and gingerly.  It doesn’t really fit in; I have to tough it out and I can’t use it as an excuse for everything.  Almost no one knows.  And then having all this emotional baggage, people already treat me delicately and distantly because they figure I’m probably stupid as shit because I never talk.  I don’t talk in any of my classes, at least not my core classes.  Kids like Jordan approach me in Study Hall, so I’ve just started conversing with them.  And I talk to the girls in art a little, but they probably figure that I’m a senior and wouldn’t like to be bothered.  Little do they know that I always make younger friends.  Think of how out of place I’ll be at college.  I’ll have to get a job with high school kids just to keep myself in check.  Seriously.

The easy solution would be to start talking to people, of course, right and left.  But I’ve already established myself as the same extremely reserved girl as I was at Deep Run, which blows, but at Deep Run, they’d already accepted me as that way since elementary school, and it wasn’t something they hadn’t seen before.  I was just “another shy girl,” and they left me to it because at least I had all sorts of friends.  But in Lewisburg, everyone knows each other, so there’s no room to be shy.  I’m the extreme, and no one is used to it.  I guess they think I’m just adjusting, but going to school is like walking into a panic attack.  It doesn’t help that everyone thinks that Rachael and I are twins, that I am a freshman, or that Rachael is older than me.  I don’t really know what I’m getting at.

I suppose another part of my misery is Rilo Kiley.  The Spin Magazine article says it all.

I pose some questions about this to Lewis when I get her alone at Sennett’s.  She holds a sparkler that Sennett has just lit.  “I think I realized that [Rabbit Fur Coat] is the kind of music I want to be making,” she says.  “I guess it’s just about the freedom to do whatever I want.  Like, if I wanted to come out and play a new song that I had written–just me and an acoustic guitar–I could do that.  I can’t do that within Rilo Kiley, because it’s a band.”  So, does she see herself continuing with Rilo Kiley?  The sparkler has burned out.  “I honestly don’t know.”

Later, Boesel tells me it’s something that has crossed all of their minds: Will their breakthrough record be their last gasp as a band?  He discusses this in a relaxed manner, as though he wouldn’t mind, and keeps strumming on his guitar.  Before I leave that night, de Reeder and Sennett show me a mock-up for a potential cover of the new album, featuring a photo of the band members looking at one another.  Lewis, in a conversation with Sennett and me a few days after the barbecue, concedes, “It’s an uncomfortable shot in a lot of ways.  The whole concept of the record is–I don’t know if you know this, Blake–it’s kind of based on our relationship.  Because it’s not as it appears.  It’s not always pretty.  When you put things under a blacklight, you see these things.”

“It’s not always ugly, though,” Sennett responds.

“No,” she says softly.”  “Things just look different.”

With the demise of my favourite teenagehood band comes the demise of my teenagehood, I think.  Perhaps I am being forced to grow up prematurely.  I never got to see them live, though.  That would have made my life.

For now, I’m listening to Death Cab and Headlights to tide me over.  Tomorrow, I will do a good fun post, since I haven’t done one in a while.  PROMISE.  It will be about King Lear and muzak and friends.

18 September, 2007, 452 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I feel like I have to keep redefining myself for every person that comes by.  I don’t want to shove animal rights down their throats because I know that’s not what they want, but at the same time, if one person in a group is mocking me stupidly and another is trying to figure me out, I’m not sure which way to go about presenting everything to them, especially since sometimes when someone questions me in the first place, I’m offended.   I’m not stupid.  I know why I’m doing this.  And I’m not a pescetarian, which is not, by any means, a vegetarian diet.

So here’s my current, updated reason for being vegetarian.  I disagree with animal cruelty.  I disagree with the way meat is obtained or even the idea of eating meat, period.  I disagree, in fact, with all animal products, and I’m trying to do something to change that.  No, going vegan isn’t going too well right now, but it’s still a strong goal that’s always in the back of my mind, and it hasn’t become any dimmer with time.  Vegans are not crazy.  I resent when people say that one person not eating meat is not going to “save the world.”  I know that one person not eating meat is not going to stop everything, but I’m contributing to the problem less by omitting meat.  I’m saying that I don’t support the industry.  I’m too nice.  When ignorant people tease me or say that I’m stupid for being vegetarian, I probably should stuff statistics and facts down their throats.  Make them choke for a second.

I do not think that humans have dominion over animals, period.  I believe that we have abused our resources, and that it’s time we reconciled and did something right.

“The problem” is, I guess, animal cruelty specifically.  But I think it stretches so far beyond that.

17 September, 2007, 919 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Ever since Friday night after the game and the Circle Meeting, Phelan and I are dating.  Some aspects of the past few days make me warm and fuzzy inside, while others make me feel pretty icy, but maybe that’s just me being flustered at being ill.