INDIEchouette


LAST NIGHT, I SAW A MOVIE.
25 June, 2009, 1157 am
Filed under: Film | Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Transformers 2 is the shittiest film I’ve ever seen in my life.  It was a painfully disgusting 2.5 hours.

See:
Tasteless obscenity
Sexism all over the place
Racial stereotyping
Plot holes
Terrible acting
Terrible writing
Terrible cinematography
Megan Fox’s character = useless
Lack of foreshadowing/plot connectedness
Blatant glorification of the military
Blatant glorification of the US
Dissin’ France
Product placement galore
Unrealistic/stereotypical portrayal of college life
Subtle promotion of Christianity
Subtle dismissal of/lack of consideration for existentialism
A butcher shop complete with dead pigs hanging from their feet from ceilings

Yeah, if you don’t mind all of that, then you’ll probably like it.  And you’ll love that it all ends with a Linkin Park song.  That will be the icing on the cake.



LE FABULEUX DESTIN D’AMELIE POULAIN
12 June, 2008, 1243 pm
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Film, My Experience with Existence | Tags: , ,

Upon the opening of my eyes, Divya decided to pop in Amélie.  We watched it with English subtitles, and from the first lines, some things were lost in translation.

However, upon the ending of the movie, I was changed.  I must make art.  I must continue with my plans to give strangers anonymous love and encouragement.  Thus, I shall make my postcard(s) this weekend.  I shall go to Barnes & Noble today.  The thing that saddens me slightly is that perhaps someone will get my message and believe that I am a sappy creep (which is exactly what I am).  Or maybe no one will get my message.  It’s the anonymity that makes me happy, knowing that there’s a chance that I helped someone because many people do, in fact, believe in signs (even the skeptical, sometimes).  But in order to increase that chance, I need to spread out my hits and make each note of encouragement different and meaningful.

On the way home from Divya’s, I sang to myself in French, conversed with other drivers in French, and pretended that I was all-around French.  It felt good.



MUZAK AND SUCH

The weather was perfect.

We rode squished in the back seat of Carol’s car to the park.  Not that the park is not within walking distance.  Just, it would be convenient to bring Carol’s car and have a ride.  You know.  We played frisbee.  By the time we were all panting from trying to catch and throw with a perfect wrist snap, every last one of us was thirsty.  And there were seven of us.

Zelda’s was right there, but Katie pointed out that Zelda’s also has new employees “every day.”  This is actually true.  Plus, Zelda’s is inferior to Cherry Alley.  It’s simple.  We walked the extra blocks to the clearly superior café, and those of us without money ordered cups of water.  For some reason, don’t ask me why, I always feel guilty when I order water from a café or restaurant, especially if I’m not ordering anything else.  I should just wear a sign around my neck whenever I plan on eating somewhere.  “Hi, I’m a cheap bastard.”  But I really do love Cherry Alley.  I really do spend most of my time and money there.  And they really do play superior music.  They are superior.

We sweated it out at a table meant for four, and trekked back to the park for more frisbee.  Aulden went home and we continued to play frisbee.  Paige and Tim left, and we played more frisbee.  And then Carol drove the remaining three of us home.

The rest of the evening was humble.  I worked out for a fairly long time.  I watched television, made pasta, and here I am.  Simple.

Here is one thing that bothers me.

I constantly tell you that I listened to Bright Eyes because Erika urged me.  I will remember that day for the rest of my life.  The first album I listened to.  The first song, even.  The sun in my room.  That red plastic swivel chair from Ikea.  It was a profound experience that allowed me to branch out my musical tastes.  It started with other artists on Saddle Creek.  Then I used Amazon as my tool to new artists.  I found the Arcade Fire there and fell in love from the first time I listened to “Neighborhood #1.”  And when I say love, I mean love.  Erika gave me the hint about Rilo Kiley with the Saddle Creek 50 album, and I remember becoming addicted.  I added the two Rilo Kiley songs, “With Arms Outstretched” and “Jenny You’re Barely Alive,” to my poserpod.  And I was in the car with my mother on a sunny afternoon.  We were on our way back home from the Food Lion in Goochland.  I listened to those two songs in succession, and it made the afternoon seem infinite.  There is no better way to describe something epic.  Infinite.

Jared and Jordan noticed that I have a story about every song or artist or album I have ever been intimately connected with.  I even have stories about Motion City Soundtrack and Relient K and Switchfoot.  Avril Lavigne.  Yes, I loved them.  I don’t anymore, but whenever I find people who like them, I just think…there’s hope in this world.  They might branch out like I did.  Maybe they will have a friend with the decency to introduce them to Bright Eyes.  That friend will give them the right album, and they will listen to the right song first.  Maybe.

So you get it now.  I’m in love with music.

I’ve offered a million times to make Rachael a mix CD.  She hears my music loud and clear in the house every day.  My experiments.  New songs.  I told her years ago to borrow my Sufjan Stevens albums and become acquainted.  She would like them.  “Chicago” is pretty mainstream, especially because of Little Miss Sunshine.  Of course, she doesn’t listen.  But then she gets a whole slew of new friends who are casual listeners.  And she gets an iPod.  And she wants to fit in.  So she abuses the privilege.  And now what do I hear pouring out of her iPod?  Two Sufjan Stevens songs.  One M.I.A. song.  Three Shins songs.  ONE Arcade Fire song.  Two Eisley songs.  Maybe five Beatles songs tops.  Oh, and you can’t forget Tegan and Sara because she has three of their songs.

It’s okay that she listens to good music now.  In fact, it’s great.  But if it’s so casual that she won’t explore any songs that aren’t “popular,” ones that her friends won’t listen to by chance–so casual that she won’t be compelled to look into the artists and similar artists and other songs and new genres–what’s the point?!  It defeats the entire purpose of enjoying music and thinking for your goddamn self.  In fact, her friends get their music from boys.  Boys who get their music from probably skate videos and good movies.  So even her friends who encourage her to branch out a little aren’t original.  It’s all passed down.  But don’t you think it would be fun to be the trendsetter for a change?

And granted, I find my music with the help of lovely blogs and lovely friends and movies and such.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t branch out on my own sometimes using the resources I’m given like Amazon and Last.fm.  I guess we all have to piggyback a little, but when someone doesn’t appreciate what they’re given or takes it for granted or turns her nose up at it until it is popular, I get extremely pissed.



LE CULTURE DE FRANCE ET LE CULTURE D’INDIE

Got sick yesterday, recovered by laying around after school and watching Paris, Je t’aime.  Incroyable.  Indescribable.  I went into French class this morning all ready to use my nasal “r” sound, and then I remembered that it is just high school French and even my teacher does not have it in him.  And we are American.  Pennsylvanian at that.  We are allowed to use these German accents to speak German, but we cannot risk the embarrassment of sounding really, truly French.  How patriotic would that be, in conservative central Pennsylvania, where the French are pansy fags?  Mais j’aime le culture de France.  Even if no one else does.  Just like I love Rilo Kiley in all of its indie rock, folk-tinged glory, even if no one else does because it is too “country.”

This segment reminded me a ton of Garden State.

The overall feeling of the film was nostalgia.  Little stories about love.  I laughed, I cried, I thought about my own love, my own life.  Each part was delicate.  Just five minutes long.  But each had something in it for me.  It was like peeking into all of these different lives and just seeing that they’re all somehow alike, despite socioeconomic status, despite gender or marital status or exact situation.  Precise location.  And it’s because of love.  It made me sad that I mostly had to read subtitles because my savvy for listening comprehension does not extend far beyond the tapes in French class or my teacher and peers, aided with textual references and G-rated vocabulary.  But it makes me that much more motivated to start listening to RFI every day and to download more good French artists.  Maybe not more squeaky clean Lorie.  I know that there must be French indie.  I just don’t know where to find something cent pour cent French.  Because a lot of it (like the Arcade Fire or Charlotte Gainsbourg) is interspersed with English.

Anyway, tomorrow, I am going to New York City for the first time to see Young Frankenstein.  Although I am excited, I am also extremely nervous and intimidated and I really can’t see myself going there.  It’s a cruel city, but I imagine it is also beautiful.  But how do you not look like a tourist when you are enchanted?  I guess it’s not such a bad thing being a tourist; loads of people are tourists in New York City.  But I see it as bad.  I mean, I get so acquainted with the bands I listen to so that I am not a n00b.  So wouldn’t it make sense to do the same with cities I want to visit?

I am less nervous for going to DC on Friday with art.  I have been to DC a million times.  We talk about DC every day in AP Gov.  It’s just going to be another trip there.  I am comfortable with DC.  I mean, it’s halfway home.

I went downtown with Brent to Cherry Alley Café today.  Got a hot chocolate.  And while we were sitting around talking, the oh-so-cute “Anyone Else But You” came on the stereo system.  By now, you should know it by heart.  By the Moldy Peaches.  I mentioned that it is a shame: Everyone is now calling dibbs on all these grand indie bands like they own them, “I heard them first,” hoarding them, sticking them in their Facebook profiles.  Because they have one popular song that the masses like.  And it’s so fucking cute.  And it’s about ugly people loving each other.  How cute is that?

But before their exposure from Juno, no one had heard of the Moldy Peaches.  Nothing wrong with Juno.  I, for one, loved the film.  I could relate to the protagonist.  A sarcastic high schooler who keeps getting caught in romantic waters way over her head, kind of quirky or “off,” in love with her best male friend and unwilling to admit it for a long time.  Very into music.  Quite the fan of hoodies.  Guys at school are not interested, for the most part.  Then you could go into superficial things.  Drives mom’s minivan.  Lives in a small town.  Then you could get more superficial.  Short compared to everyone else.  Brown hair.  Whatever.

But the masses fell in love with Juno because she is not your typical teen protagonist.  That’s just it–she is different.  She fits into the indie subculture.  That stereotype.  And so all of these uneducated, normal teenagers go to the movies and they see Juno, and they see a part of themselves in her.  Just like whenever I go to the movies and walk out thinking that maybe a small part of me looks just like Keira Knightley because she is gorgeous and spunky.  But I look nothing like Keira Knightley.  Many of these kids are nothing like Juno.

So they jump on the bandwagon late, try to become weird by trying to fit in with people like you and me.  The really, truly, incurably weird ones.  The ones who are in love with music and don’t give a shit about looking like a character.  And am I looking for street cred?  No.  No, because I have always been like this.  Introverted, introspective, and “off.”  And no movie is ever going to make me look like a character.  I will always, always be like this.  It is a natural progression from who I was as a sophomore/junior.  Music took over my life.  My priority is not to look as credible as I can.  I have other things to worry about.  I love French, I love several bands wholeheartedly, and I love to write.

But here’s where it gets weird.  Here’s where my story disappoints.  The kids who will change in light of Juno and other movies promoting the indie stereotype, they do not see my peers and I as any cooler for being this way naturally.  They will not try to befriend us and talk to us about how awesome our hobbies and plain clothes are.  How they always secretly wished they were like this, wasting life, and how free it feels to look natural.  Normal.  Because I am pretty average-looking.  They will just try to change their friends to be like them.  So that our little underground thing goes public and then we just look like everyone else again.  And the only way to tell us apart?  Talk to us.  Their personalities won’t change.  They probably still won’t have interesting things to say.  Oh, and they still won’t be able to spell.

I think that hanging out with Brent brings out the cynic in me.  He is, after all, the one who pointed this out, that Juno really stereotyped the indie subculture and that kids just find it intriguing.

Well, music.  I guess we can give them those popular songs.  Make them feel like they can get something genuine out of life because that’s the only genuine thing they’ll ever get out of life.  And for those of you who will continue to stick with the subculture when the hype’s all over?  Good for you.  Because Juno really is a great movie, and if you stuck it out after you fell in love with it, then more power to you.

For some time, I’ve been lovin’ on Sam Beam.  You know, Iron & Wine.  I downloaded this song as per my cousin’s request and shoved it aside for a while, but I recently unearthed it and fell in love.  It’s like a long evening of driving towards the sunset.  I love the handclaps.  While Sam Beam’s eyebrows may only get one star (he has some, does he not?!), the song gets all five.

Boy With A Coin | Iron & Wine
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [mp3 direct link]
Iron & Wine’s Website
Iron & Wine’s MySpace

P.S.  I love that my blog has the 26th most popular song on the Hype Machine today, but I also hate it because it was such a fuck-up.  Give me a spot for something I actually deserve, goddamnit.  Whatever, though.  Again, Charlatantric deserves your hits.  Go to his blog and discover truly underrated music.



TRISTE

Almost every art class, I listen to the music of my peers.  Sometimes, I feel like forcing my music on them, “Here, listen to this enlightenment,” but I am scared.  When I do work up the courage to plug in my iPod, I become very defensive and shaky.  Once in a while, I will get a complaint to switch the song, but for the most part, everyone is quiet and I’m on edge.  Although I love to listen to “The Henney Buggy Band” by Sufjan Stevens while I am painting my projects, I do not enjoy wasting energy defending my favourite artists.  People do not understand me or my music.  Sharing my iPod is not a particularly pleasant experience.

benefits-of-headphones.jpg

Although I normally prefer my own music (and by that, I mean my favourite music), sometimes, another student will play some music that I can enjoy without shaking.  For example, one compadre (I like that word but I don’t know what it means but it seems appropriate) played the Arcade Fire once, and I was almost dancing in my pants all day.  My leg was twitching, kind of.  Another time, I swear someone was playing Johnny Cash.  I am not a huge Cash fan, but I can appreciate.  I smiled all class.  And then today, something interesting happened.  One of my fellow estudiantes played some intriguing music that I had never heard until that moment.  And it sounded very indie.  The voice sounded familiar, even if the songs did not.  In fact, upon thinking about it, the voice made me think of the Flaming Lips.  I bet it was the Flaming Lips, since I am not an all-too avid listener.  Anyway, I wanted to stand up and shout, “WHOSE IPOD IS PLAYING?!”  It would have scared the owner quite badly, since the two-dimensional tasteless boys at the table next to mine were yelling for a song change every five minutes.  And this art class is Design in 3-D.  Step it up, boys.  Anyhow, if the owner of the iPod had revealed himself (most likely a boy, since that class is swarming with them), I would have most definitely commended him on his superior music taste and then inquired as to the artist of the songs playing through the speakers over our heads.

But I didn’t.

Here is one thing I have learned from listening to other people’s iPods during art.  I listen to many, many female artists and I am not ashamed.  My peers may be incredibly open-minded enough to listen to many different races (including and probably limited to: Whites, Blacks, Latinos or whatever is politically correct), but they are the most narrow-minded when it comes to gender diversity in music.  At least as far as singers go.  Thus, whenever I make a new playlist that I could potentially play in art, I include many female voices to make up for those that other people exclude.

By the way, I hate it when people say “close-minded” to describe someone who is not open-minded.  The antonym of open-minded.  It sounds like you are saying “clothes-minded.”  You sound like a fool.  It’s “narrow-minded.”   Picture the mind as a stream.  It can’t really be closed.  It can just be constricted to let fewer ideas through.

The reason I am typing without contractions for the most part, in this voice with all my thoughts instead of in some funny voice to amuse you is because I am sad.  I tend to do that when I am sad.  And I am going to tell you why I’m sad because today, I was re-reading “The Shared Patio” by Miranda July today, from No one belongs here more than you, and this one tidbit really stood out.  It says:

If you are sad, ask yourself why you are sad.  Then pick up the phone and call someone and tell him or her the answer to the question.  If you don’t know anyone, call the operator and tell him or her.  Most people don’t know that the operator has to listen, it’s a law.

I have been the most monotonous person today, but I felt completely normal.  Other people, though, picked up on my deficiency of happiness and asked me what was wrong, and it wasn’t until I stopped to think if there was something wrong that I realized that I was sad.   I am almost always happy, no matter how silent I am.  But it made me even more sad that other people noticed, and not even me.

Well, I would call someone, but it is his sister’s birthday, so it would be a really short phone call and it would probably make him upset to know that I am sad.  So instead, I will say everything here.

The greatest reason for my sadness is that I miss Derek.  And I think that is quite natural.  He visited me this weekend, and I can’t think about it.  I never felt safer than when I fell asleep with my head on his chest while trying to watch SpongeBob.  And Travis was sitting there, too.  It makes me want to watch SpongeBob again, but I know that if I do watch it again, it will just disappoint me there because I won’t feel that comfort of Derek right there and Travis there, also.  I also felt safe in the car ride taking Derek back to the halfway point, when I fell asleep with my head on his leg and he was playing with my hair.  I wished I could have taken care of him as well as he took care of me.  And I kind of wish I always had someone to take care of me, to have my back all the time and play with my hair.

I feel like this numb, asexual being for the most part, about as attractive, unique, or interesting as a plain white wall.  Even the boys I date do not seem to be particularly attached or attracted to me, no matter how adamant I am about them.  It’s just those two or three days out of the occasional month that I regain the capacity to be loved, that I am loveable and adorable and beautiful, that anyone could see me as anything but wry and dry and plain.  It’s like I lose my ovaries for the better part of each month.  Even when I talk to Derek on the phone, I wonder why he would want to talk to me.  I have so little to say, but I guess we tend to express things less in words.  I had the hardest time this weekend telling him that I didn’t want him to leave, just because it felt so selfish when I ran it through my mind.

So I did not tell him.

Then when we were on the phone after he arrived back at his humble abode, he sounded so happy.  I get like that, too, though, when I get home.  It’s relief from homesickness and a return to normality–never at the fact that I was apart from him.  But it always seemed like he took my departure harder than I did, like a burden on the soul, but now I realize it must be the sensation of being left behind.  I tried to explain this to him, but I guess I couldn’t do it in words, so I gave up.  And I do not think I could convey how upset I was because I didn’t cry or anything.

This sadness leads to another one.  I feel like I am destroying the lives of young boys all over America.  Normally, when I date someone, I take time to get to know them and then I find that they are as distant and unattached as I am.  And that’s that.  They have a special place in my brain, depending, I guess, on how I treated them.  And Phelan has a special place in my heart as a friend, as does Brent.  But I feel like when I end it with a boy, it’s more of me being reckless, but I have never dated and dumped anyone who really needed me.  I have just dated and lost many people who I need.  And the one I was most reckless about was the one I needed the most.

But I suppose I feel guilty.  Because while most males fail to see how I treat them like shit, or do not reflect the ugly face I make at them, I am fairly certain that Brent had the clarity to realize that I was not acting as I should have, even when I did not realize it myself.  And if it wasn’t for him, I probably would have continued my serial dating spree with truly pathetic souls.  But Brent is not pathetic.  And I think that he instinctively played the game I was playing all along, and it sort of slapped me in the face and it made me realize, toward the end, what I was doing.  I was being a bitch.  And just because I had not gotten my period in two months did not grant me any extra-special right to be a bitch to everyone around me.  This last part of the realization came right after I got my period for the first time in two months.  All I can really do is beg for forgiveness, but now that I have been reunited with the capacity to shed the lining of my uterus, I cannot help but cringe at myself for being such a dumbass and want to make it up to him.  I am well aware that another shot at dating would not be fair, advisable, or nice.  Fair, because of the advantage Derek already holds over me.  Advisable, because I am a recovering serial dater.  Nice, because I have found that I take advantage of those who leave their hearts vulnerable for my scrutiny.  But perhaps a batch of cookies will patch things up.  At least I have found a true voice of reason through all of this.  We may have different opinions on authority, and I may have been saddened by the discouragement and negativity I faced while under his care, but I am certain that if I ever find myself in need, I can go to Brent for a good old consolation party.  Or just a hearty conversation in general.

And I guess that only leaves me one thing to be sad about.  This last thing is the simple fact that I will not be around to see my boys grow up.  And I mean Travis, Charles, Coleton, Torey, and Phelan.  They are freshmen.  I have almost known them for a year.  But I have to leave them soon, and I do not want them to forget me.  Because I will never stop waving at them in the hallways.

The Darjeeling Limited

Well, there is only one song I can give you today, but I can give you a bit of a story on it.  This Saturday, Derek and I watched The Darjeeling Limited around lunchtime.  The movie is about three estranged brothers who make a cross-country train trip in India in an attempt to reconnect.  It is a Wes Anderson film.  I love Wes Anderson films because they are timeless.

Hotel Chevalier

The movie is prefaced by Hotel Chevalier.  It is a short film labelled as “Part I” of The Darjeeling Limited.  And Jason Schwartzman from Phantom Planet plays our protagonist, Jack.  You do not learn his name until you watch The Darjeeling Limited.  Well, he is waiting for a woman in a Parisian hotel.  The woman is his ex-girlfriend, played by a bruised Natalie Portman.  And when she arrives at his hotel room door, he plays this ridiculous French-sounding song.  They act formal.  She snoops around.  Food arrives.  And then they have sex.

I could relate best to Jack.  The music, the height, the French.  Travelling.  Never settling down.  But I am terrified of commitment, and it seems that Jack is, too.  He has his one mainstay woman, the one he keeps going back to, the one with the most rickety relationship.  And he has all these other women he wants and eventually gets.  But the only one he loves is that mainstay woman, that Natalie Portman.  And those other women do not love him, either, so they leave him.  He just has them as a temporary drink of freedom, I suppose, and then he misses her and it shows.

Well, here is the song.

Where Do You Go To (My Lovely) | Peter Sarstedt

After I obtained this song, I added it to my iPod and I wedged my new earphones into my ears and I laid on my bed and I pulled the covers over my head and listened to this song loudly and I just cried.  But I love this song.

I’m sorry for being sad today.  Later this week, I will bring you happiness.  I promise, also, that I feel better after writing this down.



I’M BACK

I’m not even going to give you an explanation.  I’m just going to jump right into things.

First, you must listen to Eugene Francis Jnr.  When I hear of new bands via MySpace, I’m always wary because a lot of times, they are teenagers who think they have talent.  And quite frankly, they don’t have any talent at their disposal, at least not musically or creatively, even though they cite Bright Eyes as their main influence.  They are not worthy of being compared to Bright Eyes.  Eugene Francis Jnr is different.  I mean, he toured with Tegan and Sara last year by their demands.  And Bright Eyes is at the bottom of his list of influences, so you know you’ve got quite the journey in store for you.

 Eugene Francis Jnr

There’s a bunch of folklore associated with Eugene Francis Jnr, and he hasn’t even released his first album yet.  For example, legend dictates that he was born in Wales to an Apache Indian father and an Eskimo mother and that he travelled the globe with them.  His parents educated him in music and hippie-dom before he eventually settled in London, playing in various bands before skittling off to America.  Yeah, I don’t know how much of that’s true, but at the same time, I don’t really want to know.  If it’s a tale, then it just shows his creative prowess, and if it’s the truth, then it just shows how cultured an artist he is.  It shows in his music.

I want to say that his music is comparable to the wind, but it has layers and flavour that make it more substantial than that.  I notice something new every time I listen.  Perhaps you could just extract the exoticness or the travelled-ness from the wind and say that’s what I’d like to compare it to, because it would be the truth.  There’s also some self-love/world-love, rather inspirational vibe about some of his songs, most especially “Poor Me.”  Lucky for you, I’ve got that there mp3 for you to enjoy.  My favourite line says, “Don’t want a world where religion is power.”  Word.

Poor Me | Eugene Francis Jnr [buy]

This should tide you over until the album, The Golden Beatle, is released on April 28th, 2008.  Unfortunately for us, it’s only being released digitally outside of Europe, but that’s better than nothing, right?  Here’s the video.  Pretty interesting, reminiscent of some nursery rhyme or fairy tale.  I forget which one, though.

In other news, I went to Richmond last weekend.  I even got to miss school on Friday!  The first thing I did when I got there was visit Derek.  Even when we haven’t seen one another in a long time, we don’t know what to do.  This time, though, we watched Across the Universe and let me tell you…it changed my life.  I love the soundtrack, the character development, the art.  I love how relateable the story is.  It makes me want to fall in love and then be separated from a long time to be reunited again forever.  The soundtrack’s constantly playing in my head, and if I don’t have “All My Loving” stuck in my head, then you can be guaranteed that “Happiness Is A Warm Gun” has taken its place.

All My Loving | Jim Sturgess

After movie-ing and Chipotle-ing and Erika visit-ing with my best frieeeend, I waddled over to Paige’s house in my car.  I miss my car.  So many memories.  It’s a black ’92 Plymouth Acclaim with a maroon interior and a new CD player that was added a few years ago.  A hand-me-down from my parents.  When I drove it around this summer, I always planned to fix it up and put pillows in the back (partially because I have to sit on a pillow to drive it) but I never did.  I didn’t know how to sew yet.  I remember once Derek took me to the car wash and we cleaned it out, vacuum and all.  That was a great day.

Anyway, once I arrived at Paige’s house, there was lots of giggling and the biffs and I watched Across the Universe before bed.  The next morning was Paige’s birthday.  She likes to sleep in, so Erika and I watched Interview with the Vampire before she woke up. I’ll take any opportunity to mock Tom Cruise or Kirsten Dunst as a child.  I’d never really planned on watching it, but it was actually quite enjoyable, especially since we can’t take movies seriously.

I met up with Divya at the mall later that day.  I realized that I don’t get enough time with my best friend.  Isn’t everyone my best friend?  But I have loyalties to Divya because we’ve known one another for ten years.  A whole decade.  I generally hate going to the mall, but Divya and I have many of the same tastes, especially when it comes to clothing, so there were no problems in store choices.  For once, I felt like I fit in at Urban Outfitters, what with my unkempt hair and my weird clothing choice.  I’ve changed so much, not only in mentality, but also in looks.  Long hair, whatever clothes, jeans, no makeup.  Low maintenance is key for me.  Just a smile, come as you are.  I bought a shirt for ten bucks and when Divya and I had to part, it was difficult.

Then I went to Derek’s, lost the keys to my car at dinner, and went home after calling my dad to tell him that I’d lost them.  I always have car troubles.  Like the time I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the headlights.

Valentine’s Day was misleading.  I flip-flop back and forth about it.  For example, I love love and I love making other people feel good.  But Valentine’s Day is sort of exclusive to couples, which sucks, and anyway, as Divya says, you should express your love for people every day, not just on one shitty day in February.  Commas.  And commercialism blows.  This year was different.  I didn’t make valentines by hand with love like I normally do.  Instead, my mom bought me Pixie Stix and I handed them out rather generously but I still didn’t get rid of all sixty.  So when Brent and I went to Cherry Alley as a casual regular after-school gathering, we chugged them.  And I still didn’t get rid of them all.

Now, the fact that we went out on Valentine’s Day is misleading in itself because not a word about it passed between us during those two hours.  No mention of Valentine’s Day.  I figure that’s partially my fault because I assumed that he hated the commercialism of the holiday, and anyway, Brent isn’t a hippie.  He doesn’t love everyone.  I would have been categorized as “naive” to bring it up.  And I am naive, I’m so naive, but you can’t go wrong appreciating people.

It’s so misleading, too, because you’d figure that we’d at least be extremely genuine or kind to each other on that day, but I was being a bitch and then we had a conversation about suicide.  Naturally, that didn’t end well because we have disagreeing views on it.  I find it selfish, though in some contexts it can be beautiful.  You kill yourself, and then you find that people loved you and needed you and you let them down because you were full of self-pity.  There’s always something that could convince you not to do it.  Namely love, I think, or the right expression of appreciation.  That’s not to say I hate people who commit suicide.  It just makes me upset hearing about it.  I could have stopped them.  I could have loved them.  In reality, though, I couldn’t have because I didn’t know them.

Recently, someone said that all you need isn’t love.  You need food, shelter, water.  I read an article about Zimbabwe recently and their 26 000 percent inflation, and how people have to walk epic lengths to get to work because riding the bus costs too much, and how making ends meet is difficult.  And just applying that knowledge to my life, I know I’ve got it great.  It’s cut down on my wants, my so-called “needs.”  I want to walk to school every day just to feel a fraction of what these people are feeling.  I want to pursue my education with greater vigor because not everyone has the opportunity I do.  But when I share this information with other people, this inflation and inspiration and great sadness that just sits inside me that other people have to suffer and they don’t even have it the worst because they have jobs, well, nobody cares.  I get snide remarks like, “Sounds like what’s happening in America.”  It’s not, though, and it frustrates me.  Everyone wants to think he has it the worst.  Even though all these conspiracy theories are circling about American government, even though nothing’s perfect here, we have life so easy, so privileged.  Life is peachy.  There’s hope for everyone here.  There’s love in the form of food, shelter, water.  It’s pretty accessible here, even if it’s not abundant for all.  And you don’t see that in Africa.  I hate how often my acquaintances take things for granted.



TUESDAY, I SWEAR

It’s rare, so fucking rare for me to meet people I enjoy being around, who honestly interest me.  People who don’t mind any awkwardness.  Over the past month, though, I’ve been engulfed by the most captivating and genuine group of people.  And the group keeps growing in size and interestingness.  Even this week.

Before I say anything crazy, I’ll just give you a track that has been sitting patiently on my computer for a while.  That’s not to say it’s unlistened to, but a new friend reintroduced me to it via the music video, which reminds me vaguely of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which is a grand movie.  I would, by the by, give you the Final Fantasy remix, but I think that’s good for another day.  Like, when I’m not fucking tired out of my MIND like you don’t even know.  Yeeeah.  It would also be a good idea to post the video.  Shruggity shrug shrug shrug.  Oh well.

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead | Stars

Fine, fuck you and your guilt trips.  Here’s the video.