INDIEchouette


MIX: SEPTEMBRE 2008

Derek has a CD player in his car.  He kept spinning the same CD every time he drove me places.  He told me that these were the songs that were constantly stuck in his head.

Since it was the same CD over and over again, I volunteered to make him a new CD with the songs that are constantly stuck in my head.  He thought that was a good idea because his sister allegedly makes him listen to very bad music sometimes.

This CD was only semi-hard work because I had to hunt down the MP3s online via the Hype Machine and then cut two at the end because a CD only holds 80 minutes.  The rest of the work was easy peasy, just picking out songs that I can’t get enough of lately.

The songs are in no particular order because it’s just a bunch of songs that blitzkrieg my brain in no particular order with no warning.  Because of this random order, I am an advocate of putting this mix on shuffle whenever you want.

And here’s my reasoning for each track in no particular order (main reasoning = catchy).  There are also download links over yonder.

Virgin Suicides [ysi] | Van She
Okay, I’ve already written about how awesome this song is, but I honestly don’t see how anyone could dislike it.  It’s upbeat and happy.  Think “Look Up” by Stars, except without all the encouraging parts.

Two Silver Trees [ysi] | Calexico
“Two Silver Trees” is what “Young Bride” by Midlake was to me about a year ago.  I take this song seriously.

Kids [ysi] | MGMT
The first time I heard “Kids,” I wasn’t paying attention.  And then I ended up downloading it, and for the first two weeks of school, it was my silly anthem for walking around campus.  I felt so MGMT.

Little Monsters [ysi] | Charlotte Gainsbourg
I love bells and I love her whispery Jane Birkin/Serge Gainsbourg-inherited voice.  This song is small furry mystical creatures on the beach on a fall night night during a meteor shower.  Charlotte Gainsbourg could make death by bubonic plague sound good.

Af607105 [ysi] | Charlotte Gainsbourg
What I also love about Charlotte Gainsbourg is that most of her songs are night songs with an accent, for when you’re warm and comfortable and relaxed and in some kind of indescribable state of bliss.  Maybe naked.

Irene [ysi] | Caribou
I think I picked this one up from AllThingsGo once, but disregarded it for the most part.  However, upon moving into college, I discovered that I had a snoring roommate.  My methods of coping during the wee hours of the morning included turning the AC on high, turning on the TV, making banging noises and pretending I couldn’t help it, using earplugs, and listening to my iPod.  During one of the iPod nights, I was able to sleep, but was roused not by loud, unsettling music like the Fall of Troy, but in fact by some of the most peaceful and beautiful music I had ever heard.  In my heavy-lidded, half-conscious state, I noted that the song was “Irene” by Caribou.  It’s been constantly replaying since.

St. Petersburg [ysi] | Brazilian Girls
I lurk the Hype Machine frequently and actually found this track in the “Popular” section.  I downloaded “L’Interprete” because it looked like a French name.  “St. Petersburg” was a tagalong, but I actually like it more because while it’s very chill and catchy, it also soars at some parts and comes down from those orgasms appropriately.

Evening Life [ysi] | The XYZ Affair
While this is a summer song, um, hello?  Most of September is still summer.  We just don’t consider it summer because it’s a transitional month, and we have school and work again.  Well, work for teachers.  It’s the same as June being spring, December being fall, and March being Winter.  I know they’re out of order.  Anyway, I just like the melody, I think, and the singer’s fairly high voice.

Id Engager [ysi] | of Montreal
We all know that of Montreal is crazy fun.  I just think this a subtle improvement on their old stuff.  Less senselessness, but still enough.  Still high-quality, same genre, same Kevin Barnes, same play on words.  Of Montreal is still creepy sex.

Parisian Skies [ysi] | Maximo Park
This one’s an Ali.  You can always tell Alis because they’re British.  Much like “I Adore You” by Melpo Mene “Parisian Skies” floats like clouds.  But they’re more aggressive, passionate clouds.  I have enjoyed this track all summer at the beach, in the car, in bed, walking.  It sounds like I’m a sex addict.  Oh, also, I’m a francophile, so of course I love an amazing indie rock song called Parisian Skies.  Come on, guys.

Gold Mine Gutted [ysi] | Bright Eyes
I used to listen to the Metronomy remix nonstop, but I’ve begun to reappreciate the glory of the original now.  It’s a lot sadder.  In many ways, I think that’s a plus.  It more accurately represents Bright Eyes.  There’s something so chill and spacelike about the original.  It feels like floating.

Two Doors Down [ysi]| Mystery Jets
Yet another fabulous contribution from Ali.  While I initially disliked the eighties touches, now I know I’m in love.  I guess it depends on how you listen.

Gobbledigook [ysi] | Sigur Rós
While a lot of Sigur Rós’ other material is often floaty and dragged out, Gobbledigook is a definite rock piece, all business, no nonsense.  But the percussion makes me want to skip around gleefully.

I’ll Kill Her [ysi] | Soko
She said, “Please can you make some beautiful baybeeez?!”
Little angry Frenchwoman who has her entire life planned out.  I definitely don’t mean any harm to blondes, ever, by putting this song up here.  “All she’s got is blondeness, not even tenderness!”  If I had the space or the patience, I’d put all the lyrics here.

I Blame Coco [ysi] | I Blame Coco
I am a fan of delicate, pretty voices, which is one of my problems with a lot of French music.  A lot of them have deep, raspy voices.  Not a fan.  Coco’s not French, but she is Sting’s daughter and she is my age, and she does have a deep voice.  But her song’s fun, and her voice is a classy addition to this very low-key chanson.

Dishwasher [ysi] | Fujiya & Miyagi
My main obsession with this song is the low-key nature.  Then there’s the percussion.  Then there’s the “raspberry rrrrripple ice cream” part.

Complicated (Avril Lavigne Cover) [ysi] | Ben Gibbard
Shut up!  This is serious!
Wanna know my secret?  I listen to Avril Lavigne to fall asleep some nights.  IT’S OUT.  And while Ben points out that her life isn’t very complicated, man…this is a good cover, especially with the talking at the beginning and at the end.  Those parts make the song.

Hello Benjamin [ysi] | Melpo Mene
I’ve already declared that I’m in love with this band.  But there’s something about the melancholy tone of this one that just gets to me.  That, and it’s always moving.

Broadripple Is Burning [ysi] | Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s
I will haunt you like a ghost
I keep running into this song.  It’s more delicate than a Bright Eyes song.

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BIRTHDAY EVE

It doesn’t feel like tomorrow (Thursday) is my birthday.  I’m really reluctant to let go of being seventeen.  I feel like I’ve built up so much to be this age, kind of like when I was twelve and fourteen.  Those were ages which, for one reason or another, I aspired to be.  I figured I would savour them and in truth, I did.  I went through a lot of major changes at those ages.  Now, though, I don’t know what age I aspire to be.  Seventeen was kind of it for me.  I love being a teenager, save for all the misconceptions.  Fortunately, I still have two years left, even if I’ll legally be an adult.

I guess part of this whole it-doesn’t-feel-like-tomorrow-is-my-birthday business is that I’m away from most of my family, so it’s not like we can really celebrate.  And I need to make my own cake if I want one.  I’ll probably forego that because…

Okay, first, my sleeping habits are all fucked up.  I’m always tired on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and I take long naps in the afternoon.  Naps are very French, so I’m okay with that.

My eating habits are pretty fucked, too.  I don’t really want to go into that because it will scare those of you considering veganism or even vegetarianism.  NO, it is not hard to be vegan or vegetarian.  YES, VCU does offer a plethora of vegetarian options, as well as a few for vegans (which is really nice, considering that some restaurants aren’t even that considerate).  The problem with my eating habits has more to do with time management and being busy and slightly lazy.  If I have lost weight over the past two weeks, it is only because I do not feel like boarding the bus to go over to Shafer Dining Court or walking there.  I do eat in my room, though.  I’ve had fruits and nachos and occasional granola bars and cereal.  Also, I guess I do get a lot of exercise, especially on days when I am motivated enough to make the 1.5-mile “trek” between the MCV campus (where I live) and the Monroe Park campus (where all of my classes are and everything happens).  Okay, so in just two weeks, I have gone from being a health-conscious “leafy green” vegetarian to being a lazy-ass junkfood transitioning vegan.  That definitely needs to change as soon as I’m more settled.  Fortunately, I’ve been researching good grocery stores in the area.

Muzak, though!  I haven’t written about music in so long.

Okay, the first tune, I have been spinning (lolzers, more like “telling my iPod to repeat”) constantly for the past few days.  It’s not only the catchiness and the depth of the lyrics, but it’s that little background noise.  Some MGMT, I didn’t like at first because it’s pretentious and it sometimes reminds me of of Montreal (nothing wrong with a little of Montreal, but I can only handle so much), but you have to love “Kids.”  It just feels right.

Kids | MGMT
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
MGMT’s Site
MGMT’s MySpace

So now I’m giving MGMT a second chance, because I always used to get pissed reading that people thought Animal Collective was “artsy for art’s sake.”  Come on, now!  What’s wrong with being artsy for art’s sake?!

The next track I must present to you is one of the most desperately catchy songs I’ve ever heard, again.  Except I’d venture to say that Van She is far more pop-friendly than MGMT is, and I predict that you’ll hear more from them in the mainstream soon.

Virgin Suicide | Van She
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
Van She’s Site
Van She’s MySpace

In the meantime between now and when I’m legal/now and my next post probably, I’ve got to write an Argumentative Diagnostic Essay.  Fun stuff.  Um, Explosions in the Sky soon, as well as maybe some French sheittt for all those fellow francophiles (I know, there are so many…).



JE LIS

Read. That is what I am going to do with my summer.

You probably think I’m taking the valedictorian speech too seriously, but after picking up the habit of reading the news, I feel empowered or maybe just knowledgeable.

When I was twelve or thirteen, maybe fourteen and just filled with angst, I had my mother take me to the library at the beginning of the summer. I borrowed loads of books, maybe seven or ten. And when I got home, I just started reading. I read for hours. I lounged on the couch and absorbed these books. When I finished the first one the next morning, I immediately began the next. I kept going, and my mother thought that it was unnatural and unhealthy. Maybe it was. I don’t care. Perhaps it helped seal the fate of my eyes. The reason I wear contacts and glasses, after all, is that when I began reading in elementary school, I didn’t want to stop. I remember in second grade, when we moved to Richmond, that’s all I wanted to do. I would lay on the couch and read. Sit at my desk in school and read. Go to recess and read sometimes (or play kickball, hopscotch, hang-glider, or swing). And goddamn, at that point, I hated writing. It wasn’t until fourth grade, when I wrote an essay about how I got this scar on my forehead, that I began to enjoy writing.

I forget most days about that scar. My bangs cover it, on the left side of my forehead. When I think about it, too, it seems so insignificant. A fact of life that has been present since I was four, and I can’t remember life before it. But it’s a story I’ve never shared with you. And you will not hear it today, either.

Anyway. Yesterday, I went to the library and chose seven books, but they weren’t enough. I want to gobble them up. I know, though, that it will take me at least two weeks to read them all. July 3rd. That’s when they are due. I finished the first last night. Montana 1948 by Larry Watson. Which is an incredible emotional journey that you won’t be able to stop reading until you’re completely finished. Maybe I will make a list of the books I read and want to read this summer. I have missed reading for pleasure, and now that I have the opportunity to do it again, I will take full advantage.

I think that it should be noted that while I am a fast typer even by my peers’ standards (but certainly not by my own), I am an incredibly slow reader. I don’t know this in words per minute or anything, but I know that it takes me maybe a minute or two to read a page. While some people would probably pin this on my stupidity, I like to think that I am absorbing the book better than anyone else is. And it’s probably at least partially true. I tend to remember details better because I am spending a longer time with the words than other people are. When I did Book Bowl in fifth grade, they nicknamed me “Buzzy” because I always got the Bonus Round questions so rapidly, and they were correct. Thus, I would never want to change my habit of reading slowly. I do not want to become a skimmer. I enjoy letting everything season in my brain for a bit.

I haven’t written about music in a good long time, though. I wonder who visits my blog every day, and I just assume that it’s probably random viewers from search engines, mixed in with perhaps five solid readers. Merci, though.

Here’s the thing. Today, I will write about the Wombats, finally.

I borrowed the Wombats from some other music blog, most likely All Things Go. I mean, if they ever did an article on the Wombats. Thing is, while I normally don’t like cymbal-heavy Brit-pop, I love the Wombats. And it’s not like they only have one catchy song that will resonate with a few people. Their music is entirely contagious, universally catchy. It’s everything about it that makes it so great, and it’s one of those bands where every time you listen to the songs, something new will catch your ear. I love that.

Anyway, the Wombats have followed me on many important journeys. On my first trip to New York City, I kept listening to “Moving to New York.” I hated New York but continued to love the song. On my first trip to Bounce Funplex with Ali and Carol, Ali included this on a mix CD and added that I should check out “Backfire at the Disco.” So I did, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Thus, today I present you with the track that Ali so strongly recommended. What’s funny is that such an incredibly successful, serious band spawned out of a grand joke.

The Wombats | Backfire at the Disco
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
The Wombats’ Website

Also, guys, I’ve been inspired by Sara and my sister. I’m going to compile a list of songs that I greatly enjoyed when I was maybe fourteen or fifteen and was heavy into pop-punk and I worshiped it. I’ll upload it soon, after I finish Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. Et je veux lire des livres en français, mais je ne sais pas où je pourrais les chercher.



RILO KILEY FOR REAL THIS TIME

You’re probably wondering why it’s Tuesday and I haven’t written anything about Rilo Kiley yet.  After all, they are my favourite band.  You should expect something by now.

Well, I’m just so sad it’s over.

The opening acts took forever.  Benji Hughes was first up.  Although I was aware that he was an opening act, I opted not to check him out before the show because I was too interested in Thao.  However, I’m kind of glad I didn’t waste my time.  While I fell in love with the greasy-ass guitar player (not Benji, some other guy), I did not enjoy the music generally.  Additionally, jokes were made in our social group about the way Benji looked.  We referred to this one kid at our school as Miss Piggy, and Benji looked quite a lot like this kid.  Hair and all.  As much as I appreciated Benji’s style, completely carefree and hippie-like (I wore my dreamcatcher necklace and this hippie-like headband that I made), only one or two songs clicked with me.  But I don’t remember them.  The crowd did not enjoy the act very much.  I think I will give Benji Hughes a second chance soon, but I can’t right now on account of the fact that I don’t have my music library avec moi.

Thao was next, and ahh!  She was amazing.  My pals didn’t really enjoy her.  They thought that her dancing was weird, but I found it endearing.  She danced like a lion, by the way.  There’s really no other way to describe it.  I craved “Bag of Hammers,” and I was surprised when she didn’t deliver right away.  When she did decide to deliver, though, she started off beat-boxing, so I didn’t really recognize it, but I was impressed.  Oh, and people did not dance as much as I wanted to when she started going, “SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE THE FRAME OF THIS HOUSE DISTRESS THE WOOD MAKE IT SHOUT!!”  I was ready to flail the way I did to Miley Cyrus’ “See You Again” at Prom.

Then again…there wasn’t really room to pull that shit.  It’s a good thing none of us were claustrophobic.  There was this couple standing in front of me, actually.  I think it’s worthwhile to note that no one was really very much taller than me.  Even the guys were mostly reasonably short.  except Jay, Jeremiah, and Derek.  They don’t count, though.  Back to the couple, though.  When I go to shows, I don’t want to be groped.  I want to DANCE.  I want to make a fool out of myself.  I do not want someone constantly kissing me and holding me.  So the couple in front of me, of course, had this pussywhipped guy holding onto his girlfriend and I felt terrible for her.  She must have been suffocating.  Not only did he piss me off immensely, but she did piss me off a little too because her HAIR was this frizzfest and it kept getting in my fucking mouth.  And one time, she reached back to put it over her shoulder and she whipped me in the face with it.  I mean, her hair was beautiful, don’t get me wrong.  It was just getting in my way.

By the way, it was hotter inside than it was outside, and during the day it was 100 degrees outside.  We were sweaty and gross and thirsty, but if we stepped out of the crowd to buy a drink, we would never return to the good spot we had.  By the way, we were to the right of the stage about fifteen feet back.  It was awesome.  We would have gotten better spots if I hadn’t gotten lost on the way to the parking lot and walking to Toad’s Place (which was only about two blocks away tops but I thought I was walking South when I was, in fact, walking North).

Well, Thao was beautiful.

Okay.  So at the end of her act, Thao tells us that Rilo Kiley has planned a super duper surprise, and she hopes we brought adult diapers for this one.  We’re all speculating that…it’s Conor Oberst!  Jenny Lewis will throw candy at us!  Everyone will come out naked!  Jake Gyllenhaal is here!  Blah blah!  Well, we look up and we NOTICED that Jenny Lewis is on a ledge above us watching the opening act.  I shat my pants at that point because THERE SHE IS.  My idol.  Just looking down.  And I couldn’t make myself smile because I was mortified.  Nervous, I guess.  She’s so beautiful and intimidating.  She is the one person I aspire to be like, but I can’t be like her because I’m not sexy.  And she is.

After Thao, Blake Sennett came out and told us that he had a super surprise.  By this point, we’d guessed that it had to be a person.  Well, he brings out these two strangers that a bunch of people cheer for who are from Tennessee (Erika’s comment was, “GOOD!  YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED THERE!”).  I still don’t know what their names were.  But ah, they played alright, if a bit too hillbilly for me.  The crowd lapped it up.  I was ready for Rilo Kiley.  In fact, I thought I would die before I got the opportunity to see Rilo Kiley.  I was so fucking thirsty.  I felt that a heat stroke would be appropriate, and then maybe Rilo Kiley would visit me on my deathbed and tell me how much they appreciated me rockin’ out to their not-so-fabulous opening acts.

Rilo Kiley FINALLY came out after what seemed like eons, and I felt that I could not stand for much longer.  I screamed like a schoolgirl (which is what I am) when they came out and I almost died when I saw Jenny Lewis up closer.  She was wearing a headband much like mine, the way I wear mine, and she wore her bangs on the same side as I always do.  Not a huge deal, but you know I’m going to wear my headband for the rest of the summer.  And you know that I’m going to grow my hair out longer like hers.

She opened with “Close Call,” followed by several other Under the Blacklight songs.  Rilo Kiley’s delivery was not disappointing, but the song choices sort of were.  No “A Man/Me/Then Jim.”  We got a rockin’ version of “Ripchord,” which was excellent.  Everyone sang “’cause nobody loves you” together.  Blake held side conversations with the audience, and Jenny smiled at people.  “I Never” was incredible, as were “Silver Lining,” “It’s A Hit,” and “A Better Son/Daughter” (which I was surprised the audience wanted to hear).  The concert secured my belief in Rilo Kiley and my admiration for the members.  I can’t help but think I’m sad it’s over, though.  It wasn’t like the Arcade Fire, where I had real stories to take back.  Jenny Lewis did make some incredible faces while singing, though, and–oh yeah, she wore these black Maryjanes like I have.  I guess I just don’t want to talk about it all, except for the fact that I love Rilo Kiley so much.

Also, how the FUCK could people forget the lyrics to “The Frug” when they were DYING to hear it?  I know I would crack under pressure, too, but DAMN.  Get past the “And I can do the Frug.  I can do the Robocop.  I can do the Freddie.  I cannot do the Smurf.”  It’s sad, and everyone in the band was so disappointed.  I guess it’s Jenny’s fault for not wanting to sing.  But still, if you’re going to get up onstage, you should know the lyrics.  You’re a lucky fuck and you just ruined your shot at impressing my idols.

Yiih.  I’m going to Tropical Smoothie later today.  I just realized this weekend how much I hate Richmond and why, and how much I love Lewisburg and why.  For one thing, people in Richmond are asshole drivers.  I got stuck at a toll booth, and the guys behind me were laughing and hollering like obnoxious dicks.  And then I had to switch lanes on Cary Street because a car was geting towed, and about ten cars went by before someone was kind enough to let me in.  One car even passed me, and the passenger laughed loudly at me out the window.  I was all, “What the fuck’s your problem?”  And there is no air conditioning in my car, so I was all sweaty and intimidating.  I actually didn’t say that “What the fuck’s your problem?” shit.

It’s just so hard to connect with people in Richmond, too.  They’re selfish, they don’t want to help you out, and they already have friends so they don’t need to worry about being nice to you, even though for me it’s just a common rule to be nice to everyone unless they’re an asshole to you first.  Every sarcastic thing I said to my kind-of friends at dinner before Rilo Kiley was either disregarded or taken completely seriously.  Jokes flew over people’s heads, whereas I know that Carol and Ali would have laughed and not ignored me if they’d been there.  I only found one of my not-quite friends very nice and not at all annoying.

Also, everyone at the concert was so superficial, dressed up in their best scenexcore clothes to go see Rilo Kiley and I was like, “Whoa there, pardner.  It’s just a concert.  Jenny Lewis probably won’t look at you and your perfectly straight hair and awesome eyeliner job.”  That’s why I chose to take the plain “dirty hippie” approach to everything.  Wear what I want, dance how I feel.  And I felt comfortable.  I mean, except when Jenny Lewis looked my way, in which case I had to stop lipsynching and start trembling and try to form a big dopey smile.  I guess that’s just what happens.

The “indie” kids there, by the by, reminded me of the scene girl Ali and I encountered downtown in front of the community center, and I still haven’t gotten over how fake and snippety she was even though it was no big deal at all.  I mean, Ali said, “Ooh!  I love your hair colour!” and instead of thanking her, the ungrateful bitch responded, “Uhh, well, it’s the same colour as yours…”  Fuck that shit.  I didn’t say that to Allison when she complimented my hair colour and our hair is pretty much the same.  I thanked her wholeheartedly and I really did appreciate it.  See, that attitude comes when you get too many insincere compliments from snobs.  You get ungrateful and you forget how to differentiate between insincere scene kids and real people.  Oh, and even though I’m short and Ali is thin, I think that scene bitch thought that Ali and I were Amazon women come from South America to kidnap her and eat her for dinner.  Because she was less than 5 feet tall and she was a full grown poodle.



ADDITIONALLY

Two things.

One:  I always pin animals to people.  Recently, Katie brought up that one of our schoolmates looks like a praying mantis.  This is a very accurate description of him.  Anyway, it brought me back to the age-old question: What animal do I look like?

And just now, I thought, “Damn it anyway, I’m a fucking beaver.”  Beavers are cute and extremely furry, but here is one thing they’re not: Sexy.

Haha, I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with wanting to become sexy.  Probably because recently, all my friends are growing up and becoming sexy, and here I am at seventeen years old, almost eighteen, the same height, weight, bra size (I may have graduated a half a cup size since then), and pant size I was in seventh grade (no, I’m not tiny, just short).  People constantly mistake me for a middle schooler or an underclassman.  I halfway wish I had these huge titties or a huge ass to prove that I am as old as my license says.  I suppose this will prove advantageous.  In college, I will attract guys who want someone who is rather young-looking.  And pedophiles.  Plus, I’ll get carded for a long time, which may prove annoying at first, but when I’m forty years old and they ask for my ID, it will be worth it.

Two:  I vant to get some gold fabric paint and vandalize my clothing.

Additionally, “additionally” has become my word of the day.  I’ve been on Yahoo! Answers all day, and I’m only a Level 1, but I love putting my opinion out there.  It’s strange.  And it’s not quite like a forum, where someone will likely call you a dumbshit and completely contradict you.

Oh.  Last night, I took it upon myself to listen to some good “metal” (actually post-hardcore).  I’m going to start mainstream, and with the help of Last.fm, I will move myself away from that.  Thus, the starting point is the Fall of Troy, who I’ve loved for quite some time.  The guitar parts are just mind-blowing, and the voices and even the lyrics help quite a lot.  I also enjoy many of the song titles.

Act One, Scene One | The Fall of Troy
[buy] [mediafire]
[zshare] [mp3 direct link]
The Fall of Troy’s Website
The Fall of Troy’s MySpace

Oh.  Another important thing.  Rachael dyed her light brown hair a darker brown today.  Revlon Colorsilk #30 (Dark Brown).  It’s currently my colour, exactly, which may finally force people to accept that we’re sisters.  This dye job, though, makes me want to dye my own hair a shade or two darker.  Thus, next month, I plan to dye my hair a shade or two darker.  I’m not going for black or anything.  Just darker dark brown.  Altering my appearance for the better often makes me happy.

Okayokay.  Now I must clean my room.



“RABBIT RABBIT” FOR MAY

Going to the art show made me realize that I should have submitted more art.  Also, my friends are artistic wonders.  I especially enjoyed flipping through Paige’s sketchbooks.  I’ve been thinking about starting a sketchbook for quite some time; I’ve now decided that I must.  It is imperative.  I also want to take art classes galore in college, even though fuck, my major has nothing to do with art.  It’s really a release for all of the visual creativity I’ve got built up.  I write every day, but it’s rare that I get the opportunity to visually represent what’s on my mind.  And in elementary school, I was an art buff.  Some part of me thinks that perhaps I shouldn’t have traded art for band in middle school.  I’m in love with music and at least I’m glad that I learned to play mallets.  CONSOLATION for choosing oboe.

Nanyway.  Over the past few days, I’ve been regularly hitting up the Last.fm group for the Rilo Kiley concert on June 8th.  People (twenty-somethings, mainly) are afraid of people my age turning it into a fucking sing-along.  How RIDONKULOUS do you think we are?  And why wouldn’t you want to sing along?  I mean, look.  My freeenz and I live by the wisdom of Jenny Lewis.  We want to marry Blake Sennett (or something).  We realize that Jason Boesel is the rational voice of reason, and I guess Pierre de Reeder makes us dance or something.  I don’t know.  I guess I understand why you wouldn’t want a sing-along, but call me a “teeny bopper,” and I’m peissssed.  Just because I’m seventeen and a female.  Seeeriously?  Come on, now.  Reserve that term for someone who listens to one fuckin’ FOB song and goes to the concert.  All those pretty thirteen-year-old jelly-bracelet-wearin’ chicks at a Dashboard concert.  But please, never call a hardxcore Rilo Kiley follower a “teeny bopper.”  Please.  You will get beat down.

That being said, I have lately realized that I have two qualities that are automatic negatives.  One:  I am seventeen years old.  Thus, I’m not quite an adult and still insanely naive.  Two:  I am a girl.  This is like a double whammy, because it disallows many people from taking me seriously.  For example, people on Last.fm who think this is my first fucking concert or something.  The kind who call me a “teeny bopper” resentfully.  You don’t knoooow me!  And you also don’t know how committed I am to Rilo Kiley.  Committed, seriously.  Favourite band.

But when I’m writing, I have none of this in mind.  I don’t constantly think, “Oh, I’m seventeen and a girl.”  I just think about my passion for music, my passion for art, my passion for writing.  My passion for other people and details.  I also never have vegetarianism on my mind unless I’m at the grocery store.  And even then, it’s like, “Oh.  Today, we’re going to try to avoid cheese.”  Yeah.  And for the record, I would probably never buy or create a shirt declaring my vegetarianism.  Delia*s disappointed me in selling these.  It’s honestly nothing to brag about–kind of like wearing a shirt that says, “I dye my hair” or “I shave my legs.”  If you wear a shirt declaring it, people will think you’re pretentious.  High-and-mighty.  Holier-than-thou.  While I did constantly think about it two years ago, it’s now just part of life.  I don’t make it a point to tell everyone or rub it in everyone’s faces.  My point is that these shirts are for sellouts, mainly.  People who do it for the credit, or as a conversation starter.  Well, fuck that way of life.

Also, fuck PETA.

Hm, what else?  Oh.  The main downer point of my day.  I typed up my senior project paper, right?  All fancy and long.  Nice-looking.  Of course, I have had to guess and check on most of my project, because every time I asked them for clarification, they were extremely vague and unhelpful.  Well, I brought it down to Guidance in a spare moment.  And the woman.  At the desk.  Tells me.  That I did my paper wrong.  That it was supposed to be a five-paragraph essay.  With a cover sheet.  Telling about what I learned.

I almost screamed in frustration.

I’ve been making shit up as I go along ALL YEAR because Guidance has been the biggest lump of shit as far as help goes, and after I’ve done all of my hard work and put in many hours of organization and creativity, they have the BALLS to tell me that I did it wrong.  The fucking balls.

On my way out of Guidance, I felt tears welling up in my eyes.  They were not tears of, “I have to rewrite my paper.”  They were not tears of, “Poor me.”  Not the usual tears of sadness.  They were tears of frustration.  I was actually angry.  There was steam coming out of my ears.  I was soooo pissed.  Because Guidance can sit on their asses all day long and turn in my college applications over a month after I gave it to them after promising me “ASAP.”  They can give me the fucking PSSAs senior year.  They can force me to do a graduation project in less than half the time everyone else did it–and then threaten me with In-School Suspension (ISS) if I don’t turn it in on the same day as the senior slacker delinquents do (who have had about three years to complete their projects–over three times the amount of time I had).  But they can’t do their fucking job right.

So I put my head in my hands and pretended to sleep when in reality, I was stressed.  I am normally an expert at repressing tears, but this time, they leaked into my hands, I guess because of the pressure or some sheeeittt like that.  I just sat there and thought, “Oh, shit, how am I going to wipe my eyes off without making it look like I was just crying.”  But people knew because my face was all red, and I was acting like a pissmonkey, and I had to keep wiping my eyes.  If I had had someone to talk to, I think I would have been fine, but again…all of my friends were at the art show, and here I was stuck at school.  I never, ever, ever cry at school.  The last time I cried at school was probably sophomore year when the janitor pissed on me.  Well, he didn’t literally piss on me, but he yelled at me for something I didn’t even do, and made me clean it up, and called an administrator to supervise me, and it was humiliating.  Oh, and when my mother called the school about it, the Assistant Principal told me to get new friends.  It was actually laughable.  I laugh about it now because it was so ridiculous.  Fuck Guidance, seriously.

Also, I haven’t been so justifiably pissed in quite a long time.  I get frustrated with our school system, but I have not been this pissed at anyone for a good year, maybe.  And I haven’t been this justifiably pissed since the janitor thing.  Or when we got kicked out of the mall for wearing black.

Of course, I was pissed off for the rest of the day.  Rewriting the paper is no big deal.  I’m just frustrated with Guidance.

When I got home, of course it was a fucking Cryfest, boo-hoo, Guidance, blah blah, nyeeehhhh.  I was pissing at everyone.  And then in the middle of telling my mom this, she goes, “Look, you really need to wear coverup every day.”  And she pointed to my acne by my mouth.  So fucking superficial, I can’t even stand it.  Yes, I know that I have acne, mom.  I wash my face three thousand times a day.  You stressing me out is not going to cure anything.  You telling me that I shouldn’t have acne is not going to magically cure it.  And fuck, if I touch my face, I am not going to sprout a fucking pimple right there on the spot.  And for the record, my face is fucking dry.  Yeah, fuck astringent.

I went for a run, then.  And after that, we went to the grocery store.  And then I decided to work out for an hour.  I made my abs hurt.  I worked my arms hard.  I wanted to run again and do a million more reps, but there’s really only so much a person can do.  Exercise makes me happy.  It makes me feel thin and healthy.  I like that feeling.

Granted, I took some routines from Seventeen.  I used to think that Seventeen was so great.  It is, if we’re talking about body image.  But it does two things I don’t like.  One, it ignores the environmental situation.  In one issue, they specifically recommend aerosol hairspray for a style.  In another, they recommend packing a bottled water in your bagged lunch.  I’m sure there are other examples in every issue.  I just didn’t look.  Two, it stereotypes guys.  It tells you signs that he’s into you.  It tells you what subtleties he won’t pick up on.  It tells you why he likes you.  And really, this makes girls generic, too.  I picture the same girl for every write-in.  She is thin, well-liked, and beautiful.  Clean and naive.  And really, it makes me sad that anyone can think that they fit into a certain category.  You’re so different from anyone else, in a million ways.  The way you are, how you were raised, where you grew up, who your parents and siblings are, your aspirations, your tastes.  What you look like.  Just embrace it already.  Stop trying to look like Brittany Snow.  You’re beautiful on your own.  Or handsome–you’re stunning on your own.  Also, I find that Channing Tatum is an oaf.  Where the hell is the appeal everyone talks about?

Men.  Do you really think that every girl judges a man by his body?  Do you seriously think that every girl wants someone with a six-pack and bulging biceps?  Here’s a testament to the opposite.  I pay no attention to physical “treats” like that on a male.  I really don’t.  Partially because I would have no idea what to do with it.  Partially because a body like that would make me feel extremely self-conscious about my own body.  Also, I do not think that a toned, built man would go for me when I look like this.  But the main thing I look for in someone is something insightful and different.  I’ve found that more often than not, a guy who builds up his body is too busy conforming to what he thinks all girls want to have time to be insightful for me.

Well.  Huh.  Here’s my favourite track to work out to.  Brittany showed me the glory that is Santogold, and I fell in love.  Ali even said that on “L.E.S. Artistes,” she sounds like she is the baby of Tegan and Sara and M.I.A.  Funny, Santogold and M.I.A. are biffs.

Creator | Santogold
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Might I add that Santi White is exceptionally beautiful?!



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
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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.