INDIEchouette


JUICY GOSSIP
8 January, 2010, 1205 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

The other day at Video Fan, I heard a series of two songs by the same artist.  I had no idea what the artist was, so I asked the kindly female at the counter what she was playing.  Answer:  TV on the Radio.

EDIT:  Ummm Lindsay pointed out that I mislabeled “Wolf Like Me” earlier, so I’ve relabled it.

Wolf Like Me | TV on the Radio
[mf] [buy]

I Was a Lover | TV on the Radio
[mf] [buy]

Last night, I had a dream that I had really wide, hairy legs.  In my dream, it made me uncomfortable because my legs are, I think, the only redeeming part of my body.  But in reality, I have lost about five pounds just from being home over break.  I’m in Richmond now, and I don’t see myself keeping off this weight that I did not mean to lose.  This is simply because I lack self-control.

In other news, this is a series of things that do not matter:  One of my sisters got a detention, and the other one was sent to sit out in the hallway.  How these things happen, I don’t know.  For one thing, I never had a detention in all my however many years in grade school.  In fact, I never came close to getting a detention.  I’m too much of a perfectionist with my behavior.  For another thing, my sisters aren’t even nearly bad kids.  All three of us are too shy, or too obedient, or too wary of offensiveness to act out in public places like school.  Rachael got a detention because she was late to school too many times.  Fair enough, because it’s usually her fault that she’s late, but sometimes she’s late because she has to drive my mom to school.  The day they wanted her to serve her detention, she couldn’t because she had to pick my mom up from work (my mom works in the school system).  Funny how that works.

As for Alexa, the whole situation is out of line.  Some kid in her class said something funny, she smirked at it, and she was sent to sit in the hallway for thirty minutes with the girl who forgot her homework.  When the teacher came out to retrieve them, she asked them if they knew what they had done.  Alexa said, “Sorry, but no.”  She’s so sassy when she’s right.  The teacher never explained it to her, probably because she doesn’t even know what Alexa did.  My sister put on a happy front at school and then cried at home, which is better than I would have done.  Behaviorally, Alexa is like me–very prim–but she has an added advantage of charm, which I never had at her age.  Her charm allows her to impress people her own age in a relatable way.  And work-wise, she’s a perfectionist like me, but she’s more motivated than I am.  I think she’s escaped the family curse, and because of it, I think she may easily be the smartest one.



MINIRANT ON STARBUCKS
29 October, 2008, 1020 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence | Tags: , , ,

I dislike Starbucks.  I dislike it because it pushes small, quality, family-owned coffee shops out of business by offering lower-quality, overpriced, character-less products that are rarely vegan that are convenient, that I really don’t want to buy.  To me, Starbucks always feels like an assembly line.  Some people would refer to this as a “slaughterhouse” feeling.  Any way you put it, I dislike it.  So I refuse to buy things there.

I’m a die-hard for Cherry Alley Café in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.  Because even if I don’t live there, and even if they don’t play my sorts of music all the time whenever I do manage to get there, that’s one homelike place.  This homelike, no-pressure atmosphere makes me want to buy things there.  Plus, they’re very vegan-friendly and they sell quality products for cheap.  Oh, did I mention that you really can’t find vegan-friendly places in Lewisburg, or in most cities in Pennsylvania unless we’re talkin’ Philadelphia or Pittsburgh?

But I still like to sit in here and take advantage of Starbucks’ wireless internet while having my nose serenaded by apparently wonderful smells.



TOMATOES ARE NOT GREEN

I would risk salmonella for a juicy, ripe tomato right now.  Tomatoes remind me of Brent and what he lied to me about.  Actually, he didn’t lie.  He joked.

And guys, let’s talk about being green.  I’m not talking about the colour.  I’m talking eco-friendly.

First, I need to introduce you to The Body Shop.  I experienced this lovely store for the first time yesterday while I was at Short Pump Town Center with Divya.  It was BEAUTIFUL not only because of the causes they support (animal rights, human rights, protecting the planet), but because they also filled my crazy francophile need for French.  Their products have French names under the English name and there’s even a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL canvas bag with their missions in French on one side and in English on the other.  While I am normally against buying bags because I can make my own in a jiffy for a fraction of the price (or sometimes free), I would have bought that bag if I’d had money because I believe a certain amount was to be donated to a good cause.  I cannot find it on the interwebs, though.

Oh, and look at this.

Moving elsewhere through the mall, which is the most fucking ridiculously pretentious mall I’ve ever been to (and it’s five minutes away from my old home and I would like to call it a ridiculous waste of land because ten years ago, there was a forest there), we came across Delia’s.  Half of the t-shirts in Delia’s are green-inspired and honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that.

For example, I think this shirt is kind of cute.

You know, at first glance.  But then when you think about it, this dinosaur shirt is an exclusive club.  You have to be vegetarian to wear it or else you’re a hypocrite.  And I’ve been against those sorts of shirts since my elementary school days, when Limited Too had sports shirts and shorts and I fit into none of the categories they provided because I was a bookworm, not an athlete goddamnit.  Also, you’re taking credit for being vegetarian.  You are advertising, “I am a better person than you are because I do not eat animals.  Street cred.”  But you don’t see “vegan” shirts at Delia’s, probably because veganism is a bit too radical.

Then you get into their other green shirts.  You’ve got Snoopy, arguably my favourite comic character, lounging on top of his dog house, and underneath, it says, “Save our planet.”  Horton sticks in his head to remind us that “every voice counts.”  A shirt proclaims, “Make art not war.”  There’s this Omni Peace 2025 tee shirt with Africa posing as a hand, and there are fingers forming a peace sign above it.

I have grown to dislike the exploitation of cartoon characters.  Well, good cartoon characters like Snoopy, where the creators are dead and can’t prevent the exploitation.  Snoopy probably doesn’t give much of a shit about saving the planet, and Horton doesn’t care whether or not we vote.

As for “make art not war,” AGREED AGREED AGREED, but fuck, if you’re so artistic and creative, make your own fucking shirt.  Don’t buy it from a store that may use sweatshops (“Made in USA” does not necessarily mean what you think it does–look at all the islands our country “owns” out yonder in the Pacific).

Omni Peace 2025 is a cool shirt, too, but again, child labour and…how many people who shop at Delia’s are educated enough to know about the child labour thing and the situation in Africa?  I’d be willing to bet NOT MANY because they can buy their clothes elsewhere.

My sister, for example, who owns this shirt, is all about “peace and love and no dramaramamama” around her friends, but at home she is a belligerent person and she knows nothing at all about Africa.  She would probably have a fairly difficult time locating it on a globe.  She doesn’t give a shit about Omni Peace 2025.  She bought the shirt probably because one of her friends said they thought it was “cute.” In fact, she probably doesn’t even know that it’s promoting Omni Peace 2025.  She probably doesn’t even realize it’s Africa.

I’m not saying I’m more intelligent than she is, but when I say I support a cause, I do.  And I research it thoroughly until I’m fairly well-informed, and then I attempt to inform other people.  It’s just hard to inform people about animal rights or child labour or anything without it being against their will, because they are so unwilling to admit that they are at fault, even if I’m just trying to help them change their ways.  And when it is voluntary, when they do ask, I can’t make a lasting impression on them.

And Rachael, mysisterRachael, bought a peace-sign necklace from American Eagle recently, thinking she was so awesome and hip, but what she didn’t know is that the necklace part is made of leather and she probably paid close to ten dollars for it, which is so not awesome and not hip.

As much as I love Urban Outfitters, too, “Made in India” is not for me, and I’m surprised how many supposedly hip people go in there to buy aesthetically pleasing clothes and don’t realize that.

I mean, I’m fucking guilty, guilty as the next person, maybe more so depending on who you are, but at least I’m willing to change.  And here’s the thing:  This “green” movement has got to inform people better.  I like where it’s started, but it needs to expand.  It shouldn’t just encourage them to buy hypocritically green shirts.  It’s got to make them think about the welfare of others.  I’m not just talking about future generations, because even that is a fairly selfish motivation.  I mean that we have to reach out to the people around us who are still alive today.  People and animals.  You would like to think we’re all so different, but we have more in common than you’d know, and we could have more in common if you’d just stop and think and listen and go a bit out of your way right now to find out some new tidbits of information.

Since I got here on Saturday, I’ve been having regrets about consenting to go to college in Richmond, where drivers are assholes and everyone hates you automatically until you do something nice for them.  I love Lewisburg because it’s quaint and people are kind and you make friends fairly rapidly (I say that because moving to Richmond in second grade made me a depressed lump of lard because I had no friends, as opposed to moving to Lewisburg, which made me a happy lump of lard because I have friends).  But now, I’m thinking that Richmond might need someone with the insight of a small-town person, so maybe I shouldn’t be as scared as I am.  No, I didn’t fit in with the fashionable beautiful people at Rilo Kiley.  But I guess I hope I never do, because then I’d lose my mission and I would be blissfully ignorant.  Can you backtrack from enlightenment?  I don’t think you can.

But guys, if you come across places you like that don’t use sweatshops, hit me up in the comments and I will check them out and write about them.  Expect a post on the Wombats soon.



L’ETE EST ICI (ALMOST)
1 June, 2008, 1000 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

I’m a bit of a bitch as far as romance goes.  I’m so reluctant.  Maybe it’s just in the rare event that it’s so easy to lure someone in.  I mean, if I was a guy, I probably wouldn’t fuck me.  I get insecure at that thought, and I think that people flirt with me just because they can, because I am secretly in love.  But I need someone who will just stealthily come up behind me and hug me without warning.  That’s my idea of romance, I think.  Meaningless hugs and picnics and kisses on the neck.  And spontaneity.

I’m graduating on Friday, but I’m not ready for college.  I’m just worried that my music won’t be enough to help me survive.  And I know that’s silly, and of course it will be.

But also, despite the fact that I’m moving back to the Triad and Divya and everyone, I’m actually intensely sad that I’ll be so far from my new friends.  I mean, we’re just kicking things off and we have all summer, but…ah, how to sound unlame?  They’ve helped me get rid of a good deal of my anxiety.  And I feel good about myself the way I am.  And I can sing around other people and not care.  They seem to understand the awkwardness, and instead of thinking it’s silly behind my back, they understand, and we can all laugh about it together.

On the other hand, I feel that my friends are helping me prepare for college.  I am like a baby bird, and they are feeding me and giving me confidence and teaching me right now so that by the end of the summer, I will be my own person, and I’ll be able to fend for myself.

Speaking of baby animals, a lot has happened over the past two weeks.  One of the things that happened is that Charles found a baby rabbit by the road and brought him to me.  He was very hot and very little–eyes still closed–but I was determined to nurse him back to health.  He was so helpless, and it was so urgent.

Things went fine for the first two days, and Alexa named him Leverett.  But on the third day, Leverett apparently aspirated, so he began choking.  Despite the fact that I gave him the heimlich maneuver several times, he only got worse.  His organs gradually shut down until he couldn’t breathe, and then Ali arrived at my house, and I was a mess, and she sensed the urgency, and then he died.  I bawled.  We mourned and went to Rita’s, and then the next day, we had a funeral for him and buried him on my side yard with the help of Paige and Carol.  Although I was hurting, the funeral was a strangely happy one.  Sometimes, I can’t find the right emotion, or I try to make things seem lighter than they are.

Leverett didn’t deserve to die.  I held him in my hand for his last hour, and it was just the most frightening experience of my life.  Louie all over again.  He would sleep and wake up and hyperventilate, and then it seemed that he had seizures, which led to paralysis, which required rapid chest-rubbing.  And then the cycle would return.  It happened for hours on end, apparently.  It was just the most dreadful thing–indescribable–to know that he would die and that there was nothing I could do about it.  At one point, I called my mom and screamed for her to drive us to the vet, and she said that no, there was nothing they could do.  But they could have done something more than I could have, right?  It will haunt me forever that I didn’t do everything in my power to save him.  And I just keep thinking–should I have returned him to where Charles found him?  But Charles later found his sibling in the road–killed by a car.  Leverett was a helpless newborn.  I’m just stuck.

As far as other changes go, I feel tension building between myself and Derek, and it makes me upset.  It’s not that I don’t want to spend the summer near him in Richmond.  It’s that I don’t want to live with my dad.  And I love my friends here.  And really, Sara summed it up best–I may be in love with Lewisburg.  I want to get a job here this summer and make money and just sort of slowly say bye.  It’s not that I won’t be back, but I will be away for a while.

Besides, I first experienced Lewisburg over the summer, and that’s why I loved it.  Now that I live here, there are more things to do and I have friends.  And I can make plans and I can meet new people who are looking for this connection.  Before, I didn’t understand why anyone would move to Lewisburg as an older person.  But as a teenager, I kind of get it.  It’s a college town, and it’s just lovely.



THE SLOW FADE OF LOVE
14 May, 2008, 956 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

My friend was arrested and put in jail for an alleged rape.  At first, I didn’t think much of it, except that I had a slight stomach ache.  It reminded me of the sheer anxiety I felt when I found out that Josh was arrested and put in jail, and wondering, plain and simple, why.  But unlike the situation with Josh, I knew why this friend was put in jail.  And I felt scared for him, because he might be overwhelmed, especially because of the way people will talk when he gets back to school.  He’s a joke, whether he’s innocent or guilty.  I also felt slightly angry.

If he did, in fact, rape her, then fine.  Whatever.  I’ll be angry at him for violating all morals because his penis couldn’t wait.  And I will be so sorry for the girl.  Her whole life and trust in men, ruined.

But I’m most angry about the people at school who know very little about him who are making it all into a joke.  Or they’re saying that they definitely saw this coming, or they knew something was fishy.  No, you didn’t.  Only through rumours, which you should always, always either take with a grain of salt or keep in mind but disregard.  It’s not like you ever took the time to get to know him because everyone who has lived here all their lives knows all the supposedly fact-based misconceptions about him.  I’m an outsider, yes, but I find that prejudices are built around people for little reason on small incidents.  All the skaters are potheads.  “Poor” people are Dirties and they apparently smell bad.  Half the senior class is full of alcoholics.

What I think and firmly believe probably happened was that yes, he seduced the girl into having sex, maybe, and perhaps she was a bit reluctant, but that she probably regretted the whole thing afterwards and then told her parents or the authorities that she was raped.  Sexually assaulted and raped.  Maybe it was to save her dignity as a supposed virgin.  Perhaps she told her friends about the whole thing and they harassed her to turn him in, based on misconceptions.  Maybe they called her a slut or something because they disapproved of her sex life.  Or maybe they disapproved of her sexual orientation because perhaps they are hardcore narrow-minded lesbians.  I don’t know.

Thing is, girls can do that.  The least bit of doubt about what you did, and you can turn a guy in and say he raped you.  That’s why, on one count, a guy has got to be careful about who he chooses to have sex with.  If you don’t choose someone you trust and is fully willing, then you have the potential to be screwed by the law.

And as for the girl?  I have no idea who she is.  And maybe she’s someone like me.  But I’m assuming that she knew my friend beforehand, at least several hours or days beforehand, and going into that whole thing, I’m certain that it probably seemed like a date.  If you’re going into a date with someone you don’t know very well, especially someone that charming and confident, do a group date.  Whether or not you’re on a group date, always stay in a very public place and don’t stay out to all hours of the night.  I don’t care how romantic it would be otherwise.  You probably won’t be raped.  You could probably even get away with some making out in public at Hufnagel or Kidsburg (just don’t consent to get in the Rocket Ship or any tunnel-like structure).  And if you’re not sure if you want to have sex, just say no.  The guy should respect your decision, and if he genuinely cares about you, he’ll be able to wait.  This should be common sense.

Basically, though, my friend did not grab some random good-looking girl in the Wal-Mart parking lot and force himself upon her.  Come on, now.

I am mainly freaking right now, though, because my eyebrow magnifying mirror is MISSING from my room ever since yesterday, when someone apparently swiped it from my desk in an attempt to improve the quality of their own eyebrows.  That thing is my baby, perhaps more so than my iPod.  I use it every day for a good amount of time, and I become very stressed if I can’t find it.  And I can’t find it now.  I paid eight dollars for that thing, and it is amazing.  I hate living here and being unable to lock all the doors and windows, because it means extreme invasion.  At any moment, one of my sisters or cousins could sneak into my room and take something without my knowledge or permission.  And knocking is apparently unnecessary.  If I go over there to borrow something, though, I get stared at until I leave.  It’s not like I could go over there to grab food after school or drink all their juiceboxes or chill and utilize their normal-sized television or gaming systems or whatever.  It’s all about asking and being polite for us.  Don’t get me wrong; I love my family, but sometimes…Jesus Christ Almighty, you know?

I am very tired, and I feel that this song is accurate for capturing happy nostalgia, despite the lyrical content.  This would be a shout-out time to my frennnz.  Lewisburg and Richmond.  Guess what shirt I wore today.  Just guessssss.

A Man/Me/Then Jim | Rilo Kiley
[buy] [mediafire]
[zshare] [mp3 direct link]
Rilo Kiley’s Website
Rilo Kiley’s MySpace

Here are the lyrics.  I don’t think I could really express what this song means to me any other way, really, then urging you to listen to it.  Jenny Lewis’ voice says it all.

I had one friend in high school; recently he hung himself with string
His note said, “If livin’ is the problem, well, that’s just bafflin’.”
And at the wake I waited around to see my ex-first-love
And I barely recognized her; I knew exactly what she was thinkin’ of
We sat quietly in the corner whisperin’ close about loss
And I remembered why I loved her and I asked her why I drove her off

She said, “The slow fade of love, its soft edge might cut you
And our poor friend, Jim, well, he just lived within
The slow fade of love.”

A woman calls my house once a week; she’s always sellin’ things
Some charity, a phone plan, or a subscription to a magazine
As I turned her down (I always do) there was somethin’ tremblin’ in her voice
I said, “Hey, what troubles you?”
She said, “I’m surprised you noticed.

“Well, my husband, he’s leavin’ and I can’t convince him to stay
And he’ll take our daughter with him; she wants to go with him anyway
I’m sorry I’m hard to live with; livin’ is the problem for me
I’m sellin’ people things they don’t want when I don’t know what you need.

“He said, ‘The slow fade of love and its mist might choke you
It’s the gradual descent into a life I never meant
It’s the slow fade of love.'”

I was drivin’ south of Melrose; I happened upon my old lover’s old house
I found myself starin’ at the closed-up door like the day she threw me out
“Diana, Diana, Diana, I would die for you
I’m in love with you completely; I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”
“You can sleep upon my doorstep.  You can promise me indifference, Jim.
But my mind is made up and I’ll never let you in again.”

For the slow fade of love it might hit you from below
It’s your gradual descent into a life you never meant
It’s the slow fade of the love [repeated an infinite number of times]



“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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[buy] [mp3 direct link]
Santogold’s Website
Santogold’s MySpace

Might I add that Santi White is exceptionally beautiful?!



YOU SHOULD HAVE COME TO THE ARTS FESTIVAL

I have finally completed my senior project.  And I’m so proud.  So, so proud.  Now this week, I have to distribute it around.  Since our printer is a piece of shit, I wasted lots of paper trying to print the cover, which takes up a looot of ink.  So I used up the better part of a cartridge yesterday.

If you live near me and you want a copy, I’d advise visiting some places downtown next week–Cherry Alley, maybe Zelda’s, perhaps Page After Page.  That’s where I plan to put them.  They’re completely free, by the by.

If you don’t live near me and you want a copy, I’ll be putting them in a PDF file online sometime soon, so you can save paper by reading it online, print a copy for yourself, print copies for your friends, et cetera.  Distribute.  I don’t care, as long as you don’t plagiarize.  I would be very, very angry if you plagiarized.

By the by, I have named it “From My Window To Yours.”  I bet you can guess where it’s from.

The best part is that I plan on continuing this.  Creating more volumes.  Making it better.

Anyway.  Yesterday was also the Arts Festival.  Sara said that she was upset about missing it this year.  This got me excited about going, because it must be good if Sara says it is.

Understatement.

It was the best day of my life.

So for starters, Market Street was blocked off so that tents could be set up in the street.  I got there at one, which was my volunteer time, but I regret not getting there earlier.  It took me ten minutes to find the Art for Africa booth, but they didn’t need me to volunteer, anyway.

This allowed me to walk around.  I found Jess at the Campus and I found Kate coming out of Cherry Alley.  I found Phelan and Coleton later.

I felt bad for Phelan and Coleton because I had promised the day to Phelan first.  Or at least, I had offered to see him.  I guess that’s not offering the day to him, but he lives in Palmyra and I rarely see him.  And after that, I had offered the day to Katie, but I only ran into her a few times, which I feel awful about.  I also made sort-of plans with Ali, but they did not happen.  I spent most of the time with Kate and Jess, which often excluded Phelan and Coleton.  But we had a good time.

I met people I normally lurk; thus, I do not have to lurk anymore.  For example, Angela, whose MySpace I constantly encounter.  I noted that while she is pretty in her photographs, the images don’t do her justice.  By that, I mean that she is gorgeous in person, far more so than any photograph could portray.  And actually, somehow, she reminded me a lot of Erika.  It might have been her fairly long, painted nails or her style, but I think it was mainly her thin hands, wrapped securely around a phone, and her small feet, covered in flats.  Weird things to notice.  Truth be told, Erika’s facial expressions cannot be matched.  But I did find the girls similar.  Thus, I found a strange comfort and familiarity in Angela that probably made me seem very forward.

My favourite part of the day was not the pierogies.  It was not socializing.  It was not making eyes at my favourite Cherry Alley employee (more like looking at, haha).  It was the weather.  Fucking gorgeous!  Shorts-outside material.  No jacket.  Sunny, hot, and amazing.  No cloud cover.  It was the kind of day that just made me happy.  Thus, all that additional art made me overjoyed.  It was too good.  And I wasn’t wasting it, either.  I felt like hugging everyone.  I felt like I was at the top of my game.  And for the few hours that I was there, I felt like hugging absolutely everyone.

Afterwards, I went running with my iPod and my handy dandy Running Mix.  And I felt glorious.

The rest of the night was wasted on printing my senior project, but at 1 am, I got a text from Brent to get online.  I was half-asleep, so I got on and we had a good conversation.  After that, I had a hard time going to sleep again.

And then this morning, I went running farther than I went yesterday.  I also lifted weights.  So I feel awesome.

But this is all in preparation for the tedious journey of searching for a prom dress.

Take It Easy (Love Nothing) | Bright Eyes
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Bright Eyes’ Website
Bright Eyes’ MySpace
Saddle Creek Website

On the plus side (still), I am able to listen to Bright Eyes avidly again.  “Lua” is climbing its way back into my heart.



COME TO THE LEWISBURG ARTS FESTIVAL, PLEASE

So.  I’m completely grounded.

This is exceptionally rare for me.  Even when I am semi-grounded, I normally have some freedom to roam about the neighbourhood, but this time, I am confined to home, which basically means that I need to take up Colonial girl hobbies.

One of my semi-Colonial hobbies is writing pieces for my senior project, that zine I mentioned a while ago.  It’s coming along.  Actually, that’s the reason I am grounded–my senior project is not finished yet.  But I’m about halfway there, if you exclude distribution and the final paper.  I’m trying to go out of my way to make it nice and different from your typical zine.  I’m veering away from words and photos that look clipped out of magazines, though I did find this HILARIOUS photograph of a bunch of baby hawks in a 1974 issue of National Geographic that I must use.  They’re Coopers hawks.

I guess the cover is giving me the most trouble.  I want to draw something, but I need a title first.  I don’t want to rely too heavily on music, either, because then people will get it right away.  That’s one problem with a lot of my artwork, actually–I make art inspired by the music I listen to, so when other people look at it, it lacks the sentimental value that it has for me.  I want a title that will test my potential readers and draw them in.  Then again, I guess if I dig deep enough in my music library, I can find some obscure line that will lure in the lovers and the uninformed.  I kind of want to go French on them.

Speaking of art, if you live anywhere near Lewisburg, even remotely, you ought to come to the Lewisburg Arts Festival.  I recommend coming on Friday or Saturday, I think, because that’s when the high school is selling artwork, I think, and I’ll be selling a bag or two that I am making in hyperspeed this week.  In keeping with my Colonial hobbies, I’ve also been making friendship bracelets for the festival; in fact, kids all over Lewisburg have been working hard at bracelet making.  The bracelets will be fifty cents each and profits will go to help people in Darfur.  It may seem like very little money, but even fifty cents can buy food for a few days.  Allegedly.  I mean, it’ll help, it’ll help.  Also, after finishing two bracelets, let me tell you, they’re no easy feat.  It takes hours of concentration–even a medium-sized (widthwise) bracelet takes about 500 knots, give or take a few.  Not that I counted, but there are ways to figure it out using a calculator.

Oh, but as for the bag sales, you’re probably wondering why I’m selling those.  After all, they’re one-of-a-kind, handmade, they take forever to design and create, and they hold tons of sentimental value.  Well, here’s the thing.  I only really need one bag for myself.  Selling these bags will help the situation in Darfur.  Currently, I am debating donating 10% or 100% of the profits, because I want to help, but seriously, girl needs to save for college.  That’s selfish, I know, but I hate asking my parents for money constantly, just like I hate asking them for rides so I walk where I can.  10% would be decent, but 100% would kick some ass.  I guess it depends on how much I sell the bags for.  Another part of my internal debate is that if I donate the full profits of these ones, it would be like…you know, some limited edition thing available to the public that you can pay for.  And that would be AWESOME.  But what if I start selling them more frequently if and when I buy a sewing machine of my own?

If you’re going to the festival (which I advise), I’m making one bag inspired by Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins and one bag inspired by some other artist–I’m considering Stars, Andrew Bird, or Final Fantasy.  I don’t know yet, though.  I almost feel like people won’t buy if I make bags themed around the music, but at the same time, that’s sort of my “thing.”  Whatever.

In other reports, today, I was writing notes in English, hunched over my desk, and I realized that my hair was resting on my arm.  This is not a huge deal for most people, but I’ve gone for the past two years with chin-length hair.  And now, when I am sitting straight, it skims the clip part of my bra, on my back.  It serves several purposes.  One, I am more able to emulate Jenny Lewis than ever before, because I am certain that this is the longest my hair has ever been.  Two, it is heavy, dark, and appreciated.  Whenever I had my hair long before, I hated it.  I couldn’t do anything with it.  But I think having bangs helps.  Three, I’m well on my way to donating it to Locks of Love.

My paternal grandmother always brags about how she has two granddaughters (out of many) and one daughter (out of four) who have donated their hair.  She sneaks up behind teenage girls at church who have their hair hanging down to their waists and taunts them–“That would make a beautiful wig for some child who needs it.”  She’s hardcore, but her campaigning has made me strongly consider it.  I just need to wait and keep it healthy in the meantime.

In honour of spending this past weekend with people I have missed and having a comfortable time, I have some mp3s.  For the record, I have never been able to bring myself to sing comfortably in front of anyone else–too much pressure, too much criticism.  But I was so at ease.

This one was my favourite one to sing, and apparently the only song Phelan enjoyed from Across the Universe.  And it reminds me of that TV show, The Wonder Years.

With A Little Help From My Friends | Joe Anderson and Jim Sturgess
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“Silver Lining” summons memories of moving here, wanting to play Ragnarok all day, feeling sexy without the aid of makeup or a hair straightener for the first time in my life, getting along with Rachael again, missing Richmond perpetually, and spending all day outside but retaining my pale skin because of the religious application of sunscreen.  SPF 50 or so.  I felt so helpless sometimes, but I was free.  Gold.  New.

Silver Lining | Rilo Kiley
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Rilo Kiley’s Website
Rilo Kiley’s MySpace



SAMEDI

This morning, I started to think about my senior project, which is going to be a zine.  I’m going to take photographs around Lewisburg.  I’m going to bring together some of my forgotten writings and make lists and I am going to compile it all into ten or twelve pages of concentrated literature.  I only have a few ideas for the name.  I could name it Chouette! based on the title of this blog since it would be a sort of hard-copy accompaniment, but I think that would be overkill.  Although I do love the word.  Chouette.  I have also considered naming it Sourcils or Pamplemousse, but then what would I put on the cover?  I will think of something by the end of this weekend.

Another dilemma is where to get the writing from.  I know that for the first issue, it will all have to be mine.  Every bit of it.  And then I shall ask for contributions from friends.  But I can’t just pull things out of my ass.  I considered new literature and things I’d already written earlier in high school.  Journals for English classes came to mind, then, and I pulled up my journal from junior year and my journal from freshman year and I began to re-read them.

My junior year journal is not so cringeworthy.  I have some great revelations about love, war, and religion in there.  I have changed a bit since then, but it’s just because I now love more people and I have an urge to know something about everyone in a non-prying manner.

My freshman year journal is atrocious.  I almost spelled “optimistic” wrong in it.  But then I fixed it.  I wrote about boring things like middle school and how Catholic I was and how much I loved Switchfoot.  Looking back, I admire my steadfastness to the band and to my beliefs, even if I don’t agree with myself anymore.  And I also love this passage, no matter how fluffy I was when I wrote it.

And suppose we had an atheist, lesbian, African-American president (obviously a woman) who was neither Republican nor Democratic?  I think that would solve everything.  I would vote for her if I could vote.  When I can vote.  That’s just me.  Bush needs to go.

I know that “Democratic” is the wrong term.  And in my head, I have also changed “African-American” to “multi-racial.”

Here’s where the revelation comes.  May 31st, 2005 Mr. Towslee gives us the quote, “When you punish [a person] for dreaming his dream, don’t expect him to thank or forgive you.”  By John Darnielle (aka the Mountain Goats).  I did not write about the quote, not really.  What I wrote doesn’t matter.  The Mountain Goats sounded so familiar to me, and then I realized that the day before, I’d listened to “Autoclave” by the very same band.

I hopped on Wikipedia to search John Darnielle, and sure enough, the Mountain Goats popped up by his name.  I opened iTunes and listened to “Autoclave” while reading the article.  Monsieur Darnielle was an English major.  And all of a sudden, this great respect cropped up in my chest, and I felt the connections.  Fate, maybe, being fulfilled.  This person I wasn’t three years ago, this person who can’t appreciate anything subtle, this person is gone.  And now I am fresh and new and I can appreciate subtleties because I know who the Mountain Goats are and I actually heard about them four years ago in English class.  Three years ago.

Last night, Travis came over and we hung out at my house.  Everyone means something different to me.  So I think that sometimes people get jealous of one another, “I am not Paige’s exclusive secret-keeper and confidant!  I am not the one Paige has loved since forever!  I am not the one Paige silently and secretly admires from across the room!  I am not the one who influenced Paige’s haircut!”  I’m not that popular or anything, but I think it slightly saddens some people to know that they can’t be my everything-at-once.  But let me tell you this:  you should not be jealous of what you are not to me.  Because you should know that you most definitely mean something to me that no one else will ever mean to me.  I should have a dictionary of all of the people I know, and each person will have a different definition.

Well, on Thursday, I went downtown with Travis and he bought me dinner and we talked a lot, and then yesterday, he came over and we watched YouTube videos and television and we talked more, too.  And we got around to talking about the Westboro Baptist Church.

If I had questions about my religious beliefs before that church, about the Bible and Catholicism and about Christianity as a whole, that church has answered them all.

I do not enjoy thinking about the afterlife because I’m so scared of dying before my time and never being able to tell my loved ones what I really think of them.  I don’t hold grudges and I don’t hate people because I couldn’t imagine dying pissed off.  After I read The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, I started to picture my own heaven.  And I wondered who I would meet.  And I wondered where I would settle.  I decided that I would have to settle with people I loved.

But thoughts about heaven didn’t really satisfy me.  If I was a religious person, I didn’t have a church to belong to.  I can’t be Catholic because I don’t believe that there is a sin in being gay or in abortion.  I think their aversion to divorce makes people think harder about getting married in the first place, but Catholics still do get divorced.  Look at my parents, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents.

And I can’t be any protestant religion because of my support of gay rights and my staunch belief in choice.  God can’t hate anyone.  God has to be loving and forgiving.  This world may be going downhill, but there’s no Maximum Occupancy in heaven.

I tried reading the Bible once.  The people who can quote it randomly to fit life are ridiculous.  The more I think about it, the more it seems like a fictitious, made-up story to fit the time it was written.  A fairy tale, written to keep people in line.  Women are powerless, homosexuals are shunned and executed, first-borns are most valuable, and animals are meaningless.  The times have changed, though.

To think that some people could even interpret the Bible as some huge hate guide just turns me away from it more.  My life philosophy, I guess, is just to try and find something positive in everyone.  You can’t go wrong with that.  It’s a waste, anyway, hating.

I’ll write more later, and I’ll also post a mix that I’m making for Derek at the moment.



SO MANY THINGS

Brent and I broke up a week ago. Two days ago was Derek’s seventeenth birthday. Today is my half birthday. Tomorrow is why it is Leap Year. In April, I’ll get word back about VCU. In August, I’ll head to college. A week or so later, I’ll turn eighteen. Crazy.

I have news for you.

A few posts ago, I mentioned good old Final Fantasy and his remix of Stars’ “Your Ex-Lover Is Dead.” Como se dice, “COMPLETELY UNDERRATED?!”

Owen Pallett

The song starts out with, “When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.” But it’s said by several different people. My favourite is the last one, when this little kid yells, “Nothing left to burn! Set yourself on fire!”  It’s hilarious. Then the mood breaks into total ballroom waltzing. If that’s possible? Ballroom dancing. You’ve got this gorgeous, extremely formal piano. I want to say it’s cordial. Like, Victorian era, a couple dancing, but there was no PDA in that era, so they kind of have to keep things on the DL while they’re in a public ballroom. That’s exactly what it feels like. There’s a disruptive violin, and it’s resolved a few measures later. Instead of a chorus, you get the familiar piano, washing memories over you like waves at the Victorian beach where I guess all the water got to touch was your feet. And then when you have someone singing, the violin makes a little commentary on the side. And then the piano’s like a hug from an old friend. It’s comforting. The song finishes so tenderly. It’s so Howl’s Moving Castle. Listen to it after you’ve seen the movie and try to tell me it doesn’t belong.

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead (Final Fantasy Remix) | Stars

Andrew Bird

Recently, I stumbled across an Andrew Bird song from Armchair Apocrapha; since I don’t have that album, I had to stumble across it. “Plasticities.” There are all the whistles and violins that are Andrew Bird staples, but then it’s a cheerful, incredibly enjoyable song, even (I think) for the masses. As always, the vocabulary is just pretentious and intelligent, but I love the lyrics. Andrew Bird satisfies my needs.

Plasticities | Andrew Bird

The Album Leaf

This time, think no lyrics.  I mean, do it for a few minutes.  Just instruments.  Layers, movement, development.  I’d certainly call this a sunny song, just because it’s most meaningful when the sun is out, as it sounds like it should be the sound the sun makes when it shines on things.  Or it is for me.  Sweet progress.

Drawing Mountains | The Album Leaf

Kaki King

Also, talk about an underappreciated instrumental song, Kaki King’s “Gay Sons of Lesbian Mothers.”  Pretty intense title if you think about it.  Anyway, I love the bass, the movement and the progression of this song, and for me, Kaki King’s skillz express lots of built-up angst.  I guess it’s the angst that comes from oppression.

Gay Sons of Lesbian Mothers | Kaki King

+/- Plus/Minus

I found this next song a long, long time ago, and I’m not sure where I found it exactly, but it stuck with me.  It’s not because I’ve ever had an abusive boyfriend or that anyone in my family is abusive.  I enjoy the alternating piano and guitar sort of pulling for power and the lyrics that don’t tell all but tell you enough to get the story.

Summer Dress 2 [Iodine] | +/-

Rilo Kiley

Rilo Kiley is arguably my favourite band.  Really, try me.  Most of their gems originated in the mid-2000s, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing good to be said of their oldest material.  In fact, some of their most meaningful songs are from The Initial Friend EP, released (I guess) in 2000.  You’ve got gems like “Papillon,” “Gravity,” “Glendora,” and then, of course, the slower jam, “85.”  It’s a confessional that almost seems like the predecessor to one of my little old favourites, “A Man/Me/Then Jim,” in the storytelling style.  It’s also incredibly reminiscent of Jenny Lewis’ act with the Watson Twins.

85 | Rilo Kiley

Joe Anderson needs more Glamour Shots

This is another one from Across the Universe.  Yes, I’m still stuck on that movie.  If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend that you go out to the movie store right now and rent it.  In fact, you might as well buy it.  You’ll want to.  It’ll trip you out a little, but it’s such a feat!  Such a feat.  A life-changing feat, at that.  Anyway, this is tied for my favourite song and I have to listen to it at least once daily.  I need my fix.

Happiness Is a Warm Gun | Joe Anderson feat. Salma Hayek

Cherry Alley

Oh, also, if you are ever in town, Lewisburg, whatever, go to Cherry Alley Café.  I know, I know, blatant advertising, but I like the hot chocolate there, plus, they’re constantly playing excellent music.  I mean, Neutral Milk Hotel is on quite a lot, but you’ve also got a good dose of Sufjan Stevens (they played “The Henney Buggy Band” and I almost died because Derek made me adore that song), a dash of Bright Eyes, some Death Cab over thurr, and Mates of State.  Absolute props.



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.



EN RICHMOND
20 January, 2008, 105 am
Filed under: My Experience with Existence | Tags: ,

I’m in Richmond near all the people I miss on a daily basis.  And right now, I miss Lewisburg and all the people I see on a daily basis.

Richmond has changed.  I think that being away from it for an extended period of time has made me completely glorify it in my mind.  Raise it up on a pedestal, if you will.  But riding around, seeing everything again for the first time in months, I realize just why I enjoy living in Lewisburg.  Everything here in Richmond’s so commercial.  It’s so developed.  There’s no nature.  You can’t walk anywhere after school, there are no local businesses, and there’s nothing to do.  I mean, I think I could tolerate living in the city city, where everything’s even more impersonal and developed (where you still have your local shops), but not in the suburbs of a large prim and proper town like this.  I like Lewisburg because even if there’s not always something to do, you can walk essentially anywhere, you don’t need a car or license, and everything’s so fucking beautiful.  That’s a treat in itself.  There’s nature everywhere.  You can sit on your front porch and eat a meal during the summer.  Seriously.  I’ve never been able to pull that shit before.

Anyway, my dad has exercise tools here, like a bike machine thang, old school, so I may take advantage.  Even though I’ve lost weight and allegedly look skinnier than I did in November?!

Well, I have no muzakkk for you tonight, but I suppose I’ll get some for whenever I post next.