Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Lewisburg, mp3, Richmond, TV on the Radio, Video Fan
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.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: backpackers, backpacking troubadours, music, Richmond, sister, troubadours
Mmk, I don’t want to push down the Intimacy Project post or anything, but I just had to tell you two stories. One isn’t really a story. The other is.
The first happened probably two nights ago. I’d just gotten home from a fairly rough hangout and Virginia wasn’t home and I didn’t want to just sit around on my ass in front of the computer. On the ride home, I’d seen this guy a few blocks away holding up a sign saying, “ANYTHING HELPS.” I’d seen this guy before. He was a part of the backpacking troubadours wandering through Richmond lately. When I saw him, I immediately thought of the vegan pasta in my fridge and my birthday money. I knew exactly where the majority of the backpackers were stationed, right by the ATM. I packed up a good deal of pasta in a tupperware container, warmed it in the microwave, grabbed a fork, and set off for the ATM.
I got out twenty bucks and actually considered giving them fifty, but as I walked away from the ATM, some kid asked me for some money for fighting drug abuse by school-age children, and I guess if he’s talking about pot, then fuck that shit, but I can rarely say no, so I gave him five and then walked over to stand a couple of sidewalk squares away from the backpacking troubadours.
I was nervous as fuck. I’m really intimidated by anyone new, but these were people I admired a good deal. I mean, you can first identify them by their backpacks and all-over brownness. They are grody in a way that I love. They have dogs on worn-out leashes with bandanas around their necks. And let me tell you, these dogs are not depressed to be backpackers. They are overjoyed. The backpacking troubadours care about them. The backpackers take them on walks all the time and they love the dogs in a way that most suburbanites cannot understand.
I should also explain that the backpackers are troubadours because they all have some form of an instrument and they play on the streets to earn their money. You see a few guitars, a musical handsaw that is bowed (yes, like amiina and yes, it sounds incredible and yes, Matthew the handsaw player does let other people try it out) and an alto saxophone and singers and a shaker. And they are determined.
I stared at them from a couple of sidewalk squares away for a few minutes, too timid to approach them, but they definitely saw me staring, so I couldn’t chicken out. I walked away and slipped a fifteen into their open saxophone case and they asked, “Would you like to hear a song?!” I replied, “Yeah!” They asked, “What kind of song do you want to hear?!” And I said, “A good one!” So they started playing. I felt awkward standing in front of them for the serenade, so I sat down with them like a few other interested passers-by had. Their sign said, “Dog In Hospital. Anything Helps.”
I stayed for a few songs, which they played energetically. I watched them try to woo passers-by, but it’s hard for them to even get college kids to stop because most are apathetic or maybe shy like me, and most don’t want to part with their money. Sometimes they get frustrated with the people who ignore them, but mostly they just keep playing.
Between songs, they sometimes asked me questions. What’s my name? Where am I from? Do I live here? Do I go to school here? I offered up the pasta, which Matthew, Adam the guitarist, and a few others happily ate with many compliments and shared a bit with one of their dogs. What am I going to school for? Am I vegan? Adam was vegan for a long time. Matthew scooted over to sit next to me and asked me more questions. “You know, that sign is true.” Turns out, one guy’s dog is in the hospital. He contracted Hepatitis A from eating some fish so his eyes are all yellow and he’s in the hospital and they don’t know how much his treatment will cost until he’s actually done in there. How old am I? Have I ever been to Pittsburgh? Philly is Matthew’s town because the black ladies love him. One of the dogs who wasn’t in the hospital came up and gave my face a good licking. Secret: I don’t mind when dogs lick my face, but I never know what to do.
They played a song about a pretty girl who they wished had dirt on her face, hair on her legs, greasy hair, and a stench about her. They sang about fighting the government. They sang about being houseless but not homeless. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Eventually, they began to stand up, I assumed to leave, so I shook some hands and left feeling mighty happy, but also a bit sad deep down. It wasn’t because I pitied them, but it was more because I wished I could have helped them out more by giving them a place to sleep and giving them more food and giving them more money. And I kind of envied their lifestyle. Fighting the system. They’re doing something. I’m just sitting here so comfortably. They have everything they need and nothing more, and they have all the friends they could ever want. The only reason I’d have a hard time taking up their lifestyle is because I have a problem asking for help. But I could learn to play the bells and join another pack of backpacking troubadours. Someday. I’ll start planning now.
The other thing I wanted to say is that I’m proud of my sister, Alexa. I swear she must read this thing.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: biking, Bunnyhop Bike Shop, Carytown, Richmond
I drank Mountain Dew at about midnight. Now I am just waiting for the caffiene to kick in or wear off.
Until then, I feel the need to document biking adventures for people who are considering investing in a bike. I’m new to the whole thing, too, so I’m just going to share my own experience. You can’t really take my word as The Word. But I’d be more than happy if you’d share tips or your own experiences with me! I’m currently obsessed with biking for many reasons, one of which being my lack of hunger for candy. Another of which being that waiting for the VCU Campus Connector bus really blows sometimes. I prefer to take the fate of my timeliness into my own hands.
I purchased my bike, named Ponyta for no apparent reason other than the fact that Virginia thought it was appropriate, at Bunnyhop Bike Shop on West Grace Street. Before I made my purchase, however, I checked out Re-cycles on West Cary Street and one other place on Main Street, near Carytown. I guess you could say that it’s on the way to Carytown. Since I’m easily intimidated, Bunnyhop was the place for me just because the staff guy was helpful, friendly, and also…they a bike in my price range, which I fell in love with right away because it was so cute.
Ponyta is a green AMF Voyager with a basket and a bell and the kind of brakes where you petal backwards. If you see her around, you should thread a note into the basket saying that I’m a sexy vegan because SOMEone did that last week, and I don’t know who it was, except that I’ve eliminated about five people. Secret anonymous notes have serious potential to make my day.
Anyway, I started by riding on the sidewalk, which is apparently illegal in Richmond, but I have ridden past the cops on my bike on the sidewalk about ten thousand times, and they’ve never done anything to prohibit me from this activity. If they did, then I think that would be very anal. They’re probably more worried about legitimate problems like muggings and maybe shoplifting. Plus, I saw a biking cop riding on the sidewalk. So I think it’s okay. But if you’ve ever walked on the sidewalk in Richmond, you’ll notice that they are very uneven, and the brick ones are extremely bumpy. This is not only fairly dangerous, but it also makes progress pretty slow and requires strict concentration if you want to get anywhere. It’s also common sense that if you want to maintain control of your bike while you’re going over any bikes, standing up briefly makes it far more tolerable.
For the record, my bike is a one-speed and I think it’s actually a kids’ bike. Because I am lamely kid-sized. But you know how gear bikes make clicking noises while you’re not pedaling? Well, my bike is silent except when I go over bumps, in which case, it sounds like a shopping cart. I think that’s why I have a bell, but I feel like an asshole ringing it at pedestrians. Hi, here’s a cheerfuck “Fuck You” and by the way, get out of my way. Pedestrians prefer if you ride in the street, and drivers prefer if you ride on the sidewalk. It is a no-win situation. For now, I ride generally ride on the sidewalk to get to main campus and I ride mostly in the street to get back to the other campus. To get to Carytown, it’s fine to ride in the street on Main. There’s enough room and it’s so much quicker that way.
I have rules of thumb regarding riding my bike between classes, too. If it is between ten till and o’clock, I walk my bike to my destination because the sidewalks are so crowded with students getting out of and going to classes that it’s hard to keep from hitting anyone. If it is any other time, then I can manage to ride. I just think it’s kind of a courtesy and a safety thing because lots of pedestrians are unaware. It’s a dick move to ride on the sidewalk with so many pedestrians. It’s like you’re breathing down their necks.
For me, I think pedestrians are so cute and predictable, so fragile that you need to look out for their slow selves. Drivers, though, are generally assholes to bikers, just as they are sometimes to pedestrians. In my little experience, I guess you just have to hold your ground if you have the right of way and if you’re riding in the street. When I’ve done that, I’ve had no problem. Lack of assertiveness has created problems, though. Drivers just need to respect that ground and not get impatient because really? It’s not going to make them any more late to have to be able to wait to pass a bike.
Also notable: I am gaining muscle pretty rapidly. First of all, my thighs, which normally have no substance, are gaining a little muscle and I can tell when I sit down and pedal because my pants are tighter right there. And for some reason, I am feeling my biceps building up probably not because of actual riding, but maybe because of lifting my bike on and off of bike racks and up and down curbs because I can’t hop. Ponyta herself is light, but she is heavy when I have my Deutschbuch and assorted notebooks and novels. The rest of my body seems to be very gradually evening out because with physical activity, I’m not so tempted to binge on candy and other unhealthy snacks. I haven’t bought Sour Patch Watermelons for so long. Instead, I regularly crave salad and cranberry juice and pasta. And biking makes me tired but gives me motivation to get off my ass and work to get food. I like this.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Bright Eyes, Richmond, Saddle Creek, Son Ambulance
Paper Snowflakes | Son, Ambulance
[mediafire] [buy]
Snow makes me briefly happy, but coldness generally makes me want to hibernate or die.
Oh yeah, it snowed today as well as last night.
I like Son, Ambulance because they’re one of the more subtly sexual but beautiful bands I started listening to in my mid-teens. By this, I mean that there is some sex in most every song, but that instead of being raunchy, it’s more like a distant but fond memory, kind of nostalgic and never dirty. Listening to Saddle Creek bands often make me wish I could go back and be in high school, specifically sophomore or junior year where I was attempting to find myself but couldn’t do it in a sea of people who really didn’t give a shit. But I was glad to have a few misfits along with me who cared enough to invite me when they wanted to run around suburbia completely confused and confined, trying to trample some form of oppression but not completely knowing what it was. We were melancholy but happy together.
And now we have cars, we live different lives, and I don’t think any of us have found ourselves or anything better than what we once had, but I guess we probably all think we have.
Days like these remind me of the first time I saw Garden State, Kill Bill, and when I started watching Scrubs. They remind me of when I started listening to good music, started giving a shit about current events. The day I decided to give up meat permanently. The moment I sold my soul to Bright Eyes. Playing Emogame and feeling glad that someone else cared. Renouncing religion and feeling fine with it. And now, it seems like I’ve stopped revolting against the “system” so much, but those were just the futile beginnings. I mean that it seemed so essential to conform to something, even a strict brand of nonconformity, in order to live the life I wanted and get the reaction I needed.
I know you’re probably thinking that kids who lived in the suburbs of Richmond, aka Short Pump–the haven of the young upper-middle class, capitalists and consumerists to the core–were hardly oppressed. And as a bunch of white (or white-looking) youths who lived in big houses and went to the largest and “greatest” school in the county, I would probably have to agree with you for the most part. There was pressure to conform to the status quo, but that could be satiated by conforming to a different status quo. But I would say that capitalism and consumerism are forms of oppression, despite the fact that they’re generally directly connected to affluence and having means of buying things. Like money. Like the transportation to get there. They’re oppression in that they expect something of you and demand so much from you and the people around you. They’re illusions and they often get in the way, making it so difficult to find anyone who gives a shit about the things in life that actually matter. Books, love, fucking, real knowledge, honest music. Other people.
I’m listening to Bright Eyes, too, so I feel the need to present you to one of the older pieces that meant so much to me at one point.
On My Way To Work | Bright Eyes
[mediafire] [buy]
Bright Eyes still takes up a good percentage of my iPod. Even if Cassadaga was a disappointment and even if Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band isn’t nearly the same. Man, Bright Eyes sounds so good to me right now. Refreshing and comforting.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Bang-on, Carytown, Diana+ Dreamer, photos, Richmond, Richmond Camera, Smoothie King, The Occasional Keepers
This is my first roll of Diana+ Dreamer film. I exposed it a little before I started, while I was loading, because it confused the fuck out of me. I am a n00b, but now I know.
Also, I want to give you a song as a peace offering. It was warm yesterday and this song came on at the bus stop. On beautiful days, I’m extremely open to listening to music that I haven’t tested yet, whereas on dreadful days, I prefer comforting familiars.
Town of 85 Lights | The Occasional Keepers
[mediafire] [buy]
It’s been on my computer for probably forever, but it really struck me as something else, you know? It’s almost as though it’s from a different era. It’s a weird listen, but not displeasing.
Today, two friends and I journeyed to Carytown, because apparently it hit a high of 70 degrees Fahrenheit here, which is sweet. It was a nice walk, and I got to ride a bike part of the way. I love riding bikes, and I love bike riders. It’s a problem.
While we were in town, we hit up Richmond Camera to pick up my film. The people there are always helpful, not snobbish like you may expect artistic people to be. We also went to Smoothie King for sick smoothies and then Bang-on to browse.
Tomorrow, Virginia and I plan to take rva’s advice and hit up Re-Cycles for sick bikes.
I’ve been testing out my computer.
See, I got this HP Pavilion Entertainment PC and it’s sweet. So smooth. I like HPs because they look smooth and they run smoothly. They have the aesthetic value and the performance value. And this one is fast. I like that.
I think my dad is talking to himself.
Okay, so move-in. I moved into VCU yesterday. I’m so glad I have a nice room-mate. I guess for both of us, it was just get-in, get-all-your-crap-in, and get-out, so we didn’t really get to talk, but I did get to meet her family, which was cool. That took a bunch of stress away. However, she left immediately to go home until Tuesday, so this would have left me all alone. I considered manning it up and spending the night alone in the dorm last night, but I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my mom and little sister before they left Richmond, so I decided to stay in the hotel with them last night. Today, I’m spending time at my dad’s house, and then tonight, I’ll spend the night in my room and stuff because my dad’s leaving for California tomorrow for the week. And then this week, I suppose I’ll spend a lot of time on my computer getting to know where to go, as well as a lot of time on foot just exploring the campus. I’m at a bit of a disadvantage with my room-mate not being here, because I would have probably wanted to explore the city with her and get to know her and such, but that’s where my good old high school senior buddies come in.
The only thing I really feel uncomfortable with right now is all this free time I’ve got. Classes start on Thursday, but until then, we really get to roam around and do basically whatever we want. There are no instructions or real orientation plans, and it’s unnerving. Right now, my major concerns are:
1. What’s up with the bus systems? Where are the bus stops? What times do the buses come? Is it free? How do I pay for it? Can I start using it all today? How far apart are the MCV and Monroe Park campuses (because I reside on the MCV campus, but my classes will all be on the Monroe Park one) and could I realistically walk to my classes, because I think that would be great?
2. If I want to bike around, where do I park it? Is my bike cool enough?
3. Are there any rooms I can’t go into on my floor (besides, you know, other people’s)?
4. HOW do you act around upperclassmen? How much do upperclassmen hate freshmen? How much do I look like a n00b?
I’m not even that worried about meeting people at this point. I’m just worried about getting to where I need to be. I mean, when I get up tomorrow morning, someone else on my floor will have to be in the bathroom, too. And I can say hi and introduce myself then. Forced situations are great.
Anyway, I haven’t posted any music for you at all lately. That will start again soon.
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, My Experience with Existence | Tags: Africa, clothing, Delia's, Green, Lewisburg, Omni Peace, Richmond, Rilo Kiley, shopping, Short Pump, The Body Shop, Tomato, Urban Outfitters
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.
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, My Experience with Existence, Nouvelle Musique | Tags: Benji Hughes, concert, Miley Cyrus, music, Richmond, Rilo Kiley, Thao, Thao Nyugen, Thao with the Get Down Stay Down, Toad's Place
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.
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Film, Music, My Experience with Existence, Nouvelle Musique | Tags: Across the Universe, Africa, Eugene Francis Jnr, Lewisburg, Richmond, Valentine's Day
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.
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.
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, My Experience with Existence, Nouvelle Musique | Tags: Andrew Bird, Animal Rights, Beirut, Ferraby Lionheart, Hamlet, Richmond, Rufus Wainwright, Vampire Weekend
This morning, I painted my fingernails bright red. I think I’m taking my life on the wrong path. Hope I veer onto the right one soon. I use the red nail polish as an excuse. Erika always had red nails. Why can’t I? But I haven’t painted my own nails in years because whenever I do, I imagine that my fingers are suffocating. Even when I went through those brown nail polish phases. And people thought I’d painted them black. No, they were clearly brown. People say that about my hair, too. Black-haired girl. I’m so flattered; I wish my hair was naturally darker. No, it is clearly brown. My mom always says she expected to have little girls with very pale skin and very dark hair. And when I was little, I had very olive skin and very dark hair. And now I have moderately pale skin and moderately dark hair. I tell her that when I get older, I’m going to make my hair darker brown. And she asks why, my hair’s so pretty, so shiny. I don’t know. Live up to my own standards of beauty. You know why I’m pale now? We skipped a year at the beach, and after that, I avoided the sun like it was the plague. In the shower, though, today, I was thinking that I wish I was born a different race or a different nationality, or both. I have life so easy! I’m white and American! My parents are alive! I have a house to live in! Food to eat! Choice in the food that I do eat! There’s nothing desperately wrong with me. I can live with extreme social anxiety. It won’t kill me. And it’s not fair that I can live like this and other people can’t. We always look up, why can’t I live like this other person better-off than me? We should look down, why can’t this worse-off person live like me? What can I do to make it so she can live a better life? But we don’t.
So here I am listening to the National every day, sitting on my computer while wishing I’d had the chance to have a Triad reunion back in Richmond. Playing some DBZ video games or doing spontaneous things. Talking. My favourite thing about going to Richmond was being told that my ass/thigh region was smaller than before. Just kidding, that wasn’t the highlight of my trip, but it did make me happy for some odd reason. Lately, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have a huge ass. Like, fucking huge. But I can’t picture it. I guess I’m just not an ass person. Eyebrows are more my speed. Make or break a person. They do say quite a lot about a person, though, more so than body type or whatever.
Here is what I noticed in Richmond. I am a jerk. Sometimes, I wish I could find someone in real life who genuinely and openly hates me because I find that people are mostly lukewarm about me, or they keep their dislikes on the down-low. I’d totally deserve it. Some things people say about me are actually fucking hilarious because they don’t know me at all. But I wish someone would get to know me and then hate me based on things that are completely true. Maybe it’s because I can’t hate anyone. Maybe it’s because I wish I could give myself a break because I know I’m the one who hates myself the most.
We were reading “Hamlet” in English, and my teacher was trying to get us to empathize with Hamlet. To understand him. You know, Pretend your uncle killed your dad, then hastily married your just-widowed, barely-mourning mother for lust and power, pretend that he wanted your life, maybe because you get in the way of his power, maybe because you’ve got some Oedipus Rex complex and while you’re at it, your girlfriend takes back her love for you and then you kill her father accidentally, which makes her insane, pretend that she commits suicide and her brother wants your life and teams up with your uncle to kill you and then they kill your mom with their scheme. You may or may not have feelings for your mom, but there are hints. That sort of thing. Seriously, though, to be able to get Hamlet’s reaction out of me, you’d have to delve deeper and completely alter my past. First, you’d have to build up my relationship with my father. Then you’d have to take away my capacity for empathy, and that’s just not working. If I was in Hamlet’s situation, I wouldn’t even consider killing anyone. I wouldn’t have time to be angry I’d curl up in a depressed, sad lump of flesh and tears, and then I’d stop eating. So I’m sorry, I don’t really like “Hamlet,” even if Shakespeare had to spice it up because it would be a rather boring time just watching some Prince of Denmark cry on a stage for four hours.
Oh. Friday night, Travis took off his socks. Travis has the unusual quality of having feet that smell like dryer sheets. I don’t think he’s even capable of emitting bad smells at all. Anyway, he has the most magnificent feet I’ve ever seen, save for his weird toenails, which curve with his toes. Hard to describe. This revelation–that Travis has magnificent feet–has sparked in me the desire to improve my own foot hygiene. Take better care of those phalanges. I don’t wear socks. In fact, I hate socks. My own feet are constantly bruised, scarred, FREEZING (ask Derek), and gross-smelling. I had gorgeous heels until band camp before my junior year, when I didn’t wear socks with my sneakers for one day and then I got blisters from running laps there. And they scarred. Speaking of running, I feel the need to start again regularly, but there are two problems. One, I can’t just run. I’m too self-conscious about the way my legs fly out all over the place when I run. People make fun of me and then I have to laugh it off, and sometimes I’m just not in the mood. Two, when I asked my mother if we could join a gym or something (since that’s something she constantly talked about over the summer), she rolled her eyes and made a sound of disapproval. What happened to my moderately-health-conscious mother?! I need seratonin, and I’m not gonna get it sitting on my ass in front of my computer all day, thinking about the past. I need to be productive to be happy.
I’m still getting used to these nails. I think they make my hands look so much more sophisticated than they actually are.
What else? Last night, Derek called spontaneously and told me about these videos he saw with cats being tortured. Depressing material. And I wondered at first why he was telling me, but duh–who else would empathize? It’s a shame that you know, seeing a chicken or a cow or a pig or some foreign animal being tortured is just normal by some people’s standards, almost acceptable, if a little sad, but because it’s distant, it’s okay. But then seeing some household animal, a pet, being tortured, that’s what sparks an interest in animal rights. Save the cats and dogs! How could people eat cats and dogs? I live with cats and dogs. My question to you is how can people eat pigs, chickens, cows, fish? I’m not implying that about Derek. It’s just something I’ve noticed. I am confident that he is as noble as a person can be. What really touched me was that he was afraid of that happening to Little Ding, his cat (who is seriously, I swear, only a cat when he’s sleeping–otherwise, he’s somethin’ else). It’s a strange situation. I run into these videos from time to time and they provide motivation, they provide anger and sadness and some of the strongest emotions I’ve ever felt. Frustration. How could a person do that to an animal? How did that person grow up? What led her to become this way? And how could anyone look into an animal’s eyes and kill him or eat him? How do hunters do it? How can people eat it? I’m still somewhat of a hypocrite for not being vegan, and I’m afraid I’ll always be a hypocrite no matter what by taking what society gives me and living, breathing, buying. But I want to cut down on the damage. These emotions, though, I don’t–I can’t–share them with friends. I shelter them. I’ve seen it so you don’t have to. I’m going to make my point by being vegetarian and you don’t need to ask questions that’ll make us both feel uncomfortable and guilty. Me, I don’t want to make you feel bad, to push my strongest beliefs on you. The ones that make up the essence of my life. But my personal choice is not to live that way.
I have a few songs that you’ve already heard. They’re for you.
Walcott | Vampire Weekend
I’ve been thinking about making a Vampire Weekend bag lately, just because I think it would be insanely cool. This here song makes me want to move my body aimlessly in a room filled with other people moving their bodies aimlessly. We could all be tiny atoms! In a giant room! Together! Just listen to the song, appreciate the voice that’s from another decade, the orchestra, the intensity, the nostalgia. It makes me think of A Separate Peace, something I’ve never experienced, the decade I wish I grew up in, a beautiful mindset I can’t attain. Sophistication. These red fingernails that couldn’t possibly be mine. They must be yours.
Nantes | Beirut
Zach Condon’s voice reminds me of Andrew Bird’s voice in some aspect. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it’s classy and I love it. Being in love, drinking coffee on a sunny late-winter afternoon. Touching someone’s hair. Trying to tickle them. The sun’s coming in the windows, in your eyes. You don’t mind. Everything’s parfait. I guess it could also fit that one time I drove home late at night over the summer in my car and couldn’t stop crying. There was a red light and the person in the next lane over stared at me uncomfortably and I had to calm down on Broad Street. When I got back, I parked in front of the house and had to calm down for a few minutes before I could go in.
Small Planet | Ferraby Lionheart
His style reminds me somewhat of Jens Lekman, maybe just in this song, maybe not, but I always like piano/orchestra pop-ish music. You know, unconventional instruments to hear in music with lyrics. Added bonus? Why, yes! Webquest time! Go to his website’s Biography section and just read it. Might I mention that he’s another Silver Laker? Like Rilo Kiley! This song reminds me of the Turkey Trot every year, early in the morning, crunchy leaves, screaming children, and then the fulfilling tiredness that sets in after.
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk | Rufus Wainwright
If anyone in the world reminds me of Andrew Bird, it would HAVE to be this man. He may not be a professional whistler or violinist, but his voice is impressive. You hear about Rufus Wainwright all over the place, but it wasn’t until friends mentioned him recently (and referred to him on a first-name basis, “Rufus) that I opened my ears up and started to listen. I’m glad I did. The song is simpler times, like when I used to French braid my American Girl Doll’s hair (Samantha, of course). Tea parties on the front lawn. Summer days when Rachael and I used to take our Barbie dolls out to the pool in the back yard. Sticking Sailor Moon’s hands in the crab apples in the yard. Good times.
Measuring Cups | Andrew Bird
What can I say? Andrew Bird owns. He taught Jay how to whistle better, he made me love xylophone, he makes me want to sing. And then I remember that it’s not particularly pretty, me singing. But I sing plainly regardless. His songs motivate me to look things up, references, and I learn things. Maybe not things that are particularly applicable to any regular conversations, like the ancient story behind “Sovay” or love theories from “Imitosis,” but gaddamn. It was love at first listen. Once I heard his voice once, I was thirsty for more. I asked for a CD for Christmas and I remember sitting up on the floor of my old room, just listening for however long on Christmas day and repeating “Sovay” over and over and over again. It was magical. Doors opened. Enlightenment.
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.
INDIEchouette 