INDIEchouette


I FORGOT A TITLE

I just zoned out and pictured Ali and Becca with Ed Zych moustaches.  Hahah.  Wow.

Speaking of Ali, she created a new blog.  I am going to advocate her blog for a minute.  You might like my blog because I am long-winded and really immature and I mope a lot.  You get to watch me grow up.  Go back to my first post, and you want to punch me in the face.  I like to explain things thoroughly so you completely understand whatever I’m talking about.  And I try so hard not to offend.  You will like Ali’s blog because she uses colourful pictures to illustrate her points.  She writes with an intensity that is unheard of.  Somehow, she is able to get her point across with few words.  If we both wrote about the same thing, I’m pretty sure that I would take a five-paragraph essay to convey what she can in five sentences.  The way she writes conjures up thoughts of vignettes.  They are little snippets of her life that require no backstory.  Ali’s writing is unique in this way.  The way I write is basically a very unpoetic epic poem or a journal.  I give you some backstory.  You can track my progress.  I change.

Dear Ali,
I will always find you whenever you start a new blog.  You can’t hide.
Love, Paige

When I put it this way, I wonder why you read my blog at all.  It’s probably for the free candy.  Free music.  Yeah.

Honestly, I don’t know why I’ve let the blog go for this long without some new music.  Because I’ve been listening avidly all this time, finding new lovely artists.  I’ve been tuning my iTunes to spring.

I feel that I should start slowly though.  First, I said back in February or March that I would write about She & Him, and I didn’t lie but I just haven’t done it yet.

Erika is the one who introduced me to She & Him.  She told me that she falls asleep to their album, Volume One, every night.  It is her teddy bear.  I was excited but a little skeptical.  It seemed like sacrelige to me to bed down with an album like that, to worship something other than Rilo Kiley.  And while they are no Rilo Kiley for me, while Zooey Deschanel is no Jenny Lewis and M. Ward no Conor Oberst/Blake Sennett, they put up a damn good fight.

shehimsheandhim

If you like Jenny Lewis’ solo albums and if you love 50s/60s pop music with a slight bubblegum flavour, then She & Him is for you.  I really don’t know how they manage it.  It’s a mind-blowing mixture, slightly dangerous, but for what it is, it is perfection.  I would even venture to wholeheartedly recommend She & Him to older listeners, people who grew up with that 50s or 60s bubblegum pop.  I don’t think anyone out of their mid-twenties even reads this, but next time you and your Aunt Elaine are bonding over music, pop this one in.

As for the album itself, most of the thirteen tracks check in at under three minutes.  She & Him don’t go for the epic “Tereza and Thomas”-type shit.  That means that every song is bite-sized, kind of like a Sour Patch Watermelon.

I should never write reviews for CDs again.  My analogies are cringeworthy.

You Really Got A Hold On Me | She & Him
[mediafire] [buy]
Did I mention that they do covers that make me want to melt?  Also, maybe you can help me.  In iTunes and on Last.fm, it’s named “You Really Gotta Hold On Me” but elsewhere, it is named “You Really Got A Hold On Me”.  Which is correct?

I Thought I Saw Your Face Today | She & Him
[mediafire] [buy]
Did I mention that I love sick beats?

While I’m on a roll, talking about amazing women, it is mandaroty that I mention Sarah Maple.  She is an incredibly accomplished and clever feminist painter and photographer.  I don’t want to just paraphrase the Bitch article that introduced her to me on a formal basis (because I had run into her a few times before, but the websites never cited her).  She’s just an incredible cultural commentator.

This ones my favourite.

This one's my favourite.

As for real-life occurrences, I go home in three weeks (less than a month) and I am stoked.  I will be able to sit outside and read all day while my sisters suffer at school.  And for those of you still in high school, yes, that is a pretty mean thing to say, but when you think about it, I suffered too.  I went to school for fourteen years before arriving at this position.  This is my fifteenth year, and it’s almost done.  If you’re in high school, you probably haven’t gone through that much school.

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BON ANNIVERSAIRE, JLEW!

Sometimes, I am frustratingly blind.  And it hurts.

Happy birthday, Jenny Lewis!  And happy Jenny Lewis’ birthday!  I celebrate that shit like it’s a religious holiday!

jlew

I give you some old favourites.

My Slumbering Heart | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

With Arms Outstretched | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

Spectacular Views | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

It’s A Hit | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

More Adventurous | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

Pictures of Success | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

Always | Rilo Kiley
[mediafire] [buy]

We Will Become Silhouettes | The Postal Service
[mediafire] [buy]

Oh man, Rilo Kiley marathon, fuck yes.  PS, Mediafire links coming soon.  Firefox and Mediafire just keep wigging out every time I try to find files, just for now.  Within the week, I promise, ilu.

I would like to shout out to my grrrl, Erika, for also celebrating Jenny Lewis’ birthday.

I got my hair cut today at Holiday Hair at the mall.  The haircut isn’t that bad, except that the “choppy layers” I was going for totally aren’t there, so needless to say, I’m kind of extremely pissed.  I even told the girl, “I WANT VOLUME.”  Like, what does that mean to you?  It means that it’s absolutely my priority and that I will sacrifice a rational haircut for some lift!  Swear to God, next time I want my hair cut, I am not going to [ask my mom to] pay $20 for it.  Oh, nuh-uh.  Don’t hate on me.  My mom’s the one who urged that I needed a haircut so badly, so she offered to pay up.

Instead of complaining, I’m going to go lurk all over /b/.  THAR R SRSLY GRLZ ON B?  RLY?  CUMDUMPSTERS EXIST?  NOWAI!  I rarely admit that I am a she.  You’ve been warned.  Be back later, bye.



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.



RILO KILEY FOR REAL THIS TIME

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

Well, I’m just so sad it’s over.

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

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

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

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

Well, Thao was beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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]



MUZAK AND SUCH

The weather was perfect.

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

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

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

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

Here is one thing that bothers me.

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

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

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

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

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

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



“RABBIT RABBIT” FOR MAY

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

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

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

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

Also, fuck PETA.

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

I almost screamed in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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