In this day and age.....

It's that time of year again! The bells are ringing, people are singing, and the countless countdowns have begun. I might as join in the spirit.......


I started to make a list of my favorite album covers of the year followed by my favorite youtube music videos to watch late at night only to discover either that's already been thought up or it was like a slap of 80's goth in the face..... So I've retorted with:


THE YEARS TOP ARTISTS PEOPLE LOVE TO HATE:



5. PHIL COLLINS:
Nobody sets the mood in a mundane 9-5 office cubical better than florescent lights and Genesis. Nobody.


4. COLDPLAY:
Kids be good this Christmas or Santa will bring you coal--dplay. That's because people who enjoy Coldplay also partake in Tupperware parties and PTA meetings. Yup. Parents. I love my mother, but I don't want to rock to the same songs she does the dishes to.


3. MUSE:
Whenever Muse is brought up in conversation it usually incorporates phrases similar but not limited to: "Not that I listen to Muse, but have you heard..." or "I have this friend who listens to Muse and showed me...."
If you're a band that people feel they need to defend WHY they've listened/know who you are, that is not good.
If you're a band that some people know only as those guys who shoot laser guns on horseback, that is also not good. But that video IS an awesomely bad ass spoof. (Oh and my friend showed it to me, I promise!)



2. THE KILLERS:
Stuck in line for buy-back at the co-op, I read the Rock 'n' Roll bible sitting on the shelf I was standing next to in order to somehow help pass the time. "The number one rule of naming your band is to not include the words good, great, excellent, or killer."
I first began wondering why was there this innate passion for hating The Killers when I went on a date with a guy and Somebody Told Me was all over the place. I mentioned how I kinda liked the song because it was catchy and the chorus sounded so late 70's. Then he goes, "I hate The Killers!" I was scared, yes scared, from checking them out further. That is, until this day in age, when I gave them a second chance......
....And now I do see why people hate The Killers. "I'm on my knees looking for the answer. Are we human? Or are we dancer?" Does Brendan Flowers like to pretend he's David Bowie's other alter ego? So right there I'm entitled to hating them because he wears his influences, that I love so very much, right on his sleeve.
But honestly, I don't hate The Killers. In fact not at all. If anything, I just won't respect Brendan Flowers. I want join in so badly but I love catchy glam and the 80's much too much. Oh and when Lou Reed was asked why he collaborated with The Killers he said, "I kinda like his voice." Really? YOU do!


1. NICKELBACK:
I only know one Nickelback song: it's that Nickelback song that sounds like all the other Nickelback songs. Which is why I never met a fellow who likes Nickelback. We all must have heard that same song! And if by chance you do fancy them, it's like the flu; it's just not something you want to spread around.



Happy Holidays Friends :)

Down On Your Luck?

A lot of shitty nights usually end with me googling this on youtube. Thank you, George.

You'll be back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOVqDxlAA9g&feature=related



(Also great for giving away as a birthday present to those people on facebook who you don't really know why you're friends with if you never talked to them but they always seem to hog up your newsfeed anyway).

Fruit Covered Nails: A Few Words on 'No Biggies'

It's not what you say, it's how you say it.

The number of layers The Jonas Brothers wear... Thinking I hadn't met a corn I didn't like until the corndog came into my life... The newscasters' fake twitch of the head as they sign off... How no one ever knows the words to 'Say It Ain't So' at a party... The word jibblet... Getting your picture taken on a bad day... Cover bands at bars with 50 year old men in lepord tight pants who wish they were Jeff Lynne... How people use texting to be nonconfrontational... Running out of questions to provoke small talk with your hairdresser... The way service of yuppies has to look as though they aren't working too hard while the service of the common folk must appear strenuious... Jeff Mangum's voice.

These are all things that annoy me but I understand are really 'no biggie'.


In my defense, The Olivia Tremor Control holds a strange place in my heart. I put it on when I'm feeling unattatched to any purpose at the moment. I think Neutral Milk Hotel's lyrics are genius and thought provoking in relation to their brillant sense of melody. But Jeff Mangum's voice just doesn't appeal to me. Really, it's not him, it's me.


And it's not that Mangum can't sing because he can, I don't care for how he uses his voice. I'm gonna revert back to Stephen Malkmus. The way he sings makes you feel you must be so hip in order to be allowed to listen to him. I don't get that impression with many other artists. Bob Dylan? Lou Reed? All fine examples of artists who aren't known for their singing. Sure they were revolutionary for other reasons, but it's the way the used what they had for voices to emphasize their own style that made me fall for them. It's not really Jeff Mangum as it is his choices. I don't mind it so much on the upbeat songs where the juxtaposition between the singing and the less gentle guitar riffs becomes charming. It's when he begins to coo on the ballads (Three Peaches comes to mind) that I tend to lose interest.


But hey like I said, it's a no biggie.

The Street Of Where I'm From (7/13/08)

At the intersection of Highway 41 North and Silver Spur Street, I waited for a gaggle of tumbleweed to roll on by. No such luck. Damn. Across from us on the corner pleasantly sat the Happy Burger Diner: Home of the Largest Menu in the County. Large, I learned, is a relative term. After seeing the menu myself, I was confident I owned more Hardy Boys Mysteries (-the Nancy Drew editions) as a third grader than they owned items on their menu. And that’s not saying much, really. Outside was lined with pickup trucks from the years when the running man was actually a revolutionary dance and one sole state trooper whose main purpose I’m sure was just to let his presence be known. This was downtown.

The lone street light had just began to cast its light when the waitress, who looked to likeness of Kathy Najimy, but with the voice of secretary from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, bounced her way on over to pour my mother a cup of coffee. I wouldn’t have put it past her to tell us her name was something along the lines of a Marge or a Linda and for her to use the phrase “gosh by golly that one’s a doosey” rather often. The inside looked as though it had been designed to represent a classic diner from the fifties. Our mistake. Marge or Linda or Sally even informed us it was from fifties.

It’s just like California to treat me better than I deserved to be treated, as if I was the king of all the world. I will be back. I don’t know how long that will take or for how long it will be, but I will return on my two feet. The wildlife never disappointed and kept me in constant wonderment as I learned I could respect it even more with each day. I know ya’ll wondering, yes I did see a bear. And my buddy from Harkness, which I named Ziggy, 2nd cousin twice remove’s, neighbor’s, best friend’s, sister’s, illegitimate child says, “Holy Schnikes Batman!” Wait, that can’t be right. It sounds too much like something an overweight superhero’s sidekicks would say. In my defense, it was a rough translation over from squeak squeak squeaken. But maybe my most memorable moments were the ones with actual human interactions. Then again, maybe it’s too soon to tell.

The busser kindly cleared our dishes of coffee and asked where we were staying tonight without us mentioning we were the new kids. I hoped it was because she just happened to know everyone in this one horse town. It was wishful thinking. “We must look like tourists then,” I sputtered through my laugh. “No not at all,” she said bluntly. “You just look too happy to be from this place.”


***


If you ever want to feel alone in a large crowd with everyone putting on the same zombie, mundane stare, go to an airport. If one’s not available, I’m sure your local Wal-Mart will do. I longed for ways to amuse myself in my four hour and fourteen minute delay from Denver to O’Hair. I dabbled at lamenting on the simple pleasures I had encountered earlier. All I had mustered up was the stewardess had given me an extra bag of pretzels to save for later. I didn’t ask for it. It just happened. I used my last dollar to purchase a pack of gum from the John Muir Express Café and Convenient Store, a name I’d never think I’d hear. How does one find herself working at a John Muir Express Café and Convenient Store? Surely when one is growing up and is asked what she wants to do as an adult, the reply couldn’t possibly be, “to never sacrifice friendliness for prompt service when I am a team member of my local airport’s corporate quickie mart for going the minimum wage.” But the middle aged employee had the most natural smile planted across her face even when no one was looking at her. How was she so happy? How was she able to see so many simple pleasures in life to keep her going day to day? Whom did she love? I may had lost interest in my book by now but I had gained interest in a stranger’s world and a newfound conclusion that NorthWest Airlines must have a brilliant abbreviation department in its company. It’s straight outta genius.

Maybe it’s because we are looking for a sense of comfort through identity, maybe it’s because we long to be viewed as approachable and outgoing, or maybe it’s because we subconsciously fear commitment. Whatever it is, I have no idea why people feel the need to talk to strangers when it’s not necessary. It never ends well. You know the deal. You’re sitting on a plane, or in my case a broken down, torn up seat in a row of chairs outside gate 24C awaiting the arrival of those four little words “Now boarding Section 2” and for some reason you feel the need to comment or remark to the person sitting beside you. They usually reply without whit but with enough astuteness to get the small talk rolling. Then before you know it, you’re done. There’s nothing else you can add to the conversation that wouldn’t be too unrelateable, get too political, give away too much of your personal information in case they happen to be regular inspirations for the writers of S.V.U., or just completely freak them out. So now all you’re left with is either a conversation that is now beginning to feel longer than the wait for Axel Rose’s new album or loud silence shouting at you for being so stupid to strike this up in the first place. You can feel that same queasy pit in your stomach erupt the way it does those times you meet an old acquaintance who remembers your name but you don’t remember theirs. Then by the time they’ve discussed their personal loss of a close relative, their conversion to scientology, and covered all the other significant life changing events, it’s far too late to ask them what their name is without sounding completely crude and jagged.

Why then I am the culprit of speaking to more businessmen, directors, stepfathers of heart transplant patients, fly-fishing lovers, professional scuba divers of the Barrier Reef, Columbian tourists, and Tennessee mayors who just wants to get their kids back from Idaho after their wives packed up to go live with their mothers than anyone else I know? That, along with why are pickles served with sandwiches (a pickle is so random; chips or an apple, yes I can see, but a sliver of a cucumber doused in sodium?), are the eighth and ninth wonders of the world. No question about it.

Around the turn of the fourth hour of delay I had already learned my lesson when I found myself seated next to a girl about my age of nineteen. I’d describe her as someone who tries so hard to be an individual that they end up being classified into a group which society has labeled as “individuals” but that would be taking the easy way out and failing to pay her justice. Her big brown eyes glared up at me as though she had defeated her own purpose. She was her own worst enemy. I remained in my own world, as the rest of the people who surrounded me were, until I couldn’t help but overhear her conversation. She made it easy to; it wasn’t like I was trying anymore. When she wasn’t crying, I gathered from her muffled voice coming her head on knees that she hadn’t eaten since 10am yesterday and only had one dollar. She had run away from the place she called home. With no money myself, I was only able to give her my bag of pretzels. She didn’t ask for it, it just happened.


***


The busser at the Happy Burger Diner: Home of the Largest Menu in the County just wanted to leave home and the stranger fatefully seated beside me just wanted to get home. And me? I just wanted to be home. To me, home isn’t a place of staying; it’s a place of being. To me, home is stopping whatever I’m doing no matter the caliber of importance to read the new magazine that has arrived in the mail. Home is riding with the windows down in my truck on humid summer evening to any of The Boss’s songs. Home is explaining to people for the umpteenth time why I am a vegetarian. And I know that love of any shape, size, or style is when you feel at home. Okay, so maybe I stole that last idea from The Cure, but to me, they’re home.




Things to consider:
-There are a dozen or so Old 97's songs hidden through out.
-Chinese Democracy still has not been released since the original posting.

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is (7/17/08)

I’ve been told several times throughout the course of my life that money doesn’t grow on trees. As a wide-eyed seven year old scratching for another set of Pogs to complete my collection, I can assure you, no matter how high you climb, it doesn’t. Although my father’s lesson was learned in just a few moments and multiple scuffs later, it took a bit longer and countless bruises to realize that the juiciest and plumpest fruits of my labor were never something that I once longed I could cultivate in my own backyard.

But if it did though, I don’t think currency is the type of vegetation that would grow on a tree. It seems more of viney or bush plant to me, reminiscent of a deciduous, perennial shrub that can only be harvested in a temperate continental climate. And change, of course, would be a root vegetable, akin to a potato or a peanut where you must pull them up from underground so you can never tell exactly when a nickel or quarter is ripe. The species of flora would inevitably vary from country to country, making exchange rates all matter of floral preference. A hairy and prickly shrub: likely found in France. Stubborn to uproot or pull out yet easy to blindly overtake on other vines: America. Ultimately, businessmen and politicians alike would turn on a dime to take a new found love for the environment by turning global warming from a dubious theory into a first priority reality.

And that’s my two cents-nonsense for the day.

The Greatest Man That Ever Lived Review (7/19/08)

“I’m the baddest of the bad. I’m the best that you’ve ever had. I’m the tops, I’m the king. All the girls get up when I sing.”

What is this? Sounds like David Hasselholf’s latest attempt at a rap ditty put out to fill the voids in his midlife crisis gone horribly wrong. Nope. It is Rivers Cuomo’s apology for Make Believe.

Like most of my current obsessions I usually don’t care too much for a song when I first hear it. This one was no exception. It took a while to get past the police sirens followed by beat poetry and choir hymns that I forgot, did I put on a rock opera? Have no fear, it ends with the classic not-ashamed-to-be-Weezer that any Pinkerton fan demands. Maybe because I like to mull over the days when I put A Day at the Races up on the pedestal higher than Cheech & Chong on a green day or because I’m a sucker for anything off beat coming down with a slight case of the grunge but River’s maelstrom of clamor and just plain creepiness leaves me feeling complete. If there’s not even a small part of you who feels this song is brilliantly catchy, then you’re lying.

As far as the rest of the album goes, gosh, how I miss thee green and blue!

How Do You Feel About Pet Names? (8/6/08)

Plain and simple, I am a sucker for a superhero. DC or Marvel, they can shape shift my bat mobile any day. But I recently had a revelation. As much as they make my spidey sense tingle, I don’t think I could date any one of them, human or mutant …or other. You see, I think I’d have a major, major inferiority complex.

“So, What did you do today, my banana kitten?”

“Oh, freckle buns, ya know, I just stopped a double-decker bus from colliding with school children crossing the street using my force field, leapt several buildings in a single bound to burn off that Big Mac for lunch, then my laser eyes shot down a robber holding up the liquor store, all before I waterbreathed my way down to the bottom of duck pond lake to fetch ol’ Lady Havishman’s purse that fell in again…hrmmmph, the usual.”

I just can’t match up.

(Sorry The Thing, I know we had a thing).


So since its been recently drawn to my attention, I think I could fall easily for the average Joe Shmoe who sat down and called the shot on Starship Troopers 3 going straight to DVD….

You’re my very own superhero.

La La La La La

I started a LaLaLa mix back in high school out of curiousity and have been slowly adding to it as new music has come out and my tastes have changed, but I was wondering if it could grow. Any and all is welcome (no repeats of artists). Although punk would be cool. La la la isn't very common. Maybe because thats too much to fit in two minutes or under. And no, shalalala doesn't count either. Sorry Van Morrison. Oh and NaNaNa is for another day......just putting that out there. Please help!

Man in the Box - Alice in Chains
A Horse With No Name - America
Mayfly - Belle & Sebastian
Lollipop - Ben Kweller
Laura Laurent - Bright Eyes
The Rising - Bruce Springsteen
Coconut Skins - Damien Rice
Grace Cathedral Hill - The Decemberists
Crocodile Rock - Elton John
May Day! - Elvis Perkins
40' - Franz Ferdinand
For the Girl - Fratellis
Ladies and Gentlemen - Hot Hot Heat
The Passenger - Iggy Pop
Going to California - Led Zeppelin
Montreal -40C - Malajube
Dead! - My Chemical Romance
I'm Outta Time - Oasis
Stuff is Messed Up - The Offspring
Billie - Pavement
Draggin the Line - R.E.M.
Carolina Drama - Raconteurs
Saint Simon - Shins
Don't You Forget About Me - Simple Minds
All Luck Ran Out - Sondre Lerche
We Can't Help You - Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts - Wolf Parade
New Soul - Yael Naim
Tales of My Pop Rock Love Life - Your 33 Black Angels




***I know I said back in high school and I don't deserve to say that since I can still count the number of months ago it was. It. is. a. habbit. I. am. sorry.

Rockin the Urban (pt. 2)

Dearest Ben,

Thanks for reading and listening to my words of advice. I look forward to your collaboration with Nick Hornby. I hope you know I never doubted you for second.

Your future wife,
Mandy

Rockin the Urban

I liked the William Shatner version of Rockin' the Suburbs. I really did. And I enjoyed your collaboration with Tim & Eric. It was creepily charming. And yours & Rufus's sweet 80's bubblegum pop duet certainly complimented each other's gusto well. I was on emotional roller coaster from start to finish with that little ditty.

But please Ben, the next time you feel the urge to collaborate, do think twice. I mean Regina? I thought bitches ain't shit? It wasn't awful, but there just wasn't enough juxtaposition between your styles of singing to prevent it from getting painfully old after a while.


And then I heard what you did. I'd know that piano pounding pop anywhere. If you think you can fool me, you don't know me......at all.

Sha-mon, Ben Folds, sha-mon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLF0sZvhmgs


I am shocked. I am broken. I am confused.
I am reminded of the Christian hip hop group, Gritz.
I am.... scared it will grow on me.

Its lyrics are uplifting. Its beat is catchy. Its not Regina Spektor.


But when did you become one of the chipmunks? First you released a fake album. Then you released a real album that had two songs I liked. You deceived me and disappointed me. Now you've forgotten you're male, middle class, and white. Why do I still love you unconditionally?

Oh Benny, you may be easily forgiven, but please, stick to rockin' the suburbs.

A Beast.

"It's sweeter to have to suffer a wrong than to commit one. To have to submit to such a sweet wrong without deserving it seems to me the essence of all earthly bliss........I was a baby when I came into the world, otherwise I might have been smart enough to be a different person. Why should I have to suffer for the fact that everyone else was already here?..........I'm going to concentrate as hard as I can on whipped cream. Whipped cream is so innocuous. It's filling and it leaves behind a pleasant aftertaste. Human beings I imagine as being infinitely worse. I never met anyone who didn't want the best for himself."

-Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening 1891

Ninjas, Math, and Spinach Puffs

Our math teacher gave us a proposition: wear your costume to class on Halloween and get 5 extra points on the next exam. On the last quiz there was one question: Why are man hole covers round? I said because the Ninja turtles can't fit down square holes with their shells.

I need all the help I can get..... I knew what I had to do.

Halloween this year is on a friday. We also have a show on Halloween. This friday I woke up and of course remembered I had show tonight. So I got dressed in my Halloween costumed and headed to class. I get there and see no one else is in their costume. "Haha," I thought. "I am the only one who is getting the extra points!"


Then I remembered today is not Halloween.

***

I used to be quite familiar with the walk from a rehearsal building to the local 24 hour convenience store. Every Saturday morning I had to make the short trek, rain or shine or wind, to get a diet Pierre with Lime for the director. Apparently he couldn't direct without it. Or get it himself. I don't think he knew my name, but I know he knew his place. I was just his assistant stage manager. And thank yous, aren't in my job description.

To this day I still won't drink diet Pierre with Lime. I even hate the sound of it. It's just a more expensive way say Sprite.

A year later, he saw me in a production not under his direction. He even went out of his way to me to genuinely congratulate me afterwards. I don't care that he likely still doesn't know my name. A change from our usual brief conversation was all that mattered.

I wish I could say this tale would have a happy ending.....I'm hoping it's just not over yet.

Later that night the director of the show and I are at a reception. We spot spinach puffs from across the room. Naturally, our first inclination is to decide to be Ninjas and we prance stealthily over to our prize. I was so wrapped up in the moment, my ninja skills failed me, and I crashed right into...... yes, the old director, causing spillage of many sorts.

Never have I fallen from grace so quickly after working so hard to reach it.

***

Embarrassing moments are like Ninjas. No matter how much you brace yourself for them, you still never know when they're going to attack next.

I'm Not Too Hard To Please

From: Drama Department
Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2008 8:46 AM
To: DRAMA_DEPART-L@LISTSERV.UCONN.EDU
Subject: 10/23 Amber Alert in DRMU - not an emergency



Good morning:

The alarm company is working on the DRMU system today, therefore the fire and amber alarms have been temporarily disconnected.
For today please disregard the flashing amber alert.

-Best,
Cecile Stanzione
Business Manager, Dramatic Arts




moments later from my Design Professor.......




From: Drama Department
Sent: Thursday, October 23, 2008 9:51 AM
To: DRAMA_DEPART-L@LISTSERV.UCONN.EDU
Subject: 10/23 Amber Alert in DRMU - not an emergency, Forward Prof Michael Franklin White





PANICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Excuse me while I listen to the Fuzzy Toasters

Never heard of them? Really......


I made a remark to friend how flannel parallels a country's economic state (early 90's- late 00's) But I was quickly corrected. "No no," he said. "Hipsters just need some way to keep warm in the winter."

I do not live in a city but I do live on a university campus, which means I am swarmed with a distinct breed: The College Know It All Hippie hipster.

Sure every generation feels they are the last. Even Sophoceles thought his was. But sometimes I feel ours truely is. Despite the economy, global warming, and the war, we also have to deal with bears, robots, robot BEARS, managing a facebook!!, pirates, solanium outbreaks, and the list goes on. Even if we get caught up feeling we are the last, we still can't forget that we are not the first.

On that note, you don't ever have to worry about a man riding around on segway shouting, "The hipsters are coming! The hipsters are coming!" If you haven't realized already, the hipster movement landed decades ago, it'll hit you across the face like a teatherball. Being a hipster isn't anything new.

Ironic, isn't it?

I am confused. I thought hipsters were non conformists, non mainstreamists. Somewhere this got lost because I can describe a hipster from the top of their Ray Bans to the bottom of their Chuck Taylors..... Do they love irony so much because they themselves are ironic?

How come Falling Slowly is always playing in my hallway then? I believe I may have eaten that song for dinner one night. And I swear to Sun Ra, if I have to hear my roomate play Regina Spektor one more time, I'm taking that Across the Universe poster and launching it where it says it is. But I don't by any means live amongst the hipsters....These were all once jumped at by hipsters, but then every hipster liked it and badabing badaboom, its a mainstream success. And by mainstream, I mean my mom knows it. I find you have to give tunes the ipod commerical test now to see if it'll take to a hipster. If a song is played on an ipod commerical, its trip the light fantastic, for this week at least. If its played on a commerical thats not for Apple, best not reference it in a thrift store because it's sorta like that fourth album by Weezer*, Maladroit: Who fucking cares about it? (On that note, I believe I don't stand alone when I ask, When is the new Jicks video going to come out? )

I am terribly baffled by the music. I don't understand why hipsters pretentiously feel the need to know indie music only a handful of people have heard of. I feel closer to someone knowing we share a favorite artist. And as Jay Retard once said, "there's sometimes a reason why alot of indie music goes unheard of- just because it's indie doesn't mean it's good!" Yeah I saw that in this awesome interview he did with Pitchfork magazine.......

Woa, what-

I mean....I saw... it.... on......... Oh Damn You Hipsters!! All you do is make me feel like I'm not unique! I JUST WANT TO LISTEN TO PAVEMENT BECAUSE I GENUINELY LOVE LOU REED. And I grew up listening to classic rock, so of course I enjoy the wolf parade, I love David Bowie! I reserve the right to love the Hold Steady because I love Bruce Springsteen. Can I help it if Jack White's voice makes me all fittery and jittery because I think it sounds a little like Robert Plant?

If this makes me a hipstercrite, so be it.

I thought I'd never consider myself a hipster.

Then I realized I said that in a blog.

Hey, I could be saying that into a hamburger phone.......

Or wondering if anyone else has problems fitting their ipod in the their pants pocket?


...no really though, does that bludge make my butt look nonexistant?




*Fufills obligation to make a Weezer/Rivers Cuomo reference every couple of blogs or so.....I mean, what if Brian Bell were to read this...... just sayin....Oh who am I kidding, he's not! Hey Brian, your solo projects make the Red Album look Blue.

I Was Tired Of The Best Years Of My Life

My philosophy TA sent me this email

(picture included.)

HEY YOU, How's it going?

PLEASE NOTE: This e-mail is not just going out to you. It is for everyone in my discussion groups. You're not that SPECIAL!!

I'm sending out this for two reasons.

(1): I want to remind you that you are required to bring three questions on the readings to discussion Thursday. Even if you with your infinite wisdom and understanding have absolutely no questions whatsoever, lower yourself to thinking like we poor commoners and come up with some questions that somebody else might have. I will not be generous when it comes to grading.

(2): I like numbered lists.

(3): There is no third reason for my sending this.

Your TA,

Colonel MasseyThe Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels

You borrowed my socks?!**

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school....The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.....You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum....You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.....You'd run from people's feet in fright, To move a pen would take all night.....(This poem took fourteen years to write--'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

The Boy Named Sue composer and lyrist’s original works were first published in Playboy magazine. So does this mean people do actually read that? And poetry none the less!

I recently went into an old boyfriend’s room. As I stood there with one hand in my pocket and the other hand not on the desk beside me, I noticed how spotless it was. Maybe nookless is more accurate. I was so hesitant to touch anything as if I would taint it, scratch it, or look at it in the wrong way. I didn’t see my reflection anywhere but I felt as though I should have. At second glance I would see the same thing as the first glance. No surprises hanging out on the corner of a coffee table, lingering under a magazine, or hiding terribly from being put inside a desk drawer. What you saw is what you got.

And what you got was nice. Nice high definition screen TV. Nice collection of movies waiting for a Tuesday night in as they were meticulously stacked beside a bed made with obvious effort and precision. The stripes in the curtains complemented the book covers to the complete works of The Strong Bow Sage: Viking Warriors very nicely.

It took something as silly as being in that room at that moment to make me realize I understand why our relationship didn’t work.

Where were the nicknacks and paddywacks…..Where were the whosies and whatsies……Where were the thingamabobbers and thingamagiggers….Where were the nooks and most of all….WHERE WERE ALL THE CRANNIES?!?!

I caught myself questioning whether it was okay to put my feet up on the coffee table. Then I caught myself questioning if it was okay to question whether it was okay to put my feet up on the coffee table.

Then I heard something. “Dear Mandy, Don’t make me conform! Sincerely, That Lump of Pants Lying At Your Feet.” It made me think of an old Fatboy Slim song: Maybe someday we'll patch it all up like a favorite pair of jeans that you won't give up.

As many times as I had listened to think song I had never associated it with him. I wasn’t dwelling on the thing of the past. I wasn’t questioning it or lamenting it. Our past relationship was something I’ve grown to call “what had been.” I always knew why we hadn’t lasted. But now, standing amidst the emptiness, I understand the why.

There’s something to be said about someone’s bedroom. I’m not speaking in terms of neatness vs clutter or whether you make your bed or not- that’s a personal choice. To put in perspective, your bedroom is the least social room in your house. I can’t remember the last time my parents discussed their plans for trips to the panama with the family friends or neighbors in the bedroom. I would be disturbed if I could. Don’t you feel a deeper understanding of a friend once you’ve entered their bedroom? This is where they have spent time alone. This is where they go at night. This is the first thing they see when they start their day.

Lying around you find bits of your presence in the room, even if you’re not.

Is that what you look like when you're not there?

I want to go at night to a room where the tale of The Indian in the Cupboard seems like a possibility. The little toys could come to life and pop out of places they hide during the day…..Is that asking too much?

That way, you would fit in if you were one inch tall.

**the first phrase I heard when I started this.

I must really have a bundle of work to do and jumble of essays to write, hence the blog.....

I am my mother's daughter.

I learned that my father bares an uncanny resemblance to Nathan Followill when he was twenty-some odd years...... Glasses, beard, and all.

Not sure how to take this.




I also write my mother that I am busy and yada yada yada. She interprets that as I must need more underwear. I got my box of panties yesterday. I now have 7 reasons why I don't have to do laundry.





Hang me up to dry
The rain's wet outside.

Green Moon

I went to the Mobile Gas station, the one on Colman Street back in my hometown, to fill up my bicycle.

I go inside to prepay and to my dismay, there was nothing there. I look to my left and freeze. No attendant. No other customers. No unnecessarily overwhelming choices of gum*. That's when I really started to think something was up. I whip my head dramatically to the right. No rows of Smart food popcorn and other things that aren't too smart for you. No Doritos or Cheetos or Frito's.... Yes, the whole Eeetos family had been wiped clean!

I run outside. My heart was pounding. I put my hands on my knees as I pant to catch my breath. Opening a door and leaping four steps takes a lot out of you in dreams, I guess. If only I had filled it up sooner like my dad had told me to. A man is filling his truck up next to me. He looked a lot like Christopher Lloyd (just the taxi years), stonewashed jacket and all....Actually maybe it was Christoper Lloyd. Naaaah, whom I kiddin'? My dreams aren't that cool. Although one time I did have a dream about Izzy Stradlin, but that's a whole another genre-I mean story.

He doesn't stop starring at me as I hear him shout out, "Hey! Make fists with the socks." Make fists with the socks!! What does that even mean? I couldn't analyze the foreshadowing, if any, quick enough. I turn to run. Don't look back. Isn't that the number one rule when you're being chased? Or in a Twilight Zone episode, at least? An outspread section of the days newspaper danced by as the wind picked up. Yes. That really happened. I take a drawn out sigh and turn around. The waffle iron is all in place. Ready and waiting for me. Perfect. I place my blank CD on top and close the lid. It sizzled a little. That's how I knew it was done burning the song files. Yeah I never did get why its called burning to a disk either.

My back pocket's ringing. "Hello?" I made sure to pose that hello? as if it were a rhetorical question. Even in my dreams I manage to do things for no other purpose except with intent to gain bragging rights.... Kinda like the same way I feel about people who don't own a TV. They just don't own one so they can tell their friends who have TV's, that they don't own a TV. They miss Brian Williams, they just won't admit it.....I hung up. It was only going to get awkward.

I walk away from my iron because I am in my kitchen now. It's the old one with the rooster wall paper and orange tiles for flooring. My dream actually nailed that description pretty accurately, unfortunately. It didn't surprise me though because when I'm up at school and I'm trying to remember my home, I picture my old one, not my new one. I think I do that on purpose. It's strangely comforting. But comforting in the way musicians can have an obscure voice that you're distracted by it at first, then once familiar, becomes distinctly warm and charming, to the point where it sounds like you're listening to a photograph. Clearly my dreams fear change. They are also quite the egocentric, hubris monster. For once, I'd like to play second fiddle in my dreams.

Then I trip over the cactus lying in the middle of the hallway that had fallen over during the night... I wonder, if a cactus falls in the middle of a hallway, does anybody hear it? Needless to say, most anti-climatic fall ever! It's a dream. Couldn't I have at least tumbled over and splat on my face with my feet spilling up in the air, bent over my head when I screeched to an abrupt halt, like in a cartoon? Sometimes I wish I was in a cartoon. They are just so powerful how they can get away with anything and still be delightful. You would escape the mundane, while at the same time, be able to make such big statements and not be questioned at all. Plus I'd get to have an alter ego named Quailman, be freakishly blue, and never, ever forget my towel.

Completely ignoring the cactus, I make it where my parents bedroom would be in a hop, skip, and jump. Alright that was a lie. It was more like two hops and a leap. I turn the corner, and I was in my philosophy discussion class, only it had our bed room's carpet so I just accepted it. The scenes were just blending together like an MC Escher painting. I'm sorry, was I now in an i pod commercial? And cue indie artist about to run dry. But then music really did happen. Very faint at first but oddly familiar. I turn to my only friend in the discussion and ask why I wasn't aware of class today, as if it wasn't scheduled to happen. He didn't respond. Then he says to no one in particular, "My name is Jonas." He sang it just like Rivers Cuomo did too. Then I just hear, "I'm carrying the wheel." I couldn't hear anything in my life anymore except for the music. I found that funny because that song is my alarm. The TA who was there the whole time but I didn't see until now, went along with the discussion like usual. I had no clue what was going on and my frustration from lack of existence was growing exponentially. But it's okay, for I was gettin messed up on the music....

It's fun to think our dreams have a purpose. That they are trying to tell us something. I'm gonna leave this one untouched and walk away with one indisputable conclusion:

I need to change that alarm.

The weird part is, my snooze was only for 5 minutes.

Dreams are like moments on stage. What feels like hours, is really only a matter of minutes. You get to be betrayed by your senses. And still, they make you feel like you have everything AND nothing to loose.






* If it helps, do not buy Dentyne Blast Cool Lime gum, unless you'd like your mouth to taste like Pine sol.

Never say never to always

My second grade teacher shared with us this photo, explaining she was a refugee from Afghanistan. All I remember thinking is that place sounds like my blanket.

Isn't it strange how we remember the most insignificant events for no reason at all? Is it just random neurons misfiring in the brain? Could be. But I like to hope there's a purpose behind the irrelevant.

It's just a flash from the past. It holds no weight in my current life. I took away only select memories of my year in the second grade and I rarely revert back to them. So why was this kept and not discarded after years of being dormant? Why now? This image pulled me back to a place in time the way a song fools you to think you're still living an old life.

So much has changed since I was a little kid. Days have gotten shorter and my town has gotten smaller....... Also mushrooms and carrots have gotten tastier. SNL has gotten worse but Led Zeppelin reunited! Pants are still stuck in the 80's though and the Cyrus family is still making music that no one cares about.

I have 6 months left until I am no longer a teenager. But by my standard, I will be turning twenteen. I still have a lot of looking forward to do before I have more looking behind. I think the worst part about growing is realizing you are not unique. It's when these bats of perception come summoned to me that I just want to relive one day of my childhood. Anyday. Anyplace. I don't know much but I like to think know just enough. Just enough to see the importance of always keeping that kid inside alive.


Always.


So go ahead. Wear you pj's inside out and backwards to bed in hopes of too much snow to for anything the next day. Eat your frosty before your fries. Play padiddle the way it was meant to be played. Put up those whitty away messages on AIM about your day's events. And love, LOVE Blink 182 shamelessly. What is that they sing? Oh yes, "I never want to act my age again."




Since I passed second grade I've learned the story of Sharbat Gula. Two wars and three children later, she has the same eyes but different lives. I purposely strayed from an easily tangible political message provoked by this image. I don't want to remind how we are different when we are all human. And as humans worlds away the same thing that has been there to take care of her is here for me.


Time.

I'm sorry I'm late, I got lost in time

To be frank, I've stopped wearing bras.

I surely must be doing so because I want to break free.

But let's be curt, I simply don't have the time.



I'm so busy, I don't even know myself anymore.

The Red Head Said Your Fever's Yellow

I know you're out there somewhere.....

What is that song that starts off the same way as Hash Pipe and its not the batman theme song.
For months on end I've been loosing sleep over this.
If you know it......... DON'T DENY ME IT!
please?



Around my dorm is scattered different goofy faces made by Patrick Swayze in Ghost with unrelated thought bubbles attached......
If you didn't have a reason to come visit my room, well now you do.
Doors always open...... FIND THEM ALL!
i double dog dare yar



So I learned when you have to say a little someting about yourself, there are better ways than others.
Hi, I'm Mandy. umm I go to uconn. YOU'RE WELCOME STORRS, CONNECTICUT!



This happened a wee bit ago but it came up in a recent conversation, igniting my memory...... and I just can't keep this to myself:
My dad arrested Big Bird.