I'm not a fan of Facebook. I'm not anti-Facebook or whatever. I'm not that guy. But the same reasons that I could see it being really beneficial for someone else are the things that make me kind of... hate it. I do occasionally wipe the technological dust from my log-in page there to post links and random pictures, but usually just because I'm procrastinating.
I'm in the middle of writing a dissertation to Nick about why I love The Format, whom he introduced me to nearly three years ago. (I'm supposed to be writing an album review on Bitte Orca, which I will do. But I like to write long emails to friends about bands and albums that I love. As a warm-up.)
I met Nate Ruess about three weeks ago. I was at his band's show with Manchester Orchestra here in Portland (which I requested tickets for primarily so I could see fun. play). The meeting was brief but giddiness immediately washed over me. He is probably currently my favorite lyricist. And he has a great voice:
Anyway. I'm digressing all over the place. Facebook. The Format. Nate Ruess. Focus.
I'm listening to Nate's former band, The Format, today because it's what I've been doing all week. His lyrics are a security blanket sometimes. And this week has been scripted for a soundtrack written by Nate Ruess. Because I'm not interested in getting too intimate with my Blogger account, I'll just take it all out on my distaste for Facebook in the form of a lyric by The Format:
Old classmates please drop all your pens don't write a word 'cause I wont reply, and I'm not bitter, no, its just I've passed that point in my life
Exactly. Exactly. Exactly.
I can't say it better, as is usually the case when it comes to his lyrics. That is exactly where I am.
I just wrote out two long paragraphs explaining why I feel that way, but it really does just come down to: I'm not bitter, it's just I've passed that point in my life.
It's been taking me a lot to get motivated lately. Usually it's just a lyric. Or a picture. Or a movie. Or an idea. Or a color. If you want to think I'm pretentious, that's OK. If you want to think I'm creative, thank you. I chalk it up to being very easily influenced by random shit.
I just now saw a picture of a chick from the '50s with super-elegant liquid eyeliner and pinstriped pants. I thought, "I should wear super-elegant liquid eyeliner and pinstriped pants." Sometimes these urges fade. Sometimes they stick around.
It seems that lately they sparkle and fade within the same millisecond, and I find myself always waiting for the next creativity train to roll in.
I've spent the past month tapping my foot, checking the clock. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
It feels like something is beginning to come back, though. I don't blog here often, but I'm doing it now. That's something, right?
Anyway. Now that I'm here, I thought I'd direct your attention there again. It'll be more music based. I have a feeling that I'll spend more time there because music is all I ever seem to want to talk about these days anyway. ... I'm kind of a one-trick pony like that.
Super creative title, I know. But today counts as super-good (on a general scale of good-ness) and is thus blog-worthy.
I have a photographer for Portland, which is pretty fantastic, because now I have someone who is kind of contractually bound (minus the "contract" part) to me for every concert I attend that requires photographic evidence of my involvement. Amazing. I'm really excited because she's such an obvious choice. I didn't just need a Portland photographer, I needed a cool Portland photographer. Because we'd have to hang together during shows and stuff.
I wish I could pay everyone who contributes to AM. I spend way too much time and effort trying to get to that point with the site. In the meantime, I'm still so super proud of it.
I am going to see Ice Palace (recommended track: "Trampolining") play with Cloud Cult and Say Hi on Sunday. Ice Palace has really grown on me, so I demanded (politely requested) free tickets. I also just found out that going to see Cloud Cult is so very indie-blogger-chic. I don't know how to feel about that, but I think I might like it.
Rather than writing news updates (which is a seriously daunting task when there is no news to report), I've spent most of today studying. What, exactly, I mean by that is of no consequence. But I sometimes feel like the website (which I am still refusing to refer to by name, so as to evade Google's radar) is getting bigger than my ability to deal with it. So I read a lot about how to, like, run a business and shit.
In terms of the music stuff, 17 year old me would think 25 year old me is such a serious badass. In terms of sentences like So I read a lot about how to, like, run a business and shit, she would totally think I suck.
Anyway. Andy thinks we should go for a walk in the park. Literally. I think we should go for a walk around Powell's. Again. It's a habit I should probably try to break. In the meantime, I'll be there tonight if anyone wants to stalk me. (Don't stalk me.)
It's been a long time since I've had my world rocked by an album. I think the last one was Pinkerton by Weezer. I think that was the last whole album to rock my world. Since then, it's been artists. Songs. Fragments. Which is probably par for the course, due to the state of the industry. iTunes has a way of dismembering albums. We have a way of buying into the system. Artists have a way of letting the system drive the art they create.
I recognize it. I know why things are the way they are. I'm not (really) shaking a fist at the industry because it's always been kind of set up to fail. And the fact that it's currently in shambles has allowed for this current state of affairs. The music industry, as a whole, is in this pretty amazing flux. Artists are building their own (legitimate!) careers and fan bases. Music blogs have become the new A&R guys. Print magazines don't really know what the fuck they're doing anymore (and neither do I. Don't think I am disillusioned enough to think I have this madness all figured out, either). It's all pretty incredible, especially to see it in a firsthand(ish) sort of way.
Good or bad, the music industry has become a place that isn't all too kind to albums anymore. Rather than telling a whole story, it seems as if the artist is just trying to sell you five singles. The rest of the album is filled with the tracks you skip or just never buy.
Pinkerton is a whole album. The biggest Weezer argument seems to be the Blue versus Pink album argument. Blue has some really strong singles, but if you want a full album, you're a Pink fan. I'm a Pink fan. If a band can sell me on one entire album, I'm in. For life. Even if their follow-up efforts are really tragic. (I'll save my dignity by saving you from reading that list--some people would say Weezer is actually at the top of that list. Bastards.)
Because I was late, I didn't hear Pinkerton until 2005. Nine years after its release. (I got Make Believe and Pinkerton the same week.) So it's been a long four years since I've played an entire album on repeat out of necessity and not because I simply didn't have anything else to listen to that week.
Bitte Orca. Dirty Projectors. To tell you how I heard about them is embarrassing. Let's just say: it's really beneficial to, uh... pay attention.
The first time I heard "Stillness Is the Move," I thought it was weird, disjointed, thoughtless noise. I thought, "Really? This?!" But for some reason, I kept returning to it. And now every time I listen to it, I love it more. David Longstreth knows how to make my mind explode. My brain gets knocked sideways every time the drums turn to fireworks in the chorus of "Temecula Sunrise." "Stillness Is the Move" is no longer thoughtless noise but brilliant and textured. And please don't even ask me to discuss the genius of "Useful Chamber" or the strange elegance of "No Intention."
Discussing this album is like having a Yale student read one of my articles--which maybe makes sense because Lonstreth is a Yale dropout. The album is bigger than my writing. I'm intimidated by it.
Like with most Weezer music (but to a much more severe extreme), I didn't like this album at all. It was too far from my comfort zone. It didn't make sense. But it kept me curious enough to keep coming back to it. And now I'm finding the intellect in its disjointed melodies and overall strangeness. I feel like I have to earn it. I have to put an effort into hearing it and I have to find ways to force it to find its place in my mind.
You like the feeling of Saturday. You love the danger in the night.
Though I want everyone to listen to it Bitte Orca and love it in the way that I do, I know they probably won't, so I recommend the album by prefacing my recommendation with, "It's weird, but I love it." And if you listen only to the radio and are happy with that, I should've told you to stop reading before you even began.
This is the first music I've heard since the inception of the website that hasn't played by the rules just to get writers to say nice things about it. In other music, the intentions bleed through the art and the desperation is blatant and pathetic. "I'm exactly what you want me to be! I sound exactly like everything you love. I can change for you." It's really bad. This is the first album I've heard in years that doesn't seem to give a fuck. It was the first time an album has been honest enough to give me an option, either way. So I explored both extremes and the album got its way in the end: I love it.
Bitte Orca will be out June 9th. Maybe by then I'll be able to discuss it in an intelligent and eloquent way. (Advance copies are the shit.)
If I'm going to be online, this is the last thing I should be doing. Well, this and say, Bejeweled or some nonsense. I have a ton of stuff to be writing. And I have to code two sections for the website, one of which broke the website into a million tiny pieces which I just spent the last five hours picking up and gluing back together.
Yeah. Fuck that.
Just two things, though:
1. I can't quit. In terms of vices, I don't have an addictive personality. But I can't walk away from a project. I can throw my hands up 12 times in just as many minutes and half-convince myself that I need to walk away, but I will sit at the computer for five very long fucking hours piecing a website back together when I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
Wordpress tutorials, I owe you my firstborn.
2. I made a list of everything that I need to think about, be aware of, and be careful to not forget about during the next month. The list is two pages long. With notes in the margins. And that was just off the top of my head.
Emails, CDs, moving information, bill information, shit to write about, things to update, people to contact, travel plans, interview questions, names, dates...
It's a good sign. If I had to be this busy doing someone else's work and sitting in a cubicle all day, I'd crack down the middle. But for some reason, the list made me kinda sad. Then that made me feel guilty.
I need to go to bed. While I'm crawling around in my head like a meth fiend, normal people are sleeping. I should look into it.
Bose headphones should not break. I own these. After I tell you that, my argument gains and loses momentum with each statement, but try to empathize:
Those are some expensive headphones. I did not pay $350 for them, though. They were a gift. A used gift. A gift that not cost the giver $350, thank god. I hope no one ever wastes $350 on headphones-- especially not headphones for me. But if someone does choose to waste that kind of money on a pair of headphones, I feel as if the headphones should be able to withstand some pretty serious damage. No parts should need to replaced. Not ever. Because those are some expensive headphones.
That said, when I got them, there were some signs of previous ownership. They were definitely of the "new... to me" category. But they were amazing headphones. Music has never been so beautiful and clear. It's how recorded music is meant to be heard. I mean that. Months later, one of the cords shorted out. Gave up on life. Bullshit. My "new... to me" $350 headphones (that weren't really $350) stopped working. The replacement cord was really some phone attachment shit and would cost me $40. No no no.
A few months later, bose.com decided to offer the cord I needed for just $15. Fine. I bought it and received my replacement. My headphones work again! I'm happy once more, even if only begrudgingly. I love Bose, even if I really hate them.
Being poor and yet still having nice things aside, I am making the official move to Portland in the coming weeks. I am moving my whole life to pursue my music journalism website. It's gotten too big to just fly here and there to do my interviews. That shit gets expensive once you have to do it more than once every few months.
People have asked about when I get paid because of what I do. Honestly? I have no idea. I'd like to sell ad space eventually, but not before I know what I'm doing. Once money begins being exchanged, you have to know a lot more laws about copyrights, and paying taxes, and being a business owner. Um, I signed up to be a writer, never a marketing major, or a financial adviser, or The Man. My knowledge of tax information begins and ends at the 1040EZ. When I make friends with someone in a three-piece suit or learn some vital information regarding how to avoid prison, I will deal with moneymaking.
So since I can't measure the website's legitimacy on its income, I will measure it in its awesomeness:
We beat out MySpace, AltPress.com, Vimeo, and Weezer.com for the opportunity to premiere some new Rivers stuff on the website. That's intense. I've seen Weezer live more times than any other musician or band in existence. Second place has never felt like a bigger win.
This week. I don't think it's rained at all this week, which is a nice change. I don't mind the rain. I was raised in the Pacific Northwest. We're built for it. But like rain, sunshine has a certain needed quality, too. I'm a fan of both. Too much of either leaves me gloomy.
I'm one step away from being elated with the website: I hate the banner. No... I don't hate it. I'm thankful for it. It's neat and it was a gift. Someone made it for me and if he hadn't, I simply wouldn't have a banner. But it was made for the first version of the site and it doesn't fit the newer version the way I'd like it to. It's like being 30 and still using your Mickey Mouse sheets on your twin bed: better than nothing but probably not ideal.
I [redacted for your sake] the coding of the site and things are now running much faster. I'm a geek.
We have new writers. I went over that. I'm still excited.
I got new books. One I expect to enjoy very much.
I finally transcribed one of the interviews that has been taunting me over the past few weeks. It's long and I was afraid it would be boring. It's not. It's very good. In terms of editing and arrangement, I think it's my best yet. People never know how boring an interview can be if it's not edited well. (Go read some of my earlier interviews if you're curious.) So it's exciting and gratifying to see myself growing as a writer and as a journalist. I'm not "there" yet, but being even half a step closer is a big deal.
I booked a flight to Nashville for next month. I'm waiting for Bobby Long's American publicist to confirm the interview that his English manager confirmed this morning. Thus, the run-around. I can't wait. I've been listening to him a lot lately. I began writing questions for this interview before I ever knew that I'd be interviewing him. Because he's attached to the Twilight mania, I'm really looking forward to giving him an opportunity to answer questions that don't pertain to vampires or what his ideal first date would be. I like Nashville because of its blatant music vibe. It'll be nice to go back.
Post-Nashville is a post-birthday visit with my better half in the city of my birth, Atlanta. Looking forward to: quality time with Nick. Not looking forward to: Atlanta. Of all of the major American cities I've visited, Atlanta is easily my least favorite. It takes all of the things I don't like about St. Louis and amplifies them. The time with Nick will trump my disdain for the city, though. I have a half brother who I barely know in Atlanta, but his mother is crazy. I'd rather just maybe avoid that madness all together.
This week has been so positive that I've even made the (probably bad) decision to reconnect with someone who... kinda left me in a lame position a few years back. But. We live. We learn. And if some of us don't, you can always delete them from your friends list and make your profile private.
This sucks. The only part of music journalism that I cannot stand is transcribing interviews. I listen to music very nearly 24 hours a day. Things like... work tend to get in the way but in the car: music. While I'm writing: music. In the shower: music. Cooking: music. Sleeping: music. You get the idea. It's tough to spend hours sitting slack-jawed in front of my computer monitor hitting play-stop-rewind-play for hours on end and listening to my stupid voice ask questions while a musician doesn't sing but... answers my questions. It redefines tedium.
I'm caffeinating for motivation.
For the sake of the website, I've been trying to love more female vocalists. I'm not anti-feminism or anything. In fact, if you saw the music I do own by women, you'd think I was a hardcore, militant man-hater. I like Tori Amos. I love Beth Hart. Tracy Chapman. Brandi Carlile. Diane Birch. Janis and Joni, duh. Heart. Nina Simone. I just don't like women to sound like little girls. That's actually what we had drilled into our heads in choir. The director would yell, "Sing like women, not little girls!" If the vocalist doesn't sound like she has a spine, I want no part of her music. I want tough. The music industry is totally a man's game, and only the strongest female vocalists have lasted long enough to become iconic. Even in pop, people like masculinity. Madonna, Janet, and Britney are all kind of masculine when you see them on the stage-- even if their shows are built around female sexuality.
Anyway. Two things before I actually plunge into the transcription process:
One. The website (per usual): As of today, we have TWO NEW WRITERS FOR THE SITE. I'm so excited. They're really good. (Let me get cheesy for a moment because the website is my kid.)
It's been really hard to find people to write for the site. Of the people who express interest, they're... not really what I'm looking for. And of the people I've wanted in the past, well, they're paid professionals who write for actual publications that will pay them with more than things like hi-fives and eternal gratitude. So Nick and I kept up with the site by ourselves because I'd rather not compromise the tone of the website just to have a little extra help-- though I thought about it at times because this shit owns my life some days.
Our first new writer is Sara, who is super talented. She thinks about music and can also translate emotion into text really well, which can be tough to do without sounding too self-serious or pretentious. As I told Nick, I feel like she's an asset to the site and not just a filler or one more person to contribute content.
Our second writer is someone I've been reading for over a year. He does the new music updates for The Hub on MySpace. He's very aware of new music and what's worth hearing. He also seems to bear an impressive amount of knowledge regarding band history as well as music structure, two areas I'm admittedly weak in. I'm really excited to have him with us, too, because when I first decided to (finally) set all of this music journalism stuff in motion, I kind of looked up to The Hub as a reference point for how I wanted to interact with artists. I even went to one of The Hub's house shows in Huntington Beach. (They'd put together live concerts with some of the more well-known independent singer-songwriters and invite strangers to their backyard/living room for the low, low price of $15 to watch like, 5 artists perform. Now they do a cruise thing. The living room is now a yacht and $15 is closer to $50. Still rad, and I'm still looking up to them because I want to do that, too. Eventually.)
I'm going on an intern hunt next week. I really have no idea what I'm doing so anything would be a step up, even if it just means getting some paperwork on what I need to get a damn intern. (I'm not kidding. Kids need college credit and I need an intern. Everybody wins.) I'll be stalking college campuses circa mid-week...
Two. Butch Walker (go figure): These people are really reserved. Though it's just a cover, I would've lost my shit if I saw Butch Walker cover this song:
Today is the day I should probably be all snide and single and say mean things about Valentine's Day. I should glare at rose bouquets and pop Mylar balloons with complete disdain.
But I'm not really one of those people. I actually have a really strange habit of confusing Valentine's Day with Thanksgiving. But never vice versa. Thanksgiving is Thanksgiving. Valentine's Day is... Thanksgiving.
I dunno.
What I do know is that I'm not a sap but that doesn't make me spiteful, either. I've never been a Valentine's-y girlfriend. It's just not a holiday built around the things I'm into. I don't need a show. I don't need dinner. I do like chocolate and flowers but I don't expect them simply because it's the middle of February. It is what it is. Some people love it. Some people hate it. And I just don't really put too much thought into it. Single or otherwise. My most amazing relationship moments have never happened on a Valentine's Day. My best kiss-- the one I was most excited about ever-- happened during the first week of an October. The best gift I ever received from a boy was an impromptu Christmas gift.
So happy Valentine's Day. If you celebrate, I hope you have a really great and mushy one. If you are single, don't get caught up in it. Get a massage. Masturbate. Go see a movie. There's a new Friday the 13th if you're feeling especially down...
And. Because love doesn't have to come in the form of a heart-shaped box, I am utilizing my own favorite forum to express love in my own way. Music is really where my heart lives all day, every day, anyway. ... That will probably be the statement that turns me into a cat lady in twenty years. But for right now, it's okay.
Some of my friends are in the midst of booking the first tour for their band. I'm actually really proud of and happy for them. My closest friends are the ones who've stood up and paved their own paths. They've built their own lives based on what they want to accomplish with their time and their talents. If you want my respect, work for what you have and what you want. If you are the company you keep, then they raise the standard for me.
One friend works for one of the major conglomerate movie companies in L.A. Another works for the World Bank. Anne is a professor at a Public Ivy League college...
I'm proud of you guys, even though I'd flinch inside a little if I knew that any of you actually read this...
I saw Milk yesterday. I have a really soft spot in my heart for Emile Hirsch. I really, really liked the movie. It was the exact tone of all of my favorite movies: quiet, thoughtful... sad but still hopeful.
The trailer even features part of my favorite line from the movie: I don't do losing. Ever.
I don't sleep enough. To know me is to know this. I'm a night owl who has to live an adult life during the day. I feel like I'm leading a double life-- and I mean that in the least melodramatic way possible. During the day, I run errands and go to a job that I sometimes hate, somewhat enjoy, but merely tolerate, overall. At night, I do journalism stuff. I use whatever energy I have left to run a moderately successful music journalism website. I spend a lot more time than I'd like to publicly discuss trying to find new bands and worthwhile music news.
To get vain and quote myself: Good music exists, you just have to spend a little more time sorting through the shit to find it. It’s not the sorting through shit that we love, but the gold that lies beneath.
Exactly.
I've been subsisting on approximately three hours of sleep per night all week. (I do not recommend it.)
Today was tired. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, my shit was vacant today. I have been running on fumes and instinct for about two days now and it's catching up with me. Even I can look at my face and see how tired I am. Rough. But today the payoff was... incendiary.
I was asked to write for a media blog. A media blog which pays people to write for it. I'd guess that it'll only be enough money to cover AM's* hosting expenses, but I'm fine with that. I'm not trying to get rich, I just want to eventually make a living off of doing what I love. And this is certainly a start. I've been published, but I've never been paid for it. I once read that you know you're doing things right when someone offers to pay you for your art. People can compliment you for free. Once someone is willing to offer something of theirs in order to own something of yours, you're creating something worth having-- even if only to that person. So if I could pour this feeling all over the floor, I'd roll around in it for the next three days. I have butterflies. The offer alone means the world to me.
I hope one day AM can make enough money for me to pay people in some way.
[*I am not using the website's full name because I don't want people Googling it and ending up here. Hell no. I feel better when I'm just a faceless writer for the site who has a name and no personal life.]
A few hours after being asked to write for the media blog, Butch Walker's marketing manager emailed us and offered up all kinds of publicity stuff on Butch. UM. I have been looking for this fool's email address for just over a year. And don't think I don't know how to stalk down an email address. I do-- sometimes too well. Sometimes I look downright creepy. But he somehow found us and then emailed us information on one of my TOP TEN FAVORITE ARTISTS.
I don't even try to deny it on the site. In fact, I publicize it.
feel free to fall in love somewhere right around 2:54 and 3:30; musicians who are talented enough to sing without microphones = sweet spot for me. hooray.
I have this list of musicians that I can die happy if I get to interview: Jack White. Ernie Halter (I literally had to walk off the excitement after I got the confirmation email for that interview.) Steven Tyler Will Hoge Rivers Cuomo Kele Okereke Cody Chesnutt Butch Walker... (the list is kinda long. I'll end it here.)
Some musicians just have minds that were built for music. Jack White is undeniably one of those people, for instance. I think some people are musicians simply because they like music and they happen to be good at it. But other people become musicians because they have no choice but to make music.
That list of musicians can differ for us all, but for me, that's a very abbreviated list of the artists that will last-- at least for me. So I am beyond flattered that anyone who works for Butch Walker would decide to email us. That. is whoa.
It was only two things but they were big things that rocked my day and made me feel like something special is happening. I'm a little emotional about it. Though I don't have kids, I'd imagine this is what it feels like when your genius child wins some really great award.
Anyway. Just for fun, I've interviewed both of them:
If I'm here to record my accomplishments and navel-gaze, I'd like for you to get something out of it, too.
That was part of my walk today. It was really sunny and nice out but kind of gloomy in a weird way. I took it with my phone.
The Coachella lineup was announced around midnight and I've been busy since. It is now nearing 5 am and my eyeballs are on fire. Tired. Tired. Tired. But it's Coachella, man. I'll sleep when I'm dead.
[Ed. Note: I'd half-intended to eventually post this as an Expose Yourself on the website, but I then found out that the person I wrote it about is an avid reader of the site. And I'm just not ready to get that honest...]
i can't find a normal video of the song, but the emphasis is on the music, not Powder.
I can't figure out what this song is really supposed to be about, which turns it into a Rorschach inkblot test for me. I think it's about this guy who really loves this girl, despite their horrible relationship and its circumstances. They break up, he realizes that he can't live without her, and they get back together. He promises to make the love bigger than their pettiness and they try it again, only to find that he just really isn't happy with her, even though he really, really wants to be. Because he loves her. I think that's what it's about. ... Or I could just be hanging my dirty laundry all over the Internet. It might not be about that at all.
There are few lyrics that break my heart faster than the first lines of this song. I can't remember when it was good, moments of happiness elude. Immediately my heart is snapped in half, and I'm along for the ride with him.
I saw Muse live on September 21st, 2006 in Vegas. This song is proof that everything will come full circle eventually. I can't think of anyone this song applies to more than the person who invited me to that concert. I still get simultaneously queasy, and heartbroken, and all in love every time I hear "Hysteria". Agh. Muse.
"Falling Away With You" is easily one of my top ten favorite songs of all time. The only moment that I don't love it is the moment that I realize that it's ended. Again, I could be wrong, but I think the song leads you through the whole process, from the initial breakup, through the regret, to the hope of when you get back together and know that it's going to be great, and... then you remember. Like I said: full circle.
If I ever get to interview Matthew Bellamy, I am going to clarify what the song is about once and for all. ... Or maybe not. I have no idea what he's really talking about, so in that, he can be talking about anything-- he can be talking about exactly what I need him to be talking about. "Falling Away With You" is a blatant reminder of a lot of things for me. As I understand it, there's a lot of wisdom in the song, and I've been able to apply that wisdom to the un-patched holes and unconnected lines in my own life.
I'd really hate to have another "All Dead, All Dead" moment like I did with Queen. When I found out that Brian May was inspired to write it after his cat died, I was a little scarred. I love that song. A lot. It's another one of my favorite, favorite songs. And I understand the odd but real feeling of deep loss over a dead pet. But I really didn't want that song to be inspired by a cat.
The lineup is postponed and no one knows what the hell is going on. But I would really, really like to go camping for three music-filled days in the desert of California. Vacation of a lifetime? I'm thinking so. I'm afraid I'm too old for Burning Man. I think that would've better suited me anytime from 18 through maybe 22. But now that I'm all geriatric and 25, I just wanna drink beer, hang out, listen to music, and write about it. That, in all honesty, is how I want to spend the rest of my life. That is my nirvana. So if you can add hanging out on a lawn and sunshine to that list, you've just exceeded my idea of heaven on Earth.
If I can't manage press passes, then we will meet in another, more financially optimistic year, Coachella. In the meantime, I will get excited to the idea of you by perusing some person's super cool pictures from last year's Coachella festival.
I. want. in.
EDIT: Coachella lineup set to be announced at 7:20 am on KROQ. This race will be cutthroat, I just know it.
I'm a Blackberry owner. Was it the most financially responsible choice I've made this year? Um... no. But managing my life was becoming increasingly problematic without access to real email-- attachments and all. It had come down to a really intelligent phone or a laptop. So I made the more fiscally cognizant choice, even though choosing neither would've been the best choice of all.
Buyer's remorse is the story of my life. I could've fed like, a whole African village for a month using what I just spent on that damn phone. ... I don't want to talk about it anymore. And if you see me on the street, do not hi-five me for my illogical purchase. I just needed it because I want to be a writer and I don't want to serve tables when I'm 76 and... and... agh.
I'll make it up to you, Africa. I promise.
I almost almost went for the Blackberry Bold, but there were more dollar signs in my eyes than there were in my wallet, so I needed to really reel it in. I don't wanna be one of those assholes who has to make sure everyone sees her $2000 (I exaggerate) phone just to feel as if I'm getting something out of it. My status symbol will be that I enjoy making my life a little easier, not that I'm stupid enough to spend too much money on shit that I don't need.
In better news, I've fallen into a deep, dark, and wonderful pit of good music this week-- or maybe I'm just really open-minded right now.
I just wrote an almost complete update for the site in this general vicinity. That's no good. Read everything else I'd planned to blab about here instead.
Or (and?) just feel free to listen to one of my favorite (current) rock singers, Will Hoge:
... and pay close attention to 2:34. Because I feel the same. exact. way.
My interview with Glasvegas was great. They are a really nice group of people-- so much so that they decided I was cool enough to attend the concert with a plus one, despite its sold out-edness and with complete disregard for fire safety ordinances. So, because of Glasvegas, I got to see Carl Barat play live. For free.
cornered, the boy kicked out at the world. the world kicked back a lot fuckin' harder.
Feel free to disagree, but this is a once in a lifetime-type experience for me. No matter what else I do in this life, I will have gotten to see Carl Barat play live in my home state because of Glasvegas. That. is neat.
We spent a portion of the Glasvegas set standing next to Carl. Inside, I was a groupie who just wanted to be creepy and take pictures of him with my phone. Outside, I pretended to not notice by holding a conversation with a very cool photographer named Boone, who I still need to email.
Music journalism is the best thing I've ever done for myself.
Related: I am someone who loves to be busy. I love being too busy to be busy. I only have time to talk about the time I don't have. But this week has proven a bit overwhelming. To get things done, I have to travel-- but in traveling, I can't get anything done. It's something I need to learn to juggle.
And! Dude. I saw Carl Barat play live. I am crossing it off my List. He's got kind of a see you in another life, brother/Desmond from Lost look about him, right? Maybe it's just the shirt. And the hair. And the face.
P.S. I really like Kelly Clarkson, but based on the rules I've set for the site, I can't write about her unless I have to. And I can't write about music that I don't like (-- which, I'm learning, means we have a lot less content than I'd like). That said, I can tell you here that Kelly Clarkson is better than her new song, "My Life Would Suck Without You". Way to not try, Clive Davis. We really do need more of that in the music industry...
I read something fantastic just now. More or less, it talked about how things don't have to be dramatic to be great. Sometimes having fireworks in everything you do is more toxic than it is good.
If I can remember that and keep it in my back pocket for the rest of my life, things will improve exponentially in every way. I won't be able to apply this to every situation that it should be applied to because I will get wrapped up in the fireworks and forget-- right up until I'm sad that I forgot this rule that I vowed to remember and am kicking myself for getting wrapped up in the fireworks. Again.
And such is life.
I'm tired of the rollercoaster. Aren't you?
I'm going to Portland tomorrow to interview Glasvegas. ... Actually, no. I am going to Portland to see Andy for a few days. To lift the fog and to laugh. The Glasvegas interview was the catalyst, but it is not the reason.
I am leaving in 7 hours, and I have so much to do. An intern would be fantastic.
One. Though I never would really admit to the severity of it, I was totally one of those dog owners. In my cell phone pictures, I have a folder entitled "Sam." Because I am that kind of parent.
12.10.08
He is giving the camera the Crazy Eye. He was vicious the worst guard dog ever. Don't let that picture fool you.
I didn't talk about him ad nauseum, but Samson was home. So I am still sad.
Two. On the second day of the new year, I was taking a walk and I saw got to be part of this:
Oregon is like that. Just when you couldn't be more done and you think you've had all you can take, it hands you more beauty than you can handle.
Three. I can't write lately. I have too much to say and no one to say it to. So I am contemplating a trip to Andy on Sunday. I like spending time with Evan and Andy. They make me laugh, and they're logical in a way that I can align myself with. When I have issues that need to be addressed, I like to make my way north and sit on their couch in my pajamas and vent. Or just watch tv with them. ... Both are equally as therapeutic.
Four.There are people who appear in the magazines and I don't know who they are. I've never seen anything they've done and their careers are over already. They're famous for maybe 10 minutes. Real careers, I think, take a long time to unfold. - Matt Damon.
I like Matt Damon. He wrote Good Will Hunting and that is a fantastic movie that lives close to my heart.
I could only aspire to write something so great.
So I have respect for Matt Damon as a writer. My greatest heroes are writers, so I hold that in high regard. And though that quote is a pretty common sentiment, it came to me at just the right time. I would like to feel proud of whatever writing career I build for myself. I don't want to be rich by Thursday, and I don't want instant fame. But I do want to be able to be proud of what I've created, even if only for myself. I'm cheesy and pretentious in that way.
Welcome to 2009. It's insane to think that the first decade of the second millennium is nearly over.
Once I disregard why today was lame, today was pretty fantastic. At midnight I was having fun in a roomful of strangers, vague acquaintances, and Friend. We got sloppy about screaming the countdown six seconds before The Ball dropped over NYC. It was a fun experience. If I take the opportunity to do what we do on New Year's and reflect on times past, I realize that I haven't celebrated the new year in... maybe three years. My memory is hazy beyond that. But, yes. For at least the past few years, the New Year has rolled quietly over me like a wave of anti-excitement, and then I went to bed.
I don't mind it. I didn't cry myself to sleep any of those nights. I have since made the transition that most of us make when we exit our crazy party days and choose a favorite pair of pajamas to make love to on a Friday night. There is a point when you realize that you are never missing as much fun as you think you are if you don't go out and party. Fun times will be had, but they're usually pretty identical to the time before that. And the one before that. And then fun turns into repetition, and repetition turns into aching joints (25 is the new 56!), and aching joints turn into I'm-too-fucking-old-to-have-a-hangover-at-work-four-times-a-week. No one wants to be That Guy. (Unless you are that guy. In which case, hi-five for maintaining the standard for the rest of us.)
But this year, it was fun. Because it wasn't a house party. We were all past our days of early-20s binge drinking and whatever goes along with that. No one hooked up. No fights broke out. There was no girl drama. No one got naked. At midnight, we all gave one another hugs. Even the strangers. There was a bottle of Johnnie Walker Green on the table next to the Cuervo-- and I should point out that hardly anyone touched the Cuervo, which served as more of a death marker of days past than anyone's alcoholic beverage of choice. It was a classy affair.
2007 was a pretty monumental year. It was a year of ideas. And travel. 2008 was a big one, too, because I got to put all of those ideas into action. And I still got to travel. 2009 is for building on all of that. And for seeing exactly what I'm capable of once I get out of my own way. I really, truly cannot wait.
I'm breaking my previously quasi-pretentious resolution to not make resolutions (I thought they were just a clever procrastination device) and I'm making two (maybe three!) resolutions for 2009. I don't know what they are yet, but I want for them to be really good. I have some things in mind.
It's a new year and I'm happy about it. I feel like I'm at an alright place for being 25. I like being 25. As it stands, the worst could get worse and the better is only getting better.
My favorite game, it seems, is Have You Seen My Glasses?, followed closely by Hey, Can You Call My Cell Phone? because I apparently enjoy hiding things from myself.
Self-imposed thrills.
I have come to terms with the fact that I will never, never be able to ice skate. So if I make a snide remark about a figure skater, just know that it comes from a place of hurt and defeat.
