Guess This Is It, Then.

There are so many words in that title that should not be capitalized, but it looked stupid unless I was grammatically immoral. Sorry.

This day does not feel like the last day of school. It doesn't feel like any other day of school, either. It feels like some sort of weird, half-day summer camp governed by bells and schedules. I'm not exactly sure when this class period ends, so this might have kind of a quick stop.

I'm not entirely sure how to react to the fact that my junior year is ending. There are some school years that I'm very, very sure about. Like, when middle school ended? I bolted out of that building the first chance that I got. I didn't stop or say goodbye to anyone. I just left. Sophomore year was about the same. But now, it's not clear how I should react. This year was great. It was also horrible. The summer is going to be a bit like a tornado cutting through between school, and I don't know where (or how) I'm going to stand when all of the wind and dust and houses en route to Oz clear away.

I know I'm going to hate the start of my senior year, but I'm going to try this crazy new thing. It's called sucking it the hell up and not letting anything else break me like it has in the past. Which, of course, is going to be an astronomical challenge. I'm not good at feeling shit. It's either too much or too little, everything or none at all. Not letting anyone else get to me...it might be damn near impossible.

I think I can do it.

A Little Bit Of Rock and Roll

Is anyone else tired of the sense of exclusivity exuded by a good part of the musical community? It happens in every genre in some way. You can't sing pop unless you weigh three pounds and dress up in leather (or unless you go the opposite way and shove your promise ring in your fan's faces). You can't do rock unless you're a coke addict. You can't play indie-type music unless you've proven yourself properly offbeat. You can't sing country unless...well, actually, they'd probably let anyone in at this point. The requirements for that job are probably "can play banjo" and "has semi-functioning brainstem". But that's not that big a deal. When such strict limits are created, it's all the more fun to watch truely creative and innovative artists flagrantly break the rules. I'm talking less about the people who make the music and more about the people who listen to it.

Music has always connected people, and it always will. A person with only a middling amount of appealing qualities will most likely seem much more tolerable if he shares your passion for the Ramones' original lineup and knows that their song "The KKK Took My Baby Away" is not a commentary on civil rights but rather Joey's slightly offensive way of yelling at another band member for stealing his girlfriend. And let's face it: you love her, you really do, but you get the nagging feeling that you would love her so much more if she were to let you burn all of her Fall Out Boy albums and roast marshmallows over Infinity on High. That sense of connection is why I'm actually not going to be bitching about hipsters in this posts. Hipsters don't care about connection within their own ranks. That whole culture is about the egotistical desire to be more ironically obscure, because obscure equals hard to reach which equals cool which equals wanted. They exclude everybody, so it's less annoying and more ridiculous.

What's ridiculous is when a large group of people unite and decide that just because they all like the same music means that you all have to think the exact same way.

It's a more particular set that does this. You'd expect it to be pop, maybe, but it's not. Pop just wants your money. These guys want your souls.

There is no place where this specific type of exclusion is more prominent than in Rolling Stone. Actually, that's false: there might be a place somewhere, but Rolling Stone is the place where I noticed it. Specifically, I was looking at a feature that they have every moth, an info-graphic called "The Good, The Bad, and the Scary." It was comprised of a large horizontal line with two arrows surrounded by a bunch of news blurbs and pictures. On the blue end of the arrow was what the author considered good things, and the bad things resided on the red end. This wouldn't be such a big deal if it wasn't for the labels. The positive side read "With Us", and the negative one said "Against Us."

Okay. So not only does this sound totally freaky and 1984, but it's totally hypocritical! If you ask most liberals what they hate about conservatives, one of the reasons you will hear is most likely going to be "closed-minded" on issuses such as gay marriage, reproductive freedom, etc. But these people are practically making republicans into the anti-christ. I mean, North Korea launching nukes was lower down on the Scary Scale than Iowan Republicans stumping for the 2010 election! Basically, they are saying to their readers that if you do not share one outlook on life, you shouldn't be reading their magazine or listening to the music featured. You should probably be watching Bill O'Reilly somewhere.

I guess in the end this isn't really about music. It's about people and their bizzare need to deamonize and exclude and create an Us and a Them in every situation possible. And let me point out that I consider myself a liberal on most issues, besides maybe drug control. But I am all for gay marriage. I would really like people to stop shooting abortion doctors. I went to Obama rallies and own a t-shirt with his face on it. I just think that this is something that needs to stop. When we beleive that people with different social, political or moral views than us are evil, we sap ourselves of the power to ever sit down, talk and come up with a solution to important problems. It's a good way to make sure that the things on the red side of the arrow never go away.

Poor Word Choice

is something that happens to me occasionally. Especially when I'm tired. This makes Twitter and Facebook status feeds especially perilous for me to use.

It also happened to the bishop guy during my brother's confirmation cerimony. He was going on and on about how all of the people there were this and that and blah blah blah metaphors. Finally, he came to the conclusion that all of the little confirmandi (yeah, that's what he called them) were fruits (of God, I suppose). So, naturally, the next words out of his mouth were, "Lord, we ask you to listen to these fruits."

*facepalms*

I Can Haz Post?

Fridays.

....Yeah, I think that's about it.

Good Advice, Bad Advice and Nostalgia for Nostalgia's Sake.

(Reading back over this, it's basically an accidental English dork rant. Shut up.)

That is one damn funny word. Nostalgia, I mean. Words that end in vowels other than y often are.

I hate advice. I really do. Not the word, even though it has "vice" right in there, so that should tell you something, right? Lots of commas. No, I hate advice and the practice of giving it and getting it.

Wait, that's a lie. Giving advice is okay. It can be fun, depending on whether or not the situation is, I don't know, life-threatening or whatever. And I am always running around asking for a new opinion on stuff just to get all my thoughts out of my head. But, I don't know...advice is such a volatile thing. You give it, and people don't listen. Or they do listen, and it turns out that you were totally wrong and now are to blame for some huge disaster. People give it to you, and sometimes you're naiive enough to beleive that they know what is best for you. Then things blow up in your face, and you're left reeling because you followed what they told you to follow. Or maybe that's not everyone. Maybe that's just me, because I've figured out that I am accidentally predisposed to follow bad advice. ROAR. Anyways.

The Weird Shit I'm Reading/Listening To:

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink: I haven't seen the movie yet, but the book is really good. It actually sounds like someone remembering his past, with that slightly fuzzy, hazy feel to even the important memories. Lots of sex at the beginning (very German, i.e. straight to the point and a bit blunt) but by the end, it's all about the Holocaust. It's not, like, a feel-good read or anything, but it's pretty well-written and entertaining if you can concentrate on it hard enough.

Next to Normal Cast Recording: AHHHH MUSICALS? This album is fucking amazing. I don't even think I can talk about it enough. Basically, the show is about a manic-depressive mom and her family. Better than Rent but not as good as Spring Awakening (because what is, really?). If you listen to one song, make it Superboy and the Invisible Girl.

Why Being Mad Sucks:

Because, no matter how pissy I get, no matter what bullshit thing they did, no matter how much I hate them, I can't help but be worried that something bad will happen them in the interrum between the argument and when I see them next.

And they're weird, these cold friendships I'm in. Ones where we were going to talk it out or could have or didn't want to or whatever. It's bothering me.

Stocks suck.

Huh.

All the sophomore boys in this class are scared of me. They're generally pretty dickish, in all of their basketball-shorts-wearing, pubescent, braces-y glory, but then I ask if a kid could please move his chair for just a second because a part of my backpack was stuck under it and he rocketed back so fast that I think I saw those Roadrunner clouds of dust pop up all around the wheels of his swivel chair.

Maybe they think I shot a man in Reno.

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Oh my god I just spent ten-ish minutes playing with fonts and colors just to get pissed off and switch it back to the same old black background that I always have what is wrong with me AHH.

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Okay, I made there be colors. OH MY GOD THIS IS SO INTERESTING RIGHT

There's A Crow On The Roof. It's Yelling At Me.

Okay. So.

Ummmmmmmmmmm.

Well, this is hell of awkward. It's kind of been a while since I blogged. Don't expect me to keep up with it or anything. It's just another outlet to distract myself/procrastinate with.

Alright. I am in Finance right now. Finance is a class that will probably be helpful later on in life, but it's a little much at seven-fucking-thirty in the morning. Spreadsheets. Grr. And when we logged in, we all got the "Manifest" thing on our computers, which isn't all that interesting to me because I'm about 97% sure I already know what it is. I definately already know who's doing it. But, yknow, sophomore boys will talk about anything if they can do it in a derisive voice. So, bravo. You've sparked some interest.

It is early. I am talking. Ahhhhhrg.

I've been building up my spring soundtrack recently. It is bankrupting me more than any seasonal playlist before it, mostly because now I read NYLON and they have, like, ten pages of music reviews in every issue. The end result of which is that where last year, I had one mix CD that I kept in the car at all times and listened to from April til June, I'm probably going to end this month with, like, six.

The Weird Shit I'm Listening To, Vol. 1:

--Be Your Own Pet. They're defunct now, of course, because all bands I like must logically be dead before I get to them XP. Their first CD is a little too dischordant and fuzzy for me (bordering on early Bikini Kill. Or any Bikini Kill, realliy), but "Get Awkward" is an amazing album. The singer is really fun and scream-y and most of their good stuff is on their EP's. Best Songs: Damn Damn Leash, Becky, What's Your Damage.

--The Coathangers. Anytime I see their name, I pronnounce the "th" in my head. They are fucking hilarious, one of those bands who you know would be amazing live. First album (self-titled) is the better of the two they have out, mostly because on the first, they sound like they're thrashing about and having a shitload of fun and are on several types of hallucenogens. Then they slow it down on the second. Which is sad.

Okay finance is almost over so I'm gonna shut up PEACE