Disemvowelled

listening to: salyu – peaty

Maan. I love Neil Gaiman.

And so does Metaquotes, apparently.

And you know, try as I might, I do not understand the appeal of Harry/Pansy slash. I mean, I suppose any pairing is valid in this freak-show of a fandom but…why?? I’m sorry, but seeing this got me wondering a bit. I mean, I guess it is an ideal pairing if Thora Birch is actually Pansy Parkinson. Or Natalie Portman. Perhaps I just don’t understand the Hot Slytherin appeal thing in general. I’m discovering that there are a lot of things about the HP fandom I don’t understand…

So I Get Creamed

listening to: tori amos – spring haze

For about two weeks now, I’ve had what I thought was a stitch in my left shoulder. Just this ever-present sensation of pain every time I’ve taken a breath in. Last night I figured out that it’s not just a random stitch in my side, but the biggest knot POSSIBLE, on the left side of my upper-back. And AAAAAAAAAAH.

I was complaining to my mom about the pain in my left side, and she said “maybe it’s a knot. I’ll try to rub it out for you,” but I was all like “NO! Nobody is allowed to touch me EVAR.” Because, seriously. I hate touching. Hugs are fine. Hugs are great in fact. But random idle shoulder-touching and crap. NO, plz. And for that matter, all of the possibly three people who I have ever allowed to try and give me a back-rub has failed miserably. They were more like “allow me to very slowly let my hand run up and down your back and apply absolutely no pressure whatsoever” rubs. So, no. No back-rubs, ever.

But my mom persuaded me. And she did not dissapoint me. She went straight to the knot and did her best to rub it out thoroughly. Which at the time I thought might help. I also heated up a rice-bag (ie, a large, heavy sock filled with rice) and let it sit on my neck in hopes of helping to loosen whatever was tight.

But when I woke up this morning, it still felt like there was a stitch on my left side, and maybe a little bit sore. It was as though knot had actually spread and migrated UPWARDS towards my neck. And then I tried to reach back and find the spot that had been killing me yesterday, and JESUS GOD, it HURT! There was a fricking BRUISE on my back where the knot had originally started.

So ow, perhaps.

In other things, better and happier things, I learned the song You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away on the mandolin in like five minutes last night. Also, Josh helped me figure out how to FRICKING CHANGE THE STRINGS. Seriously. There’s this box-thing above the tail-piece of the instrument, and it’s only taken me two years to figure out how to open it. Horaay.

Where Words Fail, Grunts Will Do Just Fine

listening to: number girl – tenkousei

So, I could waste a lot more space than I am here by being a passive-aggressive twit, too. But that’s not the way I am. I like to say that something is bothering me or stay shut up. So I will say something: BITE ME. And now I will shut up.

…hi.

I spent a good majority of today laughing tears of painful laughter. Mostly at things like The Chat. It’s been months since I’ve really been involved in anything random and amusing involving mistypes or being QESOME, so it was good. Quite entertaining. I will insert excerpts later. I eat meat.

Also, I finally met up with Josh. Initially I thought it was going to be our old typical method of jam: Josh on guitar, myself on bass. But no. I was instructed to bring my mandolin. And Jesus God. It was GREAT. After some initial talking, futzing around and Martin distracting us (“Come on, play something good. … Yeah, –no. Play something better”), it turned out to be the two of us over a keyboard amp and a loop pedal, taking turns recording over an original riff (I knew there was a reason I ended up getting an electric mandolin).

It was also really good for me to have Josh–who had a lot of already existing written materiel of his own–yelling chords at me and forcing me to apply on-the-spot crap to the mandolin. Most of what I do with that thing revolves around easy chord changes I’ve already copied from R.E.M. songs or similarities in tuning with that of the cello. It kind of squeezed some small measley amount of musical creativity out of brain and that’s really good for me. I’m honestly afraid of my ideas of “creativity” caving in, especially in front of someone else.

I also got to kind of ramble about why being a stupid music performance major bothers me, and that I have to do other things that don’t involve cello in order to satisfy my music-making desires. It was nice. Maybe even reassuring. I think sometimes I take for granted the fact that I able to make any sort of music in the first place. I know it’s more than just “being able to.” I’ve worked for it. But…I just need to remind myself that I’m lucky to be able to do anything of this sort.

In other things RAAAAAH.

I think I’ve just been sucked back into an old feeling of meekness and inability to express myself through my blog. Frowl. I should seriously just switch over to lj permanently so I can write friends-only entries that consist mostly of “OMG WEASLEYSCELLOJAPAN *DEATH*” without any hitch.

Lucia: I like ass-sprocket

M.E.D.: I’ve just conned Michelle into going to the Harry Potter Book 6 midnight release-party at B&N with me. And I got to thinking “that Megan girl, she likes Harry Potter and has actually read the books.” Might you be interested in joining us?? Because…WE LURVE YOU! (P.S. The purpose of going is not to party with scary fans, but to get the book)

Officially Off His Trolley: Tom Cruise

listening to: brian eno – third uncle

Wow. You guys, Tom Cruise is fucking nuts.

So, I first heard of this whole “Scientology, weehee!” thing maybe a week ago, when my Mom was saying she’d seen this interview on the Today Show where Tom Cruise completely makes an ass of himself in Matt Lauer’s face. She informed me that she is determined never to see another Tom Cruise film again. Which is…saying something. Because, my Mom. She’s pretty laid back about life, at least as far as idiot media-icons are concerned.

I’ve never really been a fan of Tom Cruise, truthfully. I liked Minority Report the first time I saw it, but I think that was more a Speilbergian thing I had going, as opposed to a Tom-Cruise-liking thing. I liked The Last Samurai, and maybe kinda sorta thought I might be able to respect him a little for his role and such.

But my mother’s exasperation made me curious. So I googled (with the specific words “tom cruise crazy.” I don’t know what my problem is. You’d think I would just search “tom cruise today show” and have gotten something. Although I suppose “Tom Cruise fucks off on National TV” would have sufficed as well…), was led to this interview transcript and…

The man is OFF his TROLLEY.

If it’s not enough that he has no sufficient support for any of his arguments…

TOM CRUISE: i’ve never agreed with psychiatry, ever. Before I was a Scientologist I never agreed with psychiatry. and when i started studying the history of psychiatry, i understood more and more why i didn’t believe in psychology.

…then it’s his mindless bashing of Matt Lauer:

TOM CRUISE: No, you see. Here’s the problem. You don’t know the history of psychiatry. I do.

What a little…%$#@&! Dude, random symbols don’t even convey what my feelings for Tom Cruise have come to.

And you know, I have to say. Matt Lauer is a wonderful person. The most wonderful person. If it had been anyone else, I don’t think Tom Cruise would have all his fingers afterwards.

MATT LAUER: I’m just saying. But– but aren’t there–
TOM CRUISE: Matt.
MATT LAUER: –examples where it works?
TOM CRUISE: Matt. Matt, Matt, you don’t even– you’re glib. You don’t even know what Ritalin is. if you start talking about chemical imbalance, you have to evaluate and read the research papers on how they came up with these theories, Matt, okay. That’s what I’ve done. Then you go and you say where’s– where’s the medical test? Where’s the blood test that says how much Ritalin you’re supposed to get?
MATT LAUER: You’re– you’re– it’s very impressive to listen to you. Because clearly, you’ve done the homework. And– and you know the subject.

Clearly, Matt Lauer is a Saint.

Seriously, go read this now. Or find another transcript or whatever. I promise you a full five minutes of head-whacking. Maybe even ten. Lemme know.

Also, I think I’m addicted to block-quotes.

*edit* Conversation of a related nature…

REBECCA: “and when i started studying the history of psychiatry, i understood more and more why i didn’t believe in psychology.”
REBECCA: okay, so…lots of things have a really ugly history behind them, does that mean i can stop believing in them too?
ME: oh man, you just wait until he starts personally riding all up in matt lauer’s kool-aid
REBECCA: that nearly made me inhale my carbonated beverage. thanks a lot.
ME: …excellent. part one of plan: complete.
REBECCA: oh, and i saw the clip of him saying “you don’t know the history of psychiatry, i do” on the daily show
REBECCA: that’s where i heard about it
ME: just keep reading, and then you’ll REALLY inhale your carbonated beverage

Somebody needs to help me invent new insults involving the word “ass.”

Bitch, Get In My Car!!

listening to: tokyo jihen – omatsuri sawagi

I hate drivers at 8am. I hate falling-apart food at 8am. I hate professors at 8am. I have this feeling I would like this professor dude quite a lot if I had him at a different, happier time of the day. Such as 2pm. Or something.

Some weird crap is going on with my blog template, I know. I’m going to try and reinsert blogger code from scratch with matching css crap, eventually. When I have brain-power. And patience. And stuff. It would admittedly help if I could fricking SEE the problem for myself. RAAAAH, OLD CRAPPY BROWSER.

Bitch, get in my CAR!

P.S. Dear Cali, I am going to SET YOU ON FIRE for leading my attention to HP#6 spoilers. Especially about WHO FUCKING DIES. I will not look. I will not look. I will not look. Oh my god. If Rowling kills of Ron, I am fucking going to send her several letter-bombs. Insert anguished squealing noises and more use of the word “fuck” here. Aaah.

Why Things Are Better: A Rambling List

listening to: man or astroman – curious constricts

Take the MIT Weblog Survey So…yes. If you have a weblog/have kept a weblog, you should go take the survey. It takes about 15 minutes. It is pain-less. DUU IT. Bitch, get in my CAR!

Crazies are abating fast. I have been continously less crazy through-out the day, and it only seems to be getting better. I don’t know what did it. Maybe it’s the Stuart Davis thing. Maybe it’s the fact that Josh is back from Texas and we are going to herd our menagerie of random instruments tomorrow. Maybe it’s the Eddie Izzard I watched earlier (“the HAIR THEIVES. Steal your hair, they do”). Maybe it’s how my blog just contributed to, er–science. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m going to send something awesome to Rebecca as soon as she SENDS ME HER MAILING ADDRESS. Maybe it’s HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER FANFIC HARRY POTTER.

It doesn’t matter what it is. It’s awesome and I’m feeling quite good.

Oh, it could also be the Lenny Bruce autobiography. From How to Talk Dirty and Influence People:

“Perhaps at this point I ought to say a little something about my vocabulary. My conversation, spoken and written, is usually flavored with the jargon of the hipster, the argot of the underworld, and Yiddish.

In the literate sense–as literate as Yiddish can be since it is not a formal language–“goyish” means “gentile.” But that’s not the way I meant to use it.

To me, if you live in New York or any other big city, you are Jewish. It doesn’t matter even if you’re Catholic; if you live in New York you’re Jewish. If you live in Butte, Montana, you’re going to be goyish even if you’re Jewish.

Evaporated milk is goyish even if the Jews invented it. Chocolate is Jewish and fudge is goyish. Spam is goyish and rye bread is Jewish.

Negroes are all Jews. Italians are all Jews. Irishmen who have rejected their religion are Jews. Mouths are very Jewish. And bosoms. Baton-twirling is very goyish. Georgie Jessel and Danny Thomas are Christians, because if you look closely on their bodies you’ll find a boil somewhere.

To trap and old Jewish woman–they’re crafty and they will lie–just seize one and you will find a handkercheif balled-up in one of her hands.

I can undersatnd why we can’t have a Jewish President. It would be embarrassing to hear the President’s mother screaming love at the grandchildren: “Who’s Grandma’s baby! Who’s Grandma’s baby!”

“…And this is Chet Huntley in New York. The First Lady’s mother opened the Macy’s Day Parade screaming, ‘Oy zeishint mine lieber‘ and furiously pinching young Stanley’s cheeks…”

Aaaah, yeah. That’d do it.

Oooh, it’s also possibly the fact that I am seriously starting to channel Kameda Seiji’s bass-playing (You know. That guy? Who’s in Tokyo Jihen and has played every album of Shiina Ringo’s and is AWESOME?! Him).

Spitting Out White Noise, Digging Those Black Holes

listening to: stuart davis – anesthesia necrophelia

Wow. So, I think I’m making a come-back. Yeah. You know that point you reach, where there really isn’t much that could seem worse, and from there on out it only gets better? I’ve reached that point. Possibly because of Stuart Davis, with whom I spent most of my night. I think listening to that stuff is just a thorough reminder of who and what I am, which I’ve definitely lost some track of recently. I mean, maybe this is only a temporary idiot-cease-fire, but I’m milking it for everything it’s worth, yeehaw!

I know I sound like an idiot when it comes to this crap, the going-crazy crap, but it’s hard for me to talk about everything that’s been bothering me. And it has greatly to do with perception. I think a huge part of the problem is that I’ve gotten wrapped up with the way my life would seem through other people’s eyes, trying to keep in mind that everything I do could in some way please or effect another person. Which, you know. Might add to my regular insanity. And after realizing this, I think I have at least partially returned to my old “fuck-off!!!” self. I realize makes nnno sense. Ah, but then it does make sense. People are stupid, over-contemplating ass-holes. I mean, I am a stupid, over-contemplating ass-hole.

Also, it just occurred to me how much I have to look forward to right now. JaMeg will be home in just a month. I am totally going to be visiting Lucia sometime soon. I am looking for a NEW CELLO (god dammit. Will I ever find one?!). There are SO MANY BOOKS TO READ. HP#6 comes out in 18 days. And Weasleys are HAWT!!

Oh aaand: Rebecca, yes Dumbledore cried. But there was a lot of CAPSLOCK ANGST in those last few chapters, and it was pretty distracting. And I can’t figure out what’s wrong with my template, either. It doesn’t help that it appears fine to me. Also, send me your mailing address.

M.E.D. – I miss you, too.

It’s Not Your Situation, I Just Need Contemplation Over You

listening to: shiina ringo – georgy porgy

Over-contemplation of everything…GO!

Sigh. I’m starting to see that it might have been a really bad idea to stay home this summer. Maybe I should have gone to Musicorda. I mean, taking classes is all very well and it’s going to make my class-load in the next three years very ideal for everything musical I’ll need to accomplish. But…I think I’m going crazy here. In this household. In this little mini-verse of insanity I’ve created for myself. I can’t remember a summer where I’ve just sat in one place for this long. I spend all school-year dreaming of someplace better…only to spend all summer dreaming of someplace better. The depressing part is that I’m only going to be going back to situation A in another two months.

Aside from that, I think I’m authorizing some very brilliant self-torture tactics, and testing them on myself. It’s leaving me fairly emotionally unstable (I cried at various points during the last hundred pages of HP#5, especially the part where Dumbledore cried). I’m still suffering from a very serious case of the what-ifs. In almost every area of my life that is possible. I really wish I could expand on this crap here. But I don’t want to. If I say it on my blog, that just makes it real. Oh heck–er I mean hell. Hell, I say.

I was actually thinking, recently. About this weird belief that’s embedded itself into my head. This belief that you can’t obtain real satisfaction in life and work unless you suffer for it in turn. Yeah, hi, Jewish blood. How’re you doing? And when I thought “COLLEGE” years ago, I always envisioned that the academic struggles would be where I fit into college suffering. I was so certain of it. But…no. No. It’s all of the stupid stuff. The stuff in my head that gets me. I like the work (um…most of the work, anyway *grimaces at rememberance of rolling die until 3am for a chance composition in music theory–p.s. I got a 100% on that assignment*). I like that I am filling my head with things I generally care about in some form. I like that I am learning about the cello, and training my brain and fingers how to play it. But it’s almost like…I go into overload, start thinking about the future and the past and over-contemplating existence.

Wait. Wait. Wait. I’m just realizing something. I’m doing all of the over-contemplating about school and life RIGHT NOW, too. I mean, I did a lot of it during school, sure, but being isolated and having less to do now is DEFINITELY making me crazy during this time in the year where I’m supposed to be at least…recovering my sanity. Excellent. Never during the year will I be not-crazy.

Anyway. I just need to hold out. I figured out how to do it through this year. It’s quite possible life will improve on its own just by my getting used to it and continuing to divert myself the ways I’ve successfully managed in the last year. Eventually I will find myself in a location and a situation where I might be at least complacent, but I guess until then, I should expect a little bit of suffering.

I am crazy.

And maybe I haven’t been a very good friend, either. I think I need to be there for some people right now, who really need it. It’s hard when I don’t see people every day, or they don’t live down the hall from me. I’m not just talking about college-friends, either. Heh, what college-friends?

I suck, too.

I am crazy and I suck.

But I feel better, and for now, that might count for something.

P.S. If you would like to view a meme I filled out earlier while I was completely snarkily pessimistic, go here. Warning: meme answers contain warped song-lyrics and incessant ripping on myself. Haha, oh wait. That shit is actually kind of fun. Hee hee!

P.P.S. Rebecca, I don’t know if you’ll end up reading this but a) I don’t see a problem with the post so you must be crazy or seeing things or my html code hates life itself and b) the Weasley twins are 6 months younger than myself, so I think I’m off the hook in terms of being charged as a pedophile. Unless you were referring to the “I LOVE little boys” comment. In which case…go you!

Insert Fuck-Off Statement Here

listening to: buffalo daughter – mirror ball

Hell, am I ever a whiny bitch. Oh, but hey. Guess what? I don’t care!!

I finished HP#5 which did not help to ease my bitchiness. It just…I mean, it was good. But I think I’m just sort of emotionally not-with-it right now, because AAAAGASDFasdFLKJ.

And I guess it’s good that there are only 3 weeks until #6 or I would simply be a robo-bitch of terrifying proportions right now. Oh, but who I am kidding. I wouldn’t want to be around me if I were people right now, either.

The problem with running out of a particular obsessive series at one point is that there is a NEED to continue reading…SOMETHING. And so I picked up Lenny Bruce’s autobiography and slid through a bit of it. I only know of Lenny Bruce through occasional mentions and some of the things I’ve read about him (And R.E.M.’s “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It). I wished I could have experienced his comedy upfront before starting the book, but now that I’ve actually read parts of it, I don’t care. It’s fricking HILARIOUS. I love the part dedicated to what is goyish and what is Jewish, non-Jewish as I am…

God freaking dammit.

This Entry: Why I Should Not Blog Until I Get More Sleep

listening to: v6 – utao utao

Yay! Kerry came! And we did all the things we said we would and more! Like: watch MST3k; Merlin’s Shop of Mystical Wonders (“I’m going to hit the mystical can!!“), watch Eddie Izzard, stalk Justin (YAAAAY!!! HE’S ALIVE!!!!), watch stand-up of Dana Carvey and Paula Poundstone, exchange really good music, me possibly turn Kerry into a fellow Shiina Ringo-obsessee, etc.

Awesome.

I’m going to visit her in August, which is ASDFLKJ$!#!@#%

In the mean-time, what the heck am I going to do about this cello-thing? I definitely don’t like the Cison. I don’t seem to like anything I play, in fact. But I need a new instrument, badly.

Meanwhile, I somehow ended up watching the Caroline Thompson production of Black Beauty on Thursday night, while feeling ill. Yeah, SHUT UP I KNOW. But I really really really like that movie. I mean, first and foremost, music by Danny Elfman. Then there’s casting. Sean Bean is…FARMER GREY! Future KING of GONDOR. Then there’s (my personal favorite, and I seriously would not stop half-squealing in my delirious excitement) David Thewlis…DEFENSE AGAINST the DARK ARTS professor at HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY and also London Cabby (I love that man). Who else? Alan Cumming does the voice of Black Beauty. Which is sexcellent, except for the fact that I have a problem associating his voice with anything else that is non-horse. Then there’s also Andrew Knott, who I definitely had a 7-year-old admiration thing for after seeing him in The Secret Garden. Then there’s just the thing with the horses. I miss horses, a lot.

Sometimes I really regret having disappeared from the horsing world after high school started. Pony Club was eh. I really didn’t like a lot of the parent/rider crap, and some of the elitist attitude stuff going around. It was just another sporting world in that respect. And in all honesty, I was much more comfortable doing stable-work and caring for the animals than I was competing or training. But horses are such amazing and amiable creatures. But…I really miss being the working-student for a five-person family with twenty horses, five goats, two dogs, 40 cats, 100+ acres of woodland that didn’t seem to fit into the whole flat-thing that is Central Illinois. I miss being the one up and feeding everything that moves at 7am. I miss being the one of the many to close things up at night. I wish I could still be training miniature horses and jumping through ginormous woodland ditches and…stuff.

I think I also miss the sense of belonging, as naturally I would in my stupid melancholy manner of being. I don’t think my family is necessarily dysfunction. In fact, I think we get along swimmingly if we’re all coordinating our good moods and our desire to be social. But there’s definitely some weird thing wherein everybody wants to avoid eachother and it makes the entire household radiate grumpiness. And I almost felt like I was in more of a solid family network when I was the working-student for this family. Sigh.

Self, shut up. Go to bed.

But the–adda–wibba.

You heard me. GO!

Okay, but first, I only have 100 pages of HP # 5 left, and I can’t seem to bring myself to read it. It’s like…when I’m done, what else can I do but twiddle my thumbs for three weeks? …And read fanfic?–I DIDN’T JUST TYPE THAT I SWEAR.

I like my women like I like my coffee…eh, COVERED IN BEES!!!

It Was Not My Goddamn Fault There Was A Painter In My Teacher’s Driveway!!!

listening to: buffalo daughter – mirror ball

Eff you, City of Urbana parking. EFF YOU.

Oh well. At least I am responsible and crap.

So, this is really just a filler entry so people won’t have to read about how I think the Weasley twins are HAWT in the entry below. And just the fact that I am pointing this out makes me about 10x more awesome that I already was.

Highly Aggressive Dustbins (aka, The Weasley Twins = HAWT)

listening to: manu chao – por el suelo (live)

Do you ever sort of collide into a memory, but then you can’t work out if the memory was an actual something that happened, or a dream? I’ve been going through one of those for DAYS and I can’t figure it out. All I remember is the song Jitensha (Bicycle) by Judy and Mary playing. And I’m singing along to the main chorus, but instead of the word “jitensha,” I’m singing “jidousha” (dictionary). And I may or may not be in a car driving, because that’s the most likely place to find me singing along with Judy and Mary. But then there’s somebody with me, and they specifically point out that I’m singing “dictionary” instead of “bicycle,” but THAT NEVER HAPPENED!! I mean, all my friends who speak Japanese are either in Japan or…not with me at school. Also, I can’t remember playing Judy and Mary in my car for like…a year. I think from this we can assume: dream.

But it’s just so weird. I could swear this was an actual occurance in life. Especially because most of the insignificant things that occur like that in dreams, I never remember for more than five minutes. But still. It totally never happened. I’ll just go with dream.

Oh my god. This Harry Potter thing is getting out of hand. I mean, my Harry Potter thing. I’m still not done with book five, as I took something of an “off-day” in terms of reading. But…for chrissake, I watched PoA last night (“AHHH! Get out of my school supplies, Crazy Gary Oldman!”). I’ve been cruising LJ communities like crazy. Especially icon-communities. If anybody catches me getting into fanfic, tranquilizers may be used. But then again, if I were to read fanfic, I’d be way too savvy to be caught doing it. Nyeh heh heh.

But yeah. Can I just bring up the hot-ness of the Weasley twins??? No, seriously. Hot. Like, I remember during the second movie where everybody was still going “OMG OLIVER WOOD” and I was quietly contemplating to myself “Weasley…twins…” and hoping people weren’t going to kick me around for not liking Oliver Wood. And then during PoA I think I just sort of went “fuck it: THE WEASLEY TWINS ARE HOTT!” Yeah. hott. Heck, even HAWT (note: this is probably coming off rather strange to people who aren’t used to my going “OMG HOTT” at anything but Tori Amos and Shiina Ringo, whose music I find hott-err, hawt. I think I generally avoid talking about the hot-ness of boys, because it makes me feel kind of…grossly shallow, and it’s honestly not something I am concerned with when it comes down to it. But hell. WEASLEY TWINS = HAWT). But then I forgot about them in my whole distracted-by-not-Harry-Potter things for a while.

So anyway. It’s also nice that I can like the Weasley twins and not feel like a pediphile, much the way I would if I were all “DAN RADCLIFFE AND RUPERT GRINT, HOTT.” Er, I meant, “HAWT.” But still. I will always be endlessly amused at the memory of this, which took place while sitting next to Renata during the first movie, in the theater:

Me: I LOVE LITTLE BOYS!
Renata: …
Me: Not like that. STOP LOOKING AT ME.

Oooh my god. It was way better when I was fangirling over Deathstalker, where there is no movie for me to gawk over. Please just ignore this entry.

Readers Reserve All Rights To Tell Talia To Shut Up

listening to: buffalo daughter – mirror ball

I think I just found one reason that I should not have been allowed to study music theory.

Warning: This blurb contains excessive amounts of blabbing in theoretical music crap. Though the ideas are not exactly advanced, they may end up boring you anyway. So, you know the drill.

Okay. I heart this song. I tried to upload it for listening pleasure, but ftp clients and OS 9 suck, so here is like half the song. I just sort of fell upon it, since I’ve heard nothing of Buffalo Daughter’s latest album (note: Buffalo Daughter consists of three members; two Japanese girls who play guitar and bass, and then Dr. Moog, whose name explains everything. They were one of the original bands that were on the Grand Royal (you know, Beastie Boys) label and…I lurrve them. Epitonic does a better job explaining their deal than I do). And it goes on for seven minutes doing practically the same thing over and over again but building, which tells you a little about how my brain likes to work musically. Stupid minimalistic brain.

And, this song has something in its harmonic motion about it that I immediately recognized was present in other songs that I like, too, and I think it’s something that has attracted me to music since I was younger, in fact. I’ve noticed it in other pop-ish songs I’ve listened to, but I’ve never really sat down and asked myself “how do the chords move” until now, even though the movement isn’t really subtle.

So anyway, the basic root chords of this pattern go like this:

Major I, down to a Major V, Major VII(natural) and down to a Major IV, or for easy reading, I V VII IV.

This pattern can appear in similar forms, maybe with chords in different inversions or with alterations. Even this song is a little wonky, in that there are some extra notes that might not strictly be a part of those chords.

I don’t know how obvious it is to the ears of most people how this takes the first movement from I to V and then repeats it a whole step down, from the VII to the VI (which could just be considered another I to V, a whole step down from the original, or tonicized. It’s pop music and nobody’s grading me, so I can refer to things however I want, hah).

So if you played all those chords in their root positions, you might notice a pattern of notes in the chords themselves that move from the first note, down in half-steps. That could actually be a bass-line, interestingly enough. It just takes the root chords (I V VII IV) and changes the V and IV chords so they’re up a third (otherwise known as V6 and IV6 chords). It doesn’t even have to be in the bass, really. I think for me, if it’s brought out in any way, I’ll notice. With this song it’s G-F#-F-E.

I don’t know what it is about this pattern that I enjoy so much. Because sure enough I know it’s in other music I like. Such as, Phish’s Bouncing Around the Room, R.E.M.’s King of Comedy, or the Cranberries’ Linger (even though I actually have never cared much for that song so much for other reasons, somehow). I think maybe I like the fact that the second motion echoes the first, but just a whole-step down. It’s simple, not very subtle, but nice. Sort of wishy-washy or melancholy.

I wonder what Professor Nez would think of my sad over-analysis of bizarre rock. She’d probably say something along the lines of “I do beleive I’m going to have an 18th-century faint!”

Note: I think I just need to mention that I am awesome because I heard the song once before I went to the piano and transferred the thing to keyboard in a form identical to the original. Yay! I love perfect pitch again now that I don’t have to sit in a class-room of singing people with NO pitch, fricking aural skills.

Baby’s On Fire, Better Throw Her In The Water

listening to: brian eno – baby’s on fire

Dude. J.K. Rowling owns my soul. Officially. Sort of the way Simon R. Green owned my soul for a good portion of last summer. Except…a lot less Space Opera and a lot more Wizarding School. Harry Potter, why is your series so good?!

So…I think I’ve taken a good 350 page chunk out of book five from the time I started it yesterday morning. Which is sort of ridiculous. I mean, especially considering that I’ve read these books before. But the thing that I found out when I re-read book four last week is that I don’t remember aaaanything that happened. Like, none of it. I threw several sporadic fits of surprise at certain parts. I think that perhaps in my original excitement about particular things in the book, or being distracted by whatever, I simply did not read the books as well as I would have liked. And thus, my memory has these sporatic holes in them.

So yeah. Really excited for the sixth book. Even though I’m screwed because I’m going to have another three weeks to wait by the time I’m finished with book five. I’ve been going crazy all over the book six rumors and interviews and crap. I really shouldn’t, if I knew what was best for me. So I’m just going to come out and say it…J.K. Rowling, if you kill Ron Weasley, I will send you LETTER BOMBS. Seriously. I hate this:

Question: Are you going to kill any more characters?
J.K.R: Yes. Sorry.

Along with…

Question: What will Ron’s job be when he leaves school?
J.K.R: Well, assuming he lives to leave school… I’m not going to tell you :)

GAAAH!!

Also, I’m kind of looking around at bits and images for the fourth movie. Most of my sentiments are along the lines of GET A HAIRCUT, YOU HIPPIES!!!

Seriously. Rupert Grint, get a haircut. You too, Daniel Radcliffe. Jesus.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I should not be allowed near a computer with a working connection at the present time. Thank you, and goodnight.

LLLLLLOUSY

listening to: number girl – mukai night

Word, people.

Alright. The verdict is in, and this summer is LOUSY.

All I’m doing is alternating between practicing and reading and taking classes at 8am and being randomly really bitter for seemingly little reason. I’m boxed in, which isn’t helping. My friends have lives, thus eliminating the need to frolic with lifeless losers such as myself (I don’t blame them, in any case). I’m finding myself having to make personal decisions about giving up on people and things, in a kind of painful way. I am questioning myself like CRAZY, about absolutely everything. Especially music. Aaaaaah.

I think the biggest problem of all is that I’m not moving anywhere. Every summer since I can remember, I’ve traveled somewhere, and it’s the thing that highlights my entire summer. Even the prospect alone of traveling is important to me. It just doesn’t make a full summer if I haven’t traveled. I don’t think driving up to Chicago to decide against another cello counts. I’m actually writing about traveling, in note-book form, to ease my insanity. Aaargh.

I finished reading HP #4 in three days. That was a good, occupying read. Sucks you in like no other, Harry Potter does. Although I have to admit that I practically burst into tears in places towards the end. Currently I’m rampaging through HP #5. And is it sad that I’m finding myself identifying with Harry’s teenage rage, or what? I guess it’s never too late for teenage rage, when I think about it.

I miss people. I miss Jamie and Megan. I think the thing that defines this summer as crappy more than anything is the fact that they’re not here. It figures, the one summer I’d actually be home. I miss Lucia. I haven’t seen her in almost a year, and that’s wrong to me. I miss Rachel, who I haven’t seen in three years. Our delightful phone-conversations are one of the few things keeping me in high spirits, so far.

Kerry is coming to frolic next Friday and AAAAAAAAAH HURRY AND GET HERE, FRIDAY!! I’ve missed Kerry, too. I think I wanted to mention sometime at the end of the semester how awesome it was I got to live with her this year, but I was too busy freaking the fuck out at that point. Having the coolest roommate possible made my year immeasureably better than it would have otherwise.

I think I just need to let go of everything. Far easier said than done.

In the mean-time, I have Harry Potter and obsessive writing. I’ve been doing writing other than blogging and booking (I actually haven’t booked in over a month, to be honest) lately, and it’s one of the cool things happening to me this summer.

And room-cleaning. I have that, too, and I think I’m going to go do that right now.

Home After Two Weddings In Ten Hours

listening to: dismemberment plan – onward, fat girl

Today was long. But I made $250. Making my total earnings in a week and a half $480. Which is pretty good. It helps that I end up never buying anything, and putting pretty much everything I earn into my savings. I say this entitles me to a PS2. And possibly Nick’s amp. If he wants to sell it to me. Seriously. Because I never buy anything.

Things about today:

+Always carry Altoids. Always.

+If you let me ride with you to both gigs, which are taking place in Funk’s Grove and Mackinaw, I will ask you which routes you are taking and make you talk to me about backroads for ten minutes.

+Children should be banned from attending anything. For eternity. Or at least until they know how to keep their cake-holes shut.

+Female pasters who can’t seem to speak in anything but scratchy grunts should not be allowed to wed two people in front of an audience.

+There should be an ordinance stating that all men who are middle-aged should be required to wear pants at ALL TIMES.

+I tend to forget, living in my own little wacko-musician family, how frighteningly conservative and christian Central Illinois is. During the second wedding, the paster rambled for five minutes about the subserviant role of women in a marriage while the bride listened and nodded gravely, and I could just hear the screeching of some very feminist friends of mine in the back of my head, telling me to throw tables (p.s. I don’t think I’m strong enough to throw tables. At least not big ones).

+Never put me in a quartet with Dianne unless you want me to seriously snicker through half of the reception we play. This has been so for over four years, now. Aaaah, love my old quartet.

+I almost stole an amp from the church we played in tonight. It looked and reminded me of Big Ugly, U-High’s original bass amp. It was just sitting in a corner, all lonely and isolated. It would have been way too conspicuous, though. Me trying to push this enourmous amp across the carpeted floor of the church, towards the direction of the door. People would come up to me and asked “What…are you doing?” And I would not help my conspicuous situation by saying something like “Stealing an amp. Are you BLIND?!” *shove* *shove* *shove* “YES! I moved an inch that time!”

+Trader Joe’s, I love you for your garlic hummus, and how it makes my breath lovely. I love you for your tripple ginger snaps, which have real candied ginger in them. But I think over-all, I love you for how inexpensive your Ritter Sport hazelnut in dark choclate bars go for. EIN MINUTEN, BITTE.

So yeah. Weddings. It took me like 10 hours, but now I’m back home and bored and wondering if I should go and try to convince myself I like this Cison 2004 cello once again, because I sure as hell have nothing else to do.

Rebecca: Your comment made me choke on my lime-ade from laughter because…hahaha, this is the funny thing…I was the one who made you listen to This American Life!! I was all like “wow, there’s this awesome fiction story about this armadillo and you should listen to it” and you were like “Oooh, okay” and you DID listen to it, and you LIKED it, and you even made reference to it in THIS CHAT that I saved and posted about earlier. And…hahaha! HAHAHA! HA HA HA!

Tag This Entry Under: Stupid

listening to: v6 – cosmic rescue

Man. I knew cool crap would result from Sixapart getting their hands on Livejournal.

Livejournal now supports tags.

I’m kind of trying my hardest to not to impulsively switch over to Movable Type right now. Come on, Blogger. TAGS!

Anyway. Tags resulted in me spending about an hour changing my lj layout to something cool-looking and customizable with unfortunately pukey colors. I will change the color-scheme when I have the brains to do so.

Stupid Livejournal.

Another One Shot Down

listening to: tokyo jihen – service (goddamn this song)

Well, after a few hours of playing and thinking and running and eating pizza with my mother, I’ve ruled out this Cison 2004. I’ve been comparing it to my cello, and once again, it just doesn’t do enough. I really don’t want to run myself in cello-circles by getting something that lacks the same thing that my cello lacks. The sound is scratchy. It doesn’t get quite enough anywhere but in like fourth position on the A-string. It gets enough, there. But…yeah. Need more sound.

It’s funny, because even though my cello has like…serious problems doing anything on the lower strings, the upper range can belt that crap out, yo. Moreso than any of the ones I’ve tried so far. It must be one of the few redeeming qualities about my not-great cello.

Why is this so hard?! Why is this so much money?! AAAAAH.

In other things, I had…quite a dream. So right, dream: It was Christmas, and we were visiting upstate NY. Except upstate NY was some weird hybird of Bayfield, WI and parts of Normal. So anyway, my mom’s side of the family was there. And we all bonded and crap. And I remember asking for two things for Xmas. A new cello, and a PS2. So I wake up on Christmas morning to find that my Aunt Sue has gotten me an armadillo. It magically hates everybody but me, and craps all over the place. Awesome. I think this is some reference to a really awesome show of This American Life with a really great recited work of fiction involving the armadillo of this man’s retarded younger brother. It involves the guy trying to drown the armadillo. It sounds crazy but it was really just…amazing. I guess.

But anyway. Dream. Christmas. Armadillo. Also, another one of my presents was a contrabass balalaika (those bitches are HUGE), suspended in mid-air in the next room over.

Maybe it means that I should quit the cello and join a balalaika orchestra. Because that would only be the coolest thing ever.

Cison 2004

Just got back from Chicago. Moderately short trip. Just a Lee shop run-in and a Trader Joe’s stop.

We returned the Zadlo and Garavaglia. And in turn picked up a Cison 2004. Polish maker. My sister has a violin by the same maker, so it would be wacky and weird if I ended up getting it.

I like it a lot. It’s quite responsive, and all strings seem well balanced, proportionally. It does everything well. There’s something of a weird metallic sound about the upper strings as my mom pointed out to me. But I’m more than willing to try it based on its good qualities. We shall see.

Sigh. I don’t know whether this cello thing is more exciting or…maybe…tiresome, at this point. Worrisome, perhaps. Something along those lines.

On that note, I’m going to officially shut up and go play Mr. Cison 2004. Yay.

Must…Call…Bein And Fushi…

listening to: tokyo jihen – ekimae

I suck at replying to comments. So here are some replies.

m.e.d. – That’s odd. Those come out with silly mouse-over descriptions for me. Maybe try a different browser such as Firefox? Then again, there are still lots of things wrong with the code on my blog, apparently. Frowl.

Jamie – Thank you for assuring me I’m not nuts. It’s always easier to remember that I’m not nuts when I can like…run two blocks down the street to your house and have you tell me so in person once every other day, as most other summers go =P Also, I’m starting to think that I have weird issues with perception. Because, yeah. Most people base what they consider to be “normal” from their own experience, where-as I just sort of assume that everything I do is wrong. Hmm. Concluding statement: I ROCK.

Kim – DAMN GEORGE LUCAS. And “maybe” statements. And also, I totally wish I was on Madeline Island, too. Then we could be two cool cats and such. It just merrits that I come visit you next fall. Or you come visit me. And then that way I won’t have to get ticks. P.S. IS JOHNATHAN THERE?! If he is, tell him I say…um…hi!

Man. I do not have the brain-composure I need to call Bein and Fushi and schedule something with them for tomorrow.

Am in great need of entertainment in Eddie Izzard form. Or maybe Chinese food. Or maybe two estranged members of the U-High Madrigal alto section. Oh. Wait. I totally get all of those tonight. Yesssssssss.

Augh. Come on. Brain. Come on. Move. Work. I’ll give a cookie.

Lack Of Pants

listening to: number girl – nichijou ni ikiru shoujo

Aha! Ahahahaha! I love this. It almost makes up for the fact that the stupid computer froze as I was changing between two windows in Mozilla, thus losing a brilliant entry on my love for stand-up comedy, in its entirety. GOD DAMMIT. DAD, GET A NEW COMPUTER.

I’ll repost it some other time.

Man. I guess I stopped biting my nails around the time I stopped having to drive to Chicago for CYSO once a week. But I’m still not used to (somewhat) long fingernails apparently, because today I managed to take a rather large chunk of skin off the knuckle of my right thumb. It didn’t hurt so much as bleed everywhere. Still. I need to stop mutilating myself with my own stupid finger-nails. Freakin’ A.

I’ve re-evaluated the previous statement of my being full of crap. I am officially not full of crap because a) my writing encompasses a variety topics and…things, even if they are somewhat egocentric which they are not always b) my blog is not an angst-hole (maybe only a moderate complain-hole, on occasion) and c) IT’S MY FUCKING BLOG SO I AM ENTITLED TO NOT CARE ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK. Oh. Loop-hole.

God. It’s like the lj-icon version of metaquotes. Somebody please get me away from this community.

*edit* Speaking of a lack of pants…JUSTIN! WHERE ARE YOU?! Don’t make me harass you and stuff!

I’ll Take Crap For 500

listening to: tokyo jihen – omatsuri sawagi

So…yes.

It’s kind of fun (and by fun I think I mean “evil fun”) when you discover the lj or blog of somebody you know vaguely IRL (and don’t necessarily like), and it turns out to be overflowing with crap. Crap and excessively flowery language. It’s just like “aaah…so…this is other people…”

But then I get to thinking…waitaminute. What if I’m just another one of those people? One of those people who are full of crap?! I mean, I usually like my writing. I like its open-ness and ability to be genuinely me-like and snarky. But two things get in the way with blogging, those things being a) audience – because I’m going to end up sensoring my inner snark no matter how hard I try and b) whining about ridiculous crap, which lately, has been excessive. So…I think I might be full of crap. But I’m not sure.

This must be one of those times when I’m supposed to remember that I’m __awesome__. AWE-SOME.

Pssst, hey, world. Am I full of crap?