Second Try, Same As The First

I bought five 7" the other night at the Lemuria show. They are as follows:

Lemuria/Off With Their Heads - Under The Influence Vol. 7
No Idols - S/T
Get Bent/Jean Claude Jam Band - Split
Oak And Bone - S/T
We The People - Time To Operate

The show was a lot of fun. Not necessarily because the bands were all amazing (they weren't) but because it felt really cool to have a lot of my friends from various circles in one place just hanging out and enjoying music and stuff. I didn't catch the first band (although we jumped their van after one of the members asked "if we were cool") but the second and third weren't bad I guess, just generic as fuck. They both sounded like almost carbon copies of Teenage Bottlerocket. I mean its awesome if thats what they're into doing, but I dunno... I don't wanna sound like a snob or anything but my tastes have kinda texturized a little bit and that kind of stuff just seems lacking nowadays. Yet I still listen to Off With Their Heads. Oh well, we all know I'm a hypocrite as it is. The

Lemuria were fucking awesome, as usual. The crowd was a little lacking in enthusiasm but not nearly as badly as the Buffalo show last month. I feel like the fact that they are getting to be pretty recognizable also brings with it the revalation that there are going to be a lot of people at shows who don't necessarily love it as much as I do. Which is fine, I guess. Just kind of a bummer. On a related note, I hear that The Gaslight Anthem have been playing to HUGE crowds on their tour with Bruce Springsteen. Well I guess that's pretty obvious, seeing as its the boss... but still kind of a bummer. I can't seem to get away from that longing to have my favorite bands stay mine. Whatever.

On to heavier news... the Oak and Bone 7 inch? Just kill me now, cause it doesn't get a whole lot better. I feel like I'm taking huge HUGE bong rips every time I listen to this while simultaneously being caught in a massive storm of epic riffs and fuzz. Weston, if you're reading this, I tip my hat to you and the other Oak Boners. Toby and I jammed out (on guitar and drums respectively) with the riff from the end of "On Your Own Or Not At All" for like a half hour last night... heavy as balls, impossible to duplicate though if you are untalented pricks like us. The pauses in "Atavistic".... goddamn there are no words to really say the kind of internal destruction evoked in me and how I just have visions of huge mountains collapsing. Also, "Powercloud" is a fucking AMAZING song and definitely should have gone on the 7 inch if space permitted. This is a record you all need to hear, I don't give a shit who you are. I read a review of it in punknews that compared the band to No Idols (another band I've gotten into recently,) which I can definitely see.

Tomorrow I'm going to see Sick Fix, Coke Bust, and Black SS. In the words of Eddie McCarthy "this girl makes my dick hard... but Sick Fix makes it harder." Should be a lot of fun. I really like the spark art gallery... its got a really cool vibe to it and is just about perfect sized in my opinion with a nice little front area for people to sell merch and conversate with teh punx.

I've recently (today) rediscovered how much Ceremony makes me lose my mind. "Still Nothing Moves You" has a kind of darkness and brooding hatred in it that I don't hear often. Could be something to do with the fact that it was written in prison, I dunno. The buildup in "Dead Moon California" is straight up APOCALYPTIC. Somehow even Ron has gotten into that band, and he doesn't even listen to any hardcore.

Alright I think I've pretty much exhausted this music bullshit for now. I might write about myself later. Who knows?

Like an episode of Roseanne

1. I have the cutest boy ever in my bed right now, and he also happens to be my boyfriend. Epic win.

2. I'm playing my second show ever on Tuesday in Syracuse with Alex & His Imaginary Friends, Project Citizen, Loudmouth, and us. And we're unleashing the new song. Epic Win.


3. I'm listening to Fugazi and Attack In Black.

4. The RA that lives in my suite just fucked some girl and we could hear her yelling across the sweet. What the fuck?

5. I'm going to sleep. I love you.

Stuffstalgic

I started making mixes at the beginning of 8th grade, and ended up making one every 2-4 weeks religiously as a method of sort of documenting what I was listening to at the time. When I made the first one, I didn't really intend for it to become the ritual that it would go on to be, it just sort of happened that way. I established certain rules with the first one that I pretty much hold true to this day, 6 years later. For one, up until I graduated high school every mix that I made had the term "stuff" (the name of that first one) in the title Also, no song could be used in more than one mix and no mix could have two songs from one band. Here's all of the pre-graduation titles I can remember: Stuff, More Stuff, Even More Stuff, Stuff Vs. Crap, Revenge of Stuff, Son of Stuff, Return of Stuff, Bride of Stuff, Stuff Goes To Mars, Stuff is Dead, Oh My God, I Just Got Stuffed, Adventures In Stuffland, The Stuff Summer Vacation Special, Stuff Is Going Down With Us, The Hidden Temple of Stuff, Enter The Stuff, Stufftastic, Stuff Goes Home, Stuff 3049, SxTxUxFxFx, What The Stuff, Kent Richman Is The Amazing Stuff, Stuffzilla, Stuff Is Doomed, Stuff Has A Date, Stuff's First Circle Pit, Mini Stuff, Stufftastic.... you get the idea. I don't know why, but after I graduated I was compelled to stop the whole stuff schtick, and also to be more lenient about the rules I had established (although I still pretty much follow them just out of habit.) I then formulated a new method of naming mixes... namely, picking the first thing that came to mind. As a result, most titles are confusing to the average person. Some examples include Eskimo Rape Syndrome, Assaulted By Penguins, Beer, Crisco and Hookers, Dudes on Ice, Dank Nugzz, etc. The formula for picking what goes on each mix basically consists of going through my entire library of music and picking certain tracks that I have been listening to a lot over the two or three week period around when its made and basically just randomize the order, except sometimes the first and the last tracks which I'll often devote a little more time to. Mixes have ranged in length from 8 tracks to 31 (averaging out to around 18-20 songs), spanning many different genres and an astounding number of bands. I think the total number of mixes I've ever made for my own personal use could amount to around 200. So I guess the obvious question (to myself) that might be asked is why do I find this ritual so important to maintain, when there are very few others that I even give a shit about? I mean, obviously there's the point that I just enjoy listening to music, and particularly singling out certain music that I happen to be enjoying at a given time. But that doesn't explain why I still do it in the same style that I have ritualistically maintained for over 6 years. The question remains unanswered, like so many others here on Mars.

How do you say "FUCK THE WORLD" in Spanish?

This is gunna be really straight forward because I'm frankly too fucking tired to try and be clever...

Thursday I went to Marcellas with all of my friends and my boyfriend. It was a lot of fun. Eddie got really really fucking hammered and puked all over the side of my car though. Whatever, it makes for a good story. I got called a faggot (accidentally) by the guy at the pizza place. lawlz.
Kevin stayed over. He's amazing. I had one of the best nights of my life. Tom and I drove home Friday and got there at like 3:30. We left an hour later for the airport and left an hour or so after that for Philly, arriving at like 8:00. It's still not always sunny in Philadelphia btw. I then called Kevin 3 times in less than an hour, in a desperate attempt to hear his voice for the last time until I get home (I can't use my cellphone in Europe.) I've been looking at the picture that we took in the photobooth in Marcellas every like, half hour. Do I count as a creeper yet? We left Philly for the 7 fucking hour plane ride to Madrid. Due to the change over in time, we landed at like 9 in the morning, instead of 4, so my brain is pretty fucked right now. It feels like 5 hours just vanished. Neither of us got any kind of sleep that can really count as sleep, but we watched Man Vs. Wild on the plane and ate little strawberry hot pocket things for breakfast... whatever. If I hadn't mentioned already, my mom was also with us. For those who don't know my mom, imagine spending 10 days straight with the most annoying person you can think of, and dress them up in pink sweat pants, a teal fanny pack, a yellow t-shirt and denim jacket, complete with J-fro. You'll get the idea. We were both pretty miserable as Janice did her best to freak out as much as possible while still maintaining that aggravating quality that only she can really achieve. God fucking damnit I can't wait for my sister to get here. Anyway, we took the subway for a fucking long time until we got to the train we had to take for 2 hours, which was actually the most comfortable/enjoyable part of the whole 22+ hour travel extravaganza. Big comfy chairs, minimal other passangers, free food and I was so excited to order beer/wine in front of my mom and have her not be able to say anything (there isn't really a drinking age in Spain.) So Tom and I get drunk and he talks about how hot Spanish girls are and I talk about how hot British accents are, and we look at the fucking gorgeous Spanish countryside pass us by. I've said many times in the past that most places are the same, and it's not that it's incredibly different... but there's something really really pretty about Spain. We then take ANOTHER train (alth0ugh it was more like a glorified subway) to finally get to Marbella, the city where we are staying. After an aggonizingly long bus ride through the city we finally made it to the resort thing that we're staying at... which happens to be right on the fucking Medditeranean. We have a sweet condo thing that has a sick shower and stuff. Okay I'm really too tired to write anything else right now... I might go lie down, who knows. Tom is passed out. I miss you all so fucking much.

because you're a coward

I spend days upon days trying to distract myself away from things I don't want to admit. I stall things that are inevitable and I manage to convince myself that I'm the wrong one. I hate so many things about myself that don't really even exist. I even hate that I hate them. I implode. I waste every second of my life trying to not waste it, but not actually doing anything at all. I scribble things in invisible ink, before quickly scratching them out and throwing the paper into the void underneath the passenger seat. I'm simultaneously like concrete and air. I'm gelatin. I'm made of high fructose corn syrup. My nutritional value is a thing of a past that I can't even remember. Do I write for attention? Do I actually want to express something? Do I feel some obligation to be "artistic" or "meaningful"? Am I letting this all come out of the crack in my skull and does the crack actually exist or is it all just smoke? Do I like it when I am in pain because it makes me feel human again? When I do these things, does it hurt so much because when I get down to my foundations, do I find that there is nothing there? Am I just the lowest form of subatomic particle, sufficiently comprised of absolutely nothing at all? Am I only defined by my actions? Is that okay? Should I end now? Do I really not believe anything at all? Yes, the answer is yes.

Lately I've Been Listening To

Murmer

I still feel cold inside. I'm still afraid of everything.
But when I'm around you it kinda seems like I can be okay.
You make me feel like its okay to be myself.
I want you to know that I meant everything that I said.
Thank you for keeping me warm.

You make me shake.