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.

The Hold Steady - Boys And Girls In America

If there was every a record that could be considered "rock and roll" that I actually was really in love with, this would be the one. Craig Finn's story-telling lyrical style makes for songs about being young, stupid, in love and of course drunk. Usually the kinds of solos that THS employ on tracks like "Same Kooks" would bother me, but its hard to avoid that this is just a flat out good record. Check out "Stuck Between Stations," "You Can Make Him Like You," and "Citrus."


The Hold Steady - Boys And Girls In America

Ear to Ear

I like being alive right now.
I really do.

-Ryan

Old Things

I used to be a photographer. Then it went away. I don't know what happened. I used to hate myself for abandoning it, but I'm starting to accept the inevitability of constant motion. Who knows, maybe one day I'll find it again. But that's not today. Today I'm going out with a boy. An actor to be more exact. I can't get away from them I guess. He's seems like a sweetheart. I'm kinda freaking out. I haven't done this in a while and I'm almost positive I'll do something retarded. Whatever. Fuck it all.

I'm currently watching videos of Mark Day singing on Canadian Idol on mute while listening to my own music. I have absolutely no desire to hear the shitty music, I just wanna look at him lol. It could be a bad thing that I have trouble thinking of things to write about in here when I'm not stoned. Fuck it all.

I took this picture a long time ago. I'm not the same person anymore.

Explosions In The Sky - The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place

The first post rock record I ever heard and absolutely one of my all time favorites of any genre. Beautiful and powerful on so many levels, this is definitely a great introduction to post rock music in general. When I saw them in April they closed with "Memorial," and words can't even really even convey how intense it was.

Explosions In The Sky - The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place

Ugh

Love me James Corden, love me.

Chaser

When I was 14 years old, I realized I was gay and came out to (almost) everyone in my life. I was going out with a girl at the time and broke up with her by telling her. We stayed friends for a long time after and ironically she turned out to be a lesbian. The strange part about it was that I found out because I developed a crush on a boy... a chubby boy to be specific. This initially didn't seem like such a big deal, until I started telling people. I got some pretty strange looks, and I guess rightly so. Who would want to imagine me making out with a guy, let alone a heavy guy? A lot of my friends poked fun at me for it, not in any really mean way but enough to make me really shy about it for a long time. It's awkward enough explaining to people that I like guys, but chubby guys on top of that? This kinda led me to believe that I was "not normal" or something and that who I was attracted to wasn't who I SHOULD be attracted to. So I tried to force myself to think that the stereotypical male model look was attractive. Needless to say this was futile. In the last couple years I have realized how I was hiding in the same way as every gay man who hides who he really is. I was ashamed of myself for something that I should not be. Who I like is about me, not about anyone else. So... to clarify:

This:




Not this:




In other news, the new Bomb the Music Industry! record fucking blows me away. Although the ska songs get a little annoying and boring (I'm just not into the genre anymore,) tracks like "Fresh Attitude, Young Body" and "25" are really fucking amazing. I'm just digging the high energy piano rocker thing right now. I've also been listening to a LOT of Wu Tang Clan/ODB/Method Man. I've been looking really hard for the kind of hip hop that really appeals to me and I've found it in the raw east coast style that permeates Wu Tang's "Enter the Wu Tang" and Method Man's "Tical." Just a straight up beat and sick rhymes. That's what hip hop should be about in my opinion... although my opinion doesn't really count for much I guess.

I'll update again later... gotta grub out. Live your life.

You Have No Constant

-and when I open my eyes I'm looking at a wooden stage from blue seats in an auditorium. There's a warm glow to my left and right and I'm listening to Rancid on my IPOD because I'm 17 years old and not yet scared enough. And two men whose faces I can't seem to recall who are both named Jim scream at each other while their faces swell up in tones of puce and brick red. The warmth on either side of me is comforting, but I can tell its not really there. The warmness is in the space between my ears, and I can't explain why but I know things won't be okay. In the-

-down to see bile leaking from my insides while I scribble everything I never thought of the correct way to phrase. This is fear. This is the incorrect placement of the spacial/linear aspect of my body. And I wish on stars I can't see underneath light pollution. But I can't pretend I care about any of this. I'm so unstable and afraid of what-

-let you choose the movie. You've been working hard all day and I'm sure you can't be too excited to still be here but who knows, maybe it's worth it. And at that one part we somehow knew the cue to lace fingers and the hour later when I asked if I could kiss you in front of my dad's car when we got back to your house after the ride home when he told us why the Greeks called it-

-never slept because we were so young and inspired and full of beauty. On the ride home I could see hints of what would come, of the vast emptiness that I wish so hard I could help you escape from. This was before we were too scared to even be in the same room with eachother. This is before we had to try to believe things that used to just make sense. This is the first-

-said that I dug my own grave in this situation.



-

Not A Point In Space

I feel like the only warm thing in my dark cold house that I can cling too is Matt and Kim. Right now their music is the only thing making me think that things could be okay, at some unspecified point in the future. I want to write acoustic songs about love. I don't know much about love though I guess. What is me? The only me I can approximate is always in motion. I can only see myself when I'm moving. I'm not a point in space, I'm just in the peripheral.

Pilates, Motherfucker.

1. Immortal Technique - Dominant Species
2. Jets To Brazil - Sea Anemone
3. Infest - Cold Inside
4. Matt & Kim - Lessons learned
5. Teenage Cool Kids - Reasons Why
6. Find Him and Kill Him - Cut Them To Pieces
7. Beach Boys - God Only Knows
8. Attack In Black - Marriage
9. Off With Their Heads - S.O.S.
10. Regina Spektor - Better
11. The Loved Ones - Distracted
12. The Hold Steady - Crucifixion Cruise
13. Blink-182 - Another Girl Another Planet
14. Bouncing Souls - We All Sing Along
15. Notorious B.I.G. - Hypnotize
16. Slingshot Dakota - I-78

I'm going home for the long weekend. Bye.

It's not even a metaphor this time

There's been a plane crash outside of Buffalo. Apparently it crashed into a house and like 50 people died. It's like international news now, and on the front page of all of the news sites. Fucking crazy. It sucks to admit but I'm so indifferent to any event that happens. To me, its like... 50 people died today in an airplane crash... but thousands upon thousands die everyday of hunger, and not that many people are freaking out over that, although they obviously should be... seeing as its something we actually can somewhat control. I'm still probably an asshole, but it looks like everyone else is too.

I exist in a nation of assholes, and I'm one of them.

The most influential band in my life reunited recently. I'm fucking excited. People will try to be all super punx about it, but I guarantee that a good 60% of people who listen to punk rock/hardcore/indie/whatever music would not have discovered any of it if it weren't for Blink-182. Dude Ranch is the best record ever made, no joke.



I actually have been trying really hard to do well in school. I'm kind of thinking about possibly trying to be a teacher or something. Like I can't really think think of any "profession" that I'd want to really get involved with, and I figure teaching might be kinda cool until I figure something else out. I mean I can't really be a philosopher for a living. Don't get me wrong, that would be epic as hell... I could wear a sweet wig. But what color? Or should I just go bald? Oh wait... I already am. Whatever, fuck it. I'm the new John Locke motherfucker!



I'm going to London in a month. Weird.

Peace.

Cheeky - Choke On A Cheesburger

Second and last up in the Quote Unquote bullshitfest... Cheeky. I refuse to call this record anything except "Choke Awn A Cheeseboyga." They're catchy as FUCK, cute as FUCK, angry as FUCK. Be warned... if you listen to this record you'll be called a namby pamby, and a twinkie. If you're all about bro mosh, this is the band for you... except totally not. Besides, the guy in the band is cute. Fuck you.


Cheeky - Choke On A Cheeseburger

Laura Stevenson - A Record

For me, 2008 was the year of Quote Unquote bands... well actually there were pretty much only two new bands/artists besides BTMI, but both of them are fucking stellar. One of these is a folk singer/songwriter from New York City named Laura Stevenson who I first saw/heard at the Fest in October while I was waiting for Eric Ayotte's set. Although a relatively short record (only 8 songs) "A Record" manages to ellicit so many different moods and sounds, thanks in part to the substantial amount of guest musicians featured on the album, including Jeff from Bomb the Music Industry. Some songs are louder and "punker", many are very soft. My personal favorites are "Landslide Song," "Nervous Rex" and "Beets Untitled." Get into it!



Laura Stevenson - A Record

A Saturday Afternoon In February

It kind of felt like I was striding around a room of 19th century British gentlemen, smoking a pipe and admiring all of the mustaches. Waiting for a waiter to bring me brandy. In reality I was just walking around the elevator, but who's to say that what is happening in my head is any less real than what YOU see happening? I'm definitely wrong. Yeah, definitely.

It kind of felt like I was a detective in the 40's at his desk, drinking whiskey and looking at clues when some ridiculously attractive woman (or man in my world) waltzes in and DEMANDS TO KNOW WHERE HER HUSBAND IS (sobbing the whole time,) before she/he collapses into your arms you bang her/him and it turns out she/he stole the address of the murderer from your jacket pocket while you were getting dressed. You find out later that she shot the culprit before turning the gun on herself. In YOUR reality this is just me making a peanut butter and fluff sandwich.