Today, I'll mostly be copying and pasting everything from a blog that I briefly ran before Puke on Your Birthday's creation. I've already copied a lot of it, but let's officially declare the corpse exhumed completely today.
Previously from Neon Meate Dream of a Octofish (yes, that was really the name of my old blog, I am clearly not very proficient at giving blogs good names): An introduction to the Hold Steady; At Mount Zoomer review; a couple of entries in a long-defunct column where I was discussing every artist on my iPod in alphabetical order (a precursor to The Albums That Matter, I guess): Amy Winehouse, Andrew Bird; a short story called "The Speed Bump Part II"; a couple of emo posts, one about a new haircut, one about Lasallian regrets.
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You! Me Dancing!
(a review of the 2008 Popped! Music Festival)
June 21, 2008
Today I had the privilege of attending the closest thing Philadelphia has to a music festival within their city limits.
I'll start out by saying that I'm NOT a concert person. This is usually what happens: I'll start off by getting drunk. Then I'll go into the concert venue, and I'll get hungover pretty quickly, I'll listen to shitty opening bands, and by the time that the main act comes on, I'm just fucking exhausted. On top of all this, I can't stand when people push me around. I realize that it's part of the concert experience, but still, I can't help getting pissed at that guy who's trying to push in front of me or that girl who's trying to kick out my kneecaps. It's frustrating.
For these reasons I had low expectations for today's events. First of all, I was still going to make the same mistake I always do, and get fucked up beforehand. Furthermore, the problems would be compounded by the fact that it was not only longer than a normal concert, but also outside, in the hot sun.
What I failed to realize, however, was that every band—EVERY fucking band—that I saw today kicked most or all ass. If I could be so bold as to say it, it was one of the best concert experiences I've ever had.
We arrived at 3 PM, disgruntled to discover that we would not be allowed re-entry if we left to drink, and there would be no alcohol sold at the actual festival, so early on we realized that there's no way we could maintain our inebriation; I accepted it and moved on. We arrived at 3 PM in order to see an act I had long heard good things about but had yet to see him in person: Dan Deacon.
The thing I like about Dan Deacon is that he performs in the middle of the crowd, as opposed to on stage. This really puts him in the middle of the action, and he was able to control the crowd in a much more effective, and fun, way. For instance, at one point he spread everyone out in a big circle, and played what amounted to a fun children's game where one person would start out, run in a circle (collecting "those glorious gifts of high-fives" along the way) and would then pick someone. Those two people would continue running, pick two more, those four would pick four more, etc. By the end the whole fucking crowd was running around in a circle, dancing and having a grand time. He ended with another game that was pretty much the biggest game of London Bridge in history. Fucking awesome time. Nicely done, Dan Deacon.
After this strenuous, albeit fun-as-hell party of a set, I collapsed on the lawn, and smoked a black and mild. I really didn't expect to listen to any other band until Vampire Weekend—remember, we had planned to leave and drink some more—but Bee and I were bored so we checked out the band after Deacon. Their name was Gogol Bordello. Jesus Christ, they blew me away! I couldn't really understand the bare-chested lead singer, nor the backup rapper (who were apparently Albanian? Or perhaps Mexican?), but that didn't matter. Not only were they rocking out on the accordion and violin, but the backup dancers came out with these big ass percussion instruments and started going crazy. And then there was that bucket solo... god, I could go on about these guys. Bottom line, they were unexpectedly fun. I'm glad I happened upon their set, and I'll definitely be buying their album soon.
At this point Bee and I were snaking our way towards the front of the stage. I didn't really want to be stuck in front for hours and hours, so our trail to the front was met by some trepidation. Was I mistaken or what! It felt like time flew, because the next two bands (the last two before Vampire Weekend) were great as well. Who would've thought? Crystal Castles, another band I never listened to before, put on an extremely energetic set. The band featured a female lead singer (screamer), a guy working the techno board, and a drummer. The singer was amazing, jumping and crawling all over stage, at one point flailing her way on top of the crowd. She threw herself right on top of Bee, who looked like she was journeying the Poseidon Adventure trying to get the pale blonde off of her head. Good shit though.
Mates of State were cute, if I may use such a manly word as "cute" to describe professional musicians like this husband-and-wife tag team. But jesus, their toddler daughter was practically dancing on stage with them; tell me that's not cute! Miraculously, my group of four all somehow ended up front stage center for this set, so we easily enjoyed the pop tunes set forth by the duo. All were extremely catchy and mellow. I'll be buying their album soon as well. And it provided a nicely break between the mob scene that was Crystal Castles, and the main event. And since it was so mellow, no one was really jumping around, and thus we were able to maintain our prime positions in the crowd for...
Vampire Weekend. Pretty much the only reason I was interested in this concert festival in the first place. Ironically, they put on a bit of a weak set as compared to their openers. Yes, that Afro-by-way-of-Ivy-League pop was all intact, but something was kind of off. I think it was because they slowed all their songs down considerably. I don't know why. My suspicion is that the drummer was drunk (we've all been there, eh?); or maybe they are still a little green when it comes to live shows. Whatever the case may be, I don't want it to sound like they sucked, because they didn't. They rocked. Even "One" was pretty damn good, and I fucking hate that song otherwise. However, they perhaps need to pick up the pace a little next time around.
Overall, it was a great day, probably one of the best of the summer. I was surprised at the quality of all bands I experienced today. Everyone put on a great show. Hey, what do ya know, Drexel IS good for something.
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Boo-yah...?
(a review of Weezer's red-colored self-titled)
June 22, 2008
After much hassling from one M. Bee, I decided to finally ruckus the new Weezer album, oh-so-cleverly called Weezer. Wow, they haven't done that before. Okay, see, there ya go, my immediate sarcasm brings me to my first point—while listening to this album, I tried really hard to like it, despite my general disappointment with all things Weezer past Pinkerton. I give Weezer fans a lot of shit for being crazy about the lame albums they have put out recently, it's true, but goddamn it, maybe the "Red Album" would be different. Maybe.
Rivers starts out with—I'll admit it—a somewhat catchy tune called "Troublemaker." Our front man has never been much for lyrics, but in the past he easily got away with it because they were endearing at the same time. Immediately one can see this is not the case on the lead off track. Only Mr. Cuomo would have the audacity to write such poetry as "Marrying a bee-otch/ having seven kee-ods," and "You wanted arts and crafts/ how's this for arts and crafts?/ nah-nah-nah-nah-nah..." Okay, it won't be winning a Nobel Prize for Literature, but I clenched my teeth and tried to remember that the song, albeit lyrics, is catchy, right? Right?
Then we come to the pretentiousness that is "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)." It's starts out with a lovely piano piece for about four bars, but almost immediately dissolves into an uber-lame rap section proclaiming how great the narrator is. Every eight bars for the rest of the song, the genre on the song switches, anywhere from a military march to a faux-Queen rock ballad, all the while maintaining a boastful attitude. I can't tell if this overwhelming cockiness is sincere or River's attempt to be funny. If the former is true, I find it hard to believe his big head fit in the recording studio; if the latter is true, he has failed, and most miserably at that.
Weezer's first single off the album, "Pork and Beans," is up next. The guitar riff is probably the best part of the song, nay, the album (and no wonder—it was apparently dusted off by Rivers from a forgotten Pinkerton-era song). I immediately started to bob my head along with this catchy tune. Unfortunately, the uninspired lyrics left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Maybe I'm expecting too much from these guys; it's true, I wouldn't be able to write much better, personally. But still, maybe Rivers could have at least sang the song like he was having a good time, as opposed to sounding like he's bored out of his mind.
The rest of the album isn't worth devoting too much time too. "Heart Songs" is just a sappy hodgepodge of non-sequitur music references. "Everybody Get Dangerous" fails even before the backup vocals proclaim "Boo-yah!" "Dreamin'" more accurately describes what I do instead of listenin' to the actual song. "Thought I Knew" is a low-point even for a band who has hit too many low-points in its career already. I give Cuomo a lot of shit, but a song without his leading vocals ceases to be Weezer at all. "Cold Dark World," and "Automatic," are both instantly forgettable. And then our third self-title Weezer album comes to an end with "The Angel and the One," an attempt at being profound I suppose. And fuck! I hate when any song or album ends with a quivering piano part that is incredibly boring and lasts for minute.
So there it is. I've listened to Weezer about six times straight through, each time desperately trying to find something to like. As of now the only likable parts I can possibly think of are the catchiness of "Troublemaker" and "Pork and Beans," and even during those little ditties I have to pretend I am not hearing the god-awful lyrics.
Weezer has never tried to be cool, not when he sang about pretending to be Buddy Holly, nor when he was pining after those half-Japanese girls, nor when he wanted to surf on a surfboard to work. But on their latest attempt, we find songs desperate to be funny and clever, and unlike previous works, it only amounts to misstep after misstep. Sorry Weezer, you get a generous D+.
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Be Kind, Watch This Movie
(a review of Be Kind Rewind)
June 24, 2008
It's typical: a pair of lovable rascals commits an egregious blunder, they work to fix it, start to succeed, only to be foiled by an antagonist, and then finally gather the whole town together to fight the good fight. I feel like I've seen the formula hundreds of times in a variety of movies.
God, I'm such a sucker for this shit.
Mos Def and Jack Black star in this cute movie about an out-of-style VHS tape rental store. Black's character erases all the movies because of his freak magnetism (long story), and the pair begin to record their own versions of each film a customer would like to rent. What they didn't realize was that what was originally a desperate attempt to stay out of trouble with the store's manager turned into a profitable local phenomenon.
Where the movie fails in being believable, it succeeds in being a feel-good comedy. The "movies" that the pair create are hilarious and incredibly creative (see their spoofs of Men in Black and King Kong for proof). And fuck, there's nothing better than that part in a movie where everyone comes together to achieve a collective goal; trust me, Be Kind Rewind is full of that.
Okay, so Jack Black is the same character he is in every movie, and Mos Def is a little shaky with his delivery, but screw all that. Forget the quality of the acting, forget the absurdity of the plot, forget its minute flaws, and just immerse yourself in the positive vibes of Be Kind Rewind. It certainly felt nice.
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No, Dad, this isn't Sufjan Stevens
(writing about Love's Forever Changes)
July 3, 2008
This is summer. I enjoy it because it feels good. It feels good to relax and enjoy my time off. I drink a lot during summer. I drink because when I drink and I'm surrounded by friends, we all laugh and have a grand ol' time, and it feels good. I call my friend Bethany sometimes. I enjoy talking to her, and it feels good. I'm lying in bed right now, and I'm listening to music. I listen to music because it feels good.
One time I was playing TV on the Radio's "Wolf Like Me," and a hallway neighbor suggested that this is the music that one would play if he was trying to kill himself. It baffled me because the desperate vocals and chaotic guitar and double-tapping snare combined to make three minutes of my life feel better than they would've in silence. I didn't feel suicidal, I felt good.
So, what we can say now is that music, at its very core, is designed to make one feel good. When I'm slow-dancing along with Frank Sinatra with a lover in my arms, I feel good, and when drunk off my ass and yelling along to an Irish ballad, I feel good, and goddamn it, when Ferris Bueller was on top of that parade float, twisting and shouting, I felt GOOD.
Forever Changes makes me feel great.
See, I should've known this all along, that this little gem would be radiating positive vibes from start to finish. For christ's sake, the band's name is "Love." When I saw it on Rolling Stone's Top 500 Albums of All Time, at the lofty position of #40, I should've known it would be worthy of my attention. When I was tripping on acid and the cover of Forever Changes spoke to me in technicolor glory about life and happiness, I should've known that this record would put a smile on my face.
Why is this album so uplifting? So genial? So fucking celebratory? I don't know. I've never smoked pot, I've never lived in a hippie van, I've never had conversations with toadstools. Perhaps, as Mary Jane would tell me, I will never fully understand the deepest secrets of Forever Changes.
What I can grasp, as a music aficionado, is the swelling string and brass ensembles on this record. I can feel the passion sung in every verse. I can hear those optimistic and eye-opening lyrics. I am burnt by the blistering guitar solos; I laugh when the crazy hippie wishes to be painted yellow; I cry when the old man pours his heart out; I am lifted up when an army of trumpets proclaim that everything we've seen is rearranging.
"I think people are the greatest fun," sings lead singer Arthur Lee. On bad days I think people suck, but you know, Forever Changes shows me the truth.
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The Summer's First Documentary About the Declaration of Independence
(a review of Hancock)
July 17, 2008
With summer always comes a gluttony of movies appealing to the mass audience. The next "summer blockbuster" is much sought after by the movie biz, hoping to make millions off movies that dazzle. This summer is no different. And as usual, there are movies that are amazing (Iron Man, Wall-E), movies that suck cock after cock after cock (The Happening, among others), and movies that are simply... meh.
Enter Hancock. The idea was a pretty good one at first glance, I thought. Will Smith portrays a man with superpowers, and he uses those powers to save people. However, director Peter Berg takes the story in a different direction than the typical superhero popcorn flick; Hancock is a drunk, an asshole, the people of the city hate him, and consequentially he is suicidal. Unfortunately for him, he is invincible, so good luck throwing that toaster in the bathtub.
Like I said, it's a good idea, I think, and for the first 40 minutes or so of the film, the interesting storyline carries the film. Hancock struggles with the public's perception of him, and only when a PR agent (Jason Bateman) is saved by the hero does his life take a turn for the better. Jason's character helps turn Hancock's life around, and eventually Hancock makes a daring and responsible rescue, earning cheers from the city. All good, right?
Except that all of a sudden, the movie makes a sudden left turn. (Spoiler alert, though I can't imagine anyone cares at this point.) It is revealed that the PR agent's wife is a superhero as well. There's a murky backstory about her being married to Hancock before he got amnesia in the '30s, and they have an epic fight for some reason, and for some other reason lost to me, Hancock starts to become mortal, etc., etc. I really just lost interest at this point.
The flaw of this film is that the storyline doesn't remain focused on Hancock's internal struggles. Instead, they introduced a random other superhero for no reason, and with no build-up. Jason Bateman is a bitch throughout the whole movie until he randomly levels up and kills an uninspired enemy with an ax. The villains, need I mention, were just lame. Heath Ledger they were not.
So, if you want to be mildly entertained, and you've already seen the sure-fire hits in theaters, then sneak into your local movie theater and watch Hancock. Mind you, I never said you should spend any money on it (especially not the fucking eleven dollars I spent in the goddamn Maryland movie theater for it). Sneak in, watch until Hancock saves the day, then leave the theater. Ultimately, it will be a more satisfying experience than waiting it out.
Fuck it, I don't care about bad movies anymore, because this summer, nothing, and I mean nothing, can compare to the shitshow that was The Happening. Compared to that stinker, Hancock was practically Citizen Kane.
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A Joy in Every Possibility
(writing about Against Me!)
July 19, 2008
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| Note: this was written before Laura Jane Grace came out as transgender, which changed Against Me!'s story significantly, and makes parts of this post seem pretty juvenile. I do not stand by anything I wrote here. |
I like Against Me!, I really do. I start this post with my saying that because I have a funny feeling that I'm going to be saying a lot of negative things about this modern punk band. Yes, they have a lot of flaws, but I'll try to bring it full circle and eventually end with a recommendation of the band; they really are enjoyable at least.
Goddamn though, they are so fucking angry. Why is this? I dunno. I mean, I guess lead singer Tom Gabel is just playing the part of angry white punk rock kid like so many have before him. Something about that stereotype makes me a little skeptical sometimes, I'll admit. Had I been around during the punk-rock revolution of the early '80s, I probably would've been the lame kid still listening to Frank Sinatra.
I think it's my optimistic, romanticized outlook on life that clashes with the despair of our punk rock heroes. When Joe Strummer sang about London drowning, he sure made a damn catchy tune, but really, why such a bleary view of the future? As I see it, it's been almost 30 years since Strummer wrote this song, and London is still pretty dry.
The same idea rests in Against Me!. "Sirens filled the air and the ground shook with war," sings Gabel on "White People for Peace." "Tar and feather the pretenders in the streets," he proclaims in "Mediocrity Gets You Pears (the Shaker)." Sometimes I get the feeling this is all so political for the sake of being political; of course, if I told this to Tom Gabel, he would be outraged, calling me naive about the state that our country is in.
Maybe I am, but honestly I don't go to music to be informed about Condoleezza's work in the White House and abroad. I go to music for an escape. I want to picnic in Strawberry Fields. I want to hop up that Misty Mountain. I want to fly in that aeroplane over the sea.
So, when I listen to Against Me!, I don't worry about the lyrics too much. Getting wrapped up in them would ruin the experience. Sorry Tom Gabel, I don't really take you too seriously. Can I make it up to you by admitting that I still enjoy your songs?
I still can't even describe why I do, though, that's the strange thing. For christ's sake, listen to the dude's voice. Gabel possesses no singing voice, he just yells in that angry tone. Hell, a lot of his songs sound the same; just yell at us about our shitty country some more, why don't you?
Okay, perhaps I'm not being entirely truthful. Against Me! does occasionally branch out to music beyond political yelps. When they do, it yields strange results.
Take for instance, "The Ocean," Gabel confesses, "If I could have chosen, I would've been born a woman." Really, sir? I suppose that would further explain what happens in "Searching for a Former Clarity": "Childhood secrets of dressing up in women's clothes." Gulp... maybe he should just stick to politics.
Shit though, I'd be wrong if I didn't mention a breach of Against Me! toughness, and that is the little joy that is "Joy." "And there's a joy, a joy in all I can see / A joy, in every possibility." Gabel, you sly dog you, you CAN be happy! This restores my faith in humanity. In a world that Against Me! would paint, there is a light among the darkness. Thank goodness.
Not everyone can like Against Me!. For the reasons I've already discussed, the band will seem too rough and gruff for some, and the stern political overtones will leave a bitter taste in some mouths. But fuck it, most of these songs, albeit angry and demeaning, are at their very core catchy. They'll still stick in your head for a few days. Hell, I could still probably dance to these guys, assuming I was incredibly drunk.
Try them out. If you don't like them, I probably won't be surprised. However, if you do happen to like Against Me!, I'll know why, because I like them too.
Recommended Tracks:
1. "Joy"
2. "Don't Lose Touch"
3. "Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart"
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A New Day
(an Underground Sound feature on the Olivia Tremor Control)
October 15, 2008
Anyone familiar with the Elephant 6 Recording Company already knows and loves the Olivia Tremor Control. Unfortunately for the sake of the human race, not many people have heard of the wonderful and magical Elephant 6. For those of you who don’t, Elephant 6 is a collective of musical groups all spawning from Atlanta, Georgia, that includes such prolific indie bands as Apples in Stereo, Of Montreal, and Neutral Milk Hotel. Snuggled in the nucleus this epic catalogue is the Olivia Tremor Control.
What’s so great about this band, whom you’ve never even heard of, let alone listened to? Let me try to explain as best I can.
So, humble reader, you enjoy the simple pop melodies of the Beatles, right? Of course you do, who doesn’t? On the surface of the Olivia Tremor Control, you’ll find a good chunk of pop song standards—three-part harmonies, sing-along choruses, guitar hooks to brighten your mood.
This is how OTC’s first full-length, Music From the Unrealized Film Script: Dusk at Cubist Castle, starts off. “Jumping Fences” will have you bobbing your head and smiling, “Define a Transparent Dream” wraps you up in tight psychedelia, and I swear, “Courtyard” could be a B-side for Rubber Soul.
Then halfway through this beast of an album, it all starts to unravel, and John, Paul, George, and Ringo are thrown right out the window. The feedback starts to grow, the songs get stranger, and all those beautiful three-part harmonies are converted into twelve-part singing saw harmonies. And good lord, it still works! I’m not kidding and I’m not making this up.
Throughout this album and its sequel, Black Foliage: Animation Music, OTC toes the line between pop and experimental music, mostly blending the two together. For every song that rivals Brian Wilson at his best comes another song that sounds like Brian Wilson had an acid trip gone terribly, terribly wrong. If you can handle all this, then you’ll be blown away by this band. Really, it’s freaking incredible.
There are two things you probably need to do in order to enjoy Olivia Tremor Control at its finest. The first is that you need to listen to their albums as a whole, not just certain “singles” from the album. The great thing about this band is their attention to detail. You’ll notice certain themes running through a lot of their songs. Think of the album as a piece of art, not just a collection of songs.
The second thing you need to do is plug in those headphones, sit down, and give the music some attention. The Olivia Tremor Control does not a good party mix make. Only with your full attention does the album truly come to life. You start to realize the layers upon layers of sound that the band has created. Each time you listen you’ll discover more layers, and each and every layer is a joy to hear.
My apologies, faithful reader, if it seems that I am struggling with my words. It’s just that, is it really possible to translate this feeling I have onto the pages of a newspaper? With the Olivia Tremor Control, I feel like life, despite all its hardships, levels out, and all is well.
Though the band hasn’t released an album in almost a decade, their music is still enjoyed by the Elephant 6 faithful, as shown by the recent success of the still ongoing reunion tour by the band. You can be part of this experience too. I urge you, please, just give it a listen. Please.
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Reflections on a Band and a Sandwich
(writing about Animal Collective)
November 12, 2008
Why do I like Animal Collective? I'm not sure. I guess it's for the same reason I like peanut butter and bacon, Degrassi, and pomegranate soap. These are all things that one normally wouldn't have an affinity towards, and yet my body, for some reason, wired itself into liking such things. Why though? What's so good about them?
Usually write these reflections, I listen to the artist that I'm reflecting on. Not the case today. Music is all about fitting my mood, and being in a slightly depressing state of mind, I'm listening to Nick Drake, not Animal Collective. If I listen to music to fit my mood, then what mood can I be in for Animal Collective? Good question. I can't really think of a broad enough answer to justify my liking of this band.
I was tempted to say during a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, but I must admit that I during that holiday weekend I only listen to classic rock. I could say this is good "going to sleep" music, but how in the world could this possibly make sense, since a lot of the first song on the album is the lead singer screaming my ears off? You can't even have a decent drunken singalong to this cacophony.
And yet, here I sit, praising the quality of a band I don't even listen to that often. That's okay though. I can't really think of a good time to eat peanut butter and bacon either.
The good thing about music, though, is that it's always there. It'll be ready. And maybe someday, I'll have my arms around a lover, sprawled out on the grass, watching explosions in the sky on a warm summer night, and Animal Collective will just make sense. That will be a good day.
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Vote for Change
(writing about Arcade Fire)
December 3, 2008
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| Obviously I don't agree with any of this anymore. We NEED high-profile artists as allies. Endorse away. |
There's not much to say about the Arcade Fire's music that's unique from many of their contemporaries that I enjoy. The tunes they produce are great; their albums are both somber experiences and fist-pump inducers. I do want to discuss, probably briefly, one aspect of the Arcade Fire that I don't really appreciate, nor when any other artist does it.
I feel uneasy about musical artists endorsing political candidates.
Bee will be mad when she reads this, I bet, because that Bruce concert for Obama was just SO AWESOME. Likewise, I'm positive that all the times that the Arcade Fire drummed up support for the President Elect, it was a great show, and their passion for Barack probably only made their passion for the music that much stronger.
Yea, great show. But does this really have any impact in the political spectrum? I find it hard to believe that they do. Anyone that is going to a concert for Obama is going to vote for Obama. If you were going to vote for McCain, you're not going to suddenly change your mind just because that version of "Crown of Love" fucking ROCKED. So basically, what they are doing is pointless.
It also cheapens the value of the songs I know and love. Are you telling me that "No Cars Go," a song that I originally thought of as an ode to finding that place where we can get away from all the bullshit of life, is now a political song about hating Bush? That's not what I want to be listening to.
Musicians have no place in politics except in a role of citizenship, which gives them a right to vote. To pretend you have some kind of persuasive power over your fans, and in the process bastardize your own songs, is a crime I can't seem to deal with.
Yes, I voted for Obama, but certainly not because Win Butler and Regine Chassagne told me to do so. It was a personal choice.
When I listen to music, I experience personal feelings. I don't want to be told how to feel, and I certainly don't want to be told how to act during this meditative act of listening to music. No offense.
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Slumdog Millionaire Worth the $10
(a review of Slumdog Millionaire)
December 13, 2008
We can bitch and moan about how the movies are so expensive these days, but when a movie is this damn good, I'd willingly pay more... perhaps even 20 million rupees?
I'm a sucker for the feel-good movie, and I'd be so bold as to claim that Slumdog Millionaire is a feel-good movie. You wouldn't know it for the first 100 minutes of this two-hour movie. You'd be hard pressed to find any good feelings when our protagonist, Jamal, is recounting his life on the streets—the murder, the poverty, the unrequited love. And then he becomes a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.
(Spoiler Alert!) As it turns out, all the shitty things that happened to Jamal throughout his life, all those experiences helped him get the answers correctly on the show. Every terrible event in his life all culminated in his becoming rich and getting the girl.
This amazes me because it's such a break from your traditional feel-good ending. Normally, the upbeat ending makes you feel good because despite all the pitfalls of the characters journey, he or she made it and everything turned out okay. However, in this movie, the main character lives happily ever after, not despite, but because of his struggles. Had he never seen his mother killed, had he never been in dire poverty in a trash heap, had he not been threatened by his brother with a gun, he would have never lived happily ever after.
It's a movie of hope—as I interpret it, anyway. It gives me hope when I am struggling in my life. Now I'll have this movie to think about life gets me down, when a friend betrays me, when I lose someone I love. Embrace all of life, the good and the bad. All of the hardships we experience as humans will one day, god willing, lead us to that bright, shining end of the road, and we will be happy.
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MMVIII
(a round-up of my life in 2008)
December 31, 2008
2008 was a crazy year.
I...
Had my first New Year's kiss. Tried to Monster Jam but it was sold out. Threw up Crab Fries. Drank. Drank on the subway. Peed on the subway. Voted for Obama. Got written up. Got put on deferred suspension. Survived deferred suspension. Killed 84 cases in 249. Lived in 249! Lost my virginity. Cleaned my room without being asked. Refrained from drugs. Drank too many Hurricanes. Got inducted into the Masque. Drummed my heart out for every basketball game. Went to senior week. Grew a beard—briefly. Got written about on Juicy Campus (and apparently gave black men blumpkins?). Got in a fight. Went to White Castle. Blogged. Drank. Vomited. Did a power hour. Cried on my birthday. Had a Laf party. Worked many, many hours at the Laf. Learned about "Charles Bonnet Syndrome." Put a keg over my head—naked. Went to Improv 101—drunk. Threw a snowball—just once. Tripped and scraped my knee in a drunken piggyback stupor. Blacked out on three separate occasions. Got the best text message of my life, and still have it. Invented an inflexible building material—Schmendimite! Told my daughter that the carriage was waiting. Grew out my beer belly. Shaved my chest. Lost at darts. Waited for the big screen TV. Met Nicholas (Barb's son). Generally pissed Barb off. Made a lot of Molly Ringwald references. Paraded with the Phillies. Didn't fall in love. Had brunch with good friends. Hung up Christmas lights. Ate at Treetops a million times. Enjoyed fruit parfait. Got banned from Wawa. Got banned from Dunkin' Donuts. Worked at the library. Skipped work at the library. Didn't buy any textbooks. Threeway kissed. Failed at the case race. Saw Hobbes's penis. Drank. Made porkroll. Rode my bike. Read "An Ode to a Grecian Urn." Pissed on the elevator. Passed all my classes. Made a girl cry. Made another girl cry. Sang along to the New Pornographers. Went out to dinner with my triple. Played Edward 40 Hands and finished it. Had late night trips to Checkers and Taco Bell. Got a free refrigerator. Smoked a cigar every Sunday until she quit. Took a Greyhound to Maryland and back. Watched an independent movie. Dug a hole at the beach. Partied at Wister, Fiji, the Warehouse. Drank. Rioted. Lied to friends. Apologized. Watched way too much Degrassi. Watched Degrassi when I was completely hammered and made unnecessary comparisons of it to my life. Had a constructive summer. Enjoyed Popped! Music Festival. Went to the first dance of my life that I could've had a date but didn't. Got hammered and had fun anyway. Broke my phone twice out of drunken rage. Pumped M. Stone's keg. Twittered. Roomed with Pat and grew to fucking love my quadmates. Got served at my first bar. Stole many signs and flags. Saw McCool's play. Started using Ruckus. Drank just the right amount of jungle juice. Got a case of beer for Christmas. Spent many nights alone, typing. Cheated on my Chem Labs. Interviewed my grandparents. Drank on the bleachers. Talked to Lew. Talked philosophy under the influence. Looked like an ice cream man. Dressed like a Natty box. Butchered a haircut. Got sunburn. Shared a six-pack on the deck of the motel. Rode the Ferris Wheel. Watched the fireworks. Ended it. Realized I live in an unfortunate cycle. Cheered for the Eagles. Cheered for the Flyers. Cried for the Phillies. Missed those abroad. Drank before work. Looked at porn. Got buried. Sat at the table Backstage. Lost my fucking wallet. Lost my fake ID. Collected playing cards. Smoked a hookah. Drove sober. Snuck past the security guards at least 100 times. Got even taller. Made enemies, then became civil. Left 3rd floor Basil's. Was part of RSA—fucking hated that nonsense. Sat at the Jedi Round Table. Almost got run over by the dude from Joseph's. Got lost on the way to the Dials, in the rain. Was in Mavericks. Fell in the creek. Hung up a shirt that smelled nice. Went to court in Abington. Went to court at La Salle. Had seven kegs in the woods. Raised $150 bucks. Hooked up in the woods. Traveled to Slatington. Traveled to Edison. Traveled to Silver Spring. Traveled to Wildwood. Traveled to many places my parents don't know about. Drank in a shack up in Gwynedd. Was told I have a drinking problem. Was told I drink for the wrong reasons. Was told I drink more than 96% of America. Told my counselor everything. Made many Harriet Tubman references. Regret said references. Deer-fucked. Got busted at the Factory. Out-ate Kev C***** at everything. Wore tighter jeans. Pissed all over my jeans. Saw Joe Heston naked. Won 20 games of beer pong. Broke a lighter. Popped a tire. Enjoyed hot tubs. Liked Wall-E better than The Dark Knight. Heard about Red Rock more than I should've. Tried to steal a Rockledge/Fox Chase banner. Markered La Salle IDs. Did shots. Woke up somewhere and didn't know where. Bled on my shirt. Sweated on the dance floor. Slipped on the ice. Changed deodorants. Missed La Salle. Jammed. Had an Animal House experience. Slept in other beds. Pissed the bed. Played football at Burholme. Had the longest relationship of my life. Then beat that record. Enjoyed it. Ruined everything. Can't regret it. Laughed many, many, many times. Enjoyed life. Drank with friends. Loved my friends.
I've done a lot of things this year. Many good things, many bad things, many things that have shaped the person I am at the end of 2008. But ya know what? Here I am, the year ticking down to its final minutes, and I'm sitting here as I do every year, drinking the same shitty beer as every year, hanging with the same people I do every year. The fact that I can do all these things throughout the year and still come back to the same, well... It gives me hope. It does every year. 2008 was different. It was great and it sucked. But I'm the same.
Happy New Year, all!
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