The Albums That Matter: The Band

Joe runs through every album on his iPod, mostly in alphabetical order, and offers some brief thoughts. Check out previous columns HERE.

The Band

The Band

1969

The Band is the perfect album for spring.

This theory goes beyond personal reasons, even though, yes, I did receive this record on Easter Day 2005. Everything about the album screams springtime, new life, fine weather, fresh air. It starts with the opening intro of "Across the Great Divide," the slowly rising brass section simulating Mother Earth's awaking from her winter slumber. It bides its audience to "just grab your hat, and take a ride... and bring your children down to the riverside." It's beautiful outside, so we gather 'round the old-timey band and celebrate the new season.

It's easy to get lost in the old-fashioned music that the Band plays. Not only are the subjects of their songs fallen Civil War soldiers and farmers and old men creaking in their rocking chairs, but the music itself sounds like the type of music that these characters would tend to listen to. The Band is an album unstuck in time.

Which makes it considerably more difficult to try to place this music in the context of when it was created. Here are some other albums that were released that year: Led Zeppelin I and II, Tommy, Abbey Road, Let It Bleed. The Band sounds NOTHING like those seminal albums. The Band sounds nothing like 1969 at all. 1969 was the year the Hells Angels stabbed a black man to death right in the middle of a Rolling Stones concert. The Band is so far completely removed from any of this that it's almost hard to believe that this album was released in 1969. 1869, maybe, but not 1969.

But so the album is like spring in that it seems so new and fresh and yet so ancient and perennial as well. Even the minute qualities of the music bring to mind antique and bucolic sounds. When I was younger and still considered myself a drummer, I used to be obsessed with Levon Helm's drumkit that he uses on this album. I would imagine that Helm built the drumset himself out of wood that he found in the forest—the hit of each snare and tom-tom just sounded so natural to me.

All this isn't to say that the Band can't fucking rock out, and they do here, quite a bit. It's even possible that the Band created Heartland Rock here, if you consider "Heartland Rock" to be music that straddles "country rock" and "Americana" and has the stamp of approval from indieheads. You can take artists like Jason Isbell and Margo Price and Sturgill Simpson and trace their roots all the way back to this album.

Anyways, you can probably tell that I love this album, and that I have for a while. I know it's cold this morning, but spring is right around the corner. Time to put The Band on my headphones and go for a nice walk.

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If this album sounds interesting, try this song: "King Harvest (Has Surely Come)" but shit, man, they're all good

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Stray Observations

• ALBUM COVER: Even the cover of the album evokes images of nature and whatnot, with its stark brown frame (in fact, some people refer to this album as "The Brown Album"). And then, of course, there are the five members of the Band (Richard Manuel, Levon Helm, Rick Danko, Garth Hudson, and Robbie Robertson, one of the few classic rock bands I can name all five members without even thinking about it), looking directly into the camera, and dressed as what one may describe as "anti-hippie."
• Look, I could've gone into some historical context for this album, since the Band is one of the most important bands of all time. But I didn't, because only last year Steven Hyden did exactly that in his great Sunday Pitchfork review of the album. I'd rather you just read that then have to read a watered-down version here.
• Let's take a moment to praise Levon Helm again, one of my favorite drummers of all time. Listen to those drum fills in "Rag Mama Rag." Dude is the syncopation king. Not only that, but the guy can sing! He takes lead on what is possibly the Band's most famous song, "The Night They Drove Ol' Dixie Down." The night Helm died, I was in Vegas at a karaoke bar. I think you know what song I sang.
• Speaking of "The Night They Drove Ol' Dixie Down," if you come to my home, and Pam is working the music, you'll probably hear the song at least once, but it'll be a cover of the song by Joan Baez. Nothing again Ms. Baez, but her version can't hold a fucking candle to the original.
• Okay, fuck it, let's keep talking about this song, because apparently there's a lot to unpack. How do we feel about the fact that the protagonist in this song is a Confederate soldier? It definitely gives me pause, but here's what I take away from it. The Band is not empathizing with the Confederate cause here, but with the soldier tasked with fighting for that cause. Not once during the song does any band member state any sympathy for the cause itself. They're just telling a story, and getting you to empathize with another human life. It's a fine line, sure, but the Band, in my opinion anyway, stays on the correct side of that line. To have a problem with "Dixie Down" would be the same as having a problem with, I dunno, how about This Is Us, with all the empathy for the Viet Cong? I'm still going to empathize with the plight of the soldier even if he was explicitly instructed to shoot Jack Pearson in the face, ya feel me?
• Anyways, I checked Robbie Robertson (who wrote the song)'s twitter feed just to make sure he wasn't a MAGA shithead or anything. It doesn't look like it. Plus, he's from Canada, so it might be a moot point.
• Enough politics, go listen to this album please if you have never heard it. The 50th anniversary is coming this September 22nd! Quick, hop on the bandwagon before it's too late!

NEXT TIME: Torches by Foster the People (yes, we begin working our way through some of the decade's best, even if they don't fall in line alphabetically)

Album of the Week: Wanderer

It's Week 3 of the PoYB Record Club! Welcome back, folks. As always, you can click HERE to explore previous weeks' albums and reviews. Otherwise, read on for this week's album.

WEEK 3 — February 17-23, 2019

What we're listening to this week (Pam's pick):

ALBUM: Wanderer
ARTIST: Cat Power

RELEASED: October 5, 2018

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Folk-y singer songwriter Americana

WHY PAM PICKED THIS: "I scrolled through a Best Albums of 2018 list and Cat Power was the first artist I recognized."

TRACKLIST:

1. Wanderer
2. In Your Face
3. You Get
4. Woman (ft. Lana Del Rey)
   
5. Horizon
6. Stay
7. Black
8. Robbin Hood
9. Nothing Really Matters
10. Me Voy
11. Wanderer / Exit

READING SOME SHIT: Chan Marshall did this interview with Stereogum, which was published a few days before the album was released

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

Song of the Week: "Lost Faith"

"Lost Faith"

Bob Mould

from Sunshine Rock

2019

After stretching myself a little bit with midwest emo, Chicago soul trap, and embarrassing pop punk, sometimes it's just nice to slip into something simple and fun and exactly my style. Bob Mould scratches the itch this week with his new album, Sunshine Rock.

Mould was a frontman of Hüsker Dü, a very angry punk (possibly proto-grunge?) band that I could never quite get into. His solo work still maintains the high energy guitar bashing, but also seems a little more fully formed. It's angry dude rock for the masses.

Not that an album called Sunshine Rock is necessarily "angry." In fact, based on the title and the upbeat content, it seems like a conscious effort on Mould's part to channel his relentless energy into something optimistic. It's fucking awesome, you guys.

The song of the week is my favorite song (so far) from this album (it's tough competition), and it's called "Lost Faith." Each verse overflows with vitriol pointed both inward and outward. But then the chorus comes crashing in with a dose of optimism: "Baby, we all lose faith in troubled times / You know I'm gonna be right here." It's a song that we probably all need right now. Life sucks, sure, but we "really gotta stop" thinking that way. Don't let your hopes and dreams disappear! Thanks Bob Mould!

Broken Bells, Brianna

When I first bit the bullet and signed up for Spotify Premium a few years ago, I was in awe of all of the new music at my fingertips, and quickly tried to consume as much of it as possible. "The High Road" single by Broken Bells came up on my first Spotify-orchestrated Discovery Weekly playlist and I swear to God I thought this app was using black magic because there was no way it could pinpoint a song I immediately loved so easily. While I'm still not entirely convinced that black magic isn't in the mix, ya girl's more grateful than concerned for this witchy-ness for bringing Broken Bells into my world of music.

Its title track is a bonafide hit, but it was really the second track, "Vaporize," that got me hooked. Ask anyone who knows my musical taste and they'll tell you that I'm a sucker for some funky keys and a good brass section. Like Post Malone—add these elements to one of his songs and I'd be chanting SONG OF THE YEAR! While keeping it low key, "Vaporize" still manages to incorporate my favorite things in a way that had me jamming for days. "The Ghost Inside" was another one I instantly could not get out of my head (in fact, it's been there, clapping sequence and all, since this morning when I gave this number a relisten). For me, it's these two tracks that make this album top notch. The album hits a bit of a lull for me around "Sailing to Nowhere" and spans about a song or two after. Not that they aren't quality tunes, I just find myself drifting off between the slower melodies and more distorted, synthy sounds. While I do enjoy the nice orchestra number in that section of the album, I tend to skip over it in favor of the album's strong finish.

To be honest, I hadn't listened to this full album in a minute, though "The Ghost Inside" is still a go to when driving in 95-S traffic during rush hour every day, so I was excited to have the opportunity to revisit an old favorite. I'm glad to say its quality has stood the test of time, even as my music tastes have shifted and changed on multiple occasions since I first got Spotify Premium. I hear a new Broken Bells album is in the works this year; I have a feeling that it won't take any black magic to get me to listen to it this time around.

Broken Bells, Sam

Recently, I've been infatuated with the idea that I'll never enjoy any piece of art, music especially, as much as I did when I was in high school. Taste evolves and nothing is as pure as listening to music that you bought with your own money when you're thirteen years old.  

Hunkering down to sit silently and listen to an album while not driving or doing the dishes but only focusing on the CD jacket is an experience I don't have time for anymore, nor do I know if I would enjoy anyway. 

That past taste was not discerning: Fastball, the Beatles, and Saves the Day held equal roles in my development. But it all mattered because it was new and it was art and it was beautiful.

My unfocused taste now requires new music to sound exactly what I used to love or be challenging and different. If it's too much of a retread, I'm impatient.

Broken Bells by Broken Bells sounds like a retread to me. If I listened to this album even five years ago, Broken Bells would have hoodwinked me. But I have a baby and a job and a wife and a mortgage now. I have no time for pretend instruments, pretend prog rock, and pretend falsetto (except for me doing karaoke to "Funky Town").

Empty platitudes don't do it for me anymore. I don't need Broken Bells' advice on how to feel regret for my youth, especially when that advice is at odds with each other. Tracks 1 and 2 contradict each other: "The High Road" laments "It's too late to change your mind," while "Vaporize" pacifies by saying "It's not too late to feel a little more than life." 

Am I out of time or do I have plenty of it? Either way I'm not spending it on music that sounds like bad Shins (and do I even really like the Shins anyway?).

That said, I don't want to hate everything new forever. I'm not a Sir Jorah-esque Stoneman. I can still dig Broken Bells' dance beats on the last two tracks, but I also can't get past one of the songs is called "Mongrel Heart." 

Overall, I liked songs on this album that were more straightforward and fun. I don't mind complicated progressions (I went to the fucking symphony last week). But maybe I'm over indie prog—just because a song has 16 parts doesn't make it interesting, it may mean that none of those parts is strong enough to stand on its own.

Broken Bells, Joe

It's 2019, and I'm trying to round up as many 2010s hidden gems that I can before the end of the decade. Will Broken Bells end up on any end-of-the-decade Best Of lists? Probably not. It has its moments, for sure, but it's also an album that absolutely screams "side project."

And it actually is a side project, to be clear. James Mercer of the Shins takes lead, backed by prolific music producer Danger Mouse (known for everything from mixing Jay-Z and the Beatles to producing that fucking Adele album). I think the Shins somehow ended up as one of the most underrated bands working today, so count me as a fan of Mercer, both his voice and his music. But Broken Bells is decidedly not the Shins. The Shins have mastered pop/rock sheen. Broken Bells is lax and feels, at times, like tossed-off material, slapped on a record and shipped to consumers without thinking about it twice.

Its tossed-off quality works to its advantage occasionally, like "The Ghost Inside." The song is all hypnotic drum machine and spooky synth, and it rambles along slowly. Mercer, for some reason, sings like he is auditioning for the Bee Gees. It's all very weird and goofy, but it fucking works, is my point. It's a great fucking song.

The weirdness is only detrimental when it becomes boring, which unfortunately happens a fair amount of times on Broken Bells, especially around the middle. "Trap Doors" tries the drum loop hypnosis trick again, but does way less with it, at a way slower tempo. "Sailing to Nowhere" has too many stops and starts, and barely even resembles a song, let along the epic multi-part it so aspires to be. And "Citizen" is just seems to drag on forever, even past a goddamn false ending.

But maybe corralling all the shitty songs right in the middle was on purpose. The ramshackle nature remains in the songs around the extremes of the album, but at least there's something to hold onto there, something that gives the songs life. "October" has a chorus with a real strong piano riff and quasi-group vocal that really brings the album out of its funk. "Vaporize," an early track, starts Shins-esque with just Mercer and acoustic guitar, but then actually manages to build meaningfully from there, with a hook-y chorus and rhythm section that comes to life for once. And the "Mongrel Heart" has an awesome organ part that really moves the song at a brisk and exciting pace. So there's good moments here, you guys! You just have to kind of work for them, is all.

Broken Bells is a complete mixed bag of an album. It's loose and rambling in both good ways and bad. There's a handful of absolutely great songs that work well despite themselves, but in no way do the highlights help adhere the album into any meaningful whole. It's the type of album that, at the end of the decade, I'll claim that I "really like" but then not be able to name a single track title.

GRADE: 2.5 pukes out of 5

Thirsty Thursday: CHEERS TO THE GUV'NAH (redux)

I've written about Cheers to the Guv'nah before, almost nine years ago, and it remains one of my favorite drinking games to this day. Sit in a circle, count to thirteen, then slowly start replacing numbers with increasingly convoluted rules, and keep going around the circle until everyone remembers every rule at the same time. It works equally as a team-building exercise and an excuse to get drunk. And it's really fun when played correctly!

But I've noticed in recent editions of this game that I've become a bit of an... asshole while playing it. I don't know if I've always acted this way, or that my actions have prominent in recent months, but there seems recently to always be one or two people who become really annoyed at the way that I play Cheers to the Guv'nah. It's manifested in two ways.

Primarily, I've become really strict about the act of helping other players out when they forget a rule, or don't complete the rule exactly as it was intended. In my opinion, the integrity of the game is compromised when you help people out or give them hints. The point of the game is that we all learn the rules through drunken trial and error. If someone doesn't learn the rule, but skimps by because someone just told them the answer, then they don't learn, and are more prone to keep misremembering the rule, and the game actually takes longer. 

And you know me (especially drunk me), and so you know that I'm not necessarily gentle when it comes to calling people out on their "cheating." I don't think my friends take kindly to the fact that I'm yelling "you fucked up!!!!" at them, even if the purpose of my yelling is to protect the game itself. I'm probably taking Cheers way too seriously, true, but at the same time, it's like, why are you even playing if you're not going to play it right?!

The second thing I've been doing during Cheers that usually causes massive eye rolls is that I've become obsessed with creating unnecessarily complicated rules when it's my turn to choose. A game of Cheers to the Guv'nah is boring as shit to me if "One" is just replaced with another word, "Two" is simply replaced with a noise, and "Three" is replaced solely by a hand motion. I don't think it's particularly fun or scintillating or worth it if round after round starts with "Butts," "Woo!" and three claps. It's too easy. Even "Name a [category], no repeats"-type rules are starting to bore me.

I want rules to be even more complicated than that. I want them to refer back to other rules, adding layers to what you have to remember. Last weekend, one of the rules I created was "Instead of 11, name a U.S. city that starts with the last letter as the car that was named for number 3 of this round." Another was "Instead of 12, take as guess as to whether the animal in number four is native in the state named in number 7." In the past, I've done shit like "instead of 9, point to someone, who either points to someone else or becomes 9 themselves, etc." and all kinds of nonsense.

I think this adds a fun extra challenge to the game. However, inevitably, when I make these types of rules, I'm met with a host of complaints, and accusations that I'm "too much." Which, like the first issue, I kind of get. I am too much sometimes, just like I'm too brash and too quick to confrontation.

So if I keep running into resistance with how I play a simple silly fucking drinking game, it begs the question... what's the problem here? Is Cheers to the Guv'nah flawed? Or am I in the wrong? Like Principal Skinner in that one meme—No, it's the game who is wrong.

The problem with Cheers to the Guv'nah, in general, is that the stakes are too low. There's no winner or loser, so people don't feel responsible to follow the rules. In competitive games, your opponent will call you out if you cheat, because it effects their own chances of winning. In Cheers, there is no opponent, so people feel affronted when a supposed ally is calling them out on their cheating anyway.

But then if you consider the rules themselves as the opponent, then people are equally mad when you embolden your so-called opponent in the act of making the rules extra-complicated. When I'm create an arduous rule, I'm not just placing a handicap on myself, I'm handicapping everyone, some of whom don't necessarily wish to be handicapped (figuratively) any more than the inebriation already makes them. And this is an affront to friends as well.

The problem, ultimately, is that I am a very competitive person, even if that means competing with myself, even if that means challenging myself at the expense of others. I don't like playing drinking games that I find unchallenging, and things like helping other players and making simple rules turn Cheers to the Guv'nah into a less challenging endeavor.

I acknowledge the fact that being this type of person (and likewise blogging about being this type of person) also makes me a huge asshole. I get that. It's a character flaw that I continuously try to work on in other aspects of my life (and mostly fail, but I'm trying). 

But when it comes to already dumb and pointless drinking games played with friends, I refuse to change. If the point of drinking games is to kill time and to have fun, then being a competitive asshole is the only way I know how to do it, even if I'm playing a drinking a game in which no competition is required.

If you find yourself in the same position as I am, and would rather play "Cheers to the Guv'nah on Steroids" instead of slogging through the same simple rules, hit me up. There's a better way to play. Let's get together and play a supersized version of Cheers. We'll count to fifty. We'll hold the cheaters accountable until no one cheats at all. We'll make the rules insanely byzantine and knotty. We'll drink a lot. We'll challenge each other, and ourselves. We'll actually feel accomplished when we complete the game.

In the meantime, I suppose next time I play Cheers to the Guv'nah, I'll try to do better in striking that balance between having fun and making sure others have fun, even if that means going against every instinct I have. I think it would be nice walking away from a drinking game for once without someone considering me to be a piece of shit.

The Albums That Matter: Back to Black

Joe runs through every album on his iPod, mostly in alphabetical order, and offers some brief thoughts. Check out previous columns HERE.

Back to Black

Amy Winehouse

2006

I put this album on the other day while in the car with Pam and Willow, and was immediately greeted with the joyful blast of clap-along fun that is the seminal hit "Rehab." And as the tune continued, and Winehouse's soulful voice brought the house down in song after song, it struck me for the first time—this is a profoundly sad album. It wasn't meant to be one, I don't think. But Amy Winehouse is dead, and so now Back to Black serves as an epitaph for a troubled and supremely talented artist.

That probably sounds morbid, but that's just how my mind works. Honestly, how can you not get spooked by an anti-rehab song when the singer died of alcohol poisoning?

However, the right thing to do is to celebrate the art that the artist left behind. And so let us celebrate Back to Black, a wonderful album that manages to mine the great retro sound of '60s girl groups, while at the same time consistently sounding fresh every time you hear it. It's a stunning achievement, and its majesty only deepens considering Amy Winehouse is the one creating and performing.

Winehouse just has one of those all-time classic voices. It's powerful but also sounds effortless, like she could sing like this at a bus stop just as well as she could on stage. It's a voice that evokes images of a lounge singer in a long silky dress, lying on a piano, crooning to the cigar-chomping, martini-drinking patrons in front of her, making them feel like she is singing just to them. But then she croons a line like "What kind of fuckery is this?" and you're brought right back to the 21st century. My point is that Amy Winehouse's voice exists everywhere and at every time.

I love this album, but as Winehouse tells us, "Love is a losing game." I can't listen to Back to Black too much. How can such a joyful album make me so goddamn sad?

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If this album sounds interesting, try this song: "Back to Black"

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Stray Observations

• I've spent so much of my time obsessed with Amy Winehouse and her voice and her death that there are a lot of little things scattered all over Back to Black that I've missed previous to writing this column. For instance, I did not know that the "Mr. Jones" in "Me and Mr. Jones" is "Mr. Nasir Jones," a.k.a. Nas the rapper. They didn't "date," per se, but they shared a strong long-distance friendship, according to this Uproxx article. 
• Also, I guess I didn't realize how closely associated Mark Ronson was to the making of Back to Black. He produced six of the songs (including "Rehab"), and has a songwriting credit on the title track. I guess I was aware that there were a couple folks who had a hand in helping shape Winehouse's vision here, but I didn't really know who Mark Ronson was until "Uptown Funk" six years later.
• I just spent all day Monday bitching about the Grammys, so no, this doesn't mean much, but hey, it looks like "Rehab" won Record of the Year and Song of the Year back in 2008.
• ALBUM COVER: It's just Amy, sitting on a chair, staring directly at the listener, daring them to press pause.
• I may have accidentally called this album "Back in Black" last time. My apologies to Winehouse fans and AC/DC fans out there who were offended.
• On an old blog, I wrote a little bit about music, and one of my short, dumb essays was about Amy Winehouse. I previously shared that blog's writing in this column with Andrew Bird and Wolf Parade, and I'm going to do the same here. But I didn't want to include this one in the article proper, because it was written before Winehouse's death, and comes off as a little ignorant because of that, and possibly misogynistic regardless of when it was written. But here it is, for your reading (dis)pleasure:

The Hottest Anorexic Depressed Beehive-Haired British Musician I Know
by Joe K***
July 20, 2008 

     Poor Amy Winehouse. It must be a pity, being in her position. Well, alright, I suppose she has some things going for her. She did win a bunch of Grammys, and she's probably rolling in the dough produced by her big hit, "Rehab." Thousands of people enjoy her craft. That's got to feel good.
     What must not feel good, on the other hand, is this: her personal life and her personal problems have eclipsed the quality of her music. The public at large no longer thinks of her as the popular musical artist with the smooth gospel-like voice and a knack for capturing that same lifeblood as the girl groups from the '50s and '60s Motown era. Instead, she is a laughingstock. Her declining physical appearance is mocked, her drug addiction is deplored, and her face, usually distraught and confused, is smattered all over those wickedly deceiving tabloids.
     Meanwhile, her music takes a backseat to the circus show, which is a damn shame, because it ain't half bad. Not at all.
     It's relaxing, like a smooth tonic that slows down life and makes it all the more enjoyable. It's uplifting; Winehouse's voice is powerful and soaring. It's—dare this white boy say it—soulful. If a movie adaption of my life depicted me, for some strange reason, floating down a river on a warm summer day with cold lemonade in hand, most likely I'd choose an Amy Winehouse song for the soundtrack to this scene.
     And may I firmly state at this point that I think Amy Winehouse is fucking gorgeous. Ignore the tabloids; obviously they will depict her at her worst. Perhaps that would explain why my confessions of my crush on this Brit causes such utter disgust in all of my female friends and many of my guy friends. Good lord, look at her, she's hot as hell!
     But I digress, because I'm falling into the same trap as the general public. The focus of Amy Winehouse should not be her looks. It should be her music.

NEXT TIME: The Band by the Band

PoYB from the Vault: Public Diary, Part IV

We finally conclude our four part slog through 20-year-old Joe K***'s public diary. Yes, 20-year-old Joe was having a lot more fun than 30-year-old Joe, but that still doesn't mean there was enough interesting writing here to necessitate pouring over these diary entries with a fine-tooth comb. This was a dumb idea. Don't worry, there are only four February diary entries left, so this will be quick. I'm as bored as you are. Let's get this over with! (See Parts ONE, TWO, and THREE if you want.)

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February 1-4, 2009

Holy shit, I really slacked off on this stuff. I'm sorry, humble reader, I really am.

Nothing's been going on anyway, really. Sunday, I had rehearsal at eleven, so that was a little rough waking up¹. Afterwards, I came home² and got excited for the Super Bowl. Not! The game was okay³, but I wasn't emotionally involved⁴. So fuck it. After that I didn't do a damn thing.

The next three days, leading up to now, have not been exciting. I've gotten caught up with homework, I've worked on and finished Kicks⁵ in the Collegian, I've gone to rehearsal, I've worked a little bit. That's it.

There was a snow day this morning, that was pretty nice. So my Stat class was cancelled. Psych, unfortunately, was not. I skipped work as well⁶, but fuck it, it was a snow day, no way I'm going in.

And that's that. Here I am, anticipating another great weekend. Let's hope for the best!

Goodnight, humble reader.

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February 5-6, 2009

Weekends treat me well at La Salle, humble reader. The first two days were solid outings.

First, though, I slept in Thursday morning. Fuck it, I can miss a class or two every once in a while⁷, right? So once I got my shit together by class at two, I was awake and rested. Religion and the Civil Rights Movement is slowly turning into my favorite class I have, the subject matter is so fucking interesting. Work went by quickly, because I spent all two and half hours I was there searching for misplaced books⁸, and this gave me an opportunity to immerse myself in the newest Los Campesinos!⁹ albums, finally.

Then I went to rehearsal, which is getting better and better all the time. We then headed over to Hannah's and drank some 'Canes, which is always nice. I stopped by the townhouses afterwards at Johnny's, and then somehow ended up at Wister¹⁰ for the first time in forever. Everyone there was a load. Nice.

I skipped class and work on Friday—fuck it¹¹—and got a breakfast sandwich from the lunch truck on Olney with B**. Afterwards, just chilled around the room for a while. Eventually I went on my fourth beer run of the week¹², and everything was set for 249's banger¹³.

A surprising amount of people showed up, a lot of unexpected people, which is fucking awesome. Jim, Kev, and Andrew from the 'hood came, a bunch of Masque kids, and a lot of people from just around the dorms¹⁴. Team Green¹⁵ killed at beer pong, and everyone helped to kill six cases. I went out for a bit, which was a mistake, so we came back and hung out till the wee hours of the morning, just hanging out and being drunk. A great night!

Goodnight, humble reader.

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February 7, 2009

So it seems that this whole night was a farce¹⁶.

Hey, sure, let's get drunk alone! Great fucking plan, Joseph. But I wasn't drunk first. No. First I went to breakfast with the boys¹⁷. We were all either a) still drunk, b) newly high, c) both, and then we fucking destroyed the fucking breakfast buffet.

Then I took a shit. Then I played in the Pep band at the women's basketball game. I wish these two actions were one in the same. That would've made sense¹⁸.

Then I sat in my fucking computer chair forever. Fucking till the end of time. Watched the Office and Scrubs, laughed like I was drunk or something¹⁹.

Then I walked to Broad and Olney like a naive freshman²⁰, but survived, and got drunk off the manmade forties²¹, and got hammered and twittered a million fucking times²², and now I'm ready to go to bed.

G'night, humble reader.

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February 8-15, 2009

Sheesh. I really forgot about this²³. Not that anyone cares besides me, but still. How am I going to accurately describe what happened over the past eight days without forgetting a few things? I'll do my best though.

Let's see... last Sunday? Probably just rehearsal all day. Then I most likely just chilled in Basils. Fuck it. Monday through Thursday were all standard days. I had rehearsal every night, as it was hell week²⁴. I also had a lot of other shit on my plate, like band, Collegian, etc. So that was my life last week, all work no play. Thankfully it was fun work. Thursday night I went over Johnny's for a little. Drank a 'Cane. Dave came by. Good times.

Friday I just chilled during the day, because that night was opening night of Recent Tragic Events! It went excellently. Afterwards, B** invited me in on a case, which was lovely of her. Then, around midnight, I headed over to E2²⁵ for a Masque gathering. Great times.

Yesterday, the band traveled to the big game at the Palestra²⁶. La Salle vs. St. Joe's. Incredibly, we won²⁷! The team should be commended for such a great effort. And the pep band had the best seat in the house, fucking courtside seats²⁸.

I rushed home to get ready for opening night, Part II. Went just as well. Afterwards I tried to party but that didn't work out so well. By some combination of the hot dog I ate at UPenn²⁹, the gross fucking pizza i had onstage, and some kind of flu I guess I had, my stomach and rectum were destroyed, and I called it an early night³⁰. It was one of the worst nights of my life; I woke up every half hour to puke, shit, or both. It was terrible, just fucking terrible.

Still felt like shit this morning... just in time for the matinee! It was incredible, the cast and crew really did a bang-up job all weekend. Unfortunately, a cloud of bad feelings settled over our last performance, since a few F-bombs were dropped onstage, and a few people flipped out³¹. If anything, I'll get in trouble for it, because no one else should get in trouble besides yours truly.

And here I am, feeling in a daze because of my sickness (I threw up at intermission³²) and probably what is exhaustion and dehydration. Fuck it, I'm skipping class and work tomorrow. I need to. I also need some food in me. Hopefully I can hold it down.

Goodnight, humble reader³³.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOOTNOTES

1. And I don't even know what I was so hungover from, because my dumb ass didn't write about my Saturday night (see last week's final entry). What is the point of even keeping a diary if it's just going to be generalities and half-assed allusions? Guys, I'm over this.

2. "Home" meaning my dorm room in St. Basil's, not "home" at my parents' in Rockledge. It certainly felt more like home by that point. Not that I ever felt unwelcome in Rockledge, nor was I weary about going back at any time (though it was only 20 minutes away, I probably only went home for family dinner every other week at most). It's just that I felt more FREE at college. Summers and winter breaks in Rockledge felt like waiting periods between semesters, honestly.

3. Nah man, it was a good game. I was just downplaying it because the Eagles had been so close to being involved in it, but ultimately were not. The Steelers beat the Cardinals 27-23, and the win was the result of a final, last-minute drive by the Steelers. There's a clear difference between good football games and bad football games, and this was a good football game. Look to this year's Patriots vs. Rams snoozefest for an example of a BAD football game.

4. Here's something I was emotionally invested in—the halftime show featuring Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. 2009 was the final time I was legitimately excited for the halftime show (The Who in 2010 were fine, but 50% of the Who does not equal the Who). Rest in Peace, Clarence, but dude, you've been playing the five-second sax solo from "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out" the same way for 40 years, how the FUCK are you going to screw it up in front of 98.7 million people?!

5. https://pukeonyourbirthday.blogspot.com/2018/07/poyb-from-vault-kicks-komics.html

6. My employers at the library seriously did not give a fuck at all when people skipped work. Students were completely unnecessary when it came to keeping the library functional. This, ultimately, was a bad thing, because I skipped work all the time, and had a lot less money in my pocket. If you give me a penny, I'll take a motherfucking pound.

7. No way it was "every once in a while" by this point, but what can ya do, I was still passing my classes. Cs get degrees at La Salle.

8. Basically, they would give me a list of books that were "missing," i.e. were never properly checked back in, and I had to go to the spot on the shelf where the book should be. If the book was actually there, then it was a clerical error, and I would just correct it in the computer system that this book is not actually missing. I know, exciting stuff!!!

9. Looks like this was We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed, an "EP" released by the band in November 2008. Three notes. One, it's stupid to call this album an EP because it's just as long as a normal album. Two, in my opinion, this remains the most recent all-caps GREAT Los Camps! record, though the subsequent four releases have all been lowercase-letter good in their own ways. Three, a three-month waiting period to listen to a new album would be unheard of in 2019. If a band I like is coming out with a new album, I'm probably listening three hours after it comes out, not three months.

10. The Wister House, a frat house on Wister St. with a very large basement. It was occupied by the Delta Sig frat at the time, and during my first two years at La Salle, they hosted a party every Thursday night. In freshman year, the parties were fucking wild. By the time Sophomore year rolled around, I was kind of over it, especially after I (deservedly) got my ass beat by a bunch of the frat guys that lived there. I guess no one remembered me if I was going back there a few months after I was supposedly "banned for life."

11. See footnotes #6 and #7.

12. I know that, as a collective dorm room, the four of us snuck in 110 cases of beer the first semester alone. We kept track, which is a total teenage thing to do, but then again, we were teenagers. But I don't think we kept track the second semester. Let's estimate 200 cases total for the whole year?

13. You may question how insane we were to have a party in a dorm room, what with something like two dozen write-ups between the four of us, half of us on the brink of expulsion. But you can only get written up if an RA decides to write you up, and the schedule of on-duty RAs was posted every month, so we knew in advance who was on duty any given night. There were two RAs in particular (Sam and Janine) who really didn't give a fuck if people threw parties in their rooms. When these two RAs were on duty at the same time, we had a party. Simple as that.

14. I know that at one time, we had a party with like fifty people at one time (a crazy number for a dorm room built for FOUR people), but I don't think this was the night. I feel like I would've made a bigger deal about the number in this diary entry if that were the case. Since this was not that party, I can definitively say that I do not remember this particular party at all.

15. "Team Green" was (and is!) the moniker of my and Kev's beer pong team. See the epic saga HERE.

16. Decent attempt, but I don't think I'm using this word correctly.

17. Assuming that I meant the three neighborhood friends who had visited the night before had slept over, and we all went to Treetops the next morning. Is it weird to say Mornings After at Treetops were some of my favorite memories of college?

18. It does not make sense.

19. I can imagine myself typing this diary entry, in that dark corner of the dorm room, one eye open, two in the morning, typing with one hand on the keyboard and one hand on a Hurricane Forty. Oh boy.

20. Walking to the corner of Broad and Olney by yourself in the evening was... um, a little dangerous. More than "naive," I'd argue. But I didn't get mugged, so moot point.

21. I have no idea what I mean by "manmade forties." This sounds like more drunk talk.

22. Here are my tweets from that night, not in chronological order at all (which was Twitter's fault, not mine): "I want a stalker. That'd be nice." and "My 2nd commercial commentary: the Clean and Clear girls are hot and full of shit." and "Every good comedy has a funeral... ?" and "Beer League should totally not get me to think about theology so i won't let it." and "eHarmony tells me i will not be one of those couples married for 50 years." and "This movie is quickly convincing me to be in a softball league when I'm older" and "Self pity cannot happen tonight. I'm going out when i can." and "I'm almost ready to walk to the forty store myself. I can't decide if that would make this eventless night better or worse." and "At broad and olney. By myself. Dunno what i'm doing." and "It took two hurricanes and the incredible hulk but i fixed the bathroom door!" and "Why is Beer League so great and so meaningful? Oh, right, I'm drunk." and "Commercials for the navy are terrible. Just saying." and "I'm more pathetic then you'll ever be. Unless you drink by yourself on a saturday as well." and "Facebook destroys."

23. Soon, we too get to forget about this.

24. "Hell Week" is the week before a play's opening weekend. I have to think it was originally given that moniker by a stage crew, who have to put together a lot of things in a short week. The cast should have their shit together by that point, no "hell" about it.

25. The townhouses were each marked with a letter and a number, e.g. E2, C15, B9, etc. 

26. A historic college basketball arena at UPenn, where a lot of Big Five games are played. La Salle usually played at least one game at the Palestra every year. Even after graduation, I used to wear a pep band shirt and sneak into games for free.

27. The score was 75-68, so it's not like it was a terribly close game or anything. I think by saying "incredibly, they won" was my way of being self-deprecating about my alma mater, as usual.

28. In my freshman year, at those same courtside seats, I was fucking around during the game and playing the drums as loud as I could while any St. Joe's player was shooting a foul shot. The referee approached me after the game and told me that he was debating whether to give me a technical foul. La Salle had won the game on a buzzer-beater, so had the scenario of the La Salle Pep Band Drummer Getting a Technical Foul actually come to pass, I would be writing diary dispatches as a student at St. Joe's by this point.

29. The Pep Band often got free food at games... but no one ever said it was good food.

30. My theory now is that sometimes, when I treat my body like shit, it decides to treat me like shit right back, and pizza is usually the breaking point. See the Pizza Hut section of this recent post for another example.

31. Of course, I wrote about this incident already—see #140 on this list.

32. I have a very long history of throwing up in the theater.

33. I guess after this entry, I finally gave up. Good riddance, public diary!

FUCK THE GRAMMYS (but not for the reason you think)

I guess Puke on Your Birthday is a music blog now (even though I still spend one or two days a week prattling on about times I got drunk in the woods or whatever), but I've never written anything here about the Grammys, the so-called "biggest night in music."

I've never felt the need to write about it, because you, the reader, probably think you already know my take. You read my music reviews and my yearly rankings. You know that my favorite music and the music honored at the award show are vastly dissimilar. What do I have to gain from watching fucking Post Malone perform with the fucking Red Hot Chili Peppers? What could I possibly add to the conversation about Best New Artist Dua Lipa, an artist whom I've never listened to for more than three seconds (before she made eye sex with St. Vincent)?

And that would be a lukewarm take, the whole "I hate this music, so I hate the Grammys" mindset. On one hand, I get it. It's tough to love music so much but then be told by the Powers That Be that, no, the music you like sucks, and it sucks so bad we won't even acknowledge most of it, and instead of even nominating the music you love, we're gonna give fucking Post Malone center stage.

In other words, it would be one thing to give out Grammys to artists who are purely popular. If it doesn't matter what the critics say, and Post Malone is going to be nominated for Album of the Year based solely on his popularity (Beerbongs & Bentleys, completely unlistenable trash, is currently triple-platinum), then that would be absolutely understandable. At least we would understand that the Grammys honor music which the majority of people enjoy. I could disregard the Grammys as a populist thing, and move on.

But that's not how the Grammys operate, because they also occasionally award music that was not, by reasonable metrics, necessarily "popular" with the general public. Instead, it was loved by critics (count PoYB as a "critic," no matter what you feel about my sometimes terrible critical takes), and then wins an award.

Look at Kasey Musgraves last night, winning the highest honor for her pretty great album Golden Hour. This album didn't show up too much on PoYB's 2018 Year in Review, but I like the album a lot all the same, and enjoy it every time Pam puts it on in the car. And according to most aggregates, it was in the Top Three overall as far as critical reception in 2018 goes. But if you ask my sister Jenny, who regularly plays Beerbongs & Bentleys at parties, do you think she's going to know who fucking Kasey Musgraves is? Absolutely not. She spent weeks on the album charts, and she'll definitely get a boost after last night's win, but she is by no means "popular" in the same way we would call Post Malone "popular." And yet she won the biggest Grammy last night.

So my problem is NOT that the Grammys never honor the music I listen to, because that's not even true sometimes. My problem is that the Grammys are not consistent with how they award and honor music. They are stuck trying to please both the populists and the critics, and by doing both, no one wins.

I think this is a problem unique to music, if you consider the three other major award shows.

The Tonys honor art on the stage, both dramas and musicals. However, only a minute portion of the U.S. population regularly attends the theater, and so these awards are purely catered toward these people, the industry and its very small audience. There's no need or desire to bow down to what is "popular" because "popular theater" doesn't even exist. I'm not saying there aren't shows that deserve awards—those handful of times I've witnessed professional theater in person, I'm consistently blown away—but I'm saying that no one, NO ONE, is watching the Tonys and saying "but these nominees aren't my theater." There are people who know theater, and there are the many, many more people who don't know theater, and the award show caters to the former group, and that's it.

With the Emmys, I'd argue they have a much easier job at caterer to both the critical crowd and the populist crowd, because much more with TV than with any other medium, what's critically acclaimed and what's popular very often are the same exact thing. That's not always the case. Fucking Sheldon has won FOUR EMMYS in that role (popular but critically loathed), while Community was completed snubbed for six years (critically acclaimed but not very popular). But very often, the shows nominated for awards are at least generally well-liked by critics and generally watched by a lot of people. Think about all the awards that Breaking Bad won, while being very good and pretty popular. Think about all the awards that Game of Thrones has won, while being pretty good and very popular. If many TV shows already exist as popular and critically acclaimed programs, then the award shows that honor TV can give those TV shows the awards, and no one will feel left out.

Only movies come close to having the same dilemma as music does, in that there is a large gap between what is popular and what is critically acclaimed. In 2018, the nine movies nominated for Best Oscar pulled in an average of $63 million at the box office (pre-nomination). None of those films were in the Top Ten Highest Grossing Films of that year. The highest grossing film (Star Wars Whatever Whatever) pulled in $620 million domestic, almost TEN TIMES the Oscar average. It's fair to say that what is "popular" and what is "acclaimed" is vastly different when it comes to movies.

But the difference with the Oscars is that they make no pretense at ever catering toward what is popular. With the Academy Awards, they cater toward critical opinion, and eschew popular opinion (if how the population spends their money indicates popularity, anyway). If your favorite movie of 2017 was Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, then the Oscars were probably pretty boring for you. If that were the case, then you would have every right to claim "I think the Oscars are stupid because they don't reflect what I watch." Which is true! They wouldn't!

In fact, the Academy just months ago announced and then immediately retracted the announcement that there would be a new "Best Popular Movie" category. The backlash was immediate, because those who give a fuck about the Oscars don't give a fuck about popular movies. A "Best Popular Movie" category would defeat the whole purpose of the Oscars, because the Oscars do not honor movies simply because they are popular, and they have a record and a history of proving that.

In other words, a "Best Popular Movie" category would have made the ceremony more like the Grammys. And no one wanted that, surely.

The Oscars are consistent, and the Grammys are not. One year, Arcade Fire will win best album, and that album will be pretty good. But what does that award really mean if it was awarded just three years after Herbie fucking Hancock won the same award? If the National were the #1 album on PoYB and the #1 Alternative Music Album at the Grammys, the same award that fucking Coldplay has won TWICE, then what does that say about the National? And about Puke on Your Birthday? And about the Grammys themselves? If Led Zeppelin can win the award for Best Rock Album in fucking 2014, should we care that the War on Drugs won in 2017? If Led Zeppelin was never even nominated for the Best Album award, then should we truly give a fuck if fucking motherfucker Post fucking Malone gets nominated, for some fucking reason?!

No. Ultimately, we should not care about any of this. It's not that I don't care because "my music isn't honored," because sometimes it is. And that's part of the problem. Sometimes my music is "deserving of an award," and sometimes it is completely ignored in service of clearly inferior garbage. When there's inconsistencies like this, when the Grammys try to cater to both crowds, it's THEN that I don't care. The Grammys becomes worthless. Fuck the Grammys.

Album of the Week: Broken Bells

Welcome back to the PoYB Record Club! If this is your first time here, check out the introduction for Week 1 to get a sense of what Record Club is all about, or click HERE and scroll down a bit to read the reviews that were submitted last week!. If you're not new, and just want me to get to the music, then read on.

WEEK 2 — February 10-16, 2019

What we're listening to this week (Joe's pick):

ALBUM: Broken Bells
ARTIST: Broken Bells

RELEASED: March 9, 2010

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Wikipedia says "American indie rock," and Broken Bells themselves say "melodic, but experimental too."

WHY JOE PICKED THIS: I haven't heard their one hit in many years, so it might be time to listen to the whole album with fresh ears; also, Danger Mouse produced Parquet Courts' most recent album, which kicked ass, so maybe it's time to revisit my opinion of Danger Mouse in general.

TRACKLIST:

1. The High Road
2. Vaporize
3. Your Head Is on Fire
4. The Ghost Inside
5. Sailing to Nowhere
6. Trap Doors
7. Citizen
8. October
9. Mongrel Heart
10. The Mall & Misery

READING SOME SHIT: Here's an interview for The Quietus with the duo from way back in 2010, when this album was new.

Happy listening, fam! Have a great week!

Song of the Week: "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous"

"Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous"

Good Charlotte

from The Young and the Hopeless

2002

This is going to sound like an absolutely absurd and ridiculous question, but it's 2019, and everything is absurd and ridiculous, so let's add one more to the mix. My question: Is Good Charlotte's "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" the anti-capitalist anthem that our country needs right now?!

I was thirteen years old when this song was released upon an unwitting public, and at the time, I scoffed. Perhaps rightly so! This is possibly the nadir of power punk, a lifeless two-chord mess. When someone says "punk is corny," they clearly don't know punk, and they were clearly subjected to constant radio spins of Good Charlotte in 2002. This song reached #20 on the Billboard Hot 100! It was popular.

Here's what I posit: were this song to have been released in 2019, it would chart even higher.

Let's take a look at that famous (and famously clunky) chorus:

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous
They're always complaining
Always complaining
If money is such a problem
Well they got mansions, think we should rob them."

This is a dumb chorus embedded in a dumb song, but... it speaks truth. Good Charlotte is right. These assholes have mansions! We should "rob" them, i.e. tax the ultrarich at over 70%!! These capitalist pigs are stealing from the poor. They live on superyachts while inner city children starve. Good Charlotte speaks for the proletariat! Down with the billionaire scum! Power to the people!

When you sit down to do your taxes this year and realize that you owe money, remember that you owe money all so that some old white dude could get a $670 million tax cut, and remember that Good Charlotte predicted this would happen in 2002. They foresaw the future, and we didn't listen. The rich are plundering our country for their mansions. Let's fucking rob them.

Heard It in a Past Life, Pam

Overall, I enjoyed this album quite a bit. I found that a few of the songs sort of grabbed me and pulled me right in—which didn’t hurt that the first song on the album, "Give a Little," was one of those. I realize that a chunk of the album is mediocre pop songs on one hand, but on the other—songs like "Alaska" were just folky enough to keep me wanting to listen. When trying to give this album a critical listen, I found "Light On" to be a bit boring, but then I would catch myself humming the tune later on so apparently something stuck with me. I loved "Burning." Hands down that was my favorite song on the album. It’s funkier than the rest. I think there’s more to Maggie Rogers—I think Heard It in a Past Life was trying to convey vulnerability, and I really wanted it to, but I just don’t totally feel that when I listen to it. It wasn’t honest enough... maybe that’s not even what she was going for. In the end this one was fun enough to be enjoyable on a superficial level.

Heard It in a Past Life, Sam

Haim Without the Heart

My wife Hannah and I were visiting Chicago one summer and realized the music festival Lollapalooza was happening while we were in town. We had previously attended the festival, so we bought one-day passes on a whim and went with our friend Lamson.

Unlike the previous times I had gone to Lolla, I didn't do any research and kind of wandered around all day. The three of us had fun, but the experience was more meandering than focused. (Are Silversun Pickups still good? No. Can Vince Staples captivate an audience? Sorta.) As a result, my enjoyment of the acts was tepid.

That is, until, we saw Haim—the only band that both Hannah and I wanted to see (I couldn't trick her into nerdy dancing to LCD Soundsystem over some pop star I had never heard of). Anyway, we were pumped, and the Haim sisters had a great set.

Lamson had never heard of Haim, but unlike our previous run-ins with new bands, he really dug their set. Yes, he partly liked them due to Este Haim's bass face. But, overall, he immediately got into their sound and could follow the flow of the concert despite having no background whatsoever with the band.

I mention all that by way of explaining what I don't like about Maggie Rogers. Could Lamson (or since this is my opinion, me?) have walked past Rogers at Lolla and be into it?

Rogers appears to have all the same elements of Haim: some catchy choruses, solid group vocals, and nods to Prince. But she lacks the fun or heart I get from Haim. Rogers sounds like a hit seeker; it's all a little to sleek for me. The production strips out mistakes and in turn removes a bit of soul.

Only in the basic piano dirge "Past Life" do I really feel like I am hearing Rogers. Is it coincidence that this is the only song she produced alone without other producers?

All in all, if I stumbled on Maggie Rogers at a festival stage, I probably would listen to a few songs and keep on walking.

Heard It in a Past Life, Nate

Heard It in a Past Life is the soundtrack to tomorrow's in-person boutique retail experience, today. The pleasant insubstantiality is a feature, not a bug. It sounds as nice as those shoes look on the wall, is as forgettable as the clerk's name as you pass through the glass doors, bags in hand. As music for people who do not care about music, it is an unqualified success.

Heard It in a Past Life, Joe

When I listen to Heard It in a Past Life, I hear potential. This isn't a complaint—I think there's a lot to like on this album, but it definitely sounds like a first album of a new artist. From what I hear on LP1, Maggie Rogers has a lot to offer, but I think in future releases, as she becomes more comfortable with who she is and what she wants to sound like, she'll start flourishing.

For now, you can probably take the title Heard It in a Past Life literally, because you'll hear a lot of influences from some of the modern female indie rock landscape of the recent past. For example, "Give a Little," Rogers' call for empathy, features a chorus ripped right out of Haim's playbook. Another example is "Burning," in which I hear elements of Carly Rae Jepsen's indie twee. Now, I love Haim and Carly Rae Jepsen, so I don't necessarily think that this is a bad thing. And I don't even think that the song comes off as a "watered down version of Haim / Jepsen" or anything like that. They are strong songs. It's just not anything unique.

"Alaska" carries the most baggage on this album, what with its unwitting viral benefactor, but hearing it here with fresh ears (I had never heard of Maggie Rogers, let alone knew how she became known in general, before hearing this song), there's a reason Pharrell's ears perked up when this song reached him—it's probably the best song on the album. It's got a minimal groove that sincerely invokes visions of harsh winter solitude, and that bridge to the chorus just hooks me every time.

If we're talking most uplifting moment, that would probably be "Light On"'s chorus, a soaring, towering chorus that speaks to the power of unity while the synths swirl around and the '80s-style drums boom and crack. If you want to hear that potential I was talking about earlier, imagine a whole album full of these types of choruses. (And if you really want to get walloped by this chorus, take a gander at this stunning live rendition of the song.)

But for every uplifting moment, there's an equal amount of comedowns, and unfortunately they are mostly forgettable. Like: the almost-title track "Past Life" is a snoozefest piano ballad. Like: Rostam continuing his post-Vampire Weekend 0-fer with the trite "Fallingwater."

The songs that don't reach those heights are really disappointing, because you know from other songs that Maggie Rogers CAN reach those heights. When you hear her do some soaring almost-R&B stylings over an LCD Soundsystem-esque piano loop on "On + Off," it's fucking thrilling, but then it's like, why can't she do this all the time?! I want her casual use of the word "fuck" on "Retrograde" to be in every fucking song, ya feel me???

Overall, despite it's notable failings, there's absolutely enough here to keep me interested and involved. I will 100% be following Maggie Rogers to this album's follow up, and I have the sense that she'll have reached that next level by that time.

GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5

PoYB from the Vault: Public Diary, Part III

I'm still running through my old diary posts, and giving y'all some insight. Part I is HERE, Part II is HERE, Part III is below, and Part IV will mercifully bring this project to its conclusion next week. In this week's entries, we find a young Joe K*** headed back to college for another crazy semester. If this sounds like a snooze, then 1) I agree with you, 2) feel free to keep moving along, there's a lot of more worthwhile content on this stupid blog.

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January 16, 2009

Damn it... A good day, ruined...

It started off fine. I woke up early, I practiced lines¹, I hung around and watched TV, everything very relaxing.

I went to work. It was my last day until spring break. It was quite a good day, if I may say so.

Then I got a keg² and went to a party³. It was my first time drinking in about a week⁴. It was only my third time in two weeks, which is fucking absurd. So I was excited. Unfortunately...

The fucking Rockledge cops⁵ came and busted it up about an hour after I got there. Which is a fucking shame. I blew a .045, which is fucking child's play⁶. I didn't even feel drunk, and here I am getting busted for underage drinking⁷. Now I have to go to court⁸, take a class⁹, pay a fine, etc. Quite a pain in the ass.

The worst part about it is that my parents, before I went out, told me specifically that they didn't want me arrested. Not just the usual "be careful" nonsense, but legitimately, "don't get arrested." And then I did¹⁰. So they are kind of mad¹¹.

Damn. This sucks in many ways. The worst way it sucks is that I have to cancel the party I was going to have tomorrow night¹². Balls.

What a shitty, shitty way to end break.

Goodnight (not g'night¹³), humble reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 17-18, 2009

Goddamn! It's great to be back. It's been a great two days, better certainly than getting an underage drinking charge and whatnot.

Saturday was a relaxing day. I just studied my lines and whatnot, then did all I could to prevent myself from having a party. My mom pulled all her usually bluff statements like "You better not have a party because I'll be back and forth all night," and "Mom-Mom will be home early, she'll catch you!" Christ, Mom, I know you are bluffing, and I could've had a fucking party, but I didn't¹⁴. All because I'm scared shitless of the Rockledge cops now¹⁵.

But, ya know, gotta make lemons out of lemonade¹⁶. I had Steph over, it was good just hanging out and spending some time with her before I went back to school. We played some Battleship—so cool! Then she had to leave a little early, unfortunately.

So we gathered the troops together—Kev, Andrew, Kyle, Ed, Mary, Cindy, and myself—and we made one last Michael's trip¹⁷ for the break. It was a wonderful night. We always have fun together, even if we're not getting hammered in my backyard.

Then it was move-in day! Oh glorious fucking day! I'd been waiting for five weeks for this day to arrive, and boy, it didn't disappoint. Because we got a keg in the dorms¹⁸.

It was probably some of the best times I've ever had in this room¹⁹. There's just something special about huddling around the TV watching the game with all your friends, eating wings and pretzels and drinking cold beer on tap²⁰. Nothing like it, man, nothing like it²¹. Unfortunately, the Birds lost²², but what can ya do, right?

Then, of all nights, the fucking fire alarm went off²³! Christ. We ran around the room and hid everything, even the keg. The fucking RC checked our room, and nothing. Didn't get caught. No write-ups²⁴. Everything was glorious. Now it's just a great story to tell, how we killed a keg and the fire alarm went off.

So, life is good, humble reader. I'm back at my home in Basils 249²⁵, we already had a mess of a night, and the semester is off to a good start. Fucking A.

Goodnight, humble reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 19-20, 2009

The good times keep on rollin', and life is grand.

Monday we had off from classes for good ol' Martin Luther King Day²⁶. God bless you, Dr. King, for giving us this extra day off of school²⁷. I pretty much spent the whole day lounging around the room, watching TV, sleeping, etc. For real, nothing happened. The only time I left my room all the day long was to return the empty keg²⁸. What a success!

That night Matt²⁹ came over and we killed some forties. Then we headed over to the Townhouses for some more alcohol—the story of my life³⁰. It was a chill night. I'm really glad all the kids that were studying abroad last semester are back now, it's good hanging out with them³¹. Friends, they say, are people who share common interests, so anyone who is willing to drink with me on a random Monday night is a friend of mine.

Tuesday, the vacation officially ended, and I attended my first class³². Power & Influence³³ class is going to be a good one, I can tell. The teacher³⁴ seems cool as shit. Religion and the Civil Rights Movement? Perhaps not quite as much³⁵, but still, I'm not dreading it or anything. Yet.

Hung out around the room for a while in the late afternoon, completely forgetting about band rehearsal³⁶. Whoops. Had rehearsal for Recent Tragic Events after that. I'm not prepared for this shit, but still, it's a good time. We have an excellent small cast³⁷. Might be getting together tonight with them to play the same drinking game we all play on stage during the show³⁸. Good shit.

After rehearsal Doug threw a banger³⁹ (as we like to call it in the NEast), so I and a few other good folk pregamed at Johnny's, then headed over around eleven. Say what you will about the Masque, but I always have a good time with them.

This streak of drinking is both needed and well-deserved⁴⁰. After resting my liver for twelve out of fourteen days at the end of winter break, it feels great to be beating the shit out of it once again. I love college.

Goodnight, humble reader.

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January 21-23, 2009

My lack of posts certainly does not mean I haven't been busy. In fact, I've been more busy in the past three days then I probably was all five weeks of winter break. So, I'm sorry. I hope I remember everything.

Wednesday is a Psychology day, class-wise, so I woke up semi-early for Statistics II at 10 AM. Despite the fact that the subject of the class is horrendous, the teacher⁴¹ seems like a cool guy, and Kat and Jess are in my class, so I'll deal. After a little nap, and lunch at the 'Tops⁴², I went to my only three-hour class this semester, Psychological Assessment. It's been now deemed "Psych Ass." The teacher is pretty cute⁴³, and I'm taking it with Kat⁴⁴ and B**. Good times!

I guess I just kinda fucked around for a few hours after that. Perhaps watched some Home Movies, my new favorite show⁴⁵. Around 6:30, I trucked over to Tom Gola Arena for La Salle v. UPenn. Honestly, I might not go to these games if I wasn't in the pep band, but what can ya do. We killed them on the court⁴⁶, and I would argue in regards to the pep band battle as well⁴⁷, but that is up for argument.

I then headed over to Hannah's for what I like to call constructive drinking—drinking with a purpose. The cast of Recent Tragic Events gathered and ran our lines, because for the whole second act we are playing a drinking game, so why not practice with real beer⁴⁸? But then we were done the scene and ended up playing Kings. Better yet, afterwards Emily⁴⁹ drove us to the pretzel factory for some fresh midnight pretzels. It was glorious! Nothing like a night of pretzels and beer drinking⁵⁰.

Thursday morning went kind of like Tuesday morning, with the same classes and all, but this time there was a Masque meeting to break up the day. The meeting was actually packed, which is awesome⁵¹ because I love the Masque⁵². After my last class of the day I sauntered back to Basils to take a nap before rehearsal at 6:30.

Rehearsal went really well. We are coming together as a cast surprisingly fast. After that, I headed to the Townhouses, where Johnny had two 'Canes⁵³ with my name on them. So I got pretty fucked up. We played a little Kings and just pretty much enjoyed each other's company. I ended up hammered and almost passed out on the couch, so in order to avoid this I went to 21st and Chew⁵⁴ for a brief half-hour. It was okay, not really my scene though. Went to Ian's⁵⁵ for perhaps an even briefer amount of time, and then headed home.

Friday, I only had one class, but Christ, was it brutal getting up, walking to class, and staying conscious. I know it's not good to pass out in the first week of class, because it sets a bad relationship between you and the teacher, but I couldn't help it. I did everything I could. No use⁵⁶. Needless to say, I can back to 249 and passed out for hours.

Friday afternoon was spent laying around preparing for the night ahead. And by "preparing" I mean calling Dave and telling him to pick up a case of forties. Oh, and watching Step Brothers⁵⁷. When Dave, Kev, and Andrew⁵⁸ finally did get here, the shitshow officially kicked off. We killed forties in 348, and once the malt liquor and vodka started flowing, it was excellent⁵⁹. I stopped by 245, but I... I just couldn't stay. Drop it⁶⁰.

The four (five? six?) of us headed over to Woodstock⁶¹, which was an amazing decision. The place was packed, but more importantly, packed with friends, so the whole party was just great. Everyone was obliterated, everyone was just wandering around, talking, enjoying themselves. It was a great atmosphere. I guess there's not much more praise I can bestow on such a party.

Dave and I headed back to Basils around 2:30, if only to have some glorious pizza from Vince's⁶². Then Dave passed out on the bathroom floor⁶³.

I love my life.

Goodnight, humble reader.

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January 24, 2009

Oh boy. I've drank all this week, but last night... last night was something else.

Before I get ahead of myself, I'll tell you what I did during the day. Not much, actually. The only thing that's worth talking about is Mandy and me baking a cake, which eventually turned into a big penis cake. A big, pink, sprinkled penis cake⁶⁴.

We brought said cake to the Masque Potluck dinner. It was one of the most random meals of my life, but in a good way—chicken, chile, meatballs, ziti, potatoes, tortillas, hoagies, and uh... penis cake⁶⁵. We skipped out early and went to get forties⁶⁶.

Then we chilled at Johnny's, about eight of us. By the time we were finished playing Drunk Driver, Fuck You Pyramid, and the greatest game of Thumper⁶⁷ I've ever played in my life, I was more than two forties in, and I was hammered.

So we headed over to the party, and as it turns out, everyone was shitty. In a very good way. Like, drunk enough to drop my forty, and fall into the glass as I'm trying to clean it up. Like, drunk enough to punch a tree for no apparent reason. Like, drunk enough to have two hours of conversations with various people, and not remember a goddamn thing that was said. Good times⁶⁸.

Goodnight, humble reader.

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January 25-27, 2009

If my first seven days were defined by the excessive drinking that took place, the past three have been punctuated by the lack of any kind of alcohol. And you know what? That's okay.

Sunday was a day of rest. I woke up early for rehearsal, exchanged war stories about the night before (apparently there was a nice hospital trip that I missed someone⁶⁹ take). Rehearsal went great. Then I just sat around and did nothing. Watched The Simpsons Movie, I guess? Went to bed early.

Monday I had an early class, which, I struggled, but ultimately succeeded in getting to. Then I took a nap, then had lunch, then pissed the day away. We had rehearsal again, and then me and B** chilled for a bit, and then I actually did all my homework in time to get to bed early. No, it's true, I did!

Today had some jarring notes in the familiar song⁷⁰, but otherwise followed the same pattern. Class in the morning, rehearsal at night. Otherwise, we had a Masque meeting this afternoon. I also did some work for the Collegian⁷¹ at night. And now I'm here, contemplating if I want to watch Milk⁷².

One thing that kind of sucked about today—besides all the shit that usually sucks and I'm so numb to that it doesn't even bother me anymore—was that the Chief of Police in Rockledge called me up. I'm not sure what he's up to, whether he wants to bring me down even further or help me out⁷³. I have to call him back when I get my court notice, so, I guess we'll find out...

Goodnight, humble reader.

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January 28-29, 2009

I made it! The week is over! Oh glorious weekend!

Wednesday, we had the first official snow day of my stint here at La Salle. Unfortunately, it was a stinker of a snow day, because only classes before eleven were cancelled⁷⁴, and I had a 2-4:45 Psych class to attend. It's all good though, Stat was cancelled so I slept in and enjoyed my nice warm bed.

After my only class of the day, I went to dinner, and then attended the men's basketball game⁷⁵ with the Pep Band. Good times...? I pretty much just read a book the whole time⁷⁶. I guess I truly am a fan. Afterwards I went over Hannah's⁷⁷ to drink a little bit, played some drinking games and just enjoyed the company. And that's two in a row that I didn't throw up at her house⁷⁸. Go me! Then Emily drove me and a few others to the pretzel factory⁷⁹, god those things are incredible.

Thursday was my first official day of work, and we also had a Collegian meeting, so starting from my first breakfast sandwich at the lunch truck on Olney until the first sip of that cold 'Cane, I was pretty much busy all day. There was Power and Influence class, work, Collegian, Civil Rights class, work again, forty run, and rehearsal. A few people were supposed to come over to drink, but they didn't⁸⁰, so other people came and we still had a good time. I passed out early.

Goodnight, humble reader.

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January 30-31, 2009

Well, it's been a good weekend. Fucking A!

Friday I woke up kinda early for class. My head was fucking killing me because of those Hurricanes the night before, but I survived. The professor is cool, but he's a fucking cocktease because the class waited for twenty for him to get there. Another five minutes and I would've walked⁸¹. So he's a dick for keeping us and giving us false hope that class would be cancelled.

I went to work⁸² immediately following that. The two-hour shift was kind of rough⁸³, but because I read a really good book, and because the weekend followed this particular shift, I was okay with it. And it was over, and I loved life.

Friday I went to dinner with B** and surprise guest Mary, and because I had gotten a case before the meal, I was able to start drinking immediately after. It was swell. I got hammered with Sean watching Family Feud, then pregamed in Jess's for a while, and then our big crowd headed over to the townhouses.

I went to the Masque party first. That was chill just hanging with everyone. I then went to the Honors party, which was surprisingly nuts. I enjoyed the company of both parties, especially when a girl tried hitting on me with the best line I've ever heard: "I voted for you for RSA last year."⁸⁴ Oh boy.

What made this night so grand was the return to normalcy. There was a good handful of people that I had complicated relationships with prior to the parties, but everybody somehow straightened everything out, and I renewed my friendship with all these people. To not be involved in drama, it's a wonderful thing⁸⁵.

Saturday morning was brutal, half because I was so hungover, and half because during rehearsal I was forced to drink grape juice⁸⁶ and eat a multitude of pizza, all whilst hungover. Not pretty.

After dinner I started drinking, and didn't really stop until now. It was a good night—not great, but ya know, drinking with good people is never something to complain about⁸⁷.

My Dad told me one time about when he and Mom went to see the Pope parade down Broad Street. They waited for like five hours in a packed crowd along the street, and the fucking Pope sped past them in about five seconds. They waited forever and He didn't give them the time of day. My night was kind of like that. Slightly. (That was my attempt at a metaphor, by the way.)⁸⁸

And here I am, eating Cup-o-Noodles. I reiterated this fact: It was a good-ass weekend.

G'night(!), humble reader.⁸⁹

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FOOTNOTES

1. As noted in the previous two entries, I was practicing for an upcoming production of Recent Tragic Events. I'm kind of surprised how much I worked on preparations during this winter break, usually I'm a lot more irresponsible than this. I guess since it was my first kind of lead role, I was freaking out and actually trying to do well?

2. I had carte blanche to buy anything anytime from Oxford Beverages by this point. They knew me from my frequent visits. I was there so often they no longer needed to vet my fake ID. They were completely comfortable selling me a keg of Natty Light, no questions asked. And because of all this, I was usually in charge of purchasing the night's alcohol for my friends, which ended up being both a blessing and a curse.

3. A party at my cousin Andrew's friend Alex's house. His parents were out of town, I guess. A tale as old as time. I was certainly only invited because I had the means to get a keg.

4. If the previous diary entries are to be believed, it had been five days. Hardly a week. But to a 20-year-old drunk, five days is practically a year!

5. Not the same Rockledge cops that had cited me during a party the previous winter break, so it wasn't a "You again!" type situation, thankfully. I mean, they were still dicks, but I think they might've been more dickish if the police had also been in my own parents' backyard a year prior.

6. Was it "child's play" because that was a lower BAC than I was aiming to hit that night, or because I felt that it was higher than the amount of beers that I had consumed would dictate? Not sure!

7. If I had been a more savvy underage drinker, or more courageous in that scenario, I probably would've requested to be brought to the hospital to get a test, instead of blowing the breathalyzer. I remember specifically my high school health teacher telling us to do that, since in the time it took to bring you to the hospital, your BAC might've gone down. And I was borderline at .04, so maybe that would have worked. But who knows. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, as they say.

8. At the old, tiny courthouse on York Rd. in Jenkintown, which is now a bank.

9. I went to Aldersgate in Willow Grove the following summer, and boy oh boy, what a fucking joke. Probably didn't help that I was attending mere months prior to my 21st birthday.

10. I was convinced of some Truman Show scenario in my youth based on how prescient my parents were at certain times. It was uncanny.

11. Hahah, I remember the scene clearly and exactly. It was a total "let's rip off the band-aid now" moment. I immediately walked home from the party, and woke them up from their slumber with a "Mom, Dad, I was arrested. Again." Cue my Mom, half asleep: "are you SERIOUS?"

12. I know it sounds insane that this was the worst part of the whole ordeal, but in all sincerity, it legitimately was. Nothing worse than having to cancel a party.

13. If you'll recall, I would conclude each entry with "goodnight" if I was writing sober, and "g'night" if I was writing while intoxicated. A BAC of 0.045 earned a "goodnight," apparently.

14. Actually obeying a parent's orders is a terrible, terrible feeling.

15. I mean, look, it was definitely the responsible thing to do, at the end of the day. More likely than not, no Rockledge police officers would've shown up at a party that I had, but on the small chance that they did bust into the party, the results would've been catastrophic. It wasn't worth the anxiety, as painful as that was to admit at the time.

16. Sic, probably???

17. Absolutely crazy how often we went to a fucking diner this winter break (see previous entries). I gotta ask Kev next time I see him what the deal was. Why were we driving 20 minutes to go to a fucking diner seemingly every other night? Ten years later, I am fucking perplexed.

18. It was actually pretty easy. La Salle provided these big blue bins on wheels to assist with moving all your dorm bullshit in and out of the building. Tina and I just placed a keg at the bottom of a bin, placed all of Tina's other bullshit on top of the keg, and wheeled it right in. Easy peasy.

19. I would definitely rank this day to be in my Top Five college experiences overall. Arguably the best part was (in retrospect, of course) that months later, after another write-up, and another meeting with the housing, the head of housing Mark B. told me that he had been reading this blog, and that he knew all about "the keg in your dorm." He had no proof besides a very detailed diary entry I had clearly written, so there was no retribution, but it's like, how stupid could I be? Based on the fact that I continue to double down on this stupidity every week here on Puke on Your Birthday, I'd say: very stupid.

20. In lieu of a keg bucket, we just took a large trash bag from the janitor's closet, put the keg in it, and then pour the ice around the keg, tying it off at the top around the tap. Beer was ice fucking cold. It was perfect.

21. Actually, there are a lot of things like this. Moral psychologist Jonathan Haidt describes the feeling as "turning on the hive switch," meaning that in certain moments, we become like bees in a hive, working together, instead of like gorillas, who act alone. When we come together as a community, the switch is turned on, and we reach a higher moral plane. We reach the sacred place. We feel like gods. Sitting in that dorm room on that day, my hive switch was turned on the entire time.

22. I was so drunk, I don't think I remember watching the second half of the game at all. But I know that they lost to the Cardinals. It was the fourth time in a very short time period of my youth in which the Eagles lost the NFC Championship game, so I was used to the feeling by that point. According to Wikipedia, by the way, the final score was 32-25, which... wow. That's a lot closer than I remember.

23. Okay, I've definitely written about this before on the blog. It's #99 here. Sorry for the repeat.

24. Maybe you've heard this story too, but the fire alarm was no accident. My buddy from high school who lived in the same dorm building, just down the hall, brought one of his friends, also from high school, to La Salle for the infamous Keg in Dorms day, so this other guy, Chris, had gotten drunk off our beer, which, ya know, great, the more the merrier, and "La Salle Boys Will Be Gentlemen" and all that. But Chris ended up being the one to pull the fire alarm that night. No harm no foul on our end, but my buddy who lived down the hall? He slept right through it, also extremely drunk from the keg. And he ended up getting written up. And kicked out of the dorms. There were casualties that day, my friends.

25. We lived at the very end of the hall. Did the housing selection board know that we, the keg-throwing maniacs, would fare better the farther we were from the RA's room? Perhaps, perhaps.

26. I always found it hilarious that we usually had a day off the very FIRST day of the semester every year. Like, c'mon La Salle, you are practically begging us to party on move-in night.

27. I know I'm joking here, but it actually makes me a little uncomfortable. When other white men like Mike Pence start thank MLK Jr., and then go ahead and act very unlike MLK Jr., it makes me question myself, and whether I have any right to thank MLK Jr. when I don't do my very best to emulate him.

28. Tina was a big help for this whole adventure, between transporting the keg to and from, and providing the party with wings, I couldn't have pulled off the stunt without her.

29. You know which Matt!

30. It wouldn't be the story of my life soon. Within two months, I would be banned from the Townhouses.

31. John, Stephan, and Allison were all in Rome the previous semester. I remember very specifically John and Stephan cornering me this night and asking me, very seriously, "yo, your friend Matt... does he do cocaine?"

32. Yes, I went to class!

33. I dunno, man. I think it was a honors sociology class? Sometimes I just chose classes because they sounded stupid. A class called "Power & Influence" sounds really stupid.

34. I'm pretty sure it was Dr. Kelly, but don't quote me on that. The only reason I think this is because Dr. Kelly—who was the very definition of the Absent-Minded Professor—talked about Nazis a lot, and that would make sense in a "Power & Influence" class, right?

35. A premature and eventually wrong assessment, especially because I read Warriors Don't Cry in that class, probably the best book I was forced to read in my four years at La Salle. That's not even mentioning that I could've obviously used a little schooling when it came to the Civil Rights Movement at that time in my life (see Footnote #27).

36. I still have nightmares in which I forget about band rehearsal.

37. Me, Hannah, Meg M., Bryon, and Pam (no, not my future wife Pam, we didn't go to school at the same time)

38. There really was a drinking game woven in and out of the script, and we really did practice it after a few rehearsals. As far as I could tell, it was some type of combination of Kings and Fuck the Dealer. Like New Girl's "True American," the game was created to move the plot, not to be a functional, logical drinking game in and of itself.

39. My use of the word "banger" here is ironic, because my good friend Doug did decidedly NOT throw bangers. It was more of a hang. Still a great fucking time though. I just thought it was funny imagining Doug throwing a "banger."

40. Haha, yes, staying sober for like eight nights total during the entirety of winter break, I totally worked hard and totally earned these drunk nights, amirite?!

41. Dr. Moon, who was pretty strict about missing NO MORE THAN FIVE CLASSES, which, if that doesn't seem like setting the bar low, please also note that he lowered it further when swine flu became a thing. After that, he became very strict about missing NO MORE THAN EIGHT CLASSES. I still managed to skip nine classes total... and was not penalized. Dr. Moon was the fucking man.

42. Treetops, the cafeteria in south campus, named for the view of the Wister Woods' trees you had as you sat and ate lunch.

43. I have no idea, but I wish I could remember for... reasons.

44. I had at least one class with Kat during all eight of my semesters at La Salle. The theory was that my GPA in Kat-classes was higher than my GPA from non-Kat-classes. I.e. she was a pretty great student. An academic ying to my slacker yang.

45. Kyle had them on DVD. Remember when people had TV series on DVDs?

46. The final score was 79-70, which I wouldn't exactly classify as "killing them on the court."

47. My good friend Cindy was in the UPenn pep band, which heightened the alleged "rivalry" between the two bands. There were big plans to get both bands together at UPenn to party, but it unfortunately never panned out.

48. Repeated explanation, I am a bad diary keeper.

49. I guess Emily was involved in the production somehow, maybe Stage Manager or something? Either that, or she just wanted some warm pretzels like the rest of us.

50. I think this is supposed to be a Dazed and Confused reference.

51. Not true, those meetings were fucking tedious.

52. True, despite my feelings in Footnote #51.

53. Hurricane malt liquor, obviously

54. I have absolutely zero recollection of who resided in a house on 21st and Chew.

55. When I first saw "21st and Chew" I thought it must have been Ian's house, but the fact that I clarify here that I went to both houses means that I still have no clue who lived at 21st and Chew.

56. So in other words, I had fifty minutes of class for an ENTIRE day, and I still fell asleep during class. I was a terrible student.

57. FUCK THIS MOVIE.

58. Cousin Andrew from Footnote #3. There was no bad blood from the underage drinking fiasco of the previous week. I mean, he got an underage charge too, it wasn't his fault.

59. I'll be honest, I don't remember this night at all. I tweeted a lot, and was very drunk, according to my old tweets, but the tweets are so sloppy that I can't make heads or tails of what exactly we were up to.

60. I have no idea what in the world I was talking about here, but I can take a guess. A few honors kids lived in room 245, so I can only assume that my ex was there. That I allegedly couldn't even bring myself to write about it in my diary should so you how overly dramatic I was being!

61. I would end up living on Woodstock St. three semesters later, but during the Winter '09 semester, I guess there was an AXP frat house on that block? That would be my best guess. It was really the only frat house I felt comfortable attending at that point (maybe Sig Ep too... actually, was this a Sig Ep house? Christ, I have no idea).

62. Vince's Pizza in the Northeast, still my second favorite pizza of all time, and tastes even better as a leftover. I cannot recall how Vince's pizza leftovers ended up in my dorm, however.

63. But we already talked about that incident last time.

64. We didn't have a penis-shaped cake pan or anything. We just made a regular rectangular sheet cake, and cut it in the shape of a penis.

65. OMG we were so edgy, right?!

66. There were at least four stores around La Salle that sold malt liquor to underage customers. One was at Broad and Olney. One was under the regional rail bridge on Old York Rd. One was at Belfield and Ogontz. And the final one was Logan and Germantown Ave. Assuming that John drove (which is a good guess based on the next paragraph), then the latter is a good guess as to where we went that day, as I recall that store was his personal preference. But don't quote me on that.

67. Before reading these diary entries, I could've sworn that the Thumper night was the same night described in Footnote #31, but I guess they were completely separate nights. Weird how the mind misremembers so much.

68. I keep describing this situation as "good," but this must have been projection. That whole fall-into-glass thing actually happened, but the implications of that incident were a little less than "good." Mainly, my crush at the time (Footnote #49), I think finally decided at this moment that she would not be trying to date me. She wasn't interested in dealing with the drunk mess that I clearly was. Ya know, like, a drunk mess who was bleeding all over her floor? I don't really blame her. The fallout from that, the cold shoulder I received from her that night (most likely), plus the three Hurricanes consumed, definitely are what resulted in me "punching a tree," or whatever happened. Regardless, not quite "good times" toward the end. That Thumper game during pregaming though? Pretty fucking great.

69. It was either Drew or Dave K., not sure who. Both of them went to the hospital at some point during that year. And both times, I'm 100% certain, were completely unnecessary, and wholly due to the theater kids' overreactions to someone getting too drunk. But I GUESS better safe than sorry. Like I said, I wasn't there to witness the hospital trips, so I didn't have a say in the matter.

70. A phrase stolen from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Sorry folks.

71. Some Collegian info here.

72. I have never seen this movie, so I guess I decided "not."

73. I think it was more to help then to hinder. It's a small town, and Rockledge folks look after their own. Plus, um, my Mom was on town council, so that probably had something to do with it. Not that my Mom would ever ask a cop to help me out, but I'm sure the Chief saw my surname and made the connection.

74. La Salle's Snow Day shenanigans would get worse in the following years. I remember in senior year getting a text about classes being cancelled... until 9 AM. Who the FUCK even HAS an 8 AM class?

75. They beat George Washington, 76-66, in A-10 play.

76. See Footnote #35. Yes, the book was THAT good.

77. She lived on Beechwood Ave., in a house that would've been mine during my junior year, but for the whole bedbug fiasco.

78. I had had a pretty bad puking incident in her dining room the previous semester. Think it was just a burp, I accidentally puked into my closed fist, which spray vomit over everyone circled around the room (i.e. the entire cast of Into the Woods).

79. Okay, so after the whole incident in Footnote #68, here's Emily again being cool and driving me and my cohorts to get pretzels on Washington Ave. I'm sure at the time I was thinking "maybe there's still a chance?!" I'm sure at the time she was thinking "I cannot believe I have to drive this dude's drunk ass around yet again; I can't spend my whole life like this."

80. No idea.

81. College students are big talkers when it comes to the supposed "Fifteen Minute Rule," but we are all pussies when it actually comes to leaving class after those fifteen minutes. Plus, that rule isn't even real.

82. I was employed by the library on campus. Usually I would just sit at the front desk and check books out for students and faculty. Occasionally I would re-shelve books. One semester, I spent the entire three months shifting books across the mezzanine to make them more evenly spaced on the shelves.

83. I worked like four hours a week, there was really no reason to complain about anything.

84. Oh god, I wish I could remember who this was. My first thought was Joee, who I dated briefly a year later, but it couldn't have been her, since she was not in my dorm the year previously, and so couldn't have voted for me. It had to have been an older student. Haha, that is a pretty classic hit-on line though, you gotta admit.

85. I feel like this was probably the night that I tried to hook up with my first ex-girlfriend from college, since apparently we were now "drama-free." I walked her back to her dorm that night. Nothing happened. I was sad in a melancholy way at the time. but this was probably for the best. Never a good idea to date your ex!

86. "Stage wine"

87. I wish I would've written about what exactly I did, but let's be real, I probably drank at either Hannah's or at John's. Based on this blog post, those two houses were the only two places I partied at that winter.

88. I have no fucking clue what in the world I am talking about in this paragraph, or what the "metaphor" is supposed to be. It probably had something to do with Emily. I'm glad I didn't keep a diary for too much longer after this entry, because that shit would've started to get pretty fucking tedious.

89. I am so goddamn over writing these fucking footnotes about stupid 2009 bullshit. These blog posts were a bad idea.