Fireworks are a tradition in many cultures during celebrations and festivals. America is no different on Independence Day. Most people love fireworks. They leave early to get good seats, they spend a ton of money on buying their own, and they ooo and ahhh at the night sky as it fills up with sparkling blues, pinks, greens, and gold. Sometimes those that buy their own are too eager to wait for the sun to go down so they pointlessly light a few fireworks in the daylight just to feel the thrill of the BOOM!
Personally I don’t like fireworks. I love fire: campfires, candles, burning paper for no apparent reason, playing in wax and making a scented ball. But fireworks, ugh, they’re too loud and too bright. The reason why I hate them is why 99% of the population loves them. I sit there with my ears plugged throughout the show waiting for it to end, bored and annoyed by the bright balls of colorful fire in the sky.
When I was little I used to yell out the colors as they made their splash against the stars. It was a fun game, and if you try it (which you should) I guarantee eventually you’ll get your colors all mixed up. You’ll start calling green as gold, blue as pink, or white as red. It’s very entertaining. I don’t know when I became a firework hater, but as I got older I simply lost interest. Unless there are sparklers around, I could play with those for hours.
Tonight I won’t be forced to go to a firework show, as I usually am, because I agreed to take someone’s closing shift. Woo hoo! I’m pretty thrilled about this. I love America and wish it a very happy birthday. But I will not have to sit on the floor, squinting my eyes, with my ears plugged this year.
The first EP entitled PTX, Vol. 1 by the a capella group Pentatonix is officially out. Go buy it! All of you, its sheer genius.
WARNING: these singers will make you feel extremely untalented (but in a good way).
I pre-ordered this album weeks ago and was incredibly thrilled to see it had automatically downloaded into my iTunes (no waiting, excellent). When I watched this group on NBC’s The Sing Off last season they stood out in a way that no a capella group ever has, and trust me I’m an a capella nerd. They were modern, attractive, seemed genuinely nice, and have every possibility of creating a buzz that will make them well-known in the mainstream market.
Here’s what makes them so special, they break the boundaries. They come up with unique arrangements, can pull of vocal dub-step/techno as well as pop, r&b, hip-hop, and virtually whatever genre they feel like singing, but most of all each of their band mates has equal importance. Most the time when watching an a capella group perform there is the clear star, everyone else seems to fade into the background while they get all the attention and praise. With Pentatonix everyone shines at all times, they are a team that works together. Plus their bass and beatboxer (who also gets props for knowing how to play the cello) are crazy awesome.
When I started listening to the EP I thought, this is so epic! Followed shortly by, how do they get their voices to do that? And from that point on this album is all I’ve listened to. To give you a taste of this brilliant group I’ve posted their first music video below, which also happens to be the first track on PTX, Vol. 1:
The rest of the EP is up to the same caliber of technical quality regarding their arrangement as well as entertainment. My only complaint is that it’s only seven songs long. When they release a full length album I’ll be giddy as hell, like a kid at Christmas, unable to sleep the night before from the excitement.
The song, Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen, is currently a massive hit. Turn on any pop radio station, and within thirty minutes odds are you’ll hear it. Go to any night club, and at some point during the night the DJ will work the tune into the mix. Go on a road trip with me, and I guarantee you I’ll play the song because it’s damn catchy. If by some miracle you’ve yet to hear Call Me Maybe I put the music video below, it’s kind of adorable, just saying.
The songs popularity or the fact that I walked around downtown Bellingham with my friends belting this song at the top of my lungs last Sunday night is not my point. Seriously folks, this song is hella deep. So now, an in-depth look at Call Me Maybe:
“I threw a wish in the well, don’t ask me I’ll never tell,” okay, noted, I will not ask you what you’re wish was Carly. I can respect that.
“I looked to you as it fell, and now your in my way,” what this tells me is that Carly was trying to make her wish, that it was important pertaining to her future, maybe her career or grandparents health was dependent on it. I don’t know, I promised I wouldn’t ask. But this guy was in her way, forcing her to sidestep the purpose of why she was at this magical well.
“I trade my soul for a wish,” that’s just a bad idea.
“Pennies and dimes for a kiss,” come on, surely your kiss must be worth at least a dollar!
“I wasn’t looking for this,” people do always say that love finds you when you’re not looking for it.
“But now you’re in my way,” again with the in her way, clearly she needs to take a step back and figure out how to get passed this male obstacle that just showed up in her life.
“Your stare was holdin’, ripped jeans, skin was showin’, hot night, wind was blowin’, where you think you’re going baby?” Here she finally says why this guy has such a hold on her, but from what I gather it’s all quite superficial, there’s absolutely nothing about his personality mentioned. Plus he tries to walk away, meaning, he either understood that he was in her way, as she mentioned twice already, or he simply is not interested. Maybe he’s taken, she’s not his type, or he’s gay, regardless he tried to walk away. Red flag Carly, red flag.
And now for the chorus, she starts to get repetitive here: “Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me, maybe?” This isn’t so bad, how are you supposed to get to know someone without sharing contact information. “It’s hard to look right at you baby, but here’s my number, so call me , maybe?” Apparently he’s so pretty he’s blinding her. I also think it’s a little soon to call some baby when you’re just now giving them your phone number. Even if this is the second attempt at sharing digits. “… And all the other boys try to chase me, but here’s my number, so call me, maybe?” This just seem shady, bragging about how everybody wants you is not the way to win a guy over. And seriously, you only have to ask them to call you once, multiple inquiries is not going to help your cause.
“You took your time with the call, I took no time with the fall, you gave me nothing at all, but still you’re in my way,” it seems quite obvious to me that he’s not interested. Perhaps he’s just playing hard to get but that seems unlikely, he’s showing you no attention. The key word here is still, he’s still in your way. This implies that some time has passed by, enough time to make his presence blocking her switch terms from now to still. What we don’t know is how long has it been: a day? a week? a year?
“I beg and borrow and steal,” woah woah woah! Carly, now you sound crazy. No wonder he’s not paying you any attention, he’s terrified of your and your stealing antics. My guess is that you borrow without asking and that your begging is profoundly annoying.
“At first sight and it’s real, I didn’t know I would feel it, but it’s in my way,” now I’m a little confused, is she talking about the first sight of him or of the stuff that she’s stealing? And what is it exactly? She doesn’t seem to want to clarify.
So now she repeats what she likes about this guy, nothing changed he’s still pretty and trying to walk away. At this point she’s delusional in her endeavors. He doesn’t seem to care about her, and I don’t blame him, she straight up admitted to stealing. Then she uses the chorus to once again try to give him her number. He’s not calling you! He doesn’t want to call you! He doesn’t want your number! Take a hint, right now you’re inches away from a restraining order.
“Before you came into my life I missed you so bad, I missed you so bad I missed you so, so, bad … and you should know that. So call me, maybe?” You can’t miss something you never had. However, that day at the well, when he was in her way, she realized that maybe her wish wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She wanted the pretty boy, that’s fine, love is supposed to sneak up on you (that’s half the fun). But she never progressed beyond that. When he didn’t show interest she didn’t return to the well, walk around her obstacle, and toss her coin in. An action that might have granted her wish that may have stopped her from turning into a begging, stealing, crazy lady that chased a boy who wasn’t interested instead of following her goals.
Message of the story: yes, he may be cute, but if he’s in your way he’s not worth the effort. He’s going to drive you to a point where you’re not your best self and honestly you’ll probably lose all your friends who get fed up with your childish ways. You have to find somebody who will work with you and support you instead of block you. Someone who has more than just physical beauty. Someone who doesn’t need you to give them your phone number over and over again. Someone who actually wantsto call you. Aka, someone who wants you.
See? I told you this was a deep song. So … call me, maybe?
People suck. They come in mobs, they make poor decisions, and they are highly self-centered. Masses of people annoy me – that’s no secret. I don’t like dealing with obnoxious teenagers making out in the hall, whinny grandparents complaining about us young folk, bad parents that let their kids run wild screaming, gossipy individuals who slander those I love or loathe, politically obsessed people convinced that the world is going to hell, nosy coworkers, blah, blah, blah.
I especially hate when people slow me down – literally. I’m a naturally fast walker, I tend to weave around others as if they were puddles and I don’t want to get me feet wet. I’ve noticed that large masses of people tend to spread out and walk as slow as humanly possible. They seem to be completely unaware of their surroundings as I walk about a foot behind them giving my clear, “MOVE FASTER! I’m not afraid to tailgate you on foot,” signal. But no, they giggle and take their time. At the first chance I get I’ll pass them and resume my natural pace. Trust me, just saying, “excuse me” doesn’t always work.
Dane Cook has a joke about how you know you hate your job when you get mad at people for coming into your business. Now, I don’t hate my job, I love most of my co-workers some of us are even outside of work buddies. But if I’m working with a fun crew, I do hate when people come into my work. I enjoy getting paid to socialize and I don’t appreciate all these human beings coming in and ruining my fun with their gluttony, rudeness, and stupidity. Yes, when people come to the movies they tend to check their brain at the door and thus can’t understand the simplest notion. I hate dealing with stupid people, I hate dealing with the guy that always says I look disheveled or tired (he always wears a cowboy hat and you can see his nipples through his sweater, I never say anything), I hate dealing whinny people who blame me for the price of their high calorie snack – as if I can do something about it. And I hate when people treat me without any respect, especially when I know I’m smarter than them.
Persons, or individuals as they are more commonly called, I love them. I greatly enjoy socializing with person’s. Granted there are some that are more fun than others, but ultimately even the most annoying person is better than masses of families littered with small children. I even have a person’s list, it’s a semi-permanent list and consists of the most important people currently in my life, sans family. It rarely RARELY contains more than five person’s.
These are people that I love, that make me laugh, that don’t make me want to punch them. If I were in elementary school I would call them my best friend’s (of course back then you’re only allowed one best friend – silly). Even so, if these person’s were in the pile of people who slowed me down when I was trying to get from point A to point B, or came to my work and took FOREVER ordering when I had a backed up line – temporarily they would qualify as people and thus would irritate me for that moment in time.
As I said, people drive me crazy sometimes, but I always will love my person’s – you know who you are *winky face.*
Lately I’ve been watching more gay/lesbian media than I usually do, and I’ve stumbled upon a semi-annoying discovery. In both movies and TV it’s a lot easier to find gay (likable) men than women. The token gay best friend is always a guy. There’s a crazy difference in the amount of movies about gay men versus gay women – when looking at titles it’s like a sea of gays with the occasional lesbian thrown in for kicks. In said movies, they typically function like the hetero couples, just a bit more flamboyant. An easy tangent would be to talk about the clear stereotype for how a gay man functions in society, but I think we all know what that would be. For instance: shopping, superficiality, hair with frosted tips, and “Hey girl , heeeeyy.” Even so, the media seems to be far more comfortable with the idea of two men than two ladies – unless they are behaving as a sex symbol.
Lesbians are portrayed as either super butch, anti-men feminists, or high maintenance lipsticks. This is not to say that butch lesbians aren’t walking about or that women are always easy to be around, but they get placed on an extreme binary scale. When I do find the rare lesbian movie that sounds interesting, the woman almost always ends up with a guy in the end. And if by some miracle she doesn’t, she still messed around with one. Of course, clearly if she sees a penis she’s going to stick around – at least in the media. This is not to say that these aren’t good movies, The Kids Are Alright is wonderful, I own it, but it does fall into that mindset of needs a man. The films that don’t have the switching teams factor are typically low-budget indies with acting that’s either superb or painfully bad, there’s no middle ground. I’m sick of watching these romantic or dramatic movies just to have the couple you’re rooting for suddenly break up and retreat into a hetero normative world. I want to cheer on a lesbian couple and have them stick it out with that Hollywood romantic comedy happily ever after ending. Straight couples and gay men get that all the time, it’s the ladies turn.
For a person who loves books, calls herself a writer, and wants to go into mainstream publishing – I sure do watch a lot of TV.
I wish I read more. I really do. I love great prose, strong metaphors, witty language, and surprise endings. I have fellow creative writing friends who will exchange work with me, there’s great joy in being proud of my own and my friends creations. There’s an epic amount of books out there to read and I always devour the free books shelves at the Library. But, what I spend most of my personal entertainment time doing is watching TV.
I like TV. No – I love TV – it’s like a long epic movie where I get to fall in love with the characters. They become like friends or enemies that live in a box. I like bonding with people over shows, introducing people to new shows, discovering new ones, geeking out to Joss Whedon, I like the what happens next feeling from episode to episode.
In TV land I get emotional way easier than I do in real life. I’ll start crying during reality shows, when someone dies, when the new-found love is exciting and wonderful, when people get married, when men cry, when oppressed gay youth get bullied, and when someone is performing and their talent blows me away, pretty much at anything depending on mood.
Normally I’m not a weepy person, and let me clarify that I’m not bawling my eyes out while devouring cookie dough ice-cream, usually it’s nothing more than watery eyes, usually. I’m very good at keeping my emotions in check and ONLY displaying those to whom I select – my fave persons as it were. But I get really obsessed with certain shows, and what can I say, TV world seems to bring out my emotional side.
I need to read more. They say that the more you read, the better you write. I’ve always said that a cliché’s a cliché for a reason. Let’s get reading …
I have a pile of books by my bed on my Read Now Bitch list, and even more on my book shelf. Last week I got three new books from a free books shelf, and I have an ever-growing list of books I want to buy. Yet, I have no time to read these stories. I am partially into The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, and so on, and so on, and so on.
Most books that I start I WILL finish. Even if I think the book is simplydreadful like Rose of No Man’s Land by Michelle Tea. Warning, spoilers: young girl named Trisha gets a job, loses job, meets a girl named Rose, Rose throws her gross tampon at a guy (I swear these girls never bathe or do anything remotely hygienic), they do a lot of drugs (a lot), drink a lot, steal, Trisha has sex with Rose, then gets a tattoo, Trisha figures out that she’s a lesbian, Rose says she’s straight, this angers Trisha, they part and go back home, Trisha’s sister lost her Real World Audition tapes, The End. The whole thing is written with intense teenage angst and bizarre dialogue formatting, but damn it, I finished the book.
Then there’s a couple that I have never made it past the first thirty – fifty pages. Some of those are considered classics: Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. Other’s are books that looked interesting and were on either a best seller list or employee picks section: The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery.
Still, I need to read more. I need to finish every book I own no matter how nauseating it is. And if I can’t bear the sight of it after completing said book(s) I will donate it(them) to some other person who may in fact love the story. I am not so cocky as to say that my opinion is the best, but I do have high standards. Often I think it’s more fun talking about or buying a book than actually reading one.
However, when a book comes along that defies that norm, it’s something amazing. And my Books I’m Ecstatic Came Into My Life That I Need to Own and Lend to Everyone I Know is much longer than my hate list: Looking For Alaska by John Green, Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie, Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett, Can You Keep a Secret by Sophie Kinsella.
I could write lists of books I love, hate, and want for hours.
Tonight I can’t sleep. I tossed about until my sheets were so disorderly that they wrapped around my feet in obnoxious ways furthering my inability to fall into a pleasant slumber. It’s stuffy and hot so I finally got up, filled up my sippy cup (yes, I have a sippy cup, it is adorable and purple with two handles, cause one obviously just wouldn’t suffice), and opened my window. Still no dreams. I figured my brain is busy, so rather than lie there annoyed and alert I decided to write something on this blog that I’ve neglected over the past month.
Oh, and I have to work in seven hours. Awesome.
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Over this summer I’ve been surrounded by my happy Christian family. There’s been moments when I wanted to shout curses at them, make them stop hovering, and ultimately start a scene. I don’t. I sit back and deal. It’s very similar to high school, except, in my personal life I’m no longer trying to live up to their expectations. I try not to lie to them but it’s a difficult habit to break. I’ve gotten so used to protecting them. Living in a don’t ask don’t tell fashion rather than a live and let be way of life.
I know they are concerned about me, worried that I’m lost, am heading towards a sad unfulfilled life, becoming impure. And I can’t change that. From my mother especially, there are moments when I can feel her unspoken words shout at me, but because she’s a cliché Norwegian (as are all of us) she’ll keep her mouth shut until she explodes like a volcano. Unless I end up pregnant or tell them I’m dating and/or are attracted to both men and women, she most likely won’t say anything for years.
There are other moments like today when I love my family to bits. My brothers and I are all so awkward, it’s pathetic really, but enthusiastically we embrace our quirks and make it a lovable part of our personality. Well, we think of us as lovable anyway.
For instance we just perfected the high 5 and we couldn’t be more proud. The more we high 5, the more we are filled with glee.
We no longer say “high 5” then sloppily slap wrists. We now say “elbows” and the rest is magic.
Chris: We’re basically professional high fivers now.
Me: Yeah, we’re pretty awesome at it. Elbows!
*high 5 ensues*
Chris: It makes me wonder if there’s a similar secret to ball sports.
Me: Probably.
Chris: There must be.
Me: If there is I don’t have enough of a sports drive to experiment and find out.
Chris: Yeah, me neither, ha, we’ll never make Grandma’s fridge with all the other athletic Luna’s.
Me: Aw, if either of us have athletic kids.
Chris: That’ll suck, I don’t want to sit through their boring games. Your dance recitals were torture enough. Elbows.
*high 5 ensues*
I love my family. We have the strangest yet enjoyable conversations. We brag about our misfortunes and embarrassing stories. And we are the only non-athletic grandchildren on my dad’s side of the family, thanks to my mother’s genes. But, I’m perfectly okay with that, we have other talents.
Today I chased Chris around the church then wimpily whipped him with a curtain rod for wrapping velvet (a gross material) around me. We thought it was hilarious. Andrew was hitting himself in the head with a plastic cone, slowly shrinking each time. Chris gave Andrew burping and armpit fart lessons. And we all did super pathetic push ups just to see how many we could do.
I promise we’re not crazy. But we are lovable and quirky. And we are great story tellers/conversationalists. Sit with us at dinner just once and you’ll be hooked.
I have been a devoted fan of the gorgeous Alexz Johnson since she was still on Instant Star. While the Canadian singer’s popularity may have dipped some at the close of the series, her music and style has grown exponentially. Her voice soars with the ability to influence the listeners emotions in a way that most pop artists fail to do. Her fans have patiently waited as she struggled with Epic Records (who still have control of some of her best music), wrote and released an entirely different album, then revamped it. Recently her music has been appearing on television shows, her name is being twittered. As a die-hard fan I am thrilled that this lovely blond with a powerful voice is finally getting the recognition she deserves.
I could write for hours on her amazingness. Nah, I’d rather show you.
Lyric’s come into being because someone felt, remembered, or dreamt something. As I’ve gotten older it these songs start to bare weight. I’m not saying that they make me nostalgic or that they remind me of better days. None of that sappiness. What’s irritating me is that I have one, count it one, person to link all the love songs to. Well, I dated a little in high school. But those relationships were far from meaningful. I don’t count those.
So … yeah … one.
By no means does this thought make me want him back and by no means do these memories make me sad. What it does is make me want a new, um … “special someone”… so to speak.
I’m officially over the single thing. Problem is – I’m a bad dater. I don’t notice when men flirt with me (unless they set off my creeper radar). My friends (and mom) tell me, “he was totally hitting on you” and I reply, “I had no idea.” I’m terrible at letting my feeling be known, even to myself. I lie to my brain thinking “Nooooo not him, I don’t like him.” Of course once it’s past the point of opportunity that’s when I realize “Huh, yep definitely liked him. Damn.” Then there’s my extreme independence. I do like being on my own. I’ve never been boy crazy – still not boy crazy (I don’t understand hyperventilating because a semi-attractive human being with a penis walked in the room). And regardless of horniness, I respect myself to much to sleep with a stranger or someone I am not interested in dating. That behavior just doesn’t mesh with my personality. If I were to suddenly be boy crazy and started sleeping around. My friends would worry. Though if that’s you’re personality power to ya, as long as your safe (condoms and such).
Thus I don’t actively pursue romance. Rather I wait and hope it comes floating by, glittering in the sky. And I’ll see the something shiny (all girls love shiny things) and grab it.
When I was younger my list of things required for a potential mate was crazy long. The shallowness of a Christian youth. Now that I’m older and “he has to love Jesus” isn’t on my list I really only care about four things: handsome, taller than me, funny, and willing to go Blues and Swing Dancing with me. End of list. I don’t think it’s impossible. I’ve met versions of him. Of course, he’s always taken but it does provide hope for us ladies. Settling is never an option.
Purpose of this rant: I’d like to have more than one human being to link songs to. I’d also like to stop day dreaming about the impossible.
Face it ladies. Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Fuck you Disney!
Things don’t turn out like romantic comedies.
And I have no idea why so many of you love Pride and Prejudice, personally I can’t finish the book (I’ve tried three times, never got past page 50). But I did watch the four-hour movie with Colin Firth and frankly Mr. Darcy doesn’t exist either. Why would you want him to? I’m sick of this “he’s so romantic and such a gentlemen” bullshit. Okay let us review: he thought he was better than the Bennet’s, he was cold and rude, convinced his friend to dump Elizabeth’s sister, made a rash proposal insulting Elizabeth in the process, but girls love him … I guess because he paid their families way out of ruin? I don’t know. P&P fans out there feel free to defend your precious Jane Austen. Just know that I will never agree with you. One of my dearest friend’s has a Jane Austen action figure complete with desk and quill – even she has never convinced me that Jane Austen is amazing.
Yep, definitely ready for a new romantic phase in my life. Not Prince Charming. Not necessarily Mr. Right.
Classy With a Twist 