Sunday, May 18, 2008

things i know because of katelyn

  1. Louis XIV uses sexual slang so advanced that you can’t even find it in urbandictionary. Yet.
  2. Some sorority girls at U.Va are a tad overweight. They compensate by spending extra hours in the tanning booth. The result is something referred to as a Fat-Tan.
  3. Pesto is delicious.
  4. Wheelchairs have four wheels, not two. Additionally, when the guy in Placebo says “think of me stuck in my chair that has four wheels” he isn’t merely reflecting on his cooped-up office life. He is reflecting on his life as a paraplegic.
  5. Along those lines, “white lines that sped us up” from Bright Eyes’ Gold Mine Gutted are not the white lines marking the yards on a football field. Furthermore, making a nice clean cut “like a bag we buy and divvy up” is not talking about candy. To summarize, Marissa=na├»ve.
  6. Christian kids are confused about what constitutes a fun time. Many think that group activities such as stealing stop signs are what should make them feel giddy.
  7. Man-plaid is bad.
  8. Any slide show of party pictures can be made an epic viewing experience if set to The Killers (feat. Lou Reed) – Tranquilize.
  9. The coolness/mad street cred of any artist can be greatly increased by featuring any one of these three artists in a song: Lou Reed, Iggy Pop or David Bowie. (Also, take note of the omission of the Oxford Comma. Not that I give a fuck about it, or anything…)
  10. The awkwardness level in a room can be dramatically increased by verbal recognition of the presence/absence of sexual tension.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

The RIAA can finally feel cooler than me. Jerks.


So I just got back from a trip that involved a 4 hour bus ride and 100 minute train ride each way. This is a lot of time to sit and do nothing…and since I’m not one to be productive the first week of summer, I brought with me two crucial entertainment objects—my iPod, and the latest copy of Rolling Stone (which I was forced to purchase, by the way, because all of a sudden Spin is very obscure in convenient stores, and which also, by the way, appeared pornographic thanks to the ladies of the Hills stripping on the cover). I was very excited to have a solid amount of time to engross myself in Death Cab’s latest album, which came out right before I left.

Okay, I lied. It came out the very day I left. Knowing I wouldn’t have time to buy it (which I really would have done, I swear. No one wants to contribute to the Buy Ben Gibbard Some Actually Fashionable Glasses Fund more than me) I downloaded it off the internet. And I don’t mean off of iTunes, either.

Now I’ll admit that I have done my share of downloading in my years, and I’ve been cursed a couple of times. Back in my Kazaa days (God, that program was awful) once in a while I’d be treated with a corrupted file that would turn into loud alien static at the end of a song. Luckily, I would only end up listening to these songs when I was falling asleep alone in a dark, creepy house. Or driving alone for the first time in the middle of a severe thunderstorm.

But it was never like this. I only reserve this title for the extremely elite, but the dudes who recently fucked up my illegal Narrow Stairs experience…they were some crafty motherfuckers.

So, on principal, I decide to give the entire album a listen first—start to finish—before I open my Rolling Stone to see what they have to say (although I can already see that it says on the cover, “Death Cab For Cutie: 4 Stars”). It’s…okay…Death Cab has done better, but this definitely resembles some of their better older stuff, and I’m sure that it will grow on me.

I open the article and instantly agree. This album is dark, man, dark as fuck, if the fucking we’re talking about is illegal, immoral and heartbreaking. And yeah, it does kind of sound like it was recorded in a tiny room picking up all kinds of reverbs and what not. But as I read on, I swear that I never heard any of the lyrics featured in this feature once. I mean, of course I recognized that “Cath…” was about an unhappy, unfulfilling marriage, but I didn’t think he actually ever said it outright. It was just one of those things I kind of knew. In hindsight. After reading the article. And it would seem cheesy if he ever actually sang the words “Talking Bird.” DCFC was just trying to pull a Brand New and make really obscure unmentioned song titles. Riieeeght?

Nah, man. Thank god for Wikipedia. The album I had listened to was actually by an obscure German band called Velveteen who “leaked” the “New Death Cab” album as an April Fool’s Joke. Real funny and all, but come on guys. If you’re sure everyone is going to fall for you calling yourself Death Cab, and you aren’t as good as Death Cab, why even exist? I mean, they’re slightly more depressing than Death Cab, I will give them that, and that is no small feat.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

don't get hanged

Contrary to popular belief, there is more than one kind of hangover. For decades, scientists were under the impression that there was only one kind of hangover: the kind you wake up with (Hangovertes Mellitus Type I.) But ladies and gentlemen, my life of late has proved otherwise. Hangovers don’t just strike the innocent. Just like another disease to which I will not directly allude, there is another type of hangover that, by living your day in a sloppy, unhealthy, frowned upon way, you can fuck yourself into having. You might try to tell me, oh no, Marissa, this kind of thing doesn’t run in my family. Well guess what? It doesn’t matter. Hangovertes Mellitus Type II is deadly, and it doesn’t discriminate. If you aren’t careful, you could be next.

The ideal morning after a night of wastecasing—roll over at noon. Look at the clock. Cancel all plans. Roll back over. Get up at 3 (If it’s Sunday, get up at 2:50. I know every minute counts, but so does every ounce of fat). Go to Bodo’s. Order your normal order X2. Actually, in an ideal morning, these steps would be skipped by you handing your credit card and an exhaustively detailed order form to a friend (it better be munster cheese this time, not provolone, you absent-minded fuck). Consume Bodo’s. Go back to bed. Begin your day as the sun sets.

You might wake up at 9:30 and say no man, I’m fine! You’re not fine. You’re like a little kid gallivanting around a mine field shouting “I feel so alive!” Come 1 or 2, that hangover is going to strike you with a sadistic smile.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve been an irresponsible morning person. I will admit, I’ve tried to attend a 9 am after a night of drinking. I’ve tried to go to work. I’ve even tried to drive two hours home to Alexandria. And do you know what I’ve received as punishments (respectively) for my thoughtless actions? 1. A pool of vomit in a New Cabell Hall stall 2. A pool of vomit in a chocolate store toilet 3. A puddle of vomit in a certain Alexandria driveway.

Hangovertes Mellitus Type II is a serious medical condition (so what if it’s not on WebMD? Neither is penis envy) that can affect all of us if we’re not careful. Don’t be stupid. Functioning is overrated.