Take a look

I found this following statement after scrolling down a mad ass-long comment on stereogum.com

"Nobody reads long comments, douche."

I suggest all out there to take this advice seriously. Because honestly, no one wants to read a saga of a comment when you want to just find out whether you liked the article or not. It's the truth.

Peep Show-esque Thoughts I Get While On Campus

"When will anyone realise that tights are not substitutes for pants...especially when you don't have the figure for wearing them in the first place?"

"Out of all the trees, my RHD chose to have her occasional smoke, she picks the one right in front of my room. Brilliant."

"I will never understand how some people can take three bottles of beer within two hours. I can't even down that much water in such a time span."

"A Zebra Path is no longer a Zebra Path if its stripes are red and white. Then it should be called a Candy Cane Path. A squiggly candy cane path for that matter"

"Ah yes, the Engineering Buildings: a realm in which English is no longer the dominant language, females are seemingly not part of the population and socially-challenged, puberty-deprived FOBs rule the kingdom."

"Sometimes, the day is so dull that you just wanna burst out in song and dance and everyone will follow behind you like its some crazed Bollywood film and it feels like everything will be all right...except it never does...like Dancer In The Dark."

"Why does the garbage room on the guy's floor smell exactly like their rooms? I think that answers for itself."

"Newsletters is like the pathetic second cousin of the newspaper. Kinda like Twitter to blogs."

"I love it how idiosyncratic personalities and habits are never embraced until you reached college. A dreadlocked fellow wearing a batik patterned sarong, a neon green jacket and yellow fishnet stockings who fancies Hello Kitty for a backpack is just completely acceptable within campus grounds."

"Plaid shirt + Bermuda shorts + long socks with American flag + loafers + bow tie (optional) = Professor."

"I am afraid that our university has turned into the ones you see in the front of a brochure when you're planning to apply for colleges...you know, the ones where there's a fair-haired girl laying in the grass or a guy with a baseball cap reading under a tree. Too bad they don't know about the geese shit."

"Who needs to work out? I think I can just lose weight from walking from one side of the campus to the other. It's brilliant."

"Don't complain about how everything in college sucks. Just make the best out of your experience and shut the fuck up."

:Pfredd

These Are My Twisted Words

So, I visited the Radiohead website a few days back and once again, Jonny Greenwood has notified the public that a new song, "These Are My Twisted Words", has been completed by the band. Unlike their pay-what-you-want album, In Rainbows, this song is free and officially available for download from W.A.S.T.E. , the site which manages all goods Radiohead and such. Along with the song, the zip file also provides you with artwork designed by Stanley Donwood and Tchock (which they advise you to print it out on tracing paper), a front cover picture, and a text file stating the folder's contents. The artwork consists of ten or so pages of eerie dead trees in a grey scale which both Stanley and Tchock advise the listener to print it out on tracing paper. The track itself, I feel, sounds as though Weird Fishes has undergone a Kid A phase.

I don't want to put any of their stuff on my blog post because I don't have permission to do so and I respect the band enough to not do such a silly thing and post in such an open place like the Internet. If you want to listen to the song, go to their website, Dead Air Space (the address is available on the right side of the blog), and download it yourself. Or just download it from some other website like Stereogum or something. Then if you don't like it, just dump it in the Recycle Bin. That's the beauty of computers, no? There's no physical waste involved and I think that's how Radiohead would like it :)

Curse you, Caller ID

You would think that Caller ID would be extremely convenient. It helps us in a lot of ways, like avoid unnecessary telemarketer/credit card calls or see whether or no it's an overseas call that's waking you up at four in the morning. But really, it doesn't. If you put factors into consideration such as old age and being technologically challenged, your whole perspective about the Caller ID is turned inside out. Let me show you an example which is replayed over and over in my household.

Ring #1: I turn over from my couch to the telephone to see who is calling and for whom the call is. No one ever hears the phone ring except me. The call is never for me because none of my friends fancy to call me and chew the fat about meaningless things such as recipes for microwave-cooked chicken and flamingo sculptures made from twigs and peanut butter.

Ring #2: I pick up the phone from the receiver and attempt to hand the phone to one of my family members. If it was an old-fashioned cord phone, I would instantly take the call, remember? But, this is a wireless phone; you need to press the TALK button now. So it continues to ring.

Ring #3: I am now looking for the family member and running all around the house. The one you're looking for has seemed to disappear at the right moment. Then, I yell out their name in hopes of them hearing my voice since they couldn't hear the phone ringing in the first place.

Ring #4: I find my victim. He/she was a) watching an Indian serials on Zee TV or CNN news at ear-bleeding levels in another room, b) cooking for three hours, c) taking a dump, d) sitting two feet away from you and somehow I didn't see them the first two times I ran around the house.

Ring #5: I get their attention. I place the phone in their hand. I NOTIFY WHO IS CALLING and yet, they look at the caller ID anyways without a clue as to who is calling. Unfortunately, they can't see clearly enough. They bring out their reading glasses from their pockets as though they were taking out a souffle out of an oven.

Ring #6: They take a second look at the Caller ID. If it's some random unknown name, you usually assume it's some rubbish call and you ignore. No, not in my family. They will try to enunciate and read out the entire name on the caller ID slowly and carefully even the first half of it is highly unrecognizable. If the name is not given, the guessing game begins. Is it an overseas call? It is pure crap? Is it a wrong number?

Ring #7: What a persistent caller! Now whoever has the phone announces to everyone in the room the name on the caller ID. Then, they ask whether or not the call should be received.

Ring #8: Someone else takes the phone and now tries to find the TALK button.

Ring #9: There is no ring #9. We have unfortunately missed the call.

This happens, um, I don't know, about four times a day for me. How about you?

Say Hellz Yea to Yeasayer!

I was expecting much from this local indie band in their live performance this Thursday at Pier 54, but wow, they were amazing.

Kee Naam!
So, you may be asking as my grandparents did: "Vhat? A Who-sayer?". Yeasayer is an indie band based in Brooklyn, NY and definitely far from ordinary. Their music, I believe, is like no other. It's refreshing, it's unexpected, and it's even better when you hear it live. According to the band, their music sounds like "Middle eastern-psych-snap-gospel". I thought they had that sort of vibe but with a hint of experimental synth-pop from the 80's and a smidgen of traditional African beats. My mom, who was shopping in Chelsea three blocks away, heard their music breaking though the silence of the night sky and thought it sounded like Nepalese mountain tunes. If you really want to have a good idea of what they sound like....um, just YouTube them or something...that always does justice.

If You Wanna Get It Big Time, Go Head and Get It Get It Big Time
I asked a bunch of people who would have some interest in listening to these guys, but everyone was busy that day with other plans. Since I really wanted to see these guys and most of my concert plans for the summer were shot dead with a heavy bullet of last-minute family plans, I went alone. And since I'm such a loser, I went one hour earlier to stand in line. Oh, but was it worth it. I was fucking sixth in line. SIXTH. Plus, it was free. So is was a first-come, first serve basis.

Heyyyy...
As I was sitting there on the dirty gravel (or darkened seagull shit, I don't know), I saw someone who I felt was one of the guitarists from Yeasayer. He just frankly walked out from the venue for a walk around the park. I started to stare at him for few reasons:

1) One of the members of Yeasayer is a Desi man named Anand.

2) I'm a Desi. If you were unaware of the workings of the Desi mind, I will clarify it for you. You can write a fucking book about this kind of crap. When a Desi sees another Desi (who, keep in mind, is a complete stranger), one of them is bound to stare down the other as though their eyes have a strong magnetic attraction to the other's entire body. Whether or not he is in the band has nothing to do with my staring. I'm totally against this act, but it's in my blood. I can't help it.

3) Damn, he was fine!

4) I wanted to get a good look at his face because I didn't want to make the same mistake as I did when me and my friends found a pseudo-Caleb Followill at the Kings of Leon concert. (Refer to previous post)

5) For all I know, he could have been related to me.

After he was far enough in the distance, the girl next to me asked: "Was that Anand?". Damn it, it must of been him if she noticed him too. Oh well, we'll just have to wait for him when he walks back. Ten minutes pass by. Then twenty. Then thirty. Where the fuck did he go? Did some hobo push him into the river and watch him dissolve like alka-seltzer in the "waters" of the Hudson? That would suck bollocks. To pass the time, I talked to the girl sitting next to me. Wow, she was actually normal. For once, I'm not next to some pseudo-art punks who look like they stepped out of my mom's high school yearbook or wear Che Guevara shirts without a bloody idea of who he really is. Normal is good. We decided that when "Anand" came back, we would get his attention and take each other's pictures with him.

My Brain Fell Into the Hudson
And, oh lookie over there, here he comes. Shit, we shouldv'e grabbed him when we had the chance. There was no one on the line then. He was stopped once or twice for pictures and then he came near us. I went up first. I though he was gonna stand there like a stiff plank and lean towards me from a foot away. But no. He freaking grabbed me like we were cousins and he pressed his head near mine for about two seconds with a goofy smile on his face. Damn, that felt nice. Then he stood up straight and the girl on the line took our picture. I thanked him and the other girl went up. Holy shit. My hands were shaking when i was taking their photo. Haha, he's not grabbing her. He asked me if I was putting this Facebook, but I said no, I never do. Then he left with his cute little smile. Farewell, Anand bhai. We looked at each other's pictures. Apparently, I was leaning into his shoulder. When the fuck did that happen? I was so lost in his embrace that I totally forgot what the hell I was doing. The girl thought my picture came out better. Of course it did, haha.

I'm glad I didn't wear my brown shirt that day

We both started to think whether or not we were gonna put this up on Facebook. Now that he mentioned it, maybe I will. I never would have though of it. Thanks dude.

Hold a Sec...
The line began to move five minutes later. I saw a few stalls up, but I wasn't bothered by it (although I should've, since they were selling Yeasayer tees). I ended up right in the front. Front row center. It can't get better than this. Well, it didn't really. All of us had to wait for another hour or so for the opening act to come out. Opening act? What opening act? I don't recall this. I overheard from some losers next to me that it was some band called Amazing Baby. They too are an indie band...but indie-er. Who the hell are they? I don't want to see no babies doing amazing shit okay.

The Name Game
But then I was eventually exposed to these babies. And trust me, they ain't that amazing. Apparently, they played psychedelic stuff. Some points they sounded like Pink Floyd. Other moments they sounded like an angry Echo and the Bunnymen. I didn't see anything special about their sound. Just your generic indie band who attempts to outshine Led Zep or David Bowie, swilling Heineken here and there and flinging sweat into your faces. There was no way you could not avoid comparing everything about their music, including themselves. So that's what I did during the show. The lead guitarist had a hair style reminiscent of Ben Shepard, the bassist of Soundgarden. So I just dubbed him "Ben". The rhythm guitarist looked like my college friend, Andrey. So now his name is "Andrey". The singer was a carbon copy of Jarvis Cocker circa 2002. Too bad Jarvis is 10 times cooler. He had no chest hair. I found that really strange. The unfortunate bassist was not awarded with a nickname. I ignored him. He wasn't so exciting. The drummer, I swear, looked like Adrien Brody...cept he was Desi...and skinnier..and hippier. I named him Brody Bhai. Then Ben's girlfriend and her friend came to sing back up vocals. I just assumed it was his girlfriend cuz he kissed her. More likely she's his fuck body. That's how rock stars are. The only guy that really had the talent was Ben. I really hope they don't find my blog.
Um guys, turn around...the crowd's THIS way

By the third song, some weirdo started dancing around in a big circle and bumping into people, including me. His dancing wasn't even matching the music. This wasn't even the main band. WTF!? Thankfully, he got thrown out.

Call Me Helen Keller
The moment they left, I realised how deaf I had become. Thanks guys. Now I won't be able to hear what I actually came for. Plus, there was a swarm of photographers shooting pics here and there in front of the stage while the band was playing. This one lady had a translucent cover over her flash so that it would increase its intensity. She took 10 or so pictures during every song. By the end of the gig, I was legally blind. Great. Now I'm blind and deaf. This is the ultimate concert experience.

Five minutes before Yeasayer was coming on, the sky decided to take a wee leak. You gotta be kidding me. Luckily, the minute the guys went on, the rain stopped. They are so magical. Why couldn't that happen when I went to see Kings of Leon?

They Fished My Brain Out Of the Hudson & Ate It With A Dollop of Rainbow Sauce
I'm usually the type who would sing really loudly when I see a live band. However, I was so captivated by their music that I just stood there swirling my head around like a dazed hippie and mouthed out the words. The lighting for the show matched their music: colourful, exciting, and at some points, surreal. They played all of their songs from their album, All Hour Cymbals (which is not much, considering that's the only album they have). Songs such as "Sunrise", "Tightrope" and "Wait for the Summer" were awesome on their album, but even better live. Chris's spastic dance moves and microphone handling was strangely magnetic to me. Anand's bird-like head jerking was working the same way as well. Ira was just Ira. He's one of those guys that just stand there playing the bass (which not a very exciting instrument to play, I feel) and be extremely cool. I think it was his new mousse top hairdo. Random guys in the crowd were screaming, "I love you Ira!!" and he responded jokingly with a shy wave and placing his hand softly against his chest. The drummer in the back (the original one, Luke, left the band) had the most pathetic face. It was I-need-a-huge-hug-face. There was also this random black dude in the back handling some other percussion and synth beats. I had to give him massive credit. that was a difficult job to do, juggling between all the sounds and wearing a smile on his face through. You could tell the guy was enjoying it. Everyone was. Everyone but the poor drummer that is. His face wanted to make me cry. Maybe that's why they put him in the back.

Hodocahtay!
The guys finished their last song and Chris thanked the crowd like twenty times (if your an indie band, that's what you mostly run on --- that, and beer). They left the stage and surprisingly, a quarter of the crowd immediately left. Some fans you are. Me and the rest of the fans stayed for an encore. They came back (even though they were done) and Chris announced, "now we're gonna make up a song". The first have they made up, and the second part was obviously a song they're working on for their new album. Then they played "Wait for the Wintertime". It sounded so psychotic and the colours followed along. What a way to end the show! Chris then thanked us again fifty more times and left because they really had nothing else to sing. The crowd cleared off quickly and I was able to go back to my grandparent's place without a problem.

That was one of the best concerts I've ever been to. No really. There is usually something that goes wrong, but nothing did. The picture with Anand, my position in front of the stage, the final song, everything. Damn it, I wish every concert was like that.

Come On People

I don't know if you've recently heard about the sudden rising of the "Birthers" in the United States. Well, if you didn't, I just alarmed you about it. Basically, there is this small group of people who whole-heartedly believe that President Barack Obama is not an American Citizen and are finding inaccurate information to defend their argument. Just so you know, a poll was done and apparently 12% of Americans either consider Hawaii not an official state or have no idea that Hawaii is a state. That's really sad.

During the 2008 Presidential Election, I don't recall seeing McCain opponents have a debate of whether or not he was an American citizen since he was born on land part of the Panama Canal. As we all know, the Panama Canal was once owned by the United States. You would think that there would be some ignorant folks who would easily misinterpret this fact and be utterly convinced that he was not an American citizen. Sounds kinda stupid, right? Well, an argument against McCain's citizenship is as equally unjustifiable as an argument against Obama's. There is no point in arguing this now. What the people have to really focus on is the state of our nation, not whether or not our president is from a US state. Furthermore, I'm not making this argument in support or against any of the former candidates. I just want the public to understand how ignorance and narrow-mindedness can cause such insignificant problems. Give it a rest, people.

Aside from that, there has also been protests angrily disrupting town hall meetings on health care reform. We've seen random protesters break into town hall meetings during the Bush era. A majority of them were young, Ivy-Leagued Liberals who ran into the buildings and began screaming about something deeply neglected like the conflict in Iraq (it's not really a war, we all know that) or the environment. But what's this? Who are the majority of the people protesting at these town halls? White, elderly individuals from the Midwest. Old people are complaining about the health care reform in fear of their Medicare being taken away (since they are all under Medicare). If they were aware about Obama's proposed health care policies, they would know that they would be benefitting from the reform. If they were really aware, they would realise that the government is not planning to remove Medicare. As a matter of fact, the government was planning to increase Medicare reimbursement payments for the elderly.

Also, many individuals are not for a single-payer system and for any form of "socialism". Well, so I guess you guys don't want Medicare then? Or how about help for the unemployed? Or Social Security payments? When will these people understand that Socialism is not a bad thing. If it's a practical form of it placed into the government and it functions properly, so be it. Many people connect socialism to the raw, extreme forms used in the U.S.S.R or Germany a few decades back. We shouldn't use the past to instill fear in the public. We should use it to learn from our mistakes and find an alternative to avoid recreating these problems. If you think getting up and acting like a spoiled bitch without a clue about politics is gonna get you anywhere, it ain't. Ultimate Fail.

Then the talk about the death penal also fucked everything up. The idea of the death penal was brought to you by our lovely Sarah Palin. Bloody Palin. You just had to open you big ol' poopshoot for a mouth and spit out more crap than you can chew. Then the crap flies into the ignorant Americans out there and process it into factual information. Also, these people are just taking all which is considered bad and jumbling it altogether as a form of protest. Things such as Nazism and racial discrimination are arbitrarily introduced into the topic of health care. They have nothing to do with health care! What is wrong with you protesters? If you're going to protest, you should have a viable reason as to why you're starting the protest in the first place. These protesters are as transparent as wet rice paper flattened via steamroller.

I was surprised how after all these years, a nation such as the United States would still have such simple-minded bungholes who are completely unaware of the issues. Not only are they unaware, but they don't bother to take the time and actually understand the way government policies work. Everything has to be done when it's asked for without a question or doubt on how it happened. If the people want to be part of the system, you must know about what is going on out there. Participation and debate is what makes democracy. Unfortunately, these town hall protesters define screaming and shouting over others as participation. You would think a place like the US, which continually boasts about its growing state of diversity and openness to ideas such as freedom and well-being for all mankind would respect these qualities. But many don't. You know how in your 4th grade history class, you read about how young our nation is? Well, the way its citizens act I realized one thing. Yes, our country is still young. It's a young and immature little rascal.

Now I'll shutup and go watch Peep Show. That's some good shit right there.

Wow, I'm Slow

I just realized that Peretz Bernstein's stage name, Perry Farrell, is actually a play on words. If you say it really fast, it sounds like the word, Peripheral. Kinda like how Eddie Vedder had Wes C. Addle as a psuedonym for some of his artistic contributions. Took me about, I don't know, five years or so to finally realise this.

I Ask You: Was It Worth It?

So this past Friday, I went to see the fabulous Kings of Leon at Rockefeller Centre...para gratis. Sounds awesomesauce, no? Well, I wouldn't call it that.


Good Time To Roll On
The first time I've seen them live was at the 1st All Points West Festival at Liberty State Park and I was blown away by their performance. I've heard of these hombres a few years back, but the only songs I knew by them were King of the Rodeo and On Call. I didn't even know they were gonna be playing a gig there. However, once I heard the songs from their latest album, Only By The Night live, I was completely mesmerized. It was completely different from their previous work. It was music which, I felt, both brought the crowd together and allowed the listener to somehow fall into its warm embrace as though they were cradled by what was the most understanding human being ever to exist. It may strange, but only a few musicians have this talent to captivate the audience in such a way and I felt this band succeeded in doing so. Plus, they got the Thom Yorke seal of approval and that usually means a good thing. The dude has a brilliant knack of finding good talent in low-key musicians and then they eventually find their way to the top. If it worked for M.I.A. and Bat For Lashes, hey, why not for The Kings of Leon?


Hmmm...
Since I had such an awesome time seeing them last year, I wanted to see them this year at the Toyota Summer Concert Series on the Today Show. The shows were held on Friday mornings for free and people were allowed in on a first-come, first-serve basis. I went with i miei amici mainly because I wanted to share a day without sleep with them, wait like a wretched hobo on the pavements of New York City at 4:00 AM and listen to the band...again...but this time, a bit closer. And when I mean close, I mean close-enough-to-wipe-my-sweat-from-my-brow-onto-Caleb's-shirt close.

I Shouldv'e Bought The Electric Company
In order to accomplish my first task, I stayed with my awesome chums, Jymmi Aaja and Reese, over at Jymmi's place. I looked at the time. It was about 10:30. To start off the night, we decided to play a "friendly" game of Monopoly with the kid (Jymmi always mentions him as the kid, so I'll just continue this story with his identity as so). Apparently, this game of Monopoly is far from friendly. I was assured by Jymmi that the kid has never won a game of Monopoly in his life when he played with her and felt it was impossible to lose to this child. I was also made aware that Jymmi was the champion of champions when it came to Monopoly for five years straight. Unfortunately, this was the night I made her retire her title with humility and allow the kid to take all the glory for once. I didn't do this on purpose. The kid was begging for some property I had because he had the other matching two. I just wanted him to shut up the fuck up to be honest. After I traded the property, the game as we knew it, fell into an irrepressible vortex and gave birth to a brutal army of unreasonably expensive hotels and house rentals. For every other turn, Jymmi gave me Medusa's glare in hopes of me turning into stone and preventing me from making any other stupid moves. The damage was done. The kid won the game and there was nothing we could do about it. To me it was just a game, but to Jymmi it was a matter of life or death. Kinda like Jumanji, but worse. I looked at the time. It was only 12:30 AM. This was gonna be a long day...

The Ultimate Procrastinator
One hour goes by. Then two. Then three. Time really does fly when your watching YouTube videos of music videos and band interviews in anticipation for a concert. Sadly, this was my first and only prep time for watching Kings of Leon. You know how you have to be in the mood to listen to the band live, so you listen to all their music beforehand? Well, I was in any mood for listening to southern rock for the past two days. I just couldn't get into it. I was too enraptured in fucking Bjork. Of all people, Bjork. I just had to buy her Post album that week, and I just couldn't stop listening to it. Then I was like, "I need to see her live....NOW!!!". But then again, it's no longer 1995, and she wouldn't sound as cool. Besides, the tickets for her last show in NYC was a minimum of 100 bucks. Screw that! So there we were, in Jymmi's room, watching videos. There was one with the entire band and their family around a campfire talking and questioning the significance of men's testicles. Wow, that was priceless. Finally, it was about 3:30ish and we had to go. Jymmi's brother drove us to the train station in record speed and we barely had to wait for the F train. So far so good. We meet up another friend of ours, Zara, and her friend, Marissa, on the line. Apparently, Marissa was waiting on the line since 2:00 AM and we were like 60th on line. Fucking brilliant. Like Oh Em Gee, we're like gonna be like in front!! Fan girl moment!

Hey, Ho. Let's Go!
The line begins to move at about 6 AM and I haven't felt the urge to yawn yet. I'm running solely on adrenaline right now, which is a miracle. Usually if I was planning to pull an all-nighter, I would take a half-hour nap and then the rest of my consciousness would be sustained with the help of my good chums Senor Tropicana and Madame Lipton. However, this time I was only depending on my solid 12 hours of sleep I got the day before. I was so confused as to what day it was. It was as though Thursday hit the replay and reverse button at the same time. Our anticipation begins to grow as we hear the sounds out-of-tune guitars and the loud echos of the amps. The line turns on the corner of Rockefeller Centre and the people flood into the plaza, filling all the empty spaces. From afar, we can just make out the white tent which was going to house the Followills. We can also make out the small crowd that already formed in front of the tent. We're gonna be so fucking close, I was telling myself. Then we came to an abrupt holt. What's this? A bar?? Why are we separated from the crowd near the tent? @#$%!?!

Very. Important.Pieces of Shit.
It turns out, the people in the front were "VIP" fans. Now you ask, how do you get the passes? You just assume that these people had some connections with the Today Show. Or they gave a shitload of money to get the passes off of bloody Ticketmaster. Or they just a load of people joined together and decided to fashion out a pass made out of laminated coloured paper at Kinko's. Well, apparently, these "fans" were just ordinary people like you and me, cept they went to NBC's website and filled out a form before the show to get these special passes. What makes you qualify? NOTHING. Even the radio hosts weren't allowed to get that close to the band. Another thing is that I didn't consider them as the real fans. There were little children and old fogies there! What 4 year olds fancy Sex On Fire? And what 60-somethings have any idea that Kings of Leon is a real band? There was also a HUGE space between the bar and the VIPs. It was so inefficient (and unfair) to keep that bar where it was because about 50 other people could have filled up the space. There was no way of crossing, smashing down, crawling under or dismantling that metal bar. We. Were. Screwed.

Oh Yeah...
Oh, and did I mentioned the rain? Oh sorry about that. Well, it rained. And it rained. Then it didn't rain. And then it rained again, but harder. Just to make it worse, as soon as the Kings of Leon stepped out for rehearsal, the VIPs put up their umbrellas because perish forbid, they would dampen their lovely attire. If your going to a concert, you don't dress like a fucking whorebag or beach bum. Especially when it was going to rain that day. The fans who were stuck in a rut like us were of course, feeling the same way as we were. They were shouting and screaming, "PUT THE UMBRELLAS DOWN!!". What made it worse was that the guards let people way in the back in the front into the VIP section. They didn't even deserve it! We barely saw the top of the stage, and at most, saw the bottom edge of the white tent. The way the speakers were placed in front of the stage was brilliant because it was blocking half of the stage. If we were lucky, we got glimpses of Caleb's scalp and Nathan's drum set. Even though none of us real dedicated fans had no way of seeing the band on stage, we were able to to hear them loud and clear. Clear like CD quality clear. We all sang along with the band like drunk bastards. This random Aussie in the crowd held up a sign saying, My Sex Is So Soggy to the camera, in hopes that the Today Show knew what we were going through. We continue to scream at VIPs to put their umbrellas down. We cursed at the people who got an easy ride into the VIP section. In a stupid kind of way, this whole experience was bringing us all together, because we were the ones waiting painstakingly for hours on the edge of a dirty sidewalk for one purpose: to see the Kings of Leon. It was beautiful.

Waiting For You
While they rehearsed, the band played "Use Somebody", "Sex on Fire" and "Notion" and within half an hour, they left the stage. When were planning to come back? Two hours later. Two long fucking hours just to play the exact same songs. And then the rain began to pour out of the clouds like cow piss. Brilliant. What more can a fan ask for? The security guards continued to let in more VIPs who came in a little later, or what I think were VIPs. Their passes were no where to be seen. The guards didn't bother to even ask for them. Every ten minutes or so, we continually asked the guards to let us edge a bit closer to the stage. The asking grew into pleading and finally evolved into plain old begging. Nothing worked, obviously. Some people began to leave. Our beloved Aussie that we grew to know and love thirty minutes ago abandoned the crowd. The rain began to pour harder. All six of us huddled under two small umbrellas. Soon, we began to whine. The rain falling down our cheeks and the raindrops could have been easily mistaken for tears at this point. We looked so pathetic drenched in the pouring rain, covered with the twilight city dust, and eyes heavy of sleep. We became so delirious of everything around us. Then Zara made an amazing discovery.

Candy Everybody Wants
Zara points to the windows of the studio. Hours before, we were hoping to get a small glimpse of the band awaiting for their performance. But suddenly, a man appeared behind the dirt-crusted window of the fourth floor. It was Caleb!! It had to be him! His hair, his face, his everything just screamed Caleb. Magic suddenly went into play. The rain stopped and all our faces lit up like hungry dogs. But of course, when a group of people react to something like that, the crowd begins to follow too. Some people looked up and began to point at the window. I started to record Caleb's every move in super-zoom on my camera as though I found something impossible to ever witness, like the Yeti, or Salman Rushdie. He smirked and waved and we all waved back. Then suddenly, someone screamed "They're back!". The entire band was apparently on stage, including Caleb. Then who's that little doggie in the window? Well, not Caleb. We just spent ten minutes staring at a bootleg version of lead singer. Way to go Zara. But we had to admit, it was kinda funny.

Hang On To Yourself
Now, the live show began. The camera was on and scanning across the crowd. At this point, we were too tired to scream or shout when it came by. The band was being interviewed on the corner by Al Roker. All we saw was Al Roker from the distance and not the band. We just assumed for those ten minutes that the band was being interviewed. The rain began to pour again. Joy of joyness. The band went up on stage, and we could finally get a glimpse of all the members, but in bits and pieces. The only person I was able to see throughout the entire perfomance was Nathan but that was only because he was the drummer and the drummer never moves from his spot. But, after the eighth or ninth time seeing him, you get kinda sick of it. The rest of the guys kept on swaying back and forth and it was difficult to keep eye on all of them at once. Luckily, Caleb was wearing a pink t-shirt, so he was a bit easier of to keep track. We compared our cameras and we came to the conclusion that my camera had the best zoom on video recording and Jymmi had the best angle. If we tiptoed high enough, we could clearly see all of their heads. With this combo, we were invincible. Most of us watched the performance from someone else's recording, which was at the perfect angle and distance. As the last time, the fans in the back sang to their songs. It was odd; the VIPs weren't even singing to the song. They didn't even have an idea what was going on. More VIPs and latecomers were allowed in. Why even bother coming now? The performance was almost over. The real, dedicated fans were in the back and there was nothing we could do to change that. I just closed my eyes and let the music take over my body. I almost forgot that this was the main reason I came to this concert: to hear live versions of their songs. It stopped raining. We successfully recorded "Sex On Fire" on my camera and we were satisfied. The jigsaw pieces were falling into place.

Farewell and Goodnight...or Good Morning for that matter...
Just like before, the band crawled back into the building and there no where to be seen. It was then the crowds began to leave. Marissa and Zara's brother left too because they saw it was no use in staying any longer. It was time to make our moves. According to Jymmi, the band should come out an hour later to sign autographs and such. This was our moment, our moment to make up for the the rest of the horrible morning, our moment for the band to see what we had to go to. Just one look at us and you would understand our entire story. Unfortunately, the guards were trying to throw us out and we weren't big enough stubborn assholes to stay. We were tired of it all. Then, there was this tiny line forming on the corner of the building away from the guards. It was right across the band's two vans. Hopefully now we can get a chance to see them. Sadly, a guard saw the line and made us leave. We were way too tired to think straight. We just took the train and parted our ways from that point on. We left without autographed magazines, without awkward pictures with the band, without our satisfaction of seeing the band up front which provided us this lovely entertainment.

For a Pessimistic, I'm Pretty Optimistic
To be honest, I thought this entire adventure wasn't the worst thing I have ever experienced in my life. First of all, I was with my friends. If I wasn't with them, the concert would have been even more sucky. We were all miserable together. Plus, all of us fans were in this together; it wasn't just me and my friends. Their problems were our problems. As I explained before, the Kings Of Leon preformance at All Points West brought everyone together and made me feel so comforted. And you know what, I felt like they did it again. I didn't even have to see their faces throughout the whole show. That's how great an impact their music had on me. Also, I've never stayed up all night and hung out on the corner of the street so early in the morning in the city. I take every part of my life as an adventure, whether it be good or bad. That's what makes life colourful, no? In the words of Bjork (cuz that's all I was listening to this week), "Look at the speed out there, it magnetizes me to it and I have no fear. I'm only into this to


ENJOY".


x Pfredderickk

So yesterday i took a ride on a shady Chinese shuttle bus from Flushing to Chinatown within 20 minutes

and i survived.

Lady Gaga vs. Bjork

"I wanna take a ride on your disco stick" vs. "His tooth is warmthless"

Obviously the latter wins for its dead-on obscurity and nonsensical imagery. Since when is "warmthless" an english term? And this ain't the first time she has secretly contributed a "word" to the English language. Let's just say Bjork pulled a Dr. Seuss and let it go. It's her Frindle. But this doesn't ignore the rest of the sentence now. How about this tooth conducting heat? And what about the other teeth? Are they lukewarm? Toasty? Or maybe it's not about the heat, maybe its cold as in aloof or emotionless. But what tooth has an amygdala, or a brain for that matter? Highly impossible to interpret what the hell is going on in that sentence. I say some guy lost circulation to one particular tooth. Now it's beginning to lose heat due to the lack of blood flowing through it. Then the tooth falls out. The end. As for the disco stick, we can just easily dismiss it as a shiny phallic symbol, no? Either that, or some warlock has a gem-studded broom stick and Lady Gaga is extremely tempted to ride this Harry Potter-esque hot rod. But I'm just saying this out of context, of course.

When lyrics don't make sense, just connect to some sexual related topics. It usually works and it's certaintly working for the disco stick. As for the cold bicuspid, haha no. But before we conclude this short battle, let's compare the titles of the songs shall we? LoveGame vs. Mouth's Cradle. Sure, it is easy to see that Gaga failed whilst using Microsoft Word and forgot to use spell check before she released her album. Mouth's Cradle? After reading the title for the 53rd time, I say it's very poetic. In a way, she's trying to connect the comfort of a mouth (from its "warmthness") with comfort as in a child's cradle as the gums cradle all of the teeth in its embrace. But the first 52 times totally got me screwed over. So we all know that Bjork won this.

I know the pieces fit cos I watched them all fall away

Is there a reason for the unexplainable surge of Tool fans on college campuses?

You know what I'm talking about; the tall, highly unattractive and diaphoretic individuals who swagger from class to class with TOOL blazing from across their chests like they're the epitome of God's creations. It's not a bad thing, you know, to fancy Tool and all because everyone has their preferences in music. As a matter of fact, I respect them as one of the few bands who "paint with their music" and I occasionally enjoy lending my ear to alternative rock staples such as Schism and Sober.

As to my knowing, these fans (or at least the ones I've met) are not the most pleasant folks. I usually find out that they enjoy hacking into government networking facilities in their free time OR have the language as rancid as a leech-infested sock seeping in a cesspool OR have their dorm walls strewn with pictures that can pass for bestiality (not Tool, surprisingly). However, this does not ignore the fact that these fans are undeniably apparent in several universities across the country aside from mine. I'll name a few places right now: University of Rochester, University of California at Berkeley, Princeton, and University of Virginia, all of which contain a steady number of Tool aficionados (as I witnessed). This also brings up another question. Why does this population of fans neither expand nor disintegrate? Why do they exist as solely 27.5 % of the student body? What connects them all? This is my reason: these are all physics or engineering majors.

The building I dormed in houses all the dweebs and milquetoasts you can find on campus. The men's floor was practically packed with Tool Fans. Heck, the guy that lived right below me used to blast 10,000 Days non-stop, especially during the Grammys (because apparently that album was nominated for one thing or another. Fortunately, they lost, so that prevented an unannounced 5-hour non-stop Tool marathon that the arsehole was planning to conduct as soon as he recieved the long-anticipated news). I was sure he was a computer engineering major. By the way, he's the hacker who "shared" the news of his special talent to the RAs in the first month of the term--smart move dude.

This other guy who lived five doors from him, was too a Tool Fan. This guy ALWAYS wore his Tool shirt, I mean always. Either that, or he had six Tool shirts with the same print, same tear at the corner of the neckline, and same sweat marks trailing down the middle of his back. He never spoke and at one point, I was certainly convinced he was mute. But that was then, NOW I finally convinced myself that he could not speak. From the looks of this character, he was obviously a socially-inept, computer-mechanized walking brain who functioned in terms of numbers and nothing else.

There was also a girl in our building who occasionally walked around with a Tool shirt. We talked once in a while if we passed each other in the hallway. We just exchanged polite greetings or made remarks regarding the unpleasant weather. She seemed harmless, until I saw her sitting with her friends. If she had the chance, this woman can say a complete, coherent sentence with curses alone. It's quite the talent. And to top it all off, she is also a engineering major, particularly specialising in mechanical engineering. Sheer bloody coincidence? Hellz nah.

So you see, the fans are usually the creeps of campus, the uber-dweebs, the psychopaths of psychopaths. To harness their intellectual energy (and whatever kind of energy these humanoids possess), they take a keen interest in applied sciences. But as a way to spice up their personality, they also take an time and admire the works of this prog rock band. And why? My take on these deadbeats is that the sound of the music electrifies their soul and fosters a form of confidence which never existed before. To shine their inner audacity to the public and show their gratitude to their beloved band, they wear anything covered with the magical four-lettered word. It empowers them with a feeling that just screams "Hey, take a look at me bitches. I'm so badass because I can handle Tool". It's like their double A battery, their daily dose of steroids, their long-deserved share of Scooby Snacks. After all these years of intense underground research on this under-developed marvel, I conclude that, yes, there is a reason to explain the young adulthood phenomenon that effects every 2 out of 20 college students.

Garbage piles in manhattan

are bountiful treasure chests.

Just My Luck, No Really

Unfortunately, for the fourth time in my life, I successfully manage myself to get stuck in a religious conversation with the infamous Chinese Bible Study woman (As I lovingly call her, secretly) on campus. This woman never gives up! You would imagine that the second or third time she meets me, she would recognise my face. And once she saw me, she would understand that I'm clearly not interested in taking this class (if there is such a class) mainly because I explained my disinterest for attending such a class in our previous encounters.

The way she comes up to you to is quite nerve-racking, I must admit. She will timidly come from behind and begin to beckon for your attention in a such a low frequency that it cannot even pass for a whisper; it's more like the sound of air leaking from a high-pressured gas valve. Then you look behind because you suspect it's a dragonfly or moth happily passing your path, but NO! IT'S HER!! Strike one. Then, she'll start asking you random, luck-of-the-draw questions regarding your demography. You begin to think "Hey, she's harmless. Why not? She just wants to start a conversation, right?" NO, YOUR WRONG! Strike two. You answer her questions and embellish it a bit because hey, you just met her 8 seconds ago, so what matters if you lie a bit. So that's what I usually do. Everytime I meet her, I make up my religion. One moment I'm Muslim, the next I'm Buddhist, and heck, I even told her I was Zoroastrian. That last one completely confused her since she didn't know what that was. Ha! Ball one! Next, she will ask you if you have ever read the Bible and studied it. To make this moment more exciting, you start telling her all the stuff you read when you had to read the Bible in English class. You start to psychoanalyse the characters and explain the true factors behind their motives in a more unrealistic, outrageous, English teacher, kind of perspective. She gets even more shocked. How does this Zorro-astro-whatever know about the Bible? Ball two. Then the woman will use her magical ways and attempt to convert you to Christianity there and then. Now she's testing your waters. She just pitched the ball right into your shin. It's okay if you're here to enroll people in a Bible Study, but to change their view on life and question their ideals? Nah man, dis ein't cool. 'ave som' respec'. You tell her exactly that, minus the Yardie-ness. Once she finally gets your point, you start walking away because, in my experience, she won't leave your site unless you start moving yourself. HOMERUN!! Unfortunately, she never gets your point, and will continue to use the same pitch the fifth or sixth time you meet her. She's like Willy Loman: a hopeless and seemingly unsuccessful salesperson.

I've told my friends about my adventures with this woman and I asked them whether or not if you have ever met her at least once in your life. All of them answer the same thing: NO. They all look at me like I have a boil on my face which is big enough to sustain life on its own. Maybe this lady is imaginary, maybe she doesn't exist, a phantom of some sort. She might be like one of those ghosts many students get to witness on college campuses as old as the cotton gin or Simon Bolivar. But our campus isn't that old. I mean, McDonald's is older than it. She could be a brain-scavenging zombie, I don't know! Whatever it may be, she is still the Chinese Bible Study woman and she will always remain as so, in my eyes. You must also understand the power of assumptions. Humans will always have assumptions and will make every lasting attempt to prove them correct and at the same time curb their curiousity. It's at moments like these you use flattery and a bit of creativity to remove yourself from complicated situations such as these. But, if you suck at that, well then, my best suggestion I could give to you is to.... RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!!


X Pfredd

Don't Walk Away...In Silence...

This will be like my new facebook account...cept it'll be like even better.
Unlike half of the population on facebook who

post their entire life story as their status,

or put up 372+ pictures of themselves posing in front of a webcam with booze and some cigs (and half a mind),

or change their profile picture as though their undergoing some drastic aging cycles every 2 seconds or so...

or give you cyber hugs and pokes,

or leave 30 second video posts on walls which really have no valuable meaning at all cept that the person was either shite-faced or is in desperate need of some real human interaction,

or tag you in a photo which has everything but yourself in it,



I'll be quietly writing and posting items on this page which actually contain some form of substance (and hopefully, some entertainment) for you people out there...

x Pfredd

LOL

Lol, i made a blog.
Whilst I sit in the Stony Brook library
Using this shitty keyboard, with the
N,m,a,s,d, and c completely erased from it.
This is a poem, a very lame one with no
Rhyming or meter. Kinda like most poems
Now-a-days. What is it called again?
Free verse?
More like
A pathetic excuse for a long sentence
That was broken up into
Five lines or such,
Kinda like this one.
So yeah, call me a hypocrite or whatever,
I don't mind.
I'm just following a trend.
Riding a wave.
Following the crowd.
Kinda the same reason why
I just made this blog.
LOL

x PFredd