Tag Archive | music

Music and Me

musicThe setting… CT’s horribly long and difficult math test:
“The distance in between two points in a plane is V(X2-X1)+(Y2-PRINCE ALI, MIGHTY IS HE-Y1). Crap, what’s the question again?”
The result of my best friend putting Prince Ali in my head right before a math exam… An F.
Ok so maybe I would have still gotten an F without having a extraordinarily repetitive song playing over and over again, turning  my cognitive functions (aaaaah, functions! They’re following me everywhere!) to mush, but the idea is there! Thanks Washington, love you tons. And no, I’m not criticizing the government (although I risked not getting my passport on time to go do a college tour in the States on Wednesday because you couldn’t get your shit together about Obamacare), I call my best friend Washington. Deal with it.

I started listening to music when I was a little girl and my parents would put on CDs of classical music during dinner. Yes, CDs! I feel so old. On special days we would get to listen to a jazz record, at which point my brother and I always got super excited and would run around the house as if we were on drugs. The unfortunate corollary of this jazz disk was the fact that we couldn’t actually sit still while we ate; we were obliged to dance around in our chairs, shouting the words to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Let’s do it” (um..) at the top of our lungs.

For a long time, jazz and classical were the only kinds of music that I knew. The only other novelty came from the numerous musicals that we watched after dinners on weekends (I know Annie’s Tomorrow by heart. HA. You don’t feel bad that I do and you don’t? Oh, well, I stand corrected). Then came the era of the boom box. When we got it for Christmas one year, it was like a gift from a higher power. It could play CDs, tapes and the radio. We were over the moon. and that’s how I got my introduction to pop music. Actually, the first song that we ever heard on the radio was a Lady Gaga song. Harmless, say you? Think again. It was one of her more… um… ribald pieces. I’ll let you imagine my mom’s face when we ran up to her, two little kids, and yelled “I WANNA TAKE A RIDE ON YOUR DISCO STICK”. Yeah, it was that bad. From then to basically today I have avoided talking about music with my parents.

Since that awkward time, I’ve branched out into other types of music. For a while I listened to only music from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s because I had to supply it for my mom to sing to in the car. I have over three hours of Queen, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles (among others) on my phone, and I still listen to them fairly regularly. I’ve discovered the genius of Tom Lehrer, the awesomeness of Imagine Dragons and the Artic Monkeys, the catchiness (made up word alert!) of Coldplay and Green Day… And I can only hope that my horizons will keep expanding. Isn’t that a weird turn of phrase?

Music is something that lets me escape, transfer my thoughts to the song and/or melody instead of concentrating on the depressing details of my teenage life. This being said, I oftentimes find that a song is directly applicable to something that I’m going through. Ah yes, the “I am the centre of the Universe and everything is about me” syndrome. But nonetheless, if I’m feeling sad I may be unable to listen to a happy song and vice versa, it really all depends on my mood.
I sense that I’m hitting a writer’s wall here so I’ll stop while whatever shred of dignity I have left is still intact.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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What do I do with my body parts?

Now before you go all “ew” and “gross” on me, give me a chance to explain. I went to a concert on Saturday night and realized that while everybody else seemed to have no problem moving groovily (isn’t that a fun word? groooovily. Ahem.) to the beat I looked like a hamster having a heart attack.

If you’re only here to see CT make a fool of herself, please skip to the word COOKIE. Otherwise, please enjoy the foreplay. *clears throat*

See, a friend of mine is in this rock band and they don’t often have gigs so I try to go when they’re playing. What you have to understand is that I am not a person who generally goes out and is social and dances and manages to look hot doing it (gaah, why does everything I say always sound so wrong?) . Anyway, even though the ‘orchestra of my colleagues’ as my friend’s dad called it, was playing on the other side of town, I went out of friendship and because I had nothing else to do. Well actually the other choice was getting drunk in a park while it was raining. Obvious choice no? For me at least.

The 20th arrondissement of Paris is not a great neighborhood, or at least the part that I was in wasn’t. My friend and I went together, which I’m grateful for because I never would have gone on my own. The club that Black Crown Falling was playing in (check them out on YouTube, they’re awesome!) was more a bar with an improvised stage than anything else. To tell you the truth, it was scary place. It smelled of alcohol and smoke and it was a dark and stormy night. Washington (my friend) and I stood outside in the pouring rain for an hour, too nervous to go inside because the screams that were emanating from the room made it sound like there were flamingos getting slaughtered (yeah you guessed it, the band before BCF was a heavy metal group).

We finally gathered our courage and went inside when BCF started playing, and I’ve gotta say that I was honestly really enjoying myself until I noticed that other people were nodding their heads and tapping their feet while I was standing there, stone still, looking like an awkward giraffe. I got worried that it might look as if I didn’t like the music so I started stomping my foot in rhythm. Bad idea; it just looked as if I needed to pee. Next I started moving my head and ended up portraying a person in epileptic shock.

COOKIE

We were standing in front of the stage and since the band played for 40 minutes I took it as a bad sign that I started getting pins and needles in my legs 5 minutes into the concert. Because of this every so often I would hop up and down a little, switching legs. And where was I supposed to look? Looking straight at the singer made it look like I was strangely fascinated with him (which believe me, I am not). I tried looking at the guitarist’s little brother, who was watching his idol with a proud look on his face, but that made me seem creepy. So I looked at the wall for most of their playing time, trying to seem like I’d mastered the vague mysterious attitude. I didn’t, and that was pretty obvious to EVERYONE.

Finally I didn’t know what do with my arms. I tried crossing them but that was too arrogant and “f*ck you”-like. I put them behind my back but that made it look like I was some stuck up teenager waiting for the torture to end. In the end I just swung them back and forth like a deranged robot, occasionally hitting people accidentally. Yes, that’s the option that I chose. If you had a better solution, I wish you could have been there to tell me.

So I was the awkward teenager, sopping wet, knocking people over with her disproportionately long arms, jumping up and then down again every few minutes, eyes shifting from place to place, head rolling around in perfect disharmony with the music. Luckily for me I realized that Washington was having trouble controlling her limbs as well, which made me feel less alone. But tell me, good people of Apricot Land, what was I supposed to do?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager

PS: Today I’m apparently fixating on animals. Hum, tomorrow it might be kitchen tools, who knows?

Motivation, or the lack there of

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   diannesylvan.com

Today, I went for a run. I felt proud of myself for taking such initiative and… nah, OK, my mom forced me to go running with her because she thought that I was being too lazy. And I was! But it’s vacation, and I’m perfectly content being lazy. After complaining bitterly for a while, I sucked it up, pulled on my sneakers, and went outside to where my mom was doing some seriously disturbing warmup exercises.

As I watched her unknowingly traumatize me I wondered what the point of this was. Some of you will say that it’s good for your organism, and though I agree, I’m not particularly worried about my body. It’s fine, trust me. And then I remembered that my PE teacher had told me to sign up for track and field, so I thought, “why not start training a little early?”. And so, as I started running, my brave mom already huffing and puffing behind me, I felt a little surge pushing me forward. Motivation was sweet.

I blasted Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger out of my headphones and willed my searing legs to move forward (I’m clearly a bit out of shape). While my muscles were screaming at me to stop the insanity that I was putting them through, I reflected on the strange occurrence that is motivation.

There are all different kinds of motivation. I guess the kind that gets to me the most is motivation for the future. See, I’m a girl with a plan. I’ve had that plan ever since I was six. I will grow up, go to college and become a doctor. There have been obstacles in my way, and conquering them has just given me more motivation to succeed. Because whether my math teacher likes it or not, I will go into the scientific section of my high school. Take that you mean old witch!! Not. Crazy.

That’s motivation for the distant future, but you could also just want to get something over with to, say, go back to watching Awkward (two friends told me about it when they heard that I had started a blog, and I have become addicted. It’s bad guys). You could be motivated for yourself, or to help someone else. Anything is within your reach (except, sadly, finding a cookie the size of a football field, and… um… a couple other things) as long as you have the willpower to go out and achieve your goal.

Finally, you can have motivation because you love something so much that it alone is enough to give you that extra boost. And passion, ladies and gentleman, kangaroos and aliens, is the best motivator of all.

Having contented myself with these sort of (not really) deep thoughts I ran home and collapsed on the front lawn, where I promptly made myself swear that I would never put my body through that horror again. So much for that. But I’m not worried, motivation is not something that can simply disappear forever, I trust that it’ll be back to stalk me before too long.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: Sorry for the crappy writing tonight, I’m still reeling from that run.