Soiree in the 'burbs

I suppose I have reached the age where I can say: "I went back to my hometown, visited my high school friends...you know..." Though I feel like I should be older, have my hair cut into a tasteful bob, be driving a nice car, laugh, compliment so-and-so's pearls.

No, I am tastefully disheveled, wearing flannel, really nervous. To see my friends.

I smoke more cigarettes than I should, they disapprove, or, at least feign disapproval. I laugh lightly as they disapprove still frantically searching my bag for my lighter. As I light each once, I am focused very intently on the box, the surgeon general's warning written in German, something I have an annoying urge to show off each time - tapping obnoxiously at the large foreign print.

The conversation is,...jumpy I guess. His summer. Her summer. My summer. Her summer. My summer. Her summer. His summer. Snapshots of what they did. Familiar names, etc. We gossip a bit. Though I can't recall what about... the one crayon drawing in the dinner window is placed dramatically in the left hand corner, coffee stained spoon, upside-down ketchup bottle, my bag tipped over on the floor, one white waiter, mexican waiters hovering 3 booths behind us why?, lady with short grey hair sitting alone trying to attract attention (is she waiting for someone? is she escaping her god-awful children?), Ricky's dad sitting alone at the counter, that chocolate-chip cookie looks good, the kid putting his visor over his eyes, the waiter asked only if I wanted milk, not sugar, striped hoodie, all the boys in here are wearing white t-shirts, one girl with her parents, someone is looking at me, the left-over bacon on that plate should really be made into a face, lime-green shorts, no small children, is someone talking to me? Yes.

All at once there are too many people in the diner. I think its getting warm in here. Eating with their own respective people, silently looking around, guaging the scene. Someone dated someone for a week this summer, some boy hooked up with a boy, someone is staring at my shirt.

"How was your summer?"

"It was -"

"That's cool."

I am regailing my friends with stories from my summer. Stories that, though they seemed important at the time, don't feel like they've happened at all. I'm making it all up. I was just in bed with the comforter over my head escaping the sun... Nothing has happened, nothing at all. I want to make them laugh. I want to cooly express the proper emotions in the proper fashion. I think I will have a seconed cup of coffee. Do they charge for refills? Doesn't matter. Mother's cash is in my wallet. Was I in the middle of telling a story? The words are falling over themselves. Should I tell them that part? Look, I already am. I wonder if they throw away those cookies at the end of the night, or if it would be the same one if I came back 3 days from now? Where did my napkin go? Oh right, I was talking.

I guess we are taking photos now. That was clever to bring your camera. You can take pictures of this gathering, post them on the internet. You will never forget that you interrupted conversation so that you could take stage photographs, get people to take photos of you. What memories! Awww.

People are looking, the flashes are bouncing all around the dinner. Are the snickering? They are jealous. Clearly we are having fun. No, that was such a bad photo...erase it, puhlease! I don't know what I would rather be doing! (Beer, walking up/down Broadway, flailing a little, headphones, muussiiccc, alone) Okay, okay. We are going outside. To do what? To stand in the parking-lot of course.

Hahaha, I'm funny, he's funny, she's funny. Hug hug hug. Maybe I could go to Barnes & Noble tomorrow, purchase some DVDs? The streets in this town are deserted. People are wandering, talking over eachother. There is a pause in the conversation, I will fill it. We are all waiting for our turns to talk...

I am taking the 11:38 bus home. I am the only female. I am the only white person. I am listening to Nirvana.

I Want to Be Sedated

How cool! A Ramones reference!

But seriously.

I have learned that life can be a lot better when my judgement is impaired. For instance, to illuminate for you what on earth I am talking about, last night I was out to dinner with my parents and some friends of ours. It would be understandable to say that I was incredibley bored. However, wine was served and perhaps overall I had 4 maaayybe 5 glasses. This wine made a conversation like this:

- Yeah we had some trees taken out

- Oh yeah? How was that?

- It went very well. The guys were real charming.

- Oh good! That's excellent!

A hell of a lot more interesting. 

Now for a direct reference to the title of this post:

In the car this morning the song came on. Never before in my life could I have empathized more. My mother was jabbering on again about how she hates our friend's girlfriend. Assholes in sports cars where cutting into traffic. The lady at the checkout counter where I bought my scone had an irritating voice. Radio ads are totally obnoxious and make me want to take an axe to the dashboard...

Perhaps if I could get my hands on a tranquilizer it would all be better.

Jaws

I saw Jaws for the first time last night. People who have had the pleasure of seeing it previously warned me: "You'll never go in the fucking water again!" They would scream. Then laugh delightedly, proud of the fact a major motion picture has kept them from sticking a toe into opaque ocean.

It was not "scary." It was fucking awesome. However, Jaws is not a "good" movie. The cinema crowd would not put it up there with La Strada or any other Existential head-up-ass film. But it is certainly not among the ranks of Earnest Goes to Camp. Certainly not.

It's corny and contrived and funny as hell. You really couldn't ask for a better time.

Even from the beginning, you have the first shark attack scene with the naked blonde flailing about in the water screaming "it hurts!" Her pathetic cries for help and her frantic thrashing are, well, comical.

And of course Robert Shaw as the jaded deep-sea fisherman who helped deliver the Hiroshima bomb back in his youth and has seen men in the water dying all around him. Physically and emotionally scarred! He is ominous as hell and gives off the perfect cheesy cinematic mysterious air. He can wield a harpoon like nobodies business.

All in all my favorite character was the shark because it didn't follow any goddamn rules and liked to prey on people who probably just would have ended up old and wheezy hooked up o a respirator anyway. At least the attackees are forced to confront their own humanity before they end up in shark belly and the mourners are forced to feel real goddamn emotion.

I would have been content if the shark just ate everybody and left the jaded fisherman.

Germany

I was in Germany for a month

I really don't want to write a whole fucking blog on it.

What I will say:

- I drank and smoke probably a little too much

- I love Berlin and just want to skip over this next portion of my life and live in a rotting building and be a bum there

- My friend with whom I was staying is no longer much of a friend

- I have learned how to compromise a hell of a lot and I have learned how to walk for endless miles bleeding and limping

shit.

Sans Ecole

So, I don't have school today. Working on my last assignments before Graduation are about the last things I want to be doing.

I did finish my Finnish project - but I am now at the tedious point of having to do my bibliography. I was very stupid and did not make one as I went along in my research. Fool.

I also have to work on my term paper on Kerouac. I do love him, really really love him. BUT I am not in the mood to write a 12 page paper on his influence (or whatever I said I was going to write about). I am 1) too tired for large assignments and 2) not feeling that Kerouac needs a whole 12 page essay on him. I'd rather just read his books and feel him.

But this is what getting an education means. So, I reluctantly comply.

I really just want to be eating bread with jam and reading Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow by Peter Høeg. (The Danish title looks particularly beautiful: Frøken Smillas Fornemmelse for Sne)

It is an excellent book by the way. I am not really a fan of mystery novels. If I want thrill I'll just watch a movie. But this seems to be in an entirely different league.

It's about this woman named Smilla Jaspersen who is half-Greenlandic. She was born in Thule (Qaanaaq), Greenland where she spent most of her childhood. She now lives in Copenhagen and gets embroiled in this web of mystery regarding Danish-Greenlandic relations and sectrets and shipping. What makes it particularly a good read is the main character:

Smilla Jaspersen is in her late 30s and she is a very headstrong, cynical woman. Her insights on human nature and humanity are brilliant. She also conjures up many memories from her Greenlandic childhood which are fascinating in themselves. She comments on what its like living in a major European city from the perspective of someone from the tundra, basically.

This has made me very fascinated with Greenland. I hardly knew that people could live there! It does have a very small population, but it is a nation of Inuits with a very distinct and unique culture embedded in tradition and folklore.

I must do more research on this! (Though, I should be churning out a bibliography and writing scores of prose on Kerouac).

Carob Chip #459,706

Unrelated photo. I was intending to write a little ditty on this Jasper John's exhibit I saw at the Met a few weeks ago - but I have other more urgent and pressing matters on my mind like:

- Why wasn't I born Scottish?

- Where can I get my hands on some retired vhs tapes?

- If I we were born with no knees would we really have evolved into the super beings we are today?

Well, only kidding - these are answerable:

- Because God hates me

- Goodwill (but sacrificing quality)

- Yes - but we'd be doing the goose walk and then what would there be to distinguish us from nazis?

I read an interesting article today in "Philosophy Now" (a magazine I've never heard of until today) - it stod out to me on the magazine rack because there was this picture of an eyeball and it said "PARANOIA" in large alluring letters. Obviously I had to get my greasy mitts on it.

Anyway - this particular article had something to do with Kierkegaard and self-deception. I'm a little fuzzy on the details - you know how all that philosophy stuff goes - but it said that most humans don't think that they would ever decieve themselves or are capable of it. Which, of course, is actually untrue - people are decieving themselves all the time. For instance there is a large collection of people out there (we will lable them the "average citizens") who think they have very deep-rooted beliefs and can't imagine every sacrificing these beliefs: but usually when convenient they do. HOWEVER they don't actually think they are compromising any values.

Exhibit A: someone is morally opposed to stealing yet pirates boatloads of music and movies off of the internet. Becasue this person is not actually going into a store and stealing that crap they are decieving themselves into thinking they are still adhering to their orginal code of not-stealing. Or something.

This is relevant because I have been having an inner-dialouge about whether or not I should pierce my face in some fashion. I pride myself on looking tinge abnormal (nothing extreme, mind you, but enough to separate me from the drones in my presence) but I have always felt that a piercing of somesort might place me in a whole new stratasphere of "uniqueness" or some crap like that. But, by thinking a piercing would make me unique is a form of self-deception. Piercings have become in themselves another form of conformity. They are now the cop-out crutch people use to feign whatever artistic image they're trying to give off. So, I don't think I'll be sticking that needle in my face at this juncture in time. Thank you Kierkegaard.

Its easy to decieve yourself.

Like I've been eating great handfuls of Carob chips (because they're so damn good and dairy free) but I keep thinking I'm actually eating chocolate chips becasue of their uncanny resemblence! Unheard of!

Ramble.

Alopecia I think not

So, I am really goddamned bored. So bored that I decided to shave a decent portion of hair off the right side of my head. I do not regret this (really). I do admit, it looks a bit strange and gives me a bad-ass air that I don't really think I deserve. But frankly, I am so fucking tired of the monotony. Yes yes yes my life is altering dramatically blah blah blah but PLEASE I have 8 weeks until graduation and NOTHING is happening in those 8 weeks.

Life changing events really like to take their sweet time. I mean, so many transitions! But I've been saying that for months and it just keeps dragging on and I mean COME ON PEOPLE I need something

So I've just been watching Daria on youtube, thinking about my head, eating pretzels and feeling like a fat lazy tard. But suprisingly, I'm kind of....happy? Whatever that means in my sick and twisted little world.

My dad is weird.

He doesn't like my irrational change of hair style because he doesn't think its original enough. He says anyone can shave off a clump of hair and look artsy or alternative or whatever the hell they want - its too easy. He does have a point. This coming from a man who used to wear lederhosen...in public.

But I'm not doing it to look "different" I was okay with they way I looked before (well, as okay as a teenage girl can be). I just want to shake things up a bit. I have college to try and be attractive. If I'm going to do something ugly I may as well do it now. And so I have.

Overdue

I forgot about the power that internet reflection holds and by god I need reflection

I had a crazy many weeks and I am feeling all sorts of crazy shit

Of late I've (I had) been spending time with a group of NYC teenagers who know how to have good time and have been kind enough to let me tag along. But in my awkward lurking amongst their group I learned a few things:

a) I really have had a fucking lonely high school experience

b) Hanging around other people's friends makes me feel even fucking lonlier

c) I've really missed whatever friends I have - and need to make the most of their time before we all go off to separate places

The NYC kids are awesome they are rad and when they talked to me it was fun. But I am not so into the hovering bit.

Last night I went to a show in Brooklyn with them - and it was quite electrically charged and hot and sweaty and I got into it. The train ride back sucked. Everyone was reveling in their enormity and singing and swaying and I watched them quitely from my seat and realized THIS IS THEM. And I AM NOT THEM. This is their senior year as well and they want to soak eachother up in the best way possible and what am I? I am some random chick from somewhere elese who is sitting bruised and beaten and reticent on the subway seat watching all their shit unfold around me. If everyone bone in my body shattered at that point and I was just one bloody sweaty fleshy mess on the train floor it would probably take a while for them to notice if at all. That is a sad thought but I'm really not so sad. I know when I should exit. So I went home and silently left them and walked away in the warm city night. I don't know who noticed my absence if people noticed at all and I'm really not concerned if they even did. I needed to exit.

I'm also really fucking anxious for June and graduation and everyone around me is making a big deal about the prom and the sadness of leaving and I'm the only one who can't stand to be around these people for another minute and just want my fucking sqaure hat with the tassle so I can walk off into the sunset and move onto the next chapter.

I feel like I must be doing something wrong for not being overcome with this grand sense that an era is ending. This was a huge fucking part of my life. But you know what, a huge sucky part of my life.

Last time it was real good was 4th grade before people started caring about pointless shit and separating into useless cliques and allowing clothes and friends and tv shows to define identities.

(I sound like an angsty middle schooler - ha). Middle school and beginning of high school I was overweight and knew that people didn't really want to be around that becuase I didn't fit into their image of beautiful glistening youth. So I brooded and devoted my time to being "different" and bought weird clothes and cut my hair weird and listened to weird music. So now 8 years after 4th grade I'm not overweight - men have told me that I'm "beautiful" but I don't care about that shit because this primary education had left me kind of jaded. So I melt into the background and am the only girl in my high school to wear black boots and say weird shit and not be sad that I'm getting the hell out.

And I still feel like I'm doing something wrong becuase instead of pool parties I read Kafka and instead of house parties I read Kerouac and instead of afterschool junk food nailpolish parties I painted pictures of one-armed pin-up girls and instead of driving around in nice cars I listened to music that musicians actually put their blood in and that make people FEEL (anger, elatedness whatever) So instead of memories of crazy times with my friends I have books and paint globs and cassettes and a cynicism that amuses only my father.

And I'm not going to prom and I'm not going to parties and I'm not crying and I'm not reminising I am just lacing up my fucking boots and praying to god that I will just fall asleep and wake up in June in time for summer and college and all that other stuff that will have its fair share of shitty moments but won't ever compare to the searing lonliness that has consumed by life thus far.

Yes I'm fucking lonely and yes it hurts but you know - maybe if I had painted my nails and didn't read books I wouldn't be who I am and I kind of fucking like who I am and I like that other people will like who I am and I can revel in the enormity of life when I am an active participant. This is just one sucky blip on the screen and I am going off into the future now and I am SCARED to death about what is going to happen but that fear feels so fucking good.

becuase for the first time in my life there is so much fucking POSSIBILITY I can't even believe it.

All Apologies

I apologize to myself for not being better about maintaining this thing. Having a consistent blog takes discipline. Discipline I don't have.

But I felt this moment was a good one to steal away and type nonsensically for a few moments as my house/life is falling apart.

As I am graduating this year, we are selling my childhood home. I was okay with this for the 12 years I have lived here (I have very few memories of our apartment in Manhattan, therefore no so much nostalgia) but now that we're down to the last 5 or so months, I am a complete mess (actually, the messy bit has been going on for a bit longer).

Example: the fam was at my sisters home in DC for a few days and at the dinner table my parents began talking about selling our house. My eyes became all watery and gross and I asked to be excused from the table and went to go cry in the kitchen. And this says a lot as I really never cry. REALLY. So, yes, I know there is something terrible going on when crying just becomes a little easier for me.

I actually didn't intend for this post to go in the home-selling direction but I guess it is. There is no stopping it!!

Selling this house feels like we're offing a dear dear dear old old old friend. "Oh, sorry, you've been in our lives for a long long time and we love you to pieces but its time to move on." But instead of sending a christmas card and going for coffee every few years to annull the friendship we instead resort to murder. Charming.

At this present moment, my bedroom is in shambles. We're re-plastering/painting the walls/ceiling and I had to take down most ofthe pictures and posters I so carefully selected and placed upon the wall and all the furniture has been moved to the center of the room and all my crap is scattered about the house. I am without my OWN SPACE. It makes me crazy. I never unerstood the importance of a bedroom until now. My dad spent his adolescence on a pull-out couch in his living room. I really really feel for him.

I also have a serious issue with fixing up this house to make it more presentable for someone else who when they buy it will most likely alter it beytond recognition as is the current trend when people buy charming homes from the forties. I smell stucco coming on. I feel ill.

A Monday sort of Day

"I don't have low self-esteem, I just have low esteem for everyone else."

Daria sums up my entire existence thus far.

Persepolis

Friday, while perusing the mangled shelves of Borders, I came upon the graphic novel version of "Persepolis." I had really wanted to see the film (IFC or Angelika, can't recall) but never got around to it as it means an irritating bus ride and then subway and then awkward wandering as I'd most likely be alone (as I have a problem with asking people to do things with me). And wandering Manhattan alone makes me feel... uncomfortable (in the awkward, not unsafe sense).

So, I bought the novel. I am very glad I did.

Perseplis is a memoir by an Iranian woman who talks about her changing relationship with her country in the form of a graphic novel. Because of my Germanophilia, I have neglected pretty much every other culture known to man. In my free time I watch German films and read Kafka, Günther Grass, Hesse, Schiller, Rilke, Goethe, etc... And while I thought this made me multi-cultural, in reality it only makes me bi-cultural. I NEED to expand my horizons.

So, "Persepolis" is wonderful. I am a big proponent of the graphic novel anways. But I am finding that I am really fascinated by the subject material. I did a report my Sophomore year on Westernization from the POVs of Peter the Great and the Ayatollah Khomeini so I had some background information on what was occuring in Iran. But I find that now I am more fascinated by it than I was then.

There are so many interesting cultures in the world (yes, besides Teutonic). I have been interested in many over the years but am admitting I have fallen into a rut. What mainly pulls me to books like "Persepolis" is my fascination with how culture defines us; whether we remain within our orginal borders or not (much of this comes from my disillusionment with my own country).

What is also intreging for me is the art. I would consider myself a writer and fine artist and of late have been working to combine the two. Seeing it done so sucessfully is inspiring.

This book is quite literally all of my interests wrapped into one. Cultural studies, literature and fine art. Do I smell a Div II project idea?

Monday Shmunday

It is officially 2nd semester senior year. My time is beginning to free itself.

What shall I do?

I am going to watch old movies until I am no longer a functioning human being.

The Residents

I am in love. I have been listening to this band on and off for a few years now and only yesterday decided to check them out on Youtube. Wow, what an idiot I was for not having done so before. To whomever is reading this: do yourself a favor and do the same.

I really, really feel like an idiot for thinking of that so late. They fit perfectly my grandiose sense of the absurd and ironic (and many know how grandiose it can be). They make no sense and they are just plainly strange (my Friday-flight-group would say that we were meant to be -and I hope that's true). I would marry the idea of them if it were possible (maybe after gay marriage?).

I have watched some of their videos over and over again and have felt a resurgence of inspiration! Release the floodgates! I feel an artistic connection - which everyone knows is more important than a romantic connection.

Watch this and this and this. You will not be sorry.

Another appealing thing about them is their mysterious personas. No one really knows who "The Residents" are. They hide behind their giant eyeball masks never revealing themselves. Some silly humans seem to think its actually The Beatles. The Beatles really aren't that cool, trust me.

Some Wikipedia tidbits:

-"Whilst attempting to make a living, they began to experiment with tape machines, photography, and anything remotely to do with "art" that they could get their hands on."

-"Much of the speculation about the members' true identities swirls around their management team, known as "The Cryptic Corporation."

-"The group purchased crude recording equipment and instruments and began to make tapes, refusing to let an almost complete lack of musical proficiency stand in the way."

-"In 1971 the group sent a reel-to-reel tape to Hal Halverstadt at Warner Brothers, since he had worked with Captain Beefheart (one of the group's musical heroes). Halverstadt was not overly impressed with "The Warner Bros. Album" (he describes it as "okay at best" in "Uncle Willie's Cryptic Guide to the Residents"), but awarded the tape an "A for Ariginality". Because the band had not included any name in the return address, the rejection slip was simply addressed to "The Residents". The members of the group then decided that this would be the name they would use (first becoming Residents Unincorporated, then shortening it to the current name)."

D.C. Excursion

I went down to D.C. this weekend to visit my sister. The whole family was there, The Parents, The Sister, The Brother-in-Law, The Dog-Nephew.

I love my family, BUT it feels that when we're together people are always unintentionally taking sides/ feeling attacked. For instance, if my sister and I disagree with The Mom, she feels as though we are ganging up on her. And often I feel attacked because I am the youngest, and people always seem to have it in their head (despite how old the young one is) that they are naïve, and slightly daft. They don't want to acknowledge whatever intelligence I have. Even when I kill them in Scrabble.

My sister usually forgets she's supposed to be on my side. So, when I'm relaying some grievance I may have with the 'rents she argues for them, and then remembers that siblings are supposed to be in on it together and quickly changes her tune.

She's also getting into family planning mode. Scary stuff.

All family stuff aside, D.C. is a really cool city. My sister lives in Capitol Hill and its really beautiful. Though, there are a lot of ritzy shops and Yuppies around the Eastern Market area. I did, however, stumble upon this crazy used book store on a side street a block past the market. It was 3 floors of floor to ceiling shelves of bookcases that were packed together so tightly it was hard to move. It was a little pricey for used bookstores, but I was in heaven. I'm at a point where I no longer find main-stream first run book stores enjoyable. I really enjoy the hunt for treasures hiding in stacks and behind other books. I found this big-ass book of Icelandic Sagas, way cool. In the front they had all these books on display and they had a copy of Mein Kampf and they had a little tag that said: "Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler. Not signed."

I so want to work in a used bookstore. Maybe when I move to Boston after graduation. We shall see.

Schiller

1 - Das Philosophische Gespräch

Einer, das höret man wohl, spricht nach dem andern,

doch keiner

Mit dem andern; wer nennt zwei Monologen Gespräch?

Philosphical Conversation

After each other they speak, but neither speaks with the

other

Monologues we hear two, dialogue none at all.

2 - Aufgabe

Keiner sei gleich dem andern, doch gleich sei jeder dem

Höchsten!

Wie das zu machen? Es sei jefer vollendet in sich.

Task

None should equal the other, but each should equal the

highest!

How is this to be done? Each should perfect himself.

3 - Mein Glaube

Welche Religion ich bekenn? Keine von allen,

Die du mir nennst! - Und warum keine? - Aus Religion.

My Faith

Which Religion do I profess? Not one of the many

that you enumerate. Why? Simply out of religion.

Quote of the day

This one comes from Ruth:

"Before you criticize anyone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them, and you have thier shoes." -Frieda Norris

It so fits Ruth's humor (who is far away in her homeland of Germany).

Pedagogy

Now that school has recommenced after a week-long hiatus, I can feel it sucking all good out of me.

On my own, I am artistically productive. I also go forth with self-prompted research in subjects that capture my attention. Recently it has been insane monarchs, and I have found some interesting stuff.

This school business is successful at keeping me uncreative* and unlearnèd in areas I find most interesting. Instead I must while away the hours doing calculus formulas, reworking french sentences, studying for uninteresting tests, and answering stupid questions about good books.

*Though, I am in a very good creative writing class where I am being pushed harder than ever before.

School is silly:

I was actually yelled at the other day in my art portfolio class for drawing when I should have been watching the poorly put together slide show.

My History teacher does not appreciate questions or comments that originated from but are not pertaining directly to the course material (ie-no discussion).

We are not allowed to sit quietly in the hallway when we don't have a class, instead we must try to get work done in the very noisy cafeteria or library.

Sometimes they randomly close the library and we all have to squeeze into the cafeteria.

Some teachers hate being there more than we do and make sure we know it.

Frohes Neues Jahr!

So, my new year started off pretty damn good (quite Maude-like, if I might add). I went to the Dresden Dolls new years masquerade music and merriment extravaganza!

This band has helped me get through high school. I have played their CDs more times than any in my entire collection. I connect to what they have to say. They're also the only other band (I know of) that makes references to WW2 and German: something I appreciate wholeheartedly. I remember discovering them and being like: "wow, how is it possible they fit me so perfectly?" They have an amazing ability to blend the sinister, the glamorous, the intelligent, the ironic, the whatever. Everything I love they are. It is fabulous.

It was also just amazing to know that they are in the EXACT same place that I was. Amanda came out in the audience and was next to me, actually fucking beside me. I love this woman, she is one of the most inspiring women that I know (something to do with the fact that her music is the soundtrack to my life, and that being famous hasn't gone to her head) and I was she was like right there. I guess its a similar experience to when catholics visit the pope (or something).

Anyway, they put on an amazing concert. I like how it wasn't like a sit down watch us do a set wham bam thank you ma'am kind of event. The other acts weren't like warm-up bands but separate entities all to themselves (hence musical extravaganza). And they had a circus performer, how cool is that?

They also appear as real people. They screw up, they drink beer, they talk to us. They're not just cold musicians up there giving off the impression that they have somewhere better to be.

I took friends who weren't really fans (not b/c they don't like them, just b/c they really don't listen) and it was really quite awesome introducing this amazing fucking band to them in that way. I can't think of a better introduction. And for me, it was great to actually be squished up against a shit load of people who also knew the words and worshipped them as much as I did. I felt like I was a part of something greater, as opposed to my previous solitary relationship with them.

Long live the Punk Cabaret, I guess.