Am I crazy or is the first half of this Drake record a Madchester album?  Either way, I really like it.

Wendy’s Frosty Shake: An Acrostic

Fawning over her red locks,

Rolling down Temple,

Only this one time, guys!

Suckin’ you through my straw,

Thinking about getting another one!

You always know what I want, girl.

My friends all decided to go out walking, but for some reason or another I chose to lay down in the backseat of Chris’ Prius parked in some apartment complex in Chino Hills.  The last track on the Fleetwood Mac comp we listen to every week just ended, replaced by the faint twinkling of guitar that kicks off “Easy.”  Right from the start I could tell it was the new Real Estate record, even though I had never listened to it prior.  I’d been hyping up Days for a while now and “It’s Real” went to the top of my Most Played in a matter of weeks, but I didn’t want to defile the religious ritual of losing my Days virginity by doing so in the backseat of my friend’s car.  I’m not some Martin Courtney slut.  But I had the song posted above stuck in my head and couldn’t resist playing that one song.  At the very least it would satiate my, at that time, exponentially growing desire to listen to the leak.  So the guitars and drums start, so placid and consistent I feel like I’m getting my hair shampooed at a barbershop.  Then Courtney’s vocals kick in and I’m helpless. Even the muffled sounds of my friends starting to approach the car fail at capturing my attention.  And just as the loops of guitar start to seem unwelcome, and I start to question Courtney’s lament against carpe diem, they throw me something to chew at: the jam session.  I’m standing knee-deep in pond water, fish making ripples between my legs.  Everything feels simultaneously crisp and woozy as the golden sunlight shines against me.  I attained some form of rock and roll nirvana.  Unfortunately, golden sunlight turns into “Gold Lion” and Lauren flashes a disconcerted look and asks me if I’m sleeping. 

The moment I decided I liked Bon Iver’s “Bon Iver, Bon Iver”

I couldn’t open my eyes wider than small slits which exacerbated my already pathetic view of Justin Vernon from my outrageously overpriced nosebleed seats which, combined with my pestering cold, made me feel incredibly lightheaded.  So there I was borderline delirious, constantly freaking out about getting a parking ticket, trying to ignore the fact that I might as well have placed instruments in an ant farm and put Bon Iver’s catalog on shuffle, when I went into a sickness-induced high as they began to play “Michicant.”  Guitar notes turned into flickers of halogen lights along a neon blue equator.  I became a five year old chasing after my sister in our front yard as she took pictures with her prom date.  I became a thirty year old grilling hamburgers in my backyard.  At the same time, I was incredibly conscious of where I was: sitting in this huge auditorium with my best friend.  Most people talk about this album and it’s sense of place, the way it attempts to play at our ideas of home and familiarity, but for me the beauty of this album emerges in the ways it manipulates time.  It evokes past, present, and future while muddling the distinctions between them.  Phrases come in and out of consciousness, but concrete stories never actually emerge.  I can’t tell you what my sister was saying, who else was with her, what time it was, but I can tell you I remember walking outside and seeing the red sky, my sister’s red velour dress, the rose bush she stood beside; then, Colin Stetson’s hushed saxophone gently glides me back to my seat and next to Philana.

I’m working on overhauling the structure of this site.  I decided that if I’m going to “talk about my opinions” I best make this less anonymous so y’all can get to know me.  If you’re following me and wondering who this is, I used to be titled “The Zoo Story,” which was based off a crazy play I read during my senior year in high school that’s pretty much my favorite thing ever.  Other facts about me: I’m a math major at the University of Southern California, I’m helplessly addicted to all of the Real Housewives series, and I’m a running junkie.  Since I’m commuting from the San Gabriel Valley to LA everyday I have a lot of time to think about stuff to write, so I should be posting more consistently in the future.  Exciting stuff!

What I can never understand:

I only need a digital antenna to watch your TV show when it airs live, but if I wanted to watch said TV show in the future I must wait eight days and watch it within five days or else I must subscribe to some bullshit service to watch the show again OR purchase the show on DVD.  Except that I’m pretty sure uploading the show to the internet requires small amounts of financial resources that your large-as-fuck corporation already possesses, which (still) are easily compensated by ALL THE THOUSANDS OF BULLSHIT COMMERCIALS I HAVE TO WATCH AND I AM STILL NOT GETTING WHY I STILL MUST INEVITABLY PAY FOR SOMETHING THAT WAS ORIGINALLY FREE?

We Listen For You

Sometimes people shouldn’t be allowed to blog.  Those people blog for We Listen For You.

I TAKE THAT BACK.  “I WANNA MEET DAVE GROHL” SOUNDS LIKE THE TWO AND A HALF MEN THEME SONG.  OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!

The beginning of “I Wanna Meet Dave Grohl” sounds freakishly similar to “Shortnin’ Bread”.  Yikes.

Hi I’m Michael

I’m the kind of guy who, although consciously plans on standing in the sun for 8 eight hours, forgets to apply sunscreen onto his arms and face.  I’m a tomato.  In pain.

You’re gonna love me.