Holy Hell

Wow, it's been forever!

Just a little tidbit of what I've been up to lately:

1. Just finished reading "The Heroin Diaries" by Nikki Sixx (my first rock-star crush ever - no judgement!). It's super, and if, like me, you know someone whose life has been beat to hell by drug addiction, it'll be hard-hitting. Honestly, it gave me nightmares.

2. After I finish the five page paper I'm supposed to be writing instead of dicking around on the Internet, I'll be done with this semester! WOO!

3. For shits and giggles, I've fulfilled my dream and made an online dating profile on a site that is supposed to match you on your musical preferences. I have no matches.

4. MomDad, the kids, and the sharpabrabull are living here again.

5. My past crept back up on me at work, but so far, so good. I haven't had a breakdown yet.

6. The Freaks are pulling more shenaniganry than ever, and having a blast in doing so.

7. Plans for the summer concert season are underway, and hopeful shows this year so far include:
A. Bad City
B. Motley Crue
C. Warped Tour (twice, hopefully!)

That's pretty much it for now. Just thought I'd share a bit. Back to work.

Video Review: Promise Me

I realize now, I can't get you back.

Hello, all. I'm back from my horrendous vacation, which I will outline in a later post(s), because today, I am here to tell you about a wonderful new music video that debuted just yesterday.

I've pushed you too far away.

Yes, I said, "music video." As a fan of both music and cinematography, the music video format is one of my favorite facets of multimedia. But in recent years, it's become a lost art; like most things that were great in pop culture in the generations of yore, the music video has become a way to receive publicity and make money for the record companies. Treatments that were once full of fantastic plots and deep-seated meanings have gone out the window for ones that consist fully of the artist playing the song at a raging party with booze and babes. I, personally, am a fan of videos whose treatments fit with the song.

You're too strong to be led on.

For me to even listen to a band, their lyrics have to touch me on a personal level in some way, which is why Kill Hannah is one of my favorites. Why, you ask? I've said this many times before, and I'll say it again: Mat Devine always has a way of singing exactly what is in my head at any given moment. HE KNOWS MY PAIN. That being said, I recently went through a big ordeal with my former best friend, in which we had a huge falling out, and as I type this now, we haven't spoken on friendly-ish terms since last July. Previously that month, I had seen my first Kill Hannah show. I was a casual fan; I liked their high-energy, electronica-infused anthemic instrumentation, and Mat's voice is one of the most interesting and infectious I've heard in a long time. But after the show, I wanted more. Shelby (my sister) has been a Kill Hannah fan for years, so she had a few of their records - I immediately snarked them and added them to my iTunes.

And now I know the face that will haunt me forever.

"Wake Up the Sleepers" caught my attention quickly; but the song "Promise Me," featured at the last spot on the record, didn't seem to fit. The classic dual guitar system and splintering synth fade away, which leaves Mat's eerie vocals, lamenting in the most sincere way about lost love; the difference being, the love lost was forced away. The lonely piano resonates in the background, and Mat's voice, coupled with Alkaline Trio's Matt Skiba's, sounds almost ethereal, but haunting at the same time.

What have I done?

The video mirrors the whole feeling of the song. It begins with Mat, completely in love with a girl. The relationship ends badly, and throughout the video, Mat drags his heart (in the form of a beautifully crafted church organ) by a rope through the streets of Chicago. The acting scenes interlace with the organ-towing, intermixed with shots of the beautiful skyline. The coloring is real and unenhanced, and as I watched the video for the first time, I wondered how I could look at a real, blue summer sky, and still feel so incredibly depressed.

What have I done?

The sequential plot ends with the destruction of the organ in the abandoned southside coal fields.

Just please, please promise me, somewhere, dark and deep in your heart, you'll keep a tiny place for me, where no one new can reach.

Overall, the video's simplistic and beautifully done treatment is reminiscent of the band's earliest days of video making. The song and film fit so well together, it's as if one could not exist without the other. Such emotion is portrayed in every little detail. However, I do have one criticism: Kill Hannah is a band made up of five tremendous musicians, all of whom are not Mat Devine. Though the song is dependent solely on Mat's vocals, I feel the rest of his mates should be included somehow.

Just promise me, somewhere, dark and deep in your heart, you'll keep a tiny place for me, where no one else can reach.

To end my praise of the song, band, and video, here is the letter Mat wrote for the premier of the video:

"Promise Me is the most honest, deeply personal song we have ever released. Stylistically, it doesn’t fit anywhere on the album, so we put on LAST. It has no drumbeat, no guitar, no bass, and no bombastic 'radio-friendly' chorus. It’s sparse and eerie and sad.
It was the LAST track anyone at the label ever thought could be a 'single'. The fans, though, have REFUSED to let it go unnoticed. In the months since Wake Up the Sleepers was released, we’ve received more heartfelt feedback, worldwide, about Promise Me than ANY other song on the record.
Many people who only know Kill Hannah from songs like Lips Like Morphine or Kennedy may not realize that the band formed in a college dormroom over a decade ago. At that time, all we had was a tiny core of weird fans, and access to the gear in the Film Dept at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Before we were ever concerned with the politics of record labels, radio or touring, we were recording 10-minute shoegazer-y sound 'pieces' and cutting them to grainy, independent art films on Super8. Not only do we look back on those days with a lot of pride, but after 7 years of relentless international touring, we found ourselves NEEDING to get back to that simpler, uncorrupted state of mind:
Promise Me became the perfect excuse.
There was only one problem: The label refused to fund a video. 'It doesn’t make sense…commercially.'
We hung up the phone and called in every favor we possibly could. We assembled a large crew of Chicago’s most talented, pyromaniac friends to donate their time - And over the course of 48 hours we marched all over the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city…without permits.
So, in the end, not only is this my favorite Kill Hannah video for my favorite Kill Hannah song, but it has also become a SYMBOL - for how, without any help from the 'music industry', good people can get together and pull off a wild achievement.
Thank you to all in Chicago who got involved; Those who got cut and bruised and burned, for the sake of friendship…
AND, most of all, THANK YOU to the fans…For reminding us WHO WE ARE, and for refusing to let us take the most predictable path."

So, without further ado, here is the video.

Promise Me.

Ahoy!

There are two reasons that the title of this post is "Ahoy!"

1. After trolling YouTube for something amazing to ROFLcopter, I came across the fabulously funny/dorbs Destery and Nathan (AKA DesandNate). I highly advise everyone to check them out because you've never peed your pants so many times in one sitting - I GUARANTEE IT.

2. This Friday night, Shelby and I are leaving for our vacation, which involves a cruise. We'll try really hard not to get thrown overboard for being obnoxious. Also, I'm probably going to get shanked whilst on board, because of this conversation I had with my dad earlier today...

Dad: "Don't forget Dramamine. You're going to need it, otherwise you'll be sick the whole time. And don't buy it on the boat."
Me: "WE ON A BOAT!"
Dad: "We da boat people."
Me: "Yeah, the whole time we're on the cruise, I'm just going to be making really awkward slave trade references, and I'm probably going to get punched in the face like, ninety times."
Dad: "What?"
Me: "You know, like, 'Yo name Tobeh!'"
Dad: *LOL* "But that wasn't his name."
Me: "YO NAME TOBEH!"

Yeah, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's from the movie "Roots". If you haven't seen that movie, don't. It's like, sixteen hours long, and it sucks.

Anyway, be expecting a super-long, action-packed travel blog for each locale on the trip, and maybe some awesome pics. We'll be driving (for TWENTY-FOUR FUCKING HOURS), so I'm sure we'll come across some nice creeps along the way.

Until next time, fair-winds, readers!

A Bit of Midnight Poetry

Wow. Neglect. Oops. Also: I just had my first experience with a Starbucks cappuccino. Tastes like warm soy milk with a hint of vanilla. Never again.

Anyway, to my point. I'm taking a Creative Writing Workshop class this semester (it's the only class I haven't routinely skipped so far), and the format is really chill and I love it. The only two assignments we have are as follows: 1) Featured Author presentation, in which you bring in a few pieces and share, then engage the class in extremely off-topic discussions about the horrors of the fast food industry and David Bowie, and 2) the final portfolio, which only has to be twenty-four pages of writing, whether they're finished pieces or not. Easy, right?

So I've had something to share almost every week. Mostly, it's poetry, because my brain works too fast for anything longer. I have been writing poems since high school, and I never really liked any of it until now. Last Tuesday night, around midnight, I wrote a poem that had been rolling around in my head for a few days previous. It finally reached the point where, if I didn't write it down, I'd never be able to sleep again. This happens to me often.

It took me about ten or fifteen minutes to hammer out five, nine-line stanzas, but it felt like something was missing. About a half hour later, I added a sixth stanza, and the work was complete. I shared it in class last Friday, and didn't get nearly as much feedback as I had hoped for (probably because we had a substitute professor, for the first time in my two-year college career, and it was really strange), so I figured that posting it here may help me get some constructive criticism, or any thoughts in general. PLEASE? I AM BEGGING.

Here goes:

The days are harder now
I don't think they ever got easier
And they all grow together
Dull and monotonous
Like a never-ending elevator ride
Going down into the depths
Of the hell I don't believe in
But if the ride never stops
What's the point of the destination?

I'm not sure when you became him
Or he became you
Or if it even happened at all
If it even makes sense
Or maybe I just became something else
Completely different
If I became
Or can still become
Or even if I am anymore

I find that I have to focus on the little things
Like that broken staple on the floor
To distract myself from seeing the big picture
Because the big picture is true
It's my mind
In a frame on the wall
In a small, windowless room
Like the one I sit in to wait for him
But he never comes home

Now I'm sure that you took over
You became what he was
But he'll never be what you are
It's all just a sick, unhealthy obsession
Stemming from a small, windowless room
And a few notes
And the big picture
But he has one thing on you:
Reality

Cleansing the self is a daily ritual
The water is warm but not so hot
That it'll burn off the barrier that protects my heart
From him but not you
You always know what I wish I had the courage
To say or someone to say it to
I think you left a message in the fog on the mirror
But when I step out of the shower
There is nothing

Every night I go to sleep
With a strange taste in my mouth
Like when you're a child
And you go to sleep knowing
That there's a chocolate bar for you in the kitchen
But your mother won't let you
Have sweets before bed
My chocolate bar is 2,391 miles away
And I can't have it either

THE END

Please guys, really. Anyone who reads this blog or randomly stumbles upon it, I would really appreciate if you left some sort of comment. Love it? Hate it? DO I KNOW YOUR PAIN. Let me know! I think the reason my classmates didn't give feedback is because they were to distracted by my other weekly class ritual (and I'm not talking about flaunting my coffee or being a holier-than-thou vegan, because I totally do that too): music appreciation. I think everyone tries to anticipate my interesting taste in music, but they fail.

I've only been doing this regularly for two weeks, but so far I've played "I Am Trying Very Hard to be Here", by AFI (of course! What is music appreciation without my favorite band?) and "The Songs that Saved My Life", by Kill Hannah (another of my favorite bands). This week, I'm toying with the idea of "The Start of Something", by Voxtrot (great song, by the way!).

So again, please, criticize me! I need it! Hell, I'll even take music suggestions; I'm always looking for something new...or something old, as long as the lyrics grab my attention somehow.

A secondary note: I am the webmaster of the Gay-Straight Alliance at my college (Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan), and if anyone in the area is interested, we're having a Halloween-themed movie night this Friday, October 29, at 7 PM here at the school. Here's the link.

Happy Fall!

I'm a few days late. Sue me. Anyhoodles, happy fall, everyone! *breaks into intense "Fall Children" wailing* Ahem, sorry. But really, now begins my favorite time of year, so expect some major blog activity. Just not yet, because I didn't do my homework this weekend, and I should probably be doing it now instead of telling my fake readers that I didn't do my homework.

Heh, I'm going to do my homework now.

The Worst Disease of All: Hate

I am the boy who never finished high school, because I got called a fag every day.
I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
I am the man who fears that I will never be able to be myself, to be free of this secret because I wont risk losing my family and friends.
We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.
I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didnt have to always deal with society hating me.
I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most: love.
I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends I'm a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.
I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to teach me a lesson.

IF YOU BELIEVE THAT HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG, REPOST THIS ON YOUR BLOG!

The Great American T.V. Obsession

Wow, this is late, but you know what? No matter what they tell you, TIME IS NOT LIMITLESS. Especially for those who don't even have enough time to sleep. Between work, school, and myself and my dog-like son being ill, I haven't had time to share the wonders of the 62nd (?) Annual Prime-time Emmy Awards.

Let's get one thing straight: Your parents were right when they told you as a kid that television rots your brain. But even I, who absolutely detests the premise of American "entertainment" these days, get sucked in. The T.V. sucks out your soul. Really, it does. But even so, I am fond of making fun of award shows, so I bring you my Comprehensive Prime-time Emmy Review, two weeks late. And perhaps in fragments.

Since T.V. is SO theatrical, the beginning of the Emmys was indeed theatrical. Unfortunately, it played up one show that was supposed to steal the award in each category in which it was nominated. That show was "Glee," which I have never seen, but have heard good things about, via the word-of-mouth phenomenon from, who else but my idol, Davey Havok, a fellow purveyor of the evils of the entertainment world.

Said introduction included many of the actors/actresses who were either nominated or involved in the production in some way: Joel McHale (whom I adore), Tina Fey, Randy Jackson, Betty White, Lea Michele etc. Oh, and Jimmy Fallon, who I can't stand, and was hosting the show. Said actors had to form their own "Glee" club in order to win tickets to the Emmys. What a concept. Of course, they performed a song together, and danced around, and the like.

When the show actually began, Fallon immediately pokes fun at Conan O'Brien (whom I also adore), who was nominated for one of too few episodes of "The Tonight Show." Then the segment of the show dedicated to comedy was introduced with a stupid song and some terrible space-age cartoon theme music.

COMEDY

Betty White and Neil Patrick Harris presented the first award (I love them both). I don't remember what the award was for, but I know that "Modern Family" won, and then some announcer guy started spewing random facts over the loudspeaker about the winners, and it was at this point that I realized I don't care that winner guy from "Modern Family" (the premise of which seems really stupid to me, but not quite on par with the idiocy of "Jersey Shore." Nothing beats that) wanted to be a clown when he was a kid. WHO CARES.

Thus followed a commercial. Why is every movie that comes out these days in 3D? Let me tell you something about 3D. People who were cursed with terrible eyesight and wear designer nerd glasses (read: me) can't fit the goddamn 3D glasses over their own Dolce and Gabana custom nerd frames. And if they don't have their own Dolce and Gabana custom nerd frames on, they can't see a goddamn thing. Just sayin'.

When the show resumed, we apparently found out that promiscuity is hilarious, and Tom Hanks without his Tom Hanks fro is not. Gay jokes are equally not hilarious, and neither is God, btw, fyi, jsyk.

REALITY

The world of television knows nothing about reality. This category only has two awards (thank deities), but that's still two too many. The only important things I learned from this segment of the show:

1. Kim Kardashian can't sing. The size of her ass hinders that ability.
2. Though I strongly dislke Oprah Winfrey for not giving me either a car or a humpback whale, I'm sad that this will be her last season of annoyance.

DRAMA

This is the part of the review in which I get lazy and don't feel like writing complete sentences (no really, I'm looking at my sheet of Emmy notes right now and going, "What the fuck was I trying to say?" so I'm going to copy those notes word for word). Bring on the fragments!

"House pisses me off. I MISS GODRIC! "Mad Men" = ruined for me by Jonny Radtke (ex-guitarist of Kill Hannah, current frontman of Polar Moon). "Lost" = ruined for me by aliens. Jerks who make fun of Conan O'Brien = DISLIKE! The guy that played Gary in "Early Edition," I LOVED that show. Still do. What is it with "Mad Men"? And God? "True Blood" and Joel McHale!

Season 2 of "Community" premiers September 23! Watch it!

Ann-Margaret! I love her! Only Elton John can be Elton John. Get a job, Jimmy Fallon. Although, props for such quick wardrobe changes. My theater days - I long for them. Oh my God. He's making fun of Billy Joe Armstrong. Maybe I can make amends with Jimmy Fallon after all. I hate Kevin Bacon, but I love "Footloose." Opposite of LFO. You know that one song, with the...yeah. Okay. Where did Kyra Sedgewick have her glasses, stuffed down her dress?

VARIETY

The Olympics seem so long ago. Jews are so funny. So are Nazis. They should totes have a party. Did Green Day win a Tony for "American Idiot"? I don't even know. Ha, Mel Gibson. What is it with Jews? They're passing out poison at the Emmys. WHY. Once more, for the good times: GO TEAM CANADA! *ahem* CONAN! WIN! STICK IT TO THE CHIN! Fuck you, Jon Stewart. Conan totes deserved that after what happened to him. I'm so pissed. SO PISSED.

Television science? Television saviors? Television tragedy? (Note: That's a Blaqk Audio reference. See how I did that?) Dear George Clooney, WHAT. He frowns upon culture crash! Yay!

MOVIES AND MINISERIES

So pumped for "Kennedys." I wanna be one. Jack Kevorkian is my hero. I love Christina Applegate. Moira Teirney has no hair! Like for serious, Claire Daines? Alexander Skarsgaard is so tall. Who the hell is Temple Grandin? Al Pacino - he feels lucky, punk. Shut up, Al Pacino. They started playing the wrap music about five minutes ago. I'm such a pro at guessing winners. Hey Tom Selleck! My grandma has a crush on you! Oh "True Blood," you lost to "Mad Men"! How dare you?! I hate Jonny these days. Wow, "Glee" lost. I'm surprised.

IN MEMORIAM

"Gumby" creator?! Corey Haim?! Gary Coleman?! Rue McClanahan?! Brittany Murphy?! Dennis Hopper?!

LOL, Jewel makes Davey Havok faces while singing.

So, that's pretty much my review. Half informative, half fragment. Here's Shelby's take:

1. What are the Emmys, the ugly dress awards?
2. Eva Longoria Parker is really pretty.
3. That is a pink piano.
4. Billy Joe has blonde hair.
5. There's lots of old guys with big noses in Hollywood. How do you think plastic surgeons make money?

In a nut shell, T.V. rots your brain. So, in the words of Jade Puget, "Get off the Internet and go read a book." That is, of course, after you go read The Bible Blog. How's that for shameless self-promotion?