If You Belonged Here

Pandora: Confessions of a Music Snob

Things don’t usually bother me.

I’m normally an incredibly nice person

I let 5 year olds climb on top of me.

I never lost a friend over a fight.

I’m very open minded about everything.

Well, almost everything.....

There is one thing that I vehemently abhor.  I’m not sure when it started, but I have finally came to terms with a part of me: I am a music snob and I can’t stand people who have no sense of taste.

Seriously!

There are much better rock bands out there then 3 Doors Down and Nickelback.

Try Kings of Leon, Arctic Monkeys, Interpol, or Arcade Fire.

I’m trying to work on it, but I silently judge people who think they’ve found a great new band off the radio.  If you heard it on the radio, chances are that I’ve been listening to them longer than you.  Now, I do give credit when due; I’m not that horrible.  

I’m constantly on a search to find a new artist or group.  My Skullcandys are constantly plugged in my macbook and my iTunes is always opened.  My 6200 song library is the most OCD library ever.  Every song has the correct album art and the correct genre.  There are no misspellings and each song is rated.  I have multiple sources on how I find new tunage.  I’m almost like a drug dealer with music; half of the sources that I use aren’t legal and kept on the down low.    

But will I share them with you?  

No.  

Nor will I even share my music if I feel like you won’t appreciate it.

Yeah, I’m kind of a jerk about that kind of stuff.

Also, I’m a snob remember?

I like being in that elite group of knowing bands that other people don’t.

I refuse to give my younger sister’s friends music.  I’m sure they think I’m a b*tch, but I really don’t need Teeny Boppers liking the same things as me.  I can’t let my well researched music get into the hands of kids who also think that Shinedown is the next big thing.  It’s like an abomination.  However, if I consider you to be a pretty rad person or someone who I know won’t try to one-up me with songs that I gave them, I’ll happily make you mixes.  It’s almost a past time for me.  If you’ve ever been given one of my mixes, you’ll know that I am pretty good at creating them.  As long as you acknowledge the fact that I gave you the songs and that the music is good, I’m happy.       

My style is eclectic.  It’s something like hard hitting hip-hop beats/raw acoustics/reggae/indie rock.  I call it “Good Music” because, well, it’s true.  I love socially conscious music and bands that have an unique sound.  Take note that the following songs have their own vibe.       

Here are the current twenty songs that are burning up my iPod:

(I included links to make it easier)

1.   You and I- Wilco

2.  Sleepyhead- Passion Pit

3.  Woods- Bon Iver

4.  Trains- Porcupine Tree

5.  Where Do You Go To My Lovely- Peter Sarstedt

6.  Aqueous Transmission- Incubus

7.  Slow Motion- Third Eye Blind

8.  Lets Go Get Stoned- Sublime

9.  One Day- Matisyahu

10. The Gutterati?- The Fratellis

11. Resurrection Fern- Iron & Wine

12. Swing Life Away- Rise Against

13. Manhattan- Kings of Leon

14. Moab- Conor Oberst

15. The Sound- Human Highway

16. Do You Love Me?- The Explorers Club

17. Leader of the Pack- Mapei

18. Unstoppable- Santigold

19. Rich Girls- The Virgins

20. Guns and Cigarettes- Atmosphere

Like what you hear?

Befriend me and I’ll make you a bomb mixed CD.  

I think Polly and The Dol can agree that they like it when I give them music.  

Can You Stand It?

I seriously can't stand it. Not even a little bit, people.

Alice sent me a text asking for the words to "There's a Party in My Belly" because, apparently, I know them and taught them to The Poo. Well, it's Yo Gabba Gabba, I remember that much, but other than some dancing broccoli, the rest, quite frankly escapes me. I could be sadder about that than I am.

But.

But woohoo I'm flying JetBlue tonight. Yeah, I'm leaving on a a jetplane and I know perfectly well when I'll be back again but until that time, people, I am all about O'Neill's in Woonsocket with Diosa and Bookgirl. If you want to see what I look like in person, because you're say one of the ten people who don't know me personally who read this blog, well, that's where I'll be tomorrow night, which is to say Friday night.

I'll be the one with the ear-to-ear grin sitting between Diosa and Bookgirl. Oh yeah, and sitting between Diosa and Bookgirl.

My mother in an act of unprecedented punctuality was actually a day early to pick me up at the airport this morning. She wants everyone to know that she was on time. So far as anyone can remember, including her, this has never happened before in the history of the world. Lightning will probably not strike twice and she is probably going to have a plaque made to commemorate the occasion. She took my brother out to breakfast to celebrate

Swear to Hank.

I am oh-so-going to miss Mr. Poppins and Secret Lulu, even though Secret Lulu gave me the what-for this morning when I fed her fish. And I quote:

Mommy! It's my responsibility.

Mr. Poppins says my accent is already coming back. And just yesterday Lulu described a span of time as "a couple-two weeks," which she can only have got from me.

Some of you may remember then last flight debacle. You know, the one where I was seated by the woman who was, apparently, keistering dead puppies. Well, I remember and the Vicks is ready and waiting. If it's good enough for med-school students (Model?) it's good enough for me. In any case, I'm even more tired of being polite this year than I was last year--Mr. Poppins wonders how one can tire of something one never does, but it is possible, people. 

I am living proof.

Anyway, let the free world be warned, if profiling were allowed I'd be pegged as the woman most likely to slay you with a lethal dirty look and a harsh tsk-tsk. And maybe even ask the flight attendant if my neighbor can be removed from the plane, mid-flight, as obviously they are spreading contagion and pestilence.

Not to be confused with the complaints and petulance, I myself prefer to spread.

I am not sniffing other's noxious toots anymore. There are limits.

Let me tell you, speaking of limits. The Dol sent me this link to an article about why Facebook is for old fogies. Among the reasons listed was that we old fogies (thirty-somthings) are too cool to care who we hated in high school and will therefore happily friend anyone.

 Not true, people.

While I freely admit to having accepted friend invitations from at least two former mortal enemies, I can think of at least five people, off the top of my head, that I would never, under any circumstances, friend. They are not former mortal enemies but people I never even realized I loathed until I left high school.

Shame on me.

But we can't all grow into mature adults. Some of us have to hover in adolescence indefinitely. It's just a rule. One that I made up right now, on the spot, because that's what I do. But seriously, I'm not friending them. I'm just not.

And then there's this one person whose friendship invitation I accepted but it bothered me so I unfriended her but then I realized she was actually real-life friends with this other friend of mine so I felt guilty and refriended her on the pretense of realizing I had somehow "lost" her, and then I saw how lame the stuff on her wall was and there's no way I can stay friends with her now.

Who becomes a fan of oral sex on facebook? That's just wrong, people. Especially when it's done without irony. So in case you were wondering if that full-of-herself, judgmental girl eventually became a loving and accepting person, the answer is not yet. Maybe never.

Don't hold your breath.

 

Freedom

Okay, let's be quick about this. I haven't got much time. Mr. Poppins and Secret Lulu are on a mission to Lowe's and I have the entire house to myself. Except for Flounder Fish and Catrina Cricket (who's really a grasshopper, but we play fast and loose with those things around here).

Anyway. I'm flying as solo as I get and I just want to wish you all a happy holiday and let you know that if you come over to my house tonight to watch the fireworks--you know we can see them from our backyard--then you can have your pick of glowstick bracelets. I bought a lifetime supply at Target. Seriously. I am the proud owner of over 200 glow-bracelets.

I'm not sure that's really enough.

I've been super-duper busy lately. You know, writing my book. And it's coming along. Just ask The Dol, who's been kind enough to post over here so that you won't have to go weeks at a time without a fresh post and remove me from your rss feed and make me cry and all that. Also, many thanks to Lloyd (who promised to be more interesting next time, so I'm wondering when he's going to to do that), Pandora, Alice, and Diosa. And The Model, who had good intentions, and Bookgirl, who can't be rushed into these things.

I have high hopes that Skipper will take some time out of his busy schedule to parody me. He can do that here. I encourage it. Which reminds me: did you know that Skipper didn't even have my cell phone number in his cell phone. He says he'll correct the situation and I sure hopes he does because I am devestated.

D E V A S T A T E D.

Whatever.

I'll console myself with the fact that I am flying JetBlue, non-stop to New England to go to my darling cousin's wedding and dance with the groom and best man and have drinks with Bookgirl and Diosa, and that stuff I told you before about being spoiled by my mom.

But that's later. Right now, Mr. Poppins and Secret Lulu are back. I apologize. This post would have been longer but I dinked around on facebook and twitter for a while first.