Wants! GAH.

I want this.

I want a lot of things. In fact, I believe myself to be a professional wanter. Even a wanter of wants! Because...if one did not want anything, one would not have a reason to live. Most of my wants are material - pretty shallow stuff. Does that make me a shallow person? I don't know. Perhaps it depends on the extent to which I act on these shallow wants.

The possibility of fulfilling my wants makes me happy. So I'm a happy girl, even if I want stuff. But there IS a problem. Wants that don't get fulfilled make me sad.

The Bhagavad Gita says the only way we can truly be free is to rid ourselves of desire. That way we are never disappointed. We will be happy with whatever comes our way and accept it.

Frig, that would be hard.

Situation - Buck 65

Often referred to as hip-hop’s Tom Waits, Nova Scotia’s own Buck 65 has managed to impress us again. “Situation”, based on the idea that the year 1957 was a watershed for present day Western culture, is Buck’s (a.k.a. Rich Terfry) eleventh release. Following 2005’s “Secret House Against the World”, it is perhaps the purest example of Buck’s combination of intelligence and frightening wit.
Presenting us with a style far from mainstream hip-hop, Buck 65 nostalgically raps about everything pertaining to a time when most of us, including Buck himself, weren’t even born. Such 1950s allusions include the space race, the beat poetry movement, the Korean War, Che Guevara and anti-communism.
“Situation” is defined by its moody, minor keyed tracks, which seem to constantly run back and forth between Allen Ginsberg and Wikipedia. In contrast to Kanye West (and mainstream hip-hop in general), the “sermon” of this album is presented indirectly and as something we are supposed to figure out on our own. Of course, what we are supposed to figure out is that American culture is still wracked with half-a-century old ridiculousness. For instance, America is still sexually puritanical and we still live under the constant threat of annihilation – not necessarily from Communists, but from the fundamentalist East and our own over consumption. We live in an era with its own chronic fear and dwindling liberties.
Another technique Buck uses to make his sermon clear is that of role-playing. Just like a high school drama geek, he switches from character to character playing a two-bit pornographer on “Shutter Buggin” and then suddenly a vice-squad cop on “Spread Em”. These are actually my two favorite tracks on the album. “Shutter Buggin”, equally spunky and wise, makes its object the fifties pin-up Bettie Page. “Spread Em” is an old Robert De Niro movie. Actually. The combination of “Jaws-esque” horns and repetitive doorbell sounds is oddly brilliant.
My only criticism of this album is that it fails to find the balance between political statement and musicianship. Musical technique and innovation is lacking because too much focus is placed on the “sermon”. This said balance is also missing when it comes to seriousness and fun. Listening to “Situation” is like reading War and Peace – intense, thought provoking, and not something you do everyday. Buck 65 becomes too much the CBC Radio 3 host and too little the quirky Canadian rapper.

An Atlas of Stars - as written by Shannon at 7 years of age

There are so many stars at night,
Shinning beautiful with their light,
They find a way to shine on us,
Up high in the sky, they find a way to love us.

I always see the stars before I go to bed,
Mommy says, "Lay down your head,
And pray for the angels you see in the stars.
You will be one of them one day,
Looking down on the earth with shinning love,
You will be with the Atlas of Stars!"

How come there are so many stars?
How come they are called an atlas?
How come they only show up at night?
Mostly, why are angels stars with their wings so bright?

Stars are pretty!
Life would be so sad without them.
No love would shine on us,
The night is so beautiful when you know
That angels, OUR angels, are in the stars!


I know how to spell shining now. Also, I don't plagerize sections of bedtime prayers.

Ani DiFranco

I listened to Ani DiFranco in the bathtub tonight. My roommate asked me what the funny noises coming from the bathroom were.

I like that Ani DiFranco says "fuck" a lot.
She probably lives on rice cakes and wife beaters.

Hurricane Adventures

Last night we walked home from the pub in a hurricane. Actually, the tail end of some hurricane. But it was pretty much a hurricane. The rain was horizontal. The trees were all bendy and stuff. I was wearing high heels. When I went to sleep on BD8's couch, it sounded like the windows were on the verge of getting sucked off the face of the planet. But I slept well despite the racket.

I decided 2 things today:
1. After comparing both Pride and Prejudices instead of writing my art history paper, Colin Firth is unremarkably cute and Matthew Macfayden is VERRRRRRRY hot. HOT. hot. If asked to choose, I WOULD marry M.M.
2. After attending a fundraising meeting for the Xaverian Weekly, learning that the 2 biggest ideas we have are a liquor basket for X-Ring and duct-taping our dean of students to the wall...that my university is really classy. Actually.

I painted my toenails "Vibrant Ocean". It is impossible for me to do work. My art history paper is doomed.

Le Bibliotheque

Mother of GOD.

Sometimes the library makes me feel like slashing my wrists and then painting the walls with my blood.

Last night I had a dream that I had salmonella. The salmonella was a black sticky substance that was constantly excreting itself from my cuticles and fingernails. My friend Charlotte had the same problem. Later, as we were learning how to use parachutes in the KMC, Jennifer Lopez gave me one of her winter coats so I could walk home comfortably in the midst of the approaching tsunami. She also told me she was pregnant with a baby girl whom she was going to call Sunshine. She showed me her belly and there was a stickgirl drawn on it just like on Perez Hilton! I congratulated her, but told her I already knew because Perez Hilton told me personally. She called Perez a fucker. Then Ben Affleck gave me ANOTHER winter coat and I walked back to Governors.

Strawberry Jam - Animal Collective

Animal Collective – a band that can be defined as indefinable. Their usual sound, which mixes poltergeist vocals with idiosyncratic droning and stomping, is expansive as it is nebulous. There seems to be no limit to what these four New York based musicians can do.
Strawberry Jam, Animal Collective’s newest album, is no exception to this theory. Following the vastly eclectic and youthful Sung Tongs, Strawberry Jam offers us a more “grown up” sound. But that doesn’t mean it’s boring. In fact, Strawberry Jam is extremely exciting to listen to. In the opening “Peacebone”, bits of circus music are even included. And throughout the album, Avey Tare’s peculiar vocals can be described as euphoric and almost buoyant.
My personal favorite track, “Fireworks”, sets a complex mood – romantic, yet doubtful; longing, yet uncomplaining. The melody, as layered as the mood, is one of those that you can’t get out of your head for days – weeks even! Quite simply, it is beautiful. The lyrics speak about celebration and the appreciation of little things.
It is important to note that during their evolution from manic juvenility to brilliant maturity, the long, wistful buildups so familiar to Animal Collective have been dropped entirely. This is neither a good nor bad thing, but nevertheless marks a crucial point in time. It is the beginning of a new era.
Some critics point out that, although outstanding, Strawberry Jam is too “Pitchfork-esque”. “Pitchfork” itself is an online musical hegemony, dictating much of teens’ present-day musical choice. Critics suggest that Animal Collective has adapted it’s sound to suit Pitchfork reviewers because, unfortunately, a good rating on Pitchfork means a good rating by most of the indie population. Whether this notion is true or not is up to the listener to decide, but I disagree with it. I believe Animal Collective is a truly talented group of musicians who do not make music for the sake of popularity, but for the sake of beauty and immortality. This is the kind of music that people will still listen to in four hundred years.

Widow City - The Fiery Furnaces

“Widow City” is a maze – and not one you would find on the back of a cereal box. It is a maze of epic proportions, comparable to the likes of King Minos’ Labyrinth and Harry Potter’s last task in the Triwizard tournament. Upon first listen, you will find yourself stumbling over and being knocked in the head by each creation of the Friedberger siblings. Each listen after that becomes a “Choose Your Own Adventure” novel. You can look forward to discovering new tunnels, secret passageways and unexpected mythical creatures.
In other words, “Widow City” is the kind of album that lends your ears delicious new musical macaroons every time you listen to it. The same thing can be said of most other Fiery Furnaces albums. “Widow City” though, is the culmination of all things that define (and are great) about the Fiery Furnaces – fascinating tangents, jarring mood shifts, completely made-up rhythms and lovably cacophonous tones. “Widow City” is the top of their Everest. And yet, many hard-core fans aren’t feeling it.
This may be because, somehow, in a very messy way, “Widow City” is the cleanest thing the Fiery Furnaces have ever produced. And in keeping with the Harry Potter analogy, it tends to break the musical spell of unpredictability and limitless potential. By that I mean, “Widow City” is unpredictable in a predictable way. The Friedbergers have perfected their technique of surprising us, and in turn, we are starting to catch on. In that way, the limitless potential present in all other Fiery Furnace albums has been shot – in a very Mischa Barton kind of way (without dignity of any sort).
Still, “Widow City” is an excellent piece of musicianship. All that rambling about the maze and finding musical macaroons is true. My favorite track is “My Egyptian Grammar” where Eleanor consults a 6000 paged book of hieroglyphs to ascertain why she passed out during her second daughter’s wedding to the musical background of a wheezy string orchestra. Also pleasing to the ears is “Cabaret of the Seven Devils” where, to 1970s Bohemian-esque drumming and tropical sounding horns, a bored, self-involved duke takes it upon himself to rename the local tavern “Cabaret of the Seven Devils.” 1-2-3-4-5-6-7!
It is my opinion that if you added “Widow City” by the Fiery Furnaces to your musical collection, you would take a giant leap forward in the direction of being a better person.

Pregnant?

Someone once told me I would be a very sexy pregnant woman.

If American Apparel had a maternity line, I would seriously consider this.
In a few years.
By few I mean 8-10.

Zigazagzah

I had a fun time last night.
Just being a girl and eating chocolate.
Dancing in the rain.

We remembered how most girls are stupid,
excluding ourselves of course.
We wondered if urine particles float in the air after you flush the toilet,
and if it was necessary to hide your toothbrush under the sink.
We talked about creepy boys,
comparing and contrasting our personal stories.

Sometimes I think I don't have enough responsibility in my life.
I have one big one: my future.
And another big one: my present.
Those are pretty ginormous.
But selfish.

I am in a class called Development Studies.
It pushes facts in my face impolitely.
It shouts at me, "People are suffering for YOUR coffee!"
I still drink Starbucks because it tastes better. Fuck me.

I want to do something.
Have a responsibility for someone ELSE.
But the culture in which I inhale and exhale says, "No."
I am engaged in a battle for the colour of my soul.

It would be much easier to forget this.
To dance and eat chocolate and talk about boys.
But the battle rages on.
Life is still good.

Today was reeeeally windy.

Wind makes me feel clean.
And that much bigger things exist than I.
This is comforting.
If I mess up, life will continue.
The fate of the world does not rest on my shoulders.