I'd think that this year was rather hard for me, both emotionally and physically, but I'd also like to think that I did an okay job of pushing through. So my anthem for this past year of 2014 is -
The Fighter (feat. Ryan Tedder), by Gym Class Heroes:
---
As stated in the post before this one, I dislike family reunions. For all that blood counts for, most of these people are strangers, as blunt as that sounds. I don't see them except three times a year, and some of them not even that much. I don't know how to talk to them, and they always make small talk - how's college, what's your major, I want to hear everything. I hate small talk because there's no interest, I have to keep answering the same question over and over again, and it gets stressful knowing how much to say and how long I should talk before I exceed the proper answer quota and start rambling.
So I'm not surprised I've enjoyed the car rides the most out of everything yet this whole vacation. I got a lot of new music, and didn't even go through it all on the six hour ride down to Southern California. We got there late, and my mother (a very sociable person) wanted to drop in on my grandparents before going to our B&B, but my dad and I knew that my grandma is just as, if not even more, sociable. In the end, we went to stay hi, and they kept us there from 8 PM to 11 PM, just talking. It was awful having to listen to them gab while I sat there bored.
I've figured out that there is hardly ever such thing as a rude extrovert. It's always (in my personal experience) the introvert who is rude for wanting to leave early, for wanting to spend quiet time alone, for being uncomfortable with obligatory conversations. I highly prize my quiet hours by myself, but I've been told that I'm "being rude" or "hurting other people's feelings" by being so reserved. But if people want to continue talking to me for hours after my tolerance level, they are perfectly within their rights and I just have to figure out how to endure.
---
I do not have a memory for detail over long stretches of time. To be honest, I don't really remember much of this year. I mean, yeah, I graduated, I went to college, but it didn't feel like anything special. I had some great nights though, I'll try to list them:
Prom after-party
Graduation party
Driving out to get tickets for the Blacklight Run
Blacklight Run
Sociology lecture about Race/Ethnicity, Culture, or Social Construction (I can't choose which)
PTV/SWS World Tour concert
It's sad I can't remember anything more. To be honest, only the first, fourth, and last bullet points are the ones I really liked. Everything else was added to make the list look less pathetically short. I've heard a lot about other people not liking 2014 more than I did, like they thought it was going to be great and they turned out to be really wrong. To me, I'm neutral: there were many extremely good moments and many extremely bad moments. I can remember more of the latter, but I know there were fun parts this year too.
I just want to take life as it is. Better it where I can, but not get tied up in the things I absolutely have no power to change. So instead of a New Year's resolution, I'll start a new tradition. I have a empty Pirouette can in my dorm room and I'm going to fill it up with little slips of paper. On these pieces of paper are going to be written things that happen to me during days of 2015 - good, bad, funny, everything I will think was significant about that day. I'll write dates too.
I originally wanted it to only be about the good things, but I figured I may as well write the bad too, so I'll have proof of all these obstacles that I will have overcome. Think of it as a tough love pep talk. I also wanted to write a slip every day, but A) That'll fill up the can way too quick, and B) This blog has already taught me that I don't do well when I'm forced to do things on a schedule - that's why I abandoned my every-Friday schedule for posting and decided to just write whenever I feel like it.
So at the end of 2015, I'll have a whole can of tiny memories I forgot. I'll be able to remember all the things I usually forget, all the stuff that's lost in the white noise. Hopefully I'll want to keep some of those slips.
---
My playlist of favorite songs released/I discovered in 2014, plus many that I've liked for a long time, but am no longer embarrassed of admitting anymore.
Not listed in order of importance, but those with arrows are especially dear to me, in that I was either obsessed with them for a long, long time, or they were the doorway to a new favorite genre:
This song will never be the same for me again. Every time I hear it in the future, it's gonna take me back. See "This Is Gonna Be The Best Day Of My Life" for an extremely detailed explanation.
Because it's kinda what I feel like doing during social gatherings:
I Just Wanna Run, by The Downtown Fiction
---
End of the year holidays always stress me out. Not so much when I was a kid, but for the past many years I've half looked forward to, half dreaded family reunions. More on that next week.
In these times when it's easiest to be a pessimist, I try to find and enjoy the small pleasures, the scented roses by the side of the street that keep me from digging my pity hole too deep. Therefore:
25 Underrated Pleasures of Life:
Finishing something you really dreaded doing. It's a huge weight off your shoulders, as well as a sense of accomplishment all in one.
Lying awake in bed, listening to the rain and wind, morning or night.
Showering and drying off with a warm towel, then putting on a big T-shirt and getting into bed with freshly laundered sheets.
Lit candles in dim rooms.
Finally getting out the popcorn kernel that was stuck between your teeth.
Opening the window on a cold day and feeling the chill on your skin.
That moment when you see your waiter/waitress arriving with your food, and it looks the most delicious out of everyone else's.
Waking up early while also feeling well rested.
That little window of time when you're lying half awake and half asleep in the morning and you could easily just fall back asleep for a couple more hours if you wanted to and you realize you can.
The feeling of satisfaction when you're genuinely able to make someone laugh.
Falling on top of a fresh-out-of-the-dryer heap of clothes.
Hugs from people whose company you most enjoy.
Having the song on the radio finish at the exact moment as you pull into your driveway and turn off the car.
The noise a vacuum makes when it picks up something crumbly.
Taking heavy boots off after a long day.
That other little window of time between 2 and 3 AM when you're with your friends and your body finally gives up on going to sleep and you enter hyper mode and laugh at anything and everything.
A hot, scented bubble bath.
The smell of your favorite cup of tea or coffee.
That nice fuzzy moment when you're swimming for a long time and you tilt your head and all the water leaves your ear.
Researching concerts/public speakers/anything you'd love to attend, and finding one you'd die to go to and it's in your area.
Walking from a cold environment into a warm room.
Someone playing with your hair.
The way your heart vibrates when a firework explodes.
Writing with a new pen (not the cheap ones, but the ones that leave a really nice smooth line).
Seeing the sunrise out your window and realizing that you stayed up all night, but you can afford to sleep all morning that day.
I just want to design places that I'd like to hang out in.
No psychological examinations or implications in this post. Just for fun. I have six hours to kill until I board my flight.
---
The rectangular room is huge, to begin with. It's at least five times your height, and stretches long enough that there are shadows in the far corners. As you enter the room from a door in a corner, facing the long side, the first thing you notice is the huge stained glass window - it's big enough to reach from the ceiling to about three feet from the floor. It depicts an image of a red japanese maple tree as the centerpiece, placed against a golden-yellow sky. The window is deeply set into the wall, so that there is space for a cushioned window seat under it.
Yellow and red glass filters light through the rest of the room. All the walls are covered in tall bookshelves, and all the bookshelves are chock full of books - thin research journals, stained cloth-bound tomes, entire sets of what seems to be every series ever written. There is a rolling ladder for each wall; two for the one where the window bisects the shelves. In the middle of the room are three evenly scattered arm chairs and one lounge chair, each next to its own table and lamp. Each lamp has a dome-shaped shade made of pieces of glass in similar yellow hues as the window. Everything wooden - the floor, the shelves, the legs of the chairs, the tables - is a dark mahogany brown. The cushions and upholstery are a velvet-like maroon shade, as is the large rectangular carpet that covers just the middle of the floor. The ceiling and what little wall that is showing is painted creamy white, but in the dim room it looks like dark ivory.
---
This bedroom is much smaller, and has the air of being thoroughly lived in. The predominate color is white - the walls, ceiling, and desk are all painted a snowy shade. The hardwood floor is a light caramel color, but a white plush carpet covers most of it. Tucked lengthwise into the far left corner is a bed with a lilac duvet, with tall, wooden bedposts, and still messy from where the inhabitant left it that morning; in the right corner, a small wooden staircase winds straight up into the ceiling. On the left wall is a large aquarium, filled with bright plaster coral rocks and water plants, and no small amount of fish; the rest of that wall is taken up by a wooden closet door. Along the right wall is placed a set of drawers with two levels of bookshelves attached above it - both levels are full of paperbacks. Next to this combination drawer/shelf is a shorter bookcase with three levels, but the middle one is crammed with old, worn shoes. On top of it are photos in thin brown frames and an admirable shell and sea glass collection. A large light brown cork board is hung above this shorter bookshelf. There are fresh ivy wreaths resting on top of every lampshade, and small potted plants on the desk, nightstand, and bookshelves. Pictures and posters of nature cover the walls, as well as smaller mementos - train slips, museum admissions, photo booth strips, concert tickets. A large window on the far wall spills bright light on every surface.
Up the staircase is a different story. Where the stairs meet the ceiling there is a small trapdoor, to keep out the dust. Through this door is a spacious attic. It spans the rest of the house, so it's huge, much bigger than the room downstairs. Also unlike the bedroom, the attic has the feeling of having been a bit neglected, though someone is obviously trying to make repairs. Part of the walls have begun to be painted white, and furniture small enough to fit through the trapdoor has been placed throughout the room. A small wooden three-legged table is placed in a corner with two chairs, and a tall, thin vase with a few bright wildflowers are placed on top. An easel with a tall wooden stool is placed against the opposite wall, where the largest window lets in light; there are no lightbulbs. Some squashy cushions are laid out on the three window seats, and there are already small stacks of paperbacks piled on the floor next to each one. An open can of dark wood varnish sits on the ground in a back corner, a new paintbrush lying new and unused next to it.
---
I See Fire - Kygo Remix, by Ed Sheeran:
---
Temperate forests are known for having deciduous trees with brilliant foliage in the fall, and this one is no different. From a bird's-eye view, the trees create a bumpy sea of crimson, green, and goldenrod that blankets the gentle rolling hills. But this particular section of the forest is an aspen grove. The slender trees are rather densely packed together, so the changing autumn leaves make it look as though there is an immense golden cloud surrounding the white crowns of the trees. The ground is relatively clear of debris and duff, letting grass grow more freely, but there are a few small shrubs and bushes growing here and there. Some bushes have bright clusters of red berries.
Somewhere in the middle of this grove is a clearing about 10 feet in diameter. The grass, completely uninhibited, is much greener and longer here. About three feet from the trees, neither in the middle of the cleaning nor right up against the thin trunks, is a large, completely clear ball propped above the ground on a sturdy steel frame. It's big enough to comfortably accommodate an average-sized person. Inside is a nest of many faded red blankets, a large white pillow, and many smaller cushions in muted, dusty colors.
There is an almost invisible door that opens to the inside of this bubble. Someone was recently here; there is an open book laid facedown on the blankets, and a phone attached to a small portable speaker.
Outside, it starts to rain. The wind picks up, rustling the golden leaves so they make a crinkling, whispering sound. The rain begins to fall in earnest, and runs in tiny rivers and streams down the curved sides of the ball, tiny raindrops racing one another to the ground. The storm softly drums against the clear ball, but the fixture is completely waterproof. The view of the surrounding forest becomes a bit blurred as the rain continues to pour. However, it doesn't mask the shape of a doe as she steps lightly across the grass; too soon does she quietly disappear between the fair svelte aspens.
---
This is a kitchen fit for kings. It's at least 30 by 25 feet, if not larger. Against the longer wall, from left to right, is an extremely long waist-height counter, followed by an eight-set gas stove, a slightly shorter (lengthwise) counter like the first, an inset microwave above an industrial oven, and a double door refrigerator at the end of it all. The counter in the corner of the wall continues over onto roughly a third of the shorter wall. About three feet from the L-shaped counters is a kitchen island, also at waist-height, where the sink and dishwasher are installed, with plenty of countertop left over for a cutting board and two potted plants. It stops just before the refrigerator against the wall, but is still an impressive feature of the room. On the half of the island further away from the stoves and oven is attached a raised platform about a foot high and a foot and a half wide, still spanning the entire length of the island. Right up against this bar are placed five wooden chairs on tall, stilt-like legs.
All countertops are made of a lovely shade of dusty white granite, with copious thick veins of variating hues of honey marbling the surfaces. The cupboards above the counter and the many drawers below are all a dark yellowish brown. The floor is tiled with large marble squares - dark grey veins running through cloudy milk. The walls are white with just the slightest hint of gold.
A block of knives, a stand for paper towels, a coffee-maker, a toaster, all the typical kitchen appliances and more are neatly placed and organized on the counters against the wall. Everything that could be made of metal is a gleaming stainless steel - the refrigerator keeps drawing the eye as light plays across the wide reflective surface. The stove top is a dark matte grey, the same color as the windows in the microwave and oven. A large wicker bowl full of fruit is placed at the end of the countertop against the shorter wall.
On the wall just behind the island bar and chairs is a huge french door, providing a view to the backyard patio. Long windows stretch away on either side of the doors and light up the room; the domed chandelier on the ceiling is almost completely useless.
---
The second description is from a high-school-senior-year-side-partner-book-project that I didn't get very far on. I liked describing stuff that was happening instead of actually advancing the plot, so it's no wonder my friend and I soon lost steam on it after not even a year. But yeah, that bedroom was the room of the character I was in charge of. I just changed and added a few aspects.
I noticed as soon as I described a library, a bedroom, and nature, I was completely stumped as to what to write next. Unless I'm with friends or in school, I don't really go to many other places. It's hard to describe a shopping mall or a classroom without either thinking that it would be a place I'd like to hang out, or thinking that it's a desirable safe spot for anyone else. In the end, I just came up with a random kitchen. It was really hard to write, as I don't like kitchens enough to have an idealized version in my head, so it's my least favorite of the bunch. But hey -
Rap/Hip Hop isn't my go-to genre, but all my "jams" are classified as such (Some are EDM, but the majority are rap). Like My Chick Bad, or Timber, or my current re-visited favorite:
Cookie Jar (feat. The-Dream), by Gym Class Heroes:
---
The end of my first semester at college is fast approaching. Finals week begins tomorrow.
(I find it odd that new subjects are introduced, last minute, right before the finals are give. In Biology, we started evolution and natural selection on Friday, which meant only one lecture on the entire subject before finals. Very odd system.)
I have been asked by a multitude of people whether I think I have changed at college. As I understand it, it is the norm for freshmen to experiment and change themselves in a strange environment with people who didn't know the old them.
I like to make myself see things from other people's perspectives quite often, and I don't find it difficult to approximate my old friends' and family's reactions to the "college me." I'd imagine they'd be surprised, most obviously because I dress a little bit differently and openly listen to music they didn't know I liked.
Me, Exhibit A: In high school, I had long brown hair, side bangs, and wore contacts. Extremely minimal make-up (I have been asked, face-to-face, while wearing eyeliner or foundation or whatever, if I wear makeup) and no fancy hair styles - not even a ponytail. I consistently wore T-shirts, usually with no prints, in winter or summer, either with hoodies or sweatshirts. Color palate - white, blue, black, gray, some red and yellow. Skinny jeans all the time, or jean shorts. Thin belts. Worn out Converse sneakers only, all the time.
Me, Exhibit B: In college, I still have long hair, but the bottom half has been bleached and dyed purple (at least it was purple; now it's washed out to a blondish salmon-pink). Still minimal makeup. I own more long-sleeved knitted sweaters and actually wear them a lot, in addition to my T-shirts and sweatshirts. I noticed I tend to gravitate towards black now; I haven't bought any new shirts (except for the one concert merch), but I wear my black shirts from high school a lot more than I used to. Still wear skinny jeans, only dark gray or blue hues still. Thin belts. I have knee-high riding boots, Fuggs, ankle and combat boots - all of which I wear nearly as often as I do my sneakers.
In addition to all this, I own three beanies (I used to never wear hats of any sort), boot cuffs and mid-calf socks, a puffy canvas army green jacket, and a pea coat. I wear all of this pretty often, weather dependent. I also have new, thicker-framed glasses; my old ones were the nearly invisible Nike brand.
But here's the thing: I don't think I've changed at all. Despite the huge obvious differences between the two exhibits, I believe my basic personality and tastes are exactly the same.
Here's how: Everything that I've done differently in college, is the stuff I've always wanted to do in high school. I've always wanted to dye my hair an unnatural color. I thought punk rock kids had a badass sense of style, and wanted to wear black motorcycle jackets and shorts with sheer tights and lace up boots. I also liked the more popular fashion trends - I liked riding boots and boot cuffs and pea coats and flowy print tops with layered necklaces. Lacy tanks? Hell yeah. Knitted cardigans? Bring 'em to me. Graphic tees? I want them all. I adored slouchy beanies and acid-washed/ripped jeans, and off-the-shoulder sweaters. I wanted to wear and express all these things, during all four years.
The only problem with all that is that I had (and still have) really bad social anxiety. I had a dependable (and very boring) sense of style since the end of middle school that people had come to expect of me, and I was reluctant to change it because people would notice. And since I abhor the spotlight, I avoided any drastic style variations to keep people who've known my "style" nearly my whole life from singling me out.
For example, in the beginning of sophomore year, I got my first pair of Fuggs (technically, these are Bearpaws, but Fuggs is more recognizable). They were dark gray, of course (keeping with my color palate - I wasn't going to change more than one thing at once). I wore them to school about two weeks after I got them (I was that reluctant), and no less than seven people commented on them (and that was the approximate number of friends I had at the time). I vividly remember walking into my English class, and a close friend (at the time) who sat behind me said, "Wow, you're wearing boots! You never wear boots."
I wore them a week later, and then never again touched them until college.
Here at college, no one I knew personally came with me. I had zero friends starting out, and therefore zero people who knew what I was like. Therefore, I started wearing my riding boots and got cuffs to go with them. I bought a tank that says "Cool Story, Bro," and it's the first shirt I've had in my teen years that has words on it. I have maybe five knitted sweaters - which is five more than I owned in high school, and one long-sleeved shirt - which is also one more than I owned in high school. I finally got my combat boots - complete with badass buckles and laces - with long black and white aztec print socks to go with them. Everything I ever wanted to express in high school, but was too afraid to do because I didn't want to get called out on it, I'm able to do now.
Probably the best part is dying my hair. It's awesome. I know I'm not going with a trend either, because both hairstylists at the salon (I got my hair bleached for me, it's the one part I was uncertain doing myself) asked me if a lot of girls at my college have dyed hair (they don't). And I see why they would think that, because almost as soon as I go to college I ask to change my hair. It's not because it's a new fad, it's just something I've wanted to do for a very, very long time. But once again, blue or purple hair would have definitely attracted attention in my mostly preppy high school, and I wanted to avoid that at all costs.
(Don't get me wrong, I still don't like attention. I highly enjoyed going to my sociology recitations, but I never said a single word in discussions because I'm too shy. I'll debate and defend my point of view all day in my head, but I don't want to face other strangers.)
My clothing sense isn't the only suppressed thing I've stopped fighting. I'm pretty open about my music tastes too. I was highly embarrassed about liking more hardcore/screamo music that people like to associate with metal headbangers, and didn't tell anyone about liking bands like Pierce the Veil or Hands Like Houses for many years until the end of my senior year, when I found a person who told me first that he listened to that kind of music too. I always told people, when asked what artists I liked, Owl City (which isn't a lie either, I have all his albums). Even though he became kind of lame as I grew older, I still said it because it was better than being judged for the even more unpopular (in that environment) hardcore rock. I also started getting into EDM during the beginning of my senior year, but since I got the vibe that raves had a negative connotation and wasn't "real" music, I didn't tell anyone about it either. There's no point in sharing favorite music genres if people are going to look down on you for it.
But in college, it's basically a blank slate for me to express the image I've always wanted all along. The only thing I think that wasn't either me in high school or what I wanted to be in high school is my confidence. It should be pretty well known that it's not helpful for socially anxious people to be forced into situations that make them more anxious - don't do that whole "face your fears" schtick, it adds even more pressure. But since I'm starting small, it's easier on me. I know I have to go shopping for food and stuff and face the cash register myself, and I know there's no way around it, so I just do it without overthinking it for once. I know that a tour guide isn't going to show me around campus, so I figure out my schedule route myself. At the beginning of the semester, if I saw someone I thought wasn't out of my friend league sitting by themselves waiting for the next class, I'd go say hi. Baby steps. It's given me a little more confidence and independence.
But that's not the elephant in the room. All the things people think I've changed - my hair, my clothes - it's still the same me from high school. I've just finally stopped repressing doing the things I wanted to do out of fear that people would think differently of me. And it's great. It's so much easier shopping, and seeing something I like, and actually getting it for once instead of passing it by because it's too different than the usual.
For once, I'm both comfortable and happy in my skin. For once, I can't wait to see people's reactions to my "changes" when I get home for Christmas.
It's dark all around you, to begin with. Got it? Now imagine soft yellow light illuminating a stage - nothing else. There's a raised platform on the back of this stage, on which a covered drum set has been set up, two giant speakers on either side, and five mics set up front along the edge with smaller speakers between them. Three small risers are also set up left, middle, and right just behind those speakers. A smaller drum set, uncovered, is placed directly before and below the one on the platform.
Now imagine the light spreading to the rest of the room. You're in an old-fashioned movie theater without the seats, complete with balcony up and behind you. Walls are creamy white with circular murals of a Romantic-era tree, and the carpet is a dark maroonish hue. There are four small tiers in the room, going from wall to wall, with metal railings along each step - except for the walkways, of course. Everyone is already crammed into the first and lowest tier, the one closest to the stage and the only one not carpeted, so you nab a spot in the middle of the left side of the third tier, right up against the rail. You're close enough to have a good panoramic view above the many heads, but far back enough to avoid less-restrained fans.
You had been standing in line for more than three hours in 35° F weather, and the entirety of both feet is numb - not the deadweight, senseless kind of numb, but the stinging, painful numbness one melodramatically associates with imminent frostbite. You limp (though it is nigh impossible with both feet incapacitated) to the merch booth in the lobby with the teenage girl you made friends with in line, leaving your college friend and the teen's dad to hold down the fort. The other three guys from the line have already long disappeared into the first tier crowd.
(You can't believe the girl who stayed with you is only 13, she looks at least 16. She's almost taller than you.)
As you're about to buy your shirt, you see the lights suddenly turn off in the theater, which is predictably followed by a short round of screams by many pubescent girls and boys (and some older too, no doubt). It's only the intro act though, a band called This Wild Life, so you carry out your purchase with no rush before squeezing back into place next to your friend at the railing.
The two men are good. Their music, while not exactly soft, is slow and relaxing, with more acoustic sounds than electric. The singer has an extremely luxuriant beard, and the guitarist wears a navy blue tank top with the words "Stone Cold University" inscribed in white on the front. You make a note to search for this top later. You also notice the very pretty watercolor-esque paintings on three screens set up left, middle, and center. They depict one person per screen, except their heads are giant clouds of mist. You think of someone who would appreciate that.
After two songs, the guitarist trades in his electric guitar for drumsticks, and the bass speakers are brought into play.
You finally realize the power of a good subwoofer.
Seriously, every sound the drums emit is blasted in shockwaves across the room. You can actually feel your jeans moving against your skin with each blast. It hits you right behind the sternum too, right behind your stomach, and makes your ears vibrate. You turn to exchange gleeful looks with your friend, and find the teen girl is also giddily grinning at you.
After their set, the soft yellow lights go back on and the entire room is illuminated again. You continue to stand, unsure of what's going on, until people start to come onstage to test and tune guitars, and you realize it's intermission. Still standing, you examine the V-shaped marks on the back of both your hands that a man put there with a Sharpie while you were in line, presumably to prevent you from buying alcohol. You compare them with the marks on the other girls' hands. It makes you feel badass, like the people you see in class with black X's on the back of their hands. It's proof you lived last night, proof you have a life.
The next band is much more loud and raucous - Beartooth. They say they like performing in small rooms, and your town's theater is the smallest yet on their extensive world tour. Their metalcore music consists largely of a deafening cacophony of six guitars and a drum set, and two vocalists - one melodic, the other screaming. The screamer tries to start a mosh pit in the first tier. Your clothes start to shake again, and you feel more lively, like you want to jump and maybe - not headbang like those in the first tier - just nod your head back and forth. Those in the second and third tiers are more reserved and are barely moving at all, and you feel it would be out of place if you did even that. You don't want any attention. The lead vocalist, during a break between two songs, says, "It's not about singing, it's about screaming until your voice breaks." He asks the crowd to go crazy for them, and they respond. At least, the first tier does; the rest of you just nod your heads and maybe bob up and down. Their music gives you a heady sense of recklessness; the flashing lights only amplify the feeling.
When their set finishes, your ears are ringing. Though there is only a murmur of conversation around you, you can barely hear your friend talking. You have to ask her to repeat herself twice.
Everyone is ready for the next set, and start cheering loudly even before the members of Sleeping with Sirens step onstage. You notice six members; you thought there were only five. You try to scream your appreciation as loud as you possibly can, but you can't hear your own voice - that's how loud everyone else is. They start with their newest hit song, Kick, and even though it's only been out for a couple of weeks, everyone is singing along, word perfect. You can't see much of Kellin's face because when he sings, his bangs cover his eyes and nose and he makes no move to brush them aside. You don't know the band's second album as well as the first, so you can't sing along for the first two songs except for the choruses. You realize, halfway through belting out the chorus of "Congratulations," that you are leaning far over the railing from enthusiasm. The flashing lights of all colors and blasting smoke cannons amp up the crowd even more.
Then the other members of the band leave but for two guitarists with acoustic guitars, and Kellin talks to the crowd. He says he has strep throat but couldn't stand the idea of letting you all, his fans, down tonight, and you all cheer for him. He asks for your help in singing the next song, and starts his acoustic cover of Iris. He occasionally pauses to let the crowd sing by itself. You can hear your friend next to you for the first time, putting everything she has into her voice to sing the lyrics with him. You video a short clip to add to your Snapchat story, because who hasn't listened to Iris? The crowd cheers the loudest it has yet when he finishes. The rest of the band rejoins him, and they play songs you know better, so you scream your voice raw, trying to sing the lyrics you know so well as loud as you can.
There are small GoPro cameras set up onstage that are projecting a live feed of Kellin's face and sometimes the many guitarists' hands or the drummer onto three screens, at at one point Kellin accidentally knocks one over. He continues to sing, but crouches down to try and fix the camera stand until a backstage hand rushes onstage, and Kellin returns to performing as if nothing happened. You can see his wedding ring at times, and you notice it's unusually thicker than most, and silver as well.
He finishes "If I'm James Dean, You're Audrey Hepburn" and starts another short speech. He talks about getting older, hair is going gray (you all boo at this point), his saggy ballsack is getting saggier. At this, you all cheer again and laugh because it's the most ridiculous and funny thing you've heard tonight. He continues to say he's not ashamed for the young kids who heard because he knows the parents gave them consent to come, and they are the weirdos too for being fans of his band. He starts up "Do It Now, Remember It Later," your favorite song by them. But you start to feel your throat getting sorer. It hurts, but you continue to yell the lyrics as loud as you can. You didn't come here to skimp on the full experience just because of a little pain. Kellin responds to the energy you give him; he is extremely active, all swinging arms and tossing the mic in the air and running and falling to his knees. Somehow, even with strep, he hits those impossible high notes perfectly. The guitarists move around a lot too, headbanging while they play. One guitarist, Nick Martin, tosses out his guitar pick to the crowd after nearly every song. At the end, he throws handfuls of spare picks out to the groping hands.
By the time the lights go on for the third intermission, you and your friends have already sat down on the step under the rail. You know the drill now. Your friend is still smiling like a crazy woman. She says she is so glad they started with Kick. She shakes her head, still smiling.
Your feet, all toes included, have finally defrosted by this point.
You see a brown-haired girl on the second tier in front of you. She's holding a guitar pick against her face, under her right eye, and is crying, the shocked kind where her face is absolutely loose with surprise but tears are still coming. She's kind of turning slowly on the spot, eyes vacant and unfocused. While you are happy for her, you think it's a bit weird.
There's only one band left - your favorite. As the lights turn off and the background banner rises, emblazoned with the words "Pierce the Veil" in their signature font, you jump to your feet and cheer as loud as you possibly can - louder even than you did for Sleeping with Sirens. By this point you know how to scream, how to use the lower back part of your throat to let loose a guttural yet relatively treble yell that you yourself can finally hear above the din of everyone else. You can hear yourself, and you scream again as they walk onstage. This is YOUR band. They start with your first favorite song of theirs, "May These Noises Startle You In Your Sleep" and "Hell Above," and you scream and cheer and sing and scream again until it feels like your vocal chords are being ripped apart by sandpaper. You notice the three members with guitars like to strum a note, then hold their guitar above their heads to let the note resonate.
They finish that two-part song, play another one, then move on to "Hold On Till May." Vic starts off with an inspiring dedication: "This next song, goes out to all of you people out there, who put on your headphones in the morning and listen to music from the time you wake up to the time you go to bed." Since all you've been doing lately is listen to music - when you're doing homework, walking from class to class, as you eat - you appreciate this more than you thought you would. Therefore, you try to sing along as loud as you can, but your voice is starting to give out after hours of abuse and it begins to seriously hurt to strain for those notes. You continue anyways.
Your voice isn't the only one faltering, though you're both giving it everything you've got. After the rest of the band leaves the stage, Vic tells the crowd during his speech that he woke up sick with no voice that morning - sick enough to have to visit the hospital that day - but he says he got it fixed "because I didn't want to miss this show for you guys," and the crowd cheers back accordingly. He holds an acoustic guitar and asks for the crowd to sing along too, as loud as they can, to give him some help. He starts playing "I'm Low On Gas and You Need a Jacket", and the crowd complies, singing and swaying back and forth. You can tell Vic is straining; his voice cracks twice in his reach for the higher notes. He pauses to let the crowd sing alone, and your voices swell up to fill the gap as he strums the chords. He pauses once more intentionally before his voice finally gives out. He sings the first word of the line, but can't finish it; he tries again for the next line, but is yet again unable to sing.
You and the crowd finish it for him. You continue to keep on singing, word for word, without Vic's voice for backup. He continues strumming chords for a bit for you until the instrumental-less part of the song begins and he ceases all movement. He stares, smiling and astonished, as you all keep going, this time without either his voice or guitar, and even get the small vocal run right. At the beginning, everyone is still yelling the lyrics, but as Vic makes no sign of returning to sing, the crowd loses a bit of confidence and softens their voices, and it sounds like the actual song, soft and slow and quiet. That is, until a group of guys yell, "Yeah!" that's sung in the original, non-acoustic version, and you laugh and cheer and raise your voice again with everyone else. You all finish the last thirty seconds of the song without Vic, and he returns to the mic (he had slowly backed away in amazement) and says, "Holy shit. That has never happened before." You all cheer. He says he can't ever say you all weren't there for him, and you all cheer again, louder, if possible. His face is all smiles. He insists on trying again in order to finish the song with you, and this time when the boys say, "Yeah!" he points at them like he's cueing them.
The rest of the band join Vic on the stage after to play their more upbeat songs. You are unashamed of jumping and fist pumping and screaming as loud as you can now; all embarrassment during Beartooth earlier has disappeared. You notice Tony looks like a boy from your old high school robotics team, and think he looks cuter in person than in the pictures - not hotter, but cuter. Jaime goes nuts at one point, somehow managing to somersault across the stage behind Vic, and skids off stage, exit right, behind the curtains. You all laugh as he returns, still ripping. Mike is a devil, grinning all the time, throwing his entire body into playing his drums and headbanging like nobody's business. You had learned recently that he has multiple Harry Potter tattoos, so you cheer especially for him too. Vic plays his guitar while singing, and you note he has a habit of slightly turning his head to his left and away from the mic to hit the higher notes. When he sings the "o" sound, his mouth stretches into a vertical oval, like an opera singer's is wont to do. You find this amusing, for some reason - he doesn't do it in his music videos.
During one song, a white bra is tossed onstage, and a backstage hand, ducked down low, runs onstage to grab it and get it out of the way. The same thing happens again with a rolled up poster. You laugh for both.
Then Vic does something unexpected. After a song, he asks for a fan to be a volunteer, and predictably, everyone's hands shoot up. He finally pulls a girl from the crowd (her name is Sydney), sits her down on a platform, and sings the first verse of "Bulletproof Love" to her. She mouths the lyrics as she sits, occasionally smiling and covering her mouth, or putting her hand over her heart - not in a cheesy way, but more like she's so happy she can feel her heart aching and she's trying to still it. Though you're sure everyone in the crowd is jealous, when Vic pauses again to let you all sing without him, you scream your souls out for the girl too. She looked overjoyed and humbled when Vic sang to her, eye-to-eye, but looks on the verge of tears when you all sing for her. You hope she never forgets this night. Vic hands her his pick, and she's escorted off stage while the band finishes the last half of the song.
Of course, since Pierce the Veil is touring with Sleeping With Sirens, you've known ever since you got tickets that they're going to sing their trademark collaboration together. Sure enough, Vic goes offstage and returns with his arm slung around Kellin, and the noise the crowd makes is ear-splitting. You raise your phone to film King For a Day, as it's your favorite song and those two bands don't often have the chance to play it together live, but discover your battery has run out. Just as well - you can focus entirely on the song, and you do - you jump and fist pump and sing more loudly than you have the entire night. The lights are flashing like crazy, silhouetting the band's figures. Vic and Kellin climb the two giant speakers on either side of Mike's drums, and jump off at the height of the song. It is a brilliant end to a brilliant concert.
As you walk out of the theater with your friend, you notice as you're talking that your voice is considerably lower and extremely raspy. The back of your throat is sore, sorer than it was when you got sick last month. Your ears are still ringing from those awesome speakers. But you tell yourself it was worth it.
Oh, was it worth it.
---
It must be fairly obvious, but I didn't make this whole event up. I attended Pierce the Veil and Sleeping With Sirens' World Tour concert last night, and I can easily say it was the best night I have experienced yet this year - even trumping the night of my prom after-party.
I wrote quite a lot, but I know memory fades quickly, and soon I won't remember the details of this concert, let alone what songs they sang or what words they said. I wanted to record every detail I can remember, so I can read this and experience the concert all over again. That being said, there was a part I couldn't find a place to fit in, and it is this: There was a girl in the second tier before me, and she was nuts, absolutely nuts, for the entire show. Not only did she headbang, but she threw her entire body into it too. Some guy was tickling her, and she pursued him, violently tackling him and actually running into a girl sitting on the floor. Also, when she danced to the music, it was something akin to the wobble, but much more writhe-y and active. When she jumped, she brought her knees nearly all the way to her chest. She did this all throughout the concert. Me, my friend, and my new friend all said we were scared of her. I'm glad she had a good time though.
Oh, also, what I presume was her mom poured water in her long hair and flipped it back. She was right against the railing, so a wet tendril smacked me across the eye. Not cool.
But anyways.
I don't really know how to describe how I felt when PTV first came onstage. I'd seen their faces so many times, but only in pictures and videos. It was surreal seeing their faces in real life. As I mentioned, Tony really does look better in person than in pictures. I don't know how to choose a favorite, either: Vic is an amazing singer and can be quite funny; Mike, as I said, has the Harry Potter tattoos (including a vato Hedwig and the Deathly Hallows sign on the palm of his hand - ouch); Tony is the quiet, shy, and adorable one; Jaime is hilarious in interviews and has the best sense of humor.
(I want to mention at this point that I'm not a "fangirl," I don't obsessively track them and what they're doing, and I never ever ever want to meet them in person.)
The doors were supposed to open at 6:00 PM and the concert itself was supposed to start at 7:00 PM , but my friend and I left campus at 3:00 PM in order to get in line early. They started letting us in around 6:20. Surprisingly, This Wild Life began to play early, at 6:50, and after King For a Day ended, it was 11:00 on the dot. I was so warm when I left the theater, I didn't even feel the 32° F temperature though I only wore a t-shirt and jeans. My friend and I got back to campus around 11:30 (the bus wasn't as sketch as I thought it was going to be), and by the time we got back to our rooms after a late night pick-me-up at our favorite campus cafe, it was near midnight. And even then, by the time I finished writing notes here so I don't forget details about the concert, it's almost 2:00 AM. But I don't (EDIT**: didn't) feel the time. I've never felt so alive before.
I had to skip one class and one recitation to go to this concert. Do I regret it? Not a chance. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Nothing compares to the joy I felt last night. In fact, I wish I could go again, but they're already long gone to the next city. They probably won't tour again together for a long time. This might be the only concert of theirs I ever attend while I'm still young.
SIKES.
As we were leaving the theater, people were handing out small flyers, and it appears that both PTV and SWS will be returning at the end of January, but this time to the capital of my state and not the small town I live in. My friend and I are already investigating tickets. Thankfully, this concert will be on a Saturday, so I'm not forced to cut any more classes. Also, I find it interesting that she is a bigger fan of SWS, while I am a bigger fan of PTV. Between the two of us, we represent the two spheres of possibly the most popular post-hardcore bands that are most associated with one another.
The title of this post is a line from Pierce the Veil's song "The Sky Under the Sea."
EDIT** (12-9-14): In the heat of the concert, I forgot a lot of details and exact words that the artists said, so as more and more people are uploading videos to YouTube, I remember more and more stuff that I couldn't exactly recall the night I got home. Therefore, this past week nearly every day I've been updating this post. Sorry it keeps getting longer. I'm not confident about the order of the songs listed, either - the names are correct, though, they really did play those.
I think today's the last day I have something to add, because that awesome quote Vic said had eluded me ever since the concert, and I finally found a recording of him saying it, so I added it. Hopefully (or not, depends on the way I look at it) it will be the last addition.
---
I was lucky to find this video below. It's of the concert last night, when Vic's voice gave out during "I'm Low On Gas" and we, the crowd, filled in for him. It's great to watch, and know what's going to happen before it shows in the video. I was there. I was physically there. The thought is amazing.
---
To all of you who put on your headphones in the morning and listen to music from the time you wake up to the time you go to bed.
(EDIT**: I uploaded this late, and it's now Dec. 2. My bad.)
I have one of those large calendars that you can write on, and tear off the months as they go by. 15 seconds ago, I tore off November and looked at the month of December.
Is my freshman year of college really already halfway over?
I only have three more weeks before winter break. Wow.
It feels like it's going to go by really quickly too. I don't have any more major projects to do, so all I have to focus on now is studying for finals. Lucky me, they're all crammed into the last two days of finals week (two per day), so I get to have maybe 30 minutes between one final and the next.
Sociology is as good as ever. In today's lecture the professor was talking about demographics and population, and I had a very long and passionate argument in my head as for why overpopulation and unsustainability is a thing. I had once read a comment somewhere (I forget where, it might've been on iFunny) that basically stated that the world isn't even close to being overpopulated, because we could pick up every person that exists and put them in Texas, with a sizable plot of land for everyone.
The lecture triggered this memory, and I had fun for 15 or so minutes asking this imaginary person how they could explain the placement of schools and buildings and agricultural fields in Texas as well, and telling them how selfish they are in continuing an unsustainable lifestyle with no repercussions in their life, but with consequences that the next generation must clean up. For Christ's sake, we only have about 250 years of coal left in the U.S., and that's not accounting for any surefire coal production increases (I apologize if that stat is wrong, I only parrot what I learned in AP Environmental Science). And once that's gone, they will go on to tearing up new plots of land elsewhere until the entire Earth is scarred from fossil fuel mining. Anyways, while I had a good time mentally abusing this anonymous commenter, I lost track of what my professor was saying for a while. Oops.
Biology is boring. I'm kicking myself because my alarm woke me up at the right time this morning, but I was so tired (mild case of insomnia last night) I turned it off and instantly fell asleep right after. When I woke up again, class had already started. Oops again.
The professor is awesome though, nearly as awesome as my sociology professor and TA. He looks like Bob Ross (and makes fun of himself for it - I admire anyone who happily pokes fun at themselves) and has this thing called "Random Cat Friday," where in the middle of his slides there's a randomly inserted picture of a cat/kitten photoshopped in badass backgrounds (in space, or on top of a unicorn, for example). He makes lectures less boring, but the subject - pthbthhhh.
Chemistry is still a reiteration of everything sophomore year. A.k.a, boring. I forgot about the online homework, so I just finished it all during lecture, while occasionally looking up to pay attention. The professor, while being really sweet and likable, is not very good at getting to the point - one of my pet peeves.
Dance is the same as ever too. We've got nothing to do but work on our final project, which is to choreograph a dance that represents our cumulative semester. For a class that hardly ever danced, I don't think it's fair to have a final based on physical dancing, but I convinced my group to let me play the piano (Here I Am, by Bryan Adams from the movie Spirit) for a part of our choreography, so I'm moderately okay.
The professor is also warming up to my writing; I got a paper back today and even though I wrote it no differently than the papers that got B's, I got full credit. Go figure.
For a first college semester, I could stand to be more impressed. The majority of my classes are less than inspiring, and the students here - even more so. Emotionally, I'm constantly swinging between overjoyed radiance (like when I bumped into a friend outside of class - I don't have enough friends to do this even remotely often so it was a nice surprise) and flat-out depression (like when I realized I don't have enough friends to bump into on a daily basis). I mean, I'm not unwell. But I've definitely felt better.
---
I've been burning though a lot of songs as of late, so here's another one.
A Love Like War (feat. Vic Fuentes), by All Time Low
---
I haven't explored a new animal in a long time, so I figured since I didn't write too much I'll go ahead and find a new one to research.
Piure (Pyura chilensis)
I swear it's alive, even though it looks like the deadest thing in the world. Looks like hardened magma, that's what I think. Or a tomato encased in concrete. I'm just going to call it living rock; piure is the Spanish word for it.
This sea creature is a tunicate, or a marine invertebrate, and is completely immobile. As you can see in the picture, it resembles a rock with a bunch of organs inside. It eats by sucking in water and filtering out microorganisms, and lives in close bunches with other living rocks (imagine a mussel bed). This weird... thing is born male, becomes a hermaphrodite during puberty, and can procreate by self-fertilization (O_O). I found an article that calls it selfing, and that's the only way I will ever refer to asexual reproduction from here on out. Basically, it reproduces by squirting out its joy juice into the water in a giant orgy cloud, and hopes it runs into some gametes of the opposite gender. Too far?
It's mainly found off the coast of Chile and Peru, and the two largest importers of living rocks are Sweden and Japan.
It's perfectly edible, and can be eaten either raw or cooked. Apparently it tastes like iodine - a slightly bitter and soapy taste. However, there are some concerns about eating it, because its clear blood contains high amounts of vanadium (a chemical element) and can cause damage to the liver if eaten in excess amounts. For context, vanadium is also found in crude oil and tar sands.
Actually, however, parsley also has trace amounts of vanadium too - that's why it's used as a garnish so often, the flavor's pretty strong. So if you're ever short on parsley, add a bit of selfing vanadium-secreting intestine-tomato-rock thing to round out your dish.
