Category Archives: music is my boyfriend

So I’ll Never Die Alone

Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, music is my boyfriend
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Sometime in the past few months, Kings of Leon became my favourite band. This is sort of a big deal for me, because my favourite band all through college was Jump, Little Children, and I saw them live more than fifty times (and probably more like sixty or seventy) and followed them all across the country when I should’ve been at class, but then they broke up, and I grew up, and now their sound is just a little too polished for my grown-up music taste, which prefers a raw, gritty sound to counteract my sunny disposition. So Kings of Leon.

This is the song that’s been killing me lately, “Cold Desert”:

I’m on the corner
Waiting for a light to come on
That’s when I know that you’re alone
It’s cold in the desert
Water never sees the ground
Special unspoken without sound

Told me you loved me
That I’d never die alone
Hand over your heart let’s go home
Everyone noticed
Everyone had seen the signs
I’ve always been known to cross lines

I never ever
Cried when I was feeling down
I’ve always been scared of the sound
Jesus don’t love me
No one ever carried my load
I’m too young to feel this old

Here’s to you
Here’s to me
Oh, to us
Nobody knows
Nobody sees
Nobody but me

What got me at first was the “no one ever carried my load”, but what’s been getting me lately is the “told me you loved me, that I’d never die alone”. I know it’s almost senseless to talk about wanting that kind of love, because everyone wants that kind of love. It just seems poignant for me specifically to recognize that I want that kind of love after just having been abandoned by a six-year relationship that I thought was The Relationship on which all other relationships could be based.

Looking back, I realize that despite all of the near-perfection of that relationship, the one really imperfect part was that Kamran kept my heart in a cage. Because he was afraid of commitment or was at least of afraid of committing to me, I tiptoed around him and held back my true feelings, which were, “OMGGGGG, my heart is bursting, and I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with yooooouuuuu! Hearts, stars, ponies, butterflies!” Not that I didn’t tell him I loved him every day, and not that I could really help myself from being zealous, but I took my cues from him. If I mentioned our continued life together, or someday having a house together, or being laid to rest together in an eternal embrace in the burial plots my dad has ALREADY PURCHASED FOR MY HUSBAND AND ME, he got itchy, so I tried to stop myself from ever accidentally mentioning those things. But every now and then, he would ask me if I’d still be with him and take care of him when we’re old, and only then I’d feel for one second like I was allowed to share my feelings. That’s not fair.

I want my next relationship to of course involve nonstop laughter, as my relationship with Kamran did, but I also want it to involve, like, super-intense threatening to slit our wrists in the hidden park overlooking the East River if we can’t be together forever. Am I just imagining myself in a high school relationship, though? Maybe these borderline creepy obsessive feelings aren’t supposed to exist in people over the age of 17. If the lead singer of Kings of Leon is looking to be told that he won’t die alone, though, maybe I just need to fall in love with an artist and not a scientist/lawyer next time.

In fact, yes, I know I should, because listen to this:

Apparently the singer was so drunk while recording “Cold Desert” that he didn’t actually remember doing it. And the amazing part, the sort of chilling part, is that he had only written the first verse to the song when they started recording it. So the loving, the never dying alone, the no one ever carrying his load–all unplanned. He said he ALMOST CRIED when he heard it later.

So he’s an alcoholic. I still want that.

I’m Feeling 82

Filed under music is my boyfriend, single white female
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Today, musings of a madwoman (which I look forward to reading in almost a creepy way, which makes sense since I know her through Ellie) introduced me to Taylor Swift’s “22”

and its parody, “32”:

I was kind of mad that the parody didn’t do anything with this line, which infuriated me when I heard Taylor sing it:

We’re happy, free, confused, and lonely in the best way
It’s miserable and magical, oh yeah

I’m not quite 32 yet, but I’m old enough to tell sweet, innocent Ms. Swift that the only thing that changes between 22 and 32 is that you’re still happy, free, confused, and lonely, but now you’re smart enough to know that it’s ALL MISERY FROM HERE ON OUT. The magic is all dried up. You can’t stay awake long enough to have midnight breakfast, you can’t forget the deadlines or you’ll lose your $3000-a-month 3-room apartment, you don’t want to dream because all your dreams are about failing to get reservations at whatever half-a-paycheck restaurant your boyfriend is counting on you to get him into, and if you dance like you’re 22, your knees will give out on you.

But on the bright side, I’m even more tempted than ever to read Fifty Shades of Grey thanks to the face the woman in the parody makes while singing about it.


The Voice, Erin Martin, and Why I Should Be the Judge of All Things

Filed under a taste for tv, music is my boyfriend, my uber-confrontational personality, stuff i hate
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Did anyone else see this singer on “The Voice” and feel really, really betrayed by the judges?

They claim that this is a completely new sound, but if you heard (and were annoyed by) Macy Gray in 1999, Erin Martin’s voice shouldn’t seem the least bit exciting to you. And they, the music professionals, should recognize that. Instead, they pressed their buttons in awe, they stood up in their seats, they said things like, “THAT is cool!” She has foot-high hair, a foot-long skirt, and a headband on her forehead. Not. Impressed.

Now, I actually like “different” voices. I love being able to recognize a vocalist. Jack White, Chris Cornell, Andrew Bird, Thom Yorke, Rufus Wainwright, Neil Young, Beck, David Bowie, and of course Adam Levine—these are voices you know in an instant no matter what they’re singing, and I love them all.

Last season on “The Voice”, Dia Frampton was a huge hit with her whispery vocals, and I thought she should’ve won:

The difference is that Dia’s voice sounds genuine. I get really tired of voices that sound “put on”. Like, I can sound exactly like Macy Gray and Erin Martin if I try. By forcing myself to sing with a baby voice while purposely mispronouncing letters.

It’s the same thing with Duffy, Eddie Vedder (although I think I like Pearl Jam because they got to me at an age when I was still an innocent non-hater), and basically every single person who auditioned for “American Idol” this year after of the success of vocal-weirdos Haley Reinhart and Megan Joy Corkrey.

I know different people have different tastes and that Erin Martin will probably do well on “The Voice”, but I wish the judges would just call a baby-voiced spade a spade.

Secret-wish-to-be-a-rockstar-fueled rant complete.

Just Dance

Filed under music is my boyfriend, stuff i like
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I’m not the sort of person you’d look at and think, “Now there’s someone who can probably cut a rug.” I’m fairly awkward, certainly clumsy, and not exactly, um, built like someone with a lot of rhythm and grace. (Although I want to cut the judges on “So You Think You Can Dance” when they scoff at a good dancer just because she doesn’t look good in a belly shirt and cameltoe shorts.) But I really love to dance. I don’t need to pound four amaretto sours to feel comfortable doing it, and I don’t care if other people are gawking at me.

So I was overjoyed when my best friend, Tracey, bought me Just Dance 3 for the Wii for Christmas. Having basically no experience with pop music, I was worried that not knowing LMO from LMFAO would make it less fun for me, but the makers of this game somehow managed to find only tracks that would wedge wildly into my brain for days at a time.

My immediate favourite was Nelly Furtado’s “Promiscuous”, because I’d actually heard it before and also used to love Nelly back when she wasn’t a slutty sell-out (nothing against slutty sell-outs):

My next earworm came from Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite”. I had no idea who Taio Cruz is, but I was so pleased that his song talked about Galileo:

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes
Saying ayo

“Now there’s a man who doesn’t care about alienating his uneducated fans,” I thought. And then I learned that he actually says, “Gotta let go.” But it was close enough for me.

My other favourite song is now “Boom” by Reggaeton Storm, which is literally the last genre I would ever expect to get stuck in my head. And since it’s in Spanish, I sing ridiculous nonsensical lyrics to myself all day. Like:

Bop bop
Can I get a b’rito?

That’s right. I leave letters out of burrito in my head to make it fit.

Kamran’s leaving for California at the end of this week to take the bar exam out there, so he’s been waking up with me in the mornings and studying while I play the game. And since he has a one-room apartment, it’s meant a lot of him sitting around and critiquing/mocking my performances as he lounges on his bed mere steps from me. But he gets the songs stuck in his head just as hard as I do, and I feel like that’s revenge enough.

The funny thing is that the earworms only make me want to play the game more. I play in the mornings before work and then spend all day thinking about how I can’t wait to get home and play again. I can’t motivate myself to go to the gym unless Kamran’s threatening to put me in one of those 1950s-style vibrating belt machines that jiggles your fat off, but this game is so fun I actually look forward to it and want to keep playing long after my knickers are soaked with sweat and I need to go shower for work.

I was concerned it was going to be too easy after playing the Xbox Kinect version, Dance Central, where the creepy Kinect camera watches your full body with its beady robot eyes. I figured I’d just move the one arm with the Wiimote in it and let the rest of my body hang limply if the Wiimote couldn’t sense it and judge me accordingly; I thought about playing the game sitting down. But it turns out that Just Dance is harder than Dance Central. Where Dance Central is repetitious, Just Dance throws an intricate move at you once and then goes right on to something else. Just Dance doesn’t have any differing difficulty levels, but you’ll find yourself making your own as you start dancing first with just the arm holding the Wiimote, then with both arms after you’ve played a song 150 times, then finally with your legs. All while looking like an octopus with epilepsy.

Now I’m dying to try Just Dance 1 and 2 and am envisioning a future version where I get to choose my own songs from a list of a hundred and then receive my personalized game in eight to ten business days. The only thing I’m wishing for is a glove that I can strap the Wiimote into so I don’t have to hold onto it while I’m dancing; I’ve actually thought about buying Wii boxing gloves but wonder if that’s even weirder than holding on to the thing myself.

But hey, if my biggest complaint about the game is that I want to get more into it, they’re doing something right. If this is the thing that gets me fit, it’s going to be sooooo hilarious.

Steve Jobs Makes My Ears Hurt

Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, music is my boyfriend, stuff i like
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The only sad part about Steve Jobs being dead is that now I’ll never get to tell him personally how awful the iPod earbuds are.

Seriously, is there anyone out there who regularly uses his or her iPod or iPhone and hasn’t bought separate in-ear earbuds for it? And if you haven’t, is it only because you’re cheap and don’t believe that you should have to purchase new ones when you already paid for the sucky ones that come with every Apple purchase?

Kamran bought me some of the in-ear ones a couple of years ago, and the moment I put them in, I was like, “HOW HAVE I SPENT THE LAST THREE YEARS IN MISERY WHEN THESE EXIST?” Because the Apple earbuds are miserable. When my earbuds from Kamran started only half-functioning last week, I pulled the crappy Apple ones out of my old Nano box–I had clearly hung onto them because I anticipated wanting to punish myself for something later in life (maybe this post?)–and was immediately reminded that they almost seem engineered to suck.

Not only are they way too huge for my delicate, feminine ears, but because they don’t actually fill my ear canal, I now have to actually, like, hear children talking about the nonsense they always do to their parents on the bus. I had to listen to a kid complaining about wanting her hair brushed for TEN ENTIRE MINUTES the other day. Why are you not brushing your kid’s hair, mothers? And why are you letting them audibly complain about it during my morning rush hour commute? AND WHY DID YOU THINK THE WORLD NEEDED YOUR SPAWN IN IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?


Apple earbuds are the very worst, and here are ten much better alternatives I found in five minutes of Googling:


Jelly Bellys

rubber ducks, which Tracey bought for me, because rubber ducks are of course my favourite animal

Care Bears

Mickey Mouse






I win this one, Jobs.