Pedal Faster

"We just had the most amazing night of our lives. Being in high school is almost exactly like television but I ask: where are the palm trees? Adam's parents went away for the whole weekend. Kyle got us three handles of Vladimir, a really high-end vodka. By eleven o'clock I was wasted and loved my friends so much. I played ping-pong with an interesting boy from college and my best friend fell asleep on top of a cute upper classman from our rival high school! Everyone was just dancing and engaging in meaningful experiences like throwing up in the snow, smoking weed and leaning on each other's shoulders taking pictures... leaning on each other's shoulders in our lives."
-High School Party Queen

I didn't want to come home and play another "benefit show" at Kennett High School in the fricking auditorium but I did and it turned out to be pretty fun. We played ok. We have a number one fan whose name is N4TH4N and he showed up with his bff DelgadoUno. We totally appreciated that and the hecklers calling for Pavement up front. We also liked how, finally after a lot of prodding, all the children came up on the actual stage to watch Pirouette. I'm so stoked that that band has become fully realized since Brendan and Brendan joined. I'm gonna say that the new EP is a grower. "Pedal Faster" and "Donthatemeifyoudonthaveto" are easily top five in the Pirouette canon (my sister said it best: the best chugga parts.) "Passing the Grass" and "Breezeway Girlfriend" take the usual, mathy, Pirouette formula and warps it: "Grass" has a bizarre chorus warning that "no one can drive a race car on E," and "Girlfriend" has Amanda singing in her operatic soprano. It's pretty fucking awesome actually if a little unsettling at first. The actual recording sounds different than anything Scotty's ever done at Tomato. I guess the instruments sound more fleshed out and the mix is really clear but it still retains that "this was recorded in a basement" feel. He does some interesting things throughout the record like including nearly an episode's worth of Ninja Turtles samples. Realest shit.

Then we rolled up to Kyle Macklin's friend's party. Do I even need to say anymore? Just picture 8 fifteen year old girls not being able to stand up without stumbling across the living room floor and the four of us (Miles, Will, Mimi) loling all the way home. With our handle of Vlad. That was rightfully Will's anyway.


I'm tired of indie party playlist music: MGMT (don't even start,) Of Montreal, Girl Talk, "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." I'm hoping I won't hear any of that tonight at my very first fraternity party (AXP BRO) but chances are everything I hear tonight will have been put through a vocoder before being laid to tape. Until I get back hear and listen to the new Pirouette EP.

Fuck the MGMTs.
Fuck sob stories.
I love my life right now.

Pirouette-"Donthatememorethanyouhaveto"

Dont Hate Me More Than You Have To - Pirouette

WORLD SERVES IT'S OWN NEEDS

Wish I could post the official promo vid. Michael Stipe kinda looks silly always looking off the lyric sheets these days. Even still, every time I put on Accelerate it sounds as reaffirming (reassuring?) as the day i got it.

Yum, Sunday Mornings

I love this Sunday morning.

There are so many bad fucking people in this world/school. I sure as hell am not one.

LOL SECOND SEMESTER

Do you think my Writing for Journalism class laughed at me because - during the mandatory cute introduce-yourself-and-tell-us-a-funny-lil-fact session - I said I was uninspired or because I said I think Philadelphia is the most fascinating city in America?

New Years Res: cut the overarching sincerity?
NEVER.

Because I spend my nights dancing under a light in a quiet corner of campus on one of the few patches of snow-covered green grass with a girl to whom nothing really matters except what she likes.

THERE WAS LOTS OF BULLSHIT MUSIC IN 08

Fleet Foxes put me to sleep like the Panda Bear record did last year. But the Panda Bear record has since become one of my sister and I's mutual favorite things so who knows? I didn't think many albums came out this year that had much worth but there WERE a few.

1. Titus Andronicus-The Airing of Grievances
Ok so yeah this year wasn't all that exciting for music. But then there's this, this grimy suburban screed from North Jersey with enough teenage misery for an army of prep-school nihilists/Sartre-scholars in the making. The song titles speak for themselves - No Future Part 2: Day After No Future, My Time Outside the Womb, Albert Camus, Fear and Loathing in Mahwah New Jersey. Nothing hits closer to home sometimes than these words.

2. No Age- Nouns
I think if I were around in 1992, Sonic Youth would be my No Age and Dirty would be my Nouns. They represent something larger than themselves: nationwide DIY, trendy skateboarding (lol), bedroom experimentation, cool teenagedom. My favorite lyric of the year: "With passion it's true." CRED ALERT - SAW THESE GUYS IN A BASEMENT AFTER P4K FEST.

3. Algernon Cadwallader-Some Kind of Cadwallader
get up GET THE FUCK UP PUT A SMILE ON YOUR FACE THERE IS NOTHING ON YOUR MIND BUT THESE INTERTWINING GUITARS AND THAT GUY THAT GUY CANT REALLY SING CAN HE?! Fuck all. This band does not sound like Cap'n Jazz. This band does not sound like American Football. This band sounds like twinkly emo finally made it to Philadelphia. I am thankful.

4. Los Campesinos!-Hold on Now, Youngster...
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth.

5. Los Campesinos!-We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
Love is a losing game.

2009: YEAR OF NO BULLSHIT

Hi. I'm now living in 2009. I will be strictly "no bullshit" in 2009. You know how every mother fucker is trying to "reduce his or her carbon footprint?" Well I said fuck that, I'm taking it to a whole new level. I am completely eliminating my bullshit footprint.

I will get drunk and sing along to songs that I don't really know the words to. I will make words up. I think that this is fun. I am having fun. I am being true to myself.

I will not read Pitchfork every day. I especially won't buy the new Animal Collective album.

I will not talk about music like a Pitchfork review.

I'm not going to write a word about music that other people will read until I break the Pitchfork habit.

I will enjoy things for their function as opposed to their form (i.e. fixed gear bikes)

I will learn lots of thing about people.

I will not take myself seriously.

I will go into things with an open mind.

I will still hold grudges against people that I have grudges against; this is who I am.

I won't give into hype.

I will have fun.

I will be fun.

Fun is not putting other people down.

I will be proud of who I am. I will use self-consciousness only as a guise or a device.

How will you reduce your bullshit footprint in '09?
Do you have anything to add to my list of ways I'm going to reduce my bullshit in '09? Let's be honest here, I know I didn't cover everything.

Let's Walk Around Some More

I always want to hear that. I always want to go on adventures at least once a week. I always want to see new and relevant movies once a week with the opposite sex. I always want women that enjoy the outdoors.

I always hate people that think they're ahead of you in life. Even though your lack of cynicism makes you better than those people. This album is for us.



El Guincho-Alegranza
This isn't a music blog but today, december 15, it was 64 degrees. this is music for that kind of day.

Kruschev

So the kids in the lounge fucked with my door and I for the early part of the year. I eventually got over it, started to laugh at the mayonnaise-filled condoms on the door handle, began referring to three of the four lounge-dwellers as "best friend." The fourth lounge dweller, whom we will refer to as Kruschev or K for short, was never that much fun. So the other guys in the lounge openly make fun of me but I am in on the joke; it is acceptable, it's our pastime, it helps us remain sane. Kruschev takes it upon himself to openly be a dick not just to me but everyone else on our floor - and he's serious about it too. Kruschev makes it known, by way of a fuck you or hey stupid, that he is not happy to see you in the hallway or the elevator. When I am invited by the other lounge-dwellers into their stupid fucking quad room to have a discussion regarding lounge/floor relations, Kruschev turns off the lights in an effort to get me to leave. Unrelated, Kruschev takes it upon himself to place stickers of the anonymous skate shop that (presumably) sponsors him everywhere, making the asshole ever present no matter where you are. Stop sign at 13th and Berks: stupid fucking sticker. Train station: stupid fucking sticker. Elevator: stupid fucking sticker.

Kruschev is the only person that is unanimously disliked by the good-natured people of the floor.

Saturday night Branmuffin and I thought it was a good time to get the lounge. It'd been a few weeks since the last incident between their door and mine, things were getting too quiet. Unbeknownst to me, the three loungers I was on decent terms with had left for the weekend. Kruschev was holding down the fort with some people we'd never met before and a girl on our floor who is rarely not in the lounge. Branmuffin and I acquired peanut butter and smeared it on their doorhandle. There was a bit too much commotion because the girl came out to confront us. We fled before there could be consequences. We came out of hiding and about seven minutes later, there's Kruschev spitting (he has a tendency to do this rather than talking) at me in front of the elevators.
"Stop putting shit on my fucking door!"
"You do it to my door all the time."
"No I don't!"
"Yes you do."
"That's the other three!"
"Well?"
"Stop it because I have to clean it up! Sick of it!"
(walks away)
"Wow, I forgot you're the nicest guy any of us have ever met, forgive me!"

I was proud, he pretty much looked like the asshole we always made him out to be. Then I started to feel bad. Then I started writing an apology in my head because I remembered the day before, Kruschev had tried to get in on the whole "best friend" thing I have with the other three. I pretty much blew him off. So now I felt like the dick. Until tonight when I saw the ever-present lounge queen. We are always more than civil to each other. I thought I'd ask her thoughts. Was I as much a dick as I felt I was? Apparently not. Kruschev thinks everyone on the floor is fucking stupid and hates the way everyone acts (conformists, gah, sk8board angst!) and frankly she does too. Well then, fuck you.

CNE

"We had the craziest night ever. We ground/grinded on girls we didn't even know. They bought us drinks. We have the Sharpie slash on our wrist to prove we were there. We came back, we recounted."
-11th Floor Life Br0s

Chapter 1. Silly Faces by the Microwave
Chapter 2. I Cry Up and Down the Hallway and Call Otherwise Fragile Guys Assholes
Chapter 3. Drunk Confessions About Peeing on Your Ex-boyfriend
Chapter 4. I Eat My Ramen Alone
Chapter 5. This Hallway is Cramped, I'm Sorry We Bumped Knees
Chapter 6. A Press Conference
Chapter 7. Myspacing Tom Hodges
Chapter 8. Peanut Butter Connie Revenge
Chapter 9. Flight
Chapter 10. In Which I Am Accosted by a Sensitive Foreign Skateboarder
Chapter 11. Best Actor in a Supporting Roll
Chapter 12. Prank Phone Calls, or, "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
Chapter 13. Closure through Cleaning

I live on the 11th floor of Hardwick Hall with a bunch of special people, 85% of whom are wonderful, 10% are totally awful and the remaining 5 are constantly in hiding. Saturday nights usually dissolve into some kind of madness. Last night was no different except that it was probably the most enjoyable. There was so much wonderful stimulation and electricty between me and other human beings that I usually found myself yelling, impassioned, seemingly pissed the fuck off, at Justin (who is a good guy.) So we broke the night into different chapters and that's about all of them that I remember. I had a crisis of personality when I peanut buttered someone's doorhandle and I want to talk about that sometime. Also, I threw a box of pound cake onto the ground with a good deal of force until it broke up into a thousand crumbs, joining the egg roll wrappers, dirty plastic forks and ripped up orange peel on the dusty maroon carpet. This wasn't in my character and I could barely live with myself the rest of the night until Chelley Welly broke out the vacuum and I achieved closure through cleaning.

The End.

Give Me Coffee and TV

On this day of negative feeling and thinking, amidst an impenetrable lack of sleep (something shared by all freshman,) and a feeling of total lack of any real knowledge...


BLUR HAVE OFFICIALLY REUNITED.

Jubilee indeed, Damon. Thanks for putting your globetrotting aside for five fucking minutes. Graham, thanks for forgetting about trying to be Stephen Malkmus. Alex, thanks for not doing much of anything since the break-up aside writing a book. About your band. And David, I hope you lose that general election because you have some songs to practice.

Now is a great time to reevaluate/familiarize yourself with Blur's catalog. I guess you should start with Parklife. From there it's all you but make sure you give Think Tank a chance.

Thx Damon.

Is Tetris Really My Friend?

I've spent the better part of my internet life these last two weeks (which is a lot of time in itself) on tetrisfriends.com. It may have started as an effort to be more like Miles Fricker. Maybe it was compensation for lack of Miles in my life. The point is I've been playing a lot and progressing... I think. Trying to learn the "game." Trying to create strategies. At first it just seemed like Tetris was about calculated risks; you get the block you get, you put it in the space it belongs best (even if it means leaving a gap or three in yr wall,) you hope it knocks out a line or two and you move on. I played like this for a few days, happy with the results. The game appeared to move quickly and I felt like I was getting somewhere. However, after I consulted with Miles who, cos I didn't mention earlier, is the Resident Tetris Bull/Koolest Thang in my circle of friends, I found out I had it all wrong: the goal was to get tetrises. As many as you can.

Miles told me to get a tetris one has to clear four lines at once. One does this using the blue-stick. So I took his advice because "you get mad points for getting tetrises." Since then, my whole life is making tetrises. Or more accurately, my whole life is being invaded by thoughts of making tetrises. Anytime I let my mind wander, it turns to visions of what I've been calling "perfect Tetris," the Tetris I want to be playing. I'm perfectly set up to make a tetris: about half the playing screen is covered by my wall. There are lots of green blocks, few red, many yellow and orange. There is a slot to the right or left of this wall and then drops a blue tick. It rotates, finds its place to a side of the wall and then I snap-to.

Earlier, I took a nap and got my first Tetris dream. Tetrisfriends actually changed their interface today... the screen in my dream where the gameplay was taking place looked like the new Tetrisfriends but there were backgrounds like junkyards and the cover of Doggystyle. John Doe's voice was coming from somewhere. He was saying things in between plays of "We're Desperate," which was on repeat.

I'm not keeping up with the blogs I usually do, Marathonpacks and Fightwithknives. They've probably been updated at least four or five times over since Friday with really engaging music industry-related content but I don't know. The new routine is to open Facebook, Hipster Runoff and Pitchfork, Tetrisfriends... must downsize for TF, no time to read anything too stimulating. Must make tetrises.

I share my problem with D. who was the same way this summer except with Freecell. She dreamt of perfect Freecell, solitary cardplaying euphoria. Still, she says it's pathetic that I dream/daydream about this shit.

"Yr jst an entrylvl Tetris altbr0, youll prgrss to mastr Tetris altbr0 and thn lose the urge 2 tetris altgthr."
-Carles, HRO

Have you ever made a conscious effort to ensure someone never wants to try to be your friend ever again? Real life friends and/or video game friends, food friends etc.?

We Were Never In this Together

A good week:

Wednesday, I went to the Tom Gabel "Searching For a Former Sense of Integrity/I'm Still Legit, I Swear! Solo Acoustic Tour." I guess he sort of "restored my faith," but in what I'm not exactly sure. It's not like I'm itching for the next time I get to see Against Me! at some cavernous warehouse or that I'm 100% thrilled with Heart Burns, Gabel's solo E.P. Maybe I just had a lot of fun getting to scream along with "I Still Love You Julie," "What We Worked For," "Tonight We're Gonna Give It 35%," etc. as they were originally intended to be screamed along with: in a small space, led by an acoustic guitar and the proudest set of vocal cords Butch Vig ever produced. It was hard to deny that the newest song Tom played, "I Dreamed Bob Dylan Was a Friend of Mine," absolutely bled sincerity. It's a simple song, only three or four chords, wherein Gabel and Bob Dylan just hang out... It just harkened back to better days, I guess, When playing "Baby I'm An Anarchist" to a crowd of 200 in a sweaty grange hall didn't seem like a really good dream and long before Spin claimed New Wave deserved to join Nevermind in Rock's Pantheon, in the corner reserved for "Really Incendiary Rock and Roll Records." Then again, though, it was impossible for me not to yell "Eat your words, Tom Gabel!" during "What We Worked For" as soon as he sang "..and may the rights to this song never make one fucking dollar." Eat 'em up with those big label exec fat cats you fuck and some great red wine, good luck finding that integrity. Jk. Kinda.

"I Dreamed Bob Dylan Was a Friend of Mine:"

Thursday, D. down the hall and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire. Fox Searchlight emailed me those movie promo freebie passes, two, first come first served. We got to the Bourse. Some lady appeared to be waiting ahead of me, so I let her go, and then learned she grabbed the second to last spot. First come indeed. So I dragged D. to AKA Music and picked up a Television Personalities album. I really like it; it's like the missing link between the Vaselines and Brian Jonestown massacre. New episode of the Office, this season's best, and then Zack and Miri Make a Porno which was very, very funny but lacked a little of the depth you expect from most Kevin Smith movies. It was a little too Apatow, not that that's bad because I like that, but it just wasn't Kevin Smith. Maybe he should have stayed in Jersey. But I liked it, nonetheless.

Friday I got a call to interview Mischief Brew/Erik Petersen after the show at the Barbary. To be honest, I've never really dug too far into Mischief Brew's catalog, let alone the Orphans but it was nothing I didn't expect. The crowd smelled awful. Brian McGee and Hollowspeed were great roots rock and to me he sounds like a dead ringer for Jay Farrar. I wonder if that southern accent is fake? Isn't he from here? Lusts were just as good, angry and angular garage rock sung through a telephone receiver (a growing trend, I guess.) Mischief Brew often come off as really hoky sometimes but the feelings are unadulterated and they play with a lot of energy/lack of preachiness that most folk punk is missing. People told me over and over again Erik is the nicest of guys and will be really easy to talk to. This was true.

I hope theres a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon pounders in my future. If not, I have Waiting For Guffman, Bicycle Thieves, and a walk across the Ben Franklin Bridge early tomorrow afternoon.

The Walkmen-"French Vacation"

I went to AKA yesterday with the intention of buying the new Los Campesinos!. Apparently it doesn't come out til next week, so I was stuck racing to find another option that would cure my "need new album even if it's not necessarily new" fix before my bike, sitting outside unlocked because I fucking left my keys on my bed, got stolen. Since The Walkmen's You & Me has slowly become one of my favorite records of the year (also bought on a whim at Repo Records during Welcome Week) I decided to pick up their debut, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone. Now if that title doesn't feel applicable to me at least 10% of the time, I don't know what was. Plus, the kids on the cover make me jealous. Anyway, "French Vacation" sticks out as one of the best songs on the album, especially at the 3:00 mark when the song as we knew it drops out and vocalist Hamilton Leithauser wails and whines over sparse drums: "Hey, where'd you go? I remember when all our plans were to meet at home. Where'd you go?"

This guy dreams of unified scenes... don't ya love him!!!!!!

Awrite, Geo...

...so you gave us the Lazy Student's guide to Exam 2. But what of the Lazier Student's guide to Exam 2?

Just joshing. Not that my journalism professor is reading this. Well he might be. But I'm really appreciative of these exam primers.

On another note. Mike Ford, you took a jab at me so now I'm just going to come forward and maybe take a jab at you. But, really, when it comes down to it we're just a couple of guys who don't care. Regardless, I'm sorry, but I just don't like Sky vs. Sea. I really appreciate you guys asking me to do this but it would have just been too much lying for no payoff except for my name on your Myspace. There's too much delay. Your singer is awful (but apparently everyone knows that? But why wallow in Peter Keating-esque vocal-mediocrity when you could do so much better...or just cut vocals altogether.) And I hate Circa Survive. And when I hear you guys, the only thing I can think of is the awful forty-five minutes I near-slept through the time I saw Circa open for Saves the Day. Your bass playing, though, is really really cool and I'm not just saying that. And Azar is a lot of fun to watch. Otherwise, whackness. Sry.

Instead of writing puff-bios for bands I don't like, I want to write the definitive piece about the actual Philadelphia music scene. Not Man Man/Capitol Years/Spinto Band/Dr. Dog, the bands that get all the coverage, that play maybe one or two hometown shows a year... the ones that the local press doesn't even touch. These are your, what some random blog described as, "post-Polothology" outfits like Street Smart Cyclist and Algernon Cadwallader and Boy Problems. How the fuck did this happen? Thirteen years after the fact, we have a glut of (great) bands taking major cues from the Kinsella brothers and the midwest as a whole. What did Philadelphia miss in the mid-90s? While everyone was fretting over girls, there was a burgeoning hardcore punk scene centered in West Philly... why didn't we get sensitive, too? These are questions I want answered! So I'm setting out to find them. I need to set myself apart from these clowns writing reviews for fun and getting their kicks and giggles from interviews with Sam Fogarino and Frightened Rabbit. Music is my LIFE, man. Let's get legit. Ultimate goal: to do lots of things like this by the end of sophomore year, get picked up by a couple mags and freelance my way out of college before junior year... graduate later, Marc Zumoff style.

Let's talk about hopes and dreams.

"Went to school for a degree in journalism and got sick of it/Wanted to write for music rags, all that Lester Bangs shit/Partied up in Philly basements with the post-emo poster boys/The guys had hair in their eyes like girls and the girls had hair short like little boys."

No Age/Titus Andronicus tonight. I will be up front, crying.

Certain Songs

My night was kind of like a Hold Steady song:
"He went to the show by himself which was alright! Biked back to the party on Bouvier later on that night! It was a real crazy time and in about two hours the kegs of Pabst got kicked! Ended up at McDonalds confessing his love for some Jersey chick!"

Which was fitting. I went to the Hold Steady/Drive-By Truckers show at the Factory kind of last minute. The Hold Steady are one of my favorite bands but I'm fucking broke and I don't like going to shows there anymore. But my Dad called yesterday morning and was like "Hey, there's a good show in town tonight you should check out: The Hold Steady are playing at the Factory..." So I called it a sign, wrote Steven K. a check for twenty bucks and got pumped. I was also obligated to work this party for this student-run webzine (which was supposed to launch today, but no longer) so that was in the cards as well... The show was amazing, energetic as usual, Craig Finn doing his St. Pauli swilling poet/messiah thing and everybody pumping fists and singing along. They didn't play "Killer Parties" but otherwise, it was a great set: "Stay Positive," "Cattle and the Creeping Things," "Your Little Hoodrat Friend," "Constructive Summer," "Ask Her For Adderal," "The Swish," "You Can Make Him Like You," "Hot Soft Light," "Don't Let Me Explode," "Party Pit," "Massive Nights," "Chips Ahoy!," "Slapped Actress..." there were a few more. I was psyched. I had to leave before the Drive-By's because of that party obligation... Biked backed, gave about 15 senseless kids directions to the party (which pleased me because I was expecting low turn out,) got there, drank even though I said I wouldn't, place was packed, my friend/host Chris Brown cleaned up moneywise... Came back and all Danielle had to say was "McChicken" before I got the drunk munchies, so yeah we went to ShitDonalds and the rest is history. I love weekends.

Best week ever?
No Age/Titus A, Tuesday
Lemuria/Everyone Everywhere, Wednesday
Diplo/Abe Vigoda, Friday
M83 or Pirouette, Saturday (decisions...)
Ceremony/Have Heart, Sunday

Yeah dude, of course we can.

I'm just thinking back to journalism junior year when everyone was saying how ridiculous it was that some guy whose middle name happened to be Hussein was going to run for president and I just stood there, shrugging my shoulders saying "It could happen, man."

It did and I'm sure we're better off. I haven't really cared about this election since before the primaries were over. I was just fucking tired of it. I didn't know who was right. I still don't. Until today, I was voting for Nader or saying "That shit don't matter..." When the time came, I did what everyone else did, felt good about it and watching that man speak (I had fallen asleep sometime around ten only to wake up two hours later with a new president,) I started to tear up. I'm really not that indifferent after all.

I'm Question Mark and I'm Wondering

Why did everyone dress like sluts for Halloween?

Oddly Inspiring Things...

...helping me get back on track:

Cold water (Wyatt and I procured a free refrigerator a while back, plugged it in and let it waste electricity until Saturday when my mom let me finish the orange juice back at school. I rinsed out the plastic jug and now it holds water fountain water and is totally convenient.)

28 Days Later (Watched it for free on Hulu last night. Made me want to do shit.)

No Age-Nouns (The best thing ever laid to tape.)

Train-like, I Must Get Back On Track

Last week was busy. Philadelphia mighta had the best week ever. I was drunk too much (but so was everyone else) and I missed too much class (a lot of em got canceled anyway!) and Monday night, after the miserable cold cold rain and the arguing couple, I literally shit my pants. Drunk, in the bushes on Liacouras walk... it was like a Blink-182 song. Friday, Scotty and I joined two-million other people at the parade. I was drunk by 12:30 which made for fun but also treacherous bike riding. We met up with my sister and some of her friends for pizza and soda before making our way down to the stadiums. Thankfully, it was a whole lot more organized than Wednesday must've been. They had corralled the drunk masses that couldn't score a free ticket to gain entry into Citizens Bank Park in one of the huge parking lots where there was a Jumbotron and other goodies. We didn't bother to go, instead biking up and down Phillies Drive, avoiding the broken glass and, get this, jeers of like "Bikers!" and "Hey Lance, the Tour de France is over!" At five, we headed home but I stopped to meet my friend Kurt on Oregon Avenue. We walked around South Philly until the subways started running again. South Philly is weird. It just feels so ethnic... I know it was at one time, but still, it's weird. Not West Philly weird where you feel like you're nowhere near a city until you look eastward, it's like you feel like you're on the very edge of something and there's nothing else outside it... um, I'm done trying to explain. While everything was happening Friday it was pretty hard to believe that it was Halloween. Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday to spend in Chester County. I spend the afternoon carving a pumpkin and walking around in the dead-leafy goodness, then trick or treat with some friends. Then we get pizza or sandwiches and watch "Halloweenie" the Adventures of Pete and Pete Halloween special. I wasn't at home though, so it wasn't Halloween... obviously. I didn't even bother dressing up for the Man Man show. I biked to the Starlight Ballroom alone, but then met up with a good bunch of people I often spend time with on the weekends: Matthew M., Diane, Julia, Crystal, Dave "The Good Shepherd" Shepherd, his buddy Curtis and this punkish kid whose name escapes me. Pit Er Pat made us sway, Tim Fite made us say WTF? (especially at the video of him fingering the bloody patch of grass during a song about falling in love with a dead girl) and Man Man got everyone to go insane for ninety minutes. They're incredible live. The songs by themselves are great but then they'll go into these mindbending parts where everyone is banging on shit and Honus Honus is doing this crazy circus/bandstand leader thing... and I don't think anyone looks happier than Chris Powell whilst playing drums. Biked back, watched "Halloweenie" with Diane, Jack and Maddie. For this, they are good people. I was indulged. The world, aka everyone on my floor began to filter back to the 11th floor too drunk. I don't think there's been that many girls vomiting in the bathroom ever. I judged people too much. It's something I've been doing a lot. The good people stayed up until six or so and I began this week's sleep catch-up weekend sesh thing. Slept til four on Saturday. Was reminded of the Evan Dando number: "You stayed awake fourteen days and then you slept a week/Why do you do this to yourself?" Used to make me think of CH but I'm glad it now merely conjures images of Wyatt laughing at me when I wake up alarmed to see the hour on the face of the clock. I spent the rest of daylight loafing in front of the computer until I got enough drive to go to the SAC for an egg sandwich. Then I rode most of the length of the Broad Street Line (what a thrilL!) to meet up with my mom and my sister at the Wachovia Center. Easily the highlight of my weekend. My mom bought me a Primo's hoagie and we just hung out before they saw Coldplay. Like, seriously, best shit ever. This couldn't be topped so I watched Slacker in the dark loneliness of my room. It was fucking great. I'm super curious about Texas now. The land of Britt Daniel. There were more alcohol-related episodes later that night but it's just the same old shit. People need to get smart about their drinking habits. Maybe play it like me: stay away from the parties, stick with the people you know, stick with forties of Hurricane (aka heaven.) I tried to make the most out of yesterday by going for a beautiful bike ride and buying Danielle a banana. The sun goes down too early. Woke up too late today, got financial shit straightened out and realized one thing: train-like, I must get back on track.