Thursday, January 23, 2014

RIYL: Coheed and Cambria, The Dear Hunter, Brand New

This one time in college, I said that my musical guilty pleasure was SmashMouth.  But what I didn't tell you was that I also really liked My Chemical Romance.  I hope I never told anyone in high school I liked My Chemical Romance.  That would have been embarrassing.  But I did (hopefully) in secret.

I am always telling Julia that I'm not looking forward to the teenage years but that is not true.

Do you guyz remember feelings?  Like, real feelings?  The God awful intensity "of a real live emotional teenager?"  Now that I read THE ATLANTIC, THE NEW YORKER, and TRANSCENDENT SPECULATION ON THE APPARENT DELIBERATENESS IN THE FATE OF THE INDIVIDUAL, I really don't have the feelings I used to have.

Much like the books on my shelf remind me what I have read, my records remind me what I have felt.  And so I drink whiskey and I listen to My Chemical Romance and I remember the way I felt in the mornings when I watched MTV2 or Fuse before I rode a recumbant bicycle I found rusting away on the beach to the bus stop, which was one bus stop away from one of my besties who would then let me share one of her iPod ear buds to listen to The Unicorns or Le Tigre.  Or I drink rum and listen to The Thermals and remember how I felt when I lived in Austin and listened exclusively to pop-punk with my 30 something besty with one testy and told some strange girl who asked me to dance to fuck off cuz I was putting Shellac on the juke box.  And/or when I drink gin and listen to Dan Deacon I remember the way I felt when besty and I sang "Free Fallin'" at Karaoke in San Francisco and got so many phone numbers from so many honeys.

This is derivative of the feelings I mentioned in my last post.  But the way I drink is derivative of the way I drank.

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