Hoping that an Unknown Force Can Repair Things for You

I apologize for abandoning you, oh precious baby child for so long. But I've been turning tricks on the dirty streets so you can get the education that Mama never got, so you can understand, right? Don't fret, you won't become a rotten product of negligence. And that's more than I can say about my summer homework! Anywhore, on with the posting.

While we're obviously hopelessly enamored with MGMT, we also harbor other music-al addictions(FOR REAL, THERE'S MORE?) underneath the covers. One of which includes the beautifully orchestrated sounds of Arcade Fire. I've been religiously injecting my veins with their music since 2006 and I don't plan on stopping. I'm a fiend, it's true. To further feed my habit, they came out with a new album yesterday that my fellow fiend and I have been pining for since news of its creation was released. Fittingly enough, it was Becca who texted me, spreading the wealth. I think this is the only exception to the rule that fiends should never be friends. She pre-ordered her copy once again (a role model for the young 'uns; she's probably going to single-handedly save the record industry and maybe THE WORLD) but I opted to wait. See instead of going under the bridge to get my fix, I like to walk into my Best Buy (real record stores scare me) with the fleeting thrill of the hunt and get my heavy, dirty hands on (rotten fruit at last) the cd. Also, my ass is cheap (wham! the double-entendre(chill, I took French)).

So I awoke Tuesday morning with a smile for a change, knowing that I was going to be flooded with new music I could count on. But later that day, old Papabear came home in a mood and waved off my request citing that ''nothing was going to happen to the CD overnight''. I was upset, and the music-hungry beast within me growled, its prey stealthily snatched away. But my mom, forever my saving grace drove my whiny-ass to the store today. Now. I was promised eight different covers to choose from, but how many were available at BitchBuy? ONE. Was it the beautiful official cover? OH NO. I reasoned with myself and figured that I couldn't force my sweet mom to drive me around the city in search of my preferred cover. So I half(assed)-heartedly made my way to the car after purchasing my copy of "The Suburbs"(a pleasant surprise: it was advertised as $13.99, but I was only charged $9.99; similar to my "Congratulations" purchase where I expected to pay $14.99, but only had to hand over $7.99).

Prepared to sulk in my material-infused melancholy, the beautiful cosmic fates of the universe hushed me when title track of the very CD I had just purchased began to play on 91.7 when I got back in the car. If that wasn't enough to shake me from my selfish funk, I also saw the Slurpee truck/ stand on our way home. The likelihood of it being the same Slurpee truck that was parked in front of the House of Blues at the MGMT concert is slim, but it lifted my spirits all the same. I felt like both of these forces were telling me to suck it up because it's about the music, man. Ya know?

This is my somewhat dismal cover...


but I'm moving past the feeling. Look, Becca, I DO possess this "Snipping tool'!
Also. Go buy this. NOW.

Mass Adulation - Not So Funny?

I apologize for neglecting our precious blog for too long! I really have no excuse other than that I wasn't in the mood for writing. I had a few days off from work and my room desperately needed my attention, so at the prodding of my blogger, I cleaned it out. Completely.

Like really.

During this successful attempt at being organized (about time, too), I made the decision to frame all of the photos that Steph took at the concert and put them up on my wall. I knew that this could either turn out to be something that I loved looking at everyday OR a constant reminder of what could have been. The good news? It's surprisingly not the latter.


My mom kindly agreed to accompany me to our Wal-Mart (classy) after I picked her up from work one day to buy my picture frame. I didn't want my seven favorite pictures to hang separately, because both I AND good ol' Ben Franklin know that things just don't work best that way. I opted for a lovely wooden frame that holds eight pictures for the everyday low price of $12. I then went home to eagerly install both the pictures and my lovely House of Blues brochure with sweet little Ben Goldwasser's signature on it (thanks, Steph!) Do I really even need to explain further? It adds an unmeasurable amount of character to my room.




Please excuse the flash delirium, I'm not too skilled with the camera.

Look Down From Your Temple

For reasons known only by the blessed gods of music and the cosmic fates, I stumbled across MGMT early on, just as they were on the cusp of mainstream success. I had heard some of their songs surprisingly enough through YouTube and thought I would buy their debut album on a whim. It also didn't hurt that Andrew (ever so) slightly resembled another obessesion of mine: Joseph Gordon-Levitt; at least on the "Oracular Spectacular" cover. And of course we know this blog became a product of that 'whim' approximately two and a half years later.

Maybe it's because we ourselves don't possess an inkling of musical talent ( I'm speaking for both my comrade and I, but she could be hiding an operatic voice from me) that we treasure music as dearly as we do. We are as possessive of our favorite bands as we are possessed by their sweet sounds. And as of late, this possession has become ever more prominent (like sweet little Ezra's nose; thanks crack cocaine!) and developed into the dreaded seventh sin : SNOBBERY. It might be the seventeenth, I wouldn't know because my Bible is in Spanish.

While reminiscing tonight over past farewells in old autograph books and successfully avoiding any real contact with the outside world on a Saturday afternoon, my fellow good time girl and I found lyrics we had written in the margins and almost religiously over any blank space. They included some good ol' RedHotChiliPeppers and Arcade Fire tunes, but also words from "Time to Pretend" and "Electric Feel". This was in 2008. We were 14. I don't want to toot our own horns (partially because I played the flute) , but if we have grown to cherish other MGMT songs of more substance (not to say that we DON'T cherish the hits!), I'm not exactly going to bond with your stripper ass over these TWO(techincally SIX) YEAR OLD songs that you just learned the words to. Or commend your taste in music when you reccommend 'Kids' to me. Or smile endearingly at your tye-dye headband. SORRY. You're a little late in this game already and you don't even have the decency to listen to "Congratulations"? My lip can't curl in disgust fast enough at the thought of it. Do you know what SHAME is?

It was these recent occurences that left a dead weight in my stomach and I came to realize that after I left my cocoon of music-sharing bliss with a few selected souls, I have emerged a secret, sinister snob. On the other hand, I'm fairly certain I'm one of the kids that other snobs look down upon because I don't listen to their precious OBSCURE and INDIE bands, much less call bands 'INDIE'; which MGMT is NOT. That's just poor anti-hipster taste. But now I'm just rambling.

P.(M).S - ETERNAL thanks to all three followers who are reading. Please don't think I survive off of a haterade liquid diet; I actually love food(sorry hipstahs), especially that of the dessert variety and I do have love and appreciation deep within me that I will share in a later post, SOON.

Endless Form, Endless Time

Sadly, this blog has helped me realize a lot about myself. I don't want you readers to think that we overuse the word "obsession" for lack of a better, less intense synonym; when I say obsession, dictionary.com's definition does a really swell job of capturing our state of being:

"Obsession- n. The domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc."

Persistent desire? I could think of quite a few, but I'll, well...spare you. But don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. (Kathryn Bielamowicz?) If you've seen Andrew or Ben (my two personal faves), you'll understand exactly where I'm coming from.

Like all good things in my life, I can pretty much trace most of my memorable middle and high school happenings to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They were my very first obsession, and thank God they came my way by chance: six months prior, I was stuck with mixes that I had made that included artists like the Black Eyed Peas, Chamillionaire, and A.F.I. Yes, all on the same CD. It was by a stroke of luck that led me to discover both them and my co-blogger; we had known each other for almost two years but had rarely spoken until we found out that we had both freshly fallen in love with RHCP. Instead of spending the summers of our youth outside playing on playgrounds, with animals or digging up worms, we were passing by humid Texas days in the comfort of our air-conditioned rooms firing links back and forth on AIM with "RARE RHCP INTERVIEW CIRCA 1985" in the title bar. (Thanks to AIM, we're great typists and have a decent command of English grammar. We even know the difference between the English and French spelling of center). I assure you, either of us could tell you almost anything you ever wanted to know about RHCP, and where one of us lacks, the other picks up the slack. (Slack and lacks have the same 5 letters! Who KNEW?) I just finished Anthony Kiedis's autobiography poignantly entitled "Scar Tissue" for the 6th time on the way back from L.A., and I'm sure Ms. Estephanie's read count is up there, too. So okay, maybe we have obsessive personalities, but I really don't think that they've adversely affected our lives; our grades haven't suffered (although our social lives most definitely have), and I feel like because of them, we have a widened musical knowledge and an appreciation for different artists.

Going to L.A. was an absolute dream come true. It was my equivalent of a kid going to Disneyland for the first time (I did happen to go; they have amazing ice cream, and I even saw Ariel!). There has to be something to a city that continues to be the focal point of so many songs and movies and still stands strong as the quintessential representation of 21st century Americana. I did the expected: I walked down Hollywood Boulevard and the Hollywood Walk of Fame, I walked, but didn't shop, on Rodeo Drive, visited Sunset Boulevard, and went to Venice Beach. I had previously made a list of all of the seemingly pointless places that only a dedicated RHCP fan would understand the significance behind, and was lucky enough to find most of them.

Before I left, I asked Ms. Co-Blogger here if she had any special places that she was yearning for me to visit for her. After pulling her beloved copy of "Scar Tissue" out of the cozy sweater that it lays dormant in when it's not being read, she told me that she wanted me to visit both Echo Park and the Greek Theatre. Echo Park has a RHCP significance as does the Greek Theatre, but the latter now more closely relates to our blog. MGMT will be playing there in a few weeks, and she wanted me to see if a poster or some other type of memorabilia was there for the taking. There wasn't, but here's what I did find, Steph:





The Red Hot Chili Peppers played here on their rise to fame, and now MGMT will be playing here on July 16. Our two favorite bands, just a few years apart. I'd say we've come full circle.

You Got The Goods So Baby Won't You Flaunt It

We wear our cherished "Congratulations" custom coins around our necks and our young, music-filled hearts on our sleeves. And yeah, we maintain a blog devoted to MGMT. It's no secret that we have a love matched by none for the band. It also shouldn't come as a surprise that our eyes and ears are always peeled for anything related to MGMT be they mentions by other bands, notes on Subway glass counters, or in this case artwork.

Before I present the picture, I have some 'splanin' to do. I keep talking about my aunts(specifically two of them), but I've never really distinguished them. My comrade in weekend-warring can actually attest to the fact that I rarely mention any other members of my family in day-to-day conversations. The eldest of the two is only in her mid-twenties(don't fight it, just ACCEPT it dawg!) and the subject of this post. Now, contrary to my pigmentation and popular belief, I AM Mexican. My accent is forever lost at sea (because I can't swim) and I glow in the dark. But I assure you that what I lack in color, I make up for in Latin SPICE and SOUL.

Bearing this in mind, my aunt Paula ...to put it (somewhat) mildly, exemplifies a modern-day Latina fabulous stereotype. In other words, bat-shit crazy, but incredibly lovable all the same. Her clothes and hair speak (or rather scream) for themselves,mirroring her loud-and-proud attitude. And why should her nails be an exemption? Month after month she extends her hand to show off the latest creation concocted by her favorite Chinese nail-artist who's managed to satisfy my aunt not only with basic color-blocks, but with a plethora of 'peacock-ing' patterns. Needless to say, the color schemes make sense only to her and leave the rest of us dumb-founded; each time, I find it harder and harder to keep my laughter within me.

This month however, I giggled with the purest of joy:



















Tell me you don't see the resemblence in the wave. But maybe I'm out of it too. You may now bask in complete bafflement.

Communication-Easy As The Ocean

Estephanie's phone doesn't understand the whole concept of limited texts so naturally, it stores every single one sent and recieved. Whilst looking back upon them at four in the morning trying to cure her insomnia, she found these gems. ENJOY.

March 24, 2010
In response to Estephanie's text notifying of the blessed "Congratulations" leak:

10:42:00pm
OMG OMG OMG OMG. Do i sign up to get it on my itunes?

10:46:00pm
I've only listened to two songs, but i love it!

March 25, 2010

7:23:00am
i preordered my album!

In response to Estephanie's incredulity:
4:02:00pm
I know, but it comes with a limited ed. Scratch-off cd cover...with a special coin!

8:14:00pm
i don't like congratulations as much as oracular spectacular

-Estephanie thinks it's safe to say the times and thoughts on this album have a-changed or else the purpose of this blog would be woefully defeated. Estephanie was just as skeptical about the album but has grown to hold it dear to her heart.
And I now realize that instead of impersonating Rebecca, I sound like a dumbass talking in third person.

I Can Stand By My Pillar of Hope

I'm seven years older than my sister and nine from my brother; it's no secret that my arrival was a mistake. But that's cool, I guess, being a product of love. It's sort of ironic too though, seeing as sometimes I'm sure their maturity outweighs mine(and with my brother, my intelligence can also be put on the line). I also don't understand the whole concept of "responsibility". However, one duty that I readily and wholeheartedly accepted as the eldest was controling the sound waves during the dreaded journeys to school and the joyous journeys from school.

I wish I could say that the radio played a part in our traveling soundtrack, but the state of Dallas radio is just too depressing to even mess with. Therefore the morning and afternoon's sounds were determined by which albums were out or the season. While "Blood Sugar Sex Magik" is my go-to autumn album(don't worry, I say "fall". I just appreciate an apt alliteration), it's not too family friendly. Bearing this in mind, I realized my choices were going to be limited this school year. I needed something to refresh me and break me out of my groggy morning daze but that could also simultaneously comfort me after a grueling eight hours of textbook torture. If teachers understood the importance of balance between work and play, I easily could have had the time to create the perfect mix, but I had no such luck. It was then that I hestitantly held the door open for my summer sounds. I know, it was treason; fall was crisp and cold, while summer was a sultry haze. But I knew that MGMT's "Oracular Spectacular" and VW's "Vampire "Weekend" could overcome the seasonal shifts.

"Contra" also made the rounds in my Chevy when it first came out, but it was "Congratulations" that made a home for itself in the cd crevice since its debut in April. Now, I realize that playing my music for kids as young as my siblings could be misconstrued as some sort of brain-washing, but I wasn't going to put up with Selena Gomez or any other DisneyChannelflavor-of-the-day-pop-bullshit either. I know my early ventures down the music pathway were misguided(Ashley Simpson and Hilary Duff), but some shining bright light of hope gave me a firm slap in the face, opening my ears and guiding me in the direction of truth(I'm sorry, I love me some "Siberian Breaks". It was some twist of fate when I first heard "Universally Speaking" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers in my grandma's PT Cruiser; it was my rebel/riot grrl aunt and her gang of then-punks who showed me this light and sparked my curiosity. Most of my music-al education from then on was done on my own (Vampire Weekend was actually my co-blogger's influence) and I just wanted to help my sibs out. I guess it WAS some form of subliminal messaging, but I never really knew they were listening.

Then a couple days ago, while on a car ride to a baby shower, I plugged my earphones in to drown out a different aunt's tales of dance-club terrors. I skipped through song after song, completely missing the point of the shuffle option on my iPod, until I reached "Brian Eno". I was silently jamming in a spastic but seated jig, when the chorus arrived and turned, awestruck, to watch my sister chiming in with "What does he know?!" And in that single moment, my faith in tomorrow's (younger) youth was restored.

Sidenote- Yeah, I realize I have a problem with length(feel free to insert a "that's what she said" or another comment that's stuck in the gutter). TAKS was torture.

People Endeavor to Make It a Story

I'm so happy to be lucky enough to experience something MGMT related almost every day of my life. Perhaps it's because I find myself thinking about them all of the time, or maybe it's because I'm destined to because somebody knows that my life would be otherwise void of excitement. Either way, it brings me great joy to divulge various anecdotes to all three of our followers (as of NOW. Just all of you wait. You'll be the start of something great, I'm sure!). Now that you've had a nice little introduction, I'll finally get to the story.


I know that I've previously mentioned that I work, but I never quite mentioned what I actually do for a living. As exciting as it would be to be a stripper or whore myself out on the streets, that story wouldn't really follow along with the whole "not having a life" spiel that you people have gotten to know me by. I admit, it sure would be fun to live every day beating the odds of catching a deadly STD, but I've just accepted that I can't be the fortunate person to lead that life. But what I DO do (gotta love the imperative!) is make snow cones for people during unbearably hot, summer days. Thanks to our loyal customers who love it how we make it, we've been dubbed the honorable title of "The Crack House". The title may be more fitting than you think: we don't have a visible sign anywhere on the property advertising that we sell snow cones, we always have a sea of people standing out front...and the kicker? People are always coming to the back door to buy block ice. For someone who didn't know, I would think that we were selling crack, too. But it turns out we received the name because our snow cones were just so tasty (tastey, for my co-blogger...and Fergie).

I'm giving you all of this background information just in case it becomes relevant again in another post of mine, and to make this one somewhat easier to relate to and understand. And because I am trying to draw out my otherwise brief tale.

So, while working diligently through dinner the other night at work, a man came up a few hours shy of closing to fend off his after dinner sweet tooth. Like I said, my co-blogger here is quite clever; she suggested putting the scratch-off coin that was included in the limited edition release of "Congratulations" on a chain to make into a necklace. If it weren't for her, it would still be sitting in my closet gathering dust. Anyway, I was wearing my necklace and the man asked me about it.

"I want a large Banana Cream with extra cream. Hey, do you know what your necklace means?"

"...What? Oh, uh, well, it's a long story. You see, my favorite band..."
Of course, I proceeded to explain its significance. Its significance to me, at least. And needless to say, I artlessly explained and stuttered worse than Kristen Stewart would while drunk.

After the poor man listened to me painfully butcher all of my words (I've had such a hard time interacting with people I don't know recently. I've honestly been sounding like I have a touch of mental retardation, especially when I'm put on the spot like I that!), he was like:

"Oh, well, my mother wears those symbols all of the time. They're the Chinese symbols for peace, love, and happiness!"

He was so proud when he said it all, too. I kindly awed at his knowledge and thanked him for enlightening me. I almost believed him until I looked at the necklace again that night.

So, because I've mentioned it before, I have a GoPhone, which is a synonym for the crappiest phones that AT&T can possibly get away with offering to their customers. Anyway, I tried taking a picture of my own necklace to give all of you a grassroots, organic feel, but the picture wouldn't upload to the blog. Cool right? So here's a picture I got off of the Internet just so you can see that these little caricatures AREN'T the symbols for peace, love, and happiness. Oh well, at least he tried, right?


^LOVE THE NAIL POLISH, GIRL


But really...how can you mistake those? Maybe HE'S the Kristen Stewart in this relationship.





OH P.S. I'm going to be out of town in the great City of Angles for the next week or so, so my partner (homie?) will be taking care of you all. Have fun deciphering the cryptic messages coming your way!

To Synchronize Love To The Beat Of The Show

It feels only natural that I answer the previous post with my concert experience. Plus if I write it down, I can make some coherent sense of what exactly went down that fateful summer day, since I am still having serious doubts that it even happened.
But I have only pride in my first real act of 'badass-ery' when I 'cheated' the system and accessed the fan pre-sale before the real date. It was probably some kind of fluke with the website, but that's not too important, right? Normally though, as a strict rule-follower, I would have felt terrible IF ONE: MGMT wasn't one of my favorite bands or TWO: The pre-sale didn't begin at TEN FREAKING A.M. the next day while I was conveniently at school. No sir, it was only pride and light that warmed my heart as I opened up the confirmation e-mail.
Months later, pride was replaced with anxiety. I just couldn't believe this was happening. Such was my disbelief, that I arrived at the House of Blues at precisely 4:13 pm on June 8, 2010. Needless to say, I was the first one there. But my dad as cool as he is (and knowledgeable; he warned me about this), stepped inside the restaurant with me as we waited for Elizabeth and her friends. Inside, we found about what would have been an INCREDIBLE promotion deal if my concert-mates had money(to be fair, they weren't with their dads). You had to spend $15 dollars in the restaurant or store(MGMT merch NOT included, what??) and you would be spared the heat of the outside line and unbeknownst to those outside, SKIP them and wait inside. Had I abandoned Elizabeth(I momentarily forgot about her friends), I would have been front and center and Andrew would have been talking to me when he dedicated 'Electric Feel' to the "girls in the front". But I wouldn't have had fun with the whores up there who used their stripper skills to shimmy to the front and could only screech the words to 'Time to Pretend'. No, my only regret of the day was when I finally decided to line up outside (there were a total of two other fan-a-tics in front of me). See, Matt Asti actually came outside in front of us. He was there. Walking around. I have only shame in myself and of the company I was in: no one recognized him. I knew who he was thanks to hours upon hours of listening to Congratulations with the lyric/images clutched to my chest as the cd spun in my Hello Kitty boombox(we have asserted my cool-factor) and I straightened myself out, eyes wide open in shock, but I didn't know his name. I'm awful I know, but not a soul looked up, the poor guy. I wished I had at least said something, but I was scared of losing my spot and what if it wasn't him?
When we finally ran into the venue, we settled in a good, three rows behind(in front?) of the stage. Not close enough for Andrew VanWyngarden to sweat on me, but enough to gaze adoringly and have a heart attack. I had a PRIME view of everyone. Until some height-challenged bitch(she was a nice girl when I could see directly above her) in front of me called her seven-foot(or six, I am aware of my average height) pillar-beast of a boyfriend to ruin my night. Luckily the crowd became restless during Tame Impala's set and I squeezed in for prime Andrew picture taking. Unfortunately(OR NOT) none of the other band members filled up my memory card. Tame Impala was fine, by the double-u. I might have appreciated them more if it wasn't nine thirty and my feet were giving up on me.
I quickly forgot about my pain and I was shaken from my sleepy stupor as MGMT took the stage. They were shy and tight(thank you, skinny jeans) in SOUND, I mean, ladies. Andrew politely thanked the crowd after every song, and my heart melted. Neon glow-sticks were thrown by the band and the fans. Bodies bumped(NOT humped) to the beat. Lyrics were yelled. Heads swayed like it was 1967. Weed was thrown out by Raul the black-dreaded(as in he was black and had dreadlocks) security guard. Face paint was making the rounds. It was perfect.
After we were sure the band was done, we RAN, away from the merch table, away from the crowd; we would be DAMNED if we didn't try to meet the band. We were led in the direction of truth, or, okay where the tour bus was located, and were the FIRST ones there. Will, with his new haircut was standing outside smoking, being awesome. The two boys we were with somehow maintained their composure long enough to converse with Will while Elizabeth and I stood there, catching our breath and looking mighty stupid. By the time we came to, another security guard told us to stand behind a tree, RIGHT as Ben walked out. Some super-skank friends of the HouseofBlues guys however weren't told to go away. Whatever. My anger dissipated and I unabashedly yelled "Ben! Ben! Could you?! Pictures? Ben!". I realize that he was going to come over anyways, but I wanted to be first, SORRY! He mosied on over staring at me like the fool that I was, but smiled and put his hand on my hip and I his(that electric feel). My friend, infinitely cooler, put her arm around him as if they were best friends for life and it was over in a literal flash. It was surreal.
My mind was blown for two seconds until I realized I didn't get anything signed! I sort of skipped some girls in the front to get to Ben again. I apologized to both Ben and the girls and asked him to sign my lyric sheet. Yes. I came prepared. I brought my Congratulations lyric sheet and four different colored Sharpies. Lucky for me, the girls behind me weren't as prepared and asked to borrow my pen. I say lucky because there were two other sets of girls in need of a pen, and Ben held mine for a good five minutes while I waited off to the side. When he was done he turned around and looked right me, pointing at me with my pen. That small ounce of recognition made my life. After this encounter, I glided over, once again skipping a group of girls, in a haze over to where my friend was in line, waiting for Andrew. I can't account for my lack of words when I met Andrew, I'm sorry. I felt like a kid hooked on phonics, only beginning to get used to the sound and feel of real words in my mouth. I think I stuttered out something like, "I'm back! Sorry!" to which Andrew replied,"You're back? Again? Really?" All I could do was stretch my mouth out to its fullest extent in a creepy, but grateful smile as the picture was taken. Also, if it's any consolation, I didn't touch Andrew, I just stood pathetically beside him and Ben.
Our meeting was short, but it is forever imprinted in my heart. The excitement within my gut and (lamely) soul kept me up until about six in the morning. I'm trying to preserve every second and hoping that next time when they grace my presence I'll be able to string meaningful words together and that my partner in blogging-crime will be present to ah boogie down beside me and bask in their glory.

It's Not a Joke

It all began one school night when I received a text message telling me that MGMT's new album had been leaked and was now posted on their website. Because dear old Rolling Stone had told me a few months back, I knew that their album "Congratulations" was to be released sometime in the spring of 2010. They left me waiting, and the night finally came. Ms. Co-Blogger here told me that their album had been leaked, and MGMT just decided to post it on their website for all to enjoy. It was too late for me to listen to the whole album, so I rushed into the living while trying not to wake anybody up in the house to find my mother's credit card. Don't worry! I wasn't stealing or anything, and I wrote her a little note that said I was going to pay her back. I ordered the SPECIAL LIMITED EDITION ALBUM WITH SCRATCH-OFF COVER (because yes, I still do buy ALBUMS! I'm doing the unthinkable, I know) along with the $4 LIMITED EDITION LITHOGRAPH POSTER (which was well worth its money) and slept well that night.

One day while staying after school to work on the school newspaper, I was doing something off-task and trying to postpone editing the various technical mistakes of my story that I had written when I checked my email. There I found a message. From MGMT. Telling me about their upcoming concerts. Needless to say, I freaked out and called the first two people who came to mind: my dearest co-blogger and a mutual friend, Elizabeth. After about 30 calls to each of them telling them my reason for calling and just why it was so important that they pick up their phones, Co-Blogger called me back and shared in my euphoria. I told her how the tickets for our particular city had not yet been released for the presale; as cunning as they come, she insisted that she try to buy a trio of them for the friendship triangle previously described. When I went to dinner later that night, she reported back and joyously exclaimed that she had bought the tickets for us.

The months went by, and the day of the concert finally came near. In April of this year, I tried out to be an officer on my drill team and fortunately made it. It was a long and strenuous process filled with interviews and the creation of extensive portfolios, and I couldn't have been happier...Until I found out that officer camp, a camp where the new officers learn routines and leadership skills, happened to land on the night of the concert. I didn't want to seem ungrateful for the role, but I asked my director if I could possibly leave for approximately five hours to go see my "favorite band". The response was a kind "no", and I was initially heartbroken but eventually got over it. Until the after concert texts started flooding my inbox.

After finishing up the last scheduled event for the evening at camp, it was about 12 in the morning, and I ran upstairs in the hotel to grab my phone (since they weren't permitted to be seen during the day at camp. Convenient, huh?). I about died when I saw that I had received a voicemail from Elizabeth. She had called me and let me listen in on "Song for Dan Treacy" because she knew that I could not be there. It made me smile like some crazy person and I began to furiously text the both of them.

We were on our way to get ice from the dispenser down our hallway when I got the message. When I scanned the text message and saw that it was in all caps and void of exclamation points, I knew that my partner in crime was serious. I still remember it clearly: OH MY GOD. WE MET THEM AND HAVE PICTURES. The message continued, but I don't remember the rest of it; I was too busy screaming and jumping up and down. Seriously? I hope I woke somebody up; they would have gotten a good night's sleep had I been allowed to go, so deal.

So let's do some analyzation. I didn't get to go to my favorite band's concert. Cool. Once I had gotten over not being able to go, my friends meet them and take pictures with them. Even cooler. I'm going to Los Angeles this summer, but happen to be coming 10 days before MGMT's going to be there. Epitome of cool. My mother will not permit me to go to Lollapalooza, where they will be playing for about a full hour and a half. What did I do to deserve this?

The concert was over a week ago and I still bring it up in everyday conversation to whine about my misfortune. At least Ben Goldwasser signed something for me, but it still somehow just doesn't suffice.

Mild Apprehension

If musical(as in music, not of the showtune persuasion!) soulmates were a dime-a-dozen, oh what a world that would be! Alas, such a world exists only in the heart and in other worlds where it's socially acceptable to say "alas" and not sound like an ass. But you know, it does make the search infinitely sweeter when you find yourself swaying side-to-side to the same sounds with a person you'd least expect. (Coincidentally, this is how this blog even came about!) Which is why my heart skipped an out-of-synch beat (what is rhythym?) when an older friend from church sent me a message about my GLORIOUS profile picture with one angelic Andrew VanWyngarden(a tale for another time, eager beavers.)
Naturally, he applauded my taste in "serious" music and kindly recommended bands that he thought would be up my HIPSTER alley. Not in those words, exactly, mind you. But it was implied when he replied to my note of thanks(new music? Hollah!) claiming that he didn't go to the concert because he didn't want to go through the trouble of socking teenage hipsters in the face to get to the band. I did a double-take. Me. A hipster?I'm sorry, but only the most negative of connotations came to mind. Last time I checked (through my previous extensive research(Rotten Fruit at Last's blog)), there were strict guidelines for these "hipsters", of which I, maybe, only followed two, HESITANTLY.
Droopy eyes that have yet to see the world sober? Innocent -I've only been second-hand high once, I think.
A frail-thin body that makes it edgy and fashionable to wear the shortest of shirts or dresses? Innocent-Baby, you's a whore, unless your leggings are dark enough;I don't want to see your Lady Gaga.
Bed-head that wants to fool everyone about the rough tumble you had last night?Guilty -In the summer, I am free! Except for Sundays. Hell hath no fury like an aunt embarassed for the way you look.
The Buddy Holly glasses? Innocent- If you're not Ben Goldwasser or John Frusciante or posses an inkling of talent...just, go. This one doesn't seem so bad, actually.
The nerdy/80s/okay, hipster kicks. You know, the oxfords, or the ridiculous gender- bending boots? Guilty -I love them and I don't know why. They're so ugly, they're beautiful. Like models, and maybe hipsters themselves!
A raging social life? -How I wish I was guilty!
I don't know. I like rompers and messenger bags and Ray Bans and high-wasited dresses/shorts/skirts and weed(just kidding!). But I don't know anyone who wouldn't ironically call themselves hipsters. There's dressing like a cool cat(it's pretentious, but I still respect you..) and then there's not having a personality and stupidly calling yourself an indie-kid.
While he didn't correct me, I was still honored when he said he was "impressed by [my] taste [in music], especially for [my] age" considering most people he knew didn't develop a good sense of hearing until their college years(where he's at. I realize now that he sounds like an aging creep; he's not, so no fears!) Should I be offended? I'm not sure. But I do know that I will most definitely take up his music-al suggestions during the dry spell as I await Arcade Fire's return in August and MGMT's in about two years.
-I apologize for the length, but I thought it would make up for posting at three in the morn the day after I was supposed to post.

Lady Dada's Nightmare

For us, it simply doesn't suffice to obsess over a band; it usually transfers over into all other aspects of our lives. Especially today.

Back Story:

Ever since I was first introduced to MGMT roughly two years ago (by my co-blogger, naturally!), I happened to become significantly more cognisant of all of the different signs out there that informed customers of broken toilets, doors, or ketchup dispensers. Before MGMT, I had never looked past the "Please Use Other Door" to see the "Thanks, MGMT". Now, feeling like a completely different person, I started taking pictures of all of these signs with a gusto not known to many fans. I became a self-proclaimed shutterbug and used all of these pictures as my phone's wallpaper until I stumbled upon a new one. (And until my phone unfortunately died a few months ago.)

Real Story:

It all started a few days ago when I went to the local Subway near my job to pick up dinner for my aunt and I. It was there that I saw a sign posted on the glass about some coupon that they needed to be forewarned about before they could accept, and at the bottom of the page it said "Thank you MGMT". Sure, sure, it was missing a comma, but I still understood what they were saying and was dying to take a picture of it. Of course, I happened to arrive during the dinner rush and of course, there happened to be a large, creepy man to my right that was breathing down my neck, so taking the picture was out of the question. I was afraid that the employees would see me trying to take a picture of their lunch meats or something, so I just accepted the fact that there would be one less picture in my MGMT wallpaper collection.

A few days later, I arrived back at the same Subway and found myself quite lucky: no one was in line! As the unconcerned employees ignored me and giggled as they carved their names into a piece of cheddar cheese (not kidding), I enthusiastically pulled out my phone and made sure that I turned my phone volume down all the way. I channeled the cunning Nancy Drew and proceeded to snap a picture; all was well until about .2 seconds later when I heard my phone make a blaring noise, the pathetic attempt of a GoPhone trying to imitate a camera's shutter sound. Sure, I felt incredibly stupid and tried to act like I had no idea what my phone just did, and the employees just looked at me like I was a little insane. On a positive note, I got their attention and continued on in my journey in sandwich making.


Why This Is Relevant:
See, now that you've done all of this reading, you get a reward! Here's the picture I snapped. I might have suffered from an unbearable amount of humiliation, but it was definitely worth it. Note the chicken, roast beef, and salami in the background.

There's No Secret to Decode

We don't know what we're doing. Straight up. But as lame as this sounds, there's a beauty to that, I guess. Despite all of the frowns that the internet and social networking bring to the artists we admire, we can't help but feel the need to share our love. For music, specifically. The unadulterated joy that a simple sound, a beat, can create in the pit of our young souls is too real, yet too ethereal, to just share with one another over hazy hour-long phone conversations. I'm hoping this blog can grow (but that we never have to; you'll soon discover my Peter Pan state of mind) into something more than just a love note to MGMT and be used as a creative outlet of sorts. Maybe, in this way, together, we can discover the realms of the music that connects us, telepathically and emotionally.

Holler back if it's two a.m. and you're reading this because you also don't know what a real life is!

-It's always working.

Is This Working?

As much as we love our granola company that's still in its rudimentary stages of development, our primary purpose for starting this blog was to celebrate the telepathic friendship that my co-blogger and I have worked so hard to maintain for these past three years! We have shared our love over such bands as the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but we're here to dedicate this blog to our new favorite band: MGMT. Sure, it's expected that teenage girls be obsessed with a band with some really hot men in it, but we've realized that it's "way more than that". Bear with us as we recount the old (and divulge the new!) tales of our obsession and share with you the events (concerning MGMT) that have left a mark in our young lives.



So why are YOU reading this? Don't worry, we don't have lives either.