A'ight, check it.

I don't know if I've told the blogging world this yet or not...but I Forget is scrapping everything they've done on their new album up to this point. Yes, the 8 or 10 months we've spent in the studio will only be remembered as experience and not as part of our musical catalog. However, this does not mean that Everybody Sharts will not be released in the future. Similarly, Mark brought the book Everybody Hurts back from Myrtle Beach the other day, so I now have that to finish reading and to lend to my friends. If I haven't filled you in on it before, it's a book about emo culture published in 2007 or so. It seems more outdated than that, though, since they talk about Friendster being bigger than MySpace or something. Anyway, here's a description I found online, since I'm not that great of a book or any kind of reviewer.

"What is emo? For starters it's a form of melodic, confessional, or EMOtional punk rock. But emo is more than a genre of music–it's the defining counterculture movement of the '00s. EVERYBODY HURTS is a reference book for emo, tracing its angsty roots all the way from Shakespeare to Holden Caufield to today's most popular bands.

There's nothing new about that perfect chocolate and peanut butter combination––teenagers and angst. What is new is that emo is the first cultural movement born on the internet. With the development of early social networking sites like Make Out Club (whose mission is to unite "like–minded nerds, loners, indie rockers, record collectors, video gamers, hardcore kids, and artists through friendship, music, and sometimes even love") outcast teens had a place to find each other and share their pain, their opinions, and above all, their music–which wasn't available for sale at the local record store.

Authors Leslie Simon and Trevor Kelley lead the reader through the world of emo including its ideology, music, and fashion, as well as its influences on film, television, and literature. With a healthy dose of snark and sarcasm, EVERYBODY HURTS uses diagrams, illustrations, timelines, and step–by–step instructions to help the reader successfully achieve the ultimate emo lifestyle. Or, alternately, teach him to spot an emo kid across the mall in order to mock him mercilessly."

I injured my foot recently. See, I hurt it on Thursday running in Vans for cross country practice and then yesterday, we ran 5 miles and it hurt the entire time and when I quit running, I had a limp. So we were supposed to run all the way around Rocky Gap State Park this morning, which is somewhere between 6 and 8 miles I've heard, but I can barely walk, much less run. That sucks, because I wanted to run. Also, we have a thing on Monday that kind of determines where you fall varsity vs. JV. Oh well, I won't be here to race on Thursday anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter this week. I've got blink-182 and Weezer to see instead! Let's hope that that all works out.

I seriously have not heard from Katie like all week. And I don't think it's one of those "Let's not talk to Kyle" things, because she hasn't even been online on MySpace for a few days. Makes me worry a little since she was sick earlier this week and I haven't heard from her and she lives an hour and a half away and I have no way of checking in on her well-being. Hmm. But what can you do? I choose to go on with my life and figure out what's going on when the information gets to me.

So in doing that, I went to Nick's party last night. Total sausage fest. He said there'd be girls. There weren't. He said there'd be a band. There wasn't (our bad). He said uhh...I guess that's all he really said about it other than there was a pool and there was one of those. Poor Nick. Only a couple of guys show up. Oh well, we had fun nonetheless. We swam in the poo', ate Doritos, talked about Nick's sister and mom, called bitches, watched last year's talents how DVD, talked about radical religious people, and Brittney showed up and we played all of our new songs for the people that were still there. Overall: a good, fun night.

I have a drum set at my house now. It sits about a foot from my bed. It's comforting. It's almost like having a desirable woman in your bedroom at all times. You always want to bang her. Even at the most god-forsaken hours of the night. It's Brittney's drum set, but it's got enough on it to keep me happy and satisfied until I get my own drum set back from the studio. However, we need to finish the album first. I also need a new snare head for it. Lots of shit to do and no time to do it! I promise you that this album will be worth the wait. And worth its weight...in gold.

So this week has ended up being pretty good. I wasn't so sure if I wanted to be alive or not towards the beginning of it. School starts in less than a week, so I probably won't want to be alive come Wednesday. In fact, I'll essentially be dead to the world when I have to wake up at 7 AM or so and drive to school. Lordy, lord.

JIM LEFT PENNYWISE?! Okay, week just went sour again.

love,
Kyle

PCferPC?

Fucking whores.


So I usually try to leave people be. Sure, I state my opinion a lot online and shit, but in general, I leave people to their own business as long as they leave me to mine. Well people don't like drummers very much. Especially band kids. Now if you know anything about modern-day band kids, it's no mystery to you that they 8 times out of 7 suck. For years now, they've been telling me to shut up in the band room. All this "Quit drumming. It's loud." Piccolos have the most annoying "pitch" in the fucking world. Do I say anything to them about it? No, I complain to myself. I definitely don't tell them to shut up when they're practicing or (as modern-day band kids rarely do) playing for fun. I wish the same from them. Yes, drums are loud and yes, I'm loud as well. But have some fucking respect for those who actually give a shit about their instrument and in getting better and in music.

So anyway, they've been a little better about it recently. I don't mind a "Try to play quieter," though I'd prefer them realize that I only play the drumset for as long as they warm up before rehearsal is called to order. Well today, I was playing and enjoying myself, as I almost always do when drumming (it's called artistic expression), and the band director comes in saying "This is not a rock concert," and then dubs the drum set "off limits"? Umm...do I not wake my ass up earlier and hassle my aunt to pick me up a few times a week in the morning to drive my ass to school (or staying after school a few hours) for his fucking jazz band ensemble? Am I not still in his band and contributing to making it better by not saying that I want to quit next year and complain about not getting to sit on my ass all day during band? I think I pull my weight and then some. Of all the fucking people. I know how the kids in the band bitch about him playing his trumpet in his office during random times of the year (I'd be willing to play drums in his office if need be), but I stick up for his musicianship. Then he dubs the drumset "off limits." Well how the fuck am I supposed to play in his jazz band ensemble if the drumset is "off limits"? How am I going to find empathy for him playing his instrument because he enjoys it when he's telling me that all it is is a big fucking noise maker? Way to downsize your students' creativity.

I was pissed. I was being a complete bitch about it. I wanted to tell him to find himself a new drummer right there. A simple "play quieter if you can" would have done the trick. But saying something like "the drum set is off limits" in front of the whole band? Way to make me look like an ass by playing music. I'm trying to set your example of broadening your musical abilities past what's written on the music handed out and he tells me that I'm playing as if it was a "rock concert." It wasn't even like the room was empty and it was just me playing drums loudly. It was this: all of the kids were looking over scales and their music and playing parts of it (or parts of I Forget songs, as Belle often does with her free time in band) and I was playing the drum set in the back of the room. Band teachers can be the worst.

Like middle school, I was always bitched at when playing outside of the box in the steel drum ensemble, Teal Steel. Fucking Mr. Kenser always telling me that I overcomplicate things and that I should play what I want when I play with my "rock group." What does he think I Forget is? A jam band? I know what a fucking song is and I know how to drum to one. I'm not making this Teal Steel-182. Maybe I just get sick of the same 3 beats all of the time. But granted, I really did try to do too much sometimes and I've learned since then. But now I'm not doing anything to hurt the sound of ANYONE and I'm told that I'm, essentially, doing it wrong. Eat a horse dick.



On a different note in a different key, I burn my tongue fucking always. Be it soup, pizza, pizza bites, pizza crust, a pizza store, a grill, a grilled cheese sandwich, tater tots, mashed potatoes, potato soup. You fucking name it, I've burned my tongue on it. Pizza was today's curse. Guess what I'm doing tomorrow? Staying after school to play with the jazz band and eat pizza. You'd think I'd learn.

But I'm also going to my best friend (also ex-girlfriend)'s house. She needs another guitar-playing lesson because she's sick of playing The Sweater Song. I'm so proud of her. I've not decided what she needs to learn yet, but I'm thinking about it. I want her to get to being able to play powerchords, basic major chords, minor chords, and 7s. Then she can play most any I Forget song with us. I think it's badass that we've got a 1/1 boy/girl ratio but more than 2 people. That's possibly arguable, though. Some of us are less full boys and less full girls. Belle (my best friend/ex/I Forget saxophone player during and after band) definitely counts for a whole girl. She watches Sex and the City like it's jesus's return being broadcasted live or some shit. She also worries about what she's going to wear to an I Forget show weeks and/or months in advance.

You know what's funny? I was being a bitch because I was pissed about the band director calling me out, so I told Tyler to put a bigger tear in the bottom of the snare than there already was, and he was like "No, I'm not doing that!" and then he like dropped the snare onto the stand and the stand tore a bigger hole in it anyway and now it sounds just as shitty turned on as off. We both thought it was hilarious. He said "If I have another bottom snare head, I'll bring it in," and I said, "If I have one, I won't."

love,
Kyle