I got the news that Zabeg died today. I don’t even know what to say or how I feel. It wasn’t real until I called my mom to tell her, and then I just started crying and couldn’t stop. Why Zabeg? I loved him. I can’t even imagine what Emily’s going through. The worst bit was knowing that he suffered. I don’t know. I’m not forming coherent thoughts right now.
I just downloaded the iTunes LP of Crash Love and fell in love with AFI all over again. I went to the “Despair Faction” section. Clicked the link, and was met with a huge long list of names, places, and join dates. I looked for myself. First under “Shinjini” and then my real name.
“Eric. M Watertown 2006″
I don’t know where they got this name, but this is why I’m a fan. Even when I’ve matured far beyond where I was when I first started listening. I keep coming back because they actually appreciate me and care that I’m there supporting them.
I love this band.
So, Crash Love. Being released this coming Tuesday! God, I don’t think I’ve had this strong an emotional reaction to an album since I bought Station To Station at the beginning of the summer (and before that, Innuendo a couple of years back). Honestly, this album makes me want to burst into tears. I’m going to be honest. I’ve drifted from AFI over the years, but I keep coming back. The connection I felt to Decemberunderground and Sing The Sorrow is long gone, outgrown, and recently I’ve been listening to Shut Your Mouth And Open Your Eyes. I’m someone who often says, “The Art of Drowning saved my life.” I’m now saying that Crash Love is some of their finest work to date. Lyrically, Davey expresses his opinions on the society (like it or not) he has become a part of with poetic honesty. Hunter and Adam are as good as ever, Jade has definitely been practising—he’s playing within his means. Davey is the one who truly shines, though. Until now, he has always been the most loved, but weakest member of the band. His vocals have improved dramatically. He’s singing in his range these days, and it seems that he’s finally found his voice. It’s beautiful. Every time I listen, I find something new I love. I guess I’m lucky in that I’ve matured in the same way the guys have. Crash Love is nowhere near what I expected, or even wanted from AFI. But, somehow, it’s exactly what I needed from them at this point in my life. This album is going to break into the mainstream even more than Decemberunderground did, but these guys have been working hard at this for 18 years and with this album, they truly deserve it.
Track Listing
1. Torch Song – 10/10. This song is the epic track of all epicness. The opening guitar on this made my jaw drop, literally.
2. Beautiful Thieves – 8/10. I hated this song at first, but recently I can’t stop listening to it. It’s catchy and dark. The chorus has been stuck in my head since the album started streaming on Myspace.
3. End Transmission – 10/10. Easily the best track on the album. This song reminded me why I love AFI. While I’m convinced it’s about blow jobs while driving, it’s put so beautifully that I can’t get over it. I cried the first time I heard this song.
4. Too Shy To Scream – 4/10. It’s a catchy song, but that’s all it is. Nothing about this grabbed me, and its place following End Transmission does nothing to show its own merits.
5. Veronica Sawyer Smokes – 7/10. This was probably the biggest disappointment of the album. Everyone was so excited about it, and it’s a fantastic song, but it sounds like it could have been written by The Cure or The Smiths. There’s nothing in it that makes it uniquely AFI. But there’s an awesome guitar solo in it which makes up for that.
6. Okay, I Feel Better Now – 9/10. I’m having a hard time writing about this without the lyrics in front of me, but the closest comparison I can find is The Interview in Decemberunderground. This is the track that should have followed End Transmission. It’s wasted where it is. I guess it just spoke to my state of mind.
7. Medicate – 7/10. It’s a good single. That’s all I have to say. The too-abrupt transition to the bridge still bothers me as much as it did the first day. What was Jade thinking?
8. I Am Trying Very Hard To Be Here – 7/10. It’s catchy, and it says some much-needed things, but musically it reminds me far too much of Miss Murder. It’d make a good single.
9. Sacrilege – 9/10. A slap in the face. Woke me up after the previous two tracks. Honestly, I’m surprised more people aren’t upset about the lyrical content of this song. It brutally tears apart Christianity. A lot of people have called it the follow up to 2000′s Smile. I agree. Oh, and GUITAR SOLO.
10. Darling, I Want To Destroy You – 6/10. I really hate the use of a vocoder here. If it weren’t for the guitar, I’d give it a 3/10. The vocoder bothers me that much. However, this track includes some of Jade’s most complex and lyrical guitar work. So I can’t hate it because it reminds me why I love him so much. He knows his limits and takes his abilities and creates art.
11. Cold Hands – 9/10. The lyrics here cause me pain. Is that really what Davey thinks we think of him? It’s a lovely song, though. I haven’t listened to it enough to say much more.
12. It Was Mine – 10/10. This track is nothing short of haunting. It starts, then builds in tension until it crescendos in a soaring bridge and then trails off as a fantastic closer to the album. Everything went right on this, though the “choir” backing vocals take a few listens to get used to.
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Anyway, enough about the AFI album. I know you’re just dying to hear about my life. Fenced in an unclassified mixed tournament on Friday night. Went 4 and 2 in my pool (expected) and came in 8th in the entire tournament (unexpected). I got a by for the first round of DEs, then fenced a guy who really intimidated me at first, but then I realised he only had one attack which was a really long flick to your shoulder. Easy to parry-riposte. Won that one. My second DE, I wasn’t so lucky. Michal had been strip coaching me throughout the tournament, but I was too tired to get anything done, so I gave away 6 touches at the end and lost 15-9. When I went to sign the score sheet, my hand was shaking so badly that I could barely hold a pen. Could have won that bout. Didn’t. Got home around 11. I am now exhausted (still) and sore everywhere. Need to get in better shape. Er, that’s about it. Add the usual bitching and whining about life to the end of that. This post is getting far too long.
Here I am, once again, sitting in front of my computer, pretending to do homework, and listening to music that gives me a sore throat. Today, I stopped to listen to the mechanical click of my watch. It makes a whirring sound when you reset the timer. Sort of like a purring cat. I probably wouldn’t say so if I actually owned a cat. My mother hates my college essay. Says “it’s not bad, but the language doesn’t soar the way it usually does.” I don’t know what she means by “soar”. Eagles soar. Freddie Mercury’s voice soars (compare to Roger Taylor’s, which just sort of squeaks). My writing isn’t beautiful, just brutally honest. I think people must love it so much because I strip myself bare for everyone to see. Then they come to see Eric hurt. See Eric love. See Eric hate. See Eric care. Well, I have news for them. Somewhere between late night IM conversations and sunny Los Angeles streets, I took that Eric and I killed him. And yet, I hate the new Eric. I want to feel. I want to touch something.
I drink so much tea that it’s strange that I have yet to wax poetic about my love for the stuff. Since I am prone to malicious brevity, here are my thoughts on the subject presented in a clear, concise manner. I was going to write a sonnet, but that required too much effort. Tea is good for procrastinating. It takes at least 10 minutes to make it and another 10 minutes to drink it. And I can always say that my tea will get cold if I neglect it. Tea makes everything okay. When I’m having a bad day, I make tea with milk and enough sugar to make my teeth hurt and drink it as fast as I can without burning myself. There are many things better than a cup of chai from Starbucks. However, few of these things have played as much of a key role in bonding with friends. When it’s hot outside, tea is a good way to cool down. Whether it’s the tasteless ditch water some people call “Earl Grey” or Tetley’s British Blend (steeped for precisely 6 minutes), there is absolutely nothing better than sitting around in the dining hall at Hancock with paper cups of steaming tea, wondering how to tell when the water is boiling. Tea is excellent for all occasions.
The problem with confessions is that they’re definite. They provide a concrete answer. Keeping secrets tend to allow for hope. Hope can be ridiculous. Deep down, you know there is none, but as long as you don’t have an outright response to your confession, you can keep dreaming. it happens all the time. You get the feeling that you need to say it. Shout “I love you!” or some similar bullshit from the rooftops if you have to. But you’re too scared for too long. And when you finally work up the nerve to say it, whisper it, it’s nothing like how you imagined. It’s beyond too late. This part of the story generally ends in tears. You think, “why me?” But you go on with life, a little angrier, a little colder, a little more defeated as you watch your dreams fall through. “It’s okay,” you tell yourself, “I’m okay. I’ll survive. I always do.” But it’s not okay. You realise this when one day, a person of little consequence accuses you of it, and you want to kill him. The insinuation is light hearted and not serious, but it’s a bit too close to your wish. At this time, your thoughts are “never again” and “this is ridiculous. Get over yourself.” Late at night, when the walls are closing in, you know the truth. There’s no “off” button for human feelings. This is what alone feels like. Now all you want to scream to anyone who will listen is “fuck you for taking over my life,” but once again, you can’t find the words. This is how your world ends.
Okay. A couple of things today. First and foremost, Vita called. They re-scoped Figaro’s nose and the mass in there is nearly gone. It is not a tumour. It was probably a granuloma from repeated irritation. Fuck, yes. He doesn’t have to go to the hospital. He doesn’t have to get surgery. I squeaked when I heard the news.
Also, there’s going to be a march on Washington for GLBT rights on October 10/11. I’m probably going. Going to crash at my grandparents’ house. Let me know if you want to go as well.
School is back in session. FML. That’s the only not-awesome thing about today. The end.
I want to marry the person who has this tattoo.
I feel like I’m the only person on the internet who has not yet said anything about Senator Kennedy’s passing a few days ago. I spent the better part of today watching the funeral on CNN. I have to say, for all his personal faults, he was the good guy. He worked hard to the end of his life, from the Civil Rights Act to healthcare for all, to give us the rights we enjoy today and hope to have tomorrow. The one good thing I can hope will come out of his ill-timed death is that friends and colleagues who loved him will unite to push through his last battle. He will be missed, even by those of us so young as to take his impact for granted.
Wednesday
Visited Caltech. It was pretty fantastic. They use the actual Millikan Oil Drop Experiment equipment to teach their first year physics class. Houses seem a bit like colleges at Cambridge, except a whole lot smaller. Overall, it’s basically MIT, except on the west coast. I liked it a lot, but I’m uncertain that I’ll get in because of their emphasis on “write down what you’ve done outside of school in science”. I’ve spent my entire life outside of school dedicated to equestrian pursuits. Oh well. I can dream.
Thursday
Interview and tour at Pitzer. It was pretty awful. Pitzer was as much a hippie school as it appeared to be and my interview lasted a grand total of 15 minutes. Was a disaster. Didn’t like the place at all, though so it was okay. In the afternoon we went to Hollywood.
The first thing we did, was go to Grauman’s Chinese Theater, because that’s the obvious tourist-y thing to do. We looked through most of the handprints and footprints, but I only took a picture of one of them. Yes, that’s right. You’re looking at a photograph of me standing in Gregory Peck’s footprints. Who’s Gregory Peck? Shame on you for not knowing. He was only one of the greatest actors of the 20th century with his most famous role being Atticus Finch in the movie of To Kill A Mockingbird. Anyway, I laughed. He had small feet. You can’t see it in the picture, but my feet are actually bigger than his.
Our next stop was pretty obvious. If you google “David Bowie” you might chance upon this photo. So of course, being the good fanboy that I am, I made it my mission to find the big one in the floor that the award in the picture promised. For the record, you have to come out of Grauman’s, turn right, walk a 
couple of blocks, and it’s right there. Needless to say, I spent a good 10 minutes fanboying and taking pictures from every possible angle, including getting my mom to take a picture as I dorkily grinned and pointed at it. Hooray for being a tourist. Also seen that day were Big Bird and the man (or shall I say madman?) behind Sesame Street and amazing things such as Labyrinth, Jim Henson. We went in search of Audrey Hepburn for my dad, but did not find her (how could we? She’s been dead for years).
Perhaps the most exciting thing we did that day was go to Amoeba. For those who don’t know what Amoeba is (shame on you), it’s a giant music store. It’s like a warehouse, except bigger. It has more CDs, LPs, dvds, and posters than you ever thought you’d see in one place at once. It even has original LPs (not reissues) from the 70s. And best of all, they had about 8 racks devoted solely to Bowies. I died and went to heaven. It was a bit of a sensory overload and I spent a lot of time running around the place while thinking “omg omg omg”. Over an hour and $50 later, I reemerged with a 30th anniversary edition of Aladdin Sane and two posters (Queen with Freddie at Wembley and Bowie with the eyepatch) clutched in my grubby paws. I went back to the Bowie star on a pilgrimage to thank it for letting me find an album I’d coveted for months. Later in the evening we found a kebab shop that played Arabic MTV on mute while piping other Arabic music throughout the store. It was pretty fantastic.
Friday
Also known as “Harvey Mudd” day. Harvey Mudd is made of awesome. There’s no other way to describe it. We got there, the people were friendly, our tour was informative, and my interview went fantastically. At least, I think it did. I was in there for over half an hour talking with the woman. We went out for lunch, then hurried back in time to make the information session. It’s a bit like Caltech and MIT, except undergrad only and smaller. I really do hope I get in.
Saturday
On Saturday morning, the plan was to go to Mt. Wilson Observatory. So we dragged our little Yaris, huffing and puffing, all the way up the mountain, only to find that the Mt Wilson Toll Road, the only road to the observatory, was closed due to a landslide. Great. So we went all the way back to the freeway. I’ll get into driving on the freeway some other time. I didn’t drive, but it was pretty stressful navigating.
We went back to Hollywood, now armed with Wikipedia telling us exactly where to find Audrey Hepburn. I won’t post a picture of the star, since nobody probably cares about her, but on the way there we did find Bela Lugosi, the almost-star of Plan 9 From Outer Space (one of the greatest movies ever made). 
I then searched for, and found, the Queen star exactly where Wikipedia said it would be. That’s a first. I couldn’t find it to begin with, but then I saw a group of people standing on a star and taking a picture with all their feet. It was pretty amusing. The star is quite out of the way (out by Vine street) and a couple of people walked out just to take a picture of it and then immediately went back toward the rest of Hollywood. This confirms my suspicion. Queen secretly rules the world.
Later in the afternoon, we decided to take public transport (we’d found parking in Hollywood for $10 all day and didn’t want to move the car for fear of having to pay more) to Venice Beach. Now, anybody who’s been to Venice Beach can probably tell you that it’s a pain in the ass to get there from Hollywood. So we had the bright idea of taking the train/bus to Santa Monica Beach and then walking over. If you didn’t know, it’s an hour and a half walk. Oh well. At least it was relatively cool out there and we saw some pretty interesting people, including a guy with a giant conga drum, passing us on old fashioned roller skates while moving to the rhythm that he was tapping out. It’s hard to tell where Santa Monica becomes Venice, but we suddenly saw what was basically a hippie market. I looked up. There was a rainbow sign proclaiming “Venice Beach” in bright cheerful letters. We’d found it. We spent the rest of the day wandering around there until it came time to return the car at the airport and come home.
The End.
He looks prettier than you in a skirt. And he’s in love with his car.
Happy 60th birthday, Mr. Taylor!
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