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Monthly Archives: April 2012

Pink Fuzzy Animals? Really?

Disclaimer: What you’re about to read is my opinion, and therefore, it may differ from yours. However, I don’t claim to be speaking the truth, just voicing what’s inside of me. Feel free to agree or disagree on the comment section below. I’ll reply to every single one of them.

Remember when I talked about the confusion it was going on about a band’s name? Well, today I woke up to an even more unsettling news. The band’s name is now Pink Fuzzy Animals.

I’ll give you time to process the information.

Good? Can we keep going? Okay, so here’s my opinion: No, just, no. I have no idea what’s going on in their minds at the moment, but that name is just a no. The first thing that came to mind was “How can I tell people I’m going to a concert to see the Pink Fuzzy Animals play and keep a straight face?” There’s no way. Plus, it sounds like a band for children, don’t you think? Like Yo Gabba Gabba or The Fresh Beat Band. Actually, The Fresh Beat Band sounds more grown up than Pink Fuzzy Animals, in my opinion.

What were they going for with this? What does the name mean to them? Is this just an attempt to keep the fans interested in them? Do they really think that because most of their fans are females that we all like fuzzy and pink things?

First of all, I’m a girl who doesn’t buy pink. I just don’t. I’m not into pink and I never was. I do own a couple of things that are pink, but because they were given to me by someone, not because I bought them. I hate when I find something I like and they only have it in pink. To me, it’s demeaning to assume all girls like pink. We don’t. And that doesn’t make me any less feminine. I’m more of a red kind of girl.

Second, do they actually think a guy who has never heard of the band will actually want to go to a concert to hear a band called Pink Fuzzy Animals? I mean, I don’t want to have to say to people, “Ignore the name and give the band a chance because they have a great sound.” We shouldn’t have to say things like that.

Finally, although a rose by any other name would still carry the same scent, I do believe that a name says a lot about the thing it is naming. Pink Fuzzy Animals does not evoke Rock’n’Roll. Pink and Fuzzy remind me of toys 3-year-old girls like to play with.

P.S.: I still love their sound. I guess I just need time to get used to the new name. Maybe I’m in a cough syrup induced coma/hallucination and when I wake up this will all be nothing but a crazy dream.

P.S. #2: Just saw someone saying they typed Punk Fuzzy Animals by accident. That name would have been a lot better. I think.

Update: Regardless of my feelings for the new name, the band is still as awesome as it was before. As long as they continue to make good music, I’ll continue to listen to and support them.

Here’s their new single Shooting Star. Enjoy.

Update #2: The more I think about this whole thing, the more disappointed I am. I cannot believe they took the site down and that the twitter account was simply changed to something else. It’s like wanting to erase someone’s memory. The band did exist, they have a history, they have fans.

 
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Posted by on April 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

The book that’s like laughing at a funeral.

After months of waiting, it’s finally here. Today my copy of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir) by Jenny Lawson finally arrived. I pre-ordered it back in November and it seems like forever since that happened. It was released on April 18, and today I got it in the mail. Awesome!

Later I’ll do a review on the book, after I read it, of course. But for now, I want to let you with something to look forward to, so I’m going to copy something from the back flap about the book and its author. I’m sure this is okay, since it’s not from the inside of the book. Besides, it’s all in her blog for all to see anyway. Here it is:

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened is a poignantly disturbing yet darkly hysterical tome for every intellectual misfit who thought they were the only ones to think the things that Lawson dares to say out loud. Like laughing at a funeral, this book is both irreverent and impossible to hold back once you get started.

Known for her sardonic wit and her hysterically skewed outlook on life, Jenny Lawson has made millions of people question their own sanity, as they found themselves admitting that they, too, often wondered why Jesus wasn’t classified as a zombie, or laughed to the point of bladder failure when she accidentally forgot that she had mailed herself a cobra. Lawson’s blog (TheBloggess.com) is award-winning and extremely popular, and she is considered one of the funniest writers of our generation by at least three or four people.

Now, tell me, aren’t you at least a bit curious? Or are you one of those, like me, who already bought your own copy of her book?

 

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The Hunger Games – Mich’s review

Ever since I posted my review on this book I’ve been searching around for other reviews. I even talked about a really good one I read and re-blogged a post about the whole dystopian trend. Then I thought people would get tired of reading my posts if I started posting links to other blogger’s reviews, so I stopped. But today Mich posted hers, so I just had to share this with you.

Now I’ll stop. Probably. Unless you want me to talk about the movie. I’m thinking about writing a movie review. We’ll see.

 

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Are you willing?

Dying? Dying is easy. I welcome death. Death is nothing to be fearful of. Torture. Torture is what you should be afraid of.

Being marked. Scarred. Cut. Torn apart. Destroyed in every possible way. Day after day. Hour after hour. Minute after minute. Knowing the end will never come.

Are you willing? Are you willing to be tortured until the only thing left in you is pain?

From an idea stirring in my head. A new seed has been planted. Now we must let it grow and transform itself in what it’s supposed to become.

 

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I’m like a superhero and I didn’t know it.

My mom always made fun of me saying I liked to suffer because I would wait for a headache to get stronger before taking any medication. She thought I should take something right away, but I always thought I should try other things first. What if it was because I was tired? Or hungry? Or because of my period? So I always waited until it was obvious I needed to do something. The reason for that was that our bodies get used to medication, and soon you need a stronger dose to have the same effect. I didn’t like that.

But one day, at work, my headache was getting too strong, so I took the medicine I had in my purse. I didn’t work. A colleague gave me something else, some other headache medicine. It also didn’t work. After trying quite a few different ones, with all having no result, I finally decided to walk to a pharmacy a couple blocks away to buy something stronger. One of my colleagues offered to walk me there and I’m glad I didn’t refuse her help, because I didn’t get even half-way there and had to sit on the sidewalk, unable to keep going. I didn’t know, but I was having a migraine.

Migraines. Because the world is so much brighter when you're in pain. Literally.

The doctor said I should be glad, because my migraine usually only lasts twenty-five years. Usually. What a wonderful word; usually. As in not always, or in it could last longer. Yay, me, right? That means I only have another fifteen years to go and then I’ll be migraine free. Probably. Since I’m not usually a lucky gal, I’m not going to bet on that.

Anyway, having a migraine can differ from person to person, so here’s how mine usually go: First my senses get sharper. I hear better (even sounds others can’t) and then I feel like someone’s sticking a knife behind one of my eyeballs, trying to get my eye out of its socket. But they seem pretty inefficient, since they just keep poking and poking and my eye never falls out. Sometimes I debate whether or not I should use my fingernails to help them get the job done, but I usually end up deciding not to.

The lights bother a little. They feel like little – and when I say little I mean very sharp – daggers being shot straight into my eyes. Oh, fun. I remember having to park my car in the middle of nowhere one night just to close my eyes and wait for the medicine to work, because there was no way I could keep driving with the headlights from the other cars shooting daggers at me. And you have no idea how good you feel, sitting in a car in the middle of nowhere, crying your eyes out, hoping nothing worse happens. Fun times.

There’s usually also this pressure on the side of my head that feels like a metal compressor is trying to make my head a bit more compact. Touching my temples hurt. Not touching my temples hurt. Crying hurt. Holding the tears back hurt. Closing my eyes hurt. Keeping them open hurt. If I do nothing, my mind can’t stop thinking about the migraine, and that doesn’t help much. Trying to read is painful, plus I can’t really concentrate. Forget singing, even if it’s in your head and not out loud. Well, since your head is the center of your pain, pretty much anything involving using your head hurts. I can’t sleep, because it hurts, but being awake hurts. As you see, it’s a win-win situation. Win-win as in, no matter what I do, the migraine will always win.

One thing that helps is pressing my temples against something cold. It reduces the pain until the medicine kicks in. At least it keeps me from going insane and banging my head against the wall until I break it. Break the wall, of course, because at this point I’m pretty sure my skull is unbreakable, or it would have been already reduced to dust.

But hey, for as long as my migraine lasts, and even a little before it starts, my auditory senses are really sharp. It’s like I’m a superhero or something, since I can hear noises others can’t. The first few times people thought I was going crazy. I understand them. It’s hard to keep a straight face when the girl pressing the side of her head tells you to stop the buzzing sound and you can’t hear a thing. Now I’m used to the new sounds I hear. I just stopped telling people about them, because it certainly freaks them out. Too bad it ends with the postdrome, which is the phase after a migraine. Oh, yeah, because the migraine don’t just leave you away after it’s over, it just turns into this hangover that lasts a few days. Fun, right?

So when I feel a migraine coming, I take my pills. And the only medicine that works, at least for me, is Excedrin Migraine. Oh, and did you hear the big news? There was a recall. Excedrin Migraine is no longer being sold in the US. Well, at least for the time being. Can you guess how much I’m looking forward to my next migraine? Oh, it will be so much fun.

P.S.: I could really use that sarcasm font just about now.

 

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Because you don’t have to burn books if the world starts to fill up with nonreaders, nonlearners, nonknowers

I decided to read Fahrenheit 451. I got the 40th anniversary edition with a new foreword by the author, Ray Bradbury. I always liked this little glimpse to the author’s mind. Bradbury, however, gave me more than I would’ve expected. Here’s what he wrote:

(…) a prediction that my Fire Chief, Beatty, made in 1953, halfway through my book. It had to do with books being burned without matches or fire. Because you don’t have to burn books, do you, if the world starts to fill up with nonreaders, nonlearners, nonknowers? If the world wide-screen-basketballs and -footballs itself to drown in MTV, no Beattys are needed to ignite the kerosene or hunt the reader. If the primary grades suffer meltdown and vanish through the cracks and ventilators of the schoolroom, who, after a while, will know or care?

All is not lost, of course. There is still time if we judge teachers, students, and parents, hold them accountable on the same scale, if we truly test teachers, students, and parents, if we make everyone responsible for quality, if we insure that by the end of its sixth year every child in every country can live in libraries to learn almost by osmosis, then our drug, street-gang, rape, and murder scores will suffer themselves near zero. But the Fire Chief, in mid-novel, says it all, predicting the one-minute TV commercial with three images per second and no respite from the bombardment. Listen to him, know what he says, then go sit with your child, open a book, and turn the page.

I couldn’t agree more. What good is it to have books and not read them? I never understood people who say they don’t like to read. It makes no sense at all to me. It’s like saying you don’t like to breathe.

I’ve heard kids saying they don’t like to read. I can understand that. But that’s only because they haven’t found the right books yet. We all go through reading books we don’t like, but for little kids, because reading is a skill they have not yet mastered, they struggle more. They don’t know yet what genre they like, and they are not well equipped to understand all that’s in between the lines. They can only see what’s on the surface. They haven’t learned to look at a book with critical eyes and see what’s not so obvious.

Adults, however, have the skill to analyze a book, to get the hidden meaning of it, to use it as a tool to make them ponder about bigger issues. Adults have the ability to discern what they do or do not like about a book, and they understand the true value of it.

So go, grab a book and read it. Go to your local library or bookstore and get a new book. Set a goal for yourself to read a certain amount of books and do it. A book a month? A book a week? A chapter a day? It doesn’t matter. What really matters is to read something. And if you need recommendations, ask the librarian, ask the internet, ask me. There are millions of books out there just waiting to be discovered, to be devoured.

“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.” Ray Bradbury (photo courtesy of pcorreia)

 

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It’s not always easy to translate our ideas into words

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck. I can’t move forward, I can’t move back. I stare at the blank page in front of me and nothing. The words just get stuck in my head and refuse to pour down the paper from my fingertips. When that happens I usually google the internet for inspiration. I collect quotes upon quotes that can relate to my characters or the story itself. But after all the research, I feel even more lost.

I was talking to a friend about that and we decided to meet every Thursday, being that the only day we both could afford to do it, to discuss and share ideas. It certainly helps to have someone I trust listen to my ideas. Not only I get instant feedback, but it forces me to put my story into words. I feel my stories. I know them, I have them inside of me, but until they can be put into words that can reach someone else, it is as if they are just asleep. They need to be awaken to become alive.

It's not always easy to translate ideas into words.

Today my mind is full of ideas. They are buzzing inside my head. I hear them, but not clearly enough to allow my fingers to translate them into words. They fly all around, bumping into one another, trying to feed me the information, trying to make me understand, but I can’t.

If only today were Thursday…

 

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