Of Pressnall's, Bad Music and Anemone.

So, recently, in the newspaper, there was an article about the band Tilly and the Wall. Apparently, they played at the Granada theater in Dallas, and my Dad was reading this article and noticed something intriguing: two of the band member’s last names are Pressnall. (The newspaper spelled it Presnall, of course, because we of strange last names tend to have them slaughtered.) Now, while Pressnall is an uncommon last name, and that would be enough to connect our family to theirs, the fact that they are from Nebraska, sealed the deal. My Dad was quite interested in this, and went to genealogy websites to see how we’re related. He said that my Great Great Grandfather, John Riley Pressnall had eleven brothers and sisters, and Derek Pressnall (of Tilly and the Wall) is one of their descendants. Also, Derek Pressnall has a standard issue Pressnall Nose.

Since I like this band, (I probably would be posting it if it were some awful metal band, or something.) I find this pretty exciting. I mean, how many Pressnall’s do you know? Probably one. Me.

Speaking of awful metal bands:

Wes is going through his “liking awful music phase”. I think we all had them. I know I did. Green Day. Ahem.

Anyway, I think it started out with him getting Guitar Hero, because he would try and do that Dragonforce song on expert. He then went to the internet (a scary, metal filled place) and looked up other Dragonforce songs, and downloaded them. At first, I was vehemently against this new strain of music. Like, whenever he’d mention it, I would answer in a disdainful, condescendingly disgusted tone, and talk about how terrible they were. He usually listens to my opinions, and I figured that if I was mean enough about it, he’d stop liking it. But no. The phase persisted. More Dragonforce, Ozzy Osbourne, Michael Angelo Batio, Megadeth, and other cacophony spilled from his room. And each time I heard it, my heart sank. I’ve spent almost twelve years meticulously controlling his music taste. I didn’t want him to do what I did. But then it came to me: he needs this. He needs to be able to look back and say “I cant believe I thought that was okay!” And I guess my underlying fear is that he’ll grow up to be one of those kids who don’t shower, wear the same Pantera shirt everyday, and creep you out when you have to talk to them.

But you know what? At least it’s metal and not rap, or country. I think Wes and I grew up with so much 80’s metal, it’s ingrained in us. Every once in a while, I go and listen to UFO’s Doctor Doctor. And I genuinely like it. And that scares me a little.

But I think to myself, “What if Wes was a huge country fan?”

I would disown him:

I recently spent a week on a boat with a family who had a son that was a country music fan. Before this, I was not abhorrently against country, I simply did not like it. But I felt no sort of angry feelings towards it. However, this all changed. On the boat, there was a stereo system in which you could plug your iPod. One of the family members plugged his in, and played country music. For a long time. At first, I just dealt with it. Not wanting to insult his music taste (if someone genuinely likes bad music, it feels cruel to make fun of them for it) I politely ignored it. But eventually, I could not tolerate it anymore, and I turned it off. I can only handle so many songs about exactly the same thing, that sound exactly as bad as the one before it.

Also on this boat trip, I got stung by sea anemone. I never expected it to hurt as bad as it did. Anemone don’t really look that harmful. They just sit there in the ocean, flowing with the waves. They’re sort of like flowers of the sea. But when I tripped and my leg ran into one, causing the worst skin-pain of my life, I thought differently about them. At first, I didn’t know what had happened. I thought my leg hurt because I tripped. But no, this was a different pain. It felt like someone took a torch to my leg, and then stuck a million pins in it. And there was really nothing I could do about it. I just had to wait the pain out. I watched (in mild horror) as my leg got all bumpy, and eventually turned into strange red dots.

I’m very aware that this is my first post in months. Things have been... different around here, and I had to let some things settle themselves out.

But I actually finished a post.


Be proud.

Ok, no.

No more comments.

I don't care about your opinions.

U2 is terrible.
I don't want a shredder.
I don't care how much I "stand on the brink of fail".

No.

Just no.



This blog is really for me to let out my little rants.

Not for you to post your ignorant views.

Go get your own blog.

Things I Shouldn't Have Said # 4

"Her Dad is so cute!"

"If you would have voted for someone other than Hilary, then MAYBE I'd get you ice cream."

"I'm prejudiced against ALL underprivileged people."

"Does anyone pretend to talk on their cell phone, when they just don't want to talk to people? Because I do."

"I lock up my kids in a basement and feed them clothes."

"I think I'm going to spend all day watching bad screamo music videos and eating foods that are white or yellow."

The Wonderfully Atrocious World Of Glitter Graphics

There are certain things I find to be completely frivolous and absolutely ridiculous. One of those things is Glitter Graphics. You know the pictures or phrases with little animated “glitter” on them, that annoying people post on Myspace comments. Once I see one, I immediately lose all respect for the person who posted it. It's a surefire way to get me to not like you.

I spent a good two hours looking through Pyzam.com and looking for the absolute worst ones:

We all know those people who put way too much time and effort in to what their Myspace profile looks like. Those people are generally lonely and/or fat. So, I suppose this one is a bit useful, (if you like looking trashy) in complementing someone's “page”. However, I must ask: Why is the Playboy bunny emblazoned on it? I simply do not understand. It is pretty clearly meant for a girl to use. So, I don't really see what the message his here. Is it “I love the fact that you have too much free time and I also love how Playboy objectifies women”? I certainly hope so.

This one made me laugh. Because honestly, no one cares about anyone's blog. I don't even really care about my own blog. Seeing as how I've neglected it for two months. I'd be a terrible mother. I'd forget to feed the baby for weeks on end, and constantly wonder of it's whereabouts. Seriously. Do NOT put me in charge of a baby.

Okay, back in Fourth grade, when Neopets were cool, everyone had an icon with one of these “doll” things. Basically, it was a picture of a horribly disproportionate girl, with the “ideal” body, and you would choose from a collection of “awesome” clothes to put on her. Then you would have a little caption that would say something like “Brown eyed baby booooo <3”, or better yet, *~*^DarkFairyPrincess^*~*. They were all so bad. This one bothers me more than normal, because it conveys that the person with this is more interesting, and "strange" than you. Let me tell you this: Everyone is weird. No one is more weird than someone else. We all have our little idiosyncrasies, and habits that make us unique. Also, being goth is not being unique. It's trying to fit a stereotypical mold. And to all you aspiring scenesters: YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING THAT HASN'T BEEN DONE BEFORE. YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL. YOU'RE NOT STRANGE. YOU'RE JUST PATHETIC AND STUPID.

Now THAT'S something you want to advertise: being too ignorant to care about the future of your country. That's hot. I want people to know that the only thing I care about is getting intoxicated and listening to bad music. It's so uncool to be politically conscious.

You know what? You tell them. So what if your ass IS like whoa? They should just deal with it. Like, when you're trying to get by someone, but they won't move, just run your ass in to them. Or when you're walking by some desks, don't feel obliged to excuse yourself when you knock off everything on their desk. It's okay. Your ass is like whoa. And everyone should except it.

(North kids will think of Ms. Barat when they see this one.)

Do you WANT people to not like you. Because advertising that you are beyond high maintenance is EXACTLY what everyone wants in a potential friend. Also I have this theory, that if you say that you are something, then that is what you are. So clearly, being high maintenance is important to you, so much so that you felt like you needed a glitter graphic about it. This is clearly the impression you want to make on people: I'M A BORING ATTENTION WHORE WHO LIES ABOUT HER LIFE TO MAKE HER SELF FEEL BETTER. That's so awesome.

Oh dear. Lets go over a few things:

1)Horoscopes can be written by seventh graders. I would know.
2)Cancer is a really dumb name for an astrological sign. It's a life threatening disease. Not only that, but the sign is a crab. So us lucky early-ish June birthdays get quite a bargain.

So basically, people who believe in horoscopes are stupid. I promise. The stars don't say shit. “Fate” cannot be determined. I promise.

It was indeed a tragic accident that your negligent parents were so careless as to drop you in to a box of glitter. Not only is that a risk for concussion, it is also a choking hazard. If you ate that glitter, or perhaps inhaled it, you would have been in serious danger, aside from the head trauma. You claim to have been “shining ever since.” I believe that because of this horrible accident you may have a eyesight problem, that causes you to believe that your skin is, in fact, iridescent. In any case, I offer my greatest sympathies. As you stated, it's not your fault.

More Graphics at pYzam.com

There is clearly a lot of love to be shown here. That safety pin says it all.

Keeping it real, hmm? What is the precise meaning on the phrase “keeping it real”? Is that what you would say to someone who has fictitious qualities? Does it mean that perhaps, I do not exist? Also, why is are the beloved characters from a children's book telling me to “keep it real?” They are not real, so why are they demanding my state of reality? I guess this is too existentialist for me.

Cool Things Happen When You're Being Stupid

Okay, so this was probably the highlight of my day, which is pretty sad, really, but I guess it could be worse. Like the time where the best thing that had happened that day was getting an accidental call from this burly sounding black guy, who was asking about a Trans Am. I think that's a car. Yeah. Anyway:


I was sitting in my room, organizing my iTunes playlists, when my computer froze, because I was trying to upload the UFO CD to my computer while simultaneously making playlists, and my computer can handle so many tasks at one time. And it particularly doesn't like uploading CDs. So, I had to Force Quit iTunes, and let it start back up again. In this distraction, I noticed a bottle of Windex placed on my nightstand. Out of boredom or curiosity, I picked it up and started reading the label on it. I'm a big fan of reading labels. How else would I know that Lysol kills Type 2 Herpes? Or that Toni & Guy products are translated into 5 different languages? But then, this randomly brilliant idea pops into my head: What would happen, if I sprayed Windex on an intensely hot lightbulb? Conveniently, I have a lamp that I leave on most of the time, that has an easily accessible lightbulb. So, I sprayed it.

The effects were really, really cool.

Because I leave it on all the time, that lightbulb was scaldingly hot. And when you put not hot liquid things on hot glass things, the hot glass things break!



But this was no ordinary break. it exploded. It made a loud popping noise, and glass shards flew into the air. Then there was a lot of smoke before the lightbulb burnt out.

The even cooler thing is the fact that only two glass shards shot out. And they were perfectly shaped tear drops. No jagged edges, just two perfect holes missing from that lightbulb.

SWORDS AND TEQUILA!!

Last night, my Mom asked me to download all of her CD's to our computer, so she could put them on her iPod. She gave me 18 CD's, most of which, I don't like. Except for Cat Stevens. Anyway, This took approximately 3 hours to do, because not only does my computer not enjoy downloading CD's, I was also really distracted. This was because my Dad got new CD's and kept talking at me about them. Not that I don't respect his opinion on 80's power rock, it's just, I've heard his "Music Speech" so many times that I just stop listening now. Anyway, he acquired "Fire Down Under" by Riot, a little known metal band from the Eighties. My Dad asked me to play "Swords and Tequila". I wasn't really sure what to expect from a song with a name like thatLyrt after listening to a few of his other favorite metal songs, I came to a few conclusions:

1. It doesn't matter if you're a good guitar player or not.

As long as you have cool effects, and annoyingly high solos, no one will know.

2. Lyrics are of least importance.

It's apparently acceptable to simply yell/sing phrases that have absolutely no meaning. Case in point: Swords and Tequila

Dirty city, dirty games,
Dirty women, dirty shames.
The life that you lead,
The chance that you took.
A shadow in the night,
On the line, you're hooked.
If you see us comin',
Don't you, run the other way.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the fight.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the fight.
Wait for the night to fall,
To plan their attack.
Fightin' songs, on parade, they march.
An army in black.
Killers without a cause,
Rebels with no name.
City's gone to the underground,
Caught in a deadly game.
If you see us comin',
Don't you, run the other way.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the fight.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the fight.
And I just don't mean kickin' ass.
If you see us comin',
Don't you, run the other way.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the fight.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through the night.
Swords and tequila,
Carry me through, carry me through the fight.


I don't really what connotations swords and tequila have in this song, but like I said, it doesn't matter. Preferably, all metal songs should have the word 'night' somewhere in there. If you've got that, the rest doesn't matter. Seriously, how exactly are swords and tequila going to "carry you through the night"? I have no idea. Actually, if you explain to me the true, deep meanings of this song, you are a genius, and you will be greatly rewarded... or something.

3. Eighties Metal songs should make you feel like you need to have bigger hair, high-waisted pants, a car, and loser boyfriend.

I can just imagine it. My name would be Candice, and I'd have really high-waisted-mom-type jeans, and my bangs would be sprayed up with a least half a can of hairspray, and the rest of my hair would be permed, and in a high pony-tail pulled up with a brightly colored scrunchie thing, and I'd have light blue eyeshadow, and blue mascara, and my hair would be bleached that yellow-white color, and I'd be wearing perfectly white tennis shoes, and thick red socks. And I'd be walking down to my loser-boyfriend's car, and he'd
say something like "Hey, you ready for that cool awesome party we're going to!?!?!??!?!?" And I'd be like "Yeah, well, you'd better be ready." Because it's the eighties. Nothing you say has to make sense. You can just sit there with youre enormous hair, and be happy that you got good tickets to The Scorpions concert. I mean, there was Regean, and AIDS, and the Soviet Union, but no one really cared. It was just you, your hair, and The Scorpions.

4. There isn't allowed to be any singing.

Yelling is more acceptable form of voicing the god-awful lyrics in most metal songs. This is part of the reason why lyrics don't matter; no one can hear you.

5. Album covers don't have to have anything to do with the album.

Have you ever seen an Iron Maiden album cover? Good. Don't. It will give you nightmares. I mean, I don't really think I understand how badass cover = badass music. If I wanted to, I could take CrimeWatch, draw a zombie foaming at the mouth with blood, and a raven in the background, but every time you listen to it, it's still going to be "Year After Year", which in case you were wondering, is ACTUALLY the worst song ever written. Unless you count "Lime Flies" by nine year old Nancy. Or anything written by U2. Or My Chemical Romance.


And while, 80's Power Rock, is pretty awful, there's part of me that likes it. It's like it's been programmed into me. I guess that's what happens to kids who memorized all of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" album when they were nine.

Random Rants

1. My Brother Plays Second Life

So, this may not seem like a big deal, right? Well, it is. Second Life kind of freaks me out. I'm not really sure why, but I always get this creepy feeling in my stomach when people talk about Second Life. Not only that, but Wes is eleven. That's not very old, even though I expect him to act older. I don't know what types of people play second life, but I get this feeling people with meaningless real lives are the ones lurking around on Second Life. Also, Wes chose the “goth guy” appearance. (It's a choice on the appearance menu thing. I don't know what prompted this, but when I told him he should change it, he got all fussy at me. This Second Life business is also highly inconvenient for me, seeing as how my Dad hasn't figured out how to make the internet work in my room. So we have one computer with internet, and four people. Hopefully my Dad will break down and buy a router so that it will work anywhere in the house. But until then, I have to deal with Wes' gaming habits, which take a large chunk out of my internet time. This does not allow me to have adequate time to check facebook, gmail, and blog. Which is why this is my first post in a while. Anyway, this Second Life thing has to stop. He's got Runescape... isn't that enough? By the way, his name thing is Wesleyan Falls. On the Ridiculous-Scale this is second only to Grahamillionaire. Yes, I saw that comment from ten months ago on the A Million Ways video on YouTube. I saw that, you clever, young lad. :]

2. The “Al Pacino” Video Has Been Watched 2,036 Times

Once upon a time, while we were learning A Million Ways, we went to Samantha's Dad's house, out in the middle of nowhere. At this house, there was a dojo. I don't know why, but it was there. We thought it'd be cool to go there and refine the dance in a dojo, because... we could. And how many people have a house with an abandoned dojo? So, while at her Dad's house, we were playing Grand Theft Auto, and using laughable cheats, like the one that gives all the citizens dangerous weapons, and when you shoot them, they go insane, and everyone starts shooting everything. So there was this old lady in the game who had a machine gun, and she kept running into a wall, over and over, and then randomly turning around and shooting things. We found this quite hilarious. Later, back at Sarah's house, Gabbie started imitating the old lady. However, when she did it, it looked like Al Pacino, from Scarface. We then broke out into this argument, fueled mis-wordings, and mis-hearings, that was eventually just ten minutes of us screaming about Al Pacino... and Tim Nordwind... Luckily, we happened to film the whole thing. Being the cool people we are, we put it on YouTube. We really didn't show everyone we knew or link it anywhere. So then, while I was bored and looking at our YouTube videos, I stumble upon it, and look at it's views: TWO THOUSAND AND THIRTY SIX. Collectively, people have watched that video more times than days I've gone to school my whole life. It's really not that funny, unless you're one of us, or you know us really well. And it's pretty stupid, and pointless, yet a thousand people found it necessary to watch it. I'm simultaneously amazed and disgusted. Please don't go watch it. I'm asking you not to. It's like the summer of eighth grade. We're not cool. Especially not me.


3. Jeff Foxworthy's “You Might Be a Redneck If....” Board Game

As I believe I've already stated, I'm really not a huge fan of Jeff Foxworthy. And by that I mean, I hate him. There's something about his smirk, and his stupid head-bobbing type walk, and his perfectly shaped mustache that makes me want to remove all of his veins, and braid them. I also am not a “big fan” of redneck type humor. It just reminds me too much of my family. I would like to forget that I'm related to those people. Also, I have never found anything he has ever said to be mildly amusing. Ever. Not to mention, he hosts one of the Worst Game Shows On Television. So, when my brother opened up the Jeff Foxworthy's“You Might Be A Redneck If...” Board Game, I died a little inside. Wes and I gave each other the “I don't know what the hell this is” look, and he set it to the side, and I removed it from my memory. A few days ago, however, out of pure curiosity, I opened up the box, to see what was inside. Apparently, the goal of the game is to collect a lawnchair, a hound, and other redneck paraphernalia as you move around the board. In order to move spaces, you must correctly finish one a “You might be a redneck if...” sentences. For instace:

You might be a redneck if birds are attracted to your...

A) Yard
B) Pickup
C) Beard


The answer is C.

Another thing about this game is the box has Jeff Foxworthy's sneering, smirking face, that looks as though he's thinking “That's right, Adrienne. You can't win.” On top of all of this, the box says that it is for ages sixteen and up. I'm not even sixteen yet. I better not touch that box. Aside from the fact that I really don't ever want to have the need to.