Shake It Up.

<--- Bad dating material. But great music. It's what's getting me through right now.

There are some things that for some reason or other, slip your mind as something you like to do. They can be little things-- like painting your nails, or a specific yoga position. Or they can be big things-- like a particular smell, or a memory from childhood that when you finally do remember it, it seems like yesterday and you can't help but keep a smile off your face. It's strange how the mind works. We're so busy that we have a tendency to lose the things that keep us grounded.

Believe it or not, I was a hardcore metal/punk tween. We're talking, perpetual sneer, only wore black, refused to wear jeans as they were "conforming to The Man," studded belts and bracelets, heavy eyeliner, made-my-own-ripped-up-stitched-back-together-held-on-by-safety-pins clothing. About 5 people who read this blog can assure you, I, Miss American Eagle, Miss I-Love-ELLE-magazine, Miss I-Look-Pretty-In-Pink, am not lying to you, dear reader. I can actually trace it all back to the fact that in the tender year of fourth grade, I thought Fred Durst was the sexiest man alive. (Not surprisingly, this was also the year I started swearing.) From Bizkit, I ventured to Korn, System of a Down, Rage Against The Machine, Tool, Renholder, and all the usual suspect popular bands of the time. I branched out, with some help of some like-music-minded friends, and pretty much did a lap all over the metal world.

This was when I discovered the Deftones.

The Deftones have always been near and dear to me. But now that I'm more of an alternative-folk-rock girl with some hip-hop and R&B leanings, I kind of tend to forget that a large part of me still likes hardcore music, very much.

At the moment, I'm in the midst of trying to wrap up half-a-semester's worth of homework for an online class. Unfortunately, Italy's internet connection, or lack thereof, pushed me far behind, and I've been keeping nearly U.S hours-- going to bed at 4 or 5 AM here, sleeping until 2 or 3 in the afternoon--trying to get it done, along with updating my resume for a job that may have, just may have literally fallen out of the sky and into my lap (knock on wood), and starting my end-of-semester papers for my Italy classes and basically driving myself absolutely bat-shit crazy. (I'm rationalizing sleep deprivation as me getting ready to enter U.S Eastern time again.)

It takes a lot for me to get motivated, and music is one of those things that can usually do it for me if I can't get my hands on some extra-caffeinated coffee, Red Bull, or some speed. (I joke, I joke...) I listen to Hed PE (Thanks, Nora,) when I run at the gym. I have been known to headbang to stay awake during finals time. (Melissa can attest. Sorry for that. Our freshmen year dorm room was really small.) And now, I have rediscovered how listening to power-chords and thrash really makes me want to DEEEEEEESTROYYYYYYYYYY. (Otherwise known as, get shit done.)

This is basically what I have to keep as an internal soundtrack-- keep that whip crackin'.

So Deftones it is. I know we're all in crunch-time right now, so from me to you, here it is-- my secret: Root, Engine No. 9, Cherry Waves, My Own Summer, Minerva, Good Morning Beautiful, and Passenger, because the unparalleled, otherworldly, and overall man of my musical dreams Maynard James Keenan helped with the vocals. His voice does terrifying things to me. I can't help but love everything that comes out of his mouth. I once said that even though he may be one of the most disturbing people on Earth, I would marry him for a lifetime of wifely servitude gladly if he promised to just never speak and sing everything. And I mean everything. Like, I would want to hear a melodic, "Honey, can you pass the butter?" in the morning over pancakes. (I think part of it is the fact that he reminds in a very roundabout way of the Joker, and, as we're doing all sorts of admitting, here and now may also be the time to say that I am, quite possibly, one of the Batman universe and Mistah J's biggest fans in the world. I own a cardboard cutout that lives in my room. Comics. A special edition of "The Killing Joke". I sleep with a Joker plushie. My car's name is Mistah J, for fuck's sake. It's not so much as a problem as a "fun quirk" and selling point with the opposite sex. At least, that's what I tell myself.)

I know I have some issues. Now may not be the time to discuss them. Please get back to me re: having a weakness for most-probably clinically unbalanced men after I get through exams. Basically, what I'm trying to get at here is that we tend to lose little parts of ourselves-- in fact, we let them get lost. These are parts of us that may not be influential to our whole being, but they're things that made us happy at one time or another. They're not things that we should let go of so easily. Embrace where you have been, and what's made you. Don't lose your childish enthusiasm. In the meantime, just enjoy the tunes and crank. out. those. PAAAAAAAAAPEEEEEEEEEERS!

XOXO