But I wanted to let you guys know that yes, I am really embarrassed about this. I know that Linkin Park is an awful band and really, their latest single just makes me cringe (as I sing along under my breath) but honestly, of course I’m going to download the entire DLC pack on Rock Band 3. Of course I’m going to force someone to play with me and of course I am going to sing the vocals. Not harmonies. Solo. On Hard.

So after getting 100% on “Crawling,” of course I am going to take a picture of it and show off how great my impression of Chester Bennington is. Of course I’m going to tell the world. Of course I’m going to lose your respect and perhaps, your friendship. I’m okay with that. Because this is how it’s going to be, at least until they release some 311 songs. Then I’ll be laughing as you guys try to be the next Nick Hexum.

My favorite thing about the band is their sound: they’re one of the few bands that doesn’t change or experiment with their music. They have their sound and continue to put out music that stays faithful to whatever their message is, which is usually anti-corporate, pro-environment, homegrown, whatever. I’m so bad when it comes to writing about music, but I do know how frustrated and disappointed I feel whenever a favorite band comes out with a new album and they end up sounding totally different, either super produced and poppy or just….weird. Yeah, I’m looking at you, Beck. We had something special going on back in high school but now you’re just annoying. Or you, Weezer. You guys need to grow up.

Anyway, where was I? Oh. Cake. Anyway, I listened to Showroom of Compassion about a bajillion times so far and I have to say, it’s by far my favorite. The tone is darker but the sound is the same. It’s like getting a nice big hug from an old friend and you realize that despite all the time apart, your relationship has stayed the same: just as fun and amazing, but also refreshingly new. One song, “Long Time” makes my heart pitter-patter and another one, “Got To Move” has enough of their signature internal rhymes to make me smile.

They’re playing five shows at the Troubadour next month, and if I could, I would go to all of them. No, really, I would. But I’ve got bills to pay and have allowed myself to attend one, which marks the 6th time I’ve seen them live. Is that sad? Maybe a little. But I’ve never been disappointed in their performance, and John McCrea always has something to say. Last, last time he told a fan to stop using he flash camera because it was really distracting. Last time he gave away an avocado tree. One time, B and I watched this dirty hippie play along with his drums during the Health and Harmony festival. Now I’m rambling. I should stop. My only excuse is that Nikole and I got our nails done during our lunch break so I think I’ve inhaled a bit too much polish fumes. Yes, that explains it. La la la.

2010 will be the year I say no to Weezer. Sure, it’s September but I’m putting my foot down now, dammit. My rapport with this band has increasingly become more and more abusive and despite years and years of loving them, I can’t do this anymore.

I’ll admit that their music hasn’t been very strong in the past couple of years, but the the tipping point was Rivers Cuomos’ collaboration with B.O.B. with “Magic” that while undeniably catchy, just pierces my heart with a poisonous arrow. Am I being dramatic? Yes, but I’m heartbroken, so cut me some slack.

In the beginning, it was swell: I loved Weezer and I felt like they really loved me, too. At least, I felt like Rivers was trying to impress me with the Blue album, similar to how that skinny geek in your Geometry class wanted to catch your attention, so he’d gather his other nerdy friends and form a cool band, which they’d debut at the school’s talent show, wowing everyone – cheerleaders included – with their talent. Seeing as how I’ve spent my formative high school years at an all girls school and I barely passed my 8th grade Geometry class, I really have no idea what this scenario would actually be like but I’ve seen my share of teen movies. This is how it works.

Pinkerton was the album where Weezer and I had a serious relationship, like where you make out with tongue and let him grope your boob. I know, I know, this is the one annoying album that every aging hipster reminisces over, but as someone spending most of her days reminiscing about high school while trying to figure out why her American Apparel sweatshirt is falling apart at the seams, I’m allowed to gush over this album. Weezer made the smart move to turn into some weird reclusive band after Pinkerton came out, because it made the music seem even more exclusive and special. Rivers’ music was quirky, touching and revealing, and the fact that critics didn’t like it made it seem cooler than ever. The fact that he also made the album into some sort of weird Asian fetish thing really spoke to me. I mean, spoke to me. It didn’t matter if he was singing about his boners over some Japanese girl, the acknowledgment about my culture was enough to make me excuse him for any creepy behavior. Basically, Rivers totally opened his deepest feelings to me and I let him grope my boob as a reward.

Then the Green album came out, and it was like the geeky teenager finally achieved his full confidence of having a serious girlfriend (me). Puberty came and passed, turning our gawky boy into a really hot dude with that uber cool look. And OMG, it was the coolest thing ever. Weezer was BACK and everyone was going wild over it. Okay, the songs were really stupid and I don’t even remember what most of them were, but it was okay, because THEY WERE BACK AND EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE OKAY.

Then Maladroit came out, which was a little better than the Green album (don’t even try to disagree with me) because it was like a blend between Blue and Pinkerton: it was more fun, aggressive and fast. It was like seeing my geeky boyfriend make the football team, and I’m watching him play his first game and the popular guys all high-five him after a really good play. (Even though I don’t understand football and I don’t really know what makes a “good play,” this is what they sometimes do on those teen movies so that’s how it plays out in my head.) So I sit back on the bleachers, amazed about how his life is all working out, and then later when the game is over, I patiently wait along the side of the field to see my newly popular boyfriend, even if he kind of ignores me when I first wave him over but it’s okay, because I know deep down inside, he hearts me.

Soon, Weezer put out Make Believe and by this time, I’m kind of bored with the relationship, even though I’d never admit it out loud. The excitement and allure of being with the guy I’d never thought I’d be in love with is fading away, and sometimes, I can’t help feel that he’s more concerned with hanging out with his football buddies than me. But it’s still okay, because when I’m alone with him, it’s all good. I had my favorite songs off the album but deep down, I  knew it was all a bit superficial.

And then the singles and albums kept coming, from the Red album to Ratitude: that’s when the sneaking suspicion I had about my long-term boyfriend was true: he was kind of superficial, predictable and even a little dumb. At first, I thought it was funny, like the Pork and Beans music video with all the hilarious-at-the-time Internet celebrities, viral videos and memes.  Weezer totally got pop culture and they were going to be all about it. My boyfriend finally fully embraced his own popularity but all of a sudden, that’s the only thing he’d talk about. He’d stand me up on our planned dates  more and more often with increasingly lame excuses, but every time he’d hug me, I’d forgive him.

But now I realize how much the popularity and that once cute quirkyness has gotten to the band: it’s just not the same anymore, and the songs that maybe were meant to be ironic in some way were just plain dumb, like “I’m Your Daddy” and that one song, “I Can’t Stop Partying” that sounded like something that should have been on a panning shot of the Hollywood club scene in The Hills. Ugh. Then Rivers actually went and married a real Japanese girl, which totally grossed me out. It was one thing to pine after one in Pinkteron but that was between me and Rivers; I wasn’t expecting him to actually do something about it. Everyone has an Asian fetish, but it’s a totally different story when you tell the world about it and then actually prove that it’s real.

The worst was realizing the annoying collaborations with bad hip-hop artists or appearances on god awful YouTube names like Fred. It’s like coming across a picture of your once-geeky-boyfriend-turned-hunky-football-jock making out with some dumb cheerleader at a party you weren’t invited to on Facebook. Like WTF, really?  After years of devotion, this is what it’s come to? But despite that awful picture and how everyone at school is laughing at me, I still meet up with my boyfriend behind the high school cafeteria, listen to his sorry stories about how no one understands the real him and then let him grope my boob again.

But now they’ve out yet another album and this time, it has Hurley from LOST on it. Really? REALLY!?! WHY? I DON’T KNOW. So this is where I’m putting my foot down. I’ve bought all of Weezer’s albums, despite my wavering faith it them. I dutifully listened to them and though none of the music has struck a chord with me like their early stuff, I still kept them around because I loved them. This year, this relationship is going to end. No more Weezer. Rivers, I’ve had it with the lame excuses and the ignoring me and the bad groping. You’re not allowed to make out with me, and even though your songs are catchy and I enjoy listening to them, understand that they’re completely MEANINGLESS to me. Good riddance!

What am I talking about? I know I’m going to buy Hurley. I hate myself.

Isn’t one Justin Bieber enough already!? Let these boys grow one armpit hair before throwing them into the claws of Hollywood.

This song is perfect for almost everything. Well, maybe not like murdering someone or choking on a hot dog but you get what I’m saying. Yay for Brett! Remember when he gave me a Father’s Day Card? Good times. NOT.

Oh, dear lord. Tonight I’m going to my very first metal show–and I’m not talking about metal like Pantera or songs about a Sandman entering night or whatever. This is a genre of music that I wouldn’t even refer to as real music, because there’s no melody or discernible lyrics. I’m not prone to psychological symptoms like anxiety attacks or hyperventilating, but Converge is one of those bands that I feel straight up uncomfortable whenever I heard their songs. I can’t even watch this music video for longer than 3 seconds. It’s that awful.

So why am I going? I bought the tickets for B as a birthday present but stupidly put them on will-call under my name, which means that I have to be present (with ID) to pick them up…which means that I have to go. I did try to tell him that I’d be happy to meet him at the theater to get the tickets and wish him a good night so I could go home and enjoy the penultimate episode of Lost but nope, he demanded that I accompany him and I will probably not make it out alive. Or with good hearing.

With a line-up of bands called Lewd Acts, Black Breath and Coalesce, he’s going to owe me HUGE. I’m thinking back to back screenings of Babies, Love Actually and Sex and the City 2.

There’s a Nike store near the apartment in Tokyo, and I only noticed it because they had a giant rubber model of the Nike Free Run sole hanging from the ceiling to display it’s bendable qualities. I never gave it much thought (except OMG GIANT SNEAKER!!!) until I came across this video of Japanese breakbeat duo Hifana hooking up audio sensors to the shoes and creating this awesome music video.

Speaking of running, this was my first time in Japan that I noticed so many runners around Tokyo. The Kaigakan track was across the street from our hotel, which I thought was a feature that most cities should provide–can you imagine a sidewalk designed to be a running track for the public to use??–and almost hourly were groups of runners, making their laps around the circle. Japanese runners go all out, too. We didn’t see regular people dressed in messy shorts and old t-shirts trying to exercise those love handles off. They were decked out in lycra pants, water bottles and even backpacks. Backpacks. If I had to run with a backpack, I’d make sure it was stuffed with tissues I could use as I sobbed my way around. Sometimes we’d even see the same runners twice during our walks around, because that’s how slow we were. They’d run a quarter of a mile in the same span that we’d walk a block. Insane.

I’m going to go eat some Cheetos now.

I walked out of my class tonight into an Alex Chilton-less world and though I hadn’t thought of him in a while, I still felt a keen sense of loss. He was just one of those musicians who you knew wrote music with such brilliance but you always assumed they’d be around. I was introduced to Big Star too late, and they easily rated as one of my favorite bands to enjoy, regardless of time, place or mood. They had several of those songs that I instantly fell in love with and liked even more when I found out they were B’s personal favorites as well.

Their music was one of those things we instinctively agreed upon, despite the fact that he loved metal and I refused to let go of Weezer, and that only added to my belief that we were meant to be together. We made sure to include them on our playlist for the wedding reception, even if the songs were too low or soft to be heard over a crowd of conversations and eating. But it didn’t matter, because the songs were special to both of us. Most of the time, we’d sing along in the car or in the bathroom, making up silly replacement lyrics that made no sense. His songs made me pick up the guitar again, as if playing the notes would somehow be the easiest thing in the world for someone who gave up lessons after learning about bar chords. Of course, I put the guitar away just as fast, after realizing that finger picking the strings was harder than I thought. Fast or slow, Alex Chilton’s songwriting meant something more than what most of today’s artists can boast.

Rest in peace. You will be missed but we’ll keep your music alive, even if it’s just me in my car, butchering your beautiful lyrics.

Occasionally, B will disappear with his “guy friends” for 5 hours straight. This is what they do.

Awwww, look. It’s an actual drum set.

So far, all my requests for them to cover Alkaline Trio, Cake and Linkin Park have been ignored.

Is it just me or are they singing “Gosship Girl”? Does speaking Korean give you an American speech impediment? I know nothing about this Rainbow girl group but this whole music looks like an ad for Forever 21 and I can’t even figure out who’s who.

I also have no idea what’s going on in this video. I really thought it was 4 different girls until I realized it was the same girl with 4 different hairstyles. Does that make me racist?