Follow the yellow brick road?

My heart lurched. A lump formed in my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes. To want something this bad hurts… especially when one knows it is not within his/her grasp. Especially mine. Watching people perform on the stage is really emotional for me. When their emotions show during the song they’re performing, it affects me. Deeply. I’m torn in-between reality and fantasyland. Which should I choose? The practical way? The logical way? The way where I have a sure chance at succeeding? Or…should I shoot and eventually miss? Should I be risky? Should I jump without knowing where I might fall?

I’ve had pipes since, well, I don’t even remember when. Chorus teachers I have had over the years have always acknowledged my talent, and their acknowledgement eventually paved the road to my distant dreamland hidden in a thick fog. All I wanted to be when I was younger was a singer. A real professional vocalist with millions of adoring fans. Then I began to love Evanescence and thought: wow, it would be awesome to be the female lead to a hard rock band. Thus, a bigger dream was born.

Maybe you’ve noticed that I have a deep obsession with female fronted bands – and well, now you know why. I aspire to be like them; I want to be in their position so badly. It aches to see them perform and think about just how lucky they really are. They are exactly what I want to be. All I want is to perform with my band on a stage in a grand theater to a crowd of a million. To spill out my emotions through song and slump off the stage exhausted when I am done. I want to sing and run around with the mic. I want to lean on the mic stand and have sweat pouring off of me from so much exertion. I want to stop singing and listen to the crowd sing the next verse – a verse most likely derived from a line of a poem I wrote when I was twelve. I want to share my love of singing with the world and I want to belt it until I can’t belt it “no more.”

At my fork in the road, to the right lies the road that leads to my dreamland. The road paved with yellow bricks and patches of lilies of the valley growing on the side giving off my favorite aroma. To the left is an equally pleasant-looking road, only it is paved with brick that gives off the more practical red-ish color. This road is the one I’m to follow should I want to be successful on the first try. The writing road. I’ve been told I was born to write, but I’ve also been told that I have a very powerful voice. Now, should I choose the yellow brick road that leads to my dream career of being the female in a female fronted band? Or, should I venture down the more structurally sound road that leads to definite success? Do I want to be an exact clone of my mother and eldest brother, or do I want to be the first to set foot on my own yellow brick road?

We get it! You kissed a girl and you liked it

Katy Perry.

When I first heard her hit “I Kissed A Girl,” I thought, hey, this isn’t bad. It’s actually kind of funny. Then I heard it again. And again. And again. And again. Everytime I turned on the radio. Every single time I flipped to Playlist. Everywhere I turned, people were singing it. I took it off my iPod after having it on there for less than a week. Goodbye, Katy.

I have not listened to her full CD, but the ones I have heard have not brought pleasure to my ears. Namely “Ur So Gay.” Honestly?!? HONESTLY?!?!? I disliked it right away because of the spelling of “you’re,” but then the song was horrible as well. It was mostly the lyrics that really pissed me off.

I hope you hang yourself with your H&M scarf
While jacking off listening to Mozart
You bitch and moan about LA
Wishing you were in the rain reading Hemingway
You don’t eat meat
And drive electrical cars
You’re so indie rock it’s almost an art
You need SPF 45 just to stay alive

You’re so gay and you don’t even like boys
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like boys
You’re so gay and you don’t even like boys
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like…

…and that’s not even the whole song.

Listen, I’m not all about gay rights or anything, but this song and these lyrics are so awful! There are plenty more creative people with meaningful lyrics that deserve what she has and more. Sure, she may be homophobic, but that does not mean she has to profess her dislike of the gay population to the whole world. I mean, c’mon! She kissed a girl! Should she not be sick with herself?

She got famous with the most meaningless song on the planet, became even more famous with her other meaningless songs, and now her music is sung by young girls across the country? What’s wrong here?

I hate the little onesie things that she wears for concerts. I watched her performance on MTV one night, and her voice was even worse than her lyrics. She’s like one of those Disney kids where you can tell just how much technology has interfered with their “talent.” (‘Cause for some reason every Disney kid has to sing as well – that’s another thing I get pissed about.)

I respected her at first. I thought “I Kissed A Girl” was neat because it was different; no other artist I know of would ever come up with something so bizarre. Now it’s old, and she’s trying to use another single off of her album (the soft song on the album) to show her vulnerable side. Well, I don’t see it. Keep kissing girls and telling people that they don’t even like… PENIS. (Seriously, look up those “Ur So Gay” lyrics and you’ll know what I am talking about.)

Emily out.

Food network: love and hate

For the last four years or so, I have been tuning in to channel fifty to enjoy me some cooking television. Right after school I would watch some Everyday Italian with Giada De Laurentiis, and then stay put for 30 Minute Meals with Rachael Ray. Rachael was always my favorite because she seemed like an everyday person even though she was on a television show that thousands enjoyed. Giada just makes everything sound delicious, even if I don’t like it. Like peppers, for instance. I absolutely LOATHE peppers, but Giada always makes them sound delicious when she is cutting them up. My love for the Food Network began years before Rachael Ray got her own prime time TV show and years before anyone even knew who Giada De Laurentiis was. My brothers made fun of me for watching the Food Network, but I kept on loving it.

With my love for Food Network came my love of cooking. I made dinner whenever I could, always preparing meals I liked so I would not have to eat anything I didn’t want to. Whenever my mom was busy and couldn’t make dinner, I stepped in and helped out. Rachael and Giada made it look so easy, but it was very challenging. Sometimes when I was home alone and preparing a meal, I would stand behind our kitchen island and pretend that I was on a cooking show. Learning to chop like they do was the most challenging, but I got it down and loved the noise my knife made against the plastic cutting board my mother bought me.

I still enjoy cooking, but I do not enjoy the Food Network as much anymore. I loved how Rachael Ray would wear clothes that would make me wonder what the heck she was thinking, but now she is “fashionable” and just not herself (in my opinion). I miss the crazy lady that set her hair on fire and made stupid jokes that I always laughed at. I miss her hair that was shoulder-length and brown with blond highlights. Now her hair has a stylish cut and color, but stylish just doesn’t suit her. Now, everyone knows who she is, and I think that she’s lost herself a little bit in the process. I miss the old Rachael and her kitchen before it got its recent makeover.

Giada has always been the “perfect one” out of my two favorite chefs, but lately she’s become even more perfect. More perfect than I can stand. I just tried to watch her 4:30 show a few minutes ago, but could not stand how big her smile was, or the way she was moving around.

I miss the way things were before Rachael was as famous as she is now, and when Giada wasn’t quite so perfect. I miss coming home from school and enjoying hours of my favorite Food Network shows. I miss my love of cooking that has somewhat diminished. I miss what today I am missing.