April 17th, 2008

happy girl

(david cook +) ok so i can't think of a title.

More American Idol ramblings! If it helps, all this madness will end on 21 May (or thereabouts) so bear with me.

Oh wait, before that, I just want to say that my Thailand paper sucks and that I've decided to reorganise the entire thing. Hopefully I can get it done in time for tomorrow's deadline. It's not so much the rearranging that annoys me; it's the reordering of the footnotes that will potentially give me a nightmare. And considering I have like, 70-something footnotes? OMG NOOOO.

I was actually so moved and inspired by Cookie's performance that I stayed up until 3 in the morning writing some prose-like thing that isn't fanfiction, but isn't non-fanfic either. I have no idea what it is, basically. But the point is that I wrote it. It's complete. The ending sucks, but I'm quite pleased with everything else. And I wrote it in a little over an hour. I was going to use Microsoft Word and I even opened up a document, but I sat in front of my laptop for about an hour and I couldn't get past the first paragraph. At around 1-something, after I was done saving all the David pictures I found on various sites and forums, I decided to shut down the laptop and try to write using pen and paper, and if that didn't work, just go to bed.

I'm convinced that I shouldn't attempt to write anything using my laptop anymore. I don't know what it was about the Popular foolscap pad and/or my black Pilot v5 pen, because I wrote virtually non-stop from 1.34 a.m. to 2.47 a.m., and when I checked the time I was shocked to find out that it was that late already. The time just flew by, almost like it ceased to exist.

I'm not going to turn this entry into another weepy emo post about law school and writing and the perceived mutual exclusivity of the two, so suffice it to say that I went to bed very happy.

Still, the last bit sucks though. But I'm just amazed that I managed to finish writing it, considering I've been utterly incapable of writing anything complete nowadays. And the first "poem" I wrote in 2008? Completely inspired by and about Cookie. I'd post it, but I still cannot get it to be what I want to to be, i.e. it still sucks, so I'll continue to tweak the living crap out of it and see what happens.


Anyway, on to the American Idol ramblings!


So I know the results have been announced already but since I'm certain that Cookie is safe, I'm going to wait for the 10 p.m. broadcast.

I never thought I'd say this, but shit, I'm freaking worried for Carly Smithson. And I'm amazed that I just typed that sentence.

Remember when I used to haaaate the living shit out of her? Well, something happened and now I'd be really sad if she leaves this week. She just CAN'T. LEAVE. She's the only decent voice left of the females, and she's the only person whom I want to see with David in the finale. (The original person was Michael Johns but we all know what happened to him.) Why is it that she's in constant danger of leaving when I like her, and that when I hated her, she was never in such danger? I must have jinxed her. Grah.

I hated her Show Must Go Own from Idol Gives Back week, only kind of liked her Without You yesterday, and I can't actually name a performance of hers that I loved. I kind of liked the Beatles song she did on Beatles Week 1 but because I was hating her then, I told myself that I hated it. In fact, she sounded really good. Oh, and her Dolly Parton week performance was actually really haunting and beautiful too, though I can't remember for the life of me what the song is called.

Carly, please don't go! You're the only person who can keep the finale from becoming David Cook Wipes the Floor with David Archuleta, based purely on your talent and not taking popularity into account!

I'm willing to bet, though, that she was eliminated this week. I'm still hoping it's bloody Syesha Mercado but if I'm being honest, Carly was in serious danger at the end of the night. Syesha sucked but there's nothing she can do that will make me say otherwise; everything about her is just contrived and fake to me, including her stupid glory notes and belting, to which I'm always like, "Stop showing off. NOBODY CARES."

Evidently SOMEONE must be caring; otherwise she would've got off my TV ages ago. I HATE HER OMG, please leave pleeeease. Carly totally pwns your ass in the singing department.

Before I rush off for class, can I also say that I CANNOT STAND DAVID ARCHULETA.

EVERY SINGLE SLOW SONG HE SINGS SOUNDS THE SAME. Imagine Angels When You Believe Other Schmaltzy Ballads = ArchuBot giving exact same treatment to all these different songs, NO MATTER THEIR CONTENT. I was appalled when Randy was all, "You can sing anything!"

WHAT THE FUCK? Have they forgotten those nightmarish weeks when he attempted up-tempo songs and completely fell flat? I don't even know where the hell THAT came from. It wasn't like he did anything different - he didn't. It also wasn't like he connected with the song - because he didn't. And it's certainly not like he can "sing anything", because he can't, and he's proven it more than twice already.

I found it quite morally repulsive to hate this kid because he's such a kid even though he's 18 this year. He comes off as 10, which is why I really don't want to watch a Cookie/ArchuBot finale which would be all kinds of uncomfortable and weird. But I just don't understand the craze over this kid, and Randy's "you can sing anything" was just ridiculous.

I'm sorry, but the only contestant who "can sing anything" is David Cook. I know my opinion is severely biased and coloured, but he truly can sing anything, including Rihanna.

I would go on, but I'm this close to being late for class. OMG crap I haven't changed! What should I wear!!1!!

happy girl

missing the point completely.

I hate to say this, but my mom just completely pissed me off.

While I was in Comparative Crim she changed my bedsheets and chanced upon the David-inspired thingy I wrote which was apparently lying around in my room. Knowing myself, it was probably lying around in my room. But it's two sheets of paper with frenzied scribblings in black on them, and even if they were lying around in my room, I'm not sure that qualifies for 'conspicuous', but whatever.

Granted, barring an obvious "Do Not Read" scrawled in bright pink across the top of the page, those two sheets of paper aren't exactly private. I fully intend to get people to read it once I'm done with the editing.

But the thing is, those two sheets of paper are the first draft of what I'm hoping would be something halfway decent. Why does that matter? It bugs me - severely - when someone reads my work when it's in unreadable condition, and I'm not just referring to my handwriting. I'm anal about who gets to read what and when, I'm very protective of my stuff, and I just feel like my privacy has been invaded when someone - doesn't matter who it is - randomly picks up something I left in my room and starts reading it.

Still, I should have kept it somewhere safe and it's my fault for leaving it lying around, but that's not the part that pissed me off.

What really pissed me off was when my mom was all, "Why were you writing about David Cook at 1-something?" At first I was like, "Um, I was in class at 1-something."

Then she went, "No, I meant 1-something in the morning. Why weren't you asleep? Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? You're siao."

You know, I'm a bit disappointed, if truth be told, that it's been so many years already and yet I suddenly feel like we're back to the same old refrain that I couldn't stop fucking singing when I was in secondary school. Maybe the whole "I must write or else" thing in secondary school was largely an act, part of my poseur 14-year-old self's ploy to set herself apart from the norm; but still, the fact remains that writing was the only thing I was good at, the only thing I enjoyed, and it's still the only thing that I'm good at and the only thing I enjoy.

Except I don't just enjoy writing; I love it the way I haven't loved anything, or anyone, before in my life. You think I'm obsessed with David Cook? Not even my love for David can hope to come even remotely close to my love for writing. It is key to who I am; it is, quite simply, who I am.

My mom doesn't understand the significance of those two sheets of paper because I don't talk to her about my writing. Granted, there hasn't been much to say, considering I haven't been writing very much lately. But somehow, down the years I've stopped talking to her - or my dad - about what truly matters to me. I don't talk to them about how frustrated I get when I sit in front of my laptop with a new Word document opened, wanting to write something, anything, the most banal of crap, just to say that I've written something. I don't talk to them about how insecure I feel about my writing, how I have this standard in my mind that I will never be able to reach, and how, despite feeling discouraged every single time I fail to write or complete what I start, I still cling on to writing for dear life anyway. Even in the face of lack of inspiration, a looming legal career, the very real possibility that I will never live out my dream of being published where it counts, I still cling on to it for the solace and hope and companionship that it provides.

The whole of last year has seen me trying to write weepy and saccharine garbage about love and love lost, inspired by my own needlessly messy love life. But none of the pieces that I started ever got around to completion. In fact, most of them didn't get written past the first two paragraphs. More recently I abandoned that source of "inspiration" which actually ended up choking me and I wrote - and completed - something that was still inspired by my own life, but by different people. And yes, I was proud of the fact that I finished that piece, though not so much the end result.

But I've been itching to write something simple and straightforward and short, stripped of literary pretenses and just write for the love of it, not for the sake of it. I tried a couple of times, using my friends as inspiration, but once again, I was all dried up two paragraphs of clunky sentences later.

Last night's sudden inspiration was palpable and impossible to ignore. It almost didn't work, but I set aside the laptop and went back to basics, and it worked like pure magic. I can't begin to express the wondrous feeling that I felt when I finished it and looked at the time and discovered that so much time had passed. It was honestly like time had stood still, and nothing else mattered in those minutes except getting out the words, giving shape to the idea, and finishing the task.

In other words, what my mom doesn't understand, and probably never will because I will not talk to her about it, is that the subject of the piece wasn't the point; what truly mattered was the fact that there was a piece. I don't care how I get my inspiration anymore. If I need to stay up all night "writing about David Cook", so be it. Because I'm writing something, and that's the only thing that matters.

And of course, what she commented on wasn't the writing, but the fact that I was "writing about David Cook." I wonder if she even made it to the end. I can't fathom for even a second how that would be possible, considering my handwriting is legible only to myself. I mean, I totally understand how the source of inspiration is capable of diminishing the quality of the piece (i.e. people dismissing it because it's "fanfiction", except I don't write fanfiction and it's also not fanfiction 'cause there's nothing fictitious about it in relation to David as a real person), but you know what? I'm pretty sure that wasn't what she had in mind when she said what she said.

It just cuts to the core when the people that are supposed to be the ones that love you most in the world are also the ones that don't understand the one thing that is the most important to you.


Along a similar vein as the previous paragraph, can I just add that I cannot comprehend how it was that I was able to date guys that similarly did not understand the writing thing.

You don't have to like writing, but at the very least, you have to understand - truly understand - what it does for me and what it is to me.

Then again, scratch that. If you're inherently incapable of judging the quality of my work (i.e. just not literary, period), then you're pretty much of no use to me. So, whatever.


I just listened to the studio version of Always Be My Baby and at the end of it I was left with my mouth hanging open.

I'm amazed by his vocal range. I'm amazed that he sang half the song so low and made it sound so good. I'm amazed that I can't croak a single note of this song, and yet, Little Sparrow is right in my vocal range. Billie Jean, on the other hand, is simultaneously too high and too low for me.

I loved the performance but even I have to admit that it wasn't vocally perfect, though for some odd reason it sounded a lot better and near-perfect even on the iTunes version. I loved the rawness of emotions he brought to the performance, as always, but it didn't quite showcase the arrangement he did for the song as well as the studio version does. He takes his time building up to the bridge, and once he hits the bridge, it all pays off, it's all worth it, and he simply does not disappoint.

As expected, Always Be My Baby is the pop-est song he's done so far in spite of the new arrangement (honestly, it's not as emo/rock/whatever as people seem to think it is; it's actually more Mariah Carey's sunshine upbeat cheery Always Be My Baby pop ballad-fied) and oh my god, David Cook can sing the hell out of a soppy pop song too.

He will be wiping the floor with ArchuBot during the finale. And if he doesn't win, there is no justice in this world.