In class

Since  my parents are spending $30,000 a year on my tuition, I'm blogging in class. I know the election is over and politics aren't cool any more, but there is one aspect of the election that really pissed me off, and still pisses me off, and that's the idea that you should vote for the president you'd most want to have a beer with. There are a couple of reasons I hate this idea. 

1. I'd rather have a president who doesn't drink at all

2. I'd rather drink with my friends.

3. You have friends, right? You're not projecting your feelings of loneliness onto you presidential choice? That's a bad idea, you know.

4. Sorry.

5. You really want to have a beer with Sarah Palin?

5. Really?

6. She's so stupid. 

7. Really?

8. Read up on the issues. Please. 

OK, I know this is beating a dead horse, but I wanted to get it off my chest.

Love,

Me

On Conor Oberst *

* Not literally.

I'm sitting backstage and procrastinating, so I figur I'll blog about soemthign I care deeply about: Indie music. Specifically, Bright Eyes. I should point out that Bright Eyes is my SECOND favorite band (Rilo Kiley is greater), but that Conor Oberst, who basically IS Bright Eyes, is maybe my favorite person in the world right now. He just released a solo album, which is amazing, and one of those songs was on Gossip Girl. Even though Gossip Girl is not nearly as good as the OC, the fact that they had that song,and one by Jenny Lewis last, was nice. (I saw Jenny Lewis with Johnathan Rice in concert. They were so cute together! I kind of want to be her.) Oberst is really a genius. I was listening to the stuff he did when he was 15 and thought... fuck am I inadequate...but that's OK. Because every time I listen to one of his songs a little piece of me comes back to life, a little piece that gets killed every time I walk into another soul-crushingly boring class. So, thanks Conor Oberst for being amazing. Please don't overdose and die. Speaking of singers who should not die in the near future, Pete Doherty is out of jail, though I doubt on the straight and narrow. Which is sad, because it's unhealthy for him, but I wonder if his self-destructive behavior contributes to the greatness of his songwriting (same for Conor Oberst, Bob Dylan, any other singers I like who do drugs ,which I guess is probably all of them) and in that case, should he stop? If the drugs help him make the world a less awful place, is it worth it, for him and for us?
Oh, by the way, nonexistent readers, you should got to 236.com. It's amazing.
Love,
Me

First Post !!

So... I have a blog now. I don't know if anyone will actually READ it, but that's fine.
First off, my name is not actually Arienette. My parents are so not cool enough to name me after a Bright Eyes song. Also, since that song came out in 2000, that would make me 8, which, as I hope you can tell from my writing skills, I'm not.
Right now I'm hanging out backstage for The House of Bernarda Alba, which is pretty much all I've done in the past two weeks--hung out backstage. I'm only on stage for four minutes, but that's alright, because I've got lots of reading done. Most notable On the Road which I loved. I'm in the middle of Pretty Monsters by Kelly Link, which is great so far, very funny and dark.
Speaking of books (ish) I haven't seen Twilight yet. I've heard, ahem, mixed reviews. I do want to see it, though. I would like to say, however, that Edward Cullen is overrated. I'd definitely go for Quentin Jacobsen myself. I like guys who a) don't drink blood, because frankly, that's just weird and b) are capable of more than 3 emotions, which are in Edward's case 1. In Love 2. Protective. 3. Angry. He's kind of boring.
Now that I've just committed teen-girl blasphemy, here's a little poem for y'all, my nonexistent readers.

11:48 PM

the woman who stands at her window
looking out at her endless street. it's not ennui, it's grief, for a life that got put in a box
and hidden under the bed. the lights go out and so does she

the boy who sits in his basement
trying to make some sense out of his stupid love with a guitar and a television screen
happiness in a bottle. something to hold, something to hide

the man who waits at his desk
considering his papers, his pills, his family placed firmly in a frame, all it takes is some little lies
a well-placed secret to keep someone alive

the girl who stays in her chair
pretending that the best day of her life will happen soon, that the misery
that makes her close her eyes will open them someday

there are a million others like them, like us, a million bruised hearts veiled in mediocrity, searching for some sort of cure, or a way to turn our pain into poetry, and our lies into love

I know you're tired of watching me look for pieces of fragmented souls and twisted hearts on icy rooftops, moonlit parking lots, suburban streets at midnight, and I think that someday I'll be tired of it too