So, Haley Reinhart. Yeah, I got sucked into another season of American Idol. A partial season. I’ve been watching since about the top 10. And to be perfectly honest, none of the contestants really did it for me. Not like, chills-inducing, tears-in-my eyes, make-me-want-to-write-a-story-to-match, which is how I like my music to do it, and how Idol hardly ever does.

Until tonight. This performance, specifically (Haley’s second song of the night):

It’s a combination of the fact that I love that song, and her voice is just so scratchy and sultry and perfect for it, and she totally rocked that joint. I dare you to say otherwise. The judges gave her a standing ovation and called it the best performance of the night, and for once, and even though Haley never really stood out to me before, I totally agree with them tonight. So much so that I’m actually voting for a contestant on American Idol, something I’ve only ever done once in my life, like five seasons ago.

But House of the Rising Sun is not the performance I’m ranting about tonight. It’s this one, Haley’s first song, Lady Gaga’s unreleased You and I:

Okay. It’s not technically the most awesome, flawless, chills-inducing performance ever. But… seriously judges? Are you all passing around the same head cold, and sharing a bottle of NyQuil, and the pressure in your sinus cavity, when combined with the coma-inducing effects of just one swill from that green bottle, has completely janked your thought processes?

They told her she should’ve picked a song everyone knew.

Steven doesn’t count because he mostly loves everyone, especially the cute girls. But WTF, Jennifer and Randy? This girl takes a chance and does something different within the limited parameters of a show like yours — an unreleased song on which she puts her own cool spin — and you tell her she probably should’ve chosen a song everyone knew? That she lost out on connecting with the audience because no one had ever heard that song before?

So you basically want everyone to do the same old cookie cutter songs they always do, season after season, karaoke style after karaoke style, over and over and over again? Is that what makes an “American Idol?” Is that what sells records these days?

No, don’t answer that. I should know better than to watch this show. I know. But still.

Look. I’m not trash-talking any of the other contestants. I think they all have their own talents and strengths, and whatever your views on Idol, I think it’s cool that they’re working so hard to get something they want. And normally I don’t really care what the judges say, because I make my own opinions, and it’s not like I’m so invested in the outcome of this show anyway.

But tonight’s reaction to Haley’s performance really bothered me, because it wasn’t like they were just giving her some constructive feedback on how to be a better singer and performer. They were totally squishing her dreams. Telling her not that she did something technically wrong, not that she under- or over-performed, not that she was pitchy or flat or any of the other tired adjectives Randy likes to fling onto the stage, but that she just shouldn’t follow her own creative heart and soul. That instead, she should strive to be… just like everyone else. You know, so people can “connect.”

*Yawn.*

I don’t like when people squish dreams and try to cram other people’s creative ideas into a McDonald’s Happy Meal. Whether it’s music, books, art, food, dance, movies, or any form of creative expression, I think this world needs more new, fresh, unrecognizable stuff. More of the unknown. More people who are willing to stand against the mediocritizing of everything and take a chance to follow their dreams, even if it’s not the most popular or expected or predictable choice. Especially then.

So I’m voting for you tonight, Haley.

And um, yeah, hi everyone! Sorry I’ve been in hiding for two months. I promise you I wasn’t practicing for an Idol audition. I was doing something else just as exciting, though, and I’ll tell you more about it very soon!

Knowing my melodramatic self, I was crying in the car, alternately downshifting and wiping my nose and cursing the absentee muse, wondering if I’d have to give back my advance once my publisher discovered I couldn’t actually write books. Maybe. But at some point, I stopped sniffling long enough to click on the radio, and a song I’d never heard before filled up the gray space of my car.

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true
I was made for you

It gave me shivers. Her voice, her passion, the words, everything I could feel from her heart. It’s hard to explain, but when this woman sang, I believed her, that’s the best way to put it. And behind those words, I suddenly saw in my mind Claire Hannaford, Delilah’s mother, looking at her daughter, thinking about all of the difficulties of their relationship, all of the said and unsaid things, the history and secrets and mistakes, and how despite everything, there was still so much love. I thought about Delilah’s Aunt Rachel and her Aunt Stephanie that died young. I thought of Delilah’s grandmother, Elizabeth, who left her legacy unresolved when she died after an eight-year estrangement. And I knew it then — no matter how things turned out, the Hannaford women of Red Falls Vermont were made for each other, just like the song said. They would always be connected, blood and history, secrets and promises, good and bad. It sounds crazy, but for me, that one song brought the Hannafords to life in a way that no amount of plotting, brainstorming, character interviews, and crying (and drinking, if we’re being honest) could.

The song? “The Story,” by Brandi Carlile.

Last week, we had the privilege of seeing Brandi Carlile live in Denver. She performed with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra, which made her songs even more powerful and dramatic. I loved the arrangements and loved seeing her live — I totally got choked up when she walked on stage, and though I’m a car-crier, I don’t usually cry over singers¹. But I’d just received my finished copies of Fixing Delilah, and now I was sitting just a few dozen feet from the woman whose music helped bring the characters to life and became like the theme song of the book. It just felt right to see Brandi here in Denver. It was like things in the universe colliding and coming together, like they always seem to do (Aunt Rachel would definitely agree, with or without her Tarot cards).

I refrained from public fangirling² at the concert, but I would really love to send Brandi a signed copy of the book she inspired. Is that nuts? Maybe. I sent an email to her PR people hoping to track down a fan mail address, but they probably think (*cough* know) I’m a stalker. I guess the only chance I have of delivering Brandi her signed copy is if singers are as neurotic and insecure as authors (*fingers crossed*), because a little self-Googling on Brandi’s part might lead her right… here! OMG! Brandi, is it really you? Can I send you my book? Please? I… I think I love you. But not in a creepy way. In that totally non-creepy way that strangers fall in love with singers all the time. Anyway, if you’re reading this, you rock. Maybe we could hang out some time? You can sing to me, and I’ll read to you? See? I’m not just in this for the fame and glory. This is totally mutually beneficial. Think about it and get back to me. Love, your stalker. I mean, me. Right. Anyway.

On a serious note (pun intended), if you’ve never listened to Brandi before, go YouTube and Pandora and iTunes her and get to listening.

Aaaand if you like “The Story” and want to see how it inspired the book… Fixing Delilah is already shipping from online retailers right NOW and is starting to make appearances in stores this week. Yes! Now is zee time on Sprockets ven vee³… freak out! Brandi, take me away!

She deserves an award just for getting that principal to rock out!

This isn’t Josh’s first appearance at SarahOckler.com. You might recognize him from such well-publicized scandals as the animal cruelty thing, the NCTE big fat lying liar thing, and the highly un-Kosher pig-Frenching thing.

Video evidence aside, Josh’s days as a cow-killing, name-dropping, pig-smooching sociopath are behind him. In honor of his debut release day, he’s used his new-found talents for threatening bookstore employees, dancing on desks, and exploiting small children and household pets to produce a mostly family-friendly musical number. And because I’m so excited for Josh and his lead character, Will Halpin, and because I’m kind of embarrassed for him on account of all that public dancing, I’ve officially certified THE DARK DAYS OF HAMBURGER HALPIN as cruelty-free, lifting the nearly year-long boycott on Josh and his critically-acclaimed meat-monikered novel.

So go forth, good readers. Sing, dance, point, laugh, and buy Josh’s books in large quantities!

Congratulations, Josh!

And then you hide behind a lamp post on Elmwood Ave. in Buffalo just so you can video-stalk the most adorable kid in the universe without getting dirty looks from her dad. Or the police. But I just had to share this with you! Not the best quality video but it zooms in after a minute or so. Check it out.

I really admire her. I hope she stays like that forever.

What Does Your Music Say About You?

1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write that song name down no matter how silly it sounds.
4. Title this post what the answer to your last question is.

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?

Ask Me Anything by The Strokes. Which is interesting when you consider the chorus… I’ve got nothing to say. I got nothing to say. I got nothing to say. I got nothing to say. Maybe that’s a polite way of saying “Piss off?”

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?

Fire Door by Ani DiFranco. Well, read into that as you will, but my favorite line in this song is, And my mind is disconnected but my heart is wired. In the live version, which is what’s playing, she also rocks out into this funky little version of Amazing Grace, which is pretty cool.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?

Designs on You by Old 97s. Hmmm. I guess this means I’m into tattoos, or giving my mate a makeover. I won’t tell you which one Alex has had, other than to say he is tattoo-free.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?

Away in a Manger, by some opera-esque holiday singer. Well, I am feeling somewhat Christmas-y, what with all the snow and all. That, and I keep waking up with hay in my bed. WTF?

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?

Girl Like That by Matchbox 20. I’m same old trailer trash in new shoes? It’s important to have goals, I guess.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?

Cause a Rockslide by Badly Drawn Boy. Your sweetness would cause a rockslide. LOL now that’s just comedic, as my parents will attest, I’m fresh outta sweetness. I think I ran out around 1991.

WHAT DO YOU OFTEN THINK ABOUT?

Farewell, Angelina by Bob Dylan. It’s funny, because I actually do think about this song all the time. It’s one of my favorite Dylan tunes, and it reminds me of 9/11 for various reasons, which frequently creeps into my thoughts. Farewell, Angelina is one of Dylan’s most beautiful works. Check out the version on the 1991 Bootleg Series, disc 2 and really listen to the words.

But farewell, Angelina
The night is on fire
And I must go

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?

In My Own Eyes by Brandi Carlile. Maybe it means I like him just exactly as he is, well, in my own eyes.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?

Today’s the Day by Aimee Mann. Yep. It’s the last two lines that make this song:

Isn’t it enough to prove today’s the day?
Isn’t it enough to prove today’s the day?

So… what are you waiting for? Today’s the day, man!

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?

The Setup by NaS. Now, I generally don’t think Alex is settin’ me up when I see him. Okay, so maybe he inspires a spontaneous outburst from the rap phenomenon otherwise known as me, but I can’t compete with NaS. Check out the It Was Written album if you have a little pent-up aggression that needs somewhere to go.

WHAT SONG DID/WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?

Falling in Love is Hard on the Knees by Aerosmith. Can this answer be topped? I think not!

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?

God Bless the Child by Ruthie Foster. This one’s off the Stages album. Perfect, right? I actually fell in love with this song when Billie Holiday sang it, but Alex and I got to see Ruthie live at the Swallow Hill Music in Denver, and it was pretty damn soulful. I think Billie would be proud. Plus, this song reminds me of my office BFF Loren, with whom I used to kick back on Fridays for a little cubical jazz and wine in Styrofoam cups while the boss wasn’t looking. Shhhh!

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?

Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues by Bob Dylan. Yep. Paranoia definitely creeps me out, especially when it’s propagated by the fear culture. This song is all about irrational fear — check it out, also on the Bootleg Series.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?

You Belong to Me by Jason Wade.

And I’ll be so alone without you
Maybe you’ll be lonesome too

Not sure what that has to do with secrets, but it’s a beautiful song. Dad and I danced to it at my wedding.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?

Come Undone by Wise Crack. Definitely something to think about.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO NAME THIS POST?

Ants Marching by Dave Matthews.

Take these chances
Place them in a box until a quieter time
Lights down, you up and die

BONUS ROUND: SARAH’S ATTEMPT TO END ON A HAPPIER NOTE

Tiny’s Tempo (Short Take 1) by Charlie Parker. Yes! Charlie always makes me happy. For an intro, check out The Immortal Charlie Parker, Vol. 1. Now I feel like dancing. Or at least like pretending to dance while really just jumping and bouncing around until I knock something over and/or injure myself.

How about you? What does your music say about you? If you’re reading this, I tag YOU to give this fun meme a try on your own blog.

I think about that when I watch David Cook sing. Sure, he looks kind of like a nice guy, and he probably is, but on the inside, he’s definitely pissed off about something. Remember when Ryan went all smarmy when he brought up the bartender thing? I could swear David pulled him aside right before the cut and said, “You pull that shit again, Seacrest, and I’m gonna lay your spray-tan-wearin’ ass out.”

Fireworks!

Archuleta is talented and true and has a whole career ahead of him, I’m sure. But for my money? Cook takes the cake. And eats it, too.

I have no idea what that means, but whatever.

Let’s look at an example from another recent cultural phenomenon: Stephenie Meyer’s TWILIGHT. Edward Cullen vs. Jacob Black. Jacob is sweet and endearing and loyal and all that, like a best buddy. Or a dog. Or a werewolf, more accurately. But Edward? Anger management issues. Protective. Borderline possessive. Hella-intense. And he has that whole pissed off, misunderstood vampire thing going for him. See? Brooding. Prince. Of darkness.

That’s not all, people. Let’s dig deep into the archives. For those of us who grew up in the 80s, there was Michael Carrington of Grease II fame. Did super-hottie Stephanie Zinone want the sweet, shy type? No. In her own words, set to music, and tight leather pants, she wanted a “C-O-O-L *pause* R-I-D-E-R.” Ya, I learned that song before I learned my ABCs.

“Stephanie, have you ever… read… the Superman comic?”
“Not in the last few hours.”

See? And certainly none of us over the age of 25 (okay 30. Ish.) can forget this:

“Remember how you said your parents use you to get back at each other? Wouldn’t I be outstanding in that capacity?”

*Shiver*

Anyway, congrats to both Davids. And for the record, I’m not sure I could sit through a performance of someone singing the phone book, but, like Paula, I do get a little choked up when they cry. Dreams coming true and all that.

3 weeks later, we ventured again to Red Rocks for the Smashing Pumpkins, which until the concert held creepy associations of “that loud music my college roommate used to blast from her room in a failed attempt to cover up the other sounds coming from her room.”

So how did Billy and his freaky pals stand up to Brandon’s sequined harem?

The Smashing Pumpkins v. The Killers II

1. Billy: Bald as a hairless cat and just as intense. I’m not even sure if he had eyebrows or just shiny protrusions wear the brows ought to be. Brandon: Cute with a little boy mustache to match. Winner: Smashing Pumpkins.
2. Pumpkins: Ginger, a chick bass player who’s so hot, why, if I wasn’t married, and I liked chicks, and I had a lot of money, well… Killers: Brandon is kind of cute, too. Winner: Smashing Pumpkins. Hot!
3. Smashing Pumpkins: dressed in all white. Billy completed his short-pants ensemble with blue striped man-tights, white high-tops and a striped Dr. Suess scarf. Killers: Sequins! Sequin jacket, sequin cummerbund, sequin socks, oh now that’s fresh! Winner: Killers.
4. Pumpkins: What a rowdy crowd! Our neighbor guy shared his pretzels with us and his girlfriend grabbed Alex’s butt midway through the show! He didn’t even have to pay extra for that! Killers: Mr. Seven Foot Tall Frat Boy bobbin’ and weavin’ his way through the “I love you, man” stage. Winner: Smashing Pumpkins.
5. Killers: To show the love, members of the audience threw down the usual concert gang signs: a) pumping fist; b) pumping sign language for I love you; c) pumping “you da man” pointer finger; d) double-fist pumping; e) lighters for slow songs. Pumpkins lovefest included all aforementioned concert gang throw-downs PLUS one extremely loyal fan who (wait, you have to be ready for this one. Are you ready? Okay…) removed his prosthetic leg with the sock and sneaker and everything and pumped it up and down for an entire song. Winner: Are you serious? Who do you think? He took off his leg, people!

Okay enough, let me just stop right here. I can’t go on. As much as I love the Killers, Smashing Pumpkins tore it up, hands down. The show was so intense that even I was dancing. You longtime readers know that I only dance in my car, so you can imagine how inspired I must have been to perform my little jig in public on the side of a bench surrounded by a bunch of drunk and aging stoners. Yeah, that’s what I’m saying! Every time I thought they were winding down for the big kiss-off, they’d play another whole set. They rocked on for over two and a half hours. Amazing.

The sad part, but also really cool part, is that as the show began, Alex and I realized that the Smashing Pumpkins would likely be our last concert at Red Rocks. The season ends later this month, and we’ll be off on our next adventure before the opening season next spring. Thanks for the memories, Billy (but dude, seriously, what’s with the tights?)!

And it was. Unlike the Killers. Which we’ve already covered ad nauseam, but still.

So, Brandon Flowers, while you’re home icing your delicate vocal chords, take a look at this!

The Police v. The Killers

1. Killers did 3 songs. Police did 3 encores. Winner: Police
2. Killers dressed in hip skinny jeans and looked the part. Sting dressed in hip skinny jeans with sparkles, a tight wife-beater, and looked like he was trying too hard to look the part he used to look twenty years ago. Winner: Killers
3. Killers: hit all the high notes on the not-quite-three songs they sang. Sting: sang in alternate keys to avoid the high notes. Winner: Killers
4. Killers drummer: came on stage to break the news that lead singer Brandon Flowers just couldn’t go on, then ignored the audience’s pleas to sing in Brandon’s place. Police drummer: Stewart Copeland. ‘Nuff said. Winner: Police
5. Killers venue: amazing outdoor amphitheatre surrounded by towering red boulders once roamed by dinosaurs. Police venue: Pepsi Center, corporate home of the Denver Nuggets and Colorado Mammoth. Winner: Killers
6. Killers opener Hot Hot Heat performed uptempo alternative with a cool techno bend, perfect for revving up the crowd. Police opener Fictionplane sang a song for his ex called – well, let’s just say it was angsty. And the lead singer is Sting’s son. Winner: Police
7. Killers crowd: Mickey-Hughey-Cameron and Sugar Lips the cosmetically-enhanced cat. Police crowd: Mr. Too-Much-Cologne Man and his 2 children who were probably embarrassed that old Dad lost his sense of smell. Now I will forever associate that awful chemical smell with Fictionplane songs (by the time the Police came on, I was used to the cologne and could no longer detect it). Winner: Killers
8. Police lead guitarist Andy Summers’ age: 65. Killers band members ages, combined: 65. Yet who sallied out and left their fans hanging? Hmmm. Winner: Police
9. Killers: Sam’s Town. Police: Roxanne. Winner: Police

Looks like this one goes to the good guys, 5 to 4. We’ll see what happens in September, Brandon. But sometimes you just can’t beat a classic, even if they are gettin’ on in years. Thanks, Alex, for re-introducing me to The Police, a.k.a. the Po Po, which I dissed long ago when I couldn’t have the same musical taste as Dad on principle alone. And thanks, Sting, with yo’ bad ass sparkly skinny jeans!

Mr. Bims and I were so psyched (do people still say “psyched”? Or is it like “gaylord”? We used to call people gaylords in like middle school, and it just meant that you were an idiot, not that you were actually gay. Like, god Jenny. You look like such a gaylord in those jeans. They’re not even Guess.” And we used to say psyched around that same time. “I’m soooo totally psyched that Mom’s taking me to the mall to get Guess jeans. Now I won’t look like such a gaylord.”) to see The Killers (who are neither gaylords nor in Guess jeans) last week. My little brother introduced us to their music a few months ago, and Mr. Bims loved them so much that he immediately downloaded all of their songs from iTunes and made CDs for the house and both cars, just in case. No, seriously.

So imagine our delight when we heard they were coming to Red Rocks, the absolute best outdoor concert venue in the nation. It’s so cool to see shows there, right under the stars, surrounded by – well, big red rocks. Mr. Bims got tickets right away.

The concert day arrived, and Mr. Bims implored me to leave work early so we could get good seats (general admission – nothing was assigned). He really had to twist my arm, but I agreed, arriving home before 4.

And it only went downhill from there…

4:00 PM

Mr. Bims: “Bims, we have to leave now so we get good seats. By the way, you have to drive. I’m drunk! *Hiccup*!
Me: *Throws minor PMS-induced tantrum, then recovers, agreeing to drive.*

4:45 PM

Mr. Bims: “I wish we brought a cooler. We don’t know how to do concerts anymore.”
Me: …
Mr. Bims: “I’m such a fucking doof.”
Me: …

4:46 PM

Mr. Bims: “I want a beer.”
Me: “Slow down, tiger. Why don’t we get in line first?”

4:49 PM

Mr. Bims: “Look! They’re selling beer!”
Beer Guy: “That’ll be 2 for 5.”
Mr. Bims: “Should I get 2?”
Beer Guy: “It’s a long walk to the stage.”

5:05 PM

Mr. Bims: “Maybe I should get another beer. *Hiccup*”
Me: …
Mr. Bims: “Oh no. I have to pee.”

6:10 PM

Ok, you get the point. So they let us in after six. Mr. Bims practically mows down a family of five just to get to the bathroom, and I charge ahead to get the good seats. Which, I get.

5th fucking row. We could practically taste their breath. If we wanted to. Which we didn’t, but still.

And I made some new friends when the people next to me couldn’t get cell service to reach their other friend and borrowed my phone to reach him. “Him” turned out to be a 6-foot skinny ass blond guy who looked like Cameron Diaz, talked like Mickey Mouse, and laughed like Baby Hughey. It was the strangest composition of sounds ever. If you don’t believe me, call him. I still have his number on my cell from when they called him. Later he showed me pictures of his cat, Sugar Lips, dressed up in a wig and lipstick. But, I didn’t get invited to the showing of his penis pics during intermission between the opening acts. Those were just for his friends. Who slapped him and told him never to show those again.

Are you with me so far? 5th row seats. Gorgeous Colorado night with nary a cloud. A blanket of stars overhead. A great crowd. And guys that walk around with margarita tanks strapped to their backs and coolers of beer strapped to their fronts. Which was a sign from the universe that I needed to catch up with Mr. Bims, who was suddenly humming to himself and rocking back and forth on the seat. He tried to get up to make his way to the bathroom, and that’s when the real entertainment started. All six foot two of him stumbled down a few steps, almost headfirst into the security guy gaurding the VIP section. The rope kind of caught him and pushed him backwards so he could fall onto my lap and crush half my margarita. Then Mickey-Hughey kind of guided him along. Fortunately he made it back in one piece.

How you doin’ there, guy?

I got him situated back in his seat, got another drink, and kicked back for the openers – Hot Hot Heat.

They rocked. They were this cool kind of alternative kind of Radiohead-ish (Radiohead techno that is) punky group and they really got the crowd going. Just in time for…

The Killers! Raaahhhhhh!

They paraded onto the stage and got to work, me and Mr. Bims and like ten thousand other people singing along and swaying with our drinks like we were in a tiny Irish pub rather than a big open concert arena.

We hope you enjoy your stay
It’s good to have you with us, even if it’s just for the day
We hope you enjoy your stay
Outside the sun is shining, it seems like heaven ain’t far away
It’s good to have you with us, even if it’s just for the day…

Only… it wasn’t. For the day, I mean. It was more like for seven and a half minutes. Two songs. That’s how long it took lead singer Brandon Flowers to hurt his vocal cords. They sent the doctor out on stage to tell us about it and everything. They probably assumed us Coloradans were just a bunch of granola eatin’, tree-huggin’, peace-lovin’ hippies who would wish him well and be on our little way. But when the drummer came out to apologize and tell us that the show just couldn’t go on, someone in the crowd said, “I guess you better rock the mic, then.”

Yeah, okay. Anyway, they apologized and promised to make it up to us “tenfold” in September. According to my wicked math skills, that means they might sing like ten whole songs next time. Wow wow wee wah.

Poor Mr. Bims. Drunk. Devastated. Duped. Depressed. And drunk, if I didn’t already say it. He was so crushed. There was nothing I could say to comfort him. I got him home, trying to get him to look at that night as a sneak preview to what awaits us in September (I’m just glad they didn’t say July, because my FSIL is getting married in July in NYC, and we’d have to miss it. The wedding, I mean. KIDDING, KEETS!!!).

We woke up the next morning with that annoying emotional hangover you get in college when you simultaneously drank too much the night before and did something really stupid and now you can’t find your bra but whose underwear are these?? Wait, what was I saying?

Oh yeah, The Killers. So they’ll be back on September 4th. Yeah! We forgive you, Brandon! You gaylord!

I got this sentimental heart that beats but I don’t really mind that it’s starting to get to me…