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Finally, Forfeit! - November 06, 2005

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November 02, 2005

So Here's How it Happened...

One of these days in my college career, I'm going to write an entire paper without having to lose sleep the night before it's due. Yup. That sure would be nice. I'll have to get around to doing that sometime soon--maybe even before I graduate this spring. Yup, yup. One of these days...

I know I tell myself that I'm going to do the right thing by getting a head start on all the craploads of work I've got to finish in the next month, but I really need to get real. I procrastinate with everything because I enjoy the stress of last-minute preparation. It's the ultimate recipe for overcompensation: (1) Act confident and arrogant about the assignment by completely neglecting to do it for weeks at a time, (2) spend less than three hours trying to cram six weeks worth of work into a stellar presenation, (3) Spend at least half of your cramming session bitching and moaning over minute details that should have been handled long ago, (4) turn in a finished product that's not only better than everyone else's, but was completed in less than half the time. Now that's what I call efficiency. Being the good old overcompensating, procrastinate perfectionist that I am, I can't imagine doing it any other way.

I've been making excited trips to the mailbox this week, because I've been expecting two separate packages of old skool NSYNC CDs to arrive from the Amazon Marketplace. I know, I know... NSYNC is so 2000, but I caught a commercial on MTV last week advertising their greatest hits CD, and somehow the fourteen year-old version of myself rushed out and started snogging the television screen. I kid you not: They played the opening bars to "Tearin' Up My Heart," and I was gettin' down in the family room. As much as some of you may hate all that is (was?) NSYNC, you've got to admit it was a catchy song. Although the lyrics really don't make any sense now that I think about it:

It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you
And when we are apart, I feel it, too
And no matter what I do, I feel the pain
With or without you

Umm... translation, please? Why were the boys of NSYNC hanging around this girl (It always sounds as though all five of them are trying to sing to just one girl at the exact same time) if it was "tearin' up" their hearts so badly? And why were they so emotional whenever the girl was away? Is this a case of chronic heartburn, or just the fault of some really bad lyrics, à la ABBA (Uggh, ABBA...)?

Anyway, I loaded up my Winamp player this weekend, and they had the ENTIRE STREAM of the new greatest hits CD.

[Insert wild teenage girl scream here.]

Oh man, my Winamp player was ON FIRE. I was spinnin' tracks like "It's Gonna Be Me," "I Want You Back," and "Bye, Bye, Bye" like it was Y2K all over again.

Eee!

So yeah, I got not one, but two vintage NSYNC discs online for just under $10! I would've bought the greatest hits CD, but it was missing my ULTIMATE JAM, "Here We Go." Now you tell me, people, how are you going to make an NSYNC Greatest Hits CD without slapping down some beats from "Here We Go?" Y'all know that was the song. Some idiot chose to skip that song in order to include the Gloria Estefan track, "Music of My Heart." Excuse me, but April isn't going to be sweating up a storm when she's working out at RPAC with some slow mess like that. Nu-uh, it just ain't happenin'. "Here We Go" is the shit.

So yeah, if you see that the Radio Blog is soon littered with NSYNC memories, just know that it's the result of a temporary bout of insanity. Sooner or later, I'll be checking my fourteen year old self back where she belongs.

PS: If you guys have any suggestions for tracks to add to my Radio Blog, let me know. I'm always looking for new music, and I'd be willing to take requests every now and then. Besides, this NSYNC fetish can only last so long... It's either this or some old skool Belle & Sebastian, and I know that doesn't sit too pretty with some of you. So do the truly American thing and request, request, request!

posted at 11:18 p.m.

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