Consider the lilies

I worry a lot.
My worries might be the reason I'm an insomniac. If I try to go to bed at a normal time, I lay there and worry about all the things I haven't done, or the things I shouldn't have done, or the things that might happen to me, or the things that I want to happen that might never happen, and I wonder how I can make everything turn out all right for me.
So usually I just don't go to bed.
Although the nice thing about LA is that between filming and classes and internship, I'm usually completely exhausted by the time I get home and fall asleep pretty easily.
Anyway. This post isn't about my sleeping habits. This post is about worrying. The most worrying thing that happens to me consistently is waiting on the bus. Waiting for the bus to come is such an issue of trust. I have to trust that the bus is actually going to come, which I never completely do. The entire time I'm waiting, I'm thinking, "What if the bus just isn't running today? What if there's a detour and I don't know about it? What if the bus stopped running and I got here too late? Who can I call to pick me up? When should I call them? What if I call someone and then right before they get here the bus comes?" I never trust the bus. So this week I was waiting for the bus, and it was a half an hour late. I was supposed to be at an event at a certain time and because the bus was running late, I was going to be late. So I worried. My jaw and stomach hurt from how tightly I was clenching my muscles. Then, out of the blue, a thought struck me.

"Taylor," the thought said, "worrying about this bus isn't going to make it come any faster."

When people tell me not to worry, that's what they say. And usually I think, "Okay, but if I worry about getting a job then at least I'll be motivated to prepare for it, and so actually my worry is good." Maybe that's true to a certain extent. But...mostly it doesn't do anything. I was hurting myself, and I was doing it for no reason, which is what I'm doing when I worry about my future, and when I worry about maybe being a crazy cat lady who dies alone and then no one finds me for weeks and by then the cats have eaten my face (which is why I'm never going to have cats). Yeah, maybe that will happen and maybe it won't. But regardless of my worrying, the future is coming at me like a bus, and it's going to come when it wants to.

I don't believe that thought was my own. I'm not really detached enough from myself to be able to think that clearly about my worries. I'm skittish about saying that God is trying to teach me something, not because I don't think God teaches, but because I don't know what language to use that won't sound corny. I don't know how to talk about God reaching into my life and dropping a thought like that in my head.

Of course, as soon as I wasn't on the bus anymore, I forgot all about my little revelation. Yesterday I was worrying about food.  I'm running low on cash but hate asking my family to send me money, but I figured that if I skipped lunch today I'll have bus fare for Friday and I have enough food for the weekend. If I were a preacher or someone trying to teach you something I would say this was a spiritual decision, that I was leaving the house confident in the knowledge that God would provide lunch for me. I will not say that, because it isn't remotely true. I was dreading going to work and trying not to let anyone notice that I wasn't taking a lunch break. I was also dreading not eating lunch. So I was working away when my supervisor came in to ask me to do something and casually said, "And after that you can go to lunch." I nodded, thinking I would maybe just go for a walk for 15 minutes or so and then come back. About five minutes later, one of the women at the internship announced she was buying lunch for everyone, and asked us to write our sandwich orders down.

Oh, hey, God. Didn't see you there.

I don't really like the idea of life verses or whatever. They seem like a corny Christian thing to do sometimes. Nothing against you if you have one. I just...I don't know. So I'm not going to say that I have a life verse. I am going to say that there is a verse that comes up in my life a lot. (Oh, man. Now I'm going to quote this long passage of scripture that everyone's going to skip over. Maybe don't do that. I know it's a pain, but maybe read it. Because I'm only going to do this once.)


 "Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
"So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
"Therefore do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?' or "What shall we drink?' or "What shall we wear?' For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."

At a previous time in my life when I was filled with worry, a guest pastor came to my church and spoke on this verse. He was Hispanic and spoke with a strong accent. He looked into the crowd and said, "Are you not more worth than birds?" It was what I needed. God got me through that. Then a couple of years went by, and here I am again, worrying. So guess what verse the guest speaker I was worrying about being late for quoted when he spoke. He told us not to worry about how we would provide for ourselves in LA, and not to worry about our career paths, that we should instead "consider the lilies of the field."

Did I mention this guy is a television writer for two of my favorite shows? That I talked to him afterwards and he added me on facebook? That he told me to contact him when I come back and to ask any questions I have about writing for television? Did I mention that in the past week so many things have lined up for me in so many ways that are showing me that actually, yes, I do want to write for television, and yes, I can do that? Did I mention that I am more worth than birds?

So for tonight, I'm going to go to bed. I'm not going to worry about tomorrow. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Some lessons.

   I've only been in LA for three weeks, but I'm already learning a lot. Partially I'm learning about the things I came here with the intention to learn about. Film things. Production things. This post isn't about those things.
   To be overly honest (which is, in the realm of the internet, my modus operandi), half of what I'm learning is empowering and making me feel pretty good about myself and who I am. The other half is showing me that I have a long way to go in this spiral of improvement that is a human life.
   For one thing, I tend to think of myself as someone who doesn't know as much as others, and isn't as qualified to talk as others. This has been beneficial in some ways, because I think it's helped me to become a pretty decent listener, as well as given me a mind open to edification by others. However, since being in LA, a place where I thought people would figure out what I fraud I am for being a film student, I've realized that actually, I do know what I'm talking about some of the time, and actually my thoughts and opinions do matter, and actually I'm pretty good at conversing with others about them. Imagine that. Maybe I'm not a fraud after all.
   On the other hand, I've been struggling with God a lot lately. And by lately I don't mean just since being in LA. By lately I mean pretty much all summer...and also in LA. People's faith and sense of closeness with God ebbs and flows, I've been told. My faith ebbs not, but my closeness is probably better described as distance at this point.
   I had a really good conversation with another student here tonight, which eerily echoed not only some internal battles of my own, but another ongoing conversation I've been having with Erin C. Both told me that maybe I should pray about my God-issues. I told Erin I would try (and she said I had to DO and not try, obviously) but...I keep stopping myself from praying. How am I supposed to pray when I consistently do things that I know God doesn't want me to do? How am I supposed to ask for forgiveness when I know I'm going to keep doing those things? My prayer, at this point, will most likely not be, "God, I'm sorry and I won't do it again," but instead, "God, I'm sorry that I will do this again." I don't ask people for advice that I know I'm not going to take. I don't want to talk to God when I know that I'm not doing what He wants me to do. It seems like I should get myself all righteous again before I talk to Him. (Impossible, for sure. Still, I'd at least like to be more like who I was last year than this year. I've never been this much of a mess before. I didn't know that it felt like this.)
   Then again, if everybody is telling me I should start praying, maybe I should do that. So you'll have to excuse me.

The "F" word (feminism)

     This semester I'm taking a History and Theory of Film class, and I'm really enjoying it a lot. As my professor promised (or warned) at the beginning of the semester, I view films in a really different way than I did at the beginning of the year, and my vocabulary and ability to understand movies is, I think, improving. This is unsurprising, of course, because the entire point of taking classes is to learn new things that I can apply to my life. Yesterday, to prepare for class today, Monica (my housemate) and I watched The Piano, directed by Jane Campion, who is one of a few notable female directors. I've only ever seen one other movie she's directed (Bright Star) so I don't have a whole lot of knowledge of her as a director, but I was excited for this movie because it is the only movie that we've watched for the class that was directed by a woman. As a woman who is planning on directing movies, I'm always glad to see female directors.

     Anyway, when we arrived for class today, there were still people in our classroom from the class period before, which happens occasionally, so my classmates were waiting in the hall for them to leave. As usual, the women were standing together in one part of the hallway, and the men (or man, in this case, since only one had arrived) were standing apart. I cannot be overly judgmental of this, because I don't normally opt to sit next to any of the guys because I'm not really friends with any of them, even though I do get along with all of them. Before I could join in the conversation, another of the men in the class approached.

     "So, how was The Piano?" He asked. "I didn't get a chance to watch it." I shrugged, because I still don't know how I feel about this particular movie, and because I don't normally know what people want me to say in response to that question. "It was good" seems too subjective, because there are plenty of movies that I think are good that other people don't. On the other hand, "I liked it," seems almost irrelevant, because what does it matter if I liked something? It's like a more self-aware way of saying "It was good." On the third hand, anything longer than either of those options (or their opposites, "It was bad," or "I didn't like it") seems like more information than the person is looking for. As I was considering my answer, the other guy in the hallway answered. "Eh," he said, "I didn't like it. There's a reason women don't make movies." Then he laughed.

     The women I was standing with responded negatively; one of them threatened physical harm against him because there were more of us in the hallway then there were men. The others agreed, or said other similar things. I scoffed, and didn't respond other than that, which is my typical response. First of all, I knew that the guy was kidding, even though I thought his joke was in poor taste. Secondly, I learned a long time ago that men only say those kinds of things to get a reaction, and then they usually (depending on how big of jerks they are) say something like, "Isn't she cute when she's mad?" or something equally dismissive. It's a lot easier, and generally more satisfying, to not care when people are saying things like that. Usually they stop.

     Of course, even when I try not to care I still care a little bit. Even though, like I said, I knew the guy was joking, it's irritating that's a joke that people even think of. From the things this person has said in class, I know that there are many other films he has not been fond of, but he has never claimed that those movies were bad because they were directed by a man. It would be absurd to say that, because most movies are made by men, and a lot of movies are good. Even though there were probably many reasons this person didn't like The Piano, he decided to claim that the reason he didn't like it was because it was directed by a woman.

     I'm sure that, if this person were reading this blog, he would be quick to point out that he doesn't really think that women are inferior to men. (At least, I hope he would.) And it isn't even that I don't like this guy, because I certainly don't dislike him. I typically find him to be intelligent, even when I disagree with what he is saying. He just happened to be participating in something that is a pet peeve of mine: retro-sexism. Full disclosure: I did not just read about that term on my own. A couple of months ago, my friend Alyssa and I were talking about the phenomenon (which was at that point a nameless annoying thing that I hadn't really put my finger on) which Alyssa explained to me was called retro-sexism. Retro-sexism is basically a way of being sexist in an "ironic" way. The way I interpret that is when guys respond to something by saying, "Get back in the kitchen!" or "Make me a sandwich!" and then laugh, because they have won the argument. There is no way for a woman to respond to that, because there is no generally accepted and equally offensive joke for women to make about men. Of course the guys are kidding; they don't really want a sandwich. At the same time, they are using that joke to keep from hearing an intelligent thing a woman has to say. Ending a discussion with, "Go make me a sandwich" is as effective as if you and I were having a level discussion about politics, and you said, "I think illegal aliens should be granted amnesty because the current regulations are too restrictive and don't allow for the influx of immigrants who just want to come to the United States to make a better life for themselves, just like our forefathers did," and I responded by saying loudly, "Yeah, well kiss my butt!"

     Of course you would be speechless. How would you respond to that? It would be illogical to continue the argument, as I haven't given you anything to respond to, but as a thinking human being, you probably don't want to respond with a similar retort, as that would be childish. That is how I feel when a man says "Make me a sandwich."

     Or "Get back in the kitchen."

     Or "There's a reason women don't make movies."

     I know it's just a joke, and I know that I'm "taking it too personally" and being a stupid old stick in the mud. Those are the pressures that cause me to scoff at those remarks, as opposed to saying, "When you made that statement, I felt like you weren't taking me seriously as an intelligent human being." It just makes me really tired. Referring "ironically" to old stereotypes as a way to end arguments is just as offensive as referring to them without joking. They both silence someone effectively, and make me feel small and unimportant, when I know I'm not. It's not okay to joke that I, or any woman, am inept because I am a woman. When women are referred to that way, I am frustrated. I am tired. I am sad.

     That's what I've been thinking about lately.

What Are You Supposed to Be?

    As I'm typing this, children are walking up and down our street and through our neighborhood, dressed as pirates and witches and zombies, and it's my job to give them candy. It's my first Halloween, and I'm nervous about it. I was at first wearing a tee shirt and pajama pants, since it's Sunday and the pajama pants are plaid and cool-looking, but after a few batches of children had passed through, I noticed their parents, hanging behind, and realized that I didn't want to be that girl handing out candy in pajamas. I ran upstairs and switched to cords, then came back down. I asked Deanna, "What am I supposed to do? How much candy are they supposed to take? What am I supposed to say?"
     "Just say Happy Halloween, and then they'll take a piece of candy."
     "Just one piece? How are they supposed to get tons of candy?"
     "They'll end up with tons," Deanna's friend Elizabeth, who is visiting, assures me. "Everyone is giving them one piece of candy."
     Still, when a little boy with a camo painted face lingers over the bowl for a few seconds, deciding between the starburst and the tootsie roll, I quietly assure him, "Go ahead, take 'em both," and smile. I'm already breaking the rules.
     A few minutes ago, a couple of boys (probably 11 or 12) came up to the door for their treats. I wished them a Happy Halloween, and as the first boy chose his treat, the second said, "Your shirt is awesome."
     "My shirt?" I asked.
     "Yeah, I like it."
     The other boy looked up, read my shirt. "I'm sorry," he read slowly, "I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am." He nodded in approval, in the "too-cool" way that only 12 year old boys can. "Nice. That's a GREAT shirt." He started to walk away, having collected his skittles. "I'll buy it off of you for twenty bucks."
     Before I could respond, he was gone, clumping down our front porch steps. I turned to Deanna, who was sitting on the couch behind me, laughing at the exchange. I don't know why he offered to buy my shirt, especially since I'm pretty sure it only cost $10, and twenty dollars is a lot of money to a kid. Was he showing off for me, for his friend? Was he trying to act as cocky as the ninja he was dressed as?

     When I was younger, Mom was very firmly in the camp that Halloween was the devil's holiday, and inappropriate for children to celebrate. Although my siblings and I dressed up at least once a week, usually to do interpretive dance to Peter and the Wolf, we did not do so for October 31st. On the last day of October, we stayed in. I never felt like I was missing out. We had a All Hallow's Eve party one year, and other years our church had Harvest Parties where we could dress us and win prizes. And after all, I've always been aware that there are certain things I will never be able to do because I'm a Christian. When I was a child, one of those things was Halloween.
     When I got older, after we had moved out to the country where no one goes trick or treating anyway, we made friends with a family who always held a big Halloween party, and they invited us. This was a huge deal. Mom decided that it would be okay to go to the party. I dressed up as an Autumnal Fairy, wearing the vintage hippie dress I had picked up at a store in Mount Vernon adorned with leaves and with wings (made of wire hangers, panty hose and spray paint). After that, we went to the party every year, but I've never been trick or treating.
     This year, for the first time, watching all the little kids and the middle-schoolers traipse past our front window, I wish I would have had that kind of childhood, just for Halloween. Maybe it's not even that experience that I want. The thing that's so attractive about Halloween is the pretending. Pretending to be someone else, someone who is cool, distinctive, powerful and interesting. When I was a kid, it was easy to pretend. I pretended to be confident. I pretended to be in charge of things. I pretended to be a mermaid every time my friend Rosalyn came over.
     At some point, probably age 13, the pretending became lying. When people talked about music or movies, I pretended that I knew who they were talking about. I lied about who I was, and who I thought I was. When a friend of a friend told me that she didn't like the way I dressed, I told my friend that I didn't care what that other person thought. I told them that I was my own person, that I did what I wanted to do.
     During my senior year of high school, pretending just got too hard. It was too hard to keep track of the bands I was supposedly into. I couldn't keep trying to gauge whether people were talking about song titles or albums. I wouldn't make up any more plots of movies based on the summaries I'd heard from others. I decided that I was going to stop pretending.

     It's nice, as it turns out.

     Now, when someone says, "You know in that movie Requiem For A Dream..." I say, "Nope, haven't seen it," before I can be tempted to lie. Sometimes I think I might be too assertive about it, telling everyone the things I haven't seen or heard or done willy-nilly, scattering my inexperience into the ears of anyone who will listen. I'm afraid that if I don't say something right away, I won't say anything at all and I'll be back to who I was in high school, a girl who was too afraid to be herself for fear that the person she'd invented was much better than the person she really was. I used to pretend to be things because I thought that was how I should be, now I try to do what I want to because that's how I have to be.
     Still, the seduction of pretending is always too close for comfort. Am I wearing this plaid thrift store shirt because I like it, or because everyone else likes it? Am I watching this movie because I want to see it, or because that awesome person over there was talking about it a few days ago? I think I'm still motivated by what other people want, and I think I always will be. The difference, maybe, is that now when I talk to that awesome person over there about the movie, I usually say, "So, I watched (500) Days of Summer because you were talking about it the other day, and you're awesome." Maybe that's more awkward. Maybe it's more off-putting and forward. Either way, it's more truthful. Pretending is no longer about fooling people. Pretending is fun and easy again. Pretending is just for fun and creativity.
   And Halloween.

Goals For Fall Break

I tend to create goals for myself that I cannot achieve. I expect to accomplish too much in a day, and I realize that. I guess since I never actually accomplish everything I set out to do, I have this feeling that if I put fewer things on my to-do list, I won't finish that shorter list, either. Still, even though I always include "low priority items" that I know will just end up first on tomorrow's To Do list, I end up lying awake at night, unable to sleep because all I can think about are the things I've left undone, and the possible repercussions for my "slacker" behavior. I got to thinking about that today when I told my housemate Deanna that I didn't get as much done over fall break as I intended (a common refrain for me). "I didn't do anything productive at ALL on Thursday," I moaned. "I should have done something on Thursday so I wouldn't have to worry so much today."
After that, we talked about our breaks, and I realized that, even though I didn't complete all my To Dos, I did do a lot of stuff over break, even though I felt like I'd been a lazy bum. Why do I feel like a lazy bum? Because I didn't complete the things that I supposedly "needed" to do. I told Deanna about the fun things I did on Wednesday with the caveat that "The stuff I did on Wednesday was fun and I enjoyed it, and I got to spend time with my family, but..." Although the words I was saying made it seem like I recognize that family time is important, the tone that I was using clearly indicated that my actions are at odds with my words. I wanted to blog about my continual failure to "get things done," and my high stress level this semester, because I keep "slacking off." Why don't I focus more on school? Why don't I do everything I need to do?
I realized that when I talk like that, I'm making myself feel like I am a slacker, when I'm not even close to failing any of my classes. More importantly, I'm learning a LOT, both inside and outside of class. Isn't that what I'm going to college for? To learn? Am I learning? Yes, definitely.
So why do I pay attention only to my failures?
Why do I act like things that aren't assigned for me to do are unimportant?
Why do I put things on my list that I know I will never complete?
Why don't I focus on all the things I did get done this week?

With all these questions in mind, here is my special list for today. Instead of making a To Do list, I'm going to make a Have Done list for my fall break.

Watched The Darjeeling Limited with Mom and Dad, which means that I have now watched every Wes Anderson film.
Wrote two journals for my Groups class.
Read half of The Help, a book for my friend Danyella's book club.
Made collages with Mom and my sisters.
Wrote 20 pages of a script I'm working on with Nick.
Beat three bosses in Super Mario Bros Wii with my siblings and my friend Kevin.
Talked with Zach about his life and my life.
Wrote a KWL for Comm Theory.
Read three books of the Bible.
Went to a bonfire with some friends from church who I rarely see.
Studied for my New Testament Exam for 4 hours.
Spent an afternoon (and a late night) having a jam session with my entire family (including Mom, who can now play ukulele!)
Went to a choir concert my dad performed in.
Ate dinner with my family multiple times.
Talked to my old choir director.
Went to church.
Talked to my friend Alyssa on the phone,
Watched Taxi Driver for History and Theory of Film.
Did a load of laundry.
Hung out with my family in general.
Watched an entire movie with my little sisters (which is, unfortunately, rare for me, since I usually leave them half-way through to do something else).

That is a lot of stuff for someone to do in a fairly limited amount of time. And all of that was beneficial to me. And all of it was good for me to do. I didn't waste my time this fall break. I think I actually spent my time really well. I'm going to focus on that, instead of the two items on my To Do list that I didn't complete.

I don't like to have stereotypical titles that use the words "musings" or "rambling" because that's what people always do.

I really really really want something exciting to happen to me. I can't sleep anymore because I feel like I'm on the verge of something exciting happening, and if I go to sleep, I'll miss out. I check my email and facebook every couple of minutes because I think something is about to happen.

Nothing is happening.

When my hair is long I'm afraid I look like a cartoon hobo. When my hair is short I'm afraid I look like a lesbian. There is no right answer.

I don't know whether I've changed a lot or not at all since high school. Sometimes I think I'm a better person, and sometimes I think I'm a worse person. Sometimes I think I've been the same person since I was eight years old and pretended to faint whenever people did things that surprised or displeased me.

I don't remember the last time I dreamt. I think maybe the last dream I remember was a dream where I had started smoking and then felt bad about it because I always told myself that I wasn't ever going to smoke, but then in the dream I like smoking much too much to quit. Then Betsy and my mom told me that the dream probably meant that I'm blocking people off from me with a smoke screen of always being funny and I thought they were wrong at first but then I thought about it and was afraid they were right and now I think I'm afraid to remember my dreams because maybe they'll tell me more things I don't like about myself.

Today in directing we did an acting exercise. When I took Intro to Theatre and was in plays, I hated acting exercises and never committed to them. But now I commit to them and I like them because it's making me a better director. But they're the same exercises. Probably, though, I'm not ever going to act again because I think I'm too sensitive about myself. I usually am cast as older women or annoying people, and then for the whole production I keep telling myself "The reason why you got this part is because you're ugly and annoying." I'm much easier on myself as a writer and a director. It doesn't matter what writers and directors look like because no one ever knows who they are, anyway.

The more successful I am in college, the more I worry that I'm going to fail dramatically at real life.

I made cookies with Laura tonight. I'm very glad to have people in my life with whom I am completely comfortable. I am also glad that there is such a thing as chocolate chip cookies.

Sometimes I meet people and feel very upset if we don't become friends right away. But it always turns out that we become friends later when I'm not expecting it, and it's like finding an extra present under the Christmas tree after all the wrapping paper is cleaned up.

Some Things That Have Come To My Attention

Sometimes if you just see a picture of someone, they don't seem that good-looking. But then when you talk to them you think that they are the most beautiful person in the world.

I always think to myself, "That person is so cool, they act like nothing matters to them. They're so freaking cool." But then if I ever talk to that person, I realize that I care too much about everything to get along with someone who doesn't care about anything. Something awesome will happen, like a thrift store full of Beanie Babies that I don't have, and then that person will find out that I collect Beanie Babies and instead of coming to the realization that Beanie Babies are an important thing to care about, they just scoff and make me feel stupid for seeing wonderfulness in what are essentially bags of plastic beads. So, I have to look at those careless cool people and think, "Taylor, you are too intense and too hyperbolic to be cool, so you'd better just stick with the people who care about things."

I've been watching a lot of videos on YouTube of British people, and now my internal monologue is British.

So, John Mayer wrote on his blog about his hair: "The feathered cut projects an attitude of ease and quiet confidence that seems to have all but eluded our generation. [It] is a work in progress, and as my hair grows longer it will serve to become a more stirring and poignant statement." Yes, he's talking about his hair. He thinks his hair style is going to make a "stirring and poignant statement." The more he talks/writes, the less I like him. Nothing about hair is poignant. I guess unless it's that song about that girl with cancer who has to shave her head before prom and then her boyfriend shaves his head in solidarity. That is poignant. But a Ferris Bueller-esque hairstyle? No. Not poignant.

Zach is home, and he didn't know who Justin Beiber is! Man oh man! I wish I didn't know who Justin Bieber is!

Last night I was trying to figure out who in the world I could imagine myself married to, and there wasn't anyone. I could imagine dating people, but not marrying anyone. That's probably because all the people I was thinking about were Andrew McCarthy, Ewan McGregor and David Tennant.

If all I ever ate was watermelon, I would be happy with my life.

Apparently people really hate you when you talk about music and, after mentioning a band you like, say "Yeah, you've probably never heard of them." I can understand why, in certain circumstances, that would be annoying. But I say that sometimes because sometimes I listen to bands that I really don't see how anyone else could have heard of them, either because they're local, or just random stuff I found online or whatever. And I don't want to act like I'm talking about Coldplay or something, so I don't want the person I'm talking to to feel like they should know who I'm talking about and feel stupid. So that's why sometimes I say, "You've probably never heard of this band."
Also, I guess people say that because they feel proud of how indie they are or something? I don't ever feel proud about knowing about some band, because usually it was someone else who told me about it. It's not like I'm a private eye who scopes out bands or something. I find out about them through websites and friends. Anyone can do that.