Ceci n'est pas du "pop"

Foreword: OLGIP isn't going devolve into a music blog. I'm pretentious, often about music, but I know my limits.

My music taste varies.
From painfully embarrassing screechy Euro technopop (I cannot believe I'm admitting this on my increasingly public blog) :



..to respectable, awesome, Baltimore-based Future Islands, described on their website as "Electro synthpop"



The common tie is "pop". Why does everyone needlessly apply that word to music that I like. Is it just to shame me? I think music journalists just enjoy tacking on as many adjectives as possible before "pop" because it provides a little zazz at the end.
"When I hear your voice I think : 'Nails-on-a-chalkboard-pop"

Even the sonority of the word is annoying. It reminds me of that stupid College game: "What region are you from - what do you call carbonated drinks?" devised to taunt the dweeby kid from the Midwest who inevitably chimes in  - "It's POP, man! Pahhhhhp!"
You know what? It's a stupid name for soda, and it's a stupid name to call every artist or song that I like. (This is not my fault, this is a fundamental problem with the music industry)

Still, I think I should try and wean myself off of all of this so-called "pop" music. Here are a few songs that I love that I have discovered or re-discovered  in the past 6 months that are NOT pop. But I can't be completely objective here.

Let's play a game, children : Pop or not Pop?

Minimalish beachside pop?
or Not Pop?:



Sobbing over your ex's Facebook page-pop?
or
Not Pop? 


EELS - That Look You Give That Guy - from HOMBRE LOBO from EELS on Vimeo.


Tattooed whiny French girl folkpop?
or
Not Pop?


Coeur de Pirate || Comme des enfants from Dare To Care Records on Vimeo.

Ten-to-Fifteen, don't do drugs, kids- pop?
or Not Pop?



Fine, this post had nothing to do with France other than the fact that France has egged on my pop habit. But the title is an over-used Magritte meme in France. That should count for something.

Anyways, help me with my pop habit, please.

Melamine & melancholy

Thinking about Paris and eventual repatriation, I've decided to put the decision process into a mega 'pro' and 'con' list. Like my friends' binary rating system for women: ("She's either a '1' or a '0', man") most large decisions are just the result of a series of 'Yea's and 'Nay's. Here goes:

Pro:



I found myself at 148 Rue de la Roquette (site of a former huge prison, La Grande Roquette) waiting for my government-appointed medical visit to get my residence permit.
Much like prison, this involves large women undressing you, shoving your bare breasts against the wall and screaming, "GONFLEZ!"... then they take an X-Ray. Unlike prison.

In the waiting room, I found myself next to a Chinese man. Long hair, steel-heeled ankle-high boots, reading a long book. On my right, two American girls were complaining about their upcoming French Lit exam, and how hard AUP is (oh, bite me, seriously). But I couldn't figure out what my Eastern neighbor to the left (heh) was doing in the country.

Then I saw that the title of his book was in English: "P.S. I Love You".

...Apparently, China will soon be beating France at everything, including the "Men crying about their emotions" market. (They will cry harder and longer, but their tears may contain carcinogens).

I finally get called in by the doctor who tells me I don't have tuberculosis !
She takes my blood pressure, and I mutter something about eating too much salt and is my blood pressure normal. She responds,

"Bof, they say, 'Don't eat salt, don't eat butter, don't eat sugar, and then wonder why everyone is anorexic.'

10 POINTS TO THE GOVERNMENT APPOINTED DOCTOR!
I almost gave her an "Amen sistah," but then figured she would yell at me about not being secular, and not give me my residence permit.

So, pro: France, French butter, that Doctor, and being allowed to work legally.

Con:

I was running an errand on a Sunday, and decided to take the long route along the river. Going down a set of narrow steps down to the quay, I cross a decently well-dressed woman. She passes me and says:

"Vous avez une odeur de cul!"
(You smell like ass)

I had to stop myself from bursting out into tears, and decided to run home and take a shower instead. Luckily I turned around to see that she was saying this to other hapless passers-by in the street. She either has a very keen sense of smell, is completely insane, or both.

Con: Parisians, People who smell like ass.

Let's see how long I can keep this pro/con list going.