December is the darkest and June is the light/ but this empty bedroom won't make anything right
So, every year, I have a calendar. It's one of those things we just do in our family. My mom gets two calendars -- both of Paris. One for her desk and one for the bathroom. We always have a calendar in the bathroom. It doesn't really make any sense to me, except that we used to always have one of kittens in there that my grandma would give us, but after she died we changed to Paris calendars. I remember sitting in the bathtub, when I was little and my sister and I still shared a bathtub, so this was way back. I always got stuck with the side with the tap on it, and had to lean around the thing, while my sister got the nice side. But from my side I got a better view of the calendar. The kittens were always cute, because kittens always are. I remember looking at it a lot. I guess that's why we had a calendar there.
My dad gets a calendar too, but like all things that he likes a lot, he keeps it at his office. His changed every year, but it usually something civil war related. My sister and I get whatever someone though we would like that year. My sister has one of kids rock-climbing. I have one of art of goddesses.
To be fair, this isn't this year's calendar. Somehow, last year, I ended up not getting a calendar. It just didn't happen. I'm not sure why. But I didn't. My mom had an extra one, so she put that up in my room, but it fell down and I never picked it up again. It's still kicking around behind my desk somewhere. If I cock my foot to the side right now, I think I can feel its spiral bind. But I'm not going to pick it up. I put the goddess one back up instead.
I didn't look at it much the first time. Haven't looked at it much this time either. It got stuck a February. February is a beautiful piece of Psyche with Cupid. I've kind of had this thing about Psyche ever since I went to the Louvre and saw this amazing statue of Psyche and Cupid, and fell in love with the thing. So this is where I stuck. Here is the picture in question, but I promise the colours look a lot better on my calendar than on this website.
So I have looked at that picture a lot. I never changed the page, or the year. I feel kind of guilty about it, like I've been doing something wrong. You change your calendar when the month changes. It's just what you do. But I've never been good at it. My mom would always do it for me because it'd be halfway through the next month and my calendar wouldn't have been flipped over. It kind of drove her nuts the way my messy bedroom does, but I say she should just close the door. This is a hard thing for my mother.
But seriously, why should we HAVE to change over the calendar? I'm sure there's a psychoanalysis that can be done on me about why I won't flip over my friggin calendar, but that's not what I mean. I just mean, if I like last month's picture better, why not leave it there? No one writes on calendars anymore, no matter how hard my mother tries to make me, I just write things in my own agenda and give her a heads up when necessairy. So calendars are just really there to be looked at, like the kittens in the bathtub. It brings art to the masses. Changeable art -- every month, something new! No committment to one piece. But maybe I've committed myself to February.
This is all to say, calendars are not really my thing. I only like them for their art.
Here is the statue from the Louvre, called L'amour de Psyche.
Here's some background. Final Fantasy is a one man band, basically. Owen Pallett is that one man. He plays violin, keyboard, and sings. Not all at once -- he's awesome, but no one is that awesome. He uses recording pedals. He lays down one harmony and then loops it and adds something on top of that... on and on. And then he opens his lovely mouth and sings. It's the kinda of music you just lose yourself in. The songs just get better and better as he builds them. He uses everything to its max. He drums on his violin to add percussion bits, he uses the back of his bow to create a new sound, he even yells into his violin, distorting his voice. 
