Thursday, December 27, 2007
In the meantime, it's not often that stupid Internet cartoon things are 100% true, but in this case I think I've found a gem.
I can't exactly pinpoint where New Young Pony Club would be located on the spectrum. What you do think?
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
JESS: i pour a glass of wine for myself and walk into the family room where my dad, stepmom, grandma and sister are gathered round the tree watching abc family holiday movies
JESS: my dad and grandma give me disdainful looks for drinking wine
JESS: my sister makes a comment about me drinking wine
JESS: and my stepmom asks why i didn't pour her a glass
JESS: and then i throw the wine onto the new rug and run upstairs crying
JOSH: and smoke up
JOSH: okay can i give you my forecast for any given day i'm at home
JOSH: i wake up at 3 cuz i'd been up til 5 am the previous night watching tv cuz i dont wanna fall asleep worrying about my problems
JOSH: i am in no mood to deal with my parents so my dad says good morning and i'm a bitch and he looks sad because we'll never be best friends again
JOSH: my mom calls from work to see how i am but i rush her off the phone cuz the more i talk to her the more stressed i get, and then she sounds sad too cuz she thinks i only like her when she buys me stuff
JOSH: then my brother tries to talk to me about things i don't care about and i cant feign interest so he looks hurt and thinks he's a bad brother
JOSH: basically i alienate everyone in my family
JESS: ME TOO. Ahh that is so my life.
JESS: and like i don't hate them i really don't
JOSH: i know!
JESS: i just don't know how to interact with them anymore
JOSH: and when i'm in ny i like imagine myself… next time i'll be nicer
JOSH: but it never happens.
JESS: why IS that?
JOSH: i have no idea
JESS: i don't know why i cant just deal with them. maybe it's that my life is so different from theirs now… school in new york, etc
JESS: i almost feel like we think we're better than them or something. like subconsciously.
JOSH: yes. i definitely do
JESS: like we look down on their little suburban lives. And think… how sad. I won’t end up like that.
JOSH: i treat my friends with an air of condescension
JOSH: but instead we'll become borderline alcoholics who can’t handle their family problems.
JESS: i don't mean to i just feel like i've... experienced more or something
JOSH: exactly. i live in new york. i've done so much that they'll never do
Now go drink.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
JESS: look at this message exchange between me and my uncle. and by exchange i mean messages i sent to him:
JESS: my boyfriend is going to be in DC over winter break. he needs a job. do you need an assistant / know of anybody that could use some cheap labor? he likes football and he doesn't smoke weed and he will bum you cigarettes after you've sworn to yourself you've quit. in short he is awesome. please help.
JESS: nevermind he just got a job at borders. thanks for all the hard work and effort i know you were ABOUT to put into this, though. see you at christmas. bring jack daniels.
JOSH: LOL bring jack daniels
JESS: yes, because i am both a rockabilly with a shriveled liver and an old man who mixes it with peppermint schnapps
JOSH: or just the cynical aunt who takes swigs from the bottle
JESS: change "aunt" to "unwanted step-grand-daughter" and you've basically got that right
JOSH: at this stage in your life you'd make an awful mother but a terrific cool aunt
JOSH: cuz we all have a cool aunt
JESS: my aunt used to be cool but then she had a kid
JOSH: that ruins it
JESS: when i was 14 i would stay with her and my uncle in san francisco and they would give me wine and then as the night went on that would progress to vodka and then i'd catch my uncle smoking a spliff in the garage while sitting on the washing machine
JESS: ah, childhood
Okay, you see that sign that says "Express Checkout"? And then it says five items or less? And some of the words are in italics and some are in bold and they're all written in green font because WHOLE FOODS IS GOING GREEN? Well, I guess you don't, because you just had to try to sneak your shopping cart suspiciously filled with heads of lettuce, milk cartons, and boxes of Kashi Go-Lean into the lane next to mine. And then when an employee politely informed you that you indeed had more than five items and as such had to go to the regular check-out, you flipped a shit. You are one of four things:
4) Any combination of the previous three
The worst part is that I've seen you before. Every couple of weeks, usually when the store is closing down but sometimes WHENEVER THE HELL YOU WANT. You're never going to get away with it, and it just makes the rest of us uncomfortable when you start yelling back. Why not avoid the entire problem and go to Gristedes? Organic cheese isn't gonna help you lose weight anyway.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
JOSH: lemme put it this way
JOSH: i found the perfect song about [insert shitty situation]
JOSH: are you looking for %s?
JESS: i'd listen to it but dhani's blasting joy division
JESS: oh also i'm broke
JESS: oh also i just walked home and am now soaking wet
JESS: oh also i have a hole in my 3-week-old boots
JOSH: yeah my new frye boots are already messed up
JESS: oh also i'm inching ever closer towards suicide
PS. DISCLAIMER: This is a joke pleasedontfireme.
So I'm having a bad day, again. I think it has something to do with the weather/my ugly outfit/my $20 checking account balance even though I got $175 at the beginning of this week. (Granted, 80% of that went towards Christmas presents, but still.) So, because I'm a masochist who likes to indulge in my bad moods to the furthest extent possible, I asked the magic eight ball on the front desk at my office this fateful question:
Am I ugly?
No doubt about it.
Well, you know what? Fuck you, "magic" eight ball. Who are you to call me ugly? You just sit on the desk all plastic and round and when people shake you and ask personal questions that greatly affect their self-worth, you give them answers that drive them further to the brink of suicide. FUCK. YOU. Because of you I'll probably develop anorexia and start using bronzer. If I'm unrecongizable due to the amount of Bare Minerals I have caked on my face by next Wednesday, everyone can blame you, Mr. Eight Ball. You bastard.
But what does this say about girls today? It's hard to tell if Jamie-Lynn had an "accident," (i.e. the condom broke, she was one of the unlucky girls who get trapped by the 1% chance the Pill doesn't work, etc), she was "unknowledgable," (cue: abstinence-only sex ed), or she "just didn't give a shit" (dicks feel so much better condomless). But her decision to not get an abortion is the strangest part of this whole thing for me.
I'm not saying that I don't trust teenage girls to make the right personal decision about their bodies. I think a lot of girls are way more informed about their options than their parents/the government would like to believe. But I also think that movies like Juno, and tween celebs like Jamie-Lynn, can have an impact on the psyche of the American youth. It's hard to say how many girls, struggling with the secret of pregnancy, are going to see Jamie-Lynn and Juno and say: Well, let's have this thing then. But it's a definite option. Juno made having a baby look so easy that, for a split second, I even considered doing it; and that's saying something, because there are few things on this earth I hate more than children.
Having a baby at any age will change your life. Having a baby at 16 will most likely change your life for the worst. When Diablo Cody, screenwriter of Juno, glossed over the idea of Juno getting an abortion in order to progress the plot, something very important was lost; teen pregnancy is not easy, no matter how jaded and soaked in sarcasm you are. Little Jamie-Lynn is going to stand testament to that. She will be the real life example that disproves the Juno theory: she will probably end up a crackhead, like her sister, and mom Lynn will raise the baby in some backhome Louisiana compound, feeding it Ovaltine and teaching it sad Christian values.
So if girls take anything away from this, it should be something positive: Jamie-Lynn fucked up her life. Don't you fuck up yours.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
New York Magazine released their annual issue, Reasons to Love New York. True to form, this is our cynical response.
1. Conversations like this, which I actually overheard walking home from work on Houston today:
Fat Christian Dad wearing a Cowboys hat and talking loudly in a Southern accent: Isn't it amazing? All of those stores! Wow!
Ugly Christian Daughter wearing a red knit cap from Old Navy: I know, I saw the Prada and I was just like wooooow! Prada!
2. I have a love/hate relationship with fashion in New York. Sometimes it's noon on a Saturday and I'm hungover as fuck and I just want some Starbucks. At home, I'd get in my (environmentally-friendly) Honda Civic hybrid and hit the drive thru. In New York I have to shower. And put on make-up. And do my hair. Because in New York, you cannot walk outside looking anything less than runway-ready. The few times I've been truly lazy enough to go out in sweatpants and Pumas I've run into 1) Mary-kate Olsen and 2) Sarah Jessica Parker. I shit you not. It sucks.
3. Creepy old men. Men in the suburbs may fantasize over you, but they will never bring those fantasies to life. In New York, anything goes. Last week a leering man in a truck literally PARKED his truck on the side of the road and GOT OUT to hit on me. This would never happen anywhere else. They aren't even subtle about it. Oh and by the way, if you're a truck driver, I'm probably not going to date you. It's not that I'm judgmental, but I do have standards. (Debatable)
4. Money: In New York, you need lots of it. And I just don't have it. Money for food and rent and school and drinks and drugs and cabs and subways and museums and clothes and toiletries. It's ridiculous. No matter how much you make, you'll never have enough to live the kind of life you want to. Ain't that depressing?
5. Any neighborhood above 14th street: Seriously. New York gets very midwestern above Union Square.
JOSH: lol statue of liberty
JESS: like i don't even think about that as part of new york
JESS: i forget that it even exists
JOSH: i know right
JOSH: like midtown
JOSH: what IS that
Ah, New York. I could never imagine living anywhere else, yet, like so many of the things we love, it also manages to piss me off in countless ways. Actually, not quite "countless" since this is totally a numbered list.
1. It's Gay--I live in the Village. It's really gay around here; some of the city's most (in)famous gay clubs are mere minutes away. The Cock is literally one block from my dorm. The Annex is pretty faggy on any given night, and it takes about three songs on my iPod to get there. And I'm just a short subway ride from the Meatpacking District and Chelsea. Yet I'm single! Where have all the decent men gone? When did all the sweet, good-looking guys get together and stop going out, and why didn't the inform me? I'm sweet! I'm...well, I'm not ugly. Point is, after a certain point, the homosexuality starts to piss me off, taunting me with easy one-night stands and dangling its potential boyfriends in front of me, like a very flamboyant carrot hanging from a spandex string.
2. Broadway--When did Broadway become a circle of hell? It wasn't always this packed last year. Or maybe it was. The fact remains that Broadway is where downtown's tourists and creepsters go to roam and bug you for directions to the nearest Starbucks. I hate Broadway and avoid it whenever I can, and I suggest you do the same. And if you must trek down Broadway on a Saturday, well...who says you can't drive automobiles on the sidewalk? You'd reach your destination faster and probably bump into fewer people than you would walking anyway.
3. Random construction--It seems that every week, a new intersection or stretch of sidewalk is stripped bare and loaded with equipment and wet pavement and scaffolding. Not only does this destroy my view, but it makes the daily (well, sort-of-daily) walk to class all the more treacherous. Not to mention that the sound of a bulldozer right outside my window is hardly the wake-up call my hangovers desire.
4. Homeless people who get annoyed when you ignore them--Seriously, what law was passed that requires me to throw you a couple quarters? That's right, there isn't any. So don't get pissed at me, because I'm a college student and need that money to fund the self-destructive habits that make me feel okay about myself.
5. Cars that don't stop until they're halfway through the intersection--Because in addition to the construction and the homeless people, my morning really needs a brush with death. And you know what? Fuck you, you're driving a Mazda. Hit me with a Lexus and we'll talk.
6. Students that dress like they still live in New Jersey--When you got to NYU, you should have left the Ugg boots and Abercrombie sweatshirts at home. Nothing says "I'm an obnoxious bitch who's not yet ready to live on my own" like a rugby shirt. And dude with the American Eagle hat? Bro, you totally chose the wrong college. Go back to Rutgers and enjoy your petty Greek life, then call me in ten years when you've developed alcoholism. You'll also probably be a wealthy stockbroker ready to experiment with your sexuality, so, you know...look me up.
JESS: more like 65%
JESS: more like 100%
JOSH: which makes it all the more depressing that i'm single
JOSH: but you know what? i'm also a free spirit
JOSH: OHHHH OPTIMISTIC SPIN
JOSH: betcha didn't see that one coming
JESS: file that under why i think you're bipolar
JOSH: i'm trying a new outlook on life
JOSH: everything's gonna turn out okay
JOSH: a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step
JESS: this is going to end in 2 days when you realize that the end of schoolwork does not mean the end of the blues
JOSH: schoolwork never equaled the blues for me
JOSH: i don't care enough.
JESS: my bad mood right now is:
JOSH: or like
JESS: what's your mood percentage right now?JOSH: this is our new hobby
JOSH: mood percentages
I had an online journal when I was 15 that I refuse to link to because there are some things that shall remain sacred. But I just had to share this little blurb, found in an entry from August 2004:
Here's where my teenage girlish notions of romance kick in - I've had this fantasy for awhile, because deep down I know I'm going to meet my future husband in a bookstore. He'll be drinking Chai and reading beat poetry (preferably Ginsberg or Bukowski or maybe some of Kerouac's earlier haikus) and he'll sit down in a big chair next to me. The conversation will go as follows:
Me: What band would you listen to while reading Bukowski? I can't quite figure one out.
Him: Hm, well Dave Matthews Band is not emo enough, but Coldplay's too mainstream, Jack Johnson and Beck are too upbeat and Joni Mitchell's kind of corny. So I'd say Radiohead or Elliott Smith.
I would then play Amnesiac or the My Iron Lung EP on my iPod and we'd delve into a deep conversation about our likes and dislikes (He prefers Burroughs, I prefer Kerouac. He owns more records than I do, wears Givenchy and does word searches. We both hate Bush and indulge in the Real World as our guilty pleasure). And that would be that.
And now for the collective LOL!!!! Old pretentious habits die hard, folks.
Monday, December 17, 2007
This book also brings up gender issues: first of all, the boys' book uses the word "dangerous" in the title, and the girls' uses "daring." That would be because if women are termed "dangerous" in society, it reflects negatively on them, while if guys are termed "dangerous" it means they're badass and manly. The word "daring" implies that it's okay for women to break outside the box a little, but step too far outside of society's applied gender role, and you might be dangerous-- aka a prostitute or drug addict or something of the sort.
Well, naturally, I say-- FUCK THAT. Here's what I think girls should be doing to be both dangerous and daring:
1. Sneak out of your house: You will learn more things about yourself and the world if you choose to disobey your parents and capture a little freedom. I was a bad kid when I was a teenager, and not one ounce of that "badness" reflects on my character now. Breaking your parents' rules when you're a teenager is what you're supposed to do. You need to assert your independence. So don't be afraid to climb out that window! Your parents will eventually forgive you. Mine did.
2. Build a bong, and boys will come. Seriously, they'll worship you. Also bongs are fun.
3. Sneak liquor from your parents' liquor cabinet. Here are some hints:
a) If they've caught on to your antics already like mine did by the time I was 15 and have marked a line on the bottle, be sure to fill it back up with water. This means you should really only take clear liquid without having to worry that they'll find out.
b) Only siphon liquor when no one is home.
c) Put it in a water bottle and hide it somewhere your dad won't go. (Your underwear drawer)
Seriously, girls. Be brave and bold and don't let the adults get you down. High school will be over soon and you can be free to sleep with whoever you want, drink whatever you want and do as little or as much studying as you want. Fuck knitting. Go pour a drink.
Here's Justin's fake Santa letter---
I think it’s cute that you asked for a bike again this year. I guess your parents told you that if you asked again maybe this year I’d be more inclined to get it for you. Maybe you were extra good this year, I don’t know, to be honest, in a given year I see maybe half the kids of the world, and that’s on a good year. I mean, they say a lot of kids don’t celebrate Christmas, but that’s bullshit Bruno, you and I both know that everyone does.So anyway, I’m not going to get you that bike, not because you don’t deserve it, but because I don’t have any. Haven’t you ever seen a movie? We make toy things here. Nutcrackers and dolls and shit. We don’t build things you can buy in stores. That’s for your parents to do. If you’re not getting what you want, take it up with them, not me. I mean, let me tell you a little secret, there’s no such thing as elves, they’re a myth, and even if they weren’t, the idea scares the shit out of me. So every present you get from me, I made it myself. And I can’t make bikes. I can barely make wooden dolls, but I do, because I’m that kind of guy.One last point of contention, I don’t think it’s cute when you write in crayon. Have your parents write your letters from now on, I want to be able to like, actually read them. Dig?
Ok, merry Christmas.
Love SantaOk, so maybe he's wittier but I have prettier hair. Also, I just rhymed wittier and prettier. TAKE THAT.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Your mommy is sleeping with your teacher because your ADHD is tearing your parents apart. Your teacher is only nice to you because your mommy had reconstructive surgery on her vag after birthing you and so he wants to keep fucking her; you didn't actually deserve an A on that Crayola self-portrait project. Your daddy is an alcoholic. He drinks because he's felt trapped ever since you were born. This isn't the way he imagined his life turning out. He wanted to be a graphic artist, now he draws the pictures on cereal boxes. Also, you smell. You can forget about that bicycle you wanted.
Guess who's on the naughty list this year (you),
Friday, December 14, 2007
Dov: Children? Ha! Perhaps I shall use them in my next American Apparel ad campaign. Yes... children. Little 12 year olds in all spandex outfits splayed out erotically like Bratz dolls. I can see it now, high above the heads of Manhattanites. But only on the Lower East Side, of course!
Dov: Oh sure but I thought you quit?
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Why you should get to know me: "I am noble, tres affectionate, silly, and still possessed of boyish charm."
PS. Upon further investigation, Mr. DBS is apparently an amateur masseuse, who claims "his massages will bring you closer to God." Oh, those silly religious nuts, always trying to rationalize how getting you in the sack makes them a better Christian.
Which is cuter: our Lord or the baby lambs? I'm going with the lambs. Look at the way they close their eyes in adoration of our one and only Savior! Aww!!!
PS. This picture is supposed to move but for some reason it doesn't. So you have two options:
1) Picture the lambs bowing their heads and Baby Jesus shaking his little fists in order to foreshadow his power over all the Peoples of the world or
2) Drink lots of Nyquil and the pic might actually move.
Michael Cera was his usual adorable self, fumbling around awkwardly in supershort gold gym shorts for the words to express his feelings for badass Ellen Page. It didn't even bother me that he played the exact same character that he played in both Superbad and Arrested Development. That's probably because when I met him in Union Square over the summer he acted exactly like George Michael/Evan/Bleeker. I wish I could get paid to "act" as myself. You can't blame him; I mean, fucking look at his smile:Anyway, the thing I found strange about Juno is the ease with which they navigated the topic of teen pregnancy. So I'm going to give you a recap (SPOILER ALERT) of how different characters in the movie handled Juno's pregnancy news, and then tell you how real people would react in real life. Because we live in the real world, people. Not movieland.
Juno's Dad: I'll support you whatever you do. I just thought you were the kind of girl that knew when to say when.
My Dad: Are you fucking crazy?! I can't believe you're pregnant! I'm calling your mother and having her take you to the clinic right away. This is such an embarrassment to the family! (cue crying) How can you put your family through this???
Juno's Stepmom: Okay well we have to keep this baby healthy. I'll get some prenatal vitamins, and schedule an appointment at the doctor so we can see how far along you are.
My Stepmom: While you're passing by the kitchen to head up to the bathroom to puke some more, can you get me another glass of wine? Thanks hun.
Juno's Friend: Wait, honest to blog? (Ed. Note: This is an actual quote. I know.) Is this, for real for real? Like, you're pregnant?
My Friends: Just make sure he helps you pay for the abortion. Um, can you not hog the J? Thanks.
I also didn't like Jason Bateman's character at all. Maybe I'm spoiled by his amazing charm and wit in Arrested Development, but he seriously got the short end of the stick in this movie. When he admits to Juno that he wants to divorce his wife Vanessa (played by Jennifer Garner, who I thoroughly dislike), she completely freaks out about how that's a shitty move and she wants the baby to enter a home that isn't "broken like everyone else's." As a child of divorce, I understand her reasoning, but I don't think Bateman's character should have been cast in such a negative light for leaving Vanessa. They weren't in love, and it would have been worse for the kid had he stayed and been unhappy. They would have tried to use the baby to fix their shoddy marriage, which doesn't end up working. Ever. So even though by the end Vanessa ends up with the baby and Juno and Bleeker play guitar on a wooded suburban street and the high school track team runs by as a metaphor for a change in both season and feeling, I still think Mark (Bateman) doesn't deserve to be made into such an asshole. He just wanted to be a rockstar, man.
Also, I think that to some people who have a very low tolerance for snark, Page's Juno might be a little over the top. I think Ellen Page is amazing; her performance in Hard Candy in 2005 was one of the most chilling and inspiring performances by an actress her age in a long time. I think she has the potential to be something really great; perhaps the antidote to the Lindsays and Britneys of the world. But if she's not careful they're going to make her into an indie darling, and once you're marketed that way, you're just not that indie anymore. (I'm looking at you, Chloe Sevigny)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
JOSH: like i should just go to a store after getting high and then i'll find something
JESS: can you just get me weed?
JOSH: no i cannot just get you weed
JESS: like buy yourself an 8th and give me half
JESS: WHY NOT.
JOSH: cuz i literally dont have 50 dollars, first off
JOSH second of all, no i wanna get you a real gift
JESS: WEED IS A REAL GIFT
JESS: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IT'S THE BEST GIFT MONEY COULD BUY
JOSH: im not getting you weed for secret santa
JOSH: i want to get you something else for your gift
JOSH: weed, alcohol, food....these are all things our bodies need
JOSH: they are not gifts, they are necessities
JESS: this is bullshit
JOSH: plus, like, in the nicest way possible, the LIMIT is 25 dollars. as in, we can spend a little less than that. as in, not like i'm heading for the 10-dollar-department but like 25 is the max
JESS: you're an asshole =)
JOSH: *rolls eyes*
JOSH: i wanna find something you'll love, that isn't weed, so any categories?
JOSH: like do you want a book? or like a funny.....not like a toy but a novelty item?
JOSH: i sound like a stepdad
JESS: yeah you do
JESS: get me the ibuzz
JESS: justin's going to london, i need it
JOSH: i can get you half of an ibuzz!
JOSH: i'm on discrete-romance.com and i think i just found your gift
JOSH: it comes with "an Intimate Lovers Scroll. The Scroll tells a tale of timeless passion. "
I still want weed.
I think we all know the people behind PETA are a little crazy. They throw paint on people. And apparently their website is run by catty, 15 year old girls who would rather mock the Olsens for being "ugly" and "anorexic" than spend their time actually trying to help animals. In my opinion, it's sad that they would direct so much funding towards this kind of slander, when they could put that money towards saving elephants in Africa or something of the like. I would never wear fur, and I don't really understand the Olsen's obsession with it, but as a self-proclaimed fashionista I respect their right to don whatever outfits they feel express their own personal style. It's part of being in the limelight, and if they feel that fur successfully completes a perfectly concocted outfit, then so be it. Who am I to argue? They're multimillionaires with fabulous closets. The mean girls at PETA need a reality check: this world is about choice, and if the Olsens choose to wear fur, they shouldn't be attacked via some shitty website for doing so.
Also, I'm pretty sure they're not wearing coats made out of dogs, as the website intimates. But that's just a guess.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Anyway, Jezebel points out Carol Platt Liebau's argument that "girls are being led to believe they're in control when it comes to sexual relationships but they're actually living in a profoundly anti-feminist landscape where girls compete for attention on the basis of how much they are sexually willing to do for the boys."
Now this makes me nervous. I spend a lot of time harping on how women should learn and understand their bodies so that they can have gratifying sexual experiences, whether alone or in relationships. Liebau makes me question this argument. Could I have been wrong all along? Could I have been tricked into believing that I, as a woman, wield the sexual power, when in fact I am just feeding into a patriarchal society that I refused to acknowledge?
I'm not sure I'm willing or ready to buy into Liebau's argument. As a woman, as a human being, I have agency, and whether I decide to use that agency in a sexual manner or not, I am still making my own decision. I may be impacted by social norms, but for the most part I try to break out of the (chaste) box society puts women in. If Liebau is so concerned with little girls emulating older women, perhaps she should look no further than American history; sure, society is oversexed these days, but women are getting married much later in life, compared to the 14-16 range common in the Middle Ages. I also think it's interesting that she would resort to blaming the media for the sexualization of tweens, when just last week the Times published an article about the ineffectiveness of abstinence-only sex education, which is a governmental function, not a media one. Teens are having sex younger and getting pregnant more frequently. The media could have something to do with it, but it’s the government’s fault for funding ineffective programs. And most of these programs are anti-feminist. Debbie Nathan argues in The Nation that abstinence-only programs are targeted specifically for girls, intent to plant the notion that having sex before marriage is considered “deviant” societal behavior. This is so deeply embedded into the heads of girls that, even when they choose to get married and lose their virginity (though 88% of girls who make virginity pledges end up breaking them), they cannot disentangle the concepts of “good” and “bad” sex. There is still a negative connotation attached to sex that lurks over them, and it becomes a completely unenjoyable act, focused solely on pleasing their husband. If we could stop framing the abstinence debate and the (sex) objectification of girls in a patriarchal context, perhaps then women can break out of the “anti-feminist” Liebau speaks of, and when little girls dress like sluts, we wouldn’t think it was a bad thing because we wouldn’t even have use for the term “slut.” But that’s just my idea of utopia, I guess.
L.C. just undid all of Audrina's work.Last night, on the season finale of The Hills, Lauren spent the first half of the show lamenting Lisa Love's (this CANNOT be her real name) decision to send Whitney to Paris instead of her. I loved Lisa (pun!) for that because Lauren was finally getting what she deserved; last season she decided not to go to Paris because she wanted to move in with Jason. She sacrificed her career for some coke-addled frat boy with a beer belly. Of course the two broke up like a week later and Lauren was fucked. She had now lost the "love of her life," as well as the respect of her boss. So when Lisa told her she wasn't going to Paris, I felt validated: girls need to be shown that this is what happens when you decide to put your boyfriend's interests before yours. Most relationships end (badly). It's a fact. You have to make sure you have something without a penis to fall back on.
Heidi demonstrated this in the final episode when she and Spencer got into a huge fight. She complained to Kimberly (who the fuck is Kimberly, BTW? She hasn't been on the show AT ALL until like, this week) about how she "gave up everything for Spencer." And it's true. But it's also her fault. She made the decision to put Spencer before her friendships, and now she has no friends except Spencer's methhead sister. And by the end of the season, she has nothing to show for it, so she packs her stuff like a little bitch and flies back to Arizona. I guess all of this could be negated due to the strange idea that we know for a fact Heidi and Spencer do not break up, because Us Weekly reports on their ongoing romance every week. But still, Heidi is fucked if (when) their relationship doesn't work out.
So after Lauren complains about how she's not going to Paris, SURPRISE, Lisa Love says that Kimball and Whitney need help and that she actually IS going to Paris! Yay! Trouble is, now she doesn't have to face any repercussions for her shitteous decision to put some dumbass alcoholic in front of her own professional and emotional needs. She gets to go to Paris, which is of course a metaphor for success in this case. In the end, Lauren gets what she wants, and girls everywhere see that you can fuck up your life royally by allowing men to come before you, and still be rewarded.
So thanks, Lauren. You just set women back another 30 years. Now I'm just waiting for Heidi to allow Spencer to enter into a polygamous marriage. I think I saw that on the preview for next season.
EDIT: The preview for the episodes when Lauren and Whitney go to Paris make me hate her a little less. Brody announces he has a girlfriend (douchebag) and Lauren rebounds with literally the hottest French guy EVER. Feel free to pause it like I did when he appears on the screen smoking a cigarette. I think I just orgasmed. GO LAUREN. Put Brody in his place! I bet that French guy knows how to use his baguette. (cue obligatory anti-pun sigh)
Aren't moms the best? Too bad I never want children. They drain you of your independence, finances and personal self-worth. Your things become their things. You see yourself only in their image. Their success is your success. And if they lose the beauty pageant because their bangs were a little flat, then you too lose the beauty pageant and need to get another perm. You never get to live the life you wanted. Want to go to France? Too bad your baby needs $2,000 in diapers. Want to fuck a rockstar? Too bad your curfew is 8pm, 9:30pm if there's a PTA meeting. My mom used to smoke pot and now she can't anymore because she has to be responsible; but it's okay I do it enough for the both of us.
So go hug your mom, whether or not you like her or not. I declare this day faux-mother's day. If your mom's a bitch or she's dead or whatever, sry. =(
Sunday, December 9, 2007
JOSH: im not gonna get stoned
JOSH: just high enough to like....not feel sad
JOSH: my entire life consists of one bad decision after another
JOSH: with the time in between spent justifying those decisions
If that right there isn't the story of our lives, I don't know what is.
Here's a picture of my best friend with a group of mimes in San Francisco:
It's no secret that I love getting my picture taken. In fact, most people I know--including both of the writers of this blog--have scanned through tons of photoblogs, searching for photos of ourselves from the night before. We have all tagged ourselves in pictures; to put it bluntly, we all like the attention.
"So then what is it about the flash of a camera that feels so goddamn validating? Are we that easily tempted by the monster of narcissism, or is it something more?" This is what I consider to be the central question of Jessica's post. Oftentimes I hear people complain about how everyone who goes to these parties is obsessed with getting their picture taken, as opposed to, you know, having a good time.
But I must point something out: this narcissism is not limited to "hipsters." People love getting their photo taken. Check Facebook; most people have hundreds and hundreds of photos of themselves at the mall, in front of their dorm, or driving with their friends. Some kids pose with their families; others use Polaroids or disposable cameras to create a more "original," vintage look. Point is, people take these photos and then upload and tag them for the world to see.
Nothing is secret--that much is true. But to only talk about that in context of, say, Misshapes misses the point.
When you go to your friend's house party, there is no actual need for photography. Everyone is having a good time, and besides the obligatory few who will get wasted, get sick, and then get drawn on while they're passed out, most will remember at least the key events of the party. So "preserving the memories" as an excuse for photography is flimsy at best.
No, I think it's something else. People like to feel special. Yes, it feels good when someone you don't know who has a professional-looking camera and a bunch of followers deems you worthy of attention. But the same thing happens with friends. When your friends with her Radio-Shack-bought discount digital camera takes a photo of you talking to your friends, well...it feels good. Don't deny it. Don't believe me? If you really didn't care, you wouldn't pose or tag the photo. But people do pose and people do tag those photos, so they do care.
I don't think that this sort of narcissism is unhealthy or wrong, per se; in fact, I think it's a useful outlet for otherwise anonymous students and city-dwellers to have their (pixelated) moment in the (virtual) sun. It's a self-esteem booster, getting your picture taken. At the very least, you can show off your new outfit to those unable to attend to the party.
Moreover, I believe there is a certain legitimacy to photoblogs. To say that picture-taking at parties is limited to the Internet age ignores the influential and often fascinating work of photographers like Patrick McMullan, whose photos were not as widespread but equally valued. In fact, if anything, the Internet has cheapened the appreciation of the nightlife photograph; it used to be that there were only one or two guys running around with cameras, whose work didn't get published the next day, so if they took your photo it really meant something. Nowadays it still feels pretty good but at the same time, once you've graced the Misshapes wall a couple of times, it loses that special quality that most people who care at all feel upon first viewing their photo.
Point is, a lot of people pay to go to these parties, and even if you get in for free and score a drink ticket or two, you're still in this environment where music and fashion and all these things collide to hopefully provide for a good time. It would only make sense, then, that people would want to see what others were wearing. I am, admittedly, a Ruff Club regular, but on the off week I can't go I still like to browse the photos, so that I may see my friends and see what I missed. I'm not saying this is the primary reason people care about LastNightsParty, but it's a big reason why the shutterbugs do what they do.
Also, I think that there are interesting and noticeable aesthetic differences between the photobloggers. A Bronques photo is very different from a Cobrasnake photo, and neither of them compare with the stuff that appears on Ambrel.
What I'm trying to say is, don't knock the photoblogs. If you're aware of them then you've probably been on them, and you've probably looked at yourself on them. We're all vain, but it's part of human nature. We all care about our image; whether that's shallow or just a fulfillment of a basic human need for self-esteem is another debate for another time. And believe it or not, getting your picture taken does not guarantee a fun night; nor does not getting your picture taken mean you look bad or the night is lame. They are an accessory to the cause, and that cause is releasing yourself of all the stress and worry that plague us during the day and, for a couple of hours, getting drunk and getting down. Yeah, that sounds a little bit lame, but we're all a bit misshapen, right?
It's really just a matter of personal preference, and I suppose if you gave a name it could be fake, so I guess my suggestion may not do any good. Just thought I'd put that out there.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Last year I was all up in the scene. Though it was probably a slow descent into that maddening confusion, now it seems like it was slapboombang, me in the middle, all of those things ripening around me, taking root, pulling me down (or was it up?) with them. Everything felt so crazy, and yet none of it was real. The people in my
The strange thing is that now it is spreading. I remember once after a night at Misshapes over the summer, I went home and in both the fashion issue and regular issue of Teen Vogue that got delivered to my doorstep, there were 4 page spreads on the phenomenon of the Misshapes, and how it has changed
I didn’t know how to feel. It was weird to see people Josh and I (mostly Josh) associate with in the pages of a magazine. And yet it was validating, somehow, like we made it to this unforeseen place, this hipster heaven where everyone was cool and perfectly awkward, but only in our little world. And yet I knew it was nothing. It was all fake, and in the long run, ended up getting me nowhere. But I was fascinated, enamored, thrown headfirst into it all. I was 18 and I felt like I was 25. So this is my best attempt at explaining it.
It's all so confusing, the glorification of emaciated 17 year old girls with 25 year old pouts. But then again, I guess that's something that categorizes this subculture, as well. It sets it apart from other social (non)organizations like the Greek system, or club Plumm-attending whores: you don't have to be beautiful to be popular at Misshapes. But you do have to have a certain look about you. Vintage clothes are a must. An ivory yet sallow complexion, sunken in frame, like you eat nothing, and when you do, it's junk. There's something distinctly impoverished about the people who grace misshapes.com, like they haven't had a good meal in well, a couple of years, like they drink vodka and smoke cigarettes for breakfast, following up with a couple fat rails to get them through their dayjobs (shifts being 2-10pm) at thrift exchanges or poorly circulated art mags, so that they can come home, change into their daily procured new outfit, and hit the town, bleary eyed, hungry for the flash of a camera, the glimmer of recognition in the face of a pseudocelebrity who might step out of rank once, just this once, and swoop them up under their apocalyptic wing, whisking them into the darkened underbelly of what is quickly becoming the famed world of the underground New York hipster scene.
I am simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by what's going on in
So then what is it about the flash of a camera that feels so goddamn validating? Are we that easily tempted by the monster of narcissism, or is it something more? We want to be a part of this big, bad thing, because maybe we were all misshapen in high school: sliding down the fluorescently lit hallways with a sense of anonymity unappreciated by athletes or scholars, awkward until the very end, unfurling shyly, quietly, in the springtime of New York, a place where the misfits fit in better than the wholesome, tan, rich kids that haunt our pained adolescent memories. Could it be that simple? Square pegs raised in circle hole environments finally finding their square holes, even if those holes are filled with an aggressive keep-out attitude that ultimately mirrors the attitude of the popular cliques in high school?
So in the end, isn't it all the same? What's the moral of this story? Vanity, beauty (no matter how awkward), and a certain attitude trump all else in the world of the misshapen. A camera flashes in a dark basement in a club so deep in the West Village that the Hudson makes my hair smell like seaweed and exhaust; I strike a pose.
Friday, December 7, 2007
We have now turned anonymous commenting on. For some reason it wasn't on before, probably because Josh and I are really bad at technology; but now it's turned on. So all of you readers who wanted to comment but didn't feel like going through the motions of setting up a Blogger/Google account, please speak your mind. We get lots of hits and no comments and it makes us sad(der than we already are). Here's a man in a hot dog costume:
JESS: im so tempted to dedicate it as-- And to all of the people I wrote about: Thanks for the fodder, assholes.
JESS: ok this is my dedication
To Josh, for understanding the things I thought no one ever would.
And to New York: You’re tearing me apart, and I’ve never felt better.
JESS: and this is my epigraph -Words alone could never save us. -The Hold Steady
JOSH: thats amazing
JOSH: great quote too, though maybe leave it not-attributed
JESS: yeah i was thinking that
JESS: do you think i can do that without getting in trouble?
JOSH: maybe just make it an elliott smith quote
JOSH: like "maybe i'll kill myself" -elliott smith
JESS: LOL that would be so funny
JOSH: it would be dark humor, always a positive in writing
JESS: Words alone could never save us. - H.S.
JESS: that way im attributing it but initializing it
JOSH: but then it could be like...harry s truman
(Yeah, we say "lol" too much. So sue us.)
JESS: i really want to put that elliott smith quote as my last page
JOSH: how about
(We then started bitching about people we know. That led to...)
JOSH: lol you're full o' rage
JESS: i know
JOSH: you have this angry underside that sometimes surfaces when you're pissed at someone
JESS: haha yeah. ew i feel so gross
JESS: i slept at justin's unexpectedly so im wearing the clothes i wore yesterday and his deoderant and no makeup
JESS: ugh i really need a title
JOSH: ummm why cant it be "my work"
JOSH: no seriously like why cant you do that
JOSH: who cares about the title?
JESS: i care
JESS: im taking this way too seriously. i'm like pretending i'm sending it to random house.
JESS: i'm a loser
JESS: what if i called it 32 seconds, its a line from one of my poems
JOSH: thats like an n+1 title
JESS: i want something good but i'm apparently retarded
JESS: thanks dick
JOSH: how about
JOSH: "the square root of my heart is this sadness you've left me with"
JOSH: appeal to the math-nerd demographic
JESS: you're ridiculous
JOSH: how about
JOSH: "These paragraphs, and the fall of woman, in this eternal grace"
JOSH: just make it realllly pretentious
JOSH: i'm retarded
JOSH: call it "Working Title"
JOSH: SEE WHAT IM DOING THERE? ITS SELF-REFERENCING
JESS: can i call it "the kids are alright" without 1) stealing a song lyric from some 60s band and 2) sounding like an asshole?
JOSH: yes to 2, no to 1
JOSH: how about "I LIKE PILLS I NEED THEM YESSSS"
JESS: i should just call it "I wrote this when I was stoned"
JOSH: LOL why lie
JOSH: "Weed's good"
JOSH: "The man with the red hair winked at me without moving the rest of his face"
JOSH: "The dot over the letter ‘i’ is called a tittle."
JOSH: "Tittles of my heart"
JOSH: "I tittled you"
JOSH: "Tittles missing, heart breaking, my life is a crevice and you are all falling in"
JESS: "the resurrection will not be televised"
JESS: "danny bonadouchebag"
JESS: "if you stop in the middle of the sidewalk i will punch you"
JOSH: "A pregnant goldfish is called a twit"
JESS: this is getting out of hand
JESS: "i have one hand"
JOSH: "I sneeze with my eyes open"
JOSH:ROSES ARE RED VIOLETS ARE BLUE IM ALLERGIC TO BOTH FUCK IT ALL ACHOOOO"
As of this posting, she still has no idea what to call her manuscript. Suggestions?
Thursday, December 6, 2007
So- due to an article put out in the NY Times yesterday announcing that the teenage birthrate rose 3% in 2006, the first time it's risen since 1991, I decided to offer a little advice to girls out there who are on the verge of getting knocked up:
Use a vibrator.
Actually, use this one:
The iBuzz. It hooks up to your iPod. That means you can finally, finally get off to Thom Yorke's voice without having to actually be in a room with Thom Yorke. And I swear it'll get you off way quicker than your boyfriend's awkward, grunting thrusts that always somehow manage to just barely miss your G-spot. Also, best thing about the iBuzz? IT DOESN'T GET YOU PREGNANT. Imagine what would happen if on the first day of Health class in 9th grade your ugly, lesbian teacher (who of course also teaches gym) handed everyone one of these babies (vibrating cock ring included). I'm thinking:
1) A huge drop in teen pregnancy rates and STI contractions,
2) First an awful reaction from the Christian right, who don't believe that people should be allowed to know anything about their bodies; but then an eventual warming up to the idea because teens wouldn't be engaging in pre-marital sex, just pre-marital masturbation which everyone does anyway, and
3) A happy, healthy high school environment no longer fraught with mean girls competing for the hottest boyfriend or guys bragging about the "sluts" they "pounded."
I mean, honestly, isn't this a better situation all around? And with the holidays cumming up (GET IT?!?), the iBuzz is the perfect stocking stuffer.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Happy Chronica: the festival of light(ing joints)! Happy Chronica, young and old, light a J and smoke a bowl!
To celebrate we will be smoking the same number of joints as the number of candles you are supposed to light that day. Which means by the end of Chronica we will be so fucking stoned that we will most likely forget why we started smoking in the first place. Sorry, Moses!-Jess
PS... Remember, kids! Drugs are bad. Take it from Tim Meadows himself:
What I love is that these guys have worked their way up from other facial-hair tournaments to appear on this Web site that hundreds of stoner kids like me will probably Stumble upon and IM to all their friends. These guys take their craft very seriously.
2001 World Champion,
Full Beard Freestyle"
FULL BEARD FREESTYLE!!! Who lost that competition? Whose beards were so ridiculous that the judges couldn't possibly let them proceed in the tournament?
Funny names include "Herbert," "Fritz," and "Wolfgang Schneider." I'm disappointed by the lack of "Reginald" or "Chester," but what are ya gonna do, right?
1999 Second Runner-Up
Newark Thirteenth Annual "Sideburn Showdown"
I mean, I'm so happy that I have the legal right to drink half a bottle of Jack Daniels and lay in a puddle of my own puke. I'm so glad that my friends can take their tops off in underground hipster clubs and not feel self-conscious about it. I guess I'm just so, so fucking overjoyed that alcohol is legal, because I only partake in things that the government allows me to. So thank you, U.S. government, for making degrading my self-worth by dancing like a whore at Webster Hall and getting my heels stuck in the subway grate and sleeping with total strangers societally acceptable again, all because of some crushed up wheat and berries and whatever the hell vodka is made out of. Mad props, G. Cheers!
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
I figured that's pretty much what therapy is, so I thought I'd give it a shot.
I am "webuser," it (he?) is "sternest."
webuser: I'm having some problems
sternest: Blooming vampires mesh.
webuser: Stop trying to change the subject!
sternest: Jobs concentrate thuggish petty.
webuser: I seem to be lacking self-confidence right now.
sternest: Tiresome weakling botching. Self-confidence.
webuser: It's such a paradox; depending on my mood, inside my head I'm either the sexiest guy ever
webuser: or the ugliest.
sternest: Righteous let.
sternest: Good! X-rated, dynamic unhappiness. He is the homier, immediate noddy. Sexy, gutsier eve.
webuser: Sometimes you're so cryptic.
sternest: I'm coy morosity persecutes.
webuser: "Coyness is nice....coyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to..."
sternest: Annoy concise consistency pisses. Deathful of gnomishly loitering. To liked you.
sternest: Oh My! Sling.
webuser: I sling my sharp verbal darts at your heart.
sternest: Lavish arm-pits drab strangely. True, hoary.
webuser: But seriously. How can I figure out who I am in a way that will satisfy me?
sternest: Youngish, fruitier, cautious bowel. Mafia as womanishly wealthy twit.
webuser: So be like a girl, get rich, and join the mob.
sternest: Ethnic-looking, eager jailbirds. Both me.
webuser: That's quite a combination.
sternest: Maintain botchiest quota.
webuser: My romantic quota is always botched.
sternest: Squatty, wailsome acrimony. Do the CB.
webuser: I'm filled with acrimony!
sternest: Warm in filthy domicile.
webuser: I mean it could use a cleaning but I'd hardly call it filthy.
sternest: Suitable, unelucidating demoniac. Tidy hill crafty hall.
webuser: Whatever you say. Thanks for all the help.
sternest: Heavy taunters tally-ho freak show. Help.
webuser: You're a moron.
sternest: You or moaner.
Enter at your own risk; he might read into your soul.