Saturday, December 15, 2007

Dear Kids: Santa hates you

Oh, those poor little Canadian children! Apparently someone's been sending them nasty letters disguised as Santa. Of course, the journalists at MSNBC, masters of reporting, don't actually disclose what the letters say. So here's what I'm imagining--

Dear Jimmy,
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

Technical Difficulties

Because I'm a self-deluding moron with too much free time an artist, I recorded a cover of Shenandoah.

It will be posted as soon as we figure out just how to do that. 

In the meantime, here look at this. Sailors. Heh.

Fued of the Cameltoe: Marc Jacobs vs. Dov Charney

Marc Jacobs showed up to an event in New York a few nights ago donning this suspiciously Jeremy Scott-esque costume. (No really, can't you picture Jeremy Scott throwing this on a model and sending her down the runway in the name of irony a la Cory Kennedy's snoopy disaster??) It got me thinking: what would happen if Marc, an apparently passionate anti-camel toe activist, met Dov Charney, founder of American Apparel and obvious lover of all things lamé/spandex/camel toe inducing. This is the exchange I'm picturing:

Marc and Dov run into each other in the men's room of the Waverly Inn. They strike up a conversation when Marc catches Dov cutting fat lines on the top of a urinal.
Marc: (with practiced pretension) Well hello, Dov Charney, how's the spandex business?
Dov: Hello, Marc. Not as good as the weird shoe business. I supposed next season you'll have your models wearing no shoes at all. Har, har! (blows a line)
Marc: (scoffs) I have to say, your support for the camel toe is just disgusting, Dov. There are innocent people in this world who do not want to see the outline of every emaciated, cokehead hipster girls' vag lips. It's not fair, Dov. Think about the children! (lights Marlboro Light 100)
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!
Marc: You are sick. I will use all my resources to stop you, Dov, including having Jeremy Scott construct a camel toe costume made out of all dead camel hair and leather. My celebrity will keep you from ever swathing another girl in lamé. You'll see! Destruction is upon you! (Quietly, as an afterthought) Hey, um, do you think I could have a line? I'm trying to keep it interesting, I mean, I do want my own reality show.
Dov: Oh sure but I thought you quit?
Marc: I'm not a quitter, Dov. I won't quit until the war against camel toes is won and my nose collapses into a heap of dried up cartilage and skin. (Rips 3 lines in a row without coming up for air)

Thursday, December 13, 2007

I can't help it, I'm skurred

Browsing through the (faux)awesomeness of NYmag this shitty afternoon, I came across the Personal ad for someone who calls himself "Dontbeskurred." He's actually attractive in a bespectacled Taye Diggs I-wear-pink-shirts sort of way, but I really don't think I could date anyone with the screen name "Dontbeskurred." First of all, come on, we all know it's scared. Second of all, "Don't be scared" is kind of what I picture a rapist saying right before they put their hand over your mouth and pull you into a back alley; somehow that image doesn't make me want to e-date this guy, even if he is "tres affectionate." I wonder if he's actually fluent in French or if he only speaks Frenglish to impress les mademoiselles? And in internet lingo, doesn't boyish charm mean "I have a little peen?" Ad below.

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.

In Case of Emergency, Get Drunk

From an article on the effects of the sudden snowstorm on the Northeast US:

"Some businesses sent their workers home early, leading to a steady stream of customers at Sebby Randazzo's liquor store in Columbia."

I mean, that wasn't exactly my first thought, but it makes a lot more sense after you think about it for a few minutes. Or after you have a drink.


Q: What's more pretentious than black and white hipster photography?

A: Black and white hipster photography taken by self-indulgent fashion guru Hedi Slimane! The only thing missing is Agyness Dean. Where you at, gurl?


Baby Jesus cooes, gets swarmed by lambs

My co-worker got this in an e-mail, even though she is an Athiest and cares nothing about Christ (blasphemy!) But this was just too damn kitschy and awful not to share with everyone:

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.

Teen pregnancy is easy, honest to blog!

I saw Juno tonight, and though it wasn't necessarily worth the $11.75 I paid at the Union Square Regal, it was probably worth about $8.75 which is the cost of say, a medium popcorn.

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

Ok, weed is SO a legitimate Christmas gift

JOSH: i don't know what to get you for christmas
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
JOSH: cuz i literally dont have 50 dollars, first off
JOSH second of all, no i wanna get you a real gift
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
JOSH: again
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 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.


PETA scares the tofu out of me

Yesterday PETA released their new website targeted at my personal favorite celebrity duo and fashion inspiration, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen (redubbed Hairy-Kate and Trashley Trollsen), for their love of fur. Now, I'm a strict vegetarian: I don't eat any meat, including fish, and I won't go near anything that has touched or been cooked with meat. I even feel kind of weird kissing my boyfriend after he eats chicken. But I can safely say PETA has gone too far.

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

Attention all (3) straight guys that read this blog!

There are pretty girls (a blonde, a brunette and an Asian-- an attempt at fulfilling all of your fetishes at one time??) causing a stir on the N train. They're putting the $200,000 their parents shelled out for a musical theatre education to good use by acting like strippers and pole dancing on the subway, gettin' the MTA's metaphorical panties all in a bunch. Check out the vid below:


But Is She Asian?

When something makes me laugh and I'm high, well, I mean, everything makes me laugh when I'm high. When something makes me laugh and I'm sober, however, then I know it's funny.


Hit Me Baby One More Time: The Sexualization of American Tweens

After doing a presentation for class on abstinence-only sex education and the ideologies surrounding the sexual restriction of women today, I came across this article on Jezebel discussing the sexualization of youth in our society. Basically, little girls are now dressing up as sluts, and everyone's all up in arms about little Sally's string bikini.

Slutty Halloween Costumes

But I honestly don't think this problem is anything brand new. I mean, 10-15 years ago, when I was a kid, I wanted to be sexy, too. I dressed up in cute little outfits and danced around my living room to old school Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears, who back then were closer to tween role models than sex symbols. Paris Hilton did not make girls interested in looking sexy. Not to say that I support baby drag queens a la Little Miss Sunshine, but I definitely don't think we can blame Paris for all this. This problem has been institutionalized for years; if you're going to blame anyone, blame the Spice Girls. Better yet, blame the parents! Mine wouldn't let me go out of the house in something that was "too old for my age." I wasn't even allowed to really play around with makeup until I was 12 or 13, let alone go outside wearing it. And my parents were not strict at all. They were just aware of the effect society can have on young girls, not just Paris Hilton or celebrities that the media deems "slutty." (Sidenote: The only reason P. Hilt is considered slutty is because of the whole sex tape debacle, and in my opinion, making a sex tape with someone you love and trust to not release it is a completely fair and rational decision that can be made by someone who is not "slutty." Perhaps she was naive to assume that he wouldn't release it, but I don't think she was slutty for being willing to participate in it.)

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.


Lauren Conrad pisses me off

A couple weeks ago I posted about how Audrina's decision to break up with Justin-Bobby was a step in the right direction towards female empowerment, and that it taught girls all across the nation not to sacrifice anything for a guy who treats you like shit.

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)

Go hug your mom, and if you don't have one, sry I know that's kinda awk

My mom made me this website because I'm sick.

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

Living highcariously

I'm on my deathbed (okay, I have a cold and a bad cough) but it means I can't smoke cigarettes, and it feels like making out with a dragon when I try to smoke a J. So I'm living highcariously through Josh. And just before smoking he said:

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:

Bonfire of the Vanities

I'd like to respond to Jessica's post about hipster subculture; specifically, the part about photoblogs. For the most part, I agree with what she said, but I'm going to play a kind of Devil's Advocate to her.

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, 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?


A Note On Anonymous

We enabled anonymous commenting so that people without Blogger accounts could still leave comments on our posts. However, this does not mean that the comments themselves should be anonymous, and I encourage all those who leave comments to at least give a name, so that I know who I'm talking to. When you don't leave a name, I don't know, there's something weird about it to me. You should stand behind your opinions and questions.
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.