Friday, January 18, 2008

Jess gets drunk and sings Fiona Apple

I probably shouldn't be posting this. The best part is when David comes in at the end and I immediately shut the video off. Oh fuck it.

Eric G. Wilson, you're too late

Just a few hours after proposing to Eric G. Wilson (with no response, strangely enough) I got proposed to by a quartet of singing hobos on the R train. The lead singer said the most romantic thing I've ever heard while the rest of the a capella group continued to do their doo-wops:

Baby where have you been all my life? I love you. You are SEXY. Will you marry me?

I, of course, said yes. Everyone on the train bore witness to this. The woman next to me said, "Aren't you lucky?"

I've yet to get a ring, but you know-- these things take time.


Jess to Eric G. Wilson: Will you marry me?

I'm sad too, see??

Marry me and then divorce me and cause me pain and melancholia for the rest of my life?

No seriously I think I've found my future husband.

He is a writer and he's obsessed with being sad.

His book is called Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy. Couple that with my penchant for sad French films where the lead actress is treated like shit and my slight obsession with "Atmosphere" by Joy Division, and you can clearly see we are a match made in a deppressive's heaven.

Together we could spawn a lovechild to rival Ian Curtis and Sylvia Plath as the saddest person ever. He would listen to Elliott Smith and wax poetic on nihilism and generally be an unhappy asshole. YES! I can't believe I've found my match. Eric... call me. We can have sex and cry about how meaningless it was afterwards.


Sean Paul makes women lose control

From D Listed:

Meet 24-year-old Stacey Gale from Queens, New York. Stacey is one of five people in the world that suffers from a rare condition called musicogenic epilepsy. Certain songs can trigger grand mal seizures in Stacey. She receives the worst kind of seizures when listening to Sean Paul's "Temperature."

I'm sorry but that is the funniest thing I've ever heard. I don't think I've ever listened to Sean Paul but I better start. Someone should do a mash up of "Temperature" and "Control" by Joy Division. Seizing is the new dancing! Bump and grind and writhe, bitches.


Thursday, January 17, 2008

I May Be Under the Weather, But My Game's Always Been Sick

Note: I'm a little out of it and medicated, so if this entry doesn't fully make sense, well...too bad. You should probably be reading a book or something anyway.

Observations I've Had While Confined To My House The Past Five Days

1. I'm totally not excited for Cloverfield anymore. I was when I first heard about it/saw the teaser a few months back, and even though thousands of pseudo-nerds like myself had probably already seen the trailer numerous times, I still felt like it was my little secret. That was the ingenuity of the viral campaign: the ominously sparse 1-18-08 site that showed only vague pictures of the movie's main characters, the trails of fake corporations' Web sites and products that were buzzed about on message boards but still kept under wraps; even the teaser itself invited the viewer to a sort of "Can-you-see-the-monster" guessing game. Now, though, I see promos for the film everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I don't know who they think is watching Oprah these days, but I highly doubt there are many sci-fi nerds (or, you know, straight men under thirty, for whom Cloverfield is being targeted) watching her blab on about the latest way to deal with those nasty cramps and bloating. So imagine my surprise when I saw not one but two commercials for the movie during yesterday's Oprah (yes, I was watching Oprah, sue me.) Imagine my further surprise when I found an ad for it on Comedy fuckin' Central. MTV has this obnoxious promo that may or may not involve a giveaway, but in the commercial the actual trailer is reduced to about a fifth of the screen size, so I don't quite see its purpose. Point is, advertising-wise, the film went from 0 to 60 in about three seconds, but like the monster in the movie itself, the advertising's sudden arrival has left its victims shellshocked. And sick of it.

2. I clicked the link on the Theraflu page to find out which treatment is right for me, but when I entered my symptoms--despite there being about a thousand different varieties of what is essentially a general pain reliever--nothing matched my exact problems. Wonderful! By the way, in whose freak-of-nature body does a "sore throat" not also involve a "cough"? And what exactly is the difference between "flu" and "severe cold" medication anyway? And why did I spend five dollars on your "hot liquids" treatment when you didn't do anything a simple cup of tea would have achieved?

3. There are only so many times one can read a give issue of People. Trust me. I have absorbed more than I'll ever want to know about Britney's mental illness.

4. Remember Muzzy? More specifically, remember those commercials for Muzzy back in the day, which featured freakin' toddlers speaking in what could only be described as a confusing mix of gibberish, German, and spittle? Yeah, just saw a commercial for it this morning. Who knew it was still around? And that there's (apparently) still a market for it? The problem I always had with Muzzy was: what toddler will really take the time to learn a foreign language? Sure, his brain might be able to process a new language more easily, but honestly, Little Junior probably wants his Spongebob, Mom and Dad, or you can prepare yourself for a fun game of "marathon tantrum." But he'll be able to whine and scream in a whole new language! Adios mio!

5. Why does MTV insist on devoting half its self-promoting commercial time to featuring bland artists nobody cares about? I barely care about Rob & Big in the first place, but when it gets pushed to the right side of the screen, you can bet I don't care at all.

6. I hope it's not weird that I've taken about four showers a day since I got home. Whatever, don't judge me, it feels nice. I think I'm about to take another one now, in fact.

Hoping you keep a smile in your pocket and an Airborne in your drink,

On the disappearance of Josh: Or, I should just change the name of this blog to Jess Talks to Herself About Stuff

JOSH: i've been watching csi all day, so i have been trying to make everything i say sound like a david-caruso-worthy punchline or one-liner
JESS: I LOVE CSI, i didn't know you were a fan
JESS: csi: miami and law and order: svu are not to be fucked with. shows with colons in their name in general are not to be fucked with
JESS: dog: the bounty hunter
JESS: the: hills
JOSH: run's: house
JOSH: no like csi miami is it. like, david caruso neeeeeds to marry me.
JESS: he'd be a freak in da bed
JOSH: his squinty little eyes probably get so wide
JOSH: i'm drinking tea from a mug with me and my brother's faces on it
and a caption "we love our daddy" LOL
JESS: blog about it
JESS: oh wait you don't have a blog
JESS: only i do
JOSH: shut it up, you
JESS: it's called jess talks to herself about stuff
JOSH: it's called josh has been a breathing corpse the past few days and the blog has not been the first thing on my mind.
JOSH: mind on your money
JOSH: blog on your mind
JESS: blog in my cogs
JOSH: sippin on gin and blog
JESS: ok justin's friend just said the funniest thing
JOSH: golden blog and the 4-h stone
JESS: whatd he say?
JESS: "why isn't this cloverfield movie called hipsters vs. monsters?"
JOSH: eh
JESS: you're such a dick
JESS: go drink a whole bottle of nyquil
JOSH: robotripping is k00l dude

Josh will be back tomorrow, hopefully. I'm hoping he'll get well soon, because he's my friend, and I love him, but mostly because then I won't have to listen to him bitch about how much his throat hurts.


Manorexia is the new... anorexia

Apparently on runways in Milan, the guy models are really thin. So when I went to Google pictures from the shows, I couldn't find any. Then I realized I was looking at the pictures, but just didn't realize it because the models didn't strike me as that skinny. THEN I realized that it's because I live in New York, and frequent (or used to) places like The Annex, where if you're a guy you generally weigh less than 130. I mean, my guy friends have worse body issues than my girl friends. And yes they're gay New Yorkers, but still. These days I kind of just assume most guys I meet are going to be impossibly anorexic.

Honestly I think it's about time men are held to the same ridiculous body standards as women. It's payback, bitch. Better trade those Doritos you stuff down your piehole while watching the game for some grapes or something.


In defense of Dov Charney, or at least of heather grey rompers

Jezebel just posted an article about CEO of American Apparel Dov Charney and his off-camera bad behavior to CNBC reporter Margaret Brennan in the days before his sexual harassment lawsuit goes to trial. The best part about the article, which rails against Charney for being misogynistic and an overall awful person (can't disagree there), comes at the end with:

"PS: Love the new jersey dresses!"

Because doesn't that sum up America's attitude towards American Apparel, and the entertainment world in general, just so completely? Lindsay can get DUI's and Britney can endanger her children and Dov Charney can grab my ass at a loft party before offering me a bump from his supersized baggie of coke, but we still forgive them. Perhaps it's true that Charney's opinions towards women don't necessarily reflect in American Apparel's clothing, but they definitely do in the ad campaigns. I can't hate Dov Charney because he dresses me almost every single day. He uses fair labor. He might be an asshole and a cokehead and a completely unprofessional CEO, but at the end of the day, the sales speak for themselves: and everyone I know is a daily American Apparel model.


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Do men only want success so they can have succsex?

Last night a guy friend told me me that he reads news articles differently depending on whether they are written by a man or a woman. He contended that, in general, men pursue goals that will make them successful because they're hoping to get laid, and women have much more pure intentions. Therefore, he can't help being unable to separate men's inherent drive for sex from the topics about which they write. He may have been being ironic, but it got me thinking.

I mean, I've never met a guy whose intentions weren't sexual, but I'm sure they exist somewhere out there. Just not in New York. Or on the Eastern Seaboard. Or in Los Angeles. But like... I'm sure somewhere on the golden plains there's this really cute backhome boy who just wants to raise a family and milk cows and let his wife decide when she wants to have sex, and if she says no on Monday nights after returning home from their kids' PTA meeting, he'll just kiss her and say "Okay" and go back to bed.

But really, is it true that men only want to be successful so they can have succsex? It's also interesting to note that women don't neccesarily perceive success as a tool to sex: in fact, it can sometimes hinder women in the bedroom department because some guys are assholes who are threatened by HBIC.

Maybe I need to start viewing my work ventures in conjunction with my romantic ventures. Maybe writing this blog will get me laid. Maybe not.


Beatrice beats

It's good that Gawker posted Beatrice's playlist, because the one time I went there I got so drunk I started smoking pot with some random guy on one of those torn vinyl couches near the DJ booth. They could have started playing Raffi and I would have thought it was Nirvana. See also: $15 drinks.

Barron Hilton likes 2 girls 1 bong

So I used my creepy Facebook tactics to unearth these pictures of Barron Hilton, brother of Paris, since Gawker did a whole article about him and pills a few weeks ago.
Here is what I uncovered:He is a pimp.

He smokes pot and his friends go all homo when they're drunk.

So really he's just like the rest of us. Except with loads and loads of money. And like, the power to control the free world at his fingertips.


It's 3am and I'm talking to my ex-boyfriend on iChat about Britney Spears

My ex-boyfriend is a music snob. I'm a culture snob. Together, when after 2 vodka crans, a bowl and 2 Xanax I still cannot sleep, we have conversations like this:

JUSTIN: you know her new song Piece of Me? it's pretty good and like, relatively honest, but dont you think it should have been written by R. Kelly?
JUSTIN: like if he'd written it everyone would just forget about her problems... actually her whole album should have been written by him. she'd become huge again
JESS: nothing could make her huge again at this point. she's too untrustworthy, people have lost faith, not only in her talent but in her ability to be a normal human being, which is what she was marketed as
JUSTIN: but R. Kelly is the master of flipping images. he peed on a 15 year old girl and no one cares anymore
JESS: britney can't be successful again because she's proven that she is the exact opposite of what we are supposed to think she is: normal
JUSTIN: well she was marketed as half sex bomb half cute girl
JESS: which is the prototype of normal girl next store
JESS: ok chuck klosterman
JUSTIN: i dont think she was ever supposed to be normal
JESS: i think she was supposed to be this girl next door figure
JUSTIN: she was supposed to be superhot high school girl who was a virgin
JESS: i mean she wore a schoolgirl uniform, she was preying on that innocent sexuality that her shaved hair and vagina shots have all but ruined
JUSTIN: that's not normal, it's hyper sexual but also virginal perfect
JESS: i think its normal. so it's the balance between what men think women should be
JUSTIN: it's two different archetypes in completely different directions
JESS: and because she didn't keep that balance she can't be successful
JUSTIN: plus her fan base was predominately young girls who just liked to dance to her music
although everyone agreed her new album was pretty good but still no one bought it, so maybe she is inconsolable
JESS: because it's not about talent it's about marketing, it doesn't matter how good her album is musically. she got fat. she lost her kids. she became the archetype for a famedom gone wrong. she can't have a comeback
JUSTIN: she could have reinvented herself
JESS: i agree, she could have, but not now. like the VMA's were her last chance
JUSTIN: but she could
JESS: she botched it. she should just kill herself
JUSTIN: theres room for everything in this country
JESS: if she does i'll be surprised... happily surprised, because who doesn't like baby one more time?
JUSTIN: she just needs to sit down with a panel that include timbaland and stephen hawking and figure out what to do


Ethics 101

So I recently figured out a way to view the pictures of anyone on Facebook... regardless of if they're in your network, or if their profile is private, whatever. If they have a Facebook I can look at photos tagged of them. This has led me to stalk countless people in the New York and LA areas who I know are friends with/related to celebrities. I've turned up so many pictures of famous people doing who knows what.

Now the question is: should I post these pictures? Some say it's my obligation as a journalist to write about all that I unearth. Others say it's unethical and violates privacy rights basic to every human being. But I mean... I read Perez Hilton daily, how much do I really care about privacy?

What do you guys think?


Monday, January 14, 2008

Honey, we're all damaged goods

This article just about broke my heart.


I kind of wish everyone would make this giant worldwide resolution to end up alone. Because we totally all feel this way at some point: can't let go of the ex, can't find anyone new, can't stop wondering if your standards are either too high or too low.

Too bad I have the sneaking suspicion New York Mag writers compose these articles instead of actual New Yorkers.


Juno's Dad and my Dad both prove that being disappointed is worse than being angry

Op-Ed Contributer Caitlin Flanagan wrote an article in The New York Times today entitled "Sex and the Teenage Girl," in an attempt to continue to beat a dead horse by putting Juno in the context of sex ed and female sexual health! (Hey Flanagan-- I already fucking did that, thanks.)

Anyway, Flanagan basically contends that girls can't achieve the same amount of sexual freedom as men because we can get knocked up. She writes:

We, too, have a deep commitment to girls, and ours centers not on protecting their chastity, but on supporting their ability to compete with boys, to be free — perhaps for the first time in history — from the restraints that kept women from achieving on the same level. Now we have to ask ourselves this question: Does the full enfranchisement of girls depend on their being sexually liberated? And if it does, can we somehow change or diminish among the very young the trauma of pregnancy, the occasional result of even safe sex?

True, girls can get pregnant even if they're having safe sex. But Flanagan's problem is that she sees pregnancy as the be-all-end-all of sexuality for women. A woman has three choices when she gets pregnant: 1) Abort it, 2) Have it and keep it or 3) Have it and give it up for adoption. Though all might take their emotional toll-- a toll not necessarily felt by men-- the chance that you could get pregnant, even if you're on the pill AND using a condom, should not stop women from achieving their full sexual potential. Admittedly, for me, there is always that fear of pregnancy that subtly sweeps in during my post-coital cigarette, but it would never stop me from being sexually active. Girls just need to learn how to avoid getting pregnant (aka no abstinence-only bullshit), and then they ARE free to explore their sexuality. Flanagan is obviously a prude who hasn't put out in years.

She does, however, point out a poignant and almost awkward scene in Juno when Juno's father says to her: "I thought you were the kind of girl who knew when to say when."

Yes, because of biology, because I have the ability to grow a parasite in my body and pop it out 9 months later-- because of that, us girls have to always be the ones to say when. And then we have to deal with our fathers' disappointment as a result. And everyone knows a father's disappointment is way worse than anger, even if that anger results in say, a beating.

This Christmas I got caught smoking a joint with my cousin outside of my Grandparents' house just before Christmas dinner was to be served. My Dad exacted his revenge carefully, making me put it out and then acting as if nothing was wrong. Not until 4 days later, when I had returned to New York and put the event behind me, did I get a passive-aggressive email detailing the amount of pain inflicted on him due to my actions, and how he wasn't angry, just disappointed.

What is it about disappointment -- whether it's brought on by sex or drugs or anything else -- that seems so much worse? Hopefully I will never have to have the conversation Juno had with her dad, because somehow I don't think my dad would be so forgiving. There's a fine line between disappointment and disownment: my own father would most likely toe that line with a ballerina's grace.


Todds of the world take back what's theirs: and apparently what's theirs is snotty high school students

Today I was doing some work for my dad so he can finally get his doctorate after 10 years of fucking around, refusing to do his dissertation. My dad's an assistant superintendent of a school district, so his dissertation is education-based. My job was to get the addresses and names of principals for about 70 high schools in Pennsylvania and put them into an Excel spreadsheet so I could make address labels. While doing this, I found one interesting fact worth sharing:

So many of public high school principals in Pennsylvania are named.... Todd.

How is this even possible? I didn't even know there were still people named Todd out there who didn't cook hot dogs at NASCAR events or walk around beach towns barefoot. How did so many people named Todd come to be high school administrators, and how can any student take someone named "Principal Todd" seriously AT ALL? I just don't understand it. Here's the evidence:

1. Saucon Valley High School: Todd Gombos
2. Central Dauphin East High School: Todd Neuhard
3. Baldwin Senior High School: Todd Keruskin
4. Montour High School: Todd Price

That's 4 out of 63 high schools with principals named Todd.

Obligatory pun: toddally weird.


Sunday, January 13, 2008

Rehab's Over

Jess and Josh are back in New York! Let the chaos ensue.

This is us kayaking while stoned on the Hudson in September: notice how Josh is doing absolutely nothing and I'm forced to maneuver the boat alone upon the buoyant sea. Typical.