Saturday, April 26, 2008

This is why I rarely drink

I thought I was Lindsay Lohan

I thought I worked at the Halal cart on Bowery and Bleecker

I fell and scraped my knee and got all bloody

Then I had David take gratuitous pouty face pictures to show how sad I was that I fell and fucked up my knee

Oh yeah, then there's this.

But one good thing did happen:

Introducing... Ned!

We really have become The Enemy, huh?


Friday, April 25, 2008

Mustache of the Week

Forgetting what I said about "Forgetting Sarah Marshall"

Last night David and I went to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall at the Regal in Union Square. You may remember that I had a serious problem with the ad campaigns for this movie. But I was high, and I went in with seriously low expectations, and I thought it was so fucking hilarious!

I wasn't the biggest fan of Superbad, and I thought Knocked Up was ridiculously unfunny, so I'm going to go ahead and say that FSM takes the cake on Apatow flicks.

I thought it was going to entertain sexist undertones like all of Apatow's other movies; typically the women are caricatures of themselves and seek to perpetuate anti-feminist stereotypes. They serve as foils for the goofy, pudgy underdogs Apatow champions. FSM turned the gears on that and makes our hero, played by Jason Segal of Freaks and Geeks fame, take on characteristics typically portrayed as "feminine." For instance, he cries in the fetal position in his hotel room in Hawaii. The women are strong in comparison to him, and for an Apatow film, it's totally refreshing.

The film also steers a little bit away from raunchy guy humor, making it funny for people who don't just think it's funny when actors shout the word "cock!" The innuendo is there, but it's much more subtle than in movies like Superbad, where from scene one you're hit over the head with the raunch factor.

Don't get me wrong - it's still there, just not as pronounced. And for someone whose sense of humor bridges the gap between typical "guy" and "girl" senses of humor, this definitely worked well for me.

My only real argument against the movie would be the lack of full frontal male nudity. I read all these articles online leading up to the release that we'd see sooo much of Jason Segal's cock. They basically made it sound like it was creeping up on porno material, but I was severely disappointed with the lack of screentime alotted to Jason Segal's (huge) cock. In the opening scene he drops the towel while Sarah dumps him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in more ways than one. You get a few quick shots of his area, but that's about it. Considering the amount of screentime directors can allot for women's T&A, you'd think I could at least get a good view of what Segal's packing.

Overall I'd say this movie is totally worth the $11.25. But maybe you should go stoned, because that probably had an impact on my viewing experience.


Wednesday, April 23, 2008

"Live" Blogging CSI: Miami

I love CSI: Miami. It's ridiculous, unrealistic, over-the-top, questionably written and overacted. And all of that makes it the most enjoyable 45 minutes I can spend in front of the television each week. Well, by "television" I mean "laptop screen" because I don't own a TV and thus have to watch the episodes online.

Point is, someone recently asked me why I love the show so much. I couldn't really think of what to say; telling someone you love a show because it's ridiculous and unrealistic hardly sounds convincing. So I thought I'd give you a glimpse into what goes through my mind when I watch an episode of this delicious program--the good, the bad, and the Miami sun-drenched sexy. Tonight's episode is called "To Kill A Predator," and you can watch it yourself here. Enjoy--I know I will.

Pre-show commercial for an anti-flatulence medicine: the setup is that all the dialogue makes some pun-driven reference to farting. Finally the woman's (male, probs gay) secretary comes in and says: "Your son Rip is on line toot." That made me laugh 30 seconds longer than it should have. Anyway.

0:10- Okay, enough with the skyline.

0:20- Btw, when did it officially become okay to say "bitch" on network television? It still seems weird to me.

0:45- What's with all the long, continuous shots in this opener? Like, for serious, we get it, dude got run over. Whatever.

1:25- Shut up, Frank. You don't get paid to think.

1:38- Wait for cheesy David Caruso one-liner...

1:45- Oh, that was weak. And, um, didn't really make sense. I wonder if Davie realizes how much of a caricature Horatio has become.

2:23- I just found out that Khandi Alexander is 50. Whatever homegirl's doing, she's doing it well, cuz damn.

3:12- Okay, seriously, why does David Caruso sound like he's taking a dump with every line he says? Like, for real, every line.

3:44- No, bitch, he just tripped. Of course he's the hit-and-run victim.

4:05- What kind of idiot wears Chanel sunglasses to examine bloodied corpses? Or light-colored clothing? And why does Khandi Alexander always sound like a creepy camp counselor, no matter who she's talking to?

4:43- She's fucking him. She has to be fucking him.

4:55- Frank's getting a lot of screen time this episode. Good for him.

5:02- I KNEW IT.

5:32- I haven't heard someone actually say the word "PDA" in at least three years.

5:59- Ew, Eric, wipe that smile off your face.

6:14- I'm really not paying attention to the dialogue; Jonathan Togo is just so hot. SO HOT.


6:43- Okay, one thing I love about this show is that they try to make even the most mundane tasks look cool. Dude's mixing things in a metal bowl and it looks like the most awesome shit ever.

7:18- So he was trying to read the impressions. I'm relieved that we got to listen to slowed-down techno music while H went through the process.

7:57- I seriously seriously doubt it's that easy to find out this info in real life. I know it's a TV show, I'm just saying. That actually took ten seconds.

8:38- Because only the trashiest girls wear cheap perfume in Miami.

9:12- Weird face.

9:48- Once again, what should have been a lengthy process took about ten seconds. Gotta love CBS.

10:24- SO MIAMI. "Costume jewelry."

10:50- STILL SO HOT.

11:05- Yes! The reluctant we-have-evidence-that-proves-you're-lying face. A perennial favorite.

11:40- Oh no she didn't.

11:54- Oh no HE didn't.

12:00- And now this became a therapy session. Oh no the writers didn't.

13:13- He said that line like he really wanted to mean it. That's where he'll be, indeed.

13:35- Oh hey, there you are. Glad you could join us, Detective Boa Vista. Even though I'm pretty sure this is Khandi's job.

14:12- Oh see? CSI Miami is hip; they know what's up. All these newfangled catching-child-molester shows.

15:09- Does David Caruso know how to open his eyes all the way? Or is it always just too sunny?

15:26- That's the most fake-looking television logo I've ever seen. Come on, CSI, you can do better.

16:03- "Hope you're decent!" So that you can just roofie her drink and take off her clothes again after she passes out.

16:30- Emily Procter suddenly looks really aged. Makeup!

17:15- Am I a bad person for being distracted by trying to figure out this woman's ethnicity? Is she Polynesian? Hawaiian? She's something, and it ain't white. Not like it matters but whatever.

17:50- Okay, maybe I'm just weird like that but I really thought this was gonna be one of those things where this guy was retarded and thought he was a 15-year-old-girl or something, so the show employs him out of pity. I think that could've been fun to watch.

18:24- "I'LL BUY YOU WINE COOLERS." Somebody give that man my number.

18:37- Please note that it's boi, not boy. Cuz that's how people talk on the internetz.

18:58- Oh no. You are not gonna solve this thing in 10 seconds. I can almost understand it at the crime lab, but you work for a TV show.

19:38- I take it this is Kevin. I guess it also takes three seconds to locate him in the entire Miami-Dade area.

20:04- You know, it's sometimes easy to forget why Frank is on this show. Scenes like this reveal his true purpose: doing the work that the CSIs are too busy for.

21:06- Did you hear that pause between "care to" and "elaborate"? Yeah, that's what David Caruso gets paid to do.

21:30- This guy can't be the killer. It'd be too obvious. We're only halfway through.

22:04- I love how she says "Internet pedophiles" like she's never heard either of the words before. Like, "You mean one of those adults who try to secude children using an interconnected network of computers? I'm beginning to understand." Still, bitch looks goods for 50.

23:18- I really don't understand how she could get a print from broken shards of glass. But whatever.

23:40- PEDOPHILES ARE EVERYWHERE. That is what I learned from this episode of CSI: Miami.

23:53- Gotta love the gratuitous "lifestyle" shots. Accompanied by non-threatening "urban" music.

24:45- "And by 'meeting,' I mean my dad's basement. And by 'come with me,' I mean can you pick up some wine coolers on the way over."

25:30- Actually, "gypsy girl" sounds like the least teenager-created screen name ever in the history of the Internet. Except maybe for "luscious lay," a screen name that Jess and I created when we entered our own online chat. a joke. Anyway.

26:43- Uh-oh, guy's a creep.

27:10- Oh never mind, it's her dad. And both her parents are touching her awkwardly.

27:28- I don't know why these people ever think running from cops is a good idea. Like, it never works. And guy's wearing a backpack, which is only holding him back.


29:20- "Hey, little girl, I'm am older man you don't know. Don't trust other older men you don't know. Now I'm gonna show you this binder filled with pictures of another little girl. This totally makes sense and will not creep you out in any way."

30:15- STILL SO HOT.

30:30- Yeah, colored contacts are pretty tacky.

30:47- Did you know that the writers for this episode got a bonus every time they worked the word "pedophile" into conversation"?

31:18- More stylized footage of mundane tasks. Look at all those split-screens; she must be doing something really cool and sleek.

32:20- Did they do this all in one shot? Could you really say a line like "You were at the park to meet MoonMan, weren't you?" without cracking up? I guess that's why he's an actor.

32:55- "Ha ha, it's pedophile-girl! Pedophile-girl, buy me some wine coolers! Ha ha!"

34:46- SLOW MOTION. (With echo echo echo echo.)

35:17- This girl's voice is already whiskey burned. And she's fourteen. So really, this actress is way older.

36:03- ALCOHOL. This man is eeeevil. Because if you're gonna try to seduce someone, bring something classy, not whatever was on the most reachable shelf at the deli.

36:56- Is this guy, like, Tracy Morgan's uglier cousin?


39:13- I'm just saying, that's a really ugly shirt he's wearing. What, was JC Penney having a clearance sale?

39:45- One wonders how she managed to sneak a hunting rifle onto a balcony without anyone noticing. Whatever.

40:14- Snappy comeback in 3, 2, 1...

40:22- Nice.

40:52- Awkward much?

41:09- Aw, but he looks so gosh darn cute!

42:14- Taking off the watch, oh shit!

42:36- WHOA. That was intense. And vague. And totally awesome.

So there you have it, another sweet episode of CSI: Miami. Now go rethink your life.


There were things I wanted to tell him but I knew they would hurt him, so I buried them, and let them hurt me - JSF

I’m going to have to agree with Freud on this one and concede that my long history of tumultuous relationships with chronically emotionally unavailable men stems from the nature of my relationship with my father.

My father is a man who is weak, but constantly lurks in the specter of strength. A man who is not afraid to fight for his own ego, and despite that initial infirmity, seems afraid of nothing, except perhaps his two daughters. My sister and I have long since realized that we can take advantage of this aspect of his personality, and have used it to our advantage when it comes to getting the things we want, or combating the things we don’t want. We have not learned to forgive his weakness, but instead to manipulate it.

My father’s inability to address any topic of substantial meaning has been the cause of many fights in our household; it was the worst when I was a rambunctious teenager, but it continues to put a tenuous strain on our relationship even now that I no longer live under his roof. When my parents divorced when I was 14, I became my father’s right-hand woman; helping him with dinner, planning our calendars, keeping my sister in line. I had transitioned from his daughter to his work partner. I was responsible for most of the things a mother or a wife would be responsible for, simply because my mom now moved to another part of the city and wasn’t physically around to help my father. They still worked as a cohesive team when it came to child rearing and discipline, but the menial day-to-day tasks were no longer a result of their concerted effort to work together.

This inevitably changed the nature of the relationship I had with my father; I saw him less as a man I should respect and listen to, and more as a peer. This led to so much resentment between the two of us. He could not understand why I couldn’t revere him as an adult, and I couldn’t understand why he could treat me as an adult when he wanted to, but then make me sit in the backseat of the car. This battle came to a difficult head with the introduction of my stepmother into our lives; she usurped the wife and mother role, and I was left to reconcile what it meant for me to be a daughter again. I was, in some ways, emasculated from my position because my father had someone to replace me.

Yes, replacement. It’s key in all remarriages and it is something that my sister and I continue to grapple with today. No matter how logical or rational or normal you are, no matter how well you can comprehend the fact that the way you’re feeling is ridiculous and clich├ęd, you still feel it: my sister and I could not understand why my father wanted to build a new family that didn’t include us.

That wasn’t part of his plan. Of course he wanted to include us, he claimed, he loves us. We are his daughters. But actions speak louder than words, and the more secrets he kept from us, the more he confided in our stepmother instead of us, the worse it got. In a few short months I had gone from being the person my father told everything to, to the person my father yelled at for having an attitude.

It was awful. I didn’t know how to handle the shift, and I especially didn’t know who I was. I was caught between the adult-kid paradigms. I had always acted like a mini-adult, even when I was very young, and for months I was treated as such until my father could find an appropriate replacement.

Now that I live away from him I like to think these feelings don’t come into effect much anymore. I keep just as many secrets from him as he does from me. The foundation of our relationship sits happily upon secrets, the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy having been implemented the second I moved out. He knows I smoke pot, but we don’t talk about it (unless I get caught smoking a joint before Christmas dinner). He knows I have sex, but we don’t acknowledge it because what father-daughter coupling does? But when a broken home and stepmother are thrown into the mix, it complicates things. The more secrets we keep from each other, the further apart we drift, and the more the resentment builds. So I think to myself: he can have his new life, it’s not like I want to be a part of it anyway.

But I do, so I keep answering his phone calls even though he pisses me off. And he keeps our topics of conversation painfully superficial because he is a WASP, and intensely private, and the most emotionally immature person I’ve ever known. But the trouble is that, while I forgive my boyfriends and even seek out men who can offer me that same kind of emotional fragility and instability, I cannot forgive my father for refusing to talk about anything real. I can understand and even appreciate the lengths my boyfriends go to to conceal their feelings from me, but I cannot forgive my father for not understanding that our relationship is so timid and strained because of all those secrets.

Perhaps part of it stems from the fact that we can only truly stay angry at those we love, and have confidence that they will love us back no matter what. I know that my father will love me unconditionally, so I am not afraid to hold this grudge, this cancerous thing. With boyfriends it is different; that love is not an unconditional one. In fact, it is built on conditions, and so I tell myself: this boy will only love me if my hair looks nice, if I give good head, if I am his intellectual equal, if I take things lying down. There are no comparable conditions like these to family love. You are born to them, you are stuck with them, you love them. It is strange and beautiful, but it also allows for greater gaps to widen between family members. All of the things that we do not say build walls around us until we no longer understand each other. When this happens with boyfriends, you know that it’s time to break up. But when this happens with your family, there seems to be no adequate solution. My father will not address it, and I will not force him to because I learned long ago that it really does nothing. He will appease me by lowering his voice a few octaves and acting serious, but then he will make an awkward joke about all that seriousness.

My sister and I are not like our parents; we can’t divorce my mom or dad. We tolerate them because we love them, but we do not claim to understand them. In a way this has really pitted us against them - my sister and I rallying against my Dad and my stepmother, and every secret he keeps from us, every single thing that he won’t say or doesn’t want to say or simply can’t say, widens the gap.

I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not sure any of us do.


Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The Philadelphia Problem

In Rittenhouse park with Hannah, before I knew what the word "fashion" meant

Being from Pennsylvania has never been something I’m particularly proud of. I always saw it as a waste land of sorts: two cities with filthy streets and filthier politics bridged by corn fields and hunting rifle racism. But recently I’ve become the opposite of a fair weather fan; my city is in trouble, and I kind of feel obligated to say something about it.

My friend Samantha sent me an article a few days ago chronicling the various issues Philly is currently grappling with, and how they affect blue collar neighborhoods, particularly situated in pockets of North Philly.

The realities are stark, shocking, pained: gun deaths have sky rocketed, drugs continue to serve as a lucrative market, and murder rates are higher than they’ve been in years. And as Democratic contenders Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton attempt to court Pennsylvania’s voting block, they seem to be ignoring the cries from citizens concerned about the declining quality of life in Philadelphia.

Obama and Clinton spent so much time attempting to galvanize central Pennsylvania that Philadelphia’s problems fell on deaf ears; it is a glaring example of the amount of effort candidates will put in when they understand that they will reap the benefits. Addressing Philadelphia’s issues wouldn’t help them score the harder to reach central PA vote. They assumed they had Philly, a notoriously democratic city, in their back pocket, and so any issues the city may have had went ignored.

My father lives in the suburbs in a community sheltered from the aggressive violence that has recently pervaded Philadelphia. Since the age of 12 I grew up there, unaware of the rage that was bubbling beneath the surface of the city I lived so close to.

When my parents divorced when I was 14, my mother moved to Germantown, a relatively nice part of Philadelphia; but it was still Philadelphia, and on the way between houses I’d still spy hunched over African American women in head-wraps pushing carts full of recycling cans, and gaunt men leering suspiciously at children in the park.

This primary has really put in context for me what it means to be from Pennsylvania. It is a state that is so frequently ignored in the national debate, and considering I live in New York now, that reality has become desperately obvious. I’m annoyed at my fellow Pennsylvanians that they chose Hillz over Obamz, but I do hope that whoever ends up winning the nomination will focus at least some of their concerted efforts on the growing Philadelphia Problem.


The weekend of 4/20: I stumbled onto the stage of a Free Tibet rally

This weekend was one of the best weekends I've had in New York this year. The ridiculousness began on Thursday but I'm honestly blanking out on what we even did, so I guess we'll have to start with Friday.

David, Dan and I smoked and took a walk from Broome Street down to Water Street. On the way there, we noticed there was a candlelit Free Tibet vigil with people sitting in a semi-circle facing some speakers on this makeshift stage. Only - we didn't notice there were speakers, or a stage. So we literally stumbled ONTO the stage and stood there laughing and everyone was staring at us and it took legitimately 30 seconds for us to even realize that we were at the apex of the circle and everyone's attention was on us. As soon as we noticed we SPRINTED away. It was honest to god the funniest/weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. Other things happened that night but they weren't as hilarious.

Here's a picture of the stage:
And here's me on it after the rally was cleared out:
Saturday I ran some errands and went to the gym with David, then we got really high and like stumbled all over the West Village. We found this amazing garden at The Pizza Box on Bleecker and sat out there smoking cigarettes and eating fresh mozzarella pizza:

More food ensued until we sat in the park across from Magnolia because we were like an hour early to our date with our friend Andrea. While waiting, we saw a cat in a basket!:

We finally got to Andrea's, smoked some more and made the pot oil for the special brownies. The whole thing only took about an hour and a half. Thanks to Andrea who basically baked the entire batch while David, Ashley and I fell asleep in her bed listening to Blonde Redhead.
We went home and tried some brownies - oh hey intense body high - and then fell asleep early in preparation for our big day.

Sunday we waked and baked and went to see "Cosmic Collisions" at the Hayden Planetarium on the Upper West Side. On the subway there we saw a guy with a stick full of cotton candy. LOL!:
The show was SICK, but way too short. Sonic Vision was much better. We ate brownies in the theatre and got supremely fucked up, then went to have a picnic in Central Park. It was lovely.
Afterwards we came home and had 4 pizzas, 30 garlic knots and cheesy bread delivered. We'd expected much more people to show but they were flakes:
We literally have like 3 whole pizza pies left over:
So now I am brain dead. But this weekend was totally worth it.

The Hills: Audrina continues to be a scourge on womanity

I'm just going to put this out there: last night's Hills episode was horribly edited.

The producers clearly no longer care if we perceive the show as fake or not. Like I've argued before, the fact that it's completely fake doesn't bother me at all, but I think we all deserve at least a little pretense!

SHOCK: Heidi, She-Pratt, Lauren, Audrina, Lo and Justin-Bobby ended up at the same table at S Bar (Sidenote: S Bar is totally this season's LAX). Heidi tried to instigate drama between Audrina and Justin-Bobby in the name of "being a good friend," while Lauren drowned glasses of champagne and forced Lo to high-tail it out of there with her, claiming, "I can't sit there and pretend everything's okay!" Who knew Lauren had such a low tolerance for fakeness?

Then, in a cafe in West Hollywood, Lo, Audrina and Lauren contemplated moving in together. Last week the previews made it seem like Lo and Lauren ousted Audrina out of their move-in plans, but when they suggested getting a house to Audrina, they all seemed gung-ho about the three of them moving in together. This section of the show was so horribly edited, I had no idea what was even going on. The motives were lost behind vacant stares and choppy dialogue; did Lauren and Lo really want Audrina to move in with them? Did Audrina simply go along with it because she is vapid, dumb and knows her 15 minutes will be up once The Hills' popularity fizzles? DID LAUREN REALLY HAVE TO WEAR AN UGLY KNIT HAT?

We may never know the answers to these questions.

Furthermore, Audrina continued to commit crimes against womanity with her reacceptance of archetypal assholes everywhere, Justin-Bobby. Clearly a cokehead and a disheveled, motorcycle riding wunderkind, Justin-Bobby swooped Audrina back off her feet with a few flashes of his oddly white smile. (Sidenote: LOL at Audrina trying to dress in leather whenever she's with Justin-Bobby. Hello, we all know you secretly love Heidiwood) Audrina, of course, fell right back into his arms, signaling that self respect and restraint mean nothing to the Hills girls. Lauren had Jason (and, arguably, Steven Coletti, who makes an appearance on the show next week), Heidi has Spencer and Audrina has Justin-Bobby: each male character is a protypical asshole who the girls KEEP GOING BACK TO. So now the teen girls in the midwest dreaming of living in LA will know that true love is an emotionless grunge king with a drug problem who preys on women with insecurities.


Lil NYU Local Update

Yo, I'm totally taking over NYU Local right now.

My article about "Gossip Girl" is on the main page: Read it here.

George W. Bush: No Fucking Deal: Read that here.

"Skins:" What Degrassi Couldn't Be: Read it here.

I have many treats in store for you guys today, including an update on "The Hills" and "Gossip Girl," and a picture post of 4/20 events. I've been trying to catch up on all the schoolwork I neglected over the weekend so sorry that the updates have been relatively few and far between. Once finals are over, expect lots and lots of posts, because I'll essentially be working an office job 9am-5pm with nothing else to do.


Monday, April 21, 2008

Young, Rich, and Hopeless

Okay so first, Shia LaBeouf proves that he can't pick up girls. Then Daniel Radcliffe searches in vain for a girl at a party. Um...what the fuck?

Guys, this isn't hard. You're rich, attractive, young, and cute. All you need to do is go up to a girl and tell her how pretty she looks. If she doesn't recognize you right away, just mention a movie you just wrapped up shooting or namedrop one of your celebrity friends. After that, you should be set.

Don't make the rest of us feel insecure about our romantic capabilities. Jesus.


OMFG: Gossip Girl is Actually The O.C. But In New York

This is for NYU Local but I'm posting it here, too:
New York Magazine continues the media’s love affair with intellectualizing completely non-intellectual shows with its seven page think piece on the CW teen drama Gossip Girl. Born of the mind of The O.C. creator Josh Schwartz, the show chronicles the lives of wealthy Upper East Side high school students as they fight, betray and fuck each other.

The article is written by two self-pronounced “fans,” Jessica Pressler and Chris Rovzar, whose basic thesis revolves around the idea that because the show is based on blogs, picture messages and how these two mediums affect high school students nowadays, it is changing the way we watch TV.

I kind of have to disagree on that one. I mean, does anyone remember The O.C.?

I love Gossip Girl. Dan is hot and Blair is a bitch. It’s the New York version of The O.C., only now with a snide narrator who uses the internet to mess up the lives of the main characters, as opposed to an actual plot. The series is based off of Cecily von Zeigesar’s popular novel series (which I was addicted to in high school), but is it really changing anything at all? Using blogs to drive the story forward and perpetuate the idea of “gossip” is less groundbreaking than it is culturally relevant. High school and college students alike are all too familiar with the internet serving as a breeding ground for making or breaking your reputation, but the fact that GG utilizes these technological trends is simply a testament to their connectedness with today’s youth, not a concentrated effort to break any new ground. And it certainly doesn’t mean Gossip Girl is the Best. Show. Ever.

Sure, the parents are just as messed up as the kids (Nate’s dad has a coke problem!), but does anyone remember Kirsten Cohen’s alcoholism that reigned supreme during the last few seasons of The O.C., another Schwartz product?

And despite the fact that their money can bail them out of any situation, rendering their actions completely consequence-free, is this really any different than Sandy Cohen using his legal prowess to repeatedly keep Ryan out of trouble?

Furthermore, the cast’s real life cat fights and dating troubles are splashed across magazines, not unlike The O.C.’s Adam Brody and Rachel Bilson. Their onscreen romance kindled the fire of their off-screen one, fueling pages upon pages of tabloid fodder. How is that any different from Page 6 writing about Blake Lively and Penn Badgley canoodling at The Waverly Inn? It’s not, but as New Yorkers perhaps we feel like it is because it’s happening in our own backyards, and not some bronzed sunny cellophane world with bikinis and palm trees.

I’d venture to say that Gossip Girl is simply the east coast counterpart to the rampantly popular O.C., which ended with a dutiful bang in February 2007. Gossip Girl’s take on the media aspect of high school is simply a reaction to the changing technological climate youngsters are forced to navigate today.

“The Genius of Gossip Girl” is little more than a media ploy to get viewers watching; after all, the show does re-premiere tonight at 9pm on the CW. And, just like the loyal O.C. viewer I was, I’ll be there to watch all the unoriginal drama unfold, best show ever or not.


Sunday, April 20, 2008

Applying the vernacular of Christian Siriano to three presidential hopefuls

Admittedly I was stoned off of pot brownies when I came up with this idea, but while on the phone with Marshall I decided that recent Project Runway winner Christian Siriano's most three famous phrases apply particularly well to Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and John McCain.

Tranny: No one is more of a tranny than Hillary. Pants suits and short hair and a cheating husband, oh my!Hot mess: John McCain. You're bound to be a hot fucking mess if you were tortured in a POW camp for years. That's like the DEFINITION of hot mess.Fierce: He does blow, smokes Marlboro Reds and fully admits to it! He's like 100 feet tall, no doubt has a huge cock and he's a fucking sexy black man. Obama is fierce, people.


The high holy day

As you may have guessed, Jess and Josh are currently knee-deep in extravagant plans for the High Holy Holiday.

Happy 420 everyone!

I'll try to update tonight with pictures and details of our festivities. It's been quite a weekend so far, and we're only a few hours into 420 itself.

I'm so immature but I think this is hilarious. Enjoy: