Archive for February, 2009

YEAH YEAH NO.

February 23, 2009

I like making list-like things. Here are the things I have been into lately:

 

kareno_webKAREN O.

 

YYY’s new album, It’s Blitz!, just leaked & it’s pretty solid. I feel so 2003 for still loving Yeah Yeah Yeahs but I don’t care. Karen O = icon. Her voice is so rich. It can go from emotional and vulnerable to being rough and sexy. She’s rock & roll’s equivalent of Mariah Carey. The new album is more synthy and dance driven than previous efforts. The guitars are sort of absent, creating a more futuristic vibe. But there’s alot of lush beautiful shit going on in this record. Download illegally immediately.

 

nag-champa-15gTruth. I’ve exhibited fifteen year-old stoner behavior lately. I was feeling shamed/embarrassed by my extensive collection of Rich Mom candles and those bottles of scents with the sticks in them or whatever. So I decided to turn my studio into a hippie palace. I bought a Jefferson Airplane poster &  I make my friends smoke weed in my apartment without cracking a window. I make secret trips to St. Mark’s and ask for incense by the names of Opium and Nature. I burn that shit  non-stop & now my apartment smells like a smoke shop rather than a mystical hippie commune. Same diff, I suppose. The point is that living alone leads to dangerous impulsive behavior and I’m clearly out of control. 

 

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So apparently Madonna went into a time machine & did a stunning pictorial for W mag. Homegirl looks 35 instead of 75 ( her real age) and it’s an amazing spread. She looks exactly  like she did circa “Take A Bow”. In the pictorial, she’s portrayed as this lustful cougar who ends up fucking the cabana boy, Jesus. As usual, life seems to be imitating art for Madonna because there’s been recent papparazzi pics of her and said cabana boy. She looks spectacular but it makes you wonder what weird ass voodoo shit she’s been doing to her face/body. I m waiting for the day when it falls off because it seems to all be glued together at this point. They also clearly photoshopped her arms so they didn’t look so muscular/like a man’s. Good call on that one, W/Steven Klein.

Also, I can’t NOT mention the oscars. Favorite moments include Goldie Hawn being resurrected from the dead/Aspen to give an award. Sophia Loren talking like she had taken 20 Valium before hitting the stage. Jennifer Aniston still being relevant and being so confused as to why. Dustin Lance Black winning best screenplay for Milk and remaining sexy while doing so. Beyonce popping up out of nowhere for a gratuitous musical number. I guess some of those are my least favorite moments. Also, Miley Cyrus. Why?

Playing God; not just a David Duchovny movie.

February 19, 2009

I just did a massive rewrite and sent this to my editors. Thinking that it might be torn to shreds, I figured that I would publish it here in its pure state. BECAUSE ITS MY BLOG AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.

 

I am 22 years old & I have a babysitter. Five babysitters in fact. Their names are Tito, David, Luis, Rob, and Daniel and they’re the doormen in my apartment building in the East Village. On a good day, my doormen will ward off potential stalkers, sell me drugs (one of them, at least) and inform me if the delivery guy has arrived downstairs. We share gossip, exchange enthusiastic high fives and form a bond with one another. However, after six months of living in a doorman building, I have begun to see the dark side of the relationship. I have seen my doormen take on the role of a judgmental parent; giving me the evil eye if I stumble in drunk at four in the morning, commenting negatively on my outrageous/amazing outfits or yelling at me if I’ve left a package sitting downstairs for too long. It has become clear to me that these guys have become my substitute parents. They have unwillingly served as moral watchdogs. And that’s why, until I’m all growed up, I will never live in a doorman building again.
    Searching for a typical example of when I have felt shamed by my doormen, I am brought back to last Friday night. My night was winding down as it usually did, drunk and stumbling into my apartment when I noticed that something was missing: my phone. Panicking, I did what every other irrational person would do: I buzzed down to my doorman.
“Yes, Ryan?”
“Oh my god, you got to help me. 911. I lost my phone and you have to call it for me
so I can find it!” I said, slurring unintelligibly.
“I can’t understand-”
“Great, the number is 805-”
“Ryan, you aren’t making sense. Please slow down!”
“815- 911. Wait that’s not my number.’”
Click.
Defeated, I retreated to my bed and fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up and found out that my phone, much like my dignity, was left at a friend’s apartment in the Lower East Side. After informing my doorman of this unfortunate mix-up, I was met with the kind of stone-cold silence only a mother could provide. 
    After the initial hurt wore off, I begun to think about the role of a doorman. I realized that they are not there to help drunk privileged college students find their phone. They’re there to help the eighty year-old Grandma in Prada carry up her groceries. I wouldn’t be needing them as a parent if I wasn’t acting like a child. That’s why I believe living in a doorman building in college is a huge mistake. Because until you get your shit together, you need to stumble into your apartment at four am, lose your phone and find the goddammed thing yourself.

TWISTED SISTERS.

February 11, 2009

It’s “high” time I come clean about my Mary-Kate and Ashley addiction. To me, they’re fashion icons. Not particularly bright but Mary-Kate especially, has a definite “it” quality about her. She’s ethereal, tiny, playful, drugged -out. she reminds me of the effortlessly cool girls at my high-school. They’d smoke cigarettes, hang out with the cute boys, listen to good music, exude a lolita-esque sensuality. Above all, they’re enigmatic. They’re always one step ahead. You can’t quite grasp them.

 

Here are my favorite MK & A fashion moments.

 

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This outfit would like shit on 99.9 percent of the population. But not her. I loved her hair like this. She could stand to gain a few, obvi. She can fit a family of five in those jeans.

 

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Hi, her hair needs to be this color again now. Because of their sickly pale skin, too blond or too dark makes them look really washed out/coked out.

 

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Taken when MK “went” to NYU & “took” classes, this was really the beginning of the whole BoHo look. 

 

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Yet again, an Olsen  takes an item of clothing that’s meant to only fit a regular-sized person’s upper half and turns it into an entire ensemble. Jealousyyyy.

 

 

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Taken from a Nylon shoot from a time when Nylon actually meant something besides skinny jeans and featuring blood-sucking night crawlers, Ashley looks chic and simple. She always looks more presentable and classic than MK but she doesn’t excite me.

 

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I feel like this image is one of their most iconic in terms of documenting their personal style. That Prada headband is to die and if I didn’t have a penis, I would wear it daily.mary-kate_olsen

 

No MK. You’re not hallucinating from the Peyote you took earlier. That’s a papparazo. 

 

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Stunning.

 

 

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This outfit got mixed reviews but I give it A++++. The colors are evocative of spring and I’m blanking out on the designer. Let’s ask Mary-Kate. Oh wait, she’s already unconscious.

 

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This look seems very retro and disco inspired. GET INTO IT. I loved MK’s hair at this length. She looked like such a bad-ass witchy Stevie Nicks kind of woman. Like she could cast spells or use a couture voodoo doll.

 

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Had to throw it in. Circa Mary-Kate when she was dating that Greek guy who dated everybody under the sun. As a gay man, I am totally attracted to MK from a pure fashion/aesthetics standpoint. They look like miniature wealthy dolls. But I srsly don’t understand how any guy could REALLY be attracted and not feel like he’s dealing with some repressed pedophile urges.

 

There’s so much more but I’ll leave it at that. XOXO.

LUV THE SKIN UR IN.

February 3, 2009

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It’s a monday night & having endured eight hours at school today, I’m treating myself to a face mask and a viewing of Intervention.

I’m really anal about my skin. You would be too if you suffered with the acne that I had circa 2000-2006.  Here’s a visual aid:

 

n30604553_30002884_2239That was my skin on a good day–on the best day really. I wish I had more photographic evidence but alas I was a smart vain teenager and only took polaroids AKA God’s photographic gift to concealing imperfections.

Thankfully, I made it through the rain. Now I cleanse,  exfoliate and moisturize daily. Unfortunately, NYC’s unpredictable weather has put a few roadblocks on my quest for perfect skin.

During the winter, my cheeks get horribly red and peel. On multiple occasions, I’ve had my skin literally fall off my face and onto my jacket. 

I also get red dots near my chin. I thought they were zits but nope, they’re just another cruel joke on my face.

 

I also have started to use eye cream. At 22, I’m staring not so far away from 25. And at 25, I’m neighbors with 30. I already can see bags forming under my eyes thanks to my unhealthy lifestyle choices. Unwilling to tame my ways, I’ve resorted to welcoming any and all age preventative measures.

Oooh, I’m getting to the part of the mask where I can’t move my face. Oh, it feels so good.

 

Also, as an afterword to my post about The City. I found out that Olivia Palermo goes to my school–The New School. In doing so, she has destroyed  any shreds of credibility The New School once had. Thanks, Olivia. Also, can you believe she’s only 21? Homegirl needs to borrow some of my eye cream ASAP.