Archive for April, 2009

i like dreamy things.

April 28, 2009

things that i like & find pretty:

my friend beth makes really dreamy fuzzy songs that are all love letters to weed and california. czech it out.




the graduate = my life story in six months. sort of.




henry darger’s vivian girls is stunning. go see his exhibit at american folk art museum asap.





they don’t make ’em like this anymore.






i’ve been obsessed with this mag for quite a bit. the editorials/models are just so ethereal, sunny, dreamy etc. 






mazzy star sends me to heaven.





art imitating life or life imitating art?!




the dreamiest dreamy of them all!


sweet dreams!





April 27, 2009



When I saw a preview for this movie in the theaters, I ran the gamut of emotions. I was terrified, aroused, curious, amused. But mainly, I was just confused. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS MOVIE? AND IS THAT REALLY BEYONCE/SASHA FIERCE PUMMELING THE CHICK FROM FINAL DESTINATION?


Naturally, I had to see it opening weekend. I had read one review of the film that had called it racist towards white people. Which honestly, I’m apt to agree with. Beyonce and her husband are the only people of color in the entire film.  Everyone else in the film is white and retarded. On second thought, it actually might not be racist at all, just circumstantial?

Anyways, it ended up being exactly how I figured it would be. Campy and ridiculous. I’m still awash in a sea of confusion as to why Sasha Fierce/Beyonce would choose this movie. Although it’s not like she’s had impeccable taste in picking movies before. She did, after all, costar  with a Pink Panther and CUBA GOODING JR for god’s sake.


In any event, go see it. Now.


The weather is getting warmer in New York and I’m getting sunburned, physically and emotionally speaking! Anxiety about summer plans, miss CALIFORNIA SEW MUCH. BLAH BLAH BLAH. All I want to do is listen to Slowdive and drink wine on my rooftop. Well, actually, it’s not my rooftop PER SE. It’s actually reserved for the rich bitches on the Penthouse floor. But whatever. Summer is all about breaking the rules. Any takers?

He’s All That.

April 15, 2009



Photographic evidence that I’m Rachael Leigh Cook’s character in She’s All That.


Since I can remember, I’ve been getting amazed reactions from people when I alter my appearance the slightest bit. I take off my glasses. I slick my hair back. And people act like i’ve undergone a metamorphosis. (Like Hilary Duff. Not Kafka.)  Like I’ve suddenly become this attractive person. The kind of attractive that garners gasps and “oohs” and “ahhs”. 


Now I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because EvErYbODy luvs A LiL aTteNtiOn. But I can’t help but wonder….(Carrie Bradshaw channeling)

WHAT THE FUCK DID I LOOK LIKE BEFORE? Like with my glasses on and my hair not styled? It really is a “She’s All That” kind of problem . Rachel Leigh Cook’s character’s physical transformation went as thus:

1. got a bad haircut by that chick in Trueblood

2. wore eyeliner

3. got a dress from Reference


TA DA. She’s a hottie with a body.

Is that all I need to do guys?


UGH. I don’t know where this is going. What I do know is this. I accidentally got drunk uptown tonight and  on the cab ride home, I may or may not have found a chocolate easter bunny in my bag. And I may or may not have eaten it before the cab hit Times Square.  I can neither confirm nor deny.

I’m fat: Part 42069.

April 12, 2009





My obsession with this crazy bitch continues.  These essays seem to encapsulate the feeling of living the sixties. Correction. How JOAN DIDION lived in the 60’s. Because not everyones experience in the 60’s included lunches at The Polo Lounge &  living in a 28-room manse on Franklin. Her prose is, no doubt, beautiful and invigorating. However, sometimes I can’t help but call her out on her bullshit. In her essay, “Quiet Days In Malibu”, she talks about the lifeguards of Zuma and how after spending some time with them on the job, not a day goes by that she doesn’t think of them still. Right, Joan. The lifeguards of Zuma Beach are keeping you up at night and are the topic of conversation over dinner at La Scala.

But honestly, I don’t mind the bullshit too much. People seem to have this fixed idea that as a writer, you have to be poor and suffer for your craft. You have to talk about the horrors of gentrification and write your first novel about a family living in the projects. Um, no thanks. I want to write my first book while staying in a suite at The Chateau Marmont. I’m only half-kidding, you know.


Oh, this reminds me. Did anyone catch last week’s Housewives of NYC?




OK so remember when I was talking about Luann “The Cuntess” & how she was the worst of all the housewives? Last week’s episode cemented this idea.

So she visits the Boys & Girls Club in BK “to help” these poor middle-class children. How Luann is relevant and could offer solace to ANYONE, let alone 12 year-olds, is beyond me. But anyways, she strolls in the B & G Club  and starts to talk to the kids, probably reading her words of encouragement off cue cards, about what they wanted to do when they grew up. And some girl, bless her heart, says she wants to be a model. Now, the whole point of Luann coming there was to instill self-esteem into these disenfranchised kids and encourage them to succeed. So when this chunky girl stands up and tells Luann that she wants to model, I though it was fabulous.

But not Luann.

She  is totally caught off-guard. Why? Um, because she’s Lucifer’s child, obvi. She says to the girl, “Oh, uh…that’s great. You have an, um, pretty face, and, uh, you could still grow a couple inches. AND LOSING WEIGHT SHOULD BE PRETTY EASY.”


Uh. What?

Did Luann just tell this overweight pre-teen that she needed to lose weight if she wanted to model?


Luann. You’re fired. You had one job. To make these kids feel better about themselves and you already fucked that up. Go home.

The whole thing was absolutely deplorable. You know that when she gave those kids hugs goodbye, she was rushing in her limo to put Purell on her hands. 


Speaking of overweight people,




My wonderful mom sent me girl scout cookies last week. A box of Somoas and Thin Mints AKA the only two kinds of Girl Scout Cookies that matter. God bless that woman! Unfortunately, it’s made me feel like a total Kirstie Alley. Honestly, sometimes Kirstie & I have more in common than I’d like to admit. After finishing off those two boxes in three days, I was reminded of  my other forays into Kirstie Alley-ville. It was the worst in the  fall of ’07. I had taken the semester off of school & was living in Beverly Hills. I was in a dark place, emotionally and physically. I had gotten hit by a car in May, dropped out of a study abroad program in Italy & moved back to Los Angeles to cry, write bad freeverse, and get stoned. I was on a steady diet of Vicodin, Chipotle and Sprinkles. Luckily, (or in retrospect, unluckily), my apartment was in walking distance to both Sprinkles and Chipotle. I stood in line at Sprinkles 4x a week with all the overzealous Midwest tourists. It was getting downright humiliating when the workers at Sprinkles knew my order by heart. 


But I’ve come a long way. I can no longer have Chipotle without dry-heaving and feeling pregs. It’s no longer worth it.  And Sprinkles is located across the county. All the better, I say. We needed distance.


Now I’m going to eat some Nutella which is my New York equivalent of a cupcake AND a burrito. Too bad I’m out of Girl Scouts…

The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Lies.

April 7, 2009



My 21st Birthday Party Flyer

Ok so I had ambivalence about doing this post mainly because I don’t want to contribute any more to these people’s fame but I owe it to my five readers.




Initially, my first thoughts were: AWKWARD. The show has become massively successful. Clothing lines, books,  music (*shudder*) etc. These girls have their fingers dipped in every pot. But on the show, we, as viewers, are supposed to have some sort of suspension of disbelief in that Lauren, Audrina, and Heidi are still just regular girls trying to make it in Hollywood. Lauren goes to FIDM (Real life: has her own clothing line), Audrina works at Epic (Real life: Acts in horrible movies and “models”) and Heidi works at Bolthouse (Real life: Sings pop songs that drive me to suicidal thoughts and calls the paparazzi to take “candid” photos of her crying in a chair on a random street) NO SRSLY SHE DID THAT:




And that just doesn’t work anymore because most of their lives can’t be filmed. Now, the show has just become borderline creepy with its fixation on the Heidi/Lauren friendship that ended three years ago. It’s like all the stars are contractually-obligated to live in the past because they can’t film the present. It’s also just gotten outrageously fake. Like tonight Heidi went to go talk to “the bartender” (I swear I saw her once in an episode of Samantha Who?) to set the record straight. And the bartender is like, “Oh, I had no idea he had a girlfriend” & it’s like, wait…don’t you read UsWeekly? They’re on the cover every other week in their wedding outfit. And there was also a camera crew and release forms you had to sign. Hmmm… And one could argue that The Hills was never a reality show and that we don’t watch it for the “reality” of these people’s lives and that’s true. But I’m starting to think that their lives outside of the show have GOT to be more interesting than the ones they lead on the show. How many fucking times do we have to hear Lauren & Heidi talk about how they were BEST FRIENDS and now they’re not BEST FRIENDS and they don’t know if they can ever be BEST FRIENDS. I could switch tonight’s episodes drama and replace it with a 2 year-old episode and no one would know the difference. No one moves forward. Everyone lives their life like it’s in perpetual Groundhog’s Day because they have to. Watching Lauren pick out fabric for her FIDM class is a hard sight to see and believe when you know she lives in a million-dollar home at the age of 23 & hawks $300 dresses.


But as usual, I’m looking into things far too much. It is after all, just The Hills. And I’m still watching it.


Still. Fucking. Watching it.

Butts, Chic Pregnant Moms, Self-Loathing, & Housewives that are perhaps too real.

April 1, 2009



So I know there’s no jobs right now but can I just move to Amsterdam & work for Butt for the rest of my life? I love this magazine. I think it’s subversive without being alienating. Alot of sub-culture gay mags just feature fat bears and ancient daddies. I feel like Butt has something for everyone. SIGN ME UP.


On a more personal note, I can’t help but get slightly envious reading the salacious interviews with the gay men. People have such raunchy fun sex stories and it causes me to reflect on my young gay life. Don’t get the wrong idea now. I definitely have my fair share of cray cray stories but I’ve also been remarkably prudish. I really regret spending two years in San Francisco from ages 18-20 with my dick in a mason jar. I feel like I was suffering from a bout of self-loathing homophobia. I would see men in the Castro and literally run for the hills. I was very sanctimonious about the Castro men. “Ew, I’m not like those gross showy gays in leather and little clothing.” Um, yeah, but I also was going home alone every night so who’s really winning?


Proving that my blog has no common thread whatsoever, I now want to talk about the band, Vivian Girls.




I’ve been obsessed with these Brooklyn bitches for awhile. I’m kind of IN LOVE with girl punk. And Vivian Girls is this interesting hybrid of The Shangri-Las meets My Bloody Valentine fuzz meets Ramones. I eat this shit  up & I’m seeing them on Thursday with Ariel Pink. If I was a girl/cross-dresser, I would go to the show in a baby doll dress circa Courtney Love 1994 with Doc Martens. And I would start a band right when I got home from the show.




Also, can we please take this moment to acknowledge Mia Farrow as a fashionista in Rosemary’s Baby?! She looked so chic for someone who was carrying the spawn of satan!




Um, I also wanted to discuss my intense feelings towards Bravo’s Real Housewives. Luann = NYC version of Vickie from The O.C. Can we please take a moment to take in the absurdity of the moment when  Luann told Jill in this season’s premiere, without a hint of self-awareness, that her biggest pet peeve was when people think they’re better than someone else? Um hi, Luann, we have Tivo. Let me just rewind to last season when you got pissed that your driver didn’t say your royal fucking precious princess Highness Countess when he addressed you. Lets also rewind to the reunion special when Luann’s maid said that she wished Luann would spend more time with her children. That’s an astute observation you got there, Rosa, because I was thinking the same exact thing.  Where the fuck are their kids?!! You know that Ramona spends time with her daughter, Avery, to steal her Aderall behind her back but what about the other ones? So telling, my friends.


Here’s my take on all the seasons.


Orange County- The most vile of them all! McCain voting, Ralph Lauren wearing, self-involved assholes. In Atlanta and NYC, they talk shit to each other’s faces but never The O.C. It’s always done behind people’s back and it is much more malicious and calculated. Also, Vickie is Lucifer’s child, yes/no?


Atlanta- Bring this shit back ASAP. These girls are tacky and alot of fucking fun. NeNe & KIm need to never stop. Ever. Kim’s singing? Give her a Grammy please. And Kim, please continue to drink wine and smoke cigarettes IN YOUR CAR. Loves it. But I also can’t shake the feeling that this was the most racist hour in the history of television. Am I right?


NYC- Dignified. And Jewish. They also have more money than God. Their condos on the UES  cost the equivalent of a palatial mansion in Hotlanta, Loves it.




The level of self-absorption  coupled with their lack of self-awareness makes for such a brilliant unforgiving portrait of wealth.