Archive for September, 2009

Luv Goon.

September 30, 2009

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There’s been alot of hype surrounding the season premiere of The Hills because of this crazy bitch. And deservedly so. Since Lauren Conrad spent her last season of the show in a personality coma,  everyone knows that Kristin Cavallari is the kind of the girl that will work for her money. She’s already gotten into an altercation with Audrina and started cozying up to that weird homeless guy, Justin Bobby. At this point, the show is so blatantly fake that you just have to embrace it. I also love that the re-casting of Kristin has made Heidi and Spencer completely irrelevant. Their faux-fights and feeble attempts at stirring up controversy pale in comparison to Kristin’s hijinks. But I have one question. Why is Stacie, the bartender chick MTV hired to create drama, hanging out with the gang?

 

I watched the premiere of The City for 2.5 seconds but then my brain exploded from boredom.  Is that possible?

 

In other news, fall in NYC is magical and all I want  are some more cardigans and a spooning partner.

Lost in a fog of blog.

September 25, 2009

Today I was thinking about all of my old blogs and got really creeped out. I’ve been blogging for eight years, starting when I was a freshman in high-school. This was before blogspots and wordpresses and shit. Back then, the major blogs were either Xanga, SitDiary, Deadjournal or Livejoiurnal. I’ve had three out of the four. In the beginning, my friends and I all had Deadjournals. It basically acted as our middle-class version of Gossip Girl and people would relish in  creating shitstorms of drama. Someone would write an entry bitching about some girl, knowing full well that the girl was on their friends list. That was sort of the point, I guess. You would constantly be testing people to see their reactions. It would eventually cumulate in an epic comment war of all of your friends taking a side and typing evil shit to one another. Then at school, people would just be passive-aggressive and wait till they got home to air their grievances online. People got so socially awkward and weird but everyone loved the voyeurism and having a stupid soapbox to stand on.

I got a Livejournal when I was 16 because I was tired of Deadjournal drama and wanted to go in a more “mature” direction. For awhile, I was friends with only random twenty-somethings from Bullshit, Missouri. Then I found all the journals of these crazy rich LA girls and was in blog heaven. They would post polaroids of them getting drunk in pools or wearing Marc Jacobs dresses and they looked so cute and crazy. They would post things like, “today i got a parking ticket for 200 bucks and it sucked but then we went to cinespace and sarah vomited blood? it was so nuts!” After reading their entries, Livejournal just got so weird and I would mimic them by only posting polaroids of my cute friends and saying stupid shit like, “today was  a big waste & all i did was drink wine and listen to bob dylan.”  Hi, I’m 17. What actually happened was that I drank one glass of wine and listened to one Bob Dylan song and couldn’t wait to blog about it because it seemed alternative.

Eventually, everyone was on Livejournal and it made sense until we all hit 20 and people started getting sick or hurt or developed drug problems. Posting pictures of dance parties doesn’t seem relevant when you just spent your last 20 dollars on weed and your mom hates you and you’ve slept with alot of weirdos and may have gotten an STD.

Livejournal didn’t start to lose its luster for me till I moved to New York. Living in New York is sometimes too surreal to document. And it’s funny because I started this blog because i wanted to take the focus off of me and write about things in the world that I thought were ridiculous, amazing and/or offensive. But sometimes I find myself nostalgic for the way I used to write. Sometimes  all I want to do is blog about boys and weird friendships or a crazy drug experience. Is that too much to ask? Probably. The older I get, the crazier blogs get. And one day I want to make money off of blogging about the girls from The Hills. Because it’s 2009 & I can.

Doing My Chores.

September 21, 2009

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Diablo Cody needs to be deleted from Hollywood. I know I’m not the first person to say such a thing. And I certainly won’t be the last. But her latest film, Jennifer’s Body, reignited my disdain for this walking, talking, pop culture robot/untalented writer. Juno was weird. I liked it best when it was just being honest and sweet and not spouting out awkward catchphrases or cueing up a Moldy Peaches song. But Jennifer’s Body? Dear God. At this point, studio execs would’ve greenlit a film of Amanda Seyfried taking a dump on Megan Fox’s face as long as Diablo Cody was attached and promised to provide a killer soundtrack. Honestly, maybe that film would’ve fared better than Jennifer’s Body. Here’s the deal: it’s a movie that doesn’t know what it wants to be. Is it a horror film with comedic elements? Or is it a comedy with a few scares thrown in? The tone of the film is so uneven that it ends up being not particularly funny or scary. Honest to blog. Or maybe I just resent Diablo Cody for writing films that I, or any other pop-culture enthusiast, could write in their sleep. She’s getting paid millions to present a very specific picture of alternative teen life. None of it ends up being particularly honest or interesting. But oh well. You should go see it anyway for all of the awkward moments that  will cause you and everyone else in the theatre to squirm in their seats.

 

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I’ll admit it. I’m a sucker for easy-to-read angsty books with feminist undertones and tales of drug addiction. I’ll also read anything that boasts an introduction by LITERARY ICON, Chloe Sevigny. So it was inevitable that I was going to read Lesley Arfin’s Dear Diary. The concept is intriguing. A girl prints her old diary entries, writes commentary on them and interviews all of the Susie Q’s and John Blowhards that made her adolescence a living hell. Conveying the right tone is tricky with a book such as this. You don’t want to appear condescending, obnoxious or too bitchy to your readers. But Arfin manages to avoid all those pitfalls by explaining the complexities of teenage emotions in entertaining layman riot grrl terms. What makes this book a success and sellable is that Lesley Arfin’s life was similar to ours. She’s just simply better at articulating these experiences than the average folk. Loves it. Needs it. Read it.

 

In other real-life news, I just ate two Nutella sandwiches and have watched five hours of Beverly Hills, 90210 today. Kelly is going through her coke addiction right now and i just love watching Jennie Garth act high. She literally does a bump of coke from a key and doesn’t sleep for four days and bitches out her roommates. If you could get that high off 1/4 of a line, people would probably stop going broke. On the downside, I guess they could OD after doing only like two lines. Hmmm. That’s problematic. 90210 always raises so many important questions for me.

It’s Sunday.

September 14, 2009

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I stumbled upon this little gem last week in the blogs. Oh. My. God. Washed Out is basically some dude from South Carolina who makes these beautiful electronic tracks in his bedroom. The sounds are so soft and lush, it feels like a mind massage. It’s a very interesting hybrid of delicate lo-fi, dreamy otherwordly vocals and 80’s electronica. The closet comparison I can think of is “West End Girls” by Pet Shop Boys or “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc. This music makes me such a nostalgic little bitch for California. All I wanna do is swim in the ocean, lay on the beach and run around with my best friends. City life can get you down, I suppose.

 

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I watched the season finale of True Blood and found myself, as usual, underwhelmed. I started watching the show this summer out of this bizarre desire to be a part of the conversation at the water coolers. It’s become such a cultural phenomenon and I wanted to experience it for myself. I can’t really pinpoint my major gripe with this show. What I do know is that I’m happy the show is embracing more of its inherent campiness. The acting and the accents are so god-awful but they understand that now. They may have always known, always had a certain level of self-awareness, but now it seeps through every storyline and that makes it so much more fun.

 

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Speaking of things that are in on the joke, I saw Sorority Row opening day this weekend and was pleasantly surprised! Taking a cue from the shitty slasher flicks of the 80’s (Slumber Party Massacre anyone?) Sorority Row continues this trend of the horror film that’s comprised of 50% thrills and 50% gags. How else can you expect the casting of Audrina “it hurts to talk” Patridge, Rumer Willis and that chick from Real World? Believe me, this movie gets it. The characters are morally bankrupt which makes it that much more entertaining. They sleep with their shrinks for OxyContin prescriptions, are shamelessly cruel to each other faces and with the exception o the 2 or 3 girls that survive , the characters seem to have little remorse over accidentally murdering their friend. Not like I’m judging them. It is Audrina, after all.

Sundays Are For Blogging.

September 8, 2009

 

Ian CURTIS.

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The Stone Roses.

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I remember the first time I heard a song by The Smiths. I was twelve years old, cleaning my room and listening to Y107 (805 reference) when “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore” came on the radio. It was like a record scratch, in a good way obviously, and I stopped whatever it was that I was doing to sit down and listen. I was in love with the jangly guitars and Morrissey’s sultry croon. At the time, I was still “obsessing” over girls like Sarah Michelle Gellar but after hearing Morrissey, I knew my hetero days were numbered. There’s something about that man that transcends gender and sexual preference. Gay, straight, confused, I feel like every Smiths fan has a hard-on for him. I had the pleasure of seeing him at Carnegie Hall recently wherein I had made the unwise decision to take a Xanax beforehand (I don’t like crowds?) and ended up floating in a haze of memory loss. As I was going in and out of consciousness/reality, I always managed to be momentarily brought back by the sound of his voice.

 

The Stone Roses have often been perceived as resting on the laurels of the Manchester sound that The Smiths had helped create. This perception is largely unfair. To their credit, The Stone Roses crafted pop songs that were centered around a dancey beat. And as we all know, The Smiths were a lot of wonderful things but dancey isn’t the first adjective that springs to mind when describing their soound.

 

Figures like Ian Curtis and Morrissey have since been romanticized and have become the poster children for this amazing time in music. I’m obsessed. Are you obsessed?