Chinese Democracy

Ashley Holmes, daughter of Real Housewives of New Jersey's sweet, innocent, defender of friends and betrayer of sisters, Jacqueline Laurita, enjoys an active Facebook "lifestyle" (like any Bergen County teen/reality demi-star worth her [fingers crossed] high school graduation chin implant). Here, she's enjoying a picture of herself sprayed another color...note the casual, multi-voweled bigotry of buddy Alanna's comment and Ashley's response: ";) lmao." Click to enlarge...kinna hurra.

Funny For Friday

"I had to give up scotch, because it turns me into a werewolf - and cigarettes too. I seem to like to kiss trouble on the forehead and then try to back away. I test my limits quite often. I guess that's what 22-year-olds do. But I'm fallible and human and I'm figuring it out."

Shia LaBeouf, doing what 22 year olds do, pretending to quit drinking.

Coconut Water

It Was Foretold.

Statement for Thursday

She would be a menace and a dangerous influence to St. Lucian society, because the demons that inhabit her tortured body will still have to be fed...I predict that the relative peace and tranquility that we enjoy in this country will desert us and untold misery and disasters will visit us. We cannot put the future of our country in jeopardy for the sake of the sale of a house to a character that will draw to St. Lucia untold human suffering.

- Former St. Lucia government mouthpiece Jeff Fedee, on Amy Winehouse's attempts to immigrate to his country

Which One Of You #@%&* Took The Last Doughnut?

This has gotten out of hand. Here we have something called Doutzen Kroes (I'm told she's in photographs), out and about and wearing that damn dress! This will be the fourth siting in a week, people! I love the dress, it's got a great personality, but it's got to go now. This is too much.

Bright side to this all, though, at least I've got my Halloween costume picked out early this year, which is awesome, because I wasn't sure how Slutty Spock was going to work.

Freestyle Jam for Wednesday

Oil Painting for Wednesday

Van Gogh's Lying Cow (1882-3). Have you ever seen a more perfect description of livestock?! And the title!

Miller Chill

I'm pretty sick of negativity. Aren't you, friends?...(yes!). So I'm looking to lance one more massive, festering boil: my feelings in and around the band MGMT...MGMT consists (mostly) of two dudes, Ben Goldwasser (right), who I've never met (I think?), and Andrew VanWyngarden (left), who grew up right near me in Memphis. There have been a few other "touring members," like drummer Will Berman, who once propositioned me in a really gross and irritating way while wearing baby blue short-shorts.

Ben and Andrew met and began making music in the early aughts at Wesleyan University, where both were very close with one of Pillow and my Memphian sisters, L___. My relationship with Andrew went like this: he was the best friend of one of my mother's dearest friends' sons (lived across the street from them, around the corner/across the alley from us). I spent Thanksgiving with him once. He was cute and very quiet and two years older. He was a founding member of the high school band of choice for private school girls, the jammy, disorganized Accidental Mersh. Then, college. And he was tight with L___ and we spent New Years 2005 together. We ate pot brownies and drank canned beer and watched episodes of HBO's noise-porn docu-drama, Hookers at the Point. Again, he was very quiet, but not in the cute teenager way of that late 90s Thanksgiving. He was...an asshole? But (and let's keep this between us) so was L___. I'm not saying Wesleyan turned them into assholes (bound to happen eventually, etc.), but it allowed them to form a sort of myopic, self-aggrandizing bubble in the Connecticut wilderness where they could hone and project their asshole skills. And that's where Ben and the band came from, and now they're famous (and L___, a criminal social climber, is thrilled to the gills), and that "asshole bubble" stuff that killed me then, really kills me now that it's on MTV and stuff.

In 2004-5-6, while the Wesleyan set were roaming about glorified dorms or friends' houses on the Cape (bubble!) in manicured "outfits" (read: COSTUMES) doing coke and acid, I was on the ground in New York and then Memphis and sometimes abroad (read: Atlantic City) doing the same, but with real people (many people, different people each night) with better clothes and unpretentious hair and feelings and such. I thought, "those liberal arts kids and their hipster Melrose Place are ridiculous and oh-so transparently out of touch/limited." In my rough and tumble, rock n' roll disco world, they wouldn't have cut it--they were pansies and THEY WERE TRYING (a thing I had been taught not to EVER be caught doing). So I assumed they would all suffer some massive come-down upon graduation.

But no. It was me who had been unknowingly attending the wake of a certain generation of skater/junkie/dj's and club kid/bar wench/prop stylists. MGMT and the other Wesleyan kids they were friends with represented future generations (just check how young their fanbase is). They were like Cory Kennedy or something, like anyone who was happy to be caught trying, like anyone who actually thought photographs from "last night" were more important (more marketable) than the night itself. They were ready to say, "Yes!! We are hipsters!! And we want to make money being hipsters!! We want attention!! We care only for surfaces, and know full well that none of our shtick is new news!! Oh, the preening!!" As a student of the older generations, I was--still am--alarmed by these missions/admissions, alarmed by this market-conscious brand of hipsterdom, these "huppies."

But am I jealous? A little, surely. Plus, it's always weird when people you knew before they were famous become famous (far weirder than when you meet and get to know those who you once only knew as distant celebrities, or demi-celebrities).

And MGMT sounds good. I've known that all along. They're capable of producing very solid pop. Until last night, when I sat down to tackle the problem over Tecates with Pillow and YouTube and various lyrics-collecting sites, I thought my beef with them was only down to my petty jealousies, a lingering schooldays competition with L___. However, upon review of two music videos and one set of lyrics, I realized that MGMT would bother me regardless of personal ties. They are, in fact, the apotheosis of so much irksomeness.

Note:
The video for "Time to Pretend."
And the lyrics--
I'm Feelin rough I'm Feelin raw I'm in the prime of my life. Let's make some music make some money find some models for wives. I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars. You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars. This is our decision to live fast and die young. We've got the vision, now let's have some fun. Yeah it's overwhelming, but what else can we do? Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute? Forget about our mothers and our friends. We were fated to pretend. I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms. I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world. I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home. Yeah I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone. But there is really nothing, nothing we can do. Love must be forgotten. Life can always start up anew. The models will have children, we'll get a divorce, we'll find some more models, Everything must run its course. We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end. We were fated to pretend.

Pillow's brilliant reaction to these two cultural objects: "Autoerotic asphyxiation!--masturbation and suicide--autoerotic asphyxiation! And what are you doing talking about heroin, Andrew? And death, they're talking about death. I take that personally." As ever, she is 100% correct. There's the stuff I take personally too. The acid. Acid has been my spiritual life for years now. So, it's disheartening to watch Andrew sell it, cleverly, mechanically, Mad Ave.-ily provide the first wave of tweens-cum-teens their very own (completely disingenuous and obviobvi) psychedelic revival. And then, the Mexican ruins! I took acid in Mexican ruins last year and made BFA work about it. Dammit. And the cats. The cats! And the gayness! Once, my tweeish, hipstery manfriend was having a nervous breakdown and started to borrow my clothes and that is exactly what MGMT looks like: him, all certifiable in my embroidered silk scarf. Meltdown. War. Turmoil. And the stuff about having a commute. I mean, fuck you dude.

Is "Time to Pretend" a joke? Is it meant to parody this specific sort of American dream? Or are they serious? Either way, it--all of it--is cold and full of critical distance, as shallow as a "huppie," presumably, as shallow as its makers. They are smart, book-smart. They know all about criticality, and might, maybe pull it off...but they're dressed for Halloween. Oh, it's so flimsy. After our confab, Pillow and I went into the kitchen to prepare a bit of food. I put on Lucinda Williams' Sweet Old World. I said, "MGMT will never make something like this. It's too warm, too authentic and messy for them. They will never be able to make me cry, and so...I'll never love them."

I'm OK. You're OK.

Sold

Someone's trying to sell me this Hervé Léger dress, and I'm totally biting. By the by, how amazing does Heidi look??

Do It Yourself

We were standing in the West corridor of the second floor of Bancroft Hall*. Jess D___, the tall, friendly girl from Portland, Oregon (who had gotten me stoned for the first time from a little wooden pipe with a nug she'd smuggled on the the plane from home) was saying, "I want a haircut. An indie haircut. I want a bob, but like longer in the front than the back, or like with short bangs and then dyed black." Jess did get that "indie haircut," the bob with long strands in front. She listened to "indie music," Modest Mouse and Cat Power and Elliott Smith and Bright Eyes. She drank "indie coffee," wore "indie, vintage clothes," and "indie, vintage glasses." She had a Dandy Warhols poster on her door. Essentially, Jess was a wealthy girl from the suburbs of a place where "indie" was premium, king, cool, central. She was enamored of the twenty-somethings that she spied at record stores and on the street. So she mimicked them and then talked about it in a starry-eyed, uncool sort of way, peppering sentence after sentence with that (now and then odious) word,"indie."

Personally, I used no slang for it. For the 1970s soccer jerseys as dresses and cowboy boots of 2001. For the two white leather roses, 1940s "shoe clips" that I affixed to dresses and headbands and canvas totes in 2002. For the ripping and dyeing and ribboning and pinning and silkscreening of each item I bought in 2003, whether from Macy's Juniors or Goodwill or Barney's. For the messiness of my hair. For the big, plastic and gold and paste 80s jewelery and red and black nails. I made these choices with ease, with youth-y cockiness, and with a craftsy, cobbled air that ranged from a little twee (in 2002-3) to a little twee meets Less Than Zero (2003-4) to a little death to twee/heavy metal groupie/junkie (2004-7).

Last week, a friend used the term "D.I.Y." to describe his band. He said their sound was too "D.I.Y." for Memphis audiences. I understand that this term is being used to describe some kind of punk music that the kids like? I think? And maybe it's taking on the vicious generality of the late 90s/early aughts's "indie" or (lord save us) the elusive "hipster." Like, "indie" (and unlike "hipster") it's descriptive, a reference to some very naive, very natural (and American?) striking out. It immediately puts me in mind of the little recyclings and adjustments that I compulsively made to each object or item of clothing I came into as a teenager. It immediately puts me in mind of getting older (a common topic on this here blog--apologies). These days, I am less comfortable making my funny mark on things, or wearing holes and stains and tatters. I feel the need for fine things, for things I absolutely cannot make myself, for things I must seek out and consume.

But it's nice when you think about it, this descriptive mot. It's a wonderful thing about the youth that they want to do it for themselves, do it for free or cheap, do it to look wrong (not "right"). I suppose I was "D.I.Y." and so was Jess and so were plenty of people before us and so they are now and so they will continue to be. I'll settle into this luxe-er phase of life quite happily (when I make some money?), but I'll have nothing but love for the self-imprinted rags of old. Sigh.


*Able's prep school dormitory

Love In This Club: Johnny Weir

So I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to post something truly relevant about Johnny Weir lately. His new film, Pop Star On Ice, is hitting a million Pride festivals this month, and, y'know, somehow figure skating is always topical, but it dawned on me mid-evening that when all's said/done, I've quit smoking, I don't drink that much anymore, I'm the only one left in the Memphis offices of A&P, and Johnny Weir is just about the dreamiest thing I've seen in quite a while. That's it. Please go see his movie if it's coming near you.

Here's him skating, to help with legitimacy. The Nina Simone shit is gold.

Chinese Democracy

Middle School Dance Music Committee

Soulja Boy Tell 'Em's "Kiss Me Thru the Phone" is a serious jam, not only because it's a really good song, but because I hear it at least 5 times a day either wafting through my window from the street or while out and about in the 'hood. I finally downloaded it today, and when I saw that Sammie sings the hook I almost fell out of my chair. You may or may not remember Sammie from his summer 1999 takeover of The Box with his own cell phone-centric love song "The Crazy Things I Do". Call you on my cell phone baby, even on peak time!

A Bridge Too Far

Topical Post headline for June 11 is actually too much.

Funny Page for Wednesday

This is one of my all-time favorite strips of Watterson's probably because it's the best example of his literal outside the box approach to comic strips. Nobody's packed a strip with as much action and emotion since.

For Shame

I too have recently commented on a Gawker, Inc. site...Gawker proper. And, as you'll see (on the second page...using the [ahem] alias, SarahGrace), I was met with some seriously chipped and cold shoulders. I have long found there to be an irrational double standard when it comes to discussions of class in this country. Less-wealthy folk can heap insults at the wealthier folk, who would never conceive of saying such silly, cruel, narrow things to/about them. It's cheap to call this sort of uninformed financial/cultural angst journalism.

For Shame

The question on my mind this morning is: why is it okay for people to make fun of my ethnicity? And also, how are the editors at Jezebel so clueless? Yesterday, Dodai gave us a post entitled "The WASPiest Items in 'Vineyard Vines'". Now, I'll be the first to say I'm not a fan of Vineyard Vines. I find it to be a rip-off of more respectable and long-standing labels. But within the post I found suggestions of racism, classism, and downright stupidity. Seriously, Jezebel?--website founded on principles of "playing nice" and "equality for all"?

But thanks, Dodai!--I've learned a few fun things about myself. Apparently, white people of northwestern European descent who come from successful families only find it acceptable to wear ties with watermelons on them because black people are more into grape soda now. We like to wear white because we sympathize with the Ku Klux Klan. We won't even wear clothes that look like they're from discount stores because we're afraid of looking "LMC" ("lower middle class", catchy lingo!).

Honestly, I'm constantly disappointed by Jezebel, and I really have no idea why I keep reading it everyday. Maybe I'm holding out hope, because it makes me sad that such an interesting concept has turned out so whack. I thought the site was about helping women be proud of who they are are; no matter what their weight, height, education level, family background, profession, religion, hair color, skin color, or ethnic origin. So why are they constantly making me feel bad? I'm constantly ignoring posts that kind of make me want to cry (especially this one), but I can't ignore this fuckery. What are you DOING, Jezebel? Do you guys even realize how insane and racist (yes, I said it) this post is? I'm so angry, I even signed up for a commenter account. FOR SHAME!

What About Style?--1998-9

Cher's "Believe" video, which I assume I caught on The Box a time or two, is essential 1998-9. Have you watched it lately? I mean, the featured mass of clurrb-urchins was/(is?) pretty hep. And Cher--a golden lion at center, all headdress and injections! Transcendental.

Animated Gifmas

Best Thing Going (For Monday)

I have long pretended that F. Scott Fitzgerald and self were a number in a past life. Whatever the reason, I feel sort of heavy-hearted and spiritual about him (and his letters and the Princeton campus). Here is an absolutely lovely L.A. Times profile of his last secretary, Frances Kroll Ring. Images of Scottie's last months are so vividly conjured that I can't help but get misty...

Chinese Democracy

"They are men. They have desires. They have testosterone. If they make a mistake, I'm not going to hate them. I don’t think they are above or below being seduced. I would be foolish if I thought that. They are tested and tested, like every one of us. I pray for them." —
Denise Jonas on the celibacy of her three boys [Good Housekeeping]

Some People Started Singing It Not Knowing What It Was (III)

Summer Jam for Wednesday

Probably the only song ever inspired by a Warner Brothers talking bird.

Worst Thing Going (For Tuesday)

Right after the election we saw a small upsurge in anti-abortion activity. But since the inauguration, things have gotten measurably worse. There's been an increase in picketing by students from Franciscan University in Ohio. On Saturdays there are 60-plus protesters and there's been an increase in screaming and aggression. We don't have a parking lot so people park on the street. The antis have surrounded cars, trapping the women inside, and in several cases the antis jumped into vehicles and touched or grabbed at them. The police were called but so far they don't seem to be responding appropriately.

--This is an excerpt from an important (and disheartening) Cristina Page post...Can you even imagine being confronted by one of these maniacs?! Sickness.

View of a Room

"Baroque" Marzipan Room, Tallinn, Estonia, 2008

Tuesday?

Best Thing Going (For Tuesday)

My hat goes off to the genius at Movieline.com who decided oh so subtley to give Phyllis Diller exactly what's been coming to her.

Some People Started Singing It Not Knowing What It Was (II)