The Deadbeat Club

I'm Really Into Poetry Now

2007-07-26T16:19:00.000-07:00

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

thanks, Annie G, for shining the light

For the Record

2007-04-09T10:51:00.000-07:00

Ah, the wonders of drug use.

Courtney Parton

2006-10-25T22:25:00.000-07:00

Right on the heels of today's revelation that Kurt Cobain has surpassed Elvis Presley as the highest earning dead person, Courtney Love has resurfaced with a remarkable new face. The reason I say remarkable is because even though she couldn't be much older than 40, the first person I thought of when I saw the picture was Dolly Parton, who couldn't be much younger than 70.

Jeebus! Things have really gotten out of control when the widow of a punk icon shows up somewhere looking like Miss Piggy's impersonation of Dolly Parton. (n.b. I love Dolly Parton - no disrespect.)

Someone make the plastic surgery madness stop. Honestly, I'd rather see wrinkles and lips withered with age.

Important Terms

2006-07-31T22:03:00.001-07:00

Here's one I've been meaning to do for a long time now. This post is designed to clarify the true definitions of a number of terms which are, disturbingly, used interchangeably. Please pay attention.

Monkeying Around
Monkeying around is when you're hanging out, possibly with the kids, teasing them, giggling, maybe playing tag or pillow fighting. This is an innocent term meant to describe lighthearted frolicking.

Used in a sentence:
OK everybody, quit monkeying around and come to dinner!

Funny Business
Funny business is a term for mildly illicit sexual contact. Like if you were hooking up with a coworker and you sometimes made out in the copy room, that would be funny business. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with work though, that was just the first thing that came to mind. The sex (or sexual contact) in and of itself could be just great, but it's the circumstances that surround it that lend the air of malfeasance.

Used in a sentence:
Fine Brad, you can stay over, but no funny business.

Messing Around
Everyone pretty much knows this one, or at least they should. Messing around is jolly behavior that may be a little detached and/or poorly thought out, but is essentially harmless. It can apply to makeout situations, but it can also apply to those occasions where really you're generally just sitting around doing nothing of any consequence.

Used in a sentence:
I meant to go to the party, but I got caught up messing around with that dude from next door who keeps coming over to watch American Idol.
Alternate:
The Zubrick brothers were always too busy messing around playing Dungeons & Dragons to meet girls, which is why they were both virgins until their early 30's.

Roughhousing
Roughhousing is a term used to describe aggressive sex, possibly S&M but not generally so organized as that, and definitely no costumes or whips. Making up after a rancorous quarrel can cause roughhousing, or sometimes just whiskey and hot weather. I think this happens most often in trailer parks.

Used in a sentence:
I'm sorry I can't meet you for brunch, but last night unexpectedly descended into some serious roughhousing between me and the old man, and I am plum beat.

Monkey Business
This is gay anal sex.

Used in a sentence:
Mitchell always meant to get married and have kids, but by the time he was old enough, he was really into monkey business.

Horseplay
Horseplay is no laughing matter. This term connotes anal rape.

Used in a sentence:
No horseplay.

A New Sheriff in Town

2006-04-25T23:18:00.000-07:00

Join me in welcoming an old friend to the blogosphere. This shit is genius.

Return of the Beard

2006-03-23T11:49:00.000-08:00

From today's Style section in the New York Times. This amused me, but I've been saying it for a while now. The backlash against metrosexual men was inevitable - no woman I know wants to date a man with smaller pores and better accessories.

For the record, I love dudes with beards. But only full beards. I fucking hate goatees. I was once strangely attracted to a moustachioed surfer, too.

Paul Bunyan, Modern-Day Sex Symbol

By ERIC WILSON
Published: March 23, 2006

LAST December John Martin sat in on a focus group for a trend-forecasting company at which young professionals were asked about their grooming habits. Mr. Martin found he had nothing useful to contribute. His shaving regimen involves the use of a razor about as frequently as the seasons change.

"Everyone else was chiming in about the products they use," said Mr. Martin, the advertising director for Vice, a lad magazine based in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. "I was totally mystified. I blanked."

Mr. Martin's idea of a style symbol, seriously, is Ulysses S. Grant, whose beard he came to admire after watching the 2003 Civil War-era drama "Cold Mountain." Two years ago, when he began experimenting with different beard styles, which he described as ranging from neat to burly to unkempt, his facial hair was an expression of individuality in a tide of metrosexual conformity. Now 10 of his 15 co-workers at Vice wear full, bushy beards. In that, they vie with the pro-facial-hair contingent of an editorial rival, Spin, where a rash of new beards has broken out.

"It's a sign of the times," Mr. Martin said. "People are into beards right now."

At hipster hangouts and within fashion circles, the bearded revolution that began with raffishly trimmed whiskers a year or more ago has evolved into full-fledged Benjamin Harrisons. At New York Fashion Week last month at least a half-dozen designers turned up with furry faces.

"This is some sort of reaction to men who look scrubbed, shaved, plucked and waxed," said the designer Bryan Bradley, who stepped onto the runway after his Tuleh presentation looking like a renegade from the John Bartlett show, at which more than half the models wore beards: untidy ones that scaled a spectrum from wiry to ratty to shabby to fully bushy.

"It's less 'little boy,' " Mr. Bradley said. "For a while men have looked too much like Boy Scouts going off to day camp."

On city streets, too, trends in scruff have reached new levels of unruliness, a backlash, some beard enthusiasts say, against the heightened grooming expectations that were unleashed with the rise of metrosexuality as a cultural trend. Men both straight and gay, it appears, want to feel rough and manly.

Other designers who appeared in scruffy beards during Fashion Week included Brian Kirkby of Boudicca, Nathan Jenden and Matthew Williamson. Santino Rice gave the look national exposure on "Project Runway" this season, with weekly variations. Among the models that Ralph Lauren cast in his men's show was a wildly bearded young man with long tresses, like Brad Pitt circa 2002.

And with their fully furry chins Ariel Foxman and Bruce Pask, the editor in chief and the style director, respectively, of Cargo magazine, the metrosexual manifesto, seem now to be endorsing a lumberjack ideal.

"It's a nice masculine aesthetic," said Robert Tagliapietra, who with his similarly bearded partner, Jeffrey Costello, designs a collection of pretty silk jersey dresses under the Costello Tagliapietra label. "We both like that aesthetic of New England cabins with antlers on the wall, plaid shirts and a beard."

Beyond the fashion world, any number of celebrities are exhibiting luxuriant facial hair, including George Clooney with a Hussein-like beard in "Syriana"; Heath Ledger in GQ, looking like Snoopy's sad cousin, Spike (the beagle with a skinny mustache who is always depressed); and Mel Gibson on a good day. At the New York premiere of "V for Vendetta" last week, Hugo Weaving appeared (with his co-star Natalie Portman, an adopter of last summer's iteration of the Mohawk) in the beard of the moment, grown for the stage production of "Hedda Gabler."John Allan, the owner of several clublike grooming salons in New York, reports seeing newly bearded customers, but not enough to warrant concerns for the health of his shaving business.

"It will be interesting to see over the next six to eight months what mainland America is going to do with it," Mr. Allan said. "For the past several years we've been stripping guys of their body hair. Maybe now it's time for the pendulum to swing the other way."

Whenever a countercultural trend becomes a mainstream one, there is a natural tendency to look for deeper meaning. Do beards that call to mind Charles Manson suggest dissatisfaction with "the system"? Are broody beards, like the dark and somber mood of the fall fashion collections, physical manifestations of a melancholia in the air? Are they a reflection of the stylistic impact on mainstream fashion of the subculture of gay men known as bears, who embrace natural body hair?

But such theories seem to have less relevance — and beards less shock value — than they once did.

"Style has separated itself from viewpoint," said Tim Harrington, the lead singer of the rock band Les Savy Fav, who is known for his full beard and balding head. "This is not like when beards were worn by hippies. Now you pick a style for aesthetic reasons as opposed to a viewpoint. I wonder if beards can have the oomph they once had when it feels like someone will ask you: 'Where did you get that beard? Is that beard from Dolce & Gabbana?' "

No survey ever conducted about women's attitudes toward beards, even those not underwritten by the Gillette Company, has indicated that more than 2 or 3 percent of women would describe a full beard as sexy. ("I hang out with those girls who are in that 2 or 3 percent," Mr. Martin, of Vice, said.)

Yet the return of the wild beard carries a certain erotic charge that has been missing from beards since the Furry Freak look of the 1970's, or at least those who grow them hope they do.

Andrew Deutsch, a designer of interactive Web videos, swears that having a beard has changed his life, giving him an air of confidence. "I met my current girlfriend a week after I started growing my beard in November," Mr. Deutsch said. Now he finds himself constantly touching and stroking the beard, as if it were a talisman. "It's like a security blanket on my face," he said.

That a full beard can suddenly look right — or, more accurately, not so awful — illustrates how quickly ideals of masculinity can change.

"You know, it's funny," said Lola Phonpadith, a public relations manager for the fashion company BCBG. "I've been talking about this with my friends for weeks. I'm kind of into guys with beards today, and I'm embarrassed to say that. But the pretty-boy look can only last for so long."

Checkered Vans

2006-03-18T20:49:00.001-08:00

Checkered Vans! I got checkered Vans! And they have changed my life. Not in a conspicuous way, but in a way that is significant to me. Checkered Vans! Footwear of Spiccoli and innumberable stoned, detached surfer type California dudes. How unlike me, how very diametrically opposite. Which is why it works, really. Because who would expect me -- an if not openly neurotic person, at least one who is secretly so -- to be sporting footwear so clearly associated with laid back beach and skate park creatures? It just doesn't make sense.

And yet it does.

I've had a fear of sneakers for a really long time. Being more of a heels and/or sandals type of gal, I've always been wary of comfortable footwear, at least comfortable footwear for when you're not exerting yourself physically. (Emotionally and mentally is a different story -- I feel more at home and in control in three inch heels than in anything else, generally speaking.) I feel vulnerable in any sort of flat shoe. Bland, uninteresting, vaguely dykish. In high school I went out on a limb and bought some dark green suede Pumas and my (asshole) high school boyfriend made a disparaging remark about me in them. (Honestly I don't remember what it was or I would absolutely disclose it here.) But ever since then I've had a real fear and hesitation about wearing a sneaker.

And yet.

A few months ago I saw a girl wearing checkered Vans and I realized how fucking great they looked. And I kept them in the back of my head but waffled back and forth about whether I a) wanted to rock them or b) could rock them. And in the end, what do you know? I found a sweet ass pair. And they fit physically, but they also fit, um, what's the word? Psychically? Metaphysically? (ok, i'm not really sure that is an appropriate term.) At any rate, they just made sense. And now I run around town sporting my sweet ass Vans. And they attract compliments from young and old, male and female alike. My dad even told me he liked them. (I don't think my dad normally notices shit like that.)

Bottom line: checkered Vans have made me happy. Purchases *can* make you happy. (Selectively, of course.) What you wear says something about who you are. No doubt.

Where are your own personal checkered Vans? Do you own them? You should.

love,
me

La Dolce Vita

2006-03-11T22:54:00.000-08:00

So this is the first in a series of posts that have been in draft form for a while now. This was inspired by a post on someone else's blog, and I finished all of it when I drafted it but the celebrity crushes one. That was the hardest, because celebrities suck.

7 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
Marry the love of my life
Have kids
Get really buff
Go back to Paris and stay at the Georges V
Go to Greece
See the Himalayas
Write something that gets published/made. (Am thinking a screenplay, but I may have a book in me.)

7 Things I Cannot Do:
Manipulate people
Tolerate self righteousness
Kiss ass
Cease to believe that it's all going to work out in the end
Be in a relationship just because
Eat sea urchin (disgusting!)
Stop listening to music

7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex:
Sense of humor
Intelligence
Confidence/strong sense of self
Fearlessness
Hands
General hotness
Ability to hammer a six inch spike through a board with their penis

7 Celebrity Crushes:
Clive Owen
Eric Bana
Mekhi Pfeifer (sp?)
Cate Blanchett (not necessarily in *that* way, but she is just a lady with beauty, grace and style)
Jeff Tweedy
Stephen Malkmus

7 People I Want To Do This:
Martin
Erin
Caity
Moe Rock
Kevin
Moms
And, well, basically everyone in my family, but that's way more than 7 people, eh?

I realize this is cheesy and trite but it is a fun exercise. If yer not a blogger, post yours in the comments?

p.s. that picture is of me and my Dad at my brother Kevin's (lovely) wedding. Moments like that make it all worth while.

Amulet

2006-03-02T23:43:00.000-08:00

Around My Neck an Amulet

A-
round
my neck
an amul-
et
Be-
tween
my eyes
a
star
A
ring
in my
nose
and a
gold
chain
to
keep me
where
You
are

-- Samuel Menache

*I don't know from poetry, but I've always really liked this poem. Pretty, isn't it?

Fortune Cookie

2006-02-24T00:18:00.000-08:00

So, I'm in Seattle for a month. A month of drizzle, cab rides, early mornings, frantic phone calls, itineraries, media statements, ulterior motives, external and internal agendas, space needles, caffeine overload, grey skies, quick heart beats, too much wine, strange communications, life in fast forward. A weekend in Portland, a cross country weekend trip, an unclear idea of where exactly I'm going with this. A last minute work opportunity that I grabbed without thinking because for myriad reasons I needed to get the fuck out of LA for a bit.

So far so good. Not that I've had any time to examine. Not that I really want to. My blog tagline was apt. "...I'm living for the now." And I can't consider the past because basically I can't change it, so what's the point? We're all about logic here. If I was Youngling #2, one of my steps would most certainly be something like "step 59: you can't change the past. All you can do is concentrate on making a better now and working towards a better future. It's true that you're a fuck up in case you were wondering -- because probably you done fucked up. But the only thing that matters is what you do from here on out. This is life. Don't fuck around, because tomorrow you could be dead. Or worse, you could lose total control of all bodily functions and well, that would just not be cool, because how would you ever get laid again?" (Did that sound like Y2? Because I meant for it to.) Of course I am a bossy person so I feel fine about issuing decrees like this, but generally, I would be the first person to tell you I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing. But that's the other thing is that no one else does either. We're all going on base instinct here, and in the best case scenario, we're trying to not hurt other people. But that's inevitable too now, isn't it?

But the fortune cookie.

I got the fortune cookie the other night. It said: "the most important relationship is with yourself." And I believe that's true. Because it all starts with you. Because no matter who you're sleeping with, you're the one whose thoughts you have to deal with on a daily basis (or in the middle of the night, which is often the worst time.) And because if you're pissed off, or regretful, or resentful, or afraid, that rubs off on the people around you. This is not to say we don't have our moments. Half the time I'm in a depressive k-hole. But I had a bad experience when I was 15 when something happened that I could have controlled but I didn't (or couldn't) and from that moment on I decided that I wanted to live my life so that I never had regrets. Mistakes happen, bad judgements happen, but all you can do is pick up and move on.

Now, I'm back to the drizzle and hotel room and introspection and dinners alone and apprehension about the future and loneliness and occasional sorrow I have to deal with here in my little life. But what I'm not back to is regret and angst. Because that's not the way I choose to roll.

So run along. And while you're here on the interweb go download Iron and Wine's "The Trapeze Swinger." Because it's a beautiful song. And you need more beauty.

Polly Ester, You're My Hero

2005-11-29T12:51:00.000-08:00

So I'm a little bit late on recounting the things I am thankful for this year (which would mostly consist of sunshine, antidepressants, coffee, the ability to walk upright, and literacy), but I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shout out to one underrated hero of mine: Ms. Heather Havrilesky, AKA Polly Ester.

This brilliant writer provided me with endless hours of entertainment back in the days when I fucked around on the internet for 75% of my workday. (Sadly that figure is drastically reduced these days.) As a writer for the now defunct Suck.com from 1996-2001, which is legendary in my book, she had a solid five year run of consistently capturing the angst of, and simultaneously skewering, the urban hipster better than anyone else I've read. And I'm including the likes of Douglas Coupland and Dave Eggers here -- of course they're good, but there's a facility to her writing and an unmistakable quality of just being so SPOT ON that Heather does better than anyone else.

In particular, I want to point out her series of columns on men and women to avoid. (Here's the first one.) These are absolute classics and resonate with anyone who's done a lot of dating in their career. My favorites are Mr. Double Standard and Mr. Flinchy, for the record. Again, spot on.

Do yourself a favor and check these columns out. Preferably while slacking off at work. They are truly hilarious.

Here's a taste. In one of her later columns, she did a roundup list of "possible reasons you might want a man." Here's number 6:
Men are traditionally expected to make money and support their women. Even though you find this concept sort of dehumanizing, well, so are wearing ass pants and giving blow jobs, both of which you've done for years now without complaint.

Heather's current blog, Rabbit Blog, is also rad. But not updated anywhere near often enough.

A Violent Case of Blue Balls

2005-10-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

Just returned from a whirlwind jaunt to NYC. First time I've been back since I left in January, and in a lot of ways it felt like I never left. The bustle, the cold, the dirtiness, the glamour and the style - it's a familiar cocktail that's still fresh in my mind. And though I had a lovely, lovely time visiting my old city and especially spending time with my dear friends, I realized how much happier I am out here in California. There's a feeling of freedom I get here that I never had in NYC. I just always felt so...stifled there.

But that's not what this post is about. Nay, this post is very important. This post is to recount the very strange events of the late night and early morning of Saturday, October 22, 2005.

It didn't look promising to begin with. Friday had been a late night on the Lower East Side. Many vodka cocktails were drank, many cigarettes were smoked. Saturday was cold and rainy and generally the kind of foul day when all you really want to do is curl up on the couch and watch mindless movies and eat warm foods. But when one is only in NYC for 60 hours, one does not have that luxury. One must buck up and make the most of a shitty situation.

So I hauled myself up off the couch, quite painfully I might add, and my girls Clarice and Miss Emily and I braved the driving rain, thunderstorms and lack of available cabs and hit the town. We left our cohorts and fellow merry makers from the night before Anne Y and Ann G at home - as seasoned New Yorkers, they knew we were in for nothing but empty wallets and ruined shoes.

It started off on shaky ground. We had a very New York meal at a global tapas restaurant in the E. Village - small, weird food in a "sultry" (or so said the review) atmosphere. A foursome of ambiguous sexual orientation sat next to us. The waitress had a sexy accent. The chef asked us to tell our friends. Par for the course. After that we headed over to Puck Fair and met up with my friends Allison and Keasey, true New York girls about town. They regaled us with stories of backhanded smacks (foreshadowing?) and a dude with "malevolance" tattooed across his back. In retrospect, I believe this conversation may have set the tone for the night.

Puck Fair was too loud and full of bridge and tunnel types, so we headed across the street to Pravda for a russian vodka cocktail and in hopes of chatting with eurotrash types. No such luck, although we did run into a dude who was hotter than Jude Law and was the subject of much gawking from our party. But Pravda was somehow not right either...no Eurotrash, too many financial types who thought they were rockstars, and weird vibes coming from some very young seeming dudes. Not our scene. So we finally retreated to the East Village, with the intentions of hitting Niagara and possibly 7B later on. Ideal grounds for flirting with dirty rocker types, right up Clarice and Miss Emily's alley. And mine too, I guess.

Within minutes of arriving it was on. The bar was crowded and I looked over at this guy who was ordering for himself and his friend and started to talk shit. I accused him of ordering a Bud on ice and he took it in stride, proving me wrong by holding up a Johnny Walker Black. So we start talking to these two guys, and find out they are both from Portland. Stephen, a black dude with dreads and horn rimmed glasses similar to mine, claims to be in working in fashion design (in Portland? Ok) and was visiting his friend Tannen, a short brown haired indie looking white boy who had only recently moved to NYC and is a landscape architect. They were both very cute and charming and funny and they took many shots of Jager (I blame Clare) with us. It was good times. Clare was hitting it off with Tannen, I was hitting it off with Stephen, Miss Emily was crunk. We headed over to 7B for the hell of it. It was a veritable dive bar tour. I believe there was another Jager shot at 7B. There were no Strokes there but many people who looked like them. I can't remember at this point whether I was drinking vodka or beer. The bar closed, so we jumped in a cab and headed back to Chelsea to apt 5C. We clambered up all five flights and brought the proverbial ruckus with us - Miss Emily couldn't quite get the key to work and is reported to have been yelling "I've been evicted, oh my god they evicted me" or something to that effect.

We get in and Mlle E instantly commandeers the stereo. She's playing Kanye West at full volume, and despite repeated entreaties, will not turn it down. Again, reports indicate that she keeps saying "this is SUCH a great song," and is met with the reply of "yes, but it still sounds great if you turn it down a little." At one point I go over and turn it down myself and she looks me dead in the eye and turns it right back up. I give up after that.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen Clare and Tannen and Stephen are drinking beers and smoking cigs. There's some random making out going on between the revelers. But it's late and I've only had about 10 hours of sleep over the last few nights, and I don't want to make out with this dude any more than I already have, so I break the news gently to my gentleman friend and tell him to peace out. Due to the packed house (keep in mind Anne and Ann are there too, ostensibly sleeping), I also make it clear to him that he can't stay with me. He takes it well and is a perfect gentleman, and thanks me for a good time. And with that I head back to the bedroom and am out within minutes.

Unbeknownst to me, back in the living room Clare and Tannen are on the couch, not really making out but sitting very close together. And Anne and Ann are up trying to tend to Miss Emily, who has passed out on the floor of her bedroom with her head in the closet, and to get water and suchlike because they have been so rudely awakened. Stephen, probably feeling weird about the sober pajama clad ladies in the room and the fact that he had been dismissed, starts telling Tannen it’s time to go. Tannen, who is clearly on the verge of passing out, has no intention of leaving, but Stephen can’t give up because he’s staying with Tannen back in Williamsburg, and has no idea how to get home. So it starts to get heated, and the f-word is bandied about, and Stephen starts to rudely tell Tannen to “put on your distressed Vans, dude, they’re old school, and let’s get out of here.” Tannen apparently is not taking kindly to this and reaches up from the couch and BITCH SLAPS the glasses off Stephen’s face, and they go flying across the room. Stephen looks stunned for a split second and then immediately responds in a vicious fury, jumping on Tannen and rapidly pummeling him with at least five swift strikes to eye/face. Eyewitnesses later describe the scene by ramming their fists sharply into their palms to recreate the sound. In the midst of this Anne Y (a petite lady, no taller than 5’) grabs the glass topped coffee table and moves it out of the way of the fracas. And somehow Clarice, in an attempt to break it up, receives a broken pinky finger. But within seconds it’s over, leaving the entire room dumbstruck. Stephen gets in a few choice words like “that’ll teach you to knock a man’s Gucci glasses off his face,” and Anne tells him to get the fuck out of her house. He responds with “you’re just lucky I’m not packing, cats in Portland pack!” before his retreat.

Back on the couch, Tannen’s eye has already swollen shut and Clare’s pinky looks like it has become detached from the rest of her hand. (Alas, there were brilliant drawings of the hand and the eye on the paper table cloth at lunch the next day that I truly wish I had saved and scanned in for this post.) The next hour is spent in a wash of fading adrenaline as Clare alternates between swabbing the boy’s wound (he is bleeding profusely from a cut under his eye) and trying to solicit an apology for the broken digit. (Which never came.) At one point Tannen’s phone rings – “it’s my girlfriend, I have to take this.” Also Stephen keeps calling from downstairs asking when they can go home. Tannen: “dude, this is really fucked up, females are injured up here, maybe you should come back up here and we should talk about it.” (Anne and Ann: "NOOO!") Tannen at one point gets up and looks in the fridge for something to eat, and at one point cracks a beer, all the while leaving bloodied Kleenexes strewn about.

And eventually at around 7, the night draws to a close.

I don’t know if I’ve done it justice, but the best part is, this is just the most recent in a long line of sordid tales. Oh, do we know how to pick them.

So this one goes out to my girls in NYC and the ATL…who has more fun than we do? No one, that’s who. I love you all and can’t wait for another weekend of debauchery and malfeasance soon. Mexico in 2K6?? We're turning 30, yo. xoxoxoxo

I'm still alive

2005-09-30T09:33:00.000-07:00

Although not by any means prolific these days.

I do have some posts in the works, but in case you need to be entertained, I highly recommend another fine blog, which was profiled on Page 1 of the Wall Street Journal a few days ago.

Happy Friday and stay tuned.

In Which I Interrupt My Recent Spate of Blogger Apathy

2005-08-16T22:39:00.000-07:00

To bring you live, nude pics of Jude Law.

NSFW.

Supersize Me

2005-08-04T12:23:00.000-07:00

Holy shit, I am really excited about this.

Plumpkin here I come...

Note to Self: You Rule.

2005-08-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

Today marks my second year anniversary of quitting smoking.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't occasionally miss it, but 95% of the time I'm happy knowing that the old lungs are back to a normal, pinkish hue. And I love being able to run without getting a horrible stitch in my side, and I love waking up even after drinking entirely too much without a sore throat, and I don't miss the yearly bouts with bronchitis, and I don't miss having stinky clothes and hair.

I smoked my first cigarette in the seventh grade, and continued all through my formative years. For many years I was a serial quitter, quitting for weeks and months at a time (once in college I quit for an entire year). But every time I would go back to smoking I would somehow feel more life myself. Like the real, cynical, smartass, vulnerable high school aged Sasefina, cig firmly in hand. Smoking was a diversion, a meditation, a piece of armor. It was a hard habit to break, and I don't think I'll ever feel confident that I've progressed beyond it's grip.

But here's to growing up.

Positive Thought Vibrations

2005-07-29T00:02:00.000-07:00

I went shopping at Urban Outfitters recently, and ended up picking up one of those cheesy Urban Outfitters books that happened to be on clearance for $2.50. (You know the kind I'm talking about -- they're all very tongue in cheek style guides, when you boil them down.) This one's title? "Enough, dammit: A cynic's guide to finally getting what you want out of life."

Forgive me for succumbing to buying a self-help book from fucking Urban Outfitters of all places, but come on, it was only $2.50. I expected it to be something I plowed through once and forgot about, and possibly gave to someone as a Christmas gift, but I have been pleasantly surprised. Blown away, even. The book is divided into a series of "life lessons" based on what the writer describes as "serious, complicated life theories (from Modern Cognitive Psychology, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Sociology, Biology, Eastern Philosophy, Darwinism, Quantum Physics, the Zen of Enchiladas...and then some.)"

Sounds like bullshit, right? Right.

Well.

Here's the portion that impressed me:

Life Lesson #6

You recognize there are also spiritual and scientific reasons why negative thinking brings negative life circumstances.

Luckily you can also sum all them up in one simple sentence: Many Spiritual Theorists and Quantum Physicists believe that thoughts are a form of vibrating energy that attract similarly vibrating energy fields (i.e. people and circumstances) accordingly.

Luckily you can also sum all that up in a simple metaphor: Thoughts work like magnets. You attract what you think.

Hence: Synchronicity exists. Nothing is random.

Interestingly, many Spiritual Theorists and Quantum Physicists also believe that if you consistently think positive thoughts you will not only attract more positivity...you will raise your thought frequency to what some call Spirit Energy...and some call Higher Consciousness...a level so high in vibration that it supposedly connects to the energy of the entire universe...or what Albert Einstein called "Infinite Intelligence"...what Einstein believed to be a humongous invisible thought ocean where all the answers you've ever tried to look for can be found.

Ok, despite the fact that it's irritating that the author chooses to capitalize "Spiritual Theorists" and "Quantum Physicists," HOLY SHIT.

Seriously, think about this for a minute. Yes, it's new age-y. Yes, it sounds hokey. But (and fine, I'm placing my trust in a self help book I bought at hipster ground zero) no less a mind than Einstein bought it.

This was an epiphany for me. One of those moments where you can almost hear the click.

Positive thoughts are good for your life. Not that that's such a difficult concept to grasp, but, um, science confirms this.

I needed a real impetus to stop being so negative. I needed to improve my life. What more can one ask for?

And amazingly, I think it's working. I feel much more content lately. (Although that could just be the positive thinking.) But when it comes down to it, who cares?

Brianlynch, are you reading this?

The Human Girth Scale

2005-07-25T21:30:00.000-07:00

My sister and I, we're sick. We're obsessive, hyper neurotic people, and we're also complete bitches. Like most girls, we've been at various levels on the scale and have tried many foolish and not so foolish regimens in sometimes desperate attempts to get to our preferred size. We're so hung up on this shit that on a recent drive across the country (in a covered wagon, but that's for another post) we concocted a system for classifying all humans according to their size, or girth.

There are essentially six stages of human girth on this scale. There are also a few special types, but we'll cover those later.

Stage 1: Skinny
This is self explanatory. We're talking a skin and bones type of person here. A stringbean. A beanpole. Skeletor types, if you want to be mean about it. Keckie insists that I mention that the natural Skinny type will always be skinny no matter what or how much he or she eats. Anorexics don't really count, because they usually pork back up to normal at some point or another.
Famous examples: Kate Moss, Uma Thurman, Martin McFriend

Joey Ramone is a prototypical Skinny

Stage 2: Fit
Essentially this is a Skinny with muscles. Olympians. Shape magazine models. Hot dude soccer players.
Famous examples: The Venus Williams Sisters, Ryan Reynolds, Christian Bale, Britney Spears before she got all white trash up in that bitch (essentially pre K-Fed), the Pressnalls

Ok, these dudes are complete cheesedicks, but check out the abs!

Stage 3: Average
Average, not fat type of people. They can be fit, just not really lean. They might have a figure flaw, like a gut or a big ass, but are essentially in good condition. The Average category encompasses most of you and the people you know.
Famous examples: Catherine Zeta-Jones, Will Farrell, Ryan Adams, Kate Winslet (although she may be a Skinny now)

Looking average, feeling great.

Stage 4: Plumpkin
This is a category for people who have started to creep outside the boundaries of what is acceptable. Like they should probably drop 20, but you can still see a shadow of the fit/average person they once were, so it's kind of weird to look at them because you're still freaked out about that double chin. Let these people serve as a warning to you.
Famous examples: It's difficult to be famous at this level, because it's really neither here nor there. Actually, the current Courtney Love is a textbook Plumpkin. But I bet she'll be back to skinny in no time, or at least as soon as that adderol prescription gets filled. Also maybe Jack Black.

These are Plumpkins. Although one could argue that the guy with the black tanktop is on the Plumpkin/Average cusp.

Stage 5: Blimpus
Now this is where you are when you've officially let yourself go. Blimpuses do not go out for a jog, not ever - they would prefer to eat treats and watch tv. They are the people who buy the pound cake at the gas station. Blimpuses have to lose at least 50lbs to be hot. This is a look that's frequently sported in the midwest, and may not even be a deterrant to getting laid there.
Famous examples: Star Jones, Rosie O'Donnell, Horatio Sanz, Randy Jackson, Elizabeth Taylor

I don't know what this guy's doing, but he's a well formed Blimpus.

Stage 6: Blimp
If you've gotten here, Zod help you because you've passed the point of no return.
Famous examples: that woman who became fused to her couch, Hambone, John Candy, Marlon Brando in his later years

Damn girl. Best lay off the Krispy Kremes.

Any questions?

This just in: Cheesy people have more fun

2005-07-23T01:27:00.000-07:00

I got another terrific response from Bobo in NYC, who had this to say in response to my hipster diatribe:

cheesy people have more fun. i believe this.

of all of the classifications and definitions that label and segregate us (the hipsters, the artists, the punk rockers, the nerds, the hippies, etc.) i think the cheeseballs have the most fun of all. they're feelers. they express joy and delight in things most of us are to shy to admit to liking because it's not cool. i aim to embrace my inner cheeseball who i know lives within. i am going to feed her all the obvious and trivial and unsophisticated pleasures her heart desires. if she wants to rent Steel Magnolias, i'm not gonna stop her. if she wants to turn up Against All Odds by mr. Phil Collins when it comes on the radio, how can I deny her that when she loves it so - especially when Phil is BEGGING his lost lady love to turn around and see him cry, to take a look at him now, take a good look at him NOW. and if she wants to read that Cosmo article on how to dress 10 pounds thinner on the train home, she's not going to hide the cover under her Time magazine (which she steals from the office - she's cheesy but she's no angel). she's devoted to PBS, but sometimes the cheeseball wants to watch Girlfriends on the UPN. And why the hell not. Why the hell not indeed. Girlfriends is a hoot and a half. It's more fun than her usual diet of WWII documentaries and NOVA specials. And life could stand to be a little less serious sometimes. A little less profound.

Amen sister. Keep on keepin' it real.

Die, Hipsters, Die

2005-07-20T16:34:00.000-07:00

Great article ran in the LA Times today about the backlash against hipsters, and I couldn't be more delighted. It appears that in my long running hatred of hipsters I have finally managed to be on the cutting edge of something. (Wow, does it get any more ironic than that? Maybe I really am a hipster after all.)

What this article points out that I've been saying for years is that hipsterism is so clearly rooted in insecurity and a desperate need to belong to something. It's not even about liking things, and music here is the obvious scapegoat, but you could substitute it for vintage clothing or the right haircut or whatever. You just get the distinct feeling that a lot of time these people aren't in it for the right reasons.

Let's face it, we all want to be attractive and cool, because at the heart of it we all just want to be loved (or at least get laid.) And I'm no different. But once you get to the point where you won't acknowledge someone's existence because they aren't aware of something like how to pronounce the name of the band !!!, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

I mean for Zod's sake, look at this poor misguided soul. She doesn't look cool. She just looks foolish.

If it's hip and trendy, they're not interested
In an age saturated with microtrends, some people are turning their backs on cool.

By Christian M. Chensvold, Special to The LA Times

For Melinda Wilferd, nightlife in Los Angeles was a lot like high school. The 35-year-old ran with a crowd that often went to parties in downtown lofts, "where all the faces turn around and look at you, assessing whether or not you're going to fit in the hipster club." Where if you enjoy watching TV, you're held beneath contempt. And where "they talk about music like it's some revelation."

The pretension and callowness finally got to her, and one night "I told my friends I can't do this anymore." She began exploring wine bars and jazz clubs in search of more fulfilling nightlife — and to get away from hipsters. "Now I'm more interested in what pleases me," says the employee of a major cable network. "I just want my little place in this mad, mad world."

The hypnosis of hipsterism is entrenched among many of L.A.'s urban sophisticates, especially those who work in the trend-driven industries of media, music and fashion. But for many twenty-, thirty- and fortysomethings, the appeal of being cool and edgy is rapidly deteriorating. "The last identity you would want to claim now is a hipster," says John Leland, author of "Hip: The History." "It's the worst of insults."

Just what is hip has become nebulous in a digital age of microtrends, when a cultural blip goes from underground to overexposed in one season. Likewise, the original concept of hip as something outside the purview of the mainstream has been replaced by the hipstream: mainstream cool packaged by corporate marketing departments.

The inevitable backlash — not against the bohemian veritas but the sycophantic consumer of cool — is well underway.

"The whole point of being hip in the pure sense of the word is to essentially be oblivious to it," says Robert Thompson, director of the Center for the Study of Popular Television at Syracuse University. "Now the only thing you can describe a hipster as being is a 'hipster' in quotation marks. Almost by definition a hipster is a wannabe."

If hipness is losing its appeal, it may have to do with how difficult it is to stay ahead of the curve.

In a recent issue of his JC Report, a global fashion and lifestyle trend report, Jason Campbell prophesized "the downfall of the hipster." Staying cool, says the fashion trend forecaster, "has become a bit of a joke at this point. It's a rat race that's really difficult to keep up with, and a lot of people are bowing out."

A fashion-designer friend of Campbell's recently confessed that he was so overwhelmed by the endless barrage of new designer denim brands that he vowed to wear only classic Levi's 501s as a form of protest. "People aren't feeling they need to run out and pick up the latest thing that whatever celebrity of the moment has," Campbell says. "They're returning to things that resonate with them and are part of their personal style."

"I think people are exhausted by trends that have the half-life of a millisecond," Leland says. "You live in a state of perpetual whiplash, in which the minute you're up on one trend it's gone and you should be on to another."

Unlike the beatnik '50s, when discovering some gem of cultural arcana involved real detective work, today getting hip to the latest blog or indie rock band is as easy as logging on to the Internet. "We're in a post-hip era, which means everybody's hip," says Leland. "I can't tell you how many churches I've been in where the pastor has a goatee, tattoos and earrings."

So if everybody's hip, then let's be unhip, and indeed, what a very hip idea. Some people are just fed up with the whole enterprise.

Jane Fontana writes "hard, electronic music" for the entertainment industry and spent 10 years living in Hollywood before turning her back on hipster-infested urban life. Last year she bought a cabin in the Angeles National Forest near Tujunga. Though it's only 35 miles from Hollywood, in an industry where people judge your prestige by your area code, she might as well have moved to Idaho.

"If you connect in the hipster scene, you'll make it in [show] business," she says, "because all the people on the business side never think they're cool enough. The hipster scene avoids the search for oneself in a big way. It's not about finding your voice; it's all about conformity."

Fontana, 42, says that leaving L.A. has brought her peace of mind, boosted her creativity and helped her live more authentically. She recently threw a party at her cabin, where the appeal of getting back to nature — and away from Hollywood — was not lost on the hipster guests. The writers, artists and filmmakers in attendance checked their networking compulsion at the door and engaged in genuine conversation, Fontana says. "They felt like they'd gotten away from what they have to be and could be what they are."

Erica Timmerman realized she didn't care about trying to be hip anymore when, at age 30, her doctor told her she had thyroid cancer. The diagnosis annihilated her ambitions to be a walking pop culture encyclopedia or to cultivate a pose of ironic detachment. Cancer, after all, doesn't respond to wisecracks.

"When you think you might die, you look at your life and realize what's important to you," says Timmerman.

The now 40-year-old Silver Lake resident has felt pressure since adolescence to be considered cool. That pressure, along with her cancer, is now in remission. "And I'm not going to let anyone dictate how I'm supposed to look or act, and stop trying to be something I'm not," says Timmerman.

The satirists

Like Silver Lake, its L.A. equivalent, New York's Williamsburg neighborhood has watched itself go from hipster epicenter to hipster punch line.

Twenty-six-year-old "office slave" and aspiring novelist Brian Bernbaum founded the blog hipstersareannoying.com, under the pseudonym Aimee Plumley, while living in Williamsburg. Based on the outcry against his mockery, "you would've thought there was a revolution going on," he says.

Bernbaum was inspired by what he viewed as a pose adopted by hipsters to deliberately obfuscate human interaction. "I felt people wouldn't level with you, that they were giving you their résumé of cool. You could never really get anything out of people that seemed like normal social interaction." Conversations at clubs and parties became "a one-upmanship of pop culture encyclopedias."

Any hip community eventually becomes a parody of itself, says Robert Lanham, author of "The Hipster Handbook" (2002), which many perceived as a marketing gimmick put out by corporate media but which was, in fact, a skewering of Williamsburg hipsters by the 34-year-old humorist and co-founder of freewilliamsburg.com, a neighborhood blog and culture guide.

Lanham's follow-up, last year's "Food Court Druids, Cherohonkees, and Other Creatures Unique to the Republic," takes the parody a step further and includes a chapter on "cryptsters," or aging hipsters. "There's also this new breed of pseudo-bohemians or fauxhemians," says the author, "a facade of hipsters trying to play the bohemian role, but their parents are paying their rent."

Dropping out of the hipster scene has made Bernbaum use his time in more personally fulfilling ways, he says. "And it's a lot cheaper." The downside is that he's floating in social limbo. "The youth of New York is geared toward hipster things. I've just withdrawn from the people I didn't feel it was worth my time hanging out with. But I haven't really found an alternate world of people."

Alternatives

Adrienne Crew stops short of using a term such as "new sincerity" but says she's noticed a growing interest among young urbanites to simplify their lives. Crew, a 40-year-old attorney and "brainiac" writing a novel on African American geeks, is the founder of labrainterrain.com, a blog and calendar listing of intellectual events around L.A.

"I'm seeing these youngsters who are really looking for expressions of unmediated experience, fun that's not created by consumer culture," she says. A growing trend she sees as a reaction to hipsterism is "granny chic," or social groups centered around archaic hobbies. Stitch and Bitch and The Church of Craft are two Los Angeles-based examples of groups that gather to work on quilting, needlework, paper craft and lace making — in unabashed earnestness.

Crew also cites the Machine Project, a group that combines performance art with science, hosting workshops on such topics as how to build a radio. Says Crew, "Every two days I get these e-mails that go, 'Hey, kids, we've got this goofy thing we're going to be doing, so bring anything you want demagnetized!' "

For Leland, cultivating one's inner garden is the perfect antidote to the overexposure of hip. He suggests nourishing "secrets" or "private knowledge" one keeps to oneself, like a diary locked with a key, rather than a blog for the whole world to see.

Bernbaum wonders if conservatism from the heartland may be infiltrating hipster-heavy metropolises, "making people seek out something more meaningful" in their lives.

In hipster and media-driven Los Angeles, it's easy to forget that most Angelenos ages 25 to 40 don't wear checkered Vans with distressed blazers or go to downtown gallery openings or Echo Park dive bars.

Craigslist.org, once an underground website for hipsters seeking jobs and apartments, now boasts an activities section packed with people seeking irony-free social connections in such humdrum activities as chess, badminton, lacrosse, foreign language study, outrigger canoeing and the Hermosa Beach Lawn Bowling Club.

Best get involved now, before they become hip.

I got a Hippo from Harpo whose appetite’s hungry

2005-07-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

Well shit. Maybe Oprah really is evil.

Soul Meets Body

2005-07-18T23:23:00.000-07:00

1. Some great downloads today on the music blogs. I highly recommend each of these, so get 'em while they're hot.

New Death Cab (Via Welcome to the Midwest)

New Nada Surf

Okkervil River (Via Welcome to the Midwest)

The National (Via Largehearted Boy)

Magnolia Electric Company (Via Welcome to the Midwest)

Also check out the Brendan Benson song on stereogum. Great stuff.

2. I mean, maybe they don't quite have their terminology right, but I've said it before, I'll say it again. Nerds are cool.

3. My sister and I spotted Lindsay Lohan shopping at the Grove on Saturday. I'm happy to report that she looked much more like a normal teenage girl and much less like a 40 year old crack whore.

4. Happy 24th to Moady/Moe Rock/Moe Busy/Sweet 'lil Moady/The Angry Youth/Moadus/Mokel. Come over and see us sometime, big boy.

Coming soon: The Human Girth Scale

Stay tuned.

Thank you.

Chalk one up for Indie 103

2005-07-16T11:02:00.000-07:00

So I was listening to Jonesy's Jukebox on the way home from work the other day (I ran out of cds to listen to) and Billy Corgan was playing an acoustic set. I caught the tail end of him playing "Now and Then" from his new album (which is actually not bad from what I've heard), and after he finished Jonesy said "that sounded a bit like America." Billy Corgan was horrified. Then Jonesy mumbled and backpedaled a little and was like (of course you must imagine this in a thick british accent), "no, no, it was more like Bread." Billy: "that's even worse!"

Zing!

Candy is dandy...

2005-07-13T17:24:00.000-07:00

You know it's a good day when the Wall Street Journal tells you it's ok to drink, and that it in fact may make you a better and richer person. I've been a teetotaler lately for a variety of reasons, but I think this is a clear indication that my course of action has been misguided and downright detrimental to my mental, emotional, and (most importantly) fiscal well being.

Drink More, Earn More (& Give More)
By Arthur C. Brooks - July 13, 2005

W.C. Fields once recommended, "Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore always carry a small snake." Traditionally, practical rationales for drinking were unconvincing, at best. More recently, however, alcohol's reputation has improved as new benefits from drinking have come to light. Best known are the studies showing the health benefits of moderate alcohol use. It is now so well established that it is almost a cliché that red wine lowers the risk of heart disease. A new study by researchers at the National Cancer Institute also claims that drinkers may have a lower risk of lymphoma than nondrinkers.

Economists assert that benefits from alcohol are also financial, showing that moderate drinking is associated with higher earnings. If two workers are identical in education, age, and other characteristics except that the first has a couple of beers each night after work while the second is a teetotaler, the first will tend to enjoy a "drinker's bonus" in the range of 10% to 25% higher wages. (Don't get carried away with this information, though. Research also shows that beyond about two drinks per day, wages start to fall.)

While it is clear that drinking and prosperity are related, the reasons why are still obscure. Some economists believe that the health benefits of moderate drinking make for greater productivity. Others argue that alcohol is a social lubricant: People who drink together get along better, and make deals. Another possibility is that people who enjoy professional success tend to experience pressure, and so "self-medicate." Whatever the reason, a little drinking might seem like a pleasant way to invest in one's career.

Recently, while toasting the drinker's bonus with a friend, he asked me whether drinking might not be related to virtuous behavior as well: Are moderate drinkers more likely to give to charity? A worthy question, so I did a bit of analysis and found that, indeed, moderate drinkers tend to be more charitable than nondrinkers. For example, 54% of nondrinkers contribute to charity each year, giving away an average of $1,100. In contrast, 62% of those who take one to two drinks per day have an average annual giving level of $1,200. The alcohol effect has diminishing returns, however: Just 40% of people drinking five or more drinks per day are donors, and they give only $230 per year on average. (So once you get past two or three, you have to stop claiming you're "doing it for a good cause.")

The only exception to the pattern of "charity drinking" is the case of giving to religious organizations, which sees a negative impact from alcohol use. For all other types of donations -- to the poor, hospitals, schools, the arts, international aid, etc. -- drinking pushes giving up.

Perhaps you are thinking that this is just a side-effect of income or education differences between moderate drinkers and abstainers. After all, teetotalers have lower average incomes than social drinkers, which might explain why they give less away. But the matter is more complex. Compare two people who are the same in terms of income, education and even religion, but where one drinks moderately and the other doesn't: The drinker will give between $50 and $100 more to charity each year.

Shakespeare's Pericles warned that, one sin "another doth provoke." In the case of booze, however, the good news is that one sin a few virtues doth provoke. So what's the practical advice in all this? As summer broils you, pour yourself a cool drink and raise your glass to your favorite charity. But stop at two and don't forget to write the check.

L.A. Scavenger Hunt

2005-07-11T23:46:00.000-07:00

(Pilfered from Vice Magazine's Guide to LA, which is actually pretty decent despite the requisite (and by now cliched) misogyny and general trying-too-hard to be irreverant Vice style)

How many of these people do you know?

Also be sure to check out the bars listed and the suggestions for non-drunks. Good stuff.

Have they perfected human cloning yet?

2005-07-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

If so, can someone make me a Stephen Malkmus of my own?

He dislikes hippies, he loves Herman Melville, he's all about grace under pressure. (Me too.)

Choice snippet from what seems like a very off the cuff (sans publicist) interview with the man:

Given the opportunity to choose, how would you like to die?
Age 90, with a cigar and a steak and in a very manly way holding my cane across my legs.

Cute.

Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax

2005-06-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

While Marty McFriend and Satisfied are delving into dark areas I don't have the guts to think about (mainly for fear that my impressionable and occasionally feeble mind would succumb to them), I have a few things on my mind that I'd like to air out as well.

1) Larry "Bud" Melman

Who the fuck is this guy? I have a vague notion that he has appeared on or is some kind of target/butt of jokes for a late night TV talk show host, and I'm sure I could easily find this information via Google, but I don't really want to. What I want to say is that unfortunately this man's image and persona frequently invades my thoughts. Why? Why? And is he famous for something other than being a joke?

2) I did a Google image search for "not fucking around," and this is one of the results:

Then again, so is this, and well, that's just creepy:

3) I took exception to a post from Y2 regarding music.

Y2: I would have posted all this into the comments of your blog because it is, after all, a comment, but I just have too much to say.

You're wrong when you say that there is a right opinion and a wrong opinion about music. In music, as in all of life, opinions are subjective and dependent on the experiences and aptitudes of the listener. (I don't really want to belabor the point, but I say aptitude because I don't think that everyone is on an even playing field with interest in or ability to appreciate music. Just as some people don't really care about music, I don't care about, say, how computers work.) I hate to say it, but I think you're succumbing to the limited worldview of a youngling. (And that's not to say that I'm so old and wise, but maybe slightly older and probably a lot more cynical.)

You see, there was never a time when the majority of music was good. However, there was a time when you were young and impressionable and a lot of things that you'd never heard expanded your horizons and took root in your brain. If hits from the mid to late 80s sound classic and like authentic and good music to you, it's because you hadn't been exposed to anything like them before. All modern music is derivative to some degree, and of course the same goes with visual art and literature. In any current climate there are people who are creating things that are good and will stand the test of time, and there are things that may seem good at the time but turn out to not be so great after all, and then there are things that just downright suck. (Think of what we're hearing from someone like the Killers now -- I'll be the first to say that I enjoyed that album, but I'd be naive to not realize that all they are is an updated New Order. And all New Order is is an updated Gang of Four or ELO, and so on and so forth. You can also extrapolate from the Kings of Leon if that's more your style.) So when you refer to a time that music had meaning, and then got cheesy, and then returned to having meaning again, and then turned to shit, I have to say, frankly, that I don't understand what time periods these are that you could be talking about.

When it comes down to it, good music is music that makes you feel, um, good. Music that resonates somewhere in your soul, or if you don't want to get too philosophical about things, music that, for lack of more sophisticated terms, creates a warm space in your guts. Sounds that you're drawn to. So for some it's a little more evolved than for others. Bottom line is this - you can encourage people to stop obsessively following tabloids or overindulging in burgers (ahem), but you just can't force people to listen to music they don't enjoy. It's just too personal. And besides, if we define pop music as music that is popular with the general public, it is wildly unfair to characterize all pop music as shit. Sure, pop music is Jessica Simpson. But pop music is also the Beatles, or if you want something more current, Outkast. This kind of brings me to what I hate about hipsterism, but that's not a post I'm ready to tackle tonight.

4) RAVE: Shoe shopping and finding exactly what you're looking for. It's almost better than sex.

5) As of right now: I love L.A. (But not the Randy Newman song.)

6) What is the deal with podcasting? It's getting a lot of press lately, and I just don't get it. From what I gather it's not even music, it's like talk radio shows and other spoken pieces. Is anyone actually downloading pod casts and listening to them? Who wants to listen to talk radio?

Thank you.

Addendum - GEEK

2005-06-27T22:52:00.000-07:00

Just received this magnificent, off the cuff piece of writing from my dear friend Bobo in NYC. A gentle soul is Bobo. She had to step in and clarify something very important. To wit:

a nerd is a smartypants who is of a brilliant mind, no doubt, but who also longs to be socially accepted, loved, "one of the guys" and whatnot. i tend to think of a nerd as the guy in class who didn't show off his intellect, even though it was clearly superior. he saw it, in some ways, as a wall between him & the others. he was reserved. he wanted to "belong" but didn't know how to go about it. many ached for him .... wanted to take him under their wing and boost his confidence. and so the nerd would go on to succeed, yes, but without much glory ..... a brainiac was he, but with his low self esteem, he would never make the strides that his cousin .... the GEEK....... would go on to make.

the geek did not have the hangups our good friend, the nerd, had growing up. he couldn't give a rat's ass what people think of him. he has never been side-tracked by a longing to be "one of the gang" ... never wasted a moment wondering if he was well-liked. he is not quiet about his genius. one could say that he shows off his brilliance whenever possible to boast or brag - but really, he is so oblivious to and unconcerned with social accpetance that you can't even really accuse him of trying to win praise ....... he's just a big geek and facts and figures are all he has. he is socially retarded but has no issue with this - he may not even know he is socially retarded. the nerd, however, is very aware of himself and of other's opinions of him.

the nerd is a feeler. he is very conscious of his awkwardness. he is anxious and insecure.

the geek is a machine. he is not easily wounded .... he knows little human desire ...... his complete social ignorance allows him to go through life never realizing that he is awkward ... never realizing that people's eyes glaze over when stuck in conversation with him ...never realizing that he dresses pretty funny ..... never realizing that he is a geek. and because he has no hangups and does not suffer from low-self esteem which will certainly limit the nerd's achievements, it is the geek who will really change the world.

My mind is officially blown. Zod bless her. Bobo - what think you of this pic for a geek?

Various and sundry

2005-06-27T12:20:00.000-07:00

A few things:

I can't help but read an article like this and think that someone should have blown up the entire room.

Further chemical/physiological proof that music is the absolute shit.

Pull quote from this fascinating article:
"a new study conducted found that half the men in most parts of the world don't know what is expected of them in society"

Thoughts/comments?

Asshole vs. Douchebag

2005-06-24T19:59:00.000-07:00

There's a disturbing new trend in music.

As if Ashlee Simpson, Good Charlotte, Maroon 5 et al weren't bad enough, there's something even more nefarious proliferating over the airwaves and the world wide interweb...the mash-up.

I guess it started with Dangermouse's "the Grey Album," an album that mixed music from Jay Z's "The Black Album" with music from The Beatles "The White Album." The result, which I thought was 90% unlistenable blasphemy and 10% clever novelty, was widely (and inexplicably) heralded by music mags and hipster blogs as brilliant and revolutionary, and for a period of 2003 (or was it 2004?) it was ubiquitous in the dives of the east village of NYC. The success of the Grey Album pushed Dangermouse, then an unknown fellow UGA grad, to fame and fortune and now he's become one of the Gorillaz. (With Damon Fucking Albarn!)

And, more to the point, it spawned a really annoying new genre of music, the mash-up. A mash-up is a song created on some DJ's mac using Garage Band, and is basically a mixture of two songs. The typical mash-up uses music from an 80s classic (the more ironic, the better) with lyrics from a current hipster anthem. Perfect example - there was one called "Somebody Told Me Sunglasses at Night" by The Killers vs. Corey Hart. (Surely you can figure out what that means.) Another example: Veruca Salt vs. Yaz - "Don't Seether."

Now I'm not trying to be a hater. But the result is just irritating drivel. Five minutes that ruin both songs, assuming either was any good in the first place.

Case in point -- today I was driving home from work and happened to turn on Indie 103.1, which I have made a point to avoid since destroying it in the comments of this recent Aquarium Drunkard post. As it so happens, they have A WHOLE FUCKING SHOW devoted to mash-ups. (I was so right about that horrible station. It's dead to me.) But it's not even full mash-ups...it's like 20 minute chunks (does the use of word "chunks" here bring to mind vomit? I hope so) of music consisting of about 30 seconds each of various mash-ups. It's a schizophrenic, unlistenable, thoroughly unpleasant way to exit the work week. During the three minutes that I was tuned in today, I heard Britney Spears mixed up with the Pixies' "Monkey Gone to Heaven."

Now that's enough to destroy your weekend.

Dorks vs. Nerds

2005-06-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify something important.

There's a difference between dorks and nerds.

Although most people use these terms interchangeably, there's a very important distinction. A coolness factor.

Observe.

This guy is a nerd:

This guy is a dork:

Guy #2 wears briefs. He has a six figure job in insurance, watches Sportscenter every night and his idea of getting wild is having a few beers and a shot of Jaeger with his boys on Friday nights. (He spends Saturday nights watching Bruckheimer movies with his girlfriend, who he's been dating since college.) He loves Creed, he thinks Jay Leno is hilarious, his mom still does most of his shopping for him, and he's vaguely uncomfortable around homosexuals or anyone with a tattoo.

Guy #1 has developed an innovative new technique for sequencing DNA. In his free time he's into horticulture and collecting original Star Wars memorabilia. He's never had sex but has a porn collection that includes chicks dressed as valkyries. In the moments when he's not thinking about ways to up his standing in Magick: The Gathering, he's busy devising a plan for converting his house to run purely on solar energy. He once designed a bionic arm.

So who's cool? Who's going to change the world?

Nerds rule.

Thank you.

An Evening at the Greek

2005-06-15T09:12:00.000-07:00

Went to see Wilco for the fourth (or fifth?) time last night at the lovely Greek Theater in beautiful Los Feliz. (Or is it East Hollywood?) This was my first show at the Greek, which is sort of like a more civilized (read: less drunk) Chastain. Seeing Wilco is always a treat, but this setting really made the show exceptional. It was a breezy, clear summer night and the vibe was really mellow. The hipsters were out in full force, and the celebs too -- caught James Spader, Pat O'Brien, Toni Colette, and, according to Satisfied '75, the midget from Alias. (He seemed of normal stature to me.)

Highlights of the evening:
Shot in the Arm, Jesus, etc., Muzzle of Bees, I am Trying to Break Your Heart
Also when, after singing "Hummingbird", Jeff Tweedy jumped out into the pit and grabbed his youngling and smothered him with kisses. I worship Tweedy already, but that just put me over the edge.

Shout outs:

BROOKE!! Thanks for hooking us up with the rock star parking and hospitality access

Hot hipster dudes at the show. Yummy.

Those jokers over at CNN

2005-06-13T23:09:00.000-07:00

I've been reading CNN.com pretty consistently for as long as I've been on this here world wide interweb. I like it because it's a good way to quickly find out what the media would consider the top story to be at any given time of the day. (CNN employees call the the top story T-1.)

And I think it's a good example of a very pared down, user friendly design for a news website.

But sometimes the headlines and polls featured are absolutely ludicrous, and would not be out of place in The Onion. Case in point: the poll featured today (before the whole Michael Jackson debacle, which I'm not even going to get into) was:

"Would you change your religion to marry Tom Cruise?"

This is apparently a question of national concern.

Some People's Feet Really Freak Me Out

2005-06-13T22:33:00.000-07:00

Just sayin.

Sean Fanning is Such a Douchebag

2005-06-13T10:52:00.000-07:00

Article from Reuters, 6/13/05:

Snocap opens up to independent artists

The online music service Snocap said on Monday that it would allow independent artists and small record labels to register their songs to receive payment when they are traded over Internet "peer-to-peer" networks.

Snocap, the latest venture of Napster founder Shawn Fanning, uses digital "fingerprint" technology to identify songs that are swapped online.

Peer-to-peer networks can use Snocap to block unauthorized copies of songs and replace them with protected versions that can be controlled by their owners.

Only one peer-to-peer service has signed up to use Snocap so far, but the company says it is in talks with others.

Snocap officials hope that existing peer-to-peer services like Kazaa and LimeWire will turn to Snocap as a way to end their legal battles with recording companies and convert the millions of songs that are copied over their networks into a steady revenue stream.

Three out of the four major labels -- Universal Music Group, (EAUG.PA) Sony BMG (6758.T)(BERT.UL) and EMI Group Plc (EMI.L) -- have registered their songs with Snocap, as have larger independent labels like TVT and Rykodisc. Snocap said it is in talks with the fourth major label, Warner Music Group Corp. (NYSE:WMG - news).

Snocap founder Fanning first shot to notoriety when he turned the music industry upside down with Napster, the first software program that allowed users to copy music from each others' hard drives for free.

Napster has since been relaunched as an industry-approved download service.

Really, I want artists to get paid just as much as the next person, maybe even more so. For a long time after the collapse of Napster I stopped using P2Ps at all because I felt so guilt ridden about it.

But I can't help but feel that Fanning is such a loser for developing Snocap. I hate to use the term sellout, but, well, what else is he?

Current song obsession at work: Okkervil River - "For Real"

Your Mom Would Drink Until She Was No Longer Speaking

2005-06-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

My latest music obsession is Neutral Milk Hotel. I heard "King of Carrot Flowers" for the first time a few weeks ago and it took root in my brain almost immediately. I didn't realize how much I liked it though until Saturday, when it came on loud and I listened more closely to the lyrics...I highly doubt I could say anything that hasn't already been said about this crazy genius, but the whimsy and surrealness (not sure that's even a word) of the music and the lyrics just blew me away.

Being the internet nyerd that I am, immediately went online and did some google research of the band and its reclusive lead singer, Jeff Mangum. Neutral Milk Hotel is one of those bands that I've always meant to check out but never got around to, and I was only vaguely aware that they are from Athens and that after making a classic record they have sort of disappeared into thin air, giving them an almost legendary reputation.

So I came across this interview with Jeff Mangum that Pitchfork published in 2002, four years after "in the Aeroplane Over the Sea" came out. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised after listening to the music, but I was struck by what an insightful read it is. Mangum has some really interesting things to say about songwriting and the creative process in general, and it was, in fact, something he said in the article that prompted me to start this blog. (This is my third blogging attempt -- the other ones obviously didn't make it.) Here's a quote I found particularly interesting:

"I think the biggest obstacle for people with their creativity is that they feel they have to sit down and create this finished, polished product. Especially nowadays, it's so easy to have a library of two thousand CDs, books and records. So many things. We're used to having all of these finished works of art in our life that seem to arise out of nothing. I think that so much of the creative process is a fragmentary one, and then it's about just allowing your intuition to put it together for you. It's funny how you create something and you think you're going in a million different directions, and then the thing you end up with is the thing that you wanted to create your whole life, but you're just as surprised by it as anybody else."

Truer words were never spoken. I think I feel it even more acutely because I've always been drawn to creative types, and I've been known to beat myself up for not stepping up to the plate with my own writing and just putting stuff out there.

So here it is.

And about the title.

1) I have, of late, been hanging out with a motley crew. Satisfied75 has been calling us the "fun hoggs," but you could call us the Deadbeat Club.
2) I am a person that gets obsessed with songs and listens to them over and over. This is highly annoying to other people so I try to keep it to myself, but you can still ask anyone who's been close to me at any point, and they can probably give you the names of a few of these songs. The Deadbeat Club by the B-52s is an early example, although there were definitely a few gems from the 80s that I could add to the list. (This is actually something I intend to do for another blog post...a sort of a chronological journey through my life via music. Not that you really give a shit, but on the other hand you are reading my blog.)
3) I'm being all ironical and whatnot. We're not Deadbeats. None of us.