I don’t get it. Believe me, I was somewhat sheltered— I didn’t see someone snorting cocaine off of an insect ridden microwave top until I was 21 and it wasn’t that I believed in modesty, I just believed in not wearing terrible shredded pants/tights and I saved sparkly leotards for gymnastics practice— but damn! These sixteen and seventeen year old girls with their raccoon eyes and their general look of filthiness just astound me. I feel like Blanche in the episode of Golden Girls where here daughter opts for a sperm donor type pregnancy, or the episode where Dorothy’s son introduces the girls to his black older fiancee (one of the first televised examples of what we like to call cougarism); basically, it all comes down to the idea that kids do the darndest thing for attention and a page in US Magazine! Continue reading
I’m going through a rather debilitating cold/flu debacle at the moment, which means I’ve been weeding my way through the depths of Hulu sans sanity since around Thursday, each minimally-commercialized episode measuring the tenure of my sniffles like chalk marks on a prison wall. And I don’t have any tissues.
Anyway, today, after I became entranced by a two-years’-stale season of Hell’s Kitchen, scratched my head during a handful Lie to Me’s, cried like a baby during the season finale of House, and pouted at Bones’s preposition-heavy titles (without actually catching up — ha!), I finally made my way to Glee.
In fact, my Glee-quest led me straight to those episodes of yore — the ones that I remember from a surprisingly ancient-feeling 2009, back when I lived in Harlem and nobody knew what “Obama’s Katrina” was going to be. Good times?
I promised another post about The Format, yes?
Let’s get started with another song off Dog Problems: “Oceans.” This track was a staple of summer 2009 (mine, anyway), the upbeat intro a trusted remedy to that early morning urge to fuckin’ turn around the Volvo, skirt my duties as a camp counselor and take a goddamn nap. (Man computer camp sucks.)
“Oceans” is just fun, you know? In the same vein as the manic peaks in “Dog Problems,” “Oceans” reconciles the collapse of a relationship with an upbeat tune and clever vocals (“f-f-f-for some time” & “at least that’s a plus, plus I miss you so much”).
I missed a lot of work last week because I’m a chemically imbalanced moron, which meant that there was a lot of stuff to do today, and really no reason not to stay until shortly after 8 in the evening.
Our online clock-in service says I worked from 9:35 a.m. to 8-something p.m., but I prefer to classify my labor as occurring in the hours between When The Bus After The Bus I Wanted Dropped Me Off and When I Thought I Was Going To Die Of A Blood Clot From Sitting For Eleven Hours While Smoking While On Birth Control All The While With A Family History Of Poor Circulation.
My veins are fucked up, yo.
But anyway, work was mostly okay, but there were some problems — my iPod was dead, my Pandora close to critical mass, and my tolerance for posting ads on Craigslist without musical accompaniment dwindling rapidly.
So, out of desperation, I made a playlist on Youtube — the Dane Cook of streaming music, some might say — featuring the five videos I’m currently obsessed with. I listened to them over and over. And it was great. Non-sarcastically and everything.
Now, if you’ll bear with me, I’d love to introduce to you my latest fixations. Continue reading
I am seriously technologically unable. Continue reading
We all get depressed sometimes. Whether it’s your faulty brain chemistry, a pending multicultural marriage within the family, or how this fucking summer weather is setting your hair back approximately 2.5 decades — or, perhaps, a perfect storm of the aforementioned — shit is always going to get you down.
I’ve been moping around the last few days. Then moping about moping — while I was feeling angsty about my broken washing machine, oil-spill-coated AIDS viruses were melting the polar ice caps, Al & Tipper were on the rocks, and, fuck, Katherine Heigl was waxing brunette. What a world.
But instead of ending it all — or, more likely, allowing myself to slip into a Hulu-induced vegetative state — I decided to come up with a list of why you & I should hang in there a little longer. Check it out:
1. You still don’t know how the final season of LOST— Oh wait. Fuck. Veni, vidi, very disappointed.
1. You probably haven’t listened to “Semi Charmed Life” enough. No one ever can! Chop another line like a coda with a curse… (If that doesn’t help, close your eyes and picture Homer Simpson singing “Wonderwall.” It always cheers me up.)
Before I get approach the topic of Lady Giggles, I want to talk about how I got to writing about Lady Giggles in the first place. Last night, I read this article, which echoed (and was titled after) a very pertinent question that has morphed into a serious concern: What the hell does anyone see in Sookie on True Blood? I’ve been asking myself for the greater part of two and a half seasons. She’s really irritating. And generally, a hot mess. I can’t stand seeing her and her messcapades, especially when she’s fake crying to get Eric’s sympathy. And more importantly, who in their right mind would choose Bill Compton over Eric!? Sookie, he wants to have primal sex with you, I don’t understand what your issues are, besides the whole ‘I am telepathic, have multiple vampires’ blood running in my veins, and light has been known to shoot out of my hands sporadically’ thing.
But then, illogically, after reading about Lady Gaga’s most recent shenanigans (sorry boo, I hope you are okay!), as well as a prolonged bout of procrastination, I thought: What is it that people see in Gaga?
Wordplay and angst? “Saddest Quo” has me written all over it. Hence its status as this moment’s catchiest tune.
SQ is by the Pernice Brothers, a band I encountered the usual way: Pandora. (PS, July needs to hurry up and get here. I’ve already used 35 of my monthly 40 hours.) The Bros showed up on both of my most frequented stations, probably because of a not very complicated algorithm that involves pairing bands that sound kind of like The Shins with other bands that sound kind of like The Shins.
The Shins, I’m discovering, are like the Kevin Bacons of indie rock. Continue reading
So, Justine Bateman and Kelly Cutrone (Kell on Earth, hello?) have a tumblr called Wake Up and Get Real where they post videos of themselves talking about important things and trivial things — so, it’s basically like Ebony + Irony sans the racial intrigue.
I haven’t watched that many of the videos, and sometimes they’re a little too after-school-special simplistic (“Never think that the number on the scale has anything to do with your happiness. It never does!” etc.), but I really like the one above, where Justine Bateman talks about her face.
I’ve been putting off writing about The Format for a while now, mostly because even a summary of their work necessitates in my book at least four Youtube videos, which no one will even listen to anyway. Bleak.
But maybe that bleakness is appropriate. It’s never a good thing when you Wikipedia a favorite band and the first three words of the entry are “The Format was…” Because yeah, they broke up.
And that’s appropriate too, because even though I was initially captivated by The Format’s first full-length, the awesomely named Interventions + Lullabies (circa 2003), the band’s truly resonating album — also their second — also their last — came three years later: Dog Problems, a breakup album to end all breakup albums. Continue reading