Friday, March 28, 2008

Pitchfork, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

First Coachella goes down the shitter and now this?!?! How is this even possible? Oh and, uh, hey dirty hipsters: Time to start memorizing your Public Enemy and Mission of Burma lyrics...

Public Enemy performing It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back
Mission of Burma performing Vs.

Animal Collective
Jarvis Cocker
Vampire Weekend
Dizzee Rascal
Fleet Foxes
No Age
Jay Reatard
King Khan & His Shrines
Atlas Sound
The Ruby Sun
A Hawk and a Hacksaw
Occidental Brothers Dance Band International
Animal Collective

Dinosaur Jr.
M. Ward
Ghostface and Raekwon
The Apples in Stereo
Dirty Projectors
Cut Copy
Extra Golden
El Guincho
Fuck Buttons

It looks like Sunday may be the only day worth attending. Boon to my wallet... sadness otherwise.

Know Your Audience

This week at work we've been interviewing (and by we I mean my boss and accounting, but I don't mind getting all Then We Came To The End every once in a while) applicants for an accounts payable position that has been vacant ever since I started. There's been a temp filling in who I feel they should just give the job, but whatever, maybe she doesn't want it or maybe they don't want to give it to her for some unknown reason. As I've said before, temping is one of the most soul-crushing things you can do in life, but I guess it works for some people.

At any rate, there were two interviewees yesterday, the first of whom I don't remember, and the SECOND, I'll never forget. I came back from lunch to see her sitting in our lobby wearing these insane canary yellow stilettos with a leather - oh who are we kidding - a vinyl ankle strap to, you know, secure it. It wouldn't have been so bad had she just gone with it and come to the interview in full-on whore mode, but she decided to pair the shoes with a perfectly respectable charcoal gray suit. Oh yeah, AND she had platinum blonde hair to match her shoes.

I wanted to start screaming, JESUS sister, know your audience, but it wouldn't have done any good since the only extra pair of shoes I have at work are a ratty old pair of Kenneth Cole "Straight Guy" oxfords from 1999 and think they may have been a little too big for her anyway.

Next thing I know she's being ushered into a conference room for her interview, but not before I have half the staff coming up to me asking, did you see that tranny wreck? Maybe I added the "tranny" part, but you get the idea.

I write about this little slice-o-my-day since I get a little (a lot of?) flack from friends who think it's funny that I have a self-imposed dress code for the office that goes above our normally stated dress code. To wit, polos are out of the question, all shirts must have a collar, and horizontal stripes will basically get me fired. Call it snobbish, but bitches will talk about you behind your back just because you decide to wear a pair of canary yellow stilettos to an interview.

And sure it makes me feel like Mr. Rodgers by way of Echo Park, but this is also why I won't be wearing my mint cardigan to work anytime soon.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Buck Up, Buttercup

B and Me

I have nothing to write about today except that I am bored out of my mind. I won't complain though since being employed and bored is way better than being unemployed and bored. I spoke with my sister yesterday who had just as much of a piss-poor Easter as I did... scratch that... B had a worse Easter than I did since I have the excuse of being removed from my family by 2000 miles and I also don't really care about Easter as holiday. Any festivities my family was planning, I wouldn't be able to attend, regardless, but to add insult to injury my grandmother called my sister yesterday morning to tell her that they were cancelling Easter dinner since both she and my aunt were sick with the flu. Buzz. Kill.

Once upon a time my family was all about throwing holiday shin-digs where friends and family and even some people who weren't friends - like ex-husbands - were invited simply because holidays are the sort of events where no one likes to be left out, and really, who wants a suicide hanging over an entire family's head? I have vivid memories from my childhood of Thanksgiving dinners with upwards of 30 people crowded into our living room, and before everyone in my family stopped drinking, there's even photographic evidence that these celebrations were once marked by jazz and liquor.

Not so much anymore. Now there's an entire segment of my family that no longer attends most holidays in California since they're off with the in-laws in South Dakota, another segment who refuses to eat any of the food made for various reasons (one valid, the rest horseshit), and my segment of the family which consists of me and my sister trying get people to loosen the f up. One year we snuck a bottle of hooch in to liven things, but it only made us sleepy and paranoid that our sober family members were getting all judge-y about us being tossed.

Although, the thought has crossed my mind that I can't keep acting like a petulant child who gets upset when his eighty-two year old grandmother doesn't want to cook a feast for her 10+ grandkids and great-grandkids year after year, not to mention their assorted husbands, wives, and lovers. This has been especially relevant during any holiday I've spent away from home, since, if you want a turkey, you're gonna have to bake the GD thing yourself. I don't mind this, but I'm also just as willing to sign up for which ever Turducken party is going on (and there's always a Turducken party going on in Chicago) just as long as I don't come away with Salmonella or food poisoning or something.

So B, if you're reading this, buck up buttercup! One of these days we'll be in the same city for Easter and we'll go out for mimosas and pay people to cook our food for us. This way, we don't have to grow up AND we can get trashed. Thank you, Jesus.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Do They Know It's Easter?

It's Easter and my feelings about that can best be summed up by the blonde kid on the far right.

Anything remotely resembling a celebration of today's holiday was done yesterday by Leah and myself at Uncommon Ground and involved drinking bacon-infused bloody marys. We were both intensely underwhelmed by our libations - let's tank these and order a regular - but I was most upset that mine didn't have a giant piece of applewood smoked bacon sticking out of it in lieu of a celery stalk. If we'd been at Halsted's I'm sure that could've been arranged though since those jag-offs slap a slice on everything on the menu and then charge you two bucks extra for the pleasure.

I suppose I'm paying the price today, too, for what was a pretty awesome Saturday. After brunch Leah introduced me too the wonders of The (American) Office and I now know why everyone and their mother has it listed as one of their favorite shows since it has next to no continuity and it takes about 2.5 seconds to watch an entire season.

Later Jason and I headed up to Big Chicks where I ran into one of the single most attractive men I went to college with, but who allegedly has a pretty fierce coke habit. We took Queer Theory together and I never once spoke to him even though I sat next to him every GD day. Last night with the help of some gin, I asked him what he'd been up to and he told me he was teaching which, even in my drunken state, made me worry for Chicago Public Schools.

The DJ then played Janet Jackson's "If" and M.I.A. within the span of an hour and all was right with the universe.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Kids Are Alright

I went to Urban Outfitters today during my lunch break and while I was able to refrain from buying anything - she is a tawny gypsy temptress - I did have the pleasure of running into this kid who looks suspiciously like the lead singer of Black Kids. My internal reaction to this guy is precisely why it pains me a little bit every time I see photos of this band. In my head I'm screaming, Get a grip buddy... YOUR PANTS ARE TOO TIGHT! You look uncomfortable which, more importantly, MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE!

We're not talking appropriately tight pants a la Iggy Pop either... we're talking this dude's muffin top runneth over.

When will hipster scum learn? Alas, never, which is probably why I am continually drawn to them. They're like retarded little puppies who you know are going to live abbreviated lifespans and who you know you'll have to buy special kibble for, but you put up with it just because they're so GD cute.

Case in point:

Black Kids' new video for I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You is the Diet Vanilla Cherry Dr. Pepper of music videos in that it, quite literally, tastes like everything and nothing all at the same time. Don't get me wrong, I'm still cashing in my tickets to see Black Kids when they open for Cut Copy - although I am more excited about Cut Copy since I've been kicking myself ever since I missed them last time around with Bright Like Neon Love - but I wish I knew a way to be less distracted by their appearance.

Hopefully their conspicuous absence from Austin this year is a good indicator that the Kids are bucking trends and refraining from the giant circle-jerk that is SXSW. Too often I'm disappointed by the supposedly watershed acts coming out of there and this year looks to be no different. That's all a long way of saying: New video. Watch.

Must Be A Devil

Yesterday my boss asked me outright if I was Catholic. I don't actually mind questions like that since I think everything is pretty much up for grabs, but I was sort of taken aback because of the way it was presented. She first started out by asking me what my special weekend plans were (is getting shitfaced an option?) and I was sort of confused because I didn't "get" what was so special about the weekend. She then reminded me that it was Easter which I had completely forgotten about. I don't know what came over me, but I suddenly felt like I was being judged for not having Jesus in my life or something, so I launched into a big ol' diatribe about how I was raised Episcopalian, so we never really went to church all that much, and how I'm not doing anything on Sunday, but I'm sure my aunt and my grandmother are going to church in California... cause she needed to hear all that.

My boss is someone I find it difficult to get a read on so when she then started telling me about how her and her friends have taken it upon themselves to get completely trashed every Easter, I was more than a little surprised. Usually if you asks you about your holiday plans within the framework of religion, they're either out to invite you to a potluck or burn you at the stake. Simply put, it's so refreshing to find heathens like myself masquerading as loop-workers.

And for as much as I like my job, it's been completely devastating to my work-week social life. This has been the week when just about every major DJ/electronic act this side of Ghana has decided to make an appearance in Chicago and I've not been able to go see a one! I'm contemplating throwing caution to the wind tonight and heading over to Wicker Park where they'll be having a Justice afterparty with Diplo spinning in the basement of Debonair Social Club (Justice and Debonair, not so much, Diplo, ZING!). I became sort of obsessed with a track that Diplo remixed a while back for itunes (don't hate) called Must Be A Devil. More like must be delicious.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

The Only Way I Want To Experience Mariah Carey; Ever

Okay, so maybe that's not entirely true. I've always maintained that I love Mirajah if for no other reason than she is the hottest of hot messes. Hell, most of my friends know that if I was a fully-functioning heterosexual, lady would be high on the list of people I'd take to the boneyard.

However, Rich from FourFour puts a whole new spin on Mariah's appeal with this vid-jo:

When I first started reading his post and discovered that Rich was comparing Carey to Pebbles I was positively mortified since wannabe eighties pop stars cum evangelists are a definite no-go in my book. However, when I found out he meant the Pebbles... everything seemed suddenly okay.

I want to ride on a white horse...

Oh. My. Gawd.

This may be even better than the maps exhibit that ended at the Field in January. Mythic Creatures: Dragons, Unicorns & Mermaids brings out the twelve year-old nerd in me so hardcore! Be warned; you might just wet yourself.

The exhibit runs today through September 1st. Tickets are $22 adults, $19 students, and $12 children. Go.

Shopping For Sensible Flats

Belated birthday greetings are the best since they can extend your birthday festivities exponentially. In this department, I can rely on my mother's sister to supply every year. My birthday was on the 3rd and I, just yesterday, received a card from her. Awesome.

I'm not being facetious about this either. Okay, maybe the first year it happened it kind of bothered me, but now I've grown to love this quirk, much as I've grown to love my aunt's myriad quirks. Whatsmore, the card this year was so totally awesome that I just had to share. It... ahem... reads in part, we are so happy that you are where you want to be and are loving the life you have... etshitera, etshitera...

Although my aunt's barely veiled reference to homosexuality is pretty cringe-worthy, it's also definitively in-line with her reaction to the gays in general. When I officially came out to her this past Christmas (in the women's department of a DSW shoe warehouse, while shopping for sensible flats with my grandmother), my aunt was happy that I'd finally told her, but she also topped our little confection of a moment by saying, quote, Just remember John, I may not condone, but I will never condemn. Ummm, thanks... I guess.

I could feign anger and say that I am completely appalled by my aunt's reaction to my "disclosure", but I'd be lying. While I'm not over the moon that she isn't more accepting of the gays, I do still love her bunches and want to stay in her good graces since she's like a second mother to me.

And let's not even get started on how every single GD year she invites a friend to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner who is obviously a gigantic lesbian. I mean, this chica straight up collects Highlander swords and limited edition manacles from the Bradford Exchange.

No one ever says anything about this friend being a dyke (except Bonnie and I when we're cackling in the corner), but if I know one thing, it's a gay twinkle in the eye when I see one over a tureen full of cranberry sauce.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

They Call It Juxtaposition

Ooof. This one hurts me almost as much as it does Alison Goldfrapp, but Crystal Castles is so inching up the charts to compete in the deathmatch that will be best album of 2008. I say this today since it's the official release of CC's album even though its been available on the internet for, like, ever.

Air War is, without a doubt my favorite track on this album. Or maybe Courtship Dating... ooh, or maybe Vanished!

Fuck it, I love them all cause it's a disc chock-full of standouts. Whereas Goldfrapp went full-throttle melo on Seventh Tree, CC varies the pleasantly melodic, but haunting electronic tracks with some gut-busting, balls-to-the-wall clubbanging. While the latter are fun (in moderation) I'm thankful that there are really only two of them here. The majority of tracks fall somewhere in-between AND actually have a verse, chorus, and bridge - my how you've grown electronica.

And in case you didn't know, Crystal Castles is Canadian, so yeah, our friends to the north are finally doing their part (LYLAS Lindsay).

Oh, and here's a promo video for the new album featuring the song Magic Spells. It's a little disturbing (at least I thought it was disturbing so be forewarned), but the song's really beautiful. Apparently they call that juxtaposition:

Monday, March 17, 2008

Today's Word Is: Peccadilloes

I have no desire to turn this into a political blog - And how. Could. I? - but I do think it's worth noting Kate Zernicke's article in the New York Times yesterday. Basically it asks the question, is postfeminism a reality and if so, how is it possible to maintain this sort of identity in a political climate where women continually get trampled by the media/public opinion/whathaveyou.

This struck me as particularly poignant since it's a topic I used to go over repeatedly in a course (Feminism and Social Change) I took with the exceedingly brilliant Elena Gutiérrez. Elena is one of the single most influential professors I've ever had the privilege of knowing (and drinking at Crew with). The great thing about her is that for all her experience - in life and in academia - she's still not sure if the third wave's come or not.

I tend to be of the opinion that it hasn't since, like this NY Times article explains, we still have a media that is profoundly blind to gender bias; many women, when asked why they're not voting for Hillary cite as their primary reason that they're not obligated to vote for a woman; and media outlets across the globe are still trying to vilify prostitutes while simultaneously claiming how soliciting is a victimless crime. Puh-leeze.

But maybe Noreen Malone puts it best:

"Like lots of other twentysomething women, I've been an unswerving Obama girl from the get-go," wrote Noreen Malone on The XX Factor, the Slate magazine blog written by women. "Oddly enough it's taken Spitzergate — not Hillary's tears, not her scolding — to make me less dismissive of the feminist 'obligation' to vote for a woman."

It reminded her of a depressing bit of wisdom passed on by a friend's father: "The most powerful people in the world are old white men and pretty young women."

"During my supposedly post-feminist lifetime, the women who've created the biggest stir are the young women who've ruined the careers of powerful old men," she wrote. "I'm not saying I'm for Hillary now, and I'm not saying that Hillary's history with sexual peccadilloes is uncomplicated, but it certainly makes me appreciate the fact that she's learned other ways of manipulating power."

It's always kind of amazed me how quick people are to ignore their own repression, and BTDubs, I'm no innocent on this matter either. I could be a lot more impassioned and outspoken about my convictions, but I'd like to think that I'm at least cognizant of the ways in which the man is bringin' us down. Acting like gender/sexual/racial/economic bias is not an issue anymore is beyond foolhardy, 'cause - newsflash! - we're not post anything in this country... except maybe Post cereals.

Of which Raisin Bran is the shit.


Friday night Leah and I went to dinner at Cesar's where the food was, as usual, unremarkable, but the margaritas upheld their title as nectar of the f-ing gods. I sort of wanted to make this weekend an anti St. Pat's/Latin rebellion fiesta since St. Patrick's Day is such a joke what with the Irish being completely assimilated in this country as of about six decades ago. However, I just made due with Friday's Latino fun since not incurring the wrath of every drunken frat guy on Saturday was, how do you say, high on my list of priorities.

Whatever that I'm biased towards Cinco de Mayo. At least Mexicans have a recognizable cultural identity and don't walk around with buttons that say "Kiss Me; I'm Mexican!" Although, there are those pesky "Hecho en Mexico" shirts... tickity-tack-tragic.

Afterwards, we met up with my new neighbors to play a few rousing rounds of some truth-or-dare style game where you shove your finger in this device with four other players and whoever gets shocked has to answer. I don't know what it's called, but Tewtally Fun should be its name. Little known fact: I LOVE truth or dare games, but I never do dares since I'm more about exposing secrets and lies amongst my friends. I Never is also ludicrously fun.

As an aside, Spring is nigh Leah... time to throw another BBQ/orgy of truth-telling.

At any rate, I imbibed way too much on Friday which left me feeling not quite up to drinking all day at the party Katie and I were supposed to go to on Saturday. I asked Katie if I could show up around sevenish to which she replied, srsly? I threatened her with bodily harm if she didn't pick up her phone when I called and like a tried and true roomie, Katie kept her word, but also informed me that I probably wouldn't want to come since everyone was blitzed beyond all reckoning, the person I wanted to see at said party had not shown up, and basically it had turned into a lesbian bacchanal somewhere around five. But doesn't everything?

I could regale you with details of the rest of the weekend, but stories about doing errands on a Sunday are so amazing that I might explode your computer. In that case I'll just leave you with this ditty:

Friday, March 14, 2008

Sweeney Todd The Way It Should Be

I had an excellent trip home last December. It was the first time I was there for over a week and didn't want to murder everyone by the time I left. If there was a low point to the trip however, it was probably when I went to see Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd at the Cinerama Dome. The dome, as usual, was great; the film, was wretched.

I cannot remember the last time I fell asleep during a movie - not even Old School and a bag full of Wild Turkey nips could do me in - but Sweeney made me all sleepers. Somehow I imagine that wouldn't be the case with John Doyle's production of Todd at the Ahmanson.

From Laist:

Written by Stephen Sondheim, the original "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" is a classic. The most recent Tim Burton screen adaptation of Edward Scissorhands the musical was "meh." And last night's Los Angeles premiere under John Doyle's direction was, simply put, purely amazing.
It begins as the lights go down in the house and up on stage. It's an uncomfortable raw silence that the audience succumbs to. There's no sound, no music, just the actors, looking out into nothingness from a set that was minimalist and visually orgasmic for the macabre-inclined. The performance begins, every actor with their instrument in hand, they speak, they sing and they accompany themselves, as the orchestra pit is empty -- it's up to the ten characters to survive the next two-hours on their own.

Laist also has three links to audio podcasts with the actors who play Joanna, The Beadle, and Musical Director Andy Einhorn. If you're in Los Angeles any time between now and April 3rd, this is pretty much a must do.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Here I come...

Okay, so this song is a little old (end of '07), but I thought about it today since it was so GD beautiful out. I know writing about the weather is pointless, but for those of you not in Chicago, we've had a giant shitstorm of snow the last few months, and this song makes me happy to be alive:

Dragonette - I Get Around (Midnight Juggernaughts Remix)*

I first heard this song when I listening to the Kitsuné Maison podcast a couple months back. Whoever was hosting was a complete douche, but he said how this is the perfect good weather car driving song - top down, wind in your face. I couldn't agree more. Plus it makes me all dance-y like.

Now, if only I had a car... I guess the CTA's tin cans will have to suffice.

*This one gets a special shout out for Leah.

Sunny, Bright, and Full of Jicama

Queen Elizabeth had issues with dating too, so she used big maps instead of the internet.

I am on a catering ROLL at work this week. My boss wanted pastries delivered for the staff meeting yesterday, and since there are approximately 35 Au Bon Pains within quarter mile of my building, I had them deliver various artery-clogging delectables so that we might eat them while watching Powerpoint presentations. I'm always slightly paranoid when ordering food for a lot of people since I never know if I'll order too much or not enough, and even though it's not on my tab, I hate to think that I'm over-paying for what is essentially flour, sugar and yeast that's been heated up.

Well, no worries, since the food went over like gang-busters! BOO to Corner Bakery I say... Au Bon Pain is the way to go, even if thier bagels leave something to be desired and you could probably wash your dishes with them.

Today I ordered California Pizza Kitchen for a committee meeting and that was a pure stroke of genius (even if this one wasn't entirely my idea). I haven't had CPK since I actually lived in California and even though California cuisine has become somewhat of a joke, you have to admit that the barbecue chicken salad at CPK is essentially culinary crack. It was the perfect meal for this, the first day in god knows how long that it's broken fifty in Chicago - sunny, bright, and full of jicama.

What with the weather changing and Spring in the air, my whole out look is taking a much needed turn for the better. Though, there are downsides to Spring which were firmly planted in my head by a friend of mine some 12 or 13 years ago. Back then I was hanging out with people WAY too old for me (Me: Junior High, Them: College) and one of my female friends at the time complained to me that she really loved Springtime, but she also hated it because she went a little boy-crazy. I understood what she was saying in an abstract way, and by abstract I mean not at all, but now I really get it. Maybe it's something about the potential for seeing more exposed flesh, or who knows what, but Spring has got me needing to get some serious action. Perhaps this is why I've just recently ventured into the world of online dating... and I use the term dating VERY loosely.

Don't fret, family, if you read this... I'm not about to become a giant internet whore. I plan on using the same strict standards in selecting online mates that I've always used with every Tom, Dick, and Harry at bars from here to Nashville (don't say it, Todd).

The most respectable of the sites I've ventured onto, however, has been more than a little bit of a letdown. Salon Personals sounded like a great idea; By virtue of being associated with the endlessly caustic and urbane, you'd expect that their personals division would uphold the same standards of wit. Well, not so much.

I originally came to learn about Salon Personals back in 2004 when my friend Erin met her then girlfriend through the site. I loved her girlfriend and was totally crushed to find out that they broke up after a year or so of being together. I get that things happen for a reason and I'm not berating anyone for failed romances, but it was sad for me, you know?

So I thought, much like the Bridget Fonda/Nicholas Cage rom-com, John, it could happen to you. When I moved to Chicago in mid-2005 and didn't know anyone, I fired up my requisite stalker account and started scanning profiles. There were some attractive ones on there, and some people who had obviously put some effort into writing a coherent personal dating manifesto, but mostly I was dissappointed by the dearth of menz. I mean, I guess there were relatively a lot of people on there, but the majority of them hadn't been active in months.

I then forgot about Salon personals, and chalked my seeming unluckiness up to not being a lesbian.

Flash forward two and a half years later, and much is not changed over at Salon. It is still an arid wasteland of gay men who, by virtue of the fact that they regularly read Salon, are too shy or introverted or picky or whatever to effectively hook-up with anyone else on the site. The sheer amount of promising, but woefully abandoned profiles is distressing. The ones that I was attracted to back in 2005 are still the ones that look appealing in 2008, except that these dudes haven't been on in like over a year.

So in honor of 2008 being the year of get it together, I'm following suit of just about every person I know in taking fate into my own hands (loins?) by going online in search of love or something vaguely resembling that. My multi-website assualt will rival any record release you've ever seen, or as Cate Blanchett said: I, too, can command the wind, sir! I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare when you dare to try me! Maybe that's a little intense, but you get the idea.

If it doesn't work out, I'll know the real reason: Lesbians are like leprechauns in that both are lucky and find pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Incidentally, I am neither a lesbian nor a leprechaun.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Everyone is someone in LA...

I was on the phone with my sister last night, who was catching me up on her latest boy drama - I literally hear ya sister - and we also shared some vile comments about this douche bag she once dated who is apparently on the verge of going down in flames courtesy of the Los Angeles Police Department. I never liked the guy anyway so you'd think I'd take more joy in his tail-spinning out of control, but really, it just left me feeling slightly queasy. It never ceases to amaze me how insanely idiotic some people can be.

On a happier note, Bonnie said that she'd attended a party last Thursday thrown by Nintendo in honor of one of our oldest friends, Lindsay. Howza-whoza, you say? Uh, yeah, I had the same reaction. Apparently, Nintendo is courting the 25 to 34 lady set and their latest scheme is to seek out influential bloggers/trendsetters who they then throw parties for in swanky studios on La Brea, complete with hors d'oeuvres, booze, and a FREE NINTENDO DS FOR EVERYONE. I'm not even a fan of the DS, but start giving away free shit in excess of 100 bucks and I'm there. Although Bonnie told me that one of the other attendees said that she'd be selling that shit on ebay the minute she got home and I tewtally concur.

Lindsay's been writing her blog for the last five years (which just celebrated it's anniversary) and she was recently made co-editor of Laist. I've always known she was something of a trend-setter ever since she turned me on to Liz Phair almost a decade ago, but I'm glad people with money are finally taking notice so now everyone can benfit from her cultural antennae. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about working hard to make it in this world, but believe you me, I will ride my friends' coattails and starfuck all the way to the top if I have to.

In related news, Todd informed me that our mutual friend who moved to New York is one infinitesimally small degree away from Bill Hader, my latest SNL crush. Jesus christ, now this means I have to push up my move-to-New-York time frame by about three and a half years. I told Katie that I was moving there by the time I turned thirty, which originally gave her plenty of time to either decide on either coming with me or running away with Catherine Zeta-Jones. She's told me she has a bit of a problem with the trash situation in NY, so she may be packing up the U-Haul and heading over to Catherine Z's place if I really do speed things up.

Oh well, good luck to them if they do shack up... you knew that Michael Douglas marriage was a sham anyway.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

SNL's a Hot Tranny Mess

Christian Soriano continues his reign over America with this week's SNL in which Amy Poehler did a dead-on impression of the Project Runway winner. It was great, as most things that Amy Pohler does are, but the crux of the skit centered around how Christian's lexicon of hot mess, tranny, hot tranny mess, trannylicious hot tranny mess mess is akin to a foreign language for most Americans.

I find this angle interesting since if you're watching SNL, you probably already know what hot tranny mess infers about any given situation. Or maybe I'm wrong? I'll be the first to say that I have a tendency to write my own experience on everyone else, but on second thought, I guess it's not that common to work in retail and have your stock supervisor be a tranny who ends up being fired for theft, but not before she tries to frame you and your co-worker for it.

And for those of you who are still wondering, here's a brief etymology of Soriano-speak:

Hot Mess: Highly subjective. A subject marked by tragedy, confusion, misfortune, etc., but one whose fabulosity (per Kimora Lee Simmons) is in higher proportion to its level of destruction. A hot mess may be a person, place, situation, existential crisis, etc. Of note: the designation hot mess does not guarantee ultimate ruination or redemption (see: Britney Spears/any picture ever taken at Mis-shapes).

Tranny: In this instance, a man-born-man who lives his life as a woman. Designations of pre- or post- operative have little influence here, as the ultimate intent is of most import. Women-born-women who live as men may also be cited as trannies, however, this is less common due to the lack of ostentation associated with "male" dress. Here, tranny is generally used as a term of endearment.

Hot Tranny Mess: Same as hot mess but modified primarily by its relationship with/ proximity to a trans-gendered person. For example: a transsexual person may be said to be a "hot tranny mess" if they are fired for stealing and attempt to frame their co-workers for alleged offense; also, a garment may be said to be a "hot tranny mess" if it is especially revealing, ugly, see-through and is worn primarily by persons hosting bingo, karaoke nights, amateur strip contests, etc. Similarly, a woman-born-woman who either dresses in an excessively feminine manner, or has excessively masculine features may be said to be a hot tranny mess (see: Kimora Lee Simmons, Tyra Banks on the last four seasons of America's Next Top Model, and Joan Crawford/Faye Dunaway.

Fierce: A designation given to a subject whose intense likability vis-à-vis a steely indifference, results in an affect that is alluring, but alienating. For example: while trannys are fierce individuals who bear the burden of the world's skepticism about their gender "confusion", they are simultaneously confrontational figures who confuse ideas men-born-men and women-born-women hold about their own gender roles. Likewise, Anna Wintor stands as a notoriously famous example of a fierce woman-born-woman... allegedly. (See also: Amanda Lepore, Margaret Thatcher)

And finally, enough with the Vampire Weekend already. What's especially painful to me is that I know they're going to be on Pitchfork's lineup this summer and it kills me since they're so terrifyingly derivative of various musical formats I never liked in the first place. I was sort of hoping that ska died it's last wretched breaths while I was still in High School, and rather than make me all peace-loving and in want of a doobie, reggae puts me in a positively murderous mood... as does the scarf Vampire Weekend's keyboardist regularly sports (far left):

At what point, might I ask, does it become a pashmina?

Also, is it so wrong that I have a not-so-secret crush on Bill Hader?

This is what, like his third season on SNL and I'm just now taking notice? I'm pretty sure his first two seasons Bill was, himself, a bit of a hot mess, but not so much anymore. Hmmm... get me to Rockefellar Center, stat.

Friday, March 7, 2008

You Rock My Life!

This is why I love Los Angeles:

From: Laist

This mural just went up on La Brea between Pico and Olympic. This spot is just down the the street from where we used to go to church when I was a kid (when we actually went), and where I had a bishop rub oil on my head and tell me I was now responsible for all my sins.

Back when I used to make film deliveries in this area, there were tons of awesome murals like this, but never one that made me so happy.

Whatever with all your crazy 9-11 consipiracy theories Marion; You rock my life!

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Small Victories, Small Victories...

I thought it was all over when Jillian was the first to go on tonight's Project Runway. In all honesty, I was sure that if Jillian didn't win, it was gonna be Rami who'd be taking home that bullshit car they give the winner. This isn't because Rami deserved said distinction or anything, but because Rami and Jillian were, by FAR, the two most commercial designers of the three.

So Jillian's out and the winner is obvs... Christian?

I KNOW - *shock* *amazement* - right? As I told Leah, Christian is by no means commercial, but if Bravo wanted to finally decide to become relevant and anoint someone who will actually do something significant with themselves and *gasp* - become a major designer, then they will pick Christian.

Well, apparently Bravo and/or Elle and/or Nina Garcia and/or Michael Kors decided to finally give the prize to someone who deserves it wholeheartedly. I won't even get into how I began to tear up when it looked like Christian might lose it all (he wanted it that bad and Rami blew that much). Suffice it to say, I'm happy, even though I'm out five bucks. But if that five dollars somehow helped Christian attain glory, then I'm glad I took part.

Special props to Jillian for her belted dress that could have swept the whole show. Sure it was probably designed by Ralph Lauren, but too cute for words is all I gots to say.

The End.

Hillz Is My Homegirl

I think it's semi-hilarious that I have Barack Obama to thank for providing me with one of my primary sources of hits for this site. More specifically, I guess I should be thanking Shepard Fairey, since he's the one who created the Obey Obama posters. I don't even know if that's what they're actually called, but since Barack Attack has become something of a messianic figure, I think it's fitting that I call him out on his supernatural power to control the internets.

Suffer the little children to come unto me...

I was watching the Texas and Ohio primary returns last night and thinking thank god Hillary won, but I don't really know what I was so worried about. Katie told me that as long as she wears her Hillary is my homegirl t-shirt, Hillz can't lose. Katie's been wearing it more or less everyday for the last three months - even incorporating it into work wear, which I think is a pretty astounding feat - and since Hillary won last night, I now believe in Katie's actualization prophecy.

What with all this mysticism, I was also kind of wondering if Barack was going to be stricken with the stigmata while he was on stage in San Antonio last night. Or maybe Michelle. Or possibly one of their daughters... yeah, it would be a lot more effective if one of those kids showed up in Ms. Barack Attack's arms with some serious wounds on her hands and feet. I wonder if Michelle would blame America for that or just God?

Michelle Obama: Hates America; Ostensibly Loves Family

In any event, it's really disgusting how the New York Times is carrying an article today that basically thanks Bill Clinton's deft political verbosity for saving Hillary's ass. I think it's obvious that her turnout had more to do with SNL's resounding endorsement for Hills than anything else. As we all know, Tina Fey is a bellwether for all that is good and righteous in this world, Ellen Paige is big ol' lezzie, and Andy Samberg makes a better Diablo Cody than Di-no-no herself.