Tony Stark. Is. Amazing. Perhaps this explains my fairly consistent interest a certain genre of gentlemen. Nothing is quite so attractive as a man who knows how to use his brain. And, knowing how to build and create stuff with your hands is pretty sexy too. If only I were joking. Anyways, in all of my comic book nerd glory, I present you with the new Iron Man trailer. Enjoy!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Are You a Hack?
Someone recently said to me that the reason they listen to foreign music, is so they can enjoy the song without thinking about the insipid lyrics. Twice the melodic enjoyment, half the soulless writing. That being said, is it actually the novelty of sound that entrances aforementioned person? Is it actually nothing to do with the words, just the expression of so-called "angst" and a momentary "catharsis" that entices them into the music? Essentially, the exoticism of the experience is actually what you crave, yet its exoticism is balanced by an idea that you are familiar with -- in this case a particular musical motif. The song construction is the same, it's just the words that provide that extra jolt of excitement. (I would have hurt myself if I wrote "je ne sais quoi" there -- it's such a cheap out for writers when they actually can't think of something. Try not to call me out for it when I actually use it in my writing since I couldn't think of something.)
So, here is the question: in appealing to the exoticism inherent in the story I'm being asked to tell, to the "extra something different and special," does that, in fact, make me a sell-out? Okay, okay, it has been pointed out that I'm not actually a "sell-out" because I make the grand sum of 0 dollars, therefore I can't technically sell-out. But, still --
am I basically exposing my writing "special parts" just to catch a break?
So, here is the question: in appealing to the exoticism inherent in the story I'm being asked to tell, to the "extra something different and special," does that, in fact, make me a sell-out? Okay, okay, it has been pointed out that I'm not actually a "sell-out" because I make the grand sum of 0 dollars, therefore I can't technically sell-out. But, still --
am I basically exposing my writing "special parts" just to catch a break?
Monday, February 25, 2008
Bump, Bump, Bump
I'm currently on a huge House/Techno music kick for some unknown reason. Although, if I can get my hands on this french album Le Bapteme by M (Mathieu Chedid) then there will be a quick deviation. However, until then, here are some joyful songs:
JJ Flores & Steve Smooth - Being in Love
Stellar Projekt feat. Brandi E - Get Up, Stand Up
Plumb - In My Arms
Gravity Rainbow Van She Remix - Klaxons
Yes, Plumb. Don't ask me how she went from pop to house, but she did. For a taste of the French album, see below post!
JJ Flores & Steve Smooth - Being in Love
Stellar Projekt feat. Brandi E - Get Up, Stand Up
Plumb - In My Arms
Gravity Rainbow Van She Remix - Klaxons
Yes, Plumb. Don't ask me how she went from pop to house, but she did. For a taste of the French album, see below post!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Waterboarding
Here's the serious post. This guy tries out waterboarding, on himself, to ascertain whether or not this is legitimately "torture." He votes yes. I trust him, because he's the idiot (?) who decided to try it. I don't even know what to say. The government is ridiculous. Americans are ridiculous. It'd be nice if I could blame only this country, but let's be real and acknowledge that this has gone on for centuries, and that other countries use even worse forms of torture and just generally say that human beings are capable of some nasty, heartless behavior. Ugh, disgust.
I do work...really.
Wicked awesome dress by T-Bags that has made my wish list. Since I don't think I can afford it at the moment, or that it will look as fabulous as it could on me, I am passing on the wealth of knowledge to others. If you can afford it... well, don't tell me because I'll go waterworks on you, instantly. Apparently I have no reservations about back cleavage, even though I'm not a big fan of over-exposing front cleavage. Does that make me a back-skank?
------
(10Q racked.com)Yeah, need to get back to more serious information. Soon, soon! Less silly thoughtlessness and focus on materialism! Eep.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Annoying Po-Mo Meta-fiction that No One Should Read, But was Fun For Me to Write
Scene:
Exterior of San Francisco's Marina District. Scott Street on a characteristically warm Northern California winter evening as neighborhood shops are closing. Shopgirls peek out as they shut doors, local residents amble down the sidewalk with flushed cheeks in their gym clothes. We focus on a floor to ceiling glass front of a trendy backlit restaurant filled with white walls and only curved furniture. A young 20-something woman (perhaps ethnic? of moderate attractiveness? no, this is not a self-reference, what are you talking about) strolls through the door and enters the restaurant, finding only an over-eager waiter and a well-dressed couple of middle-upper class upbringing. Unless one was actually brought up in say I dunno, East Oakland. But let's be serious, it's the Marina, no one from East Oakland likes the Marina.
Girl: (Thinking) Fuck. Bad idea.
The waiter dashes across the room, hrm... perhaps he bounds? yes, bounds, across the room to greet the young woman.
Waiter: How many?
Girl: Just 1, thanks.
Waiter: Just 1? To eat here? Alone?
Girl: (Pause to consider potentially slowed mental processes). Yes.
The couple, a woman and man (clarification necessary for San Francisco) halt their conversation to simultaneously peruse her.
Woman: (Thinking) Oh my god, poor thing. I am so glad that's not me. I have a boyfriend.
Man: (Thinking) Me likey.
As the young woman is seated, the couple resume conversing while the waiter bumbling pulls away the second place setting on the young woman's table.
** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: this part is boring, SKIP -- fast forward **
The girl is nestled in comfortably to her impressively curved seat with a book and her bowl of noodles (so not a personal reference, why are you looking at me like that) and attempting, rather awkwardly, to prevent oil splatter on the pages of the book by cautiously holding her napkin in front of it. Proving too difficult a task for a young padawan of noodle eating, she proceeds to replace her napkin on her lap and indiscriminately splash the pages of a book given to her by *INSERT VERY IMPORTANT PERSON'S NAME IN YOUNG WOMAN'S LIFE & CAREER HERE*. (see? not a personal reference. I would never splash oil on pages of books. Author's Note: Dear Dave, sorry about your book).
The woman, rather conspicuously, reaches across the table for the man's hand and strokes his fingers.
Woman: (Loud Whisper) Do you think she feels bad eating alone?
Man: (Louder Whisper) I think she can hear us.
Woman: (Actual Whisper) No way!
The woman shoots a sidelong glance at the girl -- who is still indiscriminately splashing oil on pages and eating her noodles in an incredibly sloppy, unlady-like manner. (sooooooo not me.)
Woman: (Loudly) Sweetie, I have to run the errands, you've got the check, right?
Man: (Coughs on noodle) Uh, yeah, no problem. Oh yeah, make sure you get milk. And, ya know... ya know?
Woman: Of course, pumpkin!
The woman stands and, after readjusting the shirt (?) that seems to be melted onto her moderately endowed chest, bends in Betty Boop to style to place a theatrical kiss on the man's cheeks. (You go girlfriend, hell yeah, you got a man. You got a man and he's paying for you. Shiiiiittttt.)
Woman exits.
Waiter: Thank you, sir, how was the soup?
Man: Oh, it was great thanks. Oh, you can stop pouring her water, she left to run errands. Left me with the check again, heh heh! Looks like I'm paying.
(Author's Note: Gentlemen, when left alone in a restaurant with only a waiter and a stranger, best not to let that one slip out. You look like a d-o-u-c-h-e. Everyone can hear you, despite your attempts at making your voice loud and booming. Ohhhhh, it was intentional! Okay, wait, you just are a d-o-u-c-h-e, my bad. Save the kiddies! Don't use bad words! Spell them!)
Waiter: Ha ha, yes, I bring you check now. (In case you haven't noticed, we are in an Asian restaurant. Yes, we are. The noodles were a tip. Left by me, the author. Good tip, right?)
Man: By the way, what's your name?
The man extends his hand to shake the waiter's. They maintain the shake for a significant amount of time.
Waiter: Heem. H-e-e-m.
Man: Him?
Waiter: Heeeeeeeem. Two E.
Man: Oh, right, okay, Heem. Nice to meet you, I'm Ka-ho.
They are still holding hands.
Waiter: Kaaah, ho?
Girl: (Thinking) A-hole?
Man: Ka-ho, fast, short.
Waiter: Ah, keho.
Man: Uh, yeah, close enough. It's very nice to meet you!
Still holding.
Waiter: Yes, so nice to meet you too!
Girl: (Thinking) Swap numbers! Fall in love! Start a domestic partnership! Buy a dog that will end up homeless, or halved, when you break up!
The waiter finally drops the man's hand and bounds, (yes, just like Tigger) into the backroom to write down his numb-- I mean, complete the cash transaction. While the man is left alone in the room with the girl, he gives her a full assessment, and straightens his clothes in a (mildly) pathetic attempt to preen and puff out his extremely masculine pectorals. The girl, garnering his glances using the feminine wiles of reading her book intently and eating noodles like a blind dog with the flu, remains slyly "unaware" of his position.
He strides to the table.
Man: So... tell me, why's a pretty girl like you eating alone in a restaurant?
Girl: (Mouth filled with noodles) Arfunugenheim?
Man: I love a girl who talks dirty.
Girl: (Mouth still filled with noodles) Ruffenorgenabu?
Man: Perfect. My place is on the corner. Meet me there in 10 minutes.
The waiter re-enters, bill in hand -- duhhh, smiley faces next to phone numbers at the bottom of checks are just excellent customer service.
Waiter: (Batting eyelashes) Thank you, sir. I hope to see you again soon!
Man: Uh, of course, yes, thank you Him.
Waiter: (Shifts uncomfortably) Yes. Nice to meet you.
Man: Nice to meet you.
The man awkwardly bows, assuming that all Asian cultures must bow. He saw it on an episode of Mash. And in, like, The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise is God cause he went nuts on Oprah. No one does that to Oprah. Unless they like, know everything.
** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: I'm bored. And sleepy. End. Also, what the hell were you thinking when you wrote this. It blows. You are le suck at writing exercises! **
Provided for a single day's entertainment and procrastination of others. This message will be (vehemently) destructed in 24 hours, because as stated: it blows. Thank you. P.S. Happy Valentine's Day.
Exterior of San Francisco's Marina District. Scott Street on a characteristically warm Northern California winter evening as neighborhood shops are closing. Shopgirls peek out as they shut doors, local residents amble down the sidewalk with flushed cheeks in their gym clothes. We focus on a floor to ceiling glass front of a trendy backlit restaurant filled with white walls and only curved furniture. A young 20-something woman (perhaps ethnic? of moderate attractiveness? no, this is not a self-reference, what are you talking about) strolls through the door and enters the restaurant, finding only an over-eager waiter and a well-dressed couple of middle-upper class upbringing. Unless one was actually brought up in say I dunno, East Oakland. But let's be serious, it's the Marina, no one from East Oakland likes the Marina.
Girl: (Thinking) Fuck. Bad idea.
The waiter dashes across the room, hrm... perhaps he bounds? yes, bounds, across the room to greet the young woman.
Waiter: How many?
Girl: Just 1, thanks.
Waiter: Just 1? To eat here? Alone?
Girl: (Pause to consider potentially slowed mental processes). Yes.
The couple, a woman and man (clarification necessary for San Francisco) halt their conversation to simultaneously peruse her.
Woman: (Thinking) Oh my god, poor thing. I am so glad that's not me. I have a boyfriend.
Man: (Thinking) Me likey.
As the young woman is seated, the couple resume conversing while the waiter bumbling pulls away the second place setting on the young woman's table.
** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: this part is boring, SKIP -- fast forward **
The girl is nestled in comfortably to her impressively curved seat with a book and her bowl of noodles (so not a personal reference, why are you looking at me like that) and attempting, rather awkwardly, to prevent oil splatter on the pages of the book by cautiously holding her napkin in front of it. Proving too difficult a task for a young padawan of noodle eating, she proceeds to replace her napkin on her lap and indiscriminately splash the pages of a book given to her by *INSERT VERY IMPORTANT PERSON'S NAME IN YOUNG WOMAN'S LIFE & CAREER HERE*. (see? not a personal reference. I would never splash oil on pages of books. Author's Note: Dear Dave, sorry about your book).
The woman, rather conspicuously, reaches across the table for the man's hand and strokes his fingers.
Woman: (Loud Whisper) Do you think she feels bad eating alone?
Man: (Louder Whisper) I think she can hear us.
Woman: (Actual Whisper) No way!
The woman shoots a sidelong glance at the girl -- who is still indiscriminately splashing oil on pages and eating her noodles in an incredibly sloppy, unlady-like manner. (sooooooo not me.)
Woman: (Loudly) Sweetie, I have to run the errands, you've got the check, right?
Man: (Coughs on noodle) Uh, yeah, no problem. Oh yeah, make sure you get milk. And, ya know... ya know?
Woman: Of course, pumpkin!
The woman stands and, after readjusting the shirt (?) that seems to be melted onto her moderately endowed chest, bends in Betty Boop to style to place a theatrical kiss on the man's cheeks. (You go girlfriend, hell yeah, you got a man. You got a man and he's paying for you. Shiiiiittttt.)
Woman exits.
Waiter: Thank you, sir, how was the soup?
Man: Oh, it was great thanks. Oh, you can stop pouring her water, she left to run errands. Left me with the check again, heh heh! Looks like I'm paying.
(Author's Note: Gentlemen, when left alone in a restaurant with only a waiter and a stranger, best not to let that one slip out. You look like a d-o-u-c-h-e. Everyone can hear you, despite your attempts at making your voice loud and booming. Ohhhhh, it was intentional! Okay, wait, you just are a d-o-u-c-h-e, my bad. Save the kiddies! Don't use bad words! Spell them!)
Waiter: Ha ha, yes, I bring you check now. (In case you haven't noticed, we are in an Asian restaurant. Yes, we are. The noodles were a tip. Left by me, the author. Good tip, right?)
Man: By the way, what's your name?
The man extends his hand to shake the waiter's. They maintain the shake for a significant amount of time.
Waiter: Heem. H-e-e-m.
Man: Him?
Waiter: Heeeeeeeem. Two E.
Man: Oh, right, okay, Heem. Nice to meet you, I'm Ka-ho.
They are still holding hands.
Waiter: Kaaah, ho?
Girl: (Thinking) A-hole?
Man: Ka-ho, fast, short.
Waiter: Ah, keho.
Man: Uh, yeah, close enough. It's very nice to meet you!
Still holding.
Waiter: Yes, so nice to meet you too!
Girl: (Thinking) Swap numbers! Fall in love! Start a domestic partnership! Buy a dog that will end up homeless, or halved, when you break up!
The waiter finally drops the man's hand and bounds, (yes, just like Tigger) into the backroom to write down his numb-- I mean, complete the cash transaction. While the man is left alone in the room with the girl, he gives her a full assessment, and straightens his clothes in a (mildly) pathetic attempt to preen and puff out his extremely masculine pectorals. The girl, garnering his glances using the feminine wiles of reading her book intently and eating noodles like a blind dog with the flu, remains slyly "unaware" of his position.
He strides to the table.
Man: So... tell me, why's a pretty girl like you eating alone in a restaurant?
Girl: (Mouth filled with noodles) Arfunugenheim?
Man: I love a girl who talks dirty.
Girl: (Mouth still filled with noodles) Ruffenorgenabu?
Man: Perfect. My place is on the corner. Meet me there in 10 minutes.
The waiter re-enters, bill in hand -- duhhh, smiley faces next to phone numbers at the bottom of checks are just excellent customer service.
Waiter: (Batting eyelashes) Thank you, sir. I hope to see you again soon!
Man: Uh, of course, yes, thank you Him.
Waiter: (Shifts uncomfortably) Yes. Nice to meet you.
Man: Nice to meet you.
The man awkwardly bows, assuming that all Asian cultures must bow. He saw it on an episode of Mash. And in, like, The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise is God cause he went nuts on Oprah. No one does that to Oprah. Unless they like, know everything.
** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: I'm bored. And sleepy. End. Also, what the hell were you thinking when you wrote this. It blows. You are le suck at writing exercises! **
Provided for a single day's entertainment and procrastination of others. This message will be (vehemently) destructed in 24 hours, because as stated: it blows. Thank you. P.S. Happy Valentine's Day.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
New York is Calling My Name
Okay, realistically, New York is calling to every 20-something with a dream and Type A personality; but the last couple weeks have been torture when I think about how close I could have been to the catwalks in Bryant Park (darn you, logic and maturity). Alas, I could not gaze upon the beauty that was Valentino's goodbye line, or Marc Jacobs venture into pastels, or the new fun that is Bandleader inspired coats. Uh, did I just say that? Dear former band geeks: you are vindicated. Thanks to the glory of the internet I bring you some pieces that j'adore. And no, they ain't Dior.
(thank you refinery29.com for the pom-pom worthy sets of photos -- L2R: Temperley, Robert Geller and Rag & Bone.)
(thank you refinery29.com for the pom-pom worthy sets of photos -- L2R: Temperley, Robert Geller and Rag & Bone.)The Rag & Bone is my favorite. Contemporary, but the clean lines and simplicity of the jacket will help it last beyond the trends of Fall/Winter 08. At least for a little while. Also, Orange (pumpkin?) is back and ready to whip some hiney, and it's joined by Emerald and Muted Gold.
(L2R: 3.1 Phillip Lim, Karen Walker, Halston)
Talk about killer color combos. Methinks the millennial decade will be characterized by females rolling in old-school glamour considering how glittery and glowing color palettes are these days. One day, I will actually make money and have financial stability so I can buy pieces like this. Until then, nose to the grindstone writing ridiculously inane pieces for publications and dreams of the beauty and glory that is to come whence I arrive in NYC. Le Sigh.
(L2R: 3.1 Phillip Lim, Karen Walker, Halston)Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Thank G-d Someone Noticed
Pianists are getting way out of control with their onstage showboating. (cough, Lang Lang, cough) So, thankfully, someone started talking about it. I don't have much patience for it -- a reason I've never gone to see Lang Lang in concert, and why I will vouch for Yundi Li even though he's an @$$ offstage -- but it's nice to see that Bernard Holland at the nytimes took note. <3 nytimes, <3 Bernard Holland. Musicians these days are so talented, and they're discovering and making use of that talent earlier and earlier; but, zomg do some of them not understand stage presentation. I have the utmost respect for well nuanced pieces, but like Holland makes reference to -- how can you expect to create the type of nuance needed for difficult pieces if you're too busy doing the macarena on stage? And I say this having gone through an awkward phase of "stage movement" after a summer with a bad teacher, so this isn't some unfounded critique of the musicians. You might be able to fake it well enough through overly bravado-ed passages of Liszt or Brahms, but you won't get very far in with subtle phrasing and color playing Chopin's Nocturnes or Ravel's Jeux d'eau rolling around on your bench like a playful river otter.
Rant, rant, rant. Nostalgic/happy post to come later!
Rant, rant, rant. Nostalgic/happy post to come later!
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