i could go into a very long, very bloggy entry about my life. and why. and blah blah fucking blah blah.

 let’s talk about movies instead.

a list of movies i would like to see in the theater:

1) the darjeeling limited. i am a filthy whore for wes anderson. it is a little embarrassing.

2) francis ford coppola’s youth without youth. i just read the short story in the fall edition of Zoetrope and i can’t stop thinking about it. as with most translated literature (isn’t that such a pretentious way to begin a sentence. it made me think that i was writing this while smoking a long cigarette or some shit), things occasionally felt watered down. i should ask, does everyone feel that way about most translations? i’m rarely satisfied with a translation because few translators seem to be very vivid writers.

3) 3:10 to Yuma. westerns + christian bale = yes please

4) eastern promises. i like the cronenberg. i like the viggo. i think i like naomi watts.

5) lust, caution. i am tired of people saying that looks boring when i mention how excited i am to see it. listen, bitches, i wasn’t asking you to go.

6) i’m not there. I know i’m going to hate this. & that’s all right. But, once again, it’s Bob Dylan. And once again, Christian Bale? why not. & I like Cate Blanchett.

& that’s it. i don’t feel well. and i think it’s time for me to eat something else.

Sorry about not writing lately. I’ve been either a)busy trying to hire people at work b) too lonely to want to be interesting or funny or thoughtful c) tired and headachey

But, this morning as I woke up to Prince (oh, I wish it was the way it sounds, believe you me) I realized how much of his music and for that matter The Time’s music is based around non sequiturs.

So here’s my list (in no particular order):

1) D.M.S.R.

Out of nowhere, Prince yells “Jamie Starr’s a thief!” And it’s like What the fuck, Prince. You are Jamie Starr. It would’ve been more to the point to just yell, “Prince is crazy.”

2) Call My Name (Musicology)

Eye just can’t stop writing songs about U
Eye love U so much
Eye just can’t wait 2 get my arms around U
And feel Ur touch
If eye don’t c U real soon baby girl
Eye might go insane
Eye know it’s only been about 3 hours
But Eye love it when U call my name

Eye heard a voice on the news saying people want 2 stop the war
If they had a love as sweet as U they’d 4get what they were fighting 4
What’s the matter with the world 2day?
The land of the free? Somebody lied
They can bug my phone and people ’round my home
They’ll only c U and me making love inside
In the middle of a sexy, sexy slow jam. Prince decides to remind us that sex isn’t just about sex anymore. It’s also about being pissed about the Iraq war and being stalked by the government.

3) The Time – “Wild and Loose”

Ok, it might be a little too easy to pick at the time because Morris Day is the king of non sequiturs. But here’s an example:

Wild and loose – I can’t hear you singin’
Wild and loose – Help me out, help me out, hey
Wild and loose – Baby, I got plans for you
Wild and loose – Everybody get loose
Fellas? – Yeah?
Where the party at? – Right here under your shoes.
Fellas? – Yeah?
What time is it? – Time to get wild and loose.
What? – Time to get wild and loose.
Somebody bring me a mirror

And I mean, you could argue that with Morris Day, bringing a mirror is relevant at anytime. The man needs to know how he looks. But, once again. WHO ENDS A SONG ON THAT NOTE? Morris Day. That’s who.

4) The Time – “The Walk”

What started out as just your usual song about a dance (see The Macarena or the Hustle) becomes a series of surrealism:

I don’t think they heard ya.
What time is it? Rock City.
Well OK, if you put it that way.
Ain’t nobody bad. Cheerio.
We don’t like policemen.
We don’t like new wave.
We don’t like television.

And while, admittedly, the rest of the song doesn’t make much sense as it is (a series of conversations about women wearing tight enough clothes to look sexy while dancing, as well as a discussion as to how to do “the walk” which frankly, I have no idea how it would work. And my attempts at doing the walk have fallen into basically acting as if I were wearing a guitar and moving side to side. Sometimes I even hold up a mirror) where does this list of things the Time doesn’t like come in? “We don’t like new wave?” What the fuck, Morris?

5) Prince – “Bob George”

This is my personal favorite. Prince slows down his voice and becomes a crazy, hilarious, abusive man. And the ironic thing that while Prince pretending to shoot off a laser is still relevant, this bit of comedic gold isn’t:
B-O-B, spell the shit backwards, what’d it say
Same motherfuckin’ shit

Now, I am a college educated person. I think I’m too smart now to find MadTV funny. You know, I don’t even find Adam Sandler that funny anymore. But whenever I hear this, say this, or hear someone else say this: I DIE. I cannot stop laughing. Every time I even look at the screen and see those lyrics right now, I start snickering.

6) Prince- “Sister”  (Dirty Mind)

I find this lyric really disturbing and also, once again, hilarious:

A blow job doesn’t mean blow
Incest is everything it’s said to be
Oh, sister
Don’t put me on the street again
Oh, sister
I just want to be your friend
I was only 16 and only half a man
My sister didn’t give a goddamn
She only wanted to turn me out
She [took a whip to] me until I shout
“Oh, [motherfuckersjustamotherfucker]
Can’t you understand?”
Oh, sister
Don’t put me on the street again

Now,  the first time I heard this, I thought he meant his sister was shouting, “Motherfuckers just a motherfucker.” And I took that to mean, she found out Prince was sleeping with his mom, she got jealous, and threw him out. And then I listened again and thought, Oh wait, they’re having kinky sex. And Prince is yelling out a non sequitur. But wait… what really gets me is the “Can’t you understand?” Is Prince breaking the fourth wall here and questioning me about the lyrics? Or is he asking me my thoughts on incest?

7) Prince & the Revolution- “Darling Nikki”  (Purple Rain)

Why did Prince feel the need to reverse these lyrics and stick them at the back end of “Darling Nikki”?

Hello, how r u? Im fine. cause I know
That the lord is coming soon, coming, coming soon.

The only thing I can still get from that is either a) Prince from the future visited dirty, sexxxxxxxxxy Prince and told him, you are one of the 144,000 to be saved or b) he knew Tipper Gore would hear this shit. And he was hoping that she would only remember the subliminal message. Not his dirty lyrics about masturbation and hotel hookup sex.

In honor of Zach’s creative capabilities, the fact that he’s moving away in four days, and the fact that I’ve been totally swamped at work (I KNOW), here is a youtube poop featuring the music of George Michael, the acting of um, Mario:

PS. Dinosaurs rule.

PPS. Also, about that Persepolis clip I posted yesterday.  I didn’t watch it with sound until today. Now I’m a little embarrassed. But the animation is cool, right? huh? Huh?

Things on my mind, I noticed that I unconsciously ripped off The Hater when I wrote the title Further Adventures In… it’s disappointing because Further Adventures In sounds a lot like the beginning of a trashy comic book. Boo.  No more internet adventures at all. Especially because I’m a little down on the Hater choosing such easy subjects to hate: Maxim, etc. Anyone can hate on Maxim. Shit, I could write a novel about how much I hate Detail magazine (which I refer to as Asshole Magazine). Whatever. I read her hate so that I can feel free to not hate another day.

So, let’s talk about something more upbeat. Does it make me too much of a stereotypical hipster to be really really really excited about the new Wes Anderson movie? I know a lot of people didn’t like the Life Aquatic, but a) Harold from Harold and Maude was in it (although shockingly old and unrecognizable) and b) I liked every scene that took place inside the ocean. There’s my defense and I’m sticking to it. The nice thing about watching a Wes Anderson movie is that even though occasionally awful or annoying things happen in them, for two hours the viewer is stuck in a world where everything is still a sweet, smooth candy color.

Here’s the Darjeeling Limited Trailer:

But on the less Hipster-Hipster side, I’m also really excited to see Persepolis too:

Although, I’m a little annoyed that they can’t just release it with subtitles instead of dubbing Iggy Pop into it.

There was once a time where I wrote music reviews, essays, and occasional snarky commentary for a little known webzine. No, that link isn’t a coy, smug link to Pitchfork or (woof) Stylus. It’s the Modern Pea Pod which has probably been converted to a travelog or some shit. But anyway, just because I don’t write music criticism daily or even talk about music daily doesn’t mean that I don’t care about it anymore. So, let’s talk music.

When I first started writing any criticism, I came up with a list of standards to follow for each review.

• I wouldn’t try to pander to hipster audiences. If Roy Orbison is uncool to most people, he’s uncool to most people. Whatevs.
• I would write clearly. Most online music magazines pander towards an intellectualization of all alternative/indie music. “Rock” seems to have become a synonym for “Stupid”. And that’s obviously not true. There’s no need to try to insert postmodern theory into commercial music.
• I would come into all reviews searching for the best and the worst. There is nothing worse than reading a review where the consensus is simply: meh.
• I would not write all in one big paragraph because writing all in one big paragraph makes you look like a fucktard. God damn it, even Proust knew the value of a good paragraph break.
• I would never write a sentence such as this: This record sounds like Billie Holiday meets space aliens meets Suicide!

I would say that the one and a half year spent music writing was thought-provoking, stressful, and it made me discover a lot of bands which I wouldn’t have normally encountered. Including The Brunettes. They’re now on Sub Pop and because we used to have a close working relationship with Sub Pop (I think the only absolutely negative review we ever gave to Sub Pop was with their Rosie Thomas CD. I fucking hated it. And I may have spewed vitirolic prose all over the internet describing all of the hate that simmered inside me while listening to that record), I still get press releases from them.

This week’s brought out the new single by those aforementioned Brunettes. It’s streaming here, if you want a listen. I don’t know what I think. I like Heather Mansfield’s voice a lot, especially when she sings more on the Girl Group side than her more precious twee type songs. But there’s something about “Small Town Crew” which feels a little Lisa Loebish to me. I think it might be the production. I’m not sure. I just listen to it and start picturing a woman with huge glasses in my mind. That’s never happened with a Brunettes song before.

I think it’s entirely obvious that this is supposed to be Barack Obama. I like Barack Obama a lot. I have mixed opinions about the presidential candidates–and while I’ll probably have to research a ton of platforms before choosing who I’d most like to see in office– I find him really inspiring. At the same time,  this strip proves everything that’s wrong with the Brenda Starr comics. Everything. First of all, The illustrations are desperate to prove that there this comic strip has some foothold in reality. But, the dialogue of the strip entirely begs to differ. Why would these reporters be on this rich bitch cruise ship if they weren’t reporting or gathering information in any way? And if Scruffy McScrufferson was actually running for president, why would Barack Obama be on his ship? I’m asking this because I refuse to live in a world where a Homeless Man can be thought of as a plausible presidential candidate over a man who said this at the 2004 Democratic National Convention: “No, people don’t expect government to solve all their problems. But they sense, deep in their bones, that with just a slight change in priorities, we can make sure that every child in America has a decent shot at life, and that the doors of opportunity remain open to all. They know we can do better. And they want that choice.” Also, I doubt Scruffy is for National Health Care.

Anyway, Brenda, (because I refuse to believe that a real person writes this strip) I give this strip a D- for name dropping, self-involvement, and shoddy drawing. Yes, I can tell that it’s Barack Obama, but somehow the illustrator confused cheekbones with jowls.

I don’t really feel like writing much today. But, I was thinking about how awesome Legos are.

evidence a) that tired old white stripes video that every hipster hip kid has seen three billion times:

evidence b) how even a grainy youtube video can be interesting when it features stopmotion legos (and a reminder that the Thriller video was kinda boring as shit:

evidence c) The existence of Lego Star Wars 

evidence d) I really really really want to go to LegoLand and ride a dragon. It would also be awesome if I learned how to shred on a guitar, so I could do a wicked solo while riding it.

And that’s it. I’ll try for something deeper tomorrow.

I’ve been hearing a lot about St. Vincent lately. All of the reviews mention (or as I like to mutter, “unimaginatively cribbed from the press releases“) that she’s a former something-something to the Polyphonic Spree and she’s shown up on Sufjan Stevens shit and blah blah blah, she’s cutting loose. Well, good for her. But, why doesn’t anyone ever mention how obviously she’s influenced by Prince:

And while it may be argued that there are probably several albums out there where the musician looks as if they were unhappily taking a school picture (although in Prince’s case, he’s probably unhappy that he forgot to wear his shirt on picture day), there are some mutual qualities which can’t be denied

• the hair: While Prince’s hair appears to have been a little more moussed and gelled out, critics must remember that it was 1979. If you didn’t have big hair, there was no way in hell that you’d make it through the 80’s.
• the expression: I will admit that Prince looks a little pissy. But I think it’s because he suddenly realized how awful his mustache is.
• the title: if St. Vincent had named her album St. Vincent, it would’ve been perfect.

The point: I can’t wait to hear St. Vincent’s covers of “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” and “D.M.S.R.”.

This show is the stupidest, stupid, stupid, stupid show ever. It’s also the funniest show on TV. The characters are blatantly overwritten with lines such as “vanished into the ether”, “how could this be?” and from the episode I’m currently cackling over: “rock the stadium of her heart”. Jesus. And if I was Jonathan Safran Foer, I would be fucking pissed that this character’s book looks like a combination of Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

This has lead me to a new goal. Once the new season starts, I’m going to recap the three to twenty million lines which made me cackle the most in all of their overwritten glory. I might also point out that this is the fugliest cast of a major network show ever. Although I am suspicious that by the time that ratings go down (which if we’re still operating under the assumption that the old testament god still exists, they will go down. And hopefully Bryan Greenberg will be turned into a pillar of salt for being on this show), many of the fuglier cast members will have been sent packing for younger, hotter replacements.

This guy looks like a homeless man who was hit in the face with a baseball bat on several occasions:

I’m pretty sure he’ll be the first to go.

As I was walking to work this morning, I heard a bunch of men yelling, “Hey, you faggot. Hey.” So, I turned to look as a bunch of frat boys stopped their car to harass their jogging friend. When I first heard everyone  yelling, I know I had an “oh-shit” look on my face. I’m jumpy in the mornings. And apparently very nervous about hate crimes at that time too. Now, if this was a livejournal, I would then settle into a long, lengthy berate about the every day use of offensive words and blah blah blah what every literate liberal would say earnestly in Ann Arbor. But let’s get down to the point, isn’t it really weird that words like “queerbait” have been transformed by frat boys into the new “bro”?

Anyway, as I turned away from their uncomfortable conversation, something caught my eye:

Someone in one of their apartments had a life-size cut out of the Burger King pasted to the window. I might have jumped a little bit. If it’d been night-time, I probably would’ve run away.  But wouldn’t you if you’d unexpectedly seen that face? All morning, I’ve been thinking about how AWFUL (i think this awful totally deserves caps), surreal, and grotesque fast food icons are. Like look at Ronald McDonald:

I don’t think anyone is surprised at how horrified that kid’s face is.