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Tuesday , February 24, 2009
nogoodforme Superlatives: Best Best Pictures
LAURA JANE IS GRUMPY; AMADEUS IS PRETTY GOOD, SHE GUESSES
I am in no way a cinemaphile. Actually, I am a cinema-philistine, which always surprises people, since my taste in other things can be kind of refined sometimes. But, when it comes to the silver screen, I like stoner movies and romantic comedies and kids movies and Beatles movies- definitely nothing French or smart. Amadeus, Dog Day Afternoon and Papillon are some of the only "good" movies that I genuinely love. Of these movies, Amadeus is the only one that won an Oscar for Best Picture. It is also the only Best Picture (besides Gigi, Rain Man and West Side Story) that I like at all. I even thought Oliver! sucked, which is weird, since I usually love orphans.
It is apt that I am writing about Amadeus today because Amadeus is the story of how Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart died a penniless failure, just like Van Gogh and all those other poor people who lived miserable lives and attained fame and notoriety posthumously. It is apt because I am presently terrified that I am going to die a penniless failure with an annoying laugh, just like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I hate my job and don't understand why I can't do whatever I want whenever I want. I feel misunderstood. I am paranoid that everybody in my life is a snot-nosed Salieri and are collectively scheming to ensure my demise. I also really hate my job. This is not a very good review of Amadeus. It is mostly just me talking about how much I hate my job. I'm sorry, Amadeus. Amadeus is a great film and deserves better. I wish Smiley Face had won Best Picture. (LJ)
Because Amadeus is not exactly the type of film whose brilliance could best be expressed via a Youtube clip, here is the music video for "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco (which, for the record, is NOTHING compared to "Puttin' on the Ritz" by Taco):
And, as a bonus treat, here is a semi-funny video of two brothers spoiling the ending of every Best Picture winner in Oscar history (WARNING! CONTAINS SPOILERS!):
TITANIC + THE SOUND OF MUSIC + ANNIE HALL (AN EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT DUDES SOME STUFF I REALLY HATE)
First off, isn't it weird how American Beauty actually isn't very awesome after all? When it came out I saw it like 85 times in the theater, and then a couple Octobers ago I was watching it in a hotel room in Denver and realized, "Wow, a lot of this movie is really boring and annoying." The whole thing should just be the dinner-table scenes and Kevin Spacey getting stoned in his car. Then it would be my favorite film of all time.
Anyway, these are my three most adored Best Pictures:
1. TITANIC. One of the things I hate most in the world is when people are all attitudey about Titanic. If I've ever told you, "I love Titanic!" and you replied, "Eww, really?", rest assured I've never forgotten it and will probably hold it against you forever. (Soooooorry!) If you legitimately hate this movie and can't find anything to enjoy about it, I guess I can kinda deal. But if you hated it before you saw it, or you hate it even though you've never seen it, or you hate it because it made 80 gazillion trillion dollars at the box office and was in the theater for like nine years, then that's just unforgivably lame.
Also, one of my favorite impressions to do is Kate Winslet calling out to the lifeboats in her creeky frozen voice. It's so good.
2. THE SOUND OF MUSIC. Another thing I hate is when people ask me to explain why The Sound of Music is my favorite movie ever made. It's like asking, "Why do you love Christmas, or sunshine, or homemade strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream, made-from-scratch biscuits, and farm-fresh strawberries?" I LOVE IT BECAUSE I LOVE LOVE. And the part when the nuns fuck up the Nazis' car? Gives me the chills, everytime. I just got the chills typing those two sentences, even.
3. ANNIE HALL. A couple years ago there was this Monday morning when I'd just had a really killer first date with the smokingest-hottest surfer guy the night before, and instead of working I chose to bask in post-date awesomeness by eating strawberry pancakes in bed while watching Annie Hall. Then later in the day I went to pre-shark-jumping Downbeat Cafe and ate the best peanut butter cookie, and it was TRANSPLENDENT. By the way, Annie Hall is so not my favorite Woody Allen movie: That's either Hannah and Her Sisters or Manhattan. (Liz)
NOGOODFORME'S RESIDENT CINEPHILE/BRINGER OF DARKNESS LOVES "IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT," ACTUALLY
I love movies, dudes. It's what I do for a living and with the vast majority of my time, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I honestly like everything, from the cheesiest romantic comedy to the most austere, intellectual French movie ever to the scrappiest, most awesome Slavic gangster comedy. (Such a movie does exist, and it's called Black Cat, White Cat, directed by the awesome Emir Kusturica.) Maybe you'd expect me to pick one of the more artier Best Pictures as my Best Best Picture, and I'm actually sorely tempted to pick The Silence of the Lambs because I do think it's a great piece of filmmaking and utterly riveting every time I see it, and it's kind of the most perverse thing to pick. But actually, out of that great, vast list of Best Pictures, the film I have the most affection for is the 1934 screwball comedy It Happened One Night, directed by Frank Capra and starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. These days romantic comedies are, for the most part, sexist, classist pieces of cinematic excrement with no soul or genuine wit, but in the 1930s they were often great, full of beautiful clothes, dashing dudes, rat-a-tat dialogue and spirited heroines who had other things going on inside of them besides a desperate desire to be in a relationship. I saw It Happened One Night when I was six on a day I was home sick from school, and it totally charmed and entertained me. I've seen about a million movies in my life since then (including most of the Best Picture winners, actually) but I always go back to It Happened One Night for its knowing yet innocent charm. (And just for the record, I was also thinking of picking Annie Hall, The Deer Hunter or Midnight Cowboy because I effin' love those films pieces to pieces, but when else am I going to be able to write about 1930s screwball comedies except in class? And I also think most of the Best Pictures since the 1990s are travesties. Who the hell watches Braveheart anymore? Gag!) (Kat)
Tags: cinema-philistinism, hate, job hatred, Kate Winslet, Laura loves The Beatles, love, Oscars, penniless failures, Smiley Face, strawberries, surfers, The Sound of Music, transplendence, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Woody Allen
Tuesday , February 10, 2009
nogoodforme Superlatives: Most Epic Bromances Ever
JOHN WINSTON ONO LENNON & SIR JAMES PAUL MCCARTNEY'S "ANTI-BROMANCE" BROMANCE: SOME SERIOUSLY SERIOUS BEATLES-DRAMZ PSYCHOANALYSIS FROM LAURA JANE
Like many women, I get along better with dudes than I do with girls/chicks/babes/broads/dolls. This is because dudes are chill. Don't get me wrong- dudes are mad flawed, and I often hate them, but they generally shun cattiness, dramz, resentment, competition, and other such negativity (which rules). I have observed many a bromance in my time, and they're always so sweet! Bromances remind me of the lyric "I wanna play cricket on the green/Ride my bike across the street/Cut myself and see my blood/I wanna come home all covered in mud" from "I'm A Boy" by The Who- when two cute dudes who love each other unite, they turn into scrappy, impish lil' men-children, like a double dose of Dennis the Menace, only with beer.
The legendary and complex Lennon/McCartney bromance is exciting to me because it was SO not like that. Obvsduh John & Paul loved each other madly, but, as bros' respective egos quadrupled in size and the Beatles were forced to spend appalling amounts of time together, their bromance rotted and soured, ultimately becoming what will heretofore be known as "The Anti-Bromance Bromance".
(I was going to preface all this by stating that I could devote my entire life to psychoanalyzing John Lennon & Paul McCartney's relationship, then realized that I actually have and am. This shit is merely the tip of the LJ ON JL & PMcC iceberg.)
I often wonder how much of my schtick has been crafted in subconscious mimicry of John's; similarly, I wonder if Paul McCartney ended up the way he did (I would mostly characterize '67-'70-era Paul as a man obsessed with being objectively right, whereas JL was more into being objectively wrong and owning it) because of an intrinsic urge to oppose John's brash, aggressive and antagonistic take on pretty much everything.
I relate to John Lennon a lot. He is my Yang, and Paul is my Yin (hence the underlying meaning of my Lennon/McCartney tattoos). Not that I know John Lennon personally (I'm sure I would if he were alive, though), but I feel our most fundamental similarity is that we are both people who our friends need to talk to their therapists about. Because I totally get why my own actions irritate/confuse the Helter Skelter out of my inner circle, I'm pretty highly attuned to how annoying late-sixties John must have been to poor Macca. From Paul's perspective, JOHN GOT WEIRD. But, from John's perspective, PAUL GOT LAME. Each argument is equally valid.
Both of them are right; both of them are wrong. John's weird; Paul's lame. John was a genius and a great songwriter; surprise surprise- so was Paul! When it comes to rocky relationships, equality is the gateway to toxicity. It's no wonder J&P were total bitches to each other. Can you imagine how damaging it would be to write "Strawberry Fields Forever", then only be allowed to feel good about it for, like, ten seconds because you were one-upped by HEY FREAKING JUDE? Ouch. Just as I am Laura Jane: The Dude of Chicks, John and Paul's intense/fractured/intensely fractured relationship was the Girl-Dramz Shitfest of Bromances. Don't worry, lads- I'll never get over it either!
PS: This entry is dedicated to Jackson McIntosh and Trevor Stark, two really fantaberrific dudes whose nontoxic, "I'm A Boy"-style bromance is one of the cutest I've ever encountered. I miss observing it on a semi-regular basis: one day, Boys, one day! (LJ)
NATE ARCHIBALD + CHUCK BASS, "GOSSIP GIRL"
I will do my best not to spoil those who haven't caught up with this season of "Gossip Girl" by writing anything specific in white so you can't read it. But it must be said: WTF is going on with this season of GG? I know GG is a soap opera at its core, but the whiplash, slapdash, utterly pointless storylines have got to go -- it's like GG is suffering from narrative ADD or something. There are some cool stories going on that are always enjoyable to see (Chuck-and-Blair, Blair-and-Chuck, and of course, the upped Dorota factor.) But one severely lamentable thing is the lack of the Nate Archibald/Chuck Bass bromance. (As well as more Dan/Serena action -- please, spare us any more of this pointless relationship!) I think it's always fascinating to watch the very beginning of television series, just to see what the creators' original intent for characters and storylines were -- there's always a bit of a warm-up feeling before the writers and producers realize what kind of actors they have and what they're capable of. In the case of one Chuck Bass, who originally was an irredeemable villain of sorts, they probably thought, "Holy hell, this actor's pretty good!" (Well, outside of the constant tripping during his season 2 breakdown after his dad died. Most drunk people I know just stay tripped, you know?) And of course, the one thing that redeemed Chuck Bass at the very beginning was his unquestioned loyalty and love for his best friend, the good-looking but perpetually vaguely confused Nate Archibald -- the only times C.Bass revealed his rare humanity were the times he bailed out his dude-in-distress. You can imagine these two sharing both doobies and hair products -- if that's not bromantic, I have no idea what is. And aren't they just so pretty together? It's kind of insane. Writing up my portion of Superlative this week was worth it just to be able to post this picture. (Kat)
FLEA & ANTHONY: THE PIGGYBACK CHAMPIONS OF L.A. COUNTY
When I was 13 or 14 and first started getting heavy into my Chili Peppers obsession, there was a moment when I was sure they had to all be secret boyfriends or something - no other boys in the world ever exhibited such unabashed bro-on-bro love, forever kissin' on each other, sometimes with tongue. It was real eye-opening to realize they truly were/are just hyperaffectionate besties, but there's some disappointment lingering from the discovery that not all grown dudes go around giving each other piggyback rides while wearing weird clothes and listening to Bad Brains and/or Fela Kuti all the livelong day. Oh wellskis; it's still fun to watch Flea and Anthony in cute little videos like this one from 23 years ago - the insane hats and hand-on-the-thigh thing just kill me everytime. Happy Heart Day, buddies! I hope you're together surfing and/or eating RFD takeout and/or giving each other piggyback rides all over Malibu right this very second. (Liz)
Tags: bromances, dudes, dudes are chill, dudes are hot, egomania, Flea, John Lennon, L.A. rules, Laura loves The Beatles, Paul McCartney, piggyback rides, psychoanalysis, Red Hot Chili Peppers, superlatives, The Who, Valentine's Day
Tuesday , January 27, 2009
nogoodforme Superlatives: Dream Musical Collaborations
BLASPHEMOUS RUMOURS, THE MUSICAL: FEATURING THE MUSIC OF DEPECHE MODE
If anyone has been privileged (or cursed) enough to have conversations about music with me on a regular basis, they'll probably have heard me advocate a Depeche Mode musical at least once. The idea is rather hilarious at first glance, but actually it's so genius that I'm surprised some asshole Broadway producer hasn't thought of it earlier: DM are bombastic, grandiose and infinitely melodic, and their songs have an innate sense of narrative and character that would make adapting their oeuvre into a Broadway musical so frickin' easy. It's so utterly logical that it kills me! My take would be to call the thing "Blasphemous Rumours," it would star the kid who played Silas in "Weeds" and completely bowled everyone when he starred in "Spring Awakening," and the big moment where everyone sings along at the end in a big old kumbaya of a song-and-dance would be to "Never Let Me Down Again" and the whole cast would pile into a car and drive off into the sunset to the big city. That's all I have so far, but I can tell you that it's already beyond awesome. (Kat)
THE ARCHIES: THE 2009 EDITION
There are not enough fake bands in 2009, and this is not okay. I am so over real bands; they're chock-full of unlovable, egotistical jerkoffs, and seem more focused on perpetuating the flawed myth of the artistic temperament than writing songs as good as "Sugar, Sugar" by The Archies. Which brings me to the crux of my argument: The Archies are the greatest fake band of all time. They fake-wrote the best fake songs, and looked fake-great doing it. Since no fake band could ever surpass the fake brilliance of The Archies, we might as well just consider all bets off and reform The Archies! They, I mean, we, can be called The Archies: The 2009 Edition. Because I moonlight as Simon Fuller and/or Cowell, I have taken the liberty of casting an updated Archies lineup that I feel does justice to The Archies' storied and portentous legacy.
Starring THE DUDE FROM FRANZ FERDINAND as ARCHIE ANDREWS: I don't really know why I picked him. It just seems like (with the help of a little ginger hair-dye) he could be a proper Archie. Plus, he's a charismatic frontman, and I want The Archies: The 2009 Edition to be ace, because a) it's a killer concept and b) I'm in The Archies: The 2009 Edition, and I want to get really famous.
Starring MATTHEW FRIEDBERGER as REGGIE MANTLE: Unlike Reggie Mantle, Matthew Friedberger is neither moderately sociopathic nor problematically obsessed with capital acquisition. Matthew Friedberger is, however, a gifted songwriter- but that ain't really gonna fly in this context, since The Archies: The 2009 Edition's entire recorded output will consist of note-for-note covers of original Archies songs. Nevertheless, Matthew Friedberger does have brown hair, making him an ideal candidate to take over Reggie's fake bass-playing duties.
Starring MARY TIMONY as BETTY COOPER: Betty Cooper sucks. She is an entirely inadequate female role model; excepting the fact that her character is an accomplished auto mechanic, Betty exemplifies the mid-20th-century archetype of Happy Housewife (or, Happy Housewife: The Teenage Edition) Betty is a total pushover for Archie, always there to fix up his stupid jalopy so he can take Veronica out on a hot date. Mary Timony is nothing like Betty Cooper, but she is a female vocalist who I like and would be honored to back-up vox-collabo with in The Archies: The 2009 Edition. And, if it so happens that history repeats itself and Franz Ferdinand Dude falls in love with both of us, she can have him; he's not my type. No girl-dramz here!
Starring LAURA JANE FAULDS as VERONICA LODGE: Sure, my hair may be blonde right now, but that doesn't mean I'm not still a brunette. Actually, I am more than just a brunette, I am An Ultimate Brunette. Veronica Lodge, howevs, is The Ultimate Brunette. Maybe once I become the Veronica Lodge of The Archies: The 2009 Edition, then 'llI be The Ultimate Brunette!
Starring JUSTINE FRISCHMANN as JUGHEAD JONES: Jughead is The Archies' drummer, and Justine Frischmann is not a drummer. But that's okay! Justine Frischmann is the ideal neo-Jughead because she is lanky, black-haired, and regularly consumes twenty-five Pop Tate's cheeseburgers in one sitting. Plus, there is already an Archies song called "Justine", so that's really convenient. Franz Ferdinand Dude can serenade her onstage!
In the oh-so-succinct words of our predecessors: Bang Shang A Lang, Bang Bang! (LJ)
BIRDS OF A FEATHER: MARY TIMONY & JOHN FRUSCIANTE
For a long time I was really stoked on the idea of Mary Timony joining forces with John Frusciante - not just to make a song or record or rock opera, but maybe to fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. "Think what weird babies they'd have!" I'd exclaim to anyone who might halfway give a damn. But the dream eventually faded, which might've had something to do with my finally meeting John Frusciante and finding out he's so not nice enough for our Mary (who's never been anything but sweet as pie every time I've fawned all over her at a merch table post-show). Nonetheless, I'll allow that maybe Old John was just in a cranky-pants mood that day and he's actually quite worthy of the Timonyster's charms. And if we ever happen to all be at the same Fugazi Fan Club ice cream social some night, I'll be sure to introduce them to each other and say something like, "You're both totally nutso for Joy Division!" so they'll have something to awkwardly chat about before I slyly slink away and help myself to more Heavenly Hash.
Anyway, if those two weirdos every made a song or record or rock opera together, I'm certain it'd be the most soul-ruling thing I'd ever heard in my life, and I'd go so crazy for it I'd probably end up absentmindedly driving my car off the PCH and into the beautiful briny sea, which would only make it sound even more epic. They're my number-one guitar gods of all time, and right now I'm kinda relieved that my lack of knowledge of Mary Timony's birthday is keeping me from devoting way too much of my precious time today to figuring out their astrological compatibility (both onstage and beyond). (Liz)
Tags: cheeseburgers, fake bands, Franz Ferdinand Dude, guitar gods, Heavenly Hash, ice cream socials, John Frusciante, Justine Frischmann, Laura Jane Faulds, Mary Timony, Matthew Friedberger, sociopathy, The Archies, ultimate brunette-dom, Veronica Lodge
Tuesday , January 13, 2009
nogoodforme Superlatives: Stuff We're Most Psyched About For 2009
PJ HARVEY & JOHN PARISH DO NOT SIT IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G -- BUT THEY MAKE AWESOME RECORDS TOGETHER
A good while ago, PJ Harvey put out a sort of quasi side-project record with her mentor and friend John Parish called Dance Hall at Louse Point. It was hot on the heels of her masterwork To Bring You My Love, and it couldn't have been more different. That's kind of when I realized that she was a true artist and a real bona-fide genius, because she was willing to throw off the things that brought her such acclaim and really challenge herself and her audience. Now it's thirteen years later, and Harvey/Parish are putting out a new record, A Woman A Man Walked By, on March 30, 2009. (Don't you love that title? Isn't it mysterious and alluring?) I'm sure it will be awesome and slightly weird and a bit difficult and sometimes even super-rollicking, since it promises to be more rocking guitar-based stuff, in stark contrast to the piano-based ghost ballads of White Chalk. Finally there is something right in the world.
And in non-music news, I am also looking forward to screening my non-thesis short here in NYC in May 2009. Of course, you are all invited and I'm sure someone will make me tell you all the details when the time is right. But, yes, if you are in NYC in late April/early May, you should totally come and I will buy you a cookie. (Kat)
2009 IS THE NEW 2004, ONLY 8 MILLION TIMES MORE AWESOME
2004 was a beast of a year, quite possibly the beastliest in all my life. But musically it kind of ruled: John Frusciante (aka My Favorite Human Who Doesn't Like Me) and Courtney Love (aka My Favorite Human Whom No One Else Likes) both put out records in the first two months of '04, and Auf Der Maur (aka The Band I'd Most Likely Be If I Were Band Instead Of A Girl) had an album come out sometime in the summer. And guess what's happening in '09? J.F. and C.L. are putting out new records this month and next, and Auf Der Maur's due to give us something hot and gorgeous a few months down the road. It'll be like 2004 all over again, only without all the rotten lousy wickedness (please!). Here's how I predict it'll all go down:
+ JOHN FRUSCIANTE'S THE EMPYREAN comes out on January 27, lays claim to my soul, and then all I ever wanna talk or think about is John Frusciante and his "awesome mind puzzles" (TM George Michael Bluth) but no one UNDERSTANDS. So now suddenly I'm an angsty 16-year-old all over again, and it's sort of maddening but at the same time so good to reclaim my charmedly wacky youth. Oh, dear horrible John: You make worm's meat of me.
+ It's due to come out February 9 but COURTNEY LOVE'S NOBODY'S DAUGHTER doesn't have an Amazon page yet, which makes me slightly nervous and also hinders my psychic powers. So let me just say that CLove's first solo record (America's Sweetheart) certainly makes my top 20 albums of this crazy decade of ours - it's a mess but a gem of a mess, or a mess of a gem, or whatever in god's name you damn well feel like calling it. Just don't call it late to dinner!
+ As of now there's no release date set for AUF DER MAUR'S OUT OF OUR MINDS, which is also nervous-making, but I'm trying not to fret about things beyond my control in the new year. It's pretty likely that I'll almost-love about half the album, halfheartedly listen to the rest, and think many more thoughts about horses and heavy metal than I usually do for at least three weeks after the record drops. Mostly I hope Miss Melissa plays some shows in support of the album; her gig at Spaceland after Auf Der Maur's release was a magical beam of pixie-dusty light in the Dark Depths of Dreary 2004.
Oh, and I'm also so much looking forward to the movie of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. That one totally made me cry in the middle of a coffee shop and I couldn't even help myself. (Liz)
Wednesday , January 7, 2009
nogoodforme Superlatives: New Year's Resolutions
CAR-SURF MORE, SELF-GOVERN LESS
"Surfin' USA" revealed itself as my 2009 theme song at around 10:30 Pacific Standard Time last Friday night; it popped up on my iPod shuffle right as I was deplaning my JetBlue flight back to Cali, and I decided then and there that this would be the year I'd start car-surfing like Stiles in Teen Wolf. METAPHORICALLY, of course: In reality I don't actually have a car right now, and I'd way rather learn to surf on a surfboard in the ocean (which was my number-one goal for 2008, but that didn't happen, so it's at the top of the to-do list again for '09).
To elaborate: metaphorically car-surfing like Stiles in Teen Wolf (i.e., fully engaging in joyful craziness) is probably the most appropes way to counteract my possibly soul-killing tendency to incessantly make up weird rules for how I conduct myself, this stupidly rigid self-governance that dictates how I set every scene not just in LIFE and LOVE and other heavy stuff, but also bears down on all the little tiny details as well. Like, for instance, I'll no longer force myself to listen to "Tumbling Dice" by the Rolling Stones in its entirety when it comes up on my iPod just because it seems like the ideal soundtrack for riding up the 105 on the way home from the airport the day after New Year's. Listening to a song just because you feel like you should is SO DUMB. In fact, doing anything just because you feel like you should is so dumb! It's way better to do stuff because you want to do it, and because you trust yourself enough to know that - if it feels good in the first place - it's probably going to be awesome.
So: death to contrived living in 2009! More gut and instinct, less weirdo obsesso calculation. More car-surfing, less self-governance. And then someday when I look back on '09 I'll totally say, "It was the year I decided to be free of all rules!" sort of like Billy Crudup's girlfriend in Almost Famous and then I'll say "IT'S ALL HAPPENING!" exactly like Rodney Bingenheimer in real life. (Liz)
THE ZEN OF DITA VON TEESE
It's somehow indicative of a certain strain of masochism in Western societies that someone decided to put New Year's Day in the middle of winter and impose this weird tradition of making "resolutions" during the darkest, coldest weeks of the year. You'd think that as NGFM's resident Bringer of Darkness I'd be cackling with amusement -- but I'm also a practical Midwesterner at heart and therefore think that whoever did this was just plain stupid and/or mean. It makes no sense -- you're practically doomed to fail, especially if your resolutions involve anything to do with smoking, losing weight or any of the other puritanical business that people try to get up to. You start out all optimistic and energetic about your self-renewal, but then the cold, dark winter gets to you and of course you're going to eat heavy, fried, utterly comforting food and of course you're going to drink and smoke and of course you're going to spend more money than you want -- what else are you going to do? It's still the middle of winter, it's dark and cold, and you're probably broke and slightly depressed! So by the time spring rolls around (an infinitely more energetic time of year when you should be feeling all happy and ready to tackle anything), there are little chinks of doubt in your firmament of self-esteem -- all because some cabal of nasty, sadistic old Roman dudes decided to make New Year's on January 1 a long time ago.
This is not a personal apologia, by the way -- I've got a will of iron and steely fortitude, and when I declare something, it generally fucking happens, even if I have to kill myself to do it. The trick is to declare the right thing, to think about what you're really after and be a little wise and strategic about it. I'm not anti-resolution, exactly. (I'm New Age-y enough to love Oprah, for Chrissakes.) I think the problem with most "resolutions" is that people approach them like a laundry list, and the result is that 1. you take on too many and 2. they aren't linked to a larger purpose or context. It feels like another To-Do list, which completely and stupidly sucks and only causes more stress. Instead, I like to think about 2 or 3 larger values to bring into fuller fruition. Not things (like money), not people (like a "special friend" or what-the-fuck-ever), not objects (like, um, a private jet?), but the values that those things represent to you. If it's money, perhaps you want a general feeling of prosperity. More exercise -- maybe you're looking for more energy and vitality or maybe you just want to beatically radiate peaceful well-being. And the private jet? Maybe you're looking for connection to your loved ones, or perhaps you want more adventure and exploration in your life. Whatever, dudes -- you're all smart and self-aware enough to figure it out. But the nice thing about connecting to a larger purpose is that there are a million approaches to achieve these larger values. You can check in through the year and pick a new "resolution" when the old one starts to stuck, get really boring or, most likely, stops working -- but because they're connected to a larger value, you're still continuously working towards something, which is healthier and saner and way more effective.
With all that hoo-ha said, I'm all about a lot of things for my own private 2009, but the most fashion blog-appropriate is simplicity and clarity of all sorts -- and specifically, just being mindful about production/consumption and the business of making and spending money and other earthly resources in general. You can imagine the relevance this can have on my fashion life, and honestly, I am still mulling it over in my mind as a point of inquiry rather than a set of discrete resolutions at this point, although it'd be easy to say, "Buy fewer clothes!" or "Stop shopping!" The truth is, I like clothes and I do buy them for pleasure, and nothing is going to change that. However, there's no reason not to be thoughtful about it. The idea of paring things down and being super-selective really appeals to me, as is the idea of completely being in love with EVERYTHING in my closet. I'm over fickleness, junkiness, momentariness -- I want sartorial true love and I want it to last forever. I'm also way into the idea of being able to pass my clothes onto my little niece Mimi when she gets old enough to realize how awesome a Balenciaga dress is. She's only two now, so her idea of fashion is anything with pink, sparkles and cartoon mascots, but I like the idea of passing cool things to her as the "crazy auntie" when she's ready. So, outside of replacing basics like the tanks, jeans and long t-shirts that I always wear when they all wrong and grotty, I don't want to buy anything that isn't awesome and heirloom-y enough to pass onto my niece when she gets older. I don't know how this is going to dovetail with my other fashion-related intention, which is to explore what I call the Dita Von Teese side of me this year. Right now I just have this thing about loving red lipgloss and high heels and really awesome lingerie (and all things dove grey for some odd reason, but I don't think that's very Dita Von Teese-y.) I think this all means that I should only buy Christian Louboutins or something, but I'll get back to you on how this affair between luxurious simplicity and my inner vamp works out. (Kat)
BE A PLAYA, EVERY DAY, FOR 365 DAYS STRAIGHT
For a while there, I thought that talking about being a playa was kinda over. I am now rethinking that opinion. Perhaps talking about being a playa is over, but actually being a playa is timeless. In 2009, I am spearheading a Playa Renaissance. So, World: GET READY TO GET PLAYED. BY ME. ALL THE TIME.
I already know who I'm going to marry, possibly, so that takes muchos pressure off dating and love and romance and Liebe und Romanze and all that jazz. In 2009, I don't have to care about any of that stressful junk. Alls I gots to do is PLAY.
I am generally NOT of the opinion that what you do on New Year's Eve has anything to do with what your year is going to be like, but there is an exception to every rule. I was a PLAYA on NYE, and I'm going to be a PLAYA for all of 2009. In conclusion:
Watch out, dudes- I'm one of you now. I am Laura Jane, the Dude of Chicks. Be wary of me. Keep me at bay. This year, I will play every last one of you like a damned harmonica. (LJ)
Seen above: Playa Street, Laura Jane's new home (metaphorically)
Tags: 2009, being a playa, Dita Von Teese, getting to know us better, Laura Jane Faulds, Laura Jane: The Dude of Chicks, metaphorical car-surfing, PLAYA, Playa Renaissance, Playa Street, playing, Rodney Bingenheimer, self-trust, simplicity, Stiles from Teen Wolf, The Beach Boys
Tuesday , December 23, 2008
nogoodforme Superlatives: All We Want For Christmas
A LEGENDARY NINE-DAY JAUNT TO THE CITY OF ANGELS
I have been obsessed with visiting Los Angeles this holiday season since I decided last holiday season that it was beyond imperative. There are really no words to explain how insanely stoked I am for the next week to pass. Come Tuesday the 30th, I will board a plane, probably have an annoying customs experience, get drunk on the plane, and then show up in The City of Eternal Summertime with a goofy grin and an ashen winter-y complexion just a-waitin' to get all tanned and stuff.
I've never been to Los Angeles before in my life, and it is so exciting to know that so soon, something completely different than anything I've ever experienced is going to be happening for me. I know I'm going to return from Shangri-L.A. a changed man, and that is way better than any weird bag or dumb t-shiirt or whatevs. Here are some things I hope to do once I arrive:
1. Shopping in LA: This is an open letter to myself saying, "BE FISCALLY RESPONSIBLE IN LOS ANGELES, LAURA JANE!"- I'm sure I'll do the exact opposite; I'm mostly stoked to check out Show Pony and the Laurel Canyon Country Store, hopefully with Barker in tow. It will be like an Imaginary Shopping Spree come true!
2. Beatles-ing Out in LA: There is no point in going anywhere the Beatles ever were without checking out the things the Beatles did there. The only ones I can think of are The REAL Blue Jay Way, and maybe I could find out the name of the bar where John Lennon got really wasted with Harry Nilsson and stuck a maxipad to his forehead.
3. Exploring Nature in LA: Laurel Canyon! Topanga Canyon! Venice Beach! The Ocean! Palm Trees! All of these options are highly preferable to Exploring Nature in Toronto, because, right now, all Toronto-centric nature is covered in approx. fifty trillion feet of snow.
4. Getting Drunked in LA:Hey Elizabeth Barker, let's wear pretty dresses, get stoned, and then go drink champagne at the Chateau Marmont bar.
5. Being an Idiot in LA: I cannot resist a good theme park, and Disneyland is quite obviously the Best of the Best. I can't wait to steal Emily and go ride rides, get sunburnt, and eat Mickey Mouse-shaped baked goods!
6. Eating in LA: Liz Barker likes Real Food Daily the best; Emily champions Green Leaves, but, based on five minutes of slack research, I vote for Native Foods. I want Chocolate Tofu Love Pie. I also want to eat Los Angeles Mexican food, and those infamous west coast avocados that people from the west coast always brag about.
ALSO, IF YOU, DEAR READERS, HAVE ANY MORE SUGGESTIONS FOR COOL THINGS I CAN DO IN LOS ANGELES, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! (Laura Jane)
CARS + COLOGNE: EMBRACING MY INNER DUDE
I'm at the stupid airport and I was just reading the new British Elle in which cover girl Courtney Love says: "Women don't buy records. They save up for a Louis Vuitton bag instead." UGGGHHHH, Courtney: Shut up! I can totally overlook your most recent assault charge, your unnervingly bananas Letterman appearance from a few years back, and even all the bad plastic surgery, but perpetuating the girls-don't-give-a-damn-about records myth is just UNFORGIVABLE. Shame on you.
So anyway: I'm a lady creature and I want everyone to know that I'm most definitely not saving up for a Louis Vuitton bag, or any kind of bag at all. I want for no bags. Instead I'm wishing upon the Christmas star for a 2009 Honda Civic Hybrid to replace the 1997 Honda Civic DX that some assholes stole from me last month - and maybe, because I've been so good this year, a bottle of Calvin Klein ck one cutely hidden in the glove box. I'd splash on some of the cologne, hop into my cute little Honda, turn up the Van Halen real loud on my stereo, and then go speeding up the PCH with windows down and the salty breeze whipping through my severely color-treated hair. It'd so fulfill my months-long dream of becoming the Bret Michaels of Echo Park.
I can't completely pinpoint when I started lusting after the ck one, by the way. But for the past few months I've been intermittently nostalgic for the bottle I had back in the day, for those high-school Friday nights when I'd dab some on my wrists and behind my ears and listen to the first Oasis record and do my eye makeup and get ready to go out with a boy who was just BAD NEWS but pretty damn exciting. And oh god, all this perfumey nostalgia is making me go all fluttery and dizzy now: I'M SUCH A GIRL. (Liz)
I'M SUCH A FUCKING BUDDHIST...WELL, ACTUALLY, I AM
Lately I have been very content with life, and honestly, the only things I want (besides a magic sleeping pill that makes my insomnia disappear) are the things I always want: a trip to Antarctica, a Rick Owens jacket, a magic eco-correct private jet that lets me see my friends in far-flung places more easily and for gorgeous angels to fund my thesis film, which I'm shooting next year in Bangkok. But otherwise, I'm all good: I have love, passion, health, great family and friends, music, fashion, adventure, yummy food, good opportunities to make the most of, New York City and Obama's our president. I'm pretty stoked about these things and more; the rest of this is all just icing on the cake. If none of this stuff showed up under the Christmas tree, I'd still be really cool. What can I say, man? I'm lucky and I'm blessed. In the middle of all the crazy holiday stress, it's truly nice to realize how much you have.
1. The Nina Simone box set, To Be Free: The Nina Simone Story. The woman sang everything from Kurt Weill to torch songs to blues to jazz to rock 'n roll. I think it can be so easy to overlook her genuine genius as an interpreter and a composer because she's so well-known and not obscure in any way. Anyway, in light of all the economic and social turmoil of recent years, it's interesting to revisit an artist who emerged during a similarly chaotic time.
2. A Blackberry Curve. I'm such a late-adopter when it comes to gadgets, and especially when it comes to cell phones -- I didn't even have a color screen on my cellie till two years after everyone else had them. I recently upgraded to a Motorola MotoQ, so now I can get all email-y on the go (which became kind of a necessity after realizing I get hundreds of non-spam emails a day), but it's got its issues and now I want a new phone. I know I should be all "iPhone! iPhone!" but I hate Apple with such an irrational passion that I can't even bear the idea of owning anything by them. Besides, I like pressing real buttons. At any rate -- everyone I know with a Blackberry Curve seems to like it for the ease of email usage, the long battery life and, hey, it actually makes and receives phone calls like it's supposed to! I think it's as cute as a phone can be, but I'll probably wait till next year to get it. In that case, I think I just want a Nintendo DS Lite for the holidays, just 'cause I miss playing Animal Crossing, my favorite video game of all time.
3. All the Jacques Tati films on DVD. Jacques Tati was a filmmaker of unparalleled, genuine wit and charm; his work has a lovely playfulness that nevertheless has an acerbic take on class, social ritual, modernity and consumerism of post-war France. There are more legendary bits, but this little clip from his masterpiece Playtime illustrates the charming, pointed simplicity of his brand of humor:
Anyway, these would all be lovely Kat gifties, just in case anyone's reading and really dying to get me something. But whatever, man -- I'll settle for oodles of cookies and a day without Internet. Happy Holidays! (Kat)
Tags: avocados, car thieves suck, Chateau Marmont, cologne, Courtney Love, Disneyland, fragrance nostalgia, Harry Nilsson, I hate Apple and think they are the epitome of consumerist evil, Laura loves The Beatles, LJ TAKES LA, Los Angeles, The Bret Michaels of Echo Park, Van Halen, vegan food, west coast
Tuesday , December 16, 2008
nogoodforme Superlatives: Dopest Shit We'll Wear This Winter
"MERMAID IN THE SNOW" IS THE NEW "COWGIRL IN THE SAND"
Ever since buying my new favorite scarf (that gigantic lovely thing to your above right), I've had ideas that winter 2008/09 would be the Season of Snow Queen Chic. I'd wear my gigantic lovely scarf all the time, which would somehow make me look exactly like the dame on the cover of Girlfriend by Matthew Sweet. Chris Martin would decide to re-shoot the "Violet Hill" video to include lots of footage of me and him dramatically traipsing across big snowy windswept mountains, but not until after going back in time and marrying me instead of Gwynnie. I'd write "FAIR TRADE" across the knuckles of my ridiculous new gloves, then most likely spill my Starbucks salty caramel hot chocolate all over them. Our kids would probably still have stupid names.
But then! On Saturday I got an early birthday gift: Converse's sequined low-tops, in royal blue. The nu shooz have already turned my world inside out, and now I'm pre-divorcing the Coldplay bloke and recasting this winter as the SEASON OF SNOW MERMAID CHIC. (A "snow mermaid," by the way, is like if the title character in Faerie Tale Theatre's adaptation of The Little Mermaid were crossed with the title character in Faerie Tale Theatre's adaptation of The Snow Queen and the resulting role were played by, I don't know, Kate Winslet circa Eternal Sunshine or something.) I'm wearing the sneakers with my new Velvet brocade coat, some little black knit hat I bought my first winter in L.A., my favorite blue jeans and sometimes also my Rolling Stones hoodie if it's chilly out (you know, like less than 63 degrees). The rosy cheeks are courtesy of Stript's mineral blush in Devine, with a little help from my Irish heritage. And the lips are frosted with Alba's Dawn TerraGloss - it makes my mouth both shimmery-snowy and slightly bluish like I've been swimming at the bottom of the sea too long.
Oh, and "Violet Hill" has been ousted as my winter theme song in favor of "Cowgirl in the Sand" by Neil Young and Crazy Horse. That's basically my theme song for every winter, but this year I'm pretending Neiler's singing "Hello, mermaid in the snow" instead. I'm pretty sure those were the original lyrics anyway. (Liz)
HAUTE FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD STONER BOY
1. SPRITE-FLAVOURED GLASS CANDY TOQUE: A fourteen-year-old stoner boy without a toque is like a Siberian winter with no snow. This toque is stupidly huge and slouchy; I barely even like it. But fourteen-year-old stoner boys don't care if they like something or not, they just wear it because it's around. Plus, it keeps me warm. Plus, just because you don't like something doesn't mean it's not awesome. It is. This toque reminded me a piece of glass candy, then somebody told me it reminded her of Sprite. So now it is both.
2. CHAMPAGNE PUFFA JACKET: This is my winter coat. I found it at GapKids last year (it's a girls' XXL). By the way, this coat isn't gold. It's champagne.
3. TIE-DYED KILL CITY JEANS: These are what the fourteen-year-old stoner boy whose personal style I'm aping would wear to his junior prom, with Converse All-Stars and a tuxedo t-shirt. These jeans are one of the coolest items of clothing I've ever owned; on the wrong person, they might look kinda nu-goth, but at the same time, there's no such thing as nu-goth, so they wouldn't, I guess.
4. SAILOR HAT: I like my sailor hat because it looks like you just decided to throw it on as a joke to entertain people, because you're the class clown, the life of the party, the most lovable fourteen-year-old stoner boy this world ever knew.
5. "HIP HOP IS DEAD" T-SHIRT: Is hip hop really dead? Apparently I think it is- so adamantly, in fact, that I feel the need to wear a t-shirt proclaiming it to the world. This t-shirt is my roommate's and I've adopted it; it's the perfect amount of oversized on me, and rules because it can turn a nice pair of jeans and expensive sweater from chic to scrappy, sober to stoned, CLASS TO CRASS. Which is all I want. Actually, now that I think about it, all I really want is a Crass t-shirt.
6. SKINNY JEANS ARE LAURA JANE-ENDORSED ONCE AGAIN: For a while there, I was really into championing The Death Of Skinny Jeans, but I've since changed my mind. They're not going anywhere, and hey- if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! Skinny jeans are an integral part of HAUTE FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD STONER BOY because they do a good job of showing off my...
7. GENTLE SOULS BOOTS: These boots put the HAUTE in HAUTE FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD STONER BOY. My orthopedic stacked-heel ankle boots epitomize the notion of Wardrobe Staple; I have to force myself not to wear them, and when I'm not, I always wish I was. H14YOSB is the most brilliant fashion concept I've ever brainiacked up because, I don't know if you've noticed, but really it's just looking like shit, only with high heels. It takes me two minutes to get ready in the morning, just like if I were a real 14-year-old stoner boy! But I'm not- I'm an haute one. By the way, my best H14YOSB accessory is not pictured: it's my housekey strung on a shoelace and worn as a necklace. Also, I think I need to invest in a wallet chain. (LJ)
Kat is too busy yelling at people, noshing on craft services and dealing with stupid HD video cameras to do a proper Superlative, but says that her winter wardrobe concept is "dark but sweet" and involves the highest-heeled boots she can find, skinny jeans, oddly ladylike cropped jackets, and any accessory with studs and chains. Not so different from her fall concept, but with heavier fabrics. Most of her sartorial strategy lately is about finding awesome lingerie from The Lake and Stars. Oh, and she loves her new winter coat: a black wool trench with a huge funnel collar from Helmut Lang. HELMUT LANG ROCKS.
Tags: avant-wack, divorcing Chris Martin, Faerie Tale Theatre, getting to know us better, haute fourteen-year-old stoner boy, Is Hip Hop Dead?, makeup, mermaids, Neil Young, orthopedic shoes, potential wallet chains, snow mermaids, snow-queen chic, there is no nu-goth, winter
Tuesday , December 2, 2008
nogoodforme Superlatives: Favorite Fictional Crushes
Todd Sparrow in Girl
At first I wanted to put Han Solo as my favorite fictional crush because I basically just finished watching The Empire Strikes Back on cable and was all "OMG I totally FORGOT how much I looooovvvvveeeeeddddd Han Solo as a kid! SOLO! SOLO!" But then I realized that we're actually talking about crushes that exist in the imaginative literary realm, and I got kind of bummed out that I wouldn't have to opportunity to get all Han-rhapsodic on you. But that's okay, because now I can wax eloquent on the beauty that is imaginary rock boys and discourse upon what the Platonic ideal of such a dude should be. I can tell you for sure: it is NOT Sean Patrick Flannery, who played Todd Sparrow in the rather botched movie adaptation of the YA cult novel Girl that I wrote about ages ago. (You should probably read that link first and then come back here for a continuation.) Hollywood actors are pretty much the complete opposite of hot rock musicians, which is why cinematic attempts to portray Todd Sparrow will pretty much always fail and which is also why most actors are in bands that kind of suck. (Also: I'm talking about rock like ROCK, not like indie rock, which is basically so sexually neutered of a genre that my loins fall asleep at a Shins show.) Todd Sparrow is designed pretty much to embody the archetypal Dionysian rock dude, the main channel through which our main character discovers her libido and sexuality: he's possessed of instinctual wisdom, he's kind of gritty and ungroomed yet charismatic, he's totally unreliable, he's got a sexy, scratchy voice and he's great in bed. What's not to like, really? In the book, he's a tragic figure in the sense that he becomes consumed by the rock machine, sort of some lost angel half-asleep in the hell he's found himself in. But in a way he has served his purpose in Andrea's life, which was basically a gateway to a world outside of suburban confines and expectations. In a way, the best crushes of our lives do this: they allow us to dream of something larger than ourselves, to enlarge the sense of who we could be. Actually, now that I think about it, I always think most crushes are best left in the realm of the imagination, since their function is to entertain and embody our deepest longings. (Which is why Todd Sparrow is just SO WRONG in the movie. Witness this clip from Girl below.)
I mean, really...what self-respecting rock dude would have such nice highlights in his hair? Also: I really want a cow-print dress now. (Kat)
Zooey Glass of Franny and Zooey
Like John McEnroe, Zooey Glass is a sexy asshole. Unlike John McEnroe, Zooey Glass is a chill sexy asshole (John McEnroe, on the other hand, is an aggro sexy asshole, which makes him more tryst-material rather than the kind of dude you wouldn't mind sharing a toothbrush with). I definitely wouldn't mind sharing a toothbrush with Zooey Glass, who is probably a Scorpio, although my mouth-germs might gross him out.
Zooey, despite being a total asshole, is one hell of a CLASS ACT. He is also a genius, which is appreciated. As such, Zooey's asshole-ish-ness is generally confined to snide remarks and icy-cool banter; dude might hurt your feelings, but at least he'd be funny about it. He's also really hot, I hear. His sister Boo Boo describes him as "the blue-eyed Jewish-Irish Mohican scout who died in your arms at the roulette table at Monte Carlo." You know, that sounds really good to me.
Growing up, Buddy Glass was always the Glass Family-brother I most wanted to share a toothbrush with. He's a sweet teddybear of a dude, lives in a log cabin, and narrated Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters, my favorite book by JD Salinger as well as my second- or third-favourite book (I mean, novella) of all time. But, as I've grown older, I've realized that nice guys are boring, and manipulatively use their niceness against you in arguments. I need a sharp-nosed, sharkskin-trousered, Sazerac-drinking Jewish-Irish Mohican scout who'll snap back at me when I'm being a crab.
Also, it would be really hot to have a boyfriend named Zooey. "What's your boyfriend's name, Laura Jane?" people would ask. "Zooey," I'd say, "Et vous?" And then those losers would go on and on about their Mikes and Chrises and Daves, and I'd trot on over to my chill sexy asshole BF's place, and we'd stay up all night talking about how God is dead. (LJ)
l to r: Franny and Zooey; Seth Meyers/Viggo Mortensen/Michael Vartan- if you put 'em all together, you totes get Laura Jane's mental picture of Zooey Glass
Practically Every Lead Dude in Alice Hoffman's Early Novels
I read a lot of Alice Hoffman in high school; she's got this dreamy-trashy aesthetic that's total literary catnip for CLove-loving girls like me. This is what happens in a lot of her stories: Girl meets brooding, bad-news boy. Girl falls head-over-boots for boy; boy hotly and wickedly refuses to fall back. Girl wrecks life for boy but ultimately puts it back together, leaving now-broken-and-regretful boy in the dust. The end!
Last winter I re-read all three of my favorite Alice Hoffman books and they're still as catnippy as ever, even if my 30-year-old self finds the brooding/bad-news thing slightly less appealing than my 15-year-old self once did. Here's a little look at the torturously crushworthy love interest at the center of each story:
McKay from Property Of: Dude's so hot, all the girls "out on the Avenue" switchblade-carve his initials into their thighs. The story's set in the '70s (I think?), and McKay's the leader of an Outsiders-y gang called The Orphans (based in New York City, not Oklahoma). Wears "long dark hair" and motorcycle goggles (even when not riding a motorcycle), sips his whiskey from a crystal wine glass (SWOON). Then: turns junkie, kills a guy, ends up in Rikers (SIGH).
Silver from White Horses: Another leather-boot-wearing, chain-smoking, hot-to-trot criminal, only this one's in love with his little sister. The incest thing seems to eek a lotta readers out, but I think the story's really lovely in a high-drama sort of way. It also goes so perfectly with "Metal Heart" by Cat Power - the dark-and-dusty Moon Pix version, not that shiny Jukebox remake.
Andre from Illumination Night: Actually not a criminal, and not even 100 percent bad news. (When he cheats on his wife by doing it with the 16-year-old girl next door in a shed, he totally feels bad about it after.) Andre's a motorcycle mechanic who lives with his potter wife and little son on Martha's Vineyard; he doesn't say much but the tension between him and the neighbor-girl is pretty damn steamy. Plus, one of the lead characters is an honest-to-goodness giant, and the book's really fantastic for reading under the covers in midwinter while listening to WMVY online and pretending you're going to live in a dilapidated little cottage on Martha's Vineyard someday too. (Liz)
Tags: Alice Hoffman, Cat Power, Courtney Love, cow print dresses, Han Solo, Hollywood actors in bad bands, JD Salinger, John McEnroe, literary catnip, Martha's Vineyard, rock dudes, rock stars, Sazeracs, Scorpios, Todd Sparrow, Zooey Glass
Tuesday , November 18, 2008
nogoodforme Superlatives: Insanely Cute Kitten YouTube Cinema
We're having a bit of a rough week at nogoodforme and are hella stressed out on the Kat/Liz/Laura Jane front. Which is why you have to make do with only me for this week's "installment" of Superlatives; I'm basically holding down the fort. What do I do when left to my own devices and totally effin' stressed out like everyone else? LOOK AT KITTEN VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE. Welcome to the gloriously dorky stupidity that is kitten YouTube cinema.
1. KITTENS AT LUNCH
The best part of this video is the absolutely stupid music playing against the oddly dynamic editing. The aerial shot reminds me of those Busby Berkeley musicals.
2. SWEET TIRED KITTEN
A minimalist one-shot masterpiece. Robert Bresson would be proud.
3. I ARE CUTE KITTEN
With LOLcat intertitles, lots of shots and lots of locations, this has relatively high production values for a kitten video. I only hope they got this critter a SAG card.
4. MAMA CAT COMES TO RESCUE HER LITTLE KITTEN
Featuring a superb performance by a mama cat. I like when the baby kitten takes shelter underneath the mommy cat's neck. It's a moment that make you go, "Awwwww....."
5. NAMENEKO JAPANESE PUNK ROCK KITTENS
Don't ask me, I don't know. I have no idea if any kittens were harmed in the making of this video. They seem mega-irked at being made to wear stupid costumes, though. I would recommend they talk to their agents.
6. SUPER CUTE WHITE KITTY
8 seconds of intense kitten-osity. Riveting and unflinching in its look into unvarnished cat emotion.
7. SCOTTISH FOLD
This is like the Chantal Akerman of kitten videos: mundane yet fascinating.
I have no idea what this video is called, but it's of a really fat, fluffy cat that reminds me oddly of Marlon Brando or someone like that. My friend Cathy sent this to me, and I was basically, "WTF!!!!!!"
Tuesday , November 4, 2008
nogoodforme Superlatives: Our Favorite Hangover Cures
Today is Election Day, and whether or not you party it up in a victory celebration or drink away your woes tonight, this is nogoodforme's little guide to avoiding feeling beastly the next morning.
THE 3 Bs: BREAKFAST BURRITOS, BROMELAIN & BENEFICIAL BACTERIA
Remember when we were young, and all those nights of screwdriver-and-ice-beer binges went entirely unpunished by the body the following morning? I so vividly recall the mid-college end of that happy era: I woke up in my junior-year beach house feeling like death warmed up; noted the dry mouth, throbbing skull, fever-hot skin, and utter inability to drag my sorry ass outta bed; then asked myself, "Could this be what they call...a hangover?" I was mostly horrified, but maybe a little bit pleased to finally discover what these infamous hangover deals were all about. I also knew that all I wanted in the world was an Egg McMuffin and a big icy Coke.
And I got it, and it was good. And from then on, for so many years, McDonald's was my number-one hangover go-to place, but now that's no longer. Because the problem with getting even older than 19 is I've acquired some major philosophical issues with consuming anything sourced from McDonald's (except maybe the caramel sundaes, once in a blue moon). Plus, eating McDonald's makes me so sick, as if I've coated my insides with greasy plastic.
So what I'd suggest these days is heading to Whole Foods and grabbing yourself a breakfast burrito, a piece of pineapple, and bottle of Gingerade kombucha. The pineapple is absolutely essential: I don't know if it's the bromelain or whatever, but that one little slice is 99 percent guaranteed to make you feel like a new man. Or, if you're not down with Whole Paycheck, and you dig on animal products of some sorts, I'd definitely recommend cooking up some of barKER's magic egg surprise, only with a little bit of cheddar cheese melted in, tomatoes instead of broccoli, no mushrooms, and maybe a Vitamin Water on the side. (And I know Vitamin Water's so fucking ridiculous, but it kinda gets the job done in these situations.) Once you've digested, gulp a lot of coffee and go for a big old jog. Hungover jogging may sound like hell, but if you can push on it'll work crazy magic; I swear.
And for the record, I've actually only ever gone on one screwdriver-and-ice-beer binge in my life. It was the first time I ever got sick off alcohol, and I couldn't drink orange juice for so many months afterward. Gross. (Liz)
LAURA JANE'S TRIED, TESTED & TRUE "FIVE Ws FOR A PLEASANT TOMORROW"
WHITE WINE: This superlative marks the first time I've ever bothered to do any preliminary research for a nogoodforme.com article, not counting the time I Wikipedia-ed Matthew Friedberger's birthday. The extensive research I conducted for this feature (Googling "hangover cures") taught me that I rarely get hangovers because I usually stick to white wine, and alcohols that are lighter in colour have less of the toxin that makes you get hangovers than darker alcohols (bourbon being the worst). White wine and vodka are supposedly your best bets, though I think anyone who's ever overdone it on the vodka (AKA everyone, at some point or another) would venture to disagree. Either way, I always feel peppy as a Jack Russell terrier the morning after I get drunked, so there you go. Drink white wine.
WATER: Well, obviously. If you seriously need Laura Jane of nogoodforme.com to tell you it's a good idea to drink water when you're drinking alcohol, you are either a) a feral child, b) an ex-feral child, or c) even more irresponsible than I am. That's weird. Since when do feral children read fashion blogs? Since when are there people in the world more irresponsible than I am? Is that a double negative? I digress. Water helps. (Oh, and unlike, Barker, I don't believe in Vitamin Water)
WHITE RICE: Isn't it weird how little kids get the stomach flu, like, constantly? I feel like I spent most of my childhood lying on the couch watching The Flintstones with my family's designated red plastic "for puking only" bucket at my side. Whenever I was fluey, my mom would make me white rice mixed with milk and white sugar, and it is still my Ultimate Comfort Food. There is nothing easier on an upset tummy than a great big bowl of this sticky, glutinous, overly-sweet white mush. Nowadays, I substitute soymilk for the real deal, but I really need to stress that YOU CAN'T USE BROWN RICE in this "dish". Why would you? People who say they prefer brown rice to white are lying. Oh yeah, another thing I learned while e-researching hangover cures is that bananas are awesome for hangovers. I would totally add sliced bananas (and maybe cinnamon) to my lump of milky rice-sugar. Yum! That sounds so delish, I'm going to go pound a mickey of SoCo just so I can reap the benefits of ricey banana mush tomorrow morning.
WEED: No matter how you actually feel, whenever you smoke weed, you always just feel stoned. I love it for that. If your post-drunk daily agenda revolves around idling and DVR-ing Dr. Phil eps all day, you may as well call a spade a spade and take a couple hundred bong rips while you're at it. That way, at least you'll have way funnier opinions as to why Dr. Phil is such a bafflingly worthless individual/the hugest genius of all time.
WEALTH DEPLETION: When all else fails, just go shopping and blow a lot of money on DVDs, Japanese stationery, and ugly H&M crap you won't wear. It will make you feel better. Nothing fixes a problem like the almightly Band-aid Solution that is fiscal irresponsiblity! And, if you're bed-ridden, who cares? Even better! That's why they invented eBay. So ailing drunks can have nicer days.
KAT SAYS PREVENTION IS THE KEY
I'm a nerd. Despite nights where I've put away my share and more of Jack Daniels (and more), I've actually never gotten a hangover. And I'm the one who made us do this topic! I'm horrible. And special. No, not really, but when I looked into this topic some more, I realized there were a few things I do when I drink that keep me from feeling all grodey the next day:
1. DRINK SLOWLY. REAL SLOWLY. This is a joke with my friends, because it takes me forever to consume any food and drink and I'm always the last one trying to finish and everyone's looking at me and I'm going, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" But I swear to God, it keeps you from flooding your system too quickly with alcohol. The whole key to hangover prevention and cure is to keep the alcohol demons from rioting like a Brazilian soccer stadium in your bloodstream. You want to allow them to come in, single file in two lines, holding hands like well-behaved little Swiss schoolchildren. Or something like that.
2. I ALWAYS GET IN THE MOOD TO GORGE ON FRIES IN BARS. Fats and carbs keep alcohol from absorbing into your system, so keep eating as you throw back a few. Some people say sugar is good, but I think sugar actually facilitates the rapid absorption of alcohol into the bloodstream. How else do you explain how all those sorority girls get so terribly shit-faced on such girly drinks? Oh my god, I'm sooooooooooooo drunk!!!!
3. DRINK LOADS OF WATER BEFORE YOU PASS OUT. If I'm at this point, I usually don't remember why I do this, but it seems to work. Supposedly you shouldn't drink anything with caffeine, though, because it will dehydrate you more. I also think I eat some more food before I get to bed, because inevitably I wake up in the morning and there are empty bags of food everywhere. It's very odd and disconcerting.
4. MAKE SURE TO GET SOME SLEEP.This is not scientifically proven, but I have this theory that people are so chronically and severely sleep-deprived that drinking accelerates and exacerbates the effects of this upon your body. Either way, if you were on the verge of sleep-related gnarliness before, you'll be way gnarly if you don't get enough sleep during that critical post-alcoholic consumption period. Being a chronic insomniac (totally unrelated to drinking), I think sleep works wonders for anything, and I'm really convinced that you can sleep almost anything off. So if you have the presence of mind, take a nice shower, snuggle under the covers and get some zzzzzzzs. You're pretty much guaranteed to snore, though -- funny how alcohol will do that to lots of people.
What a nice little assemblage of libertine wisdom! I propose that tonight we all put these ideas and approaches to the test, and you can tell us all about how they worked tomorrow morning. (Kat)
Tags: alcohol, Dr Phil, feral children, hangover cures, hungover jogging, Jack Russell terriers, Laura doesn't believe in Vitamin Water, Laura loves Matthew Friedberger, McDonald's caramel sundaes are still boss, screwdriver-and-ice-beer binges, sleep, softcore drugs, white wine, Whole Foods