If only he weren't a scientologist...

Do any Beck fans read this blog? I'm a big Beck fan, despite the fact that an annoying ex-boyfriend, for whom I only have disdainful memories, introduced me to him.

Ok, he didn't introduce me - show me a person who's never heard Loser, and I'll show you my tits - but the first time I ever heard Sea Change (one of the best albums ever made), it was because of my ex.

I've been trying to build up my cd collection. Some may say compact disks are an ancient format, but I want a tangible form of music to pass onto my children. How do you share a moment with your child over an MP3 downloaded from iTunes? Also, the inserts, brimming with lyrics, liner notes, and artwork - the only thing that can match what you get with a cd is a record, and I can't download that to my computer and put it on my iPod. So you see...? Cds continue to be relevant in my book.

When I was a kid, I'd sit and go through my parents' modest cd collection, reading all the inserts and delicately studying the cover art (as a deeply religious child, this cover simultaneously confused and titillated me. Oy, if only my eight-year-old self knew the woman I'd become). Their library consisted of a lot of ZZ Top, Robert Palmer, Meatloaf, and Roxette. Eh, maybe they didn't have the best musical tastes, but it nonetheless helped create in me a deep love for music and music trivia (1960-Present. Don't ask me any questions about Handel or John Phillips Sousa).

My point: I like music, a lot, and only after seeing people who are "meh" about it do I realize that a love for music is not a given trait. I attribute part of my music appreciation to the fact that my parents always had something playing on the radio, and cared about it enough to invest in it by buying their preferred artists' work. So I would like to do the same for my children.

That was an ENORMOUS digression. Sorry. The real point of this post is to recommend Beck's new album, Modern Guilt. At this point in Beck's career, I'm convinced he can't disappoint. He's a genius, and who'da thunk? Maybe Loser was genius when it came out, but I don't know, as a seven-year-old it sounded like a silly ditty that used a funny language.

I'm not pretentious enough to try to compare this new Beck album to another artist's oeuvre, nor am I going to pick it apart and lament new Beck vs. old Beck like some Pitchfork-reading douche. I'm just going to say that I like it, and you should check it out:



I'm also recommending MGMT's album Oracular Spectacular.

Well Vern, to answer your question...

It all went down last night - I told the roomie I was out of there in January.

And you know what? He was completely gracious and understanding.

I knew I was blowing the whole thing out of proportion, but I didn't know how much out of proportion. In the past, my roommate has over-reacted to things I've done or said, and no, never to the point wher I thought he was going to hurt me, but his attitude would turn from relaxed to intense in the blink of an eye. It always seemed like he lacked reason.

But he saw it coming. I've been dating my boyfriend for a while now, and that's just the natural progression of things - you meet someone, date, fall in love, then move in together.

Now that the hard part is out of the way...time to go apartment shopping!!!! Do other people normally get this excited over moving?

The new apartment must have these things, starting with most important to in my wildest dreams:

1. Dog-friendly
2. Two bedrooms
3. Ok, 1 bedroom, but is a reasonable price and has a large living and dining area.
4. A yard!!!
5. Alright, a roomy balcony.
6. A bay window?
7. Near the train.
8. On a block, not the avenue (actually, I don't care if it's on the avenue, but my boyfriend will have a coniption if it is).
9. A soda-pop machine.

If I don't blog again in four days, call the cops!

So tonight is the night.

After work, I will briefly visit my boyfriend at his apartment, maybe even have dinner with him.

Then I will go to my apartment, and ask the roomie if we can have a chat.

Then it will be said: "Roomie, I am moving out in January."

!!!

Actually, I'm probably making a bigger deal out of this than I should be. I'm starting to psyche myself out. This is in no way a big deal...unless he ends up having some sort of nervous breakdown, which, knowing my roommate, there's a 75% of that happening.

I'll try to take pictures so as to best capture the moment then blog about it. No, I'm kidding.

But I will tell you all what happens (so long as he doesn't murder me when I tell him the news).

Keep me in your Thoughts and Prayers, folks!

Listicle Time: The Top Six Kids Shows that I had No Right to be Watching

So there are plenty of kids shows out there meant for the enjoyment of children and adults alike. SpongeBob SquarePants is the main one that comes to mind, but you can look at any Pixar film and see that what I say is true - shows for kids have evolved since Hanna-Barbera.

But you know what? When I was younger, there were some kids shows that were really, actually, just meant for kids. And I continued to watch them well after the appropriate age, in part for kitsch value, and in part because I couldn't. stop. watching. There I was, a fifteen year old who had by most means let go of everything that connected her to childhood; the barbie dolls, footie pajamas, and stuffed animals all sat in a damp trunk in the basement. Yet I would watch these kids shows, all the while my thumb was stealthily on the "LAST" button should my sister walk in the room and I need to do a quick switch to TRL or some other "teenage" show (this skill would later prove useful while watching Real Sex with my mom in the next room). Below are some of the kids shows I watched way past my expiration date.

Doug

Great theme song. Inventive character names (Mosquito, anyone?). Fabulous wardrobe. And an anthropomorphic dog - how could you not love Doug? Nematoads! The Beets! Childhood, where are you?

Doug was one of those cartoons that I never admitted to watching, nor even made time to watch, but whatever station it was playing on (Nickelodeon, usually), that's the station I was tuned in to. My sweaty, smelly, 15- y/o self would traipse home from volleyball practice, grab a ho-ho and a glass of pop, and plop down on the couch to watch Doug Funny endure the trials and tribulations of adolescence. Since I was technically older than Doug (therefore wiser), I would sympathetically nod my head when he worried over how he looked in his school picture - I knew exactly how he felt, because, at one time, I too worried about how I looked in my school picture! Oh but wait, I still was worrying how I would look, and not just in my school picture, but in EVERY picture. I still worry to this day, but at least now I have the freedom to drink away my body-dismorphia . Yay alcoholism!

When it moved to the Saturday morning cartoon timeslot, Doug's shorts became longer and the show got lame. But the Doug memories of my youth cannot be touched - er, so long as I don't get brain damaged somehow (prime reason to stop doing drugs!).

Rugrats

What evil genius thought that kids above the age of 8 (let alone 14) would love this gem of a show? I'm betting the pitch wasn't that easy.

"I propose we make a show about babies!"

"But we're aiming for the 8-12 demographic."

"No shit - don't you know how cool babies are? They do a ton of crazy stuff when the grown-ups aren't looking. They are so cool that 12-year-olds - wait, nix that - 15-year-olds will want to be them."

Ok, maybe I never wanted to be Tommy, Chuckie, Angelica or any of the rest of the gang, but I did wear a Burger King Edition Rugrats watch when I was in the 9th grade (though I might have been trying to be - gulp - ironic).

Looking back, I'm slightly afraid that those of us who grew up with Rugrats have picked up parenting cues from the show, to which I say, lord have mercy on us all. Ever notice how often the parents in Rugrats ignored their kids? They would corral them in the backyard and leave them unattended for hours. That is when all the adventures happened, when the kids were alone, and there was an adventure every episode - that tells me that, were the Rugrats parents real people, they'd have been taken to court by CPS ages ago.


Wishbone

A confession: I have not read every classic that ever existed. Gah, I know! I'm a dolt. But sometimes these classics will come up in conversation, books like Rip Van Winkle and Don Quixote, and the reason why I know what these stories are about is because of Wishbone! Well, he's not the only reason, but Wishbone was my first introduction to classics which are thoroughly studied and often referenced.

Maybe it was because Wishbone was another anthropomorphic dog, but I'd tune in day after day, despite the fact that I was a teenager with sex readily available to her (I didn't lose it til I was 18, but I'm assuming that at least one of my classmates would have been willing to do the deed with me). While my classmates were making babies, I was sitting innocently in my living room humming the Wishbone theme song.

One time my sister - my younger sister, mind you - caught me watching Wishbone. This was a watershed moment for me - I had the choice to quickly change the channel and pretend I was just flipping, thus denying who I was, or I could toss the remote aside and proudly let the little dog show off his acting chops to my sister. I did the latter - I chose to be myself. My dumb, easily amused self. My sis made fun of me for watching a kids show, but it wasn't that big of a deal - I was older with the adroit ability to beat the shit out of her.

Arthur

Wow, this list is getting long. So yeah, I was a big fan of Arthur when I was 15, even moreso than when I was 8. I think because of the utopic society it represents. The more I think about that, the more it makes sense - I was kind of depressed as a teen, and instead of taking Prozac or cutting myself, I watched Arthur. Also, DW was my hero.

Can we please for a second ruminate on this picture? That's Arthur posing with a celebrity, an A-list celebrity. Can you guess who? Here's a hint: I used to have a slight crush on this actor, except now that I've seen him as a cartoon chipmunk, I'm horrified. Did that help?

Blues Clues

Ok, I'm not saying this is true, but I may or may not have had a crush on Steve. Whether I did or not is moot, though - I liked watching Blues Clues because of the fact that a human being was walking in a paper-machet house and interacting with a cardboard dog. The trickery fascinated me - like, how did they do that? I know, I know, green screen and whatnot, but the fact that a human person was acting on a set that he couldn't even see was mind-boggling (except for that huge orange chair - I'm pretty sure that was a tangible part of the set). Not only did he have to have a conversation with salt and pepper shakers, but he couldn't SEE the salt and pepper shakers. Truly astounding.

Teletubbies

This show I watched for pure kitsch value. Seriously. It would all go down thusly: In high school, my friend Carrie's dad would get us lunch, so me and about three or four of my other girlfriends would go to her house, flop our asses on her sofa, and mow down on some Taco Bell while these four aliens blazed across the television screen.

I hated this show, but my friend Leanna thought they were cute, so we'd put it on the screen and make fun of it while Leanna drooled over the little one (Po). Teletubbies earned some points in my book when Christian fundamentalists started getting all angry that the purple one was promoting homosexuality to kids. The Teletubbies were way too androgynous for me to discern a gender, let alone a sexual preference, but it was funny to see the Funds holding up signs of protest and marching in the street over something so stupid. Way to be a rebel, Tinky-Winky. Screw DW - Tinky is my hero now.

The Art of Topless Sun-bathing

The bf and I went to the beach on Saturday. Although it was windy, and a zillion dead jellyfish littered the sand (and the choppy water), we had a really nice time.

We went on a small hike prior to our beach-lounging, a sweat-soaked aperitif if you will. On our hike, I noticed many a lady sun-bathing and swimming with her top off. I won't say I was shocked - I'm no prude - but I was a little bit jealous. Here they were, their bare breasts basking in the glow of the summer sun, free and uninhibitied. But because I'm shy (or have too much shame about my body instilled in me - thanks a lot childhood Catholicism!), I would never have the guts to flounce around bare-breasted. I cried for the cool breeze my boobs would never feel.

But you know what happens when you drink a bunch of beers on a beach without a nearby toilet? You skip down to the ocean to do your business. And if the water is rough, and waves keep knocking you over as you command your urethra to just open up already, there's a good chance that your bikini top will get torn off your body. And that's what happened - after several minutes of struggling to keep my top pulled over my breasts while simultaneously trying to urinate, I finally said fuck it, and pulled the drenched and twisted top from my torso.

People, for the first time in my life, I felt alive. No, wait a second, it wasn't that big of a deal. At all. And that's the key to topless sunbathing - don't make it a big deal. If there are any ladies out there nervous - yet eager - to go out in public sans top, here are a few tips to keep in mind.

1. Don't Make a Big Deal Out of It. The more squealing, himming and hawing you do about exposing your breasts will only make it worse. Be comfortable, but don't be annoying. Silently debate your choice, because analyzing the situation with your boyfriend or any other companion will make you that much more anxious.

2. Like I said, Be Comfortable. Goes without saying - or does it? Look, if all those toddlers scampering down by the water are making you nervous, stay covered, because who really wants to deal with an offended parent with their bare breasts exposed? If you'd really rather not deal with that group of frat guys leering at you, don't do it. If some dude with a zoom-lens camera is staked out nearby, don't do it. Really, make sure the beach isn't that crowded. Oh yeah, and make sure it's allowed. Take your cue from the people around you - are other ladies topless? Are many other ladies topless? This will make for the best topless sun-bathing.

3. Draw the Line with Your Boyfriend. The only person who wanted me to go topless more than me was my boyfriend. Why? All I can guess is that he never gets tired of seeing my boobs. Well that's cool. But it wasn't cool when he tried to grope me as I sat there, sunning, smoking a cigarette, all while the girls showed their faces for the world to see. Even though he's seen my breasts a bazillion-katrillion times, he couldn't keep from try to tweak and touch. But I deftly combatted his advances, and called him out on his lurid creepiness. "Stop being a lurid creep," I told him. He got the point - the last thing I needed in my vulnerable state was to be sexually harassed by my boyfriend. Then again, maybe you ladies out there don't have hyper-sexual, immature boys for partners - let me know where I can find one of those.

I can't think of much else besides the always-poignant and cliched advice to 4. Have fun! Go ahead, let it all hang out, bounce around, go for a swim, take delight in the fact that people - men and women - are stealing glimpses of you. If your boobs keep popping out of that bikini top, might as well - besides, it'll help prevent a skin rash!

Are all the straight men of the world rejoicing over this post? Marcie, that requires you to have a straight male readership to begin with. Gee, thanks for the reminder, voice in my head. Lunch at 2? You betcha.

The Perry Bible Fellowship

Am I the last to know about The Perry Bible Fellowship? Slut Machine included a comic strip in a Jezebel post a couple months back, and when I followed the link, I damn near read about every strip. Here are some of my favorites:

I wish I could draw hilarious - yet adorable - comic strips! Ah well, one thing at a time Marcie.

The Yard: Epicenter of Hipsterdom

I've been a bad blogger. To the five of you who selflessly humor me by reading my site, please accept my heartfelt apology. You see, I've been busy. And even a little lacking in inspiration. I think of about 20 different things to blog every day, but after giving said ideas a little thought, I realize that no one really wants to read about the inane minutia that I encounter.

But I think I've found something that will forever haunt me if it's not written in a cohesive thought, hence...to the blog cave! (Quite an accurate description of my room, I must say).

I went to a show at The Yard this past Saturday, and partook in the enjoyment of some indie rock, drank PBRs (I wasn't trying to be ironic, it was the only cheap beer they had), and gnashed on some chicken burritos. Also...I WAS SURROUNDED BY HIPSTERS.

Some of you may be wondering what a hipster is...how to explain? As my friend Aaron once put it, a hipster is someone who pays a lot of money to look like a homeless person. Here is the definition I lifted from Urban Dictionary.

Hipster:

Listens to bands that you have never heard of. Has hairstyle that can only be described as "complicated." (Most likely achieved by a minimum of one week not washing it.) Probably tattooed. Maybe gay. Definitely cooler than you. Reads Black Book, Nylon, and the Styles section of the New York Times. Drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon. Often. Complains. Always denies being a hipster. Hates the word. Probably living off parents money - and spends a great deal of it to look like they don't have any. Has friends and/or self cut hair. Dyes it frequently (black, white-blonde, etc. and until scalp bleeds). Has a closet full of clothing but usually wears same three things OVER AND OVER (most likely very tight black pants, scarf, and ironic tee-shirt). Chips off nail polish artfully after $50 manicure. Sleeps with everyone and talks about it at great volume in crowded coffee shops. Addicted to coffee, cigarettes (Parliaments, Kamel Reds, Lucky Strikes, etc.), and possibly cocaine. Claims to be in a band. Rehearsals consist of choosing outfits for next show and drinking PBR. Always on the list. Majors or majored in art, writing, or queer studies. Name-drops. May go by "Penny Lane," "Eleanor Rigby," etc. when drunk. On PBR

A lot of people in these parts, who aren't hipsters, don't really like hipsters. When I first moved to NY, I didn't get all the hipster hate - so what if they dress differently? Who cares if they are pretentious and parade around posing as "artists"? Hipster-haters complain that they drive up rents here in the city, thus driving out lifelong residents while they laligag and let dad pay the rent. But, after attending The Yard this past weekend, I have realized there is more to it. These hipsters are kind of a bane on society and give hard-working, honest kids like myself a bad name. Allow me to explain.

First off, I didn't realize what I was in for before the show. As my bf and I drove to the venue in Park Slope, I noticed many many bikes chained to fences and street signs. "Wow, it feels like we're in Williamsburg," I noted. For anyone unfamiliar with Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the streets are INUNDATED with bikes and the hipsters that own them. Chrome litters the sidewalk in that neighborhood, and it's like you are walking in a scrap yard, and the bikes are all consumed in this metal-painted orgy, piled on top of each other and toppling into the streets, prepared to ruin some innocent driver's day.

So the bikes were upon us, strangling the street signs and fledgling baby trees with their chains. At the entrance, the attendant stamped the insides of our wrists. Why the insides of our wrists as opposed to the backs of our hands, I don't know, but I have realized that there is a good reason to stamp the back of the hand instead - because the ink can't get all over your skin and clothing as easily. Seriously hipsters, I don't know if you were trying to be ironic with the wrist stamping, but by the end of the night the ink had smeared on my legs and skirt. Tools.

When we made it inside, it soon became apparent that the bf and I were out of our element. A thick stench of B.O. hung on the air. Boys clad in scummy keds and green socks crept around with PBRs in hand. Girls stood hostile behind their bug-eye sunglasses and high-waisted shorts. In general, the crowd was just one giant ball of smell and ugly, of self-importance and hypocrisy.

The bf and I, who are by nature warm-hearted and open, realized that we would be making no friends there, and that is my general complaint after going to this show Saturday night. It's not like we were expecting to become best friends with anyone, but when I ask if this is the line for beer, I'd appreciate more than a grunt for response. If you bump into me, I'd like it if you could just look me in the eye and acknowledge that accidents happen, instead of shooting me a loathsome look. Get off your high-horse and ditch the "tortured artist" attitude, because if your idea of personal style is any reflection on your "art," whatever you "create" is ordinary and copied, thus you have no more cultural significance than I do.

And more on the hipster "personal" "style" - never have I seen so many tattered, threadbare and mismatched outfits in all my life. My bf compared many of the girls to Laura Ingalls and Little Orphan Annie because their dresses were literally disintegrating. It's all part of the hipster schtick to look like a poor and starving artist, but the jig is up when you are seen chatting away on your BlackBerry Pearl. There was even a girl decked out in a majorette uniform, complete with a coiffed camel toe. Um, let me just say this - I used to be a majorette and I was forced to strap myself in those lycra jumpsuits throughout high school...and it sucked. The uniform was uncomfortable and unflattering, and the fact that you, girly, voluntarily wore that ridiculous outfit makes a mockery of the suffering endured by all the poor majorette girls in the world.

As for the guys, their hairdos and beards were perfectly greased and uncombed, and their socks evinced all the colors of the rainbow - observe:



















We made it out alive, in no small part due to the many beers we imbibed, but I am still thanking my lucky stars that I don't live in Williamsburg (though I'm sure the infestation will take over Bay Ridge by the year 2012).

Oh, and more bonus pics of moi and the crowd:

For more anthropological studies on hipsters, visit www.diehipster.com

You cannot hide your mired past from me, reality star!

Ugh, my landlord just let me into my apartment after being locked out for 2.5 hours. It sucked balls, mainly because I had to do a #2, and I didn't want to do it in my bf's apartment while his roomie was there. See, I do have a little shame.

But the bright side is that, in my boredom, I watched an episode of Beauty and the Geek - not the first time I'd ever seen it, but the first I'd seen from this season.

I was struck by the fact that this time around, not all the beauties were female, and not all the geeks were male. Allow me to demonstrate:

Nicole, Female Geek:


















Sam, Male Beauty:

















Novel idea! (sorta) But as I watched, Sam kept making me think that I've seen him somewhere before. The Beauty and the Geek site lists him as a club promoter, but his face was too familiar, like I knew him in a different life...

And then it hit me (note: I did not see all the episodes, and maybe his previous career was broached in one of them, but if not - Sam, I know your secret!)

Does anyone remember the Disney movie Brink! ? It was about this kid who was a tubular rollerblader, and in an effort to help his family financially, he joined the rival "sponsored" team, headed by his arch-nemesis Val.

Please tell me someone remembers this movie. I think I was like 14 or some shit when it aired on the Disney Channel. Well who do you think played the obnoxious scumbag Val? None other than Sam Horrigan, who's very same IMDB picture in the one shown of beautiful Sam above.

Sam the Beauty is actually an actor with many credits to his name. Guess where else I recognized him from? He played the son on Grace Under Fire. Yeah! Just check out the IMDB page that I linked above.

Hmm, it just occurred to me that no one probably gives a shit about my discovery. And I'd use a Brink! quote to illustrate how I feel about your apathy, but none of you would get it and you'd further think that I'm a retard. Humph! So I won't. Way to rain on my parade!

PS Big meeting tomorrow - the producer and I are meeting with an actual hypnotherapist. Oh yeah, and I got a free Capricorn key chain today. I think I'm gonna make a buck (literally) and sell it on ebay.

The voices in my head commanded me to write this post

I can't really think of anything cohesive to write at the moment, but I don't want to let the blog go another day without posting...so I'm just going to write a bunch of random shit I've been thinking. You can do the same in the comments.

- I quit smoking, or rather, I have gone all of today without smoking, not because I resolved to quit but because I was too lazy to take my ass to the store to buy some. Well. Maybe the fact that my laziness trumped my addiction is a good sign.

- omigod I have to wake up at 5:15 am to take my roommate to the airport. Gah! He's so fucking cheap, I know he has the $30 to get a cab to the airport, but he still had the gall to ask me to drive him. Eh, small price to pay for one blissful week without him. I am going to walk around naked every day until he returns.

- speaking of the roommate, it's getting to that time when I need to tell him I'm moving out. How will I do this? What will be his reaction? I kind of hope he reacts badly, because it will give me an excuse to be a raging bitch and let loose bottled resentments.

- sometimes I wonder if I hate men. I'm talking vehement hate - I hate religion, but really, I can chalk up that loathing to a hate for men. I don't want to hate men, namely because I like having sex with them. But wow, so much heartache and pain in this world comes from their hands.

- I have been afflicted by some serious stomach problems lately, and when I started thinking about it, I realized that I have had stomach problems for quite some time now. Do you think I have ABS? Or Crohn's disease? (Sidenote: I once f'ed a guy who had Crohn's and he was soooooo annoying, and partly a psycho. I hope psychosis isn't a side effect of the disease).

- Ugh, I did E again the other night and I'm done. At my bf's prodding we did too much (again), and though the recovery wasn't as bad as last time, I DO kind of feel stupider after taking it. Maybe that's because someone warned me of the ramifications of Ecstasy...? If I do it anymore, I'm sure I will become a vegetable, and that's pretty much the worst thing that could ever happen to me.