cameraobscura


…this track has put me in the mood for summer. That and Fleet Week, of course.

(Admittedly so, it’s a bit She&Him, but a straight listen-through – preferably on a picnic blanket or road trip – of Volume One, and you’ll see why I don’t mind.)

Artist.Album.Song.
Camera Obscura.My Maudlin Career.French Navy.

*debatable.

I don’t read FHM, but in an attempt to understand the logic behind this joke of a list…I ventured onto their website…saw this…

miley

along with the headline “Should Miley Do a Sex Tape?” – and then remembered, “I’m not a beerchugging frat boy from the Midwest,” thus X’ing the window out and returning to my study.

First, who the hell is (#1) Cheryl Cole (seen below)?

cheryl

Answer: She’s part of the UK singing group Girls Aloud. I assume they sound like the Spice Girls because I’m closeminded, but after a single YouTube search, I discover they sound worse. (Don’t bother.)

Second, I’ve got no qualms with the #2 choice of Megan Fox…Unless of course, they’re referring to her judgment, because she’s in some sort of on-again/off-again relationship with a dude from the original 90210 and that confuses me. (Seriously, is the has-been really worth the stress, Megan? It ages you. Six months from now, you won’t even be considered for a spot in the Top 50. Think about it.)

Nor do I have a problem with (#3) Jessica Alba, because I recognize her value would plummet had this list been based on talent. But congrats to (#4) Britney Spears for Biggest Turnaround, because this time last year, she looked like this and nobody bothered to glance twice at her unless she was taking really wide panty-less steps out of a car. And even then, we all cringed. Even boys. And they like free anything.

Adriana Lima (#6) is cool, but Anna Friel (#9)? Who? I understand FHM is a British mag, but if fitting the criteria of Sexiest Woman means having the accent, that’s just not enough. How her face (seen below) ended up anywhere in the Top 10 before a Scarlett or a Halle or even that Reality TV Russian Svetlana is beyond me.

109186_D_203r

Thankfully, they rounded the list out with the non-negotiable beauty that is (#10) Freida Pinto or else I would have boycotted their sales at all the Wawa’s across the country claiming it was run by “blind” men who made all their cover girls strip for “charity” (see: perverts).

AS SEEN ON: THE MODEST BASTARD

The English Language

April 22, 2009

"duck, duck, goose" not part of training.

"duck, duck, goose" not part of training.

So, I like planes. And I like heat. And I, contrary to popular belief, enjoy speaking. Well, maybe just words. But language in general. And, in high school, a bunch of kids were invited to go to Spain, but I couldn’t go because of money, I’m sure; I worked at a pizzeria. And in college, I tried studying abroad, but the advisors there were so shitty (yeah, I said it), you would have thought you were trying to make a permanent cross-country move. Dolo. As an infant. Who couldn’t speak English. And had a clubfoot. Point being, they made it really hard. And plus, they only offered trips to Japan, Rome, and London. I think. I refuse to look it up for the sake of the post. Besides, I’m pretty sure they deactivated my log-in to their website. (The school has yet to send me finalized field work projects I completed, but are on point when it comes to asking for that cash back. Bitter? Me thinks yes.)  

Anyhow, when I finally graduated college – a lady never tells her age* – I thought: “take opportunity and put into own hand.” Just like that. Grammatically incorrect and all. And thought I could beat the system, “damn the man, save the empire,” by traveling abroad (because I like planes) to South or Central America (because I like heat) and teach English (because I know it well) and simultaneously learn Spanish (because I don’t know it that well; *Puerto Rican ancestors looking down and shushing me, or symbolically slapping me with chancleta – yes, that cliche*) and get paid for it (because I like money). I took a seminar and everything and got my TEFL certificate and started applying to jobs. And I learned, very quickly, that the job market is pretty much fucked everywhere. So I’ll keep the hope alive, but I’m not as prepared as I was a year ago, say the opp presents itself. I’d probably just pass this out to my students, curtsy, run out the door, and piss myself.

A     P L A N     F O R     T H E     I M P R O V E M E N T     O F     E N G L I S H      S P E L L I N G

“For example, in Year 1 that useless letter “c” would be dropped to be replased either by “k” or “s”, and likewise “x” would no longer be part of the alphabet. The only kase in which “c” would be retained would be the “ch” formation, which will be dealt with later. Year 2 might reform “w” spelling, so that “which” and “one” would take the same konsonant, wile Year 3 might well abolish “y” replasing it with “i” and Iear 4 might fiks the “g/j” anomali wonse and for all.

Jenerally, then, the improvement would kontinue iear bai iear with Iear 5 doing awai with useless double konsonants, and Iears 6-12 or so modifaiing vowlz and the rimeining voist and unvoist konsonants. Bai Iear 15 or sou, it wud fainali bi posibl tu meik ius ov thi ridandant letez “c”, “y” and “x” — bai now jast a memori in the maindz ov ould doderez — tu riplais “ch”, “sh”, and “th” rispektivli.

Fainali, xen, aafte sam 20 iers ov orxogrefkl riform, wi wud hev a lojikl, kohirnt speling in ius xrewawt xe Ingliy-spiking werld.”

– Excerpt from letter written to the journal “The Economist”, by M.J. Shields.

Money well spent, riiiight? *Nods self-assuringly*

*22, bitches.

Last time I was on the train, I watched a guy try to explain ‘knock, knock’ jokes to the son of the woman he was trying to bang as soon as they returned home from the zoo or whatever. And I don’t mean just one ‘knock, knock’ joke, like…”Oh, maybe the kid didn’t hear me, I’ll repeat myself,” I mean the actual concept behind them: “‘Police’ sounds like ‘please,’ and ‘Howard’ like ‘how would,’ and ‘Radio’ like ‘ready or'” and it was all very pathetic and remniscent of this:

and the kid seemed to really care less about dude’s self-indulgent instructions, and instead thought the most hilarious thing in the world to do was read as many signs that passed by as possible at the quickest of speed, even if they involved Spanish words and names of STDs. It was funny for a few seconds and then increasingly annoying. Like the wandering woman who lacks voice inflection and begs for money as if she’s reading off a teleprompter made for dummies and run-on sentence-phobics: “I am not on drugs. I am pregnant. I will appreciate anything – a quar-ter. Doll-ar. Ham-bur-ger, too.”

Or the guy who raps aloud – for all the 9-5er’s to hear – not the lyrics of the late greats or the bars of a Weezy F. track (seriously, there’s like 50 in rotation right now, take your pick), but the self-penned, ill-timed, overly-vulgar, call it superunderground, verses of his amateur ass and the 8 Mile-like notebook he carries. Or the aspiring Harlem Globetrotters / Jabbawockeez (usually between the ages of 13 and 16, dressed to the nines in Dickies) who always manage to use the space between my foot and the sliding doors as their fucking stage. Or the person who forgot to take advantage of the genius behind headphones because, though, yes, plugged deeply into their own ears, the death metal is always set at a volume so high, even the muffled version is torture to nearby passengers. Or the couple who make PDA their forte. Or, best yet, the hooded he or she, usually sprawled out across two seats, scaring anybody off from considering taking the third, because no one’s really sure if 1) they’re sleeping or 2) they’re pretending to be sleeping, but are really plotting a full-out harassment on the person who dares to disturb them. And no one’s ever willing to find out. Including me. So I stand for the next 14 stops underneath someones armpit, with a bike handle digging into my back.

But then I luck upon an open seat in a car that has this: 
instantmessage3
fixed to its walls and I smile one huge ass smile because…it just make sense.


and in case the ads didn’t hit home the first time, the website (for now) makes it a point to remind us that we’ve got 3 minutes or less to stop twittering/pinging/meeboing (what are these words!!?) and get back to our loved ones.

St. Vincent, I Like You.

April 19, 2009

“Sometimes I had to restrain myself from laughing out of discomfort, and sometimes I had to restrain myself from crying – it’s as contagious as yawning.” – St. Vincent

I must admit, I felt the sting. This chick is officially on my radar.

So, I’m not a mom or anything, but I’m pretty sure this:
peekaru1

is not what they (“society”) mean by closeness.

There has to be another way to establish a relationship with your child – you know, just in case DNA and umbilical cords and placenta aren’t enough. Like forcing him or her to do the Macarena with you in front of a crowd full of strangers at the Marriott’s “Midnight Social!!!” in Aruba. (Here’s lookin’ at you, mom). Or pulling your child out of class whilst in his or her favorite school (full of psuedo-BFF’s and future heartbreakers) to – surprise surprise – interview for another school for “smarter kids.” (Yes, pops, I sabotaged that entire Q & A, thus I was not their “ideal candidate.”)

Parents: if you just have some patience, there’ll be TONS of reasons for your kids to hate you. It just shouldn’t start this early. There’s, like, steps to this thing and they involve zippers and measurements and … kids do unpredicatable shit, people. Like piss without warning. And unless you wear raincoats on a daily basis, it tends to permeate through cotton and silk and possibly polyester. And definitely fleece. And there doesn’t seem to be an immediate release pull on this thing that parachutes the child out the bottom and onto land. So, I’m not a fan of this product. And I wouldn’t get it for any moms I know either, because I’m pretty sure they spend enough time scrubbing Crayon and Kool-Aid stains out of regular things like carpets and couches – not things with made-up names like “Peekaru,” made by folks who didn’t use the phone until the age of 6.

AS SEEN ON: THE MODEST BASTARD

Fix Your Face

April 6, 2009

So, I tried contorting my face into this expression earlier today:

And it didn’t come out looking a quarter as powerful. Just kind of painful. And definitely stupid. Bit Sloth-y. And minutes later, it was enough to make me embarrassed while in my own solitude.

But Steven Lopez – artist I know not a single thing about – did it right the first time. So I’ll leave the act of depicting intonation, to he and his brush. 

“After Midnight” Series…

to a T…

My best friend knows what it takes to please me (oww!). Hence the reason she sent me this magic. Anytime Isaac sings, I don’t really hear any of the words…just a voiceover going: “Yes, I’m talking to you. About all your relationships. Past, present, and future.” Because that’s what the Fray do. They fucking resonate.

(Overproduced tracks get me caught up in headbopping, so an acoustic anything is like an express train to the psyche; makes me listen intently. Well, that, and I was tryna see if he’d say “yo” or “homies” like Yeezy. And yes, yes, he does.)

MSTRKRFT will make you dance. And John Legend’s voice is sex. Anything less than a two-thumbs-up (and a pinky to show pimpness) would be uncivilized.

Artist.Album.Song.
MSTRKRFT (ft. John Legend).Fist of God.Heartbreaker.