Category Archives: music

She Comes In Colors Everywhere.

Dec

2009

Even though I’m long out of high school, my friend Kimme will always be one of the cool kids to me. Kimme and I went to high school together but we were a grade apart. Even though we had to wear school uniforms Kimme always managed to stand out and not in an obnoxious way, more like in a, “Hey who’s that cool chick with the Chrissie Hynde bangs?” way.

I’m always envious and amazed of people who know their style and have it down. Maybe you’ve noticed that the photos I put on this blog are of people whose style I wish I had: Cher (mostly 60s era Cher), Audrey Hepburn, Brigitte Bardot, Lou Doillon, et cetera. I’m still trying to find my personal style but Kimme is rock solid. The way she dresses reminds me of a mixture of Sable Starr, Joan Jett and Molly Ringwald in every movie.

Lady GaGa and Kimme remind me that you should always dress for you. Really. If you want to wear a latex dress, wear it. If you want to over accessorize, do it. If you want to wear a Donald Duck costume (I’m looking at you, Elton John) put it the fuck on and rock the fuck out of it. Sometimes I think I have to dress for men because that will help me find one (and sometimes I do because it’s just so easy to dress for men: tank top, preferably a white one with a black bra underneath, some great fitting jeans, heels and that’s it) but I realize that what’s going to help me find a man, find anyone, is confidence. And my confidence is going to hit when I feel totally comfortable in what I’m wearing, and that’s going to be something that I chose for myself because I love it. It also helps when I’m drunk.

Kimme with her friend Dylan.

Kimme, in a dress she designed, with her boyfriend Richie.

Kimme’s closet in 2005.

Kimme at high school graduation. We all had to wear white dresses and I love the dress she chose and how she accessorized it in a way that was totally hers. She could wear this again. But I don’t think she ever wears the same thing twice.

Thus, one of my resolutions (and how are we doing on those? Remember, we’re working on them now, before January 1st, because we’re awesome!) is to develop my personal style and not give a monkey what anyone thinks. No more dressing for men, friends, or the people who fall somewhere in between.

Drive-In Saturday — David Bowie
Baby It’s You — Smith
Le Marchand D’Amitie — Les Fleurs De Pavot
Charles — Pony Up
Barracuda — Heart
Then He Kissed Me — Sonny & Cher
Dead — Dana Gillespie
Suzanne — Francoise Hardy
Shattered — The Rolling Stones
Paris De Loin — Poney Express
TV — Darlings
She’s A Rainbow — Fuck

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

The Kindness of Strangers

Nov

2009

We’ll get back to our usual Apocalypstick in just a bit but I wanted to take the time to thank the kind girl at Beauty Bar who held the broken bathroom door stall closed for me. That was really cool of you. I hope I find you one day so I can thank you. You heard my tipsy fearful voice asking, “Uh oh, does this even lock?” and you said, “I got it” and got you did. You held that door while I peed, asking no questions or for anything in return. Then I said, “OK I’m done” and thanked you and you left. I didn’t even see your face. The word “hero” is thrown around a lot but I don’t think it’s any exaggeration when I say that what you did for me Friday night was the greatest act of heroism that anyone has ever done anywhere.

Thank you, kind stranger. May karma repay you in full.

Thank You — Jay-Z
Thank You Girl — The Beatles
Thank You For Being A Friend — Andrew Gold
Thank You For Sending Me An Angel — Talking Heads

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

You Want The Truth?

Oct

2009

Big thank you to all four of you (no really, thanks) who commented on my last post on what you want/like about my blog. Apparently what you like is honesty. You like my honesty. You want the truth? Here’s the truth:

The truth is, I’m sitting in my bathrobe right now. I’m sick.

Yet I’m drinking red wine. Out of a big goblet, too. No kidding, it’s a genuine goblet.

I’d let Pete Campbell rape me. But then I guess it wouldn’t be rape. Rape means never having to say please.

My career is as dead as Warren G. Harding. It’s so dead it’s not even worthy of being one of the better dead presidents. My life is a serious of near-misses. I’m shooting a short film on Saturday and I don’t even have my few lines memorized for it yet.

Dude, how come girls [always say to you], ‘Date me date me’? And no girl every says that to me?

I have no idea. It’s a weird thing girls do when you’re friends with them. It’s a girl crush.

NOBODY DOES THAT TO ME WHY AM I A FAIL.

Naw you’re not a fail.

THEN THE GUYS ASK ME OUT AND IM LIKE OKAY AND THEN THEY TRY TO KISS ME AND IM LIKE NO THNX AND THEN THEY GET MAD AND SEND ME MEAN TEXTSSSSSSSS.

Aw I’m sorry. But guys don’t really ask me out so I’m a fail too.

UM YOU GET ASKED OUT BY CELEBS OKAY.

Not exactly.

Most of the time I pretend that I am discovering the world as a time traveler from the future. As in, “Oh, look at how this person acts, this 2009 person.” I can forgive people a lot more this way. They’re not from the future, like I am.

I hate anyone who is even moderately successful in my field.

Nail-biting is my greatest vice.

I want to take up smoking because I have chunks of time in which I need to be self destructive but in an elegant way.

I can have a lot of fun.

I ate cream cheese wontons for dinner.

I feel everything crushing me, like I’m in that trash compactor in Star Wars, but I’m not screaming out for help. I just don’t care. C-3PO is an asshole. I’m sick of his attitude and the last thing I want is for him to save me. This is my garbage mess. That fucking robot with his fucking cocky bullshit sarcasm and sideways head motion needs to get off of my fucking back. Let me die in my own garbage.

I once got a guy off by counting. He wanted to have phone sex but he didn’t want me to talk dirty. He just wanted me to countdown from 20.

I think my friends hate me. They don’t return my calls. I wish I had at least stolen things from their houses while I had the chance.

Lauren Marie — Girls
Goddamn — Girls
Hellhole Ratrace — Girls

These tracks are from Girls and their fantastic new album, “Album.” Let me know if you like it. Or don’t, it’s Manhattan, who gives a fuck.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

In Defense Of Roman Polanski.

Oct

2009

Hey buddy. Things aren’t looking so hot, are they?

Look, I get it, Chuck. This is a raw deal you’re being served. They may as well give you a platter of sashimi, that’s how raw this is. I mean you were expecting an award one minute and the next you’re in handcuffs. That has to be a little surprising and unexpected. Like when that young girl came to your place expecting to be photographed and instead wound up with you playing her like a pianist (great film btw, buddy. I mean I didn’t see it, but Adrien Brody looked really thin and unhappy, so I totally get what you were going for). You must have been like, “What the?????” like those freeze frames before the commercial breaks on “Charlie’s Angels.” So not rad.

And who was that girl anyway? I believe you, she did NOT look 13. You thought she was 18, Chuck, and 18 is legal. Still doesn’t really explain why you raped her, but hey, you thought you were raping a fully grown woman NOT a Bad News Bear. I get it, buddy. These young girls in Hollywood, with their hair and their lipstick, who can really say how old anyone is? Have you seen Lindsay Lohan’s younger sister? She looks like one of Demi Moore’s carpool buddies.

Where was her mom anyway? Who was her mom to send her daughter to a creepy little dude’s house? I don’t care how famous you are I sure as hell am not sending my starstruck daughter to your house. Not unless I am following her and I’m holding a dartgun. So as far as parenting goes, she was driving on the wrong side of the road, if you know what I mean, and no one can fault you for that.

HOWEVER…it’s kind of hard to get off of this whole rape thing. I know, I know, she wouldn’t say yes — what else could you do? I mean we’ve all been there where we just had to force quaaludes and champagne into someones’ mouth and say, “Get in the jacuzzi, I directed Rosemary’s Baby.” I mean I can’t even tell you how many times I have had to drug my dates. It sucks bro! Someone should do something about that. There’s got to be a solution for all of us.

You should get a better deal though, Chuck. I mean you directed The Tenant! And Frantic! And Macbeth! I mean these are classics!!!

In all seriousness though, I’m really sorry that your mom died in a concentration camp. That is awful. I cannot imagine the pain you had to go through. And then on top of that, your wife is slaughtered. Some days you probably thought to yourself, “Is this my life?” And you looked in the mirror, and you decided to focus on work, and you strove to be happy, and you made Jack Nicholson your best friend but then you fell apart. And the worst part is that when you fell apart, you took someone with you, someone who didn’t deserve it. I know that you must know what you did was wrong. But you’ve lived this insane life of limitless “Yes.” Everyone has said yes to you. But she didn’t. That’s the most important part in all of this. She didn’t say yes and she was a girl.

Sorry bro.

Time To Pretend — MGMT
Too Young — Phoenix
Watch That Man — David Bowie
Angela — Jarvis Cocker
Shine A Light — The Rolling Stones

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Stood Up? Stare Down.

Oct

2009

“The fact that you’re not answering leads me to believe you’re either (a) not at home, (b) home but don’t want to talk to me, or (c) home, desperately want to talk to me, but trapped under something heavy.” — When Harry Met Sally

Last night I got stood up. To quote the Clash song that I’ve posted on this blog at least twice:

I’ve been beat up. I’ve been thrown out.
But I’m not down. I’m not down.

OK Honestly, I’m a little down. But what does one do when one is stood up? One finds other plans, has fun, and then gets Taco Bell at 2 AM. This is the sacred ritual of the single. This is what I did. I sent out a mass text to all of my friends and “etcs” letting them know of my sad fate in hopes that someone would rescue me. A few people did. I chose a guy. I got very drunk. I went to a gay bar. I told pretty much everyone within my general vicinity that I was stood up. And yes, I ate the Taco Bell at the end of the night. I ordered a #5 because 5 is my favorite number. I didn’t even look at what it was.

Turns out #5 is nachos and a taco.

See how much we’re learning?

I’m sure the gentleman had very good reason for standing me up. Perhaps he was eaten by sharks. I find it entirely plausible that in Los Angeles at around 8 at night someone decided to go swimming in the ocean and was eaten by sharks. That happens everyday. It’s just not widely reported.

The thing is, I don’t think this [by which I mean getting stood up] happens to anyone but me. Just because that’s just my life. My life is one long series of unfortunate events but without the clever orphans. However, if you find yourself stood up, here are my suggestions:

— Call and/or text your girlfriends. They will suggest something like, “Let’s go to Pinkberry” or at least offer their condolences.

— Get out of the house. It doesn’t matter if all you do is go to Starbucks and get an iced tall skinny vanilla latte; just get out.

— Eat and/or drink something delicious. Just because.

— Find another boy (or girl) to get with. But don’t do this if it’s going to lower your self-worth. Do it because you want to have fun. If the guy is notoriously afraid of commitment and you’re hoping to be the Rory Gilmore to whoever it is that bitch wound up with in the final season, then STEER CLEAR GURL.

— Email me! Really! I’m addicted to my iphone! I always check my email! Even when people beg me not to! ESPECIALLY when people beg me not to!

— And finally, listen to these songs:

Gaston — Beauty and the Beast film cast
Stop Your Sobbing — Pretenders
Womanizer — Britney
Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It) — Beyonce
Get Over It — OK Go
Tears Dry On Their Own — Amy Winehouse
Hot N Cold — Katy Perry
Girl Don’t Come — Sandie Shaw

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

If I Had the Chance

Sep

2009

Hey you. Thanks for meeting me here. Have a seat. No, not that seat. Don’t sit there. I swear to God if you sit there I will stab you in the throat. Oh, that seat? Yeah, that’s fine, you can sit there. I was kidding anyway.

I was thrilled to get your invitation. I can only assume that you’re bringing me here to tell me that those photos of you with that girl on facebook mean nothing. Yeah, I saw the ones of you in that canal in Venice. I guess it was very romantic but I’ve been in those canals and they smell like a house full of dumptrucks. Ok, fine, they don’t. I was just saying that because I felt like hurting you. Oh, that didn’t hurt you? Well yeah, I guess it wouldn’t. It’s not like you invented those canals. That was DaVinci. What? You’re pretty sure it’s not? Huh, that’s funny, which one of us went to college? Me.

I’m sorry. That was really, really mean.

Anyway you look well. I mean look at you, you’re fucking beautiful. You know it, I know it, that goddamn chair knows it. Look, I have no problem with the chair. It was a joke. This is great wine.

I just wanted to say that if you had a girlfriend you could have just told me. I wouldn’t have been hurt. It’s only now, after all this time of feeling like I’m in a cave with a single lit match, that I’m hurt. Oh, what I meant about the cave thing was that you left me in the dark. Yeah, that’s all I meant. No, I wasn’t implying that the match was burning my fingers. That’s dumb. That doesn’t make any sense. You’re an idiot.

I’m sorry, that was mean.

I’m just getting sick of this. All of this, stuff that you can’t even be held accountable for. I’m just getting sick of never being the girlfriend. I am always the girl on the way to the girlfriend. I’m Goodluck Chuck.

I am never the girl in photos.

What do I mean by that? Well, after a guy disappears from my life, lo and behold I see him on facebook with a new girl. They may not have even declared their relationship but it’s obvious. I always wonder, why isn’t that girl me? And usually I’m much more photogenic than these girls. I’m sorry if that shocks or upsets you but it’s true. But no guy ever wants to take photos of me and put them on facebook. No guy wants to have a photo tagged of us, of his arm slung around me, smiling at me with pure adoration. They save that for the girl after me. I am the girl the guy doesn’t show off.

This is what I mean when I say, I am never the girl in photos.

It’s OK, I’m fine now, I have Sven. Oh? Sven is my boyfriend. He looks like the guy in a 1960s ad for cigarettes. Sometimes. Other days he looks like a British guitar player. Sven isn’t exactly what you would call…real. Yeah, he’s my imaginary boyfriend. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Stop giving me a weird pity look. It’s fine. Really! Look, pretend I didn’t say anything. I was kidding. I was 80% kidding. Don’t worry about the 20%.

Never worry about the 20%.

Half of me wants to throw this drink in your face and the other half wants to kiss you. So what the hell am I supposed to do now? This is good wine, I don’t know if I should waste it on your face. Your beautiful, beautiful face.

I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna buck up. I’m going to stop looking at your facebook photos. I’m going to have to leave my iphone at home. I’m going to be the strong person that is hidden somewhere inside me, like a grape in a goat. Shh, I’m not done. I’m going to admit that I am the cliche who doesn’t feel validated unless it’s from a guy. But I’m going to be fine. I’m going to make videos and put them on this blog (really, I will). I’m going to keep writing. I’m going to get cast as a co-star in something.

I will realize that you are not everything I think you are.

And I’ll even pick up the check for this.

I’m just going to go to the bathroom first. I am definitely not going to slip out the back. Really. I’m not going to leave my credit card here at the table though because I…need it…in the bathroom. Yeah. I’m just going to be right back. I’m not not leaving forever.

Sike.

She’s Not Me — Madonna
Hello Stranger — Barbara Lewis
How To Quit — Sam Phillips
I’m Not Down — The Clash
Bloody Motherfuckin Asshole — Martha Wainwright
Ring Of Fire — Amanda Jo Williams
Brown Eyes — Lady GaGa
If You Close The Door — The Velvet Underground

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Who Is In Charge Here?

Sep

2009

William Shakespeare once said, “Thank you for inviting me but what the fuck is this shit.”

I love a good party and maybe even a bad party but an awkward party is something that I cannot handle. If you are going to invite people into your home and serve them food and alcohol then you had better be a capable host. Hint: do not sneak off into your bedroom to get high. It just doesn’t make for the best kind of host. Unless you’re one of those people who actually functions better when high — oh right, that’s an Urban School Myth or some folklore shit — no one functions better when high.

We are adults. Some of us own houses. Some of us have real jobs, like touring with U2. I don’t have that job and frankly I think U2 sucks that and that you can sing “Where The Streets Have No Name” to every song of theirs, but you know, whatever. Good for you. It must be nice to humor Bono and make him feel like he’s still musically relevant.

You need to make sure that there is enough food for enough people and if you’re cooking you need to let people know when the food is ready. What kind of operation are you running here? Do you want people to forage through your garbage can for food? Is this Annie? Where’s Sandy? Is the sun going to come out tomorrow or are you going to fuck that up, too?

I appreciate that you took the time to introduce your guests, but then I think it’s rude to take their camera, take a picture of me, give them their camera back, and say, “This is for you to masturbate to later.” Maybe I’m just old fashioned.

You need to be graceful. If a guest makes a faux paus you should not point at it and laugh, you should sweep it under the rug. You want your guests to be comfortable. And you don’t want your guests to throw things at each other. Who the fuck is in charge here?

When did we go from dinner jackets and Emily Post to logo tees and Jackass? OK maybe Jackass is a bad example; is that show still even on? A few nights ago I went out to dinner and I saw some guy who looked like Johnny Knoxville but way older. And then I realized, holy shit, that is Johnny Knoxville. He gets old just like everyone else. But you don’t see him running around with fireworks up his nose, do you? No, he probably is busy throwing classy parties with his Jackass money. That is how you do things. That is how you take charge.

Have some decorum.

Treat Me Like Your Mother — The Dead Weather
I’ve Underestimated My Charm (Again) — Black Kids
The Prince Of Parties — Flight of the Conchords
Mama Told Me (Not To Come) — Three Dog Night