Remember two summers ago when the fedora was the fashionable way for college men to flout their backwards hat and J. crew clad oppressors? The fedora was, for a brief moment, the best way to grab Ed Hardy by the balls and declare “Hey! I read the Onion and appreciate meaningful music!” But we quickly reached the tipping point: Justin Timberlake.
Now I love J.T. just as much as the next girl who spends her lonely Saturday nights breathless between sketch comedy cameos. But when Justin rocks a style YOU KNOW that shit is gonna blow up road-side-bomb style at the local mall and then the Kris Allen lovin’ tweens usurp our flat brimmed crown of authenticity.
More bad news: ladies, y’all can’t pull it off either. The problem for we vadge-laden is Mary Kate. So Justin was doing “dapper” thing and he introduced it to the regs (regular people). But MK was the one who brought it to the hipster-ladies. She stepped out of her coke mansion in a bohemian sack and fedora and BAM: CHAOS on the streets of Brooklyn! Art schoolgirls didn’t know which way was cool. Were they trying to look good? Or like they didn’t give a fuck? Side question: do they really NEED those suspenders to hold up those denim cut offs? No, no, and NO!
This is a RARE fashion moment that we should all fear. The hipsters AND the regs have embraced and played out THE SAME piece of fashion item at THE SAME time! It’s like when you time travel and you run into yourself in the past. THE WORLD EXPLODES.
Also, Freddy Kruger wore a fedora.
Ps. Blacks can still wear them because THEY DO CAN ANYTHING (Including walk through walls and be president.)!!
I miss Fairuza, Winona, and Shannon Dohrety. I miss the smokey brunettes who’d smoke, pipe bomb their high-schools, and be ball-busting emasculating bitches.
I could handle the late 90’s glut of toe-headed wild girls. Your Drew Berrymores and your Courtney Loves but I simply can no longer tolerate these pliant, willowy, by-golly-by-gum, frumpy blondes who whimper and preen for their pigeon chested co-stars. If I see Amy Adams chin tremble one more time as she screws up her pale little face to go tell some man-child that she “will always be there for him” I’ll cut some one. Same thing goes for Pam (ugh, even the name PAAAAM, sounds like a poodle fart). I like the Office, I do, but you better watch your ass if your BF starts saying he thinks Jenna Fischer is hot.
That means he will leave you for a girl who doesn’t bite her nails, who doesn’t toss off racial slurs when on a pharmaceutical binge, and who only thinks oral sex is for “special occasions”. You’re fucked. We’re all fucked. Ugh, they’re like recession vixens. The government bonds of the sexual stock market. The safe bet, low risk, steady but sure investment.
Where are my raven haired harlots? Where are the ladies with a little bit of danger?
No! Ellen Page does NOT count, her dead-pan, innocuous, smarter than thou droll puts her line to be the next an Air America host NOT a sex symbol. Niether does Queen of Hipster Wet Dreams Zooey Deschanel. Her quirkiness is on total overload and she needs to be thrown out of a helicopter screaming (I really can’t stand or your faggy crush on her).
It’s a known fact that we here at PSI headquarters in Milan are ardent Nicolas Cage boosters. We unironically love this man. When he decides to act, he’s electric. When he decides to go on auto-pilot he’s still an engrossing spectacle to watch because he’s like kind of idiot savant unaware that there seems to be a movie going on around him. But sometimes he has unbelievably good taste in film, he makes unconventional character choices and adds a level of nuance to a role that only a master actor could do (read: Adaptation). Sweating, awkward, sincere, in the right kind of frenzy he can spin off like a top and it’s dazzling to watch.
Um, you can guess which category his new movie (a remake of a classic Keitel Peen Flick Bad Lieutenant) falls into:
Also, do people even do coke anymore? And do they still rub it on their teeth to check quality? Isn’t that something people just did in Bret Easton Ellis books to illustrate the pulsating nihilism of the youth culture in the 80’s? Most importantly, does any one know where I can score some decent blow these days? Anyways, back to a simpler time: 1992. Below is the trailer for the original Bad Lieuatenant directed by Abel Ferrera. which Big Daddy E (Robert Ebert) said of the Keitel and the movie
Keitel starred in Scorsese’s first film and has spent the last 25 years taking more chances with scripts and directors than any other major actor. He has the nerve to tackle roles like this, that other actors, even those with street images, would shy away from. He bares everything here – his body, yes, but also his weaknesses, his hungers. It is a performance given without reservation.
The film has the NC-17 rating, for adults only, and that is appropriate. But it is not a “dirty movie,” and in fact takes spirituality and morality more seriously than most films do. And in the bad lieutenant, Keitel has given us one of the great screen performances in recent years.
Dell Computers recently launched the Della, a netbook aimed at women. They all came in pastel colors, natch, and were touted as great ways to find recipes, manage our diets, and map our fitness routines. Wow, we’re still supposed to cook, even though we’re not allowed to eat?! UGH if you want peddle women-friendly laptops put a one-click RU486 ordering website in the bookmarks and a high def screen for watching RDJ porn (Sherlock Holmes has a PG-13 rating?? WHAT?)
In the face of massive backlash for insulting half the human race with their condescending marketing, Dell has re-vamped the Della site (THNX 4 THE FEEDBACK, SISTAS!). However, it still contains an online video on how to shop. *facepalm* And it’s still nearly impossible to find any specs on the netbook. Because numbers and technology confuse our tiny ladybrains!
If there was one childhood activity that was completely gender-neutral, surely it was contacting the dead! Well, thank god, they found a way to girl it up! Ouija For Girls is pink (of course!) and comes with a set of 72 question cards. Because boys are just naturally better at thinking of what to ask once you’ve contacted the spirits of the dead! Girls need a little help with it.
Alas, there is probably no card with the question “Why did Hasbro feel it necessary to pink ghetto-ize a cherished childhood toy with this stereotypical bullshit?” But there is one that asks “How many calories am I burning off right now?” Head, meet desk!
Sick of pink yet? Well too bad, because I saved the most infuriating for last! “Fling” is a new candy bar that manages to cram every single tired stereotype about women into one head-splodey pink package. It’s called a “fling”, because women aren’t really supposed to consume calories, in spite of being universally crazy for chocolate, so it’s “naughty” teeeheee! But that’s okay, because it’s only 85 calories! Oh, and it’s glittery. No, really.
If all that doesn’t gross you out, how about this:
Wrapped in a shiny pink and sliver package, this delicate “chocolate finger” is intended for women. The word “finger” is an industry term for a long, slim confection, Mars spokesman Ryan Bowling says, but with ads that invite you to “Pleasure yourself” in pink lettering, consumers might come to other conclusions.
Until we can work out our fucked up Puritan attitudes to both food and sex, I don’t think we should be mixing them up.
Kansas State University recently released the results of a study of the geographic distribution of the Seven Deadly Sins (Ugh, the movie was better than the book!). As you’ve come to expect from Kansas, it shows tremendous intellectual depth and rigor.It’s also, by NO MEANS, influenced by oversimplified judgments derived from ideas about goodness that’ve been reshuffled by 2000+ years of translation quirks and the shifting needs of whoever was doing the translating.But enough about how bulletproof it is, let’s jump straight into the belly of the beast and eat up all those smart conclusions — based on fast food, income, and warts– til we get sick, six, six!
*GREED was a simple comparison of average incomes versus the number of people living below the poverty line.The brilliant thing about this is that it omits the real greed (Kansas is not part of a country where 90% of the wealth is in 10% of the hands or anything like that) and instead insinuates that anyone who doesn’t have a socialist policy of redistributing his or her wealth towards the median is greedy as opposed to supporting a family/ pissing it all into cocaine and or bad contemporary art.
*Theft was used to gauge ENVY.Since poverty doesn’t encourage crime, this means that anyone who steals is doing it because they’re jealous.Couldn’t they have at least dropped some leading questions about white privilege or stuck a thermometer in our collective ass, rigged up one of those “Clockwork Orange” style forced-viewing contraptions, and started playing an episode of “Cribs?”
*LUST was based on the number of STDs reported per capita.You know, responsible fucking with a basic degree of respect for each other’s junk doesn’t ever constitute solidly lusty fun.
*Fast food restaurants per capita were the metric for GLUTTONY.I like this idea because I don’t think that obesity statistics, which would be a totally obscure way to measure how much gluttony is actually afoot, have been kept in decades.In a world truly committed to fighting sin, news outlets would run scare stories about how available fast food is in this country every time there’s a slow news day.
*SLOTH is my favorite; it was computed by comparing expenditures on arts, entertainment, and recreation with employment rates!This is on point because striving is in no way involved when a writer sets out to create something emotionally resonant, thematically rich, and dramatically engaging, just as musical instruments don’t take years to master and the visual arts are nothin’ but highfaulautin’ doodles and gubmint funded pawn-ah-grafee.People who put money and time into allowing these things to enrich their lives and perceptions are traitors for not putting that money into savings bonds, survival kits, or canned moon pies.
*Violent crimes per capita were used to calculate WRATH. Kansas, if you bring me the head of Gwyneth Paltrow all your caveman calculations are forgiven.
*Finally, PRIDE; that toxic acorn of arrogance that lies at the root of all sin was calculated by averaging the other six.You know, because there’s nothing remotely arrogant about making biblically presumptuous judgments that mostly elide the things they claim to cover on a fucking basic, denotative level and then using the whole miscarriage of science to wring money out the state for something that’s a religiously framed exercise.If evolving weren’t an affront to God, our Kansan scientists would be far too evolved to ever try to pull a lazy scam like that…Maybe the next study will be a little more intelligently designed.
Has Paul Newman circa 1967 been knocked off the top of moms’ Guys Who Aren’t Your Dad I Want to Do It With list and been replaced by a cross dressing (alleged) cock fiend? The fact that your mom wants to rub one out to Adam Lambert is both a mystery and a phenomenon. While tween girls are hesitant to give Adam their precious vote, lest he put a ring on it one day, moms are channeling their inner fag hag and riding the Glam train to Cougarville.
I was lucky enough to get a ticket to Tuesday night’s Kris/Adam gangbang finale showdown. There was no oxygen at the Nokia Theater – only the pheromonal stench of seven thousand moms, tweens, and gay dudes. And once Adam took the stage and showed his tongue, letting free his signature high pitched shriek, the entire crowd began ovulating.
Adam Lambert is the all encompassing package. It’s more than his pretty eye makeup that would make that tranny working at the MAC counter envious. In the eyes of moms everywhere, his sexual ambiguity allows him to take on the role as the prodigal son and daughter. Lambert with his sparkles and light goth meets Fonzi wardrobe manages to encapsulate both edgy and non-threatening.
He’s both the bad boy your mom dated in high school – the one who dropped out of community college and now breeds rabbits for a living – and the civil engineer she ended up marrying.
Your mom is going to be stoked when you give her that Glambert calendar or his CD covering Frank Sinatra songs or his underground gay sex tape for her birthday next year.
The word is that Lars von Triers made his latest, Antichrist, after coming down from a 2-year bout of depression that left him wondering if he’d ever make another movie. At the risk of pushing him over the edge, it sounds like maybe he should have listened to his gut. It was greeted with bafflement and hoots of derision at Cannes, and Variety derides it as “a big fat art-film fart”. (And Jeffrey Wells called it a “fartbomb” — we sense a theme here!
I have no idea if Antichrist is actually about the Antichrist, because none of the reviewers have been able to figure out what the hell it is about. Too bad, because then Willem Dafoe would have played Christ and Antichrist, which is pretty cool. (Do they explode if they touch?) Suffice it to say, it starts with a toddler falling out of a window and splashing all over the pavement while his parents screw in the next room (but it’s in B&W, so it’s art, not porn!); someone goes crazy; and then a bunch of genital mutilation occurs, most of which is shown in shocking full-color close-up. Most of the reviewers aren’t going into too much detail regarding the latter, but you can read all about what happens to Willem Dafoe’s genitals if you really want to never stop cringing.
Also, this happens:
After the woman is pushed to confess that she’s most afraid of their property deep in the forest — where the she spent part of the previous summer alone with her son — that’s where hubby take her. This chapter on “Pain” actually charts the woman’s self-proclaimed recovery, but ends unpromisingly with a disemboweled fox rising out of the ferns to announce, “Chaos Reigns.”
That’s not a metaphor, the disemboweled fox actually talks. I’m thinking maybe von Triers needs to go back for another round of meds. And now, the trailer!
Do you know Katie? She’s a delight and something of a Good Witch of the Internet East. So Katie, you’re a populist (like Dubya! A Yale-groomed, straight-talkin’ salty grain of The Earth). You’re free of snobbery. You’ve even been accused of “liking too many things.” And I say GREAT! While you embrace the popular I think you know when to draw that line. Rarely do I giggle at kthnxbye but you rep it, and rep it well.
1. YALL vs. YA’LL vs. Y’ALL– So guilty of this one, yall!! crls fault. I like it best when he uses it at the start of a post. Ya’ll is NEVER ok bc it is gramatically incorrect. I don’t even like y’all with the apostrophe. It shows too much effort. It should be one word. Yall. I use it paired with l8rz. Best used with ironic exclamation points which are in and of themselves becoming tired. Jesus, the universe is imploding.
2. YO DAWG-Never ok unless you can use photoshop.
3. WANT. I prefer to use <3 <3 <3 in its place. Yeah, maybe that’s worse but emoticons and their brethren are inherently amusing if you ask me. And you did ask me
4. KTHNX BYE: just toss in a quick kthx. Needs to be breezy and flippant and best used at the end of an incoherent stream of consciousness request for information.
5. (Ironic use of) LOL: Never been a LOLer, probs because I used it unironically too much when I was a child star on the internet. (have I sent you thebusiness week article btw? srs question.) the problem is that I used to read it as el oh el and now I read it as loll which annoys me. i think a well placed one is fine but it’snot part of my reportoire. i don’t know how to spell that word. LOLOLOLOL.
BONUS: I decided this morning that I want some sort of abbreviation for ZOMG (because it isn’t succinct enough) sort of like lulz for LOL. I was thinking zomz because when I read zomg in my mind I pronounce it “zo em gee”
pps: true confessions: I laugh every time Brian Van reblogs some random tumblr’s girl’s self taken photo latenight and just writes HEY GURL. My achilles heel is that I’m a sucker for brian van in general.
Oh noes the youngs are tweeting on their ipods and can’t write shit down (or read much of any one thing) cause they ain’t got time! It’s the AGE OF DISTRACTION and it’s fucking us all up, well, according author/scientist Winifred Gallagher:
There is no such thing as multi-tasking…People don’t understand that attention is a finite resource, like money. Do you want to invest your cognitive cash on endless Twittering or Net surfing or couch potatoing? You’re constantly making choices, and your choices determine your experience
The question in front of us isn’t one of distraction, it’s one of synthesis. If we’re living in a tragicomic cutup that shifts every hour and where the very definitions of good and evil are slip in and out of being implements for battering us into being complicit in our own demise, what’s really left but to try to make sense out of it a few tweets at a time? The best defenses of snark aren’t the nihilistic ones, they’re the ones that talk about it as an adaptive mechanism that can compress several concepts and their contradictions into something entertaining (like kittens inspired by Carles).
The thing that’s so infuriating about the presumption that those of us clawing for threads at the spiderweb of information are distracted is the pretense of authority involved on the part of people who don’t even understand what they’re looking at. It’s not cause for alarm, it’s cause for a level of openness about our own limitations.
Ok, now let us drop some literary bombs on this bitch: When Huxley –stay with me– first talked about the mind at large, I don’t think he realized that it was going to be such a kick and such a bore at the same time, especially once we had the means to exponentiate it. This is why so many of us are wedded to our ipods; practical infinity and incredible consistency in one device. It looks like a distraction but it’s closer to cerebral wallpaper.
If a generation of educated minds is, on some level, going to be condemned to menial work, it seems unfair to not give it a place to run, just as it seems short sighted to assume that the teeming cloud in front of us now is about distraction instead of impressionism. The human mind, right down to the spatial economy of single letters and gestures, is evolving towards the end of ekeing out multitudes right now and some of it’s nonsense (I tweeted about making French Fries with Italian dressing and hot sauce! And people were actually intersted!) but every so often, trifold profound-itry (it’s as much of a word as totes) bursts through the clutter and things fall into place like ice core haiku of novelty, humor, and unexpected humanity. Maybe next time the sawdust in the gears will be easier to blast out and the creaking will cut through one caustic tweet at a time before the fireworks drown it.
Public School Intelligentsia was designed by Matty and Natasha, who aren't experts like a sommelier will tell you that your lamb would taste better with a 1970 Rothschild Cabernet Sauvignon, but experts like that kid who inexplicably puts together an awesome party mix in fifteen minutes from somebody else's music library.