angelique

Few things make me happy. Most of them I have encountered or perceived while stimulated by immense amounts of caffeine. And probably also sugar. But, there is no question about the difference between my indifference to most things and the sublime joy inspired by others, like CAFÉ ANGELIQUE.

I have drank coffee far and wide, many a cup. But nothing compares to a simple café au lait chez Angelique. I used to go there every day when I had class near it last year in the mornings. I would order my coffee and pastry in preparation for my semester in Paris. (Like I needed preparation for the fucking google of calories I was about to consume over the subsequent 4 months). I have since struggled to recreate the magical, phenomène madeleine moment with other coffees, other pastries, lattés, cafés crèmes, pains au chocolat, macarons, du café viennois, et ben, je n'ai rien atteint. That's just it--I was trying to re-create a unique and original experience that cannot be re-created. Thus is the epiphany I had when I revisited my long lost favorite café on Bleecker. I will try not to describe like such a horrible romantic, but their chocolate almond croissants are unparalleled, and they dillute that lavazza coffee with hot milk for me at an also unmatched ratio. Such singularity. But maybe it's just familiarity. Maybe I find it so ideal because it matches a standard which I deemed satisfactory in the past, defining an expectation I am happy to satisfy. Like solving a cross-word puzzle that I made up myself.

Also they always play what I imagine was played on college radio in 1994.

I will have two classes near my favorite place next semester. oh how fate brings me back to the tested receptacles of my esteems.

Unpaid Internships: Modern Slavery, or A Stockholm Syndrome of the Master-Slave Dialectic

Everyone who has an unpaid internship in say, marketing or editorial at some magazine, television station or fashion house always tells their yearning non-intern friends, earnestly, how much it sucks. But no one listens. Everyone becomes psychotically convinced that they need an internship in order to muster any ounce of self worth, or to even deserve self-worth. It's sort of like how high school girls are convinced that they need boyfriends. Except in this case, no one is going to stand out from the crowd and say, "It's okay to me to not have an internship--I can still be happy with myself, and self-esteem is healthy and hot," like they tell you to do in Seventeen and CosmoGirl Magazine. It's true that you need an internship. When you graduate from college, you better have spent your time in college networking and garnering a shitstorm of experience for your resume or you will have to bow down to those who have and watch them take your future job. No one will ask you where you went to college, they say. But somehow your internships are supposed to count big time.

Not all internships suck. In fact mine have been quite fruitful, but that is because I love writing and I've gotten to write, but internships in general have become so coveted that I could--myself, a college student--post an ad on Craig's List soliciting unpaid interns to help me go about my regular duties. And with my middling array of experiences and organizations I could polish my virtual identity and look completely legitimate, in the same way that I labored over my pre-internship resume to make it look substantial. This has been something that I have been seriously considering doing for some time now.

"Young writer/radio personality seeks detail-oriented, motivated spring intern to assist in tasks such as editing, transportation of documents, artist research, compiling multimedia, data entry and other organizational duties. Knowledge of pop-culture and computer savy a must. Experience with Macintosh programs and Microsoft excel definitely a plus. New York residents only, as you must have a superior mastery of the Metropolitan public transportation system."

See? It looks pretty legit, right? Just think: they could follow me around everywhere, carry some of my things, keep my schedule in a sort of blackberry, but not a blackberry because I don't want them to be able to use it to socialize, just to organize my life, so maybe more of a modern palm pilot, and help me do all of the things I want to do. I could make them search for and compile a list of all known doo-wop bands, and then rate them, for my radio show because I am too busy reading Russian literature, German philosophy and pages of technical, hermeneutic psychoanalytic rhetoric. They could grocery shop for me. Help me do my homework. Send memos for me. Clean my kitchen and vacuum my carpet. Do nice things for my roommate. Basically, HE/SHE WOULD BE MY SLAVE.

People willingly offer themselves up to be someone else's slave; that is what society has come to. I mean, basically it's like being someone's personal assistant, but without getting paid and to a lesser extent of responsibilities because you can't be there all the time... because you're not getting paid. Since you're not getting paid you are probably also involved in something else, such as school, thus your life would demand as much as one with a full-time job, but with your attention divided. Again, without getting paid for your time. A.K.A. SLAVERY. I guess you could argue that you're not getting nothing in return for your labor, because you get to put the internship on your resume and can potentially get a reference for a future position somewhere... maybe even with money. The process is justified as a road to eventual compensation.

Still, people's conception of self-worth is so low, so bankrupt, that they feel it necessary to institute a master-slave dialectic for zero interim/immediate compensation save the status and honorary title as "intern." You get to learn a lot from working at a company and everything, but the notion of the nature of the work is so degrading. Even the afforementioned justification is just a comforting lie you tell yourself in the mean time. A False Consciousness, if you will. Even if you enjoy it, you've just been so beaten over the head and brainwashed by the SYSTEM you don't even realize they are taking advantage of you, and you won't, fully, until you are in some established and paid position and you have to look down on the next generation of lowly interns. You'll remember how sometimes people were really nice to you and got you lunch or coffee, and then retrospectively understand from your new experience, that they only did that because they felt guilty, about having a slave in 21st Century society.

NYU Cunt

Calling all NYU cunts to define the ontological meaning of an NYU Cunt. A Portrait of the Undergrad as a Young Cunt; The Life and Times of the NYU Cunt. This is more specific terminology than the mere downtown jibe of "hipster." This is a privileged but disenfranchised, hardworking but slacking off, cultured but totally ignorant mass escapist who gallivants around downtown Manhattan in a razor-edged bubble.


That's not even it.

I LOVE MONEY

Sorry, Karl Marx. My love of money is representative of my love of life, and I don't think that means that capitalism has tricked me into not seeing the value of my labor as an expression of my self and my own actions. I am happy to finally look forward to receiving a pay check, and that I am receiving compensation for work in contrast to my endless output of unpaid interning, elder care, DJing, and school work. Putting a price on my time is the one sure way it receives recognition. I don't see that as a problem when that price and recognition then allow me to support myself.

REALLY?????

A 4.5?? Surely this is based on a scale of 1-10 in terms of Jay-Z. You can't bitch about the collabos, when someone reaches Jay-Z status they can work with whomever they please and there is no reason they shouldn't take advantage of that. This is in response to the griping in the first line. I'm not reading the rest.

i want this

http://www.yellowbirdproject.com/products/indie-rock-coloring-book

coloring is a form of therapy, no?

Shut Up, Pitchfork

Maybe it's just because I've been on a Bikini Kill kick, but I really like this new UK band Pens. And Pitchfork just gave their album Hey Friend What You Doing? a horrible review, which is actually quite comic in its blunt and exaggerated denigration. This is what I've been talking about. Honestly, why do they think it's okay to be this mean? What do you mean by "uninformed," Mr. Kelly? That they lack an artist statement of their influences and intentions with the album's place in musical history? Really.

They "can't play?" Is Hey Friend not up to technical par? Frank Black called simplicity an "epiphany," and "Where is my mind" is easy as shit to play. Does that mean the Pixies can't play? Mr. Kelly tries to focus on the overall quality of the music, their technical skill, songwriting and everything to judge the band, but it doesn't change the fact that he just doesn't get it. All of his criticisms are so arbitrary. They're doing the same thing as their contemporaries but not as well? How do you prove that? Their lo-fi guitars way more early 90s in their simplicity and singularity as opposed to today's super thick baths of layered guitar sounds. I would say that makes them different. The band name is a "dick joke?" Maybe to you, you pervert. Do you want to join the Pen 15 club? You get Pen 15 written on your hand to mark you as an honorary member. That's a penis joke.

This is definitely the kind of band that is going to bother peoples' ears. But that's just what it sounds like when you have girls yelling and banging around aggressively on their instruments. This is not about elegant musical splendor, this is about playing wrecklessly with a certain raunchy feminine swagger that pertains to this girl garage rock (i hesitate to say riot grrl). This is a question of genre and conventions, not of ability. If you're not used to it you're not going to like it. I don't listen to metal and if I had to write a metal or hardcore review I would probably vent all my irritation and qualms with conventions of the genre attributed to the particular band.

I hate Pattern Is Movement. They never sing in key, their overall song structures are cacophonous and annoying and I hated having to sit through them open for bands like Broken Social Scene and St Vincent. It was funny the first time, but I can only humor them so long. (Not a thoughtful or truly valid analysis, I know, but I'm not going to sit here and pull apart exactly what makes them suck and spit it back to you in a flowery, articulate critique). And I hate Be Your Own Pet and anything involving Jemina Pearl. If given the chance, maybe I would verbally eviscerate their music as well. I am willing to admit that maybe I just don't get it, though, or offer suggestions for what they could change to make me like them and praise an imagined, doctored version of their music.

When people read reviews they don't always keep in mind the tastes and biases of the reviewer and just trust what they read. This is dangerous because words are not sounds; what you read is not a replication of the music. When writing about music, you can really say anything. With sound you have the opportunity to write totally synesthetically and can label it almost whatever you want as long as you have some accurate reference points, naming a band a certain genre or lumping them in with similar bands. In truth it really means very little but "what is remembered becomes reality" and labels and conceptualizations of art and music and intangible things stick, grow and reproduce into a new palpable phenomenon.

It's really unfair for someone to write something so scathing knowing their responsibility as a 'tastemaker.'

I heard you like pâté, but I'm a little broke, so... Happy Birthday!

Bon Apetit!

I know, I never said you had a cat.

What?

Wow, you're really ungrateful. I just tried to get you a nice present and you don't even appreciate it. I put a lot of thought into this, you know.

Oh you can tell? You can tell?? No need for sarcasm. I'm sorry. Have a nice birthday.

Someone was lazy this holiday weekend

Wow, six Beatles reviews? Wow. Someone was at the lake this labor day and not working on anything new in Chicago.

What the hell are they saying?

trailer showing at the new museum's warp series as far as i know

i don't even know what to say about music anymore

(Not a diss)

I am the baby: a comprehensive list of my childhood television counterparts

As I predicted on this blog, after a two-and-a-half hour bus ride yesterday with no bathroom breaks (it is impossible to stand still long enough on that tumultuous drive to squat over that nasty ass toilet sloshing with blue disinfectant at its depths and actually pee into it), I HAVE A U.T.I. Shit. 'Hahaha,' I said before. Who's laughing now? Not me--it hurts too much.

So, in bed snuggling up with my quilt with the air conditioner turned off even though it's 87 degrees out because I have to stave off the chills, I stumbled across this clip of the 1990s television series, Dinosaurs. Marveling at what a masterpiece the show was, I realized how much its star, Baby Sinclair, influenced my personality as a child, which got me thinking about all the other fundamental building blocks of my identity contained in adolescent television programming.

1. Baby Sinclair



The stills from this episode are golden. Baby Sinclair is me as a baby, and yet simultaneously, is my grandmother at her present age incarnate. In the video below, the "GET OUTTA HEYAH" completely captures my grandma's snappy Italian attitude. For further reference, as they both age, my grandmother and Joe Pesci grow more and more alike and will soon converge into one wrinkly, permed, yippy Italian persona.
Sinclair loved to pester people, as I still do. He could have said "daddy" but he repeatedly screamed "not the mamma," to subjugate Earl Sinclair.

Also of note is Sinclair's chemical dependence on sugar, a struggle still relevant to my daily life which I try to make cute. Kind of like this next one's obsession with cookies...

2. Angelica Pickles

Angelica was an only child, which means she was the youngest and oldest at the same time. As the youngest, I never had only-child syndrome, but you could say I also fulfilled that simultaneous youngest-oldest thing because everyone was always telling me I was precocious and beyond my years but I hardly think that demonstrates the responsibility eldest kids inherit. Either way, I could always relate to Angelica's unique role in her family/the notion that it should be protected by preventing any 'additions to the family.' In other words, "I'm the baby" has to be enforced. I liked being the youngest, didn't want a little brother or sister, and wouldn't take any crap about it. Above all, Angelica hated babies, and so did I. When I was little I used to think that my 'real parents' were a king and queen and I was a princess, and Angelica thought this too in one episode. (Then the TV Repairman who operates under a 'home appliance king' gimmick comes and she thinks it's her real daddy coming to retrieve his daughter; it's not all it's cracked up to be and she realizes that she has to come home). I wouldn't say that I made up this fantasy because I saw Angelica do it, but probably from watching so many Disney movies, which likely influenced Angelica, or the writers of Rugrats, as well. I understood early on that Angelica had incredible depth as a character despite all of her textbook flaws that would make her a two-dimensional villain in a normal adolescent cartoon context. But Rugrats was extraordinary enough to captivate me well into prepubescence. Also, like Baby Sinclair, Angelica had an uncanny penchant for cookies, which was hilarious, and I learned a lot of my food humor from watching her maniacally gobble down sweets. She also seemed to have professionalized being a child. My dad is a lawyer and I loved Liar Liar growing up, so the episode where she sues her parents was such a fantasy for me. I always had my stuffed animals and beanie babies sue each other before a jury of toys lined up on an American Girl writing desk bench. I could go on forever about Angelica's power over my personality.


3. The Muppet Babies
When I was three I went to get my IQ test. I had been spending most of my time in my grandparents' rec room watching Muppet Babies on Nickelodeon and they made references to and parodies of Raiders of the Lost Arc, it seemed like, all the time. But when the psychologist showed me an ink blot that looked like a pyramid, I could not remember the word 'pyramid' and told him, "You know, it's one of those ancient temples where they have tombs and mummies." After the test I heard him repeating the phrase "ancient temples" to my mother and I was sure that I had gotten that question terribly wrong, but then they said that I was a genius or something and got to start school early. Thanks, Muppet Babies. You narrated most of my imagined adventures, seconded only to Power Rangers. (I GET TO BE THE PINK RANGER OR ELSE--Okay fine. In the dining room, you're the pink ranger and I'm the yellow ranger. But in the kitchen, I'm the pink ranger and you're the yellow ranger. Fine.).


4. Mr. Anthony DeMartino

Mr. DeMartino taught me that being angry can be funny, particularly when accompanied ridiculous and exaggerated facial expressions. He was constantly frustrated with the intellectual inferiority and lack of enthusiasm of his class, and even when relieved or impressed with Daria's participation and ease with the material, he still seemed pissed at her.

p.s. this was completed long after healing from my bladder infection, but completed quite poorly.

news roundup

Listening to the Smiths and reading the NYT.

Nigerian Death Toll Rises to 700
The violent Boko Haram Islamic sect attacked police stations and government buildings last week, killing 700 people in Maiduguri. More than 50 Muslim leaders repeatedly warned the Nigerian authorities before the attacks and urged them to take preemtive action, but nothing was done.

"On July 26, militants from the sect attacked a police station in Bauchi State, inciting a wave of militant violence that spread to three other northern states.The Nigerian authorities retaliated five days later by storming the group’s sprawling Maiduguri headquarters, killing at least 100 people in the attack, half of them inside the sect’s mosque."

Malaysia Cracks Down on Protests
In reversion of Malaysian prime minister Najib Razak's vow to quell government repression, police broke up protesters in Kuala Lumpur yesterday, launching tear gas shells on parts of the crowd. 600 of the 20,000 demonstrators were arrested. Despite the PM's apparently progressive actions in the his four months in office, due to incidents like this, the ethics of the governing party and police force are still in question.

"Opposition parties, which organized the rally, were calling for the repeal of a law that allows the government to jail its critics indefinitely without charge. The opposition is also pressing the government to expand an inquiry into the recent death under mysterious circumstances of a political aide after a late-night interrogation by anti-corruption officials. ...
... 'We can provide them stadiums where they can shout themselves hoarse till dawn, but don’t cause disturbance in the streets,' Mr. Najib said Sunday, according to the Malaysian news media."

Homeless in Poland, Men Dream of Odyssey
Oh my god, this is so endearing. "Two dozen homeless men are building a ship to sail themselves around the world and prove that they have some value to society," with Homer's Odysseus as their role model. Literary references abound.

" ...their story strikes deeper chords because, for all the modern tools in the building and corporate sponsors providing the raw materials, their endeavor echoes mythic themes of escape, adventure and redemption that can seem out of reach in a world of biometric identity cards and debt-collection agencies.
...But their odds of success grew slightly longer when the unique and seemingly inexhaustible Boguslaw Paleczny — a Roman Catholic priest and a touring musician who appointed himself as the foreman of the project — died of a heart attack in June at the age of 50. The men say that his death has stiffened their resolve and that their tale will end up more Capra than Quixote with these forgotten members of Polish society circumnavigating the globe."

What bothers me about Pitchfork...

People criticize Pitchfork Media for being overly pretentious, to the point where I've heard their rating system parodied as 'a scale of one to ten based on similarity to Radiohead.' People believe that the site searches for a certain ideal rather than judging for quality in the many different genres of music. Others rely on the site for their source of music news, cool videos from old favorites, new releases and bands to watch. And it really does have the whole music world on surveillance, from main stream hip hop to practically inactive art rock groups. Even though they only post 5 album reviews a day when more than 5 have been released, it seems like its gears never stop churning out content.

Like the public I have a love hate relationship with Pitchfork. I love that they organize the new releases for me so I can see what's coming out, but like I said it's never a complete list, and I usually find something unnerving within the first 2 sentences of a review which stops me from even considering the rest. So overall I view them with expected irritation. Take this for example:

"You wouldn't need to pay attention to the lyrics on Lacrosse's sophomore album to understand that every track is about love. Not just any love, mind you-- a big, big love; the sort of gigantic feeling that..."

[Album Review: Lacrosse: Bandages for the Heart]

GIGANTIC? A BIG, BIG LOVE? Are you going to follow through with the Pixies reference, or not? Control/Command+F "Pixies" on that page and you will find that NO, he does not. Shouldn't I be happy or excited to have caught a pixies reference somewhere? Shouldn't my soul feel touched by this shared interest between myself and some other pixel of humanity? Probably, but instead, I am upset and confused because I've never heard this band before and now all I want to know is, do they play or sound like the Pixies?

(Besides, a shared love of the Pixies is not that special. It's more of a social prerequisite.)

However, the rest of the review does provide a good sonic image of the band's new songs, and that lead was setting up one big, figurative leap to describe the music:

"The music is enormous and often overwhelming, with every hook and gesture blown out to absurd extremes of joy, desire, and anxiety, emulating the heightened emotional reality of romantic comedies and teen soaps. Every moment of the album sounds incredibly exaggerated, but at their best, Lacrosse replicate the intense drama of ordinary love with uncanny accuracy."

Writing about music is one of my favorite things. A creative writing teacher once told my class that playing with the senses is one of the most fundamental components of good writing. When people take acid they hallucinate because their perceptive signals all cross. The signals from their eyes are going where signals from their ears should go, and signals from their taste buds go where sight should go and so on. (Check out Hooked: Illegal Drugs and How They Got That Way on the History Channel or youtube for a more comprehensive explanation). And that is exactly what you are supposed to do in figurative language; don't compare something visual to something else that's visual. Switch everything around. Compare a guitar riff to the sight of a tree falling, compare the taste of pie to the touch of a mountain breeze or the sound of a train crash. (These are not the best specific suggestions, but you get the point; match up sound and sight and taste and touch and so on). Music is made of sounds that are not necessarily words, so when you write about it, unless you spell out the lyrics or come up with onomatopoeia for the instruments, you have to turn to the other senses in your description. Since we are land-creatures in a world under the sun and rely heavily on sight rather than echolocation, people fall into an excess of visual descriptions in efforts to make their writing cinematic. But it's okay to do this when you write about music, because you're not necessarily writing about anything you can see (unless it's a live review). So you can say that something is huge rather than just loud, and a music review automatically becomes one of the most delicious and refreshing pieces of aesthetic criticism you could possibly read.

Pitchfork writers often do this well, but sometimes they are too hasty to really commit to some beautiful verbal reproduction of the album and say stupid things. It really depends on who is writing the review; sometimes you can tell that the particular individual is simply not predisposed to liking the artist's work, which calls the objectivity of the reviews into question. In the Céline Dion 33 1/3 book, Carl Wilson insists that taste relies on familiarity. Since reviews are inescapably subjective, you would want a metal head reviewing metal albums and a seasoned pop diva writing about the pop releases. Though it would be refreshing or interesting to see that one indie pop band changed a diehard punk and hardcore listener's opinion on the aforementioned sugary genre, you want to hear about a new band or album from someone who understands it and is best equipped to describe it to you. While it would seem that everyone at Pitchfork is well-informed of each piece of music's relevance in the music world, and are able to draw immediate, inspiring comparisons between artists, they commit this foul in featuring artists that it would seem no one on staff could possibly be qualified to assess.

Nothing causes me to question who they think they are better than when Pitchfork reviews mainstream pop and hip hop acts, as when they reviewed Beyoncé's latest album. 'Reviewing Beyoncé?? Oh, no, Pitchfork. This is not your place,' I thought, upon seeing the thumbnail and rating. 'Seriously, Pitchfork, who do you think you are???' But when I read the review... I realized, they were right. Beyoncé's mediocre score was more than fair and they gave her all due props to justify their evaluation in terms of the singer's own high standards. Still, can't Beyoncé figure it out for herself if she's not on top of her game?

In 2008, Gossip singer Beth Ditto toasted music journalism at Webster Hall in New York, with a plastic cup of amber liquid and a giant 'fuck you.' She basically convinced me that music journalism is sick and wrong. To paraphrase, she said that people spend their whole lives being beaten up by bullies in school and when you get out of school you think you're escaping the popular kids who ostracize you. Musicians pour their hearts and souls into their art to express themselves, and the people at major music publications like Spin, Rolling Stone, and Pitchfork spend all of their time finding new and mean ways to make fun of them and tear them down. She then called them 'the New Jocks of High School,' (and later led the crowd in protest chants, which was honestly one of the most amazing things I have ever seen or been a part of). I think Brooklyn Vegan were the only ones, though copious photographers were there to represent other outputs, to cover this and include the rant.

This reminds me of the Strokes song where Julian Casablancas pokes fun at the pop culture pundits trying to keep up with and make sense of new music:

"Oh dear, is it really all true?
Did they offend us and they want it to sound new?
Top ten ideas for count down shows--
Whose culture is this and does anybody know?
I wait and tell myself, "life ain't chess"
But no one comes here and yes, you're all alone"

The Strokes, "What Ever Happened?" Room On Fire [RCA, 10/28/2003].

(These lyrics might be inaccurate, as I copied and pasted them off the Internet since I don't have the CD insert lying around from 2003).
Music journalists judge other people's self-expression while simultaneously flexing their artistic muscles in their own trade, writing. It seems unfair to use someone else's art, possibly containing large percentages of his or her soul, to further your own. Even within visual arts, music and literature people constantly borrow from and inspire one another, but this is different. This is less like cheating on a test or copying techniques from someone else's painting and more like talking shit about people to make yourself feel better or getting people to like you over mutual hatred.

In this view, though, music is something that is to be experienced and enjoyed, but not graded or evaluated. Is it wrong to have an opinion about what constitutes as good or bad music? I DJ and write for a culture blog, and in both métiers, if there is something I don't like, I don't feature it. Maybe Pitchfork operates under the same principle, owing to the fact that the number of reviews they post is more disproportionate to the number of actual new releases than the rising cost of education is to the rate of aggregate inflation. (Fact-check that one). But then how do you explain their rating system? Sometimes an album will receive a low number (a 5 or lower is bad), without a particularly scathing or negative review. I think people get most upset with this site when the critics tear apart an artist they've loved for years.

The right to critique is under attack in all fields of journalism in the face of the rights to privacy and expression, particularly in recent years where the indulgence of the populace has turned celebrities into an industry. We attack the media for disrespecting individuals' privacy, whether a field of cameras sprouts up outside the scene of a car accident or Paris Hilton's doorstep, and furthermore for confounding stupid shit with actual news. (RE: Hilton versus car crash). Yet music and music journalism have been each other's lifelong accessories and neither would survive without the other. (Or is it 'neither can live while the other survives, eh?)

My frustrations with Pitchfork boil down to one suggested course of action. Someone should critique their critiques. It would be equally ridiculous as journalists and music fans critiquing music, and equally necessary. There needs to be someone to check the validity and fairness of these reviews, and grade them for style and content. A sister site, the accessory to the everlasting accessory to music. Any other amateur writer or music listener or I would be just as qualified to criticize them as they are to criticize music. I do not have time to run such a site, but this is my humble suggestion.

Jimmy Brooks, the Vagina Whistler

"SHE CALL ME THE REFEREE/CAUSE I BE SO OFFICIAL

MY SHIRT AIN'T GOT NO STRIPES

BUT I CAN MAKE THAT PUSSY WHISTLE."

-Drake, "Best I Ever Had"

So, this song is about sex and the video has none but it is full of totally unnecessary, giant bouncing boobies. I also don't understand what they're going to "do big." As I said, the song is about sex--not just how good the object of his affection is at it, but how adept Drake is himself at the yet-unpublicized art of vagina whistling. So what are they going to do "big?"

One thing, though, Aubrey Graham (aka Drake). If you want to break from your image of your role as good-guy paraplegic Jimmy Brooks on Degrassi, DON'T FILM YOUR VIDEO IN A HIGH SCHOOL. The D on his Varsity sweater CLEARLY stands for DEGRASSI. When Drake shows off his acting chops in the sequences of dialogue in the video where he plays the girls' basketball coach, it reeks of Jimmy teaching basketball and spewing words of wisdom on the Canadian teen drama. Whatever I hope they had fun making this completely ridiculous and wasted opportunity of a video.

"Take the D" is also unnecessary because it is said surrounded by zero comedic climate... it just sounds like the kind of blatant innuendo that introduces a porno. Why would you lower yourself from Degrassi moral fiber to that in your transition to rap superstar? And are you fucking the whole team?

It did come through though, how they all think they're the best and he lip-services them to make them all play better basketball, demonstrating that "Alotta girls think my songs about them--but this one's for you baby" disclaimer at the beginning.

Still the new summer party jam. The new "Whatever You Like" if you will.

Ice Cream

You know it's bad when you're google imaging ice cream flavors to find the creamiest... shit.

The Wawa Mystery

Why is a brand that only exists in 5 Mid-Atlantic States...

advertising on Hulu, a nationwide internet television outlet?

Does Hulu know where I live? Wawa is 'the epitome of convenience' but it is creepy that the advertisements can be so specially catered to my location. Or else, Wawa is just doing really well and they want to expand to more of the country. I would like to add though, that the bigger Wawa gets, the lower the quality of its lunch meat drops. Truth.

Ahh Tss Tss Push It

I had to read this book by Sapphire for my youth literature class, "The Perilous Journey: The Darker Side of Childhood." It is written in the style of an illiterate girl, depicted in the trailer above, who slowly becomes more literate. So reading it I felt like I was made dumb and then re-educated. It was not necessarily a process I enjoyed, but thankfully I finished it and was not left 100% harmed.

That being said, the rape, abuse and embarrassment Precious endures will probably be equally painful to watch as it was to read. But it is always healing to see Mariah Carey's face plastered with a fake (possibly real) mustache.

Harvey Weinstein, get off your hundred-dollar-bill-stuffed ass and release this movie already or we will start to illegally download it and THEN what will happen to all the underprivileged pregnant teenage girls who need federal aid?

Michel Gondry explodes from cute overload

As if he and his filmmaking weren't cute enough already, Michel Gondry has made a a documentary about his aunt. It premiered at Cannes with no special recognition, and has no set release dates, and as a result the following clip is not in English:

(go to about 4 minutes. Is that "Lonely, lonely" by Feist in the background? Goon-dryy.)

Désoléeeeeeee. Mais ça me semble trop mignon!

500 Days of Summer

500 Days of Summer

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Zooey Deschanel, The Smiths, Regina Spektor, Love. This movie markets itself. Let's hope these brunettes deliver. Perhaps I am too like Deschanel's character in thinking that last  italicized word might ruin it, though. It doesn't look funny enough. Still.

A long ride on public transportation can be a one-way ticket to a UTI

hahaha

M.I.A.: "STOP THE BOMBING OF THE TAMILS IN SRI LANKA"

M.I.A. Meets Oprah, Asks Her to Bring Attention to Sri Lankan Civil War [pitchfork]

So, to emphasize to the post below, NEWSFLASH, ETHNIC CLEANSING IN SRI LANKAN CIVIL WAR. 

Au-dessus, les panneaux de la manifestation Tamoule à Place de la République, vendredi 09.05.09. Crédit: Pur.

Since this is a civil war, however, the Jaffna minority as well claims victimization of ethnic cleansing. But recent events have targeted Tamils. Shit is complicated, as are all issues with two belligerent sides.

Tamils protest being considered terrorists, genocide

On Friday, May 1, 2009, Tamil protesters added to the masses marching and demonstrating throughout Paris on the worker's holiday, but not just to demand independence in South Asia, as one would expect of the reputed nationalists and as the New York Times reported, but to protest the genocide of their ethnic group in Sri Lanka.

Tamil Protesters at la Bastille, 05.01.09, photo credit me, Pur.

Concerning the May Day protests throughout Europe, The New York Times wrote:

May Day this year came at a delicate moment. The economic crisis is dragging on and a palpable sense of outrage is growing among those who have lost their jobs, savings or pension funds. Worker solidarity was on display most visibly in France, where the eight main unions marched together for the first time.

The NYT went on to list the numbers of protesters in France measured by the General Confederation (which "estimated the national turnout at around 1.2 million, five times larger than a year earlier, and at 160,000 in Paris") and the National Police, who estimated 465,000 across France and 65,000 in Paris, "including some 8,500 ethnic Tamils protesting for an independent homeland in Sri Lanka."

The May Day Tamil protests, however, showed signs that read, "Sauvez-nous, les Tamouls" and "Aidez-nous," meaning 'Save us' and 'Help us,' words one usually reads on the signs of panhandlers followed by the phrase, "I am hungry." What were they asking for help with? From what did they need to be saved? An independent state has been on Tamil activists' agendas since the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) formed on May 15, 1976 (see this timeline of Sri Lankan ethnic conflict for more info), but what would so many Tamils be doing asking for their independence at protests in France?

The Tamil activists are actually protesting the treatment of members of their ethnic group as terrorists. Though Tamil separatists have been credited with pioneering methods of terrorism such as hijacking vehicles to use as weapons and suicide bombings (as when a small woman representing the Tamil Tigers blew herself up and assassinated the Prime Minister of India in 1991), and the history of the ethnic conflict is colored with other assassinations, they are not aligned with Muslim extremists or international terrorist networks like Al Qaeda. 

At République, 05.09.09, photo credit me, Pur.

All weekend ethnic Tamils have had Place de la République in Paris, the site of a large multi-faceted protest on March 19, 2009, on lock down. Tents are pitched in the small parks surrounding the République monument, where innumerable Tamils are camped out chanting in French and English phrases like "Ceasefire now!" The signs accuse world leaders of turning a blind eye to the genocide of Tamils, and many plastered all over the park fences depict the gruesomely mutilated bodies of Tamils killed on supposed grounds of terrorism.

At République, 05.09.09. Pur.

These protests seem less official than the French standard, since, though their May 1st manifestation at Bastille was properly barricaded by Police, when they marched up through the 11th arrondissement carrying banners and Tamil Tiger flags, they had to walk on the sidewalk. On the March 19th protests, Boulevard Voltaire was completely closed down for the demonstrators, from République to Nation. 

Unions marching down Boulevard Voltaire, 03.19.09. Pur.

North of Bastille, Tamil Tiger flags flying high marching up the sidewalk. 05.01.09. Pur.

On May 1st, perhaps given to the magnitude of demonstrations citywide, the Police neglected to even shut down the streets surrounding Bastille, and French police directed traffic between the flow of Tamils and passing cars and buses. Likewise, the camps set up at République are considerably more contained than spectacles the vast traffic circle has seen in the past, though a young voice leading chants through large speakers can be heard several blocks away.

The protests and strikes across France this year like March 19th's have been largely due to, in addition to unrest from the financial crisis pointed out by the NYT, the French public's general scathing dissatisfaction with President Sarkozy and everything he says and does. Thus, since some Tamil signs directly call out President Sarkozy  may explain why, though the Tamil protests have much less to do with things within the control of the French government than the protests against cutting education funding and for worker's rights, they have been allowed to sit on the grass in a city where walking on the grass in a park is usually a crime. (What do you think this is, England? With all it's English gardens?) Although, protesting is such a way of life in France that it is most likely easier to legally conduct a large scale public demonstration and keep things peaceful and productive. (May Day protests in Germany turned violent, those in Paris did not [NYT]).

Needless to say, this calls to mind grime singer M.I.A. whose father was a Sri Lankan revolutionary and who has been persistently outspoken on the subject of war in her home country. These protests have more to do with international human rights and objecting to discrimination as M.I.A. describes in her wildly popular single "Paper Planes," than with only demanding their own state. 

You could argue that their adoption an anti-Tamil-genocide cause is a polemic to draw attention to their separatist one. One sign read something like, "Aid is given to end the ethnic conflicts in Africa, but what about in Sri Lanka," and implicitly derogating the gravity of one serious problem to draw attention to another is not fair reasoning. But the Boston Globe's coverage of the issue from this February op-ed legitimizes the claims.

More on inexplicable european musical favorites

Unless it's run by foreigners, a club in Paris will either play "the hottest internationally renowned [electronic genre] DJ" OR 80's classics. But there lacks a certain cultural relevance here to the American 80's hits, and rather than "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" on repeat (still okay) they immerse you in the 80's goth punk/new wave you know and love. Any given night at Le Pop In, it is a sure thing you will hear "Love will tear us apart," "This Charming Man," and "Come on Eileen" (not goth punk, but in sequence with the Strokes--not 80's but also loved by France--and the theme from Grease, it will be the most fun you've ever had with Dexy's Midnight Runners since you went running at midnight with them in phosphorescent safety Day-Glo). 

A highlight from this French love of goth punk and new wave was hearing "Jumping someone else's train" transition into the nightly Joy Division rendition at Disquares. Enjoy.

illinois - kid catastrophe

Above is last year's trailer for Bucks County, PA's Illinois's EP series released off +1. The EPs were released in chapters, alongside a series of mildly entertaining webisodes featured on their myspace page. If you're after Illinois videos, however, it might be more worth your time to watch them live or just listen to the EPs. I featured singles from the first two 'chapters' on The Sound Between on WNYU.org last fall, but the best is definitely chapter 3, with "Are You Coming With Me?" The 6th (and final) chapter was released March 31. The songs get long without getting boring, evocative of Italian 'intellectual cinema' that tries to bore and entrance the viewer to force their minds to wander and reflect on what they see. Smart, folky indie rock (piano, banjo, male harmonies) with juvenile Nintendo ethos (apropos to this collective album's subject matter from the point of view of a conceptual "kid catastrophe" in the mind of songwriter Chris 'Arch' Archibald, and all the Super Mario Bros hums and zaps) that you can get lost in faster than a round of Bubble Bazinga.

I think they are under-appreciated. Read QRO Magazine's review of Illinois' 6th Kid Catastrophe installment (which names it their best effort to date) here. 

On music and the language barrier

Let it also be noted that Europeans LOVE "Kids" by MGMT, and as with the case of "Disturbia," they can't sing the words but across the western span of the continent, any time that song comes on in a club the room fills up with the ringing chant of "Doot doot doot doot doooo-dooo-doot doot dooooooooooo."  

And Spanish people love the Ting Tings. I guess French people do, too since they're in that French commercial. 

Club Revelations - File Under Not Important

Here is a list of songs that Spanish people love. They are the type of songs that, as they come on, as that first melody seeps out of the speakers, make the "crowd go wild", which is wild ten-fold because Spanish people are already out of their fucking minds.

Regardless, I thought this would be interesting/funny because all of these songs have a different (read: lesser) cultural relevance in the United States as compared to here and they include:

1. The White Stripes - 7 Nation Army

2. Jet - Cold Hard Bitch (I hate this one)

3. Rihanna - Disturbia*

4. Blur - Song 2

5. House of Pain - Jump

That's a good preliminary list. Now, I have to go to bed.

*It should be noted that Spanish people love love love Rihanna. They are obsessed. They can't really sing the songs but they sure as hell can go bam bam bi dom bom bom bi dom dom. And, by god, they will hum that shit all night.

prostitution = sex trafficking

Seconded only to the fact that marijuana is legal there, the Red Light District is one of the most famous things about Amsterdam and like every other tourist I had heard stories about it before visiting the city and strolling down its web of canals. I had heard that the prostitutes sat naked in windows and looked sad, and bored. This was half-true, as they were largely half-naked and displayed a wide spectrum of levels of enthusiasm.

A red lantern or neon beam there is as synonymous with its purpose as the Starbucks or McDonalds logo is a sign of civilization and a free bathroom. The blocks of windows framing women in bikinis and ridiculous corset get-ups—no doubt provided by the nearby fetish shops—was as astounding in its organization as the brick buildings at Auschwitz, specialized for separate ethnic groups and punishments to such a degree that it resembles a little town more than a concentration camp (until you see the barbed wire). They carry the same sense that they operate by their own deranged set of social codes. I was equally creeped out to see some prostitutes actually working it, opening the doors to entice customers, although they seldom acknowledged co-eds like my friends and me passing through.

“Excited prostitutes,” proclaimed my friend Matt as we passed two yelling and giggling across the alley to each other from their red-neon-framed windows. The next few windows had the curtains drawn. “Busy prostitutes.”

The most disturbing thing was remembering they were actually people. But the whole time you look at them you are reminded that they are real live people. So the entire experience, the from the minute you lay eyes on them until you are a block away and the sun dancing off a canal has washed the image from your mind, is uncomfortable and unsettling. I kept wondering and repeating, “I can’t believe people actually have sex with them.”

I am sympathetic with a woman who is already a prostitute trying to support herself, but I cannot support the notion that someone should be lured from their home into this lifestyle. I honestly do not believe that they are all just nymphomaniacs living out their dream jobs.

They don’t acknowledge college-age female and male tourists not just because we don’t look like potential customers, but possibly also because the girls often look our age but only circumstance (aside from the window pane) separates their lives from ours. Because acknowledging us reminds them they could be out walking around and gawking if not for the confines of their walled-in sex cages. Maybe only non-customers see them as people, without the preoccupying question of whether or not to buy them. Anyone can see that they are real. They move around and talk on their cell phones in the windows. Maybe only ‘non-customers’ go so far to imagine that they get hungry, eat or are troubled by eating disorders. That they have families or relatives somewhere. Perhaps certain clients comfort themselves with the idea that their patronage helps the prostitute eat and stay in touch with her family. But logic would tell us most occupy their thoughts with fucking them.

The brothels extend well past what is geographically considered the red light district where most of them cluster and can be found independently all over the city. Just because prostitution is legal doesn’t mean the women came there legally to be prostitutes. There are tons of articles on human trafficking and forced prostitution but I’m afraid to say Wikipedia explains it best apropos to Amsterdam:

“The Netherlands is a primary country of destination for victims of human trafficking. Many of these are led to believe by organized criminals that they are being offered work in hotels or restaurants or in child care and are forced into prostitution with the threat or actual use of violence. Estimates of the number of victims vary from 1000 to 7000 on a yearly basis.” “A study by the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 2000 estimated that there are a total of between 20,000 and 25,000 prostitutes in the Netherlands on a yearly basis. Approximately 32% are Dutch, 22% are Latin American, 19% are Eastern European, 13% are African (south of the Sahara), 6% come from other countries from the European Union (aside from the Netherlands), 5% come from Northern Africa and 3% are Asian. … An article in Le Monde in 1997 found that 80% of prostitutes in the Netherlands were foreigners and 70% had no immigration papers, suggesting that at least some were victims of sex trafficking, forced prostitution. [4][5]”

While the Dutch government has tried to regulate sex trafficking and (also according to wikipedia) encourages patrons to “report signs of coercion” such as bruises and “no ‘pleasure’ in the job,” its legalization there makes it a destination for traffickers. Where prostitution is legal, there is a demand for prostitutes and since it is illegal in most countries this presents a unique opportunity to make money. This federal preventative policy assumes that the prostitutes all like their jobs and just chose the line of work to satisfy their nymphomania, but that cannot be the case for everyone. In a place where so many things are legal that are illegal elsewhere, the black market does not yield to reverse psychology; crimes like human trafficking can occur more easily. (Although, where there could have been a huddle of men selling stolen watches there was instead a man selling bags full of stolen Easter candy, suggesting that nefarious transactions must look to new products for profitable markets). Additionally, nearly every working girl we saw looked foreign, particularly of Latin American and Asian descent, to the point that I wonder if the wiki statistics were up to date.

Want to know what's going to happen on Gossip Girl tonight?

No Doubt will be playing Jenny's Sweet Sixteen at the Van der Woodsens'. Yes, there will be references to the MTV Show. ND will sing "Sixteen" and it will be really punk rock like when Jenny's guerilla fashion show was scored with that really heinous Ramones cover. (Sorry, Thurston Moore, iluvu4vrbb. The canker is actually even parts of that pearl woman and the fact that I don't like "Sheena is a punk rocker" to begin with). Then Gwen will publicly announce that she is a big fan of Jenny's work and refer to her own fashion design with L.A.M.B., and maybe even that she wants Jenny Humphrey on staff at L.A.M.B. enterprises. Because we are to believe Jenny is just that brilliant of a little seamstress, just like we have to take Veronica Mars' word for it that Blair got a perfect score on her SATs, and that Dan is a New Yorker-worthy storywriter and that Serena is ANTM and all of the other stuff they get away with presenting without evidence because GG is just such good TV. Then, if any tracks from their new album were out yet, they would dedicate their new single her, but they aren't, so they won't, because ND would never premiere their new music on Gossip Girl. Although, with TRL gone, what's a ska-pop supergroup to do? 

As for the plot, I am so confused lately. Blair and Chuck and Nate and Vanessa. If Blair breaks up Vanessa and Nate can they please send Vanessa back to Connecticut or wherever she was exiled in between Dan Humphrey days and independent film making? I guess according to this:

Blair and Nate are going to hurl Vanessa off into the nether corners of hell and on the way she'll fall through the clutches of Chuck Bass.

But who cares about any of them when this is happening:

6 miles on a few cheerios? Plz Bey.

From Vogue from Jezebel:

Beyoncé "got up at the crack of dawn" and "ate a tiny portion of Honey Nut Cheerios, ran six miles, and then worked out with her trainer, who had her in every imaginable kind of squat to get her ready to fit into her no doubt skintight Thierry Mugler-designed tour costumes." Next? A dance rehearsal, after which she barely had time to "scarf down several bites of a salad with jalapeños and avocado ('so that it tastes like something that's bad for you')" and then dance rehearsal again.

This is FUCKING CRAZY. A "tiny portion of honey nut cheerios" I could understand for it being the 'crack of dawn.' But not fully nourishing after the squats? That's beast behavior. A giant salad doesn't even have that much in it, why did it have to be "several bites of salad?" This article (or the taste we got of the one in Vogue on Jezebel) 'tastes like something that's bad for you.' It sounds like jack off material for anorexics.

I know that I eat like three pastries per day on average (because they come with practically every meal for an additional 50 centimes when they are environs 2 euro on their own) but this is in no way healthy. Hopefully she gets enough sleep. 

Another note...

My English is deteriorating. I can't get out all of the words fast enough. Spanish is almost more convenient at this point.

House

It seems to be quite exhausting - hypnotizing, even. When you sit down, like P. dared to do at Sala Stella last night, it will put you to sleep. Exhausting. 

When you get up to dance, though, as we did after our drunk disco napping session, you will dance. Dance hard. Dance rough. Dance for yourself. Dance till your exhausted.

Like the guy with the tattoos who moved like a sparrow hopping on the ground. Awkward with his long arms and bouncing back and forward on nimble feet. 

This is why I like house music.

Respuesta(s)

Chere Pur,

1 I have know idea what Africom is...

2 My view is that those kids are funny. Burry Burry funny. I wish I stole all of the Naan from the Cafe Spice part of Kimmel. And all of the chickpeas they have back there.

3. It is a man's world, sadly. I think women would probably do a better job of, ya know, running shit. I would like to be a man in a woman's world cause then I would have reason for my serious bitterness and false feelings of oppression.

4. I just don't.

5. Soda is fine. Pepsi is sweeter here. They don't give free refills though. So that sucks.

6. Is Benito El Roboto Max? I don't know what evil plans I have in store for him yet.

Besos,

Ian

Nourish Yourself in France with Secrets of Grandmother

H-a-

"---And before I could even FINISH typing 'harry potter,' it gave me Hannah Montana." 

Interview

Cher Enzito,

1. Africom: ever heard of it? Is Africom doing it's job?

2. What is your view of the vital chapter in the student protest movement that we missed at our reputable private university's home campus in New York? 

3. Is it a man's world? Do you like being a man in a man's world? Would you like to be a man in a woman's world?

4. Why don't you like coffee?

5. What is soda like in Spain?

6. Does Benito El Roboto know that you're going to overload his system with house music when you return to make your abode? Does he have defensive software? If not, would you be that evil?

Love,

Pur

Paris is full of mean old ladies

The 16e arrondissement, selon le vendeur des livres d'occasion près de chez-moi ailleurs, is totally nouveau-riche and bourgeois. No one lives there for a long time, I presume. They move there to send their kids to school, I presume. Except I think everyone who moved there 20+ years ago grew old and stayed there.

They told us before we got there that it would be 'the upper east side' of Paris, with very rich women walking poodles everywhere. We arrived in winter; the preconceived image was correct if you replace poodles with fur coats.

At a café one bitchy old lady with an underbite (she probably scowled her jaw away) came in and sat next to my table by herself, blocked from the waiter's view by a large potted plant. She looked around irritably when no one came to help her, as no one saw her. She got out a plastic packet of crackers that one might get with soup at 7-11, but French, and began snarfing away at them, her breath passing through the wafers' airy parts and making little mouth sounds, chewing and putting wrinkles in her wrinkles. Finally she sighed angrily, making more air-through-cracker noises and yelled, "GARCON!" and the full-grown man a generation her junior came to her service. She then bitchily demanded what types of wine they had, and squinted her eyes critically at the mention of each on the menu. Finally she settled on a white, then got a little finger sandwich, also in plastic wrap, out of her bag when he turned his back. She ate it while glancing disapprovingly around the near-empty café. As I was getting up to leave, she unashamedly blew her nose in a napkin at an unfavorable volume. Twice.

Theory

People in Spain have been in Spain for millenia. True.

These people have continually bred with the same people. Spanish and Spanish and Spanish.

Yeah.

This is why everyone in Spain looks inbred.

They are.

Brant Publications seeks mailroom clerks who will work for free

THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS.

This was posted on CareerNet, a service accessible to college students through their universities. 

Highlights:

1. ACADEMIC CREDIT???
2. Your schedule better be flexible.
3. ANY COMPANY.
4. How random their requirements are. (What makes a liberal arts background more suitable for mailroom work?).

But when you can't afford to pay your mailroom staff, how would you find time to translate the fact that there are no requirements into an attractive line of bait for unpaid labor?

FULL TEXT:

Expiration Date:	May 1, 2009
ID:	764004
Employer:	Brant Publications
Division:	N/A
Title:	Mailroom Intern
Organization Description :	Magazine Publisher
Description:	Interns will become familiar with the full scale of operations in a heavy volume mail room. They will assist with shipping, receiving, packaging, courier and messenger services, and the ordering and distributing of office supplies for all three of the Company’s publications. This internship allows applicants to gain exposure to an essential service of any company.
Qualification:	EDUCATIONAL REQUIREMENTS: LIBERAL ARTS BACKGROUND PREFERRED. This internship may qualify for academic credit. Please check with your school. SALARY: THIS IS A NON PAYING INTERNSHIP. We offer a stipend covering the cost of traveling to and from our offices by subway. HOURS: YOU MUST BE AVAILABLE 2-3 DAYS A WEEK. We are aware of educational demands and remain receptive and flexible when working out schedules.

At least they'll pay for your metro card.