Saturday, December 19, 2009
There is Some Meaning to be Found Here!
You know you're sentimental when you spend 15 minutes in Petco almost tearing up as you stare at two hamsters run on the same wheel.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Friday Double Brautigan: "These Hopefully Don't Reflect My Shallowest Anxieties" Edition
15%
She tries to get things out of men
that she can't get because she's not
15% prettier.
Please
Do you think of me
as often as I think
of you?
She tries to get things out of men
that she can't get because she's not
15% prettier.
Please
Do you think of me
as often as I think
of you?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Purple Pants: Take Three
The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater has promos up all over town, in which a muscle-flexed male dancer is leaping through the universe in purple briefs. I pride myself on rarely coveting items of clothing, but shit, even I have limits. You would have to be certifiably insane to see these purple pants and not desperately want a pair. If I owned these, I would absolutely refuse to wear anything else for the rest of my life, amen. They're that perfect.
Certain subway ads have a way of attracting more graffiti than others, and Mr. Flexy Purple-Pants has seen his fair share, as I've demonstrated below. The first picture is from the Lorimer L-train stop, and is a little more high brow than the other two (high brow in this instance = no penis involved). The second and third pictures are both from my home stop: the inimitable Bedford-Nostrand, where I've seen two men openly masturbating and one taking a shit off the side of the platform. They both involve dicks: dicks are a big part of Bedford-Nostrand graffiti. After all, it was at my fine stop that I witnessed the zenith, apex, pinnacle of all subway art: Shark Man Penis (pictured below, for your reference). I hope you enjoy the collection of defiled Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater promos I've carefully curated.
Shark Man Penis (for your reference only):
Part 1: Lorimer Stop Flexy Purple-Pants:
It's a little hard to read, so here's a blurry close-up:
A speech bubble has been added that originally said "I won't buy ExxonMobil" but was then revised to say "I won't buy Gitgo," only to be revised a third time into a final, definitive message "I won't buy Bilbo." The last declaration is probably the most reasonable of all three: buying hobbits is truly inadvisable. They are fictional.
Part Two: Bedford-Nostrand Flexy Purple-Pants, Bedford Exit:
Again, you may need a closer look to get the scope of this creative addition:
As you can see, the artist has added an extremely large phallus to this ad, and to clarify (or is it to obfuscate?) his/her intentions, has written the word "molecules" and then parenthetically specifies his statement, adding "(sprem)." Everything here is so lovable; the misspelling of sperm as sprem is one of the funniest things I've seen in subway art, especially considering the artist seemed to be trying to help the viewer out: "these molecules I drew here, coming out of this hairy-balled penis? Don't worry, that's just sp[er]m." And yet, despite the obvious charm displayed here (can I quickly note, I am really, truly in no way being facetious about any of this?) it is not quite my favourite, and I think you'll see why with the third installment.
Part Three: Bedford-Nostrand Flexy Purple-Pants, Nostrand Exit:
As has become customary, a close-up:
Now, this one, to me, is a clear winner. It's so simple. It's what I believe to be a penis coming out of Flexy's bum (it could also be a poo, or a small arm). In contrast to the molecule-(sprem)-phallus that appeared to be about to go into the buttocks, this is some disembodied penis that is emerging from Flexy's rump. Exremely original, visually arresting, simple. It is the masterpiece of Flexy Purple-Pants graffiti.
Certain subway ads have a way of attracting more graffiti than others, and Mr. Flexy Purple-Pants has seen his fair share, as I've demonstrated below. The first picture is from the Lorimer L-train stop, and is a little more high brow than the other two (high brow in this instance = no penis involved). The second and third pictures are both from my home stop: the inimitable Bedford-Nostrand, where I've seen two men openly masturbating and one taking a shit off the side of the platform. They both involve dicks: dicks are a big part of Bedford-Nostrand graffiti. After all, it was at my fine stop that I witnessed the zenith, apex, pinnacle of all subway art: Shark Man Penis (pictured below, for your reference). I hope you enjoy the collection of defiled Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater promos I've carefully curated.
Shark Man Penis (for your reference only):
Part 1: Lorimer Stop Flexy Purple-Pants:
It's a little hard to read, so here's a blurry close-up:
A speech bubble has been added that originally said "I won't buy ExxonMobil" but was then revised to say "I won't buy Gitgo," only to be revised a third time into a final, definitive message "I won't buy Bilbo." The last declaration is probably the most reasonable of all three: buying hobbits is truly inadvisable. They are fictional.
Part Two: Bedford-Nostrand Flexy Purple-Pants, Bedford Exit:
Again, you may need a closer look to get the scope of this creative addition:
As you can see, the artist has added an extremely large phallus to this ad, and to clarify (or is it to obfuscate?) his/her intentions, has written the word "molecules" and then parenthetically specifies his statement, adding "(sprem)." Everything here is so lovable; the misspelling of sperm as sprem is one of the funniest things I've seen in subway art, especially considering the artist seemed to be trying to help the viewer out: "these molecules I drew here, coming out of this hairy-balled penis? Don't worry, that's just sp[er]m." And yet, despite the obvious charm displayed here (can I quickly note, I am really, truly in no way being facetious about any of this?) it is not quite my favourite, and I think you'll see why with the third installment.
Part Three: Bedford-Nostrand Flexy Purple-Pants, Nostrand Exit:
As has become customary, a close-up:
Now, this one, to me, is a clear winner. It's so simple. It's what I believe to be a penis coming out of Flexy's bum (it could also be a poo, or a small arm). In contrast to the molecule-(sprem)-phallus that appeared to be about to go into the buttocks, this is some disembodied penis that is emerging from Flexy's rump. Exremely original, visually arresting, simple. It is the masterpiece of Flexy Purple-Pants graffiti.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
A Lil Softcore SciFi
I wrote a flash fiction story! It was online-published here. If you like it, tell me so! If you don't, shut your smug mouth!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Celebrity Insult Hour!
How did a duck get into the Rhys-Meyers lineage?!
(Because he kinda looks like a duck).
(Because he kinda looks like a duck).
Monday, November 23, 2009
Some Female Writers I Hate Right Now
That they are female is incidental, maybe. Maybe not. I'm going to leave the title how it is for now.
Mara Reinstein is first, with her article today about how, OMG, Twilight sucks so much! YUCK, TWILIGHT, RIGHT?! THE WORST?! WORSE THAN ANYTHING?! RIGHT?!
Hate-inducing quotes:
"As an Us Weekly writer, it pains me that they're (Twilight stars) mentioned in the same "should we put them on the cover?" breath as La Brangelina and La TomKat."
I know she's being a little facetious, but not enough to make me regret discovering what it is that pains US Weekly writers. Because this sentence appears to say, "AHHH! Protect the trivial thing I like from the trivial thing that other people like" and don't you know that that is the whole problem with humanity, Reinstein!?!?!?
Hate-inducing quote 2: ("Every girl can relate to Bella," she carefully explained in a makeshift Twilight intervention.) I anticipate similarly themed "Grow a heart, you soul-less witch" responses from this essay."
First of all, you didn't write an essay, you wrote a poop. Secondly, if I was an Us Weekly writer, my rejoinder would be "Grow a brain first!" and then I'd high-five my nearest girl friend (first things first). Then I'd turn back to Reinstein and add, "but also, for real, grow a heart too." It would be so sassy, her face would be sassed right off.
Listen bitch, if somebody finds a fictional character relatable, that's a really sacred bond, and you'd be wise to step the fuck off. It does not matter whether the character is insipid - as Twilight's Bella is - or completely evil. Identify with Dostoevsky's Stavrogin, if you want! Sure, he is among the most convincing psychopaths in literature (I don't buy the whole guilt catching up with him thing), and truly empathizing with him probably does betray some moral shortcomings on your part, or at the very least, uncertainties. But the act of conflating your identity with him is a conscious act of acknowledgment, and it is truly a rare case when the identifier comes out less interesting for developing that bond.
This really makes it seem like I identify with Stavrogin, and am trying to justify it to myself. I actually don't. It's just an example, for the record. Is the record straight?
K, moving on: as for banal characters, were you ever a child? A teenager? If you want to deprive all these rabid Twilight fans of their enthusiasm and happiness, you better go back in time and destroy virtually every Disney heroine and teen heartthrob we grew up with too. I don't care if in retrospect Disney's Maid Marian is kind of a pushover vixen. I wanted to be her! She had great clothes and a vivacious hen friend and a famous fox boyfriend, who I still think has the sexiest voice in all of animated history. If I'm honest, I still kind of want to be Disney's Maid Marian. And I'm less insipid than you!
I mean, you even admit you were a fan of Lost Boys! Don't get me wrong, I love a Haim/Feldman movie as much as - actually, likely more - than any child of the 80s. Plus, I originally watched Lost Boys out of love for Alex Winter, who the world forgot (so I'm more genuine than you, I think is my point). But you are complaining about the blandness of modern vampires, and then getting nostalgic about a movie that is basically about Kiefer Sutherland being the dreamy Canadian he is. Consistency!
Now, I haven't cracked a Twilight book or seen the movies, but I have been part of fan crazes before, and they are fun. You are not. You hate fun, and you especially hate it when others have it. You say, "ew gross, this movie is not good, stop liking it!" If we were to pluck every not good but likable thing from our lives, we'd explode very suddenly with boredom. Is that the world you want? Exploding bored people land?!
Moving on, I also don't like Michiko Kakutani, and I don't understand how she has a job or a Pulitzer. Too exhausted from rant 1 to write rant 2, but trust me. I have reasons.
Mara Reinstein is first, with her article today about how, OMG, Twilight sucks so much! YUCK, TWILIGHT, RIGHT?! THE WORST?! WORSE THAN ANYTHING?! RIGHT?!
Hate-inducing quotes:
"As an Us Weekly writer, it pains me that they're (Twilight stars) mentioned in the same "should we put them on the cover?" breath as La Brangelina and La TomKat."
I know she's being a little facetious, but not enough to make me regret discovering what it is that pains US Weekly writers. Because this sentence appears to say, "AHHH! Protect the trivial thing I like from the trivial thing that other people like" and don't you know that that is the whole problem with humanity, Reinstein!?!?!?
Hate-inducing quote 2: ("Every girl can relate to Bella," she carefully explained in a makeshift Twilight intervention.) I anticipate similarly themed "Grow a heart, you soul-less witch" responses from this essay."
First of all, you didn't write an essay, you wrote a poop. Secondly, if I was an Us Weekly writer, my rejoinder would be "Grow a brain first!" and then I'd high-five my nearest girl friend (first things first). Then I'd turn back to Reinstein and add, "but also, for real, grow a heart too." It would be so sassy, her face would be sassed right off.
Listen bitch, if somebody finds a fictional character relatable, that's a really sacred bond, and you'd be wise to step the fuck off. It does not matter whether the character is insipid - as Twilight's Bella is - or completely evil. Identify with Dostoevsky's Stavrogin, if you want! Sure, he is among the most convincing psychopaths in literature (I don't buy the whole guilt catching up with him thing), and truly empathizing with him probably does betray some moral shortcomings on your part, or at the very least, uncertainties. But the act of conflating your identity with him is a conscious act of acknowledgment, and it is truly a rare case when the identifier comes out less interesting for developing that bond.
This really makes it seem like I identify with Stavrogin, and am trying to justify it to myself. I actually don't. It's just an example, for the record. Is the record straight?
K, moving on: as for banal characters, were you ever a child? A teenager? If you want to deprive all these rabid Twilight fans of their enthusiasm and happiness, you better go back in time and destroy virtually every Disney heroine and teen heartthrob we grew up with too. I don't care if in retrospect Disney's Maid Marian is kind of a pushover vixen. I wanted to be her! She had great clothes and a vivacious hen friend and a famous fox boyfriend, who I still think has the sexiest voice in all of animated history. If I'm honest, I still kind of want to be Disney's Maid Marian. And I'm less insipid than you!
I mean, you even admit you were a fan of Lost Boys! Don't get me wrong, I love a Haim/Feldman movie as much as - actually, likely more - than any child of the 80s. Plus, I originally watched Lost Boys out of love for Alex Winter, who the world forgot (so I'm more genuine than you, I think is my point). But you are complaining about the blandness of modern vampires, and then getting nostalgic about a movie that is basically about Kiefer Sutherland being the dreamy Canadian he is. Consistency!
Now, I haven't cracked a Twilight book or seen the movies, but I have been part of fan crazes before, and they are fun. You are not. You hate fun, and you especially hate it when others have it. You say, "ew gross, this movie is not good, stop liking it!" If we were to pluck every not good but likable thing from our lives, we'd explode very suddenly with boredom. Is that the world you want? Exploding bored people land?!
Moving on, I also don't like Michiko Kakutani, and I don't understand how she has a job or a Pulitzer. Too exhausted from rant 1 to write rant 2, but trust me. I have reasons.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Guess What, World? I Have a Favourite Italian Renaissance Painting!
Below is an early Italian Renaissance painting by Stefano di Giovanni (also known as "il Sassetta"), who lived from 1392-1450.
You may note that this is definitely a contender for the weirdest painting of all time, and it certainly wins Weirdest Renaissance Painting. And although Sassetta took pains to make his intentions as specific as possible by entitling the piece The Blessed Ranieri Rasini Delivering the Poor from the Prison in Florence, 1437–1444, I think we all know that it would be much more appropriate to call it Rocket-Man Going on a Fiery Rampage and Scaring Everyone Away Except a Man Who Lives In a Mouse Hole, 3033-3040 (Also, Is Red-Shirt-Man Grabbing His Crotch or Is That Just a Hole in His Pants?).
You may note that this is definitely a contender for the weirdest painting of all time, and it certainly wins Weirdest Renaissance Painting. And although Sassetta took pains to make his intentions as specific as possible by entitling the piece The Blessed Ranieri Rasini Delivering the Poor from the Prison in Florence, 1437–1444, I think we all know that it would be much more appropriate to call it Rocket-Man Going on a Fiery Rampage and Scaring Everyone Away Except a Man Who Lives In a Mouse Hole, 3033-3040 (Also, Is Red-Shirt-Man Grabbing His Crotch or Is That Just a Hole in His Pants?).
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