And not McCain: Miss Crawford is in Nov. issue of Vogue Paris. HOT. And I luuurve the shocking pink. B and I took a fashion class in high school, and one of the exercises was to do this color chart testing thingy where we held fabric swatches up to our faces to see what shades look best on us. Shocking pink was one of my hues. As was ice blue.
YOU GUYS. NYMag.com has an amazing slideshow of doggies dressed up for Halloween. The best (of many):
This reminds me of the time C, D, and I saw the pup dressed as a duck at a soccer game. I will take that memory with me to my grave. It also reminds me of when The Colbert Report showed photos of Henry Pawson and Ben Bunnake and I died. The clip:
I stumbled upon this card at Someecards this AM...
...After I had tracked the status of the FedEx shipment of my costumed, informed P and D of the status, and called the mail room to make sure I got the box as soon as it arrived. Lame. L-A-M-E.
But, thank f-ing god, my costume has arrived. There was a lot of drama leading up to this, namely that my first order GOT LOST IN THE MAIL. Now, I'm going of this version of Suri.
A commenter over at Defamer today wrote a response to a post about whether The Dark Knight or Wall-E have a better shot at taking home best picture in, oh, four months from the big summer blockbuster category. And it blew my f-ing mind. (How did I end up reading this business? Yah. GREAT question. It was obv a busy day.) Onto the comment:
Weird theory. McCain wins? Batman Returns. Obama wins? Wall-E.
Ok, let's just go ahead and take this further cause now I'm obsessed. There is a bananas town case to be made that these candidates (and their campaigns)—the big FALL blockbusters, if you will—basically ARE these movies (and their main characters).
THE DARK KNIGHT and JOHN MCCAIN'S CAMPAIGN: -Both leading men are heroes with loonnnng histories. -Expectations were incredibly high, but the last minutes/days were a letdown and kinda ruined the enjoyment factor of the whole shebang. -No one could get enough of the coverage, especially after the 11th hour tragedy of the key supporting character. -The critics called them "dark, complex and unforgettable." -In the end, we pretty much got what we expect of this stuff.
WALL-E and BARACK OBAMA'S CAMPAIGN: -Both appealed to the kids right away and then, surprisingly, wooed the grown-ups. -The leading men seek out new sources of energy, adopt whatever technology they come across, and came onto the scene outta nowhere and with little experience. -They were whipped into shape by outspoken, alpha-females. -The stars remind us of super-duper iconic players in their worlds (Charlie Chaplin, JFK). -The critics described them as "charming, audacious, and timely."
Guess which movie I talked about for, oh, three months? Yah, saw Wall-E twice. And will buy it on DVD. Because I love that sweet little robot with the emotional, wobbly eyes. Let's just pretend that DK didn't make twice as much at the box office. Sad face.
People make style mistakes. They wear Crocs. They get chunky highlights. They embrace schoolgirl skirts. These things are forgivable. In fact, I'm even willing to let people like Paris Hilton off the hook who wear bad outfits day-in and day-out. Hey, girl's consistent: All of her clothes could be sold together as a Barbie wardrobe, and some five-year-old would pee her pants on Christmas day. But there's one person that has enigmatically god-awful style, and the real wonder is that she reinvents herself every 2.5 seconds: Mena Suvari, she of the rose petals in American Beauty. She'll go from a tack-tastic Rihanna backup dancer to a Dallas lady at her nephew's rehearsal dinner in a matter of minutes. A look at the lows. (Let's just assume the highs are when she's wearing PJs.)
Tina Brown wrote a really fascinating article about the style and sex appeal of Barack Obama and Sarah Palin. (Cause, let's be honest, they're both pretty—even if SOMEBODY is way less attractive when she opens her mouth.) The piece gets at why Palin will cling to her new look after Tues., why Bill Clinton & John McCain despise Obama's put-together-ness, and why Obama's look plays in Peoria...and the Lower East Side:
"I can’t say if those hand-pressed looking shirts are made of the finest Egyptian cotton or not—maybe they're from Costco—but the point is they suggest it. The simplicity of Obama’s lean, monochrome suits and solid blue ties makes every other pol appear porky and plebeian, old school glad-handers in oversize watches. It’s not just the clothes, of course. It’s the wearer—his carriage, the loping grace of his walk to the stage.
It’s also that the way he’s put together works simultaneously south of the Mason-Dixon line and south of 14th Street. When Obama works a rope line to most people he just looks neatly dressed. But to others he looks as stylishly minimalist as one of those Meatpacking District boutiques where a few shirts are piled artfully on otherwise empty shelves. It’s a little like the Republicans’ dog-whistle rhetoric, in which routine-sounding words like 'worldview' and 'wonder-working' convey a special, coded meaning to Christian conservatives. Obama's look conveys the message of a new world order to the young."
While Palin's look is new to the pol arena, much has been made of Obama fashion in the last year. Last spring (March, me thinks?), Paper magazine did a fashion story inspired by ol' Barry.
Then, earlier this month, he popped up on Paris (that's right: not NYC) runways. Like, literally: Jean-Charles de Castelbajac did an in-your-FACE sequins dress (in yellow, not orange...wah) w/ Obama's mug on it. Granted, this was as much about him as his look, but Bill Clinton sure never got fashion designer attentions.
L: Sonia Rykiel, R: Jean-Charles de Castelbajac by way of NYMag.com, which has more on the Parisian appreciation for B.O. Wow, that takes a double meaning in this case.
I read Gawker daily, but not because I like it—more because I feel like I have to take it into my system despite the yucky taste. Kinda like multi-vitamins. I generally hate (yah, yah, strong word) most of the bloggers because 1) they don't do their research and 2) they're super self-important (hi, NO ONE CARES that the crappy restaurant around the corner from your place of business got shut down, Sheila).
The one writer I appreciate in those parts? Alex Pareene, who used to be the editor of Wonkette. Because he gets it and has something to say. Por ejemplo, in a post about that whole "let's kill Obama!" plot this week:
"There was a tendency in New York, among liberals used to assuming that the elections are all stolen anyway, to assume the Obama campaign was doomed before it began because of his blackness, plain and simple. There was, similarly, a dark speculation, sometimes in the form of macabre joking, sometimes serious paranoia, that Obama would not survive the campaign if he got too close to the prize. What that didn't take into consideration was that as he looked more and more electable, more people liked him. Honestly, some thought Iowans were more likely to shoot him than vote for him. Then he proved them wrong, and the paranoia lifted, slightly."
This is right-on. Obama's biggest early supporters probably had the least faith in his ability to actually, you know, WIN. Thing is, though, I don't think this was just a liberal New York sentiment. If I recall correctly, I had a convo with K and C when they were visiting about the scary, scary, wtf issues of assassination, and they had the fear coming from Pittsburgh by way of Baton Rouge. Going into this election season, the idea of blue states and red states was stronger than ever, and I, for one, totally bought into those bullshit classifications. When Bush was reelected—and won all of the states he'd won in 2000—it reinforced a sense of divide: These are the people who get it (go, blue!) and these are the ones who don't (sigh, red). It's not that leanings don't exist, of course—it's just that they're not as unbending as they've seemed in the last four years. And that's really refreshing, especially for people who want to vote for Hope but didn't think there was any.
Read the rest of Pareene's post here, and be grateful for what scraps of Gawker smartness remain.
And no one will buy red roses, fake tan, or watch Charlie Sheen on TV when I'M president. Cause, like, those are totes the things that matter.
Yes, because baseball games are more important that presidents. TOOOOOTAAAAALLLYYY. And, um, I think only 6 people care about Tampa Bay anyway. Could be wrong—might be 8.
You guys, I don't even like vodka, but I'm obsessed with this. It's a disco-ball bottle from Absolut. (Well, actually, it's more like a super sweet mirrored shell that hinges at the bottom and fits OVER an Absolut bottle, but still.) And, it comes with matchy disco ornaments. Too bad I already have those. (Duh.)
I'm well aware that you're not supposed to pick on babies—and, moreover, it's tottttalllly sacrelig for me to say this—but I really don't like Suri's new haircut. It makes her face look fat. I think I should be her stylist because I obviously know how to deal with these things since I also have chubby cheeks.
More from Just Jared, the best Suri pics resource on the Internets
Suri, I know you're just a toddler, but GET IT TOGETHER. You're a fashion icon, not some sloppy tot like Violet Affleck.
Update: My friend Y noted that she looks like she's auditioning for a Bob Fosse production. And maybe she is. That's the only thing that would excuse this.
Can someone please, please PLEASE explain to me the appeal of Jessica Biel?
Because whenever I see her I instantly think: high school volleyball player. Especially when she tries soooooo hard to do sexy face and girly dress. It's like, senior captain goes to prom! Totally awk.
Letterman times of the week! Last night, with Lauren Conrad. Amazingness. He talks about how the fact that the artist formerly known as L.C. gets in fights with everyone maaaaaaaybe means that, hi, she's a huge pain in the ass. He then goes on to ask about Heidi, Spencer, Brody...
There's an article in The New Yorker this week about teen pregnancy in traditionally red states vs. traditionally blue states. It's called "Red Sex, Blue Sex", and, while it's not the most enlightening thing in the world, it does offer up some thoughts on why "blue state" teens just say no to doin' it—or at least doin' it without a condom. (Why does it feel funny to type the word "teens?" It makes me feel 50.)
Some of these differences in sexual behavior come down to class and education. Regnerus and Carbone and Cahn all see a new and distinct “middle-class morality” taking shape among economically and socially advantaged families who are not social conservatives. In Regnerus’s survey, the teen-agers who espouse this new morality are tolerant of premarital sex (and of contraception and abortion) but are themselves cautious about pursuing it. Regnerus writes, “They are interested in remaining free from the burden of teenage pregnancy and the sorrows and embarrassments of sexually transmitted diseases. They perceive a bright future for themselves, one with college, advanced degrees, a career, and a family. Simply put, too much seems at stake. Sexual intercourse is not worth the risks.” These are the kids who tend to score high on measures of “strategic orientation”—how analytical, methodical, and fact-seeking they are when making decisions. Because these teen-agers see abstinence as unrealistic, they are not opposed in principle to sex before marriage—just careful about it. Accordingly, they might delay intercourse in favor of oral sex, not because they cherish the idea of remaining “technical virgins” but because they assess it as a safer option. “Solidly middle- or upper-middle-class adolescents have considerable socioeconomic and educational expectations, courtesy of their parents and their communities’ lifestyles,” Regnerus writes. “They are happy with their direction, generally not rebellious, tend to get along with their parents, and have few moral qualms about expressing their nascent sexuality.” They might have loved Ellen Page in “Juno,” but in real life they’d see having a baby at the wrong time as a tragic derailment of their life plans. For this group, Regnerus says, unprotected sex has become “a moral issue like smoking or driving a car without a seatbelt. It’s not just unwise anymore; it’s wrong.”
ANYWAY, the article also talks about this 2005 documentary The Education of Shelby Knox about a religious high schooler in big ol' Texas who speaks out against abstinence-only ed. Clearly, I feel like I should have already seen this, and Netflix agrees. It also recommends me the film, based on other business I've liked:
Now wait just one minute. Mr. Movie Rental Service thinks I'll lurve Shelby's antics because of my affection for: 1) Stuff White People Like-worthy TV shows (see: The Wire, The L Word, Arrested Development) 2) Crazy Liberal Documentaries (see: Jesus Camp, An Inconvenient Truth, Bowling for Columbine) 3) Gay Movies (see: Brokeback Mountain, All About My Mother)
You know what? FINE, Netflix. You win. Now send me the moooovie.
I'm pretty all-around in lust with Tina Brown's new political site The Daily Beast, but I especially love this feature called the Buzz Board. It is, as T would say, SICK. Power players from Bill Clinton to Padma Lakshmi to T. Boone Pickens to Kate White (Cosmo editor)—yup, there's a real spread here—post about what they're into right this minute.
Pres. Barbie from AM NY. Not wearing Valentino. DUUUUUH.
From Maureen Dowd on the "sexism" of talking about Sarah Palin's wardrobe:
"It doesn’t wash to cry sexism now any more than it did at the beginning, when the campaign tried to use that dodge to divert attention from Palin’s lacunae in the sort of knowledge you need to run the world. The press has written plenty about the vanities and extravagances of male candidates. (See: Haircuts, John Edwards and Bill Clinton.) Sexism would be to treat Palin differently, or more delicately, than one of the guys."
Now, I was never a huge M.D. fan, but she's done good by this election. Some of her best business of late:
"Mr. Darcy Comes Courting": On why Barack Obama is a modern Mr. Darcy (if you haven't read Pride and Prejudice—or seen a Bridget Jones movie—don't bother)
From David Sedaris' story about undecided voters in last week's New Yorker:
"To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. 'Can I interest you in the chicken?' she asks. 'Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?'
To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked."
The whole thing is worth reading. Because it's funny.
Once upon a last spring, I was obsessed with a show called The Paper. If I didn't tell you about this, you're lucky. It was an eight-episode MTV reality show about a high school newspaper in Florida, and this was the beauty of it: It wasn't in New York or L.A. It took place at an otherwise normal public school in Weston, Florida, that just so happened to have an award-winning paper.
The best character on the show was, by far, Amanda Lorber. She wasn't especially charming or smart or bitchy. She was unapologetically herself and was the editor-in-chief. (Note: One of the funniest things about the show was that all the paper's staffers called the head-honcho gig the "In-Chief" job. I have never heard this abbreviation used anywhere else. God, that's soooooooo H.S. clubby. LOVE.)
Beyond Amanda, there's Alex, who used to be really good friends with Amanda but found a new group of friends between junior and senior years (I suspect he started smoking pot?) and is now too cool for Amanda. There's Adam, who lives for drama and is an Ice Capades-loving gay. There's Gina, who's a cunning bitch who's not so big on hangin' with girls, and her boyfriend Trevor, who no doubt spends hours staring at himself in the mirror.
I'm telling you, this is good shit. And it's all online. This is the stuff Sunday afternoons are made of. To prove my devotion, a screenshot of A.L.'s Facebook page because, yup, I befriended her—in the online stalker sense of the word.
I had a mini revelation tonight. I went to the bookstore to buy a stack of books (this, might I add, is one of my favorite things to do) and purchased my fourth Joan Didion book of the last six months. She is the first author that I've felt the need to consume in this ravenous sense, and I finally figured out why—beyond the fact that, duh, I think she's great. Typically I fall for writers who have one or two really, really outstanding, life-changing books (Vladimir Nabokov, Sylvia Plath) or ones who are too current to have more than a couple good books under their belt (Marisha Pessl, Barabara Kingsolver). But J.D. has been at it since 1963, and so I can eat up her stuff using the Netflix approach that I apply to the teevee: whenever I want, without having to wait for a next installment, knowing the supply is plenty deep. Sigh. So fulfilling.
Can we pause for a moment to take in J.D.'s vintage chicness? Holy guac. And, the picture is from a site called Achievement.org, which makes it even better.
My purchases: Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion: So far, I like her fiction more (Democracy, Run, River, and Play As It Lays, which I heart big time), but we'll see. Supreme Courtship, Christopher Buckley: Pop-pol fiction that's basically about Biden and Palin because apparently Buckley Jr. has ESPN. Everything Is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer: Been meaning to read for a while, and Harper Perennial is doing these rad Olive Editions of new classics (Unbearable Lightness of Being, etc.) that have adorable designs and are just ten buckeroos. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky: Because one of my new recent goals is to read every SMART book about high school.
I know everyone's supposed to be into Showtime right now. But I don't care. Weeds became unwatchable when Nancy became a REAL drug dealer. Armed border crossings? Hi, no. Dexter is too intense for regular viewing. Secret Diary of a Call Girl is only interesting for two episodes. Californication is what every 40-year-old dude wants his life to be like. The L Word is dunzo. This American Life is amazing, but I rarely feel compelled to watch week to week. But, finally, a show I can get behind: United States of Tara. Yes, I have to wait it out 3 mo. for this lil puppy to come on air (Jan. 18! Mark that Tivo!), but in the dead of winter I'll be glad to have it—and in the meantime I have Rachel Maddow to keep me cozy. And stuffed animals.
Now, to be fair, this project is like hype's wet dream: The man behind the idea is Steven Spielberg! Who brought in I-totes-know-teenagers-oh-my-gawd Diablo Cody (Juno) to write! And it's about a woman with multiple personality disorder! Gimmick alert. But it's actually smart and funny. Then again, it's hard not to like Toni Collette and John Corbett (Aidan!). The trailer:
J and I got on the topic of nineties music tonight, and I couldn't for the life of me think of the name of what must be one of the most influential boy bands to ever exist. That is, O-Town, the subject of the first season of MTV's tragic Making the Band and a group that was successful from about 2000 to 2001...soooo not the nineties. Oopsy doops. The group photo is, in a word, depressing. It makes Sugar Ray look chic. But the music...oh the music...
Hit number one: "Liquid Dreams," which is basically as slimy as it sounds. (Please note that this is a remix. Apparently the song isn't famous enough for the original to exist on Imeem? Whatevs.
Then the heartfelt "All or Nothing." Chorus: Cause I want it all Or nothing at all There's no where left to fall When you reach the bottom it's now or never Is it all Or are we just friends Is this how it ends With a simple telephone call You leave me here with nothing at all
C made a comment on my last Sarah Palin post (of many) about her BF complaining about S.P.'s "hooker boots." In this particular case, I think that's the appropriate term for Miss Veep's footwear of choice—and not because her knee-high boots are sluttier than most. Someone is obviously being paid to style this woman, and that person should be well aware of the societal perceptions of certain pieces of clothing, hairstyles, accessories, etc.—hell, that's why Palin's glasses work for her. They give her the sexy librarian vibe that she's clearly aiming for and couldn't achieve with contacts. By opting to dress a candidate for vice president in shoes dubbed "hooker boots," you are essentially playing into those constructions and insisting that the public view her through that lens: Sarah Palin is sexual! Like a prostitute! I mean, the only other nickname for these kicks is "fuck me boots," which hardly sends a different message. She's not just a woman—a point driven home by the fact that she's usually in a skirt instead of Hillary-esque pantsuits—but one that we're supposed to respond to with testosterone, not thought.
Anna Wintour's annual Vogue clothing budget was reportedly something over $50k as of 2003. Sarah Palin's seven-week RNC clothing budget is, wait for it, $150k according to Politico! (Well, that's the spending more like—maybe the budget is higher?) Now, she has to share that with the fam—and Levi's makeover story is worth something—and shops at only suuppppppper down-home/average American stores like Saks and Neiman Marcus.
Worse yet is what she spends all this moolah on. Yes, there's some "I'm Jackie O. for Halloween!" attire, but there's also an abundance of knee-high boots. With take-me-serious suits.
Now, I'm sorry: I always feel a little skeevy when I'm too lazy to put on tights with my boots, and I work in a place where anal sex comes up in meetings. SARAH: WHAT'S WRONG WITH A PAIR OF HEELS? ARE YOU NOT USED TO THE COLD, BEING FROM ALASKA AND ALL?
I went to a new restaurant on Bowery over the weekend called Double Crown that has this pseudo British colonial vibe (think curries and quail), and I had my very first Pimm's No. 1 Cup. (Wow, I'm making this seem like a WAAAAYYY bigger deal than it was.)
ANYWAY, I think it may be my drink of the season, which is especially surprising considering I've tried to keep my distance from anything gin-based since a curious night that included some sort of painful cookie dough liquor. (Yup! Totally as gross as it sounds!) Apparently—thanks, Wikipedia!—the cocktail was invented in 1823 as a health drink. So CLEARLY it's good for you, and I don't have to feel guilty about not taking vitamins.
Fruity, pretty, non-Pimm's drinks at D.C. by way of NY Mag
T and I spent some quality time with the MOMA store yesterday—hello, holiday times! I have to start my painful gift list that's waaaaay more organized than my bedroom! I am always torn between the crazy (and crazy useful) kitchen business and the books, and this time the bound things won. (For those keeping score at home, that's BOOKS, 1 and KITCHEN BS, 0.)
It's always the fashion stuff that sucks me into the rabbit hole, and, hi, I need this:
Shockingly, it's words and pictures. With footnotes. PLLLLLEEASE. This has brothers holidaze request written all over it.
So, there is suddenly backlash against financial adviser to the masses, Suze Orman. You know: The woman with the blond pixie cut who loves wild patterns and could have been in your mom's tennis league (see the I just had crazy for breakfast photo). Apparently, she is hot spokeswoman of the recession because if Suze tells you something's worth your money, then it probably is. And people are pissed, doing this whole "she has no right!" business. (See Gawker.)
Ok, dudes, the woman is clearly on the bonkersville side, but in a good way. And I, personally, don't think it's her moral obligation to not promote some no-interest financing package through GM. Tyler Florence shills for Applebees (a place with microwave food), and Lindsay Lohan used to clutch a Dooney and Burke bag for a campaign. The consumer is not so dumb that he doesn't know that ads are trying to sell him shit he PROBABLY DOESN'T NEED.
But, of course, the people who are crying foul aren't just saying this is a bad move but are basically calling for a burning at the stake. From the Gawk:
Suze Orman is, essentially, a hustler. It's not that she necessarily gives bad advice—it's that she sells the idea that anyone needs Suze Orman to give them advice in the first place. Here's an example: the strongly-haired CNBC personality wrote a book called Women and Money. You know what women need to know about money? The exact same stuff that men need to know. Stuff which is primarily available for free, on the internet. Like "don't spend money on books full of facts available for free elsewhere." Unfortunately, Americans are more seduced than ever before by Suze Orman's steely gaze. She's not your friend!
Though I felt like a complete asshole first finding it at the bookstore and then buying it, I read—more like CONSUMED like a starving 90210er—The Money Book for the Young Fabulous and Broke. And it's pretty amazing. I actually know what an Roth IRA is now and HAVE ONE. Sure, this info might be available online, but to get it all in one place and in a logical progression makes a ginormous difference. Before, I didn't even know where to start.
My friend D and I talked about our lack of money skills a couple months ago, and he was totally in the same place. He's a smart kid who had a liberal artsy college experience and so can barely master online banking. We realized that you only really learn financial life skills if in high school you were deemed ill-equipped for geometry and pre-calc. Sad stuff. So, I recommended Suze to him and anyone else I've talked to about this head-spinning APR/IRA/WTF. I mean, come on. Feeling competent is worth $25.
I have a confession: I kind of love Kirsten Dunst. Now, I don't want to. I think she's kind of gross in that dirty hippie way, and her teeth bother me (yup, embracing the superficiality here). But, in terms of her acting—oh, right! she's famous for something!—she's pretty great because she GETS IT. This getting it means a lot to me...I like people who get it and people who are characters.
The best bits of K.D. goodness live in Bring It On:
Duh x1000. Then there's Crazy/Beautiful, which might just be one of the best sleepover movies I've ever forgotten.
And last and bestest, Drop Dead Gorgeous. F-ing amazing. Christopher Guest-worthy comedy times. Die, D-I-E, etc.
There's hardly a shortage of Gossip Girl coverage on the internets, obvs, but I am fully in love with the recap that Gabe of Videogum writes every week. (To be fair, I'm fully obsessed w/ him and the videos he does as well.)
ANYWAY, here are highlights from his most recent write-up. SPOILER ALERT. Gag.
"The reason that [Serena] doesn't want to go to Yale is because it's for "over-achieving bookworms and preppies, the Blairs of the world." Wait, what? Over-a-wha? Bookwhats? Sorry, Gossip Girl. You cannot change the rules in the middle of the game. Nelly Yuki, the girl Blair tried to destroy in season 1, episode 15 before absorbing her into her clique, is an over-achieving bookworm. Blair is an over-conniving c-word."
And:
"MEANWHILE, Nate Archibald decides that he likes a 35-year-old extra from the movie Singles, so he goes back to her dorm room to make out with her, because that's a thing that happens all the time on college campuses. The girls just can't wait for some 17-year-old guys to make out with. They're so sick of making out with people who've graduated high school."
And:
"So now both of the girls excuse themselves to the porch where they throw purses at each other's faces and pull on each other's gorgeous hair."
Lots more where that came from. CW, you're the best/worst.
Lacroix hasn't been cool since the eighties, and still then it was more fun to pronounce the name to, like, admire the clothes. BUT. This hair from the Spring/Summer 09 runway show is AMAZING. I mean, clearly a bunch of horsies are missing their tails so that these girls can have lush extensions, but still.
All from WWD.com, which has gotten way better, fyiiiiii
I crafted a beast of a country music playlist yesterday. I will not defend my musical taste beyond quoting Chuck Klosterman from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs:
"The most wretched people in the world are those who tell you they like every kind of music 'except country.' People who say that are boorish and pretentious at the same time. All it means is that they've managed to figure out the most rudimentary rule of pop sociology; they know that hipsters gauge the coolness of others by their espoused taste in sound, and they know hipsters hate modern country music. And they hate it because it speaks to normal people in a tangible, rational manner. Hipsters hate it because they hate Midwesterners, and they hate Southerners, and they hate people with real jobs."
Wait, I lied. I will also add that what I LIKE about the Dixie Chicks, Tim McGraw, and even Toby Keith is that the lyrics are the foundation. I'm not good with instrumental music (as in, I lose track and fall asleep), and I like stories. Ultimately the point of the lyrics here is to craft a universal experience that everyone can relate to—or, in this particular case, everyone who has seen a corn field can relate to. And that means that standard, dated gender roles obbbvvviiiouuussslly come through—think sweet girl falls for a bad news boy ("Suds in a Bucket" by Sara Evans, "She's in Love with the Boy" by Trish Yearwood).
But when I got to listening to said mix/playlist/whatever Apple wants me to call it, I was floored by all the girl power going on. Like, those girls in cowboy hats are pulling (and have been pulling) on their fuck YOU boots.
We've got screw-you-for-cheating songs:
I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped-up four-wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats... I took a Louisville Slugger to both head lights, slashed a hole in all four tires... Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats"
You should've said no, you should've gone home You should've thought twice before you let it all go You should've know that word, whatcha did with her Get back to me... And I should've been there, in the back of your mind I shouldn't be asking myself why You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet... You should've said no, baby and you might still have me
Taylor Swift's "Should've Said No"
And woman-in-charge songs:
Now my momma told me in this dog-eat-dog world You gotta work harder than a man She'd say, yeah that's just what you need Some romance book Romeo callin' you at work and messin' up your plans
Trick Pony's "On a Night Like This"
I get home 7:30 the house is dirty, but it can wait Yeah, 'cause right now I need some downtime To drink some red wine and celebrate Armageddon could be knocking at my door but I ain't gonna answer thats for sure. There's gotta be something more!
Sugarland's "Something More"
And don't-fuck-with-me songs:
You can say you've got issues You can say you're a victim It's all your parents fault,I mean After all, you didn't pick them Maybe somebody else has got time to listen My give a damn's busted
Well you're therapist says It was all a mistake A product of the Prozac And your codependent ways So, who's your enabler these days My give a damn's busted
Jo Dee Messina's "My Give a Damn's Busted"
I won't be your Friday paycheck I won't be the prize you flaunt And I won't be your Martha Stewart, baby Or your all-night restaurant
But I will, I will, I will be your everything If you make me feel like a woman should I will, I will, I will be the whole shebang You know I will...but
I won't be your crutch to lean on I won't wear stiletto heels I won't walk a mile in your shoes Just so I know how it feels
I won't be your obligation I won't be your Barbie doll I won't be the portrait of perfection To adorn you wall
SheDaisy's "I Will...But"
I'm sure I'm overthinking the significance of this stuff, but I'm still impressed. So there.
It took me until 2008 to realize that writing things on the internet doesn't (necessarily) make you the most annoying person in the universe. Then my friend had a dream that I had a blog where I posted a photo of myself in an orange sequined dress. Hot.
THE DARK KNIGHT and JOHN MCCAIN'S CAMPAIGN:
WALL-E and BARACK OBAMA'S CAMPAIGN:
Once upon a last spring, I was obsessed with a show called The Paper. If I didn't tell you about this, you're lucky. It was an eight-episode MTV reality show about a high school newspaper in Florida, and this was the beauty of it: It wasn't in New York or L.A. It took place at an otherwise normal public school in Weston, Florida, that just so happened to have an award-winning paper.
J and I got on the topic of nineties music tonight, and I couldn't for the life of me think of the name of what must be one of the most influential boy bands to ever exist. That is, O-Town, the subject of the first season of MTV's tragic Making the Band and a group that was successful from about 2000 to 2001...soooo not the nineties. Oopsy doops. The group photo is, in a word, depressing. It makes Sugar Ray look chic. But the music...oh the music...
Ok, dudes, the woman is clearly on the bonkersville side, but in a good way. And I, personally, don't think it's her moral obligation to not promote some no-interest financing package through GM. Tyler Florence shills for Applebees (a place with microwave food), and Lindsay Lohan used to clutch a Dooney and Burke bag for a campaign. The consumer is not so dumb that he doesn't know that ads are trying to sell him shit he PROBABLY DOESN'T NEED.
I have a confession: I kind of love Kirsten Dunst. Now, I don't want to. I think she's kind of gross in that dirty hippie way, and her teeth bother me (yup, embracing the superficiality here). But, in terms of her acting—oh, right! she's famous for something!—she's pretty great because she GETS IT. This getting it means a lot to me...I like people who get it and people who are characters.
There's hardly a shortage of Gossip Girl coverage on the internets, obvs, but I am fully in love with the recap that Gabe of Videogum writes every week. (To be fair, I'm fully obsessed w/ him and the videos he does as well.)
Amy Sedaris is going to be on teeeeveeee! As in, she's gettin' her own show, says the Hollywood Reporter. Whee!
I crafted a beast of a country music playlist yesterday. I will not defend my musical taste beyond quoting Chuck Klosterman from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: