Sunday, April 27, 2008

bullshit / pt. 1 : nyc

pt. 1:
first of all, hurrah that ryan adams' blog is back, even if it was briefly and it's got this moronic metal theme whatever. i know people hate him (i kinda do!), but i wish he didn't try so hard to be cheeky and "likable." nothing is less appealing than people who try so fucking hard, and i should know, because this is me ages 14-18 (to now? who knows, at least i've stopped trying hard enough that i don't even pay attention anymore). so if you like posting pictures of yourself, and writing rambling poems, and playing with imovie, fucking do it. sure, it's narcissistic and often wanky, but that's yr choice, do it with pride. answer to no one. and please keep updating because my life is so fucking empty.

pt.2: glenn danzig
i think i walked by his house the other day, but ever since his infamous pile of bricks was moved/stolen/disappeared, i'm not sure. for those who don't know, danzig (glenn, diminutive former singer for the misfits ((for those who really don't know, which is fine, you have lives)) lives in los feliz in a house that looks like the munsters was shot there, or at least that someone was literally shot there, since there's a hole in the roof and a (former) giant pile of bricks in the front yard, and also a famous story about him hiring people to make his gate more creaky and spooky to complete the overall aura of "boo! i'm danzig!" anyway, the bricks are gone, so if anyone can give me his address so i can find his brickless palace, i'd appreciate it. ("i stole your goddamn pile of bricks! you better think about it baby!" still funny.)

anyway, there's a picture of danzig and his eponymous band (from 1988) on dr. adams' blog, and unless he's standing on, say, a pile of bricks, he somehow managed to find 3 musicians who aren't just as metal as he is, but as short. did he hold auditions with a plywood sign that said, "you must be this tall to join my band" with a chicken holding up his wing to all of 5'4"? there are these stores around socal called "casual male xl," which always make me think of international male, so i think they're filled with sized 8xl gay pimp gear. but are there stores called casual metal lilliputian so danzig and henry rollins can find just-my-(adorably tiny!)-size black pants? it boggles the mind.

[sorry i had to find this ripped off copy, but still, brilliante).

pt. 3: mazel tov heather / no man no (allowed to) cry
[i loathe bob marley's music (controversial!), but friend-o-the-'tee heather once dated a guy named jimjim who was maybe the biggest stoner i have ever met in my entire life, and when approached by a marketing researcher who asked him what he thought of when he thought of bmw (the car), jimjim coughed and said, "bob marley and the wailers. nice." heather just got engaged to a guy who isn't jimjim (a major red sox fan from nh, no less-- score, heather), so congrats to her and her beloved. and note to the ladies: never date a guy who owns bob marley legend, aerosmith's permanent vacation, and snoop dog's doggy style all at once and still puts them in heavy rotation. you'll thank me later.]

another friend was telling me about how her man called her during a long-distance fight, so i wanted to take a moment to do a public service announcement for the lads out there in the audience tonight: dudes are not allowed to cry unless a parent or your dog has died, and maybe at the end of the movie rudy. but seriously, nothing is more unappealing and boner-killing than a grown-ass man sobbing like a baby with a full diaper. now, i used to be a hair-trigger weeper, but between having almost nothing left to cry over (new insults to my appearance have pretty much run dry, my dog's holding on, i don't watch ER anymore) and being so dead inside it's starting to smell, i'm more of a shrugger and ignorer. don't tell me men should be in touch with their emotions-- i hate emotions! the fewer emotions out there for either gender, the better. get it together, man! and don't start a metal blog.

pt. 4: losing steam
should i bother mentioning how funny the new harold and kumar movie is? ps, kumar, call me.

*OK! my stupid trip home!
pt. 1: NY:
i hate writing about my ny trips, because they're mostly made up of seeing friends, eating my favorite foods, and marveling at ashrita's indie rock existence. anyway, that's not the stuff for public consumption, but i will say that i went to the brooklyn museum for the target sponsored free saturday night mirakami dealie with kesone and her husband chris, and even tho it was a zoo and i didn't get there in time to even get into the exhibit (altho i did see judy chicago's "vagina feast," or whatever it's called), i loved going because never in LA would you see an art museum busting at the seams with people of all ages and races and walks of life. and i know it was free, and on a saturday, and featuring an artist affiliated with kanye, but even still. apparently, every free first saturday is a zoo, kanye or no, so suck it, los angeles. enjoy the grove.

[photo: a shitty picture of the melee outside the bk museum. you can almost make out the giant creepy sculpture inside (where you can also purchase louis viuton bags emblazoned with the same image).]

oh, and kesone and chris have achieved "the dream"-- a 2 bed/2 bath. and a terrace! so jealous. congrats, my adult friends! you give the rest of us hope!

oh, also, one of my favorite cousins, jen, got married to a guy named adam who fully charmed me at the rehearsal dinner, so mazel tov to them, and yay for me to acquire a new relative i don't hate. also the wedding was great because i love my jersey cousins, plus, there was pie.

ok, nh is waiting til next time so i can drag out this new content for as long as possible. get stoked for gun pictures tho! and tales of matzo!

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