i'm here

god i am completely smitten with this short film, everything about it is just absolutely lovely. just in case it wasn't already apparent, spike jonze is a genius.

linguisticsss

so i was tumblring today and stumbled upon this post:

"Pretty interesting article in the WSJ today. Basically says that language profoundly influences how we see the world. Some examples:

• Russian speakers who have more words for light and dark blues are better able to visually discriminate shades of blue.
• An aboriginal community in Australia doesn’t use terms like “left” and “right”, and instead uses north, south, east and west for directions. As a result they have greater spatial orientation.
• People who speak languages that drop the agent of causality, for example “the vase broke itself” versus “John broke the vase,” don’t often associate blame for events.
• One group who uses the words “few” and “many” in favor of actual number words have difficulty keeping track of exact quantities.
• English speakers see time on a horizontal plane, with the best years ahead and the past behind us. Whereas Mandarin speakers see new events emerging like a spring of water, with the past above and the future below."

you can read the rest of the article here in stanford magazine online.

anthem du jour

swooning over foxes in fiction's cover of 'lately' by memoryhouse:

anthem du jour

heard this on the end credits of true blood the other night...INTENSE episode, by the way...but i've been listening to this on repeat nonstop. here's 'hells bells' by cary ann hearst:

bruce! bruce! bruce!

this is a clip from dogtooth, a really fucked up but also fantastic greek film i watched recently. it's about these three teenagers whose father and mother have taught them bizarre and incorrect definitions for common words. for example, they are taught that 'zombie' means 'little yellow flower' and that 'telephone' means 'salt shaker'. the parents do this in part to further manipulate their children, who have essentially been imprisoned in their home their entire lives. it's a really disturbing but hilarious and interesting film...definitely worth a watch if you don't get weirded out by dysfunctional subject matter. anyway, i really like this clip below. the children are performing for their parents' wedding anniversary, and the eldest daughter does the 'maniac' dance from flashdance because she's been secretly watching smuggled in vhs tapes whose scripts she memorizes and recites for her brother and sister. don't worry though, her dad quickly finds out and beats her repeatedly in the head with vhs mitts he straps onto his hands with duct tape. aaaaand he also beats the girl who has been smuggling the tapes (also the girl he's been paying to come to the house to sleep with his son to "relieve him of his urges"...) in the head with a vhs player until she falls to the floor unconscious but presumably not dead. see? i told you it was fucked up...



and here's the trailer to give you a better idea of how effing weird it is:



if you'd like to watch it in its entirety, you can find it free here.

nicorette advertisement fail

have you ever seen that commercial? if you're not paying close attention, as many television enthusiasts aren't, you probably thought that nicorette made a great point. this man is so addicted to cigarettes that he doesn't even know he's being attacked by a great white shark (who apparently is toothless, because i'm pretty sure he'd have already ripped that arm off and/or pulled that guy into the water after ten seconds...) and what an idiot he must be for smoking. okay, all cigarette politics aside, let's think about this logically.

when the nicorette kicks in and the idiot man is suddenly brought back to reality, he in fact starts panicking and screaming "shark" over and over. because clearly if there were bystanders available to help him, they would not already know that the giant aquatic carnivore attached to his arm was a shark. but anyways, the commercial ends with the man still flailing his arm around trying to get the shark off. he can't do it, so he doesn't fucking escape.

okay, again, let's think about what all of this means. i don't know about you, but if there were a giant fucking shark biting off my god damn arm and there was no chance to escape, even after repeatedly punching it in the nose (as we are always told works, and as this man attempts to do and fails miserably at...), i would probably want to be in the pre-nicorette state of mind. you know, a painless trance where all you can think about is taking a drag of a cigarette, not about a huge alien fish having you for a snack.

what does all of this tell us? well, first of all it reinforces our hatred for sharks, possibly the most misunderstood species on earth (thanks popular culture...not that i'm trying to save them...they're terrifying...). second of all, it tells us that nicorette might help you quit smoking, but it also brings you back to a terribly unpleasant reality with no hope for escape, as well as the possibility of limb loss and/or death. so next time you think about purchasing nicorette for yourself or a loved one, think twice. ps the moral of the story is also that the nicorette advertising department sucks, so they should hire me instead. i need health insurance. k bye.

remember marissa cooper and/or mishcha barton?

remember when they simultaneously killed marissa cooper AND the oc AND mischa barton's career, all in one fell swoop? i do, i do. today i stumbled upon an amazing and creepy facebook group that is dedicated to preserving the memory of marissa cooper. the author of the group poses an interesting question: "why does everyone seem to be getting over it?" well, i don't know...it could have something to do with the fact that she's not a real person, but maybe that's just me. by the way, i'm pretty sure whoever made this group is foreign and/or slow-brained. he or she refers to marissa as a hero several times...i'm pretty sure that's the last word i'd use to describe marissa cooper. she constantly gets herself into situations that require rescuing, which is the opposite of a hero. except i guess she did shoot ryan's brother that one time, but aside from that she mostly failed in the heroics department. besides, i think imogen heap was the real hero in that situation. anyways, the author of this group goes on to blame taylor (i think that's the one with all the school spirit? i stopped watching after season 2...really anything past the first appearance of crazy oliver in season 1 is a waste of time) for marissa's death, listing a zillion oddly worded points to support the claim. oh, and let's not forget the haiku-esque situation, which i will reproduce here:

"she loved him...she loved him but she had to say goodbye..they didn't forget...Ryan saved her once and he wasn't meant to save her again...maybe the parallel universe will always know what we can't..and it's just for us to accept...We love her, but she will always be there..never forgotton...she wasn't meant to live..that was how it was meant to be..in his arms, the 'I love you' unanswered..Marissa..."

so what can we learn from all this? well, first of all, avoid whoever the eff created this group. but you know what? i had a brilliant idea. are you ready? let's petition for a spinoff series to accomplish the following: 1) revive marissa, 2) revive mischa barton's career, and 3) see 1 and 2. and just what would this series feature? the plot is very simple. marissa cooper comes back as a zombie who is just trying to make it in LA. blind dates and drama and brain consumption ensue. natasha bedingfield could do a catchy theme song, something along the lines of "and your brain is still unbitten..." i mean, it's genius right? they wouldn't even need to hire a makeup person since mischa barton's already at least halfway towards looking the part. i think this could really take off because let's face it...vampires and werewolves are getting old. zombies could definitely be the new "it" creatures. let me know if anyone feels like investing in this project...it'll be pretty low-budget considering mischa barton would probably be cool with getting paid in urban outfitters coupons and cigarettes. and all she has to do is get super drunk the night before filming, which fits in perfectly with her lifestyle. just come in super hungover looking like death, shuffle around slowly, minimal dialogue with lots of groaning sounds...it's like her fucking dream job. and there we go. i just solved all mischa barton's problems.

stephanie tanner is a bitch

the only part of blow up that i actually liked

anthem du jour

candy claws is another band i've just discovered that i felt i ought to share with you. i'm not really sure where they got the name from...i imagine the colorado duo might have a rare condition involving a strange combination of candy corn and bugles in place of fingertips, but that's probably just me being borderline diabetic. anyways, this track called 'catamaran' is quite fitting for today because i've been plagued by an overwhelming desire to swim in the ocean since i woke up this morning. it's not necessarily that i want to go to the beach...that would involve sand and tourists and the occasional runaway beach umbrella (which, by the way, i have a real fear of being impaled by...). but to be dropped directly into an ocean and float in the waves for a bit would be ideal. i don't know, maybe this is just me getting geared up for shark week...

Catamaran from Candy Claws on Vimeo.

10 ways to end it (and spare their feelings)

i've always been a fan of creative breakup ideas to stir things up in a stagnant relationship. the first time i decided to blindside someone was all the way back in the eighth grade after dating a boy for a year and a half. i was bored, i was like ten times more mature than he was, insert other things that annoyed me here, etc. so being incredibly creative (and demonstrating aforementioned exceptional maturity level) i decided the best way to say sayonara was via that michelle branch song entitled 'goodbye to you'. because let's face it, singer/songwriters can just say things way better than i can. i handed him the cd and told him to listen to the last song as he was getting on his bus to go home. long story short he got the message, and he regarded me disdainfully (rightfully so as there were no real warning signs indicating i was about to stomp all over his feelings) for a long time afterward. and that, my friends, was how my train of dysfunctional relationships began.

anyway, if i were in a serious relationship at present, i would very seriously consider using one or more of ten amazing breakup methods concocted by writer/filmmaker mia timpano. there are some really genius solutions to all your relationship woes. i mean, you might come off looking like a lunatic and/or an asshole if you decide to follow through with any of these, but inside you'll know that really you just saved that no longer special someone a whole lot of personal trauma that would have resulted from telling them the truth about why you want to ditch them. i.e. "you're annoying" or "i've just realized how inferior you are" or "did you always look like that?"...you know, things like that.

1. A slow descent into mania is likely to drive any rational human away. Begin by responding to a voice only you can hear. Develop an obvious rapport with the voice. Laugh uncontrollably at everything the invisible person says. If your partner asks what was said, shake your head and say, “It’s private.” Do this every time. If your partner tells a joke, look sincerely confused and say, “Umm, o-kaaaay.” Do this every time. When your partner sits down, say, “You’re sitting on him.” If they move, say, “You’re sitting on him.” If they insist “he” could not occupy two chairs, say, “He moved.” Do this every time.

2. Deny their existence. When they say anything, glance up and around, look slightly puzzled and say, “Hmm, must have been the wind.” Do this every time. If they call, redirect them to customer assistance. Do this every time.

3. Sometimes just the threat of violence is enough to drive someone away. Point at a random member of the public and say, smiling, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we set them on fire?” If they dismiss your suggestion, point out another and say, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we drove a spike through their face?” If they question your bloodlust, look slightly deflated and say, “You’ve changed.”

4. Develop habits that will certainly repulse them. If they loathe meat, for instance, sleep with a full champagne ham wedged between your legs. Move it progressively closer and closer to their face during the night. Ultimately, they should wake to find themself face to face with the ham. Then quickly remove the ham. They should continue to find it in unexpected places — belted into the passenger seat, on the toilet, snoozing on the couch (at this point you should look up and say, “Shhhhh!” then mouth the word “sleeping”).

5. Drive them away by affecting an African-American patois. When you agree with anything, say, “TRUE DAT!” This will get tired extremely quickly.

6. Let them down easy. Explain you simply need something they cannot give. This can of course be anything, so get creative. I need all toes to be webbed. I need you to be lubricated in gravy. I need meat breath.

7. Play dead. If they are convinced, they will grieve and move on. If they are unconvinced, they should be sufficiently annoyed to move on.

8. Insist you are related. If they demand proof of your claim, simply hand them a magic eight ball. It will achieve nothing, but will allow a moment of confusion in which to run away, screaming.

9. Flick any small, hard object at them. Ask, “Did that hurt?” Ignore their response and repeat the process. When they stand to leave and sit elsewhere, shake your head and say, “He moved.”

10. To tell them you hate them personally is offensive and unnecessary. Instead, tell them you hate everything they like and own. Strolling through their house, look clearly annoyed and say, “Tch, Mac. Uh, yeah, ‘cool’. Tch, Pentax. Oooh, ‘it’s a Pentax’. Tch, grapefruit. Yeah, sour, great, I’m so impressed. Tch, a goldfish. What’s he going to do? Swim? Mmmm, great, almost as good as the grapefruit.” They will slowly tire of this and you.

This column was published in Frankie #19 Sept/Oct 2007.

i am also in love with a man called john jagos

john jagos (aka brothertiger), if you are reading this i am totally available for dates for the next month and a half. just saying. this time i actually really am in love even though we've never met. the combination of his musical abilities and his facial features have lead me to this conclusion. he's also originally from ohio, so i feel like i would totally "get" him and stuff.

okay so moving on from reasons why brothertiger is a dreamboat, he makes lovely dreampop-chillwave-synthelectro-etc. (apparently this is the only kind of music i'm listening to these days) tunes which are excellent for surviving summer. if i were you i would download vision tunnels, and in the meantime i'd advise checking out these tracks:

i am in love with a man called randolph chabot

okay, i might not really be in love with HIM (or maybe i am, i'd have to meet him to know for sure), but i am definitely in love with his alter-ego deastro's music to the point that i want to shout it from the rooftops. but really though. he's like a weird hybrid of everything that is good about ariel pink and washed out but with a little electro flare that reminds me of mux mool and even sometimes mgmt's first record (you know, minus the douchebag super fans). i don't even know if that makes any sense to you or in general, so you should probably just give him a listen and decide for yourself. here are three of my favourite tracks off his ep called mind altar, which you should definitely definitely download if you've got a minute. and sorry that these youtube videos are the opposite of aesthetically pleasing. i had limited options:

help me tom cruise. help me rhonda. just help.

i am experiencing an epic hangover this morning. it's debilitating. and i realized that being hungover is not unlike grieving. i can't eat, i can't sleep, i can't move...everything hurts. and the five stages of a hangover are eerily similar to the five stages of grief. let's examine:

five stages of grief:

• denial, disbelief, numbness
• anger, blaming others
• bargaining (for instance "If I am cured of this cancer, I will never smoke again.")
• depressed mood, sadness, and crying
• acceptance, coming to terms

five stages of hangover:

• denial (i feel fine, i'm totally fine), disbelief (wait, what? i can't be THAT hungover...), numbness (i can feel everything and nothing all at once...how is this possible?)
• anger (i hate being hungover! and i am so angry because of it!), blaming others (why did you make me drink all those drinks? why? why? why? this is all your fault. i wish you weren't my friend.)
• bargaining (if i am cured of this hangover, i will never ever ever drink ever again.)
• depressed mood (i hate my life, everything is terrible), sadness (what did it used to feel like before i felt so terrible? i can't even remember! ), crying (how am i supposed to rehydrate when what little h2o i've got is flowing out my eye sockets? how???)
• acceptance (okay. you're hungover. this is real.), coming to terms (chinese food, tv, couch/bed)
  

crazy, right? i know. it's like every time this happens, that crazy outraged mall man appears in my brain and just keeps screaming "why? why? why are you so hungover? tell us the reason! why? why are you putting us through this? who gave you the right?" all day long. i don't know why, crazy outraged mall man. i don't know why. and yet i am a repeat offender. ugh. today is going to suck and it is already sucking and i hate it.

happy bastille day, putains!

happy bastille day! did you catch that i called you guys 'putains' in the title? i am wearing a beret and a fake mustache and one of those red and white striped shirts. and a little red scarf tied around my neck. and i'm eating so many baguettes and so much cheese. and drinking so much wine. and smoking so many cigarettes. because that is what all french people do. and in honour of the french, today we will feature an all french playlist and/or several videos of or pertaining to france. all of which i have blogged about before but i don't really care. (ps, that's me being stereotypically french, too! apathy rulez!)

first of course is the bande a part dance scene for obvious reasons...



next up are cinq songs in french...

le marchand de temps-antoine
notre prof d'anglais-chantal kelly
7 heures du matin-jacqueline taieb
tu m'as trop menti-chantal goya
je veux te voir-yelle

CAPUCINE!



and this one which i've blogged about multiple times but i can't not...their dance moves are hypnotic.



so way to go france. i don't actually know what bastille day is all about, but i just want to give a high five to marie antoinette. slash mostly kirsten dunst as marie antoinette. and i've said it before so i'll say it again, all i want in life is to be able to do the versailles glide. is that so much to ask for? that and a bouffant.

there's no hope with dope or something

saved by the bell, in countless efforts to prevent teens from doing silly things like drinking and/or taking drugs, has unwittingly provided me with a reliable and constant source of laughter. aka jesse spano on pep pills. she's two-thirds excited and one-third scared:



oh and does anybody remember that show california dreams? the synopsis according to wikipedia reads: "california dreams is about a multi-ethnic group of teens and their band. the show's plots combined real-life issues with zany adventures. it covered a range of topics such as fear, using drugs for a competitive edge, falling for scams, letting greed overtake friendship, accepting a divorced parent dating, forgiving others for past wrongs, and dealing with general teen social problems." so basically it sucked pretty hard, but it was in that TNBC block on saturday mornings so i guess i watched it by default. thanks, quinn. i definitely remember watching the steroid freakout episode as a child. that's probably why i won the DARE anti-drug campaign contest in fifth grade. no i'm not kidding. i wrote an original poem about not doing drugs and then read it in front of the whole school. i still have it but refuse to disclose the embarrassing (but really advanced and spectacular) content at this time. anyways, watch at 1:09 for the 'roid-rage blow-up. very reminiscent of the real housewives of new jersey:



glad to see the war on drugs of the nineties was in the hands of nbc saturday morning television. that was a nice little "there's no hope with dope" campaign they had going. can't speak for the rest of america, but i can safely say that it kept me drug-free and off the streets between the ages of five and eight.

anthem du jour

well well well. the world cup 2010 is finally over and now i've got to figure out what to do with my life. i have to admit, today's game kind of blew. but regardless i'm happy that spain won, and also that pulpo paul has proved himself to be a magical wizard octopus. so in his honour, today's anthem is 'octopus's garden':



*ps, i am mentally punching anyone who is eating calamari right now...

anthem du jour

i have done literally nothing today. i woke up, ate some thai takeout for breakfast, and then proceeded to watch television in bed all day. i'm still doing that, actually. house is on...i hate that effing show but i'm too lazy to find the remote control and change the channel. ugh. since i need motivation to get my act together, i'm going to have to go with a little drum and bass this evening. so here is 'gold dust' by dj fresh pour vous:



*ps, i wish i could jump rope like a badass as demonstrated in that music video.

beatz and bleepz: the fuck you netherlands edition and also happy bday claudia kishi

ohhh world cup 2010. you've left me bruised and battered and emotionally unstable. my initial joy and excitement have been replaced with a lingering depression and a serious hatred for (most) european nations. even spain. i feel not unlike a displaced soccer fan taking refuge by riding (reluctantly, mind you...) spain's stupid coattails. but i guess i do appreciate españa for making germany feel the sting of loss (although, i'm pretty sure they feel that on a daily basis...it's germany for eff's sake. nobody's winning with guttural language and a steady diet of sauerbraten and spatzle. sorry, still bitter.) ps, maureen has informed me that yet another miracle psychic animal exists...this time not paul the octopus*, but some sort of soccer prodigy parrot. whatever it is, it allegedly favors the netherlands and therefore i hate it. ps where do i channel my overflowing emotions once the world cup is over? this is soon to be of concern. anyways, here are your beatz and bleepz for the weekend. and don't forget to save a dance for claudia kishi, babysitter extraordinaire. she'll be sharing her bday with the world cup final.

dust-chemical
future-beatbot
horus-ishivu
love hits the fan-phonat
rising drunk stars-f.o.o.l
eruption-valerna
astronaut candy-muffin
love-visitor

world cup 2010 final bonus:
vuvuzela beat-ghostdad

*UPDATE! paul the octopus has chosen spain for the world cup win! if he's right, i will follow in the footsteps of jose andres and take pulpo off my dietary menu for the rest of my life. not that that's difficult...i rarely eat it anyway.

things that make me want to vom part 2

if you recall, i posted a while back about things that make me want to vomit. well, i was inspired to write more things that make me want to vomit after having watched the movie gummo* today. ahem:

1. many things in the movie gummo, but mostly the part where he's in the bathtub eating spaghetti. it made me not want to eat spaghetti even more than i already don't. it also put me off chocolate for life, which ironically could be a positive thing.

2. the true blood opening credits. pretty much everything in those makes me want to vomit, hence i fast-forward through them. thank you jesus, on demand rulez.

3. bugs. all bugs. i saw a cockroach in argentina one time and it scarred me for life. i don't even like butterflies. just keep them away from me or i will spew.

4. other people vomiting. except for that one time when that girl projectile vomited for ten minutes straight in our room...that was both surprisingly impressive and hilarious. (and no, i didn't help clean that up. sorry roommates and friends...)

5. clarinet reeds. excruciating. thanks, mom...three years as second to last chair really boosted my musical abilities and self-confidence.

extreme bonus: the human centipede. if you don't know what i'm talking about, keep it that way. never ever google it, never ever youtube it. never ever anything it. i think i just threw up a little bit just thinking about it.

*so gummo was mostly fucked up but there was this one voiceover that i liked that goes:

"without wood, there'd be no america. no ships to bring the pilgrims across the ocean. no log cabins, no schoolhouses, no churches, no covered wagons, no railroad ties, no cigar store indians, no nothin'."

isn't that the truest thing you ever heard?

anthem du jour

this just seemed really appropriate today when i was driving around the giant oven that is the earth...

suicide by the raveonettes

WHAT?! the animated gif made possible by lilo.

troop beverly hills: a comprehensive dance guide

from now on, i will only be doing the frug and/or the freddie at any dance parties i may attend in the near to distant future. also, i wish shelley long was my real mom instead of maureen, who is ironically both the bane of and reason for my existence. fml.

the devil

this passage from 'this side of paradise' always makes my skin crawl because it does such a good job of describing those moments when you become aware that something's amiss and subsequently realize you're terrified:

They were just through dancing and were making their way back to their chairs when Amory became aware that some one at a near-by table was looking at him. He turned and glanced casually . . . a middle-aged man dressed in a brown sack suit, it was, sitting a little apart at a table by himself and watching their party intently. At Amory's glance he smiled faintly. Amory turned to Fred, who was just sitting down.

"Who's that pale fool watching us?" he complained indignantly.

"Where?" cried Sloane. "We'll have him thrown out!" He rose to his feet and swayed back and forth, clinging to his chair. "Where is he?"

Axia and Phoebe suddenly leaned and whispered to each other across the table, and before Amory realized it they found themselves on their way to the door.

"Where now?"

"Up to the flat," suggested Phoebe. "We've got brandy and fizz—and everything's slow down here to-night."

...(skipping the dialogue in-between the cafe and the apartment...)

There was a minute while temptation crept over him like a warm wind, and his imagination turned to fire, and he took the glass from Phoebe's hand. That was all; for at the second that his decision came, he looked up and saw, ten yards from him, the man who had been in the cafe, and with his jump of astonishment the glass fell from his uplifted hand. There the man half sat, half leaned against a pile of pillows on the corner divan. His face was cast in the same yellow wax as in the cafe, neither the dull, pasty color of a dead man—rather a sort of virile pallor—nor unhealthy, you'd have called it; but like a strong man who'd worked in a mine or done night shifts in a damp climate. Amory looked him over carefully and later he could have drawn him after a fashion, down to the merest details. His mouth was the kind that is called frank, and he had steady gray eyes that moved slowly from one to the other of their group, with just the shade of a questioning expression. Amory noticed his hands; they weren't fine at all, but they had versatility and a tenuous strength . . . they were nervous hands that sat lightly along the cushions and moved constantly with little jerky openings and closings. Then, suddenly, Amory perceived the feet, and with a rush of blood to the head he realized he was afraid. The feet were all wrong . . . with a sort of wrongness that he felt rather than knew. . . . It was like weakness in a good woman, or blood on satin; one of those terrible incongruities that shake little things in the back of the brain. He wore no shoes, but, instead, a sort of half moccasin, pointed, though, like the shoes they wore in the fourteenth century, and with the little ends curling up. They were a darkish brown and his toes seemed to fill them to the end. . . . They were unutterably terrible. . . .

He must have said something, or looked something, for Axia's voice came out of the void with a strange goodness.

"Well, look at Amory! Poor old Amory's sick—old head going 'round?"

"Look at that man!" cried Amory, pointing toward the corner divan.

"You mean that purple zebra!" shrieked Axia facetiously. "Ooo-ee! Amory's got a purple zebra watching him!"

Sloane laughed vacantly.

"Ole zebra gotcha, Amory?"

There was a silence. . . . The man regarded Amory quizzically. . . . Then the human voices fell faintly on his ear:

"Thought you weren't drinking," remarked Axia sardonically, but her voice was good to hear; the whole divan that held the man was alive; alive like heat waves over asphalt, like wriggling worms. . . .

"Come back! Come back!" Axia's arm fell on his. "Amory, dear, you aren't going, Amory!" He was half-way to the door.

"Come on, Amory, stick 'th us!"

"Sick, are you?"

"Sit down a second!"

"Take some water."

"Take a little brandy. . . ."

The elevator was close, and the colored boy was half asleep, paled to a livid bronze . . . Axia's beseeching voice floated down the shaft. Those feet . . . those feet . . .

As they settled to the lower floor the feet came into view in the sickly electric light of the paved hall.

gaga vs. marina

so i generally don't like to post things that perez hilton tweets about because by that point we can all assume it will become irrelevant in a matter of hours. i'm actually not sure if he blogged about this song because i became disillusioned and stopped reading perezhilton.com sometime in the spring...if he did blog about it, then consider me behind the times. but i'm making an exception to post this because it's just that good. or, i think so anyway. so here is the mashup of 'alejandro' (gaga, obvi) and 'i am not a robot' (marina & the diamonds, slightly less obvi) that will (possibly) blow your mind:

anthem du jour

today i went on an improvised adventure (whatever that means, i thought it sounded good) on route 1, aka the bit of highway that god forgot about circa 1977? it's totally shit which is exactly why i liked adventuring there...i think it's safe to say i'm enticed by mediocrity. i got an ice cream cone (the swirly kind, naturally) and then proceeded to purchase some lp's which i expect will be terrible in the best way possible. one was edith piaf, so that's solid, but the other two included 'polish dance hits' and 'music for dining'. because i would like to know how polish people dance and also what the ideal music to listen to whilst dining entails. does the dining music make you want to eat more? eat less? talk more? talk less? we shall see.

fast-forward to my return journey in which i stopped at a harris teeter to pick up groceries for maureen. the good news is that i got the proper materials to make myself some prosciutto and melon for dinner, because it is roughly 274 degrees farenheit outside and i can't imagine eating anything else. the bad news is slightly longer. first of all, harris teeter is mad expensive and it's not even that good. i blame the free cookies they provide upon entrance...that was a stupid idea, harris teetards...people eat the cookies, and then subsequently are less hungry. as a result, they purchase less food. as a result, you lose money. and you also had to spend money to make those cookies, even if they are of poor quality. ALSO, you are simultaneously contributing to the financial strain on americans AND the obesity problem. because let's face it, if fat people have the option of going to a store that provides free cookies as opposed to one that doesn't, they will pick the cookies every time guaranteed. so thanks for ruining america you assholes. i bet you're funding terrorists, too. oh AND you employ creepy cashiers and your checkout lines make no sense. i made a point to avoid the cashier i got today, but to no avail. so if you insist on being expensive, at least hire normal people who aren't terrifying. THE END.

oh, right, the song. well, all day i mostly just listened to blackbird blackbird. because when it's so hot out that you start feeling like YOU are a mirage, dreamy soundtracks help. so here's his song called 'summer heart'. and what the hell, for talking so much (assuming you read all of the above...it's okay if you didn't so long as you don't work for harris teeter in which case i hope you took notes...) i'll throw in his cover of 'float on'.

splitsing

when and where does this real world occur?

anthem du jour

so i realize that i should be entirely focused on songs that bleed red white and blue today, but i'm still hung up on yesterday's futbol failures. watching the argentina game in a room full of germans was like salt in the wound...what the eff are they even doing in america on her birthday? go home you kraut sniffers! so i guess now all my hopes rest on uruguay to ensure a south american victory...i wouldn't be DEVASTATED if spain won it, but i pretty much just hate europe. it's the only continent i have almost entirely no desire to visit. well, minus russia, but i don't count that since it's considered transcontinental.* speaking of russia, our russian and/or serbian lifeguard came in at one point during the game and said, "ugh, fucking germans!" and for that i love him even more than i already did. anyways, this is a really long and roundabout way of getting to the song, but last night as i was driving home jeanette provided me with a fittingly depressing (and slightly cheesy, but let's face it, it's jeanette) cancion. i could just imagine a montage of maradona's sad little face interspersed with some shots of messi to provide the ultimate devastating music video. so without further delay, here's 'gracias a ti':



and for a bonus, i'll throw in 'amanecer':



*correction, i forgot about the nordic countries. but that's seriously all. everywhere else seems mad overrated/overdone.

happy effing birthday, america!

so it's no secret that i generally feel pretty negatively about my nationality. but what you might not have known is that i am secretly obsessed with america. it's the united states that i hate, with all its governmental bullshit and exceptionalism and obesity and suburbs and sports fans. among other things. but here are some things about america that i actually like: first of all, i'd just like to say i am in love with walmart...and you're probably thinking i'm a douchebag because walmart is a super villain. okay, okay, maybe i don't love the politics of walmart. but walmarts are like crazy mini ecosystems in themselves, and they provide the best people watching experience you could ever hope for. you don't get any more american than walmart. i also like the kinds of towns where people are born there and never ever leave, and everyone's okay with that. i envy those people, because they're able to transcend the bullshit** of always wanting something bigger and better. it's harder to actually live when you get caught up in those things. i like old people and porches and rocking chairs and chewing tobacco. i like diners and i like places like dinosaur land. i like tumbleweeds and dust and that part of the day when the sun is about an hour from disappearing. i like bluegrass and demolition derbies and barbecues and shitty parades and the 4h fair. those kinds of things. and i also like america's birthday. so here is some music either about america or that reminds me of america (warning, it's mostly not super upbeat):

demon host (timber timbre)-the wilderness of manitoba
flume-bon iver or peter gabriel cover
brotherhood of man-the innocence mission
the rifle-alela diane
chicago (acoustic)-sufjan
america-simon and garfunkel
sweet home chicago-robert johnson
moon river-johnny mercer/henry mancini/audrey hepburn
to ohio-the low anthem

okayyy okay here are some more upbeat tunes for you:
living in america-james brown
living in america-dom
empire state of mind-jay-z (this just makes me feel really good about nyc)

*ps, i also like how old hardware stores smell, but i don't know that that's unique to america.
**pps, it really bothers me that i said 'bullshit' twice in this post. not because the word bothers me, but because repeating words does.

beatz and bleepz: the fuck you germany edition

oh my god, can you believe it?! i'm actually posting a beatz and bleepz in a somewhat timely fashion! slash at all! for those of you who are wondering why i've declared this the 'fuck you germany' edition, it's because they play argentina tomorrow for the world cup. not only will i be watching intently at 10am sharp, but i will be prepared to start soccer riots if argentina loses. you know, after i finish crying or whatever. if you are rooting for germany you are dumb, and in an attempt at a low blow to you and your nation of choice, i say unto you "germany will never be a normal country" (oh snap! political science insults!) here are some jamz to get you pumped for this weekend in which we celebrate our forefathers' successful commandeering of america. finders keepers, right? ps if you want some real bass bangers, pay special attention to last four in the list:

fucked from above in 1985-the bloody beetroots
babe we're gonna love tonight-senor stereo
revolver (david guetta rmx)-madonna
stand back (skeet skeet big room rmx)-sky ferreira
go back (le castle vania rmx)-grum
the a-team (face mix)-mstrkrft
seek and destroy (bassnectar rmx)-metallica
born free (12th planet rmx)-mia
streets of rage (flux pavillion rmx)-picto
gold dust (flux pavillion rmx)-dj fresh

and for when you want two more low key but no less excellent tracks:
cosmic love (short club rmx)-florence and the machine
wide eyes (teen daze rmx)-local natives

*ps, just to clarify, i don't really have anything against germany or its citizens. except for tomorrow. and 364 days of generally positive feelings out of 365 isn't half bad, in my opinion.