Every January I take up the Goodreads Book Challenge to read a certain number of books that year. Last year I crossed the finish line mid-way through December. I attribute my procrastinate behavior and lack of urgency to knowing that literally nothing (except perhaps defining myself as a good-for-nothing blank page) would befall me should I fall short of my goal. The remaining two weeks of 2017, I earmarked for exploring the benefits of a completely sedentary existence. Pajamas all day every day while my mother doted on me with home cooked meals and effusive praise for my generosity and ability to outperform my sister at every turn. In a moment of quiet self-reflection, she would admit to me that I am her favorite child. Sadly, my mother didn't have the chance to share her truth. I was forced to trade relaxation for deterioration as my body fought valiantly against the severe cold, graciously donated by my father.
Once my mobility and overall desire to live were restored, I set my new Goodreads goal of 50 books for 2018. So far I've read twenty nine books. Twenty ahead of schedule. Normally my diligence would warrant applause but quick math affirms that these numbers are the rightful cause of my dwindling social prowess. Rest assured, not all twenty nine books are substantive. My completed list contains the occasional foray into the romance sub-genre called "Mommy Porn." A genre comprised of the same story told in every sexual position known to man and animal with each version a different take on the oozing sex appeal of toxic masculinity. Just as porn grossly distorts the act of sexual congress for young men, mommy porn distorts healthy relationships for young women. Still read them though. Why? Probably because emotions are a hard pass for me and I much prefer to read one-note romances that reinforce my life decision to avoid intimacy. Plus, they're filler reads.
Besides books that count towards my PHD in descriptive words for "orgasm", I delve into true crimes and historical non-fiction. My love for true crime is a consequence of my first childhood crush, Encyclopedia Brown. He solved neighborhood crime with a panache that blew my heart up. Had Encyclopedia existed, I would have followed him Felicity styles to college and become a bona fide badass in ill-fitting pantsuits dodging bullets and nailing murderers on Forensic Files. To cope with his non-existence, I stay at home on Friday nights discontinuing friendships while devouring stories of creepy dudes that I find oddly attractive. If you look at Pablo Escobar objectively, he is quite handsome. Something about putting together puzzle pieces that slowly identify the big picture is quite satisfying. Murderers can be extremely sharp but they always mess up somehow. Discovering their slip-ups reassures me that most don't get away with it. Mrs. Scarlett in the billiard room with the knife!
Monday, March 12, 2018
My Favorite Genres for your Goodreads Book Challenge
Monday, March 5, 2018
Oscars So Worthless?
Does anyone really care about the Oscars anymore? Clearly not, as the 90th Academy Awards were the lowest rated in its history. I'm not surprised. Perhaps it's because the Oscars is just the last of about 100 self-congratulatory award shows with the singular purpose of reminding audiences of how brave thespians are to act like normal people. It's an extraordinary gift, I tell you, one that is so vastly underrated it needs to be applauded and acknowledged over and over again to drive the point home. Real life teachers, soldiers, doctors and activists are great and kudos to them but pretending to be one in front of the camera? That takes guts.
In an era of #MeToo and "Times Up" this year's Oscars felt more tone deaf and self-serving than usual. Do viewers want to hear lectures about inclusion and gender equality from an industry that continuously fails to practice what it preaches? And when it does attempt to right its wrongs, albeit sporadically, fails to show an ounce of humility, preferring to boast of its progressiveness by calling the first step a revolution as opposed to what it really is, a planted seed that has no guarantee of baring fruit. Black Panther and Get Out are still the exception, not the rule, but you wouldn't know it by copious amounts of pats on the back the room gave itself.
This lack of awareness was also readily apparent when Kobe Bryant walked towards the stage to accept his Oscar in the midst of a standing ovation. How quickly Hollywood forgot he was accused of raping a 19 year old in Colorado years ago. The audience greedily applauded his dig at the insults thrown at LeBron James while willfully dismissing the serious accusation he never accounted for. Hollywood also seemingly dismissed the allegations of abuse made by Gary Oldman's ex-wife. You know, the one where she accused him of beating her with a phone as she tried to call 911 in front of their kids.
At one point the ceremony honored the men and women who served our country by showing clips of military films. The montage was introduced by a Native American Veteran who proudly stated he served in Vietnam before asking the audience, "did you?"I would like to think he was actually only asking one person, Jane Fonda, aka Hanoi Jane, who visited the Viet Cong during the war to protest the military's treatment of Vietnamese citizens. To many veterans her actions were an act of treason. If you caught Ken Burns' 10 part documentary series on The Vietnam War, it would be hard to argue that it wasn't. And yet, when Jane Fonda walked out on stage later during the show, she received a standing ovation. One could argue that this is a customary greeting for living legends. Sure, but on the heels of an American Vietnam Veteran who fought and lost brothers to the very men Jane supported it seemed disrespectful, or at a minimum off-putting.
Hollywood has always survived on smoke and mirrors, directing audiences to what they wanted you to see and believe. When the Harvey Weinstein scandal broke, those mirrors were shattered and all that was left was the truth. A truth that exposed the systematic hypocrisy of the industry. To ignore this reality, as Hollywood has done with every award show this season, is to stubbornly hold steadfast to the belief that audiences are willing to disregard what's right in front of them in exchange for the privilege of seeing celebrities bathed in glamour and glitz. What used to be an escape from our tedious life now feels frivolous and unnecessary in the face of serious issues plaguing our country. Hollywood no longer holds much currency with Americans, but instead of owning up to its deficiencies and admitting they're just as fucked up as the rest of us, the industry doubles down with equal parts sequence and condescension. This inability to accept accountability and "read the room" as they say will further erode the relationship between the viewer and the artist making award shows like the Oscars something to skip entirely.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
A Note
My Christmas gift from my parents two years ago was a writing class. I took one a couple of years ago at UCLA and enjoyed it immensely. I gained skills that would have been incredibly useful had I actually used them on something. Anything, really. Even a FB status update. But alas, lack of motivation and what I would argue was an incorrect dosage of my anti-depressant compelled me to set aside my writing learned-ness for a the more useful skill of figuring out how to share my sparkly-eyed, face-tuned Snapchat image on Instagram. That activity right there practically took me a year to master. Now, two years later I'm finally cashing in on my parents' thoughtful gift. By thoughtful, I mean listed in order of rank on a curated Christmas list I send out to my family every year. Honey, take your shade elsewhere 'cause my list is highly anticipated by my family for its humor and genius.
I start my writing class at the end of March and am truly excited. I figured in the weeks leading up to it, I should take down the cobwebs inundating my blog and practice by writing a couple of words here and there. While practice makes perfect, that's not my goal here. Besides, perfect can only be applied to Timotheé Chalamet's (pronounced Tim-o-tee Shall-amay) performance in Call Me By Your Name. And you know I ain't playing friends if I'm rooting for him to win the Oscar over my #1 man of all time, Gary Oldman, playing my bae Winston Churchill. No guys, the goal here is to bust out the old "voice" again and perhaps entertain the two people and 15 Russian bots who visit this blog sporadically. Please note that I do not vouch for my rudimentary understanding of grammar nor my ability to be cohesive. You've been warned.
So check back in from time to time this month for new content that I'm sure you could live your whole life without knowing exists. Could even possibly make you angry for wasting precious minutes of your day that you will never get back.
till then,
Monique
Thursday, December 1, 2016
It's Time to drop the "The" from The Rory Gilmore (A Gilmore Girls Review)
It has taken me awhile to put into words the feelings I have towards the Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life revival on Netflix. Generally speaking, the joy of seeing all the characters I said goodbye to ten years ago was gratifying. A special shout out to my spirit animal Paris, who stole each of her scenes. Emily Gilmore's progress from heartbreak to healing in dealing with Richard's passing and her relationship with Lorelai was inspiring to watch. Lorelai and Luke's story was stagnant and at times hard to endure but they got married and that is all anyone wanted to see anyway. Let's all agree that the musical was a total time suck and Zach looks a thousand years old.
The only storyline that left me baffled was Rory's. I could not in a million years have guessed where a year in her life would lead. Hearing Alexis Bledel speak in recent interviews, she didn't either. Rory's journey was the hardest to understand.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Paging Dustin Hoffman
Hello everyone. With today's news that semen can detect traces of Ebola for 101 days I thought it time to release my post about my new favorite hypochondriacal paranoia. This post had been languishing in the barren wasteland called "drafts" but this stroke of relevancy allowed me to reveal my inner thoughts on the subject. In addition to semen seizing, a doctor with Ebola died yesterday in Nebraska. From the little to no fanfare with respect to coverage of this second US death, it seems pretty clear to me that Americans have become desensitized to the idea of Ebola on our shores. Be desensitized no more.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Try a little Tinder-ness
"Hey ;)"
"Hi!!!"
You see that exchange right there? The exchange with a total of 10 characters including emoticons and exclamation points? Those 10 characters are the impetus to your burgeoning Klonopin addiction and eventual descent into madness stemming from the mindfuck permeating singletons everywhere. Welcome to Tinder kids.
I'll spare you the minute details of how this works but suffice it to say you feel like your sifting through the Sadaam Hussain playing deck. And actually you just might be. Pretty sure a terrorist or two is cruisin' the site looking for easy American females to beard them for their sinister plots. We dumb asses mistake their actual beards for a unique brand of hipster and swipe to the right accepting the proposal lurking within those big brown eyes visored under unibrows. See, that's the thing. Tinder is purely based on looks. Four looks and a tagline to be exact. What's a tagline? A tagline should be a phrase or two that gives a sneak preview of your personality but from what I've seen men are either egregiously illiterate or figure just posting their height will distract from the essence of Drakkar Noir emanating from the swirl patterns saturating their tight tees. I've seen taglines with twitter handles, websites, long ass paragraphs about their philosophies of life, and my personal favorite, the motivational speech. "There is no time like the present!" "Be the change you want to see in the world!"Aww that's so inspirational! So much so it inspires me to change my screen by deleting your face. I know I sound like a shit of a lady but if I'm going to engage in mindfuck it needs to be worth it. As for the women I have no idea what they use for taglines. What do they use? Measurements? Credit Scores? Quinoa recipes?
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Zumba-Death by Gyration
It is a secret to no one that I identify myself as a Latina. Admittedly a Latina with zero legitimate hispanic blood coursing through these veins. I'm what they call a nebulous Latina. My hispanic-ness arises from both the penumbra of rights afforded me by the U.S. Constitution and the summers of 0 years to 12 when my parents shipped my brother and me to El Salvador to partake in "camp El Salvador". This particular camp consisted of three months at my grandmother's house where her idea of entertainment included hiring clowns for the better part of an afternoon. I'm convinced my early childhood exposure to clowns is why I don't trust men. And also, coincidentally, why I attended clown school and used my skills to entertain old folks in assisted living facilities. No, I'm serious. I did.
Now inherit in all Latinas is the ability to move one's hips in a circular rotation. This circular rotation mimics the flush of a latrine. Amazing imagery here. You can thank me later. Round and round they go where they stop nobody knows. "Nobody", of course, being the name you give the one night stand you eventually pick up based on said rotation. "Give" because you don't remember his name or really even asked for it. Sometimes it's best not to know. I mean, his name could be Brett. Or Tristan. Or frankly any name where the parent believes the best way to fine tune and add flair to an otherwise established and sturdy nombre is to shit all over its spelling. Like when one exchanges an "i" for a "y" for uniqueness. If you come across a gentleman where this is the case then you RUN lest the percentage chance of your child becoming a Trystan Jr. rises considerably. And while I'm at it let me just say that if I personally encounter a name where the "h" is silent for experimentation...so help me God. Rhyan. "Oh hey Rhyan, GO FUCK YOURSELF!" I once came across a Gipson. Yes, G-I-P-S-O-N. I couldn't help but wonder why Gipson's parents wanted to ensure his son's complete failure in any romantic relationship. Can you imagine a wedding invitation with Gipson? People would assume you had the biggest typo party foul. And we all know that if phoentics is brought into the equation then it is safe to assume a 1st rate education was denied Gipson's parents and therefore Gipson himself. Maybe not denied eduction, but rather D'd their way through it. This tangent has taken quite a negative turn especially considering I don't do one night stands. Moving on.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
The Female Handbook
Dear readers: As you may or may not know Sleepless in Seattle is one of my favorite movies of all time. Now before you bore me with your own favorites just know that I don't care. This isn't about you. It's never about you. It's about me and my opinions which, as we all can agree on, are so ridiculously unnecessary it makes Andy Rooney's curmudgeon-ous opinions over the possible discontinuance of the copper penny seem relevant. Back to Sleepless. Anytime it's on TV, and let me tell you it's on a whole fucking lot, I have this gravitational pull, a compulsion if you will, to watch it no matter what. This compulsion is so strong I couldn't break it even if I tried. I imagine this is the same compulsion that drives Middle Easterners to Lindsay Lohan's vagina but that's neither here nor there nor currently in a locked-in rehab. I've always just assumed my instinct to tune in had to do with my affinity towards the flick but this time I wasn't so sure. This time, for the first time, I felt like, wait for it, I wasn't feeling it. Say what Sister Sledge? Exactly.
Let me explain. The other night Sleepless was on blah blah blah I was watching. However, in a multitasking moment of viewing my screen, mental contemplation, and casual perusal of Pinterest (more on that later), I took the time to ask myself, Do I want to watch this? Am I in the mood to see Rosie O'Donnell attempt femininity? And then I say, wait a minute, why do I have to watch this? I don't want to watch this. I don't want to hear Meg Ryan say "It's me" to Tom Hanks' "It's you." So why did I? Why did I sit through it again? And then again because frankly original programming is dead and these movies repeat themselves immediately once the credits clear. I figured if it wasn't grounded in desire it had to be compulsion and since I refuse to believe said compulsion is the sheer result of the subconscious wish of a sad singleton craving "its you, it's me," (Impossible) I came up with an even better, more realistic, and obviously rational explanation. Listen up and take notes because this makes complete sense. We women are compelled to watch rom-coms on television, even if we aren't feeling it, because there is a female handbook that exists in our collective consciousness that lays out the framework for our lives. This important handbook sets out rules of law that we all abide by unconsciously. An example would be jean shopping. The rule of law plainly states a woman is never to buy jeans in the right size. We know this doesn't make sense. We know the too small waistband hurts our gut really really badly. We know when we sit down we fear permanent scars to both our bellybuttons and inner thighs. There is also, by the way, the high risk of a crushed uterus causing infertility, but guess what? We do it anyway. Why? Because it is rule of law.
Click on "more after the jump" to read the rest.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Change
Tomorrow I embark on a brand new adventure. I haven't been on one of those since I got bangs last March. I just hope this new adventure doesn't become a YEAR + odyssey to make life right again. False advertising Zooey D. False. Advertising.
For me, change is akin to the 5 stages of grief in an obviously condensed, more blatantly pathetic and irrelevant form. The last couple of days went something like this:
Denial-Of course I'll see everyone from the office again, right? My last job wasn't so bad was it? Just because I was always the last kid picked for kickball doesn't mean it was always like that, no? Wait wait wait, stop, that's inaccurate and unfair. I wasn't exactly the last kid picked for kickball. I was thought of as the super retarded kid bribed by the allure of a "special" uniform in a different color. I got to take a permanent seat on the bench and hold the orange slices for everyone else. But still, is that so wrong?
Anger- Hold up. HOLD UP guys. I am not retarded. Damn you for calling me retarded. And for the record I am offended at your use of the word, "retarded." I hate you. You're retarded.
Bargaining- Can I still use my parking pass for convenient Grove parking? Shit, can I? Oh God what have I done.
Depression- Hey, roommie, can you go with me to an Olive Garden 30 minutes from the city for their unlimited bread sticks on this Saturday night? Yes? Cool. Do they take reservations? There is nothing else to say here.
Acceptance- First day of school backpack ready? Check. First day outfit ready? Check. Lunch prepared? I dunno. If I bring a sandwich on my first day am I showing my hand too early? Do cool people even eat plain sandwiches? Fuck, where is my panini maker?!?!?!?
So this is where I'm at right now. Well, physically anyway. Mentally, I'm still hoping I can teleport myself to a month from now when I'm happy at my new job dancing to Sergio Mendez on top of my desk with my coworkers. We're all in sunhats. We're also all laughing at a joke and admiring what a smooth shave our razors have accomplished.
Until that time however I'm going to continue to listen to New Order's Ceremony over and over again. Anytime I start to feel my heart beat increase out of nerves or a heightened sense of impending failure I crank this tune up. You should try it. It totally relaxes the soul. I mean, you know, if you're a fan of new wave music, that is. I get that not everyone is attracted to melodies meant to take all the hapiness experienced on this earth and turn it into dirty black coal but it totally does it for me. Yeah, I'm weird. Whatever.
I'm off now to watch the latest episode of Girls on my DVR. Nothing like extreme second hand embarrassment and topless ping pong to remind us all that it could be much much worse. So much worse that it's actually more worser or even the worstest. Practically the most worst worstest ever.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Beautimous Maximus
On the heels of TLC's announcement of more "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo," in our future I felt compelled to write a little something about what has become my FAVORITE show of the now defunct summer. I do mightily confess I originally judged this gem because of its gross representation of Americana. At the time I believe I deemed it the best deterrent for immigration into this country. And well, jeah, it is. At least to the white-ish ones trying to make it over. However, after closer inspection, and by closer inspection I mean watching every episode at least twice, it has become apparent that while on the surface the show highlights the dangers of extreme heat and public education, deep deep down at its core, aka, the inner recesses of June's vagiggle jaggle, Honey Boo Boo is nothing more than a sweet slice of what families these days ought to be. It is the true essence of "You is smart, you is kind, and you is important,"without the "you is smart" part.
For those of you who haven't tuned into the show yet because either a.) you're protesting the exploitive nature of reality TV (c'mon who doesn't want to see the lives of conjoined twins making it in this world? ) or b.) quite simply have a loved one to come home to at night let me break the show down in a quick paragraph or two:
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Extreme Couponing or as I like to call it Organized Hoarding
So my boss came into the office one day and could not stop waxing poetic about the TLC show, "Extreme Couponing". sidenote: quotations right? He said the amount these people save was unbelievable and worth a watch. So I did. And, well, yeesh. While these people are performing miracles at the check-out counter what exactly do they gain by stockpiling their houses with 150 years worth of men's deodorant or cat food for ghost cats, i.e cats they don't have. These people clearly do not want change. The absence of change and Charmin Ultra toilet paper with aloe vera because that particular gem never goes on sale. Admittedly there is a quantitative upside. While their asses might scream for moisture and some sympathy, at least for the next 750 years in perpetuity the Smith family's kin will enjoy the tingling sensation of abusively expired Ragu Homestyle Tomato Sauce.
Look, I can understand the thrill of the bargain. I am not adverse to buying on sale and I am the daughter of one, Carlos J. Kuri. I am also not a stranger to the idea of coupons. My mother is an avid coupon clipper with much success therefore I do concede couponing holds a monetary and somewhat gratifying purpose. However. And you know when I say however that we're climbing to the danger zone, right? Here's the reality. There is a difference between purchasing both needed and wanted items at peak bargaining moments and what these people do. This is not a revelation. What the Coupon Diva etc. do, in my honest and most humblest opinion, and yes, the correct opinion, is hoarding. Replace the make-shift garage grocery stores with discarded baby doll parts found at flea markets and I see no difference. Well, ok, one difference. The discarded baby doll aficionado probably eats out every night at the local Chucky Cheese to lure children into their lair but whatever. My point is Extreme Couponers are hoarders from the other side of the color prism and therefore not the type of people we should wish to succeed. If not for them than for the children. Anyone else worried about the children?!? Where are Child Protective Services going to be when little Mary-Sue screams out in agony over the toilet because of the originally priced 99 cent "manager's special Hilshire Farm deli meat bought for 27 cents with coupons? Who's going to tell her that the pain that's most aptly described as a nest of wasps in her hoo haa is because mommy worships at the alter of the Super Saver circular? Using hard earned cash to develop doomsday bunkers filled with razor blades and dried cranberries is not a way to live. And for those that believe there is nothing wrong with that, well, then, at least don't invite me to dinner.
It ain't right. I'm telling you kids, this is not a show to admire. This is a show that needs a PSA at the end of every episode, some sort of reminder to viewers that the views held by these people are not the views endorsed by the FDA, the CDC, the CAA, the CNN, the Declaration of Independence or anything else. That being said, yeah, it's totally entertaining.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Doubting There is Anything Better than Downton
More After the Jump!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
HP Deathly Hallows Trailer. Tinkle Tinkle Little Stars
The boy who lived...come to die. I just..can't..process. Just the music alone. Explicit chills. I admit I shed a tiny tear at the scene where Ron and Hermione are running backwards with their wands on the offensive in what looks like the shambles formerly known as Hogsworth. God I remember reading those intense pages near the end and just begging with my mind that JK spare Ron and Hermione from death and yet having no faith at all that she would. I miss that feeling from a book, don't you? The last time any reading whatsoever has affected me that much was when I looked at my first Water and Power bill for the months of Feb.-Apr. And yet even then the goosebumps weren't as severe. To stave off the agony of waiting until November I'm going to make it my mission to visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando. They've got butterbeer, a wand that chooses YOU, AND, AND, AND three new rides. One of which Steph Meyer can't get on. Point to Rowling. Man I want to nerd out when I'm there. I'm talking costumes, Gryffindor shit, and any ginger I know so I can feel as if Ron is with me. In the meantime I'm posting the trailer below to revel in its glory. Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
There's an "App" For That..
I wouldn't be surprised if there was. No really. Which is why I may be moving to Switzerland..where Google can't get to you.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Music Music Everywhere
Speaking of Bon, that guy has been a busy little bee as of late. Apparently he's also contributing a song to the New Moon soundtrack. What's New Moon? I know you know and please spare me the humiliation of having to explain. I was stunned he lent a song. Even more stunned that he didn't just license an old recycled song but actually wrote a new tune for the film. Literally he sat down, thought about the themes of the book that he probably had to read or go to a Twilight website to peruse, and wrote words to music. Really? Wow. Can you imagine Bon Iver at a desk with a hazy image of Robert Pattinson sparkling in the sunlight behind his eye lids humming to himself "sadness...danger...desolation...magic". If I wasn't so pathetically in love with this series I'd die laughing at the thought. Ok, no. I'm laughing but it's still a great coup that Bon wanted in on the project. But I wasn't done stunning though. Seconds later I learned someone else also contributed a song to the soundtrack. A new song as well. Thom Yorke. Yeah. Thom Yorke. Contributing a song to a film adaptation of a book with gems such as..."When I told you that I didn’t want you, it was the very blackest kind of blasphemy Unbelievable right? I still can't wrap my head around that. Well, Thom I sort of can. He licensed "15 Step" to play at the end credits of Twilight so he was familiar with the project. Curiously though he lent the song for use in the film but not for the soundtrack. Probably thought no one would see it. He probably also thought Coldplay, his cheap substitute, would be a one album wonder too. Side note question: Isn't he notorious for not lending music out for films? I thought I heard that somewhere. Anywho, other bands supposedly in the running for the album include Band of Skulls (which I've heard and they're good), Death Cab, The Used, and...wait for it...wait for it...Kings Of Leon. I.just.don't.get.it..."Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night...And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliance, there was beauty" Seriously? Kings of Leon? Really? Whatever. I'd be happy.
Anyway enough about Twilight. Let's move onto Where the Wild Things are shall we. I just read an article that discusses Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeah's involvement with the film. She's the driving force behind the soundtrack. Sidenote: If you haven't heard and or own The Yeah Yeah Yeah's latest, "It's Blitz" you're missing out. It's incredible. Different from their normal fare but still amazing. (I sound like Katie Holmes talking about her maybe gaybe husband don't I). The article reports the score was a collaboration between Karen O and Carter Burwell.( yes, Carter Burwell of Twilight fame. He wrote the infamous "Bella's lullaby". Alexandre Desplait (Curious Case of Benjamin Button) is writing the New Moon score...My hatred of myself for knowing this shit is more than the brunt of your laughter so shove it.) Karen and her musical team on the album which includes members of The Bird and The Bee, The Dead Weather, and many more call themselves, "Karen O's kids"... Catchy no?...leave an outstanding imprint on the soundtrack. Can't wait! I've added a vid where you can hear part of the score and some of the songs for your ear below.
Well that's it for now kids. I'm not proofing this so deal with both grammatical and other errors. Peace.
Download: Volcano Fire: Island, IS (LOVE IT)
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Too Great Not to Share
23 Movie Plots That Could Have Been Solved in Minutes:
From cracked.com:
Ever get frustrated that the villain rigs a complicated trap instead of just shooting James Bond in the head? Or that Batman doesn't just kill the damned Joker when he has him right in front of him? The truth is a whole lot of movies would be a whole lot shorter if their characters would just once say, "'Hey boss, I know this is gonna' sound crazy, but what if just this once, we tried not doing things the most complicated way possible?"
We asked you to show us via Photoshop how you would have resolved these plots more efficiently than the characters did.
Click on this link to see the full results. I'm placing one or two after the jump. 
Monday, August 17, 2009
Imogen's Imagination
Imogen Heap drops her latest album on August 24th. Now if you're a friend of mine on facebook then you know that her album, Speak for Yourself, ranked as one of my top five most influential albums. It was her voice that lead me to Au Revoir Simone, Air, Psapp, and many more. I like to think of it as ethereal electronica. A couple of years ago I had the chance to see Imogen live with Jennifer. It still is one of my favorite concerts of all time. As layered and complex as her sound is, 90% of it is all her. You think I'm lying but I'm not. She loops her voice and other instruments to be able to do it. She is one impressive artist. Imogen embedded her new album on her website for a listen. I've copied the code and put it here for you guys to enjoy. God I love her:
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Brittainia
Today marks the day of my bestie's departure to London for two years. Two whole years in the land of feesh n' cheeps, Her-may-onee Greenjah, and Protestantism. Man I'm going to miss her. She was the first friend I ever made in the trecherous terrain known as the public school system. I still debate with her as to whether she thought I was one of the "special" kids when I introduced myself to her on the second day of school per my mother's brilliant idea. "Hi, my name is Monique. What is your name?" cue Jennifer's mind: God Damn it I have no time for this shit. Eat the paste kids go through the front doors and report to the teacher with the colored macaroni craft necklace and banana clip down the hall. Of course that's always what I suspected she thought. What she actually did and said, though, is the essence of who my friend is. With a kind and genuine smile she introduced herself, and her friends and the rest is history. It's been what, 18 years now? Holy schnikes is right.
I'm actually really excited for her, well, as much as I can be for the complete loner I will become now that she, one of two single friends I have in this city, has left. Or, is leaving..today at 3pm...central standard time. Anxiety? Who has anxiety? Not me? I sound disturbed and a bit lesbianish about my friend don't I? I'm not to the second count, suspect on the first. But whatever this isn't about me this is about Jennifer. She's going to get to watch Skins season 4 on its first run. She will also be in the presence of sexy accents, Gwyneth Paltrow, the Glastonbury music festival, the tube, the cue, the loo, the mind the gaps, the cabs, those cute phone booths,the Queen, the Queen's son, the Queen's grandson, the Queen's grandson who may or not be blood related, New Order, The Cure, Abbey Road, Shakespeare, Harrods, Paddington Bear, Marc Darcy, Radiohead, the London Tower, Big Ben, Cadburry chocolates, and Burberry. Yeah, I think she will be fine.
Me? Sure
Safe travels friend! I'll see you on skype.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
120ish Minutes of 500 Days of Summer
A week ago (as I procrastinate I have to add a night FYI, taking bets that the final tally will be about "three months ago") I attended a special screening of the film, 500 Days of Summer at the Angelika. My love for this film began the day I first laid eyes on the trailer. Within the first seconds of footage I heard the familiar beats of Regina Spektor's "US" and just knew. Call me shallow or whatever but for me trailer music can really make or break my desire to see a film. For instance, if a movie utilizes say, Band of Horses, i.e. Penelope, I will instantly want to see it, no matter if the story is about a girl with a pig nose played by the forehead of Cristina Ricci. Nights of Rohdarte? That shit used LifeHouse or something in that particular genre and I avoided the film like the plague. Could it be because Richard Gere and Keanu Reeves acting are interchangeable for me? Possibly..."I was very ANGRY with my father.." Could it be because it's Nicolas Sparks? Uh huh.
This is not to say that ONLY songs playing in the background of the trailer dictates what I want to see but pretty much. Unless its a Harry Potter film, a Twilight film, an Apatow film, or life beat me down, I usually pass.
Bottom line: I was euphoric to see this film. And tickle my balls the movie did not disappoint. Hallelujah! Praise the Jesus! I'd be lying if that didn't come as shock. I had fully intended it to suck. Hyped movies are very rarely something I actually enjoy. I'm looking at YOU Sunshine Cleaning, what with your depressing plot/tone heavily disguised in the trailer with the sensationally incandescent Amy Adams smile. Little did I know that ONE smile in the trailer was all I was going to get. ONE smile and a whole lot of suicidal shitshows with a sprinkle of lesbianism. Moving On after the jump.
I won't ruin the plot for you but I will reiterate what is said in the opening credits: This is not a love story. Tis true. It is not. But that does not mean one is left feeling saddened. No, this movie is hope. Hope in a cup (for you, X). You see, for anyone who's ever been in a situation where you desperately want something or someone so much it makes you do retarded things like talk to them or invite them out and/or eat something and yet, that desperation leads you nowhere because duck duck goose you're not it...this movie will resonate. Not only resonate but make it make sense in the grandiose scheme of it all. There is one line said by the very beautiful Zooey Deschenel, i.e. Summer, i.e. I am lesbian for you, near the end that just literally hits the spot and makes you go, "got it." Very cryptic, eh? I know. I said I wasn't going to spoil it. It's a happy ending though...if you look at life with a glass half full approach. I usually don't but I also had the good fortune of sharing some popcorn and sour patch kids so it kind of muddled my normally caustic, thank you office manager, mentality.
So watch it guys. Joseph Gordon Levitt and Zooey Deschanel are pitch-perfect. Shining stars. And the music is ridic. So So So good. The Smiths, Regina Spektor, Patrick Swayze, amazing. Jennifer was kind enough to forward an article detailing the music in the film and why the specific songs in the film were chosen. It's worth a read.(Thanks Jen!)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
For Jerry
Trailer for Van Wilder Freshman Year:
My friend, Jerry, is in this movie. Apparently. He's not in the trailer but he's Asian so you can't miss him in the film. I ask all my friends to buy this masterpiece (comes out July 14th) to support Jerry's Ed Hardy converse collection. The ruby bejeweled ones are calling his name.
Proud of you Jer! Hugs!