Pictures from Holly and Danny's wedding are now available for your viewing pleasure on Flickr. (I dumped some other new pictures in there as well, just for snicks.) Enjoy!
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Represent!
Hahahahahaha! The Polish Plumber (link via Nerve's Scanner). I haven't felt this proud of my heritage since the first week I started living in Chicago. This is pure fucking unadulterated gold.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Reconsidering Tom
Spurred by not just the (perhaps?) ironic comment appended to the post below, I've been feeling a bit bad about blindly labeling poor Tom crazy the way the rest of the media has. Irritating and self-righteous, sure, but is he certifiable? I don't think so. Rather, in keeping with a piece of wisdom I read somewhere a while ago: we get exactly the celebrities we deserve. And who is a better barometer of what we as a mainstream (pop) culture deserve than Tom Cruise? In the '80s, he reflected youthful snottiness and greed back to us. In the '90s, he flirted with extreme sports and more than a glimmer of ambiguous sexuality. And now, in the '00s, he's reflecting back our culture's fundamentalism to us. Not just religious fundamentalism, but also the reactionary male desire to be worshipped by an emotionally/sexually pliable sweet young thing about fifteen years your junior. I will go to the mat any day of the week for his performances in Eyes Wide Shut and Magnolia (and, on alternating days, Jerry Maguire, too), and I'm not saying that this role-playing is in any way conscious on his part, but this does help me get my head around the current juggernaut a little easier. All of which makes me long for Ben Stiller to pull his killer Tom Cruise impression out of retirement for some badly needed satirization to let off some of the pressure that's built up around him. (Say it with me now: "I think I'm entitled.")
On a related subject, Slate's Explainer gives the 411 on why the Scientologists aren't so much fans of psychiatry. An informative short primer.
After my first ride on the Flaming Wheel of Death down at Navy Pier last night, I am happy to report that it's not particularly flaming nor indicative of imminent doom in any way. If I had to hear the first verse of "Sweet Home Chicago" one more time, though, I might have jumped out of the plastic bucket we were sitting in.
I partied like Lindsay Lohan this weekend. Many thanks to the Grinnellians and P. Ninny, respectively, for keeping me lubed up for a solid twenty-four hour period of time. I feel I've fully compensated for all the drinking I'd not done earlier this season.
On a related subject, Slate's Explainer gives the 411 on why the Scientologists aren't so much fans of psychiatry. An informative short primer.
After my first ride on the Flaming Wheel of Death down at Navy Pier last night, I am happy to report that it's not particularly flaming nor indicative of imminent doom in any way. If I had to hear the first verse of "Sweet Home Chicago" one more time, though, I might have jumped out of the plastic bucket we were sitting in.
I partied like Lindsay Lohan this weekend. Many thanks to the Grinnellians and P. Ninny, respectively, for keeping me lubed up for a solid twenty-four hour period of time. I feel I've fully compensated for all the drinking I'd not done earlier this season.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Mission: Impossibly Annoying
Whoa boy, did Tom Cruise turn a corner onto Crazy Street somewhere! Though I'm not writing off the potential popcorny pleasure of War of the Worlds just yet, you could not pay me to watch any of his appearances on the chat-show circuit right now. I'm perfectly happy getting my gossipy updates from the likes of Pink Is the New Blog and Defamer. For a quick and relatively painless recap of what happened on The Today Show this morning, check out Stereogum and (my fave) You Can't Make It Up.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Pirate References=Never Not Funny
From this open letter to the Kansas School Board. The sentiment's a bit cheap, but, well, so are most of the retards who're all "separation of church and state? Meh."
Monday, June 20, 2005
Batman and Beyond
Batman Begins is unequivocally worth your time. The blend of realism, fantasy, drama, comedy, and blockbuster does more than just promise a little bit of something for everyone; it allows you to actually emotionally engage with the characters and the story, while still having a hell of a fun time, without feeling like you've whored yourself out for the evening to the tune of $7.50. (Davis Theater, suckers.) Kudos to Christopher Nolan, who earns substantially more of my esteem with each new project he touches. The performances are stellar, with the possible exception of Katie Holmes (perhaps you've heard of her?) who, as David Edelstein so brilliantly points out in Slate, comes off like "a know-it-all student council president." But Christian Bale impresses as always, Liam Neeson just keeps getting better with age, Tom Wilkinson continues to prove himself a chameleon par excellence, and the unassailably hot Cillian Murphy slips into his evil genius role (and American accent) with guffaw-provoking zeal. (The good kind of guffaw-provoking.) Bonus points for cool Chicago landmark trainspotting.
The mix tape event at Quimby's on Saturday night was super-fun. (I got an actual mix tape in exchange for the CD I brought along—how hot is that?!) Sean Carswell's reading from Barney's Crew had me cackling like a madman (mostly because it reminded me of several friends' humorous tales from their own tours of duty in the land of manual labor), but Joe Meno's short story about an ill-fated tryst with The Office Girl (from his forthcoming collection Bluebirds Used to Croon in the Choir) was, hands down, my favorite of the evening. It was sharp, witty, poignant, and shot through with a shimmering thread of romantic urban melancholy. (**Sigh** Are you taking notes? This is the way I could describe most of my other "hands-down favorites" in myriad other media.)
I went back to my summertime blonde hair this weekend, but, considering the way I've been styling it all crazy spiky/poofy, now I think I kind of look like Jim Jarmusch. Jim Jarmusch is hot, right?
EDIT: And the Paris Hilton award goes to: me, for the inadvertent yet unironic use of the word "hot" in all three of the preceding paragraphs.
The mix tape event at Quimby's on Saturday night was super-fun. (I got an actual mix tape in exchange for the CD I brought along—how hot is that?!) Sean Carswell's reading from Barney's Crew had me cackling like a madman (mostly because it reminded me of several friends' humorous tales from their own tours of duty in the land of manual labor), but Joe Meno's short story about an ill-fated tryst with The Office Girl (from his forthcoming collection Bluebirds Used to Croon in the Choir) was, hands down, my favorite of the evening. It was sharp, witty, poignant, and shot through with a shimmering thread of romantic urban melancholy. (**Sigh** Are you taking notes? This is the way I could describe most of my other "hands-down favorites" in myriad other media.)
I went back to my summertime blonde hair this weekend, but, considering the way I've been styling it all crazy spiky/poofy, now I think I kind of look like Jim Jarmusch. Jim Jarmusch is hot, right?
EDIT: And the Paris Hilton award goes to: me, for the inadvertent yet unironic use of the word "hot" in all three of the preceding paragraphs.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Open Letter #3
Dear Ted Leo:
You are everything I've always wanted in a rock musician. You are fast, you are loud, you are hilarious, you are sincere, you are brilliant.
Love,
allison
Dear Guy from the El Whom I May or May Not Have Spilled Coffee on This Morning:
Dude. It totally wasn't my fault. In the rush to get out of the car at my stop, the guy in front of me swung his bag up on his shoulder and knocked my wrist in the process, causing me to almost lose control of my travel mug. I'm clumsy, but I'm not that clumsy.
With sincere apologies,
allison
You are everything I've always wanted in a rock musician. You are fast, you are loud, you are hilarious, you are sincere, you are brilliant.
Love,
allison
Dear Guy from the El Whom I May or May Not Have Spilled Coffee on This Morning:
Dude. It totally wasn't my fault. In the rush to get out of the car at my stop, the guy in front of me swung his bag up on his shoulder and knocked my wrist in the process, causing me to almost lose control of my travel mug. I'm clumsy, but I'm not that clumsy.
With sincere apologies,
allison
Monday, June 13, 2005
My Unofficial Tiger Beat Post
Bad form, Owen Wilson! (Link via Kittenpants.) I want to have slightly fewer of your babies now.
Great artists and other famous people who could (or couldn't) say the sentence "I am ridiculous."
Michaelangelo Matos holds forth on the June/July music issue of The Believer. Whereas I agree in theory that their indie-rock-centrism could stand to be toned down a bit in general, The Believer does tend to be extraordinarily good about featuring unconventional profiles of unconventional scientists and visual artists, which, coming from a "literary" magazine, seems ultimately more worthwhile to me than any attempt they could subsequently launch to provide unique and in-depth write-ups on the whole spectrum of cutting-edge musical genres. I mean, I would imagine that a large chunk of The Believer's readership consumes other magazines like Paste, Punk Planet, and Pitchfork (yes, I picked those three just for the alliteration), all of whose raison d'être is more specifically music-based, so it's not like we're hurting for music news and coverage on whatever microgenre we happen to be passionate about, y'know? But, I don't even know what I don't know about many interesting scientists and visual artists for the most part, so I'm perfectly happy to suffer through yet another interview with Jack White or Karen O if it means I can read an interview with the guy who sequenced the human genome. It just strikes me that Matos is looking a little too myopically through his own music reviewer lens here.
I finally finished Blink this weekend, and I luuurved it! I have a total nerd-crush on Malcolm Gladwell right now. He's a brilliant journalist. I'm in the mood to recommend this book to everyone.
CTLA, it's all you: a call for academic papers on Brad Pitt.
Never fear, I'll get to Mr. & Mrs. Smith in a moment, but I'd first like to rave about Mysterious Skin. It's definitely not a movie for everybody, but it's beautiful and challenging and rewarding for those who are willing to go with it to some unpleasant and uncomfortable places. It's one of the few movies I've ever seen where a character is repeatedly referred to by other characters as being "exquisite," "like a god," etc. without it being a cheap indicating trick from the screenwriter--when the character is played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (yeah, I know; who knew?), he really is exquisite, like a god, etc., while still conveying multiple fucked-up layers of hurt, pride, mischief, loneliness, longing, confusion, boredom, frustration, and pure teenage lust. As pretty much all the reviews have mentioned, Gordon-Levitt gives an electric performance here, one that would be career defining if more people were likely to see it. Which isn't to say that he's the only reason to catch the flick.
I'm sure much of it can be chalked up to the source novel, but this movie deals with the issue of childhood sexual abuse in perhaps the least shrill and hysterical way I've ever seen. The film focuses on the parallel lives of two boys who share a lot of contextual similarities (absent father, doting mother, a close friendship with a slightly older woman) and how their paths diverge (and, of course, eventually converge again) after being molested in their youth by the same baseball coach. By tracking their respective paths, the film is able to present a provocative and well-rounded view of the ways that a traumatic event like that can completely redefine not just that person's perception of the world, but who that person is in relation to his world. It's also a beautiful illustration of the human impulse to force the circumstances of our lives to fit into our most gaping emotional holes in an attempt to, however imperfectly, get our needs met, to create meaning out of personal chaos. There's some clumsy dialogue and symbolism here and there, and, despite my love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I'm still not convinced that Michelle Trachtenberg could act her way out of a wet paper bag, but I have a feeling the overall impact of this movie is going to stick with me for a while.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith is a delightful, and delightfully lightweight, summer blockbuster. Though I vastly prefer the way the Kill Bill movies used two assassins' to-the-death rivalry as a metaphor for male/female relationships, Mr. & Mrs. Smith does achieve an approximation of screwball comedy's insouciant, double-entendre-laden banter. It gets a bit one-note after a while (the Missus shoots the Mister in the thigh and he's just kind of lovingly irritated with the accident), but I wasn't really expecting much else out of it to begin with. Yadda yadda, sex appeal, yadda yadda, are-they-or-aren't-they? All I have to say is, going back to Buffy [spoilers ahoy, CTLA, LBLA, KP, etc!], while superficially hot, the scene where Angelina and Brad have steamy and violent sex in the wreckage of their suburban home carries only a fraction of the weight that a remarkably similar sixth season scene between Buffy and Spike so famously does. Also, Adam Brody's "who are you people?!" was one of the best timed and delivered lines in the whole movie. And, yes, that's a fairly explicit slam on Vince Vaughn's movie-long Will Ferrell impression masquerading as a comedic foil performance. (Oh, snap!)
Great artists and other famous people who could (or couldn't) say the sentence "I am ridiculous."
Michaelangelo Matos holds forth on the June/July music issue of The Believer. Whereas I agree in theory that their indie-rock-centrism could stand to be toned down a bit in general, The Believer does tend to be extraordinarily good about featuring unconventional profiles of unconventional scientists and visual artists, which, coming from a "literary" magazine, seems ultimately more worthwhile to me than any attempt they could subsequently launch to provide unique and in-depth write-ups on the whole spectrum of cutting-edge musical genres. I mean, I would imagine that a large chunk of The Believer's readership consumes other magazines like Paste, Punk Planet, and Pitchfork (yes, I picked those three just for the alliteration), all of whose raison d'être is more specifically music-based, so it's not like we're hurting for music news and coverage on whatever microgenre we happen to be passionate about, y'know? But, I don't even know what I don't know about many interesting scientists and visual artists for the most part, so I'm perfectly happy to suffer through yet another interview with Jack White or Karen O if it means I can read an interview with the guy who sequenced the human genome. It just strikes me that Matos is looking a little too myopically through his own music reviewer lens here.
I finally finished Blink this weekend, and I luuurved it! I have a total nerd-crush on Malcolm Gladwell right now. He's a brilliant journalist. I'm in the mood to recommend this book to everyone.
CTLA, it's all you: a call for academic papers on Brad Pitt.
Never fear, I'll get to Mr. & Mrs. Smith in a moment, but I'd first like to rave about Mysterious Skin. It's definitely not a movie for everybody, but it's beautiful and challenging and rewarding for those who are willing to go with it to some unpleasant and uncomfortable places. It's one of the few movies I've ever seen where a character is repeatedly referred to by other characters as being "exquisite," "like a god," etc. without it being a cheap indicating trick from the screenwriter--when the character is played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (yeah, I know; who knew?), he really is exquisite, like a god, etc., while still conveying multiple fucked-up layers of hurt, pride, mischief, loneliness, longing, confusion, boredom, frustration, and pure teenage lust. As pretty much all the reviews have mentioned, Gordon-Levitt gives an electric performance here, one that would be career defining if more people were likely to see it. Which isn't to say that he's the only reason to catch the flick.
I'm sure much of it can be chalked up to the source novel, but this movie deals with the issue of childhood sexual abuse in perhaps the least shrill and hysterical way I've ever seen. The film focuses on the parallel lives of two boys who share a lot of contextual similarities (absent father, doting mother, a close friendship with a slightly older woman) and how their paths diverge (and, of course, eventually converge again) after being molested in their youth by the same baseball coach. By tracking their respective paths, the film is able to present a provocative and well-rounded view of the ways that a traumatic event like that can completely redefine not just that person's perception of the world, but who that person is in relation to his world. It's also a beautiful illustration of the human impulse to force the circumstances of our lives to fit into our most gaping emotional holes in an attempt to, however imperfectly, get our needs met, to create meaning out of personal chaos. There's some clumsy dialogue and symbolism here and there, and, despite my love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I'm still not convinced that Michelle Trachtenberg could act her way out of a wet paper bag, but I have a feeling the overall impact of this movie is going to stick with me for a while.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith is a delightful, and delightfully lightweight, summer blockbuster. Though I vastly prefer the way the Kill Bill movies used two assassins' to-the-death rivalry as a metaphor for male/female relationships, Mr. & Mrs. Smith does achieve an approximation of screwball comedy's insouciant, double-entendre-laden banter. It gets a bit one-note after a while (the Missus shoots the Mister in the thigh and he's just kind of lovingly irritated with the accident), but I wasn't really expecting much else out of it to begin with. Yadda yadda, sex appeal, yadda yadda, are-they-or-aren't-they? All I have to say is, going back to Buffy [spoilers ahoy, CTLA, LBLA, KP, etc!], while superficially hot, the scene where Angelina and Brad have steamy and violent sex in the wreckage of their suburban home carries only a fraction of the weight that a remarkably similar sixth season scene between Buffy and Spike so famously does. Also, Adam Brody's "who are you people?!" was one of the best timed and delivered lines in the whole movie. And, yes, that's a fairly explicit slam on Vince Vaughn's movie-long Will Ferrell impression masquerading as a comedic foil performance. (Oh, snap!)
Friday, June 10, 2005
Working Summer Hours...In My Head
I'm totally loving Pink Is the New Blog right now.
Good news, music fans. The Double Door is safe (link via Gapers Block).
From Me Fuck Pretty One Day on Tiny Mix Tapes: "You should know that any sex that you will ever have in your entire life will NEVER be as hot as the sex that Brad and Angelina have. I would like to think that the sex I imagine for them in my head isn't even as hot as the sex they have in real life."
EDIT: Oh all right, and a bonus link, from Last Plane to Jakarta. "YELL YELL YELL I AM GONNA YELL AT YOU!" (Hilarious.)
Good news, music fans. The Double Door is safe (link via Gapers Block).
From Me Fuck Pretty One Day on Tiny Mix Tapes: "You should know that any sex that you will ever have in your entire life will NEVER be as hot as the sex that Brad and Angelina have. I would like to think that the sex I imagine for them in my head isn't even as hot as the sex they have in real life."
EDIT: Oh all right, and a bonus link, from Last Plane to Jakarta. "YELL YELL YELL I AM GONNA YELL AT YOU!" (Hilarious.)
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Anne Bancroft
Anne Bancroft, 1931–2005.
I would like to take a moment to memorialize the great woman with (quel surprise!) a stupid personal anecdote. Back in the days at the 1945, Pitchman was incredulous when we told him that she was, indeed, married to Mel Brooks. "Huh," he said. "I would have thought that he'd be married to some sort of Rhea Perlman approximation." The phrase "Rhea Perlman Approximation" so delighted me that it immediately shot to the top of my own personal prospective band name list.
Mrs. Robinson, may your seduction of wayward college graduates be eternal.
I would like to take a moment to memorialize the great woman with (quel surprise!) a stupid personal anecdote. Back in the days at the 1945, Pitchman was incredulous when we told him that she was, indeed, married to Mel Brooks. "Huh," he said. "I would have thought that he'd be married to some sort of Rhea Perlman approximation." The phrase "Rhea Perlman Approximation" so delighted me that it immediately shot to the top of my own personal prospective band name list.
Mrs. Robinson, may your seduction of wayward college graduates be eternal.
A Very Felusian Aviary
Birds That Aren't (link via Flip Flop Flying). The Grayscale Tiff is my favorite.
Save the Double Door! While not a regular attender of the venue, I do have some fond memories of nights out there and would hate to see it replaced by (the horror!) a Banana Republic.
Cary Tennis recommends a modicum of appropriately timed self-censorship on Salon.
Save the Double Door! While not a regular attender of the venue, I do have some fond memories of nights out there and would hate to see it replaced by (the horror!) a Banana Republic.
Cary Tennis recommends a modicum of appropriately timed self-censorship on Salon.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Recharging
Tiny Mix Tapes' Automatic Mix Tape Generator. My favorites thus far are "a mix of songs whose titles rhyme with other song titles in the mix" and jhox's response to "the file clerk's lament."
In related mix tape news, Giddy and I are planning to attend Quimby's mix tape event next weekend. Those who are brave enough to put your music taste where your mouth is (uhh...) are encouraged to meet us there.
Salon's recent article about Gunter von Hagen's Bodyworlds "exhibit" (and others of its ilk), which M&M, CTA, and I took in at the Museum of Science and Industry yesterday afternoon. I'm still recovering. **shudder**
Lisa Carver's essay about Chick Lit on Nerve, which starts out as your standard "this genre is crap!" harangue, but which turns into something much more interesting toward the end.
Michelle Collins on Mark Harmon.
The brilliantly sick individuals at Kittenpants weigh in on the Yale economist who's teaching monkeys how to use money.
Pick up one (or both) of their newly designed buttons and support the good folks at Chicago's own Gapers Block.
I have recently decided that kefir is the best thing on the planet.
Check out, bookmark, ponder, and enjoy the estimable Michael O'Donnell's new web page. (Now also featured in my sidebar at left.)
Clear your calendars, kittens--it's an F*IN Dance Party on June 30!
The Long Winters (or, more accurately, John Roderick) enjoys a small profile in this month's Paste magazine and a large one in the June/July double issue of The Believer. I'm already getting excited about the unnamed and unreleased third album.
Colin Meloy's strummy, acoustic cover of Joanna Newsom's "Bridges and Balloons" that appears on The Believer's 2005 CD comp makes me smile. Hard.
Please don't make fun of me when I start wearing these clogs. They're like butter for your feet.
Yet another hearty congratulations to HLo and the Daniel, who were wed on Saturday. Pictures soon to come.
In related mix tape news, Giddy and I are planning to attend Quimby's mix tape event next weekend. Those who are brave enough to put your music taste where your mouth is (uhh...) are encouraged to meet us there.
Salon's recent article about Gunter von Hagen's Bodyworlds "exhibit" (and others of its ilk), which M&M, CTA, and I took in at the Museum of Science and Industry yesterday afternoon. I'm still recovering. **shudder**
Lisa Carver's essay about Chick Lit on Nerve, which starts out as your standard "this genre is crap!" harangue, but which turns into something much more interesting toward the end.
Michelle Collins on Mark Harmon.
The brilliantly sick individuals at Kittenpants weigh in on the Yale economist who's teaching monkeys how to use money.
Pick up one (or both) of their newly designed buttons and support the good folks at Chicago's own Gapers Block.
I have recently decided that kefir is the best thing on the planet.
Check out, bookmark, ponder, and enjoy the estimable Michael O'Donnell's new web page. (Now also featured in my sidebar at left.)
Clear your calendars, kittens--it's an F*IN Dance Party on June 30!
The Long Winters (or, more accurately, John Roderick) enjoys a small profile in this month's Paste magazine and a large one in the June/July double issue of The Believer. I'm already getting excited about the unnamed and unreleased third album.
Colin Meloy's strummy, acoustic cover of Joanna Newsom's "Bridges and Balloons" that appears on The Believer's 2005 CD comp makes me smile. Hard.
Please don't make fun of me when I start wearing these clogs. They're like butter for your feet.
Yet another hearty congratulations to HLo and the Daniel, who were wed on Saturday. Pictures soon to come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
