Last night I attended my first ever boxing match(es). In honor of that I will present to you three songs today. All great, all quite different from each other. BUT FIRST a video of a wolf pup. Also Vivian Girls/These are Powers tonight for free at The Whitney.
So, even thought my rainbow dolphin temporary tattoo has faded, I still consider myself an expert on all things gay and all things Sam Amidon (See: BrooklynVegan). On that note, I would like to bring to your attention these two videos:
(for the sake of this post, don't pay attention to his witty banter and explanation of the song. Please?)
My first reaction was, R. Kelly, please go pee on a minor or something and leave our beloved Sam Amidon alone, especially after seeing Amidon play this song to close his set, provoking a heart-string tugging sing-a-long. However, after extensive research, I found that, in fact, AMIDON covered R. Kelly. Oh god. This now presents a dilemma. Somehow it makes Amidon seem hip and now. Yet if it were the other way around I could expertly roll my eyes and cross my arms like I practice in the mirror every night, and then tout the ironic goodness of R. Kelly covering indiehipshit music when I play it for my friends off my Macbook Pro, all the while keeping a cool and collected distance, only appreciating the song for how funny it is when pop stars discover indie music, and not for it being an enjoyable song. Ugh. Does that make me seem like an asshole? BrooklynVegan commentors? Please chime in here.
Okay so Beth's post is referring to the fact that Beth's post about the Sam Amidon/Doveman show was quoted on Brooklyn Vegan and I somehow found this. Some dick bandit said it was the gayest thing he's ever read. I totally agree. It's so gay but that's Beth's style--so deal! Whatever Beth, at least you weren't accused (ACCUSED!) of being boy crazy yesterday.
This is me standing on the street: Oh hey there, I didn't know you lived near me, let's hang out later!
The girl who I guess lives near me: Oh Emily, hey yeah I do. You know me and the other person who you thought was your friend were talking shit about you at work yesterday and I was just like ah my gad I thought I was boy crazy. And then I met Emily.
I go: Probably true. Except that I hate everyone and everything all the time everyday.
She's like: Yeah, I feel so much better about myself now.
I don't know what happened after that because I saw some dude and followed him home. I took a quiz on the www to get a professional diagnosis. I don't know what the verdict was because I started thinking about which Backstreet Boy I am most compatible with. Answer: all of them. Self diagnosis: I love everyone and everything all the time. My shoes are made of clouds and I float everywhere on a sidewalk made of a rainbow. My pot of gold is any new person I meet. I am facetious and optimistic about relationships. What?
This weekend is the annual Shark Tournament. Thank god because I can't wait to see some innocent thrasher sharks hanging upside down DEAD. I went to go take pre-tournament pictures and meet some of the fisher-killer-men this afternoon. It was crazy because they all said that they were going to win. I'd say, hey there you look like you are going to catch a big shark with that impressive fishing vessel you've got there. They'd say: You're talkin to the winners right here. Want to take a picture of the winners little girl? Want a beer? No? High ball? No? Okay, a beer?
I'll update you on who won but I think it's going to be close because they are all going to win. Maybe I'll just win. I'll have to finagle some giant ass motor boat and some gear. Wait, I have a fucking idea. I need to go back and try to weasel, I mean charm, my way onto one of the boats tomorrow. Talk about good pictures. Shit I've got work to do. Here is my theme song for my adventure this weekend.
Apart from Sweet Tooth Nelson, I have some new favorite summer songs. Speaking of summer, isn't it almost over? Halfway through anything makes me feel it's almost over. Speaking of optimism you want to hear about more things I hate? Those fucking umbrellas with the blue sky on the underside. Nothing says look at me I am a fucking optimist because it's raining but all I can see is sunshine like those umbrellas. Nothing can break those people's spirits. Not even stormy days.
The Drums released this cute EP with 500 remixes of the same song. Why couldn't they have just left it as the original. The original is great. So summer groovy! Precious. Ugh. It has a neat beachy guitar riff characteristic of any good summer song.
Second song I found on Jay Howell's blog Punks Git Cut! incidentally my favorite blog and one of my most top favorite artists. This song makes me weak in the knees. Not like someone hit me in the back of the leg (please everyone stop doing that I fall over and feel like a fool) but like I have fallen in love with a song. Just trust me. Just. Trust. Me.
This is how I know I am kind of stupid. I met this person yesterday named Brett Nelson who is a friend of a friend. I went online to look at his photos and he had posted a song along with the photos called "Don't Say Goodbye" by Sweet Tooth Nelson. I was like, ohh this song is so great. I think I love this song and I will listen to it ten times during work and then post it on my freaking blog. Then I looked this person up on myspace. I am an idiot. Obviously Sweet Tooth Nelson IS Brett Nelson. Fucking great songs that make me like living in New York because people living here still write music like this. Brett is playing a show tomorrow night in Brooklyn at BFP (119 Ingraham St).
Oh and here was my favorite online music video from three years ago.
Fucking die pigeons! I hate you! You fly too close to me and you have fucking rabies. Jesus EW!
Me in my romper.
On a lighter note below is a snippet from my favorite movie, Blizzard of Aahs. Get it? No? Okay. Well, this provides the much needed segue to introduce my favorite website about romper suits. I have one. It is magenta and lime. I skied in it just last winter, with it zipped only half way up because I am casual. While not as smooth as skiing in your jeans, it is a great way to romp around in the fluffy white of winter without it getting down your pants. Brrrrrrr, that sounds cold! Sometimes in the heat of summer, I go into the basement where it is coolest in my house, put on my romper and locate my shimmery purple scooter which I then whip around the ping-pong table in circles.
Here is something to complain about: What the hell gives with boutiques (anywhere from high-fashion foolery to Supreme skateboard stupidity) that are full of NOTHING. Why do you have such a big store if you are going to have like two racks of clothes and maybe like six pairs of shoes on the wall? Do you throw dance parties in there at night? Why are you taking up so much space? Get a smaller store or get some more inventory. Just fix it. GOD.
Also I would like to take a moment for thanking nobody for going to the accordion festival with me last night. Whatever, it provided me with yet another reminder that I am so so very alone in the world, even when surrounded by my so-called friends who can't even seem to understand that the 4th annual NYC accordion festival is in fact annual which means it only happens once a year. I obviously need smarter friends or friends who think accordions are cool. My disappointment is like a tidal wave of futile forlorniness.
Bitte Orca is the new album by the Dirty Projectors that I should have reviewed a while ago but I have been so busy watching the Disney channel I haven't had a minute! So lemme give you tha run down. It's good. I like it. It is actually creative. I can't remember the last time I thought of the word creative to unsnarkily describe music. But for real it is so and not even in a suck-city kind of way--just crafty as fuck. So basically if you like pop music that took a turn for the crazy you should take a test drive of Bitte Orca. They'll be in Brooklyn on July 19th.
P.S. I'm thinking of quitting my job at the dog kennel. I'm sick of being bitten.
Idiotface sunglasses: I cannot wait for the quirky sunglasses trend to diedie/endSTOP. Also everybody can tell when those glasses aren't prescriptions. You are nuts!
Quick fix: Squint or get a normal pair.
Puffy-sneakers: Boys and girls, you are equally guilty of wearing pillow footwear. This trend of buying $600 Nike Dunks or magenta poofy Reeboks is ridiculous, reDICulous. For God's sake you aren't about to walk on the moon ya nut! Yer a nut!
Solution: Buy yourself a nice pair of penny loafers and make your mother happy, punk.
Gladiator sandals: Idiocy. Unless you a Russell Crowe starring in Gladiator: in this case legit.
Solution: Easy my friend, throw them out or burn them.
Weird facial hair: I know boys don't have a lot to work with in terms of hair-dos and stuff but they need to stop being crafty on their faces. You all look like cute jackasses.
Solution: Have a regular beard or moustache. No mutton chops or other art projects. Except for you, hot boy with mutton chops. You cultivate those chops. You're nuts. But I love it.
Here is the best premise for a film: some medical students go to a cabin in the snowy mountains of Norway but then all get killed by Nazi zombies. Last weekend I sought out a movie that would fit this description and saw it. Dead Snow, or Død snø, gets my wholehearted recommendation to anyone who can either comprehend Norwegian or is okay with reading subtitles or likes movies. It surpasses all other Nazi and zombie movies I have seen in 2009 so far. But is it just another Norwegian horror film? No. It is writer/director Tommy Wirkola’s cinematic epiphany explaining that all people really want to see is another human’s face ripped open and brain flung on the snow by two post-mortem anti-Semites. It makes you appreciate how easy your life is. Ultimately the reason behind the Nazi zombie occupation of Øksfjord, Norway makes no sense but details aren’t ever what matters. The crux of the movie lies in the political and bloodthirsty message of psycho-lust and avarice delivered by the antagonists—the Nazi zombies themselves. I’m not going to ruin the ending but SPOILERS I am: You will leave the theater feeling quite uncertain about the possibly intentional irony that in the end all the Nazis really wanted was their gold! It makes a lot of sense.