LeSportsac-ak-ak-ak

Who knew? I really used to despise all things LeSportsac, until I found myself loving the selection they have at Century's. (New York's best kept secret, what other department store has Calvin Klein handbags for $50??) Anyway - this brand always signified for me, cheap, tacky, housewife, corny, ugly, all around UNattactive women. I have to admit though, I bought one, they've come around - best $14 I spent in a while. I daydream about wearing black capris with electric blue heels and toting my Mediterranean Hobo with white out nails (thanks to Sarah) - it's gonna be a good summer. Bag it up ladies!

t-pain gets whited out

this shouldn't be funny, but you know what, it fucking is. so just deal with it.

DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!

worth your time

we've been working on getting this video up for a hot minute, but we ran into some technical difficulties getting blogger to heart youtube clips.

but without further ado, here it is: the yeah yeah yeahs playing 10x10 at the brooklyn glasslands show. now you get to see it before the live DVD comes out. don't thank us with sexual favors or anything. we're already worn out. ENJOY THE STROBE LIGHTS AND HOT TUNES, SUCKAHS!

(thanks, eleni!!!)

yeah, we're WTF-ing

so our loves over at Idolator have posted up the mp3 of Marilyn Manson covering Justin Timberlake's What Goes Around Comes Around.

maybe there is some post-modernism in a gothed-out, acoustic version of a pop pretty boy's song. or maybe, Manson is just losing his damn mind from all that 19-year old pussy. or else Dita Von Teese stole his soul. or he's just in a constant battle to stay relevant. take your pick.

white hot sizzlin for eternity

in a showing of solidarity for the poorest little rich girl in the world, lindsay lohan, and her latest cocaine debacle, we're bringing back the straight white mani-pedi for summer.

all lohan jokes aside, this is the freshest way to work it out this summer. grab a nice bright bag, pair it up with a pure polish and you've got nothing but sweet fucking style. keep it tighter than a traffic jam, ladies!

first light

maybe it is silly, but i feel like a million bright lights today.

doin' it on the ballroom floor

So, it seems that I missed the finale of “Dancing with the Stars.” Not that I would have watched it purposely, even if I had cable (see this blog to hear the cable saga [is it a blog feaux pas to reference your own blog in a bolg?]).

The only reason I have any idea who Apollo and Julianne are, is that there is absolute crap on TV on Tuesdays, it’s free T&A even though it is labeled as wholesome, and because I really think those two are fucking. Look at those two staring into each others eyes.

They came out to deny the hook up rumors by saying that she was engaged and that Apollo and the dude had become really good friends, but we all know that is crap. I can’t wait until that 19 year-old chick is prego, they are having a shot-gun wedding, and video of the reception with the crappy cover band from the show (seriously, are they tone deaf?) are highlighted on Extra TV with Sugar Ray. Man, I need to get that cable re-hooked up soon.

smoke THESE, america!

let's discuss this smoking jacket by fiona carswell, shall we? from her website:

The jacket has a built-in pair of lungs on the front. As the wearer smokes, the lungs fill up with the exhaled cigarette smoke and begin to gradually darken over time.

This project was a result of exploring reflective design as it relates to the body, behavioral choices, and information displays.

so let me get this straight, once i find the quarter of an inch of street that i'm actually allowed to smoke on (you know, out in Narnia), i gotta wear a jacket that shows all those rabid anti-smokers how quickly i'm killing myself so i can prove how right they are?

i appreciate the artistic part of this, but i'm going to go ahead and ask: Where is the blazer that shows your fucking arteries clogging while you eat a Big Mac? here's an idea for you, fiona, why don't you make me a smoking jacket that says LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE?

oh and p.s. that jacket looks homeless. IN A BAD WAY.

this gets ZERO PUFFS.

literary fiction upside ya head

get ready for an instant classic! released this month, The Secret Lives of People in Love by Simon Van Booy is an absolutely gutwrenching collection of short stories that walks the perfect line between internal dialouge and external situations. from the very first story, Van Booy gives us the chance to look at the lives of others through a slit in the blinds, a peephole into the human condition. the stories take place everywhere from France to Kentucky and don't miss a beat in between.

Van Booy has written such effective, precise and perfect prose that certain sentences pop so brightly off of the page that you want to call someone and recite the lines. Secret Lives makes you want to read slowly, lanquidly, so you can pull it all in, absorb every fragment and piece of the characters that seem so much like yourself or everyone else.

Van Booy will soon find himself ranked among the greats if his future works are this poignant, inspiring and absolutely vibrant. not reading this book could be the biggest mistake of your life.

passive-agressive sexiness

we love to steal from Dlisted, so when Michael K posted up a link to this hot site, passive-aggressive notes, we just had to share. if you read enough of these, you'll soon notice a pattern of subtle hatred and bad punctuation. this makes me wish white boards had never been invented, because if it weren't for disposable communication, i'd have some fucking hilarious P-A notes from college that were mostly written on cocaine...so i guess they were mostly only aggressive. nevermind.

photoSTOP THIS INSANITY!

this montage of a woman being photoshopped from a size 20 down to a size 8 is absolutely amazing. there is a small part of me that does think perfect people exist, with flawless skin and dynamite bodies. but after watching this, it's obvious that i've been fooled by reading too many of Deb's OK! magazines and watching too many episodes of ANTM.

i now suspect that Beyonce probably looks like this in real life:

i love whores

lindsay lohan is ripping my life apart. i don't care about her coke habits (if i were rich, i'd be nostril deep in columbia's finest, too), her slutty behavior (look, a vagina's gotta eat) or her car accidents. as far as i'm concerned, she is the epitome of trashy-classy. but deb and i have been arguing over this dress for the past week. deb thinks she looks like ice cream puke and i think this little whore-version of Rainbow Bright is better than a Valium milkshake. i have to be honest, it's one of the most insane things you could possibly wear, and definitely bjork-like but i can't help it. motherfuckers, it's vintage Herve Leger! GIVE ME A BREAK HERE! someone?!!?!?!?!

i'm pulverized by this latest thing!

eleni has been after me for a few months to see the movie Grey Gardens. i was always interested, because whenever she mentioned it, her eyes would go as round as saucers and she wouldn't be able to speak and would end up saying 'Girl, you just must...'.

i finally got a chance to see Grey Gardens and my life has been changed forever. this documentary about a mother and daughter (both named Edith, and both related to Jackie O) living in a broke-ass mansion in the east hamptons will make you run a gamut of emotions from violent pity to hysterical laughter. watching these two women eat ice cream with plastic knives, make their own "costumes", feed the raccoons that live in their walls, and generally berate and love each other is enough to rip out your heart. the filth and squalor that they live in is bad enough. but the exchanges between the mother and daughter living in this shit pile are almost too much. one of my favorite moments:

Edith 'Big Edie' Bouvier Beale: Oh, look. That cat's going to the bathroom right behind my portrait.
Edith 'Little Edie' Bouvier Beale: Ughh, how awful.
Edith 'Big Edie' Bouvier Beale: No, I'm glad. I'm glad somebody's doing something what they want to do!

this movie is so epic, it can't even be described. it's like a mixture of broke-down glamour, gummo, a flea market, a yard sale, and an SPCA all mixed in one. but grey gardens did something else for me: it made me consider what might happen to me when i get old. between laughing and catching my breath in sadness for these women, i felt a sharp pang at the thought that just about anyone could end up like this, given enough time and the right circumstances.

reiki-less

i'm kind of a cynic when it comes to eastern medicine. typically, i immediately think of some insane woman dangling a crystal in my face and humming. so when erin said she was taking me to our friend raina's house to get reiki-ed, i figured i'd have to smell a bunch of patchouli, burn some sage and hum in a circle. i was very wrong.

reiki is, essentially, the healing of psychic energy, which was developed in Japan in the 20th century. to me, that sounds like a bunch of buzz words strung together, so while raina started holding her hands above erin's head, i sat on the couch and read a book about using plants and herbs to cure colds, depression and genital warts. while i was reading, though, i noticed a weird heat started coming from raina and erin's part of the room. i looked up and erin's eyes were peacefully closed and raina was sweating bullets. it was a cool, sunny day, so i couldn't understand what i was feeling. i didn't want to disrupt the girls, so i just kept my head down. then raina offered to try reiki on me. the heat intrigued me so i sat down and she got to work.

she started off with her hands flat above my head, not touching me. but it felt as if all of my cells were moving up towards her hands, as if i were being pulled up somehow. it was really calming and neat. she did that for about ten minutes and then slid her hands down to the sides of my head. once that happened, i could feel this weird sensation of energy pingponging back and forth inside my head. then the sides of my face and my ears started to burn up from the heat. i also started to get a tingling sensation at the front of my forehead, between my eyebrows. it started to get very intense when raina moved her hands to the front of my throat and the back of my neck, and i could practically feel vibrations running up to my forehead at that point, and bright, colorful explosions were on the backs of my eyelids.

every once in awhile, i would get the same sensation in my forehead while waiting for the train or coming home from work, but i always chalked it up to sinuses or something. this time, the sensation between my eyebrows was really intense, and i wasn't sure what was happening but i didn't want to disrupt raina so i kept quiet. she finished my reiki and put a drop of flower essence onto my tongue.

it turns out that tingle i felt was in my sixth chakra, or the third eye. i've kind of been over the kundlandi and all of that tool-related bullshit, but the reiki experience was really overwhelming.

6th chakra: (Third Eye chakra, located in the center of the forehead) Abstract thought -- intellectual focus. This is the level of knowledge. When the 6th chakra is awakening, enormous pressures are felt in the head, particularly around the eyes and in the forehead area. These may cause excruciating headaches. There may be twitching and vibrating felt between the brows. The eyes may roll cross-eyed or up into the head. There may be dazzling visions seen with the eyes open or closed; sometimes a huge single eye is seen staring out. When the 6th chakra is pierced, one gains contact with spiritual guides, deities and one's guardian angel or guru. Astral travel and other out-of-body experiences may occur with this opening.

so is it bullshit? i don't know. i think it helped me, and made me think a little bit more about energy. i don't think i'll be running around with healing crystals in my pocket, but i guess i'm not as much of a skeptic as i was before. my only complaint was that i wish i could have smoked cigarettes during the process or at least met the spirit of Jimi Hendrix.

i'll give this five puffs ~~~~~

smoke job

I read in The New York Post that from now on, any movies which feature the smoking of cigarettes will automatically be given an "R" rating. The article went on to say that it will be considered on the same level of offensive as sex, drugs and nudity. Without going into how rediculous and nazi that is, lemme just say that after flipping a few pages, I read another article which stated that people are more likely to get throat cancer from sucking cocks rather than smoking cigarettes.

I am not even going to provide supporting facts and or information about all of this, you all just gonna have to take my word.

Ahhhhh death.

Ahh death... The great equalizer.
When I first heard that the great Jerry Falwell had well, fallen, I didn't immediately think Jesus was calling him back to that great televangelist kingdom in the sky. But then the MySpace bulletins started popping up. And it was clear the good lord had called this sheep home. Luckily, the first time I learned about Falwell was from reading Susan Faludi. I'm sure he would have loved that. As I learned that he had in fact passed, I wondered if perhaps in death, he was redeemed. Perhaps as he was gasping his last few breaths he had a moment of clarity through his bigoted, racist, narrow minded, little dick haze. But I doubt it. I mean, not only was he a staunch anti-civil right activist (living in Lynchburg VA, keepin' it real!) but a complete hypocrite who was as false an idol as Santa, Paris Hilton, or The Easter Bunny. No matter what, the mention of his name is bound to spark debate despite how much some would like to see his legacy of hatred simply dwindle and fade into obscurity.

What a strange twist that this morning as I'm drinking my coffee, thinking about Falwell no less, that I hear that the yin to Falwells yang had also passed away. Yolanda King, daughter or Martin Luther King JR had also passed due to heart complications. Peace activist, actress (she played Rosa Parks in a 1978 mini series) and author among other things, King's death outshadows Falwells in a way that only unseen forces can facilitate. Her death serves as a reminder of what true kindness and purity is. Yolanda King overcame true struggles, and made postive advancements in our world with her work, rather than poisoning peoples minds with hatred and fear.

I am truly astonished at the way the universe works. In death as much as in life there must be balance. This unfortunately does not always work out for the best. For with the fall of evil, apparently goodness is also lost.

CRISIS!!!!

No, I am not talking about the war in Iraq; too many stars adopting international babies, the fact that I have no idea why I wake up everyday to go to my job, or that I think I am getting carpal tunnel syndrome in my right index finger in the last knuckle from all my clicking. I am talking about the fact that Sarah and I no longer have our free cable and it is the America’s Next Top Model season finale tonight!!!

Why did Comcast have to figure out last night, the night before the season finale, that we were “borrowing” cable? Come on!! What is that timing about? Now we are scrambling to find a place to watch the magic since all we can see is fuzz. Seriously, if you have cable and want to let us watch ANTM at your place, we would be good for some booze and maybe a few sexual favors. That’s how badly we want it.

arctic monkeys • NYC

Our transatlantic lads, hailing from Sheffield put on a decent show last night at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City.
The ratio of brits to yanks in the crowd was about 2:1 and the excitement level was at a mellow bell high (ding!) Be Your Own Pet, fronted by a white blonde burst of energy, movement, screams and tits was the opener. During their last song, they pulled someone out of the crowd and he ran amok on stage, drumming with the drummer, propping the singer on his shoulders, then bouncing right back into the audience. When the band was done they all fell to the ground with their instruments. Music wasn't that awesome but they pumped us up right. Monkeys came out to cheers and soccer chants and the mini shove pit started rumbling a little. 'Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' started things nicely - along with 'Fake Tales Of San Francisco' and 'Dancing Shoes' but I must admit I was a bit down trodden. No '505', no 'Mardy Bum'.

I really think the band wasn't that thrilled with the crowd - I really think they wanted more ruckus, more damage - it was actually tame and me and my friends were right in the thick of it. Therefore, no encore, no amazing defining moment like most shows have where everyone is on the same page and that special zing of magic hugs the lot of us. It was a run of the mill show, but fun in that regular sort of way. I bet shows in the U.K. are more dazzling : or at least I hope so.

2 puffs of smoke ~ ~

10 reasons why Boston will be less of a man after Sarah leaves

1. There will be no more fuck you’s muttered to Ira during spins.
2. The mailman will lose half of his workout routine once the daily delivery of books to our apartment stops.
3. There will be an abundance of Long Island Iced Tea ingredients as Boston’s consumption will decrease two fold.
4. Philly keeps “Returning to Sender” the Long Islands that Boston was too big of a pansy to consume.
5. Watching ANTM will not be as classy.
6. Bi-monthly hair dying will no longer be enjoyed (and smelled) by all.
7. Every dog in Boston will go into a deep depression due to the lack of extra cooing and petting that Sarah provided.
8. Fiber will never again be used to its full potential.
9. Boston will no longer be able to smile at dumping more hail on the chick in flip flops.
10. Rollerston.

updates & shit

please excuse any lack of updates, as i believe most of us are either hustling to make that paper (eleni!) or else we're sunning ourselves on the shores of victory (congrats erin!), recovering from the PE (KEB DATZMAN!) or recording a new album (katface!) and well, you can call me miss assistant editor from now on. i'm packing up my shit and i'll be living in philadelphia by the end of june.

for now, i guess this is contentment parade, rather than bitchparade. sorry for the interruption of menses.

feist you, mother feister!

listening to leslie feist is an experience. her voice is often so high pitched that you can't sing along but must whistle or hum. her songs tend to range from soft and tender with some 80s spice to poetic and ravenous with beats that make you wanna fuck. the tracks off of her newest album, the remainder, have been the soundtrack to my life for the last few days.

she's coming to the berklee performance center on june 9th and that shit is not sold out. i'm sure it's going to be a hipster mellow-sesh so wear your chuck taylors and your most dissatisified sneer.

Feist - My Moon, My Man [mp3] [indiechristoph}

•|YYS-EXCLUSIVE-FAMOUS|•

when we showed up at Glasslands Gallery in Brooklyn for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs free show, we had no idea what to expect. after getting sunburned, meeting a million friends, and getting shook down by the cops for drinking in public, it was time to head into the venue. eleni and i opted to go to the 10 o'clock show, which was for LADIES ONLY. the doors opened and we began to file into Glasslands, which turned out to be an artist space that was very small, and looked like someone's house. i knew we were in for a great fucking time when we walked by a kitchen with a sink full of dirty dishes.

there were about eighty other girls, and men began handing out small black eye masks which we all promptly wore. the room suddenly looked as if it were full of raccoons. then, we were led down dark hallways and into a room about as big your bathroom. the walls were lined with shining silver paper and multi-colored christmas lights and there was a tiny, tiny stage in the center, which we all swarmed around. the crowd was dotted with people holding video cameras, and signs warned us that our likeness would be used in an exclusive live DVD and music video. sweet jesus, if that isn't enough to make you flip the fuck out, i don't know what is.

within minutes, the band took the stage and my world was ruined. they started off with 10x10 which is far and away my favorite song.

they moved on to play cheated hearts, rich, modern romance, Y control, pin, kiss kiss,, black tongue, and an older song called down boy, which was filmed/played about four times for videotaping. karen O donned a lyrcra suit and a giant cape that she used frequently.



while all of this was going on, karen was constantly jumping into the crowd, writhing on the floor and generally flipping out. during the videotaping, she would alternately look vulnerable and insane and i think it was a look that worked.


the energy of the crowd kept building. everyone was screaming, jumping up and down, clapping and catching karen when needed. we almost fought one girl with an ugly haircut but decided to be nice when the band started taking crowd requests.


but then possibly the most amazing thing i've ever seen happened. the YYYs started playing maps, and karen asked "who wants to walk out with me?"

everyone seemed hesitant to volunteer because nobody wanted to leave. but karen got down off of the stage and walked out of the room, with a crowd of eighty masked girls following her. she led us all through dark hallways and the music faded as we moved away from the rest of the band. in the hallways, you could hear the voices of eighty girls singing "wait, they don't love you like i love you" while film crews captured us in night vision. the song was being hummed, slightly, slowly, as we snaked through the building. karen O led us out into the streets of brooklyn, still singing, where we formed a huge circle around her and began bellowing 'WAIT THEY DON'T LOVE YOU LIKE I LOVE YOU!' over and over again as the film crew circled us.

afterwards we got to meet the band and snap some pictures. that was dope, but really i don't think anything could top the feeling of singing along with one of my favorite bands in the street. it was such a small, intimate, and perfect night that it's hard to believe there will be anything in the world that can top Glasslands. and don't forget to look for our masked faces up in lights. we have tasted quasi-fame and it tastes delicious.

the US protects their junk

So, the US government caught wind that the terrorists were going for their Dix, so they stepped in to stop it. This plot had all the twists and turns of an episode of Law and Order (I heart you).

Terrorists were studying video tapes (they still make those?) of past killings to learn how to do it right. They had inconspicuous covers, like working at the 7-11, as a cab driver or even at the local Shop-Rite. One terrorist even knew the Dix "like the back of his hand" because he had delivered pizzas to it.

This sounds pretty well planned. It’s a good thing that they were aiming below the belt, or I am not sure that the US would have been able to catch these guys. You know how protective the US is of their Dix.

||•| GIRL TALK EXCLUSIVE|•||

Upon arrival, I think we all knew it was going to be a night of raw dance and damage. The Living Room in Providence, RI is appropriately nestled in between a gas station and a warehouse parking lot and my heart came alive like fireworks. Me, Bee, Ms. Sarah and Deb emerged through a doorway and entered a place reminiscent of grandma's basement, a frat house, a crack house and heaven stirred together in a cup. We get drinks, 9 parts vodka, no parts sprite so we shrug our shoulders and confront the stage. Dan Deacon was great. Mahi Mahi is difficult to review for many reasons. We were ravenous and impatient and doing our best to endure just 1 more song if it meant Girl Talk was right after, but they kept coming and we were sick of it. We coped by rediculing the monotonous melody to suit our needs. We painfully "Spent 20 minutes waiting for you..."


And finally, he graced us with his presence, and pissed us off immediately. He had the balls to tell us "Just 4 more minutes and I'll be back" We dealt with it, this is what we came for, this is all we've been excited about for the last 3 months. So we waited and once it began, the tight crowd rushed foward, people climbed over each other, people fell, people swarmed the stage, people danced and lost their shit like they usually do when he begins. Security tried to diminish some of this debacle, one of Sarah's sandals was gone, we inched towards one side of the stage to avoid being booted, I felt around for the steps for stability but plunged down to the ground instead. Bee pulled me up, I was all scratched up and bloodied. We needed more booze, we got off stage and the music is making the mess not matter. Deb triumphantly finds Sarah's sandal in the midst of the madness and we proceed to dance until our bodies are drained of sweat.

Sir Talk himself said he's happy to be back on the beast coast. He's had enough of the desert and the flakes and Wired magazine and martinis. We welcomed him home quite well, he had a great time, he did his Scentless Apprentice cover to prove it. We loved Providence, much kudos to you bad kids.

He really spiced it up with old stuff and new. Bitch Parade is pleased to share a squirt of the juice. Enjoy!!!

apocalypse

this is how we feel after girl talk last night. providence, you are officially amazing. gregg gillis, we want to marry you.

review and exclusive mp3 coming when we sober up.

PB & J

my god, peter bjorn & john have changed my life. these swedish SOBs sound so fucking good on a spring day that it is distracting. they are playing the 'dise tonight, but since we're all going to be at girl talk in rhode island, that show is a no go. le sigh. more tragic than a lost erection.

in the meantime, check out these lovely songs...

young folks [mp3]
objects of my affection [mp3]
let's call it off [mp3]

Conan, I love you.

It's not just because we are both from Boston, or the steadfast fact that I love a hilarious Irishman. I mean, those are both great reasons, but something about Conan just oozes dorky sex god to me and I can't resist. Last night, as Robin Williams attempted to steal the show and take over the San Francisco spotlight, Conan cooly allowed him to make a borderline ass of himself by letting him spiral into a schizofrenic, possibly ahlzhimers induced improv. As Conan smugly watched in loosely masked disgust, I fell in love with him all over again. As he drank his way through Nappa Valley mocking the vineyard workers and chugging Pinot Noir from a giant wine glass, I swooned with ecstacy. Would I let him throw it in? It's quite poss.

"dick will make you slap somebody!"

alexyss taylor always gets it right. this woman has it so down that i can't even comment.

Bonnaroo! It's Not Just For Dirty Hippies Anymore!

When Erin sent me the link to the volunteer registration for this year's Bonnaroo Festival I must admit, I made a face and rolled my eyes. I think I may have even puked granola a little bit. (Sorry Erin). Another damn dirty hippie festival. But then I checked out the lineup and said HOT DAAAMMMN! Sign me up for this shit! The last time I went to a festival, it just happened to be full of hippies. And besides the bunk mushrooms some Birkenstock wearing douchebag sold me and my boyfriend, it was a pretty good time. Though I did sleep through one night of the headliner as there is only so much Strangefolk I can take in my life.

But, Tool, Regina Spektor, Ziggy Marley (who I incidentally just saw Sunday night up in Portsmouth, NH. AMAZING show BTW) The Flaming Lips, The Police (tantric!), Sasha&Digweed and Ween!?! Not to mention Dave Attel, Lewis Black and David Cross.The list goes on people, this is just a little taste to sexy up the palate! A chance to get backstage with any of these people and shmooze/make cocaine runs would make me a happy girl. I will just have to bring a machette to fight my way through the southern jungle of hippies. (uhhh...) Look out Manchester, Tennessee!

today my heart swings

ahhh so here it is, folks. i don't know if anyone else hearts Interpol as much as i do, but there is a radio rip of their new track, The Heinrich Maneuver, up at Idolator.

so how does it sound? a little bit like the old stuff, but with some extra kick and i love the lyrics. they always make me feel like i'm in a German snuff film and i'm into that. definitely worth a listen.

Chelsea CAN dance!

Okay, so I have been trying to get over it for about it for about 2 weeks now, and yes, I am still pissed that Chelsea isn’t America’s Next Pussy Cat Doll. Chelsea had it all: the sad back story (she used to be chubby), the hot looks (who knew she’d blossom after getting bangs), an amazing voice (sorry X-tina, you have some competition), and the underdog status (girl could dance better than me, but that’s not saying much).

How could she not win!??!

Asia could never be a real PCD. She sang like a constipated hyena, had a baby, and was too short, bitchy and dumb (yeah, that made me laugh out loud too) to make it in the goup. Little Kim and Robin Antin must have both realized that in less than 5 years, Asia would be their plastic surgery little sister and they could teach her the plastic surgery ways, while feeling like they did a good deed.

SupercalafuckingA....

So this 13 year old media whore in training to my right, Morgan Pozgar, just won $25K from LG Electronics Worldwide. You may recognize the LG logo from your cell phone, laptop, refrigerator, television, air conditioner, washing machine..Well you get the idea. Most major corporations such as LG donate various amounts of money to charities and good will programs internationally such as The American Red Cross, Salvation Army, AIDS research organizations and the like. It is money well spent by companies that have extra to give and PR to maintain.

So what, you may ask, did this dewey eyed tween do to gain the attention of the fine, cultural, charitable folks at LG? Surely she must posses superhuman intelligence, maybe has found a cure for cancer in her middle school science lab, or at least saved some puppies from being put down at a local shelter or something right?? (Won't someone think of the puppies!!)

No no no!! Our little Morgan has a talent far more worthy of praise and compensation than any of the afformentioned. This bitch can text the word "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" (from "Mary Poppins") in 15 seconds. 15 fucking seconds. Has society truly spiraled this far into an abyss of pop culture, give it to me now, work for nothing, nah nah-istic insipidness? Surely someone as adept and promising as Morgan can shed some light for us. When asked what she would do with her winnings, the gracious and thoughtful Pozgar replied with, "I'm going to go shopping and buy lots of clothes."

Well DUUUUHHH.

it's so elegant, so intelligent

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.

--- T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

UPDATE: coachella, i still hate you

every blog is buzzing about coachella recaps. well, guess what? i've hated that stupid festival since day one and everything i read about it only makes me hate it more. Scarlett Johanssen singing with the Jesus and Mary Chain? Lindsay Lohan wearing slutty suspender shorts? Danny DeVito and Peaches? Rage against the Machine taking everyone back to 1990? Paris Hilton dancing on stage during Girl Talk?

Weirdest party: Girl Talk’s Greg Gillis was amazing — clearly, calling this man a mere mash-up DJ is like calling Kierkegaard a sportswriter. What was Paris Hilton doing up there? Well, in the immortal words of Tone Loc, she wanted to come onstage, and do a little dance. So she did.

i'm sure anyone on the west coast would chalk this up to jealousy. but sincerely, it's just total, utter hatred for anyone singing, dancing, eating, or breathing at this hipster shitpile. if i could employ a team of scientists to use giant chainsaws to help annex California from the rest of the country, i would have done it this weekend. damn, i wish i would have thought of that sooner.

bag ladies

the kids over at HypeBeast really outdid themselves this time, with a sneak peak of the newest pieces from Track & Field, a Philly clothing line. the cool thing about their Spring 2007 line of purses and bags is that they are made out of special fabrics to survive the lives of city girls.

This water resistant fabric’s strength and color refuse to fade even under the harshest conditions, while retaining the softness of spun cotton. This season contains many styles including backpacks, flight bags, messenger bags, record bags, tote bags, and a selection of women’s bags. The entire line also features bright colors and trendy patterns, which is definitely a great look for this coming summer.

technically, i think that means the purses are made out of the same fabric as beach umbrellas, but it's still sexy.