I’m going to the juvenile delinquent home and I’m bringing….

I haven’t posted lately because I was away on a car trip to visit my and my boyfriend’s families. This is the traveling game we played during the car ride:

I am going to the juvenile delinquent home and I am bringing asthma medication, a bong, clitoral stimulation gel, Dragonforce CDs, an electronic polygraph machine, farts in a jar, gangrene treatment, High Times Magazine, the implication that I am getting laid tonight, Justin Long’s severed head, a kindly grandmother, my limp dick, and Michael Jackson’s molestation victims.

Ben forgot “the implication that I am getting laid tonight” when it was his turn to think of something for “N.”

WIN.

So now maybe it’s time for you to move out of your house that is a city.

So I’ve never been the biggest Sarah Silverman fan, but for some reason she is a permanent, odd fixture in comedy. And it’s time to come to terms with that.

And also, this is pretty damn funny.

Your move, Catholics.

She’s got me like nobody

About a month ago something unspeakably embarrassing happened to me. I decided, for about a 24 hour period, that I sort of liked Miley Cyrus. I didn’t blog about it for obvious reasons, and friends quickly helped me snap out of it by pointing out that she does that horrible song “The Climb.”

Shortly after the VMAs, I developed another uncharacteristic fandom: Lady Gaga (just how exactly am I supposed to react to someone who bleeds all over the VMA stage?). I can say that it’s because there is a very slim chance that she is a hermaphrodite. I can say that it’s because she’s sexually aggressive AND really damn strange. But a friend of mine called me out, and she pretty much nailed it:

“You just like her because she’s a female version of Karen Barnes.”

This is totally, undeniably true. Outside of the fact that Lady Gaga’s music is nowhere near as good as of Montreal’s, each figure has a sexually charged persona that involves inexplicable, unnecessarily extravagant costumes and performances. I can try and say that it’s really elaborate art, but most of its value comes from the “What the fuck?” element. It’s an element that I give into every time. I can’t help it.

Anyway, someone recently linked me to one of the live acoustic performances of “Poker Face,” and it’s made me feel a little better about the whole thing. It’s sort of an amazing thing when you look at it next to the single. If Lady Gaga is capable of making this:

And then stripping it down to reveal this:

Well then, maybe she just has us all fooled. Maybe she’s super interesting and talented, and she just likes being a crazy, half naked celebrity. Because she feels like it. And hell, I like that idea.

You fall in love with every ounce, ounce

This past weekend I went to the Washington City Paper’s arts and crafts fair, Crafty Bastards. Like last year, it was crowded and full of cutesy things that I wanted but didn’t need. Anyway, I mentioned this venture on good ol’ Facebook, and a friend tipped me off to “Craft Talk” by Leslie Hall.

Observe:

Anyway, I saw the opportunity to view more gold spandex outfits, and it led me to this video:

And now you know the story of how I discovered the female counterpart to Eric Wareheim.

Something like a phenomena

I am a lady who wants to see a great many bands, but for some odd reason, I’d always had an idea in my head of what the Yeah Yeah Yeahs would be like live. Maybe because they were the first band I had really listened to that deviated from the fairly uniform pop/rock genre I had been consuming at the time Fever to Tell came out. Maybe because they don’t tour super often outside of festivals. But I’d always had this imaginary Yeah Yeah Yeahs show in my mind that I assumed I would never see fulfilled.

However, sheer luck provided me with a ticket to their recent show at the 930 Club, and yes, it was everything I had hoped for and more, thanks for asking.

Now, this little fantasy fulfillment of mine comes at a time when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs aren’t really as popular as they used to be. The couple of web sites I write for were none too crazy about It’s Blitz, and many of my music consuming peers have been saying things like “What the hell are the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thinking?!?” to which I would like to say: Calm down, music peers. Just be cool, OK?

I concede that It’s Blitz is full of songs that are either slower or more danceable than all of the gems on Fever to Tell. Their debut album is something the band has never really topped. And sure, that’s worthy of some criticism. But every subsequent release has had at least two decent singles, and you know what? Maybe that’s enough for me. It was certainly enough for an awesome show.

My willingness to give Karen O. a “Get out of a worthy follow-up free” card is because I think she’s this fantastic icon. She sounds like she’s having an awesome orgasm on almost every track of Fever to Tell, and I suppose that made quite an impression on me. Aggressive, sexy, captivating and super eccentric – Karen O. is everything Lady Gaga wishes she could be. And she completely fulfilled my high expectations during the Yeah Yeah Yeahs show. Every move she made was exactly what it was supposed to be. She knew when to bounce around, she knew when to aim the mic into the sky or at the audience, she knew when to shoot water into the air from her mouth and let it rain down on her face, and she knew when to do sexy mouth things with her stage props:

Also, the whole show took place in front of a giant eyeball. And when it comes down to it, I have a weak spot for weird stage effects.

So maybe I have a crazy crush on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. NEVERTHELESS. Be cool to them, OK? They know how to deliver when it counts.

Choking on the stagnant fumes of my profound inadequacy

On Saturday I went to the Small Press Expo in North Bethesda, which is a super exciting thing for someone like me who is a) a fan of various web comics and b) just starting to branch out into the world of actual comic fandom. I’d been looking forward to it all week and had armed myself with a decent amount of cash I had put aside just for comics, but for some reason when the day came, I had a case of the grumps and some old school low self-esteem.

Not only was this a bummer, but it was illogical. A convention for comics is easily the nerdiest thing I had ever attended, and if I am going to feel superior anywhere, it theoretically should be a place full of people who inexplicably dress poorer than I do. But nonetheless, I woke up grumpy, the metro was too packed to squeeze into, I was late meeting my friends, and a huge room full of excited people and too many tables to take in was not my prime environment. So even though I was at SPX with a rather large group of friends, I spent most of the day alone, wandering around in a daze feeling too shy to speak to anyone, even the handful of comic artists I am a fan of and had been pumped about meeting.

So I set about to spend my money systematically: I would buy whatever Fart Party book was available, as it had been recommended to me by Slog as well as some friends. The rest of my money would be spent at the Fantagraphics table on a Paul Hornschemeier book (I ended up choosing Mother Come Home, easily the saddest book I could find).

Being a popular web comic artist, Julia Wertz was not only at the convention, but she had actually spoken on the panel we attended, “Comics Online and In Print.” I only knew that Fart Party was a pretty successful slice of life comic that was both personal and funny. When I purchased my copy, I had no idea what to say, and Wertz did not seem to be in the mood to deal with my awkwardness. She cracked a really dry joke, and I kind of mumbled some shit. I didn’t even ask her to sign it. Because I am apparently incapable of normal human interactions.

When I finally rejoined with my friends I apologized for my funk and recounted my stupid, mopey behavior. They whisked me back inside, forcing upon me a quick, last ditch tour, during which they lingered in front of the Fart Party table until I asked Wertz to sign my book like a normal fucking person. She obliged, and while she wasn’t really any friendlier, nor did she spell my name correctly, she did draw something that was either a heart-shaped whiskey bottle, or male genitalia (it was probably the former, but I’m fine with either).

So that was all well and awkward. But after quickly making my way through her book, I feel better about things. Because Julia Wertz and I are the same person. Main example:

The aftermath of SPX found me with a couple slice of life comics that, if nothing else, illustrated that everyone – even famous web comic artists – have the exact same kind of bad days that I do. Julia Wertz may have thought I was an idiot, but I know she has days where she feels the same way, and that makes it a little bit OK.

The other great find of SPX was Dar, a pervy, hilarious comic by Erika Moen. Like every good slice of life comic, she also allows for many moments I can relate to. Here is an awesome one:

Anyway. Those were my great finds. Check them out.

Watch out, toddler!

This monster-laden video for “Kids” by MGMT is way crazier – and in my opinion, more appropriate to the song – than the previous one I had seen.

Also, apparently negligent mother is played by Joanna Newsom. Sweet.

The grossest miracle ever

Today I was Internetting, and I decided to poke through some old Natalie Dee blog posts. Natalie is the wife of Drew who is known for Toothpaste For Dinner and Married to the Sea, and she also draws cartoons.

For those of you who are not familiar with Natalie Dee, here is a sample comic:

Anyway, Natalie’s blog features personal posts, pictures of her baby and pug, and also a fun Q and A feature called “Ask Natalie.” Because it was my day off and I obviously don’t have things like music reviews and job applications to worry about, I found her blog post about giving childbirth. And oh man. So gross.

So the actual birthing bit is a C-section, which sounded really weird, but you know, what you expect. The actual horrifying stuff is everything that leads up to it (she is holed up in bed for awhile with preeclampsia). But even stuff like her feet swelling is nothing I want a part of, ever:

The worst part of it was, it would pit when I pressed on my ankles and stuff. If you are not familiar with the term “pitting edema”, I invite you to do a Google image search of it. Those fat feet with the dents in them? That is what I got, out of nowhere. Frat boys could’ve done body shots outta my foot pits. This was the worst thing that happened during my pregnancy (aside from the grand finale, which we will get to), since I LIKE my feet.

Natalie is a funny lady and she is generous with details, but I don’t really get the impression that she was trying to be particularly gross or shocking.  I think it’s just that everything about pregnancy and birth is uncomfortable at best and excruciating/vomit-inducing at worst, and oh man, do not want. I mean, sure you can see pictures of her cute premie baby now, but whatever. I’ll take a barking, peeing puppy over a crying smelly baby, thank you very much. All of you people I know who are baby crazy are insane.

Also, for good measure, some Garfunkel and Oates:

Can anyone tell me how to obtain a jerboa?

It’s been awhile since I’ve dedicated a post entirely to cute things.

I know absolutely nothing about pygmy jerboas, but from this video it looks like they are some kind of cross breed between a cute rodent and a tiny bird. This particular one looks like a wise, tiny, disproportionate old man.

Also, this is what I imagine kittens are like if you feed them narcotics.

The Science of Gael Garcia Bernal’s GIANT HANDS!!!!

Believe it or not, last night was the first night I watched The Science of Sleep the whole way through. Following this experience, I had two superficial reactions and then one real one. They are as follows:

LOOK OUT!

Superficial reaction one:
Synopsis – Weird Boy meets Weird Girl and they embark on a weirdlationship. Michel Gondry throws in a bunch of avant garde visual effects. Hipsters everywhere cream their pants.

Superficial reaction two:
Holy shit, a movie where Gael Garcia Bernal is super sensitive and creative and quirky, and also you see his penis. A+

What I really thought:
I actually thought this movie was really sad. Anything that really relates to being out of touch with reality and dealing with life via delusion kind of depresses me, and while I definitely don’t want to say that this is essentially what The Science of Sleep is about, it’s definitely a decent part of the plot.

Obviously this movie is notable because of the creative efforts that are put into Stephane’s dreams/fantasies, but the real hook is the bits of reality we get in comparison. So much of the movie is Stephane’s subjective view (which makes for an attractive, personal feeling). But the sparse parts that are an objective reality (and it’s hard at times to identify them) are precious and striking to watch.

The final segment where Stephane visits Stephanie for the last time was a little bit heart-wrenching. They share one more bit of fantasy together, but for the most part Stephane is making crude, hurtful comments out of defense. It is something you couldn’t possibly see from his point of view, because it’s something that people do all the time when they feel cornered and hurt. It is real and devastating, and in these final moments of the film it is clear that Stephane is not just our quirky, lovable narrator, he is a very sensitive, almost despairing person whose confusion between reality and fantasy probably is too extreme for him to relate to anyone romantically. So even though the last thing we see is Stephane and Stephanie riding across a cellophane river on Golden the Pony Boy, I still overall have sad feelings about The Science of Sleep.

Related issues: Why I think Pan’s Labyrinth is like the saddest movie ever while all of my other friends think it is happy.