There's a reason why I avoid Top-40 radio; reason being: It's generally garbage, with too few highlights (hi, AAR) in between commercials and commercialized pop trash to be worth listening to. Not improving this situation is an artist I once admired. Her name is Gwen Stefani.
While I understand that it's a common notion that ska is dead and her former outfit No Doubt evolved their sound, No Doubt's evolution was never really... Bad. The songwriting skill and effort were there. Their hearts were in it. The lyrics were--and remained--, though occasionally trite (enough about Tony Kanal already, seriously--you're married to someone eleventeen billion times better looking, and with a charming British accent to boot), inspired and honest. The vocals were strong and earnest. You believed Gwen was a frustrated almost-feminist in "Just a Girl." You believed she wanted to settle down and get married and be a homemaker in "Simple Kind of Life." You even believed that she wanted to keep dancing in the admittedly mediocre--and telling of things to come--"Hella Good." You believed she was really smitten in "Underneath It All," really torn in "Bathwater."
But how can you believe a thirty-something talking about fighting a beeyotch near the bleachers of a high school, a la the ever-irritating yet inexplicably overplayed "Hollaback Girl" of What You Waiting For (which, I should point out, is missing a verb)? Gwen alienated most of her purely musical, as opposed to image-based, fans with her solo debut, and she's only pushing us further away with her latest release, The Sweet Escape.
It's not that I don't like dance music. I do, quite a bit, and I find that Gwen could, would, and should be capable of creating some quality material with it. But she didn't before, and she hasn't started now. Her producers are quality (The Neptunes, Swizz Beats, and her former flame Tony Kanal, among others), her beats are decent--but her songwriting hasn't improved, and her choice of samples has gone straight to Hell: "Wind It Up" is an absolute disaster. What could have been kitschy, cute, and catchy is instead so unabashedly atrocious, annoying, and aggravating that I find it shouldn't even be played in solitary confinements for fear of ever-rising prisoner suicide rates.
The album's saving graces are Stefani's actual voice and her sense of humor, both of which are waning. The title track showcases both, with her catchy hook and blaming her emotional coldness on presumably Gavin's leaving the fridge door open. Not helping this song is the pointless Akon cameo, but this is the least of our worries. I'd rather have him around than those creepy nouveau-geishas, commonly called "Harajuku girls."
What's most disturbing about Gwen is that she pretty much admits she's after a quick buck merely three tracks in with "Orange County Girl," where she sings, "Don’t know what I’m doin’ back in the studio/Gettin’ greedy cause he said he had another sick flow ... I got the L.A.M.B. and he’s rockin’ the Ice Cream/Blend it together, something fresh and kinda in between/Writing down my feelings is something that I love/So I don’t really give a ****." In saying she only wants to express her feelings (which I can only imagine are pure materialism and scorn for eardrums everywhere), she first has to namedrop her fashion line that most of her young fans can't afford. Gwen is more concerned with style than substance. That works for her fashion shows, but it doesn't bode well for her live ones.
*By Jess, who now needs to be lobotomized.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Insert popular Death Cab song title here.
I usually never make resolutions, seeing as I'm more than aware that I have little self-control or discipline to keep up with them for more than three hours or so past midnight, but this year I want to try my hand at a few. Some of last year's worked out well (taking my vitamins, not running red lights because I'm not paying attention, and learning to bellydance and giftwrap--not simultaneously). This year, some are again more goals than resolutions, but nonetheless, here's my list:
1) Learn to cook.
I want to be able to eat things that don't require the use of a microwave or toaster oven. I want to be able to boil water without using a Pyrex and 60-second setting. I want to be competent, dammit. I already taught myself to bake recently, so I'm hoping this works out as well as that did. I make some killer cookies, dude, so maybe a try at lasagna won't be too traumatizing. I'm also a germaphobe, so I can pretty much guarantee you'll never get salmonella from my cooking.
2) Have more patience.
This is going to be so hard, because I have to go from having "none" to having quite a bit. Pray for me. I forget that not everyone understands the same things I do, just like how I don't understand when in my life, other than finals week, I'm going to need to know how to compose a parabola.
3) Accept that not everything is always going to be under my control.
Though I must admit, I think if everything were, the world would be running a lot more smoothly than it is now. But yeah. I think I'll be a lot less frustrated a lot less often if I can just relinquish my need to run things all the time.
4) Be more punctual.
I'm usually late for everything. I don't like this characteristic, but I think it stems more from my being easily distracted than from pure carelessness, because I'll be completely ready to go--and then Prince will come on, and I'll have to dance, and I wind up out the door eight minutes later than anticipated (if the song is "Purple Rain," that is).
5) Learn how to fly a plane.
My dad can do it. My brother Steve can do it. Why shouldn't I be able to? (Insert chauvinist remark here.)
6) Stop rationalizing poor behavior.
See my reasoning for my lack of promptness in number four? Yeah, that's got to go. So does my leniency toward certain people for their lacks of consideration. I'm not going to be all tacky-manners-police about it (because that's rude in spite of itself), but if, despite my sincerest attempts at resolution two, I lose my patience--expect a proverbial slap on the wrist if it happens too often.
7) Go skydiving.
Steve, are you paying attention?
8) Love my enemies.
Okay, okay, maybe I won't necessarily adore them, but I'm starting to humanize them a little more already. People are people. Not everyone has to like everyone (though I still don't understand why there aren't more Jets fans).
9) Stop friggin' procrastinating.
I was actually going to wait until January 1st to post this. I'm on my way.
10) Learn learn learn.
The prospects of my marrying rich are getting bleaker every day... I need to study a lot more.
*By Jess, who has a new addiction to cherry Hershey Kisses, and hopes you'll all help keep her on track for 2007.
1) Learn to cook.
I want to be able to eat things that don't require the use of a microwave or toaster oven. I want to be able to boil water without using a Pyrex and 60-second setting. I want to be competent, dammit. I already taught myself to bake recently, so I'm hoping this works out as well as that did. I make some killer cookies, dude, so maybe a try at lasagna won't be too traumatizing. I'm also a germaphobe, so I can pretty much guarantee you'll never get salmonella from my cooking.
2) Have more patience.
This is going to be so hard, because I have to go from having "none" to having quite a bit. Pray for me. I forget that not everyone understands the same things I do, just like how I don't understand when in my life, other than finals week, I'm going to need to know how to compose a parabola.
3) Accept that not everything is always going to be under my control.
Though I must admit, I think if everything were, the world would be running a lot more smoothly than it is now. But yeah. I think I'll be a lot less frustrated a lot less often if I can just relinquish my need to run things all the time.
4) Be more punctual.
I'm usually late for everything. I don't like this characteristic, but I think it stems more from my being easily distracted than from pure carelessness, because I'll be completely ready to go--and then Prince will come on, and I'll have to dance, and I wind up out the door eight minutes later than anticipated (if the song is "Purple Rain," that is).
5) Learn how to fly a plane.
My dad can do it. My brother Steve can do it. Why shouldn't I be able to? (Insert chauvinist remark here.)
6) Stop rationalizing poor behavior.
See my reasoning for my lack of promptness in number four? Yeah, that's got to go. So does my leniency toward certain people for their lacks of consideration. I'm not going to be all tacky-manners-police about it (because that's rude in spite of itself), but if, despite my sincerest attempts at resolution two, I lose my patience--expect a proverbial slap on the wrist if it happens too often.
7) Go skydiving.
Steve, are you paying attention?
8) Love my enemies.
Okay, okay, maybe I won't necessarily adore them, but I'm starting to humanize them a little more already. People are people. Not everyone has to like everyone (though I still don't understand why there aren't more Jets fans).
9) Stop friggin' procrastinating.
I was actually going to wait until January 1st to post this. I'm on my way.
10) Learn learn learn.
The prospects of my marrying rich are getting bleaker every day... I need to study a lot more.
*By Jess, who has a new addiction to cherry Hershey Kisses, and hopes you'll all help keep her on track for 2007.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake...
Really, how creepy is that notion?
I love Christmas, I really do. But as a child, the voyeuristic aspect of Saint Nick perturbed me a little. I'd always sit and think, "Is Santa watching me tinkle? Wouldn't that make him naughty--a pedophile, even--and therefore a hypocrite?" Obviously, my soliloquies would've been worded a bit differently when I was five, but you get my drift.
I'd also wonder, since he was always watching, if he could read minds too. Because sometimes, actions that would presumably place one on the "naughty" list had the very nicest of intentions (perhaps why the road to Hell is paved as such). When I knocked out Marcus on the playground? That was because he kicked a soccer ball right in my face, dude. I was just teaching him a lesson, and I really didn't mean to punch him that hard. All the times I was less than polite to telemarketers? They called during dinner time, and I'm Italian. We don't like being interrupted when food is in front of us.
My pondering intensified when, at six years old, my parents took my brother and me to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. It was a fine show, no doubt, but the Santa in the lobby? His beard fell off. When I paired this potentially damaging visual with the observation I'd made that his handwriting on the gifttags was eerily similar to my mom's, I was absolutely devastated. I attempted to launch a miniature coup d'etat with nearby children until he reaffixed his facial tufts (I could still see the adhesive) and my parents, hawk eyes that they had, steered me towards the exit before I could make a scene.
I knew that lying was naughty and that I should tell the truth to the other kids (the same mode of thinking ironically almost got me kicked out of Sunday school a few years later, but that's another entry entirely), but the look in that Santa's eyes broke my heart. He looked frightened of the little girl with pigtails and her front teeth missing who barely came up to the red velvet knee she sat upon. I felt sorry for him.
This put me in a bit of a moral dilemma: I could be an honest, upstanding child and break the news to the rest of my kindergarten class--or I could keep the secret, and the magic, alive. I chose the latter, mostly because I didn't want to ruin anyone's holiday--and also for own smug ego, so that a few years later when they came to their realizations on their own, I could sit and think to myself, "Old news!"
The moral of the story? "Naughty" and "nice" are subjective. This year, do what feels right.
For me, that'd be Lenny Kravitz.
Merry Christmas.
*By Jess, who really likes the carol "The Little Drummer Boy," for a few reasons... A ruh-pum-pum-pum!
I love Christmas, I really do. But as a child, the voyeuristic aspect of Saint Nick perturbed me a little. I'd always sit and think, "Is Santa watching me tinkle? Wouldn't that make him naughty--a pedophile, even--and therefore a hypocrite?" Obviously, my soliloquies would've been worded a bit differently when I was five, but you get my drift.
I'd also wonder, since he was always watching, if he could read minds too. Because sometimes, actions that would presumably place one on the "naughty" list had the very nicest of intentions (perhaps why the road to Hell is paved as such). When I knocked out Marcus on the playground? That was because he kicked a soccer ball right in my face, dude. I was just teaching him a lesson, and I really didn't mean to punch him that hard. All the times I was less than polite to telemarketers? They called during dinner time, and I'm Italian. We don't like being interrupted when food is in front of us.
My pondering intensified when, at six years old, my parents took my brother and me to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. It was a fine show, no doubt, but the Santa in the lobby? His beard fell off. When I paired this potentially damaging visual with the observation I'd made that his handwriting on the gifttags was eerily similar to my mom's, I was absolutely devastated. I attempted to launch a miniature coup d'etat with nearby children until he reaffixed his facial tufts (I could still see the adhesive) and my parents, hawk eyes that they had, steered me towards the exit before I could make a scene.
I knew that lying was naughty and that I should tell the truth to the other kids (the same mode of thinking ironically almost got me kicked out of Sunday school a few years later, but that's another entry entirely), but the look in that Santa's eyes broke my heart. He looked frightened of the little girl with pigtails and her front teeth missing who barely came up to the red velvet knee she sat upon. I felt sorry for him.
This put me in a bit of a moral dilemma: I could be an honest, upstanding child and break the news to the rest of my kindergarten class--or I could keep the secret, and the magic, alive. I chose the latter, mostly because I didn't want to ruin anyone's holiday--and also for own smug ego, so that a few years later when they came to their realizations on their own, I could sit and think to myself, "Old news!"
The moral of the story? "Naughty" and "nice" are subjective. This year, do what feels right.
For me, that'd be Lenny Kravitz.
Merry Christmas.
*By Jess, who really likes the carol "The Little Drummer Boy," for a few reasons... A ruh-pum-pum-pum!
Monday, December 18, 2006
Current Addictions
1. THE RASMUS: I got their first CD way back in my college days when I was an editor at the school paper. Having seen pictures of them all over UK magazines, I ripped open that CD in a sea of excitement. And I think I hated it. I sure can't remember it, so it obviously didn't grab me then. BUT I LOVE the new CD, Hide From the Sun. I think I like them better then their fellow Finland natives, HIM (calm down, I like HIM, but they can get kinda boring). This is a good CD to make out or sway to, sing along with, and simply listen to while trying to figure out what's up with the vocalist's hair.
2. KILL HANNAH: Their name had me at hello, their pictures showed me they had style and their tour dates (opening tours for Lostprophets in the US and Shiny Toy Guns in the UK) convinced me to check them out. And although the vocals took a bit getting used to, they eventually are what won me over. These songs are like sugar. Once you get them in your system you want more. more. more! Oh, and did I mention they have way hot merch? Skirts! I'll leave you with that.
*By Joelle, who will be interviewing Kill Hannah in January!!!!
the next 12 months....
...i want to see a new picture of Mickdeth every month. Because he is just THAT COOL, the Eighteen Visions bassist has his own calendar. It goes quite well with his new clothing company, Dethless, that is expected to launch in January. 18 V are one of my favorite bands to photograph, 98 percent because of Mickdeth. He is such a ham, but not in a corny way. He knows how to put on a show and give the crowd what they want. Plus, he is tattooed and straight-edge and a role model for all who aspire to be sober, colorful, and modeling while covered in fake blood. OK? Check it. www.myspace.com/mickdeth.
*By Joelle, who should go to bed now because she obviously is rambling and corny.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
New Brunswick gets a heavy friggin' dose rock n' roll (and vivacity!)
There are few bands in this world worth an hour-plus stint of hiding in a cramped, cobwebbed, minimally sanitary public restroom stall for.
(Think I'm lying? I played tic-tac-toe on the wall to keep entertained. This was the first game I've won in a while, and I think my opponent just gave me a mercy victory anyway:)
Two such bands are Perfuma,
*By Jess, who is grateful for the free Shirley Temple granted to her last night, and who is working on six hours of sleep in the last three days and therefore apologizes for a probable lack of coherence in this entry.
(Think I'm lying? I played tic-tac-toe on the wall to keep entertained. This was the first game I've won in a while, and I think my opponent just gave me a mercy victory anyway:)
Two such bands are Perfuma,
who debuted their supertall new bassist, Tucker (formerly of the Pennyroyals),
and Hero Pattern, who, as usual, owned the audience (and were quite guyvacious, which is like "vivacious," only without the feminine gender bias):
While I'm on the subject of "guyvacity," I would like to say that the man exiting the women's restroom last night as I was entering not only confused the daylights out of me, but also left the seat up and didn't flush. One of the three offenses is permissible, but gimme a break, dude. I don't know who this fellow was, but if he is reading this, I hope he knows that is repulsive, rude, and subject to castration herein.
Oh yeah, I went there.
Oh yeah, I went there.
*By Jess, who is grateful for the free Shirley Temple granted to her last night, and who is working on six hours of sleep in the last three days and therefore apologizes for a probable lack of coherence in this entry.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Wide eyed, alive
I really, really, really love The Junior Varsity. Their keyboardist, Nick Dodson, may very well be the sweetest guy in the world. So sweet, in fact, that my cohort Ashley and I took it literally and made the band brownies for their show tonight:
Aren't they festive and scrumptious looking? And check out my girl's color coordination. Good thing I didn't wear gray too, as I'd originally planned, otherwise we'd look like two cracked out Betty Crockers.
Not pictured: Me, because I was/am having a bad hair day.
Aren't they festive and scrumptious looking? And check out my girl's color coordination. Good thing I didn't wear gray too, as I'd originally planned, otherwise we'd look like two cracked out Betty Crockers.Not pictured: Me, because I was/am having a bad hair day.
However, our baked goods made us the absolute most popular women to ever step foot in the School of Rock.
Seriously girls, if you want a surefire way to have a hefty collection of phone numbers at the end of an evening out--just bring some sort of cake.
Okay, okay, being cute helps too.
*By Jess, who seriously only bakes for Junior Varsity shows, though if John Mayer asked for a pie, she'd probably oblige
Okay, okay, being cute helps too.
*By Jess, who seriously only bakes for Junior Varsity shows, though if John Mayer asked for a pie, she'd probably oblige
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Help our friends out!
Vote for Spitalfield here!
http://www.mtvu.com/music/freshmen/
They really deserve this and you can vote as many times as you want.
AND! Vote for the Jets here (or whoever, it's for charity so I won't get too mad at you):
http://chunky.com/clickforcansvote.aspx
*By Jess, who had a dream about the Junior Varsity last night and is looking forward to seeing them this weekend
http://www.mtvu.com/music/freshmen/
They really deserve this and you can vote as many times as you want.
AND! Vote for the Jets here (or whoever, it's for charity so I won't get too mad at you):
http://chunky.com/clickforcansvote.aspx
*By Jess, who had a dream about the Junior Varsity last night and is looking forward to seeing them this weekend
Monday, December 04, 2006
Got the urge to splurge?
Admit it, it's happened to you. It's happened to the best of us. You're out holiday shopping for friends and family and end up spending half your paycheck on yourself. After all, it was on sale/cheap/there was only one left/you had a bad week and deserve it, etc. And that's just shopping retail. Now onto the Internet and an album you need to buy off it.
You suffered all year long listening to disapointing releases and the same 'ol boring songs on the radio. You owe it to yourself to hear something invigorating. Something that hasn't been done so well since Sonny and Cher. The most romantic unromantic, inspiring and sexy sounds to come from, well, anyone.
Meet Scott and Aimee. Fall in love. They did. You deserve it.
The story goes like a little like this: Scott Russo gained major musical cred fronting the legendary punk-turned-rock band, Unwritten Law. He's known as the "bad boy," with a rep for doing naughty things like lighting up midset while performing onstage at the smoke-free CBGBs (RIP) and pissing off the soundman to the point where he shut the lights off on the band. Meanwhile, Aimee Allen is making a name for herself as a solo artist and scores a gig opening up for Unwritten Law on tour. Aimee met Scott and soon her name was etched into his guitar as "Scott Loves Aimee." Sparks flew and a beautiful side project was born soon after. And boy does it have attitude!
"Scott and Aimee Sitting in a Tree," is their debut album. But don't expect lovely dovey songs here. We'll leave the puke indusing tunes to Jessica Simpson and whoeverher father cons into marrying her next.
Scott and Aimee have lived life on the edge and survived to write about it. Their personalities shine through and capture listeners. With the chorus "I don't want to be your Miss America, I won't be your queen for just one day," the song "Miss America" is an anthem for young women everywhere. Not since Alanis back in '95 has a women singer taken such a powerful stand for womenkind as Aimee Allen. Girls, take notes. Songs like "I'm Not Your Girlfriend," suggest fucking for the fun of it (Sex and The City anyone?) and "Girl With Issues" should help all those little emo girls from slicing their wrists once they see what real pain is.
With various musical styles, from hard rockin' "Good Times" and "Kiss the Gun" to reggae infused "Southern California Kind of Love" and the acoustic "Too Fucked Up (To Be in Love)," the pair are packing in venues, drawing 500 Cali kids (and Mr. Kid Rock and Pamela to shows, but that's another media frenzy). Those of us out East are deprived for now, but at least we have the CD and some really cool merch to get by.
Listen to them here: www.myspace.com/scottandaimee
*By Joelle, who doesn't really like female singers but has a non-lesbian crush on Aimee and has loved Unwritten Law ever since she heard "Teenage Suicide" on a surfing video and listens to "Sitting in a Tree" nonstop.
You suffered all year long listening to disapointing releases and the same 'ol boring songs on the radio. You owe it to yourself to hear something invigorating. Something that hasn't been done so well since Sonny and Cher. The most romantic unromantic, inspiring and sexy sounds to come from, well, anyone.
Meet Scott and Aimee. Fall in love. They did. You deserve it.
The story goes like a little like this: Scott Russo gained major musical cred fronting the legendary punk-turned-rock band, Unwritten Law. He's known as the "bad boy," with a rep for doing naughty things like lighting up midset while performing onstage at the smoke-free CBGBs (RIP) and pissing off the soundman to the point where he shut the lights off on the band. Meanwhile, Aimee Allen is making a name for herself as a solo artist and scores a gig opening up for Unwritten Law on tour. Aimee met Scott and soon her name was etched into his guitar as "Scott Loves Aimee." Sparks flew and a beautiful side project was born soon after. And boy does it have attitude!
"Scott and Aimee Sitting in a Tree," is their debut album. But don't expect lovely dovey songs here. We'll leave the puke indusing tunes to Jessica Simpson and whoeverher father cons into marrying her next.
Scott and Aimee have lived life on the edge and survived to write about it. Their personalities shine through and capture listeners. With the chorus "I don't want to be your Miss America, I won't be your queen for just one day," the song "Miss America" is an anthem for young women everywhere. Not since Alanis back in '95 has a women singer taken such a powerful stand for womenkind as Aimee Allen. Girls, take notes. Songs like "I'm Not Your Girlfriend," suggest fucking for the fun of it (Sex and The City anyone?) and "Girl With Issues" should help all those little emo girls from slicing their wrists once they see what real pain is.
With various musical styles, from hard rockin' "Good Times" and "Kiss the Gun" to reggae infused "Southern California Kind of Love" and the acoustic "Too Fucked Up (To Be in Love)," the pair are packing in venues, drawing 500 Cali kids (and Mr. Kid Rock and Pamela to shows, but that's another media frenzy). Those of us out East are deprived for now, but at least we have the CD and some really cool merch to get by.
Listen to them here: www.myspace.com/scottandaimee
*By Joelle, who doesn't really like female singers but has a non-lesbian crush on Aimee and has loved Unwritten Law ever since she heard "Teenage Suicide" on a surfing video and listens to "Sitting in a Tree" nonstop.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
All I want for Christmas (besides you, dear reader) is an end to shitty musical nepotism.
I'm not talking the father-son kind (because really, Bob Dylan's spawn did well with The Wallflowers, and Sean Lennon's new work is pretty damn good). I'm talking the sibling variety.
First we had Aaron Carter riding the coattails of his Backstreet Boy older brother, Nick. In an orange jumpsuit. And chains. On a trampoline. How utterly gangster, and I say that with an "er" instead of an "a" at the end deliberately.
Soon, we had the Duff sisters (Hilary, who hints occasionally that Aaron Carter actually inspired the hit "So Yesterday," despite her not really writing it), butchering my two favorite songs by two of my favorite bands of all time, The Go-Gos and Blondie. I feel that whoever allowed this to happen should be sent to Abu Ghraib. No paycheck is worth that humiliation. Oh, and speaking of "So Yesterday," I'd like to reiterate a lyric from that for you guys, only because I have to hear it at work every day: "If the light is off, then it isn't on." No shit, sister. The lightbulbs in your overpaid lyricist's heads must have been dimmed to the point of darkness to come up with such inane garbage.
Then we had the Simpson sisters trying to sing. As if Jessica weren't bad enough with her alternately wailing-whispering-hacking (I'm quite ashamed to have her as a namesake), we decided that we wanted more complete and total shit on radio, so we give her gravelly-"voiced" sister a record deal, and she winds up selling even more albums than Jessica ever did despite her ability to vocalize anything besides publicist-bullshit-diatribe (acid reflux my patootie) live being more than a little questionable.
And now, my friends?
Lindsay Lohan's little sister, Ali, is releasing a Christmas album.
If someone would give me a taser as a stocking stuffer, I'd put an end to this insanity.
*By Jess, who is happy that the Jets won today.
First we had Aaron Carter riding the coattails of his Backstreet Boy older brother, Nick. In an orange jumpsuit. And chains. On a trampoline. How utterly gangster, and I say that with an "er" instead of an "a" at the end deliberately.
Soon, we had the Duff sisters (Hilary, who hints occasionally that Aaron Carter actually inspired the hit "So Yesterday," despite her not really writing it), butchering my two favorite songs by two of my favorite bands of all time, The Go-Gos and Blondie. I feel that whoever allowed this to happen should be sent to Abu Ghraib. No paycheck is worth that humiliation. Oh, and speaking of "So Yesterday," I'd like to reiterate a lyric from that for you guys, only because I have to hear it at work every day: "If the light is off, then it isn't on." No shit, sister. The lightbulbs in your overpaid lyricist's heads must have been dimmed to the point of darkness to come up with such inane garbage.
Then we had the Simpson sisters trying to sing. As if Jessica weren't bad enough with her alternately wailing-whispering-hacking (I'm quite ashamed to have her as a namesake), we decided that we wanted more complete and total shit on radio, so we give her gravelly-"voiced" sister a record deal, and she winds up selling even more albums than Jessica ever did despite her ability to vocalize anything besides publicist-bullshit-diatribe (acid reflux my patootie) live being more than a little questionable.
And now, my friends?
Lindsay Lohan's little sister, Ali, is releasing a Christmas album.
If someone would give me a taser as a stocking stuffer, I'd put an end to this insanity.
*By Jess, who is happy that the Jets won today.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Three things every cool kid does:
1. They give The Miracle of You donations so they can get a new van after their old one got totaled (remarkably, my driving was not involved).
To make a fast, secure, and easy donation, use the PayPal button on www.myspace.com/themiracleofyou. Any donations of twenty bucks or more gets you a neat shirt that they designed themselves (and those boys are snazzy dressers--they often wear cool hats). These guys are good friends of mine, good huggers, and just good people who had some bad luck. And Christmas is coming. Be nice to them and Santa will be nice to you (or karma, if you don't celebrate Christmas).
2. They keep me company at Hero Pattern shows.
Tomorrow night around 9 PM, these fellas will be playing at The Saint in Asbury Park. It's 18+, so if you're legal, you should come out and dance and sing and have fun with me. And you get bonus points if you're tall enough to be able to get pictures of that dirtbag drummer of theirs (kidding... mostly) without being blocked out by a cymbal like I always am.
3. They take my final exams for me.
Hey, it was worth a shot.
*by Jess, who is a fundraising aficionado
To make a fast, secure, and easy donation, use the PayPal button on www.myspace.com/themiracleofyou. Any donations of twenty bucks or more gets you a neat shirt that they designed themselves (and those boys are snazzy dressers--they often wear cool hats). These guys are good friends of mine, good huggers, and just good people who had some bad luck. And Christmas is coming. Be nice to them and Santa will be nice to you (or karma, if you don't celebrate Christmas).
2. They keep me company at Hero Pattern shows.
Tomorrow night around 9 PM, these fellas will be playing at The Saint in Asbury Park. It's 18+, so if you're legal, you should come out and dance and sing and have fun with me. And you get bonus points if you're tall enough to be able to get pictures of that dirtbag drummer of theirs (kidding... mostly) without being blocked out by a cymbal like I always am.
3. They take my final exams for me.
Hey, it was worth a shot.
*by Jess, who is a fundraising aficionado
Thoughts....
As I am sitting here in this cubicle style office my house has, I realized something pretty deep (deeper than I usually go...) Our whole lives we are striving to achieve the next step, the next goal, whatever it may be. Whether we are waiting to find out if we got the job, to find out if you got into college, or waiting for your band to gets its big break, or, just simply waiting for your food at a restaurant. We are ALL guilty of being in a rush....and not taking time to enjoy what's going on around us. I know I am. I realized today, that once you achieve the ultimate goal, whats next? Where do you go from there? We usually don't sit content with sucess for to long, we get bored so damn easily. SO, in turn, you/we being waiting for the next big mile stone. I have found that sometimes the most profound and most important things that happen to us, happen when we are waiting (and rushing) for the next big thing.... Life is happening, and you don't even know it. It's scary to think that while I was waiting for a guy to come along to sweep me of my feet (so-to-speak), I found myself with a job...and in turn, a career path. Something that I thought was always so far off in the distance.
My eyes were opened when I found out that a friend I had in high school recently died in a car accident. He wasn't a terribly close friend, just one I would always rely on for a good laugh, good advice. He used to ask me why I am always in a hurry to grow up, and I used to tell him over and over again, that I had things to do, I have a life to figure out. I've got news for y'all. Our lives are more figured out than we care to acknowledge....we are just to busy trying to change ourselves to realize it. He looked forward to the drive rather than the destination, I want to be more like that.
I hope that at some point today, all of you just simmer down, and instead of blowing off that phone call, answer it, and talk to the person. When you are waiting in line for that coffee, ask the person behind the counter how their day is going, don't rush them. In the scheme of things, 5 minutes is nothing, yet to someone, it could be everything....
SO, now everyone can go back to doing what they were doing. Just had a thought I figured I would share.
By the way, I am totally pissed that CVS sold out of my favorite lip gloss. What the heck? I am in neeeeeed!
Peace&Love
Amanda
My eyes were opened when I found out that a friend I had in high school recently died in a car accident. He wasn't a terribly close friend, just one I would always rely on for a good laugh, good advice. He used to ask me why I am always in a hurry to grow up, and I used to tell him over and over again, that I had things to do, I have a life to figure out. I've got news for y'all. Our lives are more figured out than we care to acknowledge....we are just to busy trying to change ourselves to realize it. He looked forward to the drive rather than the destination, I want to be more like that.
I hope that at some point today, all of you just simmer down, and instead of blowing off that phone call, answer it, and talk to the person. When you are waiting in line for that coffee, ask the person behind the counter how their day is going, don't rush them. In the scheme of things, 5 minutes is nothing, yet to someone, it could be everything....
SO, now everyone can go back to doing what they were doing. Just had a thought I figured I would share.
By the way, I am totally pissed that CVS sold out of my favorite lip gloss. What the heck? I am in neeeeeed!
Peace&Love
Amanda
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Thank you, thank you very much.
I'm taking an astronomy course this semester, and I did better than most of the class did on my midterm for it (which isn't saying much, considering the mean score was slightly over 50%, but I digress), and that is going to be my license for the proceeding entry. I'm not sure where I originally intended on going with this, but for what it's worth:
By John D. Fix's Astronomy: Journey to the Cosmic Frontier textbook definition, the universe is "all the matter and space there is." Therefore, there is no real center. Can there be a center of everything everywhere?
And with that, being a rather at times self-centered girl myself, I have to say how disgusted I am with people in general thinking they are, in fact, that elusive center of all space and matter.
Here's where I get cliche: Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Be thankful for everything you've got, because it's probably more than you realize. Instead of bitching about not having a boyfriend (can you tell I hear this shit all the time? Seriously, stop coming to me with this issue girls), be happy you're not a widow or in an abusive relationship. Instead of complaining about traffic, be happy you've got a car and somewhere to go with it. Instead of whining about how your mom's pumpkin pie recipe is going to go right to your hips, be happy you're not having your dinner alone in a soup kitchen like so many others.
The fact is, the universe is a rather large place. Even if one of us were to be the legitimate center of it (that seems to come with a lot pressure, doesn't it?), that doesn't mean we don't need to pay attention to the rest of the space and matter around us. Open your eyes. Read the newspapers. Do something charitable. What good is being the center of the universe if you don't improve the infinite masses surrounding you?
*By Jess, who is thankful for Kingdom Come by Jay-Z, The Best of Depeche Mode Vol. 1, and for a large container of cashews on her kitchen counter that grants her the liberty to say "Dude, get off my nuts" whenever she pleases.
By John D. Fix's Astronomy: Journey to the Cosmic Frontier textbook definition, the universe is "all the matter and space there is." Therefore, there is no real center. Can there be a center of everything everywhere?
And with that, being a rather at times self-centered girl myself, I have to say how disgusted I am with people in general thinking they are, in fact, that elusive center of all space and matter.
Here's where I get cliche: Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Be thankful for everything you've got, because it's probably more than you realize. Instead of bitching about not having a boyfriend (can you tell I hear this shit all the time? Seriously, stop coming to me with this issue girls), be happy you're not a widow or in an abusive relationship. Instead of complaining about traffic, be happy you've got a car and somewhere to go with it. Instead of whining about how your mom's pumpkin pie recipe is going to go right to your hips, be happy you're not having your dinner alone in a soup kitchen like so many others.
The fact is, the universe is a rather large place. Even if one of us were to be the legitimate center of it (that seems to come with a lot pressure, doesn't it?), that doesn't mean we don't need to pay attention to the rest of the space and matter around us. Open your eyes. Read the newspapers. Do something charitable. What good is being the center of the universe if you don't improve the infinite masses surrounding you?
*By Jess, who is thankful for Kingdom Come by Jay-Z, The Best of Depeche Mode Vol. 1, and for a large container of cashews on her kitchen counter that grants her the liberty to say "Dude, get off my nuts" whenever she pleases.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Attn: Converse, your day is over
While I was getting my hair dyed today, I looked over at the 40-somethingish surban mom getting her frosted hair straightened. She was wearing brand spankin' new Converse, so clean you could probably eat off them.
#1-- Converse are NOT supposed to be clean.
#2-- She was an uncool mom.
Now, in the next chair over from her was a three year-old little boy. Wearing... CONVERSE!! His mom was also totally unhip, but he looked adorable so it didn't matter.
The moral of the story? Punk's look has gone totally mainstream and either has to be taken back, or better yet, get even more creative, push fashion boundaries even further and look unique again!!! Fishnets, cut-off tights under skirts....these looks all generated from punk rock and are now available off the rack at Macys. Oh, and the best, saddest example ever? SKULLS!!!! They are so totally uncool now that designers have started using them--I even saw a skull hoodie in a HIP HOP store the other day!!! But the clueless mainstream shoppers take pride in wearing them now, so enjoy it, 'cause we cool fashionistas (i hate that word, why did i use is??!!) will find something better.
*Joelle, who went from jet black to almost platnium blonde--hey it's a work in progress to get there! lol
#1-- Converse are NOT supposed to be clean.
#2-- She was an uncool mom.
Now, in the next chair over from her was a three year-old little boy. Wearing... CONVERSE!! His mom was also totally unhip, but he looked adorable so it didn't matter.
The moral of the story? Punk's look has gone totally mainstream and either has to be taken back, or better yet, get even more creative, push fashion boundaries even further and look unique again!!! Fishnets, cut-off tights under skirts....these looks all generated from punk rock and are now available off the rack at Macys. Oh, and the best, saddest example ever? SKULLS!!!! They are so totally uncool now that designers have started using them--I even saw a skull hoodie in a HIP HOP store the other day!!! But the clueless mainstream shoppers take pride in wearing them now, so enjoy it, 'cause we cool fashionistas (i hate that word, why did i use is??!!) will find something better.
*Joelle, who went from jet black to almost platnium blonde--hey it's a work in progress to get there! lol
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Let the Girl Set the Speed!
This post is about etiquette.
I know what you might be thinking: what is a post about etiquette doing in this blog? Or maybe you're thinking "Jordana... she's the girl who writes about sex, I know what this post, with a subject like 'Let the Girl Set the Speed,' is about!"
For the record, when it comes to relationships or sex, the speed should be set by whoever is at a slower speed. You've got all the time in the world; if you rush it someone is going to be uncomfortable (Person "A" at Slow Speed "X").
However, that is all completely different from what I'm getting at here. What I'm getting at here is etiquette, not advice like what I've offered above.
So lets get to it...
Guys, when you're walking next to a girl, let the girl set the speed!
On my way into work this morning I was blissfully unaware of everyone and everything until this guy I had met a few weeks earlier called out to me, ran up behind me and insisted on catching up with me by walking me to my office. (On a side note, it's crazy how I always seem to run into someone I know in this city of over 8 million, but that's for another time...)
I had been happy with my stroll down the crowded New York sidewalk, and to be honest, my new heels didn't want me to do more than a 20-minute-mile speed. But Mr. Met-You-A-Few-Weeks-Ago-At-So-And-So's-House-Warming, despite the fact that he had insisted on walking me, wanted to sprint down the sidewalk, implying by his fast steps, that I should pick up my speed as well.
Dude. You try walking on your tip-toes, being supported by a peg that has a circumference less than half of an inch while your toes are being pushed together and circulation is being cut off to your baby toe!
I know, I know, you didn't make me wear them. I bought them of my own free will and wore them just the same. I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm just asking for some manners: if you find yourself in the presence of a sweet and lovely female in heels, let the girl set the speed! Hang back, enjoy your walk. Let her try to enjoy hers as well. If you really want to score big points with her, don't make her walk over grates either. Grates are the kiss of death to any chica in heels.
*Jordana (currently wearing slippers!)
I know what you might be thinking: what is a post about etiquette doing in this blog? Or maybe you're thinking "Jordana... she's the girl who writes about sex, I know what this post, with a subject like 'Let the Girl Set the Speed,' is about!"
For the record, when it comes to relationships or sex, the speed should be set by whoever is at a slower speed. You've got all the time in the world; if you rush it someone is going to be uncomfortable (Person "A" at Slow Speed "X").
However, that is all completely different from what I'm getting at here. What I'm getting at here is etiquette, not advice like what I've offered above.
So lets get to it...
Guys, when you're walking next to a girl, let the girl set the speed!
On my way into work this morning I was blissfully unaware of everyone and everything until this guy I had met a few weeks earlier called out to me, ran up behind me and insisted on catching up with me by walking me to my office. (On a side note, it's crazy how I always seem to run into someone I know in this city of over 8 million, but that's for another time...)
I had been happy with my stroll down the crowded New York sidewalk, and to be honest, my new heels didn't want me to do more than a 20-minute-mile speed. But Mr. Met-You-A-Few-Weeks-Ago-At-So-And-So's-House-Warming, despite the fact that he had insisted on walking me, wanted to sprint down the sidewalk, implying by his fast steps, that I should pick up my speed as well.
Dude. You try walking on your tip-toes, being supported by a peg that has a circumference less than half of an inch while your toes are being pushed together and circulation is being cut off to your baby toe!
I know, I know, you didn't make me wear them. I bought them of my own free will and wore them just the same. I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm just asking for some manners: if you find yourself in the presence of a sweet and lovely female in heels, let the girl set the speed! Hang back, enjoy your walk. Let her try to enjoy hers as well. If you really want to score big points with her, don't make her walk over grates either. Grates are the kiss of death to any chica in heels.
*Jordana (currently wearing slippers!)
Monday, November 13, 2006
RIP CBGB
I was recently asked what my favorite music venue is and so I would like to bring my answer here and have a moment of silence for CBGB.
I have so many personal memories there, from having my birthday party/shows there every year to seeing awesome bands... There's a whole vibe there that is nowhere else. A whole community of people that always come out and you know them all. Even if I always had to walk ten blocks to get to a McDonald's to pee 'cause I won't dare use the toliet there, I loved it. I don't know why more people didn't protest when it closed.
This is during the Planet Verge sponsored showcase for The Pennyroyals a few years back. Dr. Dot hosted the event. 
Even the homeless people were fun. A few years ago, Jordana and I had a funny experience with one. She was interviewing Jeremiah Freed, a band I do publicity for, outside CBGB for her show, Sex, Reim and Rock 'N Roll. In the middle of the interview, a homeless man came up to the band and asked them for money. Quite classic.
What's really interesting is that over the years, my FIRST and LAST show there was to see Fixer. My last CBGB show was also Fixer's last CBGB show. So it was a whole buncha moments in one. I've also gotten to see special shows like Unwritten Law play there. Even if CB's moves to Vegas, it will never be the same. Ever.
So now-- Maxwells in Hoboken. Good sound, love the back lounge and the best french onion soup ever in the restaurant (also a bonus that you can sit and eat when bad bands are on).
*By Joelle, who is no joke, listening to the Backstreet Boys debut CD right now.
So now-- Maxwells in Hoboken. Good sound, love the back lounge and the best french onion soup ever in the restaurant (also a bonus that you can sit and eat when bad bands are on).
*By Joelle, who is no joke, listening to the Backstreet Boys debut CD right now.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Screw Sephora, seriously.
Say that five times fast.
Anyway.
I went in there a few days ago to pick out cologne for a platonic gentleman friend's birthday, and upon my entry, a woman lunged at me, flailing a miniature, shimmering, berry-scented tube in front of my face.
"Free lipgloss samples!" she said, smiling so hugely I swear her teeth made me temporarily blind. Either that or those fluorescent lights they use in there to make you look uglier than normal so you buy more makeup.
I couldn't say no to something that smelled so delicious, so I tried it.
After I put it on, the girl--Sheila, I believe--said the following.
"Yeah! It's our new lip plumper!"
This, my friends, made me want to kill myself.
I spat, I sputtered, I scrambled, and I grabbed for any and every wipe, cotton ball, tissue, and swab within a hundred yard radius. "Lady, does it look like I need this?"
I suppose in retrospect that this should have relieved me of my proverbial "trout pout" complex, because someone was insisting that they should look bigger than they actually are. But sweet Jesus, if I had left that shit on, I might have wound up swallowing my own head.
*Jess, who hates when people pout in pictures and thinks "It's Raining Men" is one of the most underrated songs ever
Anyway.
I went in there a few days ago to pick out cologne for a platonic gentleman friend's birthday, and upon my entry, a woman lunged at me, flailing a miniature, shimmering, berry-scented tube in front of my face.
"Free lipgloss samples!" she said, smiling so hugely I swear her teeth made me temporarily blind. Either that or those fluorescent lights they use in there to make you look uglier than normal so you buy more makeup.
I couldn't say no to something that smelled so delicious, so I tried it.
After I put it on, the girl--Sheila, I believe--said the following.
"Yeah! It's our new lip plumper!"
This, my friends, made me want to kill myself.
I spat, I sputtered, I scrambled, and I grabbed for any and every wipe, cotton ball, tissue, and swab within a hundred yard radius. "Lady, does it look like I need this?"
I suppose in retrospect that this should have relieved me of my proverbial "trout pout" complex, because someone was insisting that they should look bigger than they actually are. But sweet Jesus, if I had left that shit on, I might have wound up swallowing my own head.
*Jess, who hates when people pout in pictures and thinks "It's Raining Men" is one of the most underrated songs ever
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Come hang out with us!
Planet Verge and Washington Ave. present a really awesome night of music with our friends Roses Are Red (TRUSTKILL). You'll no doubt have a time. (Remember in My So Called Life-- "We had a time." ?)
Here's the details:
WHEN: Saturday, Nov. 25
WHERE: Hamilton St. Cafe, Boundbrook, NJ
WHO: Roses are Red, Crash Romeo, Zoloft the Rock & Roll Destroyer, The Transit War
Get your butts out here Jersey!!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
LISTEN TO TEDDYBEARS!
If you are into a mix of electronic, pop and rock (electropock - a word i just made up) you must listen to Teddybears and their latest album Soft Machine. I fell in love with their single Cobrastyle and then heard it again on Grey's Anatomy (my favorite TV show I must add) last week.I haven't been able to rave about an album like this for a while- every song is just great for those times you're chillin over drinks with some friends, chillin in the car home, chillin over work in the office or just chillin' in general.ps. Punkrocker featuring Iggy Pop rocks my world!
*Shira
*Shira
No Regrets...
...if you go listen to this band now: SOHO DOLLS
Hailing from Soho, LONDON--not New York City--Sohodolls are an electro glam rock band ala Shiny Toy Guns but better. On the mic is Maya von Doll, a sexy frontwoman with the balls of Scott Weiland (she's known to get shirtless at shows with nothing more than masking tape across her nipples). Their music video for "Stripper" is so hot you'll have to pour water over yourself when you're done watching it. And that's all I'm gonna say because you should be listening to them instead of reading this!
Interview with Soho Dolls: http://www.planetverge.com/PlanetVerge06/Innerview/SohoDolls.asp
Their SPACE: www.myspace.com/sohodolls
Watch the videos: www.sohodolls.co.uk
*By Joelle, who despises dance music but LOOOOVEs Sohodolls and digs Shiny Toy Guns, too.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Oh boy, do I love a good sociopolitical debate.
Darryl, I respect your ability to voice your opinions on abortion and a woman's right to choose (despite your belief that we shouldn't be entitled to that). However, I must respectfully voice my own disagreement. Allow me to begin by stating that when you say things like the following, it's extremely difficult to take you seriously:
While I am not necessarily an advocate of abortion in itself, but of the woman's choice whether or not to have one. From a purely constitutional and legal standpoint: if you revoke a woman's right to choose what happens with her own uterus, you're setting extremely dangerous precedents for relinquishment of other rights of choice--women's suffrage, for example. It's not that big of a stretch to say that if at some point in time women no longer have the freedom to control their own bodies that we soon won't have the right to elect officials to represent us. Way to set the fairer (in every sense of the word) sex back nearly one hundred years.
And as for this lovely vignette:
"I find it interesting you call me closed minded yet you go off on a tyradeIn your having the audacity to tell me that as a liberal my mind is so open that it's empty, you're also leading me to question your own literacy (see italicizations). But that, my friend and fellow child of God, is a digression. In regards to the actual point you were attempting to make regarding liberal openmindedness (which, my friend, I should point out, is one word): I cannot speak for every liberal in the world, but my brand of liberalism values everyone's right to choose and to believe in whatever they want--and, as stated previously, this includes my support of your ability to voice your views, despite my own being very different.
about my beliefs. You insult me and call me names because I believe that
brutally murdering innocent children is wrong. I guess it's true what they say
about liberals...you become so open minded your brains fall out.I find it
interesting liberals are only open minded to people who share their own
beliefs..."
While I am not necessarily an advocate of abortion in itself, but of the woman's choice whether or not to have one. From a purely constitutional and legal standpoint: if you revoke a woman's right to choose what happens with her own uterus, you're setting extremely dangerous precedents for relinquishment of other rights of choice--women's suffrage, for example. It's not that big of a stretch to say that if at some point in time women no longer have the freedom to control their own bodies that we soon won't have the right to elect officials to represent us. Way to set the fairer (in every sense of the word) sex back nearly one hundred years.
And as for this lovely vignette:
I used to be a fan of your magazine. I am a huge Jeremiah Freed fan. We
probably have even seen each other at JF shows in Portland. I know other
supporters of your magazine who are against abortion and I am going to have
them pull support from your magazine.
Feel free, pal. I like to think we appeal to a more intelligent, tolerant, and openminded demographic. Your closemindedness is proving a mind that's closed can't possibly let anything into it.
In fact, God forgive me for saying this--people like you that make me pro-choice.
Preventive defense, if you will.
*Jess, who thinks the word "fetus" is really funny.
The BIG debate
This morning, I logged into the Planet Verge Girls MySpace page and like always, added all our friend requests. This one guy had a picture that looked like he was with Ashlee Simpson, and since I like her style (not music or fake boobs, please...) I actually clicked on his page to see it. So it turns out Ashlee wasn't in that picture, but she WAS his background. So then I read his ABOUT ME and became INFURIATED. This is what it said:
I am a devout Catholic. I go to Mass as often as I can. There is nothing that is better in this world than to be close to Jesus at the Holy sacarafice of Mass. Along with being a Catholic I am an advocate for the defense of the unborn children. It's tragic that we have a real holocaust in this country and across the world where thousands of innocent children are being murdered every year and it's called a "choice." With all due respect, if you want your choice, then choose not to have sex. Once you choose to make love to your partner, you might get pregnent. Condoms are not effective, the pill isn't effective, abstinence is the only way. Once you are pregnant your choice is over and the unborn child has a right to LIFE, liberty, and the pursuite of happiness.
Seriously, who does this 'effer think he is? This is friggin MYSPACE. And he's well past his youth, on here with his love of female pop stars (are you sure you're not gay, Mr man of God?) from a small hick town trying to spread his CLOSE MINDED VIEWS!!!!
Now I am not into politics AT ALL. But as a woman, I follow the abortion issue. No man has the right to judge women who have abortions. It's their choice, their bodies, their lives. They have no idea what circumstances they made the decision to do so or how they will have that with them for the rest of their lives. Maybe men should not be the ones having sex either! Why is he trying to place the blame on women? Most abortions happen during the first few weeks of pregnancy, when the fetus is simply CELLS. There is no baby with little hands and fingers and toes. It's cells. Get over it. He should be happy someone perhaps decided to not live on welfare, ruin HER LIFE from having a baby when she was 15 or whatever, or maybe raped.
Ok, I'm ending this. I actually wrote that man a comment and said I thought he was cool until I saw how close-minded he is and that's sad. But then I deleted it and decided to write this.
*Joelle
I am a devout Catholic. I go to Mass as often as I can. There is nothing that is better in this world than to be close to Jesus at the Holy sacarafice of Mass. Along with being a Catholic I am an advocate for the defense of the unborn children. It's tragic that we have a real holocaust in this country and across the world where thousands of innocent children are being murdered every year and it's called a "choice." With all due respect, if you want your choice, then choose not to have sex. Once you choose to make love to your partner, you might get pregnent. Condoms are not effective, the pill isn't effective, abstinence is the only way. Once you are pregnant your choice is over and the unborn child has a right to LIFE, liberty, and the pursuite of happiness.
Seriously, who does this 'effer think he is? This is friggin MYSPACE. And he's well past his youth, on here with his love of female pop stars (are you sure you're not gay, Mr man of God?) from a small hick town trying to spread his CLOSE MINDED VIEWS!!!!
Now I am not into politics AT ALL. But as a woman, I follow the abortion issue. No man has the right to judge women who have abortions. It's their choice, their bodies, their lives. They have no idea what circumstances they made the decision to do so or how they will have that with them for the rest of their lives. Maybe men should not be the ones having sex either! Why is he trying to place the blame on women? Most abortions happen during the first few weeks of pregnancy, when the fetus is simply CELLS. There is no baby with little hands and fingers and toes. It's cells. Get over it. He should be happy someone perhaps decided to not live on welfare, ruin HER LIFE from having a baby when she was 15 or whatever, or maybe raped.
Ok, I'm ending this. I actually wrote that man a comment and said I thought he was cool until I saw how close-minded he is and that's sad. But then I deleted it and decided to write this.
*Joelle
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Spitalove
Spitalfield are longtime fans of Planet Verge, and I am a longtime fan of Spitalfield. Mark loves us so much, I caught him playing with our latest print issue.
I want to commend New Jersey for showing them a more than satisfactory amount of love last night after the extremely lackluster Vintage Vinyl attendance last week.
They are nice boys. Talented boys. And cute to boot.
A common Spitalfield fan progression is as follows:
1. Buy their records.
2. See their shows.
3. Fall in love.
Oh, and if you don't believe me about the third step--you will. Oh, you will.
*By Jess, who rather enjoys the company of men from Chicago
I want to commend New Jersey for showing them a more than satisfactory amount of love last night after the extremely lackluster Vintage Vinyl attendance last week.
They are nice boys. Talented boys. And cute to boot.
A common Spitalfield fan progression is as follows:
1. Buy their records.
2. See their shows.
3. Fall in love.
Oh, and if you don't believe me about the third step--you will. Oh, you will.
*By Jess, who rather enjoys the company of men from Chicago
Friday, November 03, 2006
Peacekeeper protocol
Dear Starland Ballroom Security Personnel,
I appreciate what you do. Honestly.
However, while I am in the photo pit about to exit at the conclusion of the third song of a set, I could really do without the shady, crew-cut-blonde, slightly paunched one of you continually putting his hands on my hips to move me.
When I say, "Watch it buddy, above the waist," that isn't supposed to be an invitation for you to ogle my rack. It's supposed to be an implied "I won't tolerate your hands on me anywhere, except maybe my shoulders, and that's even a bit unnecessary," only a lot less verbose because it's hard enough to hear with all the shit going on around us.
You're lucky you guys don't wear name badges, because I'd have you, the aforementioned offender, reported in an instant. In fact, I might just make a request that you guys have to do that from now on, if for no other reason than they check my bags at the door and would inevitably find the crowbar I'd try hiding in my purse to bludgeon you with the next time you cross my path, so I have to find another way to teach you not to degrade ladies.
I'm not sure what women from your planet put up with, but over here on Earth, things don't work that way.
Take heed, for you've been warned,
Hell hath no fury like Jess Sager scorned.
Yours truly,
Jessica Sager
*Jess, who finds inspiration in both Shakespeare and Twisted Sister
I appreciate what you do. Honestly.
However, while I am in the photo pit about to exit at the conclusion of the third song of a set, I could really do without the shady, crew-cut-blonde, slightly paunched one of you continually putting his hands on my hips to move me.
When I say, "Watch it buddy, above the waist," that isn't supposed to be an invitation for you to ogle my rack. It's supposed to be an implied "I won't tolerate your hands on me anywhere, except maybe my shoulders, and that's even a bit unnecessary," only a lot less verbose because it's hard enough to hear with all the shit going on around us.
You're lucky you guys don't wear name badges, because I'd have you, the aforementioned offender, reported in an instant. In fact, I might just make a request that you guys have to do that from now on, if for no other reason than they check my bags at the door and would inevitably find the crowbar I'd try hiding in my purse to bludgeon you with the next time you cross my path, so I have to find another way to teach you not to degrade ladies.
I'm not sure what women from your planet put up with, but over here on Earth, things don't work that way.
Take heed, for you've been warned,
Hell hath no fury like Jess Sager scorned.
Yours truly,
Jessica Sager
*Jess, who finds inspiration in both Shakespeare and Twisted Sister
Why I ADORE Asbury Park
I love any place where Hero Pattern plays, but as of last night, I am specifically a pretty big fan of The Saint.
I was allowed inside because I'm press and I win at life, and I still can't get these two giant red Xs off my hands. Seriously, at first glance it looks like I was playing a bizarre game of tic-tac-toe on my limbs with a knife.
Knives... I should carry one of those with me at all times.
Walking across the street from my car toward the Saint door, two strange Asbury natives yelled that I "have a sexy ass body" and am "built like a rickshaw," respectively. I didn't know what a rickshaw was, so I googled it when I got home, and apparently I look like this:
I chose this photo in particular because it has a Communist symbol in the upper right hand corner, and we all know I loves me some Communism. In any case, I'm happy to know that I look like a bizarre backwards wheelbarrow-buggy hybrid (wheelbuggy?) commonly used in the Third World. I think.
Then, on my way back to my car, a man claiming to be hideously ugly (he wasn't exactly Lenny Kravitz, I'll admit, but I've seen worse mugs in my life) asked everyone in our party for money and gave us weird things like a flashlight and a t-shirt and empty jewelry boxes ("Wait for him to put something in it," the man said, not making things awkward at all for anyone). He also somehow knew I was Italian and warned everyone in sight not to mess with me because I'm probably related to Joe Pesci and that Italians kill everyone. He was pretty smart for a homeless dude, not gonna lie.
I slipped two bucks into his bag when he wasn't looking (for karma's sake--I'm a nice girl, really) and was quickly escorted back inside, then to Belinda (my car, for the ignorant) by drummer Mike Kundrath and guitarist Pierre Marceau, who happen to have a nifty new record coming out in Japan that I got to look at yesterday. If you're in Japan and you're reading this, you should buy it. And if you're not in Japan, you should buy it and import it. If other people can do it with drugs (I'm talking to you, Casino-fascinated Asbury native), you can do it with rock n' roll.
*Jess, who almost always gives money to panhandlers unless they're too greedy about it
I was allowed inside because I'm press and I win at life, and I still can't get these two giant red Xs off my hands. Seriously, at first glance it looks like I was playing a bizarre game of tic-tac-toe on my limbs with a knife.
Knives... I should carry one of those with me at all times.
Walking across the street from my car toward the Saint door, two strange Asbury natives yelled that I "have a sexy ass body" and am "built like a rickshaw," respectively. I didn't know what a rickshaw was, so I googled it when I got home, and apparently I look like this:
I chose this photo in particular because it has a Communist symbol in the upper right hand corner, and we all know I loves me some Communism. In any case, I'm happy to know that I look like a bizarre backwards wheelbarrow-buggy hybrid (wheelbuggy?) commonly used in the Third World. I think.
Then, on my way back to my car, a man claiming to be hideously ugly (he wasn't exactly Lenny Kravitz, I'll admit, but I've seen worse mugs in my life) asked everyone in our party for money and gave us weird things like a flashlight and a t-shirt and empty jewelry boxes ("Wait for him to put something in it," the man said, not making things awkward at all for anyone). He also somehow knew I was Italian and warned everyone in sight not to mess with me because I'm probably related to Joe Pesci and that Italians kill everyone. He was pretty smart for a homeless dude, not gonna lie.
I slipped two bucks into his bag when he wasn't looking (for karma's sake--I'm a nice girl, really) and was quickly escorted back inside, then to Belinda (my car, for the ignorant) by drummer Mike Kundrath and guitarist Pierre Marceau, who happen to have a nifty new record coming out in Japan that I got to look at yesterday. If you're in Japan and you're reading this, you should buy it. And if you're not in Japan, you should buy it and import it. If other people can do it with drugs (I'm talking to you, Casino-fascinated Asbury native), you can do it with rock n' roll.
*Jess, who almost always gives money to panhandlers unless they're too greedy about it
Thursday, November 02, 2006
why i "love" nyc
While I was waiting in line to catch a cab at Port Authority, the ten times overweight man in front of me turns around and starts asking me questions:
"Are you from around here?"
"Where are you from?"
"Are you married?" --I then tell him I am taken and he then asks "Are you loyal?" !!! And I, being half deaf from going to way too many shows in my past without wearing earplugs, say "No." I thought he asked if he was a LAWYER. So typical Joelle. So I then correct myself and he says "Is that what you tell all the guys or just me?" Luckily, a cab came for him.
I then went about my trip to J Records for a meeting, and walked like a half hour back to Port Authority to go home in rush hour. That is why New Yorkers are so skinny. Well, the skinny ones. All the walking. Yes, I may have saved seven bucks and got to pass eye candy (aka the Chanel doorman, single ladies go peep him!)along the way, but I'd rather be in dirty Jersey behind the wheel of my car blasting music and with the heat on.
<3 Joelle, who ate some Key Lime pie tonight.
"Are you from around here?"
"Where are you from?"
"Are you married?" --I then tell him I am taken and he then asks "Are you loyal?" !!! And I, being half deaf from going to way too many shows in my past without wearing earplugs, say "No." I thought he asked if he was a LAWYER. So typical Joelle. So I then correct myself and he says "Is that what you tell all the guys or just me?" Luckily, a cab came for him.
I then went about my trip to J Records for a meeting, and walked like a half hour back to Port Authority to go home in rush hour. That is why New Yorkers are so skinny. Well, the skinny ones. All the walking. Yes, I may have saved seven bucks and got to pass eye candy (aka the Chanel doorman, single ladies go peep him!)along the way, but I'd rather be in dirty Jersey behind the wheel of my car blasting music and with the heat on.
<3 Joelle, who ate some Key Lime pie tonight.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
AND!
since we are on the topic of la maquillage au naturale (pardon my french, seriously) ... i just recently got sucked into the gorgeous vaccuum that is sephora and dropped some dimes on some great stuff to liven up the ol' pallor: bare escentuals. i know everyone and their mom has seen the swirl-tap-buff sensation on every home shopping network in existence, but seriously.. the stuff works. sephora is selling kits for around $60 and they come with EVERYTHING.
check it out here: http://www.bareescentuals.com/
-or-
here: www.sephora.com
either way, find it. it's a boxfull of sexy.
and since we're on this topic... i am addicted to getting dolled up to portuguese powerpop powerhouse Cansei De Ser Sexy.
(note: cansei de ser sexy - portuguese = tired of being sexy... inspired by beyonce's pompous tush once muttering 'ugh... i'm so tired of being sexy.')
the band is dominated by femme fatales with names like lovefoxxx and they recommend making love whilst listening to death from above. rawr.
seriously, if this shit doesn't make you want to do spin kicks in stilettos, you have something wrong with you.
music is their hot, hot sex and, trust me, they will make it yours, too. (www.myspace.com/canseidesersexy)
*Brittany, whose roommate recommends using animal placenta-infused La Bella protein spray on teased, distraught hair.
check it out here: http://www.bareescentuals.com/
-or-
here: www.sephora.com
either way, find it. it's a boxfull of sexy.
and since we're on this topic... i am addicted to getting dolled up to portuguese powerpop powerhouse Cansei De Ser Sexy.
(note: cansei de ser sexy - portuguese = tired of being sexy... inspired by beyonce's pompous tush once muttering 'ugh... i'm so tired of being sexy.')
the band is dominated by femme fatales with names like lovefoxxx and they recommend making love whilst listening to death from above. rawr.
seriously, if this shit doesn't make you want to do spin kicks in stilettos, you have something wrong with you.
music is their hot, hot sex and, trust me, they will make it yours, too. (www.myspace.com/canseidesersexy)
*Brittany, whose roommate recommends using animal placenta-infused La Bella protein spray on teased, distraught hair.
For the ladies...
I found the best foundation EVER. And believe me, I have tried them all!
www.arbonne.com
The mineral foundation is all natural, crease free, gives you a healthy GLOW, eliminates the need for another powder after application, covers blemishes, doesn't wipe off on your clothes, lasts forever AND has an SPF.
Enough said.
*joelle, who wants a refund on MAC
www.arbonne.com
The mineral foundation is all natural, crease free, gives you a healthy GLOW, eliminates the need for another powder after application, covers blemishes, doesn't wipe off on your clothes, lasts forever AND has an SPF.
Enough said.
*joelle, who wants a refund on MAC
Two things wrong with music:
The first one being that Spitalfield essentially played a private show for me last weekend because everyone around Woodbridge was scared of some stupid afternoon rain. You guys pansies all missed a helluva show--acoustic and lovely. Mark played with their new guitarist, Jeff Meilander, who looks like a much more attractive Kurt Cobain: 
and they were absolutely splendid, as per the usual. They performed a lot of songs from their new album, Better Than Knowing Where You Are, along with old favorites like "I Loved the Way She Said 'L.A.'" And they also treated me to a late lunch/early dinner afterward. Such class acts, those boys. Spitalfield deserve a lot more recognition and kudos than they're getting, but I think they're well on their way--and I'm looking forward to seeing them with Valencia this weekend. Kick ass.
and they were absolutely splendid, as per the usual. They performed a lot of songs from their new album, Better Than Knowing Where You Are, along with old favorites like "I Loved the Way She Said 'L.A.'" And they also treated me to a late lunch/early dinner afterward. Such class acts, those boys. Spitalfield deserve a lot more recognition and kudos than they're getting, but I think they're well on their way--and I'm looking forward to seeing them with Valencia this weekend. Kick ass.Oh, and the other thing wrong with music?
Meatloaf. Covering a song originally performed by Celine Dion.
If I weren't so excited for the weekend, I think I'd have killed myself by now.
*Jess, who should stop eating Halloween candy before she has to be burned out of the house
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Excuse me, Joelle?
How dare you insult the [imaginary] love of my life that way?
Way. As in Gerard Way.
Though I detest this new, cropped, peroxide blonde gig he's got going on as of late (seriously, G, if you're reading this--please bring back the black, as you're so pale that your hair blends in with your scalp and you look bald from far away), the new My Chem record is fucking sick.
A lot of people have been comparing it to Queen, which is easily my favorite band ever of all time, so I had to give it a spin or two if for nothing more than morbid curiosity. I don't think much of it sounds like Queen at all with the exception of the sickeningly catchy first single, "Welcome to the Black Parade." Gerard's got the Farokh Bulsara vocal impressions down, but it's Ray Toro's guitar on the track that gives it a Queen-feel--it reeks of Brian May. The rest of the CD is just as good, just not as Queen ("Dead," "Teenagers," and "Famous Last Words" are on constant repeat to sing along with in my car). And they even got themselves musical theater cred--you know that creepy woman's voice on "Mama?" Yeah, that's none other than Liza Minnelli. They're not playing around.
Gerard Way is no Freddie Mercury. He's more like the lovechild of Freddie Mercury and Glenn Danzig, only a lot more physically attractive than that offspring would be.
If only he'd do something with that hair.
*Jess, who was once accosted by Coheed and Cambria's creepy, huge merch guy at a show they played with MCR
Way. As in Gerard Way.
Though I detest this new, cropped, peroxide blonde gig he's got going on as of late (seriously, G, if you're reading this--please bring back the black, as you're so pale that your hair blends in with your scalp and you look bald from far away), the new My Chem record is fucking sick.
A lot of people have been comparing it to Queen, which is easily my favorite band ever of all time, so I had to give it a spin or two if for nothing more than morbid curiosity. I don't think much of it sounds like Queen at all with the exception of the sickeningly catchy first single, "Welcome to the Black Parade." Gerard's got the Farokh Bulsara vocal impressions down, but it's Ray Toro's guitar on the track that gives it a Queen-feel--it reeks of Brian May. The rest of the CD is just as good, just not as Queen ("Dead," "Teenagers," and "Famous Last Words" are on constant repeat to sing along with in my car). And they even got themselves musical theater cred--you know that creepy woman's voice on "Mama?" Yeah, that's none other than Liza Minnelli. They're not playing around.
Gerard Way is no Freddie Mercury. He's more like the lovechild of Freddie Mercury and Glenn Danzig, only a lot more physically attractive than that offspring would be.
If only he'd do something with that hair.
*Jess, who was once accosted by Coheed and Cambria's creepy, huge merch guy at a show they played with MCR
Friday, October 27, 2006
Lostprophets at Irving Plaza
Gerard Way who? Ian Watkins proved once again why he is arguably the best frontman of this generation. Catchy lyrics? Check. Killer style? Check. Captivating persona? Check. Check. Check. Check to everything else.
But it’s not JUST about the man behind the mic, even though he was in such demand; he actually went down to the front row and posed with fans for pictures in between songs. Although guitarist Lee Gaze appears to be rather tame nowadays during live performances, his band mates Jamie Oliver (keys), Stuart Richardson (bass) and Mike Lewis (guitars) act as if they’d had more than their fare share of Red Bulls to keep energy levels peaked.
While on disk, Lostprophets have focused more on melody driven tunes on their past two albums, instead of mosh worthy shredders ala their debut. But you’d never guess it based on the circle pits that kept going all night long. When one crowd surfer ended up on stage, Watkins embraced him and let him sing along. As the night closed, the vocalist became one with the crowd and stage dove into the pit mid-song, resulting in his ear piece getting torn out. Perhaps that’s why there was no much wanted encore.
Even with just three weeks promotion for this last minute show, the venue was pretty packed. Once “Rooftops,” the leading single off Liberation Transmission (Columbia) gets more radio play over here in the US, expect these UK superstars to be gracing our magazine covers, as well.
Watch clips from the show at www.youtube.com/user/planetverge.
*Joelle, who has been hooked on Lostprophets since Ozzfest '02 and put them on the cover of Planet Verge twice
But it’s not JUST about the man behind the mic, even though he was in such demand; he actually went down to the front row and posed with fans for pictures in between songs. Although guitarist Lee Gaze appears to be rather tame nowadays during live performances, his band mates Jamie Oliver (keys), Stuart Richardson (bass) and Mike Lewis (guitars) act as if they’d had more than their fare share of Red Bulls to keep energy levels peaked.
While on disk, Lostprophets have focused more on melody driven tunes on their past two albums, instead of mosh worthy shredders ala their debut. But you’d never guess it based on the circle pits that kept going all night long. When one crowd surfer ended up on stage, Watkins embraced him and let him sing along. As the night closed, the vocalist became one with the crowd and stage dove into the pit mid-song, resulting in his ear piece getting torn out. Perhaps that’s why there was no much wanted encore.
Even with just three weeks promotion for this last minute show, the venue was pretty packed. Once “Rooftops,” the leading single off Liberation Transmission (Columbia) gets more radio play over here in the US, expect these UK superstars to be gracing our magazine covers, as well.
Watch clips from the show at www.youtube.com/user/planetverge.
*Joelle, who has been hooked on Lostprophets since Ozzfest '02 and put them on the cover of Planet Verge twice
We're here!!
It's about time Planet Verge Magazine got a blog don't you think? So here it is. Whatever our writers feel like talking about or reviewing...for your enjoyment.
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