Portrait of the Artist as a Young JAP

2010-03-19

I Hate St. Patrick’s Day: the luck of the Irish doesn’t apply to me because my people killed their Lord

“But why?” you might ask. “As a 21-year old college student/self-proclaimed degenerate, wouldn’t you be thrilled to be spending St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland? Don’t you love everything that St. Patrick’s Day stands for, such as excessive drinking, public urination, and gang rape committed by men dressed as leprechauns? Don’t you love that it’s the one day a year where you can make a total asshole of yourself and disregard all social norms and standards of decorum and respectability without anyone calling you out on your shit? DON’T YOU HAVE ANY PRIDE IN YOUR TEMPORARY HOMELAND, FOR FOOK’S SAKE?!?”

2010-03-15

this lady is a major g.

2010-02-24

Who’s the Boss: an impassioned plea to whoever’s reading this to get off your high horse and start liking Bruce Springsteen, already. ok? god.

note: I saved the above image on my computer as “do me.jpg.”

It is 3:00 in the afternoon. I am (ostensibly) supposed to be working on the treatment for my play, which was due three days ago. I am (ostensibly) supposed to be out of my pajamas by now. I am (ostensibly) supposed to be cleaning up the mess I made from making beef tacos for lunch (which were abominable and made me seriously question my newfound culinary abilities).

But I am not doing any of these things, because there is a more pressing issue at hand, a concern that keeps me up at night and causes me to break out into a cold sweat panic, a fear that takes up permanent residence in the back of my brain and refuses to let go, like those photos of one-eyed puppies in public service ads against animal cruelty.

I am deeply concerned for the long-term preservation of Bruce Springsteen’s status as one of the greatest American rock musicians of all time. And I am taking this opportunity (i.e. a blog read solely by my mother and her childhood friends from Long Island) to speak out publicly against those who pose a danger to his legacy.

2010-02-18

Chicken piccata! And, 3 fights I had at Doyle’s

it actually looked like this!! i swear!!!

Listening to a lot of Dylan and Zep lately. “The Ocean” is a perfect song. I’m starting to truly believe that all decent music was made before 1985, with the obvious exception of “Party in the USA.” My unabashed love for that song could serve as a metaphor for any feelings of homesickness or cultural alienation I’ve felt since arriving in Dublin, but it probably doesn’t. I think I just really dig the bass line (and how after every time Miley sings “so I put my hands up” in the video, she instantly follows suit. It’s sad how much I love that stupid gap-toothed bitch and her Disney sense of literalism. I think we might actually have been separated at birth, so really I should be the one writhing inappropriately on the back of a tow truck and she should be the one who was forced to dance the YMCA at her own bat mitzvah. That’s 4 hours and 9 months of Haftarah study that I’ll never get back, Miley. Thanks a lot.)

2010-02-15

London v. New York: You’re Goddamn Right I’m Keeping Score

(note: the above dinosaur is a diplodacus. do not let its awesome name fool you. it, and the museum in which it resides, SUCKS.)

2010-02-09

Big Bear’s “Doin’ Thangs” (1998): Formal Analysis

The cover of the album Doin’ Thangs (1998), the debut record by the hip-hop artist Big Bear, depicts the rapper in half-length behind a table, while four anthropomorphic grizzly bears in smoking jackets flank him on both sides. From behind a bucket of spirits and a cornucopia of brightly-hued produce, Big Bear tugs at the lapel of his crimson smoking jacket with his right hand, the gesture serving to emphasize the glint emanating from his silver wristwatch. His lips are curled up into a snarl and his eyes are cast downward, forming a mask of impassive complacency that betrays no emotional response to his surroundings.

2010-02-08

The most brilliant thing ever written about Led Zeppelin that does not have anything to do with the mud shark story

http://tuesdaysonthephone.blogspot.com/2007/10/chuck-klosterman-on-led-zeppelin.html

2010-02-06

The Country’s Fooked: Notes on THE RECESSION (TM)

There’s a theory (most often espoused by bearded creative writing professors) that comedy is inextricably linked to tragedy; that the most successful comedic moments stem from a place of extreme suffering, and that we tend to laugh at the misfortunes of others because we are deeply self-conscious about the folly of our own meaningless existence. As a member of a faith that is as renowned for our sense of humor as we are for our centuries of suffering (also known as: the “Seinfeld”/”Schindler’s List” dichotomy), I am nonetheless skeptical of this theory.

2010-02-04

wine is a terrible thing to waste

After downing one too many glasses of 6 euro wine before an art gallery opening (I think the exhibit was about how to cram as many drunk people in high heels on a slippery terrace without getting sued for malpractice), I have confined myself to my bed to think about what I have done (namely, passing out on the bathroom floor and sending my mother happy birthday texts). I have also taken it upon myself to post other people’s photos of Dublin (because anything I write now will be drunk-ranty and will probs cause motion sickness).

So, without further ado:

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“Like ‘Hairspray,’ but darker” - Notes on ‘Precious’

The other night, I saw ‘Precious’ at the Irish Film Institute in Temple Bar. Seeing ‘Precious’ was a long time coming for me; after reading the book and experiencing the slow destruction of my psyche through multiple viewings of the trailer (if you haven’t seen it yet, do. It makes you feel like your soul is slowly sinking into your asshole and you will never be happy about anything ever again), I felt like I had adequately prepared myself for the cinematic shit-show that was about to ensue. I expected myself to be completely inured to the scenes of domestic abuse, incest, and general misery inflicted on Precious throughout the movie. I expected to laugh at the scene where Mo’nique attempts to throw a television on Precious’ head, and I expected to snort at the racial stereotypes that are perpetuated by the stale, uninspired dialogue (“Precious, get your ass to the welfare” is a particularly sensitive gem that is repeated multiple times throughout the movie).

But I did not expect the movie to actually be good. And (to a certain extent) it was.