Friday, March 27, 2009

Monday, March 23, 2009

Birthday Letters

When life gives you lemons, forget the lemonade and drink an Arnold Palmer. Also, remember that at least you aren't Ted Hughes, who cannot escape his desperately suicidal family members. There's his first wife, Sylvia, who died at the age of 30 via gas oven. Then there's his second wife, Assia Wevill, who decided to kill their daughter along with herself. Now there's his son Nicholas, who hung himself 46 years after his mother's suicide.

Poetry is good, but in the end we're most interested in the poets.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


Just watch it, okay? Don't say anything.


I heard this song on the radio over spring break and it took me the longest time to figure out whether the person singing was a boy or a girl. It turns out it's just Miley. My favorite part about this video? Definitely the CGI.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


I do not watch movies because I have the attention span of a baby cricket. Someone recommended that I go to this website and watch all of the movies in sequential order. I cannot wait to become a snobby art house critic with eyeglasses shaped like nonagons and a different black turtleneck for every day of the week. I will sit in dark corners and sip organic Rooibos tea and talk about Herbert Brenon in silken tones and click together my mauve-painted nails and reminisce about the time when I watched every Criterion movie in the collection and became, dahling what's the word, a buff.

why is this message board so funny late at night

Thursday, March 19, 2009


I want to meet the person who wrote this ad and shake her hand.

I'm thinking her name is "Denise." She's an MFA grad from U Michigan, class of 2002, who freelances and temps while writing her novel about a woman who moves to Austrailia on a whim and falls in love with a hairy aussie 20 years her elder. Denise has never been married, but she loves her niece and three triplet nephews, an, of course, LIP PLUMPER.

My favorite paragraph on the whole page:

"Celebrity Sexy Pout is THE BEST ONE ,The first thing I noticed was that it smells yummy, not spicy. I figured "it's probably decent". Understatment of the year! It is the best plumper on all levels: It's got a sexy sheen, it stays put for hours, and the plumping lasts for days. This was the only plumper that had a semi-permanent effect. It's like you can actually feel the lips swelling from the inside out. BUT..if you overuse it, your lips can look a bit too plump (I was asked if I had injections a couple times). The most impressive plumper of the bunch."

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Dewretch Mode

This is the Marc Jacobs model up close. His name is Cole Mohr. He models for MJ's male and female lines. Dear Mr. Mohr: there's a reason the alternative synthkid style of northern England died with the 80's. Thank you for reminding us of that reason.

Morrissey... nightmarish in this video. The cold nape-perspiration that's gathering above my collar reminds me of the time I freaked out when I saw this Marc Jacobs ad in a Wallpaper* magazine:

Yes, that's a man. You're welcome.

If ya like pictures

This website has some pretty good stuff.


After a long hiatus from the blog, I have decided to return in a big way...with Siamese Crocodile Twins. Why did I stop? Sometimes the level of inanity to which I routinely ascend scares me. I panicked on February 11th after the beef jerky panties post, not wanting to become yet another posterchild of the Look-At-Me generation obsessed with sniffing out insipid internet truffles.

But then last night I had a revelation. I was looking at Gwyneth Paltrow's celebrity blog, GOOP, and I realized that not only do I hate Gwyneth Paltrow for being a beautiful film actress with fruit children and a rockstar hubby to boot, but I also hate everything her blog stands for...those verbal icons...her director friends...etc. I looked around, and I was alone in the room. There was not a single person I could tell about Gwyneth Paltrow's blogging atrocity, and suddenly I became very afraid. My soap box was floating somewhere a million miles away. "I could send out a mass text," I thought, "But then I would be branded as a psycho...where could I funnel my heavy-handed opinions so someone, someone, could read them? My thoughts must be read."

Then the blog, oh, the sweet sweet blog came back to me: my meglomaniacal stomping grounds, my personal piece of real estate on the world wide web where I can fell as many trees I want. Somebody's gotta hear eventually. Somebody. I am a part of the Look-At-Me generation whether I want to accept it or not.

And so I accept.