Thursday, April 23, 2009
Kindred
Somehow I missed the memo that Basement Clothes and Your Hollow Face is back. Sometime in late December I stopped checking the site because I started to feel a little stalkeresque. Turns out she's been back blagging since January. I've missed so much! It's like thinking an acquaintance moved away only to discover she's been back for a few months and is living around the corner from you, and while you frequent the same coffee shop, you keep missing each other because one time you stopped to tie your shoe and another time you grabbed your Jamaican Me Crazy and headed out the side door as she came in the front.
Anyvay, she's back and I dig it. I think we should be besties, even if she does like these shoes and I
think they're uggers.
Anyvay, she's back and I dig it. I think we should be besties, even if she does like these shoes and I
think they're uggers.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Another Conversation
My brother often sends me links during the workday with no explanation. This morning I received this and here is the conversation that followed:
Kate: Oh wow. Attack of the clones.
Charlemagne: Pod people.
Kate: Mad pod people.
Charlemagne: They should clone like a million of me.
Kate: They certainly should not.
Charlemagne: Two million.
Kate: Oh my god! They're creating human/cow creatures? Is that like centaurs? This is going to lead to the downfall of society.
Charlemagne: Moooooooo.
Kate: Wasn't there a movie about this? I think it was called "Don't Clone Your Dead Children" and Dakota Fanning went on a killing spree.
Charlemagne: Watch this!
Kate: Yikes.
Charlemagne: The Shocker!
Kate: Oh wow. Attack of the clones.
Charlemagne: Pod people.
Kate: Mad pod people.
Charlemagne: They should clone like a million of me.
Kate: They certainly should not.
Charlemagne: Two million.
Kate: Oh my god! They're creating human/cow creatures? Is that like centaurs? This is going to lead to the downfall of society.
Charlemagne: Moooooooo.
Kate: Wasn't there a movie about this? I think it was called "Don't Clone Your Dead Children" and Dakota Fanning went on a killing spree.
Charlemagne: Watch this!
Kate: Yikes.
Charlemagne: The Shocker!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Shark's in the Salsa
Alright, I think someone slipped some LSD into my coffee this morning, because I am quite literally seeing an enormous inflatable bounce castle outside my office window. Seriously. It has a slide. I'm not entirely sure what to do with this information.
On a completely unrelated topic, I think I'm O.K. with the mid nineties revival that seems to be creeping into fashion these days. I'm seeing the Winona Rider frumpy floral dress everywhere, and then of course there are the Cher Horowitz knee socks. I'm pumped to get me a big sloppy flannel and some Doc Martens. Snoochie boochies.
On a completely unrelated topic, I think I'm O.K. with the mid nineties revival that seems to be creeping into fashion these days. I'm seeing the Winona Rider frumpy floral dress everywhere, and then of course there are the Cher Horowitz knee socks. I'm pumped to get me a big sloppy flannel and some Doc Martens. Snoochie boochies.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Stella!
This is the coolest fucking thing ever. Apparently I'm hella inspired by ponies lately, no? I can't even imagine the cost in Swarovskis...
Stella McCartney's "Lucky Spot"
A Rant
I'm aware that it's been a blog free week thus far. I blame this on the fact that I suffered through the Sex in the City movie on Sunday afternoon and have been formulating my thoughts ever since. I'll admit to watching the show on occasion while it was still on the TVbox. I certainly didn't take those online quizzes to figure out if I'm a Carrie or a Samantha (I'm obviously a Miranda minus the ginger hair and androgyny), but I did witness the Carrie wears nothing but brightly colored bras with backless dresses phase. I was indeed illuminated by the glow of my friend Wackalyn's big screen in a basement crowded with girls for the unsatisfying finale. I then assumed that the show would rest in peace in syndication. It is the natural course for TV programing, otherwise we end up with a Clooney free ER and the catastrophe that is Grey's Anatomy. I mourned the death of Six Feet Under with no hope of big screen revival. Albeit, it was difficult time for me, but on the bright side, we now have True Blood and Dexter.
But alas, those S.I.T.C. skanks just refused to die. They had to re-emerge with a zombiefied three hour long episode of what was ultimately a mindless show, and charge ten bucks to the jackass women who flocked to watch it. I only succumbed to the madness because I was trapped at my apartment by several loads of laundry and it was on HBO On Demand. I had a hangover to fight, and I figured I could doze through it.
I did drift off here and there, but I caught the gist, and I must say that while I did not like it, it did perplex me. I've been struggling to reach some sort of conclusion ever since the credits started rolling. I've gone over it in my head and tried to pinpoint just why I hated it, and also why the fuck it was created in the first place. The end result I reached was of course, "Damn, I wish those bitches woulda stayed dead," and I am justifying it thusly:
1. It was too fucking long. I'm not entirely sure what needed to be trimmed from the plot to knock off an hour or so, but it needed to be done. The finale five years ago was certainly unsatisfying, so I suppose the vaginas of this world needed some more adequate closure. A nationwide email sent to every woman in America reading: "Carrie and Big made it. Miranda and Steve are fine. Samantha obviously dumped that Ken doll, and Charlotte got knocked up," would have sufficed.
2. I hate your clever one-liners, Samantha Jones, and yours, Narrator Carrie. They are completely obnoxious. There's only so many penis size jokes I can handle in a week, let alone a three hour period. And Carrie, you sound like David Caruso on CSI Miami. Stop it.
3. Where the fuck are Carrie Bradshaw's parents? Does she even have parents or did she just grow like a fungus when a toxic Cosmopolitan spilled on a pair of Manolos? Whether or not mother of Bradshaw showed up in the movie to knock some sense into her shallow, soulless daughter wouldn't have made me like it better, I was just curious.
4. Charlotte shits her pants. I like a good poop joke as much as the next guy, but chicks shitting their pants is never funny, it's tragic. I've been known to discuss all sorts of bowel movements with various of my close friends, but an actual fecal accident is still taboo. Gross.
5. Sorry, John Cusack, but I hate romantic comedies. I wish they would stop being made. Nora Ephron*, that means you.
Ah. So there you have it. I'd like to see Carrie Bradshaw get hit by that bus with her picture on it. Wow. That was unnecessarily harsh. Sorry, folks, I forgot to put on my claddagh ring this morning. It's screwing up my equilibrium and making me all off kilter. An uncomfortable Kate is a hostile Kate.
*imdb has just informed me that Nora Ephron has written a screenplay for and directed the movie adaptation of Julie & Julia. Kickass. If you fuck it up, Ephron, I will hunt you down.
But alas, those S.I.T.C. skanks just refused to die. They had to re-emerge with a zombiefied three hour long episode of what was ultimately a mindless show, and charge ten bucks to the jackass women who flocked to watch it. I only succumbed to the madness because I was trapped at my apartment by several loads of laundry and it was on HBO On Demand. I had a hangover to fight, and I figured I could doze through it.
I did drift off here and there, but I caught the gist, and I must say that while I did not like it, it did perplex me. I've been struggling to reach some sort of conclusion ever since the credits started rolling. I've gone over it in my head and tried to pinpoint just why I hated it, and also why the fuck it was created in the first place. The end result I reached was of course, "Damn, I wish those bitches woulda stayed dead," and I am justifying it thusly:
1. It was too fucking long. I'm not entirely sure what needed to be trimmed from the plot to knock off an hour or so, but it needed to be done. The finale five years ago was certainly unsatisfying, so I suppose the vaginas of this world needed some more adequate closure. A nationwide email sent to every woman in America reading: "Carrie and Big made it. Miranda and Steve are fine. Samantha obviously dumped that Ken doll, and Charlotte got knocked up," would have sufficed.
2. I hate your clever one-liners, Samantha Jones, and yours, Narrator Carrie. They are completely obnoxious. There's only so many penis size jokes I can handle in a week, let alone a three hour period. And Carrie, you sound like David Caruso on CSI Miami. Stop it.
3. Where the fuck are Carrie Bradshaw's parents? Does she even have parents or did she just grow like a fungus when a toxic Cosmopolitan spilled on a pair of Manolos? Whether or not mother of Bradshaw showed up in the movie to knock some sense into her shallow, soulless daughter wouldn't have made me like it better, I was just curious.
4. Charlotte shits her pants. I like a good poop joke as much as the next guy, but chicks shitting their pants is never funny, it's tragic. I've been known to discuss all sorts of bowel movements with various of my close friends, but an actual fecal accident is still taboo. Gross.
5. Sorry, John Cusack, but I hate romantic comedies. I wish they would stop being made. Nora Ephron*, that means you.
Ah. So there you have it. I'd like to see Carrie Bradshaw get hit by that bus with her picture on it. Wow. That was unnecessarily harsh. Sorry, folks, I forgot to put on my claddagh ring this morning. It's screwing up my equilibrium and making me all off kilter. An uncomfortable Kate is a hostile Kate.
*imdb has just informed me that Nora Ephron has written a screenplay for and directed the movie adaptation of Julie & Julia. Kickass. If you fuck it up, Ephron, I will hunt you down.
Friday, April 3, 2009
To the Batcave!
I'm sorry, why the mother fuck did I not think to do this?
It's gonna be a long ass day of sitting at this desk itching to break into my childhood stash of My Little Ponies and the Sculpy clay. I'm kind of not sure how I existed in this world until now without this being my #1 hobby. Time to google the temperature at which My Little Ponies melt...
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Douchelight: An Update
Monday morning I received a phone call on my work phone from Bubba, the GBF. The conversation went something like this:
Bubba: Hey ugly.
Kate: You need to stop starting our conversations like that.
Bubba: You keep saying that.
Kate: Because its true. What's up?
Bubba: I'm pretty sure I want to be a vampire.
Kate: Holy fuck, Bubba, don't tell me you read that bullshit excuse for a novel too.
Bubba: Nope.
Kate: Thank Christ.
Bubba: I saw the movie. And you're going to too.
Kate: Please don't make me do that.
Bubba: Sorry, lady. It's Monday night, and you are committed to hang out with me. And I want to watch Twilight again.
Kate: I refuse.
Bubba: Oh, shut up. You can blog about it, and I'll feed you lots of wine.
Kate: Fine.
Thus, I spent Monday evening with Bubba at our friend Messica's studio apartment watching Twilight with her semi-retarded cat, Jack Bauer. Now, I have previously made my feelings about the Twilight phenomenon quite clear. Those books are complete and utter garbage and may contribute to the downfall of society. Stephanie Meyer should be embarrassed and little girls who have read that trash should be forced to read The Bell Jar and Catcher in the Rye until all traces of it have been erased from their memories.
That being said, I must admit that the movie was not terrible. That is not to say that it was good, but it did not make me want to stick red hot pokers in my eyes. The film came across darker than the book, which was certainly an improvement as, hello, it's about vampires. I did not loathe the heroine like I did in the book, but this is primarily because I like Kristen Stewart. She always looks disheveled and miserable. It's great. And part of me is surprised that they didn't go after Jenna Malone for the role. God, she's awful. Absolutely terrible. Ugh. I can't stand to even look at her. I feel like this role would have fit perfectly with her long resume of playing the same character over and over and over and over...
What was I talking about? Oh. Twilight. Yeah, book sucks, movie was tolerable. Damn, now I can't stop thinking about my hatred for Jenna Malone. It's gonna be a long day.
Bubba: Hey ugly.
Kate: You need to stop starting our conversations like that.
Bubba: You keep saying that.
Kate: Because its true. What's up?
Bubba: I'm pretty sure I want to be a vampire.
Kate: Holy fuck, Bubba, don't tell me you read that bullshit excuse for a novel too.
Bubba: Nope.
Kate: Thank Christ.
Bubba: I saw the movie. And you're going to too.
Kate: Please don't make me do that.
Bubba: Sorry, lady. It's Monday night, and you are committed to hang out with me. And I want to watch Twilight again.
Kate: I refuse.
Bubba: Oh, shut up. You can blog about it, and I'll feed you lots of wine.
Kate: Fine.
Thus, I spent Monday evening with Bubba at our friend Messica's studio apartment watching Twilight with her semi-retarded cat, Jack Bauer. Now, I have previously made my feelings about the Twilight phenomenon quite clear. Those books are complete and utter garbage and may contribute to the downfall of society. Stephanie Meyer should be embarrassed and little girls who have read that trash should be forced to read The Bell Jar and Catcher in the Rye until all traces of it have been erased from their memories.
That being said, I must admit that the movie was not terrible. That is not to say that it was good, but it did not make me want to stick red hot pokers in my eyes. The film came across darker than the book, which was certainly an improvement as, hello, it's about vampires. I did not loathe the heroine like I did in the book, but this is primarily because I like Kristen Stewart. She always looks disheveled and miserable. It's great. And part of me is surprised that they didn't go after Jenna Malone for the role. God, she's awful. Absolutely terrible. Ugh. I can't stand to even look at her. I feel like this role would have fit perfectly with her long resume of playing the same character over and over and over and over...
What was I talking about? Oh. Twilight. Yeah, book sucks, movie was tolerable. Damn, now I can't stop thinking about my hatred for Jenna Malone. It's gonna be a long day.
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