Tuesday, June 20, 2006

My roommate reminded me that Angelina Jolie was on Anderson Cooper tonight, so while watching a healthy dose of therapeutic Law & Order, I decided to flip to the inanity that is CNN during the commercials.

I know this is pretty heart-of-darkness, and I know that she is doing great things raising awareness in war-torn and poverty-stricken developing countries, but goddamn, she is annoying. Don't you think it takes away from the gravity of the situation when you constantly make reference to how the misfortunes of others makes you cherish what you have (hello, it's a lot) even more? And even though I know the dowager Anderson is omniscient and all-powerful, she still sounded a bit dumb in comparison. Well, Anderson said one idiotic thing, something like, "Don't you wish you could just tell the paparazzi who follow you around to just go to the Congo?". I don't mind him though, because I think fondly back on him tearing a strip off of Trent Lott's back for worrying about his mansion during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And one more thing, the TWO HOUR special was called Angelina Jolie: Her MISSION and Motherhood (caps mine). Tacky CNN, as per usual.

I only saw about seven minutes, so maybe things got better or things got worse, but I was just glad I didn't have to hear about fucking Shiloh again. Fine, I'm bitter. But not because of Brad Pitt or your puffy lips or lesbian icon status. You may nor may not believe this, but a few months ago, after reading a dreadful book on civil war history, I decided the imaginary product of my imaginary love affair with my gbf (a la Doris Day-Rock Hudson but he's not as cute as Rock Hudson was and I'm cuter than Doris Day) should be named Shiloh.

You steal everything, Angelina.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Ack. Totally stoned from novocaine. At work.

Let's see if a monkey really can do my job...

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Great birthday weekend. That never happens, usually sunk in self-pitying morass and existential can't-sleep-at-night-sadness (also self-pitying).

p.s. Still have to get my tooth drilled tomorrow.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Watch Fearless Freaks. One of the best rock-u-mentaries I've seen. Except for I Am Trying to Break your Heart.
Jesse fucking Helms?

There's nothing sadder than the death of a childhood crush, is there? Especially a long, drawn-out death, like being shot in the stomach and burbling your last bloody breath out, except instead of the last 5 minutes of a movie, this lasted 15 years. Bono, this is how you did it. With a helpful timeline.

0. My sister and I used to act out the video for "With or Without you" when I was 12, especially the parts when you swung your guitar (didn't notice the leather vest worn shirtless, cringe), memory a bit unclear but I may have been you, and my sister might have been the guitar. Love is still as yet unsprung, as was heavily into Madonna for the only time in my life. N.B. It's funny what the tapes your parents bought for you (Sade, Madonna, Whitney, Blondie) said about your parents. Like, my dad is a total diva and my mom (ABBA and Billy Joel) is a gay man.

1. I fell in love with your blond-frosted mullet when I was fifteen. I loved U2 with all the power of a 15 year-old romantic heart and thought you were rebels and freedom-fighters. You forced me out of a short stint with NKOTB, for which I will always be grateful, no matter how much of a douche you are now.

2. My room became papered with your posters, edging out Motley Crue (sorry, Nikki) and my teddy-bear-pushing-a-wheelbarrow-full-of-vegetables tapestry. My friend even mounted my favourite poster, a Joshua Tree-era black and white concert shot for my birthday one year. Even though my sister soon pierced your mounted crotch with a pair of scissors during one of our epic fights, the altar-like effect of having the huge poster propped up on a dresser surrounded by books and candles was unaffected.

3. Fast forward through the years, I loved your new hair, debuted in the "Mysterious Ways" video (probably why I still have a predilection for slightly greasy guys with leather pants and too-long hair), and even though I cried the first time I heard Zooropa (not in a good way, I came home from school, ran upstairs to my room, put the cd on and then wept for 45 minutes, facedown into my pillow. I am also slightly diva-like) I convinced myself that I could grow to like it and the new stage performer mutiple-personas (wtf, Mephisto?). However, "The Wanderer" introduced me to Johnny Cash, who I will never tire of, so thanks again, douchebag.

4. Now we're at university, and suddenly, even though I'd brought all your cds with me, I found myself listening to very different music. I felt sad about it, like outgrowing a baby blanket. Note, I still bought Original Soundtracks 1 and Pop (which I didn't mind), out of guilt and loyalty.

5. When I moved to Philadelphia for grad school and was severely homesick, All That You Can't Leave Behind was a brief comfort, thank god for Brian Eno (sigh, Roxy Music) and Daniel Lanois, who is amazing and super-underrated as an artist in his own right. But the cheese-factor of "Beautiful Day" and the Salman Rushdie tie-in of "The Ground Beneath her Feet" should have warned me that worse times were to come.

6. And they did, with the monstrous crap that was the How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb album. Watershed moment: the first U2 album that I didn't buy. Not that it mattered, because I didn't have to feel loyal any more. For some reason, you have a new generation of fans who actually like the banal shit that you do now. They also buy your red and black iPod (for shame) and buy into your ambassador for the world schtick.

7. And then you had dinner at the White House.

8. And then you paid thousands of dollars to ship your diva/army/bowler hat, on a first class airline ticket to whatever speaking engagement/pale shadow of a U2 concert you were doing in Italy.

9. But you weren't dead to me until I saw that Mary J. Blige has a cover of "One" on her new "album", and that not only were you not suing her, you were singing with her. Poof. Good luck on your next collaboration with Hillary Duff or Eminem, I'm sure it'll be awesome.

Nostalgiaville, population:1. Top 10 U2 songs.

1. The Unforgettable Fire

2. Where the Streets Have No Name
3. Sweetest Thing (old version)

4. The Wanderer

5. Mysterious Ways

6. With or Without You
7. MLK

Red Hill Mining Town
Lady with the Spinning Head
10. Ultraviolet

So, three hours later, I'm sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor listening to all of my U2 albums. And singing, a bit tearily. I still can't get the pitch right on "With or Without you" right. Remember when I sang/whispered "Where the Streets have No Name" into a tape recorder and then hid it under my bed? When I played "In a Little While" on the phone for my sister from a million miles away? Damn you, Bono, just when I think I'm done with you..

But you still look like an ass in that Che hat.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

El Greco, The opening of the Fifth Seal of the Apocalypse

Who the hell gets cavities after the age of 11? Maybe you, if you have an all-pixie-stick-all-the-time habit or brush your teeth with lye and Coke. But unless smoking and angst rots your teeth, I think I'm getting a second opinion. That dark spot on my tooth could be anything.

p.s. Clearly, font is brown for rot.
p.p.s. Thanks, fucking Damien, with your number of the beast day. Suggest trying apocalyptic events on a grander scale than my teeth, unless my cavity will set in motion a chain of events that will result in rivers of fire and pestilence falling from the sky. That would be cool. Just do it before 6/19 because I would like to be spared the drilling.
p.p.p.s. Happy 30th, pkl. Yes, your birthday ranks lower than my cavity.
p.p.p.p.s. Must research connection between instant karma and cavities.