Or DCLugi here.
But it’s okay. We’ve still got our poetry.
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Category Archives: Lush Life
concert etiquette and the hipster sombrero
Attention hipsters: Bing Crosby called. He wants his hat back.
The very first thing I said to Jeff was, “I didn’t realize that stupid hats were compulsory in hipsterism.” But, alas, they are, as a glance around us could tell.
Seriously, these things make those fake-fur cowboy hats you win at carnivals look like bowlers, dignity-wise and comparatively speaking. Whether composed of papier-mache made by artsie soon-to-be-ex girlfriends (once the guys parse the sublimated hostility expressed in the undeniably hideous chapeau), hand crafted and painted felt from Granville Island artistes, or generic polyblend from a secondhand shop or Sears old men’s department, it appears that this ridonkulous stingybrim hat is a must-wear for this season’s male hipsters.
Which is bad news for concertgoers such as myself.
Not half stingy enough, I’m telling you.
Of course, it must be admitted that Feist, as a concert experience, rather sucks, so missing it because of the cranial fashion trends of neurasthenic, underfed singles wasn’t exactly a tragic loss, but still. You know that feeling you get, listening to her album, that her voice is too delicate an instrument to make it through an entire concert? Well that feeling is accurate: it can’t. It goes away about 2/3 into the performance and never comes back. It’s like that Brady Bunch episode where Peter’s voice is changing and they have to record the big single…painful.
When she forgot the words to her own songs and did her little Ashlee Simpson “maybe they won’t notice” jig, it would have been amusing to have been able to have watched.
Instead, I snuck peeks between the brim of the obviously balding guy two rows below and the aggressively spiked ‘do of the Sanjaya Lives activist in the row below him. The women at this concert don’t appear to have even eaten in the last three weeks, and could hardly be accused of taking up too much space, least of all with their stridently ironed hair or flapper-like headbands. Nope, it’s repression by the patriarchy, with dinky little hats.
Is that a metaphor?
lolgoth #11: LolPope!
From lapsed Catholic Metro, who will doubtless burn in eternal hellfire for it or at least have to release an album of traditional Irish ballads before his reputation will be rehabilitated.
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he’s got balls…and he wants you to eat them
Well you gotta admit it’s the most creative use of liposuctioned human fat you’ve ever heard of. It can’t ALL end up puffing up Lindsay‘s pout.
And it’s Art!
Marco Evaristti, a Chilean/Israeli/Danish conceptual artist (oh, aren’t they all) underwent liposuction (to, from the looks of him, no avail) and made the suctioned human fat into meatballs, which he then fried in olive oil, displayed in a gallery, and canned.
Then it starts to get weird.
“What I’m trying to do with these works is to give society a jolt and make it ask questions,” the 44-year-old said in a telephone interview from Denmark, where he lives with his wife and children.
“And it can answer those questions, and in that way maybe we can be a little better as human beings.”
Evaristti’s meatballs piece consists of 13 tins of the meat on a long table, in an echo of Christ’s last supper.
He says the work is about the sanctity of the body and an unhealthy modern obsession with food and weight loss.
“Firstly, I want to show people that meatballs made with my fat are no more disgusting than the meatballs you buy in the supermarket,” he said.
“Secondly, it’s a dialogue with a modern society that lives to eat, rather than eating to live as it should be.
“You eat, and when you’re fat, you go to a clinic, have an operation, have your fat removed and you start to eat again.”
When he displayed the piece in Chile, Evaristti invited 12 people to join him in eating the meatballs in a last supper.
How did they taste? “Even better than my grandmother’s,” he said.
In all honesty, now I’m hungry!
Would you eat those meatballs?
I absolutely would; I would be so irrationally excited at a chance to eat those goddammed meatballs you cannot possibly imagine it because if you tried to cram all that joy between your ears and run it through your little grey cells it your head would assplode! Like the Death Star! With paranoia and magnesium flares and Wookiee co-pilots and a bombastic, derivative John Williams score playing in Dolby Surroundsound!
It would be teh ossum.
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American Trash by Chris Jordan
Artist Chris Jordan makes digital images depicting just what and how much Americans use and discard every day. This, for instance, is an image of the two million plastic bottles that the US uses and throws away every five minutes.
He’s also done an image of 65,000 cigarettes, one for every teenager who becomes addicted to smoking per month; an image of jet contrails; plastic and paper bags thrown out, and many others. This puts our own actions in context in a very powerful way: it’s not just me, it’s us, and this is what we do and this is the debris we leave behind.
Found indirectly via Gawker.
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raincoaster 