Hands down, the best and wisest advice I ever got was from my fabulous, scandalous Sicilian granny, Rose: “Honey, go and sit in the car when you pluck your chin; the light is better out there.”
A really marvelous, interesting, and inspiring piece on where the music industry is headed — BACK INTO THE HANDS OF THE MUSICIANS, motherfuckers. According to the amazing Amanda Palmer of The Dresden Dolls, “Everyone has to stop thinking there is an answer. The answer is, there’s an infinite number of answers.”
My passionate love affair with the Kinks continues. “Powerman” makes me weep — perhaps because it reminds me so much of the music that my brilliant husband makes. Methinks I really do need to kiss his lippies.
Life is FAR too short to use cheap, shitty yarn.
To all you right wing pricks whining that Obama hasn’t fixed us up all nice yet:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU. It took your boy, Bush, 8 years of ass-raping us with no lube to get us where we are in the first place. Give this poor bastard a chance — he’s only cleaning up Republican feces, after all. Where were all you goddamned patriots when W&Co. was parking their meat bus in your ca-ca locker for nearly a decade? FUCK OFF.
To all my crunchy, tie-dyed, big-bushed, hairy-armpitted, patchouli-reeking comrades out there — and god knows there are many: I love you and admire your commitment to protecting the earth, but GOOD GODDAMN…all your hippie household cleaning products don’t work FOR SHI-OT, and for god’s sake let’s not pretend they do. Tea Tree oil can kiss my fatass — I need some ol’ school Clorox bleach up in this motherfucker.
I fall in love with the heads of dead men and poets.
The only thing that could possibly make me love this video anymore than I do is if my darling niece and nephew were in it.
Oh.
They are.
Hipster 101
Buttons strung across your chest on the strap of your fabric DIY bag? Check.
Square, black Geek Chic spectacles? Check.
Skinny leg jeans and deck shoes? Check.
Raggedy Anne Red …hair dye? Check.
Worn out Converse? Check.
Exposed chest on the girls? Check.
White belt? Check.
Disordered hairstyle? Check.
Conditioned facial hair? Check.
Self drawn tattoos? Check.
Vintage shoes? Check.
Elvis glasses? Check.
Conceited head tilt? Check.
“Hold your own jacket please
I’m not in the mood
Millions of trains under the ground
This city was the blueprint for hell
Passed out, sleeping at your party
Dream of leaving in the morning
You will all die in Williamsburg
Too hip to even clean your nose out
Your grave is pulling at your pants now
You will all die in Williamsburg
Bored again
Watching the rats
Eat all your food
At least you’ll be used to
The place you’ll be soon
This city was the blueprint for hell
Passed out, sleeping at your party
Dream of leaving in the morning
You will all die in Williamsburg
Too hip to even clean your nose out
Your grave is pulling at your pants now
You will all die in Williamsburg
Do you know how obvious you are?
You were born in New Hampshire but you say you’re from the O.C.
Brooklyn’s a death bed
For clones of the same kid
Stuck in the party
That was lame to begin with
Yeah, yeah lame to begin with
At least you’ll be used to
The place you’ll be
This city was the blueprint for hell
Passed out, sleeping at your party
Dream of leaving in the morning
You will all die in Williamsburg
Too hip to even clean your nose out
Your grave is pulling at your pants now
You will all die in Williamsburg.”
Fuck Williamsburg.
Annoying Silver Lake hipsters REPRESENT.
muffy bolding 