Sorry about my extended leave-of-absense. My laptop was stolen back in October, so I kinda used that as an excuse to not post a whole lot. But, I’m going to get back in the swing of things. I might not write exactly like I did 6 months ago, but let’s hope my four or five readers can adapt, right, grandma?
Love you all. I’ll have a post tomorrow.
This review was published today in my school’s magazine, Nexus.
The Lonely Island's new album, Incredibad
Have you ever been in the age-old situation, in which a reason for celebration is coming up, be it a birthday, anniversary, or perhaps Valentine’s Day, and realized that you don’t have a gift for your significant other? Justin Timberlake (who single-handedly brought sexy back, so you know he’s to be trusted) has a suggestion. First, he says, “Cut a hole in a box.” Next, Timberlake suggests you “put your junk in the box” before finally prompting her to “open the box.” It’s a dick in a box! This Saturday Night Live classic, Dick In A Box, along with many others, can be found on the new album, Incredibad, by The Lonely Island.
The first thing that struck me about this album is the extensive list of guest artists, from T-Pain to Jack Black to Norah Jones, and more. At its heart, this album is a comedy album, but it’s a really good comedy album. The songs are predominantly rap parodies, and never fail to elicit laughs. I’d go as far as to say it blows comedy artist Weird Al out of the water. If you’re a fan of the Flight of the Conchords, you’re sure to like what The Lonely Island’s come up with.
In “I’m on a Boat,” Samberg, T-Pain, and Schaffer rap about…well, being on a boat. It sounds silly, I know, but it’s meant to poke fun at what other rappers sing about today. Soulja Boi sings about dancing, and Chamillionaire sings about driving, but somehow it’s not so funny when they do it. Samberg sings, “I’m on a boat / I’m on a boat / Everybody look at me ’cause I’m sailing on a boat.” This is one of a couple songs off the album that, I feel, is best paired with the video.” Once seen, it’s hilarious. I feel like if I were to only listen to the song, my response would’ve been more of an “okay, great” versus the fit of girlish giggles I was sent into. The first time I watched the video, I laughed myself to tears. I couldn’t help feeling that the low point of the album was We Like Sportz. Other than that song, the album is very nicely produced, but Sportz felt “You-Tubey;” amateur, and low-budget.
The album, unfortunately, isn’t all new material. As I mentioned before, The Lonely Island has actually been around for a little while, and are responsible for such classics as Dick in a Box and the 2005 Internet phenomenon, Lazy Sunday (“we love that chronic-what?-cles of Narnia!”). These songs, however, contribute to a sense of familiarity, as well as providing a pretty good idea of what to expect (if you’ve heard them before).
Overall, I’d give the album a 9 out of 10. The lyrics are brilliant, the guest-singers are sure to appeal to any taste in music, but it takes a certain sense of humor to “get it,” and it’s hard to imagine what I’d think of the songs had I not seen the accompanying videos. I strongly urge you, if nothing else, to check out The Loney Island on YouTube. They’ve gone as far as to make videos for five songs, and Lazy Sunday can be found by searching Hulu-copyright restrictions prevent this one from making YouTube.
I don’t want my mother on my facebook. I’ve said this before, and I’ve said it again. But today, in honor of Mother’s Day, I would assume, Facebook rolled out a new familial bond-building feature: families. I don’t know what Facebook thinks this is going to lead to, but for now, I’d have to stick with not much.
It doesn’t make a great deal of sense, the way they’ve implemented it. My family shows up under my basic information, which I don’t see as being that important, honestly. My brother is not as vital to who I am as my girlfriend. Sorry, Ben, that’s just how it is. Now the relationship status makes good sense. It could, concievably, change fairly often, and it makes for good gossip. In 10 years or so, after I’ve left highschool, and my friends start to get married for real (we’ll come back to this), it’ll be nice to see if any of the highschool couples actually end up getting hitched. But Ben’s always going to be my brother. Randy Malamud is always going to be my father, as Wendy Simonds will alwaye be my mother. There’s no reason for that to be with the rest of my chronically changing information. Consistency-wise, it doesn’t make sense.
Personally, what I’d like to see is a new Family section, possibly with a nice, visualized tree. (Now ain’t that original!) At least, if they’re going to go down this family path for serious. They could also go about adding cousins, uncles, aunts, there’s a lot more to my family than parents and siblings.
One last concern of mine, that I told you I’d bring back up, is what’s happened with marriages. Those darned kids, mockin’ the holy institution of marriage! That’s, right, blog-readers, people are listing themselves as “married” on Facebook without actually being in a serious relationship! What blasphemy! To be honest, I couldn’t care less, but my stepmom’s quite disappointed to have found out that her and my father’s facebook marriage might not be taken seriously. I can’t wait for friends to start claiming other friends as brothers and, in time, children.
I’ve still yet to see if Facebook would let me list my girlfriend as a sister. If not, I’m sure there are a great deal of families out there ready to raise a shit-storm.
family
I’ve been doing quite a bit of work for my school’s fashion program, UrbanCouture, recently. I thought I’d put up two flyers for shows I’ve made, just to show off. I also put together an amazing program for the upcoming yearly show (which if this post garters any hits, I’d suggest you get tickets to!), but that’s a bit under-wraps at the moment. But yeah, here’s some work to show off, since I haven’t put any up recently. Enjoy!
P.S. I’ll put up photos of the program, once it gets back from the printer.
…So, here it goes. Soul Vegetarian may be one of the worst restaurants in Atlanta. And I’m probably going to take a lot of shit for this. But here’s why.
By the way, I swear a lot in here. If that’s not up your alley, I advise you to stop here. Ok, I tried.
I’m not really one for fashion shows. I’m not one for clothes, either, I think that if it were the social norm, I’d be perfectly happy walking around in the nude. As it is, however, that’s not the social norm; far from it. So it’s kind of strange, how I came to be involved with my school’s fashion program. I found myself, this evening, at a show put on by Grady’s Urban Couture, and in order to improve upon my oratory skills and whatnot, I decided (while standing at the foot of the runway, mind you) to dramaticize the entire thing into something of a essay. Or memoir, whatever you choose to call it. So, here goes.
As I mentioned, I’m not all that into the clothing scene. I don’t really get it. I shop at target, which is really good enough for me. Sure, it’s slightly unsettling sitting in algebra, the two students on eather side of me rocking the same shirt I am, but at the end of the day, a shirt is a shirt. About a year ago, I made good friends with Vincent Martinez. He directs our school’s fashion program. I’m a graphic designer, so I’m supposed to be incredibly artsy, but I just like sitting infront of my laptop all day. And I make pretty things. I’ve done lots of work for Martinez in the past couple of months, and he invited me to attend a show of his, Remixed. Which was where I spent my evening.
The show was in Atlanta’s posh, artsy west end. On Marietta Street, if anyone knows where that is. I went alone, and I realized why people take dates to these things. I didn’t really know anyone there, and felt just a tad outside my social realm. I’m sure it’s the kind of thing where I’ll end up in a couple years, but the people were interesting enough. I stood in the corner, attatched to my phone, swallowing shrimp coctail after shrimp coctail. Eventually, my friend Sam showed up. I somehow convinced her to come, or so I’d like to think. I never actually spoke to her directly about it until this afternoon, but the idea had been planted in my head around the beginning of the week. So we browsed this fancy, posh shop, full of women’s clothes and little impulsively bought books, candles, and other whimsical items. The fashion show, though, was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
My brother watches project runway, or he did for a short period. So I’ve got an idea of what goes on at these sorts of things. Women walk about in skimpy dresses, slut it up a bit for the cameras, and their dresses sell for thousands at posh boutiques not unlike the one at which I spent my evening. I knew not what to expect, since this is my highschool’s fashion program. These models can’t legally drink. I watched them parade down the runway, an artistic representation of Atlanta’s Old Fourth Ward. One at a time, they’d show off their dresses, the one male involved in the show flaunted his skin-tight, silk pants and man bag, and they would all do this blank stare into the distance. Sam and I were positioned at the very foot of the runway, so perhaps it’s for the best that these girls, dressed in less material than would be used for my various pillowcases, didn’t look me straight in the eye, but I couldn’t help but feel that these poor designers felt, perhaps, a bit dejected. They stared off into deserted Marietta street, an expressionless look on their face, as if to say, “Oh yes. I wear something this lavish every day. Now, please, let me get on with my business.”
The harsh realization that I came to was that, despite having put almost a month of work into the email flyer sent out, that these clothing designers in the making really, truly put so much effort into these clothes. They’ve spent three, maybe four months on a dress to be shown off at one show, since you can’t wear it anywhere else. But if this dress were at Target, I’d give it a glance, and head for the screened t-shirts.
Music to get stuff done to
Apparently, I’m too awesome for the Nexus, A.K.A. my school’s magazine, so I can only publish one of two reviews I wrote. This is the one that won’t be published. It’s a sad thing.
I’ve got a bad habit of procrastinating. I’ve been putting off so much stuff for the longest time; I’ve got a speech to write for Mr. Herrera, another for my Sunday school class (yeah, Jews have Sunday school), a project for Mr. Darden to complete, and an intro to revise for my other Nexus article, on The Lonely Island’s new album. I missed a couple of deadlines, and I’ve got a driver’s test to take this Friday, so I’m in a bit of a crunch. On top of all that, I had this review to write, and I’ve been freaking out about all of it.
Lucky for me, Tonight, by Franz Ferdinand makes for tons of productivity, since it’s really not that interesting to listen to. The other two albums I’ve reviewed for Nexus have key lyrics that needed to, interesting beats, and are arranged in a way that also draws attention. The songs on Tonight all sound exactly the same, so none require any individual attention, the lyrics are generic and really don’t seem to be about anything (often a specific phrase catches my attention, only because it’s repeated around 10-15 times as a sort of chorus), and have a tone which doesn’t really qualify as happy nor sad, so whether I’m freaked about inevitably failing the driving laws test again, depressed about my burden of work, or happy about my newly purchased video game (Guitar Hero: World Tour—it’s AMAZING—but that’s another review…), Tonight suits the mood, and doesn’t distract.
If music was meant as pretty noise to be played in the background while mundane activities were carried out, this album would be a total win, a definite 20 out of 10 in my book. Unfortunately, being something of a musician myself, I can’t help but remind the masses that this isn’t music’s purpose in life. Music should make me happy when I’m sad, and once it’s accomplished that, keep me happy as long as necessary, and on that, Tonight fails on every count.
Some people keep ESPN or CNN on all day, to fill the often-distracting silence. I suggest that Franz Ferdinand’s Tonight be used in the same way. But for music to entertain you, or to inspire you…look elsewhere.
A beloved blogger-turned-author of mine, Christian Lander, is giving a reading of his blook (blog+book), Stuff White People Like, at Atlanta Georgia’s very own Euclid Avenue Yacht Club. I very strongly encourage anyone in the area to come on down.
Yeah, I’ve used four different themes since I opened this blog. And I’ll probably use four more, if not seven or eight. I can’t change things from time to time? That’s all.
My Life is Not-So-Average
An internet meme that’s popped up recently is a spread of so-called “single serving sites.” I Can Has Cheezburger was, arguably, one of the first, but Fuck My Life began a trend of text-based single serving sites. Several other notable sites have popped up in its wake, the most direct parody of which calls itself My Life is Average. The problem with FML is that most of the stories submitted are faked, and the site loses its appeal to all but the biggest schadenfreude aficionados quickly. MLIA, at first, opened to show us that most people won’t run their girlfriend’s dog over on the way to prom, or accidentally eat a batch of pot-brownies before a job interview. The original MLIAs read things like,
and
These, to me, were funny! I could relate to them, and they gave me some hope that not everyone’s life sucked. There was a problem, though. I got bored. Quickly. These posts were amusing at first, but after time, they’d pretty much described every aspect of my day. So, MLIA evolved. The newer entries are as such:
and
These newer MLIAs are a lot funnier, certainly, but the fact remains: these lives are not average. People are starting to exaggerate how “average” their life is, and it effectively becomes not-average. The new stories are spectacular, and I really wish they would happen to me. Things of this sort are not average.
The MLIA community found itself faced with a problem, it could remain average, and become boring, or it could evolve, as it has, and become no-longer average. I’m not exactly pleased with their decision, and to be honest, I think they should’ve foreseen this when they bought their domain name. It Made My Day is one of the newest single serving sites, which almost perfectly copies MLIA, but the name is much more descriptive of what the stories truly entail.