Buon giorno tutti.
Sad, really, that I used to be fluent in Italian and now all I know is "hello all," "with cheese", and "I love you". Ah well, my talents lie in other areas. Such as...er...
Anyway.
I loved all the suggestions for my future career, especially Alex Richards' author idea and Meg's weathergirl idea. Meg, it sounds fantastic and I'd love to point at clouds and kibbitz with Chad the overly-tanned news anchor. Unfortunately, I don't have the spare cash in my account for collagen and silicon boobs right now, but once I scrape the $ together I'll definitely get on it.
For now, though, I think...I HAVE FOUND MY CALLING.
I must...nay, SHALL...be one of the Fug Girls. I know that right now I do not posess even a fragment of the wittiness of Heather and Jessica at Go Fug Yourself, but I can only pray that after taking some time to hone my bitchery chops I could be the Anne Hathaway to their fashion-goddess Meryl Streep, running about fetching them coffees and walking their dogs while they further master the art of online fugging.
So, in the name of all that's not fit to wear outside, here it is. My pathetic attempt to ingratiate myself with the fugging community. Enjoy!
THE TOP TEN MOST ANNOYING/BADLY DRESSED/GENERALLY IRKSOME CELEBRITIES DU JOUR, AS COMPILED BY A WANNABE FUGSTER.
(note- don't yell at me. If one of these people happens to be your style guru...well, sorry. Go have a nice sandwich or something, or maybe some Nutella. Or maybe Nutella AND a sandwich. And then see if you feel a bit better. I guarantee, you will. Nutella=miracle cure. Just got all your teeth knocked out in a bar fight? NUTELLA. Failing all of your courses? NUTELLA. Forced to tap-dance on the street alongside an organ grinder called Guido and his monkey for spare cash because you're a destitute mess? NUTELLA.)
And choirs of angels on high sing the Hallelujah chorus...

1. Mischa Barton.
The Good-
Great shoes. Dress that shouldn't look good but it does. Hair that...well, it's ATTACHED TO HER HEAD. So that's something. And it appears to be her own, and not purchased from Tyra's House O' Weaves, so that gets her some points too. Snaps all around for La Barton.
The Bad-
To quote the greatest teen movie the world has ever seen, "She's a full-on Monet. From far away it's okay, but up close it's just a big old mess." The combination of "I sleep with rockers!" bangs + sinfully ugly boots + that DRESS, oh, that DRESS...is not good. Leopard is lovely in small doses. Shoes. Bag. Etc. Or, if you have the personality to carry crazy-ass full-on leopard well, go for it. But Mischa? YOU HAVE NO PERSONALITY.

The Should-Be-Fugly But Kind Of Works...No, Never Mind, It Blows-

When I first saw this, I thought "Cool." And then I thought, "Ankle boots? No." And then I thought "Drop knowledge, not bombs. That Mischa Barton girl is one smart cookie." And then I thought "No, really, I like that tee shirt." And then I thought, "But look, even her dog is scared of that skirt." And then I thought, "But she wears it well." And then I thought "But does she, REALLY?" And then there was some sparkly object waved in front of my face and I got distracted. True story. So we're resting on, a big "nyet" to the whole ensemble. Oh, and the high-waisted trend? Sweet Cletus, what is up with that? MOM JEANS. FRONT BUTT. Am I the only one who gets it?

But her sartorial choices aside, the reason I cannot stomach Mischa B. is her "acting." Yeah, I saw The O.C. And the only thing that kept me hooked was gaping at her in wonder and saying to myself, "Who cast her? WHO? Who cast that girl? I mean, in all seriousness...is this a cruel joke? Are they toying with the viewers? Is this a litmus test to see just HOW much lack of talent the general public will put up with in exchange for a pretty girl the width of a string bean, with hair about the same consistency?"
But they were serious. And that's why I stopped caring about the O.C. a long, long time ago, boys and girls. And now it's dead, and so is Marissa Cooper. So I think we've all learned something today.
IF YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE A JOB ON A TELEVISION SERIES, MAYBE TAKE AN ACTING CLASS FIRST. And eat a corn dog. Jeez. Maybe she's naturally skinny, but there's naturally skinny and then there's naturally skinny.

2. Justin Timberlake. I think I've made my feelings toward Justin abundantly clear in some previous post (I don't feel like sifting through my landmines of crazy, so I can't tell you exactly which one). Just in case, though.
JUSTIN.
This is you back then.

This is you now.


I'm sure you're sorry for the fedora. I HAVE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU FEEL AS BAD ABOUT THE FEDORA AS I DO. I HAVE TO. In fact, you probably go into your Walk-In Closet of Shame sometimes, look around, cringe, see the fedora perched jauntily on your revolving hat rack and think "Thank God I ditched that thing. Oh, and good thing I extracted myself from the Britney canon as well. Bitch crazy".
But still. I don't care that you now make music videos with Harlot Johansson (who was surprisingly amusing in that prom dress SNL sketch). You are DULL. You are a DULL MAN. You look like a weird cross between ogre and potato, and you have sporadic clumps of beard hair, and...I'm running out of reasons why I don't like you. I know I'm supposed to like you now that you've staged your comeback. But you're going to have to work harder to win me over. Dance shirtless more. We girls like that, or so I've read.

3. Fergie Feeerg.

I don't say this often about celebrities, but I hope she's on crack. What other excuse does she have for this outfit? There is a way to show off your abs that does not involve a) Barbie's Dream Skirt, made exclusively for Kmart (actually, I kind of love Kmart. It's so cheap and convenient! It's like the slutty sister of Target. And Target is the bastard child of Bloomingdale's, and Bloomingdale's is of course the hick cousin of Barneys/Bergdorf's. Ah, the circle of life.), as reimagined by Paris Hilton's dog groomer, b) legwarmers on tube socks, or c) a tee shirt clearly borrowed from the wardrobe department of the summer tour of Toddlers Gone Loco.

I like to think of this outfit as a little argument between Fergie's better self and her legwarmers-over-tube-socks-wearing, abs-displaying self.
Here's how I think it would go.
Scene- Fergie is standing in front of her full-length mirror, contemplating her outfit choices. A little red demon in a tube top and a white, glowing angel in a shirt of appropriate length rest on each of her shoulders.
GOOD ANGEL- I really like that outfit on you, Fergie. I especially like how your shirt doesn't have any veiled reference to your lady parts on it. Sure, the pants make you look a little stumpy, but all in all it's nice.
BAD ANGEL- Don't listen to that wench. Tuck the top of your sweater up to display your dynamite abs.
GOOD ANGEL- Fergie, no! You'll look weirdly top-heavy and out of proportion!
BAD ANGEL- Come on! You're Fergie Ferg! You can wear anything! Aren't you the girl who wore legwarmers over tube socks? Come on, show us your humps! Your humps! Your lovely lady lumps!
GOOD ANGEL- But...I...
BAD ANGEL- You know you want to.
GOOD ANGEL- But...uh...
BAD ANGEL- Do it.
GOOD ANGEL- Bu...h...
BAD ANGEL- Hush. Now. Tuck the sweater up.

*Good angel gives up and flies off to implore some other celebrity to listen to their better style self. Too bad everybody ignores the good angel, huh?*

Fergie seems totally crazy. And not really in an awesome, I-want-to-go-drinking-with-her way. In a "please don't boil my bunny, or eat my newborn baby" way.


"Dang, y'all, can you believe I made this necklace out of my old nose rings? And how great is my hair right now? I invited my friend Miss J over to do my makeup, so I could look as g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s as (s)he does.
Trannies give the best advice, y'all! (S)he had some great tips for masking my Adam's apple! That's it, you guys. From now on I only hang out with transvestites."

4. Pete Wentz.

"Whatsup, dudes? I'm Pete Wentz! Yeah, I know, you're in awe of my cutting-edge style. I WEAR EYELINER. And I'm not, like, a chick. I'M A DUDE. So me wearing eyeliner is like...a chick wearing a Rock Out With Yo' Cock Out hat. Or a masculine Seiko watch. But back to me. Yeah, I'm in this mad cool band, and you should really listen to us. All our songs sound exactly alike, but it's cool because I WEAR EYELINER. And not in a gay way. In a TOTALLY HARDCORE WAY."

"Check it, peeps. Who do you know who looks that angsty in a vest? Yeah, I totally borrowed it from my high school trigonometry teacher. Who is so NOT HARDCORE AT ALL, so what does he need a vest for? Pshh. MY TATTOOS MAKE IT EDGY. SO WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, MR. SMITHFIELD? ME. HAHAHAHAHA. ME."
"Even this MONKEY knows I rock super hard. Look at it, all up on me. It's thinking, "God, Pete, what manly and rock-star-like pores you have." Because I DO. My pores rock. Hard.
The monkey is taunting me, guys. It THINKS it can be as awesome as me. It THINKS it can wear makeup and sing unintelligible words. But IT CAN'T. So suck it, MONKEY. Because only a PRIVILEGED FEW are born with my BEAUTIFUL VOICE and my LYRICAL ELOQUENCE and STAGE PRESENCE.
And my PORES. Oh God, my PORES."

P.S. I'm not knocking "emo" music- if that's what Fall Out Boy is. I don't like to say "emo" because it makes me think of "emu." And I'm kind of afraid of emus. But anyway, if you worship at the Sacred Altar of Pete Wentz, as I know a lot of people do, don't leave a furious comment, because it's mean and it makes you look stupid because really, mean comments are humorous. Actually, scratch that, leave a mean comment if you want. I could use a good laugh. Or better yet, scroll up on this post. NUTELLA= THE SECRET TO A HAPPY LIFE. Eat that, Rhonda Byrne.

5.

Look! Hark yonder! I have spotted the elusive Leather-Belted Poshbot!
This is a truly rare breed of celebrity.
It hasn't been in anything or done anything to deserve its fame since a certain ill-fated girl group many years ago.
It has since married an undeniably hot but somewhat boring soccer player, and gone on to make beautiful babies (cough, in her laboratory. Cough. WHAT PERSON WITH THAT WAISTLINE HAS PUSHED OUT KIDS, I ASK YOU?) and befriended the Hapless Scientology-Spouting Child Beard...er, of course I mean Bride (no, I actually feel bad for poor Katie Holmes. Didn't Tom Cruise make her give birth on a ship or something? Without screaming? If Scientology is your thing, then whatever, but she just seems like a sweet kid who fell in love with the wrong cyborg. Here's how Tom probably proposed to Katie- "My sweet darling. Just put the stupid ring on and kiss me on the Eiffel Tower, then I can go cruise for dudes and you can go play Barbies in the corner or whatever the hell you were doing before I found you." Their baby is damn cute, though. Poor Katie. I wish she could just be that pain-in-the-ass, perky poster child for America again. Ah, well. They're beyond old news now, Tom and Katie, but I just wanted to rant a bit anyway.).
The Leather-Belted Poshbot has been seen scuttling around the world in various fashion mags. She enjoys dining on hearty meals of birdseed and water (to quote "Donatella Versace"- "Jumpin' Jehosaphat! You need to ACTUALLY EAT! You look like a pencil with two blood oranges glued to the top!"), vogueing for the cameras while pretending to be really bothered that the stupid paparazzi are bugging her for photos even though she's actually a total fame whore and LOOOVES the attention (dude, who doesn't? I never said I wasn't a fame whore. But at least be honest about it. Sheesh.), and generally being a particularly spiky thorn in my side. She just bugs me a lot.
And that belt wasn't even a good idea as a skirt, so why would you feel compelled to slide it up a few inches?
Christ, Victoria. Suck in your cheeks a little more. I'll call the miners- I'm sure they'd love a day's outing spelunking in the hollows that are your cheekbones.

6. Sienna Miller.

Yes, Sienna, we get it. You are young and free and lovely, and you can wear your hair up on your head like the love child of Maria Von Trapp and a drunken goatherd. Not that you possess ANY of Maria Von Trapp's awesomeness. But I digress. You are aglow with the light of a million faeries, and you can run across green lawns and throw your head back in laughter whilst the early morning sun bounces off your freshly purchased hair. I understand. You're everything we're not. You wear crocheted boots. You're too cool for school (and, apparently, too cool for PANTS). "Suddenly I See" by KT Turnstall plays constantly in your head, because suddenly you see, suddenly you see, this is what you want to be. You played Edie Sedgwick, and as a direct result, I no longer like Edie Sedgwick. Can we get a slow-clap for Ms. Miller?
I receive the message, loud and clear. You're the Princess of Narnia. You're the summer sun in a bottle. You're a magical creature and should be treated as such.
WILL YOU GO AWAY NOW?

7. Oh, Britney.
Britney, Britney, Britney.
Shall we chronicle your life through photographs?

Look how prepubescent and happy you are. Look how smiley you are in your ugly shoes with hair and whatnot. You're probably thinking about Justin. Ah, innocence. I'm not saying I wouldn't have smirked and whispered mean things about you if I'd seen you in the cafeteria- you look entirely too wholesome to just skate by without any bitchy remarks. But you seem normal here. And yes, that might just be the image your various handlers/hair brushers/leg humpers forced on you. But I prefer to imagine that at one point, Britters was a regular, functional human being. And you know what's scary? This wasn't even THAT long ago. I was alive. I was conscious. I might even have been impersonating Britney in my bedroom and singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror.
Maybe.
Look, I was young, okay?

And here's where it starts to get a little wild. Little Miss Musketeer Britney is all gussied up in her Catholic schoolgirl attire, chanting suggestive lyrics. Still, though. It's not that bad. Well, it could be worse. I mean, it DID get worse. Who would have thought that someday I would look back on Britney's pubescent kilt-and-halter days and think wistfully, "God, I miss that good-girl phase."?

You know what's classy?
Body jewelry, glittery makeshift pants, and writhing with a cobra.
Isn't that what Betty Friedan meant by "the feminine mystique"?

Okay, so then more stuff happened. Britney had an InstaMarriage in Vegas and Frenched Madonna and so on. But that's relatively boring, and Brit-Brit is really only interesting when she's self-destructing. Wait, did I just use "Brit-Brit" and "interesting" in the same sentence? And it wasn't "Brit-Brit's choices when it comes to personal hygiene can best be described as interesting?"


Ah, the Age Of K-Fed. This is a startlingly groomed photo of the two of them, so I can only imagine they were at a charity ball or a state funeral or something. I mean, their hair has been washed in recent memory! It's so stylish! It's so avant-garde!
Don't feel bad for her, guys. SHE HAS THE GOLDEN TICKET. K-FED'S SEED IS THE GOLDEN TICKET.

Ah, you crazy kids, you. Hot tip- when your reality television show makes Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey look like the zenith of all that is sophisticated, classy, romantic and captivatingly interesting, it's time to wake up and smell the Hot Cheetos. Might I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more tacky and more illiterate.

Yeah, so then she had like sixteen babies and got a divorce and shaved her HEAD, and I would really respect her for that so much more if it hadn't been such a sad publicity stunt. I'm not even going to post a photo of Baldney Spears, because it hurts my eyes a little. In all honesty, though, I don't loathe Brit as much as I loathe some. I just feel sad for her,that's all. I'm glad she went to rehab and got help. But that doesn't change the past.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.

8. Travis Barker.
vs.
Can you spot the difference? Me neither.

9. Ellen Pompeo.

See Barton, Mischa. Add on twenty years. Well, Pompeo is MARGINALLY better-dressed. Now, there's a real Herculean feat, out-dressing Mischa Barton, Princess of Keds.

10. Evan Rachel Wood.

I know, Evan Rachel Wood. You're thrilled. You're living your goth fairy tale. When you were starring in movies like Thirteen, which basically served as a catalyst for parents of teenage girls everywhere to have nervous breakdowns and bolt the doors of the house (thanks, Evan. Really, from all of us. Thanks), did you ever dream that one day your nauseatingly old and possibly transsexual prince would come for you? Maybe you guys should just have a big three-way with the devil himself and call it a day.
GIRL, YOU ARE TWELVE YEARS OLD. AND IF YOU'RE NOT, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE. You should be miserably skulking around the "Goth" section of Contempo Casuals in your local mall, listening to death metal and moodily painting your fingernails black and hating everything, because you are SO NOT THE AVERAGE TEENAGER. You are BAD, and DANGEROUS. You are a FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH. But really, there are ways to stick it to the man and assert your pubescent independence that don't involve taking up with men literally NINETEEN TIMES YOUR AGE. And by the way, take it from me- hating everything doesn't mean you have to be so aggressively unstylish. The shining example of everything ERW WANTS to be, but simply is not, is Christina Ricci. I love her, y'all.
RICCI would never enter Marilyn Manson's love dungeon and be his angsty gothic slave, now would she?
I think little Evan would do well to learn from Ricci's example. It could be like a Big Sisters, Little Sisters program. WAIT, a wonderful thing just occurred to me. Perhaps...Marilyn and Evan are not joined in the act of love, but he is simply fulfilling a community service debt by taking her under his disturbing wing as part of the Big Brothers Who Give Children Nightmares, Little Sisters Who Need To Wash That Eyeliner Off And Stand Up Straight (oh my God, I'm my mother) program? If only.

So there's my list, make of it what you will.

THE MUSIC/TV/BOOK CORNER- I've been obsessively listening to Whoo! All Right...Yeah Uh Huh, by The Rapture. I'm a sucker for music with exclamation points in the title. Oh, and Neutral Milk Hotel= the best thing EVER. I'm listening to the EP of Everything Is right now. Next up- In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. TV-wise- If Alec Baldwin leave 30 Rock because of this screaming phone message deal, I will be MURDEROUS. Yes, it was bad, but he makes that show. He MAKES it. In between all this lovely music and television, I've been reading Anywhere But Here, by Mona Simpson. It's fantastic, and I totally recommend it.


SIGHTINGS- Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy, Part Deux! Except it was a different guy, and it wasn't a train, it was the nonfiction section of the Barnes & Noble in Union Square. He was all preppy, yet somehow more rugged than Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy #1. He had facial stubble an' all. Yes, he was wearing...ugh...khakis. What is with all the prep boys floating about these days? Making me love them and whatnot? Also, I saw a really cute boy and girl outside of some movie theater, I forget where- they looked like college kids, and the boy had adorably untended sideburns and a completely awesome navy and white striped long sleeved shirt, very Parisian, with some cool five-pocket jeans (he Made It Work) and funky street sneakers. The girl was wearing...er...something. No, wait, I remember- a fuchsia slip dress with high-heeled garden sandals that laced around the calves, with this really dark blue puff-sleeved short twill coat over it. Oh, and the other day in Central Park this woman was wheeling around a baby in THE SWEETEST OUTFIT EVER. A little ruffled green-and-yellow dress with tiny yellow sandals. It was adorable. I'm not really a baby-gusher who falls apart at the mere sight of an infant, but even my cold heart was melted a little.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Off to work- on a Sunday, no less! I'm so virtuous- at Cool Vintage Store in v. old, fitted white cashmere sweater I found in a thrift shop years ago with just one small hole in the right sleeve, black jeans, bright colored pumps, Strand bag.

I know this post was probably the longest one I've ever written, but I felt it should be, as I have to take a cue from the perennially fab Molly over at Ashcan Rantings and take a SHORT sabbatical of maybe three weeks or so without posting. You see, I've got finals coming 'round the bend, and it would really not be good for me to fail them. I'll still try and comment as much as possible on my lovely blogger pals' posts, but I just won't have time to crank out anything good for a bit. I promise to get back on track- er, as much on track as I ever am- after the hell of finals is dunzo. Before I go- shoutout to Alex Richards, one of my all-time FAVORITE bloggers who has perfected the blend of blogging about her own life and the things happening around her, and injects it all with HILARITY, to boot. She said really nice things about little old moi in a recent post. You're too kind, A.R.! Me so flattered, me love you long time.

Be back soon!
<3<3<3

I really want to do a post about art, but I feel like I'll sound poserish. It's not that I really care whether I sound lame to the people who read this blog, but you know how you find old elementary-school diaries, read them and want to immediately burn them because you can't believe you were that stupid? It's like that. I don't want to come across what I've written in twenty years and think "Good God, I was an idiot." Such is the paradox of the digital age- everything is on the Internet permanently, for better or for worse. This is why I never discuss politics on my blog- it's one thing to talk out of my ass in debate class, but completely another to record it permanently.
So I'm going to talk about my favorite artist, but bear in mind that I have never taken a class on him and/or written a thesis about him. I could read a bunch of profiles on him online, but that would somehow feel dishonest. If there's one thing I'm big on, it's not aping other people's perspectives so you can sound smart. I'll use Wikipedia for some basic details about his life, but that's it. So if anyone reading this has, please don't judge me bad. Ly. I may not know what I'm talking about, but one of the beautiful things about art is you don't have to. Oh, and if this post bores you...I'll try to slip in lots and lots of photos. Frankly, I need a lot of colorful pictures and pop culture references to make it through a post like the one I'm about to write- my attention span is effectively zero.

Jean-Michel Basquiat was a neo-expressionist artist (I don't know either. Let's just assume it's a fancy art word and move on.) He started out mainly as a graffiti artist in lower Manhattan in the '80s. As he became more well-known, his work was exhibited with the work of artists like Keith Haring (another favorite of mine) and Francesco Clemente. He also hung out with Andy Warhol, which...ehh. I'm over my Andy Warhol phase, I think. Luckily, Sienna Miller helped to make me loathe all things Edie Sedgwick with that atrocity of a film called Factory Girl, which I liked for about two days and then instantly loathed. Basquiat died of mixed drug toxicity, according to Wikipedia (I thought he died of an overdose. Are they the same thing? I'm not really up to date on the drug world) in 1988. The thing I like best about his work is how it kind of feels like it's playing a joke on you. I mean, a seasoned art expert could look at it and say "Hmm. I see tones of so-and-so here. This is clearly an impassioned plea for social justice in post-war America" or something. Or, an unexperienced amateur blogger (hi) could look at it and say, "Hmmm. Cool picture. I like how the images are kind of frenetic and crazy-looking but it all fits together nicely." I could be off-base here, and obviously it's impossible to ask Basquiat what he intended to portray in his works, but I just feel like he's kind of cleverly making fun of the art world by putting all this random stuff together and making people think there's some hidden message, when maybe it's just a cool picture. Maybe there is, I don't know (a hidden message, that is). That's just the impression I get from his paintings. See, this is why I shouldn't blog about art- I don't know what I'm saying. I think what I'm saying is- I never get tired of looking at his paintings. You could look at them forever and still not "understand". They're like collages in that every piece is different yet fits together in some deliciously bizarre and twisted and gaudy way. I have a Basquiat print hanging in my bedroom, and often I find myself just sitting there idly and looking at it.
Without further ado-

See what I mean? You could look at this for days, trying to decipher the hidden meaning. Or you could just look at it as interesting graffiti art.




What I think is coolest about Basquiat is that his stuff looks like something a child could have made, yet infinitely more complicated and intricate.




Finally, here he is himself.

He actually looks like he'd be fun to hang out with, unlike Andy Warhol.

Okay, so that's my schpiel on Basquiat. He, Salvador Dali, Picasso, Keith Haring and Manet are my all-time favorite artists.

MUSIC & TV CORNER- I've been listening to so much good stuff lately. "Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens is pretty perfect and melancholy and beautiful. It's sad, of course, as it's about a girl with cancer, but it's not overly emo or angsty. Look at these lyrics-
Golden rod and the 4-H stone
The things I brought you
When I found out you had cancer of the bone
Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car to the Navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry
In the morning through the window shade
When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading.

"Bad Education" by Tilly and the Wall is such an amazing song. I love that they tap-dance along with their singing. "Hotel Song" is one of my new favorites by Regina Spektor- but really, you can't go wrong with Regina. And I'm loath to admit it, but I've totally been listening to that song "Put Your Records On" by Corinne Bailey Whoever A LOT lately. Okay, I know her full name. It's Corinne Bailey Rae. It's a pretty catchy song. And by catchy, I mean it won't get the hell out of my head. Anyway, at least CBR isn't one of those annoying fake-breathy bubble gum pop singers who constantly sound like they're intoning through their noses. Not to name names. Shmanessa Barlton. Oh, ALSO, I just found out that the Beatles are coming to iTunes. How do we feel about this? Molly? Wat? Other Beatles aficionados/aficionadas? On the one hand, it's cool that their music will be more available. On the other hand, it kind of feels like it ruins the Beatles' classic...Beatleness to have them on iTunes. An old quote from somewhere springs to mind- "On the other hand, you have different fingers." Yes, I am the queen of Randomania. But think about it for a minute or two.

So Jael got the (steel-toed) boot last week. Yeah, I should be more upset, but...the girl is two sandwiches short of a picnic lunch. May I just quote her for a moment? "I will protect them from the evil ducks of the universe." "I am the spreader of light." "I just wanna, like, touch the grass, and the animals, and, like, breathe the air, and climb the trees." Picture Jael in samurai attire fighting herds of pecking ducks dressed in little Renee-esque headscarves away from the Top Model domain, rubbing some poor defenseless animal and stroking the grass and gleefully spreading light around the realm. Bahahahaha. Funny girl, but I would have been worried for the safety of the other girls had she remained any longer. The girl celebrated her elimination by putting on a blue wig and tutu. Kind of awesome, yes, but also kind of batshit. I am now firmly on team Dionne and Nata. Can they both win? I'd rather Nata won, because I LOVE HER, for real, I can't believe she didn't used to be my favorite, but I love Dionne too. I didn't think this season's girls were all that good at first, but they're growing on me. Especially Jas-queen. Oh, by the way, I love how they had that April chick from Cycle 2 and pretended like being a top model- I'm sorry, a Top Model- will actually get you somewhere in life. Oh, one more thing. JAS-QUEEN, EAT A CHEESEBURGER. JESUS.

SIGHTINGS- Oh, I saw a bad thing. I saw a really bad thing. I am not saying this to be cruel, but because it is the truth. Unless you are Britney circa 1999, you should NEVER attempt the schoolgirl look in a tiny pleated kilt and tied-up white oxford, with knee-length stockings and Mary Janes. Not kidding. Somebody actually wore this outside on the street. Without irony. On a Saturday, so it clearly wasn't a school uniform- also, the woman wearing it was Of A Certain Age, which really makes it that much sadder. Also, just because it is summer, nearly (YAYAYAYAYAYA. I love summer, especially after a long winter), doesn't mean every cyclist in the park needs to be sporting Lycra and Spandex and whatnot for their morning rides. Especially if you are...er, endowed in the buttock arena. There are plenty of clever and stylish alternatives to shiny bike shorts. Now, onto the good...a girl of attention-seeking thinness was strutting down Fifth Avenue in the cutest pinstriped shorts with wedge heels, which usually annoy me but looked cool with the shorts. If I hadn't hated her on principle I would have kind of idolized her.

CURRENT ATTIRE- I'm in this little gray hand-me-down minidress that I think is actually kind of cute, despite the dreaded BUBBLE HEM. Don't leave me a million comments telling me how O-U-T bubble hems are, the lovely Touche19 already told me (hi, Touche19!) and I know they are, and actually I loathe them...but this dress is so cute. I probably won't wear it when I leave in a few minutes, but actually, why the hell not? I mean, I might as well. It's a pretty nice dress. Anyway, I've also got on loaned lace-up ballet flats and a loaned purse. Is anything I'm wearing mine? Besides the unmentionables? Er, no.

X,
Me

You know what's really boring?
Good taste.
For as long as I can remember, I have been mysteriously attracted to tackiness like a moth to a flame. Take me to a street fair or flea market and point me in the direction of the booth selling tasteless home furnishings, sequined vintage pumps, or, above all, gaudy jewelry, and I am a happy girl.
In my opinion, very few people can scrape by on good looks and boring attire. Those people are...er...actually, nobody. Except perhaps for Audrey Hepburn, whom I will always love despite her somewhat bland outfit choices. After reading Molly's insightful post on her, I think I see that her style is not quite as revolutionary as I thought it was, but still, j'aime her regardless.
Really, though, who would you rather hang out with on Friday night- the girl in sparkles and sequins, draped in gypsy scarves and pirate earrings and beads and baubles, whose heels make loud clickety-clack noises on the pavement and whose bangles clang together every time she laughs? Or the whiny, lactose-intolerant, buttoned-into-a-cardigan girl with her hair severely pulled back and her J.Crew prepster favorites firmly fastened on? Then again, some people manage to make preppiness and cardiganosity (if that's not a word, it should be) awesome, but only a precious few.
So, to celebrate the general feeling of this post- which I believe is "Everybody likes a walking fashion disaster nutjob!"- here is, in my humble opinion, some of the greatest jewelry in the whole wide world.
These earrings are so deliciously junk-shop. They look like microcosms of American pop culture. They look like a representation of...okay, can I stop with the pontificating now? They look like EARRINGS, really great earrings that I love with every bone in my body.

If I ever decide to become a pretentious photography student who talks excessively about sepia tones and only drinks espresso, I will be set for life with this ring. No offense to any pretentious photography students out there. But you should get this ring. Because it kicks so much ass. The lens is a tiny rhinestone! Doesn't that just make you happy?

These are tortilla-chip-shaped earrings. And, in all fairness, there is an excellent chance that people will think you are mentally unstable if you exit the house in these. I mean, they look real. But frankly, there are worse things to be known as than Girl Who Wears Tortilla Chips On Her Ears.

God, I love this necklace so much. It's Gothic in a way that I can handle- too much Gothica (real word? Emmaword? Who can say for sure? I don't feel like looking it up) scares me, but this necklace is the perfect amount. It's classy in a chilling way. And, it's basically the polar opposite of those tortilla chip earrings, right?

A Lego ring with a tiny diamond! This satisfies both my inner child, who just wants to go build toy forts, and my deeper, more mature side, who...likes shiny rocks.

I know owls are so played out right now (oh my God, I cannot believe I just typed that sentence. I should probably delete it, as it makes me sound like SUCH an idiot, but I can see the humor in it. What am I going to write next, "Marsupials are sooo the new amphibians!"?), but honestly, I am in mad passionate love with this necklace.

Awww, peas in a pod! This necklace is adorable, and I don't mean in the way normal people use the word, as in "Yeah, that skirt is adorable". I mean it is ADORABLE, as in come-here-sweetheart-let-me-pinch-your-cheek-look-how-much-you've-grown.

These earrings are fantastic because they remind me of the weird parts-of-a-face magnets I have stuck to my toaster, combined with a miniature pink-and-purple gumball.

This is a bracelet made entirely of pulp-fiction buttons. Nothing else really needs to be said.




Ah, America. The best way to express distaste and revulsion with the fast-food dependency of our nation is to display it proudly on your ears. These are probably some of the funkiest earrings I've seen so far.


I MUST HAVE THESE. They're from the Betsey Johnson website, and I may have to devote my life to making them my own. You know, I can probably just order them. But still, I love the drama.


Wouldn't these earrings kind of put a positive spin on rainy days? And, for that matter, on every day?

I think I would be very content to spend my life assembling crazy jewelry like this. I could be a batty shut-in jewelry vendor and peddle kooky charm bracelets to the mailman, sparkly thumb rings to the UPS guy who comes to deliver my supplies of gaudy knicknacks, and so on and so forth. In all seriousness, though, the other day I was thinking about what my dream job would actually be...hmm. I had a two-day phase where I wanted to be a doctor, until I remembered a. I don't like sick people, b. I don't like coughing, c. I don't like hacking, sneezing or viral infections, d. I suck at math and science, the two courses that most pertain to medicine, e. doctors are not nearly as hot in real life as they are on TV, and also, they're not usually quite so promiscuous, and f. I'm really most likely not a very comforting person to have by your deathbed (I'm the type who would try to break the tension by cracking awful, awful jokes, i.e. "Why were the suspenders arrested? For holding up a pair of pants! HAHAHAHAHA!" Come on, you know that's maybe just a little bit funny...no? Really? Ok then, mull it over, let it sink in.) So perhaps doctoring is not the profession for me. I love clothes, mostly vintage, but I don't really have any interest in the fashion magazine world, nor enough talent for the design world (ooh, maybe I could be like the fledgling young sucky contestant on Project Runway and Tim Gunn could whip me into shape? I seem to be mentioning Tim Gunn a lot lately. It's not a little disturbing. Oh, all right, you caught me. I'm a closet Tim Gunn lover. I LOVE HIM, people. I do. I want him to be my bitchy disapproving gay man who trashes what I'm wearing every morning). I have an odd knack for impressions yet no acting talent whatsoever. I'm not brave enough to be a stuntswoman, nor athletic enough to be an athlete (I skipped that whole jock phase completely. I'm one of those girls everyone hates because she gets hit in the head by the volleyball and then runs giggling off the court to fix her hair. Look, I can't help it, all right? That stupid ball hurts! Er...of course I am speaking metaphorically, and it's not like I get hit with volleyballs as a matter of course. Yeah.) I love my current part-time job, but I'm too much of a bitch for retail- I have not the patience necessary to make it a full-time thing. I like to write, and I enjoy eating, and making fun of people. I could be...a critic of something? Who eats a lot? Okay, I'm getting nowhere. Please, if you have suggestions for my future career, do tell me. I'm on tenterhooks (what does that mean, anyway? Sounds painful).

THE TV CORNER- Due to extenuating circumstances (really, when am I going to use my newfound knowledge of World War 1? Outside of Jeopardy, perhaps? God, I love Jeopardy. Challenging questions, hideous contestants in pleat-front chinos who are just ripe and ready to be mocked, a vintage game show host- that's my polite way of saying Alek Trebek is old, y'all- what's not to love? Plus, it makes me feel smart to know the answers) I was unable to watch ANTM tonight and have TiVoed it. If anybody so much as breathes a WORD as to what happened...swift and painful, the death shall be. I have already sworn everyone I know in the 3-D world who watches this show to keep their traps shut. Don't laugh at me, I get VERY emotional about television, even Tyra's Next Top Puppet. I mean, I love the girls an' all, and praise be to the CW for that all-tranny episode, but the girls are completely Ty-Ty's bitches. To borrow a phrase from the brilliant CountrygirlCitylife, they are her little hamsters and she is the...er...Petco employee who is in charge of feeding the hamsters? See, this is why I shouldn't steal other people's turns of phrase- I don't know how to make them work in metaphors. But my point is, I really want one of the girls to man up, seize the day and tell Tyra to hush. Really, sometimes when Tyra is being "witty" I just want to quietly take her aside and say, "It's okay, Tyra. You don't have to talk ALL the time. Like, sometimes it's perfectly okay to just...sit there silently. You might even say it's...preferable, at times". Mais non, I love La Banks really, I just hide it deep down inside. Okay, so on an unrelated note, should I start watching The Search For The Next Doll? I feel like I might be missing out on a beautiful thing. And on a MORE ADD note, I've seen a few episodes of House recently, and all I have to say is...I used to think people were retarded for getting all bent out of shape about all the medical dramedies stealing from Scrubs, but it might actually be a valid point. I would be really pissed off if I were the Scrubs people. Anyway, my Thursday nights have now been wiped clean of Grey's Anatomy and look a little something like zees- The Office, 30 Rock, Scrubs, Ugly Betty (not in that order, obviously). Pure hilarity. As it should be.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Very, very faded Beatles tee, black jeans that are hopefully slimming, funky pumps in bright turquoise, Pucci-print silk scarf belt (sounds fug, but I think it looks kind of cool as an outfit. Or else I'm grievously wrong. C'est la vie.)

SIGHTINGS- A girl wearing earrings shaped like little pink plastic watering cans gave me the idea for this post. Also, a dude in a really amazing corduroy coat which was not all that special but looked cool. This other chick in Haagen-Dazs (crap, you haven't LIVED until you've had one of their dulce de leche milkshakes. Alex Richards, in answer to your question, THIS is my ice cream drug of choice, outside of my twin Vermont lovers' classic Chubby Hubby. It never gets old.) had the greatest navy blue patent leather ballet flats. The rest of her outfit was nothing special, but those shoes...so great.

Last, I feel like I should write something about Virginia Tech, but it seems like it would be inappropriate, seeing as I didn't know anyone there (Thank God, I feel so bad for the families and friends of those kids) and it would look like I was trivializing the subject if I just tossed it in after a rant about reality TV and jewelry. So I'll just say that I cannot imagine how those poor families and friends are feeling right now, and I won't pretend I do. My heart goes out to them (I know how lame that sounds, but it does).

<3