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(04/16/08 3:11am)
Have you ever met one of those people, one of those “Oh my God, you’re telling me you don’t light candles in front of a Bob Dylan shrine in your dining room every night at 6 p.m.” people?\nIt doesn’t have to be Dylan. Believe me, I’m not out for him specifically. (I don’t want an angry mob of stoners with big musical aspirations knocking down my door later today.) This artist could be interchanged with any iconic group or artist, such as The Stones or Led Zeppelin or Paris Hilton.\nI know you know who I’m talking about. You’ve probably met them at some friend of a friend’s party, and they were undoubtedly wearing a vintage-looking plaid button-up and Coke bottle glasses. These are the people who want to make you feel bad for not sharing a similar interest in who they view to be the musical equivalent of an orgasm.\nAnd there are people like that for every form of media out there, not just music. I, for example, always seem to attract film students who think that I was born on the planet Zozar for never having seen a single “Lord of the Rings,” “Star Wars” or “Harry Potter” flick. (I’d just rather watch “Legally Blonde” on TBS again, honestly.)\nAnyway, these high-falutin’ people are often the people who end up as reviewers for popular Web sites and magazines, and the problem is that they often create sentences like this:\n“In a scene as self-reflexive as this, backlashes are the order of the day, but even still, there are signs – such as the increasing use of ‘blog house’ as an eye-rolling pejorative, recent records by Calvin Harris, Does It Offend You Yeah?, and Ghostland Observatory, and the parallel rise of Balearic-feeling dance as a worthy substitute – that this world might be slipping under the weight of its own ubiquity.”\nThat’s actually an excerpt from a review of the latest Cut Copy album featured on pitchforkmedia.com, a popular music Web site. It could just as easily have been a review on the latest Lunchables product or the soundtrack to “Bio-Dome.” I mean, I’m sure there’s a handful of people reading this who do understand more than 35 percent of that sentence. I am certainly not one of them. I am on the other side of that hypothetical fence, watching the “Rock of Love 2” season finale and eating non-organic vegetables.\nI don’t want anyone to get the wrong message here. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being this type of critic – obviously these people have an unimaginably vast knowledge of everything music, and I admire that. But the pickle here arises when normal people just want to know if they should go out and buy the new Cut Copy album, but they can’t get past the “eye-rolling pejorative” or “Balearic-feeling dance” to figure it out. \nI just want to bring both sides of this hypothetical fence together so that we can all find the music that fits us perfectly. I mean, isn’t that the point of discussing it in the first place?
(04/09/08 2:39am)
Did you ever notice that whenever you are having a conversation with someone who brings up someone else’s band, such as his brother Reggie’s band “The Lint Traps” or something, that band is always “actually pretty good.” Always. Take for example this imaginary dialogue:\n“What are you doing Friday? My hairstylist Roxanne and her all-girl heavy metal/country fusion group are playing a gig at this ramshackle tool shed near that truck stop on State Road 37. You should come. They’re actually pretty good.”\nIt’s almost as if people have this all-known consensus that local bands that play at bars, in general, are bad, and therefore these people feel the need to clarify when they say that said local band is “actually pretty good.” And despite the fact that it always seems to go down like this, I think that for a lot of people there is a general assumption that all live bar music is bad until proven good.\nAnd there’s a reason this notion exists, and I’d bet it has something to do with the fact that bar music is – more often than not – just absolutely heinous. It’s probably the no. 1 cause of alcoholism in Bloomington. For example, it’s been proven (by yours truly) that it takes roughly four Long Islands and two Jager bombs to drown out the Clayton Anderson Band. It’s simply science.\nBut, recently, I guess you could say I’ve been experiencing a change of heart. I’ve been overwhelmed with more live music than I’m used to at the bars recently, and I have to admit: I’m impressed.\nFirst there’s Dot Dot Dot, and despite the fact that the Bluebird thinks it can charge $6 for cover to see them (umm, it’s Indiana), I have to say that they consistently put on one hell of a show. The band has a great energy, plays the songs that everyone wants to hear, and – it has to be mentioned – the woman on lead guitar is sexy enough to turn me off men for life.\nNext, I have to give props to the Michael Jackson tribute band for bringing the glorious Gary, Ind., vibe downstate. But seriously, that lead singer is one white glove and a brother Tito away from actually being Michael. (Well, hopefully there’s a few more things that separate their identities ...) I’ve always thought that if you’re going to be a cover band, you need to do one of two things to be successful: Change the music significantly to deliver a fresh spin on each song, or be the band. And, no doubt about it, these guys are the band, and who doesn’t love to “Beat It” every once in awhile?\nEven this weekend I found myself totally digging Third Base, a local band that was playing at Jake’s. I have to give a shout out to these completely adorable men in suits who put on an awesome show – any group that opts for James Brown and Earth, Wind & Fire over Journey and Lynyrd Skynyrd wins my affection. \nSo I guess I’ve changed my mind about the live music in the Bloomington bar scene ... it’s actually pretty good.
(04/02/08 2:06am)
At the time of its inception, MTV revolutionized the music industry. It changed how people heard about music by promoting and showing new artists. It changed the way people saw music by pairing songs with videos and introducing video-jockeys. For our generation especially, MTV changed music.\nOn Aug. 1, 1981, MTV launched its very first broadcast with the words “ladies and gentlemen, rock and roll” playing over the legendary footage of the Apollo 11 moon landing. The revolution had begun. \nSo what sort of television do you think this baby cable conglomerate first aired? \nWas it “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila,” a reality show about a sexy bisexual Asian woman who bases love on her contestants’ mud-wrestling abilities?\nOr perhaps it was “The Hills,” a “reality” show that proves America wants to spend its evenings aimlessly fascinated by a quasi-mentally-handicapped rich bitch and her escapades being a faux-student at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, being a faux-employee of Teen Vogue and having really, really obtuse faux-conversations with other self-concerned faux-friends?\nWhat’s funny is that it actually wasn’t either of those. It was – gasp! – music. Ironically enough, MTV’s first broadcast began by showing the video for “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles. \nAnd here we are, almost 27 years later, and MTV has become “empty V.” (Don’t think I coined that, urbandictionary.com did. I’m not that clever.) Video has killed the radio star. What does it say for the state of music when America’s No. 1 music television station is only generating “programming of no real substance,” according to urbandictionary, that has nothing to do with music?\nOn the day this article runs, MTV is airing 20 hours of reality TV, none of which is even remotely connected to the music industry (unless you count Heidi Montag’s blossoming career as a singer/songwriter). It is also airing two hours of America’s Best Dance Crew reruns and two hours of music videos. So I guess MTV is now 17 percent music and 83 percent unicorns (fictional and horny). \nWouldn’t it be crazy if the M came back to MTV? What if when we tuned in we saw music videos, concert footage, musician documentaries or interviews with contemporary artists? Hell, what if we tuned in to a blank screen with a great soundtrack?\nIt would probably be better than watching another rerun of “True Life: I’m on Adderall.” (True Life: Everyone Is.)\nIt’s time for my confessional. It is true that I watch just about every television show of which I have just made fun. Constantly. I was even late to the library today because I could not face the suspense of whether LC would ultimately befriend the sister of her arch rival in computer class. \nAs embarrassing as it is, I love awful reality television. I love everything about it. I could probably be the leader of a reality television cult, as long as it didn’t cut into my downtime. I just think maybe it belongs elsewhere. There’s plenty of space on CBS. \nI want my MTV ... back.
(03/05/08 3:09am)
So you’ve got leprosy. Don’t worry, it happens to the best of ‘em. I’ve got it, too.\nBut unfortunately, you are being banished to a faraway and disengaged island, inhabited only by other lepers and people who buy their velour tracksuits at T.J. Maxx (the ones with the rhinestone appliques).\nAnd because of the unfaltering – but perfectly sensible – rules of leper deportation, you can bring only the following items to accompany you on your slow march towards a limbless death: tweezers, a year’s supply of Nutri-Grain Bars in various flavors, a Magna Doodle, a Roomba and – the kicker! – five albums of your choice.\nRighteous. A silver lining to a fatally-diseased cloud. \nNext, however, we face the daunting task of choosing the albums. Do you pick your all-time favorites? Do you pick the ones that instigate good memories of happier days and Mystic Pizza? Or do you just screw it all and live your remaining time on earth with the Miley Cyrus CD on repeat?\nAll valid questions. \nBut the basic answer is not Rihanna. You can’t stay under her umbrella forever, and soon enough you’ll be begging her to stop the music. (My apologies for the predictable puns there. I couldn’t resist.) Some bands or artists may only be relevant at one specific point in your life, which is totally kosher, just unfitting for this particular task. \nNext time you’re bored in class and are too afraid to rustle the newspaper loudly and obviously so you can make your way to the Sudoku puzzle in the back, try this instead. It’s fun.\nAnd for those of you eagerly waiting for me to divulge my wise selections with you, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m not sharing my whole list with you. I wouldn’t want my readers thinking I’ve developed a bias toward certain artists or genres, now would I?\nBut first of all, I will say that my list could never be complete without No Doubt’s “Tragic Kingdom.” I suppose it’s mostly a good memory initiator (as it was the first album I remember absolutely falling in love with), but it would also provide lots of opportunities to really belt it out. I imagine lepers could use more singing. \nTo counteract all the ska, I’d elect Sufjan Stevens’ “Seven Swans” as my second album of choice. It’s kind of like choosing one of the 87 editions of The O.C. soundtrack to listen to on your deathbed ... but we know we all secretly loved it. Except maybe for a few of my more embarrassing friends, who loved it publicly. \nThen maybe I’d put on Radiohead’s “Kid A” for those intimate moments with the Roomba, and the Wu-Tang Clan’s “Think Differently” album for the kinky ones.\nThe fifth shall remain a little secret.\nBesides, everyone knows they don’t allow CD players on leper island.
(02/27/08 4:50am)
Sir Elton John, scones from Marks & Spencer, Kate Moss and Pete Doherty (my favorite role model), the world’s best kebabs after 2 a.m., Top Shop, the beehive of my sexy female lover Amy Winehouse and The Office ... what is the common thread here?\nWell, I’m cheating on America (and I’m not even using protection) – England has stolen my heart, and those were just a few of the many reasons why.\nAfter studying abroad last semester at the London College of Fashion, I learned quite a bit about British culture and what makes it so great.\nOf course, we all know where I am heading – the British music scene. I am putting on my headphones and venturing into a land where Soulja Boy doesn’t “superman dat hoe” and doing a great Cupid Shuffle doesn’t make you a great dancer.\nThe land across the pond has undoubtedly spawned some of the best artists of all time. Of course everyone knows the classics – The Beatles, Queen, Oasis and Geri Halliwell’s solo work. But there’s also a current influx of amazing talent flooding our shores.\nMy new favorite female lyricist, Kate Nash, sings songs with lyrics that want to know “Why you being a dickhead for?” and that’s something I am interested in as well. Why are you?\nThere’s also Just Jack (no relation to Jack McFarland’s acclaimed one man show), a quasi-hip-hop singer/DJ who tugs at my heart strings with his subtlety and gentle beats. Both of these artists are soon going to become more popular than Herbie Hancock at an after-Grammy party, just you wait and see.\nAnd then there are some of my favorite artists like Winehouse, Mike Skinner from The Streets and Bloc Party (who unfortunately haven’t produced a good album since their debut, but I’m hopeful). If you haven’t heard these artists yet, who are you? Are you reclusive? Are you living in Mozambique? Run, don’t walk, to download this stuff as soon as possible, please.\nOf course, you know I couldn’t call this article complete without hailing my all-time favorite British import – Radiohead. (At this point, their name should be accompanied with heavenly music and a Jesus-like glow.) The band’s most recent album was released in October. “In Rainbows” – the notorious “pay what you want” album – is, in a word, amazing. It is both original and sexy, and it reminds us that the success of a band is not in producing a great album, but standing the test of time. The band’s music has evolved during the past 15 years and we, as listeners, have evolved with it.\nYes, ladies and gentlemen, these are the reasons why I love good old England. Well, these plus the fact that I didn’t hear the god-awful Dave Matthews Band for a solid three months while I was over there. I wonder if I could get a visa citing that as my reason.
(02/13/08 5:11am)
Raise your hand if this has ever happened to you: You’re on your first date with the guy or girl of your dreams. Everything is going magically and the two of you are smitten kittens – you might as well be sending notes back and forth to each other asking, “Do you like me? Circle yes or no.” The two of you finally make it back to your date’s house where things start to get steamy and you are finally whisked away to the bedroom for a little rub and tickle.\nAs you wait restlessly on the bed, your date pokes around on his iTunes to find the perfect tracks to serenade your budding romance. And as your date finally crawls into bed next to you, the answer to a question you had just been asking yourself appears like a light bulb in your head.\nThe question: Why is this person still single?\nThe answer: Your date just tried seducing you to Phil Collins Greatest Hits album. Oh, I cringe at the thought.\nWe’ve all been there. (Except maybe virgins. I hear virgins love Su Su Sudio.) But nothing is a bigger mood-killer than bad music.\nAs I have always said, music has the ability to change any environment – and this certainly holds true in the bedroom. Imagine getting frisky to Coldplay. (I’m sure this would involve a room full of vanilla-scented candles and the missionary position.) Now imagine switching over to a little Wu-Tang. Does the same image pop into your head? Doubtful.\nNow, I’m not making the argument that music is absolutely necessary when you’re rounding those bases – there is something to say about the sound of silence, and it certainly has a time and place. I just don’t think it should be every time you’re in the bedroom. And it’s not that I think most people are opting for this quiet consciously, the culprit is probably just laziness. (But if you’re lazy with the tunes, I can imagine what else you may be lazy about ...)\nSo my advice is not actually to create a sex playlist, for use with all your future endeavors – rather, multiple sex playlists would be ideal.\nThere could be the kinky playlist (Prince and The Faint), the romantic playlist (Sufjan Stevens and Alicia Keys) and the I-hope-this-guy-doesn’t-call-me-tomorrow playlist (Nickelback and Yanni) – really, the choices are endless.\nWho knows? Maybe you’ll even discover your own sex song. My roommate’s is the song “Brown Skin” by India. Arie (which, if played for me, would turn me off faster than a show-and-tell of my date’s stuffed animal collection). But he still claims that it works magic.\nAlso, my other roommate chooses to indulge herself, if you will, while listening to Interpol’s “Turn On the Bright Lights” album. (Obviously, sex playlists can also function when you’re the only one involved. Who ever said you couldn’t woo yourself?)\nFor my roomies, these are the jams that really wet their whistle and, in turn, wet their partner’s whistle, enhancing the sexual experience on the whole.\nLet’s face it, we’re in college and our sexual activity is plentiful, but often awkward. Just think of your sex playlist as lubrication – it’s so easy to put on while making it so much easier to get off.\nSo run, don’t walk, to the nearest laptop to compile your tunes, and you’ll be harder, better, faster and stronger before you know it.
(01/30/08 4:39am)
Remember that time on the playground when you were little, when your best friend pushed you too hard on the swings and you fell tragically to the ground, skinning your knee and bruising your rock-solid ego? And remember what you said once you finished screaming all those obscenities?\n“You’re not invited to my party.”\nThat’s right, well I’m bringing it back. Full-on. \nI’m currently in the works with Mark Zuckerberg to establish yet another amazing new Facebook application. That is, if the already-established “Compare Hotness” or “Are You Going to Heaven or Hell?” applications just aren’t cutting it for you anymore. Now you will be able to invite friends to your party while simultaneously not inviting others – an uninvitation complete with the heartfelt “You’re Not Invited to Teri’s Party” notification.\nHere’s my one rule – if you follow it, you’re in: In the “favorite music” section on your profile, does it say you’ll “listen to anything? Or, even worse, “... anything but country?”\nIf so, go check your inbox. You have officially been uninvited. How am I supposed to have a gay old time with just “anything” blasting through the speakers? \nMusic has the power to affect your every mood, and “anything” isn’t actually a musical genre or a mood. It’s just lazy. \n“What music do you think Johnny wants to hear at the party?”\n“Oh, you know. It could be that CD of various siren noises he has, or maybe the soothing sounds of Asian water buffaloes mating. You know Johnny, he’ll listen to anything.” \nThe truth is that it is not true – that’s never true. Sure, you may not be picky, and you may even be quite open-minded (which explains that extensive Weird Al Yankovic collection), but I guarantee you will not gleefully “listen to anything.” \nAnd why would you want to? Music is a pretty integral part of our lives, especially as college students. We listen to it while we study, on our walk to class, at Sports on Friday night, when we’re in our cars, while we’re seducing new friends – hell, even while we’re seducing old friends. It is undeniably everywhere and, for the most part, we each have control over what exactly it is we are listening to. So why the lack of preferences? \nI blame Dave Matthews Band.\nJust kidding. (A little bit.) Seriously though, not only does it tell me that you have no interest in expanding and developing your musical tastes and subsequently expanding your mind to become a more enlightened person on the whole, but it really is a turn-off.\nNot that my straight male readership is trying to turn me on specifically, but I’d like to hope there are other girls out there who feel what I’m saying, and vice versa for the boys. To be honest, I couldn’t care less what your musical preferences are (barring the aforementioned Dave Matthews Band), I just care that you have preferences. All people deserve to have their own magical play list, their own personally selected tunes to chill them out, wind them up or just make them happy.\nBut, alas, if you refuse to accept this, it’ll be – as Pink so gracefully put it – “just you and your hand tonight” because you certainly won’t be getting any at my party.
(01/16/08 5:28am)
In my brain, I like to maintain a large storage space where I stockpile my collection of witty and already proven successful conversation starters. This may include any of the following: \n“My sister’s a huge lesbian, is yours?”\n“I really love going to gay bars in double wide trailers, and I see you do, too.” \nBut there are some things I may be less likely to admit about myself. For example, I just downloaded the Britney Spears “Blackout” album ... and I can’t stop playing it. \nTragic, I know. \nBut this isn’t the first time I have blushed over my often embarrassing weakness for catchy pop singles that don’t fit into my elitist repertoire. 2007 was overflowing with these incidents. I started off the year feeling oh so “Fergalicious,” then swooned over Justin Timberlake’s “LoveSounds” and even had some naughty thoughts courtesy of “Soulja Boy.” It was a rough year.\nPicture this: Britney Spears and Thom Yorke are having a violent boxing match in my brain. She’s looking plump and pieces of her weave are falling out at an alarming rate, but Thom’s looking a bit like he hasn’t eaten since “OK Computer.” \nAnd, since it is my brain, they are fighting over me, trying to determine who is most qualified to serenade me. \nSo who will it be? Cliché but catchy songs that make me want to dance, or awe-inspiring lyrics that make me want to sit or take hallucinogens? I can’t be the only one who goes through this same internal crisis every time I open my iTunes. \nThis civil war over my airwaves had been going on for quite some time when I happened to pick up a copy of Rolling Stone’s best of the year issue, specifically for the section featuring their list of the top 100 songs of 2007.\nMuch to my chagrin, it appears that the magazine’s editors had been fighting a similar fight. The top ten list included songs by both M.I.A. and Rihanna, even Bright Eyes and Lil Wayne. And the list continued on like that, featuring a little bit of something for every taste. (Even Avril Lavigne made it on there, and she tastes like bad pork and Sum 41.) \nSo, I’ve decided to start approaching my musical tastes a bit differently. Some things just aren’t comparable. Britney Spears and Radiohead are just like Adderall and Xanax – amazing at what they do while doing entirely different things. \nWith her music, I’m sure Britney – well, let’s face it, her producers – just want people to dance and then look up pictures of her at Starbucks on perezhilton.com the next day. And you know what? That’s exactly what everyone does. And I’m sure Thom Yorke wants nothing to do with that. And he succeeds, too. Can you imagine grinding to “Karma Police?”\nSo instead of trying to compare all of these talented artists, let’s just appreciate them for the genre they’re playing in and how well they’re playing it. \nAnd, not that it makes a difference, but “Piece of Me” did beat Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” on the countdown, so maybe a musical revolution is upon us. I can’t say I’ll be fighting on her side, but I’ll still be lip-syncing all the lyrics to “Gimme More” at Sports next weekend, and that’s good enough for both me and Britney.
(01/10/08 5:00am)
Prediction? Pain ...\nBy Peter Chen\nMr. T fighting Stallone, plus "Eye of the Tiger"? How much better could it get? Rocky goes soft and consequently gets pulverized by T's Clubber Lang, with some film of the most vicious hits you'll see in a boxing movie. Sure, the montage with Carl Weathers as Apollo Creed is the "Rocky" by which others should be judged. But unlike the first two Rocky films, "Rocky III" spends more time in the ring, which means more punches, more crunches and more pitied fools.\nBruce Lee's finest\nBy Brian J. McFillen\nThe single greatest martial arts film ever made, "Enter The Dragon" not only created a global audience for the genre, it has influenced countless films, television shows and video games in its wake. As a martial artist recruited by police to infiltrate a smuggler's island via a fighting contest, Bruce Lee shows how a relatively small, quiet guy can nevertheless tear through thugs like a force of nature. It's an inspiration to this day.\nSweep the leg, Johnny!\nBy Doug Evans\nWho didn't grow up wanting to be Daniel LaRusso (played by Ralph Macchio), a.k.a., the Karate Kid? Under the tutelage of Mr. Miyagi (the role that garnered a nomination for Pat Morita for Best Supporting Actor in 1985), arguably the greatest mentor/martial arts instructor in film history, LaRusso became a karate master, capable of waxing on and off, picking up the lovely Elizabeth Shue and defeating the meanest of bullies with a mere swoop of his crane kick. The tournament at the conclusion of part I saw LaRusso come back from certain defeat to achieve victory over his arch nemeses, notably the vile Johnny. LaRusso's finishing move, the crane kick, became so popular it has its own Wikipedia page.\nRight 'Bak' at you\nBy Chris Pickrell\n"Ong Bak" is a flavor explosion of pain, agony and Muay Thai. Being a fan of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, Tony Jaa provides a great mix of humor and ass kicking. With scenes showing Jaa flying through the air and ending with a polite knee in the face, "Ong Bak" started a new trend in martial-arts action films tending towards rarer forms like Muay Thai. The DVD is worth it just for the scene where he flies through a fire with his legs covered in gas, just to turn into a flying, kicking fireball.
(10/04/07 4:00am)
Second Life is a computer simulation created to enable users to live in a virtual world
(06/21/07 4:00am)
It was a four-day carnival\non acid that just happened\nto feature some of\nthe biggest musical and comedy\nacts on the planet.\nIt can be hard to focus on the\nmusic amid the nonstop parade\nof sights and sounds, but the\n80,000 music lovers who descended\non Manchester, Tenn.,\nfor four days this past weekend\ndid their best. Festival-goers\nraged on from noon Friday until\npast 4 a.m. Sunday, despite\nan unrelenting Tennesee sun\nthat made it nearly impossible\nto sleep past 9 a.m.\nThe combination of heat\nand exhaustian made Bonnarees\nfeel like they were running\na marathon, but Lilly Allen\nsummed it up best in her\nperformance, singing, "Sun\nis in the sky. Oh why oh why\nwould I want to be anywhere\nelse?"\nThe festival, which in past\nyears included mostly jam\nbands, featured more mainstream\nand indie rock acts\nthan in the past.\nWhen one panelist at a press\nconference pointed that out,\ncomedian David Cross retorted,\n"You mean it's better."\nHe didn't seem to welcome\nthe crowd that the festival\ntraditionally attracts. Cross\nexpressed his hatred of hippies\nat every opportunity, especially\nwhen they interrupted\nhis story about how his dog\njumped on him while he was\nsleeping and he ended up getting\noff before the dog did.\nFans stood in line hours before\nsome shows, but the longest\nlines were consistently\nat the comedy tent. Big name\ncomedians like Lewis Black,\nDave Attell, David Cross and\nDemetri Martin drew twohour\nlines before they went on\nstage, even though each had\nfour sets throughout the\nweekend.\nMartin offered a few suggestions\nfor popping the\nquestion to a girlfriend, like\nfeeding your dog the ring\nand then asking your future\nfiancee to walk it. But his\nfunniest idea was to break\nyour girlfriend's finger and\nhave the doctor set the cast\nwith the ring on it. When\nshe gets the cast removed,\nhe reasoned, you're already\nthree weeks into your engagement.\nOne idea he didn't present\nwas having Jack White of The\nWhite Stripes stop his band's\nperformance halfway through\nto allow a fan to propose to his\ngirlfriend in a way that didn't\ninvolve dog poop or a broken\nfi nger (as far as we know).\nIt's hard to argue whether the\nfestival was better or worse than\nthe past, but it was as diverse a\ngroup of artists as Bonnaroo\nhas seen. Ranging from hot\nnewcomers like Allen and Girl\nTalk to veterans like The White\nStripes, The Flaming Lips and\nTool, to rock 'n' roll icons The\nPolice, John Paul Jones of Led\nZeppelin and Bob Weir of The\nGrateful Dead.\nThere's no right or wrong\nanswer when trying to fi gure\nout who the musical highlights\nwere. It completely depends\non who you ask.\nFor some, it was the mindblowing\nlight show and theatrics\nof The Flaming Lips, who\nsupplied the audience with\nthousands of laser pointers. For\nothers, it was the Super Jam,\nthe closest thing possible to a\nLed Zeppelin reunion concert,\nas Ben Harper and Questlove\njoined Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones for a midnight show.\nFor fi ve-time Bonnaroo attendee\nJessica Thurman highlights\nincluded the songs former Rage\nAgainst The Machine guitarist\nTom Morello played with Tool, The\nPolice reunion show and John Paul\nJones joining Ben Harper for their\nsecond rendition of "Dazed and\nConfused," a song Thurman called\na theme of the festival.\nTough decisions had to be made\nby music-lovers as bands fought\nfor attention. Tool, Widespread\nPanic and The Police were the\nonly acts to play unopposed. Saturday\nevening, for example, festival-\ngoers had to make the diffi -\ncult decision between seeing Ben\nHarper, Franz Ferdinand, Spoon,\nWeen and Keller Williams, who\nall played at the same time.\nOne of Bonnaroo's biggest appeals\n-- the plethora of bands that\nperform in such a small amount\nof time -- is its curse, as well. But\nwith fi ve main stages, a comedy\ntent and enough sideshow attractions\nto fi ll a circus, it's conceivable\nfor a group of people\nto never see the same show and\nhave an incredible experience at\nwhat is becoming the premier\ntea, there was always another\nstage to check out.\nBob Weir played a great cover\nof The Beatles' "Come Together,"\nThe Black Keys got rave reviews\nfor their blistering blues rock set,\nWilco had a warm reception and\nDJ Shadow, Galactic and Girl Talk\nhad fans dancing late into the night.\nWayne Coyne of The Flaming\nLips entertained at every opportunity,\nusing the soundcheck\nas a chance to play a rousing\ncover of Black Sabbath's "War\nPigs" an hour before they went\non. And once they hit the stage,\nit was a never ending feast for\nthe senses.\nJon McCarty, who lives within\na few miles of the site, has been\nevery festival since 2002. He said\na lot has changed over the years\nsince the early days when "people\nwould sneak in under blankets\nin cars." The bands that come\nthrough have changed considerably,\nMcCarty said. A few years\nago, he said, he never thought\nThe White Stripes or The Police\nwould ever play Bonnaroo. "You\nnever know what you're going\nsee. You never know what's going\nto happen. It's great"
(04/30/07 4:00am)
Bless me, Prada, for I have sinned.\nI have sat on my fashion high horse for two full semesters, berating IU students for their countless fashion faux pas while neglecting to draw attention to my own.\nThe truth is: I’m flawless. It’s true. But I did catch my high horse wearing Crocs and buying the latest Hilary Duff album at Best Buy. Needless to say, I jumped right off him and saw my replacement high horse sifting through animal necklaces at Forever 21. I have never seen a horse wearing an owl necklace, but I’d venture to say it’s a hoot.\nThe actual truth is that everyone has weaknesses, both in fashion and in life. \nKirstie Alley can’t pass up a KFC without running inside to lick the other patrons’ fingers. Have you tried Jenny yet?\nTara Reid has a weakness for Jose Cuervo and botched boob jobs, which is slightly more respectable than her years of sleeping with Carson Daly.\nAnd Britney Spears ... exists.\nOf course, I too have my own weak points. For example, I pride myself on listening to genuinely good music in a college town where Dave Matthews Band is superhuman and Akon could draw a larger crowd than Jesus (even if he was giving away free bread, fish and AMFs from The Upstairs).\nBut I’m not going to lie. If you listen at my door late at night, you might find out that I know every lyric to the Panic! at the Disco album. As much as I try to resist, 17-year-old boys with eyeliner and obnoxiously long song titles go straight to my heart. \nAnd after getting cozy all day with Blackalicious and Regina Spektor (some of the actual good music I referred to earlier, for those of you who are still not understanding why liking Panic! at the Disco is embarrassing), I often spend my nights drunk, disorderly and absolutely loving The Pussycat Dolls.\nI cringe at the thought.\nBut I think we all know where this is headed next: my closet. Upon first glance it might seem like any fashionista’s closet – colorful, crowded and brimming with elitism. But if you pound your right fist against the back wall and repeat “Manolo Blahnik is life” three times fast, my vault of secrets is revealed. \nAnd that vault of secrets is wearing a pink, Hawaiian-print tech vest from Old Navy, circa 1999. It’s atrocious, but it’s better than what my roommate’s vault of secrets is wearing – the great Performance Fleece mistake of 2001.\nEveryone has been there. I bet even Kate Moss owns a cap-sleeved “Heartbreaker” or “Spoiled” tee. (She bought it at Kohl’s with Pete Doherty, so you know they were straight-laced and sober at the time.)\nOnce, while I was attending summer school before the fourth grade, I wore an orange belly top with orange plaid short shorts and an orange fisherman’s hat. I was asked by the principal to leave due to indecent exposure and my mom had to leave work to come pick up my orange ass from French class. \nIn junior high, I distinctly remember gauging the quality of my wardrobe on the number of Dawls and Roxy T-shirts I owned from PacSun. Soon after, I fell victim to the Abercrombie plague that struck my local mall with a vengeance. \nOnly then was I truly cool. I also got to wear my first XXL, considering that the mediums at Abercrombie barely fit primordial dwarves and stuffed bunny rabbits. No wonder the dressing rooms smell like self-hatred and Diet Coke.\nFast-forward through ripped jeans, Aeropostale T-shirts (that all say “AEROPOSTALE” on them) and an alarming number of puka shell necklaces later to college, where, hopefully, I have redeemed myself.\nI feel uber-confident in my style to date, but I do have one ultimate confession.\nSit down for this.\nLast week, during the haze that was Little 5, I wore Ugg boots to a “What the f*$# are you wearing?” party, and, much to my chagrin, they were probably the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn in my life.\nThey’re still ugly as hell, though.
(04/23/07 4:00am)
There is a reason why Northwest Airlines hates me, and it is this: I carry more luggage than a Mormon missionary family smuggling bibles.\nIt’s true. I could be going to a nudist resort down the block and I’d still pack two full duffel bags. There’s probably a support center somewhere, but it would make you check your purse at the door, so no one would go.\nThe issue has escalated to the point where three of my last four plane rides have begun with me being forced to relocate 25 pounds of extra crap – I didn’t need with me in the first place – to avoid the extra fee. All the while, the crowd of traveling strangers behind me watched with condescension. I even saw one woman shake her head and stroke a crucifix. Of course, I eventually stuffed my purse with every last barbell and paperweight from the suitcase and wondered: “Am I not still bringing the same amount of weight onto the plane?”\nThe Northwest Airlines employees don’t see it this way. What do physics and flying have to do with each other anyway? \nSo why must I be such a luggage diva, you might ask? That’s simple: I just like options. Although I am easily entertained (hence all the VH1), I am easily bored as well. \nWhen it comes to my wardrobe, I need variety – not just with different pieces, but with different looks. Some days I wake up thinking “It’s a Kate Moss day,” so I slap on a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized top, eat a Tic Tac and am ready to embrace the day. On my sporty casual days, I lace up some Pumas and rifle through my drawers for a vintage tee. Maybe one day I’ll even wake up saying, “Sweat pants and Uggs for this girl!” But then I’ll probably sober up from the night before and go to gofugyourself.com to reinstate my dignity.\nI’ve noticed that many people seem to identify their own styles and buy only items that fit within those styles. What a snore. How can you portray different aspects of yourself with a one-note wardrobe?\nRecently, however, I noticed that my closet was actually boring me. Something was missing and that something was Wu-Tang. \nBear with me here. As I have always said, the bond between music and fashion is undeniably prevalent. For example, I could formulate an appropriate playlist for every outfit I wear. Again I ask: What are your sweat pants singing?\nThis playlist theory works both ways, too. So imagine my reaction when I found myself rapping to Jay-Z and wearing a cashmere turtleneck. Oh, the horror.\nSo I did what any hip-hop fashion-deprived shopaholic would do. I bought a hoodie.\nJust like that I made small style change and bought something unexpected (even for me). Not that I’m saying that buying a whacked-out hoodie makes someone intrinsically hip-hop, but it sure as hell can’t hurt. \nFrom then on, I began making small purchases that I felt could contribute to my new look, without appearing drastically out of character. One gold chain and some wide-legged pants later, I no longer have to listen to Jay-Z in a cashmere turtleneck. \nMy point here is not to promote any specific fashion style over any other – my gaggle of new hoodies and bling is just a way to express a different aspect of my personality. People are in a constant state of change, so why shouldn’t your wardrobe be, too?\nBut I guess you don’t necessarily have to take your wardrobe everywhere you go. That’s a lesson I have yet to learn.
(04/16/07 4:00am)
Flash back to a scene of me in the shower of my excessively peach-colored bathroom in the fifth grade, singing to my loofah and wishing for the mysterious presence of a talent scout outside the door. \n(Well don’t really flash back, that’s gross. But try to pick up what I’m putting down here.)\nAnyways, the point of this story is not really about jailbait or my imaginary musical talent. It’s actually about what I was listening to and, more importantly, why. \nWhat: No Doubt’s third – and easily greatest – album, “Tragic Kingdom.” Why: because it made me feel like a badass. \nSomething about Gwen Stefani’s voice has always tickled my fancy, and that album marks the first time I remember actually feeling moved by a piece of music. I think it was “Just a Girl” that, in addition to boosting my wardrobe with an excess of gender equality themed T-shirts, truly made me feel sexy and powerful and musically stimulated all at once.\nThat being said, I hold a special place in my heart (and ears) (and … maybe a little down there as well) for Gwen Stefani and the state of musical consciousness she put me in at such a young age.\nIt’s now about 10 years later and, yes, I do know all the lyrics to “The Sweet Escape,” even including the fast-talking rap about sour milk and refrigerators. \nRecently, however, I’ve been grooving to her previous solo album, “Love. Angel. Music. Baby.” With the release of this album, Gwen also ushered in an entourage of four girls from the Harajuku Station area of Tokyo, cleverly labeled as her “Harajuku Girls.” \nGwen’s 2005 Harajuku Lovers Tour caused a lot of controversy for these girls, who were rumored to be under contractual obligation to only speak Japanese in public. Although Margaret Cho, an incredibly funny Asian-American comedian, criticized this as a ‘minstrel show’ in her blog, there is another issue at hand here.\nIn one of my classes we have been discussing Japanese street fashion and the concept of “Lolitas.” Lolita fashion is a considerably elaborate concept, and attempting to define it is like attempting to define ‘Sanjaya.’ Just impossible. But alas! I’ll let Wikipedia do it for me! Because, as Michael from “The Office” says, “Wikipedia: Anyone in the world can write anything they want about any subject, so you know you are getting the best possible information.”\nWikipedia says, “Lolita fashion is part of the fashion style and subculture Gothic & Lolita, which originated in Japan, largely inspired by Victorian children’s clothing and the elaborate costumes of the Rococo period.” Basically, Japanese girls (and guys) spend thousands on costume-like clothing that portrays them as young and innocent (ruffles, lace and conservatism aplenty). Now this subculture has grown to include many variations, from punk Lolita to sweet Lolita. \nThe issue with Gwen arises because she often dresses up her Harajuku girls in a modified (sluttier) version of Lolita fashion, with a little more chest action and some definitely shorter skirts. And if this particular sect of fashion is centered around innocence, is it wrong of Gwen to steal their look and adjust it to fit America’s whorish standards?\nQuite simply, no. There’s no reason for people to get their panties in a bunch; it’s not like she ripped up the Japanese flag and made them into boobie tassels. \nBesides, didn’t Lolita fashion steal from Victorian culture and French Rococo in the first place?\nEverything in fashion is essentially a modified version of something else. There are no actual new trends so much as there are new blends.\nSo I say to Gwen: more power to you, sister. And, although there were so many song puns to choose from, I really love you underneath it all.
(04/09/07 4:00am)
My three favorite things are fashion, sex and hot dogs. Today, I’ll be talking about two of them. \nHot dogs have actually had a tremendous effect on the fashion industry since their introduction to the market in the 1880s. This year, buns are all over the runway. I have even heard rumors that Dolce & Gabbana’s next runway show will feature emaciated models riding the Wiener Mobile and squirting ketchup and mustard at each other. Yum.\nHow long would everyone keep reading if I had actually devoted this entire column to wieners? I shudder at the thought.\nBut speaking of hot dogs, possibly the world’s most phallic food, let’s just talk about sex, baby. (Who doesn’t love a good Salt-N-Pepa reference?)\nThink of all the similarities between sex and fashion. First of all, they’re both selfish indulgences, unless you’re donating a nickel to the Boys and Girls Club every time you have an orgasm. That’s not to say that others are not involved, but the motives for both are individual and self-serving, which is probably what makes them both so appealing.\nSecond of all, fashion can cause attachments just like sex. Remember that first lucky guy or gal who deflowered you? Remember when he or she actually used the term “deflower” when you were already naked and you realized it was too late to get out? It’s unlikely that you’re still cultivating your garden together, but I’m sure you were slightly attached to his or her hoe and shovel for awhile.\nWell, clothes can have a similar effect. I have a forest-green plaid button-up that I keep within a 3-foot radius of my bed at all times. I think my sister bought it at a garage sale when I was 9 and it didn’t fit her, so she threw it at me violently and I haven’t parted with it since. Obviously, one person’s trash is another person’s creepy teddy-bear substitute. But for reasons far beyond my knowledge, I have grown attached to it. More recently, I have grown attached to some Diesel boots and a Betsey Johnson necklace – motives change, but the attachment remains.\nThere are also unspoken rules for both. In fashion, don’t wear white after Labor Day. Never wear socks with sandals. Keep your thong hidden. Velour sweat pants are the insignia of the devil, etc. \nIn sex, wrap it before you tap it. Come inside, sleep outside. Beggars can’t be choosers. \nI think you get the picture here. \nAnd let’s not forget about label whores, who are actually just like regular whores but with a closet full of Hollister. For them, it doesn’t necessarily matter what the fabric, color, or style is as long as it’s flying high with the bird motif. Similarly, some people don’t place much emphasis on who they’re going after, but what they’re going after (validated self-esteem, proof of independence, status symbol, etc.).\nSo how does this liaison actually come into play? Well, in my opinion, we’re in the midst of a sexual liberation – we’re doing things we haven’t done before, and more importantly, we’re all talking about these things out loud, finally. This liberation is blurring lines of fashion all over the place – in particular, between men’s and women’s fashion. This has manifested itself as the androgynous look. It’s a melding of both gender’s fashion to create a sort of mysterious aura around its wearer. Is it a boy? Is it a girl? Or could it just be a really skinny chick wearing a pin-striped hat and a fedora?\nSometimes fashion takes inspiration from itself and sometimes it draws from the outside world – here, it’s doing both. Not only is women’s fashion being motivated by men’s fashion, but they’re all riding on the coattails of this new sexual freedom. \nAs Samantha once said in “Sex and the City,” “I’m a tri-sexual. I’ll try anything once.” \nI couldn’t agree more. Everyone’s got a little Prince inside.
(04/02/07 4:00am)
Remember when we were little? When that weird, chubby neighborhood girl would call you during your midafternoon dose of “Doogie Howser, M.D”. and ask, “Wanna play?”\n“Um, no. Wanna watch the latest episode of ‘Sister, Sister’?”\nOh yeah, I was that kid. Like those albinos who need NASA spacesuits to go outside, it took a lot to get me to throw on my dirty flip-flops and exit my sitcom bubble.\nBut there was always one exception. In the fifth grade, my best friend and I begged our parents for permission to walk two blocks away to the nearest Walgreens – all by ourselves.\nFinally, freedom rings! Let the bells toll! And after I gathered a few crinkled dollar bills and my most adult trip-to-the-pharmacy outfit, we made the rough, 3 1/2-minute walk – semibusy intersection included – to Walgreens.\nAfter a quick massacre of the distasteful, might-as-well-have-bought-it-at-Goodwill lipsticks, I get my head in the zone and head to the only section I came for: the magazine aisle.\nSo many options! What will it be? Cat Fancy? Reader’s Digest? Soft-core porn in a plastic baggie?\nNo way. My 10-year-old self headed straight for Seventeen, where I could cut out pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and learn how to take my makeup from day to evening (an important skill for every 10-year-old girl to master).\nBefore I headed to the cash register, I would always experience this twinge of nervousness, like I thought the disgruntled sales employee had the power to rip the magazine out of my hands and scream, “This magazine is for big girls only, so skedaddle!” \nBut I knew I was old enough to read it, and nothing, not even a disgruntled Walgreens employee without a college degree and with a vocabulary that includes the word “skedaddle,” could stop me. \nNow it is 10 years later, and I’m just as voracious about magazines as I ever was. In fact, I plan on working in the fashion magazine industry when I get out of school. It’ll be just like “The Hills,” only absolutely nothing like it at all.\nAnyway, a thought came across my mind the other day that was relatively disturbing. Little girls in the generations after me will probably never have an experience like mine. First of all, the national sex-offender registry probably told their parents that Walgreens and its surrounding area are a veritable hotbed of pedophile activity, so there’s no way those kids are going anywhere without their bilingual nannies. Second, there may not be any magazines for them to buy.\nOne by one, the print magazine industry is surrendering to the online magazine industry – all thanks to a little thing called convergence. Convergence is the melding together of different media – like The New York Times being available online and in print – and frankly, it is killing the magazine industry. Why would you want to buy a magazine when all of its content is available online?\nWell, here’s why, first of all: the latest issue of Vogue contained 637 full-color, glossy pages and only cost $4.50. Second of all, I hear that every time you log on to the Internet, a kitten dies. You know what doesn’t kill kittens? Print magazines. Plus, you get to rip out what you love and do whatever you please with it. I, for one, sleep next to a framed Dolce & Gabbana advertisement and dream of having a disposable income.\nWe should stop putting so much focus on what’s available on the Internet, and start focusing on what’s not. Magazines just don’t have the same effect through the screen. So go out there, pick one up (I recommend Nylon for the fashion/music-obsessed), and let your old-school flag fly. But if you’re walking to the store, don’t forget to look both ways at the semibusy intersection.
(03/26/07 4:00am)
The walk of shame. Ordering Pizza Express at 3 a.m. and passing out before it arrives. Trying to be the first person to pee on one of those ridiculous $50,000 musical clocks on campus. \nWhat do all of these have in common? Well, they were all pretty fun for me last night! Just kidding, there was no way I was going to pass out before I got my cheese bread and ranch. Forget my diet. I stop counting calories when I start losing the ability to count.\nActually, the correct answer is: These are all events that take place almost exclusively in college. Not that they can’t occur at other stages in life, but if you’re 47 and still really into public urination, that’s a whole different issue.\nAnyway, last night I was invited to a “rock star party.” Obviously, I went as myself. But, so did everyone else, which didn’t make for such a terrific theme party (although any party that offers three flavors of Jell-O shots is always a success). But it got me thinking about theme parties and how intrinsically “college” they are. With the obvious exception of Halloween, when in your life are you ever going to get to do this again? They don’t throw golf pro and tennis ho parties in the real world.\nI do have a few grievances when it comes to theme parties. First, there certainly aren’t enough of them. Second, people are not nearly as enthusiastic about them as they should be. I have a friend who absolutely refuses to attend any and all theme parties and I just can’t get over it. I’ve told her that she’s contributing to society’s moral downfall multiple times, but to no avail. What’s not to love about theme parties? It’s the opportunity to dress outside the box. \nPeople are constantly telling me “I couldn’t pull that off,” which is what I like to refer to as “lazy fashion.” It occurs when people want to try a different look, or maybe they want to emulate someone else’s look, but they fear that friends will have some sort of averse reaction. “Oh God, Gina, are those skinny jeans you’re wearing? But, but you never wear skinny jeans! I just don’t think I can handle this right now. We’re no longer friends.”\nBut for these lazy fashionistas, theme parties are the answer! You are free to wear whatever you want and no one cares if you “pull it off” or not. And – gasp – it’s actually fun! Rummaging around Goodwill for a Bill Cosby sweater with your best friends is a guaranteed good time. Applying nine or 10 layers of eyeliner for an emo-themed bash is exciting, especially for all the guys that secretly wish they could wear makeup like us lucky ladies. Try to deny it; I’ll never believe you. And after all that hard work and preparation, you get to go to a party, take pictures with a bunch of toga-clad hotties and drink cheap beer. Again I ask: What’s not to love?\nSo my advice is: Next time you’re invited to a theme party, not only should you go, but you should go all out. Whatever the theme is, just rock it. Maybe you’ll snag some digits or even a late-night romp, but be careful. The walk of shame is not nearly as fun when you’re still wearing that toga.
(03/19/07 4:00am)
In the 1950s, Marilyn Monroe was considered one of the sexiest women in existence. Not only was she glamorous, but she had that find-an-air-vent-and-pose thing totally down. She also had a classic beauty mark that puts Cindy Crawford’s to shame. (That’s not really true. To be honest, I’ve never had beauty mark preferences and I don’t plan on starting now.) She married a host of hotties and even got to sing a steamy version of “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” to our nation’s most erotic president, John F. Kennedy. (Yum.)\nA few weeks ago while at the salon, this topic came up between me and my hairstylist.\n“Oh, but you know she was a size 12!” she said. \nA 12! \nJust in case the boys and faithful nudists aren’t aware, size 12 is looked upon by society as large and not-so-in-charge. So, for Marilyn to have been that size in the prime of her stardom is truly incredible. Any actress with a size 12 tag in 2007 gets immediately thrown into the fat actress category with Queen Latifah and Mo’Nique, suitable for Cover Girl commercials (note: face only) and sitcoms about big ladies who just love ranch dressing and mayonnaise. \nAnyways, when I stopped by my parent’s house this weekend (which still sounds crazy), my mom had clipped an article for me out of the local paper about this very subject. Surrounding the article were two pictures: one of Marilyn Monroe in 1959 and the other of a slammin’ Vivica A. Fox in 2005. Both pictures labeled the ladies’ bust, waist and hip measurements, illustrating how similar the two ladies were built. The largest disparity between them in any spot was only one inch. Above their photos were their sizes: Marilyn Monroe, 1959, size 12; Vivica A. Fox, 2005, size 4.\nSay what?!\nSo Marilyn wasn’t a fat actress?\nApparently not, unless you think Vivica could stand to lose a few. In which case, well, you’re just wrong.\nBut this all brings up the larger issue of vanity sizing, which occurs when clothing manufacturers inflate sizes in order to accommodate their buyer’s desire for thinness. Basically, brands feel that they may lose customers if those customers must wear a larger size tag in their clothes, so they increase the actual size of the clothing but keep the smaller tag. This is especially prevalent in women’s wear, because when was the last time you heard a guy say, “I can’t be caught wearing a large, gross!” \n Obviously vanity sizing is a problem. In another 50 years, a size 4 may become a size negative 4. Kate Moss will be sporting a negative 20 and Kirstie Alley will be squeezing herself into a size 2, and we can’t let that happen.\nAnd it doesn’t help that America is basically feeding spoonfuls of lard to its children at this point. According to the American Society for Testing and Materials, which is in charge of apparel and sizing standards, the average size of a woman in the 1960s was an 8. Now, it has nearly doubled to become an average of size 14. \nSo, not only are we all getting fatter, but we’re all getting a little less willing to accept how fat we actually are; hence, vanity sizing. \nThis all comes into play when shopping – specifically, when it takes four or five trips to the fitting room just to find the right top. Don’t even get me started on jeans.\nSo here’s my suggestion: Obviously sizes are more messed up than the Olsen twins, so perhaps if we start shopping with that mentality, we’ll all stop caring what the tag says. You can’t change what fits, and squeezing into something for the sake of an insignificant number won’t help anything.\nOr just get naked. Nudism comes in all sizes.
(03/05/07 5:00am)
Last Sunday night, America wasn’t participating in a war or contributing to a debate on gay marriage. America wasn’t feeling the effects of global warming or developing new immigration laws. America wasn’t rallying against abortion or campaigning for its first black president. For one night, America stood united.\nWell, it didn’t so much “stand,” but it sat on its ass united and watched really, really attractive people win awards for movies no one saw.\nUnfortunately, this year’s Oscars were pretty much a snoozefest, barring a few exceptions. First of all, Ellen DeGeneres, the show’s host and our nation’s lesbian mascot, officially announced her candidacy for the “Most Suits Owned by a Female” award. She’s pitted against Diane Keaton and it’s going to be a tough one.\nAnother great facet of the show was the sound effects choir. Can you imagine how those people introduce themselves at parties? “I played ‘Raindrop No. 1796’ in a poorly executed film montage at the Oscars. What have you ever done?”\nBut, of course, one part of the Oscars is never a bore: the worst-dressed list. In fact, I think more celebrity events should have a worst-dressed list, like AIDS awareness dinners or breast cancer benefits. There’s nothing like discouraging attendance for a good cause.\nBut before I get to the real goods, I guess I’ll start with the best-dressed Hollywood hotties of this year’s show. First of all, I have seriously been thinking about changing my sexual orientation after seeing Penelope Cruz in her feathery, pink Versace gown. She gets my best-dressed award for this year. Who cares if you can never tell what she’s saying? \nAlso, Reese Witherspoon has never looked better in a tiered, purple Nina Ricci gown and a fresh, sun-kissed face. (Looks like she and Britney Spears are having vastly different reactions to their very public breakups. Reese wants to cut Ryan Philippe out of her life; Brit wants to cut hair out of her life.)\nAnd I could not forget Helen Mirren – aka The Queen – rockin’ a sparkly Christian LaCroix dress at age 61. Her skinny ass is bringing anorexia back to the old age home and let me say, it is about time. Senior citizens can have willpower and self-esteem issues just like the rest of us.\nAn honorable mention is also getting thrown out there for Jessica Biel and her bright pink Oscar de la Renta gown, but she didn’t make the top three because “7th Heaven” is still on the air and I think we’ve all been punished enough.\nFinally, it’s time for the disappointments.\nIt was nice of Cameron Diaz to show up, despite undergoing recovery from an intense race reassignment surgery. Wait, what’s that? She was just that tan? I guess I don’t blame her, though; just watching “The Holiday” made me want to run and hide. She just has enough money to hide where it’s tropical. (P.S. Her dress wasn’t so great, either.)\nNext we have Kirsten Dunst, who would wear a dress made of hot dogs and twisty-ties if it said Chanel on the label. Her seafoam-green-colored dress had a collar and cap sleeves (which is just as sexy as it sounds) and really did wonders for her ghastly complexion. And wasn’t it Marie Antoinette who said “Let them eat cake and stop wearing seafoam”? That’s just tasteless.\nBut no one can compare to this year’s Oscar miracle baby, Jennifer Hudson. Her brown Oscar de la Renta gown was actually quite fabulous and flattering, but she ruined it with a snakeskin bolero jacket that had teeth and looked as if it was going to swallow her face all night. Jennifer, why would you want to smuggle in your extra party guests when your boobs got their own invitation in the mail? I know you said that there’s no no no no way you’re living without me, but if we have to be together, please just remove that Godforsaken shrug of yours.
(02/26/07 5:00am)
It’s everybody’s favorite time of year. The SRSC is busier than a couple of Mormon lovers, anyone who’s anyone is getting their lattes made nonfat, and HydroxyCut is being passed around like joints at a Bob Marley show.\nYes, spring break is almost here. It’s so close, you can feel the Mexican busboys undressing you with their eyes from here.\nRegardless of where you’re headed this year – Cancun, Daytona, Juneau – you’re going to have to pack a swimsuit. I, personally, am bringing six on my trip to Connecticut, where I will split most of my time between the tanning booth and the bathtub. \nSo, despite the fact that it is February and my legs are still thawing out from last month, I’m ready to get everyone suited up for the beach. The likelihood is high that you’ll be too crunkity crunk by noon to even notice those busboys. But let’s face it: Busboys or not, we’re all attention whores. Especially on spring break.\nLet’s take care of the ladies first. In the swimsuit decision-making process, the first question to answer is the most crucial: one-piece or two-piece? There used to be a three-piece option, but sporting a North Face jacket with your teeny bikini is so 2005.\nFor my bigger gals out there, I have a few words of wisdom: Two-pieces – unlike Twinkies or corned beef hash – are not your friend. Just think of them as scales. Wearing a one-piece is not like relinquishing your position as chairman of the Full-Figured and Fabulous Club. Knowing what your body does and does not look good in is sexy, and trying to dream the impossible bikini dream will cause your sexy potential to plummet.\nAlso, Old Navy called – it wants everyone to stop buying tankinis. If you are a lean little mama, why would you want to cover up your hot bod? And if you’re not such a lean little mama, keep in mind that tankinis are not the cure-all solution to hiding your “holiday weight” (which has been there since New Year 2001). No offense, but two-pieces are still two-pieces – when it comes to chocolate and swimsuits, one piece is enough.\nWhen it comes to the pattern of the suit, it’s pretty hard to go wrong. Basic colors are always a great option (especially when they are livened up with a cute sarong, or even just a necklace). Black suits will attract rays of sunshine, but white suits will attract a lot of guys named Ray. Get wet and you’ll raise a few “spirits,” too, if you know what I mean.\nIf you want to forgo the solid route, try a small flowered print or maybe a little paisley. For a more-sweet-than-sexy look, any of the Lucky Charm prints will do. Hearts and stars are magically delicious this season.\nNow, faithful male readers who have made it this far down the page, your getup is a hell of a lot easier. My one cardinal rule about men in the summertime is please, for the love of Giorgio Armani, give up the hibiscus print board shorts. For the horticulturally challenged, hibiscus is a big Hawaiian flower that has kept Pacific Sunwear in business since I was in junior high. Loosely translated, it means “douche flower.” Give it up.\nSolid shorts speak volumes, but don’t shy away from a little plaid or paisley. You’ll probably have better luck with the ladies if you stand out a bit. Maybe you’ll even snag a white bikini-clad sun goddess, but she’s probably just a tease.\nHopefully, everyone will have an orgasmic spring break, but don’t let your new sexy threads land you a spot on “Girls Gone Wild.” Republicans will protest, and you’ll never be allowed in Jake’s again.