THE RELOCATION CHRONICLES, CHAPTER ONE: PACKING HEAT

So here's the short version of what's been going on with me for the past six months and why I've been more of a turbo-bitch than usual:

For about a year I worked for this company that recently went totally under, and my job search proved to be an epic disaster. Because the lease for my apartment is up at the end of this month, my dad is making me stay with him in Los Angeles because the freelance stuff I've been doing, while I love it with a passion, isn't getting my bills paid.

There are so many reasons why this is a gargantuan level of suck. First of all, besides my dad, everyone I love is back East. This includes 95% of my family, all my friends, and every single shred of sanity that I can still stake a claim to. Not to mention I'll be living with my dad, which in my twenties is an astronomical cockblock. Of course, he also chooses the Summer to force me to do this. Thanks, Dad.

Second- I'm a New Yorker. I was born there, raised there, have the accent, root for the sports teams (except the Yankees- can't stand 'em), downloaded all the songs, own all the movies, know all the subway lines by heart, etc. The food is amazing, the public transportation can't be beat and the culture puts every other city in the world to shame. Where else can you travel to six countries in two blocks- on foot? Yeah, the cost of living will bleed you dry and leave you in a dumpster in a dirty alley in Brownsville, but ask anyone that rents there and they'll still tell you that it's the best city on the planet.

Third- LA sucks. Everyone there is only concerned with how famous they're going to become, and it never pans out and they just wind up doing porn. Yeah, the dry heat is definitely conducive to my Jew-fro, but I own a flatiron so I don't care. The pizza is awful, the only public transportation they have are buses that come every nine hours and cabs that fuck you up the ass, and the lack of culture is appalling. Plus I don't get any of my Jets games. Everybody in LA is full of shit- it's probably the reason their roots are all brown.



For some reason my dad loves it there and is totally convinced that if I "gave it a chance," I would, too. I've given it tons of chances- I even lived there for a few months- and every time I go there I hate it even more. Moving is stressful enough when you're actually relocating to a place you want to go to- now I have to deal with this shit on top of it. I'd rather be getting on a spaceship to Jupiter. I'll pretty much be on a different planet, anyway.



Luckily this move is only supposed to be temporary- I'm planning on just going for a few months, working a few part-time gigs and saving up enough to get my ass back home sometime in the Fall. This is probably good for you guys, because I can only imagine that my blog posts will get exponentially more bitter, and thus more hilarious.

The actual "moving" part is pretty aggravating in itself. There's all the little shit I have to remember to do such as forwarding my mail, canceling utilities, dealing with my cheap-ass landlord who was of no help the entire year that I lived here, and then there's the bigger, annoying stuff like packing.

I HATE packing. Besides the actual "going to LA" part, packing is probably what I detest the most about this whole moving deal. The only good thing about it is that I finally have rug burn on my knees that I actually don't have to lie to my mom about. Also, I'm probably burning some calories by rummaging through my shit and making and lifting the boxes. I guess.

My family has been coming and going, helping me get my shit together and store it in my brothers' basement, and also making sure that I don't go completely crazy and purposely break a bunch of crap. They're taking most of my furniture, which is great because that means I'll get it back later. I've also been going through my clothes, shoes and bags, giving away what I don't want anymore to homeless shelters and Goodwill. After the shitty attitude I've been hauling around since I got the news, it felt good to do something nice.

Anyway, I'm cataloging my entire moving experience as a way to get my head in perspective and my ass in gear. Hopefully it'll only be until sometime in October, and then I'll be back, ready to find a new place to live, a better East Coast job and to reconnect with everybody I left behind. I've got New York on my iPod, in my DVR and in my heart, and no matter what Los Angeles tries to do to me, that will never change.



Here's something to leave you (and me) with.

PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME

A couple of weeks ago I had dinner with some of my co-workers and, for some inexplicable reason, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory came up. I've been terrified of that movie since I was a little kid. I don't know what it is- the creepy music, the weird costumes, the kids being eaten by candy... or it could have been those horrifying, discolored, deformed midgets that sing that scary song and ride around on that acid trip boat. Yeah, that's probably it. I made the mistake of admitting this to the guys who were sitting with me and over the course of the next hour they kept busting out the tune and laughing. I of course started freaking out, which made them go at it even more. Dude, that shit sucked when I was growing up and that's why I never got over it!

Look at this clip and tell me it doesn't freak the shit out of you.

(PS- I got scared just Youtubing that.)

Anyway, I stand by my fear of that movie and hold claim to this day that it's not irrational, especially when you look at the list of all the other stuff I'm afraid of. Some of them are really fucked up, which kind of makes sense if you've been reading my blogs at all.

BTW, here's how much I love you guys: I actually had to look at these pictures and videos so this post wouldn't be boring. So I risked having nightmares for you. You're welcome.

CLOWNS- At least I can explain this one. I was dumb enough to watch the movie It when I was about four or five and to this day I can't even look at them. Ever since then I've been terrified of all clowns except for Krusty from The Simpsons. They even look scary with their stupid makeup and their retarded laugh and those weird tricks that they do.

Oh My God NO.

Apparently clowns are a legit fear- there's an actual name for it and Johnny Depp shares the same phobia. Anything involving Johnny Depp is good enough for me.

DOLLS- I fucking HATE dolls. I'm especially petrified of those porcelain ones that stare at you, but all of them are pretty frightening. Stuffed animals and Barbies are bad, too. I can't sleep if they're looking in my general direction because even though I'm no longer a little kid, I still think they're going to come to life and attack me. I remember when I was really young and my aunt went to China, and she got me this evil-looking doll that I was convinced was going to kill me. My dad felt bad for me and hid it in the garage until he finally tossed it like, five years later.

Definitely hide the knives.

PUPPETS- Not all of them. Some are kind of funny actually, like the ones from Conan or that hilarious Fox show Greg the Bunny. But the ones that really creep me out are ventriloquist dummies, marionettes and sock puppets. I fucking hate sock puppets. Oh, and Lamb Chop. Even as a kid I knew there was something off about sitting there with a hand up your ass and smiling and dancing around like you actually enjoyed it.

I'm sorry, but that's just not right.

In case you're wondering, I was also afraid to watch Mr. Rogers. No, I don't want to be your neighbor, you fucking pervert!

TEDDY RUXPIN- Teddy Ruxpin scared the crap out of me because his mouth was the only thing that moved when he told his creepy stories to unsuspecting children, and his eyes used to roll back in his head like he was possessed or something. I actually had one as a kid and my parents knew that I didn't like him, so they used to put him on my bed while I was sleeping to fuck me up. Wow, that was mean.

Even now he makes me a little queasy.

Here's a video I found of Teddy Ruxpin scarring kids for life. You've been warned.

KANGAROOS- Kangaroos are ugly and silent and they sneak up on people and punch them. How would that NOT freak you out? Plus I found this picture floating around the Net a few years ago, and again recently on my friend Mei's blog:



WHAT THE FUCK? That is like, the creepiest shit I've ever seen. No.

GIRAFFES- I'm afraid of giraffes for most of the same reasons I'm scared of kangaroos. They're really ugly- they have weird antenna-like shit on their heads and and their bodies are wrong-shaped. They also have oddly long tongues, which would normally be a plus, but they're like, blue or something, which is generally what you want to stay away from. Isn't that, like, a symptom of The Herp?



There's this commercial for Six Flags where a giraffe sticks his head in a car and licks some kid. My friend sent it to me as a joke and I couldn't sleep for two days. I'm serious. That's also why I'm afraid of the musical Cats. Those fuckers run through the audience and touch you. One of them licked me once. How about not?

PARROTS- I don't like when things talk that aren't supposed to, like birds, or men. That shit just ain't right. About 20 years ago I went on vacation and there was a parrot there that learned to address me by name and I haven't been the same since.



Actually, pretty much all birds freak me out because I always think they're going to run at me and peck me. Wild turkeys are bad too because they make that obnoxious gobbling noise while they come barreling towards you.

Shut up, bitch.

At least the peacock has a funny name. Pea and cock? Together? Awesome.

I'm an eight-year-old.

MIDGETS- I know that being afraid of midgets is kind of like being racist. They can't help being all small and shit, and it's wrong to categorize that as a character flaw. I get that. But you know what? Sue me. Midgets are creepy as fuck. That's part of the reason I'm so scared of that Willy Wonka movie. I think it's just the notion that they could sneak up on me at any moment and BAM! that would be it. I'm not exactly a beanstalk but at least you can see me coming.

Apparently pop culture doesn't get it because there are like 9,000 reality shows about midgets now. TLC alone has like four of them.

Here's one of them.

The exception to this is Chuy from Chelsea Lately. I love that guy.

PARADE FLOATS- What exactly is the deal with parade floats? Why do they have to be so huge and come at your face like they're trying to smother you in a helium-induced murderous rage? They totally ruin all those beloved cartoon characters that I grew up with, and that just ain't kosher (and there it is!).


Snoopy is the worst of them all because he was always my favorite and this destroyed him for me.

It's weird that I'm so panic-stricken by all this ridiculous shit because I love horror and sci-fi and all this stuff that really should scare me but never does. My entire family thinks I'm weird, and they're probably right.

Please don't have me taken away.

GINN AND TONIC

I've been under a TON of stress this past month- I'm temporarily relocating, exploring new job options and dealing with some personal (read: GUY) issues that all my friends already know about so I won't get into them here. So of course I took the high road and chose to deal with all my problems in an incredibly mature fashion by running away from them and getting astonishingly loaded.

I mentally ran through all the awesome cities I hadn't been to in a while where I actually knew people and came up with Boston. Not only is there an amazing live music scene, but the sports fans are rabid and the drinks are cheap. On top of that, it's also the hometown of one awesome Ginntastic, my partner in blogging crime and a friend who I hadn't seen in over a year. I was sold, and so was she. Vacation time!

The bus ride lasted so long that I was convinced the dude was taking us to Mexico, but eventually rush hour subsided and I arrived at the South Station. I lugged my gargantuan suitcase to Ginntastic's office where we basically pissed around until it was time for her to clock out. On the walk to the T I'm pretty sure I embarrassed her by taking a shitload of pictures, but it's not often that I get to be a tourist and we did pass a lot of cool stuff.

Boston Public Library- the very first photo I took in Beantown

That night Ginntastic took me out to dinner at the Joshua Tree, a funky dive which immediately met my approval because it was named after my favorite album from any band of all time. There was a collective depression in the air because the Celtics had lost to the Lakers the night before, but the food was still orgasmically delicious. Just for the record, this is the dessert we ordered:



Ginntastic promised we'd share but all she ate was the whipped cream and like, two bites. Liar. I finished the whole thing. I hate myself.

That night we met up with a few of her friends (who all turned out to be super-phenomenal), where we started out the night with these watermelon shots...

I blame them

...and ended it on a stripper pole because we were all remarkably drunk.

Behold.

Oh, Ginntastic.

On Saturday Ginntastic played tour guide and took me around to all the sports stadiums. We were pretty hungover but I managed to get a few pics of the TD Garden, where the Celtics and Bruins play.



After the TD, we had lunch at Pizzeria Regina. The line was out the door, but the pizza was totally worth it, especially because the sign was shaped like a penis. Ginntastic told me that they did that just for me. I'd like to believe her, but somehow that just didn't sound right.

Tell me this doesn't give you dirty thoughts.

Next up was Fenway Park, where I made a total ass of myself with the camera. I swear I took a picture every three seconds and I definitely humiliated Ginntastic, who was really nice about it even though I'm sure she wanted to kill me. I was a total loser, but I got a ton of great shots of the stadium and of the House of Blues, which is inside the park. Then I made her go into the souvenir store. I'm sorry, Ginntastic. Please still be friends with me.

This is the entrance to Fenway, in case you're retarded and didn't get it.

This is around the time that I started completely geeking out.

Ted Williams statue- I called my dad and even he was embarrassed for me.

BTW, they're not kidding about that whole "Red Sox Nation" deal. EVERYONE in the Boston area was wearing something with the team logo on it. I mean EVERYONE. I saw maybe five people without it all weekend. The Sox were playing the Dodgers, too, which meant everybody was spazzing out over Manny being back in town. I, on the other hand, was spazzing out over music and baseball being together in the same venue.

Porn.

Anyway, she forgave me long enough to take me out with her friends that night to some bars on the Boston scene. We all wound up at a local sports bar where I wound up being molested by some dude who later found me on Facebook (how about NOT?). Later, Ginntastic and I realized that our hand stamps were smudged together and the only possible explanation that we could come up with was that we must have had some unconscious sexy times. We were, after all, sharing a bed.

Anyway, after consuming a copious amount of alcoholic beverages, Ginntastic and I headed back to her place after brushing off the guys that had been following us around like sad puppies all night. One of them even tried for a three-way when a two-way wasn't even in the works, and that made us laugh. We climbed into bed at 4am with her adorable kitten, Bosco, who was the only male we had allowed to come between us all weekend.

Bosco saw both of us in various stages of undress. That manwhore.

My weekend ended with a breakfast of cold pizza and a spectacularly horrendous Lifetime movie with a ninja stripper or something. When Ginntastic finally dropped me off at the bus, I was sad to go, but knew that the 2010 Boston Massacre was definitely going to be a semiannual jaunt.

Here's to you, Ginntastic. Thanks for getting me seriously wasted and making me forget that I had any problems at all. Thanks for laughing at idiot frat boys with me and giving me a bed to sleep in instead of pawning me off at the Watertown Super 8. Also, thanks for still admitting that you knew me when I nerded out about sports and forgot that I have girl parts.

See you soon! We're definitely hitting up the stripper pole again.

PS- you can read Ginntastic's account of our weekend if you click on her link above, and if you're friends with me on Facebook, you can see all the photographic details in all their blackmail-worthy glory.

PHONING IT IN

No one is perfect, but I will be the first to toot my own horn, which lately is all I've been doing because I've been single for the past eight months. But ANYWAY. I may sometimes be a little too loud, anal, overprotective, and swear like a motherfucker, but I'm also loyal to a fault, which is why I've been with the same cell phone company for ten years.

My dad got me one of those Zack Morris huge-ass monstrosity calling devices from Verizon when I was in high school, and I've been with them ever since. For the most part, their customer service is great, and their reception is amazing. I rarely drop a call, and I always get texts within a second of them being sent.

My real first love

When I landed an internship, while I was in college, I got a Blackberry for emails, which is pretty much the worst out of all the Smartphones. Trust me- all Blackberries are suck-ass pieces of shit that break all the time and have piss-poor Internet. I went through three different models and five different phones in the span of four years, and in a moment of anger-induced weakness, terminated my contract and switched to AT&T. I got an iPhone, which I was obsessed with.

My deal with AT&T lasted four days- they are fucking awful. Their customer service is deplorable, their range is laughable, and their contracts are riddled with hidden fees. No wonder they have an exclusivity deal with the iPhone- that's all they have going for them. Everyone I know that has AT&T hates them.



When I left, AT&T informed me that conveniently, there was a no-fee charge after three days- I was one day too late. I paid them and told them to get them the hell out of my life. I won't even get into everything here, mostly because I blocked it out, but it took me two whole days on the phone with both companies to switch back to Verizon. For my trouble, they gave me a Droid Eris, which at the time had just been released.



Over the next four months I went through three piece-of-shit Erises. I finally called Verizon, told them that every phone they sent me had something wrong with it (which they knew anyway, because at this point they had kept exchanging phones with me), and they upgraded me for free to a Motorola Droid, which is what I had almost gotten in the first place but didn't because it costs a zillion dollars.

I was really excited- the Droid supposedly blew the iPhone away. It was still touch-screen, but with a keyboard, which was considerably less obnoxious and meant no butt-dialing ever again. The apps were awesome, which I already knew from blowing off work to play Solitaire and do word searches for hours on my Eris (I'm a huge loser). Also, not only did the Droid sync with Facebook and Google, it also saved photos and music just like the iPhone. The Internet was apparently ridiculously fast, too. So not only would I have everything that the iPhone had, but I could call almost all my friends and family for free, because 90% of them have Verizon, also.

Here's the original commercial for the Droid, where it basically eats the iPhone alive.

I got my Droid in the mail from FedEx last week, complete with absolutely nothing- no back, no charger and no battery. I called Verizon, and they were at least apologetic. I was going away for the weekend for work, so I agreed to the regular standard shipping. I sat around all day today and waited for the FedEx dude to show up, and this time everything came, but they had sent me the wrong battery.

This was getting ridiculous.



I called Verizon back and they told me I could go to the store and get the battery there, and that they would also activate the phone for me. I did so, and figured it was all taken care of. I got home, anxious to charge my new awesome phone, and realized that they had also sent me the wrong charger, and no memory card.

WHAT THE FUCK?????



So I phoned Verizon AGAIN, and gave them my name AGAIN, although I did tell them that I was surprised they didn't know me by my voice by now, seeing as how I called them more than I called my own mother. I explained, not very politely at this point, what had gone down over the past few days, and the woman on the phone actually told me that she was pretty embarrassed. Well, you should be. She immediately ordered me the accessories, although she did tell me I would have to pay for the SD card and the overnight shipping.

Asphincter says WHAT?

I tried reasoning. I tried bitching. I tried crying. I tried threatening. I almost told her I would come over there and pour Tabasco sauce into her eye, but she wouldn't budge. So for $15, I have to wait another day to use my awesome, technologically advanced Droid that has so far caused me nothing but anguish and pain- and I can't even make any calls yet.

Damn you.

This is definitely a testament to how much I value the sanctity of the bond between a girl and her wireless provider. Verizon has had me in a psychological choke-hold for the last ten years. That little red checkmark is my Pavlov's bell- I see it and come running. Can you imagine if it roofied Apple? Their kid could get me to do whatever it wanted.

Don't get any ideas.

I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP

Studying marketing all throughout college has turned me into a conspiracist. This really annoys my mom, but I'm usually the first one to launch into the "don't believe the hype rant." If you really think about it, most commercials are pretty stupid and unconvincing anyway, and you really have to wonder what the idiots in the advertising department were thinking when they came up with them. I mean, really- wouldn't you watch somebody's brat kids for a few hours, only to be rewarded with a payment in gum? I know I would!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qq55mIxT33M

One of the worst offenders, in my opinion, has always been Victoria's Secret. The models in the commercials, and the catalogs, are hilarious. I don't know about my friends, because I don't watch them get naked (sorry to debunk that myth, dudes that read this), but when I get dressed in the morning, I don't prance around for an hour in my underwear, posing in front of the mirror and making faces like a blow-up doll. My hair doesn't move around like that, either. Also, I'm not, like, 300 pounds or anything, but their apparel doesn't turn me into Adriana Lima, although I have been mistaken for her identical twin (HAHA! I jest, sadly). I call bullshit on you, Victoria's Secret.

It's hard to tell just who the company is aiming for with their advertisements- obviously, their number one demographic is women, but we're only interested in the product, not the models. I don't give a shit what the so-called "Angels" are doing with the underwear. I just want to see what it looks like, and then I get pissed when I put it on and I'm not perky or bouncy like the girls in the ads. What the hell? Liars!

This is totally how I look first thing in the morning.

Men that see the ads are going to get turned on, of course, but they're not going to buy the product, unless they're dating someone, or married. Unless they want the stuff for themselves, and that's a whole other story.

BTW, has anyone else ever wondered exactly what Victoria's secret actually is? Is she a lesbian, or a tranny?

Anyway, I do shop there, like all my girlfriends, because here's the problem I'm faced with. I'm "blessed" with a gigantic rack. I've been hauling these shitcans around since I was twelve, when they magically sprouted like Icarus with his fucking wings. I remember when I woke up one morning in seventh grade, ready to put on my little Carter undershirt with the bow, when my mom looked at me and shrieked, "What the hell are those?!" and immediately took me out for a day of bra shopping. It really sucks because the rest of me is pretty small, so not only do I deal with back and neck pain, shitty posture and occasional cramping, but finding bras that don't seem like they should belong to my grandma has always been close to impossible.

Enter Vicky's. Even though they're ridiculously overpriced, they actually make stuff that I'm not totally embarrassed to wear. Last week I realized that I could no longer put off the hellacious task of bra-shopping, so I recently went in there just to see what they had to offer. When I walked in, I was instantaneously accosted by some sales minion in a turtleneck. Her boobs were normal-size so I knew right away that this would not go well.

"Hi!!!" She greeted me. Ugh, she was perky. This was going to be tough. "How can I help you?" I don't know, do you have a scalpel? I told her that I needed a regular bra that wasn't exceedingly ugly that kept the girls above my navel. Her face lit up as she walked me over to what was basically their "new releases" section, and she showed me one of their freshest collections- the Miraculous Push-Up, the one that's currently all over TV that adds two cup sizes.

First I stared at her in disbelief for a full five seconds of awkward silence. Then I slowly came to my senses. "Listen," I told her. "I appreciate your whole marketing perspective, and the fact that you're trying to sell me your latest product. I studied marketing; I respect that. But when you look at me, do you honestly think, 'this girl really needs to look bigger!' I mean, what's two cup sizes up from this, a W? Do you even make this in my size?"

All the poor girl could do was blink a few times. I did feel kind of like a bitch, but seriously. If I followed her advice, this could have been me:



I think emphatically not. Victoria's Secret, please pack your knives and go.

I finally settled on a couple of regular BioFit bras, albeit in an interesting array of colors so I didn't feel like a 75-year-old. So while my wallet definitely suffered, I did tally up another victory for common sense.

I wonder if I can pay for those bras in Trident Layers.

AURAL SEX: JUNE 2010 EDITION

Here's an ingenious idea I had. Since I'm constantly surrounded by music, whether it's at work, the gym or my shitty apartment, I decided to share with you guys exactly what I'm listening to when I'm really bored. Why? Because you're all dying to know. Or not. Whatever.

Starting in June (obviously), I'm going to bring you a new column that I came up with when I was delirious from my bronchitis meds and give it the GREATEST TITLE EVER. I'll put it up on the second Tuesday of every month to match up with the day of the week that new CD's come out.

Selections are coming from my iPod, my friends and family, and the awesome contributors on 20-Something Bloggers.

So here's what's helping me be completely unproductive:

THIS IS WHY THE GEICO CAVEMEN INVENTED MUSIC: Classic Album of the Month

THE CLASH- London Calling, Combat Rock




The Clash is my favorite band of all time. I first heard "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" done by some shitty cover band when I was like 12 years old, but I was drawn in and immediately researched more of their songs. The reason that The Clash is so great is because even though they're lumped into the "punk" category, their CD's encompass so many genres that you can't even group them into just one. There's rock, pop, reggae- the band was even diverse enough to be sampled by M.I.A. in "Paper Planes." All the band members grew up with different influences and combined all of them to form the most versatile band to emerge from the '70's British punk scene. Also, the amazing cover for London Calling is considered a classic piece of musical art, and the CD itself reached number eight on Rolling Stone's Top 500 Albums of all time. I can't choose which of their albums I like better, so I'll cheat and go with both.

DOWNLOAD THIS: London Calling:

London Calling
Train In Vain
Jimmy Jazz

THIS TOO: Combat Rock:

Should I Stay Or Should I Go
Rock The Casbah
Straight To Hell

NEW SHIT THAT ACTUALLY DOESN'T SUCK: Current Artist of the Month

SHINY TOY GUNS- We Are Pilots



You know Shiny Toy Guns, even if you don't know you know them. They're the band that covers all those awesome '80's songs for the Lincoln commercials. I had never heard of them until I caught their first single, "Le Disko," in a Motorola ad.

After that they were everywhere. They did a remake of Peter Schilling's "Major Tom" and Blue Oyster Cult's "Burning For You" (yes, I do like the originals of both. Shut up!) for the Lincoln car company and comissioned well-known illustrator Glen Hanson for their first animated video. They did also a secret concert for NBC which I sadly missed because I had no idea where it was. I'll bet they're sick live.

Anyway, their album is brilliant- it's electro-pop with female vocals and sounds just like you would expect from listening to what they've released to the general public. They've also put out a bunch of remixes that are just as awesome.

DOWNLOAD THIS:

Le Disko
You Are The One
We Are Pilots

I LOATHE MYSELF: Guilty Pleasure of the Month

LADY GAGA- The Fame



Lady Gaga herself annoys the shit out of me. She wears ridiculous outfits and makes stupid comments just to get attention, and the fact that she's actually a really talented songwriter gets lost in the shuffle because of it. I made fun of my friends who worship her because I also hate her genre, so the first 97 times I heard her songs I couldn't stand any of them.

But dammit, she got me. The first one I sort of admitted to was "Paparazzi," but only because I didn't know it was her. Then I realized that "Poker Face" was kind of OK. Then my gym started playing "Bad Romance" over and over (and over) again, and now it's my new favorite song. It's on repeat on my iPod, and I actually get kind of depressed when it's over. Now I have 3/4 of The Fame (and the sequel, The Fame Monster) downloaded, and I hate myself. My only excuse is- fuck it, I don't have one.

I hope no one I know reads this.

DOWNLOAD THIS:

Bad Romance
Poker Face
Paparazzi

YOU'RE MISSING OUT: Unsigned Artist of the Month

JERKAGRAM



Jerkagram is an unsigned band that has been playing around for a while, and it's time that they got the recognition they deserve. They're a duo in their mid-twenties that have been playing their respective instruments since they were in kindergarten. The guitarist is incredibly talented, and the drummer will make your jaw drop. Their music can best be described as "ambient noise," or as the band themselves describe it, "weird."

They started out as an improv act, but after they started writing songs they got even better. Their live shows are hilarious- they combine music, performance art and costumes. They play laid- back venues that are usually free or really cheap and bring out huge crowds, too, so you'll never sit there and wish that you stayed home to watch the Discovery Channel or something. Seriously, just go see them play- the experience is mind-blowing.

PS- the name means exactly what you think it does.

Jerkagram on Myspace

Performing live...

And a special acoustic...

So there are my picks for June. I'd be interested to hear what you guys are listening to, so feel free to post your comments below. I always make good on my threats, so check back next month for the July edition.

IS THIS THING ON?

I can't stand Michael Bay because he's responsible for shitting on most of my childhood, especially now with his reported upcoming Ninja Turtles fuck up, but I'll always be a little bit grateful to him for shoving Megan Fox further into the "who?" category. After she wouldn't shut up about how much she hated Bay and referring to him as "Hitler," Fox had her Transformers contract yanked and was replaced by a Victoria's Secret model that had never acted a day in her life, thus confirming everybody's suspicions that Megan Fox's only discernable talent is, in fact, "jiggling."

Sorry, Megan. Too bad you never learned that your video-game character looks will only get you so far, so you should probably try not to sound like a retard just to grant yourself some relevancy.

Any time Megan Fox gives an interview, she always says bonehead things about how she doesn't get why guys are into her, or why she's famous, then caps it off with some pre-masturbatory tell-all about her sex life. By the way, in every photo shoot she does, she's always in her underwear. "But I'm so confused as to why guys think I'm hot!" Sure you are.

Honestly, this is probably your best bet from now on.

The worst offense is when celebrities piss and moan about being celebrities. "Movie stars" have been getting bombarded by cameras since my grandparents were kids, so when anybody now decides that they want to go into acting, or cut an album, or whatever, they more than likely know what to expect (if they don't, they're idiots). I HATE when famous people make ridiculous complaints about paparazzi like it's something new. Yeah, it's probably really annoying to have to put on an evening gown to go to the supermarket, but it's not like they didn't sign up for this.

The biggest idiot of them all appears to be Kristen Stewart, that moron from the Twilight movies. She really does seem like an ungrateful bitch. She's been in the business since she was really young (her first movie was when she was like, ten years old) and in my opinion is a terrible actress, but whatever. She signs a contract to appear in a series of films based on what is one of the most successful young adult book series of all time, agrees to do multiple movies that billions of little Twi-Tards will no doubt cream themselves over, hands herself over to a marketing team that will in all likelihood produce countless widgets featuring her mannish face, and then bitches about having her privacy invaded. Something about this feels off.


After these movies, no one will care.

Kristen Stewart's latest stroke of brilliance comes from her interview with British Elle. In the article, there's a quote from this obvious scholar where she compares being followed by the paparazzi to being raped. Here's the quote:

“It’s so… The photos are so.. I feel like I’m looking at someone being raped.” The rumored lover of Robert Pattinson added, “A lot of the time I can’t handle it. It’s f**ked. I never expected that this would be my life.”

“What you don’t see are the cameras shoved in my face and the bizarre intrusive questions being asked, or the people falling over themselves, screaming and taunting to get a reaction.”

I totally agree with that. Having my picture taken every day is definitely akin to being sexually abused, humiliated and violated. Let's ask the hundreds of millions of rape victims who've lived through the ordeal if they feel the same way you do and if they wouldn't have traded places with you for five seconds while it was happening to them.

Fucking idiot.

Poor you. Go cry about it.

Apparently these people don't contemplate the effect their words will have on the general public before they speak. This girl is a fucking retard and shouldn't be allowed to open her mouth unless someone has written down exactly what she's supposed to say. For Kristen Stewart to compare her life to that of a victim of a violent crime's is disgusting.

For the record, her movies all suck, too.