Tuesday, April 27, 2010
These dudes are groovetastic to the nth degree. Lots of instrumentals, but each song is very different. One track will feature reggae beats, the next will be electronica, then there’ll be psychedelic Portishead-type hooks. You’ll feel like an aviator-wearing Terrantino-film extra who just got back from a month chilling out in Costa Rica, finding yourself and hang-gliding and whatnot. Check out the sweet-stylin groups Bonobo and Supreme Beings of Leisure, too. You simply can’t be stressed listening to ’em.
If “Electric Feel” does not make you exuberant in the first 8 bars, then you have no serotonin left in your brain. These hippie-haired Brooklyners will get you feeling ultra zen. Plus, I want to permanently live inside their surreal Fern Gully-esque music video:
3. Slightly Stoopid
Can you say beach music? Can you say beach music with an 18-pack of beer and a Frisbee and some illegal substances? You bring the acoustic guitar, I’ll bring the bongos, we’ll start a bonfire and watch the sun go down. See you by the pier, dude.
4. Vampire Weekend
Finally, the upper middle class has a soundtrack! Rock your Ray-Bans and rock out to these fun tunes, Belvidere vodka in hand on the way to your Columbia University banquet. The dean will totally not know you’re wasted.
5. Jack Johnson
Surfer? Check. Soulful music? Check. Energy independent music label in Hawaii? Triple check. Jack, if you’re reading this (which I’m sure you are), call me. I’ve loved you since Mud Football and Bubble Toes.
6. Animal Collective
Wacky electronica and guys singing up-tempo, mildly nonsensical lyrics? Yes please! Happiness is pouring out of my speakers!
7. Bob Marley
Do I need to explain? Go. Listen. Now.
8. Gypsy Kings
Listen to that Spanish guitar and just tell me you don’t feel alive. Tell me you don’t want to go jump in a fountain, dance on an outdoor café table, and watch the stars splay across a mountain-ridged stretch of sky. Who cares if you can’t understand a lick of what they’re saying? It’s beautiful and pulsing with pure energy. Bamboleo.
Musical elation with a French twist! Sounds so delicious you’ll think your iTunes was making you a Nutella crepe with whipped cream and strawberries.
10. Marvin Gaye
The Prince of Soul for a reason. Sure, everybody wants to get it on with some sexual healing, but have you checked out “Mercy, Mercy Me?” or “Right On” lately? Righteous tunes with some soul-stirring lyrics. Listen and love one another my babies.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Keira Knightly. Audrey Hepburn. Mena Suvari. Kate Moss. Milla Jovovich. Somehow, in the western world these women have managed to swim through the sea of silicone and skyrocket to stardom with “small” breasts. How did
Perhaps it’s a matter of adjectives. Perhaps you say small breasts, and the ignorant say “non-breasts.” (Ironically these are always the same guys who never get laid and are constantly made fun of in the group…coincidence?)
But to others, those who have more to contribute than cleavage to a conversation (and those smart enough to appreciate that) considerate it perky, playful…dare I say, sexy, even?
Perhaps a woman is worth more than her cup size. Sure, a ji-gun-do set of tits is “tit”-ilating. The female breasts have always been objects of desire to men and lesbians. But that’s precisely what they are: objects. I’d rather be seen as a whole rather than a part.
But hey, that’s just me.
Cheers to the women who know who they are. To the ones who don’t need surgery to feel confident, or sexy. To the women who love themselves enough to realize they have more than enough to offer besides some fat mammary glands. To the ones who will never need a lift, who will never have a stretch mark, to the ones who, again, because this is so important to stress, don’t care about the American male’s obsessions with Jenna Jameson. And cheers to the men who are smart and strong and sexy enough to realize this simple fact. Tonight, my ladies and gents, I drink to you.
Beauty is nothing. The women in
So you are beautiful. No matter what your waist or breast size. You. Are. Beautiful.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
In my humble, and admittedly limited perspective, there are three kinds of exes:
1) Sayonara Mothafucka. You would be perfectly fine if this ex accidentally fell into the shark tank at Seaworld. Chances are you weren’t together for that long or, if you were, it was so outright miserable you have to take some serious meditation time to release the personal vexes said ex has accosted upon your psyche. If you see this ex out at a bar, you will most certainly walk (or run, or scamper, depending on your level of inebriation) in the opposite direction to avoid any contact because this person is as caustic as a TV evangelist set on fire from a righteous Petri dish of too many Amens.
2) Hey, “Friend.” This is an outright lie. No one who has ever had sex can ever be just truly “friends” again. Ok, that’s a lie, too. I’m full of those apparently. In fact, I have dated guys that I am now completely platonic with – and at the time I was a bonkers girlfriend for these guys, thought the universe of them and wanted to totally carry their babies someday kind of girlfriend. So it is possible. But these scenarios are rare, and it’s because of two reasons:
a) You are a mature, honest individual who realizes the depth and width of the relationship and understand that it has hit its boundary. You cannot proceed any further and must make a decision that will ultimately benefit you both. So you go ’head and be all friendly like. Cheer one another on for chattin’ up that cutie at the bar (never as cute as you, of course). But still, you genuinely care about them.
b) You realized how much of a tool they were and can’t believe you ever dated them in the first place. This is very Freudian, but you have repressed the relationship so deeply into your subconscious that you can’t even believe yourself that you even dated aforementioned tool. So instead you imagine a plane of existence where you two are just simple acquaintances having fun on random occasions. You never saw their genitalia. You never cried at their expense. You never tried fighting some drunken clubgoer who accidentally bought them a shot of Jaeger. No, you barely even know them at all. And there, in this Disney Land of Make Believe, you are 100 percent platonic.
3) Bangmenowiloveyou. This is the person you never got over. Everyone’s got one. Could be from years ago…that distant visage that creeps up in a random Tuesday dream. Or it could be your most recent ex, in which things fell apart because of circumstances moreso than personal reasons. They are the yin to your yang. And every time you hear that Script song you feel it. And every time you get drunk you feel it. And every time you meet someone who can’t live up to their standards (which is basically every time), you feel it even harder. And it burns like a gun barrel down your throat, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s over, and that is all you know. So what do you do?
Cheers, my friend. For that, for what little good it may do you, I drink to you. Drink wisely. Always. And meditate. Because there is zen in relationships, and, perhaps more importantly, in break ups. Just love each other.