Osborn Identity

So the other day while I was hanging out with my friend Anna (as in 'On a Table') I was dazzled by a blinding light, similar to the twinkle over the eyes of, say, Cinderella in a Disney film. This twinkle-light came from the sub-knee, the shoe level of the human anatomy. The source was a pair of AWESOME custom made guatemalan oxford that were just so fabulo I had to snap like twenty thousand pics, yeah? Anyway, here they are and with some of Anna's cool and re-organized closet (Has anyone ever know-ticed how it feels like a perpetual plague of closet reorganization?). You can buys 'em here.

They gots little sparkley threads through em. Just like you and me.

Isn't that sweet? The maker of these shoes signed and dated. Thanks Carlos P. on either September 3, 2010 or March 9, 2010 depending on how Euro you are.

And here's that Dud-Domain I was telling ya'll about.

A sick sweater that is in the process of being knit by Anna from a pattern sampled (allegedly) by Mr. Marc Jacobs himself!

A bag made from a tank top and screen printed with Anna's alias Gemma Ann. She's got stickers, too.

This is an early script for Moulin Rouge an it oddly includes the signature of Ozzy Osbourne. Now if you're scratching your head, you're a noob. Ozzy was actually set to play the part of the Absinthe fairy, a role later taken on by Kylie Minogue. Imagine how odd that'd be.

Here they are again. Sneakin' all up on us.

A Misrepresentation in Application

Whatsup? I don't think there's anyone out there.. there is no message you are receiving... [lyrics]
Anyway, I mean I don't think anyone reads this anymore but I feel like writing something. I am currently, on a Friday night, skyping with my handicapable son [Andew Sebies] and while he decides what he'll wear to dinner with an unidentified friend, I am waiting for him. there is a blank screen.

As I do nothing here, I couldn't help but wonder... Just kidding. I am not wondering about anything. Carrie Bradshaw always says that. "And as I got out of the cab and climbed the stairs, I couldn't help but wonder blah blah blah" Get original please!

Andew has returned! He wears an argyle vest with white polo. Our relationship rests on our mutual dislike for argyle cardigans [only vests]. Cardigargyle is too much. PAYCE!

Where the Wild Things Are: Mmhm

I wanted to love Where The Wild Things Are, the latest from Spike Jonze (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich) adapting the beloved children’s book by Maurice Sandek into a feature length live action (live puppet?) slash animated film. And maybe I would have loved it if the movie bore any other name, like Locomotive: the tale of childhood or MAX. But to associate the movie with such an iconic story the whole of 10 sentences, seems to doom the movie to incompetence or inaccuracy in its portrayal.

Perhaps “wanted to love” is the wrong phrase. In fact, I held the movie in enmity, as I do with many movies, so as to brace myself for the disgusting movie that may ensue. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised by how little I do hate the movie. I believe, that first and foremost, Mr. Jonze* is a music video director; he understands how music interacts with the scene, how it can so perfectly capture emotion. And with a score by Carter Burwell (In Bruges, Raising Arizona) and a soundtrack by Karen O and the Kids, featuring artists from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the Raconteurs, the Liars, Deerhunter, and in a not-so-ironic turn, an actual chorus of kids, who wouldn’t want a perfect musical side to this childhood entrée? But it’s too perfect and rather than underscoring the emotion the in-your-face perfection of the music dashes exclamation points at the end of every line.

Max, played delightfully by Max Records, dissatisfied by the prospect of growing older, runs away to an island inhabited by wild things and in one perfect monologue goes from being dinner to king. The Wild Things are played by a medley of brilliant actors (in this parenthesis bubble I would usually put the name of the actors, but I find that such information may curse you to imagining the actor in a sound booth, rather than amuse you, so I will just put crazy names from now on) who capture exactly one facet of Max’s personality or life. There’s Judith, a self proclaimed downer, Alexander striving for attention, The Bull constantly ignored, Douglas always dependable, KW, the Wild embodiment of Max’s sister who finds new friends, both on the island and in Max’s life, and finally Carol. Carol encapsulates Max’s penchant for destruction at their very first interaction, and as the movie progresses, his mastery of creation. The Wild Things literally try to create a perfect world, just as Max has done with the wild things of his imagination. But they can never escape reality. The movie affirms the therapeutic power of destruction and the resonating emptiness that follows. But the obvious parallels between Max and his creatures and Max’s world and his real life seem to mock the viewer. The depth and articulation can be attributed to only writers Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers. Ten sentences could have never implied all of the despair and anguish that the movie does.

In the end the stunning visuals and great performances are not enough to save the maudlin movie drenched in impeccable music musings and obvious plot lines.

* Did a song just pop into your head?

Epigraphs and Bobby

According to Wikipedia "In literature, an epigraph is a phrase, quotation, or poem that is set at the beginning of a document or component. The epigraph may serve as a preface, as a summary, as a counter-example, or to link the work to a wider literary canon, either to invite comparison or to enlist a conventional context." But I also like them in music, they set the tone. Sometimes they take form of dedications or explain the purpose of song, Busta Rhymes' "Touch It (Remix)." Usually though, they introduce some other feeling that the song/music may not so obviously imply.

One of my favorites is from Ratatat's "Seventeen Years," which also happens to be my general ringtone. So if you call me and you don't have your own very special ringtone, that's what plays. It is funny, I believe:

Also, check out this song-thing "Alice" which Bobby Esnard (Bobnard!) referred to me. Apparently it's old, but it's new to me. And if you're feeling especially adventurous check out this Yooouuutuuube thing, again thanks to Bobs. It's kind of how you say? trippy? Ah, trippy. Do you use this word "trippy?"

A Chat with Ian!

So has anyone seen those repulsive PROMOTIONS they disguise as pieces for Scott Schuman (aka the Sartorialist) in GQ? They go around touting Scott as the global gentlemen (which he is) all thanks to Verizon Wireless that lets him text and communicate. Oh praise Verizon. But, I have T-mobile and friends so we'll just sample a bit of Texts with Ian. Right here, right now.

Oh, also I realized that they also do this (somewhat...) elsewhere in GQ, when they so adorably put several critics and pop-culture pundits in a faux mag-chat room and they comment and name drop accordingly. I will fallow suit in the bolding but no worries you shan't find any annoying text lingo, only Sasha-IEK lingo.

Ian avec my Ikea pillow on the last night. Check out those hands.. so cute!

Me: I love this santigold album it's soo goood!

Ian EK: I knooooo!! She is incredible.

Me: haha my racist friend was like "I really dont like her. She has a weird face"

Ian EK: Haha only in 'bama. my cousin saw her in london once. Sooo jealous!

Me:what do you think of the Mountain Goats, I just listened to them and don't know how I feel

Ian EK: I know lots of people who like them, but their sound is a bit too jagged for me

Me: i get that.. they seem a bit whiney too but I just read this gq article and this guy said the songwriter is "not just one of the greatest songwriters... one of the greatest working writers" whaaaat?

Ian EK: I loooooove hype

Me: haha we should put this convo on my brog and ill call it "A Chat with Ian"

FIN

oh p.s. I just want to let you know that I counted how many o's and a's there were and retyped exactly that number okay! There were a lot. and here, you can check out the Mountain Goats for yourself.

And while I don't exactly love this music and I find the lead singer John Darnielle's head movements and general aura to be annoying, I do think this video is funny. Enjoy! (or not...)

Sorry about this

This is a meditation I wrote for Art History and it's not very good, but I am just going to put it here. It's kindof like a review of the book, but is technically just musings. Oh, it is on the first three chapters of The Judgment of Paris by Ross King (Brunelleschi's Dome). Sorry I suppose for not updating, but I've come to hate my writing. Ah, well. P.S. It's also very serious and boring. I apologize.

Art shapes history and history art, there is no question here. But what makes The Judgment of Paris an interesting read rather than a museum pamphlet is the ever-so-detailed consideration to the meta-analysis of art—what makes an artist tick, her life experiences, her relationships and aspirations that all sum to how she perceives the world, an ultimately recreates it. King explicates the relationship between the end product and the process, with care to point out that this rectangular snapshot is not without years or even lifetimes of bias and planning.

Starting with Ernest Meissonier—the Karl Lagerfeld of the nineteenth century—we observe the meticulous regiment and extravagance to which life becomes dedicated completely to art. His eccentricity rivaled even Don Quixote, who too obsessed over times past and chivalric tradition, and perched himself upon a wooden horse, although not in a faux-snowscape. Meissonier shuns the modern, trifling, and erratic world of the ordinary; he favors the lionized “good old days.” But Meissonier embodied contradiction. He wanted to create in himself and his philosophy of art and culture a sense of antiquity, but he reduced his talents to bonshommes (goodfellas, if you will) rather than the epic gentlemen favored by society and his own taste. Meissonier decried this very practice, yet still petitioned against Nieuwerkerke’s reforms to secure his ability to churn out several bonhommes pieces, rather than concentrating his “efforts on a true masterpiece—a large and heroic history painting, for instance—that would take its honored place in pantheon of French art.” He believed and strove for this goal, but wooed by the lifestyle from his profitable bonhommes, Meissonier sided against Nieuwerkerke. Here, Ross emphasizes the impact that money has not only on the painter, but shaping the world of art, the works society deems “acceptable” and thus views. Had it not been for Meissonier’s great fame and fortune, we may not even be discussing his petition, his work, his presence in the book. Ross also makes sure to contrast Meissonier with Manet.

If Meissonier is Karl Lagerfeld, Edourd Manet is Charlie Bartlett, the protagonist from a 2007 film; he fares from the gentry with supportive parents in contrast to Meissonier whose interest in art estranged his father, and could barely support himself before his booming painting career. The two also share almost directly opposing views of art. While Meissonier prefers glorified historical pieces but yields to producing works officers and gentlemen, Manet initially believed in the venerated historical paintings and then willingly depicted indigents and commoners. Critics chided Manet’s style—his technique, subjects, uniqueness. Others celebrated it. Despite the great differences between these two artists, they both represent a single allegory of meta-art.

It took only Gautier to praise Manet for his pieces to be considered “good.” The Académie des Beux-Arts, “immortals” determined with one, unified judgment the value of a painting, of the life’s work of artists. This practice still persists, even if not in such identified terms. Arbitrarily selected “elite” vote yay or nay in magazines and museums; proctors pull pieces to show in traveling galleries… And exposure creates profit, conversation and ultimately defines what we as viewers considers to be “worthy art”. If nothing else, The Judgment of Paris provokes critical thought about the art we value. How does that art come about? Why does everyone at the Louvre flock to Mona Lisa with their backs to Le Radeau de la Meduse? When we accept that pure excellence is not the only determinant in answering these questions, we can understand the relationship between history and art.

A Side Note

Some people are of the belief that movies are best only when you can see them several times and still love them, or perhaps--dare say it--even more. I am not one of these people. No Country for Old Men, was all worthy of it's best picture title, but seeing that movie again may be enough to convert me to a Brokeback fan. (Okay, maybe just a There Will be Blood pusher).

Howevah, as a three time Away We Go-er, I can say without hesitation ("to smash your doll cupboard!") that it is still a great movie. You guys should really go See it.

And, if you haven't already (as I instructed) listened to The Vitamin String Quartet rendition of Where is My Mind a la Pixies, you should. In fact, I shall force you to. Just listen to the whole thing. Here

It is a really good car song; I like to act like I'm a conductress (Not a train! A Quartet conductress) when I listen. Sorry the end isnt on it, but you should buy it on itunes.

And Here is the original, from Fight Club, my official favorite movie (but it is slightly tied with a bunch of others)

I didn't check to see if there was anything inappropriate first, so sorry if there is kiddies! I miss Andrew Seber!!! Where have you bloody been (all my life)!?!