ishyface: (i shall never grow old)
My Chemical Romance broke up.

The day afterward I got accepted to grad school.

This has been a week of many, many feelings.

(Today is also my five-year antiversary.* The amount of feelings I am having is practically illegal.)

* tl;dr on this day five years ago I broke up with someone I thought I was going to marry kind of and it made me really sad and then it made me really happy and now I make sure to make note of the date whenever it comes around. Only Very Old LJ Friends will remember this happening, so if you do, congrats, you are practically ready for retirement.

oh, bless

May. 9th, 2012 12:06 pm
ishyface: (everyone's so intimately rearranged)
Introducing Laura Jane Grace. I am so excited for her I may pee a little.
ishyface: (reading is neat)


Remember that noise the blender makes right before you go to sleep tonight. It will be a fun and groovy time.

Today I was thinking about the stories I told myself when I was a kid.

I used to get bored all the time. This is a constant hazard when you are a child with an overactive imagination, I think- the world as it is inside your head is so full of ADVENTURES and WHAT-IFS and EXCITING THINGS that the world outside your head can never quite measure up. My brain was populated with dragons, orphaned princesses, space aliens, sentient rocks, telekinetic harpies, and murderous duchesses with multicoloured tentacles instead of hair, and frankly, venturing outside of it to live in real time was boring. So I used to have these storylines running in my head whenever I did boring stuff, like a movie you put on in the background while you clean your room. One particularly dull day spent with my least favourite aunt and cousins saw me staging an elaborate dungeon breakout, negotiating with a mob of angry ghosts, and crowning myself leader of an itinerant wolf pack, all without leaving my seat in the back of my aunt's minivan. I think maybe they wondered why my eyes periodically unfocused, but they never asked any questions.

The first character I ever remember making up was a girl named Aurora, who I started telling stories to myself about in second grade. She was a princess who lived above the clouds in a ~magical sky kingdom and had a pet unicorn and was betrothed to a super handsome dude who looked kind of like Tuxedo Mask in breeches. Seriously. It was pretty much the girliest thing ever, except for the part where she and her parents were locked in an eternal war with a bunch of giant sky-rats who occasionally kidnapped Super Handsome Dude and tortured him hideously until Aurora rode in on her magical unicorn and kicked their asses. I remember being really interested in the torture parts, because seven-year-old Ish loved ponies and ruffles and sparkles and GORE. I never wrote any of these stories down- pity, I bet they were awesome- and they have mostly disappeared from my head, but I remember the basic outlines of the world. Rainbows! Sunshine! EVERYBODY DIES.

Oh, and also I gave this Aurora chick blue hair because I read a book which featured a girl with blue hair and I thought that was just about the neatest thing in the world, further proving that I haven't really changed much since elementary school.

I was thinking about this before, and began to wonder if the book actually existed or if I'd just imagined it. So I Googled "books about blue-haired princesses" and got... surprisingly few relevant hits. Clearly this is a niche market just begging to be exploited. Eventually I found the book in question, which was written by Carol Beach York and called Good Charlotte. I took a look at some of the reviews.

Okay,I never ever read the book but I am OBSESSED with the band Good Charlotte.I only love this book because Good Charlotte named themselves after it.I will buy the book in the near future and read it.Well anyways if your a true fan of GOOD CHARLOTTE(the band) you have to buy this book.I know it has nothing to do with Good Charlotte but still buy it!!

I now know how to boost my eventual book sales with little to no effort. The next novel I write will be called Simple Plan. Y'all better buy it if your true fans!!!

Weezer is coming to St. John's on July 22nd. Hot Hot Heat are opening for them. This is pretty exciting for me, since I like HHH okay and Weezer was the soundtrack to my life in eighth grade. However, there are no floor seats left at all. And, well, I don't go to concerts to sit down in a chair and clap politely, I go to jump up and down and sing and dance badly and (if all goes well) fall down at least twice.

Oh, Rivers Cuomo. I love you a lot. But I don't know if I love you enough to sit still.

In conclusion, here is a video in which Aldous Snow teaches us all very valuable things about the letter U.



Because I saw Get Him To The Greek last week and even though it wasn't that good, and even though it suffered from all the same problems that all Apatow Etc. films suffer from, and even though it featured an unexpected rape scene that was played for laughs because the victim was a dude*, I can't get the fucking songs out of my head.

(P.S.: Happy Canada Day! I don't really celebrate Canada Day at all because while I think this country is an okay place and I'm mostly glad I live here, patriotism in general makes me uncomfortable. I hope anyone who does celebrate tonight does so in an appropriately Canadian fashion- that is, drunkenly.)


* Think Wedding Crashers, but with strippers and an enormous dildo. Yep.
ishyface: (everyone's so intimately rearranged)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote

Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

What tickles my fancy today: sexism in advertising.



Yesterday I managed to confound a Pretentious Indie Record Store Clerk by purchasing albums by Hole, PJ Harvey, Radiohead, and Fall Out Boy all at once.

Clerk, looking askance: Uh, wow. This is a very... eclectic selection.
Ish: I'm a very eclectic person.

I was kind of hoping it would turn into a High Fidelity sort of moment and he'd be all "I CANNOT SELL YOU FROM UNDER THE CORK TREE NOW GET OUT OF MY STORE," but alas, it did not.
ishyface: (a good place to think about the future)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote

Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

"Cars and Telephones," by the Arcade Fire. Every goddamn time.

ishyface: (i shall never grow old)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote

Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

What tickles my fancy today: ridiculous boy band videos! )

Fucking boy bands, man.
ishyface: (Default)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote
Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

Oh, man. Okay.

Cut for blah blah and also several videos. )

Tomorrow: my favourite movie! Goodness, I wonder which I shall talk about.
ishyface: (Default)
I have just come up with the theory that, if you have one of your heroes lying tipsily next to you, you should tell them all the pretentious pop-culture theories you have come up with about them. So I slurringly tell her that the difference between her and, say, Madonna, is that you don't penetrate Gaga. Her songs and videos are – while sexual – about dysfunction and neuroses and alienation and self-discovery. They're not, in any sense, a come-on. Despite having worn very little clothing for most of her career, Gaga is not a prick tease.

This is the most fantastic Lady Gaga interview I've ever read.

O-KAY.

Mar. 4th, 2010 09:18 pm
ishyface: (Default)
I am not going to talk about personal stuff, because that is boring and depressing!

I am not going to talk about bandom stuff, either, because that is ALSO boring and depressing! (BOB ;______;)

And that means it is time for a meme from [livejournal.com profile] xcarex! Because memes = occasionally boring, but rarely depressing.

Comment and I'll give you a letter. Then, you post a list of 10 songs beginning with that letter to your journal.

My letter is T.

1. "Talkin' 'Bout A Revolution," by Tracy Chapman. Did you know Tracy Chapman dated Alice Walker? Neither did I. Anyway, her voice was one of the first ones I remember hearing as a kid, because "Fast Car" seemed to be on the radio all the time. One of my mum's friends owned this album and played it while she drove us places, because we didn't own a car and mostly relied on friends to drive us around. I know it's kind of uncool, but I really like Tracy Chapman still. She reminds me of being little and safe and warm.

Which is weird because when I listened to her with any kind of regularity I was a four-year-old living in Dartmouth, where hookers were shooting up in front of my house.

2. "Thinking Of You," by A Perfect Circle. I used to think this song was really sweet. Then I found out it was about masturbation.

3. "Table For Glasses," by Jimmy Eat World. This is the first track off Clarity, which is one of my favourite albums ever even though I don't like Jimmy Eat World that much. I love the way this song washes over you, and the way it builds, and how it is pretty and lonely and sad.

4. "Through And Through And Through," by Joel Plaskett. Because I can't NOT have some Plaskett on here. My favourite line in this song is "you're a wrecking ball in a summer dress." I think that's my favourite of all his lyrics, actually.

5. "'Til Death Do Us Party," by the Groovie Ghoulies. This song is fun and silly and hopeful and bouncy and the title is a PUN. Basically it is everything I love squished into two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. :D

6. "The Times They Are A-Changin'," by Bob Dylan. I made a soundtrack for an imaginary movie about the apocalypse once. This was the first song on it.

7. "Tornado," by Mindless Self Indulgence. This song will forever make me think of Lyn-Z breathing fire.

8. "To Be Alone With You," by Sufjan Stevens. SPOILER: totes about Jesus. Also, I used to pronounce his first name like "Surf-jam," and it makes me think that there should be a sequel to Space Jam starring a famous surfer instead of Michael Jordan and the cast of Happy Tree Friends instead of Looney Tunes.

9. "Telescope Eyes," by Eisley. I listened to this song while sulking in a dark room in twelfth grade. I can't remember why.

10. "This Side Of The Blue," by Joanna Newsom. Fun fact: if you sing this into a moving fan you sound just like the good Ms. Newsom herself.


In conclusion, there is something about this that I find oddly soothing. And it starts with T, so it's topical. Which also starts with T.
ishyface: (in the dumps)
Okay, SO. Evelyn Evelyn. Let's talk about it.

Ever since I found out who she was, way back in 2005 when I was just a wee Ish who listened to the Dresden Dolls more than was entirely healthy, I have adored Amanda Palmer. I don't mean that I like her music or find her interesting or think she is hot like ten thousand glorious suns (although all of these things are true!). I mean that since I was sixteen years old I have fucking worshiped her. Her music didn't just move me or speak to me, it was me. She was messy and complicated and funny and weird and desperate for attention and aware of herself and lonely and happy and everything I was, pretty much, and I fucking loved her for it.

And then came Evelyn Evelyn.

When I first learned about this band, the fact that it was kind of ableist definitely registered and made me intensely uncomfortable. The idea of anyone appropriating an identity that is not theirs- that they have no right to claim- is fucked up. It would be different, I think, if she was just writing songs from the point of view of a cojoined person (although even that is problematic), but to dress up as one? To play the part of a minority you're not a part of for a fucking lark? Not okay. Really, really not okay.

But it's AMANDA, I thought. She can't not make something awesome out of this. It's probably all gonna be a statement! About disabled rights, and exploitation, and... um... artifice! And stuff! Yeah!

And then I read this, and this. And that uncomfortable feeling got stronger. The idea of her dressing up as a disabled person was bad, but the way she constructed the twins as "real people" somehow affected me way worse. Not only was she cashing in on the suffering of a minority (of which she is not a part- don't talk to me about "Oasis" and how this is the exact same thing, the difference is she actually experienced date rape and abortion but she has never experienced disability), but the way she wrote the twins was so... so privileged. They aren't fully realized people even in her own mind. They're shy, fey women-children, victims (always ALWAYS victims because God knows disabled people can never be anything else amirite???) of hideous circumstances who somehow managed to come through it all with their innocence intact, ~*~rising above~*~ their awful body through the healing power of song- and with the help of an able-bodied messiah who graciously decides to make them famous. This is not a new story. This is not a new take on disability. These characters are not people. They're dolls.

I mean, for God's sake, they're afraid of beards. BEARDS.

But... it's AMANDA, I thought, a little desperately this time. Sure, maybe she doesn't get it, but maybe she just hasn't thought about it properly!

Because whatever privilege we have- and most of us have some form of it or another- we've all had that experience where we think something is cool and weird and transgressive until we, you know, learn something about people without that privilege and realize that actually, that's kind of fucked up and not cool at all really. I've done it; I can't count all the times I've looked back at things I wrote as a teenager and felt a deep, unhappy shudder of shame as I realized that my privilege wasn't just showing, but hanging all out and flapping in the wind.* You've probably done it, either with something you've created or something you were really into or something you just didn't think too hard about. Recognizing and confronting your own privilege is difficult, and it takes time, and it's always an evolving process. I'll probably wake up tomorrow and realize that something I did yesterday was fucked up, and I will feel ashamed of myself and mope about it for a little while and then make a committed effort to not do it again. Because that's how this shit works. You've got to learn as you go, and part of the learning process involves learning the many and varied ways you've been a dick to people who aren't like you. Sad but true.

So, I thought, maybe since there are people calling her out on this, she'll rethink things. Maybe she'll take a second look at this project. Maybe she'll take these critiques to heart.

I really hoped she would. Because she was AMANDA FUCKING PALMER. She was who I looked up to, who I admired, who I wanted to goddamn be.

And then came this:

setting aside 846 emails and removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery, @amandapalmer sat down to plan her next record.

"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."
"Removing the disabled feminists from her mental periphery."

Because that's how you respond to people who call you out on your shit- you gaily throw them out of your headspace and carry on without learning a goddamn thing.

Because examining your privilege is boring, and your imaginary two-headed freak show is way, way more important than real live people.

Because they just don't understand your art.

Because they're just reading too much into it.

Because who gives a fuck what they think, they're just a bunch of whiny bitches.

I love the Dresden Dolls. I love Who Killed Amanda Palmer? I love her words and her music and her art and her blog and her everything, my God, I really do.

But I can't love this, and I can't support it, and I can't describe how awful and lonely and disappointed it makes me feel.

ETA: Looks like Jason Webley (kinda) gets it. :D?


* One of the more fucked up ones I found, written when I was thirteen: a black tribe that worshiped a white goddess. I know. I KNOW.
ishyface: (Default)
My current favourite song, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jilly_ma_bean.



And we sing with our heroes thirty-three rounds per minute
We're never going home until the sun says we're finished
And I'll love you forever if I ever love at all
Wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
With wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
ishyface: (*beam*)
Spent the last night of 2009 in a happy haze of beer, pot, and gingerbread with some delightful people. And got a call from a very certain girl at the stroke of midnight.

2010, you are off to a good start.

Time for that meme I post every year. )
ishyface: (*beam*)
Tonight I was poking around on Genderfork, a very interesting bloggy type of place devoted to genderfuckery, and found this picture of Placebo fans waiting in line outside the Brixton.

You know that scene in the beginning of Velvet Goldmine where the glam kids are all doing their makeup in store windows and pulling faces at the BBC and there's this air of hope and freedom and glee and excitement that kind of makes your heart hurt? It reminds me of that. A lot.

♥_____♥

It also makes me miss the days when I was super androgynous. I need to rock that look again, even if I do end up looking like a cheap glam hooker.
ishyface: (oh my god!)
Dear Rihanna,

You need to get in touch with a major studio head immediately.

Regards,
Ish


P.S.: Run, don't walk. This is important.

BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS AMIRITE.
ishyface: (*beam*)
I was poking around the Internets recently, like you do, and discovered (MUCH TO MY DISMAY) that nobody seems to have written a Jessicka Addams primer yet!

This is not okay. Therefore, I give you:

Say Hello To My Little Friend: A Jessicka Addams Primer

Photobucket


Read more... )
ishyface: (Default)
Longquiz is long. )

ANYWAY. What I really logged in to ask: can anyone rec any rock/metal-esque bands who play (or are influenced by) traditional Celtic music? I ask in the name of NaNoWriMo SCIENCE!

(Extra imaginary Internet points if a fiddle is involved.)
ishyface: (Default)
I love Sady Doyle for many reasons. One of them is her fantastic Bitch blog about women in the music industry, She Pop, which includes a kind of amazing essay about how female artists are set up to fulfill the virgin/whore dichotomy instead of presenting themselves as well-rounded human beings.

We can talk about [Taylor Swift] as an "alternative" to Katy Perry, but what that misses is that the system is built on dichotomies and alternatives. Wife and mistress; the girl you sleep with and the girl you respect; the hot girl and the girl with substance; the smart girl and the sexy girl. The Media Image of Taylor Swift isn't creating a new alternative to The Media Image of Katy Perry; it's just stepping into the "alternative" role already provided by patriarchy, which has a vested interest in dividing women against each other and against themselves, in keeping them from being whole people, who can be smart and sexy, who can sleep with people and still fully believe that they deserve respect. These two images need each other; they couldn't function without each other. The girl in the white dress is nothing without the girl in red. And vice-versa.

Read the rest of it. You might like it.
ishyface: (*beam*)
Songs I heard on the radio today that just happen to be my favourites: "Welcome To The Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance, "No Rain" by Blind Melon, "Load Me Up" by Matthew Good Band, "When I Come Around" by Green Day, "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M., and "Sex On Fire" by Kings of Leon. And not a single Simple Plan tune! Good show, radio, good show.

(A lot of those songs have really specific memories attached to them for me, which is why I like them so much. The one that strikes me most is "Load Me Up"- I listened to that on the long drive to Corner Brook for my first year of university. In my head it's all dark roads and bright lights and sleepy holding hands. Naww.)

I am starting to hate my job! That took... longer than I'd expected, to be honest. :/ It is partly because of the insaaaaaane gender segregation there- and the fact that I have apparently been relegated to The Girl Table, which, yeah- but mostly it's because people keep telling me things.

FYI: there are some things I do not want to know! For example, I don't want to know who you think killed Kurt CObain. I do not want to know how badly you want to bang Robert Pattinson. I do not want to know about how precious your grandchildren are. I do not want to know which Jonas Brother is your favourite.* I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHEN YOU LAST HAD SEX WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND AND WHETHER OR NOT HE CAME IN YOU JESUS CHRIST NO. And yet, these are the things people have been gleefully filling my ears with for the past few months.

Honestly, it makes me worry that I come off as friendly and approachable. I am NEITHER. Clearly I need to work on my glower. For the moment I will content myself with decorating fruit pies to look like colourful vaginas.

In news that does not involve me being a misanthrope, I've got my classes mostly picked for the upcoming semester. Mostly. I am taking Victorian Literature (requirement- I am not a big fan of the Victorians), Logic (another requirement, I'm not a big fan of logic either), Philosophy and Contemporary Issues (I expect to defend the ethics of abortion at least once a week), Contemporary Religious Movements (filler class), and Utopias and Dystopias. I'm only waitlisted for that one, though, so I may have to take something else to fill up the time slot. I'm thinking either a class on the Greek gods or a History of the Roma in Eastern Europe course.

God, I love college. (And women. And drinking. And blah blah blah.)

Links and things. )

I've spent the last week or two working, dressing up as a goffick person and hanging out in grocery stores, riding in shopping carts at midnight, talking about books, watching musicals, pulling poetry out of hats, and refusing to clean my house. Being me is kind of really enjoyable right now.


* PLEASE NOTE: This is a lie.

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