une étoile est née

bonjour chatons ferrell. ma petite soeur et ses amis ont fait une vidéo qui fera vibrer vos chaussettes de laine. elle l’a fait sur ​​son titillant “gawp yah” dans un programme d’immersion française au Pomona College cet été. regarder comme elle fait semblant d’être abusés par un escroc français! oh mon dieu! la terreur!

translation:

hello ferrell kittens. my little sister and her friends made a video that will rock your woolen socks. she made it on her titillating gawp yah in an immersive french program at pomona college this summer. watch as she pretends to be abused by a french rogue!  oh my god! the terror!

kelly cutrone

an unforeseen thing: i am obsessed with kelly cutrone. i want her to be my mother, and definitely my boss.

“WHA HAPPEN?” … i’m serious. maybe i do not admit that i watched all of the city, and all of kell on earth in an insomniatic (word, promise) 2 week stretch. why sleep when you can spend endless time gabbing with your glamorous bffs in people’s revolution? a soho marxist fashion commune? it may be true that i’m suffering a brief identity crisis in transitioning from teaching tree care workshops in east new york to chinchila clawing my way into digital media, potentially in fashion, but my maternal love of kelly is real and i won’t have you second-guessing my sanity.

if buzzfeed’s taught me anything it’s that enumerating shit is fun!

so one: kelly has a lust for life so great that her hair turned black and stringy from having molten igneous blood. grendel is to beowulf as kelly is to model x. her mother was actually half panther so that’s also why. consequently kelly’s daughter, ava, always beats suri cruise in chelsea piers gymnastics class because she is quarter panther and boasts a high ratio of fast twitch muscle fibers.

1.5: kelly is the post-modern empowered new york woman — a gothic revival of her former, blonde-pixied 80s nyc-newcommer self — an entrepreneur and a humanitarian just tryna make the world a more beautiful place through high fashion pr. and hauling ass.

2: i’m 23, hear me roar. i want tough love. i want to get my butt kicked, work harder, cry (but go outside first), and then have my boss hassle skater boys into dating me. her word is gold. kell on earth was the best office perspective i’ve ever gotten. and i would love for her to personally form me into a career stallion with ineffable opinions and metallic efficiency. as my mother-boss.

3: fashion is cool, i’d love to be makeupless sleepless ogre cueing models

(4, interrupted): behind the stage for minimum wage.

5: kelly is not a bitch. she is the ultimate people person. people’s rev does not drag people down, it puts souls on a escalator to heaven that plays only gloria gaynor and men without hats on speaker. some may say she has no life. i say she has the ultimate life. in people’s rev, she’s created a matrix of family+work+live+love+glamour+pain that all of her employees clearly love hate. but think about it. if you only love something, don’t you get a little bored? are we anything without challenges? don’t you feel incredible when you’re exciting all emotions at once? that’s how coke snowmen feel all of the time <– snowmen made out of coke.

the new yorker…

the new yorker recently published an article, “the english wars.” an eye-of-the-hurricane word swirl picture was under the title, seeming very gory and bloodthirsty indeed. i read lustfully. there are two kinds of people in the world, you see. the prescriptivists: those who believe language should be finite, and the descriptivists: those who support linguistic evolution. the article hinged on william strunk’s credo of linguistic minimalisme.b. white, strunk’s student at cornell university, famously championed strunk’s style in his novels and essays. for both strunk and white, minimalism communicated better than verbosity, although verbosity had been culturally reinforced for centuries. in their essays, they went so far as to say that minimalism wasn’t just about “sounding” less pretentious, it inherently indicated the morality of the writer. in short: people that use simpler language are better people.

my opinion lurks in the crossfire. while i have no interest in sounding like the wife of bath (just looking like her!! ..joak), anyone who loves books probably feels an affinity toward the art of the english language. they want to see its power maintained. because if knowledge is power, and knowledge is preserved through time by language, than language is power. language is infallible. but humans seek to control. english-speaking humans especially (can we agree?). our culture is defined by deconstructing. sir walter raleigh, one of the earliest colonists to come to the united states, spelled his last name 111 different ways. since the earliest english-speaking tribes, wars erupted over grammar and spelling. language and imperialism go hand in hand.

while legal restrictions maintain a relative system of linguistic checks and balances today, some still take offense to blatant disregard for the english language. like my grandfather or some unnamed fellow english majors from kenyon college (u kno who u be, h8as!!!). but these people just seem like they need to get with the proag. the idea that deconstructing english is hip is more culturally relevant, and is where i identify. in particular, i’m talking about why ghetto (linguistically) is funny. especially on twitter. read @ghettohikes. “Gerald stoled my Powerade and act’n like he didn’t. Over there wit a purple mustache. Motherfucka needa recreate me a drink.” what would prescriptivists say about @ghettohikes? would prescriptivists inquisition its ass? would i be persecuted for making inquisition a verb? why do pretty rich white girls love to say SUPER ghetto things? spell things with no vowels and extraneous x,y, and z’s? PLZZ TLL M3. it seems that making a mockery of the english language is, in these analogous ways, the desire to make communication more human. less perfect. absurd, because life is absurd.

so while i agree with strunk and white that minimalism is key, to exert any type of control over language seems futile. homiez gon do what they gon do. <– it goes without saying, clearly, to deconstruct language at your own risk. wynk.

Morton del Ray

Image

ahoy there saltees. here’s to lana del ray for putting the morton’s salt girl in vogue. “here’s not” to lana del ray making me feel depressed and swollen every time i watch her videos. lena dunham’s recent tweet: “Lana Del Rey’s National Anthem video is one of the most complicated beautiful things I have ever seen” made me pregnant with ick. but, per usual, that ickiness melts to fascination and idolatry, and so lena made me reassess my relationship with llama del r. if i<lena<lana is true, then maybe “national anthem” is worth talking about. worth stressing over. worth me stockpiling my freezer with ice baggies to prevent transmutable lip swelling.

so in “national anthem” she’s marilyn, and rapper “a$ap rocky” is jfk, in a thickly lomographized vision of the new american dream. okay… is it good?

pros: the music, a$ap is hot, lana’s hair is impossible, and the lomography is pretty if mercilessly hip, and the first scene.

cons: lomography is pretty but mercilessly hip (is hip artistic? is llama del ray the andy warhol of our time?!!), the rest the video after the first scene.

my general beef wit lawnz is this. of all of the self-proclaimed martyr divas out there, her claim seems more audacious than anyone else’s. britney’s self-prophecy in “lucky” seemed like a joke, until it happened. lady gaga seized britney’s downfall and made it her identity: the million looks of monstrous pop. then lana comes along and out-metas everyone. darling she’s your national anthem! she’s patron princess of self, pop, and the american dream! if you thought american beauty and betty draper emblemized the rotting american dream, you are wrong. lana knows a lot about american history. her read on the changing landscape of an obama america? mercurial.

snarks aside, her songs are good. listening makes me feel like i’m in a sea foam box, resting cryptically on a celery stick day bed and feeling shiny. listening to earth rumbling, nectarous bass from some other planet. make me me feel, less absurdly, like i’m in a sequel of the dead poets society, with all girls. all lanas. in fact, doesn’t she wear a nymphy wreath in “born to die” like neil perry before he kills himself in his father’s office? anyways.

what do you think?