(mar) Get on that God Damned Bus!

If you're of the same ilk as myself, you know every word to every Hedwig and the Angry Inch song, and have choreographed dance numbers using your ficus as a dance-partner, and a mop as your gorgeous Farrah Fawcett fall. Hedwig allowed us to discover the genius that is John Cameron Mitchell, mastermind behind the wig-in-a-box. If you weren't aware, in 2006 he released a new film entitled simply: Shortbus. Now, I'm no cinema critic (in fact, my favorite movies include Sleepaway Camp I, II, and III, Little Women, and anything involving zombies), but this film really got to me. Despite being the most sexually explicit film I have seen in a long time (aside from Pizza Boy IV), it was at once emotive, cathartic and beautiful. While my heart can but slowly pump a viscous poison through my veins due to being permanently encased in bitter hoarfrost, this movie still made me pop a boner shed a tear. Yes, even ol' mama Marcy is capable of such open and shameless expression. John Cameron, you've won me over! Check out the theatrical trailer, here (warning, this is moderately NSFW):


Essentially, the movie chronicles the lives of several characters, who all meet in a place called the Shortbus, a place which combines eclectic and kitschy decor with neo-folk music and Summer of Love-style orgies. My favorite quote from the movie: "It's like the sixties, but without all the hope." The movie also features a cast of quirky New York hotties with appearances by Bitch (formerly of Bitch and Animal), and JD Samson (of Le Tigre). And since I am about to make the move to NYC myself, this movie filled me with optimism. My only hope is that I find an all-are-welcome sex salon named after public transit for special-ed children. My fingers are crossed, and I can only ask that yours do the same.

One last thing -- the soundtrack for this movie is hot hot HOT! As you enjoy this cinema gem, you get to listen to the music stylings of Animal Collective, Yo La Tengo, and The Hidden Cameras. Also, be on the lookout for newcomers Scott Matthew (love it!) and Jay Brannan (appears in the film as Ceth).

- Marcelo

Addendum: I can't help myself. Here's my fave song from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Wicked Little Town. She is so FIERCE!

(crs) Etiquette - Pure and Simple

Sometimes, a man must poop at work. Try as he might to control the fabulous factory that nature has created inside him, it is an inevitable fact. When there is input, there must be output. A fact of life this may be, yet pooping at work is the worst thing that anyone can go through in the office setting. Were we still hunter gatherers, I imagine that our concept of work-time defecation would be quite different.

"Hey guys, you keep skinning that wildebeast, I've got to go take a walk in the bushes."
"Oh Og, you're always going to poop when we have to slaughter a new kill!"
"That may be, but I'm just glad we haven't had to resort to eating thorns and thistles for the past few days. I should have a very pleasant squat."
"I hear ya buddy, enjoy that BM!"

Instead of celebrating in a peer's successful bowl movements, as our anscestors surely did, our excretions are shrouded in shame and ignomony. Men being as we are, I'm afraid that furtive office poops are simply inevitable.

A quick side note - this article does not pertain to women. I've spoken to more than two women about this subject, and was not greated with any sort of empathy. Women, accustomed to chatting while sitting in their separate stalls and peeing, make a simple leap into the unabashed public poop.

When men pee it is not with such garrulous abandon. To talk to a man that is peeing is tantamount to admitting that you're trying to look at his penis, and no man wants to be construed as gay. The photo at left is an excellent illustration - every man knows the rules, and every man follows them. Except for europeans.

Therefore, when a man poops he must elevate his standards of personal comportment. To poop is a foul act, a weak act, an effeminate act. The imposing workplace demeanor you have been so assiduously cultivating can be placed in serious jeopardy if pooping rules are not properly followed. Just one idiot can throw off the carefully controlled social balance of a men's restroom.

Most preferable - pooping alone. No one wants to hear, see, or smell you, so why not just wait until you can conduct your dirty duty (ha!) on your own. My tactic is to enter the restroom, give a quick peek under the stalls, and if there is a previously settled occupant I respect his squatter's rights (ha!) and simply wash my hands and leave (as if that were the only purpose of my trip to the lavatory).

Appropriate - If you really have to go, don't feel like waiting, or are generally just a bit more relaxed about the concept of shitting, then it's acceptable to seat yourself and continue while other men are in the bathroom. IMPORTANT - first you must announce your presence to the room. This can be done by clearing one's throat, humming or whistling a few tuneless bars, or even a simple sigh. It's polite to do this first because if your bathroom-mate is stewing up a real doozy, he may choose to sit and wait in silence until you leave before he unleashes the heat.

Unexcusable - Please don't sit directly next to anyone who is already seated. You must be separated by at least one stall. He was there first, so don't presume to make him watch your tapping feet under the divider while he finishes up. I become so flustered when someone sits next to me while I'm pooping that I'll literally try and hold my breath until they leave. What if they recognize me through the crack in the door? What if it's my boss? What if it's the really cute guy from marketing? What insenstive lout would be so callous as to hurl me into such a maelstrom of indecision? I hate assholes (ha!) that do that.

Caveat - you drank heavily last night. If the freight train of ten miller lights and two plates of hot wings is pounding on the lower reaches of your colon then your main concern is finding any sort of servicable receptacle, not etiquette. We understand. We've been there.




Keep focused, man. You'll make it there in time.



-Chris

(mar) Believe it!

I just hope that when Mike reads this he's fully equipped with his adult-diaper. Here are two more (not too grainy) Arcade Fire videos, taken from their recent appearance on television crap-cauldron: SNL. The show was hosted by Dwight Schrute. Who the fuck is this guy? Does anyone care? As long as NBC is into obscure television actors, can the next episode please be hosted by Meshach Taylor (the popular gent, in the middle)?

But let's get to the point here: The forthcoming Arcade Fire album is going to be awesome. That's right, I'm buying into the hype like I buy hemorrhoid cream once a week at Walgreen's (OMG). Please enjoy these two videos:

(Intervention), and

(Keep the Car Running)

Yes. Oh yes.

- Marcelo

(Fun Fact: That strange, bulky, and be-cranked instrument on your far right is called a Hurdy-Gurdy!)

(mar) Glamaladie

In response to, or as a continuation of Chris' Enjoy Your Drunk Friend's Ravings: vol. 3, Let's discuss this:




Poser











Asshole









Asshole/Poser









Sick and tired of these alleged rock-stars (among many, many others) watering down your life with their banal antics, unimaginative hooks, and retarded "glamour"? I thought so. I just found this, and rembered that mankind is able to produce something fabulous. Gaze into the eye of God:




Is there hope for us yet?


- Marcelo

Addendum: Okay, I have to post this one, too. It's just too great!

(crs) World hunger solved with All-Calamari Diet

Can you believe this monster? 39 feet long, and you know that bitch is MAD.

Hear ye, hear ye! World's largest squid ever captured, found recently by a New Zealand fishing boat trolling for Chilean Sea Bass. Clearly the "colossal squid" (that's actually the name given to this species - not to be confused with the ever-wimpy "giant squid". Two very different animals) has a refined palette. No half-rotten whale carcasses for this beauty. Of course, her refusal to give up her sea bass meal lead to her unavoidable demise.

Mankind - 1

Unfathomable Sea Beasts - ZERO!

Considering how long these pests have plagued our waters, how many of our brothers have died defending our nation from their cruel beaks and crushing tentacles, and how often our underwater research stations have been destroyed in their unstoppable wrath, I think it's high time we starting hauling these scourges out of the water. A little fresh air will do you good, bitch! Sure, maybe I need to stop reading Crichton's Sphere for the seventh time this month, but what if I'm right? Do you want your children to grow up in a world where such foul beasts exist? Do you want them to eat your children?

To find out more about the Squid Menace, click here.

-Chris

(crs) Because math is for losers

I'm sure you've seen the email that's been going around with smart-ass answers to test questions. If not, let me know, because they're all hilarious (see above).


-Chris

(mik) Heartbeats, Two Ways (I like mine irregular)

By now I'm sure you have probably heard of, listened to, completely absorbed, and fell in love with The Knife . And if you haven't, you should stop being such a jerk and lend them your ears.



What I wasn't aware of, and this is probably old news, is that the melancholic folk stylings of Jose Gonzalez (who also hails from Sweden) covers the song. I have no idea how a person named Jose Gonzalez is from Sweden, and frankly, I don't care. The only thing that I'm concerned about is how excited I was when I heard it today. After hearing Jose serenade me with his touching, masculine, hella dope siren song, I couldn't figure out if Jose is covering The Knife, or if The Knife is covering Jose. Being too lazy to spend five minutes and research, I'll let you make your own decision. It doesn't really matter, as both versions are totally flippin' awesome.

mp3:
Jose Gonzalez: Heartbeats
The Knife: Heartbeats

-Mike

PS If you haven't seen The Knife's acceptance speech at the Swedish Grammys (where they destroyed the competition apparently, I guess they're Sweden's version of Mary J. Blige), I suggest you check it out; it's deliciously weird:

(crs) Enjoy your drunk friend's ravings vol.4

Happy President's Day! Nothing like a national holiday I have to call in sick to enjoy to really perk up the mid-winter blues. How did you spend your day off? If you're like me, then you spent half your waking hours trying to find SOMEWHERE that would accept a personal check in exchange for booze. That's right, the saga of the fraudulent pizza continues - my card has been deactivated, I've spent all the nickels in my change mug on camel lights, and there was an unfortunate incident last night with my remaining worldly assets (I think I may have set my $10 metro card and what cash I had on fire in order to light cigarettes off of them. Why?). Thus, when I got in the mood today for some champagne to have with my bubble bath, it became more than a little difficult to procure such a necessity. Of course the banks weren't open. Their "only open when you have better shit to do" policy forbade that I be able to write a simple check to "cash". Thank god for my local Giant grocery store. With their cheerful help I was able to walk out with an eight dollar bottle of 2007 vintage Freixenet (cordon negro, thank you very much) and some parmesan basil wheat thins. A simple rule of thumb, should you ever find yourself in a similar situation: if they honor food stamps, they'll honor your checks.

So we're all back to work tomorrow. That means decision time for me. How fresh and relevant is "food poisoning" versus "a throat thing" or "that stomach bug that's been going around"? I know that in the end, you just have to be able to convincingly answer one question - "are you feeling better?" If you're able to vomit on command, it's a perfect time to do so (but only if you're sure that the disgorged contents won't reek of gin. No such luck here). I just remember to look touched that my boss asked, relieved to be feeling good enough to come in to work, and embarrassed to have shown such weakness in the first place. It works just fine - people don't really care about your health in the first place, they're just sniffing around because they're jealous that you got to have a free day with champagne bubble baths while they were busy filing all the folders that you hid in the corner last week. Ha!

Do you know that blood bounces on ice? It's a fun little tidbit I picked up from a Judy Blume novel (Superfudge, if memory serves), but it's pretty much all I have to contribute if the conversation turns toward hockey. I guess that and the fact that Avril Lavigne enjoys playing the sport, but only insecure fat girls and really queeny guys care about that, and when speaking with such an audience hockey is not likely to be discussed in the first place. Vomit, Blume purports, will also bounce on ice. I assume this is due to some sort of temperature differential. There, now you can roll with the hockey fans.

So I ended up writing a check to one of my roommates for some cash (thanks papi!). Having spent it all already on a pleasant sushi dinner, I'm left staring at a charred one dollar bill and an equally singed metro card and wondering how I'll get to work tomorrow. Drunk Chris is so crazy!

-Chris

(cam) Bombilating Roorback

And so it came to pass that Cameron, who was also Omnipotent Ilåsmïvs the Invincible and Triumphant as well as Chigby, came to the Bee in a Car.

My childhood was harsh, for in the hexagonal caverns of that ancient hive The Queen Bee, smelling only slightly of prison abuse, nursed my frail larval body on a thoraxial nectar. The bittersweet fluid was as viscous as it was encultured by hallucinogens, stimulants, narcotics, sedatives, and something she described only has "blaspheremones." On this unsteady diet I grew, unsoberly, towards the highest ideal form: all-knowing nerd guru. When, at long last, I burst free from the honeycombs and catacombs of that awful bee house, I knew there was but one thing to do with myself: find a car, and get in it.

Here you see me in my present form. The photo is ambiguous: am I prepared to fight this Jet-Li-esque gunman, clashing glasses to begin an epic stuggle and delivering the death-blow just as I drain the last drops of the pinot noir? Or is the whip I carry not a weapon of battle but an instrument of pleasure? Do my dreams of enslavement demand more than the average dungeon-mistress—do I need to be shot instead of merely chained and whipped? All this and more you will discover, dear reader, over the course of my car ride as a bee.

Of myself, I can say that my relationship to the holy trinity of kingdoms of Nerddom, Geekery, and Dorkhood is that of the Xenomorph facehugger to its human victims. I have a prehensile tail choking it as I extend muscular tendrils into its throat and inner organs. I use it as a living incubator for an unstoppable killing machine. My obsession and subsequent self-immersion in the font of this Holy Office, whose bishops are Star Trek, Dungeons & Dragons, and Magic: The Gathering, whose bibles are college-level science and math classes, fantasy novels, and Howard Philips Lovecraft, and whose crucifixes are polyhedral dice. These things, though liable to get me beat up should I ever return to elementary school, now are a source of great power!

Yet despair not, lovers of culture and the arts. Let me disabuse you of the notion that, though the above paragraph strongly implies it, my posts here will be limited to reviews of the latest Brom piece or draft picks for Planar Chaos. My true taste is for the highbrow, the lofty, and the contemptuously haughty. You want polysyllabic words, strung together in abstruse, impenetrable clauses? Oh, I have that. You want irrefutable logic, bound so tightly in rhetoric that no Vulcan could quibble with the merest syllogism? No need to ask. Do you desire cultural criticism of an academic and disinterested variety, whose ivory tower viewpoint neutralizes all innate bias and carefully categorizes all possible perspectives on a topic? Well, no dice! It is my goal to raze the ivory tower to the ground and hoist the burning corpse of academia to the sky before an army of miscreants. Nevermore shall we be hostage to such pretension, nor shall such cloistered reasoning be given quarter.

Hail Victory! Per Ardua Ad Astra!

For The Eternal Bee In The Eternal Car!

(mar) Re-animated Lagerfeld corpse gives new life to Chanel Couture.

Yes, it is my earnest conviction that Karl Lagerfeld is not a man, but rather a fashion-lich of sorts, heading up the House of Chanel via ancient necromancy. In any case, This show is hot. It's hotter than hot. It's hot hot hot! (Bee In a Car loves Ruby Rod) I'll be the first to admit, I've never been a huge Chanel fan. Occasionally a piece or two from a collection will get me going, but as a whole I always thought Chanel was a bit conservative. The latest Chanel Haute Couture s/s 2007 reminds me why this fashion house is so successful, and makes me re-think any anti-Chanel feelings I've had. Transitioning from 60's mod, to 20's drop-waists, to 30's glamor, into sublime and ethereal evening wear, this show captivated me. This is due, in no small part, to the live performance of Cat Power throughout. *(Lagerfeld had previously employed the music of Ratatat and Peter, Bjorn & John at his prêt-à-porter show this season -- see Mike's post here)*
In a show with such a grand quantity of pieces being shown, Lagerfeld skillfully divides up the monotony, while also retaining that cohesive and classic Chanel tailoring. For me, the highlights of the show were about halfway through when he combines Edwardian-style tailored tops with floor length falls of tulle and chiffon, recalling Hollywood glamour of the 1930's, with a modern Chanel flair.

Aftwards, lagerfeld treats us to a pantheon of evening wear goddesses, parading out a series of models looking like nyads and seraphim clad in feathers, lace and organza. And at the finale, an apotheosis of sartorial achievement: a be-cloaked and feathered marmoreal-hued vision.

Cat power's splendid and jubilant performance (which for me evokes 60's psych pop) invigorates the garments, giving them an immediacy and tangibility which is sometimes foreign to the world of haute couture. Watch the video, hear the song here.
Click onto "Fashion Shows", then "Spring-Summer 2007 Haute Couture", then "Videos", watch the first one it offers. And enjoy!

- Marcelo

(P.S. I love the black strips of organdie and rhinestones obscuring the models' eyes. Gabrielle would be proud!)

(P.P.S Download Cat Power's Bathysphere, a (smog) cover, here.)

(mar) And you thought the Koto was hot?

Don't you love the crazy Japanese? Who else would dress their cat up and paint it blue to look like Doraemon? As long as we're on the subject, I found this way cool myspace page: It Came From Japan. This is a U.K. based group which arranges for Japanese musical obscurities to tour outside of Japan (in the U.K., actually). This time around, they are showcasing three talented electronic bands. While I am not from, nor have ever been to the UK, this doesn't present a huge opportunity for me. However, I am excited at the fact that somebody is dredging my fave island for hot musical acts. Being something of a Japanophile, I am always excited to get my hands on some sweet Japanese tunes (see Buffalo Daughter), and these are among the sweetest I have sampled in some time. My choice of the three featured bands would have to be Sonic Dragolgo, self-proclaimed "electro-pop superstar". The danceable techno instrumentation and lushly saccharine vocoded lyrics give the song a special place in my heart. You can also read interviews with all three bands in this article from Music Towers.

And as you listen, think of this: An unusual and darling Japanese scat-figurine. You paint it yourself!!

- Marcelo

(mar) Post-Valentines Haterism

This is a day late and a dollar short, as it were, but in any case, funny. As much as I claim to hate hipsters, I have been known to dabble in hipsterish activities from time to time. The intermittent "sweet band ref", ironic music choice, and judgment of people based on their top five bands are things I to which I can not plead not guilty. Before I go any further, here is the clip of which I write:



Clearly, these guys are all homos. Hipsters, however pretentious they are, are all desperately horny and possess an innate fear of being alone. Besides that, hipster guys love a naive girl who they can mold into their own hipstress. Throw some asymmetrical bangs and a Girl Scouts jacket on that bitch, and she'll be listening to Deerhoof while she sucks your cock in no time. Afterwards, perhaps she'll offer you a Parliament Light. Even though these boys are all homos, I wouldn't sleep with a one of them. The one guy is fat, the other two are ugly (the fat one is ugly, too, but his fatness supersedes his ugliness). I'm sure they'll have tons of post-apocalyptic fun engaging in many a three-way rusty trombone. Irregardlessly, I hope their hipster banter brightened up your day (even though they forgot to reference Wolf and Cub, Wolfmother, Guitar Wolf, or Lupine Howl). Get real, whores!

- Marcelo

(crs) We've all been there before...

Count this as an addendum to my post from yesterday. I knew that when Marcelo read it the first thing he would really attach to was the picture I included next to the paragraph in which I describe the PG-13 things I would do to the hookers Ronald Reagan brings to my birthday party. You can see it in much better detail here. It's a delightful pic, is it not? Marcelo, sunny in disposition though he may be, has sexual tastes bordering on the macabre. Funnily enough, I had no idea what image I was going to affix when I was writing the previously mentioned paragraph. I knew I wanted it to have something to do with AIDS, so I just searched google for images of AIDS, and this is one of the first things that pop-up. Apparently these were used in a series of French public-health announcements. It seems the French have pretty grim sexual appetites as well.

-Chris

PS - Did you know how good green tea is for you? Though it won't cure the rash you'll get from having a gigantic tarantula perform cunnilingus on you, it's got some pretty cool benefits. Check it out!

(crs) Fraudulent Pizza

So Marcelo's calling me out for my one, single, isolated gargoyle incident? Cool. When was it that "I was drunk" stopped counting as a valid excuse? Anyways, yes folks, it's Valentine's Day. And I can't help but thinking about the other holidays that everyone enjoys so much more; for example, my birthday. With so few shopping days left until June 5th, it bears a bit of consideration. I have big plans for this year, too! I'm going to get together a bunch of people who share my b-day, and we're going to have an all-out rager.


Richard Scarry will show up promptly on time to begin our day drinking at 5pm. Though prompt, he's probably more of an earl grey tea type of guy, and I can't imagine him hitting the champagne-bongs that I'll have set up in the living room. He'll just be very postive - "Chris, you are such a great individual, I'm so proud of you for snorting two uncrushed vicadin tablets through one nostril!" Maybe he'll create a children's story character based on me in honor of my party. "Snorty the Celebratory Hound Dog" sounds about right. Then my birthday present will arrive - Marky Mark Wahlberg. Kenny G and I will do body shots off Mr. Wahlberg for the better part of an hour, and then it's time for a good puke and rally. If I play my cards right then effete and fey Kenny G won't be able to handle his Quervo, and so he'll puke on Marky Mark, who I'll have to take to get cleaned off in an alley behind the house for about half an hour. Usually with Marky Mark I wouldn't last more than ten minutes, but I plan on being pretty bombed. I'll rock his world propped up on a dumpster for half an hour, and then we'll rejoin the party!

Did you know that June is national Zoo and Aquarium Month? For this reason, I'd imagine that Pancho Villa and Anna Nova will show up in dolphin suits. Pancho Villa will be invited because I need a Mexican who can hold his liquor to be at the party - I need to have someone to tell me what goes down after I black out, and I don't know any camera men born on June 5th. Anna Nova is the unknown of the party. She's Germany's number one porn star, has been in more than 120 stroke films, and is renowned for her predeliction for double-anal penetration. Should come in handy.

Ron Livingston will arrive on the scene at some point after Pancho takes off his dolphin costume, but before we all kill Kenny G and play in his blood. I say that because Ron will DEF want to help kill Kenny. I know that you don't think of Ron as being a violent guy (neither starring in Office Space or as Berger in Sex in the City were particularly action-packed roles) but did you know he was considered to play Goro in the Mortal Kombat movie? Ultimately he was rejected because the prosthetics that were required to give him four arms and make him tall enough proved too costly. Nonetheless, Ron is a man who loves his bloodlust.

Ron Reagan, Robert Kennedy, and Mel Torme are all totally welcome to crash the party. They weren't born on the right day, but they all died on June 5th, so I think that counts. Those guys are crazy, so you know they're bringing whores. I'd imagine at this point it'll get a little PG-13 (you know, bukake, anal fisting, intentional transmission of AIDS, etc.).

If Brian McKnight shows up (which he probably won't - he's a total flake), then we can have a nice little jam session before dissolving Kenny's body in lye and dividing up the remaining pieces for us to discard at a later date. Knowing Richard Scarry, he'll hold on to his share of Kenny for sentimental value, which is how we'll get caught. That sensitive bastard is going to land us all in jail! It's cool though, I love that dude.


So happy Valentine's Day, everyone! More importantly, let's all look forward to the cinemax made-for-tv movie that's going to be based off my 24th birthday!

-Chris

PS - Though I haven't yet been jailed as an accessory to the brutal dismemberment and eventual killing of Kenny G, I have had $165 worth of pizza ordered on my check card in the past week (which is almost as bad!). If you know who's feasting on Domino's, Pizza Hut, and Jumbo Slice on my dime, would you invite them to my upcoming birthday party? Let me know if you do so I can buy extra lye ahead of time.

*important note - all afore-mentioned person who are deceased should be assumed to have somehow re-animated themselves in order to attend this very important bash.

(mar) That's some magic fucking coffee!

Happy Valentines Day, all. If Chris' predictions are right, you're either snuggled up with a loved one having called in sick, or you're counting the hours 'til you can hit the bar and begin guzzling pints of Pabst draught. Hopefully until your judgment is impaired enough to take home the gargoyle who just released their stony grip and fell drunkenly off the adjacent barstool. Either way, you're getting VD (that stands for venereal disease, jack)! If you're anything like me, you've taken the intellect's path, and have saddled up with a three gallon tub of raspberry sorbet (it's fat-free!), and are firing up that remote, praying to the fates that a Golden Girls marathon will be on Lifetime today. Excuse me while I kiss the sky! Either way, before you tuck yourself in for the night with your loved one, or perhaps a hand slathered in Lubriderm (too explicit?), why not put on this little ditty to set the mood? Peanut Butter Wolf: Wolf Valentine's Day Mix

It probably beats moping around all day listening to Antony and The Johnsons or The Swans (even though Mother, My Body Disgusts Me might be an apt choice of music). Here's the tracklist:

Bobby Womack: "How Could You Break My Heart"
The Miracles: "Don't Cha Love It"
Marvin Gaye: "I Wanna Be Where You Are"
Bobbi Humphrey: "Blacks & Blues"
Michael Jackson: "Blues Away"
Clear: "Equal Love Opportunity"
New Birth: "Pretty Music"
Archie Bell & the Drells: "Go For What You Know"
Rotation: "Ain't It Funny"
Alladin: "Telephone Lovers"
Holt Brothers: "Dance With Me Tonight"
Backyard Construction: "I Want Your Lovin"
Loves Traffic: "Loves Traffic"
GQ: "Someday in Your Life"
Stereolab: "Need to Be"
Can: "Bring Me Coffee or Tea"
Jimi Tenor: "Sirens of Salo"
Barry Forgie: "Ballata"


Hope all is well,


- Marcelo

(mar) She's a Femme Fatale!

Do you miss the days of people dressing like THIS:

Then the recently released film Factory Girl is right up your alley.It recalls New York in the mid to late 1960's, the notorious years responsible for the birth of the hipster plague, and chronicles the fanciful adventures of Miss Edie Sedgwick, one of Andy Warhol's superstars.While not as transsexual as Candy Darling, nor as man-voiced as Nico, she earned her chops in a series of Warhol's art films.

She also handled her shit in dresses by Paco Rabanne, Emilio Pucci, and probably even Mr. Balckwell. In Factory Girl, Edie is portrayed handsomely by Sienna Miller, who competently (but somewhat ham-fistedly) reenacts Sedgwick's rampant partying, nervous breakdown-ing, and Bob Dylan canoodling. Watch this clip, and tell me her performance doesn't remind you of Joan Collins' work in The Bitch (1979). Additionally, I am interested to see how well Guy Pierce is going to do as Warhol. It's going to be difficult for him to out-do David Bowie's performance in Basquiat. Speaking of Bowie, Life on Mars is definitely an appropriate song choice for this trailer.


And while I'm at it, I would be remiss if I didn't include this:

After all, the song was written by The Velvet Underground about Sedgwick at Warhol's request. And it comes full circle . . .


- Marcelo

(mik) Arcade Fire Overload

If I see one more grainy video of The Arcade Fire playing an acoustic song in a church, I'm probably going to scream. Don't get me wrong, I obsess over them just as much as the next guy, but enough is enough! The build-up to Neon Bible is getting so out of hand, the payoff may not even be worth the trouble. (I immediately take that back). I guess all I'm saying is the world of leaked mp3's skews what is sometimes the most exciting thing about new, awesome, highly anticipated albums: The excitement of anticipation. Have patience, people, it's a virtue!

Fuck it, who am I kidding:

Arcade Fire mp3
Black Mirror

I also saw some Cornelius videos yesterday, which are insanely good (and bring me back to my days of altered states).

Here's Smoke, off of their Point LP. Fantastic listen.



Mike

(mar) Check out that hip Asian-looking chick on the right!

In addition to bears, vaginas, and hating on jealous bitches, this blog also seems to have a recurring theme of finding hot Australian music. The latest and greatest, my friends, is Teenager (not to be confused with The Teenagers, Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, or Teenage Fanclub).


Check out the Tasmanian Devil about to sneak out of those pants! Definitely pop on over to their myspace page and give them a listen. My fave track is Alone Again, which at once reminds me of The Cure, New Order, and Cocteau Twins circa Head Over Heels. If you know me, you know this gets my motor purring like a drunk pussy.

Or, if you're in the mood for some in-your-room-brooding, try West. Unfortunately, it looks as though their album is a little hard to get ahold of at this point, unless you want to shell out and import it from Australia. In the meantime, be the hippest kid on your block when you hit them bitches with this hot remix track (not as good as the original for me, but a worthwhile shack-shaker at your next happening) Teenager - Alone Again (Van She Tech Remix). And remeber, Teenager says "We will break our necks before your hearts". Awwwww, shit.

- Marcelo

(mau) Whose Prettier: Dolly or George?

After I watched Marcelo's mammal food fest I became inspired to look on the ol' youtube for some interesting action and lo' and behold, I found something even stranger. I am a fan of both Culture Club and Dolly Parton for different reasons. But I never thought to put them together, I mean one owns DollyWood and the other owns several hats. Dolly Parton is a big fan of Cheez Whiz and Georgie Boy is a big fan of narcotics. Cheez Whiz and narcotics? maybe, but that's if you're really hungry and you're trying to impress your stoner roomates with a strong gullet. I have eaten cheez whiz with white bread, but that was when I was a teenage pot-head and I just didn't know any better. The song they sing to each other is different for both of them; it's a mix of pop reggae that sounds like it's been lost in Tammy Faye Bakker's eyelashes and it fell out onto a speaker. This is what her eyelashes sound like! I kid you not. Ol' Georgie here is obviously trying to impress one of the first ladies of Nashville with his earrings and his penchant for raver hats. His makeup is competing with hers, but one things for sure: You can't fuck with the Dolly...but you can sing with her. She looks at ease singing with another Queen. The song is truly terrible, but those two do the best they can to make it work.
I would have liked to hear something like "Jolene" or "Church of the poisened mind", even "Do you really want to hurt me" because then they would be competing for vocal chops (which would have been great fun to watch). This song is nothing new for BG but it's nothing I've ever heard from DP. So, kudos to Dolly, for stepping out of her comfortable realm of Kenny Roger's Roasters. And kudos to Boy George, who chose wisely with his musical partner. Now all we need to hear is remix by GirlTalk and then I would be very happy indeed.



-When in doubt, Dolly shows the way
See you on the other side of the mattress!
-Mauro

(mar) Hot Doggie!

How often do you sit by your desk-side, caught in mid day reverie, and think to yourself: "I wonder if, in a competitive eating situation, a bear could eat more hot-dogs than a man?" At the behest of my friend Mark, I am chronicling an event of great magnitude, which pits all the cunning of man against sheer ursine puissance. In a new low for televised absurdity, enjoy this media treasure:



Particularly noteworthy are the commentators. Had it not been for their skilled journalistic professionalism, this event would barely have approached entertainment value. But with their help, it's a blockbuster smash. I especially like when they say "the bear doesn't know this is a competition". Priceless. My one qualm with this event is that Kobayashi was interviewed after the match, but not the bear. The only explanation I can come up with is that a bear-translator could not be found, which doesn't surprise me. As of 2005, there are only three accredited universities which offer degrees in ancient Bearish.

That damn bear is so cute, stooped over his little table. The only thing that could have made this better for me is if they had given him a little silverware set. Hope you enjoy this, and on a related topic, I give you another fabulous grizzly bear tune.

Grizzly Bear vs. The Knife: Heartbeats + Knife this is a little all-over-the-place, but a worthy listen. Ciao!


- Marcelo

(crs) Cold Canadians just LUV a spicy latino

"I wanna dirty dance with dudes from Uraguay." It's about time somebody said it, and thank you Isis from Toronto-based duo Thunderheist for putting it out there. Serious thanks to Marcelo for turning me on to this dance-in-yer-pants tag team. The opening quotation is from their song "Suenos Dulces" in which Thunderheist throttles Annie Lennox and her Eurythmics song with a thick cord of pure funk. Do you like to bounce? Do you yearn to get nasty with an ethnic man? Then you need to check out Thunderheist.

Right click and download. Now!

-Chris

(mau) Drawings that explode!

I have known about this site for a long time. I became enlightened after my cousin's husband made me some sick mix cd's with exploding dog pics on each cd. Who doesn't love enigmatic phrases that get turned into stick-figured fish and flying robots. I tell you, I can't get enough of Sam's stuff! It's like getting visual fortune cookies that predict laughter more than the future. I will one day meet Sam and shake his hand and offer my gratitude with a sweet mix cd filled with the audio delights that match up with his visual wit. Until then, the soundtrack lives in my mind. The cool thing about Exploding Dog is that you get to e-mail Sam and give him a phrase or whatever you want to say and he'll draw it. Some people put things like "I'm lonely" or "It's quiet in here" and Sam will draw a bunch of fish floating over the desert with a nuclear sky backdrop. This one is appropriatley titled, "It's My Brain"...I just love the little stick dude typing away on his lil' laptop. It doesn't get any more psychedelic than that. I'm going to put something like "Five strange people in an unknown town" and see what he does with that. That's a nod to you, Amy, because you are the only person in the world who knows what the hell that means. I hope to see some robots making sweet, sweet mechanical love in an apocolyptic city. That would be hot!

-Mauro

(mar) Band dies in tragic quicksand incident.

When I hear the term Grizzly Bear, I think of a few things: Large, omnivorous forest denizen, hairy guys fucking, and an awesome psychedelic quartet from Brooklyn. This posting pertains to the latter. Here, at long last, is the wildly anticipated music video for their gorgeous single: Knife.



The video, an enigmatic visual feast, tells a tragic love story between two unlikely wooers: a creepy scientist with a scrotum-wrinkled five-head (that's one more than a forehead) and a candy-dispensing Golgothan shit daemon. They wander through the desert, exploring their love for each other, until the shit daemon blows his Necco Wafer load all over the scientist's chest, which turns into a miniature magical roller coaster. The scientist dies during child birth, leaving the shit daemon to commit suicide by hurling himself into the side of a sand dune. If these two bright-eyed kids can't make it, what chance do we stand??

A brief cameo by the band reminds me that I still think Chris Bear (cute name, totally) is one good lookin' man. Also, some of this footage looks like it could be used in upcoming ads for Elizabeth Taylor's new fragrance (try to come up with something more foul-smelling than White Diamonds. TRY!).


- Marcelo

(mar) Let's get to know each other better, slow & easily.

Our dear friend Chris turned me onto this delightful little nonesuch, and since, there has been no turning back. My musical horizons have been pushed back, my concept of fashion: shattered. This, and more. My moral proprieties have been given a thorough re-examination through this song: a triumph of pious vestiture. O! What radiant and shoulder-padded seraph has escaped her provenance now?



Gaze at the luscious androgyny, the decadent light show. Become enthralled by chemically straightened hair smoother than a freshly shorn tranny. Imbibe the soulful lyrics, as Jermaine tells us "We don't have to take our clothes off To have a good time. Oh no. We could dance & party all night And drink some cherry wine." He's talking about Boone's Farm, right? From my experience, that almost certainly leads to nudity. In any case, Chris is right: this shit is hot hot HOT!


- Marcelo

(mik) All Hail our Lego Overlords

I don't know how they did it, or why they did it. I know that I'm not going to say that these people have too much time on their hands, because if you had all the time in the world, there is still NO WAY you could do something like this.



-Mike

(crs) Like my body?

Ladies and gentlemen, let us pause for a moment, with bowed heads, wondering eyes, and bated breath. Stand fast in your daily toil, for it is the end of an era. Anna Nicole Smith has passed. Her dainty eyelids have fluttered their last. Her strawberry lips have puckered their last pout. Her bulky frame has heaved itself down a runway for the last time. I would like to keep this small memorium-in-blog tasteful for, above all else, that is how she lived her life: with grace, taste, and self-effacing kindness. Let us remember her as we loved her most...





TrimSpa, baby!




















Apparently our little Southern rosebud collapsed in her Florida hotel room, of causes unknown (-cough- drugs! -cough cough- like her son!). I think the only consolation we can take from such a truly earth shaking loss is that she will be going to heaven to join that decripit old oil-millionaire who so lecherously paid her to be seen in his company on many occasions. In fact, their star-crossed love was so deep that upon his death she went to the supreme court against his quibbling progeny to prove her undying to commitment to her former husband (and to make millions upon millions of dollars that she would later fritter away on anything pink or deep fried). May their souls finally drift in mutual comfort among the clouds.

Anna Nicole Smith, 1967-2007, Rest in peace you crazy skank.

-Chris

(mik) Apples in Stereo...Golden Delicious!

So the The Apples in Stereo released New Magnetic Wonder this week, their first full length with original material in five years.

To me, it seems they picked up right where the phenomenal Tone Soul Evolution left off. A little bit more polished, but the staples remain: sweeping, glorious hooks, ethereal vocals, tongue in cheek lyrics, and an overall toe tappin' good time. At 24(!) tracks, it may run a tad long for a poppy Indie record, but still absolutely recommended. If you squint your eardrums real hard, Robert Schneider's vocals sometimes emulate McCartney.

An ideal listen on a Sunday Afternoon. But I'm listening to it on Wednesday afternoon, and it's still awesome.

~Mikey

(mar) Tunes by which to defend Etheria.

That's right, a band named after the vitreous manor of She-Ra is penetrating the underground electronica scene, and for that matter, my heart. I know what you're thinking -- all the bloggin' blogs that blog have blogged about Crystal Castles. But you know what? I don't give a shit, and shut the fuck up.



I love the sounds coming out of these two Toronto-ian hipsters. When those first fateful notes graced my ears, I was immediately whisked away to a magical 8-bit faxanadu (which was a really fucking hard NES game, btw) of turtle shells and Mega-Men on wings of digital poesy. Some tracks are more suited for the dance floor, some more suited for meditative nostalgia, and yet others are more suited for tortured industrial mind-blasting. Whatever the case, I want MORE! Check out the link on the side panel under "Marcy's: What's the poop?" for a hot track, or give this one a whirl: Crystal Castles - She Fell Out. And who else can't wait to get their hands on that T-shirt? Mama likes.

Peace,

- Marcelo

(mar) Move out!

In my continued efforts to transform Bee in a Car into a blog about vaginal health, I present you with my latest fave chonch ad. Coming in at #1, here's YAZ!



This looks like one awesome party. I mean, these are the kinds of conversations real people have at parties. And I'm sure our brunette doctor pal is right, she didn't go to medical school for nothing. When you get your PhD in medicine from Bryn Mawr, you learn a thing or two about the inner workings of a lady's nether regions.
I also enjoy the poorly executed fan-subbing midway through, keep an eye out. With the melange of fatal side effects, I'll stick to the old fashioned kind of Yaz:



- Marcelo

(P.S. - Is that the same black chick from the RepHresh commercial? I'd hate to see her career ruined by type-casting)

(mik) Sounds Good, Looks Good

Fashion may not be my strong point, but when music I thoroughly enjoy is involved, I peak my head into the tawdry underworld of long legs, plunged necklines, and butts that won't quit.

Here are some models shaking their booty to the incomparable Ratatat and Peter Bjorn & John. It definitely beats thumping, minimalist house.



REOW!!

mp3, Peter Bjorn and John:
Young Folks
mp3, Ratatat:
Lex (Mouse on Mars remix)

-Mike

(crs) "Bat-shit crazy" doesn't cover it.

Do you relish a good love triangle? Are you interested in space travel? Do you just love to hear about people having COMPLETE meltdowns? Then you'll love this news story! It's a tale as old as the hills:


Girl loves space.











Girl loves boy.







Girl drives one thousand miles wearing diapers (!) to spray a perceived rival for Boy's affections with pepper spray, and intends to kill her and submerge her in a Florida bog.












Can NASA pick 'em, or what? That saddest thing about this entire affair is that a trained astronaut couldn't pull some tricky kung-fu shit and get the job done! This ho can dock shuttlecraft in zero gravity but she can't even abduct and kill one single person? It's times like these that make me ashamed of our military preparedness - seriously people, our soldiers are not getting the training they need.

-Chris

(crs) Enjoy your drunk friend's ravings vol.3

People throw the word "bitch" around these days with indiscriminate carelessness. "I'm such a bitch!" - you hear it all the time. In fact, what these girls should be saying is "I'm a dumb Jersey girl with daddy-issues and a bad attitude!" or "I'm letting my period show!" Get real, whores! It takes flair, dedication, and natural talent to truly become a BITCH. In case you forgot, I'm profiling important bitches in history. Let these hardcore bitches take you to school...

Eleanor of Aquitaine

Back before Beyonce was an independant woman, ladies like Eleanor were doin' it for themselves. She gave birth to a coterie of royal children, staved off a hostile husband, and occupied the seat of the largest European power at the time for longer than any of her male contemporaries. Also, word on the street is she liked scat porn.



Brett Somers

Also the original faghag, Brett handled her shit on the vintage television show The Match Game. She held her own on stage with the uber-fab Charles Nelson Reilley, zany Nipsy Russell, and the roguishly charming Richard Dawson. They all smoked, made saucy double-entendres, and in general had an excellent time. When chubby Paul Williams made a joke at Brett's expense, she sold him into white slavery.



Ru Paul

'Nuff said.









So take a page from the books of these three leading ladies. No more Nicole Ritchie weak-ass bitchiness. Get your shit together, get those stilletos clicking, and learn from the females who invented the word.

-Chris

(mau/mar) O! Song of Songs!

When these two busy bees (Mauro and Marcelo) get together for some buzz-time, they find the most interesting things. Take, for example, this awesome A capella version of Grizzly Bear's Knife. See the video here:



This just made our day! (Also, the fellow in the red plaid is currently being stalked by Marcelo) Since we're on the topic, we're pretty sure you should all download this superb remix of the song by infamous musical gadfly: GirlTalk, Knife (Girl Talk Remix). This shit will be burning up the dancefloors at a discotheque near you very soon (at least, we hope so).


- Marcelo and Mauro

(crs) A smug soy-soaked leprechaun

Hello!
Just wanted to drop a quick note about a line that caught my eye whilst I was busy pretending to be busy at work. Click me to peruse Edun's Fall 2007. Bono's wife is on the creative design team for this label, and I just don't like Bono all that much, but I didn't really smell his filthy self-appreciation anywhere with this line. Apparently all the fabrics are eco-friendly, some even made from soy. I'm not sure if that means they'll melt in the rain like those biodegradable packing-foam peanuts, but when the clothes look like this who cares? The choice of mostly neutral tones allows you to absorb the rich textures and adventurous silhouettes - take a peek!

-Chris