Ohai guys!
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www.pinkowl.tumblr.com
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
LAME
I'm starting to not like this blog. I feel like it doesn't really come off in the way that I would like it to, which is to say it doesn't have enough pictures or updates to really make it readable. Plus it doesn't have any fancy shmancy links or html type things. I can't even embed a video.
If you want pictures AND relatively common updates, you can visit my DeviantArt (yeah, I have one. Wanna fight?) at www.pinkowl.deviantart.com
I'll try to be more cool on this one.
If you want pictures AND relatively common updates, you can visit my DeviantArt (yeah, I have one. Wanna fight?) at www.pinkowl.deviantart.com
I'll try to be more cool on this one.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
EPIC
God, there are times where I forget just how much I FUCKING LOVE Lord of the Rings.
Then, I am reminded by things like this:
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers,I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails,when we forsake our friendsand break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields,when the age of men comes crashing down,but it is not this day! This day we fight!! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!!!"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXGUNvIFTQw
Mmmmm I need to reread the trilogy (again).
Then, I am reminded by things like this:
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers,I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails,when we forsake our friendsand break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields,when the age of men comes crashing down,but it is not this day! This day we fight!! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!!!"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXGUNvIFTQw
Mmmmm I need to reread the trilogy (again).
Thursday, March 19, 2009
THIS IS FRREALS THIS TIME
I'm going to try and post regularly on this again.
OK, so the Dead Weather. New Jack band. He's playing drums this time, quite well (I don't know why everyone is so surprised, he's playing drums in that song for the James Bond movie). Singer= hipster girl from the Kills, which makes me suspicious. QOTSA guitarist, awesome. Jack from Greenhornes. As my favorite Detroit nommer says (http://eatthiscity.com/?p=4707),I don't hate them yet. I really wanted to do that cool link thing where the text just then was a link to his blog, but I can't figure it out. Ever since I shut down my Myspace and Facebook, I'm no good with computers.
ANYway, I actually really like them, but more than anything it makes me miss the White Stripes. Sighh.
Disc is due out in June, in the meantime there's a cover of Gary Numan's "Are Friends Electric?" and the original "Hang You from the Heavens" which has a really nice riff going on. Allison's voice is better in the former, though. But why does she have to wear an Urban Outfitter's scarf, black glasses, and smoke a cigarette? Oh well, she's hot. Hot people can do whatever they want (Lindsay Lohan).
OK, so the Dead Weather. New Jack band. He's playing drums this time, quite well (I don't know why everyone is so surprised, he's playing drums in that song for the James Bond movie). Singer= hipster girl from the Kills, which makes me suspicious. QOTSA guitarist, awesome. Jack from Greenhornes. As my favorite Detroit nommer says (http://eatthiscity.com/?p=4707),I don't hate them yet. I really wanted to do that cool link thing where the text just then was a link to his blog, but I can't figure it out. Ever since I shut down my Myspace and Facebook, I'm no good with computers.
ANYway, I actually really like them, but more than anything it makes me miss the White Stripes. Sighh.
Disc is due out in June, in the meantime there's a cover of Gary Numan's "Are Friends Electric?" and the original "Hang You from the Heavens" which has a really nice riff going on. Allison's voice is better in the former, though. But why does she have to wear an Urban Outfitter's scarf, black glasses, and smoke a cigarette? Oh well, she's hot. Hot people can do whatever they want (Lindsay Lohan).
Saturday, December 13, 2008
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
This is going to be belligerant.
When I was a kid, I was part of the Purdue Musical Organization Christmas Show three years in a row (until I got the boot because my voice wasn't good enough and my mom was too Jewish--the latter is a bitter assumption). I remember it being pretty awesome. Confetti cannons, sleighs across stage, jazzy coreography...it was a kitschy Jesuspalooza. I might be wrong, but I vaguely remember there being real life elk or deer or something on stage one year with Santa (I am probably misremembreing that). I have never actually SEEN the show, however, so this year my boyfriend and I decided to attend (tickets were buy one get one free!).
And it was the BIGGEST crock of shit I have EVER seen.
I was expecting something especially extravagant, since it was the 75th anniversary, but I was wrong about that one. I have never seen anything so...white. White. Max (who, despite being Jewish, was slightly more impressed than I) turned to me during one especially schmaltzy rendition of "Silver Bells" and whispered, "If someone ever asked me, 'What do white people like?'...I'd show them this." I mean, it was literally white. There were maybe two or three people who didn't have the skin color of buffed ivory. But let me start from the beginning.
The first thing that came out was some tiny little Jon Benet Ramsey girl in a Christmas sweater looking all aglow and hideously singing some unidentifiable Christmas song. Other people started to come out in pairs, unixplicably all wearing Old Navy Polar fleece and khakis. They pointed in awe around the venue, as if Santa himself was soaring above our tiny little heads. It all crescendoed into a big dance number which consisted of coreography that they picked up from the American Sign Langauge Association basement. If they were singing about happy hearts, they drew a heart in the air, in front of where their hearts were in case we didn't get it.
The setup of the show was really boring. There were no props, no stage set up...just plain risers and some fancy lights. There were no "theme" songs either...I remember there being silly songs about food and kids (including myself) came out running around dressed up like chefs, or Western songs with kids (including myself) dressed up like inappropriate cowgirls. But the PMO groups just filed out in their sparkly uniforms and stood there in rows and sang. It was more of a PMO recital than a Christmas extravaganza.
But, of course, they wouldn't let us forget WHY we celebrate Christmas. Jesus was EVERYWHERE, and not just in the second act, which is traditionally more churchy. Now, I am proudly in the process of becoming a full member of the Catholic Church. I pray every day, am at my church two or three times a week, go to Confession, blah blah blah. I'm more religiously involved than most Christians I know. I love Jesus. But I'm not IN LOVE with Jesus. Man, these people really love Jesus. One particularly scary song kept alluding to the "anger and hate" thrown upon Jesus until the male soloist bellowed out the line "...until He was nailed to a treeeee!"
WHAT?!
Ok, FIRST of all, it was a fucking cross. Maybe you're thinking of Judas, he hanged himself on a tree. But why would you be singing about Judas at Christmas? Come to think of it, why would you be singing about the Cruifixion at Christmas? Wrong fucking holiday, dude.
And SANTA. Good LORD. At the end of the first act, all he did was kind of pop out of a box at the end of the song and declare "I AM SANTA." Which just seemed ludicris, like he was launching down onto some alien planet and its inhabitants stood in awe around his red, bulbous figure.
The whole time I was hoping the Second Coming would happen right there on stage. Cause I don't think Jesus was watching and going, "Hey, they're rejoicing in my presence. Right on." Because you know everyone on stage is thinking about how they look, how much they want it to end so they can get drunk, don't fall on stage, have to remember my coreography...blah blah blah. Either stick to the creepy God-like Santa, or to Jesus.
And get new outfits. Those wide leg black pants and shoulder padded sparky purple flower jackets are pretty 1980s Yonkers real estate agent. Sheesh.
When I was a kid, I was part of the Purdue Musical Organization Christmas Show three years in a row (until I got the boot because my voice wasn't good enough and my mom was too Jewish--the latter is a bitter assumption). I remember it being pretty awesome. Confetti cannons, sleighs across stage, jazzy coreography...it was a kitschy Jesuspalooza. I might be wrong, but I vaguely remember there being real life elk or deer or something on stage one year with Santa (I am probably misremembreing that). I have never actually SEEN the show, however, so this year my boyfriend and I decided to attend (tickets were buy one get one free!).
And it was the BIGGEST crock of shit I have EVER seen.
I was expecting something especially extravagant, since it was the 75th anniversary, but I was wrong about that one. I have never seen anything so...white. White. Max (who, despite being Jewish, was slightly more impressed than I) turned to me during one especially schmaltzy rendition of "Silver Bells" and whispered, "If someone ever asked me, 'What do white people like?'...I'd show them this." I mean, it was literally white. There were maybe two or three people who didn't have the skin color of buffed ivory. But let me start from the beginning.
The first thing that came out was some tiny little Jon Benet Ramsey girl in a Christmas sweater looking all aglow and hideously singing some unidentifiable Christmas song. Other people started to come out in pairs, unixplicably all wearing Old Navy Polar fleece and khakis. They pointed in awe around the venue, as if Santa himself was soaring above our tiny little heads. It all crescendoed into a big dance number which consisted of coreography that they picked up from the American Sign Langauge Association basement. If they were singing about happy hearts, they drew a heart in the air, in front of where their hearts were in case we didn't get it.
The setup of the show was really boring. There were no props, no stage set up...just plain risers and some fancy lights. There were no "theme" songs either...I remember there being silly songs about food and kids (including myself) came out running around dressed up like chefs, or Western songs with kids (including myself) dressed up like inappropriate cowgirls. But the PMO groups just filed out in their sparkly uniforms and stood there in rows and sang. It was more of a PMO recital than a Christmas extravaganza.
But, of course, they wouldn't let us forget WHY we celebrate Christmas. Jesus was EVERYWHERE, and not just in the second act, which is traditionally more churchy. Now, I am proudly in the process of becoming a full member of the Catholic Church. I pray every day, am at my church two or three times a week, go to Confession, blah blah blah. I'm more religiously involved than most Christians I know. I love Jesus. But I'm not IN LOVE with Jesus. Man, these people really love Jesus. One particularly scary song kept alluding to the "anger and hate" thrown upon Jesus until the male soloist bellowed out the line "...until He was nailed to a treeeee!"
WHAT?!
Ok, FIRST of all, it was a fucking cross. Maybe you're thinking of Judas, he hanged himself on a tree. But why would you be singing about Judas at Christmas? Come to think of it, why would you be singing about the Cruifixion at Christmas? Wrong fucking holiday, dude.
And SANTA. Good LORD. At the end of the first act, all he did was kind of pop out of a box at the end of the song and declare "I AM SANTA." Which just seemed ludicris, like he was launching down onto some alien planet and its inhabitants stood in awe around his red, bulbous figure.
The whole time I was hoping the Second Coming would happen right there on stage. Cause I don't think Jesus was watching and going, "Hey, they're rejoicing in my presence. Right on." Because you know everyone on stage is thinking about how they look, how much they want it to end so they can get drunk, don't fall on stage, have to remember my coreography...blah blah blah. Either stick to the creepy God-like Santa, or to Jesus.
And get new outfits. Those wide leg black pants and shoulder padded sparky purple flower jackets are pretty 1980s Yonkers real estate agent. Sheesh.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Why Detroit?
Vacancy has always been as important to me as air. In an abstract sense, I do my best in the spaces between emotions. The times where I can hold my emotions in my hand and observe them for a short time before they hit me again are by far the most important times in my life. But as much as I need those vacant spaces in my heart, it is the tightness of the city that allows it all. The anonymity of the urban experience does something that is indescribable by prose or essay. Here, I try to portray that feeling through phrases of thought and images of the only city, the only place, that feels home to me--Detroit.
As far as cities go, Detroit is as vacant as it gets. The aftermath of the race riots in 1967 has left it a ghost of its former self. It is by no means a great cosmopolitan city. For most, it evokes fear and disgust in its abandoned factories and crumbling avenues. While I recognize that, I am also endlessly in love with the city. Every broken window and pothole in the pavement emanates such a raw sense of urgency and sincerity that I think is too commonly dismissed in society, in favor of careful precision and calculated elegance.
When I was a senior in high school, I was driving around Detroit with my mom, who lived in Detroit for a long period of time when she first married my dad (who is from the city). We were driving through Mexicantown, the Hispanic neighborhood, and I was gushing about my love for the city. I am continuously struck by what my mom said to me then: “Don’t romanticize this city. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.” At the time I was angry; I felt like she had invalidated my emotions. Now, though, the differing thoughts between us propose a new thesis (for with time comes that distance from emotion that I so strongly need): Romanticizing the city can be just as valid a reaction to it as a more rational view, because the city is so subjective. The city is what we make of it, and I have made Detroit into my home. Romanticizing Detroit has allowed me to render it a legible space, one that I can move around in without feeling overwhelmed or confused.
As far as cities go, Detroit is as vacant as it gets. The aftermath of the race riots in 1967 has left it a ghost of its former self. It is by no means a great cosmopolitan city. For most, it evokes fear and disgust in its abandoned factories and crumbling avenues. While I recognize that, I am also endlessly in love with the city. Every broken window and pothole in the pavement emanates such a raw sense of urgency and sincerity that I think is too commonly dismissed in society, in favor of careful precision and calculated elegance.
When I was a senior in high school, I was driving around Detroit with my mom, who lived in Detroit for a long period of time when she first married my dad (who is from the city). We were driving through Mexicantown, the Hispanic neighborhood, and I was gushing about my love for the city. I am continuously struck by what my mom said to me then: “Don’t romanticize this city. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.” At the time I was angry; I felt like she had invalidated my emotions. Now, though, the differing thoughts between us propose a new thesis (for with time comes that distance from emotion that I so strongly need): Romanticizing the city can be just as valid a reaction to it as a more rational view, because the city is so subjective. The city is what we make of it, and I have made Detroit into my home. Romanticizing Detroit has allowed me to render it a legible space, one that I can move around in without feeling overwhelmed or confused.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
...And Other Stalker Activities
Editorial comment on my previous post: I think I may come off as one of those...fanatics. Like the ones on the old MTV show where they would stand naked on their roofs with their favorite celebrity's name written in blood on their chests. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM. In all honesty, I wouldn't really want to meet Jack White.
Really!
It would ruin the myth. My bestie/fellow White Stripes devotee, Corey, and I love to discuss what we would do if we saw Jack White in Wal-Mart or something. And my response is always "I don't know." I know I would make an absolute blubbering fool of myself, for one. There is no way that I could see the most consistently important figure in my life, besides my mom, and not automatically sob. I cried in Art History this morning when I found out I got an A+ on my Art History exam, so I'm definitely going to cry when I see my most reliable companion in this mortal coil. I'm also really afraid that I would fuck it up even further by trying to be cool--something I definitely am not. And at every other moment I love that I'm not cool, in fact I hate cool. But I feel like I would try to impress him, and obviously fail. Because I've gone over the scenario a billion times in my head of what I would do/say if I ever met him, all that would come out is "...........fhjdshkfkfaqooooooo" and I'd faint dead onto the floor. It would be too overwhelming I think.
Plus...what if he's a dick?
So yeah, I actually would never want to be in a close vicinity with him except for at a concert. Hey, I was like 12 feet away from him when he walked into his tour bus at my second White Stripes show in Indy a few years ago, so that's fine enough for me.
Really!
It would ruin the myth. My bestie/fellow White Stripes devotee, Corey, and I love to discuss what we would do if we saw Jack White in Wal-Mart or something. And my response is always "I don't know." I know I would make an absolute blubbering fool of myself, for one. There is no way that I could see the most consistently important figure in my life, besides my mom, and not automatically sob. I cried in Art History this morning when I found out I got an A+ on my Art History exam, so I'm definitely going to cry when I see my most reliable companion in this mortal coil. I'm also really afraid that I would fuck it up even further by trying to be cool--something I definitely am not. And at every other moment I love that I'm not cool, in fact I hate cool. But I feel like I would try to impress him, and obviously fail. Because I've gone over the scenario a billion times in my head of what I would do/say if I ever met him, all that would come out is "...........fhjdshkfkfaqooooooo" and I'd faint dead onto the floor. It would be too overwhelming I think.
Plus...what if he's a dick?
So yeah, I actually would never want to be in a close vicinity with him except for at a concert. Hey, I was like 12 feet away from him when he walked into his tour bus at my second White Stripes show in Indy a few years ago, so that's fine enough for me.
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