Get Photographed by the Sartorialist!

I found this hilarious step-by-step guide online today. Hilarious, and very true. If only New York was a better biking city! I would buy a vintage bike and be the queen of the streets of SoHo.

Enjoy!

WANT: NormalWatches

NORMALWATCHES!

only around $20 and the coolest watches I have ever seen.

early birthday present?

The one above is my favorite. Includes all 12 icons of social networking! Youtube, facebook, AIM, Outlook, Twitter, Wordpress... can't find Blogspot, though.

The tagline for the site is "Trailblazing Sub Couture" and I think it is extraordinarily clever. Other favorite watches include the blue "facebook ruined my life" and the red "rebellion is necessary."

Wonderfalls

Why must the best shows always be canceled?! First it was Popular, whose cancellation (after two seasons) I mourned in middle school. David Lynch's Twin Peaks was a tough one to bear as well. Then my beloved Arrested Development was bumped after three seasons. Alas, Wonderfalls-- graced by the same director as Pushing Daisies-- was only given one season in 2004.

Shame, and slightly surprising, because the show has many similarities with its far more popular successor. Both Wonderfalls and Pushing Daisies have Lee Pace, although in the former he plays the snide, egotistical, and mystically-minded brother of Jaye Tyler, the main character (far from an adorable pie-maker). Both shows have brilliant artistic direction and cinematography. Both shows are some sort of magic-realism, in which the viewer has his or her concept of reality temporarily suspended. In both, one character has what is more or less a magic power, while the rest of the world remains the same. Is it the hand of God? Is it nuclear mutation? Is it schizophrenia? Is it even there at all? Nobody knows. But it's pretty clear that it's something at least more profound than paranoid schizophrenia, although Jaye Tyler does seem quite crazy at times.

Jaye has a... gift. Or a curse. More likely a curse, depending on how you look at it. On the exterior, Jaye Tyler is a sulky 24-year old living in a trailer park, avoiding following her wealthy family to career success by working as a retail clerk in "Wonderfalls," a souvenir shop in Niagara Falls, New York. Once a misanthropic (and even a bit bitchy) Brown graduate and philosophy major, Jaye finds her snarky disposition when she is forced to perform good deeds against her will... by talking stuffed animals. Or plastic animals. Or practically anything not carbon-composed in the shape of an animal. Whether a misshapen lion statue, a teddy bear, or a pink flamingo on the lawn, they tell her to do... things. And if she doesn't follow their demands, they hound her passive-aggressively, refusing to stop talking until she figures out their often extremely cryptic messages, like "Get her words out," or "Save him from her." Pronouns are often the tricky part.

And then in comes Eric, an impossibly sweet and lovesick bartender, and hilarity... and heartbreak... ensues. Watch it! I finished the entire 13-episode season in 3 days' time.

In a Dream

"Love is a work of art," says the poster of In a Dream. For artist Isaiah Zagar, this is literally the case, for better or for worse. Written and directed by his son Jeremiah Zagar, who makes only a second-long appearance in the entire film, this documentary exposes the life of a troubled artist losing his grip on the world.

On a second re-reading, this sounds a little cliche. Even a troubled artist has moments of pure happiness and years of "living in a dream." Some things he says sound truer, holistically, than the texts of philosophers. His trouble seems to lie more in associations. In the first few seconds of the film, Jeremiah asks his father, just at the beginning of his interview, if he wants a glass of water. "No," Isaiah calmly responds, "I think I'll make a boiled egg."

The film is a portrait of the life of this artist, who, with his (unbelievably) supportive wife Julia, buys derelict buildings in south Philadelphia and transforms them into shining mosaics, nearly Gaudi-esque but even more personal. Isaiah covers the buildings roof-to-floor with found objects, color, paint, bits of stone and glass... all chronicling his own wife. He is endlessly hardworking to the point of insanity, working over 10-hour long days tirelessly putting glass side by side and painting around it. Yet every single wall is a self-portrait; floor to ceiling is covered in cartoonish portraits of Julia and himself, nude, clasping hands and smiling. Elsewhere are pictures of even Jeremiah (the filmmaker) and Ezekiel, the troubled and drug-abusing eldest son.

To a judgmental viewer this might be simply a movie "about a buncha hippies," but this is entirely incorrect. Their lives are as complicated and rooted in society as any other. Even the nearly impervious relationship between Julia and Isaiah is put to test when Isaiah begins to have an affair with his assistant Elizabeth. This is not a film about endings or beginnings but a portrait of a brilliant, creative, yet highly bruised artist, but without any sense of pity or glorification.

This neutral stance is aided by the cinematography, highly technical and brilliant, full of difficult zooms and alterations with camera lenses. Nearly half of the movie must be panoramic sweeps of the artwork, just a camera moving in and out of a structure made by Isaiah Zagar. There are also numerous animated sections, where Isaiah's art begins to move and mimics, in movements, the words he is saying, a common but very difficult animation technique (see Frida, the excellent movie starting Salma Hayek). My favorite thing besides this artwork is the score, made entirely by the Books (plus my personal favorite Explosions in the Sky song in the last segment!). The perfect complement to so reflective and artistic a film, the Books create a simple and melodic vibe using nothing but a cello, guitar, and synthesizer.

Jeremiah Zagar divided the film into three parts, a classic division that gives a largely winding and complex narrative great structure. This profile of Isaiah Zagar, coupled with gorgeous editing, give the film a half-surrealist, half-folk artsy feel, an American lovechild of Frida Kahlo and Antonin Gaudi. All in all, fascinating.

Chicago Pride Parade

The Decemberists in Milwaukee

At the end of May, two friends and I bought tickets to the Decemberists, hopped in a white Corolla, and went on a not-quite-spur-of-the-moment evening Milwaukee adventure. In about five hours, Milwaukee, which I had only visited in one two-hour late-night burst early last summer, both exceeded and failed to meet my expectations.

MILWAUKEE WINS:

1. Rockin' concert! The Decemberists, who I've heard are an absolute delight live, played TWO SETS. In the first, they ran through the full tracklist of their latest album, Hazards of Love, only before taking a brief introduction and proceeding onto another (more "normal") Decemberists concert! That being said, I was done after the first half. Hazards of Love is grandiose and emotive, and I felt quite satiated after the full album run-through. Frankly I could never listen to that CD fully again, so beautifully was it represented on stage. And the stage design! Wavy crepe paper in the background was sculpted to look like trees, adding to the folksy sound of the Decemberists, and representing the story quite well. In short, the Hazards of Love, a bona fide rock opera slash concept album, is the story of the love between Margaret-- a girl living at the edge of the woods-- and a shapeshifter, William, who was saved by the Forest Queen as a child and "given the shape of a faun to inhabit by day" (lyrics straight from the album). The Forest Queen gets jealous (as any crazy mother would), and meanwhile the village rake tries to rape Margaret, and the Queen won't let him leave. A creepy fairy tale within the boundary of folksy indie rock! Except even better: the instruments follow the emotional variances, so the album veers from almost cliche indie or "chamber" pop (the first few tracks) to intense guitar licks so prog-rock-y that it sounds like an even more melodramatic version of Tool (from me, a former Tool-head, quite the compliment).



2. Sweet Canals. Milwaukee has some (i.e. one) pretty sweet river. In parts it looks like Philly, almost. Plus cheese. And cheesehats. And beer. None of which were consumed in the making of this Milwaukee adventure.


3. GEORGE WEBB. Only the best diner EVER! Cheap eats, a man in a chicken suit, and one sassy waitress who never brought me my coffee! Big tips all around. No joke. "Webb's in the mornin', Webb's at night, breakfast at Webb's is always right!" (sung while doing chicken dance in video link)

4. GOD. Well, not really God. A very friendly African American man at the Pabst theatre who found us wandering alone in an abandoned mall (as if malls aren't scary enough by themselves) and directed us WITHOUT ASKING to the Riviera, with a benevolent and all-knowing smile. Plus neon orange vest.

MILWAUKEE FAILS:

1. Crappy concertgoers, disappointing venue. The concert was supposed to be at Pabst Theatre. After hours of fretting over directions, I seem to have forgotten that Milwaukee is small. Very small. Nearly impossible to get lost in the downtown area. Alas, when we were told the venue was changed to Riviera Theatre, I expected another confused trip around the city, hours of asking strangers for directions, etc. Lo and behold, we walk two blocks and arrive, still early enough to catch the slightest bit of the opening band before being told that we couldn't go to the GA area because we didn't arrive early enough to get "wristbands" and we'd have to sit in CHAIRS. Waaaaay up. And then the usual Milwaukee bros decide to tell us that we can't sit somewhere because the seats are "VIP" for "special people who are going to meet the band." Please. We didn't even get to dance, and NOBODY was singing along. Midwestern pride my butt.

2. No "Mariner's Revenge Song," Colin Meloy? Not even a whale? No whales? What kind of Decemberists concert doesn't have whales?? I WANT MY WHALES!

3. What kind of a city's downtown is dead on a Friday night? Milwaukee. That's what. Also, highways are scary.


Final Tally:
Milwaukee: B-
The Decemberists: A!

Shortcomings

Do not read this graphic novel. There should be an enormous advertisement in the back, saying: WARNING: Reading may result in lower opinion in society and human beings in general. Depression will inevitably ensue.

This is not to say that Adrian Tomine is not a good artist. He's wonderful. I love his New Yorker illustrations. He draws skinny naked girls like nobody else. He also seems to have a bizarre indie following, which I was completely unaware of until I saw his wiki page. But "Shortcomings," even if well-drawn, was ultimately not fulfilling. It was supposedly about "falling out of love" (according to the ad online), but really I doubted if the two main characters were ever in love at all. There was no tragic need for togetherness, no pathos, no desire. From the very first page they bicker, by nature completely incompatible. Usually I am a fan of art involving unfulfilling relationships. I thought it would be something like the film "Closer," which tracked the relationships between four inherently flawed people. But the two highly bigoted and mildly racist characters in "Shortcomings" had no real positive traits. The male was negative and pigheaded, and female overly proud (albeit quite pretty). I was left despising all of them. I experienced the ultimate example of schadenfreude, and I don't think it was Tomine intended: when any of the characters were upset, I was joyous. I even loved seeing them get hurt, I loved seeing them cry, I loved seeing other people comment on how terrible they were. Even the side characters, such as a hotheaded Korean lesbian, were at heart detestable.

I read a few reviews online which described his stories as "relatable". To whom? Complete misanthropes? What is the "message" being portrayed here? (I'll be Kantian here and pretend all works of art have some sort of moral agenda) That all relationships are doomed to fail? That human beings are never as beautiful or intelligent or personable as they think they are? Why must every single character lack a redeeming trait? Perhaps other people can read this without being so repelled by it. It has received stunning reviews, and I spent weeks waiting for a single library copy (all of the others were checked out). Perhaps it is in the way I prefer to view human beings... as both endearing and imperfect, full of cracks and holes and history, all somewhat miserable yet revelling in happiness when it does come. Nonetheless the good traits are there, even in the muck-- maybe charisma, a good sense of humor, a genuine sense of caring and selflessness, a quick wit... traits completely absent in "Shortcomings."