But some of us do vibrate for 15 minutes a day and are still pleasantly plump, but can maybe open bottles with our lady parts?

Marmsies: Low Buzz Might Give Mice Better Bones and Less Fat. (vibrating mouse platform)

PR: I think you can get diseases from putting vibrating mouse platforms in ur vajajajajajajay. just noting. I also wonder if I used said platform as a vibrating device would my vajajajajajajay get weirdly skinny?

Marmsies: No, just bony? I was just trying to increase my bone density! It’s always an s-e-x joke with you!

PR: Did you spell wex like s-e-x so your work doesn't pick up on it or are you trying to admonish me? But on the wex topic, what is the general opinion on bony vajajajajays because I vibrate things on mine a lot and now I'm LOLscared my sweet vajajajajay will become like a velociraptor exhibit at the Natural History Museum.

Marmsies: Both! But now I like wex better. Hmmmm…I don’t know. On one hand, it might be scary at first, but on the other, you could use it to open old time soda bottles. So I’m not sure if one should really stop…

PR:I dunno, the new kind of men in this Terror Dream world might not appreciate a lovely lady who can open a post-coital bottle of beer with her wex tool.

Amaze.

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But I loved Rushmore...

I went to see Darjeeling Ltd. this afternoon by myselfsies because Simone was rightfully doubtful and apparently less tempted by misogynistic messes than I am. Like most reviewers have said already, it's beautiful to watch, a bit overly precious, and totes racist.

Of course, as ush, Wes Anderson develops his precocious, heart-broken white male protagonists by simplifying everyone else--the Indians, the women, the Indian woman. Apparently in Wes's world, possessing some sort of lonely white male sorrow gives one license to be an incorrigible asshole to everyone and still somehow likable. I don't really have time to go into all the contextual details of his racism and misogyny tonight so you can just read about it here and here. I would, however, like to bring up Wes Anderson's little meta-apology, which only serves to make the racism and misogyny all the more irritating.

First, some brief background: Like any young emotard in a Wes movie would do, Jason Schwartzman's character has a quickie with the gorgeous Indian stewardess on the Darjeeling Limited train to get over his ex-girlfriend played by Natalie Portman. True to form, this isn't just a quick meaningless sex thing (believe me, it would have been less offensive if it was)-- no, Schwartzman has to set "Sweet Lime" up as some sort of exotic savior telling her "I need to talk to someone" and "I know you can help me" like her ethnic vag holds the secret to his stiff white universe. I mean of course it is, in the end, just meaningless sex dressed up in some male existential bullshit. Thanks Sweet Lime, you seemed superficially interesting for a moment, and you looked totally hot in that bathroom scene, but now we must be on our way on this long train ride into profundity. How do you say goodbye in Indian? (Is that the name of your language, btw?) Namaste!

At this point, we've already seen a snippet of Schwartzman's torturous past relationship with Portman in the opening short. Portman shows up at his hotel room in Paris. She says, "I love you, I never meant to hurt you" as well as "If we fuck, I'll feel like shit tomorrow." Schwartzman replies, "I don't care" and "That's okay with me." But hey, listen, those lines just sound so callous because they're removed from the context-- seriously, he's not being an asshole, he's just really really angsty and sad! This isn't some patriarchal set-up where men vilify women to deal with their own inadequacies, or to demonstrate the greater emotional depth and existential awareness that men possess. He is just terribly sad and deep, okay? And this is all her fault, obvs.

Portman, let me get this straight: you protested the smoking in the script and insisted on toothpicks? Should I have started a MISOGYNY CAUSES CANCER campaign for you to say no to the rest of it?

Look at you, you're already wasting away. Read this, it's like chemo.




The worst part of all of these various bad "isms", is the fact that Anderson is obviously hyper-conscious of them and even snidely tongue-in-cheek about it. As the brothers are leaving the Darjeeling train, Schwartzman goes over to the window to say goodbye to Sweet Lime. She is crying. Clearly those ridiculous emo-potent lines worked on her.

Schwartzman looks up at her, smiles, and says, "Thanks for using me."

I'm pretty sure this is a meta-joke said to the one character that embodies both of the "others" (Indian, female), a kind of self-satisfied "I know who I'm using and how in this script, but I don't care." I wanted to throttle Jason Schwartzman at this moment. The movie just isn't good enough to get away with self-aware, offense white male centrism-- like c'mon, a movie about character journey demonstrated literally via a train journey in an exotic country? Seriously, no one has ever done that before!

Sweet Lime, of course, unironically whispers, "You're welcome."

I think I can say that we all watch Gossip Girl because it's downright exhilarating in its obviousness and caricatures. Maybe also because we're tired of watching Jane Alexander suck a dick, frankly. Never surprise me, GG, it would crush the powerful sense of intelligence I get from watching you. The Gossip Girl coverage from New York mag is gold, mainly because they write up everything we were thinking when watching the show, in a hilarious fashion. I especially enjoyed the following passage for its prescient truthiness, because yes, while Serena gets courted by the perfect man spouting the perfect lines, we had to suffer through high school boyfriends who thought renting Jenna Jameson porn along with Chinese takeout was a romantic date. I mean, maybe it would be now that I have a more developed sense of irony, but there is no irony to be found in high school until you're out of high school.

A word about Dan. We've said this before, and we're going to elaborate now: No teenage boys are like Dan. Teenage boys are not quick-witted enough to make the right joke at the right time. They are not sensitive or unself-conscious enough to sit in the hallway with your bitch best friend and console her when she's having a hard time. They do not have values, or make "bold gestures." Nor are their jaws chiseled, their clothes artfully, sexily ruffled, their brown eyes deep and searching as they lock onto yours and tell you, "Just for the record, I like you." The generation of tweens watching Gossip Girl, take note: Dan is your Jake Ryan, and believing that guys like this exist can ruin your life.

Apparently in order to attend a Morrissey concert you should be smugly married or smugly gay and committed. However they don't ask you if you're either when you purchase tickets online from Ticketmaster, so that's how we managed to sneak by last night. I agreed to go to Morrissey before I had the chance to realize at some point during my adult life, I had gotten over The Smiths. I wonder when it was. And why I didn't notice. I have a suspicion it must have been this one time when I was smoking hella weed and watching Adult Swim on my couch in Providence and my roommate Will turned on Hateful of Hollow for the third time in a row, and I was like "If I have to listen to this one more time, I am going to have an EMOaneurysm which will shut off the blood supply to the rational part of my brain and I'll only be able to converse in sing-song Dashboard Confessional lyrics. Do not make me suffer that fate!!!"

Werthsies and I were in the nosebleed seats, and Gaby and Kat were on the floor. Before the show Friend and I grabbed a drink(s) at a nearby bar known on Yelp for it's "hot Dominican bartenders in dresses". We stayed too long at the bar but apparently not long enough to miss the opening act, which bleeeeew. Usually when I'm wasted I can get behind even the Toy Story Soundtrack, but this act was not passing. I texted Gaby.

"This peson sucks!"

"What is a peson?"

"You know. I luv you more than Jesus luved his puppy."

"This is terrible music."


The woman on stage, who by the way was Kristen Young, announced what I thought was "And this next song is called Nazi Cunninglingus"

I immediately texted, "Wait, I love her."

Gaby wrote back a while later: "I am overheating and everyone is old and yelling."

Today I've been searching these internets high and low and I can't find any song by Young entitled "Nazi Cunninglingus". So the jury, or my jury at least, is still out on that one. You wanna good blog review Kristen? Send me an mp3 of "Nazi Cunninglingus".


Morrissey is nearly 50. He walked a bit on stage. Sometimes he twirled his microphone cord. Often during the instrumentals he just bent over like the music was too much for him, or he had an ulcer, or he was preparing for anal. But it couldn't have been the latter; Morrissey is celibate!


Werthsies and I tried dancing but I kept slipping on our spilled Long Island Iced Tea (not my choice!). Then we started passing out Werther's to our surrounding emotards but we only managed to endear ourselves to one chubby gay couple, and a lonely hearted man with a New Jersey accent. That was fine though. It started to feel like we were part of a small nosebleed community. It was warm, and it was really hot temperature-wise.

My favorite part of the night was when Werthsies was telling me about her relatively new 4-month boyf, and how every time she takes an Ambien before bed she starts grilling him on his past relationships. So now at Ambien time, he's like, "omg, here comes the Spanish Inquisition", then they have sex, and he still falls asleep before her. I couldn't tell if this was supposed to be a funny relationship woe story or not, but it sounded kind of great to me. I was like, "Then do you Ambien binge eat at his apartment?!" and she was like, "Yeah, we wake up in the morning and the Ben & Jerry's is gone!" and I was like, "I want that! Love is binge-eating on Ambien at your new boyfriend's apartment!"

How many posts can Ryan Gosling appear in during the course of a week?

Marmsies: They fired Ryan Gosling for getting fat.

PR: Just the neg he needed to go out with me!

Marmsies: It’s just like that old Minneapolis folk saying, “Tell Ryan Gosling he’s fat if you want him to go out with you.”

PR: Yes yes, I love that one. My grandpa also used to sing us this age-old Yiddish nursery rhyme right after we recited the Shma' before bed:

"To get Ryan Gosling to go out with you (with you! with you!)/
This is what you must do (must do! must do!)
Roll yourself in latex wax/ Clean your hole with AJAX/
Pretend you are a Real doll (a doll! a doll!)/
and he will be at your beck and call."

Marmsies: Oh my god I am DYING over here!!!!!!
You should probs blog that.

PR: I promised myself I would stop blogging emails, but what's one more time?



And as long as I broke my new rule, I need to post Liz's no-explanation-needed hilarious commentary on Tell Jew You Love Pee: "I'm kind of over watching jane alexander suck a dick, frankly."

Self-destruction has begun.

PR: Yo-- I am having a huge problem joining Second Life. Not technically, just mentally-- I've been staring at the entry screen for 8 minutes. i have the worst feeling I'm going to become addicted and, like, fucking marry an avatar in second life paris or something.

Marmsies: Ah. So you’re afraid you’re going to like it and then not be cool any more? I think I would be worried about that, too. Do you need moral support?

PR: would marrying an 85 yr old pervy grandpa in Milwaukee whose avatar looks like Ryan Gosling be "not being cool anymore"? and by moral support do you mean having avatar sex with me so I don't have to do it with LOLstrangers?!


Marmsies: No, that is not what I meant at all. I meant like sit in the same room while you register. I think if you looked in the dictionary under “not cool anymore”, there would be a pain-stakingly-etched, multi-panel drawing of that exact event occurring.

PR: Yeah, will you sit in the room with me?
Also my avatar self is HOT. Ren Barbasz is the LOLessence of sophistication and confident beauty. see attached!




Marmsies: Nice sandals, nerd.

PR: Ha. Dude I'm going to Second Life Urban Outfitters in like a nanosecond to buy myself a tunic dress and flashy tights a la my real world style. I ain't interviewing/boning no avatars in a tee-shirt and Birkenstocks. I have standards, even online.

Marmsies:I hope you are serious.

PR: After Urban I'm going to go to SL Chili's and getting some Southwestern Vegetable Soup and an Awesome Blossom. Then if it's delish, I'll go give the teenage line cook a great blow job.


Marmsies:Is there a Second Life Chilis?!

PR: If there's not, I'm outtie.

Marmsies: What will you tell your editor??!!!

PR: Simply: "How could you send me on assignment to a world in which Chili's does not exist?!"