Now that Lady Gaga's had a handful of hit singles, the general public has finally warmed up to her eccentric style. For a while there, we all just sat watching her in awe, wondering how she didn't collapse under the enormous weight of the gallons of hair spray keeping her hair-bow, hair-telephone, or hair-wide-brimmed-hat in place. And I wonder to myself, why? We've seen this all before; haven't you people even heard of Cher?!
First, Gaga was all, hey girl, I'm all chill with my crazy bleach blond curls and my collared shirt. BAM. Yeah, Cher did that.
Then Gaga was all, hey girl, I got me some crazy hats, so beat that. WHA-POW. Cher did that. She did that...on her own show...with a young Bette Midler.
Gaga then was like, hey girl, I know you got Midler and crazy hats, but NO REALLY, I've got some goddamn, crazy, sparkly hats. And Cher responds with a sparkly Cleopatra bitchslap.
And so, Gaga stepped up her game, and was all, hey girl, I'm about fashion, but I'm about shock and awe too. Check out my killer bikini wax! And Cher said, PLEASE.
And then Gaga pulled out all the stops. She was like, hey girl, I superglued together everything I've bought from Hobby Lobby in the past twelve years and dyed my hair with strawberry-scented markers, BOO-YA. Her majesty Cher responded, BEEN THERE, DONE THAT, and at the Oscars, no less.
P.S. Gaga, it's not because I hate you. It's because I just love Cher so much.
I just finished the sixth and final season of Lost, and I've put together a little statistical analysis to guide you in case you ever happen to crash land on a magical, constantly moving island that houses the light that is in all humans (sidenote: how very Quaker of you, Island).
(Disclaimer: The first three statistics are based on characters appearing in 50 episodes or more, not including children, Vincent the dog, or the pregnant women [Stick with them- at worst, their hands get cut from clenching their fists so hard. Seriously.] All of this violence happens on the island or in surrounding waters and does not include the first eight episodes. Accuracy is dependent on the amount of wine consumed while watching each episode...which is unable to be determined at this point.)
During your stay on the island, you will be kicked twice, hit with a blunt object- probably the butt of a rifle- three times, and punched an average of eight times.
You have a 52% percent chance of being shot and a 55% chance of dying.
You have an 86% chance of being taken prisoner.
If you appear in between ten and forty episodes, your chances of dying increase to 78%.
Sawyer is the object of the most violent acts, having been punched 27 times, so stay away from him. Or, I suppose you could stay near him, and have (probably) Jack punch him instead of you.
The amount of time you repeat the phrase, "Come on!" in addition to the rate of increase of volume while performing CPR is in direct relation to the probability of your subject regaining consciousness.
If a language barrier exists, the probability of your message magically becoming understandable to the receiver of your message greatly increases with every repetition (and a proportional increase in volume) of your message.
I wouldn't worry though; the island also comes with magical healing powers (and the magical giving and taking away of language), just in case you get headbutted in the face, which is quite common.
I have a dilemma. I was firmly anti-Ke$ha throughout the "Tik Tok" and "Blah Blah Blah" hoopla, but with the release of her new single, "Your Love Is My Drug," my hatred is wavering. Most of the time, she makes me want to Van Gogh my ears, but then something about her makes me change my mind.
Okay, she looks like the poster girl for Mugatu's Derelicte line, but she has freckles, and I can't loathe a bespeckled face, especially as I feel we are underrepresented in the film and music industries. This is also my excuse for having paid $8.50 to see I Know Who Killed Me in the theatres.
Ke$ha (pronounced Keh-sha and not Key-sha) is clearly too cool for s's or c's, but I'm not sure I can blame her. Her mother's name is Pebe (pronounced like PB & J), and I know about this clearly genetic flair for naming eccentricity because they were featured in an episode of The Simple Life. Really.
Most of the time when I watch her videos, I'm pretty sure I'm actually just watching clips from Music and Lyrics...
But then I watch a clip like this- which actually makes more sense than her actual music videos- and I'm drawn back in...
Okay, most of the time her lyrics don't make any sense, and even though I thoroughly detest the line, "Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack," I can't help but love ones like, "Do you wanna have a slumber party in my basement?" and "I like your beard."
And more things to like:
She organized a benefit concert for flood victims in Tennessee.
She once puked in Paris Hilton's closet, which, let's be honest, is probably bigger than most public bathrooms.
Final call, to love her or to hate her? I think that I'm going to stick with detesting her, at least until she reveals herself to be the lost Olsen twin (well, triplet). Hatred, with a side of listening to "Your Love Is My Drug" on repeat.
I mentioned in my last post that finding an original plot at the movie theater is like, to quote Cher Horowitz, "finding meaning in a Pauly Shore movie." Well, now I've got proof. I found an article on the Times Online that lists the 50 biggest movies of 2010, or "the movies most likely to dominate the box-office charts this year."
Here's a breakdown of which of these 50 films present new plots and the sources from which the rest of the remakes draw their inspiration:
Keep in mind that exactly one third of the "original scripts" are part of a series, e.g. Shrek Forever After. That's a lot of expensive, recycled pie you're selling us, Hollywood.
I recently read that Kristen Stewart's going to be in a film adaptation of Jack Kerouac's On the Road, and I am pissed.
I'm not upset to hear that Stewart has picked up the role of Dean Moriarty's wife; I actually think this is a good direction for her. As of yet, she's avoided being typecast as the awkward teen/manic dream pixie girl, and choosing what are technically two period pieces in a row is a huge step in continuing her pigeon-holing prevention.
My first real problem with this movie is the fact that it's a book adaptation, which in itself is not a travesty. However, in the context of today's movie listings, in which it is virtually impossible to find a film that is not an adaptation or remake of something else, it is infuriating. I'll come back to this later.
I read On the Road about five years ago, so I'm certainly no expert, but from what I remember, the book has a very distinctive style and aless-than-compelling plot. It's pretty much "We went there, did drugs, and got drunk. Then we went over there, did more drugs, and got drunk again," for a little over three hundred pages. At the time of its publication, it was essentially the manifesto of Kerouac's beat movement and the source of inspiration for many poets, writers, and musicians. When I read it, it was like having a hungover friend recall their night for hours on end. While I can blame my view of the worth of the book on generational discrepancy, I cannot be convinced that a Hollywood revamp of the plot is going to make it any more watchable than the beatnik scene in Hairspray. Not. Gonna. Happen.
Thirdly, I'm pissed because hipsters everywhere are going to eat this shit up. Since the dawn of man, it has been known as fact that in any subculture which espouses the glory of nonconformity, it doesn't take long for certain standards to be set to which participants then rigidly conform. Often, this tends to make them fanny pack-wearing douchebags. Current hipsters will weep at the beauty of the film into their flannel shirts and start writing their Government homework on scrolls, and Twihards, brought to the film with hopes that Dean Moriarty will be sparkly, will quickly switch from Team Jacob to Team Allen Ginsberg. Perhaps I judge too much, especially for someone with an Edward Cullen bookmark and a homemade cat shirt.
P.S. You know the song "I Loved the Way She Said L.A." by Spitalfield? Yeah, that's a quote from On the Road. That's always bothered me.