Mad Nature Boy

by Jillian Butler, Ampersandology



"Nature Boy" + Mad Men + kitsch value x bongos = MADE OF WIN.

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Do the Twist

I don't know really know what this is or where it came from, but I sure am glad it's here.

The launch date for Mad Men season three has been announced and behold: August 16th. Which is insanely close to right now, a fact that makes me all kinds of happy. The above clip pretty much nails why Mad Men is so fun to watch.

But aside from all the drink-happy clips, it does a sound thematic interpretation of the Big Important Arc that the show's so good at weaving. Especially in choosing to tie tying a little red bow around Paul Kinsey's presentation about "executive bank accounts" directly to 'ladies' man, man's man, man about town' Don Draper. In case, you know. You missed that the first time (PSST! Don is living a lie!).

And hey, YouTube is telling me there are more of these little numbers, so I know where I'll be spending my next hour or so.

Who's a powerful enemy and has two thumbs? THIS GAL.

Today I thought to myself, "Hey, you know, self, you haven't checked Stuff White People Like in a while. And since we're, you know, currently undergoing a pretty intense Literary Feud, we should really stop by." And so I headed over, because if there's one thing I agree with, it's myself.

That's when I saw it.

#126 VESPA SCOOTERS.

As it stands, every single white person on earth either owns, has owned, or is dreaming about owning a Vespa Scooter. And why not? They are Italian, feature vintage design, low emissions, make the rider look more sophisticated, and they carry a little bit of risk. In fact, were it to have a liberal arts degree and a steady income, a Vespa scooter would possesses every important quality that a white person looks for in a spouse.

That's just too goddamn far, SWPL. I am so mad about this that my brain short-circuited and I actually chuckled when I saw this post! Do you know how mad I need to be for that kind of backwards reaction to happen? Spoiler alert: I DID NOT KNOW UNTIL TODAY. So basically, you have pissed me off more than anything I have ever experienced in my admittedly short life, and that is a list that includes sock with sandals, the abstract concept of Anthony Hopkins, and ex-boyfriends who were actually emotional black holes in disguise (sort of like Transformers but with less Shia LeBeouf). So I hope you grasp the import of what I'm saying.

GYAHHYGUH. I am impotent with rage. My love of Vespas is long documented, and I mince no words when I say that you have ruined this mod-lin love affair. In one swift stroke, SWPL, you have make this feud personal and quite frankly, I thought you were better than that.

So great news, Stuff White People Like. I'm pretty sure I can sue you for defamation of character now. And also, for being sneaky bastards who somehow broke the lock on my diary even though I hid it really well. Yeah, like I'm so sure it fell off the bookshelf all by itself. Did you really think I was going to buy that? I have a liberal arts degree, you know, I wasn't born yesterday. YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF MY TRUST!

The next time our paths cross, it will already be too late.

My TYPE of Bag...HAHA Hello Witsville.

Uh, hi. So this is basically the most perfect thing ever: a leather bag NOT ONLY embossed with the Didot typeface BUT IS ADDITIONALLY big enough to carry books, magazines and a complete change of clothes (more or less my only requirements for a bag). 

It's only $450. By 'only,' of course, you understand that my scale of comparison includes a major home renovation or a Presidential Inauguration. Then, $450 sounds like a discount. A relief even! 

The Theme from A Summer Place is playing non-stop in my head. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS? IT MEANS TRUE(ish) LOVE. 

Quite frankly, I have never known a fever so single-minded, so blindingly bright. This purse combines my three greatest loves: typography, fashion AND spending money like a drunken sailor on leave! It must be mine. 

Everyone, we're starting a letter-writing campaign. To get me this purse. No matter the cost.*

*Excluding, of course, any actual cost. 

Here's to being really, really, ridiculously good-looking.

The greatest landing page in the history of landing pages: Designer Slash Model. 

HAHAHAHAHA! I can't orient myself or try to understand its purpose because I am too busy finding it hilarious! Just when you think it has probably gotten less funny, you find yourself mistaken! Too cool for school hipster designers FINALLY admitting to the world that (quote) "you must be beautiful to make beautiful things"? My life has been a dream until this moment; to wit, I just WOKE UP.  I want that t-shirt. I want all the t-shirts. 

I just...I can't speak, because of the wretched desire that has overcome my soul. WHY AM I NOT ALREADY A DESIGNER SLASH MODEL? The absence of the slash from my decorative job title leaves me cold, bereft and shivering in the orphaned night. New life's ambition: to become a Designer//Slash//Model, and prove more ultra-mod than any of these mondo-yawn amateurs could ever be. 

In other news, Happy belated World Graphic Design Day, everyone! A day that graphic designers everywhere hope will promote "greater understanding between people and can help to build bridges where divides and inequities exist." Also, that normal people everywhere will wake up wanting to wear skinny jeans and a distressed faux-vintage rock tee to work, where they will argue about point size for headings all day. Because why not, you know? 

In conclusion: Pretty pictures are like a band-aid for the soul. 

The Lady's Pen

An interesting Q&A with Elaine Showalter, author of A Jury of Her Peers: American Women Writers From Anne Bradstreet to Annie Proulx (published with Knopf). The book is a chronicle of women writers starting waaaaaay back in Colonial America, right up until Gertrude Stein and beyond (who, hilariously enough, she finds overrated. HA!). The whole thing is worth reading, but one slice in particular caught my imagination. The most interesting bit I've excerpted here (emphasis mine): 

Q. What is distinctly American in this tradition [of women's writings]?

From the beginning, women writers were interested in the interactions of race and culture — romance with Native Americans, abolition, and slavery. And more than male writers, they engaged with those issues in terms of their everyday lives: What did it mean — for domestic life, for children, for relationships — to live at the juncture of cultures?

There's also a real difference from the British literary tradition that I wrote about some time ago. There, the women writers had servants or some kind of household help. In the United States, women did the housework, or at least they were expected to know how it should be done. That gets transformed into questions about how the house imprisons women. And you get complaints. American women hated housework.

I imagine that, given that many of the concerns articulated in these novels would eventually drip down to be relegated to the proud, if limping banner of Harlequin romances (or worse-- chick lit), this little observation becomes downright fascinating. Making an affair with a Native into a profound social commentary on cultural interactions in the New World is one of those unflaggingly academic habits which I use pretty much everyday. FOR FUNSIES! Observe. 

EXHIBIT A: 

Ah, is that the musical stylings of Franz Ferdinand I hear? Or is the echo of the mod sounds of the long ago 1960s, richly informed with the gentle irony and hispter chic of the Millenniasl? This ego-pop retro feel is boldly evocative of a post-war German aesthetic to transform into a modern day fairy tale about the myriad tangles of living in a postmodern world. See also: Kapranos, Alex; dreamboat. 

EXHIBIT B: 

Gossip Girl is not simply a trashy show with story lines that threaten plausibility and devalue mature reactions to what are essentially adolescent situations. It's a stirring re-imagining of the drawing room morality tales of Edith Wharton, touching on the same eternal concerns that have always plagued the rich, the beautiful and the young. Can I marry for love? Will money truly grant me happiness? And now that leggings are back in, can I pull them off without everyone thinking I'm just being trendy? 

EXHIBIT C: 

Much more than a simple dance fable, Footloose proves a poignant coming of age tale that draws on a classically structured hero myth as well as Biblical allusions to revive the importance of self-expression (in this case, through dance). To watch Ren's final plea to the Town Council is to see a young man's conviction to boogie solidifying into a moral center, with the growing acceptance that life is rarely as finite as the dance floor. 

What does this mean? Maybe "specialized generalizations" (TM me 2009!) like these are best only if they're entertaining. But let's not think about that. Instead, in the honor of our subject, let's watch Paul Rudd and Seth Rogen read aloud to us from some choice Harlequin passages: 

Skip to 3:54 for the good stuff. Oh, Paul Rudd. Where did you come from, and are there more of your kind there? 

Then suddenly, you know.

When I saw them in concert, four towers bearing each of these pictures were unveiled as they played the first chords of "Take Me Out." My heart has never recovered. 

Today is the happiest day. Why? A simple reason: the new Franz Ferdinand album is currently dropping on my ears, and will continue every time I have a spare moment. True story: I’m going to buy and devour every Franz record until they stop making them or I die, whichever comes first—though, in an ideal world, that would be the same calendar day in history, for one surely leads to the other!

Franz Ferdinand is the one and only band that I love, with fever and circumstance. If they had an existential newsletter, I bet I would be treasurer!

Reasons to Love Franz Ferdinand

[a compelling bullet point list!]

 1. They are the frontrunners of ego pop—a bizarre hybrid of post-war German aesthetic, postmodern pouting and sixties-centric musical landing strips. If the music of Franz Ferdinand were to walk into a room, it would be wearing a fabulous red sequin suit and have a beautiful woman on each arm. And have a corncob pipe filled with bubblegum sex hunger!

 2. They are from Glasgow—the third dirtiest city in Europe! It's not literally dirty--well, it is that too, but it's more so a spiritual uncleanliness, like clothing left on a stranger's bedroom floor overnight. Glasgow, though dirtier, seedier and generally sketchier than its Edinburgh sibling, is the better of the two! You can trust a man from Glasgow…but mostly, just to be be sketchy and awesome and oddly sexy (see: Kapranos, Alex).

3. They, too, are fascinated by boys and girls. JUST LIKE YOU AND ME!

 4. When asked about perfectly normal things like where their name comes from, they say things like this:

 "[Archduke Franz Ferdinand] was an incredible figure as well," continues Alex. "His life, or at least the ending of it, was the catalyst for the complete transformation of the world ... he was a pivot for history. But I don't want to over-intellectualize the name thing. Basically a name should just sound good ... like music."

 6. They are secretly brilliant lyricists—akin to coolest kid, sitting in the back of class, who was studying all along and gets the best grade on the test (but of course, this a faulty analogy: in actual fact, they are too cool for school). 

 8. Their hearts still remember the exquisite heartbreak of playground love.

9. Who else would make a music video detailing their efforts to enact a GLOBAL SEX MANIA?

10.Why did they want to make music? To "make girls dance or something." 

11. They are time travelers from the ultra mod future, here to aid our funk-fusions for years to come. They want only to cushion our timid steps into the musical revolution! I think they were sent back to make me happy, and help me in my Bad News Quest---omg, does that make me like, the John Connor of the ultra-mod futurescape? 

Basically, I am sucked into their groovatational pull. They are the soundtrack to three-cigarette nights in the lives of hip, hopeless young things.

Here’s the first single off their glorious third album, Tonight: “Ulysses.” At the :40, I think my lungs stopped breathing for a good ten seconds. 

I just want to live in the world Franz Ferdinand sings about. That is all.

Words fail me. Happiness lifts me.

A WOODEN VESPA? Portuguese craftsman Carlos Alberto, have you been reading my diary? 

See, I know it's really love this time, because I've never been so afraid...but I've also never felt more alive. Wooden Vespa, I feel like you really get me. So I wrote you a haiku. It's my valentine to you (it's based on our favourite Milli Vanilli song, the one I sang in your ear while we sat in the street). 

Girl I think you know

It's true, I'm so in love girl

David Caruso

To witness the birth of this wonderous thing, click here. But if you try and take her away from me, I'll find you. And there may be blood. 

SociopathCHIC!

Dexter Morgan—formerly dark and delicious, and born so strange.

But now, utterly boring.

I’ve hung around Dexter’s third season, mostly out of loyalty (remember, this is a gal who stuck around the last season of Buffy, faithfully, like a dog watching its anemic master die of a paper cut wound). However, factors converged to put distance between us: its Sunday night slot put it in direct competition to my beloved main squeeze Mad Men. DON’T NOBODY come between me and Don Draper. So, I’ve been catching it OnDemand…at my own pace, which can be generously described as ‘glacial.’

The other factor? Dexter, the creepy, morbid show about cheering for a serial killer, started its third season with not a bang, nor a whimper….but an open-mouth yawn.

Where’s the change? Where, I ask, is the evolution? As always, Michael C. Hall is stupid hot, with the sloe-eyed wonderment of a really evil puppy. But after the high drama of last season (DOOOOAKES!) it’s back to business as usual for Dex. Hey, more killing! Hey, more Rita! Hey, more ironic references to Dexter’s secret proclivity! I’m really starting to hate those, by the way:

Annoying Waitress

Hold on…I got these new shoes and my feet are killing me.

Cloying Dexter Voiceover

Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be killing you myself.
Harry was right…eating out can be murder.

[/fake Dexter moment]

Oh ha-ha, I get it! It’s the difference between what is said and what is meant! Ha ha ha HUMBUG. They added little tweaks to the formula, but honestly, it just feels like more of the same. I’m not actually that annoyed, but it’s more the principle of the thing. How long they expect to flog this horse is beyond me…the horse isn’t dead yet, but it’s got a bad cold (might not make the winter). But apparently it’ll be around for at least two more seasons. I’ll be there, probably, till the end—as mentioned before, I am stupid loyal.

However, I’ll give the showrunners this: whoever was behind this campaign is a certifiable genius. So CHIC. That person should get one hundred dollars and a unicorn. Or, you know, some kind of advertising award. But let them decide (Psst! Unicorn! Go unicorn!).

They ran this summer in their mock-respective publications. I just love it. It's sociopathic and it's chic...it's sociopathCHIC!

{Full story at Pajiba.}

a call to fabulous action

Ooh, things like this just give me ideas. 

Most Fabulous Looks of Spring 2009!

Some thoughts: 

1. I love that the high-waisted turn is proving to be more of a callback than a 

trend; unlike most fads, I think this one is super flattering, evocative and painfully chic. There were some big names staying on board: I saw Yves Saint Laurent, Celine and Valentino! The wayI see it, anything that reminds me of 1940s screwball comedies is a good thing (ANYTHING: feel free to test me on this, I'll hold true). I always feel like a hybrid of Katherine Hepburn and Joan Holloway in my own high-waisted pieces. 

2. Who is this Byblos and where can I find more? 

3. Designers! Give ME your clothes for free! My God, think of the public relations possibilities, when you eschew all typical celebrity-smoozing and give back to the people! And by people I mean only me! I can make many lists that will be so painfully, beautifully worded that you will be compelled to reward me with couture. Barring that, I will cry on cue! It would be like charity except chic. Exactly.

The Forefathers of Ego Pop

I have new evidence to suspect that Franz Ferdinand were not, as I intitally believed, the first time-travellers from the ultra-mod future. I've since discovered what I now regard as the first mega-hip prophets from the future, assaulting us with the truth and complexity of their ego pop message.

The Honeycombs. June 1964. "Have I the Right?"

OUTSTANDING.

i made you this mix tape.

Someday, we'll be together. 

It's far in the future, I know. But the promise of that day, that glorious day, when I can run my hands over your smooth curves, wrap my arms around you and know that you are finally mine...that's the day I save my smiles for. 

I made you a mix tape. It's full of songs that remind me of you. It's mostly...well, it's actually just one song, and it's by the Ramones, but baby, it took me a long time to pick out! 

Wait for me, baby. Our day is gonna come, and the roads will fear our wake.