Seen and not heard, maybe?

Kat says ...

OK, so sure she is a vapid blonde who apparently often gets dressed in the dark/as a dare. But hey, I never said I was interested in marrying her. Hell, I don’t even have the energy to like her on facebook. What I’m trying to say is, I’d be more likely to be the one swiping the specs right off Franzen’s face than loitering around the set of Gossip Girl in New York to ask Blake Lively why she hasn’t posted me a thank you card for all those eyelashes I sent her.

I think I’m allowed to have a soft spot for a good looking woman. Am I not entitled to the odd crush based purely on looks, free of morality and logic? There, I said it. And I’ll say it again in my gruffest, vehemently anti-feminist, woman-objectifying voice ‘I like the way she is put together.’

I wouldn’t want to pull a Mad Men-esque January Jones on her, mind. Despite how good her meatloaf (not a euphemism) and old fashioned cocktail making skills might be, I agree, I think I would pull off my own ears if I had to come home to Mrs Blake Lively – Patrick after a long day in the office.

She is the kind of woman I’d like to have at my disposal for say, a school reunion. Yes, that’s right I would like to have her on my arm as I sipped lukewarm, souring white wine and engaged in the most awkward of all social situations – trying to prove major progression since early adolescence. And trust me, going lesbian post All Girls Boarding School guarantees a tough crowd. Anyway if she attempted too much of that annoying ‘talking’ women are so very fond of, I would simply banish her to the Porsche I’d rented for the occasion.

I do recognise how incongruous it is that as I construct this argument, I am most certainly coming across as rather vapid myself. Courtney, please don’t write your next blog about me. I swear I would never have shopped at supre (ahem) in 2003, nor would I ever glue a dog to my tinfoil dress (this in itself would be challenge, as my dog is a rather large and impatient spaniel.) And while I know my accent can be grating, I promise I'll never spit my C-Hs.

In fact, just like your Blakehatepost, I’m turning this into a cathartic process; I’m getting all my embarrassing crushes out the way. So the most significant and perhaps crucial in my journey out of the closet would have to be Maura Tierney (Abby Lockhart from ER.) I have also been known to admire Jennifer Beals – not in Flash Dance but in the L-word (flashy lesbian televised drama for those not in the know.) Actually I pretty much fancied everyone in the L-Word, just because they, like the cast of Friends, drank coffee together, were babes and pashed each other. I liked the gal from Grey’s Anatomy – Callie Torres I think she was called. I also have an enormous thing for Tina Fey. Less embarrassing, but while on a roll, I’ll confess that my dream girl would have to be Marion Cotillard. Julianne Moore in close second. Oh and of course Joan from Mad Men. Who could resist that sashay?

While on the subject, I’d like to point out that Julianne Moore (note - top 3 babe) is in a film called The Kids Are All Right. I’ve already heard great things about it from those lucky enough to have seen it and I’m pretty excited to see it myself.

Hey, the modern family is fine by me. And don’t panic, I don’t envisage Nate being any sort of donor for the family I (do not, for the record) intend to begin with Blake.

Blake Lively is a vapid blonde stick figure

Courtney says...

Ok, so I feel like this needs clearing up once and for all. You obviously couldn't take the hint when we sat around a table at DOC full of Blake Lively haters (both male and female, all fervently against) as your text last night to inform me that you had somehow (drugs? mind manipulation?) coaxed another person to "admit" they liked Lively (BTW - her surname is antithetical to her personality) proved. So I will have to destroy your dreams in the very public (although I'm pretty sure we only have one reader) forum of our blog. Here goes.

 The argument against Blake Lively possessing any discerning characteristics is two-pronged. Firstly, her character in Gossip Girl is the most annoyingly priveleged, vapid piece of fashionising idiocy this side of Olivia Palmerno (don't even get me started). Secondly, her public appearances lead me to believe that not only is her character reflective of her actual personality, but her real-life personality is reflective of a fish - gawky, constantly surprised , a little too shiny, and the kicker, stupid. 

So to the first argument. Lively's character Serena on Gossip Girl is joke. Where to begin? How about the fact that she creates every single problem on the show, only to flick her hair and claim ignorance and naivity (thanks for ruining Nate Archibalds adolescence Serena). Or worse still, how she then attempts to correct these situations by inventing elaborate schemes to avoid responsibility.

I'll admit I watched the latest episode today - 'Easy J' and this anecdote sums Serena up perfectly.

Blair: "You've got last night's dress with today's shame written all over it." 

Serena: "Actually Blair, we just stayed up all night talking." Lies. To her best friend. And she's not even trashy in a funny way.

Ugh and the way she kind of spits her C-H's and elongates her E's. It's All.So.Gross. And OMG:

Serena: "The guy I slept with is now my teacher, but I really like him." 

Blair: "Keep it in office hours, not at his apartment." 

But Serena will invent an elaborate hair brained scheme that involves lots of lies and lots of tongue against palette elongated vowels:

Serena (to mystery man): "Relationships with faculty are strictly forbidden." 

Mystery man: "That didn't sound particularly convincing. So come to this party. I'm getting an Eligible Bachelor award." 

Serena: (*clicks palette*) "OK".

Now to the second problematic Lively incarnation: her actual self. This is a great little post from Go Fug Yourself to get things started:

Ah, Boobs Leglsy, I knew Blake's brain couldn't keep you repressed for long:

 

 

It's as though she has a split personality and one of the identities is governed by her thighs, which are pathologically unable to endure the kiss of fabric against them without an exit strategy in place. I'm almost surprised the skirt doesn't come rigged with an alarm and a fire escape. 

Touche, Go Fug Yourself, Touche. See what they're saying (because I know you're too blinded by your love for Lively to decipher their wit) is that Blake Lively is a vapid blonde stick figure. Who, is governed entirely by her body. Particularly the parts we don't really need to see, but she wants to show us. Also this dress is both disgusting and encompasses a brown leather bondage contraption we know she uses late at night on boyfriends to disguise the fact that she has nothing in her head worth saying out loud.

OK, next image:

 

So putting aside the fact that you're wearing a dress made out of stretchy tin foil that looks like it came from Supre circa 2003 and focusing more on what's going on with the animal you are utilizing as an accessory: it is actually quite a cute puppy for the kind of small, purse-dwelling canines I'm not usually a fan of, but the way she's holding it? Treating it like a piece of property? Matching it to her hair colour? It's probably stuck to that dress too. So un-humanitarian.

Next image. Honestly? Green doesn’t suit many people, but it certainly doesn’t suit people who’s personality reeks of the same smattering of jealousy, envy and rage that green represents. And that’s without even discussing the dress itself. It looks like Dobby the House Elf (Harry Potter) vomited a chintzy, cheap meal all over Lively, who not only thanked him for his services, but appropriated his hair and make-up techniques to create a beehive monstrocity that makes her head look both unnaturally large and unnaturally (this girl defies science) stupid.

There is a final anti-Lively strain that lies in the fact that she dates only her co-stars because she can't make intelligent conversation with anyone who tries to understand her as more than Serena, but I'm spent.

Pheuw. I am really glad my inner rage about Blake Lively is now down on paper or thereabouts. Sorry it took so long, had to research (read: watch Gossip Girl) track down the most representative of photos, and then wait for a quiet moment where I could really let loose. So this is what contentment feels like.

 

 

Back to Basics

Courtney says...

Two things:

1) I think you articulated the most socially awkward thing the internet has removed. Ordering takeaway in person is always draining, always involved small talk, and is often embarassing. Thanks for pointing that out.

2) I need more time to construct a response to the whole 'internet is taking over my life and I don't like it' argument. It's on my mind all the time. Which angle to approach with this blog? Let me think. For maybe 24 hours. That's all I'll need. I am a Gen-X dystopian multi-tasker after all.

Kat says….

Apologies for the delayed response, but it isn’t easy to construct a retort to a post that essentially ended in bestiality. Even more troublesome than the fact you can find such things on the internet (the discovery of bestiality with a romantic anecdote must have involved a horrifying google – what did they/you ask to uncover that? I don’t recommend speculating, as I just did, ew) is the fact that as I read your ‘subtle’ description an advert for the Hollywood rom-com, based on the story, flashed through my mind. Can’t you hear the voiceover now? “A love that knows no bounds…” etc.

Right, I’m officially putting ‘it’ to rest now.

I’m electing to pick up on your presentation of the internet, as you so very delicately put it, a ‘fucked up place.’ Despite my prudish reaction (English heritage, as ever, at fault) to the F word (both the television show and the profanity) this is probably the best way to describe it. Furthermore as a subject choice for an online blog, I suppose it is a form of virtual metafiction we’re indulging in.

I forget the source of the article now, but a while ago I was reading a review of a recently published collection of letters between a famous author and various friends and lovers. The journalist adopted a nostalgic position remarking that nowadays such a collection would be almost impossible to amass, thanks to the internet. Unless (like me) you obsessively print out and collate favourite emails, articles and images much of our online communication is devoured by cyber space. A few interesting projects could evolve from this; is anyone documenting 50 Cent’s tweets, for example?

This has been partially and somewhat tragically actualised in the form of a book. ‘Twitterature’ residing within the traditional bright orange, penguin classic hipster packaging are famous novels broken down into tweets. The interpretation of Dante’s inferno: ‘I’m having a midlife crisis. Lost in the woods. Should have brought my iPhone’ is what my Dad would call witty, sure. It’s a mildly good and albeit depressing giggle, as it’s hard to ignore that reducing one of the world’s greatest books to a few one liners is akin to google imaging the Taj Mahal and subsequently feeling as though there is no need to actually go.

It’s true. I’ve developed a middle aged disdain for the internet’s ability to replace genuine experience with various online versions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as hypocritical as the next fake-glasses-wearing hipster and I recognise some benefits of the virtual world. Crikey, these days I can even eliminate the worst social interaction of all. Ordering takeaway. When completing this activity, it’s a blessing that human contact is now rendered defunct and I can do it online. You’d be surprised how much the posh English pronunciation of the phrase ‘92% extra cheese’ is misunderstood over the phone/at the drive thru. As with most good things in life, however, there is a curse to the blessing. The curse, of course, is that now I get all the extra cheese I want. In many ways I’m strangely proud to be heading for a Henry VIII ‘lift’ onto my steed.

Right, I’m off to Wikipedia existentialism.

Super Hero Super Swans

Courtney Says...

The above titling of our blog posts does look overly obnoxious doesn't it. It also suggests that people other than ourselves are actually going to read this which is awkward because let's face it, apart from the people I have either specifically sent the link too - these are very close friends who will indulge me regardless of my lack of talent - and perhaps the occasional person who stumbles across it whilst looking for the ramblings of a draining spoilt 13 year old (because let's face it, that is the person who should be writing under such a blog title), no-one apart from us is going to read it. Woe is me. 

You raised a number of points in your last post but I'm going to start by addressing the most frightening: the fact that you watched a movie about two horses falling in love. Not only do I have to question what RSS feeds you are following to even find out about a Belgium movie whose subject matter is such, but I have to go so far as to say that it brings into play an entire new set of issues surrounding our playful courting (but failure to address) of an issue that I never thought would be raised between the two of us. And it actually follows on from a conversation I had the other night. OK, two-pronged attack: A) the internet is a fucked up place where pretty much any thing can go down and absolute niches can be indulged and B) we are talking about horses right now. So the story goes, that these two people met online in a dating forum and their mutual appreciation for horses fuelled enough interest that they wanted to meet. This meeting occurred at a ranch (yes, took place in America) where horses were plentiful and apparently the sequence of events escalated quite quickly. I would like to point out at this point that A) I am regretting having brought this story up in the blog context almost as much as I regret saying or doings things whilst intoxicated at 3 o'clock in the morning B) I was not the person who found this story online, and the person who did assures me they just 'stumbled' across it (much like I imagine you stumbled across that film) and C) I do not know, but sincerely hope, this is not true. 

From one animal to another (what is this?!). Anyway, yes, Black Swan does look amazing. I always like it when Natalie Portman sheds her cute-but-slightly-off-kilter girl-next-door persona (read: Garden State and pretty much anything she is in that involves a romantic plotline with anyone but the devil in). Add to that the fact that it's an Aronofsky film, features, as you have excitedly pointed out Mila Kunis in an equally as debaucherous un-type role, and I think this is goign to be good. Plus, it's a film about dance that I imagine isn't going to systematically involve a group of terribly untalented white 'modern dance' students making choreographed sexual advances towards the camera. Step Up Black Swan. I also liked that you suggested my post about the fashion industry was a "philosophical enquiry into perfection" when all I really thought it was was an uninformed rant fuelled by a photograph of a girl who I'm sure is really quite lovely in real life and doesn't really deserve to have her image used for my self-indulgent and bitter rhetoric that probably stems back to the fact that I never made it as a model in a past life or something. 

Finally, while we're talking about seeking perfection online and offline, with mammals and without, I thought I'd proffer this excellent article from Adbusters about online communities and how they are pretty much putting so much pressure on the Japanese - who as we know are well ahead of the rest of us technologically - they are pretty much all committing suicide. Just casually.

I think if I was meeting horse-loving chat-site-visiting freaks from the bible belt of the States online, I'd probably want to kill myself as well. As it is, my little corner pretty much involves this blog and Gawker.com. Read this HILARIOUS post about the latest episode of Gossip Girl (do you indulge) if you get a moment. It's about 2ooo words (I know) presenting the most ridiculous conundrums rife in the series while at the same time blowing your socks off with its wit, purposeful spelling errors and references to teen dramas of the 1990's. Also, don't you love how this promotional shot not only references Courtney Cox et al's fountain-dwelling introduction to Friends but also maybe hints to the fact that a couple of the people in this line-up have supernatural powers and are potentially going to save New York from an apocalyptic [fashion] crisis. Ticking all the boxes, just like us, aye?

A horse is not a home

To avoid confusion, we’ve decided to obnoxiously announce our posts. So:

Kat says…

Models and fashion are generally somewhat beyond me, unfortunately. It’s tough to be critical of an industry that innately must combine so many terrifying elements to succeed (money, not gaining weight, not getting old.) Besides I don’t think I’m entitled to much of an opinion as I wear man-shirts, make others feel uneasy when I walk in heels, wear cycling shorts (with aforementioned man-shirts) in the summer and own a pair of tie-dye trousers that could only be described as what MC Hammer might have thrown on when nipping out to buy milk on a Sunday, or if he’d become a hippie. Which is definitely a possibility considering his financial ruin. He’s probably in a sect somewhere odd, drinking organic carrot juice with Annie Leibovitz.

In tandem with the disturbingly accidental philosophical enquiry into perfection (as is so consistently well articulated by the fashion industry) Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan is currently debuting around the globe. Set in the world of the New York ballet, it sees Natalie Portman’s character worked psychologically loose by the pressures of her art. Plus (slight spoiler alert) at one point she makes out with Mila Kunis, so you know, I’m excited. The trailer looks superb. I’m pretty sure the film will make it to NZ cinemas in at least 3 years, so nothing like generating a long term buzz. Thanks youtube.



In response to your earlier post - the idea of Daniel Radcliffe anywhere near a horse (even if the horse in question had recently replaced SJP on Sex and the City and acquired some sort of celebrity status) makes me a little queasy. Although such a statement would infer that I might be comfortable with somebody else, other than Daniel Radcliffe, getting up close and personal with a horse. Which, I would like to clarify, I am not. I’m now starting to sound like Bill Clinton. So for the sake of not digging my own grave, I’ll happily move on.

I say move on, but actually the idea of famous horse just triggered a memory. Last year I watched a bizarre animated Belgian film with the very modern name of A Town Called Panic, in which a horse is the central character. While it is really quite long and not particularly ground breaking it does keep you pleasantly entertained. I’m not helping my case much but it a favourite scene is the one featuring a horse-falling-love-wearing-a-scarf. With, ahem, another horse. I’d like to make that very clear.

Modelizing

OK, so I really wanted to hear your reply about how much of a babe you find Daniel Radcliffe and things, but I feel this is more important. Today I awoke to find this piece of blog action on my RSS feed and it kind of grossed me out:

She looks, and I imagine walks, speaks and acts like a child. And she's being touted as "one to watch" in the modelling world. A 13 year old child, is being touted as one to watch for her physical appearance. I find this hard to digest. I've listened and reacted to the rhetoric surrounding what is and what is not appropriate behaviour in the fashion world, but, recently, Ellen Falconer wrote a piece for me about Picture Me: A Models Diary (a movie which has just been released here) that suggests the overarching problem with the modelling industry was the age at which girls were subjected to it because:

A) By being ingratiated into an unrealistic culture at such a young age they believe it is a reality, and grow into it and its false expectations rather than growing to understand and relate to a series of realistic cultural and social standards. And, this point which I find far more important:

B) That when the industry suggests that a 13-14-15 year old girls figure is the normal and desired women's body shape it sets unrealistic standards for the rest of female society who absorb these images. I heard recently that anorexia and eating disorders were becoming overwhelmingly more common in middle-aged women, and this has got to be partly to blame. It's not just 'normal' women either. In Picture Me, international model Lisa Cant states that “a lot of the girls they are saying are anorexic are literally 14 years old. And if a girl is 14 years old and 5’9”, she will sometimes be 100 pounds and be the ideal that all of the other models have to live up to. So I think we should be keeping the younger models off runways.”

There are alternative arguments. I recently had a conversation with a very learned photographer who had grown up on philosophy and the teaching of Germaine Greer, who brought an alternate viewpoint to the table. She noted that Greer suggested that throughout history women have been sexualised at ages 12-13, usually for marriage and children, and therefore utilizing a 13 year old for the runway is nothing new or particularly controversial. 

My argument in response to that would be that our society has inherently changed. 

A) We are living longer and therefore do not need to be reproducing at age 13

B) In the last 500-or-so-years (up until I guess the beginning of the 19th Century) females roles have changed and we are not only respected for our sexual capabilities, but for our equal intelligence and place within society. 

There are so many other threads that come into this argument - the media's (blogs like the above and sensationalist glossy magazines particularly) perpetuation of such standards, the absurdity of attempting to get a 13 year old model to sell clothes to the 35 year old professional who can afford them, the fact that media's representation of society and reality are getting farther and farther removed from eachother - but I think this is a good place to start. It is such an inherent, universal standard, and the question has to be asked? When and how did we let this happen?

Or maybe it's just not that big of a deal.

We could potentially debate this more in person over red wine after seeing the movie:

And you should also read Jenna Sauers writing here, because she is an ex-New Zealander who exposed the ridiculous nature of the industry from behind-the-scenes while she was an international model and is also a very articulate journalist in her own right.

BOOM. Done.

The Unbearable Thought of a Horse as a Sex Columnist

Firstly, I'm sorry for upsetting your predisposition towards equine mammals. My curiosity for those creatures was systematically destroyed by both being kicked by one as a child and by Daniel Radcliffe shedding Griffyndor robes in favour of bestiality on the stage. I hope you won't hold this against me.

Secondly, I think a horse could have played Carrie Bradshaw far more eloquently than SJP, and perhaps  written the original columns in a more exploratory way than Bradshaw herself. Not only would a horse have had a firmer grip on what members of the opposite sex are thinking (this an assumption based on the fact that horses have an equal emotive intuition towards both sexes by being members of neither), horses are more attractive than Carrie Bradshaw and therefore would've had more opposite sex-experience to draw on in said columns. 

Although a Horse Sex Columnist would ultimately involve something highly illegal. Connundrum. 

On a lighter-slash-heavier note (appropriate considering forthcoming book), I just finished reading the Unbearable Lightness of Being. I closed its wonderfully doggy-earred pages on the bus on the way back from the North Shore yesterday morning and as I read the last sentence I was almost physically ill due it its gut-wrenching quality. This is not some attempt to sound in touch with my intellectual-emotive capacities (of which are severely lacking) rather an account of how intensely affecting that book is. Have you read it? It just ends, having stated the most poignant things about human nature. I think I'm still getting over it haha.

There is also a section in it which describes the intelligence of animals and their ability to be emotional, hence why I brought it up. What am I going to read now?

P.S: Please don't EVER diss Alanis again. This shit's powerful, thank you:

One of the girls

Amazing! This almost dispels the myth that authors should barely be seen, let alone heard. Just as well, as I needed cheering up after reading your previous post that compared Sarah Jessica Parker to various horses. As it has, in fact, made me hate horses. Although there is a part of me that believes a horse actually could’ve done a better job at playing Carrie Bradshaw, perhaps bringing a degree of dignity to her pseudo-journalistic scenes. I do however appreciate it would be cruel to make a horse wear Jimmy Choos or spend any time with Kim Cattrall.

The Sex and the City movie sadly pulled a Frankenstein on female empowerment. A series that started out as a relatively good idea eventually became a horrific monster. Unfortunately SATC seems to have done for feminism what Alanis Morissette did to the meaning of irony. As their conversations about sex got louder and louder (I always felt sorry for the other people trying to enjoy their brunch as Samantha worked her way through every single possible way to say penis) the notion of the ‘independent woman’ became so lost in clichés that the only possible way for the series to end was for it to implode in a desert. I’m not necessarily suggesting that a car chase involving Germaine Greer would have been a better alternative, but a copy of The Female Eunuch on a bedside table here and there wouldn’t have been amiss. Even, ironic. Whatever that means.

Have you seen this? Next level obsession from here on out

Horses, Horses, Horses

Kat, 

I like that you raised the cultural monstrocity of Sarah Jessica Parker. Have you seen SATC 2? It is probably the most offensive thing I have ever seen on the big screen, and, y'know, I've got a sense of humour and all. Could've been ironic. Totally wasn't.

They were banned from filming it in Abu Dhabi so preceeded to shoot in Morocco and systematically destroy every cultural sensibility held by the people of said nations. The wearing / not wearing / wearing designer-clothes-underneath their burka's was a particularly sacriligous moment, as was Miranda and Charlotte having a conversation about how impossible it would be to raise children without nannies and cooks. 

Horrendous. All I wanted to see was sweet New York jaunts and the occasional-envy worthy outfits (read: the reasons I watch Gossip Girl). What I ended up seeing was the reason why (and this was only further pronounced by the fact that a bunch of forty year old women up the back clapped at the end of the screening) females get a stereotypical wrap for being ridiculous. 

On a lighter note, this website was shown to me some time ago, and has kept me entertained everytime I'm feeling depressed about the State of popular culture and it's ability to raise these people to God-like status. Introducing, SJP as a horse:

Franzen-mania reaches new, dizzy (as induced by glasslessness) heights. That photo is an excellent example of the best-pal-potential. We even have spec-synergy, or specnergy perhaps.

On further examination of the image, I’m curious as to the two apparent cosmopolitans he has managed to put away. Considering this and the shirt he is wearing, I’m making a wild guess we were enjoying a casual after work catch up with him and Carrie Bradshaw (or Oprah.) Until he made some quip about consumerism and she dashed home to cry into her Mac book and write about how shoes are like men, are like shoes, are like dogs, are like shoes, are like men, are like New York in the fall.

This post changed tack quite rapidly. Franzen Fantasies will do that, I suppose. As will a lingering hatred of Carrie Bradshaw.

Sight and oversight seem to be haunting the poor fellow. Trust the Brits to publish an uncorrected Freedom, a bold new move in our passive aggressive chapter.

THIS IS REALLY WHY WE STARTED A BLOG

Kat, no I wasn't in London last night, unfortunately. But, if I had been I would like to think that me removing items of Jonathan Franzen's clothing would be consensual rather than theft. This article is hilarious. Who would do this? Someone awesome.

You and I both knew at some point this blog was more or less going to revolve around Franzen, The New Yorker, and hand claps. Let it begin. Here's that piece that I wrote after finishing Freedom in a week to get this review in the magazine before deadline. Such great memories of those five days.

Also, not my best work, but at least we're sitting at the same table as him:

SAVING LITERARY SPACE

When Corrections was released, Jonathan Franzen was charged with saving the Great American Novel. His new release may just do that by discounting everything Americans hold dear.

Take nine years to write a novel. Sell 2.85 million copies. Take a further three years to develop the main protagonist of your follow-up. Become the sixth writer of all time to appear on the cover of Time Magazine.  It’s not the customary route for a novelist, particularly in this technologically progressive age, but Jonathan Franzen doesn’t think much of this age. In fact, in How to be Alone (a collection of essays) he had this to say: “For every reader who dies today, a viewer is born, and we seem to be witnessing the final tipping balance.” If Freedom is anything to go by, he doesn’t think much of said viewers, either.

When everything, from website-to-blog-to-Facebook-to-Twitter, and including the novelist, is downsizing and specialising, Franzen has released two 600 page novels in a decade that are all-encompassing beasts, nothing less. They develop inherently realistic characters – likeable or not, often not – with histories and flaws and birthmarks and rituals and mistakes. These characters are then placed in a socio-political context that their character is a product of as much as the world they live within is. This is often a source of conflict.

It’s not helpful to talk about what happens in a Franzen novel, because everything happens and nothing happens. Rather, why, when everything and nothing happens does one veraciously turn the page? How does Franzen make a small encyclopaedia about one middle-American familys’ issues entertaining?

Firstly, the socio-political bent, an important part of the American landscape and a source of incredible division for its people. In Freedom there is an inherent Liberal V Conservative thematic countenance, but the decisions the characters make, to sit on either side of the D.C fence are so inherently influenced by their circumstances, and so objectively argued by Franzen that one can’t help but feel sympathetic towards a Conservative ranch owner attempting to de-forest government land for mining. Similarly, some of the Liberals (of which category this writer would consider herself) are downright annoying. Did someone say patronizing?

Secondly, every sentence is a fortune-cookied piece of philosophical advice, even if it doesn’t seem like it, even if the characters do not heed their intelligent inner monologues.

Finally, nihilism. Yes, in true Franzen fashion, everything falls apart for many of the characters in the end. And it’s heartbreaking. You have followed these people throughout their entire life; you know that they hate sex because they were raped in the High School locker room at 16. Or that they are vehemently Conservative because their parents were the aforementioned patronizing Liberal Democrats who put more onus on their relationship with politicians than their children.

But at its heart Freedom is honest. It is a very detailed snapshot of America and Americans in all their contradictory, ‘Land of the [supposed] Free’ glory, and moreover, a snapshot of human nature.

And if, as Franzen notes, people viewed less and read more, said image of human nature mightn’t be quite so harrowing.

3-Dimensional Killer Animals

Kat, that movie looks exceptional.

Never did I think that independent cinema would be able to bring Napoleon Dynamite, The Shining, Sofia Coppola's hazed-out colour bliss and my retarded D.O.C dance moved to the table for one film. Must see.

Apologies for my lack of film festival intelligence at this point (I'm starting to feel culturally inferior and you've only posted once!) but this is, without a doubt, the most entertaining film I've seen over the last few months. Yep, it's Piranha 3D. No plot, no sequential event system of any kind, just killer fish attacking bikini clad American's on Summer Break. The character development that does occur involves a physical relationship between two lesbian porn stars which ends when their breast implants become fish fodder. In 3D.

Speaking of which, two things. 

A) Why has 3-Dimensionality become a big deal all of a sudden again? I am POSITIVE Jurassic Park had a 3D element that involved those cardboard glasses, which were, to back up my point further, a staple of my childhood. The Avatar effect? A film which I haven't seen whose plot does not excite me in the slightest - blue aliens attempting to invade Earth? Another Planet? this is how much I know about this film - and which I haven't seen is potentially responsible for the re-birth of this oh-so-eighties film accompaniament. What you reckon?

B) Almost every 3D movie involves killer animals of some kind. The aforementioned Piranha and Jurassic Park. The soon-to-be-released (OMG) Harry Potter. Just sayin'. 

I'll leave you with this cute-as-a-button image of 3D eyewear, how it should be:

Blame the parents

Uh-oh. Deranged children? Too much time spent watching catwalk shows at fashion week. I don’t find the mania quite as magnetic, especially considering I’ve never actually managed to watch The Shining with both eyes open. I’m equally not a fan of murderous teenagers. I don’t want to know what anyone did last summer, and I don’t have a favourite scary movie.

But having said all this, I recently watched Dogtooth. A great Greek film centred on the notion of children, driven into states of derangement by their parents. Highly recommended. It is stunningly shot, disturbingly controlled and would give Freud a heart attack, or at the very least make him quit his day job and start a glam rock band.

The dance scene (second link) is like nothing you’ve ever witnessed. It generates the same emotions I’d previously assumed could only be felt upon discovering an ex secretly collects doll heads; a combination of (enduring) love, fear and cat killing curiosity. I never thought I’d see myself type it with such sincerity, but I wish there was a 3D version. There, I crossed over. Hello dark side. Better go and buy Avatar I suppose. Maybe start a discussion about blu-ray and HD with the salesperson. I think I’ll be able to pull it off if I just keep repeating the phrase ‘fresh perspective.’

Anyway, have a watch.

DERANGED

Every time I go online to source imagery I'm drawn towards disturbing images of children, twins or deranged child-like women. What is my problem? 

And I'm similarly listening to Wilbirds and Peacedrums, a Scandinavian duo whose female vocalist sounds like a possessed poltergeist, have just finished writing a review of Dear Time's Waste's new album Spells which conjures people like Batrider (the brainchild of fucked-up Australian poet Sarah Chadwick) and the number one album I'm anticipating this month is Warpaint's full-length. 

Problem.

ADAPTATION

KAT, you know how we are obsessed with such things as Franzen and HP? This is my latest stream of over-indulgence (I think you will want to hand-hug me for this one):

I became obsessed with Susan Orlean, Charlie Kauffman and (believe it or not) Nicholas Cage, after reading a book on my trip to the States earlier this year called The New New Journalism.

Based around the idea that Thom Wolfe re-invented the journalism industry by incorporating real-world events into fictional novels, it suggested we had reached the second phase of this genre, whereby writers (specifically those enigmatic, intellectual babe writers from The New Yorker) took super specific areas of interest and wrote in-depth, somewhat true, somewhat false features on them. Writers who fit into this category? Eric Schlosser, Leon Dash and Jane Kramer who wrote books like Into the Wild. Most of these novels have been turned into feature films due to their amazing storytelling and ability to connect on a personal level. Enter Susan Orlean.

Orlean wrote a book called The Orchid Theif, which revolves around one particularly obsessed gardener whose life mission is to discover the 'Ghost Orchid' which apparently has only been seen by a handful of people. What begins as curiosity turns into depression and self-doubt as Orlean becomes jealous of said greenfingers, realizing that nothing in her life inspires or excites as much as orchids do for this character. It's then recounted exceptionally by the attempt of Charlie Kauffman (Cage) to adapt this novel into a screenplay in the moveAdaptation (must watch again, and again).  His depression at being able to bring the intensity of the Orchid-o-phile's obsession to the pages of his screenplay mirrors the downfall of Orlean's own feelings and brings to light such casual things as the ridiculousness of life, what things we should care about and why we are so focused on the things that we are. 

The overall plot of Adaptation / The Orchid Thief is so simple: This dude is obsessed with this one thing, but the way in which both Orlean and Kauffman handle it bring to light such significant human issues one can't help but be inspired by the aforementioned Ghost Orchid and its so-called mystical powers.

Bring on being this inspired by anything. As a result of becoming obsessed (alright, not thatobsessed) with these creatives, I have become inspired by things like cactuses, green (note aforementioned post), gardening, alphabetizing my collections and fauning over them, and imagery that evokes ridiculous plant-ness. Perks and Mini collages, probably the best thing ever:

GREEN WITH ENVY

The post fashion week buzz is almost over, and we are left with purified reviews and catwalk imagery, so we can get a step closer to the trends that have emerged for Winter 2011. And I'm feeling green. Salasai was without a doubt my favourite interpretation of this - all mint green wools kilts and digital printed forest scenarios - while Cybele and Ruby pulled mossy, nineties tones off with aplomb. 

Speaking of the nineties, it's that very visceral, organic back-to-nature green we're talking. Digital print longsleeved Survival tees from Glassons or some equally time-sensitive skate brand? They're back baby.

THE COME DOWN

This week Real Groove announced it was 'merging' with The Groove Guide to deliver a more impressive weekly street press. Realistically, New Zealand's best music magazine is closing its doors on a long history of uncompromising coverage and obsessive fandom, having lost an uphill battle to a tough market. And they're not the only ones.

Magazines are dead, in New Zealand anyway. I have witnessed a decline in the published word and image through two scenarios of closed magazines. Firstly, Fluro Magazine, a print publication three friends and myself ran throughout university and beyond closed its doors after eleven issues due to inadequate advertising revenue. Secondly, Pulp Magazine, of which I was Editor for just one issue (which never saw the light of day) failed to see Spring 2010 into fruition, having lost Double Page Spreads from glossy brands. The two represent very different scenarios. 

At Fluro we were inherently niche, and whole-heartedly refused to sacrifice editorial content for advertising dollar. The brands who advertised with us formed an inherent relationship with our content and therefore our readers, until, that is, the internet did niche better. Pulp Magazine on the other hand was an Australasian-distributed magazine, for whom advertising included big brands, those big brands expecting editorial in response to their hard-spent cash. While we weren't as obvious as many of the glossy publications, there were certainly editorial sacrifices made to please said advertisers. Until those advertisers either decided to do it better themselves (online and through other more strategic marketing campaigns) or with others.

To me, the former - Fluro Magazine - presents a much better scenario in terms of the advertiser-editorial relationship. Firstly, the readership of any publication, particularly these days - a niche group of people who completely understand the culture they are buying into - aren't stupid, and can attribute an article about an advertiser to the advertising dollars spent on the Double Page Spread that accompanies it. Editorial needs to build a relationship with the reader, and trying to trick them is not the way. Culvating the relationship with quality content, and bringing the advertisers who place ads along for the ride, however, is. Shame the advertisers don't see it this way.

I feel that when I originally picked up Real Groove it was like Fluro - had a loyal readership as a result of an uncompromising tradition. But as advertising dollars became scarce and those corporate brands required what the business calls "Added Value" in the form of advertorial, they potentially lost a lot of that loyalty. It's a Catch-22: advertisers demand advertorial directed at a reader who doesn't want it. No-one can blame a magazine for trying to stay afloat in this way - advertisements print the pages after all - but it does seem a somewhat nihilistic track.

This is a conundrum that has afflicted every publication worldwide, the only difference being that niche publications whose enlightened and engaged audience borders on fandom, are more inherently aware of every page and therefore uncompromising when they realise they are being jipped. More mainstream audiences have a clear advertiser - editorial crossover, have  always done so, and sell magazines based on / in spite of this.

Our Antipodean situation has to be to blame too. Firstly, our market is simply too small for the number of niche publications we have, and secondly, because of the expense of sending magazines offshore, a publication can neither gain audience nor advertisers from those off-shore markets. There's only so many magazine readers and buyers here, and when those numbers dwindle, there's no-where else to go.

Finally the internet. Even when a publication like Fluro Magazine was filled with advertising, were were vehemently trying, and ultimately failing to compete with online rivals. The internet has changed the way we do absolutely everything yes, but it has more vehemently changed the playing field for those industries where going online made things cheaper and easier. Namely information sharing in all its avenues. Namely print. 

Especially in terms of niche, the internet (and these words seem rehearsed and recounted) can simply provide more specific information to a more specific audience in a more time-sensitive manner. An article regarding the semi-collapse of our print industry probably won't ever hit newstands, but there is a miriad of contemplative moments all over cyberspace.

Music has been the other 'Loser' in the online battle and one could argue that Real Groove's cross-over of both print and music affected its downfall. The blogosphere is alive with time-specific information about every new band worldwide, why would one buy a publication (with quality, in-depth articles and interesting opinion-based columns I might add) when they can simply log on for free.

Ultimately it's only two magazines. But it's not really the publications we loose - back to tose brackets up there. With every avenue for quality, paid writing and photography disappearing immaculately fast, the question as to what type of information we will be forced to consume across the board is the real food for thought. I, for one, am getting sick of seven-second opinion-based soundbites.

Aren't you?