Opinionated? Me?

woah another one!

2011-09-29T10:36:00.001-07:00

Instructions to make this here. So fucking cool I can't even.

DIY skirts and dresses

2011-09-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

Woah, three posts in one day. Slow down, girl!

But yeah, since I'm broke I can't afford clothes. But I have a major hippie sensibility and love long skirts and dresses. If anyone knows any good (free) sewing patterns I would be, like, eternally grateful.

panorama fuck up

2011-09-29T10:05:00.001-07:00

me and my friend jenn were attempting to use the panorama feature on her camera and royally fucked it up. the result, however, is pretty cool!

an update from Danielle land

2011-09-29T09:37:00.001-07:00

Sup gangstas. Long time no chat.

Since we last spoke, I've started my junior year of high school. Which may not seem that impressive to you guys, but it's pretty significant. not only is the 11th grade widely considered the grade a student is most likely to off themselves, but it's also the grade where we are forced to consider life after the dimly lit hallways of high school. This year also happens to be the year I decided the college I want to go to (New Hampshire Institute of Art, required gpa: 2.7 yearly tuition: 18,600). It's the year I have all but abandoned my tomboy, book wormy ways (well, not really. I just wear dresses now!) It's the year I have fully embraced ritualistic high school gatherings (bonfires, parties, sinking into the couch at some kid's basement, bumming around outside the local 711 and harassing passerby's...) It's the year I have developed my addiction to thrift stores and vintage cameras and DIY accessories and coffee and tea. But most importantly, it's the year I began to take art - a casual hobby my entire life - seriously. When my doodle filled math notebooks have been replaced with moleskin sketch pads and every fully developed drawing has been considered for The Portfolio. It's the year I began my transformation from sarcastic, boot-wearing tomboy to sarcastic, boot wearing hipster.

Sure, I've still been reading. I would be lying if I said I was too busy to review those books, too. Because, really, I have nothing better to do. I just lack the incentive. Truly.

Whatever. The point is, I feel bad for leaving this blog abandoned. I'm making a promise to you, my loving, devoted followers, that I will update at least once a month. It may be about books, it may be about clothes (because I am a teenage girl now), it may be about my growing obsession with getting into art school (if anyone has any tips for building my portfolio, things to beef up my application, etc, drop a line!), it may just be a shitty scan of some fucked up pin up girl I doodled during AP Psych. But it will be something. Pinky promise.

In summary, I am also looking for visual art-related blogs. DIY, thrift hunters, painters, illustrators, I welcome them all! If anyone knows of any good ones, please feel free to promote the shit out of it in the comments.

Cool.

on idiot parents with internet access

2011-06-30T04:29:00.000-07:00

first of all, i am well aware that i have not posted anything in a long time, and i could give you an excuse but, let's face it, you don't fucking care. second of all, i am equally well aware that each and every one of you are entitled to your opinions, just as i am to mine. however.

there's this article. it's kind of dumb. okay, it's really dumb. and i just can't even begin to point out every flawed argument in it. so i will just zero in on one, which also happens to be the one that is driving me fucking insane.

this woman, this miz gurdon, wrote at length her disappointment with the YA world, explaining how the content is irresponsible and damaging, how the publishers are only looking out to move papers and the authors are looking to shock (at least, that's how i read it). she wrote how i, a young girl of sixteen, could read something like Scars by Cheryl Rainfield and suddenly get the idea to slice up my arms in a self mutilating fashion. but wait, that is not the focus of the article--no, if it were about the welfare of us children, i would hardly be taking the time to blabber on about it. no no, what tickles MY pissy bones is that this miz gurdon is not so much concerned for the children as she is the parents of these children. she wants to know why adults can't be comfortable with the books their teens are reading. she wants to know why parents aren't given more control over what is published and marketed to their youngsters. she wants to know why she, as a mother, can't decide what words her daughter can allow to soil her precious little mind. well, miz gurdon, i have a pretty easy answer:

the book is not for you.

young adult novels are not written for a young adults parents; they are not written to please and pacify. they are written to verify something no one else thinks is real; they are written to immortalize a day and age, a lifestyle. they are written to make some lonely kid out there feel like they're not completely alone in the world. they are written for the most vulnerable people out there. which is not you, miz gurdon. so get you self righteous ass of that poor high horse you're sitting on and take care of your own kids instead of worrying about everyone else's. kthanks.

I'M GOING TO SEE AMANDA PALMER

2011-06-02T17:12:00.001-07:00

The day after the last day of school in Hobokon with my sister and possibly my best friend in the whole wide world Zuri.

rhgnrohm;wlmnrlhn i'm so excited.

on stupid Madonna nicknames

2011-04-19T12:49:00.001-07:00

Being a pop culture junkie, I read a lot of Perez Hilton. As I've mentioned before, he fills me with a burning hatred I usually reserve for dictators and raisons. But he's not alone in his ignorance; no no, it seems that every celebrity gossip website is (shockingly!) retarded.

I'm referring to the ridiculous Madonna dub, "Madge".

I'm assuming this is a reference to Mary Madgeline. Who is not, nor ever is, the Madonna. That would be the Virgin Mary.

Mary Madgeline was a hooker. Madonna was Jesus' virginal mother.

Okay?

Okay.

guess who's a permitted driver?

2011-03-23T14:32:00.001-07:00

that's right, THIS GUY:

Guest Blogger: Estevan Vega, author of Arson and When Colors Bleed

2011-03-21T15:28:00.000-07:00

WHEN COLORS BLEED is a collection of short stories by the author of ARSON. This collection features three unique stories with universal themes of love, loss, and regret. Watch the colors bleed.

As you might remember, I read and was slightly un impressed with Estevan Vegan's YA debut, Arson. My awfulness has, thankfully, not deterred the lad and not only has he written up this legit list of his five favs, but has given me the opportunity to review his next one, When Colors Bleed (review out soon!). Check it out.

1. I am Legend by Richard Matheson was awesome. This one's way better than the Will Smith version. Or the other film versions that came before it. The only downside to this killer vampire novel is that when it gets really, really cool, the book ends. But I guess this was Richard Matheson's idea, to keep you on the edge of your seat and leave you there, waiting, wanting. If you don't know Matheson, he has produced many stellar works both in print and film. He has worked on a ton of Twilight Zone episodes, most of which rock! So definitely check out I am Legend and then get your Twilight Zone fix.

2. The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I love this book for its concept and its simplicity. It isn't crazy vulgar, but it definitely stays with you, gets under you skin, and breaks your heart many times. I loved the dialog. One word replies and simple but frightening questions. The story is about a father traveling on a road with his son after a nuclear catastrophe and the mother is dead. It's scary without being horror. And I loved it.

3. The Giver by Lois Lowry. This one I had always wanted to read. I never got around to it until recently, though, and maybe that's for the better. I don't think I would've appreciated it as much if I had read it when I was younger. It's funny how novels with messed-up futures are beginning to mirror our own society more and more. This one's about a society who can't see color. One man holds the memories of the past and he's about to pass his powers onto some young kid who isn't sure if he's ready for the responsibility. It's a cool novel. One to check out.

4. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Not only are they making a new movie about this, which I'm half-stoked for, but this book is a classic and it's good. You know how you read some classics in school and they suck? Well, I didn't really feel that with Gatsby. I especially loved the ending. It's very me. Go check this one out. If you've read my last novel, ARSON, you know there's a connection between Gatsby and him.

5. ARSON by Estevan Vega. No explanation necessary. If you haven't read it yet, you better, because part dos in the ARSON series is coming soon.

Thanks for stoppin' by, good buddy!

What i don't get is

2011-03-14T19:52:00.000-07:00

politics has become so fervently about individuals when the government itself was made to protect people.

so how is it everyone is debating none stop when we should all just stop and think WHAT IS GOOD FOR PEOPLE?

seriously. this is kindergarten stuff, guys.

OBEY

2011-02-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

You should all go out and buy Obey clothing. This is not a paid advertisement. Really, it's not.

As described by her:

Since 1989, the Obey street art campaign has become an important urban phenomenon, subconsciously touching those well aware of their environment. Through the vision of Shepard Fairey, Obey has evolved into one of the most controversial yet influential symbols of the 21st century. Derived from Andre the Giant, a pop-culture athlete in the eighties, the Obey icon has been bombed in developed and rural cities around the world. Its ambiguous idea immediately sparks philosophical discussion and ultimately motivates the inner-person through active participation.

I was at Metro Park last night and saw that they had an entire table devoted to the line and, guys, ALMOST PISSED MY PANTS WITH JOY. But then I saw the price labels and proceeded to not piss my pants with joy.

Whatever. Here's some pictures.

Interview with Karen Metcalf, author of In the Storm

2011-02-22T19:37:00.000-08:00

Karen Metcalf is the debut author of science fiction novella, In the Storm. She graciously stopped by to answer some of my pestering questions, so let's give'r a hand!

What inspired you to write In the Storm?

I wanted to write something that reflected my love of thunderstorms, and explored the relationship between brother and sister.

Your main character, Carly, lives in an abusive household. What made you want to incorporate this kind of storyline into your novel?

I knew that anger would have something to do with Carly’s ability to cross over. I also knew she was very independent, and pretty much the only one raising Mitch. I just needed someone to make her angry enough, and that’s where Richard came from.

This is your first novel. Was it difficult to make publishers take notice?

When I first wrote it I went on a few writing forums, and a lot of people stopped reading when they saw it was a novella. They told me it was too short to publish, and I couldn’t really get any other feedback. That was pretty frustrating. I knew the chances of publishing it as a stand-alone piece were pretty slim. I began to submit to magazines, and stumbled upon my publisher’s magazine, The Battered Suitcase. I noticed they were looking to publish novellas, and gave it a shot.

What got you into writing? Into the supernatural?

I’ve always loved to write; especially poetry when I was younger. I wrote a few short stories between high school and college, but this was my first attempt at something longer. But I’ve always had a deep passion for reading, and have always been fascinated with sci-fi and horror. When I began reading YA a few years ago, I realized there are a lot of similarities between those genres and YA.

What are some of your main influences?

I love Stephen King. I don’t think a lot of people realize how wide his range of writing is. He has gone all over the board from pure horror, sci-fi, non-fiction, young adult, short stories… the list just goes on and on. He is a huge inspiration.

You have to sell In the Storm over Twitter--130 characters or less. Go!

A teenage girl’s anger transports her to a limbo world between dimensions.

One book, one movie and one TV show.

The Long Walk (Stephen King), Pride & Prejudice (2005), Fringe

Advice for young writers?

Keep at it! Not everyone will like what you write, and sometimes that includes you. Submit until someone says yes.

What do you hope to convey with your work?

I hope I have introduced at least a semi-new concept to my readers. If nothing else, I hope that it at least made someone think twice, or ask a few more questions. I would love to know it was a conversation starter.

Thanks for stopping by!

Thanks for having me!

Make sure to pick up In the Storm (I'm reading it now--it's a good'n!)

Jesus is fascinating....

2011-02-20T20:33:00.001-08:00

....not in a religious sense. The historical sense. All the ways you can interpret the bible and Jesus and God.

I have a theory:

Jesus was crazy.

That's controversial.

I don't care.

Listen: He heard the voice of god. He maintained that he heard the voice of god until his painful death by crucifixion. He thought his mother was a virgin.

Dude was crazy.

Another interesting thing is the relationship between Jesus and Mary; we tend to think of Jesus as this grown ass man dying for humanity and Mary as his perfect, virginal mother. But. He was also a little boy between the nativity and the passion. A little boy with a mother who had been told at some point that he was to die so everyone, everyone, could be redeemed. He was a little boy who's mother loved him. And then he was a grown man who's mother loved him. And then his mother had to watch him flogged and humiliated and nailed to a cross he had to carry a mile into his execution site.

I think Mary went crazy.

I'm not an expert or anything, but what information do we get about Mary after Jesus rises? None. Bitch went crazy. But then, I would too. My son just died because his baby daddy decided to sacrifice him for all of humanity.

She went crazy.

So, to summarize, everyone from the Bible probably went crazy at some point. I say this with the most respect possible.

Passion of the Christ made me cry.

Last Temptation of Christ reminded me of Donnie Darko.

And

um

I'm tired

ignore this.

Why I Used to Love Dystopia.

2011-02-20T20:15:00.000-08:00

(and why I hate it now)

Unless you've been living under a particularly heavy rock over the last year or so, you might have noticed the sudden influx of teen dystopian novels hitting books shelves. To even the most casual of apocalypse fans, this would be fantastic news. To me, a hardcore end of the world junkie, this would be TA BEST NEWS EVAH. Except it's not. Painfully so.

It's kind of like hipster syndrome; once everyone starts liking something, it's not cool anymore. But in my case, my new-found distaste for the genre is something completely different; it has nothing to do with it's popularity and everything to do with the soul crushing blandness these new books have been churning out, the similarities with their more successful predecessors unbearably reminding readers what these new authors simply CAN NOT DO; write a soulful book about the end of the world.

So, dear authors of shitty dystopia; I am done.

i've just been awful...

2011-02-13T13:48:00.000-08:00

...with reviewing as of late. My review pile has, well, piled up and I feel positively ashamed. There are probably some publishers out there who have blacklisted me and some authors who wish me to die a thousand painful and bookless deaths. But I have excuses. Really.

My workload for school is ridiculous. About four to five hours a night, if I actually apply myself. This is the year my colleagues all turn sixteen, so I'm attending, like, three every weekend. There's a zit the size of my big toe on my lip and I spent a good amount of time staring at it. I'm starting driving lessons. I just had midterms. We have netflix, now (ask my sister's highly profitable film blog). We're reading/annotating/shredding the joy from Huckleberry Finn in English, four chapters a night, not to mention weekly vocab quizzes (WITH NO WORD BANK). I can't seem to focus on anything for more then a few minutes. And I feel like shit about it, guys. I do. Not because I can't read as much as I like, but because of all the publishers and authors who are expecting some publicity for their books that I'm not providing. So dudes, I apologize.

yeah Egypt yeah!

2011-02-12T09:38:00.000-08:00

[unpronounceable president name] stepped down! This makes me monumentally happy for reasons I can't quite identitfy. Maybe it's because Egypt is number four on my Top Ten Most Fascinating Cultures.

Also, here's an awesome quote found on Alana's site:

“There should be a drug class, there should be sex education, there should be a class on scams, there should be a class on religious cults, there should be a class on police brutality, there should be a class on Apartheid, there should be a class on racism in America, there should be a class on why people are hungry, but there not, they’re classes on… gym.”
—-Tupac Shakur

Did I mention I recently did a project on Tupac's god-grand-aunt-thing Assata Shakur for black history month?

Yeah, that's all for now.

P.S. Read the AV Club's review for the Glenn Beck Program. It's actually quite fascinating and offers a completely different look on an otherwise universally mocked figure.

why can't anyone ever just be "whelmed"?

2011-02-07T20:13:00.000-08:00

DID I MENTION YOUNG JUSTICE IS MY FAVORITE SHOW EVER?

well, it is.

Superman is such a nutcruncher.

Should Robin be included in the Dark Knight Rises?

2011-02-07T16:27:00.000-08:00

Because I'm a nerd and this is important.

Everyone's been getting their knickers in a twist at the thought of Robin/Dick Grayson/Tim Drake/godforbid Jason Todd appearing in the nest Batman movie. And though Chris Nolan has already made it clear Robin will NOT be appearing in any of his movies, speculation continues and I, being the only Batman fan in anywhere who actually digs Robin (mostly because of Teen Titans), could not be any more excited at the prospect.

I have some theories:

1) Our Lord and Savior Joseph Gordon-Levitt has been cast in an unknown role. Putting aside the fact that this presents a killer make out opportunity for him and Tom Hardy, let us not ignore the physical similarities between he and Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, aka Robin ALL GROWN UP.

Lookin' good thur, Arthur.

'Nuff said.

2) As previously stated, Tom Hardy has been cast in the final Batman film, as a little ol' guy named BANE.

Yes, that Bane.

Here's the theory:

Bane comes in, does his Bane thing, 'roid rages the shit out of Gotham until Noble Batman intervenes. Bane breaks his back, leaving both Batman and Bruce Wayne paralized and Selena Kyle (being played by Anne Hathaway, who I imagine will be a smexy background character for the duration of the film) is implied to become Catwoman while, in response to an early attempt at adoption (to keep is cover, naturally) Bruce Wayne finally comes upon a young orphan to take in. The movies ends with this young lad introducing himself;

"Hi, I'm Dick Grayson."

SCENE.

Seriously, someone should hire me.

Things I Learn in Digital Photography

2011-02-07T15:41:00.000-08:00

Which is, to say, absolutely nothing. But then, it's only the second day. Our homework assignment was to go home and take pictures of little things around your house. The teacher's word's were "get to know your camera". Whatever. I thought I'd share some of the least suckish.
Keep in mind that none of these have been edited, I have zero experience and I was using a cheap ass Canon I borrowed from the school.

Meme: What got you started?

2011-02-01T15:43:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by that douchebag Molly to participate in a fucking meme. Has the internet no morals?

Here's the description:

What got you started? What made you read science fiction or watch romantic comedies or play guitar-thrashing punk? Everything has an origin, and I want to know what it is.

I'm assuming this is referring to my reading habits, which are uneven and sporadic but prominent nonetheless.
I think I started reading as obsessively as I did because no one really wanted me to. I mean, my first real experience with rebellion was in first grade; I was in the lower reading class because reading was boring and I hated it. I just so happened to be obsessed with the Olsen twins during this time, so I brought in one of their books to read. If I was being honest with myself, I'd say there was like fourty percent of the first three pages that I actually understood, but I faked it because, compared to the picture books everyone was toking, I looked like a fucking mobster genius, heard?
My teacher pulled me aside and did this thing where she made me read out loud and if there were five words I couldn't pronounce, she would take the book away. I slipped up on the word "envelope" and "locket" and the book was gone. This infuriated me. I came home bitching to anyone that would listen. My sister, during a trip to Borders, who was a much bigger reader then I was and had already worked her way through an entire box of Babysitter's Club books our neighbor had given us, brought me to the bookstore isles and handed me a copy of Baily School Kids.

To my teacher's dismay and my rapterous delight, I did not have to fake read it; it was enthralling, yo. An entire world of sticking it to the man and ten year old crime solvers was opened up and the rest, as they say, was history.

Sorry that was so half assed. My head hurts.

I'M TAGGING...
Sister, Four of Them
Alana, Random Thoughts of a Crazy Liberal
Robby, Once Upon a Book Blog
Brent, Naughty Book Kitties

Someone please explain to me....

2011-01-30T20:04:00.001-08:00

what the hell is going on in Egypt? Something about the internet?

i am not a human being

2011-01-29T09:52:00.001-08:00

Book Review: Please Ignore Vera Dietz by A.S. King

2011-01-29T08:45:00.000-08:00

Title: Please Ignore Vera Dietz

Author: A.S. King

Pages: 336

Received from: library

Summary:

Vera’s spent her whole life secretly in love with her best friend, Charlie Kahn. And over the years she’s kept a lot of his secrets. Even after he betrayed her. Even after he ruined everything.

So when Charlie dies in dark circumstances, Vera knows a lot more than anyone—the kids at school, his family, even the police. But will she emerge to clear his name? Does she even want to?

Edgy and gripping, Please Ignore Vera Dietz is an unforgettable novel: smart, funny, dramatic, and always surprising.

Vera delivers pizzas. She is also the neighbor of Charlie Kahn, son of a wife-beater and a doormat. She is the daughter of an ex-alcoholic and an ex-stripper. If she does not continue to deliver pizzas, the ex-alcoholic says, she, too, will become an ex-stripper. The ex-stripper is gone, left for Vegas. This is all anyone is in Vera Dietz; what they did and what they have done and how likely they are to do it again. Charlie's dad is a raging, violent assbag so Charlie will become one too; Vera's father was a drinker so Vera will become one too.

At a young age, she has to get a job to learn the value of money. She has to do well in school. She can not date, lest she become an unwed teenage whore like her mother. She can not drink, lest she become unrepentant drunk virtually disowned by her family, like her father. And she must, please, ignore what goes on next door, lest she make something like that her business. These are the lessons her well-meaning father has given her.

But Charlie Kahn lives next door. He and Vera are best friends. Vera loves him. Charlie loves her. But Vera has the slut-genes and Charlie has the asshole-genes so they can't. Eventually, shit happens in the form of bitchy juvenile delinquents and Charlie and Vera spend their last year hating each other, one running from their destiny and the other giving in to it. Charlie dies. Horrible accusations are placed at his grave. Vera knows differently, but she won't say anything; now Charlie won't leave her alone.

This is a sad book. I feel like that's the only description I can muster; it's sad, maybe even disturbing, in it's depiction of friends who hate each other and kids running from things that won't happen. It makes me sad just thinking about it, because you, as the reader, can easily map out everything Vera and Charlie did wrong but it wouldn't matter even if you could run up to the characters and slap them in the face; it's easy to tell a kid they won't be an alcoholic but if that's what they know, undeniably know, then it's just empty promises. King writes so perfectly in this thing. She depicts Vera's loneliness and fear in an often apathetic, matter-of-fact monotone, completely undramatic, completely realistic. She's crafted one of those "thinker" books, that you apply to real life and the world outside the Pagoda and that makes me happy, though I won't be thinking about it. I don't have the energy.

In the words of Book Smugglers' Ana, "please don’t ignore this gem of a book."

Rating: 10

Assorted Things That Are Important to Me (but probably not to you)

2011-01-26T20:20:00.001-08:00

Today in school, we had our first midterm. Biology, which is a nightmare. Membranes of membranes of cell membranes, enzymes and photosynthesis, so many words that don't make sense. I studied for a week straight, I've been studying constantly all year and I am still unable to grasp these theories. It's the first time in my entire life I've felt genuinely stupid.

But anyway, the midterm was terrible. All these questions that were so unbearably foreign, long words that I've never seen before. I was close to crying. My nose was running. I walked out of the room with my friend rubbing my shoulders and telling me it would all be okay even though we both know that I will be in summer school, I'll be in this class next year, I will not graduate because of CP biology.

I went to my counselor's office and she told me she thought there was something wrong with me. I'm perpetually and drastically unorganized, I can't think about one thing for more then a minute or so, nothing can hold my attention other then a good book and romantic comedies. My eyes twitch if you look at them for very long. I need coffee more then I need most things and I smell like smoke all the time. The only way I can talk to people is if I'm talking about anything other then myself, telling funny stories or weird facts that has worked well with me so far, except my teacher did this thing where she simulated a college interview and I went into this big speech about food quality in the UK when she asked me what my priorities were. My counselor wants to know if she can call my mom to get me tested for some kind of learning disorder and I said no, because my mother would get that smug look on her face anytime it's implied that I'm wrong about anything because, really, she is a smug person. She doesn't believe it, but my sister agrees, and my dad agrees, which pisses me off because I really don't want to have anything in common with my dad.

I want to get tattoos and piercings and clothes and books and drugs and coffee and all these things that I can't because the hiring rate for the under-eighteen crowd is zero to none in my area. My friends and I had to panhandle for bus money the other day. We had to catch a ride with a stranger who smelled like pot and put his hand on our friend Ally's leg.

My best friend in the whole world wants to kill herself. My ex boyfriend is addicted to drugs. They both want me to help them and I can't and it's making me want to cry all the time.

I want to vote. I want to consent to my own medical attention. I want to go to a police station without someone wanting to call my mom. I want to walk down the halls of my school and have no one remember me. I want to weigh ninety pounds. I want money and I'm afraid what I'll do to get it one day. I'm afraid I'll fail, I'm afraid I've already failed. I'm afraid my life is over because that's what they've told me. I'm afraid no one likes me. I'm afraid that the monster under my bed will crawl out and tell me I'm not worth it and go to the house next door. I'm afraid I'm not a good enough writer to write or painter to paint, I'm afraid I'll never be as good as everyone else and they'll all leave me behind because there's something right with their brains that allows them to understand. I'm afraid I'm the only one who cares about anything and I'm afraid I don't care enough. I'm afraid everyone will just give up on making things better and I'll have to send my kids out into this world. I'm afraid I'll wake up one morning and everyone will be gone, swallowed by the sky and sucked into another world where there happier and I'm stuck with their shells down here, poking them with sticks and begging them to talk to me. I'm afraid I look like an old lady already, with my saggy eyes and melting face and fat ass and dry hair and chapped lips and tight jaw. I'm afraid I talk too much, like I am now. I'm afraid people will look back at my life years from now and laugh at what a fuck up I was.

I wrote something on my tumblr about my neighbor.

A neighbor and her friend, two in the same. Very best of friends. Dying their hair outrageous colors because they think it will earn them the street credibility required to sit outside the Hot Topic, roam the mall with their rich girl wallets and pretending like they’re the misfits, the outsiders, the sad and desolate girls who laugh like jackals and surround themselves only with people who will fawn over their new shirt with the band name splashed across their chest in neon pinks and greens. They write suicide notices on their facebooks and myspaces, bragging about their white girl misery, the suicide pack that will never be fulfilled, making a mockery of those who originated the pink highlights whom they know look at with contempt, the real punk that they mock for it’s difference. They are devoid of self-awareness, the ability to loom overhead and look at themselves—not at what makes them unique, but what makes them terrible. What makes the chubby black girl from Queens roll her eyes and the pierced originator of their styles spit their names out like rotten egg yolk. What makes Jamaicans and Indians and Venezuelans spit in the face of America, what makes the emo bands reject their given label, what makes the dirty kids lying on the sidewalk with their loud, metallic music hate themselves. It is this neighbor and her friend that make Suburbia such a shameful place to hail from. It is why the teenage girl from this school or that street unable to be who they want to be, for fear of being placed in the same category as these serial-dating wannabes with their “ironic” tiaras and carefully applied makeup and loyal band of kiss asses and their melodic copycat bands that befoul the name of punk. PUNK, a rebellious counterculture that is unable to be what it once was because of THEM, the mean girls disguised as outsiders. We don’t like them. Only they like them. And there are simply too many of them for this country’s youth to take itself back.

I don't like people who complain on their facebooks. Is this any better?

I love music so much I'm afraid one day I'll just stop everything, sit down, put on my headphones and never get back up.

My ipod has 11,000 songs.

My mom got a kindle. I can read my ebook review copies now. This makes me happy.
Except I don't read anymore. As in, I'm reading my comfort books. Books of my childhood, Jane Austen and Skellig and S.E. Hinton and Matilda and the Wayside series and this new chick, Staceyann Chin, whose fucking gorgeous. I'm also reading John Dies At the End. I wish I had half of my sister's books. I wish I could stop wanting things. I wish I would stop writing this.

Here are some names.
Henry Darger
Henry Parke-Harrison
Guy Bourdin
Riikka Kuittinen
Native Americans
Staceyann Chin
Diane Arbus
Michael Cisco
Mary Ellen Mark

Discuss.

Angels and Airwaves' Love

2011-01-16T17:41:00.000-08:00

I don't care if it's some lameass vanity project, I love the band and I love outer-frikken-space. Check it.

after watching Skins series one...

2011-01-16T13:13:00.001-08:00

I've decided Chris is the most tragic character of the last twenty years.

on the Jersey Shore

2011-01-13T19:36:00.000-08:00

Why the fuck is Sammi such a bitch?

Mary Ellen Mark, Tyler Shields and Guy Bourdin

2011-01-12T19:11:00.000-08:00

Tyler Shields, whose pretty famous for taking those pictures of Lindsey Lohan with a gun.

Guy Bourdin

Mary Ellen Mark, who I recently saw on that Jeff Bridges special. She became semi-famous for her series of pictures of homeless teens in Seattle.

And this one, which I've been seeing everywhere since I was about thirteen and can never find the photographer who took it.

Takato Yamamoto: Divertimento for a Martyr

2011-01-12T19:04:00.000-08:00

I want this art book so badly.

Jesse James (the outlaw, not the husband)

2011-01-12T17:25:00.000-08:00

I have a paper to write on Jesse James for English class, though that's not what this post is about, not really.

The paper was originally about a person, their dream and how they achieved it. This was the most exciting thing to hit out little worlds in quite some time, seeing as this was an Honors English class and in my school, Honors is Serious Buisness filled with long words and extensive grammer reviews and ancient literature analysis and essays (lots. of. essays.) So we were all like "yay!"

And then as she explained to us the credentials--annotated bibliography, minimum eighteen sources, reasearch, little pieces of paper telling us just HOW MANY WAYS we can accidently plagiarize--our enthusiasm, much like our will to live, began to deterioriate.

Listen to me: this is why drop out rates are so high in America. Everything interesting we as a people have ever come up with as been chewed up and spit up by the US educational system.

Maybe it's just me; I've been haphazardly placed in an honors class, even though I have mediocre grades and virtually no work ethic, working around kids who have been conditioned to be doctors and scientists since the first grade. Ive always been the kid to do my homework on the bus ride to school, if at all. Assignment due Monday have been started on Sunday night. Essays are half-assed and handed in with hot sauce smeared on the edges. I am not a School Person. So maybe school isn't made for me, and I'm not the type the school itself aims to improve (now that I'm sixteen, I'm beginning to get the feeling my guidence counsler is pushing drop out forms in my direction....) But for reals, you guys. How many people can honestly say they enjoy going to school? How many go to learn? How many can HONESTLY SAY they have come out of high school with some working knowledge of the universe?

But that's the thing. I have not once been told I'm learning this because I need it to surivive. It's always "this will be on the test" or "you'll do this in college". Well, here's a secret fucking teacher:

I DO NOT WANT TO LEARN FOR COLLEGE.

Okay.

Jesse James.

Cool dude.

Perez Hilton Can Suck My Dick

2011-01-12T10:26:00.000-08:00

I'm a bit obsessed with pop culture. There's just something about the rich and famous that fascinates me to no end. So, naturally, I read a lot of gossip sites. Some analytical, like Jezebel or Celebrity Gossip, Academic Style. Some complete trash, like E!Online or Pop Eater. And, you know, Perez fucking Hilton.

Please believe me when I say there are so many things I don't give a shit about. Generic blonds on CW shows, Justin Beiber, Charlie Sheen, Canadian politics, the Kardashions and, for quite some time, Perez Hilton. I didn't dislike them, nor did I like them. I just didn't care.

Sure, I read Perez Hilton, just because it seemed to be the best place to get instant, straight-off-the-headline celeb news without all the bullshit padding E! seemed to love. I never thought he was particularly funny, and those stupid dick drawings were kind of ridiculous, but I never understood why people got into such a bother about him.

Well, apprently he did and quickly made a very awkward and forced appearence on Ellen or something to tell every he's changed, ya'll! Because of the recent gay suicides, he will NO LONGER BE A BULLY. Which is fine. Because he was kind of a bully. Except not the one that everyone laughed with, more the fat kid in the corner who called you a doucher on facebook. Whatever. Yay.

But the thing is, without his juevenile insults, you really get a feel of how frikken stupid this guy is.

Even before this change, you got hints of it. Acting like a spokesperson for all things Gay and Lesbian, complete lack of wit or commentary, and just generally acting like a twelve year old girl who's discovered the internet. But now? Stupid has reached new levels.

Not only has his whole "Us Gays Need To Stick Together!" schtick become so much more prominent (treating every teen suicide in the country like a personal attack on gays, using the word FABOOSH excessively and without cause, calling people "bb", etc), but the inherent ass kissing he has replaced insults with is UNFRIKKENBEARABLE.

It's so obvious, too. When a particularly boring celebrity says or does anything, instead of just, you know, reporting the news and be done with it, he adds little quips such as "They really look so happy, don't they?" or "Looking fierce, bb!" or just offering one of those dinner party jokes that you add a "Ha!" at the end so people, you know, are aware it's a joke. (Literally, he adds "Ha!" at the end...)

Worse, though, is the self-righteousness he's developed towards anyone who disagrees with his personal viewpoint (which seems to ONLY reflect gay rights). I'm all for gay rights and everything, but THERE ARE OTHER AND MORE IMPORTANT THINGS GOING ON THEN REGGIE BUSH ASKING HIS TWITTER FOLLOWERS IF THE TERM "NO HOMO" IS OFFENSIVE.

HAVE I MENTIONED that he has a tendency to treat his followers like five year olds? Like this comment he added to a report that Passports have become gender neutral:

Now, this might seem rather silly to you, but the change is actually a positive step forward in recognizing children and parents in different families, like ones with two mommies or two daddies.

Like we don't know what a "positive step forward" is? Like we're freaking idiots who don't know what "gender neutral" means? Goddamn.

Look, anything I have to say as probably been said before, but I can't tell you how simply done I am with that frikken website. There is no humor or depth or anything else to it. There's just this guy acting like a bad impersonation of stereotypical gay men who is niether funny nor smart nor anything but annoying. Kissing ass and taking names, I'd like to end this rant with a hearty PEREZ HILTON CAN SUCK MY DICK.

K. Now I have a paper on Jesse James to write.

Why I Love Ke$ha

2011-01-11T16:38:00.000-08:00

Icelandic Street Art

2011-01-09T20:02:00.000-08:00

Combining my love of Iceland with my obsession of street art? If any of you were to get me a gift, that right there would be it.

Park-Harrison Photography

2011-01-09T19:57:00.000-08:00

While catching up with Sophie Klahr on her blog, I came across some beautiful photography by this dude Park-Harrison.

I don't think I've been as taken with some pictures since Guy Bourdin. His book is like fourty dollars on Amazon but I'll definitly keep it high on my wishlist (right under ukulele.)

Book Review: Songs For a Teenage Nomad by Kim Culbertson

2011-01-08T12:48:00.000-08:00

Title: Songs for a Teenage Nomad

Author: Kim Culbertson

Pages: 256

Received from: author.

Summary:

What is the soundtrack of your life?

After living in twelve places in eight years, Calle Smith finds herself in Andreas Bay, California, at the start of ninth grade. Another new home, another new school…Calle knows better than to put down roots. Her song journal keeps her moving to her own soundtrack, bouncing through a world best kept at a distance.

Yet before she knows it, friends creep in—as does an unlikely boy with a secret. Calle is torn over what may be her first chance at love. With all that she’s hiding and all that she wants, can she find something lasting beyond music? And will she ever discover why she and her mother have been running in the first place?

Calle has moved more times then she can count on both hands, following her mother's fancies (and boyfriends) all throughout California state. Their latest move, with new husband Rob, is at the beach town Andreas Bay. As her freshman year begins, Calle is perfectly prepared to mind her buisness and wait out the inevitable divorce. On the first day, unfortunatly, she inadvertably makes friends--and not just one friend. An entire group of them. Theatre nerds to the core, dramatic and oddly welcoming of her quirks (including her tendency to whip out her song journal at a moment's notice). What's worse is that she seems to be getting pretty cozy with popular mega-jock Sam. At the same time, she finds herself getting uncomfortably close to the mystery that is her father, whom her mother claims left them when she was two days old (not that Calle believes this or anything.) With this, she is getting closer to all the things she's ever wanted---OR DOES SHE?

I think a major deciding factor in whether I read a book or not is the role music plays in it's plot. That isn't to say I only read music-related books--that would be ridiculous--but it's fair to assume that anything with the word "song" in it's title will end up a must-read for me sooner or latter. It's just how I role.

On this front, "Songs" was certainly not dissapointing; every chapter begins with excerpts from Calle's song journal. The story itself is spattered with obscure music references (though I don't know how obscure Ben Harper is--didn't he marry that chick Billy Bob Thorton dumped for Angelina?). Albeit, these references felt a little empty in context, not really playing any cruical role in the story or any role, for that matter, but this isn't enough to ruin a book. Naw, the flatish characters and deux-ex-machina ending took care of that shit.

A lot of characters were introduced pretty quickly, which I think was Ms. Culbertson's major fault. Within the first two chapters, we had an entire group of people with their own unique, flamboyent personalities to remember. A hard task for the reader, and certainly a hard task for the author, seeing as she forgot half of them by chapter four. What's worse is that the characters she did keep around, save for the adorable Eli, were so completly devoid of depth that I couldn't even get a mental image of them as I was reading. They were blobs, you guys. Gray blue blobs with blonde hair. Yet Calle apparently knew something we didn't, as she was dumping her entire life story on these blobs at a pretty excellerated speed for someone who had just frikken met these blobs blobs BLOBS. It got to the point where all the information Calle shared about her father felt so unimportant and frankly undeserved because she had been, you know, sharing it with anyone who would listen for two hundred something pages. For someone who goes on and on about being a socially awkward, intensely private person, she seems pretty LOOSE AT THE LIPS, WORD?

But I can't even find major fault in this. Culbertson eventually found her footing and was well on her way to redeeming herself towards the very end, making our Love Interest interesting enough for the whole lot of them and weaving a tragic and slightly hopeless finale that would have resonated for quite sometimes except, ohshit, SHE FLIPS IT ON IT'S FUCKING BACK LIKE A FUCKING TURTLE AND FUCKS UP THE WHOLE THINGS SO HARD I STARTED CRYING FOR WHAT COULD HAVE SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED GODDAMN.

I don't want to spoil it for you. I truly don't. But tere's a car crash. A magical car crash that was anticlimatic and unearned and disapointing. And gah.

I began this review thinking I would be way nicer then all that but, in true ranting fashion, this is what it became. I'm sorry to Ms. Culbertson who I undoubtebly hurt deeply, but I just can't, especially considering how fantastic her story could have been.

Rating: 4

In case you were wondering....(tumblr, too)

2011-01-06T14:24:00.001-08:00

.....I'm not dead. I have a few book reviews I need to write but in case your suffering from "me" withdrawels, take a gander at this tumbleblog:

http://doodlinlikeapro.tumblr.com/

I figured since I spend more time doodling then learning, something productive might as well come out of it.

sometimes....

2011-01-04T18:01:00.000-08:00

....you meet someone and it makes all the horrible people seem as small as they are.

Life treats you well sometimes, readers.

gangs and riots

2010-12-31T00:22:00.001-08:00

I like books about gangs. Whether they be the street kind, apocolyptic kind, lovable band of misfits kind, Let's start a riot! kind, whichever. I love them.

So. Reccomendations, you lovely bloggers you?

Kanye West's Monster

2010-12-31T00:10:00.000-08:00

I've been reserving my thoughts on Kanye's latest until the video came out, partly because my opinion tends to change when visuals are introduced and partly because I heard it was going to be insanely amazingly stupendously sick. And it was. So.

--I love that Bon Iver is getting more attention because of this song. They deserve it.

--I don't understand why Rick Ross sounds so muted. I like his rap but, uhm, yeah. Pissing me off.

--Kanye is kind of reminding me of how he was in the College Dropout. Rapid fire, smoother. Also, "Run This Town"

--Hehe, "pussy in a sarcophegus."

--Jay-Z is thouroughly unimpressive. I heard one critic call it his best verse in ages, but I disagree. The delivery is fine and all, but the lyrics are more of a rant. Which I'm find with, if the writer can turn a phrase right. But Jay-Z is too busy trying to make his decidedly unclever lyrics sound sharp to bother.

--Oh who cares, he wipes his ass with hundred dollar bills.

--Nicki! Nicki! Nicki!

--I love her. I've loved her since I heard her verse in "Bedrock". She's my fucking hero and she can do no wrong.

--Okay, she can. Fuck you "Bottoms Up."

--But yeah. She gets two bars, half of which is a fuck you to all the haters (probably Lil' Kim, just sayinn) the other a rather bombastic-in-a-good-way ego boosting thing rappers tend to do. She jumps from personality to personality in one breath that highlights her years spent in acting school. Also, she's frikken brilliant and if anyone disagrees they can come at me. Anytime, son.

--Video is gorgeous in that way artfully hung models tend to be. But then, maybe that's just the pretty girls.

--I want a screen shot of everything in it to put on my wall and look at forever.

thoughts on what makes a thriller (or, why Princess Diaries is awesome)

2010-12-30T23:08:00.000-08:00

That title is misleading. It implies that I will break down both personal and professional criteria for a piece of media to be placed in the "thriller" category, which isn't true because that would require a lot of research and patience on my part which I, as a member of flash-media America, simply do not have. This is instead going to be a quick little post on something I have been subconciously pondering for quite some time and, you know, maybe I'm not smart enough to have it make sense for you people BUT, here you go.

I remember Twilight. Say what you will about it's quality, it grabbed you by the motherfucking throat and did not let go until you were good and asphexiated. From the moment you put it down to the moment you picked it up again, your limbs were trembling sticks of anticipation, your mind pattering with curiosity and pure, animilistic need. You needed to know what would happen to Bella and Edward, you could not fathom a future in which you did not optain this knowledge. Nothing else can hold your attention, nothing else can truly make you sit up and take notice until you know.

There's another book I read once. Twas called Princess Diaries. It was about a girl who finds out she's a princess. I read it pleasently. My hands did not shake like crack-deprived blood streams. I could easily take my grammer tests in English without my mind wondering. I belonged to the world, not Princess Mia.

However, while it did not evoke the carnal passion Twilight did, it gave me a nice feeling. If anything, it enhanced my living experience, those short moments between chapters. It made everything a little nicer because, no matter what, I knew I had a sweet little chapter of pretty clothes and shiny jewels to look forward to. I could walk to the fridge and back, adjust the couch cushions, pace around the house without my mind whiring in impatience. Which is a nice thing to say, considering my attention span seems to be shaved down ten times more then it had been when I was five and, yeah, a little dumb for my age.

In short, Princess Diaries was Jacob Black, and Twilight was Edward Cullen. One urgent, frighteningly so, the other a cute little thing to look forward to at the end of every day.

And that's it. Thoughts?

the funniest thing i have ever heard

2010-12-16T17:20:00.001-08:00

is most definitly Jessica Alba's "ghetto" accent in Honey.

Every guy's a director when he want some boot-ie.

Secret Life of Bees: Novel vs. Movie

2010-12-14T15:36:00.000-08:00

As a preface, let me say: I know jack shit about movies, and what makes them bad or good. In my house, there's me, the reader and my Sister, the movie snob. So when I talk about The Secret Life of Bees, I am speaking only as someone who is comparing the movie to the book. Nothing of what I say can be called a movie review, and in no way reflects the overall quality of it. K cool.

So, the book and movie is about Lily Owens, a fourteen year old white girl from the deep south who, after witnissing the injustice inflicted upon her housekeeper and BFFL, Rosaleen, decides to run away from her abusive father T-Ray to the proverbial Promise Land; that is, a small town in North Carolina that was written on the back of an old picture her mother owned (with a black Virgin Mary!). There, she meets three beekeeping sisters who change her life, you guys.

Any nads, I feel like the book and the adaption kind of leaned on each other's weaknesses, if you know what I mean. Where the novel failed, the movie more then made up for, and vice versa.

Like the three sisters. In the novel, they struck me as these Old Southern Black Lady cutouts. Everytime they said something it felt like a joke, making fun of the other entries into their genre. The cast, however, made them into real people that existed as something other then life lessons for our protagonist. This is largely thanks to Sofi WhatSerName and Alicia Keys' performances and not so much the source material (which I maintain is a pretty lackluster version of Because of Winn-Dixie or something.....)

But then you got Rosaleen and Lily, who were failed tremendously by both the film adaption as well as the novel, but moreso with the movie just because a) Jennifer Hudson is way too soft and thinning? to play the tough-as-nails housekeeper and Dakota Fanning just phones in her usual dreamy-eyed little girl impression. But then, the book treated Rosaleen as this hard, unlikeable wench who was prepared to whoop Lily's white ass at the drop of a hat (albeit, not a totally uncalled for aggression). Actually, come to think of it, I actually prefer Jennifer Hudson's motherly no-nonsense air, which is also a good companion to Queen Latifiah's mother no-nonsense air, except way less cheesy.

Then May, the middle sister with a tendency to cry at the swatting of a fly, is treated way more like a human being then her novel counterpart. Again, Sofi WhatsHerName is pretty good at what she does. Much less infantile, yet still retaining that childlike sweetness that one would like about a borderline-mental woman in her mid-twenties.

So yeah. This is why Sister does the movie reviewing.

PS: Magical!Negro abound.

Redemption Maddie

2010-12-14T15:25:00.000-08:00

I've recently come across a little short film by the name of Redemption Maddie.

Well, not really come across, seeing as I can't find it anywhere. But it stars Mindy from Drake and Josh so, henceforth, I must see it.

If anyone knows of any legal-or-illegal methods of actually seeing the thing, I'd be eternally grateful and junk.

K bye.

it gets better (or so they tell me)

2010-12-13T17:16:00.000-08:00

Today, in the hallway, me and my friend Nick skipped our lunch period to bullshit about manwhores and sluts and cocky bitches. He has this really high pitched laugh, Nick, and he may have had sparkly nail polish on his pinky nail. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

We were sitting, and these three juniors were in the process of walking past us. One, I knew, had dated my good friend for a short time. Another had laughed with me about how stupid our webpage design teacher was. The other had one of those generic faces, the type you froget five minutes after you see it. Again, this doesn't matter.

One of them, the one who had dated my friend, leaned over and in the most malicious, cartoonishly evil voice I had ever heard, barked a certain three letter word in Nick's face.

And Nick's face just sucked. It was on of those expressions that you want to draw, take a picture of, because it's so sad and stricken you know a person could only make it once in their life. But maybe I'm exaggerating. Isn't everything exaggerated when you're a teenager? Whatever thrice. I went up to the kid and slapped him and I may or may not get in trouble for it, serious trouble, but I don't care because if anyone deserved to be hit it was that piece of shit.

I drew a picture!

2010-12-01T19:27:00.000-08:00

Feel free to hang it on you're fridge.
I should totally copyright this shit.

How To Say Goodbye In Robot by Natalie Standiford

2010-11-23T18:42:00.000-08:00

Title: How to Say Goobye in Robot

Author: Natalie Standiford

Pages: 288

Received from: library

Summary:

New to town, Bea is expecting her new best friend to be one of the girls she meets on the first day. But instead, the alphabet conspires to seat her next to Jonah, aka Ghost Boy, a quiet loner who hasn't made a new friend since third grade. Something about him, though, gets to Bea, and soon they form an unexpected friendship. It's not romance, exactly - but it's definitely love. Still, Bea can't quite dispel Jonah's gloom and doom - and as she finds out his family history, she understands why. Can Bea help Jonah? Or is he destined to vanish?

Bea is new to Baltimore, the latest in several moves headlined by her restless professer father. The first person she meets is Jonah, seated next to her in homeroom, whose known to everyone as the oh-so-creative "ghost boy". He obviously takes a special interest in Bea, providing her with a midnight radio station to replace the one she had in her previous town. There, she meets an assortment of characters, all calling in for their own reasons but all equally adorable.

But the book isn't about the radio station. It's about Bea and, more importantly, Jonah. Both have been deamed unhuman at some point in their lives--Bea, a robot by her overtly emotional mother, Jonah, a ghost by his classmates as part of some cruel joke years ago. Both are mentally alienated from their peers, lost in their own fantasies and quirks. Both wish they could disapear. And one of them is better at it then the other.

Look, I've been starring at this Blogger post for a good twenty minutes trying to think of a way to describe Robot in as plain terms as possible, in a way that won't ruin the entire needlework of the store, but I really can't. I'm sure it can be done, but I possess neither the creative nor journalistic skills to do it. So I'll just ramble and you can pretend you know what I'm talking about. Or spam me horribly. Such is the internet.

My first impression was of distaste, a kind of familiarity without the nostologia that I like in my contemperary YA. You know, with the stray thoughts, metaphors and such that are signiture in works such as these. And maybe it was just the mood I was in while reading it that affected my liking, but I just found myself really disliking the whole thing.

On a critical level, there really isn't much to not like. Well rounded characters, nice prose, the lot. I think it's just one of those things where you need to be in a particular mindset before picking up.

I don't know, I'm tired.

Rating: 6 out of 10

Katniss and Rue (or, Someone Needs to Cast These People Immediately)

2010-11-15T16:11:00.000-08:00

Some precocious youngsters seemed to have filmed themselves a little audition tape for the upcoming Hunger Games movie.

All I ask is:

Why aren't they in movies already?

PS: Isn't Rue black?

New boots (and a gracias)

2010-11-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

This is not a fashion blog. Let's get that out there right now. I am in no way a coniseur of things frilly and cute. HOWEVER. I am a teenage girl SO I think I'm entitled to whatever this is.

Now, check the boots.

Thanks to Alana for the heads up.

And, uhm, thanks to everyone else for the nice comments on my last posts. I hate getting dramatic, especially on here, but it was kind of one of those thing you need to tell people and you were all great about that, so merci.

RIP

2010-11-13T11:33:00.001-08:00

My good friend died. She hung herself in her room last night. I found out from my friend and her neighbor because her parents blame our group of friends for her death, even though she was happier with us then she was with them. I feel like I need to tell someone, so I'll tell you.

I got my eyebrow pierced

2010-11-10T15:32:00.001-08:00

Just sayinn(:

Book Review: Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Leviathan

2010-11-02T18:40:00.000-07:00

Title: Will Grayson, Will Grayson

Author(s): John Green and David Levithan

Pages: 304

Received from: library

Summary:

One cold night, in a most unlikely corner of Chicago, two teens—both named Will Grayson—are about to cross paths. As their worlds collide and intertwine, the Will Graysons find their lives going in new and unexpected directions, building toward romantic turns-of-heart and the epic production of history’s most fabulous high school musical.

Hilarious, poignant, and deeply insightful, John Green and David Levithan’s collaborative novel is brimming with a double helping of the heart and humor that have won both them legions of faithful fans.

We have two Will Graysons.

One, the son of two doctors, lives in relative obscurity in his Chicago town with his outrageously gay BFF, Tiny Cooper. He lives by two rules: 1) shut up and 2) don't care.

The other, living with his single mother, dirt poor, depressed, friendless and closeted, the sole up side of his otherwise dreary life is his daily conversations with Isaac, a man he met online.

This one speaks in more of a continuous inner monologue, no capitilizations, about how he hates everyone. This may sound like an exageration, but. This is his introductory sentence:

i am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me.

John Green's Will, the first one, speaks as a Typical John Green Narrator. Awkward, shy, sarcastic though generally optimistic. A teenager's teenager. Which is fine.

David's Will is...not. He's bitter and angry and annoyed and self-aware and a generally unpleasent person. He is the more interesting of the two, by far, and the one you could relate to, you could hate, you could love and feel so bad for. I found myself skimming John's Will's chapters just so I could get to this Will--the Meat and Potatoes, if you will.

Not to say John's Will is bad. It's not. But it is just so very much a John Green type of story. Worse, a half-assed, cheap and half-dressed John Green imitation. It's like Green took every other book he's ever written, sped it up, left spaces for David and sent it out. It became a frustrating ordeal, trying to care about this whiney little honors student with parents who, though regularly absent, care a great deal for him go on about his half-assed romance with a girl Jane and dwindling friendship with Tiny. I mean...gawd.

And then there's Tiny. Really, the entire circle of events--for both Graysons--revolve around Tiny Cooper. For some, this is a good thing. For others--namely me--this was...tedious. Frustrating. Stupid beyond belief.

Hear me out:

Tiny Cooper is gay. This is made abundently clear from the very first sentence. And this is awesome. Gay people rule. But. This seems to be Tiny's entire personality...he is, despite his large stature, a walking gay stereotype. Flamboyant, obnoxious, sucking up attention like a vampire would blood to the point where he slaves over a musical about himself. He is constantly on a new schtick, a new love interest or relationship, falling into the pits of despair when they inevitably don't work out. This was funny, cute, at first. But it never gave. Nothing was ever done with him and his small moment of redemption, of development, wasn't even that---it was still all about him, from the very (cheesy, corny) end. Why not just name the book Tiny Cooper, Tiny Cooper? I mean, good god man.

On the other hand, I did not realize how much I disliked Tiny Cooper until the end--the end that, despite the book being about the Grayson's respective epiphanies, was still about this raging, egotistical drama queen. I won't give it away, but I think that end was truly the moment I lost faith in John Green's perfection as a writer. Because this ending, this story, these stories were not perfect. They were clipped and underdeveloped and just a drag to read. Not because of the depression aspects, the identity aspects, but because of the things that were supposed to make Will Grayson light and jovial. I had never felt so betrayed, guys.

So, there's that.

Rating: 5/10

Reasons the Educational System Has Failed

2010-11-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

I saw this pretty interesting link on Tumblr the other day concerning public schools and how they've essentially failed at everything they've set out to do.

I've never been completly thrilled with how states go about teaching their children (and, uhm, I've never been too quiet about it.) However, being a, you know, actual student-slash-victim of this societies' idea of education, the opinions of my classmates and I have been systamatically brushed aside as the whining of lazy teenagers who would rather troll facebook then do their homework. And in a lot of cases, this is pretty true. I'd be the first to admit my generation is pretty fucking stupid in a lot of ways, but I'd also be the last to blame it on the kids themselves. In my opinion, there is no such thing as an entirely dumb generation of people who became that way due to the natural progression of society; someone did something wrong. Someone continues to do something wrong, except they won't be the ones suffering for it; they won't be the ones fighting tooth and nail for remedial jobs that came so easy to them, they won't be the ones thrashing their heads against desks in stress-induced breakdowns because of the sheer amount of baseless factoids we have to memorize only to forget it as soon as the tests are over and they won't be the ones having to except this with a docile obedience that could, if slightly stretched, be compared to that of some of the greater dictatorships of these last hundreds of years. You guys, how many of you feel like you got a real education from the confines of your classrooms? How many of you feel like you ever got a truly fair shot at happiness? How many of you actually remember what was on that biology tests and, even if you have, what has it been applied to?

Maybe I'm biased, being one of those frustrated, stressed and increasingly unhappy teenagers being told what is and is not relavent. And maybe thats okay. Because do you know how many times I've heard something like, "Oh, we won't be learning that, it's not on the exam" come out of a teacher's--an educator--mouth and wanted to scream? Do you know how many times I've been punished for speaking my mind or told I wasn't going anywhere because I didn't know what a fucking gerund is?

I live in New Jersey, where Gov. Christie cut millions of dollars in educational funds and lots of people have used this as an excuse for the fucked up students and what they're learning. But I don't. Know why? School was sucking long before those cuts and, yeah, a lot of the younger and more enthusiastic teachers were fired because of these money cuts, which may effect the way some people learn (since we've all been left with the tenored, tired and frankly boring faculty members) but COME ON, you're really going to blame it on which teachers got fired? How about the fact that Sophmores in New Jersey have to take a test in the middle of the year determining whether they graduate or not on biology, potentially one of the least-used school subjects in the last fifty years, and are encouraged to drop out if the guidence department feels they won't pass this test so that the SCHOOL TEST SCORE STATISTICS ARE RAISED SO WE CAN COMPETE WITH FUCKING JAPAN.

Let me tell you something, dipshits:

NO ONE CAN COMPETE WITH JAPAN.

THEY ARE JAPAN.

And the worse part is that seventy percent of students have no problem with this. Well, they do. But they don't know it. They don't know that the overwhelming amount of homework they struggle with every night is bullshit, and they don't know that this is not okay because it was their parents before them who had to do it too. This is "normal", even though it's not. This is middle aged white, rich men in Washington passively deciding how and how much a student will learn in their lifetimes to benefit everything but their actual well-being. And by the time I get out of school, there will be no jobs available (no matter how many years I attend goddamn college), no assistance from the goverment that fucked it up and no sympathy because, hey, you should have tried harder.

Whatever. Just click the link.

I'm Sixteen!

2010-11-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

Which is kind of lame, but I'm not complaining. Thus far, presents have been just as expected, coming from broke teenagers in the borderline-ghetto.

1) A thirty dollar shirt from a very fancy store, paid for by three people.
2) A cupcake with Mr. T on it.
3) A very West-coasty shirt from friend currently on the West Coast.
4) Sandman #5
5) Religious paraphenilia.
6) A pretty pomegranate necklace.
7) A Burger King Triple Stacker with three lit candles in it.
8) A Carton of cigerettes...even though I don't smoke...?
9) A homemade cake with a crudely drawn icing penis on top.
10) Seventeen punches from a very muscular boy with tattoos (ouch?)
11) A cookie from a Gas n' Go
12) A Snuggie!!!!!!!!!! (that I left in my locker, which makes me hate myself)
13) A snookie tshirt, also left in locker.
14) Multitudes of handmade cards (all varying degrees of vulger and insulting)
15) Dream catcher.
16) Lots of Halloween candy.

And it's only eleven a.m.!

Very good distraction from the fact that I STILL can't vote, drive, drink, smoke, go to Real Jail or consent to my own medical treatment.

Sigh.

Anatomy of a Bitch (as I know them)

2010-10-29T23:10:00.000-07:00

Do your worst, NaNoWriMo.

2010-10-26T19:22:00.001-07:00

Well, it's that time again. NaNoWriMo (or, according to my inner monologue, nanananamo.) And this year, I have every intention to participate.

I don't really know what's different this time around. I've never had any intention of writing a full length anything before, not once. Maybe it's because of my newly discovered life experience. Maybe it's my unsatisfactory social life. Maybe it's the oncoming pressure of stupid classes that mean nothing to me. Or maybe it starts the day I turn sixteen. Who knows?

I do. It's all of these things. I want to be able to say that I did one notable thing this year (other then fail biology.) And even if it's the worst novel ever written, it will have been written and that's good enough for me.

Check out my profile and, um, I don't know. Friend me?

Guilty Pleasurez: Newsies

2010-10-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons to be embarassed about liking the Newsies. For starters, it's been universally panned by critics and moviegoers alike. It's Disney's worst bomb, second only to Howard the Duck, extracting god-awful performances from most of it's adult actors, including Robert fucking Duvall, denounced by even it's star, Christian Bale. So why would anyone like it?

Oh yeah. It's fucking awesome.

Let's look at the facts:

1) It stars the afformentioned and albeit reluctant Christian Bale.

this guy.

2) It's about the Newsboy strike of 1899 which is, you know, hystorical.

history.

3) The songs are, as the Disney label would have you know, catchy as motherfucking hell. (and hell's pretty catchy.)

4) The accents. OH JESUS THE ACCENTS.

5) These kids are manly.

waddup?

6) Batman is a delightfully horrible singer (see above.)

stop that. now.

7) Three words: Singing. Homeless. Children.

our lives are horrible!

Why else do you think it has one of the highest rankings on fanfiction.net's movie section?

Book Review: Freak Show by James St. James

2010-10-19T18:40:00.001-07:00

Title: Freak Show

Author: James St. James

Pages: 304

Received from: library

Summary:

Meet Billy Bloom, new student at the ultra-white, ultra-rich, ultra-conservative Dwight D. Eisenhower Academy and drag queen extraordinaire. Actually, “drag queen” does not begin to describe Billy and his fabulousness. Any way you slice it, Billy is not a typical seventeen-year-old, and the Bible Belles, Aberzombies, and Football Heroes at the academy have never seen anyone quite like him before. But thanks to the help and support of one good friend, Billy’s able to take a stand for outcasts and underdogs everywhere in his own outrageous, over-thetop, sad, funny, brilliant, and unique way.

I like flamboyancy. You might find this a ridiculous statement if you had to be around me for more then a few minutes, but it's true. I like people who squeal at stupid things and wear bright colors and dance to a song only in their head. I like it, and I like Freak Show.

Billy Bloom. Seventeen. Drag Queen. Fabulous. And after a disaterish fallout with her mother, she is sent to live with her ultra-conservative father in his ultra-conservative Floridian town, sent to the ultra-conservative school filled with ultra-conservative preps. It's, um, ultra-conservative. Which I think is a kind of silly extreme, considering our protagonist, but I suppose it works as a plot device. Anyway.

We begin with Billy's first day of school. She decides to dress as "manly" as possible to, you know, test the waters. See what she's dealing with. And, of course, manly is, by definition, pirate-chic. Roc.

For some reason that I CAN NOT fathom, this doesn't work out incredibly well and Billy starts down a loooong road filled with ridicule, hatred and ARGYLE SWEATERS (in an UNIRONIC WAY!)

But these kids are mean. They're horrible, actually, at one point bringing all their hatred of Billy to a head in SUCH A HORRIFIC WAY I was sobbing like an asshole, it made me so sad. Add on a love interest who isn't even aware he's playing for Billy's team, Freak Show makes an enthralling read with a hero/heroine who more then lives up to the flashy cover's expectations.

Billy herself is a "gender obscurist"--one who does not answer questions on her sexual orientation or gender. She just is and, if you must, call her a she. I think this is probably the most important aspect of her character, the way she approaches her lifestyle. It makes her a very real character, instead of the initial cartoon she's made out to be during the first chapter or so. She's different, that Billy. Unique, flawed, with one of those voices that you miss horribly when it's done talking. Even during her lowest moments she's making you laugh.

Now, keep in mind, this isn't a "fun" book. It isn't light and cheerful and fluffy. It's violent, it's ugly and it reveals a lot of just as ugly truths about not only Billy, but the world around her. It's a book about bigotry, be it the far right extremes, and the unacceptance, be it from your own family, that comes with being something the world has deemed immoral for so long. It's also about how, in our quest to be open-minded liberals, to be the Good Guys, we somehow make even the most horrible of attacks about us, about our guilt and our lives. As Billy so elaquently stated:

WAY TO MAKE THIS STORY ABOUT YOU, DUDE.

James St. James, primarily known as one of the original "club kids" of the eighties, has woven a surprisingly heartfelt and hilarious LGBT story that stands out among the countless others like it---and I'll tell you why. It's because this isn't a "coming of age" tale. This is a "life is shitty but I have GLITTER" one. Billy isn't trying to "discover" herself, or come out of the closet or any of those other mile stones in a kid's formulative years. No, she knows she's as "out" as they come and she knows she is a "she", despite what her parents-slash-genatalia would have her believe. All she's doing is trying to find acceptance in a decidedly drab world and for that, James St. James has made it on my Automatic Buy list of authors.

Rating: 20. Yeah, I went there.

Book Review: Such a Pretty Girl by Laura Weiss

2010-10-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

Title: Such a Pretty Girl

Author: Laura Weiss

Pages: I don't know, I returned my copy...

Received from: friend.

Summary:

They promised Meredith nine years of safety, but only gave her three.

Her father was supposed to be locked up until Meredith turned eighteen. She thought she had time to grow up, get out, and start a new life. But Meredith is only fifteen, and today her father is coming home from prison.

Today her time has run out.

This is sad.

This is really, really sad.

Coming from me, this is saying something.

I'm the girl who rolled my eyes when Jack told Rose to go out and make some babies. Threw popcorn at the screen when Liam Neeson looked down in contemplation at Shindler's grave. Barked in fury when Snape whacked Dumbledore out the window. I am a professional cynic, forever seeing through the thin layers of self pity surrounding all Tyra show guests, all breast cancer surivors, all of the stalked and heartbroken. I am not easily impressed. And Such a Pretty Girl impressed me.

In so few words, Weiss works this crazy magic of making a book about something so horrible readable--and not just readable. Engrossing in this way that you can't possibly imagine a time when you were completly opposed to reading it. That's the thing about Such a Pretty Girl; you don't want to read it because it's about things that have either been done to death or are just too taboo to acknowledge. I don't even know why I read it in the first place. But I did, and I loved it, so shut up.

Meredith is angry. You catch on to this right away. The way she speaks, the way she thinks, the way she interacts with people is just so furious. She is not the victim who wilts at the prospect of human interaction. Nor is she the rebellious trouble-maker who has to snarl at anyone who looks at her funny. She's just trying to survive, and she's angry that she has to. Which, I think, is just a lovely way to write a character.

But yeah, she's pissed. Her father's coming out of jail and moving into the condo right across from the one her and her mother share. Her mother is blinded by a love someone could only develop when the object of her affections slept with her when she was twelve. Which is gross. Because twelve year olds creep me out in general. Especially when they're fucking eighteen year olds. Ew.

Seriously, the main issue here is Meredith's mother, who's a frikken idiot, who's letting this asshat back into her daughter's life even though he was tried and convicted of child abuse. I think it depends on the interpretation of the reader, but the mother came across to me as very black-and-white. Not one of those, you know, beaten wives who has nowhere else to go and all that. She's very selfish, and I think Weiss embraces this aspect of her character as more of a plot device then anything, just to illustrate how alone Meredith is. Selfish, maybe stupid, maybe crazy-in-love, maybe desperate. Who knows, who cares, she sucks and I wanted to punch her in the face with a set of iron knuckles.

Meredith's only way of coping with the bullshit that is her fucktard parents is her parapelligic boyfriend who lives in the same complex she does, and who also happens to be another of her father's victims. He and his mother are Religious--the type that would make a pilgrimage through two states to see a man who could, perhaps, make him walk again; a Jesus type, who soaks up the misery of others. Which is both fascinating and really, really stupid. But then, my mom's Jewish.

This boyfriend is, for lack of a better word, fascinating. It's implied more then once that he could have, in fact, walked after his post-graduation accident, had he had the motivation. But the thing is, after he was molested by Meredith's father he started getting into fights at school, jumping off tall buildings, riding around in motorcycles and hanging out of car windows. He acted like someone who didn't care if he lived, and this behavior branches out into his wheelchaired-state. He and Meredith sort of need each other, for very different reasons, yes, but they do and I'm not sure if that makes a healthy relationship but it damn well seems to work for them.

I don't care for "issue" books. I don't like the idea of someone writing an entire, full length novel just to preach the importance of one thing or another. Kids are bombarded with that type of shit at school every day. But I do like good books, that just happen to involve "issues" and in that aspect, Such a Pretty Girl wins like Paris Hilton at a hot dog eating contest.

Rating: 10--perfect for what it is.

Let us mourn together (or, how I don't know what to do without Harry Potter)

2010-09-24T12:11:00.000-07:00

1997. A big year. The French discovered over 2000 pieces of art were stolen by the Nazis. Bill Clinton is voted into his second term. Woman get their youngest figure skating champion. Titanic hits the States. Hit-Girl is born. HAL 3000 is (supposedly) activated. But this is nothing. These are pebbles. Specs of dust. No, the real mile stone of the year 1997 was, and is, the publication of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The world has yet to be the same.

I was, of course, three when Harry hit shelves and, despite what you may think, I was most certainly not a prodigal genius able to comprehend three syllable words before I could pronounce them (I know, its shocking.) And I'd be lying if I said it was the first series of books I truly got in to (that honor belongs to the Bailey School Kids.) But. Harry Potter is, without a doubt, the most impacteful thing that has happened to me since I first sat on a toilet seat (and that was big, I assure you.) And I have been neglectful, I admit, these last few months. After the monumental DISAPOINTMENT that was the Deathly Hallows epilogue ("All was well"? Really? Please tell me your initials stand for "just kidding", Rowling) I had kind of...forgotten our dear boy wizard. But I am a nerd. And as a nerd, I can never truly abandon the fandom that made me a nerd. I was simply misguided but, luckily, this little gem brought me back over from the dark side.

OHMIGOD.

I cried. I cried.

Let's break it down:

--Fist pump for Bill Nighy! As dear ol' Rufus right before everything goes to hell. Rock.

--The white coffin! Which they totally left out of HBP because they suck!

--Shot of Hermione looking so freaking gorgeous I want to slice off my own face for it's inability to meet such standards.

--Godric's Hollow, where it all began. Shitting awesome quote on the Potter's grave stone and Harry and Hermione giving shippers an orgasm. Nice.

--Okay, really? We all know Dumbledore kicked it. RECAP UNNECESSARY.

--Malfoy Manor. Not as grand as I envisioned.

--Snape, who I love, who also has potentially the best one-word-utterence in the entire novel, workin' that fine spyin' booty. Heyyy. (Note: this attraction applies to Snape and Snape only--Alan Rickman is a seperate entity.)

--Did anyone notice the Muggles holding up the pillar behind fatass Umbridge?

Jesus.

--Voldie needs a manicure.

--Oh look, Nagini.

--OH LOOK, NAGINI.

--OH LOOK, NA---

--The trio end up in London after the shitstorm that was Bill and Fleur's wedding. Hermione looking all panicked which I think will be one of the only advantages the movie has over the book--we really get a visual feel of just how much the shit has hit the fan. Take the whole "Help me" line from the trailer--we'll get to that.

--Seven Potter's scene. AKA THE REASON I EXIST.

Imma try to identify.

#1: Real Harry, probably looking hella disturbed.
#2&3: Fred and George. You can tell by their facial expressions, looking like they're about so say something like, "We look identical."
#4: IDK my memories failing me. Bill? He's next to Fleur, obvs, but they're not looking lovingly at each other so it's anybodies guess.
#5: Fleur. Duh.
#6: Ron, clearly. Harry would never dress that grungy.
#7: LOL Hermione LOL

--Wedding at the Burrow where Kingley's patronus arrives to tell everyone they're basically screwed.

--Running from the Snatchers?

--Hermione pwning your face.

--Can I just say that if any one of the trio were to have a career after HP, it would certainly be Ron Weasley? Because, srsly, he really is the best actor of the bunch. You can just hear the pure venom in his voice when he bitch slaps Harry who, up until this point, had been undoubtedly making it all about him, without notice that, um, YOUR TWO BEST FRIENDS ARE BASICALLY SACRFICING EVERYTHING TO HELP YOU OUT HURR. And then Ron is all like, "YOU DON'T KNOW JACK SHIT BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE A FRIKKEN FAMILY" and I'm like, "Yes, Ron, yes." And then he and Harry undoubtebly have the bitchiess fight in the history of cinema, which Harry uses his gigantic neck to crush his enemies which, if you ask me, he should have just done in the first place because look at that thing, it's bigger then my whole body.

P.S. Homie needs sleep.

--Dobby. Ehhhh.

--Saddest scene in the entire frikken movie, in my opinion. Mr. Lovegood having to choose between his daughter and, um, the entire fate of the wizarding world.

--Bang bang NOVEMBER 19TH

I am SO STOKED to see this movie. Except I'm not, because the wounds from DH are still fresh and I really don't need to relive the death of Dobby. But then, I am shaking with anticipation for Mrs. Weasley's Crowning Moment of Awesome. And Harry totally sassing Voldemort. "Yes, I dare!" indeed.

So...what are ya'll expecting from DH?

Book Review: And Then Everything Unraveled by Jennifer Sturman

2010-09-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

Title: And Then Everything Unraveled

Author: Jennifer Sturman

Pages: 256

Received from: author, free of charge.

Summary:

Delia Truesdale has no idea her life's about to change forever. She's too busy enjoying the California summer. Her internet tycoon mother, T.K. Truesdale, is out of town, and that means Delia can spend all her time at the beach, surfing. That is, until everything unravels.

Her mother suddenly goes missing, and everyone thinks she's dead - excpet Delia, who knows T.K.'s way too organized to simply disappear. But Delia's still sent to New York to live with her two aunts -- a downtown bohemian and an uptown ice queen.

And in case that's not bad enough, she also has to deal with a snooty new school and trying not to fall for the wrong guy. Oh, and finding her mother.

As she delves deeper into the tangle of conspiracies and lies surrounding T.K.'s disappearance, Delia begins to suspect that the wrong guy may be the right guy ... and that some secrets -- especially the dangerous ones - were never meant to be unraveled.

I knew the second I read the eye-catching title that Unraveled was right up my alley. Teen mystery, New York setting, uppidy school and wacky aunts. All it needed was a teen wizard of some sort and I would have died of happiness before I could write this review. Therefore, you about to read an audacious example of journalistic bias. Here we go.

Delia Truesdale lives with her anal-yet-brilliant scientist mother, happily enjoying the California surf and waiting to find her niche in society. That is, until her mother goes missing on an expedition in the Arctic and the scientific community is all too quick to begin stirring up their own theories behind T.K.'s mysterious dissapearence. And Delia is quick to believe them--believe anything, in fact, that confirms her feeling of unease at the thought that her perfectly organized mother could just vanish without so much as a chunk of metal from her boat. Adding the fact that she has to assert these ideas to people who would gladly stick her in therapy rather then take them as legitimate concerns, a new school full of uppity douchenozzles and the tug of war between her two aunts in NYC.

The book is definitly one of those types where you start it, you haven't even gotten to the mystery yet and you're completly engrossed. At least, I was. But then, it's not too hard to hold my attention.

Right away, though, I could feel Sturman start to linger the line between mystery and contemperary romance, sometimes uncomfortably close to the latter. Maybe this should be some kind of crossover appeal, but I think the fact that it doesn't have any mythical creatures involved takes care of that aspect from the first page. I think the reason I kept on reading was because I was waiting for more informtation, more clues about TK's disapearence. At one point I was thumping my head against things because it was getting dangerously close to forgetting the mystery all together.

Luckily, towards the end Sturman remembered the novel she was writing and moved aside her silly romantic subplot. Which, I say, thank Jesus she did, else I would have taken one shit of a stompin' over that thing. In her defense, all the characters were interesting enough that even while at my most frustrated I was still delighted at how fun the aunts were to listen to, how witty Delia's narrative was and how adorable the Love Interest proved to be. A solid read, for sure, though would probably appeal more the the Sarah Desson readers then the Agatha Christie ones.

Rating: 7

Also: OMG HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS OMG is anyone else hugely excited for the Battle of Hogwarts? Shit's gonna get epic.

But then, Hedwig dies. And Fred. And George's ear.

Not as excited anymore.

They're Fat and They're Sassy. What else?

2010-09-16T17:57:00.000-07:00

In case ya'll haven't noticed, kids are getting fat. Not chubby, mind you. Fat. Like, morbidly obese. Which is, yes, an issue. But it could also be seen, if you have a super warped mind, as a trend. An unhealthy one perhaps, but it is here and therefore the media is going to represent it in some way, whether it be as a comic relief or a Serious Issue. Being overweight is slowly but surely stretching into the main stream.

One could say this is awesome. I certainly do. Movies are finally displaying their everyman, the sexpots who aren't two pounds (holla Mad Men!) and the talented, beautiful actresses who just so happen to be...well, hey Mo'Nique!

But others, such as myself (again) could note that, while this is certainly opening many doors, it is also bringing with it the stigma that has long plagued Hollywood; being pigeon-holed and, worse, taking advantage of this pigeon-hole in a negative way.

Here's an example.

Nikki Blonsky.

Now, we've all seen Hairspray. Great movie, great music, pretty actors. Our Tracy, a famously robust teeenage girl, was played by Nikki, then a newcomer. She was pretty adorbs. Cheesy, yes, but then again, it's Hairspray. We all sat and took notice of this new young talent, and we just couldn't wait to see what she would do next.

And what did she do next?

Yes. She did a Fat Movie.

I just so happened to be watching this little gem one Sunday afternoon on Lifetime. I noticed the lead star and instantly my heart soared. I was not expecting Tracy Turnblad. But I was expecting the same adoration I held for it's actress during Hairpsray. What did I get, you guys? WHAT DID I GET?

Oh, I'll tell you.

Every single emotional scene involved WHAT? Food. IT INVOLVED FOOD.

I'm not talking a dramatic restaurant walk-out. I'm talking this chick comes home after being horribly bullied at school and runs, crying, straight to the fridge to gorge herself with chocolate mint ice cream, of which has to be pried from her trembling fingers like it's CRACK.

I'm hopefully not fat, but if I was, I would be insulted.

Are you implying, Lifetime/Nikki Blonksy, that fat people immediatly run for the tacos whenever they're under emotional stress? Are you saying that this girl is fat simply because she can not handle life without a choclate bar in her face? It's not a drug movie, Lifetime. And I am almost positive that your mellow-drama has reached new heights of ridiculous.

Anyway, this isn't a review. What I'm saying is that, what does all of Nikki Blonsky's roles since the start of her career have in common? They all involve her playing a fat girl.

What is this/ you are saying. She's a big girl, who else could she play?

Oh, many things, I answer. She could choose movies that aren't written about being fat. She could play characters that aren't struggling with being fat. She could be an actress who just happens to be fat, and not a Fat Actress.

To me, this entire thing sounds way worse then just watching a bunch of movies with bitches are really skinny. Because all Nikki is saying to young, overweight teens is, "Hey, grow up to be just like me and star in TV shows about fat camp!"

No. Just no.

Now let's look at Kathy Bates.

Yes, she's a chubby lady. But was anyone thinking about her weight while she was smashing James Caan's leg with a baseball bat? Hell to the no. They were thinking about what a crazy bitch she was. And that, sirs, is acting.

Look, I don't understand what my point is anymore. Maybe I've insulted someone in this post, but I stand by my ground; plus-size actresses deserve just as much of a shot to make it big as anyone else, but they--like the rest of them--need to have the talent to back it up. And they can't make a career of playing the Fat Girl.

Thoughts? Give 'em to me.

Her name is Katniss and, yes, she's just as bad as crack

2010-09-06T04:08:00.000-07:00

Okay. Alright. Jesus.

I'm assuming we've all gotten our copies of Mockingjay, oui? Excellent.

I now ask you to join me in a moment of silence, with our books raised well above our heads in silent prayer for the poor souls who were lost, the enemies that were made and the faces that were palmed during the completion of this task, being the final installment of the Hunger Games. We've laughed, we've cried (mostly cried) and, most importantly, we have loved. And now, we have lost. And there's a phrase which I won't repeat for decency's sake.

I'll just go on and get in my corner now, waiting out the shakes and maybe turning to drugs to fill this monumental gap in my life.

Kthx. Bai.

You know what I hate?

2010-09-03T20:42:00.000-07:00

When you read books about these girls who are whining and complaining about how average they are, how no one notices them, how they wish they could be pretty, but then, oh shit! You suddenly, seemingly for the first time in your life, have the school Bad Boy vying for your affections. Once more, you have several Bad Boys also vying for your affections. Not bad for such a plain, unattractive chick, huh?

Fuck off. You don't know what unattractive is.

Fact: Taylor Swift is Adorable

2010-08-31T02:04:00.000-07:00

There are many things I would never admit outloud. One of them is my secret obsession with show tunes. The other is I think Taylor Swift is a cutie-pie.

Now, readers, before you start throwing your judgements at me, let me explain myself:

When Taylor Swift first burst onto the mainstream with that one song that plagues a poor boy named Drew with a name I forget, I was like, yeah, whatever. What is she, twelve?

And then it was all like, oh shit, she's dating one of the Jonas...es? (is there a plural form to this name or are they all just one entity?) I wasn't a fan or anything, it just so happened this was a time period where I watched a lot of E! and we were deep in the depths of Jonas-Mania '08. So her blip became slightly more prominent on my radar, but still that; a blip. And then...

You know what happened?

"You Belong With Me" happened.

Yes, I know it's the stupidest song in the world. And I know this is a twenty year old woman pretending like she's twelve. And I know that if this got out my high school rep as the apathetic yet loveable Indie Rock chick would be in the toilet. But I can't help myself. When that song comes on the radio, you better believe I start thrashing my head and stomping my feet and singing along. My heart melts at the sound of T-Swizzle's sweet little voice. A warm fuzzy feeling grows in my stomach when the chorus blasts through the speakers. And you wanna know why? I can relate to these lyrics. Which is not something I can say very often. But I did, and I can, and it's because of Taylor Swift.

And now, in the midst of pre-school year blues, she hits us with another round of adorable with her latest single, "Mine". I don't know what it's about, but I will tell you this: her lyrics are getting better, her singing is like listening to angel's play tennis (?) and her songs still melt you into a pool of butter. And that's good enough for me.

So fuck off, you jokers who are going around whining about how she is a virginal blob on modern music. Because you all know that when you hear that banjo start playing, you get that warm fuzzy feeling too.

Taylor Swift - Mine (Official)

Book Review: Thirteen Days to Midnight by Patrick Carman

2010-08-29T01:13:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know I suck. I have excuses. I've been reading Batman comics again, which is a huge time suck. My sister's fetish for mustaches has manifested itself into an active blog which I somehow got involved in. I've been being social, getting attached to drama I had nothing to do with because I commented on my friend's facebook status (another reason why facebook sucks.) I've been listening to Hole, which in and of itself is a hobby. I've been reading for school, I've been reading other blogs, I've been drawing, I've been wasting hours of my life pacing the hallways in my house because for some reason I really like to pace (this is a true story.) I've been involved with totally stupid things and therefore have not been blogging as much as I should have and for that, I apologize. But here I bring you a super totally awesome review of a super totally awesome book by a dude I super totally awesomely interviewed here and, just this once, I ask your forgivness. Okay, not this once. But I'm asking.

Title: Thirteen Days to Midnight

Author: Patrick Carman

Pages: 296

Received from: the stupendous author, free of charge.

Summary:

You are indestructible. Three whispered words transfer an astonishing power to Jacob Fielding that changes everything. At first, Jacob is hesitant to use the power, unsure of its implications. But there's something addictive about testing the limits of fear.

Then Ophelia James, the beautiful and daring new girl in town, suggests that they use the power to do good, to save others. But with every heroic act, the power grows into the specter of a curse. How to decide who lives and who dies?

In this nail-biting novel of mystery and dark intrigue, Jacob must walk the razor thin line between right and wrong, good and evil, and life and death. And time is running out. Because the Grim Reaper doesn't disappear. . . . He catches up.

This book opens with a questions:

If you had only one superpower, what would it be?

He's anticipated your answer, our narrator. He knows what you'd say; flying, reading minds. And it can only be one, he emphatizes. One, with all it's faults. And, Jacob makes clear, they all have faults.

Jacob Fielding attends the dying old Christian school Holy Cross, run by part-time plumbers and an aging priest, along with his best friend Milo and about a hundred other students. After returning from a week-long hiatus upon the death of his foster father, Jacob is met with surprising news; there's a new girl in school.

Ophelia James, nicknamed Oh (like Oh! shit, Oh), is perfect; beautiful, fearless, a bit scrappy but still inherently awesome. When he meets her, introduced by Milo, she asks him to be the first to sign her cast (a skateboarding trick gone awry) as compensation for losing the only family he had. He does so, reluctantly, with these words:

Your are indestructible.

More morbid then poetic, these are the last words Foster Father said to Jacob before he died in a car wreck. Five minutes later, Oh idiotically feels the need to do grab some mad air yo! (Or whatever the kids are calling it these days.) Needless to say, she crashes. Hard. But the thing is, she is completly fine. This is weird, considering normal people would have been a pulpy mess the way Carman described the fall.

But she's not, she's perfectly fine, perfectly perfect, and this is where the problem lies.

As I've mentioned above and, I'm sure, countles other times, I'm hugely into comic books and superheroes and the whole "what would you do?" delemna. It's one of those questions where you could ask a hundred people and get a thousand answers, you know? And if you do ask, chances are everyone will be lying their ass off. Like if someone said, if they could turn invisible, and they happened to have inviisble clothes to go with it, they'd totally use it to save people somehow. But in reality? How could you resist the temptation to walk into a Wal Mart and stick a few DVDs in your invisible pants? You couldn't. If you could, your either not human or...Jesus.

These are the type of themes explored in Thirteen Days to Midnight; you are indestructable. What now?

Character-wise is where Thirteen falls flat; because, while the plot itself is interesting and well-developed, Jacob, Milo and Oh were....not. That's not to say they were bad characters, they just weren't necessarily characters I felt like reading about for two hundred pages.

Jacob himself was your typical narrator, really. An everyman, average with girls, a bit of a slacker but generally an alright dude. Yes, there are some noble attempts Catman made to give him some individuality, but he was always, in the end, a confused, slightly awkward kid which is fine, really, if it hadn't been done three billion times beforehand.

Just as Jacob is a Typical Narrator, Milo is a Typical Sassy Best Friend. He has a dry sense of humor, he has special little place where he and his friends chill at (his parents totally awesome sounding book store), he always has some retort or another for basically everything everybody says and, most importantly, he aids our narrator just by existing. Funny dude, I'd hang out with him, but it's made clear from his first appearence that he is not meant to lead, he is meant to follow. That's fine, if your into it.

Oh, okay. She was just...so...meh. Maybe he's dissilussioned by his hormones, but Jacob spends the entire novel talking about how awesome she is and you know what? I'm not seeing it. I'm not just. She's an average chick who's, yeah, a Typical Love Interest/Plot Device. She's all spunky and low-mateinence and tomboyish but she's gorgeous ya'll! or something. I mean, you've heard one of them you've heard 'em all, right?

The characters for this novel, luckily, is not where the interest lies. It's the plot, the fact that it makes you think, and the mytery of the whole thing that kept me reading and it'll probably do the same for you. Reccomended.

Rating: 8

Mustache Hall of Fame

2010-08-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

Well, we all love ourselves a good ol' stache, correct?

Being the mustache afficianados that we are, I decided we all needed a place to congregate. Well, my sister and I did. Thus, the Mustache Hall of Fame was born.

I highly reccomend you check it out. The most glorious of staches (note: beards nor any "alternate" forms of facial hair are not tolerated) will be featured, and we do take submissions (internet sources, we ask, please be linked to avoid our pants being sued off.) Follow the blog, as well as the tumblr, as WELL as the Twitter we'll be setting up in due time.

Likewise, we're more then happy to accept HTML and formatting help (meaning, we beg of you, HELP US!)

So, go, my Mustachio'd friends. Go where we accept you, where the facial hair roam free.

3 Things in the Current Batman Continuum I Can Not Get Behind

2010-08-23T14:23:00.000-07:00

I love Batman.

I really, really do.

I have always loved him. Since first flipping on the TV and snagging onto those old-ass episodes of The Justice League (You know, with Black Green Lantern?) He was brooding, he was subtle, he was so very human. Even the simplicity of Saturday morning cartoons had always been able to capture this about him. He was not Superman, he did not have superstrength or speed. He was just a dude with money, a butler and a cape. These simple things have let hope surge from countless skinny comic book nerds everywhere, offering them the slight, shining possibility that they too may become superheroes. In my opinion, that is both deadlier and, well, way more awesome then being able to fly. (Okay, not by a lot, but still.)

Soon, these cartoons sunk into comics, into movies, into analytical books, into obsession. Soon, I was buried in all Bat-things. Checking out outragious amounts of anthologies from the library, Youtube clips of the Tim Burton movies, even (totally illegal) online viewings of OG comic panels. Yes, I read other comics, other stories, but Batman was always it for me. In fact, there was a time about three years ago where I could have totally recited every single member of the Bat Family, in all their versions, all their universes--Post Crisis, Pre Crisis, Otherwords, Black and White, companion graphic novels...anything that had conceivably happened to any character related to and with Batman, I knew. Of course, this knowledge eventually faded as homework piled up, boys got cuter, boobs got bigger and hair care became too important to just slap into a ponytail. Yes, I still read, but only things I wouldn't be completly embarrassed to be seen out with in public--as in, all the lovely novels I've reviewed thus far on this blog. Fantasy, sci-fi, YA. Batman became second banana.

And then came Neil Gaimen.

The current cycle of Batman is over, we're back to square one, and the dude bringing all this shiz to a close is Gaimen, the Literary Rockstar.

He wrote Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusador?. I read it. Obsession: back on.

This isn't a review. It doesn't need to be. And I won't spoil the beauty of Gaimen's work by making it one. All I need to tell you is that it's amazing, everything one would expect from a closing Batman comic and more. It's beautiful and you have to, need to, buy it immediatly.

But anyway. I decided to do a quick search through Wikipedia and catch up on the shit I missed in my two year hiatus from the Batman world.

And I am not happy.

I get it; there's a lot of side-stories in comics, lots of maybes and kind ofs, lots of ressurections. Nothing is definite. Nothing is solid. But I've compiled a list of things I am not liking with the latest storylines. Now, again, I haven't read these latest comics, only the Wikipedia pages; if I'm not getting something, please feel free to explain something to me because I don't get it.

3) Bruce Wayne has a son.

Am I completly naive to say this would never happen? I mean, I get that he has sperm and, you know, he gets around. But...hasn't he already adopted like four kids? Can't he be content with this? (Technically, he's nearly eighty.) But guys...he's Batman. He doesn't have children. He...he eats children. And, once more, he doesn't have whiney, spoiled little bitches for children. Other then Jason Todd. Jason Todd sucks.

Speaking of Jason Todd, this kid--Damon Wayne--is the new Robin. He is also the son of Ra al Ghul's daughter. He was also raised by villains. He also tried to kill Tim Drake so he can become the new Robin in the first place. Yeah, good call Bats.

Speaking of which....

2) Dick Grayson as the new Batman.

I like Nightwing. I also like Dick Grayson, by assosiation. He has grown a lot since his days as the first Robin. However, he certainly is not Batman material. Not that he's not all kinds of badass and all. He just doesn't have...the attitude. The brooding. You know. The angst. I mean, whats he gonna say? "Holy fishpaste...me." It wouldn't work. Especially with Damon Wayne as his Robin, who--despite his stupidity---is way more of a Batman-type character then Dick. I don't know. Maybe I'm just being touchy, since, you know...

3) BRUCE WAYNE IS DEAD.

Or kind of dead. Or something. I don't know. But he's proclaimed dead and then Dick becomes the new Batman, and this is all happened after Final Crisis and Batman R.I.P., so I shouldn't be surprised that he's dead-dead, but...dead-dead? Dead enought to replace? With Robin? I'm sorry, I just can't handle this.

check out my anotomically correct heart!

2010-08-23T14:17:00.000-07:00

In case you were wondering (I know you were), the beautiful, incredible, stupendous Alana of Random Thoughts of a Crazy Liberal, as well as Sunshine and Bones, made it. How? Damnit, I don't know. But look how pretty it is.

Thank you Alana! I would totally hug you but they haven't invented that type of computer program yet!

Kiss of Death by Rachel Caine (how some series' lose their steam after a while)

2010-08-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

Now, before I begin this review, I'd like to point out this little tumblr thing inspired by everyone else's tumblr things (most notably Awesome Person Robin Benway), titled "Song a Day", which is pretty obvious. I love me some music and I love talking about it, so if you've ever wondered what it is I, your dear and respected leader, listens to each and every day you can go ahead and check it out here.

Title: Kiss of Death

Author: Rachel Caine

Pages: 241

Received from: um...shit, it was just kind of sitting at the bottom of one of my crates...I do know, however, that I am not being paid for this review. Suck on that, FCC!

Summary:

Vampire musician Michael Glass has attracted the attention of a big- time producer who wants to cut a demo and play some gigs-which means Michael will have to enter the human world. For this, he's been assigned escorts that include both a dangerous immortal as well as Michael's all-too-human friends. And with that mix of personalities, this is going to be a road trip from hell...

Saw 3D is coming out soon. It is set to be the final installment of the decade-long running Saw franchise. But, really, this boat should have sunk a long, long time ago. Shit, why are they even making it, but for the purpose of drilling someone's eye out in Our Beloved 3D? Is there anything left of the once thought provoking and genuinely chilling piece of modern US cinema we knew way back in 2000?

No, no there isn't. And the same can be said for the Morganville Vampires series.

What I mean is, this offering in the overzealous vampire culture began beautifully. Combining the cruelty of college life with a new spin on the undead, along with some shitting awesome characters, Morganville promised to be an intrigueing series to eat up between exams. And it continued to be...until it kept going. And going.

In eight books, Caine has shoved together more plots and subplots then an entire years worth of All My Children. Evil brothers! Psycho dads! Vamp angst! Suicide attempts! Overlords! Mental Illness! Sexy times! It was cute at first, but the coolness of the plot-overload died out around book four. But I sullied onward, hoping and praying that the cold intimacy of the Glass House and Morganville itself, or even the apocolyptic feel of Carpe Corpus would rear it's lovely head and remind me why I fell in love with these people. Sadly, this was not the case. In fact, it was the opposite; every single character, even Awesomesauce Mrynin, inspired such hatred in me I made little voodoo dolls in their likeness out of scrap paper and stabbed them with a pen. (Would be pictured, but my phone ran out of battery.)

As I said above, Saw is most likely going 3D just because someone felt like doing a 3D movie without actually creating something original. And that's why, other then this thing I like to call Nuking the Fridge:

Michael, Shane, Eve and Claire embark on a roadtrip. Out of Morganville. No, they're not making a break for it. They are allowed access out. And not like Shane and his family was that time ago after Monica Morrell burned down their house and killed their youngest daughter, either. Because Michael (you know, vampire Michael) was given the chance to record a goddamn motherhumping demo.

What. The. Fuck.

Brushing aside the sheer ridiculousness of an immortal vampire seeking out a public music figure ("Mr. Glass, it has been speculated that you, well, do not age. Care to share with Rolling Stone readers your thoughts on this?"), why the fuck would Amelie suddenly be like, oh sure, you and your human friends run along and play a bit of music--rules don't apply these days? My theory: Rachel Caine just always wanted to write a Vampire-y road trip novel but, alas, her deadline was approaching--waaaait.

Just...fail. Lotsa fail.

Added to this is the fact that every character have morphed into thin caricatures of themselves, wondering around and doing things expected of them by myself, the reader, with no real goal other then to be as sassy and stereotypical as possible. Eve's gothiness (where she has an orgasm over a goddamn hearsch) stopped being cute at page three. This whole Michael/Shane "guys-guy" thing got old, albeit, in book two. And Claire? I used to like her. A fifteen year old in college, lost and alone in the world but for her new friends in the Glass House. Smart and capable. Now? Dripping for Shane and not much else. She doesn't offer one intelligent thought in the entire 200-something saga of the Glass Kids' Totally Tubular Field Trip.

I am also disturbed. I am sentimental, for times gone by, for when fictional universes made some mofoing sense. But most of all, I am dissapointed. I am dissapointed that I will no longer be able to muster up the energy in continuing one of my favorite book series since seventh grade. I am dissapointed that Rachel Caine couldn't have the decency to just end the thing. I am dissapointed that I had to forgo a stack of review copies to read this thing. I am dissapointed that I had to go through an entire two hours of Myrin withdrawl. I am just...dissapointed, Ms. Caine. I say this with all the respect in the world. But you fucked up with this one.

You need not worry, I will probably still buy everything else you write until I'm thirty. But not this. Never again.

Rating: 1 out of 10 (hey, my first one!)

on vlogging and why it's the new email.

2010-08-18T21:56:00.000-07:00

Ya'll know I love me some John Green. Therefore, I love any relations of his. So when I found out he had an equally amazing brother who he ran a vlog with, I was buggin' out dude. I checked it out, and it's quite hilarious:

It also had me thinking; this seems to be a trend. Siblings, relatives, even strangers keeping in touch by means of a camera and amateur video editing software. I mean, why risk the awkward pauses and boring conversations assosiated with phone calls and emails when you could just blab about whatever then fuck you feel like for four minutes and the move is yours, sir.

I wish I could do that. Like, with my gramma or something. You know, to avoid the conversation veering into why I can't keep my hair out of my pretty face or something. Hopefully.

I don't know. Just felt like blogging about it. Do any of ya'll keep up with each other via youtube? Lemme know.

Book Review: Willow by Julia Hoban

2010-08-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

Title: Willow

Author: Julia Hoben

Pages: 329

Received from: my bffl Alyssa.

Summary:

Seven months ago, on a rainy March night, sixteen year- old Willow’s parents died in a horrible car accident. Willow was driving. Now her older brother barely speaks to her, her new classmates know her as the killer orphan girl, and Willow is blocking the pain by secretly cutting herself. But when one boy—one sensitive, soulful boy—discovers Willow’s secret, it sparks an intense relationship that turns the “safe” world Willow has created for herself upside down.

Willow is to YA book reviewers what "Don't Stop Believin'" is to kareoke enthusiast. Everyone's read it, everyone's reviewed it and everyone, most importantly, has loved it. And I figured, y'know, what type of blogger am I if I haven't even referenced the thing in the entire year I've been running this site? Not a very good one, I answer. So when I saw Willow sitting desolately on my friend Alyssa's bookshelf, right for the pickin's, I felt it was my patriotic duty to give it a go.

Here's the problem:

I have no tolerence for whiney people.

In fact, I abhore them.

I can not tell you how tiresome this makes YA reviewing for me. It's constantly, ah me! I'm such a loser! no one likes me! I have daddy issues! life is such a big pile of suck! Wah. And I'm like, yup, the starving children in Haiti just feel so frikken sorry for you, you yeller-belly. Get a blog and flood the internets why don't you. Now, seventy percent of the time, I'm able to dodge this silliness with well written characters and coherent plots. And, really, it's not like I'm not guilty of the occasional temper tantrum. In fact, most things coming from my mouth is some kind of complaint or another (actually, it's prodominetly burps, but I digress.) I mask it with self-awareness. I make it clear you are about to enter a pointlessly angsty area, enter at your own risk. I know. Everyone should know.

Willow doesn't know.

So, I'm telling you know; when you pick up this book, you will encounter angst. And butthurt. And self-pity. Yes, there's also a cute little romance and self-mutilation and self-discovery, but the entire ride is filled with Woe Is Me so, I tell you now, no matter how high a rating I give this book, it is an angst fest.

Moving on.

Willow killed her parents. Not for reals, but she had way to close a hand in their deaths that, in her opinion, she might as well have. Why else would her brother cringe at the sight of her? Why else would she be haunted by this overwhelming guilt? Why else would life suck so hard? So, has the summary would tell you, she starts cutting herself to deal with shit. Apparently, her arms are two giant scabs.

She hides this from her older brother, who, along with his wife, ahd taken her in after the death of their parents to live alongside them and their baby. She detaches herself from just about everyone, even her best friend from her old school, and is content with just hiding out until high school's over and she can move out on her own, away from the imagined hatred in her brother's eyes. But, oneday! she meets this dude who's way too perfect to be a believable love interest. He loves the abscure, anthropology-tastic reading her entire family bathes in, he's polite, humble, sweet, handsome and has ressurected chivalry from the grave. So, naturally, Willow creams herself at the thought of him, but is likewise repulsed by the idea of having a normal life. She let's it slip that she "killed [her] parents" and, yup, he discovers the scars up and down her arms (pretty quickly, to his credit). It's this super weird scene that follows, him dropping her arm and running to the university where her brother works, presumably to spill the beans. Willow chases after him and subsequently offers to fuck him in exchange for keeping his mouth shut (it's said much more elegantly, I assure you). He's all like, ew shut yo mouth. Then he starts complaining that god, he didn't ask for this! Now what's he supposed to do? and she's all like dude! you could just drop it and leave me the hellz alone! and he's like, no I can't because I'll feel guilty and you could hurt yourself! and I'm like *swoon* because, dudes, he hardly knows her and he's all concerned for her safety and shit. It's cheesy as hell but it's just so, so sweet that he's no bullshitting around but at the same time he's being all protective and I was just like, man, I am not gonna find that in Jersey, lemme tell you.

So now Willow's trying to deal with school, and this crush who has her downfall in the palm of his hand, her brother, her dead parents, and her uncontrollable need to slice herself to shreds. Again, angst.

I don't know Hoban's backsstory in writing this, but the story definetly gave off the impression that it was written with a child psychology book next to the keyboard. Everything rang off as false and forced, with these hyper-mature teenagers that talk like Cormac McCarthey's prose. I was having a hella hard time relating to Willow just because she really was spending all her time going buck-wild at her pity party. It was just so...gah, bitch.

Moving plot aside, there really wasn't much to say about any of the character's personality. Everything they did seemed to contradict the label Willow provided for them to point where I was mostly thinking Willow herself was a horrible judge of character. In fact, she was also just kind of a...horrible character. Yes, she grows and develops and suchwhich, but the entire time she seems to only exist for cutting--not in the way where it displays how serious it is or whatever, but in the way where everything everyone does means they're on to her ohshyt!!! I don't cut myself, but I'm sure if I did there would be other things crossing my mind other then, waaaait a second that teacher wants to speak to me in private he knoes OH NOES! It got to that really awkward point in novels such as these where everything was just so repetitive and rather boring. And that is not something you want said for your teen novel, Ms. Hoban. Especially when teens have the attention span of a coked-out squirrel.

Overall, I can sort of get the hype surrounding Willow, but it just wasn't my cup of hot sauce.

Rating: 6

Also: There was one thought going through my head as I was reading Willow; the explicity in which the author describes the titular character's scars are just so graphic. And I know that this is common practice when it comes to books about beaten and abused teens to kind of push the point to the forefront. And I also know that there are a lot of adult bloggers out there, many with children, who can not handle reading about kids like there's in these horrible situations. I myself, being a desensitized child growing up in the age of Tarantino and American Pie, find most of the grossness in YA kind of softcore, but still, it leaves me wondering; is there some kind of limit when writing about teen violence? Like, with movies there's always a big fit when kids are graphically raped or whatever, a bigger one when it's in books. And sometimes, it just seems to gratutious to be anything other then Torture Porn. There are some pedos out there who live for these kinds of scenes. And there are parents who are quick as hell to call out an author or filmmaker who seems to enjoy their jobs way too much. So should there be like, I don't know, warning stickers on the covers or books to avoid the issue? Or should author's refrain from gross-out kid torture to begin with?

PS: look at this doodle I found in my old math notebook from seventh grade.

just because it's a dude doesn't mean it's not all kinds of illegal (or, why does no one seem to mind it when a man is blatanly raped?)

2010-08-16T18:08:00.001-07:00

every summer since i was a wee lass, i've been going to camp. every day and every night, it was campcampcamp. this year, i thought i as free. liberated. and then i got a job. at subway. which is a really bad place to work at. and i thought i was doomed.

lucky for me, i got fired. actually, it's unlucky, because i dont know if ya'll are aware, but summer is long. and boring. especially when you live on a highway and everyone you don't hate the pants off of is on vacation. and no one other then subway is hiring fifteen year olds. so i end up watching a lot of netflix and, worse, doing my summer homework (more then a week before school starts! IS THIS HELL?). instinctively, i have also been staying up at all hours of the night, writing half-asses novels and doing the safety dance in my bedroom (with the door locked...and dead bolted...and super glued...) there is also much late-night television involved. and since i suck-ass at segaways, let's just get to it.

male rape is just as bad as female rape. this is often brushed aside, and i don't think it should. now, i tend to loathe the super-eage feminazis who are prowling their TV Guides, trying to find something sexist in the context of whichever show is popular at the moment. not that i dont support equality, but sometimes i feel like its just a giant witch hunt and giving feminists a bad name. i mean, by pointing out al the things they point out, they make it sound like woman are always on the weaker side of the violence spectrum (take the Love The Way You Lie debate...actually, this is getting rambly enough as it is). Anywhoozles, with all this feminism going on, everyone tends to forget that men can be just as victimized as women. which brings me to this film, 40 days and 40 nights.

its about this dude, Josh Harnett, who's taking a chastidy vow or whatever to get over his ex-gf. but he falls in love with this totally awesome chick, Shannyn Sossa-something (isn't she pretty? she's so pretty!) and it's all challenge and shit and generally the plot is cute and i liked it, for the most part. but then there's this one scene where some chick takes it upon herself to fuck our hero while he's sleeping and subsequently get pissed at him for it. and no one takes issue with this. NO ONE.

there is so much wrong with this.

let me say this, only once: just because a woman is pyschially weaker then a man and a man tends to want sex a lot more does not mean she can do whatever she wants to him. it's wrong and, um, illegal bitch. im not saying this film is really promoting male rape, im just saying it makes the issue more of a joke, even a cheap plot point, then a problem. and that's not okay.

(for more and better analysis of movies, check out my amazingly hysterical sister's blog, Four of Them)

on Scream Queens, LA Ink and Jersey Shore

2010-08-10T20:14:00.000-07:00

so, in these long summer days without a car (or any other mode of transportation), i have discovered this little monster called reality television.

we all know what reality television is boss in the corporation of the Aughts (best word ever? i think so.) no RT junkie could ever go without, considering there are entire channels dedicated to the documentation of the outrageous behavior and self-destructive tendencies of people who otherwise have no productive skills (snookie.) and, nowadays, even the most intellectual of us fall trap to the sheer guilty pleasure that is bad reality TV. here are my thoughts on the least embarrassing.

Scream Queens

now, i love me some bad actresses. they're funny to watch and make for some inneresting drinking games (apple cyder, of course.) and i also love horror movies. so this show immediately caught my slippery attention. and of course i watch the soup, so i knew what to expect:

(and by expect, i mean vagina.)

this show, in my opinion, is possibly the worst reflection on the modern media outlet to date. its basically saying fuck you to all the actresses who had to work their asses off just to get an audition for a B horror flick with these spoiled, pampered little bitches walking on set and participating in completely ridiculous acting exercises for a role in one of the biggest horror franchises in the last ten years. no, girls, you shouldn't be aiming at the Oscar or anything. just spread oil all over yourself and scream till your blue in the face and your golden. self respect is for chumps.

anywho's, each and everyone of these chicas are extraordinarily confident in their abilities as an actress which, if you couldn't tell, are mediocre at best. but then again, do "scream queens" really have to be good at anything?

LA Ink

back story: i love tattoos. i take pictures of them, i oggle friends who have them, i tell elaborate stories about especially elaborate tats weaved from my own hyper-active imagination: (see face tattoo dude below). tattoos, to me, embody everything right with the world (that is, rebellion and artwork.) some of the best drawings i've ever seen my entire life have been tattoos. imagine if da vinci was a goddamn tattoo artist. you could be walking around with the fucking Mona Lisa on your back right now! chya.

so, i've been watching LA Ink since it's inception (as well as the predecessor, Miami Ink). while i was hella disappointed that the original cast had been replaced, i was still stoked to see what type of shenanigans the artists of High Voltage would get themselves into this season. as of recently, however, the entire programs been more annoying then anything. and by program i mean Liz, the pompous, backstabbing bitch from hell.

liz whatshername joined the cast mid-season, after Aubry from Rock of Love was fired from her position as shop manager. she came into the interview with a blazer and a cocky smirk, spending the entire fifteen minutes of airtime pumping up her already bloated ego. if this weren't enough she, um, doesn't have any frikken tattoos. hello, kat von d, are you wearing your stupid face today? do you not see that she is not a nice person?

against my (superior) advice, liz (im tempted to nickname her jizz, but I'm better then that) is hired. and immediately she lives up to her nickname (jizz). she (jizz)'s all over every one's chill, taking her first day as an opportunity to snake under kat and cory's skin and stomp all over everyone else's. she has this huge-ass issue with being trained, whining about how she's too overqualified to be taking stock of the merch, flirting with kat's clearly uncomfortable brother, whining about having to work alongside three other shop managers, and lying her ugly little face off to the point where cory is prompted to quit and causing him to pretty much end his friendship with kat.

it's just...ugh. take a look:

Jersey Shore

first we had miley cyrus. then we had the snuggie. now? we have Snooki.

my friends have been obsessed with this show for the last six months. they've been poofing their hair and discoloring their skin and adopting Brooklyn accents and the fact that we all live in Jersey is not helping. but so far, i've resisted. through countless marathons and news bulletons, i have avoided the Orange Brick Road like i would Anthrax (the airborn disease, not the band...actually, yeah, the band.) but last week, i lost this battle. i have officially succumbed. ya'll can go ahead and kiss the future adios.

but in my defense, come on. it's just so silly. it's silly how disgusting these people are, how we all know this like we know the sky is blue yet we can't stop watching. it's like a tan, herpes-infected car wreck. i can't look away.

what gets me, however, is how the boys in the house take it upon themselves to decide what a woman should look like. i'm guessing a "grenade" is a fat girl, even though these "grenades" are so not fat they actually make me want to hop on a treadmill. and even if they were fat, does that mean your allowed to treat them like shit sandwhiches? are you any better looking, Mr. Situation? (spoiler: your not.) and once more, have you looked at snookie? she is the chunkiest, wierdest looking oompa-loompa i have ever seen in my entire life (and I LIVE IN NEW JERSEY, GUYS.) misogynistic and, yes, revolting. fuck you, MVP.

ugh. america doesn't stand a chance.

Book Review: Sliding On the Edge by C. Lee McKenzie

2010-08-10T19:42:00.000-07:00

Title: Sliding On the Edge

Author: C. Lee McKenzie

Pages: 267

Recieved from: some contest or another...

Summary:

Something's wrong.

It’s not a heart-grabbing noise like when somebody jiggles the doorknob to see if it’s locked. It’s not a bitter smell like the electrical short we had last month, when all the breakers popped. No. It’s something in the air, something like a ghost making its way through the room. And it can’t be Monster, not after last night.

Shawna Stone is sixteen going on twenty-five. Already deeply scarred, she has learned to survive with a tough attitude and a thin blade. Her journey is destined to be short. Sliding on the Edge enters the world of a desperate teen and her disillusioned grandmother, each with secrets that stir mutual distrust. As these two unlikely companions struggle to co-exist we are reminded that the human spirit has the capacity to overcome even the deepest suffering.

After her mother skips out with her latest boy-toy, Shawna is given two choices; try to survive on the hundred dollars she's been left and get a job, or take the bus ticket the boy-toy left her and go to California, where her alleged Grandmother resides. She chooses the latter (though I'm sure the first option would have made for a much more fascinatin' story) and heartwarming dramedic family growth ensues. Call me cynical, but I tend to loathe all of those things. Especially if they're done as...poorly as they are in Sliding On the Edge.

I know this is supposed to be all about character development and all, but it simply does not supply. All I'm getting is an atypical joint narration with one surly teenager with an attitude problem but ALSO happens to be a genius!! and a tough as nails old gramma who, even though she's only known this little brat for, like, a week, wants nothing more then to see her little granddaughter grow into the pretty wittle butterfly that she is. And it is such a crock of shit I would have bit it if I wasn't on a train and there was an old lady next to me who was already looking pretty irked with the world.

Look, I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy reading it. Maybe it's out of some emo desire to torture myself, or maybe I just love nonfat corn, but I didn't realize how much it sucked until I put it down and thought. And thought.

You guys, I really tried to see something awesome about it, like I do in my everyday life. Everything has something awesome in it, every person has the potential to be awesome, you know? That's my philosophy. That's what I strive to instill upon my unconceived fetuses. I tried, chicos. Truly, I did. But Sliding On the Edge is like a bad elective; you wait it out, but it ends up sucking so hard you just want to switch out to Home Ec or something but it's too damn late because the fifteen day grace period is over and if you were to switch now you'd lose credits and have to take summer school--

Sorry. School-time flashbacks.

Anyway. Shawna is bratty and annoying and this fish adjusts way too well out-of-water, and her gramma takes a liking to her way too easily and can I just say how much I loathe the thought of a scruffy kid who happens to be a secret genius even though they've been to school like five times? Because it's annoying. Why can't a troubled skulker just be a skulker?

I'd tell you more, but every other character is so forgettable I can't even remember their names.

Harsh? Perhaps. But it don't say "Opinionated" for nothin', fools.

Rating: 2 out of 10

this chick?

2010-08-09T14:54:00.001-07:00

is my new hero.

so much win.

a friend in need is a friend indeed (or vacation week, dresses and why i love writing so much)

2010-08-05T18:41:00.001-07:00

so, this week i was on vacation. im still technically on vacation. for me, vacation is travelling across the country to Old Folk Florida, where i sit couped up in my grandparents house listening to everyone yell at each other about their life slash marital choices and watch Criminal Minds reruns (as opposed to doing the same thing in the Garden State.) which is fine, im not complaining (for once). i've gotten a chance to shave at my TBR pile a bit and got a pretty dress (floral! i love floral, you guys.)

so, since there has been an inherent absense of posts, i thought i owed you guys a little dose of my sharp wit and plentiful loveliness.

im deleting some of my other blogs because i dont use them. ive also been writing like mad, little snippets and characters and plot lines that ill probably never get around to that im going to transfer into one of my old ranting notebooks once i get home, if only for publication when i enevitably die from the excess that comes from the starving artists scene (ask Truman Capote--oh wait, you cant, his liver exploded).

i also drew a rather elaborate picture of a cyclops. if that at all means anything to you, please speak now.

i also got to see The Kids Are All Right (question; what is wrong with Julianne Moore?) and The Other Guys (if Eva Mendes is plain, then i have a dragon living in my ass. which is true?).

i saw a dude with a face tattoo at the train station coming in. if i ever write a book, he will be in it. that is all.

Book Review: A Blue So Dark by Holly Schindler

2010-07-28T23:23:00.000-07:00

Title: A Blue So Dark

Author: Holly Schindler

Pages: 288

Received from: the lovely author

Summary:

Fifteen-year-old Aura Ambrose has been hiding a secret. Her mother, a talented artist and art teacher, is slowly being consumed by schizophrenia, and Aura has been her sole caretaker ever since Aura’s dad left them. Convinced that “creative” equals crazy, Aura shuns her own artistic talent. But as her mother sinks deeper into the darkness of mental illness, the hunger for a creative outlet draws Aura toward the depths of her imagination. Just as desperation threatens to swallow her whole, Aura discovers that art, love, and family are profoundly linked—and together may offer an escape from her fears.

Aura's mother is sinking. Aura has only one thing to blame: art.

Schizophrenia has consumed two generations of her family--her grandfather and now her mother, Grace. Both were artists, just like Aura herself. As her mother's illness advances, she has made the connection that art equals batshit, and nothing can dissuade her. Meanwhile, she has become her mother's sole caretaker, since her father ditched the year before and is now living with his bubbly new wife and infant daughter (now wanting nothing to do with his insane ex wife and daughter.) Aura's best friend is too wrapped up in her own issues (y'know, teen pregnancy, baby, estranged boyfriend, the works...) to be any kind of help, and the only person Aura truly feels could help the situation is her grandmother/employer (who doesn't even know she has a granddaughter), not that the bitch would even ask for help; she promised her mother long ago that she would never tell anyone of her illness. So now she's left basically cleaning up after a large toddler with a teaching degree and buckets of paint.

Aura starts having to skip school, sacrifice any normalcy she had retained over the years, to care for her deterioting mother. The entire story takes place in a very short amount of time, all this crap crammed in to two hundred or so pages and you can kind of feel the urgency and desperation of the characters' situation. I read it in one sitting because there really is no other way to read it; the way Schindler writes is frightening in both its availability and sadness. She has written an incredibly relatable, if a tad underdeveloped, heroine that's stupid enough to strangle but awesome enough to cut in a little heart shape and put in your Best Friend Forever locket. Or something.

The really agoninizing part is watching Aura literally stomp on her creative urges like a recovering alcoholic would his cravings. I can not stand it when there's someone who's awesome at something but refuses to do it for some unfounded reason. There's this one part towards the end, that involves burning, where I was livid, slamming the book on my desk and pacing my room in fury (okay, not in fury.)

The romance was...unnecessary. As is really all romance these days, but in a speshial way. It was such a token, contrived thing that didn't contribute to the central plot whatesover, and Aura's ladylove just came off as an illusion, the ghost of some wistful fancy. Like, I was kind of hoping Jeremy would end up being Aura's schizopgrenic illusion, the 'voice' you hear so much about. But then, he wasn't saying anything useful. He was just this random kid who bugged her about painting his skateboard every ten pages and then rode off in a wave of sk8r boi chill-a-tude. And I'm just like, um, your cool and all. Do a dance or something.

Overall, A Blue So Dark was just...awesome. Not as awesome as it could have been, not as awesome as I wanted it to be, but it was still pretty awesome. I liked it way more then my fellow bloggers seemed to have, but maybe that's just cause I have a thing with mental illness (its sexy, you know.)

Rating: 7 out of 10

Book Review: Sorta Like a Rockstar by Mathew Quick

2010-07-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

Title: Sorta Like a Rockstar

Author: Matthew Quick

Pages: 355

Received from: library (iknoright? I couldn't resist).

Summary:

Amber Appleton lives in a bus. Ever since her mom’s boyfriend kicked them out, Amber, her mom, and her totally loyal dog, Bobby Big Boy (aka Thrice B) have been camped out in the back of Hello Yellow (the school bus her mom drives). But Amber, the self-proclaimed princess of hope and girl of unyielding optimism, refuses to sweat the bad stuff. Instead, she focuses on bettering the lives of her alcoholic mother and her quirky circle of friends: a glass-ceiling-breaking single mother raising a son diagnosed with autism; Father Chee and The Korean Divas for Christ (soul-singing ESL students); a nihilist octogenarian; a video-game-playing gang of outcasts; and a haiku-writing war vet. But then a fatal tragedy threatens Amber’s optimism—and her way of life. Can Amber continue to be the princess of hope?

With his zany cast of characters and a heartwarming, inspiring story, debut YA author Matthew Quick builds a beautifully beaten-up world of laughs, loyalty, and hard-earned hope. This world is Amber’s stage, and Amber is, well…she’s sorta like a rock star.

Remember Laura Ingalls?

Her books about her years growing up in the Big Woods with her family in, like, the 1800's? Remember how you would watch the TV show and maybe read the books, and you would always feel like such a bad kid because this chick was a parent's Godsend? And maybe your parents would bring her up, like a perfect older sister, everytime you broke a lamp or got a bad grade or something. It sucked, and Laura Ingalls made every kid in the country feel like total shit.

Amber Appleton is the new Laura Ingalls.

Is this a good thing? Pending.

In one way, she is totally unrelatable. This may be to blame on the rushed vibe throughout the thing, or it could be because of Amber's complete and total awesomeness. She visits old people and Nam vets, she takes care of her dog, Bobby Big Boy, as well as her alcoholic mother, she's friends with autistic kids, she lobbies to save her favorite school teacher and she makes breakfast for her surrogate mom, Donna, every morning and countless other acts-of-awesomeness, all the while thanking Jesus (JC, as she dubs him). Thank Buddha my mom didn't read it, or I'd be out on the fucking street. She's that adorable. The only time she actually does something teenager-y is after her mother is _____ and ______. That is such a cop out. Like, the only way to make your MC a bitch is to have something horrible happen to her, thereby making all of said bitchiness totally excusable so there isn't even any real character to character conflict? WTF?

It's a weird thing with her--like, she's obnoxiously hopeful but completly world-weary at the same time. It feels like, even though she's praising JC's divineness or whatever, it's laced with this bitterness, even before her mother's ______ and ______. This was, just a little, redeeming as far as Amber's character went. Or maybe the fact that she was homeless and shit was just another cop-out for her character. I don't know. It was...odd.

Religion takes a pretty prominent role in Sorta Like a Rockstar. One of Amber's Awesome Kid Attributes is that she has an undying faith in Jesus and God and shit and that she teaches Christian Korean women (the Korean Divas for Christ...?) English through old R&B songs, and her BFF is their priest, Father Chee. But the really chill thing about it was that it never came off as preachy or, like, a Nicholas Sparks novel. It's never like Gods real don't you question me boy. Donna and Ricky, the autistic kid (who's only characteristic is that he's autistic and he's good at math...) are athiests. Amber's always praying for something or another and its kind of in that sweet way that even those hardcore athiests would be awwing. But its also so...silly. I couldn't take anything she was saying, because everything was weighed down by slang (like at the end of every other paragraph it was like, "Word" or "True? True" which was cute at first but then it started getting like...okay...?) Amber was silly, her friends were silly and everything was just silly, I get that, but is that all anybody is? Except for Amber herself and Amber's mother (though her scenes are sparse and she's mostly seen through Amber's "Amber and her mom's top seven moments"), the entire vast array of characters are hardly seen. Talked about like they'd be hugely important but then all they do is drive her around and write haikus or other quirky things. I get that there were a lot of characters and it would have been a helluva long book if the author focused on all of them, but it all felt so empty. I need meat to my characters, and Rockstar didn't provide.

There's probably more I have to say, but I can't think of it. Sorta Like a Rockstar was silly, fun and pretty heartwarming (if your into that). The end was a tad predictable, but if your not looking for something superrrrrrrr tolling on your brain, then pick it up. If your looking for some kind of Ellen Page quirky teen drama, sure. If your looking for an actual character driven drama, where everyone exists for themselves instead of the MC, then...not for you. I don't even know, man. I'm getting cookies.

Rating: A for effort, effictivly got me tearing up a bit, but as far as execution goes? 70%

would you be reading this shiz if music was involved? (a purposal)

2010-07-21T21:59:00.000-07:00

hello thur. i know what your thinking--dude, bish can't even keep a solid book reviewing schedule. why should we think she can provide us with some awesomesauce music reviews? well, here's why: i like music. i walk about music, and i can think of a lot more things to say about any given album then i can about even the greatest book in my bookshelf.

so, whatchu think?

so im watching if you really knew me....

2010-07-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

and i think MTV is well on its way to being decent again.

hear me out.

i don't know if anyone else has watched this, but shit's a tearjerker. this is coming from me---me, the insensitive bitch who boo's during most, if not all, movie/TV death scenes. i am completly desensitized. and you know what? i teared the.fuck. up.

the show is basically about this shit called Challenge Day, right? and its kind of like those shittastic drug assemblies that're shoved down your throat, or those confidence speakers that come in and tell you to love yourself. these guys come in and the main difference is that it actually requires you to participate. its not just a bunch of dudes talking for two hours and getting you out of class. its a process. and you have to talk about whats on your mind and your problems and the whole point is that the cliques are mixing and you have to know each other better. i heard about it and i scoffed and was all like, "yeah, thats gonna stick" *sarcasm*. the trailers made it seem as though there would be some serious bitches to beat down and i, of course, only watch reality TV for the bitches. so i flipped it on (right after Teen Mom, an hour long hot mess for another day) (PS: future boyfriend? BE LIKE TYLER) and got ready to point and mock and roll some serious pupils. then it started.

i dont know...maybe im softening up. but i just thought, this is really fucking different. it doesnt have that fakeness or stupidity of all the other reality shows out there, especially the ones MTV itself has shat out. everything just felt crazy geniune and it was just sad the way these cheerleaders were showing everyone the scars from when they tried to kill themselves and it was awesome to see this popular bitch walk right into the loser section and search out one of the "losers" she met during the Challenge Day shit. i dont know. its basically like the breakfast club.

ill be watching next week.

Book Review: The Truth About Delilah Blue by Tish Cohen

2010-07-19T20:57:00.000-07:00

Title: The Truth About Delilah Blue

Author: Tish Cohen

Pages: 448

Received from: the fabulous author, Tish Cohen.

Summary:

Delilah Blue Lovett has always been a bit of an outsider, ever since her father moved her from Toronto to L.A. when she was eight, claiming Delilah’s mother no longer wanted to be part of their family. Twenty now and broke, but determined to be an artist like her errant mom, Delilah attends art class for free—by modeling nude at the front of the room, a decision that lifts the veil from her once insular world. While she struggles to find her talent, her father, her only real companion, is beginning to exhibit telltale signs of early-onset Alzheimer’s. And her mother, who Delilah always assumed had selfishly abandoned them, is about to reappear with a young daughter in tow . . . and a secret that will change everything. Delilah no longer knows which parent to trust—the only one she can really rely on is the most broken person of all: herself.

In a new novel as witty, sparkling, and poignant as her acclaimed Inside Out Girl, author Tish Cohen uncovers the humor and heart within the most dysfunctional of families.

Tish Cohen has impressed me once before, with her YA debut Little Black Lies. It grabbed your attention from the very first page and offered a sympathetic, flawed heroine to kind-of-root-for-kind-of-want-to-slap-in-the-face-not-that-I-would-because-I'm-a-damn-pacifist-so-shut-up. And...I don't know. Delilah Blue failed in that aspect. I had to read on, get to like the fourtieth page to really become invested in what Delilah had to say. Once it got going, it really got going, but it's kind of like one of those DUFF chicks (oh yeah, check the Ya reference---does this get me a review copy, Kody Keplinger? DOES IT?) you see at a bar; it takes a second look.

Anywhoozles. Delilah knows two things for sure; her Canadian artist mother left, and her father wants more than anything for Delilah to become the opposite of her mother.

(on a side note: her mother is Canadian. This says a lot about her character, does it not?)

(JK, I love ya'll Mounties. Maple Syrup and all that...eh.)

Delilah, now Lila Mack and living in LA, expertly hides her fledgling artistic talents from her father, ripping to shreds everything she creates. And since he hates all things art, she had to figure out some alternative ways to get to art school. Like get a job. As a model. A nude one.

She figures that modelling for an art class will get her some extra cash while also soaking in the professor's lectures. She also happens to gain a kind-of-boyfriend, the knowledge that her father is developing Alzheimer's and, oh, her frikken mother.

I don't know. Like I said, Delilah Blue is definetly dissapointing in the face of Little Black Lies, but maybe that's just because the protagonist is a bit older the issues are more adult, in a way I can't relate to as easily. It's also lacking the lovable side characters of Black Lies. Tish Cohen seems to have an affinity for surrounding her protagonists with really stupid people, but there was always at least one killer side note that got me rooting for whoever. For her previous, it was Sara's father. For Delilah, it was...um, no one. Everyone was kind of a douche. Some people will like this, the feeling that it's Delilah against the world and all that. Me? I found it, um, uncomfortable, to say the least.

The writing itself is lovely. Cohen has one of those senses for what word would sound right in what sentence that's really hard to come by. I was totally highlighting the shit out of these pages, thinking up all the band names I could create out of some of these adverb/adjective combos. Good stuff, I tell ya.

Reccomended, but no for anyone looking for something quick to eat through.

Rating: 6 out 10

Ps. Game.

summer reading (or, how my faith was restored in the educational system)

2010-07-14T17:43:00.000-07:00

summer reading.

we all hate it. this is not a secret. summer reading assignments have long been the bane of teenage existance (right up there with domineering mothers and acne). and the choices? usually suck. too many of my past summer reading assignments, while not horrible, have been dampened by the looming threat of essays and question packets--in summer. it's like child abuse but worse.

but, once in a blue moon, the man? they get it right.

since im in honors again, i of course have to read five books to my more simple-minded classmates one. these five are:

all fine choices, in their own right. but the creme de la creme? the novel that prompted me into the illustrious world of YA? the novel that has brought thousands to their knees? the novel that i can now talk about till my mouth bleeds and get graded for?

nuff said.

glee shippings (or, why fangirls occasionally produce awesome)

2010-07-13T00:18:00.000-07:00

so, we all know i love me some Glee. it's campy and it's adorable and it features both cheesy eighties pop tunes and totally unironic gay best friends. this series was clearly made for myself. but if there's one thing i love more then orginal source work, it is the outragous and more than a little disturbing fangirl offspring it is subjected to. there is basterdizing fanfiction, there is fan art and, perhaps the most heinous offender...ridiculous pairings.

we've all heard of them. some are sound, such as the aptly titled Puckleberry ship that is so meta'd in the actual continuity. There is also the love triangle, Puckleberry Finn (which is, upon reflection, so amazing my head hurt a little). There is the completly ridiculous but equally fantastic Partie (Puck+Artie...I kind of wish this would happen just so we could call it that). But perhaps the greatest, the most audacious, the most obscene, would have to be:

Fuck.

Finn. Plus. Puck. Equals. Fuck.

Book Review: Choppy Socky Blues by Ed Briant

2010-06-29T22:19:00.001-07:00

Title: Choppy Socky Blues

Author: Ed Briant

Pages: 264

Received from: publisher

Summary:

Jason's dad is every kid's role model—a movie stuntman with a black belt and his own karate school. But to fourteen-year-old Jason, he's a top-ranking creep for chucking his family two years ago. Since then, Jason's done all he can to distance himself from his father, including giving up karate. But then he meets Tinga, a strong and smart girl who's testing for her blue belt in two weeks. When Jason sputters out that he's testing for the same rank, the lie sparks Tinga's interest
. . . and leads Jason to his dad, the one person who can get him ready in time.

Unfortunately, Tinga's going out with Malcolm, Jason's childhood friend and a guy who could send him to the hospital with one flying tornado kick. Stealing his friend's girl . . . training in karate again . . . Is Jason doomed to be a chip off the old block?

When I picked up Choppy Socky Blues, you know what I was expecting? The very thing you could expect from a book with "choppy" or "socky" in the title--cheeseball fun. Maybe a little life lesson, but nothing too serious. That's what I got, and that is so fucking great because I am sick to death of cutesy books sneaking up on you with Big Bad Bidness. It makes me sad.

Anyway, Choppy Socky Blues (let's call it CSB because I feel silly typing that more then three times) is about this kid, Jason, who pretty much has it in his head that his dad abandoned the family for his career as a stuntman. So in a perfectly a-typical Cut Your Nose to Spite Your Face fashion, he gives up karate, the one thing he loves. And he starts gaining weight, which I feel is important because it leaves to some comical incidents later on.

But, his standing falters when he--of course--he meets a girl (while buying a porno, but that's beside the point). She's testing for her next belt and, whadda know, apparently so is he! They promised to show up at each other's testing, and he knows he can't show up to her dojo for some quicky training, and since there's only one other one in the whole town, he has to swallow his pride and ask his dad for help. Shenanigans ensue.

In my opinion, CSB has fun with itself but it never really has much appeal for older teens. I'm not sure what it's filed under, but aside from some chaste porn references the whole thing was very PG. I personally couldn't enjoy it as much as I would have hoped (even though I love Daddy Issues as well as male narrators) simply because you can tell it's trying super hard to be light and fun while also available for mature YA audiences, but it never really works, you know? In that aspect anyway.

As I've said, CSB never really takes itself too seriously, so there isn't much to be said about the characters besides Jason's self-pitying was rather tiresome at times, especially when it came to his dad. I mean, I get daddy issues, I do. But it's not like he left the state to get away from you, kid. He still resides in the same town, which is more then a lot of father's can say. Cut the dude a break you pansy.

If your looking for a quick airplane read or something, CSB is definetly right for you.

Rating: 6 out of 10

Book Review: Lex Trent Versus the Gods by Alex Bell

2010-06-29T22:18:00.001-07:00

I know, I know. I'm like an absentee parent. I swear, I have three finished reviews lined up after this one. I'll never abandon you, blog!

Besides, I lost two followers :(

Title: Lex Trent Versus the Gods

Author: Alex Bell

Pages: 344

Received from: author

Summary:

Law student Lex Trent’s world is inhabited by fearsome magicians, ageing crones and a menagerie of Gods and Goddesses. And while Lex is seemingly dedicated to his legal studies he’s always enjoyed a challenge – which is why he leads a double life as the notorious cat burglar ‘The Shadowman’ who has been (luckily) evading capture for years.

But Lex’s luck is about to run out because the Goddess of Fortune has selected him to be her player in the highly dangerous Games. Losing is not an option for Lex (particularly as it so often involves dying) but can he really win each of the perilous rounds? Given that the reward for doing so is money, fame and glory – all things that Lex is quite keen on – he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure he will… and he’s certainly got good experience of cheating.

I'm just gonna throw this out there: Lex Trent is douche with a side of bag. I literally contemplated finding this boy and getting his ass in time out for the majority of the entire novel. I mean, maybe that was the point, but had he not had his little redeeming moments as the story went on this would have been a very negative review.

Having said that, here's why this is not a negative review:

This kid, while douchtastic, is quite charming. Yes, that just so happens to be the definition of a sociopath, combined with the fact that he feels no attachment to any other human being, like, at all, but there it is. I cheered for him even while I was pinning his face to a dart board and that, sir, is hard to do.

Lex Trent, see, is a law student (who stole an apprenticship from a gullible young lad on his way to the big city), gallavanting around the town commiting flawless acts of thievery and mischief and whatnot until one day, while stealing from a museum he fucks up a bit and ends up int he hands of the law. Through a series of events, he finds himself on the run with his grumpy boss and some dangerous wizard materials, playing in the Games in the name of his patron god, Luck. If he wins, he earns eternal fame and glory. If he loses, as every godly-game trope would tell you, he's fish food. And such is Lex Trent v. the Gods.

Pacing is really where Alex Bell shines. Even through my roller coaster of hatred for the main character, I could not put it down. It just has one of those inidentifiable James Patterson things that makes it like, crazy addictive. It offers a fun little upgrade for epic fantasy fans, with an alt world in which the world is split in a bottom and top half, where religion isn't really a thing and belief is not an option (because the gods are all up in there). There are gypsys and gross wizards and weird animals but not once did it feel contrived or played out.

Again, in this reviewer's opinion Lex was a douche, but not quite a villain. Anti-hero is the word, for sure. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, selfish and cocky never really made someone cross into Eeeeevil territory. Kind of like a frat boy; obnoxious, yes, but hardly threatening. Maybe a little fun to poke.

Rating: 8 out of 10

Also: Don't hate me if this review sucks, I'm just getting back in the stride of talking about the books I read.

Book Review: Party by Tom Leveen

2010-06-24T06:19:00.000-07:00

So, as you've probably noticed, this is my first book review in...a very long time. Wanna hear my excuse? Good, cos here it it: I had finals to deal with, I lost textbooks to hand in, I had end-of-year parties to attend...I've been busy. But the last day of school was two days ago and I am ready to rick roll!

Title: Party

Author: Tom Leveen

Pages: 228

Received from: Author

Summary:

Eleven kids go to a party. Eleven different kids go to the same party. Eleven different kids go to the same party and have different experiences that at some point during the night become the same experience. Each person is there for their own reasons, and you're about to find out what those reasons are and how this night will play out.

Cheryl and Amber of Just Your Typical Book Blog got it right when they compared Party to a 90's teen movie. It brings together this rag-tag group of misfits, these people who (in their high school days) would never, ever be seen together, for the sake of drinking and fucking and just generally getting as stupid as possible before they all left for bigger things, most likely never to cross paths again. At least, that's what I thought about it. It has all these layers and different stories and different people about it, but Party really is just a bunch of kids heading off to college, yearning for one last night to say all they wanted to say.

Or something.

Okay, so they're are eleven narators. Loner Beckett, ice queen Morrigan, everyguy Tommy, skater Brent, etc. Pretty much every possible sub-group was covered in Tom's debut and at least five of them (I thought) were realistically protrayed. Of course everyone occasionally fell a bit too neatly into their label which, on one hand, can get reallysupergoddamn obnoxious, but on the other is sorta understandable considering that whoever wrote this is probably one too many months out of high school and has already become a tad diluded with pop culture atrocities concerning the teenage years...but I digress.

I think the real highlight of Party is that, yeah, some of the characters are bitchy and whiny and annoying (I'm looking at you, Morrigan), but then...yay! New chapter! We never have to concern ourselves with that bish again! Lemme tell you, the main concern I have with books these days is a) the characters are irritating as hell and b) none of the other characters are fleshed out. That was never truly an issue here.

So, Party provides this really interesting outlook on a lot of the sort of people we tend to overlook in high school...the loner chick with no friends (not that I needed help with that one...yeah...my sisters that chick...o.O), the group of meatheads who are kind of inseperable, the cold bitch who gives you dirty looks in english class (GAH DIE MORRIGAN DIE). Say what you will about the prose (simplistic), the dialogue (over the top) and the characters (MORRIGAN!), but if ya'll can only think of ONE good thing about Party, it is that you couldn't put it down.

Rating: 7

Also: Would anyone be interested in swapping something for a Lauren Myracle book? I'm really craving something less...intense? OOOOH or maybe one of those us-against-the-world on-the-run books? Hit me up bitches.

MILEY CYRUS NEEDS TO STICK WITH DISNEY BECAUSE SHE'S BREAKING MY HEART!

2010-06-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, as we all know, I'm not the hugest Miley Cyrus fan on this side of the equater. In fact, one could say I quite ditest her. She strikes me as a very not-nice person and her music is not very pleasing to the eardrums. But as far as I was concerned, she is a minor pest in a world filled with excellent movies and beautiful music, something to be gently mocked and brushed aside. But no more.

She has been cast as Janie in Wake.

Janie. In. Wake.

WHY, CASTING DIRECTORS? WHY?

I could handle the Wings thing, particularly because I didn't think it was that notable of a read. Fine, whatever. But Wake? You have to cast that thing in Wake?

If any of you had read my review, you'd know I was quite thrilled with the entire awesomesauce that is Lisa McMann's trilogy. And I was actually rather excited about a future movie adaptation, immediatly casting subtle, gentle eyed yet sturdy actresses as Our Heroine Janie. And you know who wasn't on the list? Miley Cyrus. Guys, Taylor frikken Swift was higher on that list then Miley Cyrus.

I'm going to try and be mature about this, by stating in a clear tone of voice my personal issues with the casting of our Untamable Mistress as Janie, Seer of Dreams. Call it a manifesto, if you will.

1) She's a pouter: I haven't seen her in anything but the first couple episodes of that Montana programme, but from what I hear she studied from the Acting School of Upturned Nose and Quivering Lips. As in, she pouts. That's as deep as her acting goes. She is no where near capable of capturing Janie's subtlety, her quiet disturbance. No. Way.

2) She can't be tamed (allegedly): While I'm really not buying into her whole "edgy" shtick, I have no doubt in my mind that she, indeed, cannot be tamed. As in she's loud. And she chews gum on red carpets. And she grinds about in a completly unironic way. And she sings songs about staying true to herself after she left the Disney Channel, except this time she's snarling instead of fast-talking. This all equals Not Janie.

3) I don't like her music, sure, but obviously its working for her. I just saw something on Perez Hilton about her on Good Morning America or something, so she's clearly having no troubles in that front. So why, dear girl, can't you stick to it for a couple minutes and let the real actors step up to the plate? Please? Don't ruin my book for me. I can't handle it.

Dig? So you stay out of my books and I'll stay out of whatever it is your doing (something to do with birds, I hear?).

i have a a book trailer AND an award! its like christmas without the fat old man watching me while i sleep!

2010-06-11T12:27:00.000-07:00

so, i dont know if ya'll've realized--me and Awesome Gay Person Brent, from the Naughty Book kitties, have very recently been chattin'. mostly about vodka and book trailers. so, he made this one for his blog:

so i was like, dude, i need to get in on this. so i asked him, and he done did it ya'll!

fucking sweet.

anyways, he'd totally make you one if you asked. just email him at naughtybookkittens@gmail.com.

he also gave me an award. specifically, this guy:

the rules is:

1. Thank the person who gave you this award
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Pass the award along to 15 bloggers who you have recently discovered and who you think are fantastic for whatever reason! (in no particular order...)
4. Contact the bloggers you’ve picked and let them know about the award.

so, i cant thing of fifteen bloggers, so let's call that one a free for all, yeah?

as for the seven things...

1) i am one of those assholes who makes friends with people they hate for the simple purpose of having somewhere to sit at lunch. so im friends with a lot of abnoxious gum snappers and...yeah, im friends with hipsters. its only high school, right?
2) despite my laid back demeaner, im actually one of the only people in my school not doing drugs. yay?
3) confession time: i am so into nickolodean its not even funny.
4) i paint.
5) i have a total of nine ear piercings.
6) i accept you as a cool person, your a cool person for life. no amount of flatulence or otherwise embarassing oddities will change that.
7) im a hopeless romantic, which comes into great conflict with my white-girl cynicism.

so, thanks to brent and emily for the award y book trailer. tis appreciated.

just because your a liberal doesn't mean your open-minded

2010-06-09T14:04:00.001-07:00

i know im being a very lazy book reviewer as of late. its the last two weeks of school, finals are coming up, homework is being piled on...its all been very crazy. so ive only been reading a little bit each night before i pass out from exhaustion. but recently, while perusin' some youtube videos and talking with my super-athiest mom, i've come to a realization: just because your "liberal" or "athiest" or any of those other tags commonly assosiated with being open-minded, doesn't mean your actually open-minded.

to elaborate: i mean, take an athiest. they dont believe in god, so you'd think that all of those pesky predjudice's religious folk harbor wouldn't be an issue, right? um, no. in fact, they can be quite worse. for example, i was chatting with my aforementioned mother about religion. i said that i haven't decided whether i believe in god or not, im still reading up on all the religions before i decide, etc. and you know what she said? "god doesn't exist". not an opinion, not a theory, not a hypothisis. fact. cold and hard.

so i said, "you dont know that".

and she said, "i do know that. god doesn't exist".

and this is why i knew nothing about any religion by the time i was thirteen. because no one taught me. because my mother takes her opinion as fact and, no matter how long i tried to persuade her to be a little more open-minded, or at least a little more sensitive to other religions, she was completly sold that her opinion was a scientific fact. this annoyed me.

not that im a christian or anything, i was just so peeved that she was just as close-minded as the hard-core fanatics she hates. i love her, but she's a goddamn hypocrit. she did not try to raise a well-rounded, informed child. she tried to raise someone like her, someone completly unable to see past the other side of the fence. and even though she's a liberal, she crinkles her nose when i mention i have a gay friend and she gets pissed as hell when i say i may--may--want to be christian or something. so, even though she's constantly going on about how damn liberal she is, she really isn't. maybe she's a victim of her generation, i dont know. but she's definetly not open-minded.

then we look on the other side, the conservative side. the WASPs of the world, the anti-choice, anti-gay marriage, anti-everything rich folks that everyone holds as the prime example for douchebaggery. now, if you show me glenn beck, yeah, i'd agree with you. he is a close minded, rich little prick. but show me clint eastwood, i wont think that. i'd think, "man, that is one awesome dude". but clint eastwood has the same general social views as glenn beck. he's just more subtle about it, and he's a shitload more open for change.

so i think that's what open-minded is supposed to be; being aware of both sides of the argument, still knowing where you start in it, but prepared to listen. and there are people like that in the republican party, and the liberal party. but then there are people like my mother and glenn beck who just aren't, and never will be, and don't know jack shit about anything outside of their little tunnel of vision. and they are the bad parts that we see all the time.

i dont know. thats just my half-bit teenage opinion.

in summary...go gay marriage! i have yet to see a valid argument against you, so go for it!

Book Review: Rose Sees Red by Cecil Castellucci

2010-06-04T14:41:00.000-07:00

Title: Rose Sees Red

Author: Cecil Castellucci

Pages: 208

Received from: author book tour (cause Cecils made of Awesome).

Summary:

Rose has given up. She's given up on friendship, on happiness, on life being anything other than black, black, black. Yrena wants out. She's a dancer who doesn't want to dance, a prisoner in her own home, a resident of New York who never gets to see the city. To Rose, Yrena has always been the Russian girl who lives next door, seen through the window but never spoken to. At least not until Yrena crashes into Rose's room-and Rose's life-and sets in motion a night in New York City that none of them will ever forget. From YA superstar Cecil Castellucci, this is the story of cold hearts and cold wars warmed by simple human connection and the liberty of being young and free in the early hours of a new day.

I don't know if ya'll know this, but I'm kind of Cecil Castellucci's biggest fan. Not one of. The. Biggest. Fan. I own all her books, I've reviewed them on this here blog, and I've pimped out/gifted anything she's ever written to anyone I've ever known ever. So when I stumbled across a blog entry o'hers asking if anyone would be interested in a tour she was conducting for an ARC of her latest novel, my typing speed reached something just below light signing up. And here we are.

Oh, Cecil. How you speak to me.

Rose Sees Red is about Rose, a girl growing up in New York, circa Cold War Era, and who hasn't had the best of luck in either the friend department or the dance department, despite being excepted into a pretigious Performing Arts School (her attendence of which costs her her best friend Daisy, who gives her the choice between their friendship and dance, so she chooses dance because Daisys a total brat). Rose Sees Red is about Rose trying to figure out what friendship is and what type of friend she really wants.

What I really oved about Rose was how self-aware she was. She knew exactly what kind of student she was, what kind of dancer she was, what kind of person she was. She knew she wasn't very book smart, and excepted it. She knew she wasn't some dance goddess with blood made of water, and she excepted it. She knew she's just a normal girl, and excepts it. There's no real angsting going on here, with Rose trying to figure out who she is and all that, because she knows. That's not the problem. The problem is that, while she knows who she is, she also knows that person is obviously poisonous to any relationships she might develop in the near or distant future.

Anyway, the book starts on the morning of one of the strangest days of Rose's life. She goes to school, is approached by two of her signifigantly more popular school mates to get pizza, is thusly invited to a party (her first), then when she goes to sleep that night, she is awakened by her Soviet neighber Yrena to go on a bit of an adventure. The whole thing seems very surreal to Rose, almost dream like, despite the hyper-realism of her character and her surroundings. Maybe its the time period.

Castellucci once again pairs her AWESOME AMAZING writing skills with a fucked up yet likeable heroine who is just trying to figure shit out. Rose Sees Red is so made of win I suggested it to my English teacher (who I hate and try to avoid contact with at all times). This is saying something. The only critism I can think of is that WHY IS IT SO SHORT? MOAR, I DEMAND! MOAR!

Mkay, so.

Rating: 9 out of 10

Also: Sorry I've been MIA. I have no excuse. Just a lazy girl sometimes. Now make me a sammich, woman.

Book Review: Chimeric Machines by Lucy A. Snyder

2010-05-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

Title: Chimeric Machines

Author: Lucy A. Snyder

Pages: 85

Received from: publisher

Summary:

This collection offers three dozen poems to delight readers who enjoy sly wordplay and subtle allusion, high intelligence and fierce heart.

There's something special about a lady who can make the world's biggest oxymoron work.

Chimeric, or chimera: non-human zoology. Or a little green goblin. Or parts of different origin that are seemingly compatable. Any of these, really.

Machines: any device that uses energy to perform some activity. Created.

I'm not entirely sure what to file this under. It's not a book of poetry, at least not by my definetion. Nor is it really fiction, but it is fictional, sometimes. Or maybe it is a poem. Like, an epic poem, a poem creating a story, like Howl.

I don't know. Its all very strange.

In a great way, that is.

Snyder has a way with words. It's kind of scary, but it's kind of beautiful. Disturbing.

Rating: 10 out of 10

--

I made a new blog documenting my summer-time creative persutes. Right now there are only some pictures I already posted on Tumblr, but soon I'm going to post all these drawings and portraits for my PORTRAITS OF A HOT MESS project Plus, I'm making a dres. So that'll probably be showing up, too. Here.

Book Review: Brine by Adrienne Jones

2010-05-29T15:31:00.000-07:00

Title: Brine

Author: Adrienne Jones

Pages: 205

Received from: publisher

Summary:

Meet Elliot, respected Cape Cod painter. Unbeknownst to his admirers, Elliot's got some demons in his past. When he tries to paint them out of his system, his plan backfires. Now Elliot's got some demons in his present and future as well. Spawned by a power of both mind and matter, Elliot's demons are very real, very weird, and very, very pissed off.

Have ya'll ever read a book so fascinating, it doesn't even have to technically be good? That's how I would describe brine (lowercase, apparently). The whole sordid tale(s) is in three parts, each connected by a main character, Elliot, tortured artist inexplicably successful with his countless serene lighthouse paintings, a setting, Cape Cod, and a haunted land, a cottage that also houses Elliot's muse. There lies the products of his tortured past and the past of the land itself, bringing about grotesque creatures that terrorize him throughout the book.

Say what you will about brine, but it is creative, something you don't often see in modern times, where everything has been done. The writing, the dialogue, is all very contrived. And, it should be noted, the last two chapters end with Elliot saying "Rest in peace. For the love of all that is holy. Please. Rest in peace." Make of that what you will.

Nevertheless, it's kinda engrossing. It kind of runs on weird fuel, everything coated in ocean water and seaweed, it would appear. The characters were forgettable at best, just points of view for the story to bounce off of. Even our noble hero, Elliot, just kind of sits around and be moody, before warning people shit is going down. Yet, the story itself, you want to know what happens next. Which, again, is a rarity.

Of course, this depends on your tolerance for, let's admit, somewhat shit writing. On the cover, and two pages inside, there are rave reviews about how the author is the funniest, most visionary writer ever. Hyperbolic, anyway, but the book, aside from a few humorous throwaway lines, it's not very funny. Visionary may be closer, but not to the extent that the hysterical jacket reviews boast.

Course, it certainly is disturbing. The creatures this chick comes up with, the graphic description, you get the feel that if they made this into a movie, it would resonate greater. The Horse-Thing, Man-Thing, the Cod women of the first part, skulk around, never fully developed, but the ties to Elliot's past make them even more horrifying.

Rating: 7 out of 10

creativity: not just for the tobacco-inhaling hipsters, people!

2010-05-28T13:05:00.000-07:00

Alright, so ya'll may or may not have noticed my reading pace has slowed...dramatically. I'd like to blame it on homework but, really, like I ever do my homework. No, the real reason is...I don't know. I'm just a bit restless. I've been going out with my friends and fucking around and wishing it was summer, but I just keep feeling like I should be doing something productive. Not school work, mind you, because I feel school is one of the least productive and most distracting things a guy can do without suspending the law of perpetual motion (speaking of which, I won a copy of Dream of Perpetual Motion!!).

I've also been reading a lot of different kinds of blogs. A lot of Tumblrs and this one called A New Dress a Day, and I've been taking a lot of pictures and editing them to look all moody and I've been painting so much my finger tips are purple, and I've been bugging my mom to take me to a flea market and...look, I just really want to make things. Like clothes. Because today I realized how frumpy I've been dressing. Because my guy friend and I were talking about shit and he was OMG so surprised that I liked dresses, because I "dress like a boy".

Phooey.

So my friend and I will be going to the mall and I will buy a bunch of dresses and vintage jewelery and some nice shoes and maybe I'll pierce my eyebrow and maybe I'll start a personal challenge for the summer, like I have to sew my own skirt or actually wear a skirt or do that thing this guy does. Who knows.

Whatever happens, I will be wearing dresses next year. I will.

So, anyone wanna join me in my quest to be more creative? Just raise your hand and say yeah.

so about LOST...

2010-05-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

someone.

please.

explain.

Book Review: Split by Swati Avasthi

2010-05-20T22:45:00.001-07:00

Title: Split

Author: Swati Avasthi

Pages: 282

Received from: Amazon (or something)

Summary:

Sixteen-Year-Old Jace Witherspoon arrives at the doorstep of his estranged brother Christian with a re-landscaped face (courtesy of his father’s fist), $3.84, and a secret.

He tries to move on, going for new friends, a new school, and a new job, but all his changes can’t make him forget what he left behind—his mother, who is still trapped with his dad, and his ex-girlfriend, who is keeping his secret.
At least so far.

Worst of all, Jace realizes that if he really wants to move forward, he may first have to do what scares him most: He may have to go back. First-time novelist Swati Avasthi has created a riveting and remarkably nuanced portrait of what happens after. After you’ve said enough, after you’ve run, after you’ve made the split — how do you begin to live again? Readers won’t be able to put this intense page-turner down.

For some godforsaken reason I keep picking up the Big Bad Abuse Stories. There's something wrong with me.

Anyway. We got Jace, driving all night from Chicago to find his brother who may or may not be there. He's greeted with a med student with a new last name and a girlfriend swinging a bat at him. While there is a totally logical excuse for this, the statement just sounds funnier and chances are a shitload more compelling. Yes, I think so.

So yeah, his brother Christian, who he hasn't seen in five years, reluctantly lets him stay in his little shithole apartment. Jace is all shocked at how Christian managed to get away (which, trust me, was a very elaborate scheme) without once thinking of Jace (and his excuse was, oh, he hadn't hit you yet! please.) So there's some familial dramz there, but the main conflict, I think, is Jace v. himself, 'cos he did something bad, ya'll. I'm not sure if telling you would be a spoiler or not, but yeah. It's pretty fucked up. I kind of loved, how Avasthi didn't make him a sniveling little victim. There was kind of an anti-hero vibe going on as his "bastard-no-more" pledge fails miserably when he starts his new school. Because I hate that, the whiney little victims. Even if they end up victimizing someone else, it still feels more real then a kicked puppy.

I think that was the most appealing part of Split, that the characters weren't just victims, even though most of them had every right to be. Christian, whose kind of a jerk sometimes but doesn't spend all day every day feeling sorry for himself. Jace's girlfriend, who kind of won't take no shit (a major turn on for Jace cause his mother's kind of a jellyfish) but ends up taking a lot of shit, which is why Jace can not will not have anything to do with her (because he needs someone who would throw his ass in jail if he so much as talked to loudly). She should be a victim, according to every other book on a similar subject ever, but she's so bitchy that its not hard to imagine someone smacking her. The only real victim's victim is Jace and Christian's mother who, if anything, is way more hurtful then their mega-violent daddy, because she obviously picking her husband over her children and that kills Jace, so much that he starts crying like a baby for, like, hours. I'd say I wanted to slap her, but obviously that's never gotten her to do anything before, so let's move on.

Avasthi's writing style is minimistic and easy to read. I would have finished it in one sitting if I didn't have homework and school and hygenic standards, but that's just me. While Jace trys his darndest to make you want to hate him, you don't. And its abundent with those "strong" characters that have become a myth in the YA scene, which is ironic because this type of shit is usually all about the weak, spineless doormats. An excellent debut (yo.)

Rating: 8 out of 10

since im a lazy reviewer, here's a meme

2010-05-17T21:04:00.000-07:00

Do you snack while you read? If so, favourite reading snack:

Not really...I have this thing where I can't really pay attention to a ton of shit at one time.

What is your favourite drink while reading?

Sprite or something.

Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?

Me and my friend play this game where we write messages in the margins or circle passages that get our points across to each other so that if the teacher catches us we'd just be like, "Mr. B, its a book. We're feeding out brains!"

How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open?

I've been using the same index card bookmark since seventh grade, fools.

Fiction, non-fiction, or both?

I prefer fiction, but whatever works.

Are you a person who tends to read to the end of a chapter, or can you stop anywhere?

Depends how exhausted I am. Or if the books really bad. Then its lucky I finished the goddamn sentense.

Are you the type of person to throw a book across the room or on the floor if the author irritates you?

Oh yes. Yes I am.

If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop and look it up right away?

I just use me uh-mazing Sherlock Holmes skills and figure it out.

What are you currently reading?

Chimeric Machines and Split and Rose Sees Red and The Killer Inside Me and She-Thief...

What is the last book you bought?

Me and my sister just bought Katherine Hepburn's autobiography off Amazon.

Are you the type of person that reads one book at a time, or can you read more than one?

See above.

Do you have a favourite time/place to read?

There's this gross yellow rolling chair in my kitchen that's the biggest eyesore in the world but always sucks me into its banana-colored clutches.

Do you prefer series books or stand alones?

Whatever, man.

Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?

Kevin Brooks and Robert Cormier are pretty consistant in my reccomendation rants.

How do you organize your books? (by genre, title, author's last name, etc.)

HAHA fuck no. That would require patience, which I do not have.

Book Review: Scars by Cheryl Rainfield

2010-05-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

Title: Scars

Author: Cheryl Rainfield

Pages: 250

Received from: the lovely, awesome author Cheryl (she left a note!)

Summary:

Kendra, fifteen, hasn't felt safe since she began to recall devastating memories of childhood sexual abuse, especially because she still can't remember the most important detail-- her abuser's identity. Frightened, Kendra believes someone is always watching and following her, leaving menacing messages only she understands. If she lets her guard down even for a minute, it could cost Kendra her life. To relieve the pressure, Kendra cuts; aside from her brilliantly expressive artwork, it's her only way of coping. Since her own mother is too self-absorbed to hear her cries for help, Kendra finds support in others instead: from her therapist and her art teacher, from Sandy, the close family friend who encourages her artwork, and from Meghan, the classmate who's becoming a friend and maybe more. But the truth about Kendra's abuse is just waiting to explode, with startling unforeseen consequences. Scars is the unforgettable story of one girl's frightening path to the truth.

As you probably know, abuse is a touchy subject, especially in teen fiction. You can't please everyone, and there will always be that group of people up-in-arms about the way you went about it. There is no winning in a situation such as this, because if if you avoid the haters and piss-faces, you still have a book about a horrible, terrible subject on your hands. So it'd be impossible to say Rainfield's YA debut is a success, because it obviously isn't. But I can say, with complete honesty, that she has crafted a touching, affected novel that will leave you thinking of it long after you turned the final page.

After how many years of peaceful ignorance, Kendra has started remembering the sexual abuse she suffered as a child. She knows that if she tells anyone the identity of her abuser, bad shit'll go down, so she cuts up her arm to repress the memories. However, he abuser--we'll call him Anon for conversation's sake--is starting to get a bit nervous, leaving menacing messages for Kendra to happen upon. Herein lies the issue.

On a side note: had I not gotten to the last chapter of this book, I would have written off this plot as completly and totally implausible and just a little ridiculous. But I did happen to get to the last chapter, so it makes a smidge more sense then it would have. So, I won't go into it.

So, I liked Scars. I did. It wasn't a perfect novel, but it had good intentions and got the point across. I kind of found myself comparing it to Speak, in that they both involve a girl who was raped and did the whole "self destructive" thing. I couldn't help but notice the beautiful subtlety in Speak, and the...well, non-subtlety in Scars. From the first page, the reader is literally assaulted with Kendra's frantic and dramatic narrative, her "I was abused, ya'll!!!!" proclaimations never leaving you for a second.

One of the reasons I loved books like Willow and Speak was its ability to creep up on you, playing with your mind to the point where you have no fucking idea whats going on until that one moment where its like, "oh, shit". Not that Scars didn't mess with you, but it was less of a ninja thing and more like a by-the-book-these-are-the-after-effects-of-teh-badness thing. I just kind of thing that less is more, especially with such a delicate subject (I can think of three bloggers off the top of my head who have proclaimed their disdain for the Kiddie Rape genre). I mean, it seemed every time anyone said anything Kendra had to bring up the abuse. Like when her mom asks her if she's going to church, she's all like, "Where was God when I was getting abused?"...outloud. And I'm like, "DUDE, REALLY??!!!". Same situation with her gal-pal Meghan, who's mommy hits her or something. Both of them are way to quick to advertize it to each other--like, three seconds after meeting. I just found it awkward at times, how in your face all these issues were. There's nothing wrong with subtlety.

Aside from that, I found Scars to be a fascinating look into self-harm and the effects of childhood abuse. Despite its flaws, the prose and heroine will keep you interested until the very end.

Rating: 7 out of 10, leaning towards an 8.

Book Review: A Little Wanting Song by Cath Crowley

2010-05-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Title: A Little Wanting Song

Author: Cath Crowley

Pages: 228

Received from: author/pub

Summary:

Charlie Duskin loves music, and she knows she’s good at it. But she only sings when she’s alone, on the moonlit porch or in the back room at Old Gus’s Secondhand Record Store. Charlie’s mom and grandmother have both died, and this summer she’s visiting her grandpa in the country, surrounded by ghosts and serving burgers to the local kids at the milk bar. She’s got her iPod, her guitar, and all her recording equipment, but she wants more: A friend. A dad who notices her. The chance to show Dave Robbie that she’s not entirely unspectacular.

Rose Butler lives next door to Charlie’s grandfather and spends her days watching cars pass on the freeway and hanging out with her troublemaker boyfriend. She loves Luke, but can’t wait to leave their small country town. And she’s figured out a way: She’s won a scholarship to a science school in the city, and now she has to convince her parents to let her go. This is where Charlie comes in. Charlie, who lives in the city, and whom Rose has ignored for years. Charlie, who just might be Rose’s ticket out.

Told in alternating voices and filled with music, friendship and romance, Charlie and Rose’s “little wanting song” is about the kind of longing that begins as a heavy ache but ultimately makes us feel hopeful and wonderfully alive.

Charlie is a motherless outcast with one friend in the world and a talent for music. Every year she and her father head on down to the country. But this years different. This year, she is in the wake of her grandmother's death. This year, everything seems to be worse then it used to be. This year, her only friend is growing away from her and her life is becoming more and more of a solo act. She expects to do what she has always done during these vacations; play music and watch the three best friends that have coinhabited this place with her for as long as she can remember.

Rose, Dave and Luke have been friends forever, Rose and Luke dating just as long. While Luke spends his days getting himself in trouble, Rose and Luke follow, despite their own weak protests. They're bored with their small town, Rose's urgent narrative displaying clearing the claustrophobia, the pure hatred for anyone who makes her stay and anyone who can leave. She throws rocks at cars heading out.

Her only shot at freedom his science, her best and favorite subject. She's been excepted to a prestigious school in the city where Charlie lives full time, and she thinks that if she has a nice, level-headed friend there, her mother would let her go. So she initiates.

I'll admit it, if a book has the word "song" in it I will usually buy it without restraint. So when I heard of this little gem, I immediately sought out the author and pretty much shamelessly begged for a review copy. I am monumentally glad I have no shame, you guys.

I immediatley fell in love with Charlie, who couldn't verbalize anything unless it was put to music, and couldn't let anyone hear her music unless they, like, changed her diapers, so that basically makes her voiceless to most everyone. She was one of those girls who inexplicably fall off the radar, and she made no attempt to remedy that. She just goes with it, silently observing, tormented by the thought that not even her best friend can be around her for too long. In short, she was Everygirl.

I also loved that she loved Nathalie Merchant. I loved that.

Rose took me a while. She will probably take you a while, too. Instantly her narrative is in stark contrast to Charlie's; bitter, restless, clipped as though through clenched teeth. Her anger assaults the reader like a slap in the face after a chapter or two in Charlie's chill musings. I thought I would hate her, because I hate whiners, I really do. I hate narrators who whine and whine and whine but never in the course of the plot attempt to do something about it. But then I realized that, no, Rose is not a whiner. She is angry, she is trapped, and she just wants to get out--but the most important part is that she's trying, like someone with a brain. She is not those stupid "smart cause i said so" girls. You can feel her intelligence with every odd geophysical fact she offers. I loved her friends, how Dave nonchalantly told her how it was and I loved how Luke was not the typical troublemaker boyfriend who gets his girlfriend in deep shit. He actually contributes, he has character, I liked him.

Crowley has a talent for character development. She created two similar, rounded characters without them at all sounding alike, which is a miracle in and of itself, since that virtually never happens. She has given every character a reason to stay relavent, to grab the readers sympathies. And she has done this all in a very readable way. An excellent offering from a talented bish.

Rating: 8 out of 10

its monday! what are you reading? plus some rambling

2010-05-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I'm an ass. Its been about a week since I've posted a thing and to be quite honest with you I'm reading at such a slow pace it might very well be another week until I churn out a review. I hit these sort of ruts all the time, mostly when there's a song I like and I end up wanting to listen to it all the time instead of actually doing something productive. The worst part is that the song isn't even a good song. Its Take It Off by frikken Ke$ha.

there's a hole in the wall
its a dirty free for all...

gah.

Anyway, I thought I'd give ya'll an update.

Right now I'm reading A Little Wanting Song by Cath Crowley. At school, I'm reading The Killer Inside Me because I don't like bringing ARCs into the general public. Its like seeing your priest outside of church or something. Ain't natural.

Next, I'll be reading Scars by Cheryl Rainfield, and after that I'll be reading Rose Sees Red by Cecil Castellucci (which is part of an awesome mini-book tour she set up so everyone can read it. She's a good one, that Cecil.)

I talked to some old friends on Facebook that I haven't seen in years. One's dating this guy in a band, and she asked me if I wanted to meet up at one of his shows. I said no, because I heard the band and they kind of suck. But then I said yes because I want to see her gorgeous face. She got her lip pierced.

I was begging my mom earlier if we could move. This has been a reaccuring argument since I was eleven. We're not poor, but its a pretty wealthy school district so at school it seems like I am, because my mom isn't buying me two hundrd dollar Uggs and I don't have twenty bucks in my back pocket all the time. I've learned to work with it, use it as a joke and shit, but it still kind of sucks. Our house isn't helping.

The ceiling leaks all the time. Our tank keeps overflowing outside and it smells like rotton eggs. The outside is an ugly blue with chipped paint and deteriating roof. There are five old rusted cars in the parking lot. Its a road of eight houses, with no sidewalk, a short cut that everyone in town uses. I'm always finding burnt out cigarettes and crushed soda cans by the mailbox. The pipes on the roof keep falling down. The houses next to us are occupied by old people, with nice lawns and yellow paint. We look like trash in comparison.

I think the main thing is that I want to go somewhere. Ever since I can remember I have to rely on my mom to go anywhere. She's the only one in my family who can drive and she takes twenty minutes to get out of the house. For anything. I can't walk anywhere, because even if I don't get hit by a truck it'd take an hour and a half just to get past the train tracks. If I miss the bus at school, I have to wait two hours after the bell rings for her to pick me up, because that's when she gets off work. And she usually has my dad in the car and that just sucks. I have zero freedom, and I think she did it on purpose, because she knew that I would have to rely on her for everything and she knew I couldn't sneak out to go to a party or something. I'm disconnected from everything in this stupid town and is it such a crime to want to take a stroll to the local CVS and get a candy bar? Is that such a rebellious and mischevious thing? Seriously?

So, yeah. I want to move. To another town, another school cause I'm tired of looking at these people since pre-K. Actually, just kidding. I want to move out of state so I don't have to deal with this Kayleigh's Law shit. And the Jersey Shore.

I want out.

Rose in A Little Wanting Song wants the same thing, so that's kind of awesome.

I'll see you on your blogs. kbai.

(sheila of book journey)

Book Review: The Rise of Renegade X by Chelsea Campbell

2010-05-03T13:00:00.001-07:00

Title: The Rise of Reneage X

Author: Chelsea Campbell

Pages: 352

Received from: Travelling Arc Tours

Summary:

Sixteen-year-old Damien Locke has a plan: major in messing with people at the local supervillain university and become a professional evil genius, just like his supervillain mom. But when he discovers the shameful secret she's been hiding all these years, that the one night stand that spawned him was actually with a superhero, everything gets messed up. His father's too moral for his own good, so when he finds out Damien exists, he actually wants him to come live with him and his goody-goody superhero family. Damien gets shipped off to stay with them in their suburban hellhole, and he only has six weeks to prove he's not a hero in any way, or else he's stuck living with them for the rest of his life, or until he turns eighteen, whichever comes first.

To get out of this mess, Damien has to survive his dad's “flying lessons” that involve throwing him off the tallest building in the city—despite his nearly debilitating fear of heights—thwart the eccentric teen scientist who insists she's his sidekick, and keep his supervillain girlfriend from finding out the truth. But when Damien uncovers a dastardly plot to turn all the superheroes into mindless zombie slaves, a plan hatched by his own mom, he discovers he cares about his new family more than he thought. Now he has to choose: go back to his life of villainy and let his family become zombies, or stand up to his mom and become a real hero.

Damien had spent his whole life believing himself to be pure supervillain--despite the mystery that is his father. But on the day of his sixteenth birthday, instead of a v appearing on his thumb, he gets himself the mythical Third Letter--x. The apparent offspring of a villain and a hero, Damien knows he'd be the laughing stock of the villainous world if this gets out, not to mention completly ineligable for the top Supervillain school in the country. To better understand the severity of this issue, he goes on a hunt to find his superhero daddy, and finds out he's the host of a kid's safety program him and his BFFL Kat have mocked since they were youngins. Though more attractive a sperm donor then his less extravigant options, Damien is dismayed. Especially when BabyDaddy insists on having Damien spend the next six weeks with him.

Okay, is it possible to adore a book as much as I adored Renegade X? I think not.

I loved the entire concept from the start--world full of superheroes, story set in a New York City like metropolis with the highest villain/hero concentration in the world. And, like any city with a high concentration of anything, there are many a-colorful person. Has-been heroes taking jobs as dog trainers, bullies and mean girls wearing gloves on their right hands as a fashion statement to pretend they're villains. Folks born with a fucked up gene that decides for them what they will be: villain, hero or civilian. Criminal, savior or victim. And those really are the only options.

Damien was, hands down, the least-whiniest sixteen year old I've ever had the privelage to read about. Sure, he was sarcastic and snarky (my people!) but in a way that didn't make me want to rip out his intestines and choke him with it. That, my friends, is a rare treat indeed. I could totes picture this kid running around bitchslapping babydaddies and causing some X-rated chaos (ah-oooooooh!), and ya'll know if there's one thing I love, its a realistic protagonist. (Ignoring that fact that it took a novel about superheroes to get there).

I loved the whole black sheep angle Campbell took when sending Damien to live with his superhero family. For a few pages there, it felt like I was reading one of those middle grade shenanigan-laced adventures that ya'll know you love. You know, if everyone stopped making those hit-or-miss sex jokes.

The only problems I really had with Renegade X was the romance and the end. The romance, because (like everything else these days) it felt forced and a little out of place. Don't get me wrong, Damien and Kat were cute together and all that, but I didn't really see how they were in a relationship. Because they already tried that, see, but she used her Evil ShapShifting Power to make out with his best friend at a party a year ago, so I'm like, um, doesn't that warrant permanent seperation? I think so.

The end was what really drove me batshit. SPOILERS When Damien chooses to leave his eeeevil mother, who raised him, in favor of the superhero family he just met because its the right thing to do! I was about ready to tear this shit a new one. Whats this saying to you? That there can only be black and white, and you better pick white or yer going downstairs? Did it never occur to him that abondoning the women who made your meals and kissed your boo-boos would be just as negative a reflection on your character? And you can do this to your mother (who's a perfectly nice lady, aside from the whole mad scientist shtick) because she's a villain, but you can't dump your girlfriend, who's also a villain, only she made out with your best friend on your birthday while you were dating? Are you fucking serious?

So, aside from some obvious Good v. Evil cliches, Renegade X had the best protagonist I've read in a long time, and I sincerly hope there's more of him in Ms. Campbell's writing future.

Rating: 8 out of 10