Re-worked soundtracks!

My post below has got my brain ticking, for why settle for the original when you can strip all the mystery away and instead produce an instantly out-of-date soundtrack designed to be bought, forgotten and finally sold on e-bay.

Let's start with the Modern Greats

How much more FUN would JAWS be if the fat toothy shark was summed up by the trilling melodies of Natalie Imbruglia's 'Torn'?

It brings a new level of truth to the line, 'there's nothing where he used to lie...'

Picture it with me for just one moment. Fun, yes, but more accurate also. Disregarding John Williams' iconic piano warning altogether (unless Moby could hash it into a remix?)

Song Lyrics as great human truths? (Discuss)

During my student days I once drew an interesting comparison between Madame Bovary and the subject of 'Disillusion', Badly Drawn Boy's first hit in the UK. My point, although deliciously simple at the time and now rather laboured, referenced his innate understanding of the doomed wench's emotional state, despite the considerable void between the two of gender, age and actual existence.

Now, never one to avoid the utterly crass, I thought it might be fun to imagine a soundtrack for a modern take on this classic, ideally set in the Valley. Of particular interest to me is the opportunity to be very literal.

For example, our chesty young lovely shilly shallying through the provincial malls after her romp with Rodolphe, wouldn't this scene be embellished if Ne-yo's 'Sexy Love' accompanied her? Straight to the point. Why waste key minutes in exposition when we have the music to labour it?

Gone West

This is an experimental post, as I sit in Pacific Grove, CA, watching locals go about their business.
Of course, confronted with the fading colours of the sea and shore, the almost agressive beauty of this area, I am inspired to think freely and deeply. Life on the West coast is markedly different, behold my findings!

1) Nights are deliciously chilly, meaning my beloved layers are for once a necessity and not an affectation.

2) Monterey is the pits

3) I cannot pull off directional nail polish. Current shade of aqua green is faintly ridiculous. I look like some 90s Tank Girl wannabe.

Chanel: Autumn/Winter 2009

Naturally, as it's 90 degrees outside I'm fixated on the imminent arrival of Autumn and all that comes with it: temperate climate, layers, colours, boots and coats. Perhaps a pleasing hat for good measure. The magazines are obviously a few steps ahead of me and the next batch of adverts for this coming season are upon us. It's hardly novel but I love the atmosphere created by these grainy black and white shots from Chanel. Yes the girls romping through the fields look a bit like witches coming to get you, yes they are probably trying to suck out your soul however, they are at least attempting all of this in style. Who would begrudge them when they have ruffs and buckles in their arsenal? It's possible that they might even give up their beautifully-trussed jackets in exchange for your mortal soul.



See http://www.chanel.com/fashion/8#8 for some hypnotic luuuuuuuuuuxe styling.

Mother's Advice

Now, my Mum was not prone to soundbite pop culture characters to demonstrate a point, truly, but when we watched 'Gone with the Wind' together, one drizzly Sunday when I was about ten she decided to share a little theory with me, her gullible lone daughter.

Based on characters in the film (you know it? It was le big hit you know) she proclaimed that there were two types of women. Only two mind, things were simpler then, none of this five people you meet in heaven complication, no, just two. Those two types were either

Scarlet O'Hara, namely a manipulative shrew who you somehow can't help rooting for.





OR

Melanie Hamilton, AKA " Miss Mellie" The sweet and lovely southern belle who gets the man ultimately (and what other goal could she possibly have?)



I remember being a bit shocked that the many layers that make up a personality, all those diverse cultural influences, the effect of time and location, even genetic predispositions, all of this could be reduced to the two choices that fall to women.

If of course you are looking to simplify your life and put yourself in a box but you are unsure whether you are a Scarlett or a Melanie, the eyebrows are key. Apparently tweezed, slanty ones mean wickedly charming or just wicked but the Miss Mellies of the world have infinitely softer, more yielding examples.

I wonder if this insight will make gauging folks any easier? I might try it today.

A nostalgic activity

Is there anything more engrossing than making a mix-tape/play list for someone? Especially when you are handing over music you think they may not know. It was quite the teenage wooing technique back in my hood.. it demonstrated just how cool you thought you were. I used to go all out: mix-tape, complete with a highly-bespoke track list. The more I liked the person, the more effort I put in: frankly if it wasn't covered with stars and stickers it was a slap in the face. Obviously I moved with the times and upgraded to CDs, the now obsolete mini-disc and of course now it's all on itunes. I wonder if any of my friends or loves past still have them somewhere? Stashed under their bed or locked in a vault somewhere? I might put word out.

Of course, on the other side of making the mix-tape, there was the delight of receiving a mix-tape from a like-minded soul, be it new friend or love.

I think the mix-tape unites us all.

Two mysteries and a suit made of meat.

Today is a nice, lazy day however I am thinking. I have been treading the same ground intellectually for some time so I now throw it the floor:

new career choice.

I'm not sure how I ended up in an industry (commercial art) without prospects despite working really rather hard for more than five years but it would seem that this is the case. Mystery no. 1! Now, rather than bemoan this, I simply have to find out how to transition into something else. What that something else might be is Mystery no. 2!

I should point out that I am qualified for nothing and have no discernible talents.

I'm looking for a good fit, a fit like a second skin, a suit made of meat.

Anyone.

Quick thought...

Why is the word 'neckerchief' so funny?

For it is, I think possibly because it's archaic sounding compared to current vernacular.

That's all I have.

Thursday: a day of extremes

Today, in the post I received the following:

1) My fancy-pants, long-overdue triathlon shorts. Complete with genteel padding, sufficient to cushion and yet not wreck my silhouette.

2) My package from Papyrus featuring a bulk order of birthday and wedding cards. I hate the choice in Duane Reade (my friends deserve better) and yet seem to be buying one or the other every week, so a bulk order was timely.

3) THE most beautiful box of teeny, tiny cards from a beloved fashion girl in London. The gorgeousness of the box makes me feel giddy, the cards are perfectly exquisite. I will document and display.

I also saw and walked along with Alexa Chung and her boyfriend at the corner of Lafayette and Spring. She too, like my dreamy cards, is teeny tiny and has a beautiful face. She is less scary in real life than on TV, where she seems wonderfully cool but rather arch.

In the Catskills...

I MET A CHILD CALLED DIESEL.

That is all I can say on this subject. He was running amok in a car park and his mother was howling at him.

In other news, I am taking part in the New York triathlon this weekend. I fear both sharks and jellyfish during the swim, perhaps one group could sting the other? I'm also a little apprehensive about swimming the Hudson river, hardly a beauty spot. I may perish. Had to share.

But back even with these considerable trials weighing me down, I am forever grateful that I was, nor ever will be, named Diesel. I am also pleased that I am not a Tatiana.

Possibly the most romantic proposition ever...

Driving upstate a few weekends back, I was listening to a local station, one that favoured jangly guitars and light rhythms with the balladeurs singing of how their man done them wrong. One song in particular stood out:


Every time you take a sip
In this smoky atmosphere
You press that bottle to your lips
And I wish I was your beer
In the small there of your back
Your jeans are playing peekaboo
I'd like to see the other half of your butterfly tattoo.

Hey that gives me an idea
Let's get out of this bar
Drive out into the country
And find a place to park.

'Cause I'd like to see you out in the moonlight
I'd like to kiss you way back in the sticks
I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers
And I'd like to check you for ticks.

I know the perfect little path
Out in these woods I used to hunt
Don't worry babe I've got your back
And I've also got your front
I'd hate to waste a night like this

I'll keep you safe you wait and see
The only thing allowed to crawl all over you when we get there is me.

You know every guy in here tonight
Would like to take you home
But I've got way more class than them
Babe that ain't what I want.

'Cause I'd like to see you out in the moonlight
I'd like to kiss you way back in the sticks
I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers
And I'd like to check you for ticks.

You never know where one might be
There's lots of places that are hard to reach
I gotcha.

I'd like to see you out in the moonlight
I'd like to kiss you baby way back in the sticks
I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers
And I'd like to check you for ticks.

I'd sure like to check you for ticks...

_________________________________________

You tube: LIVE PERFORMANCE (of the song, not the act of checking for ticks..)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KvHB4zpNX4&feature=fvst

Thank Brad Paisely for the music and the images and, well, for the romance.

Here's to Brad and his ticks.

Sights in the city

Riddle me this...

Three girls of indeterminate age board the subway. They are clearly travelling as a trio and share a similar sartorial sensibility, jersey dresses, flip-flops and wafty appendages draped over them in an artful manner. They are not dressed for business yet nor are they tourists. I decided that they must be visiting students for a summer program.

But this is not the quandry, for each of these girls, grouped together and chatting about the day gone by, each one of these girls was brandishing a coffee cup, here's the clincher, from a different shop. One had a Starbucks cup, another the classic 'have a nice day' cup of popular legend and the third clutched a cup from Pret a Manger.

How did that happen?

Is this what freedom feels like?

Source: Gallerycrawl.

Holiday Weekend

“Life is nothing but high school … you get into real life and that turns out to be high school again—class officers, cheerleaders, and all.” Kurt Vonnegut


So, going with this idea that everything comes down to high school, I am tickled to witness collective excitement growing in this here city about the upcoming holiday weekend. Yes, everyone has end-of-term fever, work attire is looking increasingly beachy, the subway is emptier as the week progresses. By tomorrow I shall be the only soul left.

Given that the 4th of July is a celebration of independence from the tea-pushing, slave-pedalling Brits, Manflesh and I are heading out of town to avoid a dunk in the Hudson. Keeping to the educational theme of this post, we are staying in the Catskills, in a small former school room where guests are known as pupils and quadrupeds abound. I have been promised horses and goats but also bears. Two of those three I shall endeavour to stroke.

West Village idealism versus The Winter of our Discontent?

What's this? They gave peace a chance but then let it die? Or perhaps the harshest Winter ever seen took it's toll on the plants?

Inevitable Michael Jackson post

It's hardly novel, but I feel quietly crushed by this news. Another felled icon of American pop culture. The New York Times has a touching article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/26/arts/music/26jackson.html?_r=1&hp


For all of the weirdness, this is the man who gave us the moonwalk, Thriller, black patent shoes and plasters as fashion accessory. He also had good views on tree-climbing, suggesting everyone should do it everyday. He was right.

So, borrowing from the Tristram Shandy school of mourning...

For those moments when words are not enough.

Because today is Tuesday and tomorrow is Wednesday and sometimes that is the only reason I need.

Rules to live by

How to consolidate your friends and identify your potential enemies in any social function.

It's easy, just ask the following three questions:

1) Does the thought of pop tarts make you smile?

2) Do you remember the Skee-Lo track 'I wish'?

3) Would you ever refer to a dog as a 'little guy'?

Response 1) If said person looks distant and doesn't know what to say, run for the hills. Foodies are limited! Embrace the e-numbers, but remember to brush your teeth.

Response 2) Yes or no. Open shut case. If you can't see the logic in this I can't help you.

Response 3) Quadrupeds rock and lower your stress levels by 30%. No further explanation required.

Let me tell you a story...

One stolen day, I made tracks to the decidedly fancy Hamptons, not to wear white and laugh at the great unwashed, but instead to explore East Hampton as a friend was stationed there for a work-thing. (My beauty is in the details). It was just at the tail end of the summer, when there would be moments of fleeting warmth but wool and tights were essential before giving in to the tyranny of a Winter coat.

I arrived in East Hampton and the scene was perfect, the summer season had more or less trailed out the week before so the holiday town, for once, had the air of a normal town, aside from the bombastic Gucci and Tiffany shops that replaced the conventional newsagent and pub.


After a day of pottering, going into the marginally more accessible shops we headed to the beach. I had some left over champagne from the wedding and sharing a toast with the sea seemed like the perfect way to finish it.

We grabbed rugs and blankets from B's house and headed to the water. The beach was empty. I could see for hours and miles in either direction. We sat down, uncorked the ludicrous champagne and watched. It was overcast, however the sun was strong enough behind the cloud banks to illuminate everything, making the clouds glow at the edges. The colours were all muted, soft, as if they had been rained on. The sea was a slate grey colour. The sand itself was a creamy colour. Suddenly this was more than just a lovely day out: it was unbearably beautiful.

We were now huddled under blankets as the wind coming off the sea was brisk and watched the sun progress west.

We had time to take one quick photo, above and then I realised I was late for the bus back. After a scramble we got to the bus stop, only in time for me to decide that I needed a wee... and thus diving into someone's front lawn and making tactical use of some convenient shrubs.

Do you like my lamp? OR Dumpster-diving is the new black

Rule: always live in the nicest area you can possibly afford.

Why so wise sage?

Because the recycling opportunities are endless, much like the sea (well, a bit).

One day, earlier on in the NYR (New York Romance) I was running down the stairs, in an effort to avoid a painful stop-and-chat in the lift and look what I found on the 6th floor, in the recycling stairwell. Look!

The curves! The elegance!

O happy day! the merry little guy works too, all we had to was replace the bulb.




The moral of this particular story is that richer folks than you may throw out things you might like, thus it pays to stay vigilant.

Dumpster-diving is the new black.