Ladies, Ladies, Ladies

Warning: Gratuitous use of "vagina," "crotch," "cootch," "hoo-ha," "lady bits," "nether regions," "labia," "muff," and "muff button" to follow.


It has recently come to my attention that a certain form of plastic surgery has come into vogue with ladies of all ages; known professionally as "labiaplasty," the surgery involves the reduction of the labia minora and/or majora. While there is a genuine need for this surgery where the lady bits are so elongated as to cause discomfort or a health risk, there is a significant percentage of these surgeries which are done for purely cosmetic purposes. Because women didn't have enough to obsess and nitpick over and be insecure about, now we have to look at our hoo-ha's and wonder if they are freakish alien symbiotes attached to our crotches.



This whole post stems from a program I watched on BBC America called "The Perfect Vagina" where a journalist interviews doctors, patients, women who have considered getting the surgery, therapists, artists, and insensitive jackholes who should never be touched by women. It was interesting to watch and raised several questions in my own mind, as well as my feminist righteous indignation (video of the program can be found below). According to the program, "vaginal cosmetic surgery on the NHS has doubled in the UK over the past five years and in the private sector there has been a 300% increase in labiaplastys, making it the fastest growing form of cosmetic surgery in the UK."

Visit documentary-log.com for free online documentaries!

But, as pointed out by writer Amy Clare (you should read this) for feminist UK blog, "The F-Word," the documentary failed to question the WHY women feel the need trim their cootch surgically to resemble a young girl's downstairs area.

The source is porn, obviously, where waxed nether regions and bleached naughty bits (and bottoms) are the norm. Women are substituted for right fists, never reaching orgasm themselves, but being slathered in semen because HIS orgasm is HER orgasm. A significant amount of porn is degrading, offensive, and one sided; I'm all for sexual liberation, but that isn't what this is. It's the patriarchal double standard moving from the bedroom to in front of the camera to satisfy a demand from a mostly male population.

My theory is that the movement from mostly natural-looking ladies of the seventies to the hairless skeletal bleached blondes with mangos for tits who look like they're fifteen is a warped and distorted reflection of the movement in mainstream media towards a sculpted, glossy, impossibly skinny, toned, and bronzed female standard of beauty that is almost always skimpily dressed in expensive designer clothes and jewelry. (That was a mouthful, my apologies!)





If you haven't been paying attention, you just have to look at fashion magazines and television; you can't find bathing suits that aren't bikinis unless you go to the "ladies over fifty" section of a clothing store, where the suits are of some of the worst and unflattering designs (clothing women over the age of fifty in huge, shapeless tents is another post entirely). Not to mention that bikinis are getting so skimpy that the function of them is very clearly to display "the goods," and that chick ain't gettin' nowhere near the water.



On TV, the lead female is never anything less than skinny, and if a female character is a little plumper or perhaps a little odd looking, she's the comic relief. We are so trained to view females on television by this standard that when someone does buck the status quo, even I, as good a lady feminist as I try to be, am taken aback, and I have to stop myself and readjust my thinking.

I may sound paranoid, but the emphasis on SEXY, rather than BEAUTIFUL is a trend that has been creeping up on us for some years now, and of course, women with their low self-esteem and desperate need to please are obsessed with becoming what they believe to be the standard of what is "beautiful," which is, in fact, the standard of "sexy." What a lot of women don't understand is that just because a guy thinks you're sexy and "do-able," DOESN'T MEAN THAT HE IS GOING TO LOVE YOU. The thought process that goes through a woman's mind is convoluted and utterly mistaken: "To get a man's love and affection, I have to get his attention. To get his attention, I have to be physically attractive. To be physically attractive, I have to adhere to this unattainable and horribly uncomfortable and expensive and superficial standard of what I've been told is attractive, and wear as few clothes as possible while I'm doing it."

To get back to the original point, because women think that every gotdanged bit of them has to be physically attractive in order to make dudes want to be with them, they're chopping off bits of themselves (bits that guys really shouldn't be looking at for long periods of time anyway, those bits are for using, not looking).

It is especially perplexing considering how absolutely bizarre and ridiculous a dude's member looks, flacid or erect. If they get to have a protrusion that varies in size, shape, color, and direction of the bend, why are women driving themselves nuts over a few folds of skin that are almost never out in public?

I'm not sure I have an answer; females today are more open about their sexuality, especially with other females, so the subject of what their vaginas look like wouldn't seem like it's that taboo, but perhaps it is? We can compare boobs 'till the cows come home, but because those nether regions do gross and gooey stuff, we still don't feel comfortable discussing them.

I think, at the very least, women need to understand that:

1.) Vaginas are always going to look a little weird. They're in a crushed and crumpled area of moist darkness, and they are primarily FUNCTION not FORM. So you need to get used to the idea that those porn stars? That's not reality, that's a lot of unhealthy crotch tampering that isn't natural. And really, when you think about it, why do you want your guy having sex with a fifteen year old's vagina? THAT'S GROSS AND WEIRD.

2.) Most dudes aren't going to give two craps what your junk looks like as long as they get to put their willy in it. If a guy does, then guess what? He's an insensitive asshole who doesn't operate in reality, and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble down the road if you kick him in the balls and toss his shit into the street.

3.) Respect that va-jay-jay. That thing is freaking amazing, the things it can do. All those kickass sensations that make you go, "oooh," a complex ecosystem of pH levels to facilitate the birth of the best offspring possible, constricting, expanding, have you ever seen a baby being born? IT IS A HERCULEAN FEAT. I know we get ticked off at it because it might smell funny after a few days of not showering, and it bleeds sometimes, but you know what? We have soft poofs of hair, while dudes have an elephant trunk sagging off their front and they often sit on their balls. I think we can call that a win, don't you?


Jamie McCartney's "Great Wall of Vagina"

And now, for something completely different....

He's awesome, but he needs a proper haircut.






I wish I could art that hard for that long.




Still trying to muster the strength to review the third Twilight book, but am hindered by the insatiable need to do nothing.

New Moon

So, if you haven't completely disowned me, and are curious to hear further reports from enemy territory, I have collected my thoughts on Stephenie Meyer's second novel in the Twilight series, New Moon.

As the intensely intense love story of Edward and Bella continues, certain patterns start to emerge that on the surface seem innocuous, but the more I think about them, the more I'm sort of disturbed by how this coupling is portrayed.

At the beginning of the book, the Cullens throw a birthday bash for 18 year old Bella, who has suddenly become obsessed with aging the way I did when I turned 25 and realized a quarter of my life had gone by without me noticing. However, in my experience, most 18 year olds aren't so aware of their aging since they've only just gotten their license, the right to vote, and can buy cigarettes, but not alcohol, and they have all that lovely disposable income from not paying bills or mortgages or buying their own food. But Bella is super cranky about turning 18 because perfect Edward is forever 17, and God help us should she age a few years and look slightly older than Ed for the rest of their love story. Because women aren't obsessed with aging as it is, and now we have a weird fantasy metaphor reiterating how men aging is more accepted and lauded than women ('cause we all get saggy and crusty with liver spots all over everything, WE ARE REALLY JUST ALL HIDEOUS CRONES-IN-TRAINING). So Bella's neurotic anxiety attacks about aging is more than a little irritating.

ANYWHOO, so she's grumpy about getting old, and is one of those people who hates people celebrating their birthday (and those people piss me off, chill out, it's just a great excuse to get our party on, DON'T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM US, PARTY POOPER), but she begrudgingly allows the Cullens to throw a little get-together, and she cuts herself on the wrapping paper of a gift (Seriously? The wrapping paper?) and the scent of the blood sends the younger vampires into a tizzy, and perfect Edward's solution to get Bella out of harm's way is to throw her into a mirror on the other side of the room, sending a shower of broken glass and splintered furniture all over her fragile person. CONGRATS ED, YOU JUST WON THE BRILLIANT STRATEGY AWARD OF THE DAY. At any rate, the party is ruined and Ed uses this little mishap as an excuse to run from this relationship. Just like a guy to think up any excuse to avoid commitment.

At this point, I had a few questions. Granted, vampires have a super keen sense of smell as predators, and Meyer established the feeding frenzy mentality when they get their chompers into you, but how does one "blend in with society" if a PAPERCUT causes them to go berserk and launch themselves towards the potential food source, fangs bared and eyes rolled back in their heads like great white sharks? Walking around a high school, or just through this mountain town (which is probably a logger mecha), how does one avoid every person with a scratch or cut? You can't. This plot device is dumb.

Furthermore, as a matured female that produces eggs and goes through the life cycle, how does our darling Bella handle being without Eddie for five days while she rides the crimson wave? I don't care what kind of contraptions you use during that time of the month, if you aren't supposed to be near a lion while menstruating, you sure as hell shouldn't be within fifty miles of a vampire.

Speaking of being without Eddie, you may or may not know that this is the novel where Edward wrenches himself from Bella's cloying grasp, taking his whole family with him, Bella's only other support system. According to him, it's to "protect" Bella, to keep her safe from any more incidents like her birthday party, because she is just a fragile, breakable human, and he refuses to turn her into a vampire for his own internally righteous reasons.

"Sorry babe, gotta go, you've got a few too many crow's feet for my liking."

It's titled New Moon to describe the darkest period of Bella's life, life without Edward. Prior to his well-timed departure, Bella insists that Edward spend every evening next to her while she sleeps. One could read a lot into this, and I'm more than a little uncomfortable with her physical dependency on him, not dissimilar to a drug habit, and the way he cradles her like a child ALL THE TIME. This point is really driven home in a scene (though I can't remember which book this takes places in) where she's mad at him for all of fifteen seconds, then backs down and leaves the window open, inviting him into her bed. I hate that she had every reason to be pissed at him, but there is nothing she can do to punish him for being stupid like you do with normal dudes, both because she doesn't have much to threaten him with and because she can't hold her ground against him for any significant length of time. Who taught her how to be a woman? When your dude is being a pain in the ass, you stay mad at him for a few days, not telling him why you're pissed, until he figures it out for himself and apologizes proper-like. She is full of fail. It really illustrates one of the more disturbing aspects of their relationship, the one where it trips down the very fine line between THE MOST INTENSE LOVE EVER and AN UNHEALTHY DRUG ADDICTION.

So you can imagine the kind of withdrawal she goes through when Edward takes off.

Now, if you see the movie, you will probably hate Bella with all your soul for being so psycho about Ed leaving. The revolving shot with Bella staring out the window as the seasons change is especially ridiculous. The book is a bit more subtle, and though she goes through catatonic depression for two weeks, Bella makes an effort to maintain the illusion of normalcy so Charlie doesn't worry too much about her. She doesn't do it very well, but give her a sticker for trying. However, the screaming nightmares (and I'm talking about the kinds that shake the windows) are pulled directly out of the book. I maintain that sympathies should lie with Charlie, not Bella, especially since the nightmare isn't particularly scary, AT ALL. The whole situation is overdone, yet nauseatingly familiar, since I once was a teenage girl. I suppose Meyer's point is that Bella doesn't get over Edward's absence like any normal girl because he is her one true love (gag). Personally, I don't believe in one true love; which is why I suppose I find the whole thing a tad ridiculous. Especially since Meyer brings Jacob Black into the mix, the poor, puppy-love ridden hot Indian, someone with whom Bella finds comfort and distraction from her broken heart.

Who's the saddest not-a-werewolf?

When you get dumped and you are naturally super sad about it, and outside of enough time to forget how bad it hurt, the best remedy is a new love interest. And precocious, adorably shirtless Jacob fits the bill to a "T." But you know what Bella does? She breaks out the old, "I love you, but I'm not IN love with you." Because she's still hung up on Edward, Mr. I Know What's Best For You, Always. GAHHHHHH. The second Edward is back in the picture, she breaks that hot Indian's heart after using him like a sexy elixir to make herself feel better. She even tells Jacob that given the choice, she will ALWAYS choose Edward over him.

OUCH.

So, Edward abandons Bella for her own safety, which in fact puts her directly in danger, from both herself, getting into dangerous situations so she can have all those indignant arguments with phantom Edward that she'd never have with the real thing, and vengeful psycho vampire Victoria, who has decided to hit Edward where it hurts for killing her mate James in the first book by torturing and murdering HIS mate, i.e. Bella. Again, Edward, first place trophy for you. Thankfully, the hot and totally ripped not-a-werewolf Indians are on top of things during the Cullens' absence.

Energetic after-school program or sexy not-a-werewolf cult?

Now, we come to an interesting crossroads. Edward and Jacob are polar opposites, cold and hot, calmly composed and heatedly passionate, icy white and warm mocha brown. Edward is, allegedly, completely selfless, putting Bella's safety and well-being above his own happiness. Jacob, though sweet and loyal, has no compunction about throwing a hissy fit and laying down the guilt trip, even lying to manipulate Bella into getting his way. But realistically, Jacob offers the better choice: One doesn't have to abandon their entire family to protect their now-undead life status or watch friends and loved ones die as they live forever. You would be free to live life in near normalcy, compared to the lengths vampires have to take to keep themselves hidden.

BUT. Both are overprotective of Bella and are convinced that they know what's best for her. Both tread through the dangerous territory of romanticized domestic abusers:
Edward is a little more controlling than your average insecure dude. He makes major decisions without asking for Bella's input, he keeps tabs on her movements and who she spends her time with, he tries to tell her who she can and can't hang out with, he thinks he knows what's best for her, and to be with him she has to give up contact with her family.
Jacob is an emotional manipulator, he could lose his temper and maul someone at any time, he will lie to get what he wants, and he doesn't feel bad about hurting people he doesn't like.
Meyer tries to justify their behavior through their supernatural status and the fact that Bella is pretty much under constant threat of death and dismemberment, but because she sets up both males as the ideal for masculinity, these aspects of their personalities are a bit disturbing. This may be something you need to read for yourself and see what you think.



So at the end of New Moon, Bella saves Edward's life and she immediately forgives him for all the bullshit he's put her through because he's so wracked with guilt and despair without her that he was going to commit suicide. HOW SWEET. And yes, the Romeo and Juliet allusions are there, and guess what? Romeo and Juliet were morons. They made SEVERAL bad decisions. Guess who else keeps making bad decisions?

On the positive, this book isn't all that bad, and we get to see some intense Indians do some damage. But the ride ain't over. And neither is the crazy drama. Not only is Victoria still out there, circling her prey, but now the vampire police (Volturi) are on the Cullens' asses about having a human gal pal. Whoo! Who's got some conflict all up ins?

THESE GUYS.

Twilight, dangit.

Twilight. It was a word that used to bring a sense of atmosphere, a witching hour, full of mystery and husky colors. But now, it has another meaning. A series of books written by the Mormon version of Anne Rice have arrested all use of the word and have somehow made teenage girls even more detestable. However, before I launch into yet another tirade, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is. It’s time for me to suppress my gag reflex and read the novels for myself.

That’s right, I’m taking one for the home team.

From here on out, I will be critiquing Stephenie Meyer’s teen vampire, disturbingly obsessive, love story (I may have to take a few breaks and read the dictionary to stop the screaming in my head).

Let the games begin.



Wow. Okay. Now, I’ll say this: it’s not as bad as I was anticipating. But I have to qualify that by saying, I was expecting a horrid pile of shit. No, specifically, I was expecting the scribblings of a thirteen year old. What I got was the wet dream of a seventeen year old.

Hang on, I need to pause for pie. PUMPKIN PIE.

Delicious.
So, as I was saying, this is essentially a trashy romance novel for teens (despite the thirty to forty year old women I see walking around wearing Twilight t-shirts. UGH.) The writing isn’t terrifically refined, nor particularly inventive. BUT, as holders of the double-X chromosomes, ROMANCE tends to be a bigger magnet than you would think. Boys, being romantic, as only a woman could think up, hits us right in the ovaries, nearly every time. You really have to do some serious uteran crunches to build up a tolerance/immunity to sappy/predictable romance. I’ll admit that I own both Bridgit Jones’ Diary films, and that I have watched 2 Weeks Notice. Don’t judge me. Cary Grant is our kryptonite and Richard Gere makes us tingle in special places. But I’m off-topic; the fact is, romance outsells most other genres, and when you throw vampires in the mix, sexy, sexy vampires, you’ve got a bestseller.

Vampires are the quintessential bad boys; they’re dangerous and brooding, and they feel every emotion to the furthest degree of feeling. They have their own place with French furniture, fast cars or bikes, rock the metrosexual look, and will occasionally flip out and yell, but then feel really bad about it later. But they can’t allow themselves to LOVE because they’re monsters without souls and they’re going to live forever, blah blah blah, and so they’re miserable, but BY GOD, all the ladies are wetting their pants for a crack at one of those fixer-uppers. Because every chick thinks that she will be the one to show the bad boy how to love and turn his life around and be taken along for the sexy vampire ride.

So it just figures that every ten years a series of vampire novels comes around and chicks flip their shit, but this…this is on the far side of ridiculous.

To be fair, let me say this: the movies are not the books. The movies, and please believe me when I say this, really distort and discolor the characters and the tone of the books. Kristen Stewart needs a slap in the mouth and a steak. Robert Pattinson needs a little less product in his hair and needs to remember that his dog didn't just die.

The characters in the film are pretty much awful in comparison to the ones in the book. Bella actually closes her mouth and doesn’t act like a half-dead fish; bland, frigid, and extremely unlikeable. The Bella in the book has a bit of a sense of humor, and can usually dole out as much as she takes, verbally, when she isn’t distracted by how pretty Edward is. She takes care of her dad and is a little more grounded than most teenage girls, though occasionally just as dumb (we can only ask for so much).

I remember watching the movie and being struck by how selfish and unthinking Bella was; she allows her hormones to supersede anything else, and whatever gets in the way of that causes her to go completely mental. The whole time I was thinking, “God I wish her dad would just ship her ass off to an all-girls Catholic school.” But the other Bella is a bit more sympathetic and puts a lot of effort into taking care of Charlie (the dad); she spends the second half of the book frantic about his and her mother’s safety after Bella is targeted as particularly enticing prey by expert hunter and vampire James. And what I appreciated most was that she was entirely aware of how unreasonable and insane the whole mess is. She knows that falling that hard in love with someone, a vampire, no less, this early in life is completely bonkers (which it is). But when you’ve got the romantic equivalent to heroin, what are you going to do?

Edward also has a pretty sharp sense of humor to match his fangs, and can express caring and sympathy, rather than just look like he ate something unpleasant or got kicked in the junk. And guess what? They both SMILE and LAUGH every once in a while, and most of the dramatic stuff they do isn’t nearly as lame and core shuddering as the movie makes it out to be (though the dazzling sparkle-reveal is still a little bit silly).

Meyer hits on a few real, painfully familiar adolescent traits, which I will begrudgingly give her credit for. Bella’s anger and frustration causing her to cry without being able to stop no matter how much she tries to control her emotions is something that I can identify with (I cry during children’s movies, I just can’t help it). Teenagers being petty and jealous and awkward as fuck is pretty par for any high school, and becoming disillusioned with adults and feeling the need to take care of them is part of growing up. And, God help us, we all remember that guy that made us insane with desire, to the point of performing some desperate stalking. And if you don’t, you’re probably suppressing some serious criminal activity.

She also, somehow, don't ask me how, works in some Adam and Eve symbolism. How did she do that? And not poorly? DAMMIT.

HOWEVER.

Meyer has the terrible habit of recycling her adjectives, repeating the same descriptions in a girly whisper of awe. If you took all the descriptions of Edward’s ice cold beauty and immaculate perfection and put it in one place, it sounds like the ravings of Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man . This was something that bothered me a good deal; Edward is so PERFECT OH MY GOD IMPOSSIBLY PERFECT, and personally, I think people that look like “models out of a magazine” or “movie stars” are BLAND. They’re boring. There’s nothing interesting about their looks, a symmetrical blank piece of flesh with nothing to look at except the designated topography. Who the hell wants that? Blah.

She has a better grasp of the dialogue, but there are those moments every now and then that you have to pause and go, “Did I really just read that? Did I REALLY just read that?”


Passages that made me go, “WAT?” (Yes, “what” without the “h,” to really emphasize the “AHHHHHH”):

Edward: "...I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella."
AUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH.

My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost in much less helpful surroundings...
I think you mean "more helpful," as getting lost in less helpful surroundings is pretty much expected.
...The trail would deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell.
...Did-didn't you just say you don't know directions?

Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.
I...uh...isn't this pretty much illustrating you as the easiest prey around?

By dint of much elbow grease…
Though this is grammatically correct, I have NEVER heard anyone use "dint" in this context. I maintain that no one should use it in this context, as it sounds hella weird.

I pulled all my hair over my head, letting it fan out on the quilt above me, and focused again on the heat that touched my eyelids, my cheekbones, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt…
Whoa, Bella, I'm not the one you need to seduce, 'kay?

He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare.
That's better.

“I’ll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge…”
Bella, maybe this is a regional thing. But 'round here, no one says "Cold-cut sandwiches" unless they're over sixty.

I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving breathless, but subdued, before the final bell.
I get it, but it seems unnecessary.


Important points:
No one with long hair uses rubber bands to tie back their hair unless they’re left with no alternative OR they are weathered old Hells Angels.

The blurb on the back cover misquotes the text.

Bella, no one winks except creepy old men and people with bad tics.

DAZZLE. Use it once, shame on me. Use it four times in a row, shame on you.




And so, one book down, three to go. Onward and upward!

Hope this hasn't gotten too music heavy, a change in the station is coming soon

Owl City, "Fireflies"

This is a lovely video and he is a lovely boy. And the song is catchy as hell.

Owl City - Fireflies from Carolina Alvim on Vimeo.

An Idiot Savant in Desperate Need of a Good Meal

Let me start off by saying, MY GOD, THE EARLY SEVENTIES WERE SOME GOOD YEARS. I have no idea if it's just a coincidence, but there are many "desirable males" that were born in '72, '73, and '74. That's not to say that there aren't a whole host of men that were born before or after who aren't just dandy, or that there weren't a whole host of jerk-offs that were born those same years, but in my own skewed mind, those years keep cropping up as the birth dates for some dudes I have lady boners for. It isn't relevant to anything, but I just thought I'd mention it.

There are only a handful of musical artists who's entire catalogue I can listen to and go, "Oh man, this is pretty much all so good, not even a strategically placed chocolate truffle could distract me from listening to these rockin' beats." One of the precious few happens to be this lovely young man, Andrew Bird. Even his name has a lyrical quality, it rolls off the tongue, and you hear a twittering in the distance when you say it. And yes, he whistles. Much better than you or I.



I've had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Bird twice in concert; take my advice, listen very closely, in fact, push your face right up to your screen and concentrate very hard: THE SOONER YOU ATTEND ONE OF HIS CONCERTS THE MORE COMPLETE YOUR LIFE JOURNEY WILL BE. At the latest show at the Orange Peel he had a pretty nasty cold, but played and sang like he had just awoken from the most restful and peaceful of naps and had sipped the nectar of the local honeysuckle. He plays multiple instruments (violin, guitar, xylophone, piano, etc.) and uses looping technology to turn himself and two or three other musicians into a full-fledged orchestra.

Know what else I love? He bridges the generational gaps brilliantly, marrying classical music with folk with a quirkiness that appeals to the most snooty of hipsters. I went with my mother and a co-worker some years my junior; we were joined by beret-ed fifty-something intellectuals, twenty-something hipsters in striped shirts and Converse hightops, braced and gawky teenagers with black X's on the backs of their hands, and a few gray-haired ladies waaaaaaaay in the back, as far from the speakers as they could get. It was a veritable melting pot, old and young coming together to fawn over the anemic maestro.

If you need a bit more convincing, that's fine. You apparently don't appreciate my expertise, and need a rough shove into the right direction.

One of my favorite records is Thrills, a stylized concept album that throws back all the way to the twenties and thirties, with a touch of ol' country standards, and is an excellent demonstration of Bird's flexibility and range.


Minor Stab


Eugene


Nuthinduan Waltz



The influence of Thrills is echoed on Oh! The Grandeur, but it swells larger and more grandiose than its predecessor, hence the self-mocking title.


Vidalia, a song about his grandfather


Tea and Thorazine, a song about his autistic brother


The Idiot's Genius


My other two favorite albums are a little more "contemporary," if you could call them that. They also have some of my absolute favorite songs and are a good place to start if the folksy rag-time is going to take you a bit of getting used to.

The Mysterious Production of Eggs

[untitled]


Fake Palindromes


Tables and Chairs



Armchair Apocrypha

Dark Matter


Simple X


The Fiery Crash



You may be thinking, wow, that's a lot of albums for me to take in. Guess what? I've been kind, there are buttload more to listen to. You can go to Mr. Bird's website to take it all in, hop on iTunes and see if there's anything you like. I hope you do like, because he's a musician worth supporting, and my friend Megan will probably cry if you don't, and why would you make such an adorable girl cry, that's like making a kitten cry, you are the goddamn worst.

If I hadn't been listening to Elliott Smith all through high school and had future music listening powers...

...this probably would have been the soundtrack to my very sad teenaged existence.

Like other great Icelandic artists before him, Ólafur Arnalds is more talented than you or I could ever be, and certainly more than your mom (unless your mom happens to be Bjork).

The following are songs from his April EP Found Songs: seven songs, one created each day for a week. You know what's awesome? You can download them for free; if you decide you like them, you can purchase the EP in various formats (it is, after all, the technical age.)

If you enjoy bands like Sigur Rós, I'm sure you'll find an appreciation for this young fellow (born in '87, GAH I'M SO OLD), though you may want to be sure there are no straight razors nearby while listening to this hauntingly, achingly beautiful album.

"Day I: Erla's Waltz"



"Day V: Lost Song"



"Day VII: Ljósið"

Ólafur Arnalds - Ljósið (Official Music Video) from Erased Tapes on Vimeo.

(Many thanks to my pal Flash Gordon for pointing this out)


Incidentally, this also caught my eye; who doesn't love wispy fellows on a cold beach dancing around in pea coats? BLACK pea coats? No one, that's who.

Codes In The Clouds - Paper Canyon (video teaser) from Erased Tapes on Vimeo.