column: The Reader 2009

don’t judge me,
love me

How to Look Blindingly Awesome in Author Photos

Begin by assuming that everyone you’ve ever hated will see your photo. So in my case, I just assume everyone will see my photo.

“But I have no enemies, I’m loved!”

You’re cute. Let me assure you that a) you do and your unbridled ignorance has led you to this point, much like Frauline Maria danced her way into a Nazi deathtrap, or b) you don’t but will immediately subsequent to the publication of your author photo; you’re a star, and people hate stars.

film review: Beat #1169 3 June 2009

fanboys

US road movie circa 1998 (made 2007) in which nerd contracts terminal cancer (note: nerd is tedious, no actual loss via death is apparent), as direct consequence nerd determines to break into home of George Lucas in order to view film Phantom Menace (note: Star Wars monomania is weak, unironic and done), is joined by three baby men, also nerds and best friends of guy with cancer, none of whom outshine one for whom death is imminent, who as already noted is equally interesting not breathing, with possible exception of obligatory fat guy, due to morbid obesity matched with demented Rush fetish.

beauty reviews: Frankie #30 Aug/Sept 2009

hair reviews

Schwarzkopf, Seah Hairspa “Mineral Spritz”

Product introduces moisture via water spray conduit. A pro! Oil-like conduit invariably reacts to even finest rain cloud mist for self. How do I know this? Interesting you ask. Interesting inasmuch as I’m not actually here reading this to you, nor do we have a telepathic connection, and even if we did, you would still require the power of time travel to ask me, plus we’re not actually friends, so it would be like, I don’t dislike you, but this feels like you’re calling me after ten, except directly into my brain, and this is seriously why I don’t have Facebook—because it’s bullshit.

live review: Jmag #30 July 2009

trail of the dead at the corner

At least eighty percent of people here are arseholes, was just pummeled by some beanie-wearing tool locked in some demented fury to reach front of stage, which he does, is now waving in mad dog like frenzy at band as if members might get in car and leave, apparently unaware that band’s apperance is paid and mandatory, other members of crowd all point one crazed finger at stage, gesture is seemingly thirty-year-old beanie-wearing male retooling of metal horns, group bounce emerges after a time, yet bounce is vague, group launches only single centimetre from ground, failure to commit to bounce suggests Nazi torture victim fear of expansive movement, or everyone just collectively realises bouncing is fucking inane; either scenario is a downer.

album review: Jmag #30 July 2009

spinnerette

Nipple on the torso of rock—inoffensive yet pointless. Brody Dalle byproduct, at best resembles Dangerfield shopping music, at worst resembles same thing, is vaguely gothabilly but also dance punk so ultimately has no inherent manifesto or real point, although is not physically intolerable, just pretty weird given I understood Dalle to be raging arch punk or at least some kind of omniscient bitch, fact disappoints me on personal level as am pro omniscient and pro bitch, yet role is ultimately better filled by, say, woman from Dominion era Sisters of Mercy, and only then by default since I recall her alternately commanding an underground dwarf factory and a minor Saudi Arabian death squad; since Brody has bizarrely chosen not to do likewise, she has drawn comparisons to Pink, who also portrays self as punk menace yet is now spokesperson for Optus conglomerate—what does this mean?