Blue Paper Parasols

Blondes have more fun?

I made a big decision yesterday and went blonde. I was originally planning on dying it all red (the same red I'd dyed the front of my hair over a month ago), but after we'd bleached all of it, it looked good. Unnaturally good. I've never figured myself for a blonde. My mother's a blonde, but I've always had brown hair, and liked it. My eyebrows are very thick and dark, and in general I've just always imagined blonde hair would look awful on me. I think everyone did, if the thought came up at all.

But it looked good. I guess the blue/green eyes and fair skin helped, but I'd never thought about it. So I decided to stay blonde, at least for a while. Everyone agreed this was a good idea, and everyone who'd had less pleasant feelings about the idea of dying it all red thought the blonde looked fantastic. And the strangest part was that in the back of my head, where it hadn't been double bleached (the front was already bleached from when I put in the red strips) it looked nearly natural, the exact color of my mother's hair when she was in highschool.

Things began to turn a different way later last night, however, when my friend asked if she could straighten my hair. Somehow a hair straightening turned into a makeover, when my two friends (while another friend watched) decided to turn me into a scene kid. And a better job was done than I expected.

We went into the basement of their dorm, where there are a few classrooms, and we went into one, as it was late and they were empty, plugging in the straightener. One started straightening, while another ran to grab a handful of makeup. More was gotten after my hair was fully straightened.

I'm not entirely sure exactly what happened, because my eyes were closed for most of it, and there was no mirror. I'm pretty awful at putting on makeup, so my friend did all the work. On went multiple colors of eyeshadow, lipstick covered by lip gloss, and obscenely thick mascara and liquid liner (as well as glittering blue pencil liner.) They gave me a side part, and pinned it. When I finally looked in the bathroom mirror, I was terrified. I had no idea I could look like that.

In a day, I'd turned from this:

To THIS:

Of course, the person who bleached my hair, then led the makeover, was the main founder of my fan blog, mentioned in my last post. This means we not only went to every dorm and every occupied building to show off my "new look" (which will never ever happen again, I promise), but that night, a video was made and put up on the fan blog, documenting both the original bleaching of the hair (when it was still wet after rinsing the bleach out), then the transformation to a scene kid.

 

So... I have "fanz" now.

When I started this blog over two years ago, I put a lot more out there than I probably should've. Things that were not embarassing at the time, but most certainly are now. You guys, I've moved on from Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas to obscure indie music no one's heard of. I'm making fun of myself, obviously, but the fact remains that there's some entertainly bad articles on this blog written back in 2010. I'm all for nostalgia and making fun of myself, or else these posts wouldn't still exist. But they do.

When I moved to Vermont, I kept this blog pretty under wraps. Not really, actually, since a simple Google search will pull it up immediately, and it was clearly stated on my facebook, but no one knew to look for these things. The one thing I did to keep this blog in Pittsburgh was that when my articles posted to Facebook when they were published (which is how most people know when I update) I made it so no Vermonters could see it. The blog was started in Pittsburgh and served as a way to communicate with those there. That's just the way it was.

But a few days ago, I turned up in a Google search for "Noel DeLesseps". As you can remember, I wrote about him and his mother a while back, and apparently my article is pretty high up there, search-wise. So I was found out by a Putney-er. And he then decided to tell me he'd found it, in the midst of a large group of people. And that is how my friends discovered that I had a blog. And it got bad.

It started small, with only a couple people knowing, then they spread the word. A couple of my close friends decided it was a good idea to go to the very beginning (the 2010 beginning) and find every bit of evidence showing I was an obnoxious 13-year-old. I still have not stopped being quoted on things I said years ago. And they found out nearly a week ago. Added to that is the fact that every picture of me from that time has resurfaced, and some have been altered to include body parts belonging to David Bowie.

circa 2010

Within a day of the discovery, my Facebook wall blew up with quotes and pictures, and my pageview counter exploded, hitting nearly 100 views in a couple hours. Usually, this would be great, but in this situation it's terrifying.

Now would be a good time to begin questioning what my friends are doing with their lives, and why this was their priority.

But in the end, it's so entertaining I can't be upset. It's too funny. And also painful. Very painful.

I thought it was dying down, but it turns out it's still only beginning. The week's not even over yet. Because... there's a fan blog now. It's been created. I thought they were joking. They weren't. This exists. And I have no idea what sorts of things will end up here. The first picture is already up, taken yesterday when I still doubted they were actually making this fan blog. It begins...

See the fan blog here, created by the three most obsessed "fanz": http://bluepaperparasolsfanz.blogspot.com/

I went clubbing in New Jersey.

In early February, I had the privilege of going to a teen club.

Putney grants us a Mid-Winter break in the form of a five-day weekend, and since it was too short to bother making the 12-hour-long drive home to Pittsburgh, I decided to stay with a friend. Originally, I had planned to stay in Burlington, but when that plan fell through, it was decided that I'd go home with another of my good friends. And to her, home is Plainfield, New Jersey.

I've lived in four states, and spent time in a good number of others (New Hampshire was a particularly interesting experience), but I'd never been to New Jersey, knowing only what I'd heard. And people don't say nice things. Every state has it's ridicule and jokes, but arguably none as much as New Jersey. Known as New York's garbage dump and home of the ever popular Jersey Shore as well as other fairly similar reality shows like Jerseylicious, the state holds little credibility in modern society.

I was about to experience the state firsthand, when on February 8th, I boarded a huge bus to NYC with 50+ other students. Once we arrived at Penn Station after the five-hour ride, my friend and I drove home to Plainfield. But it was on February 10th that I'd witness the true magic that is the NJ club life.

We'd spent the first couple days in the house, watching terrible movies and multiple episodes of the awful yet addictive Deadly Women, when the decision was made for us to go clubbing. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but I think I was a moving force, since, when it was suggested, I was actually far more willing and excited than the friend I was staying with. The entire "how" of this situation is still pretty hazy, though, since looking back, I have no idea what I was thinking.

Since it was only five days, I'd brought a couple shirts and maybe two pairs of jeans, so the obvious first priority before attending the club was to find something to wear. My friend's mother willingly agreed to buy me a dress, and actually brought up the idea, leaving us some money to buy an outfit while she was out at work. "You can go to that slutty latino dress shop!" she said, encouraging us to get something skintight.

Their apartment is in a poorer Spanish part of town, and walking down the street, many of the shop names aren't in English, and many of the employees speak no English whatsoever. The next morning, once her mother had left, my friend and I went out in search of dresses, passing all these small businesses and eventually finding the "slutty latino dress shop". The grating on the windows had just been lifted, as it was early, and the store was just opening, and the mannequins behind the glass were dressed in tight, shiny outfits, a few adorned with chains and slits in every possible place, revealing as much as possible while still being able to classify as a "dress". On entering, the small shop's bright pink walls were lined with dress racks on one side and more lingerie-like clothing (as well as shapewear, like Spanx) on the other, with huge paintings of Jesus and the Virgin Mary directly ahead, by the dressing rooms, lined in bright red Christmas lights that made the portraits glow in their gilded frames.

While a few small children ran around, their mother, the owner, greeted us in broken English, and, smiling, pointed us in the direction of the tiniest and tightest of the dresses. My friend found the most modest item for herself, a skintight, mid-thigh-length black dress, with gilded gold ruffles. The only dress in the store with full sleeves. For entertainment purposes, I tried on a few of the worst dresses (an aqua, sleeveless stretch dress with a huge fake flower, as well as a purple, turquoise, and leopard print, sleeveless, shiny dress with a mostly open back and built-in push-up bra), eventually deciding on a bright red one, skintight and sleeveless, but with a high gauze neck, the dress coming down to mid-thigh. This too, was one of the more conservative dresses.

When it came time to leave for the club that night, I donned my dress and the only makeup I brought with me (or ever wear on a daily basis), which was thick black eyeliner. I didn't bother doing anything with my hair, and paired the dress with my combat boots, because that's what I'd brought and in my opinion, that was way cooler than wearing whatever shoes girls are supposed to wear to clubs. I hold true to that belief.

I was excited. I love new experiences, and I really like dancing. I never miss a dance if I can help it, and am always the first to run over to our random hole-in-the-wall dances at school (that basically involve some speakers and a strobe light snagged from the tech booth, some kid's iPod to hook up, and the smallest and strangest possible location -from the post office to the greenhouse to an art supply room- spread by word of mouth) and showed up at the last one in a top constructed by my roommate from nothing but a red silk scarf that I had lying around the room. But nothing could have prepared me for this.

Small side-note: For those of you unfamiliar with teen clubs, they are essentially the same as a normal club, but the age range is 15-18, no alcoholic drinks are served, and there's a lot more sex in the air.

At 8:45 we showed up at Club PURE (they have a website, though if you click the link beware of obtrusive site music.) Since the club opened at 9 (to our dismay) we ended up stuck in a line at the door for nearly 20 minutes. We didn't have jackets, weren't wearing much anyway, and although there was no snow on the ground, it was early February, so this wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. The one upside to this was that we ended up getting in cheaper because they gave 50% off to the first 50 girls in the club. Walking into the club, our hands were stamped and we were each handed a number. A fact we had not known until getting there was that this was the night of their Pre-Valentine's Bash, so there were a number of events going on that night, which was the purpose of the numbers. Boys and girls lined up separately to enter, and one boy and one girl was handed each number, so near the end of the night, you could "find your match".

The club was huge, with two floors separated by a glowing white staircase. The front half of the top floor where we entered was fairly dark, with a large lit "bar" containing over-priced non-alcoholic drinks, and four or five large round booths covered in red velvet. Past this area was the dance floor, lit by strobe lights, colored lights, and lasers and covered in a thick fog coming from machines on the edges of the floor. On either side were seating areas: white tables and white cushioned benches roped off by red velvet, but that anyone could sit at anyway. A stage sat at the back, with ever changing neon green patterns flashing on the wall behind it, and a raised DJ booth was in the center of the dance floor, where two guys in their early twenties with heavily gelled hair asked all the single girls to raise their hands, promising us we wouldn't be single by the end of the night. Around the DJ stand were a number of poles on raised blocks, that anyone could get up and dance on, and which many of the girls in the club (sometimes in groups) did. House music blasted at full volume, mostly Top 40 that had been heavily remixed. All around, teenagers thrust excitedly into the behinds of people they'd never met before.

The bottom floor of the club was smaller and darker, with cement walls, blue lights as opposed to the main floor's green and pink, and remixed rap and hip-hop instead of pop. The ceiling was much lower and sixteen year old club promoters in matching Club PURE uniforms danced up against each other on a foot-high rise.

The girls in the club all looked the same in skintight dressed like ours or tight or cropped shirts paired with miniskirts or booty shorts. They all matched with straightened, curled, or sprayed hair, all unconvincingly dyed platinum blonde, black, or brunette, all sporting obvious roots of their natural color. The makeup was caked and overdone. I blatantly stood out, even in my dress, with completely natural hair and black army boots. Many of the girls had their noses pierced like mine, but each one wore a tiny faux-diamond stud as opposed to my steel ring.

There wasn't much more variety in the boys than there was in the girls. Every guy had his hair greased and gelled and their skin was so over-tanned it was nearly orange. T-shirts and wife-beaters were tight against six-packs and gold chains clashed against square diamonds in every guy's ears. I don't think I'd understood the meaning of the word "guido" until I entered PURE. The occasional skater boy lingered on the side with a tight plaid button-down, black skinny jeans, and hair swooped to the side.

My friend and I danced by ourselves for a bit until we were approached by two guys. For the sake of not reliving something I have no desire to think about again, I won't delve very deep into the dancing. I will say though, for the sake of brevity, that at a club of this sort, dancing means grinding and only grinding, often quite violently depending on who you're dancing with.

Something one should know about me is that I have very little shame. An attitude that I adopt a lot in my life, and that has always been a driving force (after performing constantly for over 8 years) in my never having developed stage fright is that there's no reason to hold back or be ashamed if you're in front of/with a group of people you're never going to see again. It doesn't matter what persona you take on or what they think of you because they have no idea who you are anyway. This, added to the fact that I love story-telling and do a lot of things I wouldn't do otherwise so I'll have a good story later, was what made me start dancing with guys who approached me without thinking twice. And then I realized something.

I do have limits, though they are few and far between, and often I don't realize them until they approach me, since that moment is very rare. Grinding itself doesn't bother me, and at school dances I'm not ashamed to say I've done it with dozens of people as a joke, because we all know each other well and love each other. But honestly, it felt pretty disgusting to do it with strangers, especially the guys in this club. When I brought this up to my friend she reminded me of the fact that I'm not interested in guys, implying this was why I didn't like dancing with them, but I don't see this as the issue at all. I would have felt equally unpleasant dancing with any of these over-painted sparkly girls chatting in thick Jersey accents while they waited to be danced with.

My friend, who thanked each guy after removing herself from his clutches when she was done dancing, reprimanded the fact that I would simply walk away from whoever was behind me (I didn't even see their faces) when I'd had enough, taking his hands off me and going to the other floor. I didn't care, and after a few seconds of hurt, the guys found another girl anyway. After a couple guys, I just started flat-out refusing, preferring to dance on my own. Over the course of the night, I refused five guys after dancing with two.

When it started to near 11, we took a break and found an empty velvet booth, where we sat down for a bit to rest our feet. In the next booth over, we saw one of the adults who worked at the club (a few had to stand around to monitor everything going on) come over and shine a flashlight into the booth next to us, where we could see a guy sitting. We couldn't hear what was said over the booming music, but a few seconds later, we watched a girl raise her head and leave the booth looking extremely pissed off, followed by a large guy zipping up his fly as they were escorted out of the club.

When we got back on the dance floor after about a half hour, the Valentine's events were beginning. DJs called out a few numbers and had the male and female owners of each number get up on the stage together. They then had to compete against the three or four other "couples", in competitions like seeing which couple could hula the best when the small hoop was placed over both of them at once, or which guy, when a beach ball was placed at his partner's chest, could move the ball down to between her legs without using his hands and without dropping it. Classy stuff, right there. Free club passes (for one entry only) were also passed out to people who used their number to "find their match" on the dance floor. I didn't bother.

We left a little after midnight, and were handed a pack of bright promotional flyers to hand out to all our friends upon exiting. I left that night with the soles of my boots covered in fallen streamers and a feeling of grime all over my body. But in the end, I felt like an anthropologist thrown into the highly entertaining world of New Jerseyans. And on returning to the safety of my Western Vermont farm school a few days later I had the best story.

What I've Learned From Horror Movies - Updated (Spoiler Alert)

Note: This was originally published on July 2, 2011. Since then, I have watched even more horror movies. This is being reposted as an updated list, with 18 new movies added. Yes. This blog post now covers 38 films. I watch that many horror movies.

I watch a whole lot of horror movies. A whole lot. And scary films can teach us important lessons. Here's some influential things learned from both the awesome and the terrible ones. I warn you, these do contain spoilers, so you might just want to skip over the movies you haven't seen. Unless you don't care, in which case, read on!

Shutter (2004 -original Thai- and 2008 -American remake-)

1. If you allowed your best friends to rape your crazy girlfriend while you took pictures, and feel no remorse whatsoever, because it was "in the past", you deserve the worst.

2. Saying you weren't planning on raping her, originally you were just going to drug her, take suggestive photos, then blackmail her with them, isn't really reassuring and does not make it any better.

 

 

The Ring (1998 -original Japanese- and 2002 -American remake-)

1. If a girl dies in a really odd way, and you hear that she died after watching a terrifying videotape, DON'T WATCH THE TAPE.

2. And don't leave it lying around so your five year old son can watch it.

3. Adopted children are evil.

 

The Ring 2 (1999 -original Japanese- and 2005 -American remake-)

1. Sequels suck.

2. If you're in a horror movie, moving to a new city to "start over" isn't going to solve your problems.

3. When your child starts calling you "mommy" and saying "I love you", when he usually calls you by your first name and never smiles, it means he's possessed.

 

Orphan (2009)

1. See lesson #3 of The Ring. As you can see, this is a recurring theme.

2. Adorable three year-old deaf girls will always end up okay in the end.

3. It's easy for forty year old midgets to disguise themselves as ten year old girls.

 

The Shining (1980)

1. Cabin fever has terrible, terrible side effects.

2. Imaginary friends often know best.

3. Jack Nicholson is always creepy. No matter what.

 

Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

1. Bette Davis is a better actress than you will ever be.

2. Canceling your psychopathic sister's liquor store orders is not going to solve your problems when she already kills your pets (and tries to feed them to you) and keeps you solitary in your room when you can't walk.

 

Home Movie (2008)

1. If your ten year old children just crucified the cat and terrorized a school child, leaving them home alone together with no supervisor is not at all a good idea.

2. It doesn't matter how many "no parents allowed" signs they have on their clubhouse. When your kids start showing slasher tendencies, LOOK IN THE CLUBHOUSE ANYWAY.

3. Do not invite the child your children terrorized over for a playdate, even if your children are beginning to seem normal again.

 

It (1990)

1. If you have seen Rocky Horror and make the connection that Tim Curry (who played Frankenfurter) plays Pennywise in this movie, it is physically impossible for this film to scare you.

2. A childlike imagination can save you from a monster you half-invented as a child.

 

The Omen (1976)

1. See lesson #3 of The Ring. And Orphan.

2. Always listen to priests, otherwise you will probably die.

3. Don't try kill your son when police are already on your tail because you were speeding.

 

Rosemary's Baby (1968)

1. If your landlord-to-be warns you that your apartment used to house satanists and cannibalistic killers, don't move in.

2. If you wake up with scratches and marks all over your body and your husband tells you he had sex with you WHILE YOU SLEPT, don't immediately forgive him once you find out he got you pregnant.

3. Ignore your husband. If you are having obviously unnatural pains and depression/anxiety, go to a new doctor, not the one your quirky neighbors (who often talk to your husband in private and who he seems to value over you) suggest.

 

Poltergeist (1982)

1. When your son gets attacked by a tree, no matter what you think the reason is, check to make sure your other kid is okay too.

2. Ectoplasm looks oddly similar to red jello.

3. Don't build houses on top of graveyards.

 

Session 9 (2001)

1. Don't try to steal coins from a morgue in an abandoned insane asylum.

2. Don't explore abandoned insane asylum basements late at night.

3. Don't listen to the voices you hear in the abandoned insane asylum.

 

The Exorcist (1973)

1. When strange things start happening, and you know your daughter's been using a Ouija board, take action before things get worse. Because they will.

2. When your daughter is speaking in a demonic voice and has a levitating bed (which you have seen levitate), taking her to see a doctor probably won't fix the problem.

3. If you make a movie where a twelve year old girl does unpleasant things to her nether regions with a crucifix, that is going to be the main thing people remember about the film.

 

Freaks (1932)

1. Never trust the pretty blonde girl.

2. Even if they look a little different, disabled people are much nicer than fully able ones.

3. When they say "ONE OF US", don't piss them off, or they will make that statement true.

 

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

1. The first to have sex are the first to die.

2. If you are a parent, do not take the law into your own hands if there is any possibility your children could be murdered because of it.

 

Psycho (1960)

1. If you rob a bank, you're probably going to get murdered because of something completely unrelated.

2. Violin music suggests incoming danger.

3. If a guy says his MOTHER went insane after his father's death, you should start questioning the son's sanity.

 

The Sixth Sense (1999)

1. Always be suspicious when you're shot, then everything seems fine.

2. Ghosts don't always want to hurt you.

 

The Unborn (2009)

1. Don't video chat when you feel unsafe. When you're attacked, you'll also traumatize whoever you're chatting with.

2. If your twin brother died in the womb, you will be haunted even though you had nothing whatsoever to do with it, and honestly the whole situation is unfair.

3. If no priests are available, a rabbi will also solve your haunting problems.

 

The Haunting in Connecticut (2009)

1. Don't move into a building that used to be a mortuary.

2. Ghosts don't care if you have cancer, they will haunt you anyway.

3. Do not hide in a dumb waiter.

 

La Cité des Enfants Perdus (1995) (French)

1. Santa can be really scary if there are hundreds of him interrupting your dreams.

2. If you see a man with a music box, for the love of god, run away.

3. Conjoined twins are evil.

4. Just don't go outside ever. And don't be an orphan.

 

Gothika (2003)

1. Crazy people are actually right about everything. You people on the outside just don't understand.

2. Never trust anyone ever. Especially people who are supposed to help you.

3. Putting expensive movie stars in horror movies destroys the natural order of things.

 

The Ward (2010)

1. If you've already seen Shutter Island, there's no point in seeing this movie.

2. If you see anybody else while you're in a mental hospital, it's probably all in your head. Because you being the only patient at a huge asylum is far more likely than you, you know, having friends.

 

The Dentist (1996)

1. Even in the mid-nineties, the spirit of the eighties can still still exist.

2. Dentists are really, really scary.

3. If your wife is cheating, the obvious thing to do is cut out her tongue and leave it for the pool boy to find.

4. Dentist tools can be used in horrifying ways.

5. Even in a low-budget film, creativity can be used to create the most upsettingly graphic gore that will make every part of you hurt.

 

Psycho Ward (2007)

1. The nerdy quiet girl knows best, the jock doesn't.

2. It is best to stick together. Until it isn't. Then you should split up.

3. Don't try and play practical jokes in abandoned mental hospitals.

4. Listen to your teacher, even if he's boring and full of himself.

5. For some reason that is unnecessary to explain, if you randomly come across a serial killer's place of worship, it makes the most sense to destroy it.

 

Rear Window (1954)

1. Every woman has a favorite handbag, and a woman never leaves her favorite handbag behind. If it's left at home, she's most likely dead.

2. If you are in a wheelchair and own a camera with an extended lens, make sure to carry it in your lap, so it looks as much like a phallus as possible.

3. Spending weeks doing nothing but invading the privacy of your neighbors through their windows is totally acceptable if you end up solving a murder in the end.

 

The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005)

1. It's okay if a girl dies, as long as she was possessed by the devil.

2. Going to college and leaving home will ruin your life and invite demons into your soul.

 

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

1. If you are a man who wants to be a woman, the most logical way to do this is to kill young women and make a woman-suit out of their skin to act out your fantasies.

2. Psychopaths are the best people to help you in a murder case.

3. Looking up the real-life connections to this movie will leave you very upset and disturbed.

 

Red Dragon (2002)

1. A speech impediment mixed with a history of child abuse can cause a man to murder.

2. A girl with a good heart and bad vision can bring out the best in any serial killer.

3. If your host won't tell you what's in your meal, it's probably human.

4. Don't trust the guy who makes your home videos.

 

Peur(s) du Noir (2007) (French)

1. If you find and catch a small unidentifiable bug as a child, and it escapes, don't just ignore and forget about it.

2. Clingy girlfriends are scary, and probably have praying-mantis-like creatures living inside and controlling them.

3. Don't live next to a graveyard holding the grave of a vengeful samurai forced to kill himself.

4. If you find a house in the middle of the night that is dark, yet fully furnished, with fresh drinks inside, it is probably not abandoned.

 

Jeepers Creepers (2001)

1. Justin Long is the poor man's Keanu Reeves.

2. Always listen to seemingly crazy old ladies who sing terrible hits from the late '30s to warn you of coming danger.

3. Ancient demons look oddly like comic book monsters that have been badly brought to life on a low budget.

 

Resident Evil (2002)

1. The zombie apocalypse is very much like a video game.

2. Lasers will ruin everything, always.

3. Scientists secretly have the technology to create a syrum that reanimates dead bodies.

 

Joshua (2007)

1. A new baby in the family can cause your first child to murder.

2. If your child really loves his uncle, let him go live with him before he takes things into his own hands. By which I mean, starts killing people.

3. Kids who play piano well at a young age are most likely sociopaths.

 

 

Children of the Corn (1984)

1. Communism + Satanism + Unattended children = Terror.

2. Beware of the new kid in town. He may convince your children to murder you.

3. Just don't go near cornfields. Or Nebraska in general.

 

Candyman (1992)

1. See lesson #1 of The Dentist.

2. Demons lurk in the ghettos of the city. The gangs worship them. That's what's wrong with lower-class America. Not lack of jobs.

3. Grad students are always too curious, and getting themselves into dangerous situations.

 

White Zombie (1932)

1. Bela Lugosi's eyes will follow you wherever you go. In fact, they will even float behind your stagecoach.

2. Turning girls into zombies is the way to get in their pants.

3. Don't trust anyone named "Murder Legendre".

 

Sleepy Hollow (1999)

1. The stepmother is always the driving force of evil.

2. It makes sense to promise your soul to the devil, as long as you still get to avenge your family.

 

After.Life (2009)

1. If you're fully conscious, and have all five senses completely active, you're most likely not dead.

2. Every girl in trouble needs a strong boyfriend to help set her free.

3. Men who work in funeral homes are sketchy bastards.

1408 (2007)

1. Skype, Facetime, and other webcam communication systems can turn evil when ghosts are around.

2. Don't stay in a hotel room if the room number adds up to 13.

3. If you are given significant warning not to stay in a specific room, don't stay there.

My name is Roman, last name is Zolanski. But no relation to Roman Polanski.

I've been thinking a lot about this recently.

I have a breakfast job, and when you're working close with only seven other people from 6:45-8:10am, the conversation undoubtedly turns to the most important topic in the world: Nicki Minaj.

Now, I'd be lying if I didn't tell you most of my morning in the crew room involve at least one, if not multiple crew renditions of A$$, complete with booty-bouncing dance moves. You see, not many people come to breakfast, and while we're in the crew room washing/running/placing dishes for half an hour (the rest of the time is set-up and time to eat), work is generally slow, and we have to find other ways to stay entertained. It's how we wake ourselves up.

That said, A$$ is also a music staple within my room, especially when we have company. Stupid Hoe, which we had a long philosophical discussion about at the breakfast table a few days ago (about how Nicki is both a feminist and not one, and unarguably a complete genius), is a close second. Other music staples within White Cottage Room 3, where I live, include Fuck the Pain Away, by Peaches, and as of recently, Niggas in Paris by Kanye and Jay-Z. This is constantly quoted around school anyway, because it's now constantly quoted everywhere. Instant cult classic. That shit cray.

To redeem my roommates, our friend who lives in our room enough that we forget she's not our roommate, and myself: we do have other commonly played music like Bob Marley, Bob Dylan, Ravi Shankar, Mumford and Sons, Radiohead, etc. But that stuff isn't as fun to talk about. 

So back to Nicki Minaj.

I have made it clear in previous blog posts and many conversations with my beloved roommate (in which I tell her Nicki is my future wife and she gives me pitying looks of disrespect while she turns up the Jefferson Airplane) that there is a special place in my heart for Barbie.

I will admit though, that Stupid Hoe made me sad (watch video here.) Because I truly think she can do better. Granted, it's not all bad. I play it a lot in my room for entertainment purposes. It's extremely funny, and the verses themselves are fairly well rapped. But once the epilepsy-inducing flashing ends and it cuts into the chorus, I just get upset. And around 2:33 minutes in, I have to turn it off. I don't know what's going on, or why there's a huge lollipop and a very large chair involved, but it's bad. And the high-note at 2:56-ish is really unpleasant and a topic I don't even want to attempt tackling.

Even the look of the video doesn't appeal much to me. The eyelashes once she transforms from a leopard are too much for me to handle, and the entire design was too candy-colored. A friend of mine was very impressed by her use of the barbie's ass flashing inbetween shots of herself, noting it as a political and feminist statement. Perhaps it was, especially for Nicki, who revels in how much she really does look like a doll. Honestly, I think it's wonderful that she's proud of how much plastic has been pumped inside her and is using her body's fakeness as a weapon to help her "Barbie" image.

When we look at airbrushed models and celebrities and say they look "plastic", in reality, they're just highly photoshopped. But Nicki Minaj is someone who truly looks like she was sculpted out of synthetic materials. It really is very surreal.

The new song is not her best work, but I haven't lost hope. I break down Nicki's career into four categories:

1. Songs she has made that are amazing.

2. Songs she has made that are pretty terrible, but funny.

3. Songs she has featured on that no one would listen to if if weren't for her and that would be really awful without her minute of fame.

4. Songs she has featured on that were already amazing (whether or not I would like to admit that) but that she made even BETTER.

In category 1 of course, lies quite a bit. The best example of course, featuring Eminem, is my favorite: Roman's Revenge. I want to make clear now, that this is all semi-ironic. I do not consider this necessarily "good music", and I listen to it much less than a lot of other things. But it makes me really happy.

This category also contains Fly, featuring Rihanna, Check it Out, a joint project with will.i.am, Moment 4 Life, featuring Drake, and the song that may or may not have started it all: Super Bass. Dear Old Nicki's not bad either.

The less pleasant category 2 includes basically all the other songs on Pink Friday, although an argument can be made for Did It On 'Em and Your Love. They're just not my thing. A good friend of mine swears by some of these songs, though, and she and I have had many a simultaneous shower (the dorm bathroom has two showers) where we put my laptop on the sink counter and blasted Pink Friday at full volume. She sang her heart out to Did It On 'Em, I sang to Roman's Revenge, and we dueted on Moment 4 Life. Then my roommate snuck into the bathroom and poked us through the shower curtains with a long metal spoon. But that's a story for another time.

Category 3 gets complicated, and can be hard to fill, especially since a lot of the time people aren't willing to sit through the awful main body of the song to get to Nicki's part. But these songs are important. Even if you're like me and just skip to the featured rap in the YouTube video most of the time. But it's perhaps the most important category, because it's shows the power of Nicki. The extreme power.

The best example of this is, of course, Diddy's Hello, Good Morning, which has possibly my favorite of any rap Nicki Minaj has ever done. On someone else's song or her own. But Hello, Good Morning itself is nothing special. Nicki comes in around 1:30. Another fantastic example is Fireball, by Willow Smith. A godawful and annoying song, in which Nicki Minaj shows up around 2:45 (looking like a glorified Harajuku Girl) to save the day. Up Out My Face shows up under this heading too, as yet another truly bad song from Mariah Carey redeemed only by a couple appearances by Barbie. Lil Freak, by Usher, is my final exhibit. Sean Kingston's Letting Go walks the line between this category and the next one. I can't decide.

Of course, A$$ is the theme song to my life, so obviously that's first in category 4: Awesome songs that Nicki makes even better. Alongside A$$ are winners such as Bed Rock by Young Money, Knockout by Lil Wayne, My Chick Bad by Ludacris, Where Them Girls At by David Guetta (ft. Flo Rida as well as Ms. Minaj), and Bottoms Up by Trey Songz. I have very little respect for most of these artists, but these songs are really wonderfully catchy and I am only slightly ashamed to admit I know every word to all of them. Let's be honest here.

However, to change the topic briefly and abruptly, I've recently started getting into Azealia Banks. I note that she's an up-and-coming star, and I sadly count down to the days to her sell-out point when she starts making high-budget music videos, featuring on Jay-Z songs, and wearing very little clothing (perhaps getting a nose job?) But looking at her work now, while she's still in a natural state, still mostly untouched by the mainstream, I'm amazed.

Like Nicki Minaj (and Kelis, Sarah Michelle Gellar,Charles Busch, Béla Fleck, Cecil Castellucci, and dozens of others,) Azealia Banks is a graduate of LaGuardia High School for the Performing Arts, class of 2010, but dropped out when she was 16 to jumpstart her career.

I was with a couple people in one of the art studios last Saturday night (my school offers loft studio space to around ten students whose art is particularly promising, generally the students who sell their art for $500+ per piece) and one of the girls started playing music. While my roommate and our friend lay on the charcoal covered floor, the owner of the studio worked on sketches, and a couple people lounged on the couch while two other studio owners (a junior and a senior) drew masterpieces up both my arms, a laptop was pulled out and Azealia's 212 started playing.

I'd heard of Azealia Banks, and had shrugged her off as another new plastecene rapper in the media, but I had never heard her music, let alone seen her videos. The first thing that struck me was the almost indie feel to the black and white video, where she is surprisingly quite clothed compared to most female pop/hip-hop/rap stars. The filming is fantastic, and within the first few close-ups I also noticed how untampered-with her face was. She's very beautiful, but in a very realistic way.

Secondly, and more importantly, she has some serious talent. I noticed it in 212, but I also found L8R on YouTube, not even available to buy, just a small music video, which impressed me further. I don't claim at all to know much about rap, and everything I say is completely opinion. But in my mind, what Azealia Banks does is classic. Going back to what I feel rap originally was supposed to be.

Like I said, and like I will defend until death, I love Nicki Minaj. But her quality, mixed with a top 40 pop mentality, is very overdone. Occasional autotune paired with archetypal themes and catchy choruses. Azealia Banks is more raw, less formulated. While Nicki certainly doesn't censor herself, and holds herself at a high standard, with that sexuality comes an intentional titillation. Azealia is blunt. Nicki Minaj says "cunt" and "whore" and "shit", but she puts herself out (in the media) as a sex symbol. Someone who's naughty. Azealia Banks' lyrics are out there, much more so than Nicki Minaj, because although she's using the same language, she's confrontational. She's looking you in the eye.

There was a recent article in Vogue about Rooney Mara (star of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.) An explicit movie poster recently was leaked (as everything is) onto the internet, showing the top half of her body naked. From the article:

“There’s a certain way people are used to seeing nude women, and that’s in a submissive, coy pose, not looking at the camera,” Mara says. “And in this poster, I’m looking dead into the camera with no expression on my face.” She smiles and flicks a cigarette into the street. “I think it freaks a lot of people out.”

This is how I feel about the music of Azealia Banks. Very unapologetic and absolutely fantastic. Only one of her songs (212) is available to buy so far, and I've already paid my $1.29. I highly suggest we all appreciate this now before she gets completely consumed by our pop-hit culture.