In case you were still interested in Twilight...

I can’t decide which cliché I should start off with: a sagacious, “Less is more,” or a slightly more frustrated, “Enough is enough already!” Both apply equally well to Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series, comprised of Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. Like so many other eager readers, I was sucked into the vortex of Twilight movie promotion hype, and I found myself thinking, “Hey, it could be interesting, right?”

So, over Fall Break, I found myself at my local Borders bookstore, mocha latte at my side, plumbing the murky depths of vampire romance through the befuddled eyes of Bella, the series’ masochistic little heroine with a hidden talent for mysterious accidents, in Book One of the quartet. I cannot tell a lie: I was amused. I was engaged. I was—in retrospect, I cringe to say it—invested.

Granted, I was mostly “invested” in the dramatic, exquisitely detailed bits about Bella’s vampire beau, Edward, and his gradual deification (by both the smitten Bella and the equally smitten author). The whole book seemed to revolve around Edward. It was essentially a series of snippets of Edward’s slightly deranged personality, with some fluffy filler in between which existed simply to generate greater anticipation for the parts of the book Edward was in. Even the author seemed to be waiting for her next chance to add another glimpse of Edward’s Adonis-like body, his keen intellect, his chiseled face, his superb skills on the piano, and—God have mercy on all the tweens of the world—his perfect, bronze-highlighted hair.

To be perfectly honest, that didn’t bother me in the slightest. I went into Twilight expecting an over-the-top, sickeningly cheesy romance about a crazy girl and a hot-as-hell vampire, and that is exactly what I got. I can respect that, even appreciate it. After studying organic chemistry for most of my Fall Break, I needed that kind of fun, accessible prose to keep me sane.

The problem was the second book…and then the third book…and—the horror, the horror—the fourth book. Don’t get me wrong: I am not a snotty, highfalutin, scholarly-merit-first literature Nazi. I like my beach reads as much as the next girl. I’m the first person to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed Twilight, but I think you have to respect the fact that Meyer is not a great author. In fact, she’s not even a particularly good author. She’s a teen romance author who knows how to give her readers a few cute thrills. She’s smart. She knows how to jazz up an otherwise ordinary romance with a few supernatural elements to keep things interesting.

Unfortunately, none of that can hide the fact that the series had no plot to speak of. She took a decent idea for one book, and tried to drag the poor thing out into four, five-hundred-page, back-breaking novels. Deceptively, the books were thick, but the tension was thin and uninspiring—and non-existent in the case of the fourth book. The obvious lack of plot was forgivable in the first book: I was too distracted by the swooning, lengthy descriptions of Edward and his tormented past to realize (or care, if I had realized) that nothing was actually happening in the book.

But, as you may have heard, there is virtually no Edward in the second book, New Moon, and that’s where things start to fall apart. You start to realize that, hell, this book is all about some self-indulgent, prissy, ridiculously sexually frustrated, needy teenage girl who spends half her time bemoaning her fate and the other half messing up other people’s lives. And you start to wonder why you’re wasting your time when you should be taking the 1996 practice exam for CHM 303.

Regrettably, I assumed that Meyer was working up to some big thrill, a real shocker that was going to turn the series around and make up for hundreds of pages of sloppy angst. I assumed, kept assuming, and kept waiting, right until the end of the fourth book, which ended in the most ridiculously anticlimactic battle scene I have ever had the misfortune of reading.

Since I finished the series, a few of my friends have also picked up Twilight and I have given them all the same piece of advice: Stop there! You might be curious how things pan out in the rest of the series. You might think you need to read at least the second book since there is going to be a second movie. You might want to know if Edward and Bella really do find their happy-ever-after, but, frankly, it’s just not worth it. The first book was good. It leaves you interested, excited, and engaged. It leaves you with a little itch, that hankering to know more about your new favorite coven of compassionate vampires. Don’t scratch that itch. It’s simply not worth the disappointment.

Just Friends?

Disclaimer: This post is more or less directed towards the ladies.

Sometimes it seems like all of our interactions with the opposite sex are governed by one age old question: is there such a thing as a purely platonic relationship?
The responses are mixed. Those of us who say yes are shocked when our “just friends” make a move on us. Those of us who say no are disappointed when our prospective life partners find significant others of their own.
So what gives? Is there not a simple answer?
Of course not.
Granted, we all can agree that platonic relationships have to exist. How else can you explain your male neighbors and classmates? The simple platonic relationships are those that aren’t too close. Past a certain point of familiarity, the boundaries become less defined.
Here’s when it becomes difficult. Is your guy just super-duper nice or does he want to be more than just friends?
Sometimes we over-analyze. We think the pats on the back, the invitation to “do something,” and the nice gifts on our birthdays are signs of something more. And maybe they are. Usually, guys tend to lavish attention in similar manners as girls. Girls love to focus on and flirt with their crushes and guys like to do the same. But if the answer was just that simple, then there wouldn’t be hordes of girls confused about the state of their relationships.
It really depends on the guy. As much as we’d like to think that guys are all just simple-minded creatures who all think in the same, uncomplicated manner, that’s simply not true. Guys, as hard as it is to admit, are each unique in their own ways.
Some guys just seem to pay equal attention to all girls they meet. They are gregarious. They flirt shamelessly with everything female that moves and everyone loves or claims to love them.
Look around you. Is everyone flirting with this guy? Do you have something special that sets you apart from the crowd? Do you guys have inside jokes? Cute nicknames? Secret handshakes, maybe? Are you going to be cool with it if you guys become a couple and he continues his behavior?
If not, grab another pole, it’s time to head back out to sea. This time, try to pull out one who is legitimately interested.
Sometimes, though, you might pull out one who is legitimately interested, only to find that he is absolutely cryptic about his intentions. He is attentive and sweet, but never takes the initiative in advancing the relationship.
If this sounds like your guy, drop a slight hint. Not so much that you scare him away. But realize that the guy might just be a bit dense. He might have no idea of your feelings unless you show them. He might also be too worried about rejection to dive in head first and admit he likes you. Sometimes, you need to prod him along just a bit.
This is not to say that you should take the initiative and start the relationship. NEVER be the one to start the relationship. That would be the easy way out, and the route will usually take you off a cliff.
As sexist as this may sound, guys and girls respond differently to taking risks. There’s scientific evidence that guys are more ready to take risks, due to innate differences in the male and female brains. Since starting a relationship is a huge risk (it’s like diving off a cliff, not knowing where or on what you’ll land), if the man who can more easily take risks doesn’t want to take the chance, then don’t even try to get him.
And then there are those other guys you might pick up who have no problems taking that giant leap. Even if you don’t want him to. These guys seem desperate. They call all the time, want to hang out all the time, and never seem to take a hint. You avoid them at all cost for weeks on end, and they still manage to find you and pretend nothing is wrong. Sound familiar?
If you’ve got a guy you can’t shake, drop hints you only want to be friends. But chances are you’ve already tried this and he just can’t wrap his mind around the fact you don’t think of him in that way. So introduce him to someone else who might be perfect for him. Or you can simply dodge him for the rest of your life.
The best solution is to find a boyfriend of your own.
But if that was so easy, why are you reading this?

Computers in Class

Today I'm trying an experiment. I've noticed that in my large lecture classes, the number of laptops present has been rising as the term goes on. I've never brought a computer to class before, so here's a play-by-play of my first class digitally "taking notes." This is for all the students out there who are considering hauling a computer around but never have. So pay attention.

9:52- I show up early. I already feel more productive.

10:03- The professor's not here yet. Maybe this computer thing really is worth looking into.

10:04- I'm becoming paranoid that people sitting behind me (yeah, you, girl in the black jacket) and in the balcony are staring at my computer screen and my awesome OIT-supplied background picture of Nassau Hall. Maybe I shouldn't have sat in the front and center of the (enormous) classroom. I dim the computer screen to deter prying eyes.

10:05- The professor's here, looking and sounding slightly flustered. Maybe it's the vast multitude of computers staring back at the stage, and the corresponding eyes glued to the screens. "Printer trouble" sounds like an excuse, anyway.

10:12- I've determined that taking notes is more fun this way. But, contrary to what I expected, I feel even more compelled to pay attention, perhaps guilty for having my computer with me in the first place.

10:19- I notice that in the first three rows of the classroom, there are 11 students, and six laptops (my own included). Do 54.5% of students use a computer in class? (Really, this is a commentary on how cool it is that I can pull up the calculator application with such convenience, even in a very-non-QR class. How cool? Completely cool.)

10:26- I send an email. But I totally had to.

10:41- I'm still surprised. I haven't had the urge to go to CNN.com, NYT.com or even Facebook. More than I can say for the girl in front of me.

10:43- Class isn't over yet, but the verdict is in. Laptops in class are great. One can focus on their notes (typing makes the notes look more official, I decided), but also check email or other (purely academic, of course) sources during class when necessary. What a discovery.

Dinner Revisited

After two months at Princeton, eating every meal out of the Rocky-Mathey dining hall, I’d forgotten how amazing a home-cooked meal could be. On Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving, I went to Rocky College Master Jeff Nunokawa’s house to cook a pre-Thanksgiving feast with some other students spending Thanksgiving on campus and couple of food-loving grad students (whose conversations sounded like a well-scripted Britcom, but more on that later). We spent three hours cooking squash soups of varying degrees of spiciness, roast chickens, stuffing, enough roast potatoes and parsnips to feed a small village, and snazzy little canapés with toasted French bread, sliced apples, goat cheese, and cranberry sauce. We spent the next couple of hours dining (or feasting, depending on your idea of dinner), assembled around Jeff’s spacious, if infrequently used, dining room table, listening to the two grad students’ exquisitely British repartee (almost reminiscent of Fawlty Towers). One of the other undergrad dinner guests summed it up when she said, “They’re almost like grownups.” Because that is what it was: a grownup dinner with real food and real conversation. How strangely novel.

Twilight... We are definitely in an age of decline.

I never read the “Twilight” books by Stephanie Meyers. For all I know, they might be good enough to appease the burgeoning sexual desires of a pubescent girl, but the film version by Catherine Hardwicke (of “Thirteen” and “Lords of Dogtown” fame) is anything but. Instead of an “erotic delight” as promised by a “Twilight” movie poster outside the cinema, I spent most of my time stifling my “delight” (laughter) with my coat, sniggering as painfully awkward lines were thrown around and the film effects attempting to showcase a vampire’s speed looked like the cursor trail I had on my Windows 95 computer. Teen cult sensation film? Yeah, right.

The synopsis of the movie is so dreadfully simple it should deter any individual with a real-brain on their shoulders from watching it (my excuse was that I wanted to see how horrendous this production can be). A seventeen year old Bella Swan (Kristin Stewart) moves to Forks, a town in the middle of nowhere, where the sun don’t shine and the rain don’t stop, to live with her father (Billy Burke). She encounters Edward (prep yourselves for the clichéd character construction), who is problematic and something of a mysterious James Dean, and also (wait for it… wait for it…) a vampire! Against all odds, they fall in love (or lust?), him because of the irresistibility of her blood and her because she is just plain-old daft. They come together only to be faced with a milieu of problems brought upon by their differences. Oh, the drama!

Obviously, “Twilight” is no episode of “Gossip Girl” when it comes to the theme of teenage sexual attraction. Yet, in comparison to the suave Chuck Bass, who is a mere 17 year old mortal with the innate power to make women bend in his favor, the indestructible Edward the Vampire (Robert Pattinson) is as bland and repulsive as the weird kid who sat behind you in 10th grade Biology and mouth-breathed salaciously whenever the word “reproduction” was mentioned. You would think that a 100 year-old, “teenage” vampire endowed with the powers of strength and hypnosis and glistened like diamonds in the sunlight would be interesting enough as a character. In this movie, not really.

Was it the script? All the lines in the film were corny regurgitations attempting to capture real passion as found in “Romeo and Juliet” or “Gone with the Wind”. But when lines like “and so the lion falls in love with a lamb” and “you are like my own personal brand of heroin” are being served, the saccharine nature of this, oh-so-romantic! film has the ability of turning even Takeru Kobayashi bulimic. Its cloyingly romantic ingredients surprisingly enough does nothing to inspire anything physical, and by the end of the movie, its extremely PG-nature (Bella and the Vampire kissed a grand total of three times), had a few members of the audience in the cinema I was in shouting “JUST GET IT ON ALREADY”.

The acting too, is a disappointing, below par performance for such a big production, and I think the casting should have raised more eyebrows than it did. I remember seeing Kristin Stewart alongside Jodie Foster in “Panic Room” and was under the impression that she was a boy until Foster started screaming that she needed to medicate her daughter. Though Stewart did grow into a decent-looking individual, I am surprised that the production company allowed the weight of this movie to be carried on this girl’s shoulders. She has no physically enamoring quality or charisma about her to warrant such devotion from such a powerful figure.

In spite of that, Stewart did an adequate (but not great) job of portraying a girl yearning for sexual gratification. However, the same thing cannot be said of Robert Pattinson as Edward the Vampire, who was a miscast in every reason possible. Firstly, this guy is not hot. Him as Cedric Diggory before never did convince me. He has a concaved face that looked like he was involved in a childhood freak accident where a horse trampled on his face. Twice. And instead of leaping with excitement every time he came onscreen (an onscreen presence Orlando Bloom has in Lord of the Rings), my heart felt like it was on heavy horse tranquilizers. Secondly, his acting was utterly despicable and unconvincing, as he delivered his lines with no enthusiasm and a wide-eyed look that made him seem like he was constantly on crack. If you were Cory Kennedy you would totally dig him, but I think he is a complete weirdo.

The effects too were appalling. Dream sequences where Bella imagines the Vampire sucking her blood and the passage of time depicting the very, VERY innocent escapades of Bella and the Vampire, where all they did was sit around and talk (how erotic), were very amateur. Throughout the entire production, I felt like I was watching a B-grade film I could easily have seen while surfing TV stations.

I am overwhelmingly disappointed that the director, who chilled me to the bone with her award-winning “Thirteen”, could produce such an awful movie that lacked soul and creativity. This film, in one single stroke, has managed to make the perennially seductive vampire unsexy.

Wait, and what is this I heard that they are making a sequel? A WHOLE SERIES???

Goddamnit.

New York Revisited: The Good Bits of a Great Festival

As you can probably see from this review, I loved me some New York Film Festival (NYFF). I discussed only the truly great films for the published piece since they defined the experience for me. That being said, the NYFF offered other interesting films which didn't quite reach such a high standard.
Here are my thoughts:

I'm Gonna Explode (Voy a Explotar)

Adolescence: an awkward time filled with raging hormones, social pressures, and according to the new Mexican film "I'm Gonna Explode", tumultuous romances. Roman is the depressed son of a local congressman who meets the bored girl Maru in detention. To pull a fast one on their annoying parents, the kids hide out in Ramon's mansion leading everyone to believe they've run away.

At the heart of the film are two fine performances that expose teenage boredom and the pitfalls of blossoming sexuality. The film falters, however, in its attempt to make the story of teenage outcasts more exciting with a ridiculous infusion of Hollywood-style violence. This clashes and takes away from the often startlingly good central actors and the excellent performances they give.

Ashes of Time Redux

What happens when a world-class art house director Wong Kar-wai and a martial arts movie come together? You get "Ashes of Time Redux" which explores questions about memory and love under the pretext of an action film. The overly complex story about dueling assassins and lost loves takes a back seat to the beautifully shot imagery. Peppered throughout the deliberately slow film, are striking sequences that capture the duelists in almost mythic terms. While one character duels against her reflection in the lake, explosions of water follow her every sword thrust. Awesome stuff.

While it has its share of whiz-bang moments, do not go into this movie expecting a visceral thrill ride. "Ashes of Time Redux" is kungfu at its most meditative.

Night and Day (Bam guan nat)

This Korean comedy twists the now clichéd culture shock genre by centering on a traveler who cares very little about the new land he finds himself stuck in. Sung-nam flees to Paris in order to escape the authorities in South Korea for smoking marijuana. Most interesting about Sung-nam's adventures are not his interactions with the French but his awkward meetings with fellow countrymen. In the city, he interacts with a broad cross-section of his culture including fundamentalist Christians and, most hilariously, a North Korean. Sung-nam cannot help but see the latter in disbelief as an artifact from some distant, fantastical world.

The director Hong Sang-soo echoes the disengagement of protagonist by capturing Paris' iconic landmarks almost incidentally. As the camera pans there are occasionally catches glimpses of sites like the Orsay museum, but the city is deliberately cast as a backdrop for the hero's meanderings. While "Night and Day" has a lot to admire, the movie feels like a series of vignettes- sometimes interesting even amusing but just as often unremarkable.

Remember when I said that I would only talk about the festival's lesser pictures? Well, that was a bit of lie. There was an excellent movie which knocked my socks off that I didn't get a chance to write about in my full review. Here is below:

A Christmas Tale (Un Conte de Noel)

If you have ever found yourself watching a Wes Anderson movie and thinking "I wish this is darker...much darker," then "A Christmas tale" is right up your alley. Don't let the deceptively light title fool you as the relentlessly somber, visually rich flick explores the many degrees of a family's mutual hate.

Following the discovery that the matriarch (played by Catherine Deneuve) of an eccentric family has cancer, the estranged clan has an impromptu reunion over Christmas. Bucking the trend of these dramas are starkly photographed affairs, the director incorporates many haunting images in the film. Periodically, old black-and-white photos of the once happy characters are intercut into the narrative suggesting that a large part of the damaged people died along time ago.

Though the tensions run high between all of the family, the most dysfunctional pair of the brew is the mother and estranged son (played by Mathieu Amalric). Deneuve and a particularly despicable Amalric have such chemistry that their mutual loathing for each other seems absolute. As repelling as it is perversely exhilarating, "A Christmas Tale" stands an intimate yet epic look at a family in crisis.

Movie theater musings

A festival can be held back at by its choice of movie theaters and here the NYFF is a little lacking. The Walter Reade Theater is excellent. Stadium seating and a screen that’s just the right size for the auditorium. Perfect.

As good as the Walter Reade, the Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center is bad. The setting usually reserved for big premieres like the closing night film. This auditorium can literally fit thousands of people, but it was not constructed as a movie theater. This means that you run the risk of getting partial view seats with a big security rail cutting right across the screen. Oh boy! Even if you're a big spender like myself and are willing to lay down $40 for a seat, you are still not guaranteed an ideal movie going experience. I was so far back from the screen while watching "The Wrestler," I had the impression I was watching a television. Luckily, next year Avery Fisher Hall will no longer be used in the festival. All I can say is good riddance!

Final thoughts

It says a lot about the quality of a festival that it can feature such a mediocre theater and still deserve a wholehearted a recommendation. This is the case for the NYFF this year which truly was a pleasure to attend.

More trailers

Below are some trailers of the some of the other films I watched at the fest. For my thoughts on each, go to my published review here. Leave a comment if you find any English versions of the foreign trailers.

Changeling

Che



The Class (Entre Les Murs)

Happy-G0-Lucky

Hunger



Waltz with Bashir

The Wrestler
Two clips from the movie

http://www.slashfilm.com/2008/10/13/two-clips-from-the-wrestler/

Runway to Street

Image provided by Style.com

Though I am normally not a big DKNY fan, I adore her funky Fall Collection this season. Thick, chunky sweaters contrast beautifully with delicate lace and bright tights. Don't forget a hat when recreating this style; it pulls the whole look together and gives it a distinctly Fall-like quality. 

1) Cocktail Apron, heavenlyhosstess.com: $120

2)Orange Zest Top, alight.com: $29

3)Red Silk Mary Janes, natashascafe.com:$21

4) Cable Knit Hooded Sweater, wetseal.com:$26.50

5)Berkshire Opaque Tights, amazon.com: $8.95

6) Washed-Wool Newsboy Cap, jcrew.com:$50 

The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear It

The number one word heard at this year’s New York Fashion week was “optimism”. Literally looking into the future, designers were oft quoted saying they took their inspiration from the

presidential election (see Michael Kors’ collection) and all the hope that it inspires.

Whatever happened to living in the moment? Fashion, by its very nature, is constantly looking ahead, making us dream big dreams of wearing bathing suits when we are packing them away in September, and fur lined hats when the only suitable accessory is a bottle of suntan lotion. After all, the present is bleak, and it is much more interesting to idealize the future, with fashion being the perfect means for doing so. Indeed, looking at Carolina Herrera’s luxurious reds and elegant cocktail gowns, who could really believe we are in a recession?

This season, more than ever, such blind idealism was magnified on a tremendous scale, as dazzling colors dominated even more than they usually do, and the future was not only bright, it threw the present day into oblivion.

Although some of these collections were complete flops- one Elie Tahari dress actually looked as if a wave had thrust her skirt into her underwear- there were still some well-done collections that managed to go beyond the clichéd message of a promising spring, and create something worthwhile.

L’Wren Scott, for example, though still playing on the Grecian theme, which for me at least, is getting a tad dull, created beautifully tailored and delicate pieces that at their best seem to be floating down the runway. My favorite was a tight-fitting white dress with black lace detailing, which managed to be both delicate and businesslike at the same time.

Diane von Furstenberg certainly bought into the whole optimistic scene, with long, flowery dresses that would be appropriate for a May Day celebration (the ribbons in the model’s hair didn’t help). Yet, there is still something very interesting in her designs, which conjure up not only the sanguinity of the hippies, but the circumstances in which they were fighting. There is a rebellious spirit in her dresses that makes them more than just pretty; they are positively subversive.

But the real stand out this season would have to be Marc Jacobs, who took a truly unique approach to the wide-eyed hopefulness that seems to have captivated designers this fall. His collection is artfully layered, and thus incredibly complex; it is not easy to pick out any one aspect of his designs, because each piece is completely connected to another. Like so many things in life, there is no easy exit. His collection is, essentially, a brilliant reminder that a bright future is not as easy to achieve as zipping up a sundress. Or making a campaign promise.

Images provided by Style.com

Adam Tanaka's Guide to Lawnparties Bands

(Lupe Fiasco: Not Kanye, but still pretty cool.)

Well, it’s that time of year again: out come the Ray Bans, pin stripes, and flip flops. And once again, the line up really isn’t anything to write home about. But I’m gonna write home about it anyway; or at least write to the Street Blog. Here we go, club by club, a run-down of the talented and not-so-talented who will be blaring loudly across Prospect in less than 36 hours.

CHARTER: Seemingly convinced that bringing U2 to Princeton wasn’t a bad enough idea, Charter club are roping in the appallingly named cover band 2U to provide some Irish luvvin’ Sunday afternoon. Expect the usual anthems – “Vertigo,” “Beautiful Day,” hopefully a tongue-in-cheek rendition of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” – and revel in the fact that you’re watching someone who not only likes Bono, but likes him enough to dress up like him. Fingers crossed for those wrap-around shades, and maybe a look-a-like Bob Geldof if we’re lucky.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omFdpnSu57U


COLONIAL: Over at Colonial we’ll have yet another cover band playing us some familiar classics, in this case a selection of the Dave Matthews Band’s back catalogue. So for those of you who like their Dave Matthews, 2pm at Colonial is the place to be. And hopefully they’ll play Dave Matthews’ early hit single “Ants Marching” as they watch the swarm of Princeton students marching on up the Street to see someone else.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMBgSfQI49E


T.I.: Having spent their entire annual budget on beer, T.I. has only been able to hire alumni band “Where’s Waldo” to play on Sunday afternoon. For those deluded (or drunken) few who aren’t over at Quad cheering for Lupe Fiasco, I wish you luck. And at least it fails to beat last year’s lawnparties band “Gonzo’s Nose” for ‘WORST BAND NAME EVER IN THE WORLD’ award. This is them at Cottage last year:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHVh5Gf2c-4


TOWER: The main performer at Tower this year will be singer-Songwriter Eric Hutchinson, whose greatest achievement was to have his song “Rock & Roll” featured on the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2” soundtrack. Now that is pretty darn cool. And surprisingly enough – considering the number of cover bands choking Prospect this year – that isn’t a cover of the Led Zeppelin song, but a breezy, reggae-tinged pop/rocker, quite pleasant but also instantly forgettable. Opening for Hutchinson at 12:30 will be Amanda Duncan, a folk-lite acoustic rocker who sounds rather a lot like Jack Johnson, if Jack Johnson was a woman. She also seems to be rather into recycling, and banjos, judging by her MySpace page.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bm5TZX5hz3g


IVY: Performing at Ivy are the Beach Bumz Band, whose choice of cover songs continues what seems like a deliberate trend to alliterate the letter B: the Beach Boys, Bob Marley, and Jimmy Buffet are apparently favourites. So, expect a nice mix of surfer songs, reggae classics and utter crap. Eeek:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib8nH4kHjxk


TERRACE: An interesting riff on the word naysayer, New York Band Yeasayer describe their music as “Middle Eastern-psych-snap-gospel.” Whatever the hell that means. Anyway a brief Youtubing trip reveals a surprisingly poppy, Smiths-influenced sound, with hooky mix of high-pitched vocals and jangly guitar playing. And opening for them at 1:30 is the Philly rap group Plastic Little, whose single “Cheap Thrills” transforms MJ’s “Thriller” into a towering electro-rap anthem. Not that “Thriller” wasn’t a dance anthem already. But anyway, if you wanna rave it up, you better be there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0e70P_f2Wc


QUAD: And saving the best for last, we have this year’s main attraction, Chicago-based hip hopper Lupe Fiasco. Often referred to as the most lyrically talented rapper working in the mainstream today, Lupe deserves a big pat on the back for being able to bring nerdy hip hop back to the top of the charts. He raps about comic books, skateboards and hamburgers – among other, deeper issues – and even managed to make the line “the economic pecking order of relief distribution systems” sound good on his last album, “The Cool.” Point is, he is cool. So be there. And if you’re camping out for front row seats you’ll likely be treated to the folk-rock stylings of opener Matt Nathanson – if you recognise any of his songs, that means you’ve watched the “American Pie” movies a few too many times. According to his wiki entry, his song “Laid” has featured on two of their soundtracks. Sounds like a good song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQQbj9vmaI8


CLOISTER: Another lawnparties band, another terrible name. Performing at Cloister from 2 to 5 PM we have Fools and Horses, a four-man band who peddle a very glossy brand of anthemic rock. Seemingly intent on recreating the blandest mid-eighties hard rock – think Journey, or Foreigner – this is really nothing special. Expect some soaring choruses and crunching riffs, and a singer with the most irritating voice in the world:

http://www.myspace.com/foolsandhorses


COTTAGE: Performing at Cottage club Sunday afternoon are Sweetbriar, who seem to like drinking rather a lot, if their MySpace page is anything to go by – Jack Daniels and cocktails are featured in their profile pic, and their EP is called “The Hangover Sessions.” Well, sounds like they’ll be a perfect fit for Cottage – and with their utterly forgettable “country rock & soul” style, they’ll also fit in fine with almost every other band playing Lawnparties this year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2VCX4E4ztk

In its final day, the Tribeca Film Festival redeems itself

After spending the last few weeks watching some of the Tribeca Flm Festival selection, I was left more than a bit disappointed. In my review of the festival published in Street last Thursday I gave it a less-than-stellar 2 of 5 paws. While I saw two excellent films (Man on Wire, Angels and Idiots), they were weighed down by some very mediocre movies that I could have done without. This past Sunday I came to Tribeca with a new tactic hoping to catch up on some of festival awards winners. To my surprise of the three films I watched two that were downright superb and go a long ways to redeem the entire festival.

“War Inc.” starring John Cusack and Hilary Duff (yeah, the pop star)

The only non-award winner that I watched on Sunday was the comedy "War Inc." that satirizes the United States and its war in Iraq. The film stars John Cusack, who plays an assassin sent to kill the president of a fictional Middle Eastern country. In this "brave new security world," the United States fights its "first war 100% outsourced to private enterprise." Although most of the gags in the film are less than subtle they often work because of how audaciously they take on the establishment. In one disturbing scene, a prosthetics manufacturer shows off his wares by having amputated female veterans dance the cancan. Hyper exaggerated scenarios like this one unfortunately play second fiddle to a far less interesting drama involving Cusack's character who regrets his life as a professional hitman. During a moment of introspection, he says menacingly "I have many enemies, I've done many things." Wow, stirring stuff. Although the stylish "War Inc." fails as a latter day “Dr. Strangelove,” it stands as a refreshing change of pace from the inert Iraq war dramas that have made their way to the multiplex these past few years (I'm looking at you "Lions for Lambs").

“Let the Right One In”-The Founders Award for Best Narrative Feature

The Swedish movie "Let the Right One in" uses the horror trope of the vampire perfectly to create a moving tale about childhood, coming of age and friendship. Oskar and Eli are two ostracized kids who find solace in each other's company. Although the mysterious girl Eli just happens to be an ageless vampire, she is never the most frightening thing about the film. Through the bullying that Oskar continually experiences, "Let the Right One in" exposes the pain associated with simply growing up in any elementary school setting. Whereas Eli kills for her survival, the kids tormenting Oskar practice a disarming cruelty that seems without motive. These serious moments perfectly offset lighter ones where Oskar musters out the courage to ask Eli "want to go steady?" Lina Leandersson who plays Eli lends her vampire with a convincing maturity that melds well with Oskar’s timid boyishness. For all its success as a drama, the film is no slouch in the horror department presenting bizarre sequences that intertwine innocence with a deep but frightening violence. At once touching and horrifying, "Let the Right One In" is as a classic vampire flick that beats with a fascinating life.

“My Marlon and Brando”-Best New Narrative Filmmaker

The final film of my Tribeca experience "Gitmek: My Marlon and My Brando" was the perfect way to end the festival. The film focuses on actress Ayca who fell deeply in love with a Kurdish actor on a film set. After a year apart, she goes in search of her man, traveling from Istanbul to the border between Iran and northern Iraq just as Operation Iraqi Freedom begins. The star Ayca Damgaci imbues her character who wants "to destroy all fucking borders" with compelling conviction. Meanwhile, Ayca's love interest, Hamam Ali is but a middle-aged bald man who flaunts his imperfect English sprouting phrases like “I kiss you a million times in my dreams” as though they were poetry. His numerous video love letters to Ayca, although shabbily produced, are extraordinary heartfelt and showcase how this imperfect fellow can be the hero for one struggling woman. Ultimately with Ayca's story, "Gitmek" suggests that through cinema we experience our joy, our dreams and our ideals. It’s a powerful but resonant statement that’s particularly apt for the Tribeca Film Festival.

Thanks to the last two features of the festival, my whole experience at Tribeca was elevated. By my final count, four of the nine films I saw at Tribeca were excellent. If you wait until the festival award winners are announced, you can insure yourself a day in the Big Apple filled with great movies. It worked for me and definitely adds another paw to my final score.

Final Tribeca film Festival score-3 out of 5 paws

Houseparties music preview

Never heard of some of the bands playing at Lawnparties this week? Yeah, us either, or at least we forgot them a while ago. That’s why ‘Street’ has turned to Adam Tanaka ’10 (and YouTube) for a preview of what you can expect on Sunday.

 

New Found Glory –

Wow. A has-been pop-punk band playing Lawnparties? Who’d-a-thunk. Well, at least this year we’ve got someone who’s been on the charts this millennium; last time I checked, Everclear didn’t qualify in that department. New Found Glory (who will be performing at Quad) might ring a bell for its obnoxious 2004 hit “All Downhill From Here;” or maybe because your 13-year old brother’s rocking out to its beats in his bedroom. “Rolling Stone” describes the band as “simple.” Popmatters.com says “it's difficult to find new things to say about bands like New Found Glory.” But a reviewer on Absolutepunk.net calls them the “first band [he] ever fell in love with,” full of “pop-punk goodness”! Either way, expect tattoos, “attitude,” loud guitars and really whiny singing. Yeah!

Howie Day –

“You and I collide…” If you recognise this lyric, remember a bland, vaguely likeable slice of pop/rock, and want to listen to a musician with the awesome name of “Howie Day” (is he looking for Bowie comparisons or what?) then Quad might be your safest bet. Or, join Carol Dreibelbis ’11 in boycotting him: She says Howie Day is “so bad I change the radio station when he comes on.” You go girl! Show some attitude!

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Eve 6 –

Oh my gosh. TWO has-been pop-punk bands playing Lawnparties?! Something strange is happening here… But at least New Found Glory is still releasing records. Because according to allmusic.com, Eve 6 was dropped by their label, RCA, in 2004, and “announced they would be calling it quits” that same year. So what they’re doing here is anybody’s guess. Anyway, Karen Azani ’11 will be at Colonial supporting them. She “really like[s] that song ‘Tonight.’ Or maybe ‘Night.’ Or ‘Here’s to the Night’? I mean, it has the word ‘night’ in it. It’s a good graduation song.” I think you should take her word for it.



Sister Hazel –

Sister Hazel, who will be playing at Cloister, has been described as an “acoustic jangle pop band.” However, after listening to a few of their songs, I would say that Sister Hazel don’t really sound anything like your typical jangle pop bands; certainly anyone trying to compare them to the Smiths or R.E.M. is deaf, or very stupid. The Eagles, Hootie and the Blowfish, and bland country rock are the more obvious influences here, with a hackneyed sound pitched halfway between pub rock and alt-rock. Sister Hazel does have a bald singer though, so it does have something in common with R.E.M.! Expect a rendition of their big single, “All For You” – not to be confused with Janet Jackson’s 2001 hit of the same name.



Gonzo’s Nose –

This band is called Gonzo’s Nose. It’s a cover band. With the trend of this year’s line up, they’ll probably be doing repeated renditions of “American Idiot,” with maybe a bit of Fall Out Boy thrown in to spice things up. Or maybe the band got lost at Charter on the way to a seven year old’s birthday party. Who knows, with a name like Gonzo’s Nose, we might be in for group renditions of “Baa Baa Black Sheep.”

Ruby Suns –

Oh my lord! A band that formed less than five years ago is coming to Lawnparties? Well, it must be playing Terrace then. Combining sweet, psychedelic pop sounds with world music — which seems to be all the rage right now — the New Zealand-based Ruby Suns has been described by pitchforkmedia.com, in typically verbose style, as “nibbling at the edges of unfamiliar sounds.” Someone I know calls them “really, really good.” I don’t know who to trust. But I’ll be there, because the cover of their latest album has lots of nice, happy, bright colors on it. And nice, happy, bright music is good for a sunny Sunday. Let’s just hope it’s sunny. If not, you can go shed emo tears with New Found Glory…

The Walkmen –

Positively grandparents compared to the Ruby Suns, the five-piece Walkmen will also be playing Terrace on Saturday. Apparently nothing to do with the late-80s portable tape player, The Walkmen play a brand of scruffy, guitar-heavy indie rock that’s been compared to The Strokes and Interpol. And with their pared-down, aggressive sound, that’s not surprising. What’s stranger is that someone once compared the band to U2. That person was very silly.

On the Hunt

After my nine month-long senior year high school relationship ended with zero orgasms to my name, I unofficially declared myself an Orgasm Hunter. I was determined to use my newfound freedom and confidence as a woman to find men with exceptional sexual prowess to finally release the sex goddess I’d always imagined was inside of me. Freshman year, I refused to have sex with anyone, but of all the guys I hooked up with only one managed to get me off, and that was with months of practice. I dated that guy, Adam, for all of sophomore year, and when we broke up, I was scared that it could be months or years before I found someone else who would be able to give me what I wanted again. Post break-up, my hookups were pretty frequent and consistent, but with the exception of one chemically enhanced fluke and more recently, my boyfriend Rob*, my only source of orgasms had been my vibrator.

This is not to say that most of the guys that I’ve hooked up with over the last three years are horrible in bed and don’t know what they’re doing. To be corny, an orgasm is not something that someone else gives to you — you have to, to a certain extent, take it for yourself. I firmly believe that I, like most women, will never have an orgasm purely through penetration; however, when it comes to cunnilingus, I now know that I’m not incapable. Just as a guy needs to have some basic technique or skills down in order to be “good” at giving head (or fingering, or having sex, or anything), none of it means anything if I’m not into it. During some of my first experiences with oral sex, I just closed my eyes tightly and hoped that it would work. I put so much pressure on myself; I would literally try to convince myself “this feels good, you should like this, ENJOY THIS, DAMNIT.” I soon discovered the power of fantasizing during oral sex, and it enhanced my experience considerably. (My favorite fantasy is an office scene; My employer can’t get any work done because he’s distracted by my inappropriate work dress, so he teaches me a lesson…) I’ve learned a lot about the things I like, the things I don’t like and how to explain what I want, but that doesn’t guarantee me an orgasm. After my breakup with Adam, I finally knew that I wasn’t a mutant, I knew it was possible, but it just wasn’t happening. The one time I came with Ethan* — a “revisit” from freshman year and jackass supreme — I was high and could literally feel my inhibitions melting away. I’d been thinking of sexual encounters like a science project with a natural progression: First came the kissing, then came the touching, then the shirt, then the bra and if he was lucky, off came the underwear. That night, I felt an urgency I’d never felt before, I found myself desperate to get naked and jump straight into things, but my sober brain said “no, it’s not time yet.” My altered state assured me that if I wanted to do something, I should do it, because it’s about pleasure. For the first time, instead of doing things they way I thought they should be done, I did things the way I felt they should be done, and it led to a fantastic orgasm. I hooked up with Ethan again days afterward, and once again, we were in the no cum zone. It wasn’t him and his technique, it was me and my ability (or inability) to let go with him.

What I’d learned about Rob through our quickly and intensely developed friendship very much encouraged my desire to become physical with him. Upon explaining to him that I’d met a guy who refuses to eat girls out, he simply replied, “that’s dumb.” When I explained to him how hard I was to please in bed, he assured me that his ex had been the same way and that it was just a matter of practice. When I asked him one cold December night what he was like in bed, he told me about how he likes to take his time, tease and be teased, and make sure that he makes his partner feel amazing. I literally pounced on him 30 minutes later, certain that I’d found the guy who was going to give me my next orgasm. That first night, we hooked up for eight (!) hours. It was almost 5 a.m. by the time his tongue found its way to my clit, and I could tell that he was exhausted. I just couldn’t enjoy myself knowing that, so I told him, “it’s okay, maybe some other time.” I didn’t have an orgasm that night but for the first time, I didn’t mind or care. It had still been the most sexual, sensual, pleasurable encounter I’d ever had up to that point. Months later I can still remember the way his hands felt on my waist, the electricity that coursed through my body as he teased me, and the sensation of his lips on my neck. Never had I felt so focused on what I was feeling, or so open to being pleasured for the sake of pleasure instead of reaching some distant goal. We hooked up again the next day, and I came in even less time than usual.

Sure, I was just looking for another orgasm when we started, but I ended up with much more. Besides the fact that we’ve been dating for months now, the experience made me realize that my problems were not physical, but emotional. I was having trouble having orgasms with men before simply because I didn’t feel safe or comfortable with them. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but now I firmly believe that that’s the real reason. Even after I’d learned to lay back and fantasize, I was still anxious about the men between my legs. Not only did I worry about whether I looked okay naked or if I tasted weird; I worried about whether they would become annoyed that I was taking so long to cum, that they saw oral sex as a chore, or that they may not be the nice guys I thought they were. I even worried about owing them something afterward, even if it wasn’t that great for me. With the men I felt little connection with, I couldn’t just sit back and enjoy. To be honest, I had always been only minimally physically attracted and severely emotionally disconnected from them. My lust never overcame my wandering thoughts.

I know this isn’t typical, and trust me, I’d love to be able to just have orgasms all over the place with anyone willing to offer them to me, but from my limited research it appears that I can only have orgasms with the guys with whom I end up in long term relationships. Perhaps my vagina has set up an intelligent internal selection process for me. Or maybe I just can’t let good cunnilingus go. In any case, it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. It’s taken me years to realize that despite my desire to be wild and play the field, random hookups just don’t work for me; perhaps with time and experience, that could change. I envy those girls who can cum at the drop of the hat with whomever whenever, but apparently (unfortunately?) that’s just not me.

Arzu Komili: What is a painting?

What is a painting? That is the question. The question first asked by Abstract Expressionists such as Rothko, de Kooning, and Pollock in mid-twentieth century America. And the question asked today, in the new millennium, by Arzu Komili, a senior in the Visual Arts Program at Princeton University. Arzu’s collection of paintings is unveiled today at 185 Nassau Street, exhibited throughout the week in the building’s entryway and inner room. They’re three-dimensional and explosive; they challenge the inherent qualities of painting such as form (flatness) and content (theme). 

Arzu explains: For my thesis show, I am undertaking a project that is much grander than my past aspirations, as I wish, not only to comment on the history of painting, but also of its presentation.

The talent illustrated by Arzu in her artwork mimics innovative artists of the past with similar ambitions.

Using both rooms in Lucas gallery, I plan to play them off against each other with the presentation of their contents. A duality will be established between "where" the paintings are located in both rooms.

Check it out. Lewis Center for the Arts, 185 Nassau Street, April 22^nd – 26^th. 10 am – 4:30 pm.

Second photo taken by Ed Greenblat, courtesy of Lewis Center for the Arts' website: from http://www.princeton.edu/arts/events/archive/paintings-arzu/

No Sex for a Week!

Alas, my independent work is calling my name, and due by the end of the week, so no Sex and the Street this week. It will be returning next Wednesday. In the meantime, I'm curious as to what kinds of topics YOU would like to see me explore here, so feel free to leave a comment with your suggestions/questions. Don't be shy; in my eyes, there's pretty much nothing that's too taboo to talk about.

xo, Ms. SatS