Music and sex men.

ONE:
Like I've said, I'm in a continuous search for new music. I'm never satisfied. I feel like I'm in a rut right now. I need something new, something old, something obscure, something something something that will just blow my brains across the room. Share some music with me, o friends. Give me something, anything, and in return, I will share these five with you. Here's hoping you'll find something that moves you.

1. Alex Rossi - Fast Hennepin
I toiled over this for a few reasons. Do I share at all, and instead beg and plead with you to somehow find a copy of this album to buy? Drive to Minneapolis on the last Wednesday of the month to a certain bar to pay a $5 cover and then $10 for the album solely to support the genius of Rossi? Sounds ridiculous, I know, but really, it's almost worth it. (I say "almost" because if you live in Duluth that would turn out to be like $55 for a cd, including the gas money.) I don't know where else you can buy it. I should look into it. I digress. The other toiling point was which, oh which track from this KILLER album do I share? What gem do I choose? In the end, I chose the title track and the one that put me on the edge of my seat for about two months, waiting for the album to drop. PLEASE listen to this song. You won't be able to stop. (I'm looking at you, Pelowski.)

2. Mason Jennings - The Mountain
I loved Mason back in the early days of my Duluth career but I burned out on him. Completely burned myself out. I rediscovered him last month and can't stop listening to him. Every song was like new, and yet there was a distinct, intense memory linked to each and every one. This one involves the sun coming through vertical blinds and bouncing off the top of a freshly balded head. Music's a powerful thing.

3. John Frusciante - Fallout
I was going to say that I'm not a huge fan of the first 43 seconds of the song, but it sets the mood for the rest of the song. It's part of the experience. If you don't like it, you don't like it, but as I said to a friend the other day, I'm bumping this song like it's going out of style. This is from the era when he started to experiment with synth and electronica and he was on a lot of heroin. It's one hell of a byproduct.

4. The Juliana Theory - Duane Joseph
I know Tony feels me on this. This was my Favorite Band Ever in high school. It was one of those things where I swear to god they were the only people in the whole world who understood me. When I emerged from the emo-tastic darkness, I packed everything away. Well, when I pulled this album back out for a trip down memory lane, I couldn't stop listening to it, and I realized that it's actually really quite good. Sure, it's filled from beginning to end with ridiculous memories of high school, but I think I might actually choose to listen to it if I didn't discover it betwixt adolescent debauchery and feelings of being misunderstood. Maybe I'm wrong.

5. Warrant - Cherry Pie
There needs to be some motherfuckin' butt rock on this list. I will never, ever, ever, ever be ashamed that I have an enduring love for butt rock. Pat tries to make me feel ashamed about it, but I just can't be. Also, this can represent the fact that Guitar Hero II has now entered our apartment and is currently sucking our lives away. (Well, more mine and Pat's than anyone else's... although he did catch Damon playing it at 2am this morning.) Fun fact: did you know that the guitar solo is performed by C. C. DeVille (of Poison fame), my favorite butt-rock guitar god?? I was stoked when I found that out. C. C. DeVille is fucking AWESOME. I'm so fucking pumped up after talking about this. God.

(I realize I have not yet posted my review of the mix you made me, Tony, because I suck -- the very next post is yours.)

And, that brings us to TWO:
It's been quite awhile since I've gushed over the many many men that I'm in love with. It's constantly changing, so I thought I'd update you on who I love right now.

1. Jim Carrey

I've suddenly fallen in love with Jim Carrey. He's always been totally awesome and kind of good-looking, but thanks to some subliminal help, I've come to realize that he's totally awesome and really good-looking. Damn that Jenny McCarthy. I can fart in public too. Pick me instead!

2. Hank Azaria

Ridiculously smart? Check. Ridiculously funny? Check. Ridiculously attractive? Check. In not one, but two of my favorite movies of all time? Oh Hank. I never thought I'd be so attracted to a man who's most notably known for being a voice actor and a drag queen.

3. Mikhail Baryshnikov

Please, Mikhail. Dance. Dance for me. Just like one time. Kinda fell in love with him circa-Sex and the City, like everyone else, but he's been popping up all over my interweb haunts recently and, man, is it hot in here? He is sixty years old. SIXTY YEARS OLD. Aside from Alan Rickman, he's the oldest man I've ever had a crush on. That should creep me out way more than it does.


Five songs and three men later, I close this post with nothing but love. Also, if you're reading this, I probably miss you a lot.

Thursday morning, my alarm rang earlier than normal. It went off at the same time that it always does, but it seemed much earlier because I'd gone to bed far later than I normally do on Wednesday nights. The next hour was a battle for consciousness, resulting in a race against the clock to get my ass out of the house on time. I ended up having to run down the stairs, simultaneously tucking my jeans into my boots, zipping up my jacket, starting up my iPod, and triple-checking that I had my keys. I was a damn mess, and I had about a minute before my bus was scheduled to show.

Storming up the street, still attempting to multi-task, I glanced across the intersection at the bus stop to see how many people were there. At this time of day, zero means I missed the bus, one or two means I still have a few minutes, and three or more means I need to get my butt in gear. I saw a tall boy in a nice black pea coat, a woman with crazy blue dreads, and a woman yapping away on her cell phone in a power suit. Three people. Shit.

I waited as patiently as possible for the light to change and sprinted across Hennepin asap, nearly getting hit by the bus I was trying to catch. I totally budged in front of the boy and the Power Suit, jumping on the bus after Blue Dreads. I inserted my bus pass and plopped down in one of two open seats at the front of the bus (reserved for the old and handicapped, if possible), between two really really old guys who smelled their age.

The Power Suit got on the bus, looked around, and ignored the open seat. Smart move; she'd clearly ridden the bus enough around this area to know that she'd probably end up giving it up sooner or later. I considered it. Do I stand, eventually succumbing to the momentum, getting knocked into the sitting passengers, apologizing for my overstuffed backpack all up in their business? Or do I sit until I absolutely have to give it up to the blind woman who usually gets on at 24th?

The boy in the pea coat got on the bus. HOLY SHIT! I could not believe my eyes. Fumbling around for his Go-Pass a mere foot and a half away from me was the first boy that I've ever had a crush on in my whole life. Holy goddamn shit. We made brief eye contact and he did a slight double-take. Not a full double-take, but the glance and then second glance. I remembered sitting next to him in sixth grade. He was correcting my history test and I had failed it by one point. He winked at me and erased one wrong answer, changing it to the correct one, thus saving my grade. I remember the same year we bonded because he told me that he loved this new band called No Doubt. It was love ever since. And holy crap, there he was, getting on the same bus at the same stop at the same time in a nice black pea coat.

He, too, ignored the open seat and headed towards the back. I felt immediately like an asshole. Grandpa next to me inhaled sharply, sending mucus thundering throughout his sinuses. God. If I would have been a good and kind human being, I would have left the open seat to the old-slash-handicapped and would have been able to strike up a conversation in the back of the bus with my old crush. But no, I had to be the asshole who kept the seat, and karma was being a cold and nasty bitch.

Throughout the ride, I kept wondering if he knew it was me. I wondered where he was going. He must have graduated by now. Does he have a job or a career? Is it totally boss, or is it a mindless job-to-get-by? I think I saw on facebook once that he was into math or something. Maybe he's got a sweet math job. Where is he getting off? What if he gets off the bus after I do? Where would he get off? He's going downtown, so it's 9th street with me, or I'll never know. Is he still friends with Sean? They were tight as hell all through school. Man, I remember this one time that Sean came to English class totally hung over in ninth grade and we all thought it was the most badass thing...

By the time that my mind had completely wandered off, the bus was jam packed, and MCTC (aka The Building I'd Most Like To Detonate With A Nuclear Warhead) was coming up soon, indicating to me that I had been lost in my mind for a good seven or eight minutes. We stopped and a flood of people got off the bus. I glanced back and I could see him, now sitting, staring out the window. Was he reminiscing too? Did he remember that he changed my grade? Did he remember talking about the brilliance that was "Don't Speak" and the subsequent ska movement? Did it drag up all those random memories from the time when we were children?

I signaled the 9th street stop, gathered my things, de-wedged myself from between the snot-ridden old men, and got off the bus. As I did, I turned around and looked into the window of the bus. He saw me and smiled, sending me a nod of recognition. I smiled back and returned the nod through a cloud of exhaust as the black pea coat zoomed down Hennepin.

Remember that one movie that I was so fucking pumped about?


I was so excited about it for awhile and then got caught up in school, work, my new camera, etc., that I just realized last week how close the release date was.

So Friday I had lunch with Ghey and DebonEric, and the movie came up in conversation. (It was more like me saying "OMG OMG OMG GUYS IT'S 'CLOVERFIELD' DAY OMGGGGGGG.")

DebonEric suggested that we book it to the closest Carmike in a city long forgotten and indulge my obsession. During the trailers (HELLO "STAR TREK"), I kept punching him in the arm in disbelief. I was seeing "Cloverfield" on opening day. See, I had the sneaking suspicion all along that nobody would want to see it with me, so I'd a) have to see it alone, and I really wanted to experience it with someone, or b) have to see it when it came out on DVD, and by that time, it would have been spoiled for me. And damn it, I REALLY wanted to see it on the big screen.

And I loved it. I love love love love loved it. The monster was not that scary, honestly - there were some other... things in it that were downright terrifying though - but it was a great piece of film making. I was nervous that I'd get motion sickness from the hand-held camera (I didn't) and I was nervous that there would be way too much blood and gore for me (there wasn't -- the majority of the violence was implied) but I was on the edge of my seat from the second the attack started until the very end of the movie. It was fun, it was scary; I jumped, I laughed, I gasped, I cringed, I covered my mouth, I got really involved in it. (I actually yelled "OH SHIT!" in the theater during the helicopter scene. ) It was a great ride.

The silent credits rolled at the end and the audience booed. I was shocked. I loved it. Even DebonEric was pretty disappointed. I couldn't understand why, so I went home and hit the internet. I was met with mixed reviews but they were polarized: the people loved it or they hated it. Among the bitching about the monster, the majority of internet was whining about how the movie didn't live up to the hype. I was really annoyed with these people because the hype machine that was created had nothing to do with the people making the movie. J.J. Abrams simply removed all the information available about the movie, and the media and the public created this frenzy because they didn't have any information about it. The viral campaign was clever, but Abrams didn't set out to create hype like this. It was fueled by our need - desire - obsession - to have all the information available at the touch of a button. Putting the surprise and secrecy back into a movie production was a smart idea, and it proved to be the best marketing move since... well, ever.

After pages and pages of l33t speak bitching, I finally ran across a diamond in the rough:

"People ruin films for themselves by having too many expectations. They expect one thing, they get another, and it's the film's fault? That's ridiculous. [...] Just go knowing that the movie isn't about the monster, it's video footage from one guy's camera of what happened during a monster attack. If you go in knowing that, then I think you'll have a great time. And understand that's all it's supposed to be: A great time."

Finally! Someone with some common sense. Someone who doesn't take this shit so seriously. I banged out an "IAWTC!" reply and decided to get off the internet (er.. off of the forum, anyway).

The bottom line is that the movie is a good time. No, it's not an amazing movie. No, it's not going to change the game. Keep that bit of internet wisdom in mind and you'll have a great time.

That being said, holy crap, go see "Cloverfield."

There are a lot of ways to describe me, but a "morning person" is definitely not one of them. I don't know if it's the years of living on a bartender's schedule that did it or if I'm just wired differently but waking up before 10am is literally the hardest thing in the entire world.

I have 8am class every single day, except for the two days that I have 9am class. I don't know why I thought that this would be okay because it's definitely not. I set my alarm for 6am, giving me PLENTY of time to get myself showered and ready to go, but then I end up hitting the snooze alarm two or three times, which leaves a clusterfuck in the hallway because two of my roommates are also trying to get into the bathroom and out of the house.

And what's this snooze alarm business? What jackass invented that? Why can't I just get the fuck up when the alarm goes off? I would if I didn't realize that by simply groaning into my pillow and hitting a button I could get fifteen extra minutes of sleep. Why does fifteen minutes sound so appealing anyway? It's not like I'm going to be any more ready to wake up fifteen minutes from when the alarm goes off. Fuck fifteen minutes.

So I fucked up this morning and snooze alarm-ed until 6:45, and when I woke up, the shower was running. Now I get to decide if it's worth waiting until she comes out and then having the world's fastest shower and rushing my ass off to the bus in a half an hour, or figuring out how to make my hair look okay without showering. The last option always sounds more appealing because it means less effort and more sleep, but once I get to school I regret it because I look like shit. Is it worth it?

These are decisions that I am clearly ill-equipped to make this early in the morning. I should have paid much closer attention to my schedule when I made it this quarter. These are mistakes that will not be repeated.

OMG the shower's free.

Anniemosity's newest celebrity crush: Bill Hader.


Ahh. If you've been paying attention somewhat to pop culture in 2007 you've seen him, either on SNL, or from "Knocked Up," "Superbad," or that Andy Samberg "Hot Rod" movie.

You'd think it'd be the "Star Wars" nerd in him mixed with his mild good looks that captured my blogging heart, but it's not so. Here's the video that really sold me:



Yep -- it was his brilliant Vincent Price impression that clinched it. The look on his face at 3:03 makes me laugh every time. I've watched this video nearly eighty times and it gets funnier with every viewing. (Eva Longoria gets worse every time. Heads up.) Is SNL getting awesome and nobody knows it? I wish it was the Bill Hader show. Best cast member in ten years? Possibly. Sigh.

I came home from school today frustrated. This quarter is one of those periods in college where you put in the time and jump through the hoops by taking classes that don't really pertain to your particular field of study. This will take discipline and patience, two things that I don't have an overabundance of.

So I came home frustrated and slightly grumpy. Day one and I'm sick of it already. In a fit of crab-assery, I grabbed my BAMF new camera and stormed through my apartment, setting out to take an amazing picture to make myself feel better about the utter lack of actual PHOTOGRAPHY this quarter (bitches).

Trouble was I was home alone, so I'd have to improvise with inanimate objects. No worries. I snapped a few cool shots of the sconces in my apartment.


Hell yeah. Yellow vs. black is bad ass. And see how dark that shit is? There was so much natural light in that room at that moment. My camera is one bad mamajamma.

Now what?

I don't fucking know, that's what.

I stood in my living room and turned around and around and around, looking for something to grab me, something that screamed, "YO! YOU! I'M AN INTERESTING SUBJECT WITH COMPLEX LINES AND SHAPES! YOU KNOW YOU WANT THIS WITH YOUR BAMF CAMERA!" That's not exactly how it works, so nothing did.

I moped around for awhile, completely devoid of inspiration. I looked through old photos that I'd taken. I looked through thefashionspot to see if the likes of Steven Meisel, Inez van Lamsweerde, Greg Kadel, or even Terry Richardson (who I fucking hate -- although the linked picture is one of my favorites... weird) could stir the creative juices. The only thing that even remotely inspired me was David LaChapelle's "Jesus Is My Homeboy" editorial from four years ago. (1 2 3 4 5 6) It's not really my thing, but Homes had a vision and went balls to the wall as usual.

Snap! There it was. People! I've known that landscape and nature photography aren't my bag, but I've secretly been open to it, because you never know where the waxing and waning of the interests will end up. I just can't get into it. I get bored looking at 87% of the photos. I appreciate them, for sure, but I find them very boring. JUDGE ME! I want to shoot people. I need living breathing pose-able people who take direction and bring something to the table. I want cheekbones, brow lines, strong jaws, dead eyes, smiling eyes, what have you. That's what I want. And not much else.

The other dude that totally turns my crank is Erwin Wurm. I've been vaguely aware of him for about three or four years, but today I did my homework and his work really struck a chord with me.

Snap! The other half of the revelation. I don't only take photos, I make photos. I stage them. Every aspect is tightly controlled down to the tiniest detail. It's all created. It's all part of the vision. Random acts of lighting and development happen sometimes, but it all still works out for the overall concept.

In hindsight, it's all very obvious. These are things that I probably knew all along and are probably glaringly evident to my friends, but sometimes you just have to come to them.

So I'm now full of ideas, and I'm ready to put them into pixels. And, of course, I have the two best creative/artistic directors (Bombard & Matz) and the best key grip in the whole world (Kotlarek) that always help me reach exactly what I didn't even know I wanted. And ps, my models are always fierce as hell.

I guess what I'm saying is watch the fuck out.

Waking up to a closed throat worries me, but more than that, it pisses me off. I had big plans for today. I woke up bright and early at nine a.m. and fuck! I can't swallow. And what's this feeling in my bones like I've been run over repeatedly by a cement truck? Goddamn it, I was sick last week and got it out of my system just in time for New Years and the beginning of the school quarter and my new job. Relapsing is not on my 2008 to-do list. (I guess that's the one thing Lohan and I actually have in common... or is it? I suck at gossip-type quips now. Fuck!)

Clearly my throat had other plans. I went back to sleep and was awakened nearly three hours later by the insufferable sound of the Imperial Death March from "Star Wars." In that moment, I made two very important decisions: one, my ring tone needs to change; two, my plans stay concrete. What, I can't swallow? That doesn't mean that I'm incapacitated, pharyngitis. Take that, asshole.

At a solid eleven hours later, I've done nothing with my day except watch season three of "The Simpsons" and wince every time I swallow. My plans have all been shifted and I turned down a sweet hipster date with Ghey that included all of the things that I desperately wanted to do. The only reason that I haven't gone into fits of fury is because I'm holding on to the thin hope that this was a 24 hour bug and when I wake up tomorrow morning I will feel energized and fantastic.

The other thing that kept me afloat today (aside from Krusty the Klown, Ricolas, and Alex, aka the best roommate EVER) was finding the following lovely photoshoot of James Marsden after being inspired by Fuller's most recent blog. Look and love, as I have.











Sigh. Thank you, January GQ.

Thanks for listening to me bitch. Here's some random-ass music.

ANNIEMOSITY'S DUDES OF '08 (...so far)
(Bombard, that last one is for you.)

Mason Jennings - The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll (thanks, Bob Dylan.)
Dio - Holy Diver
Mott the Hoople - All The Young Dudes (thanks, Juno.)
Genesis - Land of Confusion
Tevin Campbell - Stand Out

2008 began at Chez Bombard.


Friends, old and new, crowded every corner of the house, from the kitchen to the living room, and even the garage. Some of my very favorite people ever were there.






I almost missed the ball dropping, which is amusing seeing as I was wearing a party hat for what seemed an hour before the actual event. (That may not even be true. One's timeline tends to get a little out of order.) Emerging from deep conversation with my BFF, I wondered why everyone was counting backwards from 16.


After that, it became a blur of celebration. Someone was following me around with a plastic bag filled with red and green party favors and yelling my name. I almost sat on a plate of Ritz crackers on the bathroom sink. Phone calls, jokes, text messages, and more kissing than I've ever seen in one place before. It was truly a spectacular celebration.

Welcome to the world, 2008: a new beginning full of fresh opportunities and adventures. You're to be welcomed with open arms, but instead you were welcomed with the birth of a new sport (X-Treme Cockblocking) and Ghey screaming "THE BITCHES MOVED ME!" from the basement bathroom of the Bombards'.