First: "The dominant romantic-comedy trend of the past several years—the slovenly hipster and the female straight arrow." The fat guy/ Katherine Heigl complex: indicative of a much larger cultural trend? We would be pissed if women were portrayed as either high-strung or lazy. What's better? What do we want?
What would Joni do?
Sell her her latest album at Starbucks, right next to Nirvana Unplugged, of course!
Yes, seriously. In a way, it sort of justifies Kurt's suicide (if the state of pop music in general hadn't already done so.) Isn't this the kind of com modification that made him put the gun in his mouth in the first place, over 13 years ago? (Welp, that and his heroin addiction.) Something tells me Courtney's legal fees and failure at things in general are behind this. Oh well, it sort of makes sense. Both Starbucks and Nirvana are from Seattle!
I became aware of this quandary of contemporary popular culture over the weekend, when I found myself in the Boston suburb of Belmont, whose downtown consists of a couple banks, three pizza restaurants, a few overpriced jewelry boutiques and a Starbucks. Because I have no desire to wear the same necklace as Jennifer Aniston, but do have a sickening caffeine addiction, we wandered into the local dealer, fully conscious of just how boozshie and loathsome it made us, but not caring enough to forgo our god-given right to those red paper cups.
The Nirvana display was almost too much cultural death to bear, especially as I struggled to get the overpriced coffee down my wretched throat while reading up in Adbusters about all the people, plants and animals that have to die for my right to do so. As I pondered the depressing state of the world in general and wondered whether to off myself or get another $4 latte, a familiar figure entered the chain of coffee stores that is now our nation's secular church. (Even God would admit that Starbucks is more fun than fire and brimstone.) It took a few glances (shameless gawking) to determine that yes, this tall, sharp-dressed and well-coiffed man was in fact the go-to guy for wimpy boyfriend roles and the younger brother of everyone's favorite suicide attemptee. Luke Wilson was mere feet from me and Elissa, and probably wanted to throw us (ok, me) out the window as I couldn't stop looking over to confirm the sighting. I was completely sure it was him because of that squinty-eye thing he does, and the fact that he was wearing a baller leather-jacket and was with a 30-something blonde woman who had the body of a 12 year old.
The moral of the story: whenever the corporate cultural chokehold is getting you down, an actor more famous for his relationships with co-stars than any quality films or talent will show up and distract you with his disheveled good looks, because this is America!
What would Joni do?
Sell her her latest album at Starbucks, right next to Nirvana Unplugged, of course!
Yes, seriously. In a way, it sort of justifies Kurt's suicide (if the state of pop music in general hadn't already done so.) Isn't this the kind of com modification that made him put the gun in his mouth in the first place, over 13 years ago? (Welp, that and his heroin addiction.) Something tells me Courtney's legal fees and failure at things in general are behind this. Oh well, it sort of makes sense. Both Starbucks and Nirvana are from Seattle!
I became aware of this quandary of contemporary popular culture over the weekend, when I found myself in the Boston suburb of Belmont, whose downtown consists of a couple banks, three pizza restaurants, a few overpriced jewelry boutiques and a Starbucks. Because I have no desire to wear the same necklace as Jennifer Aniston, but do have a sickening caffeine addiction, we wandered into the local dealer, fully conscious of just how boozshie and loathsome it made us, but not caring enough to forgo our god-given right to those red paper cups.
The Nirvana display was almost too much cultural death to bear, especially as I struggled to get the overpriced coffee down my wretched throat while reading up in Adbusters about all the people, plants and animals that have to die for my right to do so. As I pondered the depressing state of the world in general and wondered whether to off myself or get another $4 latte, a familiar figure entered the chain of coffee stores that is now our nation's secular church. (Even God would admit that Starbucks is more fun than fire and brimstone.) It took a few glances (shameless gawking) to determine that yes, this tall, sharp-dressed and well-coiffed man was in fact the go-to guy for wimpy boyfriend roles and the younger brother of everyone's favorite suicide attemptee. Luke Wilson was mere feet from me and Elissa, and probably wanted to throw us (ok, me) out the window as I couldn't stop looking over to confirm the sighting. I was completely sure it was him because of that squinty-eye thing he does, and the fact that he was wearing a baller leather-jacket and was with a 30-something blonde woman who had the body of a 12 year old.
The moral of the story: whenever the corporate cultural chokehold is getting you down, an actor more famous for his relationships with co-stars than any quality films or talent will show up and distract you with his disheveled good looks, because this is America!
1 comment:
Reading this made me feel so frustrated that I just wanted to comment saying: jfkdls;a.
But I'm smarter than that and can use real words instead.
what the fuuuuuck!
also i blame peter griffin who blames archie bunker who blames the blue collar working class men of that decade for the fat guy being so acceptable and the woman having it all together (meaning not having an abortion).
on a side note, i miss the hell out of you.
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