That would be some hex.

What if every photograph I ever took was automatically and irrevocably posted to Flickr?

APB

My local Target stores don’t carry the Honk-Honk-Ashoo toys seen here. I would gladly reimburse someone for the dictionary boy, in either mini or large!

Ok, so.

The new Rapture album will make you shake around like a mad fool. Or, as I said to Doug, it will make you want to hump inanimate objects. It’s that good, even if “Get Myself Into It” reminds me of Stereo MCs and the singer’s voice sometimes sounds like a combination of Kele Okereke and Colin Hay.

Shake, shake, hump, grind.

Camouflage

The butt-jut. It’s perennial.

At 16 I had a brief foray into the world of beach souvenir sales. It was my first job, I had no idea what was expected, and I lasted two weeks before being fired. Note the hermit crab in hand, and the growing-out bangs. (Thanks to A.A.W. for the photo.)

Movie theatres are dangerous.

I thought there was an ask.metafilter thread on this subject, but I can’t find it now.

Something about the enormity of the screen breaks me. The beaten-down protagonist, the foggy woods, the heroine’s dewy skin are monstrous, suffused with importance, and just out of reach. On Friday, I spent a few particular, long moments of The Illusionist trying glance away to seats and shoes and anything but the screen. Look at this. And you thought you didn’t want it anymore.

And then in the parking lot , the sky was very gray and limitless, and I made resolutions to live a grander life. All because of a fair-to-good film.

Right.

It’s not as though I go to clubs, ever, or New York, ever, or anywhere, ever. But after watching Party Monster: The Shockumentary, I was sad that people probably don’t dress like this anymore:

And yeah, hardly anyone probably ever did, but what did we get left with? Big pants and candy. And nouveau-goth. And then sort of nothing. Collared shirts and jeans and tshirts with words on them, and girls in camisoles? Magaziney-fashion. Even the 80s nostalgia came from the not-fun portion of the 80s. ( Fucking leggings?) The only halfway-interesting portion of lastnightsparty.com is the nudity.

Did club kids strike people then the way cosplayers and furries strike us now? I hope not.

See, this why I get obsessed with Halloween, and with people like Amanda Lepore.

(HEY, also. How do people in NY end up with that perpetually-stuffy-nosed accent, like James St. James?)

Eeew-uh!

I admit to being hypersensitive to certain eating habits and body parts. But do YOU enjoy watching this old woman perform sloppy cunnilingus on a cookie?

http://youtube.com/watch?v=BA7v9ZC_qH8

I do not.

“Aaaaah.”

I just found out that Marilyn Manson and I share a birthday. His fans in the 90s were pitiful, but I find the man himself endlessly fascinating.

Moth by Marimekko