Tag Archives: rookie

geographically, i’m not entirely sure, but i know you were there

Hello, meat grinderz. What’s it to you lately?

God DAMN-A-LANG, am I ever busy. This isn’t to paint being stuffed to the gills as a cool/bad/fragrant/fractured/frantic/orange/matronly/ANY-QUALIFIER-ASS time; it’s just how it’s been the heck going. My book deadline grins at me from where it sits on my shoulder. And I keep making it worse! I keep doing all the fun shit that I love! PLUS WORKING ON THE BOOK THAT I LOVE! My dance card = sustenance for benevolent termites, like:

– I’m really into working for Rolling Stone, partly because I pitch them GI-GAN-TEUR ideas that sometimes begin: “I hope you’re enjoying your weekend! I was thunderstruck by a scene report–type pitch on my walk to the donut shop just now. It’s as follows: They Might Be Giants is a nerd band for math losers, right? YO, NOT AT ALL.”

And then I spout off for a little, and then it works and I get to harangue one of my all-time favorite bands. And then the Johnses tell me stories about GG Allin that I will clutch right here (gesturing to heart and brain and crotch with the one hand that isn’t holding a promotional radio station mug of vodka-soda) in saecula saeculorum.

– I’m reading McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh, whose feet I would agreeably dry with my hair:

“Where I see myself in five years? Well, that’s a great question…” McGlue rules.

A photo posted by Amy Rose Spiegel (@verymuchso) on Feb 21, 2015 at 7:18am PST

A difference of opinion, but not of spirit. Re: McGlue—if your nose levitates ceiling-ward upon the very THOUGHT of reading a novella, try her attack-dog-voiced short stories, both of which, here, are fixing to make my lay my extendos across the floor like a blonde shag carpet.

Also reading: Sex and the Single Girl, but it’s for research, which is I guess why anyone has been reading it for the past 50 yearzzz. Helen Gurley Brown, its author, I would adore and prize and send groceries to as a friend, but god DAMN if a segment about homosexuality doesn’t clear its throat and gravely intone, “Before you rule homosexual men out of your life, however, let’s consider: Are they really monsters?”

I know what you meant, but you meant what you said, and (though you wrote it ’62) our tentative comradeship comes to an end. The book: not my favorite! Out of five stars: All the imploding ones that we can still see after they’re dead, if we squint!

– One little-known factoibdt about me: I’m fond of putting clothes on my person so as not to be mistaken for one of the lesser primates among our animal QUEENdom. (You are welcome, feminism. No longer 1962 up in this here w’bsite, NOW IS IT?) Dazed & Confused, in a partnership with Racked, noticed this and made a home movie about it. Consider this lunacy:

I mean, you can watch me turn lazy roller-skate arabesques around my apartment—God, we’ve come so far!—but what I’m hoping you’ll read is the accordant interview.

– More GUARDIANNE.

– I started a website after spending a year saying, “How do I glue the squad together?” Enormous Eye is one way, but far from the only. I ask writers I revere to chronicle a Saturday, which is exhausting and fruitful, and then I publish those chronicles on Monday. Sick 2 do!

– I continue to grit my smiling editorial teeth with Rookie between ’em, plus I write there too! Who wouldn’t? Rookie is brimming with world-class readers and writers, like Zadie Smith, and it is the wish on non-extinct stars that delivers every day regardless.

That’s not all, but it seems like it righ nah, so I’m calling it. Mad love to you and yours, my heart-butchers.

Halfway everywhere,

ARS

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we must, we must, we must increase our list

O TIME, THY PYRAMIDS – once again, I bring you this MUST LIST:

1) Rookie Yearbook One. Okay, guys, this marks a first in MUST LIST history: I have never before used the immense influence of this hallowed list to shill for something of which I am a (small) part, but I have to put that aside to let you know about this amazing thing that’s happening, like, next week. On September 4, Rookie’s first book is coming out and I’m all over the place with excitement about it. It will include a pop-out Meadham Kirchhoff crown (gonna wear it everywhere, sorry), a Dum Dum Girls flexi-disc, and the kind of QUALITY-ASS writing and artwork you’ve come to expect from ROOKIE MAG DOT COM. Pre-order your copy today!! (Imagine this said in my best infomercial voice, with Billy Mays-style fists brought close to the chest for emphasis [ooh, I just linked to one of my own Rookie articles while big-upping the Rookie book. SELF-REFLEXIVE SELF-PROMOTION! I mean, really now.]).

2) The demo version of “Can’t Hardly Wait” by the Replacements

I’ve been listening to this song a minimum of five times a day (though it mostly just plays near-constantly) for the past three weeks or so, and it means more to me each time I do. I first heard the studio version of “Can’t Hardly Wait,” which appeared on the mostly subpar Replacements album Pleased to Meet Me, in about 2006 (or when I was fifteen, for reference). It stuck with me immediately, although I didn’t yet know any of the band’s other work. I wouldn’t until I found Let it Be and Tim, the latter of which is my favorite album of all time, in 2009. These albums sounded waaay different from the slickly-polished, horn-laden “Can’t Hardly Wait,” which had previously been the only Replacements song I knew. They were everything I wanted – the songs were screaming, drunken, furious, hurt, and questioning, but what made them so special is that they were always unfathomably TENDER. Plus also the guitar lines blew my world apart. Tim slays me every time I hear it, so I choose to hear it a lot.

Earlier this year, I realized that there HAD to be other music out there that was at least somewhat comparable to the album, style-wise. There isn’t, and if you’re about to recommend the Faces to me, don’t you even dare START with me right now. I’ve had it with you people. So I gave up on that search and decided to try a different tack: Since there wasn’t anything else like Tim, I just had to unearth more of it. I YouTubed my fingers to the bone searching for deep cuts: “the replacements live 86,” “the replacements demo,” “the replacements unreleased,” you get the picture. I found this song and fell in rabid love. It suddenly made sense why I adored “Can’t Hardly Wait” so much while hating the most of the other songs on PTMM: It had been written and recorded for Tim originally, which is important for two reasons: A) it was the last album on which the amazing Bob Stinson played guitar for the band and B) Paul Westerberg, the heart and head of the Replacements, was still really into screaming about wanting to die, which changed when the band started making more commercial albums. Both of these elements really agree with me. Although the structure remained the same on the PTMM version, this version is clearly superior because, like all the best Replacements songs, it’s raw and sad and earnest enough to make me want to get in a romantic fistfight, or storm out of a bar without speaking to anyone, knocking over a stool on my way to the door, or climb to the top of a scummy water tower, screaming, “I can’t wait ’til it’s over.” Uh, these are totally good things, I promise.

In closing, you can’t even imagine the lip-curling body-thrash move I do at 2:22 when I’m dancing to this song in my bedroom. It looks really tough, you guys! Especially if I’m doing it in my headphones shaped like fuzzy tiger ears!

3) “Palm Sunday,” Frederick Seidel

I’m very late on this, but Frederick Seidel’s poem in the August issue of Harper’s proves, like all his other poems, that his mind is one of unparalleled beauty. Read it out loud and try not to interrupt yourself with exclamations of joy and disbelief. I love this man so much.

4) Broadway Sizzle

I endlessly loathe Broadway and musicals, which is exactly why I take such delight in parodies of musical theater culture. Tim and Eric are particularly great at this, but my reigning favorite example is Will Ferrell as John Timberly-Crisp in this sketch from the last season of SNL. Look at that funky little hat! I diiiieeeee. I’ve been saying, “Where’s my durned head?” so much recently and cracking myself up in otherwise normal conversations. Please watch this amazing sketch and get in on the joke so I can stop looking like such a goddamned crazy person whenever I open my mouth.

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