Crawling Back On The Gyllenwagon. Kind Of.

Those of you unfortunate enough to have been acquainted with me and this blog back in 2008 will probably remember the extremely intense, protracted, disturbing, only slightly ironic and (hopefully intentionally) hilarious phase during which my universe revolved around Jake Gyllenhaal. It was a time which birthed truly epic posts, the likes of which I may never create again, simply because I cannot remember how I managed to muster that level of fanatic attachment to this one man.


Oh. I think I remember now.

Luckily for all of us, that phase eventually passed, and I learned to dole out healthy doses of obsession among a wide and varied collection of unattainable famous boyfriends. But Jake of the Gyllenhaals will forever remain the biggest and most influential celebrity crush of my young life, and recently I found myself wondering what he might be up to these days, and that maybe I should go catch up with him, for old times' sake.

And then I see this.




WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY, JACOB.

Now, I admit I was kind of aware of the fact that they were allegedly dating, but the news never really registered in my mind, for some reason. I was ready for the outbreak of blog posts which would eventually reveal one of three things :

1. They were just good friends, and the whole thing was being misconstrued by the gossip media.
2. It was an opportunistic PR stunt to promote his new movie and her new album.
3. The whole thing was an elaborately crafted Photoshop hoax, designed to make me cry (I didn't).

Fortunately, they did break up at some point while I still wasn't looking, but not before all this nonsense took place. Behold :

a. Walking romantically down the street in a ridiculously inconvenient fashion.



What do you two clowns think you're doing? What is this? Why does your hand need to be draped so senselessly across his chest like that, Taylor? Why would you two choose to stroll down this lovely city sidewalk in the manner most restrictive to your physical mobility? Does (the illusion of) romance take such precedence over normal human movement? What happened to walking side by side, and maybe holding hands? Why do let yourselves walk so stupidly, Gooberballs?


Much better. Idiots.


b. Buying hipster coffee, all hipsterishly.



Ugh.

c. Contaminating Maggie Gyllenhaal's universe.


You really overstepped the line here, Swift. This is an outrage. Mack on Jake all you want, but this? This is Maggie Gyllenhaal we're talking about. You can't just touch her kid, or her grocery shopping, or breathe her air, or be seen with her in public. Do you know how disgusted - oh. She actually looks...happy to have you around. I don't...I can't.... Is she also a part of all this? Did she get roped into this performance? How am I supposed to carry on when I can't place my faith in a Gyllenhaal any longer? What has this family come to??


After all this foolishness, came the news that Jake had broken up with Taylor over the phone.



And so all the pretty princess unicorns wept.


And I was ever more convinced that this was nothing more than a publicity thing taken a bit too far. I have nothing against Taylor Swift as a person, even if I do think her music is vapid, albeit catchy, and her overall image perpetuates a few things I simply cannot stand (princess culture nonsense and a fair amount of slut-shaming in her videos, not to mention the perpetual virginal-white-dress-of-purity). This whole debacle, whatever it was, seemed far too staged, too odd, and generally did not make sense. I guess I just cannot see what a guy like Jake could find attractive in a girl like Taylor (as opposed to a girl like, oh I don't know, ME). I suppose she's pretty. But what did they even talk about while they were dating? Taylor Swift, from what I can tell, is a 22 year-old with the mindset and world view - romantically, at least - of a 15 year old. Everything about this screams "PR sham".

edit : These days I'm more convinced that Swift is actually much shrewder and smarter than I gave her credit for, and that all her musical pandering to the fairy-dust-teardrops-on-my-guitar brand of eternal high school romance is just her evil genius way of winding her core audience firmly around her little finger. But that's another post for another day.


No; if anything, this has brought Jake down a few pedestals in my eyes. It's one thing to date a younger woman, but another story entirely to do it in the interests of a PR-friendly hookup (which is most likely the case here). For shame, Jacob. I honestly thought you were made of better stuff than that. And why, really? Why, Jacob? Both you and Taylor are perfectly prolific, marketable and attractive on your own terms. Why together? Why you? Fire your publicist, child. I should never have taken my eyes off you, post-Reese Witherspoon. I didn't like that much either, but at least she was a grown-ass woman who knew what she was doing and was less likely to be in the grip of romantic fairy dust high school delusions.



You know I'm serious when I actually start yearning for the old days of yore when GyllenSpoon was all the rage (GyllenSpoon. Heh).

But then I hopped over to Youtube and watched some new interviews of you, and by god Jake. you are as charming, hilarious, sensitive, sincere, dorky and adorable as you ever were. Consider myself half-smitten again, Jacob. But the road to redemption is a long and rocky one, and I've got one eye planted firmly on you from this day forth. So don't try anything shady. Now buckle up and get ready for that awful, awful, awful song that is going to be written about you any day now.



edit : This is evidently ancient news, but I had actually drafted this post up last September, and having come across it today, decided to publish it anyway. Why waste a perfectly good Gyllenblogging opportunity, amiright?

We Will Not Have This Orwellian Bullshit.

[image courtesy of Stereogum and my interweb piracy skillz. Come get me, Washington]

These last few days, I have felt a little like I have been living in a rather alarming science fiction scenario. One government controlling the world's Internetz? A single, self-serving entity which will determine what we can read, watch, talk about, share, buy, engage with, and decide what we are allowed to know and say? An institution which can erase my blog from existence, this little slice of pixellation I call my place in the Internet, for simply having too many pictures of Jake Gyllenhaal from Jarhead, particularly that scene in which he dances around naked with a Santa hat on his boyparts? And by deleting my site, effectively erase my voice and entire online identity, with no explanation, no justification, and no prior warning?
How dystopian. How utterly ridiculous. And in all honesty, how terrifying.

Fuck that shit. Fuck SOPA [Stop Online Piracy Act]. Many many other worthy users of the web have come forward to say and do their part, far more eloquently than I will ever be able to do.

Here is why you should know what SOPA (and its sister bill, also currently making its way through the US legislative system, PIPA, or Protect Intellectual Property Act] are all about. Here is why you need to care, even if you're on the other side of the planet (HELLO MALAYSIANS). Here's why you need to quit whining about how you can't half-ass copypaste complete your final assignments because Wikipedia went all black and "this is so inconvenient lah you guys".

Here is the breakdown of both SOPA and PIPA by Pajiba.com. With profanity.

Here is Cracked.com's hilarious but also sobering account of how, eventually, just about anyone is going to be able to abuse both SOPA and PIPA.

Here is Sue Fyenn's wonderful run through of all the implications of both acts (should they be passed in United States Of America Headquarters). Long, but easy to understand, and totally worth it. And yes, she articulated the situation so effectively that I was pretty much shitting my pants by the end.

Here is Wikipedia's own explanation, including its blackout protest initiative.


Here is a GIF about SOPA, starring a koala, a goat, and Oprah and Jesus on a jetski, in true Oatmeal comic style.





Here is an open letter signed by a group of musicians, artists, actors, authors and other creators of original content (including MGMT, Neil Gaiman, and one Mythbuster), sent to Washington, detailing how both SOPA and PIPA will end up causing more harm than good to themselves and their audience in the long run.


This Internet, it is a glorious one. It has allowed us to share and engage with the world in a way that was unthinkable just a few years ago. The Internet has given us so much, including this long-overdue recipe for unicorn shit cookies.




Imagine if, say, I don't know...Universal Studios suddenly decides this is a threat to copyright, and pulls this site down, and my blog as well, simply for linking to it. I don't know about you, but I don't want to live on a planet where even unicorns must live in fear of copyright infringement. Screw you, SOPA.

Now let's all go sign some petitions.

More Love and Less Pushing, Because I Am Honestly Too Old To Deal With This Bullshit [Foster The People Live In KL, 13 January 2012]

After two months of giddy anticipation, Foster The People finally came down to this part of the world for an unexpected but very welcome addition to their Asian tour dates. Here is a slightly muddled recap of the good, the bad, and the shitloads of plain ugly that went down on Friday night.

• Sue Fyenn and I managed to make friends with some adorable first time concert-goers while waiting in line, which was lovely, because meeting new people who love the same things you do is never not awesome.
  
  
• The sound system was fairly good, but could have done with more work ; the synths and vocals on some tracks were far too soft, and the bass and drums were often a little overpowering. The band gave it their all and had some terrific energy though, so I am ready to forgive.
  
  
• The cover of Weezer's Say It Ain't So, and two non-album tracks, Ruby and Broken Jaw, ended up being the highlights of the night for me. For one thing, those were three songs where you could actually hear Mark Foster's voice, which is most excellent, because that boy can sing. Nay, that boy can saaaaang.
  
  
• Let us now talk about the crowd. I have always heard about gig experiences that were otherwise ruined by an asshole or two, and now I finally understand the utter frustration that comes from a large group of people who all collectively decide to behave in the shittiest way possible. I'm talking to you, a large portion of ticket holders of the front section of the Fanatic Zone area. Yes, you.
  
  
• I am not talking about your standard gig moshing. I am talking about pushing, elbowing, shoving and falling over even before the gig started, which obviously got that much more worse when the band actually took to the stage. I am talking about the entire front section of that crowd stampeding to the left and right, to follow Mark Foster across the stage.
  
  
• I am talking about Mark Foster himself having to take a few moments in between songs, early in the set, to call out that section of the audience for aforementioned pushing and shoving, and ask everyone to please give everyone else some space, "because it's all fun and games until someone dies, guys".
  
  
• I am talking about people who continued to behave like dicks even after being called out by Mark Foster himself. I was so relieved when he actually tried to get people to stop shoving. So relieved. Because people who love Mark Foster and his music so much would obviously pay heed and listen to him, no? No. No such shit. But thanks for your concern, Mark. Didn't work, but much appreciation anyway.
  
  
• I have been to my fair share of gigs of the moshing variety, and never once have I ever genuinely feared for my life, the way I did last night. I am talking about people in the front rows being pressed against metal barricades so hard, they couldn't breathe. I am talking about flat-out panic. For those of us in possession of any amount of gig etiquette knowledge, it wasn't fun. It wasn't wild. It wasn't whack, you guys. It was scary, it was annoying beyond all comprehension, and it robbed us of the musical experience we should have enjoyed that night.
  
  
• You know what else I'm talking about? I am talking about that girl I have never met who passed out next to me, while I was trying my hardest to hold on to her arm and not let her drop to the floor, where I would definitely lose her in the darkness and confusion. I am talking about the people who were ready to climb over her to get closer to the stage, and I am talking about having to scream DO NOT FUCKING MOVE at everyone within a three-foot radius to make sure that kid did not get trampled, while the band went on
  playing whatever song it was they were playing at that point.
  
  
• I am talking about first-time concert goers who were pretty much in tears, claiming that this would be their first and last gig, because nothing could be worth this much physical and emotional trauma.
  
  
• I missed almost all of Houdini because some bitch was screaming and yanking at my hair with both hands. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?
  
  
• And to those obnoxious, entitled pre-teen girls standing behind me before the gig started? If you know you're short and will have problems seeing the stage, come early and pick out a good spot. It is in no way your god-given right to elbow and bulldoze your way to the front. It is not your god-given right to keep elbowing me in the back and the side of my left boob, expecting me to take the hint. It is not awesome to actually use your elbow to wedge out a space between me and the girl next to me. I do not have the memory span of a goldfish, which means that after you're done poking me, you can't just sweetly ask me to "please swap places, pleeeeeease?", because you girls haven't exactly been endearing yourselves to me for the past twenty minutes.
  
  It is not cool to keep elbowing, shoving, smushing, making very loud and pointed passive-aggressive remarks and leaning your entire weight on everyone around you, especially me, when you have been repeatedly told to kindly fuck the hell off. If you had actually started off with a polite request to have me give you some space closer to the stage, I would have been nice and totally let you move up front, no problem. It only became a big, obnoxious, shitty deal because you turned it into one.
  
  
• To the folks I met there who were actually nice, and who looked for out each other and spent a few minutes after the show going around and asking everyone if they were okay, thank you. Thank you. I never learned your names, but you are all a collective beacon of hope in the crumbling ruins of my shattered faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.
  
  
• To the people who have been going all "Well, that's just the gig environment for you, totally normal, happens all the time", or "You bought tickets to the FANATIC zone, what were you expecting?". Fuck that shit. What was I expecting? I was expecting a fun, rowdy, boogie-down time. I expected some roughness, some pushing, some degree of having people get all up in my grill. I wasn't expecting to stand there fearing serious, permanent damage to my internal organs while Pumped Up Kicks played in the background. I wasn't expecting to constantly have to check on people next to me, to make sure they were still breathing. I wasn't expecting to have to type out a barely sort-of gig review with next to nothing I can actually say about the music. I wasn't expecting to walk out of that hall feeling shitty beyond belief, angrier than I have been in a long time, and on the verge of tears. Normal gig behaviour? I'm sorry, but what happened on Friday night was pure lunacy. I understand the passion, the euphoria, the insane mob mentality that comes over people in that situation. It does not make that behaviour acceptable on any planet. Justifying that behaviour or even expecting and accepting dickishness at a concert, is crossing a line with me. Delegitimizing my experience in there by insinuating that I was being an oversensitive prude who couldn't deal with a bunch of clearly overexcited teenage girls, that I am overreacting, is not cool either.
  
  
• By the fifth song, I was seriously considering trying to catch the attention of a security guard and getting the hell out of there, but I came up with the much better and wiser decision of moving as far back into the crowd as possible. Eventually I came across a pocket of people who were very calm, happy and clearly just there to have a good time. Not to mention they had the sense to give everyone at least half a foot of dancing space. Once there, I was able to enjoy the last seven or eight songs in the set, which was highly fortunate for me. I still feel incredibly bad for the people who were trapped up there in the first few rows with nowhere to go and absolutely no way of being genuinely able to enjoy this gig.
  
  
• All in all, I would feel really bad if I crowned this as the worst gigging experience of my life, because Foster The People themselves were on top form, were incredibly nice, and did nothing to merit the undeniably shitty behaviour that surfaced that night. They deserved better fans than this ; anyone would expect more love and positivity from fans of such a happy dancey band. And hell, people like me who showed up to have a good time, only to be almost entirely robbed of that experience by other people in attendance, also deserved much better. I can also personally testify that not everyone in Hall 4, KLCC, that night were assholes, but all the same? Shame on us, Kuala Lumpur gig-goers. Shame on us.
  
  
  

I offer a sincere apology to you, Foster The People, for the collective lunacy of a crowd that was more interested in letting you know (as loud as humanly possible) how much they wanted you to fuck them, a crowd perfectly willing to kill each other over their race to get prime stage-front spots, rather than listening to anything you had to say that night. For a far more heartfelt and eloquent apology, head over to read Sue Fyenn's open letter to the band. And here's to purging all the worst memories from Friday night, and looking forward to the next rocking, fun and positive, palate-cleansing concert experience.

I'm glad I was fortunate enough to have been able to safely enjoy the last half of the night, but all the same, I'll just listen to MGMT and Phoenix until I stop feeling a physical ache in my chest every time I hear a Foster The People track.

edit :
It has recently come to my attention that the management and security were pretty crap as well - most people from various ticket sections got mixed up at the entrance, a dividing gate/barricade/thingy was left open so that people from the back could come charging up towards the stage, which obviously did not help matters. Also, a video screen was placed on the back wall of the auditorium, instead of somewhere in front, or the sides. You know, where people would actually be able to see it. How are these people allowed to manage events? How?

All in all, worst concert experience of my life to date, and it was never, at any point, the band's fault. I cannot stress this enough, because Foster and his People did a fabulous job. In any case, a million thanks to the band for coming all the way here, and if the guys ever decide to pay a visit to KL again, I know where I'll be ; safely in the middle of the venue, having my own personal boogie-down time and not getting punched in the head.


moar edits :

I really don't want to be superficial here, but yes, Mark Foster is insanely good-looking up close. It is a testament to his total nom-liciousness that even in the midst of being tossed around like a rag doll, I had the time to look up at the stage and register this thought : "Fucking hell, he is fine". You gotta appreciate the little things, you know.

Some Resolutions For 2012 Which I May or May Not Decide To Keep. They're My Resolutions, After All.

1. Start reading books for pleasure again. Or at least try to enjoy my compulsory reading list for next semester (and how could I not? There's some good shit on that!). It's just that much harder when you know authority figures are making you read Dickens and Wordsworth.

2. Read more books, the way I used to. Curl up on the couch with chocolate biscuit fuel, and power through the pages like a maniac. Laugh, gasp, frown, and "WTF" at all the appropriate places. Savour the feel of paper under fingers, read particularly delicious sentences several times over. Finish. And then flip back and start all over again (to look for clues I may have missed, because there is no way I wasn't smart enough to see that twist coming).

3. Eat more food I have never tried before, so I can once and for all decide if I like it or not. Start with sushi. No, I'm not kidding. I've never had sushi.

4. Buy nice clothes and shoes. There will come a point in life where I will no longer be able to get by on band T-shirts, jeans and sneakers every day. Unless I get a job at a music magazine. OMG PLEASE LET THIS HAPPEN.

5. Make mixed CD covers from scratch.

6. Write more ; blogs, emails, letters. Sometimes I even long for those days when I could sit down and write really bad poetry commemorating the weekend football scores.

7. Actually keep track of how much I spend on lunch every day. I need a better budget plan than "if there's still a five ringgit note in the wallet by Friday, we're good".

8. Having said that, indulge in garlic and cheese naan for lunch more often. That thing is sublime.

9. Catch up on season 7 of Supernatural. The show doesn't look like it will ever return to the brilliance of its early years, but I am far too emotionally and spiritually invested in the characters to jump ship at this point. Plus I really like and respect (and sometimes lust for) the writers and actors, and the wonderful relationship they have fostered with the online fandom. Even if this goes on for another 7 seasons, you can bet I will be standing right there at the bloody, fiery end, weeping next to the inevitable train wreck of plot and characterization. I will never let you go, show. I will cling to you like a clingy thing that clings.



Also I am not done laughing at the CW's LOLarious photoshop skillz. You go, CW. Why would anyone want to end the show now, and deprive us of all this promo poster ridiculousness?


10. I will not hit the snooze button more than 6 times every morning. Also, find out if my phone actually spells snooze as "snoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooze". It would be hilarious if it actually did that, but I can never trust my eyesight first thing in the morning.


11. SAVE UP FOR GIGS. It's bad enough that I already have to pass on the Laneway Festival in Singapore this February, with a line up which includes a large portion of the acts in my best albums of 2011 list ( Austra, M83, and until recently, WU LYF). My soul still aches over this.

12. Become rich when I grow up, so I can fly out to all the Laneway festivals everywhere. Also, fuck you Singapore. Fuck you and your indie cred.


In other news, the growl-mumbler musicians from Manchester, WU LYF, are here to bring meaning to my life. They appeared on the Letterman show a couple of days ago, performing one of my favourite songs of last year, and proceeded to blow my socks off in a most spectacular fashion.



If you're watching, be sure to stick till the end for the band's hilariously awkward exit.

Also, Ellery Roberts? Despite your horrible enunciation and reputation for being a dickhead, I kind of really really want you right now. You sort of look like the psychotic Mancunian love child of Alexander Skarsgard and Kristian Mattsson. This pleases me and my ladyparts. Call me and we'll work something out. Kiss kiss.