Oh, Quentin Tarantino…
Lauded as one of America’s greatest filmmakers and praised as being one of the few with a visual style all his own (him and Wes Anderson. Really, who else is there? Can you tell a Ron Howard film from a Bryan Singer from a Spike Lee just by looking at them?), the man has made a very successful career out of being just the right degree of quirky, existential, and darkly humorous. But major Hollywood films are not made by one man alone, so it makes sense that Tarantino would surround himself with similarly twisted yet fantastic help, right?
Meet Geraldine Brezca, Tarantino’s clapper angel.
Winter was a cold and bitter season. It was a season of being completely aware of the surroundings as well as the self. I look back upon this season the best way I know how – with a mixtape.
New Young Pony Club hit the scene five years ago with a number of singles that got the hipster kids to leave the land of the wallflowers to burn holes in their dancing shoes. Debut LP Fantastic Playroom collected those singles in a single package much like LCD Soundsystem’s first album. The fresh-faced Brits demonstrated a less-is-more approach that was refreshingly accessable, with calm-yet-driving bass lines, bright raindrop synths and a healthy smattering of handclaps, all underneath a purr of restrained sensuality.
You may have noticed a refreshing change in the produce section of your grocer lately. A few months ago, Chiquita Bananas underwent a vibrant and refreshing rebranding, most visible in the bright and playful cartoon faces on the familiar blue stickers that adorn the fruits. Designer 
It seems to be generally accepted amongst my demographic that the Hives are a lesser band for posers. I have never understood this mindset. What is so acceptable about the Strokes that we continue to romanticize them or the Killers that we continue to even tolerate them that we can’t seem to find in the Hives? What makes them less than these others?
Like all good hyper-literate, self-analyzing, hopeless romantic teenagers I went through a Shakespeare phase. You know exactly what I’m talking about: read as many plays as I could get my hands on along with all the sonnets (these were pre-Google days, so I had to hit the library for most of this stuff), frequented Shakespeare In The Park, started formulating my internal monologue in iambic pentameter (man, am I glad I stopped doing that). My favorite play was and still is Hamlet. I read the script countless times over the following decade, analyzing the emotional arcs of each and every character. I became somewhat of a Nazi regarding the screening of film adaptations*.
It’s hard to believe it’s been over five years since I was at Beulah’s final concert. I almost missed that train into the city and didn’t see the show at all, but I slid just inside the closing train doors at the last second and paid the exorbitant on-board ticket fee gladly, getting to the Battery Park just in time. It was a keystone moment in my then-burgeoning hipster lifestyle. I only accept the passage of time by acknowledging how much has changed in the world since that concert. George W. Bush finally won a presidential election by capturing Saddam Hussein, both Family Guy and Futurama were brought back from the land of dead television programs, and Stephen Colbert got his own tv show, book and Grammy, as well as being namedropped several times by America’s new *gasp* African-American president. Indeed, we’ve come a long way in a few short years…
I was on my way out the door for the annual St. Patrick’s Day activities yesterday when the news broke that legendary songwriter Alex Chilton had died. A lot of people were looking forward to seeing Alex front the reunited Big Star at the South By Southwest festival in Austin this weekend, so the news comes as as big surprise. 
Far too often mainstream superhero comics are plagued by their own poorly developed vanity. Writers try and try to make the books more mature serialized adult literature, but in order to sell they feel the need to keep their covers in the realm of teenage boy porn, with glamor shots of the characters, loud logos and plenty of T&A&E (tits, ass and explosions). Where’s the sophistication? Where’s the elegance?