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she just seems alive.
rock loveliness from the iron curtain. listen and weep.
home sweet home.
as far as i'm concerned, the definition of "swag."
coolness.
there's no biz.
boom like a.
stick 'em up.
there is nothing better than dance pop with dark lyrics.
i miss these so fucking much.
look into my eyes & tell me what you see.
in smalltown america, there is nothing grander than socialite balls and debutante parties. and there is nothing more embarrassing than being escorted by your delinquent brother in a rented hooptie. she wears the same dress for every occasion, but she knows everyone there by first name. we all know the type: economically-deprived but yearning to roll with the richies and rollickers. flirts with sophistication and confidence, hiding underneath a volcano of doubt. her parents want a better, upwardly mobile life for her and she insists she can do it herself. glimpses of modern capitalism making its voice first heard. i've never see katharine hepburn, the new england aristocrat of cool, be so desperate and delusional. it's bittersweet and almost sad. the stuff of kitchenette teardrops.
sing blue silver.
guess you had to be there.
his thriller moment.
rock out.
i want my covers to be like this.
one more year and poof.
it makes so much more sense when you're high.
happy international women's day.
want sumthin?
get paid.
the first novel ever, written by a japanese court insider, about a beloved prince whose romance for his stepmother overshadows his happiness in the imperial 11th century. and we thought dynasty was nuts.
always.
before ed hardy perverted the masses, jp kissed them softly.
doodle ron ron.
grubb.
there is not one actress today who can or could do anything she can do.
hitting the big time.
we were talking...
wasn't perfect, but almost completely post-modern in its sheer construction and artifice on the revitalization of a 25-year-old's career. the most american thing i've seen since the oscars.
doing the talk rounds. snl tomoz. i never gave up.
ahhh.
