Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Internet Hoax of the Week / Nostalgia for a Simpler Larryville / Pitchfork Reviews Best Coast

Geeks across the web were captivated yesterday by the story of an attractive young woman who (supposedly) quit her job by e-mailing a set of photos to the entire office in which she poses with a series of messages written on dry-erase boards (which ultimately expose her boss as a sexist pig who refers to her as a HPOA--hot piece of ass--and spends most of his time playing Farmville).

Here's a look:

As it turns out, the story, which appeared first on an image-board site called The Chive, was a hoax perpetrated by the site's sibling creators Leo and John Resig to create an internet meme (good job, gents! one day we're going to create a meme of our own!). Hoax or not, however, the fact remains that we still have major boners for this HPOA, and hope that the Facebook petition to get her a Playboy spread continues to go strong:


If you were driving down 23rd Street in Larryville yesterday, you may have witnessed the destruction of the city's original McDonalds location. But don't get too excited, foodies, because it's not being replaced with another gourmet burger joint where the burgers are made unrecognizable by topping them with unholy ingredients. Instead, it's merely being replaced with a newer, more modern, McDonald's, leading LJ-World talkbackers to indulge in a little nostalgia for the Larryville of yore.

Here's a lovely little bit of reminiscence from someone calling himself "puddleglum":

"just look at all the lame signage up and down 23rd now...
remember the cool spinning bucket of fried chicken with col. sanders chillin' nearby?
the Big boy dude chillin' in front of what is now mezcal on Iowa?
the Sinclair dinosaur that was on the roof @ 9th & Iowa?
The Sandy's restaurant that was well-preserved by Bucky's and still salvageable by Beimer's...
Old pizza hut buildings...The taco tico-diamond sign....chaser lights on Dillon's
now its just cheap crappy vinyl signs and NO soul."

Chip: "Shut up, Puddleglum. The new McDonald's is going to have two drive-thru lanes and stay open for breakfast until 11:30 am!"


Like all good hipsters, we spent last week processing Arcade Fire's The Suburbs, finally declared it a masterpiece after the 18th listen, then kicked it to the curb to make room for whatever record Pitchfork is pimping this week. Currently spinning on our turntables: Best Coast's Crazy For You.

Pitchfork says: 8.4

"...many...complain that, as a lyricist, Cosentino lacks a certain depth and overall intelligence. It's true that she's not exactly the Randy Newman of the beach-pop game-- there's a few too many "crazy/lazy" rhyme schemes, and feel free to snicker at the "I wish my cat could talk" line from "Goodbye".

Richard: "I will feel free to snicker. So she's a dumb girl who sings about her cat. Why should I listen?"

Well, here's why:

"...while most of the guitar-based indie pop that's made waves over the past few years has been characterized by scenester antagonism and attempts to fit in (Vivian Girls, Crystal Stilts, Beach Fossils), this record is carefree and instantly likable-- even if it doesn't seem to care what you think of it. Just as you don't have to be into bong rips and strains of Indo to laugh at Cosentino's 140-character riffs on Katy Perry and True Blood, even the least indie-inclined of listeners can find plenty to love here. It may be a summer album by design (I mean, for Christ's sake-- that cover), but I'll place my bet that Crazy for You will sound pretty great all damn year, and beyond."

Personally, we miss the "scenester antagonism," but we're won over by the cover (featuring the singer's beloved kitty, Snacks), and will continue to spin this record until at week.

1 comment:

I could never be a hipster said...

It takes me at least a month (and sometimes 6-10 years or more) to decide to buy an album, and then when I do, I often listen once or twice and set it aside for another month, sometimes a year or two, until the enduring quality of one of the songs asserts itself in my head, and I must listen again.

And I never, ever get tired of a song that I love. Sometimes I love it more or less, but it never turns to hate.