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State of the Paulina, Pt. 1

Paulina spots a look-alike:
1D logic: Zayn, you don’t know you’re Uncle Jesse! That’s what makes you Uncle Jesse!  
OneDirection/FullHouse are straight-laced, wholesome boy bands/families that have ONE black sheep. As you can tell from this GIF I found on a 1D tumblr, the interchangeable black sheep is Zayn Malik/Uncle Jesse. THEY ARE IDENTICAL. I keep waiting for Mary-Kate or Ashley to come out from the water on this beach scene. 

Paulina is disappointed: Following the extraordinarily sexy 30-second “preview” (<- notice the quotation marks dipped in sarcasm, they’re important) of JustinBieber’s Boyfriend video, I spent over a week in eager, eager anticipation for Youtube to release the complete version of JB music video gold. After all, if the remaining 2 minutes and 23 seconds of the video were remotely related to the first 30 seconds of blue-filtered, icy-hot tantalizing scenery, Boyfriend was shaping up to be the most seductive coming-of-age video since Jesse McCartney came out with Leavin‘. When fifty gazillion JB followers started announcing that the video was finally up, I jumped around, politely asked/ordered Ernesto to turn off whatever he was watching, clicked on the link on Twitter and took a deep breath before pressing play.  Things seemed like they were off to a good start when the video started with the scenes from the preview; the slightly frozen gears were turning (I can only assume they’re a metaphor for the love machine within JB starting to awake), the two dozen hands were reaching from nowhere to grab JB’s chest, the MJ silhouette was looking fine as ever, and THEN THE VIDEO STARTED OVER. It didn’t smoothly merge with the next part, it just started over from the Orca mating calls. And a 2:53 minute long, warm-filtered, rooftop summer days story that has NOTHING TO DO with the so-called SNEAK PEAK took over. What?!! Do you know what “sneak-peak” means?!! You don’t promise someone an ice cream cone and then give them a chili dog.

Paulina travels time: Apparently my house has Boomerang now? (It’s not a question, but I’m just so stunned that I’m questioning everything now.) Natalia and I watched a solid hour of Cartoon Network shows from way-back-when, like Dexter’s LaBOREatory and Cow and Chicken and I Am Weasel. Oh man. Do you guys remember how NOTHING LOOKED GOOD IN THE 90s? I thought I had fond, fond memories of Cartoon Network, but it turns out there were just a bunch of shiny butts and gross-looking noses all over the place. 

Paulina is proud to be an American: Last Wednesday, President Obama became the first standing U.S. president to announce his support for same-sex marriage. AND I GLADLY STAND UP! NEXT TO YOU!  #lezbehonest #thatsprettyneat (p.s. did you know there’s a groovy Beyonce version of Proud to be an American?! There ain’t no doubt, I love that woman. )

Paulina is not trendy: What the heck does ‘yolo’ mean??

Paulina hasn’t graduated yet: I’m going to just stop going on Facebook until June 9th because all I ever see are statuses and pictures of CONGRATS Class of 2012 at Anywhere But Carleton College and it’s the most depressing thing. akfjlsjdlkfjdlsdkj whyyyyyy are there still 3 weeks left of school?! why why why why why? But the bigger question is how are 400+ students and their families going to fit in the grassy spot behind Olin?! I expect a miracle, Carleton.

Overall state: B/B+


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22B422 Pt. 16: Now You’re Just

Well hey there. A week ago I made the huge mistake of listening to Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know,” so obviously now I’m super depressed and/or have lost all faith in humanity. A while ago I wrote a list of goodbye songs that aren’t really saying goodbye, and this one just tops them all. 
To deal with my all of my complicated feelings regarding this song, I made a bunch of advice animals and took some liberty with Gotye’s lyrics.

Alternate Endings to The Chorus for Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used To Know.”

Now you’re just somebody’s lawn I used to mow.

Now you’re just some money that I used to owe.

Now you’re just a neon sign that used to glow. 

Now you’re just the pottery I used to throw. 

Now you’re just the sculpture that I used to sew. 

Now you’re just the cleavage that I used to show. 
Now you’re just the bubbles that I used to blow.
Now you’re just the season when it used to snow.  (MN WINTER 2012!)

Now you’re just the sea monkeys I used to grow. 

Now you’re just the college where I used to go. Seeyuh, Carleton.

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I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been blazing trails all over the foreign wilderness known as Canada, which is best known for its major contributions to civilization (listed in level of importance): Celine Dion, Degrassi and Justin Bieber.

The million-dollar question is when I’m moving here. Canada has everything someone could dream of having. Their national symbol is a lot easier to draw Uncle Sam or a US flag or a portrait of Snooki. They have a drumline perform EVERY MORNING in front of the Parliament building. They offer overpriced liberal arts educations for students who want useless majors. They have MacDonalds. They speak English and French, so moving to Canada is instant class (but it’s not like they can get away with acting superior to you when your French accent is miserable because France doesn’t like them anyways).
Canada is almost my dream come true. If it weren’t for the fact that not one single restaurant I’ve been to offers lemonade (none at all! not even regular lemonade, because I understand that pink lemonade is a commodity no matter where you are. But not even regular lemonade!), otherwise known as the sweet nectar of life, I’d be looking for a cardboard box to call home right now.
It’s Almost The End of Summer And I Still Haven’t
– finished LOST. alksjdflkasjdflkjsadlfksdjfl
Hm, I thought this list would be a lot longer.

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People Who Never Had My Permission To Grow Up

but did it behind my back, anyways.

Lindsey Lohan: You really shouldn’t be on this list because I can only care about one set famous twins, and the Olsens have held that slot since 1995, when I started watching Full House. And I KNOW that you claim to be one person, what with the alleged camera tricks in The Parent Trap. But you’re not fooling me. You can’t Royal Flush yourself in poker. You can’t fence with yourself. You can’t cut your own hair with your eyes closed while moaning about your hair in a “fake” British accent. You’re hiding a twin, and it’s that twin who has tanned herself into a booby (adj) carrot who spends her nights going clubbing with Madonna and getting arrested for driving drunk.

Lizzie McGuire: (less commonly known as Hillary Duff) No! You’re dating a hockey player with no teeth? You had a threesome in Gossip Girl? You make jokes about not having gone to college with George Lopez on his talk show? George Lopez has a talkshow? No no no this is all wrong. You are supposed get married to Gordo and have hacky-sack-loving babies. You are supposed to continue wearing sequined jeans and butterfly clips. What’s the point of ANYTHING if sequins and butterfly clips aren’t cool anymore?

Mary-KateAndAshley Olsen: I’ll never forget the day I saw half of you on the cover of People magazine for anorexia. I’ll never forget it because, what the heck, why didn’t Ashley have anorexia, too? Just because you are both a little taller and hotter than your detective super-sleuthing days doesn’t mean that you can suddenly have separate lives. This completely shameless disregard for the principles of twindom shakes me at the core. When Mary-Kate dropped out of NYU, Ashley followed. When Ashley became CEO of Dualstar, so did Mary-Kate. There’s no “I” in Olsen.

Dora The Explorer: It’s understandable that after 9 years of Nick Jr. stardom, you might want to ditch the M-shaped hair, the tubby tummy and the talking backpack. And the velcro-strap shoes, because it doesn’t matter how old you get, shoelaces will never be fun. But why would you want to be a tween? Why? You’ll never be cool enough, not even with your matching purple headband/belt/leggings. All the other girls will start shaving before you, leaving you to wallow in hairy misery during P.E. School dances won’t be that bad if you have a literal circle of friends to hang out with, but once Enrique Iglesias starts singing “Hero”, you’ll only have a few seconds to find some spiky-haired boy to slow dance with before you lose all desirability.

0:04 ( slow guitar) – everyone has recognized the slow song
0:08 (‘Let me be your hero..‘) – circle of friends disperses, you scan the room for people on your buddy list
0:13 (‘Would you dance..) – you start walking faster, people are already pairing off
0:16 (‘..if I asked you to dance?..) – hey look! there’s-wait they just got asked. Over there- dangit they just asked someone else. If I sprint across the room I could ask- crap they just got asked.
0:23 (‘Would you run, and never look back?..) – you look around frantically for loners looking around frantically
0:29 (‘Would you cry if you saw me crying?..)- oh Lord, even Doug Lee is dancing with someone already
0:35 (‘..or would you save my soul tonight?) – whatever, you’ve really had to pee anyways. There’s nothing wrong with staying in the bathroom for the next 3 minutes and 46 seconds.

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My Kid Could Paint That, Too

(as in “two”.. hahahahahaha get it?)

Last week, I could’ve picked between studying for finals or watching My Kid Could Paint That. A High Five Fantastic Time’s reaction to Bar-Lev’s 2007 doc (though it was mostly a reaction to the reactions from the art majors in her class) had gotten me pretty curious.. Needless to say, I know very little about the French conditional and future perfect tenses, as will undoubtedly show up on my final grade.

It’s been a few days since I watched the film, so some of the initial excitement/anger/ frustration provoked by the doc has died down a little bit. But the fact that something other than Glee could have provoked such an explosion of emotion is enough to prove that watching that film was soooooo worth watching my chances at an A in FREN103 poof into oblivion.

My Kid Could Paint That
1. Marla vs Dad. In Courtney’s blog, she writes that the film proves that 4-year old Marla was responsible for her paintings. Although the doc includes footage of Marla completing a painting on her own, this footage is used to show how unlikely it is that Marla is the sole artist of her work. Bar-Lev compares the painting Marla completed in front of a camera to those that were previously exhibited in galleries and sold for thousands of dollars, and the message is pretty clear; the former looks nothing like the others in the collection in terms of composition, in terms of color palette, in terms of how the brush was used, in terms of overall aesthetics. By the time the documentary gets to this footage of Marla’s 100% pure handiwork, Bar-Lev isn’t redeeming the Olmstead’s stained reputation by proving that Marla is “the real artist”. He’s materializing his doubts about the family’s honesty and gouging your eyes with them. He also documents the doubts expressed by once-loyal Marla art collectors, who swear over their Hummer and all their grandkids’ trust funds that “Ocean” (the redeeming footage painting) looks like it’s done by a completely different artist than the one who made “Ode to Pollock” and “Asian Sunrise”.

The point is, My Kid doesn’t at all prove who was responsible for the all of famous Marla paintings. It proves that when placed in front of a camera and told to act natural, Marla painted “Ocean” without anyone’s help. It showed how eager she was to finish the painting and go to some room not filled with documentary equipment, probably to finish a puzzle or make fun of her younger brother (who has these artsy SHENANIGANS* to blame for his inferiority complex). It showed that “Ocean”, the only painting we knew to be 100% Marla’s handiwork, could be interpreted as being completely different than any of her other paintings.

2. Doc about a Doc. Whether the Marla Vs. Dad question is answered isn’t ever the point of the documentary, because Bar-Lev’s film is a documentary about documentaries. Half an hour into the film, there’s a creepy confessions session during Bar-Lev’s car ride back home where he basically spills that:
– He doesn’t know whether to believe that Marla’s work is genuine anymore
– He wants to believe her family because they’ve been so nice and whatnot
– Is it bad to pretend he believes them to their faces in order to remain on good terms and finish his film?
The story develops around the notion that no one can measure anything without altering the results (PHYSICS FOR POETS**), and that any story is only a compilation of true/false. Should we expect anyone to perform 100% normally in front of a camera, let alone a 4-year-old? Etc.

3. moving on. Going back to a comment from Courtney’s post: “[The people in Courtney’s class] argued that because the girl was a 4 year old that it wasn’t real art and that she shouldn’t be selling paintings for thousands of dollars. It mocks what real artists try to achieve and struggle with.”

The comment addresses some major points: a. what constitutes Real Art, b. the ethics of art marketing,

b. It’s completely reasonable to be outraged by the fact that Marla recieved the recognition she did, because the fact is that all the recognition didn’t have as much to do with the quality of the paintings as it did with the fact that she was four years old. If Marla had finished those same paintings when she was 23, she would probably be living off Ramen in a bathroomless studio. And I have the right to be outraged about that because there’s no way I can justify that Marla’s talent at 4 years old consitutes her as a modern art prodigy. Even when comparing “Ocean” to her “more polished works”, the canvases generally look like accidents, some more aesthetically pleasing than others. This ties us back to point a.

a. Another interpretation of My Kid: It isn’t just the marketing of oblivious 4-year olds that mocks what ‘real artists’ try to achieve, but the fact that work done by oblivious 4-year-olds could even pass as art. Because a piece like “Ocean” looks like it could’ve been done by an oblivious 4-year-old, or a Modern Art major, or a homeless war vet, or a hamster on steroids, or a blender. I’m not yet at a point in my career as an ObsDraw graduate where I can appreciate something like “Ode to Pollock” or Andy Warhol’s soup cans as much as I can appreciate Degas’ dancers. I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was charged $12 to see Penis Hat at the New York Museum of Modern Art. Is it wrong to be bitter about this? Penis Hat looks like it was inspired and completed by a drunk Jace Rustan. Who cares. It’s 2:33 am and I can’t fall asleep and I’m bitter. Suck it, 21st century Modern Art. Oh gosh that ties back to Penis Hat, and I’m so mad/tired I’m not even going to hit the backspace key. 12 effing dollars.