-Lida
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Lil' Bit of Cher
-Lida
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrnold!
SOOO this week has been mad busy, hence the photo posts without much writing.
The week hasn't ended, so here's another photo:
We stumbled on this somewhere in Chelsea, right next to a jungle gym park. It's totally old-school Nickelodeon (mixed with multiculturalism-promoting shorts). Definitely Hey Arnold!, maybe with a little Wild Thornberrys. Definitely too quirky for Doug or Rugrats.
He could definitely be Helga Pataki's awkward, sheltered brother.
In case, after seeing this photo, you are totally in a cartoon throwback mood (like I was), I'll leave you with full episodes of Hey Arnold!
No need to thank me.
You're welcome.
-Lida
**UPDATE: I was randomly on a street art website, and I saw this same wall staring at me (same art, different picture, obviously). Turns out, this "Gigante" was a collaboration by artists Os Gemeos and Futura2000. Here's Unurth's description of the wall: http://unurth.com/566419/Os-G-meos-Futura-NYC
The week hasn't ended, so here's another photo:
We stumbled on this somewhere in Chelsea, right next to a jungle gym park. It's totally old-school Nickelodeon (mixed with multiculturalism-promoting shorts). Definitely Hey Arnold!, maybe with a little Wild Thornberrys. Definitely too quirky for Doug or Rugrats.
He could definitely be Helga Pataki's awkward, sheltered brother.
In case, after seeing this photo, you are totally in a cartoon throwback mood (like I was), I'll leave you with full episodes of Hey Arnold!
No need to thank me.
You're welcome.
-Lida
**UPDATE: I was randomly on a street art website, and I saw this same wall staring at me (same art, different picture, obviously). Turns out, this "Gigante" was a collaboration by artists Os Gemeos and Futura2000. Here's Unurth's description of the wall: http://unurth.com/566419/Os-G-meos-Futura-NYC
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZX8Om3JsOgw
I am a huge fan of jam sessions. My friends back home are all magically and incredibly musically gifted. I, despite being a pretty hardcore music lover, am not. I've tried piano, I've tried violin, I've tried guitar, and I bought a banjo (which is laying on the floor in my bedroom back in DC), but every venture has been catastrophic. So whenever my prodigious friends have any sort of desire to do something musical, I wholeheartedly support them, preferably if it means I get to listen in.
I am now a huge fan of four-man, 1956, Memphis jam sessions.
Tonight, I saw Million Dollar Quartet.
Damn. In case I wasn't enough of a Johnny Cash/Elvis Presley/Jerry Lee Lewis/Carl Perkins fan before, this musical took me through the roof.
Million Dollar Quartet documents the most kick-ass jam session in history, involving the aforementioned musicians, taking place on Dec. 4, 1956, at the Sun Records recording studio, Memphis, TN. The story line isn't riveting -- there's some conflict over Johnny Baby signing a contract with Columbia Records, and there's some boo-hoo from Car-Car about being neglected by Sun Records head honcho Sam Phillips, Elvis is emo and confused, and there's some inter-group conflict because Jerry Lee is so damn rascally. But who cares. I didn't buy a ticket to this show because of the story. I came because I knew I'd love the music. And I did.
Blue Suede Shoes, Sixteen Tons, Long Tall Sally, Folsom Prison Blues, My Babe (a song Carl Perkins stole from another one of my favorite musicians, Little Walter), Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On, That's All Right... they literally sing every song you want them to sing. And they're not faking it, either. Not only are they singing and acting in a particular historic character (characters that are like, astronomically famous), but they're also playing their respective instruments. I'll break it down: Johnny Cash held and played his guitar like Johnny Baby. Elvis had what I can only describe as a raging case of Restless Leg (total lower body) Syndrome. Car-Car had blue suede shoes and a rockin' hairdo. And my boy Jerry Lee played the meanest piano I've ever heard.
(Note: Hunter Foster played Sam Phillips. Hunter Foster is awesome. I've seen him in both The Producers and Little Shop of Horrors. But something with him in this didn't click for me. Every time he tried to speak with his faux Southern accent [a guitar is now a GEE-pause-tarrrrrr], all I could think was Seymour-Krelborn-Seymour-Krelborn-Seymour-Krelborn...)
Hands down the best actor (and character) in the show was Levi Kreis' Jerry Lee Lewis. And oh, he won a Tony award for his portrayal. So bam.
The show keeps getting better and better, until you think it can't possibly get more awesome. But then it does. The cast take its bow, and the characters leave. OH SIKE. They come back on again, and the set pulls away to reveal a rock-and-roll stage, and glitter, Liberace-like tuxedo jackets (how Mamma Mia! of them) descend from the sky. The characters dress. Car-Car (in a sparkly blue), Johnny Baby (in Johnny Cash black), and Elvis (in banana yellow?! I expected better, Elvis) do another solo song. They leave again. DID THE SHOW JUST END WITHOUT A FINAL JERRY LEE SONG? OH SIKE AGAIN. Jerry Lee starts Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On. Jerry Lee gets so intense that he rips off his (red sequined) jacket, jumps on the top of his upright piano, and plays it backwards. The creepy standing bass player lays on his instrument while playing. Car-Car climbs on top of the bass while blasting out a guitar solo. Johnny Cash stays cool. Elvis still has Restless Leg Syndrome.
I was sitting there, clapping my hands and singing along to the songs, completely unaware that this was just a staging of an event, not the actual event.
Who cares?
This was my jam session fantasy. Thanks, boys.
-Lida
-Lida
(The Million Dollar Quartet. Photo taken by Sam Phillips. Dec. 4th, 1956. Memphis, TN.)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Swan Lake vs. Ballet
So last Wednesday, Kate invited us to go see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake with her (THANKS KATE LOVE YA). Since Chelsea and I are both dancers, we = super excited. But kind of nervous, since this version of Swan Lake is commonly known as the "all male" version. Could be very, very weird. Or could be cool.
Cool. Definitely cool. Here's why:
1. STANDARD BALLET: Everything is supposed to look easy. SWAN LAKE: Strug city. But a good kind of strug.
In this ballet (and I don't even know if this was ballet. It was like, contemporary-ballet-bird-nakedness), the dancers didn't try to hide anything. Allow me to explain. The male swans were naked, save for their feathery swan pants and ghostly white makeup covering their whole body. (See photo below. Abs, y'all.)
Okay, well, I guess they were just shirtless. But that means that when they started sweating, you saw it. You might find that gross. Maybe it is. But at the same time, if you see how much the dancers are sweating, you see how much effort they are putting into it. I'm not saying the dancing looked laborious, because it didn't. I'm saying, for the first time, despite being a dancer almost my whole life, I saw how truly physical dancing is. I came out of the ballet with a huge amount of respect for the sheer athleticism of the swans. And that's pretty damn cool. Art, culture, and the Olympics.
2. STANDARD BALLET: Suspend your disbelief, please. SWAN LAKE: Don't suspend your disbelief. In fact, we won't let you.
Whenever I see a ballet production (which, granted, isn't that often), the thing that throws me off most is how, when the music gets a little mezzo-piano, or, if the composer is really going crazy, even pianissimo, you can hear EVERYTHING. I mean everything, from the clacking thumps of pointe shoes hitting the floor (a sound I weirdly love) to the panting of the dancers. This could have really thrown me out of my "classy NYC ballet attendee" character I was reppin' that night. (Chelsea even said I looked like I was going "to the baaaahhhlett." Outfit win.) But OH NO. In Swan Lake, I experienced one of the most bizarrely awesome things -- ballet dancers, breathing in unison. And not just breathing, but using their inhalation dynamically. The music would get a little soft, and suddenly, you'd hear the corps of swans deeply breathing in through their nose, then exhaling on a "HUH!" sound, a sound which corresponded with some kind of powerful choreography. And they'd do this, over and over again, putting emphasis on different movements and signaling emotional changes. Best of all, you don't have to suspend your disbelief -- you can't not (double negative) believe that in front of you, on stage, is a gang (Flock? Gaggle? I'm gonna Google it. Oh shit. A group of swans is called "a Whiteness." A whiteness of swans. I can't make that up) of mean, badass swans. The group breathing thing works.
3. STANDARD BALLET: Phenomenal dancers. SWAN LAKE: This guy.
Cool. Definitely cool. Here's why:
1. STANDARD BALLET: Everything is supposed to look easy. SWAN LAKE: Strug city. But a good kind of strug.
In this ballet (and I don't even know if this was ballet. It was like, contemporary-ballet-bird-nakedness), the dancers didn't try to hide anything. Allow me to explain. The male swans were naked, save for their feathery swan pants and ghostly white makeup covering their whole body. (See photo below. Abs, y'all.)
Okay, well, I guess they were just shirtless. But that means that when they started sweating, you saw it. You might find that gross. Maybe it is. But at the same time, if you see how much the dancers are sweating, you see how much effort they are putting into it. I'm not saying the dancing looked laborious, because it didn't. I'm saying, for the first time, despite being a dancer almost my whole life, I saw how truly physical dancing is. I came out of the ballet with a huge amount of respect for the sheer athleticism of the swans. And that's pretty damn cool. Art, culture, and the Olympics.
2. STANDARD BALLET: Suspend your disbelief, please. SWAN LAKE: Don't suspend your disbelief. In fact, we won't let you.
Whenever I see a ballet production (which, granted, isn't that often), the thing that throws me off most is how, when the music gets a little mezzo-piano, or, if the composer is really going crazy, even pianissimo, you can hear EVERYTHING. I mean everything, from the clacking thumps of pointe shoes hitting the floor (a sound I weirdly love) to the panting of the dancers. This could have really thrown me out of my "classy NYC ballet attendee" character I was reppin' that night. (Chelsea even said I looked like I was going "to the baaaahhhlett." Outfit win.) But OH NO. In Swan Lake, I experienced one of the most bizarrely awesome things -- ballet dancers, breathing in unison. And not just breathing, but using their inhalation dynamically. The music would get a little soft, and suddenly, you'd hear the corps of swans deeply breathing in through their nose, then exhaling on a "HUH!" sound, a sound which corresponded with some kind of powerful choreography. And they'd do this, over and over again, putting emphasis on different movements and signaling emotional changes. Best of all, you don't have to suspend your disbelief -- you can't not (double negative) believe that in front of you, on stage, is a gang (Flock? Gaggle? I'm gonna Google it. Oh shit. A group of swans is called "a Whiteness." A whiteness of swans. I can't make that up) of mean, badass swans. The group breathing thing works.
3. STANDARD BALLET: Phenomenal dancers. SWAN LAKE: This guy.
Ladies and gentleman who haven't seen Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, meet Richard Winsor. He was The Swan. THE Swan. To explain how killer he was, I have to try to explain the swan movements. There was a lot of arm-folding-over-the-head-with-broken-wrists posing, back-contortion-akin-to-the-yoga-pose-"cobra" lunging, bird-getting-a-better-view-of-something head flicking, and Michael-Jackson-esque full leg flicking. Not your typical adagio or grand allegro movement. It could have been catastrophically weird -- you noticed the bizarreness when some of the corps dancers had little solos (a memorable vignette: a male dancer wearing a costume I can only describe as Peter Pan's lederhosen [complete with fake moustache -- how trendy hipster] dancing with five overly dramatic butterfly fairies). And yet, every time Richard Winsor flicked his head, Chelsea and I were like, "Aight." And every time he did an attitude with the arms-folding-over-head-with-broken-wrists pose, we were like, "I see you." And the fact that he was an imaginary (or not...plot?!?!?!) swan preying on a little boy Prince didn't cause any alarm. We believed everything he did. Not only did we believe him, he nailed the dancing. I've never seen a pose like the one in the picture above look so freaking powerful. And he's out there doing a pax de deux with another EQUALLY STRONG male dancer (the Prince), and he's lifting him like the Prince is just another 100lb. ballerina. You know, nbd, typical Richard Winsor.
And, on top of Richard Winsor's sheer hardcore swan masculinity, in the second half of the show he comes on as The Stranger at the royal ball. And by "Stranger" I mean tall, dark, leather-pants-wearing, cigarette-smoking-on-stage, doing-four-shots-in-a-row, hooking-up-with-all-the-ladies-including-the-Queen Stranger. Obviously.
His Stranger had the leather pants of Ukrainian pop singer Vitaliy Kozlovsky (who I met in person... and danced onstage with), the rich guy SLASH badass attitude of Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne, and the I-can-bang-anybody attitude of a lovechild between Robert Downey Jr.'s Tony Stark (a little too comical for The Stranger) and Bradley Cooper's bro from The Hangover. And The Stranger goes out there and does some pelvic thrusts around stage and is simultaneously dancing with every single woman in the show and isjust possibly the most badass mofo ever to hit the ballet stage. That's all I'm gonna say.
Don't be alarmed. If you're undergoing sensory overload, that's what's supposed to be happening. That's happening in the theater every single night Swan Lake goes on. The show ends, and you don't quite know what hit you. It's draining. But, dammit, it's so worth it.
-Lida
(and Chelsea helped write until "Could be very, very weird." Joint writing fail.)
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Rando
Today I electrocuted myself. And it took a record 18 minutes flat for my dad and I to get from our house in Montclair to the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel.
Chelsea!
Chelsea!
Breakfast POTATOES with a side of TOAST
Today was an absolutely BEAUTIFUL day, so my family and I decided to walk around Central Park, near the American Museum of Natural History (prolly like, one of my favorite museums ever). Walkin' down Columbus, we passed a farmer's market selling possibly the largest variety of everything imaginable -- the most diverse mushrooms, the weirdest looking potatoes, the most colorful carrots, etc. Kinda weird, huh? We're living in the "concrete jungle," but there are literally farms on the sidewalks.
ANYWAY, on the corner of 77th and Columbus is this flea market that takes place every weekend. Just Googled it. Apparently it's called the GreenFlea. GreenFlea : NYC as Eastern Market : DC.
So we were just crusin' through the flea market when we came across this old guy wearing Harry Potter glasses, a bowtie, and a sweater vest. I was intrigued. Then I saw what he was selling. I was super intrigued.
This guy sells vintage toasters.
Working vintage toasters.
Working vintage toasters like, from the '20s and stuff. While I silently ogled from the front of the stand, my sister, not one to shy away from things, marched right up to the Mr. Harry Potter Glasses and demanded to know how the toasters worked. And so he gave us a demonstration, putting the toast in, waiting till it was golden brown, then flipping it so the other side could toast, too. "Flipping" toast to the other side in these working vintage toasters, however, comes in all forms and mechanized styles. One toaster had a lever you pulled to the other side, which would cause the toast-holding part to detach itself from the main toaster body, flip 180 degrees, then fall back into place. Another toaster had a lever you pulled down, which would cause the toast to take a trip down a mini-slide; when the lever was pushed back up, the bread would flip, causing the opposite side of bread to be toasted. My favorite could toast four pieces of bread at the same time -- each piece of bread formed a "wall" of the toaster, and when a lever was pulled the four walls would fan out, flower style, and rotate to the other side.
(Disclaimer: In reality, the toasters are extremely easy to work. My descriptions of 1930's mechanics are just super convoluted.)
We left the stall, scoped out some other stands, but somehow found ourselves back at the toaster stall. We saw a woman chatting up Mr. Harry Potter Glasses, and she was obviously smitten. Vintage toaster salesmen are clearly P-I-M-Ps.
And you know what, I can't say that I'm the world's biggest toast fan, or that I am a big collector of vintage kitchen appliances, but I think I'm smitten, too.
-Lida
ANYWAY, on the corner of 77th and Columbus is this flea market that takes place every weekend. Just Googled it. Apparently it's called the GreenFlea. GreenFlea : NYC as Eastern Market : DC.
So we were just crusin' through the flea market when we came across this old guy wearing Harry Potter glasses, a bowtie, and a sweater vest. I was intrigued. Then I saw what he was selling. I was super intrigued.
This guy sells vintage toasters.
Working vintage toasters.
Working vintage toasters like, from the '20s and stuff. While I silently ogled from the front of the stand, my sister, not one to shy away from things, marched right up to the Mr. Harry Potter Glasses and demanded to know how the toasters worked. And so he gave us a demonstration, putting the toast in, waiting till it was golden brown, then flipping it so the other side could toast, too. "Flipping" toast to the other side in these working vintage toasters, however, comes in all forms and mechanized styles. One toaster had a lever you pulled to the other side, which would cause the toast-holding part to detach itself from the main toaster body, flip 180 degrees, then fall back into place. Another toaster had a lever you pulled down, which would cause the toast to take a trip down a mini-slide; when the lever was pushed back up, the bread would flip, causing the opposite side of bread to be toasted. My favorite could toast four pieces of bread at the same time -- each piece of bread formed a "wall" of the toaster, and when a lever was pulled the four walls would fan out, flower style, and rotate to the other side.
(Disclaimer: In reality, the toasters are extremely easy to work. My descriptions of 1930's mechanics are just super convoluted.)
We left the stall, scoped out some other stands, but somehow found ourselves back at the toaster stall. We saw a woman chatting up Mr. Harry Potter Glasses, and she was obviously smitten. Vintage toaster salesmen are clearly P-I-M-Ps.
And you know what, I can't say that I'm the world's biggest toast fan, or that I am a big collector of vintage kitchen appliances, but I think I'm smitten, too.
-Lida
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Wednesday Night Adventures
With most of my homework finished and nothing pressing due today, Thursday, Lulu and I decided to forgo a night of catching up on TV on Hulu and go to a random free concert downtown. The concert was at Bowery Electric, a bar in Noho/ East Village with exposed brick and a modern bar filled with artsy, hipster types. There were three bands playing, Jangula, Ambassadors, and The Postelles. The concert was 18+ so when we got to the door, we pulled out our regular licenses and gave them to the intimidating looking bouncer. Lulu handed over her horizontal California license, the guy looked at it, back at Lulu, then back at the license and gave her a wristband. Then I gave him my vertical New Jersey license, (thanks dirty jerz for making it so obvious that I'm under 21) he gave it back to me and stamped my hand. I didn't think much of it at first until we went into the venue and I noticed every person holding a drink had a wristband on. I pointed it out to Lulu, she pulled out her ID and we inspected it. It said very clearly, in red font, "Age 21 in 2013". Point: the bouncer was a dumbass.
Anyway, Lulu and I got there in the middle of Jangula, a kind of electro, punk, pop band (http://www.myspace.com/jangulanyc) with a lead singer sporting a shirt with the most ridiculous fringe shoulder pads. I took out my camera and snapped a couple totally out of focus pictures, it was really dark and I just don't know how to use my camera. After Jangula was over, the guy sitting next to me leaned over and said "Hey, I write a music blog, would you be willing to let me post your pictures?" I e-mailed the recent Dartmouth graduate named Max a couple pictures, noting that weren't very good, but maybe they'll appear on another blog. Buildin' a portfolio liiiiike.
Anyway, Lulu and I got there in the middle of Jangula, a kind of electro, punk, pop band (http://www.myspace.com/jangulanyc) with a lead singer sporting a shirt with the most ridiculous fringe shoulder pads. I took out my camera and snapped a couple totally out of focus pictures, it was really dark and I just don't know how to use my camera. After Jangula was over, the guy sitting next to me leaned over and said "Hey, I write a music blog, would you be willing to let me post your pictures?" I e-mailed the recent Dartmouth graduate named Max a couple pictures, noting that weren't very good, but maybe they'll appear on another blog. Buildin' a portfolio liiiiike.
After Jangula was Ambassadors, my new obsession (http://www.myspace.com/ambassadorsband). First off, the lead singer was a hipster, skinnier version of Jon Hamm.  Legitimately. They played about 7 songs, each one as catchy and interesting as the next. Listen to: Bodybag, Mirrortalk, and Unconsolable. Bodybag has been playing on repeat since I got home from dance this morning. Their music was infused with Local Natives-esque harmonies and funky electronic keyboard by a blind keyboard player. Definitely keeping an eye out for them.  The Postelles were next (http://www.thepostelles.com/). Some songs were really catchy but a lot sounded the same. They're very pop-rock, catchy melodies and catchy lines (I keep singing "It's a long way down in New York City.." from White Night). For a free concert on a Wednesday night, they were awesome. Listen to: White Night, 123 Stop, and Hey Little Sister.   After the concert, we wandered around the area looking for a coffee shop or a pizza place. I ran into an old friend who goes to Cooper Union on the street at about midnight, this is just how small New York City can really be. Lulu and I walked all the way to 11th St. and 6th Ave. to an adorable Parisian-esque bistro called French Roast. It's open 24/7 and was totally packed on a Wednesday night, well I guess Thursday morning, at about 12:15. We had sunny side up eggs, french toast, coffee and great conversation then headed back to Morningside Heights. Lulu and I made a deal to get off campus waaaaay more often than we have been and do random things like this. There are so many free concerts and events happening around the city that we poor college kids need to take full advantage of. Plus it's great to hear new music, discover new places and meet new people. Also learn how to use my camera..again. Chelsea! |
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Television at the College Level
You know what is kinda funny (but not really but yes)? So here I am, in kawledge, supposed to be getting some higher education and blazing a trail in life or something, and, somehow, I'm watching so much trash TV. More so than ever before. WHAT'S UP WITH THAT*?
Well, I don't personally watch TV. I don't have a TV in my quad, and for some reason I can't sit down and watch episode after episode on Hulu or something (although the link I provided is on Hulu... lame). The only DVDs I brought are seasons 3 and 4 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which you cannot even possibly begin to argue is trashy TV.
So you know what it is? It's the TV in Hewitt Dining Hall.
In the mornings, it's Rachael Ray. As my sister knows, my hatred for cooking shows literally knows no bounds. So that's not cool. Did I mention Rachael Ray might be cray-cray? In conclusion, she's a crazy person running a cooking show. Meaning she's automatically my arch-nemesis.
The afternoons are a little more exciting. In the afternoons, it's soap operas. Super dramatic ones, too. I think the one episode I sat through during a lunch period involved a father dating his daughter's best friend, who's grandmother was hooking up with the girl's boyfriend, who was an abusive alcoholic. Or something like that. I actually just made that up, but I'm guessing it's actually pretty close to the true plotline. Anyhoo, I'm including a photo I took of the dining room ladies chilling out and watching some soaps (I know, the photo is so old. It was on Facebook like, 3 weeks ago). It's their fave.
OR, if you're really lucky, sometimes during lunch hour the TV is turned to the Maury channel. Meaning you can sit there at an Ivy Leave university dining hall and watch four people claim that one guy is the father of their twelve children. It's practically like an anthropology course in and of itself. A case study in complex human relationships and really bad fashion choices.
This photo is not the same episode that I saw. In case you're wondering about the one I did see: a DNA test will later prove the guy is indeed the father of all twelve children. Riveting.
In the evenings, it's a free for all. Mixed bag. You never know what you're gonna get. Yesterday it was the BET awards.
So that's my exciting collegiate TV situation. I don't really know what I was expecting. Maybe the news on TV 24/7? Or the History Channel? I don't know. In any case, I got Maury. And you know what? After working nonstop all day, reading the Popol Vuh or doing EKG labs or learning the locative case in Ukrainian grammar, Maury's kinda alright with me.
-Lida
*http://www.hulu.com/collections/392/132878 (featuring my main man, RJ Sizzle)
Well, I don't personally watch TV. I don't have a TV in my quad, and for some reason I can't sit down and watch episode after episode on Hulu or something (although the link I provided is on Hulu... lame). The only DVDs I brought are seasons 3 and 4 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which you cannot even possibly begin to argue is trashy TV.
So you know what it is? It's the TV in Hewitt Dining Hall.
In the mornings, it's Rachael Ray. As my sister knows, my hatred for cooking shows literally knows no bounds. So that's not cool. Did I mention Rachael Ray might be cray-cray? In conclusion, she's a crazy person running a cooking show. Meaning she's automatically my arch-nemesis.
(My arch-nemesis in her super trendy Downtown Manhattan faux loft kitchen with the vintage blue fridge.)
The afternoons are a little more exciting. In the afternoons, it's soap operas. Super dramatic ones, too. I think the one episode I sat through during a lunch period involved a father dating his daughter's best friend, who's grandmother was hooking up with the girl's boyfriend, who was an abusive alcoholic. Or something like that. I actually just made that up, but I'm guessing it's actually pretty close to the true plotline. Anyhoo, I'm including a photo I took of the dining room ladies chilling out and watching some soaps (I know, the photo is so old. It was on Facebook like, 3 weeks ago). It's their fave.
OR, if you're really lucky, sometimes during lunch hour the TV is turned to the Maury channel. Meaning you can sit there at an Ivy Leave university dining hall and watch four people claim that one guy is the father of their twelve children. It's practically like an anthropology course in and of itself. A case study in complex human relationships and really bad fashion choices.
This photo is not the same episode that I saw. In case you're wondering about the one I did see: a DNA test will later prove the guy is indeed the father of all twelve children. Riveting.
In the evenings, it's a free for all. Mixed bag. You never know what you're gonna get. Yesterday it was the BET awards.
So that's my exciting collegiate TV situation. I don't really know what I was expecting. Maybe the news on TV 24/7? Or the History Channel? I don't know. In any case, I got Maury. And you know what? After working nonstop all day, reading the Popol Vuh or doing EKG labs or learning the locative case in Ukrainian grammar, Maury's kinda alright with me.
-Lida
*http://www.hulu.com/collections/392/132878 (featuring my main man, RJ Sizzle)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)