UTTERLY EPIC. ALL CAPS. 

I know too many of these guys.

adamkrausephoto:

creative duo, besties, and old friends: Brennan McGrath and Greg Matson for Mother NYC

It’s been nearly seventy years since World War II, and, well, everything seems pretty cool with us Jews and Germans, but there’s a truly unsettling trend in the news these days that leads me to believe that the Germans could still use some therapy. 

Last week, two German art students Iman Rezai and Rouven Materne had a idea for an art school project and this was to build a multi-colored guillotine, buy a sheep, and then develop a voting system in which people could then decide the fate of the sheep. If the public voted ‘yes,” they would kill the sheep via a live web stream. It’s cold, calculated, mean, and it reeks of pre-meditated cruelty. The art students purport that the “experiment represents the current state of democracy” and a “reflection on our society.” Which sounds as superficial and elementary and emotionally detached as art can get. The “profundity” of this project reeks of provocation and provocation alone—these silly boys want to get a reaction and someone, perhaps their professor, taught them incorrectly that the sole purpose of art is to aggravate. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Also, it doesn’t help that their lackadaisical nature in interviews even more so diminishes their credibility. 

This morning, though, Gawker reported that yet another German artist was scheduled to perform his piece Death as Metamorphosis this Friday in which he sought to strangle two puppies to death on stage. Thankfully, he was prevented from realizing his “artistic vision” by the Berlin administrative court. 

There are two issues at play here: one is that art in its many iterations is soon approaching the punctuative period to a long sentence, a sentence in which just about everything feels “done,” referential, and redundant. In fact, most artists are more interested in commerce, outsourced mass production, and profit-making. The Andy Warhol model has ostensibly become the new art, and this unfortunately motivates the aspirations of many to follow the freshly printed dollars. 

In an effort to find a new area of provocation, the two aforementioned art pieces are using life and death as a talking point. The thinking for it is that when something living is killed, it will generally result in outrage, and the ones who react in admiration are the butt of these cruel-spirited jokes. It goes without saying that these very literal and uninspired artists could only garner attention by harming helpless animals and that only proves that these men should consider working in banking.

The other issue, or rather, the other question, more controversially, is why is this happening in Germany, of all places? Why is the chopping off a sheep’s head, or the breaking the neck of a puppy being touted as art in Deutschland, 2012? Perhaps unrelated, the Wall Street Journal printed an article today about the German state of Bavaria moving toward the reprinting of Mein Kampf. Officials say that the transparency and openness for making Mein Kampf available and the dialogue it could inspire will help people understand the atrocities of a few generations past. Perhaps, they’re hoping, it could enlighten many on the source of evil and the thinking behind it.

Knowing that, come to think of it, it may not be such a bad idea after all. 

The Internet kills a meme until it’s dead. But then someone resurrects it for good. This is an instance of that good. 

madeleinepascal:

no, the hologram jokes don’t really get old. i mean, unless they’re not funny.

this one is. 

“It’s impossible for me to have any sympathy for single people,” comedian Louis CK says in his stand-up routine. “If you’re single, your life has no consequence on Earth. Even if you’re helping people aggressively—and you’re not—you can die and nobody would give a shit.” His reason? Married people have families that depend on them, while single people’s biggest concerns are how much sunlight their apartment gets, the mold on their carpets, and the fact that their girlfriend doesn’t listen to the same music as they do. 

When I first heard that routine, I was one of those single people and I thought it was hilarious. But now that I am a married man, with a wife, a son and a dog, I internalize just about everything in a different context. And having just listened to it again on YouTube that same routine is kind of scary and unrelentingly truthful. Small issues have simply become smaller, and the day-to-day suddenly became about big issues and even bigger expenses. This juxtaposition of life then and life now is just one of the reasons why I find Lena Dunham’s critically acclaimed HBO series Girls so infuriatingly pathetic.  

The new show, if you’re behind on reading Jezebel, is written, directed, and produced by Dunham and it’s about four “girls” living through the trials and tribulations experienced by twenty-something Brooklynites. <em>Girls</em> is often witty, somewhat charming, and expertly acted (particularly, by David Mamet’s daughter Zosia), but it’s also incredibly self-involved, borderline pointless, and potentially destructive. The actual audience for the show is rather small—let’s say the population of Greenpoint—but the media would have you believe it is the most brilliant thing in the history of brilliant things. The problem with such critical hyperbole is that it often invites backlash, which, can eventually inspire columns titled Girls Backlash Watch (the headline implies that there could be other installments). 

It should be noted that Dunham probably invited none of this—the hyperbole nor the backlash. [Actually, in the season’s first episode, when she says that she is the voice of her generation, but then corrects herself with “or at least, a voice of a generation,” I wonder which one she really means.] But when I watch her artful self-deprecation, I can’t help but admire a burgeoning and significant talent who will one day be worthy of those enthusiastic hosannas. Which makes it such a bummer to witness this formidable ingenue reducing herself, in the meantime, to cliched storytelling. 

Girls is ostensibly Sex & the City for girls who shop in Urban Outfitters. Which may sound like a dig, but is actually indicative of its wide reach potential, but while the personalities of women are reduced into four overly simplified categories, we’re at square one. Ultimately, Lena Dunham is Hannah Horvath is Carrie Bradshaw, a grossly self-absorbed writer who has zero sense of self worth and returns time after time to the emotionally abusive man. Allison Williams is Marnie Michaels is Miranda Hobbs, the responsible friend, who is equally rigid both in personality and in bed. Jemima Kirke is Jessa Johansson is Samantha Jones the unpredictable sexual adventurer who will sooner have intercourse with a stranger in a bar bathroom than show up on time for her abortion (long story). And finally, Zosia Mamet is Shoshanna Shapiro is Charlotte Yorke, the naive and innocent tag-a-long, the ancillary friend who also provides comic relief. And a winking reference mid-way through the first episode in which Mamet compares herself to Carrie and then asks Kirke which Sex & the City personality she relates to most doesn’t quite minimize the blaring similarities. 

Yet aside from the redundant nature of Girls, my biggest issue with the show is the submissive weakness of it’s main character and the way Dunham is implicit in perpetuating the stereotype of the emotionally weakened and helpless woman. Hannah’s relationship with artist/ slacker Adam Sackler is just another reiteration of Carrie’s obsession with Big in which the female is a clingy yo-yo. You would think an artist with such potential, like Dunham, an empowered woman who writes, stars, directs and produces her own show and is being touted by some as the next Woody Allen (which, by the way, isn’t completely crazy) would have give her character an iota of control in one area of her life. I grow concerned for the young girls of America who are solely subjected to wholly dependent examples of weakness. 

It should also be noted that in the show, Dunham’s character is working on a memoir, which is an odd choice for creative outlets considering Hannah’s lack of accomplishments. What could be more aggravating than reading the blog-like pontifications of a hapless college graduate who thinks its okay to work at an unpaid internship while complaining about how little money she has? Maybe only a childish high-heel obsessed forty-something writing a dating blog for a woman’s magazine? After only two episodes of Girls, I imagine myself watching the series with Louis CK while we comment on this surreal self-absorption. Louis yells at the TV, “grow up!” and I nod in agreement. 

A few days back, Dunham appeared on The View and an incredulous Barbara Walters asks her, “Is this how it really is?” referring to the harsh sociological conditions of the Brooklyn hipster. 

Dunham responds, “For some people…I wasn’t claiming that this relationship was an entire generational representation.” A few moments later, she says, ” I have friends and I’m not seeing their experiences being depicted on television. They’re complicated, they’re self-aware, but they’re also naive, they’ve been in therapy since they were twelve yet they don’t know how to handle themselves in a relationship. Just a specific breed of girl I wanted to talk about.” Rather it sounds to me like someone wants to be the voice of a generation. 

Cue the end credits:

Perfume Genius (Taken with instagram)

New self-titled is out. Support. Self-titledmag.com/st015 (Taken with instagram)

Shhh. Don’t tell Cotonelle we’re using these for jelly beans. (Taken with instagram)

Steven’s first episode of the Mighty Boosh. He’s a fan. (Taken with instagram)