Videogame Controller Earrings: A Random Etsy Search

  Etsy.. it's the place to go if you want something a little too odd to be easily found in a store. Its also the place to find earrings that look like the exact variety of videogame controller you use.. because no fangirl would be caught dead in jewelry that doesn't match her console.

   Sadly, I won't be buying any earrings.. there doesn't seem to be an iconly recognizable symbol for the PC gamer in the same way that the controller is the "banner" of the console gamer. At least, not one that makes a good earring anyway.

Clay Super Nintendo from TheClayCollection - $23

CsCharms calls these "Retro Videogame Controller Earrings". I applaud their avoidance of copyright infringement. $14.95

Black 360 controllers from BouncyCreation - The bargain of the group at $9.

Atari controller graphics by Ambergee80 are my favorite, because of the more subtle nature of the design. I actually think she could do a nice PC gamer version - maybe wasd keys in one-color stencil style? A gaming headset might work as well, or even a full keyboard if the detail can be done that small.  $23

Effingham, IL, 1981, Sartorialist Style...

I was scrolling through The Sartorialist today... (http://www.thesartorialist.blogspot.com/) and the vintage photos he does reminded me of this old photo that my sister dug up for Mother's Day on Facebook.

There was some Facebook debate over what town this was, but my mom remembered it was Effingham and knew what street she was standing on and what direction she was facing. Mom is 16 or 17 in this photo.

When I was a young teenager and I first saw this photo, I liked it because I got a kick out of the idea that my mom, despite her sometime protests about our spaghetti straps, had in fact once worn a tank top, in public, with her shoulders and collar bone showing. (By the time I was 13 or so,  I had no memory of her ever wearing anything that showed sternum or carried risk of bra strap exposure, despite her being still approximately the same size she was in 1981.)

Live in the City Where the Sun Beats Down: Dallas does have a music scene.

When I first came to Dallas, I hated it and thought it was a city of assholes who said mean things under a veil of politeness. Now, I get pissed off when people complain about Dallas. (Turns out I was just in the wrong line of work.)

My current annoyance is hearing people complain that there's no music scene here. It makes me think of the gruff longtime waitresses who were my coworkers in my formative years and their expression "They'd rather bitch than eat when they're hungry." You can see a good show in Dallas. Or you can talk about how cool Austin is while not going out to support the music scene you have right here.

So here's a taste of the music scene you can participate in right here... (maybe I'll continue this theme in future blogs? Who knows, I'm very unreliable.)


First up - Hello Lover.

Hello Lover gets to top the list because I have recent video of them, and I've seen them play more times than I can count and its always a good show. Also, they have a charismatic seven-foot-tall lead singer who dances. The best way to find Hello Lover is to see them live - their internet presence (and the sound in my video) doesn't do them justice. But I like their taste in posters.

St Patty's band flyer - art by J Schaefer, reference photo T Stead

 If you disregard my advice to just see them live, or if you need to figure out how to do that, theres Facebook : http://www.facebook.com/pages/Hello-Lover/108340453574 and Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/hellolovermusic

This brings me to my next introduction- a venue: Club Dada, also seen in the above video.

Dada is off again, on again, off again, now its on again. It's part of the tradition of Deep Ellum legends that are closing down, but this one won't stay dead. Its a good place to see a show - either a local band, or see a bigger act in a smaller venue.

 Favorite bands I've seen there: Hello Lover, Lucero, The Riverboat Gamblers, Record Hop.

One major, MAJOR complaint about Dada though: The bathroom situation. There are a total of two toilets available, and shows here do fill the house.

Website at http://dadadallas.com/

Whatever Happened to my Rock n Roll?

If you don't recognize it, the title is a quotation of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, a band which abjectly DID NOT suck in concert. I would like to keep on writing about thier show, but at this point it wouldn't be current.



The live music highlights of my April in Dallas were both at Granada. One was a band I'd wanted to see for some time and whose catalog I knew well. The other was a band I'd recently taken a liking to, whose Rock Band 3 song I knew well. Unfortunately, both left me disappointed.



The Raveonettes was actually not what I would consider a bad show. I had a pleasant time, and for the most part, the music sounded good. However, persistent back tracking and a lack of life in the show itself (they basically stood, and played, and were always back lit so that the view was pretty much their still silhouettes the entire show) prevented it from being what I'd call a good show. I didn't leave wishing I hadn't come.. but I must admit, I was hoping to leave converted to being a huge fan of the band, which did not happen.




The Kills show had almost everything The Raveonettes lacked. There was life in the show, Alison Mossheart strutted around like a badass, and in general gave the crowd what they wanted. The crowd ate it up. Except for me. I discovered that while I sorely felt the lack of swagger in The Raveonettes show, a heavy pour of swagger wasn't enough to carry The Kills. Despite being a fan of the band, I couldn't delude myself that the over-played, almost cartoon-y distortion sounded good. And then there was the factor that both shows had in common: the goddamn back tracking.




To a degree, I do wish I hadn't gone to see The Kills. In a sort of way, I still wish I was wishing to see them live, and hearing all the positive remarks from people who have seen their show, not realizing that I would sorely disagree with the apparent majority on the experience. After these two lack luster musical experiences, I also find myself wishing I'd started doing rock show video diaries earlier, when I was on a roll and would therefore not have to piss off all the rabid internet fans of the bands. (BTW, The Raveonettes also win the rabid fan pissing contest - their fans largely will not hear the possibility that they did not play an awesome show and want to blame user error. Judging by the amount of people who attended the show, the rabid fans exist in far greater numbers on the internet than IRL. Which is too bad, because if more of them bought tickets, perhaps the band could afford to hire more touring musicians and quite the stupid back tracking. The Kills on the other hand, have no trouble selling tickets.. and still I'd advise them to pick up some guns for hire.)



I'm about as anti-government interference as anyone I know, yet I find myself tempted to say that I think shows should come with a label that makes clear the amount of backtracking additives they include. In fact, I'd like to say it, as it'd be a comfortable level of inflammatory, but actually I'm too super serious about both my politics and my music to risk the suggestion that I want interference in one by the guys that brought you vehicle inspections and the TABC test. ("GiNGer Ale? I want Shomething shTRonGer!")

(also on the blog i share with a few ex-gamerioters - www.slightlyrelevant.com)

Free the Female Skin...

  I hate walking around in sweat soaked clothes. Maybe its because of growing up in oppressive humidity. I just can't stand the feel of soggy sweaty moisture trapped around my skin.

 Today I was walking in the park. Bob Woodruff/Oak Point, if you're familiar with Plano. Its the kind of park with nature where people go biking and running, not a playground park. I was walking with intent to sweat, in full sun, so I wore shorts and a bikini top. I wore a bikini top for presumably much the same reason that men go running in the same park in tiny shorts without shirts. Because I sweat, its hot, and I'm concerned with little else besides my own course. Plus there's the little bit of vanity that makes me choose the bikini top over the sports bra - the sports bra gives me some weird tan lines.

It totally wasn't like this.

 As I was walking along, I occasionally would pass some other person. Sometimes I could feel them look at me a little hard, but I didn't care. I'm out there to burn some calories and be alone, not to be concerned with them. I encountered about eight people in about an hour of walking, and each of them was "forced" to look at me for about 10 to 30 seconds until they passed me by.

  One of the last people I passed was a man, probably in his 40's, running in a pair of small nylon shorts. I mention him because he is significant, although not through any fault of his own. He didn't offend me in any way, or say anything to me, or even really look at me. He is significant because I know the last group of people I came into contact with had to have passed him to.

  This last group of people consisted of several people, and I really couldn't tell you exactly their demographic or what they were doing, or how many of them there were. My lack of detail on this is because I was minding my own business, not trying to solicit the attention of anyone else or pay attention to anyone else. I was there to use the park. I do know that at least two of them were women, I couldn't really say how old, both blonde, and both wearing tank tops. I know this, because one of them (I don't know which) drew my attention intentionally as she passed me by.

  She said "Put some clothes on!" She said this right in the instant after she passed me by. So, generously speaking, if she was forced to be offended by my presence for 30 seconds, she had 30 seconds in which to make her comment. She made her comment in the 31st second, as if she wanted to make it not when she was face to face with me, but after. I turned around and said in a bored and only slightly annoyed tone of voice "Its not any different than men running with their shirts off."

 I don't think she had intended to give me the opportunity to respond, nor did she expect it. She said "What?" and both her and the other woman turned around, once again leaving me unclear on who had spoken. I repeated: "Its not any different than men running with their shirts off. I sweat too." Then I turned around and continued my course which she had interrupted.

  In that moment of reply though, I had enough time to basically look at them. They were both blonde, artificially so. They were both wearing shorts and tank tops, both of which exposed cleavage. They were not large per se, but larger than me. So not only is there the irony that they can pass a man in mini shorts and nothing else and presumably not cat-call him, but also its not as if they were covered to Victorian standards themselves. So the part of their body that they are willing to display - cleavage - is perfectly unoffensive, but my stomach and lower back is totally over the line? The fact that I have forced you to see my belly button for a few seconds, in passing, in a place where I was exercising, where people are meant to exercise, is rude; but your giving unsolicited instruction to someone you don't know is not?

  I would like to conclude this blog with the statement that I am tired of two things. The first is simpler: I am tired of people making rude remarks that they do not intend to own. If you are so proud of your opinion and righteous in it, don't say it in a calculated moment when you are pretty sure you will have the last word and there's not possibility of a retort. Furthermore, when you make such a remark, prepare not to be dumbfounded if the target of the remark does turn around and answer in a more conversationally civil style than you lead with.

  The second thing I am tired of is people responding witch hunt style to any display of female skin that is one millimeter over their own arbitrary standard of appropriateness. I have defended willing sexiness and I will defend it again and again, but every time a woman wears something which exposes a piece of her flesh, it is not necessarily sexual. If I am doing something physical, yes, I prefer to wear less clothing and be less hot. If i am doing something outside in the sun, yes, I prefer to have the sun touch my skin instead of sweaty fabric. Its not just the idea that any exposure of skin over what "they themselves" (in the proverbial sense) are doing is a blatant troll for sexual attention. Its also the idea that if someone does something that "they themselves" would not do, it is obviously totally incorrect, anti-feminist, offensive, and is in fact corrupting our children. Come on people. We have all seen bikini tops. They aren't required by law to be sold only in places with dark tinted windows that card at the door.

  Even more complexly, its the idea that its ok for the proverbial "them" to beautify themselves and try to make themselves attractive as they see fit. "They" can dye their hair, wear makeup, dress to present what they see as an attractive part of their body with cleavage and shoulders on display. But if "they" see someone who has, to their eyes, made a bid for attractiveness in a different way - exposed a different part of the body, or worn something that "they" would not, "they" feel entitled to be offended by it. It causes me even more of an eye roll when they think I'm presenting for attractiveness when I'm actually just trying to be more comfortable while I work my ass out. I'm not trying to join the Top Free movement. I'm just willing to fight for both my right to be comfortable in the park in the same way that apparently even 70 year old dudes in stretchy shorts have the right to be comfortable in the park.. and I'm also willing to stand up to anyone who tries to tell me what the standard is when I am probably more qualified to decide the standard myself.

   I see people doing things and wearing things that my eyes find offensive every day. I don't feel entitled to instruct them on it.

See? Its not so bad.

To Die of Pride in the Snow..

I'm not working because I live in Texas, and there is ice. So, time for a story about Illinois winter adventures:

Its winter, circa 2001 in IL. We live on a country road, five miles from the nearest small town and 30 minutes from the nearest town you can do much of anything in. I'm about 16 or 17. I'm supposed to go to Effingham (the bigger town) to pick my sister's boyfriend up and meet my sister when she gets off work. Its snowing like hell, and they forgot to plow our road. After much debate, my dad decides to let me go, but he tells me that the "law of odds" is going to get me.

I go out to my car, and being afraid that dad will change his mind, I decide to get the hell out of dodge as fast as I can. This is bad, because my defog doesn't really work, and I can't see shit yet, but I take off. I get more or less out of the driveway, and drive straight off the road, because like i said, it hasn't been plowed, and my window is all frosty so I can't see where the road is. The snow is probably ten inches deep. I'm stuck. I'm still within view of the house, so dad can see that I'm stuck. He comes driving out there like an asshole, drives past me, turns around and comes back to where I'm stuck, as if to show me just how easy it is to not get stuck. I can tell already he's mad.

I'm right. He is mad. We dig my car out a bit, and he chains it to his little Dodge Omni and eventually we get it out. He's really pissed about the whole thing, and so as he goes to turn his car around, he's driving like he's pissed off. He puts his car in the ditch. He's stuck. So I bring the Oldsmobile around, we dig, we hook up the tow chain, we get the little car out. He heads straight to the house. I very carefully drive up to the hog barn up the road so I can turn around without incident, and very carefully drive home, hanging my head and thinking about how much it sucks to be stuck at home. The time passed since my initial departure is about an hour and a half at this point.

I reach the driveway. Dad is standing at the end of the sidewalk in front of the house, smoking a cigarette. He watches me pull in. I start to get out of the car.

Dad looks at me like I'm an idiot and says, "I didn't go through all that trouble so you could just turn around and come home. Get the hell out of here."

I leave, this time I have tire tracks as a reference and everything is fine once I reach blacktop highway.

After a few misadventures that night (including getting my sister's car stuck) I head home, by myself, to make midnight curfew. I'm depressed about having to leave when I know the fun is continuing for everyone else. It hasn't stopped snowing all night. As I reach the turn off for our road, it is apparent that the road still hasn't been plowed. The indents from our stuck cars earlier have been completely covered. I have no choice. Curfew is god, I've got to go down that road.

About a quarter mile from the house, my car comes to a stop. I'm stuck... on the road. I get out. The snow is almost a foot deep in the low places, its about two feet in the drifts. I'm clearly on the road. I'm just so goddamn stuck I have no idea how to get out of it. I put my floor mats under my tires. I throw it back and forth between reverse and drive, putting the pedal to the floor. Now I'm just stuck in a big cradle shaped indentation in the snow.

The house is within sight of course, and an easy walk. But there is no way I'm asking dad for help with this. There's also no way I am abandoning my car, because then I'll have to tell him why in the morning. I decide to just dig out the entire road up to the driveway with a shovel. I get a shovel. I start digging. After a very long time I realize what a stupid idea that is, and that I've made pretty much no progress. I go back to trying to miraculously drive the car out of it.

 At about 1:45, I am out of ideas. I still am unwilling to wake dad up for help or abandon my car. I have resigned to just dying in my car. I curl up in the passenger seat, staring at the yellow lights from the house as I try to go to sleep. I wonder how long my gas will last sitting here.

  Then behind me there are headlights. A big pickup truck stops behind me, and several drunk ass good old boys from my school get out.

 "You gotta get outa the way!" they say jovially. "We got a party to go to!"

  I look at them like they are idiots. They surround my car, recommending all the things I've already tried. They can't get in front of the car, so they can't pull me out. They grab the shovels and some cardboard and start digging and kicking at the snow in front of the car. Then one of the drunker ones announces "I can get it out, lemme drive."

 He's wasted, but I figure there's no way that car is moving, so I let him try. He throws it in reverse, pulls forward and back a few times, sliding from side to side a little, and then all the sudden, it comes free. He drives it into the driveway. I run behind him, pretty damn happy that I don't have to die of pride in the snow. They go on their merry way.

  Now this story should end with me going in to bed, somewhat annoyed that no one even noticed whether or not I was late. But actually, later that night I was awakened by headlights constantly pointed at the window- my sister's car stuck in the snow, once again, sitting perfectly on the road, just stuck. And better yet, there's someone stuck behind her...

Feminism in the Club

  Paul Oakenfold is coming on at Lizard Lounge. I can't believe i spent a hundred bucks getting here. I can't believe I'm liking it. He spreads his arms like a Christ figure, the crowd responds like he is.

  An hour later, two hours? We are all caught up in the music. I am saying nothing, only looking up from my little piece of dance floor to make eye contact with my buddies and nod as if to say "hell yeah." At the begining of the night all the girls looked cool in their towering heels and short dresses. Now i look cooler than cool in flat boots. I'm wearing a tank top your grandpa would wear, pretending its a dress.

  They are pulling the bottles now and I am sad to see it go but only a little. I feel the pulse of the music, up through the balcony floor and into my feet. We don't mourn the death of drinking; all at once we grab the table and the odd choice of chairs and we pull them back from the rail. We dance, over looking the pit below and the wasted girls looking at their clumsy hands in the air and the dudes that don't do anything but shake their fists.

  I am doing the go go dancers rest step, back and forth as i get ready to pick it up again and surveying my kingdom. I am thinking thats its our job, to look over this club and dance on this rail so that they can look up and see us and long to be where we are.

  Beside me on my left there is a girl. I am observing her without admitting to noticing her. She's wearing a funky tee shirt and jeans and heels. She is dancing on the rail too and we are pretending not to see each other. On and on we dance, next to each other, in our own little world. On my right my friend is in his own world too, and maybe we exchange glances, but really we are all absorbed in the sort of ironic silence of music you can't speak over.

  Step step step step step.. hand on the rail, hands in the air, both hands on the rail, hands at my side when its all about the hips and the feet and still she and I ignore each other. And then she bumps me. or I bump her. We are startled enough to look at each other, forgetting to pretend it didn't happen. I could eye her up. I could give her the cold look of measuring or I could look at her awkwardly apologetically. But I don't. Maybe its the handful of drinks circulating around my veins, or maybe my mind is just extra clear in this moment and I am less hesitant than usual.

 I look up at her and grin, as if we are conspirators in some wild adventure. She grins. We go back to our own dancing, but both of us caught up more this time. Our steps get bigger. As she ceases to give token recognition to the guy behind her, I get the whim to step back. I let her move into my spot on the rail and I step back out of the view of the world and into the shadows of people taller than me. I finish the night dancing there until we are leaving in a whirl of exiting before the over packed house spins out around us. We don't even manage to say by to the entire group as the loud silence of being enveloped by music turns to the excited chatter of the parking lot. I am walking with my friend and the one I love as they smoke and I smile and we rehash the ride that isn't yet quite over.

 My friend is telling me how brilliant the night was and the ride that it was in the way that he can say it and make you say "yeah man!" with every fiber of your being.. but I can only try to repeat it and make it sound dumb. "Even that chick, that chick!" he is saying, "the one that danced next to me, she felt it too, she was fuckin cool." And I laugh, because the moment in time that just happened for him happened because the choice I made in a moment let it.

A Story About Modeling

A wordless account of what goes on before a fashion show, as told by me and the Droid.

the actor's tour of texas

You will see austin for the first time as you race to San Antonio, trying to get to a shoot. You will see it again at 7 one morning, fighting traffic and trusting the gps to get you to an 8 am call time.

  East Texas you will see on your way to auditions in shreeveport. You will ask yourself why you ever agreed to drive four hours to try to get a bit role in a probably retarded movie. You will get up at a rediculous time. On the way back you will face exhaustion. stop for an energy drink, and take the first three sips. Set your alarm and sleep in the sun in the car for 15 minutes. It will be enough to get you through. When you finish that one, stop for another. The countryside is beautiful in the hyper focus youll have.

   Fair Park you will learn quickly. Everytime you go in to your appointments there, you will get lost and then irrate. You will ask yourself why the hell anyone asked you to come here of all places. When you find the building, you will think "oh god.. this is exactly the kind of seedy place my mom pictures me getting killed in.." but you willl go in anyway. Inside it will be nice. You'll get mad again as you try to leave.

  Canton you will see randomly, as you are photographed in a pool of mud. White Rock Lake you will see as you look past a camera, and Grapevine Lake you will see nothing but the glare of sun as you cover your chest with your arms and try not to look like you're wilting. You will see the dramatic hills out past Mesquite from a car full of actresses with your hair in a victory roll, but you will never again be able to figure out where you were. You will sit in expensive restaraunts whose names you won't remember and pick at cold food take after take. You will stand outside in the wind for two hours between two buildings and two scenes. You will shiver as you walk out of some hotel, and you will wait for the Lone Star cab to pass by so you can film a scene that takes place in LA. Later you will look at places and try to remember when and why you were there. You won't be sure.

Jesus and Coke

Here it is- my contribution to society..

1/2 oz Jim Beam
1/2 oz Jack Daniels
1/2 oz Jameson
splash of Coke

Shoot it!
Its not as rough as you think.
Something that originated from talking shit at Vickery Park Plano.

Cliff Notes...

Well let's see...

I got finalist in the XFX Girl contest! I'll be going to LA for that on the 23rd of January.

I got a graphics tablet! But I kind of suck at drawing with it.

Spent Christmas Eve on 15th street. Spent Christmas with a family I had never met before, then after much discombobulation, went down to Double Wide with the cool kids to see Hello Lover and American Fuse.

Got Dragon Age Origins and Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, among other things. :) I'm in fps training currently.

Can't decide on a design for Deep Six's tee shirts.. keep starting over and over again.

Finally rode the Grapevine railroad to the Ft. Worth Stockyards with Thom and his family.. train was slow, Stockyards was cool. Jameson at The White Elephant Saloon!

Oh yeah.. and got a real gaming mouse. :)

Watch this.

Go here.

http://www.facebook.com/#/pages/XFX-Girl/139227932935?ref=ts

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