ballad of a ladyman

Hey ponies, it's Corin Tucker's birthday today! You KNOW what that means. A whole bunch of damn videos.

First, Sleater-Kinney's video for "Get Up". Fun fact: directed by Miranda July.



Here they are live, doing one of my favorite songs from Dig Me Out "One More Hour". Fun fact: Corin Tucker is the reason I absolutely HAD to have the black Danelectro with the white swirl.



Here she is talking about being a mama.



Donuts and chocolate milk? ADOPT ME PLEASE.

It was sad when Sleater-Kinney broke up, but time has brought wisdom. I can be content to enjoy what they've done and what they've done for the future of lady-rock.

"Entertain"


xox
megan elizabeth

one trick pony: marquee moon

Something about this time of year always makes me turn inward and reflect on the really important things in life, things like what the fuck happened to my copy of Marquee Moon? Usually when this mood strikes me, I dig around in my closet for a little while, get frustrated and decide that my older brother probably took it because he is old. That's when I give up because it's not like I'm going to drive all the way to godforsaken Nebraska to demand he give me my cds back.

This year, however, I decided to suck it up and download the album. Good decision.

TELEVISION--"MARQUEE MOON"


I fucking love this song so much. I used to rock this shit on cassette in my '94 Buick Century all the time. It's a surprisingly effective way to not pick up dudes. Man, that car was a sex-mobile.



"Hey little boy, I've got ice cream and video games in my back seat."

Back to the music... I can't really tell you what this song is about besides rad guitars, but the take-away message for me has always been this: waiting for things under the moon is really frustrating and probably a bad idea. To illustrate my point, just listen to this equation Stevens Seagalll axed us ponies to solve last night, beneath what was either a 15/32 moon or a 7/16 moon. We're sitting in the dirt and I'm drinking twist off wine. "Five N over six equals the moon. Solve for moon." Fuck dude, you know women can't do math.

Area woman discovers time zone within time zone: Boy Time

As usual, I am having 99 problems and all of them are bitches. Megan was nice enough to call me during her break at school to remind me to study the scripture of Clueless. "Christian said he'd call the next day, but in boy time that meant Thursday." Other shit we discussed included rogue bus drivers, kind of hot but endlessly annoying green peace dudes and Xiu Xiu. Jamie Stewart has dude problems too. Sometimes.


I wasn't a Xiu Xiu-ite until we went to see them at Le Chateau Casbah, but they are a pretty intriguing bunch. I periodically check the Xiu Xiu site because Jamie Stewart is a fucking weirdo and posts some crazy shit, like weird bondage pictures of Bolivian dudes with their dicks tied together and David Horvitz's suicide announcement. Today, there were no such pleasantries but drummer/percussionist/president of the Bay Area Tall Guys Club Ches Smith released the last part of a found sound manipulation project he's been working on called Y/OUR Town. It's pretty cool, he left a recorder on the merch table at all their shows on the last tour and later made it into...something else. In case you're not familiar with Xiu Xiu, here's a couple videos:

my personal favorite Xiu Xiu Xong, Xad Pony Guerilla Girl (fan video):



Boy Xoprano:



I Do What I Want, When I Want:




I am your girl and I will protect you,

'Xtina

hump day shortlist: got my stunna shades on

Last night when I saw that Stina wasn't going to post a clean-up, I momentarily considered writing my own Clean Up On Aisle Tuesday: the Madonna Edition. Luckily for that dried up old hoe (Madonna, not Stina) I was way too busy being proud of my country to muster up the muster to really hate anything (until I heard prop 8 passed. Sanctity of marriage my dick).

So on to the Shortlist. I just had a couple moles removed and my left hand is still numb so I don't feel much like typing right now, but let me just say one thing: there are few things that these ponies love more than celebrating their joy with some hyphy.







Now if you'll excuse me, I just remembered something about some maneuver known as "the stranger" that I might attempt while my hand lacks feeling. Got to do some more research.

fo sho
megan elizabeth

Always better to over-fierce than under-fierce

There are a lot of things that I need to address in a very short amount of time, so I'm going to do so in a series of letters. Bear with me.

Dear Michael Crichton,

You picked a terrible day to die. It will eternally be overshadowed by Barack Obama's historic victory. Regardless, thanks for writing Jurassic Park.


Dear Barack Obama,

Don't make me eat my words (vote) on this one, dude. Congratulations though.


Dear California,

You fucked up.


Dear Really Excited Probably Gay Guy and His Wife Beard in front of us at Madonna,

You suck. You are seriously one of the most annoying concertgoers I have EVER experienced. Your relentless jumping and fist-waving prevents the rest of us from seeing shit. Emmanuel didn't pay $800 to see you fucking flailing around with your butt buddy. I was so happy when you got kicked out for like a minute, because I could see without distraction, but then you were allowed back and made an even bigger commotion I silently wished the lasers were real and would sweep into your row. I don't care if it took down your wifebeard as well as your molecular biology professor buddy and his mail order bitch, it would be worth it. God, lasers are cool.


Dear America,

You're a system that doesn't really work all that well, but at least (like the Good Doctor says) you've officially got soul.


Dear Pharrell,

Baby, why wasn't you there? So disappointed. I would hit that front, back, side to side. Yeeeah.


Dear Lady in the bathroom that told me I look like Katy Perry,

No, I don't. Yeah, I kissed a girl. It wasn't that great. Rather kiss a dude.


Dear Madonna,

I used to think you were a cold, money mongering robot that had a couple good songs back in the day. Last night, I found out that you are a human. A tiny, muscly human that could probably go to town on some garlic fries, but nonetheless a human. I was surprised at how much you actually sang as well as how steady and clear you were. I guess it makes sense, you are the self-proclaimed Queen of Pop. I'll be honest, when you fucked up the words to "Ray of Light" and attributed it to being "so fucking happy" that Obama won, it warmed my icy heart. Slightly. Thinking you were human made me remember being a wee toddler, wearing a leopard print silk scarf and diaper, dancing around my living room with my mom's microphone to "Lucky Star" while my mom did her Step workout. So I guess, in a way, my parents have you to blame for all this "I'm a jaded musician" bullshit I've put them through. One of my favorite things about you is that your songs don't sound identical to the album, they're unique to the tour, but in a good way. The metal version of "Hung Up?" LOVES IT. Your performance transcends just music, or just dancing. The videos, the sets, the lasers, EVERYTHING. The costumes? Amaaaaazing. They're all Givenchy and I heard you spent over $1 million on swarovski crystals alone. You had these amazing satin boots:



but this was one of my favorite outfits:


Girl, you so FIIIIIERCE!!!I'm sorry that San Diego sucks. Emmanuel told me the floor people get really serious and decked out in couture so I had to be really fierce but it was a bunch of old white people with too much goddamn money. Truth is, I'd rather over-fierce.


'stina

Ch-ch-ch-ch-chaaaaanges

Hey guys, there's not going to be a Clean Up on Aisle Tuesday because I'm going to see Madonna. Yeah, it's gay, I know, but I feel compelled in the sense that it is historically relevant or some shit.

Hope y'all voted! But not for McCain!

'stina

We Are 138 (and covered in corn syrup)

"Dude, this is like one of the best shows I've ever been to."

"Mmhmm."

"They're so funny, it's just like-"

"OHMYGOD she just ripped the heart out of the girl dressed as Todd Palin and said 'that adorable lumberjack didn't see it coming!'"

Megan and I went down to North Park to hang out with The Mistits and catch their show at Bar Pink Elephant. For those of you that made the very poor decision to not join us, you missed the best show of your life and for those of you that are performers, you missed a serious lesson in showmanship. The Mistits are without a doubt, the best live band I have ever seen with the natural exception of Wolf Parade/Sunset Rubdown/any time Spencer Krug is on a stage. I have never in my show-going career witnessed explosive energy like I did on Halloween.


I didn't take that picture because all of mine turned into bullshit thanks to the smoke machine and the Tall Guys Club meeting in front of us, but thanks to whoever did. If you want me to put your actual name, I'll do that too. Back to the show, I don't really remember what they played too well because I am shitty at remembering set lists but I recall enjoying the panty-dropping strange juxtaposition of a blood-spattered Jackie O wailing the words to "Last Caress." Megan isn't even into the Misfits and had a fantastic time. That said, I hereby present (on the internet) the first ever Pony Girl Club "Best Halloween Ever" award to The Mistits. We love you guys. No, seriously. It is, however, safe to say I do not want to see a certain Peruvian hold a cigarette with his ass ever again, though.

When in doubt, rip someone's heart out,

'stina

p.s. here is a video of Barack Obama dancing on Ellen: