Before we talk about Nora's cool underwear-outerwear outfit, can we just talk about The Monkees? The sublimnity contained within More Of The Monkees? Have you ever noticed that "Stepping Stone" is so much more palpably bitter and forceful when it's coming out of Mickey Dolenz' mouth than Ian MacKayes? You'd think by virtue of them being a hardcore band, Minor Threat's cover would be more intense than The Monkees' original, but you get the sense from Dolenz' delivery that he really thinks she's vile and he's seething that at some point he fell for her charms because the words just curdle in his mouth. Minor Threat, blessedly, only had one setting on the dial and that's teenboy rage--they sounded like had a fucking problem with everything and this girl is just one of many offenders; emotionally, it's rather undynamic, even in their fierce paws.
So--Nora's raison d'outfit is that dudes are gonna honk and whistle and ask to be her bike seat no matter what she's wearing, so she might as well be comfortable, and she is most comfortable in her underwears and a pair of shredded control top cut offs. Womens lib is poppin'!
Posted by Jessica at July 10, 2007 10:23 AM
Morgo came over last night so we could brainstorm and start work on a project.
One of our ideas was a diagram of exercises you can do with a friend. Or the proper way to do sit ups without hurting yrself. We did those ones where you hold your feets in the air and yr friend has to push them to the floor. Morgan is really good at this. Apparently, her and her roommate would do it all the time when she was living in Morocco, because she couldn't go out at night in the medina, because then otherwise her neighbors would of thought she was prosty. Other things that would cause your neighbors to think you were whorin': wear short sleeves and smoke cigarettes. So you just stay inside and exercise, cook elaborate meals, smoke and wear short sleeves with your girlfriends. Which isn't a bad plan if you think about it.
So, thats what we did. We ate 24 crepes in a matter of minutes. We ate the raspberries even though there was a full size beetle living in them, and part of another or that may have just been the pupa it hatched from. "Eat The Beetles!" I said, but Matt moved them to a new home in the toilet bowl, refusing my perdurable desire to turn every meal into a series of gross dares.