Hello again!

Okay, so I know it's been pretty quiet around here lately, and for that, I blame myself. Here's the deal, kids. I'm working a second part-time job--working with THE YOUTH...how noble is that?--and although it's a fun gig, and the extra cash is pretty sweet, the downside is, I am exhausted. Plus, because I have less spare time these days, I actually have to get real work done during the day at my main office. But, never fear, I'm going to do my part to keep our little haven of music, commentary, and incessant shit-talking alive. I just needed some time to adjust.

Fortunately, absolutely nothing interesting is going on in the world of music.

But I did learn something interesting yesterday. You know that horrible, whiny emo ballad, "Hey there, Delilah" by the Plain White T's? It's been torturing me as of late because it's on the radio every five minutes, I hate it, and yet I always manage to get it stuck in my head for hours on end. The lead singer has that Generic Emo White Boy voice, and the lyrics could only be written by some obnoxious, arrogant 21 year old who knows nothing of life or love. I normally would devote NO space to this song, only I learned yesterday that the lead singer never actually had a relationship with the Delilah in question, which kind of puts a weird stalker-ish spin on the song for me now.

I mean, so a guy writes a whiny love ballad to try to get laid. Nothing new, right? But what's interesting is that he's not writing the love ballad from the perspective of "You're so beautiful, and I want to get laid," or "You're so beautiful, and I want to get laid, but you've got a boyfriend, so I'll bemoan my unrequited love." He's writing this song from the perspective of some kind of long-term, long-distance entirely imaginary relationship. "Hey there, Delilah, you be good and don't you miss me..." "Um, okay, I won't." It's so delusional, I almost like it. Except I hate it.

In other, completely unrelated news...could this be the single most unappetizing beverage ever made?

Fade to Black

So we hear the current NIN lineup could very well be at its end. Well I didn't want to see them go without some sort of little tribute so I did what I do best: bad fan art. What? You didn't think I was done with all that nonsense, did you?

In all seriousness though, it's been a job well done, boys.

Jeordie White

Alessandro Cortini

Josh Freese

Aaron North

Checking in with Trent, Part 5

posted by Trent Reznor with the caption,
"even better than the real thing!"

Trent is this some new form of marketing you're doing? Are you going to turn NIN into the next KISS? -shakes head- Well at least Barbie will finally have a bad boy to date and quit having to suffer through it with Ken.

I'd have loads more snarky things to say if it weren't for this damned migrane. Have at it kids.

Viva Las Vegas!

Hi, everyone! If I've been quiet lately, it's certainly not because I don't love you. Mr. Maise and i joined some friends in attending a wedding in Las Vegas this past weekend, and I was in Sin City from last Wednesday to this past Sunday. I would have liked to have been Places Parallel's very own MTV Video Music Awards correspondent, but this proved impossible for four reasons: 1) I'm neither rich nor famous enough to be able to afford to even walk into the places where all the celebrities are staying; 2) my pesky sinuses and my husband's severe hangover prevented us from doing any celebrity hunting on Saturday night; 3) we were leaving Las Vegas early on Sunday, well before the festivities; 4) unlike Kanye West, I couldn't be bothered to give a flying fuck about the VMAs.

But the trip was not without its highlights. The first night, the front desk attendant at Bally's informed us that she did not have a nonsmoking room available, so they offered us a suite for a night. This hotel room was approximately the size of my last apartment. Perhaps larger. It had about seven million couches, a kitchen, a dining room area, an exercise bike, a steam shower, and a whirlpool tub approximately the size of my current master bathroom. It's too bad that we didn't have such accommodations the entire trip, as we could have hosted my friend's wedding reception in there easily.

On Thursday evening, I met up with some friends at Harrah's, and we spent an inordinate amount of time having hilariously inappropriate conversations while sitting at a table in the buffet. Then the husband and I went to dinner at Wolfgang Puck's Chinois (quick verdict: his Postrio restaurant in the Venetian is better) and went to see The Beatles: Love at the Mirage. For those who are unaware, Love is a Cirque du Soleil show set to a specially remixed Beatles soundtrack, and it is fantastic. The music is absolute perfection, the acrobatics and special effects are mesmerizing, and I have to admit that I got a little misty at the end, when we see some filmed footage of the Fab Four. (Confession: George Harrison is only one of two celebrities for whom I have cried upon his/her death. The Crocodile Hunter is the other one.) My husband is not a huge Beatles fan, and he has no patience for the normal Cirque du Soleil artiness, but he loved this show, and I would recommend it strongly to just about anyone on the planet. If it tours, you'd better believe that I would see it again, and I would be strongly tempted to see it again the next time I wind up in Vegas. Afterwards, the husband and I met up for dessert with our very own Ro, who happened to be vacationing with her family, and we talked until the husband was ready to fall asleep at the table.

We had the wedding to go to on Friday, and what a lovely ceremony it was! Notable events included the DJ being fired in the middle of the reception and his subsequent drama and my participating in a "Soul Train line"...badly. Afterwards, the husband and I drank entirely too much, which led to the best gambling moment ever. We were walking out of a fabulous bar, Red Square, in Mandalay Bay, and I drunkenly announced, "I want to play the BIG slot machine!", referring to those enormous slot machines the size of a pickup truck that everyone plays as a novelty. My husband indulged me and gave me five dollars to bet, whereupon I immediately won $90. Gambling and winning is so much more fun when you're drunk and have no idea what's going on. The husband and I partied like rock stars that night, and I didn't get to bed til 4:30 a.m.

But I couldn't sleep in the following morning, as I had a spa appointment. The seaweed goop that was smeared all over me during my "cocoon" wrap allegedly helped me to detox, while my husband detoxed the hard way...with a nasty hangover. Later that evening, I managed to contract a nasty sinus infection, so it was a much quieter night in, and as I mentioned earlier, I couldn't stalk Paris Hilton or whoever the fuck was supposed to be in town that night.

And that's about it...Saturday was followed by an uneventful trip home on Sunday, except my sinuses were killing me the entire time, and the pain was compounded by the changes in pressure. I couldn't pop my ears properly and still feel partially deaf today. We didn't get home til about 10:30 p.m., so I couldn't even see those stupid VMAs.

But I will comment briefly on the only VMA-related topic worth mentioning...the fact that despite all my Schadenfreude tendencies, especially where the rich and beautiful females are concerned, I can't help but feel sympathy for Britney Spears. And it's like, yeah, she's not terribly talented, and she has way too much money and is making a trainwreck of her personal life and has a terrible weave and doesn't have the body of her youth but still runs around in public in a bra and panties (or no panties, depending) and just in general makes terrible, terrible choices...but I just hate the way that everyone piles up on her all the time. Of course her career is falling apart...she can't be sold as the barely legal sexpot anymore, and there's a whole crowd of barely legal sexpots to take her place. Yeah, her performance and that song sucked, but does that mean she deserves to have Sarah Silverman gloating nasally about her failure in the same freaking building?

Clearly, the woman needs Tim Gunn. Don't we all? But it's just so frustrating that someone like Britney manages to make herself look so unflattering all the time. She may not have "the perfect body" these days, but if she just dressed herself well, we'd hardly notice it. And shit, my friend the bride had a better weave than Britney did. And Britney has about 17 gazillion dollars. Why???

Anyone else here feel sorry for Britney, or are there just vast wells of Britney hate out there? Also, how was YOUR weekend?

YouTube Discovery of the Week, Part 1

YouTube is full of the weird and the wonderful, the baffling and the retarded, complete wastes of everyone's time and, occasionally, works of pure genius. In part 1 of a possible series, I bring you one of these videos, by a pair that I'm dubbing the Ghostland Observatory Kids.



How cute are these kids with their DIY music video? I can't tell if they're boyfriend and girlfriend or brother and sister, but I don't care. They're adorable (even though brothers and sisters who would be this close kind of weird me out sometimes. I think in this case it would be the crotch shots that would bother me). I love the way they're working the polka dots, stripes, matching pink belts, the screwy faces, and the dance moves for the camera. And damn if the song isn't pretty catchy, too.

I think what I like about this most is how it takes me back, like way back, to a time in like 4th grade when I would go over to my BFF's house, and we would do this exactly same thing...sans camera. We would practice our best New Kids on the Block dance moves with "The Right Stuff" blasting out of her boombox in our totally hip denim jackets adorned with the oversized buttons featuring the face of our favorite boy. -sigh- Jonathan was so dreamy and was destined to be my future husband. Obviously, that didn't pan out like I thought.

Ahh...youth. I don't think these two kids have quite as much to be embarrassed about later on down the road as what I have just admitted to, but if they eventually will be, it was a much larger audience who witnessed their youthful faux pas.

Stay tuned for next week's discovery.

Cheer Up Trent, Give Us a Smile...

What happened to that smile we used to know?
Don't you know your grin has always
been our sunshine?
Let that sunshine show.
Come on, Trent
No need to frown
Deep down you know tomorrow is your toy...
When the days get heavy
Never pitter patter
Up and at'em boy
Some day, sweet as a song
Trent's lucky day will come along
Till that day
You've got to stay strong, Trent
Up on top is right where you belong
Look up, Trent
You'll see a star
Just follow it and keep your dreams in view
Pretty soon the sky is going to clear up, Trent,
Cheer up Trent Reznor, do
Cheer up, Trent.
Just be glad you're you.

Okay, so maybe every other entry in this blog is about Trank and his Nails of Nine Inches, but come on, did you really expect anything different from us? Jezebel checks in on Amy Winehouse daily. Defamer always gives us the lowdown on Lilo. Pitchfork pretentiously champions...shit we've never heard of. And Perez Hilton has Fidel Castro.

Anyway, we give Trent a lot of shit here, for his artistic decisions and temper flareups and most certainly his wardrobe, but we just want him to know that we love him and are genuinely sorry to hear that he's having a rough time. I mean, I could have fucking told him he'd reach this point eventually because he's always fucking crabby in Europe and especially in Germany, for some reason, but no matter...the point is that we support you, Trent. And we mean that in a surprisingly sincere and snark-free way.**






**ironic kitten aside