The Most Indie Rocker of Our Time

(Video via NY Mag)

Zach Galifianakis interviews Widge Wemnem (aka genius Michael Showalter), who considers himself the "most indie rocker of our time."

He's never produced a record, never played an instrument, doesn't sing and doesn't record.

My Favorite part:

G:"They're calling you so out there, so independent..."
M:"Their words. To me I'm just making music."
G:"But you're not making music."
M:"Well, it's all relative."

Enjoy.

Sex and the City: I Laughed, I Cried, I Want Manolo Blahniks

I went to the U.S. premiere of the Sex and the City movie last night. I sat in Radio City Music hall and rubbed elbows with the stars of the show, various random celebrities (including the Donald, Jerry Seinfeld, Anna Wintour, Ashley Olsen and more) and a fine selection of Manhattan's elite. I can honestly say there was no better way -- no other 'New York' way to experience this event.

As I watched, I found myself savoring every word, every outfit and (especially) every shoe. I laughed nervously in the beginning of the movie at any funny line -- as if I was relieved that the writers were making me proud. To be honest, I don't even know if the movie was actually good -- but because it showcased some of our favorite friends, plot lines and fashion -- it was justly excellent. This time around, the themes were heavier. These women are no longer in their 20s and 30s gallivanting around New York -- they are older and dealing with real-life issues. There was a weight on my chest and my throat was tight throughout the entire movie. Maybe because I was nervous it wasn't going to end the right way? Or maybe because the writers dove a little too deep in to reality -- and who wants to face that?

The theme of this movie was "changing yourself for someone else" and whether or not that was acceptable, whether it was enough to sustain a relationship -- and whether or not it was the right thing to do. One line resonated with me; after a fight, Miranda says to Steve, "I changed myself for you." It's a scary thing to do -- change who you are for someone else, with the possibility that it might not work out in the end anyway. The movie explores this and showcases both sides -- when it's a good thing, and when you need to put yourself first.

I did realize, however, why women everywhere are so desperately in love with this show. It has nothing to do with the glitz and the glamor, the men or the sex -- it's because of the friendships between the four girls. I don't know anyone who wouldn't give their their left arm for the relationships they have with one another. You might have the best friends in the world (and I think I do), but these women are there for each other through thick and thin, completely putting aside their own lives to support each other when one of them is in need -- wearing the most glamorous clothes I've ever seen while doing it.

I walked away last night secretly wishing that we could be content to be in love with our girlfriends more than any man -- maybe because it would be easier, maybe because we'd know for sure that they're in it for the long haul or maybe because we know that they'll always appreciate our shoes. But, as the movie showed, this wasn't even the case for our favorite heroines. As much as they love each other -- the men in their lives play a serious role in their happiness. I think the lesson here is to appreciate the friends we've got and the amazing city that we all live in and take advantage of both of those assets while we've got 'em. Cosmos anyone?

It Never Gets Old

Classic.

All's Fair in Love and Blogs

Man was I entertained this morning. I read, "Exposed," the NY Times Magazine article that Emily Gould, a former Gawker editor, wrote for this weekend's issue. It was long, it was narcissistic, it was a dairy entry. But among the sap, it bled with honesty, vulnerability and real-life, tangible drama. I loved it.

After reading about Gould's awkwardness, brazen self-confidence and career-ending mistakes she made in her early 20's, I switched over to read her "secret blog," Heartbreak Soup, which was developed as an outlet to a relationship she began with a fellow co-worker at Gawker. Meant to be a secret blog, it soon became known to anyone who followed Gould and it also became the demise of her relationship. THEN I went over to the other side (aka the man's side) to read Joshua David Stein's account of their affair (Stein a blogger and former Gawker reporter). His piece read just like I thought it would -- he was angry at Emily for taking their relationship public. First of all, there's nothing a girl hates more than a "secret boyfriend." When a lady is in love, she just wants to go to the rooftops and scream that she loves her new secret boyfriend. Fact. Stein's article was whiny, pathetic and mean. He never loved Emily -- "I mostly liked the idea of liking her," he writes. Ew.

Their articles -- and public feud -- left me hungry for more. The tale of Emily's life -- especially her love life -- reads like a hipster episode of Sex and the City. They shared Fire Island instead of the Hampton's, body art instead of impressionist paintings and a love of blogging instead of a love of high society.

Then it got me thinking -- why was I REALLY so into Emily's story? Her drama was almost as bad as the tabloid affairs we read about daily. She's a public figure like the rest of them, right? Wrong. Emily is just like the rest of US -- she's a blogger that became high-profile simply because of the platform that she wrote on. Her story is so appealing because it is the story of our young, New York lives. The makeshift drama, the wince-worthy sex, the panic attacks -- the terrible adolescence that is the definition of our early 20s. She thought she knew better, she thought she was doing it all for her career, she thought she was standing up for something she believed in. She thought she was doing it for love.

I like Emily's story because it is so real it hurts. She doesn't blame anyone but herself in this article and she accepts her past as something she's not necessarily proud of -- but as something that was necessary to get her to where she is today.

She did what the rest of us do -- she vented, she questioned and she asked for help. But instead of talking to her three closest girlfriends, she asked her hundreds of devoted readers. It cost her a job, a boyfriend and probably some pride. But in the end, she's no different than the rest of us. Today, we're just reading her version in the New York Times instead of our own.

Is Different Always Better?