Last night was the season premier of MTV's latest scourge, Real World: Sydney. Yes, I too, thought I had kicked this quondam brain cell snuffing addiction in college, but like Ms. Lohan and I'm sure half the cast, sometimes we relapse.
Cast members KellyAnne and Trisha are true examples of all things wrong with women. KellyAnne's vainglorious reasoning for why girls tend to hate her and gang up on her is because "she's cute." Since I already would love to put acid in her face cream after 7 minutes of watching her, let me just clear the air by saying, KellyAnne, women don't hate you because you're allegedly 'cute'. You are a bete noire because you are a self-absorbed, churlish, ignorant hick from Texas. Not everyone can be won over by your white panties that say 'Pick me, I'm Hot' in crayola marker. And Trisha, I hope that lady hocked a big one in your McCrunchie. Oh I mean McFlurry.
I don't hate Shauvon as much but come on, covering the nipples of your topless breasts as a method of not revealing too much?
The world could do without such terrible representations of women and Americans.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
My New York Age is 43
"This New York age puts you-generally speaking-into the old-age category. Don't worry-this isn't a bad NYC age to be. Your tastes are more refined and developed, and people have always told you that you're mature for your age anyway, right? Still, you may want to see more live music (check out Studio B) and should probably visit Superdeluxe.com. Olde English is funny at any age."
In other words, "You need to get out more, you crotchety old bag."
In other words, "You need to get out more, you crotchety old bag."
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
The Lux Life of a Photo Assistant: Did you say loop or lube?
The summer after I graduated college in 2004 I thought I would spend a few weeks sending out resumes, go on a couple of interviews, and then I'd start living in "the real world" as a working photographer. I didn't realize how hard it would be just to get an interview. Then, I didn't realize all the ways I could blow an interview.
I spent 3 months sending out resumes in between my drinking binges, 4 months in Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore, 2 weeks in London, and 1 month of mass resume faxing and over $100 at Kinkos before I got my first offer to be a photo assistant for fashion photographer, Justin Santos. I had no prior professional experience as a photo assistant and had very little knowledge of cameras and flashes from lack of training from Rutgers. (Rutgers is a wonderful school but they focused more on fine art study than technical training). To say that I had embellished my resume would be a major understatement. The only truths on my resume were my name and phone number. I had lied about all prior experiences, making up names of photographers I had previously shot for, and made up clients that the made up photographers had shot for. I listed names of lights and cameras and techniques that I was supposed to know but didn't. Even my home address was made up since I wasn’t living in New York at the time. If I had received my resume I would have hired me too.
After interviewing with Justin, and for once acing that, he said he'd give me a trial day at a shoot with the lead singer of Scissor Sisters for Out Magazine the following week. If I did well, he would hire me. On the shoot day, I got there early and Justin and crew (Agent and 2 assistants) were late. The lighting rental came with $5000 worth of equipment rentals and dropped everything off on the sidewalk. I, by myself, carried 800 pounds of equipment up to the second floor studio. I believe that was what impressed Justin. I was reliable and I could probably bench more than him.
During the shoot I had no idea what trouble my resume fabrication would cause me. The photo editors of Out, Scissor Sisters' manager, Justin's agent, hair, makeup, and creative directors, were all there shouting different orders all at once. Justin was yelling for equipment that I had never heard of, let alone know what they looked like. His first assistant, Georgi Georgiev (yes that is his real name), was asking me to hand him films I did not know. Editors were telling me to adjust the lights in techniques I never learned. I scurried around for 8 hours, tripping over lights, and exposing film. The fact that Justin still hired me should tell you something about him. He's an idiot.
Since Justin caught on quick that I clearly had no experience and had no idea what I was doing, he decided to use me for unpaid "intern" days which were spent in the studio "learning the ropes" in between shoot days and dark room days. I was paid $100 for shoot days and dark room days which is $150 less than what I should have been paid, experience or no experience. I would leave my house at 6am to catch the 6:24 am train into NYC to get to the studio by 8am. I would spend a few hours getting familiar with his cameras and filing his negatives and making calls to potential clients. Then I would head off to the darkroom in Brooklyn and print until midnight, when they closed. Then, I would catch the 12:37 train and arrive home at 1:54 am only to get up at 5:30am again for work the next day. I did this 7 days a week.
Somewhere in between all this hustling around, I could only blame my fatigue for not hearing when Justin mentioned his "side project" to me. Justin told me that on the days that we weren't shooting for editorial clients we will be shooting for his "side project," LuxPorn, a company that he co-owns. Ok sure. More shooting meant more training for me. I loved shoot days. As I rode home on the 12:37 train I thought to myself, "LuxPorn, Luxporn...Could I be shooting porn?" Thinking and pondering for 2 minutes. "No way.”
The next day I showed up for the shoot early and set up the lights and backdrop. Georgi Georgiev helped me. We did not speak much. Justin showed up when we were done setting up, a diva always. The model was late so Justin decided to use this time to brief me on the shoot. "Ok Nina, whatever you do, do not look at his penis." (Penis was pronounced Pe-nith). I think I would have been fine had he not told me this. Since he gave me specific orders to not look at his penis, I felt I was going to have an Austin Powers outburst moment (Molee, Molee, Molee, Molee!) and just ogle at his penis shouting, "Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis!" Not looking was even more difficult when I had to lint brush his black t-shirt (his sole article of clothing) that hung loosely over his penis. I had to be careful not to look but to also not blush when rolling the lint brush over his t-shirt, over his penis. This was the moment I realized I was working in porn.
My friend Alan was the first person I called on the train home. Conversation went as so:
Me: Dude, I think I'm working in porn.
Alan: HAHAHAHA. What do you mean you think you are working in porn?
Me: I mean, I dunno. I started assisting this fashion photographer and today we shot porn.
Alan: HAHAHA. How does one not realize they've gotten into porn?
The next few months were a blur between intern days, shoot days, dark room days, and porn days. I worked 14 hour days, 7 days a week. I ate a breakfast bar on the morning train, packed a king size bag of peanut M&M's which I split between lunch and dinner. Justin never ate. There was no place near his studio to buy food. He never asked if I wanted to take a lunch. So I didn't.
Some days I would be at the dark room from 8am until 12am. I would be printing 16x20 images of penises of all sizes and "poses". Color printing is rather tricky. You have to get the perfect ratio of Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow for the penis to not be too blue, too pink, or too yellow. I would tack up these larger than life size penises on the natural light wall, step back a few feet and stare at the penises through the color correctors. "Do you think that's too pink? Or too yellow?" I would ask the other assistants in the dark room, forgetting that I had a 20 inch picture of a penis tacked up to the wall. "Wow, I want your job," gushed a gay printer, drooling over my work.
On my way home I called Alan again.
Me: Dude, guess what I did all day.
Alan: What?
Me: Looked at pictures of penises all day through a magnifying lens to see if the focus is sharp.
Alan: You do realize you can’t even put this on your resume right?
On another printing day Justin came with me. We had a deadline and needed 4 printing hands instead of 2. Standing with our backs to each other in the darkroom, Justin nonchalantly asked me if I did drugs. "No," I answered. "Are you like against it?" He asked. "No," I said," I just never got into it, you know?" "Oh good," he says, "Don't do it." I turned around and saw him doing lines off of a print of a penis. That was when I realized why we never breaked for lunch.
Post Note: I no longer work for Justin. He has since left for California without paying me the last $500 that he owes me. That bastard.
I spent 3 months sending out resumes in between my drinking binges, 4 months in Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore, 2 weeks in London, and 1 month of mass resume faxing and over $100 at Kinkos before I got my first offer to be a photo assistant for fashion photographer, Justin Santos. I had no prior professional experience as a photo assistant and had very little knowledge of cameras and flashes from lack of training from Rutgers. (Rutgers is a wonderful school but they focused more on fine art study than technical training). To say that I had embellished my resume would be a major understatement. The only truths on my resume were my name and phone number. I had lied about all prior experiences, making up names of photographers I had previously shot for, and made up clients that the made up photographers had shot for. I listed names of lights and cameras and techniques that I was supposed to know but didn't. Even my home address was made up since I wasn’t living in New York at the time. If I had received my resume I would have hired me too.
After interviewing with Justin, and for once acing that, he said he'd give me a trial day at a shoot with the lead singer of Scissor Sisters for Out Magazine the following week. If I did well, he would hire me. On the shoot day, I got there early and Justin and crew (Agent and 2 assistants) were late. The lighting rental came with $5000 worth of equipment rentals and dropped everything off on the sidewalk. I, by myself, carried 800 pounds of equipment up to the second floor studio. I believe that was what impressed Justin. I was reliable and I could probably bench more than him.
During the shoot I had no idea what trouble my resume fabrication would cause me. The photo editors of Out, Scissor Sisters' manager, Justin's agent, hair, makeup, and creative directors, were all there shouting different orders all at once. Justin was yelling for equipment that I had never heard of, let alone know what they looked like. His first assistant, Georgi Georgiev (yes that is his real name), was asking me to hand him films I did not know. Editors were telling me to adjust the lights in techniques I never learned. I scurried around for 8 hours, tripping over lights, and exposing film. The fact that Justin still hired me should tell you something about him. He's an idiot.
Since Justin caught on quick that I clearly had no experience and had no idea what I was doing, he decided to use me for unpaid "intern" days which were spent in the studio "learning the ropes" in between shoot days and dark room days. I was paid $100 for shoot days and dark room days which is $150 less than what I should have been paid, experience or no experience. I would leave my house at 6am to catch the 6:24 am train into NYC to get to the studio by 8am. I would spend a few hours getting familiar with his cameras and filing his negatives and making calls to potential clients. Then I would head off to the darkroom in Brooklyn and print until midnight, when they closed. Then, I would catch the 12:37 train and arrive home at 1:54 am only to get up at 5:30am again for work the next day. I did this 7 days a week.
Somewhere in between all this hustling around, I could only blame my fatigue for not hearing when Justin mentioned his "side project" to me. Justin told me that on the days that we weren't shooting for editorial clients we will be shooting for his "side project," LuxPorn, a company that he co-owns. Ok sure. More shooting meant more training for me. I loved shoot days. As I rode home on the 12:37 train I thought to myself, "LuxPorn, Luxporn...Could I be shooting porn?" Thinking and pondering for 2 minutes. "No way.”
The next day I showed up for the shoot early and set up the lights and backdrop. Georgi Georgiev helped me. We did not speak much. Justin showed up when we were done setting up, a diva always. The model was late so Justin decided to use this time to brief me on the shoot. "Ok Nina, whatever you do, do not look at his penis." (Penis was pronounced Pe-nith). I think I would have been fine had he not told me this. Since he gave me specific orders to not look at his penis, I felt I was going to have an Austin Powers outburst moment (Molee, Molee, Molee, Molee!) and just ogle at his penis shouting, "Penis! Penis! Penis! Penis!" Not looking was even more difficult when I had to lint brush his black t-shirt (his sole article of clothing) that hung loosely over his penis. I had to be careful not to look but to also not blush when rolling the lint brush over his t-shirt, over his penis. This was the moment I realized I was working in porn.
My friend Alan was the first person I called on the train home. Conversation went as so:
Me: Dude, I think I'm working in porn.
Alan: HAHAHAHA. What do you mean you think you are working in porn?
Me: I mean, I dunno. I started assisting this fashion photographer and today we shot porn.
Alan: HAHAHA. How does one not realize they've gotten into porn?
The next few months were a blur between intern days, shoot days, dark room days, and porn days. I worked 14 hour days, 7 days a week. I ate a breakfast bar on the morning train, packed a king size bag of peanut M&M's which I split between lunch and dinner. Justin never ate. There was no place near his studio to buy food. He never asked if I wanted to take a lunch. So I didn't.
Some days I would be at the dark room from 8am until 12am. I would be printing 16x20 images of penises of all sizes and "poses". Color printing is rather tricky. You have to get the perfect ratio of Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow for the penis to not be too blue, too pink, or too yellow. I would tack up these larger than life size penises on the natural light wall, step back a few feet and stare at the penises through the color correctors. "Do you think that's too pink? Or too yellow?" I would ask the other assistants in the dark room, forgetting that I had a 20 inch picture of a penis tacked up to the wall. "Wow, I want your job," gushed a gay printer, drooling over my work.
On my way home I called Alan again.
Me: Dude, guess what I did all day.
Alan: What?
Me: Looked at pictures of penises all day through a magnifying lens to see if the focus is sharp.
Alan: You do realize you can’t even put this on your resume right?
On another printing day Justin came with me. We had a deadline and needed 4 printing hands instead of 2. Standing with our backs to each other in the darkroom, Justin nonchalantly asked me if I did drugs. "No," I answered. "Are you like against it?" He asked. "No," I said," I just never got into it, you know?" "Oh good," he says, "Don't do it." I turned around and saw him doing lines off of a print of a penis. That was when I realized why we never breaked for lunch.
Post Note: I no longer work for Justin. He has since left for California without paying me the last $500 that he owes me. That bastard.
I am Beautiful: For just a Penny a Day
This is a panegyric to the people I encounter daily who can make my day or at least manage to unfurl my snarl for just a few minutes…
1) The NJ Transit Bus Driver who lets me ride for free every morning.
2) The Parking Attendant Guy next to my work who smiles and waves and says, "I love you," with his hand over his heart as I walk by 10 times a day.
3) The Guys at the Corner Café where I get my coffee every morning and my lunch every day at 1pm. They always have my small coffee with skim ready or add avocado to my sandwich, no extra charge.
4) The Guy Who Stands With the Empty Water Cooler Bottle outside of Barnes and Noble asking for just one penny a day to help the homeless. I drop in a penny everyday and he says "Thanks, beautiful" everyday.
It is small and it is simple but for a few minutes a day (and a penny) my mood is lifted and I am genuinely happy.
1) The NJ Transit Bus Driver who lets me ride for free every morning.
2) The Parking Attendant Guy next to my work who smiles and waves and says, "I love you," with his hand over his heart as I walk by 10 times a day.
3) The Guys at the Corner Café where I get my coffee every morning and my lunch every day at 1pm. They always have my small coffee with skim ready or add avocado to my sandwich, no extra charge.
4) The Guy Who Stands With the Empty Water Cooler Bottle outside of Barnes and Noble asking for just one penny a day to help the homeless. I drop in a penny everyday and he says "Thanks, beautiful" everyday.
It is small and it is simple but for a few minutes a day (and a penny) my mood is lifted and I am genuinely happy.
Friday, August 3, 2007
I despise Bar-Leftovers!
Man, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. There was another late night/early morning Beer and Bimbos After Party hosted by my roommates. Bar-Leftover Biatch mistaked my bedroom for the bathroom no less than 5 times. I finally fell asleep around 5am by counting the number of bones I wanted to break on her body.
On the brighter side, I got paid today which means I can eat again. Yay!
On the brighter side, I got paid today which means I can eat again. Yay!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Urban Cows
n. People who otherwise seem like respectable, civilized professionals yet feel the need to chomp at their gum with their mouths open, making a smack, smack, smacking sound.
Did your mother teach you nothing? Chew with your mouths closed! Like, ew.
Did your mother teach you nothing? Chew with your mouths closed! Like, ew.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Weekend
Friday night we went out for Kate's birthday. Had dinner at Siam. Went to Red after. That's about all I can remember.
Spent Saturday puking up what I assume I drank and ate the night before.
Rainy Sunday...Got some Thai take-out. Watched Zodiac. Thought the movie was going to be gory like Seven but it wasn't. And Jake Gyllenhaal playing a "retard" is still hot. Thumbs up movie.
Spent Saturday puking up what I assume I drank and ate the night before.
Rainy Sunday...Got some Thai take-out. Watched Zodiac. Thought the movie was going to be gory like Seven but it wasn't. And Jake Gyllenhaal playing a "retard" is still hot. Thumbs up movie.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Oh Jeeezus!
Walking down Washington street today I noticed a woman in her 60's holding a dry erase board up as a sign. It read:
"You have to be Roman Catholic to get into Heaven."
Oh shit. I guess the suicide bombers didn't get the memo.
"You have to be Roman Catholic to get into Heaven."
Oh shit. I guess the suicide bombers didn't get the memo.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
What, No cake?
Today was my 1 year anniversary at my current place of employment. Woo.
"Congratulations, you haven't killed yourself yet."
"Congratulations, you haven't killed yourself yet."
Monday, July 23, 2007
Things I wondered about today
Upon waking up:
1) If you've been doing something every single day of your entire life, wouldn't it somehow get easier? I just can't understand why it is so fucking difficult to wake up every morning when I've done it 9,131 times before.
While at work:
2) Would anyone actually notice if I didn't show up for a week?
During lunch:
3) How many consecutive days can I eat only french fries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before I don't crave them anymore.
During what I thought would be a quick phone call to my mom, wishing her a safe flight to Thailand:
4) How much easier my life would be if I could communicate with my mom solely through text messages.
1) If you've been doing something every single day of your entire life, wouldn't it somehow get easier? I just can't understand why it is so fucking difficult to wake up every morning when I've done it 9,131 times before.
While at work:
2) Would anyone actually notice if I didn't show up for a week?
During lunch:
3) How many consecutive days can I eat only french fries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before I don't crave them anymore.
During what I thought would be a quick phone call to my mom, wishing her a safe flight to Thailand:
4) How much easier my life would be if I could communicate with my mom solely through text messages.
My weekend
This weekend, my brother came home to attend his 10 year high school reunion. I really loved that he brought his laundry all the way from North Carolina because he doesn't have a washer/dryer in his house. Aside from that, he really did look grown up with his shiny new wedding band.
Meanwhile, instead of my usual weekends spent eating, drinking, and sleeping, Caroline and I decided to try something new and go to an all day rock show in Asbury.
There would be nothing out of the ordinary about this except that Caroline and I don't actually like rock music. We had no idea what one wears to rock shows so we raided her little sister's closet and pilfered any article of clothing with skulls, holes, or graphics. But then we realized we looked like Avril Levine going to a Black Sabbath show...so I just opted to keep on the black liner.
Overall the night was a pretty good laugh...like Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha going to CBGB. Needless to say, I will be sticking to places that serve martinis.
Meanwhile, instead of my usual weekends spent eating, drinking, and sleeping, Caroline and I decided to try something new and go to an all day rock show in Asbury.
There would be nothing out of the ordinary about this except that Caroline and I don't actually like rock music. We had no idea what one wears to rock shows so we raided her little sister's closet and pilfered any article of clothing with skulls, holes, or graphics. But then we realized we looked like Avril Levine going to a Black Sabbath show...so I just opted to keep on the black liner.
Overall the night was a pretty good laugh...like Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha going to CBGB. Needless to say, I will be sticking to places that serve martinis.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Sifting through women's panties..
Last night I had the exciting task of driving down to Red Bank Police Station to look through over 100 pages of pictures of recovered stolen goods. Some items were stolen out of my car in November, and then, oh silly me for not learning my lesson, once again in December. The lowlife took my jacket I bought in Italy, $400 cash, all my change, even under the seats, my lucky Buddha, my makeup bag incuding makeup in it, and my October 06 issue of Glamour. And then in December he/she stole my Nike running sneakers that were 6 years old.
Apparently they caught someone who had been burglarizing homes in the Red Bank area who confessed to a bunch of car thefts as well. The thief was Mexican though I'm not implying anything by adding that. This man apparently stalked his targets, women in their 20s, before breaking into their homes or cars. Apparently he stole only female items that he kept for his own personal pleasure. I looked through pictures of pink ipods, purses, shoes, jewelry, makeup, razors, and photos of the women that he stole from which he had hanging in his own room.
Unfortunately I was not able to identify anything as mine which means there's another fucker still out there wearing my jacket and Nike's, stroking my lucky Buddha. All I left with was the detective's number.
Apparently they caught someone who had been burglarizing homes in the Red Bank area who confessed to a bunch of car thefts as well. The thief was Mexican though I'm not implying anything by adding that. This man apparently stalked his targets, women in their 20s, before breaking into their homes or cars. Apparently he stole only female items that he kept for his own personal pleasure. I looked through pictures of pink ipods, purses, shoes, jewelry, makeup, razors, and photos of the women that he stole from which he had hanging in his own room.
Unfortunately I was not able to identify anything as mine which means there's another fucker still out there wearing my jacket and Nike's, stroking my lucky Buddha. All I left with was the detective's number.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
How to get a woman in the sack:
I went to the Park Ave South CVS today near the W Hotel. On line in front of me stood a Spanish man, 5'2, medium build, frosted hair, and not very attractive. I looked over his shoulder to see what he was buying. In his hands were:
1) A card
2) A bag of atomic fireballs
3) A pack of magnum condoms
Nothing like a romantic card and some fireballs to get you in the mood!
1) A card
2) A bag of atomic fireballs
3) A pack of magnum condoms
Nothing like a romantic card and some fireballs to get you in the mood!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
My Roommate's Birthday
Of course when I tell these guys that I'm going out for one drink, and only because Sergio's finally a real man, it really means 2 margheritas, 1 car bomb, 1 yager bomb, 1 red drink, and 2 bottles of wine. I'm really glad I drew the line when Andrew tried to make me drink Sergio's MamaJuana from the Dominican. And I'm also really glad that someone came home and forgot the difference between a toilet and a bath mat. Oh and I'm also really glad I stepped in it.
Happy Birthday Sergio!
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