Review: La Vie de Luxe Magazine

This past Good Friday I had the good sense (inspired by the goodest do-gooder of them all, Jesus Christ) to steal my neighbor's Globe and Mail.  I read their half-decent reporting on the ongoing protests in Tibet (why don't the Beastie Boys just show up and turn it into a sub-atomic rap battle? They have been representin' Tibet for years, yo) and then flipped to the glossy magazine included in the centre fold of the paper. I expected to find something similar to the National Post's Saturday Night magazine, which is a random mish-mash of human interest pieces, Rolex advertisements, and scene-and-heard columns about the rich, famous, and rich and famous. Instead, I found this piece of shit pictured to the left.

La Vie de Luxe is a quarterly publication that is distributed through the Globe. I believe the French name of the magazine translates loosely to "My daughter has a trust fund and a Coach purse." According to the editors, this "magazine" aims to "celebrate luxury in all its forms." They claim that the very notion of luxury has changed in recent years and now simply refers to "life's simple pleasures." Yes, life's simple pleasures like the Aeroscraft ML866 private blimp-jet (page 30), Chanel's new line of tennis racquets (page 32), and a 1949 Carlo Mollino coffee table that was recently auctioned for $3.8 million (page 94).

By including this glossy catalogue for CEOs (who have no originality when it comes to purchasing an "I'm sorry about the prostitute again" gift for his wife) disguised as a a magazine, the Globe is essentially trying to set itself high above the other newspapers as some elitist newspaper that should be read while sipping gourmet coffee brewed by your live-in Mexican housekeeper (whose cousin subsequently picked the beans back home). Sorry Globe and Mail, Conrad Black and the Asper family already established the National Post as that paper. Having some form of dignity and class as a publication does not require you to pander to people who own Michael Kors sunglasses and Zegna footwear.

Thankfully, the magazine does include one useful feature, its RSVP section (pictured to the right). Here, they chronicle several different parties attended by such A-listers as Joel Madden, P!nk, and Ashton Kutcher. The questions that tend to eat away at my soul on a day-to-day basis generally are:

1. What would Carrie Underwood wear to a post-Grammys party at the Beverly Hills Hotel?
2. Did John Legend adore the crab cakes?

Thanks to RSVP, those questions will no longer keep me up at all hours of the night and I will no longer have to take a swig of Nyquill (or the Life Brand equivalent) to help me get to sleep.

Finally, my favourite feature in this particular issue is one entitled "The 50 Best Places in the World to Stay," where the travel destinations are conveniently broken down into spots that are good for yacht-enthusiasts, those wishing to dodge the paparazzi, whatever the fuck "escapes for those in the know" are, and of course the infamous Asian sweatshop tour. I find it very interesting that the 50 best places to visit are not also the 50 best places to live. One of the article's best spots for yacht lovers is French Polynesia. I suppose that visiting the region for a few weeks to ride around in expensive sailboats, eat caviar, and abuse the locals does not bring with it the same amount of radiation from nuclear testing by the French government as living there year-round does. Another featured location is Tibet, which the article lists in its "decadence right on track" section. In this section, the article lists the best destinations for luxurious travel by Bombardier trains that travel at unnecessarily high speeds and have unnecessarily large flat-screen TVs in each cabin. This rail line that travels to the heart of Tibet might provide the adventurous (what says adventure like wireless VolP and a WiFi connection in each cabin?!) and affluent with spectacular views of the Tibetan plateau, but as the article I initially read in the Globe mentions, it is also the cause of a type of cultural genocide for the Tibetan people. So, as you sip your cognac and eat your organic fruit salad aboard the train, remember that due to this very rail line Tibet has seen an influx of Chinese migrants to the region, causing Tibetans to feel as though they are being reduced to a minority in their own land. Pair that marginalization with the forced education children receive in Tibetan schools on Chinese patriotism and the fact that Buddhist monasteries have been infiltrated by tourists forcing monks to pose for photographs while they try to meditate, and I can only conclude that Tibet is fucked and being bombarded by total assholes. The last thing they need is a trainload of rich, arrogant North Americans showing up to further taint the region.

M83 - Saturdays = Youth

Plain Letters

Daddy's little ghost will wave her arms

and pray that no one knows

About the night she came home to find

her father grazing soles upon the floor

I can't find myself...

Because now I'm some asshole with a goatee.

Goats are pleasant (well, fairly pleasant...that sound they make can probably become quite irritating) and useful animals. They provide us with an alternate source of milk which can then be sold at inflated prices at stores like Whole Foods. Essentially, goats enable us to maintain an upper echelon of society––one that fuels itself on organic goat's milk feta cheese and remains relatively warm while strolling down Cumberland in cashmere and angora sweaters. Also, goats generally look pretty fucking cool––check out those horns!

Unfortunately, the good name of goats has been slandered by a form of facial hair that separates the date-rapists from the midnight gropers. A midnight groper generally only sports a soul patch or a mustache, whereas the full-on date-rapist has a regularly trimmed tuft of chin hair that is connected to a mustache, otherwise known as a goatee.

There is no reason for one to grow a goatee other than to tell the world, "Hey, I'm a fucking asshole!" Here is a list of the type(s) of fellows who generally have goatees:

- Sportscasters

- Maddox

- "Pro" Wrestlers

- High School Computer Teachers

- 40-something artists who also have a dangling earring and a failed career/life and have just adopted the goatee recently to look "edgier"

My brother and I were pondering the other day as to why Robert Smith of The Cure reminds us of Tim Burton films. Well, it's pretty fucking obvious, I'm not entirely certain what there was to ponder. In our defense, this was after at least two wine coolers, so we were not at the top of our game. Oh, Strawberry-Kiwi, you will be the death of me! Robert Smith has the unruly Edward Scissorhands hair, the gothic persona, and dresses similarly to Tim Burton himself (shapeless black button-down shirts). In fact, Robert Smith and Tim Burton actually look nearly identical with the exception of one key attribute: Tim Burton has a goatee. At this point I find myself in a quandary: I enjoy Tim Burton's work, but he has a goatee, so am I to conclude that he is an asshole? One of the most visually inventive directors and the man who actually made Michael Keaton seem cool for the duration of two Batman movies AND Beetlejuice––an asshole?

In Burton's defense, he may have made the painful decision to sport a goatee in order to look like an asshole and thus appeal to a wider audience (I call this the "Steve Merchant Approach"). Also, he may have donned the goatee in order to cloak himself as an asshole and avoid the ridicule and "art fag" beatings he probably has received throughout much of his life. For this, I suppose I can forgive him. He still looks like an asshole though.  

Chris Walla - Field Manual

MGMT - Oracular Spectacular

Nurses - Hangin' Nothin' But Our Hands Down

Andrew Bird - Soldier On

Steve Merchant is a bloody wanker.

To begin with, the word "wanker" in the title is underlined in red on my computer to suggest that it is either not a word or spelled incorrectly. Listen here PowerBook G4, not only is wanker a word, but I spelled it correctly. I bet Steve Merchant would support that point despite the fact that I believe he is the thing that he is supporting me on. Bloody wanker.

I had the unfortunate opportunity today to peruse through my parents' copy of The Toronto Sun. After briefly studying the interests of today's Sunshine Girl (her dog and working out!) I flipped through the Entertainment section in order to see what the "journalist" had to say about last night's Big Brother or Lost or Survivor or Two and a Half Men or Herman's Head. As a supplement to the article on Extras was a little tidbit (or, in the Sun's case, titbit) on Steve Merchant, the writer/co-creator of both Extras and the British Office.  Now, I highly enjoy both Extras and The Office and even enjoy Merchant's brief acting in both. However, this Toronto Sun titbit really pissed me off...

The entire article is just a series of quotes by Merchant where he philosophizes on why Arrested Development was a "flop." If we solely base our conclusions on whether or not something is a flop on viewership and financial affluence then I think our scope is quite limited.

The wanker then has the audacity (I love that word, it perfectly articulates my outrage) to say "I can see how you could switch it [Arrested Development] on as an average Joe and not really get it. You'd sort of think 'Who are these crazy people and why do I care?' " Ah yes, I understand now. Merchant is concerned about the greater good of comedy. We must cater humour to the uneducated, naive and stupid of society. He goes on to toot his own crooked-toothed horn by stating that his shows have an "entry-point" for the audience: relatable characters. Merchant says "In the case of The Office it was the characters of Tim and Dawn, who were normal people surrounded by idiots." That's right, I forgot that one thing morons love is to watch a show in which they can relate to two smug office workers who are better than them.

In regards to Extras, Merhcant states that "Andy...is quite relatable in his own way. He's petty and jealous and aspiring, but he feels like a real guy in a slightly mad world." Good call you toothless fuck (that's right, during the writing of this blog Merchant has gone from having crooked teeth to no teeth at all. They really should institute a better dental plan in the UK), AD never even considered such a premise. Oh wait, that's what the whole fucking show is based on. Michael Bluth is "a real guy in a slightly mad world."

Quite frankly, all of Merchant's comments really come across as British arrogance. Arrested Development is certainly one of the best comedic programs in the history of time AND space and all Merchant can do is used warped logic to call it a "flop" and then prop his show up on some Buckingham Palace pedestal that is used anytime a British citizen wishes to display arrogance.

Finally, in regards to the supposed AD movie in pre-production, Merchant proposes that it might "be like the Police Squad TV show...it was a flop, but then they made the movie Naked Gun and it was a smash." Ah yes, compare Arrested Development to a program/movie series that relied on lowbrow humour and non-stop visual gags, you cock-mangling shithead (thanks Tim!). Actually, I hope the Arrested Development movie relies solely on rubber chickens and tit jokes. Then it will provide the "Average Joes" with something to relate to. Think of the hilarity when George Michael gets hit by a car again and again. And again. And again. Imagine the side-splitting laughter that will ensue upon seeing Gob sit on a whoopie cushion. Lucille's breasts just inexplicably exploded––hilarious! You're a bloody fucking wanker Steve Merchant, go work on your electro-shock lizard dance.