In Which We Get Inked

As Lightly As Possible

by GEORGIA HARDSTARK

Barbara was a bad influence, and conveniently I was bored of suburban life and craving a bad influence. We became friends quickly. Her favorite band was Stone Temple Pilots (this was in 1993, so I'd never heard of them), and we bonded over our all-encompassing, flannel clad obsession with Nirvana. Everywhere we went, we'd do so with our arms linked - mine looped through hers - and our heads tilted towards one another so our conspiratorial conversations wouldn't be overheard.

Do you remember what it felt like when you first discovered that there was a life away from your parents? When you first realized that you weren't a child anymore? For some of you that may have been later in life - in college or when you got your first car and had that taste of freedom — but for me, because I was a latchkey kid with a wild imagination, I experienced that when I was 13. I couldn't have picked a better (or worse, more likely) person to expose me to that life than Barbara.

photo by jonah ray I remember straddling her as she lay face-down on her couch one afternoon. We had ditched class like always, and her single mother was at work. She wanted the word "Love" carved into her back, she told me as she held a lighter to a razor blade to disinfect it, before handing it over to me. I pressed as lightly as possible, barely drew any blood, but I remember thinking how stupid she was for doing that. She was the dominant one in our relationship though, more of a boyfriend to me than a friend, so I didn't tell her this.

That's a whole part of my life that I'd like to forget. The girl I was back then is a stranger to me now, and when I see girls who are the age I was when I did those things I'd like to forget - the drugs, the sex, feeling invincible - I'm always shocked at how young they look. It doesn't jive with the image I had of myself back then.

Underneath the large tattoo on my leg, now covered by a Japanese flower, are her initials. With a safety pin and Indian ink, we carved each other's initials into our legs at the height of our friendship, which not long after came to a screeching halt over a guy.

Georgia Hardstark is the contributing editor to This Recording. She is a writer living in Los Angeles. Georgia also blogs here and tumbls here.

"Winter Games"  — Foreign Born (mp3) highly recommended

"Early Warnings" — Foreign Born (mp3)

"Vacationing People" — Foreign Born (mp3)

In Which Charlyne Yi's Paper Heart Unfurls On Michael Cera Before He Dumps Her

Manic Pixie Love & Its Opposites

by GEORGIA HARDSTARK

The current obsession with Zooey Deschanel by 20-something dudes of a certain brooding “indie” persuasion irritates me. I’m very open to the fact that it may just be jealousy on my part, as one could easily classify me as a manic pixie dream girl myself and not be that far off the mark, but I think it has more to do with how much attention and credit she gets for embodying this persona that is obviously so manufactured. I can look around the room at a bar or a show here in East Los Angeles, and find half a dozen girls that, given enough money, the right stylist, coaching in the delicate art of “how to be quirky yet aloof”, could be just as adorable and charismatic – if not more so – than Miss Deschanel.

Not to say she isn’t deserving of her fame. She’s a very talented actress, but ya know, some of us weren’t raised in Los Angeles by creative parents, didn’t attend art-centric schools or have cool older sisters. We weren't reared to be the ingénue Zooey has become. Some of us became that despite having none of the above. Just saying.

My argument against Zooey Deschanel being the embodiment of a cool, hip girl – one whom other girls would like to mirror their own personality and style after – became even more resolute as I sat in a dark theater on Monday night and found myself falling into girl-crush-land with Charlyne Yi, who plays herself in this year’s Sundance Film Festival's Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award recipient, Paper Heart.

Paper Heart is a sort of documentary/love story hybrid — the Zorse of the indie movie world, if you will.

Nick Jasenovec, who is behind the camera save for one scene where he makes a quick and quite appearance, follows Charlyne and an actor hired to play himself (the charismatic and incredibly believable Jake Johnson) as Charlyne attempts to uncover the meaning of love, how one attains and keeps it, and if she herself, having never experienced it, is capable of falling into it.

She hopes to absorb the fortune of the long married, illustrating their stories with quirky and charming dioramas. (The soundtrack is written and performed by the musically inclined Charlyne and the dude she falls for by the middle of the movie, Michael Cera.)

Honesty has a lot to do with Charlyne's charm, which is something you get the feeling she isn't aware she possesses. Where Zooey flaunts the truth and uses it as a weapon, Charlyne trips over it and punctuates it with an awkward joke, closing it up with a flash of her dimpled smile. Paper Heart never becomes overly sappy or resorts to stereotypical rom-com tactics.

The reason I'm smitten with Charlyne Yi is because she makes being awkward work, and if there's one thing I've been trying to overcome, I don't know, my entire life, it's my awkwardness — especially around the dreaded opposite sex. Conversations make me nervous. The thought of conversations make me nervous. Awkward silences scare the ever-loving hell out of me, and I've consumed enough snapped-in-half Xanax before a date or party to pacify even the most anxious people.

Sure I covet Zooey's wardrobe — her high-waisted skirts and flouncy tops — but Charlyne can rock a hoodie and a tangled ponytail and look adorable.

I won't spoil the ending for you, but I will say that instead of exhausting themselves by crushing on aloof girls who ultimately wouldn't give them the time of day, and even if they did, would probably become exhausted at the effort needed to woo a girl such as Zooey's character in 500 Days of Summer, said attention should be paid to Charlyne Yi who, even when falling for someone as she did in Paper Heart, always remains her funny, adorably awkward self.

Georgia Hardstark is the contributing editor to This Recording. She tumbls here, and blogs here.

"One Day Like This" — Elbow and the BBC Orchestra (mp3)

"Some Riot" — Elbow and the BBC Orchestra (mp3)

"The Fix" — Elbow and the BBC Orchestra (mp3)

In Which It's As Simple As Closing Your Eyes

First Kiss

by GEORGIA HARDSTARK

You walked me to my car. We were both drunk and had pizza breath. I was very excited. I swatted your hand away when it crept towards my breast, as I didn't want you thinking I was that kinda girl.

I had just picked you up at the airport. You kissed me while we were in the drive-thru line at Carl's Jr. not 30 minutes after we met. I remember wishing you had waited until we got to The Roost. Carl's Jr. is no place for first kisses.

After I said "you should probably kiss me now" while we were parked in my driveway.

Following a long bike ride through the abandoned streets of Silver Lake. We ate sandwiches on freshly baked bread and watched old men play chess before riding home just as the sun was coming up. We crawled into bed beside my red-haired friend, who was sleeping soundly. We had just met that night, and I found you absolutely thrilling.

You grabbed me by the collar, like bullies do to nerds in 80's movies, and kissed me roughly. I liked it. I've stolen that move, by the way. I don't think about you when I use it.

We were standing in your bedroom, which looked out over the lake that I had spent every summer of my life either on a rented paddle boat or casting a line from a rusting fishing rod into. I can't think of that day without the song "Ted Just Admit It" by Jane's Addiction getting stuck in my head.

In the middle of watching The Jerk. It was soft and lovely.

After my very first ride on the back of a scooter. We were standing on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway, listening to the waves crash, while your Vespa sat patiently waiting for its pilot. I realized with an arrow straight to the heart a couple months later that you were probably thinking about your girlfriend at the time.

After we drank a bucket of alcohol. I was hungover but happy the next day.

After a trip to the zoo. Your driving terrified me and your grasp of the English language was questionable...but goddamn, you were hot.

We were sitting in a wine bar and I had a glass of red clasped in my hand, which helped me to relax a little after our rigid first-date sushi dinner, so I was at ease when you slipped your arm around me and scooted closer to me in the booth. I turned my face towards you and you kissed me and I could feel your beard scratching against my face, and it was pretty perfect. I think we both know we’re not right for each other, and I’m really glad we’re friends, but god damn, all I can think of when I see you these days is how effing good you look now that you’ve shaved your beard.

You walked me to my car after a party. I knew you had a thing for me, and after that evening I could have had a thing for you too. That’s why I let you kiss me when we got to my car. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I found out about your girlfriend the next day, after I told a mutual friend about the kiss. I know you think I’m an asshole for blowing you off after that night, but I think you’re an asshole for kissing someone who isn’t your girlfriend, so we’re even.

You showed up to our date thirty minutes late and high as a kite. I forgave you because you had had some unfortunate incidents during the past month. I did have a really nice time, though. I think that’s partly because I knew there wouldn’t be a second date, so I didn’t feel any pressure. I could tell you were smitten with me. I was secretly cursing the fact that I couldn’t be this charming around the dude who had blown me off a week prior. I leaned in and kissed you while we were eating pizza on Hollywood Blvd. My life had never felt more like a romantic comedy, but I’m still not sure which one of us is the protagonist.

I was leaning in the doorway between the dining room and living room of your apartment while you put on a record. Had there been an earthquake at that moment, I wouldn’t have had to move from the safety of that doorway. Instead, though, you leaned down and kissed me. What we lacked in passionate conversation, mostly due to my baffling nervousness around you, we made up for with that make-out session. Even though it didn’t work out, you have to admit, for an all-clothes-kept-on sesh, it was pretty fucking fantastic.

I wish you had kissed me somewhere other than in your car, when you dropped me off at my house that night. Although, it was a passionate and butterfly-inducing enough kiss that I took back my decision not to go on another date with you. Unfortunately that only lasted for one more date. I’m still regretting that decision a little, if it makes you feel any better. You’re a charming guy with a heart of gold. But no. You live in Long Beach. It would never work.

Georgia Hardstark is the contributing editor to This Recording. She blogs here and tumbls here.

"Slay!" — McLusky (mp3)

"Icarus Smicarus" — McLusky (mp3)

"Your Children Are Waiting For You To Die" — McLusky (mp3)

"Kkkitchens, What Were You Thinking?" — McLusky (mp3)

"You Should Be Ashamed, Seamus" — McLusky (mp3)