Meagan Cignoli

Meagan Cignoli is an up-and-coming fashion and portrait photographer in NYC. Only in her 20s, she has already photographed fashion editorials and features for the likes of Elle magazine, Prestige magazine, Fortune, Womens Wear Daily, and Industry magazine.

To say Cignoli is an incredible photographer would not only be an understatement, it would detract from what she actually does best--telling stories, creating characters, and playing with identities. Meagan's photographs have the feel of motion picture still lifes whose plots you are yearning to discover. Whether capturing beautiful women in exotic locales or mere mortals in the throes of mundanity, all of Meagan's images are perfectly crafted homages to mood and detail. Needless to say, we were excited to interview her here at Chicktellectual.

She specifically requested a gossipy roommate on her freshman housing application form

     I have a piece of sobering news for pimple-faced adolescent boys inundated with movies (porn), magazines (porn), and television shows (porn) that titillate with images of collegiate girl-on-girl action. Turns out those college girls may actually be *studying* instead of getting it on with each other. Studying something decidedly unsexy like Entomology or 19th Century Victorian Literature. At least, this is according to the New York Times, which recently published the results of a study suggesting that women with bachelor's degrees were actually less likely to have had a same-sex experience than those who did not finish high school.

     "Kaboom" is a candy-coated color-blasted appeal to the senses as loud and cartoonish as its title. A frenetically paced sci-fi sex romp (yes sci-fi sex romp), the film is centered around a group of impossibly pretty teens and their college escapades. Throw in some magic cookie dust and whirling dervish cinematography, and you get something that feels like MTV's Skins ate Alice's mushrooms.

If you haven't been watching The A-List: New York on the gay-centric Logo channel these past two months, your life has had a Prada-shaped meteoric-sized hole. This gem of a reality show is so deliciously bitchy, it puts the Real Housewives to shame. The A-List follows five gay boys who claim to comprise the creme de la creme of New York's "fabulous people", their relationships, hook-ups, party disasters, and catfights. Watching this show is a sad reminder that no matter what demographic you are in, someone, somewhere, has created a Jersey Shore just for you. For those of you who need a recap, allow me to break it down.

Gabrielle Lindau

 I recently had the pleasure of speaking with the lovely and talented filmmaker/director Gabrielle Lindau. An openly queer artist, Gabrielle's projects frequently deal with LGBT issues and themes. Her short film, These Showers can Talk, which premiered in August, is a comedic take on the world of lesbian liaisons, stereotypes, and dating. The official movie release for the film was covered by Go Magazine and girlnationnyc. Gabrielle also directed Lori Michaels in "The Right", a music video for Lori Michaels Productions and Reach Out, Inc., a non-profit organization. She officially joined Reach Out, Inc. as a spokesperson for the nationwide marriage equality campaign, "i want the RIGHT", prior to its launch on February 14, 2010.

Gabrielle's latest endeavor, Who You Are, is a feature length film which tackles the recent homophobic backlash which has been occurring worldwide. The film introduces a serious dialogue about hate crimes against the international LGBT community, and what must be done to stop them.

      I pick up good stories where most people do -- from their hairdressers. My latest story is no exception. My sweet-as-sugar hair stylist at Panyc Salon (blatant plug alert!) recently told me the true story of a quirky elderly couple; we'll call them "Frank" and "Mary" because those are good 'quirky, elderly couple' names. So Frank and Mary were an elderly couple who were married for the better part of 50 years. They had their ups and downs as most married couples do, but on the whole had a happy partnership based on mutual love, commitment, and respect.

       The comparisons were inevitable. One is a sexually provocative, envelope-pushing, hit-churning, fashion-risk-taking, controversy-thriving, gay pop icon. And the other is....well, the same thing. While Gaga is clearly much newer to the fame game and has yet to demonstrate the enormous staying power of Queen Madge, they have both developed their own unique brands of cultural hysteria and fiercely loyal fanbases. Allow Chicktellectual to break it down for you.

Arielle with her Electric Guitar
Photo by Rebecca Weiss Photography

        If you haven't had the pleasure of hearing Arielle perform in one of her numerous gigs throughout the Village club circuit, I can tell you first-hand you are missing out. Arielle is one of those rare breed of musicians who can draw you in without fancy synth beats, overwhelming noise, exotic instrumental backup, or gimmickry of any kind. When you listen to her play, regardless of venue, it feels as though you are being treated to an intimate performance in your living room. It is precisely this raw, vulnerable "just a girl and her guitar" quality that distinguishes Arielle from many of her acoustic folk/pop peers and keeps her fans coming back for more. Her voice, breathy and ethereal, is a stand-out, and her lyrics about inner conflict, love, and loss, are universally relateable.

       I recently contacted Arielle to discuss her music and her upcoming gig at Recoup Lounge in the Lower East Side on October 24th. I was given the scoop on everything from her musical inspirations to her thoughts on Kanye *cough*douche*cough* West.

Eat your heart out, Mrs Lavigne

      A few nights ago, I ended the procrastination, threw out the excuses, and took steps towards the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. While it's usually not easy to cross over that threshold--you know the one--the divider between one's wishes and goals, and tangible action geared toward the attainment of those goals, I suppose my time had come. I decided that life's too short to just let it fritter away without exploring the depths of my potential....yes folks, I *FINALLY* bought a skateboard.

     It's always around this time that my head is the clearest--when the rest of the world is out cold. "3:16 a.m." flashes ominously on my bedside alarm clock, but I pay it no mind and light my spliff. Let me paint a picture for you. A dumptruck on the corner of Mulberry and Houston. A black homeless guy with dreads singing a not entirely off-key rendition of "I Got You Babe" on the steps of Nolita House. The mood is light, the air is playful, and you can feel the approach of Spring. Even the gutter rats seem to be regrouping.

Artist Justine Bassani

    I distinctly remember the first time I glimpsed Ms. Justine Marie Bassani's paintings in her artfully cluttered downtown apartment. That she was abundantly talented was obvious, but perhaps less obvious were the emotions she was trying to convey through her work -- or rather the emotions they evoked in me. Most of Justine's paintings were marginally distorted portraits of women often appearing lost in thought, on the brink of revelation, or embroiled in some sort of inner turmoil. I remember feeling vaguely disturbed when I studied her paintings closely; almost as though I was intruding on the subjects' most vulnerable, intimate moments. However, I also felt empowered by the strength and defiance the characters seemed to exude.

        I was watching Sesame Street videos with my adorable 15-month-old neice, Ava, when she started calling out for "mama." Nothing unusual there. Except that on closer listen, her excited and even borderline agitated cries sounded more along the lines of "O-mama." In case my suspicions needed confirming, my brother-in-law explained that Ava was calling out for Mr. Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States, and apparent baby rock star on par with the likes of Elmo. It turns out my niece had seen snippets of Mr. Obama's first televised press conference the previous day, and was so moved by his speech that she was demanding a Youtube replay. Precocious little tyke. My brother-in-law, being the dutiful father, complied with her request, and the high-pitched furry red muppet who had been singing the wonders of going potty was abruptly replaced by our cool-demeanored President discussing the significance of bipartisanship.

[Editors note: In honor of International Free Hugs Day, February 13, 2009, Chicktellectual.com is proud to promote the hugging of Lawyers by publishing this article.]

Like lawyers, killer whales (orcas) are often misunderstood, but are, in fact, quite huggable.

   Now I am not defending all lawyers or claiming that there are no slimeball, money-hungry attorneys out there, true to stereotype. But most of the lawyers I know are well-intentioned, albeit socially awkward, folk who made the unfortunate decision of going to law school. A lot of my fellow newly admitted attorneys were idealistic at the outset of law school and even motivated by the opportunity to help people and participate in the process of justice. Seriously. Others, probably the majority, graduated college with fabulous GPAs and the horrifying prospect that they had absolutely no idea what to do with their lives. These directionless overachievers proved easy prey for overbearing parents and societal forces of "practicality" (ugh!). Still other students craved the excitement of Law & Order-esque courtroom drama, and hoped their future careers in law would be chock-full of these scenarios.