My friend Steven is the best describer I know. The best. Bar none. The most creative descriptions come out of his mouth - each inciting perfect imagery. They are, of course, funnier in person, but he will occasionally throw out some gems in one of my friends’ many email threads.

I searched through my recent email history for some highlights. Here are eight.

  • "that electronic high stress game" - Catch Phrase
  • "that busty lesbian from Just Shoot Me" - Laura San Giocomo
  • "an Anglerfish" - Miguel
  • "this wayward train" - Azealia Banks
  • like Mariah is slowly sucking out her soul and leaving behind some neon residue" - this photo of Kelly Clarkson
  • "a younger, more robotic Leann Rimes" - this photo of Faith Hill
  • "Sade voodoo magic" - Demi’s album art
  • "a selfless, dedicated Gaga spy" - Christina Aguilera
  • "weirdly overdesigned" -’s egg-shaped vibrators

As the Lazy Jay instrumental revved up, the venue was filled with unison chants to “212”: “I guess that cunt gettin’ eaten,” “I’mma ruin you cunt.” She didn’t sing the bridge—in fact, most singing was relinquished to the backing track—but the effect was still strong.

Read Steven’s write-up about last night’s Azealia Banks show on BlackBook because he knows what he’s talking about.

In the middle of Azealia’s set last night, Steven said, “I’m disappointed,” then proceeded to throw beads, wave balloon seaweed, and dance along as energetically as everyone else. We all left covered in sweat and confetti, with our minor disappointment in Banks’ performance doing absolutely nothing to change the fact that we had a great time. There was cotton candy, for Christ’s sake.