Why does julian casablancas hate pringles

What is julian casablancas? Simply looking at Julian makes me fall off the chair in ectasy. Julian Casablancas is amazing. Wow, Julian , you are a great kisser Oh right , Julian Casablancas is the most talented , hottest guy ever. I'm going to see Julian Casablancas and the Strokes April 22nd , ! When the band got serious, Fraiture decided to learn the bass his grandfather had bought him for Christmas, playing along to songs by Blur and the Jackson 5.

Unlike his classmates, Fraiture grew up crammed into a two-room apartment with his parents, his brother, his brother's adopted girlfriend and his adopted sister. He still lives in the apartment, but only with his brother now. His father was security manager at Macy's; one day, he caught his very own Nikolai stealing a Luke Skywalker doll from the department store.

Moretti flips on Leno and cranks up the sound. One of the hardest things about dating Barrymore, he says, is seeing her kiss someone onscreen. The couple met backstage at a concert more than a year ago and recently bought an apartment together in the East Village.

When she comes on TV, Moretti stares at her rapt, clearly smitten. A car pulls up. The driver is here to take Moretti to the airport to pick up Barrymore, but Moretti wants to finish watching her on TV. Barrymore shows Leno some photos she has taken, two of which are of Moretti.

She mentions his name, but not his band. Moretti is unsure about the whole thing, worrying that discussing him seems cheesy or boring. That's the first thing I noticed about her. It's a rough night for Casablancas, who's complaining about how he dislikes Pringles again.

Hammond who is dating Catherine Pierce, one half of the countrified-pop sister duo the Pierces is hanging out with the boys tonight. I last see him at the bottom of the stairs, asking where his shoes are. He is wearing them. At am, an hour after I've left the bar, Hammond calls to ask where everyone is. He's still considering going out.

The next afternoon, he calls again. You already know what he is wearing. He's tired from having spent the day battling RCA over the artwork for Room on Fire and doing interviews with the international press.

He announces with evident pride that he has finally invented a stock answer to "the Nigel Godrich question". Originally, the band hired Radiohead producer Godrich to work on the CD. But their working habits didn't jibe: Godrich constantly wanted to press forward, but the Strokes like to labour over every sound. I ask Casablancas what his great sound-bite about Godrich is, and he says he will tell me when we start the interview. This seems like as good a time as any.

And so begins the worst interview ever. The thing about Casblancas is that he speaks and sways like he's out of it, but if you stick around him long enough, you begin to realise that he is ultra-aware of everything going on. I tell him this. I just think I try to be a good person, and I fail. With that, Casablancas reaches over to the tape recorder and turns it off. I look at him. He looks at me. Then I turn it back on and try something easier. Once again, he reaches across the table and places his dirty fingernail over the stop button.

Then he just stays in his seat, swaying and staring. I suggest stopping the interview and just having a normal conversation, but with the tape on.

He declines: "I just don't have anything deep to say," he says. But what I meant a few minutes ago, if I can even recall what I was saying, is just that there's so much shit to do, and so little time. And everything I have to say is not going to be in this one interview. The issue, he explains, is that he believes in a higher power, some call it God. Right now, that higher power is telling him that it is not the right time for him to say anything.

And it won't be time until the Strokes prove themselves to the world, until they do something that he terms "undeniable". That's definitely not a word, by the way. And I look forward to the future, blah, blah, blah, blah.

A few minutes later, Casablancas picks up his beer, downs three quarters of the bottle in one gulp, slams it to the table, stands up and walks to the video game, Golden Tee. He addresses the bar. No one responds. Four minutes later, he returns to the table. Then he sits in my lap, kisses me seven times on the neck, and makes three lunges for my lips, connecting once. On his wrist were three fraying colored paper bracelets: one from a Kings of Leon concert a week earlier, another from a Stooges show two weeks ago, and a third from a Vines show who knows when.

When asked what his great soundbite was, Casablancas said he would tell me when we began the interview. The tape deck was dutifully started. And so began…the worst interview ever.

If you see it that way, cool, thanks. So how do you see it? I just think I try to be a good person — and I fail. Casablancas reaches over the table and presses stop on the tape deck. Then he immediately starts it again. Half sober, half drunk. Looks warily at the tape recorder, then speaks into the microphone: Rape is bad. Very, very bad. Oh man, good times. He leans over and turns off the tape deck again, then sits in his seat, swaying and staring.

We have until P. He then points to the feet of people passing by. One, two. And their heartbeat is in a certain rhythm. Their fucking step is in a certain rhythm. He admits that not everyone likes it when he taps his fingers all the time. Fraiture, shy, happy-go-lucky and wearing a Ricky Skaggs shirt, arrives in the office and collapses on the couch, not far from the two office video games—Galaga and Golden Tee.

Casablancas met his bandmates over the years at various private schools—elementary, boarding and high school. When the band got serious, Fraiture decided that it was time to begin learning the bass his grandfather had bought him for Christmas, playing along with songs by Blur and the Jackson 5. He still lives in the apartment, but only with his brother now. Moretti settles on the couch, flips on Leno and cranks up the sound. One of the hardest things about dating Barrymore, he says, is seeing her kiss someone onscreen.

The couple met backstage at a concert more than a year ago and recently bought an apartment together in the East Village. When she comes on TV Moretti stares at her rapt, clearly smitten. A car pulls up outside. The driver is here to take Moretti to the airport to pick up Barrymore, but Moretti wants to finish watching her on TV first.

Barrymore shows Leno some photos she has taken, two of which are of Moretti. She mentions his name, but not his band. Moretti is unsure about the whole thing, worrying that discussing him seems cheesy or boring. Hammond, who is dating Catherine Pierce one-half of the countrified-pop sister duo the Pierces , is hanging out with the boys tonight.

I last see him at the bottom of the stairs, asking where his shoes are. He is wearing them. Hi, Mom. At A. The next afternoon, at P. You already know what he is wearing. It is similar to the first album, but more refined, a tighter, more studio-proficient version of the Strokes, finally adding to the small repertoire of songs that most fans have burned out on by now.

I ask Casablancas what his great sound bite about Godrich is, and he says he will tell me when we start the interview. And so begins the worst interview ever. I tell him this. I just think I try to be a good person —and I fail. With that, Casablancas reaches over to the tape recorder and turns it off. I look at him.