Saturday, December 1, 2007
Tits and ass (word: "tits")- " vulgar slang chiefly N. Amer. (or chiefly Brit. tits and bums) used in reference to the use of crudely sexual images of women."
Sometimes the Mac dictionary assumes too much of its readers, believing them to be high-minded and thoughtful people. We see this with their assertion that those who use the phrase "tits and ass" are referencing marginalizing and shameful depictions of the female species, carved by years of male societal control. I'm sure that's exactly what Sir Mix-A-Lot had in mind when he famously exclaimed, "L.A.T. for the Oakland homeboys" ("large ass and tits," if you didn't know.) Also, "tits and bums." Heh.
Baby- "2 (informal) a young woman or a person with whom one is having a romantic relationship (often as a form of address) : my baby left me for another guy | baby, don't cry!"
The Mac dictionary writers must be lonely people, spending all their time looking up word etymologies and definitions that few will probably ever need to look up. So it makes sense that the example sentences, perhaps the writers' one creative outlet, provide a window into their soul. And this writer, it seems, has a very dark soul, hardened by his failed relationships with past women. His first woman cheated on him, and then his next girl was apparently a depressed psycho who would randomly start crying and was also apparently born in the 1950s, when it wasn't yet weird and outdated to refer to a girl as "baby."
Queer- "spoil or ruin (an agreement, event, or situation) : Reg didn't want someone meddling and queering the deal at the last minute."
Has anyone ever used the word "queer" as a verb? Like, seriously, ever? Because I've never heard it used this way, and I really don't see why anyone would choose to use this word when other words--for instance, "spoil" or "ruin"--work equally well. Unless you're writing one of those learn-this-word kids' books, only it's for gay kids so it has sentences like "Queer Michael was a queer who was queering the surprise party by getting a coke-induced nosebleed right before the birthday boy walked in."
Beer- "an alcoholic drink made from yeast-fermented malt flavored with hops : a pint of beer | I'm dying for a beer."
I mean, maybe the Mac people are so lonely that they are also alcoholics. Ladies, if you ever dip your hand into the singles jar, take out a Mac dictionary writer! He'll buy you a beer, guzzle down a few of his own, and say things like "Baby, you got a nice set of tits and bums." But then he'll tell you not to queer them by drinking too much and thus gaining weight, so maybe don't go out with a Mac dictionary dude.
1. Hillary Clinton - Lesbian
2. Barack Obama - Apparently smokes Marlboro Reds and should therefore win on that platform alone
3. Dennis Kucinich - Hot wife
4. John Edwards - He broke my heart in '04, I won't let him do it again
5. Joe Biden - I know nothing about this motherfucker
I used to be so into politics. I campaigned for Kerry/Edwards in '04 and attended rallies and went to the protest in D.C. for Bush's '04 inauguration. But now I am wholly disenchanted with the political process. Maybe it's because I've become a lazy, selfish college student who cares more about TheCobrasnake than CNN. Or maybe it's because the Democratic candidates are so awful for this election that I don't feel like I can connect to any of them. The sad truth is that Hillary won't win because she's a woman, and Barack won't win because he's black. I'd much rather have Barack in the White House than any other choice, but I just can't get fully behind him because I'm not convinced he has a legitimate chance of winning. He's young and inexperienced, and there are still some very, very red states.
So what if celebrities ran for President? Schwarzenegger did it in California, and now you can get a medical marijuana card for vague symptoms such as "back pain" and "anxiety." Below I give you the celebrities I think should run for President.
1. Lindsay LohanPlatform: Lower the drinking age to 18, legalize medicinal marijuana in all 50 states and the use of cocaine as an oral anesthesia, no clothing taxes.
Who would vote for her?: College students, apathetic urban voters, drug addicts, Dina Lohan
Reasoning: Lindsay Lohan truly is an American hero. She hasn't made a good movie in years and yet she still manages to top the A list with her ridiculous antics, such as crashing into trees outside of The Ivy in L.A. and holding other peoples' cocaine in her pocket. She is leader of the tanorexics and has really nice boobs, which is more than we can say for Hillary.
2. Tim GunnPlatform: The delegalization of Sarah Jessica Parker's fugly/crappy/cheap line Bitten, pro-gay marriage, free fashion education for all, and his foreign policy goals?: MAKE IT WORK.
Who would vote for him? Teh gayz, Heidi Klum, all Parsons students, not Santino
Reasoning: Tim Gunn is just so nice and lovable. If North Korea gave us shit about nukes he would go over there, hug Kim Il-sung and give him an AMEX gift card with $3,000 on it for a new wardrobe and all would be right with the world. He's also dignified and wears Armani suits and I get the sense he speaks 890432 languages because he's just that awesome.
3. Adrien GrenierPlatform: The legalization of marijuana, pro-gay marriage, the legalization of prostitution, free HBO for all
Who would vote for him? Women, gay men, Entourage fans, Anne Hathaway
Reasoning: In order to make world peace possible, Adrien would simply flash this picture around and there would be no more need for wars or hatred or violence: his beauty would assuage all the pain in the world and we could once again get high and fuck in the streets like they used to in the '60s. Utopia, anyone?
The Collected Work of Virginia Woolf
Ultra-Condensed by Annie Berke
Life is beautiful and tragic. Let's put flowers in a vase.
Friday, November 30, 2007
I recently downloaded Firefox, and while I love how smoothly it runs, I have developed another addiction to match my nicotine and penchant for unrequited love.
I have become addicted to Stumble.
My Bookmarks folder has become littered with random comics, jokes, and images that Stumble has brought to my attention. And since I apparently needed yet another method of procrastination, I now find myself spending up to an hour at a time Stumbling my way through the Internet.
It’s not just that I like the things I come across with Stumble, though that certainly encourages me. There’s something deeper about Stumble, though, that consistently draws me back to my computer, expecting to see things I could never imagine.
What Stumble does is highlight those tiny details, the minutiae of the World Wide Web, those singular pages that would otherwise be lost in a sea of Google, Yahoo, and Facebook. I am hopelessly attracted to hose fascinating conversations—for some reason preserved and recorded onto a Web page that its creators must have known few would ever see—the corny stories and aphorisms, pages offering self-help, advice, warnings; during one Stumble session, I found an acronym generator, a site that lets you replicate Jackson Pollock paintings, and what was dubbed “The Strangers Internet Video Online Ever!”
In a way, at the risk of sounding cheesy, I guess I Stumble through life. All of my close friends at school, the boyfriends that have come and gone, my favorite restaurants and dive bars—all of them found randomly, as though I had clicked an imaginary Stumble button on my existence and chosen to keep in my life those things I deemed worthy of, metaphorically speaking, bookmarking. It is the things I seek out—the perfect friend, the wildest party, the guy I’ve wanted to love me back for so long—that I can never seem to find. I long ago stopped believing in the value of planning out my life, and am content now to start my day not exactly knowing where or with whom I’ll end up. It’s usually no surprise—my best friend’s dorm room, for instance, is a common destination—but I’d rather not know for sure until I’m standing outside her door.
I guess that’s how I Stumble too. I discover new Web pages, new obsessions, new stories too good to be true and images too unbelievable to be staged. Yet I always seem to wind up on Facebook, reloading my Wall, and hoping that somebody tells me something new.
There’s a Web site I Stumbled upon called onesentence.org, a kind of virtual PostSecret, where people tell stories about their lives in one sentence. They range from the heartbreaking to the hilarious, and differ in length from a couple of words to, admittedly, the occasional run-on sentence. I am drawn, naturally, to the sad ones, the tiny tragedies that people therapeutically tell the online world. The simples ones work, I think. One of my favorites comes from “Ryan,” who tells us: “I had a crush on Katie, my ‘dream girl’, but she thought I was gross.” There is something so hopelessly final about it; conveying a rather common emotion, Ryan has encapsulated in a sentence what some novels try for and fail. The one-sentence rule forces you to choose every word wisely, to characterize entire lives in the span of a few lines. You read so much into so little; another story goes, “Knowing that my miscarriage brought him relief is something I'm not sure I'll ever forget.”
Onesentence.org is my new favorite pastime. I pore over the pages, going from category to category, occasionally stopping to reread a story that has particularly touched me. I don’t plan on sending in a story myself as I fear I’m much too verbose to condense my language so, but when I can identify with someone else’s sentence, well…it’s a good feeling, even if the shared emotion isn’t a happy one.
I Stumbled upon this Web site, and I keep on Stumbling in the hopes of finding other new favorites, just I’ll keep on silently hoping to run into the person that will change my life, or the book that will become my new must-read, or even a new food that I’ll have to get every week.
I like stumbling as an action because it captures the best of both sides of life; it’s not quite falling but not quite running. It’s a momentary limbo where you don’t know exactly how it will turn out, but best thing you can do—the only thing to do—is keep on going, hoping that you don’t fall but knowing if you do that it’s easy to get back up again.
dear new york,
i'm writing you this letter because i need to say some things that the engine rumblings and screams and loud music sometimes cover up. i'm confused about how i feel about you. i don't want to break up, because you're the only thing i've ever truly loved, but i think i might need a break. there are so many things i love and hate about you simultaneously; i love the rumbling of the subway underneath my science classroom on west 4th street, but i hate how it makes it impossible to hear the professor. (back when i went to class...) i love the diversity in the city, but i hate how that makes it almost impossible to spark any kind of human connection. (i'm so tired of hipsters) i love the grid system, but i hate being confined to always turning in right angles. (oh, the awfulness of this day-to-day life!) i love the subway system, but i hate the way it smells. i love my fake ID, but i hate that all the clubs scan now. (this "fake id" i speak of is probably the shittiest piece of plastic ever made, procured in queens and with a signature that's typed in luncinda handwriting) in short, i am feeling very confused. i need some fresh air. i need to see the stars. (wouldn't jack kerouac and i get along swimmingly?) i need to leave all of these people and this craziness behind so that i can remember what it's like to be me.
i hate so many things about you, new york. dhani got her purse stolen in a pizza shop on your lower east side. (she was drunk) i can't walk through the park without being harassed 8 times by drug dealers. (gee golly do i hate drugs!) i really can't afford to keep buying new outfits for clubs with photobloggers. (i don't even need to touch this one) i can't even afford a haircut. it smells like shit over by the hudson, you know.
but these are also things that attracted me to you in the first place. i love the heterogeneous mixing of everyone, the different smells and the crazy things i hear walking to class. i love that there is always something going on. but i think what i love most of all is the IDEA of you, new york. i'm not in love with you as a place -- it is cold, here, and frankly, kind of depressing. but i'm in love with the romanticized notion of you. i love going to bars in the west village, simply because i can say, with an heir of practiced pretension, "i'm going to a bar in the west village!" (admittedly, i still love this) i'm in love with shopping in soho and going out on the lower east side and museum hopping on the upper west side. i can't resist BEING HERE. it is a magnetic field that simultaneously attracts and repulses me, depending on which side of my heart i flash before the magnet. (i also like walking in the rain because no one can tell that i'm crying) i am controlled entirely by this city. and so, have i lost myself in search of you, new york? in search of the real you -- the actual coordinates, the dirty streets, the homeless people curled in freezing, piss stained corners, the loose dogs humping each other in the WSP dog run, the eyebrows of the man who sells me my coffee every morning? or maybe, closer to the truth, is the idea that i was lost before i even moved to this bustling metropolis. and the idea of excavating who i am beneath the sidewalks of the historically fantasized new york city may just be disgustingly laughable. (yes) i'm not sure what has to change in order to figure all of this out. but just know, new york; you were my first love.
So what have we learned from all of this? I am emo.-Jess
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
1. Since when do you use a robin's egg to cook pancakes? Do they taste better that way or something? Do robin's eggs have low cholesterol?
2. I kind of want to try this but I might feel awkward buying syringes at Duane Reade without a Diabetes Card.
PS. Thanks to Kashley for finding this bizarre little treasure.
1. We eat hamburgers.
See Also: We're fat.
2. We hate everyone but ourselves.
This is actually true to some extent. There is a scarce market for imported entertainment, and few foreign books and movies are even translated/subtitled in English. Everything revolves around Hollywood. Which is fine because we have Heidi and Spencer. Nanananana!
3. We fuck people before we marry them.
Ever heard of test-driving the car before purchasing it? That statement doesn't really apply here because most people fuck and divorce, and you can't really return a car for 50% wealth and assets and split-custody.
4. One of the biggest centers of popular culture is Florida.
I hear they're fucking CRAZY in Fort Lauderdale, bro!
5. New England likes Lilly Pullitzer and Vera Bradley.
They also build elaborate shrines to JFK, Jr. and charter ferries to the Vineyard for "special holidays."
6. We are scared of black people.
White flight! Everybody out! I hear they're building another culdesac in Westchester! First one to the Tappan Zee Bridge wins a gift certificate to TGIFridays!
If you have not learned enough about yourself from this post, feel free to check out the links listed at the bottom of Mr. Martin Frost's page, which include:
The Secularization of Christmas
Where is Panama anyway? The gulf? Wait, which gulf? Fuck this.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
People who add the Bumper Sticker application on Facebook value their dull high school friends more than an education
I know I bombed that Algebra test, sir, but you'll never believe the memorable night I had! It's gonna make such a fun DiArY eNtRy <3333
JESS: i do too
JESS: it's almost always my downfall
JOSH: me too
JESS: for EVERYTHING.
JESS: schoolwork, friendships, relationships
JOSH: because i perceive negatives that aren't there
JOSH: and am too scared to act on dubious suspicions
JOSH: "Dubious Suspicions: The Josh Becker Story"
JESS: OMGZ I'Z SO INSIKURE
JESS: "How to Fuck Shit Up: The Jessica Roy Story"
JOSH: "Smokin' and Jokin': The Rise and Fall of Josh and Jess's Media Empire"
JESS: i don't see a fall, do you?
JOSH: we'll have sex
JOSH: then get married then divorced
JOSH: dividing up our holdings
JESS: no downfall
JESS: we are the veritable nick dentons of our day
Why Audrina breaking up with Justin-Bobby was the most important move made by a woman in modern history
In my opinion, one of the most influential women just became Audrina Patridge, of MTV's highest ever rated show, The Hills. For the past 10 episodes or so, Audrina has been dating this faux-rocker pro-burping mean son of a bitch named Justin Bobby. They spend a lot of time together doing tequila shots at bars made to look like hole-in-the-walls but that actually charge more than American Apparel does for that shitty grey cardigan I broke down and bought today. ($40 for a piece of cotton!)
Anyway, according to Audrina, when they're alone together, things are "perfect." But when they're out in a crowd, Justin Bobby does really obnoxious things like swaddle his head in a blanket at Opera Club or talk rudely to L.C. or desert her at Brody's Malibu mansion. Oh, and he also makes out with fugly redheads right in front of her.
He denied this impromptu make-out sesh, of course, as all men are prone to do. But a shitload of people saw it go down, not to mention it was caught on tape. And I have to say, when Justin Bobby was hugging Audrina in that brokedown Hollywood parking lot filled to the brim with Range Rovers and Mercedes (oh, romance!), I thought that she was going to forgive him. I even said to my boyfriend, who was kind enough to watch this addictive mind-numbing crap with me: "If Audrina gets back together with Justin Bobby she will do a disservice to girls everywhere."
And it's true. As much as most of us hate to admit it, The Hills has had a profound impact on popular culture. It affects our vernacular ("dunzo" or "Lo's Britney," anyone?), it redefines reality t.v., and most importantly, this show defines social norms for a number of girls covering a gigantic age range. I am 20 and I watch this show. My mother is 40 and she watches this show. My sister is 15 and she watches this show. The reach is awesome, which means the impact is that much, well, awesomer.
So many of the girls who watch The Hills are tricked into believing that this is how young adult life really is. The truth is that the lives of these poor little rich kids function on a whole 'nother stratesphere from "normal life;" but the way L.C., Whitney, Heidi and Audrina treat men and allow men to treat them can end up having a hugely significant impact on the way the teenage viewers also interact with men.
So this brings us back to Audrina with her dumb, droopy eyelashes and blindingly white teeth: by ultimately and finally rejecting Justin Bobby in all his asshole glory, she has subconsciously instilled self-worth into every female viewer. (That is, the self-worth that Heidi takes away every time she allows Spencer to open his mouth) This doesn't mean that girls in physically or mentally abusive relationships will immediately dispose of their boyfriends (Heidi is still with Spencer): it simply means that the show is helping us to realize that we as women deserve to be treated in a certain way, even if it's as seemingly-obvious as refusing to date boys who hook up with ugly girls with bad dye jobs right in front of us.
The one sad thing is that it took Audrina so long to make this bold move. After seeing Justin Bobby get his mack on, Audrina and L.C. retreat to the parking lot where L.C. is overheard saying, "You knew he did that to you." Audrina then replies, "I just didn't realize he would do it right in front of me."
Is this some kind of post-post-modern feminism: being a strong enough woman to allow your boyfriend to cheat on you, as long as you don't have to see it with your own eyes? Or is it simply that, for Audrina, anything that isn't caught on camera never actually happened? Regardless, I know from experience how difficult it is to kick bad-habit-boys, so despite the delay and the back and forth she and Justin Bobby have engaged in all this season (we do love our drama), I really am proud of her for breaking up with him. I mean, he's hot, but brotha needs to take a page out of the Book of Brody (who I actually really, really like, despite the supposed plethora of girls named "Amber" in his cell, as showed in the previews for next week's ep) and learn how to treat a lady, whether he's sneeringly inebriated or not.
Monday, November 26, 2007
No, really, it's amazing.
I had heard about the wonders of the Wii before, but being the
Oh, how I was wrong.
The thing about the Wii is that it's not just a videogame console; it's a virtual reality, one in which you can create your own character in the Wii universe and actually perform the actions unfolding on screen. Tennis games were never my favorite--there's only so much fun you can have with a controller, ball, and net--but when you're actually swinging the racket (or at least pretending to) and serving backhands and forehands and hoping not to break the furniture and watching your friend practically lunge to retrieve your serve....dude, it's a rush.
So, I want one. There, I said it, and I'll say it again: I want a Wii. I would also need a somewhat big-screen TV, because I really can't imagine staring at a ten-inch black-and-white number and getting into the game. But I will find a way to get that TV into my room....and then I shall procure a Wii.
Anyone for tennis?
And for some reason, against my better efforts, procuring one last night proved absolutely impossible.
We called our dealer, whom we shall deem "Bob" to protect his identity, around 4pm. He sent us this mass text a half-hour later:
"Sorry we're not walking dogs at the moment, but should be around later this evening. Give us a call in an hour."
So we waited that horrible hour and then called. And then we called again. And again and again and fucking again. "Bob" did not pick up. "Bob," for all intents and purposes, is a dick.
Then we tried this random kid who lives in our building, but after a long weekend of spending countless hours with his family, he was dry. Despite the familiar musky pot smell seeping under our neighbors' door, he too could not quench our growing thirst. I even texted this random person I have in my phone under the name "Weed" and even that motherfucker was dry.
So what is this? Is the War on Drugs finally coming to some sort of governmentally successful end? Or did all my sources smoke themselves so far into oblivion over Thanksgiving weekend that they left me to fend for myself in the sad and stone-cold sober world? Whatever the case, if "Bob" does not answer his phone tonight, there will be hell to pay: hell hath no fury like a pothead scorned.
Take Kati and Isabel, the token black and Asian friends who dress creepily alike in every episode. They are Blair Waldorf's clan, her minority doppelgangers, if you will. Do not you have one Asian and one black friend to whom you turn when your white friends are being, well, too white? Do not they dress alike in equal amounts FUBU and Hello Kitty? Exactly.
And what about Nate's father's cocaine addiction? I loved the part when he started talking a lot when he was out to dinner at the Waldorf's. That was, like, SO realistic. That guy just would not shut the fuck up. Which is perfect because all the people I know who do coke get 6 grams at a time in a gigantic ziploc bag and omgtheyfuckingtalklikethisdoyougetwhati'msayingthispartyissoawesomei'mgonnatakemytopoffforlastnightspartytonightAHGIVEMEANOTHERLINE.
The most troubling part of the show, for me, has to be the intricate relationship between Blair and Nate. Can't Nate just give Blair his mother's antique heirloom diamond-platinum ring? Can't they just get married and populate the Upper East Side with more skinny, brunette people just like them? Do they not realize that world peace will only be achieved if the Archibalds and Waldorfs become one awesome conglomerate, er, family?
One can only hope that all of these problems will be resolved by the end of the first season. But like, OMG, Serena and Dan are totally fucking!