Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Enjoying August?
From "The Onion":
According to Kivens, the discovery has prompted researchers to explore the possibility that a variety of phenomena accompanying the heat wave could also be linked to the star, including taller grass, hot car seats, red skin burns, and sweating "even when one has just been standing there and hasn't been running around or anything."
Click for full article.
According to Kivens, the discovery has prompted researchers to explore the possibility that a variety of phenomena accompanying the heat wave could also be linked to the star, including taller grass, hot car seats, red skin burns, and sweating "even when one has just been standing there and hasn't been running around or anything."
Click for full article.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Optometry (?) - The Most Fucked-Up of All Businesses
I hate going to the doctor.
And I hate going shopping (mostly the choice-making part).
Obtaining a new pair of glasses for a woefully bookwormy young woman with fashion tastes that tend toward the bag-lady-esque combines a multitude of anxieties.
Sure, the little tests are pretty fun. I like naming letters!
Then it happens. They give you a prescription: to go shopping. For an accessory you must incorporate into everyday wear. That you can't lose. Or fling on the bed/couch/floor/stove. Because you can't break it. Because without it, you can't freakin' see.
Thank you optometry (?), for combining the discomfort of your average visit to the neighbourhood clinic with the time commitment and hassle of facial accessorizing.
AMY
And I hate going shopping (mostly the choice-making part).
Obtaining a new pair of glasses for a woefully bookwormy young woman with fashion tastes that tend toward the bag-lady-esque combines a multitude of anxieties.
Sure, the little tests are pretty fun. I like naming letters!
Then it happens. They give you a prescription: to go shopping. For an accessory you must incorporate into everyday wear. That you can't lose. Or fling on the bed/couch/floor/stove. Because you can't break it. Because without it, you can't freakin' see.
Thank you optometry (?), for combining the discomfort of your average visit to the neighbourhood clinic with the time commitment and hassle of facial accessorizing.
AMY
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The Maxi Dress
In recent months there has been an exciting new development in the fashion world: the revival of the maxi dress. Though the name of the garment may conjure up some unfortunate associations, the real downfall of the maxi dress is that it has brought on a slew of idiotic magazine articles about how "classic" you'll look in this dress.
C'mon people. If you put your pea-size brains to use, you would see why the maxi dress is the nouveau utility belt. Seriously, they should have these things next to the life jackets in airplanes.
So without further ado, here are eight reasons why I love the maxi dress:
1. The wearer does not have to worry about closing her* legs at social gatherings, and will have the peace of mind to tend to more important matters.
2. The maxi dress provides the wearer with a built-in carryall, should she wish to bring an extra liquor bottle with her for emergencies.
3. As maxi dresses are often either black or patterned, the wearer may spill her drink at will and go unnoticed by other guests.
4. At the inevitable point in the late hours of the evening when the wearer decides that she is capable of jumping extreme distances – say, from the balcony to the pavement below – the maxi dress will act as a parachute and guide the wearer gently to safety.
5. The maxi dress will make such a splash at social gatherings that the wearer will often be confronted by guests who wish to borrow said maxi dress. Should this situation arise, the maxi dress will invest the wearer with the confidence to rightfully defend her ownership. For example, she will now have the strength to utter, “BITCH THE PARACHUTE IS MINE!”
6. Similar to reason number two, when the wearer passes out on the couch (due to being in an unfit state to descend the stairs to her bedroom), she need not worry about the view she may be exposing unbeknownst to passersby of the living room.
7. The next morning, the wearer may continue to wear her maxi dress to the diner, the park, the drugstore, and anywhere else on her hangover pilgrimage, and continue to receive compliments from strangers on the street. The maxi dress is the ultimate day-to-night dress.
8. In the event that the wearer committed a so-called “party fowl” the previous night and is now being subjected to disdainful silence from her roommates, the wearer will no longer need the non-believers – only her precious, precious maxi dress.
*Obviously I realize that a guy can wear a maxi dress too, and in fact, I encourage it. I bet the billowing fabric feels awesome.
JULIA
C'mon people. If you put your pea-size brains to use, you would see why the maxi dress is the nouveau utility belt. Seriously, they should have these things next to the life jackets in airplanes.
So without further ado, here are eight reasons why I love the maxi dress:
1. The wearer does not have to worry about closing her* legs at social gatherings, and will have the peace of mind to tend to more important matters.
2. The maxi dress provides the wearer with a built-in carryall, should she wish to bring an extra liquor bottle with her for emergencies.
3. As maxi dresses are often either black or patterned, the wearer may spill her drink at will and go unnoticed by other guests.
4. At the inevitable point in the late hours of the evening when the wearer decides that she is capable of jumping extreme distances – say, from the balcony to the pavement below – the maxi dress will act as a parachute and guide the wearer gently to safety.
5. The maxi dress will make such a splash at social gatherings that the wearer will often be confronted by guests who wish to borrow said maxi dress. Should this situation arise, the maxi dress will invest the wearer with the confidence to rightfully defend her ownership. For example, she will now have the strength to utter, “BITCH THE PARACHUTE IS MINE!”
6. Similar to reason number two, when the wearer passes out on the couch (due to being in an unfit state to descend the stairs to her bedroom), she need not worry about the view she may be exposing unbeknownst to passersby of the living room.
7. The next morning, the wearer may continue to wear her maxi dress to the diner, the park, the drugstore, and anywhere else on her hangover pilgrimage, and continue to receive compliments from strangers on the street. The maxi dress is the ultimate day-to-night dress.
8. In the event that the wearer committed a so-called “party fowl” the previous night and is now being subjected to disdainful silence from her roommates, the wearer will no longer need the non-believers – only her precious, precious maxi dress.
*Obviously I realize that a guy can wear a maxi dress too, and in fact, I encourage it. I bet the billowing fabric feels awesome.
JULIA
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Want To Hear an Uplifting Story? Actually, No. Now Shut Up.
So as I zoom through the rat race, clutching my plastic bag of day-old pre-made sushi and a travel mug and trying desperately not to bash people with my purse while I crane my neck to check out my 9 AM reflection in the subway window, the pressures that convene on me, flickering overhead, are best left ignored.
But these are a little difficult. They're brightly coloured and usually begin with white text and then transition to smaller black text, which is frankly infuriating. The only thing worse than an ad that instantly annoys you is one which exploits human curiosity allowing the annoyance to drag out. I mean I "WANT TO HEAR AN UPLIFTING STORY." But I don't want it to go "A GUY LETS EVERYONE ON THE BUS BEFORE HIM. THE END." What?? You mean that old lady I discreetly shoved past in order to get to this crucial intersection probably didn't appreciate that?? You mean she didn't feel uplifted? Shit!
It's an admirable position, I'll admit, but we all know how much we hate do-gooders, especially when they rub it in. Nothing makes you feel worse about that whole block of cheese you ate while watching four solid hours of TV in a row than the person who tells you all about her overnight charity run while nibbling carrot sticks. And once we know that story, it makes us all the more eager to find out about the forty-five minutes she's about to spend in her cubicle texting and watching funny dog videos.
The idea behind all this is that by being "good" we're somehow going to make everyone feel "good," or at least ourselves. There is a delightfully selfish bent to that latter cause which I feel is the wondrous root of all human compassion. Unfortunately after taking one look at the "Good Ideas" section of the website, I have to say their plan is doomed to fail:
1. Mow your neighbour's lawn
2. Instead of an email, send a handwritten note.
3. Call your mother
4. Bring home flowers.
5. Make cookies for your neighbours
6. Do a chore, even if it's not your turn.
7. Give up the remote
8. Make breakfast for the household
9. Go say hello to your neighbour.
10. Shovel an elderly person's driveway.
Pretty much all of these things are going to make me feel worse, not to mention nothing but nothing gets me started like inconsistent punctuation, so they're already halfway to hell in my books. Good luck, people.
Not.
AMY
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
You know you're not cool when...
On the breezy evening walk to Jamez's house, you see a bunch of white movie trucks parked along the street. Awesome, you think. I like movies.
There are a gaggle of young girls clutching their cameras, whispering excitedly. You mosey over to see what all the commotion is about.
Suddenly the girls erupt in an explosion of flashes and gasps. The security guards huddle closer.
Around one figure. The centre of attention.
What's going on? You eventually ask.
The middle-aged mother of one flashing, gasping girl offers sympathetically, It's Robert Pattinson.
Oh! You say. Followed by, Which one is he?
She does a double take that's motivated either by pity or awe. It's impossible to tell which.
In the white shirt, she responds curtly.
There's too many people in white shirts. You momentarily catch sight of a highlighted yet manly head of hair. That must be him.
Oh right...with the hair, you manage to remark to the unimpressed mother. Maybe you need glasses.
So I can't walk this way then?
NO.
Jamez is waiting on his front steps with a cigarette.
Dude! You say. Robert Pattinson is shooting a movie just down the block!
Woah! He exclaims, and appears genuinely in the know. A slight pause. He flicks the butt of his cigarette.
I've been meaning to get into True Blood, you say.
Another double take. You're stirring shit up tonight.
Ummm, ha ha, no no. He's in Twilight, Jules. Jamez at least pats you on the shoulder.
Right. I knew that. That's what I meant. I just mean I've been meaning to get into vampires in general lately. You know.
A couple hours pass, and you're reporting the incident on your blog. Aptly titled Cultural Wha?
JULIA
There are a gaggle of young girls clutching their cameras, whispering excitedly. You mosey over to see what all the commotion is about.
Suddenly the girls erupt in an explosion of flashes and gasps. The security guards huddle closer.
Around one figure. The centre of attention.
What's going on? You eventually ask.
The middle-aged mother of one flashing, gasping girl offers sympathetically, It's Robert Pattinson.
Oh! You say. Followed by, Which one is he?
She does a double take that's motivated either by pity or awe. It's impossible to tell which.
In the white shirt, she responds curtly.
There's too many people in white shirts. You momentarily catch sight of a highlighted yet manly head of hair. That must be him.
Oh right...with the hair, you manage to remark to the unimpressed mother. Maybe you need glasses.
So I can't walk this way then?
NO.
Jamez is waiting on his front steps with a cigarette.
Dude! You say. Robert Pattinson is shooting a movie just down the block!
Woah! He exclaims, and appears genuinely in the know. A slight pause. He flicks the butt of his cigarette.
I've been meaning to get into True Blood, you say.
Another double take. You're stirring shit up tonight.
Ummm, ha ha, no no. He's in Twilight, Jules. Jamez at least pats you on the shoulder.
Right. I knew that. That's what I meant. I just mean I've been meaning to get into vampires in general lately. You know.
A couple hours pass, and you're reporting the incident on your blog. Aptly titled Cultural Wha?
JULIA
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Ideologies of Green Lantern
10,000 BC? I'll top that.
I recently spent a similar smoke-filled several hours with a wise male friend, though the protagonist of the film we watched was not a posh club-wielder but rather Ryan Reynolds in a computer-generated unitard.
The formulaic movie scoots along at a predictable pace, so to make things more exciting, we sought outlandish ideologies within its mechanics. These are our findings.
I. Military Propaganda
First off the bat, the Green Lanterns are members of an elite intergalactic police force called the Green Lantern Corps. You can read them as sort of super-cops, but more obviously as soldiers. When our pal Ryan, AKA Hal Jordan, is first assigned his post as a Green Lantern by a "dying purple alien," he is told that this is a great honour and a noble pursuit in life. In the earlier parts of the movie we see screw-up Jordan bumbling around with slutty girls and fighter jets, lacking a direction in life but with chutzpah to spare. Along come the Green Lanterns and though he may not be cut from the cloth they desire, his new position in the Corps gives his life meaning and determination. Of course, you never see him huddled in a ball suffering from PTSD after battling Parallax (the amorphous, tentacled villian), much less suffering from survivor's guilt after all those people get their souls sucked from their bodies when Parallax hits the downtown core in the climax. But he does use his Green Lantern powers--using the power of will to create forms from energy--to imagine into being cool machine guns, roadsters, more fighter jets and at the very height of tension, a giant green fist!
Now that's willpower. The object of the game in Green Lantern is to conquer fear--it is said that only truly fearless individuals are chosen to be Green Lanterns. Parallax was created when a wise elder tried to harness the power of fear, and it overtook him. The connections to the culture of fear present in America with its simultaneous WARS on drugs and terrorism are glaring to me personally. Parallax gets ya if you let even the tiniest iota of fear take precedence over your will, and then the soul-slurping begins and he gets bigger and more powerful. It's earnest that Jordan's epiphany turns out to be the whole courage-means-admitting-you're-afraid-and-doing-it-anyway-we-all-get-scared-sometimes-but-don't-let-it-beat-you! He literally punches fear in the face, which is kind of awesome. Sub in terror for fear in these instances, and you get a really good feeling about the direction of all this Arab War stuff.
II. Anti-Intellectualism
Ok, so Parallax = bad guy. But the mortal villain in this tale is Hector Hammond, a dweeby scientist with a disappointed senator dad. He examines the purple alien and is infected by the residue of the blast from Parallax that killed him. We're aware that the senator dad is a dick, but his assertion that the world needs more doers, not thinkers, is likely close to home for nerdy types. Hector is only allowed to examine the alien because of his father's connections, implying perhaps that he is a second-rate scientist, but perhaps that good thoughts alone are not enough to secure a prestigious government position. You need to be proactive, and you gotta be hooked up. Evil is planted within Hector upon his first truly radical scientific achievement, and I can't help but notice that each time his transformation worsens, he is twiddling a microscope or swiveling amongst banks of computer screens, as if the more he studies himself, the worse his condition. One of the symptoms is that he is able to read thoughts, and gets some pretty lousy telepathic feedback. The sniveling academic can only resent his intuitiveness.
And as we have seen in many other blockbusters, giving ultimate power to a scientist, really any intellectual at all, can only mean bad news.
III. Conservative Sexuality
My favourite. The one I came up with all on my own. Sadly, I have yet to receive sincere support for this notion.
One of my first thoughts when Jordan donned that green energy imagination suit was, "Sweet! You could put on condoms with your MIND!" Not to mention ascribe to these telepathic prophylactics your precise preferred measurements and thinness. The suit does seem to act like a sort of protective agent, allowing him to penetrate the outer reaches of space, taking him to unknown worlds. Of course, to say it fits like a glove is an understatement. He is supposed to "protect" the universe.
Then there's that ring! Which is bound up in all sorts of oaths and promises involving duty, responsibility and virtue. I won't even spell that one out.
So in this framework Parallax is ascribed the characteristics of STDs: many-limbed, confusing, harmful, scary, contagious. He gets uglier and bigger the longer he goes untreated. He must be obliterated.
In the end, Jordan is able to beat Parallax using willpower and resistance. But that's not enough. At the climax of their power struggle, it is the vocalization of the promise that Jordan has made which secures his victory.
Of course, afterwards he's limp and beaten and a stylish dude yanks him in with ropes.
AMY
I recently spent a similar smoke-filled several hours with a wise male friend, though the protagonist of the film we watched was not a posh club-wielder but rather Ryan Reynolds in a computer-generated unitard.
The formulaic movie scoots along at a predictable pace, so to make things more exciting, we sought outlandish ideologies within its mechanics. These are our findings.
I. Military Propaganda
First off the bat, the Green Lanterns are members of an elite intergalactic police force called the Green Lantern Corps. You can read them as sort of super-cops, but more obviously as soldiers. When our pal Ryan, AKA Hal Jordan, is first assigned his post as a Green Lantern by a "dying purple alien," he is told that this is a great honour and a noble pursuit in life. In the earlier parts of the movie we see screw-up Jordan bumbling around with slutty girls and fighter jets, lacking a direction in life but with chutzpah to spare. Along come the Green Lanterns and though he may not be cut from the cloth they desire, his new position in the Corps gives his life meaning and determination. Of course, you never see him huddled in a ball suffering from PTSD after battling Parallax (the amorphous, tentacled villian), much less suffering from survivor's guilt after all those people get their souls sucked from their bodies when Parallax hits the downtown core in the climax. But he does use his Green Lantern powers--using the power of will to create forms from energy--to imagine into being cool machine guns, roadsters, more fighter jets and at the very height of tension, a giant green fist!
Now that's willpower. The object of the game in Green Lantern is to conquer fear--it is said that only truly fearless individuals are chosen to be Green Lanterns. Parallax was created when a wise elder tried to harness the power of fear, and it overtook him. The connections to the culture of fear present in America with its simultaneous WARS on drugs and terrorism are glaring to me personally. Parallax gets ya if you let even the tiniest iota of fear take precedence over your will, and then the soul-slurping begins and he gets bigger and more powerful. It's earnest that Jordan's epiphany turns out to be the whole courage-means-admitting-you're-afraid-and-doing-it-anyway-we-all-get-scared-sometimes-but-don't-let-it-beat-you! He literally punches fear in the face, which is kind of awesome. Sub in terror for fear in these instances, and you get a really good feeling about the direction of all this Arab War stuff.
II. Anti-Intellectualism
Ok, so Parallax = bad guy. But the mortal villain in this tale is Hector Hammond, a dweeby scientist with a disappointed senator dad. He examines the purple alien and is infected by the residue of the blast from Parallax that killed him. We're aware that the senator dad is a dick, but his assertion that the world needs more doers, not thinkers, is likely close to home for nerdy types. Hector is only allowed to examine the alien because of his father's connections, implying perhaps that he is a second-rate scientist, but perhaps that good thoughts alone are not enough to secure a prestigious government position. You need to be proactive, and you gotta be hooked up. Evil is planted within Hector upon his first truly radical scientific achievement, and I can't help but notice that each time his transformation worsens, he is twiddling a microscope or swiveling amongst banks of computer screens, as if the more he studies himself, the worse his condition. One of the symptoms is that he is able to read thoughts, and gets some pretty lousy telepathic feedback. The sniveling academic can only resent his intuitiveness.
And as we have seen in many other blockbusters, giving ultimate power to a scientist, really any intellectual at all, can only mean bad news.
III. Conservative Sexuality
My favourite. The one I came up with all on my own. Sadly, I have yet to receive sincere support for this notion.
One of my first thoughts when Jordan donned that green energy imagination suit was, "Sweet! You could put on condoms with your MIND!" Not to mention ascribe to these telepathic prophylactics your precise preferred measurements and thinness. The suit does seem to act like a sort of protective agent, allowing him to penetrate the outer reaches of space, taking him to unknown worlds. Of course, to say it fits like a glove is an understatement. He is supposed to "protect" the universe.
Then there's that ring! Which is bound up in all sorts of oaths and promises involving duty, responsibility and virtue. I won't even spell that one out.
So in this framework Parallax is ascribed the characteristics of STDs: many-limbed, confusing, harmful, scary, contagious. He gets uglier and bigger the longer he goes untreated. He must be obliterated.
In the end, Jordan is able to beat Parallax using willpower and resistance. But that's not enough. At the climax of their power struggle, it is the vocalization of the promise that Jordan has made which secures his victory.
Of course, afterwards he's limp and beaten and a stylish dude yanks him in with ropes.
AMY
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