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Monday, July 15, 2013
Kelly Does Not Have a Fun Day
Kelly’s creeping sense of ennui makes her wonder if a centralized Spinozian morality is still possible in a Kantian destabilized and subjective ethos.
Sunday, July 14, 2013The Greatest 2:32 In the History of Everything
“Don’t cuss!” “Not us!” for the win.
And RIP Tab Thacker. A hilarious performer I remember fondly from my youth.
Saturday, July 13, 2013Wallnuts After Dark: What's Wit All a The Friggin' TV Channels?
Back in the day there was only a handful a TV stations. It was Channel 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 and then in the 60s the Finnochs started showin’ up on Channel 13 on the PBS. If there was a show on it was easy to find since they was only these 6 channels.
I knew Joe Franklin was on Channel 9, which was WOR, an so I never forgot to watch his show or couldn’t find it. Another thing, these channels use to be known by their letters, so Joe was on WJZ that changed to WABC an then he moved to WOR that became WWOR.
I guess them letters weren’t as confusin’ to me as all a these 3-number channels I got on my TV these days. I mean who the F@#k ever thought they’d be a channel 596? An let’s not talk about how many Clams this is costin’ me…..
When the cable first started an they gave me that box that looked like a typewriter wit all a the buttons that was connected to another box by a wire that went to the TV, I couldn’t figger out how all a them channels was fittin’ trew that little wire. I mean I could unnerstand how all the channels could get sent trew the air an into those Rabbit Ear antennas, or whatever the f@#k they was called, an into my TV. Na mean?
Then they came up with the satellite TV that never made no sense to me as they had to send the TV shows up inta space before sendin’ them back down to a dish on my roof that had a wire to the TV. Again wit the friggin’ wire! That seemed like an awful lot a trouble to go to to get Regis and Kathie Lee. Am I right when I say that?
So cable got more channels an more confusin’ an they gave me this remote control that was bigger n a black jack Knuckes Rizzo use ta use to knock out skells an that looked like it was for a friggin’ space ship, or some shit.
I liked the remote that had on, off, volume and channel. Kinda like how I like my cocktails wit two ingredients, one a which is ice.
Now we got this Fiat or Fios or whatever the f@#k it’s called and now I gotta have my phone and computer all mixed up wit the TV. It’s like havin’ your two Goomads and your wife all gettin’ together to play Canasta. Nothin’ good can come from that. A fannabala!
Plus, back in the day, we had the TV Guide that tole us what shows was on where an when. You got a whole week a TV in that magazine every week an there was stories about TV people and a real jake crossword puzzle in it, to boot.
Now we got that cable guide, or whatever the f@#k it’s called, that makes my head hurt with all a the colors an channel abbreviations an them 3-number channels that I can’t never remember. An what makes all a this worser is that there ain’t never no good shows or movies on anyways, even when I go an check out what’s goin’ on around channel 920.
At least in the old days when there weren’t nothin’ good on, I only had to check 6 channels and it wasn’t costin’ me nothin’.
Friday, July 12, 2013Friday Thoughts and Links
Joey’s Bikini and Speedo Party. Cleveland, Ohio. February.
Where even Clorox dares not to scrub.
Speaking of violent dismemberment, Sharknado was everything that I thought it could be and more. This interview with the writer of Sharknado, naturally a hipster Jew named Thunder Levin, is one of the greatest things ever written. I feel satiated. And anticipatory of shark week. So I got that going for me.
Yup. An unventful week.
Los Angeles finally got over its heatwave so your humb narrs chews on some stale Mallomars and contemplates the state of belly lint.
Philosophy is like chocolate. It gets melty if you leave it in the sun.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD post-Sharknado pic of the week: “This sweet little fish called the grunion swims up out of the ocean, onto the beach, for a moment of privacy for his mating ritual. And human beings swoop down on him, scoop him up, and fry him for dinner.”
Bon Jovi’s new album, New Jersey, gets it right.
This won’t end well. It’s like 70s David Bowie got Brundleflied with a Bratz doll. And yes, I just used Brundleflied as a verb. Or maybe an adjective. Me not grammar good.
Oh Captain Pubing. Your wacky dubstep lightshow infused MDMA noxious parties are all that sucks the joy and life out of youthful exuberance. How you make me long for Threes Company vs. The Love Boat on Family Feud. How many people think Cleveland is an important American city? Survey Says?… zero.
Bored this weekend? 33 Minutes of Fail makes the time go quicker.
When hipsters tire of raising chickens, this happens. Maybe I won’t move to Portland after all.
What happens when irony stares in the mirror.
Okay, for all your hard work mocking ‘bags this week, here ya go:
For it is pensive and poetic for this summer Friday.
Friday, July 12, 2013Friday Haiku
Sexy Claudia
Is still the biggest fan of
crooner K.D. Lang
Thursday, July 11, 2013Purple Perry Hits on Hott Mom Cheryl at the PTA After-Party
C’mon, you always suspected that those boring, stodgy Parent-Teacher-Association meetings that your mom and dad used to go to on a Tuesday night in the gym at your school weren’t all about funding and after-school programs, right?
That’s because mom and dad never told you about the legendary PTA After-Parties.
I even heard that Mick and Keith once dropped into the Jefferson Elementary PTA After-Party in Decatur, Illinois one Tuesday back in ’78. They did blow with Mrs. Everly off a fold-out desk in the janitorial closet until 4am that night. It took the custodial staff three days to clean the puke stains out of the lunchroom rug after that shindig, I tell you.
Thursday, July 11, 2013Will.He.Isnt Macks on the Persian Hotts
I see you offering me Mayan Eye of Coitus, Persian Meadow Soprano.
I raise your coital eye play, and counter with Malaysian Hairy Chest Scratch and Burmp of Guy Who Just Ate a Bowl of Cheerios.
Thursday, July 11, 2013The Psychology of the "Selfie"
Australia’s “The Age” has a take on the impact of the “selfie” written by an eleven year old girl (!). Well worth a read.
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Dark undercurrents of teenage girls’ selfies
If social media only caused narcissism, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Instagram and Facebook are social networks that not only breed narcissistic tendencies but transform relations into a sexual rat race.
On these ubiquitous portals, the popularity of girls is hotly contested over one big deal: how sexy can I appear and bring it off with everyone’s admiration?
That’s the reason we see mirror shots, pouting self-portraits of teenagers (typically female) and sexually suggestively posed girls in a mini-dress ”before a party last night”. They’re showing how much they like themselves and hoping that you’ll hit ”like” to reinforce the claim.
This isn’t just an interest in vanity but vainglory, being high up on a scale of ”likes” . There isn’t anything inherently wrong with uploading self-portraits. Everyone likes receiving compliments and it makes us feel awesome that our own appearance can provide us with an ego boost. But what kind of photos produce an epidemic of ”likes?” Nothing with too much creativity but hip, titty and kiss. It’s the true scourge of the selfie.
Why are we girls competing to be the Queen of Pouts? Why do we scour through photos of celebrities and all our ambitious friends to find out who is the new princess of prurient poses? Even demure girls are tempted to strike sexually suggestive poses. But they must be careful, not because parents are looking but because they might not score any ”likes” and might then feel a failure, unworthy among their peers.
How confident can you appear at being lascivious? How credible is your air of lewdness? A girl who is just a try-hard will lose credibility and become an outcast. So a lot depends on how much support you can get from other girls.
Girls zealously scroll down their Instagram or Facebook feeds. In Instagram, they might cleverly hashtag the most popular tags, such as #me, #selfie, #instacute to get an influx of ”likes” while they are on the most-recently tagged photos, then delete all the tags as though nothing’s happened.
They’re manipulating their image into popularity. Girls spray their ”likes”. They comment: ”Wow, you’re a model”; ”Oh my god you babe”; ”F–k you’re hot”; ”You’re perfect”; ”Best body”. Occasionally it’s genuine and supportive but it can also be very calculating.
Girls fake flattery to get higher on the food chain. In my mind a comment such as, ”Oh my god, you’re so beautiful!” really means: she has to ”like” and comment on my photo! Then behind her back: ”What the f—! She is such a slut … I heard she hooked up with heaps of guys and got really drunk at a party and in every photo she poses with her tits out and a push-up bra.”
It’s tense because it’s duplicitous. We’re faking it, so that we get to be among the most popular, get to be ”liked” by the most popular and thereby gain popularity.
Seeing some of these images can feel too intimate. It’s almost as though we’re peering through a window. Some photos may be of girls showing skin, or girls lying on a bed. Just about all are seeking some sort of approval from their friends. The aim is not to communicate joy but to score a position.
It’s a neurotic impulse, not a happy one. I’m anxious that girls are higher up on the ladder than I am: boys are looking at her, not me. I have to look like her to be worthy of boys’ attention. Boys’ tastes are not always sophisticated. The aesthetic yardstick is what they see in pornography. So girls have to conform to what boys see in pornography. And then girls post photos to ”out-hot” the other girls by porn star criteria.
Who do we blame for this moral mess? As feminists, we correctly blame patriarchy because boys are securely at the top of the status game. Boys end up with the authority. They have their cake and eat it.
From the moral high ground, they can damn a girl for visual promiscuity, yet enjoy the spectacle at the same time, both with the same misogynistic motives: I like your form but I’m able to scorn you. You’re what I want but you’re less than me. Girls try to conform to this ”ideal” stereotype in their photos and these boys sarcastically comment, ”Nice personality” – really implying that the cleavage is their only attribute. Yet they also click the ”like” button. The boy who mocks a girl showing her cleavage is in fact the same boy who craves sexual opportunities with her.
A common adult reaction to social media is to restrict things, as if that could ever be possible. You can’t force kids to be nice. The real problem isn’t something tangible like sexting or bullying, which adults focus on in patronising and unimaginative ways. The real problem relates to conformity. Kids are compelled to act the stereotype, because those who opt out commit themselves to social leprosy. Social media doesn’t need adult control. What we need is some good taste.
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And lets not forget about the Bro side of the equation either.
EDIT: Pic is the famously obnoxious selfie of Mylie Cyrus, not the author of the piece.
EDIT #2: Whoops, make that a seventeen year old girl who is “year 11” in school. Weird Aussies. Props for the correction go to FredN. in the comments thread.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013Captain Pubing Sings "I'm Douching Away"
I’m douching away,
Set an open course for the virgin hotts,
‘Cause I’ve got to be free
free of groin itch,
that’s been bothering me,
I’m bored, I’m the captain,
so touch my schwang,
We’ll search for your boobies,
And make sure you don’t have a schwang,
And I’ll try, oh Tebus, I’ll try
to fonnnnndllllleeee my nipssssss… in public.
I look to the sea,
reflections in the waves spark my rectal itch,
Some happy, some sad,
I think of doing jello shots,
And a DJ named Snitch,
we boinked happily forever,
so the story goes,
But somehow we missed out,
On smoking pot that’s old
So we’ll try, best that we can,
to watch me dress like an asswipe in the hoppppeeeessss… of getting some booty.
A gathering of hottie suckle thighs,
appeared above my nood,
They sang to me this song of boobs,
and this is what they Wooo’d,
They Wooo’d, “Come douche away,
come douche away, come douche away with me girls,
Come douche away, come douche away, come douche away with me….
Wednesday, July 10, 2013When Suburbia Tries to Get Wild on a Saturday Night
Lemme guess, you guys went extra wild and ate at Chilis instead of Flingers?
Not that I ever discourage the dressing up of hott into slut-wear via some socially codified ritual of performative masquerade. For, as Mikael Bakhtin famously argued in the 1920s, carnival is where social power is reclaimed through caricature and exaggeration.
