I hope all their kidneys fail and they suffer big time. Yes, as a spiritual, Buddhist-leaning vegan animal rights activist, I know I should not say such things. I must be calm and peaceful and wish only good things for people.
However, I remember being a very POOR student and having my bike as my only means of transportation. I could not afford bus tickets at the time. So everytime my bike got stolen, and there were oh so many times, I was seriously in big trouble. Bike thieves must not know how serious the damage they do is. Or maybe they do and they just do not care. Like people who wear fur. Either they don't know of the suffering involved in the fur industry. Or they do and they don't care.
I don't know which is worse.
In my Ravens and Shadows class last week, I talked about gender roles with my students. But in order not to bore the pants off them, I didn't use the words "gender roles." We read Little Red Riding Hood and watched "Thriller", and discussed the "Wolf" in each piece. Most of the students agreed that your boyfriend (males) are supposed to take care of you, bring home the bacon, rescue you from scary monsters, and love and care for you. The damsel (girls) are supposed to look pretty, have babies, keep the house clean (!) and other such stereotyped ideas. Interestingly enough, everyone said the man is supposed to protect the woman, not turn into a wolf and torment her.
Most of us know that the little piece of garbage known as Chris Brown beat up his girlfriend (and not for the first time) earlier this year. One of the most shocking things about the whole situation was how little criticism the beating garnered. There was either silence -- which signifies a tacit complicity -- or a grudging excuse of some sort: "Well they are both young and good kids and he made a mistake..."
That's some bullshit right there and makes me think of Michael Vick and his evil treatment of his pitbulls. So many friends of his excused this atrocious behaviour by saying (Whoopi Goldberg I am looking at you!) that is was part of "our" culture. "Culture" excuses many atrocities, does it not? Anycrap, Brown recently got his final sentencing and quite frankly, I am appalled. He should have gone to jail. What message does this send out to his fans? The sad fact is a lot of young people look up and admire this douchebag, this little coward with self-entitlement issues, and will be influenced by this whole affair. I don't even think he is talented! Why does he make a living at singing. Auto tune much? Anyway, off topic, but his sentencing was a joke: "The judge placed Brown on felony probation for 60 months -- 5 years. He must obey all laws. He must report to probation within 72 hours. Brown can perform community labor in Virginia. She wants reports from the domestic violence program in Richmond, VA. Brown must keep in touch with the Probation Department. He is subject to search and seizure 24/7 for the next 5 years. He can't own any dangerous weapon, including guns or knives.
The judge will issue a protective order ... staying away from Rihanna. He must provide DNA samples as requested by authorities.
He must complete a 52 week domestic violence program sponsored by the Commonwealth Catholic Charities.
Brown must personally come to court every 3 months during his probation. The first appearance will be November 19.
Brown must perform 180 days of community labor. He must also pay $2,500 in restitution. He'll have to pay another $2,500 in probation expenses. He must also pay a $30 criminal conviction fee --BARGAIN! He must also pay $400 that goes into a domestic violence fund.
The judge issued a protective order. Brown is ordered not to harass, assault, threaten, molest, threaten, etc. Rihanna. He must surrender all firearms within 24 hours. He can't have any contact with Rihanna, even on the phone or through a 3rd person. He must stay 100 yards away from her, unless there's an entertainment-related event, in which he must stay 10 yards away. The protective order lasts 5 years.
Brown must get prior approval before leaving the country." Source
As well, his mother recently spoke publicly for the first time, saying she wasn't ashamed of him: "Her statement continued, "I made a promise. I would never be ashamed of him no matter where I am or who I talk to. You see this whole thing isn't about Chris, it's about God. He wants to show all of you the goodness of him through Chris. Chris will be addressing all of his fans very soon. We love you so much and so does God." Source.
Oh, Lord, denial much? Mother, you SHOULD be ashamed of your son. He beat up a woman, he put his hands on another human being and threatened to kill them. And he will do it again. Didn't you see him out partying after the sentencing? Does that look like a young man full of remorse?
A colleague of mine was telling me of a young student who came to her to tell her that her boyfriend beat on her. My colleague -- let's call her Agnes -- offered to get all the help at our disposal to her, such as counselling, police intervention etc etc. The student violently declined any aid, saying that her boyfriend was the love of her life and he was going to be the father of her children.
Why has no one told her that the love of your life does not hit you, insult you, spit at you, put his hands on you, have sex with you against your wishes?
I hope Jay-Z sees to it that Chris Brown mysteriously gets what it coming to him. And I hope people like "Agnes's" student wake up. And stand up.
I made the mistake of watching a new show tonight about people who are compulsive hoarders. Hoarding is a pathological need to collect and hold onto things; the mere idea of tossing something brings about major anxiety. I think many of us to some extent have some type of OCD-like tendencies. I check my door a few times before I leave the house. I have a friend who washes their hands constantly. I know someone with maybe not full-blown Tourette's but very entertaining twitches and outbursts nonetheless. (My dad lives in a bubble. Cousin Joe-bubble!) Anyway, tonight I learned about two different cases-- a young family with three kids and an older lady, unemployed and about to be evicted.
What was interesting to be was not only their reactions to the threats of eviction and losing children, but my reaction to their reaction. The young mother of the first case was talking about how she didn't know what she would do if she lost her children and she could not imagine how she would live if the city took away the kids because the house was so cluttered and dirty. My mind was screaming at her: If you're so scared, clean up your damn house! Oh my God, how can you live like that? But then I got angry at my own sense of judgment. If she could, she would. But some serious mental problem -- even with the threat of losing her children -- prevented her from doing what so many of us do -- grudgingly perhaps but still do, on a daily basis. Or at least have someone do it for us. Where does this come from, this need to hang on to useless shit?
The second case was even sadder, if that is even possible. A lady of about 60, with missing teeth and a crazy halo of frizzy grey hair tiptoed around the issue of food. She couldn't throw anything away. She shopped and stocked up and stored things in 2 fridges. She stored so much that she had to duct tape her fridges closed. Talk about Red Greening it. Slowly, a story emerged, like layers of an onion being peeled away, of her fear of being starving and poor again and how even if something was 2 years past the expiry date, she could still eat it. Or salvage something from it. This poor woman had rotting carcasses of pumpkins and other squashes lying around rooms in her house, yet even as the cleanup crews were shoveling the garbage out, she still surfed for seeds to roast. Ugh.
I lived beside a hoarder when I was in university. She was a very odd older lady, a frustrated painter who now worked in day care. Yes, day care with children, this woman with clear mental problems. The first time I had to enter her house, I was shocked. There were little pathways through the very small Mile End apartment. Empty cans, newspapers, a crutch! She would pick up anything because as she would often say, it still is good! I can't believe someone threw this away.
Someone threw this away, "Judy", because it's garbage! Useless shit that serves no purpose any longer. Think of all the useless emotional garbage we all lug around with us. Why can't we throw it away? Why does it rear its ugly head every now and again? Why can't we just take that crap, that burden -- every nasty word, unkind action, thoughtless gesture, broken heart -- put it in a garbage bag and check it at some store. On the way out of the store, don't claim it. Leave it. There! Problem solved.
If only it were that easy, eh fellow humans?
"I'm going to kill you!"
The rumours are beginning. MJ is not dead and just like Elvis and Jim Morrison and Olivia Newton-John's ex-manfriend, he has faked his death. This video purports to show Michael jumping as if without a care in the world from the back of a coroner van. Yup. the resemblance is uncanny. I'm convinced.
I heard some doozies this weekend. It must have been something in the air ... anycrap, the best pickup line I ever experienced was a few years ago when a young gentleman approached me at Jello, licked his finger, touched my shoulder, licked his finger again, touched his shoulder, then murmured: "We should get out of these wet clothes."
P.S. No, it didn't work. But he got ma-hay-jah points. In bed. I KID! I KID!
Paging Dr. Freud. Apparently, the great Victorian era writer, Charles Dickens, he of Ebenezer Scrooge fame, had some mommy issues. Kinda like so many of my ex boyfriends. He didn't write love letters to his crushes. Oh no. He wrote passionate letters to their moms. In "Charles Dickens," out in November from Yale University Press, Michael Slater bares the novelist's over-the-top notes to the mother of Maria Beadnell, a banker's daughter he "fell violently in love with." Gushed Dickens: "Bear with a daring wretch who is about to make a surprising confession to you . . . which he beseeches you to commit to the flames as soon as you have become aware to what a towering height his mad ambition soars . . . I love your adorable daughter deeply, devotedly."
Hmmm. Interesting approach. Writing to the mothers instead of the daughters. Why does it seem to me that writers have a weird way about going about things ... like love letters for example. If you love someone, do you not send your missive, sweetly scented with your undying devotion, directly to your beloved?
Although, does one actually put pen to paper and actually write out full words, with no LOLs and LMFAO and smiley faces and so on? I don't think so. I imagine the closest one gets to love letters today is texting, Twittering, or gasp, emailing. Writers, being the notorious drunks that they (we) are, really go in for the sexting. I imagine love letters these days look like this:
(914): How do I say "sorry I gave you and your sister herpes" in German? or maybe something a little less harsh?
(401): you're kinda like the weird girl from The Breakfast Club after the makeover. i mean you're pretty, but you're still weird as fuck.
Or this one: (231): I love him more than I love myself. Which is a lot...Because I'm narcissistic.
Sadly, these are actual texts ... from here. Where is the love? What are we coming to?
I love how Steve Harvey hugs him at the end.
What a brilliant idea! A gin and tonic cupcake! I am surprised I didn't think of that myself. I prefer Mimosas on hot summer mornings -- er-- I mean evenings, but I would give these a taste test ... or 4. Here's the recipe and enjoy!
2 medium egg whites
Pinch of sea salt
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar, sifted
1/4 cup flour
1 1/2 tablespoons tonic water
1/2 cup mascarpone
1 tablespoon gin
2 tablespoons corn syrup
Green food coloring
Lime slices covered in sugar or jellied lime or lemon slices, for garnish
Preheat the oven to 325° Fahrenheit. With an electric hand mixer, beat the egg whites in a large bowl with salt and cream of tartar until they are risen. Now beat in the sugar, a couple of tablespoons at a time, sprinkling it over the egg whites and beating about 20 seconds with each addition. Fold the sifted flour into the meringue in three stages, and then stir in the tonic water.
Arrange muffin paper baking cups inside a muffin tin and fill two thirds full. Bake for 15-20 minutes until lightly golden on the surface and still springy to the touch. Remove and let cool.
Spoon mascarpone into a bowl and beat in the gin and then the syrup and tint it the palest green with a little food coloring. Fill a icing bag or ziploc with the tip cut off to frost the cupcakes.
Use a decorative toothpick to spear lime slices in sugar or jellied candies and insert one into each cupcake.
Makes 12 cupcakes.
It's always like elementary school, no matter how old we get. This is pretty sad and horrible:
Police in Cambridgeshire are appealing for information after Mugly - who won the Britain's Ugliest Dog title in 2005 - was apparently set upon by a gang.
The Shitzu-Chinese Crested cross was rescued by a passer-by who chased off the thugs, who were allegedly seen hitting it with a stick and kicking and punching it.( Source)
Aw, poor little ugly dog. What is wrong with people? Did they pick on him because they were young, bored, angry and stoned? Because he was ugly? Because he was little and defenceless? Just because? Why do we pick on the weaker?
Just like in school... remember grades 1 and 2 and even more? We were either the kid picked on -- because we had a funny name or funny snacks or funny clothes -- or we did the picking on. Kill or be killed. At first I was the kid picked on. Ethnic kid. But I learned fast.
In grade 2, there was a boy who now I know was what was called "slow" back in the day. He had funny hair that went up like a cone in the back and a crackly voice. He was also really skinny. One day, for no good reason that I can now remember, I started whispering in class: "Hye, let's kill John Wall at recess." The message spread like a sneeze; the air became alive with the smell of blood. When the bell rang, we were all quivering with the thrill of the hunt. John, even in his slowness, realised something was up.
The doors opened and the hounds were released! John ran like the scared fox but we caught up to him; a giant pack of laughing, snarling grade two-ers. I stood back watching what I had wrought. I was so ashamed of myself.
I have never forgotten that day. And I still feel shame today.
This kid disproves my theory!
I'm not one for racial stereotypes. In one of my classes called "Taking the Red Pill" my students and me discuss various racial stereotypes. Some of my favourites are: Spanish men all cheat on their women, Greeks are really hairy, Italians are all in the mob, the Irish are all drunks, Blacks are great dancers.
One stereotype I am not completely against is: Wasps can't dance. WASP stands for White Anglo Saxon Protestant. Some people say whites in general but I don't agree with that. My people -- the meds -- can dance and we are caucasoids. I present some footage to support this theory. Enjoy.
Wow. Don't ever tell me ever again that celebrities are stupid. Come on! They have to ... memorise lines ... go on game shows ... um ... pretend to care about world issues. do math.
You want to be famous? You want to be a celebrity? THIS IS CELEBRITY!
I was surfing on the internets this morning for some kind of "highly effective habits of highly strung teachers who just spent their summer loafing, drinking mimosa, playing with dogs, loafing, sitting in the park drinking red wine, writing not NEARLY enough" when I stumbled across this article.
Seven Life Lessons from the Master of 80s teen comedy:
Self-referential looks to camera are NOT A BAD THING (all John Hughes films)
• Best friends are best when they're a bit troubled (Cameron in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Iona in Pretty In Pink)
• Teachers are self-serving Nazis (Mr Vernon in The Breakfast Club) or desperate, sadsack stalkers (Mr Rooney in Ferris Bueller's Day Off ) MY FAVOURITE!
• Geeks give good kisses: The Geek in Sixteen Candles and Duckie in Pretty In Pink both give surprisingly good lippage. ("He must practise on melons," Iona says after Duckie unexpectedly plants one on her in Pretty In Pink)
• Sex is complicated. "If you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have, you're a slut. It's a trap." (Ally Sheedy's Allison in The Breakfast Club)
• If you want a real career, don't be the main star of a Hughes flick. See: John Cusack as Best Nerd Friend in Sixteen Candles or a young Robert Downey Jr as Mean Spirited Jock in Weird Science.
Well, this is an amazing story. Apparently, dogs in Moscow have learned to take the metro downtown to get to their jobs as scavengers for food. They find their stops, they ride the escalators, and they even manage to harass people out of their Shish-Taouks on the metro! Oh, you crazy dogs.
Next week, I am sure I will be writing about the newest squeegee dogs who clean your automobile windows. With their tongues!
Mon pire cauchemar est que mes textes soient moins bon que
les siens. ëtre comparé à lui....
pas besoin de 50 ans dexperience pour remarquer son talent ahahahahahahahahaha!!!;;
chu de quebec pop pop lever vous danser sauter
Je sais pas pourquoi, mais Kevin Federline me fait penser à lui XD
HAHAHAHA, Kevin Federline. I can totally see it! PAPAPAPAP!
Hey! The musical genius of our generation, check it! I love the guy wearing his grandmamas fur coat. He's totes street. And the poetry of D. Man, I can't sleep.
Anycrap, watch this video. And remember your lost love with me.
I remember dancing to this in Club Domino when I was a teenage punk with blue hair. Ah, those were the days.
No coment. I just like it.
Happy Birthday Max! Anyone who knows me even a little -- Adrianna, I'm looking atchew -- knows how much I LOVE dogs. I love them more than people. So my black heart momentarily heaved when I read this story of Max, the 26 year old dog. You go, Max!
Puppy love: Mrs Derouen attributes her pet's age to his laid-back attitude: 'He likes to lie down, relax, nap, sleep a lot and keep life simple,' she says
'He's a very, very laid back dog. He likes to lie down, relax, nap, sleep a lot and keep life simple. He'll play with the kids for a bit but if they bother him too long he'll wander off.
'He doesn't have any fancy toys, just a bit of rope and a regular squeaky ball.'
Mrs Derouen, who has eleven grandchildren, held a special birthday party for Max yesterday. 'We spoiled him just a little bit that once,' she said.
This woman, Madame Derouen is my new best friend forever even if she doesn't know it. Kudos to you Madame, for raising such a healthy happy dog. I just adopted a 10 yar old toy poodle Romeo who weighs a whopping 4 lbs. He spent his whole life in a puppy mill, breeding. Yeah, I know, to most guys, sounds like the good life, right? No. Puppy mills are hell. This gives me hope that I can give Romeo a nice long loving retirement.
His name should be F-Natural. Seriously though, how has this musical genius NOT made the cover of Rolling Stone yet?! Why ar women and men too not removing all their clothes in the streets when they see this fine specimen, this poet of the new age coming towards them. I just don't get it.
This video made me feel both excited and nervous at the same time. Think of all the positive implications of robots: perhaps and end to child slavery, animal cruelty etc. But we know ourselves, don't we? You know some sicko is gonna start making robo porn and that's all we'll ever use them for. Just look at the internet: porn central.
I just posted about her older sister jail-baiting it up at the Teen Choice Awards. Here is video of these children dancing around a stripper pole. Man, Mr. Achy Breaky mullet, Billy Ray must be so proud of his young daughters.
I recently posted about her younger sister Noah dancing around a stripper pole recenlty. Well, we can nw see where she got her inspiraton and model to which to aspire. Here is 16 year old Miley bumping and grinding atop an ice cream cart. Note the stripper pole on top of the ice cream cart. And listen to the lyrics if you are able.
I remember once an ex-boyfriend whose name now escapes me asked me what my favourite food was. Being one of our first dates, I wanted to appear all Scarlett O'Hara-like and said, "Oh, I don't know. I'm not really interested in food." Now of course, I would wax eloquently of Thai food, with lime leaves, coconut milk ... swoon. Or Indian food with its musky cumin, hot cayenne, oh my God.And oddly enough for some people, one of my favourite foods is salad. It sounds bland, doesn't it? But it isn't. Think of different salads in the summer: exploding tomatoes with balsamc vinegar and fresh basil leaves, gamey feta cheese and plump Kalamata olives, leaf lettuce with raddichio, endive, romaine, leaf lettuce. Oh my. My mouth is watering.
So why is it lately I've only been interested in iceberg lettuce. To me. iceberg lettuce has always represented the blandest of the most blandest food. No disrespect to my many Waspy friends, but it has always reminded me of my university roommate who use to peruse my hummous, tsaziki and black olives in our communal fridge and say to me: "Gee Patra, your food smells." I am sure it did to her as she cooked white pasta casseroles with crushed potato chips as topping. Don't misunderstand, I am not saying one is better than the other. We all grow up with with what we grow up with. I grew up with a father -- a fiery, angry, passionate, sometimes drunk but always talented and loving Greek father who would thunder into the garden, amass some zucchini, eggplant (flowers and all) potatoes, come into the kitchen, mix them up with fresh tomatoes and hard mijethra cheese into a weird kind of casserole. Voila, one hour lateer, pure pure heaven.
What is iceberg lettuce to me? Water. No taste. Expensive. Then why am I craving it? Am I becoming - gasp - suburban? I realise that sounds so condescending coming from a hipster that lives on the cusp of the Plateau/Village. Does it get any more urban hip? As I was reading an article about John Cheever, this passage jumped out at me; "My God, the suburbs. They encircled the city's boundaries like enemy territory, and we thought of them as loss of privacy, a cesspool of conformity and a life of indescribable dreariness in some split level village where the place-name appeared in the New York Times only when some bored housewife blew heer head off with a shotgun."
I know tonight I will make a salad with iceberg lettuce, olive oil, purple onion and sea salt and sit in my backyard with a glass of lovely priced Fuzion (or 5) as I ponder my surburban longings. And desire to be John Cheever.
In keeping with my theme of the end of civilisation a la Hollywood, I present to you Noah Cyrus and some of her friends having a bit of innocent fun. Noah Cyrus is the daughter of musical maestro Billy Ray Cyrus, he of the ultimate musical lament of the broken hearted. She is also the sister of professional jailbait, Miley Cyrus who apparently plays some important role on Disney. Now this is a fine example of parenting, Glitter style. These budding feministas have a glowing future ahead of them.
Before being spit out of the bottom of the porn machine when they are 30 and over the hill. (Too much?)
Please watch this homage to strong women who do not resort to cheap sexual exploits to succeed in this world. Oh wait ...
Did you know that the apple in the Garden of Eden may have actually been a tomato? It is one theory. Some early Christian scholars interpreted the fruit of temptation as an apple, perhaps because in Latin, "malum" means both apple and evil. What a delicious pun. However, if the "Garden of Eden" actually existed, the most agreed upon location is in Persia. And apples do not grow in hot climes as such in the Middle East. Tomatoes do. So do figs and pomegranites. The enigmatic tomato belongs to the same family as tobacco and the toxic, deadly nightshade, but that just adds to its glamour. Sex, death and cigarettes: Eden's forbidden fruit should have been a tomato.
I like it.
There are also those who believed this enticing, bright red fruit had aphrodisiac powers, as did the French, who called it pomme d'amour or love apple though this is believed to be an alteration from the Spanish pome dei moro or apple of the moors.
Naples in the 16th century was a still a Spanish possession and it was they of course who introduced the tomato to Italy, who soon called it pomodoro or golden apple referring most likely to the earliest specimens that were yellow or bright orange.
Many years later red tomatoes were taken to Italy from the Americas by two priests. In the early 1700's in America, a Jewish-Portuguese doctor introduced tomatoes unsuccessfully claiming they were from the original Garden of Eden's Tree of Eternal Life and if eaten in sufficient quantities, would give immortality.
I can see the association between tomatoes and temptation. That harlot red, the juicy body that explodes with a gentle nip, the flavour filling your mouth and making you swoon. Ah tomatoes, I could never quit you.
Which brings me to dinner. I think I am going to try to make this recipe tonight: Provençal Potato Summer Gratin. Tomatoes in summer, a drizzle of olive oil, fresh basil, a baguette, red wine, a dish of olives. Is this not paradise? Try this recipe and tell me your results. Myself, I think it will be the perfect seduction tool. Meow. Just call me Eve.
Provençal Summer Potato Gratin
You can use almost any type of potato for this savory gratin. I know because I recently made it with odds and ends that had been sitting in my pantry for a little too long. They included a russet, a few Yukon golds and some fingerlings.
2 garlic cloves
Extra virgin olive oil
2 1/2 pounds tomatoes, peeled and sliced
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves, or 1 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
2 pounds potatoes, peeled if desired or scrubbed, sliced about 1/4 inch thick
1 or 2 sprigs rosemary
2 ounces Gruyère cheese, grated (1/2 cup, tightly packed)
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut one of the garlic cloves in half, and rub a 3-quart gratin or baking dish with the cut half. Oil the dish with olive oil. Mince the halved garlic along with the remaining garlic, and toss with the tomatoes. Add the thyme, and season to taste with salt and freshly ground pepper.
2. Make a layer of half the potato slices, slightly overlapping the layers, and season generously with salt and pepper. Layer half the tomatoes over the potatoes. Place the rosemary sprig(s) on top. Repeat the layers with the remaining potatoes and tomatoes. Be sure to season each layer generously. Pour any juices left in the tomato bowl over the vegetables.
3. Bring 1 cup of water to a boil, and carefully pour into the baking dish. Bake 45 minutes, checking and pressing the potatoes down into the liquid after 30 minutes. Remove from the oven, press the potatoes down into the liquid in the dish and sprinkle on the cheese. Bake another 30 to 45 minutes, until most of the liquid has been absorbed by the potatoes and the gratin is lightly browned. Serve hot or warm.
Yield: Serves four to six.
Advance preparation: The gratin can be assembled several hours before baking. It doesn’t have to be served hot, so you can bake it an hour or two ahead and serve it warm
... for so eloquently summing up my angst. RIP.
Keats once said: "Nothing ever becomes real til your life has experienced it."
I really don't appreciate myself right now because I am about to write about those two pieces of excrement, Mr and Mrs Spencer Douchebag. I mean Pratt. I really don't want to give these two wastes of food any more press whatsoever but I am curious as to where we - as a society - have gone wrong. And we have gone wrong because we produced these two self-entitled uneducated idiots. Them and their celeb-retard ilk. I really do believe they are contributing to the downfall of us, as much as pollution. But there are a spiritual pollution, a pox on our souls. They are adding to the decline of western civilisation.
FAME IS THE NEW RELIGION. AND CELEBUTARDS ARE OUR GODS.
I read this somewhere recently and I agree wholeheartedly. There is an actual syndrome called Celebrity Worship Syndrome. In 2003, New Scientist magazine reported that one third of Americans were suffering from CWS. This proportion of the population continues to rise. Clinical psychologist James Houran who is also the joint creator of the Celebrity Worship Scale says low levels of celebrity adoration is actually good for you: "It's a form of social bonding, stress reduction, escapism and entertainment. At low levels people tend to be happier, more personable and more rationale."
Heck, even I admit to visiting Perez or Michael K from time to time.
But Houran also claims, at higher levels, celebrity worship has been linked with depression, anxiety, body image problems and addiction. Certainly, I get severely depressed when I see half-wits like this Spencer Pratt douchebag braying of how much money he makes.
It reminds me of some now faded "supermodel" who famously claimed she didn't get out of bed for less than X amount of dollars per day. Yeah, for sure this depresses me. All the suffering in the world and these 2 entitled asses actually brag about how rich they are and how they make such obscene amounts of money for simply showing up somewhere? This is sick and twisted, and somehow it has become our "American Dream." I wanna Brian Wilson myself when I read shite like this.
Look, I'm guilty of watching some "reality" shows. I've tuned into The Bachelor/ette, Big Brother and even Survivor. I am aware at the same time that these shows have writers and are scripted to some degree, edited and manipulated when they present reality to us.
What is dangerous about Heidi and Spencer in my is that they believe their own press. Little kids may start to look up to them and emulate them. We will have a whole society of what exactly? Not doctors, not scientists, not teachers or nurses or electricians or plumbers or bus drivers. What exactly will we have?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA! I know I shouldn't laugh, but I like this chica's style. She didn't whine and cry about sexual harassment, she didn't get a lawyer. Nope, this tough gal decided to take - ahem - matters into her own hands and solve her own little pesky weiner waver. Check it: A Greek woman accused of setting fire to the genitals of a British tourist in Crete is due to appear in court.
The woman admitted assault after dousing the man's private parts in alcohol and igniting them, but says she did so after being sexually harassed.
Police on the Greek island say the tourist was drunk and had waved his genitals at several girls before allegedly groping the suspect.
The man suffered second degree burns and is recovering in a private clinic.
The 26-year-old suspect handed herself over to police, claiming she had acted in self defence.
She has won praise on Crete for what has been seen as defending her honour, the BBC's Malcolm Brabant said.
Ah. My peeps. The Greeks. They don't dick around. If the lady says, get your junk outa my face, malaka, then you do it. Otherwise, there are repercussions and consequences. HAHAHAHAHHA> Maybe I shouldn't laugh so loud. People (men) might read this and never approach me ever again. Even if they need a light for their cigarette.
Because it's dangerous on stage and they could fall and break a hip.
Icon Steven Tyler apparently injured himself the other night at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota short last night after the frontman of Aerosmith fell off the stage and was airlifted to the hospital. Tyler suffered minor head and neck injuries as well as a shoulder injury, the AP reports. Tyler’s fall came after the sound system at the Buffalo Chip Campground failed during “Love in an Elevator.” Trying to keep the crowd enthused, Tyler began dancing and spinning on the catwalk, but ultimately fell backwards into crowd. Security and audience members rushed to help Tyler, who was then brought backstage.
“I’ve never seen that happen before. But you could kind of see it coming because he was dancing all over the stage,” audience member Lance Yellow Robe, who was standing eight feet from the stage, told the Rapid City Journal. At around 12:15 a.m., with Tyler still backstage, guitarist Joe Perry told the crowd that his “brother-in-arms” was en route to the hospital and the abbreviated concert was done. Mike Sanborn, the spokesperson for the Buffalo Chip, told the AP that Tyler was “good-natured” about the whole incident. “He was in good spirits when he got in the helicopter. He was talking and joking with the physician,” Sanborn said.
Maybe Steve, it's time to put away the feather earrings and the Stvie Nicks-style scarves and do less rocking out with your cock out and more rocking in the chair with the grandkids. But who am I to say? Maybe when I'm 85 like he is, I'll still get down with 70s rock. I wanna be one of those old people.
I may have to take up heavy drinking. Er, make that heavier drinking. Or maybe that's my problem? My weirdo-work-nightmare-world tour continues. Last night, I enter my classroom and another teacher that I work with is there, supposedly to do some sort of research for a higher position. I begin to get feelings of paranoia. Turns out that the half-assed lesson I prepared 30 seconds before class has been usurped by this most excellent lesson from the other teacher. My paranoia grows.
But the macho boys again start streaming out. This time I chase them down the hall. But now, I realise I am dreaming or I say to myself in the dream, Hey I dreamed something like this and now it's really happening! Some Matrix reality twist like that. And then somehow, one of my students now works at the Pharmacy that is part of Vanier (yay!) and I ask if I can get drugs for free. A big thumbs up. Good news right. Well, the BAD news is an obese bare-breasted woman dispenses my drugs.
I know, Valium and all those delicious concoctions are mother's milk to me? Hmmm. Paging Dr. Freud.
Then somehow I am in the dean's office and my paranoia grows even more as they tell me they check ratemyteacher.com on a regular basis. And they are all smoking cigarettes. And again, an elevator figures prominently. From here on, the dream becomes(!) too confusing to follow.
I am turning into the crazy cat lady. See post below. I gotta take up meditation.
Awwww. How cute is this? I love dogs so much, much more than people. I have two dogs, Chewy and my newest bundle of joy, Romeo the 4 kilo poodle. Plus I have my wonder cat who is really a dog, Milo. so I am officially the crazy animal lady. All I need now is to wear my lipstick AROUND the lips and dye my hair an enchanting tangerine colour.
But I digress.
Look at the beautiful heart fur on the mommy chihuahua. And she gave birth to a baby with the same heart. How adorable. Is this a sign. Dog is god backwards and god is pure love? Yeah, that's it.
KHARTOUM, Sudan (AP) -- Sudanese police fired tear gas and beat women protesting outside a Sudanese court Tuesday during the trial of a female journalist accused of violating the Islamic dress code by wearing trousers in public.
Police moved in swiftly and dispersed about 50 protesters, mostly women, who were supporting Lubna Hussein, a former U.N. worker facing 40 lashes on the charge of "indecent dressing." Some of the women demonstrators wore trousers in solidarity with Hussein.
Wow. Women wanting to wear pants? What the heck is next? Wanting to get educated? Driving? Good lord, maybe smoking a cigarette? No. Don't even let that door open.
But seriously, what year are we? That this barbarity exists is a shame on all of us.
I had another anxiety dream last night. Wow, who know my job caused me such angst. This time, I was in a classroom that was l-shaped. I decided to show Madonna's "Like a Prayer" video for some reason. Except that the video was not playing; it was more like Madonna doing some weirdo documentary on ... European travel, ancient cities .... I don't know. One by one, people started filing out the room. Of course, due to the shape of the room, most of the class couldn't even see the video. I was going from corner to corner, screaming at people to pay attention and to make sure they were taking notes. It was all chaos really. And then, at the end of the class, me and someone who i cannot remember now, got stuck in an elevator. Oh man, I hope this is not a sign of the semester to come.
I don't like having nightmares. I mean, who does really? But I have such bad insomnia that when I finally do get to sleep, I'd like it to be a pleasant ride. But this morning, I woke up with my old friend anxiety.
I know that as a Cegep teacher, I am considered by many others to be extremely fortunate to have the summer off. Except that teachers don't really get the summer off, even though it appears as such to others. In any case, our vacation is coming to a close and last night I dreamt that my new 101 Literature and Comp class turned into a bunch of children and started acting like kindergarden kids on a super sugar high. In the dream I started screaming and threatening them with beatings. Yup, old school. I confiscated a note one boy was writing and it was all about my poor wardrobe choices which, in my dream, caused me to burst into tears and march him to the Dean's office.
Except that I kept getting lost in the school. Elevators didn't work, hallways suddenly became super highways, and the wind was against my face, blowing me back.
Finally, my little foster dog Romeo woke me up to go for a pee-pee so I don't know how much dream ended.
Yup, can't wait to get back.
This didn't link before. Here it is.
"They are everything that's wrong with America," says Paul Telegdy. Who is Paul Telegdy, besides one of the many that feel this way? The ironical nature of this statement is that it comes from the head of of NBC's reality programming. His official title is Executive Vice President and Alternative Programming. Isn't it reality TV that has unfortunately thrust this loathsome twosome into our cultural zeitgeist? Does this statement constitute some sort of tacit understanding of the complicity of NBC in contributing to the downfall of critical thought in America, nay North America? "They are insincere, lazy, entitled and they claim the devil has possessed them too."
Wow. Sounds like some of my students.
But seriously, what is this obsession with celebrity? (I'll get back to these two idiots shortly.) The cult of celebrity that has exploded in our time? What is the fascination with such people as moron Spencer Pratt, his idiot wife Heidi, sex tape star Paris Hilton among others?
What is with the dumbing down in popular culture? Why can most of my students spout off a litany of facts about Ms Hilton and yet know nothing about the genocide in Rwanda? Nor even appear to care to learn? This goes hand in hand with the oft-heard brag they give me at the beginning of every semester: I never read books.
Do Americans really believe Jon Stewart is the most reliable newsman since Walter Cronkite?
More to come ...