Tajazzle: The stupidest product ever invented.

Have you heard about Tajazzle? No? Probably not, because you're a contentious consumer who doesn't waste money on pieces of shit. But you ladies, wouldn't you like to start having complexes about more parts of your body and buying more crap to slather onto yourself in some attempt to appear attractive to the opposite sex?

Then the Tajazzle is for you. But how much is it going to cost you?

Thank god. I wasn't going to pay $200 for some junk they're selling on an infomercial. I don't even think they charge that much for a Jack LaLanne juicer.

SIXTY BUCKS?!?! Sixty bucks to acquire some talc which they expect you to put on your vagina, a fucking roll-on perfume bottle, and some pieces of plastic with glue on the back? This is no more a beauty "system" than tequila, Taco Bell and cheesecake is a system for giving you the shits.

My co-worker Kate put it best: "It just makes her look ashy."

 

"We are a totally believable couple. Yup."

THIS FUCKING GUY. Doesn't he look like he walked out of a Huge Boss ad in 1991? Nice eyebrows.

If this is an indicator of the kind of woman who owns a Tajazzle system, then obviously it's a time machine in disguise, since I don't think anyone's owned a "Princess" shirt, had spiky gelled bangs or used a cordless phone since 1999.

"Dude, she's so hot because the odor of her vagina is wafting over here. New car smell."

In what universe does this cost thirty dollars? Seth: "It's a tattoo you get out of a vending machine at a Mexican restaurant."

"Hey, are you ready to go to the beach?" "Yeah, I think so, let me see... hat, sunscreen, sarong... wait, I forgot the stupid pieces of crystal stuck to my asscheek!"

"Aw, man, I'm just at this bar, drinking appletinis and being so super masculine and I totally wouldn't go down on a girl unless her pussy smelled like Febreeze."

 I don't want to fucking know where this is going. I really don't. I can get down with some kinky shit, but I don't want anyone licking my feet. Sorry.

I am my most confident when my lady parts are drier than the Sahara! I feel great about the fact that whatever guy I decide to drag home and beg to sleep with me is going to see my stupid bullshit crystal tattoo and think I'm a fucking nut who loves Nicholas Sparks books and owns a hot pink Snuggie and has already picked out the names of the four children we're going to have together (Makayla, Jayden, Addison and Tyler!)

People I hate: updated for 2011!

I'm what one would call a "misanthrope." Or an "asshole." I tend to think they're interchangable. In short? I can't stand 95% of humanity.

Usually I reserve my hatred for women with huge strollers who insist on standing in the doorway of the T at rush hour and Rush Limbaugh. But my cup runneth over with vitriol, and I'm singling some of you dickbags out.

People who quote themselves.

Have you ever known anyone who did this? Have you ever noticed that everyone who does this is always the stupidest fucking person you know? Your friend with the Ph.D. in English who spent three years writing a thesis on Paradise Lost doesn't quote himself. It's always the dipshit who graduated high school with 2.1 GPA and promptly got a job installing car stereos who thinks he's so chock-full-o'-wisdom that he has to share his enlightenment with the world. Do the world a favor and keep your banal observations to yourself.

People who love the Dave Matthew Band.

I might get a lot of shit for this, but I can't think of any band that is more fucking played-out than the Dave Matthews Band. It's boring yuppie bullshit, consistently enjoyed by asshats in Fortune 500 companies that spend their days figuratively pushing money around with rakes and then as soon as the five o'clock world's whistle blows, they don their khaki cargo shorts and Abercrombie polos and bang their heads to Dave Matthews like he's some fucking killer guitar player. It's like Muzak except you don't have to speculate about the singer's sexuality. Grow a pair and listen to metal, you morons. (Not that I like metal, really. I listen to Robyn.)

Hot lesbians.

What the fuck is your problem? Why do you insist on ignoring me? Why do you absolutely refuse to be swayed by my stunning looks and endless charm? Why do all of you like science so much? Why do you make me look like a plebian? Why must you keep my OkCupid inbox and my soul empty? Why do none of you find me attractive, yet any idiot with a dick and bad haircut whom I'd never screw in a million years won't hesitate to tell me they think I'm hot?

Friends who won't tell you the truth.

THIS ONE. I'm sure it's happened to all of us. You have that one friend who says "Aw yeah we're totally going to hang out on Saturday, it's going to be awesome!" Then they meet up with someone who doesn't like you or who almost got in a fistfight with your husband on New Year's Eve (whoops, whatever, I was so drunk I barely remember it) and then suddenly all that shit is down the drain and you're lucky if they even reply to your text message asking what town they're going to be in. I don't fucking care if you don't want to hang out with me, or can't, or something's occurred to offend your delicate fucking sensibilities. Just be honest about it. My heart isn't going to break.

People who fake disabilities to get money / perks / pity.

There's this guy who fake-hobbles on the train every morning. A fat guy who demands to be given the optimal seating because he's so super disabled and can't walk and has to use crutches. But, if you actually watch him and not just buy into the whole "he must be disabled and I can't question a disabled person's motives," he's using them like fucking ski poles. I long held a suspicion that the guy was faking it. Then I saw him at A.C. Moore, waddling around sans crutches like he was the most able-bodied bastard in the world, buying fabric pant and rick-rack so he can decorate his Lee jeans. Fuck that guy. Also, fuck the guy on the train who purports to be blind yet crushes the Jumble and Sudoku every morning. Blind my ass.

Everyone thinks women suck at music.

A lot of people lately are up in arms as to whether or not they like Courtney Love. I truly can't think of a more polarizing figure when it comes to feminist circles. Love apologists claim her utter refusal to sit down and shut up is setting a good example for women who refuse to be well-behaved and aim to make history. Those against her accuse her of poor parenting, poor musical skills and even poorer grammar and spelling.

Now, I'm on the fence about C. Love. I watched the documentary Kurt and Courtney and found her to be conniving and greedy. I used to listen to Malibu on repeat when I was fourteen, but I never really cared for the rest of Hole's discography. But it got me thinking about outspoken female musicians, and what happens when they get involved with other musicians.

If something "bad" happens to a musician that society loves - be he John Lennon, or Kurt Cobain - it is immediately and overwhelmingly the fault of whatever woman he's fucking, unless she's a little docile model/housewife. How many times have we heard that Courtney is responsible for killing Kurt? How many times have Beatles fans called Yoko Ono a bitch because John Lennon fell in love with her and stopped making music with Paul, George and Ringo? Furthermore, if a male musician decides to take a break from music, everyone blames the change on that woman. The man is faultless, of course. It's that stupid whore who got knocked up / tricked him into marrying her / is using him for his fame and money's fault. And if an admired musician changes his style after being influenced by such a woman, the new sound is invariably "terrible" and his career is ruined.

This, my friends, is a recurring theme in pop culture, and it's based on one simple fact: people think women suck at music. There. I said what you were already thinking - or I least made it objective. If you have a penis, you were probably just thinking that women suck at music.

I hear this all the time from the segment of our population with external genitalia. The other day I played Metric in the car with Seth and got a reassuring "I don't like most of your chick music but I like this." They assume anything with female vocals that isn't a pop song is generally going to be whiny and poorly-written. Men also believe women are unable to play instruments. Take a look at the female musicians who are generally well-regarded by critics (who are also overwhelmingly male): Janis Joplin, Mama Cass, Patti Smith, Dusty Springfield, Aretha Franklin, Etta James. Singers. All of them. So-called "chick bands" that find popularity with the masses are almost always female-fronted with all-male backing members: the aforementioned Metric, No Doubt, Blondie, Rilo Kiley, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Sonic Youth, Portishead, Garbage, The Cardigans, and even my two favorite bands as a pre-teen: Save Ferris and Letters to Cleo. Can anyone even name a kick-ass female musician that isn't Kim Deal or Lita Ford?

I wouldn't say the dearth of brilliant female musicians is for a lack of trying. I think it has to do with the fact that in music, as in society, women are just expected to stand there and look pretty. Most women in the mainstream are there because they look good, not because they sound good. Rihanna can't even sing. Taylor Swift is a joke compared to Ani DiFranco - but one is 20 years old and has four Grammys and the other has put out 18 studio albums and only has received recognition for fucking CD packaging. The music industry is perpetuating the notion that women can't play well and that all-chick bands will never sell records, conveniently forgetting the massive success of groups like the Runaways and conveniently ignoring the massive talent of women.

And we as a society still want to believe that only the John Lennons and Kurt Cobains of the world will produce good music - until something with a vagina, a guitar, and an actual opinion comes along and screws it up. So for that, Ms. Love, rock the fuck on.

EVERYTHING ISN'T ABOUT YOU!

I'm pretty sure I have Premenstrual Dysmorphic Diet-Pepsi-obsessed Dayquil-swilling Distemper Disorder. Why? Well, I'm pounding even more of the aspartame treat than ever, my throat is fucking sore, my boobs have hurt for a week and I really can't stand anyone nowadays. Especially internet commenters.

Yeah, I know. "Who cares?"

I CARE. I work a boring desk job in which I have nothing to do half the day. So I read. A lot. I read Jezebel. All day long.

So the other day, this big Jez shitstorm hit, when one of the editors published an article on sexual consent that all the humorless feminists obviously wouldn't agree with, and the commenters lost their goddamn minds. You'd think they'd never encountered life outside of an encapsulated sounding board, where men can be total assholes and people don't always share your opinions. The idea that they'd even have to face a point of view not in line with their own - and ARGUE its merits - made these women more inflamed than a hemorrhoid.

The editor apologized, noting that she put the post up right before the holiday and wasn't as attentive to the reaction as she should have been. The commenters weren't going to hear it. Someone actually said, "You couldn't do your job because it was a HOLIDAY?" How dare she travel to go spend time with her family on a national holiday when people on the internet are MAD?! The editor then posted a counterpoint article. It wasn't good enough.

So anyway, the content of the original piece was fairly vague and stupid - some American guy goes to Paris, wonders why American chicks aren't as hot and easy as French ladies, and says that maybe we USians sanitize our sex a bit too much. I didn't much care for the article, and I thought it was poorly written. I thought the guy sounded like a douchebag with a fixation on European women. He could have had a point and started a real discussion, but fell short.

But more than anything, the entitlement of these internet lurkers made me want to vomit.

The world does not fucking revolve around you. Somebody wrote something you don't like? Tough fucking shit. The Gawker Media Corporation is not beholden to you and your opinions. The editors of a web magazine do not owe you anything. If anything, they're beholden to the people who buy advertising on their site and pay their bills. People were seriously saying "I am not satisfied with this. I am owed an apology."

Really. REALLY?! You're that mad about the fucking internet? Do you know how many people in the world don't use the internet? ALMOST FIVE BILLION. Do you treat everyone you encounter in your real life like that? Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't have a real life. You spend six hours a day asking people you'll never meet what you should do about that internship that you really wanted but didn't get. 

Maybe that's the scourge of the modern age - absolute and utter narcissism. There are actually people out there believing a company that's the second largest online newspaper in the world should bow down, admit defeat, and let the 200 people who comment regularly control the content that tens of thousands of people read every hour. It goes beyond this to every element of our lives - people who make kissy faces in their Facebook profile pictures which they change twice a day, friends who get pissed off because you don't respond to their text messages immediately, women who are average weight and height and attractiveness and think they're models. I'm just so tired of the fact that everyone in my generation thinks they're some big fucking star.

I'm truly sorry, really I am, but you're going to work a boring job for 45 years. You're going to pop out a couple of mediocre children, you're going to marry someone who's going to get fat and bald, and your idea of a good time will end up being white zinfandel and a U2 cover band. You're not going to go great places and do great things. You're not going to drive a Porsche, you're not going to attend fancy galas, and when you die, there will be but a small crowd of people there to see you into the ground. Just give it up.

Obviously everything isn't about you. It's about me.

I watched Twilight and I didn't throw up (but my eyes almost rolled out of my head)

 Ten years from now, it won't be funny. Just sad.

I'm pretty slow on the uptake as far as pop culture goes. I probably haven't heard whatever popular song is on the radio, and I didn't even get into Gaga until somewhere around mid-November of last year. I'm the kind of person that has to Google discussion board acronyms. I read a lot of stuff, but I guess I just don't really retain it. Moreso, I guess I don't get the appeal. Pop music is unoriginal, rom-coms are formulaic and I couldn't care less which bachelor some bitch is going to pick for her fake engagement.

Given my aversion to things other people like, I have been morally opposed to the entire Twilight franchise since its inception, for two very simple reasons. One, it was written by a Mormon (see my problem with these precocious wholesome phonies). Two, it's about high schoolers. That's how I know it has to be bad. Teenagers are the most self-centered, histronic, and completely useless members of society. They're like babies who can drive and swear.

So my husband, the one who likes flowers and candles and romance - I'm not really cut out for that whole thing - urged me to watch New Moon with him on Saturday. I've never seen the first Twilight movie, but he described the plot to me in painstaking detail. Girl moves to town, falls in love with school hearthrob, he takes her for a nice little tree-to-tree jumping session in the forest. Standard fare, if you like things that are stupid and make no fucking sense.

From the minute the opening credits rolled, I was about ready to shoot up antifreeze. The melodrama is RIDICULOUS. It pretty much takes a whole movie to say that Jacob likes Bella, and Edward is a stupid martyr, and Bella is overdramatic and unstable and completely unlikeable. There is no reason why every guy in this backwards-ass town should be in love with her. She really brings nothing to the table. Standing there with your mouth agape is not a personality. Not to mention the fact that these 'vampires' who are supposed to hundreds of years old act like they're all fucking twelve. AND THEY SPARKLE IN THE SUN. No. Real vampires die. I'll gladly take Eric Northman over Carlisle Cullen and his terrible dye job any day.

I did a little research, and the rest of the saga would indicate that it was written by someone who is certifiable psychotic. Hybrid babies? Clawing their way out of stomachs? Implied romantic feelings between said babies and seventeen-year-olds? This is what happens when you go to a church that makes you wear sacred underwear. Bram Stoker (or what's left of his eyeballs) is no doubt rolling in his grave.

I think what this really is all about is this absolute batshit insane idea of love in the Western Judeo-Christian world. It perpetuates the notion that even if you are nothing special, which, (kind of) sadly, most people are, it is possible that someone with substantial power, beauty, intelligence or influence will fall in love with you. Heart-wrenching, overwhelming, unconditional love with you. It's the love of fourteen-year-olds who think they'll meet someone who is dashingly handsome and they'll be together forever. It's the wish and hope that a man exists who wants nothing more to take you as his wife and take your panties off with the most delicate of touches. It's the dream of someone who will take no liberties with you, afraid to bruise your petals. Girls as flowers. Men as bees. Your Prince fucking Charming who will rescue you from mediocrity and make you beautiful and immortal and never let you go.

Why are we so desperate for these fantasies, for these means of escape? Why do we numb ourselves with antidepressants and dreams that will never be actualized? Have our lives become so painful that we cannot accept nor embrace the people that exist within them, the genuine bonds that inspire both sadness and joy? Are we so hungry for Hollywood's notion of 'real love' that we are unwilling to be satisfied with an honest smile, a whisper in the dark, and an occasional shouting match? When did we as a culture decide that we can't handle the reality of pain? Why is no one willing to experience palpable, substantial emotional anguish that makes us question who we are, what we believe in? Why are people so fucking terrified of feeling things? 

I remember a long time ago, when I was sadder than I'd ever been in my life. I was in counseling and it was recommended that I go on antidepressants. I flat-out refused. I'd rather be myself and miserable than someone else and happy, I decided. I'd rather embrace the fucked-up, complicated, unfeigned world than buy into the bullshit fantasy and spend my days longing for imaginary characters and impossible situations.

"The reason you haven't felt it is because it doesn't exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons. You're born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts. But I never forget. I'm living like there's no tomorrow, because there isn't one." - Don Draper

oh my god, nobody cares.

 

I know I am a mutant. I know I am the only woman on the face of the earth who can't stand babies. I am aware of this already. No one needs to lambast me for it. 

So this should come as no surprise to any of you that I am tired of hearing about them. I want to preface this by saying that I am not tired of hearing about children and the weird/funny things they do. I am not against children. As soon as they can emote and pick up shit on their own, I'm all about it. 

But there is a proliferation of baby-TMI going on, particularly on social networking sites, and I'm really over it.

I am really tired of hearing about how people's newborns shit all over themselves, or how they didn't sleep through the night, or how they cried when their foreskin was cut. 

And what is with the pictures of new born babies and their shriveled, rotting, black umbilical cords? It looks like they have leeches crawling out of their stomachs. Attractive.

You are not special for having a kid.

I am completely irritated by the maternal smugness that fills the air every time a child slides out of a vagina. Some women seem to think that giving birth is the greatest accomplishment of their lives. I hate to break it to you, but women have only been doing it since... oh, I dunno, the beginning of the species. You don't deserve a fucking trophy for being rawdogged. I've realized that two consequences of unprotected sex, STDs and children, have a lot in common, actually... they're lasting reminders of bad decisions that both irritate and destroy any opportunity for future intercourse.

On another note,  I don't give a shit what Louis C.K. says, all babies look the same.

I hate to be a total bitch to the most innocent of human creatures (okay, actually I don't really care), but I don't understand why people will take 65390173190 pictures of their newborns. Pretty much all babies look the same to me until they're at least 6 months old. Not to mention the fact that newborn babies have absolutely no personality. Nobody is as boring of a photo subject as a baby who can't even lift its own head. You might as well take pictures of your cat's asshole or a turd in the toilet - at least these things respond to stimuli.

And yes, if I ever give birth, it will be to a giant cigarette. Or an Absolut bottle. At least these will actually serve a function for me. And neither of them shit themselves.

if we don't make it, we'll fake it. well, all you broads will.

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giving up the ghost.

At least the majority of the American people don't think I'm an unqualified moron. Yet.

This morning, sleepily, after hearing extensively about my menstrual woes, my husband remarked:

"You make being a woman sound like the worst thing, ever. It seems like you're barely holding it together all the time."

He's right.

I'm quitting, you guys.

I guess you could say this is a long time coming. Since I've gotten married, my hygiene has slipped significantly. I don't wash my hair nearly as much as I used to. I cut it off for a bob, which I intend to gradually snip away at until my hair resembles Edie Sedgwick's. I only wear makeup if I'm actually going somewhere (anywhere public any time before 6 pm doesn't count as 'somewhere'). I've worn high heels two times in two months. I'm just fucking tired of being female, and I don't care anymore.

I'm tired of not being able to shit regularly. I'm tired of haranguing my breasts into a wired felt-cotton trap every morning. I'm over worrying constantly if I'm knocked up. I'm sick of concerning myself with how I look and wondering if I should censor what I say.

You see, women are in a constant pursuit of looking as attractive as possible. Always. We are told from childhood that our purpose is to decorate the earth, to light up men's faces as they leer at our chests and appreciate our delicate features. We are on display 24 hours a day, seven days a week. We're supposed to diet and keep up with trends and have huge breasts and no wrinkles and not be smarter than the men we're involved with and we should be mild and passive and motherly and cheerful and just fucking perfect. If we're not doing everything we can to impress dudes, then we're under fire for being fat, ugly, man-hating feminazi lesbian shitasses (Scott Baio's wife's words, not mine - though I wish I could take credit for such a zinger). And if we happen to be too attractive, it's our fault that we led men to rape us, because we're sluts and whores. We have to be slaves to a society and then get backhandedly fucked by said society just for doing what they tell us.

But you know what? I'm not doing it anymore. I have a nice place to live, a job that's tolerable, an awesome cat, and a man that loves me even if I have chipped nail polish and have been wearing the same bra for four days in a row. Even so - what is the point where we say enough is enough? Is that aging? Recognizing that you're not the hot chick, the ingenue, the demure doll who men bend over backwards for? Or is the recognition that you don't even care enough to try to play that game anymore?

Women deal with enough blood and shit and tears. We owe it to ourselves to be honest. And to love ourselves for that honesty alone.

I don't fucking get romance novels.

 I'm not heartless, I swear. Brokeback Mountain made me cry.

I know it's not going to shock anyone, but I really don't care for that whole "I have a uterus and thus I am only interested in storytelling about heterosexual love affairs with non-descript characters and one brutally over-dramatized sex scene" thing. I understand that there is a segment of the female population that secretly reads trashy Harlequin romance novels about ripping corsets and riding "members," and that's fine, because they keep that shit on the down low. Nobody would dare to read "Mistress: Pregnant by the Spanish Billionaire" anywhere remotely public.

But, unfortunately, it is socially acceptable to read the printed diarrhea that is any Nicholas Sparks novel. And I want to punch this douchebag in the face simply for introducing his particular brand of fantastical and formulaic love story into the cultural lexicon.

Yet another movie based on one of Sparks' books just came out, with Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth (don't worry, I have no idea who the fuck he is either) playing the romantic leads. Now, I'm not going to see this piece of shit movie - he's responsible for six of these god-awful things so far, and the only one I saw was A Walk to Remember because I was fifteen and a romance-junkie friend dragged me against my will - but I bet I can narrow the plot down in one sentence: Rebellious individual meets overly generous and kind person, they each learn the error of their own ways, make out, and then one of them dies.

.... And this guy makes MILLIONS of dollars? Why, you ask?

I'll tell you why - because American women are given no great fantasy. We all want to escape our lives, right? Transcend the banality of rising at the same time every morning, working in the same cubicle, bogged down by the decision of whether to have chicken or fish for dinner. Society has established numerous legal avenues for men to just get away from their lives - sports, whiskey, Xbox 360, Tolkien, sportscars, the list goes on, ad infinitum.

What do women get? Romance novels.

It's just assumed that LOVE is all we care about. It's just assumed that from the second we're born with a vagina we're just waiting longingly for our princes to come. All our dreams revolve around the white dress, the diamond ring, the moment of completeness when we find The One and can settle down and start popping out children and never worry about anything again except for The One maybe dying in a mudslide (Nights in Rodanthe) or dropping dead at 17 with leukemia (A Walk to Remember) or enjoying a wonderful life with us and then forgetting the entire thing in old age due to dementia (The Notebook).

So basically, Nicholas Sparks is dictating our greatest desires and deepest fears. I'm so glad there's yet another man who knows exactly what women want. I'm also so glad that the vast majority of women have absolutely no taste in literature, because they're all making me look so much more posh by default.

in the words of my mother, go fry your ass.

In the wake of the most sweeping social legislation in decades, I'm fucking ragey.

I'm ragey because suddenly every idiot in America - and certainly every moron on my Facebook news feed - has an opinion about politics and government. And none of them know a god damn thing.

I have decided that I'm no longer going to even respond to anyone who is all about "free markets" and "small government" and "personal responsibility" unless they swear, at pains of perjury, that they will not accept Social Security or Medicare when they turn 65. Because you know when push comes to shove, everyone in America is a greedy bastard. That's why they're so concerned about paying taxes to begin with, conveniently forgetting the fact that without tax revenue, we have no roads, we have no police, we have no schools and we have no government that you can heckle and spit at when they try to do something to help people that are poorer than you.

And I'm sick and tired of the sugarcoating of this bullshit Tea Party movement. Oh, you're so mad about how Obama is spending your tax dollars? Where were you when Bush launched two wars to which $1.03 TRILLION DOLLARS have been allocated so far, that have no end in sight? Oh, that's right. You didn't care. Because he wasn't black.

I saw this gem of a status update today by a self-avowed libertarian:

"Thank God for the states suing the Govt after the egregious passing of the health care bill. Burn in hell liberals, I want America back."

Now, I'm going to spare you the unsightly details of my relationship with this person - whom I had a one night stand with in college, a rendezvous that can surely be blamed on the Southern Comfort. But what you should know is that this guy graduated from a $35,000 a year university and sleeps in a tent in Harvard Square because he thinks it makes him "edgy." He doesn't work - unless you call emailing me three times after I got married to ask me if I wanted to buy a knife set from him 'work' - and dumpster dives to feed himself. So I'm fucking DYING to know - what America are you talking about? The one which you support with your tax dollars - um, nope. The one you support through consumerism, rent, utilities - oh, whoops. Yeah, sorry, it's kind of more my America than yours, considering that I PAY FOR IT.

In my oh-so-humble opinion, if you live in Massachusetts and you don't like the health care reform, you're a fucking idiot. Nothing about your life will change, except for the fact that if you happen to come down with cancer, your insurance company can't stop paying for treatment. Which, if you actually use your brain, should be a given. If you want to bitch and moan about how it's going to 'bankrupt America,' why don't you protest what is actually bankrupting America - $663.3 million in defense spending just this year, which, if you didn't know, is almost as much as the rest of the world's defense spending combined.

I could spend hours going off about what Obama's ridiculous executive order may mean for the future of abortion, and how pissed off I am that no public option is included, but I'll save that for another day.

All I have to say is that I've got my finger on the "defriend" button, and I ain't afraid to use it. Luckily, this doesn't have to apply to what many would call 'real life' - I don't have morons (or ugly people) for friends.

I don't think Beyonce is so great.

According to the Daily Fail, "Single Ladies" was voted the best video of the decade. Let me first just say that I, being a married old hag who only listens to Oldies 103.3, only first viewed this video several days ago. Now, I know Kanye is going to come out of the shadows and start walking on my keyboard or something, but I really don't get the appeal.

Yeah, she can dance. Who gives a shit? I mean, Diana Ross (my lord and saviour) was doing this shit forty years ago, and though she didn't involve so much ass shaking, she also didn't dress like an instructor at Miss Tina's Studio of Dance.



I found this video very repetitive and lacking character. Where are all the animated cats following her up flights of stairs? What about the dudes shakily drawn in colored pencil? Watching this even made me miss the bumblebee girl from that Blind Melon video.

All of this reminded me of how little social currency music videos have anymore. The impetus to go "viral" far surpasses the desire to create unique, visually stimulating works. Since MTV is now where intellect and originality go to die, I doubt we will ever see anything like the Pop-Up Video gems of the 1990s ever again. Directors who function as artists - see Chris Cunningham - are long gone, but so are the conventions that made the majority of music videos so watchable. I used to spend hours watching these things, and now they're relegated to the far reaches of the world wide web.

I present to you: five masterpieces of music video, the way it used to be.


Meatloaf - I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

Three words: Totally. Fucking. Epic. The only downside to this video is that it is soooooooooooo long.




Taylor Dayne - Tell It To My Heart

This is where Beyonce got it wrong. If you want to do the whole dancing-and-singing-on-a-white-background-with-accompaniment, you need to do in color, wearing bright red lipstick and you need a guy doing cartwheels in ripped jeans. Oh, and you need to move your mouth in completely ridiculous ways.




Toni Braxton - I Get So High

This video made me dream, when I was nine, about having my own apartment with an elevator and giant playing cards with which to rate various grown men. Toni is the master of weird haircuts and standing in front of blue bubble backgrounds. I have to say, this video is a great mix of storyline and frames of singing, a delicate balance that made the videos of the 90s so perfect.




Jamiroquai - Virtual Insanity

Jamiroquai rules. This is what videos should be like - aesthetically interesting, kind of weird, futuristic, with a little bit of casual footwork and an underlying dark element. The only reason this isn't my favorite music video ever is that Jay Kay is really not very attractive, and they hired a fourteen-year-old ICP fan to be the stylist. I don't know which is worse - the stupid hat or the Old Navy Performance Fleece.




Cranberries - Zombie

On a more serious note, this music video has a political message - one that made most of America almost understand what was going on in Northern Ireland. It's a powerful piece of imagery that actually means something, unlike 'If you like it, you shoulda put a ring on it.' Sasha Fierce ain't got shit on Dolores O'Riordan.

desperate guys never had a chance with me.

Some of you may or may not know that I met my fiance on Craigslist. True story. It was a chance encounter that turned out, luckily, to be awesome, but just as easily could have been disastrous. That's why I find it quite funny to read the insanity that is "men seeking women." It reminds me how lucky I am to not be dating anymore. Seriously, these guys are real pieces of work. For every one guy that is genuinely looking for a relationship, there are probably 30 men who are pathetic, entirely narcissistic or just plain dumb.

So check out these beauties I found today.

You: Like Horror Flix,Metal,House/Trance...love to hit the gym, like tattoo's cuz I have a few. (tasteful not obnoxious) Ready to do anything on a moment's notice, caring, not into games, ready to cut to the chase, sense of humor, look fab in a bikini and oh yeah..you are financially independent. I am not set on anyone one thing but like my women who take of themselves(tanning,gym etc) and have a brain to go with it.

"Ready to do anything on a moment's notice"... oh, so you mean, unemployed and without hobbies? I like how this guy uses "ready to cut the chase" as a euphemism for "easy." Also, it's hard to be brainy when you spend all your time in a tanning bed and on the elliptical.


This here gem comes from a man four years away from being a senior citizen:

Would you like to go to dinner and a movie, then back to your place or mine and just lie down and cuddle, hug, kiss and be together? I would.

I wouldn't, jackass.


A young man from Allston boasts about himself to impress you:

As for how I look, you will not be disappointed. I work out a lot, and am very cut, with abs. Please do not be overweight, and if you think your way too good for Craigslist, then you should be emailing me. Again, this is with no strings attached unless you want some strings in there.

If you think you're way too good for Craigslist, then you shouldn't be ON CRAIGSLIST, MORON.

I am impressed by this young gentleman's honesty:

i have an addiction to coffee so if your the type of girl who likes to go out to one of those cafe coffee shop type places, i just might have to tag along. maybe i'll even try one of those fancy type things they sell like lattes or whatever they are called. I went to one the other day and it was pretty cool. One thing i really hate is shaving. so if you like guys to be clean cut all the time, sorry. i'm gonna have a bitchin' beard someday.

You made it to 2009 and you don't know what the fuck a LATTE is? Oh, and thanks for sharing that story about your magical journey to a coffee shop. Really interesting. Glad to know you hate shaving - hopefully, then, you wouldn't expect any woman you date to shave either. Hairy armpits for everyone... bitchin'! He goes on:

another thing i should throw out there is the fact that i do not go to school. schools not for me at the moment. i do have some semesters under my belt and i will return at some point, but not right now. i also do not have a car at the moment because i crashed into a telephone pole during a snowstorm earlier this winter. i'm just waiting til the spring to buy a new one. enough of me rambling on. right now i'm just hanging out drinking coffee, watching sportscenter waiting for the news at noon.

At least you admit that you don't go to school or have a car, and nobody's going to have to waste their time going on a date with you only to find out that you are pretty much useless. I'm also really enamored with the way he said he was going to stop rambling, and then rambled on for another whole sentence about nothing, which also served to indicate that he also doesn't appear to have a job, since he can sit around watching sportscenter all afternoon. FAIL.

I had to read this four times before I even understood it:

am still single guy looking four a girl its hard too go talk to the kinda girls i like becouse am sum what shy am a chill guy how like to hang out watch movies music mostly rock metal sum bules little rap polish hip hop any kind music if i like it drink sum what party play vid game hang with freinds play my guitor i paint drow no fake or made up online girls how say come talk to me on this site i will not go to that site i wanna talk to u here on this site am looking four girls that live close by to me am a cancer sign am 23, 58 polish&irish i was born here live here my hole life pluse too find a little hottie girl only if u girls have pic & phone number so i can call u so send them am four real am a nice guy as u can tell please girls dont wast my time

I'm sure none of you people who made it past the fourth grade can even get what he's trying to say, so I'll decode all you need to hear:

I am for real (despite the fact that I can't differentiate between a conjunction and a number). I am a nice guy, as you can tell. please girls, don't waste my time.

Don't worry, I'm sure after you waste everyone else's time as they try to decode your giant run-on sentence catastrophe, they won't bother.