Shit I See On My Facebook Newsfeed #1

I see a lot of shit on my Facebook newsfeed ; cat pictures, random doodle comics, passive aggressive status updates, melodramatic status updates, attention seeking status updates, jokes that are so dumb they're actually funny, pictures of macaroons (seriously what is the big deal) and buttloads of Instagrammed things. I usually scroll past all those fairly easily, and they don't bother me all that much. What really gets on my nerves though, is shit like this, and the thousands upon THOUSANDS of likes and shares they get :




Citation required.
No, seriously. I'd love to have a look at this "psychologic" study that so clearly and firmly delineates the time span of your emotions and levels of attraction to someone, with seemingly no due importance given to individual context or circumstances. And stop trying to distract me with candy-coloured font. It's not going to work.




Dear "Male" Who Wrote This,
I too, am fedup. Utterly fedup. Done. Finished. I am fedup with this never ending whinefest about how girls only go after assholes and jackasses and the nice, sweet, sensitive guys never win. Generalizations and simplifications don't help anyone. Both men and women are capable of treating each other like crap, for one thing. For another thing, there are about 3 billion or so "Females" that populate the planet, and we are all -shock horror gasp- different. We all want and like different things, and make different decisions because we are people who have gone through different, unique experiences and not a homogenous collective organism. Hell, there might even be some of us out there who are in relationships with nice, sweet, sensitive guys. You're not looking hard enough. Or just not looking? Sure, there might be some girls who get attracted to a certain brand of a-hole, due to whatever issues or complexes she may be dealing with, but that's her business. Or maybe, consider the utterly radical notion that maybe she just doesn't want a relationship with you.




"Every girl's dream"? Really? Really? Really? If a guy ever calls me at 3am, EVER, there had better be some crazy ass life/death situation going down. Sleep is of supreme importance to me, and I don't take interruptions very well. Mats Hummels could be serenading me outside the window at 3.30am on a school night with a Nutella sundae in each hand and even he would very likely get punched in the face for all the trouble he took. I have no objection to the ice cream and cookies (or the "I love you"), just bring them to me during regular office hours, or with a minimum of one hour's notice. 3am my ass.




Ah see, REAL boyfriends, as opposed to FAKE boyfriends (really, how old are we, twelve?) calls and texts you ALL THE TIME (to find out exactly where are you are what you're doing who you're meeting?) CRIES when he doesn't get to see you, gets JEALOUS (when he sees you having any form of social interaction with people who are not him?) is OVER PROTECTIVE (once he starts telling you where you can go and who you're allowed to talk to, we're in trouble) and LOVES YOU (aww). I'm sorry, I may be reaching here, but none of this comes across as warm, healthy or loving to me. I actually laughed out loud the first time I read it. This is crossing over into clingy, hysterical, emotionally unstable stalker territory.If this is what a REAL boyfriend does, I'll take the fake one any day of the week.




Oh dear. I never realized there was a set of Facebook viral image-approved criteria I had to meet in order to be a woman. Gosh, I don't think I'm doing enough to really be called woman. I'm just thinking about all those times I pulled on doors that said PULL. Or that time I walked into a room and totally knew exactly why I was there. Or that other time when I was really upset about something and I called my mom to talk to her about it. Because these are all things that PEOPLE do, or don't do. Oh and there was that time - HOLY CRAP WHERE DID MY VAGINA GO?

Also ; "I count on my fingers in math". Because delicate ladybrains just aren't equipped to handle hardcore complicated shit like NUMBERS, am I right, girlfrandz??? LOL xoxo!!




Now this is some generic sitcom level comedy right here. The PREGNANCY = DUMB WOMAN bit is particularly infuriating, because to me it somehow implies that the dude was smart enough to get laid, the woman was stupid enough to be seduced AND presumably not remember to use contraceptives. I realize this is just some silly meme diagram and there's no room to include things like "what if the woman made a perfectly independent decision to WANT to have sex?" and "uhh, since when was remembering to practice safe sex the exclusive responsibility of the lady, here?". And of course, everyone knows dudes and their bodily fluids don't contribute a thing to babymaking. No. Immaculate conceptions all around, thanks very much.
The MARRIAGE = DUMB MAN bit isn't any better either. It's 2012. Are we still going with the whole idea of men are commitment phobic caveman slobs who will avoid being tied down for as long as possible? Stereotypes don't help ANYONE, guys.






Credit goes to Jennifer for calling bullshit on this one a few weeks ago. In her own words :

"The chances of a smart girl going out with an asshole is very slim. Hence, smart. I blame movies for that stereotype. '95%' is bullshit. So degrading la this formula. And as a general, all girls who're smart and nice are ugly? Or hot and nice are stupid? Or smart and hot are mean? Assholes should stop making up facts like these just because they can't get any. Utter nonsense."


The prevailing nonsense that guys make better friends than girls has been infuriating me for years already, and this post was the last straw. Here's what I had to say about it when I first saw it :

"This photo pissed me off, so I had to say something about it. I've been seeing this sort of thing waaaay too many times on my newsfeed. No. Just NO. PEOPLE can be fake. PEOPLE can be petty, competitive, jealous and prone to gossip. Starting "useless drama with you" is not a trait that is exclusive to girls. "Having fun" is not something only guys are capable of doing.
See, being male does not automatically make guys ideal friendship material. And ladies, having a female friend does not mean she is going to, at some point, attempt to steal your man or bitch about you when your back is turned. If you can't get along with a particular girl, have you considered that maybe, just maybe, you can't get along as individuals? Being a guy or a girl has nothing to do with it. The kind of friend you are depends on the kind of person you are. Whether or not you have a vagina is irrelevant".


Now, I can imagine what sort of reaction this may get.
1. That I have no sense of humour.
2. That these are just jokes, and a little bit of fun, and not meant to be taken seriously.
3. That I have no sense of humour. And I'm bitter. And probably a virgin. I am a humourless bitter virgin.

To which I say;
1. I urge you to read the rest of my blog, for you will see that I have a spectacular sense of humour.

2. The very fact that these things are treated as jokes is infuriating to me. The more you dismiss shit like this as irrelevant to the way people feel, think about, and relate to men and women in the real world (and it is SO relevant, I say to thee) the easier it becomes to throw around generalized, shallow, stereotyped and often plain offensive statements disguised as jokes or "fun" [bitch, go make me a sandwich, etc], that don't do anyone any favours.  And I am not laughing at any of this. Not even a bit. And I have not even talked about the -mostly female - population of my Facebook feed that take images like this SERIOUSLY.

I already have a folder of similar images and posts saved up, which is actually somewhat depressing, but I'll be here to call out all the bullshit so you won't have to.

Crawling Back On The Gyllenwagon. Kind Of.

Those of you unfortunate enough to have been acquainted with me and this blog back in 2008 will probably remember the extremely intense, protracted, disturbing, only slightly ironic and (hopefully intentionally) hilarious phase during which my universe revolved around Jake Gyllenhaal. It was a time which birthed truly epic posts, the likes of which I may never create again, simply because I cannot remember how I managed to muster that level of fanatic attachment to this one man.


Oh. I think I remember now.

Luckily for all of us, that phase eventually passed, and I learned to dole out healthy doses of obsession among a wide and varied collection of unattainable famous boyfriends. But Jake of the Gyllenhaals will forever remain the biggest and most influential celebrity crush of my young life, and recently I found myself wondering what he might be up to these days, and that maybe I should go catch up with him, for old times' sake.

And then I see this.




WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY, JACOB.

Now, I admit I was kind of aware of the fact that they were allegedly dating, but the news never really registered in my mind, for some reason. I was ready for the outbreak of blog posts which would eventually reveal one of three things :

1. They were just good friends, and the whole thing was being misconstrued by the gossip media.
2. It was an opportunistic PR stunt to promote his new movie and her new album.
3. The whole thing was an elaborately crafted Photoshop hoax, designed to make me cry (I didn't).

Fortunately, they did break up at some point while I still wasn't looking, but not before all this nonsense took place. Behold :

a. Walking romantically down the street in a ridiculously inconvenient fashion.



What do you two clowns think you're doing? What is this? Why does your hand need to be draped so senselessly across his chest like that, Taylor? Why would you two choose to stroll down this lovely city sidewalk in the manner most restrictive to your physical mobility? Does (the illusion of) romance take such precedence over normal human movement? What happened to walking side by side, and maybe holding hands? Why do let yourselves walk so stupidly, Gooberballs?


Much better. Idiots.


b. Buying hipster coffee, all hipsterishly.



Ugh.

c. Contaminating Maggie Gyllenhaal's universe.


You really overstepped the line here, Swift. This is an outrage. Mack on Jake all you want, but this? This is Maggie Gyllenhaal we're talking about. You can't just touch her kid, or her grocery shopping, or breathe her air, or be seen with her in public. Do you know how disgusted - oh. She actually looks...happy to have you around. I don't...I can't.... Is she also a part of all this? Did she get roped into this performance? How am I supposed to carry on when I can't place my faith in a Gyllenhaal any longer? What has this family come to??


After all this foolishness, came the news that Jake had broken up with Taylor over the phone.



And so all the pretty princess unicorns wept.


And I was ever more convinced that this was nothing more than a publicity thing taken a bit too far. I have nothing against Taylor Swift as a person, even if I do think her music is vapid, albeit catchy, and her overall image perpetuates a few things I simply cannot stand (princess culture nonsense and a fair amount of slut-shaming in her videos, not to mention the perpetual virginal-white-dress-of-purity). This whole debacle, whatever it was, seemed far too staged, too odd, and generally did not make sense. I guess I just cannot see what a guy like Jake could find attractive in a girl like Taylor (as opposed to a girl like, oh I don't know, ME). I suppose she's pretty. But what did they even talk about while they were dating? Taylor Swift, from what I can tell, is a 22 year-old with the mindset and world view - romantically, at least - of a 15 year old. Everything about this screams "PR sham".

edit : These days I'm more convinced that Swift is actually much shrewder and smarter than I gave her credit for, and that all her musical pandering to the fairy-dust-teardrops-on-my-guitar brand of eternal high school romance is just her evil genius way of winding her core audience firmly around her little finger. But that's another post for another day.


No; if anything, this has brought Jake down a few pedestals in my eyes. It's one thing to date a younger woman, but another story entirely to do it in the interests of a PR-friendly hookup (which is most likely the case here). For shame, Jacob. I honestly thought you were made of better stuff than that. And why, really? Why, Jacob? Both you and Taylor are perfectly prolific, marketable and attractive on your own terms. Why together? Why you? Fire your publicist, child. I should never have taken my eyes off you, post-Reese Witherspoon. I didn't like that much either, but at least she was a grown-ass woman who knew what she was doing and was less likely to be in the grip of romantic fairy dust high school delusions.



You know I'm serious when I actually start yearning for the old days of yore when GyllenSpoon was all the rage (GyllenSpoon. Heh).

But then I hopped over to Youtube and watched some new interviews of you, and by god Jake. you are as charming, hilarious, sensitive, sincere, dorky and adorable as you ever were. Consider myself half-smitten again, Jacob. But the road to redemption is a long and rocky one, and I've got one eye planted firmly on you from this day forth. So don't try anything shady. Now buckle up and get ready for that awful, awful, awful song that is going to be written about you any day now.



edit : This is evidently ancient news, but I had actually drafted this post up last September, and having come across it today, decided to publish it anyway. Why waste a perfectly good Gyllenblogging opportunity, amiright?

We Will Not Have This Orwellian Bullshit.

[image courtesy of Stereogum and my interweb piracy skillz. Come get me, Washington]

These last few days, I have felt a little like I have been living in a rather alarming science fiction scenario. One government controlling the world's Internetz? A single, self-serving entity which will determine what we can read, watch, talk about, share, buy, engage with, and decide what we are allowed to know and say? An institution which can erase my blog from existence, this little slice of pixellation I call my place in the Internet, for simply having too many pictures of Jake Gyllenhaal from Jarhead, particularly that scene in which he dances around naked with a Santa hat on his boyparts? And by deleting my site, effectively erase my voice and entire online identity, with no explanation, no justification, and no prior warning?
How dystopian. How utterly ridiculous. And in all honesty, how terrifying.

Fuck that shit. Fuck SOPA [Stop Online Piracy Act]. Many many other worthy users of the web have come forward to say and do their part, far more eloquently than I will ever be able to do.

Here is why you should know what SOPA (and its sister bill, also currently making its way through the US legislative system, PIPA, or Protect Intellectual Property Act] are all about. Here is why you need to care, even if you're on the other side of the planet (HELLO MALAYSIANS). Here's why you need to quit whining about how you can't half-ass copypaste complete your final assignments because Wikipedia went all black and "this is so inconvenient lah you guys".

Here is the breakdown of both SOPA and PIPA by Pajiba.com. With profanity.

Here is Cracked.com's hilarious but also sobering account of how, eventually, just about anyone is going to be able to abuse both SOPA and PIPA.

Here is Sue Fyenn's wonderful run through of all the implications of both acts (should they be passed in United States Of America Headquarters). Long, but easy to understand, and totally worth it. And yes, she articulated the situation so effectively that I was pretty much shitting my pants by the end.

Here is Wikipedia's own explanation, including its blackout protest initiative.


Here is a GIF about SOPA, starring a koala, a goat, and Oprah and Jesus on a jetski, in true Oatmeal comic style.





Here is an open letter signed by a group of musicians, artists, actors, authors and other creators of original content (including MGMT, Neil Gaiman, and one Mythbuster), sent to Washington, detailing how both SOPA and PIPA will end up causing more harm than good to themselves and their audience in the long run.


This Internet, it is a glorious one. It has allowed us to share and engage with the world in a way that was unthinkable just a few years ago. The Internet has given us so much, including this long-overdue recipe for unicorn shit cookies.




Imagine if, say, I don't know...Universal Studios suddenly decides this is a threat to copyright, and pulls this site down, and my blog as well, simply for linking to it. I don't know about you, but I don't want to live on a planet where even unicorns must live in fear of copyright infringement. Screw you, SOPA.

Now let's all go sign some petitions.

More Love and Less Pushing, Because I Am Honestly Too Old To Deal With This Bullshit [Foster The People Live In KL, 13 January 2012]

After two months of giddy anticipation, Foster The People finally came down to this part of the world for an unexpected but very welcome addition to their Asian tour dates. Here is a slightly muddled recap of the good, the bad, and the shitloads of plain ugly that went down on Friday night.

• Sue Fyenn and I managed to make friends with some adorable first time concert-goers while waiting in line, which was lovely, because meeting new people who love the same things you do is never not awesome.
  
  
• The sound system was fairly good, but could have done with more work ; the synths and vocals on some tracks were far too soft, and the bass and drums were often a little overpowering. The band gave it their all and had some terrific energy though, so I am ready to forgive.
  
  
• The cover of Weezer's Say It Ain't So, and two non-album tracks, Ruby and Broken Jaw, ended up being the highlights of the night for me. For one thing, those were three songs where you could actually hear Mark Foster's voice, which is most excellent, because that boy can sing. Nay, that boy can saaaaang.
  
  
• Let us now talk about the crowd. I have always heard about gig experiences that were otherwise ruined by an asshole or two, and now I finally understand the utter frustration that comes from a large group of people who all collectively decide to behave in the shittiest way possible. I'm talking to you, a large portion of ticket holders of the front section of the Fanatic Zone area. Yes, you.
  
  
• I am not talking about your standard gig moshing. I am talking about pushing, elbowing, shoving and falling over even before the gig started, which obviously got that much more worse when the band actually took to the stage. I am talking about the entire front section of that crowd stampeding to the left and right, to follow Mark Foster across the stage.
  
  
• I am talking about Mark Foster himself having to take a few moments in between songs, early in the set, to call out that section of the audience for aforementioned pushing and shoving, and ask everyone to please give everyone else some space, "because it's all fun and games until someone dies, guys".
  
  
• I am talking about people who continued to behave like dicks even after being called out by Mark Foster himself. I was so relieved when he actually tried to get people to stop shoving. So relieved. Because people who love Mark Foster and his music so much would obviously pay heed and listen to him, no? No. No such shit. But thanks for your concern, Mark. Didn't work, but much appreciation anyway.
  
  
• I have been to my fair share of gigs of the moshing variety, and never once have I ever genuinely feared for my life, the way I did last night. I am talking about people in the front rows being pressed against metal barricades so hard, they couldn't breathe. I am talking about flat-out panic. For those of us in possession of any amount of gig etiquette knowledge, it wasn't fun. It wasn't wild. It wasn't whack, you guys. It was scary, it was annoying beyond all comprehension, and it robbed us of the musical experience we should have enjoyed that night.
  
  
• You know what else I'm talking about? I am talking about that girl I have never met who passed out next to me, while I was trying my hardest to hold on to her arm and not let her drop to the floor, where I would definitely lose her in the darkness and confusion. I am talking about the people who were ready to climb over her to get closer to the stage, and I am talking about having to scream DO NOT FUCKING MOVE at everyone within a three-foot radius to make sure that kid did not get trampled, while the band went on
  playing whatever song it was they were playing at that point.
  
  
• I am talking about first-time concert goers who were pretty much in tears, claiming that this would be their first and last gig, because nothing could be worth this much physical and emotional trauma.
  
  
• I missed almost all of Houdini because some bitch was screaming and yanking at my hair with both hands. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?
  
  
• And to those obnoxious, entitled pre-teen girls standing behind me before the gig started? If you know you're short and will have problems seeing the stage, come early and pick out a good spot. It is in no way your god-given right to elbow and bulldoze your way to the front. It is not your god-given right to keep elbowing me in the back and the side of my left boob, expecting me to take the hint. It is not awesome to actually use your elbow to wedge out a space between me and the girl next to me. I do not have the memory span of a goldfish, which means that after you're done poking me, you can't just sweetly ask me to "please swap places, pleeeeeease?", because you girls haven't exactly been endearing yourselves to me for the past twenty minutes.
  
  It is not cool to keep elbowing, shoving, smushing, making very loud and pointed passive-aggressive remarks and leaning your entire weight on everyone around you, especially me, when you have been repeatedly told to kindly fuck the hell off. If you had actually started off with a polite request to have me give you some space closer to the stage, I would have been nice and totally let you move up front, no problem. It only became a big, obnoxious, shitty deal because you turned it into one.
  
  
• To the folks I met there who were actually nice, and who looked for out each other and spent a few minutes after the show going around and asking everyone if they were okay, thank you. Thank you. I never learned your names, but you are all a collective beacon of hope in the crumbling ruins of my shattered faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.
  
  
• To the people who have been going all "Well, that's just the gig environment for you, totally normal, happens all the time", or "You bought tickets to the FANATIC zone, what were you expecting?". Fuck that shit. What was I expecting? I was expecting a fun, rowdy, boogie-down time. I expected some roughness, some pushing, some degree of having people get all up in my grill. I wasn't expecting to stand there fearing serious, permanent damage to my internal organs while Pumped Up Kicks played in the background. I wasn't expecting to constantly have to check on people next to me, to make sure they were still breathing. I wasn't expecting to have to type out a barely sort-of gig review with next to nothing I can actually say about the music. I wasn't expecting to walk out of that hall feeling shitty beyond belief, angrier than I have been in a long time, and on the verge of tears. Normal gig behaviour? I'm sorry, but what happened on Friday night was pure lunacy. I understand the passion, the euphoria, the insane mob mentality that comes over people in that situation. It does not make that behaviour acceptable on any planet. Justifying that behaviour or even expecting and accepting dickishness at a concert, is crossing a line with me. Delegitimizing my experience in there by insinuating that I was being an oversensitive prude who couldn't deal with a bunch of clearly overexcited teenage girls, that I am overreacting, is not cool either.
  
  
• By the fifth song, I was seriously considering trying to catch the attention of a security guard and getting the hell out of there, but I came up with the much better and wiser decision of moving as far back into the crowd as possible. Eventually I came across a pocket of people who were very calm, happy and clearly just there to have a good time. Not to mention they had the sense to give everyone at least half a foot of dancing space. Once there, I was able to enjoy the last seven or eight songs in the set, which was highly fortunate for me. I still feel incredibly bad for the people who were trapped up there in the first few rows with nowhere to go and absolutely no way of being genuinely able to enjoy this gig.
  
  
• All in all, I would feel really bad if I crowned this as the worst gigging experience of my life, because Foster The People themselves were on top form, were incredibly nice, and did nothing to merit the undeniably shitty behaviour that surfaced that night. They deserved better fans than this ; anyone would expect more love and positivity from fans of such a happy dancey band. And hell, people like me who showed up to have a good time, only to be almost entirely robbed of that experience by other people in attendance, also deserved much better. I can also personally testify that not everyone in Hall 4, KLCC, that night were assholes, but all the same? Shame on us, Kuala Lumpur gig-goers. Shame on us.
  
  
  

I offer a sincere apology to you, Foster The People, for the collective lunacy of a crowd that was more interested in letting you know (as loud as humanly possible) how much they wanted you to fuck them, a crowd perfectly willing to kill each other over their race to get prime stage-front spots, rather than listening to anything you had to say that night. For a far more heartfelt and eloquent apology, head over to read Sue Fyenn's open letter to the band. And here's to purging all the worst memories from Friday night, and looking forward to the next rocking, fun and positive, palate-cleansing concert experience.

I'm glad I was fortunate enough to have been able to safely enjoy the last half of the night, but all the same, I'll just listen to MGMT and Phoenix until I stop feeling a physical ache in my chest every time I hear a Foster The People track.

edit :
It has recently come to my attention that the management and security were pretty crap as well - most people from various ticket sections got mixed up at the entrance, a dividing gate/barricade/thingy was left open so that people from the back could come charging up towards the stage, which obviously did not help matters. Also, a video screen was placed on the back wall of the auditorium, instead of somewhere in front, or the sides. You know, where people would actually be able to see it. How are these people allowed to manage events? How?

All in all, worst concert experience of my life to date, and it was never, at any point, the band's fault. I cannot stress this enough, because Foster and his People did a fabulous job. In any case, a million thanks to the band for coming all the way here, and if the guys ever decide to pay a visit to KL again, I know where I'll be ; safely in the middle of the venue, having my own personal boogie-down time and not getting punched in the head.


moar edits :

I really don't want to be superficial here, but yes, Mark Foster is insanely good-looking up close. It is a testament to his total nom-liciousness that even in the midst of being tossed around like a rag doll, I had the time to look up at the stage and register this thought : "Fucking hell, he is fine". You gotta appreciate the little things, you know.

I'm Too Busy Crying To Think Of A Nice, Pithy Post Title.

Some of my favourite things in life have happened almost always as a result of my procrastinatory self going out of my own way to look for distractions when I really should be pursuing other, far more productive and respectable efforts (like completing assignments, and such stuff). It is in this manner that I discovered my new most beloved TV show of forever, Friday Night Lights. I had been vaguely aware of its existence and of how good it supposedly was, and Star World always played it on Friday nights (ha ha, naturally) when I was out having Literature classes. But a week or so ago, I decided to give the pilot episode a shot, even though the show's subject matter (a high school football team in a small Texas town) was nowhere near anything I considered riveting television.
Let's just say I was hopelessly in love within 20 seconds of the pilot.

Why Friday Night Lights Made Me Fall In Love With It. Shamelessly. And Why It Also Makes Me Cry A Lot.


1. It made me give a shit about football. Football which is not soccer.

I was almost dreading the idea of having a football game be the epic closing chapter of every episode, the format being that each episode goes through an entire school week before finally capping off with the big game on Friday night. But by the time that game rolled around I had become so completely invested in the characters that winning the game became nearly as important to me as it was to the fictional high school kids on my screen. I didn't understand what was going on half the time - the extent of my knowledge of American football is that the quarterback is always the hot one who yells a lot. But watching the games on this show gets me all worked up and sweaty-palmed and nail-bitey. You start caring about these games, games played by teams that don't even exist, really. And that is no mean feat.


2. Best. Soundtrack. Ever.

Bright Eyes, Calexico, The Avett Brothers, The Black Keys, Whiskeytown, Wilco and Explosions In The Sky, just to name the ones I've already heard so far. The music directors or whoever those people are also have the cruel, wonderful ability to pick and choose and place these songs perfectly within a scene or montage to deliver the right amount of heartrending gutwrenching EMOTION. Watching FNL has turned out to be an incredibly emotionally exhausting venture. They seem absolutely hung up on this mission to make people cry at least 3 times per episode. If they keep up with this unrelenting spirit of causing soundtrack-induced misery, I will be an utter weeping mess by the time I get round to the finale.

3. It's pretty.

And by pretty, for once I'm talking about more than just the people in it. The entire show just looks glorious, from the wide shots of the Texan landscape to the stadium lights going on at sunset to the dilapidated houses on the outskirts of town to the crowds at game day sporting team colours. Even the title card is pretty. It's enough to make grown men weep, when they aren't already sniffling at the football and the camaraderie and all that manly stuff.

There are also other versions of pretty. Like, boy pretty. Giggle.


4. Kyle Chandler as Coach Taylor

I had a massive pre-teen crush on him while he was on that show Early Edition (newspaper from the future, psychic cat, something like that) and he is one of the biggest reasons why I fell in FNL love. He is perfect for this role, the often cranky hard-assed head coach who doesn't talk much but yells a lot and has a sincere determination to make sure every player under his charge reaches his full potential, not just in football, but y'know, in The Journey of Life. It sounds threateningly cheesy and Hallmarkian but it never ever veers into that direction. It just makes you weep and then you get all muddled up about how you so very much want Coach Taylor as your boyfriend but also as your Dad and it's very confusing and wrong somehow. It doesn't change the fact that Coach is one hell of a magnificent character, and I love him to utter pieces.


5. Kyle Chandler's Hair.

I'm not even kidding. His hair does as much acting as he does. His hair totally emotes. His hair deserves its own Emmy. During games it's all frazzled up and "Do not mess with me right now, I am coaching, motherfuckers" and then when Coach is just chilling out his hair is all like "I am chilling, you guys" and when he's dealing with a major athletic crisis his hair is all flat and calm and "Don't worry, I got this". In addition, when he is around people he doesn't like or trust, and is repressing his true emotions his hair is all "I cannot deal with this" and hides under his Coach's Cap. I notice these things.

And when he's feeling really bad ass, he breaks out the manly sunglasses.

Right there his hair is all "I am awesome and also will not be taking any bullshit today, kthanxbai".

6. Realisticism.

Yeah I just made that word up. I was feeling adventurous. And yes, FNL is incredibly, beautifully, and often painfully realistic. And not just in that We-Use-The-Shaky-Handheld-Camera-Style-Of-Indie which means we are totally authentic and artistic, you guys. The show just feels real, from the places to the people to the conversations, so much so that sometimes you stop and catch yourself feeling guilty for intruding on someone's private moments. The teenagers talk like real teenagers would ; awkward and sometimes stuttery and over-enunciating stuff and using words they think make them sound cooler and having conversations about adult things that just betray how ridiculously young they are. The kids are attractive, but not in a Gossip Girl way - they look like people who might wake up in the morning now and then with a pool of drool on the pillow or something. For every dysfunctional relationship plagued with Daddy Issues and resentment, there is a wonderfully functional, not-perfect-but-real relationship to balance it off. The bedrooms look like people actually sleep in them. It's all gorgeous.


7. Matt Saracen

If there's one thing on this show I love even more than Coach and his hair, it's this guy. A shy, sweet, sensitive, stuttering sophomore and second-string quarterback (or a QB2 - you learn so much from TV, I tell you) who is thrust into the spotlight and the starting quarterback position due to unforeseen circumstances, and now he has to prove himself in addition to looking after a sick grandmother, working an after school job, maintaining his grades and keeping house (absent mother, father in Iraq). You want to weep for all the shitty things he has to deal with and also for the quiet courage with which he deals with it all, simply because it's his responsibility because there is no one else there to pick up the slack. His stuttering charm and painful sincerity and utter adoration for his grandmother all make for some of the most tear jerking scenes of all, and sometimes you just want to tell him to stop being so strong all the time and come home and let you put him on your lap and feed him cupcakes.
Seriously. Cupcakes. That's all I want to do to him. Honest.


8. Matt Saracen and Julie Taylor


The preciousest, awkwardest couple on TV. They are both so utterly sweet they will send you into diabetic shock long before they even go on their first date. If they break up at any point during the next 5 seasons I will give up on Love. Forever.


9. "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose".

It's the team motto, and sort of FNL's version of "Live long and prosper". It usually comes at the end of one of Coach's inspirational game speeches, and by that time you're already choked up beyond belief, so when Coach goes all Texan drawly "Clear eyes full hearts.." and the team yells "can't lose" back at him, it's just the official cue for the waterworks to start.



10. It's not just about football.

Football has a lot to do with it, but it's mostly about the human condition. Nah okay that sounds a bit too pretentious. But at it's heart FNL really is just about people in a small community who all either hold on to football and the rituals that come with it because it's all they know how to do, or because it's the closest thing they know to religion or love or family, or because it's their ticket to a better life, or because their ability to carry a ball over a line makes them a god (in this town at least) and gets them laid. It's a wonderful, sincere, real, painful story about people, and after all the aliens and demons and alternate timelines and Apocalypses it's nice just to sit down and root for a drunk high school delinquent trying to throw a touchdown and be a hero for one night. Also, hot, tortured boys with daddy issues. I counted four of them so far. Yum.



In conclusification :

This is a really really really really really good show that everyone should be watching, and I'm living proof that you don't even need to like football or know anything about it to be able to enjoy FNL for what it is. Remember to bring the tissues and maybe watch something funny afterwards, to cleanse all the emotional turmoil. All that crying cannot possibly be healthy.

Blogger On Indefinite Hiatus.

That's what they call it, isn't it? So yeah. This blogger will be indefinitely hiatus-ing until further notice. I know I don't update all that often anyway but I thought I'd let you all know in case you got vaguely concerned at some point.



The reason for my hiatusization is this; I will be going off to this place

for the next 3 and a half years to earn my potentially very useless degree in English. I've ordered a laptop and everything but it could take some weeks to arrive and an Internet connection might take longer. So while I'm gone I hope the rest of you keep blogging like crazy, be nice to each other, read some good books, listen to some good music, paint your toenails in ridiculous colours and generally remain awesomesauce in every way. I shall try very hard to do one last round of commenting on all your blogs before I have to leave in the morning. Farewell, beloved peasants!

OMGWTFBBQFAIL

We now return to one of my favourite pastimes ever ; Twilight-hating! I was skimming through the last (or hopefully the last) instalment of the atrocious thing, when I came across what is possibly the worst sentence Stepehenie Meyer has written.


"I guess my brain will never work right. At least I'm pretty. "
-Breaking Dawn ch.20 p.406

Actual words in an actual book which is actually published and is an actual literary and pop culture phenomenon. I fear for my generation. If that line had been written by anyone else I may have stopped and considered the possibility that those last four words were uttered under influence of sarcasm but I know all too well by now that Bella is too STUPID to be sarcastic in any form.

Other notable offenders from this sorry excuse of a novel;

1. My mother is part albino.
OMGWTFBBQ I don't even know. When read in context of the rest of the page, this is officially the Most Random Statement Ever.

2. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker.
18 year old girls don't use the word "vacillating", SMeyer, however intelligent they may be. In Physics homework maybe, but not in their deep, intense and passionately romantic bloodsuckage memoirs.

3. It was all I could do to keep myself from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.
Says the girl who is so pathetically dependant on her undead boyfriend that she can't even walk straight without his guidance. WTF Bella. Your clumsiness, no doubt meant to be endearing and quirky, does not charm me in the slightest.

4. His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating - trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.
a. I'm not entirely convinced that "futilely" is a real word.
b. Imagine phrases like "liquid topaz eyes" and "alabaster skin" all repeated a few thousand times across 400 pages or so and you have a rough idea of what it is to read this book. I beg you to resist the urge to defenestrate yourself at the mere thought.

5. You...made...me...faint...
You...trigger...my...gag reflex...

6. His voice was sad. He was wallowing.
Yes yes wallowing. In his own stunning liquid topaz beauty.

7. I should be afraid - I know I should be but I couldn't find the right kind of fear.
And therein lies one of Twilight's biggest problems - the absolute lack of tension. Because Bella is far far too dumb to have any sense of self-preservation. A vampire is lusting after her blood in particular and she remains in some hazy hormone-induced fantasy of electric skin-to-skin contact and almost-but-not-quite-kissing and "OMG will Edward be in Biology today?" and "Oh god he's looking at me he is so hot I wonder what he smells like". It's basically Sweet Valley High with some supernatural beings thrown in to give it the impression of badassery, complexity and intensity. All of which it does not possess.

8. Stupid shiny Volvo owner.
Not entirely sure if the adjectives refer to the owner or to the car, but they'd be accurate either way. Edward does sparkle in the sunlight, after all. And he's pretty stupid to boot.

9. He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.
Does this read like bad fan fiction or does this read like bad fan fiction?

10. His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

You learn a lot about Edward's eyes. It's like the weather report up in here, peeps.


IN CONCLUSION!

Oh How It Irks Us That So Many Millions Are Made Off One Mormon Housewife's Wet Dream

I am not the type to hate on something for the pure sake of hating on it, so you can be sure that my anti-Twilight sentiments aren't born from a need to seem cool or set myself apart from the herd. It's just that it has been years and years since I have found something so much fun to hate on. And very deserved as well. I mean, I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that Twilight (books and films) are AWFUL. Just plain AWFUL. The kind of AWFUL that defies definition, really. Not AWFUL the way B-grade horror films are, even, because Twilight seems to actually take itself seriously, making its AWFUL-ness all that more painful to witness.
And right after exams are over, I shall run off to the nearest cinema to watch New Moon and validate everything I already know is AWFUL about it. But in the meantime, here's a little list of the most ridiculous Twlight-themed/inspired merchandise on the planet.

Harper Collins' "Twilight Fans" reissues series.


Wuthering Heights, Romeo & Juliet and Pride & Prejudice. All with brand-spanking-new Twilightesque cover designs (heck, with the exact same colour scheme, even) with suitably vampiric blurbs like "Love Never Dies" and all that shit. I came across this in the Sunday paper Christmas gift recommendations list and nearly had a fit. Of course, it would only be natural, considering that Wuthering Heights happens to be Bella's favourite book (two really awful people being all obsessed with each other? Oh LOL), and all three novels were responsible for inspiring SMeyer in her writing efforts. And I suppose you'd think it's a good thing that a whole new generation of young female readers would be introduced to classic literature and all, right? Right? NOT RIGHT. Not when SMeyer is telling them to read it. Not when the books have been given a proper contemporary Gothic makeover and are being marketed as companions to the tragicepicloveofalltimes that is Edward/Bella. Not cool. Not cool at all. Jane Austen, she spins in her blessed grave.


Custom Shower Curtain

Seriously. Who wants that noggin staring at you while you're taking a dump or something? This one was made upon special request, and somehow that makes it creepier than if it were a mass-produced item.


Edward Wall Shadow


Possibly the most disturbing of the lot. It's basically this life size vinyl Robert Pattinson-shaped sticker that you can put up on your bedroom wall and pretend that Edward-OMG-So-Hot! is watching you sleep every night. Quite realistic in that sense, because that's what he is, anyway. A creepy stalking stalker who stalks. And if you're on Team Jacob, fret not! They also sell Taylor Lautner-flavoured ones. There are also smaller versions for your laptop and stuff, but really. Big is always better.


Twilight perfume.


You won't find these anymore. Apparently the bottle design was a rip-off of an existing perfume brand (staying true to SMeyer's tradition of pathetic unoriginality) and production was shut down. I'm curious though. What did it smell like? Was it yummy and tantalizing like Bella's blood? Or swoon-inducing like Edward's vampy breath?


Coffin couch

It comes in red, purple and black to match any home decor, and would be a truly unique addition to your living room, parlour, kitchen or grave. You know. For when your pathetic mortal body gives out. Think of the money you'd save on funeral costs. Just tack a few nails on top and you're all set for the afterlife.


Twilight Barbie

Indeed. You can now own the Barbie and Ken versions of Edward and Bella. The dolls don't look very authentic, though. I mean, there is no way RPattz's hair is that clean. And honestly, could they not have made the Bella a wee bit more sulky? When does Kristen Stewart ever smile?


Twilight Edward body shimmer

It's basically like one of those sticks of regular body glitter, except this one has Pattinson's face on it. So now you can sparkle the way Edward does in his Sparkly Meadow of Sparklitude bathed in buttery sunshine (buttery being the bestselling flavour of sunlight in SMeyerverse).


Twilight t-shirts
You get those lame one that say "Team Jacob" or "Mrs. Edward Cullen", and they're all pretty generic, really. Except the one this guy is wearing. The one this guy is wearing, is awesome.


And this one, which is a bit sad. Oh, SMeyer, what have you done to humanity??



Sparkly vampire dildo


That's right, ladies! It's a pleasure toy that sparkles in the buttery sunshine, just like every one's favourite pale, cold, creepy, emotionally unstable, abusive hot vampire! Also you can totally toss it in the fridge for that authentic, chilled vampire flesh feel. If you're that way inclined.



Also I've been hearing word around the interwebz that someone is coming up with a line of Twilight tampons, or Twilight-inspired tampon ads. So Edward can like, suck your blood for realz. HAHAHAHAHAHA!


Ugh.

My Life Must Be In A Pretty Sad Place When The Happiness Of My Soul Depends So Much Upon A TV Show.

But I don't really care. I'm deprived, I'm suffering from delayed withdrawal symptoms (which include perking up suddenly everytime the name 'Jensen' appears on a TV screen) and I need new episodes of Supernatural now. I understand the whole deal with the writers' strike and all (and I lyurve them writers, I do) but one year really is too long to make a girl wait.


Things I Miss About Supernatural.

1. Teh pretty.


I watch this show for the intricate plot, the intelligent dialogue, and the smart references to actual legends and mythology, and also for the philosophical thinky thoughts it makes me think about.
Really.
I do.
Really. Sheesh.

2. The 1967 Chevy Impala.


The only car in existence I can name by year, model and make. Sexiest piece of machinery on the idiot box. If the Impala died, I would cry.

3. Teh Pretty + The 1967 Chevy Impala = Short term superficial gratuitous joy for the fangirl's soul

All right I admit it. Quite a large part of the reason I actually watch Supernatural is for the excessive levels of pretty on the show. The magnitude of Sexy is just too much for its own good. Even the clothes the two boys wear are sexy. And if I told you that I would still watch it if any two other even mildly less good-looking people were cast in the plum roles of the brothers Winchester, then I would be a lying liar who lies.


4. Dean Winchester

One of my favourite fictional characters of all times. Times, with an s, mind. The man is a fangirl's fantasy come true. He's all cocky bad-ass-porn-watching-mullet rock-listening-face-stuffing-demon-hunting-women-objectifying-devoted-son-big-brother-and-all-round-kick-asser. He can stuff so much food in his piehole he looks like he may tear his face in half. He is a manly man who shoots guns and says no to chick flicks and says "Dude!" a lot, and hides all his pain deep deep inside where nobody can see it, and when he really really has to cry all you get to see is one teeny itty bitty teardrop, because his dad messed him up so bad (screw you, Papa Winchester!) and made him go all psychologically repressive, and despite his macho and cocksure arrogance and tough-guy persona he has heartbreakingly low levels of self-esteem and painful insecurities, especially about his family leaving him when they no longer need his bad-ass protection, and the struggle he goes through in holding up that mask he uses to hide the fact that he does indeed feel emotion, probably more acutely than most people. Oh Dean. How you hide your raw and vulnerable need for affection. The fangirls' collective hearts bleed for thee! He's just like those M&Ms he enjoys so much; hard shell on the outside, soft and squishy on the inside. Fangirls go "Awww!" and want to pat him on the head and feed him chicken soup and give him huggies. Well, no. Actually we want to rip his clothes off, throw him up against a wall and bang his lights out.
But we'll totally follow up with soup and cuddles. Promise.
Also the fact that Jensen Ackles is pretty much the hottest dude on TV doesn't really hurt that much.

5. Dean-isms.

I love writers. I really really do. However allegedly mediocre this show may be, the one-liners are absolutely killer. The specialty among these are of course, the classic Dean-isms. Things only Dean Winchester would ever think of saying, and only Dean Winchester could ever get away with.


Selected Dean-isms:

*Dude, you fugly.
*What's in the booooooooooooox?
* Sweetheart, I don't do shorts.
* I hope your apple pie is freakin' worth it!!
*Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.
*Because I'm the oldest which means I'm always right (and I can totally vouch for that, dude).
*Neil!? It's your grief counsellors. We've come to...hug...

And my personal favourite

* Bite your tongue, heathen.



6. Leather jackets, brass amulets, and silver promise rings.

GUH.

I'm sorry. I know I was about to say something really intelligent but uh--.

What?


7. Brotherly love.


Not since Nathan and Peter Petrelli has televisionland ever seen such overflowing amounts of brotherly affection. It's somehow a lot more touching than romantic love, mainly because it just does something to my emo parts to see a dude willing to have himself killed for the sake of his baby brother's safety. ( We are referring to Dean in this case, of course. I kind of like him, if I haven't made it clear yet). It's like a little ray of wibbly sunshine, when you know everything in the show will be all right despite the selling-the-soul-to-Hell and the apocalypse-Apocalypse because epic bromantic BROTHERLY LOVE trumps all, dammit! Including death!

8. The gun that kills everything.

It's very convenient indeed to have a gun that pretty much kills every known supernatural being with just a bullet. But the lameness of this can be readily excused, because like everything else on this show, the Colt .45 gun is made of pure, undeniable Sexy. Also, Dean is the one who gets to shoot it all the time, which only adds to the general quotient of Sexy.


9. The throwback to the X-Files.

Not since the demise of The X-files ( rest in peace, O Greatest Show In History Of Teevee) has there been a show that deals with freaky supernatural-ish stuff as its main theme. There have been a slew of law dramas, a whole host of medical tear-jerkers, an obscene number of CSIs (seriously, enough already) but never anything quite resembling ye olde kick-ass team of Mulder and Scully Ltd. And sure, Mulder and Scully were never even half as sexy as the brothers Winchester, they didn't have leather jackets, a provocative car or the gun that killed everything (see No.8). And neither Sam nor Dean have red hair, and they never made out in the shower room-thing-place. Ew. But I find myself washing in waves of nostalgia everytime Supernatural comes on. Nothing man can create will ever come close to The Files of X, but Supernatural is a pretty decent effort, all in all.
Also, those boys are reeelly reeelly purty.

10. The abundance of Fire.

There is plenty of fire in this show. I mean like, freaking loads. In the opening title card, every-freaking-where. And fire is Sexy.
Also note that while fire may be pretty hot, Dean Winchester is hotter.
Just something you should know.


11. Unabashed Lameness.

Yes, this show can be really really lame sometimes. I've mentioned the infuriating inconsistencies, the plot holes you can stick your noggin through and the occasional plain ridiculousness of the liberties the writers take with modifying actual mythology to suit their means. But what makes me forgive the makers of this here show is the fact they seem aware of their own lameness when they're guilty of it. They don't take themselves too seriously. They don't insult my intelligence. And above all, it's a show that doesn't pretend to be anything more than it is. It's one hour a week of two gorgeous boys kicking demon-ass (and if you're lucky, one of them may decide that it's very necessary for him to remove his shirt, for whatever reason), and it's fun and I enjoy it for what it is and it's a terrific form of escapism. I love other shows too, but sometimes they just get a little too high-brow and intelligent for me;Heroes and its long-winded philosophical monologues, and House, where most of the time everybody sits around and psychoanalyses House so we can all marvel at what a twisted, complex and fascinating character he is, and thus admire him (I do love the House, though). And in any case, no matter how stupidly lame an episode of Supernatural gets, there is always a kickasstastic gold-standard Dean-ism (see No.5) thrown in to redeem it.

12. The evil supernatural thingies that go around harming people and being well, supernatural, so that the brothers Winchester have to show up and have to try and get rid of it and they usually get all hot/sweaty/greasy/bloody/dirty/shirtless in the process and it all just adds to Teh Pretty (see No.1) quotient.


I watch this show for the plot. I told you.

13. The Winchesters' apparent inability to ever die or get hurt. In the long term.

Members of the Familia Winchester are bruise-proof, crippling-long-term-injury-proof, and scar-proof. You'd think that after all the pummelling, scratching, punching, stabbing, knife-wielding, gun-shooting battle royales the pair get into (some of those scuffles did not necessarily invove demons), that the brudders Winchester would have some permanent war tattoos to show for it all. But nay my good people; with every new episode the dynamic duo appear smooth-faced, clean-shaven, with pretty hair and pretty skin, nary a spot nor a blemish to mar their gorgeous features. 'Tis only proof of how very biologically superior the brothers Winchester are compared to us lowly easily-blue-blacked mortals. Also, the brothers Winchester can never die. Well not exactly- they can actually kick the bucket more times than regular people can. It has stuff to do with a constant cycle of one brother selling his soul to Hell to save the other which will take too long to explain. Suffice to say that each of the brothers Winchester has been killed off and then resurrected at least once (multiple times in Dean's case). At this stage, the only thing that could ever really drive the fangirls into a suicidal frenzy is if Dean had all his hair shaved off. He'd still look hot, mind you.


I'll stop there. Thirteen is such a lovely number for this post, no?