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Some kind of bliss
2008 February 16
I received a package from my friend Jeffrey a couple days that I’ve been hesitant to open. For months (not judgin’, Boo, but we’ve been talking about this since October) he’s promised me an ultimate mix of Kylie Minogue because I just happen to appreciate two of her songs. And now, here I am, with a CD of Kylie songs to further appreciate.
I don’t know if I can listen to it. I mean, what if I find myself liking her? Does that mean I’ve crossed over into further recesses of fagdom from where there is no return? I can’t bring myself to attend dance clubs wearing nothing but denim and a smile, I just can’t. Or worse yet, I wind up like this:
PLAID AND DENIM, PEOPLE. I mean Jesus.
In the defense of Kylie, I will say this: Kylie’s got talent. Unlike that hack Mawhodawhadda. You know, her. That one.
Bitter, Lonely, Sad.
2008 February 14
I’ve seen two men in Seattle wearing capris. Straight men. Capris. Do you understand this crisis? We should all be concerned, it’s only a matter of time before this fashion trend rears its ugly head all across the country. Like hipsters that wear eyeglass frames sans lenses. See? Exactly. Pray. Word.
Tonight I’m attending The Stranger’s Valentine’s Day Bash:
Hosted by Dan Savage, this annual Stranger event offers a way for the brokenhearted to finally find closure—or at least exact revenge in front of a crowd of drunks. Past nights have seen blowtorched love letters, chopped houseplants, melted jewelry, and pissed-on photos of former lovers, among other things. Still smarting from being dumped? Looking for a way to dispose of a memento from a past relationship guilt-free? Bring it down to Neumo’s and have Savage do the deed for you in front of cheering others.
In other words, I am going to attend an event where people with serious issues pretend to move on with their past by exacting violence on mementos of relationships past. Yeah, clearly these are people you want to date. Personally, I prefer the tried-and-true method: collect all the ex’s shit and take it to Goodwill, smudge the space with sage, then have a drink. Possibly two, then a shag. No ex-Mormons, they’re all batshit crazy.
My point is, Happy Valentine’s Day. May your life be rich with full-length pants and devoid of former Mormons. Cheers.
When good concepts go terribly wrong.
2008 February 10
On my way downtown this afternoon I passed the American Eagle store and saw a large poster of the model, center, featured in the image below:
Now, I know AE is known for being all-American and whatnot, but hand to God these guys look like they’ve been playing in someone’s poo. Possibly each other’s. I’m not judgin’, I’m just sayin’. Also? This is why I buy my clothes in Italy. No models playing in poo.
Superbunk
2008 February 04
What the fuck happened this year with the Superbowl? Was I the only one thoroughly bored to tears with the entire event? And Tom Motherfucking Petty for the halftime show? Jesus Mary and Joseph, whoever was in charge of entertainment for the Superbowl should’ve been handed his ass on a silver platter this morning.
If the game and halftime show weren’t bad enough, the Superbowl ads this year sucked harder than Amy Winehouse hitting the crack pipe. Ad agencies revere Superbowl Sunday for its commercials, companies drop huge buckets of money for a 30-second spot to showcase their products and services. What were we given this year? Motherfucking Sales Genie. Those commercials couldn’t have been any more racist if George Lucas had written and directed them. And the T-Mobile commercials? Christ. Celebrity endorsements don’t work if the celebrities can’t act, y’all!
Kids, let me give you some advice: do not go into advertising if you’re gonna get hooked on coke. Know what happens? You write commercials like the ones featured in Superbowl XLII. Cars.com, people. I mean Jesus.