In Her Shell
Third Post Of The Day
PS. This month marked my two-year blogiversary. That first month probably hosted my best posts to date, but it's been fun since then anyway. Thanks Lulu and HB, for the push!
On Fellating A Banana And Other Appalling Scenarios
Jersey Aikido Girl posted recently about jaw-droppingly bad television
, and it reminded me: what the f**?
TV sucks so much, that is the best question I can ask about it.
At the gym I listen to music on my IPod and watch several TVs at once. It's hard for me to look away because a) I don't have TV at home so it's a novelty and b) the gym is so f*ing boring. I always end up near the one showing MTV because I like to get my cardio in the corner. You know the basic format for "Parental Control," right? Some parents and their kid who want to be on TV pretend to complain about the kid's girl/boyfriend, who in turn acts like a complete jackass while clearly being coached by producers. Then some other kids who want to be on TV go on staged dates with the original kid, and the other three "watch" and "fight" annoyingly. It's actually better without the sound.
At the beginning of the episode I witnessed, the unwanted girlfriend struts up to the (low-angle) camera in a mini-skirt, turns her back on the lens, and smacks her own ass. Cut to: close up of girlfriend licking a peeled banana from bottom to top, gently tonguing the tip, then nibbling a tiny piece off, while lolling her eyes weirdly at the camera.
I'm there on the elliptical thinking, holy crap, they just showed a teenage girl fellating a banana.
It's 4:00 in the afternoon, and they are not even pretending anymore.
In other news, if TV had been in every home in the 1930s, FDR wouldn't have been elected and say what you will, I do not want to see either Hillary or Obama perform a sex act with a banana. Even metaphorically.
Another Dispatch From The Tampon Disposal Box
A bit ago I posted about my pride in an anonymous graffiti writer who shamelessly proclaimed her activity status
in black ink on a tampon disposal box in a stall of the Girls' bathroom. (The female high school jackals have since descended on her, by the way, with nasty scribbled responses.)
I was amused again when, in the same bathroom (different stall), I saw this written on another tampon disposal box:
Please stop wearing those H&M "Peace" shirts that are made in China. They do not support peace.
I guess bathroom-wall activism comes in many forms. Words of the prophets and all that.
Tampon Disposal Box
For the lads: here's what one looks like--they are generally mounted on the wall opposite the toilet paper. So you can get a visual. :)
Return Of Next Blog Poetry*, Multilingual Edition
(és mooooolt de temps)
First up is my cactus,
Pour fêter le début de sa 90 ième année de viedoch dort sagten sie genau das gleiche.
Aqui está uma pequena amosta
She is lovely see!
...och för övrigt är jag numera lycklig
on the first beautiful warmish day*in a move that seems to amuse only me, I pull lines from each blog I hit on the Next Blog button, and arrange them into poem form.
Another Good Day Spoiled By Hatred And Ignorance
I suck, right now.
What do you do when someone you've just met and who seems really nice says something that you realize a second later is actually pretty racist? But you were too surprised or embarrassed or whatever to say anything about it? And now when you look back on it you think that in your silence this person thinks they found complicity? And what if, because you were silent, they did?
I know regret is a wasted emotion but I can't stop thinking about this one. I don't know what I can do about it. Do better next time, I guess.
The Multiple Listings Service Is My New Porn
So we are thinking about buying a house. More than thinking, actually--gotten the pre-approvals and a realtor, we know our price range and potential location(s). And I cannot. stop. looking. at houses online. It's gotten to the point that I immediately recognize when a new listing is posted. When I tire of looking at houses we might actually consider, I'll do searches for other counties, to marvel at how expensive or bemoan how cheap things are there. I'll scroll until my eyes glaze over and I can't tell one house from the next. The voyeurism of looking in people's lighted windows when I drive past has been taken to a whole new level. I feel like I could take a photo from each listing and write a short story about it--a depressing, judgemental short story. I can't stop.
Another Good Book Spoiled By Hatred And Ignorance
So I just re-read Gone with the Wind.
The last time I read it was in seventh grade, and I guess I knew it had really racist parts in it then, but I don't think I remembered how
really racist. Holy shit. Too bad, because otherwise the story is pretty good.
Some Things I Was Wrong About
It's all about lists lately here in the shell. And although I am famed for my overwhelming accuracy and astute predictions, here are some things that turned out differently, and statements I now rescind.
1. "Zach Braff is cool."
2. "Mandy Moore is not cool."
3. "The American people will never elect George W. Bush president."
4. "I don't think I'm going to like this Fight Club
5. "There is no way the American people will re-elect George W. Bush."
6. "I will never become a teacher."
7. What that Irish guy mumbled in that movie I watched with Anthemsled.