the truth about being ugly

Hey! Fall! Short chicks! Tyra! Dog killing!



But in real life: Classes. Student loans. Acne in my early 20s.

Dang, reality tv is so much better than life!

This is terrible, I haven't posted in nearly two months! Well here's the latest video I did. I wouldn't play this while your mother's hovering over you. And I know she is.


There's really no thought process behind this, it's just a crude Sarah Silverman riff. I'm so impressed with how misleadingly natural her delivery is, I don't know, I find sincerity in insincerity funny. Just trying something different!

I've been in a minor funk for the past couple of days, so apologies if this entry seems kind of despondent or weird, or stupider than usual. Also I've been swimming the green shores of Nyquil, so take that warning seriously.

I'm kind of obsessed with this Megan Fox interview:


It doesn't really get good until 2:30 in, when Meg subtly trash talks the franchise that launched her career, but it gets even better when she's forced to watch a clip of her co-star calling her a horse. Look at her sneer! Look at her struggle to come up with an eventual reaction! Look at her stoically asking her interviewer if she's a woodland nymph! I find Megan Fox kind of fascinating for reasons that go beyond her looks. I actively sat down and read her recent Entertainment Weekly interview and couldn't have been more amused and scandalized. It is of course what you'd expect from a Megan Fox interview, which covers her it girl status, her latest media foible, and her looks ("Clearly, I'm not ugly").

She's more self aware than people give her credit for (she describes her performance in the first movie as dishonest and fake) yet not all that savvy (she's still naive enough to be hurt when the press twists her words). Megan Fox is very much that girl you (or, maybe, I) knew in high school that everybody was kind of scared of, but not entirely exiled on account of how pretty she was, and during Halloween in grade 11 when you were looking for somebody to paint your nails black, she offered to do it and sat with you in the quad and told you about her life and how abusive her sister was while she painted your nails, and you wished you could've offered something in return that was more supportive and meaningful than a nod of the head and a 'thanks', and, you both never really talked again but you'd pass by her in the hall and she'd give a little wave of recognition, and you'd wave back, because she's a slightly fucked up but sensitive rebel, and you're a shy and ignored effiminate kid, and seemingly in a different world you'd both have been best friends. What I'm trying to say is, Megan Fox seems like she'd be a fun girl if she wasn't such a loner, as she admits in the above video. I meant what I wrote in your yearbook, Megan!

( This is me drinking soda with Obama's face on it )

You know how Firefox has that mini search bar at the top right of the browser page, and it's totally the most convenient thing ever? I'm not so enthralled. That shit is dangerous. This morning I was, for whatever reason, googling "four horsemen of the apocalypse". Then I google image searched it. Then I forgot about it and went on my usual routine of refreshing Kotaku and io9 forty times.

And, uh, you know how when you type something long into the search bar, it doesn't show the entire phrase? Well, still oblivious that "four horsemen of the apocalypse" was still sitting merrily at the top right of my browser, I totted my Macbook to the only Starbucks in North York with free wifi. A barista came by with a tray of of cut-up banana bread and offered me one. I accepted! Who doesn't love free banana bread! She took a glance at my screen, made a face, then walked away. Brow knitted, I looked at my screen and realised this was on display for all to see:



Oh my god! And I was image searching it, salt in wound! I swear, barista, you were missing the first half of the phrase! I - oh, godammit.

I manhandled this Batman sticker onto my laptop and nervously jokingly referred to it as a sex-killer:



...but when the time came to haul the Mac outside the confines of my room, I chickened out and took it off. What if I ran into Christian Bale, laptop balanced on my arm and all? And he's searching desperately for somebody to accompany him to the beach and apply all sorts of lotions to his body? And he thinks, ah, this young man looks responsible enough, but - shit - is that a fucking Batman sticker on his Macbook?

That floor, by the way, is disgusting and I apologize.

If I took the time I spent creating hypothetical situations where my path intertwines with Christian Bale and applied it to, say, exploring Chinatown more, I'd have way more pictures of Chinatown. Because Toronto's Chinatown is hella fly:



Where everywhere smells like my grandparents, and you can get tuna fish buns 3 for a dollar.
( Read more... )

This is going to be a short-ass entry as I have things that need doin' on this balmy Saturday, but here's a new video detailing my schizophrenic feelings for the much maligned Silent Hill movie. I've written a demented stream-of-consciousness critique of the film before, but I can't really get something out of my system until I hack it to bits in iMovie:



On a completely unrelated note, check out this wack-ass claw lady I witnessed on the subway last night:





And she stands there, scratching for money! Apologies for the crappy photo quality, but the peach-skirted Lady Deathstrike was pretty self-conscious, and I had to snap those stealthily. Just call me the Solid Snake of bitchy gawking.

First, thanks to all the denizen livejournalers who commented on my hella self-cenetered debut post, or messaged me on twitter, or what have you. Even if you don't have an el-jay, don't be afraid to slam your threat below, anonymous commenting is allowed, too.
 
Wednesdays are boring, unbearably so, so I've got a question for all the fierce-minded citizens of the internet's tubes: 

What was your favourite season of America's Next Top Model, and why?

Mine was the irrepressibly addictive Cycle 3. Platypus snouts, secret bitches, Is this a pole?, dessert mutilation, the constant clownifying of the photoshoots, re-spay-too, Tyra appearing outside of judging in random intervals akin to that of a horror movie villain, Eva's soundbites, non-sequiturs both verbal ("This looks too breast exam") and physical (Amanda tripping Kelle with her stick) are all reasons why this cycle was awesome. I'd even like to do a video about it if I wasn't so self-conscious about the layer of fat around my mouth!

Livejournal, how poorly I've treated you. I created an account for the most narcisisstic reason possible: to spy on the naysayers who comment on my videos in topmodel, and then occasionally post a comment in retaliation. Almost like a sleeper agent, except, you know, undelicately obvious. But no more! No more narcissism.

So I'll start with posting this video I made:


This weekend was fly as hell, as the above montage illustrates. Cruising downtown for street performers, shoving my Sony Cybershot DSC-T77 in the faces of bad-tempered Torontoites, snackin' on delicious spring fruit, enjoying the crisp late-May weather. If you happened to be within downtown T.O. yesterday and bore witness to a 5'10 dolt foppishly scanning his surroundings for something recordable, you should have said hi. I promise I'm nice.