I love when religious people are hypocrites. LOVE it! Especially religious people who are hateful and judgmental. SO, as you can imagine, I was delighted to find out that my good friend Mel Gibson was arrested! For drunk driving! Oh, silly, silly Mel. You're supposed to "love thy brother", not try to plow him down in a drunken, selfish, irresponsible, idiotic stupor.
I was even more thrilled when I read the police report on tmz.com where Gibson, deciding that a DUI wouldn't damage his reputation enough, allegedly began attacking....wait for it...the Jews:
"TMZ has learned that Mel Gibson went on a rampage when he was arrested Friday on suspicion of drunk driving, hurling religious epithets. TMZ has also learned that the Los Angeles County Sheriff's department had the initial report doctored to keep the real story under wraps.
TMZ has four pages of the original report prepared by the arresting officer in the case, L.A. County Sheriff's Deputy James Mee. According to the report, Gibson became agitated after he was stopped on Pacific Coast Highway and told he was to be detained for drunk driving Friday morning in Malibu. The actor began swearing uncontrollably. Gibson repeatedly said, "My life is f****d." Law enforcement sources say the deputy, worried that Gibson might become violent, told the actor that he was supposed to cuff him but would not, as long as Gibson cooperated. As the two stood next to the hood of the patrol car, the deputy asked Gibson to get inside. Deputy Mee then walked over to the passenger door and opened it. The report says Gibson then said, "I'm not going to get in your car," and bolted to his car. The deputy quickly subdued Gibson, cuffed him and put him inside the patrol car. ...The report says Gibson then launched into a barrage of anti-Semitic statements: "F*****g Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." Gibson then asked the deputy, "Are you a Jew?"'
Ah, yes. The old stand-by. Someone's gotta be the scapegoat.
SHUT UP MEL GIB-SUCK. Unless you were drinking Manischewitz, the Jews have nothing to do with this.
We won't be taking the blame for "The Man Without A Face" either. You drunk bastard.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Sunrise, Sunset
As you know, I never advocate leaving this page for ANY REASON.
However, I feel like I would be cheating you out of a crapload of awesomeness if I neglected to mention that my little baby brother, Josh, now has a blog (NOTE: he just told me I should refer to him as my "oldest brother, because it wouldn't be a lie").
He is:
-12 years old
-going into 7th grade
-ridiculously liberal and into current events and pop culture (he is OBSESSED with "The Colbert Report")
-way more clever and intelligent than I might ever be.
I'm not joking. The kid is funny. The title of his blog? "This Blog Goes Up To 11". See?
Plus he's super competitive and on a mission to get as many blog hits as possible (which is why he's updating it every hour or so...literally). So check it out. He's seriously just like me, but like a midget version of me with a Y chromosome and interest in sports.
However, I feel like I would be cheating you out of a crapload of awesomeness if I neglected to mention that my little baby brother, Josh, now has a blog (NOTE: he just told me I should refer to him as my "oldest brother, because it wouldn't be a lie").
He is:
-12 years old
-going into 7th grade
-ridiculously liberal and into current events and pop culture (he is OBSESSED with "The Colbert Report")
-way more clever and intelligent than I might ever be.
I'm not joking. The kid is funny. The title of his blog? "This Blog Goes Up To 11". See?
Plus he's super competitive and on a mission to get as many blog hits as possible (which is why he's updating it every hour or so...literally). So check it out. He's seriously just like me, but like a midget version of me with a Y chromosome and interest in sports.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
That's enough, Keira. ENOUGH
I used to think that I hated Keira Knightley because she always pursed her lips in some weird, pseudo-Olsen twin manner that I just DETEST. Like it gave me chills and made me angry.
Then I went to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie (in which Johnny Depp over-acts to such a frightening degree that it made the ridiculous Edward Scissorhands get-up look like the understatement of the century). And in the 17th hour of the film, I realized something. I don't hate Keira because of the ridiculous lip-pursing. Not at all.
I hate her because she purses her lips and juts out her chin. At the same time.
Note:
Fake hair stolen from Lohan: check
Eyebrows that don't even pretend to match said fake hair: check
Lips and chin: oh, crap, they're trying to escape from my face!!!
"Oh, I am ever so sad and wistful. So wistful that I am hugging what appears to be a noose of some sort. Also, note the lack of glitter make-up and unfortunate bangs. Clearly I am playing a character that is devastatingly plain, yet charming (uglying it up=Oscar time!) in a British period piece (I'm British, remember? Remember guys? This automatically makes me exotic and fascinating and witty to you simple Americans.)"
The chin/lip move also works on the red carpet, as does the charming devil-may-care attitude regarding how many of her young female fans she just convinced to stop eating. Also, gold chain mail? Really? Shut up, Keira.
It's also important to note that this signature move is not easy to do. I tried it out myself, resulting in sore lip-muscles, a possibly dislocated jaw, and endless shame due to the fact that I now have an entire folder of pictures on my computer of me attempting to replicate the pose. Here are some samples:
If tomorrow everyone walked around on the street with this ridiculous expression, perhaps Ms. Knightley would take a hint. Because if she doesn't stop, I'm going to see the next Pirates movie in costume, complete with two black eye-patches and a peg leg in case anyone else in the theater wants me to put them out of their misery.
Then I went to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie (in which Johnny Depp over-acts to such a frightening degree that it made the ridiculous Edward Scissorhands get-up look like the understatement of the century). And in the 17th hour of the film, I realized something. I don't hate Keira because of the ridiculous lip-pursing. Not at all.
I hate her because she purses her lips and juts out her chin. At the same time.
Note:
Fake hair stolen from Lohan: check
Eyebrows that don't even pretend to match said fake hair: check
Lips and chin: oh, crap, they're trying to escape from my face!!!
"Oh, I am ever so sad and wistful. So wistful that I am hugging what appears to be a noose of some sort. Also, note the lack of glitter make-up and unfortunate bangs. Clearly I am playing a character that is devastatingly plain, yet charming (uglying it up=Oscar time!) in a British period piece (I'm British, remember? Remember guys? This automatically makes me exotic and fascinating and witty to you simple Americans.)"
The chin/lip move also works on the red carpet, as does the charming devil-may-care attitude regarding how many of her young female fans she just convinced to stop eating. Also, gold chain mail? Really? Shut up, Keira.
It's also important to note that this signature move is not easy to do. I tried it out myself, resulting in sore lip-muscles, a possibly dislocated jaw, and endless shame due to the fact that I now have an entire folder of pictures on my computer of me attempting to replicate the pose. Here are some samples:
If tomorrow everyone walked around on the street with this ridiculous expression, perhaps Ms. Knightley would take a hint. Because if she doesn't stop, I'm going to see the next Pirates movie in costume, complete with two black eye-patches and a peg leg in case anyone else in the theater wants me to put them out of their misery.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
DSW SHOE WAREHOUSE SUCKS. AND ALSO, THEY HATE BABIES AND KITTENS AND MAYBE EVEN FREEDOM
I have a KILLER post about Dr. John that I have been working on, but it will have to wait because there is an EMERGENCY situation going on. I know what you're thinking-"Jenn, why would you tease me by mentioning that you are withholding a post about the greatest forgotten 70's rock phenom of all time?", and I'm sorry that I did it, but now you have a reason to go on living, knowing that someday soon it will be both the right place and right time for you to see the winning entry.
Anyway, on to the horrific tale.
I'll admit, it took me a while to get on the DSW Shoe Warehouse bandwagon. For one, I dislike any kind of clothing vendor that is in a warehouse of any kind. It's just a policy I have; if you're buying things from a warehouse, you are either purchasing illegal goods or maybe you've convinced yourself that your family of four simply MUST have eight pounds of Cheerios and a 72-pack of canned peaches and are therefore at Costco. I just don't like the idea of buying shoes from a warehouse. It seems seedy and gross and cheap and weird. But it's not nearly as bad as "Dress Barn". Do not EVEN get me started on that atrocity (if you're shopping there for larger sizes, then the cow jokes just write themselves, people). But I also don't like the idea of having to reach over a group of dainty-footed women to grab the 11.5's/12's on the bottom of a pile of shoes. At least at Nordstrom's I can demurely mumble to the salesman "um, what's the largest size this comes in?" and when he tells me I can either respond with "perfect, can I try that please?" or, if the largest is 10, say something like "well, I was just taking a survey, I certainly don't have feet so large that shoes sometimes don't come in my size" and then laugh nervously.
But I overcame my doubts and over time began to embrace the 'House. Until last week, when I went to the one in Springfield with my mom because I needed sneakers.
After looking through the entire sneaker section and not being able to find a SINGLE shoe above a 10, I began to feel nauseous.
"OH.MY. GOD," I said to my mother in a scared, hushed voice. "They've stopped carrying 11's!"
"Don't be ridiculous," my ALWAYS SYMPATHETIC mother responded.
In a panic I rushed through the aisles, looking at other styles of shoes.
You guys, there were THREE shoes above a 10 in the entire store. Plus the once-huge "over 11" section of sale shoes? Now one measly, pathetic shelf.
I rushed over to a cashier and demanded that she tell me what happened. I think I scared her a little bit. It might have been the red face complete with veins popping out of the forehead and actual steam clouds puffing out of my ears. Or the idea that I might kill her with my gigantic feet. Either way, she averted her eyes and laughed nervously, telling me some BULLSHIT story about shipments not being in or some crap.
"She's lying!" I hissed to my mother.
"Jennifer!" she responded as she slid a pair of size 9 sandals on the counter.
"I'm telling you, they aren't carrying larger sizes anymore. This is the single worst thing that has ever happened in the history of the world."
" Why are you being so dramatic?" she asked, in a supportive, nurturing way.
"BECAUSE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND (note: I've found this to be the most effective and adult response to any argument with my parents) YOU WEAR NORMAL SIZE SHOES AND IT'S NOT HARD FOR YOU AND OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO HAVE TO TIE CARDBOARD TO MY FEET OR JUST NOT WALK ANYWHERE...EVER."
I'm not really sure what happened after this, but there might have been some Klonopin involved that evening. So later in the week, I was in Fair Lakes and decided to try another store, thinking that surely it was just some kind of fluke and THEY would certainly have more 11's and then all would be right with the world and I would skip happily out of there with some cute shoes and there would be rainbows and birds chirping and maybe a kicky little theme song.
It was not to be.
Jenn: Um, you guys are stopping stocking 11's and up, aren't you?
Manager: (smirking, upping the possibility that I would attempt to smack it off his face by 90%) Well, officially, I can tell you that we stock one size 11 in many styles, but...
So, there you have it. I think everyone should boycott that ridiculous store for two reasons.
1. They lie and will not just admit that they SUCK and are size-ist or that they SUCK.
2. JUST BECAUSE I HAVE GIGANTIC FEET DOESN'T MEAN THAT I DON'T DESERVE/NEED SHOES.
I have to go now. I'm super sad. Like this is worse than any break-up ever. Because with this break-up, I CAN'T EVEN GO SHOE SHOPPING TO CONSOLE ME.
Oh, the irony. It burns.
Anyway, on to the horrific tale.
I'll admit, it took me a while to get on the DSW Shoe Warehouse bandwagon. For one, I dislike any kind of clothing vendor that is in a warehouse of any kind. It's just a policy I have; if you're buying things from a warehouse, you are either purchasing illegal goods or maybe you've convinced yourself that your family of four simply MUST have eight pounds of Cheerios and a 72-pack of canned peaches and are therefore at Costco. I just don't like the idea of buying shoes from a warehouse. It seems seedy and gross and cheap and weird. But it's not nearly as bad as "Dress Barn". Do not EVEN get me started on that atrocity (if you're shopping there for larger sizes, then the cow jokes just write themselves, people). But I also don't like the idea of having to reach over a group of dainty-footed women to grab the 11.5's/12's on the bottom of a pile of shoes. At least at Nordstrom's I can demurely mumble to the salesman "um, what's the largest size this comes in?" and when he tells me I can either respond with "perfect, can I try that please?" or, if the largest is 10, say something like "well, I was just taking a survey, I certainly don't have feet so large that shoes sometimes don't come in my size" and then laugh nervously.
But I overcame my doubts and over time began to embrace the 'House. Until last week, when I went to the one in Springfield with my mom because I needed sneakers.
After looking through the entire sneaker section and not being able to find a SINGLE shoe above a 10, I began to feel nauseous.
"OH.MY. GOD," I said to my mother in a scared, hushed voice. "They've stopped carrying 11's!"
"Don't be ridiculous," my ALWAYS SYMPATHETIC mother responded.
In a panic I rushed through the aisles, looking at other styles of shoes.
You guys, there were THREE shoes above a 10 in the entire store. Plus the once-huge "over 11" section of sale shoes? Now one measly, pathetic shelf.
I rushed over to a cashier and demanded that she tell me what happened. I think I scared her a little bit. It might have been the red face complete with veins popping out of the forehead and actual steam clouds puffing out of my ears. Or the idea that I might kill her with my gigantic feet. Either way, she averted her eyes and laughed nervously, telling me some BULLSHIT story about shipments not being in or some crap.
"She's lying!" I hissed to my mother.
"Jennifer!" she responded as she slid a pair of size 9 sandals on the counter.
"I'm telling you, they aren't carrying larger sizes anymore. This is the single worst thing that has ever happened in the history of the world."
" Why are you being so dramatic?" she asked, in a supportive, nurturing way.
"BECAUSE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND (note: I've found this to be the most effective and adult response to any argument with my parents) YOU WEAR NORMAL SIZE SHOES AND IT'S NOT HARD FOR YOU AND OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO HAVE TO TIE CARDBOARD TO MY FEET OR JUST NOT WALK ANYWHERE...EVER."
I'm not really sure what happened after this, but there might have been some Klonopin involved that evening. So later in the week, I was in Fair Lakes and decided to try another store, thinking that surely it was just some kind of fluke and THEY would certainly have more 11's and then all would be right with the world and I would skip happily out of there with some cute shoes and there would be rainbows and birds chirping and maybe a kicky little theme song.
It was not to be.
Jenn: Um, you guys are stopping stocking 11's and up, aren't you?
Manager: (smirking, upping the possibility that I would attempt to smack it off his face by 90%) Well, officially, I can tell you that we stock one size 11 in many styles, but...
So, there you have it. I think everyone should boycott that ridiculous store for two reasons.
1. They lie and will not just admit that they SUCK and are size-ist or that they SUCK.
2. JUST BECAUSE I HAVE GIGANTIC FEET DOESN'T MEAN THAT I DON'T DESERVE/NEED SHOES.
I have to go now. I'm super sad. Like this is worse than any break-up ever. Because with this break-up, I CAN'T EVEN GO SHOE SHOPPING TO CONSOLE ME.
Oh, the irony. It burns.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Wish you were here...
I can NOT believe Syd Barrett is dead. Like I totally feel numb. You could say comfortably numb, but I won't because I think it would be disrespectful.
I'm upset about this for two reasons:
1. While Pink Floyd is not one of my all-time favorite bands, some of their songs rank right up there. "See Emily Play" has got to be one of the most ridiculously addicting rock songs ever; it's so weird, but you have to hear it over and over and over until people threaten to stop being your friend if you don't quit with the "ah-aaaaaaaaaaaaaah"'s. And although he wasn't technically with them when it came out, I think that "Wish You Were Here" is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Like I seriously had a religious experience when I first heard it. I was twelve-ish and sitting in my mom's car for some reason, and it came on the radio. I was about to change the channel (20 bucks I wanted to hear something like "Mmmmmbop" or "Barbie Girl" or or something equally horrific; I can't stand the barren wasteland of music that was my adolescent years) but something about it was so eerie that I just couldn't. And then the singing started, and I have never been so immediately touched by lyrics. It made me cry. See, I'm tearing up right now. It's just perfect.
2. I'm afraid that I killed him.
I'll explain.
This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm kind of psychic. Well, not really in a traditional sense. But I have this weird thing where if I say something bad/mention someone out of the blue, they might end up dead/sick. HOWEVER, this, for whatever reason, ONLY applies to old men (so all you twenty-something boys that have pissed me off, don't worry you're safe-for now...). Might I present THE EVIDENCE:
1. Last fall, I randomly put up an away message that said "I can't wait until Castro bites it so I can go to Havana and have a mojito." Ok, so it MIGHT be a little tasteless and insensitive, but whatever, I thought nothing of it. And how often does Fidel Castro come up in your everyday conversations? Hardly ever. So this was just some random thing that I thought about while sitting in class and put in an away message. The next day CNN runs a story about how Castro is actually really sick and has Parkinsons and might possibly die very very soon.
2. A couple of months ago someone sent me an e-mail and randomly mentioned Richard Pryor. I read it and said to a friend who was in the room "I totally don't care about Richard Pryor, he's not even funny." A few days later? Dead.
3. I bad-mouthed Cheney, per usual. Hours later he was in the hospital with chest pains.
4. Said that Bob Denver gave me a pervy vibe. He died later that week.
There are like a ton more-this happens all the damn time. But this brings me to Syd.
Monday evening I was driving with my brother and dun dun dun! "Wish You Were Here" came on the radio. I made him stay in the car and listen to the whole thing and told him why it was such an awesome song. We talked about it for about 20 minutes.
Less than 24 hours later, I find out that Syd Barrett, founder of the band that did that song, had died.
So now my psychic abilities have extended to when I say nice things about people. From now on, I say NOTHING. I want no part in the deaths of anymore rock legends.
I might be persuaded to discuss a few pop-stars, however.
I'm upset about this for two reasons:
1. While Pink Floyd is not one of my all-time favorite bands, some of their songs rank right up there. "See Emily Play" has got to be one of the most ridiculously addicting rock songs ever; it's so weird, but you have to hear it over and over and over until people threaten to stop being your friend if you don't quit with the "ah-aaaaaaaaaaaaaah"'s. And although he wasn't technically with them when it came out, I think that "Wish You Were Here" is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Like I seriously had a religious experience when I first heard it. I was twelve-ish and sitting in my mom's car for some reason, and it came on the radio. I was about to change the channel (20 bucks I wanted to hear something like "Mmmmmbop" or "Barbie Girl" or or something equally horrific; I can't stand the barren wasteland of music that was my adolescent years) but something about it was so eerie that I just couldn't. And then the singing started, and I have never been so immediately touched by lyrics. It made me cry. See, I'm tearing up right now. It's just perfect.
2. I'm afraid that I killed him.
I'll explain.
This is going to sound ridiculous, but I'm kind of psychic. Well, not really in a traditional sense. But I have this weird thing where if I say something bad/mention someone out of the blue, they might end up dead/sick. HOWEVER, this, for whatever reason, ONLY applies to old men (so all you twenty-something boys that have pissed me off, don't worry you're safe-for now...). Might I present THE EVIDENCE:
1. Last fall, I randomly put up an away message that said "I can't wait until Castro bites it so I can go to Havana and have a mojito." Ok, so it MIGHT be a little tasteless and insensitive, but whatever, I thought nothing of it. And how often does Fidel Castro come up in your everyday conversations? Hardly ever. So this was just some random thing that I thought about while sitting in class and put in an away message. The next day CNN runs a story about how Castro is actually really sick and has Parkinsons and might possibly die very very soon.
2. A couple of months ago someone sent me an e-mail and randomly mentioned Richard Pryor. I read it and said to a friend who was in the room "I totally don't care about Richard Pryor, he's not even funny." A few days later? Dead.
3. I bad-mouthed Cheney, per usual. Hours later he was in the hospital with chest pains.
4. Said that Bob Denver gave me a pervy vibe. He died later that week.
There are like a ton more-this happens all the damn time. But this brings me to Syd.
Monday evening I was driving with my brother and dun dun dun! "Wish You Were Here" came on the radio. I made him stay in the car and listen to the whole thing and told him why it was such an awesome song. We talked about it for about 20 minutes.
Less than 24 hours later, I find out that Syd Barrett, founder of the band that did that song, had died.
So now my psychic abilities have extended to when I say nice things about people. From now on, I say NOTHING. I want no part in the deaths of anymore rock legends.
I might be persuaded to discuss a few pop-stars, however.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Now is NOT the time
Dear North Korea,
WHAT ARE YOU DOING. Seriously.
Love,
Jenn
Ps-No, I mean really, what the hell are you thinking? We have a president that went to war with a country JUST BECAUSE HE FELT LIKE IT. Like he didn't even need a reason to do it. WE WENT TO WAR WITHOUT EVEN DECLARING WAR FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. So why would you think that now is the right time to go FIRING MISSILES. I have no time for this nonsense. Seriously, you're on your own. Also, please pass this message along to that dipshit running things over in Iran. You know the one, he's the guy with the crazy eyes walking around denying that the Holocaust ever happened.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING. Seriously.
Love,
Jenn
Ps-No, I mean really, what the hell are you thinking? We have a president that went to war with a country JUST BECAUSE HE FELT LIKE IT. Like he didn't even need a reason to do it. WE WENT TO WAR WITHOUT EVEN DECLARING WAR FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. So why would you think that now is the right time to go FIRING MISSILES. I have no time for this nonsense. Seriously, you're on your own. Also, please pass this message along to that dipshit running things over in Iran. You know the one, he's the guy with the crazy eyes walking around denying that the Holocaust ever happened.
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