Heat Three of the band name poll closed with 'Randy Bourbon and the Day of Regrets' taking home the gravy.
Heat Four gives you fine folk the opportunity to choose between Sneaky Baldwin, Today's Urban Youth, The Duplicators and Hey There Jimbo What's Cooking.
I'm sure you will choose wisely.
And if you're wondering, yes I do have more of these. So many, many more.
-Smackie Onassis
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Are you there God? It's Me, Smackie Onassis.
When I was growing up, my family were quite religious. Not overzealous, door-to-door, preachy religious or anything like that, but my parents went to church a lot. They were both on the parish council, and Vicar of Dibley was my mother's favourite show. If it had been released a decade or so earlier, I might well have been a Geraldine rather than a Sarah Jane. Dr Who is a much cooler show to be named after, right?
The church my parents were members of was quite progressive - their local head honcho was openly gay and had been in a committed long-term relationship with one man for most of his life. They lived in a little cottage adjacent to the church. One of their most popular priests was a woman, and they frequently had inter-faith services where they invited people from Jewish, Muslim and other Christian groups from around the area to encourage religious tolerance. They also had services where you could bring pets. I remember being quite tempted to borrow my friend's python for the event, but then noticed the biblical parralels of my situation and decided against the idea.
Being as progressive as they were, my parents never forced the idea of God onto me, and I was never made to go to church with them. I was taught science and evolution as fact, and then religion as choice. You can see how I came out of childhood with a very different perception of religion to most people. It was only until I set off into the big, scary world that I saw what some people were doing under the guise of religion and went 'WAIT WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU STOP THAT. YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.'
I never really knew how to feel about the whole God thing when I was growing up. What I did know was how to cut a win/win deal, where both wins were for me. There was one particular day when I was young when I really didn't want to go to swim training. I don't know why, but it probably had something to do with it being the middle of winter. So, to test the waters of religion, I got out my prayer hands.
Ok God, here's how we're going to play this, I began, If I don't have to go to swimming this afternoon, I will totally believe in you. For reals, God.
I smirked to myself, considering that all I had to do was believe in something and I could get what I wanted without even having to get up. And if there wasn't a God, what did I lose? I'd have to go to swimming, but I probably would have had to anyway. As it turned out, I didn't go to swimming that afternoon, although I later realised that my mother forgetting to take me to one of my millions of after school activities is hardly proof of a supreme being. This coincided with me realising that this was a deal I could really only use once and I had kinda wasted it.
I guess it's pretty safe to say I never really took organised religion that seriously. The only thing I can really remember about my brief period of Sunday School attendance was the time I took along my favourite doll. It was a replica of the E.C. doll from the old ABC Kids show 'Lift Off' and when I sat down in the little circle of chairs they set out, I put E.C. in the seat next to me. After the roll was marked, the teacher asked if there were any new people there that day, as she did every week. I put my hand up and said,
'Yeah! E.C. is new!'
The teacher probably laughed at first, because how adorable, right? Keep in mind that I was actually the most adorable child ever:
That's me with the ringlets. Unfortunately for my Sunday School teacher (and all future teachers), the ringlets probably helped with my ability to lead a crowd.
'Ok, seriously though. Any new people today?' she asked.
'E.C! You haven't put her on the roll yet,' I insisted.
Then, all the other children joined in until the teacher was forced to change the subject. So naturally I repeated this exercise every week until the poor woman was forced to change her weekly announcement to, Are there any new students who aren't the doll? and my parents decided to let me sleep in on Sunday mornings.
-Smackie Onassis
The church my parents were members of was quite progressive - their local head honcho was openly gay and had been in a committed long-term relationship with one man for most of his life. They lived in a little cottage adjacent to the church. One of their most popular priests was a woman, and they frequently had inter-faith services where they invited people from Jewish, Muslim and other Christian groups from around the area to encourage religious tolerance. They also had services where you could bring pets. I remember being quite tempted to borrow my friend's python for the event, but then noticed the biblical parralels of my situation and decided against the idea.
Being as progressive as they were, my parents never forced the idea of God onto me, and I was never made to go to church with them. I was taught science and evolution as fact, and then religion as choice. You can see how I came out of childhood with a very different perception of religion to most people. It was only until I set off into the big, scary world that I saw what some people were doing under the guise of religion and went 'WAIT WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU STOP THAT. YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.'
I never really knew how to feel about the whole God thing when I was growing up. What I did know was how to cut a win/win deal, where both wins were for me. There was one particular day when I was young when I really didn't want to go to swim training. I don't know why, but it probably had something to do with it being the middle of winter. So, to test the waters of religion, I got out my prayer hands.
Ok God, here's how we're going to play this, I began, If I don't have to go to swimming this afternoon, I will totally believe in you. For reals, God.
I smirked to myself, considering that all I had to do was believe in something and I could get what I wanted without even having to get up. And if there wasn't a God, what did I lose? I'd have to go to swimming, but I probably would have had to anyway. As it turned out, I didn't go to swimming that afternoon, although I later realised that my mother forgetting to take me to one of my millions of after school activities is hardly proof of a supreme being. This coincided with me realising that this was a deal I could really only use once and I had kinda wasted it.
I guess it's pretty safe to say I never really took organised religion that seriously. The only thing I can really remember about my brief period of Sunday School attendance was the time I took along my favourite doll. It was a replica of the E.C. doll from the old ABC Kids show 'Lift Off' and when I sat down in the little circle of chairs they set out, I put E.C. in the seat next to me. After the roll was marked, the teacher asked if there were any new people there that day, as she did every week. I put my hand up and said,
'Yeah! E.C. is new!'
The teacher probably laughed at first, because how adorable, right? Keep in mind that I was actually the most adorable child ever:
That's me with the ringlets. Unfortunately for my Sunday School teacher (and all future teachers), the ringlets probably helped with my ability to lead a crowd.
'Ok, seriously though. Any new people today?' she asked.
'E.C! You haven't put her on the roll yet,' I insisted.
Then, all the other children joined in until the teacher was forced to change the subject. So naturally I repeated this exercise every week until the poor woman was forced to change her weekly announcement to, Are there any new students who aren't the doll? and my parents decided to let me sleep in on Sunday mornings.
-Smackie Onassis
Monday, July 19, 2010
Rosie O'Donnell Sucks
Again, I have found myself skimming through the darkest corners of the internet. In the course of my totally normal internet searching, I sometimes find I've taken a wrong turn and veered off course. Before I can stop to get my bearings, I find myself in the red light district of the internet. And it's wonderful.
There is a fan page on facebook under the banner of 'Rosie O'Donnell Sucks'. It's a fair enough idea, Rosie O'Donnell is a terrible, horrifying human being. The problem is, there is nothing more frustrating than discovering that people with hysterically awful opinions hold even one of the same opinions as you do. On the one hand, you want to agree with them. On the other hand, you don't want to encourage them.
Let's be clear: everyone here is awful. Everyone. There's not a single word cluster there that doesn't make me want to claw at my brain with my fingernails. I'm really not sure on what grounds Tits McGee there thinks Rosie is being discriminated against. To be honest, I don't think he or she really honestly knows what the word actually means. All (s)he knows is that when (s)he doesn't like what someone else is saying, that's discrimination. I have free speech, darn tootin', and that means that you can't say anything that offends me. What confuses me more is the use of the word 'DSNGE'. Any way I look at it, I can't for the life of me figure out what this word is supposed to be. I can only conclude that it is some kind of synonym for burnsauce and is meant to be pronounced as a mash of letters. I included the reply there for the truly excellent use of the phrase 'Democrap Libtard'. Ooooh, DSNGE!
If there's one sensible criticism I can make about Rosie O'Donnell, it's that her opinions are FAT. Geez, O'Donnell, send your opinions out for a jog or something. Tell them to cut down on the carbs, I don't know. It's not healthy. Fat whore deserves to have boiling water thrown up her to scald her insides. Love Tits McGee.
I have never seen anything more quintessentially Texan than this comment. Starting off with a farm-related insult, following through with some home-style, all-caps hatred and to top it off, the Universal Southern US Problem-Solver: throw the bastards on the grill.
Keepin' it simple. Keepin' it honest.
-Smackie Onassis
There is a fan page on facebook under the banner of 'Rosie O'Donnell Sucks'. It's a fair enough idea, Rosie O'Donnell is a terrible, horrifying human being. The problem is, there is nothing more frustrating than discovering that people with hysterically awful opinions hold even one of the same opinions as you do. On the one hand, you want to agree with them. On the other hand, you don't want to encourage them.
To illustrate what I mean, here are some examples'. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Tits McGee PEOPLE NEED TO LAY THE FUCK OFF ROSIE IF SHE HAPPY WITH WHO SHE IS THEN FUCK LET HER BE HAPPY WHY YALL HAVE TO DISCRIMINATE SHIT IM GAY WHAT YOU GONNA DO TO ME OHH DSNGE YOU CANT DO ANYTHING. RUDEEE ASSES FUCKERS SHE DOESNT DESERVE THIS DISCRIMINATION.
Let's be clear: everyone here is awful. Everyone. There's not a single word cluster there that doesn't make me want to claw at my brain with my fingernails. I'm really not sure on what grounds Tits McGee there thinks Rosie is being discriminated against. To be honest, I don't think he or she really honestly knows what the word actually means. All (s)he knows is that when (s)he doesn't like what someone else is saying, that's discrimination. I have free speech, darn tootin', and that means that you can't say anything that offends me. What confuses me more is the use of the word 'DSNGE'. Any way I look at it, I can't for the life of me figure out what this word is supposed to be. I can only conclude that it is some kind of synonym for burnsauce and is meant to be pronounced as a mash of letters. I included the reply there for the truly excellent use of the phrase 'Democrap Libtard'. Ooooh, DSNGE!
And we're just warming up.
Tits McGee Thank you for this group, FINALLY. I hate this woman and I hate everything about her.She ALWAYS loves flaunting her FAT opinions about EVERYTHING as if people are listening to her. If I was Elisabeth Hasselback, I would just went in for the right hook, cause that fat bitch deserves it. Love Tits McGee.
If there's one sensible criticism I can make about Rosie O'Donnell, it's that her opinions are FAT. Geez, O'Donnell, send your opinions out for a jog or something. Tell them to cut down on the carbs, I don't know. It's not healthy. Fat whore deserves to have boiling water thrown up her to scald her insides. Love Tits McGee.
Tits McGee WHAT A SLOB, AND WITH A BIG MOUTH TO TOP IT OFF, A FARM PIG IS MUCH MORE PRETTY TO LOOK AT, AND SMELLS BETTER TOO, WISH SHE WOULD JUST GO AWAY, JUST LOOKING AT HER TURNS MY STOMACH ........... NO BRAINS, BUT LOT'S OF FAT, SO STICK HER ON THE GRILL
I have never seen anything more quintessentially Texan than this comment. Starting off with a farm-related insult, following through with some home-style, all-caps hatred and to top it off, the Universal Southern US Problem-Solver: throw the bastards on the grill.
Tits McGee she is a queer
Keepin' it simple. Keepin' it honest.
-Smackie Onassis
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Hat Club 4 Lyfe
It was my birthday about a month ago or so. I'm not really that big on presents, so I told my friends what they could do for me instead. There was a celebration, a 'Hatstravaganza' as I referred to it. Naturally, there were a lot of photos taken on the night, as tends to happen on birthday events.
I told my friends that for my birthday, all I wanted was to be allowed to make a Marshall Eriksen style photo montage about how great that night was, and to be allowed to post it to the internet. They agreed willingly, but probably quickly forgot about it.
Well, they are now being held to that agreement. Mainly because it was raining on the weekend and I was bored. Excuse the poor recording quality, I do not own any nice things.
Hat Club 4 Lyfe
-Smackie Onassis
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Thinly Veiled Threats Presents: Chugbuster Sings Classics She Doesn't Know
My friend Chugbuster is basically the funniest person I know. When we first met she introduced herself with a warm-hearted,
Sup, I'm Chugbuster. I'll have you know I wore my killing boots today, because I can't be sure yet that you aren't a serial killer.
I'm paraphrasing, but that's pretty much how it went. We've been best buds ever since, so I guess she must have decided I'm probably not a serial killer after all.
Chugbuster is the youngest person I have ever been friends with. She wasn't even alive in the 1980s, not even for a year or two at the end of it. As such, she often doesn't get some of the cultural references that us older folk take for granted.
After she returned from a trip to the deepest, darkest depths of Broken Hill, I took advantage of our friendship by inviting her into my home and plying her with liquor, before asking her to perform songs that she doesn't know. Her versions are usually based mainly on the titles of the song.
Tracklist:
1. The Big Bang Theory - Barenaked Ladies
2. Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley
3. Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
4. Sex and Candy - Marcy's Playground
5. Rich Girl - Hall & Oates
6. La Bamba
6. Buckets of Rain - Bob Dylan
7. Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
8. Strangers in the Night - Frank Sinatra
-Smackie Onassis, who is also saving the earth one bucket at a time.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Adventures Update: What the hell?
Before I begin, I should start by saying that I just dashed home as fast as I could purely to tell this story. Because it is that amazing.
I've been going for quite a few walks recently, just around my neighbourhood. It's a nice area. I've recently found myself amused by such wonders as the chiropractor around the corner named 'Dr Scarr' (Nominative Determinism perhaps?) and streets with names such as 'Wigtown Wk' and 'Jude La'. If I walk past 'Jude La' one more time and someone hasn't added a 'W' to the end with a sharpie, I swear to god, I will have to take matters into my own hands.
This morning I was out on one of these walks and everything seemed perfectly normal. Until, just a few streets over from our house, I saw a small, old man hobbling around a car wreck. The back section of the car was completely wrapped around a tree, with shattered glass everywhere. Naturally, I rushed over to see if he was ok, and if he needed any assistance. The man gave me a strangely embarrassed look before speaking in a thick accent of indeterminate origin.
"Eh... I try to knock down tree, but it not work..."
Seriously. There had been a tree outside his house that was obviously not in his good books, and his simple solution for this problem was to back his car forcefully into the tree. Keep in mind, this was a big, thick tree and his car was like, a fiat or something stupid like that. I don't know what goes through a person's head that makes them think the most logical solution to removing a tree from their property is to embrace it with your tiny car, but I am so glad I walked the way I did today.
Also, for the record, I made sure he was ok and didn't need any assistance. He wasn't in any way injured, apart from his pride and his car. The tree remained unharmed.
-Smackie Onassis
I've been going for quite a few walks recently, just around my neighbourhood. It's a nice area. I've recently found myself amused by such wonders as the chiropractor around the corner named 'Dr Scarr' (Nominative Determinism perhaps?) and streets with names such as 'Wigtown Wk' and 'Jude La'. If I walk past 'Jude La' one more time and someone hasn't added a 'W' to the end with a sharpie, I swear to god, I will have to take matters into my own hands.
This morning I was out on one of these walks and everything seemed perfectly normal. Until, just a few streets over from our house, I saw a small, old man hobbling around a car wreck. The back section of the car was completely wrapped around a tree, with shattered glass everywhere. Naturally, I rushed over to see if he was ok, and if he needed any assistance. The man gave me a strangely embarrassed look before speaking in a thick accent of indeterminate origin.
"Eh... I try to knock down tree, but it not work..."
Seriously. There had been a tree outside his house that was obviously not in his good books, and his simple solution for this problem was to back his car forcefully into the tree. Keep in mind, this was a big, thick tree and his car was like, a fiat or something stupid like that. I don't know what goes through a person's head that makes them think the most logical solution to removing a tree from their property is to embrace it with your tiny car, but I am so glad I walked the way I did today.
Also, for the record, I made sure he was ok and didn't need any assistance. He wasn't in any way injured, apart from his pride and his car. The tree remained unharmed.
-Smackie Onassis
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Oh Internet. You so crazy.
The internet is great for many reasons. There's porn, fantasy games, user-submitted humour sites and a great deal of other things designed for the express purpose of keeping awful people well and truly locked away in their parents' basement. No offense, awful people.
Sites like StumbleUpon that let you jump from random page to random page of the internet might as well be called 'Go on, I dare you', but you know me. I'm never one to refuse a dare. I've compiled a list of a few wonderful things I have found in the deepest, darkest corners of the web.
I'd like to share that list with you.
First, there's the pages that have no explanation, but don't NEED one because they are just that amazing. These are pages such as the genre-defying Selleck Waterfall Sandwich or the free access television program featuring a man who paints while running on a treadmill and doing one other random activity. Here's a video where he paints, runs and eats a pie, but there are also clips where he blends drinks, makes pancakes and is watched by some kind of Jungle King, all while painting and exercising. Oh yes, get ready for a wasted afternoon.
While we're talking videos, I found an endlessly entertaining Romanian video site the other day. I found it after clicking on a link to a video of a man covered in bees, which was more entertaining than I could have possibly imagined. I initially watched it because I was thinking about that Eddie Izzard bit that you will know if you are as much of a comedy nerd as most people I know. But not only is this particular Romanian beekeeper (who, according to the video, holds the world record for being "covered in the most bees") completely chill about being covered in bees, he's so cool with it that he's going to drink a beer. Hell, he'll even smoke a cigarette covered in bees! In fact, he's so relaxed about all the bees crawling over his body, he might even ride a donkey. You may think I'm just being funny (if so, thanks) but I am only just falling short of directly quoting the video. I also particularly enjoyed the footage of a reporter getting hit by a horse, which I guess is the Romanian equivalent of the widely circulated 'Reporter Gets Hit by a Car' video.
Of course, then there are the little things. The small, personalised corners of the internet that may not seem that interesting at first. But people often reveal much more than they intend to when they use the internet. You might remember when AOL's search logs were accidentally leaked to the public and everyone started getting worked up about the user who spent hours upon hours searching for flowers and song lyrics, before switching to hours and hours of searches along the lines of "beauty and the beast disney porn, holocaust rape, japanese child slave, molestation and rape porn, virtual children, 3d molestation and rape porn" and so on and so forth, before switching back to looking up Fall-Out Boy lyrics and orchids.
But as much as I like reading about other people's sexual deviancies, I prefer the more subtle nods to an internet user's character. While browsing something I wouldn't be able to remember even if I were trying, I came across a site offering free linux software, uploaded by users. One piece of software caught my eye because of how unabashedly self-deprecating the description was:
Wallcal is a simple, stupid, useless calendar for your desktop.
I created this instead alot of useful calendars because:
- I don't like Aqua, Graphite, Aero. I like freedom, I love KDE, I'm looking for my personal desktop style..
- Some famous calendars don't work on my PC.
Every month it will show you a photo of my honeymoon in Ireland. Of course you can change them.
Sites like StumbleUpon that let you jump from random page to random page of the internet might as well be called 'Go on, I dare you', but you know me. I'm never one to refuse a dare. I've compiled a list of a few wonderful things I have found in the deepest, darkest corners of the web.
I'd like to share that list with you.
First, there's the pages that have no explanation, but don't NEED one because they are just that amazing. These are pages such as the genre-defying Selleck Waterfall Sandwich or the free access television program featuring a man who paints while running on a treadmill and doing one other random activity. Here's a video where he paints, runs and eats a pie, but there are also clips where he blends drinks, makes pancakes and is watched by some kind of Jungle King, all while painting and exercising. Oh yes, get ready for a wasted afternoon.
While we're talking videos, I found an endlessly entertaining Romanian video site the other day. I found it after clicking on a link to a video of a man covered in bees, which was more entertaining than I could have possibly imagined. I initially watched it because I was thinking about that Eddie Izzard bit that you will know if you are as much of a comedy nerd as most people I know. But not only is this particular Romanian beekeeper (who, according to the video, holds the world record for being "covered in the most bees") completely chill about being covered in bees, he's so cool with it that he's going to drink a beer. Hell, he'll even smoke a cigarette covered in bees! In fact, he's so relaxed about all the bees crawling over his body, he might even ride a donkey. You may think I'm just being funny (if so, thanks) but I am only just falling short of directly quoting the video. I also particularly enjoyed the footage of a reporter getting hit by a horse, which I guess is the Romanian equivalent of the widely circulated 'Reporter Gets Hit by a Car' video.
Of course, then there are the little things. The small, personalised corners of the internet that may not seem that interesting at first. But people often reveal much more than they intend to when they use the internet. You might remember when AOL's search logs were accidentally leaked to the public and everyone started getting worked up about the user who spent hours upon hours searching for flowers and song lyrics, before switching to hours and hours of searches along the lines of "beauty and the beast disney porn, holocaust rape, japanese child slave, molestation and rape porn, virtual children, 3d molestation and rape porn" and so on and so forth, before switching back to looking up Fall-Out Boy lyrics and orchids.
But as much as I like reading about other people's sexual deviancies, I prefer the more subtle nods to an internet user's character. While browsing something I wouldn't be able to remember even if I were trying, I came across a site offering free linux software, uploaded by users. One piece of software caught my eye because of how unabashedly self-deprecating the description was:
Wallcal is a simple, stupid, useless calendar for your desktop.
I created this instead alot of useful calendars because:
- I don't like Aqua, Graphite, Aero. I like freedom, I love KDE, I'm looking for my personal desktop style..
- Some famous calendars don't work on my PC.
Every month it will show you a photo of my honeymoon in Ireland. Of course you can change them.
And sure, all he's doing is promoting his software, but with the few short lines of a product description, the reader knows that here, here is a guy who hates his life.
If it's baffling product descriptions you're after, wrap your eyes around this description for a recently released work of young adult fiction, one of those books that tries to be 'hip with the kids' despite the fact the author was clearly a middle aged woman from birth.
Madison still loves logging on to Friendverse to see what her BFFs and her cute new boyfriend Nate are up to. But the latest social networking craze is Status Q, which is all about rapid-fire status updates. When one of Mad's friends has to pull off a high-pressure heist, the gang relies on Status Q to send coded messages to each other...all in the middle of a school dance!
What's YOUR status? How about O...M...G.
...sorry, what was that about a heist? I mean, I vaguely understood all that blather about social networking, but did you say something about a high-pressure heist? I think you might have your angle a little askew, YA fiction author Katie Finn.
'But hey,' you might be saying, 'What is there for me? I like my women like I like my coffee. That is to say, with a good hot slice of crazy floating in them.'
Well, wait no longer, because I have the exact right woman for you. I'm not sure who this woman actually is, but her blog is called 'Naked Seduction'. In it, you will find a few blocks of text interspersed between photos of this girl, who is apparently in the films business. But judging by the sheer strength of the crazy sauce garnishing the entire thing, I have a suspicion that those pictures aren't the real deal. No proof, mind you, but I have faith that we live in society where suspicion alone is enough to have someone locked up for life. Here is a paragraph of her writing, with punctuation added by me in a vain attempt to make it a bit more coherent.
Yes it's true, this is what I do! This is what I do, the best to seduce you with, the nakedness, naked emotion, naked heart, naked mind and naked confession. Naked, naked soul and naked compassion. I seduce you with the pure naked me and my naked love. I seduce you like a woman. I seduce you like your best friend. I seduce you like you. I seduce you with the distance only on the other side of the computer. Seduce with the nakedness with danger. I am your mirror only reflects you...
That's right, she'll seduce you like your best friend, which is probably going to be awkward. But not as awkward as when she starts seducing you... like you. I have no idea what that means and it's still creepy. To be fair, after my attempts at editing that, I must admit that it does have potential in the ever-lucrative arena of performance poetry.
-Smackie Onassis
Bitches. Am I Right Guys?
I'm not exactly what you would call feminine. I have all the right parts, but I don't seem to operate them the usual way. I'm a tomboy through and through and as a result, sometimes, I just don't understand women.
I think I was born without the hormone that can turn a together, intelligent woman into a jealous, irrational crazy with little more than a sideways glance at another woman's assets. I have often sat down with my boyfriend purely to discuss the merits of another woman's assets. Sometimes also her tit-ets. I'm guessing the "irrational jealousy" hormone is the same hormone that makes it possible to so much as sit through the trailer to a Sex and the City movie, or understand the appeal of Twilight.
As a result of thinking more like a dude than a chick, I just. don't. get. women. But still, there is nothing that annoys me more than anything that can be associated with the phrase 'Battle of the Sexes'. Not only is it a theme that has been done so often that there is literally no original material left (studies have shown that the last orignal men vs women joke can be traced back to December 5th, 1982*), but women seem to forget that while saying men are better than women is chauvinistic, so is saying women are better than men. While the definition of 'chauvinism' is usually quoted as 'hatred of women' or something similar, it is actually supposed to mean putting one gender over the other, regardless of which gender that may be.
Also, it is completely and totally pointless.
I hear women talk about all the ways male-dominated society is destroying the futures of young women. Don't get me started on how pornography is seen as harmful to women, despite the fact that it is the one industry where women almost always earn significantly more then men, and never mind that men in porn are not only also objectified, but put on a much lower standing than women. Don't even get me started on that. But whenever I hear people who call themselves feminists saying things like this I really fell the need to point out that regardless of what the male half of the world is doing, time criticising would probably be better spent alleviating the harm women are doing to young women.
In my opinion, the effects of the porn industry on young women, whether or not you agree with what I just said up there, are peanuts compared to the wedding industry. If there's one industry I honestly think the world would benefit from completely wiping out, it's the wedding industry.
And yes, I'm serious. For once. You can't open up any newspaper without seeing something about how the world's economy is doomed, for new and exciting reasons every day. People can't afford their mortgages, small businesses are going under and generally speaking, everybody is completely and totally fucked. Governments are intervening left, right and centre, slapping the restrictions on thick and fast.
And yet, it's still perfectly acceptable to drill into little girls as soon as they can speak that if their groom doesn't spend $20,000 on their wedding, it means he doesn't really love her and her entire life will be totally meaningless.A five figure sum is seen as an AVERAGE cost of a wedding these days. FOR ONE DAY. ONE. DAY. Every time I see a photo in the paper about a young pair of newlyweds who will "never be able to afford to own their own home", I want to know just how much they spent on their wedding. To clarify, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a wedding. I'm just saying you shouldn't spend your entire life savings and then some on a single one day event.
For other new and original ways women are destroying other women see: mothers who encourage their daughters to get breast implants because "surgery is no big deal", and fairytales in general. My mother used to tell me about a lesbian couple she knew who, when reading fairytales to their daughter, used to change the endings from '...and she and Prince Charming lived happily ever after' to '...and she went to university, got a degree and then decided on her own terms if she wanted to marry Prince Charming', which I thought was great. Although I also don't like the whole 'Do nothing to fix your problems, and a fairy godmother will do everything for you' idea.
Cinders, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you want to go to the ball, you're going to have to make your own damn dress.
-Smackie Onassis
P.S. Heat two of the band names poll is just coming to a close, and unless there is a sudden surge of votes in the next seven or so hours, it's looking like 'The Fistiest Cuffs' is going through to the next round, which I must say I am pleased with. In heat three you will be deciding between The Bourgeois Gestures League, Citroen Ella, Imp Proper and Randy Bourbon and his 'Day of Regrets' Band.
*Disclaimer: I made that up.
I think I was born without the hormone that can turn a together, intelligent woman into a jealous, irrational crazy with little more than a sideways glance at another woman's assets. I have often sat down with my boyfriend purely to discuss the merits of another woman's assets. Sometimes also her tit-ets. I'm guessing the "irrational jealousy" hormone is the same hormone that makes it possible to so much as sit through the trailer to a Sex and the City movie, or understand the appeal of Twilight.
As a result of thinking more like a dude than a chick, I just. don't. get. women. But still, there is nothing that annoys me more than anything that can be associated with the phrase 'Battle of the Sexes'. Not only is it a theme that has been done so often that there is literally no original material left (studies have shown that the last orignal men vs women joke can be traced back to December 5th, 1982*), but women seem to forget that while saying men are better than women is chauvinistic, so is saying women are better than men. While the definition of 'chauvinism' is usually quoted as 'hatred of women' or something similar, it is actually supposed to mean putting one gender over the other, regardless of which gender that may be.
Also, it is completely and totally pointless.
I hear women talk about all the ways male-dominated society is destroying the futures of young women. Don't get me started on how pornography is seen as harmful to women, despite the fact that it is the one industry where women almost always earn significantly more then men, and never mind that men in porn are not only also objectified, but put on a much lower standing than women. Don't even get me started on that. But whenever I hear people who call themselves feminists saying things like this I really fell the need to point out that regardless of what the male half of the world is doing, time criticising would probably be better spent alleviating the harm women are doing to young women.
In my opinion, the effects of the porn industry on young women, whether or not you agree with what I just said up there, are peanuts compared to the wedding industry. If there's one industry I honestly think the world would benefit from completely wiping out, it's the wedding industry.
And yes, I'm serious. For once. You can't open up any newspaper without seeing something about how the world's economy is doomed, for new and exciting reasons every day. People can't afford their mortgages, small businesses are going under and generally speaking, everybody is completely and totally fucked. Governments are intervening left, right and centre, slapping the restrictions on thick and fast.
And yet, it's still perfectly acceptable to drill into little girls as soon as they can speak that if their groom doesn't spend $20,000 on their wedding, it means he doesn't really love her and her entire life will be totally meaningless.A five figure sum is seen as an AVERAGE cost of a wedding these days. FOR ONE DAY. ONE. DAY. Every time I see a photo in the paper about a young pair of newlyweds who will "never be able to afford to own their own home", I want to know just how much they spent on their wedding. To clarify, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a wedding. I'm just saying you shouldn't spend your entire life savings and then some on a single one day event.
For other new and original ways women are destroying other women see: mothers who encourage their daughters to get breast implants because "surgery is no big deal", and fairytales in general. My mother used to tell me about a lesbian couple she knew who, when reading fairytales to their daughter, used to change the endings from '...and she and Prince Charming lived happily ever after' to '...and she went to university, got a degree and then decided on her own terms if she wanted to marry Prince Charming', which I thought was great. Although I also don't like the whole 'Do nothing to fix your problems, and a fairy godmother will do everything for you' idea.
Cinders, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you want to go to the ball, you're going to have to make your own damn dress.
-Smackie Onassis
P.S. Heat two of the band names poll is just coming to a close, and unless there is a sudden surge of votes in the next seven or so hours, it's looking like 'The Fistiest Cuffs' is going through to the next round, which I must say I am pleased with. In heat three you will be deciding between The Bourgeois Gestures League, Citroen Ella, Imp Proper and Randy Bourbon and his 'Day of Regrets' Band.
*Disclaimer: I made that up.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Hijinks and the like
I've always liked kissing strangers.
There's something thrilling about spontaneous passion. Meeting someone, striking up a conversation (not compulsory) and kissing for awhile before hopefully never seeing each other ever again. Or, at the very least, never speaking of it.
For me, the moment that best summed up this idea was with a guy who was, I guess, an acquaintance. He was the cousin of a guy I went to school with and we used to see each other about quite a bit. It was usually at uni, gigs or the pub, and it was always in a group with mutual friends.
One night, I was on my way home after a night out. As I passed by the pub that stood between the bus stop and my house* I ran into the aforementioned acquaintance. He was with one other friend who was too drunk to really participate in the conversation. We said a few words to each other, I don't remember any of them, and somehow found ourselves kissing. Afterwards, he walked me the rest of the way home, we kissed again and then parted ways. We never spoke of it again, and I was always quietly pleased with the way our friendship remained completely unchanged for it, the way we didn't even need to talk about it to know better than to make anything of it.
Of course, when I found out that he had an identical twin it did put something of a question mark on the whole event.
There were an absurd amount of multiple births in Newcastle. I honestly don't know what it was, maybe it was something to do with the coal. Or the steel-works, back when it was still running. I guess all that sheer manliness in the air started making the men's sperm super powerful, impregnating women with twins or even triplets every time they so much as held hands with them. It seemed like every year when school went back, we would see a headline in the local paper reading "Three sets of identical twins in same class!". I personally knew two sets of triplets.
Actually, the one time in my life that I ever babysat was for one of those triplet sets and their older sister. I'm fairly sure the only reason I agreed to it was because I read a lot of the Babysitter's Club when I was a kid and I thought that 'sitting' for triplets could only possibly result in wacky adventures, possibly even the solving of a mystery. Imagine my disappointment when we just played hide and seek for a few hours. I never did like children.
Of course, the sheer volume of identical twins meant that zany sitcom-esque misunderstandings were pretty commonplace. I remember when the band I was in played an all ages gig where it turned out the drummer of the support act was our guitarist's identical twin. Or when I was working at a league's club and a new girl started. A new girl who happened to be the identical twin of a girl who'd been working there a good few months. Naturally, she was placed in the same section, required to wear the same uniform and not issued a name tag for at least three or four shifts. Or the pimply, choir-singing twins at my high school who had the misfortune of having a last name that sounded a bit too similar to the word 'poo' to avoid hilarity, hilarity that was only increased when it was revealed that one of the twins was gay, but the other straight.
Sometimes I wonder whether my entire childhood was just a complex series of practical jokes.
-Smackie Onassis
*There are a ridiculous amount of pubs in my hometown, even by Australian standards. If you walked two blocks from my place you would hit at least one or two pubs in all but one direction.
P.S. Heat one of my band name poll is closed, with both Goddamn the Rhythm! and The Sentient Entities going through to the next round. Personally, I'm hoping to put Parsley Disaster through as a wild card, because come on you guys.
There's something thrilling about spontaneous passion. Meeting someone, striking up a conversation (not compulsory) and kissing for awhile before hopefully never seeing each other ever again. Or, at the very least, never speaking of it.
For me, the moment that best summed up this idea was with a guy who was, I guess, an acquaintance. He was the cousin of a guy I went to school with and we used to see each other about quite a bit. It was usually at uni, gigs or the pub, and it was always in a group with mutual friends.
One night, I was on my way home after a night out. As I passed by the pub that stood between the bus stop and my house* I ran into the aforementioned acquaintance. He was with one other friend who was too drunk to really participate in the conversation. We said a few words to each other, I don't remember any of them, and somehow found ourselves kissing. Afterwards, he walked me the rest of the way home, we kissed again and then parted ways. We never spoke of it again, and I was always quietly pleased with the way our friendship remained completely unchanged for it, the way we didn't even need to talk about it to know better than to make anything of it.
Of course, when I found out that he had an identical twin it did put something of a question mark on the whole event.
There were an absurd amount of multiple births in Newcastle. I honestly don't know what it was, maybe it was something to do with the coal. Or the steel-works, back when it was still running. I guess all that sheer manliness in the air started making the men's sperm super powerful, impregnating women with twins or even triplets every time they so much as held hands with them. It seemed like every year when school went back, we would see a headline in the local paper reading "Three sets of identical twins in same class!". I personally knew two sets of triplets.
Actually, the one time in my life that I ever babysat was for one of those triplet sets and their older sister. I'm fairly sure the only reason I agreed to it was because I read a lot of the Babysitter's Club when I was a kid and I thought that 'sitting' for triplets could only possibly result in wacky adventures, possibly even the solving of a mystery. Imagine my disappointment when we just played hide and seek for a few hours. I never did like children.
Of course, the sheer volume of identical twins meant that zany sitcom-esque misunderstandings were pretty commonplace. I remember when the band I was in played an all ages gig where it turned out the drummer of the support act was our guitarist's identical twin. Or when I was working at a league's club and a new girl started. A new girl who happened to be the identical twin of a girl who'd been working there a good few months. Naturally, she was placed in the same section, required to wear the same uniform and not issued a name tag for at least three or four shifts. Or the pimply, choir-singing twins at my high school who had the misfortune of having a last name that sounded a bit too similar to the word 'poo' to avoid hilarity, hilarity that was only increased when it was revealed that one of the twins was gay, but the other straight.
Sometimes I wonder whether my entire childhood was just a complex series of practical jokes.
-Smackie Onassis
*There are a ridiculous amount of pubs in my hometown, even by Australian standards. If you walked two blocks from my place you would hit at least one or two pubs in all but one direction.
P.S. Heat one of my band name poll is closed, with both Goddamn the Rhythm! and The Sentient Entities going through to the next round. Personally, I'm hoping to put Parsley Disaster through as a wild card, because come on you guys.
'Tea Party' used to be a phrase with such positive connotations...
Recently, I've been drinking more tea than I used to. At least, I'm fairly sure there was a time when I drank less than a million billion cups of tea a day. I only really started drinking the hot stuff while working in a tea shop with Meattrain and Vegatrain. You might be thinking that the three of us living together while also working in a tea shop together would make us the quaintest share house in the world, but you're probably only thinking that if you've stumbled across this page by accident and have never actually met any of us. Most people, when asked to recall the first time they visited our old house (which I believe has now been demolished?), will tell you a story that will almost definitely involve one of the boys throwing kitchen knives at a target. Just the other day I found myself asking Vegatrain why exactly it was that he set Meattrain's bookcase on fire that one time (it was because Meattrain had been using a deoderant can and lighter to throw him some flames). I have done my best to train them out of it, but pyromaniacs will be pyromaniacs. The best I can do is encourage them to throw wine around instead.
But back to tea.
I've been drinking a lot of tea lately. I have both a wonderful selection of teas and a wonderful selection of tea pots available to me. I've been drinking it for the taste, for warmth, for relaxation and even as an attempt to prevent myself from flying into a fit of murderous rage. Although my choice of crockery for that last one may have been a tad counter-productive:
-Smackie Onassis
P.S. I hope you've been enjoying the updates from this blog's newly appointed 'Future Reporter', your friendly neighbourhood Vegatrain.
But back to tea.
I've been drinking a lot of tea lately. I have both a wonderful selection of teas and a wonderful selection of tea pots available to me. I've been drinking it for the taste, for warmth, for relaxation and even as an attempt to prevent myself from flying into a fit of murderous rage. Although my choice of crockery for that last one may have been a tad counter-productive:
Exhibit A
I've also learned a lot about the various types of tea. One thing in particular I have learned is that man, oh man, do I want a slice of the chamomile teabag industry. What a sweet, sweet pot that must be. You see, what a lot of people who buy chamomile in teabags don't realise is that for the price they would gladly pay for a cup of the stuff in a cafe, or for a small box of pre-packaged chamomile teabags, you could buy a whole pillow-case full of loose chamomile. All you need to do is whack a bit of string on that bitch and you can sell it for an utterly insane profit. Genius.
I've had a think about this and I'm pretty sure there are two reasons why you can get away with this type of nonsense. First, because most people don't know about it. The second reason is because amongst the people who drink a lot of herbal teas and chamomile and the like, you find quite a lot of a certain type of person. For argument's sake, let's just call them 'hippies'. You see, hippies are used to paying exorbitant prices for organic produce. And often, there are good reasons for those prices. But sometimes, I think it's just because the sellers of those products have realised what they can get away with. There is no easier way to sell someone anything than by agreeing with their politics.
Customer: Bit pricey for a bag of leaves, innit?
Me: That's just because of the new tax you have to pay for not killing puppies. This flippin' government, I tells ya.
Customer: Damn straight! Here, have all my money. Keep up the good work!
There you go, you've just completed Marketing 101. And don't go thinking I'm having a crack at hippies because I'm anti-environment or some rubbish. As you probably know, I'm a vegetarian. In fact, I'm so dedicated to recycling that when I make a typing error, I'll only delete the letters I can't reuse for the phrase I was trying to write. It just feels so wasteful to delete perfectly good letters like that.
-Smackie Onassis
P.S. I hope you've been enjoying the updates from this blog's newly appointed 'Future Reporter', your friendly neighbourhood Vegatrain.
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