My Self- Summary: I hate writing these things/I suck at describing myself/I am not at all good at this but here goes nothing… I’m an easygoing guy. I love a challenge/adventure/good movie. My friends say I’m ________. I’ll let you judge that for yourself, though. [Insert emoticon of choice.]
In the case of the PS3, users understand the idea of punishing a hardware giant for trying to interfere in its users’ sense of individual ownership, and while they may not support organized crime, while they might feel super totally bad about people’s credit cards being compromised, they can assume that identity theft is only a side effect of the reckoning to which Sony is now being called.
These funny looking eyes adorning our most heralded sex icons and female celebrities are so enjoyable, surreal, and uncanny — exposing the artifice of their sheen into some internal sleep-deprived struggle, as portrayed by these sunken post-manic Buscemi eyes.
I’m not arguing that there aren’t times when one should put one’s phone away, even if it’s a challenge, but I don’t think that holding it in my hand at a museum, or even a meal, is an inherently rude gesture. Certainly, alone at EMP, I’m not being rude to anyone around me or taking away from their cultural experience.
Knowing that you like boys when you’re a boy is one thing but actively trying to love them is quite another. Because even though you’re turned on by men, even though you know that’s all you could ever want and there is no other option, there’s still a pit of fear and shame that exists deep inside your belly.
I’m saying that we have to start thinking differently about what public and private mean. The net result of this transparency is a kind of honesty that shouldn’t make us reform our lives— it should make us reform our vision of what a responsible life is all about. Responsible people get drunk, they rant, they have and think about sex, they doubt themselves, they change their opinions, sometimes they’re assholes, sometimes they’re naive.
You wake up, and you feel gloomy. Things haven’t been going exactly the way you’d have liked, and you’re stressed about typical coming-of-age, college-student crap, and the weather’s nondescript, and your apartment is empty, and you wish you could just fast-forward through the whole day.
Bullying resists metaphor and comparing it to almost anything usually obscures more than it illuminates. Yet getting bullied remains a lot of a people’s first explicitly political experience, their first brush with indifferent power. Am I projecting? Never mind how the bully feels, or that we have all been bullies ourselves at some point in our lives. Power appears hazy and vague to those who wield it.
In Fort Wayne, Indiana this past week a man was arrested for huffing spray paint for the 48th time; the first incident was in 1992.
Today, President Barack Hussein Obama released his long-form birth certificate. This binding legal document proves, once and for all, that our President was born in America, and not in Kenya or Indonesia. Other places where our President was not born include the following: Soviet Russia, France, Switzerland, Freedonia, Shangri-La, and the lost continent of Atlantis.
France’s Interior Ministry began scrutinizing the CRS’s alcohol consumption last week when a photo circulated of an officer drinking a beer while policing a protest led by high school students.
The mayor of Florence, Matteo Renzi, has squashed any hopes of a ratings bonanza by enforcing a set of rules that the cast must follow while filming in Italy. The rules, which include banning the gang from being filmed in places that serve alcohol, prevent Jersey Shore from behaving like Jersey Shore, which is permanently drunk.
I hate it when a guy asks me to “Tell me what you want.” while we’re hooking up. That’s a dumb fucking question. For future reference, men of the world, I only want one thing, and that is your tongue on my clitoris.
I have been thinking about my face lately. When I was younger, I was at dinner with my mother and relaxing my face when she snapped at me. “Why does your face look like that? You look miserable.” She pouted and squished her face in mockery. I don’t know if I was miserable even then or if I was resting my face as I had claimed.
Count up all the graduation money your family members sent you in the hope that it might ease your transition into adulthood. Then slowly spend the majority on fancy coffee drinks from Starbucks and organic vegan granola bars from Whole Foods. Spend the rest on a stylish Chinese lantern with an orange flower design around the edge you ordered off the internet.
Age 12: I am informed by my parents that God kills kittens every time a boy masturbates. My parents decide it’s funny to make dying cat noises when they walk past my room on their way to bed. Masturbation is suddenly less fun.
Grief can make you impulsive, because you realize just how precious life is. For short, powerful bursts of time, you think “fuck it” and book trips to Thailand. Grief can make you a walking tempest, a ball of pure rage. You hate everything. You compare everyone. You begin to resent friends who are alive for not being the ones who are dead.
Don’t even follow members of your own family. They probably only have something like ten followers and make tweets like “@@mybeautifulson miss u honey!!! how do i use this thing?” or “used great coupons at Target today!”
Either way, I’ve enjoyed my single life here and never really felt any overwhelming pressure to find a boyfriend. It wasn’t until a few solid weeks of encouragement and guarantees that this guy was Prince Charming incarnate that I agreed to the date. My friend assured me many times that I met this guy once at a house party, something I still contest (much more vigorously after having met him).
It began growing when I was about thirteen. I have no memory of when the hair sprouted – only that it was not there the year before. It was soft and downy, glossy and black. I used to tug at it in the bathtub. One day I had the impulse to trim it. I had forgotten what I looked like without hair, and I was curious to see myself again. In the bathtub, I used scissors – a razor seemed drastic.
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA — Las Vegas Man Carlos Barron has been accused by the North Las Vegas police of opening fire on the crew of Spike’s reality TV show Repo Games.
Anyways, the real story behind this video is that it’s footage from the extremely fun-looking Bring Your Own Big Wheel (BYOBW) 2011 on Easter Sunday, a race where the colorful citizens of San Francisco race down the city’s hills – in this case, Potrero Hill – on big wheels they most likely stole from their kids.
At first, hearing about the shows, parties, and ridiculousness of it all was entertaining – something I could live through vicariously. But after the first two days, and the seventy-seventh time I scrolled past yet another blog post on some awesome show where everyone was wasted on margaritas by noon, I was starting to get bummed. Or annoyed. Most likely a mixture of both.
If you live in New York, you should not be watching this video. You should be outside playing in the sun and praying for a sunburn. You should be far far away from anything that’s indoors. I swear, if you are looking at this video, I command you to X out of it. Do it. Now! It’s just not worth the viewing. Outside > This video.
Therein, a Tweet from the ABC sitcom star reading “At the pier… just saw #DavidBeckham!” clears an entire beach of girls searching for the British soccer star David Beckham, freeing Ms. Vergara to go buy a Diet Pepsi, unencumbered by David Beckham fans who happen to read her Twitter feed and/or subscribe to the hashtag “#DavidBeckham.” Which is everyone. Or no one!
Some people don’t cry during movies, but if you’re the type who isn’t opposed to a good cry, and you’re moved by the power of cinema, these films will likely have you shedding at least a tear or two. Some will have you reaching for a tissue simply because they’re so unbelievably sad, while others are more likely to overwhelm because their combination of images and sounds matched with a sad subject matter.
This internet rapper appears to be on both the path to fame and an aneurysm via this video he recorded of himself, which, for some reason, he decided to upload to the internet. In the video, we see the dude talking large and boastful – as is the tradition of freestyle rap – about money, street savvy, and the ability to fuck “niggas” up. But all that soon comes to an end. Video inside.
Gotta Dance – Stephanie takes up professional dancing. She busts her ass, struggles with practice, and thinks about quitting several times. When she hears that her group performance of ‘Motown Philly’ might land her an entire summer of dancing boot camp, she throws the performance on purpose and busts out some cray cray dance moves. All of her fellow dancers are like, “Homie, what?”
Ambien is a fatass. It puts weed munchies to shame. You could have eaten a huge dinner and it still wouldn’t matter because when the Ambien hits, a ravenous hunger takes over you and you begin to crave strange things like hard boiled eggs, spaghetti and meatballs, and an entire box of Wheat Thins.
There are certain truths we cannot see because we have internalized clichés that mask them with a superficial similarity. I had always shied away from “positive affirmations” – italics here are representative of a knowing cynicism – because I imagined that they were intended to make me “like” myself, and that once I “liked” myself all of my problems would evaporate.
In this awesome photo essay, aptly titled “What If You Lived At Ikea,” photographer Christian Gideon and his friends clandestinely explored—wait for it—what it would be like to live at Ikea. I guess it would be pretty much the same as living in my apartment, except with furniture that has all its screws and isn’t at risk of collapsing every time you open a drawer or set a plate down.
I think there’s an insatiable national hunger for Empowerment Fantasies. The stock market crash disempowered people, made them feel their destinies were in the hands of mysterious market forces rather than their own. Then they watched all these Wall Street Lex Luthor types avoid punishment, and instead receive gigantic cash bailouts.
We flooded the message board with personal flirty messages that redefined the word corny. We called each other husband, and wrote big public posts of longing and missing. After two weeks we had enough of the distance (Death Cab’s Transatlanticism was our theme song.) and decided to meet up.
I’m just saying that giving someone a blowjob is an amazing gift. It’s better than paying for dinner at Buca di Beppo, it’s better than filling someone’s gas tank up, it’s better than paying for the movie and popcorn.
On my way home, I noticed I was dripping beads of tan and had to be at my cousins wedding in less than an hour. On the remainder of the drive, I traveled with my head out of the window, (an appropriate action for a dog, but very dangerous for a person.) I kept reminding myself, “pain is beauty” or in this case, a possible decapitation.
The business suit — a pain in the ass, no doubt, and rarely attractive — marks a clear line between home and work. It is a uniform that declares: “This is me at work. There is another me that is, frankly, none of your business.” In the old days, you couldn’t get a job if your hair was long, your nose pierced, and tattoos covered your arms.
The Royal Wedding. What is it? Why is it here? Why is it taking up space on my favorite blogs? Here’s what I’ve been able to deduce so far from this whole shitshow of an event. Some balding British guy who peaked when he was 16 (#dark) is marrying a woman named Kate Middleton.
Probably neither of those. We define ourselves through our relations to other people. We are mother, husband, lover, sister, teacher, friend, son, enemy. Without links to other people, we disintegrate. We need anchors to society. To label someone is not to negate them. Even derogatory labels, whilst unpleasant, acknowledge a place in society, somewhere to belong. An identity.
I would glide down the stairs in my waking slumber, where I would allow a pot of water to boil and steep a slice of lemon in the liquid. With my hot lemon broth, I would grab half an avocado and sit in a bay window while light muslin curtains the color of baby blue wafted around my body. I would grab a gilded teaspoon and take a scoop of my avocado and tell myself, “This is good fat.”
I dated Stacy in 2004, while I was living in New Orleans, during the precise middle of the Bush years; the year that Bush was running for re-election against John Kerry, the exact year that it started to seem like the whole Bush thing would just never end. (And indeed, it didn’t end for another four years.) It was a bad time for our nation, but a good time — as it turned out — for my sex life.
Over the course of my life, I’ve held a number of jobs that were objectionable for a variety of reasons. It wasn’t until I went to college and worked for temp agencies over a summer break and winter break, however, that I was faced with employment that made me feel senseless and useless, as if I were one of the alienated laborers I read about during the school year when I was studying Marxist-influenced social theory.
These parties incur the indiscretions of full on fellatio and, sometimes, its terminate gesture the facial. Some of the more coy women have their friend next to them hold up a towel to block the view from others, a sort of prelude to the towel’s ultimate capacity.
Is this extremely funny, or am I just being weird? This baby laughing at half speed is funny as hell! Who would have thought that a baby excited about dogs and bubbles could have sounded like a forty year-old fat man on an acid trip? Or like your hallucinations on an acid trip gone bad? Hah! Video inside.
She has two reality shows (about her photoshoots and nightlife, which are in turn occur because of said shows), a book, a fragrance, a failed credit card, a skincare line, and – I’m sure – plenty of other products I can’t think of at 3 A.M.
I just bought a coffee and your WiFi doesn’t work, and you’re basically refusing to do anything about it. Why? Now I’m stuck here, four dollars in the hole, and I’m really regretting having tipped you. Please take mercy on me and go reset the router.
Your body probably hates you in your twenties. After eating crappy food, experimenting with drugs, and drinking enough alcohol to vomit rainbow colors, your body is officially fed up. It kind of feels like your mind and body are bickering conjoined twins sometimes. The two often want different things but they need to meet each other halfway in order to survive.
But survival and great success are born from the refusal to accept boundaries, though it may be strange to conceive of our greatest creative endeavors as direct responses to the fact that life sucks. Or to think that the most impressive thing any individual will ever accomplish is born out of the friction between what we want to be and what we are.
Then I freaked out. I remembered that, unlike Thanksgiving, unlike New Years, Easter is a religious holiday. I thought, “I can’t go to church.” I expressed this to my roommate as we were sharing wine. He said, “It’s an hour of your life, it’s an experience, won’t you just write about it?” And I said, “Yes, I will, you’re right.” But it was a lie, I couldn’t go, I would cancel on my parents the next day.
Created by Lernert Engelberts en Sander Plug, this video is three years old, but just as Yahweh rose from the dead three days after his crucifixion at the hands of the Romans and the Jews, the video of the melting of the chocolate bunny has now been resurrected from the depths of viral detritus three years after its birth.
Get lost in learning about their life. Go through their comprehensive internet history and “meet” their significant others, their friends, their cute little bulldog named Gus. Cringe each time you look but always come back for more.