Well this was a foregone conclusion.
| How much of a smart @ss are you?
Your Result: Congrats!! 86% You are the biggest smart @ss around!!! Your @ss is so smart, it speaks on its own!!! You have reached full level of smart @ssness!!!I hope you feel proud! I know your family doesn’t… |
|
| What? |
|
| Wow! |
|
| nice. |
|
| a start. |
|
| How much of a smart @ss are you? Quizzes for MySpace |
|
Attention hipsters: Bing Crosby called. He wants his hat back.
The very first thing I said to Jeff was, “I didn’t realize that stupid hats were compulsory in hipsterism.” But, alas, they are, as a glance around us could tell.
Seriously, these things make those fake-fur cowboy hats you win at carnivals look like bowlers, dignity-wise and comparatively speaking. Whether composed of papier-mache made by artsie soon-to-be-ex girlfriends (once the guys parse the sublimated hostility expressed in the undeniably hideous chapeau), hand crafted and painted felt from Granville Island artistes, or generic polyblend from a secondhand shop or Sears old men’s department, it appears that this ridonkulous stingybrim hat is a must-wear for this season’s male hipsters.
Which is bad news for concertgoers such as myself.
Not half stingy enough, I’m telling you.
Of course, it must be admitted that Feist, as a concert experience, rather sucks, so missing it because of the cranial fashion trends of neurasthenic, underfed singles wasn’t exactly a tragic loss, but still. You know that feeling you get, listening to her album, that her voice is too delicate an instrument to make it through an entire concert? Well that feeling is accurate: it can’t. It goes away about 2/3 into the performance and never comes back. It’s like that Brady Bunch episode where Peter’s voice is changing and they have to record the big single…painful.
When she forgot the words to her own songs and did her little Ashlee Simpson “maybe they won’t notice” jig, it would have been amusing to have been able to have watched.
Instead, I snuck peeks between the brim of the obviously balding guy two rows below and the aggressively spiked ‘do of the Sanjaya Lives activist in the row below him. The women at this concert don’t appear to have even eaten in the last three weeks, and could hardly be accused of taking up too much space, least of all with their stridently ironed hair or flapper-like headbands. Nope, it’s repression by the patriarchy, with dinky little hats.
Is that a metaphor?
From lapsed Catholic Metro, who will doubtless burn in eternal hellfire for it or at least have to release an album of traditional Irish ballads before his reputation will be rehabilitated.
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
Someone, it appears, is going around reddit and digg and downvoting my beloved lolgoths.
Goths have no sensa huma.
But do I care? Fuck yes I care; these damn things are teh ossum d00dz! You think I’m doing this for money? You think it’s not more interesting than “dis site need tu emprov commentin it sux”? Or, god forbid, “latest partisan spokesperson slandered by opposing partisan spokesperson”? Puh-leez! Let’s just all agree Falwell was a self-righteous, shrill windbag who’s better off in God’s hands (take that any way you prefer) or feeding the worms, Obama isn’t black (whatever), and InsertNameHere is the next great hope of America and move the fuck on. And yes, I’ve read this article.
Someone at reddit actually said he downvotes stories just because it’s easier to click on than the Next button; you would think this would get a person banned, but no.
I have a suspicion that some people downvote things that are posted by their authors, official site policy notwithstanding, but that’s just a hunch. Could be that horrible woman from the political thread comments is stalking me.
Overall, I have to say that Stumble is best for hits, reddit second, and digg is pretty much hopeless unless you’re a tech blogger; it’s rapidly becoming irrelevant to the rest of the blogosphere by natural selection and reinforcement. Since non-techie stories don’t do well there, it attracts fewer non-techies, reducing the mental gene pool (memepool {making one word from two is very Web 2.0}).
I’d like to know how an rtr story that was posted to Press This got six positive votes, yet only two reads. Maybe they’re voting on the snippet? Who knows as long as it brings me some hits…waiting…waiting.
Slate did a lovely slideshow of lolcats and lolmemes and utterly left LolGoths out. WAAAAAH. I’m gonna play NIN and think about how to chop up other people while still spinning it as self-cutting!
And both today and yesterday my personal journal got zero hits. That’s rather surprising, given that flamewars and drama are hit magnets in my experience, but ah well.
I’ve still got my poetry.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
How to drive Scientologists crazy for fun and profit. And that’s AFTER L.Ron and his minions have already warmed them up for you; they’re halfway there already!
“Your problem is that you are easily led.”
I thought about this for a moment. I didn’t actually feel particularly easy to lead, I decided, but perhaps she would have something to tell me I didn’t know.
Having allowed her point to sink in, she continued, “Do you want to be activator or activated?”
This was a bit cryptic, and I quite honestly didn’t get her drift, so I asked her politely to explain exactly what she meant.
“Do you want people to activate you, or do you want to activate them?”
“Well.” I hesitated, considering this rather either-or view of things. “Does one have to go around activating people to avoid being activated by them?”
“Yes.” She was very decisive about this. I had to admit that she had in fact just told me something I had never known before.
“I’m not certain that I agree. As far as I know I activate myself and other people do the same for themselves.”
“It isn’t that simple!” Again she was extremely decisive. This was interesting since it had always seemed that way to me.
“Do I have the right to activate people? Isn’t it their job and their right to activate themselves? You’d be taking a hell of a responsibility if you went around activating people, wouldn’t you?”
“Only for their own good!”
Now she was really beginning to interest me. Her logic was fascinating: To avoid being activated by people, which would be bad for me, I had to activate them, which would be good for them. (Quite apart from the fact that statements like “for their own good” have a tendency to stimulate my anti-authority neurosis and trigger off the little alarm bells.) This was becoming interestinger and interestinger, and I was becoming curiouser and curiouser about exactly who these people were. I was just about to find out.
“Now.” She fixed me with her gaze. “What you need is this book!” She held it up.
I leant forward and examined it. Large, cheerfully coloured letters on the front identified it: DIANETICS, by L. RON HUBBARD…
This continues for some time, escalating entertainingly, after which…
I leant back and waited expectantly.
She blinked, looked at me somewhat blankly, then blinked again. I waited expectantly.
She looked at her desktop and blinked at that. This didn’t look partcularly encouraging, but I waited expectantly.
Her next move was to place her elbows on the desktop, fold her hands together and start rocking her body backwards and forwards. She finally stopped rocking and started staring at me intensely. What she hoped to achieve by this was unclear.
I felt it was time to give her som encouragement and guidance.
“Dear Lady.” My tone was extremely patient and sympathetic. “You have to give me a sales pitch, you know. You aren’t going to sell me anything by just looking at me and clamming up.”
She frowned, and kept frowning for a while. Then, to my astonishment, she blew herself up like a frog, pointed at the door and screamed hysterically, “UD FOR FAEN!!! UD!!!” (This translates roughly as “Get the fuck out of here! Get out!”)
I rose politely while she glared at me balefully, quivering and looking very apoplectic. Having opened the door preparatory to leaving, I addressed her again.
“But Dear Lady.” My tone was full of fatherly concern. “You aren’t going to activate me into buying anything by throwing me out of your office. Have you paid money for these courses? Are you sure you haven’t been ripped off?”
That really did it! She shot to her feet like a champagne cork, hunched her shoulders, withdrew her head like a turtle, stamped on the floor and, gesticulating hysterically in the direction of the door with her index finger, her whole arm and her whole body, emitted an even more ear-splitting “UD FOR FAEN!!! UD!!! U-U-U-D!!!”
Out of concern for her observably imminent heart attack I withdrew.
Don’t miss the scientific conclusions and wrap-up on the site.
raincoaster 