Monthly Archives: April 2012

The Creep, The Weirdo, The Bachelor And The Elevator

Yesterday I had big, important plans but I ended up not doing any of them. First I was going to go to the gym first thing but it was too cold to move so I deemed it a Possible Snow Day, pretended to be sick and took to the bed. I ended up watching “Live with Kelly” where Jessie Palmer was her cohost. You know who Jessie Palmer is: He was born in Toronto (homeboy!), raised in Napean, played college football for Florida, then the New York Giants and the Montreal Alouettes. He was The Bachelor in 2004 and now he is a football commentator. He looks like this:

My big question watching the show: Why is he still single? He’s so handsome and he has a bubbly, agreeable personality that even your mama would like. He’s funny and self-depracating. He thinks Megan Fox is “out of his league.” Bitch, please. As though any man, no matter how dysmorphic or Aspergery, thinks he is out of any woman’s league. That kind of stupid talk sort of makes you want to hit on him. But then you don’t, because he’s just too perfect. The litmus test fantasy is what would happen if you were trapped alone on a broken elevator with him. He is the man you want to love but ultimately when you stand next to him, you become hyper-self-aware of ugliness vapours emanating out of your rapidly gaping pores. Nope. Pass. Press the emergency button.

The other important plan was to obtain Jack White’s new release CD, “Blunderbuss” at an actual record store, NOT iTunes. I need solid, concrete music, not this internet sorcery that is my current music library since getting separated, this is me: “Oh, you can take all the CDs, I will just copy them onto this computer one by one until I grow old and die.” Of course I missed a bunch of albums that I ended up obsessing over even if I would never listen to them again. On one hand, there is less clutter but on the other, it’s a precarious situation, the computer will probably break and the iPod will spontaneously terminate itself and I will be tuneless. And alone.

By mid-morning I had moved from bed to couch, still too cold to go out. Pretending to be sick would be an all-day event so Evangeline offered to go get the Jack White before her class downtown. Yay.

Now I love Jack White. Here he is:

Toronto Star’s Ben Rayner describes Jack White as a weirdo, which can’t be denied and is why I love him so. He looks kind of like Johnny Depp on estrogen supplements. He is a temperamental genius, graphic proof here…and is there any other kind? He dresses in costume, like a 19th century bandit which is kind of off-putting and badass at the same time. Repulsive and fascinating, the dichotomy is a recipe for capitulation. Imagine being trapped in an elevator alone with him. Somehow, without even knowing how you let it happen, you would walk out with a hickey and a broken bra strap.

While she was gone, I put on my favourite movie of all time:

Vincent Gallo’s Buffalo 66 with Christina Ricci before Thinspiration ruined her and her acting career. This is one of those independent cult movies that if you say the phrase “spanning time,” people will either look at you blankly or laugh knowingly, the video clip says it all. Vincent Gallo has such intense charisma that it is creepy. His default expression is a mug shot. You can’t spend too much time thinking about him or you might go out and get his name tattooed on your chest. One thing you might want to consider, is checking out the shop on his personal website. For $50,000 you can go out on a date with him and for $1,000,000 you can get his sperm! Not bad. And if you were ever so lucky to be trapped on an elevator with him, be prepared to re-enact a certain scene from The Brown Bunny. Or maybe that’s just me. Should probably just take stairs from now on.

And this, just for fun:

My Badass Heart Will Go On

I saw the Titanic in 3-D over the weekend.  I know we’ve all moved on to other topics and I don’t care what the haters say, it was totally exciting and I have been ruminating about it ever since.  The next night I pretended my couch was a life raft and I was safe watching the ABC Titanic Downton Abbey-like mini-series and then Saturday Night Live waiting for the rescue ship to show up.  And then during Aquafit on Tuesday, I pretended all the bobbling silver lady heads in the water were drowning victims and our pool noodles were life vests and we were flailing for our lives when really we were doing  rocking horse kicks.  Such fun!

My daughter and I went to the local Beach Alliance theatre where I wore my Neil Degrasse Tyson tshirt in honour of his contribution to the newly revised version of the film.  Hipster geek girl ticket taker “got” my tshirt as she must be a Redditor. No secret codes of when the narwhal bacons (google it) were exchanged because she was probably weirded out that an old lady, who could never see a narwhal bacon because midnight is past her bedtime and she was probably alive when the real Titanic sank , was wearing a meme shirt:

Memes may well be the newest lowest form of humour but I’m still laughing.  LOL.

Anyway, apparently the star configuration in the sky the night the Titanic sank was all wrong in the film. After seeing the film for the first time, Astrophysicist extraordinaire, Neil Degrasse Tyson contacted James Cameron in a letter to let him know of this anachronism. James Cameron ignored it. Years later they bumped into each other at a planetarium of all places and Neil asked him why the sky was whack and James said:  “Dunno” then puffed up his chest and said:  “Well, last I looked Titanic grossed 1.3 billion dollars, imagine how much more I would have made if I got the sky right?”  As he is all about the details (change the devil or God to “James Cameron is in the details!”), he fixed it for the new version, so just for that, it’s worth seeing again.

Otherwise, it’s pretty much the same as it was the first time.  Kate Winslet casually walks around in flimsy short sleeve dresses on the deck of the ship like she was in Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s April on the North Atlantic, brrrr.  Dear James Cameron: Did they not have goose bumps back in 1912?  Those would have looked amazing in 3-D.  The rest of the effects were sort of meh and those 3-D glasses tickle the third eye chakra, it’s almost distracting.

Also the second time around (actually the bazillionth time I’ve seen it, but second in the theatre where I am not distracted by the spiders and clutter in my own personal tv watching ashram), I got the gay subtext between Creepy Cal  (Billy Zane) and his man servant Bruuuuuce Ismay  (Jonathan Hyde).  Why else would dude run around a sinking ship chasing Jack because he was on the payroll?  Only a man with a boner would bother.  Did dapper society men in 1912 get their eyebrows groomed? I bet the latent homosexual ones did. And whatever happened to Billy Zane in real life?  Is he crazy?  I have a feeling he is a heap of trouble.

Also just so you know, according to the laws of physics, Jack and Rose could not have shared the raft.  Force of gravity is larger than that of buoyancy, so they both would have sunk, so let’s not joke about it anymore.  And I like a fat Kate Winslet better than this new sinewy version:

I love how she went around, promoting the re-release of Titanic 3-D talking trash about how she hated that Celine Dion song and about the reversal of fatness between her and Leo.  Don’t get me started about Fat Leo.  I. Love. Him.

Here are my thoughts on Leonardo DiCaprio, who has eclipsed my lust for Fat Vince Vaughn:

He reminds me of  Orson Welles and Orson Welles was my favourite fat man.  Maybe he will even get that rotundo, in which case he will probably not score with the models so much. Speaking of which, I feel like Leo’s chronic modelizing is just because he is not self-actualized. Dr. Drew would know what I mean.  I know of a fellow who modelized for years and when he did settle down it was with a Filipino nanny of one of his spawn (modelizers often breed randomly, I’m looking at you, Mick Jagger).  I feel like it’s a just a phase for Teflon Leo, he hasn’t met me yet and my environmentally friendly ways.  I recycle bacon grease!  Dear James Cameron:  Hook me up!

And on that note, check out this video about the Titanic artifacts and it  actually did melt my cold, icy heart and make me cry, DON’T LAUGH:

Silver Crown of Mojo

Last week I went to the hairdresser for the full works:  cut, colour, local real estate gossip.  I hate sitting still but I love my hairdressers at Crown of Jewels and wish they still lived in my locker row at the gym so we could carry on our conversations in hushed tones every single day instead of once in a blue moon, which is how often I get my hair did. A couple of years ago I thought I would grow my hair long but I learned in order to reclaim one’s mojo, one does not simply NOT go to the hairdresser.  You have to go periodically and get trimmed and de-silvered.  I have brown hair mostly and probably two dozen silvers (grey, white, pigment disabled, or whatever you want to call them).  They’ve come to populate insidiously around the temple and if I wear my hair down, you can’t see them, but I’m a hair chewer/puller so I wear it in a pony tail to thwart that habit and prevent choking up hairballs.

It’s too many silvers to constantly pull out but not enough leave alone and start the process of reinvention that I am just dying to go through. Women with full silver hair rule.  Last weekend, my sister-in-law (dark brown hair) mused out loud if she should let her hair go white.  We were all shocked (not really) that she coloured her hair every three weeks!  Here’s a pro tip: If you keep your hair dark like that and you miss a week of touch up then stay out of the wind, because when it blows, the white roots make you look bald.

We fashioned a wig out of toilet paper and draped it over her head and we all agreed:  Yes, let your hair go white, just don’t forget to wear lipstick.

I get kind of tired of women complaining about the ageing process and how they have become invisible to men on the street. If I’ve learned one thing in my LOCA years, for every woman no matter how thin, fat, young, old, freaky, or dull, there is some man out there with a bottle of hand lotion and a tube sock who thinks she is the ultimate goddess of his imagination.  Unless he is sitting in a tree on front of your house, you just may never meet him.  The ones who are ignoring you can just go die in a fire.  Fuck ’em if they can’t appreciate your unique beauty, clearly they have no taste. If you can’t love yourself than who will?  This is why you have to embrace the changes and let the silvers shine.

Here are my top 5 women who rock the silver and keep their mojos in tact:

1. Kristen McMenamy

She was one of those first generation “supermodels” from the 1980s and 90s.  Her style wasn’t the kind that inspired your brother to steal your Vogue magazines as convenient fap fodder.  She had a Three Stooges haircut and a body that cried: “Nutrients!”  She inspired that whole “heroin chic” that is now the Thinspiration movement.  I liked her back then because she was super cool and edgy.  Now with her long, grey hair, she looks wise, ethereal and slightly damaged like she is one full moon away from the insane asylum. In a good way though. She is the friend you want to have for therapy and diet tips.  You can tell her about a weird dream and she would listen to the entire plot with interrupting to tell you about hers.  She knows which tea is good for what ailment and she always has cigarettes just in case.

2. Olivia Tracey

Olivia Tracey was Miss Ireland in 1984 and Top Ten in Miss World and Miss Universe 1985 and is now an actress in her early 50s.  She let her hair go white in her forties which made look even more glamorous and launched her career.  She’s in an episode of the Gilmore Girls where she is at a cocktail party and everyone around her looks dumpy, frumpy and tired while she glows like Glinda the Good Witch.  It’s a Celtic thing, all that rain and Guinness that makes the silvers magical.

2. Deborah Harry

Debbie Harry is a portrait of a lady badass.  This is how aspire to be when the silvers run rampant.  The key here is to never let go of the rock and roll.  Note to future self:  Do not walk dog in a K-Way windbreaker and corduroy pants.  Wear a black leather Gauthier jacket and Vivienne Westwood shoes and carry poop bags in a Chanel wallet along with nude photos taken of myself in younger days.  Put pink tips in hair and wear lipstick at all times.  Marry Jack White.

4. Carmen Dell’Orefice

Even when Carmen Dell’Orefice was 15, she looked 80.  She’s been modelling since she was a malnourished child at the end World War II.  She proves that elegance is timeless and poise commands more attention than chicken cutlets stuffed into a bra.  It is an attitude that gives an inner strength.  She looks like she could take the cinnamon challenge without making her mascara run.  She will probably always smell of gardenias even if she dies alone in her Park Avenue apartment and they don’t find her for a week.

5. Iris Apfel

Iris Apfel is a design icon who is the embodiment of groovy.  Last year at the age of 90, she launched a line of wildly coloured lipsticks and nail polish for MAC.  Once you get over 90, you can never be too eccentric.  And basically you can say what you want, whenever you want and become a Twitter superstar:  Shit the Old Bat Says.

It’s going to be awesome.

Let the Games Begin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Separated at birth! They both look exactly the same! And they are both fettered by one dick!  Donald Trump! Jenna Talackova, on the left, is a transgendered and disqualified Miss Universe Canada pageant contestant and Ivanka Trump, on the right, is her father’s daughter.  Here’s a question: Why don’t Trump spawn rebel like normal children?  His sons are even more vulgarian than he is, shouldn’t douchebaggery skip a generation? Here they are with a dead leopard:

Trophy hunting, now there’s thousands of dollars well spent. As a carnivore and savage mousetrapper, I get the concept of hunting for food and even how this particular African safari helps the local villagers, how ever smug the Trumpzillas are about helping the poor.  But there is something grotesque about wealthy men killing endangered animals for sport just for the photo op.  You have a guns, of course you’re going to win. Here’s a Trump reality show pitch: Eric and Donald Junior go back to Africa as bounty hunters to kill Kony! In one episode, Donald Junior gets dengue fever and has to hang out at the base camp with a sexy, busty nurse named Ursula. Hilarity ensues when D.J. gets delirious with the fever and strips off all his clothes yelling: “Uuuuurthhhhh-ulaaaaaaaah!”  (In real life, I’ve seen a drunk man yell out for his girlfriend “Ursula” just like that, it was even better than Brando’s “Stella”) Meanwhile Eric and Gahiji, the African guide, go off hunting in the jungle.  Gahiji gets bitten by a snake! In the bum! And Eric has to suck out the poison!  More hilarity!  The longer it takes them to find Kony, the dumber it gets. That is a show I would watch.

Score two points for the Donald Senior.  Firstly, he was “supposedly” embarrassed by his sons’ safari pictures and secondly, Jenna’s back in the competition! Apparently, the Donald has over-turned the decision to disqualify Jenna from the pageant on the basis that she was born a boy.  Jenna, who is now 23, underwent gender reassignment surgery at age 19 and by all accounts is legally a woman.  She will get to compete with 65 contestants in Miss Universe Canada in Toronto on May 19, and if she wins, she will compete in the global Miss Universe.  Good luck, Jenna!

Anyway, I’m surprised people even care these days. Don’t people watch tv?  Phil Donahue in the 1970s had shows on transgender and every talk show since, including Oprah, has had perfectly eloquent guests explaining at how, at an early age, they did not identify with the sex they were born as, it’s really not that hard to understand.  Thankfully, it’s no longer a considered freak show by compassionate people. That scene from”The Crying Game” (it’s twenty years ago!) is just a typical one night stand from The Elephant and Castle on half-price wing night, it could happen to you! And so what?  Modern men are more concerned about hidden gluten in their food than they are about women with hidden penises.  Further more, if you were a space alien and you came down to Earth to learn about human sexuality Kinsey-style and all you had was Google porn for research, you would think the vagina was just there for decoration since everything is up the bum hole.  Sometimes I rue the day (not really) I let my nephew remove my parental control block as I have seen golf played in a way that would make even a proctologist wince.  Or hand out his business cards. Why must I click on every link? Oh, who am I kidding?  I love all the surprises in the jungle that is google safari.

In the meantime, check out this satire on the beauty pageant industry, 1975’s SMILE.  I loved this movie as a kid, I still put Vaseline on my teeth when I’m in a nervous situation: