“I felt all the girls in our school kind of used Halloween as an excuse to take all their clothes off and parade around. They would tan weeks in advance so that they could bare it all on Halloween. I’m like, ‘That’s not the point.’ You’re supposed to be scary.”—Taylor Swift being adorable, yet again. via MTV
NYMag runs a weekly, user-submitted Sex Diary every Monday. Along with Gossip Girl recaps, these Sex Diaries are the most popular posts by far, with many entries getting 100+ comments. The most popular entry towers over all others with 895 comments.
Wesley Yang does a great job analyzing, criticizing, and ultimately sympathizing with the these diarists. He has broken down 10 things that make New Yorkers, and all of us really, go crazy:
The anxiety of too much choice
The anxiety of making the wrong choice
The anxiety of not being chosen
The anxiety of being overly enthusiastic
The anxiety of appearing delusional
The anxiety of appearing overly sincere
The anxiety of appearing prudish
The anxiety of being unable to love
Should be interesting reading for anyone, unless one is a robot.
The money keep callin’, I hear the shit dialin’/And they say money talks, you can hear my shit howlin’/Your softer than nylin, oops I meant nylon(?)/Perfection is the goal and I’m headed to the pylon/Crown fit me good, I ain’t even gotta try on/The pistol mean business, that bitch should have a tie on
So Jay gets murdered on his own shit by Kanye the Queen and now the Mixtape Weezy. Damn, age does get to you.
I must say when I laid eyes on these Jordans my first thoughts were how I was introduced to Air Jordan. It was my first few months moving to America from Lagos, Nigeria. It was quite an interesting time. My family was just getting acclimated to living in the land of the “free.” My brother had just gotten his first job at McDonald’s. Funnily enough, the first real conflict that occurred when we arrived was when my brother got his first ever paycheck. He wanted to blow it on a pair of Air Jordans and a pair of Nike Air Flights. I believe the Jordans were $129.00 at the time and the Flights were $99.99. My dad being of a traditional African mindset was not having it! He thought it was absolutely fucking nuts. My mother on the other hand, while being quite traditional, as an American felt he should get to do what ever he wanted with his hard-earned money. To complicate matters, my grandparents were visiting from Nigeria. In true African fashion, there were several family discussions (Quite frankly I remember a lot of arguing in between the discussing). After about a week or so of these discussions, I will never forget the day we all went as a family (grandparents included) and my brother got his Jordans and Flights. I must say, it was quite an event. At the time I was about 10 and thought the whole thing was so crazy. But now that I have grown up, I get what the Jordan thing was all about at least for my brother at 16!! THEY WERE JORDANS DAMNIT!!! I rock the hell out of these Jordans in honor of my brother and what he went through to get his first pair. In life there are sneakers and then there are Jordans!! He never did really wear the Nike flights.
A dying European brand decided their best shot at a turnaround in this day and age was to hire the arbiter of good taste: Ms. Lindsay Lohan. With gems of advice like, “It needs more rhinestones, just so it pops,” how could this not have worked? (via NYT)
Celebrity fashion designers have, until now, been a mostly American phenomenon, with lines targeted to department stores under labels by Jennifer Lopez, Gwen Stefani and Justin Timberlake, among many others.
But Ms. Lohan’s arrival at a 45-year-old Paris house known for $1,500 dresses and a tradition of couture craftsmanship is entirely different, something akin to a McDonald’s fry cook taking the reins of a three-star Michelin restaurant.
The real zinger came from Virginie Mouzat, the fashion director of the French newspaper Le Figaro:
When you look at her own style, for me, she is not really relevant.
Of all the people in the world to bet on, why would you ever choose Lindsay Lohan?
Enter Operation Slickpubes, which, according to Michael Vitale, one of the New York City Anons who instigated the prank, was aimed squarely at reversing that drift. Anonymous members, he says, are “the assholes of the Internet” and should play that up, because ultimately the movement survives on attention—from the media, from potential recruits—and only one thing is sure to keep the attention coming: Anonymous’ willingness to undertake what Vitale calls “any sort of motherfuckery.” For him, it’s not that the movement’s ethical objectives don’t matter. It’s that taking them too seriously may, paradoxically, kill Project Chanology before it has a chance to attain them.
"What is the public fascination with our war?" Vitale asks. In other words, why should anyone care about a struggle between a few thousand masked rickrollers and the adherents of a religion founded by a sci-fi writer? "It isn’t because you have one group that’s right and one group that’s wrong. It’s because you have two groups that are nut jobs for different reasons, and they are fighting each other in the streets." If Vitale is right, Chanology’s greatest strength may be the other conflict—the tension between the pursuit of justice and the pursuit of lulz.
BHL: There is, if you don’t mind, a true weakness in American thought today: their incapacity to be interested in the intelligence of evil
OZ: Understanding the terrorist’s reasons does not justify the barbarism of his actions, but it brings a humanity to it, and that’s not how democratic states like to see terrorists.
BHL: Again, they are wrong. This is something that drives me to despair when I am speaking to an American conservative. I always say to myself, “My poor friend, you cannot win against people you do not even recognize as humans. They will fuck you!”
One time, I asked for coffee with soy milk and the waiter brought the coffee with the side of milk and I poured it in and realized it was cream. I made my peace with this but then I saw him go by and say “oh yeah you wanted soy milk” so I hid the empty cream container. To not hurt his feelings. The waiter. At a diner. It was then that I had a revelation. No one cares. No one really cares about anything outside themselves, and they will forget you about 3 and a half minutes after you walk out the door. Just remember that, and stop being such a pussy.