Monday, November 18, 2013

Don't Be That Guy: How not to make your Facebook friends hate you.

We live in the “social media generation.” As a result of this sociological phenomenon, people are getting more awful. I lose my faith in humanity more and more each time I pull up Facebook or scroll through my twitter. So I am here today to help you all from slipping into a few stereotypes that I (and the rest of the world) find particularly awful. Don't be that guy.
      1. Gaming Gabby. Don't be that guy who sends everyone 300,000,000 game requests on facebook. Seriously, if you have the time to spend hours every day playing Farm City Diner Candy Ville Crush or whatever, then I envy you and your spare time. Perhaps you should pick up a different hobby, like guitar, baking, cycling, stamp collecting, or anything else that does not require sending me a request every five minutes so that you can have an extra bag of virtual corn or something.
      2. Selfie Sophie. Don't be that guy that feels the need to remind everyone you know of what you look like multiple times a day. Or week. Or month, really. WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN. No one is scrolling through their timeline and thinking “Oh wow! There's another picture of So-and-So, I've been wondering whether or not they still look the same as they did yesterday.” No. No one. NOT EVEN YOUR MOTHER. And then there's the boob selfies. These are an entirely different level of awful. Don't even pretend like you didn't strategically maneuver your arms and the camera angle to magnify your 34Bs to take up THE ENTIRE PICTURE. And then, just to make it more awful, you stick some kind of corny random quote at the bottom like “Rain is like my tears for you,” “Life is like Hitler, but you are like my hiding place,” or “The world will knock you down and tie you to train tracks, so let me be your Lassie.” BECAUSE THAT MAKES IT SO MUCH BETTER. And what does that quote even have to do with your boob-selfie anyway? Also, why not just put your actual motives as the caption? Like “Please, please pay attention to me because I'm sad and love my face,” or “I think my life is hard, so here's a picture of me. Please ask me what's wrong and then compliment me.” Even worse are the Bible verse selfies. What the heck does rising on wings like eagles or having faith like a mustard seed have to do with your face? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. You don't get bonus points with the Big Man for putting some of His words under a picture of your boobs.
      3. Sad and Single Susie. Don't be that guy that rants and complains and moans about how single they are. Examples: “#singleprobz,” “I just wish I had someone to snuggle with,” “I'm all alone tonight...again.” Do you want to know why you people are single? Listen very closely because I'm about to change your life with earth-shattering truth: You are single because YOU NEVER STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW SINGLE YOU ARE. What happened to this generation to make them think that all of the amiable single people are sitting around on social media sites and saying “Wow, this girl has been complaining about how lonely, boring, and needy she is for six whole months...I want me a piece of that.” They aren't. So just say no to #singleprobz. And if someone actually does pursue you on the grounds of your sad, sad needy tweets, then you had better head for the hills because it's probably either a murder or someone even more needy. And whenever you and your needy twitter boyfriend are crying to each other about how sad and needy you are, I will not help you. I will laugh at you.
      4. The Fake Life Frannie- Don't be that guy that is so obnoxiously positive about their life that the rest of us want to strangle you. Like really, we all know that angels don't really follow you around throwing glitter at your feet and shoving you into unlikely blessed situations. I don't care how wonderful of a person you are, you have not been asked to be a part of someone's romantic engagement plans every day this week. You do not have random homeless people come bless you at every street corner and then fly away on angel's wings. And you certainly have not been offered 15 modeling jobs during your trip to Walmart. I cannot even imagine how much energy and strategic planning it takes to pretend to be happy and positive and perfect every minute of every day. You could take all of that energy being a social media superstar, bottle it up, and keep a house plant alive for longer than the Cold War. Misery loves company, overly-happiness makes everyone else hate your sparkly guts.
      5. Negative Nancy- Don't be that guy who complains about EVERY SINGLE THING IN THEIR LIFE. I promise your life is not that bad and I will respond much more positively to your shameless cries for attention if you just go ahead and say “I am shamelessly crying for attention.” Nothing about those obscure facebook statuses or tweets that go something like “I can just never do anything right...I wish someone cared :(“ makes me care. In fact, it makes me want to throw an emaciated third world orphan with AIDs at you just to remind you that everything is not that bad. And, if someone with much more compassion and gullibleness than me asks you what's wrong, and you say “I don't want to talk about it,” I will hide a furby in your room at night across from a valley of legos so that when you try to run away from the devil toy, your feet will feel like they are being eaten by orcs. Obviously you want to talk about it, otherwise you would not have shamelessly pleaded with EVERYONE YOU HAVE EVER MET for attention.

Friday, May 10, 2013

A Social Commentary on Body Shaming, Arm Fat, and Why You Should Hate Weight Watchers

I know that usually whenever you stumble upon my little blog on facebook or twitter you’re used to reading something wordy and witty about how much I hate Kristin Stewart, Twilight, or other forms of teenage angst and society deprivation.  Today, however, my inner-sociology minor is coming into play and forcing me to address a few social issues which have been driving me absolutely crazy.  Don’t exit out and go back to playing Farmville or whatever just yet though, I promise that if you stick with it I’ll find some way to make fun of Miss Stewart somewhere in the following paragraphs.

I recently was watching my nightly episode of Friends while staying up late writing a paper when I stumbled upon this Weight Watchers commercial featuring Ana Gasteyer singing a clever play on the classic “Fever” substituting negative statements about “arm jiggle” for the traditional message of passionate love.  Now, I will probably never agree with anyone trying to redo a Miss Peggy Lee song because…well…she’s just the most fabulous person ever…but what absolutely infuriated me about this commercial was the blatant body-shaming which is becoming more and more of a reoccurring theme in the media.

Body Shaming- Public discrimination on a body type or aspect of a body type because it deviates from the social ideal.

Now, I would like to first point out that EVERYONE has arm flab when they “clap” or “hail a cab.”  Unless you are a body builder or very devout anorexic YOU WILL HAVE SOME FAT ON YOUR ARMS.  And considering that Weight Watchers isn’t a structured lifting program, it will not take away all your arm fat, so this is false advertising. 

Therefore, this advertisement demonstrates an incredible amount of body shaming through its demeaning association of arm fat with being too unappealing to wear anything sleeveless.  This is a marketing attempt used to make women feel unattractive and inferior, making them more likely to purchase their products.  This kind of advertising introduces to young girls the “thin ideal” of society.  I can guarantee that my five year old sister would have no negative thoughts about a little bit of arm jiggle on a beautiful woman until such media exposure informs her that arm jiggle is a PROBLEM; that is WRONG and NEEDS TO BE FIXED.

Thin ideal- The socially derived, unattainable standard of beauty used to shame people into buying products.

While there are studies showing that there is some connection to chronic eating disorders with biological issues such as serotonin levels, most women and girls will be exposed to the concept of self-hatred and body shame through the media and indirectly through the media by means of other women/girls.  A young girl usually has standards of beauty connected with a person’s character and relationship to them…for instance, most children, early in life, hold their mother up as their standard of beauty. 

Then enters the media.

Weight loss companies like Weight Watchers and Special K let us know that we should be embarrassed by arm fat and thicker thighs.  Mega T Green Tea informs us that muffin top “isn’t hot.”  We are TAUGHT that these are things that are WRONG with us.  They tell us that we shouldn’t wear a swimsuit until we look like the model on TV.  And if by some miracle we aren’t taught by the media, then other girls are quick to inform us where we are wrong.

I researched the arm-flabbless Ana Gasteyer to find that she has NEVER BEEN ABOVE AVERAGE WEIGHT.  Yet Weight Watchers chose this perfectly healthy woman to represent to us someone who needs to be changed because her smaller-than-average arms were too disgusting to be seen in public.  In her testimonial on the Weight Watchers website, she says “my husband and I came back from our summer vacation, super sad and fat.”

She was not fat, first of all, and certainly did not need to be sad because she was fat by the media’s unattainable standards.

Weight Watchers is telling us that “fat” women should be sad.

To wrap this all up, because I’m sure that you’re sick and tired of my feministic rant, I will refuse to endorse or support products by companies such as Weight Watchers who use body shaming to sell their debatably effective goods and services.  Wanting women to be healthy is one thing.  Wanting women to be ashamed of their bodies because they can’t measure up to the perfectly airbrushed celebrities and their media-constructed standard of beauty just so you can sell your product is DISGUSTING and the reason that 10% of young girls starve themselves. 

“Too fat,” “too skinny,” “no boobs,” “love handles,” “thunder thighs,” “chicken legs,” “cankles,” "child-bearing hips…” These are all socially derived by the media to make us feel unattractive, vulnerable, and willing to buy stupid products so we can be “beautiful.”

No matter how you’re built, you’re beautiful…so wear those sleeveless shirts with pride just to spite Weight Watchers and their sick sense of compromised morality.

Also (the moment you’ve all been waiting for): Kristin Stewart is so emotionless that a vacuum cleaner literally would have accomplished a more persuasive version of Bella Swan.

There. You’re welcome.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

The Secret Lives of Dance Teachers

There’s nothing that America loves more than to sit on their couches eating junk food and watching staged fights between insane dance teachers and their psychotic clients. The dance world has been both slaughtered and glamorized in one fell swoop; it has been embellished with lavish drama, soulless instructors, and flawless dancers. Unless you’re individually involved in the dance world, you might be tempted to believe these tall tales of grandeur. However, due to my personal experience as a dance teacher, I can definitely understand why the entertainment industry has to work to glamorize the dance world. As for real dance teachers, our story is another one entirely. And let’s just say that there’s a reason TLC doesn’t follow us around for a raw and uncut documentary on the dance industry. The real dance world is much less glamorous than what this Dance Mom loving country would like to believe.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my job and have the best students and parents I could ever ask to work with, but living in the dance world provides plenty of opportunities to people watch and acquire some very interesting, and often humorous, insight.

Something that they never reveal on Dance Moms, or other dance-related television shows, is that every studio has That One Kid. You know what Kid I’m talking about: the one that always shows up with a snotty nose and jam on their face. The one that, even though they’re in kindergarten, still can’t form a coherent sentence…

“Miss Hannah? Feuy lourne blehn agh.”

“What, honey?”

“Feuy lourne blehn agh. AGH!!!”


It’s the kid that wanders around the room aimlessly, staring at the ceiling and running into walls while little trickles of drool soak the neck of their leotard. The one that, as soon as the sparkly costumes are tried on, gets on their hands and knees and licks all the glitter off the floor. While all the other little children are obediently going through their dance, That One Kid stares at themself in the mirror and practices different ways to wear their tutu around their face.

It’s That One Kid that who when you ask them what pliĆ© means answers, “JESUS LOVES ME CAUSE I DO SUBTRACTION!!!!”(actual real life scenario) That Kid who wears their underwear over their ballet skirt and who tries to stuff their entire tap shoe in their mouth.

I don’t know where Abbey Lee Miller hides That Kid…but I’m telling you, she must have at least one hidden somewhere.

Yeah, yeah…the competition world is super fabulous and all that jazz (no pun intended) but behind the stage (and the cameras) is another story. No producer has been courageous enough yet to brave the dressing room where dance moms are threatening to shank the other dance moms with bobby pins and sewing scissors in order to get a spot to set their stuff down. People are stealing costume pieces and the occasional snack from the unattended dressing stations. The hairspray fumes alone are enough to knock someone out. In the corner some poor dance teacher is fifteen minutes into a wrestling match with a five year old in an attempt to get fake eyelashes to stick on her tear-soggy, glitter-stained face while her mother sits on top of her to make her sit still. Girls are being taped, sprayed, poked, and prodded into costumes. Babies are crying, moms are crying, girls are crying, but most of all the dads are crying.

Now, I love competitions and one of my favorite things to do is just sit and watch routines. And by “favorite thing to do” I actually mean, “favorite thing to make fun of.” You see, when watching a show like Dance Moms, you only see a couple of the competition dances performed that weekend and the excerpts you see are phenomenal. What they don’t want you to see are the 38 routines in which all the girls are in full bird costumes or the school showcasing all of their kids in two piece costumes. They don’t want you to know about that one dance where all the girls were dressed up like giant chickens and pulled fake worms out of their butt feathers (real thing), or the dance where all the girls were in skin colored body suits with hoods that made them look like faceless Barbie dolls with surgical markings (also a real thing). They don’t want you to have to see a group of white girls with curly ponytails, jazz pants, and fake tattoos “hiphop” to bad 90’s rap. They try to protect you from the 10 minute long production of Oliver Twist which includes elevator music and giant brooms dipped in paint. I mean, WHY ARE THERE GIANT BROOMS? They intentionally hide the songs in which all of the girls are dressed like aliens complete with tin-foil cone hats wrapped in blinking lights. They try and cover up those male dancers that go on stage in shorty shorts and need (and wear) a sports bra under their shirt (yeah…that one happened too).

The dance world truly isn’t what it seems. And while it’s wonderful and I love it more than anything, it’s not for the weak of heart. But at the end of the day, even after all the snot, eyelashes, tears, bird-themed dances, and man-boobs, it’s all worth it to see the joy on their faces as they grace the stage. The real dance teachers and dance moms have the most difficult, messy, chaotic, and rewarding job there is and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.




Thursday, November 22, 2012

Twenty Things You Should be Thankful For!

Ah Thanksgiving! The one time of the year where people think of all the things they’re thankful for and then painstakingly list them on social media. But thankfulness isn’t something to take lightly; after all, no one like compulsive complainers, so I have compiled for you all a list of some of the top things that I, personally, am thankful for:

1.      GPS systems.  This is number one on my list because if it wasn’t for the joint effort between the map app on my phone and my Garmin, named Steve, I would still be driving around trying to find Mooreland….who am I kidding…I’d still be trying to find my house. I probably shouldn’t be admitting this to the world but if you haven’t noticed already, I am possibly the most directionally challenged person ever to attempt life.  If I can determine which direction is up, then it’s a good day. But I always have to have a backup system incase Steve decides to take me down creepy winding dirt roads with no end before shutting down dramatically, leaving me sitting in my car and trying to figure out how long I could make my bag of trail mix last. In this particular instance, I was able to drive around aimlessly until I found cell phone service, then used my iPhone to map my way into Pampa. Yes, I was trying to get from Woodward to Pampa. Haha. Hannah’s so special.

2.      The Twitter app. I know you’ve all experienced this scenario: You’re casually walking to class whenever you notice someone else coming directly towards you.  You awkwardly make eye contact and it’s clear that the other person isn’t going to be the first to look away. So where do you look? Up? Too weird. Down? You could run into something.  So you pull out your phone, pull up Twitter, and BAM!  Awkward situation avoided.

3.      Can openers.  Because, seriously, have you ever tried to open a can without one?  Last time I attempted such a feat, it required two knives, a pair of tweezers, a hammer, and two Band-Aids.  It’s probably easier to lick your elbow…and that’s physically impossible.

4.      Fingers. I lived an entire month without fingers this summer and let me tell you, trying to shave your legs using only your elbows is not pleasant.

5.      Texting. Cause my voice sounds really obnoxious from the other end of a phone.

6.      Mutant zombie dogs with rabies and YOLO tattoos. I have to have something I dislike more than my philosophy teacher.

7.      Wikipedia. Because nothing is more fun when you’re bored than rewriting Wikipedia articles to say that King tut had a pet smurf who was burned at the stake for being a ginger. Yeah. I live life large.

8.      Bobby pins. If there was no such thing as bobby pins, I would probably shave my head. And I just would not be attractive as a bald.

9.      Underwear. A world that’s all commando? No thanks.

10.  Lortab. Because that’s how you turn a broken sternum into the best month of your life.

11.  Tweezers. Without these precious little tools, everyone would have eyebrows like Robert Patterson. And if that was the case, there would be no reproducing and humanity would die out.

12.  Al Gore. He just makes for really great jokes.

13.  Scissors. When you’re living in the dorms, sometimes the laundry room gets a bit intense.

14.  Toothpaste. I find dental hygiene extremely important.

15.  Eyelids. Imagine a world where no one has eyelids…that’s freaky stuff, man. 

16.  Museums. Because museums are the absolute most wonderful places in the world.

17.  Ginger hipsters. Bahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

18.  Water. For obvious reasons.

19.  Oxygen. For even more obvious reasons.

20.  The Hemsworth brothers. For most obvious reasons.

But in all seriousness, God has blessed me incredibly with a wonderful, quirky family, opportunities for education, an amazing job that I love whole-heartedly, wonderful friends that are always there for me and even save my life on occasion.  But most of all, I’m so thankful that Thanksgiving is over and everyone will stop posting all their thankfulness on Facebook.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Movie Review: Breaking Dawn Part 2

SPOILER ALERT: This blog is infinitely more well-written than the actual movie and/or book. So be prepared to join me on the dark side.

                Finally, the movie that the entire population of North America has been waiting for: Breaking Dawn: Part 2. I, myself, have been anxiously awaiting the day when the last of these movies are made so that the fad can finally die out and hopefully be replaced with something a bit more sophisticated.  I know, I know, we live in the 21st century where anything with a sappy love story and shirtless men is considered good entertainment, so I’m not getting my hopes up. But in celebration of the end of the Twilight era, I stood in line with a crapload of giggling Twihards and settled in to watch the fifth and final movie accompanied by my trusty notepad to make sure I didn’t miss a thing.

                The fun began with some kind of pitiful attempt at being artsy fartsy, because as you know, artistic visual poetry is always the best way to begin an epic movie.  We were bombarded with two second flashes of different variations of ice and rose pictures.  For a full three minutes we endured an intense visual collage…first there was a rose…then some ice…then a rose again…then more ice…then a rose….then holy Toledo!!! An icy rose!!!!  Mind. Blown.   

Now, once the actual movie began I immediately wondered why the heck Edward’s face was being eaten by giant fuzzy caterpillars. I mean, someone needs to pluck the man’s freaking eyebrows.  Whoever was in charge of that needs to be found and strangled.  Don’t try to tell me that not one of the make-up artists on that set noticed that he has stray hairs all the way to his ears. Unless the eyebrow-bush is a new trend that I’m unaware of, the hero of the story needs to appear at least slightly groomed.  So logically, either Robert has some sort of severe fear of tweezers or a demented eyebrow fetish.

Just take a few moments and look at those suckers. I can’t tell where they end…


      Now, of course I couldn’t get far without some good, quality criticisms about Kristin Stewart.  There’s this lovely little romantic scene where she and Mr. Eyebrows go gallivanting through the forest to hunt.  Thank God it didn’t take Bella long to make her first kill because apparently when she’s a hungry vampire, she makes some kind of awkward cross-eyed stink face accompanied by the occasional snorty grunt noise that was just awkward and unattractive all around.  Lucky for her, it seemed to turn on her husband ( it must be a vampire thing) and they had their first session of kinky vampire sex. I don’t have much to say about that scene except that I was horrified whenever glitter and stars appeared floating around Bella’s head as they got it on.  Whatever that was, I don’t think it’s normal and she should probably get that checked out by a doctor…who incidentally is her father-in-law who has superhuman hearing. If that’s not an awkward life, I don’t know what is.  She also continues to struggle with going cross-eyed at she gazes at her lover. Why doesn’t she just close her eyes while kissing like everyone you might ask? She probably can’t peel her eyes from those eyebrows…she wants to look away but can’t…


                Now, something that I have heard even die-hard twilight fans comment on is the freakiness of the vampire baby.  That disturbing little love child was born of computer animation and poorly contrived artificial baby coos. And frankly, ain’t nobody got time for dat.  And to quote the guy that sat behind me… “Dude! That thing looks like the freaking E*trade baby!”  I think the person in charge of Robert’s eyebrows was in charge of creating this baby…

                Don’t even get me started on the whole “imprinting” thing with Jacob and Renesmee .  I know it’s all like he just wants to protect her no matter what blah blah blah…but isn’t that technically what love is anyway?  So just let it sink in that a WOLFMAN just fell madly in love with a FAKE BABY.


                Now, I’ve read the books and all that, so I should have seen it coming, but it took me a full five minutes to decide if the Volturi was an elite clan of vampires or a stoner band from the 70’s and their merry gang of crack whores.

                But seriously…


                Now the Cullen’s little army of good hearted vampires had problems of their own.  To begin with, apparently the vampire standard of beauty and perfection  is skin stretched so tightly over a skull by a plastic surgeon that facial expressions are virtually impossible.  Where the heck did they find all these people?! I can just see the advertisement now... “WANTED: People with fake skin, artificial chipmunk cheeks, and noses made from plastic.”



Then there’s these guys.  But, as we all know, no vampire movie is complete without Scandinavian transvestites.   Like, seriously, why is that guy’s head shaped like a reject strawberry with triangle eyes.

                Personally, my favorite vampires were the Irish ones… know…gingers don’t have souls. 

                The actual structure of the movie/book itself was rather pitiful.  The climax was contained in a sequence of events that didn’t actually happen…meaning that the climax didn’t actually happen…meaning there was no plot.  The movie literally consisted of vampire sex, a freaky fake baby, and then a group vampire make-out session.  And the next person who says they “want a love like Edward and Bella’s” gets to be hung upside by their toenails and slapped by a real novel.  EDWARD AND BELLA ARE MYTHICAL CREATURES.  Here’s the actual plot of their love story: the socially inept, awkward girl is immediately picked up by the two hottest people in the tri-state area.  She’s actually a flakey idiot who can’t decide who she loves the most for a ridiculous amount of time.  When they finally get married, she has a fake baby claw its way out of her stomach, her “soul-mate” ironically sucks out her soul, and then they live happily ever after with a group of people who look like the plastic surgery industry threw up all over them. Yeah. Sounds like a party to me too.

                In conclusion, if you enjoy hooded crack whores, computer animated babies, and soulless Barbie dolls who are good for nothing but making-out and looking good, then this movie is for you.

                Also, anyone who enjoys these books/movies is required to read a classic novel by a Russian author before they are allowed to argue with me.

             The End.


Saturday, June 30, 2012

Movie Review: Snow White and the Huntsman (No spoilers, just an abnormal amount of cleverness and sarcasm)

In celebration of my recent 19th birthday, following a delicious and elegant birthday dinner, my parents took Addy and I to the drive-in to see Snow White and the Huntsman. I thoroughly enjoyed both the movie and the atmosphere (although I had to restrain myself from verbally abusing Mr. Nipple Piercings, his side kick, Manorexic Man, and their merry band of ridiculous Giggle-A-Lots. However, that is another story entirely.)

The movie, being a dark fairy tale, was right up my alley. The special effects were absolutely phenomenal, the cinematography was brilliant, and of course, who doesn’t enjoy watching a Helmsworth brother traipse around a forest for a couple hours? Now the evil queen, she was my favorite. She was bad to the very core, and I can respect that. If you’re going to be evil, you have to commit, none of that secret hard of gold crap. No. You have to be a full blown, eating dead birds with your fingernails, heartless, graceless being. (This is obviously why God only blessed me with limited power over other people.)

Now, I know you all are really here to read my feelings on the epileptic hummingbird (AKA Kristin Stewart). I will begin with the positives. For starters, the only reason she got the role is because the part of Snow White consisted of approximately fifteen lines and one monologue throughout the entire movie, the rest of the time was spent running about and looking confused, which can easily be substituted by sheer expressionlessness, Kristin’s specialty. It failed to ruin the movie for me only because Chris Helmsworth’s sheer gorgeousness managed to somewhat compensate for the failed attempt at acting by Stewart. My only complaint against that fine, fine looking man is the one slow motion exclamation of “WILLIAM!!!” Which actually came out “WHALE-YAM” Go ahead. Read that slow motion with a Scottish accent.

As for the negatives: (please keep in mind while reading this that a similar stream of criticism was running constantly in my head throughout the entire movie, and most of my life in general, for that matter, and always in a British accent. I stopped trying to explain it to myself long ago.)

First off, ever since discovering that Kristin was chosen to play the role of Snow White, it has completely dumbfounded me that they apparently couldn’t find someone else in Hollywood that was prettier and better at acting to agree to get paid an ungodly amount of money to run around with a Helmsworth brother for a considerable amount of time. Not that Kristin Stewart isn’t pretty, but all I’m saying is that for the “fairest in the land” she sure went cross eyed a lot. Perhaps that’s just my ethnocentric attitude speaking. I’m sure that many other cultures find stuttering, compulsive blinking, and cross-eyedness the epitome of attractiveness.

There were several close-ups of her face as she rode a horse that about brought me to tears. The look of utter confusion and sheer terror confirmed my suspicion that she was, indeed, scared of horses. That, or she had hemorrhoids, in which case I will eagerly retract my criticism on the scene.  However, that theory is made unlikely by the fact that she exhibited the exact same face in the first Twilight as Edward fought to stop drinking her blood, which actually appeared to be a long struggle with a very thick milkshake.

It took me a while to decide if she was speaking in a poorly done British accent, or if she was having an allergic reaction to something she had at breakfast that morning. Perhaps some sort of melon or nut? Anyways, what finally confirmed my suspicion that she was, indeed, in medical distress was the constant manly grunting which took place anytime she ran or exerted herself in any manner whatsoever. Poor thing! The life of an actress is so terrible that they wouldn’t give her ten minutes to administer an allergy shot. But alas, the show must go on.

My next complaint is on an issue that is not unique to this movie in particular. In fact, it’s quite common really. Why on earth would two people kiss when obviously neither of them have bathed or brushed their teeth in a disgustingly long period of time. That my friends, is not okay. Romanticism officially ends with excessive mouth bacteria.

Don’t even get me started on kissing dead people.

Now, I sincerely have nothing against Kristin Stewart. She seems to be a nice young woman. I simply feel that others, such as myself, would be a much better actress. Not that I’m bitter or anything.

In conclusion, I recommend the movie with no hesitation despite everything written above. It really was fabulous.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

The Root of All Incompetence: Vampire Novels

I believe there is one core cause of the demise of society, one issue leading to the very degradation of all we know of as fundamentally good and moral, one factor which has broken down our values to a disproportional teetering mass of social issues balanced on a thread of sanity: Poorly written vampire novels. Now you may think I’m joking, but sadly, I am not, and I have good, solid evidence to back up this purely scientific theory.

The decline of society is something blaringly obvious to anyone that can be defined as sane and competent (therefore, radical liberals don’t count), and can be traced back to a mass change in reading patterns worldwide. A hundred and fifty years ago, by the time one would reach their teenage years, young men would be entering, or even graduating from prestigious universities, such as Harvard, and young women were writing epic novels under pennames between chimney cleanings and performing nursing duties. They could recite each and every passage of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets to their sweethearts and practiced the great discipline of daily journaling.  

Now-a-days, anyone between the ages of 10 and 30 can be found sitting in their mom’s basement playing mindless video games and thinking that a synonym is a kind of meth. Instead of writing long, elaborate letters in artistic calligraphy, they text their companions, “I is gonna go 2 party. Is U?” These, ladies and gentlemen are the leaders of tomorrow, and quite frankly, the leaders of today.

So what happened to the competence of mankind you might ask?

Vampire novels.

Books have been the cornerstone of a society for as long as they have been around.  Les Miserable, A Tale of Two Cities, and Pride and Prejudice have exalted wit and intelligence. Utopia, The Republic, and Two Treatise of Government have shaped the thinking of our Founding Fathers and even the very Constitution that governs our nation. These used to be the books commonly read by both children and adults. Now however, even grow women, and yes, the occasional grown man (if that’s what you want to call him) curl up at night with a paper-back copy of Fangs of Love, reading about an ignorant heroine and her two lovers, a sparkling vampire that she met when he tried to eat her Chihuahua and a werewolf that smells like puppy love and man sweat.

This ladies and gentlemen, is the future of our nation: Chihuahuas and shirtless man sweat.

Imagine if all the Founding Fathers had read were poorly written vampire novels. We would live in a nation where it would be perfectly legal for people to call dibs on drinking the blood of those on death row, all politicians would wear capes and lipstick, and Native Americans would be forced to wear dog collars and be kept as the occasional family pet. Not to mention our Constitution would be worded “Ya, so all us people up in here want to not fight no more so we’s gonna make us some rules to follow so the vampires don’t suck us dry.” Endearing, isn’t it?

Let’s face it; no one wants to live in a world of repetitive sentence structure.

While William Shakespeare had a working vocabulary of 50,000 words, Americans today have a working vocabulary of 3,000 (although I like to think I use at least 1,000 more than most). Communication skills have obviously backslidden. This, I believe the aftermath of corny literature written by idiots who choose to make a few bucks off copy-cat writing.
Therefore, I suggest that we perform a public book burning of all plot-repetitive, ignorance-saturated vampire novels which are the very cause of all society’s issues. If you haven’t put two and two together yet, I’m equating vampire novels with the root of all stupidity. If you are one of the people who enjoy these little booklets of evil, there is hope for you yet. Real literature and competent story plots are only a library trip away, just don’t be tempted by the four aisles of crap books covered in pale shirtless men with wonky nipples