Category Archives: Rant Sesh!

No, Zac, We’re The Lucky Ones.

I’ve been inspired to blog because my own inner monologue needed to make it’s way online.

I’d like to take a moment to discuss the recent trailers for “The Lucky One,” Zac Efron’s latest blockbusting hit. Aside from the movie previews which lasted upwards of 7 minutes and included so many plot twists I cannot imagine that seeing the film would bring to light any new character dilemmas, the television trailers are the things which great SNL shorts are made of. The shower intercourse, the war veteran, the beacon of hope that is any woman of a Nicholas Sparks novel, all provide great structure for a basic parody of film trailers.

Yet, the most strikingly delightful aspect of these clips is the return of the Zac Efron serious face. What is this serious voice? WHY MUST YOU PAUSE SO MUCH?  What is this “acting?” What is this aggressive flaring of your nostrils when you are making points? WHY DO YOU THINK YOU CAN COMPETE WITH THE ONLY NICHOLAS SPARKS ADAPTATION THAT WILL EVER MATTER, EVER?

Recall, if you will, the classic High School Musical moment when Coach Bolton charges in on Troy and Gabriella in the gymnasium, as they are mid-dribble, giggling and wrestling with a basketball. Gabriella is introduced to Coach Bolton, and flees the gym with the excuse of more musicALE practice to be sung. As she frolics out, Troy, played by young Efron, FLARES HIS NOSTRILS AND SAYS IN HIS NOW WONDERFUL, SERIOUS-FACED MANNER: “That girl’s NAME… is GabriELLA. …and she’s VERY NICE.”  Well, why Zac Efron hasn’t been given the Oscar yet is  beyond my comprehension. Hopefully this next Taylor Swift-lover marketed film will be his Academy attention-grabbing role. Until his nostril flaring acceptance speech, I will watch his talent beam from the likes of HSMs two and three.

End rant.

helLA

Los Angeles, California is the worst. L.A. BLOWS. L.A. SUCKS. L.A. is helL.A. L.A., dear L.A.-obsessed Los Angelians, is NOT a spectacular microcosm of glory, as you clearly have been misled to believe. L.A. is an infested black hole of environmentally-friendly SMOGFESTS.

A born and bred East Coaster, I first really came across the L.A.-obsessed Los Angelians when I arrived at college. Boston University prides itself in diversity, and I found this bizarre species of L.A.-bred West Coaster around every turn. Recycling, avocado-loving, drinking tea not coffee, going to yoga, driving, these SoCalies were everywhere.

I don’t care for avocado. Accordingly, I don’t care for guacamole. Tell someone from California that you don’t like avocado and they look at you like you’ve murdered their first-born. They don’t understand it. They can’t comprehend it. “But… huh?” It’s a texture thing. I just don’t like it. #CALMDOWN.

It’s not that I HATE Los Angeles. It’s just that people from there LOVE IT. Stop. It’s not New York. It’s not Manhattan, the center of the universe. It’s not that I HATE Los Angeles. It’s just that New York is just so much better.

Chill. Chill Cali Brah, L.A. is awful. There’s smog and pollution, and you can’t even see the crystal clear blue skies for a solid 200 feet because there’s a layer of blech before the blue. The people are vacuous and women wear high heels too much. Not every occasion is a high-heel-appropriate occasion. Yet, why not rock pumps, when you all drive everywhere.

I take huge, huge, issue with this huge issue and cannot begin to express the convulsing disgust I have with the driving in L.A. If the Nail Salon is building number 4820, to arrive at the Coffee Bean at 4824, biddies would gas up the white beamer to pick up an Ice Blended?! Well, you have to. The “city” is not conducive for walkers.

(okay, so LA music: +1)

I love walking. I love the time with my iPod. I love the exercise. I love the time with my thoughts and the people watching and the moseying and the browsing and the sudden adventure of “ooop! I’ll pop into this shop” and “ooop! I’ll run into this old chum of mine!” In L.A.: never. happens. I don’t see familiar faces in 20 minutes of stop and go traffic. I don’t have time to pop into shops when I’m late on account of traffic. I have to spend 50 minutes at a pre-party debating with the room about who is driving and who is calling a cab. Whole conversations like this never need to be had in real cities with socially acceptable forms of public transportation.

Considering L.A. a city in itself is the most outrageous of the falLAcies. How is L.A. a “city” by any definition of the term? Cultural landmarks? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. Historic landmarks? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. Tourist attractions? A sign, some hotels, and some theaters. There’s no culture in L.A., aside from the culture of LOVING L.A. What Kool-Aid is in the L.A. water that no one drinks because everyone sips bottled water out of their environmentally-conscious SIGGS?

The only redeeming quality of L.A. is the damn weather. Sweet sunshine, the weather is good. Really good. So you can’t be in a bad mood because of the happy sun-shining sunshine. But the smiling sunshine benefits are all negated by Los Angelians’ irrational decision that nice weather is all that matters in a life. When one L.A.ian meets another, the first and only thing they talk and bond about is their own irrational infatuations with the climatic differences between the coasts. Anything about L.A. is validated to the species of SoCal-obsessed SoCallies by the nice weather. “Well yea we don’t have seasons cause we kept the best ones,” “Well in a matter of minutes I can get to any climate I want.” Since when are these traits we all desperately had been seeking in a city? Los Angelians tout the weather as though all any other city dwellers do is gripe about how miserable the weather is and aspire to have weather like that of Los Angeles. Why do I need to be an hours’ drive from various climates? Why don’t I want all four seasons? I can visit your sh!tty c!ty.

bret easton ellis ref.

I’m not saying the city should disappear here or anything, but I do think it’s about darned time that the folks from Southern California take their own chill pills and acknowledge that there’s more to being an amazing town than warm weather and abundant weed. So please, stop pushing your laid-back Cali-ness on the rest of us and if you hate it so much here on the East Coast as you integrate into every conversation from “chilly” October to “too-humid” July, then GO. HOME. #hrumph.

Shmirez Shmilton: An Open Letter to Perez.

Dear Perez,

I am SO #overyou. I had been reading Perez Hilton since 2006, and loved your whole shtick about being this big gay man with hot pink hair that didn’t apologize for being a completely irrationally judgmental scumbag. Perez was the first thing I checked when I woke up in the morning, and I was addicted to your unapologetic voice and transparent honesty with your loyal, devoted readers.

I appreciated your dedication, and knowing that you were a random coffee-house blogger made you feel like the every-girl’s People Mag, sharing the truth with the celebrity-infatuated public, eagerly awaiting the latest updates on Britney’s bald, umbrella meltdown. Perez was all my friends could talk about. “Did you see Perez?” and “Perez said…” were more a part of my high school lunchroom conversations than classic gossip schoolgirl drama of “She broke up with him during 4th period?!”

We all lived off of your word and I found myself truly connecting to your views in the way readers should grow to love their favorite bloggers. If Perez liked this new crazy underground artist called “Lady Gaga,” then I learned to love her too. If Perez was voting for and supporting Barack Obama, then I suddenly agreed with a change, too.

I had grown from reader to minion in no time, and considered it the highlight of my life when I went to your book signing, took a picture, and ended up on the website itself. (I was a celebrity! I had made it! And I didn’t have to do drugs to get there!)

Then, suddenly, I wasn’t the only Perez-head. Everyone loved you, and suddenly the ads on your site were getting much more legitimate. Site takeovers? Name brands? Had my beloved bestie gone mainstream sellout?

You had. It was heartbreaking. Suddenly, celebrities you had abhorred and criticized for years were “not so bad” after reaching peace agreements with a now aggressively influential blogger. Paris Hilton was less of a train wreck and more “misunderstood,” and I knew you had lost your bite and your bark. Blog entries were clearly written by interns and other writers, and “Perez” was a personality, not just an everyday guy in a coffee-house. You were meeting celebrities and befriending the A-listers you’d spent years tearing down via doodled-on devil horns. The doodles went from horns to halos, and Perez Hilton became nothing more than a glorified, pastel pink Life & Style.com. I had turned to your for my daily dose of “unconcentrated” celebrity juice, like the masthead read, I wanted the truth, I wanted the honest dirt, and now you had crossed over to the glittered side and were one of them. You lost your charm and nastiness when you lost a significant amount of weight, and got too cool for hater blogging, and subsequently, your site is boring and underwhelming, and barely breaks news first anymore as it did during the glory days of ’08.

Whether I outgrew Perez because I outgrew celebrity gossip and began to anticipate the next Facebook conference more, is debatable. Still, Perez Hilton, you once held a significant place in my heart before you decided to have one yourself, and completely toss all that your blog had originally stood for, and all that had once drawn me to your blog eighteen times a day. The memory of the old Perez will live on as my once favorite blog, and I will instead turn to the twitterverse for the latest news from my new favorite, trusted sources. R.I.P.

Flipsides Crackers: Exposed

Backstory: I was in a CVS and I saw a new product on the shelves that caught my eye in the dry foods aisle. The “NEW!” on the box is likely what drew my attention. What was this? I was certainly familiar with Townhouse crackers, Keebler’s response to competitor Nabisco’s Ritz cracker. So what was this pretzel component? ALAS. Ernest J. Keebler, the head Keebler elf and the FACE of the Keebler treehouse, had solved the common snacker’s dilemma: Pretzels? Or crackers? Fret no more, for Keebler Townhouse Flipsides are here to offer you BOTH IN ONE, SCRUMPTIOUS BITE. Brilliant! Or so I had thought, when half way through the box, I realized a critical flaw in Ernie’s cracker-baking method.

Think of the classic cracker. It is obvious that the elves have baked the crackers on a pan in a massive oven of sorts, and that there is one side of the cracker that was baked touching the pan, and another was facing up. One side is more bulbous, has squar-er pieces of salt, and the other was clearly on the pan. Sometimes this pan-touching side may have darker streaks where it must have touched the oven, and so forth. There is undoubtedly an upwards-facing side, and a pan-touching side to every cracker, and also every pretzel.

Baking the Flipsides is presumably no different, and there is one side to the cracker that faces up, and another that faces down. IF ERNIE THE ELF and his fellow Keebler elf friends have developed the baking technology to combine pretzel with cracker, how have they yet to develop a way to make an equally distributed pretzel-top, pretzel-bottom Flipside cracker?!?! In my frustrations and philosophical questionings, I decided to contact Keebler with my personal inquiry.

I assume Ernie himself was too preoccupied in his treehouse, so he had one of his minions respond two days later…

So there you have it. They seem to have no intention of giving the classic cracker its fair share of top sidedness, and Keebler is going to perpetuate the bigotry of crackerist inequality. Nonetheless, the crackers are CRAZY delicious and I really recommend them as a snacking alternative to the ever-popular and nauseating Cheez-It. End. Rant.

ICE is NICE Free Marketing, Brah.

OK.

So if you are a human, you are likely aware of the new VIRALity with which “icing” has taken over society.

There’s been stuff written about it in The Huffington Post, (on many occasions) and Christ, even the NEW YORK TIMES wrote about it. TWICE.

Apparently, when a BRO approaches a fellow BRO with a smirnoff ice (the wine coolery beverage, which is by no means traditionally associated with masculine, testosteroned BROS) the approached bro must chug the drink, or “block” the ice with an ice- block shield-like protection, yadda yadda.

I have a vagina and am not really clear on the exact rules and regulations, please see article links above for a man’s descriptions. (insert eye roll here).

SO SMIRNOFF SHUT THE SITE DOWN!!!!

brosicingbros.com, which I understand started somewhere in the southern fraternity region (#shocking), has gone DARK.

the site now looks like this:

I THOUGHT THE WHOLE CONCEPT WAS GENIUS FREE MARKETING! Smirnoff Ice used to be a shameful girly BIDDIE drink made for the Sammis of the Jersey Shore to sip from a crazy straw between dips in the jacuzzi while donning a coconut bikini.

What a great way to re-brand the drink for an ETERNALLY LOYAL alcohol consumer: THE BRO. These are the young men who are the future of the world! Those who buy 16 kegs for a Friday night and devotedly pick a beer & stick with it. Smirnoff Ice is now associated with this bro, and Smirnoff shouldn’t care that it MAY support excessive drinking. This has been the best alcohol campaign since Budweiser’s “Real Men of Genius!”

….and sorry Smirnoff, it’s not like your site screams support for the Pope and staying in on Saturday.

While I cannot personally condone the absolute absurdity and COMPLETE ridiculosity that is this “game” I CAN most certainly say I’d LOVE to see the sales of Smirnoff ice from this past month, as I am sure they SKYROCKETED in the untapped male markets age 21-34.

Fools, $mirnoff. Fools. You’re an alcohol. No one expects you to be a nice, soft, fuzzy brand we love and admire for promoting responsible drinking. Leave that to Tropicana. You picked the colors OF THE DEVIL to be associated with your drunk Russian selves. So rake in the $ales and enjoy your new throne in the kingdom of Fraternity Row.

End. Rant.

Summer Cardio Workout Playlist

Cups up! Raise yo teacup to the glory of how EPIC Jo’s been looking, and now, finally, SECRETS REVEALED.

_______

Getting your a** up and over to the gym can be the hardest part of a workout. The second hardest part is finding the right music to get you amped and ready for battle.

I like to think of my workouts as preparing for war. Get energized. Get pissed. Hold grudges. Psyche yourself out. Get cocky. Say motivational phrases to yourself over and over again. Look at pictures of people’s bodies you admire. Listen to music that riles you up.

Every couple ‘o’ months I switch up my playlists, but right now- this is what I’m listening to:

Hello, Good Morning (feat. T.I. & Rick Ross)- Diddy

Hella Good- No Doubt

Fergalicious- Fergie

Going Back to Cali- Biggie

Wait a Minute- Pussycat Dolls

Beep- Pussycat Dolls

Rock that Body- Black Eyed Peas

Ride- Ciara (feat. Ludacris)

Go Girl- Ciara (feat. T-Pain)

She Wants to Move- N.E.R.D.

Imma Be- Black Eyed Peas

Telephone (feat. Beyoncé)- Lady Gaga

Money Honey- Lady Gaga

Fame- Lady Gaga

Lapdance- N.E.R.D.

Ego (feat. Kanye West)- Beyoncé

If U Seek Amy- Britney Spears

Good Life- Kanye West (feat. T-Pain)

Stronger- Kanye West

If Rap Gets Jealous- K’Naan

Sex, Love, & Money- Mos Def

I have a short attention span, so I usually end up skipping to the next song before the one I’m listening to is over… but that’s for me to work out with my therapist.  Fergie, Gwen Stefani, The Pussycat Dolls, Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Ciara, and Britney Spears all have siiiiiiiick bodies, so listening to them motivates me to look as smokin’ hot as they do.

I like to get a few long, good cardiovascular workouts during the week. It often looks something like this:
10 minutes on the stairmaster (2 minutes single step, 1 minute skip each step, 1 minute right side, 1 minute left side- repeat)
30 minutes intervals on elliptical machine
10 minutes intervals on treadmill
10 minutes on stationary bike.
Switching up machines prevents me from getting bored and promotes muscle confusion.
Lace up your sneaks and prepare to SWEAAATTTT. Love to feel  burn. Relish it. EGG IT ON. Tell the pain, YOU WANT MORE. GET CRAYYYYYZYYYY!!! Pump it up. xxoo

ATTN Inventors: please remedy the following.

While I may raise teacups to the glory of life’s small pleasures,  I come across 2 things IRRATIONALLY frequently that need hot tea dumped on their faces.

NECESSARY REMEDIATION #1:

iced coffee cup lids.

I’m enjoying all of the season’s frappuccino and frappe madness, but my overwhelming anxiety about punctured straws is only heightened by the poor design of iced coffee cup lids. Namely the thick clear plastic lids from Starbucks, DuDo, and McDonalds. By the time I have exerted energy into customizing my beverage, I really only want to indulge in my iced mocha latte. I have added sugar, specified the milk I’d like (skim or soy, in coffee I can’t REALLY taste a difference, and those who say that they can are kidding themselves), and now I really can’t wait to quench my thirst.

OH WAIT. I take a sip, and my straw has a major 2 inch slit in it because the pointy edge of the straw hole has VICIOUSLY STABBED MY STRAW!

my temporary remedy until adequate lids are designed

I personally solve this raging dilemma by bending the edges of the slits back, but I think that these lids should be better designed. I’d like to propose some form of spherical rounding of the wildly pointy slits of the straw holes, and would like this time-saving and straw-saving design to be implemented ASAP. END RANT PART 1.

NECESSARY REMEDIATION #2:

public restroom toilet paper dispensers.

Again, the time wasted (in finally getting a reasonably humane amount of toilet paper) is outrageous. We are such an advanced society. I don’t understand why toilet paper dispensers haven’t evolved yet with a better design.

the. devil.

Why are these rolls so monstrous? They’re user-enemy, not user-friendly. They ruin a restroom experience every time, and when the strip of paper I have pulled is more than 3 inches long, my personal rejoice is depressingly extreme. I would like magical inventors at Kimberley Clark or Georgia Pacific to remedy this RIGHT QUICK. END RANT PART 2.

In conclusion, our society is advanced in many ways that make me happy (note: Twitter, FourSquare, BlackBerry, TiVo) we are atrociously behind in others (see above.)