I know a few of my posts of late have been quite ... positive? Loving? Verging on slightly sappy by my standards? I feel compelled to put order and balance back into the universe of this blog, so here are a bunch of things I can happily be quite negative about. Enjoy.
Vegemite tastes like how I picture a paste made of the vomit of Hitler combined with the excrement of the devil would taste. I've tried Vegemite multiple times over the course of my life and not once have I managed more than the tiniest bite at a time. If Vegemite were a person, I would gag upon setting eyes on them. Seriously. I might even fight them. It'd be a battle to the death. It wouldn't be pretty, nor would it be a stylish choreographed action sequence. Vegemite would have the support of All Australians Everywhere and I would be a lone wolf by myself on my own against my salty black spreadable foe. We'd tussle and wrestle with fists flying and knives very nearly gouging eyes. It'd be like that scene from Deadwood where Seth Bullock has to fight the Native American Indian to the death and it's really brutal and dusty and not very pretty. Is Native American Indian the right way to say that? I feel like I'm being offensive. Better that I insult the sensibilities of those who like Vegemite than those who are the native people of North America. Why did I think of Deadwood? I think it's because I just watched two films starring John Hawkes. Boy oh boy, is he a good actor.
Sex and the City.
Alright. I avoided Sex and the City for years, at the behest of a friend who'd been forced to sit through all six seasons by his girlfriend. They broke up soon after, although I'm not sure what role four glamorous sex-crazed laydeez living in New York had to do with their relationship's demise. Nowadays, I have in my life a posse of amazing lady bros of my very own and I love them dearly. So when I was urged by them to maybe give the show another go I relented. I sat through four or so episodes on their couch, and enjoyed them well enough. Maybe this isn't so bad, I thought. Certainly there were some amusing "LOLSEX" moments that were easy to relate to as a female lady with a vagina. So far so good. However, I recently had cause (editing job, being very sick) to be at home for a few Fridays nights in a row. I made sure to watch Sex and the City whenever it was on TV - after all, I'd blow the socks off the girls if I suddenly had the same encyclopaedic knowledge of SatC storylines as they do. It was this intense exposure to Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda by my own doing that made me reach the following conclusion:
I don't like them. I don't like Sex and the City. I just don't. I unfortunately just don't like any of the characters. Actually, I take that back. I like Miranda. But the dykie smart-ass never gets as much screen time as horse face! Or even the slutty one sometimes! Boo hiss to you, horse face and slutty one - that's what I think of the matter. Look, I understand that Sex and the City was a breath of fresh air, that it was ground-breaking to see a bunch of laydeez onscreen talking about sex the way dudes do. I understand that, and think it's muy rad indeed. That doesn't change the fact that I find the main character so annoying that I quite often had to change the channel and watch some Rage before giving it another go. To be honest, I'd much rather watch Entourage or Girls if I'm in the mood for a posse of four taking on a city and the shagging many members of the opposite sex. Even if the latter constantly keeps me on the verge of having a quarter-life crisis. And I know Entourage is kind of filled with douchebags, but I ended up watching about four seasons of it in about two weeks, so sue me.
I see glum or raging status updates on Facebook by friends about how awful it is that winter's come around once more. I though, am rejoicing. At first sign of rain and gloom, my spirits soar. Summer is too hot, too bright. Summer reveals all the pudgy bits acquired over the year. Summer isn't conducive to drinking tea. Summer makes me sweat profusely, which isn't very attractive. Winter though, is the time for big coats, and beanies, and layer upon layer of dark clothing. Winter is the time for big boots stomping around in puddles. Winter's too cold? Put on another layer. Easy fixed, broseph. In winter, I never feel bad for wasting an entire day indoors because of a hangover, or because I just can't be bothered going out. Winter is perfect for being indoors while it rains, or being outside while it rains. Summer taunts you, says "Come on kid, why are you wasting the day? Carpe diem, do something, YOLO!"
Hell, summer says things like "YOLO". Dick.
I didn't even find out what the hell YOLO is until about three weeks ago. I didn't feel so ashamed of that fact though, when I realised that YOLO is merely carpe diem for douches. I've seen #YOLO used in a straight-faced "SRSLY, ITS A MOTTO YO" way on my Facebook feed a handful of times, and every time I almost vomited all over my computer screen.
#YouOnlyLiveOnce is what YOLO stands for, as well as stupidity and - of course - douchebaggery.
I urge you, head to Twitter and search #YOLO. You will find gems like the following:
"Tweeting and driving #thuglife #YOLO"
or "PARTY TONIGHT gonna get my drink on LOL got test 2moro #YOLO"
It should come as no surprise that YOLO was in part made popular via a song by Drake.