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UltraRhino
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Country: United States
State: California
Gender: Female
Interests: nature tripping, drinking Smirnoff, watching British cooking shows, reading homoerotic novels, harassing Custard, damning the man...not neccessarily in that order.
AIM = Slawapalooza
Expertise: I specialize in cynicism, snark, and amish handicrafts. Someday, I will find a way to exploit these skills for profit.
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
2/6/2003
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| -Tips and Etiquette For a Weekend Bender-
1.) If your driver’s license is expired for one week, and you are a guy rather than a naval baring skank, this apparently invalidates your legal age. This rule may not apply to bouncers at the Boom Boom Room, though I suppose my hetero male friends will never get to test this hypothesis.
2.) Never attempt to drink at an establishment where the balcony reaks of a unique blend of raw sewage and Davidoff Cool Water.
3.) Oatmeal cookie shots are not to be used as sinus headache medication.
4.) Oatmeal cookie shots do, however, provide an excellent shield against the plasticene horror of Huntington Beach nightlife. Pretensions? What pretensions? WHEEEE, I CAN’T FEEL MY BIG TOE!
5.) If while wearing a novelty fireman’s hat to the bar bathroom a sleazy guy queries, “Where’s the fire, baby?,” the appropriate answer is not, “IN MY PANTS, BWAHAHA!”
6.) Platform sandals and staircases don’t mix.
7.) The Clash’s “Train In Vain” is a tempting song to sing whilst intoxicated. Be warned, however, that the impromptu karaoke always ends in a perplexed and hazy contemplation of what the title has to do with the rest of the song. And so the downward spiral begins.
8.) Nyquil is a quick cure for that hungover-at-3am-just-got-hit-by-a-mack-truck feeling. Nyquil can also render you UTTERLY INCAPACITATED with lethargy until 6 pm the next evening. Tingling. Seeing purple elephants. Tingling.
9.) Veggie ham! It’s a revelation in faux meat!
10.) CHiPs is quite possibly the greatest show in the history of television. Episode synopsis: “Sheik” of kerblakhistan (portrayed by a white dude in facial bronzer) gives chase in his red ferrari, Ponch gets bitch slapped, yacht party with bikini clad “foreign” babes, Ponch and John on a shared jet ski, bribery!, the end. Gorgeous.
So listen to Erik Estrada, kids...
Yes to Soy! No to drugs! And a fierce thumbs up to bad 70's cop drama! | | |
| I’ll take the 8 dollar burger with a side of Mayer, please! -my foray into the seventh circle of corporate rock hell-
Having spent the past few weeks in various states of social preoccupation and introverted navel gazing (ah, linty), my desire to brutally dissect popular culture is again rekindled. And what better catalyst to raise my ire than the horror that is arena rock. No, I’m not referring to white trash, Billy Idol fist pumping, Coors light guzzling nostalgia by way of Styx and REO Speedwagon at the Orange County Fair. A drunken, mulleted chorus of “Mr. Roboto” would be a brilliant, comic spectacle that even my charred bricket of a soul would heartily applaud. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the adult contemporary stylings of...brace yourself...Counting Crows and John Mayer.
"Your armchair is a Wonderland"
Now before you send officials from the board of professional cynics to strip me of my praticians license, let me explain my presence at said “rock” show. Through my uber swank, corporate connections (aka, Mom), I fell into a set of free, boxed seats, at the Los Angeles Staple center, complete with complimentary parking. Without considering the potential damage to my health and sanity, I excitedly accepted the offer to be a VIP for the evening. I am, quite simply, a whore for free venue parking. As further incentive, I owed my older sister an evening out for her birthday, and figured since her tastes are broad (read: completely indiscriminate), it would be a fun, cheap excuse to bond and frolic.
This is one of the many times in life I have been completely wrong.
When I picked up older sis, she emerged wearing a disturbingly tight, cotton candy pink tank top with the word “Playgirl" emblazoned on the front and a similarly hued hat crafted from some sort of Muppet pelt. I gently asked her to change as not to be seen with her Pamela Andersen garage sale refugee ensemble, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. I should have known right then we were headed down a bad path.
Muppet Abuse
Upon arrival at the upper level boxed seating portion of the arena, my eyes were assaulted by hordes of silicone beasts, clutching their prada bags and their tanned to indifference husbands. Apparently, my sister was not that off the mark with the pimp and ho outfit. At this point, confusion was setting in, since I have seen Counting Crows in the past and always considered their fanbase shirtless, Berkeley hippies rather than vacant, Brentwood yuppies. Proof that a Coke commercial and some guest vocals by Vanessa Carlton can really diminish your street cred.
Inside the concert, Adam Duritz incorporated played an uninspired set to the most comatose crowd in the history of man. Observing the crowd dynamic, something horrifying dawned on me: the souls of every last man, woman and child had been replaced by Folgers crystals. Eerie. Automatons. Another startling realization: Counting Crows, a band with 4+ albums, were playing first. John Mayer, that whiny, frat boy excuse for a serious musician was headlining. Fuck. Me.
Darting out to the concessions stand, which was actually more of a high class 90210 cafeteria, I decided to gain some gravity through food and ordered the most expensive veggie burger this side of Manhattan. In the adjacent line, I spotted a painfully thin, hoodie wearing boy, who looked lost and confused like a wide eyed young fawn. We exchanged a kindred glance, and his face seemed to mimic my pain. Either that, or emo homeboy really needed some nachos.
Back inside. John Mayer. The most pompous pseudo artist I have ever witnessed. Blander than a teething cracker. Blathering on about how wonderful he is. The women are going absolutely, panty throwing, cat in heat, nutso over this chode. Even a couple of seemingly hetero, baseball capped guys near the front are raising the roof, and leaping up and down relentlessly. TO JOHN MAYER. Unless they were castrated eunuchs, self respect should prevent that sort of behavior. As soon as the single 30something hos in front of me started loving up their bodies, because apparently they are “wonderlands,” I took that as my cue to leave. Enjoying the extent of my free parking be damned! I refuse to look at my sisters bubblegum outfit while having my ears raped by lyrics about someone’s “bubblegum tongue!”
Desperate for some Belle and Sebastian accompanied by a bottle of two buck Chuck red, I dragged my shameful hussy of a sister through the lot and drove away from the sounds of cheesy evil.
The moral of the story: The best things in life are free. Unless they’re sponsored by Subaru. | | |
| Hooray For HoYay!
Subliminal lust! Gays in the military! Suspiciously close talking! Necking!
Sometimes, the women who inhabit movies with strong male leads take a backseat to their counterpart's homosexual desires. And no, I'm not talking Todd Hayne's glammed up, outwardly gay themed Velvet Goldmine, or indie oddity Chuck and Buck. I'm referring to those cinematic gems that appeal to the mainstream on a surface level, but are in reality, gay to the tenth power. An abbreviated list, from someone who gets off on finding unexpected subtext in mass media...
MOVIE: The Talented Mr. Ripley
PREMISE: A young man (Matt "do me in the butt Benny" Damon) becomes dangerously obsessed with the Jet setting lifestyle of his Euro pals (Jude "Dickie" Law, and Gwyneth "the beard" Paltrow)
GAYEST SCENE: Terminally dorky and sexually repressed Damon steals into Dickie's bedroom and romps around in his clothes. Touching himself. Like, a lot.
HOYAY! DIALOGUE: "You're the brother I never had. I'm the brother you never had. I would do anything for you, Dickie."
MITIGATING ACTOR FACTOR: The bronzed, lithe, perfectly beautiful Jude Law is the Grecian god of every gay man's imagination. And his name is Dickie! Hello! Additionally, the presence of pale in comparison Gwyneth Paltrow, well known beard for closeted celebs, is telling.
MOVIE: Interview With The Vampire
PREMISE: Gothic, bloated, Anne Rice based Vampire fantasy featuring Tom Cruise being flamboyant and undead. Enough said.
GAYEST SCENE: Tom Cruise siring Brad Pitt as the two levitate into the air, necks intertwined, in nothing less than orgasmic bliss.
HOYAY! DIALOGUE: Lestat: No one could resist me, not even you, Louis.
Louis: I tried.
Lestat: [smiling] And the more you tried, the more I wanted you.
MITIGATING ACTOR FACTOR: There is a reason Tom Cruise is on the list twice. Also, a near cameo by a four alarm fire Antonio Banderas.
MOVIE: Top Gun
PREMISE: Men placed in an extremely homosocial environment, made to fight with planes which represent extensions of their manhood, their only exposure to female kind is the burly, masculine, Kelly McGillis.
GAYEST SCENE: Val "Iceman" Kilmer saunters through the steamy locker room in nothing but a towel, ass stuck out to novoscotia, and does that teeth snappy thing about an inch from Tom Cruises' face.
HOYAY! DIALOGUE: If you close your eyes during the dogfight sequences, you'd swear you were watching a gay porno ("you're on my ass! roll, roll!") This little bit of Ice to Mav love at the end always gets me too:
Ice: You can be my wingman anytime
Mav: Bullshit! You can be mine.
Aw.
MITIGATING ACTOR FACTOR: See Cruise, Tom. | | |
| What I Did With My Xanga Vacation
- For the greater part of the past week, I have been embroiled in ideological debate with the sexually stunted homophobes at xxxchurch.com. Yes, I have heard that analogy about arguing on the internet being like the special olympics. But while I tried to sing my pagan swan song and retire from the business of arguing against idiots (G'nite folks! Don't forget to tip your waitress!), each successive reponse would further inflame my sense of social injustice. To make matters worse, they gave me my own "Attn:Dorian Grey" thread in the general forum to prevent me from inflicting my corrupt influence on the young'ins over at the "prayer" boards. Suddenly, I had a platform, and the urge to rail against their fundamentalist Christian ethics became too strong. Unfortunately, I found myself sitting up at 3 am, hands poised furiously over my keyboard, awaiting new rhetoric to swat down and being amused at my fellow Xangans choice of assumed member names (everyone who decided to post and fight the good fight, you guys rule). The good news is, that I created such a scandal that my thread became the most viewed on the entire site, causing many of the existing topics to be anti-3xc. The bad news is, the religious right continues to be characterized by prejudice and ignorance. There are plenty of gay animals, people! Sheep, fruit flies, chimps! And yes, great apes and higher mammals such as dolphins have sex for pleasure, not simply procreation. And I'll take Jane Goodall's opinions on primatology over Jerry Falwell's, thanks.
- As of two days ago, I am the proud owner of brand spanking new harman/kardan soundsticks. If that's Greek to you PC folk, allow me to elaborate with visuals:
 
My iMac is indeed, the sexiest computer system in the known universe. And its allure has been significantly enhanced by the addition of kickin' speaker equipment with which to bump Neil Diamond at grotesque volumes. Eviction guaranteed with purchase! And though I'm not the kind of girl who covets lowered, beat down, red velvet interiored Chevy Impalas on the basis of a sweet woofer, I am infatuated with my tricked out computer. Apple has an uncanny and evil knack for reducing me to slack-jawed awe. Looking at my soundsticks now, I'm overcome by the desire to caress, molest, and fondle them in a display of extreme nerd lust. Considering how phallic they are, that would probably be dorky and dirty.
- I have a new found obsession with the DIY haircut. This is unfortunate given that I have no talent or skill with scissors and used to burn myself on the forehead as a result of my feeble attempts at curling iron use...
Badly as I covet indie rock hair, I end up looking like a low rent, bottle blonde, Karen O, if Karen O styled herself with a Flowbee. Clearly, I am a follically challenged hair neurotic. If only dyeing and cutting your hair wasn't such a fun, addictive means of sociological expirimentation...
I could write an entire blog on the blonde vs. brunette thing, but I'll spare you more boring details of my evolving mop.
- And to sum up my week in two words: Japanese gameshows.
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| Penis Piety
Taking a leisure moment to watch the final, climactic scene of Karate Kid on cable ("sweep the leg Johnny, sweep the leg!"), my two-dollar-white-wine-Ralph-Macchio high was abruptly halted by a bizarre commercial. Though I never give my full attention to sponsors, the highlights of the spot were a sad midget, skateboards, pornography, growth stunting, and a plug for a website called xxxchurch.com. Of course, the first reaction for me and my couch cohort was to run to the next room and surf the site, like the easily influenced media whores we are. What I found, was one of the more disturbing, ridiculous, tragic examples of neo-Christian propaganda in recent memory...
From what I could surmise from their mission statement, the primary goal of the "3xc," is to cure heathen youth of their "addiction" to masturbation, and moreover, internet porn. Besides being a support group for guilt ridden wankers, it also boasts a "smart" software package that tracks the sites you visit and makes you accountable to peers and pastors for being a web perv. Because, apparently, inflicting permanent damage on the fragile psyches of confused, adolescent boys is preferable to damnation. The pornchurch seems bent on being hip, witty, and irreverant to draw in the kiddies without using even the most neutral of images, for fear it could make some guy in Kentucky happy in the pants. The site layout itself, while complex, looks basically like a winamp skin with the least sexy font the designers could implement (curvy fonts look like women! Women lead to thoughts of sex! Sex is the devil's work!).
By far the most disheartening part of the entire site, though, are the "prayer" and "discussion" web boards. Sad, pubescent boys and girls made to feel sick and ostracized for their natural urges. Young gays struggling to "overcome their sexuality" in keeping with repressive church doctrine. And the most painful part, is that their fears are reinforced by a capitalist, conservative, skewed Christian ethic which paints them as deviant. I thought the designation of homosexuality as a curable "disease" went out with McCarthyism, but apparently I was wrong. How exactly do you reverse gayness? Aversion therapy featuring a video loop of a naked Danny DeVito? And is telling teens that their penis' were made for vaginas and not for their own palms really productive?
If you are as opposed to the idea of these fuckwits receiving donations or attention, profiting off the guilt and shame of others, I propose this: post in their forums, and infiltrate from the inside. Clearly, these people are not exposed to much rational, intelligent thought, so maybe a fresh perspective is required to keep them from believing that "wank" is a four letter word.
For motivational purposes, and if you'd like to see the amusing bashing I'm receiving from angry Christians, here is the link to one of their boards. My pseudonym is DorianGray. And if you get that joke, I love you.
FOOTNOTES
1. The Grand Prize winner of the Show Slaw Your Package Male Underpant Contest has been determined, and it seems that Kaarmapolice is indeed your jiggy guy (tm, JaggedLittleSoul). Kaarma, your prize is on its way. To all you other brave souls, thanks for entering and thanks for voting. Except for those of you that cast rogue votes for the trash can pisser.
2. Though there HAS been overwhelming demand for a "package of the month" feature, I'm not so sure if it wouldn't consist of Kaarma, ScottyK33, and possibly whonose, on a constant rotation. Although that might not be a bad thing. Give me feedback on whether or not you would be willing to participate, or be further subjected to scantily clad man flesh.
3. I promise to start posting with a bit more regularity now that it's summer. So much free time to spend...inside on my computer.
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