Alas...

It’s hard to blog when you find yourself inexorably ensconced in the deadly quicksand of time-wasting vices. Perhaps that previous sentence was a bit overreaching, but here’s a taste of how my days have been magically filling themselves up with no substantial content what-so-ever:

1) wii hunting: Okay, I feel like I am Juan Ponce de Leon hunting for the Fountain of Youth in the wilds of an uncharted Western Hemisphere. But instead of being able to settle for the secondary achievement of discovering Florida, I am just left with the empty vacuum of an out-of-stock notification in Firefox.

2) crunchyroll.com: It’s hard to fight my guilty pleasure addiction to wuxia soap operas of the uber-cliché variety. Flying? Obscure martial arts manuals and questionable wardrobe choices? Irresponsible boozing from gourds? Yeah, I’m there.

3) television: The last time I watched television with such devoted regularity was in the Dark Ages of awkward teenagedom where my show of choice was Buffy the Vampire Slayer and my wardrobe was marked by a suspicious favoritism towards Old Navy performance fleece (Did I really need so many sweaters? Or vests? In periwinkle blue??).

Factor in my chronic short attention span and we can see exactly how I managed to waste several weeks in the pursuit of absolute nothing. Oh good times. But among the muddle of quotidian mundanity lie gems like the following, which still manage to invigorate my wasting capacity for self-expression into vomiting out a few syllables of disdain:



Are you chuckling? Because I am.

There are just so many reasons why this picture deserves to be immortalized on a commemorative plate of some sort. Because I mean, nothing says, “In honor of Princess Diana” like a man whose lyrical prowess has produced gems like, “It’s a celebration, bitches! / Grab a drink, grab a glass / After that I grab yo ass.”

Plus I do like Kanye’s subtle fuck-you-very-much to Diddy by testing the limits of “indoor sunglasses” trend, very popular with douchebags the world over. Ahh and Harry, my how you’ve stealthily surpassed the receding hairline plagued shadow of your elder brother to capture our hearts as the Better Looking Prince.

I Spy: The Baller Edition

This entry doesn't really have a purpose that exceeds "chuckle-worthy."

P. Diddy's Vegas party for the De La Hoya/Mayweather fight was like some over-hyped music video inflated with gratuitous cameos:







Can you find the following?

1) Nelly
2) Diddy
3) Fiddy
4) Jay-Z
5) J.D. (Jermaine Dupri)
6) the bling bling ring where my vision used to be

HUH?!

If you know me, you know that I harbor deep-seated feelings of disdain for John Mayer. His whole “I’m so genuine and so down-to-earth and such a soulful musician unpolluted by the excesses of fame” shtick reeks to me of an underhanded, smug sense of self-importance. He’s like music’s answer to Zach Braff: another pasty, faux intellectual whose demeanor is marked by a vibe of too-cool-for-school.

Except that he’s not too cool to canoodle about with certain busty women whose entire claim to fame involved playing it stupid and mistaking fish for poultry. To be honest, Jessica Simpson seems more likely to be the target for one of Mayer’s quip-y blog pieces than a potential romantic match. Theirs was the union that truly baffled me since the only thing they have in common was a penchant for big hair (see picture).

But perhaps I was too quick to judge. I mean, Jessica could bring the beauty and John could bring the brains to this dating potluck, together forming some hermaphroditic embodiment of celebrity evolution gold. Here’s a “before they dated” comparison to show you what I mean:



Then as I was jovially trolling the recent flood of pictures from the Met’s Costume Institute Gala, chortling heartily at the various embodiments of fashion forward atrocities, I chanced upon THIS startling gem:



Huh?? Who was this charmingly boyish young fellow in desperate need of a tan? The albino love child of Johnny Depp and Jake Gyllenhaal? Suddenly I felt powerless as the structural tenets of my reality collapsed without warning. Could it be? Did I find John Mayer to be not entirely loathsome? Was I in fact feeling a slight twinge of fangurl-y gushiness?

It seemed this picture was not a fluke for here he is again a few nights later at some Time Magazine party:



HUH? Looking quite good? Smiling naturally without his usual unsettling suspiciousness? Was this even the same guy?? And what about his counterpart, you might ask. Was she also transformed and better off as a result of their haphazard love affair?



Well I guess not so much. It seems that Jess has become more bachelor party blow-up doll than human. I think this picture (especially that look of pure shock and awe from the elderly gentleman in the foreground) pretty much sums up the Mayer-Simpson dynamic in its current state.

A quick chuckle

Okay, so this blog has recently been inundated with a barrage of low brow picture commentary and a general lack of theme. And this post is no different. Hee! I love Scarlett Johansson, I really do. I love that she has this charming tonal affectation when she plays exasperated characters and that she seems (in a very middle school moment, though one could argue that my entire life is a middle school moment...) like a generally cool friend type. But I'm not sure if I thoroughly enjoy the coloring of this ensemble:



It's very pretty and colorful and lovely, but her complexion reminds me of that summer when Lohan went blond and emaciated. But the BEST PART is of course the COMMONERS peering past this fake Louis Vuitton backdrop in awe. Perhaps they were blinded by her bleach-y appearance. I am totally that girl with the backpack, contaminating the couture petri dish with an invasion of sneakers and sweats.

This kind of didn't make any sense. But I have finally found a wine that tastes enough like fruit juice for me to sip. Hee!

It happens to the best of us...

I was so distracted by the social awkwardness surrounding this picture that it took me a few moments to realize Diaz was sporting some signs of awkwardness herself. I do love that everyone is trying to play it nonchalant and ignore the high school-style reunion of scorned lovers in their midst. I also like that Justin is desperately searching for that fine line between prudishness and general aversion with his long distance shoulder pat of asexual camaraderie.

The whole thing reminds me of that episode of Friends where Monica calls Richard and wants to leave a "breezy" message and subsequently invalidates her entire claim by saying she is breezy. It's not a breezy reunion when it's ensconced in pursed lips, averted eyes, and general sweatiness.

And in case you thought I was over-analyzing the mysterious darkened patch of fabric (perhaps it was a pattern? perhaps a trick of the light?), here is what her dress looked like in full:

The Worst Trend of All Time

Why so upbeat Jenny? Are you jiving to the melodious clinking born of your odd piano keyboard vest and the metallic slinky where your forearm used to be? Or are you simply trying to distract from the creeping progress of your flesh-eating jeans? And this brings us to... the worst trend of all time:

ULTRA high-waisted jeans. Jeans with waistlines so high that they had to be deliberately altered to accommodate such irrational tastes. And who do we have to blame? Of course, the usual cabal of so-called "fashion forward" trendsetters:



My eyes are bleeding.

Quickie: What's wrong with this picture?

a) Ashlee is looking more Meg Ryan-ish than usual.
b) Pete seems to be exuding a saran wrap vibe through his fashion choices.
c) I love Coffee Bean. Hee! (Fine, this wasn't really topical...)

What about the fact that they are both actually wearing the SAME OUTFIT: skinny jeans, canvas-y shoes, zipped hoodies, beanies, and hipster nonchalance. I mean, would you really notice if they did some impromptu outfit switcheroo right there in the street?

An Oscar Quickie

The most lethal strain of necrotizing fashionitis:




Please explain to me the contagious creeping-vine-jewelry-accessory that seemed to have infected every starlet this Oscar season.




(and don't even get me started on the pink hair)





Though perhaps this has something to do with it:




And finally, I would just like to express my inexplicable, unquenchable adoration for Reese Witherspoon:



She looks so gooooddd! I love it all -- the bangs, the breezy presence, the frilly dress, the slight dash of edginess achieved through the dark colors + relaxed execution. Hee! I'm even willing to overlook the large manacle trying to eat her wrist.

A rollercoaster of highs and lows

1) The return of Jack Bauer...



while his incompetent, trouble-hoarding progeny is (again) delightfully absent (GOODBYE FOREVER, KIM BAUER!). Hee!


2) The impossible-to-find-mint:



Currently available to me only through desperate college-cafeteria-style stealing from the complimentary basket of the local Mimi’s. How come no store on earth sells these mints except for an Albertson’s that is 300 miles away???


3) Dear Keira Knightley,



It is not your untimely demise to the awkward Paris Hilton-esque bikini boob squish or even your vain efforts to free your malnourished frame from the PDA-monster behind you that bother me. It is, rather, a nagging suspicion that you seem to have cloned Orlando. Compare:




Well this was rather pointless.