I love TV. I just looooovvveee it. TV is great, TV sometimes makes the world go round. I say this because I am currently consumed with BSG withdrawal. I’m getting the shakes, I’m losing colour… it’s not pretty. Unfortunately BSG isn’t scheduled to come back until January 2009 (at the earliest), so I’m forced to live with the shakes. Don’t ask me to handle your good china, I strongly think that’s a bad idea.
Anyway, I think it’s been well established that I am a giant BSG geek. I am now the proud owner of an “I heart cylons” shirt, and frankly, it’s one of my favorite shirts EVER. I heart cylons, I heart BSG, I heart Helo.
But I think it’s time to throw around the tv love to some other tv shows that I also adore (in lesser measurements than BSG mind you, but love regardless). So dum, dum, dum! I present my list of my favorite tv shows ever:
1) Veronica Mars
2) Battlestar Galactica
3) My So-Called Life
4) Buffy the Vampire Slayer
5) Rome (I miss Pullo)
6) Greek
7) Pushing Daisies (I LOVE Lee Pace)
8) Dexter
9) Wonderfalls (again, I LOVE Lee Pace)
10) Dead like Me
Now, I think it’s telling about the state of television when almost all of my favorite shows have ended, been cancelled prematurely, or are in the process of ending. Of the 10 tv shows on that list, only three are still on the air, and only two of those three are scheduled to continue past 2009 (knock on wood please!). Now you naysayers out there could say: “perhaps your favorite shows keep getting cancelled because they suck.” Or some equally snotty comment. I rebut: “YOU SUCK. Shut your pie hole!”
Um… where was i? Ah yes… I love tv. TV is engaging. I believe that a really good tv show can be just as engaging, exhilarating, and inspiring as reading a book (perhaps sometimes even more – yes I actually said it). So TV has a lot of value to it and doesn’t necessarily earn the title of “boob tube”. It’s the overabundance of reality television that really cheapens the quality and substance of tv. That being said, I enjoy my reality television as much as the next person. Within reason of course, but nonetheless I do enjoy the occasional reality television show.
So what does that say about me? A person who turns her nose down at an overreliance on tv as a pastime, certainly when that pastime consists of way too many hours of reality television, writing an entry about how much she loves tv? And admitting that she watches reality tv too?
Does that make me a hypocrite?
Yes, but in MN tweak-speak… I prefer to think of myself as a woman of the people. A woman of contradictory nature, who likes to keep herself updated as to what is going on with the masses. After all, how can I mock what I don’t know? All this reality tv watching is merely for educational purposes.
Yep, that’s it.
And I still love BSG. I also miss Veronica Mars like craaaazy.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Yeeuch!
This is Hayden Panettiere. And this is the 2nd installment of the Ass game! Can I have a woo to the hoo, followed by the too to the doo?!
Now the look on Hayden’s face is clearly one of horror. What does a young Hollywood starlet have to be horrified about? Quick, here’s a pop quiz!! Is she thinking….
a) “Yeeuch Milo! I don’t know where your junk has been but I’m not putting it in my mouth!” as she reaches for the hand sanitizer and prays for the germ fighting action of Lysol?
b) “Yeeuch! I just caught my reflection and holy shit, I’m about 14 years too old to be wearing this outfit! I lost my opportunity to be a ballerina when I decided to pimp myself out for a living.”
c) “Yeeuch! I just realized that I put out the crappiest song EVER and am wasting precious minutes of peoples’ lives all around the world? I must die for this crime against humanity.”
d) “Yeeuch! Sharpies! Oh no! Sharpies! I have an irrational fear of those David Beckham endorsed products!.”
e) “Yeeuch! Prunes. Prunes. Prunes. It's not working! I'm not sure what those Olson twins are thinking. No more Full House for you bitches!!”
If you answered all of the above, you’d be correct.
Now the look on Hayden’s face is clearly one of horror. What does a young Hollywood starlet have to be horrified about? Quick, here’s a pop quiz!! Is she thinking….
a) “Yeeuch Milo! I don’t know where your junk has been but I’m not putting it in my mouth!” as she reaches for the hand sanitizer and prays for the germ fighting action of Lysol?
b) “Yeeuch! I just caught my reflection and holy shit, I’m about 14 years too old to be wearing this outfit! I lost my opportunity to be a ballerina when I decided to pimp myself out for a living.”
c) “Yeeuch! I just realized that I put out the crappiest song EVER and am wasting precious minutes of peoples’ lives all around the world? I must die for this crime against humanity.”
d) “Yeeuch! Sharpies! Oh no! Sharpies! I have an irrational fear of those David Beckham endorsed products!.”
e) “Yeeuch! Prunes. Prunes. Prunes. It's not working! I'm not sure what those Olson twins are thinking. No more Full House for you bitches!!”
If you answered all of the above, you’d be correct.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Bitch Please!
As you may have noticed, Miss Nihilist hasn’t written her column lately. Mostly because there has been a notable absence of people needing advice. Miss Nihilist doesn’t respond to just anyone who needs advice , she reserves her skills for those in real need: the truly pathetic, annoying, and stupid dumbasses out there. I provide a very important service to society. If I provide the mockery, they will come. However, for a while there, they didn’t. I was stumped. I was frumpy and stumped.
Then today, I had a lightbulb moment. Today I realized that the truly pathetic have been flocking to an alternate website (gasp, no!). One that provides them with poor advice and no sarcasm. Oh dear god, what is the world coming to? Observe below:
Dear Mrs. Web,
My fiancé has just told me that he is bisexual. He said that he has never told anyone else and has hidden it from me until now. I cried all night. I have many self-esteem problems. He also said that if he were in my shoes, he would end the relationship. However, he is glad that I haven’t. He promises me he will be true. What should I do?
Both of you need to be tested for HIV. He will always be a risk for you. It is easy to assure a nubile girlfriend that one will never stray. However, nubile girlfriends often change into not so nubile middle-aged women. Then the promise not to stray is much more difficult. I find it interesting that he tells you that if he were you, he would end the relationship. That sounds like a warning to me. If you knowingly marry a bisexual man, don’t be shocked if he acts on it.
Mrs. Web is a dumbass. And Miss Nihilist specializes in dumbasses. “Dear Miss Nihilist, I write crappy, fucked up advice columns on the internet and have shit for brains. Signed, Mrs. Web.” Well Mrs. Web, I would suggest that you change your name to Miss Bacon Tits and find a new occupation.
Now if the letter had come to me, this is how I would have responded (and keep in mind that Miss Nihilist’s response is the only right response):
Dear… well, you didn’t provide a name so I will just call you Intolerable Prude in Seattle. Dear Intolerable, I’m sorry about your predicament. I’m sorry that your fiancé is bisexual. I’m sorry that you have self-esteem problems. Normally I wouldn’t point out the obvious (hah!), but I suppose in this case I will have to: having self-esteem problems has nothing to do with your fiancé being bisexual. If you have self-esteem problems, that’s your own issue. It’s independent of your fiancé liking both men and women. Look at yourself and solve your own self problems. Watch Oprah if you need to. Second of all, you should feel honoured you are the first person your fiancé has decided to confide in. Some people live their entire lives not acknowledging any sexual feelings towards any person, place, or thing other than those towards the society-approved direction of the opposite sex.
Thirdly, how come you’ve never had a frank discussion about sexuality before? If you break up with your fiancé, keep that in mind. On a fourth date, just casually mention it. “I’d like the fettucine alfre…hey, do you happen to harbour any kinky sexual desires..do with a side of garlic bread, amen.” Just practice it a few times and it’ll come out natural, I guarantee it. And lastly, why are you looking at this as a bad thing? Your fiancé is bisexual. Relish in that! A whole set of possibilities just opened up for you! Hotdogs, oysters….whatever your heart desires. I, for one, am positively tickled pink for you!
To conclude, I pose this question to Mrs. Web: what dictionary do you reference when you write your columns? Because evidently you are working from a very outdated, intolerant, idiotic source. One that lists the following unrelated conditions as being synonyms of bisexual: cheater, immoral, infected, polygamous, and disease-ridden. Last time I checked, being bisexual meant being attracted to both men and women. Being bisexual does not mean being a cheater, a HIV/STD sufferer, or a “risk”. Nor is bisexuality a reason for dumping someone you’ve already pledged to love and cherish for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad. Her fiancé doesn’t necessarily have HIV and he might not ever cheat on her. Many men and women are polygamous and diseased, it’s not the territory of the bisexual. Sexual orientation does not define character.
And why do you assume that Intolerable Prude in Seattle is a “nubile” girlfriend? Can you not entertain the fact that Prude there could be an 80 year old grandma with a hairy ass who needs her food pureed every morning because she doesn’t have any teeth? Because 80 year old prude grandmas have fiancés too. Fiances that can turn out to be bisexual.
I also enjoy how you end your response with a little dig at Intolerable Prude. “If you knowingly marry a bisexual man, don’t be shocked if he acts on it.” If she knowingly marries a bisexual man, she should be commended for keeping an open mind and realizing her husband loves her and would never hurt her, regardless of his sexual orientation. But nooo.. you’ve got to be bitchy and say something like, if you marry him and he cheats on you, it’s your fault and I told you so! And I’ve got to say, shame-shame-shame on you. The only advice columnist that gets to pass that type of judgment on her readers is ME. You hear that? ME.
I will annihilate you. I cut your ass wide open.
Then today, I had a lightbulb moment. Today I realized that the truly pathetic have been flocking to an alternate website (gasp, no!). One that provides them with poor advice and no sarcasm. Oh dear god, what is the world coming to? Observe below:
Dear Mrs. Web,
My fiancé has just told me that he is bisexual. He said that he has never told anyone else and has hidden it from me until now. I cried all night. I have many self-esteem problems. He also said that if he were in my shoes, he would end the relationship. However, he is glad that I haven’t. He promises me he will be true. What should I do?
Both of you need to be tested for HIV. He will always be a risk for you. It is easy to assure a nubile girlfriend that one will never stray. However, nubile girlfriends often change into not so nubile middle-aged women. Then the promise not to stray is much more difficult. I find it interesting that he tells you that if he were you, he would end the relationship. That sounds like a warning to me. If you knowingly marry a bisexual man, don’t be shocked if he acts on it.
Mrs. Web is a dumbass. And Miss Nihilist specializes in dumbasses. “Dear Miss Nihilist, I write crappy, fucked up advice columns on the internet and have shit for brains. Signed, Mrs. Web.” Well Mrs. Web, I would suggest that you change your name to Miss Bacon Tits and find a new occupation.
Now if the letter had come to me, this is how I would have responded (and keep in mind that Miss Nihilist’s response is the only right response):
Dear… well, you didn’t provide a name so I will just call you Intolerable Prude in Seattle. Dear Intolerable, I’m sorry about your predicament. I’m sorry that your fiancé is bisexual. I’m sorry that you have self-esteem problems. Normally I wouldn’t point out the obvious (hah!), but I suppose in this case I will have to: having self-esteem problems has nothing to do with your fiancé being bisexual. If you have self-esteem problems, that’s your own issue. It’s independent of your fiancé liking both men and women. Look at yourself and solve your own self problems. Watch Oprah if you need to. Second of all, you should feel honoured you are the first person your fiancé has decided to confide in. Some people live their entire lives not acknowledging any sexual feelings towards any person, place, or thing other than those towards the society-approved direction of the opposite sex.
Thirdly, how come you’ve never had a frank discussion about sexuality before? If you break up with your fiancé, keep that in mind. On a fourth date, just casually mention it. “I’d like the fettucine alfre…hey, do you happen to harbour any kinky sexual desires..do with a side of garlic bread, amen.” Just practice it a few times and it’ll come out natural, I guarantee it. And lastly, why are you looking at this as a bad thing? Your fiancé is bisexual. Relish in that! A whole set of possibilities just opened up for you! Hotdogs, oysters….whatever your heart desires. I, for one, am positively tickled pink for you!
To conclude, I pose this question to Mrs. Web: what dictionary do you reference when you write your columns? Because evidently you are working from a very outdated, intolerant, idiotic source. One that lists the following unrelated conditions as being synonyms of bisexual: cheater, immoral, infected, polygamous, and disease-ridden. Last time I checked, being bisexual meant being attracted to both men and women. Being bisexual does not mean being a cheater, a HIV/STD sufferer, or a “risk”. Nor is bisexuality a reason for dumping someone you’ve already pledged to love and cherish for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad. Her fiancé doesn’t necessarily have HIV and he might not ever cheat on her. Many men and women are polygamous and diseased, it’s not the territory of the bisexual. Sexual orientation does not define character.
And why do you assume that Intolerable Prude in Seattle is a “nubile” girlfriend? Can you not entertain the fact that Prude there could be an 80 year old grandma with a hairy ass who needs her food pureed every morning because she doesn’t have any teeth? Because 80 year old prude grandmas have fiancés too. Fiances that can turn out to be bisexual.
I also enjoy how you end your response with a little dig at Intolerable Prude. “If you knowingly marry a bisexual man, don’t be shocked if he acts on it.” If she knowingly marries a bisexual man, she should be commended for keeping an open mind and realizing her husband loves her and would never hurt her, regardless of his sexual orientation. But nooo.. you’ve got to be bitchy and say something like, if you marry him and he cheats on you, it’s your fault and I told you so! And I’ve got to say, shame-shame-shame on you. The only advice columnist that gets to pass that type of judgment on her readers is ME. You hear that? ME.
I will annihilate you. I cut your ass wide open.
i don't want to go to the psychiatrist....!
So today is the day of hodgepodge. It’s a day for podge of the hodge. Get it? It’s like T to the A and back to the H again! Woo hoo!
Where do dreams come from? What do they mean? What is my mind telling me when I dream about psycho clowns that can only be defeated by insanity gumballs? Are the clowns a metaphor for something? Are the insanity gumballs a stand-in for my life? Or are they in fact, JUST insanity gumballs? If you analyze the two re-occurring themes in my dreams: my car (the great King) and random people who inevitably are in love with me, what does it all mean? If dreams are your unconscious mind speaking to you, I don’t get it. Speak clearly mind! I mean, how am I supposed to blow if you won’t let me grow? Huh?
I was struck today by how funny the human mind is. The mind is like a sponge, it absorbs all sorts of things. Then those things firmly embed themselves into the mind’s gooey interior. You have no idea what’s there. You have no control over what the mind chooses to remember (I can’t remember where I hid my birth certificate, but I can tell you about the pair of jeans I was wearing the first time I told a boy I liked him). You never know when your mind will decide to unleash information you didn’t even know you knew! For example, I woke up this morning using the word “propensity.” Now prior to 7:17 AM this morning, I didn’t even know I knew the word “propensity”, much less what it meant and the correct usage of it. But oooh, out-plopped the word this morning.
Further to my entry yesterday, this is what being a reader does for you. You come across a word, you don’t know what it means, you’ve never come across it before, but your mind internalizes it and then spits it out when you need it most. God, my mind is a machine! It’s currently doing the robot dance. How smart am I? That’s a rhetorical question by the way…
I LOVE Rise Against. I don’t say that enough in this blog, but I LOVE Rise Against. They make me have warm feelings in my cold, cold heart.
I also love James McAvoy. He gives me warm feelings too, but they appear about 15 inches south of rise against’s warm feelings. OW!
Three observations about perplexing elevator behavior:
- The swipe card system is on the right corner of the elevator. People get into the elevator, they swipe their card and select the floor. Then they prepare to stand there. If anyone else tries to swipe their card to select their floor, the other person ends up being in the way! It’s not as if they don’t know that’s where the access system is. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.
- The beauty of the elevator is this: you can see what floor you’re currently on. So why is it that when people are getting off on their floor, they only prepare to disembark after the doors have opened and been opened for a lengthy duration of time?
- If someone gets on at the 18th floor, and the elevators only go down 2-4 floors to let someone else on, why does the person on the 18th floor try to get off because he/she thinks we are now on the ground level? As already established, you can see what floor you’re currently on. It’s not pointing at M or G, you’re obviously not on the ground. Also, what type of bozo doesn’t have distance/speed/location perception? An elevator ride of 15 seconds isn’t going to move you 18 floors. It’s a matter of physics.
No one said that hodge podge was exciting and entertaining. In fact, hodge podge is more often than not, lamer than lame. Unfortunately, Miss Nihilist just doesn’t have the propensity to be humourous and witty while the whine of bagpipes instills murderous thoughts in her mind. Oh Gods. Oh-kay monster man.
Where do dreams come from? What do they mean? What is my mind telling me when I dream about psycho clowns that can only be defeated by insanity gumballs? Are the clowns a metaphor for something? Are the insanity gumballs a stand-in for my life? Or are they in fact, JUST insanity gumballs? If you analyze the two re-occurring themes in my dreams: my car (the great King) and random people who inevitably are in love with me, what does it all mean? If dreams are your unconscious mind speaking to you, I don’t get it. Speak clearly mind! I mean, how am I supposed to blow if you won’t let me grow? Huh?
I was struck today by how funny the human mind is. The mind is like a sponge, it absorbs all sorts of things. Then those things firmly embed themselves into the mind’s gooey interior. You have no idea what’s there. You have no control over what the mind chooses to remember (I can’t remember where I hid my birth certificate, but I can tell you about the pair of jeans I was wearing the first time I told a boy I liked him). You never know when your mind will decide to unleash information you didn’t even know you knew! For example, I woke up this morning using the word “propensity.” Now prior to 7:17 AM this morning, I didn’t even know I knew the word “propensity”, much less what it meant and the correct usage of it. But oooh, out-plopped the word this morning.
Further to my entry yesterday, this is what being a reader does for you. You come across a word, you don’t know what it means, you’ve never come across it before, but your mind internalizes it and then spits it out when you need it most. God, my mind is a machine! It’s currently doing the robot dance. How smart am I? That’s a rhetorical question by the way…
I LOVE Rise Against. I don’t say that enough in this blog, but I LOVE Rise Against. They make me have warm feelings in my cold, cold heart.
I also love James McAvoy. He gives me warm feelings too, but they appear about 15 inches south of rise against’s warm feelings. OW!
Three observations about perplexing elevator behavior:
- The swipe card system is on the right corner of the elevator. People get into the elevator, they swipe their card and select the floor. Then they prepare to stand there. If anyone else tries to swipe their card to select their floor, the other person ends up being in the way! It’s not as if they don’t know that’s where the access system is. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.
- The beauty of the elevator is this: you can see what floor you’re currently on. So why is it that when people are getting off on their floor, they only prepare to disembark after the doors have opened and been opened for a lengthy duration of time?
- If someone gets on at the 18th floor, and the elevators only go down 2-4 floors to let someone else on, why does the person on the 18th floor try to get off because he/she thinks we are now on the ground level? As already established, you can see what floor you’re currently on. It’s not pointing at M or G, you’re obviously not on the ground. Also, what type of bozo doesn’t have distance/speed/location perception? An elevator ride of 15 seconds isn’t going to move you 18 floors. It’s a matter of physics.
No one said that hodge podge was exciting and entertaining. In fact, hodge podge is more often than not, lamer than lame. Unfortunately, Miss Nihilist just doesn’t have the propensity to be humourous and witty while the whine of bagpipes instills murderous thoughts in her mind. Oh Gods. Oh-kay monster man.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
ABC... next time won't you sing with me!
I read urban fantasy. I LOVE urban fantasy. I devour urban fantasy like its going out of style. I am all over urban fantasy like white on rice.
I do not, however, read Romance.
Though sometimes, making that distinction is a bit like splitting hairs.
Most of my favourite series (not ALL mind you, but most) have sex scenes. Most of my favourite series have several sex scenes.
What classifies something as romance? Is it the sex? Is it the amount of sex? Is it the element of romance? And what in the hell is paranormal romance? How is it different from urban fantasy? Is it the publishing house that makes the distinction?
I think sometimes the distinction between urban fantasy and romance lies in the realism of the sex scenes. Romance – the female character is a virgin. Despite her virginal nature, she apparently has detailed lessons in the art of the blow job from her slutty friends. She has sex once and it unleashes the inner sex kitten that was always hidden inside her. Roar, she engages in sexual activity during inappropriate moments. Urban Fantasy – two people have sex during appropriate moments. But this isn’t a hard and fast rule. I’ve read “urban fantasy” books that have just as much gratuitous sex as any good romance book.
The point is, despite my love for urban fantasy, it’s hard proudly brandishing my book of the day while I am on the bus. Especially when the cover looks like this:
Because ultimately, people will conclude that I am reading a cheesy romance novel! And I want to stand up on my seat and yell “It’s urban fantasy! It’s not romance! It just has a really bad cover! REALLY!” So instead, I do the read of shame. I hunch my back, I keep the cover bent just so – now nobody can see the cover. It works even better if I can place the book on top of my bag. Inevitably this causes excruciating neck pain, but it saves reading face. No one knows that I am not reading Nabokov.
I’ve always felt a little bit ashamed that I, Miss Nihilist – English Major, spends her waking hours reading books titled The Devil You Know. Because as much as I enjoyed this book, could her pants be giving her more of a wedgie on that cover?!!! However, I’m not at the point where I am reading books like Oh My Goth. Please never let me get to that point.
Recently I read an article about the pop culture phenomenon that is the Twilight series. The Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer is another shame read. The characters offend my feminist sensibilities, the vampire is super creepy, and the main protagonist is annoying as hell. But yet, I will be part of that crowd that flocks to the stores on August 2 to buy the final book in the series (go figure). The author of the article was kind enough to provide a cheesy quote from the latest book, and then wrote this about potential naysayers:
“Before you make fun of this, I want you to seriously consider whether you’re interested in denigrating people who spend their leisure time actually reading books rather than watching America’s got Talent.”
AND BOOM. Miss Nihilist felt good about herself again.
And why? Because she forgot the cardinal rule: quality over quantity except after C...! Reading is always a learning experience in itself, it doesn’t matter what you read, as long as you read. And god knows, I read.
I do not, however, read Romance.
Though sometimes, making that distinction is a bit like splitting hairs.
Most of my favourite series (not ALL mind you, but most) have sex scenes. Most of my favourite series have several sex scenes.
What classifies something as romance? Is it the sex? Is it the amount of sex? Is it the element of romance? And what in the hell is paranormal romance? How is it different from urban fantasy? Is it the publishing house that makes the distinction?
I think sometimes the distinction between urban fantasy and romance lies in the realism of the sex scenes. Romance – the female character is a virgin. Despite her virginal nature, she apparently has detailed lessons in the art of the blow job from her slutty friends. She has sex once and it unleashes the inner sex kitten that was always hidden inside her. Roar, she engages in sexual activity during inappropriate moments. Urban Fantasy – two people have sex during appropriate moments. But this isn’t a hard and fast rule. I’ve read “urban fantasy” books that have just as much gratuitous sex as any good romance book.
The point is, despite my love for urban fantasy, it’s hard proudly brandishing my book of the day while I am on the bus. Especially when the cover looks like this:
Because ultimately, people will conclude that I am reading a cheesy romance novel! And I want to stand up on my seat and yell “It’s urban fantasy! It’s not romance! It just has a really bad cover! REALLY!” So instead, I do the read of shame. I hunch my back, I keep the cover bent just so – now nobody can see the cover. It works even better if I can place the book on top of my bag. Inevitably this causes excruciating neck pain, but it saves reading face. No one knows that I am not reading Nabokov. I’ve always felt a little bit ashamed that I, Miss Nihilist – English Major, spends her waking hours reading books titled The Devil You Know. Because as much as I enjoyed this book, could her pants be giving her more of a wedgie on that cover?!!! However, I’m not at the point where I am reading books like Oh My Goth. Please never let me get to that point.
Recently I read an article about the pop culture phenomenon that is the Twilight series. The Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer is another shame read. The characters offend my feminist sensibilities, the vampire is super creepy, and the main protagonist is annoying as hell. But yet, I will be part of that crowd that flocks to the stores on August 2 to buy the final book in the series (go figure). The author of the article was kind enough to provide a cheesy quote from the latest book, and then wrote this about potential naysayers:
“Before you make fun of this, I want you to seriously consider whether you’re interested in denigrating people who spend their leisure time actually reading books rather than watching America’s got Talent.”
AND BOOM. Miss Nihilist felt good about herself again.
And why? Because she forgot the cardinal rule: quality over quantity except after C...! Reading is always a learning experience in itself, it doesn’t matter what you read, as long as you read. And god knows, I read.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Annhiliation Station
I hate people who drink their coffee through a straw. I am a huge supporter of the straw. I worship at the altar of the straw. But I know what circumstances demand a straw, and drinking coffee isn’t one of them. If you’re old enough to drink coffee, you’re old enough to drink it like an adult. It’s not like having your own adult sippy-cup. It’s juvenile and it annoys me.
And you don’t want to annoy me.
I’ll annihilate you.
And you don’t want to annoy me.
I’ll annihilate you.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Tell me what to think!
So today I learned that 1,250 people have committed suicide by jumping over the Golden Gate Bridge since the gate opened in 1937. It’s considered the world’s “top suicide magnet.” Apparently the Golden Gate Bridge is a popular suicide destination because the handrails are only four feet. FOUR FEET?!!!!
Upon learning this news, I’m now terrified of visiting the Golden Gate bridge. FOUR FEET! A stiff wind would blow me right off! “Hey, this is a nice brid…..oooohhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…..”
Inappropriate sarcasm aside, the city is looking at several proposals for bridge alterations in order to deter people from jumping off. The proposals include alterations like placing lengthier vertical bars (8-12 ft) on top of the existing handrails, and adding a net system 20 feet below the bridge. Each proposal will cost $50M to complete.
The last proposal is titled the “no build alternative” and it is the cheapest. This proposal recommends the city do nothing. The logic behind this proposal is that if people want to jump off the bridge, let them jump. If people want to kill themselves, they’ll find a way to do it, barrier or no barrier.
When MN discovered this chilling fact, she found herself in uncharted territory: that of morally ambiguous terrain. Normally, I am a stalwart defender of one side of an issue or another but MN doesn’t have a firm opinion on this one. I think the “let them jump” side of the issue reeks of callousness and insensitivity, but a $50M pricetag to “fix” one of the world’s most beautiful bridges seems a bit steep. Especially since what makes the bridge so unique is its openness, it’s “suspension-cable-ness.” As someone notes, “Do we want to mar it with a constant reminder of humanity’s shortcomings?” But having an easily accessible vehicle for suicide, with its 4 ft rails, seems a lot like handing heroin to an addict. Is it enabling? I dunno?! MN is so confused!!! Does the value of architecture outweigh the human condition? Someone tell me what I’m supposed to think!
What I found even more chilling is the production of a documentary titled The Bridge. This documentary filmed the Golden Gate bridge every day in 2004 and was able to capture most of the 24 suicides that happened that year. Is it just me, or does anybody else find that grossly morbid? Who sets out to deliberately record suicides? In the name of documentary "art"?
But then again, this is also the same society where people’s reaction upon seeing someone driving down the wrong side of Yellowhead trail isn’t to call the police, but to grab their video camera and tape footage of the fiery wreck. So in effect, Miss Nihilist violated her own life rules today: never underestimate how depraved and selfish human beings can be. *slaps her head* DUH.
Upon learning this news, I’m now terrified of visiting the Golden Gate bridge. FOUR FEET! A stiff wind would blow me right off! “Hey, this is a nice brid…..oooohhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…..”
Inappropriate sarcasm aside, the city is looking at several proposals for bridge alterations in order to deter people from jumping off. The proposals include alterations like placing lengthier vertical bars (8-12 ft) on top of the existing handrails, and adding a net system 20 feet below the bridge. Each proposal will cost $50M to complete.
The last proposal is titled the “no build alternative” and it is the cheapest. This proposal recommends the city do nothing. The logic behind this proposal is that if people want to jump off the bridge, let them jump. If people want to kill themselves, they’ll find a way to do it, barrier or no barrier.
When MN discovered this chilling fact, she found herself in uncharted territory: that of morally ambiguous terrain. Normally, I am a stalwart defender of one side of an issue or another but MN doesn’t have a firm opinion on this one. I think the “let them jump” side of the issue reeks of callousness and insensitivity, but a $50M pricetag to “fix” one of the world’s most beautiful bridges seems a bit steep. Especially since what makes the bridge so unique is its openness, it’s “suspension-cable-ness.” As someone notes, “Do we want to mar it with a constant reminder of humanity’s shortcomings?” But having an easily accessible vehicle for suicide, with its 4 ft rails, seems a lot like handing heroin to an addict. Is it enabling? I dunno?! MN is so confused!!! Does the value of architecture outweigh the human condition? Someone tell me what I’m supposed to think!
What I found even more chilling is the production of a documentary titled The Bridge. This documentary filmed the Golden Gate bridge every day in 2004 and was able to capture most of the 24 suicides that happened that year. Is it just me, or does anybody else find that grossly morbid? Who sets out to deliberately record suicides? In the name of documentary "art"?
But then again, this is also the same society where people’s reaction upon seeing someone driving down the wrong side of Yellowhead trail isn’t to call the police, but to grab their video camera and tape footage of the fiery wreck. So in effect, Miss Nihilist violated her own life rules today: never underestimate how depraved and selfish human beings can be. *slaps her head* DUH.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Perplexity Killed the Cat
I came from the bathroom and holy moly…. Kidding, it’s not going to be that type of post today…. anyway, I’m in the bathroom doing my business, and someone comes barreling in. And when I say barreling in, I mean she comes stomping in, whipping doors closed, and plopping her heavy ass down on that seat like she owns that bathroom. She’s about as subtle as rhinos stomping on eggshells. But the minute she comes in, I don’t even need to see who it is, I instinctively know who it is. It’s her. The Clomper.
The Clomper, as you can probably tell, CLOMPS everywhere. She storms down the hallway, her boobs are a-shaking, her shoes are impacting the floor like they want to break through the earth, and her hair has that wind-effect because her clomping is causing a mini-whirlwind that follows her wherever she goes. You hear the Clomper coming from a mile away. The Clomper’s clothes are severely ill-fitting. Her body is really compressed and hobbit-like. Her upper torso certainly needs to be longer for her body to look even remotely normal. And her face, oh god, her face. She has teeth that could chomp walnuts; she looks like she has never had need of a steak knife in her life. She has a horizontally rectangular face shape, so she has these bloated cheeks but a tiny vertical head length. Paired with those teeth, it’s like she’s a mutated, rabid chipmunk.
The Clomper perplexes me. If I looked the way she does, I certainly wouldn’t walk like a T-Rex, shaking the desks of everyone I pass. Remember the water cup scene from Jurassic Park? That’s my life M-F. Why announce to people that you are coming? It’s like a danger alert. Everytime I hear her coming, I want to dive to the side and get out the way. She really, really frightens me. “Jesus fuck, The Clomper is coming!”
Here are some other things that perplex me:
- Adults who feel the need to wear several heavy gold chains at once. I spotted a lady the other day wearing 4 thick gold chains around her neck (one of them even had a 2 inch crystal drop pendant that hung to her navel). Someone has been channeling Mr. T waaayyy too much. Same goes for women who need to wear a ring on every finger. Just preparing yourself for that unfortunate day you fall out of the boat?
- People who have an entire fridge at their disposal but feel they have to push MY lunch to the back because the space my lunch was occupying is the space they want
- People who stand on buses for long periods of time despite the fact there are only 4 people on the bus, and every other seat is unoccupied
- People who don’t wait for other people to get off the elevator/train/bus before pushing their way in. It’s a self-contained space; you can’t fit more into the space without letting something out. It’s simple logic but people are terrified that the elevator/train/bus is going to leave without their fat ass on it. It’s not a ski-lift people. It’s not as if you need to shove yourself off or else do another rotation around.
- Pants. Why are they called a pair of pants? Or a pair of underwear? And if your underwear is dirty, can we call them underwore then?
- Women who clearly spend hours in front of the mirror on their makeup and hair, but still manage to look as if they dumped their head into a carburetor, immediately followed by the toilet. Do you think they patent that rat-coif?
- Food smelling so rancid coming out! It was good going in….
- 3 chicken breasts can defrost overnight, but a smaller package of ground pork is still frozen after being defrosted the same amount of time
- Men who next to each other but don’t check out each others’ packages and techniques. Aren’t you just a wee bit curious?!
By the time I completed this entry, I had TWO run-ins with The Clomper. Holy Bacon Tits, she scares me.
The Clomper, as you can probably tell, CLOMPS everywhere. She storms down the hallway, her boobs are a-shaking, her shoes are impacting the floor like they want to break through the earth, and her hair has that wind-effect because her clomping is causing a mini-whirlwind that follows her wherever she goes. You hear the Clomper coming from a mile away. The Clomper’s clothes are severely ill-fitting. Her body is really compressed and hobbit-like. Her upper torso certainly needs to be longer for her body to look even remotely normal. And her face, oh god, her face. She has teeth that could chomp walnuts; she looks like she has never had need of a steak knife in her life. She has a horizontally rectangular face shape, so she has these bloated cheeks but a tiny vertical head length. Paired with those teeth, it’s like she’s a mutated, rabid chipmunk.
The Clomper perplexes me. If I looked the way she does, I certainly wouldn’t walk like a T-Rex, shaking the desks of everyone I pass. Remember the water cup scene from Jurassic Park? That’s my life M-F. Why announce to people that you are coming? It’s like a danger alert. Everytime I hear her coming, I want to dive to the side and get out the way. She really, really frightens me. “Jesus fuck, The Clomper is coming!”
Here are some other things that perplex me:
- Adults who feel the need to wear several heavy gold chains at once. I spotted a lady the other day wearing 4 thick gold chains around her neck (one of them even had a 2 inch crystal drop pendant that hung to her navel). Someone has been channeling Mr. T waaayyy too much. Same goes for women who need to wear a ring on every finger. Just preparing yourself for that unfortunate day you fall out of the boat?
- People who have an entire fridge at their disposal but feel they have to push MY lunch to the back because the space my lunch was occupying is the space they want
- People who stand on buses for long periods of time despite the fact there are only 4 people on the bus, and every other seat is unoccupied
- People who don’t wait for other people to get off the elevator/train/bus before pushing their way in. It’s a self-contained space; you can’t fit more into the space without letting something out. It’s simple logic but people are terrified that the elevator/train/bus is going to leave without their fat ass on it. It’s not a ski-lift people. It’s not as if you need to shove yourself off or else do another rotation around.
- Pants. Why are they called a pair of pants? Or a pair of underwear? And if your underwear is dirty, can we call them underwore then?
- Women who clearly spend hours in front of the mirror on their makeup and hair, but still manage to look as if they dumped their head into a carburetor, immediately followed by the toilet. Do you think they patent that rat-coif?
- Food smelling so rancid coming out! It was good going in….
- 3 chicken breasts can defrost overnight, but a smaller package of ground pork is still frozen after being defrosted the same amount of time
- Men who next to each other but don’t check out each others’ packages and techniques. Aren’t you just a wee bit curious?!
By the time I completed this entry, I had TWO run-ins with The Clomper. Holy Bacon Tits, she scares me.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
WWMND?
Yesterday, I had an impassioned discussion about people who unleash/unveil megalomaniac-like behaviour once they become parents (whether it is to pets or children).
On a side note: if you look up megalomaniac in the online dictionary, it states:
1. a person afflicted with megalomania.
No shit. What kind of definition is that? It doesn’t even provide you with a link to megalomania so you can define that word. It’s like looking through the dictionary of P. The Dictionary of P. is where you can’t define a word or a term or an idea without using the same word. Example: what does “you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one” mean? Dictionary of P.: “Well, it means that you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one.” Oh-kay, got it.
But I digress.
The point is this: being a boiled frog in an office building inevitably leads you to certain life realizations. It’s like retail. Until you work retail, you really have no idea just how much people suck. Same concept: until you work an office job, you have no idea how shallow, superficial, and one-dimensional people can truly be. For example, every office has the busy-body. The busy-body concerns herself with everybody’s business. “So and so spent 4.7 minutes longer in the bathroom than the average person… hm….. tattle tattle…complain complain……” The busy-body is usually friends with the Talker. The Talker is the one who must dominate every single conversation and often tries to one-up you. You come in, mentioning that traffic was really crazy that morning and you must have been stuck at one road for 20 minutes. The Talker interrupts you and says something to the effect of: “You think that was bad?! One time, I got cut off by 20 cars, one of which was a giant monster truck that almost ran over my hood. Then, Jesus himself came down and halted traffic so that he could eat his lunch with Noah and his friends in the middle of the road and I was stuck there for 4 hours! Then Al Capone came and there was a big shoot out until Marilyn Monroe came and stopped everything so traffic could resume.” Unfortunately in my case, the Cow embodies the busy-body, The Talker, and a large number of other stereotypical figures you’ll undoubtedly find in any office building. Lucky me.
I’ve been wondering what compels people to yap-yap-yap all the day long about themselves. Is it because they are super interesting? Is it because their stories are so interesting they will rivet any listener and be the equivalent of a blockbuster film? The greatest book known to man? What motivates women to gather round and share stories about their children (and everything their children could possibly do overnight), all in an attempt to vouch for the title of “Cutest Child EVER.” Do the same women realize that if a child does something potentially cute, that child’s “cute and cool” points don’t translate to the mother by proxy?
Why can’t women be more like me?!! That should be your fucking motto: WWMND??? What would Miss Nihilist Do? Keep all the things that are near and dear to you… NEAR AND DEAR. I don’t discuss things that are important to me to people who don’t care, aren’t listening, and won’t remember what I just told them shortly after wiping their asses. It cheapens it because it becomes gossip fodder. If something is important, keep it important; don’t use it as a means to seem cool and great and exciting because doing so debases it. It should remain valuable and only be shared with those who would see the same, equivalent value in it.
Anyway, I keep digressing at a frenetic pace… I’ve realized that all these talkers who gather around the campfire to out-talk one another do so because they are boring. They are all run-of-the-mill people who have no outside interests and who define themselves by the norm. At any given time of the day, these women gather round to discuss topics like their children, pets, husbands/partners, reality tv, and other asinine things. Anyone has the potential to be a parent or a pet-owner, so simply having a child/pet and having one that spits up is not interesting. Same goes for dating/marriage, watching tv, and most of the topics that are tackled during the week by the talkers. That’s why most of their sentences start with “the same thing happened to me….” or some variation thereof. Fuck, they talk for 15 minutes about chocolate most days. Being a married mother of 2 who goes home, cooks dinner, drives her kids to work, and watches tv at the end of the night is not riveting conversation. But yet, Subject A is talking about having to buy her daughter a car because she doesn’t want to drive her to work anymore. And Subject A discusses this particular topic ad nauseum to anyone who will listen. Does that make her interesting? No, it makes her boring because out of the million things in the world human beings could possibly talk about, THAT is the topic she chooses to get off her chest? That’s the topic she chooses to share with people?
Could subject A ever do a literary analysis of Pride and Prejudice and A Room with a View? Does subject A even know what A Room with a View is? Can subject A tell me who won the Daytona 500 in 2003? Can subject A name all 5 members of the New Kids and 5 of their Top Hits? Can subject A tell me how the Foo Fighters and Me First and the Gimme Gimmes are related?
I doubt it.
That’s because while subject A is yap-yap-yapping about the mundane, defining herself by how boring and standard her life is, us quiet ones (the ones who sit in the corner and keep to ourselves – the seemingly “boring” ones) are contemplating and elevating our lives and interests, constantly adding additional dimensions to our personality. We’re the true interesting personas because we define ourselves by our passion, our knowledge, our individual quirks.
We’re enigmas.
And that’s a hell of a lot more unique than those who loudly conform to a life of being average.
On a side note: if you look up megalomaniac in the online dictionary, it states:
1. a person afflicted with megalomania.
No shit. What kind of definition is that? It doesn’t even provide you with a link to megalomania so you can define that word. It’s like looking through the dictionary of P. The Dictionary of P. is where you can’t define a word or a term or an idea without using the same word. Example: what does “you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one” mean? Dictionary of P.: “Well, it means that you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one.” Oh-kay, got it.
But I digress.
The point is this: being a boiled frog in an office building inevitably leads you to certain life realizations. It’s like retail. Until you work retail, you really have no idea just how much people suck. Same concept: until you work an office job, you have no idea how shallow, superficial, and one-dimensional people can truly be. For example, every office has the busy-body. The busy-body concerns herself with everybody’s business. “So and so spent 4.7 minutes longer in the bathroom than the average person… hm….. tattle tattle…complain complain……” The busy-body is usually friends with the Talker. The Talker is the one who must dominate every single conversation and often tries to one-up you. You come in, mentioning that traffic was really crazy that morning and you must have been stuck at one road for 20 minutes. The Talker interrupts you and says something to the effect of: “You think that was bad?! One time, I got cut off by 20 cars, one of which was a giant monster truck that almost ran over my hood. Then, Jesus himself came down and halted traffic so that he could eat his lunch with Noah and his friends in the middle of the road and I was stuck there for 4 hours! Then Al Capone came and there was a big shoot out until Marilyn Monroe came and stopped everything so traffic could resume.” Unfortunately in my case, the Cow embodies the busy-body, The Talker, and a large number of other stereotypical figures you’ll undoubtedly find in any office building. Lucky me.
I’ve been wondering what compels people to yap-yap-yap all the day long about themselves. Is it because they are super interesting? Is it because their stories are so interesting they will rivet any listener and be the equivalent of a blockbuster film? The greatest book known to man? What motivates women to gather round and share stories about their children (and everything their children could possibly do overnight), all in an attempt to vouch for the title of “Cutest Child EVER.” Do the same women realize that if a child does something potentially cute, that child’s “cute and cool” points don’t translate to the mother by proxy?
Why can’t women be more like me?!! That should be your fucking motto: WWMND??? What would Miss Nihilist Do? Keep all the things that are near and dear to you… NEAR AND DEAR. I don’t discuss things that are important to me to people who don’t care, aren’t listening, and won’t remember what I just told them shortly after wiping their asses. It cheapens it because it becomes gossip fodder. If something is important, keep it important; don’t use it as a means to seem cool and great and exciting because doing so debases it. It should remain valuable and only be shared with those who would see the same, equivalent value in it.
Anyway, I keep digressing at a frenetic pace… I’ve realized that all these talkers who gather around the campfire to out-talk one another do so because they are boring. They are all run-of-the-mill people who have no outside interests and who define themselves by the norm. At any given time of the day, these women gather round to discuss topics like their children, pets, husbands/partners, reality tv, and other asinine things. Anyone has the potential to be a parent or a pet-owner, so simply having a child/pet and having one that spits up is not interesting. Same goes for dating/marriage, watching tv, and most of the topics that are tackled during the week by the talkers. That’s why most of their sentences start with “the same thing happened to me….” or some variation thereof. Fuck, they talk for 15 minutes about chocolate most days. Being a married mother of 2 who goes home, cooks dinner, drives her kids to work, and watches tv at the end of the night is not riveting conversation. But yet, Subject A is talking about having to buy her daughter a car because she doesn’t want to drive her to work anymore. And Subject A discusses this particular topic ad nauseum to anyone who will listen. Does that make her interesting? No, it makes her boring because out of the million things in the world human beings could possibly talk about, THAT is the topic she chooses to get off her chest? That’s the topic she chooses to share with people?
Could subject A ever do a literary analysis of Pride and Prejudice and A Room with a View? Does subject A even know what A Room with a View is? Can subject A tell me who won the Daytona 500 in 2003? Can subject A name all 5 members of the New Kids and 5 of their Top Hits? Can subject A tell me how the Foo Fighters and Me First and the Gimme Gimmes are related?
I doubt it.
That’s because while subject A is yap-yap-yapping about the mundane, defining herself by how boring and standard her life is, us quiet ones (the ones who sit in the corner and keep to ourselves – the seemingly “boring” ones) are contemplating and elevating our lives and interests, constantly adding additional dimensions to our personality. We’re the true interesting personas because we define ourselves by our passion, our knowledge, our individual quirks.
We’re enigmas.
And that’s a hell of a lot more unique than those who loudly conform to a life of being average.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Unabridged and Complete
So last night, I pulled a minor Hoa. I think it’s human nature to pull a Hoa once in a while, but if you are Hoa, whew, that’s a crying shame. Look out.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I pulled a Hoa… oh… what’s a pulling a Hoa you ask? Well, let’s pull out the Miss Nihilist dictionary and I’ll tell ya. Pulling a Hoa…. A…asshole….asswipe….J….jesus fuck…..oh, yes, here’s the P’s…..
Miss Nihilist’s Dictionary Unabridged (v 1.1)
Main Entry: Pulling a Hoa
Pronunciation: ‘pullin’ a Ho’a
Function: verb
Etymology: alteration of hoa-ology (to worship at the altar of Hoa), see also: Hoa-ism (noun), Hoa-rrific (adverb), Hoa-tastic (adverb), Hoa-nnoying (adverb), hoa-like (adjective), hoa-ness (adjective)
Origin Date: 2005-2008
1. To delude yourself into believing your shit life is blissful and happy: She pulled a Hoa when she asserted her angry, beating husband was a great father and person.
2. To take full advantage of people, their time, and resources – all without an ounce of gratitude: She pulled a Hoa when I babysat her children and she didn’t even say thank you.
3. To believe that your life, your problems, and your time is better, more valuable, and more important than anybody else’s: She told me that she was so much busier than I could ever be; what a Hoa!
4. To have people wait on you hand and foot like a child, but constantly complain that you are hard-done by: She’s pulling a Hoa again! My dad is cooking her meals and doing her dishes, but she still complains about being too busy.
Synonyms: devil, hitler, soulless demon, twat, cow, fucking whore bitch
Antonyms: considerate, human, possessing of a soul/heart, caring, understanding, compassionate
I think that’s enough for one day. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to use the term “bacon tits” in a sentence! Until next time kiddos.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I pulled a Hoa… oh… what’s a pulling a Hoa you ask? Well, let’s pull out the Miss Nihilist dictionary and I’ll tell ya. Pulling a Hoa…. A…asshole….asswipe….J….jesus fuck…..oh, yes, here’s the P’s…..
Miss Nihilist’s Dictionary Unabridged (v 1.1)
Main Entry: Pulling a Hoa
Pronunciation: ‘pullin’ a Ho’a
Function: verb
Etymology: alteration of hoa-ology (to worship at the altar of Hoa), see also: Hoa-ism (noun), Hoa-rrific (adverb), Hoa-tastic (adverb), Hoa-nnoying (adverb), hoa-like (adjective), hoa-ness (adjective)
Origin Date: 2005-2008
1. To delude yourself into believing your shit life is blissful and happy: She pulled a Hoa when she asserted her angry, beating husband was a great father and person.
2. To take full advantage of people, their time, and resources – all without an ounce of gratitude: She pulled a Hoa when I babysat her children and she didn’t even say thank you.
3. To believe that your life, your problems, and your time is better, more valuable, and more important than anybody else’s: She told me that she was so much busier than I could ever be; what a Hoa!
4. To have people wait on you hand and foot like a child, but constantly complain that you are hard-done by: She’s pulling a Hoa again! My dad is cooking her meals and doing her dishes, but she still complains about being too busy.
Synonyms: devil, hitler, soulless demon, twat, cow, fucking whore bitch
Antonyms: considerate, human, possessing of a soul/heart, caring, understanding, compassionate
I think that’s enough for one day. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to use the term “bacon tits” in a sentence! Until next time kiddos.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
2 + 2 = 7???
So I just discovered the sport of chess boxing. And frankly, I think it is such a wonderful amalgamation of brutal, gratuitous violence and intelligence that I am mostly bummed I didn’t think of it first. Because I truly believe that Miss Nihilist could have been the reigning champ!
So you ask… what is chess boxing?......
Chess boxing is a hybrid sport consisting of alternating rounds of boxing and chess sessions (11 rounds in total). Yep, you read that right. The game starts with two opponents playing 4 minutes of speed chess. They get a minute to change their gear (ie: remove the chess board and bite down on those gummy things that resemble large lemon peels), and then for the next two minutes, they beat the living shit out each other. Following that lovely physical exchange, they sit down for another 4 minutes of chess. Picture this…. You’ve just been smacked in the head several times, what are you going to do next? If you answered “figure out complicated chess moves!”, then this sport is for you!!!!
It takes smarts to compete in chess boxing. Competitors in chess boxing are not your Mike Tyson types. Most of them have been mathematicians, doctors, scientists, and teachers. Hell, one person was even a former UN Peacekeeper. However, Miss Nihilist strongly suspects that once all these grad and doctoral students participate in chess boxing, they eventually stop doing the work they were doing. “E = MC….. errr….. what? I knew it once…… errrr……goddamnit! Pi? Oh…. Rhubarb! I could totally eat some of that dude.”
Apparently chess boxing has been an official sport since 2003. Wow, I’ve just wasted the last 5 years of my life when I could have been training for this awesome sport! The motto of the World Chess Boxing Organization is “Fighting is done in the ring and wars are waged on the board”. I’m so cheese.
Now…. Miss Nihilist has to learn how to play chess. In the meantime, let’s start small. I need someone to punch me repeatedly for 2 minutes, and then I will try my hardest not to wet myself. Then we’ll move onto maybe getting up. Yeah, yeah, those are good first steps.
Any volunteers? Anybody?
So you ask… what is chess boxing?......
Chess boxing is a hybrid sport consisting of alternating rounds of boxing and chess sessions (11 rounds in total). Yep, you read that right. The game starts with two opponents playing 4 minutes of speed chess. They get a minute to change their gear (ie: remove the chess board and bite down on those gummy things that resemble large lemon peels), and then for the next two minutes, they beat the living shit out each other. Following that lovely physical exchange, they sit down for another 4 minutes of chess. Picture this…. You’ve just been smacked in the head several times, what are you going to do next? If you answered “figure out complicated chess moves!”, then this sport is for you!!!!
It takes smarts to compete in chess boxing. Competitors in chess boxing are not your Mike Tyson types. Most of them have been mathematicians, doctors, scientists, and teachers. Hell, one person was even a former UN Peacekeeper. However, Miss Nihilist strongly suspects that once all these grad and doctoral students participate in chess boxing, they eventually stop doing the work they were doing. “E = MC….. errr….. what? I knew it once…… errrr……goddamnit! Pi? Oh…. Rhubarb! I could totally eat some of that dude.”
Apparently chess boxing has been an official sport since 2003. Wow, I’ve just wasted the last 5 years of my life when I could have been training for this awesome sport! The motto of the World Chess Boxing Organization is “Fighting is done in the ring and wars are waged on the board”. I’m so cheese.
Now…. Miss Nihilist has to learn how to play chess. In the meantime, let’s start small. I need someone to punch me repeatedly for 2 minutes, and then I will try my hardest not to wet myself. Then we’ll move onto maybe getting up. Yeah, yeah, those are good first steps.
Any volunteers? Anybody?
Monday, July 07, 2008
A day in the life....
Here’s a day in the life of Miss Nihilist:
- I wake up, it’s about 9:30-10:00 AM and I’ve slept hard. I’m energetic for a fresh new day. I shower, have a delicious healthy breakfast and get dressed. I hop into my sleek Golf, and drive to a location downtown.
- I get a call from Dallas, he’s running late to the photoshoot, so I set up my equipment and wait for him. He arrives, huffy and annoyed. He tells me that it’s Yoko’s fault that he’s late because she wouldn’t stop prepping her perfectly patented whore hair in the bathroom. I tell Dallas to dump her skanky ass and he immediately calls her and dumps her flat out. What follows is a great photoshoot. He plays me some of the songs he’s working on, and we laugh a lot since we’re great, great friends. Dallas feels free and independent because Yoko Ono was cramping his style for a long while. He feels better than he’s felt in years.
- When the photoshoot ends, I check my phone. I have several different voicemails from many people including Tim, the guys from alexis, Ryan Gosling, James McAvoy, Kristen Bell, and Davey from Beat Union. Tim wants me to go on tour with rise against for the summer, snapping photos of them. The guys from alexis also want me to tour with them. Ryan Gosling and James McAvoy call to ask me out. I love them both, but I feel uncomfortable with how they broke up with their respective significant others for me. Kristen Bell wants to know where I got one of my awesome belts from. Davey calls just to say hi from Japan where Beat Union are touring.
- I call Hardware to make sure that everything is running smoothly. The manager informs me that the music store I co-own is running beautifully. Everything is a-ok for the 311 in-store performance this afternoon. The joint paper/coffee shop that I own next door is also doing steady business.
- It’s time for lunch! I drive to a great sushi shop and meet Tahmoh for food. We have great conversation, though it’s slightly tinged with a bit of tension. I suspect that Tahmoh wants to be more than friends, but I am waiting for him to make the first move. He tells me the ongoings of BSG (which will never end as a show) and about what its like filming with Joss Whedon. He films both shows but always has time for me. He is even scheduled for a guest spot on Veronica Mars which got continued as a series years after it was cancelled!
- After lunch, I’m looking forward to taking the afternoon off to read in my big comfy penthouse loft near Stanley Park but I get a call from a magazine. They ask if I can do some special, special freelance writing and come in to interview Royal Wood? Royal requested me as his interviewer. Whew, how can a girl say no, eh? So it’s off to Richmond to interview Royal.
- I get home, just in time to cook a great meal, the best anyone has ever tasted. Then it’s 6:00 pm, and my book club members start coming in for our joint dinner/book club session. Sarah Slean thinks that Patricia Briggs is a great author. I concur. Mary Louise Parker starts talking about the Book Thief and we have a rousing conversation about it.
- Suddenly it’s 9 pm and everyone is starting to filter out for the night. I bid them all good night and prepare to relax. My bell rings. I answer the door, it’s Tahmoh! He tells me that he loves me, always has, and wants to be with me. I tell him that I’ve always felt the same. We have a deep heart-to-heart conversation, one that leaves us both breathless and excited by the possibilities.
- Afterwards, there’s just enough time for me to read and finish a book before turning in for the night.
…..waahhhh? What’s that annoying beeping sound?......oooohhhh…….I don’t wanna wake up……. Snoooozzzeeee……..!!!!!
- I wake up, it’s about 9:30-10:00 AM and I’ve slept hard. I’m energetic for a fresh new day. I shower, have a delicious healthy breakfast and get dressed. I hop into my sleek Golf, and drive to a location downtown.
- I get a call from Dallas, he’s running late to the photoshoot, so I set up my equipment and wait for him. He arrives, huffy and annoyed. He tells me that it’s Yoko’s fault that he’s late because she wouldn’t stop prepping her perfectly patented whore hair in the bathroom. I tell Dallas to dump her skanky ass and he immediately calls her and dumps her flat out. What follows is a great photoshoot. He plays me some of the songs he’s working on, and we laugh a lot since we’re great, great friends. Dallas feels free and independent because Yoko Ono was cramping his style for a long while. He feels better than he’s felt in years.
- When the photoshoot ends, I check my phone. I have several different voicemails from many people including Tim, the guys from alexis, Ryan Gosling, James McAvoy, Kristen Bell, and Davey from Beat Union. Tim wants me to go on tour with rise against for the summer, snapping photos of them. The guys from alexis also want me to tour with them. Ryan Gosling and James McAvoy call to ask me out. I love them both, but I feel uncomfortable with how they broke up with their respective significant others for me. Kristen Bell wants to know where I got one of my awesome belts from. Davey calls just to say hi from Japan where Beat Union are touring.
- I call Hardware to make sure that everything is running smoothly. The manager informs me that the music store I co-own is running beautifully. Everything is a-ok for the 311 in-store performance this afternoon. The joint paper/coffee shop that I own next door is also doing steady business.
- It’s time for lunch! I drive to a great sushi shop and meet Tahmoh for food. We have great conversation, though it’s slightly tinged with a bit of tension. I suspect that Tahmoh wants to be more than friends, but I am waiting for him to make the first move. He tells me the ongoings of BSG (which will never end as a show) and about what its like filming with Joss Whedon. He films both shows but always has time for me. He is even scheduled for a guest spot on Veronica Mars which got continued as a series years after it was cancelled!
- After lunch, I’m looking forward to taking the afternoon off to read in my big comfy penthouse loft near Stanley Park but I get a call from a magazine. They ask if I can do some special, special freelance writing and come in to interview Royal Wood? Royal requested me as his interviewer. Whew, how can a girl say no, eh? So it’s off to Richmond to interview Royal.
- I get home, just in time to cook a great meal, the best anyone has ever tasted. Then it’s 6:00 pm, and my book club members start coming in for our joint dinner/book club session. Sarah Slean thinks that Patricia Briggs is a great author. I concur. Mary Louise Parker starts talking about the Book Thief and we have a rousing conversation about it.
- Suddenly it’s 9 pm and everyone is starting to filter out for the night. I bid them all good night and prepare to relax. My bell rings. I answer the door, it’s Tahmoh! He tells me that he loves me, always has, and wants to be with me. I tell him that I’ve always felt the same. We have a deep heart-to-heart conversation, one that leaves us both breathless and excited by the possibilities.
- Afterwards, there’s just enough time for me to read and finish a book before turning in for the night.
…..waahhhh? What’s that annoying beeping sound?......oooohhhh…….I don’t wanna wake up……. Snoooozzzeeee……..!!!!!
Friday, July 04, 2008
Mm... I'll order what she's having...
If I was a bartender, I’d create the Miss Nihilist shooter. Take a double shot glass and fill it with the following:
- 1 shot of Vodka
- lychee juice (about ¾ shot)
- Dollop of grenadine at the top
- Add Whipped cream for that creamy shaved effect
- Top it off with a lovely glazed cherry
Enjoy, you freaking alkies.
- 1 shot of Vodka
- lychee juice (about ¾ shot)
- Dollop of grenadine at the top
- Add Whipped cream for that creamy shaved effect
- Top it off with a lovely glazed cherry
Enjoy, you freaking alkies.
Please don't leave me here....
So…err… I’d normally have some rantfest about the latest round of bitches I’ve dated except…. I haven’t been able to leave my car coffin for 4 days now. It’s +50 degrees out here, I don’t have any water, I’m wearing black, and I don’t know what fresh air smells/feels like anymore. I’m suffocating… If I was made out of plastic, I’d be melted by now! Instead I have a metal hook through my head – a METAL HOOK! Do you know what happens to metal in the sun? IT HEATS UP. I’ve got a fucking oven shoved through my brain!
Come back guys…. Please don’t leave me in here… I’m sorry I called you bozos…….
Come back guys…. Please don’t leave me in here… I’m sorry I called you bozos…….
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Proust Questionnaire
So Vanity Fair has a monthly feature called the Proust Questionnaire. The Questionnaire is a series of questions posed to famous celebrities (authors, actors, politicians, etc…) about their thoughts, lives, and experiences. As you might gleam from the name, the questionnaire is named after Marcel Proust who answered two similar questionnaires throughout his lifetime (once when he was 13, again when he was 20). The Proust Questionnaire is now a combination of the two questionnaires he completed and when Miss Nihilist came across this wonderful feature, she thought, “fuck this! I’m famous! I’m going to take the Proust Questionnaire!” What followed was an incredible self-journey full of twists and turns, down canals and back alleyways, into the deep crevasses of the heart and soul. When I finally emerged from such deep soul-searching, I was shocked and appalled to discover that I really don’t like apples all that much, and I like Spice Girls more than I let on.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
A) Me and poncho on a ferry, the wind in our hair, the waves on the water, heading to a great destination. B) shopping at MOMA C) devouring a great book d) watching a much beloved band perform
What is your greatest fear?
Something tragic happening to a person I love dearly and having to be alone.
Which living person do you most admire?
Tim McIlrath. ‘Enuff said.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Ignorance. Shallowness.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Er… a teeny tiny thing called books…..
What is your favorite journey?
The one from my reading chair to my bookshelf. And return trip.
On what occasion do you lie?
When I’m talking to my mom. My sister. My co-workers. Hell, on what occasion DON’T I lie?
Which living person do you most despise?
Leah Miller. She is the epitome of what is wrong with the world. She singlehandedly sets back the feminist movement 100 years, and everytime she kisses Dallas (talks about Dallas, touches Dallas, talks to Dallas), a butterfly dies somewhere in the world. And then all the butterflies go into the afterlife and start a club, the “Leah Miller killed me with her shit karma” club.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
“Apparently….”, “Clearly.", "Frak!", "Aiyah."
What is your greatest regret?
Having that second cheeseburger last night. Whew. Settle down, Two Ton Tessie.
When and where were you happiest?
May 11th, 2005 somewhere along 103rd Ave and 114th street.
What is your current state of mind?
Crazy insane. I’ve got mad skillz yo.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
My unfailing pessimism. And it’s angry cousin. Also, I could stand to fly my inner geek flag a bit higher.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Escaping from the clutches of the Ly family with some semblance of sanity.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A donkey. I acknowledge that all this sarcasm will come back to bite me in the ass.
If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
Err… isn’t that a variation on the question above? A barrister. Or maybe a solicitor.
What is your most treasured possession?
My books. My ipod. My journals. My stories.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
We live in a civilization where 1 in 4 people in North America (the most effluent, literate continent in the world) did not read a single book during 2007. A civilization that is so bombarded with technology and gadgets that people are turning to murder (murder!) for something to do simply because they are bored with their lives and all the possibilities available to them. We live in a world where parents are more concerned with buying their pre-teenage children cellphones and ipods than teaching them the simple value of please and thank you. The lowest depth of misery is all around us. Turn on the tv, watch a reality television show. Look to your neighbours. Look at the drivers around you on the road.
Where would you like to live?
Vancouver Island. On a boat.
What is your favorite occupation?
Reading, listening to music.
What is your most marked characteristic?
Angry sarcasm.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Patience, understanding, compassion, and the capabilities to transcend titles such as boyfriend/husband and be a fully embodied Partner.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
The ability to be a Woman. Not a sissy girl, not a woman when defined next to a man, a Woman. Self-made, self-defined, self-empowered Woman.
Who are your favorite writers?
Markus Zusak, Patricia Briggs, Megan Mccafferty.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Max Vandenburg. Liesel Meminger. Rudy Steiner.
Who are your heroes in real life?
Anyone who stays positive in the face of dire circumstances. Anyone who has made an indelible mark on this earth and its history.
What is it that you most dislike?
Egg, squid, mackerel, and scallop. I’ve learned to tolerate the scallop, but the squid and mackerel are shit outta luck.
How would you like to die?
Quick and painless- surrounded by my partner, our children, and our grandchildren.
What is your motto?“Life’s a bitch… make lemonade.” Or something like that.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
A) Me and poncho on a ferry, the wind in our hair, the waves on the water, heading to a great destination. B) shopping at MOMA C) devouring a great book d) watching a much beloved band perform
What is your greatest fear?
Something tragic happening to a person I love dearly and having to be alone.
Which living person do you most admire?
Tim McIlrath. ‘Enuff said.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Ignorance. Shallowness.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Er… a teeny tiny thing called books…..
What is your favorite journey?
The one from my reading chair to my bookshelf. And return trip.
On what occasion do you lie?
When I’m talking to my mom. My sister. My co-workers. Hell, on what occasion DON’T I lie?
Which living person do you most despise?
Leah Miller. She is the epitome of what is wrong with the world. She singlehandedly sets back the feminist movement 100 years, and everytime she kisses Dallas (talks about Dallas, touches Dallas, talks to Dallas), a butterfly dies somewhere in the world. And then all the butterflies go into the afterlife and start a club, the “Leah Miller killed me with her shit karma” club.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
“Apparently….”, “Clearly.", "Frak!", "Aiyah."
What is your greatest regret?
Having that second cheeseburger last night. Whew. Settle down, Two Ton Tessie.
When and where were you happiest?
May 11th, 2005 somewhere along 103rd Ave and 114th street.
What is your current state of mind?
Crazy insane. I’ve got mad skillz yo.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
My unfailing pessimism. And it’s angry cousin. Also, I could stand to fly my inner geek flag a bit higher.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Escaping from the clutches of the Ly family with some semblance of sanity.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A donkey. I acknowledge that all this sarcasm will come back to bite me in the ass.
If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
Err… isn’t that a variation on the question above? A barrister. Or maybe a solicitor.
What is your most treasured possession?
My books. My ipod. My journals. My stories.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
We live in a civilization where 1 in 4 people in North America (the most effluent, literate continent in the world) did not read a single book during 2007. A civilization that is so bombarded with technology and gadgets that people are turning to murder (murder!) for something to do simply because they are bored with their lives and all the possibilities available to them. We live in a world where parents are more concerned with buying their pre-teenage children cellphones and ipods than teaching them the simple value of please and thank you. The lowest depth of misery is all around us. Turn on the tv, watch a reality television show. Look to your neighbours. Look at the drivers around you on the road.
Where would you like to live?
Vancouver Island. On a boat.
What is your favorite occupation?
Reading, listening to music.
What is your most marked characteristic?
Angry sarcasm.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
Patience, understanding, compassion, and the capabilities to transcend titles such as boyfriend/husband and be a fully embodied Partner.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
The ability to be a Woman. Not a sissy girl, not a woman when defined next to a man, a Woman. Self-made, self-defined, self-empowered Woman.
Who are your favorite writers?
Markus Zusak, Patricia Briggs, Megan Mccafferty.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Max Vandenburg. Liesel Meminger. Rudy Steiner.
Who are your heroes in real life?
Anyone who stays positive in the face of dire circumstances. Anyone who has made an indelible mark on this earth and its history.
What is it that you most dislike?
Egg, squid, mackerel, and scallop. I’ve learned to tolerate the scallop, but the squid and mackerel are shit outta luck.
How would you like to die?
Quick and painless- surrounded by my partner, our children, and our grandchildren.
What is your motto?“Life’s a bitch… make lemonade.” Or something like that.
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