W Magazine’s Celebrity Photo Shoots

I am sick and fucking tired of W Magazine. Particularly their celebrity photo spreads. Every month, the “editors” put a featured celebrity in the most fucked up situation they can conjure up — and then call it entertainment. (I specifically do NOT choose the word journalism because it most certainly is NOT that. And I can’t, just CAN’T call it fashion either. Leather balls in a person’s mouth or shoestrings as underwear do NOT count as fashion. Unless it’s an S&M mag. Is W? Is that how they’re branding themselves these days? Didn’t think so.)

Let’s take the current issue with Bruce Willis:

WHAT THE FUCK. I can’t imagine how the photo direction went on this. “Hey John MaClaine, I mean, Bruce. Can you curl up in the fetal position and wear these red leather gloves? Masculine? OF COURSE IT’S MASCULINE buddy! Trust us….”

I’ve just had it with magazines pulling this shit. Do I like innovative and interesting photography? Yes. Do I like it when celebrities are exploited or sensationalized to get it? No.

This applies to you too V Magazine. Fucktards.

Long-Distance Runners

Here’s something I just learned recently: Runners are fucking scumbags.

You’re going to have to trust me on the details here, because a lot of the sites I would use as resources have some pretty fucking nasty photos, but, seriously, RUNNERS ARE FUCKING SCUMBAGS.

Ok, hold on, let me compose myself, and present the jury with some anecdotal evidence.

During last year’s Boston marathon, runners dropped their pants and took shits ON THE SIDEWALKS.
Same thing happened in London’s marathon.
The organizers of Washington, DC’s 10-mile cherry blossom run almost lost their permit after last year’s run because so many runners were pissing and shitting ON THE MONUMENTS.
And, just to bring it home, my cousin ran in this year’s cherry blossom run in DC, and told me afterward that, at mile three, SHE SHIT HER PANTS AND JUST KEPT RUNNING.
DO YOU HEAR THAT WORLD? SHE SHIT HER PANTS AND RAN ANOTHER SEVEN MILES WITH A BIG FUCKING LOAD IN HER SHORTS AND DRIBBLING DOWN HER FUCKING LEGS.

Keep in mind that this is all happening IN PUBLIC. OTHER PEOPLE ARE AROUND.

And, the thing is, this happens every year, this is just the first time I’ve ever heard of it.

What really gets me, though, is that runners think they are fucking awesome. They’ll go on and on and on about runner’s high and doing ironmans and seven-minute miles and blah-dee-fucking-BLAH. And then, the next thing you know, they are shitting on sidewalks, or, in some cases, SHITTING THEMSELVES. During the race.

Seriously, when it comes to that point, it’s time for you to get a new fucking hobby.

Scumbags.

Your Insipid Little Jokes About My Injury

I have torn cartilage in my knee. It is an injury I sustained playing sports, and it is an injury that will require surgery to repair.

Because of that, until I actually have the surgery, I walk with a limp. Sometimes, if I know I have to do a lot of walking, I’ll bring a cane to lean on, to help with the limping.

The limp is enough to make people stare, add the cane into the equation, and it’s like I become a novelty that every fucking person in the world cannot resist making a crack to or about.

People of the world, I know you think you’re being clever and original, but, seriously:

The House reference has been made.
The Barbaro reference has been made.
The Tiny Tim reference has been made.
The Mr. Peanut reference has been made.
The Dr. Kerry Weaver reference has been made.

ANY FUCKING CHARACTER OR CELEBRITY YOU CAN THINK OF WHO WALKS WITH A CANE, I HAVE ALREADY FUCKING HEARD IT.

You’re not being original — if you were, you would be able to tell, because I would laugh, instead of giving you my patented LOOK OF DEATH — and seriously, it just isn’t really funny.

I’m in pain.
(I can’t even fucking sleep at night.)
I can’t do 99% of the things I like to do.
I feel incredibly fucking vulnerable.
(I’m a great target for muggers, right?)
MRIs and surgery are fucking expensive.

So let’s stop making a fucking joke about it, OK?

This Magazine Cover

Fuck fuck fuck. I don’t even know where to begin. This cover’s got me all pissed off. I mean, REALLY? REALLY? Two young girls licking an ICE CREAM CONE? Come on.

Ugh! At least Leighton (she’s the one on the right for all of you living under a big fucking rock) is having some fun with it. Her expression seems to say, “this is pretty friggin’ ridiculous but hey, I’m famous and cute and will just smile for the camera.” Meanwhile, Blake, who I actually REALLY want to like, didn’t get that same memo. Instead, she’s trying to be all sultry. And frankly, she looks fucking retarded. Here’s the deal: I’m aware when other women are doing things that are hot and I can appreciate (COUGH imitate) it. But this is just embarrassing and gross and insulting.And her boobs! Jesus.

And, talk about lowest common denominator. Really? THIS IS A MUSIC MAGAZINE. GOD DAMN IT.

FUCK.

How Facebook Thwarts My Misanthropy

Everyone and my mother are bitching about the new Facebook redesign. I keep hearing things like “It looks too much like Twitter!” and “I can’t find anything!” and “That sidebar sucks!”

I honestly don’t know or care whether those people have valid concerns — part of me thinks they’re just resistant to change, and well, that’s just too fucking bad for them. Technology moves forward.

What bothers me personally about the new redesign is the existence of one functionality but the lack of its polar opposite.

I’m talking about the little thumbs-up ‘Like’ button.

So if I make my status “is engaged!” or “is pregnant!” everyone has the option to comment or to like that statement. Fine. Get it.

Let’s say my status is “is going to need surgery” or “was in a car accident yesterday!” People have the same options – to comment, to or like it. But, and, forgive me for the capital letters: WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO ‘LIKE’ A STATEMENT ALONG THOSE LINES?

No one.
So why not have dislike functionality?
A little fucking ‘Thumbs Down’?
Why not?
Represent both sides.
Life isn’t always good and happy.
Bad stuff happens.
Also, some people suck and they write fucking stupid things.
So WHY THE FUCK do I have to like everything, Facebook?

(On a related note, think about how useful that ‘Dislike’ button would be when all your little stay-at-home mom friends start posting about how rewarding it is to be a mom! How cute the kids are! How blessed she and her husband are! How clever her child is! DISLIKE. DISLIKE. DISLIKE.)

That I Don’t Have a Dishwasher in My Apartment

I know. I shouldn’t have rented this place knowing it didn’t have a dishwasher, but when you’re moving across country, you don’t have a lot of time or options and sometimes, you sacrifice the dishwasher for a kickass view of the water. So fuck off.

Anyway, I’m stuck now in an apartment without a dishwasher and I have to tell you, I fucking hate it. It’s my duty to do the dishes after dinner (he cooks, I clean) and it is fucking RIDICULOUS that in the year 2009 I’m scrubbing utensils and plates in the goddamn sink. I get that I live in an old building with lots of period touches and blah blah blah but for the love of god, PUT IN A FUCKING DISHWASHER.

And while you’re at it, add a garbage disposal and a refrigerator that isn’t 3 feet tall too.

It’s 2009, people.

Idiot Doctors

Dear Doctors,

If one of my complaints is that I can’t hear, then something is wrong with my ears. If a patient comes in and tells you they can’t hear and then also tells you they have an EXTENSIVE history of ear problems, don’t you think this might deserve more than 2 seconds of investigation? You don’t see anything wrong with my ear? LOOK AGAIN!

And when you hand me a prescription, TELL ME WHAT IT’S FOR. It’s pretty fucking annoying that I had to ASK YOU what was wrong with me and why you were giving me medicine. And remind me again, why a person complaining of a cough and an earache NEEDS AN EKG? i mean, WHAT?

And my last comment — don’t ask me about my iPhone. And certainly don’t ask if you can HOLD my iPhone and then if you can TOUCH it! That’s correct folks, this doctor took my iphone and played with it for about 5 minutes. Fucker.

In conclusion, I’m never going back to that shoddy office again and I think you suck at your job.

Douche.

This Magazine Cover

I contemplated whether or not I should write this since I do like Jenna Fischer very much. But after going back and forth, I decided I fucking hated this cover so much I had to go off.

First of all, this photo looks NOTHING like Jenna. I’m not sure if it’s photo-shopping, fake tanning, or what, but she looks unrecognizable. Secondly, her teeth look weird, right? Or maybe I’ve just never seen her smile like that.  But I think what I hate the most are her eyes. She looks drugged out and half asleep. It’s just not flattering. I think my problem is, it’s nice when some of the more “real” actresses grace magazine covers instead of the Jennifer Anistons and Angelina Jolies all the time. But it’s almost like the magazine editors purposely fuck up those covers…

I mean, who ARE the editors who selected this photo for the cover? Were the hundreds of other shots THAT BAD that this one was indeed the best? I just don’t buy it.

Jenna, I think you’re great. Funny and endearing. But I hope you gave the magazine some slack for this photo, cause you look like shit.

(And by the way, where did they get that dress? Forever 21? It looks super cheap and crappy. And how many shades of purple can we squeeze onto the cover? 12? 13? Her shoes are shitty too. Man, I fucking hate this cover. And this magazine for that matter.)

Being Sick

Seriously, My Body — and forgive me if I come across as though I’ve lost my patience with you, but I HAVE — did I do something to offend you? I honestly can’t think of a single thing … I eat my fucking vegetables. I take you out for exercise pretty fucking regularly. I make sure you get a decent amount of sleep most nights of the week, I quit smoking and I (reluctantly) try to limit the number of nights I saturate you with wine.

So … what the fuck?

Why, for the past week, have I been a mess of post-nasal drip? Don’t get me wrong — for the first few days I didn’t mind the pool of mucus that collected in my gut and made me unable to stomach anything but toast. I’ll take dropping a few pounds any way I can get it.

But, it’s been a week.

Enough with the sore throat, enough with the runny nose and drippy mucus and cough and upset stomach. I am resting, I am taking medicine, I am drinking fluids and alternately starving and feeding you. I even took a sick day where I mostly rested and only did a tiny bit of work, and I can count on one of your fucking hands the number of times that’s happened in the past five years.

So what the fuck else do you want? (I know you don’t want the new ‘It’ Chanel nail polish color because I bought you that and you’re still pulling this mucus shit.) Do I have to actually get the mani-pedi before I feel the slightest bit better? No? What’ll it be then? A pony? A diamond tennis bracelet? Every book on my Amazon wish list?

Name it, and you got it, because I FUCKING HATE BEING SICK.

Streets With Untimed Lights

I mean seriously. I can’t tell you the amount of streets in SF that are completely fucked up in terms of light timing. The light turns green RIGHT as the next light, 20 feet down the road, turns red. And so on and so on. Van Ness? A nightmare. The Embarcadaro? Hellish. It’s so annoying.

I want to take all the civil engineers who work on all this stuff out back and kick their asses. Cause, it can’t be that hard. It just can’t. TIME THE FRIGGIN LIGHTS.

That’s all.