Shrine in the Ether

The Hobo Files

2009-09-25T06:52:00.009+08:00

Just posting to promote this spanking new humor site that's big on amusement. The blogger is a newly laid-off fashionista cum beauty junkie who is currently struggling to keep her Louboutins on amidst the recession.

Surprisingly, the blog is full of interesting articles with actual tips and tricks and useful insights on surviving the recent economic slump in style.

The latest story is on scam sites that desperate hobos like her tend to run to in desperation and that which do nothing but clean out their bank accounts further. A totally fun and enjoyable read! :D

Don't forget to pay for your laughs via Paypal (there's a link on the site). "Her Hoboness," as the writer refers to herself, is trying hard to entertain you while making ends meet, after all.

Enjoy!

http://herhoboness.blogspot.com/

Moving...Moving...Moving...

2007-02-23T19:40:00.000+08:00

...well not really...but you might want to check out my blog at MySpace...the posts come in tiny bite-sized pieces for people who only have like 30 seconds to read each of the 9876543456789876 daily posts in their friends' blog lists...

Same snarky goodness without the bulk...here ya go...

Here clicky clicky...

Enjoy the insanity!

o.O

yo Quiero Taco Bell... o.O

2007-01-04T15:17:00.000+08:00

Few things are more catastrophic, more wretched, more dire than having to go back to work after a rare break from the grind. Although 18 days of doing absolutely nothing seem like more than enough time to sufficiently recuperate from the tortures of the hellhole aka “the office,” it’s not at all enough to make up for the multiple near-heart attacks and aneurysms on “the job.”

Indeed, this is one of those moments when no matter how totally gross Paris Hilton’s crab-infested coochie may be, I’d seriously consider trading places with the world-renowned celebutard and consequentially inherit the offending baby-making factory if it means a lifetime of being rich and famous albeit for being a bumbling idiot.

Heck, I’d gladly don those tacky skin-tight leopard dresses and expose my love-flaps to my ~~disgusted~~ adoring public every chance I get. Knickers are overrated after all and could be gawddamn costly. The money saved from total abandonment of those flimsy overpriced undergarments could instead go to supporting ~~aspiring porn stars~~ starving orphans everywhere.

I’d even date her revolting boyfriends in all their puke-inducing glory. Seriously now… Nick Carter? Brandon Davis? Travis Barker? Stavros Niarchos? All that money and all she could find are horrid asshats with a built-in aversion to soap and water? But heck, I’d kiss them all if it means not having to work another day.

Gaaaah…

What am I saying wanting to be Paris Hilton? See? See how work is messing with my brain right now? x.x I’d sooner feast on mangrove worms doused in an icky concoction of ground exotic organisms but first lemme just find a chihuahua to stab work with… o.o

I Wanna Be a supermodel... o.o

2006-10-08T04:52:00.000+08:00

Found this in John Mayer's blog, don't ask...and I thought it would be fun to try... :P

Of Cars and Coke...

2006-08-31T16:43:00.000+08:00

August is almost over and I’m posting not because I ran into Johnny Depp through some clever twist of fate and want to make you guys jealous but because I don’t want a blank month in my blog archive. :P

Yes, I’m anal like that. This blog will be two years old next month after all. So yeah, despite the fact that my uber demanding work has single-handedly ensured that I would never live life as I know it again, it’s not gonna bring this blog down dammit… >:P

My readership nay have dwindled to a point where my only visitors have been pervs on the prowl for Clemence Poesy’s nakedness or just nakedness in general but hey, that might come useful for when I decide to turn this blog into an online sex shop or something. Who knows? I might clinch Lindsay Lohan as a loyal customer. I heard she’s a major vibe connoisseur. O.o

So yeah, aside from having dinner twice in one weekend at the same hawker center with pseudo-celeb, F1 commentator Steve Slater and former racecar driver, Chris Goodwin, there’s really nothing else to write home about. The table convo was about what else? Cars. And although I can relate, there’s not much I can contribute unfortunately so I just launched into a monologue on my love affair with Coke Light instead. I blabbered at length about how I spilled a can full all over my TV set and after a cursory wipe down with a piece of cloth the TV still functioned properly! Yep, no sticky residues whatsoever. It’s miraculous stuff!

Chris feigned interest and asked about whether you can really use Coke to clean a bowl and I said yes and even lick it off after. They all gave me a curious look and I giggled like a drunk school girl hoping someone would fart to divert everyone’s attention. And what do you know? Someone did! But alas, the farting sound was just coming from my sweaty thigh plop plopping on the plastic chair. o.O How fun…

Fuck Me Dead... o.O

2006-07-19T18:36:00.000+08:00

Just when you think you’ve seen the worst of them, you’re proven wrong.

MTV, whose name is becoming more and more of a misnomer with every passing day as they continue to flood the channel with more brainless reality shows and features rather than music as it was originally intended, just outdid itself in certifiable idiocy with a show called “My Own (insert name of effing celebrity you want to fuck the brains out of here).”

I’ve had the ~~dis~~pleasure of seeing the episode of a college coed maniacally obsessed with Justin Timberlake and who was looking for her own ~~shabby~~ version. Yep, that’s the basic framework of the program. Some crazy fanatic searches and settles for a wannabe because well, there’s simply no hope in hell to get the real thing. The funniest bit about it is that none of the potential wannabes come even close to a mudpost modeled after the desired celeb. Heck, the six guys who were competing to become the crazy girl’s own Justin for instance all looked every kind of wrong.

But hey, there’s a silver lining to the nimbu-cumulus cloud, the boys were made to make total buffoons of themselves imitating Justin through funny-as-hell signing and dancing lessons especially for the last three standing who had to act out a Justin video complete with props, ridiculous affectations and such.

Now that’s entertainment if I’ve ever seen one. Never mind the ten IQ points or so that I lost in half an hour.

Borked Bits

2006-06-28T09:28:00.000+08:00

Talk about being borked with a capital “B”… o.O

Honeymoon at work is over…not that fumbling around like a zombie grappling with foreign concepts like “blacking tapes’ and “dumping music” (which I still don’t know how to do efficiently btw…) for roughly a couple of weeks can even be remotely considered a honeymoon, but anyway…

Pressure is fast mounting with my life, which I already don’t have enough of, set to take the backseat, or maybe even the trunk…at least in the next couple of months with a live triathlon coverage in the offing and a new motor sports magazine in the works. I’m no stranger to pressure having worked in the TV/film/video industry since time immemorial…er, just 5 years actually but hey, that’s substantial… kinda… O.o Still, there’s no worse feeling than being practically an hour-old duckling thrown in the lake and basically just left to either wimp out or waddle…god, it’s like the first day of school all over again and well it’s effing rattling! It doesn’t matter how confident you are or how experienced you may be, there’s just no escaping the jitters. I usually thrive in competition but I worry that I may be losing my edge…I’m thrashing madly about right now waddling the best way I can and managing to just barely break the surface. Wheee! Fun.

And like as if starting a new job isn’t stressful enough, I just had to have a huge falling out with a really good friend which makes matters just the way uh-huh uh-huh I like it - oh-so-screwed-up! But heck, like that’s a big surprise. As with everything else in my life it seems, I have a knack for totally fucked timing. I’m feeling crappy as hell right now like that time I grabbed a litter of fuzzy kittens by the ruff, and stabbed them to death one by one with a splintery wooden soup ladle and a rusty old spork… x.x

Uh, well no, I’ve never done anything like that at all but I just assume that if I did, this is prolly how I would feel – totally wretched! It’s like someone drove a nail through my heart and set my soul on fire. I would certainly be running to a priest, a rabbi or even just a hobo pretending to be god’s messenger of peace and love if I don’t know for a fact that I don’t have a soul. I donated it to charity, how’s that for irony? You think that maybe I can get a tax exemption for that?

PWNT! o.O

2006-06-17T02:03:00.001+08:00

You'd know that you've lived on this effing island long enough when your standards, specifically with men, just incontrollably freefalls. Indeed, the average member of the male population in this godforsaken isle is hideous beyond words. I'm quite convinced that every single one of them has been genetically modified, with their Y chromosomes changed to M - a perfect ode to Monobloc, that tacky ugly plastic furniture in all their craptastic goodness. Both have about the same vapid personality after all. o.O

So screw good looks, wit, charm, intrigue or maturity. You'd just have to settle for anyone, anyone at all who can speak proper english at least 80 percent of the time. Nevermind if he's only got half a head attached to a part elephant, part fruitfly body. It just has to do.

Should you somehow find yourself falling for someone whose idea of fun is hacking random websites declaring that it's PWNT, it's not your fault. Yes, he basically gets off on those horribly stupid flash presentation shite but hey, you gotta admit that that one called "Miko Miko Nurse" is a hoot in all it's seizure-lixored glory. At least his first flash attempt had been about you, one that says he'd love you forever, stronger with each passing day and yes, it's prolly been lifted from one of 'em standard-issue greeting cards with their effing cliche verses and such swimming in a cesspool of sentimental clap-trap but whatever... Same goes for that song he wrote which says something about making love to you in the pouring rain... o.O Hey, it's geek-style romance and well, surely better than nothing.

You know you're fucked with a capital F though when he turns out to be much younger than you and hey y'all! He still lives with his mother! Whee! Life's great...NOT! >.<

Of Fucktards, Asshats and Such...

2006-06-03T20:09:00.000+08:00

Meh…the bane of the online journal…once you’ve acquired substantial readership, you can’t help but start fussing about the things you talk about for fear that the subjects in question would find out and make your life even more wretched than it already is. I’ve never really cared of course, at least not enough as to really hamper my blogging until now. Damn tech-savvy stalkers who can simply type in a few carefully selected search strings and easily find out everything about you from the name of the stinky boy in class who tried to kiss you when you were seven to the number of lurkers currently de-lurking on your forehead.

And of course, it doesn’t help that I’m a cam-whore who plasters my silly mug everywhere I could. Well, not exactly, but I do have a pic in my profile that will confirm to certain creepy crawlies that they are in fact, the miserable rat finks I’m referring to. O.o

So yeah, I’d love to rant about the asshat who showed me his ‘nakedness’ (his own words) against my will (yep, I’m scarred for life), the bastard who stopped talking to me the moment he realized I’m not interested in friendship with benefits and the racist fucktard who just sent my entire career careening down the drain, but I can’t so I won’t.

Don’t worry, I’m currently in the process of planning what will be their uh, ‘accidental demise’ but unfortunately, I can’t probably document even that for obvious reasons. o.o

Overheard in a Chatroom:

“You are nothing but a wadded up tissue in the asshairs of society!!!”

Seriously, someone give the guy an award for witty word-smithing. ;)

How to Lose 10 lbs in 10 Seconds

2006-05-27T01:37:00.000+08:00

Wow. Seriously, how can anyone effing go from dangerously obese to hard body in all of four months? 0.o

Janet Jackson has see-sawed from hippo to hotbod throughout the years and I’ve frankly always suspected that she’s just got some ultra-talented surgeon who simply carves through her rolls and rolls of fat with robotic precision using a couple of bread knives and gets her in shape in like under two minutes just in time for an album launch or whatever.

I mean, I can run like a hamster on a wheel 24/7 for a full year and still register a 10-lb gain at the end of the exercise. My body is just genetically built to gain an ounce at the mere sight of food and it doesn’t even matter if it’s broccoli or frozen peas. Never mind that I try to workout regularly and practically subsist on a diet of water and oxygen most days. What can I say? I’m just too lazy to get anything decent to eat. But when I do get the energy, I can fleece out an entire fast food outlet. But isn’t that the point of working out though?

Should all else fail in the quest to lose the extra luggage though, I can always cut off an arm, ya? Now there’s a plan B if I’ve ever had one.

XXX

2006-05-24T03:34:00.000+08:00

If you’re one of many who come here to look for nude photos of Kataharine McPhee, shoo, shoo, you won’t find ‘em here. But if you’re not picky or just otherwise pervy, then this should prolly be good enough for you…

Wheee! Look at me! I’m naked!

Yes, yes I’m just soooo goddamn awesome, I know…e-mail me for the address where you can have the flowers delivered. It wouldn’t hurt to add a check, too.

So yeah, life pretty much still sucks stale bananas but on the plus side, I finally got my hair to turn purple. Well actually, make that purplish to be exact but hey, I’m not complaining…it’s about the biggest accomplishment I’ve made in the last couple of weeks so, yay me.

Bump in the Night

2006-05-15T00:05:00.000+08:00

A striped grey and black cat jumped onto my bed rudely interrupting my pleasant romp in la la land. I nudged it lightly with my left foot to one side and buried my face into my pillow trying to salvage any vestiges of sleep. But then, a searing pain stirred me up a second time and I saw the feline nibbling fiercely on my toes. I was about to kick it to oblivion when suddenly the cat turned into some kind of komodo dragon/alligator hybrid. The monstrous creature then opened its mouth wide and looked like it would swallow me whole but before it could, I snapped into consciousness this time for real.

I haven’t remembered any of my dreams in what seems like years, and the first time I did it runs like a low-budget horror movie? Gosh. What does this say about my subconscious really? The cat didn’t even look like a real cat but some stuffed animal, possibly a giraffe, doctored to resemble one. The monster itself looked like something straight out of Monsturd as well not that I would know for sure since I never even knew that such a movie existed but anyway…

My subconscious could have at least supplied some awesome special effects such as believable blood and gore for instance. I mean, I think I saw ketchup oozing from my severed toes and well, that’s just scuzzy. And the whole scene could have happened somewhere else other than my bedroom, you know? The only thing even remotely interesting about my bedroom is the dust bunny accumulating under the bed in the shape of Abe Lincoln…Seriously, I’d really rather not remember my dreams next time if it’s going to be this goddamn crappy.

Mug-nanimous!

2006-04-28T13:01:00.000+08:00

I was doing an image search on River Phoenix and this baby turned up. And I didn’t even type in the word ‘dead’ in my search string.

click pretty River to see puke-worthy River…but only if you have the stomach for it…consider yourself forewarned

How effing sick is that?

Sure, having mugs of celebrities on er, mugs is not a new concept but dead mugs of dead celebrities on your coffee mug? Brutal. Still, I’d say someone give Shovelware an award for the most original retail idea. I don’t imagine them fielding orders by the hundreds or even just the tens on any given day but it takes a totally fucked up mind to hatch an idea that sick. I only wish there’s a Kurt Cobain and Michael Hutchence one, too. I’d buy 6 of each and then throw a nice tea/coffee party. Lovely. Just lovely.

Frank Was Clearly on to Something...

2006-04-24T18:35:00.000+08:00

First, the birth of the Anti-Christ and now, Kimi coming in 5th at Imola. What the fuck is wrong with the world??? Is the end really upon us?

I rushed home to catch the last third of yesterday’s F1 race in Italy to find effing Schumi leading the pack with friggin’ Alonso close behind. Having absolutely no sleep, and by NO I mean not even a wink, working my ass off since Friday night, it wasn’t exactly the reward I was looking for. Hell, I was tired, and after working with a pervy asswipe all weekend a victory would have been great, Kimi…geez Apparently, he had a poor start and everything just tumbled from there. To make things worse effing JPM finished ahead of him, too….aaaargh!!!

It’s a good thing I’m still too knackered to care too much or the end would be coming too little too soon for sure.

You’re Cordially Invited to a Bomb-Shelter Party

2006-04-20T10:16:00.000+08:00

Happy day! I have a humongous lurker that de-lurked literally overnight right at the center of my effing forehead…Wheeee!!! How could you not love this life? I really could do cartwheels right now. As this is most likely one of the signs of the impending apocalypse, I named the bloody thing Suri, in honor of the Anti-Christ, of course. Xenu would be rather pleased.

Of course I should know better than to stay up all night dodging horny slags, playing trivia games and getting brainwashed by a young evil genius poised for world domination but hey, my sanity is currently doing a country jig with the Easter Bunny so cut me some slack.

I’m itching to pop the friggin’ spot with a rusty blood-stained ice pick or something but I’m just way too stressed lately that I would probably drive the damn thing right through my brain and perform an accidental lobotomy…but hey, a self-trepanation should be cool albeit unoriginal.

God, I need more sleep.

Live Evil Vile

2006-04-18T14:17:00.000+08:00

You Are 52% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.

Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

Bleeech…

How pathetic is this? And I thought I might be right up there with Hannibal Lecter and the Green Goblin in wickedness…I couldn't possibly be just on the way to world domination. I created the concept for heaven's sake! My alter ego, Shego is walking around with a paper bag over her head right now...tsk, tsk…excuse me while I catch a hundred cute fuzzy little bunnies and burn them in a ditch…

Purple Haze

2006-04-12T14:57:00.000+08:00

There goes my traveling circus dreams…

I dyed my hair purple and it turned out inky black…wow. I just can’t seem to do anything right nowadays…even idiot-proof DIY kits turn out to be catalysts for disasters of apocalyptic proportions. Yes, not having my hair the way I want it is right up there with effing Tom Cruise spawning the anti-Christ with his vapid bride in the catastrophe scale, even when we all know that that constantly shape-shifting bump is a friggin’ pillow carefully stuffed and lovingly hand sewn by a village of beautiful young virgins exclusively fed with fine ambrosia and honey.

That my friend, cannot possibly be human...
(click for a closer look)

Actually, I wouldn’t venture so far as to say that my hair turned out to be as tragic as the tragedy that is Tom Cruise. No, the maniac is certainly on a special league of tragic all his own. My gothic ‘do meanwhile is almost likable if I had the pasty white skin and the multiple facial piercings to go with it but hey, I’m someone who uses tanning oil as a regular moisturizer and who’s been looking high and low for a labret small enough to go undetected at work to no avail so no… murky mop + tanned skin + lack of facial hardware = do not a goth make.

I look more like an exotic islander and we all know ‘exotic’ is but a euphemism for strange. The same way monkey brains and bull testicles as delicacies are. And you know you wouldn’t want it if someone compared you to either. So yeah, another failed project and counting. I guess I shouldn’t make any plans of piercing my own tongue or something.

ELLE Stinko!

2006-04-11T14:52:00.000+08:00

It’s a sad, sad day for all of humanity. Okay, I’m being effingly over-dramatic but it’s a sad day for me anyway because I just found out that ELLEgirl magazine will cease to exist after its June/July issue. This, in spite of a solid track record in terms of ad sales and readerships. The publisher, Hachette Filipacchi Media US, said something about teens now looking for alternative media and all that shit so it intends to just keep the magazine’s online counterpart and develop this exactly like the printed edition.

Great. I generally hate reading 4,000-word articles off the computer screen and I don’t really know of anyone who would so willingly subject themselves to the optical version of the Chinese water torture so I don’t really understand this move. Unless they’re planning on peppering the site with lots of pictures of Orlando Bloom in various states of undress then I wouldn’t even be barely interested…plus, I like having stacks and stacks of what my mom calls “fire hazard” in my room. It would most likely lessen my chances of survival in case of a disaster but anyway…

As a former International Contributing Editor to the publication, I do have a reason to be moved. I remember picking up the first issue of ELLEgirl with Julia Stiles on the cover and after scouring through it, thinking how totally rad and fresh it was. The magazine had a sophisticated, cosmopolitan perspective that was unheard of in teen monthlies at the time or even now save for Teen VOGUE which came in much later. I should know because despite being out of my teens for a while now, I have kept my subscription to at least 5 teen titles since.

I don’t know but I enjoy reading teen magazines more than any supposedly targeted to my age group with the exception of JANE and VOGUE. I couldn’t care less about cheesy relationship tips, skanky sex articles and “grown-up” fashion pages devoid of personality and would much rather flip through pages and pages of fun, quirky clothes and feel nostalgic about the usual teen theatrics. So anyway, I immediately sent in my credentials to then editor Brandon Holley (now with JANE) which led to more or less a two-year gig with the publication.

maiden issue

Contributing to ELLEgirl on the side was an almost improbable feat as I was also a full-time TV producer at the time. Friday nights were especially hellish as you’re basically forced to cramp three days worth of production in a single night because it was supposed to be a five-day work week but hell, broadcasting did not stop on weekends so you still had to prepare all the materials that were to air. The grind, which starts at 10 or 11 on Friday morning usually finished at 2 or 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday, with barely any rest in between. It was a hamster on a wheel kind of thing.

Despite this bloody schedule, I somehow managed to squeeze in my journalistic duties. I would just briefly reacquaint with my bed and then prepare to hit the watering holes in the city where the young, hip and beautiful hung out and took pictures of spiffy clotheshorses that prowled about. The funny thing is I missed practically all of the deadlines that none of my pictures ever made it to print. The only proof of my association was my name that consistently appeared on the masthead. That was good enough for me.

And as it happened, I wasn’t Superman after all and I had to drop some gigs despite my best efforts. I’ve always made a mental note to go beg ELLEgirl for an ICE post again albeit one I never got the chance to do and apparently never will.

Typical. Oh, well.

Knackered to Smithereens

2006-04-10T18:24:00.000+08:00

Who knew sporting Louis Vuittons can be anything but chic? Before all you rabid fashionistas stone me to death however, allow me to explain…LVs are never good worn under your eyes. Unless you’re auditioning for the remake of the Night of the Living Dead then no, dark circles and bloodshot eyes are not covetable. Surely, being able to fit say, Jupiter into these humongous pieces of under eye luggage could be a world record feat, but it’s probably not how I’d like to go down in the annals of humanity…

…On second thought, what the heck? Sign me up for the challenge; it might be my best shot yet.

So anyway, I can just barely manage to breathe and blink at the same time so although I have planned a long-winded discussion on er, The Politics of Pathology and the Making of 'Gender Identity Disorder' for my post today (ahem) my entire physiology has somehow been reduced to the basics of breath-blink-yawn-repeat. And yep, even that is decidedly tiresome. So until I get some shut eye and blood in my coffee stream, you’d have to make do with this bagel on a plateful of tequila worms.

JPM: Just Pathetic, Mainly

2006-04-07T11:33:00.000+08:00

Okay, I’ve already posted my fortnightly F1 blabber and one more is probably one too many especially since a lot of my readers are apparently more interested in JD Fortune, declamation pieces, and nude pictures of Cleménce Poésy or of any other entity in a skirt – inanimate or otherwise - for that matter, at least judging from this site’s visitors’ log.

But what the hell, I’d traverse F1 territory anyway because this is just too good to pass. To McLaren driver, Juan Pablo Montoya, I have four words for you, mate: Shut the fuck up.

The underachieving fucktard is apparently bitter because team mate Kimi Räikkönen is literally eclipsing what little success he’s been able to manage in a year and 3 races with the team.

You weren’t in a position to challenge for the title last year? Well, guess what? You still do not register in the F1 value meter. Haha! You are so a non-threat that despite being in the fastest car in the circuit no one takes you seriously because you’re the only one who can spin uncontrollably during a friggin’ parade lap (aside from Alex Yoong that is who infamously spun three times in a single race…but at least, he was actually racing at the time). How totally embarrassing is that? Nothing compared to Coulthard running into the wall entering the pit, I’d say and David actually has a decent record to speak of so it can be dismissed merely as a blip.

JPM sucking donkey balls, as usual

And puh-leeze, you better be thankful that Kimi has lots of offers from other teams because that way, at least you have some glimmer of hope to keep your McLaren seat not that Ron Dennis would want to give it to you, really. He’d have to be out of his mind after you basically sabotaged the team’s chances at a world championship last year both with your ineptness and petty jealousy. Go back to racing champ cars or something or just seal your effing piehole at the very least.

And yes, I should probably stop now before any of Juan Pablo’s cronies start flooding my inbox with hate mails then try and hunt me down…thank god he’s not Clay Aiken or I would be off to the CIA requesting for an identity change right this minute. Repeat after me: Claymates are rabid. You wouldn’t want to mess with them.

So yeah, as a wise person once said (read: moi) “Put your money where your mouth is,” asshole.

Of Pez Dispensers, Kangaroos and Selling Your Soul to the Devil...

2006-04-03T11:25:00.000+08:00

Aw, poor Kimi.

He looked so dejected at the end of yesterday’s Australian GP that I just wanted to hug him and give him an ice lolly. He finished second in the race less than 2 seconds behind eventual winner Fernando Alonso but he’s the kind of guy who’s never happy with second best, you know? I’m the kind of bitch who likes getting what I think I deserve, too so I’m rather sympathetic.

As always, Kimi could easily have won this GP but what do you know? Luck is as much a factor as talent is. He lost part of the endplate of his car’s nose and struggled to keep up with Alonso since. Fine, he made a little mistake locking up and flat-spotting his right front tire while overtaking Button but c’mon now, Schumi, who sold his soul to the devil, had been able to overcome worse gaffes than that, precisely because he sold his soul, yes. His contract with the unhallowed king has apparently expired though as he totally lost control and slammed into the wall entering the home straight around lap 33. God, call me a sadist but I truly, totally enjoyed that, definitely the highlight of the race. Although I would have liked it more if it were Fernando Alonso, instead.

A Happy, Happy Sight!

Oh, I don’t know, I totally adore Fernando, in fact, I have the shirt to prove it haha, but his cocky attitude of late is really irking me quite a bit. Probably irrational on my part but I can’t exactly decide how to feel now, can I? Right now, all I know is I want to whack him in the head with a Brokeback Mountain Pez Dispenser. Whack you, Alonso, I don’t need to see your goofy (albeit amusing) impression of a “kangaroo.”

So anyway, at least Kimi and Mc Laren are actually in a much better position at this stage compared to last year when the silver arrow’s reliability was suspect. At least, the MP4-21 is looking to be a hardier, more capable machine than the pathetic bucket of bolts that preceded it in the past couple of years. Yeah, I’d say the future still looks promising for the team. I’d like to see them kick ass in three week’s time at Imola.

Idolholics Anonymous

2006-04-02T16:10:00.000+08:00

Is it so wrong that I’d marry Elliot Yamin in a heartbeat? The boy sings so beautifully that I can almost forget that he looks like an extra in Planet of the Apes with his oversized ears and severe hairline. Well, almost.

Also, I have this burning desire to kick Kellie Pickler on the face with the force of a thousand raging bulls. The girl’s dumb blonde act is just excruciating. I say that anyone over 16 who doesn’t know what a minx or calamari is, cannot pronounce “salmon” properly and has to seriously ask “What’s a ballsy?” like as if the word is a noun in an irritatingly cutesy manner, ought to be shot in the middle of Times Square and then trampled over by oncoming traffic.

And why is it that every time Ace Young comes up on screen I suddenly get major cravings for a hunk of gouda? His tacky affectations produce enough cheese that could top a couple million party-sized pizzas the world over and with a little something left over for a few boxes of wheat crackers…Absolutely the last thing I need is a Constantine knock-off with a creepier aura...

So yeah, it’s American Idol season once again, the time when every shred of my sanity goes flying out the window. Just like last year, I find myself carefully if not obsessively planning my activities around the show’s broadcast schedules. Absolutely no event, not a life-threatening moment, nothing short of an impromptu date with Kimi Räikkönen would get in between me and AI. Actually on second thought, I might just cancel on Kimi should our tryst happen to fall on the same day as an AI broadcast. Oh god, I’m so torn…

I don’t know why I do this to myself though knowing how I’m compelled to hurl myself out the window every time I hear Paris Bennett’s baby talk which is an abhorrent cross between Marge Simpson’s emphysemic rasp of a voice and The Nanny’s off-kilter, screech. Seriously, for the love of everything that is fucked up and unholy someone shut the hell Paris up! Her mouth ought to be duct taped tight to be opened only right before she performs. A stage-hand then should club her in the head afterwards to render her unconscious before she could say anything at all. This simple procedure would most certainly reduce suicide rates all over the world by at least a few points and significantly lessen Prozac consumption as well. Yeah, it will be a happier, rosier world, all in all, I’m positive.

Then there’s Mandisa who is making me fat. I mean I already don’t have the fittest of bodies to begin with but all I need to do is see her on TV and I immediately think I could afford to gobble up a whole tub of Ben & Jerry’s and half a dozen Krispy Kremes in one sitting! I mean, I look like Nicole Richie next to her, and it’s totally clouding my judgment. I swear I might just decide to sue.

And Bucky whose unintelligible drawl brought back awful memories of when I first started to settle in this country…when people would say things like “My phone is spoilt…” or “The toilet is choked…” and I honestly couldn’t make sense of the statement whatsoever. I mean it’s not exactly standard usage unless it’s a deliberate attempt at personification, you know? Indeed, AI is affecting my psyche in horrible, horrible ways…

Just the other night, Katharine McPhee’s hideous, hideous ensemble gave me a severe headache that not even Vicodin could remedy. A pretty face and an army of stylist and all they can do is make her look like an effing trapeze artist? Whoa. Just whoa.

And Taylor always seems to be having some kind of attack…like some alien civilization is sending him encrypted messianic messages through jolts of electric currents throughout his body from some faraway galaxy…It’s quite concerning especially since he also looks like he is at least forty. He could be having an infarction for all I know!

But as Simon said, “Thank god for Chris Daughtry!” There’s just no way I could endure up to two full hours of ghastly 70s disco tunes, inane country numbers and sub-par Xtina imitations if not for Chris’ delightfully intense, very current performances. The guy has a voice that literally sends shivers down the spine. Very raw, very powerful. It just grips you throughout and leaves you wanting more. Although he is very talented, heaven forbid he wins AI though. Have you seen what happened to Bo? And Bo didn’t even win. I was never a fan of Sugar Money’s (Bo’s pre-AI band) music but I do recognize that the guy has a gift. But whatever gift he had has sure been wasted on the bland, cookie-cutter stuff he’s currently churning out.

But whatever…all I know is that I’d never want to see Chris wearing that atrocious oversized polo shirt, jeans combo outfit he supposedly wears for his Customer Service work. It makes about as much sense as a fruit fly on ice skates…so yeah, will Fuel just hire him as their front man already?

Fortune Rocks

2006-03-29T18:54:00.000+08:00

So, I was randomly flipping through the cable TV channels the other night and was stopped dead on my tracks by a glossy music video by some band that sounded rather familiar but which I couldn’t immediately recognize. The video used a mosaic technique that shifted from scene to scene in quick flashes and alternated between tight and long angles coupled with an intermittent lighting scheme that made it difficult to identify the band members in those short moments when they were visible on screen.

The lead vocalist’s voice had an overt sensuality to it that totally reminded me of Michael Hutchence of INXS fame and come to think of it, I thought the music was rather reminiscent of INXS itself with its preppy, classic pop rock beats. Imagine my surprise when the video credits finally came on listing the song as “Pretty Vegas” by INXS indeed! Whoa. Just unreal.

From this…

The new hit song which apparently debuted at #37 on the Billboard Charts sometime November of last year (why I hadn’t heard of this song before now is a testament to my apparent hermit crabbiness at the moment…) has been penned by the new lead singer himself, JD Fortune, whose scruffy/prim look does draw parallels to the late Hutchence who oozed animal appeal despite being kind of femme. JD decidedly rocks the eyeliner look, too and that’s all that matters if you ask me.

To this…

Anyway, I never followed Rockstar: INXS, the reality show that brought JD and the band together. I didn’t really think INXS would be able to find a replacement who could hold a candle to Hutchence’s legacy but turns out I was wrong. As a long time fan of INXS (not the biggest of ‘em although rather familiar with the band’s work), I must say I approve of JD Fortune taking over the vacuum Michael left some 8 years ago. For a vegetarian and a former Elvis impersonator who lived in his car prior to this gig, JD sure is kind of cool.

Heartbreak!

2006-03-21T01:47:00.000+08:00

I was in Sepang roasting in the 35ºC heat but not minding the blisters that were beginning to form everywhere on my sweat-soaked body because that day, I was to witness Kimi Räikkönen repeat his 2003 feat at the Malaysian GP.

I see you…

He qualified 7th on Saturday and although that may not seem at all impressive, it was good enough for me. After all, this is a guy who has once driven from 17th on the grid to the Championship in Suzuka and just last week in Bahrain, from 22nd place to 3rd. So, yeah, he can do anything short of walking on water and maybe even that if he’s just a little bit lucky, that is. And well, he’s just not. And I can so totally relate because there I was having to elbow my way through the disastrous shuttle service system in the circuit fighting my way through a bunch of giant, smelly men and sweating like a 300 lb Hell’s Angel myself in the punishing humid conditions and what do you know? Kimi raced all of 30 seconds, then was clipped at the back by Christian Klien by the time he reached Turn 5 and was immediately sent spinning off the track with a broken rear suspension. And just like that, his race – and mine - was over.

Get ready for (non) action...

The disappointment tainted the air like lethal nerve gas, at once killing the enthusiasm of most everyone in attendance. I felt particularly bad for the large Finnish delegation but not as much as I do for myself being so prepared for the occasion waving my Finnish flag, ready for some action. Heck, I never even got to see Kimi pass by, save for the parade lap which I hardly saw. I happened to be by the hilltop at turn 11 and although I had a good view of Turns 1 and 2, Turn 5 was unfortunately out of sight.

Damn you Klien, damn you for ruining my perfect race weekend. Well, I think I’m being punished for my unfaithfulness to McLaren, for being such a whore buying a Fernando Alonso tank top before the race started even when his fame is currently annoying me to no end. Well, all Kimi merchandise save for a few key rings have apparently sold out long before race day so you see, I really didn't have a choice and yeah, I quite rocked the blue and yellow.

Hurts so Good

2006-02-26T01:50:00.000+08:00

Oasis is mostly known nowadays as a bunch of pissy divas (well, only Liam and Noel Gallagher actually but Liam & Noel = Oasis so that justifies qualifying the whole band as such…) who haven’t released anything fabulous since Definitely Maybe and (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? At least, not fabulous enough for a band that has pompously proclaimed itself as “the biggest rock and roll band in the world.” So just what was I thinking when I so willingly shelled out 100 bucks to see the Singapore leg of their current tour?

First-off, the crowd was iffy with tweeners composing one half and geriatrics, the other, complete with a woman apparently in her sixties clad in Oscar-worthy finery. I know, what the fuck? And when the band came out 45 minutes later than scheduled dressed in what looked like bland $15.77 Wal-mart buttondowns, everyone just continued to stand there, like they’re deep in concentration contemplating the answer to the Kato Conjecture. Well, I have news for you guys, it has been solved by Steve Hofmann so just ask him for the answer, okay?

Really now, the whole thing was a horrid, smaller-scale repeat of the effing Siloso beach NYE party (see “Beach Splash”). The crowd was drier than airplane air that I swear God, Allah, Shiva, Buddha or however you call him, could have swooped down the stage and performed an Ashley Simpson jig and no one would have batted an eye!

Divalicious!

Second-off, not being big on showmanship themselves, Oasis also just basically stood there as well, Liam leaning on the mic stand in a half squat that couldn’t have been comfortable, singing a series of analogous non-hits that totally reminded me of Bone Thugs N’ Harmony. Hello, E 1999 Eternal? This album is about the most monotonous ever recorded in the entire history of music recording. The friggin’ record contains 17 songs each with a different title but which nonetheless all sound the same.

My carpool-mate in college used to play this effing record and sang along with it with unwavering enthusiasm throughout the two-hour drive to school every goddamn awful day! I have contemplated whacking him in the head repeatedly with the CD case until he got a hint…or bled to death, whichever came first, but I didn’t have a license, still don’t, so what’s a girl to do but stick with the rule that says not to harm the hands that drive the cradle or something like that? On the upside, I bet that with hypnosis, I can subliminally recite the lyrics to the whole album, especially “Tha Crossroads” (and we pray, and we pray, and we pray, everyday, everyday, everyday…) which I’m sure you would agree, is really kind of cool…the same way being able to read a book upside down or reciting the alphabet backwards is…yep, I can be such a dork and don’t you just love it, love it, love it?

So anyway, despite my best efforts to make the whole facsimile of a sham of a concert by supposedly the best rock and roll band in the world worth it, I found out that dancing like mad and howling like crazy simply do not cut it in a crowd full of zombies. The woman in the gown actually turned to me at one point and shushed me. Shushed me! In a rock concert! For real!

Nearly an hour of completely indistinguishable songs later, Oasis finally accepted that most of their new materials are crap and started to perform real songs beginning with Champagne Supernova followed by their biggest hit, Wonderwall. But then all of a sudden, the lights went out and next thing I know, the band has left the stage. Whada??? Of course, there was an encore, all of a couple of forgettable singles and my most favorite Oasis song, yes, I do have a favorite, Don’t Look Back in Anger for the finale. Then they’re off the stage again, this time for good.

Last time I checked, a concert lasts 2-3 hours long so yeah, can you say total rip-off? I practically heard my money wailing when I parted with it at the ticket booth. I should have heeded its pleas. But then again, money and me is a pairing as tragic as chocolate cake and gravy or Tom and Katie. So, it's all for the best I guess.