3 posts tagged “shame”
Lessons Learned From Finals Period #1
When the sun is coming up and you've been up for 24 hours, Baba O'Riley takes on a lot of surprisingly emotional qualities*. Needless to say, you will be humiliated by this "revelation" after you get a full eight hours of sleep.
* HINT: They involve lots of soft swaying and enthusiastic air drums.
Sturm and drang from Cam'ron. In which two long-parted lovers, played by Journey and motherfucking Gangsta Rap, are reunited in heartbreaking and glorious song. And people say culture is dead.
The Devil Wears Prada; Lauren Weisberger
Bitch gets a job in New York City. Bitch bitches. Incessantly. Featuring, the most unlikeable heroine since Atlas Shrugged!
So let's not kid ourselves. We all know why we read chick-lit. We read it for a cheap, easy time, preferably swapping out themes of (A) depression, (B) big words, and (C) sweeping Moral Implications and replacing them with (A) I GOT TWO BOYS AFTER MY COOCH. WHAT TO DO, (B) AND THEN WE FUCKED UNTIL, LIKE, ONE OF MY EYES POPPED OUT, and (C) SO I HAVE TO LOSE FOUR POUNDS.
Now Lauren Weisberger is a Queen amongst chick-lit girls so she tackles all of the above. She misses FUCKING UNTIL BODILY HARM, but makes up for it with pure, trashy excess. There's tepid, hand-wringing angst about romance, frivolous use of the drink, fabulous clothing, and enough shameless name-dropping to bring Patrick Bateman to tears.
Weisberger's missing only one thing! Unfortunately for her, it's a very important thing. Girl's gone and forgotten to include a cast with any merit whatsoever. Weisberger's Big Apple is populated with three kinds of people: (a) a shrieking, limp-wristed, hand-flapping army of Homosexual Agendas (b) the glitteratti, who are, without fail, thin, chic, glamorous,and dumber than a lab dog, and finally (c) the hired, no-speaky-speaky, ethnically-ambiguous help. And ruling amongst Gotham's gormless denizens is our narrator, Andrea Sachs.
Weisberger desperately wants Andrea -- no, Andy -- to be funny, self-aware, clever and down-to-earth, all while keeping on this side of neurotic; not the "debilitating and crazy" neurotic, but "fun, quirky and Jewish" neurotic.Think of a Woody Allen style glamour. Well somewhere along the way, she screwed up because Andy comes out as a melodramatic, shrieking, self-absorbed, JAP-harpy. Petty, superior, inexplicably judgmental, and cloyingly self-pitying, Andrea is just begging to get dragged by the hair behind a screaming, horse-riding Cossack.
Well, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and the Cossack's name is Miranda Preistly. Now, I know Miranda's supposed to be every Boss from Hell we hated. Belittling, cruel, and inhuman, she's a perfect bitch. And it is beautiful, heart-stirring entertainment to see her swing a wrecking ball through Andy's precious self-esteem. Come for the promise of a dirty, shameful romp through the lower echelons of the English language (seriously? I pretty much put a book cover over my copy when I went out in public. My name is... snob), but stay to watch a 70-pound lady systematically brutalize and dismember an unlikeable douchebag's soul.
Bitch gets a job in New York City. Bitch bitches. Incessantly. Featuring, the most unlikeable heroine since Atlas Shrugged!
So let's not kid ourselves. We all know why we read chick-lit. We read it for a cheap, easy time, preferably swapping out themes of (A) depression, (B) big words, and (C) sweeping Moral Implications and replacing them with (A) I GOT TWO BOYS AFTER MY COOCH. WHAT TO DO, (B) AND THEN WE FUCKED UNTIL, LIKE, ONE OF MY EYES POPPED OUT, and (C) SO I HAVE TO LOSE FOUR POUNDS.
Now Lauren Weisberger is a Queen amongst chick-lit girls so she tackles all of the above. She misses FUCKING UNTIL BODILY HARM, but makes up for it with pure, trashy excess. There's tepid, hand-wringing angst about romance, frivolous use of the drink, fabulous clothing, and enough shameless name-dropping to bring Patrick Bateman to tears.
Weisberger's missing only one thing! Unfortunately for her, it's a very important thing. Girl's gone and forgotten to include a cast with any merit whatsoever. Weisberger's Big Apple is populated with three kinds of people: (a) a shrieking, limp-wristed, hand-flapping army of Homosexual Agendas (b) the glitteratti, who are, without fail, thin, chic, glamorous,and dumber than a lab dog, and finally (c) the hired, no-speaky-speaky, ethnically-ambiguous help. And ruling amongst Gotham's gormless denizens is our narrator, Andrea Sachs.
Weisberger desperately wants Andrea -- no, Andy -- to be funny, self-aware, clever and down-to-earth, all while keeping on this side of neurotic; not the "debilitating and crazy" neurotic, but "fun, quirky and Jewish" neurotic.Think of a Woody Allen style glamour. Well somewhere along the way, she screwed up because Andy comes out as a melodramatic, shrieking, self-absorbed, JAP-harpy. Petty, superior, inexplicably judgmental, and cloyingly self-pitying, Andrea is just begging to get dragged by the hair behind a screaming, horse-riding Cossack.
Well, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and the Cossack's name is Miranda Preistly. Now, I know Miranda's supposed to be every Boss from Hell we hated. Belittling, cruel, and inhuman, she's a perfect bitch. And it is beautiful, heart-stirring entertainment to see her swing a wrecking ball through Andy's precious self-esteem. Come for the promise of a dirty, shameful romp through the lower echelons of the English language (seriously? I pretty much put a book cover over my copy when I went out in public. My name is... snob), but stay to watch a 70-pound lady systematically brutalize and dismember an unlikeable douchebag's soul.
