Pfsht. You don’t know?
Your Facebook Status Makes You Look Stupid January 20, 2009
Something quite noteworthy about the Facebook phenomenon is the ubiquitous Facebook status. Occasionally, I have found myself thinking in Facebook status mode, i.e. the voice in my head will say something like, “Elli has no clean underwear and needs to do her laundry like ASAP. Updated just a moment ago.”
What really boggles my mind is the number of people who are willing to share their private business via Facebook status. I’m talking about the emotional baggage that no one wants to hear about, being dragged out onto the wwwdot for everyone to read. It seems that these divulgers may have forgotten one teeny little detail, though: FACEBOOK IS ON THE INTERNET. THE INTERNET IS PUBLIC. If your personal life is in the pits and you Facebook-status that shit, it is highly likely that people will indeed read it. And chances are, no one will pity you when your status is something like this:
Margaret Thatcher* is over it, once again…and for sure this time. 3 minutes ago - Comment
Margaret Thatcher, you look stupid. Foremost because you need the person you are getting over to read on Facebook that you are over him. This doesn’t really prove that you are over him. If you were over it, wouldn’t your status be something like this: “Margaret Thatcher doesn’t see a cloud in the sky!”? Also, the “and for sure this time” bit fully shoots down any legitimacy that this status ever had. Sorry, Thatch.
Let’s look at some more examples, shall we?
Winston Churchill* is upset that people who call themselves friends can’t be trusted. This does not apply to you four though. 22 minutes ago - Comment
Cyndi Lauper* is i rather have a few friends that are TRUE friends than a bunch of friends that just talk shit. 7 minutes ago - Comment
Why do Winston and Cyndi feel the need to bash their so-called friends over the internet? It sucks that you can’t trust your friends, but telling the world via Facebook is just irrational. What if these people were to apologize tomorrow? If that happened, Cyndi and Winston would have already immortalized these harsh feelings in their Facebook statuses. And, like Maggie, they look stupid making their relationship problems public on the internet. Also, Cyndi made a grammatical error in her status, which really isn’t getting her out of the virtual hole of shame she’s already dug herself into.
But I believe Helen Keller said it best with her status, updated 15 hours ago:
Helen Keller* hates when ppl change their status for EVERY stupid little thing they do like every five hours… GET A LIFE 15 hours ago - Comment
Eloquently put, young Helen. We at The Tragically Unhip agree. I especially like your use of the word “like” to portray your frustration.
While Facebook is the best/worst thing to ever happen to procrastinators like myself (I should be doing homework this very second, actually), I can’t help but feel a little distraught over the fact that I found out about my old high school English teacher having a child and that an old co-worker of mine got divorced—by reading their Facebook status updates. Maybe I should pick up a phone once in a while instead…? Nah.
*Quite obviously, the names have been change for your, but mainly my, amusement. I suppose the people I’m making fun of here—actual Facebook friends of mine—wouldn’t want their names to be used in one of my cynical rantings, but I will mention that all of these status updates are real. Of course, it’s not like any of these people would ever be reading this blog, mostly because I highly doubt that any of these people actually read.
How to Look Cool When Air Canada Loses Your Luggage and You Have No Pants January 8, 2009
Yeah, I got nothing. My luggage has been in luggage-land limbo for three days now. My toiletries, my entire wardrobe, my entire life was in that suitcase. I have no hair straightener (’sup jewfro), and I have no clean underwear; but more importantly, I have no pants.
This, as you can imagine, can pose quite a problem when you’re in Toronto and you’re up to your ass in snow and all that’s available are summer dresses. And some leftover reject clothes, but those belong in the Fashion Crimes Against Humanity section.
Things I have done:
- Worn thigh-high American Apparel socks over my leopard print leggings. This looked good on day one—it had a little bit of an old-school, sexy-stocking look to it, with a leopard twist—but it’s day three now. My leopard print leggings have been stretched to crap-catcher status, and the socks smell of wet feet.
Things I will most likely have to do tomorrow and every day until Air Canada delivers my suitcase:
1. wear my hot pink tights for the first time ever, which leads us to number two:
2. not leave my apartment.
If there’s anyone in the downtown Toronto area who has an extra pair of pants, holler.
But here’s a peculiar airplane-related story that has nothing to do with me not having any pants:
On this particular flight back to Toronto, I was left to sit beside the strangest person I have ever had the (mis)fortune of sitting beside. She was probably about 42, with short black hair and an unfortunate lady-mustache. She didn’t say hello or bother with small talk, which is fine because I’m not the biggest fan of single-serving friends.
I suppose she didn’t talk to me because she already had a friend with her. A small, hand-sized teddy bear that was somewhat disheveled and dirty: two things that screamed “crazy-grown-woman-who-carries-around-a-stuffed-animal!”. She put it in the pocket of the seat in front of her so that it appeared to be smiling up at her with its plastic eyes and its threaded smile. As she was reading her National Post, she would every so often acknowledge it by giving its nose a little poke. When she ate her Greek salad, she put the bear on the tray, and would pet it lovingly between bites.
Towards the end of the flight I—no longer trying to subtly glance, but rather fully gaping at this point—noticed that the stuffed animal was sitting on her lap, and that she was looking down at it making it nod every few seconds by poking its little plastic nose. I wonder what they where talking about.
Also weird was how every time I coughed (which I courteously did into my elbow, taking my cue from McGill University’s coughing etiquette sign), she would begin fanning herself with the safety instructions card. This happened every single time I coughed; she would just tut and fan away, as though fanning herself would keep away the germs that I clearly had already safely stowed in my elbow. I spent the four-hour flight trying not to cough, which is hard to do when you’re sick.
She occasionally made comments under her breath, the first of which I acknowledged and tried to say something in agreement. She completely ignored me, probably because she was talking to her teddy bear. Silly me.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go raid my roommate’s closet for some jeans, which is stupid because I’ve already done that and her jeans won’t magically fit me today, when they were two sizes too big yesterday.
End of the Hipster? Hmm… December 18, 2008
Way over in this concrete wasteland (Toronto) that is the epicentre of southern Ontario (a wasteland in itself), a little magazine called NOW published a cover story called “The End of the Hipster.” Adbusters touched upon the idea of hipsters as being “The Dead End of Western Civilization” back in July, but NOW has a new thesis.
If time or laziness doesn’t permit you to read the article, allow me to give you a brief synopsis. Basically, it talks about the hipster movement becoming obsolete with Obama’s victory. It timelines modern hipsterdom as beginning with the extreme cynicism that erupted when Georgie W. came into office. Now that Dubya doesn’t steer the free world anymore, the disillusionment isn’t really justified, hence ”Obama Victory Renders Hipster ‘Movement’ Obsolete“: an essay by the ever-hip blog-machine Blognigger for Gavin McInnes’s website, Street Carnage. (Gavin McInnes, by the way, is one of the gentlemen who brought you a little thing called Vice Magazine.)
Of course, this proposed Death of the Hipster isn’t to be blamed entirely on the happenings of the White House. The movement is undeniably being dragged into the mainstream. The NOW article states that “The counterculture became a consumer culture.” Think about the sudden spread of Urban Outfitters (which is kind of like The Gap targeted at cool kids instead of yuppies), or how there’s an American Apparel on just about every hip street corner the world over. How unique is a sequined faux-vintage top if it’s mass-produced and worn under an Abercrombie hoodie?
So what now? On one hand, this whole idea is bullshit. The cool kids will always be drinking their PBR, snorting coke, dancing to the flavour-of-the-week electro-dance duo, and then blogging about it. They’ll probably just ditch their non-prescription glasses and Cheap Mondays and adopt something newer and cooler. On the other hand, I suppose it does suck really hard when you’ve got something unique going on and it explodes, like when the jocks come to the cool dance party and you can’t even buy drinks because they’re all lined up at the bar doing Jaeger Bombz. When the mainstream catches on, it’s just not fun anymore. Then again, every hipster cloud does have a silver lining: if the movement dies, we won’t have to hear about Cory Kennedy anymore.
Who knows. The hipster subculture will most likely mutate into something new and hopefully less obnoxious, and this whole thing will blow over. Or maybe it already has, and we’re just not hip enough to know.
Samantha Ronson In Toronto, Yawn December 5, 2008
The other night I saw Samantha Ronson in “concert.” First off, I would like to say that I did not pay for these tickets. I would never pay money to see Samantha Ronson. I just wanted to make that disclaimer to preserve the fleck of dignity I have left after attending a Samantha Ronson DJ set.
Anyway, I saw Samantha Ronson play a show, which is kind of like watching the unhappiest person alive play computer on stage. SamRon performed an entire set without once changing her facial expression. The look on her face was similar to the one I wore this entire semester in my Comparative Politics class: sheer, aggressive boredom. She sulked, looked incredibly pissed off (because it must really suck being a Ronson), and DJ-ed. Or pretended to DJ. It was hard to tell.
It’s not like I’m some big electro-DJ-connoisseur or anything, but I have seen my fair share of laptop artists in the past few months. Headband-loving and proud PC-user Girl Talk opened the stage to audience members and caused a sweaty dance party at Kool Haus. Fellow DJ and party photo fodder Steve Aoki poured product-placed Grey Goose into audience members’ mouths. It’s not like I was expecting SamRon to perform circus acts or anything, but a simple “Oh, hey Toronto!” would have sufficed. She at no point acknowledged the audience for being there, which I guess makes sense because it’s not like they paid to see her or anything.
The mixes were tired and the dance floor was pretty tame. I didn’t even break a sweat. Expensive drinks made it impossible to drink until she was good. The big question was: Would girlfriend Lindsay Lohan—star of my favouritest childhood movie ever*—show up? I honestly don’t know—I left half an hour early and missed the whole “special guest” part.
Maybe I just wasn’t cool enough to get it. Maybe she’s actually really complex. Or maybe Samantha Ronson is just a tabloid darling and a really shitty DJ.
* The Parent Trap
Things We Would Do If We Were Cool December 1, 2008
I was looking through The Globe and Mail’s Week in Pictures and came across a 16-year-old named Aaron Fotheringham from Las Vegas. The kid has spina bifida and has been in a wheelchair since he was three, yet he’s doing backflips in Las Vegas skate parks. I can’t even come close to doing anything remotely cool like that, and I have two fully functional legs. What’s more, he calls his sport hardcore sitting, and he’s been touring the Western world to promote it.
Personally, I have a different definition of hardcore sitting—and it’s exactly what I’ve been doing all day. I will continue to hardcore sit, perhaps even take a break or two to hardcore nap and hardcore nibble on the lack of food in my fridge.
But here’s a question: If someone without a disability were to hop in a wheelchair and take it to the skate park, would that be legitimate hardcore sitting? Are the non-paraplegic allowed to partake in Fotheringham’s version of hardcore sitting, or is that kind of like that crappy Johnny Knoxville movie where he tries to compete in the Paralympics? Hmm.
If I were cool, I would probably be too cool to skateboard/BMX/hardcore sit. As it is, I am merely too lazy, and I have the coordination of a cross-eyed sloth with two left feet.
Tragically Unhip Staff
Genevieve D. Markle
Marianne Perron
Kimberly Senf
Laurin McNiff
David Fiore
Celeste Parr
Poppa John
Tess Hart
Brooke D.
Elli S.
Meagan Burbidge
Mr. Flint
George Blottttt
Little Evie
