I Don’t Do Sarcasm Anymore … I’m Post-Ironic

I wasn’t originally planning on talking about the Spice Girls concert, but something so incredibly funny and mean happened that I just have to mention it. As you may or may not know, Geri Halliwell left the band in 1998. In 2000 the band released another album without Geri. Now, as you may have heard, during the performance the girls all have a solo part.

So anyway, all 5 are on stage singing Viva Forever. The song is about to finish and suddenly the platform Geri is standing on disappears into the stage. I’m thinking ok, she’s gone early to get ready for her solo performance. The song ends with 4 of them on stage and then the music for Holler starts.

What? Where’s Geri? Holler was on the album that was released in 2000 after Geri left so I guess this is where bitch mode kicked in. Really? They couldn’t have given her a part or let her sing the chorus? At this point I was too busy laughing and feeling sorry for Geri that I missed half of the song which happens to be my favourite. But who knows, maybe Geri didn’t want to sing it and it was her decision. If that’s the case that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

Apart from that, the concert was fabulous. 12 years since the release of Wannabe and the songs still haven’t gotten old. :p

Good going, T-Mobile.

For 2 weeks now the website has been undergoing maintenance so I haven’t been able to pay my phone bill. Today I finally decided to call them up and pay by phone. I got one of those automated things where you type in all the details and it does it automatically. It appears T-Mobile didn’t want to get paid because having tried this method 3 times and having failed 3 times it transferred me to a person who was obviously trying their hardest to get fired.

T-Mob: Hello, my name is cutthroatbitch, how can I help you?
Me: I’d like to make a payment please.
T-Mob: Are you the account holder?
Me: No, but my name is on the account with account holder privileges.
T-Mob: I’m afraid only the account holder can make a payment.
Me: I don’t want any account details, I just want to give money to the company you are working for so they can then pass on some of that money to you for supposedly doing your job you stupid bitch.
T-Mob: Ok can you confirm your address?
Me: *confirms address*
T-Mob: How much do you want to pay?
Me: *gives all relevant info*
T-Mob: Ok the payment has gone through. Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: Yes, I–
T-Mob: I’m sorry, I can only speak to the account holder.
Me: …

In other news, I’m going to see the Spice Girls on Sunday. Don’t hate.

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make the world great. Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

Dear Wembley Arena,

If you are going to have a ‘no professional cameras’ rule, can you please employ some individuals who know the slightest fucking detail about cameras. You know, just enough detail to know what a professional fucking camera is, and to know that mine does not count as one.

Yours,
A Gwen Stefani fan with no photos

This is the greatest video ever. Elijah Wood is my new hero.

In other news, the FDA says it’s acceptable for 225 grams of macaroni to contain 225 insect fragments and 4.5 rodent hairs. Check out the full list of everyday insect-infested foods here.

It is no secret that I hate animals. Ok, maybe hate is the wrong word. It is no secret that I dislike certain animals … the smaller an animal gets, the more I dislike it. For example, I love horses and horse riding, but when I look at cats I just think about the many diseases they have the potential of carrying. I have come to terms with the fact that these animals exist and I have learnt to accept their existence. However, there is one type of creature I cannot and will never be able to stand: The bugs. Why the fuck are they even here? Even the word ‘bug’ is trouble, just ask any computer programmer … though those bugs are the least of my worries at the moment. Right now I’m talking about the shit eating, light loving, life threatening bugs that inhabit our planet Earth. Why do I hate them? Many reasons, including the fact that one of them almost killed me about 20 minutes ago. I will tell you how, just let me go grab my portable ECG machine and check my heart is starting to go back to beating normally first.

Alright so imagine this: It is 11:40pm, I am home alone sitting at my desk playing around with the music in itunes when suddenly I see a movement in my peripheral vision. I automatically get up, grab my phone and move away without even looking. It’s a reflex mechanism I have come to develop over the years. From a safe distance I now look to see what the fuck caused my heart to skip a beat, and there it is. A species I have never ever in my 20 years of living seen before. It has long, thin, glowing antennae, a golden-beige coloured shiny plump body, and orange legs so fucking long they make Peter Crouch look normal. I immediately send a text message to my friend so that if anything should happen to me, the police have a record of the last time I was known to be alive and the cause of my demise. At this point the creature which I’m quite sure lives in a UFO somewhere, has moved across my desk onto my books. It’s moving faster than I dare to think about, so I name it Michael Schumacher. Just as I am about to attempt to take a photo of Michael, IT FUCKING DISAPPEARS INTO THIN AIR. WHAT DOES THAT? Now I’m actually pretty sure my death is near so I ring my father, and practically hysterical down the phone, I tell him he needs to come to my location immediately and go Jack Bauer on Michael’s ass. I am about to give him my exact coordinates when I hear a noise. Is it Michael? No, it’s my father laughing uncontrollably down the phone. I realise his help will not be here any time soon so I hang up and try to find another way out of the trap I am in. I guess before coming to kill me, Michael killed Harry Potter because I’m pretty sure he is in possession of an invisibility cloak. I look around for him for 5 minutes to no avail, so I decide to grab my laptop. As I am taking out the power cord I spot something and jump. Was it Michael? No. It was my fucking SHADOW. This fucker has got me jumpy as hell. I finally unplug everything and laptop in hand, I run to the living room. Finally safe, I proceed to send a text message to notify my friend that I am still alive when I feel something on my phone so I throw it to the ground [yeah, another damn reflex mechanism]. No, there was nothing on my phone. I’m just wigging out like Weird Al Yankovic.

I’m not brave enough to go back to my bedroom just yet to actually publish this entry because my blood pressure still thinks it’s a yo-yo. I do have one concern, however; they say your life flashes before your eyes when you are near death but I didn’t see my raunchy affair with Milo Ventimiglia anywhere between then and now.

… Alright fine, that only happened in my imagination, but one can still dream.

First thing I’m doing tomorrow? Calling the Men in Black.

Located in what used to be the millennium dome, new music venue the o2 opened in 2007 and has since received a lot of good publicity with big names such as Barbra Streisand and Justin Timberlake performing there. Last week I had the pleasure, and I use the term lightly, of visiting the venue. At first I was very impressed; queuing indoors surrounded by lots of restaurants is great for winter concerts, the way in which the crowd is slowly walked into where the stage is located is a great way of ensuring people stay in line unlike other venues such as Wembley, where once past the bag checks, people proceed to form a human stampede. This good impression however didn’t last very long.

Now, before entering the arena I wasn’t very convinced about the fact that the stage was located in the middle with the crowd surrounding it in a circle, and now I know why. Yes ladies and gentlemen, of all the concerts I have been to, and there have been a fair few, this had to have been the most idiotically designed stage that my brain has ever had the pleasure of processing. Whoever the hell designed it must have gotten the blueprints from a Christmas cracker; there’s no other explanation as to why anyone, nincompoop or not, would want to design such a headache inducing arena. After spending just 5 minutes there I had already called my psychiatrist and arranged anger management classes. Seriously, who decided it would be a good idea to charge 60 pounds [$120] per ticket, and then have a stage so brilliantly designed that 50% of the time the artist was out of view to one half of the crowd? As if this circular piece of crap wasn’t enough, it also had the great skill of having a middle which lifted up and down. Now picture this: you have been queuing to see your favourite artist and you finally enter and are front row. The lights go down and the crowd begins to scream. The stage rises with your favourite singer in the center. Oh wait … no … what’s that … where did he go? Is it a microphone? Is it a speaker? No. It’s the guitarist, pianist, bassist and the rest of the fucking wannabe philharmonic orchestra surrounding the singer and thus blocking the view. Oh wait a minute … are they about to move out of the wa- … what the … what the fuck is that coming down? A … screen? Are they actually kidding me? Fuck off.

Despite all this, I do have to admit that this venue did have the best sound out of all the major venues that I have been to. However, I can sit in my bedroom, put a CD into my surround sound entertainment system and alternate between staring at a poster of an artist hidden behind some objects and a blank wall for free.

To summarise, this venue has more problems than Nicole Richie driving down the wrong way of a one-way street. Sort it out.

And so it is that time of year again. The world according to the BBC stops and starts revolving around the event that is Wimbledon. Now don’t get me wrong I love tennis. I love to play it and I don’t mind watching it occasionally, but Wimbledon just seems to bring out a monster inside of me which wants to kill anyone within sight that mentions the game.

Is it really necessary to take over 2 fucking channels and air tennis on both of them for the whole day? No it is not. Who does that? And don’t even get me started on the good TV shows I have to miss out on because they are postponed due to the fact the BBC wants to watch sweaty people running around and grunting the entire day. In the UK, we are several months behind Australia in a show called Neighbours. Why? Because of Wimbledon, that’s why. There’s no other logical explanation.

It’s not even like the tennis players are playing tennis the entire day. London loves the rain, and it obviously affects the way in which the tennis players grunt and so they cancel the matches when this happens. Now, during this time they could easily show an episode of Neighbours. Do they? No. Instead the public can watch match replays in case they missed the speed at which their favourite player served the ball the 13th time around. Or what about an interview with Tim Henman? Maybe this year, after over 10 years, he will make it to the finals. Yeah, right. But don’t worry, you can still hear about how fabulous he is on the BBC during the weeks leading up to and during Wimbledon.

Wimbledon, I hate your presence on television. Fuck off to somewhere no one cares about, like channel 5. Speaking of which, at this moment in time I am glad the BBC made a huge mistake and dropped Neighbours. Channel 5, forgive me. I like you after all. At least this time next year the tennis won’t interfere with my friends on Ramsay Street.

The CW television network has released its schedule for next season and Veronica Mars is not on the list. Dawn Ostroff, entertainment president for the CW said:

Veronica Mars is over. We’re talking about something else. I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. I’m being honest with you. It could come back in some form, but I don’t know what form that would be.

Is she actually kidding me? You’ll never guess what the Veronica Mars timeslot has been replaced with. No, really. When I tell you, you will proceed to check your calendar to make sure it’s not April 1st. Ready? The CW’s newest show is Farmer Wants A Wife. Yes, they are replacing Veronica Mars with a reality show ABOUT A FARMER. What the fuck? On the slightly bright side, and by bright, I mean American TV is about as useful as an STD, Dawn Ostroff told reporters that Veronica as we know it is over, but that she is talking to Rob Thomas and Kristen Bell about a “future project.”

Now, I think Kristen Bell is awesome and I will watch whatever new show she is in, so if they do decide to do something new then I will be happy. But it does not take away from the fact that three awesome shows have been cancelled this year: The O.C., Gilmore Girls, and nowVeronica Mars. Also, I’ve never seen this show, but fans of Jericho, which also got cancelled, have started a protest. They’ve got the right idea. It’s a shame no one in TV land cares what the damn viewers think.

The Veronica Mars finale will air next week. I’m still crossing my fingers that it will come back in some form or another seeing as I haven’t seen anything about its cancellation on the CW blog. But it’s not looking hopeful.

I hate you, American TV. I hate you like Paris Hilton hates condoms.

Well America, you’ve done it again. The cancellation of The O.C. just wasn’t enough for you, huh? Way to go.

Michel: It’s cold and grey like a fat dead pigeon.

That’s how my heart feels, America.

Seriously, do you thrive of bringing pain to others? I’m not talking ouch I sat on a pin pain, I’m talking holy shit, I accidently dipped my arm into a pool of lava which caused me to walk backwards into a helicopter propeller which hit me right in the eyes pain. COLD AND GREY LIKE A FAT DEAD PIGEON, America.

Never again will we hear Paris complaining. Never again will we hear Miss Patty singing or Lane playing the drums. Never again will we see what new job Kirk has gotten each week or what plans Taylor has for Stars Hollow. Never again will we hear Michel come up with gems such as “people are particularly stupid today. I can’t talk to anymore of them”. Never again will we learn great cooking tips from Sookie, or drink coffee whilst pretending it’s as good as what Luke has in his diner. Never again will we hear Emily and Richard bickering with each other, or Jess and Dean arguing over which one of them is better. Finally, never again will we see Rory upsetting Lorelai and causing her pain like the stupid little bitch that she is. What the hell happened? Rory was awesome in the beginning seasons. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO RUIN IT? But most of all, never again will we see Lorelai and the Dragonfly Inn. Lorelai is by far the greatest character on the show, and Lauren Graham is just awesome.

AMERICA, WHY DO YOU MAKE IT SO EASY FOR ME TO HATE YOU?

The last episode of Gilmore Girls will air on May 15th. I hope they finally do something good with season 7 and make it a good ending, otherwise I’m going to sue America. YES, I’M GOING TO SUE A COUNTRY AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME.

Bye Gilmore Girls, I love you. And whomever is responsible for the cancellation of this fabulous show, I hope you get french kissed by George Bush.

Lorelai: Like sands through the hourglass, so are the Gilmores of our lives.