Random YouTube K-Hole

Blake Shelton’s latest is out and it’s the whitest thing ever. Not complaining, I’ve always had a soft spot for country – traditional, family-based, blue jeans and pickup trucks, apple pies, cowboy hats, good wholesome love. Country comforts me. It’s like a nice warm blanket on a cold winter day. There’s only so much gritty, urban realness a girl can stomach. All that smacking my bitch up and things.

I don’t know about you, but having Adam Levine and Co. crash my wedding … on the one hand, holy crap on a cracker. On the other, how emasculating can that be? Watching your bride go nuts for Adam Levine on your wedding day, brutal.

Doesn’t matter how hard they try. Nothing will ever beat the sheer genius of this. The Prince cuffs. Boy George. Steve Buscemi. Are those love seats rattan? Alexis Arquette as George of the One Song is the best wedding singer ever. Never forget!

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The Guy and the Dragon Tattoo

When my feed turned into an intriguing pastiche of dragon tattoos, allegations Chinese Triad membership and myriad expressions of shared disgust, I had to ask: who is Trillanes and why does he seem like a waste of time?

“Failed mutineer, useless senator,” said Inah.

“Complete waste of oxygen,” said Michelle.

“One big idiot,” said Omar.

“Troublemaker,” said my Mom.

“At least he signed a waiver of bank secrecy,” said Liana.

Senator Antonio Trillanes IV is famous (or infamous) for his big mouth. He says what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and he is extremely skilled at causing a ruckus. He’s so good, he was sent to jail for it. To be fair, it takes more than a big mouth to get sent to jail. Plotting to bring down the government will do the trick, and he did it not once, but twice, damaging a historical hotel into the bargain.

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Random YouTube K-Hole

The official video for my favourite slow jam of the year is out! Versace on the Floor features mood lighting, a crystal grand piano and Zendaya writhing around in primo Versayce. Not what I had in mind as a video concept (mine involved twirling around in a gigantic empty ballroom, chandelier ablaze like an adult version of the Beauty and the Beast scene except she loses the clothing), but eh. It’ll do.

I have to ask. What is the use of paying top dollar for a pricey condo unit if the walls are so thin, the concept of privacy remains a concept?

This at least made sense. It’s clearly a crappy apartment building, if it can’t keep out the rain.

Truth be told, I don’t know my neighbours. Not very well, anyway. I’ve lived in my building for five years, and I only give my neighbours nicknames – the elderly black couple to our right, the girl with the golden retriever two doors down, the new Filipino neighbours with a WiFi connection named “Balay,” and the family with kids who live beside the possibly gay neighbour who, according to Le Hubs, plays Miley Cyrus and has very noisy sex just across the hall.

I suppose it’s a good thing I have pretty busted hearing, because ignorance is sometimes bliss. And I wouldn’t be walking around passive-aggressively catfighting with my neighbours.

Jeepneys, Tramps and Thieves

The year was 1999. To a teenager on her own in a a big city, on holiday for the first time, Cebu was a magical place. It was all fun and games up until I needed a ticket home. Times being what they were and Google maps being nonexistent, I inevitably got lost searching for the ticketing office of George and Peter Lines. Directions were needed, nothing that a smile and a few words of thanks wouldn’t fix.

Or so I thought. Long story short, I asked an otap vendor. He  was so eager to help, he roped in a friend who had one of those trikes you see at piers, for ferrying people with heavy luggage around. The good news? I found the ticketing office. The bad? I came home with 500 PhP worth of otap and a lifelong distrust of strangers.  Clearly, the lesson here is that otap is evil. Oh, and get directions from someone who isn’t incentivized to benefit from your ignorance (like a policeman), and learn to say no.

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Stalking Me Up (With Her Love)

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The pigeons around my building are incessantly horny. I get treated to displays of  relentless and unabated stalking every morning. All day, every day, it’s male pigeons waddling desperately after female pigeons, coaxing them to mate. Nonstop. Mate with me. Mate with me. Mate with me? Please?

Welcome to the animal kingdom. Where art imitates life.

Everyone knows the best way to make a girl fall for you is to stalk her incessantly throughout an entire music video. Four minutes of this, and she’s yours. Forever. Music videos never lie. Not exactly sure why Tara Reid was being so coy here. Soul patch, questionable hair, ripped denim jacket, Ed Hardy trucker hat? Her ovaries should’ve exploded.

Maybe MTV is to blame for my slightly more tolerant acceptance of male heckling. (But MTV taught me that it was normal! Insert sad face.) It happens, and being overly offended by it is a waste of my time. Wasting time is bad. Blatantly ripping off the video that started this all, including extended dance break? Worse.

Sorry Usher. Michael Jackson did it first and did it best in this modern-day feminist’s nightmare. That white cotton sash will live on in infamy, though. This would never fly in 2017, that girl would’ve maced MJ after the first few bars, because progress.

 

 

Meanwhile, in the Scottish Highlands

My knowledge of Scotland comes from romance novels and movies. I know they have a loch that has a Ness, say “och,” “nae” and “bluidy” a lot, that William Wallace looked like Mel Gibson and James Bond is a Scot.

When Le Hubs suggested the Fergus Scottish Festival as a way to get out of town, I jumped at the chance. Scots are portrayed as rough, rowdy and roguish, perennial harassers of the Brits and clannish to the point of absurdity. No, Outlander didn’t cause this – brief aside, I only got through its first six episodes, not a fan, don’t hate me – just the attraction of the unknown did.

So we get there and there’s men in kilts everywhere. I had never seen so many men in skirts in my life. Costumes! Socks with dirks stuffed in them (not a euphemism)! Plaid! Bagpipes! Plaid! Scotch Eggs! Plaid! Celtic coloured glass! Plaid! Sheep shearing! Plaid! Men flipping logs for sport! Plaid!

If I’d known the dress code was traditional Highland fling, I would’ve made more of an effort, because their national dress is absolutely amazing. Knee high socks, sporrans, pleats, I can see myself Baby One More Time-ing that ish. But I didnae ken. Och well, there’s always next time!

 

 

Break Ups and Shake Ups

Is it that time again? That part of the music cycle where boy/girl bands break up and its individual members go their separate ways, make their own marks and come up with their own albums?

This is the third iteration I’ve lived through, and I was there when NKOTB’s Jordan Knight and Joey McIntyre came out swinging. I was there when Justin Timberlake and JC Chasez faced off against Nick Carter and Nick Lachey, there when the Spice Girls faced off against each other, there when Destiny’s Child broke up and came out with their own albums, there when BSB and NKOTB came together like a multi-armed giant mutant  singing group causing the hearts of late twenty somethings to explode .

I had no idea what Jordan Knight meant by “it.” Then I grew up and realized he wanted to sex up a carnie in an amusement park. I thought he meant romance! I weep for my childhood.

Nelly and Kelly contemplate cheating, and use MS Excel on a Nokia QWERTY phone to further their courtship. God, the early oughts were badass. 

It’s happening again, with the One Direction boys going their own directions. Two things: they were right when they said music is cyclical, and my god I am way too old for this shit.

I had a hard time with Slow Hands being like sweat dripping on dirty laundry, because gross. Sign of the Times makes five minutes feel like  being stuck behind someone in line at the ATM who takes forever. Come on Bowie, get your money and go already… Pillow Talk was last year, so here’s Strip That Down, because apropos of nothing, this makes me think of pink flamingoes.