Archive for the ‘pop culture’ tag

Decoded: “Seen ‘Black Swan’? Yes, I’m In It!” (Huffington Post)

boqueen and I recently saw "Black Swan" because, judging by the reaction on the Twitter, the movie was either a fetid, diseased pile of warm fecal matter or the single greatest piece of cinema since the invention of film.

My reaction to the film was somewhere in between those two extremes. While I found it enjoyable and entertaining, I did not find it to be some sort of transcendent experience.

That evening, I Googled "Black Swan" to read a few reviews of the film in a vain attempt to validate my own options.  One of the first posts that I came across was a piece from Huffington Post written by Tina Sloan.

Sloan is a geriatric actress who was cast in a very small role in "Black Swan." Her post, titled, "Seen ‘Black Swan’? Yes, I’m In It!" is easily one of the most pathetically pretentious and self-important collection of words ever compiled.

I have reprinted Sloan’s post below, in its entirety. The paragraphs in italics are the comments that Sloan carelessly omitted from the original piece, but go a long way long way to reinforcing the general theme of this awful post.

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I’m not with Coco: The state of late night television

I am not a fan of Conan O’Brien.

Surely, my opinion will prove to be unpopular in light of the popular “I’m with Coco” social media campaign.  I will concede that Conan is one of the more talented individuals in the late night talk show business. 

However, since Conan’s field is a wretched morass, virtually devoid of discernable talent, this a backhanded compliment at best.  In many ways, the title of “Most Talented Late Night Talk Show Host” is akin to “World’s Tallest Midget,” “Most Honest Politician,” or “Most Celibate Catholic Priest.” 

For over two weeks, the Interwebs and old fashioned media outlets have been atwitter with news and commentary about the impending shake up of NBC’s late night lineup.  I found the contractual ménage à trios between Jay Leno, Conan O’Brien and NBC Universal President Jeff Zucker incredibly compelling.  In fact, I have changed my browser’s start page to TMZ.com, and I click “refresh” between nine and 215 times each day, eagerly anticipating the next twist in this amazing storyline.  My carpal tunnel is acting up. 

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Tiger Woods’ questionable use of his penis

I am thoroughly enjoying witnessing the Tiger Woods saga unfold.

This may seem a bit hypocritical, as I recently decried celebrity news outlets for continually churning out mindless drivel.  I make an exception for the tales of Woods’ philandering, as two captivating storylines have been brought to the forefront by the burgeoning fleet of women that have taken turns serving as the golfer’s personal semen dumpster.

Thanks to Rachel Uchitel and her fellow skanks, America has been given a behind-the-scenes look into the sex lives of rich and powerful men.  Celebrities like Tiger hire experienced pussy wranglers to gather a collection of young dames eager for their chance to mount a famous penis.  The ladies are treated to top-shelf liquor and a fun night out, and the lucky lad gets to pick the gal (or gals) that he will bed.

The women are treated like cattle in this extremely organized and businesslike approach to sex.  It is quite similar to high-end restaurants that allow you to pick your lobster from a tank, or your preferred cut of porterhouse from a silver platter. 

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Sarah Jessica Parker, attention whorse

I am not one for celebrity worship.

I find the mundane gossip reported by TMZ and Perez Hilton to be quite uninteresting.  I am not concerned about the latest litter that Octomom has whelped, Brad and Angelina’s formidable army of young foreigners or the latest Vegas vixen to proclaim that she once served as the warm and moist fuck-socket for Tiger Woods’ talented seed. 

Unfortunately, boqueen has a fleeting interest in such affairs, so I occasionally find myself sitting on the couch as the blaring picture box dishes out the latest Hollywood “news.”  In such situations, I attempt to shut down brain activity to prevent accidental absorption of the ceaseless drivel.  My attempts are typically futile, which explains why wretched words such as “Kardashian” and “Gosselin” have penetrated my skull and become a part of my lexicon. 

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Don’t compare Michael Jackson to Elvis, you fucking retard.

For a brief moment, I thought that Michael Jordan was dead.

“MJ is dead,” boqueen announced as I awoke from my afternoon nap. Instantly, my mind pictured pushing off of Bryon Russell in Utah before draining a jumper to win the 1998 NBA Finals. As Jordan watched his shot sink through the net with his hand extended in the air, I wondered whether we were talking about the same person.

“MJ?” I slowly repeated.

“Michael Jackson,” boqueen replied, fully understanding my confusion.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, my syllables prolonged by disbelief, “he was only 50.”

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The power of Bon Jovi compels you

Miley Cyrus is more powerful than Barack Obama (D-Nazareth), if Forbes magazine is to be believed. 

Last week, Forbes released its annual “Celebrity 100,” which ranks “The World’s Most Powerful Celebrities.”  On this year’s list, Angelia Jolie has dethroned Oprah Winfrey as the most powerful celebrity on the planet.

I find such ranking to be utterly preposterous.  Are we to believe that the teen idol is more influential than the leader of the free world?  After all, Obama has access to the Big Red Button which could annihilate humanity in a massive nuclear explosion.  He has the bully pulpit of the presidency at his disposal and was reportedly born in a manger.  Cyrus, on the other hand, is a pop star with a show on the Disney Channel and a creepy relationship with her Achy Breaky father.

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The commercial jingle penned by Satan himself

I never thought that three simple words could haunt my every waking moment, driving me to murderous rage. 

“Five.”

I cringe as I hear the solitary syllable.  I chomp on the filter of my cigarette, bracing for the next words.

“Five dollar.”

My heart rate surges and I am overwhelmed with anger. 

“Five dollar footlooooong.”

I reach my breaking point, grinding out my cigarette in frustration.  I jump off the couch, searching for a knife to jam in my ear, rendering me deaf. 

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Euro Euro bill y’all

From the bokeen vaults: this post originally appeared on my short-lived Blogger page. This was written one year ago.

Last night, I saw the music video for the song “Blue Magic” by Jay-Z. On the surface, there was nothing extraordinary about the video. However, about 90 seconds into the video, an image appeared on the screen that shook me to the core, and I now feel incredibly insecure about the future of our country.

The video included gratuitous shots of large amounts of money – a staple of hip-hop videos. At one point, a briefcase is opened to reveal tidy stacks of euros.

Keep in mind that the video is set in New York City, not in a European locale.

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