Internet Sausage Links

Welp, a couple of these are REALLY late, but if you know me and you know my motto, you know it doesn’t matter! Actually it does, because this 24/7 news cycle we’re living in means news from two weeks ago is beyond stale and progressing into mouldering but who cares?

Billionaire? Yes. Self-made? Please.  – High Snobiety

From golden dwarf in Game of Thrones to  giant dwarf in Avengers: Infinity War to actual dwarf in Rumpelstiltskin, The Dinklage leans in and isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Thank baby Jesus for people who work hard for their money – Variety

Speaking of giving thanks and working hard, if you just heard the screaming of a jillion gays, it’s because Lady Gaga’s Vegas residency begins in December – EW

Why yes, a sudden deluge can result in flash floods that feature raw sewage. We’re lucky we live just a little bit uphill from all this – The Weather Network 

Why yes, Rafael Nadal is in town for the Rogers Cup  – ATP World Tour 

Ink, for people with commitment issues like me (why yes, I just might) – CP24

Speaking of issues, my other big one is trust. Remember when it took me forever to get into the Uber ride-sharing thing? Here’s an interesting take (and semi-long read) on the sharing economy, trust, and loneliness – GQ

Internet Sausage Links

Watermelon Ice Cream.png
@MilkcowCanada, via Instagram

Japan, a country that has gifted us with the truly grotesque and the truly inspired, has also produced a perfect example of the unholy union of grotesque and inspired: watermelon ice cream sandwiches. South Korean ice cream chain Milkcow has taken the idea and run with it. Now that they’re in town, I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the kind that precedes the realization that I’m about to join another hour-long queue just to have one of these, even though part of me thinks it’s a horrible idea and harbinger of the apocalypse. Why do I have to be so damn susceptible to attractive packaging? – Blog TO

Speaking of grotesque and inspired (but really more grotesque and sad) this story of a mother giving her son her blessing with the aid of a bullet is somehow tragic, darkly comic and proof that you don’t mess with old people, because they’ve run out of fucks to give  – CNN

Those poor kids. This is why I confine my spelunking to the insides of my refrigerator – CTV News

Speaking of spelunking, take a deep dive into the life and times of one Johnny Depp. It’s a long read and mostly interesting journey into the unpredictable unknown, and unlike exploring a Thai cave in the middle of monsoon season, it’s an adventure you’re likely to survive. Yes, I would like to apologize to the trapped boys in the Thai cave for the completely tone deaf jumble of words I just wrote – Rolling Stone

I was there for the match, I was there for the book, and now I’m there for its in-depth documentary, released in honour of the 10-year (it’s been 10 years?) anniversary of the match and the 150th anniversary of the All England Lawn Tennis Club, home of venerable Wimbledon. Someday Wimbledon, someday… for now,  Strokes of Genius: Federer, Nadal and the Greatest Match Ever Played is $10.99 on iTunes, with a few bonus extras – Sports Illustrated

 

Internet Sausage Links

Internet Sausage Links

I decided to do a new thing on here where I share random links because lord knows I spend enough time whiling away on the internet despite my best intentions, so I may as well share. Also, I may or may not have been inspired by the glorious Michael K of Dlisted, but don’t worry this isn’t going to turn into a gossipy sort of blog. Just think of me as the friend who messages you out of the blue with some random bullshit you can check out while you’re stuck in traffic. Or pretend you’re reading over my shoulder on the subway while I’m hastily scrolling up on my phone trying to hide the outright porny Instagram posts I keep getting without any advance notice, which is what I get for having a raging homosexual as a best friend. So here we go!

They’re rebooting Daria, that immortal MTV classic, because nothing is off-limits. Or sacred. To be fair, nothing in or about my high school puberty was off-limits or sacred anyway, so go ahead and ruin it even more, damn you – Vice

Since that sicko ran a rented van into a bunch of innocents on a sidewalk in Toronto, this hateful subgroup of sadly misinformed, completely batshit individuals have been thrust into the spotlight, and boy is their slang an eye-opening education. Incels: A Lexicon – Vice

Excuse me for being really into Vice today, but someone tried to hide in the crawlspace above a convenience store to escape a cop and promptly fell through the ceiling. All this over a $1 can of pop. Alberta is fun, I really should go back sometime to see my lovely friend Karen – Vice

Just in time for Canada Day, Drizzy Drake dropped an album and Hotline Bling aside, I don’t really care, but he’s apparently milking the story of having a baby out of wedlock and how being a single parent is hard, because mining your rich, successful, dysfunctional man-whore life for all its worth is how to make money in music now. Who am I kidding? That’s always been how to make money, just ask the Carters – Rolling Stone

Big Dick Energy (BDE): three words that kind of go together and make sense, while making me wonder why it’s never really been a thing until the past twenty four hours, and we’ll probably continue to see it being used to death for the next few days until the next new phrase hits the internet. Anthony Bourdain just couldn’t resist contributing one last thing to humanity before going to the great kitchen confidential in the sky – Vox

Shedding it All Over

Nothing like a throwback slow jam to prove that musically (and otherwise), the 90’s was the best decade to grow up in. Everyone was either in love, making love or wanting to be in love and not afraid to embrace the cheesemax. Represent, Bruno Mars!

When Chris Pratt Calls

When Chris Pratt Calls

I own a grand total of two Vanity Fair magazines, August 2000 and April 2014. Today, the universe is telling me it’s time to add another VF to the pile. The universe, in the form of a shirtless Star-Lord riveting us all with sultry bedroom eyes, inviting us all to test his chesticles the water. You win, Vanity Fair – you evil, conniving, effective sonofabitch. You win.

Boybands Don’t Wear Skinny Jeans

I really should be working on next week’s column and not causing my editrix to pull her hair out because once again I’m going to squeak past my deadline, but this is way too distracting. Yes, I know the Backstreet Boys and their brand spanking new Vegas residency is stale news  (and so is this James Corden clip), but my motto is, has been and always will be: better late than never. So I just watched this and am listening to what the universe is telling me: my arse needs to be in Vegas next year. I will finally, finally indulge the young teenage girl I was. The one who had bootleg posters and all the cassette (cassette!) tapes of their albums. I’m old and I want to be happy. Leave me alone.

So now I’m sucked into the black hole that is Ticketmaster and gunpowder, treason and plot plot plotting my way into how to make this happen.

ps. If I didn’t already love James Corden enough, as of today I am absolutely TEAM CORDEN all the way. That’s right. ALL CAPS. TEAM CORDEN. TEAM CORDEN!

pps. With this and other upcoming trips, I may need to peddle some organs I can live without. Will someone teach me how to get on the dark web and do this Bitcoiny thing? I don’t want to wake up in a bathtub in some godforsaken motel room with an icepack pressed to my belly and no memory of the last 24 hours. Thanks.

Irreconcilable Differences

Irreconcilable Differences

The union between Brad Pitt, winner of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive (1995 and 2000, thankyouverymuch) and Angelina Jolie, Esquire Magazine’s Sexiest Woman Alive (2004) was a match  made in Hollywood  heaven. Two devastatingly good-looking, influential, A-list movie stars with talent to spare and money to burn meet on a movie set and sparks fly. They were the reincarnation of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, jet-setting around the world with their brood of children, living in a fabulous chateau in southern France. It was a union so combustibly irresistible, it spawned a ridiculous nickname, commanded the front page of the tabloids for ten years running. And then it ended. If the Sexiest Couple Alive couldn’t manage to keep the fire burning, is there hope for the rest of us? The short answer: nope. Cue sackcloth and ashes.

Continue reading “Irreconcilable Differences”