Internet Sausage Links

Internet Sausage Links

If I had a penny for every Facebook status reminding me to wake up because September has ended, I would have enough to buy something at Tim’s. But coffee never works on me, so I use sugar instead. Which is awful.

You know what else is awful? The concept of free bleeding. I would’ve been perfectly happy not knowing what free bleeding is, but I am cursed with the need to know. This week, my pursuit of knowledge is a curse. Free bleeding is when women take going with the flow to an extreme in the name of freedom and the environment. In a nutshell, it’s voluntarily going without tampons, pads, period cups or liners because hygiene and basic human courtesy, like common sense, is on its way out the door – Vice

Another word I learned this week is “scumbro,” which is wonderfully self-explanatory. It’s the perfect term to describe the fashion sensibilities of Justin Bieber and Pete Davidson et al., who are running around in the most ridiculous outfits while remaining inexplicably attractive to women. I say inexplicable because as a nineties child, my idea of attractive is a healthy, corn-fed boybander with squeaky clean hair, non-skinny jeans and clothes that follow a complimentary colour scheme. To my eye, these kids look like everything they own is filched from the local thrift shop, rarely (if ever) bathe, and get dressed blindfolded in the dark. Except they’re mad rich, so the whole thing is purposefully not on purpose, the guy version of the no make-up make-up look. Behold, the rise of the scumbro – Vanity Fair

Apropos of nothing, here’s an interesting take on the Japanese psyche as influenced by the fallout of WWII, anime and the rise of technology. An oldie (2016) but a goodie – The Verge

Why do all my links start with a V today? Let’s go with a C, for children, who are cute, but are also the worst  – CTV

Speaking of C’s, my favourite Chris in the pantheon of Hollywood Chrises said goodbye to Captain America, setting off an avalanche of crying gifs as the internet weeps for its loss. Please, there’s three other Chrises left in the game, with one of them set to do a particularly revealing scene this November on Netflix (to Karen’s utter glee), so we’re all gonna be juuuuust fine. That said, he made for a splendiferous Cap, and the Captain America movies have always been among my MCU faves. You will be missed, Chris Evans.

 

Homecoming Queens

Homecoming Queens

I used to wonder why school reunions made adults so wistful. Why did they keep playing Awitin Mo at Isasayaw Ko at these things? Why would all the other oldies inevitably scream and enthusiastically make for the dance floor? I couldn’t grasp it. It was incomprehensible to me.

We spend our youth wanting to grow up, and spend our adulthood wanting to be young again. There’s finally enough mileage on the old engine for me to think I get it.  Awitin Mo at Isasayaw Ko was to them what I Want It That Way is to us. Obviously cornball and ridiculously outdated, it’s the soundtrack to our youth – and sometimes music, like smell, evokes memories and emotions. It’s not so much being young, it’s feeling young, truly young, the way we used to feel when we didn’t have to pay rent and each day was an empty page to be filled with new and exciting stories, not a mindless slog to the office.

While I wish high school was the way it was in Clueless, the reality was a lot more grim. Thankfully, not Columbine grim – we didn’t fear school shooters as much as we feared mosquitoes that carry dengue – but teenagers always feel everything so keenly. High school for me was not always a fun time. High school is good to rich, attractive teenagers with seemingly effortless cool. It is very rarely kind to bepimpled, skeptical bookworms who don’t understand why always having the same things and going to the bathroom in packs are necessary.

I have always found it easier to befriend people with wills of their own, who have their own interests and aren’t afraid to pursue them. I felt fortunate to find people who – although way less awkward and bepimpled – were in their own way, iconoclasts. I like to think the friends I’ve made are all iconoclastic in their own way. We were all united in our shared respect for each other’s different interests. The main thing I have in common with all of them is a deeply twisted sense of humour, which we use as a crutch because life is absurd and laughter is the only way to get through it.

So our friendship, formed in our very early teens (and for two of us, childhood) and forged in the highly pressurized crucible we call high school, had miraculously survived the inevitable forces of growing up that cause us to drift apart. Things like college, career choices and immigration. Through it all we had stayed in touch and hung out with each other, but never as a whole. It had been almost two decades since our foursome had been complete, so like the first Avengers movie, we decided it was time. Boy am I happy we got together again.

What we don’t always realize is that high school forms the bedrock of our most cherished memories. The cruelty of it all is that we will never really get it back. One can only try to recreate it, which is why high school reunions are always a thing. We only decided to join this year because it was the 20th anniversary, and we all felt it was a milestone worth celebrating (i.e. join while your body still holds up to some extent and you still look relatively good in pictures.)

 

You can try to recreate a memory, but it will never truly be the same; the only way to get through it is to make new memories. And that, I think, we accomplished in spades.

Summertime (and the eatin’ is easy)

Summertime (and the eatin’ is easy)

And I was thinking this summer was going to be a bore. It’s been so hot, and the humidity is out the wazoo. I was spending quite a few weekends in because I’m a vampire and allergic to all that sun and UV rays. I’ve also had my share of humidity growing up in the tropics. As someone who’s already aging disgracefully, I don’t need any more help from this weather.

Just goes to show one must never say never, especially not when one’s favourite tennis player is in town for the Rogers Cup, aka The Canadian Open – the only ATP Masters 1000 event held in the great white north, one of the go-to warmup events for players to prepare for the hardcourt season which culminates in the US Open, and I’m pretty sure if you don’t follow tennis, none of that jumble of words will mean anything to you. So before you decide to just click somewhere else, here you go:

That was two weekends ago. In a heat wave. I braved a heatwave for that. If it weren’t for going to see Rafael Nadal practice on the hardcourts of the Aviva Centre for free, I would never get any sun. And now I’m kicking myself for not getting tickets to see the finals, because he’s just made his way into the finals of the Rogers Cup for the first time in a while. He’s also going to face the hottest thing on the #NextGen circuit right now, the Greek Stefanos Tsitsipas who is having the run of his life!

Speaking of mouthwatering and speaking of Greece, I’ve been to Taste of the Danforth, practically a Toronto summertime institution, a few times now and have no idea how I missed out on the awesomeness that is Foodland’s fruit stand. Just juicy, beautiful fresh fruit on a stick begging to be eaten – and at a price that can’t be beat. Large wedges of watermelon and mangoes to be had (extra sriracha $1), but my favourite by far were the strawberry skewers, which get a lovely amount of chocolate drizzled on them. It is HEAVEN. Five fresh, plump, juicy strawberries with chocolate on them for $2? YES PLEASE, YES, NOW, HURRY! All caps and exclamation points because that’s how much I love them. I used to go for the lokoumades, but now I will go for strawberry skewers, hands down, the end, exit stage right.

PS:

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Means to an Endy, Day 1

Means to an Endy, Day 1

My back has had it. His back has had it.

The mattress we’d purchased before moving in, once so brand spanking new, once so perfect, once thought to last for at least ten years, has had it.

We’ve had it.

Sleep has been shitty at times. There is nothing I dislike more than my sleep getting messed with and waking up feeling like someone’s been using my back as a trampoline. It can’t possibly be because I’m on the wrong side of my thirties and my body is ravaged by time and a few extra pounds, my masseuse says it’s my mattress and she’s licensed, so there. It’s the mattress.

I’ve spent the last two months researching mattresses. Trying this, that and the other, feeling like Goldilocks except all the mattresses were in different stores that were far apart. I was looking for a bed without coils, or memory foam or all the little extra doodads that are supposed to help you float into dreamland but are, in actuality, a complete waste of time. The best mattress I ever had was a solid block of foam that was almost as hard as the floor, and I’ve despaired of ever finding one close to it, short of shipping a king-sized mattress from Mandaue Foam all the way across the world.

Finally, after months of subliminal messaging from Casper and Endy, the hubs suggested jumping on the bed-in-a-box bandwagon. I trust his instincts when it comes to buying certain things; he doesn’t hem and haw quite as much as I do. When he knows, he knows. We chose Endy because the price point isn’t too painful and it’s made in Canada (yay, patriotism!). Yes Endy, your ads, which are EVERYWHERE, are working.

And no, Endy isn’t paying me to write about it, or give it any reviews. No one is holding a gun to my head, I just felt like documenting the first hundred nights (not EVERY night, I’m not Scheherazade), because that’s their trial period. Like Casper, Endy gives its customers 100 nights to see if the mattress is worth it, and if it isnt, they’ll take it back and refund in full, no questions asked. That’s what their website says, anyway. So in the grand tradition of throwing money at the problem, here goes nothing!

Ant-Man and the Wasp: the Stinging Sequel

Ant-Man and the Wasp: the Stinging Sequel

I saw a joke about The Wasp that was floating around Twitter a few weeks ago involving Armie Hammer. Specifically that Armie Hammer should play The Wasp because he’s a WASP so he should be The Wasp.

*crickets*

Well that fell flat and it read better as a Twitter post which I can no longer find the link to, so let’s just shrug it off and move on, shall we? Ant-Man is back and this time he’s brought a partner! But before I get into the whys and wheretofores, a quick multiple choice doubling as refresher course:

Paul Rudd is:

  • an ageless vampire
  • the guy who played Josh in Clueless
  • the winner of the same genetic lottery as Keanu Reeves
  • all of the above

I used to think aging like fine wine was only limited to Sean Connery, but Paul Rudd, who is just a year shy of fifty, is still hot, still funny and just fiiiinnneee, girlfriend.  Paul Rudd can. I would let Paul Rudd, but Paul Rudd would definitely not let me, and neither would my lawfully wedded spouse if we’re being entirely honest here, so I’ll just have to settle for crumbs by paying the entry fee at the local Cineplex to see him as Ant-Man. Who says money can’t buy everything?

I loved the first Ant-Man movie. It sits right in the top five of my mental list of best Marvel Studio offerings, next to the first Iron Man and Thor: Ragnarok. So I came prepared to be amazed and left the theatre a trifle disappointed, which made me sort of wonder: is Marvel losing its touch? Is Ant-Man and The Wasp a victim of the dreaded sophomore slump?

Now that I’ve had some time to ruminate,  I realize it doesn’t quite feel like a Marvel movie because the stakes are refreshingly small. In Thor: Ragnarok, Asgard was at stake. In Black Panther, it was the future of Wakanda. In Avengers: Infinity War, it was the existence of Earth and everyone who lives in it. After that crazy collision of galaxies, superheroes and mystical jewels/ingots/McGuffins, we’re suddenly in San Francisco, where the only things at stake are a magically shrinking building and an electronic part available on the black market. (Cue the always arresting Walton Goggins as one of the baddies: “I got the lab!”).  It’s peanuts. And that’s the genius of Ant-Man as a superhero.

Ant-Man is all about scale. It’s life viewed from the perspective of someone who can grow and shrink at will, and it’s the little things that make it funny, like blowing up a Hello Kitty Pez dispenser and using it to wreak havoc through the streets of San Francisco. At it’s core, Ant-Man is really a story about an ex-con who really, truly, wants to make good and be a good dad but somehow life keeps getting in his way.

Slight spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!

Continue reading “Ant-Man and the Wasp: the Stinging Sequel”

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

Brexit Through the Gift Shop

Brexit Through the Gift Shop

I kind of expected to come back home swathed in the Union Jack from head to toe,  but the only things that really caught my fancy were Harry Potter themed. Which is weird, because I’m not that big a Potterhead. Still, I’m pleased.

Platform 9 3/4 is the place to go for anything Potter-themed. There are wands to be had, stuffed owls, sweaters, shirts, scarves, toques, satchels, keyrings, socks and sweets, including Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. It’d be an absolute delight if it wasn’t swarming with people. Because it really is in King’s Cross Station, it’s a mecca for the fandom, and who hasn’t heard of Platform 9 3/4? There’s even a trolley that’s half disappeared into the wall where excited youngsters can have a photo snapped for a price. The queue is crazy. I don’t know if there are off peak hours, but we were there in the morning and it was already packed. (No, I didn’t pay for a photo, much to your relief.)

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I got this one for free. Wait, wrong platform…
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Here you go. Sorry, random Indian couple. The crazy queue I was talking about is to the right.

The House of MinaLima on 26 Greek Street in Soho is the place to go if you don’t want to be caught in a swarm of excited youngsters or do the (pricey) WB Studio Tour. It’s a shop run by Miraphora Mina and Eduardo Lima, the graphic artists behind all eight HP movies along with the newest one, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The windows are currently styled to look like Honeydukes Sweet Shop and there are Hogwarts acceptance letters all over the steps and floor. With four floors in total, the ground floor is the main shop where you can buy the actual goods. The other floors are purely for spectacle and Instagram. The second floor has copies of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler (complete with giveaway spectrespecs) strewn about willy nilly, while the third floor boasts a huge Marauder’s Map underneath your feet and proclamations from Umbridge are on all the walls. The fourth is inspired by the Fantastic Beasts movie. It’s kitschy and bright and fun. Best of all, Continue reading “Brexit Through the Gift Shop”