Now that we’ve engorged ourselves on Iverson and Tiger, it’s time to return to our countdown of celebrity mugs. Be forewarned: this list will most likely get sidetracked again due to the following things happening in The Kids’ world:

1. stomaching my way through Alicia Keys’ newest album to give it a review
2. vomiting through nose, eyes and anus from looking at these celebrity faces
3. reviewing Tiger Woods’ sex life

So, be ready. Hope you enjoyed the preview of things to come.

Anyway, so far we’ve looked at Goldie Hawn and Bruce Jenner–two faces used to create a composite sketch for “Gollum” in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. And then we dove into the folds of puppet fabric that is Maggie Gyllenhaal’s face.

This time we’re Def Jam-ming this list with the inclusion of LL Cool J.

You know LL; he of the lip-licking raps, he of the rapper-turned-shit-movie-actor trend, he of the “let’s continue diarrhea-watering down network TV by creating a show starring LL Cool J and Chris O’Donnell!”.

That LL Cool J.

Let’s have a look, shall we? We shall.

Worst Celebrity Faces #7: LL COOL J

One of my all-time favorite memories (besides seeing Salma Hayek in Desperado) was watching my best friend in HS–we’ll call him “Flash” for ID reasons–serenading the girl he loved (at the time, before he discovered porn days later) with a song in our school’s parking lot. In front of her boyfriend.

Anyway; the song?

“Hey Lover” by LL Cool J (feat. Boyz II Men).

At the time, I laughed. I mean, it was pretty fuggin’ funny. But I also, both then and now, respected the fact that he did that. He manned-up, did a man-thing (and at the tender age of 15!), and taught me something very valuable: LL Cool J songs can get you some play. Now, admittedly, Flash didn’t get the girl, but everyone there–the girl, her boyfriend, me, the school mascot, our boy “Dave” who later became a Taliban terrorist, even Flash himself–were all really impressed with experiencing that moment, and I’m willing to wager that everyone of us there has a soft spot for “Hey Lover” now, and, by extension, LL too.

I know how much he’s lingered in my own life; besides trying to recreate that moment myself with a girl in college (by crooning lines from “Momma Said Knock You Out”–didn’t work), and later, at my wedding reception, during the

Tonight's Iron Shark Secret Ingredient?: LL COOL JJJJJJJJJ!

Mother-Son dance, in the middle of “Rainbow Connection”, I caught Flash’s eye in the crowd and suddenly turned to the DJ and said, “Smurf this song; put on some LL Cool J” and–presto!–Mom and I slow-danced to “Doin’ It”. Worked too; my mom cried the whole time the song played.

Anyway, I mention all those moments because they were all about Saving Face; they were about retaining some semblance self, of dignity, of mother-son bonding.

And this is why LL’s face–literally and figuratively–has become so painful to look at. LL represents what’s gone wrong about the mainstream assimilation of hip-hop; I mean “Momma Said Knock You Out” used to be a manly growl, a predatory forwarning, an alert to someone that their ass was about to be handed to them in bite-sized pieces.

Now?

Now that song is comfortably sandwiched between Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” and “Redneck Woman” on “Karaoke Night!” at the local Applebee’s.

Now?

LL got into that Hollywood coke and started doing movies like Halloween H20 (LL battles Mike Meyers!), Deep Blue Sea (LL battles smart sharks! SMART SHARKS!), Charlie’s Angels (LL battles the 2/3 of the Mug Carousel*!) and S.W.A.T. (LL battles another movie with Sam Jackson!).

And then, after perhaps indulging himself on too much smart-shark meat, the once-chiseled LL began looking more like Biggie Smalls.

So he–I don’t care what anyone says–got ribs removed.

Somethin' like a phenomenom.

And then–and I don’t care what anyone says–he got his face done.

And now? Now LL looks like something akin to one of the Neville Brothers after a fire accident.

I mean, I get it; how many times can you spend your hip-hop nights parked in a dark SUV with DMX listening to him talk about how “…on the real? Prison love was the only love that loved me back, dog. Only that. It’s where I got “Ruff Ryders” from, dog! ARF! ARF!” before thinking, “maybe carving my face to look like a Daffy’s store mannequin and hanging with Chris O’Donnell ain’t so bad.”

Still, LL’s lost a lot of face. I don’t care how much he’s gained since by reversing the clock. I don’t care that thanks to Hydroxy Cut, Red Bull and a scalpel he looks like a well-fed Allen Iverson (when he wears a Kangol).

I miss “Round the Way Girl”.

I miss “Head Sprung”.

Hell I even miss “Fatty Girl”.

Come back to us, LL–DMX needs you.

*more on the Mug Carousel later

Esse pessoal já tinha feito isso com a Beyonce. Agora resolveram colocar mais gente nesse furdunço.

Acho que essa história de 2012 é verdade viu :

Agora, pra você ver a qualidade da coisa : a Don’t Matter do Akon encaixou-se perfeitamente com o forró!

Letícia

1. Fergie, Big Girls Don’t Cry (2007, #1)

The thing about drecky ballads is that a lot of people like them.  No matter how bad they are, they are going to be popular.  As every rock band and pop diva ever can tell you, an increase in schmaltz leads proportionately to an increase in radio play.  And ballads don’t go away, either; no matter how monstrously bad they are, adult contemporary radio picks up on them and then they’re around for years and years, ready to pounce the next time you go to the dentist or run to Walgreen’s.

Fergie’s Big Girls Don’t Cry may never die, unfortunately.  It was the single most-played song of 2007 on American radio.  And according to ARC, the semi-official chart that monitors airplay, it’s the third-biggest single of the decade.  It hit #1 in Australia, Brazil, Canada, France, Ireland, New Zealand and Norway, and hit the top ten pretty much everywhere else.

So, yes, it’s quite possible that overkill played a part in my choosing it as the decade’s single worst song.  Admittedly, it’s not as blatantly offensive as Eminem’s Superman is, and it doesn’t make fun of poor people like Nickelback’s Rock Star”(or Fergie’s own Glamorous.)  It doesn’t pretend to be smart like Jason Mraz or edgy like Katy Perry.  It’s not as hypocritical as “Gold Digger” and it doesn’t rhyme “fried chicken” with “stickin’ up for you.”

But oh, is it ever whiny.  And bland.  I have probably heard this song literally hundreds of times by now, but unless it’s actually on I can’t even hum the verses for you.  Googling the lyrics doesn’t even help, though Fergie and co-writer Toby Gad sure whipped up some doozies in that department:  “Like the little school mate in the school yard, We’ll play jacks and Uno cards.”  Does she really say that?  How have I never noticed that before?

Oh yes, because the chorus made my ears stop working.  If all of the freestyle divas of the eighties combined forces to produce the world’s whiniest ballad, they couldn’t approach the levels of annoying that Stacey summons to sing that line about the child and the blanket.  Big Girls Don’t Cry makes All Cried Out sound like an anthem of empowerment.

will.i.am produced this song, the fourth single from Stacey F’s very popular album The Dutchess.  Though I’ve never heard the album in its entirely, I almost want to, just because the quality of the singles is so inconsistent.  First there was London Bridge, co-produced by Polow Da Don and Danja.  It was tinny and made no sense, but I liked it.  Next there was Fergalicious, a crappy and abrasive will.i.am-produced mess structured around JJ Fair’s Supersonic.  Then there was Glamorous.  That song instructed me to take my broke ass home if I didn’t have any money, so I did, because I worked in retail.  (I have little patience for songs about how rich other people are.)  But amazingly, after Big Girls Don’t Cry spent five hellish months in the top 10, Fergie released Clumsy.  Clumsy is a good song; no, Clumsy is a really good song.  Sampling both Deee-Lite and Little Richard, the song takes Stacey’s worst trait–the fact that all of her non-whiny moments are devoted to tuneless yelling–and makes it the song’s selling point.

So, there it is.  The worst pop hit of the decade.  And now this list is finally over, and I can go back to listening to songs I don’t loathe.

Black Eyed Peas started out with their new single “Meet Me Half Way”, and although it was hard to tell with the abysmal audio quality of their setup, I can say it was far from good. Being their last night touring, the entire band was full of energy, Fergie belted out her single “Big Girls don’t Cry”. After pumping up the crowd with “Pump It” and then mashing up “Tonights Gonna Be A Good Night “with the intro to U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name”, they finally walked off the stage leaving a pleased crowed behind.

After what seemed like an eternity Larry Mullen Jr walked on stage and started drumming. Closely followed was the rest of the band coming to start off with “Get On Your Boots”. After Bono complained about the “confusing” skytrain system, “No Line On The Horizon” was sung and the first example of the awesome graphics on their 360 screen was shown off with images of space while the band performed “Breath“.

Bono thanked the crew for making the best out of the awful acoustics of BC place. I had expected much less. Bono proceeded to lift a young girl onto the stage and after allowing her to wear his signature sunglasses he serenaded her with “The City Of Blinding Lights.” After Edge rocked out hard with “Sunday Bloody Sunday“, Bono swiftly commented that “Edge would still be back at home in Dublin watching Discovery Channel if Larry hadn’t convinced him to join”.

The crowd was then thanked for allowing “the madness to occur” and after a short break Bono was back with a rendition of “Amazing Grace”, which faded very nicely into ” Where the Streets Have no Names”. Five minutes of cheering resulted in Bono walking back on stage in a suit covered in lasers. After failing to hit the high notes while singing “With Or Without You“ and relying on the crowd to help, the night was over. No complaints… except the 70k people trying to take the skytrain home.

-Review and photo by Garrett Beier (Nautical Sciences)

Big Girls don`t Cry.

Die Zahl der Opfer von Schülern wächst radikal und stetig. Doch viele Opfer beginnen nun über das Geschehene zu reden, schreiben und von daher ist das Internet eines der wichtigsten Oasen in einer “asozialen Welt” der Hassprediger aus den  Chef- und Politikeretagen.

Mobbing-Schluß damit, ist eine der besten Internetseiten, in denen Opfer erzählen was ihnen angetan worden ist.

So etwa die Ulrike [M 16]: “(I)ch wurde auch gemobbt, fast drei Jahre lang. Vor zwei Jahren hat es dann aufgehört. Ich habe jetzt aber immer noch ziehmlich Angst in manchen Situationen. Ich kann es gut nach voll ziehen wie man sich fühlt. wenn man gemobbt wird. Aber den Gemobbten kann ich ein paar Tipps geben: geht zum Lehrer und redet mit euren Eltern und sagt was los ist. Schluckt es bitte nicht einfach runter. Ich habe das gemacht und bekomme schon Panik wenn ich Mädchen die mich gemobbt haben heute noch auf der Staße sehe, obwohl ich weiß, dass sie mir nichts tun. Und schaut mal im Spiegel eure Haltung an. (lieb gemeint) Ihr solltet selbstsicher und selbstbewusst auftreten. Also

Opferalbtraum

Schultern zurück, Brust raus, Bauch rein und Kopf hoch! Schaut euch im Internet Beauty tipps an. Manche Kinder werden gemobbt, weil sie nicht so gut aussehen. Und zum Thema :Bin ich zu dick? Entweder die Leute nehmen euch wie ihr seit oder nicht! Ok abnehmen hat noch (fast) keinem geschadet. Aber wie heißt es so schön: Nicht Perfekt, aber Einzigartig. Ich habe einen Satz an den ich mich (fast) immer Halte: Big Girls don´t Cry! Was heißt: Große Mädchen weinen nicht!!! Ich habe gelernt das wenn man in der Öffentlichkeit weint, dann zeigt man Schwäche und wer Schwäche zeigt, der wird gemobbt!!! Also seid STARK und hab keine Angst den Mobbern die Stirn zu bieten!!! Liebe Grüße Ulrike.”

http://mobbing.seitenstark.de/index_k.asp?ext2=erzahl&themaid=1&yy=2009&mm=8

Num mundo em que a mulherada se empolga quando toca Piriguete na night (juro. meninos, eu vi!), olhar pra história da música pode ser uma saída para enxergarmos se temos salvação. Será que temos?

Preciso dizer qual a primeira colocada de 8 de setembro de 2009? É I Gotta a Feeling, do Black Eyed Peas. A ideia é batida: “todo mundo espera alguma coisa de um sábado à noite”, diria Toni Garrido. Os Black Eyed Peas estenderam isso pra todos os dias da semana. Só isso. E colocaram a Fergie pagando de gostosa (gata, você não nos engana. Até Lady Gaga é mais feminina que você). Mas, confesso: eu gosto da música. Daqui a umas 3 horas eu não mais aguentarei ouvi-la, pois ela toca demais.

Há dois anos, a metade-homem-metade-mulher Fergie também era a primeira colocada. Com a bizarra Big Girls Don’t Cry. Se você nunca prestou atenção na letra (fez bem, aliás), ela diz que sente falta do carinha como um bebê sofre com a falta do cobertor (???). God.

Os anos 2000 estão mais pra Piriguete, mesmo.

A década de 1990 nos deixou pelo menos duas primeiras colocadas que ainda tocam como se tivessem sido lançadas mês passado. I don’t want to miss a thing, do Aerosmith, de 1998, e ela… a mais dançada around the world desde 1996:

Olhando as melhores da década de 1980, vi que 8 de setembro é o dia das músicas grudentas. Checa a primeira em 1983:

Eu juro que não queria colocar aqui. Juro. Mas no topo da Billboard de 1989 estava uma música que toca meu coração. Perdoem-me. Eu tinha nove anos (não é uma das minhas favoritas, tá? sim, eu tenho músicas favoritas do New Kids on the Block).

Pra fechar o post, que já está longo demais, mais uma música hiper bem sucedida até hoje. Since 1973:

Ah, pra vocês concordarem comigo acerca das “músicas grudentas de 8 de setembro”, vejam só a lista: Blaze of Glory, Bon Jovi (1990); Sweet child of mine, do Guns (1988); I shot the sheriff, Eric Clapton (1974) e Help!, Beatles (1965).

Agora já sabe: quer lançar uma música que pegue? Tente o finalzinho de agosto. Sucesso na certa.

Nádia Lapa

By: Fergie

Da Da Da Da
The smell of your skin lingers on me now
You’re probably on your flight back to your home town
I need some shelter of my own protection baby
To be with myself and center, clarity
Peace, Serenity

[CHORUS:]
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It’s personal, myself and I
We’ve got some straightenin’ out to do
And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I’ve got to get a move on with my life
It’s time to be a big girl now
And big girls don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry

The path that I’m walking
I must go alone
I must take the baby steps ’til I’m full grown, full grown
Fairytales don’t always have a happy ending, do they?
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay

[CHORUS]

Like the little school mate in the school yard
We’ll play jacks and uno cards
I’ll be your best friend and you’ll be my Valentine
Yes you can hold my hand if you want to
‘Cause I want to hold yours too
We’ll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds
But it’s time for me to go home
It’s getting late, dark outside
I need to be with myself and center, clarity
Peace, Serenity

[CHORUS]

La Da Da Da Da Da

sou uma artista, beijos.

… de uma caminhada do ponto em frente ao shopping até a minha casa. Pensei em muitas coisas, muitas mesmo. Primeiro, eu saí correndo do ônibus até o shopping, minha bexiga iria estourar a qualquer momento, e isso era absoluta certeza. Evitei até a escada rolante, subi num pique de atleta e fui correndinho pro banheiro. Superei todo meu nojo do chão da cabine e deixei a pasta lá, afinal de contas, só dava pra pendurar a bolsa e entre bolsa e pasta de plástico, fiquei com a bolsa. Após um dos maiores e mais longos xixis da minha vida, limpei a pasta com álcool gel – thanks pra gripe suína e sua pandemia – e minhas mãos também, de brinde. Fui então à uma loja que vende milhões de roupastodasjuntas, brega com bonita, estampa com lisa, festa com praia, onde tinha visto um vestido bonitasso pro casamento de uma amiga de infância mês que vem. O vestido não tinha a cor que eu queria no meu tamanho Médio de viver, mas tinha um G de gente grande, que no final das contas ficou “normal” em mim (estou tão gorda mesmo?) mas nos peitos fiquei uma jaca, horrível. Desisti da bagatela gracinha de festa e fui perambular. Logo perdi a paciência e resolvi ir correndo pra casa, andando num ritmo que nem eu acreditei, movida pela empolgação e pelo medo de ser assaltada também, indeed.

Os pensamentos, então. Foram muitos, perdidos, conectados, raivosos, chorosos, felizes, futuros, passados, presentes, doentes, eternos. Sei que acho que comecei pelo conto de fadas, faz de conta, vida virtual. Não tem diferença, tá tudo aqui, é tudo sentido, é tudo no corpo. Não interessa se eu digo aqui no blog, se eu falo lá na Ufes ou no telefone em casa. A minha vida é uma só. Eu já tinha me dado conta disso, mas teimosamente como só paulamaria consegue ser, eu separava certas partes da minha vida e jogava pra esse imaginário “fora” da vida vivente e deixava lá. E aí, PUM. Quando tomo o tapa, desmonto, choro, esperneio, peço desculpas. Urgentemente, é preciso que eu pare de ter esses mini ataques adolescentes e vista minha roupa de menina crescida quase formada. Causei impressões que morro de vergonha e raiva de ter deixado acontecer, mas a culpa é só minha – minha culpa, minha tão grande culpa, aqueeeeeela católica – logo, só resta a esse serzinho de menos de 1,60m mudar isso. Se eu tiver de encarar uma multidão, que seja, sou forte e aguento. O pior tem sido encarar a mim mesma no espelho com todas essas burradas. Posso também ao invés de pensar em erros, pensar em errância, tentativas. “Aprendi” um pouco sobre isso semestre passado, mas colocar em prática é difícil pra caramba, sô.  Pensei também em como tem muita gente que vive essa partezinha que eu joguei no transcendente a vida inteira. Algumas hipocrisias me disseram que vivem a fundo, que arriscam, que se cansaram de esperar – quem sabe faz a hora, sacam? – mas na hora H, meirmão, cadê? Sei que fiquei com pouquíssimos no pensamento, pouquíssimos e raros. Entrada só para raros, me diria Teatro Mágico.

Mais algumas coisas vieram à cabeça, mas sempre vão embora, com o vento e com o frio que estava a cortar meu rosto. O casaco quentinho me fez suar e também perder outros pensamentos. Creio que foi melhor assim. Saldo final: sou dura, durona. Igual uma vara verde, segundo Joaquimmaislindodouniverso.

A propósito, hoje foi a segunda aula de Desenho I – peguei matéria nas Artes, era sonho desde sempre – e fizemos nossos primeiros exercícios. Esse que postei foi o primeiro. Tínhamos uma folha modelo – creio que era um desenho de Picasso -e tivemos que repartí-la em sete partes. Viramos o papel modelo de ponta cabeça e foi assim que reproduzimos, pedaço a pedaço, o desenho. O resultado é esse daqui. Pena que eu tive que devolver o papel modelo pro professor, se eu conseguir, semana que vem posto aqui.

VideoClip: Big Girls Dont Cry

Tema: Big Girls Dont Cry

Grupo/Artista: Fergie

Letra de Canción Big Girls Dont Cry de Fergie

Da Da Da Da
The smell of your skin lingers on me now
Your probably on your flight back to your home town
I need some shelter of my own protection baby
To be with myself instead of calamity
Peace, Serenity

[CHORUS]
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It’s personal, Myself and I
We’ve got some straightenin’ out to do
And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But Ive got to get a move on with my life
Its time to be a big girl now
And big girls don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry

The path that I’m walking
I must go alone
I must take the baby steps until I’m full grown
Fairytales don’t always have a happy ending, do they
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay

[CHORUS]
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to with you
It’s personal, Myself and I
We’ve got some straightenin’ out to do
And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I’ve got to get a move on with my life
Its time to be a big girl now
And big girls don’t cry

Like the little school mate in the school yard
We’ll play jacks and uno cards
Ill be your best friend and you’ll be mine
Valentine
Yes you can hold my hand if u want to
Cause I want to hold yours too
Well be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds
But its time for me to go home
Its getting late, dark outside
I need to be with myself instead of calamity
Peace, Serenity

[CHORUS]
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It’s personal, Myself and I
We’ve got some straightenin’ out to do
And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I’ve got to get a move on with my life
Its time to be a big girl now
And big girls don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry
Don’t cry

La Da Da Da Da Da

On my way home on the bus after a lovely day spent with Hannah and Nick, I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to be instantly wrapped up on the sofa.  With the rain flooding down the windows as I gazed out at the grey, overcast cityscape passing me by, I couldn’t help but feel that the weather echoed my inner sentiments.  As if, for all the nice chats and coffees and perfume I enjoyed today, I couldn’t escape my own sorrow, loneliness, fear and ennui – I could only subdue it and try to ignore it.  But with the rain coming down all around me, I could have started crying – not bursting into tears, but silently letting them fall from my eyes.

Why? I have a pretty good life, and I had had a nice day.  But I guess that being on my own, in the middle of a crowded bus (the windows steamed up by our collective body heat) with nobody to talk to and my ipod drowning out everything, surrounded by anonymous faces and anonymous rain, the solitude just got to me.  I’ve fallen for somebody real bad, and it’s crazy because right now, I can’t think of anything better than escaping my life and running away to another country, learning another language and living a completely different life.  Obviously I’m not going to do this, but I can’t help but imagine what it would be like, and how happy I could be if we really did fall in love with one another.  I’m wrapped up in a fantasy and it’s so sweet, it makes reality all the more bitter in comparison.  And I’m wrapped in his cologne (Opium Pour Homme) so that I always feel it on me, and it’s torture because it smells so good and yet he’s not there.  I’ve met the guy once (though we talk most days) and I’ve gone utterly crazy.  Rationale literally out of the window.

I have a ridiculous amount of music on my iPod, and at times like this I can’t help but pick songs that echo my mood, or lyrics that echo my situation.  My current choices range between optimistic and heartrending: Blu Cantrell – “I Can’t Believe“, Mariah Carey – “The Beautiful Ones“, Shontelle – “T-Shirt“, Toni Braxton – “Spanish Guitar” & “I Don’t Want To“, The-Dream, “H.A.T.E. U” are the examples which come to mind.  Of course, tugging at my heartstrings doesn’t make me feel any better or enable me to forget my situation, but instead keeps me moping, though at least I am moping to a good soundtrack!

Anyway, I didn’t cry.  I am not the kind of person who would break down in public (I don’t like looking imperfect, even sweating in public, so tears are out of the question – I do my utmost to keep my façade weakness-free), and I’m not the kind of person who breaks down even in private.  Ever since I was a kid, I was taught to keep my emotions inside so that nobody can see your weaknesses (particularly when my dad would try to upset me with the goal of making me cry, my mother taught me not to give him the satisfaction).  So even during trying times, I try to suppress any extremity of emotion in public, and take deep breaths and clench my fists and just get on with things.  After all, the quicker it’s over, the quicker it’s done.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cry.  I believe in the cathartic power of tears, and once you’ve cried your eyes and your heart out, there’s nowhere left to go but to start healing yourself and picking yourself back up.  Although they make your eyes puffy and swollen, and seem to bring out dark red freckles around my cheekbones (lucky me), tears do serve a purpose – they let you acknowledge your sadness and express it and move on.  Sometimes, my restraint from expressing my sadness even privately means that it festers, whereas if I could just let myself go and cry, maybe I’d move on a little quicker.  Who knows – that’s just the kind of person I have come to be, it’s probably to late to do anything about it now.

Yet I disagree with the widely-held belief that “boys don’t cry”.  They just don’t let anyone know that they cry.  There are a lot of secrets kept between the sexes that I think stop us from understanding one another and feeling close to one another.  Of course people are going to think that men and women are from different planets; that’s the way we live our lives.  The machismo the boys don’t cry does stem from the fact that crying supposedly signals weakness, and men must never appear weak.  But why is it ok for women to be weak, in that case?  Everybody gets weak sometimes (even though nobody talks about it, we all know it’s true) and in that weakness, the best thing we can do is to seek strength from others.  But (and I am particularly guilty of this), seeking strength and asking for help once again points out our weaknesses to other people and we are too proud / afraid to bare ourselves in this way.  So we cover it up.  But I think that to make it a gender thing (Fergie made things no better with her song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – boys cry, men cry, big girls cry, petite girls cry, grown women cry, transexuals cry.  Everybody cries.) is just stupid – tears are universal.

Babies cry for attention.  Adults rebel against this because when we cry, we don’t want anyone to know – bringing attention to ourselves is the last thing on our minds.  Crying is a secret rebellion against maintaining that all-important appearance of teflon perfection.  I don’t cry (films never get to me – the right music is usually the closest thing to bring me to the brink) very often at all, but sometimes – like today – there is an evocative feeling in my heart, and I don’t know what to do with it.  And though, despite everything, I am not comfortable with letting my tears fall in public, it’s as pure an expression of hurt and longing as you’re gonna get.  And wrapped in this cologne, my longing aches just that little bit sweeter.

Pertama kalinya dalam hidupku, aku mimisan.

Pertama kalinya dalam hidupku, aku diopname di rumah sakit.

Pertama kalinya dalam hidupku, aku merasakan mencapai titik nadir dengan tidak tau harus berbuat apa.

Pertama kalinya dalam hidupku, aku ditolak sesorang untuk mendekatinya.

Ya Tuhanku, aku tau dosa-dosaku amatlah banyak tapi jangan palingkan aku dari-Mu. Hanya Engkau yang selangkah kumendekat, akan balas mendekatiku dengan sepuluh langkah. Aku mohon petunjuk-Mu, jernihkan pikiranku, redamkanlah emosiku, berilah ketenangan dalam bertindak agar dapat memutuskan sesuatu berdasarkan petunjuk-Mu, dan bukan berdasarkan ego ataupun nafsu.

I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It’s personal, myself and I
We’ve got some straightenin’ out to do
And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I’ve got to get a move on with my life
It’s time to be a big girl now
And big girls don’t cry

*thanks jianing. love you.

Peter Petrelli is gay for werewolves

I saw Cursed on the SCI FI Channel once, and it was actually a good movie. So don’t laugh. I mean, laugh, but give Milo Ventimiglia a little credit. This is way less embarassing than that time he was in Fergie’s music video…

Just sayin’.

Although I would still totally date him.

There are these quizzes you can waste time with take on Facebook and they tell you all kinds of inane interesting things about yourself. You can learn, for instance, which kind of cupcake you are, or what topping you’d be on a pizza. (I made those two up. They don’t exist. I don’t think.) Whenever you take a quiz, you can invite your friends to take it as well, and that way all the pink sprinkled cupcakes can hang out together and make fun of the sky blue bubblegum rainbow ones.

Last night, feeling inexplicably shallow and brain dead philosophical and curious, I took every quiz recently taken by friends of mine. Here is a J-list that represents my Facebook self (not that you asked).

1. Which historical figure am I? Marie Curie. (Rocking the scientific world, baby, that’s me.)
2. Classic Hollywood actress: Ava Gardner.
3. Element: Fire. (What else?)
4. Animal: Wolf.
5. How cool am I? Cool enough for most people. (So the real question is, are you “most people?”)
6. My real age: teenager.
7. Power animal: Horse. (I don’t know what a power animal is… but I like that mine can give me a ride.)
8. Where should I live? San Francisco. (My friends got Italy and Spain and A Tropical Island. I got 40 minutes from where I live. I feel cheated somehow.)
9. Shakespeare character: Juliet. (Juliet and Marie Curie. Interesting. Not.)
10. Jimmy Buffet song: Pirate Looks at 40.

There you go. Facebook J at a glance. (Kinda makes you glad you don’t know me over there, right?)

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And now for something completely different. Find out the #1 Billboard song for your birthdate. Mine was “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” What’s yours?