Turning to shit

Since all the wonderful American television entertainment I used to enjoy is turning to shit (Heroes *vomit*, Dexter and House *DULL*, True blood *Explicit nudity will only keep my attention so long*, Gossip Girl *Embarrassing*) Therefore I thank ABC that Better Off Ted got a second season and based on the the season première I saw not five minutes ago I feel the sweet relief of brainless entertainment of adequate quality sooth my boredom!



(My God Portia De Rossi is hot; Ellen is one lucky lesbian!



I remember hearing or reading somewhere that Better of Ted is another stroke of genius from the creators of Scrubs, but since I've had a few days off now I made the mistake of downloading the first episodes of the new season of Scrubs. After enduring that torture I'm pretty sure Better Off Ted will deny any affiliation with Scrubs... Oops, of course I mean Scrubs: Med. School..(?) No Janitor, no Kelso and no hilarious extras?! Pfhhht! Why didn't you just let it die with some dignity left?

Hare Krishna

Siren

BUY IT, READ IT, LOVE IT!

As I had my final exam last Friday, the first thing I did when I now finally had some time to read something non-curriculum was to read Nick Caves newest work of literary genius The Death of Bunny Munro. I read the whole beautiful book in one sitting, granted it is not the longest book in the world, but it has been a while since I have read such a captivating book. The story of a a man loosing his wife to suicide and having to take care of his nine year old son whilst fighting his non-exciting parenting skills and an ever growing addiction is both horrifying and beautiful. Cave uses humorous writing to lift the horrendous acts of parental neglect and sexual deviancy to a readable level and I LOVE IT! It hurt to live the perspective of that poor boy, which is truly what you find yourself doing; and as I sat there reading the perspective of Bunny spiralling through his addiction and towards his death I morphed into the stereotype of a african-american lady in the cinema screaming "DON'T GO IN THERE!" at the screen. READ IT DAMN YOU!

I truly think I could write about it for hours, but I also realize you should read it yourself and not listen to my incessant book-stroking soooooooo

Hare Krishna

Siren

Yeasayer - Ambling Amp

What the what, this video is just fashionably gruesome and aaaaaaawe-some!!!

Strutting my stuff

As finally finished my excruciatingly boring exam period at Friday about noon and now sit back in my evil-genius chair, petting my imaginary cat; I contemplate how truly delicious it is that I wrote eleven pages of utter bullshit that some poor sod (or several) has to read and take seriously. This makes my evil blood boil with pleasure and what's more I shall get a fail grade on this paper and send a official complaint so that mooooore mousy academics have to read that piece of utter nonsense and again take it seriously! MUHAHAHAH! If only I would use my genius for good the world could be a better place!

Later that Friday..

On a slightly more disturbing note, I went to a catwalk workshop last Friday night and what I saw there was somewhat like something out of a pageant show for little girls. Luckily the girls in question where fourteen, but it was still a surreal experience.
I did have some trepidation about what would meet me at the workshop, if I would be ol' grandma' Siren in a room full of perky tweens. There were no tweens, but a room where the age started at fourteen and ended on twenty-six so I did not feel like a grandma' but a sceptical elderly aunt staring down at padded bras and young wobbling feet in high heels.

The slightly disturbing part however was seeing the parents and younger siblings of the youngest participants of the workshop. They all sat behind a glass door, chatting with one-another in a passive-aggressive "my little girl could whip your little girl off the catwalk with the bat of her fakily eyelashed eyelid" and grinning like caged monkeys while their little girls do their best to flirt with the end of the runway, shake their hips and clench their bum-cheeks "like your trying to close the hole."

It might be the 22year old model bitch in me speaking in a jelous stupor of my lost modeling youth, but I think one should wait untill one is at least out of the ungdomsskole diaper and as a freshfaced pimply sixteen-year old could start the journey down the runway.

I know I didn't understand nor love my pasty thin body at fourteen, luckily I've had eight years of that exact pasty, non-boobed body to get used to it... But as cool as the catwalk coach said my androgynous look and body was I need to practice my walk because I stick my head forward when I walk, somewhat like an angry swan!
Hare Krishna

Siren