Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Post Sexy-Rumpus Hair Syndrome


Once again I find myself sitting in front of the computer with two Word documents open: My Shakespeare assignment and this random collection of twenty-one words, now twenty-three, twenty-five. We could do this all day, in fact it’s quite tempting, given how little appeal my Shakespeare assignment holds. (Sorry Bill)

I think today I’m going to talk about that all inspiring part of life: hair.

Hair, to me, is a bit like eyes, gateway into the soul, or certainly a gateway into how someone views themself. I think that little scrap of hair leftover from evolution (or because God couldn’t think of what else to put on our heads, whichever your personal opinion is) has an enormous hold on all of our lives. I mean, think about it, how much do you spend on haircuts, hair dyes and hair products a month?


I think the answer to that question can only be either $127,000,

 
or $0; 

Otherwise you’re just not going to fit into my target demographic.

Sorry.

I think that hair commands way too much influence on our lives. How often do you hear that guy with arms like tree-trunks with the collar popped on his XS t-shirt from American Apparel going on about how he only dates blondes? Or how about that nerdy kid who has red hair and therefore cannot possibly be the proud owner of a soul that constantly gets picked on? I even think that the automotive industry has a stake in this. I like to invent little formulas to explain the little foibles in life, for example, my theory on headaches. I believe that there are a finite number of headaches in the world, which are collectively shared amongst the human race. So, therefore, when you get a headache, it means that somewhere else in the world someone has just been rid of theirs, and vice-versa. I think hair is exactly the same. In my mind, the hair/sexiness equation is:

Now we all know that X is equal to the volume of someone’s hair, but I have NO idea what Y is, and I’d be happy to recommend anyone for the Nobel Prize if they can figure that one out. What were we talking about? Oh yes! The automotive industry! My point is relatively simple: How often do you see a girl driving a convertible car and you automatically assume that they are:

a)    Gorgeous

b)   A trophy girlfriend/wife

c)    Several leagues above yours (if not, all of the leagues above yours)

And

d)   Really, really bloody gorgeous

And I don’t believe that this is due to the fact that they are driving a great car. I mean, 99 times out of 100 any convertible that you see is a total piece of crap, (see Ford Capri)


Besides, not everyone has an interest in cars; in fact I think most people have no interest in cars whatsoever. But if it’s not a gorgeous car then what is sexy about it? Well, the answer by now should be obvious: It’s the hair!  I think that some part of the primitive human psyche links giant hair to everyone’s favourite pastime: sexy rumpus. Because when do people most often have a giant mass of gravity defying hair? That’s right: Post Sexy-Rumpus (which for convenience will now be known as PSR).

Which is why this,


and this,


are both equally sexy to me.


I think this is one of the biggest scientific breakthroughs of the last 400 years. (Sorry Penicillin guy)

I’ll take my Nobel Prize money in cash, thanks.

- Tom

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The History of Book Writing; A Memoir


Holy flippin’ Jesus I need to apologise for not writing anything for the best part of a month. The truthful factitude is that I’ve actually been focusing on writing a book, instead of, you know, focusing on University work or anything else that’s probably significantly more important, including this site, of course.

Holy Red Sea-Partin’ Moses that’s a lot of comma splicing back there; comma splicing is one of those sexy little terms that is actually rather misleading. It’s a case something being described in a sexy/interesting way when in actuality it is catastrophically boring. Take, for example, my aforementioned attempts at writing a book. Book writing is, for the most part, confusing and annoying as all hell. It starts off innocently enough, though. There you are, sitting minding your own business, picking your nose or waxing your cat, when it hits you. That little scenario, or a couple of character outlines fall into your brain from some seemingly unknown source and you think to yourself, “Hey, that’s a pretty neato idea. I should write this down.”

So you fetch out your quill and parchment/laptop and jot down your tiny, half-boiled idea. As you sit back and look down upon it, perhaps taking a few puffs from your corncob pipe and bask in your own glorious wit. Why haven’t you thought of this before? These are the twelve most excellent, wonderful sentences that anyone had ever written before, ever. E-V-E-R. You’re going to make millions. Move over, J.K. and that vampire hussy, you’re the new kid on the block.

Maybe a few days/weeks roll by, you steadily add a few paragraphs each day. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even crank out a whole chapter if you’re lucky. Your little project begins to snowball. You can’t possibly write an entire book with only two characters, so you add more. Names are hard to come up with, and you find yourself Google-ing the ones you invent only to discover that they’re some politician in Prussia or some god-forsaken place, so you can’t possibly use those. And then the characters you do come up with need complicated back-stories to make them believable, otherwise you find yourself with a bunch of half-cooked characters standing against a white background with their hands in their pockets.

The central theme of your brilliant piece of literature needs to be decided upon. 

“Hmm…I’ve got it! Eureka! I’m going to write… about a school for wizards! Wait, fuck. No… How about… vampires! Christ on a bicycle, no!”

“Little dwarf-like people who go on an epic quest to destroy a piece of jewelry! DAMN IT!”

 Seven months later…

“A big-arse wooden horse full of little soldiers? What? Who wrote that? Since when? No, you idiot, Homer’s a character on The Simpsons… What?”

“Ok, ok, I’ve got it! A nudist garden/animal sanctuary where couples go to relax! What? Who'd honestly believe that?”

You might, however, get lucky with an original idea the words flowing thick and fast from your meaty little fingers, and the pages start stacking up. “Fantastic!” you think to yourself, “I’ll be done in no time! 2000 words in only a few days! Awesome! Wait, how many are in Harry Potter? 1,084,170?! Sweet Jesus, fuck. I’m a failure.”

And that is how you end up becoming an Internet blogger.

- Tom 

Monday, August 15, 2011

Social Network vs Pornography


Web-track millions of users and you're bound to find out what they're into. Very recently, Bill Tancer, a self described data-geek has been analyzing people's interests and emotions based on some form of data-geekery relating to web searches and traffic. Among other things, he discovered that bellybutton lint, elbows and ceiling fans are of more concern to society than social intimacy and rejection.


More interestingly and less trivial, he discovered that social network traffic has essentially overtaken pornography in terms of popularity on the internet. Supported by the fact that pornography searches have literally halved over the last ten years, this is kind of amazing, but should come as no surprise.

Many of us are guilty of pouring hours into social networks instead of actually going out and developing a real social network in the real world, but is this really a bad thing if it's already more popular than pornography? Probably, but I would prefer to spend hours staring at the social news feed than staring at silicon-filled porn stars that look like they have the entire hepatitis alphabet.

- Aaron.