Hipp: still not sure why the Kardashians are famous.
Andrea: me either.
Hipp: as far as I can tell, one of them dated a football player and had a sex tape, and the other two are famous for being extraordinarily ugly wonks.
Andrea: Joel McHale always says, "Kim Kardashian, famous for having a big ass and a sex tape..."
Hipp: they're also the daughters of the guy from OJ's defense team. but really, why did anyone think anyone should care? why do these girls think anyone should care?
Andrea: I know it is not news that reality shows are staged, but that show is so painfully obviously staged.
Hipp: I've never seen it.
Hipp: I really missed the boat on reality TV, and thus, our modern culture.
Hipp: I watched the first season of Survivor, three-ish seasons of The Real World (before it became mostly famewhores), maybe one season of Road Rules.
Hipp: I guess Kitchen Nightmares counts, but that's not reality TV. that's Shakespearean drama.
Andrea: I watch Top Chef and 16 And Pregnant
Andrea: and Intervention
Hipp: God, I watched the Real Life: I Go To The Jersey Shore On Weekends All Summer And Am Well-Tanned And Slightly Metrosexual But Totally Not Gay And Definitely Into Stereotypically "Jersey" Girls. it was horrible.
Andrea: oh, True Life, you mean?
Hipp: yeah, either one is about as accurate.
Andrea: True Life is really hit-or-miss depending on the subject.
Hipp: I got suckered in because I was watching the one that aired right before it about people who cheat on other people.
Andrea: True Life: I'm Getting Married is AWESOME.
Hipp: why is it awesome?
Andrea: because the people are total train wrecks.
Hipp: all people are. just look out your window.
Hipp: could be worse. could be True Blood.
Andrea: that show looks awful.
Hipp: it is awful.
Andrea: I have seen, like, half an episode, and it was really silly.
Hipp: the main character is a fucking idiot. and all of the vampires are portrayed like normal people with slightly different problems.
Hipp: which means they're as boring as normal people.
Andrea: OH
Andrea: so I was making a doctor's appointment, and the hold music was that song that plays throughout American Beauty.
Andrea: WTF????
Hipp: could be worse. could've been "Brick" by Ben Folds Five
Hipp: or "The Freshmen"
Andrea: hahaha
Hipp: those two songs should be the hold music for abortion clinics
Andrea: is "The Freshmen" about abortion too?
Hipp: are you serious?
Andrea: yes?
Andrea: hold on, let me google the lyrics
Andrea: eh. still sounds pretty vague to me.
Hipp: still not sure how you outscored me on the SATS
The only real downside to reading Get Off My Internets—aside from the sparse posts, which we're not really in a position to kvetch about—is that Julia Allison pops up from time to time, which is a gateway drug for reading Reblogging Non Society, which would be a fine blog if it didn't wield the radioactive, gene-mutating power of Non Society's banality. The three important rules that The Eastern Cynic operates under are as follows:
1. No mentioning Julia Allison.
2. Every time a Lady Gaga post is warranted, post something about David Bowie instead.
3. No mentioning Julia Allison.
Hipp: unrelated: is Tim Armstrong secretly fucking retarded? he sings like he's got four tongues
Andrea: hahahaha
Hipp: he's the fucking worst singer
Andrea: it's like a purposeful speech impediment
Hipp: why annoying dimetrodon-mohawk guy isn't just the singer is beyond me
Andrea: I sort of like it
Hipp: if you kind of like Tim armstrong's voice, allow me to suggest some new listening for you: the Kids Of Widney High
Andrea: BLACK COAT BLACK SHOES BLACK HAT CADILLAC
Hipp: further evidence that he might be retarded: the supposed story of how he drunkenly talked shit to Henry Rollins's face, called him not punk rock, not realizing that Rollins' neck is twice as wide as Armstrong's entire body, and proceeded to get knocked the fuck out.
Sarah: look how gross
Hipp: is that the whale carcus eater?
Sarah: ew! do they do that?!
Hipp: that thing won't be gross until they stitch three together ass-to-mouth
Andrea: You know what sours me about writing posts? The stupid link making and photo inserting. I find it tedious and lose interest.
Andrea: We should hire a programmer.
Hipp: That's not what a programmer does
Andrea: Well, we need a guy who does whatever that is.
Hipp: A blogger, you mean.
Andrea: hahaha
Hipp: You want us to hire you a blogger.
Andrea: YES.
Andrea: Does Demi Moore ever age? I think she's actually Dorian Gray.
Pat: Yeah, except instead of a painting, there's a bucket where her plastic surgeon stores the ugly things he removes.
Don't ever Google yourself, part one:
The main disappointment in my life right now is that Nick Hornby—a writer I quite admire and certainly respect—has publicists who first told me he would be able to do an interview for 12th Street this month and just now said he wasn't doing any more interviews. I'll be interviewing David Gates—the Pulitzer Prize finalist author who taught my Planet Dickens class who is incredibly conversant on whatever you can possibly converse about—instead. Not too shabby.
What is wrong with the East Village? It's always been held up to be some freak parlor, a haven for the odd and eccentric, but it seems to be largely populated by fucking moneyed-up douchebags. One button-down asshole told Zoe she has no social skills, while the majority of the bar swarmed with people I wouldn't talk to on salary. We did end up combining tables with this dude Sammy who was super-cool, but he's from Long Island and lives in Los Angeles. Do we not grow and attract native awesome people in this city anymore? Jesus. Forget the housing bubble bursting, forget the bottom falling out of the stock market, why the hell are we so cash-poor in solid dudes and dudettes? I'm fired up about this.
On the F train home, Zoe and I sat across from this guy—he looked (sleeping, at least) like Turk from Scrubs—who had possibly had a run-in with a chocolate cake during the night and had definitely puked on himself and his bookbag. I then ambled home from 4th Avenue and got chili and cheese nachos from 7-11, which is a undeniable sign of intense intoxication on my part.
I mean, no one eats 7-11 food sober, amiright?
Let's talk about what I ate today, because I'm a little on-the-fence about it:
- 8oz. of Red Bull
- Salad with chick peas, grilled chicken, carrots, croutons, parmesan, and Italian dressing
- 12oz. of Red Bull
- 8oz. of French Vanilla coffee (from one of those fake ass machines)
- 8oz. of Red Bull
- 4 Southern Comfort & Cokes
- 4-5 humongous shrimp
- most of a plate of saffron rice
- 1.5-3lbs. of lobster
- 20oz. of Yuengling
- 8oz. of Red Bull
Hmmm.