Well here I am, single again. No it’s cool, I’m okay, unfurrow your brows. Fortunately for all of us, I’m slowly but surely moving out of the “crying in line at the bank” phase and progressing into the “tequila will never leave me” part of the grieving process. Oh, and I’ve made myself a Tinder account. Admit it ladies, there’s honestly nothing more gruesomely satisfying than rating a man based on four low-qual photos of him at his senior prom and two lines of poorly-constructed self-reflection. Especially when one certain member of his species has Maced your heart in the face. Or perhaps you’re not in some sort of emotional spiral at all, you are a self-respecting, responsible young lady out here looking for love on a handheld device. More power to you. Future spinsters and social goddesses alike, I have compiled for us all a quick and easy guide to navigating the fuckboy hellscape that is Tinder. Enjoy. Continue Reading…
Her name was Alexis. She was everything I wasn’t at the time: a teen, a sophisticate, a brunette with a Parisian fashion sense, a person who can get through an episode of Friends without falling asleep, and, most importantly, a horse aficionado.
And then she was none of those things, because I killed her. Well, a horse killed her, after she tripped over a rock, placing her face directly in line with her equine doom. To be graphic, it was death by hoof to the face. Like all great artists, the thing by which she was consumed ultimately snuffed the life out of her. But then again, as romantic as that sounds, it isn’t entirely true either. The horse only killed her because I wanted it to. Like an omnipotent and merciless god, I killed her. Continue Reading…
I hate online shopping. I don’t understand how people do it. The clothes never look as good as they did online, or they don’t fit, or they arrive two weeks later than they were supposed to, or all of the above. I avoid online shopping at all costs, and would much prefer to waste hours at the mall in order to find several items that I am 100% sure about buying, than to spend 20 minutes accidentally spending crazy amounts of money on 4 pairs of shoes that I most likely won’t be able to squeeze my feet into and will consequently have to return. Also! I hate returning things. Why has no one invented a high-tech solution where you can just snap your fingers and get your money back and be freed from the object you don’t want taking up space in your room. Like are you seriously telling me I actually need to repackage and re-mail this thing I don’t even want all by myself, in order to get my own money back??! The inhumanity. Continue Reading…
I peered out of my Grad Center window this morning and was blinded by pastels. I saw lacrosse shorts and cute-yet-impractical button-down-the-front skirts galore. After some tedious calculations, all signs seem to point to the fact that YES, it is mating season spring!
As I write this from my prime Ratty booth, I can’t help but admire the array of chic warm-weather styles there are out there. Denim with so many holes in it that it creates its own ventilation system… Flip flops– or if you’re cool enough, crocs… And of course, the romper (a cute yet intimidating item of clothing).
I’d rock all these swanky outfits, I tell myself, if only I could turn off the furnace that is my body. In essence, I perpetually look like I just came from the gym. Continue Reading…
Staying in contact with family and friends is an objectively good thing. It’s nice to know a bit about what shenanigans your family is engaging in while trying to subsist without your lovely presence, and to receive advice on why you NEED to binge-watch Westworld right now, c/o your friend who stays up to date on Philo’s capabilities. Occasional back and forths like these are informative and allow you to feign a bit of closeness, even if your family is thousands of miles away. But group chats can spiral out of control (i.e. Britney circa shaved head phase).
Group chats in general have some irritating (to say the least) consequences. They eliminate any possibility of ever leaving your ringer on again if you don’t want to consistently receive glares from everyone around you. And leaving your phone on vibrate isn’t much of an option either, unless the prospect of having a vibrator in your pants at all times is something you’re into—in which case, to each their own. Continue Reading…
The. Wait. Is. Over.
After six torturous months, we’ve finally got our hands on them. And we’re never letting go.
In case you haven’t heard/ don’t have internet connection/ live under a rock, Old Crone Cosmetics just dropped their highly-anticipated Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862-Inspired “Granted” liquid lipstick collection. It’s got 12 gorgeous shades ranging from pinks to nudes to reds to yellows (say what?!) and everything in-between.
Ever since BH Cosmetics dropped the Galaxy Chic Palette in 2012 and Too Faced the Funfetti Collection in early 2017, it feels like makeup fans everywhere have been lying in wait for the next big thing. And (you heard it here first) “Granted” is it. It’s fearless, it’s flawless, and it’s inspired by one of the finest pieces of legislation concerning proceeds of federal land sales this country has ever seen. Continue Reading…
There are three big things that I remember seeing in the movies before I saw them in real life: sex, communion, and throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done. Needless to say the last one horrified me the most.
Even in the context of a rom-com, I couldn’t imagine anyone who eats so little spaghetti and is such a devil-may-care character for this to be a reasonable thing to do.
“But” some people will say “it works.”
You know what also works? Tasting the spaghetti.
And what happens after you throw the spaghetti against the wall? Do you leave it there? Do you clean it up? Do you display it like a trophy from a big-game hunt? Do you leave it as a snack for Santa?
Imagine, for a moment, if we extend the logic of throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done to anything else: “Just throw the green beans against the wall to see if they’re soft enough.” “Just slap the steak against the fridge to see if it’s medium-rare.” “Just toss the children I’ve been fattening up in the basement to see if they’re ready.” Completely absurd.
“But” some people will say “it’s just fun.”
Throwing spaghetti against the wall is fun in the same way that riding a unicycle to work is fun. It’s fun in the same way that lighting your entire house with tea lights is fun. It’s fun in the way that cutting your toenails with a chainsaw is. That communicating by carrier pigeon is. Throwing spaghetti against the wall is fun in the same way that driving a 1979 Ford Pinto in bumper-to-bumper traffic while smoking a cigarette, pissing into a beer bottle, and not wearing a seatbelt is fun.
Throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done represents an absolute compromise of common sense in the name of whimsy and makes a spectacle for spectacle’s sake. It’s a self-indulgent performance art that derives pleasure from its own absurdity, recklessness, and sheer disregard for other humans.
It is my firm belief that the people who throw spaghetti against the wall are the same people who would’ve thrown tomatoes at medieval people in the stockades.
I would not trust someone who throws spaghetti against the wall to be the godparent of my child, to watch my cat for a weekend, or to wear black to a funeral. These people are unadulterated loose cannons that make the choice to live their lives in a rose-colored haze and slowly depreciate the resale value of their house. These people find delight in subverting social mores bringing a whirlwind of chaos wherever they go. Just like Zooey Deschanel, Steve Jobs, and Lucifer did.
Dear Fellow Fan of Smucker’s Uncrustables Sandwiches,
No one ever said having this whimsical of a snack preference in college would be easy. Continue Reading…
I Analyzed the Flag Animations on the Google Docs/Sheets/Slides/Forms Landing Page for No Reason and Now You’re Gonna Hear All About ItApril 11, 2017
Ever wanted to dig deep into the nitty gritty details of an advertisement and see if it just falls into pieces? This project does just that with the google full google suite (docs, sheets, slides, and forms) and is going to tell you all about it. You’re in my playground now, kiddo.
In case you haven’t made the mistake of going to google.com/docs/about instead of google.com/docs–here’s what the landing pages look like.
where faceless milktoast yuppies look at houses
where faceless bikers all wearing the same helmet ride into the doom canyon
where a meditative child in pristine beekeeping attire stands in front of a slightly taller child with no face
where two hands lightly grasp a campfire treat. These two hands may or may not belong to the same person and you can convince yourself either way if you stare at it long enough. Also no faces.
These landing pages have an inoffensive little flag animation that resembles people typing into a google doc and replacing the central adjective. The question remains, however, what happens when we examine each name, adjective, and their respective frequencies?
I’ve honestly got no expectations for this.
Under strict scrutiny this seemingly-well constructed ad will wither and die. Or reveal some kind of easter egg.
I examined these four landing pages for about seven whole minutes and here’s what I found:
- Every page has a rotation of three flags that always appear in the same order: yellow to pink to blue and back to yellow again.
- A complete rotation lasts about 15 seconds, with 5 seconds per flag
- Some names re-appear while other names are one-hit wonders
- Reappearing names have consistent flag colors
- These names are all lame and white
- With the exception of Sage, which is pretentious and white
I then made a chart displaying how often each “person” appears and what adjective they type in:
Google’s ad campaign is at once completely haphazard and bizarrely repetitive. Words repeat but not often enough for it to seem purposeful. Characters repeat but with no consistency or reliability. It’s absolutely maddening.
From the data collected in the chart, however, I was able to divine the character of each “person” Google created:
Pam: Pam’s the one that does all the work for the group project. She’s everywhere you want her to be and everywhere you don’t want her to be, but you’ve got to admit that she’s got zeal. She’s got a son who’s looking at Northeastern and isn’t afraid to let you know. When men ask for Pam’s number she gives them her business card.
Tom: Tom’s the type to be mad that his flag color is pink and only knows two adjectives, apparently. His two favorite things are his La-z-boy chair and his fishing rod collection, but if you ask him in person he’ll say they are “Friday nights with the boys” and “making a difference.”
Kim: Kim think’s she’s hot shit when it comes to conflict resolution because she did debate team in high school but breaks down when her sandwich is stolen from the fridge. She’s the kind of person to ask “oh, how are you?” while walking away because you both know she doesn’t give damn about the answer.
Sage: Sage reads articles in the New Yorker and then tells you that he read an article in the New Yorker. He also signs all of his emails with “cheers” because he had a British roommate once.
Jake: Jake’s a simple man. He says there’s “nothing wrong with the office coffee” and things like “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Jake has the same shirt in four different colors and has never seen a macaroon in his life.
Brittany: Brittany may or may not have stolen Kim’s adjective and her sandwich from the fridge, but you’re not going to ask her about it because there’s a rumor flying around that she’s keyed someone’s car. Brittany’s also very form over function. That’s why she spelled her name like a goddamn maniac.
My hope that this ad campaign would wither and die under further examination was met with mixed results. While on one hand there was consistency and repetition, on another hand the repetition itself seemed more lazy than intentional and kind of lame for a company worth $500 million.
While I was unable to find the great Google easter egg, I hope that in publishing this data someone may be able to catch something I have missed. Until then, Godspeed.
Okay, so here’s what happened. Ryan and his brother Trey got busted for trying to steal a car. Because Ryan was still a minor, a kind DA by the name of Sandy Cohen was able to get him released from custody without a trial. Ryan went back home, where his mom’s boyfriend was being abusive AF, so he called Sandy to come help him.
Sandy took him back to his house in Newport Beach where he told him he could stay the weekend, despite his wife Kirsten’s protests. While he was there, Ryan met the Cohens’ next door neighbor, Marissa Cooper. He thought she was real cute, but she had a boyfriend named Luke who was a douchebag. Tough shit. Marissa invited him to a party at her friend Holly’s house, and Sandy’s son Seth was like “Yeah, let’s do it!” cause he never got invited anywhere and he had a thing for this girl Summer who was way out of his league but was gonna be at the party also.
Then at the party they got into a fight and when they came home Kirsten was all, “He has to leave! He’s a bad influence on my boy!” and literally everybody else was like, uh, no? But Sandy brought him back home anyway, only to find that his mother bailed and the house was empty. So back to Newport Beach it was.
Anyway, Kirsten was still unhappy with the fact that Ryan was there, so Sandy promised that first thing Monday he’d turn him in to child services. That was the last fuckin thing Ryan wanted, so he made plans to run away instead. But Seth found out and was really bummed because he finally had a friend for once, so he suggested Ryan hide in a temporarily-abandoned model home Kirsten’s development company was building, Arrested Development meets Maniac Magee style. Obviously, Marissa had to see them right as they were about to leave – these things never work as planned – so they let her come along.
But Luke found out that Marissa was hangin’ with a new man, so he showed up to the model home with his crew. They beat the shit out of Ryan, and set the house on fire. But Luke then apparently realized that he was about to commit literal murder, and, being more of an arson man, decided to save Ryan’s life instead. They went back to the Cohens’ home, where they found a bunch of police waiting for them cause a) a minor was missing, and 2) a house was burned down, both of which are known cop magnets.
Ryan got sent to juvie, but when Kirsten and Seth visited him they realized what an inhumane shithole it was, so they once again brought him home as if he were just a fuckin yoyo. Kirsten still didn’t want Ryan to stay permanently, though, so they tried to reunite him with his mother but it turned out bish was cray, so Kirsten and Sandy decided to become Ryan’s permanent guardians instead. The whole ordeal was so dramatic and stressful that I was just like, “Fuck it,” and watched Friends instead.