Snack of Death: A Piggy's Vengence

I had a very bad incident with chicharrones this past weekend. Did I choke on one you ask? No. Me enchile? No.

I was biting into a delicious hot pica chicharone on Friday as I was preparing to watch High School Musical 2 and as I bit into it, the little chicharrone flake flew up into the air as they are prone to do and landed in my eyeball! OMG, the pain, the pain. It's like when you rub your eye after eating jalapeños. Worst of all, it was a flake and the pica together that were burning and itching my eye at the same time.

I ran around screaming and wondered to myself why I didn't have an emergency eye wash station in my house. I believe that all gelats should have them considering the ratio of chile to eye incidents that we are prone too.

I recovered and I didn't have to wear an eye patch, though I'm sure I could have rocked it if need be. I'm just warning you all that if you ever eat chicharrones do it with safety goggles or with your eyes closed. Now I'm never going to touch a maranito pan dulce or I'll be screwed!

I'm Back Bitches!

After a long spring/summer/fall (dios mio) hiatus, I'm back to the blog. I hate it when the crappy side of life takes over and you just become a sloth on the couch trying to keep up with the ever shrinking space on your tivo. No more. More posts, more love, more todo. Tu sabes.

From the archives, in honor of me being able to eat meat in three days, a little diddy about Easter:


It's holiday season again. And while one would usually wait until Thanksgiving or Christmas time to write a scathing something about the hurt that is family, I find that Easter says it best for me. My pain began with a frantic call from my mother.

Let me preface this by saying that as a Latina, more specifically a Mexican-American (or Chicana or Xicana or Revolucionaria or whatever the kids are calling it these days) I was born with a little black cloud of guilt over my head and it has followed me around my whole life. It's a mix of the ethnic, a mix of the cultural, a mix of the women in my life with a dash of Catholicism thrown in for good measure. Nia Vardalos thought she gave you a lesson in ethnic loving -- that girl ain't got nothin' on this shit.

The Gonzalez Family Reunion: where my family supposedly celebrates the resurrection of Christ. But if you were to poll them, you would hear their relief to return to things like soda, alcohol and American Idol after four long weeks of Lent. Four weeks can mean a lot of pent up anger and frustration and evil scenarios that make me think that my family is one step away from organized crime. Evil scenarios like the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003.

I'm from a small town in Central California. If we want entertainment, we go see Friday night high school football. If we want culture, we travel north to Fresno for the national touring company of Michael Flatley's The Lord of the Dance. This year we wanted drama, so we went to church.

In keeping with tradition, we rent the outside of our church hall on an annual basis. Steaks and tripas are barbecued (we get the meat free from our connections at the local grocery store). Kids hunt for Easter eggs (filled with money and confetti rather than candy). A horseshoe tournament is played (with a sweet pool). Alcohol flows freely (from my cousins who work for The Budweiser Corporation. Thank you, Budweiser.) All this to celebrate the resurrection of Christ and in the shadow of the giant 25 foot tall Virgin Mary statue that sits outside Sta. Maria de Guadalupe's Church Hall.

But this year something went terribly wrong. The phone rang one evening. It was my mother. The scandal in her voice was thick and quick. "Mija, we've lost the hall." She just said it. That was it. We had lost the hall. Someone had very unceremoniously stolen it out from under us and reserved it for themselves. "Don't people respect the fact that we have it every year?" she spat. "Who's family is as big as ours?" And that was it. The mortal truth. No family in town came close to our 200 plus members. But now that was all over. The church hall was a symbol of our power and presence in this little corner of the world. We had been duped. Someone had threatened the one thing that made us, family pride.

Deeper investigation from my aunt, the local gossip with connections because she taught catechism, led la familia to more clues. Seems that Tencha, one of the women who worked in the parish offices, was the key. Word was that Tencha had used her power on the inside to get the Church Hall for her family. "Her family isn't even as big as ours!" my grandma barked scandalously.

Suspicions were confirmed when, at mass on Sunday morning, Tencha gave us all mal ojo from where she sat perched on the church choir. "Ves, ves!" my grandma murmured during the hallelujahs. I was family and that meant that I couldn't get out, so along with my grandma I gave Tencha mal ojo back. All this on Palm Sunday. I felt dirty.

Like any well-oiled machine, we sent in the big guns in to fight the good fight on Monday morning. The self-appointed patriarch of the family, my mom's cousin Chonito was the head of the church building fund, organizer of the annual summer church festival, and a high up in the Knights of Columbus. He was also a wiz at strong arming local politicians and council members. Hell, even I'm a little afraid of him. Today, was the official drawing of the proverbial line in the sand as Chonito paid the Priest a visit. Chonito calmly asked the Father to "reconsider [his] decision". Hell, he might as well have brought the olive branch. Instead, he got a shrug and the big pass off. "The girls in the office handle those things, not me." The man who espoused the world of the Lord to us every week had no power over the catty ladies who sat in the front office typing the Sunday bulletin? Come on. In other words, no pleading with the greater good was going to work. So Chonito did what he does best. He threatened the Priest. "Father, you have a lot of people in this parish who are unhappy with you and now you have one more. I'm not someone you want unhappy with you." The Priest was shocked. Chonito stormed out of the parish office and rolled away in his giant Lincoln Navigator (limo tint? Of course. 20 inch rims? Hell yeah.). When I heard, I crossed myself. Oh Lord, was this sacrilege?

That Monday afternoon, everyone in our clan got a call instructing them never to go to that church again nor to give a single cent to the orchestrators of the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003. Fine with me, hell I didn't need to be getting mal ojo on a weekly basis or feel guilty for only giving change during collection because I couldn't break a $20.

We fight, we bicker, but the one thing that you can never do to a family is insult their pride, self-perceived power, or their ownership of a big piece of grass outside holy grounds. Of all of the trip ups and infighting that has occurred in my tenure with this clan, nothing has united us more than the Great Church Hall Theft of 2003. Secret family meetings were held about la situacíon (yes, the situation). I have never seen a phone tree develop so quickly, people volunteer their homes, or the homes of guys who know guys who may or may not have done jail time, tu sabes.

It all worked out in the end I guess. My parents still have to drive 30 minutes away to the next closest Catholic church and attendance of mass at Sta. Maria de Guadalupe's is down about 200 plus. But this Easter, steaks and tripas were barbecued, kids hunted for Easter eggs, and alcohol flowed (Thank you Budweiser). All this at our new location, found when we all put our heads together and got over the fact that in the end it was about the celebration, not where it was celebrated. This year's Gonzalez Family Reunion was perhaps more of a blow-out than any in years past. The location helped. But I can't tell you where it is. Your family might try to steal it. Then people would have to get hurt. Amen.

Is Britney....

...gonna be the next Anna Nicole? Um, I think she is well on her way. They need to do one of those intervention things on her or some-thing cause, they are gonna take her kids yo! Maybe she needs to go to the Christian rehab like my primos. That shit works, cause then you get addicted to the Lord instead of the smack. My primos are hella high on the Lord and like to say long prayers. I don't think Brit's family would mind long prayers instead of long humiliating interviews on national television. Whatever it takes is all I'm saying. Send her to Juvie, give her a beat down - R-E-G-U-L-A-T-E. Is her mama blind or something? 'Cause if I did anything that humiliating to my family, um, that would mark the end of my days on this earth. I'm just sayin', meal ticket or not, that girl needs someone to smack some sense into her bad weave.

BTW, love the tie necklace Brit. It's so classy. Did you get it at Claire's?

And did you wonder what happened to pobrecita Felicia, her trusty assistant with the unfortunate ears? Even Felicia was like "Fuck this crazy bitch, I ain't talking to Child Protective Services no mo'. I'm going back to the south y'all!" Here's what she wrote to the dude who used to run Britney's now defunked fansite, worldofbritney.com.



Ruben,
Once again–I commend you for your Honesty and Integrity. I have been reading your new website daily and am grateful to have that to go to, to check on the antics of Britney. Britney doesn’t have a Publicist for me to clear this thru first, so it will come directly from my heart to you!

I am writing in response to “Where is Felicia?” on your editorial.I am home–in Mississippi…….I am now a trained Corporate Flight Attendant and fly with a tiny jet company out of Georgia. I am also a substitute Preschool Teacher at the Church Preschool in my town. I LOVED being with Britney for the past 9 1/2 years. I enjoyed being a part of HER dream, but now, am living my own dream.

I cherish ALL the incredible opportunities that came my way thru my job with Britney and am crushed/saddened/heart sick by the way her life is unfolding…….

I want you to know Ruben that WE (as in her Family and nearest and dearest—ALL of whom are NOT on the payroll anymore!!) are doing EVERYTHING in our power to get help for Britney and all in our power to NOT pad the bottom or move the bottom, so when she does indeed hit rock bottom, she’ll stand up and walk away from this whole fiasco a new, confident, changed, career driven Britney like we all knew and loved.

There’s just so much you can do to help a person—I don’t dare want to be an enabler, and I cannot love her enough for the both of us. I cannot convince her in ANY way to love herself. All I can do is be a friend, someone that loved her for MANY years unconditionally, and PRAY. That, I have decided is the most and best I can do for my friend. I cannot save her from herself, nor can I commit her to any type of treatment program against her wishes and will. I am throwing my hands up and realizing that I am helpless over another—ANYONE!

It’s been a hard reality for me to face. I have lived my best example daily, and that is ALL I’m capable of. To see what’s transpiring now, makes me feel a failure, defeated. I LOVED and BELIEVED in what I was a part of for the past 10 years and was so incredibly proud of Britney and all she’d become.

All that to say this Ruben–I’m so Southern, and the BEST way for me to tell you how I feel is to say—You can just kick an old Dog so many times before he gets off the porch. I, FELICIA, am OFF the porch!!

Thank you for ALL you’ve done–ALL the love and support over the years. ALL the non-judgement and ALL the Honesty!

PLEASE let me know if there’s ANYTHING I can do to repay your kindness. With as much sincerity as I can Muster,

FE

I got your ice blended right here. You like that?

Children in Los Angeles are like accessories. Hot new Marc Jacobs purse, check. Iced Grande Latte, check. Child in a ridiculously adult outfit, check.

Per capita, Los Angeles has less children than your average American city, and for that reason some of us become desensitized to the little buggers. So when they invade your personal/public space, it’s like a dog whistle or a sudden outbreak of hives driving you to distraction.

Today, I happily sat in the local coffee shop working when some white people showed up with their cute little boy. He was wearing shorts and rain boots. I smiled. Then he sat right next to me, then he started to talk, then he didn’t shut the fuck up, then he started to jump on the chair next to me, then he spilled his vanilla ice blended all over the fucking leather club chair all while his oblivious mother stood there waiting for her Americano. Are you kidding me lady? Really? You aren’t going to regulate on this shit? And do you think it’s a good idea to give you hyperactive ADD child more coffee?! Cause let me tell you something, that kid needs a cachetada more than he needs a treat for the way he is behaving. You need to spank him and if you don’t, I’ll do it for you. Really, I’m happy to help out so that me and the other twenty people in the coffee shop don’t have to hear his high pitched screams and tantrums. And after I slap him, I’ll slap you. Pendeja.

Cage Match: Mariah vs. J.Lo

Bitch don't mess around. I NEED to see this girlfight. NOW. Oh, my little black heart would swell with such joy.

Comadres on ..... Beyonce

Sometimes, when you are feeling particularly unfunny and uninspired, your comadres bring it home with their insight and wisdom.

Comadres on: Beyonce - An Academic Discourse

IG: …I think Beyoncé is probably a biatch in real life. She just gives off that vibe. I’ve made up my mind that I just don’t like her, no matter how catchy that “Irreplaceable” song is. I think Jay Z deserves better. That is my deep thought of the day.

KGL: Speaking of drama, did you hear about the ruckus Beyonce and her parents were causing about Jennifer Hudson getting more press than B for "DreamGirls?". OMG. Supposedly, Mathew Knowles was completely rude to her on the set and at the premiere, and Mama Knowles was ignoring her. They wanted B to be the star and be considered for an Oscar, and the former American Idol was stealing all the press from B. with her amazing performance. The Knowles' are wrong. Act Christian, people! But...I still love Beyonce b/c she is from Houston and her songs make me want to get up and dance! "All the woMEN who are indepenDENT, throw yo hands up at me-e." Plus, I saw that she sells House of Dereon jeans at TJ Maxx and I love TJ Maxx.

MC: Beyonce sucks. He isn't irreplaceable. Who are you going to get better than him? Whatever. And how are you going to "upgrade him"? He has more $$ than you!

IG: YOU KNOW??!!! Whatever, B, Jay-Z is much too good for you, although apparently you are getting married this weekend. BLECH. And yes, I’d heard about how horrible the Knowles treated poor Jennifer Hudson. I hope she blows everyone out of the water and gets nominated for an Oscar and WINS. That’ll shut up stupid mumbler Beyoncé. I seriously, seriously think she is stoopid.

VC: mmm. beyonce's voice sucks. i suspected this for a long time, then my friend liz saw her and alicia keys and missy elliot and she said that beyonce was REALLY bad live. but i love her studio-enhanced music. jay-z is ugly. fix your teeth! you've got boocoo bucks. get braces! and work out a little. get a personal trainer for those arms! it's one thing to be poor and out of shape - but dude, you've got money. plus, the npr review of his come-back cd said it was lukewarm and middle-aged. plus, i didn't like that he was all DL about his relationship with beyonce. i'm not taking sides on this one b/c both of them are problematic.

IG: Bite your tongue, V!!!! Jay-Z is awesome. He's just ugly and there's nothing he can do about that (although I agree with you that he should hit up the gym - but I thought Beyoncé made him do that already???). And so what if he did not want to whore out his relationship with Beyoncé??

KGL: And whose song, "Murderer," makes me shudder everytime b/c it is SO awful.

VC: omg that is the worse song ever. she got a billboard award yesterday beating mary j and beyonce (i think). jay-z USED to be awesome. and braces take no effort - they even have clear ones now.

IG: And, she’s just basically admitting to being a ho. I mean, who DOES that???

KGL: Crazy girls with crazy eyes from Trinidad & Tobago, that's who.

AR: BTW, the Beyonce being mean to Jennifer Hudson thing is totally true. I have sources. And she was really mean to her at Oprah and wouldnt' talk to her because Oprah called J-Hud to tell her how amazing she was. Also, Michael Knowles called and demanded they recut the movie and they laughed in his FACE! Apparently, B is a big baby who totally believes all the hype that her parents have created around her. I just think about Michelle and Kelly. Kelly prob didn't have it as bad but Michelle had to have known what she was getting into.

IG: Ohhhhhhhhh, I hate Beyoncé. BTW, bitch, you can’t act. Get over yourself. It’s clear that you did not graduate high school. My mother, for whom English is a second language learned late in adulthood, has better diction than you. OH! I HATE HER! HATE! HATE! HATE! I hope Jennifer wins a million trillion awards and that Oprah become her fairy godmother spreading lucky gold dust all around her. I hate Beyoncé.

KGL: Ooh, as much as I love me some Beyonce, I truly DIG Mary J. Blige. She is so soulful.

IG: Do you all remember when Mary J. was a coke whore?? Literally? Back in the "Real Love" era --?? It was glorious! :)

Harry Potta'

Okay, I've never seen the Harry Potter movies. I know, I know. I really don't care if I ever see them ore not. But, I found this on youtube and it has amused me for 2 days. This girl is hilarious. When is she getting her own show?

Video the Vote!

Mighty Racist

Why does this picture of Angelina Jolie make me so uncomfortable? Perhaps because they darkened a bitch up to play that dead journalist's wife, Mariane Pearl.

It's for the new movie A MIGHTY HEART which Brad Pitt bought with Jennifer Aniston when they were married. When they seperated, he stole that shit from her and put sucia Angelina in it. I'm sorry but this is reaching SOUL MAN territory. I'm not okay with it. What does Zahara think of this?!

House of Crackheads

So last night, I watched the premiere of HOUSE OF CARTERS. I have to say that it was the most anticipated new show of the season for me because I've read every tragic detail of the break up of this family. Cheating father, lying mother, missing money, 19 year old hoe that daddy is fucking. I mean it doesn't get much better than that. Unless you televise it.....

I really don't know how I endured the hour of screaming and yelling. But having survived it, all I can really say is - wow, this family is fucked up! I mean, all our families have their degree of fuckedupness, but I think the Carters take the cake.

First, there is unfortunately named sister Bobby Jean (aka BJ). When your two options in life are to be called BJ or Bobby Jean, you kind of know that things aren't gonna go to well for you. BJ is the ugly sister. She has bad hair and bad skin and she makes it worse by smoking. She wants to be a cooking show host, which is ironic considering that the rest of the family hates her food. BJ is all about her low self-esteem, her big boobs and the bottle. BJ finds love with her bff alchy-haul, until people fuck up her buzz then she gets mean and kicks her dogs. Poor BJ, they should have left her in the trailer park in Sarasota. Her name is her fate and her fate is to pass the days on a lawn chair drinking and smoking her life away in front of the trailer park.

Aaron Carter is totally a meth addict. He's got the acne and the scabby face. He tweaks, I mean works, in the studio at ungodly hours and I think that he is abused by his big brother Aaron. He's like a lame puppy one moment and then he gets all crazy, invincible in the next. Pobrecito. I wonder if he used to freebase with Lohan or Duff. I would have paid money to see that.

Angel and Leslie want to be a model and a singer, respectively (or irrespectively). Angel looks like one of those girls who rocks the barbazon modeling classes at the mall. Leslie feels guilty for being the last one to leave their crackhead, thief of a mother back in Florida to peruse her dreams.

The entire house is headed up by Nick, who has taken on roll as segregate father to the brood because apparently, before this, they didn't even talk to one another nor did they know that they were all in the same city working on their "art". Nick is going to make all their dreams come true, just like Lew Pearlman did for him. During this time, he will whip them into shape by fighting with them, biting them (I'm serious), telling them that their mother used them all, and touching them in inappropriate places...okay, well maybe not that, but you get the point.

All in all, House of Carters is a sad look into the lives of people whose lives fall apart when a bad cocktail of white trash, stage parents, talented kids, and sudden cash flow mix together in the state of Florida to give you this.

Yes, it's terrible. Yes, it's sad. Yes, you can see them all 20 years from now being totally fucked up and destitute. But for now, they are living in a house in Beverly Hills, screaming at each other and spending their money like it grew on trees. I can watch that for thirteen episodes and not let it weigh on my conscience.

So What....

"So What" - that song that has gotten so much air play on the radio lately and has become my new office song, sure has stuck it out for the long haul. I love to sing it in the car, in the shower, while I'm standing at the copy machine at work, to myself at my desk, I even sing it in my sleep while I'm snoozing in the morning trying to get my ass out of bed.

My comadre pointed out very astutely that this song had to have been written for gelat (latina) women. I have to say that after thinking about it, she's got to be right. Could it be that this is our theme song for better or worse? Ay dios.

SO WHAT
Field Mob
feat. Ciara
[Jazze Pha]
Ladies and GENTLEMEN!
Jazze Pha, Field Mob, Ciara, Superstar DJ's
Here we go

[Chorus - Ciara]
They say - "He do a little this, he do a little that
He always in trouble," and I heard
"He's nuttin but a pimp, he's done a lot of chicks
He's always in the club," and they say
"He think he slick, he's got a lot of chips
He's sellin them drugs," and I heard
"He's been locked up, find somebody else
He ain't nuttin' but a thug"
So whaaaaaaaaat, so whaaaaaat
So whaaaaaat, so whaaaaat

[Shawn Jay]
And they say - I'm a slut, I'm a ho, I'm a freak
I got a different girl everyday of the week
You too smart you'd be a dummy to believe
That stuff that you heard that they say about me
They say that I'm THIS, they say that I'm THAT
But all of it's fiction, none of it's fact!
But you don't be hearin it about your lover
You let it go in one ear and out the other
Now he say, she say, they say, I heard
If they fake we can't let it get on our nerves
She miserable, she just want you to be
Like her, misery needs company
So don't listen to that vine of grapes - They're
Nuttin' but liars hatin, and I bet
They wouldn't mind tradin pla-ces
with you by my side in my Mercedes

[Chorus]

[Smoke]
Mo' Money, Mo' Problems, life of a legend
Haters throw salt like rice at a weddin
So what, that's your cousin, that don't mean nuthin
Her like missin is a type of affection
You get, you just blind to the facts
See the lies just as obvious as cries for attention
Yield to the blindness to apply your suspicion
But listen, say you love me, gotta trust me
Why you stress this high school mess?
Break up never, they just jealous!
Drama from your mother, mean mug from your brother
I'm that author of the book, they can judge from the cover
Yes - I been to jail
And yes - I'm grindin for real
I'm a positive talkin negative pimp
They hate to see you doin better than them, so!

[Chorus]

(Ladies and Gentlemen, Ciara)

[Ciara]
Some people don't like, it
'Cause you hang out in the street
But you my boy-friend
You've always been here for me
This love is serious
No matter what people think
I'm gon' be here for ya
and I don't care what they say
Some people don't like, it
'Cause you hang out in the street
But you my boy-friend
You've always been here for me
I love the thug in ya
No matter what people think
I'm gon' be here for ya
and I don't care what they say

[Field Mob ad-libs as song fades]

Tortilla Nation

I feel the need to educate people on a recent trend that has me very worried. I just saw a commercial yesterday for the new McDonalds $1 Chicken Snack Wrap. People eat in on the street, they eat it on the go, they eat it in the office, they eat it at home. It’s so convenient, that you can take it on the go and hold it in one hand because it’s neatly rapped in America’s new boyfriend – The Tortilla.

In this world of healthy wraps, nouveau fusion Mexican cuisine, late night drive ups and fast casual dining….it seems that tortillas are making a leap to the A-list. I’m proud of the tortilla. It’s getting its much needed moment in the spotlight. But like most things that hit the mainstream, America has begun to pimp out the tortilla so that it has begun to look like a shadow of its former self. It's being handled by mere mortals and it may be a danger to us all. Let me explain…..

When I was a little girl, every morning, Hermelinda, the lady who took care of my grandpa would make homemade tortillas and pan. She would put some scrumptious butter on my tortilla and roll it up for me to have with my café con leche. It was a delicious treat that was stunting my growth and packing on the early pounds, but I was four years old, what did I care? My torrid love affair with the tortilla had begun.

My grammy would often make me tortillas with peanut butter and jelly for an afternoon snack. She would grill the tort to an inch of its life so that it was nice and crispy and smear on the PB&J and I would have it with a bottle of Pepsi (because Mexican’s believe firmly in that Pepsi won the challenge and we also love to recycle glass). The most important part of this equation was the fact that the tortilla had to be very, very toasty.

In my early years, whenever I would try to take her to Taco Bell she would scoff. No way was she going to eat there. Their tortillas were RAW. When we would have brunch at Mexican restaurants, my grammy would send back many a tortilla at a restaurant because it wasn’t toasty enough. “Like a cracker!” she would say when she sent it back. I think her record for sending back the same set of tortillas was five times.

I finally asked my grandma one day why she was so insistent that the tortilla had to be so crispy. “It’s better that way, and besides, if it’s raw, you’ll get worms!” Whaaaaaa-waaa-waaaa-WORMS? I was gonna get worms? Like my dog? Like they were gonna eat me from the inside out and squirm in my body? Oh my God, how many soft tacos had I eaten in my lifetime? How many Big Beef Burritos would it take for a colony of worms to grow in my belly? I was going to die. At the tender age of eight, I knew that it was all over. I was a mere vessel for parasitic colonization.

I ran home and told my mom that I was gonna die. She said that it probably hadn’t done that much damage. “So it’s true?” I asked. “Better to err on the side of caution,” she replied cryptically. From that day on, I never, ever, ever ate a raw tortilla again. Not steamed, not warmed. I needed those bitches grilled to an inch of their life. I even sent them back a few times.

Now in my lifetime, my grammy also told me that if I ate chile seeds that the seed would go in my appendix and I would die. She also told me that eating Vicks was good for me. My grammy knew lots of stuff, so I ain’t trying to question her wisdom.

Today, I would like you to ask yourself the following questions. Does it really seem like a good idea to eat raw dough? Do issues of salmonella and yeast raise a caution flag for you? Do raw eggs scare you? Then I would think that eating a tempe wrap in a raw tortilla (no matter how sun-dried tomatoed that shit is), a steamed burrito, or a microwaved quesadilla might be a little suspect.

Let this be a cautionary lesson for you all. Don’t be fooled by whitey’s attempt to appropriate our foods. They don’t know what they are getting themselves into and I strongly question their ability to handle such things. Tortillas are to be handled with care, cooked on a comal, sarten or directly on your gas stove. There is no other alternative. If a live flame has not touched your tortilla, you may be in grave danger. Assure yourself good health and a long life. Cook your tortillas. You might have to send that shit back five times, but at least you won’t have to have your appendix taken out because of a damn chile seed or have worms eat your insides out.

Lonelygirl15 - Not So Lonely

So yesterday, I mentioned my current fixation with video blogging. One of the people who I neglected to mention was someone named Lonelygirl15 . I had seen Lonelygirl15's videos featured on You Tube and all the hits she'd gotten, so I watched them. Honestly, I didn't get it. They were kind of boring and a little weird and too personal.

I never thought much of it again until I saw an article in the LA Times today. Could it be that Lonelygirl15 isn't real at all? That she is a genious marketing tool used to promote an upcoming horror movie? Fucking brilliant.

Mystery Fuels Huge Popularity of Web's Lonelygirl15

By Richard Rushfield and Claire Hoffman

September 8, 2006

Lonelygirl15 appears to be an innocent, home-schooled 16-year-old, pouring her heart out for her video camera in the privacy of her bedroom. But since May, her brief posts on the video-sharing site YouTube and the social networking hub MySpace have launched a Web mystery eagerly followed by her million-plus viewers: Who is this sheltered ingenue who calls herself "Bree," and is she in some sort of danger — or, worse, the tool of some giant marketing machine?

No one has publicly come forward to lay claim to her work, but she is starting to look as connected in Hollywood as any starlet. Three lonelygirl15-obsessed amateur Web sleuths set up a sting using tracking software that appears to show that e-mails sent from a lonelygirl15 account came from inside the offices of the Beverly Hills-based talent agency Creative Artists Agency.

The apparent CAA link takes its place alongside other tantalizing pieces of evidence that lonelygirl15 is not who she claims to be: a copyright for the name obtained by an Encino lawyer, and a plot line that, leading speculation suggests, will turn out to be the lead-in to a horror movie's marketing campaign.

CAA spokesman Michael Mand said he "could neither confirm nor deny" that the agency is representing whoever is behind the 27 video posts. (Other talent agencies and production companies contacted by The Times denied any connection.)

As to horror film rumors, calls made to several studios found no such plans — but plenty of fascination for the way in which a Hollywood-ready cultural phenomenon has been built from a grass-roots Web platform. Lonelygirl15, many say, is the next-generation "Blair Witch Project," using interactive forms of storytelling that, like the 1999 hit, tries to trick an audience into thinking it's true.

Indeed, if a commercial project does result, lonelygirl15 may prove to be a model of how to harness a groundswell created on seemingly populist, user-driven websites such as YouTube and MySpace.

To fans, meanwhile, it doesn't seem to matter whether lonelygirl15 turns out to be a private citizen or part of something bigger.

Riana Giammarco, a Rhode Island 20-year-old who curates a lonelygirl15 discussion board (one of several on the Web) says the mystery is the principal draw for her.

"I like the community aspect of the mystery — getting together and trying to figure it out," Giammarco said in a phone interview. "Though I would still watch if there weren't a mystery, the videos wouldn't appeal to me as much."

Lonelygirl15 began quietly, posting in May two amateurish tributes to other videos on the Web's confessional arenas. For a moment she was just one of thousands who post videos on the site each day, typically young people speaking into cameras about their personal lives, a familiar trope from reality TV.

On June 16, lonelygirl15 made her first appearance in a video, titled "First Blog/Dorkiness Prevails." Dark-haired, big-eyed and pretty, she blinked nervously and hugged her knees as she described living in a small town "hours from a mall" with strict religious parents and a friend named Daniel, who she didn't like "in that way."

Over the next three months, two dozen more videos hit the Web, spaced out every few days. Bree dangled hints about her life, revealing that she had spent her youth in New Zealand, was treated for "lazy eye" and had an obsession with physicist Richard Feynman. Oblique references popped up to "my religion," which was never named but which forbade things such as attending Daniel's high school graduation party.

Fans soon started to notice jarring details. A music clip from an undiscovered L.A. band was mixed in to her well-edited montage sequences. Her room was movie-set neat. Above her bookshelf hung a photo of famed occultist Aleister Crowley. Thin already, Bree talked about an upcoming religious ceremony that she would participate in, even though it involved going on a diet.

On the message boards, discussions revolved around the single shoot theory: that the videos must have been filmed in one batch, because they gave little or no nod to the furor erupting around them. The landscape of two outdoor videos had botanical clues that suggested Southern California.

Since June, the videos have regularly made it to the top of YouTube's daily "Most Viewed" list, averaging about 200,000 views each, with several topping 600,000 — viewership many cable TV executives would kill for.

In late August, fans discovered that the Web address for lonelygirl15.com had been purchased before the first video even appeared, with efforts made to shield the identity of the buyer.

In early September, Web forums erupted with the news that lonelygirl15 had been trademarked and the application filed by an Encino lawyer named Kenneth Goodfried. (He declined to comment for this article.) Within days, the MySpace profile of Goodfried's daughter was being combed for connections to the video.

Independent film director and blogger Brian Flemming, who is known for creating edgy film events, became wrapped into the story when viewers became convinced that Flemming had constructed the whole thing in order to promote an upcoming film.

Flemming said he received more than 300 e-mails from people accusing him of involvement.

"People have been confronting me with coincidences, and I don't know how to explain it," Flemming said, choosing his words carefully for fear of furthering the theories. "It's been pretty crazy and actually not particularly desired. It's like a big gift being handed to me that I don't want."

In the last week, the videos have developed seemingly ominous themes. In "Bree the Cookie Monster," Bree and Daniel, on her bedroom floor, sample cookies they say they have made. Judging a contest is a purple monkey puppet, who holds up scores for each cookie recipe. The first cookie was given a "10." The second a "12," the third "06."

Viewers immediately asked: Why 06 and not just 6? Soon, a posting told the virtual crowd that Aleister Crowley was born on October 12, 1875." Could it be that the ritual lonelygirl15 had been preparing for would take place on Crowley's birthday?

But the most compelling mystery has become who is behind lonelygirl15, and fans soon became proactive in trying to solve that bigger puzzle. Driven by hours of conjecturing and late-night instant-messaging analysis, three amateur sleuths who met on the discussion boards on lonelygirl15.com hatched a plan in August to lure lonelygirl15 to MySpace profiles they had created for the purpose.

They were Shaina Wedmedyk, an 18-year-old Oberlin College freshman; Chris Patterson, a 36-year old software engineer from Tulsa, Okla.; and a 23-year old law student in Pennsylvania who declined to be identified by name.

On Aug. 29, they sent an e-mail from a profile they had created for "Seth," an imaginary 17-year-old from Ohio. He told lonelygirl15, "You seem really cool!! I added you and I hope you will add me back. We have the same interests! Your videos are cool, where do you host them? MySpace?"

Later that day, they received an answer. It read simply, "Hi seth :) I think I added you…. The videos are on youtube. What sort stuff are you into?"

Using the tracking software, the team was able to see that seconds before lonelygirl15 had sent the note, someone had looked at Seth's profile. This visit was the only one the profile had received in 17 hours, suggesting that whoever was at the controls of the lonelygirl15 account on MySpace looked at Seth's page before sending the message.

The user's IP address — the number assigned to any Internet-connected computer — was traced to the private server of CAA in Beverly Hills.

Tuesday night, lonelygirl15 posted a sexually tinged video titled "Poor Pluto," in which Bree bemoans the demotion of Pluto to sub-planetary status.

Sprawled on her bed, she stares into the camera and remembers her brief time at a regular high school, when she loved stars.

"They said I was doing something with my teacher, and that's when I stopped asking questions about stars."

Another riddle that will move the story forward?

Or, perhaps, there is a truly mind-blowing explanation for lonelygirl15, albeit one that keeps receding ever further into the realm of the unlikely: just a bored teenager with a camera.

High School - Bye School

I live a block away from a high school. I never think much of it when I’m on my way to work except that I need to slow down lest I get pulled over for driving too fast and threatening the life of our future America. But now that it’s September and the summer is over, I realized that kids are actually back in school. They are. Can you believe it?

I drove by the high school this morning and saw all these kids up in on the front steps with their heavy book bags, trudging their sleepy little asses to class, looking like this was the last place in the world that they wanted to be and I had one thought:

I may hate my job, I may hate my life, but I am fucking glad as hell that I don’t have to go to high school anymore.

High school fucking sucks. It sucked when our parents went. It sucked harder when we went. And I can only imagine how tough you must have to be now to survive the war at home that is one’s secondary education. I mean, do you remember getting up when it was still dark so that you could be in homeroom by 7:20 am? My dad used to rip off my covers, turn on the TV to full blast on the snow channel and put shaving cream on my face and none of it worked. I was still always late in the morning.

My mom would inspect my clothes before I walked out the door and inevitably make me more late when she would get mad that I didn’t iron my jeans. Good lord woman! I’m fucking late! I don’t have time to put a crease in my jeans! Then she would yell at me and ask me what people would think of her if her daughter went out in public looking all “chewed up”. Whatever mom. Whatever.

Then I would rush to school in my little clunker (life was worse when you rode the fucking bus) and sit in my car and do my homework until I heard the last bell ring. I rushed up to homeroom and my teacher would yell at me for being tardy. You know that I was #2 in my high school class (because I took the hard AP classes and some people were fucking lazy ass motherfuckers who took stupid classes like ROTC History so they could get straight A’s and be valedictorians, then go to community college or court reporting school) and I almost flunked out of my AP English class with a Withdrawal Fail (WF) because I was always late? Fuck you, Mrs. Fritz. I still remember your fucked up, sorry ass and I still hate you for it, bitch.

Then I would think about how I forgot my clothes for P.E. and how I had to wear the “Loner” P.E. clothes that actually said LONER on them. It’s LOANER you fucking dolts. Is that place an institution for intelligence or ignorance? Then I would have to run the mile with cholas who would walk the whole thing while shouting expletives like “Fuck you, Miss Rizzo. I ain’t fucking running no stupid ass mile. Fuck this shit. I ain’t running for anyone but la migra.”

Then after P.E., I’d go to lunch and fight for a table at Burger King while I waited for my double cheeseburger, because that’s totally what I needed to be eating everyday to get more chubs club.

After lunch, I would go to Spanish class with La Senora Jameson who had an untimely car accident and was never the same after she experienced some head injuries. Mrs. Jameson taught us the same lazy ass lesson plans in AP Spanish that she was teaching to Spanish 1. Then a week before the AP test she announced, “Tenemos que preparar para el examen de AP.” Um, don’t you think it’s a little late for that? Maybe we should have been thinking about that a while ago, you crazy ho.

Sixth period, Calculus. Group work! Group work is an experiment designed to have students teach one another so that they are too preoccupied to realize that their fucking teacher is a lazy ass who doesn’t know anything about Calculus in the first place. One person does all the work (me) and everyone else copies (everyone else). I guess that class was my best introduction to real world experiences so I can’t hate them entirely for showing me how unfair life really is.

Then I would go to Forensics. Yes, Forensics. Not the kind on CSI, the speech and debate class. Because I was a DORK. I didn’t know I was a dork then, but I was. I would read all the current events magazines and practice my International Extemporaneous speeches and plan our tournament trips to CSU Fullerton and Berkeley. Forensics was the only time I had any fun in school. Que sad that reading about the Middle East crisis in U.S. News and World Report was my idea of fun.

All I could think of was how I was going to have to live this day over again. High school is like Groundhog Day with bad clothes and pimples.

So today, with school back in session, I salute you, young adolescents of the world, for your bravery and your strength. Know that it will all be over soon and you will be free to waste your life and education away in the real world where things still blow. But at least you don’t have to get up so fucking early in the morning to realize it.

I Tube, You Tube

I am currently FACINATED by people who video blog. I would never do it in a million years, but I get hours and hours of enjoyment during work hours watching people on You Tube share their thoughts and feelings with thousands of strangers who find them so interesting that they are compelled respond with their own video blogs. I guess this is what you call an internet community. To me it's free entertainment because I'm too fucking poor to go to the movies anymore. I gotta get my entertainment from the masses yearning to be heard. Speak to me, gente. I first found LucyInLA who is trying to become an actress.

Lucy is a little innocent girl from Texas who came to LA to act and thinks she is gonna get famous by being on You Tube. She ain't dumb, because she is famous now. I have money on the fact that she'll be repped at CAA within the next month and I'll still be toiling away waiting for someone shitty junior agent to read my damn script. Good luck to you Lucy, you crazy ho.



The other person I found on You Tube is Little Loca. She is a straight up homegirl from East LA. Little Loca is the real mothafuckin' deal and I fucking love her. Loca gives the world shout outs and calls people out on their shit, new wave internet stilo. She's all technological and shit. She don't fuck around and you'd better not fuck with her. Little Loca, I remember when I was like you back in the day. You bring back good memories to this veterana. Keep on keeping it realz, hermana. LL 4eva'.

Flashback

Remember those bitchin' how-to videos they did on Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street? They are burned into my brain forever. Much more so then my multiplication tables. 8x7? Ummmmm. Ow, my head hurts. Those videos along with my Child Craft Encyclopedias inspired me to create wonderful original creations like box forts, puppet shows, and the worlds' first cell phone system out of two tin cans and a string. Simpler days when we were too poor for Atari, so we created our own fun. Once I buried my report card in the neighbors' yard for fun. When my mom saw what I did and spanked me with a chancla in front of them that wasn't so fun. Then I had to keep the same dirty report card the whole year and it was really embarrassing. Ay.

Anyway, take a look and remember how crayons were made back in the day by white people. Can you believe they used to work in factories? Pretty damn mind blowing if you ask me. Maybe it will inspire you to make your mom an ashtray out of bottle caps.

source

Pluto's Pissed

Poor Pluto. Those wanks at NASA thought that they would drum up a little publicity by causing US Weekly style chaos in the galaxy. So they went and publicly dissed Pluto by disinviting it to the party. That's right Pluto is no longer hip and kewl enough to be a planet. Now, it's just an angry little Icy Dwarf.

Poor Pluto has lost it's status on the planetary scene. It will now be forced to go hang out at El Torito and sip happy hour margaritas instead of going to celebrity karaoke at Guy's. Word is that Neptune was responsible for the "fire crotch" inspired incident when it told the rest of the Milky Way that Pluto was just an icy frozen little planet whose orbit was only determined by Neptune’s, and also that Pluto sucked in bed. Saturn took it further with those fucked up rings and spread it all over town like a bad case of Chlamydia. The Earth tried to be all innocent and through it's publicist stated that it wasn't responsible for the tardo people that lived on its surface like a destructive virus.

Lance Bass was the most pissed because that's where he wanted to go on his little space vacation with Richen. Boo!

When ugly people are arrogant.

What happens when you start living your life online because you are too socially inept, too frightened by real life, or just too damn ugly to go out there and get a real date?

You turn into this woman, who is apparently the most delusional person on the planet. If this bitch is gonna give ME dating tips, there is seriously something wrong with my fucking life and I would like to end it now and start over. I just don't get it. My friend Mayra always someone should always bring something to the table. You should either be cute, smart, funny or some combination there of. But this woman is none of those things. And what's worst is she thinks she is fucking great. I just don't understand it. Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Maybe it's the only way she and her cats can make it through another day. Either way....

That's one too many Comicon's for you honey. Even Will Wheaton feels sorry for your sad Star Trek ass. You stupid, arrogant, delusional hoe.

Trimspa, Baby.

One of my comadres is on a constant rant about Sean Preston and how chubs he is. I think it keeps her up at night because every time we speak our conversation ends with "And how fat is Britney's baby, yo?" I tried to ignore it, becuase I thought she was just being mean. I mean, que mala, he's just a little baby. But then I saw these side by side photos of little (ahem.) SPF. Are they feeding him human growth hormone? My god, woman. Your kid is turning into the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man!
What are you feeding him? Freaking Fosters Freeze hamburgers and fried twinkies? You're kid is out of control. Pobrecito. He's going to be too big to fit into the car seat that you don't use pretty soon. Re.Gu.Late. Put him on weight watchers, Trimspa, something! Get him an ab lounge, I don't care. But for the love of God, save SPF!