Look at This Fucking Hipster

I really like this blog. It strikes a profound chord in me when I see photos of Manhattan hipsters, a.k.a., NYU Students, Conde Nast Interns, and the regular assorted variety of prodigal offspring celebrating their "individuality" and "spirit". This photo, and it's caption, really stole my heart...“It’s actually really hard to be a pimp when all your bitches have trust funds.”

Check them out at
Look at this Fucking Hipster

SHIPASHEEPTURD.COM: Cottage Industries blossom in tough economy

Dear Facebook,

Thanks for making it possible for me to stay informed, in a timely manner, in the ways of my friends. I don't know how I lived for so long without knowing about everything that everyone is doing during the day- I mean, what if my best friend broke up, went to the Glendale Galleria, ate at Panda Express and got diarrhea... but when I didn't Facebook, sometimes I wouldn't get wind of these stories until hours later, sometimes even a whole day.
As far as I can tell, you're great. There is only one flaw in your beautifully designed information mill: You are spying on me and my interests. Today, I opened up my Facebook page to check and see what my friends were consuming for breakfast and see who had a hangover from last night. In the right margin, I saw this.
How did you know that I have a passion for neatly boxing animal excrement and giving it to people? Maybe you have transcended the servers and wires and become a living, breathing entity that apparently can stalk my nightmares and come to concise conclusions about my personality and consumer habits. That's all fine and good, but you may want to run these ads through a spell check program of some kind. The word "Truds" above, as we all know, is use to describe druid-shaped poop, and is considered to be of an obsolete style. Just saying.
Also, you should really check out the Sheep Turd website. It's kind of a hoax, if you ask me. I really do want to send people poop in the mail- not poop that tastes and smells like candy because it is candy. That ruins everything. ShipaSheepTurd.com is a great concept with a dissappointing PG resolve. I'm just a little jealous that I didn't come up with the idea first.

Gotta go wrap some gifts.

HCP

Culture Corner

Lately, I have resolved to watch what is considered to be the worst programming available on television. Instead of complaining about the lack of good television, namely, fixating on the cancellation of Arrested Development a few years back, I am embracing the lurid nature of a few really distasteful shows that scream "Semi-Non-Scripted Reality/Non-WGA Signatory".
If you haven't had the pleasure already, you should really try to catch a couple of episodes of The Bad Girls Club. It is a delight. America's Next Top Model is full of staged catty bitch-out's, but it gets a little boring because there's this whole competition aspect, and the girls are actually expected to do something. That's what is so wonderful about The Bad Girls Club- all they have to do is simply live in a house with each other... no goals or rules! Check this out:

(Click on the pic)

We've gone YouTube.

I don't know if anyone has heard of this great new thing called YouTube, but I feel pretty special having been one of the first people to discover it today. Yeah, I pretty much sailed the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria up along the side of the online broadcasting service, and dropped anchor.
Make sure you subscribe to The High Class Problem's YouTube channel. The HCP YouTube channel with be featuring supplemental hilarity to this old, boring blog sack of crap of a shit blog. Reading is totally overrated, and I understand that my readers' attention spans are dwindling with the passing of every new amazingly choreographed Beyonce video.
In addition to the dedicated YouTube channel for HCP, check out the new series Dear Diary. It's an audio study guide- consider it your lab hours, and make sure you bring your text books.

SpoofCard

Valentine's day is on the approach, and everyone is searching for the perfect gift for his/her special someone. Instead of buying your paramour a box of overpriced Vosges Bacon-Peppercorn-Chili-Lemon flavored chocolate, or some really itchy lingerie- buy yourself a SpoofCard and harass the pants off your lover over the phone! Here's how it works:

You can choose what number you are going to call, then you can choose what you want to show up on their caller ID. You also have the choice of disguising your voice with a built-in vocal transformer. How fun is that? If you're feeling nice around Valentine's day, buy one as a gift and sit with some good wine and prank people for the entirety of the Hallmark Holiday.

Balls to the Walls Mall Dolls, and stuff that's going on.

Good God! Does anyone else think this week has been long? I know it's only Tuesday, but it's seemed like a horribly long haul these last two days. Maybe it's the inauguration, or perhaps it's my apparent inability to refrain from consuming adult beverages. This evening is all about staying inside with a glass of pomegranate juice and playing a rousing round of Mall Madness... but I'll be playing myself, as no one wants to come over.
Some things and other stuff that is happening:




Metronomy is going to be playing in Los Angeles tomorrow (January 21st) and I cannot wait to dance. The dayglo pink facepaint is already laid out on the vanity, and the dancing shoes are being polished. In similar news, Chromeo will also be playing in my fair sub-mediteranian Camelot on Thursday the 22nd- attendance is mandatory.




In Facebook news, Betty Wong owns Samantha Ronson per the popular Facebook application Friends for Sale. "What kind of price might Miss Ronson fetch?" you ask. Try a whopping $325,725,235 on for size and take it for a light jog around the block.




There are a ton of whales, dolphins, and even Harbor Seals roving around the Malibu area right now, and even the Santa Monica bay. Go check them out before the Japanese kill them.




Summer Heights High has ended on HBO, thus rendering life pointless and devoid of any joy... except maybe the joy of an over-exalted new president, inauguration parties with free vodka, and The Bachelor, all of which are nothing in comparison to Ja'Mie King screaming, "I'd rather be a pedophile than a lesbian!"




Gilly Hicks is a new underware line for women which is owned by Abercrombie and Fitch Co. They are a new store, and seemingly trying to liquidate a great deal of stock as they are currently hocking really hot scivvies for $1.90 a pair. There are few greater thrills than getting ten pairs of panties for under twenty bucks.




If you are hungry do this:
Go to the store and buy 2 huge sweet potatoes. Wash them, leave the skins on, and slice them very thin. Mix a half cup of Olive oil with a crushed clove of garlic and a pinch of cinnamon. Pour that over the yummy yams, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and bake for 40 minutes at 425 degrees.





If you had artificially become pregnant with three girl children, it would be totally worth it to name them Freedom, Justice, and Liberty.




Oprah is obsessed with slavery and the civil rights movement.




The next time you find yourself bored, evade haplessness and read this six part series about Scientology that the Los Angeles Times produced. It will blow your mind.




If I could live inside of the store Anthropologie, I would.




The Mall is an excellent place to spend time with your good friends. The shopping center landscape promotes good attitudes and amazing food items.




Be advised: The Beverly-Wilshire hotel charges even their most precious guests (me) $40 for an overnight valet. Where the hell is Richard Gere when you need him?

Talk to the password because my personal information won't listen.

A cousin of mine was in Los Angeles visiting this past weekend. At one point, I believe it was when I was walking in front of my family whilst pretending I was a flying bird that was leading them somewhere, she said, "you are so free".
"Yes, I am", I thought to myself, "free to do my bird pantomime, and fly wherever I want."

Feeling liberated is the greatest feeling of all, and I consider part of my own liberation to be the product of several personal choices, namely disregarding the opinion of those who aren't close enough to me for their judgment to actually seem meaningful. But what happens when the people that don't matter (cease to matter to you, or start to matter less and less) seek vengeance? There are a lot of ways to sneak attack a light-hearted, non-paranoid person... all it takes is a few hurt feelings, and a few minutes to access your most personal transmissions and confidential information. It's creating a post-modern epidemic of blow-ups, falling outs, break-up's, and very public disputes.

Today, the average bear has a Blackberry, several email accounts, Instant Messenger services, a Skype account, Facebook, Myspace, PayPal, the list goes on. Often times, one can access these accounts, despite their non-ownership, with only a couple of pieces of information that are not hard to obtain if you have, or had, a fairly personal relationship with a person. If you would have asked me if I thought that anyone I dated, or my friends, would attempt to access my email, phone, etc., at the times of acquiring these technologies, I would have responded, "no, of course not. What do I look like?"

CUT TO:
INT. DAY- SHIT HITTING THE FAN

About five years ago, I found myself in a destructive relationship- destructive on both ends. He was an alcoholic, I thought he just drank a lot; I was a fan of wearing minimal amounts of clothing, he had a Madonna-Whore Complex; he cheated and blamed me, I wasn't cheating but constantly having to prove my innocence. It was a sick (yet surprisingly chic!) downward spiral into a war that escalated... there were knock down battles in Cannes on the Coisette, German sports cars flailing too close to guard rails on Mulholland, illegally distilled Czech Absinthe, and all kinds of speculation on both parts. On one fateful night, I fled the house and left my then boyfriend to his bottle and thoughts in our apartment. After a good meal and some reassuring from my best friend, I realized I would need to get some things from the house in order to live for a week or so until I found other accommodations. I returned home to find a one boyfriend on the brand new $4,000 rug in a pile of his own vomit, mumbling and cursing my name (note: girls don't find this attractive, call me Victorian). The 2:00 A.M. check-in to the Roosevelt was not a high point. Once locked safe in my fortress of solitude a la Thompson Hotels, my Blackberry sounded like it was having a seizure. In ten minutes, I received over 250 emails that I had sent and received in the prior six weeks... but all were being forwarded from MY email address. Turns out, my putrid paramour enlisted the help of his overweight production intern to hack into all of my email accounts, and had been raiding my mail- wherein I regularly conducted open forums pertaining to the matter of my fiendish relationship- for a month-and-a-half. I took a seven hour bath and over one-hundred milligrams of Doxepin... and still broke out in panic hives. And all it took was a wounded ego and him asking a favor in exchange for another (most likely in the form of an Arby's gift card).

This little anecdote proves that no matter what, who, or where, you should secure all of your personal information. Inquiring minds want to know, and when it's sitting front and center, it's hard to restrain one's self. Add a little anger, some hurt feelings, and you've got a full tilt security breach. My ex-boyfriend had his intern come into our house and install password spy software on both of my computers. Then he gave him a load of my personal information. This is the same person who I slept next to, discussed our future with, and ran crappy errands for. Creepy.

I really haven't thought of any facet of this story until recently, but due to an influx of horror stories from my friends, the awful scenario resurfaces, heeding warning. Oh, the stories... Blackberrys plucked from bedside tables and scoured in the middle of the night. Facebook accounts opened up wide, easily, thanks to password settings in browsers. And, the worst of the worst- the actual hand-written, good old fashioned analog journal reading. All is truly fair in love and war, so get it together and lock it up. Some helpful tips:

• If you use Yahoo Mail, especially, try registering under a different birthdate- like that of your favorite historical figure (Susan B. Anthony? Mussolini?) or maybe your favorite Olsen twin.
• Change your passwords regularly, and systematically.
• Put a password on your phone and a time-out lock. This also works for avoiding those big phone bills for calls that were made to Peru during that fateful five hours you left your handset at Target but you were too busy at yoga, and post-yoga Pinkberry to realize it.
  
• Put a master password on your computer. Make it something that pertains to the people you're trying to ward off from weaseling around in your computer. Nicetrymotherfucker69, Youareastupiddick, and icantbebotheredwithyourinsolence are all examples of impermeable gatekeepers that will bring a smile to your face every time you log in.
  
• Put a pin on your voicemail. You'll have to dial it when you check your messages, but really- how many voicemails are you getting? Better question, who still leaves voicemail? That's like the covered wagon Pony Express version of communication now.
  
• Do not ever share your email passwords with anyone. No. Matter. What. You should not have to, as there is a computer available in practically every bathroom stall of the world. Also reason #43 to buy a Blackberry.
  
• If your boyfriend/girlfriend asks for password information because they are suggesting that there be some sort of "transparency" in your relationship, calmly remind them that Hitler also maintained a level of transparency. Then run. Run as fast as you can, regardless of whether or not you are equipped with footwear.
  
• If you have pictures, letters, or any memorabilia of past lovers, get rid of it. If you must keep it, lock it away safely. Hint: it would be smart to destroy any lascivious photos, media, etc.
  
• Go into your browser settings and make sure that your computer doesn't keep your history or passwords, and clear all of your personal information from anyone else's computer you use.
  
• Use your own equipment. Don't borrow. It's actually the more polite thing to do.
  

In closing, it's really not about being a paranoid hermit, but protecting what is sacred. Passwords are the new condoms, and everyone needs to get on board.

Ann Coulter does Today Show, makes ass of self.

Ann Coulter hates your poor, your tired, and your single mothers longing for support.

If anyone caught the Today Show this morning, you had the pleasure of seeing Ann Coulter's drawn, wrinkled face which is shaped like the mask from Scream, and boasts a giant hole in the middle of it from which all sorts of inconceivably offensive statements fly. You know, everyone is on such a self-righteous, liberal high now that Barack Obama has been elected, and it is clearly driving Ann "Stan" Coulter to step up her ignoramous game. She is ardent and dedicated to the fight against leftist ideals- why else would you go on a morning talk show and proclaim that all of the social problems in the United States can be traced back to single mothers? The only raucous performance that would top this would involve Paris Hilton going on Larry King, climbing up on the table and insisting a close up on her genitals while exlaiming, "I love Satan! Kill Whales! Eat Babies!" And even that wouldn't be as offensive as this:



I have a theory that Ann Coulter is a man. And not just any man, but a drag queen... an angry one. A woman hating, fascist, money-grubbing wannabe she. Check out the battle royale below where Ann attempts to take on Katie Couric.

What America is Googling

Today I was looking for a crack, or key-gen, for a popular computer program. When I typed in "how to" in my Google search bar atop my browser, this is what appeared.


Seriously? Are these the most Googled how to's? There is a lot of problems with this list. Let's start with How to Make Money, How to Make a website, and How to tie a tie. First of all, it's just really, really sad that the economy is so terrible that people are Googling How to make money- as if the internet would provide all of us with some amazing answer like some sort of coordinates in the Caribbean where treasure is buried. Normally, in a non-recession threatened market I would say the best way to make money would be to go out and get a job. Obviously, one is most likely Googling How to Make a Resume before they turn on the news and realize that massive layoffs are in order. Which leads us to How to make a website. Perhaps Googlers (yes, it's a noun) have somewhat of an inkling that they cannot go out and get a job right now, and think that if they could only build a successful website, they, too, could make money. But if you're sitting home on your ass in the worn pajama pants your mother gave you last Christmas, tinkering away on Dreamweaver in efforts to craft a website where you sell some type of goods or services that Americans will never stop buying, even in a recession (i.e. crude oil, Anti-depressants, or Starbucks) my question is this: Why do you need to know How to tie a tie? Is your Mac laptop a really stringent boss that enforces a dress code?
Is this seeming circular yet?

I find that the afore mentioned How to's are appropriately grouped together, as is the second grouping: How to kiss, How to get pregnant, and How to make a turkey. Only in the United States would I expect anyone to Google How to kiss, and I attribute France's hate for our country solely to this popular Google entry. And in true American fashion, we jump right from kissing to How to get pregnant. There is really no better option, and no greater joy than going from lousy, inexperienced kisser to brazen fornicating which leads to hapless procreation- but competing with other parents to see who can buy the most expensive stroller and Mommy and Me yoga right after gouging my eyes out with a pair of rusty shears is a close second. And if you can't conceive by drowning yourself in organic sulfite-free wine from Whole Foods before some sloppy romping, you can always try the turkey baster method. Which brings me to How to cook a turkey. So now that you can kiss your significant other and seem less like a dog trying to get peanut butter off of it's lips, and have a lovely family as a result of successful procreation fertility drugs, acupuncture, lots of psychotherapy and a trip to the Seychelles you now find yourself needing to cook a turkey for the holidays. I think most modern star-spangled mommies would prefer to order out for a turkey nowadays, but out of necessity, one must attempt to perform the matronly task of cooking... neccessity meaning proving to your mother-in-law that you are not, in fact, entirely useless even though you don't work, have a full-time nanny, spend money like it's curing cancer, and your kids think that it's normal to fetch their foods from delivery containers. The whole family life bit can leave a person feeling like a 'Revolutionary Roadie' of sorts, so it's important that we take time to indulge ourselves in dreams that we let die upon entering life as an adult. So, the best thing to Google now is How to draw and How to knit. What else are you going to do when there is no job market and you can't figure out how to use Dreamweaver? Not only are knitting and drawing extremely relaxing creative outlets, but by engaging in such activities you are yielding a product that can be used to barter for other goods and services. I know for a fact that my green grocer on the corner would much rather I pay him in baby booties and cable-knit cashmere dog sweaters than in U.S. currency. And if you ever need to make a few extra bucks, you can always go downtown, or to some kind of pier on the ocean and draw portraits of Japanese tourists. How to lose weight? I think I've already answered that: there's a recession, so you're poor, unemployed, you have kids, and you can't cook food anyway. What's the question? You obviously won't be eating unless you can steal food, so that should definitely be cutting down on the frequency of meals, and you'll burn a ton of calories just running from angry shop owners and rent-a-cops.

Not only have I learned a great deal about our contemporary American anthropology through Google's most poplular How to's, but I've also noticed that we, as a culture, can still be boiled down to four basic desires: eating, having sex, procreating, and being prosperous. And it makes me wonder- how much have we really evolved?

The 2009 could use a little 80's.

One of the most popular new year's resolutions in America is the goal to lose excess body fat and improve one's appearance. I vividly recall January 1, 2008, when I walked into Crunch in West Hollywood and couldn't get a bike for spin class... and there was a waiting list in excess of the classroom capacity for people who thought that maybe someone that got in would flake. Two weeks later, there was no lines for any of the classes. This goes to show that most of our resolutions are just that- idealistic, unrealistic hopes for the next year. For example, I was in the bathroom at the Roosevelt on New Year's eve, and heard two girls in the next stall hoovering up cocaine and whispering to one another. In an attempt to be quiet, but actually producing a screaming whisper, one girl said to the other, "we are not going to do this in 2009, okay? no more." The friend adamantly concurred.

In the 1980's, it seems as though Americans had a weird obsession with vanity. But the the vanity of the 1980's was so different than that of today. It was a clean, bodacious (sorry, I had to) All-American type of ostentation that required much more effort- but it was fun. Now, our version of attractive is more likely to require you stay away from showers, dress like a slutty, androgenous member of the opposite sex, practice bad posture, and have seemingly low self-esteem. It's almost as if, aesthetically speaking, we are on the exact opposite of the trend spectrum from where we were in the 1980's... but we are, as a country, even more materialistic and even bigger cash-hungry whores than we were in the Reagan years. So, essentially we have digressed into a state of being increasingly morally corupt, but now we choose to hide it by parading around in pegged pants and leather jackets after we work out at the gym. Trust fund babies refusing to practice good hygeine and rolling around the arts districts of their respective towns. Celebrities driving Prius' away from their helicoptor launch pads and jet ways. Models looking like ugly young boys and dressing as if they were gay lumberjacks who dropped 12 sizes and were forced to aquire prescription eyewear from the Salvation Army's homeless shelter. Consumption has been given a bad name, and rightfully so. But why do we insist on insisting that we're not consuming as much, nay, adopt a holier-than-now attitude and apply it to the image we project as individuals?

Though I was only a young child in the 80's, I somewhat miss the simpler ideals. Everything was different, from the way we communicated to our values and was was deemed acceptable behavior. Girls would still wait by the phone in their family's den for a guy to call them. Now, the average thirteen-year-old girl rolls around with a Baby Phat special edition Sidekick in the back pocket of her $250 jeans while she scopes out fresh meat whilst talking to another boy. Point being, there is always something better and more of it. This brings me back to the bathroom stall about a week ago on New Year's Eve. The girls next to me promised themselves not to do anymore drugs in 2009- but those noses didn't sound like they were going to be sated until the septum was deviated, and that is just my point. We continuously indulge ourselves nowadays, to the point where something dreadful happens, but insist the entire time that we are on the right path. Frankly, I think that the afore mentioned is the common theme for disasters ranging from Bernie Madoff to the Sub-Prime loan crisis, from Elliot Spitzer and his hookers to the untimely death of Heath Ledger, from the Polar Ice Caps melting to Pete Wentz and Ashley Simpson procreating and naming their child after a burrough. And yes, that is a travesty.

Obviously, the two videos below seem irrelevant to this subject matter... but are they really? I couldn't help myself. Alyssa Milano is a genius.




And my favorite toy when I was little. I credit Get in Shape Girl for my amazing figure still to this day.