I don't quite understand the appeal of Foursquare or Formspring.
Foursquare lets people know your EXACT position on this wonderfully large earth. I like the fact that people don't know where I am. Pardon me for liking how potential serial killers can't pinpoint my location to hunt me down. Excuse me for making it harder for thieves-to-be to study my routine to figure out when the best time to break into my house would be. And I'm sorry stalkers, but Foursquare takes the fun out of the chase.
And Formspring. I had a Formspring account. For about a month. It's boring because no one asked me any questions (apart from the odd nonsensical statement or dull "What is your favourite colour?" queries). And then on the other extreme, other people get a gazillion juicy but downright disgusting or nasty questions. "Why are you a whore?" "You fuckhead, just go die!" "Is it true that you sucked him off???" If someone asked me those things in real life I'd probably call them a cunt and give them a good old fly-kick-punch-in-the-dick*.
I suppose they both have their uses. A politician or a reporter could make good use of Foursquare to let the public know about appearances. Parents can keep track of their children. People who have to travel for work can let their superiors know where they are. And Formspring would be amazing for organisations to use as an anonymous question forum. "Would be" being the key words. But obviously the internet is the type of place where people use up their bandwidth on Red Tube or waste space with blogs (self-conscious cough).
I will leave you to think with this delightful video:
* this phrase is courtesy of Mister Leggatt via someone I can't remember
Sunday, May 30, 2010
I don't quite understand the appeal of Foursquare or Formspring.
Friday, May 28, 2010
I used to go to Monash University, and anyone who went to the Clayton campus will know about Wholefoods (here's the website for you nosey buggers). It's an excellent eating establishment for vegans and vegetarians with a really awesome approach to staffing (something like a free meal for volunteering a certain amount of hours, plus diners have to do their part as well).
And it wasn't just a bunch of crazy hippies (well maybe after hours, I don't know). They had an open-minded policy to everyone but you had to abide by their rules... Clean up after yourself, some other stuff I can't remember and NOT TO BRING MEAT ON THEIR PREMISES! I remember this was a big deal. There were handwritten notes about not bringing meat anywhere near Wholefoods. Which is cool with me.
So one day I had to go into Wholefoods to meet up with a friend, and by golly I made sure I gulped down every bit of my Chinese steamed BBQ bun and licked my teeth before I got anywhere near Wholefoods. But they were all staring at me, giving me extra-evil looks. I couldn't figure it out. Maybe the extra protein from all that soy gives vegans a super-strong sense of smell?
I only unravelled the mystery of the glaring vegetarians when I got home. And got undressed. I obviously forgot I was wearing my knee high leather 20-hole Doc Martens. That must be a gazillion decades of bad vegan karma/at least half a cow. My bad.
* Also would like to add that vegetarians and vegans are lovely, lovely people who I admire for having utter and resolute determination in changing their life habits (that are sometimes inconvenient) in order to achieve their ideals.
There are numerous groups on FB complaining about losing bobby pins. No, it's not borrowers. There isn't some magical bobby pin Narnia at the back of your bathroom cosmetics drawer. And it isn't George Bush (sorry, I just watched the "global warming" episode of South Park... I couldn't resist).
It's me. I'm taking all your bobby pins.
Well, not on purpose. In one of the shops I work at, I have to sweep the shop floor every single morning. And every single morning at least ten bobby pins end up in my dust pan. Honest to god, somehow shop floors seem to be a magnet for bobby pins. How else would so many bobby pins (and not much else but dust and sometimes the odd safety pin) end up on the floor after a mere eight hours of trade? Maybe it's a conspiracy... George Bush, I tells ya...
Posted by Paige X. Cho at 7:22 AM
Monday, May 24, 2010
Some people say I look Japanese. I would love to learn how to speak a little Japanese so the next time a stranger offends me, wrongs me or tries to rape me, I can spout out something like, "FUCK OFF CUNT, I'M YAKUZA AND MY FAMILY WILL CHOP YOU UP TO TINY BITS AND FEED YOU TO OUR PET FISH!" Or something like that. Obviously in Japanese but I haven't figured out how they will understand Japanese as well.
I'm still debating whether I should cut off any fingertips yet, for authenticity...
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
So I've been living in my gorgeous studio apartment for eight months now. As soon as I moved in I acquired one of those nifty televisions with a built-in DVD player... and by nifty I mean shit, so the player eventually broke.
Instead of having a redundant hunk of plastic in my apartment (that played neither DVDs or received television), I finally got around to actually plugging in the television cable after seven months. By the time it took me to get around to turning the damn thing on and tuning it, it was almost another month. And the first thing that blasted out of the tube* was that fucking Deal or No Deal program. I turned off my television and haven't touched it since.
I don't know if you can tell but I don't really like television.
* Technically, this is incorrect because it's a liquid crystal display, not a cathode ray tube... but hey, you didn't know that.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
If I could do anything and get away with it, I wouldn't rob a bank. I'd buy a few cartons of eggs and put them into the hoods (as in the things attached to jackets, coats and hoodies) of unsuspecting strangers. And then perhaps wait around if it looked like it was about to rain.
Apparently my name means "young at heart". No kidding, huh?
Posted by Paige X. Cho at 5:00 AM
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I should stop looking at the blogs of people I know. In more recent times I've discovered - usually while procrastinating wildly - that two girls I am vaguely acquainted with have eating disorders. Once you've read about how people write about their vomiting habits or their post-coital thoughts on their bodies, you honestly can't think about them the same way. And then goes the whole awkward "Am I supposed to do something to try to help them?" dilemma.*
I'm so thankfully that the most intimate that my dearest mother's blog goes into is what iPhone apps my parents play in bed before they go to sleep. Phew.
* A while ago, a girl I met a couple of times wrote "I am so fucking depressed, I could kill myself" as her Facebook. So I privately messaged her, asking if she was okay and listed a few numbers where she could get help. She then messaged me back and told me I was crazy. Hence the whole what-to-do thing. Help and look stupid, don't help and someone shoots their wrist (yes, shoots their wrists).
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I was at Flinders Street Railway Station today. I wandered around platform three looking for a railway map but there wasn't any in sight - keeping with Metro's don't-give-anyone-any-information ethos. So I asked a Metro officer to lend me his (and he was very smart, and wouldn't me touch his map, but wouldn't just say 'yes, that station is on that line'). So I checked the info screen, and it said NEXT TRAIN: 8.14 GLEN WAVERLEY. All good.
The train on the platform left, and instead of showing the information for the Glen Waverley train (the "next train") it listed Belgrave. I checked platform 2, but the screens were all blank. So I went back to my trusty, bald, smug Metro officer. Obviously, just as I asked him what happened to the 6.14 Glen Waverley train, it magically popped up on the information screens and he thought I was very stupid.
Metro may be very bad at running their trains on time, but their timing is impeccable.
PS the title is supposed to hark back to Sense and Sensibility. But since I have to write this here I suppose I fail.