Friday, January 30, 2009

The STYNX Effect

I get woken up by a varying amount of things. Sometimes it’s my alarm clock; sometimes it’s Dante’s alarm clock, sometimes it’s Dante doing an impression of his alarm clock (ask him). Sometimes I am merely awoken by the sounds of the family crashing about; apparently my dad must delicately balance nuclear warheads in the cereal cupboard, I must inform North Korea.

Although these things are not always as annoying as they sound, at least once a week I am awakened by neither of these. At least once a week I am awakened by my brother’s deodorant.
Yes, you heard right. It’s not the sound: although the average man (i.e. anyone I know that isn’t Xela) will stand for a quick pssst from his trusty can of Lynx or similar under each armpit, brother of mine is the noted exception and will empty almost half a can onto his underarms. It’s the smell.

And it’s enough to wake me up. Hence the need to blog about it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do like a sniff of Lynx – and there’s the operative word. A sniff. I’m not saying you should all stop using it because I’d much rather smell a hard day’s work on every male companion I greet (put it this way, would you rather I didn’t meticulously shave my legs?), it’s just nice to not be overwhelmed.

I put this shortcoming slightly down to the fact that my brother, and in fact my boyfriend are both the ultimate consumer. They’re the conglomerate’s best friend. I must say I like Lynx’s adverts: the man made of chocolate*, the claymation caveman one, in fact the only one I didn’t like was the one where the bloke sprays from his armpits into people’s faces. And the idiot with the chameleon eyes that looks a bit like James Blunt.

But I digress. Every time there’s a new Lynx out, you can bet that it’ll be on the bathroom counter at mine before the weekend. The only problem with this is that, instead of attracting me, the advert’s example of a nubile young woman (okay, without the massive knockers and cinched-in waist, I’m not a bloody model, you won’t catch me running down a High Street in a bikini without someone having financed it heavily), it repulses me now. I have to make Dante leave the room when he sprays it, and this morning Xel’s aerosol antics actually made my throat swell up. This of course may necessitate a trip to the doctors, proving that if a woman hates anything enough it’ll cause her to break out in hives/ swell up like a Jigglypuff who just got a parking ticket**.

So men, please heed my call. If you spray too much, the only things you will attract will be unwanted attention. And an angry visit from me with a fly-swatter.

Oh and for your reference, the adverts I mentioned:

*That spray smells nothing like chocolate; obviously the people who made it think it does.
** This analogy is bought to you by someone who plays too much Pokemon Diamond.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Credit Crunch Bunch

Yes I know, it's now 2009 and I should be doing the usual: Summary of 2008, brief look into 2009, New Year's Resolutions, wash lather rinse repeat. But I'm not, so Blogger can stop telling me what to do and stick it all up its [/ URL].

Sorry, spot the PMS (no prizes). Without further ado, I'd like to point you towards the Credit Crunch. Look out of your window and you'll see it; alternatively you could look deep into Gordon Brown's eyes (not too deep, you'll catch Dailymailitis) and you'll see it. Or you'll just see the beginning of cataracts. You could also look into the derelict windows of what was your local Woolworth's - I tried this, and ended up getting depressed and dropping my pasty on the cold, hard, bourgeois floor.

A little while back, Fox of foxkadmon.blogspot (see links) offered us a slightly optimistic view on the dreaded Credit Crunch (sorry - why is it always capitalised, like a proper noun? As an ex-English student I object). I appreciated it, however I strongly disagree, but you my dear reader are not here merely for me to subject upon you my bile, as much as I do indulge myself on the odd occasion. So instead I've compiled a quick list: How to Beat the Credit Crunch.

Don't Buy Labels. I mean all aspects of, therefore; from food brands such as Coke, etc to clothing brands. Replacing food brands with the supermarket's equivalent is an obvious one. Cothing however is trickier, specifically if you're the average heterosexual male. Shopping online means you don't have to pay top whack, but also means you don't have to buy in bulk from Primark.
Who can help?: www.boohoo.com, COMPANY magazine (the only acceptable glossy)

Put Down the Mouse. No, don't euthanise Mickey, I meant stop buying online. Pound sterling is now the same value as the dollar, so it's not as fun any more to buy games/consoles/DVDs etc from the States at 25% off.
Who can help?: Only you, my friend. Only you. (Or eBay).

Make a Compost Heap. Stuff that can go on compost heaps: food scraps, degradable food wrappers, fruit peel, vegetable peel, fish carcasses etc. Stuff that cannot go on compost heaps: younger siblings. If only I'd known in advance how hard it was to get banana rind out of eyelids.
Who can help?: Apparently not NHS Direct, who told me there were actual medical emergencies waiting to be answered and told me to 'get off the line'. Killjoys.

Recycle the Things You Wouldn't Normally. Get your college/uni to host a Clothes Swap day. Swap your unwanted presents online. Keep your birthday cards and make new ones for family members who are bound to love a homemade card.
Who can help?: www.eswapit.com, www.whatsmineisyours.com

Start a 'Trade Guild'. You can do this with clothes, video games, accessories or anything really, all you need is a few close friends of similar interests/sizes/consoles and a little money. You all pool your money for a specific item you all want and that item stays in an 'Inventory' i.e. somewhere where you all can access it until one of you wants to borrow it.
Who can help?: A few friends with similar interests.

That's it for now. We'll be back to normal programme schedules soon.

PS: Jeff, if you're actually reading this...I'm so gutted I missed out on your lasagne the other day. Oh, and thank you for reading! Wow, I have a reader...

PPS: Brawny, get well soon or I'm coming up there with some script ideas and a bottle of Cillit Bang. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Tit for Tat

It's nearly Christmas, and sadly I can't keep the resentful cynicism facade up any more. I'm excited! So I've compiled a shoddily-written Alphabetical list for you. Here's A-H of the Festive Fun and Frolics List...

A is for Alcohol. Yes. Because that's what I've got for Christmas (thank you Simon), and that's what I'll be getting at Christmas, and that's what I'll be having on the night of the Christmas Party.

B is for Bastardization of some of the best songs in the musical lexicon. I'm talking of course about Cliff Richard, G4, Jason Donovan and anyone who releases an album of covers. Shudder.

C is for Cute Factor. Getting kids to do the nativity. Aaaaah. Getting younger kids to put on a play. Aah. Getting toddlers up onto a stage, culminating in at least one of them weeing/crying/giving a SHOUTY RUNNING COMMENTARY. Agh.

D is for Donkey. It is also for Dammit, My Little Brother Made £100 Just Doing His Job, And I Don't Even Have A Job (but I thought that was too long-winded and depressing).
E is for Electric Lights. Bell-shaped, berry-shaped, lantern-shaped, snowflake-shaped, aren't they pretty. And they mesmerize the living hell out of Soupy and George.

F is for Frosty. Is it just me who thinks that frost on the windscreen is incredibly beautiful? However, bear in mind that the sight of me twittering about the pretty patterns on my boyfriend's new incredibly expensive car windscreen is not as appealing to said boyfriend as he tries to remove six inches of ice armed with nothing but a Tesco Clubcard.

G is for Grandma. Out of respect, I won't say any more.

H is for Holidays. Yay, now I have extra portions of Xel, all day, every day!



In other news: Festive lols come in the form of the biggest giggle-worthy shite which I chanced upon from MSN news, or whatever it calls itself these days:

http://entertainment.uk.msn.com/celebrity/PhotoGalleries/gallery.aspx?cp-documentid=12025352&imageindex=12

"OY POT! This is kettle, innit.......YOUR BLACK!!!!1"

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Empty-V

Ahhh...it's begun. It was two days ago, whilst doing the ironing (law in the Neet household: if you're gracious enough to iron, you get control of the TV remote). I was flicking through the eye-popping range of music video channels (i.e. the three we have that actually play music videos, not just a myriad of early-season South Park repeats and shows depicting a day in the life of some celebrated God-knows-who that's just got married/divorced/new boobs). Anyway, it's happened - the Christmas takeover.

Not only are they 'counting down' the very living moments (including the seconds, for Santa's sake) until Christmas Day, they've roped in a collection of crusty oldies such as Tony Christie and Noddy Holder to troll through 'The Nation's Favourite Christmas Song'. Now, if you're wise (or in fact even if you have half a brain) you can figure out that if it's MTV or VH1 you're watching, it'll be The Pogues; or if it's the cheaper and chavvier The Box or Kiss or some other Godawful deriverent it'll be Mariah Carey. YAWN. Why?

I have no trouble with Christmas songs at all, in fact they're even better because they're not subject to broadcast rules so they don't get mercilessly rammed into my ears every time I turn on to the local radio station. But now it's got to the point where you have two choices: watch the Second Band Aid video three times in a row on three different channels, or watch A Day in the Life of Someone Who Was Quite Famous in the 1980s on MTV One.

This has now become a staple for the so-called 'music channels' - I have now seen waaaay too much of Katy Perry and Beyonce's recent chart forays; turn on the radio to 'escape' and there they are again. I understand they're in the Official Top Howevermany, but why do I need to be reminded of this all the time? Surely there are millions of videos out there, dating back to the 70s or slightly sooner that you can play.

And there's the problem - MTV and friends have commercialised. It's not about the music any more, it's about "BUY THIS. Listen to this. Download this - OH LOOK! This is what you're downloading today! Download it some MORE!! WHY AREN'T YOU BUYING THIS?!!"

MTV - It's only still named that because Advertising Megalomaniac Wank-Fest Society TV is too long.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Lyridiculous?

Dear Lord, is the quality of songwriting going downhill lately?

At this point a crack opens in the clouds, a giant hand similar to the National Lottery pointer descends, casting a shaft of light upon my pasty malnourished face as a squat in front of my laptop, and a booming voice tolls, "Yes, my child. Yes it is."

So with the Good Lord's blessing, I continue. I've compiled a list to test my theory, and where better to look than the official Hit40UK charts. That's right kiddies - I'm not just scraping the bottom of the barrel, I'm transferring the resulting mulch onto my toast and eating it for breakfast. Here's a selection from the top ten singles of the week then, with a snippet of lyrics from each song (Ha!)

Take That - Greatest Day
"Today this could be / The greatest day of our lives ..."
(Or, it could be shit-awful. You just never know!)

Britney Spears - Womaniser
"Womaniser woma-womaniser you're a womaniser / Oh womaniser oh you're a womaniser baby / You you you are you you you are / Womaniser womaniser womaniser womaniser ..."
(WomaniserwomaniserwomaniserwomanisEXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!!!!!)

Alesha Dixon - The Boy Does Nothing
"Does he wash up / He never wash up / Does he clean up, no he never cleans up / Does he brush up / He never brushed up / He does nothing, the boy does nothing ..."
(....No comment.)

Mmm. Scrapy Goodness!!!

Needless to say it goes on. I didn't feel the need to include Akon's Right Now (Na Na Na) which includes the highly articulate phrase "I wanna make love right nah nah nah" and Katy Perry's Hot and Cold, the premise of which seems to be looking into the Thesaurus to find as many opposites as you can and shoving them together in a bid to describe a man.

Now I don't expect everyone to be as clever with their wit and piety as Elvis Costello or Chrissie Hynde (to name but two of my favorite lyricists), but come on. You may as well write a song entitled "Love" which includes only the lyrics "Love, love, lovey-woo, love-ity love-ity diddly doo" and someone somewhere will become brainwashed into believing that your song has touched their soul in a place where only surgical tools and Jack Daniels has done before.

So kiddies: please remember. Every time you use the word "baby" in a song, God gives Paris Hilton a new recording contract.