Big Bang's 'Fantastic Baby': The Only Song You Need In 2013

I'm the first to admit that I don't really 'get' K-pop, but I think everyone needs the video for Big Bang's Fantastic Baby in their lives on a daily basis.

Just look at it. Seriously. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.

I'll wait.



Seriously, wasn't that just the best four minutes ever?

It's got everything you could possibly want in a music video. And in life:

• Sassy half-English rap
• Some sort of post-apocalyptic universe where music is apparently considered evil (so it's sort of like that town from Footloose, I guess?)
• A disproportionate amount of eyeliner for a video starring zero women
• One man's hair going from red to white to yellow to pink in the space of four minutes
• Another man whose hair is as blue as the sky and as wavy as the ocean
• Lip applique (again, no women star in this video)
• A point (1:32) where I ALWAYS laugh out loud where a topless blonde man earnestly sings as he is chained to a wall (supposedly by the oppressive anti-music regime [or as they like to call themselves, the pro-talk-radio movement])
• Outfits, sets and CROWNS so fabulously elaborate they must have been a designer's dream / nightmare
• Pretty Korean boys
• More pretty Korean boys
• I mean, seriously, no amount of plastic surgery or photoshop will EVER make you as pretty as these Korean boys*

So I did a little research and the sassy rapper (the one in the beginning) is called G-Dragon and is kind of a big deal. I watched a few of his other videos and his sass is as boundless as his willingness to look silly. I heartily endorse him.

The other ridiculously pretty one (Mister Blue Hair) is called T.O.P, and I sincerely hope he was aware of how that sounds in English-speaking queer culture, and named himself that totally on purpose**. Because otherwise that'd be pretty embarrassing. But anyway, I checked and he isn't genetically engineered. ALLEGEDLY.***

Hey wait, what if the music-haters in the video are actually a metaphor for North Korea? I watched a documentary that said every house in NK is fitted with a propaganda radio speaker thingy that can never be turned off! So... guys, Fantastic Baby is totally a veiled critique of totalitarianism. And talk radio.

Hey, let's watch it again!

BOOM SHAKA LAKA.


*By 'you' I mean 'me'
** LOL
*** I googled "T.O.P. Korean rapper genetically engineered" and my computer froze and then google showed me a bunch of stuff about PSY and genetically modified crops. So let's just say there's no proof that he's NOT genetically engineered.

The One Where John Finnemore Won't Lick My Autograph

Sorry for the break in posting, the blobfish ate my brain.

So guys, my awesome friend Ali - whose blog is kinda superior to mine seeing as she has adventures and posts pictures and says clever things, whereas I just watch tv and then BLOG ABOUT MY FEELINGS  - just happened to inspire my incredible envy last weekend* by going to a recording of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme.

Just in case you're not quite sure who John Finnemore is, LET ME TELL YOU. He is a comedian, writer and actor, who is hilarious and charming and intelligent and silly and sarcastic and wonderful. 

• Go read his adorable blog.
• Go get obsessed with Cabin Pressure, the best radio sitcom ever, which he writes and acts in.
• Go learn the first season of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme off by heart, which is a sketch show he writes and performs.

For the record, I introduced Ali to John Finnemore, which is the only way I could repay her for introducing me to Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, obviously not LITERALLY introduced. But you know, in that weird we-live-in-the-future way that makes you feel like you know celebrities by being constantly exposed to their work, so that you get so familiar with the concept of that person that you find yourself casually typing "Where EXACTLY does Benedict Cumberbatch live?" into google and not even feeling bad about it**. 

I'd wanted to ask Ali to get me an autograph since I heard she'd got tickets to the show, but obviously I have all this awkwardness and self-loathing so I didn't say anything because I didn't want to inconvenience her or be disappointed or be a person who exists or whatever. PAIN IS REAL. Luckily alcohol came to the rescue, and after a Long Island ice tea roughly the size of my arm, Ali updated facebook saying she was off to the show, and I promptly commented: 

I'm thankful to Ali for not only coming through, but actually risking a restraining order to get me a one-of-a-kind autograph! Starting what I hope will be a long and noble tradition of making celebrities uncomfortable, Ali promptly got a normal autograph for herself and a GLORIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE ONE FOR ME: 

To Dasia

All the best

No, of course I won't lick it!

But still, all the best.

John Finnemore

JOHN FINNEMORE.

WROTE MY NAME.

AND SPELT IT RIGHT.

AND REFUSED TO LICK IT. 

THEY DON'T MAKE CAPS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS THE ALLCAPINESS OF MY FEELINGS.

Doesn't he have lovely handwriting? He's the complete package.I've never been an autograph person but I really see the appeal of it now. Maybe I'll start collecting written  refusals to silly / inappropriate requests and could eventually build a gallery out of it: "The Hall Of Celebrity No, Of Course I Won'ts!" or something similarly cheesy and awesome.

Anyway, I really love that this actually happened because I'd gone out the night I found out about all this, and woke up on Sunday morning thoroughly believing that the autograph was just an awesome booze dream. So yay for good things that aren't booze dreams! Ali's posting me the original, and I'm more nervous about this autograph being in the post than any certificate or degree I've ever gotten. 

Which is normal and healthy, right?*** 

*It was actually the weekend before last  - it took me a surprisingly long time to finish this post.

**I felt a little bad about it.

*** They don't make rehab for fangirls, apparently.

An Open Letter to my Brain

Dear Brain,

You are usually my favourite part of me. You are silly and sometimes can figure stuff out when there are no numbers involved in that stuff. You got me through university and even got me a job that doesn't involve working on docks or lugging coal. You almost always remember to get me fully clothed before I leave the house (yesterday was an exception, but at least I  was wearing cute slippers). You have an over-friendly relationship with Mouth, but we're working on that with our new friend, Social Filter.

So here's the thing, and this isn't a criticism but... sometimes you get distracted. Today we were supposed to be doing research for a graphic design article, and next thing I know you're cerebellum-deep in an article about blobfish. 

An irrelevant blobfish.

Blobfish are not very well designed, graphically speaking. In fact, I'm not really sure how you got from the effects of the colour red in web design to wondering what's new in the world of blobfish. 

Maybe it's my own fault. I've enabled you. I've given you too much brain candy and now I'm moaning about you being hyperactive. 

There was about an hour between that last line and this one, where you followed every link in the 'too much brain candy' phrase and got lost in the big, shiny internet. That's exactly what I'm talking about! 

Now, I'm not saying you should change. I think the fact that you find everything interesting is a credit to your brainfulness. All I'm saying is that maybe there's something to be gained from concentrating on a topic for more than two minutes. Maybe all that wildly fascinating stuff that's calling your name now will still be there in an hou[NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: Brain is unable to finish this post because scientists have found the Higgs Boson thingy and everyone is excited. Brain isn't entirely sure what it is, but Brain knows that Higgs Boson is a big deal because it's been mentioned on Big Bang Theory. Now Brain needs to watch lots of youtube videos and read lots of twitter opinions because the Higgs Boson is now officially Brain's favourite boson.]

In other news, Body wants to dance around.

My Blogging Life in Neil Patrick Harris Gifs

Today I saw this amazing list of Neil Patrick Harris gifs, which spoke to me so deeply I had to make a post out of them. I'm probably doing this "When X happens, my reaction is Y" meme wrong, but I don't think there's police for that.

Enjoy!

So Here's My Blogging Life In NPH Gifs OMG

When I realize someone other than my mom reads my blog

 

 

When I blog about something and everyone assumes I'm an expert

 

When I keep to my posting schedule

 

 

When I think about monetizing

 

When I finally hit POST

 

When that post still has zero comments

 

When I get that "1 new comment" email

 

When some bitch has more followers than me

 

When I get more followers than that bitch

 

When a commenter corrects me

 

When somebody finds my blog entertaining / helpful

Really?

 Oh, and when you make it to the end of this post

My Wildly Improbable Birthday Wish List

For my seventh birthday I asked for a dragon.

I got this:

Bullshit.

I guess it's a good thing. I learned early on that the stuff I really want (yeah, the stuff everyone really wants) isn't stuff you can just go to a mall and buy. That's what makes birthdays so awkward. You can't just give someone a Lose Ten Kilos coupon or a subscription to Levitation & Flying Magazine and call it a day.

And since my birthday's in a week, those who love me enough to know that (without checking on facebook first) have been bugging me to tell them what I want. So here it is.

My Wildly Improbable Birthday Wishlist

1. A Car With An Engine And Wheels And Stuff

I just got my learner's licence again (after letting the last one expire) and with a full-time job and hobbies that require me to Go Places, you can probably imagine how badly I want my own car.

For some reason, I really want a blue Hyundai Atos. Not really sure why, but since they came out I've had this weird little feeling that this is the car for me. Probably because it's small and cute and you just wanna boop its nose a little bit.

*boop!*

 Also, it comes in an Automatic, because seriously, fuck gears. I mean, I know it still has gears, but frankly I don't feel like I need to be involved in changing them. I trust the machines. Go Skynet!

2. Mad Roller Derby Skills

Not only would I like to be able to stop without the aid of a wall or a friend who's going down with me, but I want to be bout-ready like RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, turns out spending hours reading articles on derby isn't quite equivalent to a Matrix-style download of all the skills I need. Damn it, Skynet!

Apparently, whimsical socks are not enough to master a fast-paced contact sport.

By the by, the league I'm in, the C-Max Roller Derby League, is having their next bout on 28 July and I'll be there cheering on the mayhem! You should come!

3. The Opportunity To Be A Prodigy At Something

Since I turned 18 I have been super bummed about this. I will never be the ukulele boy or the tiny opera singer or S.E. Hinton, who wrote my favourite YA novel, The Outsiders, when she was 17. I'm turning 24, which is way past the prodigy expiration date.

Show off.

Now I can only be an old-person prodigy, which isn't even actually a thing. But you know now and then there's a fluff story on the news like "Woah! This lady's like a million and she's rapping / teaching yoga / modelling for Victoria's Secret". So maybe if I take up bowls or collecting cats now, maybe I'll be considered a prodigy by the time I reach retirement age?

4. Adamantium Teeth

Yeah, over the past year my sensitive teeth problem has gone from charming to WTactualF. So that's it, I want teeth made out of adamantium, which would probably give me a pretty street Lil' Wayne look so I don't see the downside.

This would totally suit me.

And hey, if I could get some retractable claws put in while I'm at the adamantium clinic, there go my cheese-slicing, vegetable-chopping and people-murdering woes!

5. A Time-Turner

Mostly for napping, long lunches and extra reading time. And winning the lottery.

And high-fiving myself. Oh wait - would that break the universe?

 Okay, apparently you can buy these online. But it's just not the same if Professor McGonagall doesn't give it to you.

That's what she said.

Wait.

What?

Aaaanyway, those are the things I really want for my birthday. But since my list ranges from the highly improbable to the downright impossible, I guess I may just have to settle for fuzzy socks. Or a dragon.

The Agony and the Ecstasy of Russian Hairdressers

Here's the thing about being Russian. You're not allowed to do things the simple, rational way. You have to do them The Russian Way.

Let me paint you a little picture. For a few years now, my family has been going to an amazing Russian hairdresser who also happens to be a maniac. Not to generalize that all Russian hairdressers are maniacs - it just seems like the hairdressing talent is in direct proportion to the crazy.

In case any of my readers decide to become Russian through paperwork or surgery, I thought I should let you know the secret inner world of going to a Russian* hairdresser. 

A Russian hairdresser will cut your hair in her living room. Salons are for "foreigners" (the generally accepted term for non-Russians - and yes, expats insist they live in a country full of "foreigners") and girls just starting out. If this woman can handle scissors without hurting herself, she'll have her schedule full of Russian women eager to get a proper haircut.

A Russian hairdresser will cut like her work is about to be entered into the Microscopic Hairdressing Olympics. This is probably the best thing about my last hairdresser - she did beautiful work, carefully sculpted to the last micrometre. For the record, speed doesn't count in the Microscopic Hairdressing Olympics. Which is why she'll -

Take three hours to do a trim. No matter what time you go to the hairdresser, it'll be dark outside by the time you leave. This is one of the reasons I look like an overgrown hobo most of the time - getting my hair cut isn't a lunchtime errand. It's a whole thing. It's a couple of hours for me, a couple more for my mom, and I'm not even gonna go into how long my blonde sister takes - I think we had to camp out overnight when she first got her foils in. But hey, at least the hair dresser will:

Be cool if you bring your own picnic basket of food, drink and books for the long wait for freedom. Did I mention there's no TV and only a handful of Russian hairdressing magazines for entertainment? If you go without provisions, you're a dead man. I don't know why local people (perhaps more to the point - normal people) are weirded out if you bring your own food to these sorts of situations. Everyone's just supposed to starve and act happy with their rations of tea and Marie biscuits. That's not okay, comrades! We need sustenance for this five year plan! Which is made even longer because your hairdresser will...

Stop mid-cut for a cigarette and a chat. My sister and I aren't very  chatty (my Russian skills aren't good enough to defend my life and my choices) so it's always mom's job to smoke and gossip in twenty-minute sessions. It doesn't really matter to the hairdresser whether she's mid-cut or not. She knows we're not going anywhere. Nobody gets off the rock. Nobody wants to get off the rock because the saltwater's gross, and your hairdresser will always...

Treat every hair like precious silk. Russian hairdressers have to study for two years before they get certified. They take this shit seriously.  She'll refuse to do bleaching / dying that will leave your hair in a worse condition, even if it means giving up the money she would've gotten for that job. Local (normal? human?!) hairdressers, in my experience, take your money, screw your hair up and promise it'll be okay if you use this conditioner or buy that treatment. Which doesn't work. Your average hairdresser will be okay with smiling and taking your money, whereas...

A Russian hairdresser will give you her unfiltered opinion about your life and your choices. Spoiler alert: her opinion will never be a happy-clappy one. Everything from your skin to your career will be criticized, loudly and without regard to those silly little things called "feelings". Which you're not supposed to have anymore anyway, since they should have been killed by shopping and vodka a long time ago. It's okay, you're new. You'll learn. Hangovers are like boot camp for your liver.

I went to a non-Russian hairdresser (gasp!) over the weekend because I was young and foolish and thought I didn't need to spend a day being judged, criticized and smoked on to look good. The local hairdresser took half an hour, she spoke to me like a normal person and not a criminally deranged toddler, and at the end of the day, my haircut was... meh. Just meh. Not fantastic. Not hideous. Just a normal, ordinary, "foreigner" haircut.

Yes, I want to go back to my talented maniac of a Russian hairdresser. It's sort of like a pilgrimage: first you set off on the long journey there, (and of course a Russian hairdresser must always live at least half an hour away from you). Then you followed by hours of verbal abuse, discomfort and borderline-starvation (you'll never bring enough snacks. Ever.) But at the end of the day, you are renewed. And as you stumble home, emotionally broken but aesthetically bouncy, the bad stuff fades away and you're just left with a seriously kick-ass haircut.

It may sound crazy to you. But that's The Russian Way.

*I have a feeling this post will attract a lot of Russian Bride For Yourself! spam because I use the R word so frequently.

How To Make A Green Smoothie That Doesn't Taste Like Regret

I'm not exactly a health nut, but I do enjoy smugly saying I drink a green smoothie every morning because it makes people look at me like I've just said I chew glass instead of flossing, it's better for the environment.

Green smoothies have gotten a bad rap for looking like portable swamps and tasting like socks. But I swear guys, this recipe is not only healthy, but tastes good. Now, I'm not saying it tastes good compared to steamed broccoli or lettuce tartar. I'm telling you: macaroni and cheese tastes good, toffee ice cream tastes good, and this green smoothie tastes good.

It's pretty simple to make, too. It takes me ten minutes (including washing the blender) to make in the morning, and that's with my sloth-like agility. You may not have these ingredients in your fridge at the moment, but that's the great thing about shops existing.

Yummy Green Smoothie 

(Serves 1, because let's face it, nobody's going to be asking for a glass until they taste yours and realize it's mindblowingly good.)

You'll need:

1. A blender (to mix it all together, not as an ingredient. That would be a bit chewy.)
2. Fruit juice, one cup (I use fruit cocktail, but apple tastes good too.)
3. Raw seed mix, one teaspoon (mine has sunflower, pumpkin, sesame, and flax seeds.)
4. Fresh cucumber, one mini (pickles don't count!)
5. Baby spinach, raw, three handfuls (this freezes well too.)
6. Fresh mint, raw, to taste (also freezes well, but if you can't find it, you could try mint essence. Mine's frozen, which is why it looks so black and sad in the picture. Still tastes awesome though!)

Step 1: Pour the glass of fruit juice into your blender and add a teaspoon of the seed mix.

*action shot!*

Warning: DO NOT try to replace the fruit juice with water. It will negate the glorious balance of the universe and make your smoothie taste like cold, bitter, spinachy regret.

Blend on high to chop up the seeds. This is especially good for the flaxseeds, which are super-mega good for you but aren't broken down in your stomach unless they're crushed open first. The seeds help you to feel full with all the omega-3 fatty stuff. You can also replace them with a scoop of avo, which is quite lovely.

Step 2: Turn the blender OFF first (if only I could send that piece of advice back to my past self) and add the baby spinach, mint and cucumber.

If you can't find cucumbers, substitute with alien willy.

I use three sprigs of mint because I think mint is the best thing ever. Also it takes the slightly spinachy taste off the end result. Using baby spinach instead of regular means that there isn't much spinachy taste to begin with, and using fruit juice with a bit of orange involved takes it away completely.

Blend on low for about a minute, until everything starts looking uniform.

Step 3: Pour back into the glass you used to measure the fruit juice (what, you think I was going to dirty an extra glass for no reason?) and enjoy!

Warning: Though this smoothie definitely tastes more like accomplishment than regret, there's no way to keep it from looking like a tiny, portable swamp. If left unattended, it may attract bog creatures.

Be on the lookout for giant gangsta penguins, incontinent crocodiles and the Great Scuzzy Lion of Indifference.

You may have to share.