Freaks are Your Friends

Over the years, the word "freak" has obtained a negative connotation. But I am here to tell you that freaks are your friends. Similarly, friends don't let friends see Sex and the City 2. Today, Shelby and I discovered this the hard way - by discovering it. Prepare for a long, dragged out, public service blog post.

First, a culture crash note. Er, another culture crash note. I'm watching Jackass on MTV2, and they just showed a commercial for some Zantrex 3 diet pill with two people who have obviously never been overweight in their lives. And they're naked. Because that will totally sell your product to people who want to look like naked, oversexed models, even though said product is detrimental to the users' health.

Anyway, back on track. Even though I may try to displace my natural born stars, the whole Cancer influence will never go away (yes, I'm an astrology nerd - kiss my ass) - I'll always be a hopeless romantic who is continually barking up the wrong tree. When I was young and stupid, I believed that there was that one special someone for everyone except me. Until I saw the famed HBO series Sex and the City. It was fate. Carrie Bradshaw was an inspiration to girls like me (despite sharing a name) - fashion forward, sassy, literary, but always lacking in love.

I spent 147 minutes in a movie theater this evening trying to figure out how I could ever have identified with Carrie.

It was, I suppose, bad enough when the sexist antics occurred in New York City. But the sequel to the blockbuster smash moved the douchebaggery to the United Arab Emirates. Because Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte are sou cultured.

The first scene of the movie pissed me off by taking multiple stabs at gays; the setting, of course, being a gay wedding. Guess who married Stan and Anthony? Liza fucking Minelli. By the power vested in her by...Broadway? And every gay male character ever portrayed in Sex and the City is an expert on fashion and interior design, speaks with a lisp, and is a fan of eighties chick pop. What the hell? Oh yeah, and Charlotte's nanny? She never had to worry about her husband cheating with the nanny because (NO WAY) she's a lesbian! The horrors! The best part: the nanny is a hippie lesbian who NEVER wears a bra.

The most disturbing to me, however, was the fact that the whole movie (if you couldn't guess from the title) revolves around sex. Sex, by all means, isn't a bad thing. Hell, I think it's fantastic. But that's all well and good in New York City, center of a culture that is enthralled with sex. In Abu Dhabi, however, where the religion is Islam and sex is a means of reproduction and nothing more; in a place where sex for pleasure is taboo and unholy, sex DOES NOT belong. Thank goodness for Miranda - at least one character had the common sense to attempt to learn about the culture of the Middle East (and out of respect to her host country on her ALL EXPENSES PAID vacation, conforms to those cultural norms) before blindly traveling to what is quite literally a different world.

After the movie, my mom goes, "I liked it," her usual movie crit opening. My only response was this:

"Did that movie have a plot?" And upon further reflection, yes, there was a plot. In a nutshell:

The women of New York City are liberated, and women all over the world should be liberated as well. They shouldn't have to be subservient, they should have their own voice instead of the voice of their husband, they shouldn't have to wear a birka (but instead should wear Dior, Versace, and other superfluous designers, who show the true worth of a woman), and should be able to fuck whoever they want whenever they want, just like the women of New York City (which is far superior to anywhere else in the world).

And they're going to take 147 minutes to demonstrate this plot, which actually paints all of Islamic culture in a bad light, just like Americans want to see it. And, they're going to do it with guest appearances by Liza Minelli and Miley Cyrus, and *GASP* the return of Aiden and Smith. "Word" (direct quote from Samantha from the movie. Not kidding).

Overall, two heartily and absolutely enthusiastic thumbs down. Actually learn about and experience a culture before you go around intentionally trashing it based on what you see in the media. That goes for gay culture too.

Be a friend, and don't let your friends see Sex and the City 2. Even if, by some dysfunctional stretch of the imagination, you do identify with Carrie Bradshaw. Just let us know how the crash was when it's over.

Outlaw Freaks

I feel we've been lacking off in our posting of the crazy mishaps of Freakdom, but I promise you, there's a big event coming soon, so don't fret, non-readers.

For now, here's a little fable to tide you over: Saturday night/the wee hours of Sunday morning, the Freaks were almost caught trespassing in a cemetery, which would have broken Brighton city ordinances. Oops.

The moral of the story: make sure there are no cops on foot patrol at the Mill Pond when you break into the Old Village Cemetery (even though the gate was unlocked).

You Might be in Howell if...

while on your way to the county recycle center, you see a handicapped guy driving down Grand River in a minivan with hydraulics. No joke.

A Second Helping of Ukulele and the Truth about Twilight

Hello fellow outcasts! This past weekend, the Freaks decided to kick it on our own turf, so we could bring you the best of the worst of Livingston at its finest. We began it on Friday, when Abby and I decided to celebrate the birth of our favorite bassist with vegan goodies (Happy Belated Birthday, Hunter!), and were also persuaded to purchase a key lime pie, which went well with the viewing of one of our favorite movies, Forrest Gump. Saturday was filled with AFI Chronicles and Super Smash Brothers Brawl, but the real magic happened on Sunday.

Each year, Brighton Area Schools hosts an art festival, displaying the best art work of students first through twelfth grade. As art fans, we generally frequent the art show, and this year was no exception. Fine young talent was on display, as usual, showcasing the wonderful arts program at Brighton High School (which, unfortunately is one of the first programs cut when the budget gets needy - along with the drama program, of course). Much to my dismay, however, most of the artists showcased were female, and I've been noticing this trend over the past few years. Being female myself, I think it's wonderful that we get respect where respect is due. But come on! I swear, I only saw two displays dedicated to male artists (that weren't graphics displays). We stayed, admiring the art for a while, until things got dicey - we narrowly escaped without being noticed by the notorious Mrs. Peters, our most hated teacher throughout our high school careers.

After the art show, we made a trip to Downtown Howell to see what was hip-happening down yonder. The central parking lot is under construction, so parking was a bit unusual, but we found a spot by the courthouse, where some unfortunate Howell High School senior was getting his senior pictures taken. Inconsequential, since he was obviously a douche, but I couldn't help but admire the photographer's pro-series Cannon. I long for my photography days.

Anyhoodles, we decided to visit our favorite upscale consignment shop, Le Boutique, because we firmly believe that one man's trash is another freak's treasure. None of us had any legitimate money, but most of our shopping excursions lead to shenanigans anyway. After coming across some not-so-friendly patrons of said consignment boutique, we wowed each other with bad fashion (like usual), tried on shoes that mooed, just for the fun of it, and then went on to Dairy Queen to get our ice cream on.

Outside the Dairy Queen, we came across a street performer with a myriad of instruments tossed carelessly into his bicycle wagon. Among these instruments was a ukulele (again with the ukulele?! Come on people, this is Michigan, not Hawaii!), a banjo, a guitar, and some sort of keyboard thing. Inside the Dairy Queen, we came across a rude server who didn't even know what a brownie bottom sundae was. Can you imagine that? Shelby and I settled for brownie Blizzards, while Abby got some funky concoction with whipped cream, oreos, a brownie, and fudge. And ice cream, of course. While om nom nom-ing, we people-watched (one of our favorite past-times), and saw whores and douches, kids, old people, and a strange couple wearing cowboy hats sitting on a bench in front of whatever shop is next door to Dairy Queen. I think it's either a travel agency or a law firm, I don't remember. Then, as we left, a group of girls decided to stare at us like they were intimidating, but obviously nothing scares us. Besides ukulele man.

I have to reiterate this: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A BROWNIE BOTTOM SUNDAE IS? IT'S A SUNDAE WITH A BROWNIE ON THE BOTTOM. ADAM CARSON IS VERY ASHAMED. That is all.

After the whole Dairy Queen debacle, we went off to Kroger to get birthday cards for yet another Sometimes Freak, Abby's sister Katie, who lives in Milwaukee and will be twenty-one on May 22.

When we got home, Shelby went to take a nap, while Peanut and I made some headway on our OVER 9000 Rummy Game. Soon after, Ansley, the Freaky Protege, came home from her friend's house with a copy of Twilight in her hand. Which brings me to my next point:

TWILIGHT IS THE WORST BOOK EVER. And if you agree, you must find out the truth about Twilight from Mark (AKA PanasonicYouth), staff writer at Buzznet.com/DF staff member/hilarious guy/my hero. I promise:

1. You will laugh

2. You might vomit

3. You will be in pain

4. You might even cry

So please, do yourself a favor and read Mark Reads Twilight (So You Don't Have To). Even if you already read Twilight, read Mark's version anyway. It's infinitesimally better.

Oh, and then, there's this,

but that's just a bit of trivial nonsense.

Ah, yes. Exec Week at BHS. I will never miss you.

Exec Week: when all the people on exec bored act like douches so people think they're cool and vote for them. But, everyone knows, once you put cool in front of something, it's not cool anymore. Unless it's cool with a "K" according to Shake-man-zilla-of-many-men.

The teams that are voting this year are, Team Zealous "over zealous, no such thing." and Poise (isn't that a magazine?) they don't have a catch fraze, unless you count, "VOTE FOR POISE!!!"

Of course, I think they're both Nazi's, but that's just me.


-S