(Psst… watch this in HD for the highest low quality.)
This is a video collage of random beach-related YouTube vids that I threw together in a fan music video for Expwy.
His music makes me want to go to the beach… and ride a bike, I guess. I don’t even like the beach that much. Yeah, that’s how good this song is. Worth-getting-sand-up-your-ass good.
Okay, okay, the truth is I’ve been really beach-crazed this summer, like a baby-crazed woman on her 35th birthday who’s always wanted kids but doesn’t have any, only, y’know, with a beach.
MY BEACHOLOGICAL CLOCK IS TICKING.
Justin Bieber (or as I like to call him, Justin Gerber) is a pop sensation, and as such, it is his duty to amass large quantities of money by plastering his face to everything. Such is capitalism. There is a line, though, between Bieber Fever and Bieber Schizophrenia. Bieber Fever inspires a lot of merchandise, like t-shirts, posters, and teddy bears. Bieber Schizophrenia, on the other hand, generates weird crap like this:
12. JB Barbie: Yeah, Barbie, not Ken. You can’t expect me to look at that face and see a man. And how weird does this thing look? It’s just, like, staring… looking nowhere in particular, probably wishing its hair wasn’t painted onto its head like that. Maybe it’s the failed-decapitation neck slit that’s throwing me off, but something about this G.I. Joe-gone-wrong just doesn’t sit right with me.
“Bye, Sweetie!” my mom cried over my sister’s Miley Cyrus music as I stepped out of her car. Then she drove away to drop my sister off at her school.
Let’s be honest. Supernatural has jumped the shark.
Once upon a time, it was an awesome show. Even now, it has a few worthwhile episodes mixed in with the turdy ones. Like, a few actual Godiva truffles mixed in with those Godiva “gems” you can buy at CVS that are pretty sucky and disappointing. But do you really want to suffer through all that crappy chocolate, those assaults on your taste buds, before getting to the deliciousness? Does anyone relate to this reference, or even understand it? No? Well, that’s okay. My point is this: no. No, you do not want to suffer through crap just for the chance you’ll see something good.
BRMC no longer stands for “Black Rebel Motorcycle Club”. After their amazing show at Trees in Dallas, TX, last Sunday night, it now stands for “Badass Rockin’ Mind-Blowing Concert”. In other words, my new drug. Their concert was so good, it felt like what I imagine cult members think they’re gonna feel like after they drink the Kool-Aid.
When I woke up on Monday morning, the whole night felt really surreal, like a meth-head dream. I’ve never smoked meth though, so I have no idea what that feels like. The surrealism of the night before makes me think BRMC concerts are drugs in and of themselves, only better since they’re less likely to kill you. I’ve only been to two of their shows, and now attending more is an absolute necessity. In March earlier this year, they came to the House of Blues in Dallas, and the show was good, but Sunday night’s was way better. This was either because Robert Levon Been was on fire, or because this time around, there weren’t any douchebags asking for a tangerine to the face.
With the slew of horrendous summer movies finally coming to a close, we can all breathe easier and willingly walk into movie theaters again. But do you even need to go to the theater to get action-packed, thrilling, romantic, glorious cinematic content? No ma’amsir, you do not. Go to Blockbuster and rent everything on my newest list: movies that are often overlooked despite their poignant and outstanding cinematic content:
1. White Chicks: Two down-and-out FBI CSI CIA NYPD black men have to protect two young, spoiled, blonde white women. After inevitably getting into a steamy affair with the girls, the men ponder life, love, and discover religion. Through their physical intimacy, they lead the girls on an emotional journey and teach them how to appreciate the little things in life, like sex. Since one of the men is married, and has discovered religion (what religion? All the religions!) since consummating his affair, he feels deeply guilty for betraying his wife and begins a long trek home, disguised as the white woman he plowed. This is obviously because he feels the need to literally show the world what he’s done, and the easiest way to do that is by cross-dressing and cross-ethnicitying. His fellow law enforcement black friend joins him on his journey, also disguised as the woman he slept with, to repent with him for betraying his own wife, who doesn’t exist, since he’s not married. This movie is a journey of journeys, about journey, with the entire soundtrack consisting of Journey.