Archives for category: Blows!

Hate them, hate them, love them, love them. I have spent years searching the US for the perfect, healthy cereal. Something gluten free, something with fruit and no syrup, something crunchy with pumpkin seeds or something. I have yet to find the perfect cereal. In the meantime, it does happen that I dive into one of these candy bombs dressed as cereal. Stuff that not only melts in your mouth, it melts already on your fingertips as you dig your hand into the box, as you’re eating it with your hands because it is so obviously candy, not cereal, but pretending to be cereal, something tired mothers agree to stuff their children with on early mornings without contact lenses before they feed the same children their daily dosage of ritalin because how else are these children supposed to be able to sit still for even a second, high on sugar as they are.

Possibly ruining the world, these cereals. Will just have a handful or two.

On why self-help literature is so frighteningly LAME: I mean, look at the way they’re talking to you, like you’re some sort of a mix of a baby and an alien – someone completely without any prior knowledge about life on Earth. The advice is so basic you’d think it was meant as a starting guide to life.

Think positive! Research shows that a balanced diet can help you achieve the life YOU want. Your new life starts today, just follow these simple steps to happiness! Read this and it will change your life!

It is very convincing! Oh, it’s compelling. Self-help guides make me feel like crying. Not only in the oh-my-god-so-lame kind of way. They make me want to cry because part of me would like to believe this bullshit. There is something adorable and slightly heartbreaking about someone telling you they’ve found the cure, that they’ve figured it all out. They followed five steps and wa-wa-boom have been happy ever since.

Someone once said happiness isn’t something you experience, it’s something you remember. That too is a sad way to experience it, and I don’t necessarily believe it’s entirely true, but there is something to it, right? At least it tells us something about the power of nostalgia.

So my suggestion is: Go get nostalgia back from the future and into the present!

Why not. The walk you took through the park today was just any walk through a park today, but in the future, when you’re old and looking back you’ll be like, fuck, that was the most beautiful park in the world and now I can’t move my legs. Fuck you future self, give that nostalgia back to present me, I want to see how awesome that stupid park is NOW. Leaves and stuff! Is there anything prettier than the sun filtering through thick green leaves? Or really green grass? I don’t think so, future self.

And yeah, I am talking to you too, present self.

Okay, red leaves too are pretty awesome:

Blogglisten

Dear AlterNet provides us with this timely article on Why Self-Help Books That Promise Happiness Are a Scam.

“Suggesting there’s a reasonably water-tight boat that can sail over the ocean of unhappiness and arrive at Happy Island makes the journey of life seem easy, but ultimately makes everything more confusing and frustrating”, AlterNet’s Vanessa Richmond writes in this article that takes on John Gray’s VENUS ON FIRE, MARS ON ICE, a book about why men and women are not happy and what they should do to change that or whatever whatever.

Gray is, Richmond tells me, the bestselling relationship author of all time. He’s written 16 books. Dude can type! It takes a lot of typing to write that many books. He’s also sold 50 million MARS VENUS books worldwide.

This article then moves on to Gretchen Rubin’s HAPPINESS PROJECT, the New York Times bestseller that initially made me want to do this blog, after I got her advice for happiness: Exercise a little! Get more sleep! Yeah well, she seems incredibly sweet, but I am afraid my mother came up with this advice before her. Too bad she – or every other mother or sensible person on the planet – didn’t write a book about it.

Not that there are not enough people writing books about easy fix happiness. Yesterday I bought a beverage for $2,49 that promised me happiness in a bottle. It contained coconut, an undeniably happy fruit. Or nut or whatever a coconut is.

Very confusing, coconut!

Anyways, I am happy – YEAH HAPPY – to see people refusing to swallow that book-shaped happiness pill. As for John Gray, not only does he melt your brain with relationship advice, he also does his best to push feminism about 100 years back and into corsets.

Thing is: If you’re unhappy, you probably know why. And you know that you can improve routines and introduce healthy elements into your life to make it better. This is TRUE. But you won’t be happy within 14 days and for the rest of your days. As sceptic as I might be to Rubin’s book I think the title is pretty good: The quest for happiness is a PROJECT, and a lifelong one.

So make it an enjoyable hobby, not an unhealthy obsession.

Ā«The ugly smell of unexamined privilege hangs over this film like the smoke from cheap incenseĀ», says New York Times’ critic A. O. Scott about the forthcoming Sex and The City movie, and we believe him, because this is exactly what we felt about the last movie. And the show. But still, this used to be our guilty pleasure and even as much as we like to emphasise the GUILTY in our guilty pleasures a guilty pleasure can no longer stay a guilty PLEASURE when it leaves you feeling like your brain is being hacked by pink monkeys. We’ll get back to pink monkeys on a later occasion.

In order to make unwanted time pass, we recently rented (yeah, went on our feet to a video store like old people) the first season of SATC, and let us remind you: That was something else. Carrie wasn’t poor exactly, but she felt guilty when buying those shoes; she wasn’t old exactly, but she was no longer in her 20’s; and she talked directly to the camera, channeling an early Woody Allen, if the early Woody Allen had been the kind that liked to dress himself in oversized decorative flowers and sequins.

The World Trade Center was still there and the opening sequence perfectly captured the essence of the show, which is to say the essence of (at least certain peoples’) life in New York City; you walk around in this amazing place, feeling perhaps a little alienated but mostly awesome, your awesomeness increased by a bus with your face on it driving past you (in most New Yorkers’ lives this would not happen. Really. But something surely would happen to increase their feeling of awesomeness for a second – if only the sighting of a celebrity or someone’s kind comment about your awesome shoes or possibly just your own reflection in a window, if you’re lucky enough to like it).

And then the bus will splash water all over you and your fancy ballerina dress.

That’s it, you build up pride and awesomeness and then splash. That’s what we liked about that show, that’s what we like about most things we like. Stuff that shows you how vulnerable the social construction is. YES EVERYTHING CAN FALL APART. This is why we like the title of Daniel Mendelsohn’s book How Beautiful It Is And How Easily It Can Be Broken, which we haven’t read because we’re still busy hugging and rocking and tucking the title in at night, making sure it is okay, happy and healthy.

We will get to it one day.

Anyway. Surely this movie is going to suck as bad as we think it will, the question is if that retarded spot in our brain is going to like it anyway. That spot that marvels over everything that’s hologram-shiny, that spot that thinks: SURE, I can walk in these heels and also: I should.

Come to think of it, why is that the question? Don’t you just love it when writers make statements like that. IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THIS BECAUSE I SAID SO. I AM A SERIOUS PERSON WITH A BRITISH LAWYER STYLE WIG. Stupid writers. We’ll tell you one thing, writing too is a hoax. These letters right here are just here to kid you into the next line.

And it’s never going to stop!

But okay, guess what we were meaning to say is we’d like to say that we’re going to boycott this movie, but what is more likely to happen is that we are going to want to see it (retarded spot, pink monkeys), then realize yet again that we don’t have any female friends, cry a little outside of Magnolia Bakery, beg the boyfriend to go with us, watch him roll his eyes in a serious no way way (bless him), and then we will put our sneakers on and head for a ferry ride, because ferry rides are awesome.

And as we’re boating around out there, the Manhattan skyline will feature no Towers, but we can still marvel at the steely abundance of purple and golden, and our bangs will look stupid in the wind, but our sneakers won’t hurt our feet, and we will think about how curious it is to be standing here, watching the void of something we never got to see.

(The towers, not the movie.)

Why is it that most of the literature devoted to exploring and helping along happiness blows? IT JUST BLOWS. Just reading the cover of one of these brightly colored self-help/spiritual guidance/happiness-industry books give me the same feeling I get when I read women’s magazines: WERE THESE THINGS MADE FOR ALIENS TO PREPARE THEM FOR THEIR FIRST VISIT TO EARTH? With advice like: “Be yourself”, “don’t eat too much sugar”, and “if you like a boy, you should try to talk to him!” one should surely think so.

I will devote more time to this subject later, there is much to say. I am just so fucking tired of happy people monopolizing happiness.