Friday 23 December 2011

The day before the day before, or why Africans do in fact know it's Christmas. (Hint: it's because they're not stupid! Whoa!)

I'm going to probably be taking at least a week off from blogging to celebrate the SWAGmas season with my lovely friends and family, but I thought I would write one more short post today. A few weeks ago, I wrote this post about the condescending racism hidden in the lyrics of Band Aid's "Do They Know Know It's Christmas?" Of course, Glee decided to perform the song a week or so later during their Christmas special. (Who else thinks they should have just foregone the plot for that episode--ha, like Glee has a discernible plot--and just aired a longer version of the black-and-white Christmas special? Because it rocked. Kurt and Blaine as "best friends and holiday roommates"? THE BEST.) Anyway, personally I found Glee's version of the song EVEN WORSE than Band Aid's version and I even had people who didn't really agree with my original analysis of the song say to me OMG HOW INSENSITIVE WAS THE GLEE VERSION?!?!?! Because, seriously, THEY SING THE SONG TO HOMELESS PEOPLE. They sing about how glad they are that they have charmed, privileged lives to people in a homeless shelter. "And tonight thank God it's them instead of you! Well, actually, it is you, SUCKERS." Last year they managed to make "Baby It's Cold Outside" sound a little less rape-y. But this year they made "Do They Know It's Christmas?" sound more condescending. Trying to achieve some twisted sort of balance?

Anyway, yesterday a friend of mine tagged me in a post on Facebook informing me of the existence of a response to "Do They Know It's Christmas?" by an ensemble of unemployed African musicians who have called themselves Plaster Cast (like Band Aid but tougher! Ahahaha...haha...ha.......). They call the song "Yes We Do." When asked why it took them well over 20 years to release a response to Band Aid's song, they said "it had taken a while ... to realise that it wasn't actually an elaborate joke." However, the group had always "been irked by [Bob] Geldof's assumption that hungry Africans were also stupid" and that "despite the poverty and hunger that had inspired Geldof and his friends to create the song back in 1984 that Africans had developed their own ways to remember Christmas." Interestingly enough, people DON'T need to be inundated with Christmas-themed commercials starting in October to realize that Christmas is coming! Weird, eh? The proceeds of Plaster Cast's song "will go towards teaching discipline, literacy and contraception at British schools." The article about the song from Hayibo.com, where I got all this information from, can be found here.

Alright, time to make my way back to my parents' house to officially get SWAGmas started! Merry Christmas and SWAGmas or happy holidays or happy getting-paid-extra-for-working-on-a-holiday or happy weekend or just happy time! Yay! Enjoy!

In conclusion, here's an adorable picture of the Biebs and his three-year-old sister on stage during his Christmas special Home for the Holidays:


Awwwww. See you in 2012!!!

Thursday 22 December 2011

The day before the day before the day before, or why I need to learn to explain myself better. Or become a secret ogre.

Last night I could not sleep. No, it wasn't because I was too excited about it being the day before the day before the day before SWAGmas. (It's plausible, though, because now that Jimmifer has bought my present all he does is talk about how excited he is to give it to me and now I'm really really curious dammit.) And no, it wasn't because I went out for all-you-can-eat sushi for lunch yesterday and still felt too full to lie down.

It was because I could hear violins.

I'm serious. Violins. I'd be lying there, and suddenly I could hear this sound... You know, one of those sounds that's so faint that you're barely even sure you're hearing something. But I was hearing something. It was music. So I sat up. And then I couldn't really hear it. So I tried to go to sleep. Ten minutes later, I could hear it again. This continued for quite some time until I was ABSOLUTELY SURE I was hearing music. And it sounded like violins. Definitely violins. I became convinced that one of us had left our iPods on and music was coming through the headphones. I tried to figure out where our iPods would be. I didn't want to get up, you see, mostly because I'm kinda afraid of the dark and I didn't want to wake Jimmifer up by turning on all the lights and having to be all like "I'M TRYING TO FIND THE VIOLINS!" because that's the sort of shit you get put in a straightjacket over. Also, I started to really overthink it. Like maybe the soft sounds of violins function in the same way as the light at the end of the tunnel. Like if I went to find the violins, at the source of the violins would be DEATH. And who wants to die like that? Crawling around on the floor searching for violins?!?! Not me. (I'm not entirely sure why I would have been on the floor. In my head, I was convinced that the source of this music was on the floor so I'd have to crawl around to find it.)

Eventually I remembered that I left my iPod headphones at my parents' house, which meant that if it was my iPod that was playing it would actually be really quite loud because it has those built-in speakers. And I don't think Jim has that much violin music on his. Not that I do either. But I have Christmas music. And sometimes Christmas music has violins. Then I also realized that we live in a bloody apartment building and PERHAPS this sound was coming from someone else's apartment. Perhaps someone was watching a movie with a soundtrack of violins? Who knows. Anyway, those are the sort of shenanigans I get myself into alone at 1:30 in the morning.

ANYWAY, what I actually wanted to talk to you about today is related to grad school and SWAGmas. So as we all know, this is the time of year where you see lots of family and friends and family friends and just a whole lot of people that you don't usually see on a day-to-day basis. And don't get me wrong, I love this. I am a huge supporter of the SWAGmas family party. However, people have a tendency (and rightly so, I suppose) to ask young people, and students in particular, the dreaded question: "So what are you doing?"

If you don't see the person often at all, usually a simple "I'm doing a master's degree in cultural studies" will suffice. And sometimes the person will take the conversation in a relatively simple direction after that, discussing where you live and such. That conversation I can handle. It's when people want specific details that I start to falter.

People say, "What is cultural studies?" And I go, "Well...uh..." And they say, "Do you study India or something like that?" And I go, "No." Because I know the answer to that question.

(Sidenote: while thinking that people in "cultural studies" study "cultures" is not that farfetched, why does every single person who assumes that cultural studies means studying the cultures of the world assume that I would be studying India specifically? Seriously, everyone says India. Is there like a large group of non-academics who are just waiting for someone to publish a comprehensive study on India?)

But the thing is, someone in cultural studies COULD be studying something to do with India. So when I try to explain that no, cultural studies isn't the study of different cultures around the world, sometimes I lead people off track. Then they think, like my chiropodist did the other day (yes, I was having this conversation with my foot doctor... I realize that's not exactly a family Christmas party, but still), that we only study current North American culture, but that's not true either. I mean, I primarily study current North American culture, but it's way more specific than that. So I try and explain that people do a lot of different things--like I look at popular music and gender representations, but other people look at pedagogy or animals or whatever. But then that sounds SO UNFOCUSED. So sometimes I try and explain how we use critical theory to look at these things. But bringing up theory--especially feminist theory--can be dangerous. And I never know how to explain it to someone whose never read stuff like that before. (Obviously my chiropodist did a lot of grad school and med school so she grasped everything fairly quickly.)

Some people take a more practical approach and just ask how my program is structured. So I explain that it's a one-year program, and I do two terms of coursework (three courses per term) and then in the summer term I write a major research project. To university graduates, this usually makes sense. But sometimes only if they have an arts degree. To my hairdresser (and a few others), this is quite confusing. (Yes, I know, my hairdresser was not at a family Christmas party either.) They ask, "What do you do in your courses?" and I try and explain, but the concept of a 15-20 page term paper is confusing and they ask, "What do you write about in a term paper?" and I explain that you do research based on the material you learned in the class and then they get confused because term papers don't actually have to incorporate texts from the course and what is the POINT of the term paper and don't you do research in the summer so what are you doing research for now?

And then I'm like, "Well currently I'm applying to PhD programs!" And then they give up on you and walk away.

So how do YOU, my fellow grad students and other readers who may have input, explain what it is that you do? Because I'm at a bit of a loss. Sometimes I just shout "I STUDY BOY BANDS AND FEMINISM AND QUEER THEORY" in the hopes that people will just run scared. But that's not really helping bridge the gap between academia and the so-called "real world," which is something that's really important to me. Because in my mind, it is not other people's failure that they don't understand what I do. Their questions are valid. It's my answers that suck. So, in the SWAGmas spirit of giving, give me some advice! How can I explain the importance of grad school and cultural studies? How can I explain what it is?

In other news, Jimmifer just walked in on me writing this and I have my tea tree oil face mask on which is bright GREEN (he wasn't supposed to be home yet!) and he asked me if I was a secret ogre. So maybe that's what I'll tell people when they ask what I do. I'm a SECRET OGRE. Yeeeeeeeeah.

Merry the day before the day before the day before SWAGmas!


Thursday 15 December 2011

The day I did nothing of importance but wrote about shit anyway, or why conspiracy theorists should be worried about Bob Dylan and possibly also about my fat earlobes.

I know it's been a few days since I handed in my last term paper, but I'm still fairly certain that I'm incapable of writing an intelligent, coherent post. But cut me some slack! I mean, in a week and a half I wrote and handed in approximately FOURTEEN THOUSAND WORDS (it looks soooooo much more impressive written out like that than if I just write "14,000 words") of academic writing. That is a lot.

Anyway, I'm here to show you my dedication to my craft of blog-writing. Despite my lack of intelligence and coherence, I'm going to write something anyway. Are you ready?

Did you know I have weirdly large earlobes?

Conspiracy theorists should stop worrying about 9/11 and start focusing all their attention on Bob Dylan. Seriously, I know the dude's 70, but HE IS FUCKING WITH OUR MINDS. For realz. I wrote a paper about it. Well, I wrote a paper about his Christmas album, but he's totally using his Christmas album to fuck with our minds. I mean, look at this video!


He's going to kill us. Or just repeatedly change religions and political viewpoints until all the Dylan scholars explode. So I QUIT, MR. DYLAN. YOU WIN. Except you don't because I WIN because I will not explode. I refuse to explode no matter what kind of crazy shit you do.

Although, Mr. Dylan, I think you may just explode if you keep trying to sing. "Hard the Herald Angels Sing" sounds like it nearly gave you a stroke. Or maybe you were just shitfaced when you sang it. SEE. THERE HE GOES AGAIN. HE'S DELIBERATELY CONFUSING ME SO I SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ANALYZING HIS SHITTY ATTEMPT TO SING A CHRISTMAS CAROL. You can listen to it here. And don't tell me what you think. BECAUSE I QUIT, BOB.

Back to earlobes. Okay, so, a couple of years ago I discovered that my earlobes are abnormally thick. I used to have three piercings in each earlobe, and I'd usually just wear studs in my upper two holes. (That's a weird phrase. "My upper two holes." ...let's not overthink that. Moving on.) But I kept losing the studs! Turns out my earlobes are so fat that the backings were barely staying on. My earlobes are so fat that they EJECTED my earrings from my ear. And then the other day I was squeezing Jimmifer's earlobe because I'm five and I like to bug people by squeezing their earlobes and I realized that the surface area of his earlobe was considerably smaller than the surface area of the pad/thumbprint area of my thumb. (You know, like the part you touch stuff with and the place where your thumbprint is...) THE SURFACE AREA OF MY EARLOBE IS BIGGER THAN THE SURFACE AREA OF MY THUMBPRINT/PAD/THING. What the hell. I have giant earlobes.

In my defence, Jimmifer absorbs smells. Yes, that's "in my defence." I have giant earlobes and he smells like food, so we're even. Before I was down by one. But I defended myself by attacking him and now we're even. It makes sense. Maybe. ANYWAY he absorbs food smells. Like he'll eat curry or be near curry and he'll smell like curry for two days. The other day he made chicken stock from scratch (which is super cool by the way because how many of you live with people who cook all your meals and make shit from scratch and all you ever have to do is peel potatoes and wash the dishes?). He finished making the stock and put it in the freezer and rinsed the pot he was making it in and went to bed. I stayed up for a while, and by the time I went to bed, the kitchen and living room no longer smelled like chicken. But then I went into our room, and our ROOM SMELLED LIKE CHICKEN. And I got into bed and IT WAS JIMMIFER. HE SMELLED LIKE CHICKEN. He hadn't even EATEN chicken. He'd just stood near boiling chicken bones. WTF. Weird.

I randomly started watching The Cosby Show the other day except it wasn't totally random because I had been watching Community and I saw the episode from the second season where Shirley's ex-husband comes back and he's THEO from The Cosby Show and he's old and kinda hot and he's wearing this crazy striped sweater with snowflakes on it and Jeff's all like, "I like your sweater," and ex-husband Theo says, "Thanks. My dad gave it to me." And I DIED of laughter. I realize it's not THAT funny. But I died. And then proceeded to watch the first eight episodes of The Cosby Show in one day. But my point is is that at some point during all this I found this. Clair Huxtable: Mom Style Icon. And she was. She was. I mean, just look at this:


Maybe when I get my coherence back (likely after the holidays), I will write something intelligent about The Cosby Show. I think there's something intelligent to say there. Who knows? We'll find out.

So I e-mailed the lovely Nicole who writes the hilarious and wonderful blog Nicole is Better and told her about the chocolate vagina lollipops that we used to order and sell at the Vagina Monologues at the school where I did my undergrad. (I acted in them four times and directed them once and Nicole writes about vaginas a lot so this all made quite a lot of sense at the time.) Anyway, a few days ago Nicole tweeted about these vagina lollipops. Of course, she didn't tweet about the regular ones that we used to order - no, she tweeted about the fucking weird ones. Like CRISPY VAGINA COOKIES. Seriously. YOU CAN ORDER THOSE ON THE INTERNET.


How creepy is that? But I suggested that a better gift idea this holiday season would be the PINK FUZZY VAGINA LOLLIPOP. Yeah, fuzzy.


Who DOESN'T want to eat chocolate pubic hair? Mmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! Also, why is it PINK? It just looks...I don't know. Weirder than the chocolate-coloured ones. I don't even know.

It is so windy outside that our windows are rattling and the blinds are blowing in the wind even though the windows are closed and WHY DO I LIVE IN A SHIT HOLE? Oh yeah. I'm a grad student... The hole in the shower is gone though! It has been replaced by a rather large floor tile so it looks slightly ridiculous. But at least there's no hole. And we have fewer fruit flies now! Although one of our traps now has fruit fly larvae in it and I'm getting scared.

In conclusion, I'm going to go mark essays now. Or maybe watch The Cosby Show and then mark essays... One of the essays I have to mark has the phrase "GIVE ME YOUR BRAINS" in its title, so I'm kind of excited. I apologize to the student whose essay that is. If you ever happen to stumble upon this blog, dear student, I realize that you did not give me permission to share that with the world, but it's really freakin' awesome so I hope you don't mind.

Tuesday 13 December 2011

The day I handed in my final term paper, or why Lizzie McGuire is the smartest and coolest girl ever.

So this morning (yesterday morning? It's after midnight...) I officially handed in my last paper of the term, which means that I now spend all of my time watching episodes of Lizzie McGuire on YouTube. Naturally. It is only one of the best Family Channel shows of all time. I almost said it was the best, but then I remembered The Weekenders.  I mean, Carver's was a very talented songwriter: "I got my wheels, and wheels are cool, and cool is good, and good is ... good." The creativity!! He's like Elton John.

Anyway. You know what's going to be sad? When the students in my tutorials are too young to have watched the same shows as I did. We had an awesome discussion in my last tutorial about all the Family Channel shows we watched as a kid... (Okay, okay, we ended up talking about Hannah Montana and The Suite Life of Zack and Codie. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH WATCHING KIDS SHOWS IN YOUR LATE TEENS/EARLY TWENTIES. Plus, at least we weren't watching the one where Zack and Codie live on a boat. We're not that pathetic. Although it may have taken me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that "London Tipton" was imitating Paris Hilton. That's a bit pathetic.)

Anyway. (I need to stop saying "anyway" to bring myself back when I get off topic. Maybe I should switch it up, use something more sophisticated... How about "But I digress"? Too stuffy?) ANYWAY. I was watching the episode of Lizzie McGuire were she competes in rhythmic gymnastics.


First of all, I can't for the life of me understand why rhythmic gymnastics is the dorky sport when it's basically just cheerleading with props. Second of all, did anyone else realize that Coach Kelly from Lizzie McGuire is Coach Beiste from Glee? Is anyone else wondering if she's ever played anything but a scary gym teacher? That's a weird thing to be typecast as. (Does one get "typecast" as something or "typecasted" as something? Well, since there's now a squiggly red line under "typecasted," I guess I was right the first time...)

Third of all, this episode is awesome. And not just because Lizzie is clearly not the least bit flexible or co-ordinated and yet she wins the gold medal even though the other girl can touch her toes to the back of her head. The premise of the episode is that Lizzie feels like she's not talented at anything. Her grades are always B's and she doesn't have a specific hobby or talent. And even though I'm no longer in grade seven, I've been thinking the same thing as Lizzie a lot lately. I mean, I don't get all B's, because then I wouldn't get to be a grad student and then this blog wouldn't exist and then everyone's life would be just a little bit sadder, but "school" doesn't exactly feel like a talent per se. When people ask you what you're good at or what your hobby or talent is or what you like to do in your spare time, I can guarantee that they don't want you to say "school" or "thinking." Thinking, apparently, is not a talent. Writing those thoughts down is only marginally better. People stare at you and are like, "Yeah, but everyone has to think and go to school. So what are you good at that's SPECIAL?" And I'm like...uh...reading? And sure, being good at thinking, writing and reading is really good. Especially when you're a grad student. (Hey, look! I'm also good at stating the obvious!) But it's not like you can pull out your reading skills at a party when things get quiet like those talented musicians. Nor can you display your super smart thoughts in your living room like those talented athletes can with their trophies. (I guess if you have multiple degrees and published books you could display them. But then you kind of look like a douche.)

I feel like that paragraph should have come to some sort of concluding point. I don't really have a conclusion, though.

And you know what? I DON'T HAVE TO HAVE A CONCLUSION. Because I'M DONE MY TERM PAPERS. NO MORE CONCLUSIONS FOR ME. Muahahahahahaha.

Anyway (dammit I used that word again!!!), my point is that Lizzie brings up something that I think a lot of people have a problem with, especially those of us who have a "talent" that most people think is dorky or just not a "real" talent. (People don't usually use the term "professional student" as a compliment...) Everyone has to go to school for at least 12 years. Most people hate it. So when your talent is doing something that everyone's done already and everyone hates, you feel a little less talented. Plus, people never get to witness this talent. Most people know you have it, but are completely unwilling to do something as drastic as read your papers or have a conversation with you about the things you study to actually prove it, so they just vaguely compliment you about it -- like "Jocelyn, you'e so smart!" Well, thanks, but HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT? You're just saying that because my mom told you I was a grad student, aren't you?

Not that I want people to stop complimenting me. That was rude of me. I appreciate your compliments, even if they're unfounded. But that was not my point. This conclusion sucks. And I think that somewhere along the line I conflated the terms "talent," "hobby" and "work." I'm really not sure what I'm talking about anymore. But I don't have to!!!! TERM PAPERS ARE DONE. COHERENCE HAS BEEN THROWN OUT THE WINDOW. Muhahahahahaha.

Lizzie's conclusion was better: "But if I don't like it, why waste my time doing it? I'd rather work extra hard at something I do love, even if it takes a little longer." I realize that's not really related at all to what I was saying, but it's still a good conclusion. Don't worry about what you're talented at, just make sure you're doing what you love. And I am! Thanks, Lizzie :)

Also, I think her little brother makes an excellent point about valuing all of our talents, not just the ones that are popular. When Lizzie asks, "How many talents do you get in one lifetime?" he confidently replies, "I have six. One is that curlycue thing I can do with my tongue, two is saying anyone's name backwards -- Tarzan, Nazrat -- three is eating spoonfuls of wasabi..." (He gets cut off after three, but you get the point.) Actually, maybe his conclusion is better than Lizzie's. So I shall end here.







Thursday 8 December 2011

The day I realized there won't be snow in Orange County this Christmas, or why Bob Geldof, Bono and Sting badly need anti-oppression training.

Sorry it's been a while, but I've been writing term papers. So. Much. Writing. Le sigh. But I get to hand in two of them tomorrow! Only one more to write. For Monday. Wahhhhhhhhhhhh I just want to watch Christmas movies...and Pretty in Pink. I don't know why, but I have a sudden urge to watch every Molly Ringwald movie I can get my hands on. Jimmifer and I watched The Breakfast Club last weekend. It was glorious. Except I'm still confused about why it's called The Breakfast Club. Like, Brian signs that letter from "the Breakfast Club" but they never decide that that's their name and they don't even eat breakfast together. Weird.

Anyway, as promised, I will now answer the question: WTF is with that Band Aid song "Do They Know It's Christmas?"? Well, I can't promise a definite answer. But I will demonstrate how it is completely bizarre and hugely problematic and just kind of rude.

Now, I am fairly tolerant of the lyrical content of Christmas music. I will sing along regardless of what the words are. And usually, I don't really pay attention to what the words are, possibly because I learned the words when I was too young to fully comprehend their meaning. Or possibly because I'm not actually Christian and don't really want to bother thinking about the fact that I sing loudly about Jesus for about a month every year. I learned the other day while singing along to "Mistletoe and Wine" that I've been singing "children singing crispy and white" instead of "children singing Christian rhymes" and never questioned it. Because, you know, CRISPY AND WHITE CHILDREN aren't something I should be concerned about. Nevermind that it sounds kind of racist, but WHY ARE THEY CRISPY??

Anyway, my point is that it's rare that I will find a Christmas song problematic, mostly due to my own willful ignorance of the words. But while decorating our SWAGmas tree and listening to "Do They Know It's Christmas?", I suddenly became conscious of the words I was singing. (Also, I just noticed that I have three copies of this song in my iTunes. WHY?!?!) What first caught my attention was the line: "There won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time." Well, no shit, Sherlock. (Not that I am up on the climate of the entire continent of Africa. Maybe some parts get snow. I don't know what time of year it would snow there, though...) Since when is a lack of snow at Christmas a cause for concern? I mean, sure, snow at Christmas is pretty, but that's a pretty geographically limited view of Christmas. Lots of places don't get snow at Christmas, like California. And Australia. And Mexico. Should we be sending aid to Orange County this Christmas? Plus, if life in Africa is as destitute and awful as this song suggests, I think snow might make it worse. Snow means cold. Cold means people freeze to death.

And then this line is followed by the line: "The greatest gift they'll get this year is life." You know what, that sounds like a pretty awesome gift to me. If I could pick ONE THING to get for Christmas, that would probably be it. I hope that everyone gets life for Christmas this year. Please survive Christmas, readers. It would mean a lot to me. (I understand that Band Aid is implying that their needs beyond the basic need of survival are not being met, but come on. That's a stupid way of phrasing it.)

And then it just gets absolutely generalizing and patronizing. Like, not EVERYONE in Africa is homeless, starving and dying. Some of them might actually have radios and CD players and computers and other music-listening devices! So some of them might hear you (I'm looking at you, Bono. I know you sang this line.) sing, "So tonight thank God it's them instead of you." Okay, really? That's insulting. "I'm so glad I don't live in Africa!" Shut up, Bono. And I may not be Christian, but I'm PRETTY SURE the purpose of prayer is not to be like, "Hey, God, thanks for making other people's lives shitty and not mine!"

And then there's the whole thing where they sing, "Where nothing ever grows / No rain or river flows," and then Sting chimes in and is all like, "Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears," which I'm pretty sure he said just so he could say his own name. But like, generalizations much? (And emo much, Sting? Srsly.) The entire continent of Africa is not completely dry. There's like this river...the NILE. It's pretty effing huge. And I see other bits of blue on the map. (Dear lord my knowledge of geography is pitiful...at least I know the blue on the maps equals water, right?) So if you're going to talk about desert-like conditions, maybe you should do your research and talk about the ACTUAL PARTS OF AFRICA that suffer from drought. I'm not pretending like I know exactly where they are, either, but I'M NOT SINGING A SONG ABOUT IT, AM I?

And then there's the best part! The repeated line: "Do they know it's Christmas time at all?" ARE THEY CHRISTIAN? IS EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN AFRICA CHRISTIAN? It's likely that many of the Christian people living in Africa KNOW VERY WELL THAT IS CHRISTMAS. And the lack of snow is probably not keeping them from being aware of this, FYI. Do you think it's Christmas every time it snows? No, no you do not. So the snow thing really has nothing to do with it. Anyway, if they don't know it's Christmas, it might very well have something to do with the fact that they aren't Christian. And if they are Christian and don't know it's Christmas, then yes, that's sad. But still. Your song is stupid. And it creates this weird us/them dichotomy that I am really not comfortable with.

(I'll let you in on a secret, Bob Geldof: People in Africa...they're people too! And they can hear you. So stop referring to them as if they can't. It's creepy and weird, like when parents talk about their kids in front of their kids...like "Ryan is being difficult these days and refuses to wear pants or eat his vegetables" and nine-year-old Ryan is standing right there with all his friends and now is embarrassed because everyone knows he doesn't wear pants at home and is "difficult"...except that this is worse, because you're talking about a whole continent of people like they can't hear you. And granted, some of them can't. But it's still not cool to talk behind people's backs. Especially, you know, when the people from your continent have this history of being really racist and violent towards people from their continent because they think people from Africa are inferior to them...you know, like they're children or animals or something. And you kind of sound like you think they're inferior, like children or something...hmmm.)

In conclusion, I love writing blog posts because I can write "and then ... and then ... and then ... and then" without getting docked marks. (Seriously, four of my paragraphs in this post start with "and then.") Take that, term papers!

Friday 2 December 2011

The day the Jocelyn stole SWAGmas, or why I'M SO EFFING EXCITED ABOUT CHRISTMAS

So yesterday was December 1st. Which meant that my man-friend Jimmifer* officially lifted the ban on Christmas music in our apartment that I have been breaking every day since about mid-November. He's at work all day. He doesn't have to know. Also, it meant we got to put up our very first CHRISTMAS TREE (it's three feet tall and adorable and has garland and bells and a star made of paper and coloured with highlighter because we forgot to buy a tree topper) and I got to wear my Christmas socks and my Christmas underwear and drink hot chocolate and YAY I LOVE CHRISTMAS. (I wore clothes over my Christmas underwear, you perv. I just felt it was important to point out that I did, in fact, make a point of wearing Christmas underwear when decorating my first Christmas tree in my first apartment with Jimmifer.) Look at our tree!!!!


It's like we're our own little family now!!!! I feel so...grown up. Because grown ups put their Christmas trees on coffee tables and make stars out of printer paper and highlighters. But seriously. I am so happy that we finally get to have our own little Christmas. It makes it feel more special. Aww.

Anyway, the greatest part about me loving Christmas is that I love it for no particular reason. I get super duper excited and watch the Toronto Santa Claus parade (on TV while drinking hot chocolate because it's too cold and crowded and far away to actually go watch it in real life but I haven't watched it yet because I never watch it before I'm done my coursework for the term SO DON'T TELL ME HOW IT ENDS) and decorate things and watch tons of Christmas movies and yell at the sky until it snows and get Christmas drinks from Starbucks and Second Cup (there's this amazing one that I keep calling "Santa's orgasm" because the first time I tried it I was all like "OMG IT TASTES LIKE SANTA EXPLODED IN MY MOUTH" but now I can't remember what it's actually called and I think if I ordered a Santa's orgasm I would not get what I wanted so I'm sad) and wear Christmas outfits and Christmas jewelry and then Christmas comes and usually pretty much nothing happens except I get gifts that I picked out myself because my mom got bored of trying to surprise me and then we eat a lot but it's never as good as Thanksgiving dinner but I AM NEVER DISAPPOINTED. It's like all I need is the excitement. It doesn't matter that Christmas Day pretty much unfolds the same way every year and nothing really that amazing happens. I still get excited.

Part of what is adding to my excitement this year is this abso-fucking-lutely absurd and wonderful remix of Little Drummer Boy by Justin Bieber and - wait for it - BUSTA RHYMES. He raps about eggnog and Twitter. I don't even know what's happening. But it's like a Christmas dance party, which is totally a combination of my two favourite things. Here they are performing it live at Rockefeller Christmas 2011:


Yes, I do believe Justin insinuated that he should have been in the Bible and compared himself to Michael Jackson all within the first verse. So because this is just the most amazing and ridiculous thing happening this holiday season, I officially dub Christmas 2011 "SWAGmas" in honour of the Biebz and his effervescent swag. (I'm not going to lie, MTV totally tweeted something about SWAGmas and I was like I'M TOTALLY STEALING THAT. And then I did. But I'm totally copyrighting the phrase "effervescent swag.")

I have like fourteen other things I want to say about Christmas SWAGmas but I'm trying to keep my posts short and sweet and to the point (if there is a point...) because I have a tendency to be a tad wordy...so I'll leave you with a teaser for my next post about SWAGmas: WTF is with that Band Aid song "Do They Know It's Christmas?"? (Weird formatting there with the double question marks...)

HAPPY SWAGMAS!!!!!

*Yes, if you've been following my blog thus far you will have just realized that both my father (Jimand) and my man-friend (Jimmifer) are named Jim - I dare you to try and come up with an Oedipal complex/daddy issues joke I haven't heard. Seriously. Go for it.