Where is the Loyalty?

This post is simply a rant (so basically the same as all my other posts) on high school students. We’ve all been there, or at least there’s a fake emphasis on us all being there by Hollywood to help comfort the high school outcasts, when we truly question our friendship groups.

It’s not that I do not love my friends, don’t get me wrong. There are just some attitudes held by students, including me at times, that both frustrate and upset me. It is teenager’s lack of true loyalty to their friends.

In the world of high school, a saturday night out is the epitome of life. But in recent times I’ve come to question both myself and my friends attitudes towards saturday nights, and the downright desperation that is sometimes attached with it.

Sometimes, achieving a saturday night out comes at the cost of your friends. “Oh you don’t have to invite them, just have something” is a term I’m hearing increasingly. Do we as a generation just want to spend the night with whoever, as long as there’s alcohol and opposite sexes?

Opposite sexes, in addition, play a major role in one’s saturday night. Due to me being in high school and openly gay, my love life gets as hot as me naked in bed watching SVU with ice-cream. However, to my heterosexual friends of both male and female, securing a night out with both sexes in attendance appears somewhat essential to them. I have to ask myself however, why? Is it simply because I have never had that sexual interaction at a party before, causing me to be oblivious to heterosexual party criteria? Is it that my body takes over at a party, taking me straight to the dance floor with no memory of even seeing another male besides the DJ (who, might I add, is generally forced to play my essential party criteria; Britney, Beyonce and the rest of the pop gang) ?

If I was to have a night drinking with just my female friends, why is that seen as inferior to a night with the same people in addition to ten males? Maybe I’ll never know until those males are gay models that are flirting with me. Maybe my alcoholism has grown that all I really need is an iPod and cask of wine, or maybe I’m one of the few that at times would rather spend the night with people I genuinely enjoy being around. Maybe I’m just a party pooper.

No… I couldn’t be.

P.S. For all of you that are party rocking tonight, don’t forget to request Gimme More and instigate the pussy popping.

iPhone 5 (With NEW Hat!)

I love Apple products. I am a self-confessed Apple snob. Making the transition back to Microsoft computers at school makes my skin crawl. Anyway, that post is for another time.

Today, Apple unveiled the new iPhone 5. How many has it been now? 

It’s not that I’m complaining (although I am). I’m still stuck on a Nokia, and that may be why I’m acting bitter towards Apple. But is the iPhone 5 any different? Or is it simply Malibu Stacey (With NEW HAT).

Yes. Apple is Malibu Stacey. The only thing I can pick different from this model to the 4 S (if that’s how you even phrase it.. god I need an Iphone) is a bigger screen.. whoop de doo. Because clearly the other screen was clearly such an inconvenience for everyone. 

Additionally the model has some new flashy photo features, which I’m certain the general public and I have no idea means in camera terms. I’m sure they made this needed update because that’s what our world needs, higher quality instagram photos of the beach (which is generally hidden behind the clear focus of the photo; girls legs).

Such frequent releases by Apple have left me feeling as though they are simply a money hungry company. From all the Macs, iPads, iPods and iPhones – does it all really matter what model you have?

 

That answer is yes. Pre-order your new iPhone 5 ASAP. 

#takemeback

I would be as annoying as every other seventeen year old on social media (for the most part). I unnecessarily hashtag things (#fuckoffidontcarewhatyouthink), I get excited with each new “like” and I even visit my own profile to “see how things are looking”. It’s most probably due to my annoying nature, that things I do not participate in online (quite bluntly) piss the shit out of me.

#1 – The Birthday Photo (sneaky hashtag)

Its a trend that has swept my entire friendship group and age group as a whole. I can hear them now, as they read over this “at least I don’t write posts no one reads!!”, and yes they would be correct, however I will progress in pointing out this birthday habit’s flaws.

My view on it as a whole is quite basic, and probably correct. People post photos on Facebook “friends” walls on their birthday to highlight to other users the quality of their relationship.

e.g. “Did you see the photo Tina posted on Jake’s wall for his birthday?!”

“Yes!! So funny. Is that pic even on Facebook? I didn’t even know they were that close.”

And by now I am asking myself, is it better or worse if people upload a new photo or simply copy and paste the link of one previously uploaded onto their wall? Is it necessary to link a photo that they would have previously seen to highlight their friendship? Is it necessary to dig around your computer for a while finding a hot shot of the two of you?

Both are bad. Birthday wall photos are bad. Stop it now.

#2 #TAKEMEBACK

Summer is an amazing season. Holidays and doing activities uncommon to your normal schedule are awesome. Hastaging ‘Take Me Back’, sadly, will not allow these things to return to your life anytime soon.

I think this hashtag is used for two reasons. People find a hot, old picture of themselves in a bikini and need an excuse to show everyone without being a whore. Or the discovery of an amazing picture, “fuck I didn’t instagram that when I was in India”….. #TAKEMEBACK.

I’ve been one to wish to return to things in the past, but hashtagging to the past is impossible. I’m sorry instagrammers.

#3 SHARE. RE-TAG. REPEAT.

I’m not denying I love receiving “likes”. If there is nothing more exciting on the internet it is to see the unknown and known who have given your profile a squiz, checked out the profile picture and decided to do a charitable deed by liking it.

However I am not in an even playing field.

It may be because I have a penis. Or it may be the obvious tactic taken by many females. This is an exclusive insight into a teenage girls mind.

thought: okay I’ll make this my profile picture.
thought: to crop or not to crop…. crop omg. Is that a new mole on my leg?
thought: tick tock… 10 likes and it’s been one minute. Sandy will pay me out so much. *Share*
thought: that did the trick. I bet she hasn’t had 15 more like 4 seconds after a share.
thought: why is the newsfeed so busy? Fuck… I need to get back up there. *Tag*
thought: hahaha oh my god what a creep! The girls would of never had a year 12 like their profile pic.
thought: I only have 100.

and then they share, re-tag and repeat.

Although I’m sure if I was a hot year nine girl I would be totally onto this.

#4 Long ass captions

Another habit I have seen from year nine girls. Maybe I just have a problem with young girls on facebook?

Normal people (me) caption photos like “womadelaide”. I firmly believe that one to three words is enough for people to understand where you are and what you are doing. However others (year nines I’m looking at you) think a caption the size of the bible needs to be entered.

This caption, if you can even call it that, rambles on justifying why the photo is uploaded. Copy and pasted below is an actual caption I just saw on a profile picture. Let’s cringe together.

Emma Made me 😦
But theres this girl Alicia and i love her ♥
Angus is such a seed..
Mika Is so rebellious
Ellen Is my fav ♥
Nathan and Tommy are cool cats.
Morning glory ♥

Emma didn’t make you. The only way I can imagine Emma “making you” do it is standing behind you while you’re on your computer with a knife across your throat. Your not in an interrogation room confessing to a murder, you just changed your profile picture. And as much as I’m sure Nathan and Tommy are “cool cats” you look like a “loser cat”.

Note: If it has a “see more” option.. it’s too long

God I’m pathetic.

The Olympics and Channel 9

I have never been one to jump at the opportunity to participate in sport. This is because I hate how people act towards sport (and most importantly because it involves physical activity). So it shouldn’t come as a surprise I wasn’t excited for this years Olympics and the media that would come with it. 

In the brief moments I have seen events broadcast to Australia, it has made me cringe. Channel 9 and its reporters are those douche bags in phys ed that make sport seem like a life or death situation. The fact that these people want to avoid high calorie foods and dedicate years (years of exercising that is) to make an Olympic team is a feat in itself. To overhear reporters use such words as “disappointing” and “devastated” about these athletes bewilders me. Being one of the most skilled people in the world at their favoured sporting activity is disappointing? 

Maybe it’s because I was the kid that pretended to be sick to avoid sport and on the few occasions I did participate, shied away from engaging, that I feel sympathy towards the athletes. Maybe I just feel sorry for them for not getting take-out for years to have a “disappointing” outcome. 

I’m only just seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Big Brother returning after this bore-fest of fit people is over next Monday.

Religion – making the world a Satanic place?

I have often wondered what our world would be like without the various forms of religion that inhabit our Earth today. A world where one is not discriminated or judged for being Muslim. One where one could love whoever wherever. One where science and technology would be dramatically further along. One where citizens can attend a Lady GaGa concert. 

Over the past month, various countries in Asia have been protesting and demanding the pop superstar be banned from touring the countries. Indonesia succeeded, with religious protesters claiming she was too “sexually provocative” and “satanic”. I find this somewhat amusing that something worn by GaGa in the 21st Century can be seen as provocative where as Adam & Eve’s half-ass attempt at covering themselves is taught far and wide. All being said, they are entitled to their opinion, as am I. If they do not wish to see Lady GaGa, they should simply not attend the concert. However the thing about religious protestors is they force their beliefs upon everyone else. Citizens that bought tickets to the sold out show are now unable to see it simply because someone else didn’t want them to.

I’ve experienced my fair share of Christian protestors in Adelaide over the past few years. Constantly within the Rundle Mall strip, shoving outdated and downright stupid nonsense down your throat as you try and shop in peace. Once again, I believed that although I didn’t agree with it, they can make themselves look like fools and say as they please. However when they crashed the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered rally for equality on the 12th of May, that was a whole other story.

They felt the need to come and chant their hate to us as we were demanding our legal rights. Towing a life size “string-up Jesus now” cross on wheels and holding banners “warning” us, attempting to stop us from marching through the city. Imagine the scandal if I rocked up to Sunday church with a 3 metre dildo on wheels demanding them to accept me, yet it’s all okay as they’re doing it “in God’s name”.

This worlds screwed up idea of God and his beliefs leave me to believe in two possibilities. That 2000 years ago, Jesus was the J.K. Rowling of the time. His best selling fictional novel, “The Bible”, was adored by fans so much they started a fan club at what they called Church. Their love for the novel got so out of hand it has spawned into this chaotic frenzy of delusional people. The other possibility is that its all true. Jesus is the son of God, and he came to Earth to forgive our sins. However at the moment they’re looking down upon their followers cringing. 

No matter the reason or excuse, religion is no excuse to forbid other citizens the right to do, see or hear something. In the words of Lady GaGa, “there is nothing Holy about hatred”. 

 

Starstruck: Meeting Zac Efron

WordPress is the only social media site that was not spammed last Thursday night when I met the one, the only, Zac Efron. For my imaginary readers I’m sorry I haven’t informed you until now. Zac Efron is, and always will be, my ultimate sex god. No matter the hypothetical situation, I always end up either sleeping with him or being with him (with the exception of the one pitched last night – I could be his boyfriend or get $50 million a year). That is why I have been so ecstatic since that night.

After stalking both Ke$ha and Miley Cyrus had failed in the past, I assumed I would have to be content with the time I met Ricki-Lee. I convinced myself that there was no possibility of me meeting an A lister Hollywood celebrity in little old Adelaide, and that my only chance would be to pay for a meet and greet. Zac Efron, I’m glad broke this state of mind, as you were so nice.

I like to believe that he is actually a genuinely nice guy and that it wasn’t merely to uphold a good status and stay out of tabloid magazines, but nonetheless he charmed me. Much to the point I can barely remember what happened in his presence. I was literally starstruck. I remember him asking us not to tell anyone where he was, if we wanted a group photo and for someone to hold the camera so my friend could get in it. Arriving home I was screaming with joy but in the moment I was frozen, that I was literally next to Zac Efron.

I’ve bragged about it over Facebook too much that it was only fair I did it on here. I still can’t process what happened, but am so glad it did. I am so grateful Scott Hicks (who I saw later the next day) convinced the crew for there to be a premiere in South Australia, as this may be the only time I ever meet the man himself, Zac Efron.

Yes, it wasn’t a one on one photo. Yes, his security made him stand at the very back of the photo (God knows why). Yes, I was the only guy in a pack of twenty teenage girls. Despite that, I have a photo with Zac Efron, heard him speak, said hello and he saw me. Zac Efron looked at myself, and distinguished me as a human being. For that my life is complete.

I wonder how many times I said ‘Zac Efron’ in this post.

Back to Basics: The Easter Weekend

Over the Easter weekend, I was fortunate enough to get back to basics and camp along the River Murray with my friend and her family. It was nothing on the horrendous school camps I have endured over the past five years, but it did share my favourite quality of camping, that is getting to know people in a smelly, un-technological manner. Although Nicki Minaj did grace our presence in the form of portable speakers, this was one of my few connections back to pop culture.

Camping, in its finest form, has a strong power upon an individual. In one sense, it reminds you how much you love nature. How much you long to runaway into the wilderness and live off the land, warming yourself with bonfires opposed to heaters and washing yourself in a river rather than a shower. On the other hand it reminds you of the necessity that is deodorant and why our new age bug deterrents are capable of possibly wiping out species. Not that I don’t love all creatures no matter how big or small, I will kill them if they awake me at all hours leaving a constant ringing in my ears.

Games such as charades that have stood the test of time came out nightly, in the cringeworthy “I hope I’m not up next” manner we all know. I can safely say we all feel a little uneasy when we watch someone act out something that not one person can pick. Food tastes as if it was the same quality meal as the Queen would be consuming, and indulgent foods such as chocolate remind us why we don’t live off the land.

The family, who come from the river lands, awoke me to a much different form of tubing than I had once recalled. Eleven year old me remembers a joy ride, with an occasional bump from side to side as I screamed out of happiness as we made our way down the river-bends. Sixteen year old me lives to tell a different tale. This so called “leisure” activity had me, so I thought, clinging on for life. The screams of fear on a tightly packed tube left me realising how little exposure I had to these water sports, so I exposed myself some more.

Eleven year old me remembers kneeboarding as a horrible experience. Not able to get up on my then recently recovered knee left me assuming my kneeboarding days were long gone. Sixteen year old me, on the other hand, had a much more enjoyable experience. From 100km an hour on the tube to 20km an hour on the kneeboard, I finally conquered the sport and found myself enjoying it much more than my traumatic tubing experience. I didn’t jump, flip or intentionally make it off the wake (the time I accidentally did is a whole other story), but I was up nonetheless.

The trip, as a whole, reminded me why I came home so happy from the school camps. Not that I was about to hop into a warm shower and connect back onto Facebook, but because of how simple and social camping is as a whole. In a few weeks I will undoubtedly fall back into my “I fucking hate camping” mind set, but for now I’m ready to pack up the sleeping bag, two minute noodles and old clothes for a week outdoors. Oh, and the essential Nicki Minaj music.

Nicki Minaj Announces Australian Tour!

I have just read (3 days later) that the one, the only, Ms. Nicki Minaj will be gracing the Australian shores in May this year! As Itty Bitty Piggy repeats itself in the background, fear sets upon me that she will not visit Adelaide. I had the near scare when Britney didn’t announce an Adelaide tour date in 2009 until months later, and am still furious with Lady GaGa for skipping the state.

Adelaide seems to be the forgotten state among touring artists and it’s not easy for us fans living here. Announcing they’re touring the country and building up hype, we become manic in the wait for when we will finally see them. That is, until we don’t get the chance. It seems every other capital city (relevant ones that is – not here for irrelevant Canberra bitches) gets every artist while we sit and mope in a pool of tears.

What’s even worse is the comparison of Australian tours to U.S and European tours. When Britney Spears toured for Circus she had The Pussycat Dolls and Ciara opening her show, and the following tour was opened by the Nicki Minaj. Rihanna had Ke$ha as her before act. The list goes on. In Australia we merely have some soon to crash and burn Australian Idol contender as the opening act, or a good DJ if we’re lucky.

So Ms. Nicki Minaj, if you are one of the three viewers on this blog in the two months, please do not skip Adelaide.

Breaking News: Adelaide didn’t make the cut. 

Omg lyk r u goin?!

Over my party animal years (1995 – present), I have come to realise a somewhat obvious brag that people do when they are invited to an event they know I’m not going to. I think maybe it’s my secret (by secret I mean obvious) envy that I’m not going that makes me pick up on it even more, but people do it nonetheless.

It begins with me being oblivious that an event is even being held. Yes, I would probably like to know that there is a party on before I ask the awkward “what’s everyone up to this weekend?” and pick-up on it from awkward glances, but the in your face manner is not my style. As I am talking to someone they suddenly ask “Omg. R u goin 2 dat fing on da weekend?!”.

Honey, there is no need to spell it out. You’re invited and I’m not. You can see the guest list on the Facebook event (unless your a 19th century letter hag) and pick up that I’m not invited. If you’re comfortable to ask if I’m going, why not just check the event? It would save us the awkward “oh… I’ll ask for you!” bullshit.Or even worse – when they make it clear they’d rather see a tub of mayo attend the party then you.

God I wish I was a tub of mayo.

My Rise to Stardom

This time last week I was making history, with me being inducted in the Hollywood “Walk of Fame” this week. Not actually, but I did experience a sense of mini-stardom at Womadelaide.

For those who don’t know what Womad is, it’s ‘World of Music and Dance’ festival, and it’s becoming a tradition for me to go and soak up the sun and cultural sounds. This year, however, my friend had acquired backstage passes – you can tell where I’m going with this.

On the Friday night, I had lost my friends and was stumbling around the ‘mosh pit’ like the hot mess I am. Luckily I came across a group of reporters from the local news station, who I was convinced were my family friends. After a few minutes of introducing and establishing the fact that I merely recognised them from T.V., we were well on our way to breaking down to Chic performing their classic hit ‘Le Freak’.

Throughout the slurs of the lyrics, the inhales of a joint they were passing around and my blurry eyes, I noticed that my new found “celebrity” friends had backstage passes. They apparently were not as ecstatic as me that we could all go backstage together, so it was their loss in the following minutes.

I had made it to the side of the stage when Chic called everyone backstage onstage. I knew that in this moment, my debut performance, I would make a lasting impression on the general public. With no uncertainty I followed some new found 40-something year old female friends onstage and started busting a few moves. Thank God I was under the influence, as I would of never of called one of the singers a “cute little Nicki Minaj” without it.

It felt like seconds, due to a number of factors, and the song was over. I knew I had to get another taste of fame, and I did. If my Chic performance was a bite of the cookie, then I devoured the whole thing on Saturday.

First Aid Kit were performing in the middle of the day, and my friend and I had devised a plan to sneak her backstage with me to meet them. Of course, our drunken conniving plan worked, and we were both within the arms of the two extremely kind ladies. We were in awe of how down to Earth the pair was, and with no hesitation pitched the inevitable  question – “May we come onstage for the encore?”.

My friend and I had decided they were merely being kind to us as their set came to a close, until we heard our names being asked to join the stage. Sprinting to centre stage, we danced our way through the final number with the cheers from the clearly envious crowd motivating us.

After the song we returned of stage with the girls, who we thanked ever so much and got photos with. If there is any chance you girls are reading this thank you so much for that experience, being humble and talented is a hard thing, in which you two posses.

I felt like Britney Spears once I left the stage. Stares from the crowd, people I had not met coming up to me and talking to me, and I felt flattered(?) and awkward at the same time. That was, until, I made friends with someone amazing.

You know those people you become apparent best friends with in one night, then end up never seeing or talking to again? I had that all with my new found BFF Jordan. We hugged, laughed, danced and even passed around yet another joint together. Maybe we will reunite next year?

My final day at the festival, Sunday, was one of the oddest of them all. Unfortunately, I did not make it onstage this day, but someone I had never met did exchange an an odd remark to me. Awaiting the band to take the stage, this male came up to me, handed me a joint and said “I know you smoke”.

Excuse me kind(?) Sir, I do smoke, but I don’t think I appear as the pot-head type. Maybe he was a stalking fan over the previous days, or maybe he just assumed that a male teenager would smoke weed at Womad.

..Or maybe I merely radiate “faggot” and pot-head?