Is Gangnam Style Still Fresh?

You know, I never really thought about it until YouTube emailed me.

YouTube initially guilted me for forgetting Gangnam Style’s 1-year-old birthday and then posited that existential question:


I really wanted to answer: “Fuck yes, it is!” But before I did, I figured I should ask YouTube since that’s what the computer was telling me to do and you do not say no to your computer, amirite humans?

YouTube was surprisingly reticient. It wanted to show me parodies of the song, but didn’t–or wouldn’t–provide the answer.

This was a journey of discovery I had to make on my own.

I figured I should probably watch the video having never seen it, but jesus, who has that kind of time? Those candies aren’t going to crush themselves.

Apparently 1.7 billion people found the time. I am lazier than 1.7 billion people.

I decided to consult a trusted advisor.

hugoganghamHugo, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to know if Gangham Style is still fresh a year later.

hugogangham2True, but not very helpful.

Nowhere closer to an answer, I looked it up in the dictionary and realized I had been spelling it “gingham” all along.  Gangnam is something like the Korean version of the soul-killing phrase YOLO, which is an acronym for “Nearly as Annoying as You Go Girl”

What makes something fresh? Doesn’t everything–except radioactive isotopes and styrofoam lunch trays–have an expiration date? I would think anything Internet-based is fresh for about as long as it takes to pin The Towel Workout onto a Pinterest board.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show - quinoa recipe - sharkando = freshness.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show – quinoa recipe – sharkando = freshness.

I guess since YouTube is still talking about Gangnam Style a year later means it is still relatively fresh so I will stick by my original response because, after all, you only live once and you go girl.

Amusing Ourselves To. . . I Forget

My brain is distracted.

I realized this when I was reading a book called The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains and I would hear the siren call of Facebook. I put the book down and lunged for my computer so I could look at stuff like this:


There, all better. Now what was that book saying?

Something about how distraction has always been around since the advent of electronic media, but:

(N)ever has there been a medium that has been programmed to so widely scatter our attention and to do it so insistently.

I knew it was happening to me. I saw it when trying to read The New York Times online and finding I could only make it through three paragraphs before losing interest and clicking elsewhere–usually on ads for the Chillow pillow


I can read the physical paper in its entirety as long as I can continue to check Facebook every ten minutes.


It’s probably unsurprising, but reading print materials activitates different parts of the brain than reading online. For instance, as you read this, the part of your brain that regulates break dancing has been stimulated. That book readin’ activiates them language, memory and visual processing parts. Now you tell me, which is better?


I’ve experienced the moment when it feels like the whole world recedes as I look at a Buzzfeed list of the craziest bras ever created. That’s what the Internet does. It grabs our attention only to scatter it like a bra made out of birdseed.

In Neil Postman’s book Amusing Ourselves to Death (disclaimer: I tried to read this online and made it three sentences in before giving up. I’m reading a print version now), he brings up the two varying views of the future: George Orwell’s and Aldous Huxley’s. Orwell predicted a totalitarian world where information was scarce. Huxley’s world was one of excess where people willingly gave up their autonomy in exchange for their distractions. Information was everywhere.

I wonder whose view is more spot on?

snowdenkimyeIt would appear that the notion of the U.S. government collecting the phone records and Internet searches of millions of Americans, an act that is in direct violation of the 4th amendment, would be somewhat troubling.

Shouldn’t it be?

I don’t know because while I was looking up the NSA story, I was sidetracked by a video of Justin Bieber pissing in a mop bucket.

My journey ultimately ended here:

facebook3There, all better.

This Will Put Hair On Your Chest

Chest hair symbolizes “masculinity” according to some horribly vapid article I skimmed on the Internet.

It can be caused by drinking whiskey, eating sardines and spreading maple syrup on your chest, according to a variety of Internet answer sites I perused. Apart from the maple syrup, I can’t imagine why I now sport three chest hairs.

Some of you may be unsurprised because some of you think I’m a dude. It’s likely my compulsion to take incessantly about my penis that has led to that incorrect assumption.

My chest hair was pointed out to me a few weeks ago. I finally wore something other than my usual ensemble:

I like to be the yin to my own yang.

I like to be the yin to my own yang.

The shirt, while it did nothing to accentuate my grape-sized chest, it highlighted the three chest hairs in all their glory.

Unlike these photos:

This is my hand. I was trying to turn the iTouch around when I snapped this.

This is my hand. I was trying to turn the iTouch around when I snapped this.

Here's part of my chest. Not the part with the hair. This was the best of 15 shots.

Here’s part of my chest. Not the part with the hair. This was the best of 15 shots.

I finally went with the computer camera. I'm yanking on one of the hairs.

I finally went with the computer camera. I’m yanking on one of the hairs.

The following day, the friend asked me if I got rid of my hair. I hadn’t. I was fearful that if I shaved, I would wake up the next morning looking like the love child of Alec Baldwin and Robin Williams. Also, I’m really lazy.

Is it a sign of aging? Aging is such a wonderous thing–what with the depletion of all energy, the realization that your life is a series of inconsequential failures, and the inability to extract oneself from furniture without grunting like a tennis player. It was upon turning 35 that a wirey hair began growing out of my neck. My darling child never fails to pipe up about “mommy’s mustache.”

I’m still not sure what to do with them. Bleach them? Pluck them? Instagram them?

I am at a loss. Luckily unitard season begins in a few weeks.

Do Not Fear Potatoes

Seven people found my blog yesterday using those search terms: do not fear potatoes.

Do people really fear potatoes? According to some random seach engine question and answer thingy, there’s not even a word for potato phobia.

The second most asked question about potato fear was this:

I didn’t realize I wrote much about potatoes, and I have no idea how entering those terms would lead a person to my blog. But since you’re here, I want you to know this–

Potatoes make good detectives . . . because they always have their eyes peeled.


Oh–and you shouldn’t fear them. Feel better?

Well you may want to fear that one. That one is definitely not sweet.

I’m hoping now that I’ve mentioned “do not fear potatoes” a number of times, this blog will appear higher in the results for that extremely popular search.

This is why I’m now also mentioning my second most popular search terms from yesterday: gonorrhea tonsils.

This is actually a thing, I am horrified to have found out. It is contracted by putting your mouth on something that has gonorrhea.

Like a potato? you wonder, your fear of them beginning to resurface.

No, probably not. Really, you do not need to fear potatoes.

Only in this instance:

While I may not be an expert in this particular area, my advice to you is to refrain from putting your mouth on something soaked with gonorrhea.

Most of my other search terms had to do with Fifty Shades of Grey. There was one that stuck out from the pack.

I believe this is the title of a new rom-com starring Katherine Heigl. I cannot wait to see it. I think Gerard Butler plays one of the vaginas.

If you search for 27 types of vagina, my blog comes up pretty high in the results as does an article about 8 types of vagina from a man’s perspective, which I would only recommend reading if you contracted tonsil gonorrhea from potato salad. You’re already feeling pretty bad at that point.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the thirteenth post. She does not fear potatoes, but does fear gonorrhea tonsils. 

Things You Should Never Do

1. Research tonsillectomy on the Internet and read posts by people written five days post-surgery. The person who had an easy go of it is not busy posting his easy-peasy experience on the blog. He’s not going to make time to write “This was such a blast, I’m getting another set of tonsils put in so I can get them taken out again 😉 ” He’s too busy enjoying his life.

No, the person who is posting is the one who feels like she’s asphyxiating on her tonsil scabs whenever she’s not sipping Gatorade. “I haven’t slept in days. If I don’t drink, it feels like I swallowed 400 jalapenos doused in lava. My teeth have started falling out like I’m the fucking Fly in David Cronenberg’s film.” And this person is topped by the next poster who says she wishes it felt like 400 jalapenos doused in lava. “That would be picnic in the park compared to my agony. Try 7,000 ghost peppers coated in napalm.”  She claims lying down will bring about her immediate death.

You contemplate buying this:

But opt for a Lazy Boy recliner instead.

2. Purchase a Lazy Boy recliner at an actual Lazy Boy recliner store. You would think this would be a simple transaction. You point to the chair you want, you pay some form of compensation, you leave with the chair. You believe you will avoid asphyxiating on your tonsil scabs and you will not have to wear something that resembles the cone dogs wear after surgery.

But no.

There is the finding of serial numbers and entering of serial numbers into a device called a computer. There is the misspelling of the last name several times and repeating of spelling. There is paperwork. A stool sample. There is the ad infinitum mention of Guardsman, a furniture protection plan that “only costs 3 cents a day” because “you don’t want to ruin your new chair with an exploding pen.”

In the time that passes, you could have likely built a chair, destroyed it with an exploding pen and built a replacement chair. You realize you filled out less paperwork bringing home a small human from the hospital.

3. Use an exploding pen. Especially while sitting in your new Lazy Boy recliner that lacks a Guardsman furniture protection plan. You thought it would be a good idea to get your will in order since you are undergoing a surgery that causes everyone to bleed profusely from their gaping tonsil-less craters. You want to make sure your blog is taken care of in case of your inevitable demise from reading too many tonsil horror stories. Then your pen explodes and you think why me? But you don’t write this as your status update on Facebook because you fucking hate enigmatic status updates.

4. Write enigmatic status updates on Facebook. Seriously, who do you think you are? Erica Kane?

What the fuck does that even mean? And now you have a sudden interest in this person who you barely know and only accepted her friend request because you shared a math class 20 years ago. You are so riveted you check back on Facebook frequently to see if there’s any updates.

Oh my god, you wonder, what rilly did happneded between them? By this point, 12 people have commented “What’s wrong?” or “Stay strong, girl.” Hmm.

Then she hits you with this:

Wowza! Wowza is right because eight hours have passed. Eight hours you could have used to search the interwebs to find out how to clean tonsil-crater blood off your new non-Guardsman Lazy Boy recliner. Damn, the tonsillectomy blog recommends Guardsman.

5. Go on the Internet for anything.

Wife Swap: Klondike Bar Quandary

Editor’s note: The act of blogging follows a consistent path. There is the coming up of ideas; the writing of ideas; the hiding under the table while one weeps; the drinking of coffee laced with rum; the self-loathing followed by self-congratulating and then more self-loathing; the watching of TV; the shaking of the fist at not getting Freshly Pressed; the drinking of rum laced with coffee; and the eventual publishing. But sometimes a giant roadblock is thrown up on the path that causes the entire system to break down. This is called writer’s block. This is something all bloggers experience, and if you don’t, please do not tell us because we will wish ill of you. This was something that happened recently, and from despair, an idea was born. Life in the Boomer Lane and Speaker7 decided to swap posts that lingered for centuries in draft form to see what would transpire. Would it be as brilliant as the time Gary Busey and Ted Haggard swapped wives and caused the downfall of civilization? We don’t know. But we do know that no hair pulling or fingernail scratching or bloodshed ensued. So that’s something. The rest is up to you.  

It’s the eternal question:

What would you do for a Klondike bar?

People do some really crazy things, according to my teacher TV. Guys will put dishes in the dishwasher! Guys will massage their horrible mother-in-laws’ feet! Guys will wax their balls!

Clearly people will submit to acts of humiliation such as putting dishes away for the chance to eat a block of ice cream coated in a chocolate that will end up all over their hands and faces.

A couple of Internet entrepreneurs or Intreprenets, as I call them, realized this too, and also realized that a box of Klondike bars costs around $4.50, and created Fiverr, a website where people can buy and sell “gigs” for $5.

You can pay someone $5 to be your girlfriend for a week on Facebook or $5 to read a scan of your palm. You can pay a guy to make his pectoral muscles dance or take a cold bath fully clothed while holding a sign.

Ah, the free market!

This got Renee of Life in the Boomer Lane thinking what she would do for $5. She came up with “executor of your will” and then grew tired of the subject and passed the eternal Klondike bar question to me.

So this got me thinking: What can I do for $5?

. . .

Hmm. I obviously needed help so I took one of those quizzes that tells you everything you need to know about yourself: What Kind of Cosmo Girl Are You?

Apparently “chicks these days” fall into one of four categories of fowl. What kind of bird am I?

The questions were intense and really seemed to get to the root of being a bird. Ex:

It turned out I’m a Foghorn Leghorn. This was fantastic news, but still didn’t help me with my quest. I looked to Fiverr for assistance and it said: “focus on serious offerings that will be beneficial to potential buyers.” I also consulted my brain and it said: don’t do anything that requires skill or takes a lot of time.


Potential gigs:

The Wall Street experience – I will take your $5 and give you this in return and then take your house.

Awesome Drawing: I will draw you a picture of my choosing and take a picture of it.

They will all look like this.

Original Song – I will write and perform an original song and call it “_____’s Candle in the Wind”.

And finally,

This is What You Really Want Anyway so Why Go Through All This Rigmarole Gig:

Melting optional.


I vaguely remember some article about the Internet and people and not remembering, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was about so I entered the fragment “Internet people not remembering” into a search engine and found an article about problems with Internet banking (did you know a lot of customers are resistant to change and that’s why they resist Internet banking? That’s incredible), and then the article I was looking for, which I then had to keep a tab open on it because I kept forgetting what I was reading.

Here’s a link to the article in case you don’t trust my summation. OK,  so the basic premise is that people can’t recall anything because they rely on Google to do it for them and they’d rather not be bothered to think about an answer first. So for example if your husband asked you a question about some actor…I can’t think of an actor’s name and don’t really feel like doing so, so we’ll call him Joe the Plumber, and your husband wants to know if that is the same Joe the Plumber who was in the movie Hard Bodies V: Van Wilder’s Sophomore Romp and you don’t even feel like thinking about the answer because you’re wondering if you should go ahead and open that Internet bank account, but jeez that’s a big change, so you say “Go Google it.” And then something happens, I don’t know, he Googles it or something and learns about that guy, I guess, I’m not really clear on the point of the story or the point of the blog post at this point.