Considering that those PG photos of the Gleeks in GQ caused such a ruckus, I’m wondering if these images of the ladies of MTV’s “Skins” in the new issue of Elle will get any backlash. Sure, they’re reasonably covered—part of a spread on incorporating underwear into outerwear—but the actresses seen here are 17 and 16, respectively. What do you think? Pretty pictures fitting for a show where sex comes up once a minute, or too little clothing considering their age? [Elle] Keep reading »
If you were alive in the ’80s, you probably made at least one trip to the salon to get a perm. I got many perms in my late elementary school years, which is bizarre, come to think of it, considering that I have naturally curly hair. But still, I sat with those rollers in my hair and that foul-smelling solution on my locks for hours, all so my hair would look permanently crimped. What were we thinking? Those perms are so over. Behold the perm of the aughts — the digital perm. This crazy-looking contraption, invented by Japanese hair dressers, uses digitally powered curlers to thermally recondition your hair while infusing it with the curl level of your choice. Instead of the crimped poodle look, you can transform your stick straight hair into flowing, gentle waves or your frizzy hair into manageable curls. The whole process takes about two hours. I think our friend the perm might be making a comeback. A victory for curly hair! [Daily Mail U.K.] Keep reading »
I grew up in a small town. It was in the “heartland”– the middle of the country, yet everyone had twangy Southern accents. The town didn’t have much money or restaurants or people. But we did have churches. Churches in pole-barns, churches whose congregations were made up of only one family, churches in the hills with members who spoke in tongues and fancy churches with stained glass that told you to vote for George Bush.
All through my youth, I probably would have said I was a Christian. It was just the default. My parents did take me to church when I was little, I grabbed from the tin of sugar-cookies and drank dixie cups of watery Kool-Aid, but I had somehow remained a bit feral. Keep reading »
Yeah, we definitely need a Screwnicorn, the love child of a unicorn and corkscrew. This clever bottle opener combines our childhood love of unicorns with our adult love of wine. A magical, mystical drinking experience is guaranteed for all. Unfortunately, rainbows are not included. But you should have fun saying things like, “Please pass the Screwnicorn” or “Let me Screwnicorn that bottle for you.”
Meet Belinda Heggen, my new hero. During an on-air broadcast about an Australian soccer player and a little urn he received as an honor, Belinda cracked a joke about her co-anchor’s dick size. I love how she says this with a complete straight face — get this woman a raise! [Salon via The Daily What] Keep reading »
I have this theory that everyone has an inner age that best captures their essence. You are born your inner age and remain it throughout your life, regardless of your outer age. I’ve identified the inner age of everyone important in my life. My mom is 16, my dad is 21, my brother is 35, and me? I am eternally eight years old. If you spend the day with me, you’ll agree. I am a clumsy goof-ball. I like to flap around the room and pretend I’m a bird. I still laugh at poop jokes. I live for birthday cake. I’m eight. I was once in a relationship with a guy whose inner age was 80. He moved slowly, liked quiet time, and ate wheat bran every morning. Our inner age gap caused problems for us from time to time, like when I woke him up in the morning by steamrolling him. As you might imagine, grandpa didn’t like that so much. So how do you determine your inner age? Find out how, after the jump. Keep reading »