My first experience with an Apple product was in 2003, when my parents got me one of the old-school bulky iPods for Christmas. For a music lover, it was hard to believe that after years of carrying around tapes or CDs, you could have all your songs in one little device — little did I know just how little it would get once the nano arrives. That Apple CEO Steve Jobs, who died today, Oct. 5, 2011, was a visionary on a large scale is undisputed, but it’s the small-scale personal ways in which he has affected all of our lives that really resonate. And not just by making our lives more convenient with his products, but by inspiring us to live better with his own life. Keep reading »
As you may have surmised from the title of this post, our beloved Kate is leaving us today. (She’s off to bring her particular brand of genius to another lucky website!) I know, we’re sad too. Or really “sadz,” as Kate would say. How do we even begin to say goodbye to our pop culturista extraordinaire? I suppose we should start by thanking her for all she’s brought to the Frisky as a team member and a friend. Please join us in bidding adieu to the lovely K8 (that’s how she signs her name sometimes). After the jump, the things we’ll miss about her the most.
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The previews for the Anna Faris vehicle “What’s Your Number?” couldn’t make me want to see that movie any less if they added “Exorcist”-style projectile vomiting. The premise, if you have magically managed to miss the media blitz, is that Faris’ character realizes her list of sexual partners has one more digit than most of her friends’. She spirals into a panic attack induced by slut-shaming and spends the rest of the movie trying not to add a new guy to the list. It’s supposed to be funny, but I can’t work up more of a response than a frustrated eye-roll and a long, exasperated sigh.
Here’s the thing about counting sexual partners: context matters. A number is just a number. It gives no background on the who, what, when, where, and why. If we want to judge people’s sexual activity (which I’m not convinced we do), the qualitative matters so much more than the quantitative. Keep reading »
I’m waving the white flag here, Universe; I’m officially burnt out on Internet stalking my crushes. I’m sure his Facebook Timeline is gonna to be bitchin’, but I just can’t summon it in me to give a crap about his pictures, videos, and/or status updates. Sorry, boys! Keep reading »
He will be just like Richard Gere in “Pretty Woman,” I thought. He will be tall, handsome, dreadfully rich, with salt and pepper hair, and an insatiable desire to buy me shoes. He’ll probably be a complete gentleman. Have a reservation at some super swank restaurant. He’ll think I’m captivating over champagne and oysters. He’ll love that I’m the stereotypical starving artist. By the end of the night he’ll be so head-over-heels that he’ll offer to pay off my student loans and take me to Paris. Maybe after a month he’ll want to give me a head-spinningly generous allowance and buy me an apartment in the Village. You know, just to keep things easy and comfortable for me so I can have more time to go on auditions. And of course, he doesn’t even expect me to have sex with him.
This, of course, is what I pictured my sugar-baby misadventure to be like.
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It seemed like such a good idea at the time. All Clyde Gardner had to do was kill a bear, skin it, and wear the bear skin and claws to attack his ex-girlfriend. That way, no one would be able to track her murder back to him. And yet! Somehow this foolproof plan — ripped right outta the plot of “The Wicker Man” — went horribly awry. Shocking! Eventually Gardner realized that the whole killing and skinning a bear thing might actually be kind of hard work — even though he lived in rural Malone, NY, where one might reasonably encounter a bear or two if one was really trying. So Gardner got lazy and hired a hit man.
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