CELEBRITY SUNDAY: ADELE LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY, MY BAE JOHN KRASINSKI, AND STAR WARS OPENING WEEKEND

Another week has come and gone, and we’re inching closer and closer to a collective death because eventually the universe will stop expanding. But while we’re still here, let’s hunker down on this chilly Sunday evening with a good, ole-fashioned pop culture roundup! And we’re starting with:

1). “Adele Live in New York” premiered on NBC:

The special was filmed on November 17^th, but the collective weeping of a nation occurred on its premiere on Monday. The pop star, or as Jimmy Fallon introduced her “a once in a generation artist,” was amazing, as per usual. The set list included songs from all three albums. I think my favorite part about Adele doing this televised shows is the fanfare of it all. No other artist, especially one as young as she is, could inspire such fervor for a television event. She has become mythic, and that’s because she is a once in a generation artist. We have pop powerhouses like Beyoncé and Katy Perry, but no one is as revered as Adele, given how little she appears on social media and in the public eye.

All in all, I love Adele.

How Much You Should Care: 5/5 Adele Hits

2). Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them:

The trailer for the Harry Potter spinoff was released, and it’s cute, and I’ll probably watch it online illegally, and I’ll enjoy it. I’m not a huge fan of spinoffs, especially about Harry Potter. It’s like sacrilege, almost. It feels wrong to make a spinoff on such a classic part of my childhood, but I guess money talks. But yeah it looks good. Also Eddie Redmayne is on fire this year.

How Much You Should Care: 3.5/5 Lost Dragons

3). Kourtney Kardashian & Justin Bieber

If this rumor were ever proven to be true, I would quit social media forever and renounce pop culture and do “serious journalism” like my mom wants me to. Why on earth would Kourtney break up with Scott Disick, her party-hard boyfriend, and then, as a 36-year-old mother of three, date a literal fuckboi like Justin Bieber? This rumor needs to be squashed. But Justin, call me? Also Kourtney, call me?

How Much You Should Care: 2/5 Kylie Lip Kits

4). JOHN KRASINSKI ON THE COVER OF MEN’S HEALTH:

So if you’ve talked to me, ever, at all, for more than five minutes, you know that John Krasinski’s Jim Halpert was literally what awakened my sexuality. I hadn’t come out when I started watching The Office, but even then I knew that there was a reason why I hated Pam’s guts so much. Anyway John, my perfect human, posed on the cover of Men’s Health magazine, all in-shape and beautiful for his new role as a Navy Seal, I think? Idk, I couldn’t read. He struck me illiterate. But he is so ripped and beautiful and makes me feel things. I would raise his daughter. We could be such a happy family if Emily Blunt would just leave.

How Much You Should Care: 6/5 Jim Halpert Shrugs To Camera

5). Royal Holiday Photos:

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have released a new family portrait just in time for the holidays. The whole family looks adorable, but I’m not loving that “bangs and a middle part” look on Kate. Also it’s creepy that I watched their wedding, and now their child is walking and talking. I’m getting old and the royal family is making me remember my own mortality. Creepy and rude.

How Much You Should Care: 3/5 Crown Jewels

6). A break-in at Casa Kris:

An obsessed fan broke into Kris Jenner’s palace—I mean, “house”—and managed to get face-to-face with the Kween in her office. Apparently he got past her security team by saying that he was a part of the group setting up holiday decorations. Obviously he wasn’t, and Kris could sense that he wasn’t a part of the krew and had him thrown out. Then, she had her entire security team fired for gross negligence—same, girl. Kanye West stepped in with his own security team—where were they all this time??—and put them on the clock. He, Kim, North, and baby SAINT WEST live at Kris’s house, and Kim and Saint were actually in the house while the fan was present. Spooky.

How Much You Should Care: 4/5 Kris Jenner Cookbooks

7). Lady Gaga’s “Till It Happens To You”:

Lady Gaga performed “Till It Happens To You”—her original song for the documentary Hunting Ground, which details the status of rape cases on college campuses and the women who took a stand against their collegiate establishments—at the Billboard Women in Music Awards. I kind of love Lady Gaga in this new direction of her life, and I love how she is using her celebrity and personal story to raise awareness about the disgustingly negligent attitudes that college campuses take when prosecuting on issues of rape. Brava, Gaga. Brava.

How Much You Should Care: 5/5 ARTPOPs

8). Tina Fey and Amy Poehler:

Tina and Amy—queens, g0ddesses—co-hosted SNL this Saturday, and it was everything I needed and more. They parodied Bad Blood, brought back “Bronx Beat,” played Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin, and even manned the Weekend Update desk. They give me a lot of feels, and I’m currently re-watching Parks & Recreation for the billionth time, so I feel personally proud of Amy. And since 30 Rock is my all-time favorite show, I feel a similar pride for Tina. So, basically, I did this.

How Much You Should Care: 5/5 Sarah Palin’s “I Can See Russia From My House”s

9). Star Wars:

Star Wars: The Force Awakens opened with a record-breaking $238 million domestic debut, and another $279 million abroad. It’s the biggest December release of all time, so big, in fact, that even I, not a Star Wars nerd, know and care about it. I might actually go and see it. My newsfeed has been flush with Star Wars things, and I kind of dig it. Anyone wanna go see it with me? Be warned, I will be making horrifying puns about The Force.

How Much You Should Care: 5/5 Black Stormtroopers

And that’s this week! You may be wondering, “Why is it only 9 this week and not 10?” and I’ll answer with, “Why are you so obsessed with numbers? Size doesn’t matter. Content does. Creativity does. We are obsessed with high-production and mass quantity, and our consumeristic capitalism is destroying good American imagination.” Also, it’s been a slow pop culture news week, and I’ve been traveling.

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

SEASONAL SATURDAY: CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS

I went to the gym today, so I simultaneously think that I am dying and also that I am the strongest person that has ever existed. My arms feel like jell-o, and I’ve negotiated that into spending the entire day in bed, watching Parks and Recreation and wearing sweatpants. That, however, is a full-time job, so I don’t feel bad in the slightest.

And my room, which has a certain cavelike allure since it’s at the back corner of my house, is illuminated, chicly, by several strings of fairy lights. Every year, since I was a kid, I have put Christmas lights over my bed and around my room. When I was a little kid, it was so I could read after my mom made me turn off my bedside lamp. When I grew up, and learned that reading is for dorks—TV rules!!!!1!—they became purely for aesthetics.

(I’m lying about reading. Reading rules. Also, I did the fairy lights because I was shit-scared of the dark as a child and medium-adult.)

This year, I had put Christmas lights up in August to make my room feel Tumblr-y, so when I came home from London I plugged them in. They are warm and inviting and remind me of Christmas and hot cocoa and freezing my ass off.

And even though this year the temperature isn’t exactly North Pole-ish, I love having Christmas traditions to fall back on.

One of my fam’s favorite Christmas traditions is Secret Santa, or Kris Kringle, or whatever else you want to call it. We put our names into a hat, pick out a slip of paper, and buy a present for that person. This year I have my (name redacted for Kris Kringle purposes) and now I have to buy them a present. We exchange the Secret Santa presents on Christmas Eve, and then we get our Christmas pajamas.

I totally thought that Christmas pajamas were a thing that only we did, but “apparently” it’s a “popular thing to do.” Idk, it feels like y’all are jacking my family swag. After we get into our pajamas, which I will take off for actual sleeping because I sleep like I’m about to get robbed and need to be ready to flee—running shorts and a t-shirt—we take a family drive around the neighborhood to look at the luminaries.

Luminaries are brown paper lunchbags that have been filled with sand. They are lined along the sidewalks and a candle is lit inside each one. We have been getting lit for many years, and it is so ~dope~ and one of my favorite things. Then we drive around the neighborhood, judging everyone else’s Christmas decorations. Some are chic. Some are tragic. Note to everyone: blue Christmas tree lights are never a good idea. Shut it down.

And in the morning, we eat cinnamon rolls and open presents and get jealous over which child will be the most favored by Santa that year. Then we get dressed and go to family parties and then I go on Twitter. It’s a Christmas miracle.

Even though I’m pretty sure I never believed in Santa—I don’t know why, he just always seemed fishy—I’m really excited for Christmas because I love presents sooo much. And also, like, giving them or w/e.

And also, even though we are 23, 20, and 18, we still leave out milk and cookies for Santa, and my mother will still sign certain gifts from Santa. Even though she doesn’t even bother switching up her handwriting. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. Except for my birthday, which is basically a national holiday.

Less than a week until Christmas!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

FASHION FRIDAY: A LOOK BACK ONTO THE TRENDS

Sometimes writing everyday is hard. I know I make it look effortless and easy and chic, but sometimes it’s a real witch-with-a-b to think of topics all day erryday. So even though today is not the last Friday of the year, it’s the second-to-last Fashion Friday of the season—omg stop queen ily—so here is an in-depth, scientific analysis of all the fashion trends—every single one—of the last year.

LOVED: the early ‘00s influence

Watching so many angsty teens in flannels and high ponytails makes me feel like a kid again, watching All That.

LOATHED: those plastic chokers

There’s homage, and then there’s carnage. Please, girls and gays, stop wearing those plastic, expandable chokers. Let some things die.

LOVED: white sneakers

There’s just something so chic about a pair of white sneakers. They go with almost everything and kind of class up your outfit.

LOATHED: cleaning those white sneakers

I bought a pair of white Converse high-tops like five years ago, so by the time the white sneaker trend was in full swing, mine looked like they had gone through The Amazing Race. I tried to re-bleach them, but that didn’t really work out.

LOVED: Athleisure in general.

Socially acceptable gymwear? Adidas track pants? I’m so down. I’m like 50/50 on joggers—I own two pairs, I’m such a fake—but in general, I’m a big fan of athleisure.

LOATHED: Health goth.

We get it, you’re angsty and love wearing oversized black shirts with large, white Adidas logos. Please go away now.

LOVED: Boxy cuts.

I think boxy cuts are awesome and really frame the silhouette in a great way. Plus, they—for guys at least—create a broad upper body and narrower lower body, which gives you more of a V-shape than you might normally have.

LOATHED: Those longline t-shirts.

They don’t work on Justin Bieber; they don’t work on you. Really longline stuff just looks bad, in my opinion. I’m a total fan of elongating the torso a little, but do it on a stretcher, the old-fashioned way.

LOVED: Olive greens and khaki.

I look really good in olive greens and khakis. I think it’s because my coloring is so light, that sometimes really black-blacks and dark colors make me look ghostly. Neutral-ish dark tones have the same sick contrast, without giving me Caspar le Ghost feels.

LOATHED: Camouflage.

Just because I haven’t found something in camouflage that suits me and/or makes me look cool and not self-conscious. Also, like, who are you hiding from??

LOVED: Man jewelry.

I can’t rock it, but I totally admire it. I have complete sausage fingers, so rings scare the shit out of me, but I had a roommate—Sebastien—who was so good at wearing tasteful rings. Maybe one day I’ll invest in the Big and Tall version of some cool rings and rock that.

LOATHED: Fedoras.

Please. Stop. It’s worse than that time that I wore a newsboy cap. It was just once, but it was such a rough time for everyone.

To wrap up, I’ll detail my 2015 fashion journey.

Lumberjack prep–> Heterosexual athleisure–> Summertime (aka tank tops)–> Good-boy bad-boy flannels–> Darkness, a memoir–> Angst, an autobiography–> Sweatpants, a history.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY: CHRISTMAS BREAK BINGEING

First thought: you would think that the participial tense of “binge” would be “binging” but that’s its own word—I think—so I think I’ll stick with “bingeing,” even though that looks as wrong as me in spray-on denim—unflattering on all the wrong places and very misleading.

Bingeing is an entirely 21^st century phenomenon, and it’s amazing. If you live under a rock—why?—bingeing is watching a television series from beginning to end—or whatever is on Netflix—in a short, tense, showerless amount of time. Christmas break is the perfect time to really settle in for a good binge.

netflix-is-your-life

But what are the criteria for an excellent television binge? Let’s discuss each criterion (this sentence wasn’t really necessary, but I just wanted to write out “criterion.” Such a fun word! All right, on with the blog!)

A good binge should be a show with a continuous plotline throughout the series. Give me a The Office or a The Vampire Diaries over a It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia or The Simpsons. I think that non-plot-driven shows, your run of the mill picaresque production, are not binge-worthy for one very simple reason. No plot means no character development, and no character development means that you can’t become fully invested. No one wonders about what Homer Simpson will do next. He’ll keep being Homer Simpson. But watching Elena Gilbert turn from boring good-girl to amoral vampire is interesting; it’s compelling.

So Criterion Numero Uno: Plot-driven.

I think a good binge should be either completely fun-filled—your Parks and Recreation—or very intense and dramatic—your Broadchurch or How To Get Away With Murder. Anything in between—a The Good Wife or Vikings—are good for week-to-week entertainment, but I need to be titillated and enthralled if I’m going to move out of my cocoon to press “yes” on the “Still Watching?” button in Netflix. Netflix, side note—assume I’m always still watching.

So Criterion Numero Dos: Titillating television.

Ideally, an excellent binge is something that has finished its series run. Nothing is more unfortunate than finishing all the seasons on Netflix and having to wait for a few months to then watch week-by-week. Bingeing shows are so hard to switch to a weekly watch. It’s like getting your teeth pulled. You’re used to the sweet, addictive softness of anesthesia; now you’re using a local anesthetic that hasn’t quite kicked in yet.

Criterion Numbah Three: Your show must be finito; finished; donezo.

And lastly, your binge should be something you’re going into with fresh eyes. Yeah, someone might have told you that it’s a good show, but go in with no preconceived notions. I started bingeing Game of Thrones because someone told me there was a ton of titties and man-butts, but it actually has a very enthralling plotline. Who knew? Part of the fun of an amazing binge is the “Oh my god, what’s going to happen next?” That feeling, that “I’m clutching my blanket in anticipation” feeling? Yeah that goes away when you Wikipedia the plotline to season four. So don’t do that. Give yourself that treat.

Criterion Nummy-Nums Quartet: Now you see me, now you don’t—aka don’t Google it, idiot.

So there you have it. We have discussed, dissected, and debated bingeing. Just kidding—we didn’t do any of that. You just read this blog. It was good though, right?

Another fun binge: reading through all of Holidannys™ (Maybe? Idk?) and then bingeing all of my blogs ever. There’s almost one hundred of them, so it should take you about twenty minutes. Total.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

WTF WEDNESDAY: LEAVING

So originally I wrote a WTF post about hating birds and cats, and then I went out for a few hours and realized that that is the biggest WTF of all. And I realized that I’m about to leave my study abroad—I’m writing this on Tuesday—and I think that’s the biggest WTF ever.

WTF is up with that? How did 15 weeks—101 days—pass by so quickly? I feel like I progressed from pants-shitting fear to awe to whatever-ness to joy to faded awe to peace and contentment to now. Now, I’m about to go back to America. And I’m so excited for that, but I’m also so sad to be going.

I didn’t think that I would be. I thought I would be satisfied with the amount of time I had here, and in a way I am. But I think I’m sadder that I don’t have more time. I’m sad that now that I’ve become comfortable in this place—past the point of thinking every London drizzle is quaint and being able to be enough of a resident to be annoyed with the weather—I want more time. I like being a resident; I like walking around.

I was talking to a friend—Charlie—and we were talking about time. This time has felt like an eon, and at the same time, nothing. New places always seem like such a long stretch of time, and when I think about early September—going to the gym, walking around Bankside in Southwark—doing my Halloween costume and pub crawls, wandering around museums, walking under the soft gray overcast sky. It’s been cool and fun and wonderful and nice. I didn’t have the pressure to see everything immediately and I got to do it at my own place.

And I think what I’ll miss most is that ability. Until I move into an entirely new city, I won’t have the experience of having four months to wander and discover. That’s been so crazy and weird and lovely.

And I’ll miss the growth. Before this, I was crippled by my fear of anxiety. Not even my anxiety. My anxiety about my anxiety. I was afraid of triggering it, of waking that beast. But this has been so beyond my wildest dreams and so outside of my comfort zone, that I think I shocked myself. I still have anxiety obviously, but I was able to conquer one small trigger—new places. New places used to scare the shit out of me. And I’m sure it’s something I’ll still struggle with; but I just lived across a fucking ocean for four months and managed to do it. If I’m strong enough to do that, I feel like I can do so much.

I traveled to a different country by myself. I’m not talking about England. I went to Spain for a weekend solo. I dumped myself in a country with no companions, no cellphone data, and no grasp of the local language. I’ve traveled on planes by myself, I’ve navigated in European cities. I’m gotten lost and found and lost. I’ve cooked food. I’ve never cooked food myself. Before this, I had made eggs and grilled cheeses and cereals. Now, I’ve done fried rice, pastas, sautéed shit and flipped shit and added ingredients. Who am I, Ina Garten?

Side bar: I’m so excited to binge-watch The Barefoot Contessa when I go home. That will be my Christmas break.

So I’m sad, and I feel like that’s so obvious, like “Duhh,” but I am. And I’m allowed to have these emotions. I’m glad for this opportunity, because I know that I won’t have it again in the same capacity. I’ll never again be a wild, sexy college student, traipsing around Europe for four months.

But maybe that’s good? Because there’s a pleasure in finite-ness. This is a thing, and it’s ended, but it’s been amazing and worthwhile and shocking. And it’s over, but that doesn’t negate its beauty. It makes it sad and wonderful and fleeting. And I keep saying “wonderful” but that’s what it is. It’s been full of wonder. And it’s made me full of wonder. I feel more fulfilled. I feel more independent. I feel more strong and old and opinionated and cool. I’ve gotten experience and a little bit heavier—I haven’t been working out—and cool Instagrams and amazing friends.

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So thank you—everyone. Thanks to the friends that I made here, when I was dry-heaving inside and pretended to be cool so you would like me. Charlie and Millie and Jenna and Sebastien and Jenny and everyone else who I’m too lazy to give a pseudonym to. And thank you to my babes at home—Marco and Nina and Mitchell and Shelby and others—who chatted with me and made time for FaceTimes and late night chats and good times. Even though I wasn’t there, I was still there. And thank you family—Mom and Dad and Poppy and Margot—you guys are cool for sending me here. Thanks honeys.

So thank and what the fuck and I hope you’re having a good day and that you take leaps and feel fulfilled and be independent.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

HOW TO: ROCK THE PLANE

Alternately titled “Snakes (And Ladders) On A Plane: A Guide To Entertaining Yourself”.

Originally I thought that the flight from London to New York is six hours. Six hours? Totally doable. I’ll bring a book, a sleeping mask, and an adult diaper—and I’ll be good to go. Then I checked my ticket again. Flight departure: 14:35. Flight arrival: 17:45. For you plebeians, that means 2:35 pm and 5:45 pm.

Confusion.

It’s like a math problem:

Question: If the flight leaves at 2:35 and is six hours long, and the passenger is reading Tiger Beat and wearing an adult diaper, what time will he arrive in New York if the time difference is five hours?

Answer: 3:35 pm.

Realization. The flight is longer than six hours. It’s actually over eight hours—allegedly. I have yet to see the receipts, as Tumblr says, so it could still be shorter. Apparently we’re flying against the winds and that takes longer. I’m not a scientist. I don’t know the specifics. But regardless. Eight hours is much more of a commitment than six hours.

So with this new information presented to me, I made like a good Moleskine journal and planned. So here, without further ado, is the faultless, foolproof, you-need-to-do-this-otherwise-your-life-will-be-terrible How-To:

1). Wear something casual, but not horrifying:

I always make the mistake of taking “comfortable” to the extreme. I think, “Oh, I’m going to be sitting on a plane for multiple hours, let me pull out the dolphin onesie and a pair of clogs!” No. Please resist this urge. Because eventually, unless you are severely confused, you’ll be getting off that plane and into the real world.

I have whittled my outfit down to the necessities: A) Adidas track pants, to get that subtle promo and also an elastic waistband; B) Nikes, because I can do it, and also you’ll have to take your shoes off; C) Comfy tee, which usually is my Pugs Not Drugs tee, but I’m being ~crazy~ and switching to the t-shirt I made for Halloween (All My Dreams Are Dead); and D) a blanket scarf—this one is new, and my sisters will hate it, but I love blankets and scarves so why not?

2). Socks:

If you don’t bring a pair of goddamn socks onto the goddamn plane, you’re a f*cking idiot. They better be fuzzy and comfortable, because Lorde knows you’re gonna be taking off your shoes as soon as the tray tables go down, and we don’t want to have to wear our threadbare regular old socks. Treat yourself to luuuuuuuxury. Do yourself that one favor.

3). Entertainment (ha, more like “entertaintment” amiright?)

Plan for the trip like you’re going to have to entertain a rowdy, ADHD-riddled five-year-old, except that you’re actually just planning for yourself. I love having a wide array of things to do: read books, look on my phone, watch movies, listen to podcasts. Sometimes, and this is kinda so “millennial” of me, but I like to edit photos for later Instagram postage. It’s very relaxing, and something that doesn’t require data or WiFi.

I am super into podcasts, so I’ve downloaded a bunch to burn through: Chris Hardwick’s The Nerdist, and some of Joan Rivers’ In Bed With Joan even though RIP to the queen. I also want to buy Bianca Del Rio’s comedy special, but it’s on Vimeo, so I don’t know if that means I’ll need to have WiFi to watch it, which is no bueno. Something that doesn’t require WiFi is iTunes, so I think I might buy Tyler Oakley’s new documentary Snervous, because I feel like it’ll be more in the vein of his podcasts—which I love—than his videos—which I’m, like, ehh on.

4). Snacks:

Idk, maybe some nuts? Some berries. You do you. I’m not going to tell you how to do your life.

5). Sleeping Possibilities:

This could technically go in apparel, but fuckit. I always wear a beanie on flights because of two reasons: 1) I can put it on and lean my head against anything and it’s soft enough to act as a pillow, and 2) I can pull it down over my eyes like a knit condom and block out the entire world. However, if you don’t have a beanie, I would suggest getting a sleeping mask. It’s one of those “OMG so LA” things to have, but I love mine. It was a cheapie from CVS, but it works great and looks like a bra when you put it on your face. Plus it makes everything black blackout black, which is a total plus.

I’m super excited to go home but I kinda hate flying—I still don’t actually know how planes fly, and no one’s explanations have really made me believe them—and I hate being cramped in tiny spaces for long amounts of time. If you didn’t know, I’m 6’2”, which is horrible. Basically, for planes, anything over 5’5” and you might as well be a 1000+ lb elephant because it was not built for you.

I’ll sign off—just kidding, I’m typing off. Oh my god, I had to write an essay in my final today, and I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but I always get ink blotches all over the side of my hand because I rest it on the paper. I’m so unfit even my hand gets tired from writing. Writing.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

MISCELLANEOUS MONDAY: PACKING SUCKS

Okay, so news alert: packing sucks, I’m sweating like a whore in church, and I’m got a raging headache. I don’t know how anyone does this whole “moving from the country you moved to three months ago back to the country you left” thing, but that’s what I’m doing and I hate it.

In—like idk, two days? A day and half? I’m not great at math, but regardless—a certain, finite amount of time, I’ll be leaving England and going back to America, land of mouth-breathers and Dunkin-Donuts and LORDY LORDY I’M SO EXCITED. I’m excited to be the cool one again. In England I’m essentially Jan Brady, and goddamnit I want to be Marcia again.

I spent two hours of my day sitting on suitcases and trying to shove too many denim shirts into too little of a space, and I realized that American consumerism has consumed me and that we need to fight, Marx-style, against the machine! Lol no, I’m kidding. I just realized that I get a little shopping-crazy and decide to go on a total binge. Which we already knew.

But I think what I hate most about packing is the inbetweenness. You still have to have certain things out—like your toothbrush and your deodorant—and so you’re living in this sort of limbo. I don’t do well with limbo—the concept or the popular game. I like things to be clean and done and over, I hate lingering and half-steps. Give me a full-step.

And it makes me prematurely sad about leaving London. For the last three and a half, almost four months, this weird place has been my home and I’ll be sad to leave behind being an intrepid traveler, getting lost in Spanish Metros, eating sandwiches on a dock in Copenhagen, walking over tiny canals to hidden museums in Venice. I’ll miss being cool, and I’ll miss forcing myself so outside of my comfort zone that I can’t even see it anymore.

Because abroad for me was more than just being abroad. It really made me confront my anxiety. This entire trip was a huge experiment to see if I could be strong enough to override my anxiety and fear of new places. And I think I did it. I think I took a massive enough leap where I shocked the anxiety out of my body, and it’s just WTFing somewhere in the Atlantic.

And so I hate packing because it reminds me that, while excited and glad I am to be going back to my friends and my family and my babes, that this part of abroad growth is over, and that I’ll have to find other ways of growing and getting outside of my comfort zone. Abroad was the easiest and most obvious way, but there are others, and I’ll find them.

Omg, did I just get so fucking deep in a rant against packing? I’m so deep. It’s insane. I’m Mariana’s Trench—the natural location, not the band. Although it’s a pretty good band.

Omg, like goodnight. I’m so tired and I “have” a “final” tomorrow, in which I have to write multiple “in-class essays.” So weird. Must be code for something.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Celebrity Sunday, Holidannys

CELEBRITY SUNDAY: SAINT, SELENA, SNL, AND HILLARY

This week has been chockfull of exciting celebrity news! News sounds a lot like “nudes,” doesn’t it? And also “cruise.” Interesting. I hope you enjoy the second installment of “Celebrity Sunday!” Now dive in!

Starting off, we’ve got:

1). Selena Gomez and Niall Horan were apparently kissing at Jenna Dewan-Tatum’s birthday party:

This one is alternatively titled “Selena Gomez just became Number 1 on my hit list.” Okay, so Selena has since denied that anything is going on between her and the only non-tattooed member of One Direction, the blonde Irish hunk Niall Horan. They were seen having dinner together last month, and apparently they were getting the PDA on at the birthday party. But now, in an interview with Entertainment Tonight at Billboard’s 10^th Annual Women in Music event in New York City, the 23-year-old former witch said that is a definite PD-nay. I guess I should be happy that my Irish prince isn’t with Selena Gomez, but I’m also offended that she would be in such deep de-Niall about how hot he is.

2). SAINT WEST:

If I literally hear another person say “Uh, Kim and Kanye think they’re gods, so of course they named their kid Saint,” I will flip a shit. Obviously Kim and Kanye don’t think like that, because no one other than Kim Davis thinks like that, and can we just appreciate the name for the name? It’s a cute name, and as long as they don’t pronounce it as “san”—the French way—I’ll be fine. Also it’s probably much more a reference to Saint-Laurent and high fashion in general. Bottom line, it’s a chic name, and truly, what were we expecting? That they would name their kid “Ricky?” Like, we all thought it would be South or Easton. And if you can’t handle him at his “South,” you don’t deserve him at his “Saint.”

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3). I Am Jazz is renewed for a second season:

I Am Jazz, the TLC show following the life of Jazz Jennings, a transgender teenager, got renewed for a second season. Okay, why is this important? Omg I’m so glad you asked. It’s important because any amount of positive representation of the transgender community is massively, hugely, sensationally important. Especially when shows like I Am Jazz shine a light on a different story. Obviously I Am Cait is amazing, but that portrays a very narrow focus on an adult, white, privileged, traditionally beautiful transgender woman. So whenever representation falls upon different people, it’s a positive. Because Caitlyn Jenner, while she is currently the most prominent transgender person on the screen right now, is not the only. Also check out Benton Sorensen and Kat Blaque if you’re interested in other representations of trans youth!

4). The Saturday Night Live Alien Abduction skit:

So I think this might technically have been last week, but we all know that no one actually watches SNL on the day; we all just see various clips throughout the week on Facebook. And oftentimes—and I’m by no means a “comedy writer” so take my opinion with a grain of salt—SNL kind of disappoints me. But I love when the actors break while they’re doing a skit, and this just took the cake. Also I think the idea of aliens doing some serious titty-bouncing is hilarious and very likely. Do you believe in aliens? Comment down below!

5). Kris Jenner is trying to trademark #proudmama:

Kris Jenner is a literal g0ddess but also crazy, so this doesn’t surprise me. The 60-year-old Yzma lookalike uses #proudmama on her Instagram regularly, and is trying to trademark it for “marketing purposes.” In May 2015, she also filed a legal bid to trademark “momager.” I can understand the “momager” thing, but “proud mama” just seems like a stretch. But she is an incredibly shrewd businesswoman, so maybe she’s just giggling/cackling at all this promo all the way to the bank in her Yeezy sneakers.

6). Hillary Clinton says that Donald Trump is no longer funny:

The future President of the United States appeared on Late Night With Seth Meyers and said that she is no longer amused by Donald Trump. And everyone in the entire world answers with a resounding, “Yeah, same. Duh.” Before his inflammatory comments about barring Muslims from entering the US, he was an “equal-opportunity insulter.” But his comments are dangerous now, Hillary says, because it gives ammunition to terrorists for spreading their propaganda. Isolating and alienating Muslim-Americans only perpetuates this dumb idea that they can’t be trusted. And then it becomes this downward spiral. The interview also came a few days after Arianna Huffington wrote that they would no longer be covering Trump in the “Entertainment” section. They refused to recognize the legitimacy of his candidacy, but he is no longer funny. “We are no longer entertained.”

7). The trailer for Tarzan came out:

Alexander Skarsgard is so hot, and I’m going to be so real, that’s the only reason this movie A) appears on my Celebrity Sunday list, B) is relevant, and C) was even made. Like, I don’t know how necessary a Tarzan movie was. But seeing Alexander Skarsgard shirtless with abs ripping through the screen is totally necessary.

8). Rihanna raises over $3 million at the Diamond Ball 2015—and also looks amazing in Dior:

Rihanna hosted her second annual Diamond Ball for her Clara Lionel foundation. She raised over $3 million to “improve the quality of life for communities globally in areas of health, education, arts, and culture.” Kylie Jenner attended the Ball, as did Will and Jada Smith, and Lionel Richie. Most importantly, she looks amazing in a diaphanous cream silk dress and matching coat by Dior.

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9). Hillary Clinton is going to guest-star on Broad City:

This is very important because three of my favorite people are going to be in the same space together. The future President of the United States will appear in the upcoming third season of the Comedy Central hit. It isn’t known yet how/what capacity Hillary will feature in the Amy Poehler-produced show, but it’s obviously going to be amazing, yasqueen? The trio posted a pic on Twitter, collectively shattering my pelvis and the Internet.

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10). The trailer for Chelsea Handler’s new Netflix series is out:

Everyone’s favorite late-night comedian and the “coslopus” queen, Chelsea Handler, has a new Netflix show. The four-part docuseries is entitled Chelsea Does and will follow Chelsea as she dives into the respective worlds of marriage, Silicon Valley, racism, and drugs. Originally it was thought that Handler, after leaving her E! talk show to partner with Netflix, was going to produce a streaming, current show. However, it looks like that has morphed into the docuseries. The series will drop in January. I’m really excited about this show because Chelsea has often, and loudly, talked about how she doesn’t really enjoy dissecting celebrity culture. And as a self-proclaimed pop culture journalist, I can totally relate to how dangerous it can be to fall into that honey trap. This series follows Chelsea as she dissects and discusses actual, thoughtful, real issues, while maintaining her humor and psychosis.

I’m going to put Celebrity Sunday to bed, because this bitch is a lot to handle. But don’t worry, we’ll be back next week. I mean, I’ll be back tomorrow. But the duo—me and the amorphous (omg, that doesn’t mean “fat!” Stop, CS! Don’t be crazy!) Celebrity Sunday—are going to go underground, do our research, and reemerge as stunning Dior butterflies this time next week!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

SEASONAL SATURDAYS: TOP TEN THINGS I’VE DONE TO GET INTO THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT

Number One: sacrifice a pure-white goat on a mahogany altar to the Dark Lord. Just kidding! But, I have to say, what an introduction!

But, actually:

1). Obviously I made my Christmas playlist, but I’ve whored that thing out so much that I’m not even going to link it anymore. We all know I have one—let’s move on. But Sebastien told me about the “Merry Christmas: Jazz” Spotify playlist. I don’t know why I never really considered a jazz Christmas, but it’s really good and feels very Frank Sinatra-y and pulls to mind images of crackling fires and smooth eggnog. Even though eggnog is kind of gnarly; and not in the good, Californian way.

2). Watching Home Alone really sealed the deal for me, Christmas-movie-wise. I think it’s because I’ve never actually sat down and watched the full thing all the way through. Probably like most people, I’ve caught glimpses and bits from the ABC Family “25 Days of Christmas.” But actually sitting down, watching Home Alone and drinking hot cocoa made me A) feel sad that Macauley Culkin is kinda cracked out now, B) wonder what he and Mila Kunis used to talk about, and C) get that cozy, “It’s Christmas” feeling. I love ABC Family’s Christmas traditions, and since I’m not currently in America at the moment, I’ve missed out a little on the Norman Rockwell holiday overload. So yeah, watch Home Alone. Also wonder why Catherine O’Hara didn’t just sock that kid in the face. Set him straight.

3). On Friday—yesterday, I suppose—I went with Jenna to St. Paul’s Cathedral. We wandered amongst the sepulchral beauty—and it really is beautiful. I think Westminster Abbey is stunning, but St. Paul’s has this amazing grandeur that I think I prefer. Anyway, after climbing to the top of the dome, taking a few selfies, and wheezing our way down the stairs, we got back to the main floor and stumbled onto a Christmas choir. They were amazing, and their voices melded together and echoed against the dome. It was just a practice, so they were kind of #donewithit but I wish I was a good singer, so I find actual good singers fascinating. Plus, the Christmas trees on either side of the altar were decked out in fairy lights, and the glowiness of the whole moment made me feel warm and toasty and Norman Rockwell-y.

4). Watch holiday episodes of TV shows. Okay, so I’ll be honest—I overloaded myself on the Christmas movies. Also, I generally don’t watch movies. I know that every cinema nerd is gasping right now, but I don’t have the attention span. I don’t like sitting down and being expected to sit down for longer than an hour. However, I will be watching Mockingjay Part 2 when I get back. So to avoid the Christmas marathons, I decided to watch holiday episodes of my favorite TV shows. My current pleasures are 30 Rock and Parks & Recreation. I’m convinced that 30 Rock is the only show—ever—to incorporate blackface into a holiday episode and have it not be really weird. And I wish I could get Leslie Knope as a Christmas present because she’s amazing, and those holiday episodes are killer.

5). Sweaters. Ironically—or not, ironically?—I sweat a lot, so I don’t generally just wear sweaters. I put a button-down underneath, to create some sort of levy against the hurricanic body moisture. But the other day, I wore this really cute camel sweater, and earlier in the week, I finally wore the chunky, off-white sweater I bought in the Aran Islands. And wearing sweaters and being all snuggly makes you feel like a glamorous ski-bunny.

6). So I fucking detest nutmeg. I’m generally not a huge spice person, so Marco Polo would have totally hated me. So I don’t often indulge in holiday drinks at Starbucks. I’ll get a Pumpkin Spice Latte because—hello—white, and I like Peppermint Mochas, but—and I’m not trying to start drama—England doesn’t really do Peppermint Mochas. They do, like, “toffee” and other freaky flavors. But I’m literally not trying to start any fights. I just find it a little aggressive. So when I go to Starbucks to get a coffee—a venti caffe latte, aka hot milk—I put a little blend of chocolate-cinnamon powder. I know that cinnamon isn’t a super Christmas-y spice—is it more for Thanksgiving?—but it makes me feel nice.

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7). I swear, I was in a street market a week ago, and they were selling Christmas trees, and I lowkey might have sniffed the branches like a cocaine addict snorts a line of that sweet white gold—I don’t know drug references. I was discussing this with a friend—the real versus fake debate—and one of the reasons I love real Christmas trees is the smell. I hate the pine needles detritus, and I think fake Christmas trees in unrealistic shades of gold, pink, and blue are chic in a “Beverly Hills plastic surgery” kind of way. But you can’t replace that authentic pine tree smell, the one that fills the entire house.

8). Looked at cards of pugs in Christmas hats. Why isn’t this a thing year-round? Is it because I can’t be trusted to be productive if I know that, at any given moment during the entire year, that a pug might be wearing a little elf hat? Because I get that. But I love when animals get dressed up for the holidays. It brings me such joy.

9). Change all of my social media accounts to holiday-themed goodness. This is so “millennial” of me, but I secretly love it and it’s actually kind of the most fun thing ever. Scrolling through Tumblr looking for that perfect, hilarious Christmas photo to put as the header of your Facebook. Thinking of ways to incorporate “Santa Claus” or the names of his reindeer into your Twitter handle. It takes a little bit of effort, which I’m sure my parents would say could be going towards “working on my resume” or “finding an internship” so I don’t “die on the streets,” but I want to go into pop culture and social media, so this is basically me beefing up my credentials. That’s what I’ll tell myself when I’m homeless. I did a really good job about changing my accounts for the various changes in the seasons, and I’ll be frank, I’m worried for January. Once Christmas is over, there aren’t really a lot of good, juicy holidays to sink into. Valentine’s Day is depressing, St. Patrick’s Day makes me want to punch non-Irish people, and no one takes Arbor Day seriously anymore. So I’ll enjoy the good seasonal social media while it lasts.

10). This last one is weird-ish (?) and I’m not doing that thing where I say that I’m so quirky and you can’t possibly relate. I really love keeping the window open when it’s chilly. In England—I live in England; it’s, like, whatever. I mean, I’m leaving in four days, so I’m milking it while I can—it’s chilly but not frigid, so keeping the window open gives the room that fresh, crisp wintry air. Nothing makes me feel more Christmasy than snuggling up with fuzzy socks and a sweatshirt and watching a movie while a little frosty breeze gives my cheeks some nips. This is something that can’t really be done for that long, so I’m enjoying it while it lasts, because A) I think my roommate is about to kill me for it, and B) eventually it stops being “snuggly” cold and start being “Cut open the tauntaun” cold.

What are your favorite ways to get into the spirit? Don’t comment or anything. Just say it aloud to yourself. I’ll know if you don’t, so you better do it. Is there a particular Christmas movie you always watch? I find that you can tell a lot about people from the Christmas movies they watch. There are some people who are serial monogamists and only watch certain ones, and there are others who settle down in front of the TV and marathon whatever’s on. I’m not sure which category I fall into. But that’s so binary of me.

May your cheeks be rosy, your hearts full of joy, your hands full of candy, and your mouth full of liquor!

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

Holidannys

FASHION FRIDAY: I LOOKED LIKE A DENIM STRING BEAN

I hop-jiggle into a pair of stone-grey skinny overalls, unaware that this will be one of the worst decisions I will have made in my short, twenty years. Worse than loving Nickleback for those two weeks in freshman year of high school. Worse than drunk-texting that boy—still sorry about that. Worse than having that third slice of chocolate cake.

I snap the buckles on the shoulder straps and look in the mirror. Without the mental separation of a shirt and trousers, my body has become one long denim string bean. The bib narrows as it climbs up my torso, giving the illusion that my hips are the widest part of my body. All in all, I look like an overgrown toddler with a moose-knuckle.

Fuck my goddamn life. This might be a small thing, but I just want a pair of cool overalls to throw over a chunky-knit sweater, but my body rejects it with fashion antibodies.

I unfurl myself from the overalls, breaking free like a moth out of a chrysalis. The pantless, slightly panting—I’m not fit—reflection of me in the blackened mirror of the Zara changing room has a dangerous glint in his eye. It’s one that I know well.

I used to shop so much, and so badly. Like, it was tragic. It’s like that quote from Batman where the butler says, “Some men just want to see the world burn.” And I know that seems like a random quote, but please hop off my jock for a second. What I mean is that sometimes the end justifies the mean, and sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. If I was spending a shit ton of money and getting amazing stuff, then it might be excusable. But I was literally doing the sartorial equivalent of burning villages just for kicks, by running through my meager supply of money to get graphic sweaters and patterned socks.

I haven’t really shopped—like major overhaul shopping—in a few years, because in freshman year I blew through $1500 in a semester by buying horrifying clothing. It was not my best moment. It slightly trumps me being a jean lima bean.

And for having a large supply of clothing, I still somehow manage to rotate through the same six flannels and alternate between my one—but now two!—pair of jeans and my one brown pair of chinos, since I got too fat for my gray chinos. That’s a chi-no-no. Also, I used to dress like the crack-whore version of Ronald McDonald, and now I favor earth tones and simple patterns, so a lot of my clothing is irrelevant.

I got an extremely nice, extremely undeserved gift card from my boss at the end of my internship for Zara—which is the upscale sister who always has the exact sweater you’ve been trying to find for six months—and I wept inside. So I—along with my friend Jenna—made a total shopping day out of it. We stopped at Liberty—a classy department store with a Tudor finish and is slightly too good for me to feel comfortable in—and got Christmas ornaments.

Then, high on the dream, I went to Primark and got Christmas sweaters. at first, I was going to get this red sweater with Santa’s beard in silky white fur on the front, but it made me look thick and not in a good way. Thick is my favorite new way to say “fat” because it’s usually chicer than “fat” but still has that chunky phonetic aesthetic. So after realizing I hadn’t gained ten pounds in two hours, I decided that sweater wasn’t for me, and then it was just the question of which singing jumper to purchase.

After we went to Zara and at first I tried on the overalls—which overall were a mistake—and then I tried on these really cute moto jeans and I bought them, which ups my number of jeans to two. I used to have a lot, but I got fatter and taller and also bored so I cut a bunch of them into jorts. And I also got a blanket scarf, which at first I was like,

Me: Oh, hon. Hon. Hon.

I: What? It’s kind of chic. I’ll look thin.

Me: You’ll look like an Olsen.

I: Why is that a bad thing?

Me: Hon.

I: Babe. Babe, stop.

Me: You’re acting like Paris Hilton right now, and I can’t deal.

I: You’re such a bitch. You’re such a Nicole Richie.

Me: Fine. Get the scarf. Muzzle yourself.

I don’t have the healthiest self-dialogue, but Lorde knows who does! So I got the blanket scarf, which is gay and at first I was like “Oh that’s too gay” and then I realized that I was accidentally stepping on Internalized Homophobia’s toe and I moved off and realized that I liked dudes in a non-bro—but actually tbh—way and that’s the definition of “gay” so I bought the scarf and I haven’t looked back since.

Walking back with my hands full of swinging bags, I rationalized my spending. “I, like, haven’t spent anything on myself for so long. I’ve been really good with my money,” and went on like until I realized Jenna wasn’t even listening and I was just talking to my reflection in the tube window.

The problem with a relapse into shopping is that it usually takes a few weeks to exorcise the demon back into the ether. So, the next week, I “decided” to just have a “browse” through Oxford Street. It started with a trip to Topshop, and that trip to Topshop ended with me—panicked, anxious and near freakout—as I wandered amongst the thousand-thousand reflections and crop tops because I was lost and couldn’t find the exit. After realizing that the reason I couldn’t find the ground floor exit was because I was belowground in the basement level, I cleansed my chakra and got on the escalator and bolted out of Topshop with a fire under my ass.

I was about to pop down the stairs to the tube when the glimmering lights of that plasticky bitch H&M called their siren song out to me. I meandered amongst the racks of clothing before trying on a nebby-black-and-white sweater and a mohair-y gray sweater. The gray sweater looks like a bear-pelt condom onto me, and I make it a general rule not to look like an actual human leg, so I axed that sweater. The other one was cute and very not “me” but in a good way, so the small monster curled in the crook of my collarbone, using my credit card as a nail filer, purred, “Omg, babe, get that; that’s so cute.”

“You think?” I looked over my shoulder, practicing my “affable, cute boy” non-teeth smiles—I fucking despise teeth smiles—and flicked my hair into more a swoop and less of a swish.

“Yes,” it confirmed. “So glam.”

“It’s £20,” I’m still unsure. “That’s a lot of experience.”

The monster scrapes my credit card against its perfectly manicured—in a soft pearl-grey shellack—hands and says those damning words: “It’s an experience.”

“Omg, you’re so right. I totally need something to remember London by”—as if, somehow, the entire city of London will escape both my memory and the human race’s collective memory—“and I, like, never spend money on myself.”

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Twenty minutes later, I’m holding the plastic bag containing the last dregs of the monster mingling with that nebby sweater. It’s fucking cute, but still. I roll my shoulders as I feel the demon being exorcised from me. It briefly reappears when I’m trying to convince someone to convince me that I need another Christmas sweater, but the bait isn’t bitten and I don’t buy the sweater.

Still I lack the nail strength and willpower to do some hardcore thrift-store digging, I’ll probably be poor and a slave to the high-and-mighty fashion brands—I mean, the medium-and-mighty fashion brands—which is fine. I’ll make do. Like I said, I literally wear maybe six variations on the same outfits, and that’s year-round.

But, like, tell me about your favorite Christmas sweaters! On me. Not in general. On me.

Also I officially have as many Christmas sweaters as I have AP credits on my transcript. They’re not technically officially related, but I feel like it’s very representative of the State of my Union.

HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

The Wunderkindof

Too good-looking to be this funny. Politics. Pop Culture. Millennial Ramblings.

Author Archives: Danny McCarthy

CELEBRITY SUNDAY: ADELE LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY, MY BAE JOHN KRASINSKI, AND STAR WARS OPENING WEEKEND

SEASONAL SATURDAY: CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS

FASHION FRIDAY: A LOOK BACK ONTO THE TRENDS

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY: CHRISTMAS BREAK BINGEING

WTF WEDNESDAY: LEAVING

HOW TO: ROCK THE PLANE

MISCELLANEOUS MONDAY: PACKING SUCKS

CELEBRITY SUNDAY: SAINT, SELENA, SNL, AND HILLARY

SEASONAL SATURDAYS: TOP TEN THINGS I’VE DONE TO GET INTO THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT

FASHION FRIDAY: I LOOKED LIKE A DENIM STRING BEAN