Monthly Archives: May 2012

OFO is a Go!

Jill, Jenny, and Geneva, the bad-ass bicycling trio and founders of Odyssey for Opportunity have flown the coop, even if their adventure commenced earlier than originally intended. Alas, every big challenge walks hand in hand with smaller challenges, no? As I sit here and write this, Jenny and Jill are sitting side by side in an old RV en-route with all of their equipment to BC.

I was lucky enough to share an evening with my Jill a week or so ago; where we got a little tipsy (hurricane drunk in actuality), and spoke candidly about her upcoming trip. The natural emotions were all present; she said she feels excitement, apprehension, pride, but also… she said she is scared shitless. If I were about to embark on a 75 day journey, on bike, across our beautiful if sometimes treacherous nation, I would also be terrified.

What struck me as most interesting about our dialogue was the ways in which Jill described the manifestations of her fears. She is isn’t really afraid she won’t be able to accomplish this feat, her drive to succeed and prove the value in what they are doing for the cause is too great. Instead she is fearful of all the time she is going to be spending inside he own head. I had never really thought about the tertiary challenges aside from things like weather, road conditions, tune-ups, and physical exhaustion, and Jill called to my attention the mental and emotional exhaustion that I am sure each of the three will experience at least a few times during the trip. The three of them are together yes, but when you are cycling on the Trans-Canada, you are doing so in single file, always remaining alert of the oncoming and very present dangers… transport trucks anyone? You can’t wear headphones safely, and you can’t really speak to one another because it is too damn loud. Eight hours in your own head under these conditions would be challenging to even a well versed shaman.

But Jill, Jenny, and Geneva, we tip our hats to you and your pilgrimage, which is exactly what this trip will be about in the end. Without a doubt, these three will return home in late August changed, both in subtle and obvious ways, and I can say confidently that I will be a little envious. Not many people in their lifetime pull off such an extraordinary accomplishment, and the pride I have about it on their behalf is bubbling over and splashing at my feet.

Girls, I sincerely hope you have a chance to read this during your downtime before the trip soldiers ahead because you should know that every single person in your life it cheerleading for you. Big hugs everyday, and lots of love and support every moment.

Sylvia “Can’t-Wait-to-See-the-Size-of-Your-Legs-in-August-cause-Dem-Bitches-Will-be-HUGE!!” Stout

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World War Z

In light of the recent Miami based zombie attack, I thought it important to do some research about guns and weaponry, more specifically where one eager Torontonian could purchase such things in preparation for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. These things are important; you never want to be caught with your proverbial pants around your ankles when it comes to zombies. They don’t give a sweet fanny-anny fuck if your face is organic, free-range, dolphin friendly, preservative/nitrate free etc.

Enjoy another video on The Globe and Mail Dot Com.

So after typing into Google: “where to buy guns Toronto”, this is what I came up with:

You can purchase them from Kijiji and Craiglist (of course!), but this would not be ideal if suddenly one morning you woke up to a complete shit-show zombie take over. There is a small privately owned ‘husband/wife’ outfit located at Wilson and Dufferin called, “Giovanni’s Gun Shop”. This would be the best bet probably, but they may sell out fast.  There appears to be lots of places to purchase air guns, but those are useless.

I have to say that when it comes to guns, it really sucks to live in Canada. There is no where to purchase anything easily. Who knew that one day I would curse the gun control laws of our country, those laws that at one point I so vehemently supported. Alas… There is no right or wrong, left or right, when it comes to the flesh-eating undead, just survival.

At the very least stock up on big kitchen knives, apparently you’re gonna need something.

Sylvia “Is-Ordering-Her-Machete-From-Craiglist” Stout

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Eat Yrself Clean

I don’t buy a lot of groceries, but when I do buy groceries, I want them to be ETHICAL GROCERIES. Local …. organic …. sustainable …. dolphin-friendly …. fair-trade …. albatross-friendly …. ocean-wise …. WTF. There are so many things to consider when shopping for food that sometimes I just freeze, right there in the aisle, then grab a box of cereal and bolt. I guess the thing about all of these enviroethical concerns is that once you become aware of them and decide to care, you can’t just de-aware and un-care. Knowledge is power, but it’s also responsibility, and once I really learn what goes into some of the foods I eat, I feel morally compelled to stop buying them. Or, (truth), I keep buying them, and feel terrible about it. For a long time, I’ve been intending to do some research and find out what’s up with some of my favourite foods*, but now I don’t have to because Brad Long of Veritas and Cafe Belong is going to tell me!

He’ll be at Patagonia (500 King St W) this Thursday, along with food educator Debbie Field, to discuss these dilemmas, and hopefully advise attendees (me) how we can “vote” with our grocery dollars/sleep well at night knowing we’re not supporting people who chop the beaks off of chickens. The event begins at six and is free to attend, although they do recommend RSVPing via Facebook, as space is limited. And hey … maybe there’ll be snacks??

Hope to see ya there!


* coffee, cereal, poutine, orange juice, honey, Caesars, yogurt, peanut butter, bananas, Steam Whistle, ice cream, hummus, apples, eggs, Ezekiel bread, and whiskey

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Another Day in Paradise

My senses feasted all day today. If senses could get full the same way that a stomach does (thank golly they don’t!), mine would be plum-stuffed.

Let’s talk for a minute about the Toronto Island. The TI is clutch. I don’t know why I have wasted so many summers of my life deciding NOT to go over to the island because it is “too much of a commitment.” SHOULD HAVE HAD A MOTHERFUCKING V8 on that one Syl.

As I sit here toasty from the sun, dirty from the sand, dried-sweaty from the heat, I feel completely enchanted by the magic of this day. We took the ferry over to Hanlan’s Beach (clothing optional cha-ching!!!), which is immensely if not somewhat surprisingly lush, and sat all day in the sun, drinking rum, and smoking joints; frolicking in the too cold water, and flying a big kite. The air was electric-heavy with that summer haze that slows the senses and allows you to see everything as if it were new. Alright, alright, the hydro probably assisted with that, but seriously… if you have a chance to go over to Hanlan’s this summer – take it. If not, then stop being fucking daft like I was for so long and commit to a day over there, because otherwise you are doing nothing short of missing out.

To cap off my wonderful evening I am going to find a patio and get a little tipsy and share a million laughs with an old friend, who no doubt will inspire me to write about something absurd that I will later share with you.

But first I am going to drop this video. Love the music, love the video, love the concept, love the Sufis and their mystical, mind-consciousness bending movements. Love the giver.


“Sylvia “It’s-Time-To-Get-Dickered” Stout

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The Electric Acid Baseball Test

You know what’s great? Hearing a hilarious story, and then finding out that it’s true. We live in an age of smoke and mirrors and I’m sure we’re all familiar with that vague sense of disappointment felt upon realizing that something “isn’t real.” An incredible photograph that proves to be ‘shopped, or a fun human interest story that turns out to have been set up. And that damn pygmy giraffe commercial … don’t TELL me you didn’t wish THAT was real. I know you did!

I happen to be tremendously credulous: I thought “It’s All Gone Pete Tong” was a doc, not a moc … does it make it better if I say that’s because I wanted it to be true??. But today a friend shared a story with me that is just too hilarious, and it actually happened! Better yet there’s an illustrated short which I present to you below. The narrative is presented by Dock Ellis, who was a major league baseball player in the 70’s. Who threw a no-hitter while high on acid. Have you ever heard this one? It’s good evidence that the truth is funnier than fiction. Check it out!

Love, Sarah “I’m High as a Georgia Pine” Cynthia

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A New Look Approacheth

Soon soon soon, we’ll be overhauling the design of our beloved TDM. We’re hugely excited about this facelift (since we believe in tasteful plastic surgery), and it’s coming along with help from Dr. Raina Douris* of Permanent Daylight. Here are a few of her sketches so far … whaddaya think??

Our mascot. He hasn’t introduced himself to us by name yet but he was born out of this beautiful creature, which was the original impetus for this entire project:

Tha 501, chugging slowly along through our daily life and shared consciousness:

And a pigeon riding a bike covered in magical balloons with pictures of food and drink on them?!? Hurray!

More to come …….

* Okay, she’s not actually a doctor, but she’s appeared in episodes of Cash Cab and Jonovision, plus she hosts a low-rent interview series called “Rain’s World” in her low-ceiling apartment … so she must know what she’s doing.

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Morning After Sillies

Yesterday I received a text from one of my favourite flower children. It read:

“Just realized there’s a dovercourt in burlington……street names are so weird.imagine they were ALL different……it’d be like thuydelfield6321 street.”

I love hearing about stoner ideas like this, and lucky for me, Sylvia is full of them. One of my favourites was her “concept” that if human feces could be transmuted into food, it would mean an end to world hunger. She riffed on this subject for at least an hour during our drive down to Bonnaroo last year; we had just met. From the front seat came cries of “God, Sylvia, will you shut up??” and “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” But she soldiered on, undaunted. Even as I write this, she mutters from the couch beside me, “Well I still think it’s an excellent idea.” Uh-huh.

Back to the subject of streets … is Yonge Street actually the longest street on earth? I’ve always believed this to be true; haven’t you? Syl thought Yonge spanned all the way to North Bay. Huh? Oh, no, she meant Timmins. HUH?? Neither of us felt quite clear on the details so we deferred to our deity, Wikipedia, for the truth. And we learned ….

“Yonge Street was formerly a part of Highway 11, which led to claims that Yonge Street was the longest street in the world. Running from the shores of Lake Ontario, through central and northern Ontario to the Ontario-Minnesota border at Rainy River, together they were over 1,896 kilometres (1,178 mi) long. But Yonge Street could only be called the longest street in the world if “Highway 11” and “Yonge Street” were synonymous, which is not the case.”

It’s so funny how these types of urban myths proliferate. I remember being told many times in high school that the reason Goldschlager got you “the most drunk” was because those flecks inside the bottle were real gold, and they inflicted tiny cuts in your throat as you consumed it, allowing the alcohol to directly enter your bloodstream. Come on … that’s completely ridiculous! But everyone believed it! I felt like a lonely island in the middle of the sea because I didn’t believe it. Better still? When my mom was in high school, there was a persistent rumour about her: that she had no belly button. Heheh. Apparently no one knew much about the birds, the bees, or the ‘bilical cords!

Happy Friday everyone,


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Trio of Videos

I couldn’t pick one (the proverbial ice cream shop dilemma), so all three made the cut. Have you wasted any time today? If not, it’s time to get on the bandwagon! If so, stay on there! You are doing a great job of lowering the bar of achievement!

Sylvia “Is-on-Her-Third-Coffee-with-Full-Intentions-of-Brewing-a-Fourth” Stout




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F.M. 4 Evahhh

This popped up on my newsfeed today and made me smile.

Freddie Mercury was such a weird, cool cat. Who else could rock an overbite that way? If you have never seen live footage of Queen before, please do watch this. The swagger and the strut of this man are unparalleled. He’s a magician and a prancing prince letting his freak flag flap all over the place and I love him forever for that.

– SC

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One Person’s Trash …

While scanning through Craigslist postings, looking for a new piece of furniture, I happened upon this beauty:

As I read the description I thought, Wow!! But what if I don’t live in a loft? Will I still find uses for this Butcher Block Style Kitchen Island? Will you even sell it to me? Then I scrolled down to check out the image:

Are you kidding me?? I’m assuming the price is a typo, but even still … come ON! This isn’t an island! Or a butcher’s block! It’s a CART. In functionality and aesthetic value it’s roughly equivalent to the infamous BEKVAM cart, one of which I just sold on Craigslist for fifty bucks.

I love so many things about this posting. My favourite might be the note that the dishes and “other items” shown aren’t included in the price. The price of four hundred and fifty-nine doll-hairs. Well, is a diamond ring included? How about a unicorn. No? Then I simply shan’t be buying it.


Another great listing specified that a piece of IKEA furniture was in “mint condition.”

Things that can be in “mint condition”:

Royal Doulton china

old cars

My Little Ponies (MIP = Mint In Package, MOC = Mint On Card, MCO = My Childhood Obsession*)

Louis Vuitton luggage

baseball cards

And, apparently there’s a band from Minnesota called Mint Condition, so I suppose they can be considered to be in mint condition, too. But IKEA furniture? Again, I can only say Come onnnn.

But that’s the reaction I have every time I go on Craigslist. It’s such a useful tool, but it’s populated by so many useless tools. People who think their junk is going to get them rich! People who think their junk is the prettiest, bestest junk on earth. There are so many ridiculous postings that make me guffaw and/or choke on my coffee, I sometimes think there should be a website dedicated to them. Oh, wait, there is one: Heheh.

Now off I go to continue mocking my fellow human.


Sarah Who Still Needs an Actual Kitchen Island Type of Thing for Her Nest

* In my case “childhood” ended around age fifteen. Maybe sixteen.

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The Hole

Humans are habitual beings, it is a part of the condition we all live by. Often this means we repeat bad habits, or actions that do not serve us or our journeys well. The beautiful thing about self awareness and open mindedness is the ability it lends us to evolve and make changes, regardless of how insurmountable this challenge may seem. A friend of mine sent this my way recently, I do not know who the original author is… but I love it.

Sylvia “We-all-have-our-holes” Stout

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I feel lost…I feel helpless.
It isn’t my fault!!
I’m not responsible.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m back in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
I don’t feel responsible.
It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in……it’s a habit.
But my eyes are open, I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I am responsible.
I get out very quickly.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down a different street.

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Speaking of Long Weekends…

My mother and her significant other have a property north of the city just outside of Elmvale. Collingwood is close by, Thornbury is just on the other side of Collingwood, Stayner isn’t too far, Creemore is a bit of a distance, but you could take a day jaunt over that way. The one town that is by far the closest (yet still far enough away, thank fuck) to my mothers six bedroom property is the one that I almost never mention: Wasaga Beach.

The following is going to be a shamelessly judgemental rant about the trashy underbelly of civilization that haunts the arguably dilapitated shores of the the main beach, and the absolute gobsmacking horror I experienced while driving through town this long weekend. I just read this line aloud to my mother with a snicker, and she poo-pooed my opinion and launched into her own defensive rant about her home away from home:

“Sylvia! My God! How did you ever become so judgemental?! You certainly didn’t learn it from me!”

“I’ll have you know that Wasaga Beach is the fastest growing community in Ontario, and it is within the top ten fastest growing communities in Canada. Although it is traditionally known as a resort town, young families and retired folks alike are moving in and changing the face of the community. Certainly the beach on long weekends is crowded with young partiers, (think Jersey Shore), and I do my best the avoid it at these peak times… But during the week and in the off season, Wasaga and the surrounding areas offer picturesque scenery with a plethora of things to do.”

… “So there!” (sticks tongue out)…

Following this, mother stated that the total facade of WB is about to change, and for the better. Apparently the main strip and some of the surrounding waterfront property acreages have been purchased for roughly 11.7 million by some big wig developer, who plans to advertise and thus capitalize on the fact that WB is the longest fresh water beach in Canada: “Miami North”. Apparently, this plan includes some form of gentrification, because big developer man and his company want to market this niche to the rich.

I could be completely off base, but I am fairly certain that people with lot$ of money prefer for the most part to surround themselves with other individuals with lots of money. Or at least they prefer to keep company with people who either look like they have lots of money, or can pretend and pretend well that they make up a part of the upper crust. Those belonging to the lower socioeconomic strata will no longer be welcome, me thinks. They won’t be able to afford the new rental rates, and no amount of dollas can buy class, so the rejection will be double edged.

Frankly, the locals really can’t be blamed for wanting some change around these parts. The current state of Wast-aga Beach is laughable. I have never in my life seen so many shirtless, swearing, spitting, belching, tan-oil greasy, crude, obnoxious, scantilly-clad, sideways hat and pawn shop bling wearing, black and green Honda Civic driving, Wonderland season’s pass holding, DTF/GTL beef artist, 905’er scags in one place, in my entire life… Not even at the Sound Academy.

I must have held a snear of disgust upon my face for the entirety of the drive through this unfortunate hole of a vacation getaway destination. I had to roll up my windows and suffer through the sweltering heat of the un-airconditioned car, just to avoid the embarrassment of being cat-called and whistled at in front of my parents… Muthafuckas please.

The decorum has seemingly degraded over the years. I know my close girlfriends and I used to come up here during our summer break from high school, and pretend to be scaggy-trash for the weekend so we could get our underage selves into ‘clubs’ like the Dard (now The Dardanella), and Bananas beach Club. But these people are the real deal now; ambling through the sandy streets with shameless and trashy abandon. Yuck.

I hope the local sundries shoppe stocks shelves worth of condoms because the last thing we need is for these people to get too drunk on Budweiser and procreate.

Sylvia “Snooki-and-Pauly D-belong-trapped-in-the-boob-toob” Stout.

… And this just cause it is summer served fresh…

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Happy Long Weekend!

Whether you’re in the city working, laying low at home, or heading to a cottage and bragging about it on Facebook (bastards), we hope you find time to do some of THIS:

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Waiter Art

“Mama and Her Bebes”

By Martine, with thanks to Tap Phong

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Good evening! I’m kickin back with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a glass of rosé, Interneting around, having a blast, and I’ve found many a menh to share …

If you enjoy skewering Millenials — the sense of entitlement, the rampant financial irresponsibility — then you may want to check out this salty shishkebob from The Fiscal Times. It highlights some items we Millenials consider necessary, like iPads, smartphones, and jewelry. Wait … jewelry? Honestly, WTF?! Who are these twentysomethings buying luxury bling? Most of my jewelry looks like it was woven together out of shiny pebbles by a resourceful hobo meth head. And for all I know, some of it was …

This is why it’s strange to read articles about “my” generation … often, I feel like what’s being described has nothing to do with me. I have no student debt, and the idea of my parents giving me monetary handouts is, as my parents would happily tell you, laughable.

However upon further reflection I see that though I eschew many forms of conspicuous consumption, I’m not immune to the gleam of filthy lucre … I revel in dining out, and I’m a nascent wine snob. Most tellingly of all, I write to you this evening from my shiny MacBook Pro, which I consider a “necessity” because, well, uhh, I have this blog, and I need to be able to write things, and I can’t really see myself with a Dell or a Toshiba because, uhh, they don’t represent how I view myself, my lifestyle, and, well, Apple is really cool, and I want to be cool maybe by association, and how else will I fit in with all the other cool kids doing fake homework at my local fair trade coffee shop? And also, it’s shiny??

Yikes. Other news includes ….

A dog teaching a baby to crawl:

So adorable! I love everything about this … except the precious, infantilized, plink-plink music. What is up with that? Why do all these charming dog/baby videos have the same lame soundtrack? What, as soon as I pop out a kid, I’m going to start listening to Raffi’s studio outtakes all the time? Fuck. That.

Oh … but, also! Music! Amazing music!! On a plane!!! That’s about to take off for Romania!!!! Check out the latest magical amateur vid of Lemon Bucket Orkestra jamming in an unusual place:

Such incredible joie de vivre! Seriously, how many people do you know who could — and more importantly would — turn something as boring and unpleasant as a delayed Air Canada flight into a party? I tip my fedora upside down to you, LBO.

And also to you, dear reader! You’re pretttttty. I like ya. And that’s not just the wine talking …



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Focussss …

This useful illustration comes care of my father, a gifted practitioner of quietude and mental peace. He’s similar to Syl’s dad in that he denounces most New Age practices as flaky (or perhaps as “voodoo”), but when he sits silently in the yard, contemplating birdsong and watching the grass grow, I know that whether he’ll admit it or not, he is meditating.

It doesn’t really matter what we call these periods of mental and emotional rest. It only matters that we do whatever it takes to make sure we have them. Right??

I will attempt to remain,
Peacefully yours as I prepare for my first night at my new job,


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Azealia Banks – Jumanji

Fuck yesssssss. We are going bananas over this one!

– Sarah Cynthia

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Christian the Lion

AWWWWWWWWWWwww… screechyhappysoundsofsnugglelove!!!

This video gets us every time!! Even with the cheesy Aerosmith song from Armageddon (fuckyoubenaffleckthetownsuckedyousuck) as its anthem, it is still the cutest best thing in the whole world. Christian we wish you were our lionnnawwwwwwwwwaskjdfba kjdfbjsdhfbv jsfhbvsdjbfgvkjb!

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The Plastic Problem

I don’t care how rich you are, or pardon me… how rich your husband is… if you have nipped, tucked, and injected enough plastic into your face to look like a carp I could fish out of the sea – I am simply not going to be able to take you seriously.

Allow me to expand: I take no issue whatsoever with plastic surgery as a concept or a general practice. In fact, I think some plastic surgeons have achieved great success in tastefully remolding the human body. If you have always wanted a nice, juicy rack because you have suffered self consciously at the hands of your AAA cup size since puberty, knock yourself out. I get it. Trust me, in the past I have even flirted with having the procedure myself.

Just look at Ashlee Simpson’s rhino and mentoplasty (nose and chin reshaping, respectively) – Not that there was anything wrong with her appearance to begin with, but I believe her beauty certainly improved with a couple of subtle and tasteful surgeries.

A little plastic surgery can go a long way, and that is my point.

What disturbs/fascinates me is when women (and men!) take it too far. If you look like you are fresh off the boat from Neptune, you’ve taken it next level, and maybe it is time to reflect upon the deeper, psychologically based reasons why you feel the need to completely PVC-ify your face. (Images below in consecutive order: Donatella Versace, Michaela Romanini, Heidi Montag, Jackie Stallone (hahaha)!!)

Here is what I believe to be a fair and relevant comparison: There is nothing at all questionable in the desire to gamble on a reasonable scale once or twice a year; to hit the strip in Vegas, Atlantic City, or Niagra (ew), and risk some of your hard earned money on a night or three of frivolous bets and fun. But there has to be a limit, no? If you are frittering away your salary or your family’s nest egg on blackjack, poker, and slots (whatever your poison may be), that’s an entirely different can of worms.

I believe that plastic surgery can be just as habit forming and addictive (big word – massive connotations, I know) as gambling.  Except the draw it that it is your face. Yes, that thing you present first and foremost to the world. That thing people look into to find out more about who you are, and what you are all about. Plastic surgery addiction is a serious matter rooted in poor self esteem and sense of self worth often linked to Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD) which you can read more about here. What can start out with one ‘corrective’ surgery can lead in some cases to a completely skewed conception about what it means or takes to be ‘beautiful’ in the framework of society’s preconceived ideals.

I work at a high end restaurant in the city and I have never seen so much PLASTIC in one place in my entire living, breathing life. I was serving a table the other day and I had to consciously and purposefully stop myself from gawking at this fifty-something woman, clearly trying to look like her twenty-something daughter who was sitting at the same table. I almost had to place my index finger under my chin and push closed my jaw which was damn-near resting on the tabletop. What is the longest possible amount of time you can stare at a person before it crosses the line of being rude, intrusive, or creepy? 10… 20 seconds? Whatever the standard, I surpassed it.

There are greater evils at play here though. I can’t very well only scold the player, I must also call attention to the game. Western society and culture seemingly value youth above all else. This is especially (and arguably almost exclusively) the case when it comes to women in particular. Even if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, women tend to believe that they decrease in overall beauty, and therefore value, as they age.  Wrinkles, sagging tits, loose skin… “gross!”. Who knows, maybe I will feel the same way about myself one day. The ideals of beauty have certainly been indoctrinated into all of us to an almost inescapable degree and since a very impressionable age, after all.

Regardless, I think it is better to age naturally and with grace, because at the end of the day plastic looks like plastic; man made and unnatural. Who knows, maybe one day most humans will look like Donatella, and thus our realities will alter to fit this new “ideal” into the framework of normalcy, but in the meantime I will continue to argue vehemently that there is another way: Nature’s way and the way of genetics.

– Sylvia “Save-the-Plastic-for-the-Bags-and-Try-to-Love-What-Ya-Got” Stout

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Please please please can we??

Go to this tree house hotel in Chile??  PLEEEEEEASE. Sylvia. I’m not joking.


– Sarah

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