The last time we met, I was engaged in a hearty act of rebellion against Blogger.com. Whenever academia threatens to overwhelm me, I get a little grouchy and a lot more rant-happy, so settle in and prepare for an utterly essential treatise on body spray. That’s right, gentle reader—today’s proverbial middle finger goes to Axe Deodorant.
After a rousing game of tennis one cold winter night, I stumbled upon a big bowl of deodorant spray in our beloved SPAC lobby. Fellow Asian readers, you will probably empathize with me when I say how absolutely compelling this seemed to me at the time. Like any Asian drawn to a big bowl of FREE STUFF, I grabbed not one, but two free samples. Fellow non-Asian readers (and I have quite a few in mind), I shan’t ostracize you, so let me repeat myself: like any non-Asian drawn to a big bowl of Asians, I grabbed not one, but two free samples.
Now, the spray proved effective enough. Friends and acquaintances did not run screaming from me, nor did seagulls start pecking me without provocation. In fact, what was packaged with the spray—an invitation to Axe’s house party—proved even more intriguing.
“Rock stars!” the invitation proclaimed. “100’s of girls and a beach house!” it exclaimed in vivid detail.
Here I was, stranded in subzero Evanston, and my body spray promised a brouhaha rivaling anything that Evanston could ever muster. Thank you, chic European-type spray.
While surfing The Onion one fine day, however, I discovered a banner ad that read JUST like my personal invitation. I thought this was a private invitation, but the unwashed (and un-Axed) masses were apparently invited too. Thank goodness I had my special “RSVP code” on my invitation.
“So did you go to the party?” you ask, eyes wide as saucers.
“No,” I would answer sadly. “I…I never wanted to go and more than that, I lost my invitation. Both of them, actually.”
Damn you, elves!
The staff at Secondhand Rants would like to thank longtime reader—and I can write “longtime” because this site has been around for all of FIVE DAYS—Esther Kang for her feedback. To paraphrase a paraphrase of her feedback: “Your Blog doesn’t suck.”
For your reading pleasure, eager community of stalkers, check out Esther’s Blog. I will describe it as yellow journalism, but only because the title bar is yellow and because the writing is of journalistic quality.
The spiritual predecessor of her weblog, named after a questionable maiming of puppies, may be found here.
When you woke this evening, gentle reader, after a raucous Saturday filled with sin and debauchery, you doubtless wanted to start your night off with a little penance.
Assuming you don’t reread sentences and continually click on the link above, thereby forcing you into a vortex worthy of Bill Murray, you may have noticed something different about this site. At this point, my site—much like any member of the DEVIOUS female sex—will ask you an accordingly devious question: “Do you notice anything special about me?”
You, foolish reader, will likely fumble around for the answer to no avail.
“You did something with your hair, right?” you ask. “Something good, I mean,” you quickly append.
“Nope, my layout’s the same as ever,” replies Secondhand Rants, feathers a bit ruffled.
“You lost weight, didn’t you?” you ask with increasing desperation.
“Nope,” says my website, “I didn’t shrink my font.”
“I knew it!” you exclaim in a momentary flash of flawed deductive brilliance. “So you GAINED weight.”
This is when my website slaps you. Or rather, it’s when it CTRL-Slaps you.
I have not changed the layout, nor have I altered the font, nor have I decreased the amount of wisdom in the content, dear reader; in fact, the Wisdom Factory is at full crank now. Instead, I have improved your reading experience by removing the intrusive ad-bar at the top of the page.
That’s right—I’ve given the proverbial middle finger to the ad-bar and to the establishment by paying for ad-free Blogspot. Because, you know, nothing screams anti-establishment like shelling out fifteen quid to a faceless corporation.