Ellen Page: The Cheese to Every Lesbian's Macaroni

“And I am young, yes. But what I have learned is that love - the beauty of it, the joy of it and yes even the pain of it - is the most incredible gift to give and to receive as a human being. And we deserve to experience love, fully, equally, without shame and without compromise.”

Ellen Page has emerged from the closet that comforts so many homosexuals who are afraid of the brutality of the outside world. And what better day to do so than Valentine's Day? Speaking for around eight minutes, Ellen's voice shakes the closer she comes to revealing to the public that she actually prefers women over Michael Cera. Juno fans will now go back to memories of scenes from the movie and constantly freak out during each predominant heterosexual scene, and wonder how Ellen went for so long without revealing her true self. But hey, I really honour her for what she has done.

While she thinks that she has just come out of the closet in front of hundreds of people, and later, Tumblr, Ellen has actually made the grief of coming out much easier for those who have, or are yet to. Coming out is by far the most difficult stage of a homosexual's life, simply because some heterosexuals enjoy their form of intimacy so much that they will not allow any modification of it, especially that between a man and a man, or a woman and a woman.

In fact, it is quite appalling that a high number of bullying problems and suicides are because of society's rejection of someone's sexual preference. So many teenagers find it difficult to educationally thrive because there are other students out there who target these teenagers because of their preference of the same gender. And why should it matter? Why should our preferences define who we are? It should not. As humans, we should be allowed to live equally among one another. If Bob wants a chocolate-coated donut and you prefer the strawberry-coated ones, then enjoy your strawberry-coated donuts while Bob enjoys his chocolate-coated ones. The worst thing about this situation is you wanting chocolate-coated donuts and watching the last one enter Bob's mouth, in which case I will condone your hatred of Bob. Other than that, though, Bob has not judged you on your donut preference, and nor should you with his. Let Bob have his chocolate-coated donuts.

This is the same way with sexual preference. I would rather people completely oppressing necrophiliacs against necrophilia for obvious reasons, rather than oppressing someone like Ellen Page from her sexual preference. I would rather those who come out of the closet after they have had kids and a somewhat successful marriage, to have come out before the marriage so that their wives or husbands and children do not have to go through the strangeness of sudden change, not that homosexuality is strange at all. In fact, my personal argument has always been that if there really was a God, and he hated homosexuality so much, then he would make it totally physically impossible for homosexuals of either gender to firstly fall for one another, and them fornicate.

I really do not know. Existence is strange, reality is strange, are we even real? All I really know is that I live and let live, within a certain extent, that is to reiterate that I do not condone necrophilia. Let people consume their preferred donut flavors. 

Wolf Creek

True events that have occurred close to the home of someone who hears of those events makes one feel quite uneasy. That is the case with me, when I viewed Wolf Creek.

It is unsettling to hear about something rather random and vicious happen in my vicinity, my vicinity being any place within Australia. Though it happened near Queensland, it can happen anywhere, especially considering it happened in the outback and most of Australia is made up of the outback. I cannot fathom exactly why Ivan Milat, the 'backpack killer' who inspired the creation of Wolf Creek would want to kill anybody in the first place. How he can sleep, eat, drink, or keep a straight face in public goes far beyond my knowledge.

Though Wolf Creek was 'based' on true events, it certainly somewhat mimicked what the victims of Ivan Milat would have gone through - tortuous pain, ongoing suffering and constant fear, until death. What had motivated Ivan, though? Why did he kill over seven backpackers? The most interesting question, though, would be that why is it that each body was found face down, hands bound and covered with sticks and ferns making a pyramid shape? And why is it that he was released after having abducted two women prior to his serial killings? Could these murders have been avoided if he had been punished for those abductions?

I am still not comforted in the fact that Ivan Milat is in jail, serving seven life sentences. What is a jail to a criminal? A haven of safety? Meals provided daily, exercising equipment, the ability to roam within the barbed wires, freedom within boundaries. And now, he is in a maximum security prison due to being attacked by fellow inmates. He severed one of his fingers with a plastic knife, tried to commit suicide on various occasions by swallowing razorblades, staples and other metal objects, and had starved himself until he lost twenty-five kilograms in an attempt to protest to have a Playstation. 

Motive, though, motive is what attacks my thought process whenever I hear of a murder. Most murderers have motives, and when the motive is known, the crime can ease off minds of people at a faster rate than motives unknown, because unknown motives call for questioning. If a murderer's motive is known, it would be slightly easier to spot a possible killer, due to them having similar motives. Revealing one's motive also reveals a part of their psyche, a part that shows the general public what drives them, what steers them from being a member of the general public to a member of infamous serial killers. I am yet to find Ivan Milat's motives, and I think I will continue to be unsuccessful.

On the case of Wolf Creek, however, I am not too sure whether I should or should not watch the sequel. The first made me feel quite sick, and the second apparently has severed fake body parts that look so real that the police were called to the FX artist's home to investigate the bodies he had made. 

The Wolf of Wall Street: Reminding the Status Quo that they are Sheep

"There we go, that's the attitude. You can sell anything? Sell me this f*cking pen right here. You can sell anything? Sell that. Sell me the pen!"

"Can I finish eating first?"

"Brad, show 'em how it's done. Sell me that pen. Watch, go on."

"I'll sell this f*cking pen?"

"That's my boy right there. He'll f*cking sell anything."

"Could you do me a favour? Write your name down on that napkin for me."

"I don't have a pen."

"Exactly. Supply and demand."

Life is an act. To live is to be, but to live successfully is to act. If there is anything that The Wolf of Wall Street teaches its audience, it is that one cannot live life to their full potential unless one can fool others, full the status quo who think that 'honesty is the best policy'. Newsflash - honesty was a thing of the past, today, if you are not trying to incriminate yourself, you are not winning.

For the entirety of the three hours that is the film's duration, The Wolf of Wall Street convinces its viewers that any career path they have taken is the wrong one, and that becoming a stock broker will be the best decision they will ever make in their life, despite the display of consequences at the end. If its viewers' decisions are not focused on obtaining millions from the rich and not assisting the poor, then its viewers will, after the viewing, feel as though every step they have ever taken has led them to incompetency. It portrays a destructive line of cause and effect, and displays the effects as glamorous, despite how blemished some effects turn out to be.

Jordan Belfort created a legacy for himself. At twenty-two years old, his life turned around when he realised that in order to become wealthy, he must lose all ethics that he once held. His faithfulness towards his wife, his preference to be abstinent with drugs, with sex, with alcohol, it all faded away when he began to earn more money than he thought possible. Soon his sense of acquiring money turned to a sense of acquiring more money, and a personality that would otherwise not have fit in his old self had he not sold himself to thousands of willing people who ended up funding him with his life earnings. To become quite successful, he firstly stole from the poor, and worked his way up Wall Street to dig into the deep, full pockets of the wealthy, and soon had his pockets dug from.

Staggering down from the top, Belfort begins to watch his life spiral before his eyes. Unfortunately, most people, be it if they even lack the success Belfort once had, also experience glimpses of their lives spiralling downwards at some stages of their existences. All of these spirals are sad, and in unison, can create a sense of community. And that is what Belfort had created. He had recruited all those who were experiencing those negative spirals, and he had assisted them in getting themselves out of it, by placing others in there who have less of a chance of drowning. Belfort before this could not swim, but he sure found a good swimming instructor.

The most daunting scene in the movie is the very end, when Belfort became a motivational speaker. He once again tried to level himself with the status quo, and saw that the status quo had no ability to sell him his pen, the act in itself summarising the entire point being made in the movie - if you cannot sell yourself, you cannot be bought. If there is an item on a shelf for a long time, it will collect dust and be thrown out. The Wolf of Wall Street tells the story of liberating one from the supermarket shelf to rise above all other contending brands and be bought by a foolish customer who deemed them more worthy than the others. 

Valentine's Day: Thanks for Nothing, Cupid

I currently do not know what is worse – coming to terms with facing my twenty-second Valentine’s Day without a lover or the fact that my sister is going to have swollen gums due to the surgical removal of her wisdom teeth on a day where love is meant to sprout, also considering she has a number of potential suitors. If I laugh at my sister, I also am laughing in mockery of myself and in how pathetic my love life is, how every time I get close to somebody I always manage to get further away when it is too late to attempt applying band-aids on things that are not aided with band-aids. So what is Valentine’s Day? And why is this horrible-to-singles day still being celebrated?

Valentine’s Day was known as Saint Valentine’s Day, named after a Catholic man named Valentinus, who was imprisoned for performing weddings wherein soldiers who were forbidden to marry, did marry. During Valentinus’ imprisonment, he allegedly healed Asterius’, his jailer’s daughter, and before Valentinus was executed, he wrote a farewell letter to her, signed, ‘Your Valentine’. Saint Valentine allegedly was executed on February the 14^th, and people today commemorate his death by fornicating with other people, and in their much earlier years, sending adorable love letters to others.

A supposed reason as to why Valentine’s Day is celebrated is to lure away Pagans from celebrating Lupercalia, a day dedicated to turn away evil spirits and purify the city wherein Lupercalia is being celebrated. This usually lasts from the 13^th to the 15^th of February. An English fellow, by the name of Geoffrey Chaucer, or his alter-ego ‘the Father of English Literature’, had romanticized Valentine’s Day and ever since then, the 14^th of February was disassociated with cleansing the city, and rather, associated with spraying the city with sticky, courtly love.

In the eighteenth century, England then coined the tradition of making Valentine’s Day an occasion wherein lovers showed love for one another by gift-exchanging things such as flowers, chocolates, greeting cards, and fertility ingredients. Due to this, Supermarkets nowadays are quite successful in selling these things – not fertility ingredients, though, rather fertility ingredient entrapments.

Cupid, then, the God of desire and erotic love, is certainly not to blame for shooting arrows in the wrong direction. This innocent Godly figure is born to shoot arrows in whatever direction he pleases, and whether or not the lovers affected share a mutuality is not his problem. He is seen as an icon on Valentine’s Day, thanks to contemporary culture. Some human had placed the entire burden of unrequited love on this winged figure, and most humans are constantly accusatory towards him. Too bad his beliefs lie in love, otherwise he would have shot people with poison arrows as a form of vengeance.

It is only when I am presented with a bouquet of violets on Valentine’s Day that I shall marry the presenter. For the correct flow to be associated with February the month of love, is the violet, and not the rose. If somebody gifts you a rose, then they most certainly want access to the red bud within you.

So this Valentine’s Day, remember that we could instead by purifying our cities, our selves, the people around us, not shaking our fists at poor Cupid. Cupid means no harm. You cannot ask a train to move swiftly if it does not have tracks in front of it, nor can you ask Cupid to make somebody fall in love with you. And, well, seeing as these twenty-two years have not granted me any form of decent luck, I suppose I shall shake my fist at Cupid for the next twenty-two years. That is not to rule out, though, any form of affection I will possibly receive tomorrow - after all, today only is the 13^th. And as for my unfortunate sister, I suppose she will be shaking two fists at whatever God in charge of  dental surgery.

Salinger's Seclusion

Today I viewed the documentary Salinger, and felt the need to write about this elusive, intelligible figure. This figure who went to hiding after the popularity of his novel, The Catcher in the Rye.

I am yet to read his novel, due to my extensive ‘to-read’ list, and my inability to commit myself to one book at a time – however, it is quite hypocritical that because I cannot read one book at a time, I have not yet read The Catcher in the Rye. I suppose up until the viewing of this documentary, I have not had a reason that compelled me to. Most adolescents have read this novel because of  their school’s English curriculum, and another amount have probably read it out of self interest.

Regardless, I found it quite interesting how Salinger reacted to fame – he despised it. He could not bring himself to enjoy being the role model of many, and would hardly allow himself to enter the public domain. Instead, he seemed to have locked himself away from the world, and surrounded himself with his many words in order to avoid contact with those he feared obsessed with him. I can relate, in that though I am not yet a published author, I too loathe the public domain. I loathe how everyone seems to have their lives organized, their motives in place, and I tend to loiter around, asking for directions but not following them.

I predict that I too may turn into even more of a seclusion addict than Salinger. I mean, the first few months of being potentially famous would be rather awesome, and I would be quite pleased if hundreds of people all around the world can connect to my writing. I would want to get to know some of them, and notify my inner self that there are others out there exactly like me. This would bring me comfort, and I suppose I am one of those people when I read books that I really like. I feel as though the author is talking to me, as though they have some sort of birds-eye-view camera on me constantly, and they know my whereabouts, my preferences, even my inner thoughts. It makes me feel welcomed, safe, accepted, and I would want that feeling to thrive within my future potential fans. Because I know that at one stage of my life, I felt the way they currently feel. And without them, there would be no me, and without his fans, there would be no Salinger.

Salinger is lucky that most of his fans are respectable towards him. Some of them, most of them that work for the press, attempt to cut-off that respect in order to gain a name for themselves, by exploiting Salinger’s seclusion, exposing photographs of him attempted to go about his daily activities whilst avoiding connections. I think the thing that scared Salinger the most was his inability to accept the connection he had sparked with thousands of readers. I think what freaked him out the most was the fact that so many people could relate to him through the reading of The Catcher in the Rye, and he just could not fathom sudden multiple connections, so that made him shut himself off from the world even more. He could not stand his image portrayed on his book covers, he could not stand his photographs being taken, nor could he stand feeling accountable for making people feel as though they are understood by him.

It is quite sad, how he ended up living the rest of his days. How he would perform his errands quickly so as to not be noticed, pointed out. I do not blame him for his elusiveness. It all came quite suddenly, especially after being rejected so many times by the New York Times, his fame just crept up on him and burnt into flames, burning to ash every inch of privacy he once had. I also do not blame his fans. For once, they found something that resonated within them. They were able to meet like-minded people who also were fans of Salinger and his work, and as a new page opened for Salinger, a new page also opened for thousands of other people.

Despite Salinger’s attempt to preserve his legacy until the year 2060, his story collection Three Stories has been leaked onto the internet. Though I am ashamed that this had happened, I also feel a sense of relief, what if I will have lost my memory in the year 2060? At least I would have known that I read Three Stories. On second thought…

Life After Flappy Bird

So it appears that sneaker investments on eBay are not the only things soaring – now, used phones with the game Flappy Bird installed on it are also soaring, soaring less and for more money than Flappy Bird itself had soared through in its small life.

An eBay bid for a white iPhone with Flappy Bird installed on it has rocketed up to ninety-four thousand dollars. Other used phones with the game installed are now being placed on eBay, ranging from four-hundred dollars to almost three-thousand, with one seller asking for ninety-six thousand. The game itself can still be played, only if it is installed on a phone or tablet. The problem is that those who have deleted it can no longer play it, and those who have never played it and now yearn to play it have no choice but to purchase a used phone on eBay, in hopes of getting their own taste of the game that devoured many.

The most fascinating thing about this whole happening is that Dong Nguyen, the creator of this silly game, is allegedly angered at the amount of ‘negative’ popularity his game had reeled in. Mind you, Kim Kardashian was not happy with the negative popularity that her pornographic film had reeled in, yet Kanye West is not fighting to get rid of it. One can imagine how much a phone with the clip of this banned pornographic movie’s cost if it ever were to sell on eBay like Flappy Bird – people would trade in their Nike Air Yeezy II’s, or their very souls.

Taking just three days to make, Flappy Bird was placed on the iPhone market in May 2013, but it gained sudden popularity in January 2014. Conspiracy theories are now placing conspiracy theorists, among the vast majority of amateur eBay investors, in the limelight again, allowing them to make up and spread theories about this happening – some say that Dong took the game down because of it looking like Super Mario Bros, avoiding a possible lawsuit. Some say that Dong took it down as a marketing skit to enhance its downloads before it was taken down, and to prepare his wallet for the second alleged installment of the game. Some are alleging that Dong had manipulated computer bots to download the game and rate it highly In order to bring it up to the top of the download charts quicker.

But Dong says otherwise. “It ruins my life. So now I hate it.” “I cannot take this anymore.” Please, it must be so hard to deal with people in order to make a name for yourself. It must be so hard sitting behind a computer screen, clicking away, and making money. It must be so hard living with the fact that so many teenagers are giving your pixelated bird flight, ever so carefully between green pipes. It must have been so very hard earning fifty-thousand dollars a day from a game that took three days to make. Jesus, Dong, please, by all means, retire and float effervescently into the sunset on your inflatable Flappy Bird piece of merchandise, and paddle yourself to a nearby island with oars made of the money you made, and hide under a big luscious palm tree, away from the social media you sold yourself into, and away from your troubling fans who are doing nothing but installing and “overusing” your game. Be sure next time, that when you release a game, place a ‘DO NOT DOWNLOAD BECAUSE I CANNOT BE BOTHERED DEALING WITH PEOPLE PLAYING MY GAME’ sign beside the download button.

But Dong Nguyen, I would like to send you my personal thanks. Because before your deletion of Flappy Bird, my mindset towards my phone was that it was another piece of utter crap that I would have to abandon somewhere in my bedroom and move on to another phone that would cost me twice as much as it, and that would be worth less than it in another five months time – alas, I mistakingly had downloaded your game, Flappy Bird, thinking that I could beat my sister’s score in it. Now that I have acknowledged that I cannot beat her score-wise, I know that I can beat her financially. She is yet to know of her phone’s value and my phone’s value now that we both still have the game, and in a couple of month’s time when my crappy phone holding your crappy game is sold, I will watch her slowly but surely delete the game she once reveled in, and delete the potential of money she could earn. Thank you for doubting your ability to mentally thrive with a daily income of fifty-thousand dollars. My future profession will give me that much in a whole year, so I can understand how getting all of that money in just one day could impact negatively on me and my life and the life of all of those that I know! Now that you know what it like to earn fifty-thousand dollars in a day, you could probably remind Jay Z in a vivid manner what fifty-thousand dollars is to a person like him.

I think the world owes an apology to Dong Nguyen, for giving his game attention and giving him a lot of money. On behalf of the world, I would like to apologize for making you and your game excessively popular with its constant crushing of our egos. I would also like to apologize for being part of the reason why you will never know of poverty again. Sorry for pressing ‘install’. I will be sure not to next time I see a game developed by you. Also, thank you for the increasing valuation of my crappy Samsung Galaxy s2.

Outrageous Sneaker Investments

I am one for the gathering of unique, prestigious items crafted by both nature and mankind. You may think me a hoarder, however 'collector' would be a more accurate description. A collector with a hint of hoarding.

Three nights ago, I came to leave the shopping centre at around midnight, after having seen the new Paranormal Activity movie, The Marked Ones. On my way out I passed a skateboard shop, and saw a group of teenagers camping outside of it. Upon asking them what they were waiting for, one replied, "the Nike SB and Diamond collaboration Dunk High, Tiffanys!" As a fellow sneaker-head, I understand that I am a shame to the community to not know what they were. "Look for them on eBay tomorrow!" I had wondered, until today, what the boy meant by that statement.

It has come to my attention as of late that the Nike Air Yeezy II's in Solar Red had been released on a random past Saturday, the lucky customers being those who had paid succinct attention to the social media monstrosity that is Twitter - hence, these lucky customers have found themselves, within the span of a mere eleven minutes, and for the original retail price, below three-hundred dollars, the owners of the most exclusive sneakers of 2014, co-designed by Yeezus himself, Kanye West.

These lucky customers have not only bought an exclusive pair of sneakers, but have bought their way into a nasty possibility, a possibility that would shake and destroy the very worlds of customers who missed out on these eleven minutes, and that is, eBay investing. Instead of leaving the sneakers for true wearers to purchase, these mongrels have decided to make over ten times the amount they paid for them. And us true wearers have no choice but to be envious and yearning.

In fact, one man in particular who had put his pair up for auction had firstly, after two hours of the listing, received over four-hundred thousand dollars, and later, sixteen million dollars. Yes, sixteen million coins-worth of a bid. It appears as though somebody out there in the world knows my wanting of these sneakers, and to spite me, pushed them far beyond my reach, or the reach of Victoria, collectively.

My blood boils a color deeper than the redness of the sneaker itself. These people have sprawled their money all over real estate, all over cars, all over houses and mansions, and now all over my top passion. Now, I will never know the feeling of placing my anticipating feet into the mouth of an Air Yeezy II, I will never experience how it would feel walking around on the puffy soles, let alone be an owner of one. The minimum price of one now? Around four-thousand dollars. Still out of my financial reach. In fact, if money trees existed, I would have needed an entire plantation.

Whether or not that sixteen million dollar bid is real, I am ashamed. Ashamed in Nike for selling a limited amount of these sneakers. Ashamed in investors buying them. Ashamed in true wearers buying them but turning into investors. Ashamed in my lack of interest in Twitter, my one beacon of sneaker hope. Ashamed in the fact that my toes will never penetrate what my eyes desire.