And they lived happily every after. The End.

Well, monkeybirds, it's been quite a trip. I'd type my fingers right off if I were to try to tell you everything this blog has done to help me discover myself and grow as a person. Like all good things, though, it must come to an end, and I've let it go on much long enough without putting a proper finish on it.

So here's to you, all you who've read my blog: you've been great, babes, real top-notch. I couldn't have asked for a better group of readers for my debut into the writing world. Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies, and I hope we can look back at the crazy things we've shared with fondness and laughter.

xo Lassin Sayne

Lady Gaga (What Else Is There to Say?)

Since upon seeing this Lady Gaga photo I've had the following conversation, in one form or another, with myself.

LASSIN SAYNE: Wuzzah? I don't even know what to say. She looks insane. (Heh, I guess the world is in working order.)

LASSIN SAYNE'S BRAIN: PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Not sure I want to go with the obvious "E.T. phone home" joke here . . .

LSB: Pancake. Hair.

LS: Lady Gaga joins the Justice League, incapacitating enemies with the blinding combination of her hair and outfits . . . nah, that's kinda tragically hacky . . .

LSB: PANCAKE HAIR PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Hottest new skein-o-yarn hair accessory in case a frantic knitting tournament erupts in the middle of her interview?

LSB: PAAAAANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Her hair stylist was viciously craving a jelly donut?

LSB: PANCAKE HAAAAAIR.

LS: Gah, it's hypnotic in its monstrosity; I can't think of what to say. Sometimes there just aren't words.

LSB: I CAN THINK OF TWO WORDS THAT WOULD FIT QUITE NICELY.



P.S. I actually had this post done yesterday, but the only computer I had access to wouldn't let me operate Blogger. Sorry about that.

. . . Boys Go to Jupiter to Get More Stupider

A long-disputed and highly controversial subject in our society is the question of whether males or females are the superior gender. I am here to tell you that, without question, it is most definitely the latter. Three facts that prove girls are better than boys beyond a shadow of a doubt are that they are more highly esteemed as models, are more determined to look good, and make better mothers.

If there’s one thing modern America has taught us, it’s that models are a more evolved subspecies of humans, and we should all want to be like them. Naturally, one could infer from this that if a person were easily recognizable as a model, he or she would be the best of the best – the ultimate Homo superior, if you will. Now, if I were to ask you who Tyra Banks is, you’d probably answer “the host of America’s Next Top Model” or “that chick on Sport’s Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition,” depending on if you’re a girl or boy. Simply, I’m sure you would be able to identify her as a model. However, if I were to ask you to tell me who Travis Fimmel is, could you? Is the name ringing any bells? Well, Fimmel is currently ranked the number one male model in the world. My point in this demonstration is, of course, that in putting two allegedly famous models together, a female and a male, you only knew of the former. If, indeed, a model is a sign of excellence, then men have been made Mercury to women’s Jupiter.

On a similar note, women tend to go to greater lengths to present themselves in a more attractive manner. It’s a proven fact that attractive people are more successful in life than their average counterparts. Though at first glance the average woman spending $471 a year on beauty products compared to Joe Sixpack’s $198 may seem wasteful, in the long run it will actually allow her a better shot at a well-paying job. This not only makes females smarter for a larger initial investment in appearance, but also ultimately more successful. Although it is true that things like the addition or absence of floral scents from shaving cream make such stark differences in the figures mentioned before, you have to ask yourself the question: Wouldn’t I be more receptive to someone who smelled like roses? Wouldn’t I be coerced more willingly into a pointless purchase if I was satisfied in matters of olfaction? I think you’ll find that the answer is yes, yes you would be.

Of course, nothing measures success like good mothering. Although all of us need to be told to wipe the blood from our lips and man-up when we get into trouble, there is also that small and irrational part of our psyche that wishes to be comforted when we’re in pain. And let’s face it – although Dad was great slapping that cold steak on your eye the first time you got whapped with a baseball, he isn’t gonna be there to rub your feet and feed you chicken broth when you have the sniffles. A very important part of child development is TLC. It’s what trains us to value negotiation over brute force; what keeps us in check all those years down the road when that that kid in our Algebra class won’t stop talking about his new video game and our pencil is poised to strike. When you get down to it, mothers are the only ones who can offer that ever-so-important tender, loving care. They’re the ones who’ll wear the luridly flowered aprons and cook the slightly-burned bacon that make a house feel like home. They’ll never tell you the truth about your school photos, and always compliment your English essays. You’re your mommy’s googly-bear, her snuffle-dove. Honestly, Pops will never hit that level of endearing smothering, no matter how hard he tries . . . unless he’s Clay Aiken, but I shouldn’t get into that now.

Being a decent human being, of course, I believe that both genders must have equal representation under the law, but I think we can all agree that when we strip bare the pillar of humanity, doing away with sociopolitical nuances and attitudes, women leave men in the dust. But don’t worry boys – if there’s anything people like Chris Crocker have been a shining example of, it’s that you can shed that cumbersome coat of masculinity and release your inner diva.

"Loving the Alien"

"Leonard Nimoy’s quizzically handsome, slightly inscrutable, deep-voiced Vulcan Spock -- a man so arch he had permanent raised eyebrows -- was . . . [a] kind of missing link between the British TV alien time traveler Doctor Who (who debuted in 1963) and Yoda, Spock, the Vulcan with the ears of an elf, the bangs of a mid-'60s turtlenecked nightclub dandy, and the manners of an extraterrestrial Zen guru, was, symbolically speaking, humanity “evolved” into a creature of ultimate, impeccable logic and wisdom. Of course, such perfection isn’t really attainable, or even necessarily desirable, which is why the flaw in Spock’s nature, his human side -- the bits of emotion that niggled away at his placid demeanor -- were what made him sympathetic. Yet within the temperamentally integrated rainbow coalition that was the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Spock, the suavely rational brain man, represented something new: the coming of geek chic." -- 'Star Trek': Why Spock is cooler than ever by Owen Gleiberman

"Chibi Spock" by aurorblackcat on DeviantArt

I have a new and ever-growing love for Mr. Spock. Some ask me, "But why Spock? Why Spock?! The ears, the ears!" To that I say, "Hm, nyah -- shuddup, I can't hear the TOS episode over your yapping." I can understand how some might not find Spock attractive: Leonard Nimoy (the actor who played Spock -- the original Spock, the real Spock, thankyouverymuch, Zachary Quinto) is not conventionally handsome, by any means; he's an indifferent character, ostensibly incapable of showing emotion; in the same vein, he's acutely logical, possessing such an unyielding sense of rational -- completely untainted by feeling -- as to make him seem cold and perhaps even cruel; and let's not forget the ears and eyebrows. However, I think it's crystal clear why Spock is so mind-numbingly attractive. And I will share that knowledge with you. You're welcome.


Seeing as how this is the biggest and most obvious reason for Spock's appeal, I'll get it over with right off the bat: The man (Vulcan?) could out-think Einstein any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Our boy Spocky is an intelligent little thing. He's served as a Science Officer under two captains, in addition to First Officer under one. With a brain that vast, you'd never be intellectually bored. Such dedication to bettering one's mind shows a sense of commitment and passion, both of which as hugely important factors to Teh Appeal.


Spock is notorious for his ostensible incapability to display emotion. Given that, if he ever told you he loved you, he'd really have to frickin' mean it. All the females I know need that sense of sincerity behind a declaration of love, which Spock is more than able to provide.


Spoiler alert (from 27 years ago)! In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock dies while saving the Enterprise from the Genesis Device which Khan had activated to destroy it. He ultimately saves the ship by restoring its power, but dies from the radiation released by the damaged warp drive. In the funeral held by the crew, Spock's body is shot into space . . . eventually landing on the Genesis planet, which converts his body so that he is once again a (living) baby. Moral of the story: Not even death will do you part -- Spock can love you forever.


Although he is often presented as gentle and reserved, Spock contains an arsenal of wow-worthy physical abilities. Never mind heightened strength, stamina, and agility, he can incapacitate someone by pinching one's neck! That is very nearly a superpower. How. Freaking. Awesome.


Despite the fact that it will likely require a bit of coercive maneuvers on his will and body, Spock will sing a beautiful, tantalizing, elegiac melody for you. In addition to his vocal talents, he is also a master of the piano and Vulcan lute. Haven't you always wanted a strong and silent alien hybrid to sing you to sleep? I know I have.

Spock has the capacity (and sometimes the desire) to share thoughts, emotions, and knowledge with other individuals through no more than the act of sticking his fingers on your face. He can do this with two hands or one hand. Do you know what this could entail? Telling you just what he thinks of you in that dress without any insulted and disturbed glances from passerbys. Knowing not only that it's not "nothing," but the exact "something" that's made you mad. It would be an endless mindscrew and utterly amazing. I have no shame in admitting that he can Vulcan mind-meld me to his heart's content anytime he wants.


In essence, Spock is a bold and confident man, and will easily go where no other has gone before. He takes on the Horta when Kirk proves to be too much of a latent, emasculated girly-man. His dangerous and cunning alter ego can attractively wear facial hair. He made out with a hot nurse on a chaise lounge. He has, time and time again, shown himself to be a man of poise and assertiveness. Given the utter confidence he places in the risks he takes, I wouldn't mind entrusting my heart to him. And should that ever prove to be a mistake, I have the trust in knowing that he is, and always will be, my friend.




P.S. Sorry for not getting this up yesterday -- would you believe I actually just plain forgot? Yeesh, I feel stupid. :P

Ch-ch-ch-changes for Teh Blog

1) Summertime has come into my life. The school year has ended, and I'm a free women -- until the 22nd, when I start up an intense French 101 course at my local community college. That aside, I've come to realize that, with my days being so freed up without the burden of a regular school schedule, I should probably get more on top of doing regular blog posts (And there was much rejoicing . . . Yay! Yay!). I won't promise anything, because that's never worked in the past (oops -- *wrist slap*), but I'm earnestly going to try to update twice a week: Mondays and Thursdays around 3 am GMT.

2) I run short on ideas. That hampers my ability to produce blogs that will satisfy my perfectionism and amuse/provoke thoughtfulness in you. That being said: PLEASE TELL ME TOPICS YOU'D LIKE ME TO WRITE ABOUT. Please, please, please make a comment with any and all ideas you have for a post, either with your Blogger account or anonymously. This will make it easier for me to turn out fast and quality work (you might be surprised with the amount of time it takes to formulate and shape an idea), as well as providing an opportunity for you to get what you want out of this blog.

With that, I sign off. I love my readers, all one and a half of you!

Superficial or Decisive?

I am a staunch subscriber to the idea that beauty if in the eye of the beholder. If someone were to ask me my biggest celebrity crushes right now I would say Robert Downey, Jr. and David Bowie; I think the most attractive women in Hollywood are Rachel Weisz and Gwyneth Paltrow. I've had people comment before on how there seems to be a discontinuity in my perception of beauty, and this is because my attraction to someone has very little to do with physical appearance, and almost everything to do with personality and what that entails. (Click here for a more complete entry on what I find attractive.)

Given that, take everything I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt. I've had a request to do a post on what I find attractive on the basest of levels, all ethics and interaction aside.


Onward and forward:

Males: I love men with large eyes. Shining, clear pools that draw you immediately to them without dominating the face. Blue eyes, especially -- I watch shows from the BBC with my family, and -- So. Many. People. Have. Blue. Eyes. Gah! It's like stealing a piece of heaven every time someone looks at the camera. I don't particularly care if a guy shapes his brows, as long as it's not too obvious.

The color of hair doesn't matter nearly as much as the cut, though I have found myself partial to blonds and medium-browns.

I couldn't find very good photos (the one on the top-left is especially crap), but David Bowie has the most gorgeous hair in the world -- just take my word for it.

It's very hard to say what I find handsome in a face, because so much of it has to do with disposition and character. However, I do like strong bone structure -- high cheekbones, squared jaw. A nice smile is certainly attractive, though I've realized that I don't particularly like full lips on a man; average, maybe even a little thin, is very nice. Dimples are adorable. I consider a straight or slightly aquiline nose preferable. Clear skin, of course, is very important, and I love it pale or lightly tanned, which I know sets me far apart from Hollywood's standard of beauty.

I'm not into a built up body on a man. I, like other girls I know, enjoy a lithe and lightly-muscled physique. The chest is most important, then arms, then legs, then abs. I find broad shoulders and tall frame attractive, but that's just because I'm relatively tall myself.

The big question, of course, is body hair. I am a huge supporter of men keeping their body hair, drawing the line at bear-like chest carpets and back hair. As I've mentioned on this blog before, chest hair can be extremely alluring in that I-am-man kind of way.

Females: My views of female beauty differ greatly from that of male. I'm not sure why, but I find very petite women with large eyes, full lips, and understated curves to be very beautiful (in a totally objective way, you understand).

I like dark hazels and dark browns best on women, which is odd because I'm usually adverse to brown eyes on men, and am most attracted to light eye colors. I've also come to appreciate females who have light or medium tans. I definitely prefer brunettes (ignore the weirdness of this statement, please), which is also strange because I like very few shades of brown on men.

In another category altogether, I'm fascinated by African women. I don't really know what, exactly, I find so beautiful about them. I think it has to do with the fact that their features can be so drastically different than the Caucasians I'm used to, and their skin so very dark. I was surprised when I realized this about myself, as I'm only ever attracted to men of European descent.

Obviously, my section of females will be shorter, and I don't make a point of dallying on the rainbow road.


Hope you enjoyed reading my perspective on physical appearance. If you agree or disagree with me I'd love for you to comment, even if you aren't on Blogger -- anonymous commenting is enabled. I find the human form a marvelous work of art, and I love discussing it (in an appreciatively objective way ;-) ).

Ciao.

Let's Face It, Bella Swan: You're Gonna Get Stuck With Eric

I find it tremendously funny how our culture has entered into a mindset for romance. It used to be that two characters who fell in love stood in similar lights in the eyes of society. I've come to realize, however, that this paradigm has shifted: We now create stories in which a mildly pretty, mature, sweet but sarcastic, intelligent girl -- who, though liked well enough by the majority, is no less considered strange -- lands the hero whom all the females desire.

Now, in principle, I don't have a huge problem with this. A writer myself, I understand that sometimes you need to appeal to the strongest base of readers (i.e. insecure teeny-boppers with hopelessly romantic spirits), but it's gotten to the point where I have to wonder: Are you even writing this for an audience anymore? While it's true that fiction (be it in a movie, book, or otherwise) is escapism, and therefore must, by and large, offer appealing scenarios, I think we've come to the point where we've not only surpassed "too much of a good thing," but dragged it into an alley kicking and screaming and brutally beat it to death with a two-by-four just to steal its lunch money.

NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!

It seems to me that no self-respecting artist would continue to play on such a vaguely grating cliche unless they themselves have a personal investment in the story.

There's a fine line between unrealistic and fantasy escapism. One thing I've come to realize in my years of reading and writing is that authors are supposed to appeal to emotions, not (necessarily) situations. Simply put, you want the characters to act like real people even if they aren't in the same positions as them. (Your heroine is a rock star-by-day, vampire-by-night, polyglot psychoanalyst studying for her Master's at Cambridge? Fine, but does she eat a bowl of ice cream and cry over 10 Things I Hate About You when her boyfriend dumps her? Lovely, moving on.)

Let's be frank(er) for a moment: There is no way, in this world or the next, that a passably attractive, kind, academically-minded girl with an affinity for Native American tribal masks is going to wind up dating the quarterback, so let's stop pretending. There's sympathetic and there's insulting, and continuously shoving this plot down our throats consistently falls into the latter.

What I've come to believe is that, as very clearly illustrated in books such as Twilight, the writer places him- or herself into the story as the protagonist, and we're pulled through all the experiences and fantasies that could never be lived out in the real world. If this is the case: Come on people, this is pathetic. We're supposed to keep insecure delusions locked up with the princess owns form our fifth birthday.

Yes, yes -- Edward only ignored Bella because he was badly in love with her. Heheh, that's right -- right. The football captain just loved Stepheni e -- he was madly, possessively, dangerously in love with her! That's why he always glared at her in biology . . . *le sob*

How it would really go:

DaBo says: Don't believe the lies. Hot people date hot people, ugly people date ugly people, and never the twain shall meet.

Mariah stared at him through the hazy glow of the setting sun. Everything seemed perfect, somehow, despite what she had been feeling earlier. The fluid pull of his muscles as he ran, the hard look of content concentration on his face . . . she hardly knew him, and yet, she felt like everything important had already been revealed to her. AP History with Anthony had shown Mariah that jocks could have brains. She was m omentarily distracted as he ran a hand through his glistening raven hair. It was unfair, she mused, that someone should be blessed with such a heady meld of body and mind such as he.

Tentatively, Mariah stood from her spot on the bleachers and walked toward the parking lot, careful to be quiet. She wasn't sure she could live down having Anthony catch her watching him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mariah froze, her breath leaving her in a whoosh of trepidation and excitement. That voice -- his voice. She turned slowly, heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with him -- brown on green. His full lips pulled apart to reveal a beautifully lopsided smile.

"Aren't you in history with me?"

She nodded wordlessly, the ability to speak running off with her racing heart. He stepped closer now, and she could smell the earth and sweat on him, mixing seamlessly with his innate masculinity.

Her back was against the wall now, his face mere inches from hers. She clutched her books tightly to her chest, lips parted and eyes heavy as her breath came in rapid spurts.

"Mariah, right, I knew I knew you! We're doing that assignment together, yeah?"

Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as she tried to process why his lips hadn't connected with hers yet.

"Right, right. Hey, look, I promised my girlfriend that I'd take her out tonight, but I can't if I have to do that paper thing, so I was wondering if maybe you could do my part for me, yeah? I don't wanna make my angel mad." He flashed another diamond-dusted grin.

"Guh-I-ummmm . . ."

"Sweet! Thank you so much!"

"Buh . . . wah -- no?" She tried to form a coherent sentence as her eyes assessed his retreating form.

"Catch ya later, bookworm!"

"Wait! No, I can't do that! I have piano --" Her exclamations were cut short as the passing cheerleading squad knocked her down, kicking her into the wall in their oblivious excitement and haste.

The darkness closed in as shouts of "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?!" drew tears from her eyes.