iCrap

With the release of the iPhone today (and all the HYPE! surrounding it), I'm bracing myself for some serious iBacklash.

It means something that I feel dirty for just typing the word iPhone. I think I need to go take a shower and scrub myself all over with my free (with new 2-year contract) Verizon cellphone.

I've kind of guessed that iBacklash is on the way -- what with the iPod's fast rise to popularity and the overall brand gaining a growing share of the electronics market.

What's happening is the indie/emo/artsy original Apple-philes are starting to get pissed off. Their spidey senses have been telling them for a while now that the unwashed masses are dying to get their dirty little paws on those pristine white (or black) Apple gadgets. Once YOU, the public, have jumped on what used to be an "Indie-only" bandwagon, that once hott item or band or movie is No Longer Hott (except Indie kids don't say "hott," especially with two ts).

That's about the time they come up with a lame-ass excuse for changing their minds that sounds even more Indie than the original trend.

"No, I don't drink coffee at Starbucks anymore. I've seen you there every morning for the past week. You make the line longer and your very presence takes the store's Cool rating down at least 10 notches. I used to be alone in my love of coffee shops; it sucks that you like them too. You smell and I hate you ... Um ... I mean ... I can't stand the corporateness of it all and want to Stick It To The Man by refusing to drink his stupid classist coffee!"

Other irate iBacklashers are holier-than-thou types: "How DARE you pay that much for technology when the third world doesn't even have regular coffee shops, let alone Starbucks!"

Another common sentiment is that waiting in line for 12 hours (or more) for something like an iPhone is just pathetic. "What kills me is that most of them are grown people!" said one woman I overheard at a coffee shop today (not Starbucks, but it was a chain store).

So is iBacklash it's own phenomenon yet? I tested my theory by checking for anti-iPhone Facebook groups. Turns out there are several anti-iPhone groups so far. My personal fave is "Any iPhone I see is going to be in a body of water within 10 minutes."

There are still far more Apple-lovers out there than Apple-haters, so I think I'm just in time to claim that I'm predicting the trend.

I call I-told-you-so rights here and now for predicting a strong wave of iBacklash in the near future. Support me by joining my Facebook group of the same name. I accept both Paypal and Starbucks gift cards.

Also check my iPhone listing on ebay.
(A longer, sanitized version of this post was published in some SNP newspapers)

Luddites Unite!

The other day my friend accused me of being "anti-technology." This was an unfounded claim.

Just because I may have fit in well with 17th century mill burners doesn’t mean I’m out to destroy Microsoft.
And, yeah, so I’ve lived in Amish country. But that’s only because I like beards and handmade furniture.

I also pointed out the existence of this blog as evidence in my favor. He seemed to think this was merely an ironic twist in my personality and not actual proof.

Me: I love technology!
Him: Lies, all lies.
Me: Yeah, you’re right. You found me out. Damn Eli Whitney. The cotton gin was the worst thing that ever happened to America.

Which just goes to prove two inescapable and universal truths:

1) Although you may like to have sex on the kitchen floor, people will still accuse you of being a prude.
2) I will be WAY better off than most of our technologically dependent citizens when the Artificial Intelligence takeover happens. Good luck, suckers.

Paris Schmaris

Once upon a time ...

The Hott Sisters knew a girl named Paris. No, they don't remember her last name. All they do remember is that they hated her. Here's why:

1) Who names their kid after a city? I swear she had a younger brother named Cairo. Or Rome. Whatever.
2) She could sing. The Hott Sisters can sing, too, of course, but Paris got asked to sing more.
3) She was pretty. She was also brunette and exotic looking which rules out any chance that she could be at all related to crazy daisy Paris H.

We always knew that anyone named Paris must be evil. This notion was confirmed when the Hott Sisters started watching Gilmore Girls.

This notion was destroyed when formerly evil Paris Gellar broke down and we realized she wasn't so bad, after all.

Paris Gellar was blond. And smart.
Damn.

The Hott Sisters hate it when the dumb GG writers ruin everything, like when they freaking LEFT the show at the end of season 6. Way to kill off your own pièce de résistance, Amy Sherman Palladino.

I hate you and all the Parises in the world.

Threequel: a dirtier word than "threesome"?

In the fall of 2004, I wrote a paper that began thusly (and hopefully the use of the word “thusly” has recaptured your wavering attention after the word “paper”):

“Movie critics everywhere called the summer of 2003 ‘The Summer of Sequels.’ But the summer of 2004 has better waved the sequel banner than any other season in recent memory.”

I guess, in 2004, I thought I was Roger Ebert.
Anyway, for those that slept through those two years, 2004 was the summer of The Whole Ten Yards, Kill Bill vol. 2, Shrek 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Chronicles of Riddick, Napoleon Dynamite (okay, okay, not a sequel; weird instant cult classics are worth mentioning, though), Spider-man 2, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Princess Diaries 2. Also, Attack of the Virgin Mummies. And although I can’t remember what sequels 2003 featured, I am too lazy to look them up. So just know that Roger Ebert himself thought that the 2004 sequels were better than those of 2003.

But “threequel” wasn’t even really a word until a month ago. And in the next two seconds I will prove that it doesn’t mean a thing. Are you ready?

Live Free or Die Hard.

Not a sequel, not a “threequel” (aka “pirate, bourne, shrek, or spider-man movie”), and not even a FIVEQUEL. It’s Bruce Willis, plenty of shooting, and the best explosions you’ll see all year. It’s Die Hard 4, baby. Apparently if it’s anything like the previous three, it will “blow you through the back wall of the theater.” Yippee-ki-yay.

However, just because every other movie is going to have to swallow John McClane’s dust, doesn’t mean there’s no hope for our swaggering, angst-ridden, ogre assassins. Au contraire! There’s this thing in Hollywood called trilogy and as long as you can stop while the stopping is good, quit while you’re ahead, and basically not become George Lucas, you’ll be just fine.

Plus, no matter what, you’re bound to do better than Attack of the Virgin Mummies. Take heart.

--Trixie Jean

Note: This is labeled as being by lmarie beacuse she challenged Trixie Jean to write a post with the title above. TJ, per usual, surpassed all expectations -- lmarie

Flatware gaffs

Was watching The Gladiator not too long ago...
Show of hands, please. Who here buys that Russell Crowe and his 1st century buddies used SPOONS to eat the gruel that makes them lean, mean fighting machines? Anyone?

Didn't think so. Get serious, production design.

Men that deadly would have used their super-muscular man-paws to eat their chow. Or they would have used their jaws of doom to slurp it, slurp it good.

...
I'm noticing a trend. Apparently, kitchen utensils matter a great deal to me.

Pass me a spork, George

We here at Hott find nothing more disturbing to watch than celebrity couples.

Ok, we confess. It's disturbingly fun -- not as much like watching a train wreck as they always say. More like watching the hottest boy in school sing on stage at the talent show with his fly down. Classic.

Yes, some are fun: K-Fed turned Fed-Ex was my favorite one this year. Then he made that amazingly self-depreciating commercial. It was like "Whoah, either this guy understands that his true life calling is scooping fries or he's too dumb to get the simple 'Life come at you fast' slogan."

And some of them stay together: Julia Roberts and whatever that guy's name is. Lucky bum married Julia Roberts, got her knocked up with twins(!), and managed to magic (tm) them out of Tabloid-land forever. It's every celebrity's dream come true!

Then there are the couples that make you ask the nearest person for a sharp implement with which you can mutilate/maim/gag yourself/poke and scoop out your eyeballs.

Here are
Hott's Top 5 Celebrity Couples!
(that make you want to hurt yourself in order to take away the pain of seeing the mess unfold)

5) Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore
Just Ew. That's all Hott has to say about a terrible actor and his older-woman fetish. And now he might have gotten her pregnant? Even more gross.

4) Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson
This Hott Sister really doesn't know enough about this couple, and frankly, is so disgusted she doesn't want to find out more. It's true that in a recent Rolling Stone interview, the Fallout Boy bassist denied that he's anything more than friends with the younger Simpson sister. There was a late-April sighting of them holding hands, though, so that has to count for something, right? Anyway, pop-rock's current king deserves better, no matter how many tweeny-boppers so LuV his mUsIC, like OMG!

3) Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes
The “Tom” of TomKat has proved repeatedly that he is certifiable (can we say Oprah?). I don't doubt for a hott second the tabloid rumors that he's practically holding Kat and kitten hostage. Run home to Toledo, kitty Kat! There's no place like Ohio to save you from Wicked Witch Tom!

2) John Mayer and Jessica Simpson
How did the frog-mouthed wonder get the hott girl? Yes, his voice is beautiful and buttery-smooth – so smooth certain Hott writers have expressed a dark desire to be coated in that voice. Any and all attraction to the man ceased as soon as we saw his mouth's disturbing intimacy with a microphone during a televised performance. Please, John, save it for behind closed doors!And Simpson? Not as cute and innocent as she once was. I don't even WANT to think about that mouth has done to her behind said closed doors. *shudder*

1) George Clooney and Pamela Anderson
The possibility that this rumor could be true completely spoiled my pop culture blog appetite for a week. You're beautiful, George. You've played Julia Roberts love interest. You're tied with Brad Pitt for number of times you've been named Sexiest Man Alive. Don't give that all up. Please. And NEVER ditch your bachelorhood and your bet with Hollywood A-listers for some washed-up, ancient beach babe. Just because she's actually six years younger than you doesn't mean that she's not OLD and disgusting.
One word more: RUN.

Any couples we forgot? E-mail us at HottSisterBlog (at) gmail (dot) com.

Bowling for Sparta

Bowling for Sparta

My sister used have a friend that screamed, “REMEMBER THE ALAMO!” whenever he bowled. No, I don’t know why he did this; he was her friend and not mine. Even more perplexing is a) no one remembers the Alamo anyway, and b) war cries are not typically heard in bowling alleys.
But why not? I’m not a very talented bowler myself and every time I bowl I feel like I’m going to battle. Me vs. The Pins. There’s ten of them and only one of me. I only get two shots at them, too, from a significant distance. Basically, the odds are comparable to the entire plot of the movie “300.” Which got me thinking.
And so…without further ado…that new summer blockbuster…
Bowling 300.
My brother is the star. Except he’s significantly bulkier and partially naked. He’s also got a wife who is equally bulky and equally naked. My sister and I are there, too, except I am male and wielding a giant spear. My sister has an eye-patch (not sure why.) It is our job to yell “SPARTA!” whenever we feel like it or, if we’re really feeling adventurous, “GLORY!”
Now, we could shoot this in a bowling alley. But NO! We film this whole experience on, say, a submarine. And then we CG the bowling alley in later. Why do we do this, you ask? Foolish mortals. In Sparta, that’s the kind of thing that we’re about.
So my brother steps up to bowl. His bowling ball is made of some magical metallic substance that could withstand the force of an atomic bomb. Despite being 16, he has a thick beard (and wife, remember). He cocks his arm and begins his throw.
Suddenly, everything goes into slow motion. He opens his mouth and yells “WWWWHAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” His foot majestically pounds the wood of the lane. Ten million bowling pins stand, facing him, the army of darkness.
He releases. The ball spins in midair.
A shot of me and Lisa: “SPARTA!”
A shot of his sexy wife, letting herself get raped over by the Dance Dance Revolution game (again, not sure why).
The ball continues to spin in midair.
Then it thunders down the alley and wipes out a ridiculously huge number of pins. The rest of the pins, of course, promptly fly into the air. Me, my sister, and my brother are impaled where we stand.
The sexy wife turns in our shoes.
Roll credits.