ON ACCEPTING THE FRENCH IDEA OF GENIUS:

I always thought that Criss/Cris/Chris/whatever Angel was an annoying fuckwit. Then again I'm not very hip to the magicians (illusionists...whatever); they remind me of LARPers and they are always cheezy (with a z). So, I'm not often, um, "mindfreaked" by any of them. Criss Angel in particular, with his oh-so-subtle mix of hot topic/cinnabun worker/gothtard and what I suspect is the sharp scent of nerd-smugness (after a lifetime of doing card tricks in his stepmom's basement alone while masturbating to pictures of David Copperfield and Claudia Schiffer he's finally pullin some tail of his own), stirs up a pretty intense mockery/ridicule impulse in me (also, he looks like he doesn't wash much). So, color me shocked when Chriss Angel DID IN FACT FREAK MY MIND! How, you may ask?
This:

"Christopher Nicholas Sarantakos (born December 19, 1967), better known by his stage name Criss Angel"

WHAT THE HELL?? Criss Angel is 42 years old! 42!
And he looks like this:
Now, I know the reason for all the stage makeup and Jared Letoesque (Jared Motherfucking Leto [eyeroll]) eyeliner.

Here are some theories I'm tossing around.
1. He really is magical and has made a pact with a demon--he can remain young forever, as long as he also agrees to be the biggest cheesedick in North America (asking someone to be the biggest cheesedick in the world is a lot...I'm looking at you Norweigians).
2. He wears an obscene amount of greasepaint and pancake makeup to cover the fact that beneath it all he is actually...wait for it...mummified Ralph Macchio...duh, dun dun.
3. There are literally bizillions of Criss Angels, like in that movie the Prestige. Somewhere David Bowie invented a machine to "teleport" and but in reality it only creates clones of that person in order to make it look as if they were transported from A to B. In order to keep the world from being overrun with cheezedickery, in a eerily lit lair beneath Las Vegas there are innumerable tubes of dead Criss Angels. Also, somewhere in his secret Bowie vaults, David Bowie is at this moment admiring one of his many dead clones...I agree...gorgeous, Mr. Bowie...gorgeous!
4. This seemingly remarkable anti-aging thing is a direct result of having lived in his stepmom's basement for 20 years, without seeing the light of day. What a remarkable piece of evidence that the suns rays are damaging. Since he moved directly from basement to darkened casino and (I suspect) darkened corny magician castle; he's essentially lived a UV free life.
5. His eyeliner is actually a mixture of potent age reversing herbs and plant extracts...and he refuses to share this mixture with anyone (especially Jared Motherfucking-haggard-ass-looking Leto).
6. The undead Kristen Nöel "Kristy" Swanson was born December 19, 1969. Also born in December during the late 60s--Lucy Liu, Brendon Fraser, Sinead O'Connor, Carla Bruni and Dexter Holland. Perhaps, there was some strange cosmic debris which changed their biological structure in utero? Well, the rest of them...really, because we all know there is no way undead Kristy Swanson was born in 1969...1669 maybe. She creeps the hell out of me.

Well, those are my theories. Congratulations, Mr. Criss Angel, you have, for once impressed me with your magic. (Of course it was accidental, so congratulations withdrawn).

P.S. Don't quit your day job...at Cinnabun!

And no that isn't a typo. I've been oogling emo and scene haircuts because despite the oftentimes ridiculousness and pretension of them...they are so effing cute that my inner drag diva wants to dip those kids in sparkles and kiss their glittered cheeks. The girls are tricked out like my little ponies on crack. The boys are androgolicious. And I, I am too fucking old to be adorable, except on halloween which reminds me...I should totally dress like a zombie scene girl on halloween, my dreads last year were very scene.

I'm losing my focus though. This isn't about Halloween, or my desire for anime hair, it's about Jared Leto (who, ridiculously, pops up when I'm looking at google images of Scene hair). Yes, it's that time of year again. Time for me to make fun of the hottest cheezedick in the corn maze, Jared Leto (let's hope he remembers that I'm laughing AT him, not with him).

Jared Leto was born December 26, 1971. I need to point that out. He is 4 years older than I am. FOUR YEARS...that makes him 38 years old. Last time I checked that was a fuck lot closer to 40 than to...well, 35. AND

http://www.jaredletopictures.net/displayimage.php?pos=-26765

Jared motherfucking Leto should be hit with a shoe. That's it...hit with a fucking shoe. Right now, I HOPE, his long blonde dead Kurt Cobain look is for a film, because otherwise...this is a worse look than the time he tried to pull off a pair of granny crocs in an emo way. So,

Dear Jared Leto,

Stop. Just....stop. If you need help, I'm here. I have some scrubbing bubbles (because lately, you've been looking smelly), I have some sissors, I have some age appropriate fashion, and I have some shoes that aren't made of plastic. Please...for god's sake...stop. I will put aside the very mysterious and very complete revulsion/passionate need to bone that I seem to feel towards you in order to assist you in becoming an adult. It isn't a bad thing, being an adult. And, if you want, we can still play dress up a few times a year. Put down the pleather pants and back away from the lip gloss.

Love,
M

---

Do they have an intervention for this sort of thing? I should start a Jared Leto tag.

You weren't very cool on "my so called life." I actually thought you looked a little bit like the hillbilly boy that ran over my cat when I was ten (later his older brother tried to french me on the playground, it got complicated, like all tragically doomed elementary school romances). To be honest I never really thought you were especially interesting or attractive (In fact the only recent thought I had related to you was "Yeah, he should never wear cornrows, his hair is way too straight for that."), and I don't really like most of the movies you've been in (there were a few I really liked, but Prefontaine...really? And Requium for a Dream...blarrrggggh!), but then something happened (can't pinpoint it) and suddenly I thought: "Woah, check out Jared Leto."

I secretly suspect my sudden and overwhelming attraction to you has everything to do with eyeliner; I have a fetish, don't judge me! I also suspect that it has something to do with my noticing that we have very similar eyes, and I am nothing if not a secret narcissist (ask me about my sole bi-encounter, it was much more akin to making out with myself, I was all: "Good goddamn, you're gorgeous" while knowing full well the girl looked weirdly like my good twin). I began to speak with my sister the other day about this new fan-crush, she said: "Well, of course you think he's hot." Apparently, I am the only person in the world who did not suspect that I found you attractive. How dare I keep such secrets from myself. Then again, how could I not know--you are, I suspect, like me: a post-retro-punk, pre-goth, gen x, skate-culture creative intellectual. I would bet money that we owned many of the same t shirts in the 90s (do you know where your "Boys Don't Cry" shirt is? I do. I wore mine to pieces and shoved it in a trunk with a pair of converse high-tops with holes worn in the bottoms.).

That said, pick some better movie roles so that I might better ogle you on the screen, I should never be forced to wade through American Psycho. Grump all you want, but you know, full well, that it is horribly contrived. And please stop with the ironic clothing, you and I are both too old for irony to apply to any of our fashion choices (I scoff at your Crocs...those are for old women, preschoolers and avid gardeners, you are--I hope--none of these). The thing about irony is that it needs some means of signifying its ironic nature; aka, we need roadsigns my friend...otherwise we're all just old sad dorks in a hot topic mock up.

Fuck, I need a new tattoo. Or some hair color. Both? I feel suddenly unwith. Oh, the business of love is cruelty. Goddamn I'm old.


Love,
Amanda

P.S. If you ever attempt to write a poetry book my long-distance adoration of you will cease faster than you can say "Me and Billy Corgan hang out sometimes." I don't try to act or sing, brother.

P.P.S. I've had this theory since "Siamese Dream" that Billy Corgan was truely as close to "genuine" vampire as the world might ever know (very Max Schrect), that theory was cruelly shattered when I realized that Billy Corgan is not only NOT a vampire, but is in fact a 15-year-old girl (prove me wrong...have you read his book? Insufferable. Jewel was better and she should be destroyed for her grammatical errors alone).