DISGRASIAN turned 4 earlier this month, and we didn’t celebrate it with Sichuan food and bowling (like our first birthday), a fine old bottle of Scotch (like our second), or a post in which we admitted–for possibly the first and probably the last time–that we are sometimes wrong about stuff (like our third). We didn’t even mention it to each other!
There’s always a teeny bit of discomfort that comes with a birthday–a heart sigh from being another step closer to the end, whatever “the end” may be. Some bewilderment about where you are, what you’re doing, disbelief that you’re only this far (or already too far). A bit of grief for the way things aren’t anymore, for the people that aren’t anymore, for the dreams that you have put to bed.
And that applies to a blog birthday, too. After all, four years is a long-ass time on the Internetz (Reading this, 10-year-old Angry Asian Man will likely roll his eyes and flip us the bird). But seriously, in 2011, who the eff is Sanjaya Malakar? And when was the last time we wrote about crazypants Tila Tequila? And have we run out of things to say about Gwen Stefani? (Probably, as her DISGRASIAN solo singing career seems to have stalled.)
While it’s certainly a relief to move on to more au courant items like, say, Rebecca Black’s awferful “Friday” song that we can’t stop fucking singing aloud (hence, the title of this post) and the inscrutable spelling habits of the Tea Party, it’s hard to think that we’ll never, for example, write about a new Guitar Hero edition (we were actually too sad to write about the death of our favorite all-ages pasttime on the blog) ever again. Maybe it makes just makes us feel old. Holy fudge, we ARE old!
Let me restate: This whole birthday thing makes us feel old, because we are.
And the reason I’m saying all of this? Because I love this Japanese YouTube cat, who seems about as stoked to be birthdaying it up as we are.
Filed under: Birthday ambivalence, Birthday Cat, Birthdays, Cats, Cuteness, DISGRASIAN turns 4, Grief, Grouchy Birthday Cat, Grumpy Birthday Cat, Japanese Birthday Cat Party, loss, Not stoked, Rebecca Black, Scotch, Sichuan Food, Sighs, YouTube Gems
Three years ago this week, Diana and I started DISGRASIAN. I still can’t decide if that seems like a long time ago or just yesterday. A little bit of both maybe. The blog was–and I think still is–an idea hatched from our close friendship and from many, many nights of excessive drinking, mostly brown liquor with an occasional vodka martini thrown in when we were feeling fancy.
To celebrate this special occasian, I thought I’d tell you a little bit about how we got here.
- “DISGRASIAN.” Diana made up the word several years before the blog came into being to describe a co-worker who often wore socks with flip-flops to the office and ate cheap instant noodles at her desk every day. The girl’s worst offense, however? She totally lacked charisma–a cardinal sin in Diana’s book.
- “You’re a disgrace. To the race.” We had decided to start the blog. We had a name. We agreed that the pages should be a pale yellow. We even had an Excel spreadsheet (nerds!) listing all the people we could potentially write about on the blog. But we didn’t have a tagline. It was the end of the day, Diana was halfway out the door of my house, and we were about to bail on the idea when it came to me. We didn’t think twice about it, because it was kind of a joke. You know, like a mockery of a schoolyard taunt. We didn’t realize how many people would take it so seriously and even be offended by it. I can’t tell you how many people over the years have begun their hate mail with, “YOU are the disgrace to the race!” Oh really? Dude. If you’re gonna burn me, you gotta do better than throwing down with something that I came up with in, like, half a second, okay?
- Sanjaya Malakar. Our very first post, which I wrote, was about Sanjaya. This points to what’s good and bad about blogs. They entertain us every day with little tidbits about the stupid shit. But then again, at the end of the day, it’s just stupid shit.
Need evidence? In last night’s episode, he awkwardly pushes himself up against former pro wrestler Torrie Wilson to prove his straightness, giggles, and then pulls away. Hot behavior–white hot. And totally something a straight guy could and would do while bearing a shit-eating grin and not springing a boner.
I buy it, don’t you?? Anyway, moving on. I’m in the mood to go dancing, perhaps to some Madonna. Who’s in?
Sanjaya “Hell No I’m Not Gaysian” Malakar will soon release his first post-American Idol EP, “Dancing to the [techno/house remix and Madonna] Music in my Head.” Psyched? It’s available for pre-order on Amazon right now:
And somewhere, all huddled together in a room: the Debarge guys, Menudo kids, Lionel Richie, and Billy Ocean in fetal position on the floor, punching themselves in their respective neckmeats for not coming up with this album cover themselves.
Happy New Year all! Instead of us deciding who deserves the coveted mantle of DISGRASIAN of the Year, we thought we’d open that up to you, dear readers. Who did you think was the biggest disgrace to the race? Who sold out their peeps with the least amount of shame? To whom did you want to send hate mail? Who made you vomit in your mouth every time you logged onto the interweb and came across their grody visage? Below you’ll find a sampling of the contenders, followed by our DISGRASIAN of the Year exit poll. Now get crackin’, we’ve got some shampers to drink!
AOL revealed their top searches of 2007 in various categories this week. The top five news story searches were for 1) Chris Benoit, the wrestler who killed his family and then himself, 2) the weight-loss drug Phentermine, 3) the Pet Food Recall, 4) Global Warming and, finally, 5) the Virginia Tech shootings (more on that later).
The other results were more predictable, with American Idol, Brit Brit and Hillary dominating the categories of TV, celebrity, and politics. The most embarrassing category itself was “Top Accidental Celebrities.” Of the top five, two were siblings and DISGRASIAN–Shyamali “Boobylicious” Malakar came in at number two, ahead of her tone-deaf brohawk Sanjaya, who took the fourth spot.
I wonder how the Malakars are taking the news. Especially since that “accident” has been cleaned up for a while. Sanjaya’s got to be pissed that big sis’ D-cups overshadowed his…um…uh…talents(?). But is being a Top Accidental Celebrity something that one and one’s family feel pride and joy over?
In other words, are they cracking open champagne right now or a bottle of Percocet?
JANICE DICKINSON: Yes, it does. Look at the camera–not directly at the camera, but just beyond the camera. Relax your neck a little.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: Don’t you think my hair looks shiny too? I think we might go to the same stylist.
JANICE DICKINSON: I doubt that.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: But I mean, it looks good, right?
JANICE DICKINSON: Listen kid, I don’t give a shit about your hair.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: This hair made me famous!
JANICE DICKINSON: You bitch, you are not famous.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: I am famous! I was on American Idol!
JANICE DICKINSON: You didn’t win. That kid with the frosty tips won. Or that robust girl.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: [Miffed] I was the people’s choice!
JANICE DICKINSON: Did you win an award?
SANJAYA MALAKAR: …
JANICE DICKINSON: God, kid, just part your lips and take the picture.
SANJAYA MALAKAR: You’re not even a model anymore.
JANICE DICKINSON: Are you kidding me? I was the first super–
SANJAYA MALAKAR: Supermodel? Whatever, bitch. You’re a has-been.
JANICE DICKINSON: You’re a never-was!
SANJAYA MALAKAR: You’re a never-was, bitch!
JANICE DICKINSON: I’ll pull your fucking hair out, bitch!
SANJAYA MALAKAR: Don’t! No!
JANICE DICKINSON: [grabs for tufts] You’re going down, you little coont!
SANJAYA MALAKAR: [sobbing] Stop it!!! No!!! I am America’s sweetheart! I AM AMERICA’S SWEETHEART!
A: Sonia Mowlicker. Freshman year in high school. … For the rest of the year my friends called me Sonia.
Rest of the year? More like, rest of your life, honey.
Sanjaya: Wow! That rocked! You can play back-up for me any time. Yeah!
Joe Perry: Uhhdassuzvcxhue Sureasrsse.
Sanjaya: Like, seriously, that was SO great. I think I’ve gotten WAY better.
Joe Perry: Riacmkxaejg;lt.
Sanjaya: I know, right?
Joe Perry: Yodfjfjkjklssre adursn Iddidasfsjncv;.
Sanjaya: I’m such a big fan of Boston, man. I’m really sorry about your lead singer.
Joe Perry: Whadia;ijta;s;a/? WEjfasdkldfe Ae’asdfdsklzeith!
Sanjaya: I had a pet hamster, Carlos, who died.
Joe Perry: Gg5fhxc7mcxjcjet! DId;jdfkdasfjbt yeifvuc fucsdfmnng h;eaefedau r mdes?
Joe Perry: Jezjisebgsas.
Sanjaya: I’m having a really hard time hearing you. The applause for me is so loud.
Hey–does your band need a new lead singer?
Joe Perry: I tilajkachzsdjkh he;jlcsa;h noi;dts dea;ljafdsd!! IDIOT!!!
Sanjaya: Dude. I made the same girl cry. Again. How much do I rock?
Joe Perry: @@@@#####****&&&@&%*###!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sanjaya Malakar recently told E! Online that his intent to sing Janis Joplin’s Mercedes Benz during the American Idol “country” competition was snuffed, due to the fact that Idol is sponsored by Ford.
All I can say is: thank god. If Malakar had uttered one note of that brilliant woman’s folk classic… I would have shaved my hair, tattooed “I give the fuck up” across my face, and vomited jelly beans all over myself in my sleep.
So thank you, Ford. Thank you.
DListed dug up this drag show performance of a DISGRASIAN Hall-of-Famer we haven’t seen in a while (and quite frankly, we’ve been missing)–Sanjaya Malakar.
It’s been a month since you tearfully sang your sad goodbye to the American Idol stage, so let’s assess the progress: Still talentless, still knobby-kneed, still sporting that ridiculous bob–oh and still denying that you are a woman.
Most importantly, STILL A DISGRASIAN! Thanks for staying.
Booted American Idol contestant Sanjaya Malakar tells People this week that he “understand(s) women,” gets along with us better than men, but is NOT GAY.
You kiss gloomy Seattle goodbye and, for fear of turning into a pillar of Gore-Tex, never look back, then you move to New York, make a very quiet splash on Broadway–in Rent, Wicked, Hairspray, take your pick–learn the meaning of the word “fierce,” record a shitty album that goes triple-platinum, befriend an Olsen, develop a coke habit, flunk out of rehab, become Marc Jacobs’ new boy toy, become a huge raging bitch drunk on your newfound fame, did someone say drunk?–get a DUI, go on a fad diet, refuse to sign autographs for 9 year-old girls anymore, laugh in derision when they cry, start wearing heels, take over Page Six with your high-heeled, table-dancing club antics, flash your junk to the paparazzi while tumbling out of a town car on your way to slurp champagne and oysters at Balthazar, return to rehab, date another reality TV star whose name is “Lane,” fall madly in love, move to L.A. for your careers, to a treehouse off of Laurel Canyon, have a well-publicized commitment ceremony with white orchids everywhere and Paula Abdul and your busty sister serving as bridesmaids (you, of course, are the bride), adopt a Chinese baby, become a humanitarian, hit the gay-rights lecture circuit, win some awards lauding your courage of conviction.
If you’re really not gay, Sanjaya, then nothing in this fagtasy will come true. Which means you may as well pull up the hood on your purple rain jacket, skedaddle back to Seattle, and begin reminiscing about your 15 minutes of fame right now.