Year of the Hoarse

Glorious Sunday.  We woke up early.  Six in the morning.  Curled up under the blankets, chatting quietly in the dark, we eventually fell asleep, waking up sometime round 10:30am.


The intention was to enjoy the great outdoors.  Go sledding. Perhaps go to a Super Bowl party.  Attend a yoga class.  Visit friends.  Instead I am lying on the bed, wrapped up like a blanket burrito, drinking earl grey tea with heaps of honey and baking vanilla, and watching “Sex and the City”.


Our only public appearance this Groundhog Day was a triumvirate of errands: going out to a thrift store to look for a teapot.  We skimmed the shelves, found nothing of interest, then got a latte at Starbucks as a consolation prize.  Before heading home we stopped by someone’s house. Benjamin occasionally buys tools on an online trading site; he had met this woman before, so he stepped inside the house and closed the door.  I didn’t think much of it, in reality he could have been carrying on a torrid affair with a spicy middle aged woman, and he could have used my utter disinterest in tools to cover his tracks.  He eventually was gone for long enough that I thought that maybe…just maybe that he had been murdered.  Or maybe they’re just lost in the endlessly fascinating topic of carpentry.  I figured I’d give it another minute, and continued to scroll through my phone, reading news about Philip Seymour Hoffman’s sudden death.


Philip Seymour Hoffman dies on Super Bowl Sunday by overdosing on heroin in the Year of the Horse.  That can’t be a good omen on Groundhog Day.

groundhog-day-1961-report_12532_600x450What do you think that means? Going beyond six more weeks of winter, and entering into a new arctic Armageddon.


Here’s a lesson in word origin history.  Heroin got the nickname ‘horse’ due to the unlikely relationship between the two (As explored in Dorothy Ours’ “Man O’ War”).

In the wild, pursued by predators, a horse runs as fast as he can or dies. Given narcotics, a horse feels unnatural sleepiness creeping into his nervous system–sleepiness like the shock caused by the fatal bite of a carnivore. So the hopped up horse runs without reserve. If kept in his stall, he trots in circles until the dose finally ebbs. Let loose on a racetrack, he outruns any normal inhibition. In the United States, cocaine, heroin and morphine were legal for anyone with a doctor’s prescription to buy from a drugstore, until prohibited by the Harrison Act of 1914, and could be bribed from pharmacists long after that. But using those mixtures was a fine art. Prudent trainers experimented during morning workouts, discovering the right dope and dose for each horse.

Imagine a time when there was so much legal heroin just lying around that people were like…”It’s just going to go bad if we don’t use it, lets just give it to the horses!”


Ugh, it makes me sad, the waste of human life. That addiction overshadows talent, status, fortune and prestige.  The tragic detail about Hoffman being found in his New York City bathroom with a needle in his arm will take precedence over a proud legacy.  I think about all the things I want in this life, things that other people already have…and for a some that sum still doesn’t fill this eternal gap inside of their soul.   I wonder how melancholia breeds madness, when everything went wrong because everything had gone right.  There are wars inside of ourselves that are often losing battles.

Philip Seymour Hoffman

The night before, I caught the open letter Dylan Farrow wrote to the New York Post rehashing her sexual abuse allegations towards Woody Allen.  This too bummed me out.  The letter started with “What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie?”, then describing the molestation in disturbing detail, pleading to Diane Keaton and other actors known for working with Allen to acknowledge the crime…and then concluding with “So what was your favorite Woody Allen again?” Man. Way to take the fun out of Annie Hall.

Annie Hall-3

When Benjamin and I finally crawled out of the bed, we curled up the living room with our coffees.  I told him all about the ballad of Woody and Mia.


Around 1980, Allen began a relationship with actress Mia Farrow, who had leading roles in most of his movies from 1982 to 1992. Farrow and Allen never married and kept separate homes..  They jointly adopted two children, Dylan Farrow (who changed her name to Eliza and later to Malone) and Moshe Farrow (known as Moses); they also had one biological child, Satchel Farrow (known as Ronan Seamus Farrow).


However, in a 2013 interview with Vanity Fair, Farrow stated that Ronan could “possibly” be the biological child of her first husband Frank Sinatra, whom she married at 21 in 1966, and with whom she claims to have “never really split up.” Who can blame her.  You can take the girl out of Sinatra, but you can never take Sinatra out of the girl.


In 1968, Frank Sinatra had blindsided Farrow by having divorce papers delivered to the set of “Rosemary’s Baby”. The film was going over-schedule, and she had to back out of her next acting commitment–in Sinatra’s upcoming feature.   In that same year, André Previn, married film composer and symphony conductor, met a newly single, 23-year-old Farrow in London. They began an affair, and she was was pregnant within a year.  Previn divorced Dory, his wife of eleven years, and married Farrow.


Poor old Dory Previn. The humiliation and betrayal caused Previn to snap like a twig. She was subsequently institutionalized and subjected to electroconvulsive therapy.  According to sources, it led to more introspective songwriting…and did wonders for her hair.

Dory Previn

She subsequently expressed her feelings toward Farrow and the end of her marriage in the song “Beware of Young Girls” on her 1970 album.  ‘Beware/ Of young girls/Who come to the door/Wistful and pale/Of twenty and four/Delivering daisies/With delicate hands…taking my own sweet man’.  The lyrics are thinly veiled,  basically calls Farrow out for rolling up to the Previn compound with flowers and silver.  She could have just called it “”Fuck You Mia Farrow” and called it a day.   A dainty little china Trojan horse; admiring her home, her ring, her unmade bed, and meanwhile is infiltrating her marital home.


Dory Previn really laid the blueprint for Jennifer Aniston, trumped by younger and newer. Mia Farrow, humanitarian and mother of thirteen children is the OG Angelina Jolie.


Previn was clearly the Brad Pitt of this time–this gorgeous hunk of scarf and side swept bangs has been married five times. Who can blame the ladies for fighting over this prime piece of real estate.

70 previn photo

The fact that there were ever two women quarreling over Woody Allen…I find slightly more difficult to imagine.


Long story short–(this is the bit you’ve probably already heard), one of the children adopted by Previn and Farrow was Soon-Yi Farrow Previn. About twelve years into Woody and Mia’s relationship–Farrow was in Allen’s apartment (with the famous view of Farrow’s home across the park), and discovered nude photographs of a twenty-year-old Soon-Yi just lying around, waiting to be discovered.  Beware of young girls indeed.  Hurts don’t it? If this proves anything though–you certainly can’t help who you’re attracted to.


Around twenty years ago–in the same neighborhood as the Soon-Yi scandal, Allen was accused of molesting one of their adopted children.  He was never tried and convicted, but that stain was never properly washed away.  Now that this accusation has been given new life, it feels as though Allen is a hard man to defend.  When you write it all down on paper it looks rather…hinky.  As for their “biological” son Ronan–though who are we kidding here? I’m no doctor, but even Helen Keller could be able to see that Ronan is a Sinatra. My god, look at that bone structure. Regardless, neither are fans of dear old Woody, and they are not ashamed to say it.


  • Following Allen and Soon-Yi’s wedding, Allen’s biological son Ronan Farrow said: “He’s my father married to my sister. That makes me his son and his brother-in-law. That is such a moral transgression… I cannot have a relationship with my father and be morally consistent.”
  • Ronan, who has been disparaging about Allen, tweeted on Father’s Day 2012: “Happy Father’s day – or as they call it in my family, happy brother-in-law’s day.”
  • The night of the Golden Globes he tweeted: “Missed the Woody Allen tribute–did they put the part where a woman publicly confirmed he molested her at age 7 before or after Annie Hall?

Not cool Ronan.  If you weren’t so cute, smart and dreamy; and if your tweets weren’t so funny I would really hate you.  As for Woody Allen, I don’t want for that to have happened.  I love Woody Allen, I love his films, his sense of humor. The image of him molesting a child while she focuses numbly on an electric toy choo-choo train really hurts my heart.  Yes, he is a little creepy and yes, his past behavior is questionable.  The letter describes some pretty horrific things, and if I were to let it into my psyche, it really would taint “Annie Hall” forever. I’ve been through enough in my life.  I just can’t get creeped out by “I lurve, you I loave you, I luff you”.


On the other hand, I feel for Dylan Farrow.  Those are tough things to live with.  Whether it happened, or it was a scenario that was fabricated; over time the fact and fiction has blended together.   And let me state: not wanting it to be true, is not accusing her to lying.  Still, one must wonder the motivation of such a public spectacle.  What is Dylan Farrow seeking–absolution, revenge, forgiveness, attention? Does she want to destroy him? Does she want to spoil his chances at an Oscar? Or is this her way to heal?  Either way, there are no winners in this scenario, just an awful lot of broken people.

woody-allen-quote-frase-mix-de-coisas (1)It does makes you wonder…what lurks inside of people.  How someone could molest a child or rape a woman, commit a violent crime and then just get right back to the business of living as per usual.  How we masquerade addictions, and convince others of our health and sanity.  Waltzing into the City of Troy with enemies inside the Trojan Horse.  La de da.  The question is–is it  possible to separate the art from the actions?  Then you wonder…has this whole time he’s been charming audiences with neurotic intellectual comedies and dramas, he’s harbored these terribly dark secrets. What is driving Dylan Farrow mad two decades later is the continued success of a talented filmmaker.  I wonder how those justify their actions and move forward in their lives. As Philip Seymour Hoffman was once quoted:

I think that’s pretty much the human condition, you know, waking up and trying to live your  day in a way that you can go to sleep and feel OK about yourself”.

And here we are, back again to Philip Seymour Hoffman. Good ole Lester Bangs from “Almost Famous”. Dead at 46 from a perfectly preventable death. Another one bites the dust.


We could talk about this all night, until our voices were raw and hoarse.  Death cannot be undone, tragedies cannot be unlaced like a Christmas ribbon.  Feeling chilled to the bone, exhausted and feeling perfectly existential, that was when I crawled back into bed to watch some classic “SATC”.  Season three–when Carrie had big hair, and before she broke Aidan with her affair with Big.  Poor Sarah Jessica Parker, she catches so much grief about the shape of her face.  I don’t mean to drag her into my horse motif, but things have gotten entirely too serious and I’ve really got to lighten things up around here.qSC1732879

With all the additions and accusations, wars inward and outward, the world seems to be teeming with misery. The internet brings all that to your door if you let it. Once in a while, you’ve just got to laugh–despite the odds against us.  That’s all we have really, that fleeting moment when you are free to horse around.

4670638611_2cd11b4b45_zImages Courtesy of Google

Leave it to Bieber

In honour of Justin Bieber’s first arrest and descent into a new level of douche-baggery, an oldie but a goodie

"Pin Up Picks Pen Up"

There was a bus stop close to our home  in Australia that for a very long time, had a poster promoting Justin’s Bieber’s concert-documentary “Never Say Never”.  He’s standing in the middle on the road, and one one side is cold, forbidding, grey Stratford, Ontario–and on the other side the bright lights of…who’s cares what city–it’s AMERICA!Justin-Bieber-Never-Say-Never-Movie

OK… I didn’t pay close enough attention to the ad–that looks like New York city.

Anyhoo, I’ve never give much though to the ole Bieb’s, after all, I am hardly his demographic.  Which is why when I told my mother that I had bought tickets to see Justin Timberlake, she looked confused.

“Well I hope that he just sorts himself out after that whole London thing”.

“Wha? No, mom, that’s Justin Bieber“.

“Oh, okay, phew! I was really concerned there for a minute”.

This mistake did allow for the…

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Eating for Two

On Twitter someone had tweeted about Netflix having everything except what you want to watch.  It received a ton of favorites and retweets, and I kind of wish that I had said it first.  It’s funny cause it’s true, it’s kind of a cinematic boneyard, where you can find the bad sequels of exceptional movies, or great actors in their worst pictures.  And we got Netflix last winter, so we’ve watched all the “Mad Men“, and we recently powered through “Orange is the New Black“.  The worst thing is trying to just find something, find that diamond, or at the very least a cubic zirconia in the manure.  Last night, sitting on the couch, after a twelve-hour work day, both my husband and I quite keen to ignore each other completely and zone out in front of the telly, but facing that old dilemma.  I just want to watch something, but not spend my allotted telly-time searching for the least shittiest thing on Netflix.

“You know what would be so good?  ‘Gilmore Girls‘”.

And this is a testament to my darling husband, who was like…”Yeah, that sounds good”.

gg tv

I grabbed a season from the collection in my office.  Yes, I own “Gilmore Girls” on DVD, and I’m not ashamed.  It’s light, funny, the writing is excellent, and hey, who wouldn’t want to live in Stars Hollow? What’s truly unfortunate is that I used to own the entire series, but somehow, around the time my ex and I split up, he lent one or two to a friend, and of course, you never get that shit back.  And you know, that man put me through a lot, and I love that that’s the only thing that gets my goat after all these years.  I’m totally at peace with the heartbreak and humiliation of a cancelled wedding, but if you even mention seasons one and four of “Gilmore Girls”, and I fly into a blind rage.


About ten minutes into the first episode, amidst the catchy theme song and cold leftovers, I make my Facebook status “Cold Chinese noodles & Gilmore Girls”, which of course, people were liking, because both of those things are fucking awesome.  Ben falls asleep with his head on my lap midway through the episode.  The first one ends…and I think, “Go on, live a little, eat something else and watch another episode”.  I really should have updated the status, or tweeted “Yoghurt, pineapple and blueberries & Gilmore Girls”, but then it would have been a landslide, into “Rummaging through the cupboards & Gilmore Girls”.  The third episode started, and it was creeping past my bedtime.  Ben wakes up with a growl, does an army roll off the couch and announces that he is off to bed.  I’m just about to update my status to “French Onion Dip, Potato Chip & Gilmore Girls”, so I can’t just drop everything to observe a decent nights sleep.  


By the time the third episode is drawing to a close, I was deep into “running my finger along onion dip container edge, and plunging hand into nearly empty bag to capture potato chip crumbs & Gilmore Girls”, I know in my heart that I’ve probably gone too far.


I turn off the television, wash my hands, and wander quietly around the dark apartment, careful to not disturb my sleeping husband.  When I finally crawl into bed, inappropriately full for the late hour, I feel perfectly satisfied with my slothful night on the couch, gorging on junk food with my favorite fictional friends.

gilmore_girlsImages Courtesy of Google

Distraction Central

This is not good.  I am sitting in my office, coffee cold, this sad little banana that’s been sort of half-finished, unpeeled and partially ravaged, and lying on the desk.  I only ate it because they were talking about skipping breakfast leading to heart disease on the CBC.  I’m feeling like a kid right before summer holiday.  I keep looking out the window, daydreaming about haircuts, pedicures and far off destinations.


I need to be focused, creative, organized…hmmm, what color would I get on my toes?  Surely no self-respecting woman goes on holiday without a little sprucing up.  And I could use it…I’d love it if the Wash & Brush Up Company from “The Wizard of Oz” could give me a proper once over.


This is a want, not a need.  I need to write, I want a pedicure.  I also want a latte, a million dollars and a massage from my pool boy Pedro.  Now that I’ve written a solid sentence, let’s look out that window again shall we?


Let’s look over notes… that will inspire me.  I do a good shorthand.  Sometimes I can’t even decipher my own stuff.  “Dancers”, underlined. What the hell does that mean? Just relax…just let it flow, you are a writer, the people–they need you. Nose to the grindstone, fingers to the keyboard. Looking wistful as I think up my magnificent thoughts.


I’ve got so much to do, and time is running short.  So I should definitely spend two hours not blogging, and exchanging double entendres over instant messaging with my Improv Group.  Look at this to-do list, when will this be done? There’s no time like the present…but first, lets read about the new Royal Baby, muck around on Twitter, and search for pictures of other people hard at work.

Woman_reading_a_book_(3588551767)I’m just noticing now that there is a mouse scaling this lovely table cloth, and that woman is moments away from absolutely losing her shit.  Look at her, so focused on her book with her fancy little breakfast.  Those flowers are going to go flying.  Ah, I should look for a picture of that.

yawning nun

Oh, I’m sorry Sister, am I boring you? Is my lack of cohesive theme, my lack of focus exhausting? You should try living in my head for an hour or two, it is a scary, scattered place.

head full

But you know what? I’m going for that pedicure, and I might even slap on a manicure on that as well. You only live once right? Twice if you are James Bond.  After all, I can’t very well face the world like the star that I am, with my fingers and toes unpainted? That just wouldn’t do.

john-florea-chorus-girl-getting-a-pedicure-during-filming-of-the-movie-the-ziegfeld-folliesAll Images Courtesy of Google

Pay It Forward


To say the least, I am tickled pink to have been presented with the “Very Inspiring Blogger Award”.  It’s such an honor, and it makes me feel like a million bucks and a movie star all rolled into one.

grace kelly oscar

A heaping portion of thanks, and a big huge hug to Reject Reality.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am very grateful.  “Pin Up” is a labour of love, and I’m happy if it brings good humor into the lives of others.  Okay, that being said, I’m going to do some cutting and pasting here…


1. Thank the person who nominated you.

2. Add The One Lovely Blog Award / The Very Inspiring Blogger Award to your post.

3. Share 7 things about yourself.

4. Pass the award on to 10 nominees.

5. Include this set of rules.

6. Inform your nominees by posting a comment on their blogs.

Seven Things About Myself (Which I found difficult, because I share so much on the daily)

1) My favorite film is “Annie Hall“, “Royal Tenenbaums” is a close second

2) Twitter intimidates me #notcoolenoughfortwitter

3) My favorite television program is “30Rock” (Tina Fey is my hero)

4) I am naturally a bit of a pessimist, I have to work on being an optimist.

5) If I could travel to only one more place in my life, I’d choose Paris

6) I curse like a foul mouthed fish monger when I drive

7) I used to smoke, watching old movies makes me miss cigarettes.


Ten Blogs that Inspire Me

1) Room One

2) Cordelia’s Road Trip

3) Cultural Life

4) ReMINDers

5) that british babe

6) A Spectacular Life

7) My Old Addiction

8) A Day in the Life of Shareen A.

9) The Happy Lifeaholic

10) Anchors & Freedom

There are so many amazing blogs out there, but a lot of the fine folks on this list have been so supportive with excellent comments and feedback.  I wish all the writers out there the knowledge that their hard work is not in vain.  May you have many readers who love you, and whom you love in return. 

All the best,

Alicia xx


Dear Attention Span,

Attention span, you are as fleeting as a summer breeze.

pink girl

I have a list.  I have not yet crossed anything of said list.  I am busy, yet I am accomplishing nothing.


It seems I can’t finish anything.  Not even the leftovers I brought home from last night’s dinner.  It’s just laying in the plastic container, looking as though a wild badger had a go at consuming it before also getting bored with the process of biting, chewing and swallowing. Focus wise…I’m drawing a bit of a blank.

can't write

…maybe I should go for a walk, maybe I just need to clear my head.  But, time away from the computer is time wasted.  It’s better to just stare blankly at the laptop until…words shoot out of your eyes and pierce the screen.

…maybe I should tweet something or absentmindedly like things on Facebook.

…but I want to work, get things done, cross things off the list, but my attention span holds me back and takes me off track.

vintage secretary photo

Ordinarily, I am really at home when I’m at my desk, making lists and immediately destroying them, and looking fabulous while doing it.


But not today.  Mark the date on your calender y’all, July 8, 2013, the day my attention span walked out that door and out of my life.  Now it’s hitchhiking somewhere along the highway, moving further and further away from me.  And the whole things just makes me so sad.  I really needed that son-of-a-bitch to stick around.


And so, I will conclude, publish this sorry excuse of a blog, just to cross something off the goddamned list.  (In fact I did complete something that wasn’t on the list, so I wrote it down only to immediately cross it off.  I’m not proud of myself).   But don’t worry.  I’ll get by.  I heard that Gloria Gaynor’s disco classic “I Will Survive” was actually about her attention span.  At first she was afraid, she was petrified but she grew strong and learned how to get along.  And she survived.  And so will I, I’ve already added it to the list.

smiling girl writingAll Images Courtesy of Google

Tweets & Twats

My Twitter empire is dwindling…well if you say going from 19 to 15 is ‘dwindling’…or that 19 is an empire, so be it.  Twitter gives me anxiety.  When I try to tweet I feel like a twat.  Also I find the 140-character limit extremely daunting.  You see, I am a wordsmith, and literary geniuses like myself cannot have such limitations placed on ourselves.

There are extremely active comedians, actors and writers, dropping jokes and comments throughout the day.  It’s smart, it’s funny, and I just don’t have that much to say.  Well, obviously I have a lot going on in the old brain factory, but as for funny-throwaway remarks, it feels inauthentic.

I don’t tweet.  I’ve tried.  I’ve dropped a few words now and again, but I feel like such a dolt.  But I feel like a nerdy teen who hangs out in the audio-visual room at lunch, marching up to all the cool kids in the smoke pit and saying “What’s up bitches?” Or like in “Mean Girls” when Lindsay Lohan approached the table of “unfriendly black hotties”, with a ubiquitous African greeting “Jambo”, and then receives evil glares and stunned silence in response.   I don’t speak the language, and I’m just not that ‘cool’.

mean girls

I mean, don’t you worry, I am plenty groovy–I am quite hip to the trends, and people in the know think I am pretty neat-o.  But I think it’s my tendency to over think things, that ultimately causes me to either not tweet, or write a tweet and then not publish it.  “Do people care how delicious this sandwich is? I mean it is a tasty little morsel…but do people care?”  I think in this world of #oversharing, a little #overthinking is a bit of a virtue.

Maybe if I was Lena Dunham, people would eat up whatever I was saying.

pink dunham

But then again, people apparently tweet nasty things to her, calling her “fat” and whatnot.  My goodness, I would not enjoy being called fat, unless the ‘f’ was replaced with a ‘ph’, and in that case, let it rain!

I made a Twitter account with the intention of building my writing platform, but mostly with the purpose of following Caitlin Moran; author, humorist and all round awesome feminist.  caitlin

And then I followed others like Feist, Lana Del Rey, and Ms Florence…the girls I roll with on a regular basis.  Please–I wish they would ask me to sit at their table and explain that Wednesday’s are for wearing pink.




And I’d show up dressed like Ralphie is “A Christmas Story”, and they’d be like…”no…you don’t get it…you just don’t get it”.

This is the story of my life, this bunny suit represents how I fit into social media.  Before I started the blog nearly three months ago, I used the internet solely for email or research.  Now I find myself living and breathing this new world, but I feel like an outsider.  Facebook is my comfort zone–the A/V room, Twitter is the high school smoke pit.  So mostly I watch from a distance, witnessing effortless coolness in action.  And I’m over here trying to make catchphrases like ‘fetch’ popular, and it just may not happen for me.  And isn’t social media just like some big international high school?  There are cliques; the stars and the trolls, and we all want to be ‘liked’ and ‘followed’.  Bullying is now easier than ever, to be a ‘mean girl’ is easier than being popular. (But isn’t that the same thing sometimes?) And I am subtly trying to be within the realm, without being obvious or ostentatious.  With that being said, it seems it is the vulgarity that catches attention. So as far as this high school metaphor is concerned, I am roaming the halls until someone shouts: “She doesn’t even go here!”  And that wouldn’t be fetch…no it wouldn’t at all.

It doesn’t bother me that four people dropped me from Twitter; I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. I have been inactive at best, and I don’t blame people for being bored with me.  There is a daily tweet though, my WordPress account is connected to Twitter, and my blogs appear there daily.  And as we all know, everything I write is absolute solid gold.  Or gold plated at  least.  At the very least.

tweet mean girls

All Images Courtesy of Google

Leave it to Bieber

There was a bus stop close to our home  in Australia that for a very long time, had a poster promoting Justin’s Bieber’s concert-documentary “Never Say Never”.  He’s standing in the middle on the road, and one one side is cold, forbidding, grey Stratford, Ontario–and on the other side the bright lights of…who’s cares what city–it’s AMERICA!Justin-Bieber-Never-Say-Never-Movie

OK… I didn’t pay close enough attention to the ad–that looks like New York city.

Anyhoo, I’ve never give much though to the ole Bieb’s, after all, I am hardly his demographic.  Which is why when I told my mother that I had bought tickets to see Justin Timberlake, she looked confused.

“Well I hope that he just sorts himself out after that whole London thing”.

“Wha? No, mom, that’s Justin Bieber“.

“Oh, okay, phew! I was really concerned there for a minute”.

This mistake did allow for the hilarious mental image of my 6’9” husband standing amongst a flood of shrieking girls.  But she was not the only person to make the mistake.  While at work one morning, the radio announcing every minute detail about the Boston bombings, a conversation followed that is now generic at this point.  “Why do people do things like this?  Why do things like this happen?”  A general quiet followed, as if everyone was contemplated the violence, when I piped up about the recent Bieber-backlash after his visit to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.  In the guest book he wrote:

“Truly inspiring to be able to come here. Anne was a great girl. Hopefully she would have been a belieber.”

We all laughed at the remark.  And then my co-worker said” “When are you seeing him?”  This confused the ever loving shit out of me. Had I just hallucinated this conversation?  When am I seeing Justin Bieber?”


“Aren’t you seeing him in concert?”

Just then I wanted to step onto a platform and bark into a megaphone.  “TIMBERLAKE, PEOPLE NOT BIEBER!”.  My god, am I just walking around, striking people as a card carrying belieber?

Because I’m not.


Okay, in doing today’s research, I will admit, his face is structurally sound, and even aliens from distant planets would agree that there is an attractiveness quotient happening there.

But that doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t feel so good to punch him in the nose, wrench off his spiky little ball cap and thwack him in the face and pull those god damned pants up so high, I’m practically giving him a wedgie.  Shit, why not just go for gold and give him an all-out wedgie?

“And this is for Anne Frank! You ignorant A-hole!”


One could imagine that going to the museum was arranged through some public relations scheme.  I suppose this comment isn’t that terrible when he could have written: “I just found out about you not ten minutes ago…and what was the deal with the Holocaust? This is all news to me! Love Justin”.  Bieber just needs to sing more and talk less.  Or take a page out of the other Justin’s book–and work hard, gain respect, don’t be a dick, and never make assumptions about the preferences of Holocaust victims.


And of course, there is a heap of articles about Frank because of Bieber’s comment, so there is some gold being spun–“yes, it was ignorant, but isn’t it nice that Anne Frank is making a comeback?”  Yes, but in a hashtag-Anne-Frank kind of way.  She’s this year’s “Gangnam Style“.  It also reveals a bit about what Bieber’s prime fan base knows about the holocaust and one of it’s most famous victim.  In fact, that has been the butt of a million jokes–Ricky Gervais cracked wise about all the illiterate teenaged girls who are fuming over this mystery girl.


There are arguments back and forth whether Anne Frank would have been a belieber…she was a teenager, she liked movie stars, her bedroom wall was decorated with cinematic imagery. So… ‘why not Bieber?’  And sure, she may have liked him, if she were a modern girl in a contemporary world.  One rabbi, speaking in defense of Bieber, said that Anne Frank would have been a fan, possibly going as far as to follow him on Twitter.


Nonetheless, Bieber is in some kind of moral danger. Lord knows that history has a tendency to repeat himself.  There have been others before him that have tried and failed to survive their success.  Hello Elvis? He was a total babe, and then came the jumpsuits and dying on the crapper, and now that’s all people really remember.  And Bieber’s out there buying strange monkeys–which is edging towards Micheal Jackson territory–and we all know how well that all worked out.  It was not that long ago that little baby Bieber was a boy from Ontario, with a dream, a camera and a You-Tube account.

young justin b

Look at that sweet little face…couldn’t you just picture that on the wall of the secret attic?


You know, I hate to admit it–but there is a similarity between these two–they were once kids with dreams of success–Anne Frank wanted to be a journalist, a writer, an actress.   Her father Otto had her journals published as a way to honour that dream, and now she is a symbol of lost innocence.  Bieber had dreams of being a famous singer, and his mom published a book about being…his mom.  (There has not been a more important birth since Mary and her boy Jesus).  But his innocence has been lost as well–not in a horrific manner like Anne, but in having too much–money, fame, attention.  And it’s a shame, for he could be a neat little Canadian success story; instead he is turning into a tragic tale of entitlement and decadence.  But if there’s anything to be learned from Anne Frank is that we are remembered by what we write down, and leave it to Bieber to add these eye-roll worthy remarks to his already sterling legacy.  Hopefully next time, Bieber could be a bit more frank instead.

Justin-BooberImages Courtesy of Google