Some people just use beautiful things to just shop or to have a tribal feeling - 'Oh, blah, blah, blah, I'm wearing Hermes; blah, blah, blah, I'm wearing Saint Laurent; blah-blah blah' - because it's like a need, a tribe, recognition: 'Ahh, my Rolex.' But I run away from anything which is too recognizable - it's my nature.
Here's the deal. We go in, you stand there like the asshole you are, and I explain you aren't gay lovers with the pharmacist. Sound good?' Dove clicked her blinker on and checked her side mirror. 'All I heard was blah, blah, holding your dick later, blah, blah.' Duke rolled down his window and stuck his face into the night.
There's so much going on in the world. There's so much information being thrown at us - so many things are being sold to us, and we're being told how we should appear and how to be more successful, blah, blah, blah. How does that manifest itself? In the pressures, the stress, this need to escape.
I think that now most people know someone in their family that is coping with something, but there is still a tremendous amount of shame - that one is still regarded as a defective unit ... if only they would pull up their bootstraps - they are only indulging their emotions, everybody's moody, blah, blah, blah.
I think women of a certain generation, mine in particular, feel like we can have it all because that's what we were fed. It's like, we reap the benefits of the feminist movement -- they did all the legwork and now we're going to try to be parents and successful business people and great wives and good friends and take a cooking class and blah, blah, blah ...
Sarah Jessica Parker
As a kid growing up, I didn't want to tell any of my classmates I did figure-skating because I knew they'd be like, 'Oh, you're a skater, you're gay, blah blah blah.' So I kept it to myself. Once I started getting to more of an elite level, I didn't really care what people thought, though.
I remember in The Conversation, they brought all these coats to me, and they said: Do you want him to look like a detective, Humphrey Bogart? Do you want him to look like a blah blah blah. I didn't know, and said the theme is 'privacy' and chose the plastic coat you could see through. So knowing the theme helps you make a decision when you're not sure which way to go.
Francis Ford Coppola
One of my personal favorites [potential guests] would be Darren Criss from GLEE. I think that guy is so talented, and he's fast. I think that's the thing "" we don't have people just because this guy is a star on blah, blah, blah show; you want someone that has personality and can put two sentences together and that doesn't take themselves quite so seriously.
Okay, on my first night, he tried to chat me up. You know how the story goes. 'You have the most beautiful eyes, I'm very rich, want to see my bedroom?' Blah, blah, blah.' 'And because you turned him down, he's more determined than ever, ' Will guessed, with amazing accuracy. 'You did turn him down, right?' 'Of course, ' I told him, insulted by the insinuation I would drop my knickers for a glass of wine. 'Do you think I'd risk my job for a quick tumble in the sheets with him?
I don't even look at resumes anymore. I think they're misguided. I talk to them, ask them where they've been, "What's your favorite experience in a restaurant?" Where do they like to eat? Blah blah blah. All that stuff, but I can only really describe my journey with another person if I can connect with them and their passion. Otherwise, I don't care where they've worked. It doesn't matter to me. Really I have to feel it, and then I can teach them anything.
Music is like a conversation. One person says one thing that speaks with a harmonica, with a bass, with a drum. They're all conversating, and we're just trying to find a way to make conversation rather than blah, blah, blah. But it's not really so hard a thing to do if you know the way to approach it.
My whole life everyone always said 'it can't be done', 'you'll never do it', 'you will fail', 'no one has ever gone from Austria and become a Mr Universe, blah, blah, blah', or when I ran for governor people were sceptical. It was 'you're going to lose' and 'people don't take people from show-business seriously in politics'. So, I've heard all the 'it's impossible' thing but I didn't pay any attention because I believed that I could do it.
Look, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I said no because the whole thing would just be too Dirty Dancing , right? Summer fling at the resort, only with the roles reversed: you know, the poor working girl and the rich doctor's son, nobody puts Baby in the corner, blah blah blah. That kind of thing.
In the beginning [of my career] I definitely felt a responsibility because I was representing a bunch of people [Sri lankans] who never got represented before. I felt this responsibility to correct that situation, to be like, "Look, you can't discriminate against refugees and Muslim people and blah, blah, blah . . ."
I want to figure out what kind of artist I want to be, because with the 'American Idol' process, it just works really fast. The night of the finale, they said, 'OK, here are all the label people that you're gonna work with, this is the album you're gonna make and blah, blah, blah.' So it was a pretty fast process, but it's been cool.
My friends never seem to yell at their kids. Even when their kids are behaving hideously, they pull them aside and say, now sweetie, you know you shouldn't, blah, blah, blah. Please don't yadda, yadda, okay sweetie? Maybe it's some bullshit show they put on for non-family members, but I'd have to be on happy pills to act like that
The sentences still form in my mind, and thoughts still do their little show-off dance, but I know my thought patterns so well now that they don't bother me anymore. My thoughts have become like old neighbors, kind of bothersome but ultimately rather endearing - Mr. and Mrs. Yakkity-Yak and their three dumb children, Blah, Blah and Blah. But they don't agitate my home. There's room for all of us in this neighborhood.
Why question what Froi of Lumatere was doing here?' he asked.' When you should be questioning what would have happened to Charyn if he hadn't been here. Who else would have saved Gargarin of Abroi from the street lords? ... 'Who would have saved Quintana of Charyn from hanging? Who would have rescued her from Tariq of Lascow's compound? Who would have sent her to a safe place to birth the cursebreaker? Blah, blah, blah. I'm bored now, ' Finnikin said, looking around.
When I was young, I had a list of things that I wanted in a husband. I knew what he should read and what sports he should like and blah, blah, blah. But the truth is, that the list was a shocking mirror image of me. You want to marry yourself when you are young. All the things you think are so urgently important, when you get older, you discover they don't have anything to do with love.
I was lucky enough to go to college for four years. At what was supposedly a hippie school with no tests and no grades, blah blah blah, I wasn't learning that. I was taking photography classes. That stuff just wasn't talked about. It was like, "Does this picture have the right about of grey in it?" It wasn't even an art school. It was a state-run school.
Grover Underwood of the satyrs!" Dionysus called. Grover came forward nervously. "Oh, stop chewing your shirt, " Dionysus chided. "Honestly, I'm not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah, and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven Elders." Grover collapsed on the spot. "Oh, wonderful, " Dionysus sighed, as several naiads came forward to help Grover. "Well, when he wakes up, someone tell him that he will no longer be an outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and honors, blah, blah, blah. Now please, drag him off before he wakes up and starts groveling." "FOOOOOD, " Grover moaned, as the nature spirits carried him away. I figured he'd be okay. He would wake up as a lord of the Wild with a bunch of beautiful naiads taking care of him. Life could be worse.
I don't have great thighs. I have very big breasts and a soft, fatty little tummy. And I've got back fat. People assume that I'm walking around in little spaghetti-strap dresses. It's insidious - Glam Jamie, the Perfect Jamie, the great figure, blah, blah, blah. And I don't want the unsuspecting 40-year-old women of the world to think that I've got it going on. It's such a fraud. And I'm the one perpetuating it.
Jamie Lee Curtis
Language can't describe reality. Literature has no stable reference, no real meaning. Each reader's interpretation is equally valid, more important than the author's intention. In fact, nothing in life has meaning. Reality is subjective. Values and truths are subjective. Life itself is a kind of illusion. Blah, blah, blah, let's have another scotch.
P.S. Nothing personal, but I think this journal assignment is a waste of time. I know I have to do something to make up for all the work I'm missing at school, but I HATE busywork. And that's what this journal thing is. Half the teachers at school assign work they never read. When we get stupid assignments like that, I always write somewhere on my paper "blah blah blah" or "I bet you're not even reading this," are you? or "Give me a sign if you're reading this." They never are.
It's certainly anyone's prerogative to say, 'I liked something more when it was this' or blah blah. But there's a kind of laziness as a consumer of entertainment, I think, to wish that something was repeating itself and doing the same thing. But to each their own, and I do it all the time. I've dropped television shows as a viewer.
Costume is always an asset. Normal costume you have a lot to say about - if you're wearing suits or ties, and what color you want, and how it's going to be cut, and stuff like that, and whether or not you're going to wear a hat, and blah, blah, blah. But, when you're wearing a special costume, and of course, costume is probably the second ingredient in character, script being first, I always find that the costume does a lot to cement your character, to put it firmly in mind.
Editorial pages all say, 'Well, the other guy has a point, too. It remains to be seen how this will come out. We certainly hope it comes out fine; blah, blah.' Cartoonists don't go that way. Our job is to stick out our tongues, to show a big raspberry to whatever pompous jerk happens to be mouthing off.
Everybody keeps talking about 'fighting' the cancer, " he said, "everybody keeps telling me to fight for my life, to fight the disease, and how their uncle won the battle against cancer and their cousin won the fight against cancer and black blah blah blah." "Okay... and?" "I'm not fighting, " he said. "It's already inside me... and I'm not going to fight. I'm going to be a good host, let it pass through me.. resist nothing. Sieve. Let it all pass through.
Writing is such an industry now. In many ways, that's a good thing, in that it removes all the muse-like mystique and makes it a plain old job, accessible to everyone. But with industry comes jargon. I was aware that jargon was starting to fill those growing shelves of Writer's Self Help books, not to mention the blogosphere. Wherever I looked, the writing of a script was being reduced to A, B, C plots, Text and Subtext, Three Act Structure and blah, blah, blah. And I'd think, that's not what writing is! Writing's inside your head! It's thinking! It's every hour of the day, every day of your life, a constant storm of pictures and voices and sometimes, if you're very, very lucky, insight.
Russell T. Davies
Classifying depression as an illness serves the psychiatric community and pharmaceutical corporations well; it also soothes the frightened, guilty, indifferent, busy, sadistic, and unschooled. To understand depression as a call for life-changes is not profitable. Stagnation is not a medical term. The 17.5 million Americans diagnosed as suffering a major depression in 1997 were mostly damned. (Psychobiological examinations confuse cause and symptom.) Deficient serotonergic functioning, ventral prefrontal cerebral cortex, dis-inhibition of impulsive-aggressive behavior, blah blah blah: the medical lexicon boils emotion from human being. Go take a drug, the doctor says. Pain is a biochemical phenomenon. Erase all memory.
Anytime you see white men suppose to fight each other an you not white, well you know you got trouble, because they blah-blah loud about Democrat or Republican an they huffing an puff about democracy someplace else but relentless, see, the deal come down evil on somebody don have no shirt an tie, somebody don live in no whiteman house no whiteman country.
Jordan doesn't really care about the blood, " Simon said now. "His whole thing is about me being comfortable with what I am. Get in touch with your inner vampire, blah, blah." Clary slid in next to him onto the bed and hugged a pillow. "Is your inner vampire different from your... outer vampire?" "Definitely. He wants me to wear midriff-baring shirts and a fedora. I'm fighting it." Clary smiled faintly. "So your inner vampire is Magnus?
Jordan doesn't really care about the blood," Simon said now. "His whole thing is about me being comfortable with what I am. Get in touch with your inner vampire, blah, blah." Clary slid in next to him onto the bed and hugged a pillow. "Is your inner vampire different from your...outer vampire?" "Definitely. He wants me to wear midriff-baring shirts and a fedora. I'm fighting it." Clary smiled faintly. "So your inner vampire is Magnus?
There is a world of difference between facts and the truth. You can have so many facts that you don't deal with the truth. You never get to the truth. You have the places where, the people who, the times when, the reasons why, the methods how - blah blah. And never get to the human truth. The human truth is as elusive as the air. And as important as the air.
Literary fiction and poetry are real marginalized right now. There's a fallacy that some of my friends sometimes fall into, the ol' "The audience is stupid. The audience only wants to go this deep. Poor us, we're marginalized because of TV, the great hypnotic blah, blah." You can sit around and have these pity parties for yourself. Of course this is bullshit. If an art form is marginalized it's because it's not speaking to people. One possible reason is that the people it's speaking to have become too stupid to appreciate it. That seems a little easy to me.
David Foster Wallace
Right! Let's get on with it! All right... you... Will... have trained as apprentice to Ranger Halt of Redmont Fief these last five twelvemonths and blah blah blah and so on and so on. You've shown the necessary level of proficiency in the use of the weapons a Ranger uses- the longbow, the saxe knife, the throwing knife." He paused and glanced up Halt. "He has shown the proficiency, hasn't he? Of course he has, " he went on, before Halt could answer. "Furthermore, you are a trusted officer in the service of the King and so on and so on and hi diddle diddle dee dee... " He glanced up again. "These forms really do carry on a bit, don't they? But I have to make a pretense of reading them. And so forth and so on and such like." He paused, nodded several times, then continued. "So basically... " He flicked a few more pages, found the one he was after and then continued, "You are in all ways ready to assume the position and authority of a fully operational Ranger in the Kingdom of Araluen. Correct?" He glanced up again, his eyebrows raised. Will realized he was waiting for an answer. "Correct, " he said hastily, then in case that wasn't enough, he added, "Yes. I mean... I do... I am. Yes." "Well, good for you.
Rats! There goes the bell... oh, how I hate lunch hours! I always have to eat alone because nobody likes me... Peanut butter again... I wish that little red haired girl would come over, and sit with me. Wouldn't it be great if she'd walk over here, and say, 'May I eat lunch with you, Charlie Brown?' I'd give anything to talk with her... she'd never like me, though... I'm so blah and so stupid... she'd never like me... I wonder what would happen if I went over and tried to talk to her! Everyone would probably laugh... she'd probably be insulted someone as blah as I am tried to talk to her. I hate lunch hour... all it does is make me lonely... during class it doesn't matter... I can't even eat... Nothing tastes good... Rats! Nobody is ever going to like me... Lunch hour is the loneliest hour of the day!
Charles M. Schulz
AND FLEX COULDN'T SAVE YOU EVEN IF HE DROPPED A BOMB IN THIS YOU STILL GON BE FOUND IN A DITCH MY NAME SHOULD BE ROBIN BANKS THE WAY I BE ROBBIN BANKS I'M A FIEND FOR THE S-500 I WANT IT USED TO STAY HIGH AND BLUNTED, BUT ALL THAT HAD TO STOP CHICK LIKE ME BE CHASIN AFTER COPS AND THEY DON'T STOP AT MY BLOCK AFTER THE DIALLO SHOOTIN SOLDIERS IN WAITIN, MARKSMEN RECRUITIN SALUTIN, THUG CONFEDERATES, RHYME AND REASON TIME AND TREATIN, AIR FORCE ONE WE LEAVIN PANAMA RED, HOLDIN 52 HANDS FOR RANSOM MY MAN JOHNNY HANDSOME, ITCHIN TO CANCEL 'EM I'M LIKE HOLD UP, WAIT A MINUTE, LET'S GET DOWN TO BUISNESS WE COULD SHOOT UP EVERYTHING SOON AS THE DEAL IS FINISHED BLAH, BLAH, I GOT TWO HOURS TO KILL WE WANT LIKE 5 MIL IN A PRIVATE JET SO PEEL
I feel so fortunate, Because some people think, well you're just relegated to the sideline. But I feel valued there. They trust me. We work very, very hard at making it worthwhile. We are not going to just be down there spewing a bunch of blah. With our halftime talking to the coaches we are really trying to get something meaningful there and something that helps spin the game forward.
I played with different words like 'home run,' 'megahit,' and they just all sounded kind of 'blah.' So I put in 'unicorn' because they are - these are very rare companies in the sense that there are thousands of startups in tech every year, and only a handful will wind up becoming a unicorn company. They're really rare.
Our democracy, our culture, our whole way of life is a spectacular triumph of the blah. Why not have a political convention without politics to nominate a leader who's out in front of nobody? Maybe our national mindlessness is the very thing that keeps us from turning into one of those smelly European countries full of pseudo-reds and crypto-fascists and greens who dress like forest elves.
P. J. O'Rourke
HA HA HA HA HA CHECK OUT THE BIZARRE STYLE THAT I DISPLAY GOD HA HA HA HA HA KINDA LIKE WHEN THE BIZ WENT EH EH EH EH EH BUT THIS IS THE CANIBUS WITH THE HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA AIN'T JUST THE NAME OF THE SONG HA HA HA HA HA IT'S PROBABLY MY FAVORITE RESPONSE WHEN I'M WALKING ON THE STREET OR I'M OUT AT THE MALL AND PEOPLE BE TALKING THAT BLAH BLAH BLAH HA HA HA HA HA BUT ANYWAY, A REGULAR DAY IS JUST LIKE THIS CANIBUS WRITES A RHYME THEN CANIBUS SPITS, LIKE HA HA HA HA HA I EAT EAT EAT RHYMES, NIGGAS DON'T BE UNDERSTANDING THAT SHIT WHY YOU THINK I WENT AND PUT A FUCKING MIC ON MY ARM 'CAUSE IT BELONGS TO ME AND I BELONG NEXT TO GHENGIS KHAN IN A COFFIN CARBON-DRYED WITH MY BODY IN BRONZE LIKE HAN SOLO WHEN HE GOT FROZEN IN STAR WARS HA HA HA HA HA I'M GREAT BUT I'M NOT THE GREATEST HA HA HA HA HA I BELIEVE I'M GOD BUT I'M NOT AETHIEST HA HA HA HA HA I'M CRAZY BUT I'M NOT THE CRAZIEST I'M JUST A NORMAL HETEROSEXUAL HOMOSAPIEN HA HA HA HA HA THE INDUSTRY TRIED TO CAVE ME AND I WAS AN ARCH ANGEL BUT THEY CHANGED ME INTO DAMIEN HA HA HA HA HA THE EVIL SPIRIT OF RAP, THE EVIL RAPPER HA HA HA HA HA RIP THE JACKER MASTER OF THE CEREMONY, MOST PEOPLE KNOW ME AS SUCH MY DISCIPLES KNOW ME AS MASTER 'BUS I CAN HA HA HA HA HA CHANGE THEIR LIFE WITH A TOUCH, CAUSE I'M HA HA HA HA HA LYRICALLY GIFTED AS FUCK CAN-I-BUS, COULD BUST IT DOWN POUND FOR POUND MY STYLE'LL MAKE A THOUSAND MC'S BOW HA HA HA HA HA YOU CAN YAH YAH YAH CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA ALL YOU WANT Y'ALL NIGGAS KNOW THE CANIBUS IS THE ONE HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA THE RHYME CREATOR AT THE DROP OF A DIME I SPIT 100 B-A-RS I'M A S-T-A-R SINCE THE DAY I WAS BORN AND I'LL BE A STAR TIL THE DAY THAT I'M GONE HA HA HA HA HA YOU CAN AGREE WITH UH-HUH OR DISAGREE WITH UH-UH WHATEVER, NIGGAS CAN'T FRONT HA HA HA HA HA IF THEY RESPOND TOO LATE TO THE 911 CALL THEY FIND YOU ON THE FLOOR WITH A RAZOR BLADE IN YOUR PALM DEEP CUTS AN INCH WIDE AND 5 INCHES LONG PARAMEDICS FEEL FOR A PULSE TO SEE IF YOU GONE YOU WAS PRONOUNCED D.O.A BEFORE YOU GOT TO E.R. THE DOCTOR SWORE THAT SUICIDE WAS THE PROBABLY CAUSE PROBABLY BECAUSE, YOU WEAK INSECURE MOTHERFUCKERS FEEL LOST WHEN YOU HEAR ME ROAR HA HA HA HA HA LIKE-UH THE PREDATOR STARRING SCHWARTZENEGGER BEFORE HE TRIGGERED THE BOMB HE WENT HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA THE EVIL SPIRIT OF RAP, THE EVIL RAPPER HA HA HA HA HA RIP THE JACKE
And I wonder, therefore, how James Atlas can have been so indulgent in his recent essay 'The Changing World of New York Intellectuals.' This rather shallow piece appeared in the New York Times magazine, and took us over the usual jumps. Gone are the days of Partisan Review, Delmore Schwartz, Dwight MacDonald etc etc. No longer the tempest of debate over Trotsky, The Waste Land, Orwell, blah, blah. Today the assimilation of the Jewish American, the rise of rents in midtown Manhattan, the erosion of Village life, yawn, yawn. The drift to the right, the rediscovery of patriotism, the gruesome maturity of the once iconoclastic Norman Podhoretz, okay, okay! I have one question which Atlas in his much-ballyhooed article did not even discuss. The old gang may have had regrettable flirtations. Their political compromises, endlessly reviewed, may have exhibited naivety or self-regard. But much of that record is still educative, and the argument did take place under real pressure from anti-semitic and authoritarian enemies. Today, the alleged 'neo-conservative' movement around Jeane Kirkpatrick, Commentary and the New Criterion can be found in unforced alliance with openly obscurantist, fundamentalist and above all anti-intellectual forces. In the old days, there would at least have been a debate on the proprieties of such a united front, with many fine distinctions made and brave attitudes struck. As I write, nearness to power seems the only excuse, and the subject is changed as soon it is raised. I wait for the agonised, self-justifying neo-conservative essay about necessary and contingent alliances. Do I linger in vain?
An unauthentic word, one which is unable to transform reality, results when dichotomy is imposed upon its constitutive elements. When a word is deprived of its dimension of action, reflection automatically suffers as well; and the word is changed into idle chatter, into verbalism, into an alienated and alienating "blah." It becomes an empty word, one which cannot denounce the world, for denunciation is impossible without a commitment to transform, and there is no transformation without action.