Why the F Did I Buy This?

Do you ever look back on past purchases and rue the day you were given an ATM card?

Have you ever looked at your bookshelf/DVD collection/CD folder/closet/knick-knack drawer and think: "This must have been during my Idiot Period"?

Do certain belongings of yours stare you defiantly in the face and challenge you to do something about their unholy presence in your home?

If so, my friends, it is time to go Josef Stalin on their asses.

CULL, BABY, CULL!!!

At least once a week, I have an argument with my bank account. It wants to say I have $[not a lot], while I try to cajole, flatter, and insult it into having more than that. Finally, inevitably, I call it a filthy liar and click the "Logout" button as loudly as I can.

I was musing upon purchases past and present, and got to thinking about things I've amassed that I should've been paid to buy. You know you have those things too, whether it's a pair of intentionally mismatched socks (really? you could make free pairs of them from your own sock collection), a misguided attempt at self-help hidden in the furthest reaches of your closet (how many millions of people bought The Secret after all?), or a pair of skinny jeans that are forever regaled to the "after I lose 5 pounds" section of your wardrobe.

This blog, then, is a tribute to the stupid shit we buy. Stuff I've bought, stuff you've bought, stuff I can't understand why anyone bought. Let me start off with an easy target:


I could write some serious invective about this we're-all-pigs-in-a-blanket stupidity on wheels, but...

It just looks so FUCKING COMFY!!!

And the inventors of dumb thing are too busy cashing monstrous checks to listen.

Moving on...

Guess what we got Junior to teach him responsibility??


Junior opens up his carton (complete with AIR HOLES!) to find...


...a masterful punchline, delivered fresh to you from the "Pet Rock People" (otherwise known as the "People Will Buy Anything People"). Enjoy taking care of something that is utterly incapable of love, loyalty, consciousness, or poop. Junior's going to have a rude wake-up call when he gets that puppy.

This might be my favorite random image that showed up in a Google search ever. It boggles my mind to the point where I don't even know how to properly introduce it, except to say that someone actually did this to themselves. Or, even worse, went into a salon and told someone else to do it. Blogolytes and blogolettes, I give you a picture I like to call "What the Fuck Happened Here?":


Look again. That shit is just funny.

I could ramble on about other ridiculous purchases--high heels for little girls (TomKat, I'm looking at you: Suri's so cute, I can't believe you want to give her lower back problems already--she's going to have problems enough fending off teasing about familial insanity/marriage contracts/couch jumping/crackpot religion. Do you need her seeking chiropractic advice too?), braces for dogs (as if canine adolescence wasn't awkward enough! Rover, I love you just the way you are, unlike your owners, who think you are imperfect), Heelys (roller skates around the world are extremely indignant about this fad...watch out, Heely-buyers--they've been known to hold a grudge. Plus, your kid coasting around the supermarket on these things is nothing short of obnoxious. Make them stop, or me and my shopping cart will do it for you.). But I think it's time to introduce to you some of the silliest purchases I ever made. They're all media of some sort--that's simply what I spend my disposable (and non-disposable) income on. Here we go:



Nirvana's Nevermind. (Bought on CD in 1991)


This is a testament to how much I wanted to fit in in high school. The problem was, I really didn't like Nirvana, then or now. I also bought Pearl Jam's Ten, but I could sort of get behind this more melodic type of grunge. Nirvana was just yelling, they were so angry, and even though I was at the perfect age to embrace angst as a way of life, I think I was just way too much of a morning person. Some music critics call Nirvana seminal, and portray the death of Kurt Cobain as a watershed moment for my generation. I'm not questioning the impact of Nirvana (radio became almost unlistenable for a good 6-7 years), nor the gravity of Kurt Cobain's suicide. But if those are things for which my adolescent years will be remembered, I think I want to get a doctor's note to be excused from my generation. "Sorry, Tara was sick from 1991-1995, but you'll be pleased to know she's read ahead and will be prepared for the unit on BritPop."

I gave away the CD in 1996. For free.

Fiona Apple's Extraordinary Machine and When the Pawn... (huge, pretentious title)



I really like Apple's debut album, Tidal. I like it so much, that when I lost my first copy, I bought it again. When I lost that copy, I bought a third. It has a permanent place in my CD folder. However, I have a habit of buying albums from artists I've liked in the past on blind faith. It's a bad habit, I recognize that, but it actually rarely steers me completely wrong.

This is one of those instances where it steered me completely wrong. Twice. I'm kind of a sucker for a husky voice. Except I found both of these CDs pretty much unlistenable. Gone was the blue, smoke-filled ambiance of the first album, and in its place was a very red, very erratic, very, very angry young woman who set bad poetry to music.

Noticing a trend? I'm not a fan of angry music, or angry musicians. I am a cheerful person for the most part, unless I think you or your creative output sucks. But the anger in Apple's later work, after a song or two, just sounds like a crazy person you might walk past on [insert NYC street name here]. The kind that talks to themselves and warns people about how shit life is.

So endeth my suckerage at the hands of Apple. Cheer up and have a sandwich, for fuck's sake.

A.N. Roquelaure's Sleeping Beauty Trilogy (A.N. Roquelaure is Anne Rice's fancy-schmancy pen name, or nom de plume, if you want to stay Frenchified)

I'm a fan of Anne Rice's pre-Jesus work. Once she found God, however, Lestat had no chance. Sleeping Beauty also ranks among her pre-JC oeuvre. It's a very (*ahem*) adult retelling of the Sleeping Beauty legend, one that has her in situations that would make the Marquis de Sade very excited. I don't thoroughly dislike it because of the eroticism--I knew what I was buying, after all. I just couldn't get through more than the first book because S&M does absolutely nothing for me. To think that there were 2 more novels left...unless there's some good lovin' that doesn't involve rope, humiliation, subservience, pain, and all the rest of the leathery trimmings, I think I'll just stick to my copy of Debbie Does Dallas.

Rock 'n' Roll Nightmare (DVD)


Just look at that cover!! It's like He-Man takes on demons with heavy metal music! How could I NOT buy this? I mean...just LOOK AT IT! Here's a still from the movie, to further advance my "He-Man Meets Satan" synopsis:


"He-Man" is actually Canadian metal musician Jon Mikl Thor (I did not make up that name, nor did I skimp on the spellcheck--that's actually his name). He and his bandmates and their girlfriends decide to record their next album at this old farmhouse that just happens to be a portal to hell. Let the hijinks ensue!!

This movie technically has everything I like in it: it's a horror movie and there's an 80s hair metal band as the focal point. It's a recipe for Tara Heaven! However, this movie is so bad. It's. Just. So. Bad. I bought it one night at my much-missed multimedia Mecca, the Virgin Megastore in Union Square. It was filed (rightly so) under "Cult Movies." This is not a movie that will appeal to everyone. Be warned! But if you like your metal silly and your horror even sillier, or if you just love Canadian cinema, maybe Rock 'n' Roll Nightmare is for you.

But it probably isn't.

I'm gonna wrap this up, because I have other stuff to do this weekend. Finally, I give you the piece de re-shit-stance of all time:

Slaughter (DVD)


This is the biggest waste of space that you or your DVD player will ever know. I am firmly convinced that the reason this film was "Banned in the UK" (as the packaging proudly states) was because the British didn't want anyone to blame them for allowing it to be made. This is my (generous) plot synopsis:

Crazy young man escapes asylum. Goes on killing/raping spree. Film lasts 60 minutes.

This is the actual synopsis:

Friends use handheld/phone cameras to make a movie. They fail. Epically. Even their British accents can't save them (and I can forgive a lot if a British accent is involved). Film lasts an hour of my life that I will never get back.

I bought this off of Ebay after seeing it advertised in Fangoria magazine. The idea of a banned movie played on my very Catholic taste for the forbidden. And the tagline: The line between violence and pornography is erased. Awesome! My id was doing cartwheels at the idea of seeing this!

I threw this movie away after watching it. Afterwards, I vowed that the next movie I watched called Slaughter had better be about these guys:


So, what do you own that you wish you didn't? Lucky for you, it's about time for spring cleaning.

Watch this space.