It's been twenty minutes and I still haven't come up with a good intro/segue for this bit so I say we just skip over the lead-in, thank God for Christina Hendricks, and jump right into the deep end.
Science has long been the last bastion of principle in a world eager to compromise. Look no further than Pluto. While some may have felt bad enough for the dwarf planet to over look its shortcomings (I know), scientists held firm and told Pluto it wasn't tall enough to ride this particular orbit and kicked it right out of our solar system. It is this uncompromising attitude which makes the blatant capitualtion that is ROYGBIV (ROY-G-BIV) all the more of an abomination. As all of you well know, our light spectrum has long been codified by the above acronym, Red, Orange Yellow, Blue, Indigo, Violet, yet I ask you, why is indigo on the list?
Why!?
Red. Orange. Yellow. Blue. Violet. These are all color we can relate to, colors necessary for your Crayola bare minimums collection. Indigo? Indigo is the angry retort your girlfriend gives you get when you ask her why she bought another blue dress. Indigo is the answer to a trivia question. Indigo is not an essential anything. The only reason indigo is in the spectrum is that it starts with a vowel. Admit it folks, the greatest service indigo has offered is helping science teachers across America avoid trying to say ROY-G-BV (Roy-gee-bvuh). We didn't let sympathy get in the way with Pluto and we shouldn't here either. It's time we put indigo to sleep.
On an unrelated note, I was watching a program on my DVR last night when I saw a commercial for that evening's newscast. The teaser featured a video of firefighters trying to put out a car blaze and an unfortunate blowback that nearly melted one firefighter's face. The voice over which accompanied the video, however, plumbed new depths of 'duh' previously undiscovered by journalists.
"Watch tonight at 11 and see how firefighting can be a dangerous job."
FIRE fighting. She didn't realize that we already knew that FIGHTING fire is dangerous? Hell, fighting a chimp cost a woman her face and she didn't even start it! To this woman it's breaking news that picking a fight with fire might be hazardous to one's health.
I weep.
May 10, 2010
May 5, 2010
FROM A TO B, VIA C-Z
As most of you have noticed by now, I'm not the most direct thinker on Earth. I tend to be easily distracted; oft waylaid on my way to a point by an epiphanic jolt - a revelation of an obscure yet, at least in my mind, relevant connection, which soon leaves me navigating the tangents and tributaries of topics far removed from my original subject, turning myself into a veritable babbling brook. One might, if he were kind and perhaps fond of listening to babbling brooks on his/her sleep-sounds machine, say my brain prefers to take the scenic routes - so might Two for that matter, but no one seems to care what he and his fellow integers might do or think in this mono-numerical world in which we live and hypothesize.
While I might normally, at this point find, myself compelled to champion the cause of the "Greater Than 1's", opining on the motivations that belie our forgiving some prejudices but not others, today I'm going to stay on topic (if it's not already too late) and talk about things I don't understand.
Things it just occurred to me I don't understand:
- The Word 'Druthers' - I don't know if I've written about this before, but I find it odd that I use a word whose meaning is a complete mystery to me without ever wondering what I was saying. You don't know what it means either do you? No, don't google it. I've already done that for you and well, I'm even more confused. 'Druthers', you see, is a bastardization and contraction of the phrase "I would rather". Now most such shortenings catch on because well, they're shorter and thus easier to say, in the instant matter (lawyer in the hizzouse!) such is not the case.
Compare if you will:
"I'd rather they put all greater than 1's in jail, but then I'd have to close my 99 cent store."
"If I had my druthers we'd put all those crooked numbers in jail, but you know how they multiply when you start putting them together."
- Why would a terrorist have a "social networking" page? It seems kind of like a long term thing for someone in the field, you know? I could see maybe having an adult friend finder account (though odds are he's looking for a virgin... well virgins), but I don't reconnecting with lost friends is a rationale goal. I'm not one to stereotype, but I don't think a 10 year Madrassa reunion is in the cards for our friend.
Tangent: What are the odds someone will make a joke about social networking thing on a late night talk show without using the expression "I enjoy long walks on the beach"
When did long walks on the beach become a stand in for personal ad? How many people out there have the opportunity to even take long walks on the beach and, of those, how many bother doing it? Even then it's not simple, sure you might enjoy it under the right circumstances, but it's not like it something you'd always want to do. First, and don't underestimate this, you have to enjoy walking, then you have to take into account environmental conditions:
sand temperature
crowds
the dangers of walking barefoot in the sand at night
the odds of getting mugged
whether you're OK with being seen shoeless on a date (not every piggy is fit to go to the market you know).
- Why do I feel bad for not having three things on this list?
May 3, 2010
I'M GOING TO GO WITH 'THIS WORLD' MAXIMUS
Oh please, don't even try and pretend like you're too mad at me to read this post. We both know you're too happy I came back. That being said, my return has less to do with you (while I do appreciate your saving yourselves for me, we both know you weren't going to get your blog itch scratched anywhere else the way I do it) than it does a an unspeakable crime that happened over the weekend.
Almost all of you I'm sure have heard about the Times Square almost bomb, well, for some reason, most of you don't know of a more shocking trespass on our national happiness. I am here to rectify that. While parked in a mall parking lot yesterday, my car was viciously and cold-heartedly assaulted. My fender was dented and possibly scratched (it may just have been his paint on top of mine, it's hard to tell), a fog lamp was cracked and my innocence stolen. I left two empty slots on either side and parked in an lightly filled area and yet here I stand, victimized. There were no witnesses to the crime, no cameras - so conveniently present for more minor issues like the Times Square thing - to document the offense. There's no Homeland Security investigation or police task force. There was nothing but a beat up Buick with silver paint on its fender and casual disregard in its eyes. The police came and told me there was nothing they could do. The officer told me that despite what I'd seen on CSI Miami no one was sending a paint sample to the lab for comparison (to be honest based on the mismatching uniform worn by the Elizabeth police officer, I'm not so sure there even is a lab). I was alone and the problem mine own.
More than at any time in recent memory my destiny is not of my own choosing. I did not provoke nor did I invite an attack. I did not seek nor did I desire a war. Yet the true measure of a man's strength is how he rises to such moments and masters them. So, AMA-8655, I may not have wanted this, I may wish our paths had never crossed, but I will not shirk from the moment. This is a time for men of action, men of conviction. I will do what is hard; I will achieve what is necessary. I will hunt you down like the dog you are and leaving you wishing you'd fallen testicle first into an industrial-strength vise. This is a time for American heroes, a time for American vengeance. This is the time for me to reap what you've sown and I'm coming for you!
Also, if anyone knows how I might glean name, address and security code just based on a guy's license plate number, that'd be swell.
Almost all of you I'm sure have heard about the Times Square almost bomb, well, for some reason, most of you don't know of a more shocking trespass on our national happiness. I am here to rectify that. While parked in a mall parking lot yesterday, my car was viciously and cold-heartedly assaulted. My fender was dented and possibly scratched (it may just have been his paint on top of mine, it's hard to tell), a fog lamp was cracked and my innocence stolen. I left two empty slots on either side and parked in an lightly filled area and yet here I stand, victimized. There were no witnesses to the crime, no cameras - so conveniently present for more minor issues like the Times Square thing - to document the offense. There's no Homeland Security investigation or police task force. There was nothing but a beat up Buick with silver paint on its fender and casual disregard in its eyes. The police came and told me there was nothing they could do. The officer told me that despite what I'd seen on CSI Miami no one was sending a paint sample to the lab for comparison (to be honest based on the mismatching uniform worn by the Elizabeth police officer, I'm not so sure there even is a lab). I was alone and the problem mine own.
More than at any time in recent memory my destiny is not of my own choosing. I did not provoke nor did I invite an attack. I did not seek nor did I desire a war. Yet the true measure of a man's strength is how he rises to such moments and masters them. So, AMA-8655, I may not have wanted this, I may wish our paths had never crossed, but I will not shirk from the moment. This is a time for men of action, men of conviction. I will do what is hard; I will achieve what is necessary. I will hunt you down like the dog you are and leaving you wishing you'd fallen testicle first into an industrial-strength vise. This is a time for American heroes, a time for American vengeance. This is the time for me to reap what you've sown and I'm coming for you!
Also, if anyone knows how I might glean name, address and security code just based on a guy's license plate number, that'd be swell.
Apr 13, 2010
YOU'RE NOT STILL WALKING ARE YOU?
Sorry for the long absence Readers. Between joining a gym, actually going to said gym and being the proud owner of a fancy new smart phone, I find my free time has become more spare than the shmorgasbord at a vegan wedding. Still, I could never completely abandon you and so I bring you, just in time for spring, an argument for the ages.
While not a member of the institution myself, most of my friends and co-workers seem to either be married or in long-term committed relationships. This vantage point allows me to study, Jane Goodall style, the mystifying prevelance of the phenomena known as "Let's go for a walk". I can't say with any certainty when "let's go for a walk" began. Perhaps it started in Australia where "Take a walk" means leave me alone. As in:
Female: Honey, we should go out tonight, it's so nice outside!
Foster's drinker: Oh, take a walk why dontcha?
While I applaud the sentiment of this noble descendant of thieves, debtors and people too scary to pass the Statue of Liberty's smell test, it was perhaps not the best choice of words. Australia has 529,000 square miles of desert, 18% of the continent is desert, only ten percent of the country is habitable, just look at this picture, how much green do you see? If you're in Australia and someone suggests going for a walk, they know you can't be serious. Unfortunately, as with all things imported from Australia, something has been lost along the way.
Ponder for a minute the history of man, his greatest achievements, his successes; the invention of the wheel, the boat, celestial navigation, the steam engine, the internal combustion engine, the automobile, manned flight, the highway, the transporter (more of a concept device at present, but I believe). All of these accomplishments serve one purpose, avoiding walking. Man has been trying to avoid going for a walk since he left the cave. Why would we willingly go for a walk? A walk that your partner will willingly admit has no purpose aside from walking itself. I don't mean to belabor the point, but the following are a list of options science has given us to avoid walking:
Unicycle
Bicycle
Tricycle
Motorcycle
Scooter
Moped
Car
ATV
Subways
Buses
Plane
Helicopter
Hang glider
Hot air balloon
Blimps
Dirigibles
Segway
The Uno
The Winglet
The Rascal
Wheelchairs
Skateboards
Roller skates
Roller Blade
Heely's
Ice skates
Skis
Snowboards
Hovercrafts
Canoe
Kayak
Sailboat
Yacht
Retarded Giant
Carriage
Gullible Parents
and many many more...
There's also sitting, but I won't get into that. Look I understand you think you like going for a walk, but hundreds of years of science say that it's outdated, outmoded and archaic. Let me put it in terms you can understand. Walking is the Zune. Sure you can do it, but none of the cool kids are.
Mar 3, 2010
A PROPORTIONAL RESPONSE
I'm going to open with a bit of site news. For those of you who are unaware this little site, much like the awesomeness that was Better Off Ted, is a bit of a secret to most of the world. Or at least it was. I know this will come as a bit of a disappointment to the few of you who came here on your own for nothing more than the sarcastic nectar flowing from my fingers (Disclaimer: This site is run by a professional, if you're leaking sarcasm nectar or maintain sarcasm for more than four hours you should consult your physician as it could result in long-term damage to personal relationships and wallets.), but blog traffic has increased several hundred fold in recent weeks. While I wish I could credit this to a sudden rise in the IQ of people with internet access, or at least good taste, I'm afraid the truth is it's all thanks to Lindsey Vonn. You see, in my story about Ms. Vonn, I happened to link to several pictures of her in various states of swim preparedness. These links apparently pop up in Google searches I don't know how many of you are reading this now, but whichever of you are, please, trust me on this; I'm better than porn, well, unless it's good porn.
In other news the network administrator at my office has seen fit to block Gmail's chat feature. Now, those of you who have committed my blog entries to memory (it's all about the mnemonic devices people) are well aware that my favorite Newtonian Rule (what like you don't have one?) is the Third Law of Motion; To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. At this point I'm sure you're wondering why I chose the law of reciprocal actions when everyone knows all the money and women are in the second law. I'll tell you why, because the third law explains the fundamental concepts in interpersonal relationships, You paid me a compliment, I remember you fondly. You buy me a birthday present, I buy you one, You launch a nuclear warhead at my country, I launch one at yours. It's what keeps us safe and sane. Accordingly, the actions of my network administrator require a proportional response on my part. I imagine they expected that the result of their action would be more work on my part, but they failed to understand Newton, you see, the rule is equal and opposite. Opposite. Well, vengeance shall be mine. Let physics reign!
Interesting trivia fact for the day: Pumpernickel means 'Devil's flatulence' in German. Which is odd, because you wouldn't think the devil would have trouble with digestion.
In other news the network administrator at my office has seen fit to block Gmail's chat feature. Now, those of you who have committed my blog entries to memory (it's all about the mnemonic devices people) are well aware that my favorite Newtonian Rule (what like you don't have one?) is the Third Law of Motion; To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. At this point I'm sure you're wondering why I chose the law of reciprocal actions when everyone knows all the money and women are in the second law. I'll tell you why, because the third law explains the fundamental concepts in interpersonal relationships, You paid me a compliment, I remember you fondly. You buy me a birthday present, I buy you one, You launch a nuclear warhead at my country, I launch one at yours. It's what keeps us safe and sane. Accordingly, the actions of my network administrator require a proportional response on my part. I imagine they expected that the result of their action would be more work on my part, but they failed to understand Newton, you see, the rule is equal and opposite. Opposite. Well, vengeance shall be mine. Let physics reign!
Interesting trivia fact for the day: Pumpernickel means 'Devil's flatulence' in German. Which is odd, because you wouldn't think the devil would have trouble with digestion.
Mar 1, 2010
WOULD THAT THEY WERE
Have you ever found yourself halfway through a thought - a well reasoned, eloquently phrased gem of a bon mot - only to find yourself suddenly stunted in your narrative progress by the vagaries and caprice of grammatical chance? If you are at all like me, you are very lucky. You are also likely to have similarly suffered. I speak today of words that are not words.
I pride myself on being a man of logic (unless of course logic isn't on my side, in which case I consider myself a man of passion, unless that isn't on my side either, in which case I consider myself a man of action, to wit: agree with me or I'll act upon your face) and if a logical progression leads me down a road, I expect language to follow along with me. Sometimes, however, English decides that it isn't flexible, like a GPS that won't give you an alternate route (You know what, maybe I don't want to take the Belt Parkway, did you think of that smarty pants? Huh? Maybe I had a bad experience with it and would feel safer taking the BQE. I'll bet youe little micro-chip didn't think of that did it TomTom. And really, why should I take advice from the only thing with a dumber name than BillyBob anyway. At least BillyBob's two different words, you just sound like your toaster parents were stutterers, or really indecisive. We'll call him, Tom... Tom, yes definitely Tom, Tom it is.). Anyway, my point is, perhaps you find yourself telling a good story, and like any good storyteller, you want to make use of a rhetorical device or two, for example floating opposites. So you start your snide comment about your date the other night and you know you're going to nail the [gender neutral] for being a talkative bore so you start with "Well, [gender neutral] was overly chatty, but..." and just as your about to lower the boom, you realize that while English gave you "overly" it didn't see fit to bless you with it's antonym "underly". And so, instead of you being the sarcastic genius skewering your date, you're the kebab.
So yeah, that sucks.
I pride myself on being a man of logic (unless of course logic isn't on my side, in which case I consider myself a man of passion, unless that isn't on my side either, in which case I consider myself a man of action, to wit: agree with me or I'll act upon your face) and if a logical progression leads me down a road, I expect language to follow along with me. Sometimes, however, English decides that it isn't flexible, like a GPS that won't give you an alternate route (You know what, maybe I don't want to take the Belt Parkway, did you think of that smarty pants? Huh? Maybe I had a bad experience with it and would feel safer taking the BQE. I'll bet youe little micro-chip didn't think of that did it TomTom. And really, why should I take advice from the only thing with a dumber name than BillyBob anyway. At least BillyBob's two different words, you just sound like your toaster parents were stutterers, or really indecisive. We'll call him, Tom... Tom, yes definitely Tom, Tom it is.). Anyway, my point is, perhaps you find yourself telling a good story, and like any good storyteller, you want to make use of a rhetorical device or two, for example floating opposites. So you start your snide comment about your date the other night and you know you're going to nail the [gender neutral] for being a talkative bore so you start with "Well, [gender neutral] was overly chatty, but..." and just as your about to lower the boom, you realize that while English gave you "overly" it didn't see fit to bless you with it's antonym "underly". And so, instead of you being the sarcastic genius skewering your date, you're the kebab.
So yeah, that sucks.
Feb 23, 2010
I'LL TAKE FAT AND HAIRY, ALEX
I came across an interesting article yesterday. Now, before I discuss said article, I'd like to take a moment to thank, or, as the people who still use the word 'bling' like to say, 'shout out' to Google Buzz for connecting me to Tony and to Tony, himself, for feeling compelled to share with the world that he is, scientifically proven, highly desirable to women.
As those of you who clicked the link already know (see what happens when you prepare?), the article details the results of a poll conducted on 2,500 women in England. The pollsters (so named because 'strangers who call you at home and ask you intrusive personal questions' has too many words for a job title) asked women what their secret turn-ons were and what they really wanted in a partner. Among the alleged discoveries:
Once those factors are taken into account we view the results differently. Women don't want a perfect man? OF COURSE NOT! Who'd want to spend their lives with someone who gave them body image issues? The question isn't, what do women find attractive it's, what would they be comfortable comparing themselves to for all eternity. Now if I asked you, do you think women want to date someone prettier than they are, would you be surprised by the answer? Didn't think so. If you want to know what women find attractive, or anyone for that matter, don't make their answer dependent on insecurities. That being said, thank God for insecurities.
As those of you who clicked the link already know (see what happens when you prepare?), the article details the results of a poll conducted on 2,500 women in England. The pollsters (so named because 'strangers who call you at home and ask you intrusive personal questions' has too many words for a job title) asked women what their secret turn-ons were and what they really wanted in a partner. Among the alleged discoveries:
The poll of 2,500 women also revealed that 91% would actually prefer a guy who had a few flaws over someone who is perfect. And more than half would rather a guy who was soft and cuddly instead of toned and muscly.Apparently, the people at the newspaper reporting the story were shocked by the results. Going so far as to say:
'But these results prove that women secretly want something different. It seems women really do like a guy who is able to show a softer side, or who is carrying a little bit of extra weight.I don't know about you, but none of this comes as a surprise to me. I'll tell you why. They asked the wrong question. If these same women were given a multiple choice test featuring coventionally good looking men and Jack Black and were then asked to choose which one was most attractive, dollars to munchkins (I like them better than donuts), the answers would conform to People Magazine's expectations. However, once the question is personalized, what would you prefer in your man we leave the realm of the objective and enter the subjective zone. Now, much like Twilight Zone the Subjective Zone is a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind...a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. In the subjective zone the question isn't, is this man attractive, it's; How do you imagine you're life would be with this man. Would you be happy? Would he get on your nerves? Are you OK with men using hair gel?
'I'm sure it's a relief to men all over the country to find out that women aren't actually looking for that perfect guy.'
Once those factors are taken into account we view the results differently. Women don't want a perfect man? OF COURSE NOT! Who'd want to spend their lives with someone who gave them body image issues? The question isn't, what do women find attractive it's, what would they be comfortable comparing themselves to for all eternity. Now if I asked you, do you think women want to date someone prettier than they are, would you be surprised by the answer? Didn't think so. If you want to know what women find attractive, or anyone for that matter, don't make their answer dependent on insecurities. That being said, thank God for insecurities.
Feb 18, 2010
NOT SO GREAT EXPECTATIONS
So I've been thinking about this issue for a while, but I hadn't delved into it because, well, I didn't want to come across as a sexist or misogynist. Thankfully, today I realized that I've written stuff that's way more offensive to women than what I'm about to discuss so I don't have to worry (that logic works, right?).
My question is this: Why is Lindsey Vonn famous?
I grant you this question would be more valid if I'd had the testicular fortitude to ask it before she won a gold medal andwas in the lead for a second crashed in her attempt at a second (though, from a notoriety point of view, if you want to get famous for failing you should probably do it this way; the unexpected is much more memorable), but I think the question remains valid. It's been widely reported that if, as she did, Ms. Vonn were to win a gold medal she'd command as much in endorsements as Michael Phelps (I think he's the one on the left). To compare, Michael Phelps is the most decorated Olympian EVER, Lindsey Vonn has a gold medal. Also, Michael Phelps has about 18 extra teeth, hang gliders for ears and, if possible, looks like a more retarded version of Eli Manning. Lindsey Vonn was in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition.
This may have been obvious before, but if you're a reasonably attractive women, it's decidedly in your best interests to become an athlete. On a related note: If you're a dude and look like Michael Phelps or Eli Manning, you want to be a really really good athlete. Generally speaking, for women, the hotter you are, the less actual success you need to have, and thus the less talented you need to be. Ironically, given the apparent paucity of attractive women in professional sports, you even get graded on a curve. Not that I would ever rank women on a scale of 1-10 (1-100 is far more accurate, it's like using the metric system), but Lindsey Vonn isn't gorgeous. She's a pretty girl, no doubt, but she wouldn't be famous for being pretty if she couldn't ski. What people mean when they call her 'gorgeous' is really: Gorgeous for a woman's athlete. It's sort of the way you'd judge a white guy dunking a basketball or Sarah Palin's debate skills. It may not be accurate, but I guess it's the least we can do for ignoring the athletic accomplishments of less attractive female athletes the world over. See also: Danica Patrick
Not to be heretical, but I think Avatar falls into a similar category. As an unceasingly hyped, special effects heavy, blue giants with tails and a USB cable, 3-D movie, expectations for its quality were understandably low. When it failed to be the worst movie of the year, the relief that it failed to live down to those low expectations made people see it as a great movie rather than a good one. Those same low expectations that caused people to call Lindsey Vonn gorgeous, got Avatar an Oscar nomination. True story.
Poll to your left (mine too).
My question is this: Why is Lindsey Vonn famous?
I grant you this question would be more valid if I'd had the testicular fortitude to ask it before she won a gold medal and
This may have been obvious before, but if you're a reasonably attractive women, it's decidedly in your best interests to become an athlete. On a related note: If you're a dude and look like Michael Phelps or Eli Manning, you want to be a really really good athlete. Generally speaking, for women, the hotter you are, the less actual success you need to have, and thus the less talented you need to be. Ironically, given the apparent paucity of attractive women in professional sports, you even get graded on a curve. Not that I would ever rank women on a scale of 1-10 (1-100 is far more accurate, it's like using the metric system), but Lindsey Vonn isn't gorgeous. She's a pretty girl, no doubt, but she wouldn't be famous for being pretty if she couldn't ski. What people mean when they call her 'gorgeous' is really: Gorgeous for a woman's athlete. It's sort of the way you'd judge a white guy dunking a basketball or Sarah Palin's debate skills. It may not be accurate, but I guess it's the least we can do for ignoring the athletic accomplishments of less attractive female athletes the world over. See also: Danica Patrick
Not to be heretical, but I think Avatar falls into a similar category. As an unceasingly hyped, special effects heavy, blue giants with tails and a USB cable, 3-D movie, expectations for its quality were understandably low. When it failed to be the worst movie of the year, the relief that it failed to live down to those low expectations made people see it as a great movie rather than a good one. Those same low expectations that caused people to call Lindsey Vonn gorgeous, got Avatar an Oscar nomination. True story.
Poll to your left (mine too).
Feb 16, 2010
CHINESE TAKE OUT
Sorry for the lack of posting last week Readers. I can't say I have a good excuse, but you should probably know I'm using my puppy dog eyes, so really, how could you stay mad at me?
That being said, I do feel much more energetic after the long weekend and plan a full posting schedule this week. Still, I probably shouldn't to commit to anything, not because I'm afraid of commitment, I believe that's currently in the 'debatable' category, but because a wise man, I think it was Schopenhauer, said, "your ego should never write checks your body can't cash". Maybe not, I tend to get my Nineteenth century German philosophers and 80's movie stars confused all the time. You'd be shocked how many times I mistook Hegel and his dialectics for the German terrorist Hans Gruber in Die Hard. Sorry Georg Wilhelm!
Anyway, I missed Valentine's Day and the start of the Olympics, two topics ripe for abuse and that kind of saddens me. I'll leave Valentine's Day alone for now because I'm still in shock that in Japan women are expected to give men chocolate and receive nothing in return. I know Japan's been taking a lot of crap lately, what with Toyota's accidentally setting land speed records left, right and tree, but I think we need to acknowledge their ingenuity for a moment. Sure, they eventually created a holiday on which men have reciprocate a month later, but it took over forty years for it to catch on. The best we could do was deny women voting rights for 144 years, how did that save me any money?
What? Too soon?
Speaking of things that come to soon, I don't think I ever realized how young most Olympians are until this year. I don't mean to say that it makes anything they do more impressive, I still have no idea why cross country skiing and target practice were combined. It's like a bad infomercial product - it's a toothbrush and a caulker! - it's just now I kind of feel bad for inventing a game where you win by picking the athlete who falls, crashes, or otherwise humiliates themselves most (By the way if you want the rules feel free to ask me in the comments section. It makes figure skating surprisingly watchable). Perhaps the most amusing aspect of the Games, now that my conscience has sucked the freude from their schaden, is listening to the announcers sing the praises of foreign nations training regimens, in particular, China. I was watching the pairs figure skating last night (double the amount of falls), when I heard the announcer wax on (wax off!) about how dedicated the Chinese pair was to their training, whilst apparently forgetting about the whole Communism/child abuse/human rights violations thing. The putative gold medal favorites, he told the story of how they (were) moved out of their homes when they were children, I think he said 8 years old but I can't confirm it right now (Knowledge drop: If you type Chinese and Zhang into the google search box, you don't narrow the field all that much). Anyway they were both living in these special athlete dorms (one for boys one for girls) when they met and got paired up. Eventually they got married and here's the kicker, they still live in the same dorms. The announcer, I imagine China owns his home loan, was trying so hard to play this up as a positive, went so far as to say, "Zhang and Zhang are among the most dedicated athletes at the Games, they're a married couple, but to further their success they still live in the athlete dorms in China, only seeing each other at meal times and during training." Of course, now that Mr. Zhang fell, I doubt she'll be seeing him at all. I'd like to see him spin that in 4 years. "Zhang and Zhang are skating for China, not to be confused with the Zhang and Zhang from Vancouver 2010. After Zhang's fall, the Chinese goverment executed her husband in order to pair her with a more competent skater, what dedication!"
P.S. Yes, I realize that I gave Zhang's new husband her surname. You wanna make something of it?
That being said, I do feel much more energetic after the long weekend and plan a full posting schedule this week. Still, I probably shouldn't to commit to anything, not because I'm afraid of commitment, I believe that's currently in the 'debatable' category, but because a wise man, I think it was Schopenhauer, said, "your ego should never write checks your body can't cash". Maybe not, I tend to get my Nineteenth century German philosophers and 80's movie stars confused all the time. You'd be shocked how many times I mistook Hegel and his dialectics for the German terrorist Hans Gruber in Die Hard. Sorry Georg Wilhelm!
Anyway, I missed Valentine's Day and the start of the Olympics, two topics ripe for abuse and that kind of saddens me. I'll leave Valentine's Day alone for now because I'm still in shock that in Japan women are expected to give men chocolate and receive nothing in return. I know Japan's been taking a lot of crap lately, what with Toyota's accidentally setting land speed records left, right and tree, but I think we need to acknowledge their ingenuity for a moment. Sure, they eventually created a holiday on which men have reciprocate a month later, but it took over forty years for it to catch on. The best we could do was deny women voting rights for 144 years, how did that save me any money?
What? Too soon?
Speaking of things that come to soon, I don't think I ever realized how young most Olympians are until this year. I don't mean to say that it makes anything they do more impressive, I still have no idea why cross country skiing and target practice were combined. It's like a bad infomercial product - it's a toothbrush and a caulker! - it's just now I kind of feel bad for inventing a game where you win by picking the athlete who falls, crashes, or otherwise humiliates themselves most (By the way if you want the rules feel free to ask me in the comments section. It makes figure skating surprisingly watchable). Perhaps the most amusing aspect of the Games, now that my conscience has sucked the freude from their schaden, is listening to the announcers sing the praises of foreign nations training regimens, in particular, China. I was watching the pairs figure skating last night (double the amount of falls), when I heard the announcer wax on (wax off!) about how dedicated the Chinese pair was to their training, whilst apparently forgetting about the whole Communism/child abuse/human rights violations thing. The putative gold medal favorites, he told the story of how they (were) moved out of their homes when they were children, I think he said 8 years old but I can't confirm it right now (Knowledge drop: If you type Chinese and Zhang into the google search box, you don't narrow the field all that much). Anyway they were both living in these special athlete dorms (one for boys one for girls) when they met and got paired up. Eventually they got married and here's the kicker, they still live in the same dorms. The announcer, I imagine China owns his home loan, was trying so hard to play this up as a positive, went so far as to say, "Zhang and Zhang are among the most dedicated athletes at the Games, they're a married couple, but to further their success they still live in the athlete dorms in China, only seeing each other at meal times and during training." Of course, now that Mr. Zhang fell, I doubt she'll be seeing him at all. I'd like to see him spin that in 4 years. "Zhang and Zhang are skating for China, not to be confused with the Zhang and Zhang from Vancouver 2010. After Zhang's fall, the Chinese goverment executed her husband in order to pair her with a more competent skater, what dedication!"
P.S. Yes, I realize that I gave Zhang's new husband her surname. You wanna make something of it?
Feb 5, 2010
SUGAR HIGH
Here are a few things that I've noticed while pondering whether I can get asbestos poisoning from accidentally snorting the topping off a powdered donut:
- Powdered donuts are really hard to eat. In case you were wondering, the proper procedure for safely eating a powdered donut without coating your lungs or clothing with confectionery sugar is as follows: Inhale, hold your breath, open your mouth, insert donut, take a bite and remove donut from the vicinity of your breathing apparati, inhale again. Repeat.
- The Apocalypse, or rather post-apocalypse seems to be quite popular at the movies these days The Road, Book Of Eli, From Paris with Love. Accordingly, I feel I've learned enough about life on post-apocalyptic earth to give you a bit of a preview:
- This is my new favorite website: http://www.unnecessaryquotes.com/
- When did not having plans for the Superbowl become the new, 'not having a date for Valentine's day'?
- Is it wrong to complain about having nothing to do at work? Or is this one of those situations where boredom doesn't get you any sympathy?
- Another related note: I don't mean to imply that I haven't had enough to do at work anything, but I've officially finished reading the internet. Spoiler alert: Bruce Willis was dead the whole time!
- It isn't hypocritical for you to judge someone for reading a Dan Brown book on the train as long as you were embarrassed enough to remove the dust jacket when you read it on the train.
- Is this post just a long list of tweets?
- This town should look into changing its name. This one too, now that I think about it.
- This was fun!
- Powdered donuts are really hard to eat. In case you were wondering, the proper procedure for safely eating a powdered donut without coating your lungs or clothing with confectionery sugar is as follows: Inhale, hold your breath, open your mouth, insert donut, take a bite and remove donut from the vicinity of your breathing apparati, inhale again. Repeat.
- The Apocalypse, or rather post-apocalypse seems to be quite popular at the movies these days The Road, Book Of Eli, From Paris with Love. Accordingly, I feel I've learned enough about life on post-apocalyptic earth to give you a bit of a preview:
- Despite the fact that the nuclear blast destroyed pretty much everything, sunglasses and goggles will be available to all, you know, because glass is so not fragile. Hot women and heroes will also be lucky enough to get what appear to be scratch proof Oakleys.
- In the post-apocalypse, dental hygiene is the new racism. You'll be able to tell how important someone is to your world by their teeth. If they have nice shiny ones, they're clearly key members of some unknown narrative. If not, they're pretty much the token black guy in a horror movie.
- A fat, earinged, bald headed, post-middle-aged, John Travolta, will star in an action movie, as an action hero.
- Hoi Polloi
- C'est la vie
- Je ne sais quoi
- Que sera sera
- This is my new favorite website: http://www.unnecessaryquotes.com/
- When did not having plans for the Superbowl become the new, 'not having a date for Valentine's day'?
- Is it wrong to complain about having nothing to do at work? Or is this one of those situations where boredom doesn't get you any sympathy?
- Another related note: I don't mean to imply that I haven't had enough to do at work anything, but I've officially finished reading the internet. Spoiler alert: Bruce Willis was dead the whole time!
- It isn't hypocritical for you to judge someone for reading a Dan Brown book on the train as long as you were embarrassed enough to remove the dust jacket when you read it on the train.
- Is this post just a long list of tweets?
- This town should look into changing its name. This one too, now that I think about it.
- This was fun!
Feb 2, 2010
AFRAID OF THE HEAT
I know I promised you a post on foreign language coloquialisms, but with my lack of computer I've found myself watching even more TV, (though surprisingly, not spending any more time working out) and so, I came upon something about which I must speak, America's Worst Cooks.
The show is on Food Network and it is, ostensibly, a show where professional chefs teach people who know nothing about cooking, how to cook, combined with an elimination competition. I don't want to get too wrapped up in the actual details of the show because that's not the part that made me weep for humanity, but in short, every episode the contestants are given a tutorial and then a challenge. The problem I envisioned for the show when I first saw the commerical was that it didn't seem like it could be all that entertaining. Sure the first week you'd have a few people setting fire to themselves and boiling sushi, but really, how hard is it to follow a recipe? They're just instructions afterall. Would you watch a show called America's Worst Home Playground Constructers. Ok, maybe you would, but would you watch it a second time?
Clearly, the producers of this show realized this would be a problem because they didn't cast the worst cooks in America. Sure, I grant you that these people are embarrassingly bad in the kitchen, but they aren't bad because they're bad cooks who don't understand flavor, they're bad because they are first and foremost America's most inept people in general. Forget cooking, you could have made this a show about setting up a computer and three-quarters of this cast wouldn't get past opening the box. There's a 27 year old 'homemaker' with three kids who apparently found making Ramen noodles beyond the realm of her abilities. I don't mean to judge, but if your job is to stay home and take care of your kids and you can't even make a box of mac and cheese, you're not a homemaker, you're a babysitter, a bad babysitter!
Another contestent on this COOKING show appears to be, and I kid you not, afraid of fire. A third, after making a crepe that was too salty for the judges to actually eat, announced that she'd finally found her purpose in life and wanted to go to culinary school. I don't even want to imagine just how bad she must have sucked at everything else in her life for her to confuse, 'complete failure' with, 'purpose in life'. It would be like Custer sending off a messsage to the President during the battle of Little Big Horn saying, "Look Mr. President, I know this battle thing isn't going that great, but I have to say, considering my complete lack of talent, skill and intelligence, I'm actually surprised we're doing this well! I'd like to pursue a career in this field." Also there are a few old people who get confused any time instructions go beyond three sentences.
I don't mean to say the show isn't entertaining; watching the guy afraid of fire try and sneak up on the stove all quiet like was worth sitting through a commercial, but it still boils down to one thing. We like laughing at stupid people because it makes us feel better about ourselves. So yeah, someone will win this competition and make food that rivals your mom's, but not because they learned to cook and others didn't. The winner will prevail because they have the mental capacity to reason out for themselves that raw chicken will at some point need to be cooked.
The show is on Food Network and it is, ostensibly, a show where professional chefs teach people who know nothing about cooking, how to cook, combined with an elimination competition. I don't want to get too wrapped up in the actual details of the show because that's not the part that made me weep for humanity, but in short, every episode the contestants are given a tutorial and then a challenge. The problem I envisioned for the show when I first saw the commerical was that it didn't seem like it could be all that entertaining. Sure the first week you'd have a few people setting fire to themselves and boiling sushi, but really, how hard is it to follow a recipe? They're just instructions afterall. Would you watch a show called America's Worst Home Playground Constructers. Ok, maybe you would, but would you watch it a second time?
Clearly, the producers of this show realized this would be a problem because they didn't cast the worst cooks in America. Sure, I grant you that these people are embarrassingly bad in the kitchen, but they aren't bad because they're bad cooks who don't understand flavor, they're bad because they are first and foremost America's most inept people in general. Forget cooking, you could have made this a show about setting up a computer and three-quarters of this cast wouldn't get past opening the box. There's a 27 year old 'homemaker' with three kids who apparently found making Ramen noodles beyond the realm of her abilities. I don't mean to judge, but if your job is to stay home and take care of your kids and you can't even make a box of mac and cheese, you're not a homemaker, you're a babysitter, a bad babysitter!
Another contestent on this COOKING show appears to be, and I kid you not, afraid of fire. A third, after making a crepe that was too salty for the judges to actually eat, announced that she'd finally found her purpose in life and wanted to go to culinary school. I don't even want to imagine just how bad she must have sucked at everything else in her life for her to confuse, 'complete failure' with, 'purpose in life'. It would be like Custer sending off a messsage to the President during the battle of Little Big Horn saying, "Look Mr. President, I know this battle thing isn't going that great, but I have to say, considering my complete lack of talent, skill and intelligence, I'm actually surprised we're doing this well! I'd like to pursue a career in this field." Also there are a few old people who get confused any time instructions go beyond three sentences.
I don't mean to say the show isn't entertaining; watching the guy afraid of fire try and sneak up on the stove all quiet like was worth sitting through a commercial, but it still boils down to one thing. We like laughing at stupid people because it makes us feel better about ourselves. So yeah, someone will win this competition and make food that rivals your mom's, but not because they learned to cook and others didn't. The winner will prevail because they have the mental capacity to reason out for themselves that raw chicken will at some point need to be cooked.
Feb 1, 2010
REQUIEM FOR A NOTEBOOK
So I was all ready to write a rather fascinating piece on our usage of foreign language colloquialisms in everyday day speech when the fates interceded, as they tend to do whenever I finally find myself motivated, and killed my laptop. I know I've written about customer service before and jokes about tech support from India are as overdone as Donnatella Versace, but I think the overall gestalt of the incident is different enough to merit its own post. As such, I've recreated, E-True Hollwood style, the chronology of events for your pleasure and edification. In order to increase ratings for this particular episode and your respect for me overall, I have embellished certain details not germane to the outcome of the story. I have bracketed these instances in the interested of full disclosure.
Saturday night/Sunday morning: [After staying out late all night having fun and doing stuff I came home and turned my laptop on to check my e-mail.]. After spending some hours [not watching porn] online, I went to put it to sleep when it decided to go all "You can't fire me I quit!" on me and froze, a classic Tscaichovsky opening. I countered this ploy with the Mandrake defense, rebooting, confident said laptop would have forgotten my attempts to shut down its conscious computer mind and would awaken pliant and ready to be used for [things totally non-sports or porn related]. Instead, my opponent went to the mattresses and responded with the "I'm sorry, I can't" defense, allowing me to turn her on, but preventing me from accessing any of her fun parts by having the screen remain dark (I'll admit, in what may have been a moment of sexist weakness, that I had just assumed the artificial intelligence in my computer was male, but I think its clear by her behavior that this is the work of a female mind). At this point I realized I was facing a real competitor and stepped up my game, unplugging the power cord and letting the battery drain on its own. Then I went to bed and slept the uneasy sleep of a soldier in the theater of war.
Late Sunday Morning: After an early morning weekend dentist appointment (oddly enough that's actually true), I returned to the battlefield numb and and drooling. [I was ready for a fight.] Unfortunately, my laptop was done fighting and seemed content to go on living the life of a deaf mute, perhaps happy to spend her days contemplating the mysteries of the electronic universe. Either way there wasn't much left to do so I but the bullet and called tech support. After spending 30 minutes giving Rajit my address SSN, blood type and genetic coding, he informed me that my warranty had expired, but, becuase I was such a long time and valued HP customer (I bought one laptop from them 22 months ago) I was eligible for a discounted service. For only $99 they were willing to offer me all the telephonic tech support I could handle for one year or, for $49.99, I could get one time help on one issue. I asked Rajit exactly how he could help me over the phone given that the only button on my computer that did anything was the power button and I'd already tried that. He assured me that here were many things he could do ("Trust me my friends, there is many, many things I can do for you."), but I remained skeptical that any of them were computer related [he did however offer me a great deal on a time share in New Delhi].
Sunday Afternoon: After several admittedly pointless restarts and pep talks ("Come on baby, you know you can do it, let daddy see your big beautiful screen."), I started calling every friend I have with a computer science degree (You'd think they'd be free all weekend, but, surprisingly, no.). When this failed to yield any resluts I decided to try shame and put my laptop next to the basket I use for regular old snail mail.
Moday Morning: The denoument of this particular story comes about by backup free tech support guy. It might not surprise the advanced among you but here it is anyway.
Me: Good morning, I hope I'm not interrupting anything important, but I was wondering if I could abuse our friendship and treat you as a resource to be mined.
Free Tech Support Guy: I'd love to say no, but of course I can't without looking like a major douche.
Me: Wonderful. My laptop won't show me her goods.
FTSG: Have you tried buying her diamonds?
Me: I will not stand for sexual innuendo! Can we please focus?
FTSG: OK, your screen probably died.
Me: Died? It wasn't even sick!
FTSG: Yeah, it happens.
Me: But two days ago she was all bright and working! Wouldn't she have faded slowly over time, like a senior citizen.
FTSG: No, it's more like Conan O'Brien and the Tonight show. One day you're on TV at 11:30 pm, the next you're sitting at home counting to 45 million. Only you don't get any money and you'll have to buy a new screen.
Me: You know, even though this advice is free, I still feel like I got screwed.
LTSG: Thanks! That's what tech support is all about. Now if I could just get your blood type and genetic coding...
Saturday night/Sunday morning: [After staying out late all night having fun and doing stuff I came home and turned my laptop on to check my e-mail.]. After spending some hours [not watching porn] online, I went to put it to sleep when it decided to go all "You can't fire me I quit!" on me and froze, a classic Tscaichovsky opening. I countered this ploy with the Mandrake defense, rebooting, confident said laptop would have forgotten my attempts to shut down its conscious computer mind and would awaken pliant and ready to be used for [things totally non-sports or porn related]. Instead, my opponent went to the mattresses and responded with the "I'm sorry, I can't" defense, allowing me to turn her on, but preventing me from accessing any of her fun parts by having the screen remain dark (I'll admit, in what may have been a moment of sexist weakness, that I had just assumed the artificial intelligence in my computer was male, but I think its clear by her behavior that this is the work of a female mind). At this point I realized I was facing a real competitor and stepped up my game, unplugging the power cord and letting the battery drain on its own. Then I went to bed and slept the uneasy sleep of a soldier in the theater of war.
Late Sunday Morning: After an early morning weekend dentist appointment (oddly enough that's actually true), I returned to the battlefield numb and and drooling. [I was ready for a fight.] Unfortunately, my laptop was done fighting and seemed content to go on living the life of a deaf mute, perhaps happy to spend her days contemplating the mysteries of the electronic universe. Either way there wasn't much left to do so I but the bullet and called tech support. After spending 30 minutes giving Rajit my address SSN, blood type and genetic coding, he informed me that my warranty had expired, but, becuase I was such a long time and valued HP customer (I bought one laptop from them 22 months ago) I was eligible for a discounted service. For only $99 they were willing to offer me all the telephonic tech support I could handle for one year or, for $49.99, I could get one time help on one issue. I asked Rajit exactly how he could help me over the phone given that the only button on my computer that did anything was the power button and I'd already tried that. He assured me that here were many things he could do ("Trust me my friends, there is many, many things I can do for you."), but I remained skeptical that any of them were computer related [he did however offer me a great deal on a time share in New Delhi].
Sunday Afternoon: After several admittedly pointless restarts and pep talks ("Come on baby, you know you can do it, let daddy see your big beautiful screen."), I started calling every friend I have with a computer science degree (You'd think they'd be free all weekend, but, surprisingly, no.). When this failed to yield any resluts I decided to try shame and put my laptop next to the basket I use for regular old snail mail.
Moday Morning: The denoument of this particular story comes about by backup free tech support guy. It might not surprise the advanced among you but here it is anyway.
Me: Good morning, I hope I'm not interrupting anything important, but I was wondering if I could abuse our friendship and treat you as a resource to be mined.
Free Tech Support Guy: I'd love to say no, but of course I can't without looking like a major douche.
Me: Wonderful. My laptop won't show me her goods.
FTSG: Have you tried buying her diamonds?
Me: I will not stand for sexual innuendo! Can we please focus?
FTSG: OK, your screen probably died.
Me: Died? It wasn't even sick!
FTSG: Yeah, it happens.
Me: But two days ago she was all bright and working! Wouldn't she have faded slowly over time, like a senior citizen.
FTSG: No, it's more like Conan O'Brien and the Tonight show. One day you're on TV at 11:30 pm, the next you're sitting at home counting to 45 million. Only you don't get any money and you'll have to buy a new screen.
Me: You know, even though this advice is free, I still feel like I got screwed.
LTSG: Thanks! That's what tech support is all about. Now if I could just get your blood type and genetic coding...
Jan 27, 2010
I BLAME THE CRETACEOUS PERIOD!
Our favorite things, like midgets shipped Federal Express, come in small packages. The phrases that bring us the most joy are often just three words. There's: 'I love you', I need you', 'I missed you', pretty much the entirety of the 'I verb you' pantheon now that I think about. You have the more esoteric ones like,'You complete me', 'Strong Sexual Content', 'The Yankees win' and my personal favorite, assuming I'm on the winning end: 'You were right'/'I was wrong'.
I mention this because, despite all the amazing technological advances we've made since I was a child - I just bought my 7 year old nephew a pair of remote controlled helicopters, let me say this again, remote controlled helicopters, they fly!- despite all of it, it still doesn't take much to make me happy. Sure I'd like an iPhone an iTablet and the inevitable iClone, but I don't think I'd do anything with any of them aside from maybe looking at them and, if no one was looking, petting them (this may be a metaphysical question and thus a bit off topic, but does finding your own clone attractive make you gay or just a narcissist?).
I take pleasure from small things (Really? You found that funny? 'Small things'? I thought you were mature enough not to laugh at that), like the sign on the men's room door that says sprinkler valves located inside, seeing people misspell, misspell and the pain and suffering of others. Simple stuff really. Perhaps this is why the thing I most enjoyed this past week was a 10 second television clip.
I don't know if you've heard about this new show on Starz called 'Spartacus'. Essentially it's 'Rome' meets '300' meets 'Showgirls' only with more violence and nudity. Violence and nudity, you say; how could you narrow an hour's worth of violence in nudity into a favorite 10 second clip, you ask. The answer is simple, my ten second clip had neither. It didn't even have men wearing those breastplates with He-Man abs and Batman nipples. No, my favorite moment of the weekend was the 10 second disclaimer before the show even started. The disclaimer goes as follows:
Now aside from the fact that blood didn't fly in slow motion in ancient Rome and I doubt that getting freaky in the snow was particularly popular for people without the benefit of North Face gear, the disclaimer screams of 'Damn, did you know there was that much nudity and violence in this thing!?' Still, you have to admire the resourcefulness of these people. Rather than admit that sex and violence is good for ratings, they blame history, history, why didn't I ever think of that. After all, is it their fault ancient Romans were intensely sensual?
I mention this because, despite all the amazing technological advances we've made since I was a child - I just bought my 7 year old nephew a pair of remote controlled helicopters, let me say this again, remote controlled helicopters, they fly!- despite all of it, it still doesn't take much to make me happy. Sure I'd like an iPhone an iTablet and the inevitable iClone, but I don't think I'd do anything with any of them aside from maybe looking at them and, if no one was looking, petting them (this may be a metaphysical question and thus a bit off topic, but does finding your own clone attractive make you gay or just a narcissist?).
I take pleasure from small things (Really? You found that funny? 'Small things'? I thought you were mature enough not to laugh at that), like the sign on the men's room door that says sprinkler valves located inside, seeing people misspell, misspell and the pain and suffering of others. Simple stuff really. Perhaps this is why the thing I most enjoyed this past week was a 10 second television clip.
I don't know if you've heard about this new show on Starz called 'Spartacus'. Essentially it's 'Rome' meets '300' meets 'Showgirls' only with more violence and nudity. Violence and nudity, you say; how could you narrow an hour's worth of violence in nudity into a favorite 10 second clip, you ask. The answer is simple, my ten second clip had neither. It didn't even have men wearing those breastplates with He-Man abs and Batman nipples. No, my favorite moment of the weekend was the 10 second disclaimer before the show even started. The disclaimer goes as follows:
“Spartacus is a historical depiction of ancient Rome’s society and culture. The intensity of the sensuality, brutality and language is to suggest an authentic representation of that period.”
Now aside from the fact that blood didn't fly in slow motion in ancient Rome and I doubt that getting freaky in the snow was particularly popular for people without the benefit of North Face gear, the disclaimer screams of 'Damn, did you know there was that much nudity and violence in this thing!?' Still, you have to admire the resourcefulness of these people. Rather than admit that sex and violence is good for ratings, they blame history, history, why didn't I ever think of that. After all, is it their fault ancient Romans were intensely sensual?
Jan 21, 2010
CONSTIPATED
So I have a few ideas for posts germinating in my brain, but at the moment I seem to be incapable of turning those ideas into actual words so, for now, I'll give you a sample scene from the book. Hope you enjoy.
Way back when, when the soon to be Israelites were meandering about in the desert for forty years trying to recall how they’d confused good old ‘I am who am’ with the oversized bull from Wall Street, Moses faced a similar problem. Jews, even then, were a litigious bunch, and with an entirely new set of codes and regulations, loopholes and their corresponding lawsuits abounded. Now this was fine - especially for the lawyers - but, much like today’s judicial system, the courts, or in this case, court, found itself backlogged and overburdened. You see, for all his laudable traits, and I’m sure there were many (personally I think humility is a bit overrated, but whatever), Moses was a bit of a control freak. I suppose it’s understandable, you commune with God for a few days, carry his tablet down a mountain twice and all of a sudden you feel like you’re the only one who can explain what God really wants. So, Moses goes off and becomes God’s own judiciary, adjudicating his butt off eighteen hours a day five days a week from the relative discomfort of a bench in a tent. As you can imagine though, standing in line in middle the Sinai desert waiting for your case to be called isn’t anyone’s idea of a day at the beach, sand notwithstanding, and whether Moses knew it or not his customer service rating was taking quite the hit on Amazon.com. Anyway, this goes on for a couple hundred sunburns when along comes Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law (and inspiration to every delegater and contractor since).
“Moses” he says, “your people are suffering.”
Now Moses was a man of God and like most men of that ilk he was a bit of an ascetic and so he responds, “I know it’s a bit warm Jethro, but it’s a dry heat.”
Jethro himself was a former pagan priest so he knew that without having ritual human sacrifice as a backup plan keeping the people happy was mucho importante (Jethro took Spanish in high school, and, little known fact, was actually the inventor of the chalupa), so persists.
“Moses” he continues, “couldn’t you train a few disciples, teach them what they need to know so they can handle the basic stuff?”
Moses was intrigued at this point because really, ascetic or not, how many times can you listen to people fight over who owned the nasal spray (Like I said, it was a dry heat), so he says to Jethro, “You might be on to something here dad (Moses was respectful like that), but won’t the people complain if they have to settle for some schnook judging for them instead of me?”
Now as I said, Moses was a humble man, but even humble men can take pride in their work, so Jethro knew he had to play it safe if he didn’t want to hurt his son-in-law’s feelings – plus Moses still had that plague wielding staff and, after the whole smashing of tablets thing, a reputation for having a bit of a short fuse. “Of course they’d prefer to have you judge them personally Moses, but we’re in middle of a desert, and for all manna’s wonderful properties it doesn’t have much in the way of SPF.”
“This is true.” Moses replied, recalling with a bit of shiver the manna disaster of 2 p.e. “That stuff is like body oil. Aaron was practically molting.”
“Exactly,” said Jethro, “this way people can go to men they know you’ve trained and who report to you for their all small claims stuff instead of having to line up from here to the Red Sea.”
“Reed Sea.”
“We’ll see about that one, Moses.”
Anyway, after a few tugs at his beard Moses told Jethro he liked the idea and so division of labor was born.
Way back when, when the soon to be Israelites were meandering about in the desert for forty years trying to recall how they’d confused good old ‘I am who am’ with the oversized bull from Wall Street, Moses faced a similar problem. Jews, even then, were a litigious bunch, and with an entirely new set of codes and regulations, loopholes and their corresponding lawsuits abounded. Now this was fine - especially for the lawyers - but, much like today’s judicial system, the courts, or in this case, court, found itself backlogged and overburdened. You see, for all his laudable traits, and I’m sure there were many (personally I think humility is a bit overrated, but whatever), Moses was a bit of a control freak. I suppose it’s understandable, you commune with God for a few days, carry his tablet down a mountain twice and all of a sudden you feel like you’re the only one who can explain what God really wants. So, Moses goes off and becomes God’s own judiciary, adjudicating his butt off eighteen hours a day five days a week from the relative discomfort of a bench in a tent. As you can imagine though, standing in line in middle the Sinai desert waiting for your case to be called isn’t anyone’s idea of a day at the beach, sand notwithstanding, and whether Moses knew it or not his customer service rating was taking quite the hit on Amazon.com. Anyway, this goes on for a couple hundred sunburns when along comes Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law (and inspiration to every delegater and contractor since).
“Moses” he says, “your people are suffering.”
Now Moses was a man of God and like most men of that ilk he was a bit of an ascetic and so he responds, “I know it’s a bit warm Jethro, but it’s a dry heat.”
Jethro himself was a former pagan priest so he knew that without having ritual human sacrifice as a backup plan keeping the people happy was mucho importante (Jethro took Spanish in high school, and, little known fact, was actually the inventor of the chalupa), so persists.
“Moses” he continues, “couldn’t you train a few disciples, teach them what they need to know so they can handle the basic stuff?”
Moses was intrigued at this point because really, ascetic or not, how many times can you listen to people fight over who owned the nasal spray (Like I said, it was a dry heat), so he says to Jethro, “You might be on to something here dad (Moses was respectful like that), but won’t the people complain if they have to settle for some schnook judging for them instead of me?”
Now as I said, Moses was a humble man, but even humble men can take pride in their work, so Jethro knew he had to play it safe if he didn’t want to hurt his son-in-law’s feelings – plus Moses still had that plague wielding staff and, after the whole smashing of tablets thing, a reputation for having a bit of a short fuse. “Of course they’d prefer to have you judge them personally Moses, but we’re in middle of a desert, and for all manna’s wonderful properties it doesn’t have much in the way of SPF.”
“This is true.” Moses replied, recalling with a bit of shiver the manna disaster of 2 p.e. “That stuff is like body oil. Aaron was practically molting.”
“Exactly,” said Jethro, “this way people can go to men they know you’ve trained and who report to you for their all small claims stuff instead of having to line up from here to the Red Sea.”
“Reed Sea.”
“We’ll see about that one, Moses.”
Anyway, after a few tugs at his beard Moses told Jethro he liked the idea and so division of labor was born.
Jan 18, 2010
THE RUNS
Before we begin today I'd just like to take a minute to mention that the good folks over at The Vertex decided to carry a new and improved version of last week's post on the Mercedes commercial on their blog. It's a cool site, mostly because they think I'm funny, so check it out and you know maybe you can try the commenting thing. Anyway, onto the post!
Some people be allowed to shouldn't run. I know this may come as a chock to some of you, but when a lot of you run, you, well, you look stupid. I don't mean this to sound judgmental or controlling, because in all honesty if you running only made you look stupid I'd totally be OK with letting you run. I would. The problem is when some of you run, well you look SO bad doing it, it makes others wonder if that's what they look like when they run. It's kind of like that uncomfortable humor from the first season of 'The Office', only more depressing. Let me see if I can explain it better. You know how when you're watching a movie and a guy gets kicked in the nuts and, if you're a guy or Cher's daughter, you involuntarily cringe and cross your legs? Or like when you watch a guy ask a girl six 'mmm mmm's' out of his appropriate hotness mating index (AHMI for short; I like to pronounce it Amy and picture her as the brunette on Community because with the right hair and wardrobe she can slide in anywhere from average to damn she's Jewish!?) and you just know he's going to get humiliated and so you scrunch you face up all Renee Zellwegery and wait for the rejecetion to drop? Yeah, it's a lot like that.
It's taken some time, but as a society we've come to a general consensus that singing, dancing and telling your friends supposedly funny stories should be limited to people with natural ability or years of hard work and training. Sure we had the Karaoke club setback of 1988, and the American Idol casting episodes of the Aughts, but even they are more a tools for drunken mockery and self deprecation than genuine misguided belief in a non-existent talent. And yes sometimes your friends will say oh my god the funniest thing happened to me today, but now we've agreed that it's OK to tell them, "No, it didn't. Odds are it was barely even borderline amusing, I'm talking somewhere between Veronica's closet and a bad episode of Will & Grace. I'll tell you what, why don't you write it down and if you still think it's funny leave it in my inbox and I'll check it later." (We did all agree to start saying that right? Cuz if I'm the only one doing it I'm not really at the forefront of a revolution so much as I am the jerk about to get punched in the face.) Somehow though, running never made it on the list.
Well, I'm here to fix that and tell those of you who let you arms swing, who hold one hand on your bosom, who lean forward like you're trying to cut the wind with your skull; those of you who let your messenger bag flop around you like hooked rainbow trout; those of you hold onto your hat and keep your elbow high; those of you jiggle in many unsightly place and ways; those of you who sweat copiously in dark colored dress shirts. All of you, you have been put on notice. So please, for our sakes, just be late.
Some people be allowed to shouldn't run. I know this may come as a chock to some of you, but when a lot of you run, you, well, you look stupid. I don't mean this to sound judgmental or controlling, because in all honesty if you running only made you look stupid I'd totally be OK with letting you run. I would. The problem is when some of you run, well you look SO bad doing it, it makes others wonder if that's what they look like when they run. It's kind of like that uncomfortable humor from the first season of 'The Office', only more depressing. Let me see if I can explain it better. You know how when you're watching a movie and a guy gets kicked in the nuts and, if you're a guy or Cher's daughter, you involuntarily cringe and cross your legs? Or like when you watch a guy ask a girl six 'mmm mmm's' out of his appropriate hotness mating index (AHMI for short; I like to pronounce it Amy and picture her as the brunette on Community because with the right hair and wardrobe she can slide in anywhere from average to damn she's Jewish!?) and you just know he's going to get humiliated and so you scrunch you face up all Renee Zellwegery and wait for the rejecetion to drop? Yeah, it's a lot like that.
It's taken some time, but as a society we've come to a general consensus that singing, dancing and telling your friends supposedly funny stories should be limited to people with natural ability or years of hard work and training. Sure we had the Karaoke club setback of 1988, and the American Idol casting episodes of the Aughts, but even they are more a tools for drunken mockery and self deprecation than genuine misguided belief in a non-existent talent. And yes sometimes your friends will say oh my god the funniest thing happened to me today, but now we've agreed that it's OK to tell them, "No, it didn't. Odds are it was barely even borderline amusing, I'm talking somewhere between Veronica's closet and a bad episode of Will & Grace. I'll tell you what, why don't you write it down and if you still think it's funny leave it in my inbox and I'll check it later." (We did all agree to start saying that right? Cuz if I'm the only one doing it I'm not really at the forefront of a revolution so much as I am the jerk about to get punched in the face.) Somehow though, running never made it on the list.
Well, I'm here to fix that and tell those of you who let you arms swing, who hold one hand on your bosom, who lean forward like you're trying to cut the wind with your skull; those of you who let your messenger bag flop around you like hooked rainbow trout; those of you hold onto your hat and keep your elbow high; those of you jiggle in many unsightly place and ways; those of you who sweat copiously in dark colored dress shirts. All of you, you have been put on notice. So please, for our sakes, just be late.
Jan 12, 2010
CAN YOU AFFORD NOT TO READ THIS? ACTUALLY, YES, BUT PLEASE DO
So I was watching TV last night (and well, all the others) when a commercial for Mercedes-Benz came on. I know what you're thinking, "You watched a commercial? Is it the Superbowl already?" No, it's not, but, every once in a while, I like to eschew the use of my DVR and travel back to a simpler time, like say 2006 and watch commercials like the pilgrims did. Anyway, unlike most car commercials which tend to blur into faceless melange of 34 highway MPG and 0% APR financing for people who have enough money not to need it, this one caught my attention and by the end of the 30 second spot I was officially (I don't know that I could tell you how this differs from unofficially, maybe it's notarized.) offended.
Now don't get me wrong, I think they make quite the attractive car -- its the walnut burlwood on the interior that seals it for me -- though, in reality, I think, for the most part, people buy a Mercedes because it's expensive and everyone knows it. There's nothing wrong with that of course, if I had the money I'd arrange for a machine to make it rain every time I walked into a room. Still, a commercial is a sales pitch, so let's call a spade an undersized shovel, shall we?
Given that premise, you'd assume that ad agency hired to sell you a Mercedes would make use of this knowledge. I imagine slow languorous shots of blond maple wood grain would be involved, a bunch of people at the valet stand staring at you jealously as you climb into your Mercedes, maybe an impossibly beautiful woman going Anna-Nicole Smith on an old dude, you get the picture. Instead, this commercial went a completely different way, safety(I don't know why I'm shocked I mean who wouldn't feel safe putting their lives in the hands of the Germans?). It touted crash tests, reinforced cages, airbags in the trunk for your kidnap victims, a hydrogen peroxide dispenser to neutralize infection in case you get a paper-cut while counting your money, a digital face mask so that your more unfortunate relatives won't be able to recognize you and hit you up for cash at red lights and, I believe, brakes.
These are all well and good, necessary even if the trailer park's in walking distance to major roadways, but the part that really twisted my sheets (Note to self: I really will have to get into that whole top sheet thing sometime, it's like a Chinese finger puzzle in there) was the tag line. After spending all that time going on about how safe their cars are the announcer says: "Given all this, the question isn't 'can you afford to drive a Mercedes Benz?', but whether you can afford not to."
Apparently, the people at Mercedes Benz think so highly of their car that if you don't buy one, you clearly don't respect the lives of your passengers. It's true. In their minds, if you ask a girl out on a date, swing by her place to pick her up and she comes out to see you in a Lexus, she would be completely within her rights to hit you in the face with a pitching wedge (Sorry, Tiger). If you have kids,the good lawyers of Mercedes would advise them to seek early emancipation, or to perhaps call Angelina Jolie and ask if she's got any room left because you clearly don't love them. Your wife should, of course, leave you and offer her services to any man with a Mercedes. Now, obviously, there are more people who need to get around in cars than there are Mercedes owners so, it stands to reason, the good people at Mercedes think it's OK for Mercedes' owners to be polygamous and, if they aren't the committing type, to start their own harems. (Little know fact, Utah leads the nation in Mercedes ownership. Kidding.). After all, safety first.
It's the way the announcer says "not" too that gets to me. He's not just asking if you can afford not to but a Mercedes, he's accusing us of coming to the wrong conclusion. It's as if he's read your mind and knows that you've looked at your yearly income, factored in your expenses and decided to eat this year instead of buying a Mercedes and he's asking if you've really thought it through and if so, and somehow you still decided not to buy one, perhaps you need to talk it over with someone a little smarter than you. You know what Mercedes, I have a question for you, have you ever heard of Volvo!?
Now don't get me wrong, I think they make quite the attractive car -- its the walnut burlwood on the interior that seals it for me -- though, in reality, I think, for the most part, people buy a Mercedes because it's expensive and everyone knows it. There's nothing wrong with that of course, if I had the money I'd arrange for a machine to make it rain every time I walked into a room. Still, a commercial is a sales pitch, so let's call a spade an undersized shovel, shall we?
Given that premise, you'd assume that ad agency hired to sell you a Mercedes would make use of this knowledge. I imagine slow languorous shots of blond maple wood grain would be involved, a bunch of people at the valet stand staring at you jealously as you climb into your Mercedes, maybe an impossibly beautiful woman going Anna-Nicole Smith on an old dude, you get the picture. Instead, this commercial went a completely different way, safety(I don't know why I'm shocked I mean who wouldn't feel safe putting their lives in the hands of the Germans?). It touted crash tests, reinforced cages, airbags in the trunk for your kidnap victims, a hydrogen peroxide dispenser to neutralize infection in case you get a paper-cut while counting your money, a digital face mask so that your more unfortunate relatives won't be able to recognize you and hit you up for cash at red lights and, I believe, brakes.
These are all well and good, necessary even if the trailer park's in walking distance to major roadways, but the part that really twisted my sheets (Note to self: I really will have to get into that whole top sheet thing sometime, it's like a Chinese finger puzzle in there) was the tag line. After spending all that time going on about how safe their cars are the announcer says: "Given all this, the question isn't 'can you afford to drive a Mercedes Benz?', but whether you can afford not to."
Apparently, the people at Mercedes Benz think so highly of their car that if you don't buy one, you clearly don't respect the lives of your passengers. It's true. In their minds, if you ask a girl out on a date, swing by her place to pick her up and she comes out to see you in a Lexus, she would be completely within her rights to hit you in the face with a pitching wedge (Sorry, Tiger). If you have kids,the good lawyers of Mercedes would advise them to seek early emancipation, or to perhaps call Angelina Jolie and ask if she's got any room left because you clearly don't love them. Your wife should, of course, leave you and offer her services to any man with a Mercedes. Now, obviously, there are more people who need to get around in cars than there are Mercedes owners so, it stands to reason, the good people at Mercedes think it's OK for Mercedes' owners to be polygamous and, if they aren't the committing type, to start their own harems. (Little know fact, Utah leads the nation in Mercedes ownership. Kidding.). After all, safety first.
It's the way the announcer says "not" too that gets to me. He's not just asking if you can afford not to but a Mercedes, he's accusing us of coming to the wrong conclusion. It's as if he's read your mind and knows that you've looked at your yearly income, factored in your expenses and decided to eat this year instead of buying a Mercedes and he's asking if you've really thought it through and if so, and somehow you still decided not to buy one, perhaps you need to talk it over with someone a little smarter than you. You know what Mercedes, I have a question for you, have you ever heard of Volvo!?
Jan 7, 2010
CRAZY SEXY... CRAZY
So this is going to sound pretty terrible. It may even be terrible, all I'm asking is that before you say, "This is terrible!" and stop reading, you give the matter some thought.
I don't know if you've seen this story on the news yet, I myself only saw it this morning, but apparently some woman stole her son from her ex-boyfriend and disappeared with him. She wanted to give the baby up for adoption and he wanted to keep their son. Anyway she absconded with the kid (that's a great word isn't it? We should use it more often. Where's Mitch? Dude, he just ran out of here, I think he just absconded with your muffin. [While were on the topic of muffins, how did the muffin become an acceptable form of breakfast? It's just a cupcake, right? And cupcakes are really just single serving cakes. I feel like the cake lobby outsmarted us on that one.]).
During her time on the run she she sent her ex-boyfriend text messages saying she'd killed their son and he'd never see him again. She's since been captured and maintains that the kid is dead. Now I'm not particularly interested in this story, don't get me wrong, it's horrible, but you know, these things happen and my wringing my hands won't really help anyone anyway. The reason I'm bringing up this story is that they happened to put some pictures of the baby stealing mother and well, she's kind of hot. So here's my question and I apologize to my female readers, but this question is limited to the male audience and Tila Tequilla. Let's say the kid isn't dead; after all, the police believe she gave the kid to a nice family she found while on the lam (or is it lamb? It'd be weird if it was lamb, they seem peaceful). Let's just say they find him and he's healthy and happy and no worse for the wear, would you, and I ask this in all seriousness, tap that? I mean yes, she's clearly a bit troubled. Yes she may have stolen a baby, ransacked her boyfriends apartment and perhaps even put a frying pan through his flat screen, but, and this is key, she wouldn't be a murderer. I guess the question is how crazy would you have to know she is before you lost interest in seeing her naked. I don't mean this to be salacious, I just want to highlight that we, as a society, tend to tie the importance of personal attributes to physical ones. If she's crazy and pretty well the crazy becomes less important, if she's kind of nice and pretty, she's Mother Theresa reincarnated. I remember when Columbine happened 13 kids were killed four of them women. One of them was a drama student, and an actress. I know this becuase I saw about 6 retrospectives about her life, why her and no one else, well, perhaps because she looked like this (not that I'm saying a teenage girl was hot, I wouldn't do that, I'm just saying she'd be cast in a commercial or something, God, this is kind of terrible, oh well.).
I don't know if you've seen this story on the news yet, I myself only saw it this morning, but apparently some woman stole her son from her ex-boyfriend and disappeared with him. She wanted to give the baby up for adoption and he wanted to keep their son. Anyway she absconded with the kid (that's a great word isn't it? We should use it more often. Where's Mitch? Dude, he just ran out of here, I think he just absconded with your muffin. [While were on the topic of muffins, how did the muffin become an acceptable form of breakfast? It's just a cupcake, right? And cupcakes are really just single serving cakes. I feel like the cake lobby outsmarted us on that one.]).
During her time on the run she she sent her ex-boyfriend text messages saying she'd killed their son and he'd never see him again. She's since been captured and maintains that the kid is dead. Now I'm not particularly interested in this story, don't get me wrong, it's horrible, but you know, these things happen and my wringing my hands won't really help anyone anyway. The reason I'm bringing up this story is that they happened to put some pictures of the baby stealing mother and well, she's kind of hot. So here's my question and I apologize to my female readers, but this question is limited to the male audience and Tila Tequilla. Let's say the kid isn't dead; after all, the police believe she gave the kid to a nice family she found while on the lam (or is it lamb? It'd be weird if it was lamb, they seem peaceful). Let's just say they find him and he's healthy and happy and no worse for the wear, would you, and I ask this in all seriousness, tap that? I mean yes, she's clearly a bit troubled. Yes she may have stolen a baby, ransacked her boyfriends apartment and perhaps even put a frying pan through his flat screen, but, and this is key, she wouldn't be a murderer. I guess the question is how crazy would you have to know she is before you lost interest in seeing her naked. I don't mean this to be salacious, I just want to highlight that we, as a society, tend to tie the importance of personal attributes to physical ones. If she's crazy and pretty well the crazy becomes less important, if she's kind of nice and pretty, she's Mother Theresa reincarnated. I remember when Columbine happened 13 kids were killed four of them women. One of them was a drama student, and an actress. I know this becuase I saw about 6 retrospectives about her life, why her and no one else, well, perhaps because she looked like this (not that I'm saying a teenage girl was hot, I wouldn't do that, I'm just saying she'd be cast in a commercial or something, God, this is kind of terrible, oh well.).
Jan 6, 2010
2001 A GYM ODYSSEY
I, like most people just shy of thirty (really more frightened than shy, but I'm not the one making up colloquilisms... yet), tend to view anything I did in my twenties as the recent past. For example, I thought it'd be fun to play basketball for an hour last year. A friend asked me if I wanted to join him in the game and, being mindful of the fact that I used to play all the time, I said sure. One collapsed lung, two pulled hamstrings, and several bouts of dry heaving later (This is a tangent but any time I make a list like that I think of the 12 days of Christmas song. Now I'm not one to bash Christmas songs, I think they're great, heck, I'd be loath to bet against 80% of the songs on the third Christina Aguillara Christmas cd being better than 'Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel', still I recently looked up the lyrics to the 12 days of Christmas and I have to say I was left wondering about the song's intended audience. Ostensibly, this is about someone getting their 'true love' a gift corresponding to the day of Christmas. Only, on the eighth day, the gift is eight maids a milking and the ninth day's gift are nine ladies dancing. I don't want to read to much into this but I'm pretty sure the number of people who'd thank you for getting them dancing girls and women with tireless forearms are limited to those blessed with the Y chromosome. Anyway back to my sentence.) I realized that the last time I'd actually played basketball had been about 7 years prior, which while recent in my mind, wasn't exactly the kind of pre-game warmup that prevents you from asking those circled around your prone borderline corpse if it's possible for your intermal organs to spontaneously combust.
I bring this up because I went to the gym yesterday. I used to go to the gym, granted I was 21 and playing basketball at the time, but I went. So when a friend called me out on my whole 'I'm going to start going to the gym next week', rather than saying, I forgot to bring sneakers and workout pants, I went out and bought some (Don't buy the Reebok workout pants, they have elastic at the bottom and well, I looked like a white MC Hammer). I don't want to say this was a mistake, but after work today I plan on filing for social security disability.
You see, I'd apparently forgotten alot about gymming. First, someone with a mouth as big as mine should probably be a lot more scared to be in a room filled with heavily muscled people and blunt metal instruments. Second, I'm very white. It used to be a gym could only humiliate you in one way; make you look weak and impotent. Not that I was OK with that, but it comes with the territory (plus, and I have no scientific data to prove this, but I'm incredibly virile, so my confidence in my boys was never too shaken). After yesterday however, I remembered there's a second way a gym can strip you of your manhood. Kickboxing. I know there are plenty of white people familiar with rhythm, but on the white spectrum they're more seashell to my cosmic latte (I'd call myself 'anti-flash white' but I know the words to 'Gangster's Paradise' and made an MC Hammer reference so I'm obviously disqualified). My point is, kicking is difficult for my 29 year old groin. Kicking high is both difficult and painful. Kicking high to a beat, is hard, painful and apparently, impossible. Only, everyone else, including about 20 women, half of whom have never seen the hungry side of a diet, seemed to think it was decidedly possible (Yeah, I'm not feeling to proud right now). Third, it's hard to respond to an instructor with witty banter when you're crying.
All of this is to say, is it possible 2001 was that long ago?
P.S. Yesterday's post was reprinted with a new intro and 100% fewer masturbation jokes on thevertexblog.com. It's a cool site, check it out.
I bring this up because I went to the gym yesterday. I used to go to the gym, granted I was 21 and playing basketball at the time, but I went. So when a friend called me out on my whole 'I'm going to start going to the gym next week', rather than saying, I forgot to bring sneakers and workout pants, I went out and bought some (Don't buy the Reebok workout pants, they have elastic at the bottom and well, I looked like a white MC Hammer). I don't want to say this was a mistake, but after work today I plan on filing for social security disability.
You see, I'd apparently forgotten alot about gymming. First, someone with a mouth as big as mine should probably be a lot more scared to be in a room filled with heavily muscled people and blunt metal instruments. Second, I'm very white. It used to be a gym could only humiliate you in one way; make you look weak and impotent. Not that I was OK with that, but it comes with the territory (plus, and I have no scientific data to prove this, but I'm incredibly virile, so my confidence in my boys was never too shaken). After yesterday however, I remembered there's a second way a gym can strip you of your manhood. Kickboxing. I know there are plenty of white people familiar with rhythm, but on the white spectrum they're more seashell to my cosmic latte (I'd call myself 'anti-flash white' but I know the words to 'Gangster's Paradise' and made an MC Hammer reference so I'm obviously disqualified). My point is, kicking is difficult for my 29 year old groin. Kicking high is both difficult and painful. Kicking high to a beat, is hard, painful and apparently, impossible. Only, everyone else, including about 20 women, half of whom have never seen the hungry side of a diet, seemed to think it was decidedly possible (Yeah, I'm not feeling to proud right now). Third, it's hard to respond to an instructor with witty banter when you're crying.
All of this is to say, is it possible 2001 was that long ago?
P.S. Yesterday's post was reprinted with a new intro and 100% fewer masturbation jokes on thevertexblog.com. It's a cool site, check it out.
Jan 4, 2010
IN THE LAND OF BLIND MEN, MASTURBATION IS PROBABLY AN ISSUE
Happy New Year Readers. After doing some research I've discovered that this blog wasn't active last New Years season or in 2007, and well for that matter while it was active in 2006 I didn't actually do a post on it, so while this post isn't actually a blog tradition, its still a pretty good idea and those are rare for me most Mondays. So I give 2010's first list:
TOP 5 NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS TO AVOID
#5 - Don't resolve use your gym membership - You can resolve to join a gym, I think that's a perfectly reasonable use of the money you were going to give to charity. Going to the gym and actually using the machines, however, seems like it might be biting off more than you can chew. I mean it is, in actuality, three resolutions. First, joining the gym, then getting undressed, redressed and venturing out into the cold, then, once you get there, leaving the smoothie stand and, you know, pushing machines across the floor, or whatever it is people do in gyms.
#4- Don't resolve to learn a new language. First, you won't. I'm not calling you stupid (today). I'm just being honest with you. Unless you're moving to a new country where they speak said language, or you just came back from vacation from said country with a walking talking fornicating souvenir you will lose interest in your new hobby. It will begin to feel like work and you'll ask yourself why you're working in your free time. You'll ask yourself what possible upside there is for you in all of this anyway. You can't afford to go on vacation to anywhere where they speak the language and you don't know anyone here who does speak it, well there's that person at work and sure you could talk to her in some other language, but she already speaks English, and besides she talks too damn much as it is! Unfortunately, before all this happens, you'll think learning a new language is so interesting that you'll feel absolutely compelled, as if by the almighty hand of God Himself, to share all the little "fascinating" factoids you come across on your journey to failing at your resolution.
#3- Don't promise yourself you'll finish your book this year. Honestly, haven't you disappointed yourself enough already?
#2- Don't resolve to do something everyone wants anyway. That isn't a resolution. It doesn't count. We all want to stay healthy. We all want to make more money or 'be in a better place next year' Unless you have a plan for accomplishing any of the above we're just going to go ahead and call them wishes. Mkay? Though I'll tell you what you can resolve to do. You can resolve to have better wishes next year. What? You've never heard of superpowers? Eye lasers have no appeal to you? Do you even have a pulse?
#1- Don't become more emotionally open and available. The world is a cold hard place populated by people who make fun of the elderly and mentally deficient (why is everyone looking at me?). It is a place where a textlogue can turn your favorite friendship into an acid tipped knife that rotates in your gut with metronomic disinterest. You are trading safety and, at worst, mild discontentment for disappointment and rotating gut-knife pain. This alone should probably be reason enough for you not resolve to fill up the moat around your feelings, but since some of you are stubborn I'll mention this as well. Even if everything works out and your openness doesn't allow for the sacking of your emotional castle, it's still really annoying for everyone else who has to listen to you. At most, and most of you aren't this lucky, there are two people in this world who want you to share more, everyone else is on their knees praying hoping you have the decency to limit yourself to "not bad" when they ask "how's it going?". How about resolving to cut them all a break instead?
P.S. No, the title has nothing to do with this post but it popped in my head and I didn't want to forget it.
TOP 5 NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS TO AVOID
#5 - Don't resolve use your gym membership - You can resolve to join a gym, I think that's a perfectly reasonable use of the money you were going to give to charity. Going to the gym and actually using the machines, however, seems like it might be biting off more than you can chew. I mean it is, in actuality, three resolutions. First, joining the gym, then getting undressed, redressed and venturing out into the cold, then, once you get there, leaving the smoothie stand and, you know, pushing machines across the floor, or whatever it is people do in gyms.
#4- Don't resolve to learn a new language. First, you won't. I'm not calling you stupid (today). I'm just being honest with you. Unless you're moving to a new country where they speak said language, or you just came back from vacation from said country with a walking talking fornicating souvenir you will lose interest in your new hobby. It will begin to feel like work and you'll ask yourself why you're working in your free time. You'll ask yourself what possible upside there is for you in all of this anyway. You can't afford to go on vacation to anywhere where they speak the language and you don't know anyone here who does speak it, well there's that person at work and sure you could talk to her in some other language, but she already speaks English, and besides she talks too damn much as it is! Unfortunately, before all this happens, you'll think learning a new language is so interesting that you'll feel absolutely compelled, as if by the almighty hand of God Himself, to share all the little "fascinating" factoids you come across on your journey to failing at your resolution.
#3- Don't promise yourself you'll finish your book this year. Honestly, haven't you disappointed yourself enough already?
#2- Don't resolve to do something everyone wants anyway. That isn't a resolution. It doesn't count. We all want to stay healthy. We all want to make more money or 'be in a better place next year' Unless you have a plan for accomplishing any of the above we're just going to go ahead and call them wishes. Mkay? Though I'll tell you what you can resolve to do. You can resolve to have better wishes next year. What? You've never heard of superpowers? Eye lasers have no appeal to you? Do you even have a pulse?
#1- Don't become more emotionally open and available. The world is a cold hard place populated by people who make fun of the elderly and mentally deficient (why is everyone looking at me?). It is a place where a textlogue can turn your favorite friendship into an acid tipped knife that rotates in your gut with metronomic disinterest. You are trading safety and, at worst, mild discontentment for disappointment and rotating gut-knife pain. This alone should probably be reason enough for you not resolve to fill up the moat around your feelings, but since some of you are stubborn I'll mention this as well. Even if everything works out and your openness doesn't allow for the sacking of your emotional castle, it's still really annoying for everyone else who has to listen to you. At most, and most of you aren't this lucky, there are two people in this world who want you to share more, everyone else is on their knees praying hoping you have the decency to limit yourself to "not bad" when they ask "how's it going?". How about resolving to cut them all a break instead?
P.S. No, the title has nothing to do with this post but it popped in my head and I didn't want to forget it.
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