Your Beard is Good

PIPA, but not Middleton

2012-01-18T13:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Ms. Boxer and Ms Feinstein,

It troubles me that I have come to find out that you are a supporter of the PIPA bill that will be up for a vote in the Senate on January 24th 2012. As a California resident and voter of yours I have put my faith in you to continue to do the proper thing when it comes to our state and country.

While I do agree that online piracy is an issue in this country and people with original thoughts should not have their work stolen, the PIPA bill as currently written will not promote more creativity, but stifle it for many years to come. Our country was built on the creative outlet of many people who were told no and had no avenue for their ideas. In today's age the Internet has given EVERYONE an avenue to show off their talents to a mass audience. Voting in favor of this bill will not only bring a halt to that creativity it will bring undue consequences to people trying to start their own business or continue their dreams.

As currently written PIPA will give government the right to seek court orders against any site even linking to one with pirated content. Sites that are just starting may not have the man power to check every website they link to yet they will be shut down. This piece of the bill is especially troubling.

"Directs the AG to identify and provide advance notice to operators of nonauthoritative domain name system servers (NDNSSs), financial transaction providers (FTPs), Internet advertising services (IASs), and providers of information location tools (ILTs), including search engines, online directories, and other indexes with hypertext links or referrals to online locations, whose action may be required to prevent such NDN-related ISDIA activity"

Not only will search engines be forced to remove sites with even a hint of online piracy, many search engines will be shells of themselves. The education of young people in this country has been greatly enhanced by the Internet (including my 11 and 7 year old cousins who are immensely smarter than I was growing up due to the usage of Google) and that will slowly erode. If not done in time they will have legislation brought against them, but it is unrealistic to expect websites run by Americans who are trying to run their business to be able to eliminate it all in one fell swoop. The Internet is a home for free speech which will now be curbed due to legislation at every turn.

And Yes I agree 100 percent about stopping pirated content. But there are measures in place right now that can be expanded on. If an artist sees something on You Tube and wants it pulled they can tell them to pull it and they will. We need to make those measures more prominent with overseas sites. But there are better ways to do that than this bill. In fact, today two of your fellow senators backtracked on their support of this bill for that very fact. The slogan on the front of Ms Boxer's website says, "Your Voice Counts." Today, we'll find out if that is a truth or more spin from another politician. I please hope you do the correct thing.

Sincerely,

Rahul Subramanian

Harry Uranus Was Never Going To Work

2012-01-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

I didn't have a date in high school.

If I was sitting in the audience of a movie and someone said this line on the screen while I was attempting to put 10 sour patch kids in my mouth at once, I would most definitely finish chewing said "kids" and let out a huge groan. It's become such a cliché in Hollywood that one of the main characters of any entertainment medium was seen as undesirable growing up and then turned into Rachel Leigh Cook. We get it. She wasn't all that then she met Freddy Prinze and blah blah blah now she's...Wait, what happened to Rachel Leigh Cook?

Coming next summer. She's Still All That 2: Hold the Chips.

Unfortunately, my not having a date story in high school doesn't end with making out with Freddie Prinze Jr. Maybe I meant fortunately. In either case my high school days were not as one would say, "fun." To be fair, if you categorize fun as writing down the statistics of your favorite baseball players so you can figure out their batting average WHILE THE GAME WAS GOING ON (No Internet, a TI-82 calculator, and some Hi-C. Where the ladies at? No?) fun, then I was living in a Bounce Castle filled with Mentos. The Freshmaker was so cool in the 90s.

Look it up. Not only did I not go on any dates I also never went a high school party surrounded by people named Jeff Podruski, which is what movies told me were the names of people that went to high school parties. There were two reasons for this. One, I was never invited to one. And two, I didn't know anyone named Jeff Podruski. This was a shame because I'm sure if I had friended anyone named Jeff Podruski I would have been doing keg stands and giving wedgies to undesirables.

Damn you Jeff. (Wherever you are)

I really don't care if anyone believes me because I have the audio cassette tapes of Z-100’s morning zoo to prove it. I'm not saying I recorded the show in the morning and then listened to it when I got home at 3pm while doing homework, but I’m not saying I didn’t. I always thought when I was in middle school that my high school experience would be the same as TV. Saved by the Bell, Beverly Hills 90210, Head of the Class, Welcome Back Kotter sans the weird leather jackets, but with the cool catchphrases. I knew once I got to high school I would shout out “Hey Mr. Kott-aire!" to some unsuspecting teacher and my classmates would laugh and laugh at my quick wit. Little did I know Welcome Back Kotter came out in the 70s, all the jokes had run their cycle, and no one found them funny anymore.

Thanks for being old, dad.

Even though my high school experience didn't turn out like those shows or even Boy Meets World, I still do love myself a good high school show or movie. This is why in the last month I started watching Veronica Mars. Sure, I know what you're saying. What's a Veronica Mars? Veronica Mars was a show that ran for 3 seasons on the WB/CW/ whatever and incorporated everything I like about life. Mysteries, cute girls, and high school settings. In the list of things that are perfect for me it falls somewhere between a Kool Aid making robot and red starburst.

When I was a kid I loved Encyclopedia Brown. He was solving all those mysteries in less than 10 pages and running down Bugs Meany for measly 10 cents a case. Now if you take those detective skills, put them in a cute, sassy blonde girl (Kristen Bell), and then have her be a social pariah in a high school all the while dealing with normal high school dilemmas (underage drinking, boyfriend cheating, murder of your best friend), there's only one word for that.

Narnia.

The last week or so I’ve been telling people how infatuated I’ve become with the show. The reaction ranges from, “Ugh” to “Are you a 14 year old girl” to “That’s the worst pickup line ever.” One of my friends asked me what my deal with high school TV shows is. I don’t really have an answer for that. It may have to do with never getting a high school experience that incorporated parties and girls. It may have to do with wondering it would be like to do high school-y things. It may be my gravitational pull to lockers with built in locks. I’m not really sure. I know I enjoy them, especially Veronica Mars. She always knew where the party was at even if she wasn’t invited.

She must have known Jeff Podruski.

Do the Resolution

2012-01-05T12:21:00.001-08:00

(I wrote something for my friend Zoe Blue and am now reposting it here for a myriad of reasons which include not coming up with anything original and being too lazy to insert my cacophony of vocabulary on the western world. As you can tell I received a thesaurus for Christmas. You can stop cachinnating now! As previously seen on *Wink *Wink *Wink)

I'm not a fan of making New Year's Resolutions. To me making a resolution for the when the calendar turns is lazy. Why don't we make Flag Day resolutions? It's in the middle of the year and then you have the whole year to turn around that crippling tic tac addiction you've tried so hard to quit. I can't quit you orange tic tac! The realization is, though, that we live in a world where the quote "Why do today what can be done tomorrow" is a life motto. A quote that was uttered by the incorrigible Aaron Burr. A man who was so great at procrastination that he killed Alexander Hamilton during a duel. Why didn't he follow his own advice and wait until the next day to shoot him?

Do as I say not as I blah blah.
This is not to say that I don't make resolutions. I do. Sometimes. I tend to make resolutions throughout the year so my New Year's resolution doesn't really carry any extra weight than the others. Also, I lose track of what is a "resolution" and what is a "wish." When people ask me what my New Year's resolution is I usually say, "I want to own a casino." As has been pointed out to me many a time that is not a resolution if you're not willing to work towards it. It's a dream. I usually scoff and tell them I'm still holding out hope for that genie in a lamp. Let's all resolute for more wishes!

Rules are for losers.

When my friend asked me last week what my New Year's resolutions were I faked a coma. I don't really make any so falling on the floor was the only way to get myself out of the conversation. After she told me to stop being dramatic she rattled off 4 or 5 resolutions she had while i kept saying, "Why wait until the New Year when you can just start today?" If I didn't drive her to the restaurant I'm pretty sure she would have lit me on fire. She always has plenty of resolutions every year which always conclude with, "Get tennis lessons." When I told her I don't have any she said that I had to have one. After an interrogation session of 3 and a half hours (see: 8 minutes) she noticed that I need to have one resolution.

Be more selfish.

Normally, this would be seen as a bad thing. When you're 8 and you're selfish your mom sends you to your room and takes away your Game Boy. When you're 18 and selfish your girlfriend takes away your Playstation. When you're 34 and selfish your wife takes away half of your money. But she meant selfish in a good way. I always care how other people feel without taking my own feelings into account. As long as they feel better my mood doesn't matter. But it should. My heart has been broken before, but I always care to make sure the other person doesn't think I hate them. Even at the expense of my own feelings. In 2012 it's time to be emotionally selfish. If someone makes me feel bad I shouldn't care about them before me. It should be the opposite. So that's my resolution for the New Year. Care about me.

Or I could take tennis lessons.

No One Shops In The "Old Adults" Book Section

2011-12-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid I was convinced by the year 2012 we would have a drug that makes you immortal. How hard could it possibly be to make a pill where your body turns to armor and you don't age? What are we paying scientists for? To cure cancer? DNA Testing? Vaccines for unforeseen diseases? Bollocks, I say! I don't really say "bollocks," but it's a nice thing to write in print and makes me seem more "couth" or as the British say, "Pip Pip!" The fact that the calendar will turn to 2012 and we will be no closer to a cure for mortality aches the soul of an 11 year old me.

Also soul crushing for an 11 year old me? Being out of fruit roll ups.

Every year around this time I'm reminded that I won't live forever. No matter how many times I let a spider bite me or run into a lightning patch (is that a thing?) or try to book a 5 day/4 night stay at the Downtown Krypton Regal it never works. (The previous sentence brought to you by the Nerd Association of America. Come on down and check out our literature on more things that won't get you laid.) As I get older in age, hanging out with my family becomes a 20 Questions game where every question is "When are you getting married?"

We never specified if it was a person, place, or thing.

The perpetual barrage of marriage questions does get cumbersome at times, but it's not without merit. When you get into your 30s the questions start because your parents are worried about their impending morality. Sure, that may be macabre (word of the year 2011), but if scientists actually did something (see: above) we wouldn't be discussing it. The past couple of Christmases I've noticed the questions ramping up from once a vacation to now the standard once a day during vacation. It's even gotten to the point that my grandmother who tends to not speak English is telling me on the way to the airport, "Next year I'll be waiting for you to bring something. (Wink, Wink)." It's either a wink or her cataract eye drops. I'm pretty sure that if I bring a pound cake and a button that says, "World's Best Grandma," it won't be the surprise she's looking for.

Maybe I'll make it Universe's Best Grandma. "Grandma, you're the best in the Universe! That includes Neptune! No one even cares about that one!"

The marriage questions aren't necessarily what make me feel older even though they should. What makes me realize that I'm now supposed to be a responsible adult is hanging out with kids and shopping with my mom. Not necessarily in that order and not necessarily together, but necessarily necessary for this story of necessities. I apologize for everything that just happened. I've become what I always feared when I hang out with kids.

Out of touch.

The other day while I was driving in the car my 11 year old cousin turned to her favorite radio station. A song was playing and I had no idea who it was. It was a sort of catchy tune and my cousin knew it so I asked her what it was. That right there should have forced me to do a tuck and roll out of the moving vehicle. I'm asking an 11 year old what music is playing? ME?!? I read TMZ. I have a subscription to Spin Magazine. I've seen Taylor Swift YouTube videos and quite possibly left a comment on one of them which cannot be confirmed. I shouldn't be asking her what it was. Of course, it was Selena Gomez which led into an epic pre-teen rant which included Justin Bieber's Christmas CD, Wizards of Waverly Place, something to do with a promise ring, and another mention of Justin Bieber.

Then she told me to shut up.

It was at this point in the week that I was starting to realize that I'm becoming my dad. No idea what is "hip" or "in” and reading street signs out loud to no one in particular. (Aside: When I tell people he does this everyone looks at me like I’m embellishing for the sake of a laugh. No. This is what he does as evidenced by when I was dropped off at the Airport and he starting to read the Terminal signs. “Terminal, A, B, D. Long term parking. Departures. Arrivals.” He is a walking Rosetta Stone. I don’t know if he does this because he likes reading or to prove to everyone that he is a literate person. Because if he told me could read I would believe him, even though he’s an immigrant.) As I confronted this reality, the next day I went shopping with my mom. We were walking around the mall and stopped in Bed, Bath, and Beyond. My mom was perusing the flatware or some such kitchen item and said she was done looking around. I turned to her and said something I never thought I would say.

“Let’s keep browsing. Bed, Bath, and Beyond has some stuff I want to see.”

WHAT.

It is at that very moment that I understood what being a grown up was all about. I wanted to stay in triple B longer than my mother. The same mother that spends 8 hours in a mall. The same mother that I would be begging, when I was a teenager, to be finished so I could go home and listen to the AM radio. All that I needed to complete the adult outfit were a pair of ill fitting Dockers and the ability to yell at a child for wanting more candy. My morality was in front of me. It’s in front of us all.

Why Are Those Sleigh Bells So Loud and Other Yuletide Inquiries

2011-12-14T10:39:00.000-08:00

Last Christmas
I gave you my heart
But the very next day
You gave it away

-Wham!

In 2011 if you asked 100 people who sings the song "Last Christmas" you would get 4 different answers. Taylor Swift, The cast of Glee, Ashley Tisdale, and an egg nog filled Uncle Bob at Christmas dinner when he found out Aunt Claire was cheating on him with the YMCA lifeguard. "I GAVE YOU MY HAAARRRT CLAIRE." I always imagine that being done in a Boston accent, but that's neither here nor there. The reality is that few people remember that the song was originally sang by a broken hearted George Michael and other guy in Wham in 1984 before the whole George Michael liking men thing all kind of snowballed into an avalanche of naughty.

See what I did there?

Don't answer that.

The song and subsequent video is a perfect take on losing a love around the holidays. Not only does George Michael attempt to rub it in this woman's face for breaking his heart (take that you whore!), he is somehow at a Christmas gathering of people where everyone has long flowing hair and when they return from outside always have a perfect patch of snow on their head that has not yet melted. After watching the video I had so many more questions. Why is George Michael at a party with someone that gave away his heart on December 26th of last year? Why does his new girlfriend wear sunglasses inside when meeting everyone else? Why do they not wear hats when they go outside in the snow? Do they not want to mess up their Vidal Sassoon haircuts? And the most important question I have is why at the end of the video does it say "Merry Christmas and Thank You?"

Thank you for relating to this song and having your heart stomped on during the holidays when everyone should be surrounded by people they love, but this year you won't be because SHE TOOK EVERYTHING.

Merry Christmas!!

To be fair I do understand why this song is popular and has been covered over 100 times by such music luminaries as Jimmy Eat World, Hilary Duff, and my new favorite band The Parenthetical girls who were once known as The Swastika Girls. (Aside: At what point in the band naming process do you even come up with the idea to name your group Swastika Girls? "Jill, so I don't think The My Little Ponies is a good enough name for us." “What about The Rainbow Brights?" "No, not hardcore enough. I have this sweet name for our band. Swastika Girls. It's so inappropriate it's appropriate." "Yeah, girlfriend, we're going to get all Third Reich in this mother." "Third, what now? I don't know what that is. “Whatever, just make sure you put 'the’ in the name because that's all the rage now." I'm sure the day they went up to their management and told them that it was just a lot of people lighting themselves on fire.) Last Christmas is a very relatable song to love lost. Everyone has been heartbroken at one time or another unless you are a robot or Bruce Jenner's face. The tune is catchy and everyone loves Christmas songs so what’s not to like about it?

How about everything?

In the spirit of Christmas this is not really a “Christmas” song. This is no dashing through the snow and guffawing in a way no human would possibly guffaw. This is no 12 days of presents that increase in absurdity from one day to the next. This is no continually looking up what a “bough of holly” is every single year. Those songs are all happy songs. There is no merriment in “Last Christmas” unless you sell Zoloft. Most Christmas songs are happy and filled with joy and talk about upbeat things. Last Christmas just shows you how cold some people can be by dumping someone on December 26th. How rude. So you took the present and then got rid of him. I feel your pain George in the heterosexual sense. Not that anyone has done that to me, but you probably put a lot of thought into that snow globe of you two holding hands. What’s your reward for that?

Dumpsville. Pop: You

The past couple weeks I’ve heard this song a lot more than previous years and every time someone says “Merry Christmas.” Merry Christmas? This is the antithesis of being merry and probably the antithesis of Christmas. Not that I know what the antithesis of Christmas would be, but I’m guess it would be getting “Last Christmas” on a mix tape or Satan’s Bar Mitzvah. Either way it’s pretty close.

“Fire and Rain” would be a great first dance song for Satan. I see you James Taylor.

I love Christmas. I love giving out presents. I love the decorations. I love the singing. I love people putting trees INSIDE of their homes for no obvious reason other than it’s the only time of year where a full size Douglas Fir by your fireplace doesn’t make you look like a tree loving hippie. I love that my dad will steal my cousin’s toy helicopter that I got him (Oh, spoiler alert) and will refuse to give it to him for at least 10 minutes because he’s having fun flying it himself which will subsequently lead to crying. I love the joy of people at this time of year. I say we keep it that way. Last Christmas is not merry. Or bright. Or even white. Look at the dinner table in the video. Let’s leave that song on the shelf for future Christmases.

We’ll bring it back for New Year’s.

Getting Older is Much Better When You're Getting Younger

2011-12-07T15:05:00.000-08:00

Last week I saw The Muppet Movie. Since this isn't a movie review blog I won't break down the plot points and various set design questions, but I will give it 4 "Waka Wakas." I'm not sure if 4 "Waka Wakas" is any good since Fozzie only says that after a bad joke, but it's better than 4 Waka Flocka Flames which will probably just get you arrested outside a Chick-fil-A at 1:30 AM.

The whole last paragraph was brought to you by "I Love Pop Culture"... a Rahul joint.

This is the part where I tell you that I grew up on the Muppets and Kermit was my favorite frog of all time. Unfortunately, that would be untrue. The only thing I really remembered about the Muppets before seeing the movie was that Miss Piggy was a straight up she-wolf in a pig outfit, Kermit was the ringleader, someone named Animal loved head banging, Fozzie told the aforementioned horrendous jokes, and that chef guy really needed to take a linguistics class. The clues I got about their characters were all from that show "Muppet Babies" which really provides no details about them because what information do babies know? Nothing. If babies gave us any information maybe they wouldn't be crying all the time.

Crybabies.

While we were in the theater I noticed that my friend and I were the only two people in the place without kids attached to our arms, legs, and left clavicles. All that was missing from the theater were finger-paints on the walls and the inability of some poor kid to stick a french fry in the proper hole. It then dawned on me that my friend and I had also seen Madagascar together in the same type of situation. Either we love watching 2 hour features with children or we're doing the "relaxing day out" bit all wrong. I'm pretty sure at this point we should just be watching SpongeBob at the Octomom's house on weekends to complete all of our life goals.

When we were there I realized these kids had no reference for the Muppets. They didn't know the back-story of the piano playing dog or why they were referencing "Benson." Oh sorry. Spoiler alert. Retroactive to the previous sentence. (Aside - It doesn't really matter that I spoiled that line since many of you will have zero clue who or what Benson is and the only reason I know is that my dad loves that show. For those of you who don't know Benson was a comedy where a butler at the governor's mansion, unironically named Benson, works his way up, through various hilarious shenanigans, to run for Governor against the man who once hired him. This started the golden age of butlers on TV which included Mr. Belvedere, Geoffrey from Fresh Prince and, uh, Benson. Well, I guess it wasn't that golden of an age. It was more of a tin age of butlering. According to science journals, however, butlers increased by .0002 percent during this time in America. Take that chauffeurs!) The kids in the theater were experiencing the Muppets for the first time and it made me think of how the Muppets are sort of ingrained in one of my childhood memories.

YOU SAID I COULD STAY UP UNTIL 9. I MUST HAVE BEEN ADOPTED.

Oh. Whoops. Wrong one.

When I was 12 or maybe 14 or it might have been yesterday, my parents took my brother and me to Disneyworld. There were three highlights of the trip for me. One, we got to stay in a hotel and the hotel had free fruit punch. I don't know why fruit punch excited me so much back then, but it probably had to do with discovering a concoction where fruits come together in one delicious liquid. Thanks for inventing that Kool Aid Man. (I'm assuming he's the one who did it with his Oh Yeahs and all around generosity) Two, my mom refused to go on Space Mountain with us due to her crippling fear of rollercoasters, space, and mountains. That was a highlight mainly because when we asked her why she wasn’t coming with us she said…

“I don’t want to go to space.”

Space, eh, is it a frontier we really need to see? – My mom.

But looking back on it the real highlight was when I was in a store either at Disneyworld or somewhere in the Orlando area. I don’t remember the specifics since I was high off of fruit punch and/or the burning Florida sun, but I know we were in a store. It was in this store I saw a doll of a Muppet that was blue. And had a really large nose. And was wearing a suit. As a kid of the 90s I can attest to a few things. Zubaz was great. Slush Puppies were (and still are) great. And any doll with a suit on and a large nose is something I needed to have. It’s really just simple mathematics. I begged and pleaded with my anti-space race mom to buy it for me. As soon as she bought it I clutched Gonzo so hard since I loved him so much. Why? Because I like when people buy stuff for me.

This is America.

I still have that Gonzo doll somewhere in my parent’s house. When I was watching the Muppet movie I thought of how that doll was part of a childhood memory I hadn’t thought of until sitting in that theater. People always say that when we were kids were “simpler times.” It’s really true. There was nothing to think about back then. We begged for a Gonzo doll, we ate ice cream, and our parents paid the bills. Now we have to worry about the rent, having clean underwear, and why our girlfriend’s are crying watching “Don’t Forget the Lyrics.” “I sang that same song at karaoke the day after Captain Jellybelly died!” “Who’s that?” “It was my fish, YOU JERK.” Awkward. While sitting at the theater I thought about all the kids that don’t have to worry about getting the parking validated. They were going to laugh at the Muppets and then in 20 years remember something that brought a smile to their face. It’s a moment that made me smile thinking about it. It was bear-y great.

Waka Waka.

Kids Uncooperated

2011-11-22T08:47:00.000-08:00

There are approximately 75 million children in the United States. Out of those 75 million I'm positive 74,999,996 of them can get away with anything. The De Leon family in Houston, Texas is very strict. To be fair, we won't be seeing any of the previous sentences in an ad with Sally Struthers anytime soon, but I'm confident in those statistics. I was about to substitute Sarah McLachlan for Sally Struthers, but then I realized Sarah McLachlan doesn't care about humans that much.

For $1 a day you can stop hearing "Angel." Might have heard that wrong.

I never understood why kids don't have to abide by the rules of government. There are plenty of signs in front of stores that say "no soliciting" yet up again marches Troop 452 of the Girl Scouts from Pleasantville, CA trying to sell me a thin mint for the 8th consecutive day. Is it weird that I go to the same place of business 8 straight days? Sure. But this isn't about me. This is about the laws governing this country and how children, just because they are selling a delicious treat that I may have purchased somewhere between 10 and 40 times, do not have to follow the rules set forth by larger humans. Not to mention the fact that if I threw an eraser at someone as a 31 year old adult, I would be booked for assault, but Patrick Jeffrey did it in 4th grade and he went to detention and they had lemonade.

The only solution is to commit crimes in an educational setting with a refreshing drink option.

The reason I bring this up is not because I don't like children. I do. Some of them are cute and you want to put them in your shopping cart and take them home so you can pick up women at the park. Unfortunately, the entire world has a problem with abducting children to use for romantic gain. It has really put a crimp in my rolodex. (1990s term) The way kids act, obviously, comes down to how their parents raise them. Parents are responsible for raising their kids the proper way. You can't coddle your kids and have them fly Lufthansa all the time. Sometimes they need a little talking to when the younger sibling hits the older one in the head with a souvenir baseball bat. Or you can handle it the way my parents did.

Why was your face so close to the bat?

I'm at the age where a lot of my friends talk about having kids or have little mini-humans running around their homes pooping everywhere. It amazes me why no one has created a house made solely out of diaper material. This seems to be the obvious solution to having a pet or a kid. The past month or so I've been involved in a few conversations about how people would and are raising their real or imaginary children. Most people have the same theories on raising children. Give them their vitamins, cut back on the amount of TV they watch, and keep them away from Justin Bieber's fertile sperm attack. But the one issue that keeps cropping up in all these conversations is what sports kids are allowed to play.

As parents (I'm not a parent, but in the future if I'm lucky enough to trick a women to get pregnant I will be put in this category so stop word parsing. No one likes a parser.) we want our kids to grown up to be cool, popular, good looking, and most importantly rich because when we get old, Social Security will cease to exist and we'll be living on the moon which will be difficult to hide our money in our pillowcases with the whole no gravity thing getting in the way. But biggest of all we want our kids to be safe. Playing sports is where the coolness converges with the safety. If I could draw one of those graphs on this blog to illustrate I still wouldn't do it since I'm not good at drawing. The other day the topic of sports we would let our kids play came up and both of my friends said they wouldn't let their kids play football.

I wish my mom wouldn't have let me play. Pigskin burn.

It seems to be a prevailing thought among most of my friends (men and women) that their kids won't be allowed to play football. It does make perfect sense. There have been studies that show football shortens your lifespan and gives you more permanent injuries than you would sustain playing another sport. I, usually, don't say anything around these conversations because I’m not sure where I stand on the topic and as I've said repeatedly I want to be the cool parent. If my kid wants to jump off buildings for fun then go buy some bungee cords kid! But first ask mom because I do not want to get yelled at later like the time I bought a butter substitute. I didn’t see the “not” on the “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” ok?!? It would be a weird marketing tool to say “I Can’t Believe It’s Butter,” though. Point taken.

Advantage? Literacy.

My mom was terrified when I started playing football. I’m sure my parents had many arguments (see: 1) over whether I was going to be allowed to play. At the end of the day they let me play and luckily for my mom I was so good that I only played roughly 30 plays my entire high school career. Less is more? No? The point is that raising children is never as cut and dry as they can or can’t do certain things. One of my friends is set on her kid becoming a tennis star. She’s been looking for private teachers that can teach the kid the right way to play right at a young age. She doesn’t have a kid. Another one of my friends is trying to get his son to throw left handed so he has a better chance to play professional baseball. He’s 2. We have this view that we know exactly what we want for our kids, but it won’t work out that way. One day they’ll come up to us and say “I want to play football” or "I want to go sky diving," or "I stole $432 of North Face gear from the mall and now they're banning me for life, but my shift at Hot Topic is in 20 minutes," and we’ll be faced with a decision we had made long before that point. If that ever happens to me I’ll only tell my kid one thing.

Ask your mother.

Turn It Up. Actually Don't. We Don't Need a Noise Violation.

2011-11-18T09:37:00.000-08:00

When I was in college I was a radio DJ. For a kid that always did homework while listening to the sultry sounds of AM radio it was quite the dream. For those kids out there that might have stumbled upon this blog by complete accident because, let's be honest, you must have made a pretty big mistake to end up here, let me give you some advice. There's nothing more comforting than doing your calculus homework and hearing a rousing debate on the future of this country by two people with thick New York accents and traffic on the 8's. "Dawwwn, I'm tellin' ya. This is gonna be hee-yooge." Ok, that's a lie. Everything is more comforting than that, but in order to feel better about my upbringing I needed to bring everyone down. It takes me back to my number one question when someone tells me something.

What about me?

All throughout high school I wanted to be a broadcaster. So when I went to college one of the first things I did was sign up at the campus radio station to be a DJ for the top 40 hits station. This was going to be my big break. I was going to be like Kasey Kasem, Rick Dees, or anyone else no one under the age of 55 has ever heard of. My first shift at the station was the obligatory 2am-4am shift Friday mornings that they gave to freshman. Before my first shift I decided that I had to have a hip made up radio DJ name though like that Kasem fellow and Cousin Brucie. Let's be serious for a second. No one named Bruce would ever refer to themselves as Brucie if it wasn't as a radio DJ. I see you Cousin Brucie. That's ludicrous and a slam on the intelligence of an entire nation. My real name, obviously, was not going to get me recognized by any of the higher ups so I changed it to something much cooler.

Duncan Spires.

Looking back on it, that probably wasn't the best choice for a radio name. Duncan Sheik was really popular back then. LEAVE ME ALONE. When I told one of my friends I changed my name for the radio he asked me if it was, "Roland Joint." I knew I should have consulted professional name changers! If I had to do it over again I would have incorporated my real name into this made up fantasy land of entertainment names. Ra-Cool. Who-ool. R-Fresh. Actually it would be none of those. It would be Ra-School, cause I'm giving you an education on some phat beats. Boiiii.

Let's pretend that didn't happen.

Working at the radio station was pretty great. Aside from the fact that I was praying that the next person showed up for their shift so I didn't have to listen to "Livin' La Vida Loca" (We get it Ricky Martin. Your life is great. Braggart.) another 4 times, I was in the station by myself for most of it. In the station we had a promotional CD bin. The CDs were all labeled with a huge PROMO on the front and were not allowed to be resold. I wish someone would have told Ebay that, and then maybe, they would have some human decency and not let people resell it to unsuspecting patrons who would just like to purchase an original Keith Sweat CD for his girlfriend's birthday.

Keith Perspiration was already taken.

The bin was always filled with CDs that our station wouldn't play. Since we played top 40 hits we only played Destiny's Child, Ricky Martin, and Britney Spears on a terror loop of insanity. Did you know Destiny's Child had a lot of bills in the 90s? What happened to their direct deposit? I was really upset there was never a 60 minutes piece done into the finances of Kelly Rowland. Hire an accountant, boo. (People in the 90s loved saying boo. Look it up.) One night I decided to go snooping through the old promo bin. We weren't technically supposed to rifle through the bin, but since everyone else took their favorite jams I was going to do it to. My mom always asked "If Tommy jumped from a cliff, would you too?" Usually, it was no, but if Tommy had a fistful of free CDs in his hand, you bet your life I was jumping off that cliff too.

Give us the whole scenario, Mom.

During another glorious playback of Mambo #5 I decided I was going to take at least one of the CDs. Since the statute of limitations is up on such shenanigans (it is up right? I didn’t have time to look at the law enforcement rules on compact disc larceny. I’ll just say this. You don’t own me Columbia House. I mean you do own me since I still haven’t paid off the bill where you blatantly lied and said I could get 10 CDs for a penny, but you don’t own me in the moral sense of owning things.) I have decided to tell everyone what I took. I picked two cd singles out of that bin. One was this by some band named Swirl 360. I don’t know why I liked that song, but it probably has something to do with the late 90s and liking ice cream. The other one I took was this.

I had never heard of that song until I took it out of the bin. Please see: listening to AM radio in high school. To this day I have no idea who Mack is and why he’s returning. I’m guessing Mack is the nickname of Mark Morrison, but who knows? I feel like this is one huge game Mark Morrison is playing and the only people involved in his labyrinth are us. I like games. I listened to this song easily 10,000 (approximate) times over the next 4 years. I even casually would drop it in conversations. “You lieeeeddd to me.” Then I would go home bawling because people were lying to me. Mark Morrison owes me a lot of depression medication.

I worked at that radio station for exactly one calendar year. I learned a lot of things at that radio station. I learned the 7 things you can’t say on the radio. I learned how to run down the hall, pee, and get back to the studio in less than 3 and a half minutes. I learned that Mark Morrison is really distraught. But there’s one lesson I learned there that I still use in my day to day life.

I really wish I didn't choose Duncan Spires.

Tell Me All That Voodoo That You Do That Curses Blues Clues

2011-11-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

I don't curse. When I tell people this fact they tend to look at me like I'm from a different planet or at least this planet, but from a weird place like "Albuquerque." Let's be honest. How many people have you ever met from Albuquerque? Probably none. And if you run into someone from that city (I'm tired of spelling it out) you would have a lot of questions for them that run the gamut from, "Where's that?" to "Al Who? to "How about those adobe structures! I read it in a book! I'm literate!" With exception of the strange person telling me their literacy level, this is pretty much the same line of questioning I get when I tell someone I don't curse.

When asked for comment Beetle Bailey responded with a $*&!^@*!#
(Aside: When did cartoons decide that characters cursing would be portrayed by all those symbols? It really makes no sense at all. "So Henry, this cartoon guy is really angry and he curses because that's what people do when they get angry." "What's he angry about?" "He tripped and fell over some bubble wrap." "Was it that stupid Dagwood again?" "Shut up Henry and listen. We need to show that he curses, but he can't use curse words so what do we use?" "I don't know. Why not use an ampersand? No one uses those." "That's it Henry! You delightful dope! I shall use all the symbols no one cares to use since they are foolish! In the future no one will use an 'at' symbol or a 'pound' sign. They will become obsolete and such symbols will only be associated with this new way of writing out curse words. Oh Henry we shall be rich beyond belief!" Twitter is just one huge middle finger.)

The reason I don't curse has nothing to do with religious beliefs. Most people that don't curse fall back on the whole religion thing. What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger on the bus that ran out of change so he had to beg the bus driver to take him to the next stop? Would he curse? That's the remixed version. I don't know what God would do since he's never talked to me, but if he was having a bad day since Mrs. God got mad at him for leaving the toilet seat up that morning, his Honda Accord (God is frugal) broke down, and he tripped over one of the Apostles beard trimmers in the bathroom, he might have let out an invective. He's only human.

Is he human? God is pretty complicated. I'll Ask Jeeves later.

The reason I don't curse is because I really don't like the way it sounds coming out of my mouth. The only time I ever said F--- (double aside: I think anytime anyone curses in print it should be written just like that. F---, S--T, M----r---k-r. None of the dollar sign and exclamation point nonsense. It could be a fun game to play while you're reading along. It's like Hangman for cursing. I call it Curseman.* You don't even need to start with the first letter. --c-s---e-. Brilliance. What could that word possibly be? A curse word? Something else? You can even feel better about yourself by inserting different letters. "Oh that lovely man called me a 'nice styler.' He was raised by angels.") was in 4th grade. I thought Louis Quaglia cut me in line after lunch to go back into the building so I screamed out "--C- You LOU!" I know what you're thinking and, yes, even at that young of an age I was destined to be a rap lyricist. He, of course, said "F--- You Rahul!" and I realized my lyricism was one upped by his using my two syllable name to also rhyme with "you."

I'm always the zero upper.

Since that fateful rap off on the playground, I've never said the hardcore curse words. Once in a while I'll drop a "damnnnnnnn girl you lookin' fly in this mother," or "Hell to the NAWL," but I don't really count those because I'm just trying to keep up my street cred. Not cursing does bring up some dilemmas though. One of the problems is that people tend to start acting differently around me. They'll try to not curse as much or tone it down and that's the main reason I don't like telling people I don't curse. One of my pet peeves is when people try to change how they would normally act. 92 percent of the world’s population curses. True, that is a made up statistic, but almost everyone I know does it including my parents. There's no reason to change and the fact of the matter is that I love hearing people curse. My favorite comedian is Chris Rock. One of my favorite TV shows is the Wire. I like Eminem. This brings me to the second issue.

I can't really quote any of them.

Listen, it's really awkward when you’re listening to a Kanye song with someone else in the car and you know all of the words so you want to sing along as poorly as possible and you have to say this.

That I would even show up to this fake shhhh….”
So go ahead go nuts go ape shhhh
Especially in my pastel on my bape shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

I’M BEING QUIET OK. To go along with that point it’s impossible for me to explain a Chris Rock bit to anyone. “Yeah, so he does this thing where he says a bad word, but compares it to this other bad word, but then says bleep, bleep, bleep.” No one wants to hear that. Just like no one wants to heard “sugar,” “Fudge,” or “Cheesecake.” Cheesecake may not be a stand in for an obscenity, but sugar and fudge made me hungry. Instead of saying those words I attempt to avoid cursing all together. One of my friends has offered me $100 every year for the last 5 years to say one curse word. So far I haven’t cashed in. Is it integrity? Foolishness? No. It’s that I know he doesn’t have $100 to give me. If I said a curse word I wouldn’t get paid and that would be the travesty.

That would be a $&*!&^(#@ horrible thing.

*copyright circa right now

The Kings Kourt. And Other Things That Really Start With "C"

2011-10-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for a lot of things. No, not that. Whether it be a kid getting hit in the head with any type of sporting tool, a well done marriage proposal video, or an old person dancing anywhere, it's these little things that make me smile. I'll watch or stare at any of those things day after day, week after week and month after month. Not year after year, though, because that would be a pretty long time to be watching outdated You Tube videos. I don't have time for your Internet nostalgia. We all have quirks and other such weirdocities (not a word) that most people can't understand. For instance, my brother loves hardcore rap music and Eric Clapton. His iPod is filled with "poppin' shorties on the 2-4 grind holla at yo' boys" (possibly not a real lyric) and "Layla." I'm not sure how those two get together, but when I found out those were his two interests let's just say I became deathly afraid of Eric Clapton cappin' me upside the brain piece.

Eric Clapton don't play. Or do play. I don't own an urban dictionary.

A lot of people don't find about these oddities of your personality because you're not with them 24/7. Most people don't know that you need to have every light turned off in your apartment before you go to bed. Or that your closet must be arranged from pants to shirts going right to left. Or that until you were 23 you always ate the side order then main course then took a sip of the drink. That guy should probably have had some Prozac for breakfast. Since those tendencies don't get magnified until you're in a relationship they are never pounced upon by people. This is why I would finally like to come clean about something that’s bothering me.

I like anything to do with court.

Now I'm not saying I like court room dramas like Law and Order, Law and Order: SVU, Boston Legal, Boston Illegal, and Legally Boston Illegal. Well, I guess I am saying that because I do like those shows. There's something about the sassy attractive mid 30s DA and the curmudgeonly sidekick who got passed over for Miss Sassafras that makes me want to watch. I assume every court room is like that. Then I turn on the Casey Anthony case and there's no sass or frass to be seen anywhere. Where's the no nonsense judge? Where's the outburst from the crowd? Where's Christopher Meloni doing things that defy all laws of this country?

I don't know when I became infatuated with court rooms, but it was probably at the time of the Orenthal James Simpson case of aught 95. It was a rough time. Actually it wasn't. I was 15 and a sophomore in high school. The previous year the New York Rangers had won the Stanley Cup and in a fit of jubilation I bought as much commemorative merchandise as I could. Total present value of said merchandise? $2.71. I remember thinking how cool it would have been to be on the jury. Hear all that stuff about the stuff being said. Make a decision! Making decisions is totally what adults do and I wanted to be an adult. What better way to be an adult than to be on a jury with 11 of your peers to decide whether a man is innocent or guilty of varying degrees of crime? A mortgage would probably be more adult.

(Aside: In all of these cases the judge or someone says you're entitled to a trial in front of a jury of your peers. In what world is a 68 year old retiree from Arkansas that made his money in aardvark embryos my peer? I don't want this guy deciding my fate. Listen, I may hang out with some eclectic people but Mr. Embryo isn't one of them. When people say "peer pressure" I don't think they're imagining a baby convincing a teenager to smoke. "Here try this Marlboro." "You're a baby." "You're the baby if you don't try this, baby!" "Ok." I think we should just say "you're entitled to a trial in front of some random people who really would rather not be here at all.")

Once I turned 18 I knew that I had the chance to be picked for jury duty. It was going to be my one shining moment to show off all of those analytical skills I picked up from playing Risk during Gifted and Talented class. I had honed my craft of wading through all the nonsense to make sure a proper verdict was going to be placed on someone through years of delicate television watching while trying not to eat spaghetti while watching said TV. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on something while eating spaghetti? You want to make sure you get all the spaghetti in your mouth so your attention is kind of divided from whatever else is going on. I dare you to try to have a conversation while eating spaghetti and remembering what the conversation was.

More like Spaghetti –Oh NO! Am I right?

Never mind.

It took me almost 12 years, but in April I was finally called in for jury duty. I told my mom that I had been called in and she said, “I feel bad for you.” When I said that I was really excited she rebutted with, “you should see a doctor.” No time for doctors Marental Unit, I have decisions to make. After waiting for hours we were all brought into the court room and some of us were seated in the jury box. It was the first time I was in a court room where someone didn’t say “RAY-Hool Sub… Sub... Sub-aray-name...whatever, you’re next on the docket.” Which would then be followed by the judge giving me a lecture on something obvious. “Speeding is dangerous. Fix your headlight. Wear Sunscreen. Liquor before beer blah blah blah.”

When I was sitting in the jury box I was dreaming of what it would be like to be put on this attempted murder case. I would be intensely scribbling down notes. Giving the lawyers my best raised eyebrow. Yelling out “UNHAND THAT MAN!” Ok, maybe not the last one, but I would be prepared. They let us go and told us they would announce who would be on the jury that afternoon. How could I not be picked? College educated. Minority. Critical thinker. Wore a tie.

This summer, Aziz Ansari is… THE JUROR.

After an hour the booming voice from the PA system said a plea deal had been reached and there would be no trial. We would be given a slip saying we had served on the jury and couldn’t be picked for the next year. Everyone hooted and hollered. I slunk in my chair. I had to wait another year to put some fools away? What if I never get picked again? It was devastating. A man patted me on the back and said, “Isn’t this great!” I said, “Sure.” Then he skipped away on a unicorn made of rainbows. It was weird. One day I may get to be on a jury with some peers and I’ll have to be ready.

I just hope it’s not Eric Clapton’s trial.

A Pocket Rocket Isn't Really a Rocket. Spoiler Alert.

2011-10-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

I'm a PC. Those are words I usually say to get a chuckle when someone brings up their problems with their Macbook Pro, Macbook Air, iMacbook, and the popular selling Big Macbook Mcbook. Only 97 trillion served. The problem is that no one laughs at the "I'm a PC" line anymore. When I say "I'm a PC" people usually look at me like I have some kind of brain issue where my brain isn't "working." "What is up with your medulla oblongata?" Mac people are always using medical terms. The problem with being a PC user is that we all look like this.

That's right. We're all nerds that wear suits all the time while cool looking Justin Long is so relaxed in his slim straight jeans, hoodie, and hair that's messy enough that it looks "hip." Is it our fault that we like looking professional at all times? If that's what being a PC entails then I'll be a PC, collecting my fat paychecks from Fortune 500 companies, while all you Mac users do cool things like skateboard and paint in your mothers' basements. Never mind the fact that this ad is a complete farce because the guy they use as the "nerd" is John Hodgman, who is a correspondent on the Daily Show, does voiceover work for the Emmys, and has been on Battlestar Galactica. There is nothing nerdy about any of those things. Well, Battlestar Galactica is super Nerdville 3000, but I prefer to overlook "facts."

Thanks for submarining my point Poindexter Hodgman.

For a long time I was against buying any Apple product because people would throw in my face how awesome they were. At some point I realized it was pointless to not have an iPod so I bought one and it changed my life. I could actually listen to music now with ear buds while at the gym, walking to work, or whenever anyone I was dating would yell at me. When I was shopping for a new computer my mom told me to get a Mac because they're "so cool."

Me- "I'm more of a PC person. It's easier for me and I don't want to learn a new system."
Mom- "Don't you want to be cool?"
Me- "You can't be cool with a PC?"
Mom- "Macs are cooler."
Me- "I'm going to get a PC."
Mom- "You're boring."

THANK YOU APPLE ADVERTISING CAMPAIGN.

The iPod was as far as I was willing to go with my Apple purchasing. I wasn't going to go out and slut it up with Apple. I have standards and the walk of shame would be awkward. When I first bought a smart phone I decided against the iPhone and purchased a Blackberry. A Blackberry was the “it” phone when smart phones came out since it had email. "Email on a mobile device? STOP YOUR FOOLISHNESS." Since then the Blackberry has sunk further than Mel Gibson's sanity level. Too soon? So when I had the ability to get an upgrade I knew I had to get a new phone. I went to my computer, threw my Blackberry in the trash, and then went back to grab the Blackberry out of the trash because it was the only phone I had. Then I did it.

I got the iPhone.

Of course, I ordered it after everyone else did so it may take me 3.5 Jupiter years to get it, but I will have it. I was scared of changing, but now I will be able to do the same thing other iPhone users do which is yell at anyone else that doesn’t have an iPhone for not having an iPhone. “Oh, I thought you had an iPhone. Sucks to be you! I can play Words with Friends and you can’t! AHAHAHAHAHA!! Are you broke or something?!?! You stink. No, literally, you’re emitting an odor which is unpleasant to my nasal passages. Try Irish Spring soap.” I’ve always wanted to make fun of other people for their mobile device choices so this is a big step in the right direction. I want to be an iPhone user and be part of the clan. All iPhone users are interesting in their own way, but one group of iPhone users fascinates me.

Women.

Women are pretty fascinating to me always, but especially with their iPhones. I’ve noticed over the course of a lifetime (i.e. 8 months) many women put their iPhone in their back pocket when they’re wearing jeans. This probably paints me as some kind of pervert looking at women’s butts as they’re in front of me, but I won’t apologize. What else am I supposed to look at when someone is in front of me? The ceiling? My feet? That’s being really unaware of your surroundings and if someone were to jump out and throw ninja stars at me while I was walking down the hallway I would be caught pretty off guard if I was staring at my own feet.

Just sayin’.

I’ve never noticed women putting any other phone in their back pocket other than the iPhone. Never have I seen a Blackberry, Sidekick, or Motorola Razr in the back pocket. I don’t know if two of those three phones even exist anymore, but I haven’t seen them doing the ass lambada with any women. Why would women put a $200 or more phone in their back pocket? It doesn’t seem to make sense to me. Some reasons I’ve gotten include “it won’t fit in my front pocket,” “I don’t like the way the bulge makes my thighs look in the front of the jeans,” and “if there’s an earthquake the iPhone will actually lift up out of the back and helicopter me to safety.” That last one may have been a misquote, but it seems pretty reasonable to me.

Men have their wallets in their back pocket, but most of our wallets were Christmas presents from our Aunt Matilda. There is no significant worth there. Whoa, hold on. We could totally lose those business cards to the Mobile DJ service that we got from that wedding that one time. How will we ever find “Groovin’ 2 B Movin’ Music” if we lose our wallets?!!? Also, I’m pretty sure if you sit on your phone it’s going to break, but I’m not a scientist. The back pocket seems like the last place you want to put your phone if you’re a woman. Don’t women have to take their pants off to go to the bathroom? I’ve never been in a woman’s bathroom, but I’ve heard things. What if the phone falls out and hits the gross floor?

This seems like a very risky proposition for something that is the best thing this world has ever seen since that one guy who sliced the bread first. I don’t know what the answer is, but I think putting it in the front pocket would be fine. “Does this iPhone make my thigh look big?” could be the new question no one wants to answer honestly. Or you could be fashionable and buy a fanny pack. Women, I’m just looking out for your investments.

It's what a PC would do.

All Your Questions Answered. Except the Unanswered Ones.

2011-10-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

I'm a pretty curious person. When it comes to things I don't understand I like to find out the answer by asking someone. Actually, that's a lie. I prefer looking it up on the truth machine also known as Google. This is mainly because I would prefer not to get a 45 minute dissertation on Occupy Wall Street when all I asked was, "Who put that wall up on Q Street?" Google doesn't talk back. When I was a kid I would do what all children did and ask my dad all sorts of questions when he was in the middle of a Good Times marathon on Nick at Nite. "DAD. Why do some people have initials and not others? DAD. How do planes fly? DAD. Why are you called a dad and also a father? DAD. If two dimensional objects have no mass attached to them then how do we assign a volume to them to make them 3 dimensional in such spaces that may not exist in the present world?"

I was in Gifted and Talented.

My dad did answer many of these questions in an appropriate way. "Go ask your mom." Needless to say mom didn't know many of the answers, but she looked up a lot of them in "Home Remedies: Volume 2." Too bad I never asked how to remove raccoon urine smell from your hair. That book nailed it.

The one question I do remember my dad answering was the one about how planes fly. He makes parts for airplanes so he has a good working knowledge about how a forceful machine can fly through the air. If he was making parts for airplanes and didn't know how planes fly I think it's safe to say our whole airline industry would be in grave danger of getting replacement parts made out of Marlboros and Coors Lights. Delicious. When my dad answers a question in depth he likes to make a drawing. The accompaniement of a drawing to the words will always enhance any explanation. When he started explaining how planes get lift and stay off the ground, even with all that weight, he drew something that brought everything into focus. He drew this.

I probably should have mentioned that my dad only draws straight lines. How this picture could ever help anyone understand how a plane flies I will never know, but in his aerospace engineer head it all makes sense. Apparently, straight lines are all you need to make a plane get in the air. That and a spare tic tac toe board for the owner's manual.

"Jerry, Jerry. We need to make a new dual flux simulator 97814 for the Boeing 747. I'm thinking something like this."
"That's just the roman numeral IV."
"Jerry, Have some decency! Look here's where it slides into the engine. Here's how it revs up. I don't have time for mindless jokes."
"Now, it looks a box around the roman numeral IV."
"A GREAT box.”

As the years have passed I realize I don't have to ask my dad many questions at all. Everything is there for me with the click of a mouse. The Internet even has these things with curved lines called circles which add much more depth to any drawing or illiterate cat websites. That doesn't mean I have run out of questions. Everyday new questions infiltrate my brain that I can't handle. They usually have to do with women, candy, or a woman made of candy, but today was different. Today, I had questions about this.

Phillip Winikoff, 81, was accused of posing as a doctor and offering free door-to-door breast exams at a Lauderdale Lakes apartment in 2006, reports the South Florida Sun-Sentinel.

On the surface that looks like a pretty self explanatory opening lede. Some old pervert got busted for trying to give your free mammo-grabs to nice neighbors. However, nothing is at is seems in Florida and this leaves a lot of open ended questions. First, it took 5 years to find this creep? What took so long? I’m pretty sure good ole’ Phil wasn’t on the run since he’s 81 and the last 81 year old I saw running down the street was ,well, no one. All 81 year olds usually do is (insert Matlock/warm milk joke).Secondly, how did Phil get into these women’s houses? It seems very shady that he could walk in for the “exam” without any credentials. Luckily, the story gives us those answers.

Winikoff even carried a little black doc bag.

“Judy, there’s a guy at the door that says he’s a doctor giving out free breast exams.”
“Does he have a stethoscope?”
“No.”
“Is he wearing scrubs?”
“No.”
“Does he have a medical degree?”
“No, but he is carrying this pretty official black doctors bag. I’m sure there’s some prescription pads and Ritalin in there.”
“Let him in girlfriend! Why didn’t you say that at first! He’s definitely a doctor.”

I understand if the woman that got fooled was around 70 or so since she probably doesn’t know better and the social security system in this country has made her numb to the numerous amount of scams out there. That I would get. But this is a 36 year old woman being fooled by an 81 year old man carrying a bag. If he was wearing a football jersey would they have assumed he was an NFL player? Eating a sandwich assumed he owned Subway? Carrying a calculator thought he was Indian? That’s ridiculous Indians do math in their head!

After I read this article I wanted to call my dad and ask him if he’s ever been fooled by someone pretending to be someone else. But then again I didn’t want him to tell me to ask my mom because asking my mom about breast exams would be pretty weird and I’m not sure it’s in Home Remedies: Vol. 2. So now I have these unanswered questions. Maybe I’ll send my dad an e-mail.

He can put a drawing in there.

Apples to Apples: A Tale of Redundant Comparisons

2011-10-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

(Every Thursday I will also be writing for an awesome new blog called Twenties Hacker. You should check it out. Mainly because I'm not in my 20s and I've hacked them into letting me post. Irony. Sweet dripping irony. Maybe? I don't understand grammar.)

Steve Jobs died yesterday. This post is not about him. This post is about my grandfather, but I thought saying that Steve Jobs line first would increase page views to my blog. I'm all about the hits (internet slang). I think Steve Jobs would be proud of me for using the Internet's propensity for making things trendy to my benefit. iHipster. My grandfather and Steve Jobs could not be more different. My grandfather hated wearing sneakers. He had no idea what a computer was or how it worked. His full name is 54 syllables longer than Steve Jobs'*. He was short. He never wore jeans. He never won any awards. Oh, I forgot one other thing. He, also, wasn't one of the founders of the most innovative technology company the world has ever seen.

THANKS GRANDPA.

*unconfirmed

I lied. Steve Jobs and my grandfather have one thing in common. Both of them died too soon. I don't know why Steve Jobs' death made me think of my grandpa, but it did. Of course, I feel awful that my grandpa didn't get to see me make it to my 18th birthday, but I feel worse because he never got any Facebook messages saying R.I.P. I feel that makes your death much more official. If you don't get an R.I.P. (insert name) in a Facebook status update, it probably didn't really happen. Look at Tupac and Elvis. Those guys never got an R.I.P. on anyone's Facebook wall and no one even believes they're dead. They're just chillin' on some private island in the Caribbean eating pizza with a fork and drinking bottomless Bartyles and James.

Look at what you've done Zuckerberg.

My grandfather was a nice guy by all accounts. By all accounts I mean my account. I wasn't really sure if he had any friends in the US of A. I asked my mom once if grandpa had any friends and she said, "Yeah he does. Grandma." I was only 10 at the time so I didn't question it, but, obviously, if she had said that to me now I would know she was lying. You can't be friends with someone you're married to. That's outlandish. Your spouse is someone you yell at because your pot roast is overcooked and/or you need a ride to the airport. There's nothing friendly about those things.

He was also one of those people that loved pen and paper. That may be more of an old person thing, but my grandpa was an excellent note taker. He took notes on everything. I'm not exactly sure what he did with those notes, but he loved himself some note. I always imagined that he would re-read his notes from the day while lying in bed and say to himself, "I totally did eat those Cheerios this morning. They were delicious! Go myself! Aw Man, stepped in dog poop at 3:30pm on my walk. Forgot about that. Let me smell my foot. No poop smell. Will wear shoes next time on walks."

No socks. No shoes. No Footlocker discount.

When he noticed my brother and I were getting serious about sports he wanted to get himself involved. Since he knew nothing about any American sports he would watch games on TV and write down everything the announcers were saying in his notepad. I didn't realize he had been doing that for 7 years until one day during a freshman year baseball game he showed up with my mom wearing the floppiest hat I had ever seen. He didn't have the greatest hearing so when my mom said "baseball game" he might have heard "Elmer Fudd's house.(see below)" After the game I walked up to them and my mom congratulated me on getting 4 hits. I didn't get any hits. My mom thought every time I hit the ball it was a hit. Being the bratty kid in high school I said, "Duh MA. I didn't get a HIT. I was out every time. UGH. Are we having pizza tonight?" At that point my grandpa chimed in with, "Why did the coach do a steal with your best player up? You’re not supposed to steal when he will probably drive him in."

WAIT. WHAT?

Pictured: Grandpa's hat. Not Grandpa's head.

That made me happy that he was paying attention and knew some strategy. I wanted to spend more time with him so we would watch games or his other favorite program, Jeopardy. One night while watching Jeopardy I asked him who he wanted to win. I was rooting for the cute blonde girl because maybe the TV was two way and she could see me from inside the box and want to have relations. Anything is possible. It was the 90s. He said he was rooting for "the blackie." Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if there was someone on the show named "Blackie." "Veronica Blackie, previously, you said, 'Who is Jumanji?' I'm sorry it is, 'WHAT is Jumanji.'" The issue was that Veronica Blackie is not a real person. The "blackie" in this case was the lone African-American male on the show. I really didn't know how to respond so I said, "Uh, grandpa, I don't think you should call him a 'blackie' it's not really nice." He said that he always said that and it shouldn't be a big deal.

Not really sure when my grandfather became Archie Bunker.

I was torn. Was my grandfather racist? I mean he was ROOTING for the guy. It's not that he hated him. Surely this meant he couldn't be racist since if he was racist he would have said that he wished that the guy would lose. The KKK wouldn't be rooting for any person of color on Press Your Luck. On the other hand what he said was offensive and even though he was old, it was no excuse. So I told him again that he shouldn't say that and he patted me on the head and said he wouldn't. I never heard him say it again so maybe my talk worked, but I don't think he was racist. Just Indian.

All of those memories came back yesterday when I saw the words R.I.P next to Steve Jobs’ name. In really doesn’t make sense since my grandfather died 13 years ago, but he would have liked some of Steve Jobs’ inventions the past decade. He would have liked it more if Steve Jobs made a phone that needed to use pen and paper and called it the iPad. I’m being told that’s taken. Ok fine then. iNotebook. That too?!?! Forget it. He would have liked it all.

They might have been friends.

When I Tip, You Tip, We Tip

2011-09-28T11:18:00.000-07:00

The first time I remember going to a restaurant without my parents was when I was 13. It was a Friday night football game at the high school and my friends and I left the stadium to walk across the street to the newest, hippest, most delicious eating establishment in town. Taco Bell. There was something magical about this Taco Bell. I can't exactly recall what it was. Maybe it was the unbelievable ratio of Fire sauce to Mild Sauce. Maybe it was the fact that bean burrito was $.89. Maybe it was the fact that a developed 17 year old girl with flowing blonde hair out of her Taco Bell issued hat was taking our order. Nope, it was none of those things. The reason it was magical was one reason.

It existed.

Now calling Taco Bell a "restaurant" is probably a little bit of a stretch, but it does have a nice group of tables that are a horrendous color scheme. If Taco Bell was a person it would have been on a makeover show on Bravo 11 years ago. Then someone like Tim Gunn would have given it a new dress with a matching hairdo from place in Beverly Hills while McDonald's looked at and said, "Man, Taco Bell is working it tonight!" Taco Bell’s mismatching wardrobe aside, it was the first place I was allowed to pay for a meal myself without my parents looking over my shoulder. On the list of greatest achievements of my life it is somewhere between getting straight As from the 1st through 8th grade and finding out I can touch my nose with my tongue.

Please don't attempt if you have a runny nose. Or do. Dirtbags.

Once I became of age to drive a vehicle I could now go to fancier restaurants with waitresses on my own like IHOP or Denny’s or really any place that served all day breakfast so I could order French toast at some ungodly hour. "French Toast at 10:43pm? Is this real life?" When you're a kid you never understand the intricacies of going out to eat. Your parents always pay and you sit there and complain that you have to be seen in public with them. When I first went to a restaurant with a waiter I noticed that people would leave money on the table for a "tip." I, of course, knew what a tip was since I was a straight A student and had been reading many Dear Abby columns in the Sunday Star Ledger.

Lonely in Lincoln, you should have left him.

I had heard horror stories from some of the kids in High School (not friends. Kids in High School. Friends would signify that I would talk to them, but really I was eavesdropping with my locker door open through the little vent type thing they had at the top. The magnifying glass I had was a little much, however) about how they were basically working for tips and made less than minimum wage. I vowed that I would make a waiter or waitresses day better by tipping well.

As I was tipping up a storm through various restaurants across America something was bothering me. I never knew how much my parents tipped on anything. When we go out to eat my mom insists on paying and grabs the bill. Every time. I never know how much the bill is or what kind of tip she leaves on it. A few years ago I became all stealth with my monocle and fedora and grabbed her receipt from a place we were eating. I figured we had good service, nothing came out black, and my Arnold Palmer was roughly 50 percent lemonade and 50 percent Iced Tea just like old Arnie ordered it back in the day. I grabbed the receipt and looked directly at the gratuity line.
15 percent

15 percent! I couldn’t believe it. My mother who prides herself on wasting money on things like the scariest doll set (see below) in New Jersey couldn’t be bothered to tip a nice waiter 20 percent.

After finding out this info I vowed to check out more bills to make sure this was a onetime occurrence. Maybe my mom didn’t do the math correctly. Obviously, that’s an invalid excuse since she’s Indian and we’re great at math (stereotype burn), but there had to be a reason. After we would eat I would let my parents walk in front and sneak a peek at the bill. I looked at a majority of them. 17%, 14%, 15%, 18%, 15%, 15%, 25%. “Ooh they left a 25 percent tip at a restaurant. See? They’re not awful people,” I said to myself. Then I realized they left the 25 percent tip at an Indian restaurant. WHAT. Were my parents only tipping Indians well?

I’ll scrub your brown back if your brown back brings me another Gulab Jamun. CAN I GET SOME?!!? No, seriously, can I get some? I’m hungry.

It all came to a head two Christmases ago. We stopped at a Pizza Hut. I’ll let that sink in for a moment. No, we did not invent a time machine and fly back to 1988. We were in a real life sit down Pizza Hut in the year 2009. In our defense my cousins were with us and they are 10 and 6 and only consist of pizza, chicken fingers, and boogers so we didn’t have much of a choice seeing how Kentucky Fried Booger was a little out of the way. The service at Pizza Hut was in a word. Atrocious. I don’t know when the last time you’ve been to Pizza Hut is, but the ages of the people working there haven’t changed. They must own some kind of anti-aging device. Everyone working there is still 16 and under. How do they keep creating these 16 year olds and I keep getting older? Impressive. I’m being told they are not the same person and actually different 16 year olds.

Point Taken.

After what seemed like an hour we ate the greasiest pan pizza ever and the bill came. My mom grabbed it and paid it with her credit card. She signed for it and in the space marked gratuity decided to put a line through it. A line is an odd number to write in the tip line. Oh, that’s right. Because it means you’re not tipping. I waited a second and thought maybe she would just leave cash on the table so as we were walking out I waited. Nothing. Everyone left. My mom must have read the sign wrong because she assumed we were at Katsuya and not PIZZA HUT. What did she expect? A warm towel? A glass of champagne? These kids were doing their best. I made up an excuse, walked back in and left the tip on the table out my own pocket.

I’m not a hero. But you can call me that.

I asked my mom why should wouldn’t tip. She said the service was really bad and they didn’t deserve a tip. I tried to rationalize with her all the reasons she should still tip, but she called me a “dumb people.” I realized my mom is never going to be a good tipper. She comes from a different country and likes to spend her money on dolls. I can’t change her.

Luckily, we never have to tip at Taco Bell.

Money For Everything and The Chicks Ain't Free. It's a Remix.

2011-09-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

Last week I was watching TV. I'm sure all of the people that read this blog can relate to watching TV. Unless you're Amish. Then again if you're Amish you're also not reading this blog so I'm not sure why I am addressing the Amish community in any way other than to say "Shalom." I'm being told Shalom is not an Amish word so the first part of this post became weirdly anti-Semitic. I blame Christmas. The point is not the Amish, but that while I was watching the "Idiot Box" I found myself watching a dating show. The fact the show was on MTV has no real added value to this conversation, but should be mentioned to point out my intense high brow television watching. The show was called "Disaster Date" and since it's not at all obvious by the title of the program it was about people going out on dates where some sort of disaster occurs. I watched 3 consecutive episodes and not one natural disaster was featured on any said dates.

Typhoons get no respect.

(Aside - We can say what we want about MTV and believe me "we" say a lot of things, but one thing is undeniable. Their show titles are rarely misleading. "16 and Pregnant," Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory," "When I was 17," "Teen Mom," Date My Mom," "Teen Mom 2," and the always popular "Teen Mom Moms: The Last of the Mom-icans" are all encompassing titles. You know what you're getting if you turn on these shows. A lot of mothers. I doubt someone in Olympia, Washington is turning on MTV and saying, "Ah Man! I thought 16 and Pregnant was going to be about 16 pregnant chicks. I'M OUTRAGED. CALL KURT LODER." The reason they won't be saying that is that they are stoned and eating Fritos covered in mustard.)

On "Not a Natural" Disaster Date people have to put up with a horrible blind date for 60 minutes and for every minute they last they get a dollar. The moral of the show is that sometimes you get set up on a blind date and it's so offensively bad you end up with $60 in your pocket at the end. Capitalism. Never change. While I was watching this it got me to thinking about all the bad dates I had been on. That got me thinking to all the good dates I had been on. That then got me thinking to ALL of the dates I had ever been on which got me to thinking why I had wasted all of this time thinking when I really really had to go to the bathroom.

Don't drink when you think.

In my mid 20s I used to think dating was the bee's skis. (Seriously, knees? When have knees ever been cool? The depression and bee's knees? The 1920s had the stench of 4 week old garbage.) You would take a pretty young thing, (or old thing. I'm no ageist) out and attempt to have relations with them. Sometimes if you really liked them you would wait until the second date to make the process more adult. Maybe both of your stuffs got to meet up in a backroom rendezvous for 2, but maybe not. Then you would try it over again with another lovely young (or old) lady and the process began anew. Such is life in the dating world. You go out and then you go out again with someone new because that first someone threw up in your friend’s car. Time is spent with new people and it’s trial and error. Unless you met in high school, which in that case, I have something for you guys.

A big F-U.

You see, as the man, we are supposed to pay for the dates. Sure there are some extenuating circumstances, but every date I’ve ever been on I have paid for. I’m not looking for some kind of pat on the back, but more of some kind of trophy. Probably a trophy of a guy patting me on the back. I understand it is the man’s responsibility (98 percent of the time. DON’T COME AT ME FEMINISTS) to pay for a date and I have no problem with that. I have never let a woman pay on the first few dates and never will. It is the price to pay for not having to carry a baby, never getting menstrual cramps, not having to sit on the toilet, and not having to be outraged at smut like Playboy, Playboy TV, The Playboy Club, and rabbits.

I went on my first date when I was 16. I went on my second date at age 20. Some people would call that a drought. I would call it the Sahara Desert of dating. There was not a dating canteen to be found in the late 90s, but there were some awesome dream mirages. I totally hooked up with Pam Anderson. 37 times. I went on my last date a month ago. So that would be 15 years of dating minus 4 years of drought minus another 2 years of women ignoring me minus another year of women being repulsed by my advances to bring us to roughly 4 days of dating. A long weekend of dating is intense.

After watching Disaster Date I wanted to know how much money I had actually spent dating. I don’t think dating is necessarily a wasteful thing (even the horrible ones) because you’re getting experience and meeting people that will change your life, but at some point the dough (street slang) starts adding up. Dating isn’t cheap especially when you’re a man so I wondered what else I could have bought if I didn’t date and never had the sexual healing. Let’s be honest. I’m still single so all this dating so far hasn’t exactly gotten me where I want to be.

I know Visa will be there.

If I went on more than 5 dates with any one girl I didn’t count it because I think date 6 and on is where most human beings would think it’s ok to start chopping bills. And we all are humans. I’m no dating machine so I’m sure my number of dates in the last 15 years will be less than the majority of people so if you want to also do this exercise I suggest you don’t. You will be depressed and ordering Zoloft. Not the recreationally kind either. In 15 years I have been on 84 dates. 84 real dates where I paid the bill and was getting to know the person outside and, hopefully, inside.

Inside the pants. I’ve gone too far. Sorry Mom.

On some dates it was only one or two drinks, while other dates it was extravagant meals and tickets to happy town so there is no set average. On those 84 dates I have spent (insert drum roll or any other musical sounding interlude. I suggest the oboe) $13,100. That is a pretty accurate guestimate considering I went through my entire bank account and silently wept as I added it all up. $13,100. I’m neither sad nor angry at that amount. But in the interest of full disclosure here is what I could have purchased had I never gone on one date.

43 iPhones

Something from the Heidi Fleiss Menu

13,000 bean burritos from Taco Bell

A 2012 Honda Civic

This house

2 sets of breast implants

Mr. Belding to show up at my private party

One Marty McFly shoe. Not the pair

There is some part of me that wishes Mr. Belding could come to my birthday party, but I can deal with it. Dating can get pretty expensive and maybe that money would be great if it was invested. But what if I never went on those dates? I would be even more boring. I wouldn’t have lived. I wouldn’t have met great people. I wouldn’t have any stories for this blog that no one wants to read about. There have been some disaster dates, but that’s how it goes.

I wish the bad ones paid me back though.

Back To The Future. Is That Taken?

2011-09-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

We live a new world. That is obviously a metaphorical statement since Earth is exactly the same shape it was when we were born, but stop parsing words. I know you want to. When I was growing up we had these things called pay phones where you would make a collect call to your parents to pick you up at Woodbridge Mall because you and your friends had spent your last dollar on 20 Bazooka Joe bubblegum for the comics. At some point during the process you became smart though and put your whole location in the space where the operator said, "Say your name after the beep" so that your parents didn't have to incur the charge of a collect call.

"MOM, pickmeupin5minutesoutsidethejcpenneyonthesecondfloorthanksbye."

I would be lying if I said I didn't miss those days. Ok, well, that's I lie. I don't miss those days at all. Sitting on the side of the road and waiting for your parents to pick you up is one of the most emasculating things that can happen to a human. Not only are you depending on someone to do something for you, it's your parents. And if it's not YOUR parents, it's my parents like my goofy dad in his Jets game day attire which included a Jets hat, sweatshirt, and sweatpants. On a Wednesday. Football is not played on a Wednesday. If at some point the Jets needed a 50 year old 5'6 Indian man with a potbelly to run onto the sidelines and call plays he could find the appropriate dressed individual at my house every weekday after 6pm and every weekend all day.

Consistency. The mark of a champion.

I can't even imagine not having a phone nowadays. When I was 15 and at the mall we would have rendezvous points if we got separated and 98 percent of the time it worked out. One time there was that unfortunate incident with the German Sheppard at Pets USA, but we prefer to not bring that up for fear of 'Nam style flashbacks. Don't feed a dog Cinnabon.

For an inordinate amount of time I had a flip phone. It served its purpose. The purpose being that it would send inappropriate text messages at 2:30AM to other people. You really think the cell phone companies would figure out a way to fix these ghost texts since I don't recall sending any of them. 3 years ago I decided to get into the land of the living and upgrade my social standing to a smart phone. In today's world no one can take you seriously if you have a flip phone or a phone without internet capabilities. The only way you can get away with it at this point is if you are over 55 years old or Marty McFly.

When I first got my Blackberry 97 trillion my mom warned me not to be checking my phone every 30 seconds for a new e-mail because I would get addicted. "Who gets addicted to stuff? That's dumb!" I said. Then my mom said my uncle became addicted to gambling in 1981 and had to see specialists. Awkward. After I opened the package and plopped all my info into the cell phone machine I was ready for my new life. No more being the last to know which celebrity was at Whole Foods at 2pm. No more having to run to a computer to check if I got an update in that unimportant e-mail chain that I was mistakenly put on. No more not seeing a status update from that person I stalked that one time that read "Doing laundry and mixed a color in with my whites. MLK approves! L.O.L"

We can all dream.

The first couple weeks were great. I was getting e-mail, being informed on social media, and I even wrote some hilarious tweets from my mobile device. Tweeting on the go?!!? Is there anything machines can't do? Everything was coming up Rahul. After a while I noticed that I was checking my phone more and more often. The red light would flash and I would immediately check it. "It must be important," I thought. I had to know who it was. I was becoming addicted. My mom was right. (Aside: For some reason I am astounded when my mom is correct. She is a wonderful woman, but I never expect her to be right about anything. This is a woman that thinks Texas is west of California. She pluralizes feet as "foots." She e-mailed me last week to complain that I wasn't answering her phone calls and when I asked her if she was calling the wrong number she was incredulous and upset at the insinuation she was "stupid." When I called her right back she said she had been calling my office phone number. From 4 years ago. With all those things not in her favor she somehow came through on this one. I would put my mom being right about cell phone addiction somewhere between Truman defeating Dewey and Hammer pants not being a viable clothing option in 2011 as one of the bigger upsets of all time.)

You see that red light is one of the worst things to happen in our history. Whenever it flashes you think it’s something really important, but it never is. It’s usually a Groupon. “Light is flashing, someone loves me! $10 for $50 worth of pet grooming! What? I’m depressed.” That red message light has caused more depression than any single thing in our nation’s history.* I would wake up in the middle of night, see the light, and realize Men’s Health was sending me a health tip at 3:30AM. It was ruining me yet I kept my e-mail on my phone and persevered. With no sleep.

*unconfirmed

In May my phone was stolen by some street toughs at Bally’s Total Fitness. I’m assuming they’re street toughs because when you go to a place with “total fitness” in its name it would be bad marketing if it was a scrawny dude. Bally’s Ok Sometimes Fitness wouldn’t work out. This was the perfect time to get rid of the e-mail off my phone when I got a new one. I told a few friends that I didn’t have e-mail on my phone anymore and they looked at me like I was Mr. T. The old crazy Mr. T, not the cool Mr. T that did (insert cool things) back in the 80s. I tried to explain to them why I don’t and most of them nodded their heads in agreement while checking their phone for important e-mail. It’s a sick cycle. In some ways I’ve reverted back to the days of the flip phone. I still have Facebook and Twitter because removing those would be crazy talk, but no more spam e-mails giving me the false hope that I’m popular. Only my mom gives me that hope now.

I’m going to start calling her collect more often.

An Open Letter to Women

2011-09-02T17:32:00.001-07:00

Dear Women,

We have a problem. It has come to my attention that there a group of women or aliens posing as women out there that are answering magazine surveys on the female behalf. In these surveys that are run by reputable publications such as Maxim, Playboy, and Cat Fancy, these women portend that they would rather date a funny guy more than anything else. In all these many numerous statistics "sense of humor" was either the top quality or in the top 3 things that women wanted in a potential mate.

We must stop them.

You see this notion that women want a funny guy may be true, but it's not that important to women that their man be funny when they first meet him. The reason I know this is because I happen to hang out with more women than I really should. At some point in junior high I became the funny guy. The guy that could make everyone laugh, but not the guy that was taking girls out on dates. This could have been my refusal to zip up fly or the fact I got Hi-C thrown in my face at lunch time, but I would like to think it was because I was way too funny for the student population.

Sad brag.

In the past 10 years I've somehow accrued a lot of female friends due to my begging and pleading with them that they talk to me. This is an effective and useful tool in having people hang out with you. I suggest you try it if you have zero self respect and your moral compass is somewhere between Idi Amin and the cast of the Brady Bunch. I somehow have found myself in many a situation where it's me and "the girls." In one aspect this is fantastic. This makes you look like the best ladies man on the planet outside of Leon Phelps. "Yeth." On the other hand you are fodder for the monthly complaints about cramps and "why Blair would go back to Chuck" rantings. I don't mind these things as it's abundantly clear that these girls are my friends and the reason Blair crawls back to Chuck are their joint issues of dependency. Suck it, Freud.

This past week I was around two different groups of women when twice the topic of "Should I go out with him?" came up about some random man. In both cases the first question about the guy out of the other girls' mouths weren't about his sense of humor. I know! I'm shocked! (See: not shocked). The first question was "Is he cute?" While this is a very valid question this doesn't jive with whoever is answering these "love surveys" with these magazines. I was told that being funny is WAY more important than physical features, but here I am in two totally separate groups of women and both first ask about the guy's looks.

This doesn't seem to be an uncommon thing among women. In all my years of hanging out with the fairer sex I've not once heard a woman question another woman on whether her date or potential date was funny. In fact, I've never heard anything other than asking about his looks. Well, ok, I lied. One time I heard someone ask if the guy "liked to eat babies." I don't know if she was going for a quick zing or has this really weird fetish for devouring children under the age of 1, but it seemed odd that is the line of questioning she chose. If I had to ask a weird dining question about someone I didn't know I would probably go with, "Are they vegetarian?" That would seem to encompass a lot of things including that whole baby eating momma drama.

We could have stopped Jeffrey Dahmer.

The thing is that I don't begrudge women for picking a potential date by his looks. As a man how could you get upset about that? In my 97 things (added one more. Recency effect) I look for in a woman, my number 1 thing is "Attractive to me." I would be a hypocrite if I said that it's unacceptable that women think this way. 99 percent of men choose women based solely on their looks. We're awful human beings, but on the bright side we're honest? Please? The problem exists that these women that give survey answers or advice try to act as if humor trumps good looks when you first are trying to date someone. Let's not kid ourselves. Women want guys that are good looking first and foremost. If that guy happens to be funny that's just a way to describe them in the future. Someone is going to point out David Spade or some other comedian, but those people have the ultimate trump card. Money. Find me an average funny guy that drives a Toyota Corolla dating a model and I’ll take it back. Humor is a secondary trait that people find attractive. I'm sure George Clooney is the funniest mother f'er on the planet right now.

George - "So I was at Starbucks and the latte they gave me was lukewarm!"
Date- "GEORGE YOU ARE SO HILARIOUS!"
George - "then the barista said, I APOLOGIZE!"
Date- "AHAHAHAAHHA!!! O.M.G.L.O.L. How do you not have a stand up act?!?!"

As a man that tries to be funny nothing is more frustrating than one of my female friends saying they like funny guys, meeting their dates, and realizing that not only couldn't they make a tickled hyena laugh, the guy they're dating is 100 percent of the time better looking than me. I realize she’s not going out with him because she likes funny guys. She’s going out with him because he’s good looking, wears clothes that fit nicely, and possibly made a short film about “art” that he’s really serious about. If you’re reading this in any place other than NYC or LA substitute “drawings” for “short film.” Some may say this is all sour grapes and that I'm bitter. To those people I say "You're correct." To my parents I say, "Your DNA stinks."

All the average looking funny men of this world have are our colorful personalities and timely jokes that we end with "Sick burn" or "SIKE." We're the guys in your office that make you laugh after you lose that big account or make a throwaway joke about kids that eat grass. You probably have never thought of us as being attractive. We’re not the guys that you’ll see from across the bar and have to immediately talk to, but you should because we’ll make you snort. To the majority of us we know that’s the hand we’re dealt. Until plastic surgery makes enough strides that they can make every human look like 1952 James Dean or 2011 James Franco (We’re sure that’s not the same person right?) we’ll make do with our sense of humor.

All these magazines and Internet sites tell us we have a chance to get the hot girl on a date because we’re funny. Yet it doesn’t work out that way when we end up seeing that girl with someone unfunny. That’s why I demand as a female species you start telling the truth on surveys or find these liars amongst your mist. Just say that you’re looking for a good looking guy that could turn out funny. Our feelings won’t be hurt because we understand the struggle.

We'll make a joke out of it.

Sincerely,

Rahul Subramanian

Funny Average Man Society Member

Growing Up Grown Ups Still Growing. A Message To Our Future

2011-08-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

When I was 17 I wanted to be John Olerud. To 98 percent of people reading this blog the name John Olerud is not going to mean anything to you. John Olerud was a professional baseball player who played the majority of his career for the Toronto Blue Jays, New York Mets, and Seattle Mariners. I was first made aware of him by my younger brother who, in a big F-U to the Subramanian clan, decided that at age 8 his favorite team was going to be the Toronto Blue Jays and not any of the New York based teams that we grew up with. That preceded the time he hit me upside the head with a replica New York Yankees mini bat at home. He was really taking this anti-America thing to new heights. My brother collected every John Olerud baseball card from 1989-1993 and put them together in a collage d'Olerud. If Dexter was real life, not a fictional TV show, and around in 1993 my brother would have been murdered. His crime? Weirdness.

On the bright side those cards are now worth a collective $1.61.

In December of 1996 John Olerud was traded to the New York Mets which also happened to be my favorite team. In a fit of rage my brother demanded that I trade him my "Dookie" Green Day cassette tape for his John Olerud love chest of baseball cards. I declined. This was based on the fact that I knew that a cassette tape version of Green Day's most wonderful album would be worth a boatload in the future. And I was right. A copy of "Dookie" on Ebay goes for a robust $4.99. And you can buy it right now. Suck on it, futures market.

There were many reasons I started liking John Olerud. He took some ridicule because he wore a helmet in the field (due to a brain aneurysm and not because he was mentally disabled or ate too many dandelions as a kid), but he never got mad. He had a sweet swing, fielded his position (1st base) impeccably, and rode the 7 train to Mets' games instead of driving which I thought was the coolest thing ever. Public transportation even when you make millions?!? IS THIS REAL LIFE?! But the biggest reason is that he was really nice. He never argued with umpires even when they were blatantly wrong and always respected everyone. Not to mention he was pretty good at baseball and when I was 17 I was convinced that I would one day be in the Major Leagues and have all the baseball groupies one man could handle. As of today I cannot tell you the amount of baseball groupies I've slept with because it would be inappropriate to make that public.

Rhymes with Robert DeNiro.

The other day someone brought up role models in a conversation and asked me if I had one. After making the requisite Paul Rudd/ Seann William Scott pop culture reference, I was stuck. Mainly because that kid McLovin was in another movie where he played a huge nerd. How many times can that happen to someone? Michael Cera tells you to get lost kind sir. I guess you could say John Olerud was my role model. In reality, there was no way I was going to be John Olerud since he was white, left handed, 6'3", and really good at baseball. I had only one of those four things going for me. The white thing. Wait, I’m being told I'm not white. Thanks DAD! I did look up to him, though, and tried to do all the same things he did. Instead of a spoiled brat playing baseball I became more respectful. I became more John Olerud.

Spoiler alert. Still not white.

But it made me wonder if you even know who your role models are when you’re younger. Charles Barkley once famously said, "I am not a role model" and people yelled at him because he could dunk a basketball and they could not. I'm sure other people yelled at him for other things, but that's what I was yelling about. When you're 5'8 and half and dreaming of dunking a basketball seeing someone else do it is very traumatic. It makes you resort to things like lowering your family's basketball hoop to 8 feet so you can throw down a sick reverse two hand jam while your friends rate you. Not that anyone I know did that. More than 5 times.

Role models should be people you want to be when you get older. Most people say your parents should be your role models, but my dad smoked cigarettes and once said, "There is a time for laughing. Now is not the time to have the time to laugh." I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. I didn't want to grow up smoking cigarettes and ruining the English language so I looked elsewhere. I did take a lot of traits from my dad, but I never considered him a role model. In 2008 there was a survey done by British schoolteachers about role models. Most of the kids wanted to be two people.

David and Victoria Beckham.

Isn’t there something fundamentally wrong with that? I’m sure they are two lovely people, but what do we really know about them? David Beckham can kick a soccer ball around and Victoria Beckham can, uh, get pregnant? Why are kids looking up to them? We don’t really even know them or if they’re good parents or if they are two people you should be aspiring to be. I’m sure being as rich as them would be great, but I would like to be as rich as OJ circa 1992 too and that didn’t work out too well for anyone except for Court TV.

If and when I have kids I would hope they would pick me as their role model. I hope they would look at me and say, “I want to be like my dad because he is awesome and one time he let me get sprinkles on my ice cream cone and mom doesn’t let me do that because mom never wants us to have any fun since she took away my hovercraft!” Take that future wife! In your face! If my hypothetical kids pick David Beckham in a survey I’ll be distraught because David Beckham will be in his 50s and still relevant.

I picked John Olerud as my role model when I was 17 because he could hit a baseball pretty far and was nice on TV, but what did I know about him? We should only pick our role models in hindsight. Looking back on it my role model was a combination of people. John Olerud plus my dad plus Chris Rock’s standup act. I think my dad would be happy to know he shares being my role model with Chris Rock’s humor and John Olerud’s athleticism.

I’ll trade my brother for that collage now.

Two is Better Than One Unless You Have Twins and Only Bought One Crib

2011-08-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

(Editors Note: I couldn’t figure out how to tie these two topics together so I gave up. My mom always said, it’s not giving up if you can’t do it. Thanks Mom! So instead of one big nonsensical blog post there are two mini nonsensical ones here that make one really long post. In conclusion, reading is fun. With an emphasis on, uh, I guess fun.)

1.Ryan Gosling seems like an ok person. Yesterday the women of the Internet were all flushed with dengue fever or some sort of malady where they had to be hosed down because Mr. Gosling broke up a fight on the mean streets of Manhattan. The cries of "Oh, could he get any sexier?!?!" by women that will never get within 47 miles of him were heard throughout the land as he stopped two guys from fighting over art. Of course, they were fighting over art. An actor stopping a fight over art. How meta. Could it be any more perfect that Ryan Gosling is breaking up a fight between two guys scuffling over something they'll hang over their NYC fireplace and only point out to visitors and their parents? I'm sure after the fight subsided Gosling and the two guys sat on a Brooklyn stoop, debated the merits of the hand painted diagram in front of them while drinking Bartles and Jaymes and compared it to a New Yorker article they all read in the June 2007 edition. An all time classic edition!

Well played old chaps.

Let's be real for a second. Ryan Gosling is an attractive individual. If I didn't say that I would be considered a "hater" or drinking "haterade" or eating "Hatertots" or really replacing any word or phrase that ended in -ater and putting an "h" at the beginning. Bunch of A.C. Haters in here. I'm sure there are some women that don't find him attractive, but they are in the small minority. I know something about minorities so I feel ok saying this. We look awkward at Blink 182 shows. I'm not jealous of Ryan Gosling because he is considered good looking by 90 percent of the world's population. That whole previous last sentence was a lie. I am very jealous, but I wanted to seem humble and that I've come to grips I will never look like him. I haven't. Spoiler alert.

This one incident yesterday has somehow catapulted Ryan Gosling into a sexy stratosphere that, from where I'm sitting, only consists of George Clooney, John F. Kennedy, and Benjamin Franklin immediately after he invented bifocals. Bifocal groupies are crazy in the sack. Literally. They had sex in potato sacks back then. Not only does Ryan Gosling have the looks, is a good actor (he was excellent in an independent movie called Half Nelson. This just proves the theory if you play a teacher with a drug problem in an independent movie with the same name as an amateur wrestling move you will be a good actor. A formula we should all live by), and is now slowly accumulating secondary traits that make all women swoon. He is becoming a tour de force unseen since the last tour de force.

Hey Ryan, how about leaving some for us? No? Ok, carry on then.

Cyberspace blew up with that video. Women were throwing their panties at their computers which made work really uncomfortable yesterday. Look at that video again. It’s not like Ryan Gosling is the only one helping. Sure there’s a guy with an umbrella that may or may not be wearing heels attempting to help and failing, but at least he tried. Does he get no respect? But here comes Ryan Gosling to save the day. He was in The Notebook and now breaks up fights! HE IS SO PERFECT. Oh all of you other people helping, you can all suck it. What movies have you been in? Huh? That’s what I thought. Get off the tracks when the popularity train is coming through.

Ryan, I hope you enjoy your trip through all the women of the web. I only have one question. Need a wingman?

2. I don’t get laughing. I mean I get it in the sense I love to do it and if you can make me laugh I love being around you, but I don’t get the whole act of laughing. Why do we laugh at some of the things we do? When did laughing first start? Was there a caveman that let out a guffaw and was immediately decapitated by the talon of an eagle? I think the first person to laugh probably had it bad. He would sound like an alien, but since they didn’t know what aliens or even Steve Jobs was they probably thought the person was dying.

We all have different senses of humor. I laugh at Die Hard jokes. I laugh at videos where kids get hit in the head with basketballs. I laughed when my brother brought home a C from art class in high school and my parents thought that grade was so good they bought him new baseball equipment. Ok, I cried on that last one. But whatever. The point is we laugh at different stuff, but there’s one thing we all laugh at.

Other people laughing.

Why?!? Why do we laugh when other people laugh? It really makes no sense to do the same act another person is doing. Kids cry when other kids cry, but I mean, really? Kids are pretty dumb. We’re fully functioning adults. We shouldn’t be copying the emotions of other adults, but we still do. Take for example this video of my man crush Anderson Cooper. (Aside: Can you have a man crush on someone who potentially could have a crush on you back? Not saying Anderson Cooper would ever be into me, but he does like men so it’s a possibility. Is this just a regular crush then? What’s the difference between this and my crush on Michelle Trachtenberg? I guess because I wouldn’t ever hook up with Anderson Cooper so maybe I should just change it to “My best friend” Anderson Cooper. Facebook me Anderson!)

I watched that video and didn’t laugh at any of his puns until he started cracking up on air. I was only laughing because he was also laughing. I cannot think of anything that makes less sense except Flava Flav’s entire life. His laugh sounded like dreams and paper unicorns so that probably had something to do with it. I thought about why I was laughing and vowed to never laugh because someone laughed first. It was a great vow

Yesterday I was walking down the hallway and the mailman for our building stopped me and said, “I’m not used to seeing you walk down the hallway without a big pizza in your hand! (Insert loud laughing).” I laughed at his joke, but then I realized a few things. One, I’ve never walked down the hallway at work with a pizza. Two, Was he confusing me with an Indian pizza delivery guy? He saw me not more than one minute ago in my office. He knows I work in a non pizza delivery capacity. Three, It wasn’t funny. Nothing he said he was funny. Intrinsically, it was the least funny thing I’ve heard all year. Yet I still laughed since he laughed. It makes me wonder if all stand up comedians should laugh at all their own jokes. How could it fail?

Right Anderson Cooper?

Party People Are Just The Same As Regular People. Spoiler Alert.

2011-08-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

I like parties. On the surface that is probably the least outlandish thing to say. I've found in my vast polling of the universe that most people do, in fact, like parties. The only people that don't like parties are the same people for some unconscionable reason also do not like cake. I can see not liking to go to parties since there can be too many people there invading your personal space, but not liking cake? Are you a person? I have yet to hear one valid reason for not liking cake in my entire life. Allergies, impending weight gain, cavities are not reasons for disliking spongy goodness all up in your mouth region. Someone once told me they didn't like cake "just because." JUST BECAUSE. "Just because" is something an 8 year old says when they are drawing pictures of horses on their brother's face and eating grass. If that's the only reason humanity can come up with not liking cake then I, for one, am disappointed with those Adam and Eve people for creating us.

Let them eat...and so on.

But back to the parties. The reason I like going to parties is based partly that I like socializing with people in a place where you can talk to them face to face and partly on the word "party." Anytime I see the word "party" anywhere I immediately assume it will be the greatest gathering of people since the 1987 backstage meeting between Motley Crue, Guns N Roses, 432 groupies with big hair, and a vat of hepatitis. Memories. There's a reason that the word "party" has been made into a bunch of songs with upbeat melodies and awesome drum solos. Starting with Sam Cooke's "We're Having a Party," and going all the way to this year's release by LMFAO "Party Rock Anthem", parties constitute having a good time and most likely "getting down with our bad selves." Sure there are a couple songs that bring down the whole party notion like "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to", but I never hear anyone singing that song at karaoke because that song is a bad time and is like saying something derogatory about Anderson Cooper.

All lies.

All vernacular and non cake eating people aside, the fact that you get to converse with an actual person in the flesh is the A1A Beachfront Avenue reason to go to a party. The mingling. The socializing. The awkward moment when someone brings up a pop culture reference you don't totally understand, but heard that one time so you play it off and say "Ha! I know how about that time (insert character of 80s comedy program you didn't see) breathed. That's right. He totally breathed on everyone! Glorious."

Since most of our conversations in the 2000s are done through a computer we're not getting the total person experience. Online we can wait a few seconds, search on wiki for something clever to say, translate it into Portuguese and, voila we're a charming person from across the pond. That's not real life. Real life is talking to an attractive woman and blurting out "Who gets elbow cancer?!?!" and having said woman say "I survived 3 bouts of elbow cancer you heartless heathen!" and then asking her where she got her alliteration skills.

So while I do like the gathering of people in one centralized place to celebrate an occasion of birth, joy, or parole, I don't like the part that leads up to it. Going to a party shouldn't be stressful. You RSVP on one of those Facebook events (R.I.P Evite. I loved your multitude of background options and themed invites. *sob) and you go. Badabing. Badaboom. Sometimes it's difficult to go to a party alone. You only know the host and you totally hooked up with a person on the invite when you were drunk off of $4 pear ciders. It happens, how were you to know that person would have any friends? At this point you might invite a friend to come along. Someone to talk to when the host is busy and/or you're hiding in a bush. This is perfectly fine. So you call your friend to ask them if they want to go. Then they say.

Who else is going to be there?

When did it become an acceptable practice to ask someone who else is going to be at a place you got invited to? Maybe it's an LA "thing", but I've heard this question way too many times count (see: over 6). Not only do you come off a high end jerk for asking about the other people there, you've totally denigrated the friend you've asked. Is the person that invited you not enough to talk to? Most of the time I become depressed when someone answers that way because it shows that I'm not good enough for them. If you ever meet a person with that response 97 percent of the time they throw in a "Are there going to be girls there" question for free.

It's the buy one get one free of douchebaggery. Worst purse manufacturer ever.

We live in a society where you would rather talk to the people that aren’t at the place you are than the people right in front of your face. Thank you text machines. Look how popular I am, people are trying to get into contact with me while at another establishment. Garcon, call TMZ and bring around the chopper. That’s why these people NEED to know who else will be there to see if it’s worth their time. That’s also why I’ve resorted to answering that question with a simple “Your Mom” rebuttal. Quick and painless. (Aside: At what point did “your mom” become an insult? You have to think in the early days if someone asked who else was invited to a function saying “your mom” would actually bring out a positive reaction. “Hey Ezekiel, who’s going to be at the penultimate supper tomorrow?” “Your mom.” “My mom? For real? That is wonderful! She makes a lovely banana bread and will probably clean all the dishes after. If any of us get dysentery she is a nurse and can keep us alive for all of eternity. Thanks for inviting her Ezekiel! You are a true mensch and a scholar!” The tide probably turned in 1951 when James Mcbee was invited to the National Comb makers Ball and didn’t know anyone. He was told his mom would be there. She never showed. And that’s how it all began.*)

We should all like going out and meeting new and old people. It doesn’t matter who else is there because you are free as something that is free. Don’t be that person that needs to know the other people there. Just go. Your friends will like you more. Or maybe less. I don’t know how good a friend you are.

But at least eat the cake.

*unconfirmed

Real Men of Genius. Or At Least Moderate Intellect

2011-08-09T10:55:00.000-07:00

My dad is a man's man. I really don't know what that phrase means, but I think it describes my dad pretty well. (Aside: Why is no one a woman's woman? If I had to guess a woman's woman would probably be Susan B. Anthony dealing with all that woman's rights tomfoolery. But what about her fashion sense? I don't think a true champion of women would be wearing bloomers all over the place. Someone get that lady a ride to Nordstrom and a gift card to the MAC store. Let's get with the times grandma! I'm being told she's not alive. Now I see why we don't use that phrase. Women's women are always dead.)

My dad does a lot of things that "men" are stereotyped to do in society. He used to smoke Marlboro Reds. He then collected the miles on the Marlboro packets and traded them in for the finest Marlboro bounties in all the land. Marlboro traveling bag, Marlboro hat, Marlboro shower caddy. My mom is a big fan (see: not a big fan) of her Marlboro tea cup set. Then he had a heart attack. He drinks Coors Light. He refuses to pay anyone to fix anything so he can fix it himself. He plays golf every Saturday. He bought a pickup truck. He always wears sweatshirts after January 1st. After reading all of these things I'm not sure if my dad is a man's man or Larry the Cable guy.

The flannel cut offs make it really close.

He's also a big proponent of never showing anyone weakness. I've only seen my dad cry once and that was at my grandma's funeral. When I saw him crying I didn't know what to do. It was like seeing Bigfoot or Bigfoot's brother if we knew what his brother looked like. I patted him on the shoulder and told him it would be ok. I'm no authority on crying since one time a tear fell from my eye when I realized I had misplaced the other half of my cupcake that I had saved for later. It was very emotional. IT WAS SO GOOD, YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND. I was 28.

When my brother and I were growing up playing baseball if we got hit with a pitch he would shake his head if we would rub it. "Run to first!", He would yell since he didn't want his kids being weak. All those times I wanted to yell back, "I want to see you get hit with a 65 mph pitch, which if you take into account reaction times feels like 91mph, in the patella tendon old man!" Then I realized that would not help me get any Little League groupies so I ran to first. When I was 13 I was playing basketball and faked an injury so I didn't have to play. My dad went on to give a speech about strength of character and adversity which would have been the greatest speech of his life had he not got so animated that he rear ended the car in front of us.

Vince Lombardi drove at 10 and 2.

Like any well adjusted American teen I didn't like my parents growing up, but as I got older I realized I had osmostisized (unconfirmed word) a lot of their values in me. I've been lucky in the sense that I've been playing sports for almost 25 years and never had a serious injury. This is where someone would say "knock on wood" or my mom would shout, "Why would you say that? You'll probably get hit with a rock today." I hate when you're playing basketball and some drops a rock on your face. Note: Never play with Wile E. Coyote again. I've had small injuries here and there such as someone stepping on my hand or bent back fingers playing baseball, but never have I "let them see me sweat."

Except if it's humid out.

This past week while playing basketball I jumped and inadvertently stepped on someone’s foot. My ankle rolled and immediately it was that burning feeling that I’ve been told you get when ligaments are stretched. Instead of taking a break and calling it a day, I laced up the sneakers tighter and played for another hour. When I got home and took my shoe off my ankle ballooned up. On Monday I couldn’t even put my shoes on so I’m sitting at work in a business casual outfit wearing my high top sneakers for support. Even Jerry Seinfeld is embarrassed.

What’s the deal with business casual?!?!

My dad was never a big proponent of sympathy. After he got knee surgery he didn’t want anyone to help him get around. When he was sitting in a hospital bed after a heart attack his first question was, “when can I play golf again?” He’s a stubborn man. I’ve inherited some of that same stubbornness. The last couple days I’ve been limping around the office and you can feel the looks people give you. They look at you different. When walking the hallways I can see other people try to decipher if I’m hurt or actually physically disabled. More people have held the door open for me in the last two days here than the previous 6 months.

I never understood why people in wheelchairs or on crutches would get offended when you try to help them. I’m just trying to be a human being! But the reality is that they don’t want to seem different than anyone else. We shouldn’t treat people different based on their shortcomings or things they can’t do which is easy to say, but hard to actually put into effect. We WANT to help out those we think can’t help themselves. I love that some of my friends are even willing to ask if I want them to do stuff for me. It shows they care, but I would never take them up on it. I guess this is part of being a man’s man.

If for some reason Webster’s dictionary had an entry for man’s man that included a picture (which is ridiculous, how many dictionaries have pictures in them? What is this? An Archie comic?) you will probably see Clint Eastwood or Robert Redford. BUT if you look up Indian man’s man under 5’7” you would most likely see Gandhi, then other famous people, but my dad would be somewhere in there around 12,575th.

He’ll be the one in the sweatshirt.

I Looked Into The Past And All I Got Was a Shirt That Said "Future"

2011-08-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

"When I turn 27 I want to be married and have AT LEAST 2 kids." Those were words I wrote down senior year of high school on my first day of Economics class. Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I actually wrote down, "In 10 years I want to be married and have at least 2 kids," but I wasn't sure how good everyone was with math so I decided to do the addition for the audience. I'm friendly. My economics teacher had won the lottery (or so went the rumor) so he was really freewheeling it during those first few classes until he eventually left us for early retirement. Why are we writing life goals for our future down in economics class? It made no sense. Shouldn't he have been teaching us about stock portfolios, high yield bonds, and the best currency in the world, the American Dollar? USA! USA! (It was 1997 when we ruled everything). I'm guessing he was imagining himself in Costa Rica eating dolphins and hanging out with lady singers.

We all know someone like that.

When I was home about a month ago I was rifling through some old things and noticed that notebook where I had written down about where I wanted to be in 10 years. It was right next to my 8 little league participation trophies and one horse's ass trophy I received for finishing last in my bowling league when I was 16. What if some people like horses' asses? Joke's on you my friend. That's how I comfort myself. Some of the other things I wrote down seem outlandish in retrospect. I wanted to start a division 1 baseball team at Syracuse, buy my dream house and have enough money to buy my parents one too, have a butler (Mr. Belevedere was still very popular to me), and own my very own arcade with various pop a shot games, skee-ball, and that one where you hammer the squirrels that pop through the hole to relieve my daily stress from being awesome. Teenage ambition is great when it involves bashing fake animals right in the medulla oblongata.

Suck on it PETA!

I chuckled at all of those things, but when I came up on the "married with kids" portion I stopped. Is that really what I wanted at 17? I'm guessing a lot of it stemmed from my parents being young when they got married and my thinking that the American value system being such that you're not really anything until you fall in love and procreate. They say that every path leads a different way, but looking back at the ten years between 17 and 27 I can't think of any way I could have changed to reach that goal I wrote down in economics class. I retraced most of my steps in that time frame and they all lead me to the same place. Getting drunk, run off the beach by cops for attempting to skinny dip in the Pacific, and eating copious amounts of pita in 2006.

All roads lead to hummus.

At 27 I wasn't even close to being ready for marriage. Yet when I was 17 being married must have seemed awesome since I wrote it down and had to read it out loud to a class of high school kids. If you don't bring your A game to a class of 25 high school kids you may as well throw a tomato in your own face.

Even as I turned 30 last fall and will turn 31 this fall (gulp) I still don’t know how close I am to marriage. I think I’m a little closer since I’m not funneling beer bongs at Dockweiler Beach anymore. Or maybe that makes me farther away. I was never good at distances. I wear contacts. I’m pretty sure life isn’t a Romantic Comedy where I’m going to run into a revolving door, a woman will giggle at me then we’ll go to coffee and fall in madly in love with The Middle East playing in the background. So the only way to know for sure is to go on dates and the fun part about turning 30 as a man is that some odd way you seem more desirable even if you have a little less hair and lot more grays in your beard. The older I get the less I seem to get violently rejected by women and more easily put down. Like Old Yeller.

Ah, spoiler alert.

Therein lies the rub. The more dates I seem to be going on the more I vacillate (big word alert, buy a big word translator) between wanting to just have fun and wanting to find the “one.” Some people say that when you meet someone you know instantly you want to be with them. I’m not so sure I prescribe in that theory because I believe chemistry can be developed. Are there some instances when forces are so strong that chemistry is apparent? Of course, but there are plenty of other instances of great couples that didn’t even like each other the first time they met. Please don’t ask me to name one, my Internet Machine is broken (see: lazy).

Sometimes after a date I think about how great it would be to wake up with that person and in the next 12 hours I think how great it is to have the bed to myself. Then I think about how great it would be to have someone to watch TV with and then I think man I’m glad I don’t have to share my pizza for one. A few weeks ago I wrote down, “Next person I sleep with will be the last person I sleep with.” Not that I was going asexual, but more that she would be the “one”. No more dates. Sure that’s entirely possible, but I don’t know if I want it to be probable. Every day is a different thought; every day is a different future. When I was 17 I wanted to know what I had at 27. Now that I’m 30 I still don’t know.

Except I really want to meet some lady singers.

A Walk To Attempt To Recreate Certain Events

2011-08-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

"I don't remember." Ever since I was a little boy with coke bottle glasses I haven't liked those 3 words in succession. It's not that I don't like those words individually in other phrases though. "I like ice cream." "Don't eat the yellow snow." "I will remember you, do remember me? doo,doo,doo,doo,do." DAMN YOU ADIA. Growing up I always assumed the act of remembering certain things wasn't a "can't", it was more of a "won't." To me memory was something everyone should be able to do. I knew that some people have memory loss or diseases relating to memory and that's forgivable, but if you were a healthy person and didn't remember something I assumed you were an awful person.

The reason I grew up thinking that is because I remember most everything. I may not remember the exact date something happened, but I can relate it to other things to get myself in the ballpark (cliche alert.) I'm no idiot savant, but if someone tells me something there's a 99 percent chance I will recall the conversation. I'm not talking about important things like life and death matters or true tales of woe, I'm talking about mundane throw away lines that no one should remember. I can easily remember names as long as they've been told to me once in a sober state. At the risk of making this a 1000 word #humblebrag I'll say this.

Having a good memory is terrible.

I know there will be people rolling their eyes at that and that's fine mainly because I can't see you and am picturing you naked laughing with snork juice coming out of your nose. Delicious. You rarely meet people that say "I have a good memory." Most people are more humble and say, "Sorry my memory is really bad, what was your name again?" No one really challenges that because the majority of people can't remember things that happened once. OR even twice. The weirdness begins when I say, "Oh, yeah I remember you. Hey Janet. You wore that yellow sundress and your brother bought you a present on your 7th birthday that you hated so you cried until your mom returned it then your brother stole your diary the next day." It's usually at this point I get kicked in the groin and called a creep.

Now I always wear a cup.

Because I tended to remember the majority of what people told me growing up, I assumed everyone was like that. I soon realized throughout high school and college that not only was no one like me, but I was the weirdo. My mom would always forget things I told her. My dad called me and still calls me by my brother's name on the phone. I'm glad I didn't have a sister. The few friends I did have would forget when I told them I liked a girl or, in the sadly frequent scenario, just forget to pick me up to go places all together.

As I got older it only got worse for me. I would tell someone something, I'd see them or talk to them the next week, and they would say, "I don't remember." I instantly became offended when people didn't recall certain things. How could you forget my birthday? That I was wearing a Woodbridge High School t shirt? The middle name of my 7th cousin removed on my mom's side? ARE YOU NOT HUMAN?!?! I had become what I always feared.

A woman.

Women are given this wrap of being the sex that badgers constantly about certain dates, occassions, and first times, but that was me. Not only would I be offended, I would get angry and not talk to people for days, weeks, or even months. It strained my relationship with my parents, my friends, and everyone I dated. I ended a long term relationship because she forgot my Halloween costume when we first met. (True story). To me not remembering became synonymous with not caring. I was at the point where I thought I was so much smarter than everyone else that I was on the top of Mount Olympus and everyone else was at the bottom of Mt. Olympus, whatever that area was called. Probably Bottompus.

Since I felt that way, I did what I thought I should do. I shut everybody out. Starting at around 24 until I was 28 I didn't tell anybody anything about me. I would go out make some jokes, have some friends, but no one would know any details of who I really was. You can't get offended when you really don't say anything. A couple years ago I realized that acting like that was getting me nowhere. I ended up meeting people that were open and honest. They let people in so they could be let into their lives. It was refreshing and strangely comforting. Being offended when people said 3 little words was ridiculous.

Unless it is "cake is gross." No YOU'RE GROSS.

Breathe.

In the past couple years I've admitted things that I never thought I would. I haven't jumped down anyone's throat if they don't remember something or forget to return a phone call. It's taken a lot of learning and a lot of patience, but as of this day I feel better. I rarely, if ever, get offended by anything that anyone does. The other day my friend in an e-mail wrote, "Don't be offended if..." I just chuckled. If she knew 23 year old me she would have reason to be worried. But 30 year old me scoffs at 23 year old me.

But I won't forget.

It's So Hot Out You Could Fall Asleep When Someone Tells You About It

2011-07-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

My mom called me the other day. This in and of itself is not a newsworthy story seeing as that my mom tends to call me a fair amount. I would say she calls me all the time, but that is hyperbole and I for one will not engage in such acts of hubris. To be fair, I had written some version of that previous sentence almost 4 months ago and wanted to squeeze it into a blog post to show how large my vocabulary is. Using big words on blogs is the writing equivalent of a big dick contest if penis size was measured in Webster's unabridged points and if big dick contests actually existed.

"Where were you this weekend?"

"Ah, you know the annual Sioux City Frank Footer Festival? I got 'honorable mention.'"

Regardless, my mom called me the other day and it was not to discuss genital regions. Normally she calls and the first words out of her mouth are some variation of a 3 word phrase such as, "How Are You?" or "Where are you?" or "Are you drunk?" Obviously, Wednesdays at 3:30pm are prime LA rage times. She must read Newsweek. This time my mom decided to mix it up and go with another 3 word phrase that was neither a question nor a statement of my inebriation.

"It's hot here."

"It's hot here" is no way to start a conversation. In fact it's the one thing you should say to someone when you don't want to talk to them. There's no rebuttal for "it's hot here." As far as I can figure there are only a few things you can respond with when someone drops that phrase grenade on you. "Ok," "Oh, really?", "Yes," or "Cool. Nope that was a joke, it's totally not cool, it's hot! ROFL LMAO LOLLERCOASTER. CAN I GET SOME?!?" I suggest using that last one when speaking to anybody about anything regardless of heat index.

It's not the first time someone has attempted to start a conversation with me by mentioning the fury of the sun on our planet. It won't be the last either. When did we start becoming a species that has no idea how to start a conversation in person or via voice box? I blame the Internet. On the internet we can say anything and it will immediately get a response from someone as long as they don't think you're an awful human being. I start most of my g-chat conversations with "yo" or the name of the person I'm talking to. Did I do this when I was 17? Doubtful. I don't recall being in college, going up to someone I wanted to talk to and screaming, "JOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEE" in their face, but that is exactly what I will write on Instant messenger.

I am gettin so hot... I wanna scream your name in your face.

That was the B -side.

It seems we've lost all conversation type skills in the past decade. Believe me if I have to trade conversation skills for DVRs, streaming video on your computer, and the ability to keep my undefeated FreeCell streak alive I will gladly make that trade. I'm not trying to go back to the days of yore and Atari here. But it's gotten to the point where I'm not sure that people actually realize that on the other end of your computer/broadband internet connection is an actual human being with actual feelings. We're not all I Robot here, flying around, eating people and then selling the bones of the eaten people to other aliens which use said bones as decorative pieces in their $1.3 billion spaceship homes with a Marsfront view. Spoiler Alert. Never saw that movie, but that's what I imagine the plot to be.

Never mind not being able to start a conversation in person; how about not being rude to the person that you're talking to? Yesterday there was an e-mail sent out where various people were added to it mistakenly. It happens. You're on a mass e-mail you don't want to be on. I don't understand how hard it is to hit "delete", but maybe some people have Frisbees for fingers and can't hit single keys. Bet they can flip a mean pancake though. You win some, you lose every other one. All that's needed in that situation is a nice e-mail saying you were added mistakenly and to please remove you. Seems like what a human being should be able to do. Not this.

"TAKE ME OFF OF THESE E-MAILS. I DO NOT WANT TO BE ON THIS. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT."
Yes, l should give this person credit for knowing how to use the caps lock button, but maybe they were just hitting shift and typing each letter individually. I can’t assume they would know how a keyboard works. There is no reason to act like that. Do they not realize that it’s rude? Or have we been reprogrammed in this virtual world that we can say anything and get away with it since we don’t have to talk or see another person? Needless to say I do not take rudeness well so I did what any solid American citizen would do.

I BCC’d them on every subsequent e-mail.

So it looked like they were off the e-mail, but really I was adding them back in. This went on for 5 more e-mails before they asked again to be removed again. Then they thought their computer was broken. After that I felt bad and removed them completely and went on with my day. Score one for the decent human beings of the world. I felt better about myself and went out to conquer the day.

I want to start meaningful conversations with strangers not about the weather, but about things people have opinions on such as if Lykke Li was British would she have the radio play and burgeoning career like Ellie Goulding does? I mean they are both talented female vocalists with some sass, but Americans tend to favor British acts. I want to ask someone that and have them stare at me and say, “Who?” Conversation started. Then we could be best friends.

Unless they tell me it’s hot.

I’ll call my mom instead.

Remember The Time You Couldn't Remember What Time It Was?

2011-07-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

Ah, the good old days. It's a phrase your parents, grandparents, and crazy Uncle Giuseppe has invoked since before you can remember. As we get older we'll start using this phrase to describe how things where better back in the early 90s before some guy named Steve Jobs ruined all of our attention spans. In reality the only reason we use that phrase is to complain about how something now isn't working that well. "Remember the good old days when pencils were made of lead and not this composite graphite and nitrous concoction which supposedly never breaks, but IT ALWAYS BREAKS."

Pencils are so 1991.

I've never been particularly fond of that phrase. I mean, we're living in the good old days. If we have to call someone we don't have to use a rotary phone where you would be pissed if someone had more than one zero in their number. Actually we don't have to call anyone anyway. We can send a text, an instant message, a blackberry message, an email; we can SEE someone on our computers. If someone told you any of this was possible when you were growing up you would have immediately called the police and have them charged with assaulting the human mind. That's provided you could find the number for the police in a 10 inch thick book that was sorted by the colors white and yellow.

It's in the yellow pages. Wait the white pages. They all look the same. Racism.

This notion of the past being awesome carries over to a lot of things, but one thing that I won't ever understand are people's romanticized views of music videos. This past week on 3 separate occasions I've been asked, "Remember when MTV played music videos." My stock response is, "Yes." Now if you're younger than 23 and reading this the answer is probably going to be no and you should immediately stop reading this blog because it will lower your IQ roughly 31 points due to various grammar mistakes and run on sentences such as the one you just read.

I can't tell you the last time I was flipping through the TV and saw a music video. And you know what? That's great. It has not affected my life in the slightest. The past 10 years I haven't been in the middle of watching Veronica Mars and thought, "You know what would be amazing right about now. Watching the music video of 'Barbie Girl by Aqua'. They were acting like Barbies! Oh, glory day, someone pass me a fruit roll up and car magazine while I get myself in the mood for this dream of moving pictures." Yet, when people talk about music videos they seem to think these things were masterpieces that only could be made by immortal creators with minds made of unicorns and rainbows.

Prettiest mind ever.

The consensus is that A-Ha's video for "Take Me On" is one of the best music videos of all time. Never will someone say that the video is a piece of trash and 100 times out of 100 they will paraphrase the quote, "best video ever." Is it really the best video ever or since it's been around for so long are we just now forced to give it the salutation of "best video ever" since so many people have said it? "Here's the best video ever Take On Me, Here's President Obama; Here's Ms Jackson, she is for real; Here's 6-time County Fair Corn Dog Champion Art Artery."

The point is that why do we care that MTV plays no videos? Why? If MTV played videos someone would inevitable be complaining that they play too many videos. But since our notion of the good old days includes music videos we think not having them on TV someone has taken away a part of our life. A great part of our childhood. Well guess what people. Not all videos were freakin' A-Ha. As exhibit 1,1A,2, 3, 4A, 10B, and 34 DD I present to you a video that was always on our TV growing up. THIS is what you're pining for?

Let's put aside the blatant political statement that this video is trying to make and that Andrew Ridgeley is actually relevant for the first time in 20 years and it's happening right here on this blog. Yes, that is George Michael acting straight. Let me say that again. HE'S ACTING STRAIGHT. George Michael didn't come out of the closet until the late 90s and was actually married...to a woman. He figured a good cover for being straight would be to wear short shorts, light everyone up in neon, and prance around the stage like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after 400 Red Bulls.

That video makes Nathan Lane blush

The other thing is that someone actually thought this was a good video. There is a person or, gasp, people that made this video and thought "Wow, what a masterpiece. This is going to revolutionize music videos!" I watched this yesterday and immediately wanted to see another episode of The Real World. Or 16 and Pregnant. Or True Life: I Grew Up With Hamster Wheel Hands." But this is what we're missing out since MTV isn't playing videos. A group called Wham gesturing and pointing while wearing a hat that can best be described as "unfortunate."

The good old days.

I'm ok with today.

Stars Are Just Like Us. Except When They're Not.

2011-07-12T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a Libra. This is neither here nor over there, but the stars tell me that this is my astrological sign. Actually some person decided that the stars tell me that Libra is my sign of the Zodiac, but I like to pretend burning pieces of mass actually whisper in people's ears. The fact is I have no idea if what I wrote is true because the only thing I know about signs is that I'm a Libra and I'm pretty sure that "Astrological Signs" was the full name of the Jetsons' dog.

Since I really like knowing things so I have something to awkwardly talk about at parties, I decided to look up the definition of Libra on the trusted site Astrology-Online.com. I'm saying it's trusted because it is designed and maintained by one Michael Thiessen and if you can't trust a strong name like Michael Thiessen then there is no hope for any of us in this cruel world of back taxes and misplaced banana peels. To be fair I didn't really read most of it since they used a lot of fancy pants words that I didn't have time to look up like "Avant Garde", "espouse" and "kindness", but one line stuck out at me.

"Librans too are among the most civilized of the twelve zodiacal characters and are often good looking."

TAKE THAT EX-GIRLFRIENDS. THE INTERNET THINKS I'M SEXY.

After I looked at my strikingly good looking self in my handy Zodiac mirror for 21 minutes, I remembered that the Libra symbol was a balance. I think that describes me pretty well. I tend to not get really high or really low. The last time I remember losing my mind over something was in 1994 when the New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup and I sprinted around my house whooping and screaming about various random hockey references that my parents didn't understand.

"MA! Do you know how big this is?!?! The Rangers haven't won a championship in 54 years!"
"Rahul, you're 14. Why is this a big deal? You weren't even alive."
"YOU NEVER LIKED ME ANYWAY. I HATE YOU."

Teenage Schizophrenia. A World Conundrum.

As I've gotten older I guess I've gotten more Librafied. New word alert. Just copyrighted it. Retroactive to two sentences ago. I rarely get frustrated at things that happen around me. I'm ok if a car blocks the intersection causing me to miss a light. Probably should have left home earlier. I'm fine when my internet goes out in the middle of a blog post. I've learned to deal with the CW pre-empting Gossip Girl after I had been planning on watching the Upper East Side Elite scheme their way to a thoroughly enjoyable one hour of unrealistic teenage trash drama all weekend.

While all those things do not bother me there is one thing that will bother me until the end of time. Sure the end of time is very narcissistic of me since I'm saying I will be around when time does officially once and for all stop, but that is not the point. (Aside - By the way, what if time just stopped? Tonight at 11:49 pm the clocks stopped moving. Would we have complete anarchy? What if Prince immediately releases a song called "11:49"? He would be absolutely correct if he said, "Tonight I'm gonna party like it's 11:49" because IT IS 11:49. ALL THE TIME. How would we send Facebook invites to (insert my friend's crappy band's CD release party here)? Mind? Blown.) Regardless, no matter how balanced I am I will continually get frustrated at this scenario.

When people don't have their club card ready to be swiped.

We've all seen these people. They go up to the register and have a basketful of necessities at the CVS, Walgreens, Supermarket, Adult Video store and they patiently sit there while the nice cashier rings up their items. After 5 minutes of ringing up the cashier looks at the customer and says, "Do you have a club card?" At this point you see a look of sheer bewilderment on these people’s faces while their head starts spinning “Wait, did I sign up for a club card? Should I sign up for one? If I say no will she try to make me get one? I mean I really only come here twice a year for various sundries. I don’t NEED to get one. Wait, I think I did get one back in Aught 5. Oh yes yes.” Then they turn the cashier tell them they have a club card and immediately spend the next 2 minutes rifling through their personal belongings for a laminated coupon card that will take them to the land of rainbows and 5 cents off Crest. Let me ask a question.

What are you doing?

Is it a surprise that the cashier would ask for the card? Have you not been shopping since I don’t know, the beginning of life? They always ask. That little card should be out and ready to go and instead you are wasting everyone’s time in line that just wants to buy a fake plant to impress women when they come to your apartment because I guess, you’re surprised that this stranger that works at CVS has not memorized your face and card number from never seeing you before. “Oh yes, Mrs. Johnson. Wonderful to finally see you for the first time. Oh, I know your card number. It’s right here not in my brain. 1671432alphasigmathankstimewastingmagoo.”

In the interest of full disclosure my mom continually does this while I violently shake my head Linda Blair style. I tell her that it’s annoying, but she doesn’t care since she would randomly look at babies at the store and tell me to make one. Awesome.

This whole being a Libra thing should get me through this tough time in my life while at the CVS, but for some reason it doesn’t. One day I’ll figure out how to make this frustration go away. It probably won’t be today or tomorrow or 11:49pm, but it will happen.

At least I have my Zodiac handsomeness.

Do You Like Me? Please Check Yes or No. But Please Check Yes. Please. PLEASE.

2011-07-06T06:32:00.000-07:00

We all want validation. That's probably a blanket statement, but luckily I only wear Snuggies now. (Aside: My mom called a Snuggie a Snooki the other day. She doesn't know who Snooki is so I told her she was a terrible person. Then she asked why. I had many answers, but did not tell her any of them for fear of having to explain what a blowout or smush room was. I really had no idea how to fit that into this post so I force fed it into a lame joke about blankets and Snuggies. Aside 2: Do you think they'll ever make a Snuggie with a hole by the crotch area for chronic masturbators, people with enlarged prostates, and all around creeps? You're kidding yourself if you think that wouldn't sell. It would probably be the biggest seller after those weird vibrators that women buy as "gifts" at all the Adult Worlds and Pleasure Chests around the country. I think it should be called the Jibber Jabbie. Patent pending. The conclusion to these asides is that my mom is an immigrant.)

When I was growing up I always wanted to feel like I meant something to someone. I wanted that person to not be my parents because I already know I mean a lot to them since I'm the one that mows the lawn every other Sunday so I was at the very least their personal landscaper. When you play sports you get a sense of validation when strangers root you on to help the team win, but I never got the feeling anyone wanted me around. I was never really invited to parties or asked to cut class to get an Italian Ice and one time I got sent to detention for being late for homeroom. Homeroom. It's not even a class. I got sent to detention for being 2 minutes late to a non-class. Even my homeroom teacher had no reason for my presence.

If Gandhi heard about my plight he would have eaten something. It was that bad.

I'm sure many people feel the same way. Whether it be our parents, friends, therapists, Aunt Linda, pets, or that cute barista that may or may not be of age at the Coffee Bean by your office, we all want to think that we matter to somebody. Validation makes us feel better and while some of us think that being ok with ourselves is validation enough, nothing feels better than someone else telling you thank you or taking time out of their day to send you a note. In the days of yore (pre 1998) we actually had to pick up our phones and call someone to say hi. Time consuming. We had to send letters. Costly. We had to give out handshakes. Gross.

Thank you Ronald Reagan for inventing the fist bump. And Einstein for the explosions.*

*the preceding has not been verified.

The Internet has made validation instant. The best part about writing a blog is seeing a comment in the box below and knowing that someone read the post or at the very least scrolled immediately to the comment box to leave a funny one line quip about how lame I am. Thanks again Mom! But to me there's nothing better for instant gratification than our best friend Mark Zuckerberg’s personal Ocean’s 11.

There was a time when I thought Facebook was just another social media site. Instead it has cut down therapist bills by probably 50 percent. It has kept friendships alive. It has ruined the English language one "lol" at a time. It’s the Mel Gibson of the information superhighway. A money making destructive force that cannot be stopped no matter who it’s prejudice against. Welcome to America. While Facebook has many features that probably contribute to their war against low self esteem there’s only one that lifts spirits equally to all members.

The like button.

Sure, the like button is a silly little mechanism that rips of Arthur Fonzerelli’s signature move when he’s leaving a room, but that silly button has had many effects. The other day I had sent an e-mail to a friend. This particular friend didn’t respond so I figured that they were mad at me for something. Perhaps I kicked their cat on the way out and didn’t apologize. And yes I picked out all the strawberries out of the fruit bowl, but who wouldn’t? (My dream fruit salad? All strawberries.) So when this friend didn’t e-mail me I thought our friendship was damaged. I left it as is and posted something on Facebook. And with the click of one button I realized my friend wasn’t mad at all because they clicked “like”. They liked something I posted. Surely, someone angry wouldn’t be willy nilly clicking like on a post of someone they were angry at. Facebook had kept my friendship alive. I didn’t have to confront them or say “sorry for leaving you with the green melon” since I wasn't really sorry.

There’s nothing better when someone likes something you did on Facebook. It proves that you matter. And why is that? I have no idea. It’s not some grand gesture that anyone made. They didn’t rent out a airplane and skywrite “You are simply the best, better than all the rest. Please don’t sue me Tina Turner.” The person literally took 10 seconds to read your post and one nanosecond to click a graphic thumbs up. In the grand scheme of things they couldn’t have done anything LESS to prove that you mattered. Yet that one nanosecond probably made you smile since what you wrote or linked to or uploaded affected them enough to waste one nanosecond of their day. Of course, it wouldn’t make you smile if it is your ex or baby momma drama or someone stalking you that liked it, but still I’m not taking anything back no matter what you say. You will smile and you will like it.

I heard that at many a Sears family portrait day.

By the time you read this Facebook will have some made some grandiose announcement. I don’t know what it is and I really don’t care since it’s not “two thumbs ups.” I’ve been searching for validation for a long time. I think I’ve found some of it on the Internet. Meeting people I didn’t know existed yesterday. Finding out people read this little blog. Getting Retweeted. It’s all nerdy and it all feels good. So if you have a nanosecond click “like” on someone’s link today. You’ll probably make them feel better.

But if you find that cute barista let me go first.

Politeness Is Something That Can Be Rude. Vol. 41

2011-06-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I was watching that cringe worthy movie starring Ashton Kutcher with Natalie Portman for reasons that cannot be explained to me right at this moment. There's one scene in this formulaic romcom where the character that is Kutcher's muse and best friend goes on a date with the roommate of Portman's character. It is usually at this point I would have put in a spoiler alert, but if you watch the first ten minutes of this movie and don't recognize that relationship forthcoming then you're probably not a human being.

When Kutcher's bff (I would put names in, but I literally have no idea what the actor's name or the character's name is and have no interest in looking it up for fear of being pulled into the vortex of IMDB facts and goofs) pulls up to the valet he runs out and opens the passenger door of his date. She gleefully screams that no one has ever done that for her before and makes him do it all over again. In cinematic lore it's probably a scene that ranks in memorability somewhere between the girls taking a dump in Harold and Kumar go to White Castle and all of The Postman.

That mail should have never been delivered.

Of course, No Strings Attached was showing that men CAN be chivalrous. Never mind the fact that most of the time a a valet opens the passenger side door even before the car is stopped making the valet in this movie the laziest valet of all time. One of the mantras of women is that men aren't chivalrous. No one opens doors anymore. The toilet seat is always up. We "forget" to buy condoms.

Condoms? The store ran out of them. Must be National Sex Night. AGAIN.

I typed the phrase "Chivalry is Dead" into the Google and out of the first 10 results 4 links try to find out if it is, 4 of them directly blame women, one tries to define chivalry and one is Dave Chappelle doing a skit. I only clicked on one of those, but let me tell you one thing. Chivalry is hilarious! Anyway, I don't know if chivalry is dead or not because I have no idea how to define it. Nor do I have the resources to interview every man in America to see if he opens the door for every woman at every place doors are located.

Known fact. Chivalry is dead at Doors Warehouse.

I'm of the opinion that chivalry is kinda dumb. Now before this turns into a Cosmo man hating forum with less sex talk and more references to Taylor Lautner's abs, I would like to say that I participate in some chivalry. I open doors for women, I put the toilet seat down, I pay on dates, I walk on the outside of the street, and I always walk a woman to her car after adult relations. That last one is mainly so I can beg for her to actually have sex with me again in a public forum. Hard to be mean with people around.

Chivalry in small doses is fine and good, but there are some times when it gets creepy. Women, let's be honest with each other. If you're with a guy and he is hopping over the hood of his car to open your door before you do, that's weird. Maybe some women give him points for turning into Bo Duke, but he most likely is missing one brain cell. The good one. The worst chivalrous act is that whole notion of a man putting his coat on a puddle for a lady to walk over. This has to be the most ludicrous example of someone being chivalrous.

COATS AREN'T CHEAP.

At what point did putting a coat over a puddle for a woman become chivalrous? I would like to know the first person that ever did that so I can backhanded slap him with a glove and challenge him to a duel. First things first, your coat is getting wet. Secondly, if someone put their coat on the ground for me to walk over a puddle my first thought wouldn't be "Oh, that's sweet", it would be "That is the dumbest thing I've ever seen. Thirdly, it won't help the matter at all. If it's a deep puddle then maybe you can carry her, a coat is just going to sink into the puddle and make a mockery of the chivalrousness of puddle coating. It's egotistical to think your coat will stop a woman from getting her Manolo Blahniks ruined.

So what's your coat made of? Concrete...and love.

So men, it's ok to be chivalrous once in a while, but there's no need to go overboard. One day you can pick up her laundry. Then you can maybe fold her laundry. Then possibly do something else with laundry that would make a woman feel better about having to wash clothes. Whatever it is don't go big on the chivalry. It's the little things that count. Keep your head high and your coat dry. That was actually a deleted lyric to Lionel Richie's "Hello". He thought it was too obvious. If you're going to keep a woman out of a puddle I have better advice.

Don't go outside. That's where the rain happens.

Another Tie? Questions For Our Future

2011-06-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

My friend, Laurenne, (whose blog is très excellente, which means 3 excellent? I don't know. I'm not a translation machine.) asked me if I was writing a Father's Day post. I already did. Last year. Why does Father's and Mother's Day happen every year? They already have Birthdays and Christmas so we can buy them that cheap necklace that was on sale at Nordstrom or their 42nd neck massager from Sky Mall. When is "Children's Day"? Where's my "World's Greatest Son" mug? Sure it would be awkward for my brother if I got one, but in life we have to make tough choices. Look at Lincoln. He chose Emancipation. Now we have a statue of him sitting down.

So in honor of my father who also likes sitting down all the time, I decided to recycle last year's post about Father's Day. The recycling of the post has nothing to do in honoring my dad except that he's been wearing the same New York Jets sweatshirt for 17 years. I figure that means he likes recycling. I went a long way for that analogy so enjoy this post.

My dad taught me a lot of life lessons growing up. With Father’s day upon us on Sunday I’m grateful for all the things he has taught me. He taught me that if you’re not 5 minutes early, you’re late. He taught me the proper way to mow the lawn. He’s taught me that American clichés are not ”A bird in the hand is worth two birds”, and “Patience is a …thing you must have.” These are important things to get out of your relationship with your father, otherwise you’re just going around all willy nilly trying to cut grass with scissors and catching birds all the time. I don’t have time for these things. Because of these lessons I now have time to listen to Dookie by Green Day for the 1st time since 1997. Retro Rewind!

I own it on cassette.

The one thing that my father instilled in my brother and I growing up was that we should always take care of our cars. Wait, actually make that two things. He also reminded us that we weren’t white. It’s a good thing he did because every time I looked into the mirror before age 9 I saw Macaulay Culkin. And we all know how he turned out. Wait, I’m being told he’s been dating Mila Kunis for 8 years. DAMN YOU DAD. That could have been me! Why couldn’t you let me live these lies?!?! On the other hand he did fool some robbers and got stung by bees. So plus 2 for him.

Bees + Cheese Pizza = Mila Kunis.

That’s math I can get behind.

Back to the whole Fathers teaching you blah blah blah. Ok, so my dad would always berate my brother and I if we didn’t have at least a half tank of gas in the car or get it regularly maintained because the better you take care of your car the longer it works well and the less money you spend in the future. Makes sense. After he explained that to us, I then asked him how long the interior of the car lasts when it’s filled with Marlboro cigarette butts and golf tees that his car was always filled with. I got grounded. I’M JUST ASKING A QUESTION OLD MAN. Then I got grounded again for saying that out loud. Grounded for the same thing twice? This is the worst judicial system in the country. The Court of Parent. I object. Hearsay. Conjecture. Another word they use on Law and Order.

Because the voice of my dad rings in my head from time to time I take my car to checked often. (My inner dad voice sounds like Speedy Gonzalez most times. Arriba! Aside: Let’s say someone came up to you with this idea in present day for a cartoon. “I got it. We take a mouse. He’s Mexican. We throw a sombrero on him. He’s really fast. He says things like 'Arriba' and talks with an insanely thick Mexican accent in broken English. Then to top it off when he talks about other characters he calls them “gringos”. Oh I forgot the best part, all of his friends are really lazy and drunk the whole time.” How long before someone sues you or boycotts your show? 30 seconds? 46? Italian Americans are hating on the Jersey Shore. And those people really exist! This just goes to show how much better the 50s and 60s were. Smoking indoors, doing the twist, fast talking mice. No wonder Marty went back there in Back to the Future. It was Utopia)

I hate taking my car to get checked. People wonder why their cars break down all the time and are unusable. It’s because when you get your car checked it’s always more than you expect. I blame mechanics for cars breaking down more often. That’s right. I blame the people fixing the car for making cars worse. Conspiracy theory! I took my car to get an oil change yesterday and instead of the sweet $21.99 oil change deal, I left there with a bill of more than $100. People hate hate hate taking their cars to mechanics because it’s never easy. It’s never, oil change out. It’s always oil change and rear hyper conglomerate fan belt waxing pistons need more work.

Piston waxing is destroying America. One wax at a time.

So thanks to my dad, mechanics are making a pretty penny off of me. Money I could be using to buy new things. Like..um..what’s that thing called that heats up food in 2 minutes or so? Micro, something or other. I could buy a new one of those. Instead all my money is donated to fixing a Honda. Not even American. So on Father’s Day I would like to say, “Thanks Dad, you owe me $22,152, with interest."

And Mila Kunis.

Love in List Form Is Not What The Notebook Was About

2011-06-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

We're all going to settle. I don't mean settling in the way those Lewis and Clark gents settled something or the other back in some year that no one currently was alive in. I mean we're all going to settle when we eventually find the person we're going to be with for the proverbial "rest of our lives." The Internet is a bastion of people trying to find love. E-harmony, Match, Craigslist, that weird underground one that starts with "Sex" and ends with "Now" that you only told that one friend about once are all trying to help people find "the one". The overlying mantra from people that are looking for love in 2011 is "I will not settle."

A close second is "No penis pictures."

Before you get the pitchforks and dynamite out, I know people are going to assume that I'm just being good ole pessimistic me. To that I say bollocks. I may be quite cynical, but I don't find myself pessimistic. I believe in people, think that the ozone can be repaired, and don't find the glass half empty because the type of product in said glass should be known before such proclamations are made.

But is settling such a bad thing? We talk about settling for someone like it would the worst possible outcome, but in reality it's going to happen. And that's not bad. At some point the word "settle" in the love world became synonymous with "giving up." How is it giving up if you meet someone you like, but they have 3 or 4 things you don't like? You probably have 3 or 4 things they don't like either. The best relationships compromise. "If you want to watch football on Saturday, then we're going to go flower shopping on Sunday." Isn't meeting in the middle settling? It's not exactly what you want from the other person. You're sacrificing something to appease someone else.

To be fair, a lot of the reasons I come up with why settling isn't so bad is because I'm the settler. I'm not the person in the bar that a woman sees and says "I HAVE to talk to that average height and build Indian guy with hair." If you were to ask 100 women what their perfect man is I'm not going to be it. I’m not tall enough, don’t understand pottery, or sometimes wear my underwear backwards. Whatever it is, I don’t have all the qualities they want in the opposite sex. (Coming this fall, one man has been looking for love in all the wrong places. Finally he’s realized that there is only one place to find his soul mate: Our hearts. Macaulay Caulkin is…THE SETTLER. CBS Wednesdays at 10 after CSI.) It took far too long a time for me to come to grips with the fact that I won’t have women flock to me, but I've learned to adapt. I attempt to make people laugh and have a decent personality. A lot of that bore out of not being the symbol of brute handsomeness. Of course, life would be easier if I looked like George Clooney and had the money of Bill Gates, but that's not the hand I was dealt. THANKS DAD.

The fun part about having a fair amount of woman friends is that you get to hear every so often what they want in someone. The reasons vary from physical (6’2, AT LEAST 6’2) to financial (Enough money to take care of us) to emotional (he has to be able to talk about his feelings) to the absolutely absurd (Must be right handed). “Hey, I found this perfect guy, but he’s left handed. We broke up. Yeah would have been great, but I couldn’t get over how we wrote on those desks specifically for right handers in high school. All leaning over and stuff. GROSS!” I chuckled when I heard these things knowing the impossibility of finding someone that hits every single quality we want. What kind of person would keep a list of all of these traits? It’s never ending process that no sane human being would…

Oh.

Since I turned 27 I've kept a list of all the things I would want in the "perfect woman." When I first started the list it contained a lot of physical traits which I've since condensed into number 1 on the list which is "attractive to me". The list is titled "I want a woman who" followed by its current 96 items. That's right, there are 96 things I've written down throughout the years that I would love to have in someone that falls in love me. Surprisingly none of them include the words "chloroform" or "citizenship."

Worst Bucket List Ever.

I just recently looked at all the things on the list and realize its neverendingness (Not a word alert. Sorry grammarians and Webster.) I will always be adding things to it, but never taking things off. To prove how all encompassing the list is in a Your Beard is Good exclusive, since I'm the only one that has the list thus making it exclusive, I will release numbers 31-50. Why those? Because they are the easiest to re-type. Convenience trumps quality. A slogan for America.

I WANT A WOMAN WHO….

31. sends me a goofy text at 8am
32. shouts answers while watching Jeopardy
33. is spontaneous
34. smiles at me from across the room
35. enjoys a Cool Runnings Joke
36. Answers the phone on the first ring
37. Always leaves a message
38. holds my hand when no one’s around
39. dances like a fool
40. sneaks food into the movie theater
41. tells me when my joke is dumb
42. likes hypothetical questions
43. giggles when I attempt to Rap Eminem
44. will meet my friends with no makeup
45. quotes movies with me
46. has ambition
47. likes a good prank
48. surprises me
49. knows what the “two line pass” was
50. will play Monopoly until the bitter end

Looking at just this portion of the list again shows how I toggle between wanting something simple (ambition) and wanting really specific things like playing Monopoly until someone wins. I understand that it will be extremely hard to find someone that plays Monopoly with me for 4 hours that also has ambition because if they have ambition they aren’t going to want to move a thimble around a square board for hours. Point taken. But the reality is I want ALL of these things in my perfect woman.

The reason I decided to put all of this out there was to show that WE all have qualities and little things we are looking for in other people. I also did it to show that I have a zero percent chance of finding someone with all 96 qualities or remote chance to find these 20 qualities that I posted today in someone and also have them love me back. And that should be ok. So if I find someone that has 80 of the 96 things I’m looking for then I’m settling? Where exactly is the line drawn? 50?

That’s probably my main gripe with using that word. Settling is not being in love. That's all. It's not anything else. We all want to be with someone that we’re in love with. We love them for all their shortcomings and how they make us feel. Sometimes they’ll do things that we won’t like, but that doesn’t mean we’re settling for them. It just means we’re learning to adapt ourselves to that person that we want to be with. We all have a picture of the perfect person in our heads or written down on an excel spreadsheet saved to a flash drive. We probably won’t find that person, but we’ll find someone pretty close.

I’d settle for that.

Heartbreak Hotel: A Story of One Man's Struggle With a Snack Attack

2011-06-08T23:02:00.000-07:00

While I was growing up my mom loved to stack our cupboards with individually wrapped snack options. With 2 young boys she figured the American dream was to let your kids get fat on pre packaged snacks that had no relevance to vegetables. Potato chips, Chocolate chip granola bars, Fruit Roll Ups or its delicious sibling Fruit by the Foot, it didn't matter. If it came in a portion that could easily fit into a brown paper bag or superman lunchbox she was all over it like a frat boy re-upping his supply of GHB before it got too low. (Too Soon?) I, for one, thank her. Without this utter laziness in buying groceries I wouldn't have met my first true love. Doritos.

I'm sure many teenage boys grew up loving Doritos. What's not to love? A tiny size crunch of chip that with each bite exploded in your mouth like a mini pizza would. As soon as the last chip was devoured you would tilt your head back and drop the crumbs remaining in the bag into your mouth not unlike funneling oil into your stereo less Geo Metro. When you thought all hope was lost just look at your hand. ALAS! Cheese dust residing on your fingers so when you finished the bag the remnants were not gone. Oh no. You could look at your fingers, lick them in cat like fashion, and savor every last drop of processed debauchery onto your tongue for now you had conquered the mighty Doritos. BOW DOWN TO YOUR GOD.

I didn't kiss any girls until I was 17.

From the ages 10-17 I had one of those mini size Doritos bags 4 times a week. In your mind I'm sure you're thinking, "Oy, this is boring", and then "Wow, that's a lot of Doritos, he must have been chubby." FLASHBACKS. Anyway, I ate a lot of Doritos. I ate so many Doritos that I turned into a Dorito. I lied, I didn't turn into a Dorito because that is one of the most ridiculous threats any parent levees on their kid. "Hey Johnny, if you keep eating all those cookies you'll turn into a cookie so stop eating them." Just a little PSA. You can't turn into an inanimate object. There is no proven scientific way that I will turn into a various food item that doesn't breathe or have a heartbeat. Lasagna isn't just walking around in the park, swinging around on the monkey bars. Let's get real parents and have some better threats. This is an insult to the children and public education system we have in place in this country. Stop being idiots.

Parents just don't...never mind.

I was so hooked on Doritos that I once stole a bag from a local 7-11. I am not proud of this fact, but I feel like the statute of limitations is now up on this case so getting it off my chest would be the best remedy. And if I may, ahem, it was an ingenious theft plan. I walked in found a bag of chips, opened them, started eating them and then walked up to the counter while buying something else such as a 99 cent Arizona Iced Tea. The cashier is always so preoccupied that they just ring you up for the one item not noticing you're stuffing your face with sweet sweet heaven. I'm not condoning stealing, but if you were to steal I suggest following the above tips. One 99 cent iced tea later and I have myself a free bag of nacho cheese chips. I have never stolen again.*

*may or may not be true

I'm a simple man. When someone asks me what kind of pizza I want I say "Cheese". When someone asks me what I want on my burger I say "Cheese." When someone asks me to smile I say "cheese." Now that I think about it I may also have a cholesterol problem. Regardless, because of my simplicity and lactose tolerance I always went for the tried and true Doritos Nacho Cheese option. The only other option I remember growing up was the blue bagged "Cool Ranch", but I didn't wear leather jackets and have my hair slicked back so I thought I would be a poser eating those.

Doritos - Giving everyone blue bags since 1986

As I got older I started eating a lot less Doritos since I wanted to live past the age of 19 so I could at least attempt to creep women out at parties. It was around that time that Doritos started putting out new flavors. I paid it no mind until last week. I was walking through the supermarket and wanted to relive my youth when men were men and women were still suffraging. I decided to pick up a bag of Doritos to enjoy when I looked up and saw things I cannot unsee.

Late Night Doritos.

What was happening here? There was stuff I'd never heard of. Salsa Verde Doritos, Blazing Buffalo, Pizza Supreme. WHO NEEDS A SUPREME PIZZA? IT'S ALREADY SUPREME. After seeing those I then saw the Late Night Doritos. What does that even mean? Are you only allowed to buy them after 10pm? If you attempt to purchase them in the afternoon will the cashier punch you in the medulla oblongata? (Medical reference) Doritos is now producing so many flavors that some of their flavors are only references to time.

"So, yeah, we've run out of flavor ideas, but people are dumb enough to buy anything. Anyone with thoughts?"

"Greenwich Mean Time Doritos in the house!"

Apparently, at some point I had gotten older and hadn’t taken note of the Doritos machine churning out ideas. It wasn’t just a nacho cheese chip anymore with its cool ranch sidekick. It was now 85 flavors which included something called Doritos First Degree Burn. Yes, I would love a bag of Doritos, but first let me check that my medical insurance covers self inflicted snack pack harm. WHAT IS THAT DEDUCTIBLE LIKE?!?! I’m sad. I didn’t get a bag of Doritos because I couldn’t find the original anywhere. It was like going to the rental store, looking for Planet of the Apes with Charlton Heston and only seeing Mark Wahlberg’s goofy face staring at you. Now, I’m being told rental stores don’t really even exist. Thanks for taking that from me too, Mark Wahlberg.

I never thought the day would come, but my love affair with Doritos is over. We had some good times, some better times, and some best times, but like everything it must come to an end. I bid you adieu my nacho cheese like substance friend.

I wonder what Fruit by the Foot is up to.

This is How We Don't Do It

2011-06-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

There's a popular cliché that when describing something that you can't turn away from that states "It's like a train wreck, you want to look away, but you can't." I'm not sure who exactly started that cliché, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't anyone from Amtrak. "Norm, got a great slogan for the company, 'Amtrak - Train wrecks you can count on.'" I'm no different than most people. I like watching a good controversy or a good scandal of some sort unfold in front of me. It's a little masochist to get entertainment witnessing a person's life unraveling, but I like my scandals like I like my women.

Hot and Awkward.

If you're as interested in scandals as me, then we're lucky to be living in the here and now. Welcome to 2011, The Land of Plenty...Of Sex. I'm sure in the 60s and 70s there was plenty of time spent in Bonetown, but none of that was broadcast to the miscreants that wanted that info. TMZ wasn't around to blow up our spots with a grainy cell phone picture of plumber’s ass. Stuff was kept in house and Jimi Hendrix's run of sleeping with 185 women in 28 hours wasn't included in the Guinness record book since no witnesses came forward.

Sex pun.

Now we have everything we could have ever wanted and most of this is coming from the greatest place on Earth. The government. A movie star/governor having a love child with a nanny that is 734 times less attractive than his wife. Congress people taking their shirts off and sending rod reels to women across the planet. Some guy with nice hair cheating on his wife with cancer, lying about it, and then having a child with the mistress all the while being indicted by a Grand Jury.

USA! USA! USA!

This whole Anthony Weiner nonsense of the past week has really got me involved in the political process. Quick refresher. Weiner mistakenly tweets a picture of his package in boxers to a woman. He quickly deletes it, but not before thousands of sexual deviants retweet it with the phrase "ZOMG, look at what Weiner did! LOLZCATSTOTHEMAX". Weiner then gives the vaguest of denials with the response of "Maaaayyybe, those are my boxers. I can't say. I shop at Old Navy for the deals." A week goes by, pictures of now a shirtless torso emerge which all could have been denied by Weiner if not for the fact that in the background are framed pictures of Weiner and Bill Clinton shaking hands alongside other photos.

Not pictured: Clinton noddingly approving of Weiner's actions.

Aside from Representative Weiner's unfortunate name marring this salacious news, it's obvious he has no idea how anything works. (Aside: If your name is Weiner, Bader, Dick, Mehoff, Boner Stabbone, Cockington Smith, or Clammy Clamperson you should have realized at an early age that taking pictures of the genitalia region should have never happened. You've spent your whole life trying not to be sucked into the vortex of penis and vagina jokes so why give the extra fodder. If I was Anthony Weiner I would just cover my scrotum with a glass jockstrap and the words, "Break in case of emergency, i.e. getting some." and then put it back on.)The fact that he was careful enough to take pictures without his face, but not turn around the pictures is ridiculous. Are men this stupid?

Yes.

It's almost virtually impossible to send naked pictures, sexts, dirty voicemails and not get caught nowawadays. Technology is so advanced that everything is monitored. You think a guy would have seen what happened to Tiger Woods and therefore would have dotted his i's and crossed off his p's. But no, instead he thought it would be a great idea to send this info to various women. Has he not heard of the Internet? THEY WILL SHOW SOMEONE THE PICTURES. What exactly was going through his mind when he was sending them other than “Man, I’m really horny?”

“Yeah, yeah, I mean I don’t KNOW these women, but they won’t betray me. I’m just trying to get mines. She is so hot, I gotta do it, gotta do it. Junk pic time. Yeah, this is so gonna work. DOING IT.” I understand if some regular person like me would do it because who cares? No women is going to be able to turn those pictures into straight cash homey unless there was a website titled, “Things no one wants to see.” I’m not condoning what Weiner did. He obviously betrayed his family and ruined the trust of the people who voted for him. But there has to be some common sense if you’re going to attempt to cheat on your wife. All that was missing was a phone call on speaker phone while he and his wife were going out for their anniversary.

The “Wasn’t Me” balloon was a nice touch.

While I’m elated for the entertainment factor, I’m embarrassed for him in this whole saga. He lies, he gets caught lying, he has to admit he is a moron when it comes to photography, and then he has to start crying in public. It’s all unraveled for our main man Anthony Weiner. At one point he was just a guy that got voted to something that 98 percent of America didn’t care about. Now he’s a guy who failed Photo 402 – Introduction to Glamour Shots. Too bad. He could have just been another nobody that was somebody.

What a train wreck.

The Complimentary Tree Would Have A Lot More Friends

2011-06-01T11:03:00.000-07:00

Wow, your dress is super cute! Those are words that have never been said to me since I am a man that wears pants. Those words are also a compliment. Everyone likes hearing a compliment. This is what I'm told by various "What to do on a first date" articles. Listen to what your date says, give them various compliments, hide the ether rag on the INSIDE coat pocket so they will not suspect any foul play. The problem with compliments is that I'm pretty sure no one knows how to react when they get a compliment. Unless you're an egotistical ass, many compliments feel awkward to respond to. "I like that shirt." "Thanks." And scene. I never know if there's something more to be said or if the other person wants you to expand on your amazing shirt collection from the clearance rack at Ross.

Oh look a Hugo "Bossy" shirt.

Compliments are really nice. They make you feel a lot better like you've done something with your life that other than eating a piece of cake off of a napkin with no utensils. Hands free device? My mouth. In fact this whole blog title is one big compliment. "Your Beard is Good." The place where I intelligently borrowed it from has a great scene in dealing with compliments and its slight weirdness. Let's take a look. LIGHTS.

All Bret says when receiving his compliment from Jemaine is "thank you." Obviously, that is the standard rebuttal to any compliment given. However, recently, anytime someone gives me a compliment I tend to clasp my hands together and do a mock bow to them. I don't know when exactly I started doing that, but since I'm so awkward around compliments I figured the best way to solve this problem is by treating everyone like they are a deity or the audience at the end of a High School version of "West Side Story."

A compliment? You really shouldn't have. *curtsey

The bigger issue is probably my own mental state when dealing with one of these kudos grenades. Could someone really be complimenting me on something about me? Sometimes it seems outlandish that I could have anything that someone would like. Then I realize that I am pretty prolific at RBI Baseball for Nintendo so I can see where they would have to tell me I rule. I also wear some pretty sweet ironic shirts and own some vintage knick knacks that could be classified as “nice”. Then I would bow. It's all a sick cycle that is really not that sick at all, but healthy cycle has not made America's Next Top Cliches yet.

Most compliments are easy to spot. You have nice eyes. I like those sneakers. Your hair smells like a combination of popcorn with extra butter and chocolate icing. There is one, however, that may be a compliment or may not be. It is the chameleon or "woman" in West Hollywood of the compliment world.

Have you lost weight?

While disguised as a question it could really be a way someone is commenting on your appearance. Is this a compliment? I do not know. Most people don't want to come out and say "Wow, you look great, lost a lot of weight there Tubby McGoo!" because no one is really named Tubby McGoo and the person wouldn't know you were referencing them. We would rather throw the question out there so if the person didn't lose weight we could have a follow up retort of "Oh, but you look good." At this point people start grasping for anything they can get their hands on. "Must be your new haircut. Oh, same haircut? Did you get a tan? You look...no? WELL YOU LOOK DIFFERENT TO ME OK?!!?!?"

The weight non compliment compliment is an interesting conundrum for us people that have lost weight. At first, I felt good about it since I worked hard to get this body sexified in a relative way to people that are truly sexy. Then I started thinking that I must have been a disgusting slob and no one said anything. No one! There are my friends! They waited until I lost weight to tell me I looked good. Did I not look good before? Was I shaming everyone's existence? Did I eat that last piece of pizza? YOU BET I DID. So when people ask me if I lost weight I say, "yes" and then silently move on. If it's my mother I get a 21 minute lecture on the health risks of weight loss because look at that "one in the movies that lost that weight."

Sinbad?

Don't get me wrong I like hearing how I great I am. If you would like to fill up my inbox with greatness messages I will gladly virtually bow to them. But if you ask me if I lost weight it may get awkward.

Just tell me my beard is good. It's a compliment.

I See Dead People is Funny Until You See Dead People

2011-05-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

Last week I saw a dead body. Normally, this is where I would interject some pop culture okie doke and say something flippant about Sam Waterston or The Sixth Sense, but the sad part is that it really happened. As I was riding my bicicleta (we're bilingual now) home I saw a dead person. I've seen dead people before on TV or the movies or a casket, but to see someone lying face down on the sidewalk with no movement is an another feeling entirely. This didn't have the prepared emotion of saying goodbye at a funeral and was missing the lovely little sandwiches that funeral after parties tend to have.

You know what made me hungry? That dead person.

I've always been an inquisitive person. Because of that I was a parent's worst nightmare. DAD, how does the gas get to the engine? How do planes fly? Why does rain sometimes taste salty? Why are there 24 hours in a day? Who shot JR? Who is JR? Why can't we run as fast as cheetahs? Who invented clapping? Why are people different colors? Who farted? Nowadays most of these questions are researched on Wikipedia and the farting question is easily answered by the phrase "whoever smelt it dealt it", but I still ask a lot of questions. Seeing this person dead brought back all of them. What if I was there sooner? Could I be dead? Is this random? Was it planned? The questions were mounting except now there was no Wiki or stupid Ask Jeeves with its non answers to help me.

My friend asked me how I felt about seeing a newly dead person and my first emotion was weirdness. I would say that is probably a common emotion when you see a lifeless body in front of you. That feeling then evolves into abject fear that you could possibly be fingered for something you didn't do and be sentenced to death row where they don't give you any little sandwiches. Sometimes the system doesn't work. I'VE SEEN THE FUGITIVE. After I got over those two emotions my next one was sadness. I felt sad that this person, who I didn't even know, probably had no idea they weren't going to be able to say bye to anyone they loved. Or reply to that e-mail they said they would get to tomorrow. Or do all the things they wanted to do. It was a helpless feeling looking at all the dreams of one person end right in front of you.

Depression - Table of Me.

I wouldn't say I'm consumed by death, but I do think about it a fair share. I mainly think about if I've done everything I’ve wanted to do and said what I've wanted to say to everyone before I die. I usually do this right as an airplane I'm in is taxiing on the runway. Before we get in the air, I'll look at the seatback in front of me which is in an upright and locked position and say to myself, "Are you ok with how you've lived your life if this plane goes down?" It's a morbid way to fly and I don't recommend it to anyone, which is why I end up bawling and thanking the pilot profusely after landing. For most of my life the answer has been no, but recently it's turned to maybe. I'm about halfway there. I've told friends I love them. I've supported people who deserve it. I've convinced my father that Sheryl Crow has another line in that song other than "Over Santa Monica Boulevard."

"That song is nice." - Pops Subramanian.

Since seeing that body I haven't gotten a full night's sleep. I woke up one day last week with my body sweating and my pillow wet from my face rain. Normally my bed is wet from my utter refusal to dry myself off after a night shower, but this time the terror has won. I'm thinking about whether I HAVE said everything I've wanted to say and realizing that I haven't. I wake up in the middle of the night because I worry that waiting has its consequences. I know I won’t be able to DO everything I want tomorrow, but I can SAY everything I need to today.

Hold on, writing down that saying. New cliché alert.

The wise philosopher Chris Bridges once said “Do It Now Cause Tomorrow Ain’t Promised Today.” If I had only heeded those words when I first hear them in 2003 off the wondrous thought provoking album, “Chicken-n-Beer” I would have lived for the moment since then. I wouldn’t have needed a fresh dead body in the street to remind me that tomorrow could be too late.

That’s why I’m having mini sandwiches today.

Why Didn't That Gerber Baby Ever Grow Up? And Other Non-Mysteries

2011-05-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

Babies are interesting. There is a much better way to describe babies, but I'm worried about the rapture on Saturday so I feel like I don't have time to flesh out all of my thoughts. Babies come from the body of another human and kind of just squirm around. Even though, I love that some kids think that babies come from storks. A stork! Has anyone ever seen a stork? Anyone? Now all of a sudden it's delivering babies and ending the world orphanage crisis? I mean, come on kids, read a book or something. Where is the outrage that a bird would deliver a baby already in a cloth diaper? We all know babies come from alcohol, bad decisions, and an unattended janitor's closet at your local PTA meeting. Kids, go to school and stop being so stupid.

Babies are also very dependent creatures. Change them, feed them, bathe them; they are very demanding and I don't appreciate it. No one tells me what to do especially mini humans with terrible communication. I'm terrified of babies. Not in the same way I'm terrified of zombies or a Margaret Cho Comedy Central special, but in the way that I don't want to ruin anything, mainly the baby's life. When people tell me to hold their babies, I start sweating profusely, getting the shakes and excuse myself to the bathroom for 2.5 seconds of dry vomiting. God forbid you hold the baby wrong because the mother will come at you like Edward Scissorhands when he sees some unmanicured shrubbery.

"Ok, Rahul, sit down. Now make a cradle. Support his head. Keep the blanket on so he doesn't get cold. SUPPORT HIS HEAD. I SAID SUPPORT. What are you doing? Do you want him to go blind? Leave the blanket on! Am I not saying SUPPORT HIS HEAD LOUD ENOUGH? Give him back to me. You've traumatized him for life. He'll probably be a serial killer."

Rahul 0 Self Esteem -143

As I get older I'm surrounded by more and more people having created these tiny human lives. They are so happy to have created something so joyful and a mini representation of themselves that they post updates on Facebook, send you e-mails about how little Megatron ate a 43 month old Frito off the floor, and start photo albums so you can enjoy every step of the journey. New parents are ecstatic to tell everyone about it. I just have this to say.

I don't care about your baby.

Outside of the first time you see said baby, every passing moment I lose interest. This just in parents. Babies don't do anything. NOTHING. You don't not have a baby making stock market decisions out of his crib while you're sleeping. So after I've seen your baby the first time you really don't have to keep me updated on whether Baby McBaberson laughed today. I'm giving you permission to keep that to yourself. Believe it or not babies all look the same to me! I know! I'm racist. Showing me a picture of them does nothing for me at all especially if I've already seen them. The next time you need to check in with me virtually about your little bundle of joy is at these age markers.

5 - Almost a fully functioning human. Also gives insight on future cuteness
10 - Probably cursed you out at least once by now
14 - Awesome school stories/you found a condom in their room
18 - If it's a girl, call me
21 - Let's get wasted, see: 18

Babies are on the same plane as your fantasy sports team and gambling losses. It makes for a great story in your mind, but if it's not happening to me then let's move on and talk about something we actually have in common. Like last week's 90210. I'm a single man. I don't have estrogen. If you tell me to look at your baby the most likely response is, "oh, that's cool." That's right, I describe a baby the same way I would describe graffiti in the Lincoln Tunnel or a cardboard cutout of The Fonz.

Let’s be honest for second, I’m not the only one that feels that way. When we say, “How’s the baby,” we’re just doing it because we have nothing better to talk about with you. We don’t really WANT to know about the baby because this gives you free reign to complain about how you get no sleep, your significant other didn’t change them on time, and/or some awful poop story that would only be featured in the Readers Digest section: “Seriously, You Didn’t Have to Go There.” I don’t want to hear any of it. You had sex. You didn’t use the various methods of birth control our delightful country makes available to you. This was your decision. You do not get to complain to me about no sleep. Deal with it. If I stuck my hand into a hornet’s nest without a glove, got stung so many times I needed it to be amputated, I doubt people would say, “Oh, you poor thing.” They would say, “Way to be dumb, dummy.”

Deleted scene of My Girl.

Maybe when I trick some woman into having my child I’ll feel differently, but I probably won’t. I won’t need to share my baby’s photos with all of my friends. If they ask then I’ll show them. There’s no need to bombard people with pictures of tiny humans they didn’t birth. No one really was wondering what your baby looks like from 3 months to 6 months. We were actually wondering why the bartender didn't put more wine in our glass. They may seem eerily similar, but it's not. We’ll get over it.

But if you have a stork picture, I’ll take it.

Copy Cats Are Just Regular Cats That Like Kinko's

2011-05-17T10:27:00.000-07:00

I love impressions. Well, let me amend that. I like impressions of other people, mimics if you will, not artistic impressionism. I'm as big a fan as Claude Monet that you're going to find if your definition of fan is someone that knows how to pronounce Monet, but I don't find art so interesting that I would be in love with it. As a wise man once said, "Art would be better if it was moving around and doing stuff." Yes, that wise man was me at the Smithsonian Museum of American Art in 2001. So while I like art, I would prefer it be behind bars and called a monkey or a lion.

Zooism.

Impressions of other people always make me laugh. Even if they're horrendous impressions I still will force a giggle out of my strained mouth due to the attempt of copying someone's mannerisms. The reason I do this is probably between a dying need to be loved and the fact that I'm awful at impressions. Sometimes I'll do an impression of my mom and it'll sound like Mrs. Doubtfire. This is a problem because my mother is neither British nor a man dressed up as a woman. Two things which UnDOUBTedly Mrs. Doubtfire is.

Play on, words.

Actually, I do have one good impression that I do. My friend said, "Wow, you do a great impression of a drunk person." Awesome. The only thing I can imitate is a person falling over themselves after 6 jack daniels shots, 10 beers, and no knowledge of where he last left his wallet. You know what you've really nailed? Mimicking people that slur their words and speak gibberish. I believe that makes me exactly one step above a baby. In the list of greatest accomplishments that will be engraved on my urn (Which I will have. "I'm dead, but I was awesome when I was alive!") the line "World's Greatest Drunken Imitator" will be nowhere to be found. To be fair, as of now, it makes the list because I only have 3 things on the list and I need 5 for a valid listing.

Top 5 lists are the best.

My favorite celebrity impression that anyone does is Bill Cosby. He seems to be so easy to quote and imitate because there are only a few key words you need to get in there. Think about it. What do we hear in EVERY Bill Cosby impression? "Theo", "Rudy," "Jell-O Pudding Pops," and egregious use of the word "the." That's it. A typical Cosby impression goes something like this. "So I was with the THEEE-oooooo and the ROOO-deee and we went to get the Jellooooo Pudding Pops all in my mouth and the face and the Rudy and the Theo." That's everyone's version. In fact, if you hear an impression of him and those words aren't used you are just appalled. "My word, a Bill Cosby impression without the words Theo and Rudy? Well, my heaven's to Betsy I've never seen such a thing. I'm appalled at the gall of that young man. Now Helen let's go get our carriages for the ball."

Cosby is big with the 1860s crowd.

In actuality, I feel worse for Sandra, Mrs. Huxtable, Denise, Vanessa, Elvin, Cockroach, and the Grandparents. Why aren't they involved in any Cosby impression? They totally get shortchanged from the American consciousness. It's unfair and needs to be fixed. I demand justice. From my seat. In my cubicle. I'm tired. However, the person I don't feel worse for? Olivia. She should immediately be forgotten. I would prefer all tape of her appearances be incinerated along with Caddyshack 2 and my performance at the 1994 8th grade dance.

I know Cosby hates when people make fun of him since he shut down the uber popular (hyperbole) House of Cosbys on You Tube. I wonder how I would feel. I'm never around people that do impressions of me. It's probably not easy doing an impression of someone that speaks normally and has boogers coming out of their nose. When most people encounter a person mimicking them they usually grit their teeth and take it. Some even let off one of those fake laughs where they throw their head back and laugh uproariously in such a grandiose fashion that you think they saw a man step on a rake. Listen, we're onto you people. No one likes to be imitated because usually your worst trait is accentuated for the humor. That's why people say "he took it well" or "she's a good sport" because not taking it well is understood. Charles Caleb Colton said, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." I know. Who? 3 first names? This is outrageous. Mr. Colton probably never had anyone do an impression of him right in front of his face, however. It's hard to imitate irrelevance.

Oh, snap! CCC just got served. Let's pour some out for him. Into our mouths.

If C cubed actually saw a mimic of him he would probably punch them in the face. I made that up because I don’t know if Colton was an angry individual, but that’s what I’m going to put him on since he was an English writer in the 1800s. I have to yet to meet one English writer from the 1800s that wasn’t surly. I also have met zero people from the 1800s due to my inability to procure a time machine.

Imitations and impressions are supposed to be fun, but I feel like while the general public enjoys them the person that is being copied likes it much less. Ok, not at all. Many celebrities don’t seem to mind in public, but many other people take offense. I like impressions, though, so I say we keep going for it, no matter the consequence! This is perfect since I can’t do any of them so no one will get mad at me. I still have the need to be eternally loved.

I hope I never meet Mrs. Doubtfire.

My Other Brother's Mother's Brother Was A Smothers Brother

2011-05-10T10:54:00.000-07:00

My mother is a fine woman. She is a 4'10" tower of power if countries actually built energy towers that were less than 5 feet. Her favorite show is the Amazing Race because she likes countries. She thinks that Texas is west of California. She only listens to Indian music in the car. If there's an earthquake anywhere in the world she calls to make sure nothing fell on my head. She pluralizes words by adding an -s to anything regardless of any grammar rules. Foot becomes foots, fish becomes fishes and Michael Jackson becomes the King of Pops. Her favorite director is M. Night Shyamalan because well, yeah. (Aside: When I was first looking for a job out of college, my mom told me to call M. Night Shyamalan because in her own words, "He's Indian, you're Indian, it will be easy!" I'm positive this is also how the Johnson and Johnson Company got started. "We're both named Johnson. This cannot fail.")

My mother is a devoted supporter of her two kids. Her mantra has always been, "do whatever makes you happy" followed by a strict qualifier. Up until age 28 the qualifier of "do whatever makes you happy" was "as long as you get married." Once, I got to 28 the qualifier has changed to "as long as you buy a house." Somewhere along the line having sex with one woman forever changed to owning a home. Finally my mom realizes that money can buy you a woman.

Money can't buy happiness. But it can buy Destiny. She works at the Lucky Lady. Lunch buffet.

It's great to have a parent that supports you. I've heard plenty of conversations with friends about how their parents hate on everything they do, but I never had to deal with that so I realize how lucky I am. My mom is SO over the top supportive that I try to push the envelope to see how far she will go because I am an awful person.

Me- "MA! Do you know how much drug dealers make? They can take home like over $100,000 tax free! I'm thinking about quitting my job to try it."

Mom- "Is that illegal?"

Me- "Not if I don't get caught. Most people on The Wire don't get caught."

Mom - "As long as you're happy, dear. BUT I do not want you living on a wire! You need to own your own place. You're getting old."

Me- "No, not a wire, but, never mind. So you're ok if I deal drugs as long as I have a house?"

Mom- "If that's what you want to do I won't stop you. But remember BUY A HOUSE. Also make sure you put money away in your company's 401K when you do this dealy thing."

My mom's total disregard of HBO television programming aside since she is so supportive people tend to take advantage of that. Ok, only person does that. My younger brother. My brother was the exact opposite of me growing up. He had a ton of friends in high school. He drank. He got bad grades. He was commended for getting an A in gym class. I think he threw chocolate milk at the principal during a school assembly. I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm bitter because I am. What a waste of chocolate milk. No respect. In high school he was hanging out at cool parties while when I was in my room listening to sports radio and organizing my closet by color.

Color Wars + Me = no friends.

My brother was either a mad genius or the dumbest person ever. I hesitate to give him the benefit of the doubt because this is the same person that drew all over the walls in his room in crayon in a pattern only John Nash could understand. If John Nash was illiterate. He played Tic Tac Toe games against himself. And lost. He owned a framed Mickey Mouse poster that was signed by Goofy. But he had some innate sense that he wasn't going to get in trouble because my mom supported his Da Vinci reenactments on his wall. "Honey, maybe he just needs a creative outlet? Art is good for him." My dad would yell at him while my mom would be happy because he was doing something that he enjoyed.

I would get jealous because my mom would be so positive. I should have been doing that stuff! I should have got arrested in Philadelphia for being underage and drunk. (He was having a good time). I should still be living at home. (He is figuring out his life.) I should have hit my extremely handsome older brother in the head with a collectible baseball bat and he thought he was dead. (He was practicing his swing.)

Justice is best served upside the head.

There's probably a line to my mother's undying endorsements, but if my brother hasn't found it yet maybe it doesn't exist. What if I robbed a bank? Murdered someone? Told Ganesh I hated his 4th arm? Would that be it? I would like to see my mom get mad once and not because Blockbuster ran out of Slumdog Millionaire. (I think that is what you kids call "crap".) I know she has it in her. One day it will happen.

Probably after I buy a house.

Too Bad So Sad

2011-05-05T12:52:00.001-07:00

I don't understand women. Obviously, that's not a profound statement seeing as that roughly 100 percent (approximate) of men aged 0-114 years old do not understand women. Sometimes, I think I should have a better grasp of women seeing as out of my 10 closest friends 7 of them are women. Well, I think they're women, but I haven't seen any physical proof so I'll go with "women like". I've even tried getting a better handle on women by reinforcing my friendships with them by watching the hit movie (hyperbole) "What Women Want" and listening to the catchy song (taking literary liberties) "What a Girl Wants" by Christina Aguilera that then paved the way for the cinematic masterpiece (All lies) of the movie by the same name starring Amanda Bynes. The verdict?

Too. Much. Estrogen.

From all my research I've gleaned that women want someone that acts like pre-anti Semitic Mel Gibson, but with a dash of post violent Mel Gibson that can fix a flat and still give a girl some space to breathe since whatever happens will set her free. I have no idea what I just wrote. This is exactly the point. No one knows anything. Even these self help magazine articles about "What women REALLY mean," "How to tell her mood," and the popular, "How to install a lipstick camera in her shower without her knowing," don't really give any answers. The only answer I've gotten from them is, "yes, I would like to re subscribe to Cosmo for only $19.99 a year."

Love the sex surveys.

The problem is that a man trying to figure out a woman is like a non Asian person trying to solve a Rubik's Cube or a literate person trying to understand what Jesse Jackson is saying. All impossibilities. What I do then is just adhere to the stereotypes given to women to try to understand them. According to societal norms, women appreciate shopping. Ok, Nordstrom sale. Got it. Women also like to cook. Get me that Wok! Women like cats and gay best friends. A gay cat is the best of all worlds. (Insert vaginal reference here) Luckily, I watch Anderson Cooper a lot and waved at that Justin Bieber kid once. (Aside: I know Justin Bieber is not gay, but I wanted to give into the lazy writing misdirection ploy of homosexuality. It also lets me introduce my new game. Gay or Canadian? Think about it. How many times have you gone up to a person and thought they were gay but they turned out to be Canadian? Never you say? Well, then, uh, you're probably right. But it happened to me once so I would like a game show. I don't see much difference between Canadians and gay people at all. Both are nice, eloquent, hint of an accent, like haircuts, eat food, and love Ellen. They are pretty much exactly the same. Let's get this on the air. Chuck Woolery is unemployed.)

But the main thing I've realized about women is that they are the more outwardly emotional species. Ok, fine, they cry all the time. That seems to be the biggest stereotype of women. Relative died? Crying? Broke a nail? Crying. Printer ran out of ink? Crying. Got a regular coke instead of a diet coke at McDonalds? Murdered the cashier then started crying.

The Bloody Bawler. Unsolved Mystery.

Of course, I don't really believe women cry all the time. To be fair there have been instances I've cried that I have not been proud of. I cried at the final scene of Field of Dreams when Kevin Costner gets to play catch with his dad. It was embarrassing because I had literally just played catch with my dad 2 hours before I saw that. Why was I crying? I PLAYED CATCH. It made no sense. But I stand by my crying at the end of the Growing Pains series finale. Mike, Ben, Carol, we watched them grow up. Damn you ABC!

I used to never subscribe to the women crying stereotype because I had never seen it. In a land before time I was dating an actual woman, with a vagina, the whole nine yards. I went over to her place, and noticed the door was open so I walked in. There were no lights on and I saw her on her couch crying her eyes out. At first, I thought she might have been robbed, or raped, or even worse, forced to eat the black jelly beans. I ran up to her and said “What’s wrong?”

Her- You know that song Fast Car by Tracy Chapman?

Me- What? Yeah.

Her- (more sobbing) Why didn’t her dad stop drinking? (boohoooobooohooo)

Me- what?

Her- (sobbing) Her dad was an alcoholic so she ran away and DON’T YOU GET IT. WHY WERE YOU DRINKING MR. CHAPMAN, YOUR FAMILY NEEDED YOU.

Me- Who are you talking to? You’re crying because Tracy Chapman’s dad was an alcoholic? That song is almost 20 years old. He’s probably dead.

Her- (getting angry) YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND. Then her mom left him and he was old and it is SO SAD. What if that happens to me?!?! (more sobbing)

Usually when a woman is crying around me it’s because I slashed her tires and switched out her shampoo for urine. No grudges. I have no idea how to deal with crying or any issues relating to Tracy Chapman songs. The only move to do is to give her a hug and say "it’s going to be ok.” That’s it there’s no Plan B. So I’m telling her it’s going to be ok because Tracy Chapman is rich and she goes ballistic. “THAT’S NOT THE POINT. HER LIFE WAS SO HARD.”

But the car was fast?

Is there no crying statute of limitations? The song happened 20 years ago. At some point you should not be allowed to cry about something if you’re not directly involved. Where’s the cutoff? Is it acceptable to cry over the premier of Happy Days? Invention of the telegraph? The Lincoln assassination? HE JUST WANTED TO SEE A PLAY!!!

Every time I’ve heard that song since that day (once) I’ve thought about that moment. Maybe women do cry all the time and I don’t see it. Maybe that stereotype is the one that actually fits. If I’m going to be looked at as Mr. IT then women should, probably, embrace their waterworks.

Or we could all just go to Nordstrom.

Learning Just to Learn: A Look Back On Looking Back (The Redundancy Chronicles)

2011-05-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve never written about the attacks on September 11th 2001. The reasons vary, but mostly because every year we get further away from that day and my story is not better or any different than what we’ve heard from much more interesting people than myself. But yesterday it was announced Osama Bin Laden is dead and I thought, “How do I make that about me?”

September 11th 2001 changed my life. Most people will look at that statement and assume that I had loved ones whose lives were taken away by that crazed lunatic. In fact, I don't know anyone that died or had a relative die due to those attacks on our country. The only person I know that was around the World Trade Centers that day is my Aunt. I believe she was out for her normal Au Bon Pain run and had to walk most of the way home back to New Jersey after the attack. I hadn't heard that story in a few years so when she retold her escapades at a family function a couple years ago she was in much better spirits than when it first happened. She ended her story with, "It's the most exercise I've gotten in 20 years!"

One man's 9-11 is another man's P-90X.

No, the real reason my life changed that day was because I remember the thoughts going through my head that day. I was awoken by my roommate Jeff screaming "Oh My God!" while he was in his room. I immediately thought a piece of sheet rock had fallen from the ceiling and crushed his larynx since we lived in a creaky old house inhabitated by raccoons and the roof had the inability to keep rain out of the living room. So I went back to sleep. When he screamed "Oh My God" again, that's when I got up ready to yell at him from awakening me from my dream about being able to dunk a basketball. I walked into his room and saw the World Trade Center towers billowing smoke and had no idea what was going on. My first thought while watching it was...

"What's the World Trade Center?"

I didn't say that out loud, but I remember thinking it. Looking back on it, it's a pretty embarrassing piece of history to revisit. How could a 20 year old educated young man, who grew up 40 minutes from New York City not know what the World Trade Center was or where it was? I blame myself because instead of taking the more broad American History class in High School, I took the AP History class. The reason wasn't because I liked history or even enjoyed a spirited debate about Mayans killing people with voodoo or drinking blood of kangaroos or whatever they did. I took the class because I saw a cute girl the year before filling out her "Class Schedule Request form" and she chose AP history. Surely, she would fall in love with me and my vast knowledge of the Columbus Expedition. "There was a Nina, Pinta, AND Santa Maria."

I'm single.

Around 8th or 9th grade I started to incorporate humor into my personality to get over my total awkwardness with other people. In school people thought I was smart because hello, I'm brown. I wasn't really interested in any subjects in high school except math because this is what Indian DNA is blessed with. I was so good at math that one of my teachers dubbed me the human calculator and would point at me to solve the equation before someone with a calculator would.

He never wanted me to have sex.

But besides math, I was more interested in making people laugh. I got good grades based on memorization and not knowing what I was memorizing or why. The day after bin Laden ordered his band of cronies to change our country forever I vowed to actually become smarter. I was embarrassed when I went to class and the topic of the attacks came up that I didn't know much. I wanted to know things. When someone debated policy in the Middle East I wanted to chime in with something more constructive than, "I ate falafel once" to get a chuckle.

I started to read things other than TV Guide and Maxim. I would pick up this thing called the newspaper, which doesn't exist now but was pretty big in 2002, and read the front page and not that crappy Family Circus. One panel. Never funny. I didn't do it to impress anyone else so much as to be a well rounded person. I don't want to go up to people and say, "Look, I'm smart now!" and spout off the last 10 prime ministers of the United Kingdom. This is mainly because I only know 3 of them and because those people are enormous douches. So I stick to the funny. Trying to convince someone you're smart is like trying to convince someone you're not racist even if you're not. "No, seriously, I know this black guy and we're friends. Then one time I dated this little hot mamacita and I TOTALLY saw Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon."

Quote taken from MLK’s unofficial autobiography, “I Didn't Have That Dream.”

One of my friends that I met in college constantly cross checks any information I give her because she can't believe it would be right. I don't mind. To her, I'll always be that kid that says funny stuff. That's fine. It's better than being my smelly friend or my klepto friend or my special friend. One time I was at a party that had one of the weirdest arrays of people I've ever seen in one place. It was like a Venice art gallery opening was dropped in a Political fundraiser at Spielberg's house. The conversations ranged from inane sports debates to the housing market to something about how marijuana heightens your senses. For the first time I felt compelled to jump in and talk about some of this stuff rather than say, "poop" and giggle away at my new found hilarity. At the end of the night the girl I was dating looked at me and said, "Wow, how did you know all that stuff? I'm impressed."

Spoiler Alert: We totally had sex that night. Take that Physics teach.

For one night someone told me I was smart and it felt pretty good. I probably would have accrued some knowledge without the 9-11 attacks or it would have taken longer to do so, but that was the day I decided to READ. Learn about the world. It's when I realized I wanted to write my thoughts down. Now bin Laden is dead. Maybe some families will get closure, maybe not. Some sort of justice has been served, but it takes me back to September 10th 2001. I was different that day. Everyone was different then. So much has changed.

My aunt hates Au Bon Pain now.

Don't Want Tan Lines So I Use This Banana Boat, Found This Quaker Oat In My Fancy Feast Burlington Coat

2011-04-25T20:57:00.000-07:00

Last week I was watching a new episode of Gossip Girl, seeing as it was 9pm on a Monday, when a commercial came on for Morgan Spurlock's new documentary, "Pom Wonderful Presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold." At first, I was really mad because I forgot to fast forward and then I was more upset since no actors that were 28 were playing 17 year old Upper East Side pretentious douchebags in that commercial.

The CW, the channel no one watches.

I watched the ad and immediately ran online to clear out my Internet browser history of all the Pornhub sites I visited in the last week and to read an interview with Spurlock. Basically ,the movie is a way for Spurlock to show that an entire movie can be funded with branding and companies throwing obscene amounts of cash not seen since Dr. Dre was making it rain at Club Supersexx in Montreal in 1993. In every interview Spurlock has done he's made it a point to show how much he hates product placement in movies and TV shows and to illustrated what the point of the movie was.

"So we just started talking about all those terrible placements, and then we thought, "What if we made a movie that kind of ripped open the whole world of product placement, marketing and advertising, and got companies to pay for it?" So really, out of that conversation, it was like, "Oh, aha! Ding!" You know, that was the moment. "

I'll be honest. I don't really care about selling out. I think everyone should sell out at some point. If Satan walked up to me (which I've been told by movies doesn't happen and he/she just randomly shows up at your apartment to take your soul) and offered me money for this blog I would take it. I think that's called being real. Satan's Beard is Good has a pretty decent ring to it. I'm guessing the point of this movie is to show anyone can take money and companies will shove money at anything they think people will see. If that's the point then well done because I have made a major discovery this week.

Dinosaurs are dead.

Is this even news? Or a movie? If he was railing on companies for doing something terrible then fine, but by all accounts he didn't really even do that. He kind of just ran around begged for money and made a 2 hour commercial. If I wanted to see a 2 hour commercial I would go to a NASCAR event or turn on Telemundo on a Saturday morning. Movies and TV are obvious in their marketing because we can see them. Everything Americans watch has a product placed in there, but Spurlock missed the one place where advertising has taken over our world.

Rap Music.

My parents never let me listen to rap music growing up because one time O.P.P. came on the radio and my dad said we couldn't listen to that "trash." “But dad, why is he down with Other People’s Property? Maybe he’s a repo man?” Being a good son and honorable American I disobeyed him and started listening to rap. When I got to college I did what every college kid did and started listening to Nelly's album "Country Grammar". He had a band aid on his face! But he wasn't bleeding! That's so gangster.

What a hero.

Nelly followed up his album battling illiteracy in the United States with "Nellyville" in 2002. An album so good that it dedicated one whole song to singing about Nikes. Maybe it was because the Internet wasn't as a big deal back then and people were too busy trying to figure out what the hell a Yahoo was, but I don't remember one person making a stink about this. Nelly wrote a 4 minute commercial that not only increased sales of something called "Air Force Ones" , a sneaker created by Nike, but also went to number 1 on the Billboard rap charts. Number 1. It was the best advertisement of 2002. That included the Whats Up Guys, but did not include that stupid horses kicking a football.

At least with sponsorships in movies and TV people are getting paid. Rappers are doing this for free! I've done extensive research (see:35 seconds) on whether or not Nelly got paid to do a song about Air Force Ones and found nothing. Yet this hasn't stopped rappers from promoting their favorite brands in songs. We hear a ton of songs about Benz's, Maybachs, and Ferraris. You think people would cash in on this, yet the only person to my knowledge that has made one dime on promoting a brand in a rap song is Skee-Lo when he finally get some much needed attention to the Baseball Rabbits Stuck In Hats Union.

F You Trix Rabbit.

Morgan Spurlock would like us to think that everyone is selling out, but aren't rappers doing the opposite of selling out? They're selling in. That should be a documentary, not that some kid is drinking a Sprite in a show with 2 uncles helping raise 3 daughters even though one of the uncles isn't related and does weird voices that people only hear in stories that end with "On the Next Dateline."

How Rude.

Throughout time rappers have brought up various companies and products and 2011 is no different. Lil Wayne has a song out where this first line is "Uh, Fiji water granddaddy purp". Why his felonious grandfather needs bottled water I’m not sure, but maybe he’s trying to be healthy. And no Lil Wayne doesn't stop there .He mentions Fiji Water again and to top it off drops in a reference to Planters Peanuts. Planters Peanuts! Have they ever been cool? They have a peanut dressed in a top hat and monocle that is naked as a mascot. The last time that costume was cool was at my uncle’s wedding during an interpretive dance session celebrating “life.” Planters should be giving Lil Wayne 95 percent of the company for making them seem hip. Rappers are the realest people on the planet.

I'm writing a rap about Jello Pudding Pops.

Even a Blind Squirrel Gets Run Over By A Car Every Once In A While

2011-04-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

I can't see. Well, that's actually a lie since I can actually see with the invention of corrective lenses and contacts. The fact I started this post with a lie is probably condescending to the readership of this blog, but lying is part of America and if you don't like America then you can move. Possibly to Hawaii because judging by the fury that our President was born in Hawaii which apparently is not part of this country I think it's safe to say that Hawaii is not recognized by the American government as a state.

Surfers don't have passports.

Ever since I can remember I've worn glasses or contact lenses. My actual first memory of anything is when I was 8 and complaining to my grandfather that the glasses itched my nose. I did what any respectful 8 year old would do in the situation. I threw the glasses down and cried. Then stomped around. Then begged for ice cream. Then peed the bed. Regardless of my urinating habits corrective lenses have been a huge part of my life thanks to my parents’ inability to actually acquire some worthwhile DNA.

Chubby + 4 eyes + Indian + under 5'6" tall parents = DNA Bankruptcy

Growing up I hated everything about my glasses. You see the late 1980s and early 1990s was a wasteland for good face wear. No one back then looked good with glasses. I didn’t think one girl with glasses was good looking then, now I think they all are. I’m lonely. The large framed glasses of the 1950s have made a comeback to be retro and hip. The early 90s decided that if you had a vision problem you would look like this.

The sad part of that picture is that I looked exactly like that except brown and wearing a horrendously outdated REPLICA Joe Montana Kansas City Chiefs jersey. (Indian parents like 50 percent deals). My prescription was (and is) so bad that the lenses would be too thick to fit into any type of cool frame. Whenever I tell anybody my prescription they go “I didn’t know it went that high, are you legally blind?”

Snapple Fact #481: If Stevie Wonder wore my glasses he could actually see.

So I would go to school wishing I would look like Rivers Cuomo from Weezer who looked just like Buddy Holly, but instead I looked Urkel with a dandruff issue. And no Pert Plus to be seen. I was traumatized by my glasses. I tried to hide them whenever I could, but then would just run into a wall or into oncoming traffic. My parents refused to raise a Mr. Magoo so they yelled at me. When I told them the cultural significance of Mr. Magoo, they yelled some more. Magoo, I still love you, no matter what my immigrant parents say. Fist bump explosion. When I entered 8th grade, my mom finally told me I could get contacts and it was the best news I ever got. I was the only kid in my school with contact lenses, an ability to grow a beard, and stuck at the bottom of the rope at gym class.

Trifecta of Sexiness. Ladies?

So for the past 17 years I’ve had to wear contacts and have almost never worn my glasses in public. I hate them. I honestly don’t think any of my friends have seen me wear glasses in 10 years. The only glasses I wear in public are the $9.99 kind I can buy on the Venice boardwalk that’s conveniently located next to the medical marijuana evaluation centers. Seems like the perfect partnership. Hotbox. Sunglasses. 5-0, will never know. Last week I went to the eye doctor and wanted to ask about LASIK surgery. I don’t mind wearing contacts, but it would be nice to wake up in the morning and not have to stick my face literally half an inch from the alarm clock so I could see it. It’s not a joke. In the special once every 4 year event that a woman sleeps over, the conversation always gets awkward.

Me- “Hey, what time is it?”
Girl- “Can you not see that? It’s right there? 9:15.”
Me- “Nope, can’t see it.”
Girl- “BUT IT’S RIGHT THERE, you can touch the clock.”
Me- “Yeah I know, can’t see it.”
Girl- “Can you see anything. (Holds up fingers)
Me- “Nope. Wait, you’re a woman right?”

That has happened more than once.

While at the doctor I asked her about LASIK. I knew it would probably cost a little bit more because my eye sight is so poor, but I wanted a rough estimate. She looked at me, looked at her notes, looked at me (probably because I spilled some BBQ sauce on my shirt at lunch), looked down again and said, “Oh, you can get LASIK, but you’re high risk, so you’ll probably have to still wear glasses. I’ll refer you to a good surgeon.” Oh, goody gumdrops. Let me get lasers in my eyeballs and STILL wear glasses. Where do I sign up? Here? No? How about here? In a life filled with humongous disappointments including being cut from the high school basketball team 4 straight years, being turned down for dates by numerous women and actually eating the flavored seasoning from the Ramen packet for no money, this was the cherry on top. All I wanted was to see without any restrictions. It will never happen.

Me and Magoo. Table for Two.

It's Like Jazzy Jeff once said, Parents Just Don't Comprehend the Magnitude of the Situation

2011-04-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

(Note: if you have www.yourbeardisgood.blogspot.com in your google reader, change it to www.yourbeardisgood.com. (we're a .com now). I noticed it may not be updating and people think I died. This is your final warning. I lied. It isn't. I'm just vain and want to keep readers)

I have pretty good parents. That statement would carry some weight if it wasn't coming from a kid that grew up in the Jersey suburbs who's definition of good is the ability of his parents to buy him Nintendo games. I think my parents did pretty well with my brother and I considering they weren't born in this country and eat without utensils 82 percent of the time. My parents weren't perfect, of course. When my mom wasn't forgetting signing my permission slip for a field trip, my dad was making me cry for wanting to be white and drinking Coors light out of a pickup while watching baseball practice.

Coors Light + Baseball + Yelling = Team America.

Nevertheless, I would quantify my parents as good parents. Not everyone grows up with good parents, I know that. I'm lucky because I have two parents that cared about their children. Some people grew up with only one parent or no parents or a grandparent or two dads that didn't have a DNA test done to see who's daughter she actually was leading to hijinx in a some kind of penthouse apartment complex.

Rich Dad, Poor Dad, Two Dads Mean No Moms.

All that being said there's a lot of bad parenting going on in the world. I know, I'm all of a sudden the expert on parenting even though little children make me vomit and teenage kids make me cross the street because I don't want an atomic wedgie or their barbs about my New Balances. THEY'RE VERY COMFORTABLE. I'm fragile, leave me alone. Rat kids. Anyways, I think bad parenting is like pornography. We know it when they're naked. No. Please No. We know it when we see it. I don't know who said that, but I'm pretty sure it was someone that loves Porn. Snoop Dogg most likely.

In any case, this past week I've seen a lot of bad parenting in the news so I wanted to start a new feature on Your Beard is Good called "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle." A hilarious take on two pot smoking college kids and their quest for White Castle hamburgers. In an inane twist one is Korean and one is Indian. Non stereotypical stoners. Put that in your bong and smoke it, Hollywood. James Franco, looking in your direction. But since that idea was done in 1999 I'm stuck with this parenting angle.

AWFUL PARENTING VOL. 1. The news networks went crazy this week because a video went viral of a 6 year old girl being patted down by the TSA. Matt Lauer and his cronies cried out, "Have we gone too far" with our security measures at airports. Whatever. I'm not here to talk about that, I'm here to talk about the Selena Drexel and her doctor husband going on all these morning shows to complain about it because "Frisking is inappropriate for children because they're usually told not to let adults touch them in sensitive areas."

WHAT.

Listen mom, do you know why we have these measures in place? Because some kooky terrorists decided to hijack airplanes and kill innocent Americans. Some people are outraged because why should we pat down children when they aren't going the ones with bombs and other things? Well, maybe someone should point those people to these articles.

2003 - Children and teenagers between the ages of 11 and 18 have over the past few months carried out suicide and other terrorist attacks in which innocent Israeli civilians have been killed and injured.

2009- Two hundred schoolchildren in Britain, some as young as 13, have been identified as potential terrorists

2008 - Peru children are increasingly used by organized crime networks for drug trafficking, says a Lima-based child’s rights organization. There are hundreds nay thousands more of those articles. I would link every single one, but I have a life that includes making oatmeal since I'm hungry. So why is this bad parenting? BECAUSE YOUR CHILD WAS NOT GROPED. You should be explaining to your kid why they're doing this and for what reason. Not telling them the TSA lady is groping them. Did you watch the video? The TSA member calmly tells the little girl what's going to happen. She doesn't shove her fingers where they don't belong.

As Americans we've lost rights since 2001 for safety reasons. I don't know if I agree with all measures, but everyone should be treated equally. I've been stopped at the airport and my bags searched for the most ridiculous reasons. "Your pen looked suspicious", "your socks looked like you had something stuffed in them," "Your shirt had a monkey on it and monkeys can be causing viral outbreaks if let loose even cartoon ones." How about you teach your kids that they're not above the law? To treat people with a modicum of respect? Not go posting on You Tube that your kid got wrongly frisked when it's not true. Then buy them a popsicle. Or this magical dreamsicle which I first found out about two weeks ago. Dreams in a popsicle? I'll take the Martin Luther King one.

What's next? Unicornsicle?

You think that lady wanted to pat down that kid? Of course not. As a parent it is your duty to explain why things are happening. You don't go on Good Morning America and cry about it because it happened to your kid. I didn't see Selena Drexel and family getting all upset when it was happening to other kids. GTFO. Try being a brown person. If there is an injustice, then it is your right to complain. There is nothing egregious here. Kids are used to traffic drugs. To smuggle bombs. I understand it is less than one percent, but so was hijacking planes and flying them into a building. Terrorists are above nothing except shaving. They hate Barbasol which leads me to believe we would get info out of Al Qaeda if we shaved them instead of waterboarding.

We have Gillette and we're not afraid to use it.

My parents taught me to be respectful. It is only appropriate to complain when you've been wronged. Everyone gets patted down. Sorry. You can blame Muslim Extremists for that. Now your child thinks she's been wronged when nothing was done wrong at all. She wasn't arrested for anything. She wasn't accused of something she didn't do. She has to go through what I and millions of other Americans have had to go through for 10 years. Get over yourself. What does Selena Drexel say when her daughter goes to the doctor? Isn't an adult touching them in a sensitive area? Is she going to put that on You Tube too?

Breast Exams only.

We live in an age where I'm right and you're wrong even if you're right. These laws were put in to make our skies safer. Maybe, I don't know, tell your daughter that. Or just upload it to You Tube and complain an injustice that didn't happen has happened and not be a good parent. It's all the same.

Maybe I should have done the Harold and Kumar bit.

It's Raining Cats and Dogs. Minus Dogs. With More Cats.

2011-04-12T11:58:00.001-07:00

(Note: if you have www.yourbeardisgood.blogspot.com in your google reader, change it to www.yourbeardisgood.com. (we're a .com now). I noticed it may not be updating and people think I died. This is your final warning. I lied. It isn't. I'm just vain and want to keep readers)

I'm a dog person. I don't actually own a dog, but if I had to choose I would choose to own a dog that knows how to use a toilet. That probably is not a shock to anyone as history as proven that men, by in large, are dog people and women are cat people. I don't know when exactly that line of demarcation took place, but I'm guessing it was after the dinosaurs were defeated by the aliens, but wayyyyy before the aliens were buried in New Mexico.

TODAY IS OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY.

Too soon?

I portend that the reason men are seen as dog lovers and women as cat lovers is because cats are seen to be the more domesticated species like women. Men are gross, while women are usually tidy. Not to say that women should be in the kitchen or taking poops in a box filled with sand, but that seems to be the case why the two are intertwined. I blame the 1950s and Leave It to Beaver for the way women are viewed as being strictly housewives and doing laundry with a love for cats. Then I blame Eddie Haskell for being a raging dick. Always picking on The Beav, ruining people's cars, and making The Beav do sexual favors in order to fuel his daily coke habit.

That actually may have been Cleave It to Beaver.

In any case, as women have actually risen up against the struggle and become equal to men in every area except penis size, the cat is still seen as a predominantly woman animal. Of course, there are men that love cats, but I'm willing to bet that is a small percentage of the cat owning population. When two women fight it is a cat fight. Single women are cat ladies. The running joke on the Internet is that if a woman doesn't get married she'll adopt 72 cats and shutter herself indoors. Har! Get it? Cats? No? Me either. You never hear of a man becoming a dog man if he can't find a partner. Or a Cat Gentleman.

Even though Cat Fancy seems like a magazine for cat gentlemen. Sweet tuxes.

I looked up cat lady on wiki and it said, "The term is sometimes used in a pejorative sense..." There was more to it, but once wiki starts using 50 cent words, I'm out. I go to wiki to get a basic understanding of things, not an introduction to the AP English exam. Regardless of wiki and their plans to make everyone pay an absurd amount for an AP test, I realized that over the last few years cats have exploded (figurative term. Even though, I'm sure some cats have LITERALLY exploded after ingesting a lit firecracker in Yuma, Arizona) in pop culture and the Internet. At one time, the only cat we knew about was an overweight cat with an addiction to baked pasta. Since the mid 90s, cats have surpassed dogs as the cute go to picture that you put in your wallet to impress a woman to show that you are "sensitive" and "care about things" and don't "hit it and quit it." I've heard.

Think about it. Back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s we had dogs everywhere. Turner and Hooch. Pluto. Snoopy. Lassie was saving stupid Timmy from wells and such. (Aside: Why was there never an expose done on how terrible Timmy's parents were? Here they are letting an 8 year old boy wander around and fall into traps and run into wild bears or whatever. The first time, ok, mistakes happen. The 22nd time? We have a serious parental issue. If that happened nowadays DYFS would be at the ranch, Timmy would be taken away, and he would be relocated to be living with zombies or vampires or part of a forensic team in Las Vegas. Ratings, people).

Since the mid 90s cats have become the go to animal for laughs and "awwws". The dog has been put out to pasture. The quality and power of women has brought strength to the cat. It's not a coincidence that as women have become more independent and the greater species that the cat has overpowered the dog in pop culture. Women love cats more than (insert shopping discount joke here). Every week I am bombarded with cute cat videos or "look at what my cat did." We’ve had Mr. Bigglesworth. Keyboard cat. That talking one from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. One of the most famous websites of the 2000s is a site where cats are captioned like they are speaking. Every word is spelled wrong. One of the most famous websites ever has ILLITERATE CATS. This is what America has become. Cats that can't spell. How about this?

Go to school. What do the dog people get? A movie where a dog plays basketball. Let me repeat. A dog that plays basketball. Oh, sorry, I made a mistake. He also plays baseball, football, soccer, and beach volleyball. He's the AC Slater of the dog community. I would love to have been in that pitch meeting.

Exec - "Dudes, Cats are taking over, we need to get a dog back in the mainstream." Writer - "I got it. A movie where a dog takes control of a mafia syndicate in New York and has anyone that goes against him killed by other dogs! The Dog-Father." Exec- "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Dogs can’t shoot guns."
Writer- "How about a dog playing sports? Like basketball. People love basketball!"
Exec- "Yes, that's it. Genius. Let's make sure he can dunk."
Writer -"We need a name for this dog."
Exec- "Dogdon Dogonstein the 3rd"
Writer - "More basketball-y. What was that guy Jordan's nickname? Something Jordan?"
Exec- "Air?" Writer - "Yes, Air."
Exec-"Air Dog"
Writer - "Why does everything have to be 'dog' something? Air Bud. It could mean beer or weed and it's a kid’s movie. SUCK IT PARENTS."

Air Bud is seen as a stupid series, but a cat having fake captions with misspellings is seen as genius. Where did we go wrong? Listen, cats are fine. They don't really do anything and are nice as a companion. Sure. But why do they need to take the dog's mojo? Can't we live in a world where we have illiterate dogs AND cats? Dogs that save lives and cats that do whatever it is that cats do? When someone is seen as stupid can't we say "they can't spell Dog if you gave them the D and the O"? Why does it need to be C-A-T? Only women can bring the dog back. You have the Internet power to do it. I'm just an Indian guy wearing two mismatched socks. My room was dark.

RELEASE THE HOUNDS.

The Cream Always Rises To the Top When God's Involved

2011-04-06T10:07:00.000-07:00

If I had to describe myself in one word it would be "unimportant." BUT, if I had two such words to describe myself I would choose unimportant and ponderer. I'm a big life ponderer and like to think about where things came from and who invented these things. I asked my dad a lot of these questions, but he usually replied with "Don't you go to school?" A very valid response to a a 10 year old kid asking you how planes fly when you are a person that makes parts for said airplanes.

The original Ask Jeeves indeed.

Since I still don't know how airplanes fly or who was the first person to get a haircut or how an x-ray looks inside of you yet we haven't created the technology to see inside of walls or girls locker room showers and implement that in our eyes; I usually sit around by myself asking these questions to no one in particular. Pondering is why people become bloggers or get checked into mental hospitals by their families.

Blogger Psych Ward. Coming to USA network Fall 2011. Starring C Thomas Howell as Mr. Ian Terrnet.

Obviously, I have a lot of questions and even less answers, but I save most of my questions for one thing. The elevator. I don't understand the elevator so I went to the trusty Wikipedia to see who's idea it was to have a box ride you to each and every floor of a building with multiple levels. A little known fact about elevators is that it was invented as a "cabin to God" and the first known findings of it were in the middle ages by knights that were risen to the heavens by pulleys to see the holy one. Wild.*

*that entire definition was made up by yours truly. I didn't go to Wikipedia or really even care to, but I thought my reasoning was better than anything that could have been written. A "cabin to God". There's only one person that has one of those. That's right. Cheech Marin.

A true fact is that the elevator was invented somewhere around the 1800s. So by conservative estimates it's been around for around 200 years. This seems like a long time for anything to be around. If something is around for 200 or so years you probably would have some sort of sense how it worked. But for some reason every time I've gotten out of an elevator this week I've had a person barging into the elevator before I can get out and then saying "sorry" like they're shocked someone would be riding the God box. Not expecting someone to be in an elevator when it opens is like cutting your ear off and not becoming an amazing painter. Absolutely ridiculous.

If it was really a "Miracle Ear" you would grow another one.

I would say that there are an isolated few instances where people walk into the elevator when other people are getting off, but it happens all the time especially in office buildings. Here's a question. Do you know how an elevator works? PEOPLE RIDE THEM. What are these people thinking? That the elevator has descended from space and not stopped anywhere else so it can take them to the second floor since they hate taking the steps after their 3rd gelato at the cafetorium? They do know that the elevator is not their own personal lift ticket to another floor, right? Is it really that difficult to wait 5 seconds, see if someone is getting off and THEN enter box?

ANSWER THE QUESTIONS.

I know we live in a "now" society where everyone is in a hurry. I get it. Here's the thing though. The elevator always moves AT THE SAME SPEED. Just because you got into the elevator right when the doors opened doesn't mean it guns to 65 and drops you off at the penthouse. I have yet to ride an elevator that's doors immediately close when you step in and goes faster than the normal speed because you pressed the button 7 times in a row like a crazed maniac. Here's a thought. Be a human being. Wait for 5, actually I'll be nice, 3 seconds to see if people step off and then get on. Everything will work out. I promise. Just because you are shoving women, children, and handsome Indian men out of the way to get on, does not mean it will automatically seal it's doors shut like a Doc Brown creation and zip you off to 1955 or Levy, Levy, and Levy Law Firm and Associates on the 5th floor.

Disclaimer: Not responsible for any stopped or plummeting elevators that may occur after doing said right thing. I say all of this and nothing will change. Tomorrow I will get off the elevator for our conference and, inevitably, someone will be bum rushing the elevator like they're running from wild animals in Pamplona and it'll be awkward. I'll shake my head and move on, muttering to no one that other people ride elevators while my co-workers shake their head.

I hope Blogger Psych Ward needs a guest star.

The Opposite of Like is Dakota Fanning

2011-03-29T10:54:00.000-07:00

I really do not like the word "hate." That probably means you can reduce that sentence to I hate the word hate, but then I really wouldn't like that sentence and I'm sure that qualifies as "meta" or something or other. Now that we have all these social media outlets everyone hates everything else. Things people on Twitter in the last 3 hours "hate" include: the Starbucks barista, tanlines, haters (irony!), turtles, Home Alone 3 (valid reasons), traffic jams, hoes (can't turn a ho into a housewife, hoes don't act right! I would hate that too), math, autocorrect on your iPhone, "wen rappers like him say dey rap real Hip Hop", and, of course, Rebecca Black.

Never bet on Black.

When I typed "hate" into Twitter Search the results came in faster than I could refresh. People hate EVERYTHING. Hate is such a strong word to use however. Webster's dictionary defines the word hate as, "a verb meaning to hate something." I thought that was odd since they were using the word to define the word, but then I realized I didn't go to Webster's dictionary at all and made up the definition myself. I don't have time to be looking things up in your books and your fact checking binders. All of this is not to say I'm in love with everything, there are some things I do not like, but I try not to use the word hate unless it is warranted or someone has besmirched my name in an Internet message board and tried to take me down by making personal attacks on my appearance and personality.

Never post on the Hot Topic message board. It's brutal out there for a conformist.

Last week I told a story at the Taboo Tales show in Los Angeles. The first thing I did was go to the bathroom. After that I looked at the program to see what bio said and if it included a picture of me looking at my best. That picture would have been taken in March of 1988 because I have gotten worse looking since that date. The worst part of having pictures with dates in them is that you know the exact time that you peaked. You can't fake it. I peaked in March 1988. I was adorable. THOSE WERE THE DAYS.

I was 7 and a half. It's been a rough 23 years.

Anyway, here is what my bio said, "Rahul HATES Dakota Fanning, but cannot explain why. For $25,000 he might laugh at a Margaret Cho joke, but he hates her too. He's not a misogynist, but he also hates if you're a woman."

Whoops.

Now 2 of those 3 things are true. The one that isn't is that I actually love women. The problem is women don't like me. Cue violin. End Scene. That's not the issue; creative license is always encouraged when writing up bios. What made me think was seeing the word hate related to me 3 separate times. I wondered if maybe I'm giving off a strong vibe of dislike when it comes to these things. To be fair when Margaret Cho is brought up I tend to flail my arms wildly and talk about my disdain for her so loudly that it comes off as if I issued a Fatwa on her. Understood. When I talk about women, I complain about them, why they never love me, and go on a rant about the whole toilet seat up conundrum and how it ruins my life. I would prefer the word dislike instead of hate, but, hey, we're parsing words here and I'm only including this paragraph to connect the points of this blog post. I really don't mind. I only have this to say.

I hate Dakota Fanning.

Out of that entire bio that is the one thing I was most proud of. Sure I ranted on and on about not using the word hate, but if I save it for one occasion it will be to tell you how much I do not like her. People always (once) ask me how I could possibly hate Dakota Fanning. The reasons I get thrown back at me are "she's just a kid," "she's a great actor," "one time she pooped her pants on set when she was 6." Whatever, like pooping your pants makes you adorable. If pooping your pants makes you good looking then Theta Chi was the hunk house every Saturday night in college.

I have been asked to explain how I could hate a kid actor like Dakota Fanning. Sure, it seems petty and obnoxious to hate a kid born in the 90s. But I want to know only one thing. Why can't Dakota Fanning act her age in these movies? I'm serious. Starting with I Am Sam she acts like a 24 year old graduate of Princeton. She was only 7 when that movie came out. Here's a thought, ACT LIKE A CHILD. You know what, pick a booger, go ahead, and eat it. Something. Give me anything. Don't act like you're the guardian of an adult. Please stop it. Look at Haley Joel Osment in Sixth Sense. He saw dead people and was scared. He didn't talk to them like he was Winston Churchill discussing exports with Roosevelt. Then in real life he got into car accidents. This is what kids do.

Get her some silly putty stat.

It just ramped up in the movie "Man on Fire". The whole premise of the movie is that Dakota Fanning was kidnapped and Denzel Washington decides to go on a one man rampage and bring her back. A wonderful film until Dakota Fanning basically fell in love with Denzel Washington. She keeps asking him if he loves her as they gaze into each other's eyes. She was acting like 30 year old woman trying to hold on to the man she's loved for the past 5 years. How about this? Ask him for a grilled cheese with no crust. What about a tickle me Elmo? Those were popular. Don't say things like "Dear God, I do not ask for health or wealth. People ask you so often that you can't have any left. Give me, God, what else you have. Give me what no-one else asks for. Amen."

"Dear God, please let Dakota Fanning go away. Peace be the journey."

Of course, she didn’t go away and resurfaced in "War of the Worlds." I had no idea she was in that movie so when she showed up I threw up my arms and said “AGAIN?!?!” to the joy of absolutely no one. She toned it down in this movie from intellectual 7 year old to whiny brat 11 year old. Is there no middle? Just be normal. Is that so hard? Tom Cruise is trying to fight aliens, stop crying all the time. WHY MUST YOU RUIN ALIEN ASS KICKING?!?! Add into that in every interview she tries to show off her vast vocabulary and maturity and I’m over it. I’m sorry Dakota Fanning, it’s not me, it’s you. Please leave.

I wouldn’t hate that.

Books, Rainbows, and Reading Can Only Mean One Thing. Oprah.

2011-03-22T16:57:00.000-07:00

(LOOK! WE'RE A .COM NOW!)

Stupid people don't own books. Sure, on the surface that probably looks like a very stereotypical statement. I don't know every stupid person ever, but I have yet to hear the phrase, "Man, that person is so stupid, I can't believe they own all those books." At some point owning books has become intertwined with being intelligent. It probably has to do with all those books using words like "intertwined." Books are supposed to give us intelligence which is why all of us were forced to read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead at some point in high school.

Spoiler alert: She did not invent all those maps with McNally.

If someone tells you they read the book of the movie you are about to watch, you immediately think of them as smarter. They actually spent days reading something that your brain can only handle in a 2 hour time frame with popcorn butter on your Dockers. Does this make sense? Not really, since no one actually buys Dockers on purpose anymore. But also because the book they could be talking about is Twilight and they missed out Robert Pattinson's sexy pale white skin and anti-sun credo. I don't think reading Twilight makes you more intelligent than the person next to you per say, but the ACTION of reading the book has made you a more well read person.
Or a teenage vampire. Either or.

In the grand scheme of things it should be the quality of books we read that determines how smart we all are. If I read Paddington Bear or the Bernstein Bears and you're reading something by Malcolm Gladwell or F. Scott Fitzgerald, I think it's safe to say you'll be a little bit better versed than me in non-bear related knowledge. However, if there is a quiz on loveable bears that can talk and don't like school, you are screwed. This gets me to my favorite person in the world.

Oprah.

Oprah really isn't my "favorite" person in as much that she's everyone's favorite person. Think about it no one really hates Oprah. People may think she's not as great as the 50 year old housemother of 3 in Tulsa, Oklahoma thinks she is, but not one person believes that Oprah is a bad person. "You know who I hate? That Opera Winefry. She's giving out cars for no reason and starting charities all over the place. WHAT A BITCH."

The consensus is that Oprah is a smart woman due to her business savvy. That is a very valid point. She built a billion dollar empire that has made us forget that she was in the amazingly short lived TV show called "Brewster's Place" in the early 90s which had nothing to do with Soleil Moon Frye. I argue that we think Oprah is smart BECAUSE she has a book club. Oprah's book club has pushed her perceived intelligence to heights that haven't been seen since Zack Morris scored an impossible 1502 on the SAT breaking the scoring policy of all standardized tests.

(Insert something Saved By The Bell Related/Mario Lopez joke here)

This is from Oprah's Book Club Wiki page.

"In Reading with Oprah: The Book Club That Changed America, Kathleen Rooney describes Winfrey as 'a serious American intellectual'"...

There's more to that quote, but who cares. I don't have time to copy and paste it all. So there is a book about how Oprah's book club has changed America and made us smarter? That is the most meta thing in the history of all things meta. We are to assume that Oprah read all these books, correct? Here's the ruse. What if she just picked a bunch of random books, started a book club, and we immediately thought that makes this woman smart? Oprah could be pulling the biggest okie doke ever. Starting this book club is just a way to show how intelligent she really is since we ALL believe smart people own and read books.

I'M ONTO YOU OPRAH.

Now, of course, I've taken some liberties with this since I’m a blogger and we pretend to be outraged at the most minute things. (It took me 4 MINUTES TO GET A HAPPY MEAL TODAY. LOOK AT MY OUTRAGE. I'M TYPING IN CAPS). I'm sure Oprah's house is filled with all of these books and sitting in a corner is the body of James Frey tied up and lashed every 68 minutes with page 172 from "A Million Little Pieces". That's not the point. James Frey's decrepit body in Oprah's dungeon is not the story. The story is whether anyone could start a book club and we would buy into their increasing brain power.

What if Steve-O from the Jackass movies came out tomorrow and said, "I'm starting my own book club" and proceeded to list thought provoking books and wonderful nonfiction? I say we would instantly think of him as a person that was intelligent this whole time and his whole character was a joke. This is a man that picks his nose and puts it his pocket. A man that let animals bite his penis. A man that has lit himself on fire. A lot. But just because he would say he read some books our perception would change. A smart Steve-O? Aliens come take me now.

But first find James Frey.

I'm worried.

Mr. Belvedere Didn't Have a Best Friend So He Knows The Struggle

2011-03-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

I'm don't like the term "best friend." I think it's a silly phrase that people use to try to qualify their relationships as meaningful. This mainly stems from the fact that the word "best" is a word that no one can top. Essentially, you're saying that your friend can't get any better; they are already the best person to you. This can only lead to a precipitous fall from grace when they stop returning your phone calls because they are too busy "hanging up paintings" or "having children." Why do people have to always have someone or something that's the best? Why can't we all just have good friends or better friends? I don't have a prototypical best friend. I consider all my close friends, better friends and all my other friends, good friends. I don't like the finality of having a best friend except for the part where I get the Best friends part of the necklace and my other friend gets to wear "forever".

It's all about the bling.

The irony of this whole thing is that for a good part of my life I was dying for a best friend. Literally. I think I used literally wrong. How American of me. I wanted to put a label on my friendship with one person as proof that someone actually thought I was the best at something other than sitting on the couch or quoting Doug E. Doug lines from Cool Runnings. It's not until the last couple years where I've been ok with not having that one friend to call the best.

There's really no problem with having a group of people that are better friends at certain parts of your lives than others. You could have a friend that's great to talk to about relationships. One that makes you laugh. One that helps you with work issues. One that you talk about sports with or General Hospital or both. We call that person a Renaissance Man. I don't think you could find one person to encompass all the issues we all deal with in life. Actually, I lied. There is one. Mr. Belvedere.

He had ALL the answers. Dude saw every General Hospital episode. Check the bio.

The only good thing about best friends is that it's the only time people actually tell each other how they feel about them. Aside from the "I love yous" we tell the people we are having adult relations with, we rarely, if ever, tell our friends what we feel about them. The only time we do is when someone will say, "Hey, come meet my best friend Joey." See, now Joey knows that he is qualified as best to that person and on some level he knows what he means to them. On the other hand if you're a grown man and go by the name Joey, you should re-evaluate.

Over the last 6 months I've decided that I'm telling people how I feel about them. People should know that you love them before it's too late. That fact hit home for me when my father had a heart attack 3 weeks before my 30th birthday. To come that close to losing someone without ever thanking them for taking me all the baseball games, being supportive and sticking me with a $30,000 student loan for a college degree I don't use was harrowing.

Thanks Dad for not being more rich.

I think about the moment of when I'm going to die a lot. I usually wonder what it's going to be and which way I want to go out. Some call it morbid, but I call it reality. The whole reason for thinking about death is that I want to make sure when I die I've said everything I've wanted to say. I always ask myself the question "If I die today, am I ok with that?" For a long time that answer was no, but over the past year I've become better at opening up and letting people in and that's because of this person. She totally changed my outlook on everything.

We live in an era where it's weird to open up to people that are still living. People ask you what's wrong and why you're saying things like that. Emotion is not supposed to be shown to "just" friends. Well, that's wrong. How else are people supposed to know what they mean to us? After reading Laurenne's two amazingly open and raw posts about Mike DeStefano, I was crushed. Not because I knew Mike, aside from that one time I saw him on stage and he dropped a county record (unofficial) 127 f-bombs in 12 minutes, but because she never got to tell him all those things.

Before I met Laurenne I was definitely closed off. I didn't let anyone see my feelings and if I thought it would hurt someone I wouldn't say anything even though it was hurting me. I remember the first time I met her thinking about how she put everything out on the table. There was no feeling that this was a stranger and she should hold back. It was refreshing and honest and frankly, a little strange. Talking to someone from the Internet about feelings on plastic surgery and putting that out there was a little alarming to someone who's idea of talking about a controversial topic was how M&M’s added a blue one.

Always bet on blue.

And while she’s probably going to be a little embarrassed that I’m writing this, I really don’t care. And I know some people are going to be critical since I'm saying this in public, but tough. Those people will be critical because they're afraid to put themselves out there. Because if you don’t tell people what they’ve done for you they’ll never know.

She’s made me take more chances by putting me in her show (Taboo Tales March 24th, Zephyr Theater, Los Angeles. In the business we call that a “plug”) where I told a story I thought I was taking to my grave. Just knowing her has made me not hold things in that I normally would and push the envelope. She’s encouraged me to write more and, in general, been supportive even though I find this blog only humorous 32 percent of the time (science). I’m sure one day we may not be “better” friends when she runs off with a Benicio Del Toro doppelganger from Argentina or gives up on me when I put VERY URGENT in another e-mail subject line, but I’ll never regret that I didn’t say what I wanted to say to her or that I love her and what she’s done for me. When I win the Oscar for best original screenplay she will be the second person I thank. The first person I thank will be me for winning.

What about me?

Sometimes it takes a tragedy or near tragedy to realize that time is fleeting. I could tell all 10 people that read this blog to tell your friends how you feel, but I know it won’t happen. We need something to trigger it in all of us. With the natural disasters in Japan and the world changing at a rate that we can’t comprehend, we never know when we lose the opportunity to get our feelings out so I want to make sure I say something I never got to say.

Thanks Mr. Belvedere. I loved your ‘Stache.

Breaking News From CNN: It Rained 4 Months Ago.

2011-03-11T09:35:00.000-08:00

What's going on?

That's one of my favorite phrases in the world. Succinct and to the point ,"What's going on?" is exactly the all encompassing question that gets to the meat of a subject. I would like to thank Marvin Gaye for bringing it to the forefront. Wait, I'm pretty sure it was Marvin Gaye that said that. It was either him or Gay Marvin outside the Abbey in West Hollywood last year when they wouldn't serve him that made it popular. It was most definitely NOT the artists that re-made that song into a World Aids Benefit jam. Any song with P.Puffy Sean Paul Combs Diddy will not be recognized as a work of art in my house.

I have an apartment.

He's won this round.

Every new day we wake up we can ask the question "What's Going On" since, hello; we're asleep and miss things. Duh so obvious. Get with it. Unless science starts really earning their money so that our brains are being filled with information while in a deep REM cycle then I don't want to hear any more about their "breakthroughs with cloning" or "stem cell research" or "what women want". This is not what my hard earned tax payer money should be going to. I'm being told my tax money does not go to this.

Uncle Sam 3,657 Rahul 0

Let's just roll through the litany of things going on with the world right now. Civil Unrest in Egypt and Libya, Gas is $32 a gallon for the cheap stuff (approximate), that guy from that show on CBS is insane, Congresswoman Giffords in Arizona recovering from being shot in the head (!), possible no NFL in 2011, Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel split (YES), the iPad 2 is everywhere, Wisconsin has lost control of itself, people are slinging dope somewhere (assumed), and being awoken this morning to the news of Japan getting hit with an 8.9 earthquake and tsunami devastating the region. If now isn't the time to enlist Jake Gyllenhaal and Dennis Quaid to warn us of an impending glacier sweeping over the US then it will never be that time.

Worst nightmare. Stuck in a library for days. To the Dewey Decimal System bookmobile!

Of course, there is nothing funny about a country being demolished and ravaged by natural disasters. Especially when that country gives us such great technology like Samsung phones, great cars like Toyota, and great video game villains like Piston Honda from Mike Tyson's Punch-out who cleverly uses the name of a car manufacturer in his own name. Product placement is everywhere, people. Japan is going to need to dig out of this tragedy for months and months. I'm sure Americans will band together to help them out like we have done with other countries such as Haiti and Chile. But while watching the still pictures of the devastation I only have question.

Why does CNN suck?

No, seriously, it's terrible. The first thing I did this morning was turn on CNN to get my updates on the earthquake in Japan and if a tsunami would affect Los Angeles. Why did I choose CNN and not Fox News? Mainly because I did not want to stare at Steve Doocy on Fox and Friends for fear I would get irrational and go down the studio and give him a haircut. GET A HAIRCUT HIPPIE. The first thing the two lovely (see:hot) anchors on CNN do is tell me about the devastation in Japan and show some pictures that illustrate their point. Fine and dandy. Then they go to their wise meteorologist type person to tell us about how the tsunami will affect the West Coast. Oh, goody gumdrops. This is what I was waiting for. After the whole rigmarole of telling the audience what a tsunami is, he tells us that when something happens on the west coast we will be the first to know.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Let me explain something to you Mr. CNN weather desk person. You are supposed to be telling us what will happen BEFORE it happens. A tsunami warning is kind of big deal. I'm assuming he was actually looking at watch the tsunami did to Japan and not eating ho-hos in the back room while downloading the newest Lady Gaga music video. I can tell myself what will happen WHEN it happens since I will be floating down Santa Monica Blvd on a homemade raft made of tennis rackets and string cheese plastic remnant. What kinds of news policy is this? Shouldn't I know what time something is going to happen if it will, I don't know, make me wet? I'll even take an approximate time. Instead, I now know nothing and just have to guess because after it already happens CNN is going to tell me it happened. Whoop De Damn Do.

No heads up, no warning, but at least I know that a tsunami is like when you throw a rock in a puddle and the tipples go out. Except the tsunami will destroy your building and the rock is just a minor nuisance for someone walking down the street after the puddle dries. Other than that, exactly the same. CNN, let's get it together. On election night you love telling up what is going to happen before it happens. "2 percent of California reporting, we're calling it for Obama!" Yet when a predictable natural disaster occurs, eh, what's the big deal?

Good thing that wasn't a Marvin Gaye song.

The Internet Used To Be Cool, Now it Just Has Saliva Coming Out Of Its Mouth (See: Drool)

2011-03-04T12:15:00.001-08:00

I love the Internet. I really do. If it weren’t for the Internet Mark Zuckerberg wouldn’t have 6 billion dollars at his disposal. How does that affect me? It doesn’t, but I needed a current example of what the Internet can do for Harvard nerds that steal ideas from other people. If it weren’t for the Internet no one would be reading this blog other than the 6 regular people that read all the time. In the blog business we call them “lonely”.

Lonely Hearts club, Population: the Internet.

Sometimes I do wish the Internet didn’t exist and this past week is a prime example of that. We all know what’s going on with Charlie Sheen. Unless you live under a rock or in Libya you have some sense that this man has been spewing seemingly nonsensical ramblings at a pace not seen since Ayatollah Khomeini got drunk off of wine spritzers at the Time Person of the Year Party in 1971.

Fatwa Flip cup was a nice touch.

Back to Charlie Sheen. Listen, there’s really nothing more to be said about this guy anymore. He’s developing his own catchphrases at a rate that is making Looney Tunes proud. He’s funny, engaging and slightly off kilter. Is he on drugs? Who cares? He’s entertaining and whatever he does in his life is way different than what I do in mine. Charlie Sheen does not influence my life in the least. Anyone that says they weren’t riveted to his Interviews when they first happened is being a contrarian just to be noticed. But something needs to be said.

He’s ruined the Internet.

(ED NOTE: As soon as I posted on Twitter that I wrote a post about Charlie Sheen, I got an automatic tweet from a fake Charlie Sheen Twitter bot. LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE CREATED!)

As most people know Chuck Klosterman is my favorite writer. This past week he was on the Bill Simmons podcast (writer for ESPN.com) and they discussed Charlie Sheen and the first thing Simmons said was “Charlie Sheen has obliterated the Internet.” How can you argue? Everywhere you turn someone on Facebook, on Twitter, on a column on CNN is dropping a “winning” or “tiger blood” reference. It has infiltrated everything we’re doing and we can’t get away from it. I would like to read an article today and not see someone say one of those lines, but someone will say it and I will get infuriated. Mainly because the magic of the moment has been ruined.

Now that we live in a world where everyone can comment on everything, people have taken this to the next level. Since this Sheen thing has exploded, everyone on Twitter or Facebook is hash tagging thing as #winning. Even the most mundane things are being called winning. Someone on Twitter wrote, “My cats like yarn. #winning.” WHAT THE HELL. This Charlie Sheen thing was gold. Absolute gold oversaturated by people blowing it out of the water and thinking that when they used, of course, it was original. I’ll admit I got caught in the wash and posted a Sheen quote as my Facebook status. Looking back on it I am ashamed.

I’ve become what I always feared. Predictable.

If Charlie Sheen went crazy in 1996 we could have these things as our little jokes. We could use the lines with our friends and not have to see it everywhere. We would be funny in our own circle. But now our circle has expanded and since there’s no filter online it’s beating us over the head constantly. For the first time I wish there was no Internet. It’s ok, I’ll buy a Penthouse for those “moments”. For comparison let’s go to Mike Tyson. The brilliance of Mike Tyson is that there was no sense of "anything you can do I can do just as mediocre on the Internet" when he was going absolutely bonkers. The lines are reusable since you don’t see them everywhere. They don’t make you angry because you don't see them 701 times in one day. It’s always fresh. Imagine if Mike Tyson said this stuff in 2011.

“I want to rip their stomachs out and eat their children”

I'll fight any man, any animal, if Jesus were here I'd fight him too

“I’ll f--- you till you love me faggot”

“I'm on the Zoloft [an antidepressant] to keep from killing y'all”

“Guess I'm gonna fade into Bolivian”

“I can sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating."

Yes, Mike Tyson said all those things and they still all make me laugh because people aren’t hash tagging things #bolivian on Twitter. If he said that now some podunk housewife would have put in her Facebook status “Gotta take the kids to school! #Zoloft”. Is that funny to anyone? Exactly. Now think about when you do that with Charlie Sheen.

In exactly 7 days I’ve gone from loving the Internet and the material it gives me to cringing every time a respected writer on a mainstream site makes a Sheen reference. We get it. You think you’re funny. With bloggers I expect to see those jokes in long format. I don’t mind. But someone paid to write a column on Egypt? Or breakdown the housing market? No. See the problem is the proverbial we, as in The Internet, are not funny. We’re ruining the joke. We’ve ruined the joke and it only took a week. There are sites coming out every hour having Charlie Sheen quotes said by hedgehogs, comparing him to Gaddafi, clickable websites to see everything he said, and, of course, cats saying what he’s saying.

Enough with the cats. They can’t spell. Fine. I can’t believe our country supports feline illiteracy like this.

I understand trying to cash in, but we’re getting caught in the wash. This week the Internet has made funny people resort to the lowest common denominator and non funny people reiterate to same boring stuff with a new twist that they think finally makes them funny. The Internet has been reduced to a sea aggravating announcements bookended by the catchphrase of one millionaire lunatic.

#whining

How the Roller Skating DJ Saved My Life. (Spoiler Alert: He Didn't)

2011-03-01T13:52:00.000-08:00

I’ve spent the last couple weeks getting reacquainted with Chicago. Not the city of Chicago or the movie “Chicago” or the Sufjan Stevens song “Chicago” or even the poem “Chicago”. I was more talking about that hit 80s band led by the well coiffed and uber emotional Peter Cetera.*

If you’re not familiar with Chicago, this lyric from their hit “Look Away” is all you need to know. (Insert backing drum beat and piano) “But if you see me walking by and the tears are in my eyes, Look Away, baby, Look away.” Aside from the band’s utter lack of keeping it together, Chicago is the best band to listen to after someone broke your heart or your friend in fifth grade smashed your last pencil into the ground and you couldn’t use the sharpener because Mrs. Kennedy said no getting up during tests.

Always gotta be a number 2.

That was a poop joke.

I’m not heartbroken at all; it’s just that when I talk about dating I immediately think of Chicago and the couples dance at the roller skating rink. The DJ would play Chicago and say “Couples only, only couples, brown kid with the sauce on his shirt get out of the rink because no one loves you.”

I hated that guy. He was so right.

For some reason in the past few weeks I’ve been in a lot of discussions involving dating and dating philosophies. This probably has something to do with having “experiences” and getting “older” and being “a pathetic loser”. If you’re are under the age of 30 and reading this, get ready, it’s super fun. Not at all. I suggest reading a lot of self help books about dating that tell you how awful a person you really are for being single. I don’t mind talking about dating. We all have our own strategies and thoughts about the dating process. Mine include getting a date and hiding the ether rag under the spare tire in the trunk. It’s important to keep things like that a secret.

The overwhelming consensus of my friends is that we all want to be with someone that gets us and that we can have a conversation with. All I really want is someone that wants to listen to me rage about how every Gossip Girl episode ends at some lavish party that they ALL attend. Even if they’re not on the guest list. Can we figure something else out CW writers? I mean, this is getting…uh…what I meant is I want someone to watch Monster truck rallies with me. Yes. That’s it. MEN.

How do we find these people? I don’t know. This is what I should be asking my parents. I should ask them for their tale of love and falling for each other. The days when they knew this would be the person who they would spend the rest of their life. The days when they would talk for hours on the phone. The butterflies. The nervous moments. Only my parents could give me advice on this. If a couple that’s been together for 30 something years can’t help you, who can?

They have an arranged marriage.

WHY MUST THEY RUIN EVERYTHING?

The reaction when I tell people that ranges from apathy to inquisitive to utter shock that people not in the 1800s would get married this way. I get a lot of questions about how a marriage like that works and luckily I have witnessed two of my uncles get married in that way. I would tell you more about how it worked, but I was too busy reading Archie comic books and looking for a KFC in New Delhi to be bothered with the particulars. Let’s be serious for a second. Why would Midge stay with Moose? She obviously doesn’t like how controlling he is so why not go with Jughead? At least he had some personality.

Deep thoughts.

My grandparents set up my parents’ marriage and they met twice before the wedding. It all sounds really crazy, but the truth is at some point my parents fell in love. I know this because for my parents’ 25th anniversary my dad bought my mom a Lexus SUV. Nothing says love like gas guzzling environmentally non conscious luxury vehicle. I also know this because a few years ago my dad asked me to look for his glasses and I checked the night stand and saw condoms. I know; who uses condoms? And at their age? You can get pregnant? AND THEY’RE HAVING SEX. This is all very chilling. When I found the condoms I immediately sprinted out of the room and was so out of sorts I fell down the steps.

My parents make me wonder if an arranged marriage is the way to go. They get along. They’re in love or something that resembles love with condoms. Sure they fight and argue about things like all married couples, but at the end of the day they’re still together and call each other “honey. Maybe we’re doing this all wrong. Instead of going on dates and looking for a spark we should be finding a random person, live with them and then we’ll love them. Could it work? I say we try it. Let’s all get married. Look to your left. Marry that person. Move in together. You may not love them tomorrow, next month next year or even in two year, but it will happen. My parents say so.

They probably didn't listen to Chicago though.

*Aside: Is there a city or state that has had a better run than Chicago in being mentioned as a singular place in pop culture? I was racking my brain and the only place I could think of was Boston with its band and hatred of the letter r, but not even that place has an Oscar winning movie starring Queen Latifah. Was she not the star? You shut your mouth. She is always the star, baby. When we talk about All-American cities doesn’t Chicago have to be at the top of the list? We always mention other cities as being the hub of America, but Chicago never gets its due. Think about it, Balki didn’t move to New York to start a new life, Urkel wasn’t making dance moves in LA, and last I checked there’s no band called Albuquerque. What would they even sing about? Tumbleweed? Check. And Mate.

Rich People Stealing From Each Other Doesn't Mean Much Without Latin

2011-02-17T10:40:00.001-08:00

The past few weeks I've been getting up earlier to get my day started and do one of those Latin phrases. Carpe Diem, E Pluribus Unum, Veni Vidi Vici, Habeas Corpus, Persona Non Grata. WHATEVER. I m sure it was something said by Sam Waterston on Law and Order. Since I'm getting up earlier and doing things with my life before work I need to have some background noise on so I do what any 21st century male does. Turn on the soundtrack from the hit movie Moulin Rouge. Real Lady Marmalade! I never liked marmalade (does anyone under the age of 81 eat this? If so what is up with your medulla oblongata? More Latin), but these women make it sassy and delicious. Ok, I made that up. While they are great tasting, I only put the soundtrack on before I go out to the club. In the morning I turn on the TV.

One Man. One Machine. A Lot of Noise.

The only problem is that I hate advertisements. I do work in the ad world, but I'm in a niche sales job so I tend to not see these atrocities on human existence at the office. There's a reason I watch every show on DVR and not have to subject myself to the horrors of a half naked man trying to sell me deodorant. I've never bought anything off of an ad in my life. Well, to be fair, one time there was an ad for a sweet car and I immediately went online to look at price and see how I could finance it. Before I got far enough to drive to a dealership I thought about why I was interested in this car, remembered that a company tried selling it to me, and immediately threw my laptop out the window.

Geo Metro you owe me $799.

Now that I watch live TV I can't fast forward through the ads so I'm stuck hearing them in the background. Once in a while I'll look up from my computer to see a car drive through the desert, but most of the time I pay no mind. That all changed this morning. In a span of 2 minutes I was stuck watching 2 separate advertisements that showed me that if living on the moon is not imminent than we have no chance fending off the Mayans next year from invading the world and beaming us to their new planet.

Read it in a book.

The first ad I saw was this.

I then purchased the song. I still do not own the Jetta. The song is by a guy named Pigeon John. I'm pretty sure this means when you get close to him he doesn't run away. Rumor has it Bert wants to marry him. Sorry Ernie.

Let's move on.

The second ad was a commercial by our favorite shaving company in the world Gillette. Ok, maybe you prefer the foamy Barbasol like I do to the disgusting gel of Gillette, but you cannot deny the Mach 3. It's like your face can now bust the speed of sound. Or if you're a woman your legs can go through the speed of sound. Or your face. If you're Armenian. ANYWAY. Let's take a look at Gillette's ad featuring a bunch of sports stars you’ve seen before, but have no idea of their names, teams, or sexual orientation.

On the surface it looks like a cute little spot. An athlete saying they’re “ready” for something and the public hoping that “being ready” isn’t a euphemism for them out at the club with a boner dropping GHB into 18 year old girls’ drinks. The fact that I retained it is a Gillette ad is a point in their favor. After watching it I went back to work and kept thinking about how that ad reminded me of another one. Then it hit me.

That’s right. Gillette decided that they have no new ideas so they would steal a 2 year old Nike marketing gimmick, dump an upbeat music track in the background and make the buzz word “ready.” They’ve officially given up. Is this what it’s come down to for advertising? Recycling old ideas? I can deal with a lame concept, but blatantly stealing a pretty clever idea from Nike is pathetic. In full disclosure, I despise Nike and all of their products, but at least they only steal from the pockets of small Vietnamese children. They don’t steal from other large companies, which is much more important.

I was actually hoping at the end that Fabio would bust out of a sculpture and proclaim, “I can’t believe it’s not Schick!” Why should we stop at ripping off one marketing plan? Let’s rip them all off. I’ve heard the next Gillette ad is going to have a tiger named “Tommy” shaving in a mirror proclaiming, “They’re mildly better than good!”

Gillette, I’m disappointed. All that money and you blatantly stole another company’s ad campaign. Is there no justice in this world? As the Latins would say…

Tu Cant Fool Mi

Queens, Dairy Queens, and Queen. A Royalty Joint.

2011-02-09T15:21:00.001-08:00

Sunday was the Super Bowl. Everyone knows this. Well, maybe not everyone, but most people in America were aware of a 3 hour advertising block that was infiltrated by some sort of football match going on at the same time. It really tickles my grits that in between watching a dog run into a screen door for some Doritos and a car that talks that we were deluged with bits of grown men throwing around a pigskin through some uprights and dumping electrolytes on each other. Where is the justice?

By the time the last 5 minutes of the game were on I was in a food sickness the likes which haven't been seen since King Kong Bundy took the Szechuan Number One All You Can Eat Chinese Buffet to the cleaners in 1986. No, he, LITERALLY, took them to cleaners for all the vomit that came out of his mouth after his 4,521st piece of fried dough. I don't really remember anything that happened at the end of the game since I was hallucinating from my 10th Mac and Cheese ball by that point.

Worst double entendre ever.

The one thing I do remember is that there was one stretch of advertisements that seemed like it was made in some kind of advertising time machine. Every ad was influenced by the 50s, 60s, or 80s. I even saw The Fonz. There was not one commercial that was set in this century let alone this decade. The ad industry finally caught on to something the movie industry has been holding onto for years.

The present sucks.

Of course, I have debated this very point at another hilariously well written blog that is now defunct so I stand by my opinion that the past is really dumb. I don't understand why we have to go back in time for any kind of original idea. Just a quick note. Setting something in the 50s doesn't make it original. It's already been done. Ask Jughead. He and his cronies are still going to Malt Shoppes. It's 2011! Go to Dairy Queen you jerks. The movie people are at the forefont of this. If they're not making a horrendous Ben Stiller comedy, they are making a remake. If they're not making a remake, they're making a sequel. And if they're not making a sequel they're making a movie based in not this century. It's a sick cycle that is making Steven Spielberg roll in his extremely rich grave.

He's not? Interesting.

Anyways, the point is the movie industry loves making movies that take place in a different era. A period piece if you will. I dislike all period piece movies. First of all, I don't want to watch anything where I need a dictionary from the 1800s to understand what the characters are saying. If I wanted to watch something where I didn’t understand what anyone was saying I would watch Dude, Where’s my Car for the 15th time. Secondly, you know when you watch a movie from “back in the day” you are getting zero skin. I at least would like the threat of a random sex scene being in the movie I’m watching. When a bare shoulder or an exposed ankle is the extent or a movie’s sexuality you know you have sufficiently aced out all men and/or kids. Let’s just get to the point.

Queens are boring.

That's probably a blasphemous thing to say about royalty, but they can get over themselves since they have the whole castle and moat thing going on. If I had a castle and wasn't named Nicolas Cage I would be throwing parties in there every night. "Wednesday Night Queen's Getting Down! 8pm -??? BYOB." (insert obligatory Freddie Mercury reference here.) Does this look like a fun person?

Or this?

No, we all know they are playing Canasta with the guards and drinking hot tea with a Toblerone. Boring, your table of everyone is ready. Movies about old time kings and queens are lame. I think my point has been sufficiently made. While doing my daily perusing of "cool queens" I came across the photo of the Queen of Jordan. I know. Queens just aren't for England or West Hollywood anymore. Let's take a look at Queen Rania of Jordan.

Holy Guacamole.

Yes, that woman is really a queen. I'm sure she is the poster child for everything women hate. Money. Looks. Gets to wear a crown. The only way it could be worse is if she owned a Barbie factory. Good thing she only owns 6 of them. This is why we need a movie made about this. This is a gold mine, Hollywood. A great looking queen who probably goes out to clubs and drinks diet soda instead of whatever is in tea. This is why movies need to be made about this century. Who wouldn't watch a movie about Queen Rania? Communists, that's who. And probably the blind since they can't see, but let's not get into semantics. I'm begging you Hollywood types let's get on this. Natalie Portman plays Queen Rania who is a gal that's just looking to have fun, but gets caught up in the underground world of counterfeit Visa gift cards. It's an addiction that can only be saved by one man. Sinbad.

He needs the work.

Let's give back.

We Don't Need No Education Is Proof Enough That We Do Need Education

2011-02-01T10:23:00.000-08:00

I like to keep up with world affairs. Most days I browse the headlines from the trusted CNN or Perez Hilton for my daily dose of news from around the globe. Just today I found out that the Democratic National Convention will be in Charlotte, Charlie Sheen entered rehab, Halle Berry is still hot, and blah blah blah something Egypt. Someone please alert me when something that matters, like Nicholas Cage finding treasure in the Sphinx, actually happens in Egypt. Boring. Anyway, since I'm now up to date on all current events there was one piece of news that sort of got buried on the Interwebs. No hyperbole intended, but it was the biggest piece of news since the announcement that something happened somewhere. Sure, some of the facts may be out of order, but that is neither here nor there. Up nor down. In nor Out. The big piece of news is this...

James Franco is teaching a class at Columbia about...himself.

We have reached the nexus of the universe. Everybody run away as we will be swallowed into a black hole that will teleport us into a land where apes are men and people are dead the whole time. Double spoiler alert. We all know actors are self promotional people that only care about themselves and/or the like to ponder the larger existence of life while playing a meth head that starts teaching 10th grade high school geometry. I believe that was the plot of Mr. Holland's Opus. When first reading that James Franco (I know some people may not know who James Franco is, but just ask a woman she'll tell you all you need to know) was teaching his own class about himself I ran through the gamut of emotions. Intrigued. Depressed. Appalled. Hungry. Sleepy. Indifferent. Joy. Sublime. Heart. Moody Blues. Duran Duran.

It got weird.

On the one hand, I would suspect it would be pretty cool to take a class at Columbia and have your teacher be a movie start with incredibly good looks and an Oscar nomination on his resume. On the other hand, what exactly is James Franco teaching you? I'm pretty sure there aren’t a handful of students that go to Columbia, walk into that class, and ask him how he looked so stoned on the all the time in Pineapple Express. "Yes, Professor Franco, quick question. In Wicker Man, a wonderful, wonderful film that was rated as one of the worst movies of the decade, you played one of the guys in the bar at the end. How did you get yourself prepared for a 25 second role where you just stood there and looked handsome while some chicks hit on you? Was it as hard as it looked? Must have been brutal." As a matter of fact in a Your Beard is Good exclusive (cue some weird news sound effect), I have gotten a copy of the syllabus of the class.

Master Class: Editing James Franco… with James Franco

Instructor: James Franco

Description: Some actors just don't get it. They don't know how to play diverse roles and be as smart as me, James Franco. So we're going to stick it to them. This class will show students how to edit and be more like me, James Franco. Students will make a documentary taking early works of my career and my trials and tribulations. At the end of this class you'll feel like James Franco is your friend. But I'm not. I'm an Oscar nominated actor and you guys pay tuition and live off mommy and daddy's dime. Suck it. But really, I will adore you all. Just don't touch me.

Prerequisites: Pineapple Express, General Hospital, Spiderman 1 and 2 (not 3 as we will pretend that didn't happen), Tristan and Isolde, Milk, and 127 hours.

Exams: There are none. Just hand in your sweet documentary at the end. Any references to Wicker Man will be an automatic letter grade down.

Lecture Schedule

February 15th - Talk about James Franco

February 22nd - Dissect the art of the shirt removal for maximum Ab flexing

March 1st- Why is James Franco so great? And other James Franco questions.

March 8th- Viewing of James Franco's Oscar nominated 127 hours. Now available on Blue Ray!

March 15th - Know when to say no. A cautionary tale of Spiderman 3.

March 22nd - Joint rolling, pot smoking, and the way to make stoners look competent on screen. The secret? Actually be stoned.

March 29th - Final projects due. Students are encouraged to title project with their favorite James Franco superlative or phrase. Past film titles have included: "James Franco is Awesome", "Sexiness Should Be Changed to James Franconess," and "If God Was One of Us, James Franco Would be His Dad."

Celebrities have taught classes at schools before and have had classes about them. After I graduated, Syracuse University announced that there would be a class offered at Syracuse about the life of Lil Kim titled “Lil' Kim and Hip-Hop Eshu: Queen Bitch 101 at Syracuse University.” I, for one, would have loved to be enlightened as to what Lil Kim actually meant when she said,

“Puerto Rican papi, used to be a Deacon, but now he be sucking me off on the weekend, And this black dude I called King Kong, He had a big ass dick and a hurricane tongue.”

Isn’t that bestiality? Someone write her a citation. Of course, the class fell apart when Lil Kim came into the class rocking a pasty and said “all you n----- get up of yo seat, my s--- taste like flavors fools!” *

At least she has a lot of self worth.

James Franco’s class might make it, it might not. I’m going to go out on a limb and say it won’t be as controversial as a Lil Kim class, but if I could I would offer him one piece of advice.

More pot, less Egypt. This is still college.

*I might have made that up, but don't lie, I know you believed it.

I Don't Always Think. But When I Do, I Prefer More Thinking. Stay Confused, My Friends

2011-01-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

I've had a lot of things rattling around in my head for a blog post today, but for some reason I couldn't come up with a coherent post. Sure, some people may say this whole blog is incoherent, but I try to not listen to what my mother says. So instead of a full length post of rambling I'm stealing a page from some blog called Humans Are Funny and posting a bunch of things I've been thinking about. It's like that one famous person once said that one time a long time ago, "Stealing stuff is totally ok, as long as you don't get caught." I believe the quote is attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but I was too busy etching "Rahul Loves (insert girl's name) in the desk in history class so my memory could be off.

Your schooling is overrated.

So in lieu of another 1000 word post that people will chastise for being too long, here is a bullet point list of things that will inevitably add up to a 1000 words anyway. It's all about the presentation. Heard that on Top Chef.

- At what point did Chris Brown's "Forever" become the cool song to play at your wedding/reception? After watching an inordinate amount of wedding videos on You Tube (No, I'm not getting married, thanks for not asking), it seems like every video has that song in it. I'm sure it has to do with that one couple dancing to it when they were walking down the aisle, but I am appalled. No, no not because he beat up Rihanna or some such, which is appalling according to the law and human rights, but because the song came out in 2008. Listen, when I go to a wedding I want to see old people doing the chicken dance and throwing their arms in the air and dislocating their elbows while yelling "Shout". I do not want to see them trying to have rhythm or style. That's what a club in LA or NYC that a normal person can't get into is for. Weddings are for awkwardness, your uncle drinking too much Manischewitz, and the one time in 15 years Aunt Margaret stopped watching People's Court to attend a family function. Let's not make it cool.

- Richard Simmons called Jack Lalanne his fitness hero. No truth to the rumor that the original "Sweatin' to the Oldies" was just a video of Richard Simmons watching Jack Lalanne drink prune juice.

-The Parking garage might as well be called the Thunderdome. Every man for themselves, hide the women and children, unless your woman is Chyna. Speed bumps aren't there for you to slow down; they're there for you to fly. Fly through the air. Stop signs are suggestions. Lined parking spaces are just outlines of where a car could possibly fit, but not there for any deterrent. All we need is a pit of alligators by the validation machine and two guys named Nitro and Turbo hitting people over the head with joust sticks to complete the gauntlet. Take a look around next time you're in a parking garage and see how people disregard everything about it. One time I saw a barrel fire and a guy with a tie wrapped around his head screaming "ESCAPE IS OURS!" Will Smith's next project is obvious. "In the real world, Bobby Jackson is a lovable father of 3. But once he enters the abyss there is no turning back. When the sun disappears, your satellite radio gets no reception and there's one way out, your car alarm won't even be able to save you from...DEATH GARAGE."

- The most popular subject on my Facebook feed right now. The Jersey Shore is filming season 4 in Italy. This now ups the shirtless, oily guy percentage on that show to a record breaking 100 percent.

- Today, the Oscar nominations were announced. Also today, people who have seen exactly 3 of the films nominated will complain about something that doesn't matter to any one of us. I've yet to see someone say, "Ugh, Ghost Dad didn't even win an Oscar and we're going to see it in the theater. Why?" Mainly because Ghost Dad came out in 1990 and starred a hilarious Bill Cosby so winning an Oscar would be beneath that film. Why are we so paranoid about awards that we're not involved in? We can't vote for them, we can't win them and we can't even go to the cool parties associated with them. Yet, for the next 4 weeks people will debate it and tear it apart like my 7th grade paper on how a television works. (The phrase "just turn it on" got me a D on that paper). Any award named after a terrible Sylvester Stallone film shouldn't get our proverbial panties in a bunch. Not to mention, one of the movies nominated this year was a called "The King's Speech". Not one black person in the film! This is how we teach our children about civil rights? Bravo America.

- Oprah has a sister. She is not Star Jones.

- When are we going to get the truth that fire was discovered when two cavepeople first started having sex? Just think about it. There weren't any scissors or "grooming" available back then so their naughty areas must have been Jungle Love. Also did you see their hairstyles? If they're letting that go then you know they ain't manscaping. So if you're having sex vigorously then the friction of the hair should cause a spark that starts a flame. I'm no chemist or fireman, but this seems to undeniably true. I fully expect to hear a report from Science Journal that the first man that ever had sex combusted into flames. What are we paying these guys for? Let's go!

Don't Look Through God's DVD Collection. Trust Me.

2011-01-19T10:18:00.000-08:00

It's no secret that our attention spans have gotten incredibly shorter. This is not a new development. We now have things like You Tube, TMZ, and 15 minute shows on Adult Swim that know we all have somewhere to be. Like Now. Or Like 5 seconds ago. Or Like Never. Like for real. Every year we flip the calendar our attention spans keep shrinking like a man's stuff coming out of the pool.

It's science.

One quick note. I can't remember the last time I "flipped" the calendar. Or any calendar for that matter. I took a quick trip around my office and saw no one with a calendar on their walls which is weird since A LOT of people in this office like cute dogs and shirtless firefighters from New York City. My personal favorite? Mr. August. He's from Flushing. They all are. ANYWAY, isn't it time to retire the "flip the calendar" cliché? No one's flipping anything anymore because if they were the bank wouldn't receive checks that are still dated 2009 on them. Just yesterday I needed the date so I did what any self respecting American would do. I checked the television. Not only does it provide me with quality moving pictures of hijinx on a channel called Music Television, it also gives me the date, time, and proper color scale for my skin tone. Updated score.

Television -Infinity

Calendars - Negative a billion.

It's a blowout.

Television's stranglehold on calendars isn't the point. The point is that we can't have nice things anymore. Anytime I send a YouTube clip to someone the first question they ask is "How long is it?" Sweet Jebediah if I send a clip that is over 90 seconds because that will lead to a tirade which hasn't been seen since John Candy was told they were out of peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches at the craft services table on the set of Uncle Buck 2: Still Bucking.

Only available on VHS.

"A minute and a half! I don't have time for this; I'll have to watch it later. I can't believe you would send something this long to me. This is an outrage." That's right; we've gotten to the point where people cannot carve out a minute and a half of their day to watch a hilarious chimpanzee simulating masturbation at a zoo. For some reason we need our entertainment and we need it now. Yet, we spend an hour of our week watching celebrities dancing, scripted shows about vampires that use hair gel, or 7 imbeciles getting drunk on a beach and hooking up.

Saddest episode of Good Times ever.

Luckily, I have found one thing that no one likes shortened to a quick hitter. While out with a couple friends one guy started railing on how ridiculous it was that he was getting shorter and shorter clips. He went on to say that he didn't want a "preview" and wanted the whole thing because he needs all of it. Finally, we have found the one place where our attention spans aren't shrinking!

Internet Porn.

Oh.

Pornography has worked its way into mainstream culture. Porn stars like Sasha Grey have worked their way into "respectable" acting roles. Respectable is in quotes there because it's hard to believe any show that has a main character with the name of Turtle would in any way be respectable, but welcome to this century. Not that being in Buttman 74 is not respectable, but I doubt people are watching it for Ms. Grey's acting chops. Gone are the days when you mentioned Jenna Jameson in a supermarket and women covered their faces, blushed, and blurted out "My word, I never!" while fanning themselves profusely with the discount flyer. Porn is not just a topic for men's locker rooms and backroom message boards where you got the password from a "friend" anymore.

Let's be honest with ourselves for a second. All women have seen porn. Just admit it. It may have been an entire video that you saw with your boyfriend or your dad forgot to change the channel after he purchased a video on demand, but you've all caught at least a clip of porn. It's ok. You can still go to heaven, if you believe in that kind of thing even if you've seen porn. God watches porn too. Just think about Adam and Eve. What do you think was happening there? Sure, sure creation of man, blah blah blah, but really Adam and Eve was God's first porno. I'm positive he even has it saved on a video tape he has trickily titled "Caveman Weight Lifting Exercises" so Mrs. God will never watch it and find out.

God is one sly devil.

Somehow, Internet porn has become the exact opposite of every non porn video on the Internet. Not only do people (mostly guys) want MORE, we get outraged with a one minute clip. This guy was going berserk because he wasn't getting the full clip online and got duped into watching a preview. How are we supposed to enjoy one minute of porn? It's impossible, just ask our significant others. We need AT LEAST two minutes to finish. It's very important. (Aside: Sorry for the hacky, "guys only last two minutes" joke. I'm only doing it so I can write this aside. I promise it will be the last time. It's so lame. Hardy har har. Get it?!?! Because we're not good at sex! Ugh. Come up with something else, dummy. Go away.) I guarantee if you sent this guy a minute clip of a kid trying to sing Mariah Carey he would say it was too long, but a minute long video of a midget and a gymnast doing the adult stuff? Well, that is a crime on humanity.

More midget. Less everything else.

I have come up with a solution for sending links to my friends. I’m titling everything PORN, so that they watch it. People seem to always make time for porn, but don't make time for watching the video of the rat nosed kid that tripped on the stage during his high school performance of “Guys and Dolls”. He fell! Hilarity ensuing. I want my Internet finds to be seen by everyone so this is the only way. It must be done.

At least I’m not talking about calendars.

Banana Fana Fo Fam, Me My Mo...This Game Is So Stupid.

2011-01-14T11:26:00.000-08:00

I've always heard the phrase, "What's in a name?" Ok, "always" may be pushing it, but at least once I have heard someone say that phrase. I love names. That statement in and of itself really doesn't mean much, but I like the process behind coming up with names. Some people and parents in particular have a grand old time coming up with names. They add things in like "La" or "Sha" or "Mike" in front of first names. Some, on the other hand, like the classic names of yore such as "Thomas”, "Jennifer" and my personal favorite" Ezekiel".

"Man you're a great deer hunter."
"Eh, it wasn't really moving, it was an Ezekiel."

Name Puns!

I prefer the more classic name. Someone asked me the hack question once of "what would you name your kids?" That question has to be in the list of questions you ask when you have nothing else to talk about with someone. Note to everyone. If a person asks you this on a date immediately pay the bill, pretend to go to the bathroom and run. Run like the wind has never run before. Spoiler alert: It won't work out. Since I'm a question answering type of person I answered with the names I like. James and Elizabeth. My explanation is that I like regal names and those names are pretty regal. And my children will not be allowed to shorten them to any nicknames because we will be a regal family full of crowns, various kinds of jam, and toffee made by elves that live in our basement.

Hark! You rubes will be blinded by our stallion’s horns! To the dungeon with your lost souls.

I'm not sure if that was regal or medieval, but I feel like there is some crossover.

Pondering names is definitely on the top of my pondering list. It barely beats out the other questions I have like "Why do we sit when we drive a car," "Why would you drink a non alcoholic beer when beer tastes terrible and it won't help you make bad decisions," and "If wearing rollerblades is gay then if gay people wear rollerblades are they straight and destroying everything we've come to know about the homosexuality of rollerblading?" But thinking about names is much better than those questions. The other day I was watching a football game and I noticed one of the coach’s names was Cam Cameron. At first I couldn't believe that yes, his last name was a first name. Cool indeed. The second thing I then thought was that his first name was Cameron and his last name was Cameron and his full name was Cameron Cameron. Mind? Blown.

Boutros Boutros Ghali has company.

I did what should always be done in the situation. I took a nap. After said nap, I immediately pulled up the world fact book also known as Wikipedia. I looked up Cam Cameron and expected to find out the reason his parents would subject him to the same name twice. I wanted to know if they really lived by the credo, “A name so nice they named him twice." Did they not know this is just a saying and not something that should be acted upon? But in reality I was just sure they were the first ever hippies and wanted to do something that was totally counterculture and weren't going to be held down by the "man" telling them how to name names. When I got to his Wiki page I was shocked and/or appalled by what I saw.

His first name is Malcolm.

Malcolm "Cam" Cameron. Now, Malcolm is a fine name made popular by the one and only Malcolm-Jamal Warner of Theo Huxtable fame. Fun fact. Malcolm-Jamal Warner not only brought hyphenated names to the forefront, he also showed that even with dyslexia you too can get into NYU and have friends named after pests that infest your home and gross you out. Dream big people! The problem I have with Malcolm "Cam" Cameron is that his last name is Cameron. Obviously, when young Malcolm was growing up people were shortening his last name to Cam. Totally understandable. What is unconscionable is that he is now using part of his last name as his first name. People call him Cam Cameron. On his resume it probably says Cam Cameron, if you need a resume to be a coach. It is beyond belief to think someone is using part of their last name as their first

What is actually beyond belief? The truth? Ashton Kutcher's acting career? Discuss.

Why should we even have first names anymore? Let's just call everyone with the last name of Jackson, Jack Jackson. John Johnson. Sin Sinbad. This goes against all the laws and set rules of names. You can't just do whatever you want; it will ruin everything this country has come to stand for. We stand for two named people. Three named people if you're a criminal. Except for David Koresh. Never understood how he stayed at two names. Regardless, Cam Cameron has skirted the system and it's not fair. You can't just do that. He has to use Malcolm or Mal or Malki. Something along those lines. If his friends want to call him Cam that's fine, but Cam Cameron is off the table. Once you take a part of your last name as your first name you cannot then add it back into your last name. It is simple mathematics.

Name - Name + Name = GTFO.

It's simple really.

A Pea Here And A Pea There Makes No Man Happy

2011-01-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

The past couple weeks I've been listening to an inordinate amount of Black Eyed Peas songs. Now while some people will claim ignorance on the group or say things such as "Black Eyed Peas are the biggest sellouts ever. GROSS", if we're honest with ourselves we know that they have some pretty catch tunes. One time I was caught at the gym on the treadmill singing out loud the lyric, "Let's get retarded in here," which was met with equal glares of disapproval from old scholarly types who don't find mentally challenged musical lines amusing and nods of content from juice heads throwing down their 43rd pill of HGH down their throats.

Take 43 and call me in the morning.

The reason I'm bringing up the Black Eyed Peas is because everyone has an opinion on them. Some people like dancing to their music. Some people like talking about the old days when they played underground clubs and didn't conform to the man or sing about Pink Dot. And some people like my mom still think they are weird thing to make when you're at home. She would rather have regular peas. (Aside: I know that was an easy joke and I'm ashamed I made it, but it's my mom's go to joke. "Who sings this song?" "It's the Black Eyed Pe..." 'I would rather have regular peas! I'm funny right? Your mother is funny. Just admit it." Yeah. If when you get older and have kids you start repeating lame food pun jokes over and over again to try to relate to your children count me out. Is this what Carl Winslow did on Family Matters? Hell, no. He would slap Eddie upside the head and tell Steve to get out of his house when he asked for cheese. That's how I'm going to relate to my children. Tough love and the removal of milk based products from my home. It's the only way.)

That's one of the great things about living besides Apple products; the fact that people can talk about anything and have something to say. Of course, most of that is due to Wikipedia, but it still counts. Who doesn't like hearing about someone's take on the reason for the shootings in Arizona or the launch date of the iPhone on Verizon? Not me! Bring it on! So what that all your information was gotten from someone on a message board named "LongDong4UrMom", maybe they know something we don't. It would be a pleasure to hear your take on important subjects except for one place.

The bathroom.

I've already been over people having serious conversations on their cell phone in the bathroom, but I don't want to talk to anybody when I'm standing next to a person in a urinal. I really don't need to listen to you whine about Bush tax cuts being extended while I'm removing excrement from my body. For some reason guys think that just because they can see you that this is a perfect time to talk to a stranger about the hot waitress at the bar, the score of the game, or what is on your t shirt. Is it unreasonable to think that when my Lyndon Baines Johnson is out that I don't want to look at you? Is it? Because if it is I will gladly dissect the Chicago Bears failure to pass the ball on 4th down of a game they're winning by 23 points.

Never go against a bear. Except for Boo Boo. What a dope.

Let's take last night for example. I was wearing my lovely penguin shirt as illustrated below and some guy walks up to me while I'm peeing and says "Nice shirt bro, you a penguin fan?" What does this mean? Who ISN'T a fan of penguins? Well, if when you were 8 you went to Antarctica, were roofied by a group (gaggle? murder?) of penguins, and had your personal belongings then sold to the highest commander of penguins, then yes, I could see you not being a fan of penguins. How could you not like something with impeccable fashion sense and the ability to nosedive in a moment's notice? The only thing that rivals would be Michael Phelps in a tuxedo and we all love Michael Phelps.

USA! USA! USA!

I didn't know what to say to this guy so I said, "yeah, like penguins," while trying not to make eye contact. I knew he wasn't hitting on me since he wore his baseball hat slightly askew and was wearing a t shirt that had a baby chicken and a magnet on it with a plus sign. It was the Classic Concentration of t-shirts. Due to my crazy puzzle solving skills I deduced that his t-shirt was calling him a chick magnet. Since I knew no self respecting gay man would be wearing those two articles of clothing I knew I was not attracted to me. My icy response didn’t stop him so he went on with his banter about how he saw a penguin once when he was in Alaska and tried to pet it and it ran away. Are there penguins in Alaska? No. Did I bring this up? No. Did he just try to make up a story to talk to me? Yes. Sure he might have issues with being alone and he might just be really friendly, but there’s a time to be friendly. The supermarket perhaps. Maybe at the park. Maybe at Friendly’s. Anywhere, but the urinal. Why do people think this is acceptable? If it was written into the Ten Commandments this would have never happened

Too soon?

I'm not sure what exactly goes on in women's bathrooms besides walking around topless and touching each other's boobs all over the place (saw that in movies), but I know this a problem in the men's room. It must stop. It is a disaster of the utmost proportions. There should be signs posted and warning lights illuminating. Someone make it stop.

Or we’re going to be hearing “pea” jokes for a long time.

(There is a penguin on that shirt. Just use your imagination. I named him Pumar. Pumar the Penguin)

Bottoms Up, Tops Down, That's The Way This Rap Don't Drown (The Remix)

2011-01-06T10:03:00.000-08:00

This morning while driving to work I was reminded that when I was younger I wanted to be a rapper. Actually, let's just tell the truth, I STILL want to be a rapper to the point that sometimes I will turn the radio down to see if I know the entire rap verses to songs. I'll say this.

Jay-Z, you've won this round.

I'm pretty sure for any kid growing up in a middle class family in Suburbia, U.S.A. becoming a rapper was on the top 5 things to do before you die list. And if you weren't that popular in school?!?! Well, shoot, becoming a rapper was probably second on your list after touching a developed boob. Think about it, anyone that knew ALL the lyrics to U Can't Touch This in middle school was the coolest person you ever met. So it was pretty obvious that becoming a rapper was a must to get me out of the hell that was Gifted and Talented class.

"Hey Kelly, I overheard you at lunch. 24 times 17 is actually 408, I did it all in my head. Impressive, huh?"
"Um, you STILL Can't Touch...(points) This."

While I was working on my full fledged rap career an important piece was missing from the equation. I needed a new name. I hated my elongated 16 letter full name as it was so I needed something short and to the point. MC Hammer, Busta Rhymes, Notorious BIG, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, these were the names that would get you noticed. Even though I still have not seen Dr. Dre's PHD anywhere. Where did he get it from? University of Phoenix? Do they offer PHD's in "gettin' down"? Man, they got everything over there. Regardless, Dr. Dre's medical background is not the point. The point is that I needed a new name and it had to be rad so that when I made it big I wasn't stuck with something dumb like "Vanilla Ice". Who would name themselves after a horrendous mid afternoon-snack that Robert Hanson's grandmother would keep stocked in the fridge because she couldn't have anything too sweet?

He should have went with Paint Butter.

Coming up with a name is not an easy task. I went through many variations of names that played off my intials starting with DJ R-Nice to RastaSerious which made no sense at all since I wasn't Jamaican and didn't have the slightest clue what harshing one's mellow actually meant. After weeks of deliberating (which just means scribbling things on the back of my biology notebook) I settled on R Smooth. Partly because I thought it sounded cool and partly because I could spell it ARE or ARRRR like a pirate and I was really into pirates when I was 11.

I wore an eye patch to school once.

Sidenote: I had no friends.

As you can see I didn't become a rapper or a hip hop star. Also it seems that in the last 20 years rapper and hip hop artist became the same thing. I'm guessing the change happened somewhere between the 43rd time a rapper said "phat ass" and the 123rd time a hip hop star said "all up in the club." It's probably best to combine the two after all the confusion. Phat asses all up in the club just make it very difficult to distinguish between job titles sometimes.

The reason I was reminiscing today is that I heard a fantastic new voice on the hip hop scene by the name of Trey Songz. That's right Trey Songz. Listen, since The Sugarhill Gang made rap mainstream we've had some great names in the hip hop industry. Besides the one's I've mentioned, the 90s and 2000s gave us: Eminem, Ludacris, LL Cool J, Missy Misdemeanor Elliot, 490 names playing off the made up word Li'l, and a guy that named himself after a person who carries a flashlight, has no real authority, and cleans up your popcorn (Usher). Now we have Trey Songz.

We've given up.

He basically named himself after what he does. He sings songs. Could this get any lazier? The only equivalent I could think of was if you went to a doctor and their last name was Checkup. Or Surgery. Or Thisisaninvasiveprocedurethatisexpensive. "So yeah, I went through med school and I just thought it would get me more published if I went ahead and changed my last name to Dr. Health. Because that's just what I do. I'm all up in yo' health business. Holla!"

I may have mixed two professions there.

I would have loved to hear Trey Songz rationale when he was becoming an artist and was thinking about changing his name. Shockingly, Trey Songz is not his real name by the way.

Trey - "Yo, guys I need to change my name because Tremaine doesn't have that certain je ne sais quoi."

Friend -"Jenny who now?"

Trey - "Let's stay on topic here. What do you guys think my new hip hop name should be? Suggestions?"

Friend- "How about just Trey. One word names work, like Seal. Or Triple Trey. I like those."

Trey- "I think I need two names though. I got it. Trey Songs. Cause that's what I sing! Can I get a high five?"

Friend - "Um, what? Your name is going to be what you do? That seems lame. You need to spice it up."

Trey- "Yeah, you're right. Oh, oh, I got it. I'll make the last "s" a "z"! S-O-N-G-Z! Man, that is so cool. Misspellings on purpose are the hippest thing out there!"

Friend- "What?"

Trey- "Yeah, like spelling cool with a "K" or Extreme with a capital "X." X GONNA GIVE IT TO YA!"

Friend- "Trey, are you..."

Trey- "Gotta go make a hit. Trey Songz in the hizzey!"

This is what our nation has come down to. Unoriginal fake names. Maybe at some point I'll restart my rap career and R Smooth will bring it back. Back from where? I don't know. But probably not Gifted and Talented class.

I just wanted to touch that.

One Word Is All We Need to Survive. (Also Food and Water, But That Doesn't Get My Point Across)

2011-01-04T12:41:00.000-08:00

(Guess who's back, back again, I am back, tell a friend. Tell a lot of friends. Only the cool ones though. I don't need uncool people around here. We already have enough of them. Me. For 2011 I'm going back to my roots. The place where it all began! Now if only I was writing from my sublet studio apartment with no oven would we come totally full circle.)

Anyone that knows me knows that I am a lot of things. I’m a human. Aside from that fact I can’t really think of anything else that I am. As the world famous Popeye the Sailor Man once said, “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam and Wimpy, you said you would pay me back today for that hamburger I gave you last week. I will not fall for your clever ruse again!” At what point do people realize that Wimpy isn’t going to pay them back? It has to be by the 4th Tuesday where you haven’t received your money from him that you probably wouldn’t give him a hamburger any more. I’m still debating as to which is more outlandish. Constantly giving Wimpy hamburgers and receiving no money in return or the coyote running off a cliff, holding in mid air for a second, looking down, and THEN falling to his inevitable doom.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me enough times for a running gag on a cartoon where no one questions us, shame on the American public.

But back to me. The one thing I’m definitely not is a grammarian or wordsmith of any kind. I don’t really care for the detail that goes into finding the proper places for commas or whatever a semicolon is supposed to do, but there are some words that I like that make me think. One day I was sitting around and thinking about the word “green”. I started thinking about where it came from and who thought of it. Then I started thinking about how weird it sounds if you say it over and over again. Go ahead try it. I’ll wait. Ok, I’m done waiting. After doing all of that thinking I realized that I hadn’t left the house in 5 days because I was pontificating about something on the color spectrum.

I’m sure this is what Martin Luther King Jr. went through. Color wars.

Since I like to dissect words, I also like to think about what people say to me while they’re saying them. Whenever I’m having a conversation with someone there are just certain times you don’t know what to say that person. In some instances it’s obvious what you should say to the person. If they tell you that their dog died you say “I’m sorry to hear that.” If they tell you that they can’t find their keys you say “I’m sorry to hear that.” If they say that they wish you were at their party you say, “I’m sorry to hear that.” If they say they caught their significant other sleeping with a midget that oddly resembled the miniaturized version of a young Seal you say, “What?!!? Totally Cool! Um, I mean, sorry to hear that.”

I would get my Seal cassette tape signed. Retro autographs.

In most conversations there is always a back and forth and one of us profusely apologizing for something the person is going through. That’s the human way. Lately I’ve noticed that there is one word that there is no comeback for. No saying you’re sorry or that you would like give that guy a piece of your mind. Nope there is absolutely, positively no response when someone says…

That is unacceptable.

There is nothing you can possibly say to someone after they say that to you. After someone spouts off the “that is unacceptable” phrase you just have to sit there and take it. What are you going to say? “Well, you see, it was kind of acceptable because you took some of…” “SILENCE! Your insolence will not be tolerated any further!” When someone says something is unacceptable all you can do is silently nod your head. You can’t even drop the “I’m sorry to hear that” phrase back at them because it makes no sense. Nothing makes any sense at this point. That’s it. Conversation over. Feel free to move about the cabin and hang your head in shame.

We’ve all had those days where we’re talking to someone, but we don’t want to and can’t figure out a way to get out of the conversation. All you have to do is say “that is unacceptable.” Bam. There is no response for that and you can go on and get rejected by every girl at the bar because they don’t accept your coin behind the ear magic trick since it’s “so hack”. Whatever mom.

Unacceptable has become the ultimate game changer in American linguistics. It makes you seem tough and tells people to get out of your face. It’s a jack of all trades word. When “they” came up with this word “they” probably didn’t know how much it would affect all of us. Well, it does. It’s an abrupt stop on a lame conversational rollercoaster like the wooden one they still have at Six Flags. A wooden rollercoaster is as exciting as watching the coyote not catch the roadrunner for the 450th time even though he has explosives.

Now, THAT is unacceptable.

On the 7th Day, Man had Dinner

2009-09-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

(thanks to everyone for the kind words on the last post. Let's not have any more of that around here)

Overrated.

Birthday Dinners.

I have never for the life of me understood where the fascination with birthday dinners has come from. I'm not talking about your family taking you out to Olive Garden on your 16th birthday while you see a bunch of senior girls staring at you because you're with your family and they're talking about the pillow fight and mud wrestling competition they're holding the next night. Because that's just what senior girls in high school do.

Saw it on TV.

No, I'm talking about having a birthday and then inviting your friends to come out to said birthday dinner. I don't get it. When exactly did this whole birthday dinner thing start? Was it back in the early 1400s and one of the Kings was having a birthday so he sent out invites? "Who doth join me for a celebration feast of the passage out of my mothers womb?!?!. The finest cheeses and buxom ladies will be available for you all to gorge your hearty mouths on. Come suckle the teet of the finest young wench in all the land. NAY! The Kingdom! WE SHALL DOTH BE MEN!"

Best E-Vite Ever.

I'll RSVP that with my very own witty comment, thankyouverymuch. Can I bring a +2?

You see every year a couple of my friends throw themselves birthday parties. Whatever, who doesn't? But before the party there always is an e-mail sent out about the birthday dinner and having everyone meet up. Since, I'm a cool and hip guy I get invited to these things. I go and have a good time, but lately I've been wondering why we even do this dance. It's not that I don't like going to birthday dinners, its just that it reeks of self importance. "Hey, its my birthday, come join me and about 15 people you don't know and a couple that you do so you can sit at a long table that the restaurant had to specially order so we can all pretend to be friends!"

I think my favorite maneuver of the dinner is when the table is inevitably not ready and someone throws a fit. "How could the table not be ready! We called like 4 days ago!" Well, how about this? Um, you see in the restaurant business they usually aren't prepared for groups of 30. So they have to make sure their other patrons are gone, assemble a small army or workers, build the Taj Mahal of dining tables, play paper, rock, scissor for the sad sack waitress that gets that entire table and then bring you out a Mai Tai.

HOW ABOUT YOU LAY OFF.

Anyways, I'm not against the group of 5 or 6 friend dinners, its when you start expanding it to 10-15 that it gets ridiculous. Really? A 15 person dinner? Who are you? King Arthur? No one at any time should ever go to dinner with 15 people and here are 4 reasons.

1. Only you know all the other people. I always love the one person that is there by themselves that knows no one trying to make conversation. Unless that person is the worlds biggest extrovert it is the most awkward situation ever. " Why yes, I've known Bob for 10 years. Oh, why haven't we met? Because he doesn't let me out of the closet except once a year. I like to eat sand!"

2. The table is way too big. Seriously, every time I'm at one of these things I end up making jokes about the other end of the table and this is what I hear, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" It's not even a mean thing, they honestly have no idea what we said because we're sitting about 42 miles away from them. They should hand out walkie talkies. The worst is actually sitting at the non funny end of the table. So while everyone is laughing, you're cursing yourself slabbing on the 9th packet of butter on your hard sourdough roll that tastes like metal.

3. The Bill. Oh the bill. I'm not cheap by any stretch and some people call me reckless with money, but I hate the bill at these things. You end up paying more than your share and someone ends up complaining. That someone being the person that got a salad and the bottomless glass of Sprite. Then someone just says Split it and then thats done. Listen, when you go to a birthday dinner whatever you eat makes no difference. You're still going to end up paying way more than you got. Just deal with it. You must as well run the tab up for everyone else because you will split it when you have a small sovereign nation dining at the Shrimp Shack. Don't drink that Sprite. Drink a whole handle of Jack Daniels. You're all splitting it!

4. "Oh no it's your birthday, you don't have to pay." Like I said, I'm not cheap, but this bothers me. How about this instead, "You invited everyone here and if you didn't we would just buy you a shot at the bar, but now we're paying 50 bucks for a dinner and then drinks. You SHOULD PAY." Remember in elementary school when it was our birthday we brought in the cupcakes for the class? I don't remember Little Tommy saying," Hey mom, it's his birthday! We should pay!"

You know why?!

BECAUSE THAT IS THE DUMBEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD.

What kind of country do we live in that someone invites other people out to things and then gets out of paying the bill? This is a great scam. In fact, I've decided to get 12 groups of friends that won't know each other and have a birthday every month. It's cool! They'll say I don't have to pay! Brilliance!

Then my favorite part is whoever's birthday it is does that dance where they say, "Ok, I'll pay" when they have no intention of paying. Well, this is what's happening next time. When that person says they'll pay I'm standing up and saying "Damn right you'll pay! If it wasn't for you I would be getting ready right now with some Brute and Drakkar Noir panty dropping cologne mix and instead I'm paying 35 dollars for your 4 Spicy Salmon rolls!"

My birthday is in 3 weeks.

Bring a wallet.

It's not hate. I just really really really don't like you.

2009-09-24T13:47:00.000-07:00

I don't like the word hate, but I do like the word dislike. On this blog I've talked about far more things that I like than dislike. Gossip Girl! Redheads! Katy Perry! Power of positive thinking! So for one day only, here is a list of 25 things I dislike. If you do any of these things or have them, well, God speed.

1. People that take two or more days to text back. This just in, it's not 1971.
2. Answering a question with a question
3. No turn on red.
4. Girls ignoring friends when hanging out with their boyfriends
5. Guys parading their girlfriends around to show them off
6. Making fun of people, then being sensitive when people make fun of you
7. Phil Collin's clothing choices
8. The cell phone talker at the gym
9. Bug Eyed Sunglasses
10. Reverse jinxes
11. Posting random pictures of celebrities on Facebook
12. Commenters that agree with everything on blogs
13. Telling someone what to write
14. "Do as I say, not as I do"
15. One word e-mails
16. Only reaching out to someone when something is wrong
17. Braggarts
18. "Playing Devil's advocate"
19. Name Droppers
20. "I like everything but country"
21. Not sticking up for your friends
22. The American Judicial System
23. Parks and Recreation
24. Unsupportive dicks.
25. Top 25 lists.