9/29/2004
I'll Buy That
It's not an overstatement to say that Americans will pretty much buy anything. For every cockamamie product idea, there will be a million slack-jawed consumers forking over fists-full of cash -- or by conveniently paying over 5 easy installments. Just flip on the TV late at night, and you'll see all sorts of "amazing" products you can order. But the problem goes deeper than exercise machine fads or knives that can cut through your car's carburetor yet still slice tomatoes paper thin (just in case you feel like doing both at once, as is your wont).
No, there are myriad ridiculous products that have gone mainstream -- and not just in issues of "Sky Mall" magazine. So mainstream, in fact, we don't even realize how preposterous they really are. So I've started a handy guide to point out some of the more prevalent scams so we can all just say "NO!" and reclaim some of our consumer dignity.
#1 - I don't care what your excuse is: You do not need a briefcase case. Have you seen these things? It's like buying a larger backpack to put your backpack in. Not to be too elementary about it, but a briefcase is made to hold things. Stuff goes inside it, not the other way around. You don't build a cabinet to hold your dresser. And just when the idea couldn't be any more needless, I've seen a suede briefcase case. So logically, you'd need a briefcase case case in the event of rain.
#2 - Let's be frank, here. There are no such things as "essential oils." These products are completely made up. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Lavender Root is not essential for a human body to live. Neither is Bog Myrtle (and no, I didn't make those up). If it were essential for our bodies to be filled and/or slathered with these substances, we'd already be oozing them. Yet everything from shampoo to lotion to those useless decorative "guest soaps" have them. This same rule also applies to any product ending with the word "extract."
#3 - I would say that I've been in a fair amount of vehicles. And never once, when sitting in the driver's seat, have I been so far away from the stereo that I've needed a remote control for it. And how is having to stare at tiny unlit buttons on a remote any safer that moving your arm 15 inches to the right? Has it come to the point where Americans are so lazy that any sort of nominal movement requires mechanical assistance? Next thing you know we'll be buying remote controls for flushing the toilet.
#4 - Bottled water is bad enough. It's a kajillion dollar industry, and that's even after the companies have admitted straight out that their products are literally tap water in a pretty bottle. But I do recognize there are legitimate times to buy it. There is, however, no reason at all to buy the bottled water that is what they call "oxygen-enhanced." It's true. They're selling bottled water with oxygen added. What, is it H-3-O? Or do they just not fill the bottle up the whole way? "Shake vigorously to activate the extra oxygen!!"
#5 - Have you ever been in the position where you said to yourself, "Dang...I wish I had the ability to take blurry, low-resolution photos the size of a postage stamp. Too bad I'm on my cell phone." Neither have I. Yet, inexplicably, we have camera phones. Just because two non-related products can be fused together to make one low-quality product doesn't mean it should be. I'll be happy to wait until next year when Huffy unveils its new toaster bike.
Well, I could go on, but I won't because I'm getting depressed. But there is a silver lining here: Although stupid products make me sad for our society at large, it does have a promising message. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to get rich in this country. It just takes an idea so ridiculous, so preposterous, and so backwards that it will get people lining up in droves to buy it. Just ask the makers of the Pet Rock.
No, there are myriad ridiculous products that have gone mainstream -- and not just in issues of "Sky Mall" magazine. So mainstream, in fact, we don't even realize how preposterous they really are. So I've started a handy guide to point out some of the more prevalent scams so we can all just say "NO!" and reclaim some of our consumer dignity.
#1 - I don't care what your excuse is: You do not need a briefcase case. Have you seen these things? It's like buying a larger backpack to put your backpack in. Not to be too elementary about it, but a briefcase is made to hold things. Stuff goes inside it, not the other way around. You don't build a cabinet to hold your dresser. And just when the idea couldn't be any more needless, I've seen a suede briefcase case. So logically, you'd need a briefcase case case in the event of rain.
#2 - Let's be frank, here. There are no such things as "essential oils." These products are completely made up. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Lavender Root is not essential for a human body to live. Neither is Bog Myrtle (and no, I didn't make those up). If it were essential for our bodies to be filled and/or slathered with these substances, we'd already be oozing them. Yet everything from shampoo to lotion to those useless decorative "guest soaps" have them. This same rule also applies to any product ending with the word "extract."
#3 - I would say that I've been in a fair amount of vehicles. And never once, when sitting in the driver's seat, have I been so far away from the stereo that I've needed a remote control for it. And how is having to stare at tiny unlit buttons on a remote any safer that moving your arm 15 inches to the right? Has it come to the point where Americans are so lazy that any sort of nominal movement requires mechanical assistance? Next thing you know we'll be buying remote controls for flushing the toilet.
#4 - Bottled water is bad enough. It's a kajillion dollar industry, and that's even after the companies have admitted straight out that their products are literally tap water in a pretty bottle. But I do recognize there are legitimate times to buy it. There is, however, no reason at all to buy the bottled water that is what they call "oxygen-enhanced." It's true. They're selling bottled water with oxygen added. What, is it H-3-O? Or do they just not fill the bottle up the whole way? "Shake vigorously to activate the extra oxygen!!"
#5 - Have you ever been in the position where you said to yourself, "Dang...I wish I had the ability to take blurry, low-resolution photos the size of a postage stamp. Too bad I'm on my cell phone." Neither have I. Yet, inexplicably, we have camera phones. Just because two non-related products can be fused together to make one low-quality product doesn't mean it should be. I'll be happy to wait until next year when Huffy unveils its new toaster bike.
Well, I could go on, but I won't because I'm getting depressed. But there is a silver lining here: Although stupid products make me sad for our society at large, it does have a promising message. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to get rich in this country. It just takes an idea so ridiculous, so preposterous, and so backwards that it will get people lining up in droves to buy it. Just ask the makers of the Pet Rock.
An Open Letter to Paris Hilton
Dear Paris;
Congratulations on your success. I fully realize the hardships, pitfalls, dead-ends, rejections, struggles, and self-doubts that pave the road to becoming an international sensation with no discernable talents, abilities, or career.
Lesser people may mock your ascent into celebrity. They may natter and cluck about how you have it easy and endlessly question, "Seriously...but what does she do?" But I know better. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to look back at a life lived never having to equip yourself with a "skill set" or "area of ability." Never having to be bothered with a life plan that looks any further than finding an oil-based tanning cream that complements the millions of unearned dollars in your trust fund. Waking up in a cold sweat hoping to God that the style editors at US Weekly choose the photo where your micro-skirted leg is thrust slightly forward to the left and not the right.
Oh Paris, I feel for you. Ridicule all they want, but few know the gut-wrenching agony of skating on your family's hard work and name recognition. Little do they realize that nothing in this life comes for free, but that it must be bought by your father and preferably wrapped in a Tiffany box.
Fashion may be fickle, but you, my dear Paris, show that oddly beaky features, a body that looks like a malnourished stork, a spectacularly vacuous expression, and the willingness to let people take nearly-naked pictures of you will last forever.
God speed, Paris.
Lovingly, Todd Werkhoven
Congratulations on your success. I fully realize the hardships, pitfalls, dead-ends, rejections, struggles, and self-doubts that pave the road to becoming an international sensation with no discernable talents, abilities, or career.
Lesser people may mock your ascent into celebrity. They may natter and cluck about how you have it easy and endlessly question, "Seriously...but what does she do?" But I know better. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to look back at a life lived never having to equip yourself with a "skill set" or "area of ability." Never having to be bothered with a life plan that looks any further than finding an oil-based tanning cream that complements the millions of unearned dollars in your trust fund. Waking up in a cold sweat hoping to God that the style editors at US Weekly choose the photo where your micro-skirted leg is thrust slightly forward to the left and not the right.
Oh Paris, I feel for you. Ridicule all they want, but few know the gut-wrenching agony of skating on your family's hard work and name recognition. Little do they realize that nothing in this life comes for free, but that it must be bought by your father and preferably wrapped in a Tiffany box.
Fashion may be fickle, but you, my dear Paris, show that oddly beaky features, a body that looks like a malnourished stork, a spectacularly vacuous expression, and the willingness to let people take nearly-naked pictures of you will last forever.
God speed, Paris.
Lovingly, Todd Werkhoven
9/20/2004
My Own Personal "Office Space"
So I got a part-time job filling in as a temporary writer at a county-run public service-type place. It's totally "Office Space," too. Cubicle farm, flourescent light flickering that sickly yellow color, everything beige, posters with a lovely picture of the ocean and the word "Strength" at the bottom, that sort of thing. Oh, and the general feeling of oppressive malaise and regret.
So instead of writing about what it's like to work there, I'm going to post an informative newspaper article about a place that is similar -- yet legally and distinctly separate -- to the office that I'm working in.
Area Workplace's 'Diversity' Poster Provokes Eye-Rolling
(Portland, OR)
According to workers at the area Kinko's Copy Center in downtown Portland, the poster in the employee lounge promoting the positive effects of diversity evokes nothing but sarcastic eye-rolling.
"It's so ridiculous," said Kinko's worker Tim Sproul. "The picture on this poster has like 6 people on it and they're hanging out or something. There's a white guy, a black lady, an older Hispanic man, a Chinese woman, a guy in a wheelchair, and an Indian guy. And apparently they're on their way to the gym or something because the guy in the wheelchair is holding a basketball. And they all have these big cheesy smiles on like they're the best of friends. This is by far one of the stupidest things I have ever seen."
Under the large photograph of the group runs the words "Diversity -- It's Our Game!"
Office manager Shawn Hollings sees this poster and others like it as positive, uplifting message for the employees. The employees see the poster as a painful reminder of how out of touch Hollings is.
"Never in my life have I seen a group of people like this hanging out," said Jennifer Colton, another employee at the Portland Kinko's. "It's like it's a picture from another dimension or stock photography from the scary fictitious land of the politically correct. The more I look at this poster, the more it makes me want to put my fist through the wall."
Loren Wester, the only African-American and minority working at this Kinko's, also expressed his utter hatred for the poster. "I'm all for diversity," he said. "But the fact is, people hang around other people who are like them and share the same experiences as them. I can't image one plausible reason on God's green earth that this group of people would be spending time with each other, let alone be on their way to a basketball game. Really. A white guy and a black lady, sure. I could see that. I could see an Indian guy and a Chinese woman. But let me tell you: never in the history of the world has a white guy, a black lady, a older Hispanic man, a Chinese woman, an Indian guy, and a guy in a wheelchair ever formed a spontaneous friendship over a pick-up game of basketball. The whole concept makes me ill."
The employees plan to continue to make fun of not only the posters that Hollings puts up, but also Hollings himself. Ironically, the complete hatred for the pandering message of the poster has brought the employees closer together.
"It seems our absolute disdain for this mawkish poster has caused us to talk to one another, whereas before everyone just sort of kept to themselves," said Wester.
As for Hollings, he plans to continue posting what he calls "Positive Life Messages" in the employee lounge. "I think a poster like this one gives us all a goal. It's like last month's poster of the little kitty hanging from the tree limb with the caption 'Hang In There.' It really makes you think, 'You know what? If that little kitty can hang in there, then so can I.' And the diversity poster makes you think, 'From now on, I will make diversity my game.'"
So instead of writing about what it's like to work there, I'm going to post an informative newspaper article about a place that is similar -- yet legally and distinctly separate -- to the office that I'm working in.
Area Workplace's 'Diversity' Poster Provokes Eye-Rolling
(Portland, OR)
According to workers at the area Kinko's Copy Center in downtown Portland, the poster in the employee lounge promoting the positive effects of diversity evokes nothing but sarcastic eye-rolling.
"It's so ridiculous," said Kinko's worker Tim Sproul. "The picture on this poster has like 6 people on it and they're hanging out or something. There's a white guy, a black lady, an older Hispanic man, a Chinese woman, a guy in a wheelchair, and an Indian guy. And apparently they're on their way to the gym or something because the guy in the wheelchair is holding a basketball. And they all have these big cheesy smiles on like they're the best of friends. This is by far one of the stupidest things I have ever seen."
Under the large photograph of the group runs the words "Diversity -- It's Our Game!"
Office manager Shawn Hollings sees this poster and others like it as positive, uplifting message for the employees. The employees see the poster as a painful reminder of how out of touch Hollings is.
"Never in my life have I seen a group of people like this hanging out," said Jennifer Colton, another employee at the Portland Kinko's. "It's like it's a picture from another dimension or stock photography from the scary fictitious land of the politically correct. The more I look at this poster, the more it makes me want to put my fist through the wall."
Loren Wester, the only African-American and minority working at this Kinko's, also expressed his utter hatred for the poster. "I'm all for diversity," he said. "But the fact is, people hang around other people who are like them and share the same experiences as them. I can't image one plausible reason on God's green earth that this group of people would be spending time with each other, let alone be on their way to a basketball game. Really. A white guy and a black lady, sure. I could see that. I could see an Indian guy and a Chinese woman. But let me tell you: never in the history of the world has a white guy, a black lady, a older Hispanic man, a Chinese woman, an Indian guy, and a guy in a wheelchair ever formed a spontaneous friendship over a pick-up game of basketball. The whole concept makes me ill."
The employees plan to continue to make fun of not only the posters that Hollings puts up, but also Hollings himself. Ironically, the complete hatred for the pandering message of the poster has brought the employees closer together.
"It seems our absolute disdain for this mawkish poster has caused us to talk to one another, whereas before everyone just sort of kept to themselves," said Wester.
As for Hollings, he plans to continue posting what he calls "Positive Life Messages" in the employee lounge. "I think a poster like this one gives us all a goal. It's like last month's poster of the little kitty hanging from the tree limb with the caption 'Hang In There.' It really makes you think, 'You know what? If that little kitty can hang in there, then so can I.' And the diversity poster makes you think, 'From now on, I will make diversity my game.'"
9/16/2004
Update in the Supermarket
Ok, so I hate to rehash something that I already wrote about, but I just got back from the grocery store, and I paid extra-special attention in the butter aisle. Here are two of the greatest product names I believe I have ever seen:
"Could It Be Butter?"
"Butter, It Is Not"
Obviously, I got the "Butter, It Is Not," because whenever I go for artificial vegetable spread, I like to think that Yoda is the one who named it...
"Could It Be Butter?"
"Butter, It Is Not"
Obviously, I got the "Butter, It Is Not," because whenever I go for artificial vegetable spread, I like to think that Yoda is the one who named it...
To Whom it May Concern
Not to sound too much like an Anglophile, but I am so thankful that I was raised to speak English. Not that there's anything wrong with other languages (extra points go to any dialect that includes clicking and popping sounds), but it's just that the English language doesn't make any sense, and I can't imagine trying to learn it from scratch as an adult.
My Junior High English teacher used to say that the English language was formed by two medieval linguists banished to a tower and forced to create a new language. As retribution for their punishment, they cobbled together elements from other languages and tied them together with arbitrary rules that may or may not apply depending on whether or not they felt like they should apply. This is the only thing I can think of to explain the English language. After all, any language that uses the word "obfuscate" to mean "needlessly confusing" has some serious issues.
I'm a writer and I still rarely know what's going on -- and I'm paid to know. For example, Microsoft Word is always harping at me for breaking rules I didn't even know existed -- and not even it knows how to fix the problems. I always get that infernal "No Suggestion" remark in the grammar dialog box. So let me get this straight: not even a computer in the year 2004 can figure out the English language? I'll make a deal with you, Word, if you can't figure it out, don't look at me, ok? Good then.
I also think it cruel to teach schoolchildren that whole "I before E except after C" scam of a rule -- which even teachers don't understand, because they're always throwing in nonsensical exceptions which I vaguely recall involving weighing my neighbors. But when neither sheiks nor foreigners seize weird species or financiers, it's safe to assume that educators are just making things up on the fly.
Grammar-related rules aren't the only thing confusing about the English language. We have smaller and more insidious matters like silent letters. Silent letters? Only in American are we so egregiously wasteful in everything we do that it even affects our spelling. Think of the word "queue." You can hack off the last 4 letters of that baby and still pronounce it the same way. Did someone feel bad that we weren't using the letter "u" enough? And why is it that it's acceptable to make things more "quaint" by adding extra letters to words like "olde" and "shoppe"?
But the biggest downfall of the English language is also the savior (or "saviour" if you're British): don't feel bad if you can't figure it out, because nobody else can either. (Oops...there's the "I before E" scam again.) Actually, the fact that no one else knows what's going on will only make you look smarter. For example, start dropping "whom" into your sentences. Guaranteed, it will make the person you're talking to think, "Wow...he must be smart. He knows when and how to use 'whom'!"
In the end, the more we get things wrong, the more they become right. Remember how it used to be an abomination to end a sentence with a preposition (which also always bothered me, as no one could ever tell me why)? Never fear! We don't have to follow that rule anymore. The English language is liquid and ever changing, so eventually what is wrong will become right. When today's generation of youth become tomorrow's AARP members, we will hear Presidential speeches that use phrases such as, "I be all up in the UN Secretary Gizz-eneral's fizz-ace," and "Keep it Real" will be how you are sworn in in Court. It's all just a matter of time.
So be thankful that you already know the language. You may not understand the difference between "lain" and "laid," but rest assured no one is going to quiz you on it. It also makes it easier to feel superior to others; all you have to do is teach yourself a couple of obscure rules, which will cause people to whisper in reverent tones, "Wow...you should be on 'Jeopardy'!" And as long as you're out there learning things, go ahead and let me know why in the world the abbreviation for "pound" is "LB."
My Junior High English teacher used to say that the English language was formed by two medieval linguists banished to a tower and forced to create a new language. As retribution for their punishment, they cobbled together elements from other languages and tied them together with arbitrary rules that may or may not apply depending on whether or not they felt like they should apply. This is the only thing I can think of to explain the English language. After all, any language that uses the word "obfuscate" to mean "needlessly confusing" has some serious issues.
I'm a writer and I still rarely know what's going on -- and I'm paid to know. For example, Microsoft Word is always harping at me for breaking rules I didn't even know existed -- and not even it knows how to fix the problems. I always get that infernal "No Suggestion" remark in the grammar dialog box. So let me get this straight: not even a computer in the year 2004 can figure out the English language? I'll make a deal with you, Word, if you can't figure it out, don't look at me, ok? Good then.
I also think it cruel to teach schoolchildren that whole "I before E except after C" scam of a rule -- which even teachers don't understand, because they're always throwing in nonsensical exceptions which I vaguely recall involving weighing my neighbors. But when neither sheiks nor foreigners seize weird species or financiers, it's safe to assume that educators are just making things up on the fly.
Grammar-related rules aren't the only thing confusing about the English language. We have smaller and more insidious matters like silent letters. Silent letters? Only in American are we so egregiously wasteful in everything we do that it even affects our spelling. Think of the word "queue." You can hack off the last 4 letters of that baby and still pronounce it the same way. Did someone feel bad that we weren't using the letter "u" enough? And why is it that it's acceptable to make things more "quaint" by adding extra letters to words like "olde" and "shoppe"?
But the biggest downfall of the English language is also the savior (or "saviour" if you're British): don't feel bad if you can't figure it out, because nobody else can either. (Oops...there's the "I before E" scam again.) Actually, the fact that no one else knows what's going on will only make you look smarter. For example, start dropping "whom" into your sentences. Guaranteed, it will make the person you're talking to think, "Wow...he must be smart. He knows when and how to use 'whom'!"
In the end, the more we get things wrong, the more they become right. Remember how it used to be an abomination to end a sentence with a preposition (which also always bothered me, as no one could ever tell me why)? Never fear! We don't have to follow that rule anymore. The English language is liquid and ever changing, so eventually what is wrong will become right. When today's generation of youth become tomorrow's AARP members, we will hear Presidential speeches that use phrases such as, "I be all up in the UN Secretary Gizz-eneral's fizz-ace," and "Keep it Real" will be how you are sworn in in Court. It's all just a matter of time.
So be thankful that you already know the language. You may not understand the difference between "lain" and "laid," but rest assured no one is going to quiz you on it. It also makes it easier to feel superior to others; all you have to do is teach yourself a couple of obscure rules, which will cause people to whisper in reverent tones, "Wow...you should be on 'Jeopardy'!" And as long as you're out there learning things, go ahead and let me know why in the world the abbreviation for "pound" is "LB."
9/13/2004
Something to Sleep On.
Sleep is a grand, glorious thing. I love sleep. Unfortunately, sleep doesn't love me back. It takes my love and, much like a killer whale tossing a seal around before consuming it, toys with it relentlessly.
It usually takes me an hour to an hour-and-a-half to fall asleep, and even after that I wake up just about every hour. To make matters worse, when I actually do start falling asleep I dream that I'm still awake. So even when I'm sleeping, I'm still all upset that I'm awake. Very restful. What's even more upsetting are the bizarre things that pop into your head when you're in that curious state in between sleeping and not sleeping. Suddenly you'll be having a very lucid and informative conversation with an emu wearing leather pants, which at the time seems to be completely and utterly rational. Then you wake yourself up and are thrown into a weird shame cycle wondering why on God's green earth your brain had the capacity to conjure up an image of a talking, leather pants-wearing emu at the drop of a hat.
Ironically, the only time I fall into a deep, satisfying sleep is about 7 minutes before my alarm starts going off. By that time, sunlight is cheerily streaming into the bedroom and birds are chirping their happy "The Morning is Here, The Morning is Here!" song. Nothing in the world angers me more. And makes me wish I was a gun owner.
Another matter to contend with in the morning is the oxymoron of the alarm clock. On one hand, the sound of an alarm clock going off is one of those universally loathed noises. On the other hand, there's the snooze alarm. Ah, the snooze alarm. 9 minutes of sheer joy. (And why every alarm clock on the planet employs the 9-minute snooze is a mystery left to the ages. Was 10 minutes just too indulgent? 8 minutes too insulting?) The thing that is great about the snooze alarm is that it's the only time that you can actually relish the fact that you're sleeping. Nobody remembers how great sleep was in the middle of the night -- you were sleeping. But when you groggily start flailing your arms around looking for the snooze alarm, you're all too aware of how incredible the cozy, enfolding hand of sleep really is. You will never be more comfortable in your life as you are when you get to fall back into your warm, enveloping, soft bed, each position more blissfully comfortable than the last. It truly is the best time of day. Until that 9th minute comes beckoning again.
What's interesting to me about sleep is that scientists still cannot explain why we need it. Conventional wisdom says that sleep allows our bodies and brain some downtime, but studies have shown that our brain is still quite active when we're asleep. My theory is that sleep is there to mess with us. It's when our subconscious finally gets to take over and have its revenge on the things we repress while we're awake. We've all had those moments when we're lying there peacefully and comfortably, and suddenly your body spazes out so violently that it looks like someone hooked you up to a car battery. (And then you feel all embarrassed and ashamed even though no one saw it.) Or you try to get out of bed, but because at some point your legs have inexplicably stopped working you dive face-first into the credenza. Or the worst, -- and this actually happened to a friend of mine -- because you were sleeping on your stomach your arms fell asleep, you are powerless to turn yourself over as you're drowning in your own pillow.
I'd say it is obvious that sleep is a cosmic joke. We all act so powerful during our awake hours. We are in control. But when sleep hits, it's time for that tucked-away area of the brain to have some fun. To toy with you. To make you think that having an intellectual discussion with a giant, flightless, S&M-clothes-wearing bird is the most natural thing in the world.
And that's the reason why I really love sleep.
It usually takes me an hour to an hour-and-a-half to fall asleep, and even after that I wake up just about every hour. To make matters worse, when I actually do start falling asleep I dream that I'm still awake. So even when I'm sleeping, I'm still all upset that I'm awake. Very restful. What's even more upsetting are the bizarre things that pop into your head when you're in that curious state in between sleeping and not sleeping. Suddenly you'll be having a very lucid and informative conversation with an emu wearing leather pants, which at the time seems to be completely and utterly rational. Then you wake yourself up and are thrown into a weird shame cycle wondering why on God's green earth your brain had the capacity to conjure up an image of a talking, leather pants-wearing emu at the drop of a hat.
Ironically, the only time I fall into a deep, satisfying sleep is about 7 minutes before my alarm starts going off. By that time, sunlight is cheerily streaming into the bedroom and birds are chirping their happy "The Morning is Here, The Morning is Here!" song. Nothing in the world angers me more. And makes me wish I was a gun owner.
Another matter to contend with in the morning is the oxymoron of the alarm clock. On one hand, the sound of an alarm clock going off is one of those universally loathed noises. On the other hand, there's the snooze alarm. Ah, the snooze alarm. 9 minutes of sheer joy. (And why every alarm clock on the planet employs the 9-minute snooze is a mystery left to the ages. Was 10 minutes just too indulgent? 8 minutes too insulting?) The thing that is great about the snooze alarm is that it's the only time that you can actually relish the fact that you're sleeping. Nobody remembers how great sleep was in the middle of the night -- you were sleeping. But when you groggily start flailing your arms around looking for the snooze alarm, you're all too aware of how incredible the cozy, enfolding hand of sleep really is. You will never be more comfortable in your life as you are when you get to fall back into your warm, enveloping, soft bed, each position more blissfully comfortable than the last. It truly is the best time of day. Until that 9th minute comes beckoning again.
What's interesting to me about sleep is that scientists still cannot explain why we need it. Conventional wisdom says that sleep allows our bodies and brain some downtime, but studies have shown that our brain is still quite active when we're asleep. My theory is that sleep is there to mess with us. It's when our subconscious finally gets to take over and have its revenge on the things we repress while we're awake. We've all had those moments when we're lying there peacefully and comfortably, and suddenly your body spazes out so violently that it looks like someone hooked you up to a car battery. (And then you feel all embarrassed and ashamed even though no one saw it.) Or you try to get out of bed, but because at some point your legs have inexplicably stopped working you dive face-first into the credenza. Or the worst, -- and this actually happened to a friend of mine -- because you were sleeping on your stomach your arms fell asleep, you are powerless to turn yourself over as you're drowning in your own pillow.
I'd say it is obvious that sleep is a cosmic joke. We all act so powerful during our awake hours. We are in control. But when sleep hits, it's time for that tucked-away area of the brain to have some fun. To toy with you. To make you think that having an intellectual discussion with a giant, flightless, S&M-clothes-wearing bird is the most natural thing in the world.
And that's the reason why I really love sleep.
9/09/2004
Thank Goodness I'm Old
There's a sudden and somewhat surprising moment when you realize that you're not so much "getting old" as you are just "old." And it's not necessarily an age thing, either. Heck, I'm not even 30 and I'm about four steps away from being that "Hey -- you kids! Get off my lawn!!" guy. Although I'd like to think that I'm still just as full of the same vim and vigor as "the kids" these days, I'm sure any one who has ever met me would tell you different. As evidenced by the fact that I use phrases like "vim and vigor" and "these days."
In reality, the whole getting older thing is a blessing in disguise. There comes a time in every adult's life that simultaneously depresses you and fills you with joy. The depressing part is realizing you are no longer "down," "with it," or "hep" (depending on the generation you grew up in) with the youth culture; you are now the fuddy-duddy grown-up you always made fun of. Ah, but the joy comes when you realize you are free from the painfully embarrassing behaviors of the average teenager.
Remember when you were a teenager? Nothing, no matter how insignificant, was too small to be anything less than life or death. The only two modes were "melodramatic" and "melodramatic-er." You mom asked you how your day was? "STOP TRYING TO RUN MY LIFE, YOU NAZI!!" Your dad asked you if you wanted a second helping of peas? "I AM NEVER GOING TO BE YOU, OK?!" Doors were slammed, eyes were rolled, vows were taken to never become the fascists your parents were.
As you get older, there are a few distinct stages in realizing how embarrassingly you acted when you were younger. The first step came when you were a senior in high school and you observed the incoming freshmen. "I never acted like that!" you said as you watched the constantly giggling gaggle of 14-year-old girls flutter by. You were sure you didn't. You were confident you didn't. You were wrong. The second step is similar: the college senior who watched the first-time-away-from-home litter of newbies invade the campus screaming "TOGA! TOGA!! TOGA!!!" like they were the first ones who thought of it. "How embarrassing for them," you lamented. "I know I never acted like that." Again with the whole being wrong thing.
The final step of enlightenment (at least I'm guessing it's the final step -- do 60-year-olds look at 50-year-olds and say things like, "Do you think we acted like such tools when we were their age?!") comes as you leave behind your care-free, Gatsby-esque youth and fully embrace adulthood. Again, this happens to us all at different ages. Some people wait until they are much older to take the final step (and some never do -- Courtney Love I'm looking in your direction). Others make this ultimate transition early; I was in my early 20's when it happened to me: I started watching VHI Classics instead of MTV because they played "real" music like Poison and Mr. Mister.
Here's a good test to see if you've made the leap in maturity: Think back to the last time you were surrounded by a murder of teenagers (which I think we need to start referring to them as because it fits so aptly). If you didn't have to physically restrain yourself from violence because they managed to fit the word "like" into each sentence about 38 times, you've got a ways to go. If you were just sad and embarrassed for them -- and they looked at you with a mixture of amusement and pity because you were a gigantic geeb who was no longer "cool" -- you've made that big jump into adulthood.
It's moments like that when you fully realize how much you've changed. When you were in your teens, you were convinced that adults were, like, so lame and the only thing that was important was that Jenny "liked you liked you." Now kids address you by "Ma'am" or "Sir." You listen to "Best Hits of the 80's and 90's" instead of "Today's Hottest Music." You have parts of your body without regrettable piercings.
You're undeniably "old." And you know what? You couldn't be more relieved.
In reality, the whole getting older thing is a blessing in disguise. There comes a time in every adult's life that simultaneously depresses you and fills you with joy. The depressing part is realizing you are no longer "down," "with it," or "hep" (depending on the generation you grew up in) with the youth culture; you are now the fuddy-duddy grown-up you always made fun of. Ah, but the joy comes when you realize you are free from the painfully embarrassing behaviors of the average teenager.
Remember when you were a teenager? Nothing, no matter how insignificant, was too small to be anything less than life or death. The only two modes were "melodramatic" and "melodramatic-er." You mom asked you how your day was? "STOP TRYING TO RUN MY LIFE, YOU NAZI!!" Your dad asked you if you wanted a second helping of peas? "I AM NEVER GOING TO BE YOU, OK?!" Doors were slammed, eyes were rolled, vows were taken to never become the fascists your parents were.
As you get older, there are a few distinct stages in realizing how embarrassingly you acted when you were younger. The first step came when you were a senior in high school and you observed the incoming freshmen. "I never acted like that!" you said as you watched the constantly giggling gaggle of 14-year-old girls flutter by. You were sure you didn't. You were confident you didn't. You were wrong. The second step is similar: the college senior who watched the first-time-away-from-home litter of newbies invade the campus screaming "TOGA! TOGA!! TOGA!!!" like they were the first ones who thought of it. "How embarrassing for them," you lamented. "I know I never acted like that." Again with the whole being wrong thing.
The final step of enlightenment (at least I'm guessing it's the final step -- do 60-year-olds look at 50-year-olds and say things like, "Do you think we acted like such tools when we were their age?!") comes as you leave behind your care-free, Gatsby-esque youth and fully embrace adulthood. Again, this happens to us all at different ages. Some people wait until they are much older to take the final step (and some never do -- Courtney Love I'm looking in your direction). Others make this ultimate transition early; I was in my early 20's when it happened to me: I started watching VHI Classics instead of MTV because they played "real" music like Poison and Mr. Mister.
Here's a good test to see if you've made the leap in maturity: Think back to the last time you were surrounded by a murder of teenagers (which I think we need to start referring to them as because it fits so aptly). If you didn't have to physically restrain yourself from violence because they managed to fit the word "like" into each sentence about 38 times, you've got a ways to go. If you were just sad and embarrassed for them -- and they looked at you with a mixture of amusement and pity because you were a gigantic geeb who was no longer "cool" -- you've made that big jump into adulthood.
It's moments like that when you fully realize how much you've changed. When you were in your teens, you were convinced that adults were, like, so lame and the only thing that was important was that Jenny "liked you liked you." Now kids address you by "Ma'am" or "Sir." You listen to "Best Hits of the 80's and 90's" instead of "Today's Hottest Music." You have parts of your body without regrettable piercings.
You're undeniably "old." And you know what? You couldn't be more relieved.
9/07/2004
Missed Manners
Have you noticed that there seems to be a clinical "rage" affiliated with just about every facet of our lives? "Road Rage" is the granddaddy of them all, but now we have things like "Air Rage," "Cell Rage," and "Office Rage." Rage is, well, all the rage.
At first this trend sort of upset me. (Yes, I see the irony in that.) But then I started thinking: Can we blame people for being mad all the time? I mean, have you been out in public? If other people don't tick you off, I think there's really something wrong with you. More and more, it seems like other people (not you and me, of course, we're perfectly fine) think the world revolves around them, that they're encased in some sort of hermetically sealed bubble and that their actions don't affect anyone else. It's like people haven't bothered to learn any social etiquette at all.
For example, most of us know that when we're at the grocery store we're supposed to hug one side of the aisle with our shopping carts in order to allow the people streaming toward the "Ho Ho's" aisle enough room to get by. But there's always that guy who's pushing his cart smack dab down the middle of the aisle, meandering from side to side, comparing every item on the shelf for net carbs, never giving you enough room to slip by. Pretty soon it's like a bad scene out of Days of Thunder: You time it just right so when he bobs to the left you weave to the right, scraping along the side his cart, sparks flying, the little flags extending from the shelves advertising the daily specials clacking against your cart like baseball cards in a bike's spokes, a trail of Cheez-Doodle bags littering the floor behind you.
People do this on the sidewalk, too, but they often gang up to do it. We've all been there: two people just far enough apart from each other to make passing on either side an impossibility, but just close enough together to prevent any possibility of slithering in between them. You try the little "coughing alert" signal, hoping to get them to notice you, but they never pay attention to that. Heck, they don't even move for the people coming toward them. They force these poor people to paste themselves against the wall gecko-style until they've passed. I just don't get it.
These are the same people who willy-nilly cross in the middle of the street with no regard for any laws or people who are, oh I don't know, driving. My wife gets upset because I hardly slow down; she claims that pedestrians always have the right-of-way, no matter if they're in the sidewalk or not. Whether or not that is true, I really don't think we should coddle people who don't look to see if cars are coming down the street and just dart into the road like so many rabid squirrels. I mean, we teach 3-year-olds that leaping out from behind a parked car gazelle-like into the middle of the road is a bad idea -- a good near-miss is probably the best thing to show someone in their twenties the error of his ways. Remember kids: it's never too late to stop learning.
I could go on, of course (don't even get me started on how some people drive). And I'm sure we can all think of examples in our own lives. Those times where you stop and say to yourself, "Who is this person? Don't they know it's the rule that when you get in your car at the mall you don't dilly-dally with makeup or a phone call but back out as soon as possible? I know they see me waiting for them! Wait -- is she cleaning out her glove compartment?!"
We can say a lot about the deterioration of our society. But whether or not we agree on the bigger issues, it's these smaller issues that are the barometer of the decline of culture at large. After all, the fall of the Roman Empire was brought on by people who tried to smuggle 23 items into the 15-items-or-less lane at the grocery store.
At first this trend sort of upset me. (Yes, I see the irony in that.) But then I started thinking: Can we blame people for being mad all the time? I mean, have you been out in public? If other people don't tick you off, I think there's really something wrong with you. More and more, it seems like other people (not you and me, of course, we're perfectly fine) think the world revolves around them, that they're encased in some sort of hermetically sealed bubble and that their actions don't affect anyone else. It's like people haven't bothered to learn any social etiquette at all.
For example, most of us know that when we're at the grocery store we're supposed to hug one side of the aisle with our shopping carts in order to allow the people streaming toward the "Ho Ho's" aisle enough room to get by. But there's always that guy who's pushing his cart smack dab down the middle of the aisle, meandering from side to side, comparing every item on the shelf for net carbs, never giving you enough room to slip by. Pretty soon it's like a bad scene out of Days of Thunder: You time it just right so when he bobs to the left you weave to the right, scraping along the side his cart, sparks flying, the little flags extending from the shelves advertising the daily specials clacking against your cart like baseball cards in a bike's spokes, a trail of Cheez-Doodle bags littering the floor behind you.
People do this on the sidewalk, too, but they often gang up to do it. We've all been there: two people just far enough apart from each other to make passing on either side an impossibility, but just close enough together to prevent any possibility of slithering in between them. You try the little "coughing alert" signal, hoping to get them to notice you, but they never pay attention to that. Heck, they don't even move for the people coming toward them. They force these poor people to paste themselves against the wall gecko-style until they've passed. I just don't get it.
These are the same people who willy-nilly cross in the middle of the street with no regard for any laws or people who are, oh I don't know, driving. My wife gets upset because I hardly slow down; she claims that pedestrians always have the right-of-way, no matter if they're in the sidewalk or not. Whether or not that is true, I really don't think we should coddle people who don't look to see if cars are coming down the street and just dart into the road like so many rabid squirrels. I mean, we teach 3-year-olds that leaping out from behind a parked car gazelle-like into the middle of the road is a bad idea -- a good near-miss is probably the best thing to show someone in their twenties the error of his ways. Remember kids: it's never too late to stop learning.
I could go on, of course (don't even get me started on how some people drive). And I'm sure we can all think of examples in our own lives. Those times where you stop and say to yourself, "Who is this person? Don't they know it's the rule that when you get in your car at the mall you don't dilly-dally with makeup or a phone call but back out as soon as possible? I know they see me waiting for them! Wait -- is she cleaning out her glove compartment?!"
We can say a lot about the deterioration of our society. But whether or not we agree on the bigger issues, it's these smaller issues that are the barometer of the decline of culture at large. After all, the fall of the Roman Empire was brought on by people who tried to smuggle 23 items into the 15-items-or-less lane at the grocery store.
9/06/2004
Star Gazing
Because I care, here is some direction from the stars that should help you out this upcoming week.
Aries: (March 21--April 19)
The stars are suspiciously quiet about the direction life will take you. Maybe it's because you constantly are bothering them. The stars have other things to do, you know.
Taurus: (April 20 -- May 20)
This month, you will find that your external impetus will be immured only by your impecuniousness of benevolence. You will also find a need for a thesaurus.
Gemini: (May 21--June 21)
You will be embarrassed and ostracized when your candlelight vigil for Fire Safety goes terribly, terribly wrong.
Cancer: (June 22--July 22)
Don't make me stop this car. I'll do it. I'm sick of this. If you two can't behave back there, then I'm just going to turn this car right around and go back home, I promise you that.
Leo: (July 23--Aug. 22)
You will encounter a decision that will either destroy you or destroy everything you hold dear. Good luck with that.
Virgo: (Aug. 23--Sept. 22)
Much to your chagrin, your self-proclaimed jihad against the accounting department will win no allies.
Libra: (Sept. 23 -- Oct. 23)
Your love affair with the printed word will come to an ironic end when the printed word informs you that it wants to see other people.
Scorpio: (Oct. 24 -- Nov. 21)
You totally have to try these mashed potatoes I had the other day. My friend was all, "Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat?" and I was all, "Sure, OK," even though I wasn't hungry hungry, but I could've used a little something, you know? So anyway, I had these potatoes, and you wouldn't think nutmeg in potatoes would be good, right, but it was either that or this huge piece of chicken and I totally wasn't that hungry, so I went with the potatoes and oh my gosh, they were totally unbelievable, you totally have to get them the next time we go there.
Sagittarius: (Nov. 22 -- Dec.21)
This month, the producers will bring a very special guest star into your life for "sweeps." Although this will not make the issues you face any easier to navigate, it will boost your ratings, wackiness will ensue, and you will be guaranteed 40% more madcap hilarity
Capricorn: (Dec. 22 -- Jan. 19)
You will wish you paid more attention in your debate classes when your ransom demands are oddly presented and awkward for everyone involved.
Aquarius: (Jan. 20 -- Feb. 18)
As you know, Aquarius is the symbol of the "Water Bearer." This may explain why you're still wetting your bed.
Pisces: (Feb. 19 -- March 20)
You wouldn't think that one tiny, everyday, seemingly inconsequential choice could throw your life into such irreparable, horrific chaos. But then again, we can see next week and you can't.
Aries: (March 21--April 19)
The stars are suspiciously quiet about the direction life will take you. Maybe it's because you constantly are bothering them. The stars have other things to do, you know.
Taurus: (April 20 -- May 20)
This month, you will find that your external impetus will be immured only by your impecuniousness of benevolence. You will also find a need for a thesaurus.
Gemini: (May 21--June 21)
You will be embarrassed and ostracized when your candlelight vigil for Fire Safety goes terribly, terribly wrong.
Cancer: (June 22--July 22)
Don't make me stop this car. I'll do it. I'm sick of this. If you two can't behave back there, then I'm just going to turn this car right around and go back home, I promise you that.
Leo: (July 23--Aug. 22)
You will encounter a decision that will either destroy you or destroy everything you hold dear. Good luck with that.
Virgo: (Aug. 23--Sept. 22)
Much to your chagrin, your self-proclaimed jihad against the accounting department will win no allies.
Libra: (Sept. 23 -- Oct. 23)
Your love affair with the printed word will come to an ironic end when the printed word informs you that it wants to see other people.
Scorpio: (Oct. 24 -- Nov. 21)
You totally have to try these mashed potatoes I had the other day. My friend was all, "Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat?" and I was all, "Sure, OK," even though I wasn't hungry hungry, but I could've used a little something, you know? So anyway, I had these potatoes, and you wouldn't think nutmeg in potatoes would be good, right, but it was either that or this huge piece of chicken and I totally wasn't that hungry, so I went with the potatoes and oh my gosh, they were totally unbelievable, you totally have to get them the next time we go there.
Sagittarius: (Nov. 22 -- Dec.21)
This month, the producers will bring a very special guest star into your life for "sweeps." Although this will not make the issues you face any easier to navigate, it will boost your ratings, wackiness will ensue, and you will be guaranteed 40% more madcap hilarity
Capricorn: (Dec. 22 -- Jan. 19)
You will wish you paid more attention in your debate classes when your ransom demands are oddly presented and awkward for everyone involved.
Aquarius: (Jan. 20 -- Feb. 18)
As you know, Aquarius is the symbol of the "Water Bearer." This may explain why you're still wetting your bed.
Pisces: (Feb. 19 -- March 20)
You wouldn't think that one tiny, everyday, seemingly inconsequential choice could throw your life into such irreparable, horrific chaos. But then again, we can see next week and you can't.
Coming Soon to a Supermarket Near You
If you walk down the aisles of your local supermarket, you'll notice a wealth of interestingly named "substitution" products -- products that claim to be "just like" certain types of food, but are made with unusual and/or healthier ingredients. In fact, food companies are so convinced you won't be able to tell a difference between the "real deal" and their substitute product, they fashion the whole name of the product around that idea. "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" is the grand-daddy of these cumbersomely-named items, but you can also buy a growing number of "meat substitute" meals like "Wow! It's Not Chicken!" (Seriously.)
So let's get this out of the way. Here for the taking are my suggestions on names for all sorts of new products.
"Please Don't Tell Me This Isn't Pot Roast!"
"If You Are Trying To Convince Me This Isn't Tuna Salad, I'm Not Going To Believe You!"
"If These Aren't Matza Balls, I'm Gonna Plotz!"
"They're Runny Like Eggs... They're Colored Like Eggs... But Brother, These Aren't Eggs!"
"Believe Us -- You're Better Off Just Knowing This Isn't Bacon!"
"Who Are You To Tell Me These Aren't Ham Shanks?!"
"Yo! I Be Straight Trippin' If This Ain't Fried Chicken!"
"Say It Ain't Soy!"
"Seriously? This Isn't Grits?"
"I Can't Believe This Isn't Food Grade!"
So let's get this out of the way. Here for the taking are my suggestions on names for all sorts of new products.
"Please Don't Tell Me This Isn't Pot Roast!"
"If You Are Trying To Convince Me This Isn't Tuna Salad, I'm Not Going To Believe You!"
"If These Aren't Matza Balls, I'm Gonna Plotz!"
"They're Runny Like Eggs... They're Colored Like Eggs... But Brother, These Aren't Eggs!"
"Believe Us -- You're Better Off Just Knowing This Isn't Bacon!"
"Who Are You To Tell Me These Aren't Ham Shanks?!"
"Yo! I Be Straight Trippin' If This Ain't Fried Chicken!"
"Say It Ain't Soy!"
"Seriously? This Isn't Grits?"
"I Can't Believe This Isn't Food Grade!"
9/02/2004
What's in a Baby's Name?
Being pregnant is many things. Anticipation. Anxiety. Excitement. And with pregnancy comes a host of exhilarating and exhausting questions. What will the child be like? Who will he look like? What will she be when she grows up? If children are our greatest natural resources, can I somehow harness that power to fuel my hybrid car? Is it wrong to put NyQuil in their bottles to get them to sleep through the night? And perhaps the most daunting question: What will we name our baby?
We live in a culture where distinctiveness and individuality are highly prized. And the race to make a name for one’s self begins with just that: the growing trend of unique baby names. A name that no one else has. A name that shouts, "I am a rare and beautiful flower!" A name that says, "My parents are cruel and horrible people who have saddled me with this embarrassing millstone around my neck for the rest of my life."
Let's call a spade a spade here. This whole movement of made up, unique names is completely out of hand. And I'm not talking about names that aren't used anymore but are still real names, like "Otis" or “Gus.” I'm talking about the "I-created-this-name-using-randomly-chosen-Scrabble-tiles" school of baby naming.
We've all seen them. Suddenly we have names with prefixes in them. ("Hi, I'm McKendra!") Punctuation is dropped in willy-nilly. ("My name is Adri'ana!") Letters are capitalized with no rhyme or reason. ("That's 'BreAnna' with a capital 'A'!") Or my favorite -- parents who give their children real names, but insist on a completely nonsensical spelling (usually with the letter "y" thrown liberally around) to make them "different." (Staycee, Nycholle, and Mychel, I'm looking at you.)
Here's what you're doing when you name your child in this manner. First (and not to be too blunt), but you look kind of illiterate. Maybe opt for a nametag that simply says, "Hooked on Phonics didn’t really work out all that well for me." Secondly, you burden your poor child with a lifetime of having to correct people's mispronunciations and misspellings. Believe me: having to walk Customer Service through, "No, no...that's 'S-h-a-apostrophe-q-u-e-n-d-r-e-a' for the 8th time is no way to spend your life. And lastly, studies have actually shown that people with "unique" names are offered fewer jobs and fewer follow-up interviews than people with simple, old-fashioned names, even when they have the exact same qualifications. Condoleezza (Conddolleeza? Condollezaa? Condolences?) Rice has a Masters Degree, a PhD, and 6 honorary doctorates. And admit it – you totally rolled your eyes the first time you heard her name.
The irony is that there is a sudden glut of these unique names, which ruins the whole “unique” idea in the first place. “Caitlin” was new and exciting when society had a meeting in the mid-90’s and suddenly decided it was a name. But now try walking into a school and calling out “Caitlin” (or “CateLynn” or “Kaitlinn” or “Katelyn” or “Caitlyn” or “Caitlynne” or “Kaitlyn”) without being mobbed by a gaggle of rambunctious 7-year-olds. Some of which are probably boys. (Would you really be surprised at this point?) Yes, “Kaeitliyn” is this generation’s “Jennifer.”
I’m not saying you shouldn’t be able to name your baby anything you want. Go for it. Drop a hieroglyph in there for all I care. I just wanted to gently take you aside and discuss the issue, because it appears no one is telling the Emperor he has no clothes. Just be aware of future consequences and societal changes when you pick a name for your precious little bundle of joy. It's not the name that's going to make them unique; it will be who they are that’s going to make them unique. Just ask Moon Unit Zappa.
We live in a culture where distinctiveness and individuality are highly prized. And the race to make a name for one’s self begins with just that: the growing trend of unique baby names. A name that no one else has. A name that shouts, "I am a rare and beautiful flower!" A name that says, "My parents are cruel and horrible people who have saddled me with this embarrassing millstone around my neck for the rest of my life."
Let's call a spade a spade here. This whole movement of made up, unique names is completely out of hand. And I'm not talking about names that aren't used anymore but are still real names, like "Otis" or “Gus.” I'm talking about the "I-created-this-name-using-randomly-chosen-Scrabble-tiles" school of baby naming.
We've all seen them. Suddenly we have names with prefixes in them. ("Hi, I'm McKendra!") Punctuation is dropped in willy-nilly. ("My name is Adri'ana!") Letters are capitalized with no rhyme or reason. ("That's 'BreAnna' with a capital 'A'!") Or my favorite -- parents who give their children real names, but insist on a completely nonsensical spelling (usually with the letter "y" thrown liberally around) to make them "different." (Staycee, Nycholle, and Mychel, I'm looking at you.)
Here's what you're doing when you name your child in this manner. First (and not to be too blunt), but you look kind of illiterate. Maybe opt for a nametag that simply says, "Hooked on Phonics didn’t really work out all that well for me." Secondly, you burden your poor child with a lifetime of having to correct people's mispronunciations and misspellings. Believe me: having to walk Customer Service through, "No, no...that's 'S-h-a-apostrophe-q-u-e-n-d-r-e-a' for the 8th time is no way to spend your life. And lastly, studies have actually shown that people with "unique" names are offered fewer jobs and fewer follow-up interviews than people with simple, old-fashioned names, even when they have the exact same qualifications. Condoleezza (Conddolleeza? Condollezaa? Condolences?) Rice has a Masters Degree, a PhD, and 6 honorary doctorates. And admit it – you totally rolled your eyes the first time you heard her name.
The irony is that there is a sudden glut of these unique names, which ruins the whole “unique” idea in the first place. “Caitlin” was new and exciting when society had a meeting in the mid-90’s and suddenly decided it was a name. But now try walking into a school and calling out “Caitlin” (or “CateLynn” or “Kaitlinn” or “Katelyn” or “Caitlyn” or “Caitlynne” or “Kaitlyn”) without being mobbed by a gaggle of rambunctious 7-year-olds. Some of which are probably boys. (Would you really be surprised at this point?) Yes, “Kaeitliyn” is this generation’s “Jennifer.”
I’m not saying you shouldn’t be able to name your baby anything you want. Go for it. Drop a hieroglyph in there for all I care. I just wanted to gently take you aside and discuss the issue, because it appears no one is telling the Emperor he has no clothes. Just be aware of future consequences and societal changes when you pick a name for your precious little bundle of joy. It's not the name that's going to make them unique; it will be who they are that’s going to make them unique. Just ask Moon Unit Zappa.
The Republican National Convention Drinking Game
Regardless of what your political persuasion is, I think most of us can agree that both these National Conventions are pretty useless. Nothing more than a week long political stroke-fest, the Conventions are a chance for each party to preach to their own choirs, make embarrassing speeches (Kerry: "I'm reporting for duty!!" Schwarzenegger: "Economic Girly-men"!!), and wear some of the stupidest hats ever created by man.
Being as the speeches are filled with predictable quotes, trite sound bites, strained talking points, and enough blind partisan propaganda to make Leni Riefenstahl salute in her grave, I thought it appropriate to give the viewers something to look forward to about tonight's George W. Bush speech. Because nothing makes a political convention seem more tolerable than a whole lot of booze, I present "The Republican National Convention Drinking Game":
Take 1 drink:
Whenever Bush says any of the following:
"America is safer"
"The world is safer"
"America's Values / Family Values / Our Values"
"Flip Flopper"
"Our economy is strong"
"Evil-doers"
"Resolve"
"Our brave men and women"
"Weapons of Mass Destruction"
"Saddam had rape rooms / Saddam gassed his own people."
"The Democrats/My opponent will have you believe..."
"Compassion / Compassionate"
"They hate our freedom"
"We will not back down"
" 'Merica"
Take 2 drinks:
Whenever Bush pays sarcastic lip service to how he "respects Kerry's war record."
Whenever Bush refers to Kerry as "the number one most liberal Senator"
Whenever Bush uses the term "Trial Lawyer" to insinuate that Edwards is evil
Whenever the crowd chants "4 MORE YEARS" like drunken frat boys at an OSU football game
Whenever the camera cuts to a token minority in the crowd (extra points if said minority is wearing a stupid hat)
Whenever Bush completely makes up a word or completely butchers a common saying ("Fool me can't get fooled again.")
Hang head in shame when:
Any Republican shamelessly references the events of September 11 while the Republican party promises not to shameless reference the events of September 11.
So that should get you pretty drunk. Drunk enough to make Ted Kennedy look like Betty Ford. (See, I can make "fair and balanced" jokes…) May God have mercy on your liver.
Being as the speeches are filled with predictable quotes, trite sound bites, strained talking points, and enough blind partisan propaganda to make Leni Riefenstahl salute in her grave, I thought it appropriate to give the viewers something to look forward to about tonight's George W. Bush speech. Because nothing makes a political convention seem more tolerable than a whole lot of booze, I present "The Republican National Convention Drinking Game":
Take 1 drink:
Whenever Bush says any of the following:
"America is safer"
"The world is safer"
"America's Values / Family Values / Our Values"
"Flip Flopper"
"Our economy is strong"
"Evil-doers"
"Resolve"
"Our brave men and women"
"Weapons of Mass Destruction"
"Saddam had rape rooms / Saddam gassed his own people."
"The Democrats/My opponent will have you believe..."
"Compassion / Compassionate"
"They hate our freedom"
"We will not back down"
" 'Merica"
Take 2 drinks:
Whenever Bush pays sarcastic lip service to how he "respects Kerry's war record."
Whenever Bush refers to Kerry as "the number one most liberal Senator"
Whenever Bush uses the term "Trial Lawyer" to insinuate that Edwards is evil
Whenever the crowd chants "4 MORE YEARS" like drunken frat boys at an OSU football game
Whenever the camera cuts to a token minority in the crowd (extra points if said minority is wearing a stupid hat)
Whenever Bush completely makes up a word or completely butchers a common saying ("Fool me can't get fooled again.")
Hang head in shame when:
Any Republican shamelessly references the events of September 11 while the Republican party promises not to shameless reference the events of September 11.
So that should get you pretty drunk. Drunk enough to make Ted Kennedy look like Betty Ford. (See, I can make "fair and balanced" jokes…) May God have mercy on your liver.
9/01/2004
This Just Needs to Stop
Quite often our popular culture purges out its own drivel quickly enough for it not to be too much of a bother. Complain as we might about the "here today, gone tomorrow" machinations of societal fads, in the end we should all be thankful for it. This necessary weeding out of the undeservedly popular, ill thought-out, or just plain irritating trends saves us all the pain of having to wear parachute pants for the rest of our lives.
While this process usually happens naturally -- I think we're all aware at this point that shouting "WHHAAAAAAAZZZUUUUUUUUUUPPP" is about as clever as sassily retorting with "Talk to the hand" -- some things don't die quick enough deaths. What follows are a few things on my list of things that just need to stop.
1) Those stickers on the back of cars with the little "Calvin"-like boy peeing on something. I'm surprised this one has stuck around so long, as it was clever exactly never. We get it: you like Fords so little you want to urinate on them. Or Chevys. Or State Housing Bill No. 85447. Whatever. The only thing that would be clever at this point would be to have the little boy urinating on the little boy urinating, but I have a feeling that's a little too cerebral for said audience.
2) People speaking the "Fizzle" language. Unless your name ends with "Doggy Dogg" -- and I'm pretty sure it doesn't, whitey -- just stop. Now. I don't care if you're trying to be ironically funny, genuinely funny, or trying to prove you're just McKenna From the Block, nothing says "so 5 minutes ago" quite like this. Again, unless your name is Doggy Dogg. And if it is, please don't hurt me.
3) Can we please stop tricking out cars that suck? There's nothing worse than seeing a pathetic 1987 Honda Prelude with $20,000 worth of tinted windows, hydraulic car lifts, ground effects, and a stereo system that threatens to blow the rusted rivets right off the vehicle. And don't get me started on spoilers. A 10-inch spoiler on a Porche 9-11: Cool. A 42-inch spoiler on a '96 Geo Prizm: Tool.
I'll stop this at 3 items like my last post, because just thinking about all of this tends to get me riled up. My next items on this list was the "Ugg" boot and any item of clothing with the words "Von Dutch" on them, and I don't think my psyche can handle dealing with those issues right now. I guess that's what I get for running out of Xanax...
While this process usually happens naturally -- I think we're all aware at this point that shouting "WHHAAAAAAAZZZUUUUUUUUUUPPP" is about as clever as sassily retorting with "Talk to the hand" -- some things don't die quick enough deaths. What follows are a few things on my list of things that just need to stop.
1) Those stickers on the back of cars with the little "Calvin"-like boy peeing on something. I'm surprised this one has stuck around so long, as it was clever exactly never. We get it: you like Fords so little you want to urinate on them. Or Chevys. Or State Housing Bill No. 85447. Whatever. The only thing that would be clever at this point would be to have the little boy urinating on the little boy urinating, but I have a feeling that's a little too cerebral for said audience.
2) People speaking the "Fizzle" language. Unless your name ends with "Doggy Dogg" -- and I'm pretty sure it doesn't, whitey -- just stop. Now. I don't care if you're trying to be ironically funny, genuinely funny, or trying to prove you're just McKenna From the Block, nothing says "so 5 minutes ago" quite like this. Again, unless your name is Doggy Dogg. And if it is, please don't hurt me.
3) Can we please stop tricking out cars that suck? There's nothing worse than seeing a pathetic 1987 Honda Prelude with $20,000 worth of tinted windows, hydraulic car lifts, ground effects, and a stereo system that threatens to blow the rusted rivets right off the vehicle. And don't get me started on spoilers. A 10-inch spoiler on a Porche 9-11: Cool. A 42-inch spoiler on a '96 Geo Prizm: Tool.
I'll stop this at 3 items like my last post, because just thinking about all of this tends to get me riled up. My next items on this list was the "Ugg" boot and any item of clothing with the words "Von Dutch" on them, and I don't think my psyche can handle dealing with those issues right now. I guess that's what I get for running out of Xanax...
