Monday, November 3, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Waffle House Wedding
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3HcaIiTmDc
DACULA - As the famous twang of Hank Williams Jr. blasted from an SUV stereo Friday afternoon, about 30 folks socialized, sipped soda and puffed on cigarettes. No, this wasn't a Fourth of July backyard barbecue. It was the run-up to a wedding. In a Waffle House parking lot. The lucky couple, George "Bubba" Mathis and Pamela Christian - both 23 and employees at the Dacula diner located at the Ga. Highway 316/U.S. Highway 29 interchange - wouldn't have it any other way. For years, the couple tried to marry on their Independence Day anniversary. But the bride was always scheduled to work. Instead of waiting any longer - she got the day off at the last minute; Mathis had to report for the morning shift - the couple of nine years decided to seal the deal at work. The result was what a NASCAR tailgate might be like if Hank Jr. himself stopped by with all his rowdy friends: Loud and proud - country music, storytelling and plenty of Dale Earnhardt paraphernalia - and not an iota of pretentiousness. "It's been crazy, madness," the bride said. "Finally, everything worked out.""I think it's pretty redneck myself," he said, laughing. "But I'm a redneck anyway, so." The couple plans to honeymoon Monday and Tuesday, but then it's back to work.
DACULA - As the famous twang of Hank Williams Jr. blasted from an SUV stereo Friday afternoon, about 30 folks socialized, sipped soda and puffed on cigarettes. No, this wasn't a Fourth of July backyard barbecue. It was the run-up to a wedding. In a Waffle House parking lot. The lucky couple, George "Bubba" Mathis and Pamela Christian - both 23 and employees at the Dacula diner located at the Ga. Highway 316/U.S. Highway 29 interchange - wouldn't have it any other way. For years, the couple tried to marry on their Independence Day anniversary. But the bride was always scheduled to work. Instead of waiting any longer - she got the day off at the last minute; Mathis had to report for the morning shift - the couple of nine years decided to seal the deal at work. The result was what a NASCAR tailgate might be like if Hank Jr. himself stopped by with all his rowdy friends: Loud and proud - country music, storytelling and plenty of Dale Earnhardt paraphernalia - and not an iota of pretentiousness. "It's been crazy, madness," the bride said. "Finally, everything worked out.""I think it's pretty redneck myself," he said, laughing. "But I'm a redneck anyway, so." The couple plans to honeymoon Monday and Tuesday, but then it's back to work.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Let the Games Begin
The Summer Olympics are about to start in Beijing, China and I could not be more excited (well, I could be more excited if these were the Winter Olympics - I lived in Lake Placid and attended the 1980 Winter Olympics, so I am biased). I am a big fan of the Olympics, and I am definitely one of those people who is glued to the tv for the two weeks of coverage. They have lost a little something for me since the Cold War ended (there doesn't seem to be the same us vs. them, democracy vs. communism, good vs. evil mentality that gave the Olympics of my youth so much cache, but since I'm a bigger fan of world peace than I am the Olympics, we'll chalk that up as a sacrifice worth making). And they have also lost a little something since professional athletes are permitted to compete (we'll never have another Miracle on Ice moment again, no matter how much NBC wants to shove the possibility down our throats every four years).
But, all in all, I am still a big fan - I enjoy learning about the host city and the athlete stories, which are always compelling. But to truly enjoy the Olympic watching experience, I need three things: 1) a sport I have barely heard of and know next to nothing about; 2) subjective judging; and 3) a useless, hopelessly misguided opinion about said sport. because there is no better way to spend two weeks every four years than pontificating about sports I know nothing about. Come on, don't you love that? That is easily the best part of the Olympics - watching say, diving, and becoming an instant critic/commentator/judge. During the three years and 50 weeks between Olympic competitions I know three things about diving: it involves a diving board (or platform if you want to get technical), you land in water, and you try not to make a splash. That's what I know. On top of that, I am a particularly lousy diver - I can't do a twist, a flip, or a backward dive - hell, I can barely pull off a reasonable cannonball - but during the two weeks of the Olympics, this is a fair assessment of my reaction during the Olympic diving competition: "Oh my God what a lousy pike, she'll lose points for that for sure! And that inward one and a half - pathetic." Isn't that the best?! And I know I'm far from alone - if it is a subjective competition, everyone who watches is going to have an (useless) opinion. Watching the running or swimming sports is too easy, the guy who runs or swims the fastest wins - where's the fun in that for the viewer? No sir, give me the 40 pound fourteen year old on the balance beam, or the Chinese diver who can spin and flip 812 times before hitting the water like a raindrop, because then i get to be a judge too.
The one trend I am not liking with Olympics is the invasion of sports I actually follow (or have at least heard of). Where is the fun in that? The Olympic experience is not about tennis, softball, baseball, and soccer. These are sports with professional leagues, they do not need the Olympics to survive. And we watch them all the time - what in the world is the difference between U.S. Open tennis and Olympic tennis? Nothing. To be a true Olympic sport, it has to be one of two things A) obscure to the point of ridiculousness (is that a word?), or B) a 'lon sport.
Sports that qualify under the former include any activity where your reaction the first time it was described to you was - "What?! That's a sport?? You're kidding?" Examples of which include synchronized swimming, synchronized diving (synchronized anything really), rhythmic gymnastics, bobsled, luge, and ice dancing. these are the sports that depend on the Olympics for their existence because no one is going to pay attention to them otherwise. And it also gives obscure champions of said sports a paycheck for two weeks every four years because who the heck else is going to accurately describe what just happened? "Good evening, and welcome to NBC's continuing Olympic coverage of synchronized swimming. I'm your host, Chet Hardguy, and I'm joined by three-time National Synchronized Swimming Champion Sally Loser, who is on leave from her job as a Duluth YMCA swimming director to explain just what the hell is going on here."
Sports that qualify under the latter need no introduction because they are the heart and soul of any Olympics - your 'lon sports: decathlon, heptathlon, biathlon, pentathlon. What could possibly be better than combining random sports into the same competition and watching the results. "have an idea, let's go cross-country ski twenty miles and fire guns at targets!" "No wait, let's throw a cannonball, jump over hurdles, try to leap over a big bar, see who can jump the farthest, and run a half marathon!" "You guys are idiots! Let's do all that, but also throw a giant spear and take a stick as long as a bus and hurl ourselves over a really, really high bar!" "Well, you guys can do what you want, but I am going to do ten really obscure things, I am going to do none of them very well, and when I'm done, I will declare myself the greatest athlete alive!!"
Man, I love the Olympics!
But, all in all, I am still a big fan - I enjoy learning about the host city and the athlete stories, which are always compelling. But to truly enjoy the Olympic watching experience, I need three things: 1) a sport I have barely heard of and know next to nothing about; 2) subjective judging; and 3) a useless, hopelessly misguided opinion about said sport. because there is no better way to spend two weeks every four years than pontificating about sports I know nothing about. Come on, don't you love that? That is easily the best part of the Olympics - watching say, diving, and becoming an instant critic/commentator/judge. During the three years and 50 weeks between Olympic competitions I know three things about diving: it involves a diving board (or platform if you want to get technical), you land in water, and you try not to make a splash. That's what I know. On top of that, I am a particularly lousy diver - I can't do a twist, a flip, or a backward dive - hell, I can barely pull off a reasonable cannonball - but during the two weeks of the Olympics, this is a fair assessment of my reaction during the Olympic diving competition: "Oh my God what a lousy pike, she'll lose points for that for sure! And that inward one and a half - pathetic." Isn't that the best?! And I know I'm far from alone - if it is a subjective competition, everyone who watches is going to have an (useless) opinion. Watching the running or swimming sports is too easy, the guy who runs or swims the fastest wins - where's the fun in that for the viewer? No sir, give me the 40 pound fourteen year old on the balance beam, or the Chinese diver who can spin and flip 812 times before hitting the water like a raindrop, because then i get to be a judge too.
The one trend I am not liking with Olympics is the invasion of sports I actually follow (or have at least heard of). Where is the fun in that? The Olympic experience is not about tennis, softball, baseball, and soccer. These are sports with professional leagues, they do not need the Olympics to survive. And we watch them all the time - what in the world is the difference between U.S. Open tennis and Olympic tennis? Nothing. To be a true Olympic sport, it has to be one of two things A) obscure to the point of ridiculousness (is that a word?), or B) a 'lon sport.
Sports that qualify under the former include any activity where your reaction the first time it was described to you was - "What?! That's a sport?? You're kidding?" Examples of which include synchronized swimming, synchronized diving (synchronized anything really), rhythmic gymnastics, bobsled, luge, and ice dancing. these are the sports that depend on the Olympics for their existence because no one is going to pay attention to them otherwise. And it also gives obscure champions of said sports a paycheck for two weeks every four years because who the heck else is going to accurately describe what just happened? "Good evening, and welcome to NBC's continuing Olympic coverage of synchronized swimming. I'm your host, Chet Hardguy, and I'm joined by three-time National Synchronized Swimming Champion Sally Loser, who is on leave from her job as a Duluth YMCA swimming director to explain just what the hell is going on here."
Sports that qualify under the latter need no introduction because they are the heart and soul of any Olympics - your 'lon sports: decathlon, heptathlon, biathlon, pentathlon. What could possibly be better than combining random sports into the same competition and watching the results. "have an idea, let's go cross-country ski twenty miles and fire guns at targets!" "No wait, let's throw a cannonball, jump over hurdles, try to leap over a big bar, see who can jump the farthest, and run a half marathon!" "You guys are idiots! Let's do all that, but also throw a giant spear and take a stick as long as a bus and hurl ourselves over a really, really high bar!" "Well, you guys can do what you want, but I am going to do ten really obscure things, I am going to do none of them very well, and when I'm done, I will declare myself the greatest athlete alive!!"
Man, I love the Olympics!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Just Wondering...
...if you and one other person order Chinese food (delivery) and they deliver the food and include four sets of chopsticks, you've ordered too much food, right?
...why there are no bouncy seats for adults - they look ridiculously comfortable, and all babies seem to love them - I know I would put a giant one in my living room and never leave the house.
...if you are disgruntled when you are upset, are you gruntled when you are happy?
...and while I'm on the subject, if something is disjointed when it is incoherent, is it jointed when it makes sense?
...why news people always say court of law when they are referring to the location of legal proceedings. Do we really need the 'of law' part? Are there other types of courts where people bring legal proceedings?
...why some adults insist on responding to a question on age, "I'm 35, but I'll be 36 next March." Really? You're 35, but you won't be 47 next year?? If you are speaking to anyone over the age of 3, I think we can drop the whole "I'm gonna be..." tag line and leave it up to the listener to do the heavy math there Einstein.
...whether I should be insulted that chambermaids fold the end of my toilet paper into a downward-facing arrow? I mean sure, we've all experienced the frustration of being unable to locate the end of the roll, so we end up spinning the roll at 40 times the speed of light hoping to dislodge the offending end piece. And yet, the whole folded arrow is a bit 'cut-off-the-crust-of-your-sandwich' kind of patronizing, no?
...how one can be 'more than happy' to do something for me? If you are more than happy to say, refill my water glass, what is your approximate level of happiness? Elated? Euphoric? Orgasmic? And why does that give you so much pleasure? I feel like I'm missing out on a really fun experience.
...how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Cause I can chuck wood and I do it quite rarely. Its not as fun as it might seem, but then again, I'm not a woodchuck. Maybe they sit quietly in a forest and stare wistfully as a lumberjack chucks piece after piece of wood. And maybe they have a single tear coming down their cheeks like the 'don't pollute' native american.
...whether native american should be capitalized?
...whether, if you capitalize a word or a city, why do you capitolize a building?
...why you raze a building you want to destroy and raise a building you want to erect?
...why 'erect' still makes me giggle? I am almost 40 for God's sake.
...why every actor does Shakespeare with a British accent, even the plays that took place outside of Britain? I'm quite sure Caesar (Roman), Hamlet (Dutch), Othello (North African), Lear (Greek) did not speak the Queen's English, so why not give a performance in an accent of their character's country?
...whether polar bears have given names to areas of land in their neighborhood or paths they regularly follow, such that they realize their world is melting into the ocean? Polar Bear #1: "Hey, how about the fishing this year down on Polar Bear Way?" (well, no one said they were going to be real original - they are polar bears after all) Polar Bear #2: Oh, you didn't hear? Polar Bear Way just fell into the ocean!" Polar Bear #1: "You are shitting me! Man, (or 'Bear') this whole freaking neighborhood is going downhill." Polar Bear #2: "You're not kidding - just last week Big Polar Bear Path just broke off and floated away."
...whether anyone else thinks about this stuff?
...or is it just me?
...why there are no bouncy seats for adults - they look ridiculously comfortable, and all babies seem to love them - I know I would put a giant one in my living room and never leave the house.
...if you are disgruntled when you are upset, are you gruntled when you are happy?
...and while I'm on the subject, if something is disjointed when it is incoherent, is it jointed when it makes sense?
...why news people always say court of law when they are referring to the location of legal proceedings. Do we really need the 'of law' part? Are there other types of courts where people bring legal proceedings?
...why some adults insist on responding to a question on age, "I'm 35, but I'll be 36 next March." Really? You're 35, but you won't be 47 next year?? If you are speaking to anyone over the age of 3, I think we can drop the whole "I'm gonna be..." tag line and leave it up to the listener to do the heavy math there Einstein.
...whether I should be insulted that chambermaids fold the end of my toilet paper into a downward-facing arrow? I mean sure, we've all experienced the frustration of being unable to locate the end of the roll, so we end up spinning the roll at 40 times the speed of light hoping to dislodge the offending end piece. And yet, the whole folded arrow is a bit 'cut-off-the-crust-of-your-sandwich' kind of patronizing, no?
...how one can be 'more than happy' to do something for me? If you are more than happy to say, refill my water glass, what is your approximate level of happiness? Elated? Euphoric? Orgasmic? And why does that give you so much pleasure? I feel like I'm missing out on a really fun experience.
...how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Cause I can chuck wood and I do it quite rarely. Its not as fun as it might seem, but then again, I'm not a woodchuck. Maybe they sit quietly in a forest and stare wistfully as a lumberjack chucks piece after piece of wood. And maybe they have a single tear coming down their cheeks like the 'don't pollute' native american.
...whether native american should be capitalized?
...whether, if you capitalize a word or a city, why do you capitolize a building?
...why you raze a building you want to destroy and raise a building you want to erect?
...why 'erect' still makes me giggle? I am almost 40 for God's sake.
...why every actor does Shakespeare with a British accent, even the plays that took place outside of Britain? I'm quite sure Caesar (Roman), Hamlet (Dutch), Othello (North African), Lear (Greek) did not speak the Queen's English, so why not give a performance in an accent of their character's country?
...whether polar bears have given names to areas of land in their neighborhood or paths they regularly follow, such that they realize their world is melting into the ocean? Polar Bear #1: "Hey, how about the fishing this year down on Polar Bear Way?" (well, no one said they were going to be real original - they are polar bears after all) Polar Bear #2: Oh, you didn't hear? Polar Bear Way just fell into the ocean!" Polar Bear #1: "You are shitting me! Man, (or 'Bear') this whole freaking neighborhood is going downhill." Polar Bear #2: "You're not kidding - just last week Big Polar Bear Path just broke off and floated away."
...whether anyone else thinks about this stuff?
...or is it just me?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Soft Generation?
I am not yet 40, but I really think I am officially old. I don't feel old. I don't look (too) old, save for a few grey hairs creeping in. And I definitely don't want to act old too often (as my wife can attest). But, I am afraid that I am inescapably old due to the fact that I keep uttering one of the the Old People Pledges of Allegiance: "Kids today are soft." "They have no idea how good they have it." And the classic, "When I was their age [insert rambling discourse on how difficult your life was in the mid '80s compared to how easy kids have it today]..." You can't claim to be young and still insist on carrying on a conversation that begins with an Old People Pledge. If you are volleying a complaint about a generation below you, you are officially old.
Now, there are varying degrees of olditude, so the mere fact that you are acknowledging that you are old doesn't put you immediately into God's Waiting Room, but it does make you old. Never once in my 20s did I utter an Old People Pledge, because I was too busy having fun and starting a career to be concerned with the teenagers coming up behind me. And in my young to mid thirties, I was frankly too sleep deprived from starting a family to care what was going on in the generations below me. No, it wasn't until my late thirties that I started to even notice the generations below me, and a few more years after that to utter an Old People Pledge. But now that I'm here, well, you have to jump in with both feet, right? So I'll go ahead and say it: I can't freaking believe that many colleges are not requiring SAT scores of their applicants. Are you kidding me?? One of the most nerve-racking, nausea-inducing, your-whole-future-may-hang-in-the-balance-if-you-blow-this-test moments of my youth will now be a tape deck, or VCR to these kids - something they know existed a while ago, but they can't quite remember why. I mean, when I was there age (Pledge!) we spent the better part of two years taking the PSATs, preparation courses, pre-tests, and then took the SATs, usually multiple times. It was a right of passage to completely bomb one of the exams to such an extent that you convinced yourself you'd never get into college and you'd be digging ditches for the rest of your life. And the Rolodex of excuses you created for discussions with your friends, parents, teachers, and college admission directors was a work of art that you carefully honed and edited, and memorized: "Well, I really concentrated on Verbal this time, so my Math should really come up big time when I take it again." Or, "I'm not very good at standardized tests." Or, "I was absolutely killing it, and I ran out of time." And then there were the horror stories of the kid that so and so knew who screwed up the answer key and all of his answers were off by one line. Terrifying for a 17 year old with college ambitions. And so what if it was biased and didn't really accurately test how smart you were! that's not the point! the point is, it was a rite of passage that everyone had to go through and it either broke you or made you stronger. And now? Nada.
It is bad enough that there is no dodge ball in gym class anymore, no jungle gyms on the playground, and every organized sport up until junior high ends in a freaking tie, so none of the kids will ever have to lose at anything (God forbid!), now we'll soon have an entire generation who doesn't know the pressure of the SATs. Now wonder we are getting our butts kicked by economies all over the world! Plus, where else except an SAT prep course will you learn cool words that sound great, but you can never pull off in normal conversation? Words like ennui (melancholy), eschewed (abstained), and cadre (basic unit). If the next generation is happy at another friend's misfortune, they will never know they are experiencing schadenfreude, and a great story-teller will be just that, he will not be a raconteur. Yes, the SAT will slide off into history like so much detritus. And me? Well, I'll be on a train that leaves New York at 3:00pm traveling 50 m.p.h., arriving in Chicago at a time no teenager will be able to figure out.
Now, there are varying degrees of olditude, so the mere fact that you are acknowledging that you are old doesn't put you immediately into God's Waiting Room, but it does make you old. Never once in my 20s did I utter an Old People Pledge, because I was too busy having fun and starting a career to be concerned with the teenagers coming up behind me. And in my young to mid thirties, I was frankly too sleep deprived from starting a family to care what was going on in the generations below me. No, it wasn't until my late thirties that I started to even notice the generations below me, and a few more years after that to utter an Old People Pledge. But now that I'm here, well, you have to jump in with both feet, right? So I'll go ahead and say it: I can't freaking believe that many colleges are not requiring SAT scores of their applicants. Are you kidding me?? One of the most nerve-racking, nausea-inducing, your-whole-future-may-hang-in-the-balance-if-you-blow-this-test moments of my youth will now be a tape deck, or VCR to these kids - something they know existed a while ago, but they can't quite remember why. I mean, when I was there age (Pledge!) we spent the better part of two years taking the PSATs, preparation courses, pre-tests, and then took the SATs, usually multiple times. It was a right of passage to completely bomb one of the exams to such an extent that you convinced yourself you'd never get into college and you'd be digging ditches for the rest of your life. And the Rolodex of excuses you created for discussions with your friends, parents, teachers, and college admission directors was a work of art that you carefully honed and edited, and memorized: "Well, I really concentrated on Verbal this time, so my Math should really come up big time when I take it again." Or, "I'm not very good at standardized tests." Or, "I was absolutely killing it, and I ran out of time." And then there were the horror stories of the kid that so and so knew who screwed up the answer key and all of his answers were off by one line. Terrifying for a 17 year old with college ambitions. And so what if it was biased and didn't really accurately test how smart you were! that's not the point! the point is, it was a rite of passage that everyone had to go through and it either broke you or made you stronger. And now? Nada.
It is bad enough that there is no dodge ball in gym class anymore, no jungle gyms on the playground, and every organized sport up until junior high ends in a freaking tie, so none of the kids will ever have to lose at anything (God forbid!), now we'll soon have an entire generation who doesn't know the pressure of the SATs. Now wonder we are getting our butts kicked by economies all over the world! Plus, where else except an SAT prep course will you learn cool words that sound great, but you can never pull off in normal conversation? Words like ennui (melancholy), eschewed (abstained), and cadre (basic unit). If the next generation is happy at another friend's misfortune, they will never know they are experiencing schadenfreude, and a great story-teller will be just that, he will not be a raconteur. Yes, the SAT will slide off into history like so much detritus. And me? Well, I'll be on a train that leaves New York at 3:00pm traveling 50 m.p.h., arriving in Chicago at a time no teenager will be able to figure out.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Parental Guilt
So our youngest daughter came home from nursery school the other day with one of those handprint/poem thingys that they love to spring on you every year. Now, the kids have each had fantastic teachers over the years, so I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it is a wee bit presumptuous of a teacher to send home parenting advice in the form of a four-year old's art project, don't you think? Like I need any more people in my life laying a guilt trip on me. All of a sudden I am being told what I can be upset at my kids about? I have an idea - maybe my three kids can go over to their house for a month and coat their bathroom in a healthy layer of toothpaste, and spill milk, chocolate milk, lemonade, water, juice box, maple syrup, and three unknown, random, but incredibly sticky liquids on every piece of furniture they own. Then they can find melted candy bar, gummy worms, potato chip crumbs, half eaten lollipops, and chewing gum in their car. Then, my kids can ruin their $3000 paint jobs by creating Sharpie marker 'murals' on their walls. Then my kids can each run through a field covered in dog doo and goose crap and drag that mess onto every rug and carpet in their house until the whole place smells like the backroom of a kennel in August. Then, when they are absolutely about to go ballistic, I will hand them a laminated handprint and pithy poem that says "please don't be mad at me because I'm little and I'll be big soon", and see who they try to strangle first - the kids or the idiot who handed them this freaking poem!
I love the idea that being four years old is some kind of get out of jail free card. What, being four is suddenly a license to trash my house? At what age am I allowed to be upset with them oh Ye of Infinite Patience? Does there come a point where denting my car with a tennis racket becomes a punishable offense? Or am I to look the other way for all eternity because someday they will be older and ticking me off about more important things? So kindly save the guilt trip for someone else and just send home the egg carton caterpillars. Or so help me, I'll send my four year old to your house on a 95 degree August day eating the biggest Popsicle you have ever seen in your life.
I love the idea that being four years old is some kind of get out of jail free card. What, being four is suddenly a license to trash my house? At what age am I allowed to be upset with them oh Ye of Infinite Patience? Does there come a point where denting my car with a tennis racket becomes a punishable offense? Or am I to look the other way for all eternity because someday they will be older and ticking me off about more important things? So kindly save the guilt trip for someone else and just send home the egg carton caterpillars. Or so help me, I'll send my four year old to your house on a 95 degree August day eating the biggest Popsicle you have ever seen in your life.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Requiem For a King
Well, its official, Chips and Salsa are dead. Now, for the record, I'm not talking about nachos, because nachos will be with us until the end of time due to the MCF - melted cheese factor. The MCF is a scientific theory I have developed that postulates that human beings will eat 83% of the substances on the planet if you pour melted cheese on top of them. When you throw in the BC - the bacon corollary, that percentage skyrockets to 99% - only excrement and "things found stuck to a subway platform" were eliminated. You can read all about my findings in the June issue of The Journal of Angioplasty and Coronary Disease.
But chips and salsa (sans cheese) are over as a primary food source. I don't know when it happened but I have noticed it for quite some time, yet I didn't say anything for fear of declaring a premature death (kind of like those news stories you occasionally hear about a hospital or nursing home sending some poor person off to the morgue while they were still breathing. For God's sake, how hard is it to stick a mirror under some one's nose - you don't even need medical training! But I digress.) I went to two parties this past weekend, both incredibly fun affairs (a Kentucky Derby party and a Cinco de Mayo party if you must know) and both served copious amounts of food, including (the dearly departed) chips and salsa. And, as I suspected, the chips and salsa were routinely ignored in favor of new flashier appetizers like those cheese/spinach puff things, spring rolls and dim sum, or old standbys like pigs in a blanket, chicken skewers and the cheese and cracker platter. And chips and salsa can't even hold their own against other dips, routinely getting their asses kicked by artichoke dips, sour cream and onion, crab, and its own cousin - the Mexican cheese dip (MCF at work in two of the three dips of course). Did I mention that one of the parties we went to this weekend had a Mexican theme? If you are chips and salsa and you can't even defend your home turf, what chance do you have in a non-Latino setting? Where did it all end? One minute chips and salsa were the talk of the town - a must have if you were throwing a cocktail party. Now, they sit lonely and ignored until the chips are so stale and chewy, you can blow bubbles with them, and the salsa gets that crusty green film on top from sitting untouched for so long.
I can't tell you how many times we have hosted a party and as I am cleaning up afterward (or is it afterword, I can never get that straight), I empty an entire bowl of salsa back into its container. And it goes into the back of the refrigerator with the other seven partially-full salsas until two years later when you end up cleaning out the refrigerator and you come face to face with six to ten dead salsa containers. Where have you gone Jose' DiMaggio? A nation turns its hungry eyes away from you. But the chips and salsa industry doesn't seem to mind because until now, no one has had the guts to declare them dead. So people will still keep buying them and putting them out, and stuffing them in the backs of their pantries and refrigerators, refusing to acknowledge they are gone. But I will. I will stand up and publicly mourn this first ballot Appetizer Hall of Fame inductee. Take your place in the Pantheon with the retired appetizers like Potato Skins, Pickled Eggs, and Cru-de-te (other than the carrots and broccoli). Enjoy the hereafter.
But chips and salsa (sans cheese) are over as a primary food source. I don't know when it happened but I have noticed it for quite some time, yet I didn't say anything for fear of declaring a premature death (kind of like those news stories you occasionally hear about a hospital or nursing home sending some poor person off to the morgue while they were still breathing. For God's sake, how hard is it to stick a mirror under some one's nose - you don't even need medical training! But I digress.) I went to two parties this past weekend, both incredibly fun affairs (a Kentucky Derby party and a Cinco de Mayo party if you must know) and both served copious amounts of food, including (the dearly departed) chips and salsa. And, as I suspected, the chips and salsa were routinely ignored in favor of new flashier appetizers like those cheese/spinach puff things, spring rolls and dim sum, or old standbys like pigs in a blanket, chicken skewers and the cheese and cracker platter. And chips and salsa can't even hold their own against other dips, routinely getting their asses kicked by artichoke dips, sour cream and onion, crab, and its own cousin - the Mexican cheese dip (MCF at work in two of the three dips of course). Did I mention that one of the parties we went to this weekend had a Mexican theme? If you are chips and salsa and you can't even defend your home turf, what chance do you have in a non-Latino setting? Where did it all end? One minute chips and salsa were the talk of the town - a must have if you were throwing a cocktail party. Now, they sit lonely and ignored until the chips are so stale and chewy, you can blow bubbles with them, and the salsa gets that crusty green film on top from sitting untouched for so long.
I can't tell you how many times we have hosted a party and as I am cleaning up afterward (or is it afterword, I can never get that straight), I empty an entire bowl of salsa back into its container. And it goes into the back of the refrigerator with the other seven partially-full salsas until two years later when you end up cleaning out the refrigerator and you come face to face with six to ten dead salsa containers. Where have you gone Jose' DiMaggio? A nation turns its hungry eyes away from you. But the chips and salsa industry doesn't seem to mind because until now, no one has had the guts to declare them dead. So people will still keep buying them and putting them out, and stuffing them in the backs of their pantries and refrigerators, refusing to acknowledge they are gone. But I will. I will stand up and publicly mourn this first ballot Appetizer Hall of Fame inductee. Take your place in the Pantheon with the retired appetizers like Potato Skins, Pickled Eggs, and Cru-de-te (other than the carrots and broccoli). Enjoy the hereafter.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
People I've Got My Eye On
The world is a pretty big place full of a lot of people, most of whom have annoyed me at one point or another, I think. There is no getting around it, there is just way too much time in the day and way too many people with whom you come into contact not to be completely annoyed by a whole host of people for a whole host of reasons. In fact, I was going to call this column "People I Hate", which would have been much catchier, but I had to change it because, A) when it comes right down to it, I don't hate them because, B) life is way too short to waste precious moments hating these, well, losers (or jackasses, I can't decide which), and C) there is far too much hate in the world as it is without me adding any to the pile. And when you think of it, hate is a pretty harsh word that should be reserved for reviled figures throughout history like Hitler, Pol Pot, and Barney (the purple dinosaur, not some random guy of the same name). So, I've renamed the column "people I have my eye on" (I'm too tired to capitalize it again) so I can A) come back to hate them later if my philosophy of life changes or, B) if the people on this list become any more annoying (cause let's face it, a guy can only take so much). So without further ado, here is my list of people I have my eye on:
1) The guy who uses a Latin phrase for his high school yearbook quote. Is there anyone on the planet who is more annoying that this guy? Way to stamp yourself as a pompous ass right out of the gate there sport - nowhere to go but down and you're only 18 years old. You're in the prime of your young adulthood, preparing for four great years of college, you have great song lyrics, a passage from a great book, movie quotes, and random friend moments at your finger tips, and your decision is to go with e pluribus unum or whatever? Authored by a guy who has been dead for six hundred years? Where is the logic in this idea? No one except you and three other losers can understand it, you immediately announce yourself as the aforementioned pompous ass, and twenty years later when you are showing your kids your yearbook, you will have instantaneously lost their respect forever, and you will have no idea what the quote even means. And all to prove what exactly? That you think you are smart or better than your classmates? That you studied a dead language for four years for no reason whatsoever? That you spent your high school years playing Dungeons & Dragons in your basement instead of, you know, making actual friends and stuff? That you took a cousin to your prom? I mean, if the quote is so deep and so memorable, and had such an effect on you, you might want to think about translating it into English and save yourself a lifetime of ridicule professor. What sane person - especially an eighteen year old - is going to read your yearbook quote and say to themselves, "Wow, Stan used a Latin quote for his yearbook, I'll bet that is a deep and powerful message. I had better run to him, or to a Latin teacher, or to the internet to find out what it means!" I'll save you the trouble - None. I'll also save you time and preview everyone's actual reaction: "Man, what a tool Stan is."
2) Snooty, condescending barista. First of all, 'barista' is to coffee service as 'sanitation engineer' is to garbage man - let's call a spade a spade, shall we? You pour cups of coffee for your job (you know, until that degree in philosophy or anthropology starts to pay big dividends). So the next time you go into a coffee shop to order a medium coffee with milk and this idiot looks up and announces that what you really want is a "demi-grande hazelnut Colombian blend con leche", kindly reply, "Yes, as a matter of fact that is exactly what I want and I want it extra hot so when I dump it over your head it will hopefully scald the pretentiousness right off of you". This is not open-heart surgery, or cancer research, or splitting the atom, this is grinding a bean and filtering water through it, so lose the 'tude will ya? Gracias.
3) Snooty, condescending waiters/sommeliers. See barista above. Hey, Bottle Jockey, all I want is a halfway decent wine that tastes good, that doesn't require a second mortgage to purchase. So kindly do not look at me like I have not showered in a week when I choose to ignore your recommendation of the $180 bottle of Opus One in favor of the $13 Bobby's Jo's Big Bottle of Red. Kay?
4) The guy who feels the need to shout things out at concerts and comedy shows. Dude, as hard as it is for you to wrap your little pea brain around the idea that no one is there to hear your pithy little witticisms, we have paid good money to hear the musician or comedian currently on stage. And trust me, he/she is not there to have a conversation with you, or in fact, acknowledge you in any way. And your date/girlfriend/wife/buddy is not impressed unless they too are gigantic jackasses. So, if you can go ahead and kindly keep your unfunny, inane comments to yourself, the rest of us would really, really, really appreciate it.
5) The guy who feels the need to shout things out at the movies. The Cro-Magnon man of "idiots who yell things in public places". At least the moron who shouts things out at a concert is speaking to an actual live person. You are shouting at a screen.
6) Guys with two first names like Dave Davidson, Chris Christopher, Mike Michaelson. Wait, I'm amending that because, more often than not, this is not their fault. It is the parents of people with two first names that I've got my eye on. If your last name is Thomas, and you have every single other name on the planet available to you, including any number of names you can just make up (like any Hollywood star kid's name - Apple, Rumor, Goat Cheese, for example) and you come up with Thomas again - well congratulations because you have made the top 3 of most annoying people alive. How can one even justify this? Is it stupidity? Mind numbing lack of creativity? Or is it a marquee-sized neon sign that you have just given up? Whatever it is, it couldn't be any more annoying.
7) People who don't obey the rules of 4-way stop signs. Now, as driving rules go, this has to be one of the more simple concepts because we learned it in freaking nursery school - take turns. If you go first, then I can go, then she can go, then he can go, then we start all over again. So if a four year old can master this concept, why does it seem to escape so many adults?
8) Parents who send out chain letters on behalf of their kids. Those of you who have kids know exactly what I am talking about. You go get your mail and there is a letter for one of your kids with three packs of stickers or stamps, or something sticky with glitter on them which, as we all know, is like heroin to a six year old - they absolutely can't resist it and can't walk away from it. And the letter says something to the effect of, "I have sent you these stickers, now you send this letter to ten kids and include my name and then we will both get 4,000 stickers back!!" Yay!! Listen, first of all, I don't want two stickers in my kids' hands never mind 4,000. My house already looks like the back of a Deadhead's VW bus because of the stickers already in their possession. We have stickers on refrigerators, windows, headboards, cork boards, posters, bikes, scooters, helmets, and occasionally, paper. I'm pretty all set with stickers. Second, its fine if you want to teach your child the fine art of the Ponzi scheme, but can you leave my kid out of it? If I want an Amway salesman, I'll drive to the Midwest and look for a guy with a mustache and a mullet, but I certainly don't need one under my own roof, thank you very much.
1) The guy who uses a Latin phrase for his high school yearbook quote. Is there anyone on the planet who is more annoying that this guy? Way to stamp yourself as a pompous ass right out of the gate there sport - nowhere to go but down and you're only 18 years old. You're in the prime of your young adulthood, preparing for four great years of college, you have great song lyrics, a passage from a great book, movie quotes, and random friend moments at your finger tips, and your decision is to go with e pluribus unum or whatever? Authored by a guy who has been dead for six hundred years? Where is the logic in this idea? No one except you and three other losers can understand it, you immediately announce yourself as the aforementioned pompous ass, and twenty years later when you are showing your kids your yearbook, you will have instantaneously lost their respect forever, and you will have no idea what the quote even means. And all to prove what exactly? That you think you are smart or better than your classmates? That you studied a dead language for four years for no reason whatsoever? That you spent your high school years playing Dungeons & Dragons in your basement instead of, you know, making actual friends and stuff? That you took a cousin to your prom? I mean, if the quote is so deep and so memorable, and had such an effect on you, you might want to think about translating it into English and save yourself a lifetime of ridicule professor. What sane person - especially an eighteen year old - is going to read your yearbook quote and say to themselves, "Wow, Stan used a Latin quote for his yearbook, I'll bet that is a deep and powerful message. I had better run to him, or to a Latin teacher, or to the internet to find out what it means!" I'll save you the trouble - None. I'll also save you time and preview everyone's actual reaction: "Man, what a tool Stan is."
2) Snooty, condescending barista. First of all, 'barista' is to coffee service as 'sanitation engineer' is to garbage man - let's call a spade a spade, shall we? You pour cups of coffee for your job (you know, until that degree in philosophy or anthropology starts to pay big dividends). So the next time you go into a coffee shop to order a medium coffee with milk and this idiot looks up and announces that what you really want is a "demi-grande hazelnut Colombian blend con leche", kindly reply, "Yes, as a matter of fact that is exactly what I want and I want it extra hot so when I dump it over your head it will hopefully scald the pretentiousness right off of you". This is not open-heart surgery, or cancer research, or splitting the atom, this is grinding a bean and filtering water through it, so lose the 'tude will ya? Gracias.
3) Snooty, condescending waiters/sommeliers. See barista above. Hey, Bottle Jockey, all I want is a halfway decent wine that tastes good, that doesn't require a second mortgage to purchase. So kindly do not look at me like I have not showered in a week when I choose to ignore your recommendation of the $180 bottle of Opus One in favor of the $13 Bobby's Jo's Big Bottle of Red. Kay?
4) The guy who feels the need to shout things out at concerts and comedy shows. Dude, as hard as it is for you to wrap your little pea brain around the idea that no one is there to hear your pithy little witticisms, we have paid good money to hear the musician or comedian currently on stage. And trust me, he/she is not there to have a conversation with you, or in fact, acknowledge you in any way. And your date/girlfriend/wife/buddy is not impressed unless they too are gigantic jackasses. So, if you can go ahead and kindly keep your unfunny, inane comments to yourself, the rest of us would really, really, really appreciate it.
5) The guy who feels the need to shout things out at the movies. The Cro-Magnon man of "idiots who yell things in public places". At least the moron who shouts things out at a concert is speaking to an actual live person. You are shouting at a screen.
6) Guys with two first names like Dave Davidson, Chris Christopher, Mike Michaelson. Wait, I'm amending that because, more often than not, this is not their fault. It is the parents of people with two first names that I've got my eye on. If your last name is Thomas, and you have every single other name on the planet available to you, including any number of names you can just make up (like any Hollywood star kid's name - Apple, Rumor, Goat Cheese, for example) and you come up with Thomas again - well congratulations because you have made the top 3 of most annoying people alive. How can one even justify this? Is it stupidity? Mind numbing lack of creativity? Or is it a marquee-sized neon sign that you have just given up? Whatever it is, it couldn't be any more annoying.
7) People who don't obey the rules of 4-way stop signs. Now, as driving rules go, this has to be one of the more simple concepts because we learned it in freaking nursery school - take turns. If you go first, then I can go, then she can go, then he can go, then we start all over again. So if a four year old can master this concept, why does it seem to escape so many adults?
8) Parents who send out chain letters on behalf of their kids. Those of you who have kids know exactly what I am talking about. You go get your mail and there is a letter for one of your kids with three packs of stickers or stamps, or something sticky with glitter on them which, as we all know, is like heroin to a six year old - they absolutely can't resist it and can't walk away from it. And the letter says something to the effect of, "I have sent you these stickers, now you send this letter to ten kids and include my name and then we will both get 4,000 stickers back!!" Yay!! Listen, first of all, I don't want two stickers in my kids' hands never mind 4,000. My house already looks like the back of a Deadhead's VW bus because of the stickers already in their possession. We have stickers on refrigerators, windows, headboards, cork boards, posters, bikes, scooters, helmets, and occasionally, paper. I'm pretty all set with stickers. Second, its fine if you want to teach your child the fine art of the Ponzi scheme, but can you leave my kid out of it? If I want an Amway salesman, I'll drive to the Midwest and look for a guy with a mustache and a mullet, but I certainly don't need one under my own roof, thank you very much.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Can Wii Stop Time?
I haven't posted for a while - mostly due to a very hectic travel schedule, including two weeks in Asia on business. It was a great trip both from a business perspective and because it was my first time to that part of the world, but it was a long time to be away from my family. I haven't been away from them for that long, ever, and I was struck by just how much they have changed - not that they grew so much in two weeks, but that the two-week separation from them showed me how quickly they are growing up. When I see them every day, getting dressed, getting ready for school, playing and participating in various activities, it becomes a seamless stream of events, so I rarely notice their aging. It is only upon a noteworthy event, such as a graduation or birthday that I stop to think how quickly it is going by. Being away for two weeks qualifies as such a noteworthy event because when you're a half a world away, two weeks seems like two months.
I bought the girls China dolls in, well, China, and the dolls are based on an actual queen, empress, and princess from ancient China. The girls were very excited to get them and we were talking about how they were queens and princesses, etc. and I said, "just like the Disney princesses". To which my oldest said, "I don't really like Disney processes anymore." And she said it not in a mean way, but in a matter of fact, 'that's kids' stuff' kind of way - and she may as well have hit me in the face with a baseball bat. My princess grew out of princesses? How can that be?? It was only two years ago that we were in Disney World and she was so awestruck by Cinderella that she would barely go near her for a picture! And now, two years later, no princesses? I was crushed. Who replaced my baby with an adolescent while I wasn't looking? And right after she said it I had to catch myself from screaming, "You do too still like princesses! You have to!" But, she doesn't have to, and Disney has been replaced by American Girl dolls, and computer games, and Hannah Montana concerts. And I can only look at those pictures from our trip to Disney World and wonder how two years can feel like a lifetime.
Speaking of computer games (and Hannah Montana), several of her friends now have the Wii video games system, which for the uninitiated (for example, me, until about two months ago), Wii is an interactive video game system where you actually perform the action that happens on the screen. If, for example, you are playing Wii Tennis, you swing an electronic stick as if you were swinging a real racket. And I have to tell you, this is the coolest thing I have seen in a long time. I played tennis, golf, bowling, and baseball, but there are also things like Hannah Montana Dance - where you have to keep up with on-screen dancers, and Guitar Hero where you have to play the notes of songs on a fake guitar as the notes on the screen come down faster and faster. The technology is amazing - I think we're going to have to get it for the girls, but I'm holding out for Wii natural childbirth and Wii colonoscopy - anyone can play tennis.
I bought the girls China dolls in, well, China, and the dolls are based on an actual queen, empress, and princess from ancient China. The girls were very excited to get them and we were talking about how they were queens and princesses, etc. and I said, "just like the Disney princesses". To which my oldest said, "I don't really like Disney processes anymore." And she said it not in a mean way, but in a matter of fact, 'that's kids' stuff' kind of way - and she may as well have hit me in the face with a baseball bat. My princess grew out of princesses? How can that be?? It was only two years ago that we were in Disney World and she was so awestruck by Cinderella that she would barely go near her for a picture! And now, two years later, no princesses? I was crushed. Who replaced my baby with an adolescent while I wasn't looking? And right after she said it I had to catch myself from screaming, "You do too still like princesses! You have to!" But, she doesn't have to, and Disney has been replaced by American Girl dolls, and computer games, and Hannah Montana concerts. And I can only look at those pictures from our trip to Disney World and wonder how two years can feel like a lifetime.
Speaking of computer games (and Hannah Montana), several of her friends now have the Wii video games system, which for the uninitiated (for example, me, until about two months ago), Wii is an interactive video game system where you actually perform the action that happens on the screen. If, for example, you are playing Wii Tennis, you swing an electronic stick as if you were swinging a real racket. And I have to tell you, this is the coolest thing I have seen in a long time. I played tennis, golf, bowling, and baseball, but there are also things like Hannah Montana Dance - where you have to keep up with on-screen dancers, and Guitar Hero where you have to play the notes of songs on a fake guitar as the notes on the screen come down faster and faster. The technology is amazing - I think we're going to have to get it for the girls, but I'm holding out for Wii natural childbirth and Wii colonoscopy - anyone can play tennis.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Valentine's Day Massacre
Well, its been about two weeks since Valentine's Day and my ribs are just now recovering from the beating I took in the card store. There were two or three women who were also shopping for cards and between them they worked me over like Wilt Chaimberlain boxing out for a rebound. Every time I went for a card on the rack I would be nudged over, stepped in front of, and outright elbowed out of the way! When you throw in the annoyed sidelong glances and frustrated sighs, I was about as welcome as Brian McNamee and a Clemens family reunion. I don't mean to generalize (ok, maybe I do), but women are like surgeons when standing at a card rack - every move is calculated, precise, and purposeful. They move around one another like they can read each other's mind, and apparently, I was completely screwing up their routine. But women have a distinct advantage at a card rack that men don't have - cards writers write all of their cards for women. That is true of most holidays and occasions, but it is especially true on Valentine's Day.
I could have been at that card rack for four days and read every single card in there, but as a man, I am left with two choices by the Card-Writers of America: a four page Shakespearean love sonnet that no man from the last 300 years would actually say out loud, or a variation on the following theme: "I am a no-good, lousy-dressing, out-of-shape, lay-about, do-nothing, loser that doesn't deserve you, but since I acknowledge that fact in a corny card once a year on a made up holiday, everything is ok." That's it, those are my two choices. I am either an effeminate, emasculated sap, or an oafish loser who depends completely on his wife for every basic need. Thanks greeting card industry for that Hobson's Choice, really appreciate your efforts here. Feeling really manly in a card store to begin with, so thanks for that final knee to the groin. Next time throw in an ax murderer theme too, and maybe a thumb-sucking imbecile, so I can branch out in my greeting card persona. Are there any normal human beings who write greeting cards? Do they really believe that guys fall into one of these two categories? I know that greeting card people pander to the type of people who find Ziggy amusingly relevant, but come on! Throw me a small bone here.
And what about the recipient of these cards? I would be completely insulted if I were a woman and received one of these cards. I want to meet (actually, maybe I don't) the woman who actually enjoys receiving the four page sappy sonnet card. First of all, the prose is throw-up inducing awful, and whoever sits around and writes it should be taken out back and beaten. And second, do the women who receive them honestly believe that the guy put any thought whatsoever into reading all of them and then picking out the throw-up inducing one that best summarizes how he feels about her? Do women actually read the card and think to themselves, "wow, he must really care about me and our relationship." Are some women really that dumb? No guy has ever read more than two lines of one of these cards. Most of it is written in tiny, flowy cursive anyway and who's eyes don't glaze over after one or two sentences of tiny, flowy cursive? No, he just picked the one that looked nice with the lace doily border and red envelope, went over to the next aisle and picked out a box of year-old heart-shaped chocolates and was out the door in 45 seconds. I guarantee you that he put more thought into his lunch order that day than he did picking out that card.
And what if a woman received a card from door number two (the "I'm and idiot" card)? If I were a woman reading this a light bulb would go off - woman thinking to herself as she's reading the card: "You know, you really are a loser. I can't believe I actually married you. I'm calling a lawyer first thing tomorrow- after I get my nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. And thanks for the chocolate, I've only been trying to lose this last ten pounds of baby weight for a year and a half, this should help."
So, if those are my two choices next year I'm going to save my ribs - and my psyche - another beating and do what any normal guy does under the circumstances: buy her a piece of jewelry and have my kids make a card.
I could have been at that card rack for four days and read every single card in there, but as a man, I am left with two choices by the Card-Writers of America: a four page Shakespearean love sonnet that no man from the last 300 years would actually say out loud, or a variation on the following theme: "I am a no-good, lousy-dressing, out-of-shape, lay-about, do-nothing, loser that doesn't deserve you, but since I acknowledge that fact in a corny card once a year on a made up holiday, everything is ok." That's it, those are my two choices. I am either an effeminate, emasculated sap, or an oafish loser who depends completely on his wife for every basic need. Thanks greeting card industry for that Hobson's Choice, really appreciate your efforts here. Feeling really manly in a card store to begin with, so thanks for that final knee to the groin. Next time throw in an ax murderer theme too, and maybe a thumb-sucking imbecile, so I can branch out in my greeting card persona. Are there any normal human beings who write greeting cards? Do they really believe that guys fall into one of these two categories? I know that greeting card people pander to the type of people who find Ziggy amusingly relevant, but come on! Throw me a small bone here.
And what about the recipient of these cards? I would be completely insulted if I were a woman and received one of these cards. I want to meet (actually, maybe I don't) the woman who actually enjoys receiving the four page sappy sonnet card. First of all, the prose is throw-up inducing awful, and whoever sits around and writes it should be taken out back and beaten. And second, do the women who receive them honestly believe that the guy put any thought whatsoever into reading all of them and then picking out the throw-up inducing one that best summarizes how he feels about her? Do women actually read the card and think to themselves, "wow, he must really care about me and our relationship." Are some women really that dumb? No guy has ever read more than two lines of one of these cards. Most of it is written in tiny, flowy cursive anyway and who's eyes don't glaze over after one or two sentences of tiny, flowy cursive? No, he just picked the one that looked nice with the lace doily border and red envelope, went over to the next aisle and picked out a box of year-old heart-shaped chocolates and was out the door in 45 seconds. I guarantee you that he put more thought into his lunch order that day than he did picking out that card.
And what if a woman received a card from door number two (the "I'm and idiot" card)? If I were a woman reading this a light bulb would go off - woman thinking to herself as she's reading the card: "You know, you really are a loser. I can't believe I actually married you. I'm calling a lawyer first thing tomorrow- after I get my nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. And thanks for the chocolate, I've only been trying to lose this last ten pounds of baby weight for a year and a half, this should help."
So, if those are my two choices next year I'm going to save my ribs - and my psyche - another beating and do what any normal guy does under the circumstances: buy her a piece of jewelry and have my kids make a card.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Heath Ledger
We here at Curtin's Corner pride ourselves at never (ok, rarely) taking a cheap shot, especially at someone who's not around to defend himself, so rest assured, this post pokes no fun at Heath Ledger. I didn't know him, I can't say for sure if I ever saw him in a movie, and I don't know much about him other than he was a good-looking Australian actor who seemed to prefer avoiding the Hollywood "scene" (actually, for this last reason alone, he was ok in my book, even though I didn't know this about him until I read the stories following his death. Call it a posthumous thumbs up). So, I will not mock the dead. I just hope he didn't commit suicide, because he seemed to have a lot going for him with an A-list movie career and a baby daughter going for him, at a minimum. (Incidentally, how is one a suicide "victim" exactly? Victim to me implies that some outside act or actor had something to do with causing your harm. If you off yourself, it occurs to me that you are not a victim at all. Yet, I digress).
But how about the reaction of the maid and the masseuse? Now there is a pair I can make fun of. I completely understand the maid not disturbing Heath (he's dead now, so I can go first name right?) when she first got there. His bedroom door is closed, he's a Hollywood actor type who may like to entertain (ahem) female guests (or male for that matter, I'm not judging - maybe "Brokeback Mountain" awoke previously slumbering tendencies), or party into the wee hours and sleep in - no problem. But, when the masseuse arrives and they finally decide to disturb him, the reaction is nothing short of comedic genius:
Maid, "Heath is not waking up!"
Masseuse, "And he's a pale blue color!"
Maid, "He doesn't appear to be breathing!!"
Masseuse, "My God, we have to call....Mary Kate Olsen!!!
Now, I am trained in CPR and First Aid (true story), but I must have been absent the day the Red Cross taught us to call Mary Kate Freaking Olsen if I encounter an unresponsive, unconscious person! Seriously, Mary Kate Olsen?? Putting aside any issues I may or may not have with the vapid, talentless, anorexic, useless Olsen twins, but if you are the maid and/or masseuse and you are in your employer's apartment, and you have found said employer unconscious, unresponsive, not breathing and blue, and your first thought is to call Mary Kate Olsen? Is this a Hollywood thing? Is she known in the industry as the "go to" person in case of emergency? Or did they scroll through his cell phone contact list and debate the merits of the people they found and decided that Mary Kate was the best of the lot? And if, so, how many names did they hit before they reached the M's (or O's for that matter)?
Maid, "What about Armando Assante? No? Brian Benson? No?, Josh Brolin?... C, D, E, F, G - how about Mel Gibson? I mean, he's Australian and likes Heath - should we call Mel?" Masseuse, Wait!! I've got it - I'm calling Mary Kate Olsen, she'll know what to do!!"
I just can't get past the fact that Mary Kate Olsen somehow ended up as their choice. And she was in Santa Monica freaking California when they called!! (Just to recap, unconscious guy, not breathing, in New York City - let's get someone in California on the horn asap!) But, I'm being petty I know, because Mary Kate Olsen completely validated their faith in her by advising them that she'd be sending...her team of four bodyguards. I can just hear an unconscious Heath now: "Mary Kate's four bodyguards are on their way? Thank God, for a second I was in real trouble here."
I mean, this was quickly becoming an idiot contest and Mary Kate somehow lost! Any normal person would have said (well, you know what any normal person would have said so I won't insult your intelligence...but just so I can complete the thought), "Hang up and call 911! Hang up and call EMS!! Hang up and call the fire department, police!!" But, no, not that emergency crisis management guru Mary Kate Olsen - she is going to send her crack team of four bodyguards over. Poor Heath didn't stand a chance if this mensa meeting was deciding his fate.
One last thought, the ultimate lesson here is - actually, the ultimate lesson is not to surround yourself with idiots - but the penultimate lesson here is that if you are famous you should always be nice to your neighbors - because if you die a tragic death and the newspaper reporters show up, your neighbors will have a lot to do with how you are remembered. Think of the power Heath's neighbors wielded in the hours after his death - they could have crushed the guy! He's not around to defend himself and a reporter sticks a microphone into the face of a disgruntled neighbor? "Well, Heath used to get his mail in a pink babydoll negligee and white thigh high stockings, but otherwise he was pretty quiet. Well, except for all of the satanic chanting, but that was only every other day."
Rest in Peace, Heath. Your fatal flaw appears to be the intelligence of the people with whom you surrounded yourself.
But how about the reaction of the maid and the masseuse? Now there is a pair I can make fun of. I completely understand the maid not disturbing Heath (he's dead now, so I can go first name right?) when she first got there. His bedroom door is closed, he's a Hollywood actor type who may like to entertain (ahem) female guests (or male for that matter, I'm not judging - maybe "Brokeback Mountain" awoke previously slumbering tendencies), or party into the wee hours and sleep in - no problem. But, when the masseuse arrives and they finally decide to disturb him, the reaction is nothing short of comedic genius:
Maid, "Heath is not waking up!"
Masseuse, "And he's a pale blue color!"
Maid, "He doesn't appear to be breathing!!"
Masseuse, "My God, we have to call....Mary Kate Olsen!!!
Now, I am trained in CPR and First Aid (true story), but I must have been absent the day the Red Cross taught us to call Mary Kate Freaking Olsen if I encounter an unresponsive, unconscious person! Seriously, Mary Kate Olsen?? Putting aside any issues I may or may not have with the vapid, talentless, anorexic, useless Olsen twins, but if you are the maid and/or masseuse and you are in your employer's apartment, and you have found said employer unconscious, unresponsive, not breathing and blue, and your first thought is to call Mary Kate Olsen? Is this a Hollywood thing? Is she known in the industry as the "go to" person in case of emergency? Or did they scroll through his cell phone contact list and debate the merits of the people they found and decided that Mary Kate was the best of the lot? And if, so, how many names did they hit before they reached the M's (or O's for that matter)?
Maid, "What about Armando Assante? No? Brian Benson? No?, Josh Brolin?... C, D, E, F, G - how about Mel Gibson? I mean, he's Australian and likes Heath - should we call Mel?" Masseuse, Wait!! I've got it - I'm calling Mary Kate Olsen, she'll know what to do!!"
I just can't get past the fact that Mary Kate Olsen somehow ended up as their choice. And she was in Santa Monica freaking California when they called!! (Just to recap, unconscious guy, not breathing, in New York City - let's get someone in California on the horn asap!) But, I'm being petty I know, because Mary Kate Olsen completely validated their faith in her by advising them that she'd be sending...her team of four bodyguards. I can just hear an unconscious Heath now: "Mary Kate's four bodyguards are on their way? Thank God, for a second I was in real trouble here."
I mean, this was quickly becoming an idiot contest and Mary Kate somehow lost! Any normal person would have said (well, you know what any normal person would have said so I won't insult your intelligence...but just so I can complete the thought), "Hang up and call 911! Hang up and call EMS!! Hang up and call the fire department, police!!" But, no, not that emergency crisis management guru Mary Kate Olsen - she is going to send her crack team of four bodyguards over. Poor Heath didn't stand a chance if this mensa meeting was deciding his fate.
One last thought, the ultimate lesson here is - actually, the ultimate lesson is not to surround yourself with idiots - but the penultimate lesson here is that if you are famous you should always be nice to your neighbors - because if you die a tragic death and the newspaper reporters show up, your neighbors will have a lot to do with how you are remembered. Think of the power Heath's neighbors wielded in the hours after his death - they could have crushed the guy! He's not around to defend himself and a reporter sticks a microphone into the face of a disgruntled neighbor? "Well, Heath used to get his mail in a pink babydoll negligee and white thigh high stockings, but otherwise he was pretty quiet. Well, except for all of the satanic chanting, but that was only every other day."
Rest in Peace, Heath. Your fatal flaw appears to be the intelligence of the people with whom you surrounded yourself.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Its Australian For Beer
One of the dangers of letting my children watch tv is their exposure to commercials. We don't let them watch anything other than Disney Channel or Nickelodian, but even on those channels they will run into a commercial or two for something other than the latest gooey art gel or Barbie Princess palace (or Barbie Laundromat, Barbie Off-Track Betting Parlor, or Barbie Oil Change Shop - I'm pretty sure that with thre girls, I have every Barbie "location" they produce). Just before Christmas, the girls saw an infomercial-type add for a Betty Crocker cake decorating kit, and they decided that it would be the perfect thing for my wife for Christmas. So they wrote it in their amended Christmas letter to Santa...a day before Christmas Eve. Now, Santa is pretty good, but he's not that good. So, in his letter back to the kids, Santa explained that this was a pretty popular gift this year, and he ran out and would have to mail the kit to Mommy. Problem solved, and I'm just glad that the local Porche dealership and jewelry store don't advertise on Disney or Nick.
But it got me thinking, why do infomercials always use Australians (or American actors with absolutely horrific Australian accent impressions)? Do people trust Australians more than a U.S. English speaker? Does it make the product sound exotic or special? Do consumers believe the products are made in Australia (because everyone knows, one could never hope to get the combo vegetable slicer/insulin pump with the "never dull" knives/hide-a-key from anywhere in the continental United States). Do the marketing companies do focus groups on how consumers react to different accents. I would love to see the "buy-ability scale" they came up with. In other words, I am dying to know from whom U.S. consumers would be most likely to buy a product, from whom they would be least likely to buy, and I want to see every rank in between. If you were a budding infomercial actor, wouldn't this be helpful knowledge? Australian? You're in - you'll likely never be out of work and you'll be a sure-fire, first ballot Infomercial Hall of Fame inductee five years after you retire. If I had to guess the bottom, I'd have to go with Middle Eastern. No offense to them (well, no offence to the ones who aren't currently trying to blow us up), but I think in this post-9/11 world, you are not going to win over the hearts and minds of Mr. and Mrs. Middle America with Achmed selling your juicer/wart remover. Next up from the bottom - given that middle America isn't too bright (the average American, not geographically) - I'd have to go with "any accent that sounds remotely Middle Eastern". So unless the product is a fallafal maker, sorry, any wanna-be infomercial actor from Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan (any of your 'stans, really), Turkey, you'll have to find your acting success as extras/bad guys on "24" or as the villains in any Steven Segal movies. Next up from the bottom, French. 'Nuff said. And, of course German, because no one wants anyone screaming at them in German. Back to the top, I'd have to go with any Australian-like accents to be in a virtual second place dead heat, so "good on ya" New Zealand, Tasmania, South Africa, and Zimbabwe - any company that can't find an Aussie will be on the horn to you in no time! I'd probably go with England next, but only if they speak the Queen's English and not cockney - too soccer hooligan for John Q. Public.
I have never been to Australia, but I wonder who does their infomercials? Do they value a U.S. accent, and if, so, which one? Texas drawl? Hillbilly? Minnesota? California surfer dude? (I think we can safely rule out New York and Boston, don't you?) I could all be missing my true calling - selling waffle-maker/dvd players to millions of Australians. If you'll excuse me, I have to go find an infomercial agent.
But it got me thinking, why do infomercials always use Australians (or American actors with absolutely horrific Australian accent impressions)? Do people trust Australians more than a U.S. English speaker? Does it make the product sound exotic or special? Do consumers believe the products are made in Australia (because everyone knows, one could never hope to get the combo vegetable slicer/insulin pump with the "never dull" knives/hide-a-key from anywhere in the continental United States). Do the marketing companies do focus groups on how consumers react to different accents. I would love to see the "buy-ability scale" they came up with. In other words, I am dying to know from whom U.S. consumers would be most likely to buy a product, from whom they would be least likely to buy, and I want to see every rank in between. If you were a budding infomercial actor, wouldn't this be helpful knowledge? Australian? You're in - you'll likely never be out of work and you'll be a sure-fire, first ballot Infomercial Hall of Fame inductee five years after you retire. If I had to guess the bottom, I'd have to go with Middle Eastern. No offense to them (well, no offence to the ones who aren't currently trying to blow us up), but I think in this post-9/11 world, you are not going to win over the hearts and minds of Mr. and Mrs. Middle America with Achmed selling your juicer/wart remover. Next up from the bottom - given that middle America isn't too bright (the average American, not geographically) - I'd have to go with "any accent that sounds remotely Middle Eastern". So unless the product is a fallafal maker, sorry, any wanna-be infomercial actor from Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan (any of your 'stans, really), Turkey, you'll have to find your acting success as extras/bad guys on "24" or as the villains in any Steven Segal movies. Next up from the bottom, French. 'Nuff said. And, of course German, because no one wants anyone screaming at them in German. Back to the top, I'd have to go with any Australian-like accents to be in a virtual second place dead heat, so "good on ya" New Zealand, Tasmania, South Africa, and Zimbabwe - any company that can't find an Aussie will be on the horn to you in no time! I'd probably go with England next, but only if they speak the Queen's English and not cockney - too soccer hooligan for John Q. Public.
I have never been to Australia, but I wonder who does their infomercials? Do they value a U.S. accent, and if, so, which one? Texas drawl? Hillbilly? Minnesota? California surfer dude? (I think we can safely rule out New York and Boston, don't you?) I could all be missing my true calling - selling waffle-maker/dvd players to millions of Australians. If you'll excuse me, I have to go find an infomercial agent.
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