Hanging on the Telephone.

Conference calls suck. You can't see anyone's face or body to judge what they're REALLY trying to say, and there's always some jackass dialing in from the street who can't hear what's being said because of sirens, horns honking or screaming homeless people. I was on a call today and wondered what would happen if I just started making oinking noises. Or just flat-out started saying, very softly, "Oink. Oink. Oink." Would anyone say anything? Someone try it and tell me.

Here are some conference call archetypes:
1. Darth Vader - the guy with emphysema who pulls the heavy breathing routine
2. The Aggressively Clueless - the one who asks dumb questions about stuff that was JUST EXPLAINED
3. The Babysitter/Dog Whisperer - the one with the wailing baby or rabid dog barking in the background. "Don't mind me. I'm just half-assedly supervising a hoard of 10 year olds who are demanding some purple stuff."
4. The Overtalker - won't let anyone get a word in edgewise
5. The "I Called this Damn Meeting but Can't be Bothered to Phone in on Time and Therefore I will Make you Listen to the Muzak Version of Huey Lewis and the News' Happy to be Stuck with You While You're on Hold Waiting for this Godforesaken Meeting to Begin"

Any others?

P.S. It's my birthday next week and I'm asking for that ALF phone.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (and annoyance begins).

A friend of mine emailed me today after her lunch break, enraged at what we've all run across: peeps who stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk to do whatever - gawk, talk, hawk ("Who wants to buy some stolen mascara?") without regard to the fact that YOU'RE TRYING TO WALK, HERE.

Some other sidewalk-related peeves:
1) Jerkwads who don't shovel their sidewalks when it snows. Do the math: it snows, it melts, it becomes ice, I fall down and break my ass. Isn't it illegal to not clear your sidewalk? Are people gunning for lawsuits?
2) Packs of people who feel the need to walk five abreast along the sidewalk and expect me to move out of their way. Um, no. I'm not tromping along in the gutter so you can link arms like the Monkees or people in some mouthwash ad where you're all laughing with impossibly white teeth while I get pushed into a parked car.
3) Bikes on sidewalks. It's a sideWALK. For feet. Or wheelchairs; I don't discriminate. But it's not for bikes, especially not ones baring down on me at like 30 mph. Get in the road!
4) When you go to London and lose your purse within 15 minutes then fall down on the sidewalk while desperately searching for this Safeway that you JUST SAW to try and find some chocolate to buy with the only 75 pence you have to make yourself feel better and no one helps you up even though you are bleeding and crying. For instance.

What are some other sidewalk irritations?

Can It.

Let me break it down for you: I hate when people litter. HATE IT. To the point that I have become engaged in verbal/semi-physical altercations over it. (I once threw an empty cigarette box back at a woman who threw it out of her car window and hit her in the head with it.) So it was with interest that I noticed Philadelphia has begun installing luxurious new public garbage cans with semi-enclosed tops designed to, you know, actually keep the trash inside, instead of having it blow all over the street.

Here's the rub: emblazoned on the side of the cans (bins? They're rectangular, if that makes a difference) is this snappy slogan: "Litter Looks Better Canned."

Umm... What the hell kind of slogan is that? What does that even mean? By definition, isn't litter trash that's NOT in a can? So before you put it in the can, isn't it just trash? Are we supposed to throw it on the ground first and then put it into the "litter can"? Who the hell calls it a litter can, anyway? I've heard trash can, garbage can... no litter can. I did a Google search and found some site from Canada referring to litter cans - THIS AIN'T CANADA.

Am I missing something? Is this a play on words that I'm not getting? There used to be a store here called "2 Good 2 B Shooz" which has been out of business for like 3 years but which just the other day I realized must be a play on "Too Good to be True" - which still makes no sense, but at least it's a recognizable cliche.

Help me to understand.

DVRage

You know what stinks? When you program your DVR to "tape" (yes, I still say this. I also use the phrase "ice box" for refrigerator and "turn the channel" to indicate that I would prefer watching something else on TV) a show and it cuts off the last minute or two. ANNOYING. If the program doesn't run exactly on the hour, the DVR should know this, no?

Usually, the only negative effect this has on me is causing me to miss out on the previews for next week's "Top Chef", and since they run commercials on Bravo for the show approximately every 6 seconds, that's not a huge deal.

But on Sunday, I watched a very long, very boring, very dorky "Very Duggar Wedding." This was the "very special episode" of that show where the parents have like 64 kids as a penance for goofing up their birth control once and suffering a miscarriage. So now they have 136 kids and their own church or something. Evidently, their oldest is like 18 so it's time for him to be married off and start a cult of his own. Intriguing was the fact that prior to the wedding, the bride and groom had not so much as smooched. I think they were permitted to exchange a rousing high-five when they got engaged, but that's about it.

So after an hour of like, lame wacky hijinx ("We Saran-wrapped their car shut!"), they finally get married, the dude becomes the bride's master, blah blah blah, and then suddenly everyone is at the local Red Roof Inn to I guess engage in some sort of weird, medieval villagers-gathering-to-make-sure-the-marriage-is-consummated kind of a thing (Or something - I was simultaneously looking up Virgania Horsen SNL sketches on Hulu). Just as an uncle or one of the 48 brothers (or maybe the dad, JimBob) is sliding a key card into the door of their hotel room (thereby revealing whatever debauchery was going inside - hand holding?!?!), my DVR cut out. What the?! Now I'll never know what went on in there.

On second thought, thanks, DVR.

Door Drama.

Let's be real: part of the reason we're polite is to: a) avoid getting shot (Philadelphia only) and then b) get some recognition for being such a swell person. Am I right?

Like today: I go to the library and on the way in, some lady is coming out with a bunch of books (insert your own "Raspberry Beret" in-through-the-Out-door joke here). So naturally, I hold the door open for her. Not like, half-assedly propping it open after I went through, but intentionally opening it for her. What do I get in return? A thank you? A nod? A smile? Eye contact? Nothing! Who am I - Fonzworth Bentley? I'm not your personal valet, here to roll out the red carpet for you. I'm not running up to Queens to get you a sugar cookie, either. (Incidentally, how excited are you that "From G's to Gents" comes back for Season 2 in a mere two weeks? Here's hoping for at least a cameo appearance by Pretty Ricky.) I'm just asking for some acknowledgement. Come on, give me SOMETHING.

Along the same lines recently was a shrimpy woman in a puffy coat who gave me a dirty look because she decided to enter the revolving door and just stand there, instead of, you know, helping it to revolve by pushing it (as I was doing). WORK WITH ME, PEOPLE.

Cinemadness.

About a month ago in the fair city of Philadelphia where I reside, this guy made the news for whipping out a gun and shooting the father of a family that was talking during a screening of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button."  He paid his ten bucks and wanted to hear what old-faced Brad was saying, dammit!

Now, I'm not condoning the use of firearms to enforce good manners, but let's be real:  you know you've been in a theater with some lady fishing around in a plastic bag of individually wrapped hard candies for the last Werther's and been tempted to grab the bag, spin it shut and whack her over the head with it.  Or you're trying to immerse yourself in "The Wrestler", contemplating what would happen if you lit a match near Mickey Roarke's face and some jackass next to you is fielding cellphone calls. 

This isn't relegated to the relatively low-rent world of the movie theater, either.  Recently I went to see Frenchie Davis and Ruuuuuuuben Studdard (America's favorite fat lady sex line operator and the Velvet Teddy Bear, respectively) in "Ain't Misbehavin'" at the Academy of Music and the couple next to me proceeded to have a FULL VOLUME conversation THE ENTIRE TIME about how uncomfortable the seats were until I politely asked them to shut up.  WTF?  I'm trying to get my "Fat and Greasy" on (an actual song, not a commentary on either Frenchie or Ruben), and you're kvetching about how you're not enjoying your theater-going experience?  Well, thanks to you, neither am I!  So can it or take a hike.  

Seriously, is it asking too much of people to remember that they are not at home in their jacked up recliners while they're watching these things and that other humans around them actually exist?  

What's your theater pet-peeve?

This here blog.

I seem to be irked by things that most people don't even notice.  Like the title of this post, for instance:  that's not a sentence.  Why did I put a period after "blog"?  ANNOYING.

Why am I so easily ruffled and/or outraged?  Do I have some sort of "perturbed" gene?  Unrealistic expectations from my fellow humans?  A touch of the Asperger's?

I'm cataloging my daily annoyances here.  Let's see if these feeling shave some merit or if I'm just nuts, shall we?