Blowin' Up

What is it about turning over the last page in the calendar that makes people want to detonate explosive devices in close proximity to their homes? I'm talking about those who, instead of watching professionals on TV deliver a quality fireworks display choreographed to Auld Lang Syne, would rather set off some jank illegal ground mines to the sweet, sweet sounds of Uncle Kracker.

As a person averse to loudness in general, lying in bed waiting for the random explosions to be over and wondering if any of them are aimed at my car isn't fun. It gives me fodder for future PTSD therapy sessions. And what's the excitement in a loud noise? I mean, come on. And it just goes on and on, since there's not usually a time limit set when drunks get a hold of stuff they can blow up. You just have to hope someone blasts their finger off so everyone heads to the ER and you can get some sleep.


At least with a professional display, you get the benefit of some colors and sparkles and maybe one of those newfangled fireworks that looks like a peace sign when it explodes in the air. Now that's progress. If the ancient Chinese come back, we can totally show them the smiley face firework as evidence of our evolution as a species.

Nothin' But Their Jeans.

People need to stop doing stupid stuff to their kids in the name of fashion. Your kid does not exist as your opportunity to show the world how cool you think you are, OK?

Case in point - the skinny jeans for toddlers phenom that someone recently clued me in to. Where do I even start with this? First of all, what? This whole "jeggings" (jeans + leggings = jeggings) thing has been done. Except in the late '80s and early '90s, they were acid washed and called "stretch jeans" and if they were formal, they included zippers and little denim bows at the ankle. They took awhile to pull on, and were the preferred costume of those who aspired to be groupies for Britny Fox. But at no time were they made in size 2T, as they are today.

What is the point of putting your kid in these, other than to announce to the world that you're a tool who likes to torture toddlers? These things are a pain in the rear to put on a full-sized human, so forget about wrestling with a kid with limited motor skills and who is sporting an apple bottom courtesy of Huggies. I'm glad your vegan baby has a slim physique, but we don't need to see it swaddled in spandex.

Newsflash: your kid is a kid, not a short adult. So dress the kid as a kid, why don't you? Your baby does not dig the Arcade Fire, so stop trying to hook up the baby jeggings ("bajegs"?) with your hipster onesie. It's annoying. There's plenty of time for your child to WANT to wear dumb clothes and have a stupid haircut - he doesn't need you giving him a mohawk at age 2. DO YOU HEAR ME, GWEN STEFANI?

Let the freakin' kid be a kid. She's going to be judged as being cool or uncool by her looks soon enough: why accelerate the process?

TV Review: Locked Up Abroad

When you see something affiliated with National Geographic, you know it's going to be both classy and educational. There might even be nudity involved, but it will be strictly legit and cultural-like.

Well, there's no nudity in National Geographic Channel's "Locked Up Abroad", but it's plenty educational. And the message is, "Don't be an idiot and smuggle drugs across international borders unless you want your ass thrown in a Thai prison for 30 years."

The show's webpage claims that those "Locked Up Abroad" were just looking for a good time in a foreign land when BAM! they land in a Mexican jail. But every episode I've ever seen goes like this:

1. Some dope goes to Columbia (or other nation renown for drug production). Initially, times are good with partying, ethnic food and cultural music shown in a montage of wacky camera angles as an actor in a bad wig reenacts what went down.

2. Some guys offer the dumbass a ton of money to smuggle massive amounts of cocaine (or heroin) to another country. "Just cover up these 10 lb. bricks of heroin in your suitcase with a towel - no one will ever know it's there."

3. The idiot thinks this is a foolproof plan. Didn't he ever see that "Brokedown Palace" mess? Should have asked himself WWCDD (what would Claire Danes do?) and done the opposite.

4. On the way to the airport, or in the airport itself, the drug mule has the opportunity to abort the mission and chooses not to.

5. Just when he thinks he's gotten away with it after making it through airport security, some guy in a uniform confronts him and DAMN! you get that sinking feeling he must have had when he realized it was all over.

They're spending some coin on this show, because they actually shoot it in the country where the guy is now locked up (abroad). The reenactments are interspersed with video of the perp/victim against a black backdrop, telling his story. Then, towards the end, the camera pans back and you see the backdrop is some old sheet draped across a couple of bunk beds over a latrine and they're shooting it in the guy's jail cell while 14 of his cellmates hang around. Holy moly.

It's all pretty formulaic, so why is it so compelling? Because we've all had that "Oh, crap" moment when we've done something stupid. Except it usually doesn't result in us languishing in a Thai prison for the rest of our lives.

TV Review: Undercover Boss

So I watched that show Undercover Boss a couple of times. It's the one where some CEO of a billion dollar company puts on a smock and a name tag and pretends to be a normal person for like a week. Then at the end, s/he usually learns Valuable Life Lessons about Blue Collar People and gives them some sort of token gift while everyone claps and faith is restored in Corporate America.

This had the potential to be good ("Let's see what a jerk this guy really is! He can't even operate a cash register!"), but just plays like an extended PR piece. It might as well be called CEOs Are People, Too. Maybe they are, but in the wake of all of this banking bailout/economic crisis nonsense, I'm not in the mood. I'd rather watch a show called Underworld Boss that portrays heads of companies as Satanic minions while minimum wage employees poke them with sharpened hockey sticks.

The Blue Collar types they get to be on the show all go in every day with a smile and scrub toilets like its going out os style. At least one Average Joe per episode seems to be on dialysis. Let's see some real employees, grousing about their paltry salaries (a topic which I've not seen raised yet) talking on cell phones and demanding more smoke breaks.

At the end, the CEO meets with the Magical People he's learned from all week and reveals his true identity. Sometimes he's just like, "Thanks, you're super." Then there's usually some sort of company meeting in a warehouse where the CEO reveals that s/he has been an Undercover Boss for the past week and has done all manner of the mundane, dead-end jobs that everyone in the room does every day (gasp!). They usually show outtakes where the Blue Collar Types are telling the Undercover Boss that he's not cut out to be a tow truck driver. This is to of course, give the illusion that the CEO has a sense of humor about himself and that the regular folks actually somehow have the upper hand.

Another annoying thing is that usually the Blue Collar people on the show are like, "I never dreamed this would happen to me." What? Shaking the hand of a guy who makes 9,000 times your income and probably works half as hard? Let's give everyone a raise instead of just giving Hector every Tuesday afternoon off for his medical treatment.

I'm not buying that marginally bettering the lives of a handful of employees makes the companies or the CEOs profiled any more altruistic. Am I just a jerk?

Dope Driving.

I don't drive very often, but when I do, there's always a theme. It's like the first idiot creates a topic sentence by doing something stupid and then everyone else plays the role of supporting sentences by doing something similarly dumb. The conclusion comes when I've reached my destination, fuming with rage. PEOPLE ON 'LUDES SHOULD NOT DRIVE.

Some popular themes embraced by stupid drivers include:

1) Let's cut you off and then go 12 MPH in front of you. A slight variation on the theme is the related "Let's cut you off and then repeatedly brake for no discernible reason." Like why do you HAVE to get in this lane when there's nothing wrong with the one you're putting along in? STAY THERE AND LEAVE ME BE.

2) Even though we're on a 4 lane highway and there is not another car in sight, I'll ride your bumper instead of passing. New Jersey, I'm looking at you. Any time this happens to me, I guess that the car will have NJ plates (they're usually tailing too close to see in the rear view) and I'm right 98% of the time.

3) Taking up as many lanes as I damn well please because I'm too busy like, WATCHING TV while I'm driving. I swear I was behind a car with a TV screen in the sun visor yesterday. WHAT IS THAT? Do we need to be entertained at every waking moment, at the expense of careening into other cars?!

4) If I am not sure where I'm going, I'll just stop in the MIDDLE OF THE ROAD to figure it out. No need to actually pull over - I'm the only person in the world who matters!

These are but a few. What are others you've experienced?

Umbrella-ella-ella Pt. 2

We've touched on this topic before, but more attention must be paid. I've got a lot more problems with umbrellas and you're going to hear about them.

One: People don't know how to use them properly. E.g. if I'm walking toward you and you have an umbrella open, LIFT IT UP so it doesn't poke me in the freakin' eye. Get off your stupid cellphone so you can pay attention and properly wield the umbrella at a safe height instead of resting it on one shoulder and then spinning around, blinding those around you.

Two: If you can't handle number one above, invest in one of those clear, bubble-type umbrellas that are all the rage in Japan (and maybe elsewhere where people have good sense). Then you can actually SEE what is coming toward you instead of blindly staggering down the sidewalk in the rain, holding your opaque umbrella and hoping for the best. Some ideas are so simple.

Three: If you have a sopping wet umbrella, how about not putting it on the empty chair next to you in the restaurant you're in because guess what? Those are actually made to be seats for PEOPLE who don't need a wet butt because you have a separation anxiety issue and can't part with your Totes at the door.

Finally: What is with those little "sleeves" they make for umbrellas? You know what I'm talking about: when you get a new one, it comes encased in this little nylon sheath. Great, but what am I supposed to do with that? Fold the umbrella so meticulously back into its original creases after each use so that it actually fits back into one of those things? I dont' think so. People with that kind of time and patience are doing things like constructing boats inside bottles, writing angry and rambling letters to the editor or making artwork that nobody can see.

Hype-Cast.

All of these horrible shows on the VH-1 are pretty low-budge', right? Like in addition to being light on content and any lacking in any redeeming qualities, they also don't have much going on by way of production values. Throw some skanks in a room with a D list celeb and a bottle of Old Crow, film it and then slap it together with some Nickelback in the background is pretty much the formula.

If they want to save even more coin, they just need to keep recycling all of the cast members of each show. Maybe they already do this, I don't know. But for some ungodly reason, I found myself watching "Tough Love" the other night. This show features many ladies with low self esteem and body issues being coached on how to hide their foibles and be what dudes like so that some tool will marry them.

One of the charmers on the show is Rocky, whom I recognized from ("The Soup"'s clips of) that show with Danny Bonaduce about how you should under no circumstances let your kid go into show business because the kid might end up looking like a leprechaun made of Slim Jims and giving beat-downs to unsuspecting transvestites. She's the lady who gave us this clip (and no, she is not the transvestite previously mentioned).

Someone please call CPS immediately.

Anyway, they could easily just shuffle these people around: move the skanks from "Rock of Love" over to find husbands on "Tough Love." Have the d-wads from "Tool Academy" go on "For the Love of Gay J". Then funnel everyone on over to either Sex or Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

Police Blotto.

I subscribe to the police report for my 'hood that they send out every week, partially because I want to know what I'm dealing with out there and mainly because I'm a Nosy Parker (not to be confused with Parker Posey, which is allegedly her real name, which I have a hard time believing). Like I found out that a week ago around the corner, some guy woke up in the morning to a homeless man standing in his bedroom, wearing his bathrobe. At a shady hotel/halfway house type place, someone got their X-Box stolen, but they didn't report it until three days later... to the Airport Police. One time, there was a graphic description of transvestite prostitutes "flagging down passing motorists and yelling massage."

But the incidents that get me are the ones that are invariably there every week: car window gets smashed, and something ridiculously valuable that was obviously clearly visible through said smashed window gets stolen. Really, people? You're surprised when you leave your laptop in your Mercedes and it gets popped? Oh, you left your iPod in the car and now it's no longer there? Your solid gold infant was left in your unattended and unlocked car and now you're upset that it's gone? COME ON.

I'm not into blaming the victim and not every break in results in a haul like a laptop (or anything at all), but when I park my piece of junk car, I put the trusty Club into place and leave the empty glove box open to show that there's nothing in there anyone wants. Unless they want a manual for a 1992 Honda, a map of PA and NJ state parks and a cassette tape of The Best of MTV's 120 Minutes (Part 2). Then they can have at it.

Alle-Gore-y.

I was all set to go off on Lesley Gore and her horrifying '50's anthems "It's My Party" and the gross follow-up "Judy's Turn to Cry".

If you are unfamiliar with quintessential '50's Americana and your parents never forced you to listen to the oldies station during every single car trip you ever took, "It's My Party" is all about this sap (Lesley) who has a birthday party and invites both friend Judy and dreamy Johnny, who then rudely decide to get it on together, much to Lesley's chagrin! Her response is to boo-hoo and then act petulant ("You would cry, too, if it happened to you." Probably. Either that or give both of them the tasering of a lifetime.)

Then she follows up with "Judy's Turn to Cry." Here's where I have a real problem: instead of being ticked at Johnny for making out with her friend Judy AT LESLEY'S OWN PARTY, Lesley wins back the loathsome cad's affections and then sneers at poor Judy, who's left alone and humiliated. Basically, this jerk Johnny gets to make out with two ladies, then gets off scot-free while they fight over him for no discernible reason. I think something similar may have happened on Flavor of Love. Only with more expletives and less clothing.

But after a little research, I got schooled - Lesley redeemed herself somewhat with the deadly serious anthem "You Don't Own Me" in which she tells off some jerk who thinks he can control what she does and says and uses her as arm candy. Then Lesley later came out as a lesbian, which may not make her music any more enjoyable, but makes an exploration of all her earlier work that much more interesting, given the context and era. Who knew?!

Lesley has also got some killer dance moves:

Carrie Sadshaw.

When you're getting limited-time-only, free HBO, sometimes you feel obligated to watch it. Even if the only thing on is this Sex in the City movie.

First of all, what the hell is the name of it? "Sex AND the city" or "IN the City"? It doesn't really matter because it sucks for many reasons. Not the least of which is this hideous Carrie Bradshaw character. Like, hideous. Personality-wise and aesthetically speaking. Listen, I'm all for unconventional beauty, and I loved SJP in Square Pegs, but I'm drawing the line here. And it's not helping that they're putting her in the world's most ridiculous outfits. I'm all for sartorial commentary, too, but come on. ENOUGH, ALREADY. Hooking up pajama bottoms, pearls, a t-shirt, stiletto ankle boots, a fur and a SPANGLED BEANIE? You lost me at the pearls.

Even more infuriating is the fact that this character is like, a loser. I'm sorry. It's true. Running after that creepy "Big" dude with the Count Chocula eyebrows and then being ecstatically happy with the pathetic scraps of attention he throws her way every now and again? GAG. The best part of the movie [SPOILER ALERT] is when she plans some cockamamie wedding that involves her wearing some dress that is like 150 sizes too big in the boobs and he leaves at the altar. YES! But then he wins her scrawny ass back by being too lazy to actually write her a love letter and just ripping off some famous ones from history, then sending them to her via EMAIL (!) with some lame ass note like, "Sorry I screwed up." And she's like, "He really does care." WHAT?! Because he sent a freakin' email containing plagiarized material?

I can't take it. Who am I supposed to relate to, here? What am I missing?

Umbrella-ella-ella.

As if it's not bad enough trying to dodge becoming a cyclops via an errant umbrella spoke in the eyeball during a downpour, now chumps are using umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun. I place the blame for this alarming trend firmly on Jacko, who was fond of this type of nonsense.

Listen: if you're not sitting outdoors somewhere at a table with a hole in it or laying on a beach, there's no call for this type of behavior. And if you're going to insist on pulling a Morticia Aadams and strutting around with one of these damn parasols, how about not poking my eyes out while you protect your precious alabaster complexion?

Or better yet, put down the stupid umbrella, be normal and develop melanoma like the rest of us.

Chumps on a Plane.

Remember when airplane travel was fun? Instead of taking a car or boat like some sucker with unlimited vacation time, you boarded an iron eagle and swiftly were transported to your destination. Along the way, a crew of smiling air hosts and hostesses helped you find room for your bags and kept the free snacks and drinks coming. It was a magical journey to Happyland.

Now, not so much. You wait around in a hideous airport for the prescribed two hours, then have to wait around some more because the stupid plane is always late for some dumb reason.

By the time you actually get on the plane and wedge yourself in your cramped seat, your hatred for humanity has grown to gargantuan proportions. Come on, you disoriented yokel, TAKE A SEAT SO I CAN GET BY YOU. Lady, if you're too weak to lift your carry on bag, which will clearly never fit in the overhead anyway, THEN YOU'VE PACKED TOO MUCH. Check your stupid luggage.

Once you get going, it's no better. Hey, guy in business suit: the flight time is 27 minutes. Is it really necessary for you to order A FREAKIN' SCOTCH, make the flight attendant go find a bottle, then root around in vain to find change for the $50 bill you're shoving her way? Can you like, maybe NOT DRINK FOR 27 MINUTES? Also, person in front of me: would it be possible for you to not fully recline your seat during the meal service? This ain't ancient Rome: trying to digest while supine is not recommended. Finally, to the jerks in first class: we're not allowed to use your precious bathroom, so don't come parading out from behind that stupid mesh curtain to go use ours in coach. This is class warfare and you're not welcome on our plebeian turf.

I love to travel, but getting there is becoming none of the fun.

Wearing Out Things that Nobody Wears.

I'm going to go ahead and say that unless you're Keith Richards or a transvestite, if you're a dude over the age of 30, you should not be wearing eyeliner - or to use the egregious parlance of our times, "guyliner." It's untoward and it makes you look sad, as though clinging to a time when tight leather pants and bad brat-punk pop songs both actually fit you.

The same goes for flat-ironed hair on men. STOP IT (KEITH URBAN). Also, please unhand the frosting wand (if that is, in fact, how streaky, bold highlights are applied to the follicles). This means you, Steven Tyler.

Actually, each of these items applies to poor Steve, who is looking more and more each day like a cross between the old (female) receptionist at my office and a capuchin monkey (of indeterminate sex).

Crimes of Fashion.

As the immortal George Michael (the singer, not the "Arrested Development" character) once sang, "Sometimes the clothes do not make the man." But you know, sometimes they can make a big difference. Shouldn't dudes know the basics by now?

The following should be avoided:

1. Flip-flops: unless you're entering a Jeff Spicoli lookalike contest, there's no call for unleashing your hooves on the masses. Very few guys have tootsies appropriate for display outside of a sci-fi convention.

2. Jean shorts: why in the name of all that's holy do these still exist? Too short and you look like a low-rent version of the construction worker from the Village People. Too long, and you look like your legs are four inches long. Either way, an epic fail.

3. Trench coats with built-in capes: Is there a louder way to scream "nerd!" to the world than to wear such a thing? Yes, if you hook it up with a white turtleneck.

Taxi Driver.

You'd think, right, that spending one's entire day behind the wheel of a motorized vehicle would make one, at the very least, a competent driver. That this experience would make one aware that city streets are by and large in fact TWO lanes. That inching up through the crosswalk at a red light when you see pedestrians approaching might not be the most courteous maneuver. That having a nine-hour phone call with a fellow cab driver that necessitates wild gesticulations while you're driving may not espouse the notion of putting safety first. Thanks for bucking these assumptions, legions of Philadelphia cab drivers!

I'm sure it's a dangerous job: when you're not dodging your fellow yellow menaces on the road, you've got to worry if the trick you picked up is going to break your ass and steal your wallet. But it begs the question: are bad drivers drawn to being cab drivers or does being a cab driver make one a bad driver? Or a sociopath, for that matter?

Moving at Midnight.

Did it become socially acceptable at some point to MOVE (either in or out of an apartment) at midnight? Just wondering, because this is what the bowling neighbors upstairs, who had been pogo-ing nightly on my head, did the other night. Don't get it twisted: not having to listen to anything other than the occasional random drunk or abusive parent screeching out in the street has been nothing less than a precious gift, more beautiful than a unicorn's tears. But come on - midnight? On a Thursday? And it's not like they were skipping out on the rent: Landlord confirmed they were indeed gone since their lease was up May 1.

At my last apartment, my jackass neighbors moved IN at midnight. Pulled the U-Haul right up and began unloading, yelling to one another, rolling hand trucks around, the whole nine. (Practically) in the middle of the night. In the middle of the week. In the middle of the city, where there are like, you know, other people around.

Is moving at midnight the new black?

Hell on Heels.

Here's a tip, ladies: No matter how cute the shoes, if you look like a mentally challenged dog on 'ludes walking on its hind legs while you're wearing them, it's going to ruin the effect. I've seen women on the stroll, obviously hoping to mix and mingle, sporting jacked up walks like this:

This kid does it better.

Restaurant Woes.

Dear Website of Any Number of Finer Dining Establishments:

First of all, kudos on the intro/landing page. I would really much rather wait for your graphic-heavy site to load than to actually get to the menu. Also, good choice on the faux classic jazz sound file that accompanies the sliding images and swirling colors that have nothing at all to do with your food. Bravo!

Also, thanks for not listing the prices. Who wants to think about money when they're trying to plan an evening out? Losers, that's who! I really prefer to have absolutely no clue if I'm going to need to sit in the dark for a few days in order to be able to afford your saffron infused "hot dogs" with truffle oil. The saffron says expensive, but the hot dogs scream "plebeian!" Thanks for keeping my mind sharp with such brain teasers.

Finally, your decision to not list your hours and make your street address nearly impossible to find? BRILLIANT! If I'm going to have the privilege of dining at your establishment, it only makes sense that I'm going to have to work to find it and figure out what time you might open and close. Thanks for putting me in my place.

Love,

Liz

Well, Suuuuumimasen.

In some countries, it's perfectly acceptable to make bodily contact with strangers. Things can get crowded and stuff happens. You might find yourself being shoved into a subway car, your thighs getting intimately familiar with the contents of a stranger's pockets. Or you punch someone in the face during a soccer riot. That's just the way it is. I'm not judging. I'm celebrating the moments of our lives.

But that's not how it works here, to my knowledge. You bump into somebody, and there's a certain ritual that ensues:

BUMPER: Oops, excuse me. Sorry.
BUMPEE: Excuse me.
or
BUMPEE: That's OK.
or
BUMPEE: [discreet silence]

Nowhere is it prescribed that someone bumps into you, yells, "Owww!" you say "I'm sorry!" although it CLEARLY was not your fault, they make pain face, you say sorry again and then mention the fact that THEY bumped into YOU and then they look at you while rubbing their arm that's in a cast [which clearly should be more carefully protected by the owner and not be bandied about, in an athletic setting, all willy-nilly], LADY AT THE GYM TODAY. Grr.

Bed, Bath and Beyonce.

Have we had about enough with this Beyonce lady? Why is she still being thrust upon us? Do they expect us to look beyond her dead eyes? Beyond the hideous fishtail dresses she inserts herself into for every awards show, from Kid's Choice to the Oscars? Beyond this Sasha Fierce alter ego nonsense? Shouldn't you have your own personality first, before you go adopting a new one?

The lights aren't on, and no one is home. Plus, her music is all crescendo with NO payoff. Build, build, build and... nothing. Also, enough with the wigs. Who does she think she is, Tyra? No one should have that much hair. Ever. Except maybe Solange.

Having said all of that, I cannot wait to see "Obsessed". From the trailer, it looks like "Fatal Attraction", but racial! It will be undoubtedly awful, hopefully rising to levels of brilliance not seen since Madge took to the silver screen in "Swept Away".