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.

Haute Kid-ture

A Facebook friend who likes to keep me angry recently sent me this article about upper crusty fashion houses releasing clothing lines for small children. So the good news is, if you have like 600 bucks to drop on some stupid t-shirt with a Swarovski crystal skull on it for your three year old, you're in luck. Basically, if you're into forcing your kid to look like one of of Gwen Stefani's offspring, you're good to go. (On a related note, WHO DOES THIS TO THEIR 5 YEAR OLD? I hate you, Gwen Stefani.)

If you've got money to burn and time to kill shopping, then knock yourself out, I guess.

More disturbing than the immediate financial aspect is what kind of values dumbass parents are instilling in their progeny with this kind of thing. It reminded me of this post on STFU, Parents, a site that I visit when I want a laugh. In short, some mom's got her kids all outfitted up in "Jordans", Coach sunglasses (??!!), Dooney and Bourke bags, etc. so much so that they actually DEMAND these items by name and reject lesser impostors. Her kids are 7 and 2. Ugh. Way to perpetuate the mindless consumerist culture that's running us all into the ground. Also, newsflash: labeling them "divas" just because they like "the finer things" doesn't make this cute - it just makes it grosser.

Visiting STFU, Parents always starts out good (the Mommyjacking threads are pretty awesome), but it ends up depressing. You start thinking, "Why are morons having children? STOP IT."

I say, let's put something in the water that makes everyone sterile, and then if you want to have a kid, we'll give you a basic skills test and if you pass, BAM - antidote coming your way. I mean, you need a license to go fishing but not to have kids? Mind boggling. Of course, it opens up questions of who is writing this test and by what standards are people being judged, to which I say, "Me" and "Mine."

Bad Romance

If something doesn't happen on Facebook, did it really happen?

Like, for instance, if you catch your boyfriend cheating, you should probably paste a blow-by-blow (in some cases, literally) of all of his indiscretions on Facebook so everyone can recognize what a wad he is. And if you're sad about it, you should probably post that on your wall so EVERYONE knows. Because what is the point of having the sads if no one knows about your suffering? And when you find a new dude, you should probably unfavorably compare the old guy to the new guy, stat.

I thought there would be umpteen sites about FB breakups, and there are. And dude, some are REALLY funny. Especially when grammar and spelling are concerned, because not only do you get to feel superior to someone dumb enough to air their dirty laundry (in some cases, literally) on Facebook, you get to laugh at their inability to punctuate.

Breaking up with someone you actually like: painful. Sometimes rage-inducing. But if you take to the internet to register your dissatisfaction about your mate or relationship, IT'S OUT THERE. It's not like telling your friend how much your boyfriend stinks (in some cases, literally) and you can hope she'll be too drunk to remember. You're posting this for 237 of your close "friends" to see. So if you do work it out with Loverboy, you're gonna look like an even bigger idiot when you post pics of you guys snuggling at someone's wedding. "Didn't she make disparaging remarks about his manhood and then change her status to "Single" a week ago?"

Let it marinate. Think about what you're doing. Here's an idea: KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. For real! It can be done! People used to do it all the time! There were things called "privacy" and "shame" and they worked out OK for a long time. Then reality TV happened and people started wearing pajamas in public and all hell broke loose (in some cases, literally).

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.

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?

...and Twins!

Can someone please explain the concept of the celebrity look-alike to me? Like, how is it a job to sort of look like a famous person who actually, you know, does stuff? What is the market for this? The opening of a mini-mall? And who's getting excited to see a discount version of say, Fantasia? Does she sing like Fanny? No? WHAT IS THE POINT? Even for like, a kids' birthday party, I don't think this would fly. They might be excited until they finally realize that that's not really Britney Spears prancing around their living room. Then the whole situation just becomes embarrassing for everyone involved.

Even worse are celebrity look-alikes of people who don't even do anything in the first place. We're talking Paris Hilton, the Pope, et al. That's great that you have a big ass and look kind of like Kim Kardashian. What are you going to do at a corporate function? Reenact scenes from her sex tape?

Along the same lines are wax museums. Why do these exist? Are you supposed to take photos from just the right angle so that you can't see the shiny, waxy veneer and try to fool your friends into thinking you actually met Rodney Dangerfield? Um, first of all, he's dead. Secondly, they always look kind of off. Like the wigs are askew, the eyes a little wonky, the features a little too masculine or feminine.

Wax museums always seem to be in major metropolitan cities (London, New York, San Francisco, etc.) where there's any number of better things one could be doing than looking at a fake version of Brad and Angelina. WHY WOULD YOU GO THERE? Maybe if it was raining and you had a coupon. Even so, though.

Much more amusing are sites like http://totallylookslike.com/ where they compare celebs to one another, or ones where you upload a pic of yourself and it tells you you look like Kathy Bates.

Christmas Jeers

There are many gross things associated with the Christmas season. Even with the decorations and stuff, the cheer part often eludes me. Let's have a rundown of what's not cute about this time of year:

1) Commercials like this, which are even more annoying because you can't embed the file in your blog. Here's the gist: "I love Christmas because... I love to shop!" Really? That's great.

2) The aforementioned Gap commercials which drive me into a near-homicidal rage.

3) Candy canes. They look cute, but I don't want to eat that. And now I feel obligated to do so because what about all the starving children.

4) Cookies and cake that look delicious but then you bite into them and they taste like rum or some crap. What is that? I don't need to get hammered from eating a cookie. I just want a damn cookie that tastes like a cookie, not a cocktail.

5) Those cards that you get that don't fold. Don't get me wrong. I love getting picture cards. But the ones that don't fold and that you have to prop up against the wall get relegated to the back row on the mantel with the free-standing ones obscuring them and their beauty. Which kind of sucks because then I can't see the cuteness.

6) The fact that every store feels the need to play nothing but Christmas music. Come on. Not everyone is into it. Can we throw some Doobie Brothers in there to break it up?

7) Crap like this:

which they then made even worse by making a TV movie based on it. Mom's dying and your buying her shoes? Good luck with that. How about buying that kid a coat, instead?

8) When they do crud that messes with my precious childhood memories. Like those parodies about Rudolph being a porn star or something. Take your pick here. I don't need that, OK? It's not helping.

9) Sexy Santa lingerie. Really?

10) This:

If this is what I'm getting from my piece this year, we're over.

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.

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.

Trite Tripe.

Can we all agree to stop using the phrase "I love [whoever] to death"? I mean, WTF does that mean, anyway? That you love the person so much you want to kill them? That is not cool, man.

Even if intent to murder is not the intended subtext of the phrase, I've noticed that people usually use it to talk about someone they actually don't like all that much. "I love Hans to death... But his sandals make me gag." "I love my mother in-law-to death... but I'm glad she lives in Guam." "I love children to death... But I have vivid nightmares that those creepy twins from that Ikea commercial will somehow find me and murder me in my sleep." (Seriously, what is that commercial even about?! That the mom loves her matching ovens more than her twins? That twins are evil? The Twin Anti-Defamation League needs to get on that.)

While we're eradicating irritating, meaningless phrases from our collective vocabulary, let's also do away with the space-filler, "It is what it is." Oh, is it, really? WHAT? If it's not what it is, then WHAT IS IT? It's like an existential mind-bender. But stupid.

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.

The Pro-NO-sal.

Don't you hate it when you go to a picturesque cabin with your hotass coworker who you're pretending to be married to so you can get a green card because you're Canadian and it turns out that you are both single and lonely and the only thing keeping you apart (besides you being a Canadian) is your pride and dedication to maintaining your reputation as a hard-edged businesswoman and then when you're in the cabin, you and your hotass coworker both suddenly - whoops!- find yourselves accidentally nude and on top of one another and then like, maybe Cloris Leachman or Murphy Brown pops her head in and says something bawdy and then you realize that you're really in love after all and screw the USA and its stupid green card laws, you're moving to Canada with your hotass coworker who is now your husband?

I hate when that happens.

You have now officially seen that new Sandy Bullock/Guy Who is Married to Scarlett Jojoba and Who is Ironically Canadian in Real Life movie. You're welcome.