1) Doorbells are obsolete now. At least for your friends waiting in the car for your slow ass or for guys wanting to pick up their dates while conveniently avoiding their girlfriends' fathers. You just pull into the driveway, or to the front of the house, and send a text that says, “I’m outside.” Done and done. No more need to even honk and annoy the neighbors.
2) Have you ever noticed that car dealerships are perpetually having sales? Come on down! We’ve got great deals on Corollas, Camrys, RAV-4s all for National Secretaries Day! … There’s no time like today to get yourself in a brand new Santa Fe for Arbor Day! And if you act now, we’ll plant a tree, in your name, in the rainforest!
3) It is the middle of January. It’s frickin’ freezing all across this country. So tell me, why are all retailers now selling Spring clothes? Especially while they’re all struggling in this economy? You don’t think it would be prudent of the Gap to lay out a few extra wool sweaters or maybe some thermals? Pisses me off!
4) If I order a, say, the Works pizza from California Pizza Kitchen (Sweet Italian sausage, pepperoni, sautéed mushrooms, Mozzarella cheese, mild onions, green peppers, black olives and tomato sauce), it would cost me around $12. If I added, say, bacon to my pie it would cost me, say, $15. So if I want the Works, say, sans mushrooms and olives, why the hell don’t they charge me less? That’s bullshit!
5) Call me a traditionalist, but I really can't stand this new trend of waspy ass, cheesy ass names for babies. Harper, Madison, Presley, Logan, Jordyn, Cort ... elementary school classrooms will shortly sound like law firms.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
I'm fat. What kind of handouts do I get?
“Expectant Mother Parking” is kind of a farce. Now, I’m not knocking pregnant women; they obviously deserve a decent amount of slack. But can we get a little more specific on what expectant entails? If you have been pregnant for three weeks, I really don’t think you need to park 10 feet from the Loehmann’s. I want to see some, fat, waddling, about-to-pop woman walking out of that spot. At least be showing!
It’s the word expectant that throws me all off. My wife and I will probably have children in the next two to three years. We’re ‘expecting’ to. So does that mean she gets to park there? After all, she IS expecting ... at some point. Uh, no!
It’s like going into a bank and asking for a mortgage. They ask you what you make and what your wife makes. Can I say, “Well, I make $60K/yr now, but I expect to make $1.6 million next year? So how ‘bout that $10 million loan now, huh?” Isn’t this exactly what caused the tech bubble to blow? Expectant had better mean something.
It’s the word expectant that throws me all off. My wife and I will probably have children in the next two to three years. We’re ‘expecting’ to. So does that mean she gets to park there? After all, she IS expecting ... at some point. Uh, no!
It’s like going into a bank and asking for a mortgage. They ask you what you make and what your wife makes. Can I say, “Well, I make $60K/yr now, but I expect to make $1.6 million next year? So how ‘bout that $10 million loan now, huh?” Isn’t this exactly what caused the tech bubble to blow? Expectant had better mean something.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
In like Flynt, out like trout
Ah, the holidays. A time for family and exchanging presents and eating good food.
And it's also a time for family arguments, aggravating travel and being hung over from not only alcohol but the good food, too.
You know that when it hits November you start to think about when you can take off work. For me it's always been hard because on my small staff everyone wants to take off at the same time, but you just can't do that in a newsroom. But most people are cool and we work it out with each other. The worst part is trying to figure out just how many days off you have left.
I use the term "days off" specifically. To me, if you're out of work, youre out of work. Doesn't matter if you're in Barbados, if you have the swine flu or if it's Yom Kippur. If you're out you're out. Not to my company.
Our HR department gives you "vacation days," "floating holidays" (whatever the fuck that means) and (unwritten but accepted) "sick days." Vacation days you can bank, floating holidays you can't and sick days are luck of the draw. It's horrendously confusing, and makes absolutely no sense to me. You call HR and want to take five days off during Christmas/New Years and they tell you, "Well you only have two vacation days and one floating holidays left." Well that's great; I'm taking off anyway! The stupid way this system is set up means that for me to take off for the five days, I'm taking my two vacation days, one floating holiday and then rounding off my vacation with two sick days. I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous.
A day off is a day off. Why the hell can't an HR department just tell every employee you get, say, 14 days off for vacation, total, and we'll cut you some slack if you're sick. Or, even simpler: you get 21 days off a year; use them at your disposal. It's just too confusing to figure all of this out, especially in an environment where nobody punches a clock and staff ROUTINELY works 50 and 60 hours a week. We deserve our days off. I don't care if you call them Going-to-Vegas-to-get-a-Hooker days.
And it's also a time for family arguments, aggravating travel and being hung over from not only alcohol but the good food, too.
You know that when it hits November you start to think about when you can take off work. For me it's always been hard because on my small staff everyone wants to take off at the same time, but you just can't do that in a newsroom. But most people are cool and we work it out with each other. The worst part is trying to figure out just how many days off you have left.
I use the term "days off" specifically. To me, if you're out of work, youre out of work. Doesn't matter if you're in Barbados, if you have the swine flu or if it's Yom Kippur. If you're out you're out. Not to my company.
Our HR department gives you "vacation days," "floating holidays" (whatever the fuck that means) and (unwritten but accepted) "sick days." Vacation days you can bank, floating holidays you can't and sick days are luck of the draw. It's horrendously confusing, and makes absolutely no sense to me. You call HR and want to take five days off during Christmas/New Years and they tell you, "Well you only have two vacation days and one floating holidays left." Well that's great; I'm taking off anyway! The stupid way this system is set up means that for me to take off for the five days, I'm taking my two vacation days, one floating holiday and then rounding off my vacation with two sick days. I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous.
A day off is a day off. Why the hell can't an HR department just tell every employee you get, say, 14 days off for vacation, total, and we'll cut you some slack if you're sick. Or, even simpler: you get 21 days off a year; use them at your disposal. It's just too confusing to figure all of this out, especially in an environment where nobody punches a clock and staff ROUTINELY works 50 and 60 hours a week. We deserve our days off. I don't care if you call them Going-to-Vegas-to-get-a-Hooker days.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Taking a hit on cool points
The DVR is the best invention of the past 10 years. I'm convinced. It changed my life. It makes decisions easy. Now, if someone calls me up at 4 p.m. and wants to get a drink after work I can easily say yes. I don't have to make an excuse as to why I can't, like, "I'm swamped at work," when in the past the real answer would be, "I really don't want to miss 'Temptation Island' on TV." And thank god for that.
The Bumper Bully is the worst invention of the last 10 years. I don't know what it is but lately I've been noticing an abundance of Bumper Bullies around. If you don't know what I'm talking about it's that ugly, black flap of rubber that hangs from people's trunks on the back of their cars.
First of all, what is it protecting? Your crappy-ass plastic bumper? Big wup. I live in New York City, where most people can't pull into or out of spots without using the 'touch' method. Little dings are a right of passage! But ok, you have a nice new Lexus and you park it on the street and you want to make sure you keep it clean. I get that. But why do you insist on driving around with the damn thing hanging off the back of your car? Can't you just put it back inside the trunk, where it rightfully belongs? It makes a nice car look ugly. And if it's on an ugly car then why are you bothering anyway? Your 1997 Corolla does not need a damn Bumper Bully!
Secondly, did anyone stop and think, Hey, what about the front of my car? How come some idiot only thought about inventing an ugly black flap for the back of a car? Is the front not at least equally important to protect? Trust me, Mrs. Shu can just as easily back her Honda Odyssey into the front of your car and ding your grill up. Personally, a dented grill would piss me off more than a scrape on my back bumper.
It's just a stupid, ugly contraption. I honestly don't get it.
The Bumper Bully is the worst invention of the last 10 years. I don't know what it is but lately I've been noticing an abundance of Bumper Bullies around. If you don't know what I'm talking about it's that ugly, black flap of rubber that hangs from people's trunks on the back of their cars.
First of all, what is it protecting? Your crappy-ass plastic bumper? Big wup. I live in New York City, where most people can't pull into or out of spots without using the 'touch' method. Little dings are a right of passage! But ok, you have a nice new Lexus and you park it on the street and you want to make sure you keep it clean. I get that. But why do you insist on driving around with the damn thing hanging off the back of your car? Can't you just put it back inside the trunk, where it rightfully belongs? It makes a nice car look ugly. And if it's on an ugly car then why are you bothering anyway? Your 1997 Corolla does not need a damn Bumper Bully!
Secondly, did anyone stop and think, Hey, what about the front of my car? How come some idiot only thought about inventing an ugly black flap for the back of a car? Is the front not at least equally important to protect? Trust me, Mrs. Shu can just as easily back her Honda Odyssey into the front of your car and ding your grill up. Personally, a dented grill would piss me off more than a scrape on my back bumper.
It's just a stupid, ugly contraption. I honestly don't get it.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Sherlock away from Holmes
Anyone go to the movies on Jewish Christmas? Anyone see Sherlock Holmes? That’s good, hope you enjoyed …
Our Christmas started off with such promise. The plan was to drive out to Long Island, get some food somewhere and go movie hop. We had the schedules all mapped out for optimal hopping performance. So we get going around noon and wind up in Westbury. We know most things are closed on Christmas Day, but hey, this is Long Island! There’s always a diner open, right? Hmm. Well, I kid you not when I tell you we spent an hour in the car trying to find someplace open to eat. The one diner that was open was so packed we would have waited over an hour to sit down. Not happening. So we hop back in the car and drive around some more and we honestly settle on the only thing we can find open: Burger King. (This made me surprisingly happy because I’d been craving a Whopper for the longest! We didn’t want the standard Chinese because we just had it the day before.) So we eat our burgers and head off to the theater.
Huge mistake. I have never in my life seen a movie theater so crowded. The parking lot was like downtown Tokyo, which should have told me all I needed to know about the inside. The lines to buy tickets at the teller were out the door on both sides; the lines to get into your movie once you already had your ticket snaked around the entire enormous lobby; even the Fandango kiosk was probably 50 people deep. It was insane.
And then, of course, everything started to sell out. I mean everything! We wound up getting on line, hoping for the best once we got up there, but gave up after 10 minutes when we realized it wasn’t going to happen. Eventually we left and decided to take our chances back home in Queens. So, in case you were wondering, we drove all the way out to Long Island on Christmas Day to eat Burger King and drive home. Good times.
So we headed off to a nice, big Regal theater in Queens thinking we’d have a much better shot. After all, if you’re gonna aim for an empty theater on Christmas Day, might as well be where there is an abundance of Christians. Yea, in retrospect it really wasn’t such a good idea to spend Jewish Christmas in the Jewish Mecca that is Long Island. So we were in luck! The Regal theater was, relatively speaking, pretty empty. Only problem was, there was nothing playing remotely around when we arrived at the theater. We would have had to wait there God knows how long, and the theater is in an outdoor mall—and it was freezing—so we left again and decided to just aim for the theater right down the block from our apartment.
We wanted to see Sherlock Holmes at 5 p.m. We got to the theater and guess what? Yup, sold out. Fuck! But the 7:10 p.m. show was still available so we decided to see that. Finally. But now we had two hours to kill, and my wife didn't want to go home and come back, so we just walked around our neighborhood in the cold with nearly no stores to walk into, but we managed to finally kill the time. And then we saw Sherlock Holmes and everything was wonderful. So, for all you kids counting at home: We left the house at noon and wound up taking about 7 hours to see one damn movie!
At least my wife got to see the film. I missed the last 10 minutes. Nature called unexpectedly. Actually, Nature was knocking down my door with a battle ax … and to all the men out there, you know what that means.
So I had to excuse myself, miss the climax of the movie and head to the restroom. I was not thrilled about that prospect. Think about it, how do you feel about public restrooms? If you’re anything like me it is an option only for extreme emergencies.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
John Mayer once said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “Comfort is being able to take a dump in public like you would in the privacy of your own home.” That’s damn astute of him. And damn hard to pull off.
So I get to the bathroom and there are three stalls. The middle was already occupied, but otherwise the bathroom was completely empty. That was a good sign for some comfort. So I can either choose between the handicapped stall on the left or the normal one on the right. Which one would you choose? The handicapped, right? You want the extra room? It’s a nice thought and all, but should I pick the toilet filled with piss and shit, or the one filled with shit and piss? What a decision. It’s like choosing between the hot girl who you’ll have to buy 17 drinks for to wind up kissing or the butter face who will come home with you for a slice of bad pizza. When you’re horny. But I digress …
So I chose the smaller stall that was relatively shit-free but covered in piss. Now, bare in mind the severity of the situation here. Time is of the essence. But I spent as much—as little?—time as possible cleaning off the seat with some toilet paper and got down to business. Ahhhhhhhhh! That poor bastard sitting in the stall next to me! I think I shit out a large, decomposing raccoon. And besides, even though the whole situation was gross, I figured the movie would be over by the time I got out so I could just go home and shower right away. So this wasn’t as comfy an experience as being on your home field, but at least that thought was comforting.
But gentlemen, there are some things to be gleaned from this situation. Did you ever wonder why the hell women take so damn long in a public bathroom? Or why there’s always a line outside their bathroom? Well, I now know why. Listen closely, fellahs. It’s not that they wear a lot of layers, or that they are chatting with their girlfriends, or even that they’re spending time looking in the mirror touching up their hair and faces …
It’s the toilet paper. Public restrooms have terrible toilet paper. It’s absolute shit. It’s shit-covered shit. And it’s not even that it’s as thin as Brittany Murphy (Too soon? Oooh!), it’s that it’s as wide as a baseball card. I mean, what the fuck is that? Seriously, it covers about three fingers’ worth of your hand. This is why women spend so damn long in the bathroom, men. This is the answer right here: It’s because they have to spend 10 minutes wrapping that paper, and crumpling it and folding it and contorting it in such a way, that it covers their entire hand. And you know what? I don’t blame them. Not at all. Not in the least.
And you know what else? Why the hell is that industrial-sized toilet paper dispenser always like 6 inches off the ground? Who can reach that thing? Then you have to walk that tightrope where you reach your hand in gingerly and try and pull the paper down as gently as you can so that you can get an ample amount but make sure it does not touch the floor. Is there anything grosser than that? Seriously, you pull at the paper and it takes you a good minute or two just to get the rhythm going where you can pull a little and clump it in your hand without it touching the floor. The first five pulls you inevitably rip off one damn square, so you have to keep trying until you get your pace. Then you finally get enough paper in your hand that you can bring it up to waist level and reapportion it for general wiping use.
It’s a long and winding road, gentlemen. It’s a painstaking process. So next time those ladies are taking fucking forever in a public restroom, cut them some slack. They've got one heckuva situation to deal with, one we only come across in the worst of times.
We may be able to pee standing up. But heck, they can hover!
Our Christmas started off with such promise. The plan was to drive out to Long Island, get some food somewhere and go movie hop. We had the schedules all mapped out for optimal hopping performance. So we get going around noon and wind up in Westbury. We know most things are closed on Christmas Day, but hey, this is Long Island! There’s always a diner open, right? Hmm. Well, I kid you not when I tell you we spent an hour in the car trying to find someplace open to eat. The one diner that was open was so packed we would have waited over an hour to sit down. Not happening. So we hop back in the car and drive around some more and we honestly settle on the only thing we can find open: Burger King. (This made me surprisingly happy because I’d been craving a Whopper for the longest! We didn’t want the standard Chinese because we just had it the day before.) So we eat our burgers and head off to the theater.
Huge mistake. I have never in my life seen a movie theater so crowded. The parking lot was like downtown Tokyo, which should have told me all I needed to know about the inside. The lines to buy tickets at the teller were out the door on both sides; the lines to get into your movie once you already had your ticket snaked around the entire enormous lobby; even the Fandango kiosk was probably 50 people deep. It was insane.
And then, of course, everything started to sell out. I mean everything! We wound up getting on line, hoping for the best once we got up there, but gave up after 10 minutes when we realized it wasn’t going to happen. Eventually we left and decided to take our chances back home in Queens. So, in case you were wondering, we drove all the way out to Long Island on Christmas Day to eat Burger King and drive home. Good times.
So we headed off to a nice, big Regal theater in Queens thinking we’d have a much better shot. After all, if you’re gonna aim for an empty theater on Christmas Day, might as well be where there is an abundance of Christians. Yea, in retrospect it really wasn’t such a good idea to spend Jewish Christmas in the Jewish Mecca that is Long Island. So we were in luck! The Regal theater was, relatively speaking, pretty empty. Only problem was, there was nothing playing remotely around when we arrived at the theater. We would have had to wait there God knows how long, and the theater is in an outdoor mall—and it was freezing—so we left again and decided to just aim for the theater right down the block from our apartment.
We wanted to see Sherlock Holmes at 5 p.m. We got to the theater and guess what? Yup, sold out. Fuck! But the 7:10 p.m. show was still available so we decided to see that. Finally. But now we had two hours to kill, and my wife didn't want to go home and come back, so we just walked around our neighborhood in the cold with nearly no stores to walk into, but we managed to finally kill the time. And then we saw Sherlock Holmes and everything was wonderful. So, for all you kids counting at home: We left the house at noon and wound up taking about 7 hours to see one damn movie!At least my wife got to see the film. I missed the last 10 minutes. Nature called unexpectedly. Actually, Nature was knocking down my door with a battle ax … and to all the men out there, you know what that means.
So I had to excuse myself, miss the climax of the movie and head to the restroom. I was not thrilled about that prospect. Think about it, how do you feel about public restrooms? If you’re anything like me it is an option only for extreme emergencies.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
John Mayer once said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “Comfort is being able to take a dump in public like you would in the privacy of your own home.” That’s damn astute of him. And damn hard to pull off.
So I get to the bathroom and there are three stalls. The middle was already occupied, but otherwise the bathroom was completely empty. That was a good sign for some comfort. So I can either choose between the handicapped stall on the left or the normal one on the right. Which one would you choose? The handicapped, right? You want the extra room? It’s a nice thought and all, but should I pick the toilet filled with piss and shit, or the one filled with shit and piss? What a decision. It’s like choosing between the hot girl who you’ll have to buy 17 drinks for to wind up kissing or the butter face who will come home with you for a slice of bad pizza. When you’re horny. But I digress …So I chose the smaller stall that was relatively shit-free but covered in piss. Now, bare in mind the severity of the situation here. Time is of the essence. But I spent as much—as little?—time as possible cleaning off the seat with some toilet paper and got down to business. Ahhhhhhhhh! That poor bastard sitting in the stall next to me! I think I shit out a large, decomposing raccoon. And besides, even though the whole situation was gross, I figured the movie would be over by the time I got out so I could just go home and shower right away. So this wasn’t as comfy an experience as being on your home field, but at least that thought was comforting.
But gentlemen, there are some things to be gleaned from this situation. Did you ever wonder why the hell women take so damn long in a public bathroom? Or why there’s always a line outside their bathroom? Well, I now know why. Listen closely, fellahs. It’s not that they wear a lot of layers, or that they are chatting with their girlfriends, or even that they’re spending time looking in the mirror touching up their hair and faces …
It’s the toilet paper. Public restrooms have terrible toilet paper. It’s absolute shit. It’s shit-covered shit. And it’s not even that it’s as thin as Brittany Murphy (Too soon? Oooh!), it’s that it’s as wide as a baseball card. I mean, what the fuck is that? Seriously, it covers about three fingers’ worth of your hand. This is why women spend so damn long in the bathroom, men. This is the answer right here: It’s because they have to spend 10 minutes wrapping that paper, and crumpling it and folding it and contorting it in such a way, that it covers their entire hand. And you know what? I don’t blame them. Not at all. Not in the least.
And you know what else? Why the hell is that industrial-sized toilet paper dispenser always like 6 inches off the ground? Who can reach that thing? Then you have to walk that tightrope where you reach your hand in gingerly and try and pull the paper down as gently as you can so that you can get an ample amount but make sure it does not touch the floor. Is there anything grosser than that? Seriously, you pull at the paper and it takes you a good minute or two just to get the rhythm going where you can pull a little and clump it in your hand without it touching the floor. The first five pulls you inevitably rip off one damn square, so you have to keep trying until you get your pace. Then you finally get enough paper in your hand that you can bring it up to waist level and reapportion it for general wiping use.
It’s a long and winding road, gentlemen. It’s a painstaking process. So next time those ladies are taking fucking forever in a public restroom, cut them some slack. They've got one heckuva situation to deal with, one we only come across in the worst of times.
We may be able to pee standing up. But heck, they can hover!
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