Friday, October 9, 2009


If you’ve ever been in a conversation with me for 10-15 minutes (especially if there is drinking involved), you know that I like to whine, complain, and air general grievances. There’s a much more appropriate word for this particular brand of self-expression, but I’m too classy to spell those 5-letters out… Anyway, there are just some things that really bug me. These aren’t grievances worthy of reconvening Nuremberg and probably aren’t worth bringing up in any form or fashion, but I wanted to get these off my chest.

The New iPod Nano. Dear Apple, you changed the world of just about everyone between the ages of 12 and 40 when you rolled out the iPod. Having an entire library of music at your fingertips in fun, sleek designs and colors was about as genius as Bacon Salt. However, the newest incarnation of your Nano comes with a notable and unnecessary bell/whistle. Music is music. You don’t have to muck it up with a camera. Sure, there have been times I have been running Katy Trail and passed a fellow runner that I wouldn’t mind having a photo of, but I wouldn’t actually whip out my iPod and snap a shot. So, when or why would you use this?! Just about everyone in the New World already have a digital camera and/or a cell phone that has a camera.

Under-The-Bottom. As I thumbed through one of my favorite books, “Everybody Poops,” I thought to myself, everybody uses toilet paper… I hope. I don’t know if it’s genetic or just a lack of proper upbringing, but who the crap puts their toilet paper on Under-The-Bottom. Every red-blooded, God fearing American citizen knows that Over-The-Top is the only way that toilet paper should be loaded. End. Of. Story.

Buddy. I might be alone on this one, and don’t expect to many ‘Amens’ from the choir loft, but it must be said. The use of ‘buddy’ by men of a certain age in reference to guys around my age is just plain, no questions asked creepy. First of all, I’m not a child, and I find this particular noun rather condescending. Furthermore, it’s about as creepy as handing out candy apples at a day care where you don’t know any of the kids. My name is John. I’ll take ‘sir,’ ‘you over there,’ or even ‘ma’am’ a million times over before a middle-aged creeper who lurks over and says ‘heeeey, buuuddy…’ Bleck!

PS – I might eventually write a post that isn’t just a half-assed list. But, in my defense, I am sort of getting back in the saddle of posting.

No comments: