Monday, January 31, 2011

In case of emergency, take pictures

I have very little to say today.

The weekend was actually pretty full which left very little time for me to write anything or even watch Sex And The City for the 8,645,318th time.

The true highlight/low-point of my weekend was the beautiful weather.  Only in Texas does the Sunday before the "coldest days in Dallas history" offer you and your friends the perfect patio drinking weather (or something like that, I probably shouldn't use quotes because that is most likely a completely inaccurate statement).

Anyway, the weather was amazing so my friends and I decided to spend the day drinking at Taco Diner.   Who is infamous for (no, not their tacos), a drink called the Mambo Taxi.  I'm not 100% sure what is in them, but I know they will completely ninja your face if you are not ready.  Or, in my case, even if you are.  If you follow me on twitter, you may or may not have been aware of the events leading up to my demise.

In my early years of drinking, some random Asian told me that I am 'allergic' to alcohol.  And by 'allergic', I'm sure Asian meant we lack some sort of enzyme that helps break down alcohol.  Needless to say, I'm a 2.5 drink date and apparently a 1 Mambo Taxi date rape.

After one, I was ready to throw in the towel.  My friends, whose blood is just about the same consistency as a Mambo Taxi, didn't want to leave and I didn't feel like being a Debbie Downer/Party Pooper or paying cab fare...

I opted to sleep in the backseat of my roommate's brand new car.  It was the best decision of my life.  I even utilized his windshield shades to cover up what would look like a victim of a kidnapper with ADD.

PS - I would like to thank the good people at Acura for making such a lovely and comfortable backseat.  Being Acura, I'm almost 100% confident in believing that they designed this seat for passed out Asians.

SIDE NOTE: I was out drank by a friend who 24 hours prior suffered moderate to severe head trauma.  After a night of staying up too late and getting into trouble, my friend got up too quickly to answer his phone, got nauseous, passed out, hit his head on a bathtub, and proceeded to demolish my other friend's shower curtain.

I didn't witness this, but my friends who were there were nice enough to document it.

In case of emergency, my friends are not helpful whatsoever and also, why is there a glass of water in my friend's shower?

UPDATE: For the record, I was NOT drunk/wasted.  I just had a horrible reaction to whatever the hell those jokers at Taco Diner put in that drink.  I eventually went home and watched Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.  Thank you, Angelina Jolie.

Friday, January 28, 2011

UPDATED: off the chain

Everyone who lives in a large metropolitan area boasts about how awesome it is to have cool, independently owned, non-chain restaurants.  This is neat, but every once and a while, I just want to eat at a damn Olive Garden.

Due to my location in Dallas, the closest easy chain restaurant is a 15 minute drive up a major and usually busy highway or toll road.  To add insult to injury, around dinner time, traffic is at its peak, and I would rather watch a Pauly Shore movie sober than deal with that.

I don’t even like trying new restaurants.  I stress out, because ordering is ALWAYS a gamble.  You might be pleasantly surprised or it can be like meeting a new friend and thinking they are interesting, and then you invite them over for cocktails and they drink too much and take a dump in your closet. 

On the other hand, chain restaurants are like dependable, uninteresting, and predictable friends.  You are never completely blown away by them, but you always know what you’re getting yourself into and your expectations are low enough that you always leave pleased.

Also, when I’m in the middle of slothing on the couch, I don’t see commercials for the lesser known, independent eateries.  What I do see is a beefy hand squeezing a lemon over steaming piles of seafood in Red Lobster commercials that make me want to move to Lewisville and eat my weight in cheesy biscuits.

The only thing worse than not having access to a chain restaurant is visiting one after a long time and find out they have completely revamped the menu.  It’s like that dependable friend you haven’t seen in a while got a sex change and gave birth to a tranny baby.  I’m looking at you, Chili's!   What the hell happened to the Margarita Grilled Tuna?!

Analogy alternative – Chain restaurants are a lot like Britney Spears’s music.  Not winning any awards or life changing, always more or less the same, inappropriate, addictive, and you usually hate yourself for loving them as much as you do.  But, Indie music, like the Indie restaurant, sucks!  

Finally, I had to cross-reference a lot of information in Revelations, but I’m 99% sure Heaven will have a Chili’s.

UPDATE: One of my readers informed there is a Chili's on Knox somewhat close to where I live.  And an On The Border.  And, if I liked Mexican food, I would really excited about 100% of that information.  But, Knox is one of those parts of Dallas I never seem to find myself in.  Like Lakewood.  I swear to Kabbala that every time someone mentions Lakewood, I am fairly certain they are speaking of some strange world like Narnia.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Africa's Best + The Bump-It

There are a lot of things that can be accomplished simply by doing without any type of previous experience like sky diving or Easy Mac.  However, there is a whole other realm of doings that require professional training.  Unfortunately, I learned the difference between the two when attempting to play beauty shoppe last summer.

My hair is strong, thick, and resilient.  It has a mind of its own and can only be tamed with copious amounts of strong product.  JJ Abram’s Star Trek reboot had just come out, and Zachary Quinto was hot as a dirty open mouth kiss.  He was everywhere doing press, and I was saw his beautiful hair and knew I wanted my head to look like that, but less hipster.  See?

I also contacted the Bosley Medical to see if they could enhance my eyebrows, but they have yet to return any of my calls...

Anyway, my friend said he thought if we used a relaxer, my hair would magically become wispy, flowing locks of Zachary Quinto inspired awesomeness.  So we went to CVS (the start of many a tragic adventure and/or coming of age story and/or cautionary tale).  We navigated through the hair care products and found our way to the ‘Ethnic Hair Care’ section.  And while I had never seen Beyonce or Sarah Jessica Parker endorse it, the sister on the box of ‘Africa’s Best’ seemed happy enough with her do.

As you can imagine… this did not end well.  After 20 minutes of moderate to intense burning sensations, my Zachary Quinto pompadour and ever regaining feeling in my scalp seemed like a thing of the past.

SIDE NOTE: Along with my lesson of 'leave it to the professionals', I learned that if it is made for a specific gender or race, you should probably not use it unless you belong to one of those groups...

After a rinse, my friend and his roommate at the time almost died of uncontrollable laughter.  They tried all they could to try and help me style it.  Blow drying, straightening, cutting certain areas all failed.  Seems for a product labeled ‘relaxer’ it actually just pissed off my hair.  For some reason, callicks (cowlicks?) of unimaginable proportions sprung up ALL OVER MY HEAD. 

I ended up having to shave my head, because this is not a good I can make work:

I never really got my wavy, flowing pompadour I wanted more than World Peace.  But, thanks to a few months of letting hair grow back out and the good people at the As Seen On TV products, I did get a Bump-It!

Monday, January 24, 2011

Childhood Trauma: Part VI - Un-Lunchable

If you’ve kept up with my Childhood Trauma posts (1, 2, 3, 4, + 5) you can clearly deduce that my parents were careless, tired souls who endured 30+ years of having the life sucked out of them by me and my miserable siblings.  That seems harsh, but we were a bratty pack of preacher’s kids.  So you can imagine the amount of time my parents spent praying one or more of us would be kidnapped or run away.

Anyway, we sucked.  So, when it came to feeding us, my parents were as cheap as possible.  Seriously, my parents' frugality makes Suze Orman look like Richard Branson.  Raising 5 kids on a pastor's salary means a world of hand-me downs, leftovers, and sibling babysitting that never ended well.

In my parents’ never-ending battle in cutting corners and neglecting us kids, there were certain grocery items that were never in our house.  (i.e. - chips, sodas, fruit roll-ups, etc).  Therefore, as an adult I have become a junk food binge eater.  Much like not throwing trash at beggars at intersections, I have to show restraint and not devour entire bags of chips in single sittings.  And to this day, my desk and pantry at home almost always have some sort of children’s themed fruit snack in them.

One time, I was drunk at a friend's house who was throwing a party and hid in the pantry and ate an entire box of her Fruit Roll-Ups.

At the time and in retrospect, it was the best idea ever.

SIDE NOTE: On the VERY rare occasion my mom would buy Doritos or any other luxury snack, she would hide them in her closet or under the bed.  I figured this out and had she stored up more snacks, I might not have ever come out of that particular closet. ;)

One of the most devastating repeat offenses of my childhood was most definitely the Lunchable… and later, the advent of the Lunchable Deluxe (that came with a flippin Andes Mint)!!!  Mom would say ‘you can just cut up cheese and luncheon meat and bring your own crackers!’ The fact that this would be complete  elementary social suicide never crossed her mind. However, it haunted my dreams... repeatedly.  

I think my incessant whining left her with one of two choices: break down once and buy me a Deluxe Pizza Lunchable for my next school fieldtrip or kill me.  She was probably just too tired to dig a hole deep enough for my fat little corpse. 

So, basically, in efforts at saving money, my parents destroyed any chance of their youngest son of ever having any sort of self control whatsoever… 

PS – a while back I was grocery shopping out of boredom and I bought a Lunchable. I guess my mom had it right, those little boxes have enough sodium to take down a miniature horse!

Friday, January 21, 2011

defining the d.

I’ve been watching all of Sex And The City (for the first time) and have unanimously decided with myself that I am a ‘Carrie.’  I have a successful writing career, date older, and have a very high opinion of myself and my opinions.  So, right now, I’m channeling my inner Sarah Jessica.  I’m even typing this on a black MacBook, wearing high heels, and got a perm.  (Only one of those is true…)

Anyway, what is dating?  So many people have varying definitions of the word or they attach a qualifier to it thus redefining it further... So, I have no idea what exactly it is… 

In a world where you can be dating, exclusively dating, dating around, messing around, fooling around, seeing someone, and so on, where do we crossover from being a complete lovefool (aka – dumb slut) and in a committed relationship where cheating is prohibited and battery is frowned upon?

A lot of people say they are ‘dating’ someone after a couple dinners, trips to the bar, and/or random horizontal encounters.  Others can be seeing someone for months and never use the D word.  The true lovefool has a one night stand and/or great first date and think they are 'Notebook-I’m-A-Bird' in love.  When you get two lovefools together and the air is right, they go from dinner on Tuesday to a full-blown facebook official relationship by the weekend.

I REALLY don't understand people who are dating multiple people in one week.  First of all, whose social calendar is that wide open and how can you have the energy to go on multiple dates with different suitors in one week!?  Initial dates are the worst.  They are like interviewing for a job that may never call you back, have a criminal record, and/or be a Plushie!

Personally, I classify dating as being exclusive.  Also, you are only ‘dating’ someone when you stop going on ‘dates.’  Every dinner or meeting isn’t a song and dance of clever remarks and coy flirting.  You are just there together and know that you will be again in the near future.

That’s my two cents on dating, and considering my little first-hand experience in successful dating, it’s probably more like 2 rupees.

PS - I've seen the SATC movies, but never the series.  I'm knee deep in Season 4 and hate Aiden all over again.  Seriously, why did he take her back?  She cheated... A LOT!  But, I hope I really am a Carrie and can find someone stupid enough to take me back after major screw ups.  Usually, when it comes to prospective daters I ask you be a non-ugly, non-cheating guy who has enough respect to avoid the face when hitting me...

I may need to raise my standards.  Also, no earrings or Ed Hardy.  Seriously, that stuff makes my eyes want to vomit.

But, for the record, I can confidently say I am 99.99% sure if one were to date John Corbett, he would NEVER hit you.

Monday, January 17, 2011

worst post ever.

I thought about writing a post about equality and how far our country has come, but still has miles to go blah blah blah, but I have today off.  Thanks, MLK!  Also, it is cloudy, overcast, wet, and cold out. Therefore, I have very little motivation or energy to climb up on any sort of soap box.  This laziness is only compounded by the fact that I was out until the wee hours of Saturday night turned Sunday morning dancing on a speaker box...

Seriously, the only thing I've done all morning (which started a mere 30 minutes ago) was make coffee.  Considering it was a French press, you can imagine the kind of concentration that took!  

So, I'm doing absolutely nothing today and that includes writing a post that probably should just be deleted, but that little disclaimer was built right into the title of this post.

If anything on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I can offer you these tips: if you are off work today, I hope you accomplish more than I do today.  (Showering alone will most surely accomplish this feat).  And, if you are NOT off work today, go up to your boss and call him or her a racist.

I promise to have a good post on Wednesday.  Seriously, it'll be so good my writing career and/or Internet infamy is nearing.  I can smell it.  Or that could just be me.  I really have neglected my hygiene this long weekend...

PS - I grew up Lutheran.  For some reason, growing up, I thought Martin Luther (German priest who got this denomination rolling and martyr) and Martin Luther King, Jr. ('I have a dream' civil rights activist and martyr) were the same person.  Let's add history to the list of things I wouldn't consider my strengths.

UPDATE: My friend, TJ, was doing nothing today as well.  So, I decided to be productive.

This was actually A LOT of work.  I have never done video with my new camera and I get really anxious and nervous when I'm about to try and scare someone... I usually end up scaring myself or horrible backfire situations where the scaree ends up scaring the piss out of me while I lay in wait.

Friday, January 14, 2011

GUEST POST: good mom v. bad mom

A good mom: Chooses a name for her child. She considers major trends (not fads, trends, there's a difference), family history, culture, how it sounds with the surname, how easy it will be for the child to learn to say, spell and write this name. She also goes with a common spelling so as to avoid headaches, annoyances and mistakes at the bank, payroll office, school administration office, social security, etc. 
A bad mom: Chooses a really cool name and then deliberately effs it up. Jazzmin, Meeshel, Madecyn and Kloey are all good examples (that would be Jasmine, Michelle, Madison and Chloe, in case you were wondering, and yes, this generally happens to girls more than boys, although I did know somebody who named their little boy Jaxxsen.)

A good mom: Goes to the obstetrician and tries to heed the advice given to her. Sure, she's not perfect, but she tries and at least obeys all the "big" rules. 
A bad mom: Thinks doctors are whack jobs and doesn't care what anybody says, crack and tequila never did a baby harm. 

A good mom: Hears her baby cry and tries to figure out what's wrong. When hunger, sleepiness, fear and discomfort due to a dirty diaper, too much or too little clothing, poor positioning or restrictive safety belts have all been eliminated, she assumes it's simple loneliness and soothes the baby until s/he is ready to be put back into whatever crib/seat/swing contraption s/he prefers. 
A bad mom: Didn't even hear the baby cry over the Lynyrd Skynyrd blaring out of the stereo. 

A good mom: Cares what her children eat. She serves protein, dairy, vegetables, fruits and whole grains. They may not eat it, but she at least tries. She sometimes gives treats, just because it makes her smile to see them so darn happy. 
A bad mom: Serves Lucky Charms for every meal. That's twice a day, folks. 
A good mom: Knows that her child needs to grow up to be a functioning adult some day. So she teaches her child manners: please, thank you and you're welcome, the fact that you sometimes have to wait your turn, sharing is caring, and stealing is bad. 
A bad mom: Thinks your kid is a sh**head and should give up the Tonka truck already. 

A good mom: Wants her child to be self-sufficient. She stands by, watching the minutes tick away while a two year old struggles to put his pants on "all by hisself" every morning. After five days, by, golly, he's got it! 
A bad mom: Puts her kid in a camouflaged onesie so that she doesn't have to change it for a week and doesn't have time to teach him to tie his shoes, so he wears velcro ones. When he's eleven. 

A good mom: Realizes she has to teach her children to function in places like church, the grocery store, restaurants, movie theaters, libraries and the like. So she takes him to all of these places. She teaches him decorum, and when he simply refuses to behave, she takes him back home and tries again tomorrow. 
A bad mom: Says, "To hell with the comfort of others, I deserve a night out and babysitters are expensive!" so she brings her brood to a fancy restaurant, ignores them and allows them to wreak havoc on the place while she drinks wine and eats too much pasta. 

A good mom: Cares about her child's education. She is involved with the school; whether it be public, private, charter or home. She helps with homework and she encourages learning in any form. 
A bad mom: Says the teacher has it in for her kid. It's definitely not his/her fault that the other kids all hate him/her, and besides, how in the world can you expect a brilliant child like that to stoop to doing "busywork" when they have more intellectually stimulating things to do, like World of Warcraft or whatever else it is they do on the internet? 

A good mom: Knows that rules are in place to protect her children. She also knows that a time will come for every rule to be retired. When the child has learned the lesson attached to the rule, then it's no longer necessary. 
A bad mom: Thinks rules are too restrictive, and doesn't want to have an antagonistic relationship with her children, so she let's them "be themselves."
A good mom: Realizes that messes and stresses will happen every single day. She also realizes that the good outweighs the bad and that those little mess makers and stress makers are the greatest things in her life. 
A bad mom: Doesn't. 

Gina blogs over at Fantasy Casting, where she spouts her opinion about who should be cast in the movie versions of her favorite books. You can contact her here

From John: This is actually a blog swap.  If you are in desperate need of my regular brand of snarky, you should most definitely go check out my guest post.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

UPDATED: Dear Ungrateful Overeating Coworkers,

My office has this genius departmental breakfast rotation system where 3 different people a week buy breakfast every Friday for the entire department.  It’s fantastic because 9 out of 10 weeks, you get a free, delivered breakfast every week! 

I brought breakfast this past Friday.  Since I had to be at work at 7 AM and most of the department doesn’t roll in until 8, I wanted to get something that would still be delicious after sitting on a file cabinet for 1 hour.  So, I went to Einstein’s for one of the grab-n-go bagel boxes. 

I overheard some complaints and decided to write this letter:

Dear Ungrateful Overeating Coworkers,

I’m really am sorry I don’t make enough money to subsidize your obesity. But, until China decides to fund another US bailout, nothing will...

You don’t need as many kolaches as you can carry, a bagel, AND two Whataburger breakfast taquitos in a half hour timespan, because I am fairly certain you are not drunk.  Seriously, are you storing up calories and carbs for your World of Warcraft tournament or Man Vs. Food Marathon/reenactment? 

More importantly, do not scoff at free food, like EVER!  I’m sorry I didn’t stroll through the door with greasy, heart-stopping fried food.  I’m sorry I think reduced fat cream cheese is horse manure.  And for the record, these bagels aren’t ‘health food.’

I understand people have issues with weight that are hard to manage.  Personally, I thank my lucky stars every day that I have never had to deal with it. I have a psycho metabolism like one of the Japanese hot dog eating contest winners.  But, a big part of your bigger problem is the sheer volume of your food intake.  Also, you eat so much, some people don't even get to eat breakfast because you took three Croissanwiches instead of one.  So, you are fat, ungrateful, and selfish?

Also, when we have departmental potlucks, is it absolutely necessary you come back for seconds, thirds, and fourths?  It really isn’t.

I love bacon, hamburgers, pizza, and just about any fried food just as much as the next red-blood-clotted American, but moderation is key with maintaining any borderline functional addiction.

Finally, I am writing this out of concern for your health.  I do not mean to offend you.  Please do not corner me in the break room and truffle shuffle me...


PS - A coworker brought two beautiful fruit platters as his contribution.  It did not go over well with many, and they were the last things left on the counter.

PPS - On a positive note, this system has literally saved my life on days I go out drinking Thursday nights and forget to go to Whataburger or Taco Cabana at 2 AM.  So, to those coworkers who do bring the greasy breakfast food, I'm going to figure out how to nominate your for saintship (sainthood?)  Or a Nobel, those Swedes have given those away for a lot less.  SNAP! This just got real, y'all!

UPDATE: We have been having a number of 'working lunches' because we are really busy.  It is shocking that the most sketchy and literally OBESE coworkers leave their work and their desks to wait in line.  While at the same time, the good, patient, and skinny coworkers can fight their urges and the food aromas and continue working diligently while these fat asses gorge themselves.  I would upload a picture of the herd grazing at our calorie counter, but I would most definitely be fire for that.  Instead, I judge and hate them for increasing my workload while they increase their risks of dying young due to heart failure.

Monday, January 10, 2011

I die.

Last night, due to the cataclysmic Armageddon-esque blizzard that the Dallas-Fort Worth area was in store for, my company decided to enact what we call "Ice Crew."

For those of you who do not work for my company, consider yourselves lucky and also, Ice Crew is where our company puts a skeleton staff in key departments up at a nearby (and surprisingly nice-ish) hotel so we can be safely shuttled to work and be able to still function.

My fun coworkers have come to know this as, bring lots alcohol and get drunk in a hotel room together.

This always seems like a good idea.  We have zero driving responsibilities and we even get to expense our dinners.  So we spend the money we save on food on screw top wine bottles, beer stored in makeshift trashcan ice coolers, and Seagram's whiskey...  I felt like a Kennedy!

Cut to my 7 AM Taylor Swift cell phone alarm, and I felt like a Kennedy...

I fell out of the most comfortable hotel bed of ever and was greeted by dual shower head that was almost a religious experience.  Then came the getting ready and putting on of clothes...  Luckily there was a Starbucks in the lobby.  That way my corpse will at least have something for the coroner to pry out of my cold dead fingers.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Look! I can fly!

This is pointless.  But I loved this picture that was taken of me last night, I thought it constituted an entire post.  Also, I live in Dallas and it is snowing and any sign of mild mild precipitation makes the drivers here more stupid than usual, so I am home with little need or desire to do anything remotely productive.

I have made chicken noodle soup, facebooked excessively for a Sunday morning, and decided to post this awesome picture of me flying.

You're welcome.

Speaking of the snow and awesome things, my roommate and I were talking about the weather and wondered if it was snowing elsewhere.  We started talking about Tennessee (because my other friend is traveling there for work).  I said, "I bet they are getting a lot of snow too because being on the coast probably increases their chance of precipitation."  

After a mild disagreement and quick google, I realized that state in fact does not border the Atlantic ocean... I fail.  This incident only reinforces my knowledge of my lack of knowledge of geography.  Like this, but worse, because I defended my argument that Tennessee was a coastal state because I was sure the Nashville flooding of 2010 was a hurricane...

So, I can fly, but I am stupid.  I think I still win.

I am gonna watch a movie now.

QUICK UPDATE: As super loyal readers, I'm sure the 3 of you would finally love to know the answer to a question I'm almost certain you ask yourself.  What is John wearing right now?

Yes, those are awesome wood floors, fluffy black house shoes, and pajamas with bacon on them and a bacon drawstring.

UPDATE: My company is going through a conversion that new report that requires you know all of the state abbreviations.  My knowledge of this is surprisingly worse than my knowledge of the states' locations.  Seriously, why are there so many M + A states?!!?  

Friday, January 7, 2011

impatience is a virtue.

I may be one of laziest people I know.  One time, I was so lazy that I watched the DVD menu of Will & Grace play for about 20 minutes straight because I was too lazy to get off the couch and change to Disc 4.  Having already watched the first 3 discs, I realized I had:

1) watched 75% of an entire season’s worth of TV in one sitting,
2) faced this dilemma thrice before that morning, and
3) realized that the W&G DVD menu makes me wish the piano was never invented.

As I changed my bedpan and applied ointment to my bed sores, I reflected upon on my sloth and was simultaneously proud of and disgusted with myself...

-I once drank expired milk because my thirst for milk outweighed my health and/or desire to go to the grocery store.
-I text my roommate from my room because I didn't want to get out of bed.
-I sometimes pee in the shower.
-I sometimes go to bed without brushing my teeth because I've already closed the door to my bedroom and walking across the hall to my bathroom seems like too much effort.
-I missed a friend's birthday party because I didn't want to take a shower.
-One time on a road trip, I ran out of gas because all the gas stations I saw were on the OTHER side of the interstate and I wanted one I could just pull up to without having to do 2 U-turns.
-On same said road trip, I peed in a Vitamin Water bottle because I didn't feel like pulling over. (This was before I ran out of gas and turns out is A LOT more work than just peeing on yourself and/or stopping.)

I get it. I'm a horrible, evil, disgusting person whose right to live should be revoked.

Anyway, I then began to think about how much I love being catered to.  If my roommate is making coffee, I am elated to point of near climax if he offers to make me some too or if he generously decides to just plop a mug into my eager hands while I'm on the couch!  (Mind you, we have a Keurig one-cup, so the act of making coffee is quite effortless, but effort nonetheless). 

Hearing someone say “I’ll come pick you up” is more emotionally moving and exciting than “I love you.”  The trick to this one living in a centralized location and make riding together sound like fun!  Or lie and say you had something terrible happened and you plan on having a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit. (PS - this second little trick also excuses your behavior later when you look like Nick Nolte's mugshot!)

The only thing in this world that actually trumps my corpse-like laziness is my childish impatience.  I try to only do things for myself in one of two situations:

1) I know I can do it better than anyone else currently in shouting distance, or
2) No one is currently available or willing to help.

They say patience is a virtue, but if it weren't for my impatience, I would either be morbidly obese or starve to death. Then you would be this sad:

c/o jamesvandermemes (My new favorite website of ever.  If I do defeat the Internet, this will survive!)

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

silence is golden

If you don’t know me, I’m sure from reading this you have clearly deduced that I am a self-involved loud mouth who would send his own grandmother up the river for the tiniest bit of attention.  If you do know me, you can validate that statement.  That being said, quiet people fascinate me.

When I meet someone new and they are reserved on any level, I find it my new life’s goal to find out everything I possibly can about them.  If I have been drinking, this endeavor is approached with very little grace and usually deteriorates into me either making fun of them or point blank asking why they are so quiet.  Neither results in anything that can be described as "productive."

I sometimes find myself moderately stalking these silent souls to catch them in a boisterous act or see just how they function as people who have chosen to live such hushed lives. 

If my efforts are actually successful, I usually find myself extremely disappointed.  I am hoping they are incredibly interesting, have a deep dark ‘Who shot JR?’ type of secret, or just have a naturally mysterious (and therefore sexy) countenance… or possibly a vampire.

More often than not, they’re just boring and/or shy and have nothing to offer to society... and by ‘society,’ I mean ‘me.’  Or they are awkward and they keep to themselves because if and when they open their mouths people start looking for fire exits or blunt, heavy objects to bludgeon themselves with. 

There isn't anything wrong with people who are shy.  They're like Canadians... almost real people.  I just prefer to spend time with people whose energy can compliment or enhance my own.  However, I still remain in fascinated stalker mode at all times just in case I do meet a Jason Bourne or Beast from the X-Men.

NOTE: This curiosity inducing mystique only works if you are reasonably attractive (a 7 or 8 at least).  If you are ugly and try to pull this quiet aura, I just assume you are a sexual deviant who wants to molest me and chop me up into little pieces… or some sort of door-to-door evangelist.

Monday, January 3, 2011


In response to some uninvited feedback from one of my more heavy set friends, I am going to try to mix this up.  I had originally promised him a post with content that would really excite him (i.e. - gravy, burros, and slimming clothing), but instead I think he meant go back to my less humor, more substance posts.  So here it goes…

Having more exposure of gays in the media is almost always more deleterious to strides in queer equality than anything else. 

When shows like Will & Grace were on blast in living rooms across America, it was a big step.  That is, one step forward, two steps back...  Sure it was funny, but audiences were laughing AT these characters, not with them.  Based on personal experience, I know that this is the bad kind.

Instead of being a vehicle for influence and using its popularity to infuse its comedy with messages about equality, they decided to boil every gay character down to a simple, predictable gay stereotype.  For people who know better, it was hilarious to see these things exaggerated on a half-hour sitcom. 

But for the rest of the millions of Americans watching, this might as well have been a documentary on the sinful, indulgent, promiscuous, and self-involved lifestyles of the homosexuals.  (It would really benefit my argument if you read ‘the homosexuals’ with a Southern drawl and with the rural fervor of a 80 year-old Baptist minister.)

Years later, it is clear that W&G set the stage for just about every major network TV show to contain one or more gay characters that, like their predecessor create one dimensional, stereotypical  gays that all Americans can laugh at, like a midget wrestler or dancing monkey.  Modern Family*, Desperate Housewives, and Glee (oh sweet baby Cher! They are ALL gay), all contain a horde of homos that are skewed, exaggerated, and simply inaccurate depictions of the community they are representing (and supporting?).

*Modern Family probably has the most ‘normal' depiction of faggotry, but even they exaggerate and ‘laugh-at’ the gays on occasion.  However, the show is genius and the comic payout is well worth it. 

Why can’t the media be a bit more progressive and embrace gay people as they really are in real life?  Just like everyone else… but with better clothes and gym memberships.

PS – Every single cast member, producer, and/or anyone involved in The A-List on any level needs to be shot in the face.  This reality show makes gay people look absolutely disgusting. Seriously, they should show episodes of this at those crazy “Pray The Gay Away” camps because the 8 minutes of this show I did watch made me want to be straight, get married, and move to the suburbs.  

For the record: I am gay and watch all of these shows borderline religiously (except for the A-List, they can burn in hell).  So this sort of makes a hypocrite...