Random Petty Annoyances, Part 1

Ok.

So, most of my freinds, including my co-authors here, would tell you that I am generally a laid-back individual. Not much really gets to me… at least not all at once. No, I have to see the same stupid-ass behaviors several times before they really manage to annoy me sufficiently to write about it. So, for your enjoyment, and in the spirit of catharsis, I offer the following random sources of unreasonable anger:

1. Your headphones should not ever be larger than the device playing the music. At least certainly not by several orders of magnitude. I see a woman nearly every single day with a tiny iPod, and gigantic headphones. You may as well walk around with a couple of Victrolas strapped to your skull. Unless you are headbanging vigorously, listening to music should not tone your neck muscles.
2. Pressing the button at the crosswalk 3,000 times will not make the light change faster. Here’s how it works, folks: press the button, and at the appropriate moment in the cycle of light changes, the ‘walk’ sign will appear. Standing on the corner pressing the button repeatedly like a monkey on methamphetamines will not make a lick of difference – it will change when it changes. All you’re doing is making yourself look like a fucking idiot, but fortunately the beeping noise makes it easier to tell where you are.
3. There’s a lot of noise made about courteous driving, who is teaching courteous walking? Nobody, that’s who. To the morons who can’t walk and hold a conversation without taking up an entire pedway, move the fuck over. When stopping to figure out where you are, please don’t randomly stop and aimlessly move from side to side – if you do, there will be at least one person behind you with a red face and a bulging forehead vein who will gladly take you the fuck out. Which, I suppose, would solve your problem as your location would then be irrelevant. Finally, old people at the mall and elsewhere: I understand, you’re old and close to death, and want to savor every moment, and that’s wonderful, circle of life, whatever whatever. Just remember that some of us are not retired, some of us have deadlines and meetings and family obligations, and would appreciate if you could step aside, or, alternately, drop the fuck dead, you slow, wrinkly ass old motherfucker.
4. Why is it not ok to portray a woman as unintelligent, but every man on television, particularly commercials, is a barely functional retard? Granted, some of us men are morons – I used to be in retail, so I am very familiar with the concept. However, every man on commercials should logically be starving to death, wearing horribly stained clothes, sitting in a pile of his own filth in a decrepit house except – thank goodness! He’s married, and his super sensible wife will save him from himself! Think about it, though: how competent and caring are you, little missy, if you married this helpless ape in the first place, and had offspring with him? How good does your infallible judgement work when you remember you have fucked this man-child at least once, and allowed him to pass on his genetics? Thanks for spawning another generation of drooling muttonheads (unless it’s a girl, of course). Look smugly at your clean counters all you like, somewhere your idiot hubby is lighting himself, or possibly others, on fire. Good thing you are so goddamned smart. Enjoy your life sentence chained to an orangutan! Mazeltov!
5. Seriously, who the fuck besides you cares if you can dance? Singing, or other types of talent, I can, if only reluctantly, understand – but dancing? That’s gotta be a limited job market. Don’t be wasting the warranty on my television inflicting your spasmic flailings on me and my loved ones. Consider for a moment before you answer the following: how many famous dancers can you name? Let me be more specific – not actors, like Gene Kelley or Fred Astaire; not singers who dance well, like Paula Abdul; and not ballet dancers, like Baryshnikov or whoever else, but hip-hop style modern dancers. I can’t think of any. Perhaps I lead a sheltered life, or, maybe, just maybe, there ain’t too many of ‘em. You can shake your fat ass and move your feet to some awful music: congratulations, sunshine. Enjoy poverty. Rhythmically.
6. Additional volume does not make English magically translate into a universal language. Folks, I been hanging onto this one for a while. It’s Summer, 1992. I am spending the final week of my exchange program to Germany at a hostel in Frankfurt. I’ve been there for three and a half months, living with a German family in a small town, and eating nearly all of my meals with them. I’m ready for a change, so I head for a McDonald’s sign… And end up in line behind a couple in their mid-30s (I refrain from naming a nationality, but it rhymed with Camerican) who are screaming at the top of their lungs in an attempt to make their order understood to a unilingual German girl behind the counter. They are getting more frustrated, the young girl is about to cry. The woman, in true douchebag fashion, asks the poor employee, at full volume, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” Which is where I stepped in. My first instinct would have been to inflict critical wounds through the forceful introduction of tourist skull to counter, but, curiously, I stepped in and calmly translated (yes, I speak German). The couple looked surprised, the employee looked at me as if I were like unto the Second Coming. The couple went away grumbling, I got a big smile and some free fries from an appreciative fraulein. So, next time any of you out there feel superior to someone because you speak the Queen’s English, remember just how many languages it is stolen from, and how many great works were written in other languages. Calm the fuck down, and try to understand – believe me, you may not enjoy the fries, but the smile makes it worthwhile.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Good Morning.

Just a note to inform Blevkog readers, particularly those of a more geekish bent, that I will be posting sections of a work in progress on our sister blog, Revenge of the Inner Geek. The posts are excerpts from a longer work in progress regarding bad sci-fi movies, and hopefully there’s a chuckle or two contained within.

Consider this a hopefully-effective method of moving closer to a writing career.

Shameless plug complete, take a trip over and check it out. Thank you for your attention.

Supervillainy – Only $1.4 Million Away

Giant Golf Ball Included

For only one low payment of $1.4 million, you can own a former NATO satellite station. This comes complete with “…backup power, a sterile work environment, top-notch security features, an exterior workshop and living quarters that include a kitchen, deck and four sleeping areas.”

This is a great buy because, as we all know, the most defining feature of a supervillain, besides his choice of matching costumes for his henchmen, is his lair – it is absolutely crucial in order to gain the respect you deserve, not to mention facilitating world domination. All you’d need is a bit of paint to make the satellite dish cover in the photo look like a skull, and Bob’s your uncle.

Property listing is here. I, for one, am going to start saving my pennies.  Excuse me while I go work on my hideously eeeevil laugh.

Mwoooohahahahaaa!

Beaver Trimmed

Even the New York Times has taken notice that the Canadian history magazine, The Beaver, has been forced by changing times to change its name to the less snicker-worthy Canada’s History.  The article notes that, although the source of much schoolyard humor for decades, it is the advent of the Internet – and the inability of students to search websites with ‘Beaver’ in the title, which is not entirely unreasonable – which has necessitated the change.

They chose not to use my suggested title, “Big Titty Milfs”

Although this is the kind of story that kind of makes you chuckle a bit, it makes you wonder what magazine titles will be re-examined, or outright forbidden, by the dreaded double entendre:

• Bald Pussy Monthly, the magazine for owners of those freaky looking hairless cats;
• Tits & Ass, a combined publication for lovers of specific types of birds and of donkeys;
• Student Nurses in Latex, a specialty magazine for Nursing students, reminding them about proper sterilization techniques;
• Naughty Catholic Schoolgirls Annual, the magazine dealing with the psychology of young women, approximately 17 to 25, who attend Catholic schools and who have encountered trouble with the law;
• Large, Floppy Breasts on Really Slutty Women…

Ok, maybe that’s not the best example…

Full Contact Religion!

Pope Benedict, while on his way to celebrate mass at St. Peter’s Basilica, was knocked down by a woman who jumped the barrier to get at him. This isn’t all that funny – or, rather, it wouldn’t be if this hadn’t been her second try.

Papal Interference – 15 yard penalty, automatic first down.

The catholic church has indicated that they will review security, and the pope, in his speech, said the following:

…the church has been urging people to leave behind their “selfish” mentality, “to advance the common good and to show respect for the persons who are most defenceless, starting with the unborn.”

Like the selfish mentality that exploits the fear and superstition of the poor, and sacrifices women all over the world (particularly in developing countries) to disease and death to ensure the survival of a corrupt hierarchy? The selfish mentality that allows pedophiles to go unpunished, and thousands of children to be vitimized, with the culpability of people in authority? I’d like to see that mentality banished too.

So, if I’ve got this right, god helps ‘choose’ the pope, communicates with him as his representative on Earth, and can’t be bothered to run a little interference?  One thing I must say, however, is admire the lady’s determination – if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

Susanna Maiolo, alleged attacker and aspiring defensive tackle

Never mind Madden – I’m looking forward to next year’s “Pope Tackle Challenge” videogame, coming soon to a retailer near you…

Christmas Classic – A Special Gift

I present to Blevkog readers a little present from our sister blog, Revenge of the Inner Geek. In honor of the season, I give you an immortal classic: Part 1 of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 version of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. Enjoy!

Bah, Humbug… The Xmas Rant

A Blog post in today’s New York Times which discusses which Christmas songs should be put out to pasture got me to thinking about which traditional songs, shows, etc. could be considered the most annoying – from my own point of view, of course. Please feel free to comment freely and often – let’s get this debate party started!

First of all, there should be a moratorium placed on the playing of any festive music before the 15th of November – even if some of it is good, by the time xmas rolls around we are so psychologically damaged by the repetitive playing of good tidings that we would probably welcome the relative solitude of Guananamo Bay. Brainwashing us to be happy is still brainwashing.

When I was young, my family had a simple tradition: light the tree, start a nice, roaring fire and turn the winnebago-sized console stereo to our local radio station to enjoy some nice xmas music. I’d sit with my hot chocolate, waiting for the NORAD Santa tracking reports, ready to dash for my bed at the slightest hint of sleigh bells. Inevitably, something horrible would intrude on ths most peaceful and pleasant night of family togetherness: a little spoken word recording of something called The Littlest Angel, or something like that. The single most depressing collection of words ever, read by a deep-voiced narrator who seemed on the verge of tears, it was a recording that nearly every year drove my family to the brink of mass suicide – would you like a little arsenic in that hot chocolate? Yes, please. I don’t even remember what it’s about, other than a dead child and a box full of his possessions that got sent to the wrong destination or something – yes, even in heaven, there is lost luggage. If this is still being played somewhere, it’s no wonder more people are reputed to kill themselves during the holidays.

Frosty the Snowman – there’s no better cartoon to motivate me to turn up the heat in my home. While the Grinch and Charlie Brown (except for the Linus speech) remain treasured memories that make me want to watch them every year, Frosty is just saccharine enough, with just enough uncomfortable subtext, to render it unwatchable for me. For starters, none of these children apparently have parents – Karen’s trip north with Frosty seems to be nobody’s problem in particular. Sure, no issue at all – someone’s daughter has just illegally jumped on board a train with an inhuman snow homonculus – what’s to worry about? That, combined with the fact that every adult in the cartoon is incompetent or borderline retarded, makes this utterly unwatchable. Don’t even get me started on the ‘sequel’. It’s a sad tribute to the talent of Jonathan Winters that this is ever repeated. Oh, and while I’m at it: was there anyone ever who actually thought Jimmy Durante could sing? He would have been right at home with Rod Stewart and Kim Carnes in Laryngitis Theatre.

The following list of songs will be those banned immediately upon the inauguration of my administration:

• Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree: Is it just me, or does Brenda Lee sound like her sinuses have fallen into her neck? Completely cringe-worthy, in my opinion;
• Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer: c’mon, this one is self-explanatory. Somewhere, there’s one guy who likes this – let’s give him a copy and spare the rest of us the agony;
• Santa Baby: By all means, let’s reinforce the association of Charistmas and naked, unfettered greed! Ho, ho, ho.. and I do mean ‘ho’;
• Any song with “Christmas” in the title that has nothing to do with Christmas, e.g.: Last Christmas by Wham! The need for a two-syllable word does not justify the inclusion of the name of the holiday in your lyrics;
• Baby it’s Cold Outside: while not technically a Christmas song, it was pointed out by a commenter in the NYT as being a great date rape song – so, it’s out;
• The Twelve Days of Christmas, and no, sorry, not even the Bob and Doug version will be saved. Ok, you can play that one once on a designated day at a designated hour, then it goes back in the sleeve – this will be known as the “Take off and take it off” rule;
• Silent Night: seriously, is there anyone who isn’t sick of this? The new jazzed-up version on the commercial will be shot and burned, along with whatever his name is, De’Angelo or whatever. Just don’t tell him we’re responsible, as I think he may be a good fella, if you know what I mean;
• Blue Christmas: Elvis is dead. Accept it, and stop pissing on his corpse by playing this over and over;
• Anything, and I mean anything by Boney M;
• Jingle Bell Rock: No it isn’t, and no, it doesn’t;
• I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus: Let’s not celebrate children witnessing extramarital affairs, that just seems wrong. It strikes me as odd that the kid seems ok with it. Come to think of it, is this the kid who shortly thereafter requires the replacement of two front teeth? Dysfunctional families are not festive. Plus, They Might Be Giants did it better with Santa’s Beard;
• Snoopy’s Christmas (Snoopy vs. the Red Baron): If I may, I’d like to (ahem) shoot this one down for good;
• Any “All-Star” songs, like those performed by Band-Aid or Northern Lights have long since stopped serving any useful purpose. The sole redeeming moment is in the televised documentary for Northern Lights, after legend Neil Young sings his line, and the engineer (or whoever) says from the booth that it was a little flat. Neil Replies: “That’s my style, man.” Yes it is, Neil, yes it is;
• Whatever that atrocity is that describes the heroic deeds of “Ding-A-Ling the Christmas Bell”. All copies, and Ding-A-Ling himself, will be melted down and the resulting ingot dropped on the composer;
• Springsteen’s version of Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town: no, just…no. The band sounds like it is laying in wait for Santa with knives;
• Do You Hear What I Hear: If so, you are obviously not drinking enough;
• Feliz Navidad: I heard this recently and realized just how annoying this was. Ok, I appreciate other cultures and other languages, but come on! This is the same phrase repeated 300 times – that’s not a lyric, that’s a vocal compulsion;
• I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas: trust me kid, no you don’t. Those things are vicious;
• The Little Drummer Boy: even as a child, my family were primarily using this as a basis for obscene versions (the fact that ‘drum’ rhymes with ‘bum’ being the height of comedy styling when I was eight), so let’s just play this one off for good;
• That idiotic Christmas song by the Beach Boys, Little Saint Nick or some such. I am particularly annoyed by the refrain “Christmas comes this time each year”. Thank you, Brian Wilson, for your insight, but I have a calendar, and it was working properly when last I looked.

We now know the reason Santa can travel the world so quickly: caffeine and sugar

Now, there’s some stuff that needs to stick around, for example, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, which may strike some readers as an odd choice, given my atheist leanings, but it is a beautiful tune (and is thus responsible for my capitalizing the ‘G’ in god, which I generally refuse to do).  Plus, it hasn’t been done to death – the version in Mr. Bean’s Christmas special shows how well it still works. The animated Robbie the Reindeer specials are hilarious and should be classics – and shall be designated so once my regime takes office. Also, there was one on a week ago about Santa’s elves who were responsible for securing the scene before Santa’s arrival, that was a hilarious pastiche of Christmas cheer and Mission: Impossible-style antics. If anyone remembers the name of this, I’d appreciate it.

Anyway, this is a partial list at best, and I invite everyone to vent their anger and put in two cents’ worth of cheer or venom, whatever works for you.

Oh, and what do I want for xmas? The opportunity to write for publication. A column, a commentary, whatever – I’d just appreciate the opportunity. I’m hoping one or more of our readers could help me out with that. Pointers, names, or just a straight up chance to establish myself, that’s all I need.  Blatant plug complete, thank you for your patience.

Happy Holidays to my esteemed colleagues, and particularly to our readers, without whom we would just be talking to ourselves.

Tiger Bomb

This is one of those times.

One of those times that I certainly think that I need – nay, deserve – press credentials. Picture the scene, or a variation thereof:

Star Athlete/Actor/Musician: I am sorry that I have transgressed and let people down. I will promise to work on my (marriage/drug problem/gambling problem/poor acting skills) and try very hard never to let this happen again. Questions?

Me: I have a question.

Star Athlete/Actor/Musician: Yes?

Me: Why the everlasting fuck should I care what you’re doing, have done, or are about to do? I mean seriously, with child poverty, war, disease, racism, the rape of the environment, abuse of power and willful ignorance on the list of things that are waaaaayyyy ahead of you and your little insignificant peccadilos, why does what you’ve done matter one iota in the grand scheme of humanity’s march toward oblivion? Does what you’ve done actually alter a single molecule of the universe outside your own little social circle? Can you answer me that?

Star Athlete/Actor/Musician: (Weeps openly).

As you may have guessed, I’m getting a little tired of this. Athletes, Tiger among them, are physically talented – they have an unparalleled  ability to complete whatever goal is required of their individual sport – that’s what makes them worthy of the title of ‘champion’. Similarly, actors, such as Robert DeNiro and Meryl Streep (although others may differ, this is the first two names that come to mind among modern actors – I would put William Powell high among those of the past) can interpret characters and pretend believably to be someone else in order to service the requirements of a narrative – they are mental and physical storytellers. The good ones can help immerse you in a new world or situation so the viewer can concentrate on the narrative flow. The bad ones take you out of that world and disrupt that flow. Musicians too are sometimes capable of works of incredible beauty, nuance and social commentary.

BUT…

That’s where it ends, folks. The personal activities of these people who have chosen certain types  of employment in creative or competitive fields are of absolutely no interest to me, and I submit that they are of no valid interest to anyone else, either. They are well-known because of their talents on the field, screen or stage – they perform their chosen professions with distinction and well-deserved recognition. That is where it ends.

They, like any individuals, are entitled to their opinions, but they are no more or less important or valid than the opinions of others. Celebrities who endorse many causes or charities, I have no particular problem with, as they make no claims to expertise or special insight. Others, however, have chosen to insinuate themselves into fields in which they have no more talent or expertise than you or I. Perhaps less. That is at best annoying, like Bono’s solutions to the problems of the world economy, and at worst highly dangerous, like Suzanne Somers’ endorsement of vitamin cures for cancer and dismissal of mainstream oncology, or Jenny McCarthy’s campaign against vaccination due to unproven and unverified links to autism. I don’t know about you, but I’m not taking cancer treatment advice from Chrissy Snow.

The most important point I’d like to make here (finally) is that the actions of celebrities, no matter how well-intentioned, or poorly-considered, are not, nor have they ever been, news. We have conflated popularity and importance to the point where any idiot who can act his way out of a wet paper bag suddenly possesses a degree of social influence completely disproportionate to the level of importance of the work he or she performs. Granted, not all professions have an equally profound influence on society – I haven’t felt the need to listen to the opinions of a taxidermist lately. The point is that if he or she is an incredibly talented taxidermist, does that make their opinion of any issues more valid?  Should a proficient taxidermist be granted the ability to evade or disregard the laws the rest of us must follow? Is this brilliant animal-stuffer justified in assuming they should be treated like royalty?

News is, to my way of thinking, information that is relevant to our lives from an economic or social perspective – crime, unemployment, political decision-making – all of these will have relevance to the way we live our lives and to the way we plan for the future. None of this applies to celebrity news, unless George Clooney decides to steal a zeppelin and crash it through an orphanage on his way to destroy Wall Street in a giant ball of flames (That, I would read about).

As far as I’m concerned, celebrity ‘news’ – including any discussion of the infidelities committed by a golfer in his personal life – are irrelevant and waste my time. This is just the kind of mind-candy that distracts us from the real issues, keeps us politically ignorant, and motivates some of us to do anything to achieve the new holy grail of celebrity – a reality show of your very own.  As for their being role models, same story – they are good at a job, and if you choose to follow after them professionally using the best and the brightest as your guide, more power to you. If, however, you decide that you have to wear the celebrity’s brand of shoes or abuse others just to be like them, you have severe problems. We are losing our identities because of the aggressive sale and self-promotion of other people’s identities. Until enough of us stand up and leave the room (or change the station, or, just imagine – complain) at the sight of gossip and celebrity antics, we will continue to breed generations of people who think that a celebutante with no claim to fame other than being famous has something important to say. About anything.

Now, where can I steal me a zeppelin?

Palin’s Book is Excellent

Seriously, I don’t know what the fuss is about.

Within are faithful accounts of the important events in Palin’s life that led to this point – I will admit it leans heavily to the creative side, with only a little bit of politics thrown in, almost as an afterthought – this doesn’t, however, demean or decrease the enjoyment of being able to bask in the absolute genius that is Palin, and many of Palin’s innermost, most honest thoughts…

I… Huh? What?

Nonononononononoooo…

Oh, fuck no.

Michael Palin.

Less funny than the other one?

Diaries, 1969-79: The Python Years. A really excellent book. What were you thinking?

Long Weekend Funnies

A few of my favorites from Engrish Funny:

There is no longer any excuse to be Republican

Warning: May cause severe depression

Yes. Yes I will.

I don’t like where this is going…

LSD and yard work don’t mix.

Oddly enough, we never actually made it to the restaurant…