Wandering around downtown Seattle on my day off, I came into contact with many public facilities. The train, the escalators, even stairwell bannisters. I ain't no fool, and my momma done raised me right, so before I sat down to a questionable meal of food court orange chicken, I stopped by the restroom to take care of some business and wash my (inevitably) already germ sodden hands. What I encountered, though, was a little bathroom 'a horrors.
I am pretty easy going by nature, don't get me wrong. But, what is up with these HALF-SIZED stall doors? Being a busty 5'5", I am already (inevitably) looked down upon in public. I get it. You're taller, it doesn't take much. BUT! ^3, this does not mean I would like to be gawked at while I'm sitting and shittin. Graphic, but everybody poops. Local library.
This bathroom stall door was not a rectangle. Aren't all doors rectangles?! Apparently not. This was a square piece of material. So, once a person doth enter this stall, the proper coverage needed is not attained. I was sitting there, being quick about my business. When a bustling herd of bathroom goers thought it necessary to acknowledge my prescence in this precarious box of awkward. Do, dee, do. I felt like a first-grader waiting to cross the street. Frozen for fear that I'd get hit by a car, or, in this case, wiping out. Literally. Library. Get over it.
Once the coast was finally clear, (Sidenote, in my childhood, I definitely, totally thought that saying was, "The ghost is clear" Ugh. Idiot.) I made a valiant escape to the haven of the sink. But OF COURSE, things continued to be tragic. This sink, for some dim-witted environmental reason, I'm sure, only dispensed water when you turned the knob and immediately, infuriatingly, entirely ceased to do so once let go. So, there I am, giving soaping and lathering with one hand the old college try. I succeed, as always. But can we not find it appropriate to allow our fellow man the liberty of maybe 5 seconds of solid water dispersal? Can we not?
My hands were now a washed Church and State. I made my way for my arch-bathroom-nemesis, the paper towel dispenser. Now, I like to have my hands completely dry before exiting the bathroom. Call me crazy. Alright, except for the times when I'm just achin' the spritz the remaining liquid from my just-washed hands onto someone (usually someone I know) and say, "Ew, sorry, I peed on my hands!" These cases are sporadic. I am a big fan of the air blades, which are kind of revolutionary. So, A. they get shit done and B. I feel trendy using them. Win/Win. Was there a hand-dryer worthy of PerezHilton immorality present? Le no. I stepped up to battle, the motion-sensor automatic paper towel dispensor looming in the foreground. I have a letter just WAITING to be angrily addressed, lick-sealed, postmarked and sent away to whomever came up with these demon thangs.
I would mainly like to know, whose hands does an index card sized piece of paper towel dry? If you can find me these prevalent elfin folk, I will shut the front door. But until then, I will be that guy standing in front of the machine, repeatedly swiping my hand until I have ample paper product present to perform the task at hand. Ha.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Object to the Adject...ives.
Social cues and interactions are some of the most interesting things to observe. Especially when people reveal their indelible density when socializing with others. It's so sad to think that social media and the age of technology have so far removed us as human beings from each other than when faced with actually having to interact, we cannot. Or at least cannot do so appropriately.
I was at the store the other day, and heard a man beckon to a girl. He said, "Hey little girl, excuse me." First of all, think about that statement, mister man. A majority of people would now expect you to remove K-Mart brand candy from your pocket and invite her into you Club Wagon. However, he didn't. But I was now on (amber) alert. The interaction was simply because she had dropped something, or an event of little importance. What struck me as odd, though, was that he used an arbitrary adjective to acknowledge her/get her attention. I realize that age probably had something to do with this interaction, but what if this "young" girl was actually a 19 year-old petite wonder. And here is this middle aged man, basically handing her a tea-set with his overarching utterance.
This use of adjectives is a lot of what I feel is wrong with the world today. And, frankly, I object. (See, Elle Woods, Blonde comma Legally.) When is it appropriate to assign a word you see as a fit descriptor of another person? Probably never, as I will now display in completely over the top examples.
"Hey, morbidly obese woman, your roll is on my arm."
"Hello, entirely too bleach blonde woman, you just sprayed self-tanner in my mouth."
"Ahoy, awkwardly smiling man, your smile is scaring me."
I realize that these seem pretty far fetched in relation to the exchange that I witnessed. But are they really any different? We as people need to acknowledge each other on an even playing field. Whether ageism, sexism, racism, homophobia, or otherwise, we must stop looking at the outward display of the person, and maybe take a step back and just see the person.
I was at the store the other day, and heard a man beckon to a girl. He said, "Hey little girl, excuse me." First of all, think about that statement, mister man. A majority of people would now expect you to remove K-Mart brand candy from your pocket and invite her into you Club Wagon. However, he didn't. But I was now on (amber) alert. The interaction was simply because she had dropped something, or an event of little importance. What struck me as odd, though, was that he used an arbitrary adjective to acknowledge her/get her attention. I realize that age probably had something to do with this interaction, but what if this "young" girl was actually a 19 year-old petite wonder. And here is this middle aged man, basically handing her a tea-set with his overarching utterance.
This use of adjectives is a lot of what I feel is wrong with the world today. And, frankly, I object. (See, Elle Woods, Blonde comma Legally.) When is it appropriate to assign a word you see as a fit descriptor of another person? Probably never, as I will now display in completely over the top examples.
"Hey, morbidly obese woman, your roll is on my arm."
"Hello, entirely too bleach blonde woman, you just sprayed self-tanner in my mouth."
"Ahoy, awkwardly smiling man, your smile is scaring me."
I realize that these seem pretty far fetched in relation to the exchange that I witnessed. But are they really any different? We as people need to acknowledge each other on an even playing field. Whether ageism, sexism, racism, homophobia, or otherwise, we must stop looking at the outward display of the person, and maybe take a step back and just see the person.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Air I Breath
As the recent recipient of a Yankee Candle air freshener, I've been exposed to a new world of molecules in my room. I can't help but wonder, though, what is up in the realm of air fresheners?
First of all, we've gotta talk scents. Now, in my world, Clean Cotton, is pretty much the only acceptable choice. I like this scent because it's homey. Like, I was that kid who crawled into the dryer because it smelled good. The fact that I was the size of Thumbelina did not hurt matters, though, either. Can't you remember those soothing times spent as a child, or middle-aged person (oops) (not), grinding your germ ridden nose and oil ridden face into the lush scent of a warm, freshly washed towel? Clean Cotton it is. Also, when in this naturally occurring world are we surrounded by the scent of fruit? "Ah, yes, in Jamaica, the air smells like Coconut! It's so sweet. Our Beaches Resort vacation was an A+!! :D"
Now, I was really excited about the addition of this freshness factory to my room. It has three settings, of which I am guessing increase the amount of spritz freshness you get. I feel like Abercromie could stock these pieces with "Jake" or "Mandi" or whatever they're calling their trendy par-fumes nowadays, and put tens of thousands of clothing-spritzers out of work. Pretty hobos, anyone? Since I refuse to read INSTRUCTIONS for an AIR FRESHENER, I put it at the mid-setting. Safe route? NO. I believe I could feel the alveoli bursting within my lungs after walking into my room having let this thing do its thang for a couple hours. I am not certain, but I am confident. So now we're at the lowest setting and I've learned to keep my distance. It's not like I was cuddled up next to my Yankee Candle Air Freshener, begging it to play Dream Phone with me at 12:30AM, but it's roughly near my bed.
Air fresheners have really begun to boom in the past couple years. Lest we forget Febreeze brand's bold attempt at combining pop/country crossover sensation Shania Twain's new jams with some kind of freshening cartridge? My guess is you wanted to invest in neither. And for that, you're smart. But, man, Febreeze. That is a lucrative business. It's lucrative until, you spray so much concentrated, odor-blocking scent into the puke/piss/mildew ridden fabric, that you begin to equate the good scent as the bad one. "OMG, I'm gonna puke." "Awww. Sick! It smells just like Febreeze Spring Rainfall!!" "Did the cat pee on the carpet while we were gone?!" "Yes, can't you smell that awful Lavender Meadow coming from our closet!?"
The fact of the matter is, it's a nice change from my previously unscented room. I can't but help to think.. Is there a market for air fresheners that are advertised as, Clean AIR scent? Like, why do we need to scent our air? "Ohh, this air is just too much Nitrogen. I just need an extra burst of oxygen. Thank goodness for Yankee Candle's new O2 scent. Phew!!"
First of all, we've gotta talk scents. Now, in my world, Clean Cotton, is pretty much the only acceptable choice. I like this scent because it's homey. Like, I was that kid who crawled into the dryer because it smelled good. The fact that I was the size of Thumbelina did not hurt matters, though, either. Can't you remember those soothing times spent as a child, or middle-aged person (oops) (not), grinding your germ ridden nose and oil ridden face into the lush scent of a warm, freshly washed towel? Clean Cotton it is. Also, when in this naturally occurring world are we surrounded by the scent of fruit? "Ah, yes, in Jamaica, the air smells like Coconut! It's so sweet. Our Beaches Resort vacation was an A+!! :D"
Now, I was really excited about the addition of this freshness factory to my room. It has three settings, of which I am guessing increase the amount of spritz freshness you get. I feel like Abercromie could stock these pieces with "Jake" or "Mandi" or whatever they're calling their trendy par-fumes nowadays, and put tens of thousands of clothing-spritzers out of work. Pretty hobos, anyone? Since I refuse to read INSTRUCTIONS for an AIR FRESHENER, I put it at the mid-setting. Safe route? NO. I believe I could feel the alveoli bursting within my lungs after walking into my room having let this thing do its thang for a couple hours. I am not certain, but I am confident. So now we're at the lowest setting and I've learned to keep my distance. It's not like I was cuddled up next to my Yankee Candle Air Freshener, begging it to play Dream Phone with me at 12:30AM, but it's roughly near my bed.
Air fresheners have really begun to boom in the past couple years. Lest we forget Febreeze brand's bold attempt at combining pop/country crossover sensation Shania Twain's new jams with some kind of freshening cartridge? My guess is you wanted to invest in neither. And for that, you're smart. But, man, Febreeze. That is a lucrative business. It's lucrative until, you spray so much concentrated, odor-blocking scent into the puke/piss/mildew ridden fabric, that you begin to equate the good scent as the bad one. "OMG, I'm gonna puke." "Awww. Sick! It smells just like Febreeze Spring Rainfall!!" "Did the cat pee on the carpet while we were gone?!" "Yes, can't you smell that awful Lavender Meadow coming from our closet!?"
The fact of the matter is, it's a nice change from my previously unscented room. I can't but help to think.. Is there a market for air fresheners that are advertised as, Clean AIR scent? Like, why do we need to scent our air? "Ohh, this air is just too much Nitrogen. I just need an extra burst of oxygen. Thank goodness for Yankee Candle's new O2 scent. Phew!!"
Monday, September 20, 2010
Reality Recipe
I dabble in reality television. Whether it be a weekend marathon, or a Monday off of work (oops, today), I highly enjoy watching others' lives and subsequently judging them. I have a pretty extensive knowledge of what it takes to be watchable--and more importantly, good.
First and foremost, you need to be stubborn. You've got to be so stuck in your normal ways that you cannot wrap your head around even the suggestion of pushing your limits or cutting three inches off of your processed hair. Stubbornness is a quality which can make you a star. And by star, I mean enable me to watch you for the duration of your respective episode. Take for example, maybe, a 15-year old social outcast wanting to be Made into a cheering, tumbling, LipSmacker-ing, pretty girl. Initial meetings past, we run into trouble! Who saw this coming!? She doesn't have any friends. She hates to exercise. Her parents laugh at her goals. She like anime. And she enjoys being this way. Sorry, sorry. She just "wants to be different, but didn't know it would be like this." Don't bother tuning into MTV's Made for a couple weeks...I just ruined them for you.
Another thing you need in reality television is a good script. I mean, a creative mind. I mean, be somewhat creative. If you can think of something completely ludacris to say on a regular basis, in semi-applicable situations, you're golden! Think, "That's hot." This phrase has little to know actual substance, but you can say it all the time!
"Here is your pizza, sir." "That's hot."
"Dad's heart surgery went really well!" "That's hot."
"Is that cocaine in your purse?" "That's hot."
Gold, I tell you. Gold! Or, or! If you can have one explosive scene that will most definitely get you into the mags and (most) importantly, The Soup. See, Tanisha from The Bad Girls Club, screaming at the top of her lungs (verbatim) "I ain't get no sleep 'cause of y'all. Now y'all ain't gon' get no sleep cause of me." whilst banging pots together in "the clubhouse". Smell that? Yeah, that's a Nobel Prize coming on.
You need a past. I am a huge proponent of life changing, come to Jesu moments, but I want an EXPLOSION right before we get off the exits for them. Like, if you could cheat on your best friend's boyfriend or girlfriend or could find your birth-mother, after being given up for adoption at birth, right around a 42-minute climax, you've got a check mark and a nod of approval from me.
First and foremost, you need to be stubborn. You've got to be so stuck in your normal ways that you cannot wrap your head around even the suggestion of pushing your limits or cutting three inches off of your processed hair. Stubbornness is a quality which can make you a star. And by star, I mean enable me to watch you for the duration of your respective episode. Take for example, maybe, a 15-year old social outcast wanting to be Made into a cheering, tumbling, LipSmacker-ing, pretty girl. Initial meetings past, we run into trouble! Who saw this coming!? She doesn't have any friends. She hates to exercise. Her parents laugh at her goals. She like anime. And she enjoys being this way. Sorry, sorry. She just "wants to be different, but didn't know it would be like this." Don't bother tuning into MTV's Made for a couple weeks...I just ruined them for you.
Another thing you need in reality television is a good script. I mean, a creative mind. I mean, be somewhat creative. If you can think of something completely ludacris to say on a regular basis, in semi-applicable situations, you're golden! Think, "That's hot." This phrase has little to know actual substance, but you can say it all the time!
"Here is your pizza, sir." "That's hot."
"Dad's heart surgery went really well!" "That's hot."
"Is that cocaine in your purse?" "That's hot."
Gold, I tell you. Gold! Or, or! If you can have one explosive scene that will most definitely get you into the mags and (most) importantly, The Soup. See, Tanisha from The Bad Girls Club, screaming at the top of her lungs (verbatim) "I ain't get no sleep 'cause of y'all. Now y'all ain't gon' get no sleep cause of me." whilst banging pots together in "the clubhouse". Smell that? Yeah, that's a Nobel Prize coming on.
You need a past. I am a huge proponent of life changing, come to Jesu moments, but I want an EXPLOSION right before we get off the exits for them. Like, if you could cheat on your best friend's boyfriend or girlfriend or could find your birth-mother, after being given up for adoption at birth, right around a 42-minute climax, you've got a check mark and a nod of approval from me.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Shape It Up, Baby.
I want to speak briefly about my fascination with Sketchers brand shoes--more specifically the Sketchers, "Shape Ups". They are cleverly marketed as the shoes you wear to "get in shape without setting foot in a gym!" You're going to want to continue..
Let's be real. People wearing/needing Sketchers "Shape Ups" are putting them on, having someone less obese tie them up tight, and making their way to the fridge to eat an entire ham. Lest we forget that Sketchers is trying to overcome the stereotype of being the 2nd round prize on many a Nickelodeon game show. Figure It Out or Double Dare, anyone? I'd rather the Toys 'R Us Geoffrey Dollars, thanks.
If someone is going to take the effort to purchase shoes to help them lose weight while walking, couldn't they do the same thing...by just walking. I understand that there are about 15 "scientifically formulated" sole layers in these shoes, but doing a set of 25 toe raises on a step will activate the exact same muscles that these "Shape Ups" claim to target. Also, why couldn't these Shape Fucks, oops, people just walk up flights of stairs if they so desperately need activation of their lower leg muscles. I feel this consumer demographic is projecting their hatred of their legs having to bear the brunt of their own body weight on a daily basis. Don't hate your legs. Hate yourself.
Just kidding! But really. Aren't "fit shoes" a bit much? Let us find other ways of burning calories we seem to only be able to by utilizing these "Shape Ups". Options include: beating your spouse, hoarding heavy and/or semi-heavy objects, lifting your legitimate and/or illegitimate children, and starting your own puppy mill. These are merely suggestions for the "Shape Ups" demograff. Also, I'm sorry if your Mom has these shoes.
Let's be real. People wearing/needing Sketchers "Shape Ups" are putting them on, having someone less obese tie them up tight, and making their way to the fridge to eat an entire ham. Lest we forget that Sketchers is trying to overcome the stereotype of being the 2nd round prize on many a Nickelodeon game show. Figure It Out or Double Dare, anyone? I'd rather the Toys 'R Us Geoffrey Dollars, thanks.
If someone is going to take the effort to purchase shoes to help them lose weight while walking, couldn't they do the same thing...by just walking. I understand that there are about 15 "scientifically formulated" sole layers in these shoes, but doing a set of 25 toe raises on a step will activate the exact same muscles that these "Shape Ups" claim to target. Also, why couldn't these Shape Fucks, oops, people just walk up flights of stairs if they so desperately need activation of their lower leg muscles. I feel this consumer demographic is projecting their hatred of their legs having to bear the brunt of their own body weight on a daily basis. Don't hate your legs. Hate yourself.
Just kidding! But really. Aren't "fit shoes" a bit much? Let us find other ways of burning calories we seem to only be able to by utilizing these "Shape Ups". Options include: beating your spouse, hoarding heavy and/or semi-heavy objects, lifting your legitimate and/or illegitimate children, and starting your own puppy mill. These are merely suggestions for the "Shape Ups" demograff. Also, I'm sorry if your Mom has these shoes.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Adult Kissing.
It has come to my attention via the mass media that there is an epidemic spreading amongst the old guard--lazy kisses on the mouth. I have seen countless couples, past ten years of marriage, lock lips and have it be the biggest non-event to occur since Christina Aguilera's latest album, Bionic. (Yes! She released a recent album. No! You didn't need to know that.)
To describe this phenomenon, take a man and woman. They're in love enough at this point in their marriage. They live separate enough lives not to be overwhelming bothered or horned up for the other at present. And when the time comes to share a tender kiss...anti-climax is attained. This kiss is more of a begrudging fall of one's lips to the other's, with the minimum amount of contact made. Think a peck, but less. What is up with this, married homies?
I can understand when a couple reaches a certain amount of time together, they no longer feel the PDA is necessary. But make it some kind of thing you enjoy, even a little bit. Smile? Slip the tongue? I don't write the rule book on kissing, but if it's so fleeting, why even bother?
To describe this phenomenon, take a man and woman. They're in love enough at this point in their marriage. They live separate enough lives not to be overwhelming bothered or horned up for the other at present. And when the time comes to share a tender kiss...anti-climax is attained. This kiss is more of a begrudging fall of one's lips to the other's, with the minimum amount of contact made. Think a peck, but less. What is up with this, married homies?
I can understand when a couple reaches a certain amount of time together, they no longer feel the PDA is necessary. But make it some kind of thing you enjoy, even a little bit. Smile? Slip the tongue? I don't write the rule book on kissing, but if it's so fleeting, why even bother?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Surprise. Cheese?
Recently, I was having a conversation with a friend about people taking photos of themselves in public. It is one thing to sit with your MacBook(Pro?), fool around with PhotoBooth, and hit your giggle spot with the bubble filter. However, it is certainly another to take a photo of yourself on the weight bench.
We know you have a banging body. But is the only way to verify this fine piece to snap a photo with your smart cell, mid-24hour fitness workout? I think not. Not because I don't appreciate a good bod! But mainly because I fear for the possibility of your reputation or photos being tarnished. What if, say, a very cool person were about to approach you, and then, BAM! There you are, whipping out your cell phone and trying to find the perfect lighting for your tricep and/or cleav. Yes, I see this happening. Or you're looking totally intriguing from a far, and then BAM! There you go, actin' a fool, chuckin up a deuce and putting on your best pouty face.
Facebook has become a notorious spot for "sniped" photos. Finding the perfect space for your annoying face to fit into, while friends cozy up for a cute shot. Ruining is the new funny.
REVERSE photo sniping, though, is causing me to sweat out every, or a couple, public outings per week! Let's say you're at the gym. Maybe using the elliptical because it's low impact and you have a history of lower leg pain. And you're feeling better about yourself while beating the shit out of the 40 year old obese woman and 64 year old frail Asian woman at your sides in the race you decided to start and not tell them about. Ellipticalling, nor running, make anyone appear attractive, desirable, etc. Also, I tend to have a heavy step, so it kind of looks like half of my face has gone numb So, with this influx of kewl people warranting free license to snap photos mid-workout, the risk of reverse sniping is a total amber alert. I do not condone unknowingly being in the background of these flirtatious pictorial spreads. Sometimes, I lip-sync when I work out. Other times I'd like to know if my totally unplanned, shirt-lift brow wipe ab flex could be highlighted. Let's talk over a biscotti and make beautiful photo babies.
We know you have a banging body. But is the only way to verify this fine piece to snap a photo with your smart cell, mid-24hour fitness workout? I think not. Not because I don't appreciate a good bod! But mainly because I fear for the possibility of your reputation or photos being tarnished. What if, say, a very cool person were about to approach you, and then, BAM! There you are, whipping out your cell phone and trying to find the perfect lighting for your tricep and/or cleav. Yes, I see this happening. Or you're looking totally intriguing from a far, and then BAM! There you go, actin' a fool, chuckin up a deuce and putting on your best pouty face.
Facebook has become a notorious spot for "sniped" photos. Finding the perfect space for your annoying face to fit into, while friends cozy up for a cute shot. Ruining is the new funny.
REVERSE photo sniping, though, is causing me to sweat out every, or a couple, public outings per week! Let's say you're at the gym. Maybe using the elliptical because it's low impact and you have a history of lower leg pain. And you're feeling better about yourself while beating the shit out of the 40 year old obese woman and 64 year old frail Asian woman at your sides in the race you decided to start and not tell them about. Ellipticalling, nor running, make anyone appear attractive, desirable, etc. Also, I tend to have a heavy step, so it kind of looks like half of my face has gone numb So, with this influx of kewl people warranting free license to snap photos mid-workout, the risk of reverse sniping is a total amber alert. I do not condone unknowingly being in the background of these flirtatious pictorial spreads. Sometimes, I lip-sync when I work out. Other times I'd like to know if my totally unplanned, shirt-lift brow wipe ab flex could be highlighted. Let's talk over a biscotti and make beautiful photo babies.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Travel Whoas
Living in a new city, my people watching obsession is fast becoming a viable series on A&E. Tourists and travelers are an inevitable, gold-mine to watch..especially young couples. Perhaps this is their first excursion together, or a beginning or ending leg of a whirlwind honeymoon. Either way, I'm into it.
One thing giving these couples away in a crowd has to be their noggin attire. Couples always travel in hats. I'm not sure if they wake up at their AAA 4-star, Hilton Garden Inn, sipping their complimentary bold roast, turn to each other and say, "Hon, we gotta wear the hats today", but it sure seems like it. The husband in this duo usually dips to his old standby: a weathered Yankees, or perhaps college emblazoned selection. His wifey, however, is a more complex case. Sometimes she can be persuaded to bust out her "destination cap". These hats are crisp, usually with some kind of awkward metallic stitching, highlighting their zinger of a trip to Milwaukee. Or, sometimes, post hat day decision, she may realize that she does not have a hat in her repertoire. In this case, she'll squeeze her tight pony through one of her husband's sun-faded standbys. The initial quease in her stomach is probably audible at first mirror glance. I usually don't get to partake in that part of their day.
Another dead giveaway for these brave explorers is when they're choosing a mode of transportation and their resistance to making a decision about it. Frequently, you'll see a couple "discussing" how and why a cab is a better choice than the train. I use the term "discuss" in a way that may be likened to how your parents "discussed", with you, the fifth of Absolut they found in your 16 year-old closet. One party will be holding a map or brochure of some kind and the other will be turned toward the street, frantically looking for the mode of transportation the city has clearly reserved especially for them. Once the tension, disagreeing, and lack of anything with wheels comes to a head, a logical solution to the matter at hand occurs: one of the dynamic duo throws up their hands, tilts their head back aggressively, and takes some giant steps to a distance suitable to removing them from the scene, usually about four feet. My favorite portion of young, traveling couples' interaction comes next: laughter. Not the Pop-N-Fresh "hoo, hoo" kind of laughter, but the crazy, enraged, best type. Their sentences begin normally enough, albeit with a bit of increased volume, but then climax in a clenched-molar, raspy scream. Think, "Ha, well, BABE, we COULD be on the TRAIN right now, but, HA, I'm CONTENT to just wait for YERROWCAB, SHHHHRRR. It's at the emergence of the fucked up alternating volume when you know, for certain, that love still exists.
One thing giving these couples away in a crowd has to be their noggin attire. Couples always travel in hats. I'm not sure if they wake up at their AAA 4-star, Hilton Garden Inn, sipping their complimentary bold roast, turn to each other and say, "Hon, we gotta wear the hats today", but it sure seems like it. The husband in this duo usually dips to his old standby: a weathered Yankees, or perhaps college emblazoned selection. His wifey, however, is a more complex case. Sometimes she can be persuaded to bust out her "destination cap". These hats are crisp, usually with some kind of awkward metallic stitching, highlighting their zinger of a trip to Milwaukee. Or, sometimes, post hat day decision, she may realize that she does not have a hat in her repertoire. In this case, she'll squeeze her tight pony through one of her husband's sun-faded standbys. The initial quease in her stomach is probably audible at first mirror glance. I usually don't get to partake in that part of their day.
Another dead giveaway for these brave explorers is when they're choosing a mode of transportation and their resistance to making a decision about it. Frequently, you'll see a couple "discussing" how and why a cab is a better choice than the train. I use the term "discuss" in a way that may be likened to how your parents "discussed", with you, the fifth of Absolut they found in your 16 year-old closet. One party will be holding a map or brochure of some kind and the other will be turned toward the street, frantically looking for the mode of transportation the city has clearly reserved especially for them. Once the tension, disagreeing, and lack of anything with wheels comes to a head, a logical solution to the matter at hand occurs: one of the dynamic duo throws up their hands, tilts their head back aggressively, and takes some giant steps to a distance suitable to removing them from the scene, usually about four feet. My favorite portion of young, traveling couples' interaction comes next: laughter. Not the Pop-N-Fresh "hoo, hoo" kind of laughter, but the crazy, enraged, best type. Their sentences begin normally enough, albeit with a bit of increased volume, but then climax in a clenched-molar, raspy scream. Think, "Ha, well, BABE, we COULD be on the TRAIN right now, but, HA, I'm CONTENT to just wait for YERROWCAB, SHHHHRRR. It's at the emergence of the fucked up alternating volume when you know, for certain, that love still exists.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Here goes.
I'm mainly creating this blog in hopes of contributing a smile, an "OMG, I know!" moment, or a mild good read. Yes, this blog is pico de gallo on the spectrum of blogs. I'd like to highlight things I find humorous or interesting within each entry. Enjoy!
What Are Kids Watching on TV?
One of the latest developments in my life is that I've moved out of independent college life and into the loving, 6-armed home of my brother, his wife, and their daughter, Emma. I'm going to be real and say that I encourage Emma to watch television and leave me alone. Sometimes. Regardless, I was sitting with Emma yesterday evening watching Sprout. First things first, I would have rather the network be named, SEED, to accurately express the beginning of the plant life cycle, but I digress. Emma was tuned in to a program titled, Ni Hao, Kai-Lan. Which roughly translates, I'm told, by Google Language Tools, to "Hello, Kai-Lan". This is Mandarin. Emma is 2.
Follow me here. Let's be real and say that most parents of 2 year-olds are looking to the TV as a partial babysitter. If you take offense to this, or do not support this style of parenting, please stop reading this and rejoin your child at the Kumon Math and Science center. I very much so understand that Mandarin is THE language to learn in the world today. However, at least when I learned to count to 3 in Spanish via Zoe, that cluster-fuck of a Muppet on Sesame Street, at least mis padres knew what I was saying. All of the sudden Emma was attempting to say, "Let's dance", in Mandarin. I nor her parents know Mandarin above Ni-hao (hello) and XieXie (thank you). So, when Emma is chanting "power to the People(('s) Republic)", I guess we'll know why.
What Are Kids Watching on TV?
One of the latest developments in my life is that I've moved out of independent college life and into the loving, 6-armed home of my brother, his wife, and their daughter, Emma. I'm going to be real and say that I encourage Emma to watch television and leave me alone. Sometimes. Regardless, I was sitting with Emma yesterday evening watching Sprout. First things first, I would have rather the network be named, SEED, to accurately express the beginning of the plant life cycle, but I digress. Emma was tuned in to a program titled, Ni Hao, Kai-Lan. Which roughly translates, I'm told, by Google Language Tools, to "Hello, Kai-Lan". This is Mandarin. Emma is 2.
Follow me here. Let's be real and say that most parents of 2 year-olds are looking to the TV as a partial babysitter. If you take offense to this, or do not support this style of parenting, please stop reading this and rejoin your child at the Kumon Math and Science center. I very much so understand that Mandarin is THE language to learn in the world today. However, at least when I learned to count to 3 in Spanish via Zoe, that cluster-fuck of a Muppet on Sesame Street, at least mis padres knew what I was saying. All of the sudden Emma was attempting to say, "Let's dance", in Mandarin. I nor her parents know Mandarin above Ni-hao (hello) and XieXie (thank you). So, when Emma is chanting "power to the People(('s) Republic)", I guess we'll know why.
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