I’m surprised it’s taken officials in New York City six months to plan the execution of 2,000 Canada geese. I figured the birds would be murdered within days of America’s favorite new superhero, Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger, landing crippled US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River. [Read more →]
Oh great. It wasn’t bad enough that every hack headline writer forced to slap a four-word précis on an article they didn’t understand has been using this bromide to bludgeon creativity into a senseless mess for years, now some kind of institution that claims to have expertise about language has elevated this linguistic turd by declaring it the one-millionth word in the English language. [Read more →]
The following idea developed in an old barn used as an Appalachian Trail shelter in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee as, miles from civilization, I lay awake, listening to the obnoxious chatter of a girl on a cell phone:
Much of the world is tamer than it used to be; tamer than it is naturally. Buildings are zoned and coded with automatic doors, enough fire exits for every occupant, and sturdy railings over stairs with run-to-rise ratios established to accommodate even the most clumsy and out-of-shape. People climb stairs like these, into buildings like these, to watch big screens on which actors pretend to dare and risk. They become the hero. They rise and fall on plot waves designed to thrill then [Read more →]
My name is Nancy and I am a size 10. No, not the Hollywood standard size of double-zero. Size ten. And you know what? I don’t care.
It seems like whenever I am in a room with a group of women, the conversation inevitably turns to weight. Every woman complains about how fat she is and how desperate she is to lose weight. It’s usually during this type of conversation that I am biting into a bagel, chock full of (gasp!) carbohydrates. [Read more →]
Dear Mr. Lancho:
You chickenshit motherfucker. The bull got one horn into you and you just lay there in the dirt. The bull didn’t do that, even after he’d been stabbed and stuck with swords and spears by your faithful little picadors, your sycophants on horseback. [Read more →]
Author’s note: For 10 months I traveled to work in New York City from my home in southeastern Connecticut. Notice I used the word “traveled” and not “commuted.” The difference, to me, is mileage and duration. My daily “commute” was three hours each way, including a 45-minute drive, an hour-and-40-minute train ride, and subway rides across and uptown. Occasionally, I took notes on the people sitting around me on the train. What follows are the fourth and fifth of several stream-of-consciousness entries I made in an untitled journal.
Monday, July 28, 2008
I appreciate each and every person who passes. Apparently there is a more appealing seat than any of the three surrounding me. [Read more →]
Author’s note: For 10 months I traveled to work in New York City from my home in southeastern Connecticut. Notice I used the word “traveled” and not “commuted.” The difference, to me, is mileage and duration. My daily “commute” was three hours each way, including a 45-minute drive, an hour-and-40-minute train ride, and subway rides across and uptown. Occasionally, I took notes on the people sitting around me on the train. What follows is the third of several stream-of-consciousness entries I made in an untitled journal.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
“How long until the train is above ground?”
Maybe he’s waiting for daylight to throw himself off.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009, is Hump Day for our national Teacher Appreciation Week, a week we appreciate only on weekdays — May 4 to May 8 — according to the Yahoo note which informed me of such week last night.
So I arose this morning not with the alacrity, wit, and wide smile of some of my favorite educators; rather, I experienced an acute anxiety attack as I understood I had not yet done enough to appreciate teachers this week. [Read more →]
The Yankees are dead to me; they have been for a while. I think it started when they acquired Randy Johnson instead of Carlos Beltran. But this off-season and first month has just been too much. The Yankees just don’t get it anymore. They care about the fans and real baseball about as much as Big Oil cares about the environment. [Read more →]
Author’s note: For 10 months I traveled to work in New York City from my home in southeastern Connecticut. Notice I used the word “traveled” and not “commuted.” The difference, to me, is mileage and duration. My daily “commute” was three hours each way, including a 45-minute drive, an hour-and-40-minute train ride, and subway rides across and uptown. Occasionally, I took notes on the people sitting around me on the train. What follows are two of several stream-of-consciousness entries I made in an untitled journal.
Monday, June 23, 2008
I want to attack the man sitting across from me. [Read more →]
Dear Ruby,
At work, I often bring treats and snacks to share. I always offer some to “Joan” who works next to me in the cubicles. She never takes even one bite of what I offer her, not even to be polite. When should I stop offering my treats to her?
“Jackie”
1. Fled on foot
Example Usage: After ditching the car, the suspect fled on foot across a crowded playground.
Complaint: He didn’t flee in a hot air balloon, it was on his feet!
Annoyance Value: 5
2. Literally
Example Usage: When JumJums died, I literally cried for three weeks, my heart broke in two, literally, broke in two.
Complaint: Everyone knows someone who abuses this word in every story and description. Stop! I’m not alone on this one.
AV: 9
3. Apropos
Example Usage: I see you’re eating a Jeno’s frozen pizza. That’s very apropos considering March is National Frozen Food Month.
Complaint: What, you’re too good for the word appropriate? Apropos’ silent s isn’t nearly as cool as the silent g in paradigm, even if March is Frozen Food Month or National Peanut Month or whatever.
AV: 8 [Read more →]
In an ever-escalating drive to bring news reporting to the very pinnacle of triteness, NBC Nightly News offered coverage of a plane falling into the Hudson River today along these lines: “So much could have gone wrong that didn’t; so let’s hear from our experts on some of the things that could have gone wrong.”
Go, Brian Williams! When the news isn’t exciting enough,* reporting on news that might have been — what a concept!
“The weather today was exactly what is normally expected this time of year; let’s hear from our experts on how a tsunami would have affected the economy of the tri-state area.”
“Charles Barkley was arrested today for drunken driving; let’s hear from our sportscaster how it would have played out had he walked into a church and started singing along with the choir.”
“The president made a few routine decisions and signed a couple of unremarkable laws; let’s hear from our political commentators what would have happened if he’d asked Congress to approve funds for a bicycle trip to the Moon.”
________________________
* Because nobody died; but this guy is the new Joe the Plumber. His autobiography will come out in 2009, followed by a run for Congress in 2010.
So my wife and I tried to return a few things to Babies R’ Us that were given to us off of our baby registry: nothing was opened, everything brand new, and still being sold in the store and online for the same retail price. We had all the gift receipts. The stuff was bought in June, and now it’s December, and we had no idea that there was this new hard-line ‘nothing-can-be-returned-after-90-days’ policy because on the gift receipt it says “Easy Returns.” Well, not so much… [Read more →]
I’m not the first one to say it, but I’m probably the first to say it here:
Hey, actors: put some water or something in those empty take-out coffee cups you’re holding, and stop winging them around like you really wouldn’t. Another tip: you can’t gulp it down that hot.
For the umpteenth time, my wife and I have been distracted by your flailing. Please, someone put a stop to this. New rule: You must have liquid in your acting-cup.
A few days ago, I had to drive through the night to get from a client meeting in one distant city to an early-morning meeting in another city hundreds of miles away. (It was a little too close for flying.) It was about 9:00 in the evening and, because I was driving through farm country, it was pitch black, with hardly any other cars on the highway.
I love the peaceful feeling of driving long distances alone at night, and I was listening to the Pretenders; all was right with the world. Until the bright red “Oil Warning” light popped on.
This is where the scam began.
As most drivers know, the Oil Warning light is not something you ever want to see. As I’ve always understood it, it doesn’t mean you merely need to add some oil, or change your oil; it means that due to a failure of the oil pump or a punctured oil pan, you have no oil pressure at all, and if you don’t stop the car very soon, the engine could seize up and be ruined. In fact, the light on my dashboard didn’t just say “Warning.” Under the icon of the Aladdin’s Lamp-shaped oil can with a single drop at its tip, there was a bold black statement that commanded me to “EXIT NOW.”
So I did, after about ten anxious minutes of searching for the next highway exit. And found myself in a nearly deserted hamlet called Prophetstown. The only businesses open were a convenience store and a tavern, so I pulled in to the parking lot of the store and popped the hood (although, because my car was a rental, it took me 20 solid minutes of hunting to find the hood release latch, recessed so far back under the steering wheel that I had to get on my knees to locate it in the dark.)
Then I went into the store and borrowed a flashlight so I could locate the oil dipstick. Naturally, the weather was near freezing. Meanwhile, the helpful clerk behind the counter was nice enough to look up the roadside assistance number for my car rental company.
While waiting for her to find the number I double-checked the owner’s manual to make sure I wasn’t over-reacting. Not at all, according to the manual: It confirmed that the light didn’t mean merely that the car was low on oil, but rather that catastrophic engine damage was imminent and that the car had to be towed to a repair shop immediately. In fact, the manual explicitly said not to attempt to drive the car under any circumstances. I began contemplating finding a Motel Six somewhere in the area and missing my meeting the next morning, which was still hundreds of miles away. [Read more →]
Ok, enough already.
Enough with malls putting up Christmas decorations before Halloween.
It’s insulting enough to somehow suggest cheap tinsel horns and stars* mounted to parking poles will swing my attention away from driving past the mall enough to make me realize, “hey, I need to shop,” if I didn’t already. It’s insulting to think it’s OK for giant ornaments strung from the rafters to take precedence over and crush the meaning from my kids’ (and my own) anticipation of Halloween and Thanksgiving.
Anyone remember Thanksgiving decorations?
Halloween is kinda silly, though, so I’ll say this: Let me and my children look forward to Thanksgiving — a holiday that holds some sentimental nostalgia — without steamrollering it into a mental wasteland by making my kids think they’re getting toys any second now.
If they’re so effective, Malls, then just leave them up year-round. I suppose there has been some psychological study that says it’s effective. But I bet they haven’t figured out what happens if you just beat people over the head with it. I’d love it if everyone got jaded and went back to bed instead of waiting in lines at 4:30 in the morning to buy this year’s Kick Me Elmo.
I know, you say, “But you don’t have to shop at the mall. It’s free speech.”** And I don’t, and it is.
But we do go to the mall. It’s still in very poor taste.
Appoint me King. I’ll fix it.
*Yeah, there’s Channukah too. But let’s face it: we don’t get overrun with giant dreidels. Not as much, anyway.
**Maybe you don’t say this. Someone does, though.
How many times have you gone into a parking lot and been annoyed by a car taking up two spots? Seriously, it makes my blood boil… and I am a relatively calm person. But if I am in a hurry (which is basically all the time) or I have a car load of kids or I just don’t feel like walking an extra two rows, I do consider (but have never done it) running my key along the side of the precious vehicle in my potential spot. Is it really that difficult to get between two lines?
I know some people don’t park that way intentionally — but completely unforgivable are those obvious offenders who feel they deserve to take up two spots in order to safeguard their car from potential disaster.
I’ve found my solution to those inconsiderate when parking their cars. I Park Like An Idiot bumper stickers. Genius!
I have the guts to order them… just not sure I would have the guts to slap one on a car. Would you?
Hat Tip to Entertainment Buzz on CafeMom.
I found myself in a mini-mall in Des Moines, Iowa earlier today and happened to notice the following hand-lettered sign in the window of a Thai restaurant:
We Now Offer Sushi! Delivery Too!
As someone whose definition of happiness is sharing a large platter of sushi and a couple of Sapporos with one or more good friends, this sign bothered me for any number of reasons.
First, people, it was a Thai restaurant. Would you eat sushi at a German restaurant? Then what is it that makes a Thai restaurant any more plausible as a vendor of raw fish, seaweed, and rice, other than the fact that Japan and Thailand are both in Asia, albeit many thousands of miles and radically different cultural and culinary traditions apart?
Second, the sign was scrawled in black magic marker. At restaurants that specialize in sushi, the chefs train for years. For some reason, the unwilligness of this restaurant to invest 29 bucks in a professionally printed sign suggested to me a rather shorter training period, and a decidedly less rigorous dedication to quality. [Read more →]
So, we’re on our way to get a couple of Cuban sandwiches yesterday, and suddenly hear on the radio that it’s National Family Health & Fitness Day. We didn’t do anything healthy or fit yesterday. Did I mention, we were going to get Cuban sandwiches? Later, we see on TV that the upcoming week is ABC’s National Stay-at-Home Week. We’re not planning to stay at home, because even though we watch some ABC shows, we have a DVR, so we can come and go as we please. Who makes up these national and international days and what’s the point unless there are some teeth behind the idea, to enforce it? Don’t declare national and international days of anything unless you have the power to make it so. Either we do things as a mob, or we just do them when fancy strikes, as individuals. Like the International Talk Like a Pirate Day that we apparently just missed. Well, we didn’t talk like pirates that day, so it’s not international, is it, because we weren’t part of it, and we are an integral part of the world population. If you’re going to nationalize and internationalize, do it properly, with some muscle, to make sure everybody participates.
My husband says that anyone can declare any day a national or international day of anything, and that I could declare an International Cuban Sandwich Day, if I wanted to. Well, maybe I would, if I had an international army big enough to help me force a Cuban sandwich down the throats of everybody in the world, including vegans and carbophobes. He also said something about instituting an International Gimme a Dollar Day, but I think there are too many people in the world who don’t have a dollar, so that’s just unrealistic.
Since I don’t have an international army to back me up, anyone is welcome to make their own Cuban sandwich, the way they make it at the Cuba Bakery in Union City:
Cuban bread, fluffy and crusty
mayonnaise
slices of Genoa salami (apparently, that makes the sandwich Miami-style, but we don’t mind)
slices of roast pork loin
Cut the bread lengthwise, spread enough mayonnaise on the halves just to moisten, lay the salami on the bottom half, then the pork, cover with the top half, heat through (like an Italian panino) in a sandwich press. Cut in halves crosswise, on a slant. Never mind the health and fitness — Cuban sandwiches aren’t slimming.
