NASCAR: Do We Need It?

No.

Can someone please explain to me this country's avid interest in NASCAR? I'm sitting there watching a perfectly good edition of SportsCenter and "highlights" from this shit come on? (As if you can call excerpts from this "sport" [as if you can call NASCAR a sport] highlights; that's the equivalent of calling the kernels of corn embedded in a huge pile of turd, highlights.) It's bad enough I have to endure ice hockey highlights, golf highlights, and Rachel Nichols (the sports journalist, not the actress), but cars driving in circles is just too much...

Sir, I Need To See Your Boarding Pass and ID

Just once I want to see one of these romantic comedies end realistically. I want the build-up to that stale, overdone, last-minute, airport rescue, where the guy rushes to the airport, leaves his still-fucking-running car at the Departures curbside, and runs onto the plane itself to stop the love of his life from leaving forever. I want to see the version where the guy rushes to catch the girl before her flight leaves, leaves his car running at the curb, then gets to the pre-gate security, where they look at him like he's insane for trying to get through without a ticket, and he's forced to turn around. The girl's flight leaves, and he slinks off, back to his car, only to find that it's been towed or stolen.

Then again, maybe that has been done. I wouldn't know. I don't watch that shit.

Meet the Natives!

A new show premiered on the Travel Channel tonight: Meet the Natives. It's amazing. You should watch it. It's about five guys from the island of Tanna, an island of Vanuatu, where they live in a primitive, self-sufficient, supremely peaceful society, who come to the United States for something like five weeks, to travel, learn about our culture, introduce us to theirs, and, most importantly to them, spread the message of peace and harmony.

They're super upbeat, completely without pretense or affectation, and they offer us a rare and cool opportunity to view ourselves and our existence through fresh eyes, which proves to be surprisingly insightful. At times, you feel guilty for the amount of excess we as Americans enjoy. Other times, you almost feel embarrassed for them, like when their chief prays earnestly to a massive boulder in Yellowstone (it's reminiscent of how Hugh Grant feels in About A Boy, the only good movie he's ever made, I think, when the little kid and his mom sing with their eyes closed), or when they ask a table of people in Montana if they know "Tom Navy," the Jesus-like figure to whom the Tanna people attribute their peaceful philosophy. But the thing is, they're not embarrassed because they're totally sincere. And that's refreshing.

Here's the website if you want to check it out: http://www.travelchannel.com/TV_Shows/Meet_the_Natives

Sing Like Celine

When I drive, I wear a bluetooth. Yes, I hate myself for this, but not enough to risk having to pay the ticket I would get if I got caught talking on my phone while driving.

When I drive, I also always sing along to the amazing mix CD's that I expertly craft for myself.

When I park, I always turn my bluetooth off (because I refuse to reinject myself into general population while still wearing that thing), which requires me to hold down the button on my earpiece for about 3-5 seconds.

The other day, I was pulling into a busy shopping center, full of people, and I was turning off my bluetooth while belting out whatever emo anthem was pumping through my speakers at that moment, and I realized that I looked like one of those assholes who holds his ear when he sings so he can better hear himself. That's all. Just wanted to share that embarrassment.

What Is This Salty Discharge?

Happy Thanksgiving! Or, as a friend of a friend proffers, Happy Tricked-The-Indians Day! Don't worry; I'm not gonna rant about that whole thing. BOOORRRIIINNNGGG... It's been overdone. Yes, we killed off practically an entire indigenous people for our personal, greedy gain. Welcome to being White. We're assholes of, literally, historic proportions.

This year, I decided to take Thanksgiving off. That's right. Not in the boycott sense, because I don't have any major moral qualms about this holiday (save for the aforementioned genocide). I turned down all the very gracious offers of free food and festive company, a few of which were even from people I like, in favor of a day of complete solitude. I value my alone time.

And today, I woke up, and it was 85 and sunny in LA, so I left my house to go for a long walk, a sort of recon mission, to find out what was open for food. As I chipperly sauntered down the relatively barren (even by LA standards) streets of LA, I noticed that there was still a decent amount of pedestrian traffic, and that these pedestrians looked pretty sad and lonely, particular the homeless and elderly ones.

And that's when irony struck: these people weren't alone by choice, like I was. They were just plain, old-fashioned alone. And that really bummed me out. And so, on the day that I specifically isolated myself from the people who care about me, I actually felt the most grateful for all my friends and family who drive me to the brink of insanity. Thanks, guys. As much as I complain, I'd be sad and lonely without you...

(Oh, and here's why I chose this post's title, in case you didn't already know...)

I Like You... Oh, Wait, Never Mind.

I can't make a totally honest, accurate assessment about a girl until she's made me ejaculate. I think this is the same for most men. Our brains are just too clouded before we get to that point to really focus on the emotional connection. We try, but it's just too difficult. And that's a compliment, really. We're so attracted to women, we can't think straight. Don't turn this into a negative thing. I can think I like a girl, but if I would rather be alone immediately after I ejaculate, then I realize I don't like her all that much. If I want her to stick around (no pun intended) afterwards, then that's a very good sign.

So, my initial instinct would be to advise women not to wait so long, and put out sooner, because then we, men, could more clearly assess the situation in a timely fashion, before you get too attached. But then I also recognize that if a girl puts out too quickly, I'll think she's a whore. Sooo . . . I really don't know what to tell you. That's why there are no rules in this crazy game of love.

And on that note, Happy Thanksgiving!

Revenge of the Nerds

Like everyone else, I loved this staple of 80's cinema, and for the most part, I agreed with the overall message. But am I alone here in thinking the nerds took their revenge a little too far?

Anyone remember that moon bounce scene? You know, during the charity, fundraiser portion of the competition, when Louis, the king nerd, pretends to be Stan, the king jock, by dressing up in the same Darth Vader costume, and therefore tricks Stan's girlfriend, Betty, into sleeping with him because she thinks he's her boyfriend? Isn't that called rape? Betcha didn't consider that when you first saw this movie at age 10.

But then she's okay with it because the nerd is so much better at sex than her boyfriend?! What message are they trying to convey here?! Trick a girl into letting you rape her, but only if you're really good at sex, because then she'll be your girlfriend? And the nerd explains why he's so skilled in the art of love by saying, "All jocks ever think about is sports. All we ever think about is sex." And this is supposed to be profound. So let me get this straight: all I have to do is constantly think about sex and I'll be amazing at it?!... Done. I'm amazing at sex. Call me.

Revenge Is Sweet

Something just occurred to me. Can you imagine how motivated the first black athletes who were allowed to play integrated sports against white people must have been?! You've been treated like a worthless animal for centuries and then suddenly you get to play a contact sport against the very people who have been abusing and oppressing you?!

As a Jew, this made me think of how amazing it would feel to play tackle football against an entire team of Nazis...although if that happened it would mean that the Nazis won, and that wouldn't feel very good at all. Damnit.

Scent Technology?

I saw a bottle of one of the 10,000 different types of Old Spice body washes recently, and on it was written, "8 Hr. Scent Technology." Seriously? "Scent Technology?" And only eight hours? That's actually not that long. So I have to shower three times a day or I'll smell? If you're going to fabricate a hygiene "technology," at least make it last 24 hours.

Mrpphh Grrrrmm Brrrbph

Sorry. My lips were wrapped around the barrel of a firearm. Seriously, every time I think they can't possibly come up with shittier movie premises . . . they do. Have you seen the previews for this calamity called Did You Hear About the Morgans? (I've obviously provided it for you, if not.) It's this new piece of shit starring Sarah Jessica Veiny Parker and Hugh Romantic Comedy Grant (ugh!).

Even their attempt at a cutesy little tagline was completely uncreative and utterly unfunny (check the 1:10 mark of the below clip), "The Morgans will have to go to the middle of nowhere . . . before they get somewhere . . . with each other . . ." How fucking stupid is that?! Who got paid to come up with that line?! "Ahhh yeeeaaah. Let's say 'nowhere,' then pause dramatically before contrasting it with 'somewhere.' That'll be awesome! Everyone will wanna go see it!"

Awww, The Confederacy Loses Again :(

You know what's funny? When people want a character to sound smart, they give him a British accent. When they want a character to sound stupid, they give him a Southern accent. It probably sucks to be born with a Southern accent, huh?

Seriously, NASA?

Maybe we are over-funding NASA if this is what they're choosing to "crusade" about:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20091109/od_afp/entertainmentfilmusspaceoffbeat_20091109193814

God, people are stupid! NASA officials shouldn't have to answer to these morons! In fact, I think NASA is discrediting itself and undermining its own intelligence by pandering to these ignoramuses who actually think the world is going to end in 2012. Let these jackasses commit mass suicide in anticipation of the apocalypse supposedly predicted by the fucking Mayan calendar (they suddenly care what other cultures have to say?); the world will be a much better place, I assure you.

You Know Your Step-mom Watches Too Much Fox News When...

I called my step-mom to check in and say hi the other day, and we had an interesting conversation. She was telling me how she called the doctor to see about getting the H1N1 vaccination, but the doctor said they were out. And I said, yeah, I know, they haven't been able to produce enough to meet the demand yet. And then she goes, "I know. How do you like your Obama now?"

What? What?! How is Obama responsible for creating and spreading Swine Flu?! And how is he also responsible for not making enough of the vaccine to satisfy her?! I asked her if she was even aware, anymore, of the absurdity of the right-wing propaganda she blindly repeats after my father forces her to watch Sean Hannity. She just laughed.

Biz Markie

Speaking of commercials, watch this Heineken one and tell me what's wrong with it:



The cab!

Yeah, like you'd be able to hear the radio (which would be talk radio) over Regis and Kelly shouting at you from that crotch-level, touch-screen monitor. Right, and the cabbie wouldn't be on his bluetooth to Pakistan, or Armenia, or the Sudan, as he constantly stopped short and jerked the wheel back and forth as he clumsily and ineffectively weaved in and out of heavy traffic. Sure, like you wouldn't be so nauseous by that point that you'd have to stick your head out the window like a golden retriever.

Did you see how nice the radio in that thing was, too?! This magical Heineken cab doesn't even have one of those suicide-bomb-proof dividers that makes the ride even more vomit-inducing because you can't see in front of you, not to mention the fact that it crushes your knees every time he pumps the squeaky brakes. I'm just saying.

Overall, not a bad commercial, though.

What?!

Caught this gem of a commercial the other day. Seriously, Kay Jewelers needs a new fucking marketing department, or something. Their commercials are consistently and nauseatingly terrible. Now that's an establishment I will happily be boycotting. Watch this:



This guy opens up by saying that he's terrible at sign language! So what am I to believe their relationship is predicated on? How the hell are these two communicating?! What message is Kay trying to push on us? I'm supposed to believe that these two people who can't even talk to each other are at the point in their relationship where he's buying her a watch? I don't like it.

Nature Over Nurture

I was thinking about it the other night, and I think I've always been like this. This. Hyper-observant, easily irritated, borderline OCD. Here are three supporting examples from my very early youth:

1. You know how socks have that seam that runs across the tops of your toes? Well, when I was really little, before I dressed myself, I remember that my mom had to be extra careful when putting on my socks for me, because if that seam was off center by even the slightest bit, and I could feel it on the sides of my toes, or God forbid on the bottoms!, I would cry hysterically. Really.

2. Crispy cereal was very important to me. I couldn't stand soggy cereal. But, I also hated having to scoop up dry cereal in too little milk, because that made it harder to get on the spoon. So, like I still do for everything else in my life, I had a system. As a little kid, I'd fill my bowl with cereal, and fill it to the brim with milk, but then only eat like half the bowl of cereal because the second half was too soggy by the time I got to it. I refused to eat soggy cereal. It didn't feel right. I remember eating breakfast at one of my friend's houses was always very traumatic for me because his father made you finish whatever you put in the bowl. Your cereal got soggy? Tough shit. You shouldn't have poured it in there. You finished your cereal before it soggy but now you have excess milk in the bowl? Better get to slurpin', son. I got very good at balancing my milk and cereal levels at this kid's house...and at pouring the excess milk in the sink when his dad wasn't looking.

3. When I was in pre-school, I think like three years old, they had a finger painting day. So, like all the other kids, I dipped my hands in the paint, made a few masterpieces, and was ready to be on my way. But, I'm me, so it didn't happen like that. When we finished painting, I made the mistake of turning my hands over so I could check out my palms, probably to marvel at how such tiny extremities had been responsible for creating such beauty that day. As soon as I saw the palms of my hands covered in paint, I began crying hysterically, screaming about my hands being dirty, or something along those lines. I was completely inconsolable, and they actually had to call my mom to come pick me up and take me home.

Yeah, so, I think I've always been like this.

Boycotts

I know this may come as a shock, but I frequently boycott persons, places, and things. Here are two of the more recent examples I can think of off the top of my head. This is going to rile me up, but for you, I do these things...

1. Magic Nut and Candy Company: There's a pretty sizable nut shop at my local Farmers Market. They have these really good smoked almonds that I used to get there all the time. The one thing that always really annoyed about this establishment, though, was the fact that the women who worked there were inattentive bitches, but the almonds were so good I kept going back. Just to set the scene, this nut stand is almost never busy. I would go there a couple times a week. And every time I went, the women would either be talking to each other as I stood there, staring directly at them, waiting to be helped, or, if it was just one of them, she'd sit there reading, or literally staring straight ahead at nothing. I always had to say, "excuse me," to get their attention, even though no one was there and I frequented the fucking place. Annoying, I know. One time, as a little experiment, I walked up to the counter, right in front of the woman who was working, stopped, stood there, and stared at her, without asking for help, just to see how long it would take before she offered to help me. There were no other customers. She was alone. Six minutes. Six fucking minutes. Do you have any idea how long that is to leave someone standing there, staring right at you? Try standing still, in silence, for six minutes one time. Let me know how that works out for you. Anyway, I would usually order a third of a pound every time I went, because due to my lack of self-control around food, I would always end up eating them in one sitting, and I didn't want to get any fucking fatter. So after months of patronizing this nut shop, I decided to stop by one fine afternoon for my almonds. I had exactly enough cash to get my third of a pound of smoked almonds. As usual, I waited an unnecessarily long time for the woman to finish her conversation with the person she spends every single day of her life with, and then I ordered my almonds. With zero recognition on her face, she tells me that they only sell a minimum of a half pound (or some amount that was marginally larger than whatever I wanted) at a time. I said, "really? Because I'm here really often and I always order the same amount, and no one, including you, has ever told me that before." The bitch-cunt-robot repeats, "there minimum of half pound." So I took out my four bucks, or whatever it was, held it up, and said, "so you will refuse to take this cash, in my hand now, in exchange for handing a loyal customer the same amount of almonds he purchases every other fucking time he comes here?" . . . "Half pound minimum." "I hope you go out of business, I'm never coming back here again." And I stuck to my word. But, because there's no such thing as a just God, they are still in business. But you can bet I give them dirty looks every time I walk by. Not that it matters, because in all the months I shopped there, they never once made eye contact or even said, "you're welcome," when I thanked them for the almonds. I hate people.

2. Le Pain Quotidien: These French fucks (even though I think they're actually Belgian. You choose a French name for your cafe, you're French). I had been there a handful of times, and, every time, had thought the food was decent but the service sucked. I wasn't morally opposed to dining there, but they certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. Then, this happened: I went there for lunch one day, because there's one up the street from my house, and the person I was with wanted to go, I think. Whatever. Unimportant. Now I sound like a girl; providing unnecessary, boring details of a story that could be cut into one eighteenth the time. Anyway, I was perusing the menu and noticed that it said that all sandwiches were served on wheat bread. Okay. I hate wheat bread, but no big deal, right? This place is a bakery. (For those of you not in the know, "Pain" is French for "bread." Now if you didn't know that, please stop reading. Now. Walk away.) The fucking word "BREAD" is in the name of the establishment! I can obviously get my sandwich on one of the other dozens of types of bread they supposedly bake daily, right? I'm sure you know where this is going. The whore of a waitress, who was a complete bitch from the moment we sat down, finally comes over to take our order. I tell her which sandwich I want, and I then have the audacity to ask what kind of breads they have so I can get my overpriced sandwich on bread that I actually enjoy consuming. The rest of the conversation went pretty much like this:

Whore Waitress: Our sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
Curmudgeon: Yeah, I know, but is there any way I can get it on something else? I don't like wheat bread.
WW: The menu says that all the sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
C: Yes, I read the same menu to which you're referring, which was why I specifically asked what other types of bread I could get my sandwich on, seeing as you're a bakery.
WW: You can't.
(I just stared at her for a couple seconds. She's very rude about it, too. Not apologetic. Not like, "I'm so sorry, but the chef is a fascist maniac who refuses to change things from the menu, and I'll get in trouble if I ask." Nothing remotely resembling effort.)
C: So, you have an entire store of bread inside (we were on the porch), and I am going to be forced to eat bread I don't like if I want to order this sandwich?
WW: (rolling her eyes and exhaling) I can give you different bread on the side and just bring out the ingredients for the sandwich.
(You realize the absurdity of this, right? At this point, I'm wishing a painful death upon her and whoever raised her, so I've given up on being polite. Now I'm my sarcastic, asshole self.)
C: Great. Let's do that. Thanks so much. And if you could, would you mind putting the first piece of bread down first, then the ingredients, then the second piece of bread on top of the ingredients? Because that would be great.
WW: (eyes roll again) I'll bring them out separately.
C: Of course you will.

So, yeah, that didn't end well. I left zero tip for the first and only time in my life, I believe, and I haven't been back there since. And I beg everyone who reads this to boycott with me, and tell other people not to eat there. I really hate that place.

This Song Goes Out To...

I hate talking at the beginning or end of a perfectly good song. Shut the fuck up. I don't mean at concerts, though that's often annoying too; I mean on the studio-recorded tracks off the album. I don't wanna hear your stupid little intro, I don't give a shit who the song's dedicated to, and I certainly don't care to hear your god-awful spoken-word poetry you think belongs at the end of a song for some reason. I'm paying for your music. If I wanted to hear someone talk without listening I'd call my mom or my ex-girlfriend.

You want to dedicate a song or write a poem? Do it in the liner notes. What was that? No one reads the liner notes anymore? That's because you've been filling them with meaningless dedications and shitty poetry, and, as stated earlier, people don't give a shit about your dedications or poetry. So keep them out of your goddamn songs!

Fuckface

Pictures of the most annoying douchebags in the world. Great site: http://antiduckface.com/

(Special thanks to Stephanie Lemelin...)

Trailer Trash

I know I've lived in LA for a long time because when I hear someone say "trailer," I actually think of a movie preview and not the kind found in trailer parks. I hate myself for this.

Vanity Plates Gone Good

I was recently blessed with one of those rare opportunities where you get to see a personalized license plate that's actually awesome. Here's what it was: "FISTER." Seriously. Unfortunately, the car was parked, so I couldn't see what the courageous driver looked like. Wouldn't it have been cool if it had been a hot chick?!

So Easy A Mentally Handicapped Simian Can Do It

Seriously, how fucking hard is it to use a blinker?!

Uh Oh

Now we've really pissed them off:

Old Timer's

When I was little, I thought "Alzheimer's" was actually called "Old Timer's." It sounds the same (you just said it out loud to yourself, didn't you?), and actually makes way more sense; I don't know any young timers who have it, do you?

In fact, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and propose that we should officially switch it to Old Timer's disease. Here's a sample exchange:

Someone: "Ugh, my grandpa tells the same story over and over again."

Someone Else: "Oh, does he have Old Timer's?"

The Original Someone: "No. He's just an asshole."

See?! How much better is that? I'm stickin' to my guns here.

FYI...

I received a handful of less-than-thrilled comments regarding my previous post because some girls are insecure and defensive (though some simply disagreed), so I wanted to say something. An apology? . . . Haha. No! Don't be a ginger 'tard.

I wanted to add that the friend with whom I had the conversation about me hiring a man over a woman was, herself, a female, and she obviously disagreed with me. But because we both believe in equality, we actually put our heads together to come up with a solution to the very problem I posed, which was, if presented with two equally qualified job candidates, and one's a male, and the other's a female of reproductive age, why would I not hire the one who doesn't carry the risk of taking time off for maternity leave? And we decided that the government should impose mandatory maternity AND paternity leave, so that all candidates will pose the same flight risk, thus leveling the playing field, and, creating an overall better quality of life for employees. Eh?!

Well, guess I'll be moving my company off-shore, to a barge, where I can hire all the men I want! Victory! . . . Oh shit, wait. That sounds like some gay, sex, party cruise. That sucks. . . . But that would make a great movie idea! Straight guys stuck on a gay cruise liner! What was that? Cuba Gooding Jr. and Horatio Sanz beat me to it? Foiled again.

Separate But Equal

Right off, I'm going to concede that that is a misleading and insensitive title. But, if you're looking for sensitivity, please stop reading now...

Okay, good. Now that it's just us, let's continue. A little while back, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine about how I've had enough with this bullshit where we define equality as completely ignoring our differences. I'm all for equality, but no way in hell are we all the same! This applies to all differences, racial, national, but specifically, I was talking about gender differences when this came up.

I said, that if I were running a small business, and I had two candidates applying for the same job, and one was male, and the other female, that, all things being equal (as in, I think skill-wise, they would perform at equally mediocre levels), I would choose the male over the female if the female were of reproductive age because there would be the risk of her taking maternity leave. That's a fact. I provided a caveat where, if the woman were willing to sign a contract that said she would not get pregnant while under my employment, then that would work for me. Is that sexist? Maybe. But it seems to pretty clearly be the smarter move for my company, does it not? Let me again state, that this is in a case where both candidates are equally qualified. If the woman were better qualified to make money for my company, then fuck that guy she's going against, because I will hire her. People, women in particular, react rather negatively to that overall sentiment, but I don't understand why I should be willing to risk my financial independence because I have to pretend that these biological differences don't exist and won't affect me.

You want to call me sexist? Fine. You can go ahead and call me intelligence-ist, too, because I also refuse to hire stupid people. Why is that any different? Half the population can't help being born female (not that I even think that's a detriment; I'm just making a relevant point), but far more than half the population can't help being born stupid. And guess what? If I have a sales position that would generate greater income if it were filled by a more attractive person, then I will discriminate based on physical appearance, not because I hate ugly people (but c'mon, seriously, right?), but because that's what's best for my company! In fact, in that instance, that position would be more likely to be filled by a female...of reproductive age (because we all know women are no longer attractive after that window, am I right?).

Awww... Am I hurting your feelings? Well, you'll have plenty of time to cry about it at home because my imaginary company will not be hiring you, because Curmudgeon, Inc. doesn't have time for overly sensitive pussies.

I mean, listen, I want to be a professional athlete. But guess what? In some crazy scheme to turn a profit, it turns out all these professional sports leagues discriminate based on physical prowess because THAT'S WHAT'S BEST FOR THEIR FUCKING COMPANIES! I'm not gonna go whine about it and sue them for discrimination just because I wasn't born 6'7" and don't possess the skill set they need to make money. Nobody's going to line up to pay money to watch me play basketball. In fact, every Monday night, I have to pay my money for court time.

Look, I know this all sounds a little harsh, and that sort of thinking is, in a way, what contributed to our current economic mess, because corporations can justify a lot of terrible things under the umbrella of "doing what's best for the company" (which maybe throws into question the viability of an economy based entirely on the free market/capitalism--not that I have any better suggestions at the moment), but my point is just that we're all different. And we discriminate against each other all the time based on these differences. I mean, Jesus Christ. Have one conversation with a friend about dating and you'll quickly be reminded of how discriminatory we are. Too short. Too fat. Not the right religion. She eats her peas one at a time. Unfair discrimination is clearly wrong, but not all discrimination is unfair. Our differences are real and we can stop pretending they're not for the sake of faux equality. Different people have different advantages for a whole host of reasons. And what's an advantage in one situation can be a disadvantage in another.

And for the record, I do support affirmative action, because minorities, specifically black people, were very clearly systematically and institutionally discriminated against in this country, in an attempt to keep them from ever being able to socially and economically establish themselves enough to be upwardly mobile and compete with white people. I don't think an underqualified applicant should be chosen over a qualified white applicant, for example, but I do think if both a white and black applicant were overall, equally qualified, the black applicant should be accepted, because statistically speaking, he/she probably had a much tougher road to reach that same level of achievement as the white person he/she would be competing against.

Furthermore, people often shy away from stereotypes, and generally for good reason, but I don't know... Lots of Jews do have big noses and are good with money, though not all of them. Take my mom for example: she doesn't have a big nose and she's terrible with money. Lots of black guys love big asses and can jump high...but not all of 'em. Many Asians are hard workers and bad drivers, but not--well...maybe with the driving thing...uhhh... A lot of Russians love vodka. A lot of Australians surf. A lot of Middle Easterners eat hummus. You should take everyone you meet on a case-by-case basis, but it's kind of nice to have cultural differences, no? Life would be painfully boring without all these differences. I wouldn't want to travel around the world and have everyone and everything be exactly as they are in my home town. How much would that suck?! It's bad enough that every corner of the globe has a Starbucks and McDonald's. Do we have to homogenize the people now, too?! We're different. Stop being pussies and trying to be the same as everyone else. Figure out where you fit in given your physical and mental capabilities, and deal with it. I will never be a Major League Baseball pitcher. It's okay. Accept yourself and embrace our diversity because life would be way more dull without it...unless you're a goddamn queer! (Joke.)

So maybe not "separate but equal," so much as "together despite different?"

Yet Again, I Am Right

This here article says that grumpiness promotes clarity. So hows abouts that?! The professor who organized the study is quoted as saying, "Negative moods trigger more attentive, careful thinking, paying greater attention the external world." Now, personally, I think paying greater attention to the external world is what triggers negative moods, because it's the stupid, unaware people who walk around blissfully oblivious to their surroundings . . . but, hey, who am I to say? I'm just the rational, lucid-thinking curmudgeon:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8339647.stm

(Special thanks to Helena for sending me the article...)

Which Came First, The Slob or the Failure?

Your car isn't your bathroom. In the last five days, I've had the pleasure of witnessing drivers doing the following:

1. A woman putting on deodorant.

2. A woman doing her makeup.

3. A man shaving.

4. And, my favorite/most utterly repugnant, a woman popping multiple pimples in her rear-view mirror.

Aside from the obvious dangers inherent in performing these acts while operating a motor vehicle, they're just plain disgusting.

I also noticed that all four of these people had really beat-up, piece-of-shit cars. Coincidence? No, obviously not. These people are fuck-ups. Do your grooming at home. There's a reason everyone else does. Because it's repulsive to look at, and because they want to succeed in life.

Halitosis

Q: Is there anything worse than being stuck in a conversation with someone who has bad breath?

A: Yes, plenty of things (read my blog).

But seriously, if you have bad breath, become more self-aware. Chew gum. Brush your teeth. Something.