Friday, August 28, 2009

Every Day’s My Birthday

It happens to all of us once a year (unless of course you were born on February 29th, then you get one every four, which means you look really old for your age). It’s supposed to be a celebration of one more year of living, but it has always struck as a little odd that we only celebrate in increments of years. Imagine if we could celebrate every day, another day of living. Why is it people who are closest to death are the only ones that finally get that feeling of joy over one more day. If all of us could actually start each morning in celebration, imagine just how much better life would be. Then it dawned on me why we don’t and I fear this may sound a bit cynical, but its big business’ fault. Yes, the conspirators that brought you Enron, the Recession, and a host of other scandals now want you to be grumpy in the morning, irritated during the day and angry at night. Why you ask? Simple, it’s the revenue streams. Let’s start with grumpy mornings. If you leaped out of bed, thrilled to greet the world, rested and excited to meet the challenges of a new day, what wouldn’t you need? Exactly, Caffeine! Think of the billions of dollars we spend on products to get alert and awake, because we have to drag our rear ends out of bed, because we are not genuinely happy about having to get out of bed. Starbucks alone would collapse from early morning happiness. Imagine the horror of “dinks” strolling out their front door, cheerily climbing into their Beemers, cruising past the local Starbucks and cruising into the parking lot at work without the double espresso in the cup holder. Talk about economic collapse, the government would create a stimulant stimulus package for coffee mega-companies.
If caffeine production must be preserved, think of what we would have to do for the pharmaceutical companies. Think about how many of the people you know are on some kind of mood altering substance, whether they are anti-depressants or anti-psychotics. Now I’m not saying that some people don’t need medication but I think the vast majority of us are just bored and frustrated and feel like rats trapped in a maze. It’s amazing how much our beloved technology has not increased our free time but rather trapped us in an inescapable never-ending circle of availability. When do any of us actually hang up, or tune out? When do we disconnect with the rest of the world and connect with the people under our roofs? When do we actually take time to listen to the silence? Take a minute to turn off every piece of communication device you have for one hour. If you don’t actually go crazy from withdrawal, you may actually get to a place called serenity and you might feel the inner peace and tranquility of…hang on, got a call from the pharmacy on the other line…Xanax must be ready…oooh, just got a fantasy football update…I could use a latte espresso bumbalala…

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Friends, Romans, Countrymen…Send me your ideas?

A few weeks ago I placed a note on Facebook soliciting blog ideas, and a few of my concerned friends sent in rather creative ideas listed below (the names of been changed to protect the goofy):

Trachel: If snails could run...

Cho: I was also thinking about young kids with cellphones. I saw a 10 yr old kid at 9 this morning talking on a cell. WTF could he possibly have to talk about?

Blainie: ok.. we need your take on one of the biggest debates in history... Jeanie vs. Bewitched

I thank them for their bravery, as I’m sure they were aware they would end up in a blog. As an homage, I shall address their issues (no, just the ones listed above…Jerry Springer can handle the rest!)


Young kids with cell phones will prove to be an evolutionary necessity. Millennia from now the human race will no longer have opposable thumbs and their fingers will shrivel to nubs, due to the over usage of video game controllers. By having our children constantly place cell phones to their ears, eventually the equipment, much in the same fashion as the Borg, will become biomechanically integrated into their skull. Thus eliminating the need for key pads as messaging and dialing will be brain activated.


I Dream of Jeannie. Barbara Eden was hotter and wore less clothes. Really? There was a debate?


If snails could run, Nike would slap endorsement stickers on their shells and start an ad campaign: Nike….How fast could you run carrying your house?...Just Do It!!

You too, could make it to my blog!!

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Why is 007 singing Abba? And other reasons men hate chick flicks.

My wife loves me. To prove this, she spares me the torture of watching the root of all evil in a masculine world: the chick flick. Typically these films star Reese Witherspoon or Julia Stiles, and involve a sappy adaptation of a rip off of a Shakespearean play. The goal of said movie is to move the audience (predominantly estrogen dominated homo-sapiens or “FABULOUS!” individuals) to tears or uncontrollable giggling. Clearly this is not a safe environment for the typical male, for at some point in time the females in the audience will see the romantic short-comings of any male in the room. Expressed in the following generalities: “Why can’t he be more like Freddie Prinze, Jr?” or “Do you think I could be doing Matt Damon?”

Occasionally I risk certain death, and tolerate one of these time honored bits of cinema in order to spend some quality time with my better half. And so was the case a few days ago when I allotted space in the omniscient DVR (see Give Me TiVo or Give Me Death) to record a movie my wife had shown interest in months ago as it made its theatrical debut. The movie in question was particularly dangerous because it involved two words that are synonymous with death in the male dictionary and when combined are on the level of Armageddon: Broadway and Musical!!

This movie also involved another scary proposition: the seventies disco band ABBA. In one fell swoop, I ventured into the straight man’s Bermuda Triangle of movies, all for the sake of love. I vowed to enjoy this time spent with her and therefore looked to enjoy the film, but it all took a tragic turn for the worse when James Bond, right before my disbelieving eyes, began to sing and dance! He of the cool cars, hot women, dangerous weapons and Judo CHOP (I know, wrong dude)! That’s right, Pierce Brosnan, our beloved James, of the long line of Mr. Bonds, 007 turning in his MI6 rating (and Man-Card) to yodel some Scandinavian disco band tunes for a few bucks. This is an outrage, a disservice to all the hardcore tough guy movies that earned their metal by being manly men. If Pierce now, what’s next? Antonio Banderas singing Andrew Lloyd Weber show tunes? Clint Eastwood starring in a Western Comedy Musical? Or perhaps you’ll steal our favorite X-Men hero and turn him into a singing dancing sweetheart? If this is how the feminine side of the world is going to play, we demand compensation. Give us one of your Broadway Stars for us to turn into a manly man. Send out Nathan Lane this very second!!!

Resurrected Movie Trailer Guy: “They took his family!! They took his fame!! They even took his…Gucci Man Purse!! Now he’s very unhappy!! This Summer Nathan Lane is the Perminator!!

Nathan Lane: I’ll be….FABULOUS!!!