So that whole "Grab Bag" concept didn't really hold up, did it faithful readers? Oh well. Instead of posting once a week with random thoughts, I'm just going to throw one large one at you (this one) and you're going to love it. Dammit.
The new (that's a relative term) Arctic Monkeys album, "Favourite Worst Nightmare," sort of bugs me. Not the album itself, as it is incredibly amazing and is really the only hope for the future of rock and roll, but the spelling of "favourite." We all know the British invented English and we bastardized it with our democracy, representation along with taxation, and Pong video games, but you don't need to go out of the way and point out how classy you are by throwing in the "u" in words like favorite and favour. The accent is enough, elitest punks. Go drink your teua and leavue us be with ouur American speauk.
Don't girls have to know that there is a certain level of attractiveness that would garner you the ability to cut in lines at bars and clubs? At the very least you have to be an 8 or be tight with someone at the door (oral). When I was outside a bar for a good hour and twenty minutes, one girl decided she was good looking enough to waltz up to the front and get in. How do I know? Well she said as much. "Fuck this waiting bullshit, we're getting in," she said, while fixing her shirt and doing the "sexy walk" up to the door. The best she got was jumping ahead about 10 places.
I was all ready to blast her and say she wasn't that hot until she kept making eye contact with me. If I wasn't shown away at the door (damned expired Jersey license !) I probably would have hit on her, so instead I'll say that some other,uglier girls tried and failed and they're terrible people, too! They kick baby seals and shit on river otters, the ugly skanks! Yeah!
God, I have no scruples.
As I have mentioned on this blog numerous times, I don't always have the highest regard for the latest fashion trends. Be it stupid Uggs, awful colored tights, or coffee plate-sized sunglasses, I have a big problem with things that are "fashionable" but really look "stupid and immediately regretful seconds after the digital picture shows up on the big screen in the back of your camera that you refuse to give to someone else to take a picture of you so instead you hold it in front of you instead because it somehow looks better to you."
Suddenly, though, everything seems to take a back seat (except Moonshoes, which I will not show again, which you should thank me for) to the newest wonder of stupidity: Crocs. These jackass pieces of footwear have absolutely no reason for existing, let alone being on sale, thereby putting forth the idea that someone looks at them and somehow decides to exchange currency to wear them in public. What are Crocs, you ask?
I guess they're golashes that are fun colored? I don't even know what function they are to provide. But, with each pair of Crocs sold, there should be a complimentary straight blade for you to slit your wrists when you either find a mirror or look back at pictures in a photo album 10 years from now. By then it should be rusted, making it hurt more, and maybe make the penance a tad more equal for the atrocious crime you have committed against humanity as a whole. If those fucking things gave you superpowers I'd gladly not have heatray vision cause I'd rather be normal and not look like a complete asshole (who may or may not be able to burn things with merely a glance!).
I saw a dead possum on the side of the road and it looked more like a puppet used in the forests of Endor in Return of the Jedi. Possums are not of this earth, and might come in large groups to smash your SUVs with two large trees, or at least sicken you with their heavily convoluted cuteness. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I usually don't write about common things ("how do you know when milk goes bad?!?!?"), but I must touch on the DMV as it is truly the place where time stops. You can walk into your local DMV and every piece of American popular culture in society since 1950 is on display. I saw a greaser, a guy with a mullet, a woman with a fanny pack, and a douchebag in Crocs. The DMV is truly the microcosm of America. Man, that's more hurtful than I intended. Ouch America. Ouch.
AND I DIDN'T EVEN TALK ABOUT THE DMV'S SERVICE LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL GET IT IT'S LAKSIDASICAL AT TIMES
The DMV also featured another feature of our culture that has been sucked of any credibility. Remember when the term "Express" actually meant faster? It has been bastardized to the point where it's now ironic. The express line at the grocery market doesn't mean you get through faster; instead you're in a line five deep with people who only have six items and all pay with credit cards or checks. The Express side of the Garden State Parkway only has two lanes while "local" has three, so if there is a crash on Express, it turns into Stop. The express registration is in the DMV, and is there for impossible to be anything other than "above plodding." I was told of an Express Planned Parenthood around the University of Maryland. I can only imagine the tag line: Baby free in 30 minutes or the next mistake is on us ! No, Express Planned Parenthoods did not come from my imagination, sadly.
Why is it that with the end of TV shows we demand closure and are batshit if we don't receive it? The end of the Sopranos came and went with no absolute resolution and people started losing our minds. It's baffling that in our culture where death--and inescapable end--is always avoided and pushed out of the collective conscious, it is totally expected in fiction. Closure in something fake is some sort of right while death in reality is an unexpected and terrible twist of fate.
If you're from a small town and are stifled by it, you can add another song to the list of "this is absolutely about me." I have Ben Folds - Silver Street there, but you can toss on Built To Spill - Twin Falls. It's a good song anyway; it's just that my current location sort of tips the scales of importance. Throw in some more in the comments if you feel so inclined.
For any form of ID, if you're ugly and when the person behind the table asks "is this picture ok?" do you always say "no, not really" in your head while you shake your head yes? You know that the picture sucks, but it's not the camera's fault or because you didn't smile, it's because the genetic game of Yahtzee just didn't work out for you.
Can someone explain New Hampshire to me? As I enter, the sign says Welcome! Bienvenous! There is a scenic view of trees and greenery, bordered along the bottom with "Live Free Or Die" in white cursive as if it actually reads "Happy Fun Times Galore." Also, the mile markers are also outfitted with kilometer readings, as are some of the exit signs. This is the state that has a NASCAR event north of the "border," but for some reason believes in the metric system? The shit? At least I can get a shitload of Jack Daniels for 10 bucks less there. Or a horse. Whatever is cheaper, I guess.
To close, I have a special celebrity sighting. Getting off of an elevator at the New York Public Library branch by Lincoln Center, I saw David Blaine. It was magical just being around him. Now I'm sure that merely being in his presence will allow me to stand, be cold, or sit in a pool for very long periods of time. Also, he's incredibly in shape and if you give him shit like I just did to his face, he could rip you in half. Twah.