Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanks, I guess


Tomorrow, Americans will gather for Thanksgiving by going around the table and saying something for which they are thankful. We always mention the major things like family, health and good fortune. Those are all wonderful things to have but it’s also really obvious to mention them and it might get a little repetitive if everyone says “my health” as they pass the mashed potatoes.

I’m here to spotlight the forgotten aspects of our lives. Let’s mention stuff that’s not so much vital or amazing but just … alright. Let’s be grateful for all the perks of life that are not that big a deal but are still, I guess, OK? Here’s a list to get you started:

Left-turn lanes
The “last” button on TV remotes
Programmable thermostats
Artpop
Corn
Ice makers in refrigerators
Belts
Online banking
The NFL’s revised overtime rules
Shade
Spell check
HDMI cables
Coldplay
CTRL A, CTRL C, CTRL V
Coinstar
Keyless entry for cars
Reverse 911
Cough drops
Bradley Cooper
Dryer sheets
Custard
Ziploc bags
4G
Collating
Anytizers
The Wells Fargo Center
Emoticons
BBQ grill covers
Advil liquid-gels

Um, thanks?

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

The Immense Importance of the Sexiest Man Alive Title


You think People’s Sexiest Man Alive is just a meaningless contest won not so much by a sexy man as by the most persistent PR team? Think again and this time, don’t be so naïve. The sexy contest is a titanic event in American pop culture. It portends and symbolizes so much about our country and its future. Where goes the People magazine Sexiest Man Alive, there goes our society.

That’s why it’s a major — and I mean major — controversy that the magazine selected Adam Levine for its award. Households are being torn apart by the debate over whether this person is Sexy with a capital S enough to bear the standard of pulchritude and desirability for the next year.

America searches its soul and tries to formulate an answer to so many crucial questions. Are Levine’s tattoos hot or not? Does his somewhat douchey personality disqualify him? Is he a butter face? Does his music add or subtract from his appeal? Perhaps most importantly, do Levine’s abs sufficiently resemble a washboard? The debate will rage for generations. As it should.

You know, I still don’t think you truly understand the immense importance of the Sexiest Man Alive title. It is most certainly not subjective. People uses a complex, objective algorithm to determine its cover boy. The winner will be a true reflection of the desire that burns inside so many of us and the man will set the agenda for “sexy” for at least the next year.

The debate over Levine’s status may start getting ugly. I hope this doesn’t devolve into previous epic battles over the crown title. I shudder when I remember the riots in multiple cities over whether Ryan Gosling deserved the title over Ryan Reynolds. We cannot forget the vicious debates over whether Johnny Depp really deserved the title the second time or whether Matthew McConaghey’s title came years after his peak of prettiness. We don’t want to see this year’s Sexiest Man Alive devolve into anarchy as it has so many times in the past but the honor is too important not to risk violence and strife.

Are you sure you’re taking this seriously enough?  

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Whither live music? What price fashion and decorum?


I’m not sure how I feel about Arcade Fire asking its fans to dress up to go to one of its concerts. I’m not going so it’s a moot point but if I were going, would I dig out my tux, top hat and pince-nez from the closet and show up looking like a dandy, or would I amble into the stadium in Zubaz and a salsa-stained scoop tank and give a middle finger to polite society?

This issue begs several profound questions. Whither live music? What price fashion and decorum? I am going to dig deep into my own soul to find the answer. 

I’m not much of a fan of dressing up, at least not to the extent of a suit and tie. I look and feel awkward as hell in a suit jacket and just will never be comfortable. I will suck it up and dress up when someone gets married or dies because I’m an adult and that’s what you do. Mostly, I will go a little less formal. I favor more casual clothes but not too casual. So unless I am going to the gym or very ill and on my way to Walgreen’s to get some medication, you will never catch me outside the house in any type of sweatpants of pajama pants. I just don’t do it. Even when I work from home, I won’t wear business casual like I do at work, but I will wear real pants. It just never occurred to me to do otherwise.

I guess Arcade Fire should get kudos for getting people to go to their shows and not to look like they just crawled up from the bottom of the Okefenokee swamp. Can you really enforce that dress code? If you bought a ticket, doesn’t that give you the right to attend no matter what you’re wearing?

I think a dress code depends on the venue more than the act you’re seeing. If I were going to the opera house, I might wear something nicer but it just would seem odd wearing a suit and tie to the Wells Fargo Center or, God forbid, the Concrete Bunker Theater or whatever it’s called in Camden.

At concerts, I will dress according to the act and season. The last show we saw was Holy Ghost at the TLA and I think I wore jeans and a sweater. If I see Madonna at the Wells Fargo Center, I’m wearing something comfortable because I will dance all night and there’s no point in dressing up if you’re going to sweat through your clothes. If I go to the Kimmel in the winter, I might wear my nice overcoat.

To sum up: Suits. Dresses. Live music. Venues. Sweatpants. I hope you’ve found this discussion as enlightening as I have.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Rob Ford drops the mic


I’ve been loosely following the saga of crack-smoking Toronto Mayor Rob Ford and something I recently learned made me feel good about myself: The guy is only 44 years old.

I would have guessed 54 since he just seems so bloated and beaten down. To learn that Ford is only five years older than me plays on my vanity in a petty way because everytime I think I am looking older and dread turning 40, I can at least look at him and think, “I’m doing OK so far.” Wrinkles will come but at least I don’t look like I’m going to have a massive heart attack the next time I walk across the room.

Rob Ford is a scathingly hot mess and I can’t get enough of it. Yesterday, he responded to sexual harassment allegations by saying he would never tell a woman he would “eat her pussy” because he has “more than enough (pussy) at home.” The mayor of a major city used the word pussy at a live press conference. That is fan-fucking-tastic. Drop the mic. Drop it forever. That is the apotheosis of the political scandal press conference.

I’m not sure how this guy is still alive, given his lifestyle. Ford admitted to smoking crack during one of his drunken stupors, implying that he has frequent drinking stupors. There was also a story that on St. Patrick’s Day, he drank 40 ounces of vodka, smoked pot, snorted some coke and also took some Oxycontin. Knowing that and seeing what kind of physical condition he’s in, I will always look at Ford and expect him to keel over at any moment.

Carrying on like that in your 40s just isn’t a good look and hopefully he will get help. I don’t know how people can do that in middle age anyway. I’m not much younger and can’t drink like I used to. True, I don’t drink that much at all these days. I just don’t have much desire and can’t very well run out to bars all the time. Even when I was in my going-out days, I certainly never had any nights near what Ford did.

Yes, I’m getting older and remember that when I start falling asleep whenever I am close to horizontal on the couch and don’t make it through too many movies on Friday nights without dozing just a little. But I have recently been looking at myself and thinking I must either be lucky or am doing something right because I feel like a million dollars pretty much all the time (knock on wood). I sure as hell am in better shape than the mayor of Toronto.   

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

A Comprehensive Examination of Healthcare Reform


I dunno. Healthcare. Know what I mean? It just seems kind of … ugh. I think about it. Sometimes I can’t even.

Insurance reform. OK. We know this. And then there’s all kinds of — you know? This website happens. Technical things happening. And I’m just like. My thoughts are just kind of whatever. I just … what is all this? Really. There’s still the phone, though. There’s still the phone.

First Congress does whatever. What is this I don’t even. I just … I’m trying to wrap my head around. Well, let’s break it down. The law. First of all. It’s kind of implied. That’s what I think. I mean, I guess so. And then the Supreme Court. Decisions were made. And then more decisions. The government just sort of … blah. And I’m like, huh?

Affordable Care Act. Affordable Care! Act?

OK. When you look at the main players. I know I do. OK? It’s all there if you look at it. I mean, I infer all that. What’s happening? Can we ever know? I know sometimes things are just … ugh. I don’t know. I can’t. Just … insurance plans. Cancellations. Also: Junk coverage. Is it a tax? What are taxes? I mean, when you think about it.

The thing is, we can’t know. Right? There are doctors and there are patients. Reform is. It is. Republicans. Democrats. They just do whatever. And you just sort of think. It’s about something. Know what I mean?

Just … Obama.

One thing’s for sure: Healthcare. Then all the people can do whatever. We’ll think of something. You know. People. I mean, I guess. Right?

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Manfluencer


Thanks to the brilliant vision of food manufacturers, I can now buy yogurt without worrying that reaching for that carton in the supermarket will emasculate me. Some article I read mentions that companies are making items traditionally associated with women, like yogurt, appeal more to men. Thus we get the genius of Powerful Yogurt, a brand with very masculine red and black packaging.

I don’t eat yogurt all that often but you can sign me up for six cases of this.

There’s also some coffee place that is serving black, cold coffee, which is more appropriate for men than some hot latte. I mean, if you drink hot coffee, you might as well head straight for the maxi-pad aisle. The cold coffee (because you can’t just make cold coffee at home by brewing it and waiting) is served in a beer bottle so real masculine manly men can drink it openly. This will really expand the coffee market. I don’t know any men who drink the stuff now.

Why are these companies doing this? It’s because I’m a “manfluencer,” a man who is responsible for at least half the grocery shopping in his house. (Technically, a man is also responsible for our other half.) We men are making great strides these days, doing retail shopping and not restricting our chores to just chopping down trees for firewood.

Do you get it? Do you get what the term “manfluencer” signifies? It’s “man” combined with “influencer.” So it’s a man who influences something. Did you get that? Right now, you gasp in happy surprise at the cleverness of this invented term. You are right to gasp since this is the most amazing combination of “man” and “other noun” yet. Mankini, man hide, mandals, mancession … none of them ever get old. But I digress.

The reason it is so revolutionary to make manlier supermarket products is that they cater to people like me, who are completely enslaved by gender norms. I mean, I adhere to traditional gender norms at all costs, no matter how trivial. If a product logo has even a hint of softness or pastel, I refuse to go anywhere near it, no matter how masculine or gender-neutral the actual product. If I have a catastrophically clogged tub and the only option to unclog it is a bottle of Liquid Plumber in a light blue bottle, no sale. If the only shaving cream has a logo that, if you stare long enough, looks slightly vaginal and not sufficiently phallic, well then I’ll just have to start growing a beard.

Because I certainly wouldn’t want to face the demeaning snickers of the cashiers as I scan my pansy purchase at Acme. This is a real issue that I, and surely many other men, think about all the time. We’ve all had that feeling that the eyes of the world are upon us and our testosterone is leaking out of us because we are buying the wrong thing. I certainly don’t want strangers thinking I’m some kind of Nancy Boy.

Friday, November 1, 2013

#deadgrandma #cuteblackdress


Pro tip for people attending funerals: You might not want to take a selfie photo in the funeral parlor. Good taste is in the eye of the beholder but I for one will not “like” such a photo if you post it on Facebook.

This is something that some people are doing now. It’s mostly teens and young people, apparently. I’ve seen selfies of people posing and making the duck face in all black or with their grandmother’s corpse in the background. My how grieving rituals have changed since my day when you would lay the body down on the dining room table and everyone would gather round and do shots of whiskey until the vicar came by.

The following is my in-depth, nuanced examination of both sides of this debate.

On the pro side, people all grieve in different ways and it’s harmless to take a photo of yourself at a funeral. The deceased is dead and can’t be offended.

Counterpoint: Maybe you should put down the smart phone for one hour because you’re at a GD funeral.

I get that funerals are for the living and some people may want to have a more upbeat funeral and that might include photos. I can also see taking a group photo of people who are together and may not see one another except at a funeral or a wedding. But a funeral selfie says something else. It says, “I can’t stem the flow of my narcissism for even a little bit to acknowledge that today might possibly maybe not be all about me and how I look in my black suit or dress.” It doesn’t include the real reason you’re there: The deceased. It’s all about you.

Is it really worth offending the other mourners by taking these photos? People do grieve in their own ways but people might look at your selfie and feel that it trivializes what they’re going through. What if my way of grieving is just to laugh? To cackle uncontrollably through the wake and eulogy? Are you offended? Does that intrude upon your quiet reflection? Oh but it’s my way of grieving. Quit being such a stick in the mud, smart phones are here to stay, kids will be kids, etc.

I’m all for remembering events through photos, given the wedding photos that wallpaper our home. But I personally have no desire to remember the sad days or at least don’t need the visual record. I will look at photos of my grandparents when they were alive and didn’t need to snap a selfie with one hand while pallbearing with the other.

Call me old fashioned but there’s just something incredibly gauche about smiling for the camera and posting the photo with #deadgrandma #cuteblackdress hashtags. It just isn’t done. You can spend an afternoon at least putting up an appearance of appropriate mourning for the sake of the living if not the dead. You can and you will.