Friday, May 1, 2009
Possibly not the part of the article they wanted me to take away, but . . .
"You can catch the flu if you're within about six feet of a sick person — otherwise known as the "breathing space" — who coughs or sneezes on you, and a small amount of the virus can survive on inanimate surfaces."
I am now declaring a 6 foot zone of airspace between me and anyone who looks even the tiniest bit peaky. No one who feels less than 100% can violate said airspace. Here are the rules for what will now be referred to as Bubble Of Optimized Breathing Zone:
- If you have a scratchy throat, you should avoid contact with my BOOBZ.
- If you have an inexplicable craving for a ham sandwich, you are not allowed near my BOOBZ.
- If have not washed your hands, don't even think about touching my BOOBZ.
- If you have traveled to Mexico within the last 10 days, you should consider my BOOBZ completely off limits, unless you have proof of a clean bill of health from a physician.
Thank you for observing these elementary precautions. I know we all look forward to the time when this crisis has passed, and can resume normal BOOBZ access. We're all in this together.
What I don't enjoy is that apparently they think their subscribers have a lot of sexually transmitted diseases. And they want to sell them medicine for it. During dinner. A lot.
Granted, I usually eat dinner at 7:30, which is later than some. But earlier than others. I don't think it's an unreasonable time to have a forzen burrito and watch a little boob tube. But it's kind of hard to do when I get 3 commercials for herpes medication in a half hour. And they don't just say herpes once. "Do you have herpes? Val-Herpe-Trix is for the treatment of the herpes virus. It will not prevent a herpes outbreak. You should not have unprotected sex when you have herpes lesions. Val-Herpe-Trix will not prevent the spread of herpes. Herpes. Herpes. Herpes." Stop saying herpes!!!! I'm trying to eat here! And also, don't say lesions! And aren't you supposed to whisper herpes? Like - herpes. Quit sounding so freaking upbeat about the whole thing.
I'm not saying that herpes is shameful or anything. I'm just saying that it's not something that needs to be talked about while I'm trying to enjoy a microwavable Mexican entree. You can say it. Just keep it on the DL. Limit your audience. Like, say, if you had 3 testicles. It's not something you need to tell everybody. Just your doctor, and whoever might see you with your pants off.
And if you must advertise your herpes medication, here is the acceptable commercial script "Do you have herpes? Ask your Doctor about Val-Herpe-Trix." That's it. No more talkey. And you can show a picture of a sunset. Or a field of flowers. And you can only play it between 9:00 pm and 3:00 am.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
But even if I was inclined to go see it, I’m sensing a slight casting problem. When you look at say Matt and Kate Hudson, you think – okay, I could see that. I look at him and Jennifer Garner and think – she could do better.
And that’s the essence of the romantic comedy for women: by the end you should think the gal and the guy deserve each other. You should think, “Ohhhh, they’ll be so happy.” Not, “Awww, she’s stuck with that idiot.”
There’s a balancing game there. With Kate, I think she’d be happily ever after with Matthew McConaughey. I think they match. With Jennifer Garner, no match. And I think that in 3 months after the sex wears off (possibly 2), she’s going to be thinking, “Please, Jesus, kill him. Cause I gotta get out of this. Don’t kill him a lot. Just a little. Just enough that I can get the hell out of here.” And that’s just not romantic.
I’m also trying not to be paranoid and a big, fat hypochondriac. But I am. I know this. Especially about big, news media driven, massy hysteria kinds of diseases. If the nightly news is all about Whooping Polio Palsy, and the symptoms are pink dots floating in front of your eyes and your toes turning purple, then I’m checking my feet every 5 minutes and am positive that I’m seeing spots that might be pink. And of course, anxiety makes my stomach all wobbly. And what’s the first item on every list of symptoms? Nausea.
It doesn’t help that this flu is the type that I always get. I don’t get the little colds or the 3 week bugs. I get the ones that come around every 10 years or so, fast and hard, with a high temp. Oh, and what was that description of swine flu? Fast and hard, with a high temp. So, if this thing comes anywhere near me, I’m going to get it. I’m like a magnet for this stuff.
But I’m trying to stay calm. Peace. Cool blue water. Cleansing breaths. And washing my hands every time I pass a sink. And avoiding germy little snot-nosed kids. And trying to not to totally go spinning as they close schools in Texas. ohgod. Cool blue water. Help!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I know we’ve had our little differences in the past few years. My main problem with you not being that you’re a bloated, drunken, misogynistic, anti-Semite. My main kvetch is that you’re a stupid, bloated, drunken, misogynistic, anti-Semite. But, I’ve let that water flow under the old bridge.
And let’s face it, if you’d found me when I was 22, I would have jumped on your crazy train and rolled it on down the line. Of course, when I was 22, you were 35 and still had a career, a few marbles, some semblance of discretion and, well, hope. But, that was back when your wife was still thinking you were salvageable, too.
But, none of that matters any more. You’ve found your new little sugar tatas, and you look very happy. And again, not at all ridiculous.
So, here’s my quibble: Let’s look at this as a financial analysis. This time last year, you were worth more than a big “B” billion. Adjusting for some market erosion, it looks to be that your soon-to-be ex will walk away with about $400 mill (community property state, big guy). And now you’re dating a Russian singer who, while not outside the realm of age appropriate, is Russian. Though not to say all Russian women are, ahem, fiscally romantic, but they do have a bit of a reputation. I’d be thinking really carefully before you put a ring on your honey’s finger. In the blink of an eye, she could get tired of massaging your wrinkled old ego, and decide she wants half, and not the half that contains you. I’m just saying. Be happy. Just don’t get too happy.
But Tinted Windows? Take one Hanson, one Smashing Pumpkin, one Cheap Trick and one Fountain of Wayne. Is there even a Vinn diagram that could explain this? There is no way some music exec came up with this. How do they even meet each other? Was there some sort of freak elevator accident at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, in which they were trapped together for 6 hours with their instruments? Hey, guys, let's jam!
I have to say, I'm curious. It could be 4 great tastes that taste great together. It could be peanut butter, bananas, chocolate and whipped cream. Or it could be peanut butter, curry powder, Tang and motor oil. Just no telling. That's some crazy goulash.
But seriously, guys. Tinted Windows. Not good. Work on it.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I don’t mean “don’t get” as in I don’t understand his jokes. I do. I just don’t think they’re all that funny. Some of them are that funny. But he’s very hit-or-miss for me. If he was in a comedy showcase, I’d be happy to listen to his best 5 minutes. But a full hour of him would just kind of bore me.
It’s not that he’s kinda wrong. I can laugh at wrong to some extent. Zach Galifianakis is waaaaay wrong. And he makes me laugh my bee-hind off. And feel very ashamed of myself. And it’s not the androgynous hair, makeup and emo-pants thing that Russell Brand does. I’ve seen Eddie Izzard so glammed out that he makes Brand look like a pre-Vatican II nun. And for that matter Emo Phillips rocked a version of that skinny/sexually ambiguous/weird hair thing 20 years ago. Schtick is schtick. And it very rarely has anything to do with how funny somebody is. I just kind of get the feeling that Russell Brand is all schtick. Like a male Sarah Silverman.
I could be wrong. If you get Russell Brand, explain him to me. I’ve reversed my opinion on Dane Cook. Actually, several times (currently, I’m on the yea side). And Ricky Gervais. So tell me what it is about him that makes him funny. I’m always up for a laugh.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Guess I’m not as freaked out about the swine flu as I was about bird flu. Possibly another instance of my wing phobia. Now if was flying pig flu I’d be in a real panic. But more than likely it’s just that I’m burnt out on worrying about communicable nasties. Bird flu, mumps, mad cow, boy cooties (actually, I haven’t worried about boy cooties since first grade, but I think the CDC is reviewing that one). It’s not like me to miss out on a good medical scare. But I just can seem to muster much flap on this one.
I think I’m just going to buy a couple bottles of Gatorade and a box of Kleenex and call it good. Though I am kind of tempted by those new “warming” over-the-counter flu medications. I’m not precisely sure of what that means. But I’d almost be willing to lick a sick pig to find out.
So Saturday we went and volunteered for the city clean-up day. Our group was only 3 people, so we got assigned one of the smaller local parks. It’s actually really underused because, for some reason, the city thought that a park inside a business office complex that has no guest parking was a really awesome idea. But there was enough trash to keep the 3 of us busy.
To keep it interesting, we went for some of the more high difficulty/high stink factor trash, like junk in the pond (you’re welcome, tadpoles), using Nature’s trash pickers (sticks fallen from neighboring trees) – Come to me, soggy newspaper! We also were picking up some trash by the creek bed, until a friendly fella with binoculars informed us that he comes to the park to observe snakes – oh. Okay. Good to know. I love doing my part for keeping America clean, but getting upclose and personal with a water moccasin is not high on my list of Earth Week activities.
Anyway, here are 3 things I decided while pickin’ litter:
- If it was clean enough to put in your mouth, your cigarette butt is clean enough for you to hold onto until you find an appropriate disposal site. Appropriate disposal sites do not include the edges of ponds, public walking paths or children’s play equipment. Suck all the cancer sticks you want. Just don’t litter.
- Sticker vines are bitches. And they hate people.
- There is a special place in hell for people who let their Styrofoam packing peanuts loose. Those things are hard to collect, get everywhere and take centuries to degrade. The ones in our park obviously came from a nearby construction site. I shake my fist at you. Eat snot and die. Or, you know, buy bio-degradable packing material. That would work too.