Sub-Gourmet Homophobia

Have you ever run across a word or phrase that you have grown up using or hearing, and have become so accustomed to that you never realized how messed up it is?

Happened to me the other day. I was talking about how awesome Dairy Queen is, and how living in the city, they are hard to find (this may be a good thing for preserving my idealistic memories of their fare). Anyways, the conversation turned to favorite Dairy Queen offerings, at which point I let loose this lovely quote:

"Oh my god, I love their Dude sandwiches."

Right, I know? Pretty Ewww.

I never realized, in my years of eating Dude sandwiches, how gay it sounds. (For those of the uninitiated masses - yankees most likely - the Dude is Dairy Queen's chicken fried steak sandwich. And it is fantastic in a gross comfort food kind of way.)

So maybe Dairy Queen should get with the times (funny, I know) and change the name of their sandwich to something less off-putting. Then again, maybe they are marketing the Dude to the middle-aged woman crowd. Yum.

Temporal Frustrations: A look at the past and the present in regards to sunlight and cartoons

Two topics of confusion and frustration assaulted my sensibilities this weekend. In both instances, the program guide on my television played an integral role. Both left me questioning the credentials of those who make the decisions, pull the strings (let's call these people The Man). Neither was necessarily important enough to warrant its own post, but together they initiated the firing of interconnected synapses that led to the formulation of a (crackpot) unified theory. Okay, maybe not, but they will be filed under the same heading, my overreliance on the cable mini-guide standing as my justification.

* * * * *

Saturday morning I awoke early. A light weekend, devoid of alcohol and regrettable forays into the realm of tobacco smoke, gave me the energy to rise with the sun on a beautiful spring (not according to the calendar) morning. Were I the owner of some idyllic farm and/or ranch, I could have mounted my trusty palomino and ridden the land, serenaded by birds. "Good Morning" they might sing to me in their stilted falsetto, as I soaked in the pleasures of a good night's sleep and early rise. However I live in an apartment in the middle of one of the largest urban areas in the country. So I turned on the TV instead.

I flipped throught the usual cable channels - History, ESPN, Food Network, etc. Nothing caught my fancy. Boredom, usually a companion that appears much later, accosted me within 30 minutes. Video games were considered then tossed aside, it was too early for reading. The internet offered no solace. I went back to searching the multitude cable channels.

"Good lord, there ain't shit on TV on Saturday mornings," I said to myself. That phrase made me stop short - Saturday Morning. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over my mind. Memories of animated heroes danced and fought before my eyes. Ninja Turtles! Ghostbusters! Saturday Morning Cartoons! Network television, a medium I normally eschew, save for major pro and collegiate athletics, now became my savior.

I quickly brought up the guide, wondering all the while "What do the kids these days watch? Will all the cartoons be computer animated - will any still be hand-drawn? Are any of my old favorites still on? Do they still show old Looney Tunes?" The guide brought up FOX. Local news. Well, that's weird, but it is FOX, they make strange decisions. And their animated bones are made on Sunday nights anyways, let's check NBC. Local news. What the hell? Keep in mind this wasn't at 6 in the morning - we were now in the 7 or 8 o'clock hour. ABC and CBS were similarly devoid of animated adventures. I was appalled that children (notoriously early risers, especially in comparison to their parents) would be robbed of cartoons this early in the morning. I skipped ahead on the clock of my guide (a villain that would tell me secrets later that night) to see at what point Saturday Morning Cartoons actually begin.

Well, have I got a scandalous scoop for you all. Saturday Morning Cartoons no longer exist. Perhaps those of you with children already know this. I did not. And I was shocked. Now granted, there is a smattering of child-focused programming to be seen during this time, but few of them are animated, and many are (ugggh) educational. There are no four-hour blocks of mindless adventures starring anthropomorphic animal/robot/other heroes battling their somewhat disturbingly malevolent nemeses. Instead there is news, news, and That's So Raven, starring that adorable child from the latter years of the Cosby Show who might now very well be a 35-year-old mother of four. Needless to say, Looney Tunes was nowhere to be found on the guide.

Not to sound like a crotchety old man (again), but I think this might be what's wrong with the current generation of children. Cable channels like Disney and Noggin (sp?) have conspired with DVDs to kill the ancient tradition of children watching cartoons over soggy bowls of cereal, while trying not to awaken their hungover parents. It makes me very sad.

* * * * *

Later in the evening I was again flipping through the guide. On a side note, it may now be quite obvious to the reader that I peruse the guide quite often, even when I have found something worth watching. It is a practice which drives my woman crazy. I am forever in fear of missing something even more awesome, the proverbial greener grass.

Anyways, I was actually looking to see what was scheduled for late in the night/early in the morning, hoping for an old movie that I could set my DVR to record. I began to note some anomalies in the length of certain films scheduled to air on the movie channels. One in particular seemed to be of a strange running time. Upon bringing up the info for this movie (the name of which I have already forgotten) I discovered that despite being only 112 minutes long, the film was scheduled to air from 1 am to 4 am. I went back to the previous screen, and looked at the times across the top. The half-hour blocks read thus: 1:00, 1:30, 3:00, 3:30. What the hell happened to two o'clock?

Well, by this point, you fruitful members of society will have realized that the clocks changed that night. I quickly came to this hypothesis, and grabbed my laptop for a quick verification. Sure enough, the time it was a-changing. Which is fine, I am all in favor of Daylight Savings and whatnot. My point is this - how the hell was I supposed to know? It never fails that I stumble across this info at the last minute. I always find out before it happens, but usually by some ridiculous means such as those illustrated above.

Just once I'd like to not know and wake up all confused when things are screwed up. Perhaps this is how it works for most people. It is The Man's practical joke on all of our pocketwatches.

(I picture The Man in this instance as some suit standing over the shoulder of a technician in a lab coat deep in the bowels of the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. "Let's move the clocks forward tonight," he tells the technician.

The technician punches a large red button that says "Spring Forward." Loud clicks and squeals are heard in an adjacent room. As they subside, the technician turns to the suit and says "shouldn't we send out a press release or something, sir?"

"Hell no," the suit says, "let the vermin figure it out on their own!" Then he cackles maniacally. "Oh and Tompkins?"

"Yes sir?"

"You're fired. Collect your things.")

Or something like that. The point is, there should be more of an effort made to let people know that the clocks are changing. Perhaps door-to-door messengers. Or sky-writing aeroplanes. Listen, I don't know, we'll figure something out.

Either that, or we could move the time change to Sunday night, then watch the pandemonium unfold as the vermin scurry about trying to figure out what's happened on Monday morning. Mwah-hah-hah-hah!!!!!!

Selective Neo-Luddism, or Burying My Head in the Sand

I have this weird urge with new technological trends to not just resist them, but to often overtly ignore their existence and/or completely avoid learning what they are.

For example: I didn't know what a "blackberry" was (other than a delicious fruit and a Black Crowes song) for years. Didn't want to know. I also thought that Facebook was the high school and college (read: kiddie) rip-off of MySpace until about two months ago. Maybe it was that at some point in the past. I don't know, I still haven't gotten around to investigating that. All I know is it is apparently acceptable for persons of legal drinking age to be members.

I don't know what the exact impetus for this Luddism is. I am not opposed to technology and advancement. I enjoy many other fruits of the high-tech world - my HDTV, my MacBook, etc. I am not going around burning down factories in protest of the Industrial Revolution. It's not some principled stance or an attempt to be hip by being anti-trend or uber-cynical. I could care less. I just find myself holding out on certain things. Somewhere in the back of my head I think it becomes some kind of social experiment - someone mentions something new and hot, and I don't know what it is, so I just see how long that can go on. I usually don't even tell people about it. Just my own little stubborn game I play. Eventually, though, I can't hold out any longer, because the part of our culture that I habitate becomes saturated with the object of my ignorance.

Today's example: Twitter.

My friend R. Craft kept bringing up Twitter to me, but I told her to shut it (nicely). In the few weeks since then, all my favorite blogs, radio stations, etc. have starting referring to their Twitters or whatever. So I give up. I am going to check it out. And you, faithful reader, will come along on the voyage of discovery....

Okay, going to Google to search "Twitter." I see they have their own website - okay, so Twitter is a proper noun, trademark, whatever. Click on this.

Oh good, it takes me to a "What is Twitter?" page. I hope this is better than "What is I Am Second?"

"Twitter is a service for friends, family, and co–workers to communicate and stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?"

What the hell does that mean? Is this like those Status Updates on MySpace? I hate those things! It is just about telling others what you are doing? I don't care what people are doing. I thought this was something about blogging, like RSS feeds for blogs or something. Okay, I need to calm down. Let's explore further. (I like how one of the three best quotes they could get was "I really like Twitter.")

Let's go to the "Why?" tab. I am very curious now to see why I should give a shit about this thing.

"Why? Because even basic updates are meaningful to family members, friends, or colleagues—especially when they’re timely.

• Eating soup? Research shows that moms want to know.
• Running late to a meeting? Your co–workers might find that useful.
• Partying? Your friends may want to join you."

Is this a joke? Did someone make this thing up just to try to raise my blood pressure? I had planned for this post to be me signing up for Twitter and learning a valuable lesson about how I shouldn't hate on things I don't know about because I will eventually end up thinking they are awesome...but this is stupid. Unless something changes quickly, there ain't no damn way I'm signing up to find out who is eating soup. Let's click the "How?" tab.

"With Twitter, you can stay hyper–connected to your friends and always know what they’re doing. Or, you can stop following them any time. You can even set quiet times on Twitter so you’re not interrupted.

Twitter puts you in control and becomes a modern antidote to information overload."

Hyper-connected? I don't care what my friends are doing. I avoid most of the bastards as much as possible. Information overload? Geez, I can never keep track of how many of my friends are eating soup and/or partying. I need a website that will sort through all of this for me.

Okay, that's it, our fun little experiment is aborted. This thing is stupid. I am not even gonna sign up. I can't even finish the blog with any semblance of style. I am too disappointed and angry.

Fuck Twitter.

My Two Cents on this Hipster Crap

Okay, this Dracula vs. Werewolf thing is burrowing its way deeper and deeper into my waking mind, thus making it (even more) difficult to get any work done. So I will let it out here.

For those of you who don’t number yourselves among the crossover traffic between this blog and Hot Water Cornbread: first, what the hell is wrong with you? Second, an explanation is in order.

Our friend Jangles (aka Nathan) is a man of explicit instrumental and vocal talent, a possessor of impressively antique guitars and an equally impressive rhythm section, but not one who has been often lauded as a pillar of logic or a burgeoning superstar of 21st century philosophy. He and his friend/co-worker Jack, a musician who was in a band with Kid Congo, as well as the primary male character in the music video for the Jeff Buckley song “Everybody Here Wants You” came up with this game wherein the whole of humanity, to a man, can be classified as either a Werewolf or a Dracula. Now, HWC has touched upon the particulars in his own blog (namely that there are no particulars), but after a recent phone conversation with the Cornbreadster, I wanted to delve further into this ridiculousness.

For the record, I am offended that Jangles did not bring up this game when he came to my house just one day after bombarding HWC with whisperings of bloodsuckers and shapeshifters. Perhaps he realized that the lack of parameters would bring me to smite him either with a cricket bat or with indefatigable intellect. The other possible solution is that the proprietors or staff of Club Next had forced so much drink down his gullet the night before that he was too hung over to remember anything about the game. Either way he is out of my will.

So.

Talking with HWC led us to touch upon our own immediate thoughts on what makes one a Dracula or a Werewolf (anyone taking umbrage with the use of “Dracula” over “Vampire” should again refer to HWC’s top-notch explanation). We both recognized that one difficulty with the game is one’s immediate inclination to look at physical appearance. Many of our group are gentleman of winter-insulation stature and/or shockingly hirsute faces/heads/backs/etc. However, a fat hairy back does not a Werewolf make. This point should be first and foremost in the mind of any taxonomer. This shit is about personality.

HWC’s first thought was that the process by which a person makes a decision, be it what to do with their 401(k) or which bitch to try to fuck at the club, is penultimate in determining their mythological (?) creature status. Werewolves don’t think it through. Draculas are cold and calculating. Tough to argue with that logic.

My theory was that one’s public (and to some degree, private) persona is what makes them what they are. Loud, boisterous, destructive and grating are all terms one could associate with a Werewolf. Similarly, quiet, snobby, cool and boring (possibly) could all be Draculaean modifiers. And this doesn’t even begin touch on the transformative nature of both the Werewolf and Dracula. That would introduce too many variables, and possibly cancel one another out if you are of the mind that both could exist as mild-mannered everymen when not in their bloodlusting states.

The point is (yeah, Walter, what’s your point?) that two discerning individuals came up with two equally valid parameters of discussion for the taxonomy of Werewolves and Draculas. After I got off the phone with HWC (who had originally contacted me to guilt me into writing another blog, so here you go, bitch) I quickly realized that the brilliance of this game is not in the open-endedness, per se, though that does come into it, but the multi-player aspect. To wit:

Two players can come up with two separate but equally valid rationalizations for categorizing a person a certain way. If they both call said spade a spade, then it is solid. That person is what they have decided. Three or even four unanimously deciding that you are a Dracula makes it even more so. So long as everyone agrees with the different criteria, then the lack of parameters is overcome by an almost democratic brainstorming.

The main ramification of this is that the game can no longer be played alone, unless for the purpose of forming opinions for later conferencing with fellow taxonomers, because no one (besides schizophrenics and lead singers) believes their opinion is THE be-all end-all.

Let it be said then that henceforth all formal decisions of who is a Werewolf and who is a Dracula are only valid if decided on by two or more people in unanimity, and said classification can only be overturned by a similarly unanimous decision by a greater number of people.

Let it also be said that this game is already getting on my nerves. Good Lord.

Super Bowl Mini Post

"For relaxing times, make it Santori time."

The Super Bowl is THE time to watch all the best commercials, so you can be primed for water cooler talk at work the next day about Clydesdales and cavemen. But I've become so well-trained to zone out when commercials come on that I don't think I've seen one yet. I find myself doing anything other than watching the ol' adverts: getting another piece of pizza, walking around the house aimlessly, singing the Winnie-the-Pooh theme song (rumbily-tumbily, climin' a honey tree!). So I was worrying about it, then I realized, Hey! I don't give a shit. So there. I would ask my readers to let me know if you see any commercials that are actually good, but none of you own televisions, because you are all principled like that.

(Side note: I also find myself not paying attention to the actual game. I have nothing but mild dislike for both of these teams. Then right as I type that, the longest and arguably most exciting play in Super Bowl history takes place. Lovely.)

More is Not Always Better

You know what I hate? Bonus tracks. Now I realize many of you music snobs in the audience are anxiously awaiting the sainted day when your favorite Beta Band album is released with 27 new never-before-heard tracks, including a special live acoustic version of "Eclipse" sung entirely in Esparanto, with only the looped sounds of a dog lapping water from its bowl as percussion. Well, that's fine if that's how you want to play it, but me? I hate that crap. Especially when it is older bands that I am just starting to really get into. All you can find are remastered 15th anniversary 2-disc extravaganzas loaded with bonus tracks. Listen, if the shit wasn't good enough to make the album the first time around, then I don't want it.

Recent example:

I discovered the other day that my local library system has a surprisingly good collection of music, so I put in a few requests and went and picked up some CDs. One of these was the seminal 1992 debut album of Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted. When originally released, this album, which many consider one of the most influential indie-rock/lo-fi CDs of the 90s, featured 14 songs. Thats a lot, right? Or at least a good amount. Well, the version my library has is the 10th anniversary re-release titled Slanted and Enchanted: Luxe & Reduxe. It has 48 fucking tracks. 48! Two tightly packed discs of 24 tracks each! My intention (no surprise here) is to copy all these CDs that I check out to my iTunes and then make personal copies for listening to in the car. There is no way I am copying all of these tracks. Well, I may rip them, but I will not burn them (nerdspeak!). The copy I make will feature only the original 14 tracks. The way the album was orignally constructed and meant to be listened to.

Now don't get me wrong - I am sure these bonus tracks are of great value to a true Malkmus/Pavement junkie. I am not one of those. Maybe someday I will be glad I copied all those live tracks, as well as the "John Peel Sessions" recordings (whatever the eff that means), but for now, I'll stick to the first 14 songs.

A good album (which this one is purported to be) is crafted as an overall work of art. Yes, each song is in and of itself a single entity (your Pink Floyds and Mars Voltas notwithstanding), but the flow and sound, and even production patterns of the LP often contain a certain rhyme and reason. Now, if you slap a few extra songs onto the end that didn't make the cut the first time around, it messes up that flow. It also pisses me off. Those bonus tracks often sound different. They weren't mixed the same. And if those songs are just live or demo versions of songs already on the album, it makes me want to go out and kill a hooker (even more than usual). I already heard this song 30 minutes ago! It was track four! And it was better the first time around!

So please, keep your bonus tracks to yourself, bands. If you insist on releasing them, either release them as a separate album that I can ignore or entirely on a seperate, second disc that I can choose not to burn. Thank you.

I am Third

Or maybe I am Seventh, or last. All I know is I don't get it. And many of you not living in the Dallas area will be even further behind. The point is, there are these weird billboards all over the Metroplex, with random semi-celebrities like Greg Ellis and Josh Hamilton, and I swear I saw a Claire Daines one at some point, that just say "I Am Second" on them with a URL - iamsecond.com. So every time I see one, I remind myself to go to that damn website to sate my curiosity. Like, AS SOON I GET HOME.

And this has been going on for weeks, maybe months. I have a tendency to think up things I need to look up on the interwebs, but then as soon as I get near a computer, I go blank. I'll be in the car, and think to myself, "I need to look up a good recipe for a spicy Fradiablo/Fra Diavlo sauce." I thought about that shit for over a week, every single moment I wasn't near a computer. So I finally looked that one up yesterday.

Then this morning I finally went to IAmSecond.com. Advertising works apparently. I was dying to know.

And I get to the website and it is basically a conglomeration of all of these people's photos. Most of them were either normal people or K-list celebrities that I have never ever heard of, but each of them has a little blurb about how they overcame drugs, or they never won a NASCAR race, or they blew out their knee playing football. The only similarities I could find was that they all (kind of) overcame an adversity. People like Jason Witten, Darrell Waltrip, Stephen Baldwin, Joe Gibbs, the guitar player from Korn (not Munky, the other guy) all saying inane crap like "I was never a winner until I won the hearts of people. Why am I second?"

I had no answer for this person, mainly because I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Luckily, there was a link at the top of the page which says "What is I Am Second?" So I erroneously thought this would finally answer my question.

Wrong.

I am going to break down the entirety of this mission statement right now for you (don't worry, it's not too long) as well as my mental response upon reading each part:

"I am Second is a movement where significance in life is a shared value among people of all kinds."
What does that mean? Perhaps if I read it again it will make sense....nope, still stupid. You are describing an ideology or theory, not a movement.

"Actors. Athletes. Musicians. Business leaders. Your next door neighbor. People just like you."
Emperors. Pedophiles. Vampires. Rutabagas. That guy from that movie. The mailman. Ace Ventura. Baristas. Davey Jones' locker. People just like you.

"Their authentic stories here on iamsecond.com provide insight into dealing with typical struggles of everyday living."
Perhaps they can help me remember to look things up on google. Myabe they will buy me a little notepad. These are my everyday struggles.

"Plus you'll discover those who've tried to go it alone and have failed, yet still found a life full of hope, peace and fulfillment."
Stephen Baldwin, you shall be my savior. Wow, that first paragraph told me nothing. Is this some church thing?

"We believe there is a reason why you are here."
You are correct - to find out what the hell I AM SECOND means.

"We all have needs and could use some help."
Correct. Just explain the phrase, ass-hat.

"Here you'll find issues relevant to you as well as answers to challenging life questions."
Joe Gibbs has it all figured out!!!!

"Within our website you can connect with a live person either by phone, chat or email. 24 hours a day."
As opposed to connecting with an UNDEAD person...that would be IAmLegend.com. Random periods breaking. Up sentences.

"You can link with I am Second groups in your own community and can even get involved in helping others."
That sentence ended weirdly. I think. I am so beyond hope of finding out what that damn phrase means that I have resorted to ridiculing the grammar. On to the third and final paragraph.

"I am Second is designed to help people discover their purpose in life. Have you discovered yours?"
Um, yes? To write a blog that four people read. Also to be second. That is my purpose. I want to be second.

Seriously though, I wanted to call these people and ask them what the hell "I am Second" means, but then I saw that all of their locations for meetings are at North Texas churches. So I knew that if I called them, they would then call me everyday for like two years. Christians are like Army recruiters. You accept one free t-shirt from them and BOOM, they are at your house asking you to come jump out of airplanes. Or something like that.

I don't think Jesus would like your tactics, folks. There may or may not be something in the bible about being coy. Or ambiguous. I don't know. Go look it up.