March 2013 Archives

puppy eyes

In keeping with the fine company tradition of cloying absence excuses, this morning I awoke to this:

"I’m going to go in this morning to school and see [child's name] give her book report. She puppy-eyed me into agreeing."
It's no "baby music-appreciation class," but it's freaking second.

gay marriage

I think I probably speak for most of the extended Stank family when I say of gay marriage, "Wait. Are we really still talking about that? Seriously? For the love of god, can everyone shut up already and do the patently obvious thing?"

I find it hard to believe that actual (as opposed to religious whackadoodle) conservatives are against extending marriage rights to gays. Conservatives are the ones who despise special rights. Why would they promote special rights for straight people?

This leads me to wonder: are there any non-Christian opponents of gay marriage out there?

I was admiring these stunning photos that some Russian guys took after illegally climbing the Great Pyramids when it hit me. The Russians are seriously pulling their weight on the Internet lately. Thanks to their infatuation with dash cams, the stream of entertainment is constantly replenished. Sure, they gave us the only footage of this year's meteor. Yawn. But they also gave us drunken driving!

And if you really want to be pressed back into your office chair, check out the the work of recently-arrested Black Devil.

lo, i am awash in dog poop metaphoria

I recently, far too recently, became aware that some folks make a living scooping dog crap. "Where have you been all my life?" I will say, forking over money that could not possibly have been better spent.

"What do you still DO?" asks Flo.

Hiring Dogcrap Guy has been an exercise in pun parsing.

Pooper Trooper
Poopbusters
Peek a Poo
Poo Butler
Poopie Pickers
Doo Care

the execrable Poopless in Seattle
and my favorite, in a walk: Doody Free Seattle

claire and phil brushed their teeth again

I cannot stand the sound TV shows and movies use when actors are brushing their teeth. It's nearly a psychotic break for me. It sounds like someone's grinding bristles into rocks inside my ear canal, and it presses me right through the back of my couch. I have no issue with this sound in real life, but on TV, I have to plug my ears.

I have yet to find someone who shares this affliction. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

the greatest american hero

Most celebrities face nuisance lawsuits. Some nimrod will sue, say, George Clooney for $300 in small claims court, saying that Clooney's poodle ruined his toaster or something. Rather than incur the time and expense of fighting it, Clooney will just pay the $300. That's the whole idea.

Attorney Daniel Balsam makes his entire living from doing the same thing. To e-mail spammers. For violating anti-spamming laws. He has taken the nuisance lawsuit and turned it into a force for all that is good and right.

papal tiger

The first time I was kicked out of CCD, otherwise known as "Catholic Sunday school on Wednesday night," otherwise known as "despair's event horizon," was by Sister Mary.

"Everyone sins," she said.

"Even the Pope?" someone asked.

"Everyone sins except the Pope," she amended.

What the fuck? My 12 year old self thought. I mean, what the fucking fuck?

"But he wasn't always the Pope," I said. "Most of his life he was just...a guy!"

"EVERYONE SINS EXCEPT THE POPE AND ALL LIVING FUTURE POPES!" she fumed, changing the subject. I'm not sure why she took it out on me. Oh, right. I was the class dick. That.

Now that we have an ex-Pope, I wonder what new rule of papal infallibility Sister Mary would fabrica—er, cite. And if, as I suspect she would say, he remains a non-sinner, what a get-out-of-jail-free card he possesses! He could snort coke off preteen hookers and get a heavenly pass.

I tell you, you can't make this shit up.

carbon blobs

Last night I was pulling into a restaurant's parking lot through one entrance, and an elderly man was pulling in through another. Our paths crossing, we both stopped. I surveyed the situation. There was one parking spot by the door, and the rest were a little distance. I decided to let him have the good spot, and I yielded to him.

I entered the restaurant and waited in line to place my order. There was no sign of him. And then he emerged from the bathroom, looked at me contemptuously, and elbowed his way in front of me.

"I was here first," he snarled, indignant that....oh, who knows.

I said nothing. Sometimes I'm just too stunned to defend myself. He'd be well advised, though, to never again put himself in a position where I need to brake.

• • •

For no reason other than my continuing contempt for humanity, here's an awesome web comment.

stupid.PNG

Today I read a study of gender inequities. From women earning 82 cents on men's dollar to women comprising only 16% of Wikipedia's editors, the statistical gaps are stark indeed. The study attributed these particular gaps to this biological and cultural truism: women are more conflict-adverse than men.

Which of course makes me wonder: where are these conflict-adverse women?

freaky friday

Young Darcy is my protege. When I met her, she was the brightest bulb in my otherwise dim classroom. I offered her a job, I helped her go to grad school, and now she's settling comfortably into my business, an endeavor through which she hopes to soon be able to buy her mooching 26 year-old boyfriend a house. But I digress.

Most of our relationship has been like this: I talk, she learns.

It is the nature of things.

It was the nature of things.

Somewhere along the way, she has passed me by. While my skillset seems suspended in time in the 1990s, hers is bright and gleaming and, well, increasingly superior. Just yesterday she was helpfully showing me how I'd wasted my entire Monday. I'd brute-forced a task I could have done in 20 minutes if I'd simply used a new tool. My silence finally got to her.

"You there?"

"Yeah. I just..." I searched for a sufficiently petty phrase. "I just miss knowing more than you."

"You'll always know more than me," she lied supportively.

"I don't think 80s music and peeing standing up count."

She laughed.

"Take care of me when I'm old, would you?" I asked.

"You bet."

satan with a card table

Woe be unto the furry furniture salesman who gets aggressive with me. Car salesmen, I've threatened to kick in the balls. I can dispatch a survey taker with one withering glare, and religious missionaries tend to walk around me, as if some unseen guardian is guiding them to safety. When it comes to intimidating solicitors, I am not without credentials. But there is one sales force easily greater than myself, one insidious fucker I cannot beat.

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies...?" some meek thing in shiny ponytail asks, her mother behind her, simultaneously sizing me up and prodding her shy child to speak to strangers.

As I reach into my pocket, I hate myself. If this were Mom there asking, I might not even make eye contact as I blew past. Yet this seven year old vixen so easily snares and defangs me and makes me hemorrhage money. It's like she's a hot 23 year old.

"No, but I'll donate," I say, tossing a $10 bill into her jar.

"Awwwwwwww!" the girls all coo in chorus, as if I'd pulled out a puppy wearing a tiny tuxedo instead.

Evil.

cheer

"Do something nice for yourself," I said before hanging up the phone. Young Darcy had had a bad day, and her spirits were bloodied. It was my hope that she'd indulge in comfort foods, or flowers, or a chocolate massage, and for a moment be a little less sad. It seemed like the right thing to say.

For me, "something nice for yourself" on horrid days always means isolation. One more interaction with a human being, and I might snap completely. Surely, interactions with human beings were how I got in this state. And so I listen to Stevie Wonder on my way to Thai takeout. Old Stevie Wonder, not the latter day criminal who wrote "I Just Called to Say I Love You." It's really hard to feel sorry for yourself during "Higher Ground."

And when I get home, I surround myself with more Thai food than I can eat and I put on The Ref. It's a film in which Denis Leary plays a burglar who has to take a married couple hostage. The couple despises one another and cannot stop hurling invective, even when literally at gunpoint. I have only watched this movie when I've been feeling down. It's vicious. It's hateful. It's hilarious. And for two glorious hours, it beats the sad out of me.

And now, just 'cause it's seriously cool, I give you some Korean guy's a capella cover of Stevie Wonder's I Wish.

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