Hey, What the Hell is Up With THAT??

I am going to go on an Andy Rooney style rant. Indulge me.

I see so many strange things and behaviors out there, and I just have to ask myself, "What the hell is that?" Maybe somebody will be able to enlighten me as to some of these points of confusion.

I teach middle school. Let me start there.

What the hell is up with boys still wearing their jeans so that the waist is around their knees and the crotch droops to the ground? I would hope that 20 years and good taste would have seen this fashion statement defunct, but alas....

Another fashion mystery...what the hell is with the baseball caps? They are three sizes too big to begin with. On top of that, they are all leaving the bills completely stiff, and propped at a strange angle on their heads. Jesus, they look like they either got dressed in the dark or downed a fifth of Jack Daniels before staggering out of the house.

What the hell is up with the lack of manners. Take my word for it. I teach middle schoolers and I am a pedestrian in a city where driving is seen as a form of combat rather than a means of transportation. People are rude, hostile and agressive.

Why do obnoxious and condescending people who harass the counter help at Dunkin Donuts look at me for a nod of approval when they berate a 9 month pregnant Pakastani woman for not putting enough Equal in their jumbo coffee? I'm not impressed. Further, when I see you crawl behind the wheel of your 90,000 dollar Mercedes SUV and peel out of the parking lot at a buck-ten, rolling down 5 preschoolers on the way, I get to thinking that the same Pakastani woman you just berated spit in your coffee before she served it to you!

What the hell is up with this XBox crap?

Wha the hell is up with this Star Wars shit? Who cares??!!!

What the hell is up with Samuel L. Jackson lowering himself to appear in these horrible Star Wars films? I mean, I can see if the guy was down and out, but you can't tell me that his paychecks from Pulp Fiction, Shaft and Jackie Brown left him THAT hard up!

What is going on with remaking movies that were either so stupid (War of the Worlds), or so Perfect (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) to begin with, that they should be respectfully laid to rest.

What is up with people owning Pitbulls? When is that "fashion accessory" going to go out of style?

What is up with Johnny Damon having his 31st birthday today? Christ, I almost fell off the chair. Do I really look older than this guy? I thought he was in his mid thirties, at least.

What's going on with jeans? Why is it that at 5'8" tall, a full four inches taller than the average American woman, I cannot find a pair of jeans (average length, mind you, not even tall) that doesn't have 9 extra inches of material at the bottom of the leg. Who are they making these pants for? I need to see these people.

Why is this Nick and Jessica divorce such a shocker?

Donald Trump's wig? What is that crap?

Why is it so hard to feed the photograph paper correctly into the printer?

I'm sure there are some others that I either can't think of, or that my subconscience has tuned out.

Feel free to add.....

Really Bad TV

I just sat and watched the season finale of "The Biggest Loser."

Jesus, how pathetic.

I had never even watched any of the episodes, so I don't know why I sat there like an imbecile in front of a season finale, watching people to whom I have no attachment. I guess the finale is supposed to be emotional or something, but I wasn't feeling it. The last woman standing, Suzie, was such a complete goof. The only reason I applaud her weight loss is because now there is less of her for me to hate.

Law and Order SVU is now on and although I really like that show, I think I'm too exhausted (see brain-drained after watching that other black hole of creativity), to actually stay up to watch the whole thing.

There are so many terrible shows on TV. Half the time I end up watching something for five minutes, deciding I can't handle the stupidity factor, and then just end up doing something else, like a crossword, a jigsaw (my new passion), or reading a book. I purposely do not have a remote control to my TV, because I know that if I did, I would spend way too much time "flicking around" looking for something to watch.

Anyway, ranting about TV. I should get that cable station that has all 80's shows on all day.

At least the Donald Trump Show is heating up for the season finale. Donald Trump show is the only show on the boob tube worth watching!

Gotta Love Public Transportation

So, after a long walk through Boston, I decided to make life easier on myself and take the bus home from Harvard Square. Anybody who knows where I live in relation to Harvard Square will tell you that this is a relatively short distance and that walking might just be less annoying than waiting around for the bus. However, as I said, I had just taken a really long walk, and I had some hefty bundles, too. Not to mention the fact that I was nearly fainting from starvation. Why I didn't just get a bite to eat is something I can't necessarily answer.
Anyway, I stood for quite a while, maybe 40 minutes, waiting for this bus. It was pretty cold out there, so when I saw the bus pull up, I wasted no time nearing the boarding area. An obviously drunken man took a space right next to me and started blowing cigarette smoke in my face. It wasn't bad enough that the smell of Gilby's vodka eminating from his pores was strong enough as to rise above the cold wind, but now he had to compound the matter by blowing offensive cigarette smoke in my face. I wasn't prepared to swallow this pollution, so when it hit my face, I waved my hand in the air in front of my nose, and left that area to stand next to a woman who looked like the last person in the world you'd expect to see smoking. I was listening to my iPod, so I didn't notice that the smoker had followed me to my new waiting spot, ranting and raving at me for being a "Typical P.C. Harvard Square Bitch Who Thinks Her F*&%ing Nose Is Too Delicate For A Little Cigarette Smoke." I removed my headphone, and asked the man to leave me along, pointing out that he was causing a scene. He said he didn't give a F!#$% and continued pontificating about how the pollution coming from the bus is more harmful to the environment than that coming from his cigarette.
I tried to explain that I wasn't taking a tree-hugging stance in moving away from him, but rather I did so because I simply do not like the smell of cigarettes.
Why I ever thought I could reason with this guy is beyond me. As I said, I was hungry. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight.
Anyway, the guy's language became filthier and filthier by the second and even though it was he, and not I, talking like that, I was embarrassed. I guess one of us should have been, right?
Anyway, he continued to scream filthy insults to me in the bus, and the woman bus driver (who was a dead ringer for Mrs. Evans from the show "Good Times," warned him on several occasions to pipe down.
Finally, she stopped the bus, turned around and said, "Ok, enough out of you. If this lady wants you removed from the bus, you're out of here."
She looked at me and I nodded to indicate that this jackass should be forced to leave the bus. He started swearing and carrying on at the driver. Bad mistake. She got out of her seat and basically "removed" the dude from the bus.
All of the passangers on the bus applauded this woman for her course of action. My applause were probably the loudest.
The best part about it was that this is a Sunday, and the busses suck on Sundays! That idiot had just waited forty minutes for the bus that he managed to stay on for all of about three stops. I love that he was going to have to wait there for at least another forty minutes for the next one!
Is that mean of me? Oh well!

No Apologies

I don't know if I really have any business being here. Who the hell wants to read about my life and times? Not terribly interesting, I can assure you. I don't think I will write anything that will change your life, or mine, for that matter.
I have been inspired by my cousin, Reesie, who introduced me to the wonderful world of Blogging. She is very funny, and I find myself compelled to read her lengthy blog missives, even though very little of what she reports on relates personally to me. What I really like, though, is that she is completely unapologetic about the fact that she's letting off steam about things that matter to her, and quite possibly, only to her.
So, am I not entitled to do the same? Reesie, I'm taking a page from your book and creating a blog of my own.
To that end...I've decided to make this a blog entry about the virtues of making no apologies for your feelings, actions, and worldview in general!
So, here are a few things about which I should perhaps feel guilty, but for which I refuse to feel guilty.
1. I just returned home to find a box from LLBean. I knew exactly what was inside of the box. My beautiful, closed-back red leather clogs. I cannot tell you how long I have coveted red clogs. I make routine stops to the Clog Shop in Porter Square (Cambridge) and endure the harassment from the strange owner time and time again. She always calls the attention of her entire staff and any customer who happens to be on-hand to a rather large bone protrusion on my heels. Now, most shoe store owners might use some more tact in dealing with a customer who has a "unique" foot situation. But not this broad. Chirst, every time I go in there, I basically feel like my feet are going to become a highlighted subject on some "Medical Mysteries" show on The Discovery Channel or something. Anyway, I never have the stomach to proceed with the try-on because I start worrying about what full-volume criticism might make its way from her mouth as I do so. God forbid the shoes don't fit. Then I'll have to listen to her tell me that I should consider surgery or something. Maybe she should consider a lobotomy. I digress. (You might as well be warned that I digress a lot!) Anyway, I was on the LL Bean website doing some Christmas shopping (I Swear!) and I came across red leather clogs. They carry them in my size (miracle of miracles). They were 55 dollars. The ones in Cambridge are 110. I decided to go for it. I bought myself a pair of 55 dollar clogs when I should be concentrating my spending on those around me. But, in an effort to be completely unapologetic, I'm going to blow off any feelings of guilt and enjoy my new red kicks!
2. While I'm on the subject of shopping. I might as well fess up to adhering to a strick one fer-one fer policy during this holiday shopping season. In other words, for every gift I buy for a friend or relative, I buy "one fer" myself! Screw the guilt, though. I'm living without apology here kids!
3. I refuse to apologize for drinking way too much Diet Pepsi and far too little water.
4. Absolutely no guilty will come of the decadent amount of money I spend on my gym membership each month. At least I go frequently and get my money's worth. Shoot, even if I did not go frequently, I would not apologize.
5. I don't feel guilty for coming off my one-month beer fast. Those were tough times! Ha ha.
6. I won't apologize for drinking 3 Cambridge Pumpkin Ales last night and getting a little tipsy.
7. No apologies will be forthcoming over the fact that I am completely addiced to the Donald Trump Apprentice show!
8. Don't look for any apologies from me for using about 60 illegal discount coupons at Filene's during my shopping trip!
9. No apologies for anything at all!

There! That feels much better.

And I should tip my hat in the direction of my sister, who, during our day-after-thanksgiving shopping bonanza, gave a smart allec response to a woman who copped a 'tude with her in the mall. My sister was carrying around about 60 boxes of toys and gifts for her kids. Naturally, moving about the mens shirt department was a bit of a challenge. Maybe a circus contortionist could have executed the daring stunt, but she my sister prooved herself to be far less adept at the technical aspects of such tricky navigation. She ended up knocking over a few shirts from a display table. In the long run, a pretty minimal casualty. Some self-righteous BE-HOTCH gave her a dirty look and sneered, "Oh that's nice." My sister never missed a beat, turned to the woman and said, "Oh you liked that did you? Well, there's lots more where that came from!"

And she didn't look one bit apologetic as she reported the incident to me!

Post Thanksgiving Shopping Frenzy

OK, who's a Turkey now? I am, that's who!
I was convinced, by my, "Hi, I'm up at the Crack of Dawn Every Day" sister to hit the malls early Friday morning. Actually, in her definition, early was being at the mall at 5 AM. I talked her into a 6 AM start time, and the compromise we reached was that we would arise at 5:30 in order to be at the mall at 6. So, this time-of-day thing is all very subjective. I though of this start as being quite early. But, honestly, for my sister, this was already midday. She claims she is up early because of her two kids. Hog wash. She has been waking up the rooster for years!
Anyway, we hit Dunkin Donuts on the way to the Square One Mall in Saugus. I ran in to get us iced coffee. We must be out of our minds. It was frigid out. Whatever!
We get to the mall, and my sister amazing finds parking right at the front door. Rock Star parking. Some people just have that great parking karma. My sister and my friend, Gene, for example.
There were a few people piled up at each of the outside entrances to the Sears store. My sister explained that Sears stores were giving away a 10 dollar gift certificate to the first 100 customers. It was five minutes to opening time, and there looked to be only a few people at each door. "Good for them," I thought. Then we went inside and there had to be at least 400 people waiting in the inside entrance to Sears. Suddenly, the previously saavy-seeming customers outside just looked like total idiots. Not only were they not going to stand a chance of getting the certificate, but they were freezing their asses off while doing it.
Perhaps the stupidest part of the whole venture was that entire extended families were there waiting, presumably with the logic that entire families of 45 could go over and each obtain gift cards, thus earning hundreds of dollars of discounts. Talk about a sure-fire way to get a young kid disenchanted with Christmas. I mean, I'm talking multi-generation stuff here. Everything from Great Grandma fresh from the nursing home ICU with a rolling IV stand, to the woman toting an ultrasound picture of her unborn child, conceived espeically for the occasion, claiming that in the eyes of the Catholic Church, this is a living being and thus entitled to its ten dollar gift card.
Now, I doubt anybody in that crowd had the mathematical genious of say, Stephen Hawking, but even I, self-proclaimed number phobe, could tell that there were way more than 100 people there. Yet, newcomers kept joining the line, unphased by their absolute certainty of NOT getting a gift card.
Anyway, we moved on to the Disney Store where a 47 year old man was dressed in a degrading "uniform" of ill-fitting khakis and polo shirt bearing traces of the previous evening's Thanksgiving feeding frenzy. Gravy stains adorned the face of the embroidered Pluto, while hardened speckles of mashed potato protruded from Donald Duck's beak.
We did hit some bargains there. Disney stores always make me sad, though. Invariably, I run into the size 28 Woman frumpy denim jumper dress with the jovial Minnie Mouse decal on the front bib.
You all know exactly the item I'm talking about.
Anyway, we went into KB Toy where the line literally snaked, three deep, around the entire store. As my sister pointed out, they could be paying customers to be taking the games, and that line still would not be worth the hassle.
We made our way to Best Buy where everything was placed on the wrong display tables. We both walked up to the registers (waited in line for 5 hours), thinking that the SONY 89 inch color plasma TV's that were on the $3.99 table were a great deal. Of course, it turned out that another careless shopper had left them there, and that the asking price was not $3.99, but rather 3,999.99 Oh, ok! We'll be leaving those here, then.
I can't even start bustin' on people for doing that stuff, because I do it all the time. I decide I won't take the 78 karat Tiffany's diamond ring, so I chuck it onto the junk jewel rack where the sign says, "All items, 99 cents" or something. So, I'm going to let that go and just face the fact that with the rate at which customers were trashing that place, the staff were never going to have time to maintain that place properly.
Last but not least, we hit Target. What can I say? Target rules. I'm loving Target! The only complaint that I have about Target is that every single board game was on sale for like 7 dollars, but RISK was still full price. Oh well, I walked out of there with a great pair of gym pants for $5.44. How can you beat that?
Ok, I'm out of here. I am going to my friend, Peters' house to play, you guessed it...RISK!!

Advocating for Authorization to Procreate

In this country, we let people operate multi-tun vehicles (or in the case of SUV's, the word "vehicle" should be replaced with "weapon") at the age of 16.
We allow people to elect government officials at the age of 18.
At the ripe old age of 21, we can legally begin a lifetime of damage to our poor, innocent livers in the form of overdoses of cheap hooch.
The government regulats, to some extent or the other, all of these activities. I am liberal. I'm all for a limited government and championing the cause of private domain, but still...there are some aspects of citizens' lives into which I feel the government has an obligation to intervene. Namely, the government, or at the very least some legislative body, should be able to determine whether people should be allowed to procreate.
I'm not talking about judging parenting ability based on looks, income level, job title, or ethnic background, or course. But I do think people should be required to meet some intelligence standard before having kids. Maybe we should put some regulations into place. Consider the following...
1. In order to procreate, you must have at least 12 healthy brain cells.
2. In order to procreate, you might want to demonstrate some understanding of the fact that children need supervision and positive role modeling.
3. If you do not meet the above qualifications, you must demonstrate sufficient funding to hire someboody else to assist you in raising your children.
What has me launching into the diatribe, you might ask? Well, I was out at the Meadow Glenn Mall today in Medford, MA. My mother and I took my niece there. While my mom was in the store, my niece asked me to take her over to some little merry-go-round ride. I took her over, but decided, after realizing that I would have to take three mortgages on the house I have not even bought yet in order to afford to start up the ride, that I would just let her clown around on the thing, but not actually start it up. There were several other little kids, and she was having a great time. Shortly after our arrival, a much older boy of about ten or eleven years of age approached the ride and started climbing all over it. I opened my wallet for a brief instant, only to have this kid's schnoz literally IN my wallet. I snapped it shut and told him to get lots. Several moments later, I felt a HAND IN MY PURSE! It was this kid. I tried to ask him whom he was there with, but he refused to answer. I thought he was just being a jerk. I became concerned that his presence would endanger other people. Who knows if he would hurt the kids (he was so much bigger than them), or attempt to steal from somebody less astute than I. (I watch Law and Order, you know!) I alerted mall security by phone. There was no adult anywhere near this kid. As I awaited the arrival of the mall rent-a-cops, I became aware of the fact that there was something wrong with the boy. It became obvious, the more I watched him, that the child was autistic. He was not responsive to verbal communication, and he was running, jumping, and making really loud/strange noises. He was also completely unphased by my telling him I was going to call security.
I immediately felt bad for the kid. I mean, here is this obviously impaired child left completely unsupervised in the shopping mall. It turned into a bit of a spectacle, really. The mall security people had the parents paged all over the mall, and eventually had to involve the Medford Police.
I didn't know what developed until I was leaving the mall. I saw the boy being lead away by some adult, presumably his father. The father was all smiles, walking the kid off into the sunset like nothing had transpired.
There are so many things wrong with this situation. Why did the kid's father leave him there in the first place? Why did it take so long for him to claim his kid? Why did the police not take more serious action? I mean, the kid was leaving with his dad. Wasn't there probable cause to pursue some kind of negligence charges against this idiot? Where is the kid going to be abandoned the next time? And, most chillingly of all, was the father even intending to get the kid at all, or was he just hoping to get away and leave the kid there?
This is what I'm talking about! Let's get some stiff procreation laws on the books!!!!!!