Rule #19: Morning People are Sick AND Evil

The 20th Century's Messiah, Bill Hicks, was right as usual when he discussed the issue of sleep.

“God help me. I'm so tired. I need my sleep. I make no bones about it. I need eight hours a day, and at least ten at night. . . .”

Now, a lot of people will read that and say "what a lazy sack of shit.  What a waste of the day, and of life."

These people are "morning people," and we need to hunt them to extinction.

You know he'll do it if we just tell him

that Karl Marx was a morning person

Of course, I'm exaggerating for comic effect.  We don't need to hunt and kill every single morning person.  But, like deer in NJ, we should thin the herd a bit to allow the survivors to thrive, and allow the rest of us to get on with our goddamned lives without their reproach.

Here's the deal.  I believe that being a morning person, or a night person, is a fact of birth.  I was born at 2:30 in the afternoon—that's when the day starts.  Some people were born at 6:30 in the goddamned morning—that's when their day starts.  And that's fine.

However, I don't tut tut when someone tells me "I'm usually in bed by 10:30."  Or call them at 11pm after they've said that, and then think they have a problem since I woke them up.  I don't do that.

Morning people?  They have NO PROBLEM telling you how you are wasting "the best parts of the day" and how you are to blame when they don't respect your hours.

Here is your typical conversation between me and a morning person.

Morning Person:  You should get up earlier!  At 5 this morning I got up, ran 3.46 miles, came back, cooked and ate an egg-white omelet, finished my tax return, showered, and bicycled to work.

Me:  That's nice.  At 5 this morning I woke up, rolled over, and went back to that dream where I was getting a blowjob from Megan Fox.

Fake this vs. real jogging is NOT a contest

If the world is divided into morning and night people, let's look at who they are and decide which ones we'd rather spend time with.

       Morning People                                                                        Night People
       Milkmen                                                                                     Bartenders
       Paper delivery boys                                                                    Pizza delivery men
       Stock traders                                                                               Athletes
       Bugle players                                                                              Saxophonists
       Telemarketers                                                                              Phone sex operators

  Again, is this really a contest?

And, if you need any more proof, consider that no sporting events start before noon local time (except for the occasional playoff game in the Central or Pacific timezones, and those don't really count).

So, a simple truce with the Morning People.  Don't bug me about sleeping until noon, and I won't bug you about having hours one normally associates with farm animals and those who tend them.  You don't call me at 6 am, I won't call you at 3 am.  You don't try to schedule a meeting with me at 7 am, and I won't suggest we meet for a pre-dinner drink at 9:30 pm.


If we compromise, respect each other, and schedule everything between noon and 4 pm, we should be just fine.

Rule #18: Riding a Bicycle Makes New Yorkers Colorblind

OK, quick quiz.  What does this mean?

75% of you who live in New York City will answer "stop."

The rest of you ride bicycles.  Or drive cabs.

In elementary school we were shown the movie Just Like a Car about bicycle safety.  I can still hear that stupid theme song.  The song, and film, taught us that we had to follow all the same rules as drivers did (except we didn't have to get inspected every year and had no backseat to throw our empty White Castle boxes into).

Apparently I'm the only one who remembers this.

Go to any intersection in this city, stand there for a few minutes (try not to look suspicious as Mayor Bloomberg has probably been monitoring your activities for the past 3.46 years), and watch what the bicyclists do at red lights.  If they aren't a snobbish blur passing you at Mach 1.  Something about cycling makes you see the color "red" as "green."

Physicists will tell you that when you travel fast enough objects will appear to change color, since your speed affects the vibration rate you perceive.  But, I'm guessing it's either colorblindness or just being entitled jerks.

I've discussed with with friends who ride.  One said that the traffic laws were "suggestions" for cyclists.  I stopped myself from seeing if he considered the law against pounding the shit out of someone to also be a "suggestion."

Another said she stopped "most of the time, or at least look before I go through."  WOW - there's a GREAT HUMAN BEING!  She LOOKS before she barrels through a crosswalk!  Why has the Nobel Prize committee overlooked this humanitarian for so long?

Damn, that's a low bar.

The worst, the FUCKING worst, happens in Central Park.  The bike path there has stoplights.  And crosswalks.  And thousands of assholes who spend their parents' trust fund on their bikes, helmets, gloves, Eurotrash shirts, $75 water bottles, and shorts that let you know their religion and/or labia shape.  Assholes who feel they have the right to hit 55 mph, get mad when you follow the rules on crossing (yes, I've had them yell "EXCUSE ME" when I was crossing WITH THE LIGHT and they zipped past), and have an air of entitlement that exceeds the one Republican candidates think women who want birth control covered by their insurance have.

This year's Tour De Douche leaders 

(and that does translate as "Race of Shower," but you get the idea)

I hear the same litany of complaints from bicyclists when I bring this up.

"Hey - jaywalkers are a danger to me!"  Yes, they are.  And I'm not defending people who break those laws (which, yeah, I do - SHUT UP).  But 1) you will hurt them more than they hurt you (most likely), and 2) someone else doing something wrong is not cover for you to do wrong (unless you're running for President, or in Kindergarten, or both)


"It's tough to stop that short when you're at speed."  OK, here's a thought.  SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.  You do NOT have a right (legal or otherwise) to try and break the land speed record on Park Avenue, the bike path, or even the FDR Drive.  I know you like to think you're in the Olympics when you're out there outracing a bunch of 5-year-old with training wheels, but you're not.  You're a Wall Street loser who attempts to feel better about himself by outracing a bunch of 5-year-olds.  DEAL WITH IT!!!!


"Stopping is a pain when you have clips on."  OK, here's a thought.  DON'T WEAR EQUIPMENT YOU CAN'T USE RIGHT!  If you can't stop because you're wearing those stupid shoes, don't wear those stupid shoes. 

The one they think, but don't say, is that since they are superior human beings for riding a bike they are allowed to do whatever they want.  Yeah, OK.  Fine. If that soothes your dead rotting soul, fine.

I understand the desire to push yourself, hit high speeds, show your mojo on the bike.  Here are two suggestion:  1) find a Velodrome; 2) take the train to NJ, LI, or Poughkeepsie, find some empty area, and do it there!

If you find this all too confusing, maybe this example of someone who is apparently smarter than a NYC bicyclist will help:

Thanks to her eidetic memory, Marilu Henner

can still recite all these lines and tell you what bra she was wearing

N.B. — NONE of this applies to the delivery guy bringing me my Atomic Wings.  He may break all laws, ride at any speed, run over anyone in his way, and use lethal force if necessary.

Rule #17: The BCS Makes Rick Perry Look like Stephen Hawking

Tonight, LSU and Alabama face each other in a rematch of their thrill-a-minute 9-6 overtime game in November.  But this game is the "national championship."

That's right.  Apparently the powers-that-be think we need to see a reply of the least-exciting OT game in football history.  And they expect us to watch it.

 Actual shot of a Nielsen family watching LSU-Alabama

Their tears have been Photoshopped out

And we will watch it.  We have to.  I wish we didn't, but we do.  We sports fans have to watch, or at least have it on in the background while we work/read/masturbate/do our taxes.  It is an addiction.

Division 1 football (or whatever the fuck they call it now) does not have a playoff.  Why?  The reason they keep shoving down our nacho-holes is they don't want to weaken the regular season.  They think that not having a playoff makes every week of the regular season a playoff.  You lose, you're out.

And yet we get a rerun for the "national championship."

Quick reminder - these folks work in higher education.  At least nominally.

 

If the regular season means so goddamned much then Alabama shouldn't be able to play in this game.  They've already lost to this team.  At home.  Without getting a TD.  And, without being able to beat a team that couldn't score a TD.

The BCS has, from time to time, made the exact right call for the title game.  They have the no-question #1 and #2 teams playing each other.

And every year this happens, its because there are two, and only two, undefeated teams.

How great is this system?  The only time it works is when there are only two undefeated teams.  What fourth grader COULDN'T come up with that system?!?

"Hey, Billy, that team, and that team, haven't lost.  Whaddya' think?"
"They should play each other - winner is the best."
"BRILLIANT!!!!!!!"

I want a playoff.  And it will be very simple.  And it will work.

Here's how it works.  8 teams.  The 6 winners from the 6 BCS conferences (or however many are left after the latest restructuring that has already given us 10 teams in the Big 12, 12 teams in the Big 10, and Boise State and San Diego State in the BIG EAST.  Again, remember, these folks are working in HIGHER EDUCATION), plus two other teams.  These two other teams CANNOT be from the 6 BCS conferences - you only get one team per conference (hence the regular season still means everything!).  AND, if a major team is undefeated, they MUST be included.  Three weeks of playoffs, one champion, life is good.  Happy Shaggy!

I think that puts the system up to the junior high level. 

You still keep the bowls, letting East-West Kentucky A&M State play St.Lady Gaga of Wisconsin in the Fleshlight C Battery Bowl, getting a TV audience of 0.25 and a live crowd of 75.  And their alums could enjoy the trip to Sheboygan.  And then get the hell out of the way as the winners play each other.

In the meantime, enjoy the game tonight.  You might need 7 Red Bulls to stay up for it, and 7 Wild Turkeys to enjoy it.  And, if you have those, do you really need the game?!?

Roll Tide!

Rule #16: "Saturday Night Live" ended May 24, 1980

Do I really need to saying anything else?

OK, fine, for those of you who weren't even alive then.  Saturday Night Live, or NBC's Saturday Night, was the funniest, and most important, TV show of the late 70s.  Lorne Michaels pillaged the National Lampoon Radio Hour and Second City Theaters (whose leftovers were so talented they created SCTV and had the 2nd funniest show on TV in the same timeperiod and for some time after) for actors and writers, gave them free reign and enough money to buy whatever drugs they saw fit, and set them loose at a time when no one was home watching TV (except maybe babysitters wondering when the fuck those parents were going to get home and why can't I get this liquor cabinet open).  And the world exploded.

 Even when they did sitcoms they were "Kate & Allie" and "Community"

For five seasons they defied taboos, infuriated censors, created characters and phrases that live to this day, and basically took over the planet.  Then, on May 24, 1980, they aired the last episode with the real cast and writing staff.

Everything after that has been a bad dream concocted through an evil stew of Lorne Michaels' ego, NBC's greed, viewer inertia, and a sweetheart deal with movie studios that makes even the worst idea a full-length feature.

"OK, here's the pitch.  It's about two guys who shake their heads...yeah, that's it."

Saturday Night Live  made it OK, or even cool, to be home on Saturday night from 11:30p to 1:00a Eastern time.  Now, that pale imitation in its time slot makes a case for the eradication of all life on this planet.

Of course, it's easy to take the best of the five years and compare it to the worst of what came after and say "this proves how much better it was."  But I think my friend Steve summed it up best sometime in the 90s when he said about the show "back in the day, you'd watch it and say 'it was great - there was one sketch that didn't work, however.'  Now you watch it and say 'it sucked - there was one sketch that wasn't bad, however.'"

To which I replied "then stop watching it."

The sad, simple fact is that NBC could air 90 minutes of a pile of shit slowly rotating, and so long as it had the name Saturday Night Live it'd get a good rating.  Conversely, a show that is 500x funnier put on in that same timeslot, but called anything else, wouldn't do as well.

And I sincerely believe NBC knows it.  So they just haven't bothered.  For 31 years now.

You can split the show's history into distinct eras.  And all but one of them will make you go "ugh."  Or, at best "well, it wasn't so bad."

Remember, these periods are the reason we have Jimmy Fallon with his own talkshow.  Think about it.  Jimmy Fallon.  Five nights a week.  And in commercials for some fucking bank.

These periods are why The Love Guru was made.

These periods gave us Will Ferrell's ass in 30 different movies.  You know your comedy is sad when the highpoint of your script is showing your ass.

These periods created Joe Piscopo.

They convinced Eddie Murphy he could do no wrong.

Rob Schneider.

David Spade.

And folks...these are considered the BEST they had to offer.  The Charles Rockets (RIP) and Victoria Jacksons of the world I will leave alone now.  They have to live in their infamy and shame.

At this point someone inevitably mentions Tina Fey to me.  Tina Fey is amusing.  That's about all.  I have yet to hear one brilliant, or even very funny, line from her.  She passes the time nicely; she's a soft-rock hit from the 70s that you don't need to hear more than once.

Yes, this is somewhat personal to me.  Saturday Night Live made me want to do sketch comedy (shameless plug for the sketch show I'm doing this month). I was asked once "is your goal to write for Saturday Night Live?"

No.  My goal is to write for the show that finally puts the fork in its dead, bloated carcass.

Rule #15: Romantic Love Proves My Atheism

For the first 12 years and 10 albums of its existence, the J. Geils Band produced high-energy, well played party rock that had the depth and insight one normally expects from a Republican governor of Texas.

Then, suddenly, in 1979, Peter Wolf was struck by an inspiration so profound, so universal, and so simple it boiled down to the two most honest words ever written in the English language.

The fact the there's a root canal in this video, and it

doesn't hurt as much as the subject, should tell you something

Apparently asking all those women to Give It To Me, Make Up Your Mind, and Take It Back didn't work out quite as well as he'd hoped.  Or, it could be that his divorce that year from Faye Dunaway had something to do with it.

As poignant and inspired as the chorus is, to me the genius comes from the opening verse.

You love her
But she loves him
And he loves somebody else

Every time two people get together there are AT LEAST two other people's hearts who have been broken because that couple got together.  Add to that the pain and suffering the couple will no doubt inflict upon each other and you've got four miserable people (again, at least).

 Women crying outside Paul McCartney's first wedding.

Not for joy.  And they got two more opportunities to relive this moment!

But isn't love wonderful?  That elated feeling, the bond with another human being, the sex, the passing fancy that there's another human being on the planet who gives a shit whether you live or die.

In a word, "no."

It WOULD be, if it existed in a vacuum.  In fact, when lovers seem to be the most happy is when they seal themselves off from the world around them.  "I feel like we are the only two people in the universe right now."

So, the perfect scenario for love is the last two people on Earth.  But, of course, so many women have told so many men (and men told women, and women told women, and men told men) that they wouldn't sleep with them EVEN IF s/he was the last man/woman on Earth, even that doesn't seem to be too hopeful.

Well, maybe some can find love in this circumstance

So, since the last two people on Earth doesn't seem to be a good love connection, what about the first two?  God created Adam, saw Adam was lonely, and instead of inventing ESPN, the Fleshlight, or beer, he created love.

God can be a real son of a bitch sometimes.

And you know how well this worked.  Paradise is, literally, lost.  They have two kids, one of whom is a smug bastard and the other kills him out of non-romantic jealousy.  The story has been used to say women are inferior and devious for centuries (well, they are, but so are men so it evens out).  And snakes have gotten a bad rap.

So, if we are to believe that God is a just and loving force, and he created love, we have reached the type of contradiction that philosophers, scientists, and Suduko solvers love.

Ergo, i.e., QED, shut up and listen - love proves God cannot exist.

Remember, you will be in, at most, only one romantic relationship that does not end.  And the only reason it won't end is your DEATH.

OK, maybe there is some hope

Rule #14: Your Cell Phone Doesn't Make You Invisible or Silent

This is another along the lines of "it's obnoxious when anyone else does it, but when I do it it's DIFFERENT!!!! OK!!!!"

I don't understand how a cell phone works.  How it takes my words, converts them into waves, transmits them up to the skies, finds the person I'm talking to, sends the waves back down, coverts the waves into both my words and head cancer, and gets it out of the phone's earpiece.  And then drops the call.

But the even more confusing part to me is what part of the phone makes the user think that no one can see or hear him or her.  No matter how tall or wide s/he is, or how LOUDLY S/HE TALKS INTO THE PHONE!!!

But the part must exist.  There's no other explanation.  Any species filled with animals stupid enough to shout their personal information in public could not have survived an ice age, the Plague, and Disco. 

 

"Yeah, the ointment is starting to work, but it's a real pain getting it up in there...no, the stick is helping, and thanks for letting me borrow it...yes, I'll wash it before I give it back..."

And, really, is there a worse-sounding word than "ointment?"

For some reason, this part of the phone works 346 times better at sporting events. 

 

 Not only did she block this guy's view, she was FURIOUS he was looking at her ass

Here's the deal.  If you're at a game, and your phone rings, there is NO GOOD REASON TO STAND UP!!!!  The phone still works if you remain seated.  The schmuck probably won't see you anyway.

 

"Yeah - I'm the fat fuck with the bandana and the biker T-shirt and a beer 

at a sporting event in Detroit.  You can't miss me!!!!"

If your friend wants to find you, give him/her your section and seat number.  Or, you know, just let them imagine what you look like watching a game.  It's really not that difficult to picture.

The worst, the absolute worst, are the folks who feel the need to stand-up and wave whenever the action on the field/ice gets close enough to them that they know they will be on camera.

I tried to find a better picture of this, but failed miserably.  I entered every set of words into Google Images I could think of.  "Sports fan asshole" "Cell phone hockey please die" "Sit the fuck down I'm trying to watch the game!!!"  This is the best I got.

I know I am to blame.  When these assholes do this, I look.  I have to.  I'd like to think that it's because I'm concerned that they are waving to say "hey - this part of the stadium is on fire!"  But I know better.  If I wasn't visually attracted to pointless activity that just brings attention to someone who doesn't deserve it and doesn't improve anyone's life except the person doing the action, I wouldn't watch sports in the first place.

Rule #13: Dance Music is Fascist

The word "Hitler" is tossed around a lot these days.  So are "Socialist," "Fascist," "Ayn Rand," "Class Warfare," and other terms whose users don't seem to have a fucking clue what they mean.  People also say "irregardless" when they mean "regardless" and/or "irrespective."

However, I am using the term "fascist" advisedly here.  Or wrongly.  Either way.

The lyrics of almost every dance song are a series of orders.  Commands on what steps you HAVE to take.  You are being told by a disembodied voice to "Shake Your Groove Thing," "Dance Dance Dance" or "Freak Out!"  All barked at you over a march-style drumbeat.

This is military-style control of the general population.  To me, that's fascism. 

There are a few exceptions.  "The Time Warp" from Rocky Horror asks you to do it ("LET'S do the Time Warp again") and then tells you the steps without forcing you to do them.  Similarly, Chubby Checker begged one partner to join him ("Come on Baby, let's do the Twist"), and then later asked her (assuming he was looking for a heterosexual dancing arrangement, but who am I to judge) to join him again ("LET'S Twist again, like we did last Summer").  No force, no pressure.  Just a suggestion.

Perhaps the most egregious example is "Da Dip." 

Let's just look at the first verse:

Just get on the floor like I said befo'
Y'all remember that "Down Low"!
Just put a little dip wit' it,
Now roll those hips wit' it
Pop it, push it, rock it, roll it 

In other words, shut up and lie down.  NOW!

Can't control it?  I'll come hold it
It's all in fun so take a chance

I think we've all seen enough Movies of the Week and Afterschool Specials to know that when someone tells you do to something because "it's fun" they don't mean that it's fun for YOU.

Just get on the floor and do that dance, y'all
I know you like this so, don't try to fight it
Turn around, baby, let me see you from the back
Yeah, I like it like that
Get up now, roll those hips, 
Drop down, double-up on those dips
Freak Nasty wanna see,
Can y'all do this right here for me?

Coincidentally, this is exactly what the maid claimed Dominique Strauss-Kahn said to her in his hotel room.

And then, there's the chorus:

I put my hand upon your hip, when I dip, you dip, we dip
You put your hand upon my hip, when you dip, I dip, we dip
I put my hand upon your hip, when I dip, you dip, we dip
You put yours, and I put mine, and we can dip down low and roll and grind! 

Nowhere in the song does he ask if he can put his hand upon her hip.  Nor does he ask if she will put hers on his.  And, she is given no choice in this interaction.  She WILL dip when HE does!  And, when she decides to dip, he is going to join her. 


No one yet has written a dance tune called "Show Me Your Papers," although I suspect Arizona will commission it soon.  So we have to look for the more subtle forms of fascism in our dance music.  And, believe me, it's there.