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.

Rule #12: Working Out Disproves Darwin

I am a devout Darwinian.  We didn't evolve from apes - we and apes evolved from the same ancestor.  Some of us more than others.  But I understand why states like Louisiana and Kentucky don't want to teach evolution - they don't see any evidence of it around them.

Many apes are denying the connection as well

But, like all theories (which means a plausible or scientifically acceptable general principle or body of principles offered to explain phenomena, not shit we just made up like the anti-evolution people think), there can be holes, unexplained aspects, or contradictory thoughts.

For Darwin's Theory of Evolution, one of these contradictions is physical exertion to improve your overall health, otherwise known as "working out."

I recently bought a Groupon for 12 workouts with the Manhattan Strength Camp.  Twelve one-hour strenuous workouts to help me delay death for approximately 20 minutes.  And, they are good workouts, I recommend them.

He's yet to make us use the chains

This Tuesday (two days ago for those of you reading this on tape delay) we did the “Holiday Special” workout…which was:

• 100 Squats
• 100 Push-ups
• 100 Sit-ups
• 100 Burpees

OK, I did 75 of each, (as did my friend Orion).  And the pushups were the kind that would have caused the cast of The Big Bang Theory to call me "wimp!"  The rest of the group, mostly women wearing "Class of 2010" sweatshirts that do not refer to any college, did the whole 100.

Yesterday I felt a bit sore.

Today, every muscle I have is angry with me.  It hurts to type.  Yes, I had bananas, stretched, etc.  It's just that it's an intense workout, I'm 44 and not in the best of shape, and...

according to evolutionary theory working out is bad for you.

Here's how this works.  The body creates pain to tell you "hey, asshole, that was a dumb thing to do, don't do that again!"  You hit your thumb with a hammer, you learn "don't him your thumb with a hammer."  You stick your dick in a vacuum cleaner, you learn "don't stick your dick in the vacuum cleaner."  Eventually.

But working out is supposed to improve your health.  So, in theory, my body is telling me "don't improve your health."  Which is an unhealthy thing to say.  Which makes no sense in a truly evolutionary theory-defined universe.

Neither does the fact that ice cream tastes millions of times better than broccoli, which we know since birth. 

And SPEAKING OF BIRTH...it would seem that making birth painful would have led to our utter extinction.  Or, at least, to a limit to one child per mother.

But, we go on.  We work out.  We eat broccoli.  We give birth (well, some of us do).  And Darwin sits on his cloud going "hmm...still some bugs in the system."

Rule #11: Fashion is Punishment for Sins We've Committed in Past Lives

We're not talking about the David Bowie song here, although it is not "one of his best."

My Next Rule: There is No Good Song With the Lyrics "BEEP BEEP"

I'm talking about an industry whose sole purpose is to get people to buy new clothes before their old ones wear out.

This is not to say you shouldn't dress in a flattering way.  But fashion has rarely, if ever, been about flattering the wearer.  For Chrissakes, THESE were considered fashionable:

These are about as flattering as Don Rickles seeing an overweight Korean woman in the front row of his show sitting next to a Mexican dwarf wearing an ascot.

I could, maybe, think of fashion as not being pure evil if it was moving in a steady direction towards more comfort, a "better" look, or a more environmentally responsible process.  But, really, it's just about making women look like they don't know what to do with their money.

So, somewhere, somehow, we have all sinned in our previous existences so badly that we are cursed with things like Fashion Week (I'm sorry, it's now MERCEDES-BENZ FASHION WEEK), Mr. Blackwell, Golden Globes gowns, and Sex and The City 2.

Maybe it's karmic payback for every example of slavery in human history, or our tendency to kill each other for the stupidest fucking reasons, or Sex and the City 2, but something really pissed off the gods to give us this.

But, there is a lighter side:

Rule #10: Don't Say "Hitler"

No one will ever mistake Hank Williams, Jr. for:

1. a genius
2. a policy wonk
3. Hank Williams, Sr.

Junior wrote two good songs: the Bad to the Bone/Hoochie Coochie Man mash-up My Name is Bocephus

And the "I can drink more than my daddy, and it KILLED him" anthem All My Rowdy Friends are Coming Over Tonight.

 

Showing an artistic integrity that would have Daddy Hank doing laps around his coffin, Hank the Younger decided to let Monday Night Football use the song for its opening theme.  And, in an even more integrity-laden move, he actually rewrote the song as the now-classic Are You Ready for Some Football.

 

Which, inexplicably, led someone at NBC to grab the sheet music to I Hate Myself for Loving You, scribble in new lyrics about the NFL, and stick it under Faith Hill's nose.

But I digress.

Earlier this week Hank Jr., when asked a question about who he likes in the 2012 GOP presidential candidate field, immediately and drunkenly veered into comparing President Obama to Hitler.  It was so bad even Gretchen Carlson noticed (after 3 more questions went by, mind you).

Here's the deal.  If you're in public DON'T TALK ABOUT HITLER!!!!

There are only three groups of people who are allowed to talk about Hitler on TV:  Holocaust survivors, historians, and the cast of The Producers.  

That's it.  That's the list.

If, by chance, you find yourself being interviewed, and some part of your brain says "you know, a Hitler reference would fit in really well right now," here's what you do.

Ask a passing cop if you can borrow his gun and blow your brains out.

It won't hurt you as much in the long run.

Or, if there is no cop around who will loan you his weapon, or pepper spray you into submission, just substitute another historical dictator.  Like, say, Caligula.  Or Catherine the Great.  Or Darth Maul. 

"The President wants to have more trade with China.  You know who also opened trade to China?  Genghis Khan!"  

If you weren't worried about historical accuracy with Herr Adolf, why bother with it now?  And, frankly, most TV hosts won't know enough about whomever you use to challenge you.

Just don't bring up Hitler.

Rule #9: Your Time is Not as Valuable as You Think It is

This one comes from a specific complaint about this blog.  I was going to create a FWQ  (Frequently Whined Questions) section to handle it, but instead I'll just expand on it to prove that all of society is shit and we deserve a painful, fiery end to life on this planet.

Evidently, I have ruined people's lives by keeping the content warning on this site.

Yes, I am a monster who is worse than Hitler.  Save your comments.

On the assumption that all of you have:

1. high-speed internet
2. a computer built after the turn of the century,
3. the motor skills of a squirrel with Parkinson's or better, 

this process should take you about 3.46 seconds.

Deal with it.

For those of you who are upset about it, I have one question:  "What were you going to do with that time that I have prevented?  Work on that Cancer cure?  Find a new planet?  Come up with a better, more effective cock ring?"  (Meanwhile, comments like the last one are why I keep the warning up.  Maybe someday they'll be naked breasts here.  Haven't decided yet.  I need a rule that involves naked breasts first.  I'm working on it - give me a second!)

It's not just here.  Everywhere I see people who are INCENSED at being delayed by about 3 to 5 seconds.  And, I'm assuming not all of them REALLY REALLY REALLY have to go to the bathroom right then.

The cab that races through an intersection filled with pedestrians just to slam on the brakes 5 feet later at the next red light.  The guy who is pissed that the elevator he got on doesn't go to the 5th floor (even though it says Floors 9-18 right there above the door) who looks at everyone else in the car like it's their fault.  The woman who empties the dryer filled with your clothes without waiting at least two minutes to see if you are coming to get them.*

*I had a weird variation of this earlier this year.  I came down to get my laundry, and found that my whites still had about 34 minutes to go (they should have been finished).  When I opened the dryer to see if it was indeed mine, I saw my clothes, along with some underwear and towels belonging to someone else.  Apparently someone opened my dryer, shoved her (judging by the underwear) stuff in there, and then added time to the dryer.  So, I did what seemed right.  I opened the dryer, took out my clothes, and left hers.  You know, I think I forgot to close it again and restart it.  Oops.

I had the joy Saturday night of seeing two bridge and tunnel girls at Penn Station, perched on 5" heels with a micron thick points, decide that the taxi line was for "little people" and snare a cab right in front of the line.  Again, I'm assuming they were not late for an appearance at the UN Conference on Nuclear Disarmament.  More likely, they were being whisked to the meatpacking district so they can try and cut the line at The Blitzkrieger. 

OMG, this is like worse than Herpes!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyone who's met me will tell you I am not Mr. Laissez-Faire.  Especially when the Yankees/Jets/Devils/Nets (until they move)/Hoosiers/Seton Hall Pirates are playing.  But this is insane.  Nothing, NOTHING, you are doing cannot wait the seconds it takes to let someone in front of you at the Lincoln Tunnel, to actually pedal the block to the avenue that's heading the way you want to go, or frankly to get the next train back to your suburb.

I'm sorry, you're just not THAT important.  If it makes you feel any better, neither am I.

Of course, much of what I'm saying here was said much better by Louis CK...

Rule #8: Everyone Needs a Therapist

I will start by saying that I don't think everyone is nuts.  Or not nuts enough to need intense, daily therapy.

However.

I fully believe everyone should have at least an annual check-up with a mental health professional.  And, if follow-up work is needed, you schedule more appointments.  However, if when you see your therapist he or she tells you to get undressed, put on this hospital gown, sit on the couch and s/he'll be with you in a minute, it's time to find someone else.

No matter how you were raised, your childhood messed you up at least a little.  Even if you had the PERFECT childhood, with incredibly doting parents who gave you enough room to be yourself but were there to pick you up when you failed, you're going to spend your adulthood going "how do I live up to that?!?"

So, let's say everyone gets that yearly check-up from the neck-up.  Maybe the therapist is able to say to people "don't buy that gun," "hey, here's a prescription that will make those voices go away," "no, Mr. Berkowitz, the dog is NOT talking to you," or "for god's sake do NOT run for Congress."

This can be prevented, people!!!!

At the very least more people would understand 2/3rds of New Yorker cartoons.