Respect Authority

As the winter months begin to melt into hopefully days even slightly less ass-bitingly cold, I find myself bidding a reluctant farewell to my most celebrated winter friend: the blanket. Indeed, my $10 fleece Old Navy blanket has seen me through thick and thin over the past few months — were I a less neurotically clean person, it might be stained with everything from tuna salad to bong water. Sometimes I lounge under its warm folds on the couch, other times I wrap it around my waist as a makeshift skirt while walking around the apartment.

So it’s with this respect for the ever-valuable winter blanket, and an eye towards the 60-degree weather today, that I find myself wondering why there’s such vociferous hatred for the latest in warmth technology - blankets with sleeves.

The two most popular incarnations, the Slanket and Snuggie, have as many Web sites and reviews commenting on how stupid they are as praising them. I’m sorry, since when did an innovation that allows me to eat Chinese food while wearing my favorite winter accessory become a bad thing?

In the age of pointless innovation — just one look at available iPhone applications is testament to this particular era — it seems hypocritical to judge something that combines two of my most favorite things: blankets, and doing stuff while wearing blankets. I have yet to buy said innovation, but that’s only because I’m waiting for the imminent release of a blanket/bodysuit: The Bodanket.

First thing’s first — I don’t watch football, so I’m not going to pretend to like football today just because it’s a national holiday. I’m grumpy; my ankle is swollen as fuck and looking at it is actually making me nauseous, so really, my only hope for the Super Bowl this year is that everybody in the stadium dies, but especially Bruce Springsteen, if only because without him The Killers could have never existed.

Come on, I don’t even watch the X-Games, and those are culturally prescribed to me because I like skateboarding, just like tight jeans and irresponsible drinking habits. So really, if Mountain Dew can’t get my attention, do you think I’m going to tune in just to see the fucking Sobe Life Water lizards dancing? Wait… they’re in 3D? …Damn you, Sobe.

Largely, sports are taken far too seriously. In college, I once saw a Yankees fan beat a Red Sox fan across the back with a long wooden stake — that makes your average Middle Eastern conflict look sensible. Nonetheless, there is something to be said for taking sports just a little seriously, particularly in the realm of “extreme activities.” For instance, no matter how seriously you take riding a Razor scooter, absolutely nobody will be able to take you seriously.

Nonetheless, this video leaves me rather speechless all the same. If somebody produced this film as a parody of the current fixed gear epidemic, it would be called genius. But as it is, a serious aggressive scootering (Is that even a fucking term? If not, I want to kill myself for coining it) video, it’s kind of just… weird. It’s transfixing, certainly, but it’s kind of like watching a grown man, probably balding, playing with Devil Sticks in front of a meager crowd in Central Park. No matter how incredibly difficult it may be, there’s something inherent in the activity that instantly turns you into a loser for doing it. We’ll call the phenomenon Backwards-Upside-Down Sun Visor Syndrome.

On one hand you can’t help but respect the sheer difficulty of his tricks — just riding one of those things if you have feet larger than an eight-year-old’s is goddamned impossible. Yet, there is something just fundamentally goofy about it. It’s like being really awesome at riding a tricycle. It might make for a rather awe-inspiring YouTube clip, but it’s never going to be a way to get invited to those really sweet parties where they pay you to spray strippers with champagne.

One thing is for certain: we cannot let this become the next mandated means of transport in Williamsburg for people with mustaches who dress like they’re poor on purpose. As a species I mean. We’re like the T-Rex, watching our front limbs turn into twisted crack baby arms. Or who knows, maybe I’m just afraid to call it cool because then all the popular kids will think I’m a loser.

Even though Comedy Central still has long lost Chocolate News listed on their website, after weeks of absence on TV, I’m ready to accept that it actually may not be coming back — that, perhaps, David Alan Grier has escaped to Africa or had a nervous breakdown, whatever it was that got that poor Chappelle guy.

So, without any official word from the network itself, where is a mourning fan supposed to turn for the truth? Obviously, Wikipedia — it’s the Internet’s brain! Whereas Respect Authority is more like the Internet’s festering, irritated boil.

Naturally then, it came as some surprise to find RA’s sarcastic coverage of Chocolate News from a few months ago listed as a reference in Wikipedia’s stub for the show. You know, considering the article was entirely made up, even if it did happen to be incredibly prophetic. We’re like the Aeneid but, uh, for pointless, minuscule facets of pop culture that kind of not that many people care about.

Nonetheless, it scares me to think that somebody read that article — dated October 6th while the show wasn’t canceled until January, and which includes a “quote” from DAG, saying “I plan on returning to my roots as a street performer who dances for unfiltered candy cigarettes and voluntarily licks anything put within seven feet of what I like to call my ‘face area.’ Thank you for your time. Are you gonna eat that?” — somebody read it and assumed it was real news about Chocolate News. And now it’s on Wikipedia, modern society’s only trustworthy source of unadulterated, true information.

Granted, I know we have this kind of mysterious, hard-to-read (it’s a double entendre!) aura about us, but come on. You came to the most sarcastic website on the entire World Wide Web and actually thought we were serious? I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve been serious in like, a month. And to be honest, I feel a little bad about it, like I lied to Wikipedia, and it’s been such a good friend to me when I’m at work and have nothing to do but read about the origin of Unicorns throughout history. So, sorry, Wikipedia… I hope this doesn’t jeopardize our relationship, but instead, marks a new, spectacular frontier for us, when we can lie to you a lot more often and still totally get away with it.

Welcome to the revolution. First Wikipedia, next… I don’t know, Urban Dictionary or something.

So. Let’s talk about new beginnings. Barack Hussein Obama walks into a bar with a parrot on his shoulder. The bartender asks, “Where did you get that from?” And the parrot says, “Argh, the Middle East, there’s a whole bunch of Muslims down there!”

This Tuesday is kind of a big deal… to say the least. Although, admittedly, less of a big deal than that Tuesday in November, this one is more symbolic in its importance. It is the last day George W. Bush will be President. Really just try to wrap your mind around that. I was fucking fifteen years old when he was elected — I am a different person today than I was all those years ago, and yet George W. Bush was there the whole time. If America didn’t have such an infuriating bastard of a president through my “rebellious” years, would still I be the same bitter, whining pothead I am today? …Probably, but… whatever.

For fucking eight years we’ve all walked past the shoddy “Not MY President” t-shirts, heard countless jokes about the man’s stupidity, saw numerous documentaries about his administration’s handling of 9/11, blah blah blah. He was our Stalin, our Mussolini. And I guess in those terms, it really wasn’t all that bad and I guess America is a pretty okay place to live after all. Read More ›

First thing’s first. Renaissance is a really weird looking word.

Anyway, onto more slightly more important things. In light of hit or miss Biggie biopic, Notorious, releasing in theaters in this week, I’ve been giving Ready To Die a spin for old times. “Juicy” is a well-known track, to say the least, and its popularity and legendary status at this point is due to the fact that it’s the fucking Huckleberry Finn of mid-nineties hip hop. It’s the coming of age tale of that entire new generation of rappers. As Biggie references his influences, naming Heavy D, Marley Marl, and Mr. Magic among others, he’s actually mentioning the time hip hop was now leaving behind.

Hip hop’s gone through a lot of changes since then as well. The Notorious B.I.G. died over beef with other players in the rap industry. Conversely, in recent years, when rappers are feuding they pose on the cover of Rolling Stone together and make YouTube videos about it. However, hip hop is changing yet again. Read More ›

My defenses are down. On an impromptu outlet shopping adventure this week, I found myself considering all manner of unnecessary purchases, things I couldn’t even begin to claim I “need” - sneakers, jeans, jewelry, wholesale quantities of chocolate truffles. Surrounded by a triple threat of pricing markdowns - outlet, recession, Christmas - I was unprepared to bring forth the will power necessary to just say no. To half-price Nikes, to $20 Chuck Taylors, even - in a moment of sheer nostalgia - to $15 Pacific Sunwear jeans.

If this is shopping now, when the recession is little more than a buzzword for middle America, and “depression” still associated with 1929, bread lines and our grandparents’ complaining, I find myself increasingly concerned that next year, and the unavoidable economic melee sure to come with it, will yield another flurry of discount shopping - one which I might find myself even less capable of evading. Read More ›

For residents of a time period so fraught with uncertainty, so overwhelmed by doubt, our causes for concern so looming and concrete, we sure are pretty unconcerned about it. Relatively, of course.

We live in a strange time. Peril is loitering on our front stoop and we’re all pressed against the floor in the TV room, whispering, “It’s just a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses… stay quiet and hopefully they won’t know we’re here.” Chronically sheltered, our generation has barely acknowledged, and far too late at that, the coalescence of catastrophes bubbling just below the surface. Where are our flappers, our beatniks, our hippies and our punk rockers? Indeed, where have all the countercultures gone?

Our generation’s great youth movement, the ubiquitous hipster, is in fact not a counterculture, but an extreme excess of all that mainstream culture adores. Hipsters embody the hedonism of the late 90s and early 21st century without any of the guilt of having to go to work the next day. In a sense, it seems they have almost given up, accepting the inevitability of Western civilization as we know it coming to an end, and therefore choosing to get as fucked up as possible in the meantime. Why bother rallying around a cause when there is nothing left to save? Read More ›

There are no words.

The stress of holiday gift giving is no cause for a freak out — unfortunately we let things like “manners” and “actually liking the person” get in the way of our hurried and thoughtless shopping decisions. I’m sure there’s a stack of old CDs hanging around in a box somewhere that you’ve been waiting to get rid of since you got your iPod. Trust me, your little brother will love his new LL Cool J commemorative mini-frisbee for years to come.

This Upside Down Baby Head Bowl, on the other hand, is uh… hopefully not what you’ve always wanted. It might be a good choice for that… Hannibal Lecter in your life? I honestly don’t know who this would be appropriate to give to, but it’s probably not the best Christmas gift idea for your pregnant sister-in-law. Maybe go with the gift certificate to TGIF instead.

On second thought, it could be the perfect present for that irritating coworker who won’t stop showing you pictures of their newborn… from 15 years ago. Although I’m not sure that character isn’t just an inflated construct of popular culture. Does anybody actually have one of those creatures in their life? I know I don’t… but maybe that’s just because I don’t have any friends.

The product description claims this piece of memorabilia from my nightmares is a “fun conversation piece, plus it’s functional!”

What the fuck kind of conversation would this piece possibly inspire?

“So… um… do you, like, feast on the brains of dead babies or something?”

“Yes.”

I’d say it’s probably more of an excuse to suddenly get up and awkwardly head into the kitchen to drink 3 beers as quickly as you can and stumble back in, beaming, “My, what a lovely spice rack you have in there! Um… so tell me about that!” And just hope to fucking god they don’t reply, “Well, I use the spices to season the brains, I mean, obviously. A dash of paprika can really bring out the subtle hues of an underdeveloped medula oblongata.” Annnnnd I guess this would be about the point you force yourself to wake up, and vow to stop smoking the weed with all the flavor crystals.

As if we aren’t constantly pummeled by Hollywood with reasons to be terrified of the future as it is (the Terminator, Alien, and Matrix trilogies, to name a few — and is it really any coincidence that in all three series, the individual films get increasingly terrible as the future progresses? Improving situations are just not part of the fabric of the future, as opposed to robot holocausts, alien invasions, and liquid food), this weekend the movie-making money machine was up to it yet again with another blow to American optimism in these uncertain times. Yes, that’s right, my friends — Four Christmases debuted in the number one slot at the box office.

"It's... uh... well, it's my dick in a box... girl."

Dan Fellman, head of distribution for Warner Bros., describes the oppressive holiday movie atmosphere a little differently, you know, as if he wasn’t a blood-sucking Hollywood drone nourished solely by greed. He chalks up Four Christmases entirely undeserved profits by saying, “It was the perfect time. It’s the only movie out there that deals with Christmas.” And there it is, in carefully veiled terms — “we know you fools are powerless against the artificial charms of old Mr. Kringle, so why don’t you just come over here and sit on Santy’s lap.” Read More ›

The future does freak me out, but sometimes the present is almost worse. The innovations afforded to us by scientific advancement these days can be as terrifying as they are mind-blowing, and when science advances beyond the realm of the necessary, all bets are truly off.

Robotic body parts, space technology, medical advancements - these are things I understood. Innovation for the sake of a better society. In fact, outside of the dozens of would-be inventors lining up to patent their latest get-rich-quick scheme, it does appear that the majority of scientific discoveries are made with an admirable purpose in mind. But there are exceptions, and probably have been ever since someone first realized they could use technology to maximize laziness. With useful-yet-unnecessary devices like the remote control fleshing out the bottom of the list, it takes something profoundly retarded to make it to the top. Enter Turducken. Read More ›

So the moment we’ve all been waiting for is almost upon us. After four books, a national craze and seven million previews, Twilight will be here in just five days!

But don’t get your panties in a twist just yet. As anyone in the working world knows, Friday is a long ways away, and there’s plenty going on between now and then. Think of it as the week before Christmas: exciting, but full of last-minute To Do lists. Except there’s no eggnog.

This week’s Future Freaks Me Out is a testament to the pop culture phenomena that never were. After all, not every one can be a Harry Potter. Read More ›