Respect Authority

Concentrated healthy eating hasn’t been possible since the birth of McDonald’s, so God gave us diets. But diets, with their rules and costs and weird approximations of chocolate-flavored things, were just too hard, so God gave us drugs. But drugs, which peeled off the pounds faster than you could say “my liver hurts, is that a side effect?,” were apparently dangerous, so God gave us surgery. And now, with layoffs mounting and health care coverage about as effective as an umbrella made of Swiss cheese, surgery is too expensive, so God gave us something new: denial.

If you can’t beat ‘em, eat cheesecake—or so goes the mantra of a group of fatties documented in a New York Times article today. The story outlines the sentiments of a growing movement, a so-called “loose alliance of therapists, scientists and others” (read: unapologetic fat people) who believe that people, “‘even’ fat people, can eat whatever they want and, in the process, improve their physical and mental health and stabilize their weight.” In other words, some cross between “If you stop obsessing about what you eat, you’ll probably eat okay,” and “It’s totally okay to order five cheeseburgers.” Read More ›

There are so many things wrong with this picture. 

The Hills has, as of late, skillfully weaseled its way back into my life, with promises of drama as heightened as Heidi Montag’s enormous weave. While the beauty of DVR means I don’t have to consciously check in to the show every Monday night at 10 p.m., even casual after-the-fact viewings induce in me all manner of adult shame. My sentiments can in fact be summed up by one scene in this past week’s episode, when Heidi and Spencer visit a couples therapist to hug it out with respect to their spiraling relationship, as of late held together by glue, tape and the fact that they’re on the same television show. After relaying to the therapist their multi-day back-and-forth over whether Spencer did or did not flirt with bartender Stacie, as per a text message sent from his sister’s ex-boyfriend, who happened to be in the same bar and started a massive game of Telephone 2.0 that ended with Spencer punching him in the face, the therapist gave a dramatic pause and said “You know, this all sounds really high school.” 

Indeed, woman who accepted money to counsel, on national television, two moronic 20-somethings on the future of their completely ludicrous faux-marriage relationship. It does sound really high school. Which is simultaneously why I fucking hate this show, and yet can’t quite tear my eyes away.   Read More ›

Despite the fact that the company just leveraged its brand new headquarters to raise capital, the New York Times Co., parent of the eponymous newspaper, is still finding time to taunt us with an attention to detail that implies real to-the-bone layoffs have yet to truly affect the Grey Lady. 

Indeed, this week the NYT posted on its Web site an article titled “Speak, O Muse, of Fallen 401(k)s and Malignant Mortgages,” a compilation of reader-submitted poems about the economic downturn. No, I’m not kidding. Shockingly, and perhaps a testament to the fact that no one reads the Times for its poetry beat, only about 100 readers responded. Here are some choice excerpts, which vary from the smug to downright bitter: 

Those of us who’ve lost it all, 
Thought not about the cost at all.
Those of us who are content,
Gave thought to every single cent.
John Duvall, Hastings-on-Hudson, NY

(Apparently not part of any company-designated and uncontrollable 401(k) plan that invested in now-deteriorating mutual funds, thus costing said plan holder hundreds of thousands of dollars in retirement money through no fault of their own). Read More ›

So much about this makes me laugh.

The end of the year means a lot of things - Christmas, New Year’s, 15 pounds in unexpected weight gain, but what most excites me year in and year out is the sudden and significant proliferation of the all-important “Best Books” lists, wherein publishers and media outlets from The Atlantic to Amazon.com reminds people that there’s more to life than Monday Night Football and “Rock Band.” 

It would take me ages to outline the pros of cons of the various lists available to the eager reader, and since I already wasted a significant amount of work time yesterday looking at said lists myself, it’s in my career’s best interest that I get at least mildly less distracted by all this today. (After all, who even has job security anymore?) But for the few of you out there who, like myself, occasionally pause the VH1 to take in some old-fashioned written word, here’s a sum-up of where to look for your fix: Read More ›

I know, I know, we’re all sick of election shit by now. At this point, we’re just glad we’re able to stop holding our breath and are enjoying the oxygen in peace, without a constant drone of political media coverage. Nonetheless, I think this bit of trivia is pretty interesting, so drone on we will.

The New York Times has only used 96 point type on their front page four times in the history of its publication.

• MEN LAND ON MOON
• NIXON RESIGNS
• U.S. ATTACKED
• OBAMA

Kind of interesting to think of it as a U.S. history as written by the Times — these are their “most defining” moments in our country’s history. These are their categorically most impacting events. Nixon’s resignation is certainly significant culturally, but no atom bomb headline? That changed the entire world and continues to. And no “Bush Chokes on Pretzel” either? Eh, well, hindsight’s 20/20.

On the other hand, there’s foresight, which might be what’s driving these eBay auctions for the November 5th, 2008 edition of The New York Times so fucking high. 40 bucks for a newspaper 5 days after it originally came out? Wonder what it’ll be worth in a couple decades, and how much that value will vary based on how this presidency goes. Either way, sure is a handsome sunnuvabitch.

The three months I spent as a patrol in fifth grade were some of the most harrowing of my life. I was charged with enforcing inane “traffic” rules amidst cars full of overprotective slow-driving parents. I wore a hideous orange sash with an even more hideous gold badge, and, more than anything, I made it clear to the entire school how much a gigantic tool I really was. 

It’s safe to say I’ve spent the majority of my adult life trying to make up for those three months: drinking, drugs, foul language; these are not the hobbies of patrols, hall monitors or captains of the debate team, and it is therefore these hobbies I’ve come to embrace, in the hopes of pushing into oblivion my memory of asking semi-retarded fourth graders to stop at the crosswalk. 

So it’s easy to see why this New York Times article, about goody-two-shoes kids who enforce environmental reforms on their otherwise lax parents, rubs me the wrong way. Meet the patrols of the 21st century. Read More ›

“Professionals call it elderspeak, the sweetly belittling form of address that has always rankled older people: the doctor who talks to their child rather than to them about their health; the store clerk who assumes that an older person does not know how to work a computer, or needs to be addressed slowly or in a loud voice. Then there are those who address any elderly person as “dear.”

According to the New York Times, which appears to have some sort of inside track on the elderly population, old people are pissed off. And not about Social Security, or hooligans or “the blacks,” but about the fact that everyone just keeps talking to them like they don’t know anything. Newsflash old people: you don’t. Read More ›

Last week, Guy Trebay of the New York Times wasted 1,486 words on tattoos’ growing “visibility,” when “lots of people have tattoos” is basically the gist of the story. Yeah so uh… did you just arrive in New York or what, Guy?

This tattoo is my Jesus

Sidenote: I’ve always thought calling a random person “guy,” such as in a verbal confrontation, one of the more infuriatingly condescending options we have available in our lexicon. It’s probably not as good as “chief” or “friend,” considering that one is an outright lie, but nonetheless not a bad… um… guy to have in your arsenal if you’ve already called them “buddy,” “pal,” and “bucko.” Following this line of thinking, it seems to me that naming your child Guy is tantamount to naming them “Dirtbag.” Or “Douchebag.” Any type of bag, really… I’ll settle for scum, as well.

This is just how I feel, people. Apologies to any Guys out there.

Seriously though, what an inconvenient name! Imagine hanging out with a bunch of people, one of whom just so happens to be named Guy, and then somebody you all know walks over:

New Friend: ‘Sup guys! Oh… haha… there’s just one of you here, well, ’sup everybody else, hah!
Guy: I’m not laughing because I’m actually thinking about how my parents are going to be dead in a matter of hours.

I wouldn’t say the New York Times’ Guy Trebay is necessarily a bag of any kind, considering I don’t even know the… guy… but anyway, what he may lack in baglike qualities he certainly makes up for in ability to state the absolutely fucking obvious. He gets a two page article in the Times, and the most he’s able to get across is “there sure are a lot of tattoos out there”? Great, there are a lot of people looking for jobs, too, Guy… maybe you should be one of them! Read More ›