rbendici

i consume, therefore i am

Mar 192016

The intrawebz is an interesting place.

Not because everything is literally here—well except good taste—but because of the bizarre and unusual and compelling stuff that constantly gets shifted to the front, sort of belched up into our consciousness for all of us to admire for a few moments before dissipating back into the morass.

It’s also an incredibly dangerous place. No, not because of the predators and conspiracy nuts and crazees who make this happen. Or the wingnuts who come up with crap like this—

(And yes the red text is not a formatting accident … thanks for noticing … I’ll explain in a bit)

No, this is a dangerous place because it can easily suck those precious allotted hours of your life away in a painless manner. Some days, opening your browser is like settling into a warm tub, slitting your wrists and slowly bleeding out while your consciousness drifts away …

Okay, maybe too dramatic there. But I can’t count the days where I’ve thought, “Oh look, I have a half hour before I have to go to work and I have an idea that might be amusing, maybe I can write a little something,” and I jump to my computer (not quite like Batman sliding down the Batpole, but I’m okay with the bataphor) and open my browser to get to the back-end tool (*insert Butthead like chortle here* “You said, ‘back end tool’ … heh heh*) that I use for this site and … “Oh hey look, I got an email. Oh look, I got a Facebook notification. Gee, I wonder what the Jets are up too? Hey, that looks like it’s going to hurt …”

… and then that precious 30 minutes of the one life I will ever have on this planet and that I will never get back is gone. Just. like. that.

(If you’re checking your watch, you’ve already lost about 8 minutes here depending on how much you clicked. Thanks for staying if you’re still here.)

But this isn’t new ground, right? “Down the rabbit hole” they call it, in honor of Alice in Wonderland (and if you choose to read a book rather than this right now, yay!) Let me enthusiastically suggest this one:

Last season on South Park also addressed this too, where characters were trying to solve a mystery about internet ads becoming self-aware. They would go online to look for clues to solve the crime and then see an ad for 10 celebrities who use kale as an exfoliant, and then 15 minutes later, “regain consciousness” at the mall, where they would be buying sneakers and eating chicken nuggets, duped by the intrawebz.

Oh speaking of new sneakers, did you see that Inov8 has—

Damn! And nary a chicken nugget …

Okay, the funny part here is that I’ve written the entire first draft of this post in about 15 minutes on a morning before work—which is some sort of accomplishment/personal-record-that-no-one-in-their-right-mind-would-keep-but-we-all-do-like-how-we-all-know-the-day-we-got-to-work-the-quickest-or-took-the-biggest-dump. And it happened because I did NOT open my web browser to look for any of the examples, images, etc. that you’ve been reading that are in red. I went back and added all that later, and oddly enough, that took 68 minutes. (And in the original draft of this, I just wrote “xx time” and clocked it later.)

I guess my point here, if I have one, is that we’re all drifting into the Matrix, living vicariously living and defining our lives by how much social media, celebrity gossip, YouTube clips and other distractions we can find [*insert something worthless here—yes, that’s what I originally wrote in my first draft, and I wrote this too—it sort of feels like Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure where they’re like, “Oh, and then later, we’ll use the time machine to get my father’s keys and put them … HERE!”*]. Okay here’s one of my favorite time-sucking distractions. (Okay, actually just wasted 12 minutes here … but got a all-time best high score of 2,562 feet!)

Oh wait, you want the creamy and sweet intrawebz fluff that we all now need to consume on a daily basis—here, try this:

6 Things To Do Rather Than Mindlessly Consume Online Content

1. Live in the real world.

2. Do something stupid with your kids.

3. Do something stupid with your parents.

4. Do something stupid with your kids and parents, although I don’t recommend “Cards Against Humanity” because it will scar you, mainly because your 14-year-old son keeps bringing up the phrase “Grandma’s Anal Beads.”

5. Dust your house because the universe hates you. Seriously, dust—and having to address it—may be the most insidious thing on the planet. How else do you explain being penalized for having done absolutely nothing at all. I mean, vacuuming, I get: you walk on the floor, you get dirt in the house, it needs to be cleaned. But that top book shelf? I have done nothing about it for the past year, haven’t even looked at it, but now I have to clean it simply because it exists. Somewhere, The Lethargians weep.

6. Run, walk, sit in the sun like a lizard or DO SOMETHING LIKE CHURN OUT A BLOG POST IN UNDER 30 MINUTES. Or as I now call it: soaking up a little of what’s left of your precious time by creating not consuming.

Because, you know, life.

things

Feb 152016

I used to do this a lot but . . . things happened. Not necessarily bad things or good things, just lots of distracting (in some cases) and random (in other cases) things that all came together in an unfortunate series of things that made it nearly impossible to sit down at a computer to poke my brain so it would spit out other things on a regular basis.

Suffice to say that cobbling together cohesive and arguably entertaining thoughts just wasn’t a thing.

But hey, now this is a thing—

Good jorb, people.

Clearly, I can’t leave you all on your own for any amount of time. At least the universe had the decency to rain down a Sharknado or three to balance it out.

So in the relatively short time that I’ve been off dealing with my things, other things have changed. In particular, our culture, which is now fraught with “percolating outrage.” You know, that pent-up anger that seems to be simmering right below the surface and often manifests itself in a laser-focused and social media-guided torrent of politically correct backlash to any perceived slight or misstep.

It seems as though righteous indignation is now wielded like a Whac-a-mole mallet, ready to pound down on any vaguely non-PC comment or idea that has the temerity to pop up on the hyper-sensitive cultural landscape.

So I’ve hesitated diving back into our lovely cesspool of pop, intrawebz and things for fear of offending someone (either on purpose or inadvertently) and then losing my job, family, house, car, and/or collection of Joan Jett cassettes while I feverishly try to apologize to everyone on the planet, as well as every entity in the near parts of the Milky Way and their unborn anal-probing descendants. Because that’s the protocol now, right? Say/tweet/post something potentially provocative, apologize profusely, cross fingers and wait for the next distraction to come along . . . .

Unless you’re Bill Cosby, because, you know … rape.

Oops—I used the word “rape”! I preemptively apologize to all the victims of violent crimes, throughout history, now and forever, for using the actual word to describe a particular heinous act in regard to someone accused of repeatedly perpetrating that act. It was not my intention to offend. Mea culpa!

I also would like to apologize to anyone who has had an unfortunate incident with a grape, because that has “rape” in it—that apology also extends to anyone who has ever drank grape juice, eaten a sandwich with grape jelly or jam, or even considers themselves an oenophile. Better extend that to drinkers of grape Nehi, consumers of Grape-Nuts, the late Euell Gibbons, fans of Grape Ape and also the California Raisins, just to be sure.

Sorry if that’s not sorry enough for you.

So anywhoo, other than the possibility that Billy Eichner may now be my spirit animal, here’s what I’ve learned in our time apart:

1. The backstory for the virus that launches “The Walking Dead” and wipes out humanity most likely involves Charlie Sheen.

2. “Social” media is generally a misnomer.

3. If orange is the new black, that might explain why saying you’re going to vote for Donald Trump is so fashionable.

Do not adjust your monitor for optimum oompaloompaliciousness

4. Continuing to get angry over the Kardashians is like being upset with the universe itself. Just accept that both are bigger than all of us, no one can really explain any of it, and that ultimately, it’s all mostly large expanses of cold nothing.

5. Speaking of space: Probes have reached Pluto, human missions are being planned for Mars, and you can no longer see John Goodman from the International Space Station.

Nice job, Johnny!

6. Honey Boo Boo had the cultural staying power of … Honey Boo Boo. Who knew? And I think that we’ll continue to be okay as long as these two phrases don’t cross the streams anywhere but here: “Mama June” & “Dating Naked.” [*Although feel free to insert your own “Naked and Afraid” joke here*]

7. There is still no cure for AIDS, cancer or Bieber fever.

8. The fact that any discussion of Hillary Clinton starts with a disclaimer like, “I know she’s the most qualified candidate, but …” tells you she’s about as likeable as Caillou. (“I’m just a kid’s who’s four, each day I grow some more, people hope cancer’s in store … for Caillou!”)

9. Kanye—the Joffrey to Hillary’s Caillou, but without all the Purple Wedding laughs.

10. Playing Cards Against Humanity with your parents, your whore sister and teen-aged sons—all at the same time—will leave you only a little less scarred than Deadpool.

Cards Against Humanity make me wanna shoop!

On the plus side, I’ve also become addicted to 5-Hour Energy and the glorious heart palpitations that come with it, so I’m not sure this is whole thing is going to work out well …

Oh well. What could possibly go wrong?

marketing madness

Jun 242014

So as will happen from time to time, I find myself in an unexpected moment catching something that we all take for granted for the absurdity it is.

Case in point: my shampoo.

Yeah, it’s a bottle of Head & Shoulders. But somewhere between “rinse” and “repeat” it struck me—what *exactly* is “classic clean”?!

Obviously, every shampoo from the first one ever devised is designed to clean hair, so unless there’s a new hipster trend out there featuring shampoos that make hair dirtier, greasier and more dandruffy (which there very well could be—you never know with them danged hipsters!), then what’s the point of saying “clean” at all?

And the “classic” part—is this some olde-timey reference that’s supposed to invoke an earlier era … you know, like say a century ago when personal hygiene was an afterthought? Or are there so many new-fangled shampoo formulations out there—such absolute hair-cleansing anarchy and utter madness—that we’ve lost ourselves as a species who bathes regularly and our only hope of achieving socially acceptable hygiene is by a return to the very first shampoo ever whipped up?!

Okay, I understand that it’s about marketing—trying to make a product sound more awesome or interesting than it may be without saying *anything* at all, just so we’ll purchase it in vast quantities. But when you start noticing it—really noticing it—it seems crazy. “Classic clean” = “Really nothing new here, but it’s CLASSIC nothing …”

I started going through my medicine cabinet and such extraneous nonsensical silliness is on almost every label …

I draw your attention to “ARCTIC FRESH.” Let me first say that “fresh” is the most overused word in all of marketing—as soon as you show me the first product ANYWHERE that brags about being “rotten,” then I will allow that you need to distinguish something as “fresh.” Until then, I would hope to Don Draper that “fresh” is automatically implied with every single. product. EVAR.

Now how about “arctic.” Did I miss the memo where we all agreed that an inhospitable, barren, frozen region of the planet where no one lives and nothing grows is now synonymous with “especially fresh”? Seriously, the only thing “cool” about the arctic are the polar bears, and when I imagine their teeth, all I think of are jagged yellowy icepicks flecked with stanky decaying fleshy bits of seal. Better known as *not* what I’m hoping to achieve with my dental hygiene.

Tecnu—”the original.” You know, because of the ferociously lucrative Tecnu knockoff market out there, which may or may not include ineffective phonies like “Tacmoo,” “Technew” or “Ticnoo,” you want to make sure to get the right one. Vishnu knows you don’t want to be stuck with a bottle of freakin’ generic Tarkboo when your ankles are bubbling over with poison ivy oils.

We got a double dip on the cortizone—it’s both “MAXIMUM STRENGTH” and an “INTENSIVE HEALING FORMULA.” Like with “fresh,” as soon as someone starts peddling a “moderately weak” formula, or one that promotes “lackadaisical scarring,” I’m not convinced we need these distinctions.

Careful, you’re brain may a-splode with this one. First off, it’s “classic,” which we’ve determined has about as much merit as describing a rock as being made with “genuine matter from this universe.” “Pacific Force Scent”—are we talking about something that smells like Marines landing on the shores of Iwo Jima? I mean, I wasn’t there for that event, but I’m pretty sure that it smelled like fear, sweat, vomit, blood, fire, smoke, mutilated and blown-apart bodies, melted faces and death … with a particularly heavy emphasis on death and its horrid stench. My chosen scent!

Are there a lot of “impure sport” products available? And what does “sport” smell like exactly? Because after my years of playing ball and running track, I’m thinking of every locker room and gym bag I’ve ever known, and I’m not sure I’d be bottling it and selling it as a way to keep from putting out an offending scent. I’d even possibly go with b.o. over old sweat socks, but hey, I’m crazy like that.

“FRESH” ALERT! “FRESH” ALERT! “FRESH” ALERT!

DANGER WILL ROBINSON! DANGER! THERE ARE COMPANIES OUT THERE TRYING TO SELL YOU “STEAMY-CRAP-ON-PUTREFIED-MONKEY-CORPSE-FLAVORED” MINT PRODUCT, THUS THE DISTINCTION NEEDS TO BE MADE! DON’T BE FOOLED! DANGER!

“Dear Valued Customer,

We here at Annie’s Mac & Cheese want to assure you that, unlike our inferior competitors who like to create their products with unadulterated EVIL and unmitigated BADNESS, we take the time to make sure that we only source our ingredients from Officially certified GOOD suppliers. Thus, you will never inadvertently ingest a fork full of Satan-tinged, Hitler-influenced or Kim Jong Un-riffic horror. Remember, their products = bad, ours = good, and we’re not just saying that to cover up anything untoward. No, not us! Nothing to worry about here. Hahahahahaha. … hahaha … ha … uh. Enjoy!

Love, Annie.”

I think I read about this somewhere on the intrawebz—the growing concern over the influx of unnatural lemon flavor, made on assembly lines from bionic lemons, or even worse, supernatural lemon flavor, culled during a seance in a graveyard from pressing a witch’s teat between two ouija boards. Pretty sure the Illuminati and Masons are involved. Gary Busey, too.

I’m also fairly confident that this is what the Tea Party is all about—stopping unnaturally and supernaturally lemon flavored iced tea from reaching market. Yay Al Sharpton!

Hey look, my dishwashing liquid is not from a failed formula that was left behind in a laboratory! And unlike all those shallow, superficial cleaning products out there, this one will reach down to cleanse my dishes to their filthy cores, purifying them on subconscious levels that may affect their eternal souls! Which just might explain the random poetry I’m now finding on my cereal bowls.

Okay, this may not be a silly marketing claim, but as I was going through the cabinets, this caught my attention.

I love the inherent cruelty in this one—the product that heinously kills other creatures by essentially melting their nervous systems is given an aroma that we might find appealing, just to mask the odor of death from our delicate noses!

If Raid had any soul, you’d think they might at least make an ant-killing pesticide with a “picnic” scent. “Oh damn, what is that big creature spitting all over us … oh, it’s wet and … nasty and … HOLY CRAP! It HURTS … OH DAMN! …. DAMN … it hurts … I’m dying … and … is that a fried chicken drumstick and a slice of watermelon? Hells yeah! Heaven here I come!”

Just remember to keep it fresh!

bring on the games

Feb 222014

Maybe like a number of you older folks, I can’t think of the Winter Olympics without this image going through my mind.

“… and the agony of defeat …”

Okay, I know Vinko Bogataj‘s ill-fated “agony of defeat” moment didn’t happen at the Olympics—it was actually at the 1970 Ski-Flying World Championships—but it was burned into our collective consciousness as part of the Olympic narrative because it became such a memorable part of the opening of ABC’s “Wide World of Sports,” which was the U.S. broadcast outlet of the Olympic games for a loooong time. (By the way, Vinko only sustained a concussion in the crash and although he never became a ski-jumping superstar, has gone on to have a fairly pleasant life.)

I suppose there’s that other Winter Olympic moment might be one that some of you may recall …

I remember watching that live as a kid and actually jumping around the room when the U.S. won …. you know, completely unlike what happened this year.

Oh well, 1980 was just a special moment that inspired me . . . not to dedicate countless hours training in the hopes of possibly becoming an elite athlete who might compete at a chance to win a gold medal. No, that’s too much work, and if you couldn’t tell by my choice of writing for a living, I’m a bit “work-averse,” to put it politely. (“Lazy” is not inaccurate, either.)

No, this year’s Olympics have inspired me to create ….

6 New Events That Should Be in the Winter Olympics

1. Snow Removal Slalom – I have been the chief snow removal engineer for the domiciles I’ve lived in pretty much my entire life, so I know my way around a snow shovel, to say the least. In this event, there would be a long downhill driveway that competitors have to clear—but wait, there are challenges that may or may not be inspired by my current driveway (and by that I mean they have totally been inspired by my current driveway): large bumpy sections of broken pavement; a barrier on one side (like a house) forcing snow to be tossed only in one direction only; a section so wide that that each shovelful has to be carried a ways before it can be tossed; and bitter cold wind that always blows into your face.

As a matter of fact, if the potential U.S. team in this sport wanted to train in my driveway, they would be welcome with open arms and hot cocoa—heck, I’ll even spring for the mini marshmallows!

(Obviously, I have a sneaking suspicion that I would medal in this specially designed one as I’ve already competed in it 14 times this winter alone.)

2. Full Contact Figure Skating – Why leave figure skating up to the judge’s discretion? Just let every competitor skate at the same time in a giant battle royale, and whoever is left standing wins the gold. Easy, peasy, Yamagucheesy!

Insert your favorite Tonya Harding joke here, I suppose.

I would say that they may be on the right track with Snowboard Cross, which I have become smitten with. Of course, there are no video highlights from the current Olympics, which had 6 competitors going at once, but this clip from 2010 gives you the idea.

3. Snow Sculpture – Considering the trend is that more and more Olympic medals are being decided by inexact and subjective (and not objective) judges, why not add a completely artistic event? I mean, if you can “judge” ice dancing, snowboard halfpipe and that prancing around with the giant ribbons on a stick, why not make a contest of the making of snowmen (like the work of this random talented artist I Googled)?

“This is what happened to the East German judges who dared to give me a 4.8.”

And obviously, there would be individual and team competitions—I mean, who wouldn’t want to see what inspiration might spark up the Jamaican snow sculpture team?

4. Snow Diving – It’d be like the ski jump, but instead of a nicely inclined downhill landing zone, athletes would ski off a giant cliff, do all sorts of tricks and then just fall straight down into a “soft” cushion of snow. Picture a Wile E. Coyote sort of situation with points for style—just over and over again.

5. The Ultimate Snowball War – A combination of dodgeball, capture the flag and the Hunger Games (minus the gratuitous murder of children) this would be a unique event in that every team would compete at the same time! It’d be played over a snowy five-mile “field” on the side of a mountain or equally challenging landscape . . . officials would hide ONE flag somewhere, everyone would be sent in at the same time.

I’m thinking teams of five, at least. Get hit with a snowball, and you’re eliminated (or maybe just sent to a penalty box for an hour); if you’re holding the flag and get hit, you must relinquish the flag on the spot. Whoever can get in, find the flag and get out unscathed wins the gold medal! Points also might be awarded for finding the flag, number of “kills” or amount of time retaining the flag.

In order to succeed, there will have to be alliances and sacrifices; great stamina and athleticism will be needed to retrieve the flag, but strategy and guile would also be necessary. If done right, the game might go on for hours or even days! It’d make for great TV, sort of like “Survivor” meets “Knock Out” with a dash of “Ice Road Truckers.”

6. Killer Sled – My friends and I played this on the long downhill of Sassacus Drive, which often was not plowed because it was a dead end—essentially it’s The Road Warrior on sleds.

Simply: Each two-athlete team starts at the same time, the first one to the bottom wins and the rules are: there are no rules.

In our version, there was a “driver” and an “attacker.” Ideally, the driver went for the finish while the attacker went after other sleds to stop them by whatever means necessary (say like hopping aboard another sled to run it into Mr. D’Aurelio’s parked Buick and abandoning ship just before impact). As you might imagine, the participants’ roles were often interchangeable during any run, and more than once, if you were fortunate enough to survive and limp across the finish line, it might not have been on the sled you started with. You also might end up with a frozen facial or slush down your back—it was snow-fueled anarchy!

And if the Olympics can’t get behind such glorious carnage, then I’m not sure we should participate any more! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!!

a bridge too far

Jan 202014

So I was not really surprised to hear that New Jersey governor Chris Christie’s staff has been indulging in bully-like behavior, using their power to block lanes of the George Washington Bridge and cause enormous traffic issues for the good people of Fort Lee—all in alleged retaliation for the mayor of Fort Lee not supporting Christie’s last gubernatorial run …

Yes, another donut can solve any problem.

By the way, something is rotten with this story right off the bat. Why would the Democratic mayor of Fort Lee be expected to support the Republican governor of New Jersey in his bid for re-election? Aside from political whores like Joe Lieberman, who endorses across party lines? No, my friends, there’s more to this that will eventually come out …

Now there are new allegations that Gov. Christie’s administration has threatened to withhold Superstorm Sandy relief funds from towns that didn’t “play ball” with particular development plans. I think it’s appropriate to say when it rains, it pours.

Well, while we wait for the next revelation to present itself, here are:

The Top 10 Potential Chris Christie Scandals

1. The “accidental” public release of a Snooki sex tape.

2. Falsified the birth certificate of Jon Bon Jovi—who was actually born in Idaho.

3. Use sand imported from Connecticut to replenish the Jersey Shore.

4. Substituted frozen yogurt for frozen custard on the boardwalk.

5. Coordinate port-o-potty “issues” at the next Springsteen concerts in retaliation for this:

6. Blocked the delivery of god-damned snacks to the New York Jets practice facility.

7. Exorcised the Jersey Devil.

8. Banned “working girls” from entertaining during Super Bowl week.

9. Approved Atlantic City casino applications in exchange for illicit campaign contributions—and unlimited Brony merchandise.

10. Knows the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa and Donald Trump’s original hair.

it’s a blog post, charlie brown!

Jan 012014

So the other night, I’m watching TV with my two sons when we notice that on one of our 2,304 channels is “Happy New Year, Charlie Brown.”

“Did we ever see that one?” Zane asks.

“See it? I’ve never even heard of it!” I answer.

And with good reason—as it was one of the less memorable (read: more lame) Peanuts specials to come down the pike. Seriously, the main plot revolves around Charlie Brown having to read War and Peace over his holiday vacation for a book report! It’s like someone said, “Hmm … Peanuts specials are pretty slow moving in the first place, so what can we do to grind it to an absolute halt and suck all the joy out of it? I know! Let’s throw in one of the most dense works in the history of literature! It’ll be awesome—kids eat up Tolstoy!!!”

So we sit through it as a social experiment of sorts, and yeah, it’s as depressing as any Peanuts special—Charlie Brown doesn’t have any fun at the New Year’s Eve party because he’s stuck reading, and he misses out on his chance to hook up with The Little Red-Haired Girl. (Note: During the show, Charlie Brown calls her “Heather,” so at least that Eternal Mystery is solved.) Oh, and if Life—aka, the cruel hand of Charles M. Schultz—doesn’t slap down ol’ Chuck hard enough, he gets a D- on the book report.

After it’s over, we all sort of start joking about how sad it was. Zane asks if anyone has ever done something about when the Peanuts kids grow up, and I suggest that all you’d see is a tombstone for Charlie Brown after he ODs, which prompts the three of us, in our twisted way, to come up with—

The Top 15 Peanuts Specials That Should Be Made

(All illustrations by Zane)

1. It’s an Intervention, Charlie Brown!

3. Snoopy Has Rabies … And It’s Fatal, Charlie Brown!

4. It’s the Robot Uprising, Charlie Brown!

6. Balls, Charlie Brown!

7. It’s Called Lymphoma, Charlie Brown!

9. It’s the Great Gatsby, Charlie Brown!

10. Don’t Marry Your Cousin, Charlie Brown!

11.

12. Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow, Charlie Brown!

13. I’m Gonna Kick You in the Peanuts, Charlie Brown!

14. It’s a Tsunami, Charlie Brown!

15. You’re Getting Mauled by a Bear, Charlie Brown!

And now …. “We’re Waiting For a Letter from the Peanuts’ Attorneys, Charlie Brown!”

jfk: the untold story

Nov 182013

As I’m sure you’re well aware, the intrawebz are abuzz with all sorts of content in conjunction with the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

Although almost every aspect of this dark moment in U.S. history has seemingly been covered and endlessly speculated upon, it always seems that something new can be discovered. And it’s my job as a quasi-journalist to share some less-heralded—yet critical—bits of information …. they all may not seem that important, but are all parts in the grand mosaic of that historic moment in time.

Just how important, well, that has yet to be determined.

So my conspiracy-hungry friends, here are:

The Top 10 Little-Known Facts About the Kennedy Assassination
(and they are all really true!)

1. On that fateful day in November 1963, President Kennedy was, in fact, wearing a sock on each foot.

2. The limo that transported the President, the First Lady, Texas Governor John Connally and others—a specially modified 1961 Lincoln (named after another president felled by an assassin’s bullet) Continental—had four white wall tires, four headlights and was painted midnight blue. It ran on leaded gasoline.

3. At the time of the assassination, accounting for the Earth’s elliptical orbit, the Sun was 91,821,757 miles above Dealey Plaza. The Moon was a 6-day-old waxing crescent.

4. The population of the United States was 189,241,798 in November 1963. It included Abe Vigoda, Michael Jordan and Johnny Depp. It did not include poet Robert Frost, Nicolas Cage or current First Lady Michelle Obama.

5. Jacqueline Kennedy’s iconic pink Chanel suit was double-breasted with navy trim and two pockets on each side. It had six gold buttons. It was never cleaned after the shooting and is currently stored in a secret location in the National Archives, and by request of the Kennedy family, will not be displayed until 2103, at the earliest.

6. At the time of the shooting, Joe Namath was the quarterback of the Alabama Crimson Tide, coached by Paul “Bear” Bryant. They finished the season 9-2 and defeated Ole Miss in the Sugar Bowl. It was the New York Jets inaugural season in the AFL under Weeb Ewbank; they would post a record of 5-8-1.

7. Elm Street, the stretch of Dealey Plaza on which Kennedy was shot, is a one-way street—and on November 22, 1963, JFK’s limo was traveling in a direction with what would normally be the regular flow of traffic. It is three lanes wide.

8. The Texas School Book Depository building is seven stories tall, and has seven rows of windows on the side facing Elm Street—but only three rows of windows on the side facing the Grassy Knoll. The original five-story structure was built in 1899, but was hit by lightning in 1901, causing it to burn down. It was rebuilt in 1903, when two more stories were added—including the sixth floor, from which Oswald shot Kennedy.

9. Lyndon B. Johnson, then Vice President—and someone that numerous conspiracy theorists have repeatedly try to implicate in the assassination—was riding two cars behind JFK in a four-door Lincoln convertible. In total there were 16 cars, 13 motorcycles and 3 buses in the motorcade. If you add up those numbers (16+13+3) you get 32, which is the same year (1932) that JFK started his sophomore campaign at Choate in Wallingford, Connecticut.

10. Dallas is 338 miles from Del Rio, Texas, and the U.S. border with Mexico. It is 1,102 miles from Havana, Cuba, and 5,753 miles to Moscow, Russia. Despite all the negative publicity from the assassination, Dallas has remained in Texas, even to this day.

Now that I’ve provided all this info, it’s up to you to weave the conspiracy from it. Please share—plenty of room in the comments!

words words words

Nov 042013

So as part of my gig, I find myself thinking a bit about words and expressions—and sometimes more about the ones we don’t use so much.

For example, I was standing outside of the offices of the New Haven Register and I saw a sign pointing the way to “Human Resources,” which made me wonder if that somewhere in the building there’s an office of “Inhuman Resources.” I don’t think anyone would be happy about being called down there for a meeting … especially for a breakfast meeting.

Speaking of journalism—we always hear about “breaking news,” but how come no one is ever “fixing news.” Or is that what they did back in the days of Yellow Journalism?

I was also considering the term “prehistoric,” which is often paired with the word “creatures” and almost always invoked in dinosaur discussions. Other than the obvious point that anything we can look back on is technically “history”—and therefore anything prehistoric can only be something that occurred before the existence of the known universe—I’m intrigued by the idea that by the very definition of it, we will never know what “posthistoric” creatures will look like. Sort of sad, really, because I’m thinking herds of giant zombie tardigrades roaming the abandoned streets of Earth will be kind of cool to see.

"We're the most badass indestructible creatures on the planet ... and we'll be here to play in the dust that once was you poor lesser organisms. So there's that."

In the same vein, I often visit a deli that proclaims it’s food as “world-class“—is there an alternative? I mean, our whole existence is pretty much confined to this world, so everything made here is automatically “world-class,” right? Of course, this deli proclaims to create its fare with “only the freshest” ingredients … you know, to differentiate itself from the scores of eateries that serve up cuisine concocted from the oldest crap that they can find laying around. Chew on that next time you’re watching an ad from The Olive Garden.

Why is it that Autumn is the only season that has a second name—Fall? I suppose that comes from the leaves falling, but then why don’t we also call Spring “Grow” or “Renew” or even “Warmer”? Then we could call Summer “Hot” and Winter “The Death Season of Cold, Ice and Misery That Only The Mentally Ill and Kate and Steve Frank Could Like.”

Let’s talk about how actors and actresses are almost always referred to as “stars”—stars are supposed to be the brightest lights in the night sky, but there are other heavenly bodies up there, too. So if the leads or the most famous actors and actresses are the stars, doesn’t it stand to reason that the supporting or character actors that revolve around them should be referred to as planets? Like, “Curtis W. Armstrong and Clint Howard are two of the finest planets that Hollywood has to offer.”

On a completely different subject: If you’re for something, you are “pro” that issue—pro-life, pro-abortion, pro-capitalism, pro-cannibal … Yet, a “protest” is something staged when you’re against something. Interestingly, a “contest”—which it seems like what you *should* call it’d when you’re staging an event against a particular issue—is a competition staged to bring about a positive resolution. Really, the “con” is sort of superfluous and it could just be called a “test,” which is already a competition of sorts. I suppose a contest then is in the same vein of conjoined twins in that it involves two … but then shouldn’t it be called a “bi-test,” if we’re sticking to proper prefixes?

Speaking of proper language and grammar, I always remember my high school English teacher Mrs. Scinto used to point out that although many people are described as “uncouth,” not many (like myself) are complimented for being imbued with oodles of couth.

I also find it interesting that when we describe something as “awesome,” it’s usually because it’s got more than “some” awe in it, but yet if it was completely full of awe—and thus “awe-full,” or “awful,” well, that’s the opposite end of the spectrum. I mean, when we’re regretful, we’re full of regret, or beautiful, full of beauty, but this just doesn’t follow.

Not hard to understand why so many who immigrate here prefer to keep English as a second language—because it’s been proven to be crazy.

But it’s the only language I know … so I guess I’ll keep using it.

a disaster, you say?

Oct 142013

So I saw this recent story:

North Korea warns US of ‘horrible disaster’, places military on alert

According to the article, North Korea is suggesting that the U.S. is getting ready to inflict some sort of unprovoked hurt on them, you know, with same wide-eyed, twitchy enthusiasm that English author and conspiracy theorist David Icke has tried to expose the fact that all the world leaders really are reptilian aliens who are awaiting to destroy the fine people of Earth. Except North Korea has nukes and is just spoiling for an opportunity to use them.

Then again, who am I to question the buttondown mind of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, who seems to be a rational, trustworthy fella who is BFF with Dennis Rodman and clearly has nothing but the best interest of his people in mind. If he says there’s a threat of the U.S. unleashing a horrible disaster on the poor and befuddled communist state, then dammit, something wicked that way goes!

So to save everyone the hours pondering just what kind of October surprise we may be preparing to drop on our south Asian brothers, I have come up with

The Top 10 Potential Horrible Disasters That the U.S. Could Inflict Upon North Korea

1. Send Honey Boo Boo and Mama June as nutritional ambassadors to help the Korean people eat more better (with more butter).

2. “The Real Housewives of Pyongyang.”

3. A one-way ticket for Dennis Rodman on his next visit.

"Excuse me, honorable Man of Rod, what exactly do you mean by 'I'm staying for good this time'?"

4. Force North Korea to adopt an exact replica of the highly effective, productive and functional U.S. Congress.

5. Send North Korea fleets of refurbished Ford Pintos. (Google it, kids.)

6. Now that it’s October, make sure that North Korea has nothing to wear but white pants.

7. Introduce the latest version of Candy Crush.

8. Infuse North Korean television with “Who’s the Boss?” reruns.

9. Mandate daily twerking workouts, led by Richard Simmons.

10. Never tell them about Mr. Rogers, the finest human of the 20th century.

you down with ocd? yeah, you know me

Oct 062013

It started out simple enough….

“Keys.”

When I was a kid and going out somewhere, I’d always mentally check to make sure that I was carrying my house keys when necessary. Usually, someone was always at our house, but hey, you never knew. Better safe than locked out and forced to live behind the rusty aluminum shed in the wilds of our suburban backyard for the rest of my childhood, which of course, was *certainly* a possibility.

[On a side note, I never left the house without clean underwear on—a habit I still have today. I just never have to check to make sure they’re still in place.]

“Keys. Wallet.”

When I got to my teens and had money to spend on a lifestyle that was more involved than playing baseball or exploring abandoned construction sites—i.e., when I was able to drive and go to real places like the mall or video game arcade, or even the video game arcade at the mall—the checklist got longer. Now I needed to carry a wallet, along with all the responsibility that comes with it: driver’s license, cash, my Sears credit card, a library card, that one hopeful condom … you know, grownup stuff.

“Keys. Wallet. Phone.”

Hard to believe that I existed for 14 decades without a cell phone, but yet somehow I managed. Like many of the best modern conveniences (EZ Pass, the intrawebz, sliced bread), now that I have it in my life, I can’t live without it. I mean, when you think about it, cell phones may be the greatest innovation of the 21st century in that they literally can put the entirety of humankind’s knowledge—plus The Bloggess and celebrity flesh—right in the palm of your hand. Oh, and I even actually use my phone to call people on occasion (that’s okay, right?).

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses.”

I’ve already described that as I’ve stumbled into my advanced years that my eyesight has deteriorated and that I now need reading glasses. And like with the phone, even though glasses weren’t part of my life a short time ago, they have quickly become indispensable. Gah.

So yeah, it’s funny now when I get to the threshold of the house, I give myself an odd little patdown, touching the various pockets in which I usually carry each of these items. When I was up in Cortland at Jets training camp, my buddy Brian would tease me as I went through my little ritual, repeating it throughout the day to make sure I had my stuff.

I can only assume as I get older, this trend will continue, with me adding more and more items to my repertoire …

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater.”

I’m already close to this—the other night we went to the movies and I made sure to bring my jacket with me … because the theater *might‘ve* had the a/c on in October. That … or my old heart can’t quite pump the blood like it used to and my extremities are always cold.

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater. Batteries.”

You know, for my pacemaker, hearing aid, Life Alert bracelet, iron lung and whatever other necessary electronic medical devices with which I’ll be festooned.

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater. Batteries. Cane.”

That one seems obvious.

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater. Batteries. Cane. Change.”

I assume that because old guys seem to spend a lot of time jingling change in their pocket, there’s something either enjoyable or calming about it. I don’t want to miss out on the fun!

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater. Batteries. Cane. Change. Change of underwear …”

Yeah, I guess that’ll be full circle, although let’s be honest:

“Keys. Wallet. Phone. Glasses. Sweater. Batteries. Cane. Change. Change of Depends.”

Simple, indeed.

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