The best thing about complaining is there’s no shortage of things to bemoan. Public schools are lousy, companies are negligent, airlines let passengers rot on planes, our food is tainted, newspapers can’t keep our attention, there’s two more years of Bush, and we’re microwaving the world. So I’ll make my predictions for future grievances.
When a mountain climber dies no one will know what kind of gear he used, but if he’s presumed dead yet survives The North Face will endorse him.
Men’s clothing will get ever slimmer and even normal guys will have to hit the big and talls.
Corn and potatoes will be our car fuel; synthetic food will be our body fuel.
Medical coverage will continue to decline while procedures and medicine prices climb.
Grandma will be further distracted by her cell phone, ipod, and DVD player. She’ll drive into a playground.
There will be even less parking.
You’ll never be able to speak to a real human customer service agent on the phone again.
You will wish you never became a celebrity. Thanks a lot UTube and MySpace.
How did we elect a president who doesn’t even speak English? Oh, that’s how.
There’ll be nowhere to get a burger fast and cheap.
The advertising and graphic design bubbles will burst. Expect a surge in costumed goons on the street and unemployed dudes with tattoos will try to sell you pink on black skeleton screen printed shirts. “I used to make design subliminal ads for Sony, now I’m a hotdog.”
Eventually we’ll run out of housing.
When the war’s over we’ll complain about that.
Anna Nicole Smith will rise from the dead as the new savior.
Astronauts will get diaper promotion deals.
Britney Spears will open a hair salon.
There’ll still be nothing on TV.
This blog will get worse.
Things will never be perfect, but at least we can still grumble and bear it. And it doesn’t hurt to laugh sometimes.
27 February 2007
26 February 2007
The Future of News not Paper
You can keep the coffee. Just give me the paper. I need the newspaper to survive the morning. It enlightens and entertains me. It’s also a great placemat when a story so enthralls or enrages me I spill my cereal. A wise man named Josh Brown once said, “as long as I’m gainfully employed I’ll subscribe to the paper.” I agree and I don’t even have a job.
The morning paper is an endangered species as dailies move or mirror content online at varying paces. Vintage staff writers worry they won’t adjust to the blog world and may lose their jobs. Hiring freezes chill the industry as publishers push early retirement on tenured writers. That’s why I can’t land a staff position even at a mid-sized paper.
Though I am for the environment, I’m against physical newspaper obsolescence. What would I do without that telltale 4 AM thud of packaged newsprint on concrete? Let’s just say it’s more devastating than what I’d do for a Klondike Bar. Yikes.
I read Slate Magazine online, listen to NPR, watch Fox News (just to keep things fair, balanced, and interesting), and browse various other virtual publications which oft serve as cannon fodder for my blogservations, but I’m a newshound who demands real material in my hands; I want to feel current events. Besides, if I spill milk on my laptop, I’m screwed! I like to cut articles and, you guessed it –comic strips out of the paper. I like the texture of recycled newsprint and the ink stains it leaves on all my white surfaces. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but using a magnifying glass to read tiny stories on an ipod rubs me wrong.
Until home printers can adequately authenticate newspapers –infectious ink and all— I’ll keep paying the paperboy. Eliminating newspaper delivery takes spending money away from kids who spend it on slingshots and BB guns. And what about the nocturnal weirdoes who toss papers from their minivans? Who’ll employ these husky vampires? Our fragile economy can’t cope without print news. Kid weapons and burrito sales will suffer. For the sake of mischievous children, odd adults the postal service won’t hire, old time rag devotees like me, and the nation, don’t stop the presses!
The morning paper is an endangered species as dailies move or mirror content online at varying paces. Vintage staff writers worry they won’t adjust to the blog world and may lose their jobs. Hiring freezes chill the industry as publishers push early retirement on tenured writers. That’s why I can’t land a staff position even at a mid-sized paper.
Though I am for the environment, I’m against physical newspaper obsolescence. What would I do without that telltale 4 AM thud of packaged newsprint on concrete? Let’s just say it’s more devastating than what I’d do for a Klondike Bar. Yikes.
I read Slate Magazine online, listen to NPR, watch Fox News (just to keep things fair, balanced, and interesting), and browse various other virtual publications which oft serve as cannon fodder for my blogservations, but I’m a newshound who demands real material in my hands; I want to feel current events. Besides, if I spill milk on my laptop, I’m screwed! I like to cut articles and, you guessed it –comic strips out of the paper. I like the texture of recycled newsprint and the ink stains it leaves on all my white surfaces. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but using a magnifying glass to read tiny stories on an ipod rubs me wrong.
Until home printers can adequately authenticate newspapers –infectious ink and all— I’ll keep paying the paperboy. Eliminating newspaper delivery takes spending money away from kids who spend it on slingshots and BB guns. And what about the nocturnal weirdoes who toss papers from their minivans? Who’ll employ these husky vampires? Our fragile economy can’t cope without print news. Kid weapons and burrito sales will suffer. For the sake of mischievous children, odd adults the postal service won’t hire, old time rag devotees like me, and the nation, don’t stop the presses!
25 February 2007
New business ethics
Paper, plastic, or that beat up thing dangling from your shoulder?
Though the furniture is usually cheap or gaudy or both and you have to put it together, I applaud Ikea—just not for its wares, for its big bag idea. Customers can purchase a reusable Ikea tote bag for 59 cents to fill up with Swiss goodies the next time. And who says you can’t use the bag at the grocery? Or the mall? Don’t wanna buy the bag? It’ll cost ya anyway. You still have to buy traditional shopping bags at their actual cost –a nickel apiece.
“All proceeds will go to American Forests, the nation’s oldest nonprofit citizens’ conservation organization.”
The Dallas Morning News
Perhaps other outlets will follow suit. In the modern marketplace we even have bags for our bags. Next time you buy a backpack and a bunch of junk, tell the scanner numb cashier not to waste any plastic bags because you can strap the pack on and fill it with your goods. For cryin’ out loud it’s a knapsack! Use it! And somehow I think I’ll manage transporting a Snickers without a shopping sack. Even on the off chance I’m not going to eat it immediately or I’m not wearing any pants and have no pockets, I’ll just carry it. It’s not that heavy. I have too many plastic receptacles with “Thank You” printed on them choking my cabinets as it is.
Is badmouth the new boycott?
McDonald’s may not be burger king forever. According to research consultant Karen Fraser the Arches and other corporations with questionable ethics are oblivious or think they’re immune to negative word of mouth. Just like when you were an invincible teenager and then your drunken friend learns a deadly physics lesson. When there’s no other option, an entire town patronizes Wall-Mart. They have no choice and the Mart knows it. They pray Target doesn’t decide it’d like to live in Nowheresville, USA too.
Companies ignore non-customers, it’s only logical, but what happens when their followers aren’t so loyal? Sound hypocritical? Yes and no. consumers aren’t just blissfully ignorant anymore. Stores can no longer count on an uninformed clientele; educated buyers are the chain’s worst nightmare. And there’s something intriguing about an American with a mouthful of McDonald’s blabbing about how Ronald’s selling the environment and kids short. A year from now when a fledgling burger joint where the only numbers on the menu are prices that buys locally, fresh cuts fries, recycles its packaging, and donates its food waste to homeless shelters moves in next to the fast food goliath. Sure, real ground beef makes new kid’s grub a little pricier, but Mr. America think it’s tastier, too. Suddenly McDonald’s has one less customer. And he’ll share the fresh ideas with friends. Sometimes change is good.
Though the furniture is usually cheap or gaudy or both and you have to put it together, I applaud Ikea—just not for its wares, for its big bag idea. Customers can purchase a reusable Ikea tote bag for 59 cents to fill up with Swiss goodies the next time. And who says you can’t use the bag at the grocery? Or the mall? Don’t wanna buy the bag? It’ll cost ya anyway. You still have to buy traditional shopping bags at their actual cost –a nickel apiece.
“All proceeds will go to American Forests, the nation’s oldest nonprofit citizens’ conservation organization.”
The Dallas Morning News
Perhaps other outlets will follow suit. In the modern marketplace we even have bags for our bags. Next time you buy a backpack and a bunch of junk, tell the scanner numb cashier not to waste any plastic bags because you can strap the pack on and fill it with your goods. For cryin’ out loud it’s a knapsack! Use it! And somehow I think I’ll manage transporting a Snickers without a shopping sack. Even on the off chance I’m not going to eat it immediately or I’m not wearing any pants and have no pockets, I’ll just carry it. It’s not that heavy. I have too many plastic receptacles with “Thank You” printed on them choking my cabinets as it is.
Is badmouth the new boycott?
McDonald’s may not be burger king forever. According to research consultant Karen Fraser the Arches and other corporations with questionable ethics are oblivious or think they’re immune to negative word of mouth. Just like when you were an invincible teenager and then your drunken friend learns a deadly physics lesson. When there’s no other option, an entire town patronizes Wall-Mart. They have no choice and the Mart knows it. They pray Target doesn’t decide it’d like to live in Nowheresville, USA too.
Companies ignore non-customers, it’s only logical, but what happens when their followers aren’t so loyal? Sound hypocritical? Yes and no. consumers aren’t just blissfully ignorant anymore. Stores can no longer count on an uninformed clientele; educated buyers are the chain’s worst nightmare. And there’s something intriguing about an American with a mouthful of McDonald’s blabbing about how Ronald’s selling the environment and kids short. A year from now when a fledgling burger joint where the only numbers on the menu are prices that buys locally, fresh cuts fries, recycles its packaging, and donates its food waste to homeless shelters moves in next to the fast food goliath. Sure, real ground beef makes new kid’s grub a little pricier, but Mr. America think it’s tastier, too. Suddenly McDonald’s has one less customer. And he’ll share the fresh ideas with friends. Sometimes change is good.
24 February 2007
Sailin' On
It felt good. Deconstructing my myspace page after reviving it for a month or so was the next best thing to living in the woods and foraging for my food; one less blip on the radar. Maybe I’m jaded, but to me myspace is the shadiest, shallowest, and dangerous place on the internet. I scrapped my pictures and hung a crooked sailboat painting in their place. No longer will I waste my time deleting emails from people I don’t know or denying friend requests from hookers and a billion unsigned bands that sound like bad music’s orphan. I won’t feel dirty anymore. Myspace may reunite me with old friends, but it also estranged me from a long time friend because her husband doesn’t have a sense of humor. The site just isn’t worth the hassle. I left a link to my blog on there and wiped all my personal information.
When some dateless doofus makes a fake Shawn Hornbeck page to harvest sympathy I no longer feel comfortable with neither mere mundane details of my identity, nor likenesses of me readily available to any lowlife with a mouse. Everybody wants to be a somebody, but I just want to be a nobody. I want to make friends the old fashioned way.
When some dateless doofus makes a fake Shawn Hornbeck page to harvest sympathy I no longer feel comfortable with neither mere mundane details of my identity, nor likenesses of me readily available to any lowlife with a mouse. Everybody wants to be a somebody, but I just want to be a nobody. I want to make friends the old fashioned way.
23 February 2007
Natural fireworks
For as long as I can remember I’ve watched thunderstorms unfold. The giant windows and mobile shelter of a car make it my favorite viewing arena. My mom always told us kids the rubber in the tires grounded the vehicle and protected us from lightening. I think she just wanted us to enjoy the show. She shared her fascination with the sky, staging fire drills to get us outside to see falling stars or Aurora Borealis.
We would drive to the top of the hill town outskirts where you could see all the city lights below and watch the lightening bolts trump a century of manmade electricity in a flash. Once we witnessed the entire village’s power fail. When we got home she sent my brother and I on silent, stealthy, and blind secret missions to recover candles and matches. We’d watch as she lit the first stick and her olive toned face illuminated like a pumpkin; when the candles were lit, usually only one match for a half dozen or so –mom was fast– she contorted her face and made an exaggerated huff as if she were blowing out a bunch of birthday candles. She’s 47 now.
As I write the hail knocks on windows. Nature’s not timid; she knows how to make an entrance and how to entrance. Thunder soothes my weary soul. It used to wake me up with always a gentle nudge, and I’d do my best to stay awake and keep my weather eyes open, but there some storm magic that brings out the best in rest. Now that I’m older and waking me resembles raising the dead, I sometimes stay up on rumored stormy nights, as mom does to see meteor showers or shy planets. But once I listen to the wind play the symbols and the thunder summons drums slumber absconds with me. Even during the most violent crashes I feel calm. Suddenly death by lightening bolt doesn’t seem so ominous; there are worse ways to go. And somehow “how’s the weather?” doesn’t seem so shallow.
We would drive to the top of the hill town outskirts where you could see all the city lights below and watch the lightening bolts trump a century of manmade electricity in a flash. Once we witnessed the entire village’s power fail. When we got home she sent my brother and I on silent, stealthy, and blind secret missions to recover candles and matches. We’d watch as she lit the first stick and her olive toned face illuminated like a pumpkin; when the candles were lit, usually only one match for a half dozen or so –mom was fast– she contorted her face and made an exaggerated huff as if she were blowing out a bunch of birthday candles. She’s 47 now.
As I write the hail knocks on windows. Nature’s not timid; she knows how to make an entrance and how to entrance. Thunder soothes my weary soul. It used to wake me up with always a gentle nudge, and I’d do my best to stay awake and keep my weather eyes open, but there some storm magic that brings out the best in rest. Now that I’m older and waking me resembles raising the dead, I sometimes stay up on rumored stormy nights, as mom does to see meteor showers or shy planets. But once I listen to the wind play the symbols and the thunder summons drums slumber absconds with me. Even during the most violent crashes I feel calm. Suddenly death by lightening bolt doesn’t seem so ominous; there are worse ways to go. And somehow “how’s the weather?” doesn’t seem so shallow.
22 February 2007
Briefs, not Boxers: Snug and concise News
It’s a good thing we didn’t have a winning world cup soccer team last year. Why? We don’t need a baby boom, but Germany did, and it’s getting its wish this month as the stork works overtime; someone should give that bird a raise. Score! indeed. Research shows when a woman is happy she’s more likely to conceive, so the Krauts win a few matches and a few German broads get knocked up. Everybody wins. But let’s not discount German beer’s role in all this. It goes very well with spectating and baby making. I just checked, and according to dictionary.com spectating is a word. Take that, Microsoft word 2003!
Draft dodging politicians take heed of Prince Harry’s frontline desire. He doesn’t even have to go to war, he volunteered. That’s a word missing from many vocabularies nowadays. This proves Harry has a better head on his shoulders than his brother. I only have one question: do British infantrymen have to sport buzz cuts as Americans do? The pictures show Harry’s wild red hair, making him, as many feared, a very visible target.
Whole Foods bought competitor Wild Oats. The Austin based company is the largest US health food store and has a habit of gobbling up its rivals, but keeping their names. Georgia grown Harry’s Farmers Market maintains its original identity through Whole Foods’s friendly takeover. Before you know it the good food grocer will be as big as Safeway. And with fresh selection, breads baked in-house, no Hot Pockets, and energy conservation commitment, that’s a good thing.
Cheap meals, playgrounds, diaper changes, the exclusive live ant topping after the second scoop topples from atop an ice cream cone, child admission prices, and now they don’t need an ID for international travel? Kids get all the breaks. Homeland Security no longer requires passports for US whippersnappers under 15. Foreign kids traveling to the US without documents can just float on in on rafts or jump fences.
Draft dodging politicians take heed of Prince Harry’s frontline desire. He doesn’t even have to go to war, he volunteered. That’s a word missing from many vocabularies nowadays. This proves Harry has a better head on his shoulders than his brother. I only have one question: do British infantrymen have to sport buzz cuts as Americans do? The pictures show Harry’s wild red hair, making him, as many feared, a very visible target.
Whole Foods bought competitor Wild Oats. The Austin based company is the largest US health food store and has a habit of gobbling up its rivals, but keeping their names. Georgia grown Harry’s Farmers Market maintains its original identity through Whole Foods’s friendly takeover. Before you know it the good food grocer will be as big as Safeway. And with fresh selection, breads baked in-house, no Hot Pockets, and energy conservation commitment, that’s a good thing.
Cheap meals, playgrounds, diaper changes, the exclusive live ant topping after the second scoop topples from atop an ice cream cone, child admission prices, and now they don’t need an ID for international travel? Kids get all the breaks. Homeland Security no longer requires passports for US whippersnappers under 15. Foreign kids traveling to the US without documents can just float on in on rafts or jump fences.
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