Today is absolutely ideal Chicago weather. 68 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, slight breeze. Days like this are why Chicagoans tolerate brutal six month winters. Sure, people in LA get this weather every day, but they take it for granted and become numb to it. Screw that.
Elated at the weather, I decided to walk to the West Loop from Michigan Ave via Jackson. Despite the tank of a laptop slung around my shoulder, I walk at a pretty brisk pace and have timed my trip so that I hit every green light and never have to stop for traffic.
This warrants mentioning because of what happened at Jackson and Franklin. This is, of course, the southeast corner of the Sears Tower. Every time I walk by it I'm tempted to stare up at it like an idiot tourist and marvel at the scope of what is still the greatest building in the United States. But I never do, since my desire to be recognized and accepted as a Chicagoan overwhelms my childlike wonder.
Suppressing my inner tourist, I was walking quickly across Franklin. There was a pretty huge truck and a cab behind it waiting for me to cross so they could turn left from Jackson onto Franklin. Let it be known the walk signal was flashing orange, so I still had the right of way. The truck passed behind me, and the cabbie (a late 20s, dark haired white guy) passed me soon after, and as he did, he gave me a little greeting.
Now, I was listening to The Who and couldn't hear much, but I can definitely read lips, and I am 100% positive that the cabbie yelled "Move your ass, bitch!" at me before speeding down Franklin.
This forthcoming message is preceded by two assumptions. One, that the cabbie has stumbled upon my blog(likely). Two, that the cabbie is literate(not likely).
Let me tell you something, my friend. You obviously had your window down as you passed, so you knew how great it was outside. If you can't enjoy a day like today, the perfect Chicago day, then you'd better just off yourself right now and end your misery. I'm sorry that you work seven 12 hour shifts each week. I'm sorry you hate your job. Here's a wacky notion for you; try to wrap your apelike brain around it. People who hate their jobs quit them and find something better. Oh, we're in a recession? Then further whatever education you have by going back to school. It's not that difficult. If you hate your job so much, quit. Don't douche it up in a yellow cab, hollering at pedestrians and likely running others down.
I know this sounds crazy, but you can get paid to do something you love. Instead of being a chicken shit, drive-by asshole, have some courage, quit your job, and get happy. It's 68 degrees outside, and the sun is shining. It's about time you enjoyed days like this one.
I was riding into work this morning via the glorious Chicago Transit Authority, listening to Adam Carolla's podcast to subdue the overwhelming despair that is my life. It's an incredible podcast, by the way. Carolla is a pro. Someone can give him a subject(sunflowers, for example), and he will proceed to bitch about it until he's stopped. Seriously, he can go for 20 minutes. It's incredible. He's slightly racist, severely sexist, and totally unapologetic. He's the best.
Anyway, his radio show was recently cancelled, hence the podcast. The one I was listening to today starred Carolla and his old radio buds, Teresa Strasser and "Bald" Bryan Bishop. I quickly found out that Teresa is pregnant (for the first time) and finally showing! Yayyyyy!!! She then shared a great story about a particularly brutal stretch in her first trimester.
Here's the exchange. It's too good to paraphrase...
Teresa: However, someone gave me Nancy O'Dell's book...
Carolla: Uh 0h...
Teresa: I was like 'You f&%king c@%t! I hate you! This whole book is about your total lack of pregnancy symptoms! Like, I'm reading it in the tub in the middle of the night because im so f&%king nautious. I'm eating cereal in a tub because I have to eat every second or I'll be throwing up, and her whole book is about how the only things that she noticed was her skin was really glowing and her hair got even more lustrous and fuller! You f&%king bitch, I hate you! I hate you!'
Nancy O'Dell is the beauty queen co-host of Access Hollywood, and her book is called Full of Life. Sounds like a wonderful read. Let's check out O'Dell's background on Wiki, just for esses and geez. Born in South Carolina. Graduated high school in South Carolina. Became a KKG sister and graduated from Clemson, which happens to be in South Carolina. In other words, it's not a coincidence that Nancy O'Dell rhymes with southern belle.
Her daughter was born sometime last year, and she named her Ashby.
Ashby. Not Ashley. Ashby.
Upon initial analysis, this seems like a really, really stupid choice, yet another celebrity parent who's full of herself and christens her one-of-a-kind, completely unique little miracle with a name that no other person would possibly choose.
On a side note, we get it, celebrity parents. You're important. We understand that you feel your new babies are more incredible and unique than our babies, which is why you give them incredible and unique names. You name your sons Seven Sirius, Banjo, Free, Rocket, Racer, Rebel, Rogue, Hud, Spec Wildhorse, Kal-el(which is Superman's birth name), and of course, Audio Science. You name your daughters Puma, Sailor, Alcamy, Makena'lei, Moon Unit, Diva Muffin, Little Pixie, Fifi Trixibelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, and Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily. It's worth mentioning that all of these names are incredibly real. Google them. They actually exist.
Also, those last four daughter names all came from the same mother. In a freak coincidence, she died of a heroin overdose. Fifi Trixibelle? Really, you dead druggie? Are we naming children or chihuahuas?
So back to Ashby. Comparing it to the names I just listed, it suddenly doesn't seem so bad. In fact, if we dig a little deeper, it might even be genius. For this name to work, we need to assume two things: first, that Ashby will become a good looking child/adult. Second, Ashby will be proud of her name.
If these two conditions hold true, Ashby will have the upper hand in every meeting and first impression she faces. Here's how thousands of conversations will go for her.
Ashby: Hi, I'm Ashby.
Person Who's Never Heard the Name Ashby Before: ...Ashley?
Ashby: (Small, almost indiscernible eye roll) No, it's Ashby. Kind of like Ashley, except not at all.
PWNHtNAB: Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me buy you a drink/rose/scarf/Range Rover.
And the upper hand is hers. Nancy O'Dell is a genius.
Yes, I'm aware it's spelled Pujols. I just wanted to give Dr. Freud's decayed corpse something to get excited about. The fact is, I love the St. Louis Cardinals' first baseman so much that I've composed a sonnet for him. I will soon mail it to him along with some bedazzled denim and a vial of my blood. I'm only kind of kidding. And no, you cannot see the sonnet.
I said no!
Okay, fine.
His swing makes me happier than pigs are in poo
When he connects on first-pitch fastballs,
No one rakes like King Albert, it's true,
He's the monarch whose bombs scale walls.
His approach at the plate is an odd one indeed,
It's a method that can contradict,
His calm, quiet stance quickly is freed
By a tempest that would make Shakespeare shit.
And so, as another white pill starts its trek
To Big Mac Land, to feed the obese,
A feeling of shame turns me into a wreck
Despite his power display that won't cease.
For while he is, let's face it, The Man
I remain a die-hard Cubs fan.
That was thoroughly creepy, huh? I'm glad we got that out of the way. The reason I'm so conflicted is that Pujols keeps my fantasy baseball team firmly in first place because of what he's doing to the hopes of my real baseball team. The man cannot be stopped, folks. Let's look at where he ranks a month into the 2009 season in the 7 offensive categories my fantasy league tracks. All of these ranks encompass all of Major League Baseball.
Runs: 22 (4th)
HR: 8 (t-3rd)
RBI: 28 (1st)
SB: 4 (t-23rd)
K: 7
AVG: .337 (t-22nd)
OPS: 1.132 (8th)
I mean, come on. The guy is ridiculous. The runs, home runs, RBIs, batting average, and OPS (on-base % + slugging %) are all expected. What I can't get over is how rarely Pujols strikes out(to put it in perspective, Prince Fielder, another NL Central slugger, currently has 3 home runs, 15 RBIs, and an NL-leading 27 strikeouts) and the fact that Pujols, who has no shortage of mass, has 4 stolen bases already. This is the same number as Jose Reyes, Grady Sizemore, Derek Jeter, and Alfonso Soriano.
All of these incredible stats are good enough to make Albert Pujols the current #2 player in fantasy baseball, behind only the Royals' Zack Greinke. Oh, and Greinke is on my squad, too.
April showers make me cranky. You know what else makes me cranky? Another baseball season rolling in, and 1908 is still a relevant year for all Cubs fans. Enough is enough. It's time to take a good, long look at the Chicago Cubs and figure out what needs to be changed in order to finally bring a title to the North Side. The solution is simple: Wrigley has to go.
While you're busy choking on your caffeinated beverage, allow me to compose a pro/con list, as we all should do when facing a big decision.
Pros of Wrigley Field: 1. Tradition 2. Ivy
3. Scoreboard
4. Bar scene
Cons of Wrigley Field:
1. That aforementioned "Tradition" is nothing but one disappointment after another. 2. Curses 3. The always-present smell of urine, perhaps due to.. 4. The pig trough urinals 5. Sitting and watching a game is uncomfortable, which is far from ideal 6. Old Style 7. Below-average food 8. Where's the jumbotron? 9. Really, Mr. Antiquated Scoreboard, the only stats you're giving me are AVG, HR, and RBI? Is this 1940? Have the Germans occupied Poland? 10. Ok, so where do I park? 11. Oh, here's some parki....30 DOLLARS???? 12. 7th Inning Stretch Celebrity Singers
13. 92 years of futility
For those of you screaming that it's been 100-plus years of futility and not 92, pat yourselves on the back. You sure do know your Cubs. But they moved to Wrigley in 1916. Know how many titles the Cubs have won since then? This is a tough one, take your time.
1945. 1969. 2003. Goats, Bartmans, and Miracle Mets. There's way too much terrible history to keep playing in Wrigley Field.
I can hear all you naysayers now. "Blasphemy! How dare you, sir? What about the scoreboard? For God's sake, what about the IVY? WAAAAAAA!!!"
I've talked to so many people that want to keep Wrigley open for those two reasons alone. Scoreboard and ivy. I'm fairly certain it wouldn't be rocket science to have another ivy-covered wall and a similar scoreboard in a new stadium. What's that? It won't be the same? That's right. As you take in the sights, your other senses won't be assaulted by the delicacies of a 95-year-old stadium.
Ask yourself this question, as a Cubs fan. Do you care more about the lure of Wrigley Field than you do about a championship team? I think you do. I think, deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you relish the Lovable Losers tag and take comfort in knowing another futile season is underway. Sure, teams win the World Series every year, but how many teams have gone more than a century without doing it? Just one.
News flash: That's not something to be proud of. I'm sick of Wrigley and the effect it has on the Cubs and its fans. All breakups are tough, and breakups with manipulative, trashy tramps are even tougher. But we can do it. Then, finally, the Cubs take home the title at brand new, beautiful Bartman Field.
That's right, Bartman Field. That'd be a nice middle finger extended to Tradition.
Jason Statham isn't a one-trick pony or anything. The guy can really act. The Transporter was followed by The Transporter 2. Then came Crank. Then Death Race. And don't look now, but Crank 2: High Voltage opens today. I thought Philip Seymour Hoffman had the widest range of characters in his repertoire. Wrong! Watch these five aforementioned films and you'll be shocked to see Statham's ability to slightly tweak his bloodied, intensely pained facial expressions. The man's a genius.
If his past grosses are any indication, we can expect Crank 2 to haul in about $20M this weekend. I would predict it to be more, but it's up against a Crowe/Affleck conspiracy flick as well as another Zac Efron tween machine.
As Oscar-worthy as the Crowe and Efron movies look, I think I might spend my dough to see Crank: High Voltage this weekend. Why? If the title of this post didn't help, I just saw the greatest TV film trailer of all time. Here it is.
Have you ever played Mad Gab? It's an infuriating game. It gives you a few words to read aloud in order to figure out what it is you're actually supposed to be saying. If you ever want someone to hate you forever, get him Mad Gab. Here's an example.
Abe Hum Pen Thin Height = A Bump In The Night
It seems easy with the answer there, but try reading just Abe Hum Pen Thin Height over and over and see how smart you sound. It's like learning how to read all over again, except this time you're past puberty and your voice has changed. And instead of getting gold stars, you're getting laughed at. Reading sure is fun!
Anyway, the C: HV trailer has one of those puzzles too. Can you find it? I'll give you a hint. It's about midway through. Give up? Okay, so the narrator tells us "He'll try anything..." and then an old woman says "He treated me like his hot little whore." That alone would be hilarious enough, but then the narrator finishes his sentence. Now, is it just me, or does this Mad Gab make sense?
To Keep His Heart On = To Keep His Hardon
To tip it in, immediately after the narrator says "To keep his heart on," Statham is jumped by Amy (Not So) Smart who coos "I know how this game works!" Wow.
Okay, so if you like subtlety in your movies, you should probably look elsewhere.
What I love about this is that C: HV is completely unapologetic about what it is. It's not trying to trick us into thinking it has a dynamite screenplay or even a plot outside of "Psycho Needs Adrenaline for 90 Minutes or He Dies." It's an in-your-face action movie that probably will have about 300 "Yeah, right" moments throughout, but it doesn't care. It has guns, women, blood, and explosions, and it's not sorry about it.
That kind of honesty is refreshing and should be rewarded. That's why I'll illegally download go see Crank: High Voltage this weekend.
DVR is wonderful for many reasons, but my favorite thing about it is the ability it gives you to fast forward commercials. I find my sanity is at a much more manageable level when I can zoom right past Safe Auto ads and any commercial involving Billy Mays or the Shamwow guy.
But even with my DVR and its beautiful time-advancing capabilities, I've managed to find myself overwhelmed with a new show premiering tonight on ABC. It's called Castle. The trailer is below. Don't watch it.
To be fair, I've found that trailers for soon-to-premiere TV shows never quite capture the correct tone. For example, I remember thinking "I'm never going to watch that trash" when trailers for House started and all I saw was Hugh Laurie screaming "YOU'RE RISKING A PATIENT'S LIFE!" Then I find out years later that Dr. House is not really that caring and it's one of the best shows currently on TV.
So why do TV trailers blow? I have no idea. But that's not what this post is about.
Castle is essentially Bones with gender reversals. In ABC's new show, the male lead is a mystery author who gets teamed up with a hardcore detective, played by the female lead.
In Bones, the female lead is a mystery author(and scientist) who gets teamed up with a hardcore detective, played by the male lead. Way to be original, ABC!
Luckily, I won't have to be depressed by trailers for Castle for more than a few harmless episodes, thanks to two words: Nathan Fillion.
"Hi Grandma. Not so good, it got cancelled. Yes, again. Hey, shut up, Grandma!"
Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of Fillion. He's got a bit of charisma and silver screen success to be proud of. He was great in Serenity, a better sci-fi flick than the last 3 Star Wars films combined. He was good in Slither, and he wasn't terrible in Waitress either. I'm not exactly sure why, but he's more successful in films than he is on television. All I know is if you're making a new TV show, do not, under any circumstances, cast Nathan Fillion.
Firefly? Great television. Cancelled before the conclusion of its first season. In fact, Serenity was the theatrical continuation of this show.
Miss Match? Cancelled after 18 episodes. Never saw it, but I'm guessing Alicia Silverstone helped kill it. Let's check IMDB...aaaand...she did indeed kill it.
Drive? Woof.
Castle? TBD
I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Castle doesn't make it past 15 episodes. ABC isn't staking too much on it to begin with. It's mid-season replacement for a show that recently got the axe, probably Dirty Sexy Money. I can't believe that one didn't work out. I mean, it had Billy Baldwin! What more do you need?
All I know is that I'll do my part to help get Castle cancelled. I happen to like Bones and the rapport the two leads have created. Shame on ABC for ripping off a proven winner in order to line their pockets. I swear on this blog that I'll never watch an episode.
Unless, of course, it turns out to be a great show. Then I'm in.
This post is a few days overdue. I'm writing it because I really need to vent. And I'm not going to vent like they do in those stupid Coors Light ads-I'm going to effing VENT.
I like to watch SportsCenter in the morning before I get ready for work. When I turn on the TV, I hope (against all odds) that this morning's edition of SC will actually have some highlights in it.
Coors Light-Related Interruption:
Hang on, hold that thought. Let's go back to those Coors Light commercials for a second. There's one in particular that's just brutal. Ok, so a guy answers the phone and upon listening for a second, he becomes noticeably worried. His girlfriend notices, and he tells her "Hey babe, that was my frat bro. He had another fight with his girlfriend. You know, the one that will soon be cheating on him with me? Yeah, he really needs to VENT." Oh wait, I can stop describing it. Here you go.
I love how Coors Light comes up with horrendous marketing schemes to disguise the fact that their beer tastes like giraffe urine. First it was the Coors Light Cooler, which was just like your typical cooler, except it was made of cardboard. Brilliant!
Now there's this widemouth idea. It's for those of us out there who are both immature enough to chug a crappy beer as quickly as possible and grown up enough to avoid using a beer bong or house keys. Wow, that's a huge demographic. Way to go, Coors Marketing Team!
Since this widemouth idea is terrible, it makes this commercial even worse. It would be much more effective if White Guy talked with Black Guy on the phone and told his girlfriend "I'm going to BG's place for a bit to pound a few Coors Lights." Bam. This ad would be just as effective and could be done in a 15 second space. My brilliant advertising strategy also saves money. Wake up, Coors. If you want normal people to buy your product, have your actors act normally. Write that down of you need to; it's a complicated concept.
Back To ESPN:
As I was saying, I watch SportsCenter in the morning to hopefully catch a minute or two of highlights among all the off-the-field events and extensive analytical breakdowns that ESPN thinks I want to see. But on Wednesday, March 4th, I was given even fewer highlights than usual, thanks to this bombshell:
ESPN'S OWN MICHAEL SMITH IS REPORTING THAT THE DALLAS COWBOYS HAVE RELEASED TERRELL OWENS!!!!!1!!!!1111!!!
That's really all that needs to be said. Maybe have a 1-on-1 with Smith to see if he has anything else to add. Instead, in the hour or so that I watched SportsCenter, ESPN had the following people on to discuss the release of Terrell Owens:
Michael Smith: The one guy that should have been on. He broke the story.
Chris Mortensen: Basically reiterated everything Smith said. Classic Mort.
Ed Werder: He was, shockingly, reporting live from Valley Ranch. Does Werder have a home of his own, or does he lurk around Cowboys facilities every day?
Mark Schlereth: Told me where T.O. might go now(Oakland). I immediately went on Twitter to relay this useless information.
Steve Young: Quick! We need a former T.O. teammate, currently retired, who now works for ESPN! Steve Young? Perfect! Call him! Wake his ass up!
Cris Carter: Quick! We need a former wide receiver, currently retired, who now works for ESPN! Keyshawn? He's not answering his phone! Call Cris Carter! Hurry! Wake his ass up!
John Clayton: In all honesty, I don't recall whether he was on or not. The reason I don't know is because I close my eyes whenever he's on TV. HD is not good to John Clayton. But he knows his stuff-try closing your eyes next time he's on. It's much more satisfying.
Stephen A. Smith: I was actually a fan of having Stephen A. on. If there's one thing I love early in the morning, it's having an ESPN personality scream at me regarding a topic outside the realm of his expertise. This is roughly equivalent to Dick Vitale calling a college hockey game at 7:30 in the morning.
All these people were on in less than an hour. Unbelievable. With the T.O. "news" combined with the missing South Florida boaters, SportsCenter had time to give us highlights of three (3) games. I wrote the number in parentheses so you'd know that it isn't a typo. The three games covered were Cavs/Bucks (a yawner, but King James needs his daily pub), Celtics/Nets, and Heat/Suns.
Apparently ESPN just bought MTV's new book, How to Kill the Industry You're Supposed to Be Spotlighting. The Cowboys haven't won a playoff game in over 13 years, yet I found myself inundated with offseason news from Dallas instead of things I actually want to see: highlights.
First of all, Chicago managed to win a game. Since I certainly didn't watch any of it, I wanted to see what happened to Golden State to make them lose to the Bullshits. I mean Bulls. I figured Stephen Jackson got himself ejected after shooting Benny the Bull, whose falling corpse concussed Vinny del Negro. But thanks to the T.O. coverage, I'll never know.
I also missed highlights of Utah beating Houston. The Jazz are currently my favorite team to watch since they're one of the few squads in the NBA with an entertaining offense that favors movement and teamwork over isolation and standing around. But instead I got a big batch of Ed Werder's moustache.
Am I alone here? Do you love hearing about off-the-field events? Do you love hearing from a never-ending barrage of analysts? Or should SportsCenter give us some freaking highlights instead?
For the answer, let's send it over to the expert panel of Barry Melrose, Bill Walton, Mel Kiper, Tom Jackson, Steve Phillips, and Mr. Snuffleupagus.
"Terrell Owens couldn't get a job in the NFL if he worked for peanuts. Up top!"
Mickey Rourke's performance in The Wrestler was as moving as it was unexpected. Such memorable roles are often rewarded come Awards season, right? Yeah, I thought so too. Unfortunately for Mickey, he ran into the mortal lock in Sean Penn. Allow me to explain.
I'm not sure what caused it(go ahead and blame Dubya...everyone else does), but Hollywood has steadily become more and more liberal during the 21st century, and this is especially reflected by the voting patterns of the "Academy." Ah, yes. The Academy: that enigmatic collection of geezers that always makes me think of Statler and Waldorf.
The Academy?
Look at the list of Best Actor winners. During the 20th century, only one African-American was honored with a Best Actor Academy Award(Sidney Poitier in Lilies of the Field). And this is just speculation, but I'm guessing that Tom Hanks's turn as Andrew Beckett in Philadelphia was the only gay portrayal to win Best Actor in the 20th century. If that's incorrect, kindly leave an inflammatory comment.
And now, with the first decade of the new millenium not yet complete, we've already seen 3 African-American lead actors and 2 homosexual portrayals win Best Actor(Denzel Washington, Jamie Foxx, Forest Whitaker, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Sean Penn).
Of those five actors, some deserved the award(Denzel and Whitaker), while others benefited from the Academy's sudden infatuation with the biopic(Foxx, Hoffman, and Penn). Yes, I said it. For whatever reason, the bio has become the deciding factor when the Academy is weighing the nominees, with homosexual portrayals running a close second. This is completely and utterly criminal.
Statler and Waldorf need to examine their recent voting pattern and make some changes. It's currently an absolute LOCK if an actor portrays a gay man in a film "inspired" by "real events." The reasoning is completely asinine. Really, Academy? Really? Are you really telling me that a biopic role(a role in which the actor knows precisely how to move, look, and sound) should receive more recognition than a role that is created and molded from scratch? Really? And are you also telling me that a man kissing another man is superb acting? When did we decide on this?
Don't start accusing me of being a Prop-8-loving gay-basher just yet. All I'm saying is that the most unforgettable performances of the past few years will be forgotten before long because they don't have the "Best Actor" tag alongside them. It's a shame.
Take a look at 2005. Hoffman won for his role in Capote, in which he portrayed an openly homosexual man who existed before the film was made. Wrap up the Oscar. Apologies to Terrence Howard of Hustle & Flow and Heath Ledger of Brokeback Mountain. Terrence, you gave us a shocking, inspiring breakout performance. But, sadly, your fictional character was, um, FICTIONAL, so how can we possibly judge your acting ability? There's nothing to compare it to, stupid! And Heath, yours was an absolutely enthralling performance. You remembered to make out with a dude, which was great. You almost got to give the acceptance speech. But Ennis never existed in reality, did he? No, he didn't. Sorry, fellas! There's always Best Supporting Actor!
And yes, Phillip Seymour Hoffman is a wonderful actor. Don't email me. Have you actually watched Capote? YAWN.
And now the 2008 Academy Awards have come and gone, and it's deja vu all over again. You cannot tell me that Sean Penn deserved Best Actor over Mickey Rourke. No one else could have portrayed Randy the Ram. Rourke looked the part(thanks to his second profession as a boxer), and he played the part. It was a once-in-a-lifetime role that was given to the right man at the right time, and he acted the shit out of it. This is so rare that, when it happens, it deserves to be recognized. Instead, Penn walked away with the bling because he had the foresight to star in a biopic and he remembered to share a few kisses with another man.
Can you believe that a legitimate leprosy medication wasn't fully implemented until the 1990s? This may or may not be true, as the info came straight from Wikipedia. Let's just pretend leprosy was running rampant and killing millions until the 1990s.
Since the destruction of the disease and the subsequent decline of the leper colony, where do outcasts go from here?
Coincidentally, at roughly the same time leprosy was getting its ass rocked, Apple released the iMac. The iMac paved the way for the iPod, which paved the way for the iPhone.
See where I'm going with this?
If not, here's an anecdote for you. I wake up every day and go to work, and my ancient Dell Inspiron laptop and LG enV2 phone are surrounded by MacBooks and iPhones. It's become a daily routine for me to console my heartbroken devices and explain to them that their brothers and sisters are slowly dying, falling prey to the most powerful personal electronics company in the world.
So here I am, devoted to a PC that's so old that it doesn't even run Vista and a phone that's most impressive as a texting tool and, shockingly, a phone. It's not a web browser, game player, or song identifier. It's just a phone.
I am the Apple avoider. I am the tech pariah.
Yes, I have an iPod. So does my grandmother.
I didn't intentionally avoid Apple. I didn't have a bad experience with a product and decide to boycott as a result. I just never needed a more expensive and less powerful personal computer. But the iPhone is different. It cannot be stopped. Either get on board or take up residence in the 21st-century leper colony with the other enV's, and yes, even the Blackberries.
When iPhone owners spy my cell phone, they look at me with exactly the same facial expression a Starbucks barista gives a patron who comes in and orders a medium hot chocolate. It's a look of patient annoyance. To them, I'm like the first grader whose enthusiastic coloring extends well beyond the pre-determined borders.
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Alright, I think I remember now how to do this blog thing.
I'm back from the land called, "Adulthood." This is a place where fun goes to die. This is a place where friends and loved-ones become people who's name it takes a second to remember.
This is a place where you have to pay bills. Real bills mind you; not your $20 "bill" that your parents made you pay in high school to teach you how to manage the money you already spent on something.
This is a place where you finally have a nice car and apartment - but spend no time in either.
This is a place where you meet a great girl and she likes you and you like her and you decide to go on a date.....in two months because that's when your schedules line up.
Dammit. I'm not a fan of this place.
I want to go back to seventeen, where I drove a POS, but had no cares in the world. Don't get me wrong. It's been great getting older seeing friends marry, have kids, going on trips....but seriously, responsibility sucks.
Consider this your introduction to my new topic for the next couple of months. I'm going to complain about growing up. If you don't like it - I DO NOT CARE. This is for me. If not, I'm going to kill someone soon....but not before my date in two months.
