Got Mongo? Feed On This!"
Become a fan of the STORE on Facebook. Click here.
Become a fan of the BLOG on Facebook. Click Here
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Revenge of the Nerds: Entitlement, Misogyny, and Misconceptions Perpetrated By a Classic



Oh 80s, you silly time.  No one cared about PC culture or what was considered right.  Hollywood took a concept used time and time again and equated it to College, dating, and social status.

In 1979, Bill Murray and a bunch of ne’er do wells took on the rich, more entitled campers of Camp Mohawk in Meatballs.
In 1980, it was the slobs vs. the snobs in Caddyshack as the likes of Danny Noonan, a poor caddy, and wealthy, but uncultured Al Czervik take on the likes of Judge Smails and Dr. Beeper at Bushwood Country Club.

But in 1984 the haves vs. the have nots trope was spun into the nerds vs. the jocks at Adams College in Revenge of the Nerds.
Simple concept, two nerds try to fight the established “Greek” social society infrastructure at a college in order to be given the same treatment as their more physically fit and attractive male counterparts.  Brains vs. Braun.   Along the way, main nerd Lewis develops a crush on sorority cheerleader Betty and pursues her in spite of the fact that she clearly has no interest in him and already has a boyfriend, footballer and alpha male Stan.

Through various tests of wills and basic knowledge of science, the nerds defeat their jock antagonists and Lewis wins Betty from Stan in the flimsiest of plot points.

And that moment set the stage for a variety of cultural misconceptions that have always existed but were exploded into a “thing”.  If a nerd can just convince an attractive, out of his league female, he will be rewarded with sex and status, regardless of anything such as earning these concepts.

I’ll admit it.  I loved this movie growing up.  It was funny.  I was a budding teen and this movie was an HBO staple at the inception of my adolescence.  In other words it had boobs.

But it also had other things that, upon review after 30 years, are somewhat unsettling.  It has, in no particular order:

  • Sexual harassment
  • Rape
  • Invasion of privacy
  • Destruction of private property
  • Lewd and lascivious behavior
  • Theft
  • Misogyny
  • Pornography

I was talking about the acts committed by the nerds, mind you.  Yes, it is shocking to think that something considered to be a "comedy" could really be the basis for a horrible reality.  Even the title creates an air of violent tendencies "REVENGE" of the nerds.
Now, to be fair, the treatment of the nerds by the jocks is unfounded.   If you want to get technical about it, the jocks fire the first two or three shots.  They physically assault the nerds, throwing them from their dorm rooms in a manifest destiny of “Well, my football players need coddled because they are the driving force of enrollment and funding for this institution of higher learning.”  They also humiliate the nerds by inviting Lewis and Gilbert to rush Alpha Beta fraternity.  In fact, Betty is complicit in her role as deceiver of affections towards Lewis.  In the end, they choose to resort to physical violence at a pep rally before they are stopped by another stereotypical character, the scary and possibly more intimidating African American male fraternity.

However, if you think the nerds are absolved of blame, let’s take a look at what they do throughout the course of the movie.  Lewis and company sneak into PI sorority and steal underwear, physically enter private dressing areas, set up surveillance equipment, all because those women teased us, so we are entitled to look at their naked bodies without their expressed approval or knowledge.

During the Greek games, the nerds outsell the jocks in the charity pie bake sale by including, as a reward, a picture of Betty, topless.

Finally, Lewis gets his ultimate revenge by posing as Stan in a costume and following Betty into an attraction and effectively raping her into submission in his desire to win her from a jock with the argument that I am a better match for you because I am better at sex than Stan.   Yes, technically, it is rape.  She was not consenting to Lewis.  She was tricked.

But it’s all in fun, right?  It’s the 80s.  It’s college.  It’s acceptable behavior.

No.  It creates a false expectation in those who are considered nerds.   It forgives the egregious behavior by a subculture of humans that are clearly smart enough to know what things they should not do just because they feel they are wronged.

It also creates a false personification of an alpha male as an antagonist towards those with weaker physical attributes and stronger mental ones.   “Because he is clearly weaker, I must dehumanize him more for the sake of my position in my group.”  Granted, it is more acceptable to believe that because someone is a jock or popular, they are afforded more rewards because of their status.

Now, I am not absolving the jocks for their behavior in the film.  I am digging further into a concept that is becoming a huge problem in this age of instant gratification due to technology; entitlement.

The jocks feel entitled because they have physical prowess and are clearly the driving force behind the school’s success at capturing funding.  They feel that because of that role, they are deserving of the best accommodations, regardless of actually earning them.    They feel that others, who do not fit into their mold of perfection are not worthy of the same accoutrements.  They even leverage their girlfriends to deceive and humiliate the nerds.  They feel entitled to use women for their bodies because they are dating them.

The nerds, display the sense of entitlement that has developed into an epidemic of thinking among young men today.   “I am a good person.  I am smart.  I am nice.  I clearly treat women better.  Therefore, I should be rewarded by women, just because of those things.  Not because they actually:

A: Are attractive to them
B: Have common interests as them
C: Have a chemistry conducive to the foundation of a relationship with them

In the wake of the rampage by Elliot Rodgers due to “entitlement sex”, the foundations of nerd culture get called into play.  The problem is, like any culture or subset of a culture, the loudest and most antagonistic members are the ones the group gets defined by.  Whether it be Republicans, Democrats, Christians, Islamists, jocks, nerds, feminists, blondes, gays, lesbians, men, or women, every set has its “one bad apple”.     But we need to take it back.  We all do.

My own experience in this subset is somewhat skewed.  I am a hybrid of sorts.   If you imagine social strata as a wheel with each spoke representing a subset of culture; jock, nerd, popular, etc.  I tend to exist near the hub.   My attempts to exist in any one end or spoke is impeded by centripetal force constantly pulling me inward to where I exist as several different stock character types at once.    I grew up, dealing with things like being chubby, wearing glasses, being labelled as “smart” by my peers.  I had bad teeth and hair and clothes.  I also played basketball and baseball, albeit horribly.  I wasn’t a straight A student and found myself, at times, struggling with Algebra and Science.  Yet, I also felt as if I was well liked and had friends who operated in different spokes.  Sure, I had my own dealings with “jocks” and “bullies”, but I could always blend in when it called for it, but couldn’t stay there for long because that force of motion could not allow me to sustain any one trait.  It’s a sort of chicken and egg conundrum as to why I pursued acting.  I either developed it because I wanted to be an actor or I pursued it because I was already trying to be everyone at once.  However, I probably identify more with nerds than any other group.  Even though, I cannot hang with them beyond the surface in terms of certain things like Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Quantum Physics, Dr. Who, and D&D.

When that adolescence period hit and I was developing interests in girls, I, like most people, pursued what I thought was perfection.  In college, I was so livid over a certain guy because he consistently and successfully “scored” with women while he had a girlfriend “back home.”  I was friends with his "girls" and a few would confide in me that this guy would constantly lead them on, and they would comply, thinking that he would dump his girlfriend and eventually commit to them.   Meanwhile, I seethed that they could be so stupid to continually put themselves in that position, when someone, like me, was right there and would never do that.  Sound familiar?  Of course, it’s a typical situation.   But what was I really upset about, him, because he could get away with such brazenly bad behavior, or myself, because I was unsuccessful at doing the exact same thing?   He would gloat about his exploits and treat me like crap.  But I gave him all the ammo he needed with letting him get to me.  Did it really matter?  These few women were not the only ones in the world.   There were other possibilities out there.

I am also sure that I probably ignored obvious potential relationships because I was blinded by society’s definitions of beauty or status.  But, we live in such a paradoxical society.   On one hand, we are told that we are special and that we shouldn’t limit ourselves in terms of what we desire to have.  We work hard for it and it will be ours.  Yet, we’re also told that our expectations are too lofty.  In dating circles this would be akin to trying to date out of your league.    We’re told we’re special, but nerds shouldn’t try to date the prom queen.  This limitation on what level of social being we can or cannot date is just as bad as the expectations we create about what we deserve.  Again, chicken and egg.  Are “nerds” coming up with these “nice guy” mentalities because they are told they can’t do something, or are the limitations being put in place because too many “nerds” are thinking they should be rewarded for nothing?

Who is to say?  If you try to argue the point that nerds should be well within their right to seek out dates with people out of their league, you piss off a lot of people.    And when you may be the one exception to the rule of “nerds”, it doesn’t matter.  You’re branded and you must move on and deal with the imagined reality that has been put in place.  If you argue it, you’re “Aggro”.  You can't turn it around.  It is what it is.    You get slapped with labels used by Internet dating sites and observational non-contextual so-called experts.  Again, you let the other person define you when it doesn't matter what they think.  You give them the ammo to put their labels upon you and treat you as such.

Let’s face it.  We are individuals, so we should be treated on a case by case basis.   We are not our labels.  Don’t think that because I am a ”nerd” I believe I deserve some kind of special entitlements.   If I were to want to date someone who is considered “out of my league”, it’s between me and that person, not anyone else.  If we share some special bond or chemistry, that is for us to discover, not society’s social watchdogs.  We are adults.  I will not expect any special treatment because I feel I would be worthwhile for any woman just as she should not expect that I am horrible because I may be not the typical definition of attractive.   Also, it works both ways.   I will not ignore the possibility that matches exist with people who I may not deem as a typical type of attractiveness, but will see that there could be something that is stronger between me and that person.   

Yet, we get this stereotypical, “Oh you just want to date someone unattainable.”    Well, who is to say that someone who would want to date me isn’t doing the same thing?   But yet, someone will give you grief that you are being irrational.  Again, isn’t between me and that person on whether or not we should become a couple?    So, it’s cyclical.  We don’t need to say that nerds shouldn’t date out of their leagues and nerds shouldn’t have to date someone in their league just because of proximity.   Now that we have settled, let’s get back to entitlement.

I don’t care which “spoke” you live on but you are not entitled to anything except what you earn.  Whether it’s money, love, position, sex, or respect, you should only get what you deserve.   Treat someone well and they may treat you accordingly.   If they don’t, so be it.  They aren’t required to reciprocate, but it would be nice if they did.    You cannot demand anyone to give you something that they are not willing to do.  You can only do the best you can do and let things happen.  You can’t make someone fall in love with you just because you are a better person.  You can’t demand payment for services rendered outside of a contractual agreement.  Meaning, if you do A, B, and C, for a woman OR MAN, they should automatically be thankful and repay you with some arbitrary reward.    So, guys, drop the “Nerds are better lovers and we can prove it” attitude and everyone else drop the “The nerds actually believe this stuff” attitudes.   

Somewhere, a long time ago, a few popular movies put forth the idea that it was the nerds time, that it was “game on” in the realm of love and war.    But, we need to break that stereotype just like we need to break our own.  People get what they earn and if someone else gets more, suck it up and deal with it.  No one owes you a thing and your actions, as well as your intentions, speak to your character.   People will screw you over no matter what.   Just don’t let it define you.    If you like someone put it out there.   If they aren’t interested, deal with it and move on.  It doesn’t matter if you know or believe that you are destined to be together.  You can’t make someone love you just by wearing them down.  You can only be who you are and those who are looking for those traits will meet you in the middle.   Don’t let movies define what you think you should get and don’t let movies define who people think you are.

 

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

No Class Nation Tour

Don’t blame Kenny Chesney, Pittsburgh, and don’t ban him either.  Don’t blame anyone but those involved.   The mess during and after the No Shoes Nation Tour does not rest solely on Chesney.    He did not personally tell people to go to the venue, days before in some instances, and wreck the joint.  He did litter the parking lot of Heinz Field with trash.  He did not drink heavily and get into fights in the parking lot.

You did.  And by you, I mean people in the parking lot, at the event, on the water, wherever.   The issue with this kind of mess is not that we have a concert in the summer.   Pittsburgh has turned the corner from burnt out steel town.   It has topped many “Best City For…”  lists, nauseatingly, the last few years.  It has become a technology hub.  It has gone from being only about The Steelers, The Penguins, and The Pirates, to being about the cultural and the artistic.  

Pittsburgh has been given an overhaul, boasting many new venues for events.  In the last few years, Stage AE has proven to be a great location for concerts.  The old Trib Total  Media Amphitheater was demolished and is now Highmark  Stadium, built entirely with private funds and home to the Riverhounds and concerts.    We have The Rex, which has been around since 1905, the Consol Arena, A.J. Palumbo, The Benedum, Heinz Hall, Byham, the new Arcade Comedy Theater.  The list grows every year.   

And yes, we have Heinz Field and we have Starlake Pavilion for our bigger concerts  Yes, they draw large crowds.  Yes there is tailgating.   Yes, there can be a mess.   No, it’s not acceptable.

The problem is that banning one act will cascade into a series of stymieing commerce and cultural into the area.   This year, it’s Kenny Chesney, next year it could Jimmy Buffet.  Hell, it could be a Cleveland, Baltimore, or Cincinnati game.    Any number of events could result in the ridiculousness that took place this past weekend.   But, I remind you, this is also the town that started couch fires in Oakland and turned the South Side into an area of bedlam after championship sporting events.   You wouldn’t dare blame The Steelers or The Penguins for that would you?

We all want to have nice things, but there needs to be some accountability.   There was no earthly reason for there to be tailgaters at that concert as early as they were.  Boaters arrived days before.   The combination of early drinking, hot  temperatures, and natural tendencies to do bad things when affected by both led to a majority of the issues.  On the whole, they amounted to a small percentage of the total number of people on site.   Yet, everyone loves to bitch and complain when something wrinkles their upturned nose.   Soon petitions came out wanting to ban Chesney from playing Pittsburgh.  Why? 

Ban tailgating.  Ban early admission to the lots.  Increase policy enforcement of “on the books” laws against disorderly conduct and public intoxication.  Increase the availability of trash receptacles.  Increase awareness.    Police each other.   Pick something other than the thing that brings money into the city.

I’ve heard that had this been a Steelers game it would never have been that bad.   Well, who is to say?  Chances are, the same result would have happened, a clean lot the next day.   Yet, you can be sure that diehard fans with season ticket holders and a modicum of respect for their team and venue would probably do their part to inform the rest of the tailgaters to “PICK UP YO SHIT.”

But don’t start Facebook groups bitching about it.    That should be banned.


Friday, May 8, 2009

Friday Night Remote Fight: Best Movies to Kick Off the Weekend

WARNING:
The post you are about to read contains dangerous levels of sugar and caffeine. Side effects include lethargy and feelings of euphoric childhood fantasies.
Consult a blogger.

Friday night. It’s a magical and mysterious thing. Surviving another long week seems almost worth it when you have this to look forward to. Some people have big plans to hit the clubs or some other event. Here in Pittsburgh, there’s a little thing called the NHL Finals going on and we’re down a game to the Capitals, so you know a majority of Pittsburghers will be either in the Mellon Arena at the game, outside the Mellon Arena watching the game on the Jumbotron, or in a bar watching the game on television. But what about the rest of us?

There was a time when I lived for Friday nights. Somewhere in my socially deprived mind I thought that if I didn’t go out somewhere, anywhere, on Friday night I was missing out on some sociological event that would go down in the annals as EPIC! Usually, that meant hanging out at the mall or even in my day, the roller rink. Yeah, for a brief period between the years of 1986 and 1990 I would make it a point to go to my local rink and just be. Of course, that meant be by myself, spend a couple dollars on Rolling Thunder or Xenophobe, watch other people couple skate, and then go home.

Then there were some Friday nights, during my early teenage years, that I just spent up in my room. Ok, it’s not what you’re thinking. This was about 1987 or 1988 and my brother had been in college at the time. Our first home computer took the form of an Apple IIc and my brother’s roommate had volumes of floppy disks with games on them that he copied for me. Now, the degree of advanced graphics and sound cards were still years away but even the simplest of games like Conan or Bruce Lee kept me busy for hours. It would be nothing for me to grab a can of Pepsi, a bag of Doritos, turn up my RUSH tapes, and not be seen again until Saturday morning at 7:00 AM when I had to get up for my paper route. How pathetic is that?

What kind of childhood was that? It was like the real life equivalent of the first twenty minutes of Weird Science, before the bras on the heads. Although, I kept waiting for my bedroom door to explode and have Kelly LeBrock standing amongst the smoky rubble just waiting for me to utter the simplest command. Never happened for you either? John Hughes was such a lying prick, wasn’t he?

Still, I remember, with fondness the days, when Friday meant I was done for the week. It was the time when my brain could just shut down and I could spend the next two days just crashed out in my “play clothes.” There wasn’t a child that needed tending to. There wasn’t a yard that needed to be mowed. I wasn’t responsible for taking out the trash or making sure the litter boxes were clean. It was all about the pleasure principle, and I don’t mean a Janet Jackson album.

Looking back at my childhood, I continually mount a pretty good case for being born too soon. There was of course the Power Wheels defense of 1983. That was just the tip of the iceberg, the smallest visible portion of the massive amount of technological innovations that developed over the years of my life. Those advancements in fun always seemed to be geared towards the demographic just below my age range, robbing me of the latest and greatest in media, toys and other escapist devices. While video game consoles are probably the greatest missed opportunity, the advancement in home theater and movie offerings through DVD and cable providers ranks a close second.

Yes, young Whipper Snappers, you there with your Twit-ster and Space-Book have all the hook up in gadgets and distractions of heroin addict whose house just landed in a Ozian poppy field. OhgodohgodDorothyDorothypoppiesfieldpoppiesfield... (ten points for you old timers that get that moldy oldie reference to geekdom.) I’ve become the Luddite equivalent of my parents talking about walking to school, uphill, both ways, in three feet of snow, but I’m explaining how, in my day, we had to sit in a certain order on the couch and touch the lamp just so we could keep our fuzzy reception of HBO visible. We dared not move or the audio track would go from somewhat discernible to that repetitive “cheet, cheet, cheet,” sound. It was like the whispers from Friday the 13th, set to the speed of Chipmunks and blasted like a Greek chorus, chanting over and over again that we were “cheating” the cable company, yet we continued to fine tune our

I mean, God help me if I was alone. I had the skills of a SETI radio technician, fine tuning the little knob on the device that clipped onto the back of our television, just so I could see the glimpse of a fuzzy pair of breasts from Revenge of the Nerds late at night. You kids, with your DVRs and your Blu Ray. Bah! You don’t know how stressful it was to have only five minutes to return a VHS rental and then realize you had to rewind the damn thing. If only I would have been born in 1985 I’d be knee deep in WoW and failing my Rocks for Jocks that I needed to graduate with a degree in Undeclared Arts. I’d be Netflixing the entire Second Series of Dr. Who while searching for another little jug of iced tea from 7-11. This would all be done simultaneously while texting my friends and updating my status while recruiting more people for my Mafia and send them all flair based on how much I hate Twilight.

But, I’ve gone completely off the point as I tend to do in my pop culture dementia. The entire point of this ever disintegrating rant is to highlight a selection of popcorn confectionery cinema treats that are best served reheated and with copious helpings of greasy, shop delivered pizza and carbonated beverages. This selection is a prime example of a childhood gone completely off the reservation. This is the kind of pre pubescent nostalgia that has you up until way past midnight, fixated on your glowing screen in a quasi reversed Ludovico technique. Instead of causing an aversion to the images and acts on screen, you wake the next day and head out into your backyard or neighborhood, engrossed in an intense imaginative state, reenacting the best scenes from the film. In your possession is a broken stick that doubles as a sword or rifle and you are clad in a newspaper hat and a cape fashioned from your Mother’s hand knitted afghan.

So, here we go. Settle down into that butt shaped groove you’ve made into the couch, Rochambeau your loved one or best friends for the remote with that killer Paper/Lizard/Spock combo move you’ve developed and let the brain take the night off, you deserve it. Now, I’m sure I will have missed some more of the classics and well established films but this is just a sampling.

Comedy

Dude, where’s My Car?
Half Baked
Stripes
Superbad
Old School
Ghostbusters
(Could technically be listed under Sci-Fi)
Weird Science (As could this)
Big Trouble in Little China
Heathers
Shaun of the Dead (
It splits the genre with Horror)
Meatballs
Caddyshack

Horror

Christine
Evil Dead I and II
(Dead By Dawn is more comedy but let's keep it where it's at)
The Lost Boys
Halloween (1978)
The Thing
The Frighteners
Bubba Ho-Tep
Night of the Living Dead
Cabin Fever
Final Destination
Grindhouse
Poltergeist
Jaws

Adventure

Raiders of the Lost Ark
National Treasure
The Goonies
The Mummy
Jurassic Park
Romancing The Stone
The Three Musketeers (1993)
Ladyhawke

Action/Fighting

Kill Bill
Kung Fu Hustle
Crank
Die Hard
First Blood
Commando
Predator
Point Break
Bad Boys
Hot Fuzz

Sci-Fi/Fantasy

Fellowship of the Ring
Terminator
The Running Man
The Matrix
Escape From New York
Tron
Aliens
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Stargate
Independence Day
Akira
Six String Samurai
The Black Hole
Back to the Future
Underworld

Those of you who can’t turn your mind off for 2 hours.

Donnie Darko
12 Monkeys
Strange Days
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Memento
Paycheck
Pi
North by Northwest
Cube
Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Rom/Com

The Princess Bride
The Wedding Singer
Sleepless in Seattle
Only You
One Fine Day
10 Things I Hate About You
Failure to Launch

Just be sure to wipe the drool from the corners of your mouth when you're done. Have a good weekend and Let's Go Pens!

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Where Have You Gone, Sam Malone?

It’s not that often that my wife will engage in a philosophical discussion about television with me. After all, she is on the board of trustees to the “I Married a Pop Cult Dork” corporation. However, we both do have some mutual favorite shows amidst the sea of crap that has proliferated the airwaves. Our top favorite is Supernatural followed by LOST, Chuck,Bones, Family Guy, and the new Captain Tight Pants (aka Nathan Fillion) series, Castle. Older shows that still clutter my DVR like Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy have slowly degraded in quality or we just don’t have time to watch them. In any case, it was during one of these shows that we truly enjoy that my wife asked the question, “Compared to 20 years ago, does television suck more now?

I actually did a double take. Did she know she was opening up Pandora’s Cable Box? Was she serious? Does she actually want to have this conversation? Then I thought about it. The answer wasn’t as easy as I thought. Did 80’s television shows provide more quality entertainment than today’s lineup? Wow. It was the equivalent to the sound of a one handed, live studio audience member clapping.

I traced my brain for information. I liken my retention of Pop Culture trivia to that of the warehouse from Raiders of the Lost Ark. Somewhere near the recollection of an argument I had about old Charles in Charge with Beans Baxter versus the new Charles in Charge with Josie “I grew up even more smoking hot than Nicole Eggert” Davis and a similar argument between Old Baywatch and New Baywatch, I found it. The lineup of the original shows I used to adore. Let’s see…and remember, for most of these I was under the age of ten and watched them during their initial run…there was St. Elsewhere, Hill Street Blues, Cheers, M*A*S*H, The Cosby Show, Night Court, Growing Pains (Pre Leo DiCaprio), Hart to Hart, The A-Team, Miami Vice, Different World, Knight Rider, MacGyver, and Family Ties (pre Brian Bonsall). I’m sure there are plenty of others but we can only do so much with the time we are given here at M.A.M.S. Anyway, I looked at that list and compared it to today’s shows. After the third CSI and Law & Order, I gave up. My wife may be on to something here. And let it be noted that two of those 80’s shows exist today, Knight Rider and MacGyver….oh wait, I mean MacGruber.

Taking a closer look, I can remember each one of those shows complete with specific moments burned into my hippocampus. There was Uncle Ned’s alcohol addiction on Family Ties that had me wondering what Vanilla Extract really tasted like. Was Crockett ever going to remember who he really was? I drooled over Teri Hatcher before she ever became a Desperate Housewife and was merely Penny Parker, the singing sensation of Cleo Rocks on MacGyver. There was even a brief series called Otherworld that made Battlestar Galactica’s mythology look like Clash of the Titans. Yet, were these shows really quality entertainment or were they merely a Play-Doh fun factory of processed cheese positioned directly above our brains?

I guess it is really a matter of opinion. Today, reality shows and other non scripted shows clutter up the airwaves. For every Survivor (The First Season) there are ten clones like Pirate Master. The odd thing about these shows that they’ve been on television less than 10 years yet boast more than 10 seasons (Survivor is on like 18.) I think there should be some sort of disqualification right then and there. Yet, for all its time travelling, mind screw job mythology, and unanswered questions, LOST is perhaps the best written show on regular television. Compared to 20 years ago, anything is bound to sound cheesy. The music was kitsch, the plotlines were transparent and wrapped up inside a standard episode time frame. Yet, it seemed as if the shows, and more importantly, the decade lasted much longer than it really did. Now, unlike my wife, I never watched shows like Dynasty and Falcon Crest which did run nearly the length of the 80’s, but the difference is that she saw them in syndication. I’m old enough to have seen almost every episode of M*A*S*H* in its first run, including the series finale when it originally aired.

The amount of really good TV vs. on par entertainment was maybe a ratio of 1:3. But there were sitcoms and dark dramas. Not like today where there’s maybe a handful of actual good sitcoms, five cop shows, two medical dramas, and 16 reality competition shows. Now, there was a few non scripted shows. We had Real People and That’s Incredible…I remember getting a Domino Rally set when I was a kid with a contraption that set the dominoes up for you as you pushed it along. The dominoes were so cheap and flimsy that they fell over once they emerged from the chute. My dreams of setting up an intricate and complex arrangement of dominoes like the one done underwater were shattered as every injected molded domino floated off the bottom of the tub.

Today, most shows last two or three seasons before they turn to crap like Grey’s Anatomy has. The Simpsons is a big exception. ER is another exception but I got tired of watching after Dr. Green died and every episode was marketed as “The biggest shocker” or “You won’t believe what happens” each week. But is there any original cast members left? The last episode I remember watching was when Noah Wylie’s character had a drug problem. Now we have crazy, wacked out doctors having sex with imaginary dead boyfriends. So, maybe the quality has dropped. But then again, the 80’s gave us a pre HIMYM NPH as Doogie Howser, MD, which inspired many kids my age to take up writing our deepest thoughts and dreams on a personal computer, while listening to pre-recorded synth pop melodies on a Casio keyboard in the backgrounds of our bedroom. Kids today are probably still trying to figure out what the hell Neil Patrick Harris was doing in that skit from Saturday Night Live playing the keyboard.

Back in the 80's, we had William Katt in spandex flailing around the sky in The Greatest American Hero. Today, we have William Katt being frozen on Heroes. Trying to become relevant again are we Kring? In my opinion, and yes I will write each and every word of that phrase out, the problem with those lightning in a bottle shows like Heroes and LOST is that they get created by some genius who then turns the show over to a group of other people to produce because they’re off trying to create a new franchise on which to reinvent the wheel using parts already found on their previous shows. The exception is LOST which found its footing again when they came up with an exit strategy after the disastrous Nikki and Paulo season. In all honesty, that really saved the show. Now, instead of trying to give the audience little carrots every season while creating new mysteries to keep the show going, they can plot out the ending and work backwards to logically solve all the riddles built up from day one. See George Lucas’ folly with the prequel Star Wars trilogy. He wanted to tell the story of how Darth Vader grew up from innocent and cute slave boy to bad ass cyborg who force choked his way to the top of the Empire Career Ladder. When you spend an entire movie setting up the kid as a lovable scamp and the chess pieces for the Clone Wars, you end up having to cram 20 years of mythology into two movies to advance the story up until the birth of Luke and Leia. There’s just too much story.

Boy have I digressed. In the end everything ends up being about Star Wars. So, wrapping this whole nonsensical diatribe up, my wife was right in a sense. Television shows in the 80’s were better for the entertainment. I think the writing and plot design has come a long way from being able to make an Ultra Light out of a cement mixer, fan blade, and garbage bags but, for the money, you can’t get better than shows about android little girls whose delivery of lines are Emmy worthy compared to that of Patricia Arquette on Medium. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have go into my brain and check on the examination being conducted to find out which show had the more special “very special episode,” Mr. Belvedere’s episode entitled Wesley’s Friend where Wesley’s friend Danny contracts AIDS through blood transfusion like Ryan White or Different Strokes’ episode entitled The Bicycle Man where Arnold ditches Dudley with Gordon Jump the molester complete with Jesus Juice. Who is conducting the research on this? We have top men working on it now. Top. men.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

I Come in Pieces

With one year of fatherhood under my belt, my thoughts turn to the future. Specifically, how to stop it from happening. While I know that's impossible I do keep a thought in my head that keeps me up nights worrying. "I'm going to have to put a lot of things together over the next few years." That single idea of "some assembly required" is enough to rattle any one's cage. I don't care how skilled a craftsman you are.

I make jokes about it but the truth is I really hate putting things together. It's not that I have no skills in inserting tab A into slot B, it's just that I hate instructions. My last jigsaw puzzle contraption was a brand new grill that got tested out at my kid's first birthday. My previous one finally proved ineffective a couple of years ago and lack of money and space kept me from getting a new one. I resorted to charcoal grilling on a rinky dink grill that I can toss across the street and believe me there has been days. I'll say one thing about grilling and then back to the topic at hand. Never by cheap charcoal. If you are serious about grilling on charcoal then by quality, no fluid needed, briquettes. Also, a good rule of thumb is to have one of those chimneys around. Those are cool.

Ok, back to my cobbling prowess. Over the years of living on my own, I have had to assemble a lot of furniture. Once, I actually considered getting a job where all I would do is go to different stores and assemble display models. It was a whim when a coworker told me all about it. I could work my own hours, set my own pace, and pretty much just sit alone in a room with a bunch of pieces of veneered particle board and an allen wrench and make some magic. What is it with the allen wrench? Ready to assemble furniture relies on the hex bolt to hold everything together and now I've got fifteen allen keys sitting in my garage that I'll never use again.

My first project was an entertainment center in my first apartment. I had no money but wanted to build the perfect beast to house my television, DVD player, stereo and VCR. I ended up going to a local defunct chain called Ames. They were a casualty of the Wal-Mart takeover at the turn of the century. For $99.00 it was, in my mind, a great buy. It was walnut veneer with a huge opening for all my A/V equipment. It had those magnetic glass doors so you could see all of my DVDs and games. I was quite proud when I put it together. It even had the veneered cardboard with several perforated punch out areas depending on the size of my television and cabling structure. It was a monster. Then I moved and it had to come with me. I disassembled it and put into storage. Alas, it never held a good shape after that and I decided to get a new one. I gave it to a stoner neighbor and went off to Wal-Mart for a better one.

What I found was another good deal on my previous model's bigger brother. This one was nearly floor to ceiling with flanked shelving areas and cabinets underneath. It had molding around the top and bottom that made it appear more expensive. A night with an allen wrench and I had the Mt. Everest of Entertainment Centers ready for action. Then I moved and it had to come with me. Unfortunately, this model had a little more intricate design. Perhaps someone at the Sauder/O'Sullivan/Ovation factory took some designs from M.C. Escher and Frank Lloyd Wright because this thing didn't break down into modular pieces.

Once in my new residence I found that I did not have the space to erect the monstrosity. My wife, then girlfriend, could not fathom having furniture that went beyond the slanted opening of a stairwell. Neither my entertainment center, nor my couch, sit squarely in the middle of a wall without breaching into open space. Insistent that I would not get rid of what I now called the S.S. Enterprise, I moved it to a spare bedroom and it pretty much became nick knack storage. Again, I bought a new one. In a move I can only describe as getting away from an SUV in favor of a fuel efficient vehicle, I opted to buy a more compact and lightweight model considering my pattern of moving once I bought furniture. I went with a model that had side shelves and cabinet space beneath but allowed me some room to eventually expand my television screen towards 32". Something, I hoped to do once the price of Plasmas came down. Then I moved.

At this point the exercise in taking an older entertainment center with me became futile as I was more suited for building a ship in a bottle. I was going to have to call Maury Povich to bring a crew over to my house and take out a wall in order to get the Enterprise out of the spare bedroom. Instead of scrapping it, I offered it to the movers who helped me vacate my premises on the contingency that they were responsible for it.

In the house I have now, I still have the smaller entertainment center upstairs and a newer, even smaller model downstairs in my family room. Again, the space I had did not allow me to be too elaborate. I did however take advantage of the manual's policy of calling the manufacturer instead of the store for replacement of missing or broken items. These things are so cheap that they are willing to just ship you pieces of wood and hardware at no cost because they know how badly they are constructed and packaged. In fact, my old coworker, who nearly convinced me of a career in display construction, passed a manual around to family members who in turn rounded up enough pieces to construct two new stands.

Since then I've learned a few things about ready to assemble items.
  1. The better the quality, the less there is to build.
  2. Some idiot is in charge of writing the manuals because they make no sense and the diagrams are ridiculously horrible or do not match the model you have.
  3. From now on, chose living accommodations based on current furniture ownership.
  4. Hope and pray my daughter doesn't move as much as I did.
  5. Find a purpose for three walnut shelves and a futon bolt.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The Nemesis

Superman and Lex Luthor. Optimus Prime and Megatron. Han Solo and Boba Fett. The Nemesis is a literary technique to create drama and conflict in the world of the Hero. He is usually a polar opposite to the Hero, yet at one time they could have possibly been friends. At some point during their friendship an event occurred that split the two onto separate paths, pitting them against each other in a constant struggle over the balance of power between good and evil. Often, in a series of stories, say a graphic novel, the Hero and the Nemesis are forced to work together against a common foe but as soon as the status quo has returned to normal they are once again on opposite sides of the fight.

Just because comic books are ultimately aimed at kids doesn't mean they are not literature. Comic books or graphic novels are Jungian and Freudian in nature and play on the same character archetypes that are found in mythology and classical literature. Yet, art always imitates life and the Nemesis can be found in everyday life. You may have a Nemesis in your school, on the field, or in your place of work. They are usually someone in direct contrast from your own personality and you can never resolve your issues with them for as much as you are different, you are as alike as two magnets that constantly repel each other.

Growing up, I had a Nemesis through 12 years of school. He lived nearby and while I was chunky with dark hair and glasses, he was skinny and blonde. Where he was a bully and a troublemaker, I was the typical nerd and nice guy. Yet, there were times when for some unknown reason we were friendly towards each other only to turn around and find the proverbial knife in my back. He liked to kick, my Nemesis did. He was known to come to school dressed in work boots on days he intended to cause turmoil. I remember various occasions on which he and another kid, his henchman decided to ambush me at the playground in an attempt to beat me up. In true good vs.. evil fashion, the henchman bumbled his way through the process and at one point attempted to rush me only to have me move at the last moment letting him run headlong into a fire hydrant. I dodged and used my surroundings to gain the upper hand and they left unsatisfied but with the thought that this was not over.

Childhood beatings on the playground seemed scarier than they really were. A lot of it was psychological. If someone can force you to be compliant out of fear, there is never a need to back it up with force. But, if the Nemesis finds that fear is no longer a weapon they must resort to violence and that is where you must hold your ground. They always say that the only way to disarm a bully is to stand up to them. This only works if they can't win in a fight. To beat a bully you have to remove the element of intimidation. You have to show them that you aren't afraid of them and can be their equal. Without that leverage they can't enforce their will over you. Another example would be the moment I beat my Nemesis on his own level. During gym class one day we split up into teams to play a combination of football, hockey, and basketball that required you to get control of a nerf football during a tip off, take only two steps before passing or shooting and place the ball past a goalie for a goal. I was the goalie against my Nemesis' more physical role. He attempted to cherry pick me waiting by my end of the court. His team got control of the ball and launched to him thinking he could score easily on me. What he didn't realize was that I was bigger and took the opportunity to body check him out of the way before the ball got to him. Knocking him to the ground I took his physical weapon away from him. It was like Rocky making Ivan Drago bleed. "He's not a machine." From then on his attempts to physically attacked me consisted of him trying to kick me while vying for control of the ball. Something that he never could get over me. I didn't care whether he kicked, clawed, or bit. I was not letting him have the advantage. At that moment, the Nemesis was defeated and disappeared for the remaining time in high school.

After I graduated and moved onto a new environment, the concept moved with me and my Nemesis became a floor mate in my dorm at college. Again, we were polar opposites. We had different views on women and how to pick them up. I was single and made it a point to be a gentleman. He had a girlfriend back home and made it a point to turn his dorm room into a revolving door bachelor pad, hooking up with as many girls as possible while his girlfriend wait patiently back home for his faithful return.

In essence the rules about the nature of the Nemesis had changed. He was no longer a poster boy for the master race. No, this was not Draco Malfoy by any means. This was the dawn of the new pretty boy. Pre-Metro sexual man wearing Eddie Bauer and sporting perfectly gelled hair with no brains whatsoever. Most girls he picked up were ones that he sought out in his classes to 'tutor' him. That's how he sucked in one of the girls who time and time again would come back to him when he called her. She realized what he was and that he would never leave his girlfriend. She was simply a friend with benefits and he was reaping all of them. She would constantly complain about this vicious cycle but would continue to be used by him.

Now there were times that he and I got along. Other times I was completely at odds at how he operated. I began to wonder if I truly hated him or the fact that I couldn't be like him. He did have one specific trait that completely annoyed me and I find that the same trait exists in a lot of guys with the same type of personality. In fact I just noticed it while watching a reality show a few weeks back. Why is it that there is a need for a guy to hold a baseball bat when there is no need to hold a baseball bat? I mean you are in a conversation with someone in a non sports related setting and there is this guy sitting there clutching a baseball bat over his head for no reason. Is it Freudian, like owning a sports car is a sign that you are compensating for some shortcoming?

Where was I? Oh yes. This conflict of interest between me and my new Nemesis was short lived as I engaged in a relationship the next year and had no need to worry about his behavior. Sorry, but I guess I was indeed just mad because he was successful with women and I wasn't and now that was a non issue. With this issue removed from our path we never felt the need to argue or be at odds. The Nemesis was now a dormant being waiting for the next stage of my journey which took place a couple of years later.

I had graduated and become single again in the next two years. I began working in a job where I was a sort of outsider. Not quite young enough to blend in with the younger high school and college age guys yet not old enough to relate to the older employees in terms of being disenchanted with the organization. Soon, the Nemesis awoke and took the form of the hot shot leader of the guys who had worked there for years. This time I had upset the balance of their environment. I was hired off the street as a bartender but he had worked his way up from bus boy, paying his dues. Perhaps I was a threat to him because of my status. Perhaps he was just pissed that I wouldn't play along with his crap. I was there to work. Granted, he did his fair share but I kept up with him. Again, he did not fit the previous molds of the Nemesis. He had a more 'Black Knight' but I could tell he came from a spoiled life. Yes, he worked for things and was able to make his own way but you could feel that he was used to getting what he wanted in his upbringing, not just what he needed.

We had our battles and again, I was not on the more popular side. The first conflict springs to mind. We had been working late one night when everyone was kind of sitting around the office and not getting much done. In order for us to leave a set of tasks had to be completed. Sometimes the more menial the task the less enthusiasm to get it done. This task was vacuuming a meeting room. It was considered a job to be performed by a girl and at this moment, the female employees were showing their feminist sides and refused to do the task. Not wanting to get into a pissing match I just grabbed a vacuum and went to work. When I got back I tossed the vacuum into its cubby and for some reason, the Nemesis showed himself making comments to my lack of working and I went into attack mode. He was sitting on a stoop and I walked over and told him to shut his mouth. He asked if I was threatening him and I simply yet sternly said "No. I'm just telling you that regardless of what you may think about me, I don't ever want you to hear say I don't work. " For what seemed like minutes passed as he stood up to me nose to nose. I then said that the room was swept and we could go home. The battle lines had been drawn.

From then on it became a test of wills. He was too hot headed to give up and I was too stupid and cranky to give in to his badgering. Being older gave me a sort of ambivalence to his physical advantages over me and I went toe to toe whenever he challenged my ability to keep up with him. Eventually, he left and went to work somewhere else leaving me in the position to be the leader. I was promoted and was given a certain amount of respect by some of the other employees. With the Nemesis gone, I felt a sort of relief that allowed me to concentrate on my work and not worry about resistance. Soon, the Nemesis would return and for once I was ready.

He returned shortly before the start of a new year and while at a Christmas party he felt the need to try and rattle my cage. He said out loud at our table that I must be pretty pissed that he was returning since he would be reinstated at the position he left. Without missing a beat I said, Why worry? I didn't get your job. I surpassed it." He kind of just sat there blinking repeatedly not prepared for my answer. It was a moment summed up in one phrase. Pure ownage. From then until I left that job, I never once had to worry about him being a threat. We became civil towards each other and worked together without incident.

Since then I've had no conflicts with a Nemesis. It appears that he/she is sleeping in the abyss awaiting for the next chance to arise. In all instances I proved that by taking away the one weapon the Nemesis had over me I was able to send them away and coexist peacefully in that environment. Now, that is not to say that the Nemesis is gone for good. I'm sure that one day I will move onto a new stage in life that will present an opportunity for conflict. Perhaps when my child is old enough to attend school or be involved with activities I will find the Nemesis hiding in one of their classmates' parents. The soccer field or a PTA meeting may provide recognition and start the battle all anew. What I do know is that I've learned how to deal with the Nemesis and can strategically find a method to send them away. Frankly, I'm getting too old to fight with anyone. They better just be prepared to deal with the cranky instead of the valiant. The wait is on.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Do Not Call...Waiting Into That Good Night

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night,

Telemarketers should burn on weekend days,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



Though wise men turn off their ringer and know that it is right,

Because their peace is valuable and want no interruptions they

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night.



Working men, the last hours by, crying "Enough, All Right!"

The answering machine keeps the evil at bay,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



Tired men who get caught by a survey about their next flight,

And learn, too late, Caller ID would show the way,

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night.



Desperate men, with sleeping babies, who tip toe around at night.

Red eyes blaze at the sight of "Out of Area" on their phone display,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



You, my phone company, there on lofty height,

Curse you, Private Callers still come through. Bless me, I pray.

Do Not Call Waiting into that good night,

Rage, rage against the phone's blinking light.



Ok, so I just murdered Dylan Thomas' most accessible work. Seriously, though, with the onslaught of political phone calls I've been getting, someone needs to die. I'm not going to go into my own personal views on politics. Save that for the blogs who cater to that kind of thing. This is about the phones and how they ring incessantly when I have just put my daughter down for a nap.


Growing up we didn't have all the luxuries that we have not. I'm not talking about having to walk to school, uphill, both ways, through three feet of snow. I'm talking about call waiting, call forwarding, and additional phone lines in the house. In fact, my parents still do not have call waiting at their house. Until a couple of years ago, they still had the same phone in their kitchen. It was a rotary phone with a 500 ft cord that was only usable short of two feet. It was coiled and knotted up into something that resembled a dreadlock. Let me give you an example of how bad this was. The phone rings and you go to answer it. You go to take a couple of steps from the phone trying to utilize that football field long cord, only to have it bunch up. As you reach for a pen and paper, the phone pulls off the wall and onto the floor. You could spend days trying to untangle that cord. To put it bluntly, Stevie Wonder would have better luck at solving a Rubik's cube.


When we moved into our new house circa 1985, my parents installed an additional phone line for my older brother and sister, who were in late teens. It was a phone line that existed in all the bedrooms but my parents'. That way, they could talk to whomever they wanted and not tie up the regular phone. Being that my father is an insurance agent, he tends to get calls from his clients in the evenings, especially if they've had a car accident or otherwise. Still, they had one phone, another rotary model, and they had to share it. So, it sat outside one of their bedrooms on the floor near the stairway so you could hear it. Then, if you went to bed early, you ended up killing yourself after tripping on the phone cord and falling down the stairs. Still, I told all my friends and a few that weren't that they could call me on my private line. Just as long as it wasn't during dinner and after I was done with my homework. Oh, and not on Monday's at eight, either. I'll be watching MacGyver. I felt so empowered that at the age of 11, I had my own phone line. Although, my name wasn't listed alongside my siblings in the phone book and, if they were home, I couldn't even look at the phone, let alone use it.


The next issue we had was that our phone number, which has been my parents’ phone number for more than 33 years, was so similar to a lot of other phone numbers. We had calls from people looking for AT&T. They had the same prefix and last four digits as us but had the 1-800 in front of their number. We also had people looking for the driver of a local senator. For years, I asked my parents why they never changed their number if it was such a pain in the ass to get a lot of calls from people with the wrong number. Their response was, "Let AT&T change their number. We had ours first." Of course, to this day, you always hear how AT&T continually gets calls looking for my father. "I'm sorry sir. I feel bad that someone hit your car, but we are the phone company."


We also didn't have an answering machine. Let me rephrase that. We didn't have an answering machine that worked properly. The outgoing message sounded like it was recorded with the same equipment that was used during Watergate and the incoming messages were better interpreted by someone at NASA than in my house. When I began my five year mission to graduate from college I got my first taste of voice mail. I spent hours coming up with the perfect messages that would be funny yet entice people to leave me praise in lieu of an actual message. "Hello, we called to let you know you are in delinquent on your student loan. But, you know what? That was such a fantastic greeting that we are going to just rip up your records. Have a nice day." I ended up spending more time recording the messages than I ever did on the phone.


When it came time for me to finally have a phone of my own I was in my mid twenties. My carefree nature began to dwindle and this once social moth soon became a hermit. Don't call me. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to sit alone in the dark and get old. Why is it that we go from an age of wanting to have access to a private phone line and the recognition of our name in the phone book that would make Navin Johnson say, "Simmer down," to an age where we want our number unlisted and Caller ID and answering machine have replaced the normality of picking up the phone and saying, "Hello" to someone? Is it us or is it THEM. You know who I mean. Those bastards that want to sell you something. Those freaks that want to discuss your long distance or credit card habits. I'm not talking about bill collectors. I mean Telemarketers. While I feel bad for the poor bastard on the other end of the phone line when I go off on them, I am reminded that they chose to work in that field and they chose to call me. Gloves off, game on, it's go time, mofo. "My prediction? Pain."


I love how telemarketers have gone to great lengths to get around Do Not Call regulations. You think if they put that much time and energy into contacting me about my long distance carrier, think about what they could accomplish for worthwhile causes. They could be calling foundations and other trusts getting grants and donations for medical research. When will they learn that no one is going to embrace a telemarketer? If they do, it's probably someone who is lonely and hasn't had a phone call in years. I remember a particular incident where I was trying to call a bowling alley to get information for a group of friends. I misdialed the number and ended up talking to this sweet old lady in a nursing home. It was right around Christmas and I felt sorry for her. She was alone and her family hadn't even come to see her for the holidays. I put aside my hurried nature and spent five minutes letting her talk. She understood that I called the wrong number but was overjoyed that she got to speak to someone after such a long time. At the end of the call, I wished her Happy Holidays and went on my way. I'm sure she's no longer around but for one brief moment, I felt as if the phone was finally used in the manner to which is was meant. Instead of using it to sell something or ask someone if their refrigerator is running, I used it to communicate. I reached out and touched someone and they didn't have to pay $5.95 a minute for it.


It used to be that people looked at phones as an instrument of evil. These electronic gadgets will cause the death of human interaction. Then as we moved into the end of the 20th century, people looked at email as the death of human interaction. Now, instead of speaking to someone, you can send them an instant letter. Cell phones in all their razr sidekick chocolatey goodness has replaced both instruments by allowing us to talk to someone or text them. I mostly use my cell phone for taking pictures. I bet there are people out there that have replaced their talking minutes with text and data minutes. If we continue this trend, in 1000 years or so, we may have lost the ability to speak, altogether. Some scientists theorize that we may evolve into eight toed mammals just like our appendix has become a vestigial structure, not really having a purpose other than to be removed when it gets infected. Since we are so bent on using technology to communicate with each other, the art of writing as well as proper grammar will disappear as we tend to type most communications, disregarding writing standards, to which I am a repeat offender I'm afraid. Who knows? Perhaps aliens will travel to our planet and find fossilized human remains consisting of eight toes, no vocal cords, and enlarged thumb bones. They will ponder why our culture needed big thumbs. They may postulate that maybe it were a civilization of hitchhikers or maybe because of the deep space transmission of television waves we were a cult that worshipped Arthur Fonzerelli, yet lacked the ability to say "Ayyyy!" They won't understand that we lost the need to speak due to our enlarged thumbs perfect for texting. They will find drawings on ruins and strange lettering. They will try to piece together our language from the phrases, "OMG" and "ROTFLMAO."


Of course, this is all speculation and I'm sure nowhere did Nostradamus write, "IMHO teh world will be FUBAR from to BFF n00bs who got pwned in WOW and decided to say WTF, let's flame this POS world." At least he could get through one of his writings without a phone call from someone claiming that he was signed up for their service and they wanted to do a courtesy call to check on them while his nine month old daughter is trying to nap. They didn't disturb his five minutes of peace from chasing her around the living room after the cats' tail and trying to put a piece of lint in her mouth. No. No. He didn't have to collect all the phones and turn down the ringers in hopes that she got a full two hour nap and didn't wake up cranky. I'm just saying. By the way, anybody else getting hang up calls from (484)-548-6400 or (610) 571-2709. These bastards keep calling and there is no one there. They always call during the baby's nap and I want to rage, rage against the phone's blinking light!


Ok, so I just murdered Dylan Thomas' most accessible work. Seriously, though, with the onslaught of political phone calls I've been getting, someone needs to die. I'm not going to go into my own personal views on politics. Save that for the blogs who cater to that kind of thing. This is about the phones and how they ring incessantly when I have just put my daughter down for a nap.


Growing up we didn't have all the luxuries that we have not. I'm not talking about having to walk to school, uphill, both ways, through three feet of snow. I'm talking about call waiting, call forwarding, and additional phone lines in the house. In fact, my parents still do not have call waiting at their house. Until a couple of years ago, they still had the same phone in their kitchen. It was a rotary phone with a 500 ft cord that was only usable short of two feet. It was coiled and knotted up into something that resembled a dreadlock. Let me give you an example of how bad this was. The phone rings and you go to answer it. You go to take a couple of steps from the phone trying to utilize that football field long cord, only to have it bunch up. As you reach for a pen and paper, the phone pulls off the wall and onto the floor. You could spend days trying to untangle that cord. To put it bluntly, Stevie Wonder would have better luck at solving a Rubik's cube.


When we moved into our new house circa 1985, my parents installed an additional phone line for my older brother and sister, who were in late teens. It was a phone line that existed in all the bedrooms but my parents'. That way, they could talk to whomever they wanted and not tie up the regular phone. Being that my father is an insurance agent, he tends to get calls from his clients in the evenings, especially if they've had a car accident or otherwise. Still, they had one phone, another rotary model, and they had to share it. So, it sat outside one of their bedrooms on the floor near the stairway so you could hear it. Then, if you went to bed early, you ended up killing yourself after tripping on the phone cord and falling down the stairs. Still, I told all my friends and a few that weren't that they could call me on my private line. Just as long as it wasn't during dinner and after I was done with my homework. Oh, and not on Monday's at eight, either. I'll be watching MacGyver. I felt so empowered that at the age of 11, I had my own phone line. Although, my name wasn't listed alongside my siblings in the phone book and, if they were home, I couldn't even look at the phone, let alone use it.


The next issue we had was that our phone number, which has been my parents’ phone number for more than 33 years, was so similar to a lot of other phone numbers. We had calls from people looking for AT&T. They had the same prefix and last four digits as us but had the 1-800 in front of their number. We also had people looking for the driver of a local senator. For years, I asked my parents why they never changed their number if it was such a pain in the ass to get a lot of calls from people with the wrong number. Their response was, "Let AT&T change their number. We had ours first." Of course, to this day, you always hear how AT&T continually gets calls looking for my father. "I'm sorry sir. I feel bad that someone hit your car, but we are the phone company."


We also didn't have an answering machine. Let me rephrase that. We didn't have an answering machine that worked properly. The outgoing message sounded like it was recorded with the same equipment that was used during Watergate and the incoming messages were better interpreted by someone at NASA than in my house. When I began my five year mission to graduate from college I got my first taste of voice mail. I spent hours coming up with the perfect messages that would be funny yet entice people to leave me praise in lieu of an actual message. "Hello, we called to let you know you are in delinquent on your student loan. But, you know what? That was such a fantastic greeting that we are going to just rip up your records. Have a nice day." I ended up spending more time recording the messages than I ever did on the phone.


When it came time for me to finally have a phone of my own I was in my mid twenties. My carefree nature began to dwindle and this once social moth soon became a hermit. Don't call me. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to sit alone in the dark and get old. Why is it that we go from an age of wanting to have access to a private phone line and the recognition of our name in the phone book that would make Navin Johnson say, "Simmer down," to an age where we want our number unlisted and Caller ID and answering machine have replaced the normality of picking up the phone and saying, "Hello" to someone? Is it us or is it THEM. You know who I mean. Those bastards that want to sell you something. Those freaks that want to discuss your long distance or credit card habits. I'm not talking about bill collectors. I mean Telemarketers. While I feel bad for the poor bastard on the other end of the phone line when I go off on them, I am reminded that they chose to work in that field and they chose to call me. Gloves off, game on, it's go time, mofo. "My prediction? Pain."


I love how telemarketers have gone to great lengths to get around Do Not Call regulations. You think if they put that much time and energy into contacting me about my long distance carrier, think about what they could accomplish for worthwhile causes. They could be calling foundations and other trusts getting grants and donations for medical research. When will they learn that no one is going to embrace a telemarketer? If they do, it's probably someone who is lonely and hasn't had a phone call in years. I remember a particular incident where I was trying to call a bowling alley to get information for a group of friends. I misdialed the number and ended up talking to this sweet old lady in a nursing home. It was right around Christmas and I felt sorry for her. She was alone and her family hadn't even come to see her for the holidays. I put aside my hurried nature and spent five minutes letting her talk. She understood that I called the wrong number but was overjoyed that she got to speak to someone after such a long time. At the end of the call, I wished her Happy Holidays and went on my way. I'm sure she's no longer around but for one brief moment, I felt as if the phone was finally used in the manner to which is was meant. Instead of using it to sell something or ask someone if their refrigerator is running, I used it to communicate. I reached out and touched someone and they didn't have to pay $5.95 a minute for it.


It used to be that people looked at phones as an instrument of evil. These electronic gadgets will cause the death of human interaction. Then as we moved into the end of the 20th century, people looked at email as the death of human interaction. Now, instead of speaking to someone, you can send them an instant letter. Cell phones in all their razr sidekick chocolatey goodness has replaced both instruments by allowing us to talk to someone or text them. I mostly use my cell phone for taking pictures. I bet there are people out there that have replaced their talking minutes with text and data minutes. If we continue this trend, in 1000 years or so, we may have lost the ability to speak, altogether. Some scientists theorize that we may evolve into eight toed mammals just like our appendix has become a vestigial structure, not really having a purpose other than to be removed when it gets infected. Since we are so bent on using technology to communicate with each other, the art of writing as well as proper grammar will disappear as we tend to type most communications, disregarding writing standards, to which I am a repeat offender I'm afraid. Who knows? Perhaps aliens will travel to our planet and find fossilized human remains consisting of eight toes, no vocal cords, and enlarged thumb bones. They will ponder why our culture needed big thumbs. They may postulate that maybe it were a civilization of hitchhikers or maybe because of the deep space transmission of television waves we were a cult that worshipped Arthur Fonzerelli, yet lacked the ability to say "Ayyyy!" They won't understand that we lost the need to speak due to our enlarged thumbs perfect for texting. They will find drawings on ruins and strange lettering. They will try to piece together our language from the phrases, "OMG" and "ROTFLMAO."


Of course, this is all speculation and I'm sure nowhere did Nostradamus write, "IMHO teh world will be FUBAR from to BFF n00bs who got pwned in WOW and decided to say WTF, let's flame this POS world." At least he could get through one of his writings without a phone call from someone claiming that he was signed up for their service and they wanted to do a courtesy call to check on them while his nine month old daughter is trying to nap. They didn't disturb his five minutes of peace from chasing her around the living room after the cats' tail and trying to put a piece of lint in her mouth. No. No. He didn't have to collect all the phones and turn down the ringers in hopes that she got a full two hour nap and didn't wake up cranky. I'm just saying. By the way, anybody else getting hang up calls from (484)-548-6400 or (610) 571-2709. These bastards keep calling and there is no one there. They always call during the baby's nap and I want to rage, rage against the phone's blinking light!

Shredded Tweets