// Douchebag Neck - Why and how did the Bro population bring this look back into fruition? I had never given this idiotic excuse for dapper much thought until recently. While on my latest round of bar-capades, I was in the company - as more of a spectator than a tribesman - of an inordinately large number of Brosephs. Long story short: one of my buddies (non-Bro, natch) had a Bro friend who's Bro was celebrating something. And the Bro in question was celebrating what? Perhaps I'll never know but my working theories include A) he finally deciphered all the African-American colloquialisms in American Gangster, or B) after years of bad bounces, he graduated from having a "devil's threesome" to the more Bro-accepted standard 9th grade fantasy-model threesome in which the ladies outnumber the Broski. Regardless, a celebration was afoot. As I scoped the scene in what has to be mid-Michigan's most Brolicious night spot, I surmised that no less than 25 Bros were employing the neck line depicted above. The saturation was astounding; nearly 40% of all eligible parties were rickety-rockin' the look. (I had to deduct non-Bros, for their feeble minds could never fathom the idea of a neck line plunging south of the sternum.) Is it just me, or didn't an ultra low-hanging V-neck used to conjure up images of sweaty, nasty, moronically oblivious dirtbags? Like say you're in an art class, and the teacher asks to draw a caricature of an overworked, misogynistic, ethically ambiguous auto mechanic from Newark, wouldn't a too-low V-neck be part of that picture? So how did this get to be trendy? As much as I love the Bro culture, sometimes it produces a social moray that makes me shake my head in wonderment/disdain. In that way, it's eerily similar to country music. Phooey.
// Bothersome Two-fer: Sarah Jessica Parker and People Who Say "I'm sure he/she's a nice person..." - Before we get to Mrs. Matthew Broderick, I'll say this. She's probably a nice person. See that? See how I didn't say, "I'm sure she's a nice person"? That's because I'm not sure. So, from now on, when a person is about to say something disparaging about a famous person who they don't know on a personal level and they start with, "I'm sure he's a nice person, but..." STOP THEM. I know it's just semantics, but we have to make a stand. You, me, your friends, my neighbor, the too-drunk guy at open mic night; none of us know if these people we are speaking about are nice! They could be alcoholic baby hammer-throw enthusiasts for all we know! Even if you believe that most people are inherently nice, no one can say with any certainty - no matter how many US Weekly subscriptions we've renewed - that a certain celebrity is "nice". From now on, we are going to get real and switch it up to "She might be a nice person" or "He's probably a nice guy". OK, that's settled. As far as Parker is concerned, the question is very simple: who in the hell decided that this woman is a sex symbol? Is this what the new millennium is bringing us? Adolescent boys having fantasies about Sarah Jessica Parker? SHE LOOKS LIKE DEE SNIDER! This - in a nutshell - is the downside to the whole "everyone is beautiful" mantra that has been infiltrating the minds of America. I blame Christina Aguilera and that feel-goodery anthem she peddled when I was in high school. Words cant bring you down? Really? Well then let me look a little harder because I'm sure I can come up with some real soul-crushing whoppers if you'd just give me a minute. It might be hard to hear, but here is a fact of life: Not everyone is hot, and as soon as we accept that fact and start idolizing the pretty people again, the sooner I can go back to feeling sane. It's like one day I just broke out of a fog and people were considering Sarah Jessica Parker a hottie. I feel like I'm trapped in a poorly-written episode of The Twilight Zone.
// The National League - In all honesty, this has nothing to do with the fact that my favorite ball club is in the American League. If I was a Lakers fan during the early part of this decade, I would have the same feelings towards the Eastern Conference. Let's get real, NL. Allow a f*cking DH. I will never understand why they think a pitcher should be picking up the lumber. And before the laundry list of anti-DH rationale comes a-flowing, consider this: would you enjoy basketball as much if the 3-point line didn't exist? Or would it make sense if only half the teams had it on their court? In football, what if all the NFC teams left the goal posts at the front of the endzone? After another year of American League teams smacking around the Senior Circuit like a bunch of indebted prostitutes, it's become clear that the NL goofballs need to rethink their position on the DH rule. Not only are AL teams better at hitting overall (thereby getting a major advantage in the World Series after they inevitably win the All-Star Game), but the pitchers are - despite statistics - light years ahead of their NL competition. Yeah, NL pitchers traditionally rack up more Ks and have lower ERAs than the hurlers from the American League, but I'll never concede that they're better. Why? Because they get to face a freaking pitcher about twice a night. Two free outs every time out of the gate! The vast majority of these pitchers are either whiffers who can't hit when they try, or grizzled vets who really couldn't give two dooks if they kill a rally (our old friend Kenny Rogers). No more pitchers in the batter's box. I don't think Abner Doubleday will be offended.
// Click It or Ticket - The stupidest campaign since the live Burger King mascot, if only for the reason that it takes away from the valuable (loose term) time cops could be using to... y'know... stop actual crime. The focus of police should be to stop people from activities that have the potential to harm other people. I have to imagine that there's been an instance of a cop somewhere getting his dispatch call a shade too late because he was handing out a seat belt ticket to a guy who was late for work and forgot. The meth addict who was robbing the liquor store might have gotten away, but at least the 45-year-old father of three will think twice before he crosses Johnny Law again! Boo-yah! Here's the only way I can imagine "Click It or Ticket" proving its worth.
Fantasy Sequence: I'm at home and I'm relaxing on the couch after a busy day. Y'know what, honey? I haven't watched the news in a while. I think I'll check out what's happening in the greater Buffalo area today. Oh, no. There was an accident. Hey, sweetie? Could you please turn it up? The on-site reporter's voice as the volume gets louder: "...but the paramedics arrived too late. It all started when this 2006 Honda Civic slammed into the median at close to 70 miles per hour. While the car eventually stopped its uncontrollable spin, the carnage didn't end there. Witnesses say the driver, 29-year-old Bryce Palmer, wasn't wearing his seat belt. I'm not sure how, but that pretty much caused everything else. This tragic seventeen-car pileup could have easily been avoided if just one of these people were wearing their safety belts; a lesson that these families... (required overly-dramatic local news pause)... won't soon forget. Back to you in the studio."
No, I can't imagine it either. Police officers of Michigan and wherever else seat belts have become priority #1: Don't worry about it. If we happen to fly through our windshield and get an asphalt scone for lunch, it's one us, K? You're off the hook. Now go do something useful like busting up a 6-person get together where only some of the kids are 21.
// Gwyneth Paltrow & Chris Martin: I've thought about this for a while, but I never could put my finger on what bothered me until now. Gwyneth, I'm going to assume - for the sake of argument - that you had to work hard to become the successful actress you are today. Chris, I'll apply the same assumption to your music career and the success of Coldplay. Do you think you'd be where you are today if your parents had named you Strawberry Paltrow? Or Kiwi Martin? Your talents would still be there, but the sheer ridiculousness of those names could drastically alter the path you've taken with your normal names. There could have been teasing at school. That one record executive or casting director who gave you your big break could have had second thoughts because you were named after a nutritious fruit. Perhaps he/she could have reasoned your parents were kinda nuts and you might be as well. Then where would you be? Gwyneth: after refusing to get breast augmentation for moral reasons, you were flushed out of the bottom of the porn industry. Chris: I'm not sure what else you could do, but I am sure that it wouldn't afford you the opportunity to dance around like a drunken Alzheimer's patient in an iPod commercial. My point is: if you'd been given what I'll call "abnormal" names, those names could have been indirectly responsible for denying you the good fortune you've earned. Thankfully for you, normal names were given. So why did you name your daughter Apple? First of all, I'm close to 100% sure that Apple is not a name. Secondly, even if by some miracle Apple is a name, I'm equally inclined to think that it's a guy's name. Regardless, the naming of a kid isn't some whimsical adventure for the parents. It's not like picking out the new shade of paint to be used in the foyer. The kid has to live with the name long after you've checked out. What I fear is that the worst part will happen long after the schoolyard teasing and the self-doubt cycles. When young Apple blossoms (PUN!) into a young woman and bears fruit (PUN AGAIN!) of her own, what will happen to the unreleased rage she's built up from living with her own ridiculous excuse for a name? You guessed it: she's going to name your grandson something even more insane. The cycle will continue for generations and generations until we finally hit rock bottom in 2561: "Check out the 2561 MTV Movie Awards! With appearances by: Piece of F*cking Sh*t Stupid Face-Lookin' Milky Way Rotten Vulture Carcass Paltrow-Martin..." So please, name the next one Kelly or something.
// That's all I got. Goodnight, Apollo, God of the Sun.
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