Teen Lexicon Infiltration

Well those rascally teens are up to their hijinx once more. The demographic that popularized "cool", "the bomb", hackey sacks and pop tarts has thrown a new one out there. While spying others' comments on what I would like to officially recognize (and only three years late--well done, MaryT) as a pop culture tour de force: myspace (even if I do call it my page on there "myspaceship"), I kept seeing a phrase repeated among pals. And I am not referring to "girl, do I have a chance wit u?" though I hear that's popular. No, the phrase is "what's good?"

Can you imagine a Back to the Future-like scenario with current teenagers talking to the 1985 Marty McFly in his "life vest"? They would say "what's good?" meaning to inquire after his health/happiness/well-being and he would respond that the Pepsi Free and Tab are both quite good. Not to mention bitchin' camaros and parachute pants.

I'm not quite ready to use this one myself, but as I have proven time and time again: I will openly disapprove of teens until such time as it becomes absolutely culturally necessary for me to adopt their stupid habits, at which time I will make them my own and mock the teens for a *new* thing.

I dislike teens. Indeed I do. Now, where are my UGG boots and mini-skirt? (For the record, I had a mini-skirt in 9th grade. I think my mom might've, too, so whatever.)

P.S. A quick prayer of hope that I will NEVER adopt the bastardization of language that plagues these here internets that looks like this: "ReSpEKt!" And that's putting it mildly.

See You Next Year?

Hello, blog fiend checking in.

Can I just ask: why do I keep receiving mail regarding New Year's Eve 2006? New Year's Eve 2006 is OVER a year away, you morons. New Year's Eve 2005 is this weekend.

Please use your brain before emailing the entire city of Houston. I admit I have made some severe "oopsies" with regard to emailing peops in my day, but mostly those were judgement issues owing to the fact that I only had a teenage amount of years under my belt.

Also, for God's sake, PR people--if your myspace page is ultra raunchy, don't put it in your professional email signature. WTF?

By Request (post edited many times to add parentheticals, asterisks and to make me appear smarter)

A word list from last night. Though these were just my words and only the ones I remember* and not in order. And it's not as effective when written, but alas.

acknowledge
diphtheria
amphitheater
conscientious
unconscious**
boutonniere**
epiglottis**
nihilism
bouillon
pharmaceutical
miscellaneous

*other words that I didn't have to spell, but others did that I can remember:
ukulele
minuscule
ubiquitous
loquacious
camaraderie
definitely***

** I did not actually spell these words correctly, but due to being on-stage with many other poor spellers, it worked out that I was not out. For the record, I totally know how to spell unconscious, but I got jittery because that was the first word in sudden death. Fortunately, Charles was also jittery and spelled it equally wrong. Boutonniere got all remaining contestants out early on, though I was only one n and a final e away from a correct spelling. Epiglottis was also a sudden death item. Not that I have to defend myself. I won. Sorry I keep discussing this bee as though it is some riveting sports event. Call me spellbound.

*** I am not sure what it is about this word, but somehow definitely is hipster kryptonite. (Ooh! That's a good idea for a hipster quiz. If they spell definitely correctly, they will never be quality hipsters [assholes].) It is bizarre. Craigslist, livejournal, blogger, myspace and so forth are aflame with so-called "nerds" who typically write "definately," but are a black hole of misspellings for this simple word. I nearly spat out my water when the MC announced this word knowing full-well that at least two people would misspell it. Two people did. I am the real nerd. Thou shalt not pose with me, bizard.

Attendee friends, can you remember others?

Sad State of Affairs

Well, apparently Richard Pryor died on December 11. Was anyone else aware of this? Sadly, I was not. Here is the NY Times story. Typically, I can count on my yahoo to provide up-to-date info on celebrity deaths/births/divorce scandals. I guess since RP was black and talented though, he wasn't on their radar. Poor show, yahoo, poor show.

How did I find out at this late date? A brief R.I.P. notice was at the bottom of this weird email newsletter I got about how black people are oppressed and all white people wish to disfranchise all black peops (note: I do not wish to do this, black people. I like you to vote--especially since on the whole, black people are democrats. However, I do support you voting for Republicans, if that's your choice, however misguided it may be.) and get rid of Kwanzaa (note: I also embrace Kwanzaa, even if it is in kind of an ironic way. That is also the way I embrace Christmas, so don't be too offended. It's not like I am showing Jebus that much more reverence than Louis Farrakkhan, though frankly he's earned it. Did LF die for my sins? I thought not.). In fact, I read to the end of that newsletter. Well done, me, despite it's total anti-MaryT stance of "you are a bizard because you are white." I would say I am unusually non-oppressive in spite of it, my brothers and sisters. Though I am a bizard, but it is not skin-tonally related.

By the by, I realize I will likely go to hell for this blog, but dude. I have been posting for 3.5 years now. It's not like this is worthy of even putting at the end of a long, ranty email about oppression sent to an unreceptive audience...

Tra-La! Tra-Lee! I won the spelling bee!

Okay, well I am *verrrry* busy at work today. I gotta pack 5 days into 4, but I just wanted to let peops know, who were waiting to know, that I won the spelling bee at The Proletariat last night.

Thanks to my three fans who came out and cheered me on, even when I stumbled over boutonniere. Thanks to their support and a whizzbang third grade teacher, I emerged the victor by spelling n-i-h-i-l-i-s-m. Highlights of the evening included the presentation of the blue ribbon (vindicating me after a terrible ego blow, misspelling "cameral", in the 5th grade on my way to the Howard Scripps's National item) and seeing Jo's ex get hilariously appropriate words like "selfish bastard" and "damn fool." I can't actually remember what words he got, but they were really funny. Also, a girl who continues to pop up in my life like the moles in the arcade game "whack-a-mole" and is quite a know-it-all (while ironically knowing nothing) was crushed under my f-o-o-t. Ha ha, bizard.

Anywho, thanks to all who came out to support or encouraged me along the way. Fun times were had by all. And dude--I am an okay speller, as apparently of the Houston hipsters, who were in town the day after Christmas, who had the guts to get on stage, I am apparently the champ, but I can't even imagine how painfully Erin might have schooled these peops. She can spell words I've never even heard of. They stumped those silly rabbits with etiquette (or as the MC said: Etiquette was "fucking them in the face.") and minuscule. But dude, Erin can go alllll English PhD graduate student up in your business. And that would just hurt. I miss you muchly, E.

Dude, how does every blog turn into "I miss you, Erin"? I am so lame, but Erin is for real the coolest. I am going to *Iowa* for my vacation. In March. DESPITE getting offers from my mom for California and my sister for Mexico! And I think one other one that I have forgotten. Probably Europe or something insane. Am I painfully retarded? A: Probably.

Umm, yeah, so this was a short one.... I actually have lots of Christmas anecdotes to relay. So stay tuned this week!

Funny Every Time I Hear It

...even though you probably don't think so.

I need to just go ahead and put this on a t-shirt. Unless someone would like to needlepoint it on a pillow for me.

"Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes."

I guess I just think the idea of stealing someone's shoes so that they cannot retaliate against you is a completely hilarious concept. Not unlike hosing down a tree of pooping birds with a high-powered hose connected to a tank of diarrhea. How come no one else thinks that is hilarious? Too bad I am too lazy to get revenge on people. It would be good revenge.

Though anyone* who has read this week's Houston Press Nightfly column realizes that just as every dog has his day, every douche plays a large part in his own comeuppance, with no input required from me at all. That is nice. Thank you, Jesus for any role you may play in making all this go smoothly. I always thought you were nice.

*Anyone who reads it and also knows the inconsequential minutiae of my life. If not, you probably won't notice anything, for "The life of a rodeo clown is a painful and solitary existence. I know, for I am a rodeo clown."

Who cares about pay? I get paid in love.

I had an office-sanctioned glass of wine (or was it two?) at 11:45am. Around 12:30, I had 5 veeeeery strong rum balls. Or was it 6? I think my boss had about...40.

Say what you will about your high income or excellent health care. I still have the best job ever. And you know this.

Worse Than Loose Hips

Look out--it appears I am on the online test-taking bandwagon again. of course, that last one only required me entering my name. I was not sufficiently punk rock (shocking) to post the results, but hot dog--I am apparently mostly emo. That's sad. I think I'd be more emo, but I paid for my hair cut, my clothes fit me and they weren't purchased at goodwill. Sad story. So sad that I am going to go write some emo poetry to lost loves, listen to some Dashboard Confessional and cry like a 5 year-old girl who fell off her bike with training wheels.

I am 59% Emo.

Well.. I've made the cut! Now I'll go buy some promise rings and knit myself a sweater.

Take the
Emo Test
@ FualiDotCom

Patience, My Little Chippies

A fresh blog from the old country will soon be on its way. In the meantime, please bear this in mind: I still have a job and dude, it's the holidays. There's crap to DO like 100% of the time. And not like making peppermint bark. Like cleaning up chip crumbs and the bottle caps that have appeared EVERYwhere in my house. And bottle caps aside, every Matt I know is an expert in hiding candy wrappers in places of irritance in my house and when three of them were there at once, it's very hard to point the finger at exactly which Matt stuffed 14 Reese's wrappers in my sofa and exactly what his motive. Convenience? Irritance? Hilarity? Bah.

I went to Toys 'R' Us on Saturday with Pens and all I can say about that place is that it smells of diarrhea and desperate parents (perhaps desperate parents with diarrhea?). The air was thick with all that and thankfully, I had a specific purchase in mind to expedite my exodus from Dodge. (Why can't Fisher Price have a nice display at Nordstrom? I'd like to know.)

So that's enough rambling. I must return to writing about an upcoming burlesque show. Woot! Just thought I'd quell the cries of "why haven't you posted?" and "can't a blog get some love, too?" I'll be back soon, fiends.

Prudie is a Hoot and a Half

Obviously this is not original content, but I think worth the re-post. I am an unabashed advice column reader (even though Abby is typically a fuddy duddy bizard who only wishes to discuss how we can better accomodate the elderly, while rarely pausing to examing the DISGUSTING child poverty problem in the U.S.--harumph) and Prudie is my favorite. Here is an excerpt from this week's column, available on Slate.

Dear Prudence,
I might be the only one who is annoyed by this, but it makes me angry when people use the phrase "nice" to reply to something I say. My friends actually do this all the time, but I don't want to offend them by saying "No, not nice." For instance, I will say, "I tripped when I was walking and I have a huge scrape on my leg," and some friend would reply, "Nice ..." and I want to say, "No! Not nice! I have a huge scrape on my leg and it hurts. Would you call that nice?" I think it is a rude, not very thoughtful thing to say. When people do say this to me, I figure that they have nothing else to say. I have even heard it on TV commercials and the radio, and it's getting hard to deal with my little pet peeve. Any advice?

—Not Nice

Dear Not,
Um, the response "Nice" in the example you mention, is called irony. It's been popular for quite a while, certainly since Socrates, and is often intended to be humorous. That is why you're hearing it on TV and radio. Perhaps the best way to define the ironic response would be to say that it is the opposite of the expected reply ... hence, irony. Of course none of your friends think it's really nice that you tripped and hurt your leg. Prudie's guess is that your friends think it's cooler to show their sympathy by saying, "Nice," rather than, "What a bummer, you've hurt your leg."

—Prudie, paradoxically

Bizards You Sometimes Meet: Episode 2 in an Occasional Series

In this case, one must discern who is the bizard. Is it the unknown offending party? Or is MaryT the offending party?

Pens and I attended Chuy's on Monday evening and though I was pretty much on edge about every offense of the senses, I was particularly incensed (!) by something which I will now report with unflinching irritation. Now that the city of Houston has passed the no smoking in restaurants at all--smoking sections not allowed-- ordinance (thumbs up!), all the smokers have fled to the patios so that if you're sitting out there, you WILL be sitting with smokers. And these are the hard core ones that smoke so many, they have to stop mid-cigarette for a cigarette break. Namsayn?

I generally don't like to boss or be bossed (except by certain designated bosses of me, and you know who you are), but you know what people? You have a problem. You have a freaking gross, filthy health/addiction problem and you're getting it just a little bit too much up in my grill. Sure, people can be overeaters, but it's not like they're going to put all their food in front of you and make you smell it while they're eating it. Yes, people have alcohol problems and these are bad, too. But they don't directly effect me and my quality of life unless I choose to spend time with alcoholics or people that eat their feelings. So this is where I take issue. Do *whatever* you want to yourself. Get coked out. Smoke 15 packs. Impregnante yourself with the diseased bodily fluids of 40 whores. Drink a fifth of whiskey for breakfast. Eat 25 Big Macs in one go. I don't care. But the minute you put my health or even comfort in jeopardy, I am going to be irate. In public spaces, can you please control your nasty habits for public good? If the answer is no*, please stay home.

Not to sound all right wing or something, but I'd like to re-work "keep your laws off my body," to also be keep your civil liberties off my body, too.

*Since Noonan inquired about what I think about misbehaved children in public, I'd like to take a moment here to say to parents of screaming children--stay home. I don't compare children to smoking, exactly, except to say: having children is a choice. Smoking is a choice. If your choices and the comfort of others cannot co-exist without compromising everyone's comfort an unreasonable amount, the offending party needs to stop being a selfish bizard, and accept the consequences--good and bad-- of his/her choices. I *do* think children are a precious gift and an asset and not that whole should be seen and not heard business. That's crapster. But I think that children are *unhappy* participating in most adult situations and should not be forced to by selfish parents who don't want to get a babysitter or change their lives at all. Guess what? Too bad, crapster!

I Always Suspected

I haven't posted one of these crapsters in a long time, so I thought it was high time I did. It's not quite what I'd feared, at least.

Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Mary's Lurgy
Cause:	a blow to the head
Symptoms:	automatic writing, punning, wrist swelling, moodiness
Cure:	wake up and realise it was all just a dream
Enter your name, for your own diagnosis:

The Snare of the Online Community!

This is so sad. I'm trying to reconcile myself with the fact that I am now a for real member of myspace. I would post the link here, but I don't know, that's like handing strangers my personal photos after they can read in some detail about the past three years of my life. I need to believe there is some sort of disconnect, even if, as I am discovering, everyone in Montrose knows or has had sex with or has tried to have sex with or engaged in a night of memorable drinking with everyone else in Montrose. Tres disturbing.

So I now actually have another blog at myspace. Don't worry. French-Roast is still the premier locale for bitching and being bitched upon, but the myspace one is rants related to myspace and how I don't understand why I'm there or what's going on.

So online community memberships:
-Blogger (the slippery slope gateway drug!)
-Friendster
-Xanga (half-heartedly, still)
-Myspace

In my defense, I don't have a profile on blogger, I use my own comments and I basically never post on craigslist anymore, but still. WTF, man?

Maybe in a fit of hoped-for anonymity I will delete all my accounts some night. We'll see. In the meantime, while I am expanding my internet presence in greater quantities each day, please sign up to be my friend at one of the aforementioned sights. If I like you, I mean.

MattH (HeartsPens) is awesome.

That is all I have to say about that.

Bizards You Sometimes Meet: Episode 1 in an Occasional Series

I just went to the bathroom and this woman was in there talking on her cell phone (weird) and she acted all huffy when I started peeing and said to the opther person "I have to go. I can't hear you with all the noise in here." All the noise? I was the only one in there besides her, so I assume she was referring to the sound of falling urine. Excuse me, but it's a bathroom. I shouldn't feel bad for peeing. Bizard!

I dislike cell phones a great deal, as many of you know, but still use one because I recognize that in some situations, they're just more convenient/helpful to have. However, I can say uniequivocally: no cell phones in the bathroom.

Imagine, indeed

A special R.I.P. to John Lennon on this the 25th anniversary of his death. Though officially I was alive during his lifetime, it was his legacy that truly impacted me. Indeed it did. Like many, I believe he affected much change and opened a lot of eyes with his extraordinary musical abilities.

That said, some people take things a bit too much to heart. One fan has been re-arranging acorns and stuff into a peace sign every day for 13 years on JL's behalf. Another 26 year-old fan from Spain travels to Liverpool annually to mourn him. As I asked during the Michael Jackson thing: who are these people? I mean, I don't even usually have enough vacation days to visit all my friends and relatives who are ALIVE everywhere in the U.S. and these peops are making annual or *daily* pilgrimmages to the grave of a rock star 25 years dead? WTF? See here.

Sorry my blog has been down a good portion of today for any who stopped by. I was having technical difficulties with blogger.

The Richest Man in Town

I am apparently a blogging fiend today, but I came home from work early because I have a pretty bad cold and internet was down at work, so I couldn't get anything done there anyway.

So I was watching It's A Wonderful Life, one of my favorite movies of all time, while I work here on the couch. I have seen it so many times that I can tune it out and still know every line when I look up. The one part I can never miss is the very end when Harry Bailey comes home and all the Bedford Falls people are dumping cash on George's dining room table. And even if I have only been paying attention for the ten seconds it takes for Harry to say "A toast to my big brother George: the richest man in town," I still cry. Every time. It is the best, most poignant line in a movie ever.

If you haven't seen it lately or ever, watch it today.

"Remember, no man is a failure who has friends."

"Unattended Children Will be Given An Espresso and a Puppy"

I love kids (it's the teens that get me down), but I do think this article brings up some ideas worth discussing.

What do y'all think? I think the sign, quoted in the title of this post, is HILARIOUS.

A Disclaimer That Is, in and of Itself, Douchey

My frequent readers are surely aware that my word du jour, or de l'an really, is douchebag and its many derivatives. Douche, douchey, douchebaggery, douche-itude, etc. But I want you to know that I am aware that I am often guilty of the things I criticize others now and previously for and cite them sternly with "douchiness."

As my right-hand Matt/The Lover of Pens (RHM) recently said: "[MaryT] and I are often very nearly total douches ourselves, but only to strangers." I will go him one better and say we're often douches to one another also, but can overlook it more easily because we know that at the core, we're sympatico.

Anyway, this whole post is just to say that I do not believe my crankiness to be above censure and you should feel free to say so when you believe my snarkiness is just straight forward douchiness and not something like wit. I do (heart) hate mail, after all.

P.S. Doesn't *anyone* want to be part of my I Heart Houston blog? Douches, all!

P.P.S. RHM also believes that enemas are the douche of the man world, but calling someone an enema just lacks the style of labeling them a douche. Of course, the newest member of the Army of Matt (four strong now!) made the point that even women have a butthole.

P.P.P.S. This post is getting gross. Sorry.

Dear The Vatican,

How's keeping your head buried in the sand working out for y'all? Not too freaking well, is it?

That is why I have absolutely no problem with calling you: Blowhards.

Prom Night at Hater High*

I have attempted to recap this article from Slate to so many of you that I figured I would just post the link and maybe we can lambaste prom over drinks or something.

In times past, I have discussed my disgust at the growing trend of over-indulgent weddings. Even my 25th birthday party was a nose-thumbing at the overplanned, overproduced Mexican tradition of the quincanera. In olden times, I understand that this was a rite of passage presenting a woman for sex purposes, but times have changed and teenagers are now unceremoniously giving blow jobs on elementary school playgrounds of America with or without limousines involved. So might as well keep it in your pants, Mom and Dad. And by it, I mean your wallets.

I might add, also, that the whitey trend of Sweet 16 has also gotten out of hand, not to mention Jewish bar/bat mitzvahs (I recently read of and saw photos of one at which rapper 50 Cent was *among* the entertainment, though he was hilariously wearing a diamond-encrusted cross for a necklace!). Even one of Ms. Whit's 13 year old charges had something of an extravaganza for a *middle school* halloween party in which she was in a spin about whether to arrive in the jag or the bentley or something like that. Quoi? Am I old fashioned to think that they're just going to end up playing spin the bottle and running around in their socks on the slick floors by the end of the night? They're CHILDREN! Did we learn nothing from Jon Benet?

I am often mocked and jeered (good naturedly of course--right friends?) for having the Facts of Life School as my high school alma mater, but I am really proud of my non-deluded roots. Instead of having prom, we went to an amusement park and I walked away from the experience full of cotton candy, not STDs or an unrealistic expectation about being a fairy princess for a night. (And I carry that all in my heart, still.)

The showy sanctioning of booze-binges and materialistic excess for children is appalling (hey, once you make your own cheese, I've got no problem with gluttonous adults) and I think makes for a very complacent youth who doesn't vote and doesn't care. I mean, how will you know how bad people are oppressing you if you never drive a beater or eat E Z Mac for 15 meals/week? That's a digression. The point is: well done, this high school.

Too bad that Mom and Dad couldn't be the ones to step up and take the lead. Uck. This is a hot issue for me. No wonder my back is always Don Knotts.

*As E. can attest, this is a most excellent song, also.