United Airways, in their limitless good judgment and wisdom, has decided that the best possible entertainment for a 4 hour flight to Las Vegas is:
1) The Hulk, starring Ed Norton
2) A 2-year-old episode of The Office (Halloween, first season)
3) An hour-long (possibly longer) History Channel special on hotdogs.
There are so many things wrong with this.
Even ignoring the flat-out bad-ness that is The Hulk -- why would you kick off a lengthy flight with something full of explosions, violence and growling mutants? That is not the sort of thing that puts your passengers at ease. In fact, it is just the kind of thing that gets passengers like me worried because what are you going to do if someone gets all hulked up on this plane over the desert? That’s what I thought.
We’re going to totally ignore the Office thing because it’s mostly benign and it’s too random for me to think about.
Okay, the hotdog thing. Maybe I’m just 8 years old here, but I cannot take a History Channel show seriously when it is wholly composed of lengthy, loving shots of flaccid brown penis-looking things. People holding the penis tenderly in their fingers. People posing next to the penis and smiling. Penis after penis shooting off a conveyer belt.
Even if no one else’s mind went there, a hotdog is a weird thing to highlight because no matter how freaking delicious they are (and they are), they are disgusting sacks of chopped up, nameless meat pieces. No one wants to learn about that. No one wants to see extended factory shots of the meat bits getting stirred.
It’s bad and it’s wrong and it’s making me hungry. (That’s what she said).
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Important Life Choices
The laundromat is the heart of any good community.
[sidenote: I’m trying to start posts with words other than “I.” It’s much harder than one might think.]
Being the good community member that I am [as in, member of a good community, not as in being good at it], I was at the laundromat over the weekend. Don’t worry, I was not actually doing laundry because that’s for plebeians; I was merely helping my plebeian boyfriend fold his plebeian underpants. Then, I saw some signs.
These signs were not your usual laundromat signs, instructing me to put three quarters in the machine or to not dye my clothes in their washers (who does that?). These were COMMUNITY signs -- fliers with tear-off phone numbers, entreating various laundromat patrons to put down that lint trap and pick up an oboe for your local reed instrument symphony, or to call Susan [licensed instructor!] for free French lessons on Saturdays.
Those left me nonplussed. Whose community doesn’t have a joint math gang/medieval war reenactors’ club? Yawn.
However, just when I thought folding underpants was going to turn out to be just as boring as it sounds, two very special signs caught my eye. One told me that if I called the number listed on the bottom, I could learn to speak to angels. The one right beneath it told me that if I took their number, I could learn to speak to Animals! OOOOOOO!
The signs gave the distinct impression that they were in competition for willing students. The kind of linguistical genius that can learn to speak the languages of both angels and animals at the same time comes along rarely, and never in a laundromat. These signs were out for blood. Signblood. Interested parties had to make a choice.
So I did what any underpants-folding fool would: squealed, pointed out both, and proceeded to ask the pleb what he would choose. He said animals, which immediately made me think angels were probably a better choice. Animals would just be all up in your business asking for food all day. Angels would have some real shit to talk about because they have weightier things on their minds than, “Who peed here last?”
Then again, angels might be kind of a downer. What if you tried to start a normal conversation, like, “Hey, angelguy, have you seen the latest episode of The Office?” The angel, having weightier things on its mind, would sigh, roll its angelic eyes and expound upon virtues and blahblahblah.
We don’t need those kinds of snobs mucking up our neighborhood.
[sidenote: I’m trying to start posts with words other than “I.” It’s much harder than one might think.]
Being the good community member that I am [as in, member of a good community, not as in being good at it], I was at the laundromat over the weekend. Don’t worry, I was not actually doing laundry because that’s for plebeians; I was merely helping my plebeian boyfriend fold his plebeian underpants. Then, I saw some signs.
These signs were not your usual laundromat signs, instructing me to put three quarters in the machine or to not dye my clothes in their washers (who does that?). These were COMMUNITY signs -- fliers with tear-off phone numbers, entreating various laundromat patrons to put down that lint trap and pick up an oboe for your local reed instrument symphony, or to call Susan [licensed instructor!] for free French lessons on Saturdays.
Those left me nonplussed. Whose community doesn’t have a joint math gang/medieval war reenactors’ club? Yawn.
However, just when I thought folding underpants was going to turn out to be just as boring as it sounds, two very special signs caught my eye. One told me that if I called the number listed on the bottom, I could learn to speak to angels. The one right beneath it told me that if I took their number, I could learn to speak to Animals! OOOOOOO!
The signs gave the distinct impression that they were in competition for willing students. The kind of linguistical genius that can learn to speak the languages of both angels and animals at the same time comes along rarely, and never in a laundromat. These signs were out for blood. Signblood. Interested parties had to make a choice.
So I did what any underpants-folding fool would: squealed, pointed out both, and proceeded to ask the pleb what he would choose. He said animals, which immediately made me think angels were probably a better choice. Animals would just be all up in your business asking for food all day. Angels would have some real shit to talk about because they have weightier things on their minds than, “Who peed here last?”
Then again, angels might be kind of a downer. What if you tried to start a normal conversation, like, “Hey, angelguy, have you seen the latest episode of The Office?” The angel, having weightier things on its mind, would sigh, roll its angelic eyes and expound upon virtues and blahblahblah.
We don’t need those kinds of snobs mucking up our neighborhood.
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