What the What?!….Pup-Peroni

Latest Gmail ad that makes no sense for my current email exchanges: Pup-Peroni?

I wish I needed Pup-Peroni because then I could finally put Martha Stewart’s pet adopting knowledge to use.

You, you, and you, I wish I could.

What the What?!…Do Apologies Matter?

I originally posted this on Blogcritics.org, but wanted to share it here, for those people who love to Google “hipster,” “woman on toilet,” and “wacko jacko.”

Within 24 hours recently, two public figures had outbursts that created strong tremors. When Serena Williams threatened a line referee at the U.S. Open and Kanye West stole the microphone from Taylor Swift at MTV’s Video Music Awards, people were left with very bitter tastes in their mouths. Ms. Williams had never displayed such a strong reaction to a call, and while Mr. West is known for his antics, his behavior towards Ms. Swift was exceptionally absurd. America could clearly see what was wrong in both of these situations, but Ms. Williams and Mr. West could not, waiting several days before offering apologies. Once both parties made their apologies, people were still unsatisfied and thought neither party had been sincere.

When public figures misstep, people want to see emotion and awareness about the situation, which rarely come across in public apologies. With the 24-hour news cycle, bloggers, and commenters, society is at a point where apologies do not matter anymore. There is always someone to judge and offer boisterous opinions long after the matter at hand.

What Ms. Williams did is part of any game. One only has to go to YouTube to see a vast collection of John McEnroe’s outbursts and expletive-laden remarks to umpires. Look at baseball: when managers verbally attack umpires’ faces or when players leave the dugout for a pitcher’s mound brawl, fines are issued, players are suspended, but rare is the apology. Sports are full of aggression towards officials, we just don’t see it frequently in tennis. While Ms. Williams’ actions may not have been right, the thought behind them was, as she had been robbed by an incredibly rare call on match point.

Ms. Williams did what a lot of other athletes would do: express anger. While she avoided the subject with reporters, more and more people clamored for an apology and received a publicist-spun response. Hearing from a public figure who seems to have no comprehension about his or her actions is a greater insult to fans than no apology at all. Mr. McEnroe made a career of his bad-boy behavior and continues to live off his notoriety with appearances on 30 Rock and in Nike campaigns. Until a person can reflect upon the issue at hand and understand his or her faults, there is no need for an apology because it is only words at that point, with no true sense of remorse. At times, then, it is sometimes better to do nothing at all, except pay your fine and call up Tina Fey.

Mr. West’s outburst deserves the same type of approach. After the VMAs, he posted an apology on his blog, which, in his typical fashion, was in all caps, continuing his ranting behavior and offering little consolation. It wasn’t until Mr. West went on the Jay Leno Show Monday evening, a day after the incident with Taylor Swift, that he looked even somewhat remorseful for his inappropriate actions. By Tuesday evening, he spoke with Ms. Swift and offered, in her words, “a sincere apology.”

There are two celebrities here with reputations on the line. Mr. West’s reputation is on the line because he took away an important moment from an innocent girl who had caused him no harm and harbored no ill will. Ms. Williams’ reputation is on the line because or her rare on-court outburst. Ms. Williams offered a manufactured apology, and Mr. West was able to recover somewhat from his errors and offer Ms. Swift a heartfelt apology. It probably helped him as well to know that President Obama considered him a jackass.

People in the spotlight have a lot at stake: fans, sponsors, business relationships, and reputation. For Ms. Williams, the $10,500 fine is pennies; and if tennis never ousted Mr. McEnroe, Ms. Williams certainly will be back with more for her colorful highlight reel. As for Mr. West, the longer he delayed his apology, the more he could have lost, but he was able to partially redeem himself, at least until his next improvisational performance.

What can we learn from all this? Is it better to keep our mouths shut and mull over our questionable actions, or is it better to offer a quickly spun apology that addresses all parties? It seems that if the spotlight is on you, it’s better to let the light shine, reemerge with actually valid sentiments, and expect people to still dislike you.

What the What?!…Obama’s Motorcade

After working in midtown for the past two years, I finally saw a presidential motorcade this morning.  The last time I saw anything motorcade-ish was in Russia when I was almost squashed by a possessed fleet of Mercedes.

As I stood there this morning eating my granola bar, I wondered, where is the President going?  Is he headed to the U.N. or meeting up with Air Force One.  Luckily, the New York Times informed me that Obama is currently speaking at the U.N.

So Obama went from point A to point B

View Larger Map

I wonder if he wishes that he could just walk, especially since he’s presenting on climate change.  This is New York, not New Hampshire, we don’t carry loaded guns when the President is in town.

What the What?!…The Squirrelizer

I love the Squirrelizer. It is so silly and stupid, but much like Cakewrecks, I cannot stop laughing.

The New York Times had this picture on its main page:

And here is the Squirrelizer edition:

Hah!

More Squirrelizer:

Squirrel and Baby

(Disclosure: I have no clue who this kid is, but what a face)

Squirrel and Bear Grylls

Squirrel on a Glacier

Squirrel on a Beach

So obviously, Squirrel and the Montauk Monster

And Squirrel and a Cake Wreck!

The last one didn’t completely blow my mind like I was hoping it would, so back to other salt mines of knowledge.

What the What?!…Budget Ice Cream

My roommate and I have weekly Sunday night dinners that consist of pasta, usually of the whole-wheat variety, salad, and the notorious Four Buck Chuck.  Tonight, in anticipation of the pointless Video Music Awards (luckily, we caught the Kanye West’s lovely microphone grab from Taylor Swift.  You, sir, are a jerk), and watching the lovely ladies of the U.S. Open, we decided some ice cream was in order.

First, we stopped by Tasti D-Lite.  How Tasti D-Lite is all-natural and fat-free makes no sense in my mind and I’m waiting for inevitable disappointment, like in Seinfeld’s “The Non-Fat Yogurt.”

Tasti D-Lite charges $4 for a runt-sized cup of mush, that leaves an overly chemical aftertaste, so we passed on that chemical compound and moved onto Pinkberry.

I have never understood Pinkberry.  If you want a frozen delight, why eat something that tastes like Fage yogurt?  Frozen creaminess is supposed to induce sugar shock, not pursing your lips into a sour expression.

We didn’t make it to Pinkberry because the lingering thought of new pet moths in our wallets directed us to Morton Williams for the ice cream extravaganza sale.  Sadly, the extravaganza ran out before our arrival, but luckily management provided us with adequate substitutions for our boys, Ben and Jerry–Friendly’s ice cream and Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Syrup (highly recommended).

All in all, it was very happy evening.  Why we didn’t have the same social aspect of cruising the sidewalks with our kiddie cups of ice cream/imitation ice cream/fro yo gunk, we did keep another moth infestation away.

What the What?!…Indian Summer Cold

Woke up this morning with swollen tonsils.  I think getting sick point at this point in my life is a sign that Party Girl needs to become Homestead Girl.

As I spent the better part of last Friday stuck on a bus, I did my part to keep print alive and read some relics known as magazines.  I don’t know about anyone else in my generation, but I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of paper in my hands, especially the thick, not quite as thick as it used to be, flaming liberal, Sunday New York Times.

Wired has a fascinating article by Nicholas Thompson about people trying to disappear and failing due to modern technology.  While people may contemplate running away and losing themselves, it would be incredibly hard, as the article points out, to completely eliminate all contact with your past life.  As a source in the article said, it takes only mistake for someone to find you.  Thanks, Twitter!

Interview’s T. Cole Rachel writes about new New York music, my favorite anecdote from the band, “Suckers.” They were playing a show and thought they would crash a raging frat party that was happening at the same time.  Unfortunately, it turned out to be a Rob Schneider movie set.

Finally, if you’re into crime and murder stories like I am (“Law and Order” marathons=couch groove deepens), check out The New Yorker’s David Grann piece about a man on death row for killing his three children in Texas.  The article really highlights what simple conversation can draw out of a person.

What the What?!…Everywhere and Everything

I finished reading “Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi” by Geoff Dyer today and it was the first long-form, roaming, stream-of-consciousness type book I haven’t read in a long time.  It was fascinating because there are no chapters, only two novellas, and you never quite know if it is the same man in both parts.

The final part brings up questions of enlightenment and being a one, complete being, where “what is here is also there, and what is there is also here.” Some may question they’re own being and self with that quotation, but for some reason, I approach it with how people accept and address fear.  While reading that final passage of the book, it really struck me why people hesitate with anything in life–if it is the same here as it is there, when you try something new, things will still be there as they always have been here.  Very circular, but that is what life is, really, tracing one circle into another until everything comes back to where you started.  As my aunt said the other night to my cousin, “and when you get older, you’ll go back to wearing diapers!”  Frightening, but true.

Taking the steps to overcome fear is first realizing what you want to do and then putting that thought into action.  The fear hold-up factor is rather simple, fear of failure.

Once you have something in mind that you want to achieve, it becomes clear that anything less is unacceptable.  Because anything less is unacceptable, we don’t take those steps to move forward because it is much safer to live in the mundane than make an attempt at true satisfacation and self-realization.  No fulfillment, no happiness, but at least safety, which is something humans constantly require.

Take steps and just keep swimming.

What the What?!…Great Depression Land

“We teetered on Great Depression Land,” said Austan Goolsbee on “The Daily Show” tonight.  Any phrase that ends in “land” should be fun: “Adventureland,” “Disneyland,” even “The Holy Land Experience” sounds like a better time than Great Depression Land.  Would the Triangle Factory be a main attraction?  Free fall, perhaps?

It is absurdly hot in our apartment (moved from here to here a week ago) and since 1) Economic times are rough 2) My roommate and I are assistants with meager paychecks 3) We’re environmentalists (that is probably debatable.  What came first, poor pay or strong stance to save the environment?), the air is not on.  The three points combined leave us with one big fan and a lot of empty sorbet boxes.  The boxes are recycled and the sorbet is organic, so you can wipe that fear from your brow that I could be a hypocrite.   Certainly not a hypocrite, but a hot and mushy brain person?  Absolutely.

Did I just describe a zombie?  Oh, biggest fear, it could happen!  “28 Days Later?!”  “Shaun of the Dead?!”  Both are entirely plausible.  As is my need for bed, more what the what?!  later.

Writing of which, what the what did I just put down?

What the What?!…Hipsters

My friends have called me a hipster before, which I deny because I am missing several hipster elements. 1) I never look like the people from this site, lookatthisfuckinghipster.tumblr.com  2) I don’t reek of depression or disdain for society 3) I failed this quiz

I’ve been fascinted with hipster culture since I’ve moved to Brooklyn and began riding the F train.  A hipster strikes me as a person that wants to be individualistic but actually isn’t because they look like everyone else: weird sunglasses, mismatched clothes, works in media, skinny jeans, and Converses.  Essentially, this guy.  While actually wearing different clothes, hipsters all end up wearing the same ironic outfits that give the perception of, “I’m wearing something different and individualistic, yet I’m the same as the person next to me on the F train because I look absolutely ridiculous.” Irony, yea!

Walking to the subway today was remarkable.  Not only did I pass a Hummer (whenever I see one of these nowadays, I feel like I’m seeing a horse and buggy–how quaint and outdated is that?!), but I passed a lady in the following ensemble: short, puffy navy and white polka dot dress, black stilettos, harshly dyed black hair, and a navy blue pillbox hat.  Oh, and she had an iPhone.

Crazy, sorry, eclectic, non-matching clothes + iPhone= the flight attendant hipster.

Said hipster was walking along with her boyfriend while smoking cigarettes and had the following conversation

GIRL

So like, I said, duuuude, this swine flu thing is real!  Don’t you watch the news?!  I mean, like, seriously?

BOYstares blankly ahead while taking a long drag on his Marlboro Red.

GIRL

I mean, it’s spread through the air! And….

GIRL takes a drag and a sip from her iced mocha coffee

GIRL

Oh, no!  How the hell am I supposed to smoke and cover my mouth at the same time?!  This flu is ruining everything!

BOY ignores GIRL completely, wondering how he ended up with someone who dresses like a flight attendant.

What the what?!  I think the swine flu is less deadly in Cobble Hill than sucking down Marlboro Reds while wearing a pillbox hat.  There’s style and then there’s looking just plain ridiculous.

There is such a fine line between style and ridiculous that hipsters always step over.  I don’t know how Urban Outfitters got away with saying that feathers, suspenders, and thread bare clothes made a great ensemble.  For the most part, hipsters look like people who went patrolling through their parents closets and took the worst part of the 70s with them.  Ugly Liberty of London prints (because there are beautiful ones), boob tube tops that do nothing to flatter your upper region, and a feather bandana?  Your mom stopped wearing this for a reason, because it looks absurd.  Oh, and shoulder pads, but Balmain brought them back, so those are okay.

People did a lot of drugs in the 60s and 70s and it could only be for one reason–the clothes.  And…oh, c’mon!  You have tiger on your sweatshirt!  A purple hued tiger!

 Hipsters seem to think that they are being creative, but all they really are doing is throwing together a bunch of random items without any idea of the overall image (i.e. Napoleon Dynamiteness to the right).

Visiting sites like garancedore.fr and thesartorialist.com offer a different world where people have an assortment of craziness, but manage to piece it together into something that is startling, refreshing, and unique.

While these ladies have nontraditional clothes on, they aren’t hipsters because they look happy, content, and delighted to be alive.

So, hipsters, turn that frown upside down, contemplate your wardrobe, and, what the what, sunglasses!  Just stop, your future self will thank you.

What the What?!…Free Grill!

From my dad.

Such the jokster.