9 posts tagged “rants”

I have a question.  So I was at Target this afternoon buying an overly-expensive yet completely-worth-it Sonicare toothbrush because my old one just pooped out last night. (Ack...Can't be mad, though, because I've only had it for 11 years.)  Anyhoo, I'm wandering at Target, as I am predisposed to do (because I haven't spent my requisite $100 yet and I'm afraid the universe will open and swallow me whole if I tempt those fates) and I wend my way into the deodorant aisle.  Now for my question:

Since when is it necessary that we use "clinical strength" anti-perspirant? And why does it have to come in 700 scents including "Mango Dream?"  Seriously, are we really so disgustingly sweaty that the masses should have to have smell control that's reserved for those who normally would have to go to the "clinic" to get their hands on it? And did this just start happening?  Because I'm pretty sure that in all of my anti-perspirant wearing days I've never really seen this phenomenon appear at Target before. 

Of course, I understand that there are those who have serious sweating problems and that these aren't new formulas or anything.  I also know that, despite all of my problems, this isn't one of them; I'm actually allergic to the aluminum in the stuff anyway so I gotta go the Tom's Natural direction.  But c'mon.  I can't believe that there are enough people who legitimately have this problem diagnosed to warrant an entire wall of the stuff at Target.  I also question why something clincal also has to have sparkly silver writing on it.  Do our pharmacists hang a disco ball and wear leisure suits? No.  They look like medical professionals.  They are clinical.  Because they deal with serious drugs.  Shouldn't we expect the same from boxes containing clinical strength anything?

I don't even want to think about what makes it clinical...more heavy metals that we're smearing on ourselves just so Stacy and Clinton won't pop up from around the nearest rack of clothes and besmirch our unsightly sweat.  Geez.  It's hot out there.  We sweat.  Shouldn't we be asking more questions about what we're putting on to absolutely stop that process for hours at a time? 

Of course, I basically put bleach directly on my teeth, creating a nauseating pain that lasts for days just so I can have a whiter smile.  I suppose we all pick our poisons, don't we.  But seriously....clinical strength Secret...it's like an oxymoron... 

There are some people who I really wonder about, made more interesting by the fact that I do not know them.  Oprah is one.  Rachael Ray is another. (Sandra Lee is also another but she gets her own post--and has on this blog already.) Back to Rachael. We've watched said perky, non-chef, cookery maid change already simple but lovable "American" cuisine for the worst by introducing the concept of 30-Minute Meals which allows us to revel in dishes like "Zangy* Hot Dog Nachos" (ugh...a conundrum for me because I shamelessly LOVE both components but love them for who they are separately...c'mon) or "Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Chili...which is regular chili with a completely asinine adjective attached.  I'm begging you not to get me started on the aforementioned adjectives that, upon reaching my ears, create such intense rage I feel the only way to deal with it is violence. (EVOO, GB, WTF...that last one's mine).

Of course, I blame Bob Tushman--who belongs in the 7th circle of Hell with fellow blood-traitors to the human race Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin (thrown in really just as a Cheney torture device)--who I firmly believe will get his in the end.  But back to Rachael.  Here's the shameless part.  After giving us 279082908374 episodes of meals full of carbs, saturated fat upon saturated fat (see "Zangy Hot Dog Nachos"), all the while calling them healthy because there's some vegetable presence, she's peddling a diet plan...on Facebook. AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!  As if I haven't seen enough of the cookbooks, the spices, the pots and pans, the television show, the magazine, the dog food (I'm not kidding).  Now we need a diet plan and why?  Because her original claim to this world, giving us healthy quick meals, has actually failed.  Turns out "rootin' tootin'" is just another way to say "McDonalds". So, does she admit that things didn't work out the way she thought?  No.  She saves us with her awesomely unique diet plan based on the brilliant principles of "eat less" and "exercise."  Thank God for RR. 

I'm beginning to wonder how to really respond to this phenomenon which is becoming a real issue.  Now that we've got all of these flash-in-the-pan celebrities who are famous only on personality without any discernable talent or skills...how do we stop it.  I say it's a two-prong attack.  Put the credit card away and turn off the tv.  Apathy, people.  The answer isn't anger and resistance.  I think it's apathy.  Maybe if we just don't care, she'll go away. This'd take care of Billy Mayes and the Luna people too. 

*Um, of course, "zangy" is a fun combo of the words "zesty" and "tangy"; one such linguistic device that has eaten away at our already sad grammar and vocabulary prowess in this country.  And it infuses an implied level of fun into this food that I find objectionable.       

I hate feeling limited.  It makes me irritable.  And especially when I would really like to help.

So here's the scene: A friend was confiding in me today.  I love that.  I thrive on people's stories. Not in a voyeuristic sort of way.  But in a way that makes me feel like I can give them a willing ear and a little, unaggressive piece of my mind  But as this story got told in tiny fragments, in starts and stops, I began to see that I could do nothing to ease this situation to which I was introduced.  What's more, even my commentary, which was much more truncated than usual, sounded hollow and trite.  The story is one of those that everybody has in some version, the theme being "things are just not good right now."  There's nothing to suggest they won't get better.  There's nothing to suppose that anything will get worse.  Things are just not good.  And I couldn't do anything to help.

This is not a completely unfamiliar story.  We all have those times that end up being holding patterns that aren't fun.  But hearing about this one was tough.  Not only could I do nothing, which is pretty typical.  But I felt the tension and trouble of this situation with particular clarity.  I think it's because I know this friend of mine is a good person who deserves a lot of good things and is in a bind right now.  It's not right.  I wish there could be happiness but I'm not sure that'll be there for a long time. And somehow, I'm feeling that struggle as though it's my own.

I suppose that's not a horrible thing; compassion is something that always surprises me, especially when I realize I might have it.  But having to take a passive tack is something I just really despise.  I would much rather just DO something.  And I can't.  I just have to hope for the best.

Ugh.

There are days when I wonder what people who legitimately have the power to change the world are thinking.  Let's take for instance, oh, the Pope. As we know from the Mike Myers juggernaut So I Married An Axe Murderer, the Vatican is part of the Pentavirate (along with the Queen, the Gettys, the Rothschilds, and Colonel Sanders with his wee beady eyes before he went tits up) who are the wealthiest people in the world who run everything including the newspapers and meet tri-annually at a secret country mansion in Colorado known as "The Meadows." 

In summary: The pope is powerful.  So when I see the headline in USA Today "OMG! Italian Catholics asked not to text during Lent," I'm bothered.  Now, I could jump to the time-tested argument of "The Vatican is so horribly out of touch with current day reality that this is typical and will be written off immediately by Catholics all over the world."  It's true, it's happening, and I say good.  The Pope might actually be losing his stronghold on the Pentavirate, at least in this country.  But, I have a different bone to pick today.  It's about this line from further in the article. The Pope's henchmen spokesman in the Modena diocese comments:

 

"It's a small way to remember the importance of concrete and not virtual relationships,"

I saw the saddest thing on tv this morning.  I was still in my "hi-I'm-stumbling-out-of-bed" phase, having been awake for nearly 12 seconds when I wandered over to the tv and clicked it on.  This is the morning ritual.  Before I do anything else, the tv goes on...I think as a way to remind me that the world has been carrying on without me for awhile and it's time I get back on the train.  Anyway, I turned on Live With Regis and Kelly, which I have done every day for the past five years, and started the languorous process of becoming a social being. And that's when it happened.

I was jolted into self-awareness by the sight of Joey, Jordan, Jon, Danny, and Donny standing in formation, heads bent forward, left feet popping to the beat, as New Kids on the Block started singing their new "hit" single.  Something with "girl" in the title.  What might have been arguably the first uber-successful "boy band" (aside from Menudo...which by the way, I think means "tripe" in Spanish...a fact that I find brilliantly hilarious now), has resurrected itself.  Not re-invented, mind you.  Not paid any attention to the fact that they're now all headed toward middle age (or there, if they're Donny), half are married, and, frankly, too old to be singing about having a fight with a "girl" on the phone.  All wearing some form of black and white and some looking like A-list creeps no longer have the right to call themselves 1) new or 2) kids.  The only thing they've got left is that they're on the block and unless it's the chopping kind, they should really fade back into the shadows of their former glory.  The teen idol days are gone, fellas. 

But here is the saddest thing of it all.  After all of these years that saw Joey on Broadway in multiple shows (The Fantastiks to name his most well received), Donny making a credible switch to acting (he plays a top notch thug...which I suspect has very little to do with acting and more to do with just "being" but, hey, everybody has a talent, right?), and Jordan and Danny both honing supposedly successful producing and songwriting careers...they are all horrendous (and I mean blatantly, horrifically awful) singers.  Listening to this song that really the Jonas Brothers would have struggled to pull off, I just felt actual pity for these man-boys, clearly lusting after their long-forgotten fame.

In the annals of music history, NKOTB could have been afforded some kind of place if only for the fact that they may have started the craze that launched a next generation of boy band success and the likes of Justin Timberlake, Joey Fatone, and that other greasy guy with the dreads.  Now, they're just has-beens.  And that's how we'll remember them...because they showed up on Live With Regis and Kelly and had to sing a song with the word "girl" in the title.  If they'd left well enough alone, they at least could have retained a smidgeon of teen idol credibility.

But even then, only a smidgeon.

This is not a weather-related blog today.  No.  It's more a life condition.  Why is this always true? Why? Why?

Okay, so my week (I originally typed "weak" which I think is an absurdly appropriate Freudian slip) has been steadily heading downhill.  That's okay.  We all have those weeks.  But the most difficult thing for me to deal with is the day that one straw actually will break the camel's back.  That straw hit between my shoulder blades about, oh, three hours ago at which time I head a giant cracking sound, not unlike the sound that Marty McFly's Dolorian time machine makes when leaving or entering reality. If time could rip, this cracking would be the sound it makes.  That's melodramatic. But also not untrue.

Anyway, I can only be annoyed with myself which, in fact, makes this straw so much more annoying.  I've let situations that are problematic for me ride too long under the label "I'm totally fine with this."  I'm learning that I should stop lying to myself; saying the words never makes the situations totally fine...which is what I always hope will happen. What happens is a facade of "Eh, Pacyna's laid back about it....she'll be fine with it."  That's actually usually true. What sucks is that on the occasion that I'm not, I'm under-rehearsed in being a "bother," in holding my ground, in voicing my discomfort or generally pissed-off-edness.  I hate being reminded that it's a life skill I really lack.

So, to you (possibly two) fine reader(s) a caveat: Don't ask me for anything today.  Probably not tomorrow either.  I'm tapped out. I have no patience or understanding left at this moment.  I will pick a fight with you.  I will likely yell.  And all of this in print, no less. And it's probably not your fault.

I'm as mad as hell. And I'm not gonna take it anymore. (Thank you Peter Finch.)

And thank you for listening. 

Every year, I get to a point at which I feel like I cannot take *it* anymore.  *It* could be a convenient melange of whatever is going on that's really annoying to me, annoyance that is generally spurred on by ridiculously intemperate weather.  So, about once in the middle of July, dripping with sweat and in some heat-related swoon, and once somewhere in the deep, dark hole that is January or February, the universe pushes me toward that moment in which should just one little thing push me over the edge, it'll all be over in that apocalyptic, fire-and-brimstone sort of way.

When I was in high school, I clearly remember this point occurring with clockwork accuracy every year in February.  I actually remember my sophomore year in college telling my softball coach and generally nice guy Gary Bill (Mr. Bill, right?  Endless source of jokes...) on February 16 that if February didn't end soon I would kill myself.  Ah.  The melodrama of youth.

Anyway, for some reason, today I got close to that point (and it's only 11 am).  I'm not there yet.  But it seems to be coming early this year--I think because we started the deep-freeze around here over a month ago. I've found that my sense of humor when it comes to the weather has dissipated and I am left with what every Chicagoan is left with as well: a cold, dense block of black ice where my heart used to be.  Thus, to be fair to friends and foes alike, I'd like to publish a list of all of those things that, taken individually or perhaps grouped together into that wonderfully explosive combination, could ignite this powder keg walking around in three layers of polar fleece. Some of them are, admittedly, not your fault.  I don't care.  It could be a bad scene anyway.  And some...well, some are just crazy.  That's what -30 degree wind chills have the power to do. In the spirit of comraderie, however, I include my suggestions on how one might avoid standing in the path of my own nuclear winter.

Things With the Potential to Push Me Over the Edge on this January 13, 2009.

• Sniffling with a duration longer than 10 seconds.  Get. a. Kleenex. And blow.
• Unproductive coughing.  Give it a little gusto and take care of that phlegmy mass just floating around in there.  Those little *ahem-ahem* coughs will do nothing but rub my last nerve completely raw.
• One wet sock.  This is no one's fault.  Except for the city of Chicago who refuses to take care of the black slush puddles roughly 29 inches deep.  I can only jump so far.
• A general unawareness of how much room you personally take up with all your winter clothing on.  Listen fellow Chicagoans, especially you on the trains.  Those 37 coats you're wearing add mass to your person.  Thus, you cannot expect to walk around as you lithely do in the summer.  When you step out of your house, keep the image of Ralphie from "A Christmas Story" in your mind--arms stuck straight out, legs unable to bend.  Remember you waddle.  As long as you always waddle on the right and not straight at me down the sidewalk, I'll give you points for trying.
• Talking on your cell phone through your earmuffs and/or winter hat. I've had to give in on berating cell-phone talking in public because, well, clearly that's a losing battle.  I've adopted the " if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" credo.  But through winter wear...that's LOUD cell phone talking.  Stop. It.  Try texting.  Much quieter.
• Aggressively unplowed sidewalks. If I were a cynical person (and I couldn't be more sarcastic on this point), I'd think some owners of their little chunk of sidewalk actually add snow and ice to the front of the building as a form of entertainment.  We've now had enough snow that will be around for surely weeks and weeks that ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER IS REQUIRED.  Spur on the economy, go ahead and hire the kind snow-removal folks who will happily show up, plow, and salt your sidewalk.  Collectively, the walkers of Chicago will celebrate your glory.
• A weather forecast for next week that looks exactly like this week's.  Also, no one's fault except for Paul Conrad at WGN.  You know what, let's skip honest.  If the weather looks the same, just lie to me, Paul.  Lie.  Tell me it'll be a balmy 33 degrees.  Tell me, we're in for sunshine all next week.  I don't care if it doesn't happen.  I just need something to pin my hopes on.  I'll deal with reality when it comes.

Did anyone else watch Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin on CNN's "coverage" of New Year's Eve from New York City?  I was disappointed.  I thought it would be hilarious--Anderson's stiff upper lip paired with Kathy's obnoxious mouth theoretically should work.  Yeah, no.  It didn't. And the "coverage" was weird too--the whole channel treated NYE as though it was another military front, jumping from one remote location to the next.  It was anti-climactic.  Which brings me to my point.

As much as New Year's Eve is not a big event for me EVER, I absolutely love New Year's Day.  It's all football all day.  It doesn't matter if Ohio State is ranked 10 this year...I'm still gonna watch the Tostido's Fiesta Bowl.  I've already consumed the Roady's Humanitarian Bowl (for those who don't know what Roady's is, as I did not either, it's apparently 'America's Truck Stop.'  How that deems it worthy of sponsoring the Humanitarian Bowl I have no idea.)  And while the football can be compelling, I really tune in for the names.  Here's a rundown of the BCS (that would be Bowl Championship Series for the newbies out there) without paying attention to any of the teams but only to the names. They make the seriousness of life just a little more bearable.

Already played
Note: These games, listed in chronological order,  took place at least one week ago, thereby letting us know that these teams really suck.  Law of BCS Football #1 directly states that the earlier the game, the crappier the team.  Congrats, guys.

•  The Inaugural EagleBank Bowl (Washington D.C.)
•  The New Mexico Bowl
• The Pioneer Las Vegas Bowl (this is a casino...)
  
• Magic Jack St. Petersburg Bowl
• R&L Carriers New Orleans Bowl
• San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl
• Sheraton Hawai'i Bowl
• Motor City Bowl

•  Meineke Car Care Bowl--one of my personal favorites
  
• Champs Sports Bowl
• Emerald Bowl (this would be Emerald Nuts...not the Emerald City, although that would be funnier).
• Independence Bowl
• Papajohns.com Bowl
• Valero Alamo Bowl
• Roady's Humanitarian Bowl--my favorite of this year just because the sponsor and the bowl name couldn't have less to do with each other.
  
• PacificLife Holiday Bowl
• 2008 Texas Bowl--of course, the only state to have its own bowl game.  New Mexico doesn't count b/c who really plays football in New Mexico?  There's a desert there. Technically, there's desert in Texas too but everyone knows that Texans are crazy.  And yes, I mean all of them.
  

• Bell Helicopter Armed Services Bowl
• Brut Sun Bowl
• Gaylord Hotels Music City Bowl--something just makes me love this name.
  
• Insight Bowl
• Chik-Fil-A Bowl
• Outback Bowl
• Capital One Bowl
• Konica Minolta Gator Bowl
• Rose Bowl Game presented by Citi
• FedEx Orange Bowl

• AT&T Cotton Bowl
• AutoZone Liberty Bowl
• All State Sugar Bowl--I do mourn the loss of the previous sponsor who made it the "USF&G Sugar Bowl" for years...that one just rolls of the tongue so much better...
  

• International Bowl (there's a maple leaf on this one which means this bowl will take place in a far away international land...Canada)
  
• Tostito's Fiesta Bowl
  
• GMAC Bowl
• FedEx BCS National Championship

But, regardless...I still like it.  I'm going to go sit and eat cheese and crackers and shrimp and watch the Capital One Bowl.  I don't know who's playing but it doesn't matter...they both suck. But it's all good...it's a New Year's Day Bowl.

Aaaahhh...

*Note on all the Notes: While, on some, I may sound like I know what I'm talking about, I actually have no clue.  I claim no responsibility for the gross factual errors that my brother Andy assures me exist in these sections. Be fore-warned.

I've been storing up an agenda of blog posts from the past couple days; you know, as I walk around and things irk me I file them away in the back section of my brain called lovingly, "Things to rant about later," and then move on with my day.  The only problem here is that that section can be very hard to access.  So, while I'm thinking about these things which usually come to me in a pure flood of inspiration, I'm gonna list them.  And then probably come back later and given them the full treatment.  Here they are in no particular order:

• I now understand why salons offer you free wine or beer while you're getting your "services" done. It so that when you walk out of there with $70 worth of products that you may marginally need at some point, you feel pretty good about it.  Just Tuesday, I left the salon with a $21 bottle of water-based spray that supposedly adds volume to your hair.  That's right, I paid a pretty price for volume.  For the record, I have never paid that much for density, mass, or acceleration.
• People walk stupid. This is a repeat comment on this blog but still true.  This morning walking out of the train station, a lady in cloppity-clop heels pulling her briefcase  tail-gated me on the sidewalk for nearly a block.  When I had slowed down to an almost-crawl, she *passed* me by speeding up just enough to walk right next to me.  In retaliation, I refused to give up my spot on the sidewalk which forced her to walk over one of those grates in which her heel got stuck.  That, lady, is karma telling you not to walk like an ass.  Thank you karma.
• Instead of taxing the city blind by raising parking meter prices 200%, they should just fine every landlord and property owner that does not shovel their sidewalk.  That's a mint just awaiting discovery.  I nearly fell twice this morning over stretches of sidewalk in RP that look like those lanes people Curl on.  My favorite are the snow-covered ones.  Just when you thought there was only snow to deal with, you find yourself staring at the sky, laid out on the sidewalk doing snow angels.  Not a happy time.  Could I get boots? Yes.  But I shouldn't have to.
• Facebook might be getting out of hand. For all involved.  Personally, I check that thing way too much.  Non-personally, there's all kinds of issues popping up.  Trolling walls not your own for info, Facebook Friend jealousy, panic over status-updates, and possibly a mild form of cyberstalking are all things I've personally encountered.  And yes, I'm your friendly neighborhood cyber stalker.  I may need to start un-friending people is all I'm saying.
• Do you know how hard it is to "dress for cocktails" during the winter in Chicago. How, really, do you work mukluks and your favorite knitted scarf into cocktail attire.  Funny thing about Chicago though--we'll make it happen.  If there's a way to casualize anything, Chicagoans can do it.