Archive for August, 2012

Goodbye to you

Dear Bread, Pasta, Various Other Starches, Cheese and Sugar:

You and I have been inseparable for many, many years. I can’t even express how much I love you — truly love you — in all your wonderful, delectable forms.

Unfortunately, Eddie is making me give you up. It’s that damn CrossFit addiction. I wish there could be an Al Anon-type support system for spouses of members of the CrossFit cult.

Apparently, that CrossFit prescription of “constantly varied, high intensity, functional movement” also means “Don’t you dare put more than five grams of sugar in your mouth each day, and eat only meat, seeds, nuts and vegetables all caveman-style.”

So the children and I, being CrossFit heathens, have unhealthy habits and must conform. In good conscience, I can’t continue to spend time with you, let alone invite you into our house. I could go rogue, but the guilt would be too much to handle.

I love you — you know I do. I just can’t see you anymore. Please know that this isn’t easy for me. In fact (and I’m looking at you, Bread), I want to hang out with you right now. Especially if you are hot and bringing your friend Butter.

But I can’t.

I’m sure I’ll see you once in a while, out and about. That’s it. I hope you understand.

Love always,

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Dear Certain Conservative White Male Politicians:

I know you are not in favor of sex ed in schools. It is clear you need some kind of education, though.

Let me explain reproduction to you in the terms similar to those I used for my son when he was four:

Boys and girls have different parts between their legs. When these parts come together, sometimes they can make a baby.

It doesn’t matter if these parts belong to people in the same family (incest), of different ages (statutory rape), or if the girl was not willing (rape).

And unlike EL James’ book, there aren’t 50 shades of grey when it comes to rape. Rape is rape. If one person doesn’t want to participate, it’s rape. There is no qualifier (like “legitimate”) before that word.

I cannot believe I have to explain this.

You sound like Johnny Nogerelli, Adrian Zmed’s character in “Grease 2“:

‎Can’t a girl just do that thing in a book where she adds up the dates of her uh — whaddayacallit — mentalstration?

No one likes to look like a complete idiot, so I’m going to help you out. Here is a link to a “How Stuff Works” exploration of reproduction. It even talks about contraception, so maybe you can share that with your buddy Rush. Please read at your leisure. You don’t even have to admit you read it. But if you do, it will save you future embarrassment.

Supporting the understanding and protection of lady bits,

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Dear Programming Executives at TLC, A&E, MTV, Bravo, Spike TV and Other Networks:

I just can’t thank you enough for your support of reality television. Anyone who knows me knows my obsession with the genre. Just look:

That was a response to me talking about “Tabatha Takes Over,” one of the many shows I watch. I know they are all edited for maximum drama and effect. I don’t care.

Let others have their “Breaking Bad” and “True Blood.” Give me “Hoarders” and “Pawn Stars.” While many watch the antics of characters such as Dr. Gregory House and Sheldon Lee Cooper, I can’t get enough of Lieutenant Dennis Croft and Barry Weiss.

Title a show “Man with the 200 lb. tumor” or “Half-ton Dad,” and you can guarantee I’m clearing my schedule. In fact, tonight I’m going from a marathon of “Caught on Camera” into recordings of “Project Runway” straight into “Small Town Security.” And I’ve made plans to ogle Honey Boo Boo on Wednesday.

Yes, there are other things I should be doing, should be watching. And no, I won’t.

Why? Because truth is stranger than fiction. Give me “real” people any day.

Read what Cantonrep.com staff writer Charita Goshay wrote about reality TV. I love her; she gets it. And I think she and I should be friends.

Maybe you can do a reality show about us. Oh wait. You have one: “My Strange Addiction.”

Thanks all the same,

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The ubiquitous Facebook Eeyore

Dear Facebook Friends:

I think I need to explain why I use Facebook. I use it to:

  • Stay connected with people I don’t see every day.
  • Find out interesting information (news, trivia, links, etc.).
  • Enjoy astute and/or funny comments on links, status updates, photos, etc.
  • Share photos.
  • Make plans.
  • Promote new posts on this blog.

I do not use it to:

  • Boost my self-esteem by sending friend requests to everyone who breathes in my direction.
  • Boost other people’s self-esteem by blowing sunshine up their asses constantly. (Some people seem to need this. Sorry. I can’t do it.)

I barely know some of you on my friends list, but that’s OK. There must be something about your posts I like. If not, I hide your posts in my news feed.

What kinds of things make me want to hide you?

  • Passive-aggressive status updates.
  • Posts about what new material items you have acquired, will acquire or want to acquire.
  • Song lyrics, Bible verses and cryptic poetry.
  • Minutiae of your life.
  • Constant complaining.
  • Relentless self-promotion.
  • Trash-talking.
  • Numerous photos of yourself taken with your phone.
  • Posting opinions and then getting mad if someone disagrees with you.
  • Game and app invitations and posts.

Once in a while is fine for all these things. (Heck, I’m even guilty of a couple of those.) If it is every day, then Houston, we have a problem.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Take a look at this comic from The Oatmeal.

I rarely defriend people, though, because I worry about backlash. I am thrilled (THRILLED!), though, when one of these repeat offenders defriends me.

This happened recently. Perhaps the person hoped to punish me by denying me access to constant attention-seeking status reports, on which I refused to comment. We don’t share the same goals, sense of humor, world views, values, or even the same appreciation for punctuation. So neither of us was getting anything out of this virtual relationship.

Of course I wish this person all the best in life. I really do. I’m just happy not to be part of it on Facebook, or feel guilty for not having anything to say about it.

Now, as for the rest of you, I look forward to your funny observations, shrewd comments, links to Daily Show clips, and details of strange experiences like watching someone take photos of your house.

Update away, good friends!

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Olympic-sized outrage

Dear Jared Frank, KHQ Web producer:

We haven’t met, and probably never will. Yet I’m writing to you because you are a representative of the spoiler culture of NBC.

Let me tell you a little about myself: I’m the kind of person who enjoys suspense, does not flip to the back of a book to see what happens, and who did not find out the gender of her children in advance of their births. I don’t think wanting to enjoy watching events unfold without knowing the outcome makes me a “whiner.”

Clearly, you do.

Here’s what you said about people like me:

You know what else gets me? Whiners. You know what I am talking about: the people on the Internet, complaining about how this person or that media outlet spoiled the surprise by cheering on Facebook or Twitter.

For those of us who did not want to know who won what medal in which event, we DID avoid Facebook, Twitter and various other information outlets. However, NBC as a whole, affiliates included, has been sharing this information freely during broadcasts, promos, etc., when we are trying to watch the events unfold.

And many of us are irritated that we have to watch races on a tape delay in the first place so that NBC can reap prime time ratings. (Don’t talk about the live streaming. It’s not exactly a success story, is it?)

It is fine to explain that our digital age makes it easy to share and instant information hard to ignore. But perhaps you could do as magazines do in reviews/articles and simply add two words: “spoiler alert.” Your station, KHQ, finally decided that was the right path.

But don’t you think it is a little harsh to call us, the viewers media outlets are so desperate to attract and keep, whiners? I do.

I bet you are the kind of guy who tells everyone watching a movie what’s about to happen. Do you have so little excitement in your life that you want to ruin surprises for others? That’s sad. And it isn’t good business sense in your position.

Maybe I’m just whining.

So be it.

But I’m never going to go to a movie with you, so don’t ask.

Enjoying cheese with my whine,

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Dear people who ate at Chick-fil-A today simply because Mike Huckabee declared it “Chick-fil-A appreciation day”:

I’m impressed: You decided you felt strongly enough about something that you got motivated to show support. Let’s ignore the fact that you got a meal while doing it.

Many people thought they were just showing support for “Christian” values. It sounds noble and all, but that reasoning is flawed. The God I know doesn’t discriminate. It’s “love thy neighbor” not “love thy straight neighbor.” But you can support whoever you want, whatever business you want, even if they donate money to hate groups. (Are you sure you want to give your money to a business that gives money to groups that actively persecute people? Really?)

The law, however, has to be fair to everyone — gay, straight, Christian, atheist, born here or naturalized. And the laws in this country regarding marriage are discriminatory. I’ve written about this before, so I won’t shove it down your throats again.

The reason I’m writing today is to ask you to do one small thing: Spend the same amount of time you spent in line today (or getting to the line in the first place) thinking about how you would feel if your government told you that you couldn’t marry the person you loved. Separate church from state. Please.

It’s 2012. Why are we as a nation doing the same kinds of things whites did to blacks decades ago? Didn’t we as a nation learn anything? Saying “You can’t do this because you’re not like us” just can’t be the way we do things today. It’s just not right.

So enjoy that chicken sandwich. I hope it was worth it — that you said what you REALLY wanted to say with your money.

And I respect your freedom to spend your money wherever you want, and your freedom to make a statement. In turn, I hope you respect mine.

Not eating “hate chicken,”

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