Sunday, December 26, 2010

NYRPs

Dear NYRPs,

You may not know who you are, so let me explain. You are New Years Resolution People. On December 31, you diligently promise to go to the gym more often and really get in shape this year.

Now, I want to be clear. I think your resolution is great. I think resolutions in general are great, and I wish you nothing but success in your resolutions. But here are some things that I want you to stop:

1. Stop taking my machine at the gym. I get it: you have just as much a right to it as I do. But here is another fact: there are rules, and you need to follow them. Wipe off the machine, let people work in, and do not chat on your cell phone while doing leisurely cardio. If you do not stop, I am going to come to your house, sweat all over your living room furniture, elbow you out of the way when you’re trying to get to your refrigerator, and laugh loudly and tell stories about going out to the bars on my phone while you’re trying to watch Scrubs reruns. Enjoy.

2. Stop walking four across on the track. Listen, I’m glad you have friends. And I’m psyched to see all of you in the matching black leggings and pink t-shirts that you got for walking the Race for the Cure. You’re adorable. But you are also causing a traffic jam. The same holds true when you crowd around the drinking fountain like it’s an open bar serving top shelf booze. Have your fun, friends, but seriously, keep your fat asses in a single file. I am running, and I do not want to be held up by you and your detailed discussion of Grey’s Anatomy.

3. Stop, and I mean STOP updating your status on Facebook every time you break a sweat. I know, you’re totally stoked about your commitment to physical fitness. But let’s both face the truth: you know and I know that your commitment will not extend past you spending 12 days in a row on three hour-a-day workouts, and then you will stop going entirely. Kindly spare us all from your annoying updates: “Just got back from the gym! “ “Finishing work and getting in a workout!” “3 miles on the treadmill, 5 miles on the elliptical and a half-hour of power rowing!” Here is a fact: one year, I decided as my resolution to make a firmer commitment to flossing my teeth. I hate flossing, so this was a real fucking challenge for me, but I did it, every single night. Do you think I felt the need to jump on Facebook every time I flossed? “Hey world! Great floss tonight! It was awesome! Got rid of a lot of Oreo remnants!” “Hey everyone, just flossed again!” “Oh my god, third floss of the day! Phew!” Yeah, that’s how I feel when you FB your damn workouts. Just get on the treadmill and can the yapping.

4. Last but not least: When you resolve to do something, just do it. I always know it’s mid-February, because the gym is suddenly as empty as it was before the holidays. That is called New Year’s Quitting, and it’s not very resolutiony at all. I am telling you this because I care. If you resolve to get fit, then get your ass to the gym, end of story. It may not be the most fun you’ve ever had in your life, but neither is breathing, and we do that all the time. And guess what? I know you’re busy. But if you want to get into a contest about who is busier, I guarantee you I will win. Unless you’re going to miss your workout to go save orphans in Haiti, there is nothing that can’t be pushed back a half hour so you can get in some cardio. Okay?

Happy New Year, and can’t wait to see you at the gym!

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Bentennial

I would like to start out by saying that I realize that I have already blogged about parents being too invested in their childrens’ athletic endeavors. I am not talking about that this time. This is different. Witness:

Attended a six-team high school swim meet last Saturday night. Now, I am not going to name schools here, but the name of one of the schools rhymes with Bentennial High School. Here is what you need to know: Bentennial parents are assholes. Read on.

A few things you should know about the logistics of a swim meet. First, it is very hot. Like, rainforest hot. But swim season is in the winter, so, everyone has the same problem of walking in the door wearing a heavy coat, jacket, long-sleeved shirt, etc., and needing to shed all of those layers. Second, it is very crowded. There is often less seating available than people attending. So, not only must you figure out some place to stash all of the layers of clothing you’ve removed, but you must also find a way to bend the laws of physics to make the dimensions of your body about half of what they would normally be. I literally sit in the “crack the egg” position that we all used to take when we didn’t know that trampolines could kill us: knees drawn up to chest, arms wrapped tightly around, scared look on face, sitting on pile of discarded clothing.

Bentennial parents, on the other hand, take a totally different approach. They believe that every bit of space that they have the potential to touch is claimed as their very own, and spread out in a manner similar to Jabba the Hut. Now, I happened to be sitting in a one square foot space on Saturday, right next to the stairs. Some Bentennial parents could not find the half acre they required in order to be comfortable, so they just plopped down in the middle of the stairs next to me, and then refused to move. Other people, innocently trying to use the stairs, were subjected to withering looks from these Bentennial freaks, and, in trying to maneuver around these squatters, practically ended up falling to their death. This wasn’t an innocent mistake; I clearly heard the Bentennial parents say, “Let’s just wait until the fire chief kicks us out.” See what I mean? Assholes. Imagine the example they are setting for their child: keeping stairs clear and safe for others is for suckers.

But that is not the only reason why Bentennial parents blow. Here is the other reason: the second-to-last event was the girl’s 400 free relay. In this event, four girls each swim 100 meters. It’s a great event, very exciting. One of the girls, a Bentennial girl, swam her leg of this event, got out of the water, and promptly collapsed by the side of the pool. It was extremely scary, but there were plenty of lifeguards on duty, and they immediately ran over to help. My son happens to be a lifeguard in his spare time, so I know for a fact that lifeguards are certified in CPR and first aid. It’s not a medical degree, but it’s enough to keep a person alive in the event of an emergency. When this young woman collapsed (she was very clearly breathing, but in distress) she was attended to IMMEDIATELY by at least four lifeguards, plus two other adults, at least four of whom were capable of performing CPR at the first moment it was needed. (Side note, my son, hilariously, was standing RIGHT THERE when the incident occurred, and he promptly said, “It’s okay. I am a lifeguard,” the way a doctor would at the site of a baby being born in a car. I love him.)

The Bentennial parents up in the stands showed their support by yelling, “SOMEBODY SHOULD CALL SOMEONE!” Now, I have been known to stretch the truth in this blog, but that was a direct quote, friends. Not, “I am going to call 9-1-1,” not, “I am a doctor! May I assist?” Not even, “Excuse me, has anyone called a squad?” No! “SOMEBODY should call SOMEONE.” ASSHOLES! To spite them, I picked up my phone and called the Jennie-O Turkey Hotline. Mission accomplished: somebody called someone. Meanwhile, someone more responsible than me had already called the squad. When the Bentennial parents heard this, they started yelling, “WELL, WHERE IS IT?” despite the fact that less than five minutes had passed. Then, when the paramedics arrived, instead of cheering, they started yelling instructions for the paramedics, such as “GET HER OUT OF HERE! WHY AREN’T YOU TAKING HER OUT? WHY IS SHE STILL ON THE BACKBOARD (that the lifeguards had put her on) AND NOT A STRETCHER? SHE NEEDS OXYGEN! WHY ISN’T SHE ON OXYGEN?” And then they razzed the paramedics for not cracking the poor girl’s chest open then and there. Meanwhile , the particular child who collapsed had a history of this happening. (And guess who her parents were? That’s right – the stair sitters!!!) If the team knew she had a history of this condition, why didn’t they have a plan to handle it, instead of traumatizing approximately 200 children, who probably thought this poor child was going to die? Oh, I know why: they are assholes.

So, I don’t know if there’s a moral to this story. Except this: don’t do any of that stuff.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Best and Worsts of TV 2010

With the year drawing to a close, this is the season of the Best and Worst lists of the year. For the television ones, the critics always talk about things I don’t watch, like, Breaking Bad, Dexter and Doctor Who. I don’t know why I would want to watch something smart and sophisticated when I could be watching Jillian Michaels make someone throw up. So, keeping that in mind, here are my best and worsts of the year, TV-style.

Best:

1. Hoarders – Hands-down, the best show on television. Why? Because you can’t get people holding up limited edition Darth Vader Mr. Potatohead dolls that are covered in cat urine and mold ANYWHERE ELSE. At the very most, this show is an amazing look into human nature. At the very least...well, let me just put it in the words of my shrink: “Yay! Compared to them, your compulsions aren’t that bad!” Sigh.

2. The Sing-Off – What makes a non-scripted show great? Talent, aspirations, and Ben Folds. This show has all of that. A capella somehow becomes incredibly cool on this short, sweet (only five or so episodes) show, and as a bonus, Nick Lachey is the host. Even better, this show, unlike Idol, Dancing with the People Whose Names We Recognize, and even my beloved So You Think You Can Dance, does not rely on America to determine who is talented. This show essentially says, “America, you’re stupid. We’ll pick the talent here, and (hint) it’s not going to be the young, hot chicks.”

3. The Daily Show/The Colbert Report – God, I love smart men.

4. Morning Express with Robin Meade – This is CNN Headline News’ morning show, and there is nothing about Robin Meade that isn’t awesome. Sometimes, she delivers the news, and then says, “I’m sorry, but, that seems kind of stupid.” That’s right, Robin. You tell ‘em. One day she will be my best friend. Also: no viewer can look away from her giant, mesmerizing boobs.

5. Degrassi – Don’t knock it til you try it. There’s nothing better than Canadian teen angst.

6. Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew – We are in the fourth season of this show, and while some of the “celebrities” are questionable, there is, in fact, a whole lotta Janice Dickenson. And she definitely ranks among my top favorite Celebrity Rehabbers of all time, although obviously Heidi Fleiss and Rodney King have my heart forever. The beauty of this show is that, despite the drama and B-listiness of the people, they are genuinely showing us that addiction is no fucking joke.

Worst:

1. Cake-Decorating Shows – What the hell – are there, like, twenty of these? Cake Wars, Ace of Cakes, Amazing Wedding Cakes, Ultimate Cake-Offs, Cake Boss….what is wrong with you people? Don’t you know that, once you watch one cake decorating show, it’s pretty much the same thing over and over again? Assemble cake, ice cake, add crap to cake. Also, by the time these cakes are completed, they are, like, a week old. Who wants to eat week-old cake? (Okay, I probably would.)

2. I Survived – Have you seen this show? If it is on, quickly turn off your television, unplug it, shoot it, burn your house down around it, dig a hole, bury the ashes, flood the area, poison the water, and then move somewhere else. I Survived is about people who escaped horrible, horrible deaths (for example by knife-wielding strangers dressed as ninjas who HID IN THEIR ATTIC FOR DAYS). If you watch even five minutes of this show, you will be haunted for decades. I have warned you. Don’t blame me when it ruins your life.

3. Man v. Food – a.k.a. Adam Richman’s slow ascent into obesity. Diners, Drive Ins and Dives makes me hungry. This show makes me never want to eat again.

4. The Office – I literally have to slap a baby every time this show is aired. It has become unfunny and crappish to the point that I HAVE TO TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS TO EXPRESS MY DISGUST. And the sad thing is that this was a once-funny show that was victimized by becoming too invested in the humanity of its own characters. The show was great because the characters were reprehensible freaks. Once the writers started worrying about viewers liking the characters, the show stopped being funny. I am still angry about this. You suck, The Office.

5. Jersey Shore/Real Housewives of (Insert City) – As #2 above points out, good unscripted television contains three components: talent, aspirations and Ben Folds. There is an appalling lack of any of these on these shows. I know that people watch them, but I just don’t get it. I find them depressing to the point that I would watch The Office just to get away from it. At least the people on The Office have jobs.

That’s it! Did I miss anything?

Friday, December 3, 2010

You're gonna want to tell your friends about this one

When I was in elementary school, in the late 70’s, schools were not worried about unimportant things, like standardized testing, asbestos, or traumatizing the students. Believe me, we were regularly traumatized, especially in second grade, when my beloved teacher, Mrs. Hammond, suddenly stopped coming to school about a third of the way into the year. We had different substitutes for a while, but then the year was finished out by Mrs. Collins, who was fabulous, but nobody ever told us what happened to Mrs. Hammond. Seriously. Not the school, not our parents….we weren’t told a thing. Today, I am certain there would be a whole packet created and distributed by the school system: “How To Discuss Mrs. Hammond’s Absence With Your Child.” Today, the school would make counselors available and have lots of talks about feelings. Back then, nothing. Mrs. Hammond was gone, and we just had to deal with it. On a happier note, she came back the next year as the librarian and seemed fine, so I guess my theory about her going and living with the Boxcar Children (my favorite childhood book) was incorrect.

Having a host of substitute teachers and the sudden, unexpected loss of my beloved Mrs. Hammond made my second-grade education somewhat spotty. But I do remember one thing about second grade: that was the year we learned about contractions.

Contractions are simple, really. Simple enough for a TRAUMATIZED SECOND GRADER. They involve combining two words with an apostrophe. One of the simpler contractions is the word “you’re.” “You’re” is a simple contraction, because it involves one simple substitution. Take out the “a” and put in an apostrophe. I totally aced the second grade “you’re” test. And “you’re” is totally easy to remember, because you would use it any time you want a short way to say “you are”.

Since we have established that 1) “you’re” is one of the easiest contractions to totally master, knowledge-wise and, 2) it is not beyond the intellectual capabilities of a second-grader, I thoroughly fail to understand why it is so confused by FULLY GROWN ADULTS who have, at least in theory ALREADY PASSED SECOND GRADE. I’m sorry that I keep screaming, but I am required to punch a puppy directly in the face every time someone writes, “Your welcome,” or “Your going with me.” This is not difficult! You ask yourself (not you’reself) one basic question: could I substitute, “you are” or not? If the answer is “no,” then “your” is a safe bet. If the answer is “yes,” then you go with “you’re.” No exceptions, no deviations.

My son has attempted to inform me that I am a little tightly wound re: all matters concerning the use of language, and that the your/you’re distinction is merely an adorable grammatical quirk that no longer matters. I protest, sir. Your and you’re are two completely different words. Completely different meanings. It is like saying that, “Shall I kiss you?” and “Shall I kill you?” mean essentially the same thing, unless you’re going to be a stickler about whether you use an “s” or an “l”. To say that making a distinction between your and you’re is trivial is to surrender to the forces of stupidity, and I for one am not ever (or n’ever, as we say in contraction world) going to quit that fight.

We are a smart nation. We can figure out how to split the atom and program our DVRs and navigate 6-lane freeways and update our Facebook statuses from our phones. It is very little to ask that we master this one, little, easy contraction. So, for the love of God, people, sit down with your families and loved ones tonight and talk about this. Correct your friends. Tell your neighbors. Do it for that scared, traumatized little second grade girl. Do it for Mrs. Hammond.