Archive for January, 2011

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Don’t drink, don’t smoke…

January 25, 2011

For all you goody-two-shoes parents out there who feel you’re doing your children a favor in life by turning on PBS instead of Nickelodeon, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Now I’ll admit that there’s been a time or two where I’ve found myself scrambling for the remote to end the horror of “House of Anubus” before my kids could buy into the idea that all child actors were that bad. But I’d much rather they sit and watch a marathon of “SpongeBob SquarePants” (complete with the ‘Evil Pencil’ episode) than a full day of PBS. Why, you ask? It’s simple. Caillou. How can I be so sure that this little bastard is guaranteed to ruin your child’s life?

5 SIMPLE REASONS

1. He can’t make a snowman
If this child really is four as the show’s annoyingly catchy intro* claims, and he lives far north of the Canadian border, then there is no excuse for his inability to roll a clump of snow between his hands. Growing up in north eastern Ohio I can tell you first hand that making a snowball is taught the same year a toddler begins using the potty. This means he’s either A) still shitting in his pants or B) a lazy do-it-for-me kid destined to be a burden on others well into adulthood.

2. He only has one set of grandparents
While I think it’s great that an older influence is included in the show, it disturbs me that there is no definitive way to know whether or not they are the parents of his mom or his dad. There are no distinguishing features to separate them and none of them ever refer to each other as “son”, “daughter”, “mom” or “dad”. This means that either A) his other set of grandparents died in a horrible hot air ballooning accident or B) his parents are actually brother and sister.

3. His cat sleeps on his bed
Hey, I have no issues with a child having a pet. I have issues with parents that would allow said pet to camp out on a child’s bed. The result of this behavior will either be A) a nasty case of bed bugs that will leave physical as well as emotional scars or B) a dependence on animals that will lead to a lifelong struggle with compulsive Christmas sweater knitting and bestiality.

4. Neither of his parents hold down a job
Sure there have been a sprinkling of episodes where we’ve witnessed his parents getting dressed and claiming to go to work, but it’s been few and far between. Without the confirmation that his parents are independently wealthy we can only assume that either A) they both have a criminal background that keeps catching up with them or B) expect the government to take care of them.

5. He’s bald
If the kid is four and hasn’t so much as a strand of hair coming out of his head, it is pretty safe to assume that he’ll be folically-challenged for life since it’s clear neither his parents, friends nor grandparents seem to be at all alarmed by this. This predicament will lead to either A) an unhealthy obsession with clipping and sniffing other people’s hair on the subway or B) dancing in a nude male review under the stage name of “Slick Sack”.

*”I’m just a kid who’s four, my mommy is a big-fat-whore
She likes exploring the pie-u…

So many drugs to do, each day try something new
I’ll share them with you, I’m hi-u…

My world is gambling, gaming each day
with mommy and daddy to show me the way…

Growing up obsessed with muff, man it’s been really tough
I’ll clip it for you, I’m Caillou, Caillou, I’m Caillou – kill me!”

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Scenes from a Starbucks…

January 20, 2011

"Smells like fish in here."

One of the best things about my job is that I sometimes get the opportunity to change up my schedule and work on projects that take me out of my element. For the past two days I’ve been working with an agency downtown and have had a little extra time to spend in the morning enjoying my coffee while catching up on emails. Since I’ve had a few Starbucks gift cards floating around in my wallet and there’s one just down the street from my house I figured, “Why not stop?” and see how the other half live. You know, the half that wakes thumping a vein and cuts you off in your own neighborhood trying to beat you to the Starbucks to get their ‘fix’. It turns out the stereotyping isn’t too far from the truth in most cases and I’ve seen some very interesting people and behaviors these past couple of mornings.

The following account is based on real events. No names were used since no one would give me the time of day.

8:09 AM: The parking lot is looking a little more crowded than it was at this same time yesterday. I wonder if I’ll get a squishy ass-friendly seat or will have to set up shop at a hard tailbone-killing chair. I can’t believe I’m thinking this. Am I becoming a ‘regular’ already? What in the crap do they slip into their brew?

8:12 AM: I forgot this location doesn’t have a drive-thru so most of the cars were to go orders leaving a couple of open chairs. Pour that Pike’s Place already so I can snag my seat.

8:13 AM: What is it about the half and half? It’s almost always empty. Do they never fill this thing to full capacity? I’m thinking it must be some kind of cheap Barista entertainment to stand and watch all the unrefined schlubs who order non-whippy-frothy-plain old coffee to drink wrestle with getting the few remaining drops from the carafe.

8:14 AM: Finally. All set and ready for ass to meet seat. And lookie there, one’s waiting for me tucked into a quiet corner.

8:16 AM: Burned my tongue. Fuckers.

8:23 AM: There’s a pair who do not at all look to be a couple sitting together and talking while looking all around the space. It’s as if they’re casing the joint. I’m thinking they won’t get much. A few spent gift cards, egg sandwiches that have been on display for what looks like over a week, yesterday’s half-stolen AJC newspaper and the tip jar which looked to contain $3.78 and a Terminex business card.

8:25 AM: The odd couple just walked over and lifted up the newspaper rack next to the seat I’ve made home and intently studied the floor underneath. Not sure what they’re looking for but they didn’t pick up the quarter. Safe to assume now they aren’t here to rob the place.

8:31 AM: Lady in track pants just walked in and noticed me sitting in the squishy seat. She looks pissed. I didn’t see a name or ‘RESERVED’ sign hanging on the arm so I’m going to ignore her and pretend I’m not completely enraged at how amazing her ass looks in those pants. I suppose if she’s really that upset, I can offer she sit in my lap. I’ve always been an ‘ass woman’ anyway.

8:37 AM: Track pants took her coffee and plain bagel to go. Damn.

8:51 AM: The odd couple just gave the lady behind the counter a half-melted-down-golfer-topped statue that she’s awfully excited about. She keeps saying “I didn’t think I was gonna make it! I didn’t think I was gonna make it!” I know what she means. Playing golf is painfully boring.

8:58 AM: Justin Bieber’s older brother is chatting up another lady behind the counter. Just heard him tell her he’s gotten an agent here in town and hates New York because the winters are too cold. Judging by the large tears in his jeans, he’s only just arrived in town and has no idea he should have kept driving south for another 600 miles.

9:06 AM: The next wave of regulars are making their way in: 3 retired guys, a stay-at-home mom and what looks to be her personal trainer, young, hip business woman in knee-high black patent leather boots and mid-life man in baseball cap. I think this is my cue. Time to get some new boots.

9:11 AM: Giving up my seat to the scone crumbs and a stray blueberry. Good thing I wore black pants and enjoy the smell of blueberries.

9:12 AM: Hey, look at that! I just found a quarter.