We're closing in on two years since the last blog post. In fairness, Fred's introduction to our blog warned our millions of viewers that there will be periods of inactivity. It's no secret that neither of us are strangers to inactivity. We don't necessarily enjoy periods, either.
Today is Election Day 2012. The only reason I know that is because millions of people are bragging on facebook that they voted. They're proud that they exercised their right to do so and they want the world to know about it.
Let's analyze what really happens. Someone gets dressed, hops in the car, drives somewhere, waits in line, punches some holes, gets a sticker, gets back in the car, drives home, and announces his or her accomplishment.
If you replace punches some holes with reads an outdated Sports Illustrated this sequence of events is really no different than getting an oil change. Maybe I've just been doing it wrong all this time. After the next 3,000 miles, I guess I'll peel the reminder off my windshield and stick it to my lapel.
Don't hate me because I'm a cynic. Blame Zuckerberg.
Toodles! (see you in two years)
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, February 28, 2011
Amateur (3) Hour(s)
I love the Oscars. Maybe this is pathetic, but I really get into the fashion, I get excited to see who wins what, and I've always thought it'd be amazing to be an actor and win an Academy Award. Perhaps I've even practiced my acceptance speech several times. Or hundreds of times.
This adoration of that life carries over to magazines like Us Weekly and People. I will say I never buy that stuff ... but when Jennie brings home old copies from her mom's house, I read them all voraciously. This might be one of my most embarrassing attributes, which is saying something if you know any of my attributes.
But it's a love/hate thing with the Oscars, because I also despise the self-serving atmosphere of that night and the painful acceptance speeches. Last night's winners were especially dreadful with their rambling, the thanking of their agents/attorneys/handlers, the feigned surprise at winning (Chris Rock, in his opening monologue several years ago, said some actors should win an Emmy at the Oscars for their astonished looks when they win).
Can these people, when they accept their awards, not come up with something clever/entertaining/poignant? Every now and again, some of them do (Colin Firth's speech last night was pretty good, while Hugh Laurie has provided two very funny speeches at recent awards shows. These are must-sees (Rayo, you'll giggle profusely) and I've posted both of them.
Laurie even gives, in his second speech, an idea for us, Rayo: we should write acceptance speeches for every nominee. Perhaps my next blog entry will be an acceptance speech that a recent winner should have given.
More than those usual annoyances, though, were the hosts, James Franco and Anne Hathaway. Look, I teach English, and yet I'm not sure I can think of the best word to describe their performance. If I listed everything that annoyed me about them, this blog would take you longer to read than the actual Oscars, so I'll whittle it down to a few observations:
1. The opening monologue (after the taped portion) was filled with jokes that didn't even approach funny. How does this happen? Who is responsible for writing jokes that will be seen by hundreds of millions of people?
2. If Anne Hathaway went to high school, my guess is everyone hated her. She was so over-the-top dramatic about everything, especially when she would introduce various presenters. She acted like some starstruck 14-year-old, which would have been okay, but she by no means appeared genuine in her infatuation with her fellow actors.
3. Every time James Franco introduced someone, as he would finish talking, he'd close his eyes and slowly move his head toward the location of the person he was introducing. Every. Single. Time. Reminded me of Reds announcer Jeff Brantley, who also, when he is talking to a fellow announcer and finishes making a point, closes his eyes and slowly turns to the camera.
4. After Franco and Hathaway would introduce a presenter, they would immediately start clapping, as would the audience. The problem: whoever was in charge of turning off their microphone never turned it off, so you'd hear the audience clapping, but also the singular clapping of Franco and Hathaway over the audience, as if there were only two people clapping. If you can't picture what it sounded like, imagine being at a Cleveland Indians home game in the 1970s/'80s (or for that matter, recently).
Rayo, I know how you feel about the Oscars. You have nary a care in the world for them. I'm even betting you have no idea who James Franco and Anne Hathaway are. But hey, that's all right. It's cool that you don't really care about all of this. At least, since I know you don't watch the Oscars, you won't ever be disappointed when I don't mention you in my acceptance speech some day.
This adoration of that life carries over to magazines like Us Weekly and People. I will say I never buy that stuff ... but when Jennie brings home old copies from her mom's house, I read them all voraciously. This might be one of my most embarrassing attributes, which is saying something if you know any of my attributes.
But it's a love/hate thing with the Oscars, because I also despise the self-serving atmosphere of that night and the painful acceptance speeches. Last night's winners were especially dreadful with their rambling, the thanking of their agents/attorneys/handlers, the feigned surprise at winning (Chris Rock, in his opening monologue several years ago, said some actors should win an Emmy at the Oscars for their astonished looks when they win).
Can these people, when they accept their awards, not come up with something clever/entertaining/poignant? Every now and again, some of them do (Colin Firth's speech last night was pretty good, while Hugh Laurie has provided two very funny speeches at recent awards shows. These are must-sees (Rayo, you'll giggle profusely) and I've posted both of them.
Laurie even gives, in his second speech, an idea for us, Rayo: we should write acceptance speeches for every nominee. Perhaps my next blog entry will be an acceptance speech that a recent winner should have given.
More than those usual annoyances, though, were the hosts, James Franco and Anne Hathaway. Look, I teach English, and yet I'm not sure I can think of the best word to describe their performance. If I listed everything that annoyed me about them, this blog would take you longer to read than the actual Oscars, so I'll whittle it down to a few observations:
1. The opening monologue (after the taped portion) was filled with jokes that didn't even approach funny. How does this happen? Who is responsible for writing jokes that will be seen by hundreds of millions of people?
2. If Anne Hathaway went to high school, my guess is everyone hated her. She was so over-the-top dramatic about everything, especially when she would introduce various presenters. She acted like some starstruck 14-year-old, which would have been okay, but she by no means appeared genuine in her infatuation with her fellow actors.
3. Every time James Franco introduced someone, as he would finish talking, he'd close his eyes and slowly move his head toward the location of the person he was introducing. Every. Single. Time. Reminded me of Reds announcer Jeff Brantley, who also, when he is talking to a fellow announcer and finishes making a point, closes his eyes and slowly turns to the camera.
4. After Franco and Hathaway would introduce a presenter, they would immediately start clapping, as would the audience. The problem: whoever was in charge of turning off their microphone never turned it off, so you'd hear the audience clapping, but also the singular clapping of Franco and Hathaway over the audience, as if there were only two people clapping. If you can't picture what it sounded like, imagine being at a Cleveland Indians home game in the 1970s/'80s (or for that matter, recently).
Rayo, I know how you feel about the Oscars. You have nary a care in the world for them. I'm even betting you have no idea who James Franco and Anne Hathaway are. But hey, that's all right. It's cool that you don't really care about all of this. At least, since I know you don't watch the Oscars, you won't ever be disappointed when I don't mention you in my acceptance speech some day.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Housekeeping
That's so weird about your misinterpretation of the Verdana font, Rayo. I had the same issue: I always thought the Georgia font was Arkansas.
I've decided I hate hotels, for one main reason, really - which I'll get to in a sec.
I used to love 'em. Big fan of a room that houses a big bed and big TV and me making a mess without having to clean up much. Almost feels like college. Plus, it meant that I was on some sort of adventure - that I was traveling somewhere, and I love to travel.
But then, I saw a show dealing with what's in hotel rooms that we don't see. Well - not without turning off the lights and shining one of those blue-light thingys around. It's then you see the stains. Many, many stains.
One of the first things I do when I get to a hotel room now is pull off the bedspread.
I also like to wipe down the one item that this show said has the most bacteria. This item, more than any other in a hotel room, contains every known gross thing humans can produce.
It's not the toilet seat.
Not the door handle.
Not even Rayo's bum.
It's the TV remote, which, according to this show, never gets cleaned.
I'm getting worse and worse with my issues with germs. Thing is, I don't mind my germs at all. Quite fond of 'em, actually. But any public anything gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Anyway, sorry I've been gone so long, two people who are following us. I appreciate your calls and letters (and by that I mean your extreme indifference).
I've decided I hate hotels, for one main reason, really - which I'll get to in a sec.
I used to love 'em. Big fan of a room that houses a big bed and big TV and me making a mess without having to clean up much. Almost feels like college. Plus, it meant that I was on some sort of adventure - that I was traveling somewhere, and I love to travel.
But then, I saw a show dealing with what's in hotel rooms that we don't see. Well - not without turning off the lights and shining one of those blue-light thingys around. It's then you see the stains. Many, many stains.
One of the first things I do when I get to a hotel room now is pull off the bedspread.
I also like to wipe down the one item that this show said has the most bacteria. This item, more than any other in a hotel room, contains every known gross thing humans can produce.
It's not the toilet seat.
Not the door handle.
Not even Rayo's bum.
It's the TV remote, which, according to this show, never gets cleaned.
I'm getting worse and worse with my issues with germs. Thing is, I don't mind my germs at all. Quite fond of 'em, actually. But any public anything gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Anyway, sorry I've been gone so long, two people who are following us. I appreciate your calls and letters (and by that I mean your extreme indifference).
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Extra! Extra! Read all about it!
Since I have an hour to kill before my meetings start this morning, I figured why not continue this monopoly of the Frayo blog? This will be a quick one.
There are two floor-number indicators in the elevators at Sunset Station. Each time you pass a floor, the number changes and the indicator beeps. Loudly. You can't miss it.
If you are heading down to the ground floor, you can't possibly be unaware when you land there. The elevator comes to an abrupt halt and both indicators have been counting down to "G" since you got on.
So, I'm on the ground level, waiting on an elevator to take me up to the 8th floor. One of the four elevators descends to the lobby and the doors open. There were two people on board so I was politely waiting for them to step out so I could step in.
Except they were confused. They hesitated. Looked up to the floor-level indicator, and then proceeded to pick up there belongings and begin walking off. They obviously didn't realize they had reached the ground floor.
HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE??!!
I guess the better question is why does that bother me enough to write about it? They took so long to get off that by the time I was able to get in, the doors began to close.
One last thing: Every single occupied room gets a free copy of the Las Vegas Review-Journal each morning. Of course, when I went down for breakfast, I left my copy in my room. Rather than go back up to get it, I just figured I'd stop by the front desk and snag another one.
When I asked the Bellman for a paper, he looked at me like I was speaking Sputnik. The registration desk also had no newspapers.
So there are about 500 newspapers spread across a 21-story tower, but not a single one can be located in the lobby. Can opener.
There are two floor-number indicators in the elevators at Sunset Station. Each time you pass a floor, the number changes and the indicator beeps. Loudly. You can't miss it.
If you are heading down to the ground floor, you can't possibly be unaware when you land there. The elevator comes to an abrupt halt and both indicators have been counting down to "G" since you got on.
So, I'm on the ground level, waiting on an elevator to take me up to the 8th floor. One of the four elevators descends to the lobby and the doors open. There were two people on board so I was politely waiting for them to step out so I could step in.
Except they were confused. They hesitated. Looked up to the floor-level indicator, and then proceeded to pick up there belongings and begin walking off. They obviously didn't realize they had reached the ground floor.
HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE??!!
I guess the better question is why does that bother me enough to write about it? They took so long to get off that by the time I was able to get in, the doors began to close.
One last thing: Every single occupied room gets a free copy of the Las Vegas Review-Journal each morning. Of course, when I went down for breakfast, I left my copy in my room. Rather than go back up to get it, I just figured I'd stop by the front desk and snag another one.
When I asked the Bellman for a paper, he looked at me like I was speaking Sputnik. The registration desk also had no newspapers.
So there are about 500 newspapers spread across a 21-story tower, but not a single one can be located in the lobby. Can opener.
Trifecta
I'm just going to keep on writing.
Anyone who has ever flown commercially has experienced the many types of passengers aboard your flight.
The Loud Talker.
The Snorer.
The Mad Farter. (every flight has at least one of these.)
The Oversized Guy Right Next to You.
The Ethnic Food Eater (sometimes smells as bad as the Mad Farter.)
The Del Griffith.
There are other common ones, but Tuesday afternoon, I encountered a new personality. I will call him The Cat.
The Cat sat in the aisle seat in my row. I had the window seat and a guy about my age sat in the middle. The cat was in his late 20s, quite tall, and sported red hair punctuated by a matching 'stache and goatee. He also wore glasses.
The Cat liked to talk about his work in the Aviation Technology industry, however, he was not a frequent flyer and didn't know shit about planes. In fact, this was his first flight in about 12 years. He is fascinated by the mechanics of flight but knew very little about the plane itself. (He wasn't really sure if we were aboard a 737 or a 757, a rather substantial difference, and had to check the safety card in the seat pocket in front of him to confirm.) He then shared the news with Middle Seat Guy...
"Yeah, it's a 757-200. So the maximum altitude is probably 32,000 feet."
Um....no.
When we landed, he proclaimed his amazement that a plane this size could go from 500 MPH to nothing in about one mile of runway. Sure, the 757 cruises at about 540 MPH but airliners do not land at full speed. (approach speed is right around 150 MPH.)
"Yeah, it's a 757-200. So the maximum altitude is probably 32,000 feet."
Um....no.
When we landed, he proclaimed his amazement that a plane this size could go from 500 MPH to nothing in about one mile of runway. Sure, the 757 cruises at about 540 MPH but airliners do not land at full speed. (approach speed is right around 150 MPH.)
His inexperience and propensity to speak wasn't really all that intolerable. It was almost endearing, and neither of those tendencies earned him his moniker.
The Cat REALLY liked to look out the window. And he made no subtle gesture about it - when he wanted to look out the window, he put himself in position to do it right.
I've been an aisle-seat passenger many times, and I too enjoy glancing out the window on occasion. But when I do it, I merely turn my head and take a peek, then turn back, so as to not appear to be staring at the guy sitting in the window seat. I don't really lean forward or make any unusual movement to get a better view, I just take a look and go back to my crossword.
The Cat was so intent on seeing out the window, that at times, his entire face was in the space of the guy in the middle seat (who either didn't mind, or was just a good sport about it.) He would lean forward, then backward, then toward the window, and the whole time the angle of his head never changed. It was always straight up and down even if his body was turning or leaning in several different directions in order to gain a better view around me. Apparently, I was just in the way.
It became downright uncomfortable, and there were times when he'd do this for an entire minute (which seems like an eternity) and then do it again two minutes later. I didn't know where to look, so I just kept watching the TV screen embedded on the seat in front of me. By the time we were over the Rockies, I wanted to punch him in the nose.
If he were Plastic Man, I guarantee his neck would have stretched clear across the row and flat against the window.
The reason I call him The Cat is because his behavior and the way his head never tilted reminded me of how a cat might look when trying to peer out a window. His neck would lean one way or the other, but his head remained still. It was so odd. Plus, the sunlight created a slight glare off his glasses which looked very much like looking into the eyes of a cat.
By the time we touched down at 1000 miles per hour, I never did punch him in the nose. After all, he was actually a friendly, well-intending guy. He just annoyed the bejesus out of me and I didn't have a box of Meow Mix to keep him occupied.
I wonder who I'll get on the flight home tomorrow...
Toodles!
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