If you care to be reminded how cringe-worthy our privileged bitching and moaning can be, watch this trailer for Landfill Harmonic, a documentary about Paraguay’s Recycled Orchestra, where the young musicians play instruments made from landfill debris.
As it was explained to me, “These kids have trash in their hands and look what they do with it!”
For just a dollar, Starbucks patrons can now wait in line with newly purchased, reusable coffee cups. Never mind that the plastic lids and cups are identical in appearance to their disposable predecessors: buyers will be able to personalize them, so a related micro-industry of reusable coffee cup ornamentation will no doubt arise before you’re done reading this.But because this reusable Starbucks tumbler is a visual match to a highly recognizable symbol of the downtrodden –an over-the-counter coffee cup– I’m looking forward to watching it make its way from the hands of the homeless and into the hands of the privileged. I’m talkin’ about skinny-pants and cool moms, coming in off the street and waving their empty cups at strangers, just like those they ignore on the sidewalk. The irony is cruel, exquisite, and reusable.
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A lit road flare in your hand is less recognizable than the shape of an AK-47 rifle. As a kid I once heard an adult describing U.S. Army soldiers in Vietnam who’d pulled AK-47s from the mud, shouldered or ditched their M-16s, and fought back with the superior rifle. It’s an impression that’s outlasted all subsequent glorification.Take the AK-47 off the battlefield and into in Idaho strip mall, as the serial bank robber known as the AK-47 Bandit did earlier this week, and everyone will know just how much business you mean. Snap in a 75-round capacity drum magazine and the police will know it too. With one of their own recently having caught a round in Chino from the very rifle in question, there’s no forgetting.
Last week, Annie Karni reported for the New York Post that victims’ families feel tourists treat Manhattan’s 9/11 Memorial disrespectfully. It’s being leaned against and climbed on; kids are being perched atop its inscriptions by careless, camera-wielding parents; and gabby sightseers are posing for pictures while spilling their Starbucks. Anyone adding to the boisterous atmosphere is on the shit list. Given that far more respectful behavior can be found, for instance, at Pearl Harbor’s USS Arizona Memorial, first responders and victims’ families may be onto something.
On the other hand, might not some of these complaints be an excuse for extending one’s grief or reaffirming one’s precious victimhood? Besides, when society encourages digital aggrandizement of one menial personal experience after the next – and thus contempt for everything outside of ourselves – who’s to blame when insensitivity becomes just another a learned behavior? I’m just saying, 9/11 Memorial site or not, the presence of loud, sloppy people who can’t distinguish between hallowed ground and Disney’s California Adventure shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, not even World Trade Center families. Read more
Last week, nearly all the major media outlets and countless web destinations profited from leaked photos of Ronald Poppo’s eaten up face and the 9-1-1 calls reporting his attack. It’s bad enough that the rest of his miserable life is gonna be spent in pain and beef jerky jokes, there’s no excuse for Ronnie not gettin’ a slice…uh, a cut, a chunk – some money!
I mean, we don’t look homeless people in the eye or give ’em the time of day. We can’t stop to unfold a buck or two and we’ll cross the street if it means avoiding one. But let a bum get his face chewed off and we become wide-eyed pigeons, pecking at the ground — or in this case clicking though channels and websites — for salacious crumbs.
As quickly as the photos were leaked, only to go viral, is as quickly as I decided against lookin’ at ’em. I assure you it isn’t because I’m “mature” ‘n what not, and practically nothing grosses me out. What bothers me is the idea of celebrating sensationalism. Number one, I already knew the gruesome images would resemble a plate of chicken mole enchiladas, and number two, what’s the message? It sure as hell isn’t “homeless people deserve respect.” Read more
Q: Are we, who admit to being too selfish for childrearing, freer to enjoy the company of others’ children?
A: Damn right we are, especially with so much predatory marketing keeping parents’ envious eyes on each other. As moms and dads everywhere condemn the current wave of weirdo parenting while trading assurances that their own kids are free of transmissible dysfunction, it’s only gotten that much more entertaining.
I don’t really care about last week’s Time magazine cover of a confused oaf takin’ a pull off his ma’s tap. I don’t care about extended breast feeding’s quasi-cat lady proponents or this beyond tragicomic “pre-mastication” trend. Yet it’s all fodder for the current national yakkety-yak and it’s overtaken my parent-friends’ usual election year/Facebook/reading list talking points. I listen in, but all I seem to hear is how superior they feel for not going to extremes themselves (while their kids kick shit over and scream “shut up!” when someone interrupts their iPhone game).
My wife and I laugh about how parenting can be as extreme as energy pills made from dehydrated placenta. We see the decision to spawn as extreme to begin with, and no cultural child-worship (or pressure from my wife’s mom) is gonna convince us otherwise. Read more
By not following through on things, I’ve caused more damage to my self-image and confidence than all of the frustrations or bad luck the world has ever thrown at me. The older I get, the harder the could’ves and should’ves tend to bite. On the other hand, when I start something and I finish it, I feel like I have a full tank of gas and a wallet full of cash. The feeling is like body armor against the bullet points on lists of others’ accomplishments: Read more
As a general rule, I (very clearly) say, “excuse you.” The same goes for when I’m blatantly cut off or elbowed. And especially at holiday time, my amusement grows in direct proportion to the indignation of the offender.
Today, on a sidewalk between Barnes & Noble and Banana Republic, a woman and I collided when her UGGs continued to trudge as she texted. Her eyes were still on the screen when she heard “excuse you” as I stepped around and away from her.
Inside B&N not four minutes later, I heard behind me an indignant voice saying, “…and this asshole son-of-a-bitch said, ‘excuse you,’ to me – shuh!” Having angrily brushed past me with the phone now at her ear, she’d pulled a U-turn outside and followed me into the store. Now she stopped and awaited the reaction to which evidentially felt entitled. She was suddenly a victim and was hissing the details of her ordeal to a friend – if there was anyone on the other end of her phone. Read more
