Tag Archives: psuedo news and world reports

Killin’ It: Diplomacy Edition

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This looks totally not staged at all. I repeat: this is candid. Not a photo op.

This looks totally not staged at all. I repeat: this is candid. Not a photo op.

Guys, diplomacy is hard. I could never be a world leader because it’s impossible for me to make it through a meeting at my current job without cracking an inappropriate joke. Luckily, I work somewhere that doesn’t mind that I asked my boss why the office smells like Seis de Mayo all the time.* But if I asked that question of like, Vladamir Putin or Enrique Nieto, I’d probably cause a worldwide crisis. Maybe especially if I asked Enrique Nieto.

Which is why it’s so impressive that Governor Christie, never one known for keeping his mouth shut and playing the diplomat,** did such a bang up job showing Prince Harry around New Jersey today. I mean granted, it is Prince Harry, and not the Queen herself — you could probably even make a joke about the Holocaust and Prince Harry wouldn’t be offended. He’s already made the joke himself. But still, it’s impressive.

And diplomatic gifts are an especially tricky thing. I mean what can you give someone that perfectly encapsulates your culture, is nice enough to be respectful, but not so nice as to make them feel uncomfortable? Luckily for us, Chris Christie nailed this one. He gave a gift that epitomized the American spirit — overpriced, a little lazy, and just presentable enough to get by. That’s right. He gave Prince Harry a fleece. Like the kind you wear. Like the kind it seems Harry was already wearing when Christie handed him the replacement.

Although it’s likely a better alternative than some other things that could serve as souvenirs of New Jersey…like factory smog, gang violence, or Baby Lorenzo.

So my commendation stands.

*It smelled like warm tequila. You’ll get there.

** “If anybody in this room thinks they understand Washington, DC, please come on up stand behind the podium and you give the answers, because I don’t have the first damn idea of what they’re doing down there.”

All Time Low

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carnival

You may not be able to tell, but this seedy death-trap is ready to render you financially handicapped.

In case you missed the beat, I hate almost all humans. Here’s a list of just a few of the kinds of humans I hate: small children, teenagers, the elderly, anyone who misuses “less” and “fewer,” anyone whose watch cost more than my car, anyone who uses “summer” as a verb, anyone who insists “Scarface” is their favorite movie, and anyone who writes reviews on Amazon.

Seriously, folks. Don’t count on me to keep the species alive.

But despite my negative outlook towards almost all of my brethren, they keep finding new ways to surprise me and make me judge them.

Take the New Hampshire native who recently lost his life savings at a carnival, for example.

Yes, you heard correctly. This man lost his life savings a dollar at a time, playing Whac-A-Mole and shooting at rotating ducks.

To be fair, he only had $2,600 dollars in life savings, meaning that he had roughly the financial acumen of a fourth grader. But, as you’ve likely guessed, that doesn’t increase my sympathy for his plight.

But riddle me this — if you had a gambling addiction and you lived in New Hampshire, wouldn’t you do something a little more festive to blow your cash than compete against a pudgy 12-year old for a giant stuffed gorilla? Like go to the race tracks in Salem? Or find a high-stakes, closed-door poker club? Or start your very own Hunger Games?

It’s the lack of creativity here that baffles me above all else. That’s why we need to keep the arts in elementary schools.

Things That Are True #12

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It's this sort of high-falootin' marketing that's raising the price on your material goods.

It’s this sort of high-falootin’ marketing that’s raising the price on your material goods.

Goods cost less if they are transferred directly from buyer to consumer,without a middle man.

Example: The grandfather who sold a baby on Facebook for $830.**

Bargain basement prices.

**To state the obvious: I do not condone the sale of a baby for any price, no matter how good a deal it might seem.

Weekend Listen

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So I’m Boston, born and bred. Technically I left for a couple of years to go get my education on elsewhere, but I find that irrelevant — I came right back. And in case you live in a cave or have some sort of weird moral aversion to the news, we’ve been having a hard week. But it’s okay. We’re bouncing back. And as a relief to the anger, and upsetness,* and extreme stress we’ve been feeling this week, I think it’s time for a little peace and love.

Because love is all you need.

And I’m pretty sure I’m the first person to ever say that.

I should trademark it.

“Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right,” by Bob Dylan is one of my favorite musical items in the history of the universe. There can never be enough hyperbole to accurately represent my feelings towards it. Technically it’s a breakup song, not a love song. But it’s so healthy and mature — it expresses the world view that everyone should have, but is too selfish and self-absorbed to actually adopt. So you know, “goodbye’s too good a word, babe. I’ll just say fare thee well.” (Which also, what a great thing to say as a dismissal.)

Joni Mitchell and I aren’t always friends. But even though I usually hate all expressions of emotion, I am always legitimately moved by Joni’s non-cliche lament. I mean who even says things like “I could drink a case of you”? Kudos to you Joni. If I ever need a song to softly weep to in a bittersweet manner, this will surely be the one.

I think after a week like this, we’re all relating to Paul Simon saying he gets all the news he needs from the weather report. I hear you, Paul. And hopefully it’s always 85 degrees and sunny. Shut out the bad stuff and just live the happy. In fact for a while I was seriously considering getting “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile” tattooed on me somewhere. I’m glad I didn’t go through with it. I’m far to cynical to have that sort of Polyphonic Spree message with me all the time. But some of the time, like now time, it’s a very nice message indeed.

Let’s hope the newspapers are all just blank pages next week, and we can all go have a picnic in the Boston Common.

 

*Not a word, but a much better description of how I felt this week than “sad,” which is for when your goldfish dies or the end of the movie “Up.”

Happy Birthday, Cell Phone

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So apparently the first cell phone call was made 40 years ago today. I know, I know, you think I’m pulling your leg. Mostly because you didn’t think that Elvis, Roger Moore’s James Bond, and the cell phone were all alive at the same time. I didn’t either, but various news outlets swear upon it. I believe they crossed their hearts and hoped to die.

As we know, turning 40 is a very touchy birthday for anyone. Especially when hotter, younger inventions like the tablet and social media keep trying to steal your thunder. But I can think of a couple things to say to my cellphone to console her (I’m pretty sure every inanimate object I own is female. Like the way people talk about their boats).

LG-VX6000

-You’re even more beautiful than when you turned 30.

-People rely on you! They love you! They can’t live without you!

iPhone5_main1_large_verge_super_wide

-I don’t know how you do it, but you keep getting thinner!

To clarify...not from my phone. I only make racist remarks about the Irish, and only once a year, on St. Patrick's day.

To clarify…not from my phone. I only make racist remarks about the Irish, and only once a year, on St. Patrick’s day.

-You know far too many secrets to be kicked to the curb.

So there you have it — happy birthday to cellphones, who are now officially middle aged. Let’s try to keep them from dying themselves blonde or buying a Porsche.

Killin’ It: Filibuster Edition

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What, that's flying over Wisconsin? I ain't scurred.

What, that’s flying over Wisconsin? I ain’t scurred.

Shout out today to Rand Paul, the Kentucky senator who killed it with his filibuster yesterday. I don’t usually see eye to eye with Kentucky senators, but given that all Senator Paul wanted was some reassurance that the government wasn’t going to drop a not-so-metaphorical bomb on its own people via drone, I can understand his outrage.

And even if I didn’t understand, props to him for having the cohones to grab his dreams. In a world where Congress frequently cannot do anything, Rand Paul stood up, took a deep breath, and did nothing for much longer than anyone could have imagined. He spoke for nearly 13 hours, which is impressive, because I thought that only teenage girls could speak uninterrupted for that long. And their subject usually tends more towards the Kardashians than national security.

Unfortunately for Rand Paul, Marco Rubio — the shining hope of the Republican party — had to step in and steal the spotlight. I mean, people are likely going to forget Rand Paul’s name by next week, but Rubio just couldn’t let him have his moment. This is kind of like if your school’s Prom Queen came to the Community Service Appreciation Awards and insisted upon giving a speech.

Bogus as it was, Rubio did something amazing — he quoted Wiz Khalifa on the floor of the Senate, calling the rapper a “modern poet.” I’m fairly certain this is the only time that rap lyrics have taken part in government proceedings. Although it’s possible Senators have accidentally quoted Tupac during conversations about entitlement programs by saying, “One less ugly mouth on the welfare.”

As much as I love Wiz Khalifa, it seems like Marco Rubio really missed an opportunity to quote a more applicable rap song — B.O.B.’s “Airplanes.” I mean…flying objects in the night sky that look like shooting stars? Sounds like it could be drones to me.

Not So Holy Crap.

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'Sup ya'll.

‘Sup ya’ll.

Guys, the pope isn’t the pope anymore. He took his weird cat and his classy wardrobe and moved to a hillside village in Italy. That’s right — the Vatican made him leave the country (see what I did there? Stamp collectors must LOVE Vatican City stamps).

It must be rough. I know Benedict didn’t get fired or anything, but it seems like going from pope to non-pope would be a terrible transition, even if it were your choice. I mean, the guy used to be infallible, for God’s sake (literally. He was infallible for the sake of God). And now that’s just been taken away. I think the closest transition I can think of is when Toto rips away the curtain from the front of the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz and then Tin Man and the Lion are like, “Blimey! It’s just some dude back there!”

I wonder what Benedict’s first weekend as just Senor Regular Dude was like. Now that he can’t blink his eyes and cause a few million Catholics to start buying whole milk instead of skim, what does he do? Let’s see…

A Day in the Life of a Recently Retired Pope

Ten minutes past the ass-crack of dawn: Wake up. Now that you’re not on the job, you can hit the snooze button — but just once. You’re not a savage.

7-10: Catch up on non-Vatican culture. Chances are water cooler conversation outside the Vatican doesn’t include scintillating debates about The Edict of Milan. Watch back episodes of E! News and Saturday Night Live so you have something in common with your neighbors.

10-12: Run errands. Get a Costco membership so that you can save time and money by getting your toilet paper and your orange juice in the same place. Plus they’re the only grocery store that sells Bibles.

12-1: Make yourself a BLT. Because they’re delicious.

1-3: The real world is tiring. Just choosing which of the 13 kinds of toothpaste to buy at Costco without God’s help took 20 minutes. Take a cat nap with your cat, curled up in a small sliver of sun that peeks through from a window onto the carpet.

3-5: Lightly sin. You’ve been put on a pedestal (or in a clear car above the people. Same thing.) for too long. You’re not looking to break the ten commandments or anything, but you definitely want to get your freak on a little. Make plans to eat fish on Friday and stick your finger in the communion wine. You little rebel.

5-7: Eat dinner. Take advantage of one of the many blue plate specials in your neighborhood — try Ihop, Denny’s, or TGI Fridays. The Vatican kitchens never made buffalo blasters or jalapeno mozzarella sticks.

7:15: Now that you don’t have to work until 8 pm like you did as a Pope, you’re free to turn in early. And you can keep a private dream journal — the Vatican guard kept peeking. And they never appreciated the significance of your night terrors about typos in the Book of Common prayer. You’re finally at peace.

SNOWED IN

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The view from my window in the early stages of Winter Storm Nemo.

The view from my window in the early stages of Winter Storm Nemo.

Those of you who live in the wake of Winter Storm Nemo are now familiar with what I like to call “snow blindness.” Snow blindness is the tunnel vision effect that happens to your brain the minute it begins to snow outside. At first, you think, “Hey — this is pretty cool! What a good storm! Whoa, it’s really coming down out there!” The next morning you think, “It’s so nice not to feel obligated to do things. Snow is very relaxing.”

But by day three you’ve forgotten how to walk anywhere but from your couch to your bathroom. And on day four, when it really is possible and safe to leave, you find yourself inventing excuses why you still need to stay inside. Are the roads really safe? It’s so cold out there!

Essentially, snow blindness is a weather-induced form of Stockholm Syndrome. The DSM has not yet recognized it, but I think that’s just due to the political infighting among those crazed psychologists. Not the fact that snow blindness isn’t a thing. It’s definitely a thing.

Those people who have experienced snow blindness over the past few days know that there are a multitude of ways you can spend your time inside — cleaning, finally organizing your closet, doing laundry, baking, arts and crafts projects, finally finishing that book you started on the beach this summer, and starting the great American novel are only a few among them.

However, as those people who have experienced snow blindness over the past few days also know, no one with a true case of the disease did any of the aforementioned things. They did one of two things, or perhaps both at the same time:

1) Binge watch episodes of Parks and Recreation on Netflix.

2) Get stuck in an internet loop for hours until they found themselves staring at a list of the 25 Best Mini Horse Moments on BuzzFeed.

If only they would finally put in the effort to find a snow blindness cure. Maybe my house would be filled with paper mache crafts right now.

Best of 2012

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2012 Retrospective

Not the best year in history (the year the moving picture was invented) or the worst (probably something to do with the bubonic plague).

Is anyone else tired of year-end retrospectives? I like dead people, words, political gaffes, and memes as much as the next girl, but that doesn’t mean that I want the front page of every website in cyber space to be turned into a Denny’s menu of top 10 lists starting Dec. 15.

As a writer, I understand the urge to compile “best moment” lists. I may even be perpetuating the problem (you’ll never know). But as a reader, I just wish they weren’t all so typical. Yes, I know what the best films of 2012 were, because I read the nominations for the Golden Globes.

Here are a few best of 2012 lists that I wouldn’t mind perusing:

1)   The Least Eventful Days of 2012 — if you tell me it’s March 3, I’ll believe you.

2)   Worst Human Beings, 2012 Edition — I nominate that guy who ate that woman’s face. But I’m open to other suggestions.

3)   Most Influential Narcotics of 2012 — bath salts. See above.

4)   Most Viewed Wardrobe Malfunctions of 2012 — a refreshing way to discover the perversity of the American public.

5)   The Biggest Lies of 2012 — Romney, Romney, Akin, Mayan Apocalypse, Romney.

Someone get to work making these.

You’re welcome.

Election Day: Like Leap Year But Important

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…but really I hope it’s more like a landslide.

If you’re anything like me, you’re excited to vote, nervous for when the polls close later this evening, and freaking relieved that this whole “election” thing is almost over. I mean, honestly, I work in a newsroom and am incredibly excited to work my first election night later this evening, but even I feel like this little girl has a point — most of the words that the media say now are just new combinations of what they’ve said before. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised  There’s only a finite combination of words.

But before we all shed a collective sigh of relief, let’s remember the things that we usually focus our attention on in this country and think long and hard about whether we actually want the media to start covering those issues again. Things like:

  • Celebrity Breakups
  • Why the Euro was never a good idea
  • Lindsay Lohan
  • Religion, and, more specifically, why all those crazy kids can’t just get along
  • Whether Wal-Mart is hurting or helping our economy
  • New flavors of Oreos

Still excited for the election to be over?

Yeah…I’m not sure anymore either.