Shoot

Starbucks is politely asking civilians to stop bringing guns into its franchises. And is getting static for it. 

In the United States of America in 2013.

Think about that.

Talk about a non-starter

I love cars. I enjoy driving my car and I like looking at classic vehicles at car shows. Want to keep me occupied? I'll comb through car pictures all day long. I even Google dashboards. I may not be able to carry on a conversation about specific engine modifications, but I know more than the average, automotively apathetic person.

But not everything about cars is awesome. They're costly in both dollars and energy. Most burn combustible, polluting, finite liquids that stoke wars all over the world. Many, especially older ones, aren't particularly economical or safe. While my car gets gas mileage north of 30 and is small, it also merits a 2 out of 10 on the smog scale (10 being the best) and it has mediocre side-impact ratings. I feel an inkling of guilt anytime I drive alone somewhere that I could conceivably reach some other way.

Here's the thing, though: I'm not proud of those shortcomings. But apparently some people are.

Here is a phenomenal vehicle photo gallery absolutely marred by each and every word. It appears on a conservative "humor" blog, so I guess it isn't surprising that each contributor has turned up the defiance dial to 10. The point is for these auto aficionados to express how they celebrate Earth Day by burning as much gasoline as possible, "a middle finger to Mother Gaia," as the blog puts it.

Now, I understand that not everyone believes that humans can affect the planet's climate. I happen to side with the scientists on this one, but not everyone does. It's hard to worry about global warming without feeling compelled to make changes in life, and that's too much for some people, so they don't worry about it. I'd guess that's at the core of almost everyone who doesn't "believe" in climate change, whether or not most admit it. Those with some semblance of a conscience, at best, carry on as usual. Quietly.

But some choose to brag about their fuel consumption, even making their vehicles dirtier. As much for spite as for performance. I'm all about live-and-let-live, but this is obnoxious. And these people vote, which makes it ever-harder to address the biggest overarching issue of our times.

Worst of all, they make me hate that I like cars. OK, that's not the worst. But that's still saying something.

Branding itself needs rebranding

Microsoft's Bing search engine has a new logo. It's not an improvement.

It's not bad, necessarily — it has a stylized symbol, at least — but to me it lacks the distinctive, playful vibe of the original. The top logo goes with Bing's trademark sound, "BING!" By contrast, the new one looks ... I don't know. Like every other blanded-up, generic-font logo revision that seems to be the rage these days.

So why did Microsoft fix what wasn't broken? Oh, this is golden:

Erickson notes that the logo takes inspiration from the bottom right of the Microsoft flag "echoing its role as a platform of information for the company." He notes that the small angular cut on the top of the ‘b’ mirrors the angle on the cut of the ‘t’ in the Microsoft logo as well.

"We’ve even aligned our kerning [the space between letters] on the ‘i’ and ‘n’ to match the kerning on the Windows logo," he notes. "The descender on the ‘g’ was modified from the original Segoe font to curve upward ever so slightly which led to a more welcome and open feel. These details together with working with designers and engineers across Microsoft led to the collective brand architecture to create a new look that’s simple, streamlined and beautiful."

I once read a magazine article by a former bodybuilder and steroid abuser. He said that when he first got into the pursuit, he didn't understand why everyone looked like a mutated freak — but once he spent enough time in the weight room, being swollen suddenly seemed logical. Intricate aspects of the craft that he'd never considered as a normal human being suddenly became mega-important in the drive to impress others in his niche. Branding is apparently a lot like weightlifting.

I've sat in many a meeting and press conference where branders have gone off in mind-numbing detail about what each tiny change to a design signifies. Because of course every curve and serif has to have some deep meaning that makes The Da Vinci Code look like Green Eggs and Ham. Somehow, those meanings are always news to me. Maybe I'm just not the target audience ever.

Not that I don't understand branding — after all, I've run a highly successful blog for the past nine years. As it often goes with megacorporations, I've changed my logo on numerous occasions. I've gone with handwriting to give an irreverent and ironic feel; studly Impact font against a blue brick wall to imply masculinity and an ever-unfinished job; baby pictures to depict my personal evolution (or lack thereof); a cross-promotion partnership with the year 2010; a banner that shows off my photography skills, growing recognition of my brand and the lushness of my then-backyard; and, of course, default text to offer promise of branding developments to come. In the early days, there were anniversary and gag banners too, for special occasions. My current banner, established circa 2011, brings the blog into the future with its mix of maturity and refined irreverence.

Of course, a lot of times, these changes haven't been for the better. Mostly I was bored and/or wanted to try something new that misfired. Sometimes the successes went away because I wanted change for its own sake, while bum banners stayed up for years at my insistence that readers warm up to them.

Does this all sound like ridiculous self-indulgence? Exactly.

There's only one reason a company should ever change its logo — because it created something that looks better. If all the micro-tweaks add up to an inferior sum, what's the point?

Was I right about this one?

While digging for links for my last, somber post, I found this New Rule from April 6, 2009:

Rule #89: Short and succinct 

The more you Twitter, the less interesting you are.

Somebody apparently thought he'd never use Twitter.

Thoughts about the Navy Yard shooting

Crazy gun culture. Nation of too many people with nothing to lose. Innocent people dead. Some arguing for more guns. Nutjobs crying, "false flag." Never the wrong time to talk about guns. And stuff. Yeah. Blah blah blah.

It's occurred to me that every time there's been a mass shooting in recent years, I write almost the exact same blog (occasionally shaking it up slightly). Because the thoughts rarely change, and neither does history, apparently.

Well, there is one new thing to say. My sister was one mile away from this one. 

I wish I didn't have to say that. I wish no one ever did.

How to be happy in life. By me.

Everything about this article is terrible.

OK, maybe not the buried kernel of truth that someone should have reasonable expectations in life and should do everything in their power to make things happen. But everything else is terrible.

It's terrible to deride as "flowers" and "unicorns" what most people call "a decent, minimum standard of living."

It's terrible to encourage Millennials to lower their expectations, when not only have most done that already, they were pretty much born into that mindset anyway.

It's terrible to reduce happiness to a static equation.

To say nothing of the acronym the writer employs, which is a racial slur to millions of people.

As someone who has two liberal arts degrees and has often struggled professionally, I'm more than used to smug comments about how I should have chosen a more lucrative field, and unsolicited advice about how I can become more like what they envision a successful person to be. In their minds, people who aren't like them are unmotivated and deserve to suffer until such time they decide to be motivated.

The thing is, I've never wanted to be like anybody who thinks like this. I don't begrudge them or their success, but I like being me. I don't buy the idea that life is all about wealth and status, or that hard work and riches are always directly correlated. 

Let's talk about motivation. A mother with a GED working two full-time jobs to feed her children is highly motivated. I'm motivated to excel in everything I do — my writing, my career, my friendships, my self-improvement — regardless of the financial reward involved. The people pushing the cruelest absolutes about success are motivated by a fat pocketbook and ego. Most people are brimming with motivation in some form. 

The question is, are we as a nation ensuring that such motivation is properly channeled? Are we making sure that anyone who wants to work can work, and that such work will pay off? Are we taking these, well, revised life expectations and aiming to meet or exceed them? If not, why not?

Many who push the it's-all-hard-work view actually don't want it to work for everyone, because that would cut into their pie, as well as dampen their sense that life is a competition that they're winning. Also, it's tough for them to contemplate the reality that hard work works for some, it doesn't for others and that some inherit success through pedigree and family fortunes.

All of this is why I believe that people should always aim high, pursue their passions and — regardless of circumstance — live their lives as best as they can. Money is important, but it's only one thing. You are so much more than what you do to pay the bills (though if you luck into something you love, that's great too). You are a human being. You deserve credit and decency, and shouldn't have to wait until you're 65 to enjoy life. Who knows if you'll make it there? So live a well-rounded life now, never stop fighting for your dignity and forget what the hyper-judgmental capitalists think.

Ultimately, they may just be jealous.

When art meets police

Yesterday in Lafayette, Louisiana, downtown dwellers woke up to see the 9/11 Memorial at Parc Sans Souci defaced:

From KATC TV-3

I'm divided on street art. For the most part, I'm for it, in terms of free speech and its hand in improving urban blight. But I also hate vandalism.

Can this really be considered vandalism, though? Tasteless, yes. Conspiratorial blather, absolutely. But these were cutouts that were easily removed. I'm not sure that was worth an arrest. That could set a worrisome precedent. I don't know what the law says about that.

This issue ties into a discussion I'm currently involved in on Facebook about certain people getting arrested over ideological statements. My stance (echoed by others) is that the arrests are justified when a violation of public safety or peace occurs. Terry Jones didn't get arrested because of his views; it was because he was hauling piles of kerosene-drenched paper on public highways. Likewise, I imagine Salvador Perez was detained for defacing public property rather than for harboring crackpot beliefs. We can debate all we want about whether what he did counts as vandalism — but in any case, his arrest report won't say, "brought in on one count of expression."

Now that would be something to protest.

The free speech scoreboard

So yesterday in Washington, D.C., there was going to be this epic clash of the civilization titans. In one corner, you had One Million Muslims, and in other, two million Murrikan bikers. The bikers would rev through D.C., their 2-to-1 ratio meant to block out the "evil" horde, to show just who really epitomizes the spirit of American patriotism. The bikers were the underdogs in this situation because, supposedly, the Muslims had gotten a permit but the bikers were DENIED. How un-American of the big government! 

At least, that's how I saw it explained on the — well, let's say niche — news sources that salivated over the prospect. 

Of course, as is so often the case with such things, it fizzled out badly. One Million Muslims? More like Two Dozen Truthers. The biker run attracted more people, though not two million, and snarled D.C. traffic, so I guess they win? 

But what did they win?

Yesterday, I read cheering over this, as if the bikers had scared off the Muslims into even showing up. I doubt seriously that's the case. But even if it was, what's to celebrate about that? Any movement with passive-aggressive hate at its core is by definition violating the spirit of American free speech. Despite the benign front put forth in the above-linked news segment, the biker rally was (as are many movements like it) ultimately a reactionary assertion of majority muscle against a minority group. For whatever else those riders stood for, they also stood for intimidation. There's nothing patriotic about that. 

The purest form of patriotism, I think, is living your life as you see fit, without hate or harm to others. What makes America great is that we don't all think, live or look alike — and it's those differences that add up to something special.

If something must win, why can't it be that idea?

Today

Never forget ... this.

If journalism is dead, it's one impressive zombie

The current editor of my college newspaper has written an interesting defense of her choice to pursue journalism. It's worth a read. It's also prompted my own thoughts about the field.

My stance arises from the experience from someone who has worked in the field, off but mostly on, in some capacity since I was 18, and currently does so.

I've had the same conversation that she, like probably everybody else, has had at some point:

Them: "Where do you work?"

Us: "The newspaper."

Them: "Oh, that's still a thing?"

Anyone who says journalism is dying is wrong. Journalism is not like a horse-drawn carriage, vaudeville or anything else rendered obsolete by technological advancement or changing societal tastes. If anything, more people read news and opinion than ever, and are more connected than ever. Far from being a dying art, journalism is rising as a craft.

So why do people think it's on its way out? Money. The prevailing wisdom is that no one pays for news anymore. That's partially true, because the Internet has significantly reduced the incentive for people to pay for what they read.

But that's true for a million other industries as well. Most fields are suffering, because we're in a lingering recession. A select few are thriving, but it's easy to understand how they wouldn't if present circumstances were different. If oil ever ceased to be profitable, people would stop drilling for it. If computers were ever supplanted by a more advanced technology, IT people would stop servicing them.

But no matter what happens on the ledger side of journalism, people will still get into it. Why? Because like teaching and similar pursuits, journalism is a calling. It's something that will be done as long as society exists (and even if anarchy were to reign). There will always be an audience for investigations, informed editorials, breaking news and other goings-on. And there will always be people inclined to seek out such information and present it in a professional manner.

Don't let the fact that the industry is facing financial setbacks — or, more accurately, that it is dealing with the ever-present encroachment of technology on what was previously a virtual monopoly — journalism remains strong and always will be. Keeping it profitable is a challenge, granted, but is not an insurmountable task. Mistakes might be made, but that's part of the process (and again, one that most sectors are also going through).

Journalism has long been out of the image of its so-called glory years — I've never encountered a gruff, hard-drinking, cigar-chomping editor, nor have the clacking of typewriters and footsteps of darting copyboys ever been part of my experience. But still, I've been privy to my fair share of major changes. It's part of the field, as well as life in general. The truly successful will embrace the changes and roll with the punches. That's what evolution is all about. In that regard, I think journalism is actually better off than many industries.

(If you doubt that, I'll put you on the line with people who get mad when someone gets it wrong. Trust me, they still care. A lot.)

Time will tell how it turns out. And we'll be here to tell you all about it.

I wouldn't buy that for a dollar

Yesterday, I went to Target to exchange an item. The woman in front of me was haggling the service clerks over a $160 baby seat, saying she'd seen the same seat at lower price both across town at another Target, and on their website. 

That price: $159.

That's right: she was haggling over ONE DOLLAR.

I understand the desire to save money; I've had entire years where a nickel can sometimes mean the difference between a candy bar and skipping a meal. But when you get into high-end baby seat range, and you're driving around two cities and spending 15 minutes in line haggling over what is ultimately a negligible amount of money, you're not being thrifty — you're being destructive.

Studies show that, for some people, shopping sparks the same rush of dopamine as narcotics. Combine that with J.C. Penney's findings that customers prefer the illusion of a sale to lower everyday prices, and it's not hard to see why some people relish the art of the deal. They're literally addicted to it.

She got her dollar back. I'll bet she told that story the rest of the day. Or maybe she was back at it an hour later. 

So much for "retail therapy."

Today in flawed absolutes

Parents make better teachers 

This article is a good example of using good points to make a bad conclusion.

The good: That schools need a mix of skilled, veteran teachers and promising up-and-comers who are dedicated to education for the long haul — and that schools are doing a disservice by hiring inexperienced, disposable transients strictly for economic reasons.  

Also good: That a teacher will realize that a child is not necessarily governed by the same rigid rules that govern human behavior as seen through the mind of an authority figure, but that they're OK anyway.

The bad: The insinuation that it takes firsthand parenting to understand any of this.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Parenthood isn't a magic key. Yes, I'm sure that there are things only a parent can understand, but it isn't anything this article mentions. Just as the U.S. military is run by a civilian, so can non-teachers be parents. In fact, in both cases, there are benefits: the president/commander in chief is expected to consider options other than military intervention in world affairs, and teachers are expected to be invested in their students in different ways than an emotionally involved parent.

The author of the article (Sara Mosle) says that parenthood made her a more understanding person with regards to kids. That's all well and good, but that says more about her personality beforehand than any innate wisdom that birth brings. She sounds like she might have been a cold, distant teacher in her early days. In my experience, those are the worst types of teachers, and parenthood won't wipe that out for everyone. 

I think anyone, regardless of their relationship or parental status, can be an excellent teacher if they possess the necessary attributes: wisdom, patience, competence, empathy and other qualities that foster an effective learning environment. Those are more basic than most people credit them to be, and aren't the products of absolute walks of life.

That's a lesson I hope Mosle has since learned.

Ian infects another film

The second entry in the Ian Video Collection is Pawn Shop Chronicles, in stores now. The film stars Brendan Fraser, Matt Dillon, Vincent D'Onofrio, Elijah Wood, Paul Walker and Ashlee Simpson. It's a very dark comedy with lots of gore, nudity and dark hilarity. As such films tend to be, it's very polarizing with the critics. Much of that criticism hinges on its similarity to the style of Quentin Tarantino — it's described by more than one reviewer as "a redneck Pulp Fiction."

Personally, it's one of my favorite films of mine that I've seen so far. And I'm not that big a fan of QT (though much of that is due to the man himself, so that works in this film's favor). The scene where the two methed-up white supremacists concede that they like blacks and Jews ("If I saw Jerry Springer, I would kiss his ass ... I have three Adam Sandler DVDs ... We worship the King of the Jews!") is alone worth the price of admission.

This movie shouldn't have been direct-to-DVD. On the other hand, maybe it is destined to be a cult film. I don't know. I'm the kind of guy who tends to like the flavor of chips they pull from the shelves due to lack of demand. I'm also heavily biased toward most of my own movies. Though again, this one is pretty strong by itself. And you can trust my word, because I'm barely in any shots here. Take a look:

Can you find me in this crowd suddenly wooed by Brendan Fraser's soulful faux-Elvis crooning, brought to you by the Debbil? Probably not. I'm in the back on the left, with my arm piercing the sky. Two friends of mine are in the front row, with whom I've appeared in several films.

Blurry face time is still face time. Fun fact: the woman with whom I'm dancing was a teenage extra in Everybody's All-American (1988), in which my dad and uncle were also extras.

I'm next to Brendan's bicep in this shot. This frame perfectly epitomizes Fraser's character. At the time, the director seemed unsatisfied with his performance, but we thought it was amazing enough. (Get it? Because he's singing "Amazing Grace"? Oh, forgot to mention that.)

Here's a post I wrote a few days later that mentions the shoot. It took place in Port Allen, Louisiana, and lasted all night. I held a box of fake (but actually buttered) popcorn all night that you can't even see me holding. Ah, high-budget Hollywood!

Check this one out. But not while the kids are around, unless you're a cool parent.

Stand your grace, Zimmerman!

By Earl “Clem” Bob

Tea party contributor

Oh George Zimmerman, how could you?

Threatenin’ your wife with a gun? What are you tryin’ to do, squander all that goodwill you’ve built up? You were my hero, man. You were a lot of our heroes! The way you ever-so-bravely Standed Your Ground last year against Trayvon Martin for givin’ you the finger on Facebook or whatever, he had that comin’. But all that fame and acclaim must have gotten to your head.

I guess it’s true what they say — pride goeth before the fall. And it is almost that time of year.

I’m outraged by your latest actions, sir. What kind of man points a gun at his wife? A defenseless, unarmed, non-threat? What did she ever do to you? I heard the 911 call. You punched her dad in the face and stabbed her iPad with a knife, then held your hand on your gun and told her to come closer. And I’m pretty sure that’s her sobbin’ on the tape.

It’s almost as if you have an itchy trigger finger and think you can solve all of your problems with violence and firearms. Where ever did you get that idea? Such a bad way of goin’ about things this time.

We all make mistakes. Even the best of us, like you, Mr. Zimmerman. It’s up to you to continue to be a role model for freedom-lovin’, defense-minded Americans everywhere. You slipped up this one time, but like the police, I guess we can forgive you. You said she was the aggressor and that you acted “in a defensive manner.” That’s good enough for me.

I promise you, though, if anything like this happens again, people are gonna use it against you. They’ll say, if you did this latest thing, you musta did that wife-threatenin' thing, too, because you sure are actin' like a guilty man. And then we’ll all say, “Remember when George Zimmerman was a hero? Now he’s a disgrace.”

You don’t want to be the next O.J. Simpson. That murderous thug.

The shockiest part of culture shock

One of the hardest parts of living far from my native base is apathy/hostility toward the New Orleans Saints.

Duh, right? It's Reno. Of course they worship Colin Kaepernick. They're 49ers fans to begin with, and he went to college here. I've already met one guy who has his digits.

(At least the Niners are good. In Missouri, I had to miss Saints games and conversations at a time when they were running the table and the Chiefs and Rams were/are wallowing in misery.) 

But it's sad in another sense. The Saints mean so much to south Louisiana. When New Orleans was underwater, the team became a rallying point for the city, a metaphorical and literal symbol for rising up. And part of that was that we'd stuck with the team for 40-plus, mostly losing years. Resilience.

Mention Drew Brees here and you might as well be talking about your socks. And sometimes, they'll hate your socks.

Otherwise, I really like it here.

Robocop: The (trailer) review

A remake of Robocop. Sigh.

You knew this was coming, because the laws of physics practically demand it. Hollywood is rebooting every movie made between 1964 and 2010, and Robocop falls within that minuscule timeframe. And like 99 percent of those, um, creations, they exist due to one overarching factor:

Movie studios are in trouble (or think they are) and need to make money. Robocop is a cultural icon (or simply a badass justice cyborg, depending on whether or not the person has missed the point entirely). Therefore, a Robocop remake will bring hero-obsessed fanboys to the cinema. And much popcorn and SnoCaps will be bought.

I remember the first time I ever saw Robocop. Not the movie itself, but the life-size cutout of Peter Weller that stood proud in the movie-theater lobby as I walked in the other direction to see Roxanne with my mom. (Also a great movie, by the way. Not disparaging it one bit. I consider it a lost opportunity that I spoke with Daryl Hannah last year and didn't say, "Earn more sessions by sleeving!")

I had to wait another year to see Paul Verhoeven's masterpiece. The night it premiered on Showtime, my dad taped it for me, because I have awesome parents. The next morning — my first day of third grade — he let me watch the first two minutes of it before catching the bus. That tease totally overshadowed school, and I couldn't wait to rush home and watch the rest of it.

The movie had a profound effect on me. And by that I mean, I incorporated unimaginable violence and profanity into everything I did that year. My brother and I accentuated our usual horseplay with pretend dismemberment, leg-shooting and curse words we didn't understand. A girl friend and I became a recess cop team like Murphy and Lewis, and I imagined us busting up mountains of cocaine in the schoolyard (there wasn't much). I drew pictures of bad guys getting mutilated by worse guys. I told my mom I wanted to grow up to be a "murderer murderer." That Christmas, I got a Pound Puppy and named him Clarence.

But there were positives as well. Combined with my newfound love for the Hardy Boys, Robocop inspired me to write (or at least draft) a series of police stories. I know who Lee Iacocca is because my brother laughed at "Lee Iacocca Elementary School" and I wanted in on the joke. I came to appreciate my family more because I realized they could get shot in the head at any moment by Kurtwood Smith.

Most importantly, I learned to avoid vats of toxic waste. That has served me well in life.

My point is, Robocop (and its sequels, which I also like) has a deep-rooted canon to me and fellow fans. The remake has a lot to live up to. Even if its story is entirely different, it should offer at least some glimpse of the brilliant satire that, as much as the cyborg itself, made the original such an enduring classic. 

Somehow, I doubt that will happen. Slam-bang is the rule these days, because robot explosions are the world's universal language.

Still, after watching the trailer, I'm actually excited about one aspect: this Robocop is not back from the dead and doesn't appear to have an erased memory. This offers a great chance to explore the dynamics of such an enduring familial relationship, as well as the politics of a megacorporation turning a human being into a drone.

But ultimately, this exchange from Robocop 3 will most likely sum it up:

Bertha: "Where the hell is Robocop?"

Moreno: "Well, we could drive around and listen for explosions."

Either way, and I almost hate to say it, I'll be there.

The peril of poor-people habits

Slate: Bad decisions don't make you poor. Being poor makes for bad decisions.

I know all about poor-people habits. When I was less-than-scraping by as a movie extra, my refrigerator was often completely empty. I'd walk to the grocery store next door at meal time and buy enough food to eat then, sometimes spending no more than $2.16.

You learn to make it stretch. With $2.16, I could buy a single-serving frozen pizza and a bag of 99-cent chips. That bag could last through the next meal, so maybe next time I'd only buy the pizza (hoping the sale price didn't surge to $1.29), and maybe a fruit pie with the extra change. Buying a drink was too much of an indulgence.

Because I am educated and had past professional success, I fully understood how far I fell and how it affected me physically and morally. But a lot of people live their whole lives this way and thus can't see any bigger picture.

Now, I have a full-time job again. It pays the most money I've ever made and offers full benefits. I have my own apartment again. I don't have any kids or pets to feed. My bills are manageable and my debt is only to my mom. And yet, I'm still getting used to the idea that I can undertake a massive shopping trip anytime I want. It seems overly indulgent. Time was, I'd buy mostly healthy (expensive) food, but it's been two years since I had that standard of living. When I go shopping now, the guilt of recent setbacks is still there. I'm used to austerity and all the self-defeating trappings that go with it. I'm not sure the feeling will ever entirely go away. People I know who have made lots of money for years after decades of struggle still exhibit extreme thriftiness.

On one hand, it's absolutely vital to have a healthy sense of thrift and perspective, regardless of income level. You need to know where you come from and all the good and bad that goes along with it. On the other hand, you have to figure out how to jettison the worst, self-defeating habits.

Chris Rock said (I'm paraphrasing for my purposes) that when poor people get a lot of money, "it's just the countdown to them being broke." This is because people who never have money are wired to scrimp, and overcompensate when falling into more money than they can comprehend. 

In my experience interviewing successful business owners, most had any combination of capital, education and grounding. All of these external factors require, to some degree, not being hungry. Poor people are so often in survival mode that they can't even begin to ascend to that level of ingenuity without a lot of help. To quote Rock again, "Chris isn't dumb. Chris is tired."

I don't know if wealthy conservatives really believe that poor people are too lazy to be innovative, or if that's a self-aware excuse to gut the safety net. Either way, the playing field is not level as long as access to basic necessities is imbalanced. And it never will be if continue to abandon our worst-off. 

It's not about dependence. It's about making sure people are in the right shape to begin improving their lives — preferably in childhood, when the brain's wiring is still fresh. The poor aren't the enemy, but poor-people habits are everybody's worst enemy.

The most important tip for hosting a dinner party

J. Bryan Lowder's article at Slate is a pretty good primer on how to accommodate different kinds of picky eaters at a dinner party. It's mostly irrelevant to my life, given how little I'm invited to (or would likely go to) the kind of Upper East Side-type functions where cuisine is the primary focus. But the overarching point here is relevant to any party involving food — hosts and picky eaters must meet in the middle.

I do this everywhere I go. I'm a famously picky eater, though not of a traditional, quantifiable stripe. My biggest bugaboo is creamy, white food. Also, seafood. And trans fats. And many other random things that aren't your fault (for example, I love potato wedges but hate mashed potatoes). It's enough to where I sometimes eat nothing at a fancy function; at my brother's first wedding, I ate only grapes. When that happens, I know it isn't my fault, and never make any kind of deal about it. If someone asks, I'll say I'm not hungry, which will be true, because I'm good at deferring my appetite until I can get food I want. Anyway, most of the people with whom I mingle already know my proclivities and usually indulge them by leaving mayo off at least one finger sandwich.

Side bonus: they've (mostly) quit making fun of my plate, which tends to have much less glop on it than everyone else's. I'm not so into glop.

That brings me to an important tip, perhaps the most important tip, left out of Lowder's article:

Don't be pushy.

If I refuse something, leave it at that. Take no for an answer. Don't make me explain why I don't want it. And definitely don't insist I'll like yours because you made it. Oh please sweet Food Channel Jesus, don't do that! It only makes it far more awkward for both of us. I realize many foodies invest their self-esteem into their creations, but there are better taste buds to validate such items. Everything I tend to like gets discontinued anyway. So you should actually try to make me not like your food.

The flip side is that if something does satisfy all my quirks, I will probably love it and eat a lot of it. But again, that's up to me. I won't make a fuss if I don't like something. But meet me (and anyone like me) in the middle. Don't put me on the spot about it, and we'll all have a bon temps.

Belated Labor Day wisdom

I spent my Labor Day at King's Beach along North Lake Tahoe in California. I swam in the icy waters, ate a delicious pineapple chicken sandwich at a shoreside diner and realized how much wet sand looks exactly like a case of the runs.

Later in the afternoon, I strolled up to a corner of the pier and stood there for at least half an hour, totally zoning out to these waves. It might have been the highlight of my day.

I'm lucky to be so close to Lake Tahoe (this was my fourth trip there — and my third beach — since moving here a month ago). But everyone has a place where they can zone out. For me before this, it was an ant pile. I love watching ants live and work when I want to relax and clear my mind. The beach isn't bad for that either. 

No matter where that place is, though, everyone needs to recharge once in a while by doing absolutely nothing apart from just being. If you haven't already, do yourself a favor and find that place. There's always time for it, and it might make your time last longer.

Whoosh.

The silver lining of Syria

I've been asked a couple of times what I think about the Syria situation. 

Well, when George W. Bush gleefully skipped into war in Iraq, I deplored everything about it. I thought he was basing his venture on flawed evidence and seemed too eager to get it going. Also, I worried that there was real connection to 9/11 and that it would strain our resources in Afghanistan. History, unfortunately, bore out those suspicions. 

I worry about the same effects of the Iraq disaster in Syria, just as I did in the Bush era when it seemed we might attack Syria then. Questionable objectives and alliances. Destruction. Death. Politics. I don't like the idea of America mounting offensives against other nations, and I believe war in general represents a failure of diplomacy. It should be the last, desperate resort rather than commonplace.

The one silver lining is that we have a president now who is measured and reasonable. Even if the decisions don't turn out the way I hoped, they'll at least be the result of contemplation rather than reckless cowboy tactics. And President Obama's decision to defer to Congress ensures that it isn't unilateral. Many have scoffed at that move, but I think it's what checks and balances is all about. The decision to strike in Syria is one requiring deliberation and consensus, and it won't happen without it. That's a sliver of progress from the past regime.

If nothing else, that's a plus.

A request to Comedy Central

I am a huge fan of your annual roasts. Comedy, by its definition, is hit-and-miss, but every roast has had more salvageable material than not. And even the disasters typically are entertaining in their own way.

But the roast of James Franco (which I watched part of for the first time last night) was by far the worst one yet. I wanted to give it a chance, even though I shuddered at the announced lineup. Sadly, the show exceeded (if that's the word) my lowest expectations.

The biggest problem with the show was one that sinks a lot of entertainment these days — self-indulgence. Unlike with most roasts, virtually everyone at this one was a close clique of best friends. And those friends were the Seth Rogen/Jonah Hill/Andy Samberg crew, the most self-indulgent of the self-indulgent working today. 

And yes, they're all working today to great success. That's another problem. These guys are young (many younger than me) and still climbing. Most of them are scandal-free, and Franco in particular is largely infamous for his inability to helm a major telecast. That's great, but it makes Franco an odd choice as a roast target. That, combined with their collective tendency toward lowest-common-denominator jokes, made the event an exercise in endurance.

They're all talented, and I have laughed at every one of them at one time or another. I admit I passed on an opportunity to appear in This Is The End and regret it now. I'll bet they're a blast to hang out with.

The problem is, these guys mostly hang out. That works in their movies, but not so much in the roast. Much of it felt like hearing inside jokes between hipster friends, where you don't get the references and they don't want you to get it, but they do want you to know you won't understand.

Samberg was always the hit-and-miss hipster of SNL, either killing it or copying a past success with diminishing returns. His routine was probably the single worst I've ever seen on a roast. It probably would have come off better as anti-humor if Norm Macdonald hadn't done it so much better on Bob Saget's roast. (I cried laughing then, and still do every time I rewatch it.) In Norm's shadow, Andy seemed like he was trying way too hard, and didn't help matters by making dick jokes instead of the overly inoffensive jokes that work better in anti-humor. Also, anti-humor needs a lot of funny around it, and a lot less self-indulgence, instead of vice versa.

I write a lot of jokes myself (not that most people ever see them). I'll often revisit past gags and realize that, while they were perfect for the time and place, they'd land with a thud if aimed at a national audience. My funniest conversations with friends would probably suffer the same fate. And they're hilarious.

It's probably no accident that my favorite performer of the night was Natasha Leggero, an outsider looking in. Jeff Ross' cornrows also deserved more airtime.

This group would be better off in a different comedy format, or apart. But the roast of James Franco didn't look or feel like a true Comedy Central roast. It was the Superman III of the franchise. My request is that you pick a better target next year and bring back more of the rotating crew of past roasters.

But that's just my self-indulgent opinion. See you next year!

A blog about Miley Cyrus ... sorry

When I hear "Miley Cyrus" and/or "twerking," my mind filters them out in the same way it does terms like "e-commerce," "reality TV" and other words I can't list because my mind won't even tell me what they are for fear of death by boredom.

The MTV Movie Awards "scandal" wasn't even click bait for me. I have yet to watch Miley's supposedly provocative performance, and the pictures I've seen of it suggest I'm not missing anything.

My take on the performance, though, is that it did exactly what it needed to. In this day and age, no performance of that scale and caliber goes wrong by accident. Real celebrity spontaneity is found on Twitter and forums like it (and sometimes even that is highly calculated). The whole world has been abuzz about Miley ever since. That's ultimately good for her career.

Everything else about it is lame. Miley Cyrus is 20 years old, attractive and was born into the entertainment industry. Did anyone really doubt that when she hit a certain age, she wouldn't want to be a squeaky-clean tween idol? When has that ever happened before, except every time?

But I admit I'm biased. I think twerking is more desperate than sexy. It's also become trendy lately (meaning, ironic white people found out what it is), so it's possible Miley did it as much to jump on the real-life hashtag wagon as to lamely assert the fresh commodity that is her sexuality. 

I guess what I'm trying to figure out is, who likes this sort of thing? Or, more specifically, who isn't bored by it? To each their own, I guess. 

Now I'm bored. I should probably write about Syria or Andy Samberg or something.

Let's talk jobs

Two things on my mind today about employment:

1) Rep. Steve King's comments about the unemployed are as about offensive as it gets. He compared the jobless to kids in a family who refuse to do chores. The idea that people without jobs are averse to work is a particularly mean argument that aims to demonize the unemployed. It's no surprise, then, that his answer to overcoming the problem is to simply buck up and get a job. Gee, why didn't they think of that before?

There is certainly merit in admonishing people who refuse to work to get their stuff together. But that doesn't describe most people, and applying that to everyone without a job is dismissive and insulting.

2) The fast-food strikes across the nation are being fundamentally misunderstood. In most places where employees are calling for $15 an hour, that's not much above minimum wage — a wage which, in America, is rarely a living standard for anyone. (Even where the wage is the rock-bottom $7.25, double that can still be difficult for families.) The strikers are asking for a living wage for full-time work, which should be a fundamental right. Critics have to make up their minds about this — either we make work pay, or we beef up the assistance programs that must compensate for their needs.

And don't give me any pap about supply and demand. I've been to a McDonald's in Manhattan (also, everywhere else). They had demand out the wazoo. 

"But it's flipping burgers! They're probably just pimply teenagers anyway."

Working fast food was one of the most demanding gigs I've ever had, physically and even emotionally. As I'm sure it was for the single mother beside me, who worked two full-time jobs back-to-back every day so her children could scrape by. So yeah, that argument is moot, and would be irrelevant even if true. If we're going to get into arbitrary value judgments about jobs, we'll have to question a lot of high-paying ones, too. Why no call for that?

Take it away, Mick.

As your public schools go, so do you

For someone with no kids and who decided teaching wasn't for him (and doesn't do a whole lot about it), I am really passionate about public education. Much of that passion arises from what I think public schools symbolize — the public good in general.

(Full disclosure: I've got 21 years of public education under my belt. Never once wore a uniform. My schools varied, as did my friends. I was a gifted student. I probably would have thrived in private school — or been expelled repeatedly. In any case, I think I turned out better than fine.)

As tends to happen, though, a lot of people choose to opt out. They have all sorts of reasons: the public schools are bad, they want specific programs, they need Jesus, etc. Some parents take it further and argue they bear no responsibility for public schools if they send their children to private institutions.

See, now that I can authoritatively address. Why should I, as a bachelor, support public schools with my tax money? Well, because it's not about me. It's about society. Having educated children benefits all of us. So I'm happy to pay those taxes. Education is our friend.

This article is perhaps unfair in calling private school parents bad people, but it does make one sterling, excellent point that I enthusiastically echo: when those with means divest themselves from the public, the public suffers. And ultimately, they suffer as well.

Whatever other reasons parents choose to send their children to private school, there's at least some underlying feeling that the public schools aren't worth fixing. Because the state of public schools relies so much on public interest, lack of that interest allows them to wither. In many places, this leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Benedikt's manifesto also (perhaps too bluntly) makes what is perhaps the single best point to consider about anything: Whatever you want, everyone else probably wants too. You want the best for your kids? Well, so does every other parent. Money talks, though, so richer people are able to buy themselves such things. But should that be a question of finances?

No, it shouldn't be. As I've written before, public schools should be like McDonald's — consistent and omnipresent. If everyone invested themselves in them, we'd all be better off. Sadly, it seems only those with direct investment in public schools seem to care at all. In that light, Benedikt's article makes sense. 

But I think a better solution is not to force everyone into public schools — it's a renewed interest in the community by those who may choose private schools for personal reasons. Simple empathy.

Public schools can teach everyone, even those who never set foot in them.

Truth

This article is a little strong and misguided, but there's a point somewhere

BuzzFeed has a new "Community" feature, which (as you might expect) has been quickly co-opted by conservative political hacks. AlterNet is steamed about this, mostly out of a sense that BuzzFeed is a liberal haven. But I think that complaint's off the mark.

My issue with this feature — or anything like it — isn't political. It isn't with the open nature of it, nor is it opinionated interpretation of the facts. I also don't care about pandering to the supposed audience. It's that the "facts" aren't true. If they aren't, I don't care who is saying what.

BuzzFeed is hardly the New York Times. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't strive for accuracy just like any information outlet interested in building integrity. Reporters aren't supposed to lie. Editorialists aren't supposed to lie. Advertisers aren't supposed to lie.

Be stupid if you must. But be truthful too.

A painful development

Damn knee.

Striking while the iron's trendy

This. She did this.

By the way, this now-viral shot is not the Smith family reacting to Miley Cyrus' now-infamous performance — they're actually gasping at Lady Gaga and supposedly enjoyed Miley.

In any case, we now have a reaction shot for the ages. Caption material for sure.

When the children are teachers

Soon, I will have an Internet connection wired up at my apartment. Until then, I get most of my wi-fi fix from my apartment complex's swimming pool.

For the past two weeks, I've tapped this locale for considerable Facebook snark. Much of it arises from the middle-schoolers who act their age, as well as drunk adults who act middle-school age. Also, in a class by himself, this guy.

The pool, and the playground next to it, get a lot of traffic from younger children as well. As I type this on a Sunday evening, several children are playing merrily in the brisk Reno wind. At one point, they appeared to be engaged in a Smurfs game.

Curmudgeons often complain that kids these days are too buried in technology for their own good. At times, that's true (and it isn't just children, to be sure). But it's a fallacy to think that good old playtime doesn't happen anymore. These kids are running, climbing, riding bikes, building drink stands, imagining, socializing and laughing as surely as any kids before them. 

Even better, they're behaving. No one's fighting, cursing, bullying or getting hurt. There doesn't seem to be any outside structure, or even that much adult supervision (granted, this is a pretty safe place, and the parents are probably watching from their patios). Oh, and it's racially diverse.

I wish more adults were watching. They could learn something from these kids.

The wrong kind of outrage

A lot has been made of the news story that a WWII veteran was killed at the hands of two teenagers.

What does the incident say about America? Nothing, besides that no one is immune from violence. That doesn’t mean it isn’t exceedingly tragic. But those who are trying to turn it into more than it is are off the mark.

This is the latest story to be held up by some white people desperately trying to find a counterexample to white-on-black violence like the Trayvon Martin murder. They seek these stories because they want to believe that hate crimes don’t exist. They hope to discredit those who insist otherwise as the true racists.

That’s an uphill climb, to say the least. There aren’t many crimes that prove the inversion of the Trayvon case — that black people can skate free of justice after admittedly killing a white person (after having aggressively tailed them for wearing, say, Abercrombie and Fitch). So instead, they find any black-on-white homicide report they can find and blast President Obama and/or Al Sharpton for not being equally outraged by the (non)equivalent case.

To be any kind of equivalent story to Trayvon, the court would have to prove that the perpetrators targeted the man because of his combat status or his race. And even then, they’d have to go free due to a flawed prosecution or other inherent advantages that the system gives black teenagers who confess to murder.

Don’t hold your breath.

Chances are, the assailants in this killing are going to be tried and convicted without much fanfare or controversy. Let’s hope so.

The murder is senseless and a tragedy, which I hope goes without saying. In fact, it brings me to the main difference between this case and those like Trayvon’s:

Nobody decent thinks it’s OK to kill someone, of any stripe, in cold blood. Most people are empathetic when they learn about a murder victim’s life. And sadly, there’s nothing unusual about Americans killing random strangers for money.

But there are still people who are totally OK with racial profiling, and think of the perpetrators not just as deserving of freedom, but as heroes.

That’s the difference.

A movie worth self-examining

The Hot Flashes is out now on DVD and Blu-ray.

The first entry in the Definitive Ian Collection.

The movie stars Brooke Shields as a former high school basketball star who discovers that her town's mobile mammogram unit is about to shut down due to lack of funds. To raise the money (and honor the late teammate who started the unit), she puts together a scrappy team of fellow menopausal former stars to take on the current high school champions in a series of three games. The film also stars Wanda Sykes, Daryl Hannah, Virginia Madsen, Camryn Manheim and Eric Roberts. It's surprisingly deep at times and less cheesy than I expected (though it does have its share of cheese). Portions of the profits go to breast cancer charities. A good deal all around.

Also, I'm in it. Take a look:

Hot stuff!

Photobombing the toast.

Between Daryl and Virginia, apparently deciding which one I'd rather make into a purse.

Fist pump!

Face in focus! (This shot lasts like two frames and is difficult to pause.)

These scenes occur at the victory party that takes place after the second game, their first win. (They win that one impressively dirty, by the way.) Read about my filming experience here. 

Unfortunately, none of my uncharacteristically crack pool-shooting got in. But they did make me appear to have at least some rhythm. Hollywood is magic.

I shot the above frames with my phone as freeze-frames on my laptop. They look a lot better if you buy the film, which you totally should do. For the breasts.

No patience for bold men

RGIII fined $10,000 for wearing non-authorized warmup gear

Everybody knows I'm not a fan of dress codes. The way I see it, if people dress appropriately for the job that they do and feel good as a result, then micromanagement shouldn't be necessary. The work should matter most. Obviously, there are exceptions such as the military and sports. In the latter cases, the uniform has aesthetic and practical functions. 

In this case, the NFL jumped on the Redskins' rising-star quarterback for committing what it deemed an apparel violation. Good for them. Football players are big stars and must conduct themselves in a becoming way on the football field. So, what loud, inappropriate, violatilicous shirt did RGIII wear during pregame?

Er ... OK.

"Operation Patience" supposedly refers to Griffin's comeback from a major injury this past season, one that received tons of attention — and continues to do so as he gradually re-emerges. One that, incidentally, the NFL has publicized to the hilt.

Granted, you could argue that he's a two-time offender, that he knows the rules, that he shouldn't bite the hand that feeds him, that the fine is a drop in the bucket for him, etc.

In any case, the NFL dress code is bull. It serves only one purpose: to advertise league-licensed apparel — specifically, Nike apparel. Every player, coach and support staffer is required to be a walking billboard for a specific line of merchandise at all times. Notice how you haven't seen a head coach wear a suit in a while? That's the reason.

Even that would be OK, though, if they weren't so stringent about it (after all, it's not as if he wore the shirt during the game). What the money people fail to realize is that, in their quest to market the league to fans, they've squelched virtually all personality from it. But personality is as much a draw as teams and touchdowns. As I've said before, if all the NFL brass cares about is teams and shilling apparel, it might as well not put names or numbers on the players' uniforms. After all, that only encourages personality. And that would hurt the bottom line somehow.

What bothers me is how many fans agree with the league's mindset. That's a victory for the PR muscle, because it takes deliberation on a fan's part to decide that an inoffensive T-shirt during warmup drills is an affront to team harmony. It's something no one cared about until the league decided to care about it.

The funny thing is, the NFL was just fine before all this stringency. I'd argue in some ways that it was even better. 

I guess the bottom lines are better now, though.

Making a place better by leaving it

Inspired by this bit o' news

Something only I could possibly care about

For my entire life, I've been interested in license plates.

When I was a kid, both my mom's and my grandfather's cars had plates that began with the number 2. Both cars were 1980 models, so that was to be expected.

But when my mom bought a brand-new used car in 1992, that plate also began with 2.

My first truck had a plate with the first three numbers and the last number being 2.

My current car's first set of plates (Missouri) began with 2.

The second number of its third plate (Louisiana) was 2.

My new Nevada plates start with ... yep ... 2.

To date, I've had one set of plates that didn't have a 2 in it, the second Missouri set. I had them for one year, during which the Saints won the Super Bowl.

Could that be the secret?

I hope not.

A message to all adults who talk

We’re all adults here. And, as humans tend to do, we talk. Talking isn’t exactly an art form, but neither should it be a disgusting puddle of paints swirled into a puke-green mess squirted onto the ground, messing up the undersides of our shoes.

To that end, here are a couple of conversational habits that deserve to crumble into a dusty cloud of sulfur:

1) Constant cursing. I’m not saying this out of prudishness; I’m the polar opposite of a prude, which my movie, music, book, writing and friend collections will bear out. I’ve been known to curse from time to time. I’m a big believer in the value of a well-placed profanity, whether for humor or shock value — in those instances, “heck” and “darn” just don’t measure up.

But if you can’t manage three words of any conversation without spewing every swear word you’ve ever heard, you suck. You lack tact and imagination and are probably terrible at video games and love.

This isn’t one of those peeves that’s limited to uneducated, ignorant people. Indeed, many people I’ve heard do this have plenty of schooling or otherwise enough life experience to realize they shouldn’t sound like 11-year-old drunks at an Insane Clown Posse tailgate. And I think much of that is that people still get a charge out of saying something supposedly forbidden by polite society. Which is stupid, because “polite society” really hasn’t been a thing for awhile, and is usually portrayed in movies as the artificial construct that barely masks the antagonists’ repressed anger.

In other words, cursing long ago ceased to be subversive. Now, it’s just juvenile.

Nevertheless, that barely bothers me at all compared to this:

2) Using the N-word as a substitute for random words. I’m not a fan of that word. I’ve explained my stance on it before, and I don’t think we’re any closer to national maturity about it than when I wrote that. I hope it goes without saying that anyone who uses the epithet as a racial slur is a disgusting person, period. Others use it in the same way they use other profanities, for the tee-hee factor. In both cases, the person might be vile, but at least there’s some logic to the usage.

But there are people out there whose immediate instinct when, say, a friend tickles them, is to shout, “N*GGA!” This is just baffling. What thought process compels people to do this?

Even some white racists know better than to outright say the N-word. But many of those who say it randomly aren’t racist (at least among those I’ve encountered), so it’s even weirder. Still, it’s an interjection, so there’s at least some degree of subconscious at play.

That doesn’t explain probably the most head-scratching users of all: those who deliberately use the word to describe various objects. Such as, “Check out that tablet! I’ll bet that [N] is expensive.” There are no words...

Well, actually there are. Much better, more accurate words that won’t make the speaker sound like a racist ignoramus.

Both excessive cursing and endless N-word use have easy solutions: vocabulary.

Not the Sharpiest law in the shed

Setting: Checkout line, Cheap-Mart, Reno.

Scene: Two young parents are purchasing SHARPIES. IAN is standing behind them.

CHECKOUT CLERK: “You are 21, right?”

YOUNG FATHER: “Yes, we are.”

CC: “You aren’t going to draw on anyone’s faces, are you?”

YOUNG MOTHER: “No, we’re not.”

IAN: “You have to be 21 to buy Sharpies now?”

CC: “Yes.”

IAN: “Twenty-one? Eighteen, I’d understand. But 21?”

YF: “I know!”

CC: “If you had kids in school these days, you’d understand.”

IAN: “But what if you’re a college student and you need a Sharpie?”

CC: “Then you’re in trouble.”

IAN: “If you’re old enough to fight in a war, vote and buy cigarettes, you should be able to buy a Sharpie.”

CC: “I agree with the rule. You can’t be too careful.”

Oh, yes you can.

I’ve never been one to complain about the “nanny state,” because regulation is often a good idea, and those who want it least are typically the best arguments in favor of it.

But Sharpies are not beers.

Maybe it’s time to address chemical addiction as an underlying problem rather than making it harder to buy anything that might have something in it that could lead to a high of some sort. Especially school supplies.

A sociopath's guide to swimming

So I went to my new apartment complex's swimming pool for the second time today. And from that arises this primer in how not to treat people, rolled into one easy-to-digest but hard-to-stomach package.

• During my swim, a beautiful woman also swims and tans. She looks like an ex-girlfriend of mine, though I don't tell her this. Also present: a woman and her two tiny grandchildren.

• A while later, a guy walks in. He's wearing a wife-beater and is dangling a cigarette. My first impression is that he is a jerk. I chide myself for rushing to snap judgments. He is apparently the beautiful girl's boyfriend.

• The guy has an adorable, yet gigantic, dog with him, which is not on a leash.

• After a couple of minutes the dog struts across the pool and begins approaching the children. The children are swallowed up by their floaties, never mind a dog that would barely fit in my car.

• The smallest of the two children, a little boy, begins wailing. His grandmother scrambles to move him away from the dog. His crying has a tone of madness and continues once he's sat down at the table. The little girl jumps into the hot tub.

• The whole time, the guy and the girl stare blankly at what's happening. They make zero attempt to stop it.

• Finally, the guy gets up and walks to the grandmother. I expect him to apologize. Instead, he says with a tone of disbelief and even accusation, "Was it the dog that scared him? Why would they be scared of the dog?" Because, dude, he's a dog the size of a van to them. Is that not enough?

• After he moves the dog out of the pool area, another stunning girl walks in. He knows her too. He calls across the pool, "HEY, N*GGA!" They are both white.

• He walks back to his girlfriend, wooing her with such charming phrases as, "Hey Ass, what the fuck is wrong? Motherfucker. Don't bullshit a bullshitter." He says this very loudly.

• When I look up, the girlfriend is crying. Wailing, really. To that he says, "Why you crying, Ass? You out of cigarettes? You want a cigarette? Aww!" Through her hyperventilation, she manages to say, "I'm just, I'm just, unhappy." As she says this, another one of the guy's buddies looks on from behind the pool fence.

• It's worth noting that, before he got there, the woman was happy. By the time I stormed out in disgust, children were crying, the girlfriend was crying and I was too angry to stay.

It takes talent to be that vile in so many overlapping ways. Here's hoping she drops the zero.