Thursday, March 27, 2008

On things growing out of my face

Dear Gillette,
Seriously? OK. Look. I don't need razors that make me feel as though I'm shaving in the future. I don't need lasers, or giant robots, or vacuum tubes in dark warehouses that somehow "fuse" a red and blue light for that elusive "closer shave."
And I really don't need celebrities trying to sway my decision on what razor to use.
I mean, I get the progression here, but it's just the silliest idea: Tiger Woods, Roger Federer and some other guy I've never heard of (sorry, soccer) use yr razors because they're SOOO AWESOME. And because they use them, and at least two of them are world-famous sports stars, well then if I too use yr razor ... gasp! Why, I'll be a world-famous sports star!
Here's the thing. I bought a Gillette Mach 3 about seven or eight years ago on the advice of a guy who lived in my basement. Even that was a stretch for me, and I hardly ever use it as it is. Know why? Because four refill razors cost $132.50. I imagine that's why they are the only things besides drugs that are under lock and key at CVS. (It might actually be easier to get to the drugs, now that I think about it.)
Usually I just drag a pair of clippers across my face (which is probably great for my skin). But maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd cut back a little on the state-of-the-art advertising and sponsorship deals, and pass the savings on to me. You know, the consumer? Remember me?
The hair is going to keep growing, you know. At least until chemo. So I am going to have to occasionally get it off somehow for weddings and funerals. You don't need to sell me on the idea by paying sports figures ungodly amounts of money to star in commercials where they play squash with the globe.
I mean, you don't see Wynonna Judd singing about how absorbent her Tampax Pearl tampons are, do you? No. Because 1) the idea is repellent and 2) you don't really need to sell that concept with has-been music stars. (Mostly 1, though, I think.)
And to everyone else - enough already with the oneupsmanship. Yes, four razors are too many. Just admit you screwed up. Don't add a single "precision razor" to the other side and call it a "revolution in shaving technology." What kind of Bush administration crap is that? (Politics tie-in! Boo-yah!) Let's keep in mind the single razor is what started this insanity.
Let's also try to keep some perspective. Just because my face is velvety smooth (on those rare occasions it is not bleeding from having what are essentially very tiny knives dragged across it) does not mean supermodels will sleep with me. Supermodels sleep with guys like Roger Federer because he could use my paycheck to light a cigar, and then throw that cigar into a pile of my paychecks after one puff, and light another. With another one of my paychecks.
It's a vicious cycle.
However, just in case yr interested, I do own a patent on a 168-razor shaving mask that requires only application to the face and a simple, one-centimeter downward stroke to shave everything below the earlobes. The Navy's already been calling with offers (something about cutting a minute out of a morning routine) so make it snappy if you want in.

Also, here's a t-shirt I'd like to see, in the classic I (heart) NY style: I (picture of rock) Infidels.
If that doesn't already exist, somebody get tshirthell on the line, 'cause they owe me $50.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Rejected People Poll Questions

1. How do you cope with the banality of your life?

2. What's your best hangover cure?

3. Sure, Jesus was black. But was he black enough?

4. What was your favorite scene in the Garfield Movie?

5. Would you rather die in a regular fashion, or in the apocalypse?

6. What's the greatest lie you ever told?

7. Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party? (circa 1947)

8. What's your favorite chapter of the Kama Sutra?

9. What was the nuttiest thing your dog ever told you to do?

10. Who's your favorite polka band?

11. What's your preferred method for destroying DNA evidence?

12. Who's hunkier: Dennis Kucinich or Fred Thompson?

13. What's the one thing you've never told your spouse about your college days?

14. What annoys you most about your boss?

15. What's your favorite Uwe Boll movie?

16. Tell me again - what's funny about Family Guy?

17. What's the deal with nipples on men?

Also, this is maybe the most genius tweaking of a comic strip since the Defunctional Family Circus:

Monday, March 10, 2008

On malarkey

Just saw a general on the Daily Show say he had never seen troops in Iraq, in the 13 months he was there, not receive the equipment they needed when they needed it.
'Cause about a year ago I interviewed a homecoming soldier who descibed fighting amongst his fellow soldiers in the scrap heap like a bunch of old ladies at an early morning underwear sale for any useful sheet of metal. The victors would drag whatever they could back to base and weld the damn things to their vehicles as makeshift armor.
This happened every time new scrap came in. And scrap came in a lot. You know why? BECAUSE THE FREAKING VEHICLES WEREN'T ARMORED.
So, yeah. There's that.

Monday, March 3, 2008

On Marilyn

I once dated this girl whose parents had, if memory serves, about 30-some odd owls scattered throughout their house. Maybe more.
There were macrame owls and ceramic owls; owls painted on laminated sections of tree trunk and giant kitchen spoons; scrimshaw owls and owls made out of bits of string and bottle tops; luxury cruise liners with owl seats and private jet aeroplanes with actual owls stapled to the wings...
Ok, maybe not those last two, but just about anything else you could put an owl on, they had it. And it was just slathered in owl.
The thing is, they didn't really like owls. Maybe they grew to love them - or at least get used to them, having so many of the damn things laying around - but they weren't, like, owl enthusiasts or anything.
See, it started (like many things do) with just one owl. A present from a friend. Then I guess someone else noticed this one and, likely grasping for something to get them around Christmas, gave them another. As the years went by and the wrongful assumptions grew, so did the collection.
It's not hard to see how this tragic tale ends: ironically. With them being eaten alive by mice. Oh, where were their precious owls then?
But this is not about the owls.
This is about Marilyn Monroe.
When I was about 14 or 15, I went on a trip to Europe, part of which is contained almost entirely in France. On the banks of a biggish-sized river running through Paris, near the artsy building with all the piping on the outside, there were these vendor carts selling little knick-knacks (or, as the French call them, "maize").
One of these guys was selling, at what I assume were cut-rate prices for a teenager, pictures torn from Playboy Magazine and sort of nicely mounted (hur hur hur) on posterboard. I found one of Marilyn, tacked it up on my wall when I got home, and thought no more of it.
Shortly thereafter, I was entrusted with moving some books around to various storage rooms in my high school. Not being exactly the "model student" type, I have no idea why. And yet, there I was. Anyway, in one of these rooms was a giant poster of Marilyn, one of those 4' by 3' jobbers. By the end of the day, that poster was also on my wall. So, ok. No big deal.
Fast forward some 13-odd years and I now have something in the neighborhood of a dozen of these things. They're like tribbles, man - you turn around and bang! New poster. I swear sometimes I'd come home and they would have multiplied in my absence. Someone even gave me a Norman Mailer coffee table book once. Not a new one, but still.
Here's the thing, though: I don't even really like Marilyn Monroe. I never did. Hell, I can't think of a single one of her movies I can sit all the way through. These things just kinda have a way of happening. Like owls.
So look, I know it's still quite a way off, but just in case you were planning on getting me anything for St. Frankenstein's Day, and maybe you were in my house recently and thought, "Ah! There's an easy present!" ...Please, I beg of you: no more. How about a new cutting board instead? Or hey, what's wrong with an old-fashioned outboard motor, or a simple pile of used tissues (if you're a cheap jerk)?
But for the love of God just please don't attach a picture of Marilyn Monroe to it. Me and Marilyn, we had a good run. But those days are over.
It's time to just let her go.