Even though Anna Nicole Smith didn't directly kill anyone, nor did she contribute to the detriment of the rest of the world in a significant way enough to want her dead per se, I am still totally okay with the fact that she is no longer with us. It seems as though anytime anyone dies, we are expected to feel a sense of remorse or sadness despite the sort of relationship (real or imaginary) that we have had with this person. If I go through my whole life thinking someone is -- let's say -- a money-grubbing whore, I feel that it's only honest to still feel that way even if they happen to choke on some vomit and die.
I went to the grocery store after work to grab a couple items for dinner, shortly after the 'news' of Anna Nicole's death had been circulated. There was an older guy in line who looked like your typical older blue-collar worker and he was discussing the news with the cashier, a girl who looked to be a peer of mine. The girl was incredulous upon news of Smith's death, as she was just finding out from the man in front of me. By the time I stepped through to pay for my items, the 'I-can't-believe-that-just-happened' look was still on her face and compelled her to try to pass it on to me as well.
"Is that really true?" she asked me, wide-eyed while scanning my items.
"Yep."
"That's just so terrible," she said as she busied herself bagging my groceries, "I mean... she was just only 39, and ugh... that little baby..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "I just can't believe it."
"You can't?" I said, sarcastically. She looked up at me with a confused look. "I mean, have you ever heard the woman talk?"
I realized it was pretty pointless to get in some sort of pop culture discussion with the cashier at the grocery store but I pressed on.
"It could've been worse," I started, "It could have been someone who actually made a positive contribution to society instead of someone that just sucked it dry and forced everyone into hearing all about all the shameless drama she brought onto herself. Probably the best thing that ever happened to that baby was that it won't remember ever meeting its mother."
The cashier handed me my bag quietly and stared at me as if I had horns slowly growing from my head.
"Have a good one," I said cheerfully, and walked toward the doors.
Anna Nicole Smith had one purpose for the rest of us, and it wasn't for us to admire her. Maybe you saw that episode of Boston Legal in which Heather Locklear co-starred, however there is a term that was brought up that pretty much sums up her sole media purpose: Schadenfreude. Schadenfreude is a German word that means 'pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune'. People get caught up in celebrities for this very reason, often coming to their own conclusions of someone in the public eye that they have never even met. Anna Nicole Smith went against practically every moral I have ever had, we never would have been friends in real life, and I take more comfort in her death than her life although both levels hover around zero. I'm just saying I don't care.
Take a look at the timeline of Anna Nicole Smith and you can too become comfortable with the fact that she is dead. If you believe in Karma at all, know that justice was done.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Vintage Jumps the Shark
Nobody wants to "Jump the Shark", so to speak. We all want to keep a good thing going for as long as possible before it inevitably starts to suck. Wheras the initial premise of determining when the 'shark' had been 'jumped' pertained only to television shows, I think we all realize that pretty much anything is eligible.
I've had my eBay account since May 1999. It's been good to me through the sale of my old bed, some shoes, and really supported me through my obsessive Brendan Shanahan phase. I remember the times before PayPal, and having to actually go and get a money order from Speedway. Most people just entering into the workforce don't even know what a money order IS. Anyway, times change and web storefronts are updated and new features are tested and added and eBay is no different. The addition of the streamlined checkout process was key, About Me pages have become worthy of standalone traffic, and PayPal is bomb. However, eBay's "Buy It Now" (BIN) feature totally cast aside the auction giant into the 'sharked' bin.
Think about it this way: eBay, with its hundreds of thousands of daily new listings, was like the online flea market Mecca. There was all the allure of actually going shopping at a worldly flea market without having to worry about having to wash out the scent of cigar smoke, bad decisions, and middle-aged hygeine issues. There was a chance, just a chance that we might be the ones to find that hidden gem of a treasure that some homely-looking archaeologist guy from Iowa -- the only person who collects that very thing that you happened to find -- looked over and missed. There was achance that we might be lucky enough to underpay for something great and possibly even unopened. The pursuit was nearly as exciting as the purchase. Well, those days are fucking over, and we have BIN to thank for it.
BIN turned my beloved local-feel eBay flea market into the Mall of America. No more forced bidding wars, no more secret great deals, no more pursuit of frugal happiness. It's now just set prices for mass-produced crap, fake autographed items with outlandish reserve prices (just ask Joan Jett), "vintage" items with laughable BIN prices, ways to shoplift (check out esnipe), and a bunch of annoying people with fake foreign accents trying to squirt you with sticky shit from their kiosks. Ugh! Go away! The 'new and improved' eBay is now just a bunch of stuff that you can buy locally, but instead you have to wait 2 weeks and pay some suspiciously high shipping price for it.
There is no more 'new' information. In the days of pre-promotion and hypermarketing, everyone already knows about a good thing before it's even good yet, making its reputation completely precede the actual thing itself. We've totally done a 180 by banking on the phrase 'supposed to be'.
Adding to eBay's bag of suck is the resurgence of 'vintage' items, or should I say items that are branded as 'vintage' but are just logos heat-transferred onto a new t-shirt. The vintage look is all the rage thesedays and the demand of such items far outweighs the supply. 29 minutes before an auction ended on an authentic vintage (seems redundant) 1979 Van Halen World Tour concert T-shirt, the price was $50.50. It closed at $130.00. The exact same t-shirt in another auction was a BIN only "auction" set at a fixed price of $250.00. Six months ago, I bought two small sleveless Van Halen concert tees for no more than $10 apiece. I mean, what the hell is going on here? It can't be just because they announced their upcoming tour...
Vintage 80s concert t-shirts + BIN option = 'Fuck that'.
I've had my eBay account since May 1999. It's been good to me through the sale of my old bed, some shoes, and really supported me through my obsessive Brendan Shanahan phase. I remember the times before PayPal, and having to actually go and get a money order from Speedway. Most people just entering into the workforce don't even know what a money order IS. Anyway, times change and web storefronts are updated and new features are tested and added and eBay is no different. The addition of the streamlined checkout process was key, About Me pages have become worthy of standalone traffic, and PayPal is bomb. However, eBay's "Buy It Now" (BIN) feature totally cast aside the auction giant into the 'sharked' bin.
Think about it this way: eBay, with its hundreds of thousands of daily new listings, was like the online flea market Mecca. There was all the allure of actually going shopping at a worldly flea market without having to worry about having to wash out the scent of cigar smoke, bad decisions, and middle-aged hygeine issues. There was a chance, just a chance that we might be the ones to find that hidden gem of a treasure that some homely-looking archaeologist guy from Iowa -- the only person who collects that very thing that you happened to find -- looked over and missed. There was achance that we might be lucky enough to underpay for something great and possibly even unopened. The pursuit was nearly as exciting as the purchase. Well, those days are fucking over, and we have BIN to thank for it.
BIN turned my beloved local-feel eBay flea market into the Mall of America. No more forced bidding wars, no more secret great deals, no more pursuit of frugal happiness. It's now just set prices for mass-produced crap, fake autographed items with outlandish reserve prices (just ask Joan Jett), "vintage" items with laughable BIN prices, ways to shoplift (check out esnipe), and a bunch of annoying people with fake foreign accents trying to squirt you with sticky shit from their kiosks. Ugh! Go away! The 'new and improved' eBay is now just a bunch of stuff that you can buy locally, but instead you have to wait 2 weeks and pay some suspiciously high shipping price for it.
There is no more 'new' information. In the days of pre-promotion and hypermarketing, everyone already knows about a good thing before it's even good yet, making its reputation completely precede the actual thing itself. We've totally done a 180 by banking on the phrase 'supposed to be'.
Adding to eBay's bag of suck is the resurgence of 'vintage' items, or should I say items that are branded as 'vintage' but are just logos heat-transferred onto a new t-shirt. The vintage look is all the rage thesedays and the demand of such items far outweighs the supply. 29 minutes before an auction ended on an authentic vintage (seems redundant) 1979 Van Halen World Tour concert T-shirt, the price was $50.50. It closed at $130.00. The exact same t-shirt in another auction was a BIN only "auction" set at a fixed price of $250.00. Six months ago, I bought two small sleveless Van Halen concert tees for no more than $10 apiece. I mean, what the hell is going on here? It can't be just because they announced their upcoming tour...
Vintage 80s concert t-shirts + BIN option = 'Fuck that'.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Retaliation Through Sandwiches
For those of you that are looking for a blog post to jump out of the screen and make you warm inside, with each word soothing and caressing your temples while the sheer profoundness of it all tingles your happy parts, go somewhere else. I'm in a really bad mood.
There are a big shit-basket of reasons to which I attribute the gloomy gut, but it can pretty much be summed up as this: I am slowly coming to the realization that I am stuck in a generation gap. I am awkwardly straddling the cusp between Generation X and Generation Y: Generation "More Money" vs. Generation "I Don't Care". One part of my brain wants to be super-entrepreneurial and make all kinds of money jammin' out to Stevie Ray Vaughn, yet the other part of me wants to serve prudish assholes coffee while wearing a demeaning little apron, thinks Death Cab For Cutie is actually goodand hangs out at Whole Foods all day. They've apparently given us the name, "MtV Generation" (yes I realize this is not new). For Christ's sake, I looked it up on Wikipedia and one of the Global Factors influencing this distinguished group of people is Teddy Ruxpin. Hey, I may know a shit ton of people on medication for ADHD but it wasn't because of trauma caused by a goddamned talking bear. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be baby-booming, baby-busting, baby-sitting, or just telling dead baby jokes. Fuck you, 1980! Seriously though, how long does it take to microwave a dead baby?
Wait, what were we talking about?
Anyway, shit has been a strugglin' lately, INCLUDING MY BLOG YES I KNOW, so instead of keeping quiet per usual I am going to unload (upload?) on you people in a rare bitch-a-blog session. Feel free to comment, feel free to add, feel free to go GFY, I dont care. Apathy: Teddy Ruxpin-style.
I am going to do this as cheaply and plainly as possible. Here is what's been stirring and stewing in the brain pot lately (MTVers, I've added visual stimulation for you as not to lose your interest, Generation Xers I've split it up into two parts to keep your attention Jack Bauer-style):
As I've mentioned before, I go to the same coffee shop every morning for 'the usual', a skim latte. Make whatever scoffs you want, I like milk and I like coffee and I just happen to like them together and admittance of so does not make me any less of a person, despite the ridiculous snobbery that goes on within coffee shop confines. Black coffee drinkers get all pissed off waiting behind someone ordering a frothy drink, die-hard coffee drinkers think the chai people are hippies, everyone thinks you're sick or ailing if you order hot tea...it's all retarded. I mean, we're mostly all there crusty-faced at 7:30 in the morning for the same reason: to get a jolt of caffeine before starting the 'routine' that we've actually already started but just didn't realize because we were too damn tired. We're tired, we're crabby, that's why we're there. The people that work at coffee shops are super troopers and surely understand the "you're allowed to be an asshole in the morning" rule and just take retribution in guilt-tripping us to paying an extra dollar for our coffee via tip jar.
The other morning, however, I groggily stumbled into the shop and waited at the counter for a brief moment for someone to attend to me. While I was standing there I felt a gust of cold behind me, signifying someone else had come in. By the time I felt the cold, the door-rushing woman was so close behind me, she almost scared me. Honestly, one more step closer and she could've put her fist up my ass. Every tiny detail in the experience involving her that morning pointed to the fact that she was rushing. I hate being rushed. I hate it. I ordered my latte and she sighed audibly. Heavily, even. I turned around and gave her the "Are you being fucking serious?" look but she was so airy that she pretended to look through me. I turned back around and added a sandwich onto my order to retaliate. More heavy sighs, and maybe even a desperate 'come on' muttered underneath her breath. Eventually, I moved aside to the end of the counter to wait on my coffee, when I heard the woman order. DECAF!!! A decaf coffee?!! I mean, honestly, why don't you just piss on a hill of navy beans and light a fire underneath the runoff? What a waste to get all pissed off that I was standing in the way of you getting your .01% caffeine fix. And of $1.40.
This sort of goes hand in hand with the general lack of patience movement I've been noticing lately. I find it so funny that we get so worked up to the point of actually physiologically elevating our own blood pressure over the most trivial things. When something is supposed to take 10 seconds but instead takes 30, people flip the fuck out. One of these kinds of people is the Delayed Angry Honker. I used to live in New York, where the horn is just a way of life. Columbus really isn't so bad. The only times I have felt it necessary to honk my horn in the last two years have been out of courtesy. A polite double-honk to let the person text-messaging in front of you that the light has changed, an "OMG! YOU ARE GOING TO GET HIT!" courtesy honk, a honk of recognition to a car or a person - these are all pretty acceptable. Normally, if someone is pulling into a parking space and has to Tommy Boy it, or otherwise is just old and takes forever I don't honk. That person probably has enough problems as it is to have to be going that slow in the first place without me adding any further confusion. Lately around here, our wind chills have been ridiculous, so I can understand and accept the fact that things are going to take a little (if not a lot) longer than usual. Am I going to wait for a parking space if someone is pulling out of one if it's 2 degrees out? Hell yes I am. Anyway, someone was doing this yesterday; waiting for a parking spot at a rather busy lunch spot. Admittedly, her waiting for the spot held up about 3 cars for about 40 seconds. I could see the person in front of me go through the entire stages from 'calm' to 'freak out' in a matter of those 40 seconds. Finally as the car pulled into the great parking spot, traffic was freed up and Freakout laid on the horn and screamed, hands waving madly. She was only going one row over from the lady that had just parked. I know, because I watched her. I watched her get out of her car, still muttering and waving, and she went into a National City Bank. 40 seconds late.
I'm dragging Part 2 out until tomorrow so I can have an excuse to go to happy hour tonight.
There are a big shit-basket of reasons to which I attribute the gloomy gut, but it can pretty much be summed up as this: I am slowly coming to the realization that I am stuck in a generation gap. I am awkwardly straddling the cusp between Generation X and Generation Y: Generation "More Money" vs. Generation "I Don't Care". One part of my brain wants to be super-entrepreneurial and make all kinds of money jammin' out to Stevie Ray Vaughn, yet the other part of me wants to serve prudish assholes coffee while wearing a demeaning little apron, thinks Death Cab For Cutie is actually goodand hangs out at Whole Foods all day. They've apparently given us the name, "MtV Generation" (yes I realize this is not new). For Christ's sake, I looked it up on Wikipedia and one of the Global Factors influencing this distinguished group of people is Teddy Ruxpin. Hey, I may know a shit ton of people on medication for ADHD but it wasn't because of trauma caused by a goddamned talking bear. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be baby-booming, baby-busting, baby-sitting, or just telling dead baby jokes. Fuck you, 1980! Seriously though, how long does it take to microwave a dead baby?
Wait, what were we talking about?
Anyway, shit has been a strugglin' lately, INCLUDING MY BLOG YES I KNOW, so instead of keeping quiet per usual I am going to unload (upload?) on you people in a rare bitch-a-blog session. Feel free to comment, feel free to add, feel free to go GFY, I dont care. Apathy: Teddy Ruxpin-style.
And then Goldilocks and the Three Bear... Hey you do realize your parents are subsituting me for a babysitter, right...
I am going to do this as cheaply and plainly as possible. Here is what's been stirring and stewing in the brain pot lately (MTVers, I've added visual stimulation for you as not to lose your interest, Generation Xers I've split it up into two parts to keep your attention Jack Bauer-style):
Who needs content when you have PICTURES!
As I've mentioned before, I go to the same coffee shop every morning for 'the usual', a skim latte. Make whatever scoffs you want, I like milk and I like coffee and I just happen to like them together and admittance of so does not make me any less of a person, despite the ridiculous snobbery that goes on within coffee shop confines. Black coffee drinkers get all pissed off waiting behind someone ordering a frothy drink, die-hard coffee drinkers think the chai people are hippies, everyone thinks you're sick or ailing if you order hot tea...it's all retarded. I mean, we're mostly all there crusty-faced at 7:30 in the morning for the same reason: to get a jolt of caffeine before starting the 'routine' that we've actually already started but just didn't realize because we were too damn tired. We're tired, we're crabby, that's why we're there. The people that work at coffee shops are super troopers and surely understand the "you're allowed to be an asshole in the morning" rule and just take retribution in guilt-tripping us to paying an extra dollar for our coffee via tip jar.
The other morning, however, I groggily stumbled into the shop and waited at the counter for a brief moment for someone to attend to me. While I was standing there I felt a gust of cold behind me, signifying someone else had come in. By the time I felt the cold, the door-rushing woman was so close behind me, she almost scared me. Honestly, one more step closer and she could've put her fist up my ass. Every tiny detail in the experience involving her that morning pointed to the fact that she was rushing. I hate being rushed. I hate it. I ordered my latte and she sighed audibly. Heavily, even. I turned around and gave her the "Are you being fucking serious?" look but she was so airy that she pretended to look through me. I turned back around and added a sandwich onto my order to retaliate. More heavy sighs, and maybe even a desperate 'come on' muttered underneath her breath. Eventually, I moved aside to the end of the counter to wait on my coffee, when I heard the woman order. DECAF!!! A decaf coffee?!! I mean, honestly, why don't you just piss on a hill of navy beans and light a fire underneath the runoff? What a waste to get all pissed off that I was standing in the way of you getting your .01% caffeine fix. And of $1.40.
This sort of goes hand in hand with the general lack of patience movement I've been noticing lately. I find it so funny that we get so worked up to the point of actually physiologically elevating our own blood pressure over the most trivial things. When something is supposed to take 10 seconds but instead takes 30, people flip the fuck out. One of these kinds of people is the Delayed Angry Honker. I used to live in New York, where the horn is just a way of life. Columbus really isn't so bad. The only times I have felt it necessary to honk my horn in the last two years have been out of courtesy. A polite double-honk to let the person text-messaging in front of you that the light has changed, an "OMG! YOU ARE GOING TO GET HIT!" courtesy honk, a honk of recognition to a car or a person - these are all pretty acceptable. Normally, if someone is pulling into a parking space and has to Tommy Boy it, or otherwise is just old and takes forever I don't honk. That person probably has enough problems as it is to have to be going that slow in the first place without me adding any further confusion. Lately around here, our wind chills have been ridiculous, so I can understand and accept the fact that things are going to take a little (if not a lot) longer than usual. Am I going to wait for a parking space if someone is pulling out of one if it's 2 degrees out? Hell yes I am. Anyway, someone was doing this yesterday; waiting for a parking spot at a rather busy lunch spot. Admittedly, her waiting for the spot held up about 3 cars for about 40 seconds. I could see the person in front of me go through the entire stages from 'calm' to 'freak out' in a matter of those 40 seconds. Finally as the car pulled into the great parking spot, traffic was freed up and Freakout laid on the horn and screamed, hands waving madly. She was only going one row over from the lady that had just parked. I know, because I watched her. I watched her get out of her car, still muttering and waving, and she went into a National City Bank. 40 seconds late.
I'm dragging Part 2 out until tomorrow so I can have an excuse to go to happy hour tonight.
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