Driving Home Backwards

2007: What the Fuck Just Happened?

2007-12-31T15:40:00.000-05:00

So, with 8 hours left in 2007, I’d say it’s pretty safe to post my obligatory “Best of 2007” list. So, without further adieu, DHB gives you:

Fuck Lion: America catches a glimpse into the complex mind of the college athlete. Now cum fuk wit me.
Bringing Falsetto Back: Radiohead says “fuck you” to the record industry. Kind of.
No wai!: Way. Lolcats take over the internets.
The 2007 Borat of Halloween Costumes: Idaho Senator Larry Craig inaugurates the term “wide stance” and inspires the most played-out costume of 2007.
Honey…Where Are We?: Google Street View makes the internet creepier, one intersection at a time.

Google knows how much you hate asking for directions.

Two and a Half Men Doesn’t Write Itself!: The Writers Guild of America places an indefinite hiatus on the unwarranted repetition of Office quotes.
Cool Beans: Hot Rod, the consensus best film of the year, introduces us to the lost art of punch-dancing.
He May Be Did: New Zealand’s #3 folk parody duo reminds us that everything is funnier with accents.
Busted: Several prominent athletes finally give us grounds to hate millionaires who play games for a living.

This picture never gets old.

In the Year Two Thousand...

2007-12-26T23:42:00.000-05:00

Being the geezer that I am, I was listening to the radio earlier today. AM radio, to be exact. At the end of a Geico ad, the voiceover says:

"Call now, and we guarantee you'll talk to a real live person."

Hearing this, I immediately felt like I was living in an episode of the Jetsons or something. "A real live person? In this day and age? Why, robots have been running customer service and doing my laundry for as long as I can remember! Malarkey, I say! Be right back, I've got to charge my shoe-tier for tomorrow."

You kids and your slave robots!

Technology is scary: "Maybe by 3025, we'll have machines
that'll count this money and make it available no matter where
on the planet I am."

Note: Do not Google Image Search "Jane Jetson" with children in the room.

Chinese and a Movie, Thank You Very Much

2007-12-20T14:56:00.001-05:00

An easy-to-follow recipe for embarassing your favorite Gentile this holiday season:

Step 1: Be Jewish.

Step 2: Wish non-Jews a Merry Christmas.

Step 3: Await response (i.e. Aw, thanks! Merry Christmas to you t...wait...)

Step 4: ?

Step 5: Profit?

Haha. Don't worry, happens all the time. Merry Christmas to you too. Arf arf.

The Sky Mall Catalogue: I Can Has Remote?

2007-12-12T22:05:00.000-05:00

On my most recent 94-minute runway delay, I decided to flip through the 2007 Holiday edition of the Sky Mall catalogue. If you’re not familiar with Sky Mall, you’re missing out on 277 pages of the most bizarre commodities that money can buy. Highlights include a “keep-your-distance” bug vacuum and a clock-radio that will scare the shit out of you, which can be yours for $49.99 and $79.99, respectively (American dollars, obviously).

Eventually, I come across this gem on page 126:

In essence, this is a serviceable diversion for your cat. That said, the ad is fucking retarded:

Perfect for a prank or as a favorite new pet. Thought the electronic pet era ended with these and these? Fuck no! And also, let’s face it—your cat’s a douche. Next:

Unless I’m missing something, the relationship between cats and cheeseburgers began here. As far as I know, felines are not intrinsically drawn to cheeseburgers in any way. And with this—a “cheeseburger” remote control (“scare” quotes!)—it appears that an internet meme has found its way into modern marketing strategies.

Either that or someone at Sky Mall is a self-indulgent internet geek who writes for a pointless blog with no discernible theme that nobody reads.

I Had a Feeling That Would Happen

2007-12-11T01:46:00.001-05:00

At least I now know what a referral link is. I'll tell ya, this internet—it's gonna be big.

Also: "futile attempts at anonymity" and "me getting owned by the internet" labels added to previous post. They will be used often, trust me.

For the Love of God, Don't Google Yourself

2007-12-09T22:28:00.000-05:00

About two years ago, in a fit of uninhibited boredom, I MySpace-searched for my own name. I found a rather interesting character from Baltimore who in fact, had the same exact name as me. It was cool. We exchanged a message or two, and that was that.

So, as we all know, MySpace quickly became obsolete. Incessant ads, and comments like these, although tempting, made it virtually unusable.

And so comes Facebook. And in time, so does a friend request from my MySpace name-clone.

Here, I learn that the name-thief is a year younger than me, confirming that the name was indeed mine first and thereby validating my inclination to call him “name-thief.” This past September, I also learn that he now goes to school in New York City. That’s right. The same New York City that essentially raised me and wiped the shit out of my ass for eighteen years. Not only that, but the fucker even looks a little like me too.

Now, I am in Pittsburgh. And he is there. Stealing my name and my city. I can picture him running into some obscure acquaintance of mine from elementary school or something on the train:

Name-Thief: Excuse me, you’re talking on your phone rather loud. Can you please lower your voice?
Acquaintance: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how loud I was. Ha!...Anyway, so I closed the bond at a 4.7 merger and…
NT: Shut up!
A: What? I…
NT: Suck my dick, bitch!
A: Excuse me?
NT: Oh! Here’s my stop. I’m off to go rape some single mothers on the Lower East Side. Don’t tell the authorities!
A: Hey!...Uh…What’s your name?
NT: [Name censored for confidentiality purposes]!
A: Oh my god! I sat next to him in second grade! I thought it looked like him! Now there should be no confusion whatsoever that he’s the perp.

Twenty minutes later, the police would be at my door and they’d give me the death penalty right on the spot.

This inane paranoia recently came to fruition when I discovered the fellow’s blog. It’s funny. Really. So funny in fact, that I’m finding myself questioning my own worthiness of my own name. How sad is that?

Maybe one day I can ride the coattails of his success and we can be the first mononymic duo to take the nation by storm. Then one night while he’s sleeping, in an acid-induced rampage, I’ll wake him up at 4 AM and make him carve our name across my chest with a grapefruit knife. Then I’ll stab him in the eye with it.

Okay. Maybe I’m a little bitter.

Oh my god. Maybe I really am the Lower East Side single-mother-rapist.

Advertising During the Holidays 101

2007-12-03T14:34:00.000-05:00

Step 1: Choose a one-syllable word that can be used to describe not only your product, but virtually any other product on the market today.
Step 2: Hire a choir to sing that word to the tune of Chorus of the Bells.
Step 3: ?
Step 4: Profit.

How do these people even have jobs?

Communications Textbook Builds (Or Draws From?) Factual Credibility of Old-School Rappers

2007-12-02T17:23:00.001-05:00

From Communication Mosaics, by Julia T. Wood, p. 101:

“Traditional African societies perceive full-figured bodies as symbols of health, prosperity, and wealth, all of which are desirable (Bocella, 2001). African Americans who embrace this value accept or prefer women who weigh more than the ideal for European American women (Root, 1990; Thomas, 1989).”

So, Mr. A-Lot, I believe what you meant to say was:

Your AP Verse of the Day

2007-12-02T03:35:00.000-05:00

Courtesy of The Leader:

WVU Fans sat
Stone faced
The Panthers did some dancing
On the WV logo at midfield
Some West Virginia players took offense
And there was a push or two
Most of the Mountaineers just trudged off slowly

This upstanding young man is really looking forward to his Stat final next week.

Buying Stimulants By the Ounce

2007-11-28T01:44:00.000-05:00

For a non-coffee-drinker, there is probably nothing more frightening than being in the position of buying coffee. It’s a position we put ourselves in more often than you would think. Crazy, I know. Any of us will tell you, it's probably the feeling you got when you bought your first little baggie of crack, if you can remember back that far. Can you? Remember that feeling? Work with me here.

As soon as we walk into one of these hollow excuses for businesses, we essentially become that doomed scuba diver wafting alone in the water. There are three Great White Sharks circling underneath, and this is all viewed from the dramatic perspective of the ocean floor. And yes, we are in full scuba gear—yes, even the tight spandex suit that awkwardly exposes the profile of our genitals. So, basically, we're fucked:

8:34 AM, Caribou Coffee, Meyran Street, Oakland

Willem: Medium Macchiato. I have no idea what this means.
Cashier: Medium Macchiato. Indistinct mumbling, ending in an upward intonation. Did she ask, “Anything else?” Stop staring, idiot. Answer.
Willem: Nope.
Cashier stares blankly, then bursts into laughter. I think this is as good a spot as any to mention that the cashier is in her mid-30s and sporting pigtails.
Willem: I’m sorry? What?
Cashier: I asked you if that was all. And you were like, “No.” So…
Willem: Oh! Ha! No. That’s it.

So, I pay Pigtails the absolutely disgusting $2.55. Seconds later, another employee kindly informs me that I’m holding up about six peoples’ orders. Apparently, I am to receive the thing at a special coffee-receiving counter at the other end of the room. I shit you not. It’s like a McDonald’s Drive-Thru, except it’s fucking retarded.

The cup is about five and a half inches tall and filled only halfway (about half of which is foam). I consider going back and asking what the deal is, but I fear I’ll elicit a response along the lines of, “What? Hey Sasha! Get a load of this guy! He thinks we should fill his cup to the top! Lemme guess? No ice with your in-flight drink? And oh yeah! Nice spandex!”

So, I head out into the Pittsburgh cold without saying a thing, take a swig, and the shit is absolutely rancid. Granted, I could have milk n' sugared the thing, but the milk dispenser resembled this, and the sugar dispenser resembled this. Even the little honey bottle looked a little like this.

In an effort to get my money’s worth, I soon find myself taking “shots” to avoid prolonged exposure to my taste buds. I walk into class, and my Communications T.A. greets me: “Caribou. Well played.”

Fucking psychos. Every one of you.

Caribou Coffee, Pretentious L.L. Bean Shithole. Yes, it actually looks like this.