Dude, ... 

14 February 2008

Another Valentine's Day, another Valentine's Day bone to pick.

Like a billion other people, I went to the local Hallmark store this week to get some Valentine's Day cards for some of my closest loved ones.  They've got cards for just about every kind of taste.  There are the blank cards that have a heart or the word "love" or whatever and plenty of space to write your own note.  There are the basic heartwarming cards that say something like "Thinking about you... Happy Valentine's Day!" and have two kittens playing with a ball of string or something like that.  There are the cards that fold out and give a humorous, rhyming synopsis of all of the potential qualities that you might love about a particular person.  There are the basic humor cards that make some degree of sarcastic comment about the recipient before finally resolving themselves with a loving wish.  There are the religious cards which might reference a Bible quotation or emphasize a particular truth about human spirituality, usually involving the word "blessed" at least three or four times.  There are even the overtly sexual cards which have pictures of scantily clad women, men, or animals on them along with suggestive and sometimes humorous jests about... well, sex.

Like anyone, I have a particular style of card that I tend to gravitate towards every time I am picking something out to give to someone else for Valentine's Day (or any other notable celebratory day on the calendar, for that matter).  Many of the cards in the above categories do not fit my personal taste, nor is it likely that they ever will, but I can certainly understand why such cards are sold.  I would imagine that there are enough people in existence that would buy each of those types of cards that it is worthwhile to continue to sell them.

Well, there is one kind of card that I have not mentioned.  I'll call it the "fake feelings" card.  This is the card that tends to have lots of mild pastel colors with some "personal message" that is spelled out in smooth, italicized, flowing font using as many soft and relaxing words as possible.  You know, one of those notes that says something like: "My love for you is like the cool mountain air that flows gently over the rushing streams of our lives.  It passes restlessly yet relentlessly through the gentle tree branches of the valleys of the rainforests of truth...", and so on and so forth.  Come on, say what you want, but you know the type.  You know because every once in a while, you accidentally come across one of these cards in a search for a real card and you can't help but smile, chuckle to yourself, and maybe even guffaw once or twice if there isn't anyone else right next to you.

Dude, seriously... WHAT IS THE POINT of this type of card?  I just refuse to believe that anyone would actually be chotchy enough to buy such a card.  It is one thing to buy a card that makes a brief and somewhat generic insight into someone else's life, as most of the other cards might do.  That is the whole point of buying a card.  You can't always come up with little snarky comments or appropriate scripture passages on your own, so you buy a card.  If you ARE planning to include a note that is deeper or more personal... that's what the blank cards are for!  But the last thing you want to do is get deep and emotional and personal, only using SOMEONE ELSE's deep and emotional and personal thoughts!  That is defeating the entire purpose of the card and the occasion.

So, with that, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day.  If you are one of the billion people who purchased a blank, basic, funny, biblical, or sexual card for your significant other, I'm sure he or she will love it.  If you are one of the aforementioned Chaunceys who paid money for someone else's personal thoughts... well, there are plenty of other fish in the sea.  None who would enjoy that kind of card, though (except maybe these people), so you'd better get that straightened out before you go fishing again.

25 January 2008

Happy New Year!

Alright, dude, seriously, the hiatus has lasted long enough.  I can use the holiday break and visiting family and so forth as an excuse for part of the time that has past since my last rant, but it's starting to get ridiculous again, and my goal continues to be consistency.  Maybe one day I can consistently crank out one rant a week.  Would you like that?  Would you?  Just kidding, I know you don't care.  I just recently found out that even my fiancee hasn't read my last post which was over a month ago now.  In that span, she's probably read at least 10 fashion magazines and 3 romance novels.  So that just goes to show how interesting I am.  Hmm, perhaps there's trouble ahead.  Well, as usual, I digress.  Back to the business at hand.  In this case, my rant is less of a rant and more of a ponderance.  Which spell-check informs me is not a word.  Yeah, well, bite me, spellcheck.  (Haha!  Three commas in a five word sentence!  Apparently grammar check can bite me, too!  Dangit, digressing again.  Maybe this is a rant after all.)

For anyone in the U.S. who has ever worked with or gone to school with people from other countries, particularly those from the Far East, you know that names work a little bit differently in that part of the world than they do here.  As one would expect, a name like Yin-Wei Sheng is as common in China, for example, as a name like John Williams might be in America.  However, if you take a person from China and throw them into the mix at a large U.S. corporation or in a university, that person will often adopt an "American" name for whatever reason.  When Chia-Chun Lee moves to Silicon Valley to work for a software company, she may adopt a name like "Jane", becoming Chia-Chun "Jane" Lee.

Frankly, I am not 100% sure why this happens.  Because of the general differences in name structure and sounds, do people in the U.S. just have a difficult time remembering and pronouncing names such as "Chia-Chun" that are unusual to them?  Do the people from other countries who adopt such names feel like it makes them more marketable or easier to befriend?

I'm sure there are plenty of potential reasons for such name altering, and those reasons could very well be different for different people.  My real question, however, is this:  When Frank Smith moves from New York to Hong Kong, why does he not perform the opposite trick and go as Frank "Xing-Xiao" Smith?

20 December 2007

In honor of it being the Christmas time of year, I have a brief holiday-related rant.

Every year during the month of December, a number of car companies, particularly those that consider themselves to be of the "luxury" variety, begin putting out their annual Christmas sales event-related commercials.  I am specifically referring here to the commercials where a man or a woman leaves stupid little "hints" for his wife or her husband, and the spouse is supposed to interpret these ridiculous hints as a sign that they should buy their mate a vehicle with a huge red bow as a Christmas present.

I'm just going to stop with my preamble right there.  Vehicles as Christmas presents for spouses?  Who on earth starts thinking about what to get their husband or wife for Christmas and says "hmm, I think I'll avoid the jewelry, the perfumes and colognes, the clothes, the electronics, and anything else that is reasonable in price and relatively easy to return if not quite up to the other person's taste and standards."

Most people that I've ever met in my life generally like to put some of their own thought into the purchasing of a car that they will be driving.  They like to go out to the dealership, sit in a prospective car, test drive it, ask questions about it, etc.  I certainly can't think of anyone who wouldn't at least want to have some input on the options and the color of the vehicle.  As a husband or wife, how on earth are you going to know EXACTLY what your spouse wants in such a valuable and important purchase without blowing the surprise that all of the commercialized spouses seem to exude?  Also, wouldn't something as expensive as a car be one of those purchases that you'd want to consult with your spouse from a monetary standpoint before going out and buying it?  And if you've got the kind of money where you can afford to just throw it away on something like a Lincoln Navigator or a Lexus and eat the cost even if it's not quite right, shouldn't you be looking at Ferraris and private jets instead?

On second thought, maybe these commercials are all paid for by divorce lawyers who are counting on them to expose a lack of communication and the resulting crossed wires in the relationship of the typical American couple.  Alimony anyone?

(Incidentally, upon looking for pictures and video of the culpable commercials which I regrettably could not find, I did come across a blog by someone else who apparently agrees with me.  Hopefully I don't lose the few readers I have to him.)

11 December 2007

Alright, today I've got a new rant followed by a rebuttal to the people who have responded in regards to my previous rant on the ridiculous world of brunch.

First things first.  For fantasy purposes only (I assure you), I had some interest in last night's blockbuster MNF matchup between the Falcons and the Saints, so I decided to flip to ESPN and take in a few bits and pieces of the game.  Naturally, with both teams having underwhelming seasons and very unlikely to even make the playoffs, much of the focus during the game was on "fallen" Atlanta quarterback Michael Vick.  For the three sports fans in the world who don't know, Vick was officially sentenced to a 23-month prison sentence yesterday morning in connection with his well-known conviction on charges related to his involvement in dogfighting.  During newscasts throughout the day and again during the game at 5-minute intervals, the sentencing was discussed over the court-drawn illustration of Vick standing with his attorneys.

I cannot think of a single good reason why the phenomenon of showing the court-drawn illustration of a defendant has become so popular, particularly when said defendant is a high-profile individual with a recognizable face.  In this case, for example, any sports fan who remotely cares about the situation involving Vick already knows what he looks like, and anyone with any artistic ability could probably draw his at least as well as the court "artist", if not better.  I am aware that they do not allow photography in the courtroom, but does anyone really need to see a scribbled depiction of some dude in a suit standing with some other dudes in suits?  If you heard about the outcome of a trial and were not shown such a picture, would you freak out?  Would you totally lose your grasp of the situation or how it might have looked?  Would you not be able to relate and have a nervous breakdown?

Dude, seriously, what value added does such a drawing have?  It's not like you can read the expression on his face or experience his anguish, remorse, or any other feelings that he may allegedly be having during the depicted scene.  Heck, I know what Vick looks like as well as anyone, and I would not have been able to identify him in the picture without being told who I was looking at.  Do these pictures get displayed in museums or sold at auctions down the line?  Do people look at them and say "Wow! I am really touched by this picture.  I actually feel as if I am inside that courtroom.  The raw emotion is palpable"?  Do court "artists" actually get paid?  Could a first-grader with a box of crayons not make a representation of the event which would be comparable in both accuracy and uselessness?  Do these drawings get filed away along with the actual results of the case?

Having said that, I want to make one additional comment regarding my distaste for brunch, because it seems that this rant has been largely dismissed and misunderstood (which means that it has been dismissed and misunderstood more than my rants normally are, which I think is physically impossible, but I digress).  It has been suggested to me by one of my readers that my hunch about brunch is based largely on my personal preference for consistent structure in my daily life.  On that note, I would like to clear up the fact that I view there to be minimal rigid boundaries on the timing of the three "main" meals of the day.  Breakfast is typically eaten in the morning, but morning can mean different things to different people.  Some may prefer to wake up at 5 AM for breakfast.  Others may sleep in on a weekend day and not eat breakfast until after noon.  Ultimately however, it is still breakfast.  You are not merging it with another meal.  Same for lunch.  If you want to eat lunch at 10 AM, rock on.  If you want to wait until 4 PM, go for it.  But in your mind, you are still considering it to be lunch.  Do you really want to eliminate the possibility of having three meals in a day by calling your first one brunch?  What is there to gain by calling it brunch?  I say nothing.  You call it brunch, you lose.

5 December 2007

Do you know what ticks me off?  Brunch.

Brunch is a cute name for a stupid event.  It's not even a real meal.  As we all know, there are three meals in a day.  Dinner is by far the best meal, followed by lunch, and then breakfast.  Notice how brunch was not in that list.  It is a bastardized combination of the second and third best meals of the day.  The inventors of the bastardized meal didn't even bother to use the best meal as part of the bastardization process.  Bastards!

- "Hey there Jimmy Jam, you eat breakfast yet?"

- "Nah, I'm gonna hold out for brunch with my broughams."

- "Oh.  Alright, well, have a nice life then.  I'm going to go hang out with someone who isn't a huge loser now."

Here's the worst thing about brunch: what are you supposed to eat?

You certainly can't have cereal, orange juice, bacon, eggs, sausages, bagels with cream cheese, pancakes, waffles, grits, or hash browns.  No, you can't, because only drunk people with massive hangovers, people who live in their parents basement and play Warcraft all day, or a combination thereof would eat that for lunch, and if you wouldn't eat it for lunch then you can't eat it for brunch, because brunch is supposed to encompass both meals.

You also cannot have a burger, a sandwich, a reuben, nachos, noodles, chicken, vegetables, fries, or soft drinks.  Nope, because the only people that would eat those for breakfast are, well, the aforementioned groups again.  Once again, if you wouldn't eat it for breakfast, you can't eat it for brunch.

Do you know what that leaves you with for brunch?  Milk, omelettes, and honeydew melon, and even the last two are pushing it.  Why on earth would someone want to limit themselves to milk, omelettes, and honeydew melon for a given meal?  Why?

I know there are a few smart-alecks out there right now who are thinking, "Oh, what about burritos?  Those could totally be a brunch food, you guys.  Seriously."  No, they can't be, so get back in your Jeep Grand Cherokee and leave me alone.  Burritos are either "breakfast burritos" (which, you guessed it, are for breakfast) or else they are regular old burritos.  You might be ok if they made "brunch burritos", but they don't.  Even Sonic knows that's a bad idea, and they are stupid enough to sell little fried lumps with cheese inside and call it macaroni and cheese.

Oh, and by the way, the following excerpt is from Wikipedia regarding the "New York City" version of brunch:

"The grease-heavy meal is eaten later in New York than in other places because it is often used as a hangover remedy for those who stay out late drinking on Friday or Saturday nights."

29 November 2007

Just about everyone who drives a car on a regular basis (in LA, this basically means everyone over 16) has at some point been on the freeway and seen a Nissan Altima in their rearview mirror.  If you have, you know what happens next.  No matter how fast you are going or how far above the speed limit you may already be traveling, you know that Altima is about to clip by you going at least 30 mph faster.  It doesn't matter what the traffic is like, if it's raining or not, if it's early in the morning or late in the afternoon, if you've got a badge and a gun and a nightstick.  No, you blink once and that Altima is by you like Louisiana.  Like the movie "Speed", you would swear that every Altima has a bomb factory-installed and linked to the speedometer so that it will go off if the car ever drops into double digit velocity.

I am always amused by this phenomenon by which one can know a surprising amount of information about the driver or a car without knowing or even being able to see them, and I'm not just talking about lowered Honda Civics with extended bumpers and gigantic mufflers.  For example, it seems like 90% of VW Jetta drivers are smoking hot women (according to scientific studies, most of the rest are homosexual men).  Do hot women actually plan to buy Jettas to reinforce their hotness to the rest of the world, or does this just happen by coincidence?  Do you have to be a trophy wife and refuse to use your blinkers or to look both ways before turning into traffic to drive a Range Rover?  Do you have to be smug at all times, annoy all other drivers, and be annoyed by all other drivers, to drive a Prius?  Do you have to be gangsta to drive a Dodge Charger?  Do you have to have an over-inflated sense of self-importance in order to drive a Jeep Grand Cherokee?  Do you have to enjoy the thrill of driving with at least one malfunctioning brake light in order to drive a Mercedes or a BMW?

16 November 2007

Alright, it's high time that I changed up the "Dude..." format a little bit.  Since I attempt to maintain some semblance of a life when I'm not working or taking classes, I don't often find myself with the combination of time and energy necessary to crank out one of my longer rants (believe me... the problem is NEVER that I am lacking for material, as anyone reading this who actually knows me will certainly be able to attest to).  But anyways, from now on I'm going to keep my longer rants (when I have the time to write them) in the "currency" (new) and "treasury" (old), and I'm going to use this section for shorter and hopefully more frequent rants.  In the unlikely event that a human being is visiting this page and, more unlikely yet, searching for one of the old rants that were here, you can now find them in the "treasury" as their own separate articles.  So here goes with the first historical entry in my new and improved "Dude..." ... (ooooh snap, a double ellipsis... you would think that would be ellipsi, which sounds totally sweet, but instead it is ellipses, which could easily be confused with multiple loci of points on a plane where the sum of the distances from any point on the curve to two fixed points is constant... see, the plural of locus gets to be loci, but the plural of something equally sweet like ellipsis gets to share its plurality with ellipse... that is weak sauce, Merriam-Webster... alright, this was not supposed to be the rant... and the whole point of writing this intro was to explain that the rants on this page will now be shorter, which is becoming increasingly hilarious as this intro to a rant becomes increasingly longer... alright, now back to your regularly scheduled rant...)

I drive on the freeway.  A lot.  Which gives me plenty of opportunities to see plenty of stupid drivers doing plenty of stupid things in their stupid cars.  In some instances, I get to witness stupid things that people have done with their stupid cars long before I came across them.  In this particular edition of "Dude...", I'm talking about those special people who have the dumbest vanity license plates ever.

This morning, I'm driving to work and I see a silver Infiniti G35.  Being the wizard that I am, I can figure this out just by reading the words "Infiniti G35" on the back of the vehicle.  Of course, at this point, there are so many G35s around that I could probably spot one from a mile away without reading anything, but whatever.  Well, this particular dude was clever.  See, his license plate read "SLVRG35".  After carefully using the power of deductive reasoning while managing to avoid crashing into the median, I realized that this chauncey had simply repeated the description of his car as his license plate.

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