Dear Ciao Bella

After a long hiatus, I have returned to make a post.

The following is an email that I sent to Ciao Bella, makers of the famed Blackberry Cabernet sorbet.

Observe: Blackberry Cabernet in all its glory.

Dear Ciao Bella,

In my greatest hour of need, I am turning to you for guidance.

My dear father recently turned 50. In a fit of mid-life-crisis panic, he ran to the grocery store to buy his favorite comfort food, Ciao Bella's Blackberry Cabernet Sorbet.

But alas, he returned home empty handed. After combing through the neighborhood's several grocery establishments, my father discovered the horrible truth-- there was not a single remaining container of Blackberry Cabernet Sorbet.

The family united in the quest to soothe my father's grief. We checked our grocery stores over and over again, but the effort was wasted. We bought Haagen-Dazs's Blackberry Cabernet sorbet, but it couldn't replace Ciao Bella's version. We even bought other Ciao Bella flavors, but nothing could compete with the smooth, rich tartness that is Blackberry Cabernet.

All seemed lost.

But then a light appeared in the fog-- icecreamsource.com sold Blackberry Cabernet, and it could be delivered right to our door! I surprised dear Father on his birthday with five cartons of his beloved sorbet, and you could see the weight lifted from his shoulders. He was a new man!

On the fateful night of August 20th, 2013, I went back online to re-order more sorbet. But I soon discovered the horrible truth; icecreamsource.com no longer carried individual cartons of Blackberry Cabernet! I spent the next few hours braving hellfire and brimstone, searching frantically through the deep folds of the internet for the elusive goddess of sorbet. But it was useless. There was no online store that could deliver Blackberry Cabernet to Northbrook, IL.

My father is having intensive surgery on his sinuses on September 12th, 2013. Please Ciao Bella, in this terrible age of hardship, I beseech thee: tell me how to find this incredible flavor. No matter the cost, no matter the danger, I must find a way to tame the beast that is Blackberry Cabernet.

Help me, Ciao Bella. You're my only hope.

Di te incolumem custodiant,

Beth Jeanne Silverstein

****************

In other news, "di te incolumem custodiant" means "May the Gods guard your safety" in Latin. Because I know how to use Google, bitches.

Review of Camping

People are usually surprised when I tell them that I love camping. This is because I have zero tolerance for anything with more than six legs. Except for hermit crabs. Hermit crabs are actually really cute. I had some hermit crabs once, but then they died because I didn't take care of them the right way. I mean, I tried, but... it didn't work out. I still feel bad because that was only, like, a year and a half ago. It's not like I was 5 or some irresponsible age. I was like, 20. Whoops.

Sob stories/I'm a terrible person!

The point of that guilt-speech was that I strongly dislike bugs. I'm not afraid of them, I just really really REALLY don't want them to touch me. That's not a phobia thing, it's a touch-y thing. There's a difference. Theoretically, I don't care about the bug existing on the other side of the room. It's more about the likelihood of the bug tripping and falling on my skin. I do not want it touching my skin. It is NON-NEGOTIABLE. It's the same way that normal people don't want to touch other people's pee. It's not scary, it's just gross.

And you know what else? Bugs are rude. They have no concept of personal space. I don't just go around touching random animals, so why do they not grant me the same respect? It's obscene! The whole issue is that they can't just leave you alone. No, they have to get all up in your space. Like I said before, I don't care if the bug is on the other side of the room, or better yet not on this hemisphere. But no, bugs are all like, "Look, a stranger! Let me touch youuuuu." You know what we do with people like that? We LOCK THEM UP. You know why? Because they are weird and creepy. So to are bugs.

I am totally side-tracked right now. Anyways camping!

Despite my whole thing with bugs, camping is actually super fun. I love the campfire, and the marshmallows, and the fact that everyone is disgusting and hasn't showered in god knows when. I guess I just like being dirty. Is that weird? I feel like that's weird.

And the thing about camping is that when you're completely isolated and immersed in nature, you totally get used to the bugs. I think it has to do with exposure. You know how they say the most effective treatment of a phobia is exposure therapy? Although I did just say that it's not a phobia. Maybe I lied. Who knows.

I will now tell a story to illustrate how tough I am:

Once upon a time (I think all my stories start this way), I went to overnight camp when I was 15. We had bunks, but we spent a lot of time hiking and camping out in random places. We'd spend one night camping, then one night in the bunk, then another night camping. At the end of the month, we drove up to Canada and did this 5-day canoeing trip in the middle of nowhere. It was intense.

For the whole 5 days, we carried everything we needed on our backs/in the canoes. Food, clothes, bug spray, cooking equipment, all that stuff. You know how heavy all that stuff is? Really, REALLY heavy. And every so often we'd get to a land crossing, and we'd have to lug all the canoes and packs on foot. It was SO HARD GUYS. I literally thought my back was going to snap in half.

So I'm hiking along, and I'm randomly just by myself on the trail, and I'm carrying this big-ass pack and it hurts like a mofo. And I'm grimy, and disgusting, and it's been like 4 days already and my socks are all wet, and I can't even sit down to rest because I wouldn't be able to get up again by myself.

And then comes along the most hated bug known to mankind: the MOSQUITO.

Mosquitoes are kind of like Canada's ambassadors, I think. At least that's what it felt like.

The mosquito decided that it would be the best idea ever to fly around my face and maybe try to bite my ear. Obviously that is the perfect place to bite someone. It was buzzing in my ear, and I kept trying to shoo it away, but it hurt my back too much to take my hands off the straps of the pack.

So guess what I did.

I SLAPPED it on the side of my FACE.

Let me explain something: I am a person who has jumped out of a moving vehicle to escape a moth. I shriek if I see an ant crawling on me. I can't kill mosquitoes, I can't go into those butterfly houses, and I will actually run into traffic to avoid cicadas. I'm the last person in the world who would willingly kill a mosquito with their face.

But I am also secretly a wild-beast-man who likes to go out and, like, rip up logs with their bare hands or whatever. And they wear plaid and stuff, and eat venison. Except I wouldn't eat venison because I don't like meat. I might be thinking of a lumberjack right now.

Soooo I slapped the mosquito (which also involved slapping myself in the face, by the way), looked at my hand, confirmed that the mosquito was a bloody mush on my palm, and wiped its corpse on my pants. And then I used the same unwashed hands to eat three sandwiches for lunch. Because I am MANLY.

Review: Forbidden Planet

The other night, my dad and I watched the movie Forbidden Planet. Forbidden Planet is a sci-fi movie from 1956. I think it's supposed to be a drama, but it was more of a comedy.

Observe.

1950's, we need to have a talk. You clearly do not know anything about science. Also you claimed that all the space-crew guys were in their twenties. Those guys were NOT in their twenties. They were all at least 40. You can tell because they have some wrinkles and they do not move spryly. Men in their twenties are very spry.

And then there is your background music. The entire soundtrack sounds like a malfunctioning Disney ride. Like in Tomorrowland at Disney World, there's all those bubbly-intergalactic-space-technology-blee-bloo-blee-bop sounds all over the place. Except at Disney World, all those spacey things sound very happy and exciting. It's all, PROGRESS! TECHNOLOGY! INNOVATION! THE FUTURE! AMERICA!

It turns out that tomorrow doesn't look like this at all.

The movie, on the other hand, is more like creepy, alien, is-a-Martian-going-to-jump-out-and-eat-me-I-want-to-go-home scary stuff. But here's the thing-- there's a romance fling going on between two of the characters, and the music doesn't change when the two characters are kissing! That is SO WEIRD. I know some people listen to music when they hook up and stuff, but I've always secretly judged those people because they deserved to be judged.

But back to the science. The science made no sense. Take this example scene that I completely made up:

Doc has just died from trying to boost his brain power with the alien machine thingy.

Dr. Morbius: I told him not to do it! The human mind cannot handle the magnitude of the machine's nuclear-atomic-quasi-matter-ray-thing!
Commander Adams: Of course! The Krell uploaded their brains using solar-magnetic-brain waves using inter-nano-centron-genome fusion technology!
Morbius: Fascinating! The speed of fusion is 10 million times greater than the capacity of neanderthal intelligence data-- more than 7 kilo-tron-mega-logic-bytes!
Adams: Xerophyte!
Morbius: Heliocentrism!
Adams: Carbon sequestration!
Morbius: Anaphylaxis algorithm!
Adams: Fibonacci sequence!
Morbius: Fission!
Adams: Sex!
Robby the Robot: For the love of god, SHUT UP.

That's basically the entire movie: made-up science. Also, there's a great scene at the end where Adams gives a speech to the crew about the dangers of the human id and man's egotism. Also Robby the Robot is the best character ever. We love Robby! (We being me. I love Robby.)

In this picture, Robby is putting a shoe on Altaira's foot.

Review: Anesthesia

This post is going to be a story about a time that I had anesthesia.

Once upon a time, my heart was confused and was not doing the beats the right way. Apparently even my heart doesn't have a good sense of rhythm. Maybe this is why I can't dance.

Anyway! There's this really simple procedure where they talk to your arteries in your groin (ew, gross) and laser out these extra electrical pathways in your heart that are messing up the beats and making you a bad dancer. It's really really common, and you don't even have to be asleep during the whole thing.

Since you don't have to be asleep, the anesthetic they give you isn't the kind that will necessarily knock you out. The doctor told me right before that almost everyone falls asleep, or at least lightly dozes, so I should expect to fall asleep.

Guess who doesn't react normally to anesthetic?

My anesthesiologist (or nurse anesthetist, whichever he was (the word anesthesia SUCKS)) was a guy named Dale. As he switched the IV over to the anesthetic, he told me to tell him if I felt anything and needed more or less. 90 seconds later, drugged-me took this as an invitation to tell Dale anything and everything that I had ever thought about ever.

They wheeled me into the operating room at some point. Or maybe it was just a regular room. I don't remember. Dale was sitting next to my table/bed/flat thing that I was lying on.

"Dale," I said, "the ceiling is moving."
"No," Dale said firmly, "it is not."
"But Dale, are you looking at it?"
"Yep."
"I see it moving."
"Well, it's not."
"But Dale, I'm looking right at it and it is moving!"
"I promise you, it's not moving."
I turned my head slightly to look at him. "Well your head just turned into a giant eagle, so whatever."
Dale made a sound through his beak that sounded like a chuckle.
"Kay. Talk to me when you're done being a bird."

At that moment, Dr. Kleinberg walked in (that's not his real name, I changed it to protect his privacy) (cuz you know, I'm super cool and professional and whatnot).

"Hey Dr. Kleinberg!" I shouted.
"Good morning Beth. How are you feeling?"
"I feel so amazing right now!"
"Good, good."
"How are you feeling?!" I was still shouting.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Dr. Kleinberg, I did not shave my armpits before I came here."
"That's okay."
"Also I didn't get a bikini wax."
"Okay."
I looked back at Dale. "Hey Dale, you're back!"
"Hi Beth."
"Dale, this one time I got really drunk at a Passover seder, and it was really fun."
"That's nice."
"But guess what?"
"What?"
"This is SO much better!"
"Hm.
"No really, this stuff is fantastic! Can I take some home?"
"Nope."
"Can I buy it?"
"No."
"You're such a Debbie Downer, Dale."
"Yep."
"Dale Downer! You're such a Dale Downer! Hey guys," I yelled at all the nurses and miscellaneous people wearing scrubs and lab coats, "Dale is a Dale Downer!"

At some point, they got to the part where they were actually laser-ing in my heart. I knew this because I felt it. It didn't hurt. If you can imagine what it would feel like if your heart was drinking hot chocolate or tea, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Oh my god. Dale! I feel the laser! Guys, I am AWAKE right now! I am going to remember this when I wake up!"
"Okay, okay," Dr. Kleinberg mumbled.
"Dale, is he trying to tell me to be quiet?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay, I will whisper," I said in my loudest whisper voice. "Dale, I think we just bonded."
"Okay."
"Are we friends now?"
"Sure."
"You're a good friend, Dale."
"Thank you."

And I NEVER SAW DALE AGAIN.

I did see Dr. Kleinberg after, where he told my parents that I am very animated when given anesthetic. I had to stay in the hospital for the rest of the day so that they could keep me in a bed that was standing up. They wouldn't let me move or eat or go to the bathroom or anything. Instead, they used the IV to give my stomach food and water and such.

And this is the most exciting part: at one point, I said that I was super thirsty, and the nurse said, "I can fix that," and she switched something on the IV and it was the WEIRDEST feeling. It felt like I was drinking water, but through my veins. My throat wasn't dry anymore, and then I had an epiphany-- this is what a tree must feel like! Because trees don't have mouths, they drink through their roots, which are kind of like veins!

Moral of the story: I know what it feels like to be a tree. I am the Tree-Whisperer and it is the greatest thing ever. The end!

Also drugs are the best thing ever.

Review: Pet Peeves

Having a 'pet peeve' is code for 'I am a mean, backhanded person who can only communicate through passive-aggressive snideness and subtle acts of hostility'.

Because really, does it bother you SO MUCH when other people make noises or dress a certain way or engage in behaviors that do not affect you at all? Does it actually, really bother you?

Let's say, for example, that you really really hate ballet flats. That is a shoe style that's popular these days. It's like a ballet shoe, except it's not actually made for doing ballet. Why would other people's shoes bother you? No one's forcing you to wear them. In fact, you don't even need to look at other people's feet. Unless they're in your house and walking on your floors, why in the world do you care? Is your head so empty of interesting thoughts that you have to fill it with criticism of other people?

I actually heard a guy on the radio the other day complaining about how gross and unattractive it is when girls wear ballet flats. You know what I find unattractive? That guy. I could tell by his voice that he was a snobster and was thus unattractive.

Point of contention: it is entirely normal to not like things. It's okay to think something that someone does is annoying, or to have a weird thing about ballet flats or whatever. But when you label something as a 'pet peeve' instead of just saying 'I don't like that', you make it sound like everyone else is so gross and weird and you are perfect and never do anything that bothers anyone ever. Other people are not the issue. People wear ballet flats. People sneeze and crack their fingers and make odd sounds. That is normal. The only person with the issue is you.

This is why:

Let's say that I really don't like when people clear their throats. Maybe it grosses me out or something. I don't know, this is a hypothetical situation.

But let's say that I'm telling someone about this. If I say, "My biggest pet peeve is when people clear their throats," it puts all the blame on other people. It makes the person you're talking to feel ashamed for all the times that they've cleared their throat. It is snobby and not nice.

But instead, let's say you tell your friend, "I have this weird thing about people clearing their throats. It grosses me out for some reason, I don't know why. I'm weird," and then you both laugh at how weird you are because you know what? Your weirdness makes you awesome. You should embrace it and laugh at how silly it is that clearing throats grosses you out, because YOU'RE weird! Not other people!

So next time someone sneezes on you, don't tell your friends that your pet peeve is when someone sneezes on you. Tell them that it is fucking disgusting when someone sneezes on you. It's not a peeve, it's just gross. End of story.

Update: One-of-a-Kind Shirt

Remember the One-of-a-Kind Shirt post that I made a hundred years ago (aka last month)? I have found the identity of the creator, thanks to the lovely Tampa Bay Times. Click here to read the article about Mr. Jeffery Nagle, who has apparently sold 165 shirts at the time this was written. That's 165 people who I will never ever be friends with.

Bonus: the lady who wrote this article is also named Beth! Hello fellow Beth!

Skymall Review: Bob's Affirmation Box

You ever had a moment where you looked at yourself in the mirror and realized that you are the American/other-countries-an version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame? Not the actual hunched back per say, but maybe your veins are too blue for your face, or you have lumps of fat in places that make it hard to wear clothes, or your nose is bad at being a nose. Maybe you have a unibrow, or perhaps a unibutt. Maybe you have a mole on your chin with a single dark hair growing out of it that makes you look like a witch, and you have to pluck it out every so often to avoid being ugly and witch-y (that is totally NOT true story).

Whatever the cause, we all have moments where we feel bad about the way we look. Thank god Skymall is here to help... especially if your name is Bob.

Bob's Affirmation Box

Bob's Affirmation Box is a wooden box that says affirmations when the lid is opened. Except the affirmations aren't directed towards any old person who happens to open the box, they are ONLY for people named Bob. How many Bob's are there in the world? Why would a company limit their market to such a tiny sliver of the world's population?

Thanks to this handy dandy website that knows everyone's names, I can tell Skymall exactly how many Bob's there are in the US. Behold!

I searched for Bob as a first name and a last name. Hopefully there is no such person as 'Bob Bob'.

If you look at howmanyofme.com's home page, they tell you that as of RIGHT NOW, there are 315,803,486 people in the US (this can be verified by googling 'population US' because Google knows everything, I think). You know what percentage of the US population has the first name Bob? 0.0275%. That basically means that 1 person out of every 3,600 Americans is named Bob. There are not nearly enough people named Bob to justify making a talking box ONLY for Bobs.


Soooo this piece of Bob-crap is the perfect gift for anyone named Bob (which is no one). Other than that... it's pretty useless. You could actually get way more for your money with one of those Hallmark cards that lets you record a message for the recipient. That way, you wouldn't have to wait for someone named Bob to come along. Unless, of course, you are one of "Bob's legions of fans". That is the creepiest product description I've ever read ever.

Can you tell that I just learned how to make screenshots and am really excited about it?

Although according to the customer reviews, the box will only say "Way to go, Bob," and none of the other affirmations. If Skymall's customers say it's a piece of crap, then it's definitely a piece of crap. Also, what is a 'big send-off'? They make it sound like that's an object that can fit inside the box. I was under the impression that a send-off was more of an abstract concept? ANYWAY Bob box yes done.

Review of Peas

This is going to be the most terrifying review I've ever written ever. It goes like this:


Once upon a time, there was a girl who went to some kind of community function for her former high school. It had refreshments and h'ors d'oeuvres that were supposed to be fancy, and then after the refreshments was a performance by a Beatles tribute band. They were called something related to the Beatles that I don't remember.

The girl and her parents and sister all went, and a waitress offered them a plate of mini chicken pot pies. This girl was not educated on anything food-related because she only liked foods that were the color beige. When she asked what was in the chicken pot pie, the waitress told her it had chicken and dough. Great, thought the girl, taking a large bite. What could be better than free food that was made out of dough?

As she took the first bite, her sister watched and elbowed their father in concern. The sister and father both had intense passions for food and cuisine knowledge, and so they knew about the other contents in the chicken pot pie. They watched as the girl looked at the other half of the pie that she still held in her hand, her eyes widening in horror. The chicken pot pie had more than just chicken. It had-- PEAS (and carrots)!

These peas are frozen. The ones in the pie were not frozen.

The girl looked at her family in panic. The unthinkable had happened... she had willingly consumed peas. Paralyzed with revulsion, she stared at the half of the pea that was still in the pie. She would rather have found half a worm. There were peas in her mouth. E gads!

Seeing the impending disaster and humiliation that the girl was about to bring upon the family, the sister acted fast. She grabbed the plate with the remaining pot pie out of the girl's hand, snatched her father's cocktail napkin from his hand, and thrust it in the girl's face, hissing, "Spit it out!"

And she did.

Yay!

The moral of this story: don't eat unidentified and/or suspicious foods. Also peas are the most disgusting food on the planet. I would rather eat a million units of flan than one pea (that's a big deal because I hate flan).

That was a falsehood, I would never eat flan. I feel nauseous just thinking about it.

Review of Cicadas

There is a phenomenon in the Midwest known as the 17-year cicadas. It’s possible that these exist in other places too, but I’m not looking it up. I’m not a librarian.

Unfortunately for me, the first summer of the cicadas that I experienced was when I was seventeen. Since the last summer of cicadas had occurred seventeen years earlier, which was before I was born. Finding out at 17 years old that you’re about to be accosted by a cicada swarm is not fun. It is the worst birthday surprise ever. I mean they weren’t actually there on my birthday, but still.

You know what a cicada summer is like? It is a living hell. They swarm around, and they buzz, and they land on you, and it’s the worst. I could put a picture in this post right about now, but HELL TO THE FUCKING NO. Why would I put a picture of a cicada on my blog. WHY.

I know, I will draw a picture with my excellent art skills. Observe:

This is a diagram of a cicada. He is feeling angry.

 
 You see why a being such as this would strike fear into the hearts of men. And me.

According to a Mister Charles Darwin, cicadas should not exist. That's not a direct quote, but I bet he would totally agree. Cicadas do not do anything other than wreak havoc for the 2-3 weeks that they are around every 17 years. They are actually the dumbest animals ever.

Imagine this scenario: you are a cicada, and you are flying around because why the hell not? You're going to die in two weeks anyway. But instead of choosing to fly in circles inside the forest preserve from whence you emerged, you come up with a brilliant idea-- you're going to fly across a large, busy street! Who cares that you can't move very fast and are incapable of traveling in a straight line? Dodging traffic is the best game ever! It's like Frogger, but a million times more horrible!

This lack of simple survival instincts is why cicadas should not exist. But for some odd reason, they do. And they drunkenly zigzag across the road, and if you hit them by mistake they splatter into green goop on your windshield. I promise, it's literally green. I almost had an accident the first time that happened.

Cicadas are the worst of the bugs. Thank goodness, by the time they're supposed to come out again, I'll be 34 and will be able to take myself on vacation until they're gone. You know who is not excited to be 34? Me, that's who. THE END

Skymall Review: Flair Hair Visor

You know what would be an excellent idea? Take a visor, put some bizarre fake hair on it, and give it to a bald person to wear!

Did I say excellent? I meant to say the absolute worst ever.

Say hello to the Flair Hair Visor!

Hello sir!

I really, really want to know who came up with this so that I can go glue one to their scalp. That way, they will have to spend the rest of their lives with their own horrific product attached to their body and making them look like the ugly abomination that they are. It's a very evil sentiment, but I think it is reasonable in this situation.

I also want to know what this person was thinking when this idea popped into their head. Maybe they were sitting on the curb outside of the U.S. Patent Office, their patent for the Litter-snack 3000 clutched in their sweaty palms (the Litter-snack 3000 is a litter box that doubles as a sandwich-maker), when a sad looking bald man walked by. And this person watched the sad looking bald man, and they thought-- what could I possibly do to cheer up that bald guy? And then BRILLIANCE struck! The person ripped up the patent for the Littersnack 3000, ran home and shaved their cat, glued the cat hair on top of a visor, and...... THE FLAIR HAIR WAS BORN!

The cat was probably a Maine Coon because they have very long hairs.

Exhibit A: That tail is not normal.

According to the description on Skymall's website, "It's a laugh a minute with this spiked hair hat!"

Let's think about that for a minute, Skymall. I believe the average laugh is approximately one 'ha'. Do you know how long it takes to say one 'ha'? I just timed myself, and it takes about half a second. In the time that your Flair Hair Visor produced one 'ha', this youtube video compilation of the Harlem Shake got 3,609,563 likes. That is OVER. 3. MILLION.

Let's break this down mathematically:

The youtube video is 27 minutes and 44 seconds long. 3,609,563 laughs over 27:44 minutes equals roughly 2,169 laughs per second. The Flair Hair Visor, at 1 laugh per minute, produces the equivalent of approximately 0.02 laughs per second. That is a HUGE difference. Even the average person has about 2 laughs per second, based on my own observations (a.k.a. I made it up)!

The Flair Hair Visor is clearly way out of its league here. It's like bragging about how fast your pet snail is to your friend that has a bio-engineered cheetah that can break the sound barrier. It's like... dude. What are you doing. You are embarrassing yourself.


But it turns out that you can still make money off of stupid things. Just take a look at the customer ratings and reviews.

On April 23, 2013, user jkhamerjo wrote: "This is a great conversation piece. I would highly recommend it."

There are exactly two possible conversations about this product: A) What the fuck is wrong with you, and B) Please stop talking to me, stranger with the bizarre hat. Jkhamerjo, what kind of conversations are you having?

On January 17, 2013, user Kathryn2013 wrote:  "My husband has had lots of fun with this product and he loves how real the hair on the hat looks. We will be purchasing more colors"

Uh. That's not what real hair looks like, Kathryn. Have fun with those colors.

On January 8, 2013, user MontanaMama wrote: "My husband is bald and loves this hat . He tells people that he has been taking a hair growth formula."

Really. Does he also tell them that he has been taking a HAT growth formula?


But we've saved the best for last. User canman (from Florida) gave the Hair Flair only ONE STAR. Why such a dismal review?
 

"Cons: wrong item

"I was sent the blonde flair hair by error. I sent it back. I reordered a gray hair flair.""

 

Mr. canman, that was the best story I've ever read in my entire life. And it ended on such a cliffhanger! What will happen to our hero's order? Will he receive the gray Hair Flair as promised? Will the visor perform to his standards? Will he be satisfied with his brand new Hair Flair Visor???? Tune in next week to find out!

But not really because I don't actually care.

Interview with Grandpa Enoch

The other night, I interviewed my Grandpa Enoch. I chose to interview him because he is very opinionated, just like me. Some of his opinions are serious, but several are quite hilarious. The following is a sample of some of the things we talked about. Disclaimer: I also discovered through this process that I am a terrible interviewer.

Me: Do you think that you are an opinionated person?
Grandpa: Very much so.
[silence]
Me: Okay… you want to talk more about that?
Grandpa: Oh! Yes, I'm opinionated. It's not one of my better attributes.
Me: Why not?
Grandpa: Well, maybe I shouldn't have an opinion of everything.
Me: Like what?
Grandpa: Like everything! Somebody says something, and I have an opinion about it. Somebody'll say, "You know, I love scrambled eggs." Well don't you think you would like fried eggs better than scrambled eggs? Is it important that I have to express myself?
Me: I feel like that's different though, because that's an opinion on someone else's opinion.
Grandpa: Okay.
[more silence and me giggling]
Me: If you could choose three opinions that you feel strongest about and are the most important, what would they be?
Grandpa: I have an opinion which is very minor. I'll go into a store, like a market. I open the door, and there's somebody in back of me. And I hold the door open for that person, and then they walk in ahead of me and take the number before me. And I always think, all I was doing was opening the door. I wasn't saying you could go ahead of me. And I think they're oblivious, like "Oh, I'm ahead, so I can take a number." I try not to do that.
Me: But what if, instead of holding the door open, you just push it open and look behind you so they can catch it? Then you're still in front.
Grandpa: I always try to hold the door open. And then we play al fonzi gaston [this is a miscellaneous French phrase that I could not understand], that means, "No, you go!" "No, you go!" It's a very small thing.

The following question came about because Grandpa Enoch is obsessed with changing the English language. He belives the word 'horizon' should be pronounced 'hoe-ri-zun' (emphasis on the last syllable) so that it sounds more like 'horizontal', and he also believes that great-aunts and uncles should be called grand-aunts and uncles. I made up a tagline for him that goes like this: Grandpa Enoch: Rewriting the English Language since 1930 (because he was born in 1930).

Me: If you could change one word in the English language, what would it be?
Grandpa: That's a very good question.
Me: I know you've got a list of these.
Grandpa: Hm... vomit.
Me: What would you change it to?
Grandpa: Expel.
Me: Like instead, everyone would just say 'expel'?
Grandpa: See, 'vomit' is like an onomatopoeia. It sounds like it is. And in Yiddish, the word for it is called 'brech'.
Me: That's also kind of an onomatopoeia.
Grandpa: It is. And it's a classic onomatopoeia. Yeah, maybe I would change it to 'expel'. Or 'discharge'.
Me: So you'd use euphemisms?
Grandpa: Yeah, yeah. But we do a lot of... of...
Me: Vomiting?
Grandpa: No, we do use a lot of euphemisms. We do a lot of cleaning up.
Me: That's probably a good thing.
Grandpa: Sometimes I think we may overdo it.
Me: Really?
Grandpa: Yeah. And I can't give you an example.
Me: Because you know I'm going to ask.
Grandpa: Yes. Well, I can't think of anything.
Me: That's okay.

The following exchange occurred repeatedly over the course of the interview:

Me: These questions don't make any sense. I'm a the worst at interviewing.
Grandpa: You're a great interviewer!
Me: +100 Self-Esteem Points!!

Eventually we forgot about the interview and the conversation degenerated into him telling me about growing up in Chicago and old cars and this crazy road trip he took with his family as a kid for three weeks. True story.

Review: Stingrays

If you go to Sea World in Florida, they have another park called Discovery Cove. This is one of those places where you can swim with the dolphins and feed the sharks and whatever. It's fun because it's in Orlando, which is my favorite place on Earth. Like if aliens ever came to Earth, they should first go to Orlando. It is the pinnacle of the human species.

When you're at Discovery Cove, you can go on some kind of tour thing where they take you around and show you how to feed every single animal that they have. Mayhaps this is so that they don't have to pay people to feed the animals themselves. Instead, you pay them! Hurrah!

I'm getting so bored with this post THE POINT IS STINGRAYS. Anyone who wants to know more about Sea World can go look it up themselves. It's called Google, guys. Use it.

Hello sir.

Stingrays are like fish except flattened. It's as though someone took a steamroller to a regular fish and turned it into a stingray. An analogy: stingrays are kind of like the matzah version of a fish. The whole matzah thing is how apparently if bread doesn't have time to rise, it becomes dry and crusty and FLAT. Except crackers are usually not so bad and matzah is horrible and causes constipation.

Allow this diagram to demonstrate:

It just took me 3 days to figure out how to make that stupid diagram. Who knew computers were so complicated??



Really the whole point of this post is to say that stingrays hug you with their flaps, because they have these flaps instead of arms or fins or whatever, and if you go to Sea World and feed them, they will be all, "Thank you for feeding me this delicious food!" and they swarm up to you and rub their flaps on you and suck the foods out of your hands with the weird little vacuum-mouth that they have.

Observe.

FLAPS FLAPS FLAPS THE END.

Skymall Review: The Slanket

Whenever I'm sad or upset, I think about the Slanket to cheer myself up. And sometimes I laugh, and then people who are nearby look at me like I'm strange. Which is reasonable, because I am strange, but the Slanket would make anyone laugh out loud.

A Slanket is basically a Snuggie. You know how a company will make the same product as a competitor but name it something slightly similar? They call it 'off-brand', like off-brand Toms shoes, or off-brand North Face jackets.

A Snuggie/Slanket is also the same thing as a robe turned backwards and made of flannel instead of terrycloth. I hate flannel.

I'm trying to figure out what was going through the Slanket-creators' heads when they came up with the name. See, 'Snuggie' makes sense. It sounds like 'snuggle', which is what you're supposed to do with it. But 'Slanket'? That sounds like lizards and slimy, scaly, yucky things. Like snakes and ferrets. Not that I don't like reptiles (I actually LOVE reptiles), but they're not exactly soft and snuggly. Reptiles prefer to be untouched, I think.

You know you wanna touch this.

Slanket has to be the most unappealing word ever. But what if you have a Slanket designed for two people? You have to come up with an even more unappealing name.

Never fear! We have the Slanket Siamese!

Why.

Now with "double" the possibilities! We put the quotation marks so you know it's a pun!

It gets better-- the Slanket actually has its own website outside of Skymall. There is a whole section of testimonials called 'Slanketeering'. And on that page, there's a collection of pictures of people's "Slanket Adventures". Apparently a 'Slanket Adventure' is when you use your Slanket in a place that you would never even think to bring an actual blanket. Like an elliptical. Honest to god, there is a picture of a kid wearing a Slanket while using an elliptical. That cannot possibly be safe.

But it's okay, because you can bring your Slanket to the hospital after it nearly kills you.

Final thought: there is a book of Snuggie sex positions. It's called the Snuggie Sutra. I really, really hope it's a joke, because I can think of a MILLION other items that I would rather use during sex than a Snuggie. Flannel is NOT moisture-friendly. Disgusting.

Review: Traffic

I think everyone in the world can agree that traffic is the worst possible thing ever. It’s boring, you can’t use the time productively, and if you space out for even a second you run the risk of A) an accident, or B) being pulled over. It sucks, and it’s stupid.

When you live in Chicago and you drive from the northern suburbs to the Loop, you have to try and avoid rush hour. The phrase ‘rush hour’ is misleading because it implies that there is a single solitary hour during which there is a rush. In reality, there are several hours of “rush hour” at a time, and they often occur 4+ times a day.

Here is an example of a rush hour schedule on the highway:

7:00 AM – 11:30 AM = Rush hour 1

3:00 PM – 7:00 PM = Rush hour 2

Actually I take it back, there are only 2 rush hours per day.

BUT there can be traffic for other reasons! Sometimes there is construction, and sometimes there are accidents, and sometimes the roads are slippery. And also certain days, like Friday afternoons, can be a lot more frustrating than normal afternoons. On Friday afternoons, the lanes of the highways that go to the city are more clogged up than arteries. Specifically arteries that are clogged. Like with hamburgers and stuff. That’s a thing, I think. I’m not a cardiologist.

Actually once I did a project in 7^th grade on the circulatory system, and for my visual component I painted veins and arteries onto a naked mannequin. My dad got the mannequin for me off of eBay. He (the mannequin) got a lot of attention because I insisted that he only wear half a pair of shorts because how can you see the veins and arteries if he’s wearing shorts over them?! Duh! So he wore the back half of a pair of my dad’s old shorts glued onto his butt, and the whole front was naked. The whole thing was very exciting. I think I named the mannequin Bob, because Bob is the funniest name ever.

So yes arteries! Clogs. Cars. All of those. Traffic sucks.

Review Of Other People's Reviews: Leonidas

ANNOUNCEMENT: What is the fun of writing reviews if you can't comment on other people's reviews?

Answer: It is less fun.

So as of RIGHT NOW, I'm going to review other people's reviews, because sometimes I read reviews online and I want to smack the reviewer in the face. If your review isn't relevant and/or helpful, then get off the internet because no one likes you and you have no friends.

Today's review of a review (review-ception! (except I didn't even see Inception (parentheses within parentheses are the new sexy))) is a Yelp review of a chocolate store in Northbrook, IL.

Let's break down this review line by line:

• "I feel like Tom Hanks from the movie Big when he's in the meeting room about the robot that turns into a building....I mean, how is that any fun? Who wants to play with a building? I DON'T GET IT."

What? What does that have to do with anything? It's not a Lego store, it's a chocolate store. Stop trying to be funny, you're doing it wrong.

• "Leonidas, I DON'T GET IT. There are a million cafes (and robots) that turn into something, and this one turns into a hot cocoa and chocolate cafe?!?"

Again: what?? The building didn't 'turn into' a cafe. That's not how real estate works. And your analogy with Tom Hanks and robots still doesn't make any sense.

• "There is a Caribou and a Starbucks within walking distance of this place, and I can get equally as good hot chocolate there for a much cheaper price. Chocolate is not really my thing either, so I guess I am a bit bias here as well. But COME ON MAAAAAN!" 

Sooo chocolate isn't your thing, but you're reviewing a chocolate cafe? Am I missing something here? And stop using your keyboard to whine. It's weird and annoying.

• "The only thing I might be interested in coming back in and trying are the crepes."

You didn't even try them? Did you eat even a single thing at this place? You clearly do not understand the concept of a review.

• "They have savory crepes too with diff meats and cheeses, but I don't think this is really what they are known for doing. If I ever get the urge for a crepe (not too likely), I'd probably have a lot more fun and save a lot more money making them at home."

Who the fuck makes crepes at home?! And no, you would not save money making them at home, because you would still have to buy all the ingredients and stuff, and the crepe-making machine, and any crepes you would make probably taste like stupid.

• "Sorry Leonidas, but you are in a prime time location for downtown NB and everything you have to offer is pretty much covered by the already existing Baskin Robbins, Caribou and Starbucks in town."

Last time I checked, none of those places were chocolate cafes. Just because they all make foods that are the color brown doesn't mean that they are the same thing. Also last time I checked, you were a terrible person and do not deserve internet privileges.

Grade: -1,000 stars. The worst review ever. We are all aware that this person is hoping someone will click the 'Useful' or 'Funny' button. However, this will never happen because this person is the opposite of both those things.

Review: Corgis

A corgi is basically a regular dog that has had its normal legs removed and replaced with itty bitty stumpies.

This is a helpful diagram that I made. It took several hours because I am not good at things.

Pembroke Welsh Corgis are one of the two corgi breeds that are accepted by the official animal people that decide what breeds are real. They have a name, I just don't know what it is. I'm being ignorant today.

Corgis have been bred to be as equally useless as they are visually hilarious. Yes, I know, corgis are shepherding dogs. But you know what? Sheep basically shepherd themselves. I know this to be fact because of Lamb's Farm. That's a place in Gurnee or someplace north of where I live that has all these farm animals in pens, and kids can go in and pet all the animals and feed them brown pellets. The pellets are made of foods, I believe.

ANYWAY corgis do not do anything useful. That is the definition of being useless.

According to the internet, corgis are a rather intelligent breed. They can understand all kinds of things. According to me, corgis are incredibly stupid. My family adopted Lucy the corgi in the fall of 2004, and she is still stupid. Granted, we did get her off random people on the internet. It wasn't even through an official organization or anything. Lesson learned: you get what you pay for. Never buy animals on clearance.

These are things that are annoying about Lucy:

1. She only loves my mom.

2. When I say that she only loves my mom, I mean that she snarls at every single person that is not my mom. This includes me.

3. She barks really really loudly.

4. When everyone in the family goes upstairs to go to sleep, Lucy will sometimes forget to follow one of us upstairs. When she realizes that she is downstairs alone, she will bark incessantly until one of my parents comes to lead her upstairs.

5. If my mom goes upstairs, Lucy goes upstairs. If my mom goes to the bathroom, Lucy waits morosely outside the door. It's creepy.

6. Lucy is only nice to me when there's something in it for her, like food.

7. If Lucy gets stuck upstairs, she will bark until someone gives her the command, "Lucy, come!" Then she will plop down the stairs and wait for a treat, like she totally deserves it because she is so brilliant.

8. Sometimes people who come over will accuse us of cutting off her tail, which is stupid because corgis don't have tails, but this simple answer is somehow not good enough for people who insist that I am a criminal who amputates tails. My comic book villain alias is The Amputator.

A morose blob of dog.

Summary: corgis are dumb but hilarious because they are dogs shaped like tubes. Tubes are obviously innately funny.

Skymall Review: One of a Kind Shirt

Skymall is my favorite magazine in the entire world (after American Way). Every single thing that is sold within those scummy germ-filled pages is something that can (and should) be mocked. The last time I went on a plane, I was actually laughing out loud while reading Skymall. In fact, I was laughing so hard that people glared at me and my mom yelled at me to shut up.

Did you know that if you hold in a laugh, it feels like you choked and got your drink stuck up your nose? True story.

One of the best items I've ever seen period, let alone in Skymall, is the infamous..... ONE OF A KIND SHIRT.


Whoever created this shirt is a sick, sick person. Brilliant, but very sick.

You know what makes this shirt so evil? Not just the fact that it makes you want to gouge out your own eyeballs, but also the fact that it costs $99.99.

With $100, I could buy 20 meals at Subway. That's 20 full $5 footlongs. Or, if your meal consists of a 6-inch tuna sub with extra cheese, chips and a drink, that money would pay for 14.8 meals. FOURTEEN MEALS.

But no. Instead, I am going to blow my money on a shirt that looks like... that.


Really what gets me is the description. This shirt is serious business.


"A One Of A Kind shirt allows you to show that you're an individual, that you're a little different than everyone else and you want them to take notice of who you are. These shirts are great for a night on the town, frat parties, bachelor parties, stag parties or any other time you want to stand out in a crowd."


What a coincidence! I was just thinking that I needed a shirt for nights on the town, frat parties, bachelor parties, and stag parties.

Stag. Parties.

(According to the internet, a 'stag party' is the same thing as a bachelor party, except the strippers and prostitutes might actually be victims of sex trafficking. So, you know, wear your classy shirt to that stag party. It fits with the theme of being a terrible, evil person.)


There's another disclaimer in the item listing:

"Because these shirts are a piece of art, the color and pattern is not revealed until the package is opened."


Announcement: these shirts are a PIECE OF ART. You can't control a piece of art. The artist must have a perfect creative environment in order to create the thing of beauty that is this shirt. You savages that don't appreciate the fine arts.

Did everyone know that pieces of art now come in bulk packages of 2 or 3? If you buy 2 Shirts From Hell, you only pay $169.99! If you buy 3, you pay $229.99! The savings are OUT OF CONTROL!



One of a kind shirts, for one of a kind men (not the good kind).

Review: The Apocalypse

There are a billion Apocalypse movies out on the market today. You know all those trailers of buildings falling and explosions and the ground collapsing and alien ships landing and lasers and lightning clouds, and whatever. Is 'Apocalypse' supposed to be capitalized? I don't even know.

Basically, pop culture has taught me the following about the apocalypse (no capital, whaaaaat):

1. All the buildings will fall down.

2. Every possible natural disaster that could ever happen will all happen AT ONCE.

3. Despite all the buildings falling, the news stations will still somehow be broadcasting footage of all the destroying-ness, because obviously people will be glued to their TV sets instead of running around screaming.

4. The planet will explode.

None of these make any sense. Here is why:

1. Do you know how hard it is to knock down a building? It's not like knocking over dominoes, where you push one and all the rest fall down by themselves. It takes FORCE to knock down a building. You need TNT, and all kinds of shit. And sometimes that doesn't even do it, like you still need to get a wrecking ball to get rid of all that pesky steel. Is everyone under the impression that at the first suspicion of an apocalypse, all the construction companies will send out all their wrecking balls just so that the buildings will topple? No. Of course not.

Plus the buildings that are in the movies are always skyscrapers. Did you know that not every single city has skyscrapers? Did you know that tons of people don't even live in cities? Will all the ranch houses topple as well? Oh right, they can't.

You know what it is? It's discrimination against buildings that are less than 99 floors. Which is all of them, because it is entirely unnecessary for a building to be 99 floors. You know how much poverty you could feed with 99 floors? A lot.

2. A hailstorm and a tornado and a volcano and a tsunami and an earthquake and the sun exploding CANNOT ALL HAPPEN AT THE SAME TIME. Why would anyone even think that would happen. Again, totally unnecessary. Besides, all you'd really need is the earthquakes. Like in that scene from Fantasia, where there's a shit ton of earthquakes and then all the dinosaurs die. It's that simple!

Fantasia is the best movie ever.

3. Guys. Guys. This is just silly. That is all.

4. Everyone knows that humanity will be extinct looooong before the planet explodes (assuming that's even going to happen, which it probably won't). Besides, if the planet exploded then the rest of these scenarios wouldn't even happen.

Actually I'm not sure I've ever seen the planet explode in an apocalypse movie. Possibly I made that up.

Wait wait I remember it was in the movie Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer. That movie made me laugh, especially at the part where the Silver Surfer shows them images on his belly. Does he think he's a Teletubby? Because he is way to creepy to be a Teletubby.

Actually I take that back. Teletubbies are creepy as shit.

Review: Dragonfruit

Imagine that one lovely morning, you get on a plane and travel to Thailand. You get off the plane, wander into the street, and decide to celebrate your arrival by trying some kind of new, exotic foods. You go up to a stall, and the guy sells you a beautiful pink fruit that looks like it's straight out of National Geographic. The guy tells you that this is a dragonfruit. This makes sense, since the outside has all these petal-flap-thingies that look kinda like dragon scales when you squint.

You sit down on the curb and break open the dragonfruit with a knife. I don't know where you got the knife. Maybe you stole it out of a suitcase at the baggage claim. Maybe you are Edward Scissorhands. Maybe you are a cyborg and used your laser-vision to slice it open.

Whatever method, you get the damn thing open. You look inside, and... HORROR MOVIE MUSIC!!!!!!!

What. The. Hell. Is. This.

This fruit is like one of those kitschy pictures of the fruits that look like other fruits on the inside, like on the outside it looks like an orange but it's sliced in half and they doctored the picture to look like a kiwi on the inside.

You see how this is a tomato on the outside but a kiwi on the inside? That kind of thing.

You feel like Alice in Wonderland. Except you're in Thailand, so it's more like Alice in Thailand. Do they even have dragonfruit in Thailand? I might have made that up.

But for real, this fruit/abomination hybrid proves that there is no God. Or if there is, then He is one sick, messed-up individual. You need help, God. From a professional.