The Forbidden Hair Style


During the Nineties, I had a very specific hairstyle. It’s not very hard to describe, except for the fact that it’s hard to admit to.

Here’s the truth of it: I have naturally curly hair. Oh sure, you think this is a good thing. I’ve had many a woman tell me she’d love to have my hair. But at that time the fashion among men was to have long hair, and if I tried to grow my hair long it basically came in as a ‘fro. The alternative was something even more ghastly, although at the time I didn’t realize it… a mullet.

Censored

I’m thinking of the children.

I didn’t really understand at the time what the big deal was, although at least a few of my friends tried to give me subtle hints, usually things along the lines of “hey Bob, you may want to get a haircut”, or “dude, you have a mullet, please shave it off before we have to kill you in the name of good taste.” Had they been a little more direct I might have been spared the indignity.

The worst part of it all was that I had role models to look up to in Hollywood who made it look good. I mean sure, they had feathered hair instead of curly hair, but other than that? Totally making it work.

What’s that you say? Name one? Okay. Patrick Swayze.

That’s right, star of such great films as Dirty Dancing, Ghost, Roadhouse… um…

Okay, I got nothing.

The point is it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, what was my alternative, try to look like Kurt Cobaine?

But this isn’t about justifying. This is about owning the past and learning from it, as well as helping others to avoid my mistakes. And the first step to doing that is to name my mistakes. That’s where you come in.

I’ve always preferred the term “frullet” to describe the hairstyle I had, as a noxious portmanteau of “fro” and “mullet”. A friend suggested that didn’t quite encompass the magnitude of my mistake, and instead suggested “mulleto”. Personally I think that sounds like a coffee drink you would get at Starbucks. So I throw it open to you: what would you call it?


The Fortune Cookie Game


The other day I was having lunch with Keri at a Chinese restaurant, and of course we enjoyed the Fortune Cookie Game after our meal. For those of you who aren’t aware, the way it works is that you take your fortune from the cookie as written and append the phrase “in bed” to the end. Not only does this yield hilarious results, they often make more sense than the original fortune.

I started riffing on the sorts of fortunes that would be most appropriate for this sort of game, and Keri suggested I write them down and share them with you all. I decided to take up the challenge, and have listed here everything I could think of that made sense as a fortune cookie fortune (as much as they ever do) but was even better when you play the game.

Feel free to offer your suggestions in the comments!

 

He who speaks before he thinks dines alone.

Never come between a man and his best friend.

A truly determined person will never be lonely.

I come from a land down under.

Always say “please” and “thank you”.

Costumes, props, lights and sound are all just window dressing; the play’s the thing.

The limits of the body are determined by the limits of the imagination.

Nobody likes a quitter.

A man is measured by the scope of his dreams and the reach of his grasp.

Fast pay makes fast friends.

Anything you say can and will be used against you.

The ability to endure, above all other gifts, is the most precious.

It’s rude to make faces.

There is nothing wrong with being early or being late, so long as you arrive in time for the main event.

Thank you for not smoking.

The keeping of animals is not permitted.

Nobody gets to choose their own nickname.

You must be at least 18 years old to enjoy this attraction.

Excepting rare and self-evident circumstances don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.

Listening is underrated.

There’s nothing wrong with asking permission.

There are no spectator sports.

For all its flaws, democracy is still the superior choice.

A true gentleman carries a handkerchief, never asks a woman her age, and always lets a lady go first.

Please silence all cell phones and pagers.

If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish any goal.

Nobody likes a rules lawyer.

Snacks are always welcome, but a proper guest cleans up after themselves.

Always save the last dance for the partner you came with.

Don’t talk with your mouth full.

Keep your friends close, but keep your enemas closer.

It’s easier to get permission than to ask forgiveness.

 

 

 


Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin


In case you missed it, Stephen Colbert got into a bit of trouble on Twitter this past week due to a tweet that went out over a Comedy Central controlled Twitter account for his show. Things got very ugly very quickly, including calls for his job and the hashtag #CancelCorbert.

Let me start by saying I am not here to defend the tweet. I think we can all agree it crossed a line, at least for Twitter (some argue it was acceptable in context during the show; having not seen it, I can’t take a stand either way). That having been said, I do think there is something to be said for a wider context that is being ignored, one that has value and validity beyond the scope of a single show: the nature of comedy itself.

I’ve been writing comedy in one medium or another for almost twenty years now, and I’ve always kept two rules in mind. The first is a joke that goes all the way back to vaudeville: “dying is easy; comedy is hard.” Everyone thinks being funny is easy right up until they try it. Even telling a joke someone else came up with takes timing, skill, and panache; being original and funny is exponentially harder. The second rule is one I learned back in college: the more offensive the joke is, the funnier it needs to be. Let’s not kid ourselves, there’s hardly anything in this world that isn’t offensive that is laugh out loud funny. Hitting the balance between “bust a gut” and “bust you in the mouth” is difficult, and it’s easy to miss the mark.

There are other complicating factors as well. Comedy is a moving target for a lot of reasons. One of them is that societal mores are always in flux. What was hilarious ten years ago is kind of uncomfortable today and will be outright taboo next week. The same thing happens in reverse. What’s more, comedy often plays a role in that social change, pushing boundaries, creating safer spaces in which we can talk openly about things that are forbidden in “polite” conversation. The down side of that is that it becomes easy to step on toes, go too far, and yes, even cross a line.

Another complicating factor is that, like it or not, comedy IS contextual. If you read a transcript of almost any performance by Bill Cosby, you might chuckle, or you might just say “I don’t see what’s so funny.” But when you watch him in action, it’s a whole different story. Pitch, tone, pacing, facial expressions, everything he does goes into his comedy. My father used to say that Chevy Chase could make him laugh just by walking into a room. Truth is he can do the same thing for me, but that doesn’t translate to Twitter.

Finally, sometimes you’re just under the gun and a bad joke gets through. It’s easy to sit back and play armchair comedian, complaining how “he should never have said that.” We’ve all done it. But how easy is it to write a half-hour of humor five nights a week? Even with a writing team, it gets exhausting. I used to do 1,000 words of humor a week, and I only lasted a couple of years with breaks every few months. The Colbert Report has been running for almost ten years, with over 1,300 episodes. That’s almost 500 hours of jokes. Is it remotely possible that a bad one might slip through now and then?

Once again, I’m not saying that nobody should be offended. It was offensive, and deliberately so. It was inappropriate for the medium, and hopefully will not be repeated. But calls to fire Colbert or cancel the show are misguided at best and opportunistic grandstanding at worst. There are better things to rage against.


The Crimean Crisis Summarized as a Series of Internet Memes


Ukraine-EU Assn Agreement

Sell out to Russia

 

Protest

 

Not gonna happen

 

And hes gone

 

Recognize our government

 

Get back to you

 

Y U No Crimean Independence

 

Crimean takeover

 

Russia is coming

 

Just send in the lawyers

 

Let me how that works out for you

 


Ol’ Man Winter


Ol’ man Winter,
Dat ol man Winter,
He act like a playa,
But he mus’ be a hater,
He jes’ keeps trollin’
He keeps on trollin’ along.

He don’ like birdies,
He don’ like flowers,
An’ dem dat likes ‘em
Is shovelin’ fo’ hours.
But ol’man Winter,
He jes keeps trollin’along.

You an’me, we sweat an’ strain,
Body all achin’ an’ racket wid pain,
Tote dat salt!
Lif’ dat snow!
Drive on ice
An’ away you go.

Ah gits weary
An’ sick of tryin’
Ah’m tired of shovelin’
To the point of cryin’,
But ol’ man Winter,
He jes’keeps trollin’ along.

[musical interlude]

Don’t look up
An’ don’t look down,
You don’ want to see
De white stuff around.
Bend your knees
An’bow your head,
An’ lift that shovel
Until your dead.

Ol’ man Winter,
Dat ol man Winter,
He act like a playa,
But he mus’ be a hater,
He jes’ keeps trollin’
He keeps on trollin’ along.

Long ol’ Winter forever keeps trollin’ on…


What’s REALLY Going on in Crimea?


There’s a lot of speculation going around lately about what’s the source of all the trouble in the Crimea region of Ukraine. Many are blaming Moscow for stirring up trouble, possibly as a precursor to an invasion. I’m here to reassure you now that the truth is something far, far more sinister:

It’s the people at Rand McNally.

To understand why, you have to go all the way back to the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s. Things were looking good at first for high school students; we had one less Germany to memorize for Geography class, and only one Berlin to worry about, but we still had it pretty easy as far as Eastern Europe and Asia went. Basically all you had to know was “U.S.S.R.” and “China” and you got at least a C.

Then suddenly the U.S.S.R. broke up without any warning, and overnight we’ve got a Georgia that was never on our minds, more –ia’s than a Cthulhu summoning, and so many Stans you’d think it was a callback for “A Streetcar Named Desire”. In short, we got screwed. Oh sure, you might think the concerns of a few high school students pale in comparison to the desperate need to live free of tyranny, but you are overlooking one key element: these were the future mapmakers of the world. And nobody messes with mapmakers with impunity.

They bided their time, waiting decades to get all the pieces in place. They manipulated elections, staged revolutions, and even plotted assassinations where they needed to. Think I’m being paranoid? Think about this: they know where you live. They know where everybody lives. Nobody dares to cross them, not if they know what’s good for them. Do you really believe the Apple Maps roll-out was such a disaster because Apple can’t design an app? They wouldn’t play ball, and they got punished for it. Google pays their dues every month.

And now those poor high school kids who failed Geography because of a bunch of whiners who yearned to be free of a totalitarian regime are finally getting their ultimate revenge. They’ve manipulated the world and Russia in particular to dance to their merciless tune, all for one purpose: to thin out the number of countries they have to print on a map.

Hey, it’s less crazy than anything Vladimir Putin can come up with.


Top 11 Reasons I’m Tired of Snow


11. Children in the neighborhood are hoping they don’t cancel school.

10. My neighbors have begun to resemble White Walkers.

9. 35 is the new 70.

8. The snowmen are picketing for overtime pay.

7. I’ve been reduced to using margarita salt on my driveway.

6. No TV and no beer make Bob something something.

5. My dog has started writing his name in the snow.

4. I’m running out of room for hoarding toilet paper and bottled water.

3. If I have to star in a Disney movie, I would have chosen The Jungle Book.

2. Global warming has started to look like an attractive option.

1. Because fuck snow, that’s why.


Supervisors as Road Trip Companions


I was having lunch with a friend the other day, and we were discussing the best analogy for difficult supervisors. No particular reason, of course… Anyway, we finally hit on the idea of road trip companions. This struck me as a particularly apt analogy, as pretty much anyone can relate to this experience. Even if you have never been on a road trip with one of the following types of people, you almost certainly have been on a road trip with someone, and it is no great stretch of the imagination to discern what these experiences would be like:

Supervisor as Four Year Old: Gives incoherent directions when he bothers to give directions at all. Constantly pesters you with “is it done yet?” Eager for the final result until he gets it, then vaguely disappointed when he has it, but can’t say why.

Supervisor as Three Year Old: Screams a lot. Throws temper tantrums. Makes impossible demands (“I wanna go to the moon!”) Eager for the final result until she gets it, then acutely disappointed when she has it, and loudly lists off all the reasons why.

Supervisor as Passive-Aggressive Roommate: Has a clear picture of where he wants to be, but won’t give you directions of how to get there. Insists you know what you should be doing “if you would just focus”. Sighs a lot.

Supervisor as Hung-over Roommate: Has no good advice to offer. Insists that you take the wheel. Still wants to have a say in every decision. Groans a lot.

Supervisor as Backseat Driver: Insists that you take the wheel but second-guesses every decision you make. Constantly harps on your ability and distracts you at critical moments. Blames your “inattentiveness” for any problems caused by his interference.

Supervisor as Best Friend: Cool to hang out with, but makes it impossible to focus. Constantly distracting you with stories, jokes, and inappropriate comments. Makes you late for everything and miss important deadlines.

Supervisor as Crash Test Dummy: The perfect road trip companion. Stays quiet but still helps you get into the fast lane. Doesn’t mind being thrown under the bus in case of emergency.


Application Intervention


Look MapQuest, we need to talk. Ever since you got on my phone, you’ve been… different. At first things were cool. You’d tell me where to go, I wouldn’t have to print out the directions before we left, you even gave me a heads-up before turns far enough in advance that I felt like I could actually do what I needed to do rather than pull some sort of Dukes of Hazzard maneuver just to get in the correct lane. It was nice.

Lately though, you’ve been acting out, and not in a good way. You tell me you’re avoiding traffic, but even I know the roads you want to take me down are going to be bumper-to-bumper, and that’s assuming you’re not taking me on one of your little “seeing the world” adventures where we find every back road in Virginia when I just want to get to work. It’s bad enough when you play your little games while I’m in the car, but you don’t even seem to know the difference between being in a car and being on foot anymore. “Make a U-turn at the next intersection.” Really, MapQuest? I’m on foot! A U-turn is called TURNING AROUND.

I didn’t want this to get ugly, but the truth is I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore, and if this keeps up I’m going to start using Apple Maps. There, I said it. I didn’t want this to become about threats, but I need you to know I’m serious.

Go home, MapQuest. You’re drunk.


Surveillance Weather


Surveillance Weather
(To the tune of “Sweater Weather” by The Neighborhood)

All he is, is a man,
Confidential files in his hands
Took an oath
That he’d stand
By the Constitution and the laws of the land
Hacked the database,
Didn’t leave a trace
Now the whole thing is a federal case.
Trust me, Snowden, you’ll get yours
If you ever set foot on U.S. shores, oh

We know what you think about
And what you talk about
We have eyes all about
Your work, your house
New shirt, new blouse?
Trust us, we’ll find out
Nothing we can’t figure out, no

‘Cause it’s too cold
For him there in Russia
So let us hold
Hold Snowden in a cell down in Gitmo

And it may just take your breath away
We know every single word you say
Our spying doesn’t know constraints
There is no place too far away
Intelligence is a race
Sometimes it’s hard just keeping pace
Monitoring cyberspace
Power is addictive once you get a taste, yeah

The NSA adores
Programs like Carnivore
We know where you have been
You don’t need a Guardian

Talking ‘bout
Email in doubt
Surveillance throughout
You’re safe, without
Honor of a scout!
Nothing else to talk about, no, no, no

‘Cause it’s too cold
For him there in Russia
So let us hold
Hold Snowden in a cell down in Gitmo

Whoa, whoa…
Whoa, whoa… whoa
Whoa, whoa…

‘Cause it’s too cold
For him there in Russia
So let us hold, let us hold…


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