A thriller of a week in the news (as always).

Michael Jackson.

I swear if I hear that name again, I will do something horrible that I will probably regret.

I know none of you want to read this. You’re just as sick and tired of hearing about him as I am. And I doubt I have anything that enlightening to say about his life. But this is a place to vent, is it not? So that’s what I will do.

Let me start with a few questions that I’ve been asking myself the past few weeks: What has happened to our society? What has happened to this country? Since when did our insane fetishes completely take over and absorb our lives to the unhealthiest of extents?

No matter when I turned on the television this past week, I got the same disturbing images--constant coverage of MJ’s funeral / memorial service / memorial concert / cremation / you name it (and yes, I was kidding about the cremation thing... relax).

When I should have been getting my healthy dose of common sense from Judge Judy and the evening news (never mind, I gave up on that a while back), I was getting bombarded by the circus that was Michael Jackson and the overly zealous reporters who were covering his death.

What will happen to his money? Oh wait, he had none. What will happen to Neverland? Perhaps it will become a national park. What about those gloves of his? Give them to O.J. Who’s going to attend the memorial concert? Hopefully not Britney Spears. Is he the most popular person ever? Cringe.

And here’s my favorite that I just heard the other day: Will we get to see the sculpture of MJ made out of butter?

Well I sure hope so.

But these were not questions being asked by Mary Hart and Perez Hilton. Ok, they were. But they were also being asked by ‘respectable’ people like Charlie Gibson (I really still like you, Charlie, and will try to forgive your stupidity), Katie Couric (I’ve never liked you, Katie--sorry), and Shepherd Smith (I’m slowly beginning to lose my respect for you, Shep.) Even Fox News, the Mecca of all things fair and balanced got caught up in this delusion of grandeur.

Now I'm going to say something that makes me sound so sentimental and patriotic, but it’s what I feel. American soldiers are dying in Iraq and Afghanistan, and we’re worrying about whether or not Diana Ross is going to attend the memorial service? Iran is going insane and killing their citizens, and our news reporters are talking about how many plastic surgeries MJ might have had?

Side note: I think everything went down hill for Mr. Jackson after he got his nose removed. I never would suggest doing such a thing. He didn’t take my advice, and look where he is now. And I love this comic... kind of mean, but it’s truthful.

Back to business... I’m fed up with our lame media. It really does make me sad to think that I’m only one of a handful out there who thinks that MJ’s death should have gotten a mention for a couple of days, then go away and leave us be.

I know the man was talented... he was a man, wasn’t he? I’ve kind of been confused about that for these last few years.

He / She / It could dance like none other. Great voice, too. And he was (or so I hear) good looking when he was at his peak in the late 80s.

But we have crossed the line when we take an individual--who has squandered his life and turned into a complete creep--and glorify his life for all to see.

That’s what Michael Jackson was in his last years. A total, all-out, unabashed creep.

Shame on the media. Shame on the people who tune into such ridiculosity.

Can you see it now? Picture this--

“This is Walter Cronkite from the Staples Center, getting ready to talk with some MJ fans outside the memorial concert.”

“Edward R. Murrow reporting from Neverland. On tonight’s news, we’ll be examining what really will be done with MJ’s estate.”

It would never happen. Those men were respectable, and held themselves to a moral and professional standard that wouldn’t cater to such triteness.

Is there a solution to this problem with the media and their obsession with pop culture? I mean, I feel like every news network is slowly transforming into a subsidiary of Entertainment Tonight (“Tonight’s ABC Evening News Birthday--brought to you by Crest Whitestrips-- Which of these congressman didn’t have an affair with his intern?”)

I fear for our culture’s sanity. I truly do. And what can we do about it?

Turn to Alexandre Dumas’s words for comfort.

”Wait, and hope. Wait, and hope. Wait, and hope.”

You know the end is near when...

... the trailer for the next installment of the Twilight saga has come out.

Oh dear. I feel a rant coming on.

Let’s start with the books. The fact that the series is called the Twilight ‘saga’ makes me vomit a little. It causes these teenybopper books to sound like a masterful account of biblical proportions. Which they are not.  And it also makes them sound a little bit refined and maybe even sophisticated. Which they most certainly are not. 

The books are a phenomenon. Why, I’m not quite sure. I’ve read them (OK, only the first one... but that was enough), and I sure don’t get why everyone’s in such an uproar. But then again, I’m not a female. However,  I have a theory as to why they’re so popular:

I think a couple hundred girls across the U.S. got paid by their parents to check out a book from the library and read it. Reluctantly, these girls went to the library (to the ‘Teen’ section, duh!), closed their eyes, reached out their nail-polished fingers, and picked the first book their hand touched. Which just happened to be Twilight. (Why, oh why, could it not have been To Kill a Mockingbird or Catch-22?) Now these girls had hardly read anything before, much less anything thought-provoking and substantive. So when they started to read about Bella and Edward and more about Edward and all about Edward, they swooned.

Then these few hundred girls told their friends that there were these things out there called books (Can you believe it? You read them!) and that this one called Twilight was sooooooooooo amazing. And like, it’s just like the best book I’ve ever read! And Edward! Oh, Edward! If only boys these days were like him!

And so on.

Thus sparked the fad that is Twilight. Now as you’ll recall, fads are bad. That’s so easy to remember, because it rhymes. FADS are BAD. Plaid shorts, cliches, Twilight, etc. All fads. All bad. 

What is most alarming to me is that fact that several of my friends who, for the most part, I would deem ‘intelligent,’ have bought into the same ridiculous delusion: They fell for Edward Cullen, and they fell hard. 

When I read the first book (one of my close intelligent friends told me it was really good and that I should read it, and I actually trusted her opinion at the time), I was with it for a while. I liked the whole ‘angsty’ feel that played out in the first few chapters. It wasn’t groundbreaking by any means, but it captured the teenage years fairly well, I thought. 

But then the cliches set in... the parents who were divorced... the dad who didn’t relate to his daughter... the boy who wouldn’t talk to the girl (in Chemistry, of course)... the girl who wasn’t good at sports or anything in particular, yet the hottest vampire in the world was attracted to her... the stereotyping of the American Indian as a loon...

You get the idea. Unless, of course, you’re a thirteen year old girl.

And then I about lost it. Halfway through the first book, there is an entire chapter devoted to Mr. Cullen’s physical perfections. Oh yes, men. Believe it. His toned muscles, his rippling chest, the way his abs practically pop out of his shirt, the way he smells, his radiant white teeth, and oh, that hair. That hair! 

Once again, vomit.

Yeah, I’m a guy. And I shouldn’t like it. But why do I feel like the only one who understands that these books aren’t particularly well conceived or well written, that the characters have one dimensional personalities (Edward may be hot, girls--but he has zero points in the personality department), and that most importantly, just because every other person in the world loves them doesn’t mean I should have to?

I admit that I didn’t see the movie. Why would I? I knew it would be a waste of money that could be going to make brilliant independent French films about the meaning of life. And then they threw together the sequel in a matter of hours just because they knew it would make another trillion dollars at the box office, no matter how horrible it turns out to be. 

Sigh...

You can disagree with what I’ve said. You’re wrong, but you can disagree. You may even be one of those intelligent girls who reads the books just for entertainment and pleasure. But those aren’t good enough reasons for me.

If you really are intelligent, you’ll be entertained by Eliot and Brecht, not by Edward and Bella.

Buyers beware!

I went to the mall yesterday. Mistake number one. And for some reason, I felt compelled to go into American Eagle. Mistake number two. 

I made both of these choices for a couple of reasons. One, I need clothes. That's why I went to the mall. Second, the stores that I usually shop at are ridiculously overpriced, and I finally have enough self control to refuse to buy things from those stores. That's why I went to AE. It's not too pricey, and sometimes you can find an article of clothing that doesn't look like it's just been hit by a truck. But that's rare.

I walk in, and as is customary at most stores, I was greeted by an employee. I nonchalantly returned the hello and went on perusing. 

And then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her: the over-zealous, trying too hard, acted like she was paid on commission employee. She was my worst nightmare. 

If you know me, you know I don't like most people. People just annoy me, and I prefer to stay away from most of them.

And just by the looks of her, I knew that she absolutely loved people, especially people who were shopping in the store that she worked for.

I tried to escape. Honest, I did. But the cat was quicker than the mouse, and she soon had me in her fiery throes, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Can I help you find anything?" 

Wow. That voice. She really needs to work on NOT sounding like Rachael Ray. And don't EVER ask me that question. If I needed help I would come and get you lady, but probably not.

"No, I'm just looking, thanks," I said. I even said thanks! I'm doing so well, given the annoying situation I'm being held captive under.

"Well, my name is Laura, and let me tell you about some of the deals we're having right now at American Eagle. First, if you're a linen guy, all of our linen shirts are on sale for... "

And on and on she went. Do you recall me saying "No"? And why do I care that your name is Laura? You didn't even ask me for my name! And yes, I know that I'm at American Eagle. And linen? Are you kidding me right now? I'm not looking for bed sheets, woman. She rattled on for a couple more months while my eyes started to glaze over.

I understand that Laura might be required to do this to every victim that walks into the prison without bars that is American Eagle. But that's what I don't get. Has anyone ever asked a worker for help with their shopping, besides the occasional, "Do you have this in my size?" Please tell me if you have, I'm dying to know. It's courteous of employees to ask, yes. But it's also unnecessary, and it could save that worker a lot of breath if she didn't have to repeat this mantra 24/7.

Those workers. They're always on the lookout, you know? They can't stop looking at the entrance, eagerly waiting the arrival of new customers whom they can pester. They may be folding clothes, but notice how they are constantly looking up in between shirts to see if anyone else has entered the premises.

Most shoppers decline a worker's help because they have two eyes and are competent enough to shop on their own without the help of some yuppie 16 year old girl who has gone tanning one too many times.

In my opinion, a mall should be a sacred place where one can come apart from the everyday hum-drum of life and spend lots of money on nice things. But pleasant experiences just aren't meant to be, especially when Laura enters the equation.

All I want when I go to the mall is a little time to myself, away from the troubles of my life, apart from the Lauras of the world.

And by the way, I didn't buy anything. Especially nothing that was linen in material.

Embrace your thinness

What's up with our culture's obsession with thin people? It's crazy how many people act like it's a sin to be skinny. You would not believe the number of times that my weight gets brought up in conversations with people.

But yet they don't get the fact that I like being really thin. 

Oftentimes, they go on the offensive. They'll talk to me as if I didn't know I was so thin. But the worst is when they act all sympathetic toward you, as if you had a disease or something. 

"You are so thin!" 

Yep.

"So have you tried to gain weight? I mean, you practically are a walking corpse."

Yes, I have. And no, I'm not. Have you ever seen a corpse? Definitely not me.

"Have you gone to the doctor?" (That's my favorite... I've actually gotten asked that at least twice.)

Go to the doctor because I'm not morbidly obese? That seems kind of oxymoronic.

"How are you going to get a girl, let alone protect her, with that body of yours?"

Psh. If a girl's so shallow that she's going to base her dating decisions on my body type, she can go suck a tree.

And on and on it goes. I'm actually starting to get offended by such questions. Why even bring it up? Are they trying to make me feel insecure? Because it's not working. Yeah, I'm self-conscious about certain things, but my weight is nowhere close to being one of them.

But I struggled with it at one point. That was, until I learned to embrace my thinness. You know, I tried to gain weight for a while. I got a home gym for Christmas a few years back, and was pretty consistent in working out. Diet was another area that I tried to work on. But I soon found out that some people don't have the ability to gain weight, no matter how hard they try, just as many people attempt to lose weight, but are unsuccessful. I seriously eat like a horse sometimes, but I can never gain an ounce.

Nowadays, I love being thin. I love the very idea that I am one of a select few who have God-given body types that are very skinny. I love that fitted suits look awesome on skinny people. I love that we don't have to worry about working out 24/7 and buying clothes that show off our muscles. I love that the world thinks we hate our bodies. 

And on a side note, I love that a celebrity (besides Lindsay Lohan and Mary Kate Olsen) has come alongside us 'thin bodies' to support us in our cause. Dev Patel, the star of the amazing film Slumdog Millionaire, may even be thinner than me. But does he care at all? Of course not. And does he have a girlfriend? Yes. And I think she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. So there, Brad Pitt. Who needs your body as a spokesthing for looking gorgeous? I have Dev Patel on my side. And he can actually act.

Too bad for all those naysayers out there. Because I love my skinny self. All 138 pounds of me.

Yes, I know my zipper is showing, thank you very much.

Summer's not here yet, but I was in a good mood this morning, so I decided to throw on a pair of shorts. They're plaid shorts, actually, which I'm not a big fan of anymore now that everyone and their mum is wearing them. 

But it's not the plaid shorts fad that I'm stressed out about. It's the zipper on the shorts that gives me so many sleepless nights.

The zipper, fly... whatever you want to call it, is an issue of security for most men. It safeguards our bodies from extreme embarrassment, and we are constantly checking it to make sure that we didn't absent-mindedly forget to zip it up after we've taken care of our business.

But I've recently noticed a trend in both pants and shorts that I find kind of disheartening. It seems that the Malaysian woman who works so tirelessly on running the machine that makes my clothing thinks it's funny to sew the flap of fabric that hides my zipper in the incorrect place, making my zipper always noticeable. 

Work with me here. On pants, you know how there's a piece of fabric that conceals the zipper, but that you can easily move out of the way when it's time to do your dirty work? Well, my flap is sewn in such a way that it doesn't cover anything up at all. It's just kind of there, out of the way, serving no purpose at all.

And I've only noticed this problem with the pants and shorts that I've purchased at the Gap. So shame on you, Gap. And shame on you, Malaysian citizens, for tolerating such indecency.

So if you perchance see a man on the street with his fly seemingly open and an embarrassed look on his face, 1) That's me, and 2) My fly isn't really open (make sure you tell that to all of your friends who start making fun of me).

Let's get something straight.

Good news. I'm going to be an uncle. Yay me. And it's going to be a girl, which is nice I guess, if children are your sort of thing.

Which got me thinking. When my sister told me that she was going to have a baby, she said something to the effect of, "Hey bro, guess what? I'm pregnant!" And then we gushed to each other for the next ten minutes about baby names, gaining weight, odd cravings, and the such like.

But I forgot to tell my sister (her name is Megan) how proud I was that she hadn't committed the egregious sin that so many couples do when they find out that they're going to have a new member added to their family.

I cannot begin to tell you the number of times I have heard men--grown, mature, even muscular men--say something like, "Guess what? We're pregnant!" And then I gush to them about how retarded they just made themselves look by saying something so utterly ridiculous. 

Let's dissect this commonly misused phrase so we can all understand why it is so wrong to use.

 

We:  plural pronoun that refers to more than one person

So by using this term, the man (or sometimes woman) is saying that they are both carrying the fetus in their shared uterus...or something close to that effect. That is an impossible feat, agreed?

are: verb...actually, a linking verb for those grammar junkies out there like me

Really adds no significance to the phrase. Poor verbs...they're so neglected!

pregnant:  an adjective that relates to someone who is with child (usually a woman) 

Females are the only people who can have babies, correct? Men are not females, therefore they cannot become pregnant, no matter how hard they may try.

So now that we're all on the same page, let's review.

Females and males make babies. Females get pregnant. Females carry the babies and get fat by doing so. Men sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. And men are not able to get pregnant, so therefore the phrase, "We're pregnant!" is both physically and emotionally perplexing and should never be used in the company of other humans with ears.

And by the way, am I the only one who thinks that pregnancy pictures are totally gross and unnecessary? Come on lady--I know there's a baby in there somewhere, and I don't need to see your naked belly in order to be convinced. I care about seeing the child after he or she is born, OK?

You know the end is near when . . .

. . . the new season of "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" smashed cable records when it premiered on Monday night. 

I'm feeling a bit nauseous. 

TLC got their highest ratings ever when the train wreck hit airways on Memorial Day. 

I cannot stand the show. I hate it. I loathe it. I hate the very idea that someone would even like it. Why is our country so infatuated with drama? Really, the only reason that it did so well was because everyone was waiting to see if there would be a tearful confession from Jon about whether or not he cheated on Kate, or if the kids would cry anymore than usual, or if Kate would yell any less than usual, etc.

TLC literally makes me want to shoot my television in the face. Given that I'm a guy, yes, but I just don't get the appeal of watching these shows where "real life families" (try to explain that one) live out the bane of their existence in front of our eyes. All of TLC's shows are so overdone and cutesy that the material is, frankly, better suited for Noggin or Cartoon Network. 

I try to look at such shows as educational programming; they (Jon and Kate, 18 Kids and Counting, and the one with the short kids) provide perfect examples on how NOT to live one's life. 

And one more thing. I am sincerely hoping that Jon and Kate have another kid just so the title won't rhyme. Now how cool would that be?