In your August issue, you included an intriguing article that analyzed “what his Facebook status means” in your usual estrogen-drunk, over-analytical form. One of your categories for Facebook stati was “Man Who Posts Lots of ‘Deep’ Thoughts.” You included the following example status:
Demonstrate value. Engage physically. Nurture independence. Inspire hope.
You went on to say that the man that posted this takes himself pretty seriously, is thoughtful, reliable, and extra sensitive to women’s needs. I would just like to take this moment to politely correct you. The man that posted this was, in fact, quoting the D.E.N.N.I.S. System from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia:
This system was designed by Dennis Reynolds, debonaire manwhore extraordinaire, to make any woman fall in love with him before he sneaks off into the night, leaving her crying into her 600-thead-count pillowcase. So yeah…I don’t think the guy that posted this is any of those things you said.
Nice try. Hilarious embarrassing moments this month, by the way!
Unless you’re living under a blissfully unaware rock, you’ve probably read, or at least heard of, Warren Buffett’s editorial against tax breaks for the super-rich. Stop coddling them, he argues. They’re good people. They’d willingly give their wealth to the needy–if only we asked them to! (Did you hear that sound? It’s Ayn Rand’s condescending sigh from the grave.) Now, I don’t claim to know anything about finance, save for how to spend too much money on pointless trinkets and rack up tidal waves of student debt, but Buffett essentially blaming politics for a part of his wealth is like an extremely overweight person blaming Golden Corral for their obesity. I don’t know. I’m going to avoid technicalities here.
Good old Warren, however, gave me an excellent plan. You see, I was a liberal arts major. An art history major, to be specific. In case you’re an optimist or just an idiot, let me put it to you bluntly: major in art history, struggle financially. I’ll illustrate the situation for you. Most of my fellow art nerds and I tolerated unpaid internship after unpaid internship before acquiring even the most basic, art-related job. Those that found the job market unforgiving entered graduate school for several more years of cerebral flogging. On the greener side of the grass, I have a physics-major friend who is currently getting paid $60,000 for a 6-month internship at a major tech company–an internship where he presumably does nothing but play around with robots and occasionally order people around.
So you see the predicament here. I chose what I liked over what was profitable in college, and now I’m faced with a life filled with Franzia and ramen.
So back to Mr. Buffett–his editoral inspired me. The rich should not be coddled. In fact, they should be cuddled…specifically by me. That’s right. Cuddled. Judging from Warren Buffett’s allegations, the so-called “super rich” don’t even want this money. Nay, they frown in its general direction. I plan to take advantage of this. I, for one, would enjoy having a few extra zeroes in my bank account. With this in mind, I have decided to undertake an onerous task–to assist the super-rich in being, well, not so super-rich anymore. I shall begin the quest to find the perfect wealthy husband.
Take that, silly idea of “following your dreams”!
Think, for a second, about Jersey Shore. What comes to mind? Fake tans? HGH? The decline of American society as a whole? Jolly good fun? No matter what your opinion is, there’s no denying that the show is a cultural phenomenon. Congratulations, America–a 4’10″ manicured Ewok with a weave now makes more than your average neighborhood pediatrician!
However, haters, methinks you may judge too harshly. Let’s take a trip down memory lane to our high school English classes for a second. Surely you read The Great Gatsby. Consider Jay Gatsby, title character extraordinaire. Consider his many shirts. Consider the fountain of debauchery that flowed from his humble estate like the Styx leading into hell. Actually, don’t consider these things–I’ll do it for you.
|THE GREAT GATSBY||JERSEY SHORE|
|Social Activity of Choice||Drinking copious amounts, dancing, golf, laying around.||Drinking copious amounts, gym/tan/laundry (hereafter referred to as “GTL”), dancing, laying around.|
|Dwelling||New money mansion||New money shorehouse or condominium|
|Male’s preferred clothing item||Too many different-colored shirts||Too many Ed Hardy t-shirts|
|Affectionate nickname of choice||Old sport||My dude, bro/brah|
|Role of the female||Drinking too much, driving poorly, causing people to die (directly)||Drinking too much, driving poorly, causing people to die (indirectly…so far)|
|Locale of choice||Long Island, NYC||The Jersey shore and the New York metropolitan area in general. Italy and Florida as of late.|
Are the gang of guidos so unlike the debaucherous rich of yesteryear, dear reader? Is it so hard to picture darling DJ Pauly D baffled by the concept of a real book, much like F. Scott’s “Owl Eyes”? Picture, if you will, Sammi “Sweetheart” tearfully hurling herself face-first into a pile of Ronnie’s freshly-laundered Ed Hardy shirts. Snooki, with her dubious driving record, is certainly a bedfellow of the sneaky Jordan Baker. And Mike “The Situation,” snitch and general scumbag with an increasingly unimpressive abdominal area, could have easily orchestrated some illegal scheme to acquire funding for his materialistic lifestyle, much like Meyer Wolfsheim.
Trashy. Pointless. Lavish. Unnecessary. Morally empty. These are all insults hurled at Jersey Shore. But how are the guidos and guidettes really THAT different from the partygoers at Gatsby’s mansion? Answer: they’re not. Maybe MTV is positioning us as the great eyes in the sky, poised to watch, analyze, and judge the living hell out of the morally corrupt nouveau-riche. Perhaps MTV is using these creatures to expose the emptiness of today’s society, much like darling F. Scott Fitzgerald illustrated the moneyed flappers and speakeasy-frequenters of nearly a century ago. Maybe MTV is much more clever than we think.
Or maybe you should just turn off your TV if you hate it so much. It’s entertainment. Sorry I’m not sorry.
O hai Disney,
Recently, an unfortunate incident transpired in my life, and it was brought about by your cold, heartless iron fist.
I was struck by an unavoidable desire to see Mulan, quite possibly my favorite tale of war and cross-dressing. My need to see Mulan and that sassy dragon romping about the Chinese countryside, stomping both Huns and gender stereotypes, was so strong that I was willing to pay full price for the DVD. That’s right–full price. I could not bear the wait that ordering a cheap, used DVD on Amazon would bestow upon me, and I decided to keep things legal by not downloading the movie from a sketchy site on the intertubes.
So my sister and I arrive at Wal-Mart (admittedly a questionable decision on our part). Much like Mulan herself on the warpath, we storm back to the DVD section. I eagerly browse the “Family” section.
I browse the Action section.
We’re lost. We’re sad. We’re clinging onto rapidly unraveling threads of hope. Like a child trying to find a lost puppy, my sister approaches a worker. “Pardon me, sir, but wherest might you keep your Mulan?”* she asks.
“Mulan? It’s back in the vault,” he replies.
What? Wal-mart has a secret vault? This sounded decidedly James Bond-ish and a bit sketchy. No matter. We ask if he can go into this vault and fetch a copy of Mulan for us. He sneers.
“Blithering idiots.** Back in the DISNEY vault. It’s not available on DVD anymore.”
Do you understand life, Disney? Do you understand pain? Do you understand how it feels to have every single one of your hopes and dreams from the previous 30 minutes of your life crushed in one tiny interaction with one of Wal-mart’s indentured servants? Let me paint a picture for you. Imagine Iron Chef Morimoto is in your kitchen, concocting the most delicious-smelling dish ever. This dish is delectable. It probably contains bacon. Wait, are you vegan? You’re probably vegan. Okay, this dish contains the best stir-fried tofu you’ve ever seen in your life. Got it? Alright, now imagine getting hit by a bus. It felt like the last part.
Why would you do this, Disney? Why would you take this away from me? To create demand? Mystery? Frustration? Are you not aware that we live in the twenty-first century, where just because something is “in your vault” doesn’t mean I can’t find it? You could have tucked $20 of my hard-earned money into your deep pockets, but no. Now you’ve given me no choice but to either a.) buy Mulan secondhand or b.) torrent it illegally.***
I bite my thumb at you, sir/madam.
With hate in my heart,
*Not the actual phrasing
**Again, not the actual phrasing. But he was mighty judgy.
***Yes, it’s on iTunes. No, I will not buy it that way. Apple has more money than the government and I’m not taking any part in that.