On occasion, there will be times when I don’t have enough coherent thoughts to construct an entire post on one topic. To force it would be irresponsible, short-sighted and frankly kinda dickhead-ish. For these times I present a new installment here at L.D.A.;
Dart #1: A PSA to Bachelor Dudes My Age.
Recently, I have been in the position of having to use the facilities at a friends/acquaintance/random house (not the book publisher) I’m at. And usually, this is a relatively painless experience. In my travels, I have been in all manner of lavatories and am not quick to judge on the status therein. Everyone has their style and I understand that. Now If you were to ask me to pick the nicest, It would invariably be a girls or one of my Asian friends loo’s. Oh man, I just remembered my grandma used to have this padded toilet seat… That is how I imagine a king gets down on the (other) throne. Ensconced in velvet, a huge turkey leg in the right hand, flagon of mead in the left with the royal buttocks resting on a cushioned toilet seat. Now that’s living.
But back to my original point. Most single guys have kind of dirty bathrooms. The counters are a mess, there is usually only like a revolution or so worth of t.p. left on deck and the toilet seat looks like a science project gone wrong… or right. Ugh. And that’s just the truth of it. But here’s where my wishbone of contention splits short. After wrapping up business time, uno or dos or both, unless you are a heathen of the highest order, you have to wash your hands. I mean, it’s good hygiene, yes, but it’s essentially just reflex after so many years. So after you have lavarase a manos (is that even close? I’m trying to flex those 10th grade Spanish skills) you gotta dry your hands. And this is the crux of my issue. This is where the rubber meets the road… because, like previously mentioned, there is an extreme lack of detail in a guys bathroom. All of which I’m cool with except THIS. On the towel rack there are usually two towels. There’s the towel they shower with and a hand towel. If anything needs to be clean to provide a non-hostile bathroom experience to your guests it’s the FUCKING HAND TOWEL. You always give it the benefit of the doubt. It looks so welcoming, doesn’t it? Terry cloth’d with some random embroidery no doubt direct from the bathroom section of Fred Meyer. But you don’t know what lies within, and you aren’t going to dry your hands on your pants. What are you, a Cro-Magnon? With a protruding probiscus and a hunchback? No, you’re not. So you reach for it, maybe you need pat your face if you splashed water on it, maybe its just a quick once-over for your hands. Whatever the case, it’s already too late…
That’s right. Your hands and possibly face now smell like this dudes goddamn balls. I’m sorry if that’s gross for you to read, but it’s the utter veritas. I’ve basically come to the conclusion that guys just don’t wash their towels that much, and that’s whatever, but if you plan on having people over that aren’t you, please for heavens sake have at least ONE non-ball smelling towel in the vicinity of the bathroom sink. I am not an overzealous canine and I DO NOT have the desire to bury my nose into the crotch of the host s0 lets be grown ups, eh? Please. Step your bathroom game up!
Dart #2: Bitch Beers and The Myth of Sisyphus.
Semi-recently, a cadre of syrupy sweet, bottled bitch beers and the execs that market them decided that it was time to break into the ‘dude demographic’. I’m not going to post the YouTubes of these ad campaigns because frankly I don’t want to give them the hits. Just know that they are a slew of quirky, irreverent and overall, masculine ads aimed at getting guys to drink these drinks that are so girly they should come with scrunchies and a copy of the latest Cosmo. And that has always been the case. And it seemed everyone was at peace with that. Occasionally, you’d meet a dude drinking one, inquire and find out they can’t drink beer and it’s usually left at that because the level of embarrassment he’s enduring is more than enough. There’s no need, or room for your snide comments. Because, by and large, they are a girl drink. Mike’s and Smirnoff Ice were well aware of that, and chose to remain quiet on the topic.
Which bring us to good ol’ Sisyphus. Sisyphus, and the myth thereof, is about a guy that is essentially stricken to rolling a large boulder up a hill, then letting it roll back down and doing it again. For eternity. I can’t remember who he pissed off, but they were obviously pretty high up. This is much like the marketing behind these drinks. You are doomed to push a product that has been labeled by society as feminine and you never hopped on that wagon train. You chose instead to play it relatively safe with a non-gender specific approach knowing fully well that it was never consumed by anyone other than the fairer sex. If they continue this ad campaign they will be continually pushing that boulder up the hill, only to have it roll down again. Getting nowhere. And, quickly at that. So, come on ad agency, give up the ghost. Successfully rebranding these products would be nothing short of a sky splitting miracle. It’s not in the cards, guys. FOLD.
Dart #3: How I Learned To Stop Blindly Hating and Grew to Love “Entourage.”
You know how for some strange reason or confluence of events you don’t end up hopping a very popular shows bandwagon? And at first you are annoyed because that’s all anyone is talking about but slowly that annoyance becomes righteous indignation and then soon after, pride? And you pat yourself on the back for not following the herd? The mindless, easily entertained flock? I freely admit that’s been me on more than one occasion.
*COUGH*LostHeroesTheWireDeadwoodCSIWhatever*COUGH*
And, yeah, Entourage. I knew the premise. I mean, it doesn’t take a MENSA initiate to figure it out. But I didn’t have HBO and that was pretty much reason enough for me not to sidle up next to the faithful viewers in the beginning. From there it was a simple case of out of sight/earshot, out of mind. I would occasionally run into references to the show on talk shows or SNL but more often than not the common thread that ran through these mentions was how much of a douchebag magnet the show was. And I, not exactly a fan of things douchebaggery, decided to maintain my distance due to this pop culture ephemera. That is until my family’s pater felinias passed on and his official owner needed some hangout time. The plan was to watch the one show I declared never to. Soon after expressing my prejudice to the show, I realized that wasn’t really the spirit of the night, and I tagged along. And after a disc or two, I must say I was… pleasantly surprised. I was laughing a lot, found the ensemble cast very likable and the plots unique and engaging. Much to my chagrin. Believe me, I tried hard not to like it. I kept my nose in the air as long as I could. But it didn’t last. I had to admit it, it was a good show. Which brings us to present day. I have the last two discs from Season 3 NetFlix enveloped and ready to be shipped back and three discs from Season 4 underneath it from the local video shop cause I couldn’t wait for NetFlix to get here. I haven’t ran through a series this fast since Harry Potter. I am in a word, addicted. So this is my apology for any silent judgments I’ve made of Entourage fans over the years.
“Sorry Vince/Johnny/E., my bad” - Turtle
And with that said, I’m off to cop Season 5. Until next time, Space Campers.
