Irritants and Adorations: The Back-to-School Edition, Part 2
Irritants
1. Teenagers texting while driving. So I'm pulling up next to this young lady in a Prius, and I know she's maybe seventeen max, and but either way her car is stuffed to the gills with like eight other teens (they're flopping out the windows and the sunroof, and heads are bobbing hither and thither to like T. Pain or Lil' [sic] Wayne or some such other inanity that I'm now too far over-the-speed-bump to appreciate, and I should mention that the flopping and bobbing of heads is of the sort where their bright, big neon mid-80's-reminiscent sunglasses are bouncing dangerously off their ecstatic faces and threatening to sort of fling off and come at one of my kids through their open window, like a throwing star from a Kung Fu movie). And yet this Prius-navigating young lady is TEXTING someone. Or better yet, she's "txtng s/o...lol ;D" And I'm all: Who on God's green could she be texting that isn't already with her in that enviro-friendly Clown Mobile of hers?
2. The Calabasas clientele**. Uniform, men: Too-tight black Affliction shirt (preferably and especially if you're all 'roided out, from the kids' section at Nordstrom's)...True Religion Jeans...Purple, veiny, eggplant-shaded perma-aggresso face...optional accessories: sun-wrinkly, aged-before-her-time bleach blonde spilling her silicone balloons out her very own too-tight halter-top from M. Fredric.
Uniform, women: for starters, see above. For further enhancements, be sure to wear bloodclot-inducingly tight capri pants and accident-waiting-to-happen, seven inch high heels.
Poses to strike: entitlement, ennui, cigarrette-choked obliviousness, good ol' fashioned rudeness, aggression, willingness to like literally rip open your car door and flex a mammoth bicep adorned with a lame barbed wire- or "Japanese character for strength and discipline symbol"-ish tattoo and throw down over a parking space.
Actions to take: Get angry when someone tries to order a drink at the bar on a crowded Friday night cuz you're trying to eat your sushi and how dare they (gasp, moan) try and score a cocktail from a (more gasp, more moan) bar no less; let doors slam on women who're seven months pregnant so you can get your little devil his own truckstop-portion of Cold Stone's latest concoction; run people off Parkway Calabasas in your Lexus/Beamer/Mercedes/Jaguar and flip 'em off out the window for good measure.
3. Smart Cars. Is this a practical joke? Is America being Punk'd (Lord knows Aston Kutcher's career is sort of stalling and sputtering, pun CERTAINLY intended)? So but Smart cars. Honestly? To me, these things are about as smart as a kid who spends the major slice that comprises the pie chart of his day sniffing glue and shoplifting Charleston Chews from 7-11 and capping it all off with a few Nitrus Oxide hits from a cannister of whipped cream. Smart cars are the size of like a mini-Asahi beer can. And I'm not saying in the summer of 2009, my gas-guzzling, lane-hogging GMC Yukon is the Genius of Automobiles. But I will say I'm smarter than driving that lil' paperclip pipsqueak on wheels.
** = Corey Weinberg and the Finch Fam excepted, here, not to mention Ross and Roll's dear old Moms, obviously...
1. Teenagers texting while driving. So I'm pulling up next to this young lady in a Prius, and I know she's maybe seventeen max, and but either way her car is stuffed to the gills with like eight other teens (they're flopping out the windows and the sunroof, and heads are bobbing hither and thither to like T. Pain or Lil' [sic] Wayne or some such other inanity that I'm now too far over-the-speed-bump to appreciate, and I should mention that the flopping and bobbing of heads is of the sort where their bright, big neon mid-80's-reminiscent sunglasses are bouncing dangerously off their ecstatic faces and threatening to sort of fling off and come at one of my kids through their open window, like a throwing star from a Kung Fu movie). And yet this Prius-navigating young lady is TEXTING someone. Or better yet, she's "txtng s/o...lol ;D" And I'm all: Who on God's green could she be texting that isn't already with her in that enviro-friendly Clown Mobile of hers?
2. The Calabasas clientele**. Uniform, men: Too-tight black Affliction shirt (preferably and especially if you're all 'roided out, from the kids' section at Nordstrom's)...True Religion Jeans...Purple, veiny, eggplant-shaded perma-aggresso face...optional accessories: sun-wrinkly, aged-before-her-time bleach blonde spilling her silicone balloons out her very own too-tight halter-top from M. Fredric.
Uniform, women: for starters, see above. For further enhancements, be sure to wear bloodclot-inducingly tight capri pants and accident-waiting-to-happen, seven inch high heels.
Poses to strike: entitlement, ennui, cigarrette-choked obliviousness, good ol' fashioned rudeness, aggression, willingness to like literally rip open your car door and flex a mammoth bicep adorned with a lame barbed wire- or "Japanese character for strength and discipline symbol"-ish tattoo and throw down over a parking space.
Actions to take: Get angry when someone tries to order a drink at the bar on a crowded Friday night cuz you're trying to eat your sushi and how dare they (gasp, moan) try and score a cocktail from a (more gasp, more moan) bar no less; let doors slam on women who're seven months pregnant so you can get your little devil his own truckstop-portion of Cold Stone's latest concoction; run people off Parkway Calabasas in your Lexus/Beamer/Mercedes/Jaguar and flip 'em off out the window for good measure.
3. Smart Cars. Is this a practical joke? Is America being Punk'd (Lord knows Aston Kutcher's career is sort of stalling and sputtering, pun CERTAINLY intended)? So but Smart cars. Honestly? To me, these things are about as smart as a kid who spends the major slice that comprises the pie chart of his day sniffing glue and shoplifting Charleston Chews from 7-11 and capping it all off with a few Nitrus Oxide hits from a cannister of whipped cream. Smart cars are the size of like a mini-Asahi beer can. And I'm not saying in the summer of 2009, my gas-guzzling, lane-hogging GMC Yukon is the Genius of Automobiles. But I will say I'm smarter than driving that lil' paperclip pipsqueak on wheels.
** = Corey Weinberg and the Finch Fam excepted, here, not to mention Ross and Roll's dear old Moms, obviously...
Alex,
Thanks for the rant. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it. Very well done.
~T
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How did you remember Charleston Chews? #2 is right on, of course, but we should probably except, as well, the nice man who said he enjoyed sitting near all of is at The Corner Bakery on Saturday.
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