Commentary Comment Criticism
A common refrain is “Don’t read the comments on news sites.” But not for the reasons you’d expect – but because so many obvious non-readers leave comments there.
Commentary Comment Criticism
A common refrain is “Don’t read the comments on news sites.” But not for the reasons you’d expect – but because so many obvious non-readers leave comments there.
As an acclaimed problem ̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶r̶ solver, I finally made an official template for reasonable choices in regard to the herpetic toilet paper roll quandary. Its ongoing existence is proof that the adage, “Everything. Everyone. Everywhere ends, except an argument,” is true.
It’s more pernicious on social media than a case of goat rash. I think Robert Mueller is about to indict all of us for perpetuating it.
I don’t care how you want the roll, nor does anything the patent holder for it might have to say interest me. Let’s be honest, there’s no way we’re all going to agree on the orientation of the toilet paper as it hangs from the holder. We can’t even agree on who is the best presidential candidate to ruin our country.
In the past, I’ve simply pointed out that the roller is not required for household use under federal law. Neither is toilet paper, for that matter, but it makes any food ‘hand-made’ sound terrible. You can put the roll any direction you want, or anywhere you want to put it. Don’t take that TOO literally.
As Neo might have said, “There is no hole and no roll, either.” Interpret as needed.
I can’t go a day without seeing a protracted argument about toilet paper rolls.
(Not to be confused with my recipe for delicious Toilet Paper Rolls & Croissants, which are scrumptious.)
The idea that, as an adult, you can simply choose NOT to use a toilet paper holder (like a savage or Alabama resident) surprises people. If you aren’t allowed to ‘free roll’ it, you should feel free to use any of the horrible guest hand towels in the restroom in lieu of paper in the loo. And flush those, too, just to keep the plumber economy robust.
I hereby grant you the right to simply not put the toilet paper roll on the holder. After years of testing, I’ve determined that it will not contribute to the apocalypse.
Likewise, if you’re are feeling really mean, put two holders in the bathroom. Hang one as “A” and the other as “B.” Fill the bathtub with loose rolls, too, just to cover your bases. It is possible that one of your guests might have eaten at Domino’s pizza and in that scenario, 123 rolls of toilet paper might be just enough.
Or ‘your welcome,’ if you are into random grammatical errors.
“How’s it hanging?” will no longer be a casual question we need to concern ourselves with.
A couple of years ago, I made a picture for another website. Since it was my picture, I posted it on my own social media. A few people got irritated about it. They didn’t directly share their aggression, though. They snarked and bit at the fringes of their frustration. It’s what people do instead of finding a way to honestly share their uncomfortable opinions.
Because so much time has passed, I’ve learned that the irritation resulted from their displeasure with the word “privilege.” It’s one of those words which people have sometimes weaponized to imply that well-to-do people have become blind to the real world or minority considerations. On the other website, the one which didn’t attribute the photo to a person, the commentary turned dark and sour very quickly. The word has only become more amplified and vilified since then. Memes refuting the absurdity of the implied observation of privilege are immensely popular.
Coincidentally enough, a couple of social media friends recently shared anecdotes about their daily lives. They neatly tied conclusions to their stories. The problem is that they were oblivious to the privilege embedded in every aspect of their stories. I only noticed it because their stories generalized stereotypes about the circumstances of the other players involved in their anecdotes, the bit players serving as the backdrop for their conclusions. Having money, time, and means to travel to a place and have someone else prepare their food, serve them, and attend their needs is a part of the privilege of having resources. I, of course, didn’t mention my observations to them. That sort of honesty draws a bit of anger and retaliation. Most people enjoy the satisfaction of thinking that their success is due almost entirely to merit.
Make no mistake, many people have worked hard and made the right choices. I know several people who deserve respect for the way they’ve played their cards.
As we all know, however, it is possible to do everything right and still lose, though.
For some of us, we know that a single moment, one unearned, can ruin our lives, plans, finances, or health. A body on the floor. A negligent motorist at an intersection. An undiagnosed valve in someone’s heart. Cancer cells in one’s lungs, even after never smoking and living a clean life. A plane falling from the sky on a Saturday morning in September. A call to defend one’s country halfway around the world.
Some feel that their faith or belief in God has favored them. Whether this is true or not, I know several devout people whose lives are infused with compassion and lovingkindness who’ve experienced some of life’s most grievous challenges. Whether it makes people uneasy or not, faith does not equate to favorable circumstance upon us, nor is a lack of it a reason for failure. Grief and good are sprinkled in equal measure upon everyone.
It is possible to feel satisfied with one’s full life. Pride, honor, and fulfillment are natural consequences of threading the complex needle of circumstance in life.
Good people don’t weaponize the word “privilege.”
Good people also don’t fight the necessity of recognizing their luck against the prism of reality.
For some, their mantra is “If you don’t have to think about it, it’s privilege.” For others, “If it’s not a problem to you personally, it’s not a problem.” Also, “The fact that privilege helps you doesn’t mean you didn’t have to work hard, but it does mean that others have to work harder to overcome societal disadvantage.”
These quips are popular because they antagonize the simple fact of privilege and turn it into an accusation as if those with privilege all abuse their opportunities selfishly. These simplistic bumper sticker quips exist precisely because some people snarl and bark when asked to recognize their head start in life.
Fair or not, I feel rich. And privileged. It’s foolish for me to look around and forget how lucky I am. Most of my luck is a result of geography, not effort. I’ve been lucky enough to have decent health and at least access to a massive medical infrastructure to rescue me if not. My youth was violent and poor. I had the privilege of miraculously avoiding making one too many mistakes that would’ve derailed me further. I’m proud of my aversion to the politics and prejudices of those around me when I was young.
Simply put, the majority of my life’s privilege results from where I was born on this planet. The rest falls to demographics, education, and opportunity. I can’t take credit for those things.
I don’t have to curse myself for being lucky, either. Nor should any of us feel guilty. But we should all feel thankful.
Absent some of these factors, no amount of pluck and effort would have propelled me above the station I would have otherwise been assigned.
Privilege. The privilege of being.
If you zoom out above the Earth, you’ll find that your life is one of wealth and privilege. Comparison proves that you are lucky to have been born where you are, with the body and mind you have, accompanied by the geography and economics of opportunity.
If you’re accused of ignoring your privilege, lean into and be thankful for your life.
“You sound weird.” -A quote from a member of one religion to every other member of any other religion or denomination.
Corollary: “Additionally, while I’m not specifically saying so, your way is misguided.” Also known as “The Highlander Rule of Religion” – as there can be only one.
Corollary Sequel Pertaining to Deniability: Even if you’re not aware of it, almost every religious person looks at the beliefs and practices of others with an aloof, if not a superior, critical, or comedic eye. Including yours.
Bacon? Temple garments? E-meters? Mysticism? Kaparot? Exorcism? Blood transfusions? Self-flagellation? Fasting? Confession? Scripture? Polygamy? Snake handling? Speaking in tongues? Animal sacrifice? Confirmation? Hymns? Silent worship? Reincarnation? Caffeine? Alcohol? Priesthood? Anointing? Penance? Communion/Eucharist/Transubstantiation? Meditation? Sin? Circumcision/Bris? Purification? Genuflecting? Faith healing? Praying? Guru? Karma? Baptism? Rapture? Armageddon? Prophets? Miracles? Crucifixion? Celibacy? Vows of silence? Pilgrimage? Cremation? Burial? Polytheism? Monotheism? Idolatry? Angels? Demons? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Sabbath? Original sin? Commandments? Male authority?
This post isn’t anti-religion. Any inspection of religion tends to spark an immediate and wrathful reaction from those who feel accused by outside observation or commentary, even if people are just asking questions. It’s an observation regarding how members of different religions react to how others practice their own distinct faiths. I’ve come to distrust those whose reactions tend to be angry or strident. The only sermon that works in the lives of others is one of example. “Words conceal, actions reveal” tends to be a great way to gauge someone’s convictions. Shouting may result in silence or cooperation but never conversion.
As an outsider, it’s fascinating to observe the huge variety of religions and denominations. Most adherents tend to practice supremacy in regard to their own particular faith and rituals. It’s the human way of doing things. It makes for some dreadful consequences at times, especially to those of other faiths or no faith whatsoever. The insistence of certainty clouds human interaction as thickly as just about any other human condition.
Having lived more than half a century, I still sit in amazement as I observe the faithful from one group interact and observe others as they go about the practice of their faith. One of life’s greatest pleasures is discovering someone with faith who walks their path without regard to the path another person chooses. They often get drowned out, though. The urge to judge the path of another is almost inescapable.
“We all sound crazy to somebody else.”
Except in my case. I sound crazy to everybody else.
Starting with the most important point: Dexter will return for another season. I’m as certain of it as Michael C. Hall’s agent was when he recommended to his client that he make “Safe” for Netflix.
Dexter will haunt us again if no other reason than it’s going to be profitable for everyone involved.
Some of us have been fooled by fake promotional posters for the mythical Season 9 of Dexter. It’s easy to fool those who already long for such a scenario to be a reality. As for the studios involved, I can’t imagine that it wouldn’t be profitable for them to have a go at Dexter+ in the near future. I’m betting that it will be sooner rather than later. (Dexter+ is the name I’m recommending that the studios adopt.)
For the neanderthals walking among us, Dexter was a Showtime series featuring a likable vigilante serial killer in Miami.
In a testament to forgetfulness, I watched the entire run of Dexter again. First, I thought there were fewer seasons. Second, it’s undeniable that some seasons had some strange plot twists and contrived storylines. Good tv is forgiven the infrequent gaffe. Rewatching the show provided me with several instances in which I noted that the writers had dropped hints of possible futures for Dexter. None of them seemed relevant the first time I watched. Now that I’ve revisited Dexter, the infinite storylines available to great writers seems endless.
Now that I’m finished rewatching, my mind seems focused on the monumental things I’d forgotten – or had completely wrong. Many fans were incensed at the way the show ended. Lt. Batista never knew Dexter’s secret. Quinn survived, no matter how badly I rooted for him to get shot from a balcony. Debra, of course, is fish food.
I like to imagine Lt. Batista still at his desk, being the kind-hearted stereotype he always was. Debra, being eaten by the sharks in the bay as the currents move her back and forth. Dexter, sitting in his place in the Northwest, fantasizing about his next appearance in a Gillette commercial.
Of this I’m certain: there will be another season of Dexter. Showtime insisted that Dexter would survive the series finale, even as writers argued about whether it was realistic. His son Harrison would now be about to reveal whether he inherited Dexter’s affinity for mayhem. The story can pick up at any point in time, past or present and in any geographical location they choose. The real world still spins and no one substantive apparently suspected that Dexter was indeed a serial killer. His cover story could be amnesia or a mental break which rendered him incapable of returning to the life he was already leaving before Debra’s death. Lumen still lurks in the midwest. Hannah walks the earth, probably still free.
As with all good stories, the biggest obstacle is one of creativity on the part of those tasked with creating a new timeline for Dexter.
Showtime, it’s your turn.
If you think you can shirk your duty to bring us another season of Dexter, you’re as foolish as Dexter was, each time he attempted to live a normal life.
The only trailer for the new season we need is this: Doakes at the boatyard, telling Dexter, “Suprise, m*********a!” No explanation, no cutaway, followed by a fade to black as the word “Dexter” enters and fades from view.
I went to Popeye’s and asked for a couple of chicken legs. They still got the order wrong.
I received a heart-warming letter from one of the neighbors. “Cease and Desist” is a great way to let me know someone is thinking about me.
I found the best store ever. I can’t go back, though, because I noticed
they have a strict ‘no returns’ policy on the door.
A friend of mine posted the phrase as a potentially new way to say “Goodbye!” in a cool way. I added her picture to give it some punch.
I paid my restaurant check with a counterfeit bill. It seemed appropriate, as I’m pretty sure they didn’t serve me real food.
Currently trying to convince a friend of mine, one with “Moore” as a surname , to change his first name to “Dinty.” No word yet on how successful I’ve been.
After posting this picture to social media, despite having a robust method to avoid them, Dinty Moore ads began littering my social media feed.
The irony of seeing a “Don’t text and drive” decal in the back window of a pickup truck pulled over for DWI warmed my heart.
(In the driver’s defense, as a Ford owner, I have to testify that owning one drives one to drink – or want to.)
I bought a phone plan with unlimited minutes under the assumption I could live forever.
My apologies to Springdale residents. Satire is my friend. You should all know that NATO is about to declare war on the city logo.
I still hate the waffle-fry logo. The Explore Springdale variant, however, is awesome. Seriously. I love it. It’s simple and the symbolism is obvious. I might be biased, though, with a name like “X.” I’ve noted that many people happily insist that it’s my name due to illiteracy.
Each time I see the official logo, I wonder, “Why are we being punished?” It’s no accident that Kleenex offered to be our Official Sponsor in 2017.
I can’t prove it, but I suspect that the logo itself will soon be featured in some crime documentary. The demented subject of same will be shown on camera, his hair matted with chicken feathers, insisting “That darned logo made me do it.” Defense lawyers will start calling it the ‘Waffle Logo Defense.’ Even the guy from “Making a Murderer” won’t comment in case it causes him to receive a longer prison sentence.
I’ve resisted using the logo as an excuse to play blind man’s tic-tac-toe on the municipal vehicles afflicted with the logo. Or “no-go,” as the case may be. I do have a case of rainbow markers ready for when my willpower diminishes. The prosecutor* told me it’s just a misdemeanor to deface the logos on city vehicles. Also, while I will have to do community service, they will also give me a city beautification award if I manage to discolor enough of the logos to make Springdale residents happier by seeing fewer of them.
*This post does not advocate defacing city property. In my defense, though, if the property in question displays an official Springdale logo, it’s already quite defaced.
“Beauty Spits In The Eye of the Beholder” springs to mind when I see the logo. “We Lost A Bet” is my second thought, followed closely by, “LSD Is Your Friend.” A friend of mine suggested “A Chicken In Every Pothole.” That last part is humor, by the way. The streets and roads are nicely maintained, in my opinion. But if you drive a convertible, it’s no joke to pass or get behind a chicken truck. It’s my hope that some of the yokels figure out that the new bike lanes aren’t just really small third lanes, too. The screaming is getting fairly loud during peak hours.
We all agree that the logo, Ray Doton’s cowboy hat, and the mayor’s hairstyle are the three biggest hurdles facing Springdale. (The mayor as an administrator is doing a great job, though.) The city itself is awesome unless you live on the East side, in which case your GPS is permanently linked to the destination marked “Elsewhere.” Many people don’t know that we now hold the demolition derby on this side of town during normal traffic hours. So far, no one has noticed.
I would post the city logo here again. The last time I downloaded it, however, I got flagged by Facebook for promoting violence and for displaying graphic imagery. Just imagine that five drunken people got into a fight while playing pixie sticks and then became ill on top of the scattered sticks. It’s a pretty accurate rendering of the logo.
I’m biased, though. I like nice things and beauty, no matter what conclusions you might draw by looking at my face.
I’ve made several versions of logos through the years, some seriously intentional and most stupidly satirical, much like my outlook on life.
In case anyone missed it, I think Springdale is a great city, one making tremendous strides as it leaves behind its past.
That logo, though? I think the guy from Key and Peele is going to make a horror movie based on that thing if we’re not careful.
See comments for examples of the logos. The chicken in this post is one I created. Please note that I wasn’t chained to expectations such as professionalism, common sense, or attention to detail.
Here’s the official logo for Springdale. I apologize for the use of obscenity.
Here’s on my simple ones. Boring? Yes. But not terrible.
Here’s the Explore Springdale variant. Note that you don’t want to hurl like a high school partier when you look at it?
Here’s the “George Clooney” of logos. Its beauty is unrivaled.
People want creativity and individual content.
That’s what they say, anyway.
What we find is a mountain of shared content, created by other people, and all too often weaponized to evoke a response.
In recognition of that, here’s an eerie picture I made.
It’s either interesting, stupid, or somewhere between, innocuous or ominous, derivative, or creative.
But it’s mine.
I have a friend who plays fast and loose with the language when it suits her, but jumps at any opportunity to express her language superiority.
So, I waited for her to say something provocative, like “Hello.”
“It’s a nonstop flight,” she said, talking to someone else nearby.
“How do you get off the plane?” I asked, smirking.
“What do you mean? Like I always do!” She snarled back at me.
“Oh, the plane is still flying when you get off? How is that nonstop, then?”
“You know what I mean, X. Don’t be ridiculous. It flies from one destination to another.”
“You literally don’t see the irony in your comments, do you?” I asked. “Never mind, I have to go look for stray bullets – I think they’re lost. But I couldn’t care less.”
“DiGiorno!” I shouted my goodbye as I walked away.
Today, I learned another thing NOT to say to people.
I headed for the restroom. I opened the door and stepped inside. It’s designed for one person. The last user was still in there and had neglected to lock the door.
“Do you have a close personal relationship with Jesus?” I asked in a loud, strange voice.
He was both startled and confused, attempting to gauge what I meant by my question as I laughed, leaving the bathroom.
If the item you ordered fails to arrive, I suggest you send a picture of your empty front porch to customer service, letting them know that your box arrived in an unacceptable condition. They’ll reply, “Sir, we don’t see a box.” Reply: “I’m pretty sure that non-existent is an unacceptable condition.”
Have you heard ABC is making a revival of the 70s show about a singing family? It’s set in a Staples store and titled “The Cartridge Family.”
One of the cleverest things I’ve read in a long time: “Farts are food ghosts.”
It seems dumb that we haven’t thought of it before, like onion-flavored toothpaste.
If you need a phone number, the best thing we can do as a society to become better friends with each other is to dial a random number.
When someone picks up, we should introduce ourselves and ask them to look up the number for us. If they hang up, they’ll at least have a good story to tell their friends. If they look it up for us, we’ll have a minute to share small talk.
It will work like the “I’m feeling lucky” button on Google, with the chance of shouting.
Reach out and randomly touch someone today.*
*Celebrities accused of sexual misconduct are exempted, as are all
adult white males. And Adam Levine.
The mask people suffering from sleep apnea wear should immediately be renamed to “Sleep Snorkel.”
I was excited until I discovered that the corn maze was constructed with creamed corn.
Rejected comic book plotline: Catwoman has feline leukemia.
“Can I arrange an order of 500 axes?” is one of the best possible questions to ask Home Depot if you call them when you’re bored.
I find it hard to understand how I live in a world where Chris Brown can post positivity posts on social media.
The traffic policeman didn’t buy my argument about parking where I wasn’t supposed to.
I told him I should be given a non-speeding ticket, instead.
If I ever win a big lottery, I’m going to hang out by one of those prison signs indicating “Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.” About a 1/4 mile down the road, I’m going to pay John Quiñones to stop drivers and tell them that if they had stopped to give me a ride, I would have given them a million dollars.
Speaking of lotteries, I should win. Unlike most people, I plan to reward people who’ve been advocates of mine and make many people’s lives better. If I win, so too do many others. If you don’t believe me, you should see the disgruntled look on my wife’s face as she reads this segment of the post.
“People are more likely to return a wallet if there’s a picture of a baby in it.”
That might be true, but it’s also true that a list of serial killers is probably just as effective.
The damnable list of to-do echoes in your head so violently that it distracts you from the clap of expired minutes.