sub-UrbanLegend

Worst Brand Ever

2005-02-01T15:20:00.000-07:00

Our company kitchen is stocked with snacks like pretzels, goldfish, beef jerky (hey, we're in the west), and...the worst brand named product in history...

Planter's "Tube Nuts", a foil tube packed with peanuts- although that's certainly not the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words "Tube Nuts".

A secretary caught me giggling to myself as I read the packaging. I'm going to be fired.

Former Ku Klux Klan Member Delays Confirmation of First Black Female Secretary of State

2005-01-21T11:56:00.000-07:00

Real smart. And the Democratic party wonders why it can't win an election.

Un-f-ing-believable

2004-12-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

Nearly 80,000 dead in one of nature's most devastating tragedies. Millions more homeless, with countless innocents at risk for malnutrition, starvation and disease. Desperate people plead for the world's assistance.

Isreal responds with on offer to send a medical delegation. It is, of course, refused by the government of Sri Lanka. God forbid one of the evil, bloodsucking Joooooooooooos helps to save the life of a helpless child. Better to let her die than to allow an infidel the satisfaction of having contributed something positive to civilization.

Oh, and by the way, while the U.S. -- having sent tens of millions of government dollars, military assistance and untold millions in charitable donations -- is being slammed for being "stingy" by that bastion of moral relevance, the United Nations, France -- the pillar of the enlightened world -- has contributed a whopping $177,000.

Aaaaaarrrgggggh!

Dude, Where's My Towel?

2004-12-22T16:20:00.000-07:00

I joined a new gym in downtown Denver today, and worked out there the first time this morning before work.

Now here's something I don't really "get"...why do so many men in the locker room prefer to walk around buck naked versus wrapping a towel around their waists? Now, I'm not particularly shy or easily embarrassed or prudish in any way, shape or form, so this isn't a question of modesty. I'm genuinely interested in why a large percentage of mostly dumpy looking guys would prefer to stroll around completely naked.

My first thought was that since many of the men had a substatial spare tire, that the towels might not have fit. But for a gym, the towels are very generously sized, and would most certainly fit around their waists. No, this is a preference.

And don't get me wrong...this isn't simply a case of a standing in front of their lockers naked while they get ready to change. I'm talking about well after their shower continuing to stroll around bare assed. Brushing their teeth (way too much jiggling, by the way), drying their hair (thankfully only the hair on their heads) and bending over the water fountain for a sip (just flat out wrong -- I don't need to see someone's cornhole like that).

I'm happy everyone is so comfortable, but I think we could all benefit from some common courtesy.

A Line Has Been Crossed

2004-12-16T13:21:00.000-07:00

Oh boy. Have to control myself.

My punk-ass bitch of a friend Andy actually thinks his punk-ass bitch of a dog is better than the sub-UrbanHound.

I'm going to have to go nuclear on his ass.

First off, how he got out of having six kids already is beyond me. His wife, a beautiful southern belle who is far too attractive to have married his punk-ass, seems perfectly suited to having a big, warm happy family surrounding her. But no. This mid-life crisised jackass - who is perpetually locked into a psychological state of pimply faced teenage boy adolesence - gets out of it by adopting a pooch (and a punk-ass one at that). Bastard!

Then, despite the fact that he now lives in some podunk town in the middle of Texas, he fawningly names his punk-ass pooch after the ultimate symbol of New York, Rudy Guiliani. As if some of that big city cool will rub off on his small town, small minded, Wal-Mart leash wearing dog. Pathetic.

Face it, your punk-ass dog will grow up living a small and pathetic life, sheltered from the big city you love so much. The total sum of his life will be lying around in the backyard, wondering what might have been had his parents not raised him in such a close-minded place. Wondering why he can't hump the white furred dog for fear of encountering the racism endemic in his community. Wondering why all of his squeaky toys come from homogenized chain stores like Petco instead of cool, funky urban pet shops. Wondering why the pristine veneer of his sad suburban life seems to barely mask a rotting inner core.

Is that really "the best dog ever"??? I think not. And I blame his father.

Uh, no.

2004-12-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

My delusional friend Geoff thinks his baby is cuter than mine. Geoff is easily confused.

The Ninth Circle of Hell

2004-12-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

We're such newbies a parents...made the mistake of going to Toys 'R Us on a Sunday afternoon in December. I cannot even begin to describe the chaos inside. The sub-UrbanWifey and I had the sub-UrbanRugrat in the stroller, and I can't even tell you how many times the stroller was nearly blindsided by some hausfrau' s shopping cart packed with stuffed Elmos, Thomas the Train sets and other must haves as they scurried through the aisles like some desperate crackwhores looking for "rocks" in an alleyway.

As a new parent, I was blown away by the gender role stereotyping of so many of the toys. I saw a miniature grocery shopping cart that was advertised on the packaging "Now baby can go shopping, just like Mom!". Obviously targeted to little girls. And there was a whole line of miniature Home Depot branded power tools in the boys section. My jaw hit the fucking floor though when I saw a fucking chainsaw targeted toward boys -- age 3 and up!!! Hey Timmy, let's play chainsaw your sister's arms and legs off. Don't you remember from that silly Scarface movie we saw? Sister Sally is a rival drug lord that you need to torture to death to reinforce your dominance over your turf. Have fun!

Melrose Place, Circa 2004

2004-12-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

As a grown man, should I be ashamed of my obsession with The O.C. ?

Well, yes.

But hell, if I'm going to live my life vicariously, it might as well be through attractive, rich, witty young people, right?

Plus, I simply NEED to know whether Seth and Summer will get back together again.

Plastic Christmas

2004-12-08T15:59:00.000-07:00

Decorated our Christmas tree last night -- the sub-UrbanRugrat was transfixed by the blinking lights like some acid-dropping stoner at a Pink Floyd laser light show. Quite a scene.

We went with a plastic tree, much to my shame. Between the bling we dropped on new carpeting, plus the never ending cleaning we seem to be doing now that the sub-UrbanRugrat is soiling a diaper an hour, I just didn't have it in me to go through all of the hard work and hassle of hiring a maid to clean up the pine needles. Or do it myself, God forbid.

So now I'm living a plastic suburban life with a plastic tree, right? Maybe, but you know what? The tree looks awesome.

Plus, at least the sub-UrbanHound won't piss on it.

Has it Come to This?

2004-12-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

Since the sub-UrbanRugrat joined us just a few short weeks ago, I've found myself sniffing her ass to determine whether there's a dirty diaper on instead of unhitching her fleece overalls and onesie and peeking in the corner of the diaper. What has happened to me?

Of course, for this guy, or this guy, that rates as acceptable behavior on the subways. Dirty, dirty boys.

Burt's Bees

2004-12-06T16:37:00.000-07:00

Best. Lip balm. Ever.

Tunes

2004-12-06T07:54:00.000-07:00

I've been listening to a couple of great CDs lately -- Phoenix Alphabetical and Citizen Cope The Clarence Greenwood Recordings. Good stuff.

Electric Boogaloo

2004-12-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

In my suburban neighborhood, the display of Christmas lights is not merely a visible celebration of the holiday season. No, it is a reflection of one's masculinity.

Like the peacock who struts and shows his fantastical colors in a vibrant, theatrical display intended to outperform his lesser male rivals, the ritual of displaying Christmas lights is underlaced with competition, aggression and testosterone.

By this measure, I am a eunuch.

It started Thanksgiving weekend, when my next door neighbor began hanging his lights with the precision and discipline of a military exercise. His light strings were organized on rollers to prevent wire snagging, and he skillfully unrolled his display with one hand while staple-gunning the wire to the awning above his garage with the other, all while carefully balanced on an extension ladder. Within 45 minutes, every front-facing corner of his home had been carefully wired, with not a single inch of wiring left over. It fit perfectly, and was installed with the precision of a German engineer.

Soon after, the other neighborhood contenders were scurrying about their front yards like panicked, overmatched rivals who recognized the threat from the alpha male. Mesh-wire reindeers were carefully positioned to make it appear that they were nibbling on hedges, plastic lit-up snowmen were angled so their waving hands greeted visitors to the driveway, wreaths were draped over outdoor light fixtures just so, and, yes, the precision implementation of 40,000 watts of holiday lights began as the men moved like worker ants devouring a picnic.

In the midst of all of this, I decided I better participate for fear that without lights, I would be considered the neighborhood Scrooge -- but also to satisfy some unconscious primal urge to compete and succeed. I made this decision while passing by the Christmas display aisle in Tar-jeh, and it proved to be my downfall.

My first mistake was in ball-parking the length of the awning over the garage. I grabbed a 15 foot string of icicle lights, thinking that would do it. Turns out the real length is 14 feet. So after installing, now I've got an extra foot of light string dangling flaccidly over the end. I decided to solve this problem by extending the lights to cover the vaulted awning next to the 14 foot stretch, so I had to run back to Tar-jeh and get 2 additional 6-foot portions of light string. But I didn't factor in the 12 inches of unlit wire at both sides of the string. So once I plugged in the 2 extensions, I had 15 feet of lights -- then a 12 inch strand of no lights -- then 6 feet of lights -- them a 12 inch strand of no lights -- then 6 feet of lights. All on the most prominent portion of my house.

Embarrassingly, I scurried to remove the 2 extensions, all the while knowing that the male neighbors were probably contently sipping their beers while watching me through their windows, laughing. I decided to keep just the 15 foot length, and tucked the extra 1 foot length into the gutter to hide it.

Ooops, can't do that, because that's where the plug that hooks into the extension cord is. Seems I've installed the lights backwards. Now I have to take down the 15 foot section and reinstall it the other way. The only saving grace is it allows me to fold over the extra foot length and staple gun it to the awning, so at least I don't have a pathetic little dangling penis...I mean light strand any more.

I can personally guarantee that I am the laughing stock of the men in the neighborhood. God, I dread springtime and landscaping season. I just hope I don't chop of an appendage with my lawnmower or hedgeclipper.

On Target

2004-12-04T18:45:00.000-07:00

Went to Tar-jeh today to pick up some Christmas decorations and of course left with $292 of merchandise we had no intention of buying. Can't live without preshelled pistacios, a 20 roll pack of toilet paper or an extra extension cord for God's sake. That place is like crack.

The sub-UrbanWifey and I had the sub-UrbanRugrat with us in the stroller and -- no shit -- at least 10 people stopped us to coo over her. Now I admit -- we have simply the most beautiful and awe-inspiring baby to ever grace this fair earth -- but what a difference between here and NY. If someone had stooped over her stroller in NY, I would have been blowing my rape whistle and macing the shit out of them. But here it was just kind of sweet.

Now I'm perfectly aware that this "honeymoon" phase will end and that in weeks, if not days, I'll be bitching about the fake, sickeningly, sugary sweet veneer that covers up some dark suburban emptiness, but it's my blog, dammit and that's my perrogative.

For now, can't say I mind it at all. Makes me feel like joining the local chamber of commerce.

Uh, no.

Great Read

2004-12-03T17:04:00.000-07:00

Reading a great book called America's Secret War. A totally objective and very critical look at the origins of Al Qaeda and our government's faults and victories in fighting them.

John Wayne Kringle

2004-12-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

Went out for a coffee this morning and saw a grown man wearing a Santa Claus hat. Dressed completely normally otherwise (well, if you consider an elastic waisted jean jacket normal). That would be weird and bizzare enough on December 24th, or whatever day most companies host their Christmas Party, but it's December 3rd for Chrissakes.

People like that always remind me of John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer who dressed up like a clown to lure little boys into his lair.

"Look at me...I'm Santa Claus. Want a candy cane little boy?"

Fucking freaks.

Manners

2004-12-03T07:32:00.000-07:00

I've been taking a light rail commuter train into Denver from my suburban enclave every day. Coming from New York where I rode the subways every day and didn't have a car, I just find it a lot easier and less stressfull than driving in rush hour traffic.

A brief episode this morning demonstrated just what a different world I live in now. On the subways in NY, it is the cardinal rule that YOU NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANYONE. Let alone actually speak to someone. Let alone actually acknowledge that you have just farted!!!

I was sitting in a seat structure this morning where 2 seats face 2 others, forcing you to either awkwardly stare directly at someone sitting 24 inches directly in front of you or gaze out the window, which is the preferred M.O. So I'm in a quad seat with 3 other commuters, and all of a sudden this 45-ish year old woman lets out a fart that sounded like a small duckling being stepped on. Now if it had been me, I would have continued to stare out the window in the hopes that everyone would sense that in my lack of a response, I was not guilty. Instead, this lady says, "Whoops. Excuse me!"

Now I've got to sit staring at this lady who has just acknowledged fouling my morning with her sausage and egg gas. Sometimes manners are overrated, you know?

Betty Crocker Redux

2004-12-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

Our new suburban community has a bank of mailboxes at the middle of each block versus individual boxes. I was walking down the street just after dusk after picking up my mail when I noticed a Minivan shadowing me. I moved over closer to the curb, thinking I might be in their way, but the driver stayed a good 10 feet behind me. The car suddenly sped up and came to a quick stop beside me.

"Hi, you must be the new guy," the woman driver said. "I heard you just moved here from New York and had a baby...how's everything going?"

Excuse me, but who the fark are you??? And how do you know my shit? I've only lived here for 3 days! Actually, I was very polite and told her all about the baby and the move, but I still wondered how in the hell she knew the last details of my life.

Anyway, point of the story is that she wanted to bring me and my wife "a nice hot meal." Now, I don't know about you, but in New York I wouldn't have accepted a meal from one of my deranged neighbors for fear of having their DNA mixed in as a special ingredient. But coming from this cheerful, pleasant hausfrau, it seemed allright.

A few days later, she dropped off a casserole that was right out of the 1950s. Chicken, greenbeens, dried onions, scalloped potatoes in some kind of a condensed Campbell's Soup sauce. And you know what? It was fucking delicious. And very sweet of her -- although I'm convinced she dropped it off just so she could scope out our furniture and decor.

Nosie Nellie.

Opening Entry

2004-12-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

This is the story of a suburban boy who grew up to become a New York hipster who grew up to become a suburban dad. A man who never had to fix a leaky pipe because the superintendent handled that kind of thing. A man who never owned a lawnmower, who never ate at chain restaraunts and who never looked a neighbor in the eye for fear that they might be a serial killer. Now his fear is that the neighbors might be swingers. Or Amway salesmen. Shudder.

This will be a periodic blog, as I've got yardwork to do and dirty diapers to change. So please don't bitch if I don't post as frequently as you'd like. Ya bastards.