Burning Man

Someone recently sent me a video of Burning Man revelers reciting Oh, the Places You’ll Go.

It sent me to the medicine cabinet.

Just watching it gave me a sugar rush by way of heatstroke via straight-up migraine. But nothing can cure what ails me.

Lacking a peyote button or those handy Hunger Games suicide berries, I am forced to resort to blogging as a way to alleviate my malady. Burning Man started in the mid-80s as an artsy-fartsy homage to the Solstice, burning effigies as a form of “radical self-expression,” clearly a hippie euphemism for a low-grade case of pyromania (and not the totally rad Def Leppard kind). I love fire like the Heat Miser but this creeps me out. After sitting through The Wicker Man only to watch a dude burned alive as an offering for the harvest, I am not down with towering infernos.

Then there are the hipster hippies dropping acid while dropping trou. No. Just no. The Places I’ll Go? Pretty sure my list doesn’t include Black Rock City.

Things I Want to Make Out With

The time is nigh: the book version of Things I Want to Punch in the Face is now available for pre-order, thanks to Prospect Park Media! All of your favorite posts, plus a few new ones—100 gems in all—have been gathered in one gorgeous book that you crack open when: 

• you can't sleep on a red-eye because of that yammering man behind you
• you need to sober up by reading my peach schnapps cautionary tale 
• you want to feel better about yourself in comparison to the seat hogs, sidewalk hogs, emo punks, steampunks…

Love ‘Hunger Games’? Here are 5 more dystopian reads

I may be snarky but I'm not grim. However, I fell on my sword and wrote a post for today.com about some dystopian novels you might want to check out if you are a fan of the Hunger Games trilogy. I do not want to punch Katniss Everdeen in the face. Girl's got enough problems. (And she'd kick my ass; in fact, I'd be the first to bite it at the Cornucopia.)

The Genius Bar

Me: “Why do I want to punch the Genius Bar in the face?”
Siri: “I have a fishbowl punch located on the menu at the Genie Bar. Do you want directions?”

I’m a longtime Apple-only user. I know a few key commands, I can solve most glitches on my own, some friends even ask me for Mac advice. I used to believe all this was sort of a “na-nu na-nu” secret handshake into the cool kids’ club. Heck, I even wear interesting eyewear, for the love of Steve Jobs. Prescription eyewear, bitches.

But moseying up to the Apple Store’s Genius Bar and my illusion/delusion is shattered. I’m not nerdy cool. I’m a tool. My only consolation is that I’m beta-lame, while everyone ahead of me in line is a 2.0 tool (in fact, they might be cyborgs). I have a lot of time to observe these bearded, iPadded creatures in their natural habitapp, seeing as my Casio just went from 3:00 to 3:45—Cupertino time—while I wait for assistance on a stool clearly imported from the distant future.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Apple is shamelessly trying to stroke my ego, whispering in my ear like a 21st-century iAgo. There’s no need to make me feel like a Mensa member just because I belly up to the bar; my IQ score did that for me in fifth grade. Bitches.

(photo: thinkgeek.com)

Announcing...TIWTPITF: The Book

From today's Publishers Marketplace: Jennifer Worick's THINGS I WANT TO PUNCH IN THE FACE, an irreverent compendium of pet peeves, mundane activities, and batty behavior, to Colleen Dune Bates at Prospect Park Media, by Joy Tutela at the David Black Literary Agency.

It goes without saying but I'm tickled pink. And as you know, that is as rare as a unicorn sighting! Look for a compendium of the most punch-worthy people, places, and things in online and brick-and-mortar stores everywhere this fall. It will make an excellent gift for you and your snarkiest friends!

Let me know which posts you think must be included in the book, as I'm putting the manuscript together now. Mwah, all you dear malcontents.

Panel vans

Is it just me, or does everyone steer clear of panel work vans?

Okay, it's just me.

My ability to park properly is dangerously hampered, as images of dismembered body parts dance before my eyes (and not in a kitschy, zombie party kind of way).

And if I spot a loner white male sporting a cast and attempting to load a sofa into the back of the van, I stay in the car, back not-so-slowly away, using my hands-free headset to call the local police department so it can run the numbers on the mud-caked license plate. If you are the owner of one of these psychopathfinders, please do me a solid and paint your phone number on the windowless sliding door. It will make tracking you down much, much easier.

(photo: carsignspro.com)

Cake pops

They’re cute, sure. Adorable, in fact.

However.

The Zooey Deschanel of desserts, this twee treat gives me a toothache just thinking about its sweetness. Generally made of boxed (i.e. processed) cake mix and sugar, lots of sugar, these pops are more precious than playful. They are edible craft projects. When a recipe calls for an edible ink pen, the dessert becomes a fondon’t in my cookbook.

All this could perhaps be forgiven if the cake pop actually tasted amazeballs. It doesn’t. Sorry to skewer this treat trend, but I’d rather be knee-deep in a piece of pie.

(photo: bakerella.com)