#blessed

Well, duh. 

Way to state the obvious, Einstein. Of course we’re blessed. We live in a privileged society with fluoride in our tap water, computers and flat-screens in every home, organic chickens in every pot, access to health care, and Beyonce. We shop at Goodwill because it’s cool.

Adding a hashtag that telegraphs your gratitude and piety wastes 8 characters and clues in your tweeple that you are an unoriginal windbag who’s humblebragging your sweet-ass anointed life (Gwyneth) or trying to cover up the fact that you’re just happy to be here (Lindsay). Either way, it sounds insincere.

Put the #blessed to rest. Swap it out with something that conveys what you’re actually thinking. Instagramming your engagement ring? #couldabeenbigger Tweeting about the French toast your kids surprised you with? #chokingdowngluten Commenting on an unflattering throwback Thursday photo that a childhood friend posted and tagged you in? #paybackisabitch

I guarantee that you’ll get retweeted. #amen 

(photo: puttingonthenew.com)

Hurricane names

Chris, Debby, Florence, Patty, Nadine…

I don't know about you but hurricane names sound more like what you'd find on nametags at a PTA potluck, rather than a vicious tropical cyclone. They don't exactly put the fear of 80-mile winds in you, do they?

Hurricane Sandy isn't a cause for a state of emergency, it's cause for a makeover, preferably by Rizzo. If Hurricane Rizzo hit the East Coast, you'd better believe that I'd run for fucking cover.

The World Meteorological Organization and National Hurricane Center need to get some new baby books, preferably ones with badass names like Spike, Rocco, JR, T-Bone. Better get, I propose that we substitute roller-derby names for these milquetoast monikers. Helen Wheels, Dora the Destroyer, Naomi Cannibal—shutters would be nailed down and the coastline would be evacuated in record time.

(photo: geology.com)

Non sequitur nicknames

Hey Dick! Where’d you get such an unfortunate name? Apparently, they were pretty bored in the Middle Ages and sat around rhyming names. Richard was shortened to Rick, which rhymes with works like Hick and Dick.

Ick.

I guess we should be thankful that the Richards of today aren’t answering to “Prick,” unless you're Dick Cheney.

Dick, Meg, Ike, Bitsy, Chuck, Madge, Harry, Jack, Bob, Bill… All these names—aside from seeming wildly Caucasian, or Cauk, which rhymes with Hawk, which would be a totally rad name—derive from a moniker that bears little resemblance to the nickname. And some aren’t even shorter. John is a four-letter, one-syllable word to begin with. Whyyagottabe changing it to Jack?

A lot of parents are cutting to the chase and bypassing potential disparities between Christian names and sobriquets. They are just putting Bob on the birth certificate and calling it a day, which rhymes with Dr. Dre, which I can get behind, because it’s short for Andre, which totally makes sense.

Unlike Dick, which is just plain wrong and happens to rhyme with dong.

(photo: ericgarland.co)

Unctuous questions at author readings

It’s not quite right that I’m punching this in the face, because while I love book signings and author readings more than anything, I adore loathing the bespectacled sycophants who amble up to the mic or wave their hands wildly during the Q&A portion of the evening so that the celebrity author has no choice but to hear what they have to say…and say…and say. 

See, before the question comes the preamble.

I was just at a magical evening with the sexy, brilliant Junot Diaz and I wanted to rip his or my clothes off. But first, I wanted to rip these interlocutors a new one.

“I love your new book and am struck by how much you revisit the themes of love and loss in your work. For instance, your short story XX features the character XX, who once again experiences love, loss, and even cheating. On page 53, for example, he says…”

Translation: I am SO smart. My thorough homework and obnoxious eyeglass frames prove this. And, oh yeah, I worship Terry Gross.

“As a longtime educator in the public school system who teaches your books in my class, I couldn’t help but wonder…”

Translation: I'm credible. I'm a teacher. Admire me.

“My mother lives in the Netherlands and reads every word you’ve written. Then she shares it with her friends. Then she books a flight to Boston and stalks you as you walk to class at MIT. Did I say that out loud? Anyway…”

Translation: I am your biggest fan. Well, okay, my mom is but I like you too, so I get extra credit.

Let me translate something else: You are a suck up. The 499 other people in the audience don’t need or want to hear you spam yourself all over the author. Send Junot a note, sign your panties, or wait in line and ask him to inscribe your hardcover or your breasts.  Whatever the case, cut to the chase and ask your fucking question and stop holding us hostage with your simpering need for validation.
All this said, I can't wait to hear any questions you have during my Punch Parties this fall!

(photo: jacket2.org)

Uptalking

I'm not always the most tolerant gal, particularly when it comes to language. Lots of voices are like nails on the chalkboard to me (I’m looking at you, Real Housewife Teresa Guidice), but it particularly irks my shit when women end their sentences on the upswing, as though they are asking a QUESTION? As though they are unsure of what they’re SAYING? As though they are seeking APPROVAL? As though they are asking for someone to please, please punch them in the FACE?

If you want to be an insecure, infantilized girl, head to the Playboy Mansion and become a Stepford bunny. Until then, grow the fuck up and finish your sentences with a different type of emphasis.

(photo: cauldroncraftminiatures.blogspot.com)

Malapropisms and mispronunciations

I’ve been a stickler for language since I was in 7^th grade, which means I’ve one persnickety fuck for decades. I try to tamp down my know-it-all-ness when a friend or relative mangles the mother tongue (luckily I surround myself with really smart people) but nevertheless, I internally cringe when someone busts out a malaprop or mispronounces a word.

There are words and phrase that have been around since the dawn of the OED, or at least since we’ve been alive. It’s harder to forgive the repeated slip of the tongue. That makes me think you just don’t give a rat’s ass.

In junior high, I did a paper on anorexia. I love my mother but to this day, she refers to it as “anorexis nervosis.” I can’t fix this, or her repeated use of “reinerate” (vs. reiterate) and “bookoo bucks." I still haven’t figured out what the eff she means when she breaks out “coup ferré.”

To me, the most oft-misused and ear-bleeding offense is “irregardless.” When I worked at a publishing company, the editors would roll our internal eyes every time the owner threw that out in a meeting. Let me reiterate: I worked at a PUBLISHING company. Dude should have known better. Better yet, dude should have been punched in the face.

And if I hear someone bust out "nuculur," I'm going to mushroom cloud all over them, regardless of whether they were once president.

What language offense most gripes your ass?

(photo: comiccoverage.typepad.com)

Scrabble

I suck at Scrabble. I mean, I suck dead bear dry. I don’t know if I get too caught up in trying to wow everyone with an OED-worthy word. Maybe I’m fixated on the triple-word score. Whatever the case, I get a serious ass-whupping every time, usually by a 7th grader or a great-grandparent.

I want to punch Scrabble and its smug 10-point Z tiles right where it counts—namely those 101 2-letter words—because they are a reminder of how inept I am. I like to avoid humiliation at all costs, so why would I belly up to the coffee table and let my friends and family in on the fact that my English degree was a waste, along with that dictionary I got for my 16^th birthday? What good is it knowing big words when I get routinely trounced by xi, qi, and do re mi?

I may not get the triple-letter score but I do have a five-fingered fist that will produce a five-point word. In a word, OW.

Excessive punctuation

[Sorry for the short hiatus, folks. I was traveling and moving but not to worry, I'm back and as cranky as ever.]

I get it!!! I really do!!! Srsly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know you’re excited or scared or confused or slumped over the keyboard so your ear keeps hitting the question mark key. There’s no need to drive home the point by slapping me in the face with punctuation marks or poking me in the eye with those goddamn extraneous exclamation points.

I’m a big advocate of everything in moderation and yep, that applies to my semicolons. Ever since high school, I figured there was a perfect way to express anything through words. Words. Not punctuation. Spend more time conveying what you mean through language, please, and leave those poor, defenseless exclamation marks alone. What did they ever do to you?

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “Cut out all those exclamation marks. An exclamation mark is like laughing at your own jokes.” Word, Fitz, word. Can you imagine the difference it would make if he had thrown in one or several exclamation points to his otherwise gorgeous WASPy text, such as when Gatsby describes Daisy?

The original: “Her voice is full of money.”
The icky: “Her voice is full of money!!!”

A beautiful observation becomes the sort of squawking, self-congratulatory promise that a Billy Mays ad delivers. Less is more. Period.

(Art: collectingtokens.wordpress.com)

Talking about oneself in the third person

“I’m bored of Bono and I am him—I’m sick of me. I felt it was a little limiting to be in the first person,” Bono has said. I’m sad that I’m limited in the ways that I can punch him in his pompous face.

TIWTPITF’s shit is royally irked when someone starts talking about him or herself in the third person. Politicians like Bob Dole and Joe Biden, and athletes like Shaq and the Rock have been serving up illeisms for a long time. Yeah, I can smell what the Rock is cooking and it smells like dumbass. Remember that dude Suede on Project Runway? Even Michael Kors couldn’t deal with his hubris. Are you royalty? A dead celebrity?

TIWTPITF thinks the only people allowed to refer to themselves in the third person are Steven Hawking, Mr. T, and the Hulk. And oh yeah, Jesus, Buddha, and their pals. That’s it, and even then they are walking a fine line between acceptable and my fist. I have found what I'm looking for, Bono, and it's your face.

(photo: www.bigdogcomic.co.uk)

Staycations

This has been the summer of the “staycation,” a dumbass euphemism for being too broke to go anywhere interesting. Instead, people are encouraged to discover their own town, to go on holiday in their own backyard—literally, their own backyard. Instead of flying to a foreign country, renting a condo at the beach, or roadtripping to Wall Drug, set up a tent on your patio and sleep al fresco. What could be better?

Um, most anything.

If you are sitting on your couch for two weeks, you’re not on vacation. You’re unemployed or broke or both. Vacationing at home only makes you think about the shit you have to get done. Instead of recharging your batteries on this naycation, you’ll paint the kitchen, record your expenses into Quicken, grout the tub. Some holiday. It almost beats that time when you were 11 and you went on that cross-country family roadtrip right around the time your parents split up, doesn’t it?

Naming something annoyingly cute doesn’t make it so. Just look at Soleil Moon Frye or the critter from Gremlins. Yeah, Gizmo was adorbs…until you added water. A staycation sounds appealing…until you realize that you just reorganized your closet, waxed the floors as well as your bits and pieces, and sewed all the missing buttons on your clothing. Productive? Yes. Relaxing? Just stay no.

Don't even get me going about babymoons…

(photo: mybadpad.com)

It’s versus its

I could go on about my disdain for the wrong use of “there,” “they’re,” and “their,” or “hear” and “here,” but what really drives me batshit crazy is the improper use of “its” and “it’s.” There is no reason that it’s confusing. Seriously. If you fuck this up regularly, there is something wrong with you, you had a shitty teacher in junior high, or you just don’t care, which is almost worse. Language is sacred to me. When you mangle “it,” you figuratively shit all over my Strunk & White with your grammatical apathy.

This is all you need to remember: if you can say “it is” instead of “it’s” and it sounds right, then you should use an apostrophe. “It’s” is a contraction and should ONLY ever be used that way.

For example:
It is raining men = It’s raining men = Perfectamundo.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on it’s plain = Just plain wrong.

If you need any further help remembering this, I can go Pavlov on your remedial English ass and inflict a little conditional response with my fist every time you bungle "its" usage. That should remedy the situation, don’t you think?

(Photo: horrormovies.org)

Facebook quizzes

Pop quiz hotshots: Which of following are actual Facebook quizzes?

• 5 Things I Could Grab from Where I’m Sitting
• 5 Things on My Body I Can No Longer Grab
• Top 5 Ways You Want to Kick the Bucket
• Which Michael Jackson Hit Song Are You?
• Things I’ve Used to Wipe My Ass
• Things I’ve Put in my Mouth When Drunk
• Which Texting Emodicon Are You?
• 5 Facebook Quizzes that Will Drive You to the Edge of Insanity and Then Push You Over
  

Which Plastic Army Man Are You? Really? REALLY? Here’s a clue: I’m the one with the big fucking fist aimed in your direction. Plastic or no, I’m going to clock you and your waste-of-time questions. My friends already know 25 things about me. If they don’t, there’s probably a good reason (my police record, random hookups, and late-night refrigerator raids are not for everyone’s eyes).

Navel gazing has been taken up a notch with these quizzes, whose dumbassedness is only rivaled by Jar Jar Binks. Blogging, creating profiles, writing pithy status updates—this is all cyber child’s play when faced with the monumentally feeble attempt to make us believe we are more interesting than we are. I don’t give a rat’s ass what Jane Austen character I am (as long as it’s not Lydia Bennet); I’d rather spend my time reading Miss Austen than imagining myself stuffed into an empire-waist gown in a pre-deodorant era. I love my friends, I really do, but frankly, my dear, when it comes to your 5 favorite cereals, I don’t give a damn.

For the record, here are my top 5 ways I'm going to kick your social networking ass:
1) Shut down Living Social with a nasty virus.
2) Ruin your reputation by spreading a nasty rumor on the men's room wall.
3) Cage fight. I've got my top 14 phalanges right here, ready to inflict some damage to your face, Facebook. Don't even think about tapping out, bitch.
4) Start my own rival quiz network, where I'll ask questions that really matter (such as Top 5 Patrick Swayze quotes and 5 Worst Hangnail Experiences of My Life).
5) Ignore you altogether and watch reruns of Jon & Kate Plus 8. Just kidding. I'll be in the tub re-reading Persuasion.

(photo: bokardo.com/archives/comic-facebook-movie-quiz/)

Intentionally misspelled titles

I was just reading the latest issue of Allure (I’m its Seattle reporter) and read a quote from cover girl Fergie. When asked why she named her album The Dutchess and not the proper “duchess,” she had this to say (hint: she's not from the Netherlands): “The spelling is different because I didn’t want people who didn’t know how to say it to call it ‘the Douche-ess.’”

It gets better.

“I thought, ‘Let me dumb-ify it a little bit.’ Sometimes you smarten things up and get more clever with words. It’s fun to go the other way, and it’s always nice for people not to expect as much from me.”

Um, sweetcheeks, sorry to break it to you, but after “My Humps,” I wasn’t exactly expecting you to play chess with Bill Gates. But I did hope that you'd proofread the title of your CD.

Is it street to be stupid? Is it in vogue to be a low-forehead asshat? Call me nutbar, but why not use your celebrity to educate and elevate your audience? Why ya gotta be an inglourious basterd?

This sort of widespread dumbing-down interferes with my pursuit of happyness. And it certainly chaps my lovely lady lumps. I guess the only way to deal with these spellwreckers is to grab an OED and knock some sense—or at least an ability to spell the title of their album or film correctly—into them.

(photo: hi.baidu.com/twilight_zone/blog/item/94b3d1667f7d9a20ab184cda.html)

Punch Bowl Winners' Circle: "To whom much is given, much is expected"

Oh boy, what I am going to do to the next person who says, "To whom much is given, much is expected."

I hear it quite often at graduations and political speeches. For example I just heard it at Notre Dame’s graduation, the Lakeshore High graduation, and from George Bush (43rd President) at a speech he gave at Lake Michigan College. It is used often in political speeches because it means, “Don’t deny me your vote just because I am a rich person and got things easy in life because I’m really looking out for lowly people like you.”

The Kennedys said it a lot and it was made popular by Michael Dukakis when he ran for president. Sorry, I’m not normal; I remember everything I see and hear.

—Jim Pantelleria

I love this; it reminds me of what Uncle Ben tells Peter in Spider-Man: "With great power comes great responsibility." No, with great power comes awesomeness.

(photo: redprogresista.net)

American Idol judges

Dawg, yo, yo, check it out. Here’s the thing: After eight seasons of American Idol, I’m over the sniping and playground antics. I may be a cold-hearted snake, but I want to look into the judges’ eyes and redirect the conversation where it belongs (toward Adam Lambert).

What is going on behind the judges’ table? The wheels have come off the short bus. At one point, Paula pulled out crayons (probably what she used for her eye makeup) and handed them to Simon, suggesting he was a wittle childish. It takes one to know one, even if you are hopped up on an OTC cocktail. And Randy and Kara, I’m not letting you off the hook, either. Stop taking the bait, talking over each other’s barbs, and keep your eyes on the goddamn stage.

How can I be so heartless? Well, I need something new to do, since my “Seacrest Out” voodoo doll doesn’t seem to be working.

It’s too late to apologize. Just focus on the performances and stop bickering with each other. You’re eating up airtime that could be spent talking about Adam, I mean, the contestants. Do what you do best: Paula, keep giving us kookaloo non sequiturs. Simon, take the words out of our mouths when critiquing the contestants. Randy, take the middle ground. Kara, well, um, just follow Randy’s lead with the commentary and keep wearing pretty baubles.

To make sure you fall in line for the finale, the voodoo dolls are in play. Feel that, Simon?

(Photo: Michael Becker/FOX)

Middle initials

William F. Buckley, Johnny B. Goode, Howard K. Stern, Vivica A. Fox, Michael J. Fox, Alex P. Keaton, Craig T. Nelson, Donnie B. Douchebag, the list goes on…

Stephen Hawking doesn’t use his middle initial. Neither does Queen Elizabeth. You shouldn’t either. Heck, Buddha, Oprah, and Madonna can get away with just one name, you greedy son of a bitch.

I don’t have an issue with you having a middle name or initial; I have a problem with you using it. Like many actors (several who I mentioned above), William H. Macy added his out of necessity, since there was another Bill Macy registered with SAG. I get it. But if there’s no actual reason for busting out the middle initial, leave it where it belongs: on your birth certificate.

Jesus H. Christ, you are one pretentious fuck. Do you think one letter is going to be able to mask the fact that you’re lacking two other letters, namely “I” and “Q”? I think the only appropriate thing to do is to repurpose a passel of early learning alphabet books, Duct-tape them together, and beat you until you forget your name and we can start from scratch.

(photo: bestuff.com/stuff/alex-p-keaton)

Bizspeak

“Our business needs to grab the low-hanging fruit.”
“Take that idea off-line and put it in the parking lot.”
"Let's have a meeting to blue-sky that idea."
“We need more bandwidth to support the hockey stick on the home page.”
“Schedule a meeting next week for a masterminding session on monetizing our site.”
"How can we get to yes?"

Um, are you developing a new language? You should know that the only cool language to invent is pirate speak, matey.*

If you insist on talking nonsense in a bid to sound like you know what you’re doing, I’m going to have to take out my Franklin Planner and beat you, restructuring content without boundaries from the top down. Oh, you want to brand yourself, you say? Pull down your flat-front trousers so I can go old-media on your ass and brand you with a red-hot poker.

I’m just trying to be proactive.

What phrases make you want to beat your co-workers with their Blackberries?

* For a cool take on your Facebook page, go to the bottom left-hand corner of your page, click on “English (US)” and then you can switch things over by selecting “English (Pirate).” See what happens. Aaarggghh.

(photo: management-skills-development.com)

Celebrity baby names

Pop quiz: Which of these are actual Hollywood baby names?
a. Ikhyd
b. Reign Beau
c. Audio Science
d. Pilot Inspektor
e. All of the above

You guessed it, being smart and shit, that the answer is “all of the above.”

I don’t hate the players, I just hate the name. I’m happy to have these kids grow up and join my posse. Kal-El (Superman’s Kryptonian name) and Moxie Crimefighter can knock down my haters. Hermes is destined to be my personal shopper, and Reign Beau my nutritionist.

Kids have enough problems without insecure yet narcissistic parents saddling them with a nutbar name. Why not let them discover who they are, rather than assigning them a name that’s sure to seal their fate? In Neverlandish, Blanket translates as “your father is koo koo crazy.” Ikhyd sounds like an exotic animal that can roam the plains alongside an okapi. Jermajesty and Banjo are gonna get their asses kicked up and down the playground. And even I feel fucked just thinking about Audio Science.

For shits and giggles, let’s change your names and see how you like it. From here on out, Kal-El’s daddy Nic Cage is going to be called Lex Loser. Rachel Griffith (Banjo’s mom) is hereby dubbed Accordion Fold. Ving Rhames sired Reign Beau so I think it’s more fitting to change his name to Pot O. Gold. Audio Science mom Shannyn Sossamon can be tagged as “Exhibit A” and be used as a test subject in a research experiment.

And, finally, Robert Rodriguez, since you are a repeat offender (Rebel, Racer, Rocket, Rogue, ridiculous), I’m going to give you a special moniker; I'm thinking "Rectum" or "Reduce Reuse Recycle."

What names do you want to stick these asshats with?
What baby names make you want to claw your face off?

(photo of Jason Lee with wife and son Pilot Inspektor: almirgv.blogger.ba)

Parents who give their offspring names all starting with the same initial

Forget the Octo-Mom (is she related to Doc Ock?); I’m way more disturbed by 17 Kids & Counting, the TLC show about the Duggar family. Yeah, there are 17 of them. I could comment about the crazy number of children but that would be like shooting fish in a barrel. That’s not what gripes my ass. Rather, it irritates me when parents give all their kids names starting with the same initial. Jordan, Jason, Jinga, Jessa, Jill, Joshua, John-David, Jennifer, Jackson, Justin, James—okay, enough already! Would it hurt you to throw a Kevin or Stacey in there, John Jacob Jingleheimer Jackass?

The Duggars aren’t alone. I grew up surrounded by kids who came from an alliterative household. Carol was kin to Cathy and Christine; Dan’s siblings were Dave, Debbie, and Diana. Dumb.

I don’t even know where to begin with George Foreman.

(For the record, my brothers are Chris and John and my step-sibs are Jay, Joe, Paul, Amy, Denise, and Annette, because, obviously, my parents rock.)

(Photo: TLC)

Namaste

Every time I hear someone say "namaste," I want to beat them and their sustainable clothing with a rain stick. I mean, fine, say it at the end of yoga class…if you absolutely have to. But when I hear it outside of the ashram, it harshes my mellow. The likely culprits are people who get their kids hopped up on carob chips and let them run around Trader Joe's because they are "spirited."

Namaste means "The light in me honors the light in you." When I'm in shavasana (during my occasional foray into yoga) and I hear this, I throw up a little in my mouth. Laying on my back, well, you can imagine that this isn't a good thing. The light in me wants to knock your lights out or, better yet, reach in and rip out your heart chakra. Saying "namaste" doesn't make you enlightened, it just makes you a tool in an organic bamboo hoodie.

(Photo: powerfulintent.ning.com)