B-sides, vol. 3

Yep, even more various "Takes on Life" quickies not worthy of a full version:

• The fact that there are more than one "Definitive Collection" compilation album of Michael Jackson tells me that someone's lying.


• Call me 12 years old, but it takes everything within me to not laugh uproariously whenever someone is described as being "anal." Seriously, let's just retire any non-anatomical use of that word.


• If your pants have belt loops and you're not wearing a belt, just who the F do you think you are? I mean, really. Put an effin' belt on, even if you have no legitimate need for it.


• How can an item of clothing fit so well in a store, look so good on you in a mirror, but then look no better than a trash bag with sleeves the first time you wear it? It's a retail conspiracy, I tell ya.


• Anyone who uses iTunes will understand me when I say, back off, iTunes! I'll update you when I feel like an update bigger than a new line of text coding is necessary. Until then, just sit there in the corner of my desktop and keep your mouth shut. You're starting to make me wish we didn't begin a relationship in the first place.


• Let's give it up for the firefighters who have to show up at a college time and time again at all hours of the night, each suited up in God knows how many pounds of gear, with fire engines and full-blown lights and sirens, knowing darn well that nothing more than an old, senile smoke alarm battery or a lit candle is responsible. At those moments, they must be momentary misanthropes -- you can tell by their under-the-breath grumbling and lethargic, un-urgent meandering across the campus. Who could blame them? If a college fire alarm system signals help, firefighters should be able to ask, "But has anyone actually seen a fire? Because we'd really like to not wake up right now. Let us know when there's smoke."


• Wearing a seatbelt should probably be an immediate indicator that we weren't really created with the intention to do whatever it is we're doing that warrants the use of a seatbelt.


• How can sand feel so good to your feet but feel so awful anywhere else on your body? It's so soothing between your toes, yet it's like jagging thumbtacks on any other area. Sand has this uncanny ability to find a resting place in every bodily nook and crevice, whether your pits, nostrils, ears, or [use your imagination here]. And regardless of how much sand you think you've rinsed off yourself before leaving the beach, you'll still find it tumbling in your dryer a month later.


• What moron thought of saloon doors? What inefficient carpentry and architectural design those were... It's like someone started making an actual door and then halfway through said, "Eh, screw it." I mean, even tumbleweed that moseyed in underneath was laughing at it.

B-sides, vol. 2

More various "Takes on Life" quickies not worthy of a full version:

• Is prison really that bad? You get free food, free clothes, a free gym, and a free place to lay your head. That seems pretty good. If they'd let prisoners wear whatever they want, I'd probably go kill someone right now.


• I would think the dumbest way to protest something is by setting yourself on fire. Why do people do this? Is this accomplishing something? I mean, if anything, I, your opposition, would probably feel a little victorious thinking, "Alright, there goes one more person against us."


• As I drive by people's houses and observe their scattered lawn ornaments, I can't help but wonder what internally triggers someone to proudly litter his/her yard with such shamefully hideous plastic toys and stone structures. Why would you do this to yourself and your yard? Garden signs, gazing balls, gnomes, flamingos... What did your yard do to deserve this? Sure, a fountain here and a statue there is fine, but several front lawns look like they're constantly celebrating the most God-forsaken holiday all year. The residents are like those people who force their pathetic pets to wear sweaters, only it's their lawn who is the unlucky recipient of its owner's unabashed taste for tackiness. I'm personally embarrassed for the yard. It's never a good sign when, on any given day, your house can be mistaken for having a yard sale.


• On a similar note, aren't bird baths and bird houses an open, cordial invitation for any and all birds to come poop all over your territory?


• Does it strike anyone else odd that all old people drive huge cars? I'm talking big ol' Buicks, Cadillacs, Lexuses -- you know the ones I'm talking about. It's like the more dangerous we become as drivers, the more massive the weapon we get in which to steer.


• If our elbows are wrinkly, shouldn't our knees be, too? Think about it.


• Politicians: You have got to stop dancing. One, it never turns out well; if you're a politician caught dancing on camera for any reason -- unless it's your inaugural party (and, really, dancing at that event should be omitted for these reasons) -- you will be subjected to mass ridicule, and no matter your patriotism, service to country, or acts of charity, your legacy will forever be cemented by your dancing clip accumulating hits on YouTube. Two, it's a direct contradiction against what we elected you to do: read bills, vote, and be wooden.

Speed Bumps

I have a degree in English, so I don't attempt to project that I know a great deal about civil engineering. I respect the mosaic of science, math, and indeed art that it is and produces. But I will say that much of civil engineering seems to stem from and correlate with social engineering. There's a lot of sociology and psychology poured in with the concrete in the cement truck's rotating mixer.

When you think about how many of our decisions in a day involve driving, traffic, signals, and yelling alone in our metal contraptions with windows rolled up, you realize the startling amount of our lives that are directly or otherwise controlled by civil engineers. It's a pretty powerful vocation. So much so that we all at one point or another try to fool ourselves and others that we totally could and should be one.

This is why we have speed bumps.

Without statistical data, I would bet that most speed bumps are not products of an engineer's blueprints or a scientist's studies but rather a regular citizen's outcry for control over human behavior. It's that "electric" idea that comes either immediately after or as a result of multiple experiences over time with someone else’s speeding violation. "Hey, people are speeding here, so lay a speed bump down." Speed bumps are the mindless solution to all parking lot/driveway speeding issues. To prevent people going over eight miles per hour, we have convinced ourselves that the perfect fix is to simply throw a long, miniature blacktop mountain range across the lane.

I'm sorry, speed bumps are the single most overused, most inane, most irritable copout of an endeavor to control behavior. If they slow traffic, they create a nuisance; if they are too high, they scrape cars' undercarriage; if they are too low, they influence nothing; if they are too wide, they hardly slow traffic but do create a nuisance and do scrape cars' undercarriage. And they all give the stink eye to a vehicle'’s suspension. They're basically punishment to all for the behavior of a few.

Look, it's simple really: people are going to speed. People are just going to drive at the miles-per-hour they feel comfortable -- speed bumps or no speed bumps. Rid the world of its speed bumps, folks! Quit trying to play traffic god. The parking lot is not your sanctuary. Unless of course you're homeless.

X Games

Thank God for the X Games.

Summer TV is terrible. Most summer shows are like the awful deleted scenes from a movie that were rightfully deleted. If it can't make the fall or spring network lineup, throw it in the summer's. Someone on his summer break is bound to faithfully tune in to the sub-par sitcom or the reality show reject.

For the rest of us, there's baseball -- which, don't get me wrong, I could undyingly watch every day, regardless of teams playing -- or the Discovery Channel. In my mind, neither is ever a bad choice.

But sometimes you just need something extreme (sorry, Discovery Channel, logging is never extreme, no matter how many degrees below zero the temperature). No, make that X-treme, with a capital 'X' and no 'e.' Like jumping ramps, unleashing flips and twirls, and hitting high speeds, all against God's plan of limitations for humans, via miniature modes of transportation intended for children ages 10 and under. (How much longer must we wait for events involving Power Wheels?) Small skateboards and bicycles, big air and risks of lifelong injury. The X Games comprise the best television entertainment you're probably not watching.

I find myself enthralled with what's either a heaping dose of audacity or unequivocal idiocy. Perhaps a blend of both. Whatever the building block for performing these lunatic feats, it's rather easy to withhold ill feeling for any of the contestants who shatters his skeletal structure on a stunt gone awry. After the knee-jerk grimacing "Oooh," I can't help but shrug my shoulders and immediately lose all empathy. I mean, you're sailing 30 feet in the air with a metal bar for your manliest organs to rest upon, for crying out loud. Or descending a ramp at 50+ mph while standing on a fraternity paddle atop golf ball-sized wheels. It says a lot about you when your profession solely revolves around doing activities that other people only do while drunk in order to go viral on YouTube.

But it's that lack of respect for their own bodies that I respect with everything inside of mine.

How long, though, is that cool? As my girlfriend accurately pointed out, as likable and indeed unbelievable as Tony Hawk is, it's kind of difficult to take a man who is over 40 years old and still skateboards for a living seriously. What will this man's walker at 80 look like? A skateboard with protective bars? Dude, hang the skateboard up. In your parents' garage. And put the yo-yo away and quit sticking your gum underneath tables if those, too, are issues that you're still struggling with surrendering from your middle school days.

Maybe he's holding out for the Senior X Games. I can't wait to see what can be pulled off in a Rascal. Now that's good summer TV.

Of course, there's always the WNBA.