A little Ink on getting Inked

Sorry. I don't get it.

Personally, I like tattoos. I think anyone who chooses artistic expression has the right to do it any way they see fit. They can be meaningful, charming and stylish.

However, I'm not into permanent marks on my body but that is because I change my mind too often to make that type of commitment.

But....If you are a blond hair, blue eyed suburban teenager, why have you chose "Asian Calligraphy" as your expression instead of something that reflects you for who you are, ..Like pertinent shopping terms. (BOGO, I'm a one-day SALE pro or I love coupons)

What is it? The year of the Clueless?

I know for a fact if I asked you to emulate your tattoo on a piece of paper you couldn't replicate, let alone recognize it.

Let's visualize together for a moment. You are sitting at the Ink shop with thousands of choices from everything from the name of your prom date who won't call you back to a dainty butterfly that you could subtly locate on your lower ankle and instead you accidentally choose the Chinese symbol for Coca Cola thinking it gives you a purpose.

You think you have the symbol for "prosperity" written on your back. But little do you know it says, "prostitution" when you raise your hand too high.

You think you are showing originality and conveying a non-conformist attitude, yet the symbol has been copied so much that FEDEXKinkos has a template in the self serve area.

You think by adding three Chinese symbols, you have added creative beauty to your pale, milky skin, yet after 20 years of aging and sunbathing, those characters, which are a precise art, will have a complete Kangxi Dictionary compiling the 47,035 symbols spread across your back.

The funny part is the average Chinese person only needs to know 5,000 symbols to read most of the language...I guarantee you can't repeat five.

When and where in your Midwestern upbringing watching Law and Order SUV were you influenced by Far Eastern cultures?

The next time you decide to add culture to your self, try reading or learning a foreign language first. Because if you did, you would realize your tattoo you thought said, "wonderful goddess" mistakenly reads, "thoughtless wonder".

But as long as you can show it off to your friends and really...you are just waiting for a text message from your prom date anyway.

No Pain No Gain

Hi. Yes YOU. The one who isn't sweating after 20 minutes of riding a bike. Perhaps I can shed some light on the issue of you still haven't lost that college 20 you gained since 1993.

I know no one loves to exercise. We deal, adapt and enjoy the benefits, but we don't love it like we love chocolate or sleep.

But I was behind you on a treadmill and saw your attempt at fitness on the lifecycle and I just have to comment.

First of all, If you bring a cup of coffee and a newspaper to workout, you have already disrupted the fitness gods, they will not be on your side when you get on the scale later today. I know, TRUST ME.

Second, to actually benefit from working out, your heart rate needs to be a higher number than your waist size. Not trying to be mean, only helpful, (wink) but if you continue at that record pace of 3 mph so you don't spill your latte grande you might actually gain 5 lbs before you decide you are spent for the day. Seriously, you almost look as if you are going backwards.

Third, Yes, your iPod will get tangled in your pedals if you stick it in your short's pocket REPEATEDLY not learning from the the first dozen times it falls on the ground and you blurt out, "Oh NO, AGAIN?"

I know I shouldn't shrug my shoulders and sigh out loud when I address this with you but what is with that SUNDAY TIMES on your lap while you look as if you are churning butter at an AMISH farm with your legs? What are you trying to accomplish other than increasing your SUDOKU puzzle muscles? You can't be doing the CROSSWORDS as you answered the FIVE letter word for late night meal as "TGIF's"

I'm sorry. The towel? What is that for? um...its to wipe the spills from your latte off of the heartbeat monitor so it can show the next person that they have a heart.

Cause after writing this, I supposedly lost my right to express mine.

If exercise was supposed to be fun, it would be called binging.

Style for Sale

I swear it's Déjà vu all over again as I passed Real Estate signs this weekend. I must have missed the lesson in life where people from the same occupation all need to resemble each other.

Every For Sale sign in my neighborhood, whether its a global company or a local firm, they all must hire the same men and women. In their self promoting photos, where else do you see the same hairstyle, over exaggerated smiles and make-up on a Real Estate sign (....and that is just the men).

PS. Knot's Landing/Dynasty called, they want their shoulder pads back.

Some one in the real estate industry needs to stand up and say, I'm not a conformist and I'm going to wear a non-matching pant suit without accessories that has a picture that makes me look like I'm running for Miss Congeniality.

Do they spend all their commission on hair spray and eye shadow? Do they go to the same Beauty Salon and ask for the ReMAXCOLDWELLWEICHERT shampoo and cut?

Drive by any open house and the local Stepford wives and husbands will gratefully greet you at the front door with either Old Spice aftershave or Liz Taylor's Purple Diamond perfume stifling the air as they open their Encyclopedia Britannica size Filofax (um...ever hear of a PDA?)

Now to me, it's all good except the fact when I think I'm stuck in traffic thinking it was an accident and instead find out my delayed journey is the result of LYNN MARIE JOHNSON's "OPEN HOUSE" signs she is placing on the highway median every 1/4 miles with her pointy pumps still on. This is when I start to pray for higher interest rates.

I guarantee in her past life, she was either a Dental Assistant or Teacher's Aide but that 3% commission was getting too small to allow her to afford nude stockings.

Thanking You for Thanking Me

I don't care that you had to give up your precious tanning time to come work at FOOD&STOP-RITE from the brutal hours of 6-8 pm. I truly don't want to hear about your boyfriend calling you on your cellphone because you didn't answer his text to remind you to bring home more Ball Park Franks and Mountain Dew. I'm the one impatiently waiting to check out in the only non-express, no-cash, no candy, no children aisle because I literally have 13 items. I just would like a little courtesy and a thank you when I'm done. That's it...You don't even have to mean it.

When I was your age, we had to check out groceries without conveyor belts, bar codes and digital scales FOR 10 MILES, UP HILL, BOTH WAYS IN THE SNOW.

But no matter how rough we thought we had it, we did manage a smile, a thank you and even a "how ya doin'?'" for good measure.

If you are going to work in the service industry, you can get away with being lazy, inept and unreliable...but to not be polite and considerate to the patrons is just unacceptable.

I just spent over $150 in whole wheat grains, vegetables and fruits and you can't even say, "thank you for shopping with us" as I carry the plastic bags I asked you to NOT use as I walk out the door.

I'm the one who lifted the over-sized dog food bag on the belt for you to scan so you didn't have to move, bend or breathe hard from your throne of existence. I'm the one who ran to get you a price check on the potatoes because you can't read your produce list, or any multiple syllable words for that matter. NOTE: It's Whole Grain, not HOLEGREEN

I only ask that when the next person in line asks you to verify a price on McCormick Condiments, you don't respond on the intercom to the world, "Can I get a price check on McCondoms?"

I wouldn't even mind so much except the irony is as I walked away, I for some reason thanked YOU and said, "Have a nice day."

Flashes of Brilliance

Hmmmmph. Whether you were watching the DNC convention with 80,000 people or the Yankee game with 55,000, you would have seen an amazing view of stadium flashes, clicks and anxious people taking photos of the moment that will last a lifetime.

The fireworks effect of seeing all these smart, loyal fans flashing across your TV screen at the moment a candidate arrives or a batter hits his record home run resonates through the TV screen as the rest of us watch or sit by passively wondering the same thing:

PEOPLE. IN A STADIUM, A FLASH DOESN'T LIGHT UP ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE MAN'S BALD SPOT IN FRONT OF YOU.

Seriously, I know you think this life is all about you. But a flash is good for 8-12 feet MAX, not a quarter mile to light up A-Rod's dimples. It's good to shoot the hot dog guy as he hands you back zero change, but it's not going to lighten the stadium shadows just for you. Just not gonna happen.

Try keeping your hand still and shooting it without flash and perhaps with all the other "intelligent" people in the stands flashing at the same time, They will light your subject for you.

Can I state that any clearer? Your flash is not going to light up a stadium, gymnasium, field, or your child's ballet recital while you hang over the balcony and yell, "One more honey, I'm waiting for the flash to recharge."

Next time you sit near me and start taking flash photography aimed at center fielder who is farther away than your next record SAT score, perhaps I'll ask if you want me to take one of you with him in the background. Because with your AMAZING camera and a Cashew size flashbulb embedded in it, I'm sure I'll get one of you and Johnny Damon that you will want to frame in your bedroom next to your CHIA PET.

"I'm sorry, you're asking what is that shiny spot behind you in the picture?...Why its all your 1000's of friends who took the same photography class in Middle School. Next time, shall I get them in the shot too, because I'm sure you are the only one in the world who has a SUPER FLASH".

Roughing it on Broadway

I'm confused. I mean more than usual. I'm trying to pass your SUV on steroids and see it has more accessories than an Imelda Marcos walk in closet. It’s a vehicle, not testing facility for the Discovery Channel.

Tell me, are you going camping or did you just get done looting the Sports Authority?

From bikes to kayaks to tents and duffel bags. From GPS and iPods to Bluetooth headsets to Satellite radios. What ever happened to roughing it without a Four Seasons Hotel room key?

What does SUV mean to you? Stuff Until Vomit.

The irony is I guarantee you aren’t traveling farther than to the first road that doesn’t have a traffic light. I can see you unpacking in front of a Rain Forest Café because you saw a tree that didn’t have a bike rack near it.

Dude, save the thousands of dollars you spent buying items that said “titanium”, “halogen lit” or “aerodynamically infused technology” and buy a plane ticket to Wyoming where no matter what town you land in, you will already be roughing it 10x more than what I see you stuffed into your Swiss Army Knife with wheels.

Wouldn’t it make you feel better just to buy an Xbox360 with a First Person survival game. I’m sure your muscles would appreciate the fact that you aren’t trying to prove to the world that you and survivalist Lance Armstrong only have ONE thing in common-YOUR yellow wristbands.

It's a Numbers Game

What’s your number?

Quick, other than your home number, recite the next five numbers listed in your cell phone.

NO, NO, not the speed dial number 1-9. We are talking 10 digits my friend. Ten numbers that are forever forgettable unless you are Rain Man. Cell phones have given us 24/7 access to our friends and loved ones. But it has done permanent damage to our chances of ever winning on a game, I like to call, Cell Phone Go Fish… “um..does your number have any 3’s?”

Pop Quiz: You are on vacation without your phone charger as your cell just went dead. Call your voicemail from a pay phone to see if you missed an important call. (OH..it’s that Time Machine looking booth behind the liquor store takes that scarce monetary coins called quarters)

Can’t remember the number? Perhaps you should try your sister in Seattle? I know that it has a 7 in it. How’s your daughter’s cell phone number coming? Any clue?

Just what I thought.

We have become slaves to our own digital demise. With a combination of everyone having home, office and cell numbers to remember, we trust our silicone friend with every important digit instead of even trying to contemplate a short term memory of the numbers.

You can’t walk past five people in public without two of them holding a phone to their ear. The other three are texting the other two to return their text so they can call their friends to text the message they received yesterday from the VM that was part of the picture message that never got forwarded to the mobile IM message that was emailed to their mobile address, while it simultaneously updated on their Facebook account during the download of a new ringer from Beyonce as they text vote their opinion to who should be the next American Idol.

Ahh. But I digress as usual.

I have solved the problem. I just print out all the numbers on a lined piece of paper that has letters to organize by name.

Um. why yes..it is called an address book, but mine is really really small and I only use it when my cell phone is dead without a charger.

Does anyone have the number for Dominos?

If Only You Could Eat This Ticket

I’m in a long line at convenience store. I just want to buy a newspaper and a bottle of water. Didn’t realize QuikChek changed its name to SloMoChek as an aspiring elderly Marlboro Man with his three adolescent children is in front of me in the only open register buying lottery tickets.

Visualize Dennis Hopper without a bath, unmatched sandals or Speed Stick. I’m more concerned that he is NOT interrupting my few minutes of life by buying milk, bread or even a Twinkie for his tax write-off dependents.

He is stealing my precious earth’s oxygen by spending his morning and an entire new crisp $100 bill on lottery tickets.

Keep in mind, he wasn’t considering only buying 10 or 20 tickets and spend the rest of necessities. He was animate about using (what it looked like) his monthly salary on pink and white slips of papers with his favorite numbers on them.

“Boxed, straight, match these birth dates, anniversary dates and my third wife’s (accidental) death certificate date”. Someone needs to educate him that there isn’t a number 65 month or a number 45 day on any calendar since 2500 B.C.

I stood behind him (actually a few feet back for safety and sterility purposes), not knowing to laugh at the event or cry as I watched the counter clerk, repeatedly asked him to clarify the numbers for the next 15 minutes. I’m not a big gambler, but if I have a choice of fruit and veggies over the 1,000,000,000 to 1 odds of winning anything but a gift basket with more lottery tickets in it, I think I got that decision down pat.

Can we please have a law against anyone spending more than 5x their life savings under their mattress on anything but food, shelter and HBO?

Isn’t there a 1 800 Don’t be Stupid hotline for those who put their family’s care behind their need to stay up to 10 p.m. and watch a local woman who patterned her dress style on Sex in the City from Season One screaming the number of the white ping pong ball that pops up in front of her. Boy, I’m so much more in awe of Vanna White than I was yesterday.

The saddest fact is that even if he ever wins this life changing score of millions. There is no sign or confidence that any of the winnings would go anywhere other than on the next dog race, horse track or political candidate who wants to legalize body odor as a new energy source.

I did get my paper and my water. I sat in my car, opened the lifestyle section and saw a man from Arkansas who won $10 million yesterday. His biggest revelation, “I can’t wait to get back to WalMart as I have a deep fryer on Lay-a-Way.

Searching For All The Answers

It's before 5 a.m, so pardon the thought process. With that being said, even at this ungodly hour, if you search for something specific in the year 2008, you would think it would be relatively easy to find it on the world's biggest search network.

When I search for New World Tragedy, I don't want to see the recent Paris and Lindsay fight with Lauren and one of the Simpson sisters (I think the one without the nose job)

When I search for Meaning of Life, I shouldn't see McCain and Obama banner ads float by my result index. “The Meaning of their ad budget that we are funding with political donations maybe. Life? I don’t think so.

When I search for History of Economics, I shouldn’t have pages of Michael Phelps’ new endorsement deals. (But it does make me want to clean my pool)

When I search for stars, I never..I mean NEVER have to see a link of any American Idol contestant, Justin Timberlake or a Jonas Brother. (Asteroid maybe, but star, please)

When I search for used cars, I shouldn’t have to see any “Pimp My Ride” wannabe with candy apple paint and a fondue kitchen in the back seat and 7 LCD screens embedded in the Corinthian leather.

When I search for top news, I shouldn’t be linked to TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. Seriously after watching that for 3 straight hours a night, it gets old..Trust me.

When I search for me, I shouldn’t get some college kid with same name who loves to YouTube himself playing Quarters with Lime Vodka. I mean, no one had video cameras when I went to school…I don’t think.

When I search in the search, I should find the phrase, “Maybe you should have paid more attention in school, and you wouldn’t have to ask these questions today”.

Smile, You're on TV

Am I the only one who looks at the Women's Olympic gymnastic team and sees nothing but misery?

Count the smiles you see throughout the weeks in Beijing and you will only see ONE...when the Gold Medal is awarded. The rest of the time, no matter the angle, the score or whether they reached the height requirement to go on the Big Kid rides at Disney Asia, you will never see them happy.

I don't care how much you can stick your bum out after a routine routine or that you ignore the fact you wake up with a wedgie each day. Is the 10 years or more of your life listening to the Soup Nazi coach scream "No food for you" truly worth that chance to travel to China? They say it costs over $150,000 or more to train an Olympic athlete. Last time I checked you can get a first class ticket and stay in Beijing for 6 months for about $15,000 and smile hourly.

Each story you read about the dedication of these mini girls, you hear about it was always their mother's or father's dream to raise an Olympic champion. How about dreaming that your daughter can choose their own dream, eat a Wendy's Baconator sandwich once a month so they smile more than once every four years. My Cynical Soup Nazi says, "NO more Daughter's for you".

Saving Face on Facebook

Who are you kidding with the cropped version of your photo at a wedding from last spring's social season.

This is Facebook, not DeFacebook. Remember, when we can only see half a shoulder, 3/4 of your hair and part of your chin is missing, we know its more that just a HE/SHE now missing from your life's picture. Perhaps you have a few more issues that can't be removed by a cutting board.

Pulease, you have to have at least one decent picture that doesn't have an EX-someone or other in the frame. If you have to, go back 10 years. We would rather see you high school prom picture than your scorned version of MTV NEXT. I'm trying to figure out what you are trying to prove. Perhaps that you have to share with your social networking universe that you have separated this person from your life including any emulsion, digital or Polaroid you ever taken together.

Actually, it shows that you think this is the (only) hottest shot of you at the best time of your life. Do you want this un-friendly ghost from image's past to know that you haven't felt any more beautiful than when you were still together?

If you can't post a new pic of JUST you or at least you and your best friends binge drinking to forget the fact this digitally cut out individual still is part of your Friend's list, cancel your account and go back to AOL groups.

Ever hear of PHOTOSHOP? Fade, dissolve or add a new love to your over exposed life with a touch of a button-ANYTHING but this kindergarten scissor effect of you trying to keep that one fun night with your EX alive when that dress...THAT dress just wasn't all that anyway.

Stressed Out Over Stress Test

I guess when you hit a certain age, you can't even bend over without having to get a physical or stress test first. Either that, or there is an arcade game in every doctor's office that doesn't take change, only co-pays. I found out the hard way and $40.00 in quarters later.

I had my first stress test this morning. Nurse asks me, "How you feeling today?" Let's see, you are shaving my chest with a Dry Bic Razor, sticking a cold wet (for lack of a better term) pastie on 8 different spots on my body and preparing me to get on a treadmill that was last serviced during the Spanish Inquisition with a tackle box with wires attached to my hip with most of my clothes off. "Um..I'm just ducky, thanks for asking."

Watching the heart monitor while I WAIT and wait for the doctor...SEE back issue blog http://cynicalbuzz.blogspot.com/2008/05/bleeding-for-godot.html

The monitor says I'm actually living for the moment at 45 beats per minute (bpm). Isn't that closer to unconscious than awake? As I think of the net results before I even step a foot on the treadmill, I watch my stress anxiety take the bpm's up all the way to 75 and I'm not even standing yet.

Cardiologist comes in and tells me to start walking slowly. (What? after sitting here waiting for 45 minutes, you want me to crawl on this rubber hamster wheel without stretching? Isn't that grounds for malpractice?)

I courageously say, "Crank it up doc, You told me to Fast before showing up and I need to eat something before my stomach sets off a need for a G.I. test."

Did I mention his lab assistant is taking my blood pressure every other minute. (HELLO, if you want me to finish this micro marathon sometime this morning, don't ask me to take my hand off the safety rail for 20 second intervals so you can squeeze my armpit and cause my arm to go limp)

After 10 more minutes, they elevate the treadmill to the Mt. Fuji setting and the assistant "accidentally" hits the 18 mph on the dial. At that moment I swear if they don't give me a Gold Medal just for surviving this race of life, I'm going to protest to the AMA and demand a new judge. --WHAT? too much Summer Olympics in my life this week?

I finish, I live, I scream (silently of course) as she rips my new hairless circles off my (NOW) pasty white skin and they tell me I'm fine until next year.

I dress, I jump in my car, open a energy bar I had just for this purpose and it has melted against the wrapper so I'm sucking the chocolate out of cellophane. Someone take my stress setting now, as I wouldn't even pass the WalMart employee exam. Plus, I hear the "Say Welcome in the first three seconds of observing a customer" section is a bear".