Why the 80s were better

I am a child of the 80s.  I wasn't born in the 80s, but I grew up during the decade.  I remember very clearly being awakened for school most days with my brother blasting Jessie's Girl by Rick Springfield or some random Billy Joel song.  I remember when Billy Joel was cool. Yup.  I remember when Uptown Girl was edgy. 

But why were the 80s better?  It dawned on me yesterday.  I listened to some 80s music on youtube and it prompted me, as it does, with plenty of other 80s tunes.  I realized that in the 80s we still had choices about what we could be and not be penalized for it.  Confused?  I was at first until I thought of some clear examples:

Now:
Slut


Slut
In the glorious 80s:

Slut


Good girl

You didn't have to be a slut to be a pop star in the 80s! Imagine that!  You could be wholesome and still be famous.  I know, it seems too good to be true, but it was in fact true! 

Also notice that Tiffany, while still gloriously slutty, is fully clothed!  You didn't have to be nearly naked to be a slut!  It was still based on the way you acted, not how you dressed!  Can you believe that?  It was freaking insanity back then!

Further, look at Debbie's Amish hat.  You could wear religious garb and not be considered dorky.  Nobody made cracks about, 'hey girl, where's your horse and buggy?'  or 'shouldn't you be at home churning something?'  Nope, she could wear that hat and be free from religious persecution of all kinds.

In the glorious 80s:
Notice his bald head has been cropped out

Now:
Your muscles make me sick


In the 1980s, you could look middle aged and still be uber famous.  I think Phil Collins was born bald.  Well, many of us are.  You know what I mean- I think he was born balding.  And with glasses.  Sort of like a little Monopoly Man.  But because of his musical genius he was lauded as the true cheesy talent he is. 

Today we have Justin Timberlake.  I'm not criticizing T-dog.  I don't even know what T-dog means, but I thought it sounded young and hip.  Justin sings and dances and in certain light is good looking.  He is uber cool.  Sure he's talented, but what if I prefer my pop stars with little hair and complete lack of rhythm while dancing?  I don't have a choice anymore! 

These days we're are forced to look at hot people all the time.  They're shoved down our fricking throats.  Tits, arse and well toned oiled pecs are the order of the day.  Sure, Justin Timberlake may have a cute butt but will he write a lyric as memorable as Sussudio any time soon?  Oh I doubt it.  He's too busy dating women equally as hot, if not hotter than he is.  He's spending all his time banging chicks instead of writing classics like Against All Odds.  Give me the balding dude any day.  Or at least give me the option of the balding dude.  Or at least give me a pop star who is around long enough to start balding!

All I'm saying is give peace a chance.  Wait, that's from the 60s.  No, what I'm saying is we built this city on rock and roll.  And I can feel it coming in the air tonight. I think we're alone now.  There doesn't seem to be anyone around.  You don't have to put on the red light.  But wake me up before you go-go.

What do all those song lyrics have in common?  Not written by people hot enough to be around today.  Folks, our focus on hotness is forcing us to lose other stuff.  Stuff like, oh I don't know, talent.  Don't let this happen people.  

The 80s were the best because they were the last decade where you didn't have to have breast implants to be famous.  They called it the "me" decade, but was that so bad?  I think now we're the "look at me" decade and that's so much worse.  The shit people will do so others will look at them is beyond all comprehension. And it's getting to be so everyone just looks alike.  We're sort of like the Stepford Wives.  But at least they were good wives.  We're just all idiots dressed like sluts.  We're sort of like the Stepford Paris Hiltons.

The 10s are looking to be a pretty shite decade.  I wish I could go back to the 80s.  Let's just make Ronald Reagan's corpse President and force Molly Ringwald (yes, gingers could be famous in the 80s too) to make lots of teen angst films.  I don't give a shit that she's probably 40 now.  Okay, we can have her make 40s angst films.  Whatever.  Just make sure she wears lots of pink, and is either always a snotty rich kid, or an independent thinking teenage type. 


Oh well, I guess I'll just listen to this until the 20s roll around. 












Your first is always your best

My first James Bond:


My first Doctor:


My first city:


My first arcade game:


Yeah, your first always being your best- it's sort of a load of shite.  No? It is true, in the above cases, and I'm sure many others- that the first is the best.  But I can also think of LOADS of things where the first was definitely not my best.  

My first boyfriend (this isn't actually he but I didn't think it fair to post his photo).  Needless to say boyfriends got much better after that.  In fact, one was so great I decided to marry him.  Nuff said.  And by nuff, I mean enough.  Enough has been said.  Meaning, case is closed.  No further evidence need to be given.  Are we clear?  Good. Geez, always having to spell everything out for you.  


My first computer.  Oh sure, it was amazing at the time.  But I can tell you that my iMac is so much better it's untrue.  This commodore 64 is like a silent, odorless fart and my iMac is like a bucket of cow manure.  I'm not saying my iMac is a bucket of shit. I'm saying my iMac is so much more in every way than the commodore 64 (one of the first portable computers cause it had a handle- kind of how my dog would be a purse if I duct taped a handle on her- not that I've tried that).


My first President.  Nuff said (see definition above if you're still unsure what I mean).


My point being, sometimes your fourth or fifth or 22nd is your best.  I guess the more realistic saying is that you'll always remember your first. But then again, I don't, for example, remember my first crap.  And you'd think that would be seared in my brain as it must've been chock full of shock and awe. "Oh my god, what the hell is that? And why is it coming out of me arse?  Mommmmmmmmmyyyyyyy!"  

Yeah, don't remember a single moment of that important event.

So I guess the real point is that these sayings- who the hell comes up with them?  They are total morons if you ask me. 




Shit or Not Shit 2

Going to the State Farmer's Market. SOMEWHAT SHIT

Of course we got some lovely tomatoes and other things for our picnic today. SO NOT SHIT


But we also talked to some seller who told us everything about a plant EXCEPT that it will die in winter- which he mentioned after a bunch were purchased and in our car. QUITE SHIT


Paper airplanes after the picnic. EXTREMELY FAR FROM SHIT

I hadn't made or flown a paper airplane in ages.  But after flying a few at my husband's face (with love) to wake him up on Father's Day morning, I've remembered how easy and fun a summer diversion they are.  Fortunately he flies them much better than I do.  Mine are the kamikazes of the paper airplane world.  Kind of how my frisbee throwing is the totally non-lethal version of Odd-Job (ie always hitting someone in the head with a dull thud). 








Celestial events make me wonder

Have you heard that an asteroid is coming straight for Earth?  Okay, not straight for Earth, but quite close in astronomical standards (by the way I always tell people I'm actually quite skinny in astronomical standards). 

The image below is not from an Atari game.  Nope.  It's the graphic from NASA.  The big green blob is the Earth and the little green blob is our Moon.  The line is of course the path of the asteroid.  Maybe I'm stating the obvious but it looks like a pointy boob to me.

The Earth is a nipple.  

Right, so my point in telling you this is not to discuss end of the world films, government plans to protect us (if you're an astrophysicist you'll probably get a spot in the bunker. If you can't even spell astrophysicist, well, put your head between your legs and kiss your arse goodbye), or even just to make jokes about the crude version of porn NASA is using our tax dollars to produce.

Nope.  I'm here to tell you this groundbreaking piece of information that changes everything.  Ready?  NASA has an office that discovered this asteroid.  What's its name?  I'll tell you. Geez, thought that would've been bleeding obvious by now. The Near-Earth Object Office.  Yup.  It's called the Near-Earth Object Office.  

NASA has an entire, well, office, to deal with Near-Earth Objects.  Now, I'm not sure if they mean a literal office- like one little skinny dude named Dick (short for Richard) with a desk, a coffee pot and  a fax machine who just scans the skies- or if they mean many rooms, maybe even a building dedicated to this study.  

I'm not knocking it by the way.  I've seen Contact.  And the other thing I took away from the film other than Jodie Foster playing a hetero convincingly was that we look at only slivers of the sky at any given time. Hell they only discovered this asteroid on June 22nd and it's going to skin the Earth's knee, were the Earth to have giant knees sticking out about 7500 miles into space, on June 27th. I think we should probably have a whole building or even a series of buildings dedicated to this work.  It could be called the Near-Earth Object Compound and I'd be totally okay with it.

No, my real question upon learning this is what the hell else does NASA have an office for?  I mean, theoretically the Near-Earth Object Office could be studying asteroids as well as my ample ass.  Both are close to Earth.  In fact, my ass has way more chance of a collision with the planet than that asteroid does.  Is some little scientist at NASA calculating the volume of my ass and wondering what kind of impact I could have on the gravitational field?  It makes me wonder.

My ass is a bigger threat!

Does NASA have an office for Nowhere fucking Near-Earth objects?  Or maybe an office for Things We've Seen in Star Trek But We Haven't Invented on-Earth objects?  How about a Near-Mars Object Office? No? We'll just let those fuckers deal with an asteroid themselves?  That's not very neighborly of us.  

I wonder if NASA has a Naming Our Work Very Literal Names Office.  I bet they do.  And I bet that's who named this poor Near-Earth Object Office.  Note, they chose to put the hyphen in.   If you remove the hyphen does that mean nowhere fucking near Earth? No?  Then if it doesn't change the meaning leave it out!  That hyphen probably cost the taxpayer a cool ten million.

I guess I'll conclude by saying that I'm glad NASA exists and I'm glad they are looking for things heading right for us.  I always wanted a job where I could pick up the red phone and say, "Mr. President! It's heading right for us!"  And these lucky bastards are the ones who get to do just that.  I think from now on that's what I'll call them.  They will now be known as the It's Heading Right For Us! Office.  See, they should've hired a hooker to do their PR.  


That's a Bit Shit 5

Hugo Chavez.


Ticks (they're probably more than just a bit shit if I'm being honest).



This ass isn't mine. 




Is the Footloose remake a sign of the apocalypse?

Or am I just getting old?  Okay, don't answer that bit.  It's not polite.  Let's just take a walk down memory lane for a moment.

Original film

Now let's go straight to hell.


Pile of Puke


Now, when I heard about this Footloose remake, I thought about fleeing the country.  Then I remembered that films are international and I wouldn't be able to escape.  I suppose I could go to the barren parts of Tunisia or something.  But I'm not that pissed off.  I am close though.

I know that they say everything's been done.  Got a great idea?  Yeah, someone else had it first.  Trust me. And I know they remake films in some ways all the time.  Truthfully, if they had taken the story of Footloose and just renamed all the characters and not used the title, we could be watching one of a dozen recent dance themed films.  But no.  The bastards had to go and take our pride and joy.  Our moment of pop culture magnificence.  And you do not fuck with Kevin Bacon.  That is just too damn far.

As I was stewing over this yesterday evening the cursed trailer for the new version came upon my television.  I convulsed.  I trembled.  I hit a pillow.  I killed a puppy.  Metaphorically.  I took a few breaths in and out and realized that the world isn't the same anymore.  Nothing is sacred.  Everything is dumbed down.  Hell, in the remake they have to actually show us the fiery wreck that caused the banning of dance.  In the 1980s we didn't have to see the carnage to get the point.  For fuck's sake.


Once the fog began to lift I realized something even more sinister.  Yes,  more sinister than replacing the crazy eyed, queen of heroin chic Lori Singer with bubblegum crotched Julianne Hough.  I realized that I am just getting old.  In fact, if I wanted to go deep- George Michael's ass deep- I could even compare my distaste for the remake of the film with the distaste the parents of the Footloose town (who remembers the fucking name anyway) had for dance and fun.  

And it hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. I am now saying shit like "they just don't make films like they used to" and "they ruin everything that made our generation great" and the worst one, "this was better with Jimmy Stewart".  Okay, that last one is what my mom would say.

But to be brutally honest, I'd rather have a living snake shoved up my ass than see Dennis Quaid play John Lithgow's character?  John Lithgow as a small town, conservative preacher?  Yes!  Dennnis Quaid?  The dude played Jerry Lee Lewis.  And he married his adolescent cousin. Not Dennis.  Jerry Lee. My point is I just don't see it.  

Oh, and then there's Chris Penn.  Good old Chris Penn.  Chris was the normal Penn, may he rest in peace. Who is the douche bag playing his part?  If they hired Sean it would kind of be funny.  But instead they hired Miles Teller.  I don't know who he is either, but I bet his brother didn't marry Madonna.  And that's enough of a reason for me not to like him.

Lest we forget the original's amazing soundtrack?  Tunes and scenes like this:

Kevin going batshit crazy in a warehouse

I just can't see the new kid doing air guitar in front of his crotch as artfully as Kevin.  I bet he won't smoke either cause now that kills us.  This new kid will probably dance in a greenhouse full of organic produce, and chug down a pomegranate smoothie before he grinds to a rap track.  There's no air guitar in rap people!  And you certainly can't angrily smash a biodegradable cup against the wall of a greenhouse very convincingly!

Okay, I'll stop ranting.  But my bottom line is this: 

There is a time for every purpose under Hollywood. A time to laugh... and a time to weep. A time to remake... and there is a time to not fucking remake. And there was a time for using someone else's ideas, but not anymore. See, the 80s were our time. Remembering the 80s is our way of celebrating life. It's the way it was in the Goonies. It's the way it's always been in The Breakfast Club. It's the way it should be now with Footloose. 



The Best Sherlock Holmes ever.

I love Sherlock Holmes.  Always have.  On long road trips we used to listen to the old radio show stories.  It always seemed preposterous that Holmes could figure things out as he did. "Dear Watson, I could tell he was the killer because he smelled of elderberries." 

Um, what?  What the hell did that have to do with it?  But Holmes would say something like that in a parlor of some stately home (I wish I had a parlor- I wish houses still had parlors) and the killer would say, "Impressive Mr. Holmes. No matter you discovered my story (killer proceeds to tell the story in detail so we the dumb audience member understands it) because I'm going to make sure you never tell it!" 

And then we hear dramatic strings, a crash, boom, bang and then a shocked, heavily breathing Watson says, "Holmes, are you alright?"  Holmes says, "Of course I'm alright."

It always sort of went that way.  

Holmes and Watson

But now we've got a new Holmes.  He's portrayed by Bertram Pantyshield.  No, wait.  Beaver Hairysnatch. Ugh, nope. It's Benedict Cumberbatch.  More impressive is Tim from the Office UK (seriously, if you haven't watched the UK version just stop reading my blog now because you're a moron), aka Martin Freeman.  Also spotted, the dude who played Glenn in Nighty Night.


Clip from Nighty Night


This Holmes story, Sherlock, is set in modern day London.  I am thinking of moving to London.  Not only is Sherlock Holmes there, but so is the Doctor (how a time and space traveler always ends up in England [or worse Wales] is beyond me.  I've heard Rome is nice too.  Maybe Paris.  Sort it Doctor).  If two of the most clever men in all of history are there then surely I should be added to make the trifecta of mysterious genius complete.


The only thing holding me back is Gwyneth Paltrow.  Not sure if I want to be in her city cause I might be suffocated by the stench from her ignorance of her privilege. But I digress.  Holmes talks over people and does things with little regard for the feelings of others.  Sort of like a really smart, useful version of my dad's wife (she probably has a hairier chest though).

There isn't much more to say about it than that.  It's good.  Watch it.  It's currently on Netflix. And Sherlock, if you're reading this, no shit. 

This is why we cannot have funny things



Apparently the Nike store in Boston has some shirts like this in their store window.  Get High! Now do you think Nike means, "walk by this store and don't purchase anything.  Instead go in the alley next door and score some drugs and throw your life into an endless pit of despair and either end up in jail or too poor to buy our products"?  

You don't?  What?  You are having a rational thought?  You think Nike is using a common phrase which may catch your attention to present an athletic feat only possible while wearing their products so you should come inside and buy some right now?  Ding! Ding! Ding!  You're not a moron!  

Unfortunately, the Mayor of Boston doesn't register as high on the IQ test as you do.  I suspect he actually makes an "X" when asked to sign his name.  He has written a letter to the manager of the store requesting that the items be removed from the window.  He thinks the items promote drug use and use the "lowest common denominator" to sell items.  I don't believe he even knows how to spell 'denominator' but who knows. 

And this is why I hate people.  Sure, the Mayor can write letters all fucking day if he wants to.  But I would prefer he use it for things like, oh, I don't know, asking Nike not to make their fucking merch in fucking sweatshops.  How bout that Mr. Mayor?  Rather than worrying about a few rich kids possibly buying a silly tshirt, you could devote a few minutes of your busy drooling schedule to ask Nike to pay people enough to afford both food AND shelter in the countries that produce their items.



But you know what bothers me most about the good work this Mayor is trying to do?  The lowest common denominator comment.  I admit it, I have a complex about my work because I feel some people would describe it as such.  I ask, what is wrong with the lowest fucking common denominator?  Think about it.  It is a math term, but the way we use it is essentially to describe the least sophisticated, most basic version of something- so basic it can apply to the maximum amount of people.  

What other things are the lowest common denominator?  Shit. Yes, we all shit. Elvis even died doing it. Fuck. Yes, we all will likely do this, even those who enter the priesthood because all those bastards are definitely doing it before they join up.  We know even Hillary Clinton had a willing partner at least once. Puke.  At least one time your body will say, 'nope, get this the fuck out of here' and you'll be on the floor, bent over, retching your ever loving guts out.  Just pray someone is there to hold your hair and that you didn't eat pepperoni and olive pizza. 

I could go on.  Point being, what is wrong with the lowest common denominator?  It's what makes us human and how we are all the same.  I think the lowest common denominator is fucking awesome.  The LCD (as the people like the Mayor who can't spell it often write) is ripe for humor and ridicule because we all understand it. It's why reality programming is so popular.

The other day someone said to me they couldn't stand people who are unable to finish a sentence without vulgarity.  I told them that was too fucking bad.  Did you know vulgar is basically just from a word for 'the public'?  It is essentially class warfare in a word.  You know what? Piss us off badly enough and we vulgarians can overpower you and shove your manners right up your arse.  Oh yes. 

As long as we pretend like we are all pristine and without vulgarity we all stop puking and shitting and fucking. What will happen then?  We'll be full of bile and shit and humanity will die.

I hope you fucking like the planet then Mr. Mayor.




That's a Bit Shit 4

Being old enough to hear a sample in a new song, and remember when the sampled tune was originally released.





Victoria Beckham's breast implants.


Cleaning out the fridge for garbage day tomorrow.


Do not can your anus

We've all said it.  If you haven't, you really aren't living.  It goes like this...

Next time you're strolling along outside in the evening, you look up into the inky night sky.  Hopefully there will be a few twinkling stars above for effect, but it's not really necessary.  Turn to your friend and say with feigned astonishment, 'hey, I can see your anus from here!'

Laughter ensues.  Oh yes. Relationships are strengthened.  The universe is at peace.

But these days you may run into the following problem.  Apparently a cultural change is afoot.  Our children, at least in some sectors, are being taught to pronounce the planet Uranus as 'yer-uh-nus' instead of as, well, 'your anus'.  My teenage child told me this cosmic shift was occurring but I thought he had made it up just to stop me from making that same joke again (which he's probably heard about 12,243 times in his life- often multiple times in one night).  





But alas this evening my television found itself on the Science channel.  Beaming from my screen was some yawn worthy documentary about the universe or something as massively boring.  Note, I took in zero, absolutely zero information from this program other than the narrator (probably Morgan Freeman- what in the world are we going to do when he dies and no one is left to narrate documentaries) pronouncing that hunk of rock near the former planet Pluto (puzzlingly named after Mickey Mouse's dog- I knew Walt Disney was more powerful than we've been told) 'Yur-uh-nus.'

Even though I was doing something else entirely, upon hearing such a pronunciation of Uranus I whipped my head around violently like Martha Stewart being served wine in a scotch glass.  It's just. not. on. 

How can society do this to me?  After all these years of faithfully passing on, to the point of abuse, my offspring this classic joke?  I toiled and troubled and made the joke, "I can see your anus from here!" even at inappropriate times (grandma's funeral) because I knew it had to be done.  It is the perfect one liner.  It is science and laughter wrapped together.  It's fucking educational for fuck's sake!  Why make education even more boring for our children?  You bloody bastards are the ones who NAMED it your anus after you had I assume already NAMED our anus the anus.  Because if you hadn't, well who in their right fucking minds named our poop shoot after a planet a million fucking miles away?

It's not our fucking fault! We've just made the best of a silly situation.

Whatever your feelings are about this, you know the joke must continue.  

This joke, while childish, probably saved lives. And that its existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want that joke told. You need that joke told.

I say we take back the pronunciation.  In the hallowed halls of our universities and Sunday schools we must make the joke as often as possible.  We must tell it to our children, to our children's children, and to our children's children's children.  

Make sure their teachers know it; their coaches know it; their Girl Scout leaders know it...  because folks, if we let your anus die, it could mean a shit storm of epic proportions. 


Shit or Not Shit 1

I thought I would start a companion post to my series of 'That's a Bit Shit'.  Sort of like a ratings system for my lovely readers.  I know you won't get the chance to do everything I do.  But were you to get the chance to live a life as boring as mine, you'd know exactly which things were slightly less boring.



Now I'm not sure how much money you must have when you are able to spend so much just on a massive fucking garden.  But I think if you add up all the money ever spent on breast implants, it is probably what the Duke family spent on toilet paper. 


P.F. Chang's  NOT SHIT

Even though I will never understand how such an old society believes that two sticks is the best utensil for eating, I still think their food is mighty tasty.  



While I applaud to no end the support from the BBC of science fiction, it seems awfully stupid to name it "supernatural" just because you have "sci-fi Friday".  These shows, while awesome, are not dealing with the supernatural.  You'd have thought the bloody country that invented English would do a better job with it.  



Happy Fricking Father's Day

It's Father's Day this weekend.  At least in the US of frigging A it is.  I don't know about anywhere else.  And frankly I don't care.  Cause all the fathers I care about are American.  Okay, the father of my children is not. But he'll celebrate it on the American date and like it.  

I thought though that I would give a short chronology of fathers in popular culture and how times have changed:

1950s- Mr. Cleaver, upstanding citizen.


1960s- Andy Griffith, upstanding citizen.


1970s- Mike Brady, upstanding citizen with afro.


1980s- Mr. Cosby, upstanding citizen with ugly sweaters.


1990s- Dan Conner, upstanding citizen with weight problem.


2000s- Raymond Barone, upstanding citizen with big nose.



Okay, wait so times really haven't changed, have they?  Do these dads remind you of yours?  They don't remind me of mine.  Are we presenting an idealized view of parenting and fatherhood on these programs?  Of course.  And thank God because we all pretty much suck in real life.  

So thank your dad for doing all those shitty things.  Like working too many hours and not coming to your school play.  Or maybe for making you play basketball because he played basketball even though you hated basketball and were horrible at it.  Or maybe for abandoning your mom, or maybe for favoring your older brother over you.  Or maybe he supported Liverpool (puke) instead of Manchester United. Thank him for all those bag of douche traits. Because all those shitty, horrible things he did made you who you are today.

And if you're reading this I can assume you're at least not on drugs or in jail.  Okay, you could be in one of those jails with internet access. Cool! Having readers in jail makes me edgier. And I guess you could be on some kind of drug that compels you to read lots of nonsense on the internet.  That's one useless drug.

My point though is that as evil as your dad may have been he's contributed to you being the awesome human you are right now.  And even though I probably don't think you're awesome and your dad probably doesn't either, I'm sure somebody does.  Tell them to thank your dad too.