You’re Doing It Wrong – Pop Culture Edition
I am a man who enjoys his pop culture. I watch too many movies. I mainline TV like heroin. I know more about the history of the WWE (nee WWF) than I do my own family. And I still read comic books, despite being old enough to be the aged scientist who accidentally bestows powers upon the hero.
But if I had to give it all up tomorrow, I’d be OK. I’d find something new to occupy my time. You can’t take this stuff too seriously.
Which brings me to “New Moon.” *Ahem*
If you are screaming and squealing when a trailer for a movie is shown, you are doing it wrong. If you are emotionally affected by the fact that the actor of the film, whom you will never meet and did not have a chance with anyway, is dating his co-star, you’re doing it wrong. If someone questions the quality of the film and you’re response is unmitigated fury instead of a rational explanation of its appeal, you’re doing it wrong.
Oh, Twi-hards, I cannot tell you how much I have looked forward to “New Moon.” I never saw “Twilight,” nor do I plan to. I will not see “New Moon,” either. I will also avoid the third film, which I assume is called “Mummy Boning.”
But I have been eagerly anticipating the release of “New Moon,” regardless, because when it’s finally in theaters, I won’t have to hear you scream about it anymore. I won’t have to put up with the incessant fast food tie-ins or the non-stop cycle of commercials for that movie. They will fade away and leave me in peace and quiet, enjoying (but not obsessing about) the pop culture that I so love.
Now if I could just tune out all the people who love “Lost,” I’d be in heaven.
Your game is weak, sir.
It is not a lot of fun working behind a counter. Whether you’re checking out the blue-hairs at Ross or taking orders from 1 a.m. stoners at Taco Bell, it’s not easy to put on a smile and just get through the day.
So when I see people who seem happy pulling drinks or ringing up purchases, I really appreciate them. Those people make commerce worthwhile. If everybody manning a register acted like an a-hole, I’d do all my shopping online.
But there are dangers, especially if you’re of the not-bad-looking girl persuasion. (Not-bad-looking guys are a dime a dozen. Buy in bulk.) And I saw, first-hand, one of those dangers this morning.
Waiting to order my breakfast sandwich, I had to witness Lamey McDouchehat hitting on the poor girl making coffee. He was telling her about how he couldn’t eat chicken because he knew what they did to chickens. Pitching woo like that, I was surprised she didn’t fall into his arms, but I guess she saw that episode of “Bones,” too, and decided she didn’t care.
There’s a place for gross dudes to hit on non-gross ladies. It’s located at the corner of Nowhere Near Me Dr. and Get Out of My Way Ave.
Seriously, man? “Chickens are tortured” is your pick-up line? Let me guess your closer. Is it, “I hope you like back hair”?
Allow me to apologize for being creepy…
I am not creepy. OK, maybe I am. I honestly don’t know. That is because “being creepy” is pretty subjective.
Is a person following you or is he just headed to the same place you are? Unless you are also a mind-reader (they walk among us), you probably won’t ever know — barring said stalker saying, “I’m following you! How am I doing?”
That said, I am perpetually worried that I am being perceived as creepy in situations where I am genuinely not trying to do anything creepy at all.
At the gym? I try not to look around. Situational awareness is great if you’re a security guard or Jason Bourne or something. But Greg Elwell will either zone out and listen to his music or watch whatever’s showing on the TV. Look around too much and you’re bound to meet eyes with someone and BOOM! Creepy.
“Does he/she think I’m staring at him/her? I’m already sweaty and gross and now he/she thinks I’m a stalker? Awesome.”
And, honestly, it’s hard NOT to stare at a he/she. I mean, if somebody has half a face that’s a man with a moustache and a tuxedo and the other half is a buxom blonde in a crimson cocktail dress, you can’t not look. And what the hell is he/she doing in the gym dressed like that? You can’t climb the StairMaster in those clothes!
At the grocery store, I am perpetually convinced that people think I’m going to steal their babies. And I cannot make this clear enough — I’m not even sure I want a baby that is half me, much less some strange baby being pushed around Crest.
So, you know, if you see me out and I appear to be creepy, please accept my regrets. I certainly don’t mean to be creepy; though now that I think of it, the hooded sweatshirt, sunglasses and ski mask (and the lack of pants) might be giving everybody the wrong impression.
Again…sorry.
