Monday, November 22, 2010

...weekends are hard to post on...

As such, here (as promised to all of you who actually read/stalk my facebook) is a large summary of what I learned over the weekend. Enjoy.

This weekend I learned that...

...The Toyota Prius is a frightening car...

No I don't just mean in the crunchy granola better-than-thou hippie eco-nut businessman kinda way (because lets be honest, what kind of hippie can actually AFFORD a Prius). I mean just the average person driving it from home to wherever life takes them.

Yes this does mean I got to drive a Prius this weekend. For the record, this Prius comes to us courtesy of my dad's company (as it is a company car). He wanted me to try it out and see what it was like. Well...lemme put it this way...it was NOTHING like my Honda Fit. (You can stop laughing whenever you want. I drive a powder blue honda fit and I'm fucking proud of it) My first impressions of the car were very positive. I loved the keyless start, which I struggled with for a little bit at first (I'm already exhibiting signs of what I lovingly refer to as "Paren-itis" - that is, the degenerative disease that affects all parents' mental capabilities for seemingly simple tasks like programming the goddamn VCR.) After I got the damn thing started, I pulled, carefully, out of the driveway. Mostly because I didn't want to wreck my dad's company car. It was only after pulling out at the next intersection that I realized it wasn't my being careful that made me pull out slowly.

Nope. The car has NO acceleration whatsoever. And that is what is so frightening about this car. Not the death of the gasoline powered car, not the advent of the hippie movement, nothing of the sort. No the pants-shittingly frightening part of the Prius is trying to pull out of an intersection and realizing, "Hey, I have exactly 6 horsepower...and 4 of those horses are crippled and the other two are on their way to the FUCKING GLUE FACTORY. And that giant Ford F150 barreling down the road doesn't show any signs of slowing or stopping. And that massive, chrome-plated redneck grille looks like it's pretty hungry for some Prius...well shit...I'm gonna die in a Prius...spec-fucking-tacular..." Turns out I wasn't being careful pulling out of the driveway, that's just how the car accelerates. I didn't think I would ever refer to my Fit in these words, but I honestly missed the face-melting, eyeball-compressing, slam your head against the head rest speed and acceleration of that car. That's right, my honda fit would tear this thing apart in a drag race. And if that doesn't make me feel Tokyo-Drift cool, I don't know what does.


...Fanboys scare the shit outta me...

So some of you may know that I was at a Ska concert on Sunday. One band that was performing is called the Aquabats. These guys are ridiculous, even by Ska standards. But they know how to put on a good show.

But this post is not about them. This post is about some of their fans...specifically one of their fans who decided the best place to stand was DIRECTLY behind me position in such a way that his voice would funnel PERFECTLY into my fucking EAR.

Now I'm not bashing passion. Hell passion is far preferable to apathy. But there is a line, not even a fine line, but quite a large (think Korean DMZ) line between passion and "fanboy-ism". Anyways, going back to this fucknugget. If you are unfamiliar with the way the Aquabats dress, think light blue underarmor top with their band logo on the chest. Yep this kid was wearing one. Suffice it to say, they accentuated his man-boobs beautifully. This choice of garb contrasted sharply with his gleaming braces. Which naturally only accentuated his sultry high pitched nasal voice and severe lisp.

Ignoring his looks (as one should never judge a book by its cover...unless is trashy romance novels, in which case the repeated images of Fabio in various settings are all you really have to go on...now I'm imagining a romance novel cover featuring Fabio In Space...maybe I should write this...), there are simple rules around concerts. For example, there is a point at which it is appropriate to begin chanting the name of the next band (thus displaying your desire to see them perform). There is no explicit threshold for this, but it is generally accepted that you must wait at least for the prior band to clear the stage, and then even a few minutes after, as the next band begins setting up. In fact, it is usually not a typical practice to chant the band's name until they have set up, and the only thing keeping them from performing is either stage fright or hookers 'n blow (Varying depending on the band's level of experience). Well this courageous hero of rock wouldn't let anything deter him. Breaking down the oppressive barriers of normalcy, he began chanting "Aquabats" as loud as he could, directly into my ear, while holding up the band's prescribed gang sign.

There are 26 letters forming over 250,000 words (according to the Oxford English Dictionary...probably close to 400,000 if you count slang and the various misspellings of the word "definitely"), yet there are no words to describe the hellish cacophony now ringing in my hears. He did not pronounce "Aquabats" like a normal human would. No, he decided to go the Fran Drescher route. (Youtube it if you don't get what I'm talking about). Never before have I wished death upon another human being so strongly. I mean I understand that Ska attracts a nerdier crowd than say, a comparable metal show...but this was too much...Well lets just say that, once the music started going he got a good shove and was lost to the crowd...

And that brings me to a larger point. Fanboys/fangirls, fanatics, they are all just one step away from cult status...I'm sure if the lead singer of the Aquabats had demanded a live sacrifice on stage, this man would have been the first to volunteer, either dragging one of the numerous high school girls up on stage, or offering himself as a virgin sacrifice (because its REALLY not that hard to tell...) I respect him for having the confidence to do whatever he wants and not give a shit about those around him, but please, next time, do it outside of my personal phonebooth of hatred. (because everybody knows I'm actually a really really mean and uncaring person deep down inside).

...And that's what I learned this weekend...

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