Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Things that Freak Me the Hell Out

1) Remember when Amazon.com used to be a neat place to get books, music, and movies? Then apparently they merged with every other website ever created and now you can also purchase wholesale portions of organic granola bars, a fish finder, a hyperbaric chamber, and your own cemetery plot and frankly, I don't like seeing those items in my shopping cart beside my "Snowdogs: Deluxe Edition" DVD that I hope features Cuba Gooding's commentary on why he possibly could've needed money bad enough to make a movie like this or like "Boat Trip". Also, I like puppies.

Note: The only acceptable reason to have made "Snowdogs" is because you needed to pay the ransom demanded by the Venezuelan rebels who kidnapped your mother. There is no other way anyone would have read that script or looked at the drawings on the cocktail napkin or whatever and decided that it was a good idea. I've heard 4 year olds call it "vapid" and "derivative". Then I decided to stop hanging around prodigies.

For real though, Dear Mr. Amazon: Having too many choices makes me rashy. I go to your website to buy books because I don't like going to Borders because there's always some hollow-cheeked folk musician in there, plucking his guitar and singing songs about how hard it is to live in Mt. Airy. Also, the entire store smells like adhesive. We do have a Barnes & Noble but I can't go back there because they caught me taking pictures of myself holding a copy of "Moby Dick", placing my hand over the word "Moby" and giggling.

I can't even order items off a menu that is more than one page long. This is why I inevitably end up getting whatever is pictured on the placemat, even if the item's description includes the phrase "comes with your choice of breakfast meat." I was raised in the Appalachian mountains (yes, just like Nell. "Tay inna wen" to you too, sir) where the terms "breakfast" and "meat" are not used in the traditional manner. I'm sorry that "Brenda" didn't take seriously my request for sparrow and while I shouldn't have yelled directly at her, I think I was right in my decision to hold up my placemat and shout "LIES! ALL LIES!" before storming out.

2) What is it about the Tour de France that makes every person who owns a bike feel like getting out and riding it? I have seen approximately 374 bicyclists here in the past week. A tip to the guy who lives on my street: Lance Armstrong is not riding a Huffy mountain bike that has a basket on the handlebars. You are not part of Team Discovery Channel. Your willingness to weave in the path of my car does not help him climb the mountain stages. Please, sir, just put down your kickstand (another thing Lance does not have) and go home.

I can't say I've ever been similarly influenced by a sporting event. OK, that's a lie. I watched that hotdog eating contest a couple of weeks ago and immediately added "Oscar Meyer" to my grocery list. But I didn't consume 39 of them in one sitting, nor did I dip the buns in a glass of water pre-bite.

3) The EZ listening station has been replaced by classical jazz today. It feels like I'm working in a hotel lobby where the guests are more interested in Power Point presentations than they are in clean towels.

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