Fucking shit up and fucking up shit

Ostensibly, to "fuck shit up" and to "fuck up shit" are interchangeable, but idiomatically it seems the former is intentional and the latter inadvertent.

It seems the current occupant of the Oval Office's policies seek the former while his legal team achieve the latter.

Give a shit?

Some months back I struggled to put together the headboard for an Ikea bed (and was reminded the items one gets at that store are actually Swedish torture devices masquerading as affordable furniture), and I vowed it was the last fucking thing I'd ever put together from there*. As I was alone I didn't refrain from venting my frustration through profane utterances. At one point I declared (in reference to the possibility of being required to assemble some such item in the future) that I "didn't give a shit" in some hypothetical wherein I may have to leave my wife and child in order to escape another agrivating assembly scenario.

It was not one of my finer moments, but that's not the point here.

Reflecting later on that expression—"I don't give a shit"—I was somewhat intrigued as to how that became a common idiom. It connotes a significant lack of concern for consequences with the indication of anger and/or exasperation; it carries a bit stronger message than merely saying "I really don't care." And while I have no difficulty believing there would be a need for such a sentiment, parsing out the literal meanings of the component terms there is the suggestion that if one does care about the ramifications of a decision one "gives a shit," and in that scenario it raises the question: To whom is one giving that shit?

I need more than 140 characters to tell you that 'F*Upd' is f*cked up

My relationship with Twitter went from general disdain before I really tried it to eventually finding some merit in it; if you follow the right people (those with clever or amusing or interesting albeit pithy thoughts) it can be better than Facebook in certain regards. (Well, these days saying something's better than Facebook isn't necessary giving it much of a compliment, but with any luck one gets the idea.) Ultimately, like anything else on the internet, some of it is good and a lot of it is crap, but one is under no obligation to trek through any more of the drek than one chooses.

I don't tweet very often (so it's not difficult to understand my low number of followers) but occasionally I am inspired to throw 140-characters (or less) worth of a thought out into the Twittersphere, with the general expectation no one will really see it, or at least that no one will reply. (Which is pretty much the same attitude I have about blahg posts; the difference is I spend far less time on the tweets, so those really are a more logical outlet for my online sharing. But I digress.)

And then there are moments where the void is preferable to getting some acknowledgement of someone else seeing a tweet. But in this case that wasn't quite for the obvious reason.

~

A few weeks ago I tweeted a quip regarding the traffic snarls in Los Angeles caused by the president's visit, suggesting if a 2016 candidate for the G.O.P. promised never to come here I might vote Republican.

Within minutes a… okay, the kneejerk descriptor would be "right-wing nutjob" but as will be seen that's not quite appropriate nor is it fair for me to cast such aspersions recklessly, so let's just go with… conservatively-minded individual replied positing an alternative theory: that I might vote thusly because "Obama F*Upd pretty much EVERYTHING he touches".

Good to see Twitter is still encouraging clever (albeit succinct) discourse, eh?

Things to not say in front of the baby: Substitute swearing

On a recent episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour they discussed use of profanity in pop culture, and how it is only effective when dispensed judiciously. Cursing the proverbial blue streak deadens the impact of the vulgarity. Similarly, the substitution of similar-sounding words that are not considered obscene by the FCC (or mere common decency) either in lieu of bleeping or to eschew that for broadcast can be more distracting than the use of the forbidden term would have done.

It's all about striking the appropriate balance when dispensing these so-called swear words. They need to serve their purpose without becoming pointless; they are a spice of language, and like any good spice too much makes the whole dish tasteless. However, pale substitution spices leave an unsatisfactory aftertaste.

Public profanity: A short guide to using it

Many would argue that the use of profanity in public has spun wildly out of control over the past few decades, and there'd be little denying standards are much looser than in my parents' day. However, there are moments when it fits perfectly with a given public situation.


For years to come I imagine a primary example of that scenario to be cited will be David Ortiz's speech before Saturday's Red Sox game—the first after the Boston Marathon bombing suspects were killed and captured.

Violence (in video games and in general): It's different than sex (according to the Supreme Court)

Last week the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a California law that would prevent selling or renting violent video games to minors; violent content could not be thusly regulated, Justice Scalia wrote, like material with sexual content, in large part because there's a tradition of violence in entertainment consumed by children (citing Grimm's Fairy Tales).

Let's dispense with the obvious: That level of violence is beyond what I can imagine anyone would want to see, and I'm hard-pressed to imagine any parent would consider that acceptable for children to watch, but I do understand how in a free society this should be something decided by parents. But if parents try to deny adolescents and teens this material that will only make the young want it more.

So here's what you do, parents:

Is that spam in your pants or are you just happy to see me?

From the hide-the-kids department:

Question a female friend posed:
Does the large amount of spam for "male enhancement" indicate that most men have small penises?

My response:
Don't be fooled into thinking it's as simple as the ones sending the spam somehow benefit from men believing they need a larger penis. Really, they're altruistically trying to make the world a better place.

As George Carlin noted, the real reason for war: Fear that the enemy is better endowed. (And the only recourse when you have the smaller penis: "Bomb them!")


via videosift.com

(Transcript of the track in question from George's comedy album with this bit, for those who don't like to watch video: http://www.iceboxman.com/carlin/pael.php#track5)

Ostensibly it's about playing on male insecurity, but really it's about ensuring world peace. Because no man who perceives himself as having a large penis would start a war.

And if it takes some scam breakthrough of science to make bigger that "special part of the male anatomy," we should consider those who seek to alert men about the availability of such an amazing product to be doing something to be applauded.

Frankly, we should all do our part and forward such messages to everyone in our address book. Unless you want more wars.

~

And now you know.

Just say... whoa

Today I wish to direct your attention to this post from my friend Tracy, an hilarious and gruesome tale of the birth of her daughter. Not for the feint of heart, but heartwarming.

The miracle of life is beautiful but nauseating.

Oh, fudge

[PG-13 post below.]

How did I learn profanity? It's obvious that somewhere along the course of my life I not only learned words like "shit" and "fuck" despite never being taught them in school. I imagine I learned it the same way Ralphie Parker did in A Christmas Story: from my old man. My father didn't pepper his conversations with swear words like a proverbial sailor but he would utter them when he got really upset, or smashed his thumb with a hammer, or some such scenario. It wasn't a calculated response; it was merely how he'd learned (probably from his old man) to subconsciously react in moments that (in a manner of speaking) required it.

I have no specific recollection of hearing my father use such terms, but based on how the parts of my life I do remember better went, I have to imagine that's the likeliest initial exposure I had to them. Obviously, forces beyond my parents further reinforced my using them at moments when I get really upset, or smash my thumb with a hammer, etc.

While it was never my father's specific intention to "teach" me these words, over the years he did help me through modeling (of a sort). I'm sure at some point, like Ralphie, I must have uttered one of the words in his presence and gotten in trouble for it, so I consciously learned something. However, obviously the lesson was not that I should never use those words, but that I should be careful when using them.

Those words had power. (There's a clever South Park episode about that.) By yelling them (or perhaps merely thinking them, or maybe even typing them) at a moment of heightened negative emotion or sudden physical pain, it mitigated the emotion; it vented some (not all, but some) of the anger or frustration I experienced (even if that frustration was directed at my inability to swing a hammer and strike only the nail, not my thumb). That may not be an ideal coping mechanism, but it's far from the worst reaction one could have. Focusing one's negative energy into an uttered word (or string of words) can release that negative energy.

What's interesting is how specific terms became codified as the "bad" words (identified primarily by the way they get bleeped on broadcast television). Conceivably anything uttered that achieves the goal of venting the frustration in that moment would serve; clearly that's why words that sound similar to the codified profane terms are said in moments when there is a lessened need for venting (such as when the nail you're holding with the thumb that's about to get smashed with the hammer slips out of your hand, falls to the ground, and slides into a drain; a simple "shoot" is sufficient in that situation, without needing a full-on "shit").

However, these variations permitted in public fail to carry the same catharsis, because they aren't the real thing when it comes to cursing; those words simply indicate a desire to suggest swearing was allowed in the circumstances at hand while demonstrating regard for social decorum. In moments where the need for release is too great (or when one is alone), only ejaculating (it has other connotations) a vile, unmitigated swear word serves the purpose.

And thus, one must be cautious about not overusing those words. Were it the case that I'd learned to casually toss some form of "motherfucker" into every other sentence, it would have lost any cathartic power before I finished junior high school. However, because my father conveyed through his actions that those words should be reserved only for circumstances that absolutely require them, I learned how to maintain their strength.

Frankly, I worry slightly about children whose parents never swear in front of them. Obviously, it's not good to let it run rampant when the kids are in the room, and it shouldn't be directed at the children, but if the parents always stifle that reaction when the children are present, they will have no choice but to pick it up on the playground, from children whose parents better roundaboutly empowered them.

I'd rather my child be the one doing the teaching in that scenario than the one doing the learning. At least there's some modicum of control exerted over my own offspring.

Good parenting, like anything else, is relative. Thanks, Dad.

~

Yes, the above eschews the use of profanity to insult others when they are the source of the frustration for which release is required. In that case, the use of swear words as epithets (or portions thereof) depends on one simple criterion: Can you take the guy in a fight, or at least outrun him? If not, then the outward appearance of restraint trumps the need for venting. (It's not like your average dipshit is going to suddenly wise up by being called a "dipshit" to his face.)

That's the sort of lesson that is, unfortunately, more often learned the hard way (typically on the playground).

~

Parents: Please don't allow your children to learn by reading this post.

Take a seat

Monty Python has a song with the refrain: "Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me." They didn't come up with the expression, of course, and they were using it in a humorous context.

(Monty Python? Humor? Really, Doug? Do tell...)

However, actually sitting on another's face seems like it would be uncomfortable for the sitter and potentially suffocating for the sittee. Conceivably the only option for sexual pleasure for either party would involve the one squatting over the other's face (without putting one's weight down on the person), or allowing the other's face to be plunged betwixt one's legs.

I suppose "squat on my face" doesn't sound the same, and undoubtedly it would not be an expression that would catch on in general usage, with squat possessing an undeniable connotation with defecation (and that appeals only to a very specific demographic sexually).

Still, I must conclude the whole "sit on my face" expression doesn't hold up to analysis all that well.

Granted, if we thought about the things we say—really stopped and thought about them before we said them—we probably wouldn't speak much at all.

That probably wouldn't be altogether a bad thing.

~

Something I should have noted up front: This blahg is not intended for children. (That's not suggesting it's for adults either. Frankly, if you can determine who the audience really is, please let me know.)

~


The above was partially inspired by this post, which handles the topic in a much better (and less disturbing) way.

XXXpensive

Open letter to the publishers of the LA X…Press newspaper regarding their pricing policies:

Dear sirs/madams/hermaphrodites,

For many years I have passed the boxes of your publication located on the streets of metropolitan Los Angeles and the surrounding environs (especially in the portion of L.A. identified as Hollywood, which I know is where your offices are located, having also passed them). The ubiquity of the boxes certainly makes a statement about the level of dedication you devote to making your product available as much as possible. Although I do not consider myself to be in your target demographic, as I am not inclined to get a massage from someone with a both sets of genitalia, I have long been performing a certain unintentional monitoring your weekly publications. So, to the extent that your efforts have provided a formidable presence in the marketplace (so to speak), you have succeeded in making the public aware of what you offer. Bravo on that count.

However, I couldn't help but notice rather dramatic disparities in the pricing structure of the papers in the boxes, and I fear this is adversely affecting your profit potential. For example, on Sunset Boulevard, not far from your offices, I saw a box where the slot for payment identified the price at 25 cents.
Certainly a reasonable price for a publication with four-color covers at least intermittently featuring women who are not completely unattractive. However, not even 50 feet down the street is another box with an open cover that offers the exact same issue for free.
Not only that, but the free box is in slightly better condition (if you overlook the graffiti); with the graffiti covering the window on the first box and the scuffed paint, it is practically directing potential customers to keep walking and go to the somewhat less off-putting second box to get it free. There you have just lost a quarter, and that's just on one issue.

I think it imprudent to mix the "teaser" free boxes and the pay boxes in such proximity, but if you insist, it seems you should invest the effort to make the pay boxes more attractive. I think the sort of person who would be seeking companionship offered in your pages is probably aesthetically inclined, and thus would be drawn to a more presentable box, and that any costs would be more than recouped down the road.

Farther away, in downtown L.A., the boxes are generally not in much better shape than the aforementioned pay box, but on those the price is listed at 50 cents—and it's written with black permanent marker, which just makes it look unprofessional, and hardly justifies doubling the price. (Even if it is still cheaper than the competition right next to your box.)
I understand it's farther for your delivery personnel to go to stock the boxes, but this is clearly working against your profitability. Your customers who cannot get to Hollywood deserve better if they must pay more, but I think charging more there is casting your policies in a bad light for those who travel to both locations. Surely you must realize that your potential readership is mobile, but they shouldn't have to drive that far to get a fair price.

Speaking of traveling, I will also point out that down in Long Beach your boxes are in similarly poor shape and there the price noted is all the may up to 75 cents (again, in sloppily composed marker).
I'm not sure what message you are trying to send to the denizens of that beach community, but at triple the cost of the same product available elsewhere, I can only conclude you do not think they are not that observant, but do not overestimate the effect of sun screen on their ability to pay attention; you will not sell very many there. I grasp that you must try to make more per copy to compensate, but ultimately you are shooting yourself in the proverbial foot in the customer aggravation caused by not having a more uniform price point.

Certainly, you make some money from the ads for adult entertainers that make up the majority of your pages, but imagine what improvements you could make to the editorial staff if you sold more copies. I don't mean to be overly critical, but on the one issue I actually read, the copy editor really left much to be desired when it came to the grammatically challenged TV reviews and editorial pieces. Clearly you strive to be taken more seriously from a journalistic standpoint, but the only way you'll lure writers who can use punctuation properly is to be able to pay higher than what I presume is the going rate of a free lap dance.

Obviously you are doing well enough that you have continued to publish, week after week, for many years now. However, I cannot help but think you are destined for bigger things, and these shoddy pricing practices are ultimately keeping you stuck in the rut in which you find yourselves. The necessary steps are easy, but you must be willing to take them.

I hope you will consider these suggestions carefully. I believe they could catapult you to the point where non-transvestite strippers would advertise in your publication (although there should always be room for the transvestites; they have been the backbone of your support, at least as far as I could tell from that one issue I read years ago). I trust you will not allow the fact that I have only one set of genitals to cause you to dismiss the recommendations I have made.

Best wishes,

Doug

Take me out to the Balls game

At the stadium, some players have intro music that gets played when their name is announced just before they come up to bat. To the best of my knowledge that the players themselves choose which song (portion thereof) gets played.

At the game the other day, I noticed some of these songs for the Dodger players. Nomar Garciaparra gets War's "Low Rider", for example. Another player (I cannot remember which one, but that may be for the best) had the opening riff of a particular song played as his intro music.

It was from AC/DC's famous Back in Black album. However, it was not the title track, or the popular "You Shook Me All Night Long".

It was this one:

"Given the Dog a Bone"

(For those of you unfamiliar with the song's lyrical content, you can read that here.)

Yes, it's about what you think it's about: Felatio. (Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and BJ's. Fun for the whole family.) Of course, when played prior to each at-bat, the song fades out before any of the words kick in, so no one who is unfamiliar with it would even know. Think Blue!

So while most of the crowd was eating their extra-long Dodger dogs oblivious to temporary irony, I was reminded of something that has long bothered me, because of my way of looking at things: the title. On the album it definitely reads "given" (as in the past participle of "give" or as an adjective), although the lyrics clearly indicate they mean "giving" (present tense of the verb).

Bon Scott may have drunk himself to death, but when he was the singer they could at least conjugate.

~

Maybe if we do the wave no one will notice. (I did participate in that, although I didn't stand up; I just kind of flung up my arms from my seat.)

Flush with excitement

Yet again we find ourselves basking in the soft afterglow of that most exciting of annual events. That's right: Saturday was Thomas Crapper Day. (You can read last year's post about it here.) My girlfriend and I celebrated the day at Universal Studios with my sister and brother-in-law, because there's no better commemoration of his supposed legacy than to use the restrooms at an amusement park. However, everyone likely participated in the festivities from wherever they happened to be just by using a toilet, be it in their own homes or the homes of friends, or even public places like restaurants or rest stops on the highway (shoes and shirts required for this category).

We even headed over to B. B. King's for dinner after the park to further celebrate on the toilets there as well (where the restrooms have attendants to hand out towels), but we're pretty serious about our Crapper Day; I don't recommend that level of celebration for novices.

Important: When it comes to joining in on the festivities, please don't overdo it, as no one wants to see another person rushed to the emergency room from excessive Crapper Day partying (a.k.a. crapping).

Remember, while it's true that when you gotta go you gotta go, it's also true that when you don't gotta go you don't.

PG-13 admission

Sometimes I feel this way:

Why can't these people around me
just
fucking
die?


Sometimes.