If I had not caught her doing it, my wife may never have admitted to “sharing” my toothbrush. I use quotations around sharing, because I feel that if one side has not consented to the share, then the share is null and void, and becomes borderline theft. It’s a form of deceitful borrowing; using and giving back, so technically not stealing, but still using without authorization.
The problem arose when my wife bought us matching toothbrushes. Sensing a future issue, we had used identifying markings on each brush, marked with a “permanent” pen. The thing about permanent ink is that even it is not impervious to daily moisture and friction when applied to a plastic surface. So the ink was no longer visible after a few weeks, but I could still see the indentations of the mark if I looked for it in the right light, at the proper angle. This was enough for me to sleep in peace; to know that I was still using my own brush. When I really think about it, I don’t know what’s worse: someone using your toothbrush (purposefully or not) and not telling you, or using someone else’s toothbrush and not telling them. Either way, it’s a germaphobe’s field day. That night I entered the bathroom, picked up my toothbrush, readied the toothpaste, and noticed at the last second that the bristles seemed oddly moist for having not been used since the morning. I didn’t take me long to realize that something had gone very, very, awry.
So is this absolutely insane, to be grossed out at the notion of sharing microscopic foodstuffs and saliva with your significant other? My gut tells me yes, but it’s also told me that my whole life. You’re taught at a very early age not to share beverages in any container because of the backwash potential; especially if the Sharer is a known bottle sucker (not a pourer, but a full lip-sealing, liquid siphoner). So is all that warning waived when you start kissing someone? If one’s significant other becomes ill, should they then not even put up a defence against acquiring that same infection? Should they just phone in the pending days off work they will have to take due to illness? Should the medicine cabinet be permanently stocked with Cold-FX, NyQuil, DayQuil, and every other product that seems to eradicate sickness at the same speed of natural healing?
Not limiting this story only to my wife’s devices, I have heard of, and seen, other instances of chewing gum, lollipop, and various care-free, saliva sharing methods. I’ve seen something like this go down before:
“Hey, can I have some of your gum?”
“Sorry, I’m chewing the last piece I had.”
“Oh, well that’s alright, just give me half of the piece you’re chewing now.”
“…are you serious?”
So, since I enjoy a good poll like anyone else, I am leaving this debate to the very same voting device that I subjected Lululemon to. Readers, to the Polls!
It seems I struck a chord with the Yoga folk. So here’s your chance to make your opinion…visible! I say the Lululemon stuff’s just for girls, no matter how they market it. Am I wrong? Am I so right, your head is spinning like a top? Have I cast doubt into your once oh so sure world? Click away!
I was walking down the street earlier this summer when I was approaching a panhandler. As I drew nearer, I reached into my pockets in anticipation of the spare change request. Around the same time my hand was revealing itself from my pocket with a few nickels and/or dimes, the panhandler said, “Excuse me sir, could you spare $5000?”
Taken a back, and a little amused, my hand returned to my pocket with the change, and I replied laughingly with something to the tune of, “dude, if you get someone to give you that, I’ll be asking you for money.” I needed that change for the parking meter anyways.
There seems to be an influx of male humans carrying on with their lives, under the impression that it, for some reason, became “ok” to wear Lululemon clothing. Alright, alright, yoga is becoming a bit of a trend, and people like to do it, it decreases the chance of you dying in the near future, so I guess these yoga people need very specific stuff for it. That’s fine, stretch all the spandex on yourself you need to… IF YOU’RE A GIRL. All I’m saying is that there’s plently of manly workout gear out there, and this stuff ain’t it. Please refer to Figure A below for further clarification:
The symbol is a woman’s haircut, a “bob” if you will. It’s clear Fubu theory (For Us By Us, brand speculatively supposed to be only for black people), and all who oppose it are clear posers. This stuff’s for girls fellas, get over it.
The funniest commerical bit on TV right now, is the following threat by the brain to the eyeball that he will have to wear “The Onion Sombrero” all day if he can’t get along with the tongue.
The sheer visual imagery of an eyeball, sitting on its own, in the corner wearing an onion sombrero is comical/torture genius. I mean, who’s manufacturing onion sombreros? What’s the demographic there? It just can’t be a thriving business. It must just be like a gimmick product that a regular sombrero shop makes from time to time, to garner interest in the store. Luckily for the brain, he happened to be guiding his human, via the eyeball mind you, past the sombrero store during that time. Obviously they went into the store and purchased one, or else the threat would be useless. The beauty of it is that the eye would’ve seen it first, and then was forced to send the visual reception signal and information to the brain, whom then would, in turn, eventually use it as a threat of consequence for unruly behavior. The brain probably forced the eyelids open as he sensed them trying to close the eyes. That brain is a wily one, methinks.
There are very few moments in a man’s life that in which he will clamp onto his firm decision for life without any hope of wavering. One such moment is when a man discovers the deodorant that is able to keep him not just dry, but smelling good as well. It’s like hacking through a jungle trying to weed through all the different brands in search of “The One.” Some are deodorants that make you smell good, but don’t necessarily keep you dry. Others are anti-perspirants that keep you dry, but don’t necessarily keep you smelling good. Others are failures on both fronts. Some still promise to apply a magnetic coating that literally pulls attractive women from all directions towards you, and has them become attracted to you. After enduring seemingly endless test subjects in my teen years, I finally concluded that Old Spice High Endurance clear blue (not sure how those 2 work in tandem, but they deliver) stick was the product that did the job the way I needed it to be done.
The other day, my wife made the honest mistake of purchasing Old Spice “Invisible Solid” instead of my normal clear blue stick.
It was still Old Spice, so I decided to give it a shake. I was skeptical of how a white, flaky stick was going to not get all over my clothes, but the label did promise invisibility after all. Now, I know words take on new meanings over time (as gay changed from happy to homosexual), but I don’t recall reading the memo that said “Invisible now means Not-Invisible, and as visible as day is to someone who is not blind and is outside during daytime.”
Here’s what my “Invisible Solid” has left behind for me:
Now, it’s one thing to get white crap all over my clothes, but it’s an entirely larger ball of wax for someone I’ve invested both my trust and dollars in to lie to me so blatantly. Why Old Spice? Why? I know I got the wrong product, but why would you punish all of us by selling such an inferior product? When you’re testing stuff in the lab, and version 1.9 does everything except one very important thing, and version 2.0 does, you DON’T SELL BOTH PRODUCTS, you sell the one that does everything. At least label it as, “White, flaky stick that will more than likely make you look like a duface when people see the white stains it leaves on your shirt that you didn’t notice in time to change clothes first and are now stuck in public with people noticing your poor selection of deodorant.”
Old Spice, you owe me one. My dry cleaning bill’s in the mail.
Welcome to the second edition of the column that takes a closer examination of the stupendous and the just plain stupid that I’ve seen, heard of, or witnessed lately.
Let’s get right to the Asses category. Whilst slowly driving home from work through rush hour today, in the far right lane of a three lane highway, I noticed an East-Indian woman walking on the sidewalk. She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, just walking on her way. As we crept up to the traffic light around 20 km/h or less, we overtook a late 80’s, primer gray Dodge pickup. The ass-ish part is this: the Caucasian jackass riding shotgun in his buddy’s work truck decided it would be hilarious to imitate an East-Indian accent, and mockingly speak to this lady, who had done absolutely nothing to provoke such a racially slurred exhibition. You can use your imagination as to what it was said, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of a crude Apu from the Kwik-E-Mart impression. With any luck, the lady may have been out of earshot. She, at least, did not qualify the volley. It’s really hard to believe that as far as we have come as a society in terms of racial sensitivity, there are still people who just don’t get that things like this aren’t acceptable anymore (not that is was actually ever acceptable per se, more just common practice, albeit ignorant and still racist) and/or just refuse to make any changes in their thought process in lieu of just entertaining themselves with disrespectful, vulgar remarks.
Coming in as this instalment’s Ace, is “Insane” Usain “Lightning” Bolt (can a person have two nicknames like this?). With newly acquired world records of 9.58 seconds in the 100 m sprint and 19.19 seconds for the 200 m sprint, this guy is the fastest man on the planet. He’s also destroying all conventional schools of thought that say a person of his size should be running like an elephant. In response, he seemingly effortlessly gallops like a gazelle, and obliterates world records. And he does it with a smile on his face. And he’s entertaining to watch, and he makes people actually want to look in their TV guide to see when track meets are on. AND he’s (currently) drug free. What track star has been able to make all of these claims at the same time in the last 10 years? Ben Johnson didn’t exactly leave a positive impression on the running world, Donovan Bailey was cool (especially when embarrassed Michael Johnson at a 1997 150 m “World’s Fastest Man” showdown in Toronto), but he didn’t have staying power, and there have been a few American runners who set records in the last few years, but frankly no one cared about. Bolt’s got all the makings an athlete that should be a star for a long time. As long as he keeps not failing doping tests, he’s an Ace In my book.
If there’s one ongoing bother I have, it’s gotta be people walking around the streets with ski poles, trying to get in shape. I mean, ski poles? Is this all we could come up with as the next phase in physical fitness? Aren’t these devices generally reserved for precision steering and turning in DOWNHILL skiing? Did walking a straight line and semi-incline really get that tough all of a sudden? What gets me is that someone is making a truckload off people’s stupidity that has led them to buy into the theory that these sticks are gonna help them reach their fitness goals, and that that truckload is in no way affiliated with me. Also, the largest consumer demographic for this product seems to be old people, and by this phase in their lives, they should be able to spot a scam when they see one. But that’s just my opinion.
In other news, who is it that thinks renting scooters is so cool? Why in the world would i want to get out of my car that has at least 100 hp, to pay $50 to ride on a vehicle that can only travel the dollar amount i’ve paid km/h? They’re slow, you look just ridiculous on the road; overall, i don’t know why people are doing this to themselves for an afternoon. I mean fine, if you’ve chosen to scoot as a economic and environmental choice, ok. You’ve obviously come to terms with what society is thinking of you as you putter on by. But especially the ones who i see on the road all the time by themselves not with anyone, I mean, lets be honest, you’re not impressing anyone and you’re embarassing yourself. Hey, dems da breaks.
Let me tell you about televised talk radio. It’s on sportsnet from time to time, and believe me, that’s more than enough. Why in the world would anyone want to watch radio? If I wanted to listen to their radio show, i would listen ON the RADIO. At least then I could pretend that these people look better than they actually do; I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the perceived view I always have of a radio show host from their voice always disappoints me greatly when I see what they look like in real life. And this becomes ever so more apparent when I see these slobs on TV. This one guy, seriously looks like he just got up and didn’t even bother to dress himself properly for the show; like he’s used to not having the world see what a slug he is. This guy, i’m telling you…hair’s everywhere, didn’t bother to comb it, dark glasses so no one can see his hangover eye-bags, grubby old, baggy coffee stained zip up sweater, and I can’t confirm he was even wearing pants. I mean come on, is this actually entertaining to anyone to the point that they would sit down and watch this blockhead talk about his ludacrous sports opinions? I used to work at a job where I drove a delivery truck which only had A.M. radio, and the most interesting show on the RAD-I-O was the very same syndicated Fan Radio Sports talk show. It’s much better heard in its intended format.
I also got beef with people who want you to do something, but just tell you to do it, “if you want.” This bothers me. If you would like me to do something, why don’t you just ask? In truth, I probably don’t “want” to do it at all, as i’ve obviously not done it on my own initiative so far. What in the world has brought you to the conclusion that i would suddenly “want” to do it at the hint of your suggestion?
I have a feeling that the same way that my parents grew up on Led Zepplin and were chastized by their parents at the time for listening to “terrible” music, is the same way how my parents ridiculed me for listening to rap in the house, and i’ll probably be 40 or 50 years old pumpin’ Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg when no one’s looking. Funny how things like rock and roll and rap were once persecuted by society one day, and eventually accepted and enveloped into culture the next. I really really hope that emo isn’t next.
(orginally posted February 9th, 2009)
So, my right ankle is not that well off from fracturing my growth plate in grade 9 after coming down from a spike in a volleyball game onto John Herron’s foot. Also, I (speculatively) inherited my grandmother’s ankles, who was just recently told by her doctor that her ankle was worn out and couldn’t be fixed. All that to say, sometime this past summer (2008) I was playing on my rec-league once-a-month Korean soccer team, and I turned my ankle pretty good. It was in rough shape, but I managed to walk it off, and finish the game. The next day it had doubled in size and tripled in colors.
I showed to our school’s director, who offered to take me to the hospital. Now, from experience, this is generally nothing more than a job for Rest Ice Compression Elevation (RICE, if you will); nothing I haven’t encountered plenty of times before. But I figured, whatever, maybe get an x-ray just in case, see what’s going on in there. So off we went the next day to what turned out not to be a hospital at all. In the car, I was informed that I was now being taken to a Chinese Acupuncture clinic. Suprisingly, I didn’t have a problem with this, as I was now picturing extremely relaxed people lying face down in bed at a spa with a bunch of needles in their back, and all the combined surface area pain overloading the brain’s pain sensors, and cancelling itself out. I thought, ok, maybe this could be alright, lets see how they roll over here, maybe they know something North Americans don’t about healing. It was only a few bucks anyways, and I had always been intrigued by acupuncture. I truly had no idea what I had got myself into.
I was ushered into the little consultation room to have some sort of assessment that I didn’t understand because it was all being spoken in Korean. Next I was instructed to head to the next, smaller room, and sit on the table dressed in the butcher paper. After some more Korean conversation, things got underway in a hurry. The doctor grabbed my left hand (I remind you, the injury was my right ankle), and promptly inserted a 2-3″ needle into my flesh, right around my scaphoid (where your thumb meets your hand), twisted it around, told me, in my best translation, to “chill.” He then trodded off on his doctorly way. So there I am, by myself, with a huge needle in my hand, not moving because I’m frightened of stabbing my inner hand somewhere, and absorbing all the pain possible that comes with having ONE needle jammed into you, rather than the above mentioned multiples, and also chuckling a little to myself over the complete absurdity of what was happening to me. You can imagine what was going through my mind. Also, the doctor did come back occasionally to twist and turn the needle to and fro, and to send it in deeper, while I sent my incisors deeper into my right knuckles. Did I mention my RIGHT ankle was hurt, and there was a needle in my LEFT….THUMB??!!?? Eventually, 10 or 15 minutes passed, and the doc removed the needle, which seemed to have ended up about 4-5″ in there now. I thought the insanity was over. I was wrong.
I was then told through translation to lie down and the doctor grabbed my actual ankle. I thought, ok, he’s actually going to do something directly to it now. I was right. Moments later, a device surfaced that I can only describe as a stabbing gun. It was a glue gun shape, and there was one, or maybe seven needles sticking out of the end. My wonder had very little time to evolve to fear as my swollen ankle was promptly STABBED approximately 20 times in 10 seconds with said puncturing device. I’m going to need stitches in my knuckles at this point. There was so much shock running through me that I was seriously laughing at how comical it was was, perhaps a defence mechanism against the pain. After the aerating of my ankle was complete, they wheeled in another device; this time a vaccuum-sucker-pump of sorts (these are all technical medical terms I don’t expect you to be familiar with), which is then applied to my wounds, and the blood, now leaking from the holes, was sucked out for a few minutes. They eventually took it off me and told me to stand up, and that they were finished. They asked me how I felt, and I said, “Good,” only in hopes of concluding the visit. I made my way to the front counter to sign something, and they said, “Ok, see you tomorrow!” Well, my mouth said yes, but my mind broke out in hysterics. I grabbed a candy from the dish, and got out of there, as quick as conditions were allowing me. I did not go back the next day.
Also, on the topic of the title, Koreans make bad chinese food.