Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Deep Nothings

The way those rock climbing harnesses fit around your waist and legs makes going to the climbing gym feel like attending a huge cameltoe convention. (The site was much better when they had a link to male cameltoes as well. Now it just looks like a soft porn site.)
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My brother always seems to find stuff like this online, curiously during the day when he is at the office.
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Aha! I have glimpsed the secret underworld of guy mags. My roommate left a copy of Maxim on the kitchen table this morning. The verdict: even the crap in there is a hundred times more intelligent than anything in ANY girlie mag that I've ever seen. Maybe I haven't looked hard enough. Maybe I should check out some lesbian chick pubs. Really, if you know of any "women's interest" magazines that aren't completely patronizing and condescending to the average straight or gay woman's sensibilities, let me know. I see women on the bus holding these things really close to their faces as if they're actually straining to absorb all the latest important information about cosmetics and handbags and how to please a man in bed. Because each issue contains never-before-published information on these topics? I don't know? Who actually reads that shit? Apparently lots of seemingly intelligent women. I get that people buy those things because it's a mindless half-hour distraction from their real lives. Hello? If you're going for mindless, you don't have to look far, or spend $4.95. How about the comics page? How about the REI catalog? How about the personals in the Guardian, or the back page of the SF Weekly (and improve your penis size at the same time)? How about watching the freaks on the 22 Fillmore?

All I know is that when I want mindless, I don't want to feel like I've also chosen to have my intelligence repeatedly insulted while I hold the door open for the assaulters. It's like watching pretty much any reality show. (Except American Idol. I'm hooked on American Idol. At least it's not a bunch of emotional infants trying to have sex with each other. Poor George. I wanted him to win. Oh, and of course Queer Eye.)

Man, tomorrow I'm taking a jaunt to the bookstore. If there's not a girlie mag on the shelf with multi-syllabic content and photos of women who aren't half dead from starvation, I'm going to start my own. Watch, I'll be a millionaire. Challenging the female intellect. An undiscovered business niche.
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Quote of the day, courtesy of my suberbly quotable swim coach, Waifa:
"You're going to do eight 100 sprints. These are balls out. I WANT TO SEE BALLS!!"
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About a year ago I was shopping for black peppercorns at Trader Joe's. The only thing I found was a jar of "Savory four-pepper blend" peppercorns. I approached an employee who was restocking bread, and asked him if they had any black peppercorns. When he said no, I asked if the four-pepper blend tasted significantly different.

"Well," he said, eyeing the different types of peppercorns in the jar. "The black ones are of course the standard peppercorns you know. The green ones are a bit milder and taste more herb-like. The white ones have a sharper taste, but not as strong as the black ones. And the pink ones are a bit sweeter, because they're actually dried berries from a plant."

"Wow, thanks," I said, impressed with his knowledge. I bought the jar of peppercorns.

A week ago this encounter popped into my head again. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe that guy had just spontaneously made up that answer to my question just to see if I'd fall for it. He's probably still laughing about my gullibility today. It just didn't seem likely that a 25-year-old stocker at Trader Joe's was likely to have peppercorn expertise of that caliber. Not that it was out of the question. People have all kinds of secret lives and talents beyond their crap-wage day jobs. But still.

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