Hippie Pimple Party

Ever get one of those pimples that is so large and in charge that it looks like a damn moon on the side of your forehead/face/nose/neck/eyelid/butt crack? Yeah..me neither, but if I did I would bitch about it like this...

It starts off small and on the side of your neck...you barely give it the time of day and figure it's just popping it's periscope above ground to see what's up.



Suddenly the bastard grows. It was probably your razor that did it...disturbed it...made it self-aware, Sky Net style. Before you know it, you're neck is a microcosm of a scene in a B movie where a volcano takes over the city.



Then, sensing your insecurity relating to it's presence, the damn thing invites its friends over. The zit goes super nova on your ass and it's gravitational pull attracts the likes of smaller, yet no less annoying, pimples.



Realizing you've lost the battle AND the war, you give in to the terrorist's demands and stop shaving that area of your forehead/face/nose/neck/eyelid/butt crack. Now your skin looks like a hippie pimple party and the world is starting to question whether it's acne or a birth mark.



I've got no solution to your problem if this has happened to you; I'm just bitching about what-if scenarios.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Steve the Spin Douche

There's only one thing worse than a mega wedgie and a bad case of swass at spin class - a spin douche.  In this context douche is used to mean an obnoxious embarrassment of a human being (see Urban Dictionary) - Steve the Spin Douche is just that...a douche.  Let me caveat the use of this term by saying I'm not one to take the name of a feminine hygiene product in vain.  I'm certainly no feminist, and I'm no chauvinist either, but this guy is by and far the epitome of all that is douche.

Steve the Spin Douche is a freak show of embarrassing TMI and shrill karaoke.  His attempt at singing along to Ice Ice Baby is as unimpressive and pitiful as his complaints about loneliness and comparing his Valentines Day to a song with the lyrics "just you and your hand tonight."  Steve the Spin Douche's flat and screechy rendition of a Linkin Park song sends a shiver of embarrassment down my back - it causes me to hang my head in shame.

Steve the Spin Douche was fat when he started exercising in my class, and to his credit, he has lost a lot of weight.  Unfortunately his weight loss has only emboldened his douchey behavior.

Steve the Spin Douche pokes a small hole in the cap of every water bottle he brings to class.  When parched, he arrogantly throws his head back, brings the water bottle above his head and squirts water into his annoying pie hole.

The Spin Douche clearly had an attention-starved childhood as he strives for eyes of fellow spin participants.  Obnoxious commentary at high volume is quickly followed by forced laughter at an ever increasing level of loudness.  The Spin Douche uses exaggerated grunts to signify to classmates that he's working hard, and after a difficult set of hills, he'll release a long sigh and an excessive moan - he's spent like a 70's porn star.

I enjoy spin and believe you'd be hard pressed to find another form of exercise that burns as many calories as efficiently.  When I join a spin class, I'm there to work.  I'm there to sweat.  I'm there to get my adrenaline pumping and to burn the calories of the lunch time hoagie. I'm focused.  I'm determined.  I'm working out. However, when Steve the Spin Douche shows up, I contemplate leaving.

If you think you might be a spin douche, in some form or variation, please stop and think about how you are ruining the day of your captive audience.  And know that you might be the victim of a begrudging blogger with some time and knowledge of the English language.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

I understand, correct?

Forgive me for sounding like a geezer telling the neighbor-kids to get off his lawn, but I've got a gripe with a catchall phrase that has gained increased traction in social settings.  I know, right?!

Admittedly, Scott Simon of NPR fame and his story It's Rude! It's Crude! It's Stupid! Just Sayin' brought out my inner senior citizen and called attention to the phrase "just sayin'" which has thrashed into the every day vernacular.  Simon's piece takes issue with the phrase "just sayin'" because it provides the user an escape route after delivering a stinging comment.  Much like Simon's pet peeve phrase, "I know, right?" has become prevalent in today's language and used indiscriminately.

Urban Dictionary has entries explaining that the phrase is used as an affirmation to a previously stated idea - in essence agreeing with a thought and claiming to have had the same.  Example...

Coworker 1: "Damn printer crapped out again...that thing always breaks down."

Coworker 2: "I know, right?!"

Concurrence could simply come in the form of "yes," or "agreed," or "correct."  It's not as if you can rework the phrase to disagree - "I don't know, wrong?!"

If you ever mutter this phrase in retort, please, for the sake of the English language, give yourself a ten second timeout, and think hard about what you have done.  The quip is in the form of a question - this isn't Jeopardy nor are you a student of Socrates.  Propagation of valley girl language ala Laguna Beach or The Hills is as unbecoming in reality TV as it is in real life.  Overuse has led the phrase to reach trite status - as unoriginal as saying "can you hear me now?" when your cell phone cuts out.

As Simon ends his article, so too shall I in saying that I'm all for the evolution of the English language.  Lamenting the addition of words and phrases does not keep me up at night.  But I draw the line at the addition of words and phrases born into flaccid purposelessness and commonplace.  More than likely, if you utter the cringe-inducing phrase to me I won't call you out on it, but know that I'm judging you harshly for being a moronic drone, spreading over-worn verbage...but hey...just sayin'.

Follow Scott Simon on his twitter: @nprscottsimon

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Guilty Guster Pleasure

Preface: I did not pay this band even one penny before today...

Two weeks ago today I went to the Crystal Ballroom in Portland to see Guster play. The Band is on tour to promote their new album, the eagerly awaited, much anticipated, and first in five years, Easy Wonderful.



Guster played a lot of their old material, which was great since I hadn't listened to the new album yet, and it really brought me back to when I first started listening to them. Guster became a regular listen back in high school - friends burned a few albums and I procured others through legally dubious methods. Guster's concert led me to ponder the amount of time I've spent listening to a band I've never supported with so much as a dime. Being the analyst/number cruncher that I am, I decided to dive into the numbers my ipod would provide and came up with some interesting, if not disgusting, stats (as of today, 2/2/11).

• Of my Top 100 playlist, Guster accounts for 36 songs.
• Top song played: Satellite from Guster's Ganging Up On The Sun album; played 91 times for a total of roughly seven hours of listening.
• Total play count of the 84 Guster songs on ipod: 3601
• Total time spent listening to Guster on ipod:
  
  • In minutes: 14,710.32
  • In hours: 245.1719
  • In days: 10.2155
• Guster songs (84) account for 2.16% of all songs on my ipod (3878)
• Total length of all Guster songs on ipod (338.47 mins) account for 2.16% of total length of all songs on ipod (15639.55 mins)
• Guster play time (10.22 days) accounts for 11.47% of total ipod play time (89.03 days)

Disturbed? Nauseated? Can't say I blame you...like the title says...Guster is a guilty pleasure. Regardless of the readerships distaste of my Guster fetish, I enjoy the music, but this lack of financial support for the band had left me feeling sour. Even the concert ticket was mooched! I was guilty of skimping my guilty pleasure. Guilty...until this afternoon...

Determined to settle up with Guster, I googled my way to their official website (guster.com...real tough) to examine their fine wares. Shirts. Bands always make a killing on those overpriced symbols of fandom...or so I thought. Come to find out, Guster is selling shirts as low as $6. Six measly bucks?! I've seen bands sell shirts for upwards of $18 to $24. Ignoring the fact that the band was probably losing money on the shirt I was buying and that this purchase really doesn't make up for my previous pirate discretions, I decided on this shirt. I can now claim to have supported Guster as a band and a business while slightly easing my sickened soul. My guilty Guster pleasure has received my patronage.

Follow Guster on their twitter: @guster

xoxo,
ShavedGolf