JayarJackson

1.                  We’ve all heard of Beer Goggles, so do self beer goggles exist?

All of us adults know and understand the not-so-amazing phenomenon of beer goggles.  If you drink enough alcohol while out at a bar, the unattractive look decent and in some cases, hot!  The guys having a drought nab some woman to hook up with and women that have chosen their drought status give themselves enough of an excuse to end it.  Sure, it works for the objects of our affection, but don’t we take a look in the mirror every once in a while or at the end of nights out on the town?  Don’t we look a little extra sexy when we take a glance at ourselves in the middle of firmly placing beer goggles to distort our actual judgment in the cruel world? 

Try it the next time you’re out, party kids.  Your disheveled, unkempt look at the end of the evening just might look better than your sober preparation just a few hours before. 


2.                  Those Viagra commercials are so ethical; they always make a note to show that the couple is married.

I watch a lot of ESPN and therefore, see more Viagra and Cialis commercials than I can count.  Hmm, I wonder who their target audience is.  Anyway, I noticed that in every Viagra commercial I can think of, they blatantly sneak in a shot of a wedding ring on the woman’s hand, or a theme based on their marriage.  Does this help their image amongst men, 50 years old and up?  Without the proof that their catering to married men having trouble in the sack, their sales just might take a dive.  I don’t think we’ll be seeing one of these commercials showing a gray haired man taking off his wedding ring as he heads in to a bar to the tune of…”Viva Viagra!!” 

1.                  Pointless car horns are the biggest catalysts for an instant bad mood.

I was in a pretty good mood yesterday. I was driving down Olympic Blvd heading toward work, it was 80 degrees outside, my windows were down, and one of my favorite songs was on the radio.  As many know, the far right lane in LA doubles as the parking meter lane.  During certain rare times of the day, that lane has no cars parked in it and everyone is afraid to enter it since it’s not the norm.  That’s where you’ll see my ass passing all traffic and actually making the often proposed time of “it takes 20 minutes to get anywhere in LA.” 

So as I neared my final turn, a big old half van, half Winnebago quickly seized one of the meters in my lane that I enjoy taking advantage of everyone in.  This was completely legal and within his right to do, so I snuck back into the lane next to me that had a full car’s length of space between the two vehicles.  Since we were all stopped at the red light, this maneuver was all done at 2 mph and since my right turn was only 10 feet ahead, this maneuver also only hindered my fellow driver from getting to the red light sooner.  He didn’t even have to look at my “USC Alumni” rear license plate frame for any longer than 10 seconds as I was dipping right back out to make my turn.  (Los Angeles is littered with cars representing USC with license plate frames…we’re kind of upfront and sometimes obnoxious about it.)

So you can imagine my surprise when he blasts his loud horn directly into my open window where my head was contently boppin’ to my jam!  In this instant, this mild mannered young Black man forgot that Pharrell was entering the bridge and went into a hand flinging, “shut the hell up” tirade wishing he’d blow that horn again.  Smiles turned to frowns, what would have been polite head nods from driver to driver turned to mean mugs and I dare yous, and the sunlight didn’t seem to shine so brightly anymore. 

Still, 10 seconds after his horn was needlessly utilized and I was immediately back on my route, the radio magically came back on in my ears, that fool was a lost memory, and the sub-zero temperature in the look I gave him warmed back up to 80.  It’s a beautiful day in LA!!

 

2.                  Why do baseball managers wear baseball uniforms during games?

My Dodgers are in the NLCS after sweeping the cursed Chicago Cubs with a serious goat impediment.  Anyway, I’ve been getting into watching baseball more closely for the past 3-4 years and I finally noticed the odd practice of the managers of the teams, also known as coaches in other sports, wear a full baseball uniform, complete with baseball pants and a jersey donning their name and number on the back.  I can’t tell so far if they wear cleats or not. 

What the hell do they need all that on for?  They look absolutely silly.  Most of these guys are pretty damn old and decrepit looking.  Sure, they used to play the game back in the day, but time has since tap danced all over their athletic builds, leaving the body of a dude that definitely eats large portions.  Players have their numbers and sometimes names on their uniforms for identification purposes.  When a foul or penalty is called on a player in basketball or football, the referees assess the foul to the number.  Why is Joe Torre wearing #6?? 

Can you imagine if rickety old Phil Jackson coached the Lakers in some basketball shorts and tank top jersey?  What if Charlie Weis coached Notre Dame from the sidelines with tight ass gold Capri-like pants, shoulder pads covered by a jersey, and a helmet? 

This doesn’t make any sense.  Tell these baseball guys to put on some khakis and a polo with team logos…please.  Leave the past in the past. 

---JJJ

1.                  Do music reviewers have to TRY so hard to sound like they’re the gods of music?

I never really read professional music reviews because everyone’s taste is different, so what would make me decide on an album based on some “professionals” taste in music?  I was so 50/50 on whether or not to get the new N.E.R.D. album last week that I actually dipped into some reviews to see what they had to say.  I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when until I stumbled upon this “helpful” tidbit: 

Like its unexpected stylistic kin My Morning Jacket's Evil Urges, Seeing Sounds finds its creators partaking in the subversively phallocentric narcissism of staring at their CD collections, confusing music listening with music understanding rather than enjoyment. 

Dude, just tell me that you didn’t like the CD because Pharrell and Chad tried a little too hard to make us “see the sounds” they were gazing upon, and failed to give us something we’d enjoy listening to.  We know, you’re smart and know a lot of words, now stop uselessly piling a bunch of them on top of each other to make your opinion more valid than someone else’s.  This nose in-the-air review made me disrespect his simple opinion even more. 

So, here’s my review of the review: This gentleman’s unabashed & ostentatious examination of the Seeing Sounds album catapulted me into an inquisitive state of mind where I pondered how many barbiturates the executive must have been using when he elected to employ him. 

And by the way, he was right; the entire album isn’t that great…

2.                  Sometimes being an understanding, bleeding heart American is just as insulting as being a close-minded, “get out of my country” American.

I was at McDonalds this morning, (yeah, I know, I’m slowly killing myself) and as I ordered I noticed the elderly lady next to me with literally about 10 coupons ordering from the Latina cashier.  With all the things she was trying to get, along with her odd voice, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about and neither could the cashier.  After the cashier kept asking her “chicken biscuit?” 3 or 4 times, the elderly lady decided to order in Spanish repeatedly saying, “comprende Espanol?” 

The cashier looked up at her co-worker and at others in the line and continued to speak in English, trying to make it obvious that she speaks English quite perfectly and just didn’t understand her complicated order, just as I didn’t.  Too late at this point, the lady was in full Spanish mode, with a hard-core American accent.  As I walked away, I think the cashier gave in and just took the order in Spanish, flipping through the multiple coupons being used by just one little old lady. 

At first, I thought “how insulting to assume she doesn’t know English just because she struggled to understand what you wanted.”  In reality, the little old lady probably figured that she was making it easier on the Latina behind the register, “if she doesn’t understand English, I can speak to her in Spanish and everything will be just fine!”  She wasn’t even upset, just accommodating.  But…maybe I’m wrong? 

1.                  The next time I go to a club, I’m leaving money and ID at home while wearing baggy jeans and a baseball cap.  A Flashlight is all I need.…yeah, a flashlight.

I don’t do the club thing.  I love to dance and meet people, but if I began to get into my reasons for never going, this would end up being a book.  Anyway, the staples that everyone always has to make sure they have are their ID and the appropriate attire.  That’s understandable, but when I was at a club in Vegas for the first time in a long time, I noticed one thing that is universal: flashlights are all powerful. 

No matter how drunk people get, how loud the music is, or if they’re trying to holla at some girl, when the security puts a flashlight beam on the floor, the crowd splits in a hurry.  No words need to be said, no tap on the shoulder, one glance at a moving light and everyone is compelled to get the hell out of the way!  I wonder what other powers this simple emergency tool has in club settings…

So, the next time I head out to a club (which will probably be sometime in 2010) I’m going to carry a big Mag Light flashlight.  When the bouncer that has an attitude for no reason tells me I need to either give him $1000 or carry 15 girls in on my back, I’ll just flash the light in his face…free entry!  When the bartender tells me that a cranberry juice with a splash of vodka will cost me $20, the flashlight powers will get me some eggs and French toast with my juice.  And when the DJ keeps playing the first 10 seconds of my favorite songs before switching to play 10 seconds of another song, my strong flashlight will hit him from across the room, forcing him to play the Jay-Z verse at the end of “Frontin,” dammit!! 

1.                  I wonder if some girls’ parents know they’re being portrayed as a slut on TV.

I’ve been watching The Real World lately and for the first time, in my latest attempt at being an old man, I thought of what it would be like to see my daughter on the reality show.  I know that the producers of some of these shows like to let us see the sexy young folks having fun, getting completely wasted, and hooking up with each other, so I think of what some of their parents must think when they tune in after the season is over and see this all over TV.  That part is obvious, but some of the guys bring home random girls from the local bars, calling them regulars, and getting them to jump into bed with anyone that happens to live in the Real World house. 

            I’d love to see the look on some people’s faces if they happen to channel surf past MTV and unknowingly catch a glimpse of their daughter’s ass in some guy’s room, being called a skank.  All this while the fellas are being seen as such ladies’ men.  Damn, I’m never having daughters!! 

1.                  Teenagers’ jobs are harder than our full-time, salary occupations.

You spend the majority of your life going to the office, doing paperwork, planning, meeting, and implementing schemes to move your company forward.  (To all you actors out there, I’m not referring to you.)  You also spend the majority of your life complaining about that idiot just above you that somehow thinks he/she can tell you what to do when you’re the one making everything go.  You whine about having to go into work, bitch about traffic, sit at some cubicle, and stare at a computer screen, while watching your back for that idiot looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not visiting pointless websites instead of getting that report done.  Doesn’t he have work to do, too? 

Teenagers have it harder.  Every time I go into the grocery store, there’s some kid handing out sales papers for hours, pushing 1000 shopping carts in all day, or running to the ends of every check stand to bag our food and keep the older cashiers happy and up to date.  When I’m driving on a perfect Saturday to the beach or a friend’s BBQ, I see some poor chump kid dancing and spinning a real estate sign or dressed up like a Subway sandwich handing out coupons that no one cares about.  They actually teach kids the moves to spin those real estate and cell phone store signs behind their backs and above their heads.  Every time I see it I feel like giving the fool the $20 he was going to make in those 6 hours outside dancing on the corner and tell him to enjoy his day. 

But my philanthropy wears off instantly when I get flashbacks of bussing tables at some pasta restaurant, sweeping floors at some movie theatre, and changing garbage at some water park, all for $6/hour.  I paid my dues, I’ll take comfortably dodging traffic and expertly hiding myspace windows when the nosey walk by any day.  And yes, I will take extra butter on that popcorn, a little in the middle and the rest on top, Son! 

 

2.                  Tags sticking up from the back of people’s shirts are nerve wrecking!

Maybe it’s just some observational tick that controls my mind, but every time I can see a stranger’s shirt’s brand name and whether or not it is machine washable, I have to control myself from tucking that flap back in.  Alright, that’s too much, but it isn’t rude to let you know of the slight mess you’ve got jumping onto the back of your neck. 

And by the way, simply cutting these tags off only to satisfy crazy people like me, creates a frayed stub of a tag that only causes annoying itching that could very well drive a sane man to the brink of madness…I’ve been there.  Just tell me to tuck it in.

1.                  Sports are so important to us fans, we go out of our way to completely discredit the existence of the other team.

 I was at the college basketball Pac-10 tournament at the Staples Center for the semi-final round game between my alma mater USC Trojans and the hated UCLA “Ruins” from Bel Air, not L.A.  My friend and I were pleasantly seated in the middle of a bunch of UCLA fans, and right next to their band.  The sweet sounds of our own beloved band were all the way on the other side of the court.  Since both USC and UCLA are so close, we know each other’s fight songs and stupid cheers.  (Well, UCLA’s stupid cheers).  Every time they began their chants or cheers in unison with the band, we few Trojans had to make sure we sat still, didn’t even tap our feet to the constant sound we’re familiar with, but hate to hear.  If you courageously, disrespectfully, and loudly talk the kind of trash about the other team the way we did, you have to stand strong. 

 

During one timeout, a UCLA fan directly in front of me caught herself giving our band a few claps and head nods as the superior sound was so excellent she probably couldn’t help it.  With hundreds of her fellow supporters around her, she quickly caught herself, locked her arms, and APOLOGIZED for the egregious taboo.  All I could do was laugh to myself and think, “Yeah girl, you like it, FIGHT ON!” 

 

2.                  You’re getting old; it’s a lot less painful if you just accept it.

I live on a quiet street in L.A.  Yeah, I know that’s an oxymoron, but it’s as quiet as it gets if you’re used to loud streets in L.A.  A few months ago, I spotted a car going about 60 mph or more down my street and my mouth dropped.  Three old-man thoughts immediately rushed into my mind. 

a.         “There’s kids playing on this street, you could kill somebody!” 

b.         “This ain’t the freeway, what the hell are you in such a rush for?  There’s a stop sign 20 feet ahead anyway!!” 

c.         “Where are the police when you really need them??” 

Upon getting out of my car, I realized what a horrible thing I had done by just thinking these things that I always placed with the gentlemen that are 70+ years old.  So I did what I had to do in order to cleanse myself; I ran inside, played video games all day and drank on a Tuesday afternoon.  Don’t call me a grumpy old man; let’s just say I’ve matured! 

That’s all I’ve got for this week.  Just remember, even the Bruins love USC and don’t fight time, it’s gonna happen.  You’ll only make yourself look old by stressing about it. 

1.                  Good looking women merge into traffic a lot more easily than I do. 

When I’m in traffic where construction has pushed three lanes into one, about 100 feet from a long stop light that includes a left turn signal and three lanes of opposing traffic, no one feels like letting anyone else in front of them since there’s only been 2 feet of movement in 15 minutes.  Although I still don’t have too much trouble bullying my way into a place that I deserve to have, there’s plenty of drivers that simply put their fate in the hands of a “nice-guy” that lets them in. 

This is a futile strategy that will lose you valuable spots, unless you’re a P.Y.T. in a cute little Mini Cooper.  Just look for the Mustang GTs, high rise pickup trucks, and old school muscle cars; these fellas will part the sea like Moses…all for YOU, young lady.  Guys are such suckers, what do we expect to get for our trouble?  A quick wave from a freshly manicured hand out of the window.  “Yeah, she’s diggin’ me!” 

2.                  I don’t think people other than Black folks say “hello” to people on the street that they don’t know.

Maybe it’s just me, but although no one has ever told me to do so, when I’m walking down the street and I walk past another Black person and we make eye contact I’m more prone to say “hi, what’s up, or how are you doin” than if they are of any other race.  Yes, I speak to anyone, but it’s almost automatic if they’re Black.  If my fellow Black man doesn’t say hello back, I feel that this guy either didn’t get the memo that I got, or he just doesn’t like the look on my face.  I’ve never noticed a couple of Japanese folks looking almost obligated to speak when they’ve never seen each other in their lives, why do I do it? 

3.                  If there’s no such thing as intelligent life anywhere else in the universe, that is the biggest waste of space of all time. 

That’s all I have to say. 

1.      Track #6 on every CD is ALWAYS a good song. 

On just about every good album, ones that have more than just 2 good songs, you have your overplayed single that gets all the radio time but there is always the best song on the album that no one knows about.  They always reserve track 6 for this song.  And when I say always, I mean enough times for me to notice. 

2.      I bet police give out more speeding and reckless driving tickets at the beginning of summer, on Saturday evenings as people are just going out, and when the radio DJ is on fire. 

You ever see that one guy on the highway that went by you so fast that you checked your speedometer and thought you must be getting old and should be in the slow lane?  Don’t worry, it’s not you, his favorite song is on the radio and he actually caught it from the beginning.  There is something about a good song combined with good weather that adds ten pounds to your foot on the gas pedal.  Swerving through traffic, weaving in and out of lanes, it’s just a dance with other drivers to the beat.  If I get pulled over for doing this, I’ll just tell the cops, “Hey, Kanye’s new joint just came on…it’s not my fault.”

3.      When women have Oscar parties, why don’t their husbands/boyfriends want to join the party just to have people over?

In most cases, when an obsessed football guy plants himself on the couch in front of his beloved HD TV every Sunday for 17+ weeks, he’s only surrounded by a couple of his boys and a couple of his beers.  His woman avoids this situation like the plague, she doesn’t want to hear him yell at refs all day or listen to him try to explain the ins and outs of the rules AGAIN just so that she can understand why he gets so upset.  And she definitely doesn’t want to put up with his drunk friends either, especially the “one” that she always catches looking at her the wrong way, but her man will never believe it.  

When the Super Bowl rolls around, she’s there in full support, there to throw the best Super Bowl party she can imagine.  Football shaped ice cubes, fancy hors d'oeuvres that get smashed when the first big play happens.  She puts up with this trouble not for the pageantry of the game, but for the excitement of a good spirited party, and the commercials, of course. 

Since most football guys don’t watch the regular season of awards shows with such deep interest, if any at all, why don’t they get into the act when the Super Bowl of awards shows, the Oscars comes on?  All of his woman’s girlfriends in the living room, drinking beer and slamming their feet on the expensive coffee table while he tries to make sure the party is still going and everyone is fed.  Even though the rules aren’t complicated, he’ll still never understand why it is so important to have the best dress.  All the guys are wearing the same damn tux! 

--JJJ