JayarJackson

1.                  Guys are so irrationally freaky when it comes to their fantasies; we don’t realize that some of what we dream about making a reality is simply INCEST!

 Girls Gone Wild, a couple of female college roommates making out for the first time, Katy Perry’s song, “I Kissed a Girl.”  We fellas have an obsession with women hooking up for reasons beyond my understanding.  Although few like to admit it, most of us are illogically drawn to these displays of exhibitionism simply because we think that eventually, the girls will soon invite us in on the action.  Now, if these women are actually the lesbians that men drool over and are actually into each other, why would they want to invite a guy in on their intimacy?  When we’re hooking up with a girl we’re interested in, do our minds begin to think, “Hmm, this would be much better if another guy was nibbling on my ear.”  Despite the rare cases that this fantasy becomes a reality, we double our bet and think, “Wouldn’t it be even hotter if I hooked up with twins?” 

To that increasingly idiotic thought I realized that if this were to come true, we’d be witnessing and contributing to incest, or in this case, “twincest!”    

Why is it so hot to imagine jumping in the middle of a couple of Asian twins, but so nasty to think about a brother and sister hooking up?  Because the majority of my fellow man are helpless imbeciles, that’s why.  So before you try to talk a cute set of Swedish twins into illicit behavior, imagine kissing your twin brother. 

 

2.                  Looking for a roommate feels like an even more uncomfortable personal ad, trying to attract someone through cyber space. 

Living in the expensive city of Los Angeles almost always requires having a roommate unless you’ve hit the ground running with enough money to foot the bill yourself or you’re highly successful at an early age.  With so much relocating throughout the city amongst us young folks, roommates come and go with great regularity.  Now that my last roommate is moving out, I’ve found myself searching for a new roommate the random way.  While there are plenty of search tools like roommates.com and craigslist.org, the information we put out there about ourselves is probably very similar to something people put on match.com. 

As I wrote about my situation and what kind of place I’m offering to share, I couldn’t help but to try to sell myself as a great person, an excellent roommate that is positive, fun-loving, and sociable.  With the competition writing witty phrases about how they should be chosen, I felt obligated to convince all those strangers that I’m the best pick out of the thousands they might come across.  Pictures seem to help but so many questions arise: “Should I even include a picture?  And if I do, why am I including a picture?  What are they looking for when they see me?  Why am I even checking out what my potential new roommate looks like?  Wait, why is HE including a picture of himself?  As I stare at this dude online at work, do my co-workers think I’m perusing men online?  When I look at a picture of a potential female roommate, what am I looking for?  Cute, but not my style?  Maybe ugly so that if she drops her towel as I’m heading to the bathroom, there won’t be any awkwardness. 

Oh forget it, I’ll just pay the whole rent and not eat, I hear having the liberty of walking around in the nude is exhilarating! 



--JJJ

1.                  People waiting for the bus ALWAYS stand in the street!

  As all of you know, I live in LA, the city overflowing with people, especially on the streets.  The freeways, streets, and even residential areas are loaded with cars, so our environmentally conscious residents take the bus.  OK, these are the people without cars or else they’d contribute to the congestion the way I do.  Since most buses sit in the same traffic that all the cars do, people waiting for them get impatient and decide to lean into, step onto, and simply STAND in the street to see if their #20 bus is coming.  When several bus riders are there, it creates a competition to see who can balance on the edge of the curb the longest to check for the bus.  Since I am one of the “economical” drivers on the road that takes full advantage of the far right lane that many neglect, they run the risk of catching a chest full of my compact Ford. 

The last time I checked, buses are the biggest vehicles on the road.  Many of them are orange, red, or bright blue!  They are also the slowest moving vehicles on the road.  If these bus riders are abandoning the security of the bus stop canopy to lean back and forth in the street so that they won’t miss their bus coming, they don’t have to worry.  I don’t think anyone has ever said, “Damn, if I only stood in the street instead of at the huge bus stop, I would have seen that big, red, extra long bus with the accordion in the middle, before it passed me by at 15 mph.”

 

2.                  Those “Erasable” Pens NEVER worked!

  I remember back in 5th or 6th grade when right after the school banned slap bracelets from all us annoying kids that wouldn’t stop snapping them in class, we had to come up with a new gimmick that distracted us from math lessons.  Our answer came in the form of a pen that erased just like a pencil!!  All the rules from Mr. Moran about mathematicians writing in pencil only so that they can correct their mistakes went right out the window with those slap bracelets.  We were so clever, as soon as he caught the smart asses using a pen in MATH class, they’d simply show him the eraser, and rub those mistakes away!!  Once this phenomenon took hold, I noticed that my eraser didn’t seem to “erase” my mistakes.  In fact, it made my mistake a lighter colored one with a blue cloud surrounding it.  Since I was a neat freak when it came to my school work, I immediately threw that useless garbage erasable pen out and went back to my trusty mechanical pencil. 

To my surprise, seemingly everyone else continued to use those stupid pens!  I developed a complex and assumed I must be seeing something different than everyone else, so I kept my reality from everyone else with papers full of blue haze. 

Was I all alone in my observations?  When I returned my kick ball pitch asking for it to be “slow and smooth” was it already so?  Was the pizza the cafeteria served on Fridays actually nasty?  I got over it and eventually realized that deep down inside, you, me, and everyone else always knew that not only did those ink erasers not work, but the pens wrote spotty and lumpy.  Paper Mate got over on us!

 

--JJJ

1.                  Everyone puts their foot in their mouth at some point, so ignore the awkward silence of realizing you’ve done it and move on. 

I notice many things in people; styles of clothes, the way they walk, the looks on their faces.  I keep my thoughts and opinions to myself when I’m alone, but when I have a good friend or family member next to me and I’m in a comfort zone, I’m compelled to share these sometimes brutal truths. 

The next time you find yourself ready to point out someone with an annoying appearance, make sure your company doesn’t share that same look you’re ready to clown on.  So when you see the guy with the tribal tattoo around his bicep that doesn’t go all the way around the back of his arm, take a peek at your friend’s arm before regrettably spewing, “Look at that douche, if you’re going to get the most common tattoo in the world, at least be man enough to get it all the way around your arm!!  I’d never be friends with anyone like that!”  Your boy just might have the most awkward look on his face while trying to hide his half ass tribal symbol that he picked out of a tattoo book, next to a fortune teller shop on the strip of Venice Beach. 

When you and he are scrambling for something else to say to break the silence, just let it go and try to lie to him by saying his is different and you actually like it. 

 

2.                  Text messaging has taken over everyone’s life, (including mine) simply because it avoids having to talk longer than I’d like to or right at that time.  But…how do you know when to end a long texting conversation?

We don’t do it to look cool, especially since it doesn’t look cool.  We sometimes text message for the convenience and peace of mind from that dreaded 2-hour phone conversation with someone that is using you as a source of entertainment while driving home in traffic.  We’ve all looked at the caller ID and “damn, I don’t have time to talk to this fool for 2 hours straight!”  The saving grace from being a rude friend is to instantly text back, “What’s up?” with the hopes that they’ll assume you’re too busy to actually talk…like humans.  Now you’re still a good friend and your ear doesn’t have to get hot from the phone, making you wonder if you just pumped tons of radiation into your temple causing brain cancer in your future. 

But now that texting has gotten so popular, stress from texting etiquette seems to rear its ugly head, there’s no escape!  How do you know when to end a written conversation that has now taken up that hour you were just looking to save?  This is supposed to be quick and to the point, where did these super texters come from?  And now that you’ve responded to their first few messages, they pretty much know that you’re not as busy as you claimed to have been by ignoring that first call. 

You can give all the “wrap it up” signals you want in your texts, but a determined talker turned texter never catches the hints.  You try to not progress the conversation any longer with messages that elicit a response.  Some favorites to truncate the ramblings are, “haha” J or a simple “yeah” to a long winded story about an entire day of activities seem to never work.  Once I get these responses, I shut down my mini keyboard so I won’t be the nuisance I complain about. 

--JJJ

1.                  Computers and cyber communities have taken over so much of everyday life; even cyber hard-asses have emerged.  Remember when computer users were just nerdy? 

As many of you know, my fine associates and I on the program The Young Turks recently made fun of the antics of rapper Rick Ross when his past as a corrections officer came to the surface.  In usual internet form, people agreed with our making fun of his extensive attempts to deny ever having a past that didn’t include breaking the law, while others took offense to the satire while defending their hero. 

As the comment section naturally heated up, dissenting views turned into threats, “This Nikkas Iz Wack iz Fuck Wat YA Knoe Bout A Hood..Come To MA Hood TAlkin That Reckless Shit” and “these fuckin tightass rich people making fun of him "get money" what are u 14 whatta bunch fuckin bitch asses. come to the streets and make fun of shit like that.” 

Aren’t threats supposed to be intimidating?  You can’t sit behind a computer and type about how much you’ll hurt someone if they come to your neighborhood.  Secondly, I think the deliberate misspelling of words is the way to prove you’re not actually a nerd typing 60 WPM.  So please, stop frontin and do some advanced physics, everyone can see through you cyber thugs. 

 

2.                  If you’re unfortunate enough to be the guy in the public restroom in the stall, stinking up the bathroom, don’t come out when you know another person is using the urinal.

I don’t know about women’s public restrooms since they consist completely of stalls, but men’s rooms have several unwritten rules.  Everyone knows that when there are multiple urinals available and one guy is using one, you select one that creates at least one urinal of distance between the two of you. 

But more importantly, and maybe it’s just me, but when someone is “taking care of business” in the stall, they should stay in there until others leave the restroom.  That was some very personal quality time that everyone is forced to experience, so hang tight until others have relinquished the entire bathroom back to you.  No one should have to identify the horrific smell with a relieved face exiting the stall…and you shouldn’t want them to either!  The only thought that remains is, “This guy better wash his hands before he leaves!” 

--JJJ

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.