Horses on the Planet of the Apes? Not Cool Man, Not Cool

Not much is expected to make a whole lotta sense in a world where Charleton Heston is supposed to be representative of the human race... still, a form of, what I'll generously call logic, feels like it dictates the ape society. They have a functioning, albeit slightly skewed, set of laws, indicating that there's a clear set of actions and consequences. However, Charleton Heston is persecuted for... I don't know what the legal term for it is, but basically being a douche and not hairy. Fast forward to the end of the movie when Charleton heston is escaping and he's runnin' on the beach or whatever, with the humanoid apes in tow. How do they catch up to him so fast? They ride horses... I'm sorry, but does nobody else find this weird that the apes in Planet of the Apes ride horses? I mean, don't get me wrong, I go to film school so I understand "suspension of disbelief" which is a pretty crucial concept in watching a movie where apes rule the world, but still, I mean, apes are heavy motherfuckers. I'm no equestrian, but I don't think horses can even carry that much weight directly on their backs... The weight issue aside, it just seems kinda douche-y that apes are making horses their bitches. I mean, apes have been oppressed before so they should understand where the horse is coming from. A little solidarity between apes and their horse brethren doesn't seem like it's too much to ask, but evidently the apes just aren't havin' it. Whatever, apes are douche bags.
PS I'm aware this is less than eloquent...
PPS Charleton Heston is also a douche

An Ode to Facebook

Dear Facebook,
This is a gentle reminder of what joy you bring to the lives of many. However, one of the other things you do that shouldn't be ignored is the definite creeper aspect. Not only do you allow others access into my wonderful world, but through the whole "People You May Know" deal, I've achieved new creeper status that makes even me feel uncomfortable. Allow me to elaborate. While at the gym today, I was on the treadmill and there was a guy 2 treadmills away (treadmills as a unit of distance? yeah, that's not a thing...) and he looked vaguely familiar. I kept trying to figure out where I recognized him from until I realized, yeah, it's thanks to the "People You May Know" thing on Facebook. Even though it's not my fault that I've got thoroughly impressive investigative skills that would put the likes of Veronica Mars to shame, I still felt a little part of me die inside. It is for this reason that I request either one of the two options a) Remove the "People You May Know" thing or b) and the more likely one... get me a life. I probably spend way too much on Facebook anyways. Until one of the two happens, consider us on a "break" (don't worry, it probably won't take). Until then, hope all is well with you.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

The Problem with Planes and the Politics of the Nervous Flier

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a nervous flier. I don't really think somebody's gonna bomb the plane or we're gonna do a nosedive into the nearest body of water, but I lose sight of my rationality once I get past the creepy security guard with the lisp or the giantess female security guard with the slightly hairy upper lip. Admit it, the people at the airport, particularly O'Hare aren't the friendliest or the most appealing lot. But even when I get past that, a strange fear has already taken ahold of me. As I get to the boarding gate, I survey the people around me. I take in the sights, before sitting in a corner by myself and resigning myself to my laptop. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-social (well, maybe I am, but at least not all the time) but there's something different about personal interaction in an airport. It seems so forced and unpleasant. Everyone's on edge, I know I can't be the only one.
By the time boarding has begun, I've successfully shut out everyone around me. Nothing like being crammed into a plane to remind you how tranquility can be so easily shattered. The sounds of mothers scolding their children, and babies crying, all while the flight attendants encourage all patrons to store their carry-ons in the overhead compartments or under the seats in front of them... there's only so loud that an iPod can go...
Easily the most nerve wracking part of the voyage is counting the seats as they go back. As the seats go further and further back I hope to God that the person that I think is sitting next to me is just in the wrong seat. Now, I know this may make me sound like a terrible person, but I prefer to say I'm "particular" because it makes it sound a helluva lot nicer than what it is. There are a variety of people that I could end up being sat next to, but there are only a couple that I dread more than others.
First and probably most obnoxious is the talker. There's always the polite introductions and obligatory discussion about the weather or where the other party is headed to, but then, by the time you take off and you're allowed to use your iPod, you're stuck in a forced conversation. Conversation lags and is entirely and awkwardly silent at some parts, but still, there's this need to revitalize the conversation by any means possible. Frequently, this is managed by pictures of children and grandchildren and the occasional anecdote about their various successes. Not to be rude, but I don't care if little Susie said the cutest thing the other day. Tell it Kids Say the Darnedest Things or at least someone who can feign interest, but these stories are often interrupted by yawns on my part and the overwhelming urge to fall asleep mid-sentence. However, I have one advantage being a 21 year old traveler. I never thought I'd say it, but I have school on my side. As soon as the other party expresses an interest in having a conversation, I pull out the heaviest textbook I have and claim that I have a lot of reading to do for class. Whether I actually read or not is irrelevant, but it's all in how you sell the lie, which is why I either recommend the heaviest of the one with the most complex title.
To be continued...

Doublemint is Living a Lie

So, I was in the grocery store the other day. As I waited for the cashier to finish counting the coupons of the old lady in front of me, I began to peruse the selection of outrageous shit they have at the counter. Evidently, one of the Olsen twins is a balloon now and some stupid bitch from CSI is leaving her husband (I have my doubts about either of those things being true, but even if they are, as if they're newsworthy?) National Enquirer only remains interesting for so long, and for me, about 5 seconds seems about right. I started checking out the gum, thinking about how many varieties of gum can you possibly have? Myself, I'm more of a classic kinda guy, gimme some Wrigley's any day. When I finally got to the Wrigley's I was checkin' out the spearmint and the Doublemint and the Juicy Fruit and all that shit, when I had a stunning realization. Doublemint is living a lie. Doublemint's not a mint at all. It's even underlined in red because spell check doesn't even recognize it as a real word. Anyways, if you go to Wikipedia (the God ofg all knowledge) and search spearmint, it even has a genus species name, Mentha spicata for those interested,that's how official it is! Wintergreen is a group of plants, but a legit thing nevertheless, whereas, if you were to type in Doublemint into Wikipedia, you'd get "Doublemint is a flavor of chewing gum made by the Wrigley Company. It was launched in the United States in 1914, and has had variable market share since that time." It's been fooling decent, hardworking, American consumers since 1914! I brought it upon myself to expose Doublemint for the liar that it is. It's not a mint at all! It's not even a plant! That being said, I hope this Earth-shattering revelation isn't too heartbreaking for anyone, but I just felt it was important that people know the truth about this fraudulent gum.

Granola With Raisins or Without?

This is not an attack against the granola community. I mean, after all, who doesn't love a little granola in their life? It's more a question of logistics. Now "logistics" and "granola" aren't very often listed in the same sentence or paragraph even really, but it's a question that has literally been plaguing my simpleton mind for at least 3 weeks now. The people in my life have already listened to me lodge this complaint time and time again, so what better outlet to voice my opinion when my friends get sick of me than the internet?
Now for all you Kellogg Granola lovers, you may have noticed the two boxes of granola on the grocery store shelf. One is clearly marked "granola with raisins" whilst the other is labeled "granola without raisins". Now, this may not seem an issue to you, but as just a general loser I can't help but notice, there's no "granola". The granola with raisins is clearly just that, whereas the one sans raisins is obviously "granola without raisins", but why are these two boxes made? Can't the granola without raisins be just called "granola" and then keep the granola with raisins box.
When I voiced this complaint to my friend who's an advertising art major, she said "there's a market for these things. they make the two boxes because people buy the two boxes". While I grimly accept this as a fact, I have a noble concept for the good people of America. If you want raisins, buy the box that says granola with raisins and if it just says granola, just assume that means that there's no raisins in the fucking box! Another concept for all you Kellogg's lovers out there, if you want granola without raisins... look at the picture on the box! If you look at the picture of the "granola without raisins" box you can clearly see that there are no raisins in the bowl! I'm sorry, but ad execs should really stop catering to the dumb asses and encourage a little deductive reasoning of their customers. It doesn't seem like it's asking too much, but hell, what do I know? I'm no advertising art major...

Alarmingly Appropriate Move Titles

In one of my moments of extreme boredom, I was browsing Netflix. I was looking at movies that I'd recently returned ands they have that whole thing where it's like "If you liked this movie, you may like..." Now I will admit in a moment of weakness I had orered the remake of Prom Night on Netflix. I figured "eh, Brittany Snow's cool, what have I got to lose?" The answer is clearly an hour and a half of my life and what self respect remained. Regardless, I was looking at what movies they thought I might like and I came across a little gem called Single White Female 2. Haven't heard of it? Surprise, surprise. It's one of those sequels to a successful movie like 10 or 15 years after the fact. Trying to capitalize on the success of Single White Female may have sounded like a genius idea to the folks at Third Street Pictures, but something seems to be lacking. Well, that's what I used to think until I saw the full title of the film. Single White Female 2: The Psycho. Now I don't know if you've ever seen the first Single White Female and I hate to ruin it, but the whole premise is that the bitch is psycho. We're talkin' about ape shit insane type psycho so one can't help but wonder, who is the addition of a number and a little clarification preceded by a semi-colon gonna get a new audience to watch the movie. However, the fact can't be ignored that movie studios know what they're doing. There's gotta be a market for dumb ass movies that are given dumb ass titles that spell out the film for you. So this is a post for all lovers of the Single White Female 2's of the World... take up knitting or at least something mildly productive.

An Adjustment to Apartment Life

I type this to you by the light of my laptop (or rather my roommate's laptop). Why, you may ask, am I typing only using the light of a laptop? It might have something to do with the lack of overhead lights in my new apartment. Now, mind you, the Western wall is essentially entirely a window so I get plenty of light in the morning, however, if you'll look at the timestamp you'll see that I'm typing this out of sheer boredom going on the 10 o'clock hour. If I had dignity to spare perhaps I'd type this using the light that I have for my closet, but considering that I'd hafta sit in my closet to do that, I think I'll just hold out. Regardless, it strikes me as a little ridiculous that living in this modern apartment that I'm in with no overhead lighting. It just makes me wonder... when did overhead lights become superfluous and where the hell was I? Mind you, before I began typing I seriously considered typing in the closet...
What's more mind blowing is that I'm not the only person plagued by this problem. I don't just mean the other people in my building, but a couple friends of mine who are leasing a townhouse for the year have absolutely no overhead lights in their bedrooms. It's just kinda weird to me, I guess, probably because the move is still pretty new so I haven't had time to go out and buy a floor lamp, but perhaps even more bizarre is what these apartments DO have. Take the oven for instance, complete with 5 stove top burners (because 4 is evidently so passe) and a warming drawer. What, you might ask, is a warming drawer? I honestly couldn't tell you. It sounds self explanatory but I'm convinced there's something more to it. I tried to use it and it just started beeping really angrily at me... I've since decided to give up modern living if it's gonna take that tone with me. But, then again, I don't know what I was expecting considering I still don't how to use the broiler. It's not so much that I don't know HOW it's more I don't know why I would. In my 21 years of existence I've yet to come across something that I needed to broil. I mean, I've been given the option to broil certain foods, but I'm a purist so I like to stick with what I know (stove, microwave, or if I'm feeling ballsy I'll use the oven).
As if the equipment that the apartment comes with standard isns't it enough, my roommate brought her own little arsenal of kitchen equipment. I mean, that's cool and all, I like having pans to cook with as much as the next dude, but there are just some things that seem a little ridiculous to me. For instance, how many varieties of spatulas does one apartment need? I may not be the best source to ask considering for most of my life if I had to flip something as I cooked it, I'd just do it by hand and hope that the grease burns didn't hurt too bad... I respect the fact that she cooks and she likes to have the necessary utensils to do so, but it's bad when you walk into the kitchen and start thinking about breathing into a paper bag because, yeah, it's THAT overwhelming. Then again, it's whatever. We all have our own little idiosyncrasies... some are just a little more daunting than others it would seem.
I mean, I understand that moving into any new place is gonna be an adjustment, and I'm cool with that. I'm sure it'll start to feel homier when I actually have a bed or even lighting to read by at night...