|THE BLACK LIST: NOW WE'RE TOTALLY OLD AND BORING.|
|By The Black Table|
The Black Table woke up at 6:15 this morning. This is noteworthy not because The Black Table ordinarily doesn't get up this early; it is noteworthy because that's 15 minutes later than The Black Table got up yesterday. This is becoming alarming: We are getting to the point that "sleeping in" consists of dozing until 8 a.m. on a Saturday.
This doesn't seem likely to let up, either. The Black Table's family members -- mainly angry cousins washing their cars to Springsteen in suburbs of various pseudo-metropolitan areas nationwide -- all believe that we are out in New York City partying until dawn, snorting Splenda off coffee-table books about Michael Stipe. But alas, nope, we've become the type of people who talk about how they stayed up so late last night; I mean, we fell asleep during Letterman's musical act!
Anyway, we're nodding off already here, so we've got 10 reviews to perk you up this week. Use the form on the right to cash your own ticket.
THE DAWN OF CONSTRUCTION MEN AS SPRING RISES IN NEW YORK: This weather? A-grade, obviously. Seventy-five degrees and sunny has finally jolted New York City from its long, gray winter depression and signals the glorious return of shirtless men participating in various athletic activities in parks all across this fine metropolis. However, it also officially marks the beginning of Construction Workers Verbally Assaulting Innocent Girls Who Are Just On Their Way To Work Minding Their Own Business Season. Yes, I am wearing a skirt that shows quite a bit of leg. And, yes, I do work out. Thanks for noticing. But, no, I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE ME FROM BEHIND AGAINST YOUR DUMP TRUCK, AND NO, I DO NOT CARE TO HEAR WHERE AND HOW YOU WOULD LICK ME IF ONLY YOU COULD GET ME ALONE. Oh, and making those kissing/slurping noises in my direction? Yeah, not going to get me to come over and talk to you. So please stop. You look silly. Warm weather + this stupid mini-skirt trend that will just not die + a construction site directly next door to the office = D -- AJ
HOTEL PORNO: OK, what ever happened to privacy? You go on a business trip, you stay at a crappy hotel, you watch a soft core porn, and all the sudden, your wife is making you sleep in the den for being a pervert and not be attracted to her anymore. I think when you order porn from a certain hotel chain, which shall remain nameless, it should not appear on your bill as ... well I won't say the name, but needless
to say, the old ball and chain knew exactly what is was. That jerk behind the desk didn't even warn me, he just smiled and gave me a receipt for the credit card biil. OK, it was my fault I didn't "lose" the bill, but come on. So I give this "hotel" a D+ for sucking though I give the porn a B -- Jack
FRISBEE-PLAYING NYU STUDENTS: Watching NYU students play Frisbee in the park is like watching toddlers learning for the first time; it's entertaining because they're inept but don't realize it. These are not the athletic students of state schools. These are artsy kids -- in fake cowboy boots -- who probably failed gym in high school because they were monologuing about their feelings and the philosophical meaning behind the political/artistic/post-modernist statement they were trying to achieve by not showering. Forget about touch football or softball; it's hard enough for these kids to complete tosses standing in little, fenced-in patches of scraggly grass. A -- scott
THE PEPSI/iTUNES DUOPOLY: I start the week with a few simple pledges: I'm going cut back on the soda; I'm going to limit the caffeine; I'm going to pull the sugar intake down a tad. But then there you are, Pepsi, beckoning me to your glorious sweet depths like a caramel-colored Siren. And what is your enticement, that chilled song that reaches me from beyond the frosted glass? It's the promise of iTunes riches. It's the lure of one more free song. I thought I had bested you. I learned to crack your code. With a keen eye and skillful tilt of the bottle, I can tell which ones contain the prize. But alas, I am still beholden to you. I cast away my resolve. I throw my will to the wind. I trudge to the store on the corner and bring you home again. I beseech you Pepsi and iTunes: End this maddening reign. I want my life back. Making it easy to get a free song with every Pepsi. A. Making it nearly impossible to resist another Pepsi. F -- S.M.G.
PEOPLE WHO KEEP THEIR LEGS OPEN TOO WIDE ON THE BUS OR SUBWAY: Yeah. You guys. I got some questions for you: Where the hell do you think you are? Do you think the subway is a stretch limo? Or that the bus is a Lincoln Town Car? And while we're on the subject, what I'd really like to know is: Why are men such frequent offenders when it comes to this? You're not all John Holmes, you know. Look, I don't mind if you need to open your legs to accommodate bags or packages, but if you're just keeping them open because you want more leg room, you're being selfish. Other passengers -- particularly the elderly, the physically disabled and pregnant women -- need that seat much more than your leg and hip. And if you see someone else doing this, may I suggest sitting your ass down right next to them anyway? You won't believe how fast those legs come together. F -- Gena Hymowech
CRUISE SHIP WIPEOUT: I understand that we are all very sensitive to the idea of waves taller than three feet these days, thanks to the tsunami of last December, but do we really have so little to talk about on the news that some waves battering a cruise ship that did NOT involve any casualties NOR more than four injuries actually achieves that status of major headline? Where was all the high tech equipment that should have warned the crew about the impending doom? Or were they all too busy circle-jerking their sailor selves to notice that a massive storm was on the way? And why, with reports of people having to swim for their lives, are we presented with footage of the event where there is no more than two inches of flooding -- New Yorkers without access to suburban private swimming pools know that counts as a puddle and not an opportunity to practice your breast stroke. And here's the clincher: Reports say that passengers huddled together in the hallway wearing life vests while the ship served FREE DRINKS!!! That is not an emergency -- that is a free party. It happened on their way back from vacation, so no fun in the sun was lost, and all passengers received a refund. Free cruise, a good story to share with friends, and a night of free drinking ... sounds like a good way to welcome spring. A boat full of whiny douchebags masquerading as genuine news: C- -- mr lady
THE PROGRAMS ON THE TV GUIDE CHANNEL: After watching 17 consecutive episodes of "Pimp My Ride," I feel that it's time for a change. I turn on the TV Guide channel in hopes of catching a new made-for-TV Lifetime movie, or perhaps a poorly dubbed episode of "Iron Chef." But alas, I am sucked into the vacuum that is the pseudo-television show airing in the small area above the TV listings. Today the programming of choice is "Look Alike." Hey, she really does look like Salma Hayek! I am too enthralled by this 30-something's metamorphoses into an A-list celebrity to realize that I have wasted 30 minutes of my life -- in which I have missed the first half of "15 and Pregnant." TV Guide Channel's subliminal attempts at taking over television: D. Turning a hairy frat boy into Colin Farrell: A -- Lauren L.
ELEVATOR-AS-SUBWAY METAPHOR: Dear New York City Complaints Department, I have a grievance to file. An ordinance must be created to put an end to the elevator-as-subway metaphor. I cannot take another "making all local stops" comment when the elevator stops at the subsequent floor more than once. It is bad enough to hear "one more day until freedom" or "it's supposed to rain the rest of the week". Those are far too ingrained in the work week vocabulary to be ceased anyway. If action is not taken, I will eventually harm someone. And I know, full well, that this submitted complaint can be used as evidence of premeditation in a court of law. I WANT that to be known. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, the jzl. P.S. F -- the jzl
STRANGERS WHO TALK TO ME IN PUBLIC PLACES: It seems to happen most often at my post office. I'll be standing there, minding my own business, usually reading a book as I patiently wait on line, and someone behind me, often an elderly woman, will see fit to try to embroil me in a conversation. "They're so slow here, aren't they?" She then continues to comment in the same vein, desperately hoping I or someone else will join her in her misery. It's bad enough to have to wait on line and be stuck in some public place with no means of escape, but to have annoying strangers assaulting me with their obvious observations just makes it all the worse. A similar thing happens at an Internet café I often use. When someone is having a problem, they will just call out (loudly) to the entire place, instead of getting up and quietly and responsibly asking the manager to help them. In fact, as I type this, the woman next to me is proclaiming out loud, "I can't deal with this anymore, I'm tired" -- like I really care. I'm not quite sure why these folks feel compelled to draw people they don't know, who also aren't in any way responsible for the situation in question, into their problems. I don't mind people who ask for directions, because it only takes a minute or two to explain where they need to go, but these strangers, who simply want to spout off to whoever's around, make me exert every effort to obey the childhood maxim, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." F -- Rachel Kramer Bussel
MY OLDEST CHILDHOOD FRIEND DYING FROM A HEROIN-INDUCED INFECTION IN
HIS ARM: He was the funniest, most annoying magnificent bastard I've
ever known. He was a muscle-bound thug covered with jailhouse tattoos
who had the biggest heart in the world. I first met him in the fifth grade.
I think he got into a fistfight with one of the teachers and won. We rode
bikes together, made homemade weaponry in his garage (throwing stars,
nunchucks, etc.), stole from the gas station, played bump'n'run and ate
beef jerky at Valley Liquor every day after grade school. I hung out at
his house and listened to Men at Work the day my cat got hit by a car.
We rented The Road Warrior together at the very first VHS video
store in Los Osos. He went to juvenile hall. I plodded along through life,
more or less successfully for Californian Central Coast white trash. Years
later, after he spent five years in prison, we became close again. We
drove around Morro Bay in my '72 Dodge Dart Swinger and made indelicate
accusations to the redneck Fresno tourists with the glorious audio terror
device "the Harasser" (a cardboard tube about five feet long,
engraved with the words "the harasser" in marker ink). We had
more adventures than I can possibly write. We both fell in love with the
same girl. We didn't speak for years. We became roommates. We did drugs.
I quit. He didn't. F -- Trevor
Each and every week, Black Table readers like you write the Black List and get absolutely nothing in return. Ain't that some shit.