Trapped in The Facebook

Three o'clock in the morning
And the rays from the screen keep me awake
I'm yawnin' and struglin'
But it's not my decision to make
And a screen says, "Send invitarion", to the Coldplay group
Then it takes me to another screen
And then it becomes a loop

Now I've got this glazed look on my face
Like, what else can be done?
How could I be so stupid to be have stayed up again til the morning sun?
But I gotta keep on creatin'
And gettin' people to join in.
Thinkin' about the facebook
I'm back in the facebook.
I wonder who's new on facebook...

facebook...

Mary, Joseph, and Chas Traps

This is a shout-out to all those in the blogland who may have commented on my posts. I acknowledge you and appreciate that you non-anonymized yourselves.

If you read my blog and don't comment, I have no way of knowing that you were ever there. Kind of creepy, no? In fact, in at least one case, it was very creepy.

Who let the dogs back in?

Toy Storey

I was inspired by yesterday's visit to Toys 'R' Us, (any idea how to write a backwards R?), that Sara and I took esterday afternoon. Spefically, I was inspired to remark just how disappointing the toys were. Before I go any firther, yes I am fully aware that I am viewing them as a twenty-four year old and not as the happy seven year old that I once was. However, it is clear why toys suck nowadays, and that is because they are just too darn real.

Between the Hot Wheels-like stretch Ford Excursions, the barbie-like dolls of fey boys and goth girls, and those bouncy plastic balls that used to cost a buck, and are now stamped with some picture that makes them cost eight bucks, these toys only serve to remind me of the larger size versions of corporate skank culture, (aka 'inclusive outsider' culture).

My toys didn't have to be realistic, in fact, I think I preferred them not to be. Where were the Teddy Ruxpins? The Remote control cars that did backflips and three point turns? The 'My Buddy' and 'Kid Sister' dolls? The tricycles? 'Power wheels'?

Yes I am aware of the irony that I loved any and all car toys as a child and now shun driving, but again, they were fantasy toys! I wanted a 'Power wheels' fire truck, not a 'Power wheels' souped-up Civic.

My other favorite toys were rubber wrestling figures, and a large part of this was due to the fact that the wrestlers 'brusied' when I would throw them against the wall hard enough. Today, the wrestlers are made of hard plastic, which totally defeats the purpose, but they come with accesories like inflatable cowboy hats. One problem, though. The inflatable cowboy hats are for the user of the toys, not for the figure itself. How lame is that?

Oh, and when I talk about fantasy toys, I am not talking about Lord of the Rings dolls or Star Wars action figures. Not only are those toys for nerds, but due to scarcity they are meant to be unopened, and what fun is a toy that you can't play with? Collecting only becomes interactive when you can actually enjoy the product, otherwise there is a certain loneliness at play.

I'm all for silly fantasy toys. I used to love silly fantasy toys like Garbage Pail Kids, (a parody of Cabbage Patch Kids), Pound Puppies, and He-Man action figures. Yet I actually took these toys out of the box, tossed them all around my room, and generally stayed far far away from any sort of 'reality'.

I think that 'reality' has taken awat from 'durability', and made toys that are fun to look at, but not to play with. Sad. So sad.

The Beauty Miss

Even though it's a tale as old as time, the standards for beauty, and especially female beauty, seemed to have taken a strange turn in our youth obsessed culture, (but come on, when hasn't our culture been youth obsessed?). My point here is that the 'template' for what constitutes female beauty seems to have been reached - but I can't figure out by whom. My guess is that women are trying to approximate the male standards of beauty, but the male standards are completely out of whack.

Let's start at the top, shall we.

Blonde hair.

Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan (?), Britney Spears, The Olsen twins, Jennifer Lopez, Shakira, need I go on? Sure it may come from a bottle, but flowing blonde locks seems to be an agreeable standard for all of these 'celebrities'.

Let's not forget Gwen Stefani, Ashlee Simpson, Nicole Kidman, all of these natural brunettes and redheads, think that the only way to top it off is blonde. Fake blonde.

Blue eyes.

Damn you, Garden State soundtrack!

Thin nose.

A guy like me can certainly appreciate a bigger nose. Besides, who hasn't fantasized about Toucan Sam? Follow your nose!

White teeth.

About a month ago I was watching a Conan bit which featured Kelly O'Dell from whatever that entertainment news show that isn't Extra. Her teeth were the color of printer paper. They burned my eyes when I looked directly at them. I swear, they could have glowed in the dark. You never need a flashlight with chompers like that. Gross.

Big boobs.

When I was on the Frosh Week committee, there was this girl with really large breasts. She was also large all over. The problem was, she would intentionally wear ill-fitting shirts, and her nasty ass boobs would spill all over the place. Unlike Nancy O'Dell, I couldn't help but look in her in the eyes. It was kind of mean. I guess if you've got 'em, don't flaunt 'em. And if you don't got big boobs, think of how comfortable you feel. Back pain isn't sexy. Oh, and fake boobs? Please. No.

A skinny waist.

I find that a girl who eats is attractive.

Belly ring.

Why? It has no purpose. It's not like non-philosophers do that much navel gazing anyways. Hey look, I pierced my scar left over from birth! That's cool.

For piercings in general, every so often customers come into Greg's with lip or face piercings, and it kind of turns me off ice cream for the day, as I'm thinkin' of how all they'll ever taste is metal. Multiple ear piercings seems redundant. Nose piercings look best on old Indian women, and eyebrow piercings were cool in 2002, back when nu metal was the shit. Let's not even talk about body piercing.

Lower back tattoo.

Whenever I see a tattoo, I find that it never looks like the thing that it's supposed to be. It just looks like a tattoo. A blob of something or other. Girls, unless your tattoo says "lower back", just in case you forget, I don't even know why it's there. Next!

Tan.

if you came from the beach, fine. Otherwise, you look like that woman George Costanza didn't want to date on Seinfeld. Or that you've been roasting on an open fire. Save the bronzer for the Olympics.

Anything I forgot? Painted fingernails? Too much make-up? Those ridiculously short skirts? They all seem kind of whorey, too. Girls, if you actually desire to look like a prostitute, then I guess that you are beautiful, no matter what I say.

Words can't bring you down.

Oh, and preciously small cell phones are ugly. God, I hate them. And smoking is not sexy, smelling like a perfume store makes me nauseous, and talking too loud about your breasts or sexual experiences is just pathetic, Masha.

Whoops, I've said too much. Oh, just one more thing. If you list your 'dislikes' or 'turn-offs', they can't be things that nobody would ever include in their 'likes' or 'turn-ons'. So if you say that you can't stand bad breath, body odor or famine, it's just not necessary. Nobody would ever list those things as their 'likes'.

Hey Marc, did that facebook e-mail arrive yet?

So this is the new year?

So it only took me eighteen days, (chai, Sara!), but I'm back, baby! Caught in the Traps is almost fully operational 1nce again. The staff of one, (two if you count my waylaid webmaster, Greg, miss ya buddy!) is ready to start pontificatin' in '06.

This is my first rumination of the new year: January blows. The combination of craptastic weather, no baseball, post-holiday hangover, (thank you Jesus), almost perpetual darkness, stupid Capricorns celebratin' their lameass birthdays, (my aplogies, Ziggy), arbitration hearings, no movies of any significance bound to come out for the next four months, (save for late 2005 releases), oh, and stupid hockey hockey hockey highlights all add up to a month that I can't wait to be over. At least February is short. Plus it's Black History Month. And the Olympics, well, even of the winter variety is a pleasant diversion. Also, pitchers and catchers reporting to Spring Training. That's something to look forward too. I guess the Super Bowl and the Oscars are also comin' up in February and those two overhyped, bloated events help to pass the time. But the weather still sucks and hockey, though suspended for a couple of weeks, resumes after the Olympics. Remember the lock-out? Ahhhhh.

Now I see why the Persians celebrate New Year's on March 21st. At least that feels like the start of something new. Not more of the same.

When's Summer, B?



Tune in Tomorrow.