Friday, January 31, 2014

Lie # 101: You can cut your bangs

Of all the lies humans (women) tell themselves, there is none so destructive as the urban myth that you can cut your own bangs.  It ranks right up there with my other favorite from the 60s and 70s: perm your hair the night before your school picture and you'll look great.

How can I explain?  Perhaps this will suffice:  YOU CAN'T CUT YOUR OWN BANGS.

I anticipate the push back; women don't want to accept the truth:

"Of course, you can cut your bangs!  I do it all the time!"

"It's simple, just blah blah blah blah and blah."

See, it sounds right.  I buy that whole story every time.  But let me tell you where this misbegotten tale leads, and it's not pretty.  Time and time again, you'll wander into the bathroom.  While washing your hands, you glance upward and see your reflection.  You're weakening, and you don't even realize it.  Hmm, you think...I could use a trim.  Next, you bring out the hardware: scissors.  In the saddest cases, the scissors are kitchen sheers or blunted kid scissors.  Oh, the horror...


Leaning toward the mirror, you grasp a bunch of hair between  your fingers and begin.   The first cut doesn't look so bad, and you begin to fantasize about the life you'll have post-trim.  The brief period of contentment is about to pass, however, as you venture forward.  Cut number two is far less satisfying, and followed by a dizzying array of snips and reassessments.  You realize you may be in over your head, but vanity pushes you onward.  "I'm one cut away from being presentable in public...that's all I want at this point," you think.  You're beyond the point of no return, and now the scissors are not so much cutting as chewing on your hair with the excuse-for-scissors, as you attempt to make the ends look less like a hair awning and more like actual bangs.  You wonder if Moe Howard cut his own hair (my money is on Moe-cuts).  Finally, you ponder aloud: what length of bangs go with Zoloft?


Remember, you were warned.   

[This has been a public service announcement of Cherdo on the Flipside.]







Thursday, January 30, 2014

Grammy on Grammy

The most important thing I learned from the Grammy Awards.  The little forest creatures and I thank you.


Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Totes McGoats

Totes McGoats, according to the Urban Dictionary, is "The only appropriate response for when someone asks you to do something ridiculously cool."

(You know what is ridiculously cool?  That picture really IS my goat.  But I digress...)

Totes. McGoats.  This is what the cutting edge of cool individuals say in appreciation of even more superior coolness?  Point taken.  We're just scraping the bottom, looking for some slang that will surpass such gems as groovy, far out, Word, Holla and the ever popular "you know what I'm sayin'?"

Don't let me stop you; you're on to something.  In fact, I'll throw in some custom, Cherdofied sayings.  Please, spread them around and watch your popularity rise.

Cokes McThroat:  "I'm really thirsty and I need a Diet Coke."

Popes McBoat:  "I'm taking another cruise to Italy and visiting Rome."

Soaks McOats:  "I need milk for my oatmeal."

Doats McBloat:  "I can't stop thinking about my large abdomen."

Floats McCoat:  "I dropped my jacket in the lake."

Wow. I feel cooler already.  Thanks, Generation-whatever-you-are-now.  

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Bunker Bunk


Military personnel, I truly love you. I'm patriotic; soldiers and sailors are the foundation of a brave and selfless tradition of service to our country.

Yet, I have a bone to pick with you. After observing your years of devoted service, it has come to my attention that some of you are falling down on the job. Perhaps, literally. And that really ticks me off when your job is NUCLEAR LAUNCH CONTROL OFFICER.

Oh, yeah – you heard that one right. In the February 3, 2014, issue of TIME magazine, writer Mark Thompson dropped a literary bomb on my patriotic vibe when he wrote Bad News from the Bunkers. The honor code of our military is alarmingly eroded. Thompson’s story has it all: nuclear launch control officers cheating on proficiency tests, poor morale, drug scandals and even a two star commander who “engaged in drunken antics” on a visit to Moscow.

Uh, go back to that nuclear thing...that seems important. I don’t have current statistical data, but I think all people who were ever involved in anything that even remotely involved nuclear bomb detonation are strangely in agreement on the subject of detonating a nuclear bomb. They think it is bad – really, bad! It's so bad that I'm almost sure that the CIA or NSA is putting my name on a file for saying the words "nuclear detonation."

I agree; which is why I am appealing to the staff on duty right now (though I speculate there is something on one or more of your control panels that you should be watching instead of the Internet, right?).   This is the land of the free and the home of the brave; but more importantly, America is where I keep all my stuff. I've taken half a century to compile this mess. And my stuff is paid for, it would be a lot of trouble to replace, plus I may be radioactive at the time.  I'd hope that my scrapbooking supplies would still be in one piece when I finally put all my pictures in some sort of order.  My dog really likes our couch, and we do, too - especially since it's leather and no longer smells like the dog.  I've almost got enough Fiesta collected to use it for the big holidays.  You can see why I have a vested interest in you, the person in charge of the nuclear bomb.

If you cheated on your proficiency test, make sure the answers are still written on your forearm when you are on duty.  If you're drinking, remember that friends don't let friend drink and detonate.  

I'm not trying to be condescending;  I think you're da bomb.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Revenge of the Peoplepublicrats


I'm so fed up with politics and government that I am starting a new party of all disenfranchised voters and I'm calling it the Peoplepublicrats. It's the new party of logic and fiscal responsibility, fueled by the shared fear of no retirement and eventual economic Hades for all flipsters.

Our party logo will be giant reading glasses, signifying the fact that we actually read printed media, and we're burned by what we see. Perhaps with flames, for emphasis.

If I handled my childhood allowance as poorly as our government is handling the funds within their administrative oversight, my Dad would have just kept it.

Let's target a few examples. If the Internet (that bastion of all that is true) is to be believed, our government is currently paying for the following things (fact checkers, I'm too busy birthing a movement to dig deep):

1. A soccer field for the detainees of Guantanamo Bay: $750,000? (Five years ago, that prison that was supposed to be closed by executive order, Mr. O. If the detainees are "prison worthy", I'm not concerned about their lack of soccer or hobbies. After all, they also have yoga.)
2. Wasteful daily printing to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. I know a thing or two about the Congressional Records...namely the Federal Register that used to come in a ridiculous number of installments per month. Working in a medical billing capacity, I had the job of opening those envelopes, reviewing the content and filing them in one of many books that made up a wall of my office. The thin, see-through paper was typed in a handy 4 point font (I'm guessing) that no one could read.
3. 25 Billion to maintain buildings that are unused or vacant.
4. 500 million on a program to see why a five year old can't sit still in kindergarten?

Do I have to be the one to say "cray-cray"? Get ready to cut a check for a few million to yours truly (my fee as your feral accountant). If a decision has to be made, I'll solve those four budgetary train wrecks right now:

1. Guantanamo: Close it. YOU said it's a done deal, Mr. O.
2. Wasteful printing (and tree murder): Stop it. It's not your money you are wasting. It would make more sense to print it on toilet paper if the plan is to throw it away. At least it would have served a purpose. Go digital. The Kindle-gressional Record would be fine.
3. Money Pit buildings: Fill them with the homeless, sell 'em at a loss, or encourage new businesses with a great deal on the properties. Tear 'em down, for crying out loud! Quit shoveling our tax dollars into a useless shell of real estate.
4. Kindergarten wiggle worms: He/She is five. Be real. Worry about the non-wiggler. Years from now, we're all going to be talking about how he was a loner...

See how easy that was? Now all those funds can be used for more important things, like shoring up Social Security so every politician from now till I die won't be holding that over the heads of Boomers and retirees (who put their money into it their whole working life).  Hey, I never thought it was the greatest idea, as government programs go, but play by the rules.  Americans who contributed to Social Security have expectations.

Peoplepublicrats, here is the task before you: find out which of these fine politicians are making a habit of supporting waste, pork barrel projects and general fiscal misconduct. Vote 'em out. Next, if common sense doesn't rear its head in Washington soon (very soon), be on the lookout for our Peoplerepublicrat Candidate for 2016. We might have to step in and shake it up a bit.

And knock it off with the Charlie Sheen suggestions! Just because he can party,  say "winning" when he is in a awkward situation and acts like he lives in his own world does not make him a politician.

Come to think of it, don't erase Charlie yet.


Saturday, January 25, 2014

No 5K...K?


It's weird, but even though I am a flipster (flip side o' 50), everyone I hang around with is much younger and they don't seem to realize that I am relatively ancient...or they're just nice (I do have some nice friends; I'm discerning).

Thursday, January 23, 2014

The ________ and Tennille (fill in later)


The Captain and Tennille are getting a divorce? Flipsters everywhere are weeping, as we were exposed to their musical lovefest at their peak (1974-1975).

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Walk Away Wednesday: Behind the Candelabra


For every good movie, there's a hundred stinkers. Do you smell something? Oh, it's Steven Soderbergh's sparkly homage to excess, Behind the Candelabra (TVMA), based on a book by Scott Thurston.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Butler - Out of the Box


Lee Daniels' movie The Butler (PG-13) appeared in a certain red colored rental box lately, and we decided to give it a look.

Thirty years of butler service in the White House and seven presidential terms make a great backdrop of history, but this is very much a tale about an individual shaped by his own history - the butler, Cecil Gaines (Forest Whitaker). There's plenty of big names in this movie; we catch a glimpse of Mariah Carey as Cecil's mother early on and of course, the much hyped appearance of Oprah Winfrey as his wife. Who am I to split hairs and say what they did right or wrong, am I an actress? It wouldn't matter, anyway - this movie was carried along by the guys (sorry, fems). The butler's relationship with his sons was the central focus. It's the 60s and civil unrest is everywhere: assasinations, war, politics, civil rights and black panthers. Flash me a peace sign and somebody put on some Crosby, Stills and Nash.

I'll skip the spoilers and go straight to the question at hand (drumroll please): Was this worth your rental bucks? Sure! Oscar-worthy? Probably not, but there's a whole list of films that aren't on that list.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Flip That Minimum Wage Job


We spend way too much time in the car. Let me just claim it. Most often, my co-pilot is my youngest son - who I shall call Gonzo (because that is not his name). Observations of human behavior are rampant on the road with us.

With all our red light/stop sign/traffic jam combined stagnation experience, we feel qualified (nay, compelled!) to make this proclamation: Some jobs just stink and are done purely for cash. The target of today's informal study of human employment is the lowly sign shaker. Without further explanation, most of us will agree that this is a bad job. Here's the thing: Some employees get out there and just rock it. This may be the worst possible job for a young person, I'm sure they know it! Yet, they do it with gusto.

I believe that I could assemble a top notch team of employees just by plucking from the pool of passionate sign shakers. Face it, few people are sitting at home right now and lamenting the lack of sign shaker jobs. Frankly, it appears to be a position chock full of humiliating potential. You have to stand by a busy road, dressed in a costume, and flail around in a manner that will call attention to a business. My middle son, who I shall call Magoo (because that is not his name, either), was blessed with a brief stint of sign shaking in his past incarnation as pizza boy extraordinaire. He informed me daily of the vast number of items thrown at him while dancing and prancing for your pizza dollar. Insightful, and sad.

Our local pizza joint had one of the stars of the art form. I'm not saying their name because THEY MAKE THEIR EMPLOYEES SHAKE SIGNS. However, the young man at the curb was by far the funniest thing I've seen for a long time. Many times, we turned around and drove by again, laughing till we cried. He was awesome, like a dance-a-thon of all the worst dance moves from the past twenty years skillfully punctuated by moments of stop-frame frozen poses. Weeks later, I saw him inside the pizza store working the counter. Inquiring about his alter ego, the pizza-sign-shaking-john-travolta, I had just realized I had missed recent performances, so I asked if he still was shakin'. He was not.

He had gotten a promotion! Of course, he has, I thought - he did a lame job passionately. Flip that kid up to the next level, he's wasted at the curb.

Today, while driving in South Knoxville, lightening struck once more in the form of a bearded twenty-something dressed as the Statue of Liberty. Dancing and smiling, making eye contact, giving it all he had to give - destined to be blogged. Harnessed passion will make this guy worth his weight in gold, if someone sees that potential - and flips him up to the next level. Then it's up to him to make the connection between a job well done and advancement.

[This post is sponsored by a documented flipster who has hired college educated young adults who graduate with a triple dose of pretentious entitlement, sandwiched between a lack of motivation and a poor work ethic. If this description resembles you in anyway, and I was once your boss, just remember this: Clearly, I meant the that other guy.]



I'm a flipster

The Urban Dictionary (www.urbandictionary.com) defines a flipster like this:

Flipster: Someone who dresses however they want. They don't have a specific style. They make fun of other groups of people especially Hipsters and Scene kids. Unlike Hipsters, Flipsters don't deny being a Flipster. They could care less what others do. Flipsters are Too Hip To Flip.

Interesting...because that may be a perfect description for "over 50 me." After a lifetime of conforming on a multitude of levels, I realize that I've lost the feeling that what someone else thinks may be more important that what I think about my life. The rationale is pretty basic stuff: I have to walk around in my skin. I have to live this life.  I know who I am and who I am not. Clarity is awesome.

I may not be hip, but I've definitely flipped.