Dear Slugger,
Why, in the name of everything holy is fashion in 2010 embracing the 80s and early 90s? Didn't it look bad the first time around? Why plaid? Why now? Should anyone selling, purchasing, browsing, or thinking about browsing stirrup pants be shot on sight?
Thank you,
My Clothes Have Pee and Barf on Them So What do I Care About Fall Fashion
Dear MCHPBTSWDICAFF:
The short answer, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, is that I don't know. I don't know how we, as a people, have become so depraved that we openly tolerate people wearing compression tights in public. And for those of you who are saying, "Compression tights? Who's wearing compression tights?" -- you may already be too far gone. Right now, in a hospital somewhere, there's a nurse squeezing the legs of a lower-body trauma victim into a pair of skinny jeans to prevent blood clots, and no one is the wiser.
There have definitely been instances thoughout the history of mankind where people have tolerated some unimaginable atrocities. But we (or at least most of us) usually learn from our mistakes. Bloodletting, for example. Back in the day, people used to believe that you could bleed disease right out of your veins. Using modern science, we know today that this practice is absolutely preposterous, although your Aunt Slugger would not object to trying it on Glenn Beck. So you don't typically see doctors using bloodletting as a medical technique nowadays, because we've learned from our mistakes. And in fact, most people wouldn't tolerate the procedure if they saw it performed on themselves or another human being. There would be intense media coverage, a public outcry, congressional hearings, a criminal investigation, and the creation of Bloodletting Awareness Month. As a people, we simply wouldn't stand for it.
It was one thing when '80s fashion first came in vogue, back in, well, the '80s. We really didn't know any better. It was the fashion equivalent of bloodletting, and we just carried on the best way we knew how, totally oblivious to the fact that we had other options. Your Aunt Slugger, for example, wore a lot of tapered jeans in her day. Granted, at that time, I was also very focused on playing with my Kenner Ewok Family Hut, which I definitely loved more than my brother and possibly more than my parents. So my judgment wasn't as finely tuned as it is now. But we really couldn't have been expected to know; it's only in hindsight that we can reflect upon this period in history and wonder what it was that was infecting our water that caused us to both wear shoulder pads and elect Ronald Reagan not just once, but twice.
Yet somehow, here we are, ignoring the fact that one of the greatest tragedies in the history of mankind - leggings - is repeating itself before our very eyes, and there is not one single thing we can do about it besides kill ourselves. It's the only way I can think of to stop feeling as though I'm living in a John Hughes movie.
In the interest of avoiding pesky and potentially expensive lawsuits that might arise from advocating the grisly torture of anyone wearing stirrup pants, I will only generally address your last question. Sometimes, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, law and morality are not aligned, and it takes a few brave people to stand up for what they know is right. So if you take it upon yourself to bring a loaded weapon into the J.Crew women's pants department...well, just know that history will eventually judge you a hero.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Answering life's deepest questions
Showing posts with label skinny jeans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label skinny jeans. Show all posts
Friday, October 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Air Travel
Dear Aunt Slugger,
This weekend, I am flying to South Dakota to see the famous Mitchell Corn Palace. I have mixed feelings about this trip, because, although seeing the Corn Palace has been a lifelong dream of mine, I have never flown on an airplane before and I am nervous about what to expect. Do you have any tips for me?
Sincerely,
Doug
Brockton, MA
Dear Doug,
Doug, first and foremost, I hope you have a really nice time at the Corn Palace. I hope you are blessed with many happy memories of…of whatever it is that you do at the Corn Palace.
Now, onto the topic at hand. You’ve come to the right place, Doug. Your Aunt Slugger has a great deal of air travel experience – so much air travel experience, in fact, that even the strongest drugs cannot suppress the memories. I’ve tried; nothing has worked.
As your Aunt Slugger sees it, there are a number of problems with air travel, which I will list here:
1.) The airlines. These assholes will rob you blind at every opportunity, and there is not one single thing you can do about it. We had the opportunity to stop them, we did. Back when they started charging baggage fees, we should have made a statement by filling our suitcases with rotting catfish and sweaty compression shorts. But we didn’t. I wanted to, but the rest of you apathetic dicks didn't back me up.
2.) Security. I know that some of you are going to defend airport security as being critical to the safety of airplane passengers. I get what you’re saying, I really do. You’re clinging to this dream of an airport security utopia wherein suspected terrorists are caught, honest people are treated with dignity, and deer eat right out of your hand while you go through the metal detector. But you need to face reality here: Our airports would be just as safe--possibly safer--if we put a common dairy cow at the entrance to each terminal.
For those of you who are busy drafting e-mails to me in which you ardently defend airport security, stop now. Stop it. Put down the pen. You are only deluding yourself. Airport security, as it is currently conceived, is - how do I say this diplomatically? - a circus.
First, there is the random screening process. Now, my grievance with the random screening process is not the randomness. Your average complaint out the TSA screening process always involves someone's 90-year-old grandma getting frisked and run through the x-ray machine. I am automatically voiding these complaints. Which is it? Do you want to risk that your grandma gets randomly selected to be screened, or do you want to engage in racial profiling and thereby end up somewhere between Adolf Hitler and dog shit on the moral decency spectrum? That's what I thought.
No, my grievance with the screening process is the screening process. It's stupid. And pointless. I was once randomly selected to be screened at Midway airport in Chicago. Your Aunt Slugger is not proud to admit this, but at the time, I was an accountant. Please don't judge me; I was young and I was desperate. Anyway, I was traveling for work, and I had in my possession both a staple remover and a pair of scissors. When I was selected to be screened, my bag went through the x-ray machine again, and HOLY FUCKING GOD THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! It turns out that my staple remover was creating a national emergency. They went through every square inch of my bag. They removed the staple remover and inspected it carefully. After no less than five minutes of thorough investigation (during which time I was patted down), they returned the staple remover to its rightful place and I was able to board the plane.
The scissors - THE SCISSORS - were left in place.
And now, I would like for you to envision a world in which a staple remover is deadlier than a pair of scissors. You can't, can you? Right. The modern human brain is not capable of that kind of absurdity, which is hard to believe when you consider that we spend 80-85% of our days pondering the goings-on of Kate Gosselin and Donald Trump.
To preserve your mental hygiene, I will NOT share with you the details of the time I had a pastry shaped like Oscar the Grouch (fuck you for judging me - you know you would've bought it too) and I put it through the x-ray machine in its own plastic container and the security personnel--there were three of them--kept running it through the machine, backing it up, and running it through again to figure out what it was, rather than just, for example, looking at it with their own eyes. No, I will not share that story with you, because it's so fucking stupid that it will make you suicidal if you think about it for too long.
3.) Other Passengers. This is where the bulk of your trouble is going to occur during the average flight. You can mentally accept the fact that the airlines suck, and you can justify the inanity of airport security as being just another of humanity's great fuck-ups (with germ warfare and skinny jeans being among some of the other greats). But the other passengers...well, if the Oscar the Grouch pastry story didn't make you want to kill yourself, your fellow air travel passengers will. Either way, I am expecting about a 90% mortality rate from reading this column.
You will begin seeing problems at check-in (there's always some asshole who cuts you in line or tries to put a child in his or her checked baggage--which is less of a problem these days because the airlines will let that one go with a higher luggage fee), but your real problems will begin at security (of course). Some of the common offenders include
Once you finally take off (if you make it off the tarmac...good luck), and after you've dealt with the guy who is sitting in your aisle seat and says, "Oh, it's OK, I don't mind the aisle" and pretends as though his middle seat is more attractive and then sighs audibly when you insist on occupying the aisle seat for which you paid an unreasonable fee, you will also encounter
In conclusion, Doug, Google Maps tells me that it's a quick and painless 27-hour drive to the Mitchell Corn Palace. Have fun.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
This weekend, I am flying to South Dakota to see the famous Mitchell Corn Palace. I have mixed feelings about this trip, because, although seeing the Corn Palace has been a lifelong dream of mine, I have never flown on an airplane before and I am nervous about what to expect. Do you have any tips for me?
Sincerely,
Doug
Brockton, MA
Dear Doug,
Doug, first and foremost, I hope you have a really nice time at the Corn Palace. I hope you are blessed with many happy memories of…of whatever it is that you do at the Corn Palace.
Now, onto the topic at hand. You’ve come to the right place, Doug. Your Aunt Slugger has a great deal of air travel experience – so much air travel experience, in fact, that even the strongest drugs cannot suppress the memories. I’ve tried; nothing has worked.
As your Aunt Slugger sees it, there are a number of problems with air travel, which I will list here:
1.) The airlines. These assholes will rob you blind at every opportunity, and there is not one single thing you can do about it. We had the opportunity to stop them, we did. Back when they started charging baggage fees, we should have made a statement by filling our suitcases with rotting catfish and sweaty compression shorts. But we didn’t. I wanted to, but the rest of you apathetic dicks didn't back me up.
2.) Security. I know that some of you are going to defend airport security as being critical to the safety of airplane passengers. I get what you’re saying, I really do. You’re clinging to this dream of an airport security utopia wherein suspected terrorists are caught, honest people are treated with dignity, and deer eat right out of your hand while you go through the metal detector. But you need to face reality here: Our airports would be just as safe--possibly safer--if we put a common dairy cow at the entrance to each terminal.
For those of you who are busy drafting e-mails to me in which you ardently defend airport security, stop now. Stop it. Put down the pen. You are only deluding yourself. Airport security, as it is currently conceived, is - how do I say this diplomatically? - a circus.
First, there is the random screening process. Now, my grievance with the random screening process is not the randomness. Your average complaint out the TSA screening process always involves someone's 90-year-old grandma getting frisked and run through the x-ray machine. I am automatically voiding these complaints. Which is it? Do you want to risk that your grandma gets randomly selected to be screened, or do you want to engage in racial profiling and thereby end up somewhere between Adolf Hitler and dog shit on the moral decency spectrum? That's what I thought.
No, my grievance with the screening process is the screening process. It's stupid. And pointless. I was once randomly selected to be screened at Midway airport in Chicago. Your Aunt Slugger is not proud to admit this, but at the time, I was an accountant. Please don't judge me; I was young and I was desperate. Anyway, I was traveling for work, and I had in my possession both a staple remover and a pair of scissors. When I was selected to be screened, my bag went through the x-ray machine again, and HOLY FUCKING GOD THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! It turns out that my staple remover was creating a national emergency. They went through every square inch of my bag. They removed the staple remover and inspected it carefully. After no less than five minutes of thorough investigation (during which time I was patted down), they returned the staple remover to its rightful place and I was able to board the plane.
The scissors - THE SCISSORS - were left in place.
And now, I would like for you to envision a world in which a staple remover is deadlier than a pair of scissors. You can't, can you? Right. The modern human brain is not capable of that kind of absurdity, which is hard to believe when you consider that we spend 80-85% of our days pondering the goings-on of Kate Gosselin and Donald Trump.
To preserve your mental hygiene, I will NOT share with you the details of the time I had a pastry shaped like Oscar the Grouch (fuck you for judging me - you know you would've bought it too) and I put it through the x-ray machine in its own plastic container and the security personnel--there were three of them--kept running it through the machine, backing it up, and running it through again to figure out what it was, rather than just, for example, looking at it with their own eyes. No, I will not share that story with you, because it's so fucking stupid that it will make you suicidal if you think about it for too long.
3.) Other Passengers. This is where the bulk of your trouble is going to occur during the average flight. You can mentally accept the fact that the airlines suck, and you can justify the inanity of airport security as being just another of humanity's great fuck-ups (with germ warfare and skinny jeans being among some of the other greats). But the other passengers...well, if the Oscar the Grouch pastry story didn't make you want to kill yourself, your fellow air travel passengers will. Either way, I am expecting about a 90% mortality rate from reading this column.
You will begin seeing problems at check-in (there's always some asshole who cuts you in line or tries to put a child in his or her checked baggage--which is less of a problem these days because the airlines will let that one go with a higher luggage fee), but your real problems will begin at security (of course). Some of the common offenders include
- People who don't have their shit ready to go through the x-ray machine
- People who refuse to take off their shoes
- People who are afraid of that air puffer machine that checks for weapons (GET YOUR ASS IN THE MACHINE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL BEAT YOU TO WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE WITH MY STAPLE REMOVER)
- People who become upset when security confiscates a full tube of toothpaste (we won't touch on the liquid restrictions - or else I won't be able to finish this column without setting fire to my eyes)
- Women in impractical high-heeled shoes (for no specific reason other than they really bother me. Who wears impractical footwear while traveling? Only an idiot.)
Once you finally take off (if you make it off the tarmac...good luck), and after you've dealt with the guy who is sitting in your aisle seat and says, "Oh, it's OK, I don't mind the aisle" and pretends as though his middle seat is more attractive and then sighs audibly when you insist on occupying the aisle seat for which you paid an unreasonable fee, you will also encounter
- People who scream every time there is mild turbulence
- People who invade your personal space
- People who make cellular phone calls despite clear rules prohibiting it
- People who recline their seat backs onto your lap during the ascent and descent
- People who hit the flight attendant call button instead of the reading light button and don't realize it and then become confused when a flight attendant shows up
- People who try to talk to you when you're sleeping
- People who try to talk to you when you're reading
- People who tell you that they are in the frozen ravioli sales business (really; I wish I were making this up) and then ask what you do and then lecture you on your specific line of work as though they, being in the frozen ravioli business, know more about your line of work (which is not the frozen ravioli business) than you do.
In conclusion, Doug, Google Maps tells me that it's a quick and painless 27-hour drive to the Mitchell Corn Palace. Have fun.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Bicyclists
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Hello. My name is Jeff, and I am a resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now that summer is upon us, I have noticed that the bicyclists -
Say no more, Jeff. I already know what you're going to ask. You want to know whether or not you would be charged with manslaughter or murder if you just rolled your Subaru Outback right over one of those skinny jean-wearing fucknuts. Although I am not, technically, an attorney, and I do not, technically, have a juris doctorate, and I have not, technically, passed the Massachusetts bar exam, I did receive a B- in an undergraduate Constitutional law course and I usually keep Law & Order on in the background when TNT is running a marathon, so I do fancy myself something of an expert on the subject. The correct answer is neither, because a Subaru Outback won't get the job done and you'll just end up with a messenger bag stuck in your wheel well. It's not worth the effort.
Some of you are reading this with horror and shock and are saying to yourselves, "This column is offensive. I ride my bike all over town and you have just referred to all bicyclists as 'fucknuts' and implied that you would run me over if you had access to a steam roller." That's a typical bicyclist response. You read this column just like you go through intersections - without fucking looking. If you READ ON (i.e. STOP AT A FUCKING RED LIGHT), you will find some CLARIFYING STATEMENTS.
So your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to bicycling as a concept. In fact, your Aunt Slugger used to be quite the avid cyclist. Bicycling is an energy efficient, enjoyable, low-impact way to burn off last night's raw cookie dough binge. With proper gear (a helmet, rear and front lights, light or reflective clothing, and glitter tassles on the handlebars), bicycling can even be a good way to get to and from work (so long as your coworkers aren't slipping on the sweat that's dripping off your nose).
The problem, as your Aunt Slugger sees it, is that there appears to be general confusion among bicyclists; they appear to believe that they are neither pedestrians nor moving vehicles. So I will provide the authoritative clarifying declaration: YOU ARE VEHICLES. THIS MEANS YOU CANNOT RIDE THE WRONG WAY DOWN A NARROW ONE-WAY CAMBRIDGE STREET WHEN AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE IS TRYING TO GET BY. This also means that you cannot (for example) ride down the SIDEWALK next to a street where there is a DEDICATED BIKE LANE and then swerve to narrowly avoid hitting your Aunt Slugger as she steps out onto the sidewalk from her apartment building and then SWEAR AUDIBLY as though it was my fault for having the balls to exit my apartment building on foot.
Bicyclists should also be advised that they need to actually adhere to posted traffic signs. So if you are (for example) approaching an intersection with a stop sign and a pedestrian crosswalk that your Aunt Slugger is utilizing to cross the road safely, you ACTUALLY NEED TO COME TO A STOP. I realize that stop signs can be confusing, given their giant octagonal size, red coloring, and bold letters that read "STOP," but when in doubt, err on the side of caution and COME TO A STOP instead of plowing forth at 25 mph and forcing your Aunt Slugger to make a sideways dive out of your path.
A few other points:
1.) If you are wearing all black clothing and do not have a headlight and tail light on your bike in direct violation of Massachusetts state law and you are bicycling against a red light in Central Square at 11pm, you are not, in fact, entitled to make a rude gesture when I almost hit you.
2.) If you decide to bicycle across a major bridge during a snowstorm in February, you do not actually get to scream at a bus that is accidentally blocking the bike lane because the bike lane is not visible due to the fact that the road has not yet been plowed. YOU. ARE. BIKING. IN. A. SNOWSTORM.
3.) We know that you're fashion forward. We can't help but notice your skinny jeans, $87 witty t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, and sneakers without arch support. It's like looking at a train wreck; we want to look away, but we can't. Nevertheless, your thirst for ridiculous and impractical fashion DOES NOT ABSOLVE YOU OF YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO WEAR A HELMET. Given that you roll around town like an infant on roller skates, YOU ARE A CLINICAL IDIOT IF YOU DO NOT WEAR PROTECTIVE HEADGEAR. Of course, maybe you've weighed the risk; maybe you've said to yourself that you are not concerned about protecting your pea-size reptilian brain from injury. And that makes sense from your perspective, but I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE TRADER JOE'S PARKING LOT. Even if YOU don't care about head injury, the REST OF US still have to be able to sleep at night without having nightmares about your headless, skinny-jean clad body.
Before you start drafting hate mail, let me just point out that I am aware that motorists aren't necessarily innocent here, especially the dark blue Dodge Caravan with license plate # W41 PT2 that cut me off in the Target parking lot yesterday. So I don't want to get a bunch of letters pissing and moaning about the time you you were locking up your bike at Whole Foods and got sideswiped by an SUV whose driver was reading a book, eating lunch, and waxing her eyebrows at the wheel, OK?
Jeff, I hope this answered your question, whatever your question was.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Hello. My name is Jeff, and I am a resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now that summer is upon us, I have noticed that the bicyclists -
Say no more, Jeff. I already know what you're going to ask. You want to know whether or not you would be charged with manslaughter or murder if you just rolled your Subaru Outback right over one of those skinny jean-wearing fucknuts. Although I am not, technically, an attorney, and I do not, technically, have a juris doctorate, and I have not, technically, passed the Massachusetts bar exam, I did receive a B- in an undergraduate Constitutional law course and I usually keep Law & Order on in the background when TNT is running a marathon, so I do fancy myself something of an expert on the subject. The correct answer is neither, because a Subaru Outback won't get the job done and you'll just end up with a messenger bag stuck in your wheel well. It's not worth the effort.
Some of you are reading this with horror and shock and are saying to yourselves, "This column is offensive. I ride my bike all over town and you have just referred to all bicyclists as 'fucknuts' and implied that you would run me over if you had access to a steam roller." That's a typical bicyclist response. You read this column just like you go through intersections - without fucking looking. If you READ ON (i.e. STOP AT A FUCKING RED LIGHT), you will find some CLARIFYING STATEMENTS.
So your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to bicycling as a concept. In fact, your Aunt Slugger used to be quite the avid cyclist. Bicycling is an energy efficient, enjoyable, low-impact way to burn off last night's raw cookie dough binge. With proper gear (a helmet, rear and front lights, light or reflective clothing, and glitter tassles on the handlebars), bicycling can even be a good way to get to and from work (so long as your coworkers aren't slipping on the sweat that's dripping off your nose).
The problem, as your Aunt Slugger sees it, is that there appears to be general confusion among bicyclists; they appear to believe that they are neither pedestrians nor moving vehicles. So I will provide the authoritative clarifying declaration: YOU ARE VEHICLES. THIS MEANS YOU CANNOT RIDE THE WRONG WAY DOWN A NARROW ONE-WAY CAMBRIDGE STREET WHEN AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE IS TRYING TO GET BY. This also means that you cannot (for example) ride down the SIDEWALK next to a street where there is a DEDICATED BIKE LANE and then swerve to narrowly avoid hitting your Aunt Slugger as she steps out onto the sidewalk from her apartment building and then SWEAR AUDIBLY as though it was my fault for having the balls to exit my apartment building on foot.
Bicyclists should also be advised that they need to actually adhere to posted traffic signs. So if you are (for example) approaching an intersection with a stop sign and a pedestrian crosswalk that your Aunt Slugger is utilizing to cross the road safely, you ACTUALLY NEED TO COME TO A STOP. I realize that stop signs can be confusing, given their giant octagonal size, red coloring, and bold letters that read "STOP," but when in doubt, err on the side of caution and COME TO A STOP instead of plowing forth at 25 mph and forcing your Aunt Slugger to make a sideways dive out of your path.
A few other points:
1.) If you are wearing all black clothing and do not have a headlight and tail light on your bike in direct violation of Massachusetts state law and you are bicycling against a red light in Central Square at 11pm, you are not, in fact, entitled to make a rude gesture when I almost hit you.
2.) If you decide to bicycle across a major bridge during a snowstorm in February, you do not actually get to scream at a bus that is accidentally blocking the bike lane because the bike lane is not visible due to the fact that the road has not yet been plowed. YOU. ARE. BIKING. IN. A. SNOWSTORM.
3.) We know that you're fashion forward. We can't help but notice your skinny jeans, $87 witty t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, and sneakers without arch support. It's like looking at a train wreck; we want to look away, but we can't. Nevertheless, your thirst for ridiculous and impractical fashion DOES NOT ABSOLVE YOU OF YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO WEAR A HELMET. Given that you roll around town like an infant on roller skates, YOU ARE A CLINICAL IDIOT IF YOU DO NOT WEAR PROTECTIVE HEADGEAR. Of course, maybe you've weighed the risk; maybe you've said to yourself that you are not concerned about protecting your pea-size reptilian brain from injury. And that makes sense from your perspective, but I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE TRADER JOE'S PARKING LOT. Even if YOU don't care about head injury, the REST OF US still have to be able to sleep at night without having nightmares about your headless, skinny-jean clad body.
Before you start drafting hate mail, let me just point out that I am aware that motorists aren't necessarily innocent here, especially the dark blue Dodge Caravan with license plate # W41 PT2 that cut me off in the Target parking lot yesterday. So I don't want to get a bunch of letters pissing and moaning about the time you you were locking up your bike at Whole Foods and got sideswiped by an SUV whose driver was reading a book, eating lunch, and waxing her eyebrows at the wheel, OK?
Jeff, I hope this answered your question, whatever your question was.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
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