Posts Tagged ‘Babies’

The Five People You Meet in [First Class]

March 30, 2011

Today I sit in the squalor of this bottom-rung Santa Monica apartment I share with DJ Steve, recently fired from a job BUSSING TABLES and unsure when, how, or if I will achieve those dreams of screenwriting I’ve harbored for however long.

…But a year ago I was regularly and undeservedly flying FIRST CLASS, and that seems like a better launching pad for today’s post than counting the nooks in my spackled ceiling! Tray tables up, please!

For those who haven’t experienced the ecstasy of first class flight (you simply must), here’s everything you need to know: it is EXACTLY AS PERFECT as you think it is. The booze upgrade hits you first. You can drink in coach, sure, but it’s hampered both by price and frequency of cart appearances. No such problems up front, where you’ve already paid* the open bar fee and flight attendants are less safety regulators than waiters. The nuts? They’re warm. And the space — oh, the space! The fattest among you would find absolutely no trouble even splitting one of those extra-large seats, and with another fatty to boot. You will not be discriminated against!

* Note: I did not pay for a single one of these special flights. I cannot afford shirts most of the time.

But for all the Candyland wizardry, there’s a trade-off in flying first class…and that’s dealing with the kinds of people who fly first-class. We’re not blind to the ways of the world — we know that assholes exist everywhere, and in every form. Little kids and Habitat for Humanity workers can be assholes! But it isn’t all random. Spend enough time in a particular pocket of the world and patterns of asshole-ishness begin to take shape; the Matrix starts to reveal itself. What follows is the result of six months, and 8-10 flights, researching life behind that elusive curtain: a field guide to all of your new best friends.

Barf bags available right after the jump!

Average Age for 1st Cell Phone is 8 (Which is Still Not Low Enough)

February 18, 2009
Yo baby, gimme them digits!

Yo baby, gimme them digits!

Straight from the early morning presses today comes a report from CrunchGear (a subsidiary of one of my favorite sites, TechCrunch, but NOT to be confused with TechGear lolzorz) that states that the average age for a human’s first cell phone is at the tender age of 8 years old. If you read the fine print from the folks over at Telegraph, the facts are less than compelling, but it doesn’t change the fact that the number 8 is still far too high.

I had a cell phone when I was 4, a BlackBerry when I was 9, and an iPhone by the time I was 14. Don’t bother checking any timelines though; given that it’s Wednesday, I’m on the LOST time-tripping clock. Spoiler Alert: Sawyer is Ben’s father?! All theories aside, I think it’s time we quit babying our babies. I mean, what are they, babies? I was navigating DOS playing Commander Keen when I was 5, and look how far I’ve come: a blog, an iPhone, a blog you can read from an iPhone, and an enormous sense of self-worth. Infinitely fulfilling and rewarding life? CHECK.

If we want to win the next space race against China or anyone else who thinks they’re (incorrectly) entitled to exploring space other than us, we need to get our younglings outfitted with smartphones ASAP. The sooner we get them texting and surfing in a mobile environment, the better off we’ll be. Do you want to be the one to tell your grandkids (over a 6G connection in the future, mind you) that the reason we’re all communists is because you thought lil’ Johnny didn’t need a cell phone until his 10th birthday rather than his 6th? No, I didn’t think so.

Now On To More Important Business

January 21, 2009

happy-easter-babiesDrunk on Inaugural boxed wine (of the figurative variety) last night I kept clicking the “Next” tab on my WordPress dashboard, hoping to stumble on one or five exciting new blogs. Something tapped into the national vein? Something hilarious? What I got was better than anything I could have imagined. People Magazine, sophisticated older sister to Us Weekly, has for an undetermined amount of time been maintaining a blog of such stature, such significance, that to describe it as “revolutionary” would be a gross understatement. Whittling out so much of their print magazine’s unwanted filler and streamlining the meatiest content, they’re bringing American women exactly what they want. That’s right – celebrity babies. Cartons of ’em.