Month: March 2008

There is a spot in Southwest Portland that promotes dating in a very unique and somewhat revolutionary way. It has been nicknamed (at least by my sister), “Social Safeway.”

This Safeway amid the busy college and business life in downtown Portland provides a very sustainable dating arena. I find this somewhat smart as young, out-of-college-ers are not only interested in eating and to some extent working (because of the much needed money to provide for the eating) but young, out-of-college-ers are also interested in dating.

Although there are many places for people to meet, especially in the downtown metropolitan area, there is a certain mentality that accompanies these social “hot spots” that does not promote long-term dating. I mean, come on, how seriously can a girl really take a guy when he’s grinding up against her to the tune of “Get Low” in the lovely stylings of Lil Jon?

Social Safeway is a brilliant idea. A friendly and safe atmosphere is provided with soft background music setting the mood for a casual “shopping” experience. Conversation starters are endless (though I would avoid chitchat in the feminine hygiene aisle) and one can guess a person’s lifestyle, financial status, and relative age judging by items selected for purchase.

Worried about legal-age issues? Hang out in the liquor section. Looking for that special someone with a similar digestive lifestyle? Just hang out around your favorite foods that you’d like your soon-to-be partner to include in his/her diet. Vegetarians can seek out other vegetarians. Organic conscious can seek other pro-organics. And even if one wanted to put up a facade by sneaking in items into his/her basket, it would be an expensive one to fake, especially after many trips to Social Safeway.

But faking a certain “look” when it comes down to food is not a very convincing lie to make. Eating is a necessary part of life that you really can’t hide. After all, you are what you eat.

Sand castles are complex.

At the beach, they make an adequate distraction and test of structural design for the young and the young at heart.

Unfortunately, that is about the extent of their usefulness.

As for those people fortunate enough to be in the castle market, actively seeking a castle as a dwelling place and home, I would not recommend a castle made out of sand.

Sand, unfortunately, lacks the solidity and cohesive attributes typically sought after in structural bases and building blocks of homes. It isn’t solid enough to legitimately build a castle out of, even with meager attempts at increased stability with the addition of salt water and slush to the sand mix.

A sand castle would be perpetually susceptible to the elements of nature (and rambunctious two-year-olds) and as such probably difficult to insure, at least without paying a hefty premium that hardly seems worth it.

While I appreciate the innocence and joy a sand castle brings to the beach, I can’t, at any stretch of the imagination, accept them as a viable housing option. It took me twenty-three years to realize this…perhaps, it is time we prepare our children better, and stop encouraging such outlandish fantasies.

Here are some cool sand castle pictures, if that wets your noodle:

Our loyal readers may or may not have noticed that we at Misusing Big Words have stopped sitting by our telephones, waiting for a call from the Extreme Makeover people, and have decided to do the makeover ourselves.

We’ve now got a brand new design that (we feel) is more pleasing to the eye, and hopefully to other body parts as well. In the next coming weeks, look for further improvements, including Search by Topic; Notes by James, Mark and Cherie; and a “Meet the Misusers” page where you can find out more about us, your beloved crew on this sailing ship bound for greatness. And there may even be more improvements we don’t know about yet!

As always, let us know what you think about our humble venture, either in the comments or by e-mailing us:
[email protected]
[email protected]
[email protected]

I read GQ and Details and Esquire, you know, for the articles. Without sounding too pretentious, I’ll admit, I read them to look interesting, intelligent and intellectual. I will be honest, though, and simple observation would confirm, I typically thumb-over the fashion articles.

I think I do this, not so much because I dislike the advice they are providing (heck, I should probably take a couple tips from them considering this), but something about following their advice and putting together their outfits and accessories makes me feel like a douche bag.

It might be the mind set from living in Hawaii, but male fashion just seems kind of ridiculous to me. Messenger bags, suspenders, berets… “You’ve got to be kidding me!” “Are you serious?” I hold back saying every time I witness such ridiculous offenses. I can think of no better way to describe the feelings I feel when I see these things then just a resounding “why?”

Perhaps the biggest offender of all this accessorization, the one that makes me cackle more than anything, the most ridiculous of the unnecessary gadgets, is the cellular phone bluetooth ear piece.

I hate those things. I mean, come on, how hard is it to hold your phone up to your ear. Do your hands not work? There’s such an arrogance behind those things, a “look-at-me-as-I-am-just-talking-to-myself-looking-like-I-am-crazy-but-oh-wait-let-me-turn-90-degrees-so-you-can-see-that-yep-yep-there-it-is-I-am-actually-talking-on-the-phone-bet-you-didn’t-see-that-coming-booyah-I-am-awesome!” kind of aura to them. If you are wearing a bluetooth ear piece, you are definitely “that guy”.

They are ridiculous.

(Now, here comes the twist ending)

They are also ridiculously awesome!

Recent extraordinary developments have led to an increased amount of telephone conversations in my life. $120 cell phone bill overage amounts of conversation. A few weeks of long conversations, sore ears and cramping arms led me to investigate potential phone alternatives. On the top of that short list of alternatives landed the bluetooth ear piece.

One $60 investment later, I found myself experimenting with my very own piece in the the privacy of my own room.

What a marvel!

Hands free communication, and an incredible comfort makes these phone conversations less phone and more conversation. What’s weird, and somewhat vindicating, is that everything I used to judge about bluetooth ear pieces is completely true. You are totally talking to yourself, but there is such a freedom to it. And you totally get these arrogant feelings of self-awesomeness as you converse with a freedom to roam and computer (that’s the verb for using the computer) or fold clothes or sort legal documents. And it is incredible.

Before the torches are brought to me, I should backtrack a little. Yes, the ear piece is awesome, and yes, I proudly support it amongst the dust particles and 500-thread count sheet sets of my room, but I am hesitant to ever take it into the public world. I don’t even want the condo-mates to know. (Though, they do, but, respectfully, don’t ask me about it).

I think this is because of all of the reasons I used to judge people who wear these things for. I still think those things are true, and despite knowing the benefits that this beautiful little invention offers, I still think people that sport them in public are asking to be qualified as major douche faces.

I am not ready to subject myself to such critiquing. Such GQ, Details and Esquire critiquing. Does this make me hypocritical? Absolutely. I don’t care.

There are certain things that are okay to like as long as you don’t admit to them, at least as guys. Romantic comedies, Kelly Clarkson songs, Project Runway, bikini briefs. Whatever. There is nothing wrong with enjoying these things in the comfort and privacy of your own company, as long as they stay there.

Cellular phone bluetooth ear pieces are no exception. So enjoy them away, but keep it your own little secret.

In the Fall of 2005, I wrote a column for the Los Angeles Loyolan entitled “I See, You See, We all see The O.C.”. (Here’s a link to some of the articles) Probably, and sadly, some of my better writings, it was a weekly piece critiquing, reviewing and commentating on the previous week’s episode of “The O.C”.

At the time, the show had hit season three, and while still popular in the teen and 18-24 crowd, its audience and quality, for that matter, had begun declining. I was still watching it, though, still dedicated to the hijinxs of those spoiled kids from Orange County, having been tragically roped in during the incredible season one and unable to separate myself from it in the ensuing years.

Before I continue, I should note, I am a huge fan of the teenage dramas from Fox and The WB of the late 1990s and early 2000s. “Dawson’s Creek” is easily our generation’s “Beverly Hills 90210”. With its racier content, “The O.C.” would complete this SAT analogy to make it our generation’s “Melrose Place”. “Smallville” probably fits in there somewhere, too, as does “One Tree Hill” (which admittedly is the one program of the genre that I never quite accepted. I blame Chad Michael Murray.)

This past weekend, I revisited one of the greatest seasons of recent television with a DVD marathon of “The O.C.” season one (the only better, in my opinion, being season one of “Friday Night Lights” and “Lost”).

Watching it, you realize why the show fell off so dramatically in the later seasons. All the elements of the show that made it so enjoyable and gripping that first season had been diluted or completely missing through the later seasons.

Some observations:

1. The violence. Ryan, the kid from Chino, brought spunk (apparently, I found out this week, that “spunk” also means male ejaculate…wasn’t aware of this, and not what I am insinuating here…just wanted to point that out) and an unfettered temper to Orange County. In the early episodes he seemed to punch people for really no particular reason at all. It made for a type of tourettes fueled excitement. By season two, Ryan was a poon and we were back to watching kids over analyze their lives (ala Dawson’s Creek). Typically, this wouldn’t be bad, but we don’t like these characters for their analytical skills, we like them for their sexually charged violence and shenanigans. It’s like when Michael Jordan stopped playing basketball and switched to baseball. Sure, you watched him play because he’s Michael Jordan, but it wasn’t what you loved him for and hence it wasn’t the same. It didn’t have the same affect.

2. The sex. It might be nothing compared to today’s television, but even re-watching the DVDs this weekend I felt it pretty racy. It wasn’t so much that the main characters were having a lot of sex (evidently since the writers tried to make us believe that Ryan and Marissa waited until a “very special episode” in season three to dance the horizontal tango), but the show effectively created an sexually charged atmosphere of teenage debauchery. The faceless grinding and semi-nakedness prevalent in every party scene throughout the first season created a juicy setting for all of the rumblings.

3. The supporting characters. I suppose in every show characters need to cover some sort of character arc or growth or else viewers will complain nothing changes. I think that is true of main characters, but not so much the supporting cast. Unfortunately in this growth we lose some of the best elements of some of the best characters. Julie Cooper is a marvel in season one. I am hard pressed to think of a character so unequivocally hated than Julie Cooper in recent television memory. She was so consistent, so steadfast. There is not a scene she is in that doesn’t end with my wanting to utter “what a bitch.” I think that says something. In the later seasons, as they pushed her farther and farther into absurdity, and eventually try to redeemer her, she loses that specialness. You kind of want to always just hate her. Luke is another character that sadly got his story line wrapped up and then subsequently written of the show. That’s a shame.

4. The humor. Throwaway lines from Seth, Summer and Sandy (the three “s”) were irreverent and funny. They felt like normal things people would say, not scripted television, which is impressive because lest us not forget “real” normal conversation in the titillating real life knock-offs of “The O.C.” in MTV’s “Laguna Beach” and “The Hills”. (Side note…here is a funny clip from James Franco and Mila Kunis who show how much leniency we provide reality shows and their dialog by acting out some of the dialog. It is funny, in its sadness. Here is the link). The writing that first season was quick, smart and original. Sadly, the later seasons lost some of that.

I suppose I am just reminiscing. But, despite the terrible seasons that would follow, you cannot take away or remove the incredible 27 episodes (!!! that’s a lot more than usual) of the first season of “The O.C.”

In what was probably more one small step for mankind, one giant leap for man than the other way around, a few weeks ago, I moved out of my parents’ house.

It is a big step towards growing up, though probably not as big as this or this.

There are obvious benefits to emerging from under the guarding wings of parents, but there are also some downsides. Increased responsibility, rent and decreased laundry cleaned with the motherly touch. (R.I.P “magic hamper”)

One of those added responsibilities is grocery shopping. No longer on the gravy train of mom provided and cooked food and meals, I have to provide for myself (and the condo mates on Tuesday, Thursday and the occasional Saturday–my designated cooking nights).

I am okay with this, though. I am a big fan of food.

Food gives me chubbies. Grocery stores, loaded with food, also give me chubbies. Costco, with its bulk quantities and king-sized portions of food, makes me need to change my pants. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Costco, technically, is more than a grocery store with its large assortment of products–jeans, vodka, hot dogs–from the Kirkland Signature catalog (which always struck me as somewhat strange that the same people that makes jean shorts and garbage bags are making my gallon-sized vodka and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies…but so be it).

On a recent trip to Costco, I discovered besides 64 oz. containers of Mayonnaise, they also sell engagement rings. Oddly, like everything else in the store, they sell them in bulk. Not sure what you would need with three of engagement rings, but, I am sure if they sell them, someone is buying.

Outside of every Costco, their snack stands sell $1.50 hot dogs and drinks and $2 slices of pizza. My first inclination is to say, “wow, that’s cheap!”, but maybe, it is just that everything everywhere else is just unnecessarily expensive (looking your way, $5 slice of pizza at Sbarro).

Even the selfish hippie, will be pleased that they don’t bag your groceries…at all. No bags, nothing. Well, if you are willing to recycle and reuse they do offer you old boxes to carry your belongs. High class, not really, but hey, if you are shopping at Costco, you probably aren’t the type who is going to judge.

Living on one’s own can be exciting and challenging and angering (more on that later in an article entitled “Roommates” about the differing of opinions upon what is considered “clean”) but it is nice to know that places like Costco exist to make things a little easier.

We’re now past the halfway mark of Mustache March, and since mine looks so foolish, I’ll refrain from posting another picture. Instead, this week will showcase mustaches in pop culture.

Most professional athletes are pretty prolific at it. Politicians have their own ivy-league-preppy version of it, which is kind of effective (at least, in their own circles). Me, I am pretty inept.

I’m not sure why this is. I pride myself on being fairly situationally comedic (you know, like “Friends” or “How I Met Your Mother”) and really isn’t that what trash talking is all about. Making humorous, insulting observations about a person, or their mother, at an appropriate time to break their concentration. That’s my forte. But for some reason, doing so in the form of trash talk, trying to talk the smack, it escapes me.

I couldn’t trash talk a overly-emotional first grader to tears.

In my opinion, good trash talk consists of one or all of the following and must be delivered with ill intensions:

1. A detrimental statement about one’s abilities. (”Your skills at this particular task are inadequate!”) Bonus points if it is sexual in nature (”You’re skills at particular sexual tasks are very inadequate!”)

2. A derogatory comment about one’s mother. (”Your mother sucks!”) Bonus points if it is sexual in nature. (”Your mother sucks… everybody!”) Double bonus points if it is sexual in nature and references yourself. (”Your mother sucks… everybody… including myself… frequently and often”) Triple bonus points if it is sexual in nature and references yourself and is derogatory. (”Your mother sucks…. everybody… including myself… frequently and often… but she sucks at it.)

3. A threatening statement of violence. (”I am going hurt you”). Bonus points if it is fatal in nature. (”I am going to kill you”). Double bonus points if it is really fatal in nature (”I am going to kill you dead!”)

4. Swear words. (”I am going to kick you butt!”)

5. Similes (to convey your intentions with a clear, non-related example). (”I am going to beat you like a rug!)

It seems so straight forward. So easily put together with these easy steps.

Why can’t I do it?

In our on-going effort to provide a public service to our readers, today, we welcome part 2 of the on-going series “Steps to Growing Up”. A check list and gut check to evaluate yourself and your progress into adulthood, for better or for worse.

You can read part one, here.

Today, part two. Of equal, if not greater, damning than part one in steps towards growing up is purchasing life insurance.

Nobody actually knows what life insurance does. Not even those kindly old people who try to sell it to other kindly old people during the commercial breaks on The Price is Right. It just kind of exists.

It’s something that at some point you are supposed to buy when you are trying to assimilate into adulthood. It’s sort of like a food processor, or cuff links, but for your life.

I have life insurance. I pay money to some life insurance company every month. As of yet, I have not seen anything in return. And in two years, I have the privilege to give them even more money and not get anything back. I guess that’s not completely true. I do get a quarterly magazine from the life insurance company about how good it is to be living. I guess that’s something…

What I think you are really buying when you cut a monthly check to the life insurance company is the privilege to say, “Yeah, I have life insurance” and get all of the adult connotations that come with it. And if that is something you are striving for then, I guess, mission accomplished.

There are a lot of undesirable jobs out there. Genital herpes spokesperson. Adult peep show jiz mopper. Poop Lab Technician. Maybe less grotesque, but also joining these embarassments in the doldrums of career aspirations is Pizza Delivery Guy. Definitely not at the top of the list of undesireables, it’s up there.

I feel few people complete their career aptitude test hoping it returns pizza delivery guy/girl, and I doubt many people major in home delivery at college. I could be wrong, though.

And actually, I kind of hope I am.

Because if you think about it, there are quite a lot of benefits to holding a career in the italian culinary delivery industry. This list is by no means comprehensive, but this is what I could come up with:

1. Your car always smells phenomenal. I am not a pizza delivery guy, and as such, my car does not always smell phenomenal. After going to the gym, it often smells like BO. Most other times it smells like farts, because, well, you know… Perhaps some of its few high moments are after I get take-out and have to transport it home. The next day, I am often treated to the residual smells that smell great. As a pizza delivery guy, your car always smells like that. If you can get them into your car…the women won’t be able to resist.

2. You work for a Fortune 500 company. This is about 90% true. If you work for one of the chains (Pizza Hut, Dominos, Papa Johns), then you’ve got a pretty impressive company to drop on your resume. Some creative wording on the title “Pizza Delivery Guy”, maybe “Human Resources – Sustenance Provider” and you are good to go.

3. People always welcome you at your door. Nobody ever pretends they aren’t home when you ring the door bell. You aren’t a Jehovah’s Witness. People welcome you with open arms. They want you. They need you. That has got to feel pretty good.

4. Free Auto Accessories. People spend thousands of dollars pimping out their cars with lights and accessories. You get to do this for free with your clamp on window sign. Not only does it pimp out your car, every girl that sees you, instantly gets your phone number. Imagine the possibilities….especially when you combine that fact, with point #1. Pizza isn’t the only thing you will be delivering home, if you know what I mean…

If things don’t work out for me in advertising. I know where I am headed…