Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I went through a period, back in the early days of this ridiculousness,
when I'd log onto TheWVSR in the morning and react to current events, or
interesting little tidbits in the news. I approached it from a
"humorous" point of view, and tried to inject some low-rent
social satire into the mix. But it didn't take long to realize that I
was one of about ten billion other people doing the exact same
thing. And, what's worse, roughly eight billion of those other people
were doing a better job of it.
So screw it, I made adjustments. Adapt or die. And today if there's some
hot topic at the office, something everyone's buzzing about around the
ol' water cooler, there's a good chance I won't be talking about it
here. Instead, I'll be discussing boxes of salt, and how long it takes
to empty one during normal household use -- or some such thing. Because
that's what I'm best at, what I enjoy the most, and what hopefully makes
an occasional visit to our humble domain worthwhile.
I also try not to link to "wacky" news articles with a
twelve-hour shelf life, or to YouTube videos that will be as stale as
bottom-layer hamper underwear by the time you click on it. In short, I
attempt to make TheWVSR somewhat unique. It might not be good, mind you,
but I like to think that it's kinda different.
And while we're not setting any world records here, traffic to the site
indicates that we might be doing something right. When I started
it was just me, my brother, and about five guys I went to high school
with. Now at least twice as many people visit on a given day. At least!
Anyway.... I tell you all this because I'm about to break one of my own
rules, and talk about the death of the Crocodile Hunter. Please know
that this is NOT a return to the old way, and I hope you'll at least
give me some points for waiting until the world moved onto the Next Big
Thing (9/11). I didn't just jump right in there and start making
tasteless jokes about it, then add, with a big douchey wink, "Oh,
I'm sorry, is it too soon?"
You know, like ten billion other people.
-- When Toney told me that Steve Irwin had been killed, one morning last
week, my first reaction was, "Who the fuck's Steve Irwin?"
Then when it all became clear to me, I thought, "Oh man, he has
little kids."
It didn't surprise me that the dude died
of something other than natural causes. I mean, seriously. He teased
alligators with pork shanks for a living. No, the news itself didn't
shock me. It's just the fact that he had young children that made me
think about it for more than five minutes. And that's pretty weird,
considering my history.
Before I had kids, I wasn't very tolerant of them. I know you're not
supposed to admit such a thing, but it's true. When I'd go to a
restaurant and some wailing brat would kick-off like a siren, it was all
I could do to maintain my composure. Sometimes I'd roll my eyes and sigh
theatrically if someone with a crumb-cruncher was even seated
near us, anticipating the cacophony that was sure to come.
I was the classic asshole.
One of my recurring "jokes" (there were lots of them) was to
suggest that eateries provide not only a no-smoking section, but also a
no-lip smacking section, AND a no-kids area. On the rare occasion that
I'd encounter the lip-smacking children of smoking parents, it would
almost be enough to send me straight to the wacky shack.
When Susan Smith, the dumbass wood-hick in South Carolina who strapped
her two young sons into the back of a Mazda Protégé, then rolled the
vehicle into a lake so she could impress a big shot at the rendering
plant where she worked (or whatever), I made another recurring
"joke." I said, over and over again, that I just couldn't
understand how a person could do such a thing. Then I'd add, with a big
douchey wink, "That Mazda probably had less than 20,000 miles on
it."
Then the Secrets came along, and I suddenly found myself on the
receiving-end of people like myself. I remember taking a cross-country
flight with our oldest boy, just the two of us, and people were openly
hostile. He was a toddler at the time, and had trouble sitting still.
Compared with other kids his age he was well-behaved (honestly true),
but he wasn't just sitting there like Putty on Seinfeld.
And people shot me dirty looks and exhaled loudly and made big
exaggerated motions to show that they were turning up the volume on
their headsets -- all the way from LAX to Yeager Field in Charleston. I
was shocked that people could be so rude and unsympathetic.
Why did they have to be such assholes?
Once, when the youngest Secret was still a baby, we were at a restaurant
with another couple. They didn't have any kids at the time, and were
thus experts on child-rearing. During the meal our son dropped some
macaroni on the floor near his high chair, and the golden couple were aghast
at the "terrible mess" he'd created. In fact, it bothered them
so much, they snuck away and apologized to the waitress when they
thought we weren't looking. Man, it pisses me off all over again, just
thinking about it....
Years later, we were out with the same people, and the tables were
turned. THEY had a small child this time, and he acted like the ape-boy
Donny from The Wild Thornberries. He shrieked and hollered
through the entire meal, stood on his chair, flung food, and wandered
around the dining room with impunity. At one point he actually walked up
to a stranger's table, picked up a dinner roll, took a bite of it, and
put it back.
And when people had the audacity to act irritated…. Well, they were
waaaaaay out of line, and probably Republican to boot. Needless to say,
I reminded them of the earlier incident, and they proclaimed it a
figment of my imagination. Not only had it never happened, but they'd
never even been to the restaurant in question. Grrrr....
Anyway, I don't view children as the enemy anymore, as creatures put on
this Earth to ruin yet another of Jeff Kay's meals. My instant
reaction to the Steve Irwin news makes that clear enough. Kids are innocents,
and I feel protective and give them plenty of leeway now. In
fact, I like to see the younglings having fun and being silly, just
being kids. It makes me happy,
even if it generates a lot of racket.
I guess you live your life and gain new perspectives? Pass the beer
nuts.
But.... that doesn't mean I'm any less irritated at restaurants or on
airplanes these days. No, I've just shifted the blame. Because in lots
of cases, more and more it seems, it's NOT just kids being kids. It's
parents who don't set limits, who don't enforce rules, and who expect
the rest of the world to adapt to their wild-ass circus when it rolls
into town. Discipline Deficit Disorder (DDD) is my newly-adjusted pet
peeve, and I'm blaming the adults!
And nowadays restaurants should offer a no-smoking section, a no-lip
smacking section, and a wishy-washy parent pavilion, where kids can set
the goddamn place on fire but go home with their self-esteem intact. Now
Donny, let me explain why it makes Mommy sad that you killed our
waitress....
Heh. Perhaps I haven't matured as much as I like to give myself credit
for?
Whatever. As it turns out, this wasn't really about the Crocodile Hunter
at all, was it? In fact, I'm not even sure what it was.... But all that
apologizing and hand-wringing wasn't necessary, huh?
-- Oh well, let's not let it go to waste. Here's some half-baked
"social satire" inspired by the news of Steve Irwin's death, a
statement from our dog Andy:
"Since September 4th, many Animal-Americans have been subjected to
searches at Petcos and other locations based upon their four-footedness
and snoutly origin, without any credible information linking individuals
to criminal conduct. Animal profiling is fundamentally un-American and
must be made illegal. I beg of you not to be swayed by raw emotions on
this sad occasion, and to view the actions of a single misguided
militant stingray as it is.... Hey wait! Do I smell
cheese?"
Yeah, see why I moved away from that sort of thing?
-- And since we're on a roll of sorts, breaking rules all willy-nilly,
here's our question of the day: where were you, and what were you doing,
when you first heard about the 9/11 attacks?
I was at my desk in Scranton, and some guy with high-pockets came
busting in and said a plane had just crashed into the World Trade
Center. I assumed it was an accident, and casually began reading about
it on the Web.
Then the second plane hit, and all the news sites were no longer
accessible; the entire Internet was on the verge of shitting the bed. We
had to go out in the hall and listen to radio reports over the loud
speakers, like it was 1941. It was surreal; nobody could believe what
they were hearing.
By early afternoon my employer told us all to just go home and be with
our families. We watched TV for hours, then I decided to take Andy for a
walk. We'd just "adopted" him two days before, and he was
still a novelty. And while we walked I noticed that there were no sounds
outside; the whole world was quiet. Even the birds in the trees seemed
to be shocked into silence.
What about you? Where were you, and what were you doing? Use the
comments link below to tell us about it.
--
I went through a period, back in the early days of this ridiculousness,
when I'd log onto TheWVSR in the morning and react to current events, or
interesting little tidbits in the news. I approached it from a
"humorous" point of view, and tried to inject some low-rent
social satire into the mix. But it didn't take long to realize that I
was one of about ten billion other people doing the exact same
thing. And, what's worse, roughly eight billion of those other people
were doing a better job of it.