Thoughts From The Mall

The Mall is a magical place full of retail wonder and people watching splendor. People in pajamas, people in suits, people with kids...you name it, The Mall has it. Being as I was recently employed by a large retailer at the local Mall, I have had some time to make some observations. Here is what I have come up with.

Stuff That Goes On In The Mall

1. There is an air of "It's all about me."
2. Food Court = No Rules.
3. Escalators are often mistaken for jungle gyms.
4. Nobody ever really knows what's going on.
5. Most people don't care...about anything.

Allow me to explain.

1. As I said, people show up wearing and doing all sorts of ridiculous things. Wearing pajamas, wearing bikini tops, screaming on cell phones, using the MP3 player function on their phone...on speaker...at full blast. These are all things I run into at The Mall. Seriously? News Flash: There are a lot of other people at The Mall. Most of them do not care about your love of country music, Hello Kitty PJ's, or the fight you are having with your significant other. You are almost NEVER the only person there. Can we keep this in mind when we get in the car? Please? Please? Thanks.
This is a perfect time for my Say It Out Loud Rule. It goes like this: If you are about to do something that seems normal, say it out loud. "I am going to wear Hello Kitty PJ Pants and a 'wife beater' to The Mall." If it STILL sounds like a good idea, then do it. If it sounds like a bad idea, stop yourself immediately. The SIOLR is flawless. Always. You can use that. You're welcome.

2. I saw some kids throwing food today while a security guard was standing right there saying...NOTHING AT ALL! Wow. Also, the Sbarro guy was loudly shouting the fact that they had "hot pizza." Nuh-uh. At a pizza shop? Uncanny. Perhaps the people that were not in line for the heralded pizza didn't know it existed, despite the sign advertising for it...that was lit up. Helpful Hint: Dude, tomorrow, yell about the pasta. Nobody really thinks about pasta there. Someone might say "No shit? Pasta? Is there Ziti? I AM IN!"

3. Down means down. Up means up. When I say "Get off the escalator, where are your parents?" what I am really saying is, "If you were my kid I would snatch you off of that thing so fast you wouldn't know if you were trying to go up the down, or down the up." They were teenagers. Trying to RUN up the escalator explicitly labeled "Down." Grow up. And the first time I ask you to stop had better be the last, or you will be shopping somewhere else. Just saying.

4. "Where is mom?" "Who is that for?" "Why can't I have this?" "I JUST BOUGHT YOU PANTS WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM!?" I suggest simply having an easy game plan before you arrive. Write it out. Here is an example:
-We are here for X
-No, you may not have Y
-We are not eating
-If we separate, meet at Z
-You can/cannot have it because I said so and you don't wear/use the one I already bought you. Do you even know where it is?
This should eliminate any questions. Also, it may eliminate passengers who were interested in anything other than X, wanted Y, were hungry, do not know where Z is, or are tired of their parent's bullshit cliche answers to questions.

5. This is evident by the first four items on this list. If you cared, you wouldn't let the little shits throw fries. You would put on some jeans or something. You would not let your kids climb on the escalators. Also, nobody would argue with their kids, which usually results in a parent saying, "I don't care, you aren't doing/getting/going to it."

So next time you go to The Mall, keep these things in mind. Or better yet, don't go. Shop online.

Should you consider your other options and still see it fit to go to The Mall, I have two bits of wisdom: 1. Give a fuck. 2. BE CAREFUL! It's a jungle out there.

--
JPD

When The Spirit Moves Us

We are nothing if not mercurial here at Stuff. We cannot simply be forced into the mold of The Common Herd. We cannot follow The Rigid Rules Of Everyday Society. We can only post when the mood strikes us. (Some of us more than others, but that is another matter. Ahem.) There are other things for which conditions must be perfect, for which the planets must perfectly align--aside from the obvious--and here is a sampling:

Stuff I Have To Be In The Mood For

1. a new book
2. a movie
3. the phone
4. hotdogs
5. drinking

I am in the mood to elaborate.

1. Even when I bitch and moan about having nothing to read and get a shipment of new books from my boyfriend, I often cannot start reading right away. I have to wait until I'm ready to read. It's beyond annoying. I hate myself for this proclivity, but there it is. Right now, I have two books sitting on my coffee table, and I haven't delved into either one of them. I'm just not sufficiently in the mood yet. Well, let me tell me something, dammit. I'd better get in the effing mood double-quick!

2. One of the reasons I broke up with Netflix is because a film sat under books and magazines in the living room for months, unwatched, costing me eleventy thousand dollars because I could not commit to watching it. Oh, sure, I could have just sent it back and gotten another one, but I would have simply NOT WATCHED THAT ONE, TOO. IT JUST DIDN'T MATTER. That film could have been oh, "Full-Frontal Male Nudity With British Male Narration Plus Bunnies!" and I would still have let it sit there. I just hate devoting a huge block of time to anything unless I am completely in the right frame of mind. I'm such a horrifying psychotic project; I know it.

3. My aversion to the telephone is epic and well-known. Ask my mother, the poor sainted woman who never hears from me unless she pretends to be on her deathbed. Whenever she sees my children or my siblings, her parting shot is always, "Tell Nance that she does still have a mother!" In order for me to telephone anyone, even her, I have to go into an empty room devoid of distraction, lie down, and force myself not to look at a clock. As you can imagine, I rarely initiate a telephone conversation, so being in the mood is noteworthy.

4. I eat hotdogs (actually, usually a hotdog) about twice a year. Charred on the grill, please. With authentic Cleveland Ballpark or Bertmann's mustard. And, regretfully, onions. (Regretfully because they will cause me to belch for hours afterward.) My husband is a fan of hotdogs and often mentions them as a summertime dinner suggestion, which usually causes me to make the "I'm going to throw up in my mouth face" because I'm almost never, ever in the mood for them. But once in a while he gets lucky.

5. Drinking, as everyone must know, is different than "having a drink." Jared--it must be mentioned here--is still learning this, as most twentysomething males are. He can sit out on the deck and undertake Drinking at the drop of a hat every night of the week. I, as a fifty-year-old person with a history of migraines, cannot. I do still enjoy some Judicious Drinking every now and again, but I have to be in the mood.

Good thing I'm at the end here because I'm sort of not feelin' it anymore. What do you have to be in the mood for?

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid

They may be termed "silly" by some, even "unfounded." But that just doesn't matter. We all have them--Phobias. Fears of things that may or may not be grounded in a frightening experience, fears that may just be irrational though nonetheless real. Here's the

Stuff That Scares The Hell Out Of Me

1. Snakes

2. Hospitals

3. Deep Water

4. Really Tall Structures

Okay. Even talking about these gives me the willies, but I'll go for it.

1. There is no Childhood Encounter with these slithery things that I can point to as The Root Of My Fear. Nothing. I just cannot even look at these beings. My reaction is galvanic, like an electric shock of revulsion and immediate panic. If I see one on television, I have to look away instantly. I cannot even touch a picture of one. It's ridiculous, I know. Incredibly, I saw a huge mural of a group of rattlesnakes on the side of a U-Haul truck while riding on the highway. I gasped audibly and got tears in my eyes! I am insane.

2. Hospitals make me uneasy in the extreme, even as a visitor. Now, I am deathly afraid of hospital infection, almost to a Howard Hughesian degree. I personally know of someone who died from a hospital infection. I personally know of someone who, only from visiting his father who contracted a hospital infection (the dreaded MRSA), also ended up with it and it took six months before he finally got rid of it. Hospitals are hotbeds of awfulness in every sense of the word. I would personally help anyone bust out of a hospital. No one gets better there. Certainly you get no rest there.

3. Okay, this one might be due to the fact that I cannot swim, which might be due to the fact that I am afraid of deep water. It is the Classic Example of Ye Olde Vicious Cycle. The moment water gets up to my neck, I panic and cry. How much of a frikking Project am I? Therefore, I do not boat/canoe/watersport.

4. This one is odd. (La! How hard is that to believe?) I cannot stand next to, say, a telephone pole and look up at it. I get a terrible gripping fear and become horribly dizzy and disoriented-feeling. I can go up into tall structures and look down, no problem. I am a very comfortable air traveller. I used to spend all kinds of time climbing up trees and sitting in them, reading or listening to music or just thinking. But I have the "don't look up" phobia, big time.

So...what Stuff scares you? It's okay...you can tell us.

Getting Punished By Next Year

Every spring and summer I do it to myself. I sit around all winter wondering what the Chicago Cubs will do to bring me a World Series ring THIS YEAR. They sign players, they trade for players, they spend a ton of money, and people that really know baseball reveal their lofty expectations.

I am giddy. I am a schoolgirl. I am convinced: This year? This year is Next Year.

I am an idiot.

Being A Cubs Fan Is Like...

1. Being punched in the face 100 times.

2. Being a battered wife.

3. Playing the lottery with numbers you got from a psychic...every day...all summer.

4. Being a female Wal-Mart employee.

5. Being in love with a woman who doesn't love you back.

How so? Do read.

1. This is a physical pain issue. It literally causes me physical pain to watch them sometimes. Plus, is there anything more physically disrespectful that you can do to someone than punch him in the face? The Chicago Cubs have assaulted my visage 162 times a year...for the last 20 years of my life.

2. I keep getting assaulted but in some way, it's like I believe that they are only hurting me because they love me. Because when things finally do turn around, it will be all that much more special because of everything we have been through together. But mostly, I cannot leave them because I love them and I cannot imagine my life without them. I cannot wrap myself in the embrace of any other team's colors. I need a pill.

3. The psychics, or in this case, baseball analysts, say every year that this is The Year. The Year of 100 Wins and a Championship. And then they go on to say "This is how they'll do it." So every year, I play the game. Sitting, watching, waiting for the numbers that ESPN gives me to hit big. Futility, thou art a loathesome codpiece.

4. Glass ceiling anyone? Those female execs, those managers in a skirt, they can SEE the next step up, but they cannot take it because a force higher than they has mandated that they not be allowed to by virtue of something they cannot control. Is it a god? Maybe. Is it a blind adherence to the inadequate, unfair status quo that doesn't get questioned? More likely. For the Cubs it is the tradition of losing. Of not being quite good enough but being okay with that. For an outfielder, taking a spot with the Cubs is like a female college grad taking a front office job with Wal-Mart. They are pretty much resigning themselves to a life of "Yeah, But That's Alright." Are they unhappy? Unproductive? Downtrodden? Not enough to do something about it. Why? Because of the built in excuse heard all over Wrigleyville: "There's always next year!"

5. You call. You spend on dates. You wait around for them to call. You do what they want you to do in order to be what they need you to be so as to make things easier, and you are loyal. Your reward? A complete lack of effort and the obvious air of "I don't really give a fuck." In relationships I call this the Priority --v-- Option Effect. This is a baseball phenonemon as well. For the person in a relationship, the priority or option is the other person. For the Cubs? It's winning. Winning is their Option, not their Priority. And frankly, I'm tired of caring more than they do.

Where is the gin?

JPD

Stuff That Is Dead To Us

Somewhere along the line, something happened. An episode, an accident, an incident, whatever. The point is that sometimes in life, something happens and turns us against things. You go your whole life having no real issue with something, then....BANG. That thing is now dead to you. To hell with that thing. You'll never use that thing again, eat that thing again, watch that thing again, or go to that thing again--that's how much to hell with it.

I, Jared, declare the following things

Stuff That Is Dead To Me

1. The semicolon.
2. American League Baseball.
3. Chocolate Cake.
4. Ranch Dressing.
5. Vodka.

1. Why do we need this? Can we simply not just...make a new sentence? I have never understood why it is that people use the semicolon. That, and it is also infuriating when the grammar check on Microsoft Word wants me to use it. For what? You are dead to me, Semicolon.

2. Until they do away with the designated hitter, I am left with no choice but to do away with AL baseball. The same teams every year are good, the same three teams always stink or start off hot and come back to earth. Plus, being in the American League means that on every team, there is a guy who is making the same salary as other guys...to only play half the game. Good riddance, AL Baseball.

3. The most overrated thing ever is chocolate cake. Especially with chocolate frosting. Stop doing that, everyone, or you're grounded. If you are dying to have chocolate so badly, why not just go buy a Hershey bar? It's cheaper, it's easier. Part of me thinks chocolate cake to be pretentious. Good day, Chocolate Cake!

4. Of all things, this is the one I am most passionate about. Stop putting Ranch on everything. It does not go on pizza. Ever. I don't care. I don't want it on my chicken. And please, can we stop sullying and embarrassing bacon by associating it with ranch? Chicken Bacon Ranch pizza, wraps, even fucking soup. Bacon Ranch Pringles? Stop it. And simply adding BBQ to ranch doesn't make it "Southwest Ranch". All you have done is ruined the BBQ. Fuck Ranch.

5. OK. So here is the thing with Vodka. It's for girls and people that didn't know what they were doing when they started drinking, so they just ordered it and now it's "their drink". I have never really liked vodka, but I tolerated it in shot form, or as part of a recipe for drinks...stuff like that. Until the bachelor party. Ike got married and we went into downtown Cleveland for the bach party. A friend was buying the drinks and before I knew it, I was sucking down Vodka and Red Bull like it was my job. Felt like hell for two days and last time I smelled vodka, I gagged. No. More. Vodka. Ever. That's how much fuck vodka.

We're double-teaming you this post, so here's Nance:

Stuff That Is Dead To Me

1. Cheetos
2. Red Robin
3. Texas
4. Gin
5. Margarine

Sigh. Cheetos and I used to have a major relationship. When the bigass checkerboard Cheetos came out, I even bought my own bag and, sadly, hid them from my children. (I am not proud of this.) Many of my fatpounds could be attributed solely to Cheetos. Then, one day, Cheetos turned on me. I felt an oily roiling in my stomach and a wave of nausea like a fluorescent orange tidal wave. I did not gurge, but damn near. Damn near. As of that moment--and it was probably about six years ago--I swore off Cheetos for good.

Red Robin is a franchised burger joint that Rick and I used to go to about every Friday night. Until two things happened: (1) It became so kidful and noisy that I got frantic and wanted to slit my wrists after a week of teenwrangling at The Rock; (2) I found out that they use a conveyor-belt type machine to cook their hamburgers, not a flattop or grill, which explained why I could never, ever, ever get my hamburger with the correct amount of pink in the middle and instead got a grey overdone slab of meat. Dead to me.

I know I have lots of blogfriends in The Lone Star State, and I don't want to offend anyone, but ever since The Dark Times (i.e. The Bush Years) and having Texas shoved down our throats, I have a terrible preconceived idea of this State. That, and all of the Food Network specials that show all the huge steaks being eaten competitively and the overabundance of "Tex-Mex" food and the fact that everyone there can't eat anything unless it includes chipotle or barbecue makes me want to avoid this place like the plague. All that, plus Tom DeLay, Country Music, the Bushes, Gary Busey, Renee "I Need A Sudafed" Zellwegger...yikes. DTM.

Gin. Oh, boy. Even talking about it makes me gag. Let's just say that there was an episode in college and leave it at that. (At least give me credit for remembering the episode.) Gin? Huh?

Finally, margarine. Listen, there are about 100 calories in a tablespoon of butter. There are about 90 in a tablespoon of margarine because they spin in some water. Oh, but think of what you are giving up! Succinctly--just your soul! It's OIL AND WATER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I used to use margarine all the time--Fleischmann's, to be exact, and it is still the best of the worst. But butter is better. It tastes so much better. I put a stick out in my little crockery Butter Cow and it is rendered spreadable, so no worries there. I abhor the fakey taste of margarine, but I have to buy both because Rick is still Margarine Dependent. But to me--Margarine = Dead.

So, think long and hard, Stuff readers. What, after long last, is now Dead To You, and why?

Stuff We Stuff Ourselves With Even When We're Stuffed!

Let's talk desserts, shall we? I mean restaurant desserts, not the stuff you eat or make at home, like brownies or a bowl of Cool Whip with Hershey's syrup and salted mixed nuts...what? Oh, like you've never plopped that crap in a bowl in a pinch or in a fit of PMS.

WHAT!?

Anyway, every once in a while, I am able to get dessert in a restaurant or talk my husband or huge sons into finishing whatever I have a taste for. Here then are my

Favorite Restaurant Desserts

1. Creme Brulee

2. Chocolate Mousse

3. Pavlova

That's it. I'm not kidding. I am not a fan of cheesecake--too heavy, and I hate those molten lava chocolate puddingy things that are really just underbaked chocolate cakes with runny middles. What I love these days is the fact that many restaurants have mastered the teeny tiny dulces, the itsy bitsy demitasse creme brulees in all kinds of fantastic flavors that are no more than about 3 bites, which is perfect for me. I absolutely adore creme brulees, and two of the best I've ever had are 1) at the Ritz in Washington D.C. where Monica Lewinsky met Linda Tripp and spilled her horrid, traitorous guts; that one was an orange spice tea brulee that brought me to simultaneous tears and orgasm. I am not lying. 2) lavender vanilla creme brulee at some restaurant in Colorado, I think...perhaps called "Strings." Oh dear heaven.

Now the chocolate mousse is a really old-fashioned dessert, but I don't care. It's light, it has a great flavor and, when it's done correctly, it has a wonderful mouth feel. One of the best I ever had was on my Alaska cruise. Lovely.

Pavlovas are just crunchy bigass meringues with fruit or chocolate and whipped cream. I love them and hardly ever get them. No one at the Dept./Stuff cares for them, and I hate wasting the egg yolks. Restaurants will do little individuals, and I had a lovely one of tropical fruits on the aforementioned cruise.

What are your favorite restaurant desserts? Or...which ones am I forgetting?

And The Oscar Doesn't Go To...

I haven't been to a movie in months. This is mainly because I get uncomfortably cold in the theater, but also because no movies appeal to me enough to plunk down the big bucks and then run the risk of some morons A) talking during the entire film; B) allowing their cellphones to go off or actually taking/making a call; C) kicking my chair constantly. I've also noticed that most of the movies are just kinda crappy. Or, they star actors that, frankly, I'm not too enamored with. Here's my list of:

Actors That Are Way Overrated

1. Tom Cruise
2. Tom Hanks
3. Julia Roberts
4. Leonardo DiCaprio
5. Cameron Diaz

1. Okay, please. I cannot take him seriously, period. He's always Tom Cruise. I'll admit he was pretty good in Magnolia, but that was ten years ago. He's icky.

2. This guy is ... like a piece of white bread toast. I mean, he's okay in a pinch, but there's nothing to him. Unless you dress him all up and give him a lot of accoutrements, he's nothing.

3. Horrifying.

4. What does anyone see in this person? He chews up his words and spits them out like bubblegum. When he was in Gangs of New York and played a gang banger leader opposite Daniel Day-Lewis's badass Bill the Butcher, it was laughable. I wouldn't have followed this chubby little guy to a candy store, let alone in an all-out gangland slaughter against a killer who said, "You tell young Vallon I'm gonna paint Paradise Square with his blood. Two coats. I'll festoon my bedchamber with his guts." The last thing I saw Leo in was the outstanding film Revolutionary Road with Kate Winslet who outshone him so badly that he might as well have been in another film altogether.

5. All this individual seems to want to do is grin and find a reason to shake her derriere at whichever camera is closest. She is a nightmare.

Who tarnishes the Silver Screen for you? (OR--horrors!--do you find yourself needing to defend anyone in my Five?)