You know what would suck about being President? You could never, ever grow a beard.
I mean, I can’t grow a beard. But that’s a matter of genetics, not my position as the most powerful man in the free world. Give me a couple of weeks and I could come back with some facial hair. It would be the kind of thin, patchy beard that most people wouldn’t actually notice. It would look terrible and probably make small children weep. But I would know it was there and that’s what really matters.
Can you imagine what would happen if George Bush showed up at a press conference with the beginnings of a goatee? Nobody would hear a word he said. Every newscast for weeks would lead off with speculation about the Presidential facial hair and what it might mean for the country’s fortunes in Iraq or its plans for Iran. Is the President trying to impress someone? Did he lose his razor? Does he have an exit plan for this pseudo-hipster fashion statement?
It would be the most talked-about facial hair of all time, with the possible exception of Luke Perry’s soul patch on Beverly Hills 90210.
In fact, if the Republicans really want to get past this whole Mark Foley thing, they just need to talk George Bush into trying out a mustache. Maybe one of those curly Rollie Fingers/barbershop quartet deals.
It's not that beards can't be Presidential. According to CNN.com, five U.S. Presidents — Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, Rutherford Hayes, James Garfield and Benjamin Harrison — had full beards when they served. A handful more had facial hair of some kind. Martin Van Buren had mutton chop sideburns, which is kind of like a beard for quitters. Of the 12 presidents between Lincoln and Taft, only two were entirely clean-shaven.
But things have gone downhill for hirsute Commanders in Chief in the century-plus since then. Harrison, elected in 1888, was the last President to serve with a beard, and Thomas Dewey, who had a mustache when he ran for President in 1944 and 1948, was the last candidate-with-facial-hair to have much success with voters. Jesse Jackson doesn't count.
But even Lincoln, our most famously bearded President -- to the point he looks mildly creepy in pictures where he doesn't have one -- didn't win election with a fuzzy face. He was clean-shaven when he worked as a lawyer in Illinois and still hadn't tossed the razor when he was first elected in 1860. He grew the beard between election and inauguration, reportedly at the advice of an 11-year-old girl, probably one of the best-qualified political advisers of all time. Then again, Lincoln didn't have CNN and Fox news standing ready to analyze the the socio-political implications of his five o'clock shadow. Presumably by the time he was up for re-election in 1864 the whole freed-the-slaves-and-restored-the-Union thing carried enough residual good will to overcome any hit in the polls caused by a few chin whiskers.
I don't know why we as a country prefer clean-shaven Presidents, but more than a century of election results don't lie. Even during periods when beards were fashionable for the general public, they were taboo at the ballot boxes. Were we afraid beards made our leaders look too sinister? Too creepy? Too much like Fidel Castro?
Why do we want our elected leaders to be powerful enough to command the world's greatest army but not so masculine-looking they could put on a flannel shirt and film a guest spot in a Brawny commercial?
Why is it OK for George W. Bush to show off for TV cameras by clearing brush on his ranch but not OK for the President of the United States to grow a Van Dyke if thinks it makes him look cool?
Some of you probably think this is a frivolous question. You think this is all just coincidence. But what did Al Gore do as soon as he lost the election in 2000? No, I mean after he complained about voter fraud and demanded a recount. You know, once he actually accepted it was over? That's right. He grew a big ol' beard.
Think about that for a second and tell me I'm wrong.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Sky high shopping
I have no idea who Northwest Airlines' SkyMall catalog is for. Presumably, it's targeted at either people who have so much money they can afford to drop $300 on a pair of loafers while they're in the air somewhere over Topeka or people who shop so compulsively they can't go the length of a redeye to Cleveland without making some kind of purchase, even if it's something as seemingly unnecessary as the world's largest write-on map mural or the snow flurry projector, an outdoor lamp that shines what the catalog claims is "the illusion of gently falling snow" (in the picture, it looks more look like "the illusion of giant, mutant fireflies") on the front of your house.
It's hard to pin down a target audience here. The catalog I picked up on my recent flight back from California has everything from shoes and clothes to lawn furniture to stuff to help you organize your garage. It's a catalog for the well-dressed handyman who likes to entertain people in the backyard after showing off his color-coded garden tools, I guess.
Pet convenience is a big thing here. The catalog has a ramp to help your dog get into your van and two separate options for people who want to provide stairs to help their tiny dogs get up onto their couches. Presumably if you're the kind of person who believes your dog's comfort is important enough it shouldn't have to go through the strain of jumping, like, ever, you're also not the type who believes maybe the dog shouldn't be on the couch in the first place. Although the catalog also offers an electronic device to keep your pets off of furniture and counter tops. Talk about mixed messages.
There are $600 watches in the catalog, perfect for people wondering when the damn beverage cart is going to come by. There are video goggles you can plug into your iPod. There's a $300 heart monitor but, so far as I can tell, no defibrillator.
There's even an $800 crystal chandelier. Let me tell you, nothing says "high society" like buying showy light fixtures with some guy's seatback wedged against your knees and a baby crying in your ear.
There's luggage, which makes a certain amount of sense. And there is a carpet steamer, which really doesn't. A travel outlet adapter, which does. And a $200 chrome tool set. If you buy it on a plane, shouldn't you be able to carry it on? You think you can get a hammer and a hacksaw through security? We couldn't even make it to the plane with a tub of sea salt and brown sugar body scrub. Apparently airborne exfoliation is an issue.
There is a wine cooler and a hot dog cooker. There's a fish finder and a bird feeder. There are drink dispensers shaped like fire hydrants and orange traffic cones that read "Caution, party zone: Beware of falling guests." I assume these are for people who like to throw parties but don't have any friends.
The catalog has all manner of overpriced toys. A radio controlled hovercraft and a remote control "reconnaissance plane," complete with removable spy camera. Use the plane's 1,000 foot range to snap top secret, really grainy photos of, um, the neighbor's patio. Although the neighbors might get suspicious when the big silver plane keeps flying by 50 feet over their heads. So, maybe secret is an overstatement.
My favorite, though, is the $100 radio-controlled shark, with a battery that, according to the description, runs for 15 minutes on a one-hour charge. Not since the invention of Sudoku has the effort-to-payoff balance been so lopsided.
Basically, SkyMall is all of the useless junk you find in the Sharper Image and Hammacher Schlemmer collected in one, high-altitude place. With patio furniture. And plasma TVs.
Oh, and really trashy dresses.
So, you know, it's not all bad.
It's hard to pin down a target audience here. The catalog I picked up on my recent flight back from California has everything from shoes and clothes to lawn furniture to stuff to help you organize your garage. It's a catalog for the well-dressed handyman who likes to entertain people in the backyard after showing off his color-coded garden tools, I guess.
Pet convenience is a big thing here. The catalog has a ramp to help your dog get into your van and two separate options for people who want to provide stairs to help their tiny dogs get up onto their couches. Presumably if you're the kind of person who believes your dog's comfort is important enough it shouldn't have to go through the strain of jumping, like, ever, you're also not the type who believes maybe the dog shouldn't be on the couch in the first place. Although the catalog also offers an electronic device to keep your pets off of furniture and counter tops. Talk about mixed messages.
There are $600 watches in the catalog, perfect for people wondering when the damn beverage cart is going to come by. There are video goggles you can plug into your iPod. There's a $300 heart monitor but, so far as I can tell, no defibrillator.
There's even an $800 crystal chandelier. Let me tell you, nothing says "high society" like buying showy light fixtures with some guy's seatback wedged against your knees and a baby crying in your ear.
There's luggage, which makes a certain amount of sense. And there is a carpet steamer, which really doesn't. A travel outlet adapter, which does. And a $200 chrome tool set. If you buy it on a plane, shouldn't you be able to carry it on? You think you can get a hammer and a hacksaw through security? We couldn't even make it to the plane with a tub of sea salt and brown sugar body scrub. Apparently airborne exfoliation is an issue.
There is a wine cooler and a hot dog cooker. There's a fish finder and a bird feeder. There are drink dispensers shaped like fire hydrants and orange traffic cones that read "Caution, party zone: Beware of falling guests." I assume these are for people who like to throw parties but don't have any friends.
The catalog has all manner of overpriced toys. A radio controlled hovercraft and a remote control "reconnaissance plane," complete with removable spy camera. Use the plane's 1,000 foot range to snap top secret, really grainy photos of, um, the neighbor's patio. Although the neighbors might get suspicious when the big silver plane keeps flying by 50 feet over their heads. So, maybe secret is an overstatement.
My favorite, though, is the $100 radio-controlled shark, with a battery that, according to the description, runs for 15 minutes on a one-hour charge. Not since the invention of Sudoku has the effort-to-payoff balance been so lopsided.
Basically, SkyMall is all of the useless junk you find in the Sharper Image and Hammacher Schlemmer collected in one, high-altitude place. With patio furniture. And plasma TVs.
Oh, and really trashy dresses.
So, you know, it's not all bad.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Peter Pan really shreds in a halfpipe
There are certain things no right-thinking person can do if he truly hopes to be considered adult by the population at large. He can't wear flip-flops as everyday footwear, for example. He can't use Internet chatroom-spawned lingo — Cya L8r, for example — in regular communication. And he can't ride a skateboard.
There are other things, obviously (no cartoon characters on bedsheets OR underpants; no backwards baseball cap) but these are some of the basics. Unfortunately, it appears even at the most basic level things are going downhill.
Consider flip-flops. Minnesota winters ensure they're out of the question for at least half of the year, but during the warmer months a style of footwear commonly referred to as shower shoes is becoming increasingly popular among a group of people apparently in too big a hurry to tie a pair of shoes. Last year, a member of the national champion Northwestern University women's lacrosse team caused a stir when she wore her flip-flops to the White House to meet President Bush. The act was annoying both from a fashion standpoint and because of the number of horrible "flip-flop flap" headlines it spawned.
And chat room lingo? It's everywhere and as instant messaging becomes more popular it's only going to spread. Florida Rep. Mark Foley has been in the news lately for the sexually explicit instant messages he exchanged with underage former pages. Yes, it's unconscionable that a grown man would solicit sex from a 15-year-old boy. But isn't it also terrible to realize that this same man also on multiple occasions typed "lol" instead of "laugh out loud" and on at least once typed "me 2," apparently too busy to bother with the additional keystrokes necessary to spell out "too"?
OK, maybe that's not the best comparison, but still, do we really want our country to be run by people who might respond to a particularly good e-mail forward from the Prime Minister of Canada with "ROTFL!"?
As bad as those other things are, though, it's the skateboarding that's been most on my mind most lately. Until last weekend, I didn't even realize it was an issue. When I come across skateboarders around the Twin Cities they appear to be almost exclusively 15-year-old boys with no apparent fear of catastrophic injury. Apparently, the skateboard culture is a whole lot different in other parts of the country.
Last weekend I was in Santa Barbara, Calif., to attend my cousin's wedding. With some time to kill Saturday, I wandered along the beach and happened upon a skateboard competition, a fact that should have let me know right away things were a little bit different. In 31-plus years living in Minnesota I have happened upon bicycle circuses and Lutefisk suppers but never once an organized skateboard competition.
The really amazing part, though, was who was competing. I caught only two age divisions: the 30- to 39-year-olds and the 40- to 49-year-olds. And there were a lot of them. The oldest competitor there was 61. SIXTY ONE! Next thing you know my parents are going to take up big wave surfing.
It appeared to be a pretty diverse group. Some of the guys could have been doctors or lawyers. One claimed to be a distant relative of existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. The guy who did the announcing had long, blond semi-dreadlocks and spent the entire time shirtless. Actually, he looks exactly like the guy you pictured a minute ago when I told you I saw a 40-something California skateboarder.
They are guys who, if they came of age somewhere other than California, would probably spend their Saturdays golfing or jogging or, in some cases, panhandling.
I guess it's just a different culture. I actually heard one skater refer to another as "bra," a greeting (I assume it's short for "brother") that I didn't think existed outside of the Partick Swayze/Keanu Reeves surfing/bank robbing classic "Point Break."
Still, while I'm willing to make an exception for those X-Games skaters who make their living on a skateboard, I have to draw the line somewhere. At a certain point it's just time to put the flip flops and the skateboards and the Super Man Underoos away say Cya to childhood for good.
There are other things, obviously (no cartoon characters on bedsheets OR underpants; no backwards baseball cap) but these are some of the basics. Unfortunately, it appears even at the most basic level things are going downhill.
Consider flip-flops. Minnesota winters ensure they're out of the question for at least half of the year, but during the warmer months a style of footwear commonly referred to as shower shoes is becoming increasingly popular among a group of people apparently in too big a hurry to tie a pair of shoes. Last year, a member of the national champion Northwestern University women's lacrosse team caused a stir when she wore her flip-flops to the White House to meet President Bush. The act was annoying both from a fashion standpoint and because of the number of horrible "flip-flop flap" headlines it spawned.
And chat room lingo? It's everywhere and as instant messaging becomes more popular it's only going to spread. Florida Rep. Mark Foley has been in the news lately for the sexually explicit instant messages he exchanged with underage former pages. Yes, it's unconscionable that a grown man would solicit sex from a 15-year-old boy. But isn't it also terrible to realize that this same man also on multiple occasions typed "lol" instead of "laugh out loud" and on at least once typed "me 2," apparently too busy to bother with the additional keystrokes necessary to spell out "too"?
OK, maybe that's not the best comparison, but still, do we really want our country to be run by people who might respond to a particularly good e-mail forward from the Prime Minister of Canada with "ROTFL!"?
As bad as those other things are, though, it's the skateboarding that's been most on my mind most lately. Until last weekend, I didn't even realize it was an issue. When I come across skateboarders around the Twin Cities they appear to be almost exclusively 15-year-old boys with no apparent fear of catastrophic injury. Apparently, the skateboard culture is a whole lot different in other parts of the country.
Last weekend I was in Santa Barbara, Calif., to attend my cousin's wedding. With some time to kill Saturday, I wandered along the beach and happened upon a skateboard competition, a fact that should have let me know right away things were a little bit different. In 31-plus years living in Minnesota I have happened upon bicycle circuses and Lutefisk suppers but never once an organized skateboard competition.
The really amazing part, though, was who was competing. I caught only two age divisions: the 30- to 39-year-olds and the 40- to 49-year-olds. And there were a lot of them. The oldest competitor there was 61. SIXTY ONE! Next thing you know my parents are going to take up big wave surfing.
It appeared to be a pretty diverse group. Some of the guys could have been doctors or lawyers. One claimed to be a distant relative of existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. The guy who did the announcing had long, blond semi-dreadlocks and spent the entire time shirtless. Actually, he looks exactly like the guy you pictured a minute ago when I told you I saw a 40-something California skateboarder.
They are guys who, if they came of age somewhere other than California, would probably spend their Saturdays golfing or jogging or, in some cases, panhandling.
I guess it's just a different culture. I actually heard one skater refer to another as "bra," a greeting (I assume it's short for "brother") that I didn't think existed outside of the Partick Swayze/Keanu Reeves surfing/bank robbing classic "Point Break."
Still, while I'm willing to make an exception for those X-Games skaters who make their living on a skateboard, I have to draw the line somewhere. At a certain point it's just time to put the flip flops and the skateboards and the Super Man Underoos away say Cya to childhood for good.
Go directly to jail
I suppose it's a little foolish to get worked up about consumerism in a game called Monopoly. The entire object of the game, after all, is to beat your opponents into bankruptcy by overcharging them for shoddy properties in questionable neighborhoods (Now that I think about it, a lot of my former landlords were probably pretty good Monopoly players.) so throwing a few corporate logos around the board shouldn't be that big a deal, should it?
Still, I'm troubled. Hasbro is in the process of releasing something called the Here and Now version of the world's best-selling board game. This particular version of the game has been thoroughly modernized. Money comes in larger denominations (players now get a cool $2 million for passing Go) and properties have changed from their familiar, Atlantic City-based names to locations chosen by votes conducted across the country.
Some of the new properties are familiar landmarks. The Gateway Arch in St. Louis is on there, as is the Golden Gate Bridge. Those make sense. They are iconic images of America. Others, though, are less encouraging. In an entirely predictable move that still managed to sadden me, Minnesotans chose to be represented by the Mall of America.
Also on the board: Disney World; Cleveland's Jacobs Field, home of the Major League Baseball team with the mascot most likely to offend Native Americans; the Liberty Bell; and the White House.
That's right, you can buy the White House. Apparently Jack Abramoff served as a consultant for this version. Even more unsettling: at $3.2 million, it's not even the most expensive property on the board. Boston's Fenway Park ($3.5 million) and New York's Time's Square ($4 million) both cost more than the home of the most powerful man in the world who's not Bill Gates. And the properties you need to create a monopoly with 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Wrigley Field and Las Vegas Boulevard. So, it's all perfectly logical.
There are other changes to the game, too. Cell phone and Internet service has replaced electric and water utilities. Airports have replaced railroads. Instead of penalizing players with "income taxes," the game has spaces that require $750,000 payments for "interest on credit card debt." I actually think that number is about right for a lot of Americans. Chance and Community Chest cards have been updated, too. Instead of winning $10 for finishing second in a beauty contest, players can pick up $100,000 for competing on a reality show. Presumably one that involves eating pig intestines, not one that involves dating washed up rappers.
I think it's the new playing pieces that bother me the most, though. Familiar tokens like the iron, the thimble and the dude on the rearing horse have been replaced by McDonald's french fries, a Motorola cell phone and a laptop computer.
The race car? Now it's a Toyota Prius. A Prius! You can't make vrooming sounds going around the board with a hybrid! And there's nothing exciting about making the quiet humming sound of an electric motor.
The Scotty dog? Now it's something called a labradoodle, a Labrador-poodle mix that's reportedly very popular these days. I don't care how popular it is, labradoodle is a ridiculous name. And if you're looking for a dog with a ludicrous name, why not go all out? Why not go with an affenpoo (part affenpinscher, part poodle) or a whoodle (part soft coated wheaton terrier, part poodle). I'm just saying, there are options. And whoodle is a lot of fun to say.
Finally, the ever-popular ankle boot has been replaced by a New Balance sneaker. This actually makes perfect sense, because you know how the kids today like their New Balance.
Admittedly, this isn't the first time brand names and Monopoly have mixed. The Hasbro web site lists versions of the game featuring Sponge Bob Squarepants, Disney and Star Wars, and there are many others out there. And reportedly none of the companies featured on the game tokens paid for the right. New Balance, it seems, was chosen because it is the only athletic shoe brand manufactured in the United States, which I suppose is admirable. Still, there's something that doesn't feel quite right about putting hotels on the Golden Gate bridge or charging rent for staying at the White House, at least since Clinton left office.
And I still think labradoodle is a stupid name.
Still, I'm troubled. Hasbro is in the process of releasing something called the Here and Now version of the world's best-selling board game. This particular version of the game has been thoroughly modernized. Money comes in larger denominations (players now get a cool $2 million for passing Go) and properties have changed from their familiar, Atlantic City-based names to locations chosen by votes conducted across the country.
Some of the new properties are familiar landmarks. The Gateway Arch in St. Louis is on there, as is the Golden Gate Bridge. Those make sense. They are iconic images of America. Others, though, are less encouraging. In an entirely predictable move that still managed to sadden me, Minnesotans chose to be represented by the Mall of America.
Also on the board: Disney World; Cleveland's Jacobs Field, home of the Major League Baseball team with the mascot most likely to offend Native Americans; the Liberty Bell; and the White House.
That's right, you can buy the White House. Apparently Jack Abramoff served as a consultant for this version. Even more unsettling: at $3.2 million, it's not even the most expensive property on the board. Boston's Fenway Park ($3.5 million) and New York's Time's Square ($4 million) both cost more than the home of the most powerful man in the world who's not Bill Gates. And the properties you need to create a monopoly with 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Wrigley Field and Las Vegas Boulevard. So, it's all perfectly logical.
There are other changes to the game, too. Cell phone and Internet service has replaced electric and water utilities. Airports have replaced railroads. Instead of penalizing players with "income taxes," the game has spaces that require $750,000 payments for "interest on credit card debt." I actually think that number is about right for a lot of Americans. Chance and Community Chest cards have been updated, too. Instead of winning $10 for finishing second in a beauty contest, players can pick up $100,000 for competing on a reality show. Presumably one that involves eating pig intestines, not one that involves dating washed up rappers.
I think it's the new playing pieces that bother me the most, though. Familiar tokens like the iron, the thimble and the dude on the rearing horse have been replaced by McDonald's french fries, a Motorola cell phone and a laptop computer.
The race car? Now it's a Toyota Prius. A Prius! You can't make vrooming sounds going around the board with a hybrid! And there's nothing exciting about making the quiet humming sound of an electric motor.
The Scotty dog? Now it's something called a labradoodle, a Labrador-poodle mix that's reportedly very popular these days. I don't care how popular it is, labradoodle is a ridiculous name. And if you're looking for a dog with a ludicrous name, why not go all out? Why not go with an affenpoo (part affenpinscher, part poodle) or a whoodle (part soft coated wheaton terrier, part poodle). I'm just saying, there are options. And whoodle is a lot of fun to say.
Finally, the ever-popular ankle boot has been replaced by a New Balance sneaker. This actually makes perfect sense, because you know how the kids today like their New Balance.
Admittedly, this isn't the first time brand names and Monopoly have mixed. The Hasbro web site lists versions of the game featuring Sponge Bob Squarepants, Disney and Star Wars, and there are many others out there. And reportedly none of the companies featured on the game tokens paid for the right. New Balance, it seems, was chosen because it is the only athletic shoe brand manufactured in the United States, which I suppose is admirable. Still, there's something that doesn't feel quite right about putting hotels on the Golden Gate bridge or charging rent for staying at the White House, at least since Clinton left office.
And I still think labradoodle is a stupid name.
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