Adding another 'drooling, has difficulty standing upright' demographic to the clubgoing mix
For some, the cry of a newborn is the tolling of a bell sounding the close to one’s hopes and aspirations as a single person. You may entertain fanciful ideals while you’re still half of a couple and able to indulge each other’s predilections for afternoon alarm clocks, but such illusions are shattered when Little Johnny Appleseed Jr screams apart the middle of the night, and diapers become more than something you might consider putting on the next time you do an all-nighter at the casino.
There are those, however, who refuse to go gently into that good night-light. These are people nostalgic for the absolute worst that single life has to offer – the disco or club. For those whose days as a single club-cruiser may be mercifully graying in their minds, let us provide a quick recap: Bouncers with no necks, ready to slap you across the forehead with a clipboard, bathroom queues with guys who look like they’d grace the cover of Sex Offender Monthly, sounds that would make a construction site seem appealing, somebody who wants to turn an accidental nudge into a brawl; and a subdued air of malice like a prison yard on the verge of a toothbrush shank fight. For The Best Bar Songs Click Here and The Top 10 Coolest Bartenders Click Here).
For these people, the Baby Loves Disco series has literally been sweeping the world. (OK, not exactly literally, but you can bet there’s been an army behind them sweeping up pacifiers and poop.) Thanks to a PR machine so effective we are almost afraid to disparage it, Baby Loves Disco events have been happening everywhere from Tampa to Abu Dhabi so parents can turn their tots out on the dance floor and get drunk without having to lowball a sitter.
Bars turn their premises over to Baby Loves Disco nights on Sunday afternoon, typically a time when only maniac postmen and men from the legion with a grudge to bear would be found in a bar. The disco music is turned on and children ages 0-7 (yes, age 0 is acceptable) are left to boogie down in a safe environment, which means one without sharp corners, finger-welcoming sockets, or some guy named Clarence in the men’s who can have you seeing the Hamburgler without a trip to McDonald’s.
We conclude with a video and would like you to notice a) how inappropriately long the dance sequence is, plus the screaming face of the only child not raised on his mommy’s Ipod and b) the organizer saying they left the bar open for the parents. Quel surprise.
It was Superman’s day job—when he wasn’t foiling villainous plots to divert the sun or otherwise pervert the natural universe, Superman would don a pair of spectacles (for which he took a not inconsiderable amount of ribbing) and sit out town council meetings. This was done in the hopes of getting the inside scoop on the zoning bylaws facing commercial properties adjacent to county-run parking lots in Metropolis’ downtown core.
Many have followed this noble path—not running around in pyjamas (except to fetch the morning paper when the family dog couldn’t)—but journalism.
The legendary, straight-talking Edward R. Murrow made a war-time generation equate a wholesome mother and apple pie with democracy.
His ego fills arenas, like girls fill bikini tops
Modern-day exemplars include Jayson Blair of the New York Times, a man who, unbeknownst to his employers, chose to use his post at the “world’s most trusted newspaper” to follow his true passion of “speculative journalism,” i.e. what the story could have been had he left his apartment in Brooklyn to pursue it. That same New York Times, has recently given us Bono, who will use its pages to sound off about dead singers, not creatively dead ones—as a U2 tour and album are forthcoming.
Newspapers have truly birthed legends.
Now though, digital media has made the newspaper obsolete, and newspapers have had to fill up their content with more salacious coverage, i.e. full color photos of the Westminster dog-show, rather than a capsulated review.
The daily newspaper has become increasingly insignificant. The city of Seattle now has as many newspapers as it does Space Needles, so the days of sussing out what’s wrong with you and yours in the Dear Abby column, letting out an involuntary bit of pee at the zany antics of Andy Capp and his gang, are increasingly numbered.
So, as you as you enjoy a breakfast of champagne and orange juice and try to forget the day ahead, remember the days when a newspaper was unfurled on the coffee table, before it was transferred to the cockatoo’s cage, as he sang his good morrow and shat on it.
Newspaper journalism was once famously described as ‘the ability to meet the challenge of filling space’, and we salute those of you who’ve attempted to do just that.
One of many redheads who it would be mighty satisfying to kick.
As the phrase “I will beat you like a red-headed stepchild” makes perfectly clear, carrot tops are despised by pretty much everybody. They can’t step out of the shade for longer than a 10 count without getting a sun burn and among their ranks are the despicable likes of David Caruso, Lindsay Lohan and, of course, Carrot Top. If you go further back and take a look at some historical fire crotches (thank you urban dictionary), it reads like a grocery list of the worst people ever to inflict themselves on our planet: Lizzie Borden, Martin Van Buren, Oliver Cromwell – dirt-bag city, basically.
At last, however, society has dropped its gloves and put gingers, as they are also known, on notice. The TV show South Park sparked it all with an episode in which Cartman gives a class lecture on how red-haired people are basically soulless vampires (see below). Inspired by Cartman’s rant, Facebook groups began to pop up and the anti-Ginger movement was afoot. The largest Facebook group boasted some 4,000 members, testament to the fact that people do not like the red-hairs beyond enjoying the opportunity to ask whether what’s hanging on the windows is color coordinated with an area typically left out of direct sunlight.
The Facebook groups spawned “Kick a Ginger Day”, which apparently was yesterday. Canadians were asked to send their penny loafers in the general direction of a redhead’s arse, and many did — so many that the RCMP got involved and school principals threatened serious punishments for anyone caught attempting to punt a carrot top.
The readers of The Globe and Mail report telling of Kick a Ginger Day must all have been gingers or have had their senses of humor sucked from their heads by them as they suggested banning South Park, jail terms for the kickers, and bellyached about the evils of bullying (for no insight whatsoever into what causes bullying click here). We, on the other hand, are laughing so hard that we may not be able to hold a drink steady this weekend.
To our ginger readers, if there are any of you left at this point, we offer you some solace in the fact that A) Kick a Ginger Day has passed (though we’re shining our steel-toeds in anticipation of next year) and B) Contrary to popular belief and as incredible as it may seem, red heads are the ones who have the most fun (well, except for yesterday). A 2006 study confirmed that red heads are a highly libidinous people and have way more sex than their more fortunately coiffed counterparts. We would put up with a day’s worth of kicking to be swinging in those circles.
