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"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

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Wednesday, September 29, 2010

A Sass-Stained Apron

My wife reads a blog called "The Sassy Curmudgeon."

I do not read "The Sassy Curmudgeon" because I am opposed to reading bloggers who are funnier/more talented than I am-- with a couple noteworthy exceptions. You know me-- I love my delusions of grandeur. And I love you-- so don't abandon me for the Sassy Curmudgeon. My paranoia almost prevented me from hyperlinking to her site.

Apparently, she does a "Curmudgeon of the Week" feature in which her readers the universe over submit entries to prove their curmudgeonly status and be featured on her blog.

"You should totally do it," my wife said, "you're a curmudgeon."

I pondered that for a few moments.

"No..." I began thoughtfully, "I think I'm more of an asshole."

While I may be guilty of splitting (asshole) hairs, I knew there was no way I was going to submit anything to a site I had never even been to. See, the first thing that stops me is the fear of rejection. The second is the fear of acceptance.

"But getting something of yours on her site would be awesome for your stats," Mrs. Apron encouraged. "Oh, wait-- you don't give a shit about that."

And she's right, of course. Ever since I took six weeks off or whatever it was, my stats have toileted themselves, and I'm actually okay with that. Though there are some regulars that I miss who have apparently moved on to greener, sassier pastures, I'm very content to just sit here and do my thing quietly and meekly, and, sometimes, sans trousers.

However, while I have no intention of whoring myself out in the vain hopes of gaining three or four more followers who will read loyally for three days and then end up screwing off, I have no compunction about describing my sassiness here on my own blog-- my version of Public Access Cable television.

My wife's suggestion for this post was to describe things that the vast majority of the Western world enjoys, but that I, in my curmudgeonliness, somehow eschew and/or disdain.

"I can do that," I said.


I've received immense, steaming heaps of shit for this before, so say whatever you want about it: I don't care. You can cite statistics, point out their unmistakable influence on singer-songwriters I actually do like, you can even point out the fact that I adopted their signature bowl-cut hairstyle for the first twelve years of my life to illuminate my blatant hypocrisy-- say what you will, you are not going to change my mind. You can even make the accurate statement that I am unable, at present, to accurately elucidate my precise reasons for my dislike of The Beatles, and you'd be 100% right, but it wouldn't make any difference.

I don't know if it's the nasal quality of their voices, the dissonance of some of their melodies, the incoherent, non-linear nature of their lyrics, or the fact that "The Monkees" were funnier, but I just can't stand them. Perhaps it's just another instance of me subconsciously disliking what everyone else likes. Maybe. I don't know. But I think they're fucking annoying as hell.

And we don't all live in a yellow submarine, in case you hadn't noticed.


People who drink really seem to like it-- at least, I guess they do. Maybe I shouldn't come down so hard on alcohol, seeing as I've never had any of it, besides Shabbat wine, which is like drinking pureed, sugar-coated raisins. Oh, and I've sipped champagne at peoples' weddings, too, but just to be polite. At my own wedding, we had sparkling cider, and so did everybody else. Except for my aunt, who almost drank herself to death in the bathroom out of a concealed hip-flask.

My dislike of alcohol hasn't won me many friends, or... any friends, to be honest, but it's a part of my personality that definitely lends itself to curmudgeon status, and it's not something that I can conceal. It's expensive, superfluous, and, depending upon your personality, too much of it either makes you a depressive basket-case or a braying idiot. And I'm both of those things often enough (sometimes at exactly the same time) without it.


I know, she's going off the air at the end of this season, so why kick a black girl when she's down, right? Well, because this is a list of things that I don't like that a majority of the population does, so how could I not include Oprah and Friends?

The sychophantic, cloying, intrusive, and manipulative culture she has created and encouraged is unfortunate, sad, and depressing. I think I may need some alcohol to cope with it all. And, as if it were not enough that she commands us to read certain books, she has created Frankenoprahs: insidious spawn that have emanated from her junk to further her dominion.

Dr. Phil
Dr. Oz
Rachael Ray

(I'm sure I'm forgetting several dozen others...)

Oh, and that Nate Jerkoff guy that middle-aged white women cream their beige Chico's over.

Go away.


You know how I feel about sports. Why are we still even talking about this? Isn't there some inconsequential game with people beating the shit out of each other that you need to go watch?


If you think I can accurately summarize how I feel about things in 100-and-a-half characters, then you're a crazier motherfucker than anybody gives you the credit for.


Yes, everybody at the lunatic asylum in which I work is constantly asking me if I'm a doctor, and that would cease if I showed up to work dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, but I just kind of can't do that. I don't know who I'd be if I did, but I wouldn't be me, and, while there are lots of times where I don't like myself, I think I'd rather be me than most other people.


When I saw Stephen Colbert testifying "in character" before Congress, I thought to myself, "Well, shit, there goes the line between real and fake." I've long opined that many Americans my age labor under the gross misapprehension that watching "The Daily Show" is akin to, or better than, watching, say, network news, and that's kind of unsettling. And I put the blame on the perpetually smugly self-satisfied shoulders of John Stewart. Back in the dark ages when I was in college and the show was hosted by Craig Kilbourn, the show was under no delusions that it was anything other than what it was: a comedy show.

"Well, it's Thursday," Kilbourn would say into the camera lens, "and I just want to eat pudding, eat pudding, eat pudding." And then, while stripper music would play in the background, Craig would produce a container of pudding from underneath his desk and he would do just that. Yes, it was vapid and immature, but it was unmistakable that this is exactly what it was supposed to be. Stewart has taken the show in an entirely different direction, bull-headedly determined to place himself and his show in the position of barbed, slanted establishment mockery and arrogantly superior correctness.

Guess what, asshole? You're a comedian. Barely. Live with it.


If any of these books have actually helped someone, I will sell my house for a dollar and move to rural Iowa and become a professional scarecrow. I would like to write a self-help book called, "Go Fuck Yourself: The Only Self-Help Book You Will Ever Need."


I think nine's more than enough.


  1. There is so much to comment on about this post....

    One, I think Mrs. Apron and I would really get along. I also like The Sassy Curmudgeon, but in fact, the Curmudgeon of the Week is my least favorite feature of her blog.

    Two, I also think the Beatles are highly overrated. But no casual clothes? No Twitter? No Jon Stewart?! No... Oprah?!

    You wife is right. You ARE a curmudgeon.

  2. I still read....but you're in my I'm not sure if it shows in your stats. That being said, I abhor Opra and Sports too...oh, and alcohol as well.

  3. ...with that being said...and your talk of asshole hairs and word verification was: rearally. Ha!

  4. Okay, it's official. We have nothing in common. Why, just Saturday, I puked from too many martini's while John Lennon's "Imagine" played in the background on the iPod, while watching the Rays make the playoffs. I'm very sorry. But this relationship must end.


    Also, I assume that I should take it as a compliment that you don't read that blog, because that must mean I am very witty and awesome. ;)

    Also: I like alcohol. And Jon Stewart. And sweatpants.

    I am suspicious of Oprah. And self-help books.

  6. Oooooh Apron, how I've missed you. My fault entirely. I just up and abandoned the internet pretty much of late. I feel bad. Not that bad. Like almost stubbed your toe bad, so it didn't hurt but you said ouch anyway so you're pretending it did to make up face. What am I talking about?

    YES to The Beatles. I too am not a fan. We should form an anti-fan club. A hate club. No, that's too much I don't care enough for that, maybe a mildly dislike club? Indifference club?

    I think I've overstayed my welcome. Off I trot, see you in another month or so.




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