Weekly Selects #48

Fairly slow week, but let's do this:

-Via Email from Lexi, sending me a link to a page titled "Top Ten Most Useless Products Ever" -- my personal favorite was the Wearable Dog House:

I'm happy to say that a Japanese product made the list. Frankly, I would have been shocked if it were otherwise. What I'm sad about is that American society has reached the extent of laziness where we encourage the laziness of our pets. I guess asking your dog to, um, walk, while you go on a walk with him is asking too much of him.

-Via Google Reader Share, perhaps the biggest pair of endearingly nerdy losers:

(Please disregard that both males happen to be Asian)

-Via Email from Case:

I didn't read this, I just saw "Japan" and "Strange" and thought you might be interested.

Well, I didn't read it either -- mostly out of pride. If Case didn't read it, why should I? (This is why I need to hire a screener of the content sent to me). I browsed the photos and it might be worth checking out if you're planning a trip to the Land of the Rising Sun anytime soon...it's an article about "13 of Japan’s Most Strangely Stylish Hotels"

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How Lazy am I?

I often ask myself this question, and because the answer is unfailingly something along the lines of "really, " "quite," or "disappointingly so," I am rarely surprised by what I find. I'm a dude. I'm lazy. It is a law of physics.

Yesterday, however, I shocked even myself when I discovered the extent of my laziness.

Mrs. RoSA likes her soap dispensers. Something about liking things that "smell nice" and hygiene. And other stuff that I don't care about.

As I washed my hands yesterday, I realized that I liked the foam soap dispensers that we have much more than the liquid ones that we have, and the reason was quite simple (and, frankly, pathetic): the foam soap is already a lather and requires no effort to feel like I've washed my hands; liquid soap, on the other hand, requires that you scrub your hands together, and heaven forbid I be forced to exert myself in any way in the name of proper hygiene.

Anybody find themselves in a similar, if not the same, Lazy Camp as me? Please share so I'm not stuck on my couch eating a bag of Cheetos with my gut exposed whilst it hangs over my sweatpants all by myself. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

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Photo(s) of the Week -- The Sticker & The Ashtray 3 Jan 2011

For all of its rules, this is one of the Compound's that I can actually get behind:

This is the sticker outside of the sloth-like elevator in our building that measures a paltry 3'x4', which you have to have a special key to use, and which you MUST use to move in all of your furniture (moving in, of course, is made exceedingly difficult if you happen to have any furniture that is larger than the aforementioned 3' and 4' dimensions). These are Ridiculous Rules #36 and 72, respectively.

The only problem is, you look a little below this sign, and behold the laziness of the Compound:

A golden ashtray, a relic from what I'm assuming is the 1970s. Methinks it would have been a smarter solution to remove the ashtray from the wall than to slap a cheap sticker on it...their current approach  is like telling a bank robber: "don't rob banks... but if you just happen to, I have a Swiss bank account you can store the stolen money in for undetectable safe-keeping." But what do I know about running an apartment complex?

PS: the Broken Association Rules (BAR) Tally sits at 7, thanks to us moving some bookshelves in at 11PM a couple weeks ago. You should have seen us stealthily scrambling between the truck and the elevator like thieves in the night.

Happy Monday! Hope you had a Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year.

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Conspiracy Theories

I'm toast.

I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but-- (I just realized I've written in multiple posts in the past: "I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but..." so that could be proof that I actually am; like how I'm convinced that the ladies who clean the bathroom at work wait patiently for me personally to get up and walk to the bathroom, then right before I get there, set out the "Cleaning: No Entry" sign just so they can watch me walk awkwardly down the stairs to the next bathroom).

Not the point.

I am convinced that airlines have this diabolical plan to render the entire population completely ineffectual, lazy, and useless. It's called business class, and they're just waiting to pounce on your decision to turn yourself into a dependent, completely non-self-reliant individual. I am barely-functional proof of it.

Let me back up. Work flew me to Japan on business class. After being pampered like that, most anybody would say something along the lines of: "I can never fly anything but business class ever again. Anything else would be torture."

I'm expanding that naive perspective to encapsulate all aspects of my life: "I can't do anything on my own again. Ever." Let me give some examples:

1. When I sit down -- anywhere -- I expect someone to be asking me what kind of drink I want as soon as I've settled in. My roommates have been less than accommodating.

2. When I want to go to bed, I swear at whatever piece of furniture I'm sitting in for not mechanically lying flat and doubling as my bed, all in the push of a button. Dragging myself to bed requires too much effort now.

3. Where are my slippers when I come home, roommates?

4. Airline food is notoriously gross and disgusting; usually unrecognizable for what it's supposed to be. But when I'm served food that I don't recognize because it's too fancy, it's a different story. I was worried I would eat the food incorrectly and embarrass myself around all these in-reality rich people. What I now refer to as "commoner food" (burgers, sandwiches, potatoes, etc) is all revolting.

5. 11 newly released movies are not at the touch of my fingers anymore. What is that?!? If I want to watch Beowulf , decide it's semi-boring, and then want to watch Michael Clayton, then go back to Beowulf because I don't feel like reading a book, that is my prerogative. The effort of packaging up my Netflix'ed DVD's and sticking them in the postal drop box is now an exhausting process.

6. Why won't my roommates take my damn jacket, hang it up when I come home, and bring it back to me when I'm ready to leave?

How am I supposed to be self-sufficient again? Stupid airlines.

I will say another thing. Flying business class developed a superiority complex -- all the comedians talk about it, because it is true: You watch those poor saps trudging back to coach, and you feel sorry for them. Class separation in its pressurized, self-enclosed, and finest form.

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