Meccanized

Dear Madam,

Let me preface this by saying that I am quite certain that my diminutive stature made you think that I was undeserving of a full seat on the bus just now. However, I assure you — my legs, though smaller than most people’s, are just as tired as anyone else’s (If you prick me, do I not bleed?), and my bag is probably heavier than any other bag on the #3 bus this evening.

I had every right to occupy one full seat on my own. I am a tax-paying (and more importantly, a muni-pass holding) citizen of this great city, and my butt should be welcome in any seat without the possibility of being violated by someone else’s (namely your) butt and grocery bags.

And another thing. There were several other open seats in the front of the bus even closer to the door where you walked in than the one that I had chosen for my own. You opted to walk past those seats and sit, quite literally, on top of my lap. Thus, one can only assume that you got some sort of a power trip from taking over the personal space of a random stranger who was minding her own business, listening to her music and reading her book. That is disturbing on a whole different level. Are you the kind of person who just takes whatever she wants without question or concern? First my seat on the muni, next perhaps a child at the supermarket. It is a slippery slope, ma’am.

And I also do not appreciate the choice words you yelled at me when I asked what you were doing and (maybe not so) politely requested that you sit somewhere else. I am none of those things that you branded me, and I didn’t like the snickers that your unfair typecasting evoked from the rest of the bus-riding population.

I just hope you realize that as soon as you entered by body bubble, I was already mentally writing this blog post.

Crazy lady, you are Meccanized. And, for those of you who are concerned, I did not give up my seat — instead, I held my ground and used my debate skills from my days as a one-woman debate team to keep my seat.

Mmm...delicious

They were stored on the shelf right next to the Apple Homicider and the Armed Assaulted Peanuts.

Trader Joe’s, you are Meccanized.

Consider this a formal call for submissions.  If anyone sees any other crap-tacular label placements (or typos or anything of the sort), please do share them!

(Special thanks to Sanjay Kairam for helping everything-challenged me figure out how to make this picture sing.  You are Anti-Meccanized.)

You know what really grinds my gears?  My shower.

Sure, it looks innocent enough, with its inviting yellow tiles and powder blue and green curtain — it’s like a home away from home in my bathroom.

The reality, however, isn’t so comfortable.

Whenever I go to clean off, I never know if I am going to be scalded or frozen.  It is like a choose your own adventure story without the choice — the water will feel ok when I get in (the damn thing lures me into a false sense of security every time) and then bam — out of nowhere, I could be taking a dip in the River Styx or going for an invigorating swim in the Arctic Circle.

And, in addition to the bipolar water temperature (do you think there is a Halcion for plumbing?), it is always fun to see what injuries I inflict upon myself in the mad scramble to change the temperature dials.  Things like stubbed fingers and near-broken toes as I knock the shower caddy off the shelf in an attempt not to boil myself.

This morning was particularly notable.  I trashed my knee on the edge of the tub as I swerved to dodge the pellets of ice falling from the shower head.  As I lay in a heap on the floor of the bathroom, clutching my leg, my tiny body covered in the shower curtain that I accidentally took down with me, I half expected to see a polar bear lumber by me on the way to take a bath.

Shower, the only consistent thing about you is the sheer misery I feel every time you get me in your clutches.  Consider yourself Meccanized.

A friend passed this along to me this morning (and I subsequently saw it all over the news).

Now, I could Meccanize the lift attendants, who didn’t bother to make sure that this guy’s chair was in the proper lowered position or the obnoxious a-holes on the ground who decided it was the right thing to do to take pictures.

But rather than Meccanizing for the sake of Meccanizing, I’ve decided that Meccanized.com isn’t just for things that piss me off.  There are certainly plenty, and I will not hesitate to Meccanize something when I deem it worthy of that lofty title.

This site is also for flagging life’s little absurdities, of which this delightful fare is one.   Sometimes the universe just orchestrates an amazing, perfect and precariously balanced chain of events, and those times should be honored… by me… on my blog.

Consider this, the pantsless, dangling ski-lift guy, as the personification of Meccanized’s evolution in the new year.

The phrase “Thank you, Captain Obvious” has always…ground…my gears, but I think it is pretty relevant in this case.

I was coming back from a brief afternoon workout at 24-Hour Fitness, and my eye caught a sign for exercise-focused holiday gifts offered by the gym.

At the top of the sign was a single line so amazing that it caused me to run (well, to limp, since I had a minor mishap on the elliptical machine today…and by mishap, I mean I got excited when the Gin Blossoms came on my iPod and I lost my rhythm and stumbled off the foot pad…sorry, guys, I’m taken…) back to my computer:

“$99 gift certificate for 24-Hour Fitness.  Cost: $99.”

No kidding?  Because a $99 gift certificate at that other gym is $300!  What a steal!

24-Hour Fitness (and anyone who has to ask how much a $99 gift certificate costs, you are Meccanized.

Normally, I would say that pretty-boy actors who think the world revolves around them and who just do as they please regardless of their commitments grind my gears.

I would also say that snarky, pretentious playwrites who think that their works are the center of everyone’s whole world and who refuse to take the high road as a result grind my gears.

But  Jeremy Piven (who I have followed since his small role in Say Anything in the 80′s) and David Mamet (one of my favorite playwrites/screenwriters) simply do not have the ability to grind my gears.

However, I do think that Jeremy’s whining (in short: I have too much mercury in my body and I need to drop out of your hit production on short notice) and David’s awesome snarkfest of a retort (“My understanding is that he is leaving show business to pursue a career as a thermometer.”) deserve some space on my blog, if only for the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

Jeremy and David, you are Meccanized (but I still love you both).

After a workload-related blogging hiatus, I work up this morning ready to re-enter the blogosphere and prepared to look for annoying things that I could Meccanize.  I didn’t have to look far.

I give you The Slanket.

Designed for people who want to look like wizards while they are trying to stay warm.  Or who are too lazy to put on extra clothes but are incapable of handling the complexities of a draped blanket while they are doing their every day tasks like reading a book or ordering a pizza.

There are also a number of competing products, including the Snuggie.  “Blankets are OK but they can slip and slide, plus your hands are trapped inside.”  I wasn’t aware that blankets offered similar functionality to handcuffs, but apparently this is a real problem.

And, on a whole new different level of stupidity, I give you the Hawaii Chair.

It’s a chair.  That has a 2800 RPM motor in it.   The chair basically jerks you back and forth while you”go about your business” (you know…read, write, talk on the phone… do all those things that are easy to do while your nether-regions are spinning around uncontrollably).  And when did sitting on your ass become an integral part of working out?

There is also the Flowbee, but that deserves a whole other blog post.

Blanket capes and vomit-inducing furniture, you are Meccanized.

And something from my home state that really grinds my gears.

A lawyer, James O. Ruane, defending a man charged with a DUI is arguing that the man’s breathalyzer results be suppressed. Why?

Well, obviously because breathalyzers are “KKK in a box.” Good analogy, sir.

Apparently, the lawyer is arguing (and has an actual doctor to support this) that the breathalyzer discriminates against blacks because the lung capacity of a black man is 3 percent smaller than a white man. The conclusion here is that the diminished lung capacity will result in a breathalyzer result that inherently varies from the sobriety standard set by the device.

Remind me to use this argument if I ever get pulled over for a DUI. “I’m short, Ocifer, so, you see, my lungs are too small to registrate a correct result on the breath thing.”

Some part of me mourns the life that could have been — if I had gone to law school, I, too, could be wasting our legal system’s resources to argue cases just like this one.

James O. Ruane, you are Meccanized.

Or, in this case, bites.

Once again, stupid people are griding my gears.

A Chinese college student broke into the enclosure of Yang Yang, a panda bear living at the Qixing Park zoo.

I think Liu, the 20-year-old victim (tho I might argue that Yang Yang was the real victim here) sums it up nicely: “Yang Yang was so cute and I just wanted to cuddle him. I didn’t expect he would attack.”

Yes, I too like to cuddle … with cute animals … that weigh over 250 lbs … and are probably feeling a little restless and stir-crazy from being kept in a cage while twerps like Liu ooh and ahh. Liu, consider yourself Meccanized.

Now, in our great homeland of the United States, someone breaking into your house is just cause for homicide. Apparently, that same protection is not offered to pandas subject to stupid people. Everyone is up in arms about the Zoo’s security measures and whether they did enough to prevent the incident.

But consider the zoo’s position: “We cannot make it like a prison. We already have signs up warning people not to climb in,” he said. “There are no fences along roads but people know not to cross if there are cars. This is basic knowledge.”

I totally agree! I am all for security and taking extra precautions to make sure that zoo-goers are safe, but why should the zoo have to stretch their budget and drop down to accommodate the lowest common denominator of human intelligence?

And if you don’t agree with me, I offer this

“In 2006, a panda at the Beijing Zoo bit a drunk tourist who broke into his enclosure and tried to hug him while he was asleep. The tourist retaliated by biting the bear in the back.” Really?

More than hearing that Liu will be fine, I, personally, am thrilled to hear that Yang Yang was behaving normally after the incident and “did not seem to suffer any negative psychological effects.” Don’t worry, buddy — I’ve got your back.

At 9 am this morning, this was sent to me. This doesn’t really grind my gears, but I find it incredibly entertaining on two fronts…

1) This is what my friends are reading
2) …really?

… and so I thought it was important to post.

A few things stand out:

“Long story short: a man pleasuring himself with a jar of pasta sauce led cops on a low speed chase in Australia.” I’m not really sure this is the kind of thing you should ever make a short story, but fortunately, this is remedied.

“A man caught near Nobbys Beach with his penis in a pasta sauce jar led police on a 20 km/h car chase. Police drew their weapons when they suspected Keith Roy Weatherley, 46, was armed. Instead, they found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar.” Nothing to add here — I think this speaks for itself.

What was in the car, you might ask?

“A search of his car uncovered pornography, a home-made sex aid, women’s stockings and a Jack Russell terrier.” I…I…

I am rarely speechless, but here I just don’t think any comment I make would add value to an already valuable story, so I simply state:

Keith Roy Weatherley, you are Meccanized … and gross.