1. You hang around the water cooler for an extended period of time so that you can brag to your co-workers on what “a phenomenal time I had this weekend. Honestly, I could not have asked for better weather and I just packed it with so many fun activities” until you eventually get the point across: my weekend kicked your weekend’s ass.
2. You had a pretty good weekend, but now it’s Monday, you’re still in a sleep coma, and your Facebook feed isn’t providing enough fodder for the requisite hour of procrastination you had blocked out on your calendar for this morning (come on people; upload your photos on Sunday night).
3. Just flat out depression. You accomplished absolutely nothing this past weekend (well, unless you count a marathon of House re-runs as something, and I actually do), and now you’re back at work and all your hopes and dreams are pushed out another 5 days until the next weekend. And on top of that, your plans for that weekend are already falling through.

I’m not going to miss this opportunity to tell you that lately, I’ve been having some really good weekends, so my Monday’s have resembled the 1st scenario.

BUT, today, I’m in Scenario #3. Yes, I had high hopes for this weekend—I had an extensive to-do list, and I was “really going to accomplish things” this weekend. But, incapacitated by crippling hangovers and armed with ample amounts of couch space (and Discovery Channel’s Shark Week reruns from last year), I really couldn’t argue with the merits of a nice 4-hour touch-and-go nap. Both days.

So here’s what I do to beat the bad case of the Mondays:

If you don’t watch The Hills religiously, don’t worry: neither do I…neither do most people. That’s why it’s in its series finale. In fact, if you’ve watched one episode, essentially you’ve watched all 6 seasons of it. There are usually three plot lines per episode; here they are:

Plot Line #1: LC/Kristin endlessly speculate with their friend, Lo/Whitney, about the likelihood of them dating serial polygamist Brody Jenner, all the while remaining steadfast that really they “see him more like a brother than a lovah.” Here’s the thing, though, about brothers: when they call you on the phone, you don’t drop everything you’re doing to go hang out with them. You don’t write their name over and over again in your notebook and scribble hearts around it. And you don’t get wasted at Les Deux and then go home and make out with them. Kristin/LC: you probably should look into your relationship with your brothers.

Plot Line #2: Idiot Spencer Pratt does something douchey to his wife, idiot Heidi Montag. Heidi seeks out the advice of a member of her family, who gives her the exact same advice that all of us at home are screaming into the television (dump Spencer!!) and then, after 25 seconds of careful deliberation, she gets back together with her husband.

Plot Line #3: Audrina/Justin Bobby “Drama.” I use air quotes here because Audrina uses the term “drama” extremely lightly; she clings on to any form of communication with Justin Bobby and then spends the next 2-6 weeks dissecting it. “He looked at me, what do you think that means?” Umm, that he has sensitive corneas? You see, the problem is that Justin Bobby doesn’t like Audrina enough to date her, but, as Audrina so astutely points out, he has eyeballs. And like any self-respecting male, he cannot pass on that nice piece of ass. On numerous occasions, I’ve contemplated purchasing He’s Just Not that Into You for Audrina, but I’m waiting for the icon-based version of that text to come out as I believe that will be easier for her to grasp.

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned (or rather, relearned) from watching The Hills it’s that:

1. “Boys can be jerks. Huge jerks. Boys sucks, girls rule” and that
2. Girls are pretty bad at picking up on consistent trends in their love lives; they excel at repeating the exact same mistakes and expecting dramatically different results.

So, cast of The Hills, I’d like to individually bid you one last farewell, even though I’m fairly convinced your lives will continue to play out on the cover of US Weekly for at least another 15 or so seconds.

On NPR’s Fresh Air yesterday (the best interview show out there), Dave Davies spoke with entomologist Mark Moffett, who has been studying ants for the past 30 years. He just came out with a new book, Adventures with Ants: A Global Safari with a Cast of Trillions.

The interview is definitely worth listening to! But since you probably won’t, I transcribed the most fascinating part of it for you to read, where he details a battle being waged in your backyard of epic proportions:

Only ants and humans have full-scale impersonal warfare where masses of individuals go after each other and that’s because ants and humans have larger societies than anything else, up to millions of individuals….

The Argentine ants, having the largest societies, have the most amazing warfare of all. Unfortunately they’re an invasive species and they’ve escaped Argentina. They’re now in California and have been for a century, expanding their realm.

But what’s been recently discovered is that there are in fact different colonies there. It was thought that they didn’t fight until someone accidentally took some of them and mixed them up with what turned out to be a different society and they started killing each other.

These societies turn out to be enormous, there are four of them throughout California. The largest of the four is called the Very Large Colony and it extends from San Francisco down to the Mexican border and contains maybe hundreds of billions to maybe a trillion individuals.

This is a single nationality with a single scent so you can carry an individual with you from San Francisco down to Mexico if you’re so inclined and drop it off and it will merge seamlessly with the society there and you can carry that same ant a quarter inch across the border to the next society in Escondido and it will be dead within a minute. And these huge colonies have borders that are miles long and millions of ants are dying each month in people’s backyards out of view at the base of the grasses; basically it’s the largest battle ever waged…

The same colonies are taking over places like Northern New Zealand. There’s a single colony that occupies a thousand kilometers of coastline in Europe. South Africa has a huge colony and so on.

Absolutely fascinating. Who knew ants could be so fiercely nationalistic. The whole interview is worth listening to; other points that piqued my interest:

1. These are societies built of females; mostly all the ants you see are female, the males are small with wings and die very quickly
2. They communicate entirely through scent and these scents can be carried throughout societies at an extremely fast pace, more efficient than the way we communicate with each other
3. Ants have specialized roles, everything from worker to soldier to carrier ant, which is a larger ant that brings her
   

   Just carrying some friends to war.

   carries dozens of her smaller comrades to the front lines of a battle

4. Towards the end of their lives, when ants are weak or sick, they march out to the battle lines and guard the borders, serving as martyrs for the greater good of the society
5. Some ants are capable of killing animals as large as cattle by overwhelming them with sheer force. This is why farmers in Africa never tie up their cattle, lest they be attacked by ants
6. Ants are farmers; when you see them carrying leaves back to their nests, it’s so they can use them to grow a certain type of fungus they eat.

Wow. Do yourself a favor, and listen to it.

But they are stressful, you have to agree with me on that. Organizing multiple birthday events (one for your close friends, one for your filler friends, and one for co-workers), registering for gifts, picking out your birthday outfits, oy vey I’m getting faklempt just thinking about it. But there’s one thing that stresses me out the most during the lead-up to my birthday: my Facebook profile.

In the same way that you make sure your room is clean and presentable right before you have people over, I always make sure my Facebook profile is tidy, up-to-date, and expressive of all that I’ve accomplished in the last 12 months (and by “expressive” I mean you should never let the truth get in the way of spinning an illustrative story).

Because think about how much traffic your profile gets on that day. This is your one chance to make sure that your “friends” can appropriately answer the “What’s Christopher doing with his life?” question when it inevitably comes up during cocktails. You want to arm them with the best info/scantily-clad body shots that you’ve got. Tens of people visit it on that day; here’s what you need to do to put your best foot forward:

If you’re a Democrat in California, it’s a relatively boring primary. But if you’re a Republican, it’s slightly more interesting/comical. I’m going to write this post as if I’m speaking to someone who can vote in both the Republican and Democratic primaries; theoretically impossible, unless you steal someone’s ballot. Am I advocating you do this? No, not really. But in just the same way that sexual education doesn’t advocate premarital sex but nonetheless educates you on how to do it responsibly, let me do the same with the California primary:

Republican Gubernatorial Candidate: Steve Poizner

And by Steve Poizner, I mean NOT Meg Whitman. If you haven’t been living under a rock for the past 6 months, you’ve seen Meg’s “Vision for a New California.” Let me refresh your memory by outlining what she wants to do:

1. Create Jobs.
2. Cut Government Spending.
3. Fix Education.

Meg: NO ONE IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THOSE ISSUES. She would probably have known that if she had been a functioning member of this thing we call a democracy for the past 20 years (she didn’t even register to vote until she was 46).  You can’t just wake up one morning and suddenly decide you want to be Governor. Unless, of course, you’re the Terminator.

That’s why I’m endorsing Steve Poizner, who taught in an “inner-city” school for one year (turns out Median home prices in that “impoverished” district are $300K) so that he could call himself a “teacher” when he ran for public office. I did that once with the Journalism club in High School; if it could get me into Georgetown, I don’t see why it can’t make him the next Governor of California.

Republican Senatorial Candidate: Tom Campbell

And by Tom Campbell, I of course mean NOT Carly Fiorina.

Two types of Republican candidates scare me: women and African Americans (well, and Log Cabin Republicans). Not because I think they should stick to their stereotypical party affiliations (I do, but by that same thinking, as a white male I should probably be a Republican), but because they always come across so likable. If there’s one thing that American’s hate to do, it’s research the issues and actually see where the candidates stand; if there’s one thing that we love to do, it’s vote for our candidates based solely on their race/gender/hairline/bust size. We’re really good at making gut decisions and ignoring the “facts” and “candidate voting records.”

Anyway, if Carly Fiorina does in fact make it past the primary, I guess that’s not the end of the world; at least we can look forward to more Sheep ads (fast-forward to 2:30):

Democratic Lieutenant Governor: Gavin Newsom

How could you say no?

No explanation, just a photo. Please see earlier comment about choosing a candidate based purely on hairline:

Proposition 16: NO!

Proposition 16 would require local governments to collect a two-thirds majority vote before setting up a retail power agency. Essentially, this would make it very difficult for local governments to set up alternative energy power plants. PG&E bankrolled this proposition so that they could cut out competition. They contributed $46 million to get it passed; the other side collected less than $100K.

Sky Waitresses In Action.

Over the last year, I’ve found myself on quite a few Virgin America flights—or as I prefer to call it, Fly-Over America (Seriously, look at their flight map: it’s every elitist Democrat’s dream: they connect all the important cities—SF, New York, DC, LA, Seattle, etc.—and just fly over the rest of Real America).  They’ve got a pretty nice setup: mood lighting that makes you feel like you’re in a club, in-flight entertainment centers at your seat and relatively good food. But one thing that I’ve noticed more and more over the past few months is the sassiness level of their flight attendants. Just because you have your own TV show now doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole; I mean, it’s on the CW for crying out loud. Sassy flight attendants aside, Virgin America is by far my favorite airline.

Let’s get one thing out of the way before we move on: the name “flight attendants.” In my opinion, it exaggerates their skill-set. Really, they’re more like waitresses—waitresses of the sky, if you will (and I will). Yes, I’m sure they have some sort of “training”, but at the end of the day, the most difficult thing they’ve ever done for me is slip me an extra bag of warmed nuts (“eww, gross—he said nuts”).

“But waitress isn’t a gender-agnostic title, Chris.” Exactly, my friend (and good use of agnostic, I’m going to write that one down). I’m sorry, some jobs are better suited for a woman (sewing, cleaning and midwifery) and some are best suited for a man (financial services, law, engineering, executive management, the list goes on and on and on). Sky waitressing falls under the former.

Disagree? Well let’s think about one of the most annoying sky waitresses of them all: the gay male flight attendant. Lisping through the in-flight announcements like a nail grinding down a chalkboard, I cringe every time I hear him tell me to fasssten my theat belt. “Go back to your assistant manager position at American Eagle,” I say, “they’re having a BOGO and your presence is critical.”

The only thing more annoying than the gay male flight attendant is the elusive straight male flight attendant. As sure as can be, he’ll get on the PA and announce “the gorgeous Rebecca and Ginger-Anne in the back of the plane, wave your hands girls.” Have you ever turned around and looked at Rebecca? Nine times out of ten, she’s far from attractive, and pretty much all the time, she’s rolling her eyes at the unwanted sexual advances of her counterpart. Male sky waitresses? No thank you, I rest my case.

Where was I? Oh yes, sassy sky waitresses. The last couple flights I’ve been on, some geriatric EFL-passenger inevitably gets up while the seat belt sign is on (don’t worry, I will dedicate a whole post to incompetent airline travelers, I mean really—just because you don’t speak English doesn’t mean you can’t read a fasten seatbelt sign, it’s icon-based).

“Attention passengers, the fasten seat belt sign is on. Please remain in your seats. I repeat, you should be in your seats at this time.” If that’s not the most passive aggressive request, I don’t know what is. Don’t bring the rest of us into this, Rebecca, we all can see who you’re talking about. There’s only one person standing up in the whole plane, and it’s an 85-year old Filipino grandmother. Furthermore, if she can’t understand the fasten seatbelt sign, do you think she can understand your request? No, she can’t.

Just one example of their sassiness, I could provide more upon request, but this rant has already gone long enough.

Anyway, I guess I would probably be sassy too if I spent my days shuffling a plane full of 150 disgruntled, borderline-obese, extremely incompetent people across the country everyday. But at the same time, I didn’t sign up for that job: they did.

London, you’re on thin ice. No, I’m not talking about the decline in the pound or the financial impact on airlines due to the Volcano in Iceland.  I’m talking about the two individuals that you introduced the world to this week: Wenlock and Mandeville.

Wenlock and Mandeville

You chose these white-before-Memorial Day-Gumby-wannabe’s-with-pickle-claws-for-hands characters to be your ambassadors to the world? In the words of Seth and Amy – really, London?!?!

First, Let me give you some background as to why I am so passionate about this subject.  As my friends can attest to, I am a rabid Olympics fan. If the Olympics were a certain latina popstar, I would probably kill her in her house after stalking her for weeks because “I loved her too much” (oh yea, this is my first guest blog post and I made a Selena joke – I’m just keeping it real for you, folks).  Needless to say, the Beijing Olympic Games were the equivalent of a two-week long orgasm for me, narrated by the maestro of NBC Sports, Bob Costas.  Need a reminder of why Beijing was so great? Well, let’s start with this:

Bejing Opening Ceremonies from Youtube

Seriously, I have never seen a better argument for communist rule than the Opening Ceremonies.  Think you could get something like that to happen in the West? No way! Rampant obesity would prevent us from fitting into a tight space like that, and I’m pretty sure Glenn Beck would spin it as Obama’s attempt to hypnotize the world into accepting bestiality as the wave of the future.  That being said, let’s be honest – China did it better.  I am sure the president of the London Olympic Committee poured himself a stiff drink, turned on a cold shower, got in, and had himself a good cry while rocking back and forth after seeing the Beijing opening ceremonies.

But you know what? London shouldn’t have been nervous.  We all get it – Beijing had something to prove and the resources and political control to pull it off. It’s like the ugly kid who comes back to school after summer break with contacts, no braces, and an extra 20 pounds of muscle – yea he looks good, but he’s still not one of the cool kids.  Everyone has acknowledged that Beijing set the bar WAY too high, and no one expects London to top it.

But by no means is this an excuse for you to half-ass your way to 2012. For starters, you put a bad taste in our mouths with this:

London 2012 Logo

After I stopped seizing and broke out my Cracker Jack decoder ring, I figured out that this was supposed to represent 2012.  You realize that 2012 games will take place in the year 2012, not during a 1982 mall concert featuring Tiffany, right London? You should be trying to convey international peace through competition and sport, but instead you went for a throwback to “I want my MTV”.  Let’s do a quick comparison to Beijing, shall we?

Beijing logo

The Chinese language doesn’t even use letters, yet their logo is easier to understand than yours! And come on, you are given a clear color palette: green, black, red, gold, and blue. What is hard about that?  I was really willing to forgive you for this slip-up London.  You haven’t hosted the Games since 1948, when male chauvinism was still considered a sport and people swam in full-body suits (sidebar: we’ve really come full circle with that, haven’t we?). I considered it a small mistake, but then you had to come out with these fools. You can do better! You’re a small city, but a great one, too. You’re the city of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles (cue “Love Actually” soundtrack), Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham’s left foot. David Beckham’s right foot, come to that! The west it pulling for you, so don’t let us down!

This is your final warning, London.  798 days and counting…

Luckily, Beau was released yesterday with a healthy prognosis from his doctor. And, all together now: exhale…

In celebration of his safe recovery, it seems only fitting that we revisit probably the best example of campaign propaganda I’ve ever seen (and Beau: I mean that in the best way possible; I’m a sucker for a beautifully choreographed video montage followed by a gut-wrenching speech). Here’s why I love Beau:

[Thanks DemConvention for not letting me embed this, assholes...]

I laughed, I cried. And lucky for you, I documented those emotions and everything in-between; won’t you follow this emotional roller-coaster with me?

Coincidentally, she was in an episode of MTV’s Boiling Point a few years ago, the show which tested unsuspecting people to see how much shit they would put up with until they cracked. Spoiler altert: Gaga doesn’t make it the whole time.

Here are my thoughts:

1. What? She’s normal? It’s weird seeing Gaga without an orbiting ring around her head or a cluster of Kermit The Frogs pinned to her blouse. Or without blood gushing out of her body. Or not showing her cooch.
2. She’s a brunette. It looks good. It looks healthy (the current Gaga looks anything but).
3. She’s vulnerable. She has insecurities. She doesn’t like sitting at a table, alone (who does, I guess?). At 0:23, she does that awkward hair toss which proves it. You know the one I’m talking about, you’ve probably done it before: your nose is slightly cocked up as you glance around the room as if to tell everyone “Yes, I am alone right now, but I’m usually surrounded by tens of people.” Here’s some advice for the next time, Gaga: do what the rest of us do—bring a book and pretend you’re reading it.
4. Her full name is Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta. Italian Guidette McStereotype says what? Move over J-Wow, because I smell the newest addition to the Jersey Shore crew.

   After some extensive research as to how Gaga got her name (Wikipedia…is there any other form of extensive research??), turns out it’s a funny story (not haha-funny, more like good cocktail conversation-funny):

   

   Oh man, I was going to wear that.

   “Every day, when Stef came to the studio, instead of saying hello, I would start singing ‘Radio Ga Ga.’ That was her entrance song. [Lady Gaga] was actually a glitch; I typed ‘Radio Ga Ga’ in a text and it did an autocorrect so somehow ‘Radio’ got changed to ‘Lady’. She texted me back, “That’s it.” After that day, she was Lady Gaga. She’s like, “Don’t ever call me Stefani again.”

   T-9: even when you’re wrong, you’re right.

On the whole, I don’t like seeing Stefanie Germanotta this way. In general, I don’t like hearing her speak, even in interview. It makes her seem more human, more real. And I don’t like it…I don’t like it one bit.

In other Gaga-news, an audio clip was released last week of Britney Spears demoing Telephone, synthesized and everything, just the way a good Britney single should be. Apparently, Gaga wrote the song for Britney, but when Britney passed, Gaga recorded it with Beyonce. It’s kind of an interesting look into how the music production industry works – check it out (and yes, I’m linking to Perez Hilton; don’t be fooled, I don’t read that site. It’s the only place with the full demo, though).