1983 A congressional commission released a report condemning the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II as a "grave injustice."
Other major findings from the report:
•Trail of Tears: "kind of a dick move" •Abe Lincoln: "wicked tall" •Ice Cream: "delicious"
1997 The Food and Drug Administration named six different birth control brands as safe and effective "morning-after" pills for preventing pregnancy before adding, "failing that, jumping up and down for 30 seconds immediately after doin' it should totally work, too."
2007 The Virginia General Assembly passed a resolution [VJR-728- SOWE'RECOOLNOWRIGHT?] expressing "profound regret" for the state's role in slavery.
Former "Growing Pains" Star Andrew Koenig Still Missing Friends and family holding out hope that "Boner" will pop up soon
Politics:
Dick Cheney Suffers 47th Heart Attack Cardiologist Dr. William J. Masters of George Washington University Hospital calls recent emergency bypass operation, "Routine, successful, and the biggest test of the Hippocratic Oath I have faced in my entire career."
Sports:
U.S. Men's Olympic Hockey Team Sweeps Canada, Winning Three Games of Planned Five-Game Series North-of-the-border medical facilities fill to capacity with attempted suicide patients (in related news, NHL viewership numbers down 6.2% for 2009 Stanley Cup finals)
Right around the same time homo erectus shed his fur and started walking upright, early humans realized they needed clothing. So, they hollowed out a few mammoth skins in order to replace the thick coats that Charles Darwin had come along and so cruelly stripped them of, and everything was fine for awhile.
But eventually, humans also evolved taste. And at that point, we realized that clothes could be more than just protection from the elements, and against getting gored by sabre-toothed boars. And so it came to pass that clothing became something more than modesty-preservation with a built-in frostbite guard...It could also make something resembling a statement about the person inside of it. And so was born...
THE FASHION INDUSTRY.
Personally, I find the world of haute couture more amusing than anything. Reason being, it has about as much use for me as I do for it. In as much as we even acknowledge each other, it's with thinly-veiled disdain at best, and open contempt at worst. Ergo, most of the time, I dress in pretty utilitarian gear, more selected for comfort than appearance.
"Yeah...I know the invitation said 'formal wear.' That's why I'm wearing pants."
Yes, the world of fashion certainly is a hoot, what with its anorexic alien cat-walkers, hilariously impractical "that's gotta-be-a-joke" designs, and snooty devotees applauding every thrown-together getup in unison (as though nobody ever read them "The Emperor's New Clothes" as children). And yet, people still continue to take it seriously and treat it as though it matters. This, despite the fact that clothing has gotten so far away from its roots that the only homo erectus who'd be able to find a single thing to actually put on and wear is pretty much Isaac Mizrahi.
But occasionally, something so utterly ridiculous, so completely incomprehensible happens in that universe that it gets attention from even the most jaded of eye-rolling, over-it types. Something so bizarre that even Lady fucking GaGa would be taken aback...and she dresses like a scrapyard full of broken construction-site salvage and plays ringtones for a living.
She ought to be careful. Those things look like they could poke her face.
I know what you're thinking. "Is today one of those days, Unca Mert? IS it?!?"
But of course it is, my lovelies. Of course it is.
Recently, avant garde Spanish "fashion" designer Isabel Mastache débuted her new 2010 Fall line at a Madrid fashion show. And I WOULD say it got tongues wagging...but as you'll see, that may not exactly be an appropriate assessment.
Let's take a look at a few of her offerings, shall we? Oh, and as we go along, DO see if you can notice the one little over-the-top touch that was the impetus for this post. And don't worry if you miss it. Even if you do, I'll make sure you don't.
Meh. So far, so what? Buckethead can moonlight as a runway model if he wants to. His tie looks like it's suffering a slight allergic reaction, but whatever. A couple of Benadryl, and he'd still be able to hackey-sack on campus without drawing too much attention. Next?
Big deal. I've seen bath-mat jackets, teapot hats, and dresses made up of the aftermath of Christmas-morning unwrapping sessions a million times, lady. Bullshit's about as passé as balsamic vinegar. What else ya got?
Huh. And here I thought the Velveteen Rabbit was a carrier of scarlet fever. Apparently, it was actually leprosy. My bad.
Look, lady. I've got a schedule. Either you start making with something legitimately whack-a-doo, or I've got a navel that needs de-linting.
Okay, you're starting to get there. This guy looks like the product of an unholy union between Bob the Angry Flower and a Big Daddy. I guess that's just loopy enough for me to give you one more chance. So, hit me with your best shot.
This? This is IT? This is the best you've got? A beige suit with moldy pizza-hat and some wilted lilies? Are you even trying? I don't see -
Hey, wait a minute.
What the fuck?
Zoom in on those pants for a second...
Oh, sweet, bleeding mother of Christ. Really? REALLY?!?
So, it's come to this, has it? After a few centuries of clothing intended to cover our filthy, shameful genitals from open view, we're just gonna sew 'em onto the outside of our fucking trousers, now? Is THAT the plan?
Y'know, even in the Middle Ages, when dudes wore silver-studded codpieces their children could bathe in, and women wore corsets that pushed up their funbags higher than the Queen's net worth, the idea was only to accentuate the secondary sex characteristics for titillation value, not to rub them in your face. But if Isabel Mastache gets her way, you'll soon have to specify THREE sizes for your pants. Waist, inseam, and cockenballs. And what good is that? So much shock value, so little mystery.
Oh, and in case you think I'm making this up, I'm not. Here's the video. I'm not sure if this is safe for work or not. Guess it depends on where you work.
Sweet dreams, everyone. Try not to see that thing bobbing around in your face as you drift off.
At the end of the day, the Diary of Fools sees ourselves as an educational tool. The power of the internet to educate is unparalleled, and we want to use that power for the betterment of upcoming generations.
So, in an attempt to reach out to the scholastic community, today's "This Day in History" installment has been guest-written by Spencer Melman, an eighth-grader from Roosevelt Junior High in Johnsburg, Colorado. We supplied him with the day's events, and let him "fill in the blanks" using the tools and skills he's been taught by the American Public School system. I trust you'll all make him feel very welcome.
Take it away, Spencer!
Here's Spencer, smiling proudly in this year's school portrait.
1732:George Washington, first President of the United States, was born in the Virginia Colony.
ok i remeber him then he choped down like a penut tree with i thnk his woodin teeth or something exept then he dident lie bout it and then he inventted penut butter then after that
geoarge washington is dead now and he is on are money
1865: The state of Tennessee adopts a new constitution abolishing slavery.
dood slavory was totaly mest up i can't beleve white ppl pwnd black ppl and made em pick cotin and stuff why dident they just say NO and run away?? i bet they'd be fast like the fastst kid at my scool his nameis damian mitchell and hes black and he runs like really fast he set a recerd for track at scool 1987: Pop artist Andy Warhol dies at age 58.
ok i neveer herd o that gu b4 wat do U mean a POP artist liek what he dezined soda flavers or some thing LOL is he the d00d who desided that doctor peper has prunes in it? its totaly true bobby maggiano told me that a kid at his old scool DIED cuz he wouldent drink any thing but docter peper and then he pooped hmself to deth and thats why i don't ever drink that crap
..If a website's code had a theme song, what would it be?
A question so magnamanous, to know the true treasure would be too jarring and tingling to the experience. However the brave souls at www.codeorgan.com have created an algorithm to answer this exact query.
It's just true: humans are getting lazier. And what's more, we as a species are just fine with that.
Now, don't get me wrong...There's nothing wrong with a spot of sloth once in awhile. Not being too big a fan of organized religion, I realize there's no such thing as "sin," much less seven deadly ones. All work and no play makes Jack Nicholson go apeshit nuts. I'd be hypocritical if I said otherwise, being as I am a man who appreciates the fair bit of leisure himself. Those highballs sure as shit ain't gonna drink themselves any more than the call girls are going to have sex with themselves.
(Well...wait. I mean, sometimes they do. It just runs you a little extra. But, I digress inexcusably.)
So, yes. Kicking back on occasion is just fine. But there is a LINE. A line at which a little R&R ceases to be the exception, and becomes a lifestyle. A line at which down time becomes ALL the time. A line that, once crossed, means people have just given the fuck up, and said, "Bring on the Comfort Wipe and Obesity Scooter, for I have decided I'd like a little blood in my butter-stream."
And that line is just a little closer today. Behold: "Pajama Jeans."
This is not a joke product, nor is it an SNL spoof. Things really actually have reached the point that this is a needed product. There really is a call for sweatpants...that look like jeans. And I guess anyone with eyes has probably figured that out by now. We've all stood in line at Target behind the woman in Crocs and garish flannel pajama pants. The one who did her hair with an eggbeater three weeks ago and hasn't touched it since. You know the one: she's wearing a Jeff Gordon NASCAR jacket, smells like room-temperature brie, and is buying a case of Mallomars and a few 2-liters of Dr. Pepper.
Hey, at least she matches. So she's doing better than most.
I'm not really sure how, or when this happened. It wasn't ALWAYS that way. Used to be, men didn't leave the house without wearing 27 pounds' worth of a wool three-piece suit, and women knew the neighbors would talk if they were seen out and about without at least a pinafore dress and full sleeves. Plus, they had HATS ON. And SHOES. Shoes that required SHINING.
And I'm not one of these cultural revisionists who thinks that the good old days were universally good, that "Leave It To Beaver" and "Ozzie and Harriet" reflect some cultural ideal that society ought to strive to get back to. "Mad Men" may be celebrated as a delicious slice of throwback, but let's face it: the whole era was chock full of sexual harassment, gender inequity, repressed sexuality, spousal abuse, and more than a little lung cancer. But FUCK, they looked good while all that shit was going on under the surface! There was no occasion too small; none that didn't require a sharp mode of dress, a put-together flair, and an air of class and sophistication. People may have been uptight and miserable, but at least they had style.
In fact, here is a picture of my grandparents on their way to the greengrocer's.
Then, somewhere along the line, Jeans became acceptable. Okay, fine. Then, people started wearing them to work on Fridays. Then, every day. Up to this point, I'm still okay with this, because there is a big, fat line between "casual" and "slovenly." It's possible to look composed, and still be comfortable.
However, at what point did it become acceptable for people to just roll out of bed, and then GO RIGHT STRAIGHT THE FUCK OUTSIDE?!? Sweatsuits are supposed to be workout gear, motherfucker. If I see you in a sweatsuit, your ass had better be in a gym parking lot. However, based on the fact that your spare tire looks like it came off of a piece of heavy mining equipment, I'm gonna guess you wouldn't be caught DEAD (and I mean that literally) anywhere that close to a place where there are working treadmills.
Exhibit F: "The exception that proves the rule."
I dunno. It's possible that I'm seeing this the wrong way. I'm willing to allow that perhaps the inventors of "Pajama Jeans" aren't exactly encouraging lethargy, but rather condemning it. Maybe they're just cynical enough to REALLY be saying, "Here, you lazy pieces of shit. If you're just going to waddle directly out of your bedroom in the same getup you went to sleep in, the LEAST you can do is to put THESE on. That way I don't have to deal with looking at your fucking spaceship PJ's or filthy track suit." It's wholly within the realm of plausibility that jammy-jeans are largely motivated by a "for-chrissakes-at-least-meet-us-halfway" attitude that says if you're not going to make the effort to BE presentable, the LEAST you can do is to try to LOOK presentable. To provide a reasonable facsimile of human dignity that holds up under cursory scrutiny, and maybe even score a couple of bucks of profit in the bargain.
However, my curse of raw pragmatism shapes my illusory free will, and dictates my reaction. And that is: anything that makes it easier for the whole of Western society to continue its long, slow, de-evolutionary slide into a giant, shiny pile of utter pudding-sacks who never need to bother being besotted by anything so base as discomfort or strenuous activity MUST be decried as being "part of the problem."
That said, I have to knock off. It's getting pretty close to lunchtime.
As everybody from Tribe to The Beatnuts to Madlib knows, the Roy Ayers catalog is some of the most fertile loop-digging ground in existence. As evidence, I'd like to introduce to you exhibits "A" - a sick, sick, SICK battle of the vibes between Mr. Ayers and Dwight Gassaway (the chubby brutha) and "B" - one of my all-time favorites, "Funk in the Hole".
And seriously, even if you typically disregard this segment because funk isn't "your thing" (lamerz), I highly recommend at least checking out this first vid… it transcends the game:
By now, you know the story. It's one that's really lit up the 'tubes the last few days. And when a story about a prominent celebrity getting kicked off an airplane for being too fat gets around the internet, it really gets around the internet.
For the uninitiated:
Renowned indie auteur/screenwriter Kevin Smith (he of "Clerks," "Chasing Amy" and the upcoming "Cop Out") was recently "asked" to disembark a Southwest Airlines flight...for being too fat. The airline's contention was that his size posed a "security risk," being as in the event of an accident, other passengers would have difficulty getting around him to escape. Apparently lost in their reasoning was the fact that in your average airway disaster, having a spot of bother circumventing the portly fellow in the next seat is rarely an issue, on account'a the flames, flying debris, and giant sucking holes in the cabin hull all representing slightly more pressing concerns.
"Bitch, fuck the seat cushion. Use ME as a flotation device."
The ludicrous nature of Southwest's concerns notwithstanding, maybe they should have checked their records. Because all of this happened despite the fact that according to CNN, Mr. Smith is something of a frequent flier, having bought no less than 10 Southwest tickets just that week. maybe I'm nuts, but there's something to be said for that sort of frequent-flyership.
The thing is, Smith KNOWS he's a tub of shit. He refers to himself as such constantly. In his series of laugh-out-loud funny "An Evening with Kevin Smith" DVD's (featuring college and general-audience Q&A's), he outlines his struggles with his weight in hilariously self-deprecating detail. Shit, he writes movies where the other characters refer to his as "Tubby" and "Tons-o'-Fun." Even so...acknowledging your body issues on your OWN terms is one thing...but making headlines for them is something else entirely.
"I'm sad. And you wouldn't LIKE me when I'm sad."
More tragic yet is that the aforementioned ten tickets were all for him...And he'd bought them for a total of five flights. Which means that he had ALREADY copped to their asinine policy that passengers deemed "too fat to fly" are required to purchase a whole extra seat in order to accommodate their girth. Seats he didn't even really NEED (because he was more than able to fit in the seat, as well as buckle the safety belt), but that they forced him to buy anyway.
So what was the problem? Well, he got bumped to standby on the flight in question. No problem...frequent travelers know this kind of shit happens. But when they found him a seat on a different flight, it was just one seat. Which means, in essence, that he paid for TWO seats, and in fact received ZERO.
So, you see.
The backlash was swift and immediate. It wasn't just that Southwest had fucked over a prominent celebrity...It was that they had fucked over a prominent, internet-savvy, self-aware and unapologetically self-promoting celebrity with legions and legions of slavishly devoted followers...all of whom had undeniable geek cred, and all of which were more than ready to set the entire internet on fire with scathing invective condemning Southwest as the second coming of HitlerSatan. All they needed was a dispatch from their Fearless Leader in the form of a Tweet, message board post, podcast or blog.
All of which is what they got.
"Fly, my monkeys...FLY!"
It's been entertaining watching the P.R. department of Southwest fall all over themselves trying to backpedal, apologize and do damage control in the wake of this. Point is, they fucked over the wrong random fat dude, and it bit them in their asses. Smith is standing up for himself, refusing to back down, and scorching the earth with the power of his raw hatred. And the world is feeling his power.
And if THAT doesn't qualify as a Great Moment in Fat History, I don't know what would.
Let it never be said that the Diary doesn't have our collective finger firmly on the pulse of our burgeoning readership. To that end, we've been tossing some ideas for new features around, and we just can't decide where we want to go next.
So, in order to better serve you, please take a moment to vote on your favorite of the following concepts we've brainstormed. After the votes are in, we'll take your opinion into consideration when deciding where we go from here. Probably.
Learn as though you would never be able to master it; Hold it as though you would be in fear of losing it; smoke as though the cops are going to bust in at any second and totally harsh your buzz.
"These cock suckers should really be executed." -Fred Phelps, Super Nice Dude Fuckstick, Kansas
"Everything that's wrong with today's 20-somethings."
- Some Asshole Blogger Minneapolis, MN
"...See? This is what I'm talking about. It's shit like this that makes people doubt my existence in the first place. Well, that and the fact that Mario Lopez keeps getting work somehow."
- God, Alleged Creator of the Universe
Hoboken, NJ
"I think it's neat how a group of retards can run their own website. A nice little story."
-Debra Goosingbunz, Social Worker Sandusky, OH
"Seriously, if I catch you people going through my garbage again, I'm getting a fucking restraining order." -Bootsy Collins, Funk Bassist, Cincinnati, OH
"OH MY GOD OHMYGOD IT BURNS HOLY FUCK IT BURNS GET IT OFF GETITOFF OH SHIT IT HURTS SO MUCH OHMYGAAAAARRRGH AAAAHHH!" -Some Guy Who's on Fire, Burning Man Festival, Black Rock Desert, Northern NV
"I thought this blog might be kinda funny at first, but it's nothing but name calling....a veritable thesaurus of insults." -Anna Nimity, Internet Spectre, Cyberspace
"You're a shitty writer and this site sucks dick." -Mr. Meh, Cracked.com reader, and apparent dick-sucking authority
Worldwide Love for the DoF (The DoF on the Interweb)
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