Definition of Greed

There is an article on Forbes.com today that really pissed me off. The title of the article is "Inside the World's First Billion-Dollar Home." This home, which is actually a 27 story skyscraper in downtown Mumbai, is not going to cost a billion dollars. It is going to cost $2 billion. The owner of this testament to the insatiable greed of man is Mukesh Ambani, head of a petrochemical company in India. He is reportedly worth $43 billion and is the world's fifth richest man.

If anyone can justify to me why someone needs a $2 billion house, I welcome their comments. This family of 5 would apparently be cramped on anything short of 440,000 square feet of living space.

Given the current food crisis in much of the world today, do you think that this man could have made the ultimate sacrifice and only built a $1 billion house and given a billion to charity? Of course not. Why save lives when he could shit on a gold toilet? Do you know how many people $1 billion could feed? Me either, but I bet it would buy a shit-load of rice for the poor in Africa (or his home country of India for that matter).

Now I am sure that Ambani is involved in numerous charitable activities (or at least he should be), but there is simply no way you can justify building a house that costs more than the GDP of 30 countries in this world.

http://finance.yahoo.com/real-estate/article/104984/Inside-the-World

What has the world come to?

I am all for thinking outside the box. I am no economic genius, but it appears to me that everyday there are economic indicators coming out that contradict each other on the direction of the economy. One day we are almost out of the hole and the sun is shining and the next day we are staring into the abyss wondering where the bottom is. Well one article has finally found the answer.

Porn. Porn has traditionally been one of the most economically inelastic industries there is. Think about it. When we start heading for a recession, sales of higher end electronics decrease, Starbucks suddenly finds itself having a hard time selling high-priced lattes, and more people head to Wal-Mart and CostCo for groceries. But when the economy is in the crapper do men decide to stop whacking it to porn and decide to take a nice bubble bath and spank it to an old memory? I think not. Porn is a non-substitutable good. Or at least it was…

An article by Peter Bart in Variety says:

The drop in porn rentals and sales is worrisome on several fronts: Till now, porn has been a recession-proof business. Further, with the country already in a dispirited mood, the fact that porn has gone limp may indicate a true plunge in consumer confidence.

DVD porn is down between 10% and 30%, depending on which nook and cranny of the business you scrutinize. Joy King, executive vice president of Wicked Pictures, and a smart analyst of the business, says the smallest dropoff is in "couples-friendly porn" -- films that embrace something of a storyline. Women account for roughly half of this audience, making their purchases in lingerie boutiques and toy stores (no, not kiddie toys).

This, in my book, is a sure indicator that we are in a recession and that it is only going to get worse. If the ordinary man is too worried about pinching pennies that he can’t sit down with some lotion, a paper towel, and new copy of Harry Twatter then we are all doomed.

Read the article (its pretty funny):
http://www.variety.com/VR1117984246.html

Happy Hour

Last week my office had a happy hour at a local pizza joint after work. These happy hours have historically been very lame and this one would not have been blog-worthy had it not been for one conversation.

I was engaged in some mundane conversation with a superior probably about sports or the weather when I overheard this gem of a conversation unfolding:

Coworker 1: “What, you don’t know what the hymen is?”

Coworker 2: “No, should I?”

I immediately turned away from my co-worker to observe where this was headed. Coworker 1 is a male under 30 who, in my opinion should have avoided this conversation like the plague. Coworker 2 is a female in her mid to upper 30’s who has an MBA from a very good school. In her defense, she is not originally from the United States and English is her second language. There were also a few other male coworkers involved in this conversation who echoed her question.

Coworker 1 looked to me for guidance as to whether he should proceed with an explanation. Naturally I gave the “go-for-it” look and he did.

Coworker 1: “Well, uh, it is the thin layer of skin that is broken the first time a woman has sex.”

Coworker 2 (with a horrified look): “So how do you win the trophy?”

It was at this moment I realized her mistake and fell out of my chair laughing.

If you have not yet figured out why I was laughing, I will explain. The word “hymen” and the word “Heisman” sound similar, especially to a foreigner. So, in an attempt to learn about college football, she got an interesting lesson in female anatomy.
After I picked myself off the floor and wiped the tears from my eyes, I saw that Coworker 2 had relocated to the other end of the table. I could see how red her face was, even from across the room.

Nickelback: Rock Band or Boy Band?

This entry is aimed at a certain esteemed colleague of mine who is a fan of Nickelback and can’t figure out why I would rather hurl myself down a flight of stairs than listen to their music.

After beginning this entry, I began to notice numerous parallels between the “hard rock band” Nickelback, and those loveable teeny boppers, N’Sync.

First, observe how eerily similar the two pictures above are. In appearance alone, it is unquestionable that the two bands are targeting the same audience, high school girls. It would not surprise me to see these two posters side by side in the room of a 16 year old high school cheerleader. Nickelback’s and N’Sync’s videos, which have appeared on MTV’s TRL (a show whose primary demographic is high school aged kids) more times than can be counted, are even filmed similarly. Imagine Chad Kroeger standing in front of a fan that is blowing his wavy, frosted, “rock star” hair around. This is taken directly from the N’Sync business model.

Second, as if the first was not enough, the lyrics to Nickelback songs (like N’Sync’s) are so undeniably cliché that I can no longer distinguish them from the other terrific bands of the day (like Puddle of Mudd). If Nickelback writes their own songs, which I seriously doubt they do, they should be ashamed. The lyrics, like the ones in my all-time favorite Nickelback song “Photograph”, are so simplistic; I think a 5 year old could write them. But every now and then they throw in a bad word so they can be “edgy” like a real rock band.

First verse to Nickelback song Photograph:

Look at this photographEvery time I do it makes me laughHow did our eyes get so red?And what the hell is on Johnny’s head?

And seriously, no rock band should have a hit song called ”Rockstar.” Give me a freaking break.

My third and final comparison relates to the absolutely nauseating number of times you are forced to listen to Chad Kroeger’s awful voice on the radio. Like N’Sync in their prime, you can’t turn on the radio, or TV for that matter, without being blasted with one of their mega-hits that is destined to end up on Now 25.

I realize the goal of most bands is to become popular and have your music heard by every man, woman, and child. In doing this, they have been immensely successful and I cannot fault them for that, but that does not stop me from cringing every time I hear the words, “Hey, hey, I wanna be a rock star!”

The Curse of the Firsty Firsty

The term “Firsty Firsty” comes from a movie called Puddle Cruiser. This movie was one of the first movies created by Broken Lizard, who you may know went on to create Super Troopers and Beerfest. A coworker recommended this movie to me and was insistent upon how hilarious the movie was. I took his advice and rented the movie one weekend and stayed in expecting a night of pure hilarity. I could not have been more disappointed. The movie was absolutely the worst movie I have seen in quite some time. I repeatedly fought the urge to turn it off in the hopes that it would soon get better. It did not. I had believed that my coworker had sound judgment and had interests and tastes that were similar to mine, so I was baffled as to how he could have recommended such a horrendous movie. The only possible explanation for his favorable review of this movie is copious amounts of mind altering drugs.

It turns out that there was one semi-funny scene in the whole film that was probably funnier to me because I can relate to it. The name of the big, good-looking antagonist with which the main character is competing for the girl, is Traci Shannon. Traci is described by one of the characters as being a “Firsty Firsty,” or having two first names. Not only does Traci suffer from being a “Firsty Firsty,” he is a “Firsty First, Girly Girly.”

Being a “Firsty Firsty” is something that, unfortunately, I am all too familiar with. Technically I am a “Firsty Firsty Firsty” which has caused immeasurable amounts of confusion to the people in this world. Ever since I can remember, people have fucked up my name. I am constantly called by my last name, Lance. I understand that this is a common first name and a very honest mistake, but the problem persists even after multiple corrections and by people who I have known for a long time. The part that is mind-boggling to me is that the mistake is made by dumb people and smart people alike. Many very intelligent persons have simply decided to ignore the comma that separates my first and last name on many standard documents, and call me by which ever of my three titles they so choose. I have simply given up and answer to all three names without hesitation.

It could be worse, however. I was recently made aware by my mother that if my grandmother had had her way, my first name would have been Smith. Smith? Smith Lance. Take a second to think about that. Can you imagine the mindfuck that would have been unleashed upon society? It is possible that peoples’ heads would have blown up upon being informed that my name was not Lance Smith, but Smith Lance. This is the same lady who named my father Lacy. Sucks to be him. I cannot thank my mother enough for throwing a fit and refusing to let me be named Smith.

So this is the long-winded explanation for the title of my blog, Musings of a Firsty Firsty.

Thinking of a name

When I decided to create this blog, it took me only 5 minutes to hit my first obstacle... thinking of a title. So I figued it was only fitting that my first entry chronicle the overcoming of this obstacle.

As I sat here in my cube attempting to look busy to anyone who happens to wander by, I began to realize the importance of the name of my blog. Not only should it be original and project a little about myself, it should (if by some miracle this blog becomes something that people actually want to read) be a bit catchy.

My first title ideas, brain droppings (taken from the title of a George Carlin book) and cerebral flatulence (taken from one of my old baseball coaches and was by far the least offensive of the things he would say), were already taken and definitely lacked originality. These two choices were aimed at portraying the stupidity and irrelevance of most of the entries that will be contained in my blog. So after staring at my monitor for a period of time that is way to long to spend on something so trivial, I consulted my friends for help. Within minutes of sending an e-mail, I had received numerous responses.

Friend #1 suggested, among other things, The Epic Life and Times of G-Rot (G-Rot is a not-very-clever nickname this friend has given me). Friend #1 is characterized by his short e-mails that consistently include the phrases "please advise" and "that is all," as well as a blatant overusage of the word "epic." This was easily dismissed due to the fact that there is absolutely nothing "epic" about my life thus far.

Friend #2 suggested astroturf for no apparent rhyme or reason. Despite the temptation to derive some off-the-wall, far-fetched explanation for why I chose this as a title, I dismissed that one as well.

Other suggestions included: Another Day Another Dollar, I Get More Ass Than a Toilet Seat, How Does My Dick Taste?, How's Your Wife and My Kid?, G-Money and the Special Sauce, Confessions of a Douche-Bag, Get a Life, and other various low-blows aimed at myself.

My conclusion? I need different friends.

The name I ultimately decided on, Musings of a Firsty Firsty, was submitted by a coworker. The reason for my decision will be explained in the next post.