I went to go see a movie the other day. I was trying to kill time while the plumbers screwed around with the pipes (see future posting for more on that). Anyhow, when I got to the mall, I pulled into the parking structure, knowing full well that I would be staying well-past the allotted one hour of free parking. But that wouldn’t be a problem. As I recalled, the movie theater would validate my ticket for three hours. I had plenty of time. Or so I thought. When I walked up to the ticket booth, there was a sign posted on the counter. It read: “Parking Validation Is No Longer Necessary.” That was nice. Then I read on: “One Hour Of Free Parking. $2 For First Four Hours Thereafter.” Let me translate: We Don’t Want To Pay For Your Fucking Parking Anymore. So, Unless Your Movie Is Less Than An Hour, You’re Gonna Have To Shell Out Two Bucks.” I hate confusing signs like that. They want it to seem like they’re doing you a favor when in reality they’re just being dicks. Bullshit Signs suck.

These days, I go to one of those snooty Beverly Hills salons to get my hairs hacked. They not only wash your mop before they cut it, they massage your neck and back while you wait. Ahhh…now, that’s service. Then, after my hairstylist is finished with my coiffure, I’m sent back to the sink for another quick shampoo and rinse. You’d think this would prevent any problems with stray hairs irritating my skin. And you’d be wrong. Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, the torture begins. It starts as just a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, and then the intensity increases hour by hour. By the end of the day, my neck, back, ass and, uh, man sacks are itching like crazy. Don’t get me wrong. I love the haircut. But The Itch sucks.

Recently, I decided I should give meditation a try…

Okay, I’ll just wait until you stop laughing. Go on. I can sit here all day…Alright, maybe I better just continue.

Anyway, so I’m sitting at home (in a half lotus position) watching this DVD about meditation, and they’re trying to get me to do some basic yoga stretches before we start getting all metaphysical and shit. One of the moves is very simple. You just get on your hands and knees, tilt your head up, lean forward and arch your back. Just one fluid motion. Looks easy enough. There’s only one problem. My back won’t arch. Not even a bit. The head goes up. But the back stays put. So, there I am, trying to center my chi or whatever, and my face looks like I’m about to give birth. Somehow, I don’t think this was what the yogi had in mind. Being Inflexible sucks.

Go ahead. Take your sweet time with that lane change. There’s no rush. Be sure to flick on the turn signal about a mile before you need to actually move over. And then just slowly glide your vehicle towards the next lane. Careful now. Don’t rush it. You might lose control and careen into oncoming traffic. That’s it. You’re halfway there. Okay, now, before we complete our lane change, are you absolutely certain this is the lane you want to be in? No? Well, you better just drive down the center of both lanes until you’re sure. Oh, don’t mind that car revving its engine behind you. People are so impatient these days. No respect for the elderly. Oh, and one more thing, GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD! Lane Drifters suck.

The fast food industry is under attack. Apparently, that Big Mac isn’t as heart-healthy as originally thought. No, seriously. It’s got a shitload of calories. And most of them are fat. But don’t worry. They’ve come up with a solution that you’re certain to appreciate: Salads. Yes, delicious, wholesome salads. With radicchio and arugula and all those other fancy-schmancy lettuces that are difficult to pronounce. Of course, that might be too bland for our sophisticated American palates. So they added juicy fried chicken and mouth-watering bacon dressing. Granted, now the salads, with the dressing, provide more calories than a Big Mac (no kidding), but the important thing is you feel healthier eating them. Right? Pseudo Salads suck.

As if the low-quality signal of “digital” cable wasn’t torture enough, I’m forced to watch hundreds of commercials to try to convince me otherwise. Horrible commercials featuring actors who claim to be happy customers, spouting off the virtues of cable. My favorite overused line: “I don’t have to deface my home with that ugly dish.” Yes, those little dishes are so damn ugly. That’s why you see them on just about every other house on the block.

Then you’ve got the spots pleading with you to advertise on cable: “Sure, cable’s great for adults. But I’ve got a video game store. Can cable really reach kids?” “Mr. Smith, cable was made for kids!” Gag. it wouldn’t be so bad to see these on occasion, but they run these fucking commercials over and over, sometimes twice in one break.

And what about these small companies who actually do run their own commercials on cable? The furniture guy who always rips off his bad toupee after he yells to the camera with a big smile, “The furniture store with lowwwwwww overhead!” He needs a punch in the mouth. Or you’ve got the white-trash-looking guys (with the biker facial hair) stuffed in bad suits trying sell you carpet remnants. If they didn’t scare me so much, I’d go over there and beat them with their samples.

In other words, I want my DirecTV back. Cable Commercials suck.

I have a confession to make. I’m a closet fan of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. I think the Fab Four are hilarious. Yes, I know there are actually five of them. But let’s take a look at their so-called expertise.

There’s the Fashion Guy, the gayest of them all, and while his taste in clothing is questionable, his contribution to the show is not. Then there’s the Grooming Guy. He knows his stuff: what hair product to use, how to shave properly, and the proper technique for “manscaping” (you’ve got to watch the show to explain that one). Next we have the Gourmet. He’ll show you where to shop for great produce, how to prepare a romantic meal, and how to select a great wine. Of course, let’s not forget the Interior Designer. He can turn any dump into a hip-looking space.

Now, what I want to know is, why the hell do they need the Culture Guy? I’ve watched just about every episode and from what I can tell, he has no defined role. Sometimes he’s helping the Interior Designer clean up the house. Sometimes he’s out with the Gourmet Guy picking out coffee. He’s kind of the boy Friday of the group. Every once in a while, he’ll do something odd like teach someone how to sing or give them tickets to Baz Lurhmann’s La Boheme. Baz Lurhmann? You’ve got to be kidding. He’s like the Andrew Lloyd Webber of the twenty-first century. You never see this guy taking anyone to the museum or discussing the modern masters. No, instead he’s handing out the latest R&B CD and reminding us how to treat a lady. Treat a lady? I though this guy was gay. Well, of course he’s gay. How do I know? Because the Culture Guy sucks.

I have this suspicion that I may be the only man under the age of forty who does not own a pair of cargo pants. Frankly, I don’t get it. Okay, you’ve got a lot of gadgets and you need somewhere to put them. But, come on. There must be a better solution. The closest thing I have to cargo pants is this pair of shorts with an extra pocket on the leg. I love the shorts. But I hardly ever use the extra pocket. Why? Because I don’t really care for the feeling of my cell phone or my iPod flopping around in there and banging into my thigh every time I make a move. Of course, if I was going on safari, I might have a need for the extra storage. But until that day (when swine become airborne), I’ll just stick to the four-pocket model: two in the front, two in the back. Just the way I like it. Cargo Pants suck.

Yesterday, I thought I’d reward myself for a hard week’s work by purchasing a couple new CDs. Normally, I’d do that online, but I wanted some instant satisfaction. I chose “Smoker’s Delight” by Nightmares on Wax and “Soulshine” by DJ Cam. I needed to mellow out (sans the smoke). First, I listened to “Smoker’s Delight.” Great disc. I was pleased with my purchase. Then my CD changer switched over to “Soulshine.” The first track sounded familiar. But it’s not unusual for a DJ to feature the same song on different discs. Then I heard the title track. It also sounded familiar. Mother fucker. I already own the disc. What the hell was I thinking? That’s just the thing: I wasn’t. My Memory sucks.

As you’ve probably guessed, multi-million dollar companies don’t just hand their business to the first ad agency they find in the yellow pages. They invite certain agencies to pitch their account. It’s sort of a what-can-you-do-for-us contest. And it basically means a week or two of hell for the participating agencies. Not only do you work long hours (9AM - 9AM) with few breaks, there’s nobody to bill your time to. So if you win the account, it’s great. If you lose it, you’re out a shit load of money and all the time and effort was for nothing. I just finished working on a pitch Saturday night, and I really put myself through the ringer for that account. My stomach was such a mess the entire week, the only “solid” food I could eat was white rice. Now that my digestive tract is slowly returning to normal, I can start to relax again. Yes, it’s great to win a new account. But the The Pitch sucks.