I have a bone to pick with the good people at Vick's--at least I thought they were good people, but now I'm not so sure. Apparently, the folks who provide us with the glorious cold-symptom fighting DayQuil and NyQuil have been holding out on us. I'm talking about DayQuil/NyQuil Severe.
"Relieves your ugliest, nastiest cold symptoms," they say. Here are cold symptoms: coughing, sore throat, runny nose, congestion, and sometimes a fever. Nobody likes any of those. How much relief do I want from those? All of it always. Give me all of the relief.
"Vicks DayQuil Severe Cold & Flu Relief delivers maximum symptom-fighting ingredients to relieve your worst cold symptoms." Why were you not delivering me maximum symptom-fighting ingredients previously?
Scientist: And as for the amount of symptom-fighting relief in the product, I assume maximum?
Dr. Charles T. Vicks, III: Actually, I was thinking we'd go with "a lot."
Scientist: Really? Because usually we try and solve the problem as best as possible.
Dr. Charles T. Vicks, III: I know, I know, but let's mix it up a little.
Scientist: But aren't we trying to be the best product on the market?
Dr. Charles T. Vicks, III: Eh...it's more about image these days. You know, sizzurp, making meth from extracted ingredients, that kind of thing. Carding people in CVS when they buy it so they think it's cool and exclusive.
Scientist: So, "a lot." We're really doing this. DayQuil "A lot" strength. That's...going to happen.
Dr. Charles T. Vicks, III: Yes.
Scientist: And what about maximum symptom-relief?
Dr. Charles T. Vicks, III: Let's put a pin in that and revisit it when our sales start to dwindle.
There's no prescription medication for the common cold--no antibiotic that will make it better. If you go to the doctor for a cold, they give you a pitying look, instructions to drink lots of fluids, and a $30 copay. And I don't have health insurance. When I get sick, I start popping vitamins like they're those invincibility stars in Super Mario Bros: C, B, zinc, Echinacea (obvs), and whatever weird "Wellness Capsules" my dad sends me in the mail that always smell like a combination of garlic and innocence lost. So, YEAH, I want any medicine I take to work as goddamn much as it possibly can.
Are my symptoms always SEVERE? I dunno, but I'm usually a severe asshole when I have a cold, and when I go to work while sick I severely want to murder everyone I encounter followed by myself. So, unless DayQuil Severe causes me to bleed from every orifice or grow a pair of testicles on my back, I'm gonna take it. Hell, even if it does cause those things, I'm probably going to take it--I can sleep on my side and lean forward in my chair at work; and as for the blood, I see three people with worse issues than that every day on the train--and those guys get whole subway cars to themselves! What's the alternative? A sore throat and nasal congestion? No thank you.
I find it very hard to believe they have invented new medicine to make my mucus dry up. If they have, it's time for cancer and AIDS to stop having walks and start taking a page from Vicks' playbook. And also--Vicks: stop trying to mildly alleviate my cold symptoms and start curing those other horrible, horrible diseases! People could really use CancerQuil: Severe Relief.
Speaking of being lazy and unmotivated—babies, am I right?
More and more of my friends have been acquiring children (that’s the creepiest
way you can put that, by the way) and it’s got me thinking about the shockingly
brief amount of time I have left before I will inevitably become a parent myself. Of the dreams
I haven’t attempted; of how my remaining self-centered days can best be
utilized; and if, ultimately, I’m ready.
The short answer is, “Yes, I’m ready,”--but the longer
answer is, “Of course I’m not ready, nobody really is, and all I can really
hope to do is minimize the amount of urine and feces I get on my face.” The
thing is, I see my friends with kids and they seem like great parents. And I
know how my sister and I were raised and I think our parents were great. But,
really, we have no idea, because there’s still time left. I think you can only
truly know if you’re a good parent, like, sixty years later when you find out
if your child has serial-killed or not.
People say to me, “Oh, your parents seem like they did a
good job raising you,” and all I can say is, “So far, sure.” There’s still
plenty of time for me to prove them wrong; which is what makes it so scary. Who
knows what decisions will have unintended consequences? I may be loving and
selfless and protective, but not too protective, and supportive, and always
telling them to follow their dreams, but then one day it turns out their dream
was to wear other people’s skin as a tank top and suddenly I wasn’t such a good
dad after all.
Here's a list of what I have going for me in the parent department:
-I have a supportive family in the area who will love and support my child and help me in every conceivable way.
-Before any parenting decision, I plan to ask myself, "What would Coach and Tammy Taylor Do?"
-I'm not a child molester.
-I've seen every episode of the show Parenthood AND I disagreed with some of it. Anyone who agrees with all the parenting decisions in that show is probably unfit to be a parent.
-The Red Sox won the world series in my lifetime--twice. I'm a more calm, reasonable human being because of it.
Here's a list of what I have against me in the parent department:
-Kid's gonna be hairy, and will probably hold that against me.
-I see no problems with what Dexter does.
-I talk about how poorly teachers are paid and what a travesty it is...and yet I currently make LESS than TEACHERS.
-I really really want to give my child a ridiculous name. I'm only 60% kidding at this point. Top picks are currently "Travith" so it sounds like he has a lisp, and "Enward" pronounced like Edward but with an "n" for reasons that should be comedically obvious. For a girl, I think the name "Tara-Reid" is nice and comes with no baggage whatsoever.
I guess only time will tell. Good luck to the parents out there, and try to keep the poop out of your mouth. All us non-parents still think it's gross.
Putting Your Kids' Photos on the Internet Is Kind of Like Saying You Think Pedophiles Would Like Your Child...A Little Bit...It Kinda Is...Think About It,
Most people don’t know that I got my Masters Degree in dream
psychology and that’s because it’s not true. I don’t see why a complete lack of
relevant higher education should keep me from explaining to you all the meaning
of common dream occurrences and interpreting your dreams, so I invite you all to lie down, relax, and learn a thing or two.
Falling: Almost everyone has had a dream in which they feel
as though they are falling. Sometimes it is off a cliff, sometimes from a
plane, or sometimes simply plummeting downward with no clear points to define the space.
This is a good thing. You are simply coming to terms with the fact that we are
all hurtling through time towards our guaranteed demise, staring wide-eyed as the
hard reality of death races up to meet you. Alternately, you might have eaten
some bad chicken. When faced with their own mortality, chickens often reflect
on their inability to fly despite having wings, traces of which sometimes
remain in the meat that is then consumed.
Teeth Falling Out: Another classic. Losing teeth is
primarily connected to the subconscious admission of poor dental hygiene. Sure,
flossing sucks and takes up valuable minutes, but ask any old person what they’ve
learned in their life and they’ll tell you, “Take care of your teeth.” In
addition, losing your teeth in a dream might be connected with watching too
much Homeland, because that shit is fucking sweet.
Losing Your Hair: You’re probably just worried about losing
your hair. I know I am. I’ll look absurd. Like if the kid from Mad Magazine and
Dr. Katz had a love child. Or, I guess, like my dad. Either way, it’s gonna be
a nightmare.
Being Naked in Public: This typically means
you’re angry at society and are looking to rebel. Your dream nudity is a big
middle finger to authority and the social mores and folkways that you've come
to loathe in everyday life. When you realize you’re naked in your dream, you
feel a sense of shame and humiliation because of your nudity, when in reality,
you’re ashamed of the fact that in real life you haven’t done
anything to voice your anger or resentment because you're a scared little bunny wabbit. Alternately, you might be watching
too much porn or HBO’s Girls.
Being Chased: Running away from something in a dream is
often interpreted as the stress and pressures of day-to-day life chasing you
while you sleep and leaving you to run away as you are unable to confront your
problems. This is total nonsense. Being chased in a dream is your body’s way of
telling you it’s time to exercise. At some point soon, something is going to rend
our stable society to pieces, be it zombies, an economic crash, a snow-pocalypse,
a Tu-Pacalypse, or a super storm. Your brain is telling you it’s time to
prepare for the aftermath.
That seems like
plenty for today. Let’s move on to some interpretations of readers' dreams:
I had a dream that my husband and I were trying
to buy a home but we couldn't get approved for a loan because the bank
discovered that our cat had a serious gambling problem. –Submitted by “TLC”
I’m just gonna put this out there to get it out of the way
and then we can move on: Are you the “cat”? If not, we can go a little deeper.You’re most likely worried about such a big
investment and are subconsciously questioning if it’s a good idea. Adjustable-Rate
Mortgages are the gambling cats of the realty world, and you never know if you’ll
end up owing thousands more than you anticipated. Conversely, a Fixed-Rate
Mortgage is more stable, but will still leave you with a lot of money to pay
back over time. Perhaps your cat doesn't have a gambling problem—perhaps the
problem is that the cat is gambling at all.
I was sitting on a longboard in the middle of a
boundless ocean, which in and of itself was strange because I've never surfed
in my life. Then I heard this train conductor voice say "Allllllllll
Abooooooardddddd!" and I turned and behind me was an enormous wave that
caught me and lifted me maybe fifty feet, right in the middle of the wave,
which I rode in to a beach. I was sitting on a picnic bench drying off when my
ex-gf walked up and told me she was moving across the country and that we
needed to break up. Then she swam out into the ocean.–Submitted by "The Max"
Well, doesn’t your brain just mop up a mess nicely! I mean,
you got to ride a wave train!! I—whew. Professionalism. OK. So. I think it’s
pretty clear that in this dream the “ocean” represents the vastness of humanity—more
fish in the sea and whatnot—and the longboard is obviously a phallus. You’re
gonna “ride” that thing across the “ocean” to safety and comfort and, in the
end, you’ll be sitting happily on solid ground while your ex-girlfriend dives
back into the “ocean” away from you, with no other land in sight. Then again,
it could just mean you ate some bad chicken. You’d be surprised how often that’s
the case.
Want your dreams interpreted in the next installment of A (Mis)Guide
to Interpreting Your Dreams? Email brief descriptions of your dreams to witzpickz@gmail.com or tweet @WitzPickz.
This Is the Only Time Anyone Is Ever Going to Ask You to
Talk About Your Dreams, So Jump On It,
I wish the treadmill wasn't a goddamn liar. Alright, lemme start over. These days, I'll take praise wherever I can get it, which is why when a treadmill tells me "Great Work!" I like to think I can believe it. But no, I can't. So again: I wish the treadmill wasn't a goddamn liar.
Here's what happened. I had just finished running for an hour at the gym. I had long ago soaked through my shirt, so my sweat had progressed down to my shorts--that's how I know I've really put in a solid effort, when I end up looking like an extra in The Impossible (oo, topical!). It doesn't help any that the little treadmill fans are the rice cakes of the fan world--a nice idea, but entirely function-less and always breaking. The air comes out of the vents like an eighty-nine year old man trying to quietly blow out his birthday candles. And failing. A few months back, when my gym asked what I thought needed improvement I wrote loudly, "MORE FANS, PLEASE!" Instead, they replaced half the treadmills with newer models which no longer had fans on them and then raised everyone's membership $1.95/mo. Touche.
This is all to say that I really HAD done some "Great Work!" on the treadmill. I'd run over six miles, had burned just under one-thousand calories, and despite my soggy everything, I felt the treadmill and I had bonded during our time together, so I appreciated the parting praise. I went to get some paper towels and disinfectant to wipe down the machine and when I returned, some dude had already hopped on the treadmill and had started walking. "Oh, sorry, I can wipe that down for you," I said, because I'm a classy motherfucker and also because the treadmill looked like a Rorschach test of my perspiration. "Oh, sure, thanks, sorry!" the guy said and hit the stop button. I stepped up to wipe off the screen and noticed four things: ":47 seconds," ".03 miles," "4 calories," and taunting me across the top, the words "Great Work!"
But that is not great work, is it? No. It is not. It is not great work at all. It is bullshit.
I'd been had.
When you're condescended and lied to by a machine, it really makes you take a step back and put things in perspective. Like maybe you shouldn't be putting quite so much weight on treadmill-based achievements. At the very least, maybe you shouldn't be pleased by a pre-programmed assortment of LED lights intended to motivate each and every person who sets foot on said treadmill. Machines are not people (except for Johnny Five who was more human than any of us will ever be). Perhaps, one should put more stock in human-based feedback, and put more energy towards actual achievements. Like writing more than two blog posts a month for a bunch of readers who have been reading crap like this for over six years.
Then again, I really think I can impress that treadmill. So, we'll have to wait and see.
I Bet Pro Athletes Slap Each Other On the Ass and Wink So They Know That They Mean It, Like, "Great Work," Wink, Smack, "Yep, He Meant It," Because That's a Lotta Effort and Ass Play for a Lie,
Witz
Since I don't get any real reader emails, I decided it would be a good idea to start posting the occasional "mailbag" of responses to spam comments which I receive on a daily basis. All links have been removed so spam doesn't win. I present you with: The Failbag. In response to "What the F*ck are Silly Bandz" First
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Great questions--and while I don't own a fish, you should know that if I did, I'd be in favor of not-expensive food for it! If I knew how to clear my head, I wouldn't be writing about Silly Bandz and Premium Rush, I'd be a functioning adult and have far more important things going on. My suggestion would be to write for more than 10-15 minutes. That's a super short amount of time. I've spent more time than that deciding which brand of bread to buy at the grocery store. I've spent more time than that sitting on the toilet, figuring out IF I even had to poop. You get my point. If you need ideas, do what I do and embarrass yourself in public and then tell everyone about it. Or, get way angry at inane, un-important things and really let it get to you. Let fester for about 24-48 hours, then vent! Your writing should start flowing in no time.
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Please send questions or comments for future "Failbags" to witzpickz@gmail.com! They can be about a post, about something completely unrelated, or really anything you want me to respond to.
I can't think of any better way to zoom into 2013 here on Witz Pickz than to post about the most hipster-sounding flick of all time. In Premium Rush, Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a bike messenger in NYC who feels the need for relatively high speed. From what I understand, he and his fixie are chased all over town by some bad guy because of a package he is attempting to deliver.
I know. I'm excited, too.
Premium Rush is available to watch instantly on Amazon.com or stream it for free at Movie2k.to.
1 min: Uh-oh. The movie kicks off with "Baba O'Riley" (Teenage Wasteland), the best movie-soundtrack song ever, while a slow-motion Joseph Gordon-Levitt flies through the air like his kick just snapped him back from a dream. Wasting no time, the title "PREMIUM RUSH" hits the screen the same moment JGL hits the ground. This poses the main question of the film: What if I like Premium Rush??
2 min: The time is 6:33pm, but don't get too attached, because we're about to get the high-octane thrill of a non-linear narrative. Back to 5:00pm.
3 min: "Fixed gear, steel frame, no brakes; the bike cannot coast. The pedals never stop turning. Can't stop. Don't want to, either." Even one-nutted Lance Armstrong just went from six to midnight.
4 min: I mean, personally, I have a nice little 12-speeder with a gel-cushion seat popped on there for my man-bits, but to each his own.
5 min: Oh snap! Manny jumped his route! That means this other messenger picked up a package and did JGL's work for him because he got there first and it was convenient for both of them! Don't you just hate it when a co-worker does work for you?? JGL does--he is livid.
6 min: Biking-through-traffic porn. Everyone on the road's like, "I didn't see that coming!"
7 min: Vanessa is the messenger girl he's dating or possibly not dating because she's angry at him. I don't know if this matters.
8 min: Aasif Mandvi plays the dispatch person at the bike office. A job gets called in and he gives it to JGL, adding, "Don't screw it up, it's premium rush," and I swear to you I cannot tell if he means the type of delivery or the film in general.
9 min: More cycling porn. Joseph Gordon-Levitt would have all his Tour de France victories stripped because this guy is DOPE.
11 min: Picks up a letter at Columbia University which has to be delivered in 90 minutes to Chinatown. I can't stress enough right now how easily this could be achieved by hopping on the subway.
(Just take the 1 or walk over to the C train, dawg!)
12 min: Ok, so the important part is probably where the super-religious ATF agent from Boardwalk Empire (crickets?) tries to get the letter back from JGL before he leaves campus. But what I WANT to tell you is that JGL refers to a burrito as an "urban food log." The guy threatens him, to which JGL replies, "Hold my log," and pedals away before the guy can do anything. The guy's left holding JGL's big metaphorical dick in his hands.
15 min: Car chasing bicycle. It's...less than thrilling. I also skipped over 3 minutes of painful exposition which mostly revealed JGL's intense dislike of brakes.
16 min: SALMON!!!! That's the word my buddy told me to call someone riding the wrong way on a one-way street. If you guessed JGL might do that in this movie, give yourself a pat on the back.
18 min: There's about a 50/50 chance I finish this movie.
19 min: Lincoln would have been happy to get shot before this movie ended.
20 min: The producers must have shat a Brick when they saw how bad the box office was for this.
22 min: WhoooOOOoaaaAAAAhhhhHHH! Get ready adrenaline junkies, we just got transported from 5:47pm to 3:27pm!
25 min: There comes a time in every man's life when he has to admit that he no longer understands the plot of Premium Rush. I'll try and catch you up: the bad guy is a cop who is way into pai gow and is also bad at it so he owes a lot of money. In order to get even with the gambling guys, he's told he can steal a "ticket" from somewhere which is worth $50,000. I'm assuming this ticket is in the letter which JGL has, but since my game is mahjong, I'm kind of at a Stop-Loss here.
30 min: JGL's neck is the only proof I need that Brontosauruses existed.
34 min: Ya know what band this kid would really hate? Brakes Brakes Brakes. (That joke would be better if that band had been more successful.)
39 min: A lot's going down in Chinatown. Also, did you know that they have full-size versions of those tiny umbrellas that go into drinks?? Okay, anyway, earlier in the day, the girl JGL got the letter from, who is roommates with that Vanessa girl, dropped off a lot of money with a dude in Chinatown who then gave her a ticket to a movie which is the same ticket which JGL is carrying and the cop is trying to steal. So, it's kind of like a claim ticket?
41 min: Unfathomable. After starting the conversation in English, the old man and the girl converse in Chinese for literally 1 minute and 40 seconds. Don't get cute, Premium Rush. (Side note: this scene is what it's gonna be like all the time if we keep borrowing money from China.)
45 min: This whole movie is like one giant ad for UPS.
47 min: JGL returns the letter to Columbia, but drops it at the front desk instead of giving it directly to the girl. When she goes to get it, Manny had already picked it up again, with it now going to the new address called in by the cop.
This is not entirely unlike how Em-Dash had to race all around NYC trying to track down her package which was delivered to the wrong address after Hurricane Sandy, and instead of helping her get the package in time, they sent it back to Tennessee. Excellent work, guys.
48 min: When pushed for information, the girl tells him that the money is for an importer to smuggle her son into the country. Only makin' good decisions, this girl...
52 min: Thanks to the highly competitive world of bike-messenger delivery-ing, a simple solution has turned into a street race. Manny has the letter and is racing JGL for it. I just need to say one more time that none of this would have happened if they had just TAKEN THE SUBWAY!
53 min: Ohhhhh! Vanessa just wiped out on her bike and then ripped off her busted brakes when she got back on. As JGL said earlier: "Brakes equal death!" It's go time!
54 min: I bet the USPS saw this and was like, "Great! Juuuuuuust great! Now we look like a bunch of pussies!"
55 min: "I'm in your draft, dude! It's like you're on my team!" Hahaha...just some cycling humor they worked in for the true fans.
56 min: Oooo, JGL emerging from a cloud of smoke on the street--you can feel the director being proud of that one.
57 min: CALVES! AM I RIGHT?!
59 min: After all that, they basically tied in the race. A bike cop tackled Manny, the bad cop was waiting there for the ticket, but then Vanessa snagged Manny's bag, gave it to JGL, and they rode away while evading cops in cars.
60 min: Just in case I don't get a chance to mention this later: FUCK CRITICAL MASS.
61 min: ...Aaaaand we're back to the opening scene! Motherf#&er got hit by a motherf*ing taxi! Where are those whistling blue birds now, ya sad sap son of a bitch?
63 min: JGL is in the ambulance with the bad cop. The cop pokes JGL's broken ribs until he agrees to give him the letter (which has since been hidden in the handlebars of his bike). The bike is back at the impound lot so they all head there.
69 min: I just realized I have no idea how important spokes are on a bike. JGL gets to his bike, but all the spokeses are brokeses. Is this a problem?
70 min: It is! Vanessa snuck into the lot, so they both sneak around and JGL sees another bike. "I'm gonna shred the living shit outta that thing," he announces not creepily.
72 min: Friggin' X Games NYC up in here. They both waste my time pulling tricks around the impound lot and then escape.
74 min: This movie coulda been 100 times better if it was a buddy flick with French Stewart.
75 min: Vanessa calls in a "flash mob." This is no time for spontaneous choreographed song and dance! Even if it is delightful!
77 min: Oh, a flash mob is like the Bat-signal for bike messengers. Hey, by the way--is JGL gonna be the next Batman?? Nevermind, nevermind, ok, so all the bikers show up and ride around the bad cop, hitting him and tripping him, etc, etc. I think it's worth pointing out that while this cop is trying to steal this ticket, he's still A COP and they are all assaulting an officer who has a gun. This is what I'm saying about Critical Mass! It's like, I get it, you like bikes, but laws are laws, people, even when you have one pant leg rolled up!
78 min: Are gloves without fingers cheaper?
79 min: Ya know, despite all the shit I've been talking, bike
messengers might be the way to go. Thanks to other modes of delivery, I
have had two Netflix DVDs, a "Free Tim Riggins" t-shirt, a check, a
VGA-to-HDMI cable, and the special edition DVD of Forgetting Sarah
Marshall go missing in the mail. But my dinner always shows up at the
right place within 45 minutes when the delivery guy rides it over on his
bike...
80 min: Oh, right. The ticket gets delivered, the bad cop gets shot by the Chinese guys, and the kid is smuggled out of China. "Baba O'Riley" starts playing again, but this time I'm a little older, a little wiser, and a little more cynical. You can't just bookend 80 minutes of bike-messenger action between the greatest of The Who songs and expect it to work. People are gonna--seventy-six on rotten tomatoes!? Seventy-six! That is higher than The Hobbit and Les Miserables, and ties it with Flight. Seventy-six. Great work, humanity. Great work.
I Can't Believe I Didn't Get to Work In a Peloton Joke,
Witz
Witz will never stop writing for free for you all, and simply appreciates you stopping by to read what he has to say. This is for any of you who want to make a small contribution as a thank you, as encouragement, or to make it way way harder for Witz to do his taxes.
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