Stroll On

strollerI am becoming increasingly upset by the ever-growing strollers that are overtaking Hoboken.  It seems that regular sized strollers are no longer available for purchase. Their replacements are double wide, double deckers that are about the size of a PT Cruiser.

There is nothing more terrifying than seeing a 30 year old woman in spandex and pushing one of these things, her miniature baby sleeping in the middle, when suddenly an arm appears from below. My first thought is always that this yuppie mother is some sort of disgusting criminal, and then I realize that her stroller has two levels, and her able-bodied three-year-old has been stuffed below. Many questions arise in such a situation:

1. Why isn’t your child walking?

2. How much did this stroller cost? At least twice my rent, I’m certain.

3. Can we redesign this stroller so that it does not suggest murder?

Working in a restaurant in Hoboken has opened my eyes to another number of problems these Cadillacs pose. If you decide to spend your life savings (or two days pay, depending on whether you are me or them) on an oversized pushcart, please refrain from eating at fine dining establishments and then rearranging the entire floor plan, causing waiters and other patrons to find new and innappropriate ways to maneuver around your stroller. Your infant is tiny. Put it in a tiny thing. You are walking the streets of Hoboken, not travelling cross-country or off-roading. All the extras are unnecessary, really. So get over it, and come back to the restaurant when either your kid can walk or you hire a babysitter (preferrably the latter).

I imagine that one day soon I will see a stretch stroller rolling down Washington Street on a Saturday afternoon, filled with babies sipping Silk soy milk from individual bottles. The birthday girl (turning one) will have a diamond encrusted goblet that her mother keeps refilling. The babies will all clap and giggle with each top-off. The stretch stoller will be bigger than the SUVs that generally occupy the street, and several pedestrians will no doubt be injured by its gargantuan wheels (it will have rims, of course). Sadly, I, or someone I know, will likely be the sad soul pushing the stretch, for a measley $9 an hour. We won’t even get any of the Silk.

Let’s avoid these sorts of scenes and go back to the days, when the stroller matched the size of the baby. If your kid is unsettlingly large, then by all means, please push him around in a Buick stroller, but in Hoboken, the mothers start their infants on sushi and organic tangerines. These kids are fit and don’t need to take up the entire sidewalk.

My kid (in many, many years) will, without a doubt, be transported by way of burlap sack. The weaving of the sack allows for ventilation, in order to ensure that my child will continue breathing, and it will serve as an excellent trapezius or bicep exercise, depending on how I choose to hold the bag. I have a feeling that this will become a huge trend, and many mothers throughout the greater NYC area will follow suit, in order to show that they are not materialistic and to develop strong, attractive arms.

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Smooth R&B

Sometimes, as I’m doing laundry or shopping for groceries, I find myself making up R&B songs. These songs are generally made for men, usually a group as opposed to a soloist. I never know where the songs come from, as there is nothing in Trader Joe’s that should spark such grown and sexy lyrics, but it just happens.

The songs I make tend to be reminscent of the early to mid-90’s, when it was acceptable for a group of men to walk on a beach, with just the top button of their blouses (yes blouses) buttoned, while the tops and  matching silk pants flapped in the wind–as long as there was a video crew taping, that is.boyz

“Babygirl your kisses so sweet (so sweet), you know you are the only living thing I ne-E-ed,” and “Ooo, you are my Hershey chocolate queen, you’re my heaven, and my sea, and everything between,” are lines that have come about while I complete mundane household chores. The parenthetical notation generally indicates a part that is sung by a lesser group member in an unusually high tone.  

“Oh, little lady, you are looking so fine (so fine), I wanna spread some honey on your warm, silky thighs,” is one of the more risque lines I’ve come up with, along with, “Nothing like lovin’ you, while the rain falls on the roof, and I hear you say ‘OOOOO.” (The “OOO” is sung by three different group members on three different counts, ie Joey-(count 1)O, Shavon-(count 2)O, T-(count 3)O)

Usually their music videos take place on a beach, as mentioned earlier, while other scenes take place in a fire-lit log cabin, in a master bedroom with satin sheets, or frolicking on/rolling down Tuscan hills. Each member gets only one of these exotic backdrops, but they usually all meet up at some point, probably at a swanky apartment, having a low key cocktail party, or something of that nature.

Also, each song has a talking portion, where the “Barry White” of the group will deliver some sort of “Hey, Baby” speech at the beginning or, on occassion, middle. He describes the general attractiveness of said lady and goes on to say how he will never, ever do anything to hurt her. He is very genuine. He wears one diamond earring.

I hope one day my songs come into fruition. If you know any fellows who are interested in becoming part of an all male R&B group, have them contact me immediately. I’m ready to get this started. It’s gonna be big. BET awards will be won.

Fast Food Integration

aKBmwVgtNXcJBREAKING NEWS: Taco Bell has introduced a new menu item, the Black Jack Taco!

The Black Jack taco comes in a terrifying black shell and contains some sort of jack cheese, hence the name. Oh, Taco Bell, you are so clever. Everyone thought your marketing strategy would bomb after the death of that atrocious chihuahua, but boy, did you ever prove me wrong. First the volcano menu (because nothing makes me want to eat fake Mexican food like rare natural disasters), and now this! You are too good to us, Taco Bell.

But let’s be real here. No one cares about what is in this taco. All anyone sees is the color of its shell. Why not change the name to “Negraco?” I’m glad to see fast food of color finally make it onto the scene, but I think we can all agree that Taco Bell is simply exploiting the peculiarity of the taco.

I can just see it: 3 am, a bunch of drunken bros stumble into their local TB (I don’t think it is a coincidence that the intials of Taco Bell are the same as the abbreviation for tuberculosis). As they scan the menu, they notice the Negraco. 89 cents. The same price as a regular taco. “Regular.” The kids decide to try the Negraco, you know, just to say they did. Or maybe they’ll buy a black taco and a “normal” taco, just in case they don’t like the black one, in which case the Taco Bell gods (or demons…) press their fingertips together in an evil laugh. Mission accomplished.

Enough with the blackface, TB. You might as well give the taco a pair of tap shoes and put it on the counter. Unforgivable.

Taco’s aren’t supposed to be black, because corn is not black. Wait, there is black corn. Oh. Well, regardless, I’m sure you’re not using real black corn to make the Negracos.

And be warned, you could be digging yourself into a bizarre hole. You know what they say: once you go black…

Chain Gang Children

Today, as I walked down the street in Brooklyn, an adorable group of children approached me. They were about 4 or chain-gangor 5 years old, at most, and as diverse as a Benetton ad. But as made my way closer to the group, I noticed something a bit unnverving. This group of tots was tied together by a purple rope. Each tiny wrist was encircled by the rope, which was being steered from the front and back by adults (teachers posing as slavemasters). The tots seemed to be enjoying this little outing they were on, all of them singing some song about cigarettes.

What a hardcore bunch of miniatures, I thought to myself. I never sang songs regarding tobacco products, and I had certainly never been a part of something generally reserved for hard criminals. These children were a force to be reckoned with, and I respected that.

Now, many of you may be thinking to yourselves, “Self, isn’t there something terribly wrong with tying up small children and dragging them through the city streets?” To that I say, “Not at all.” I’ll admit, I was a bit concerned at first, but then I remembered my mother telling me that she had been 0ne of the dreaded leash mothers. Yes, I was once attached to a leash and strung through malls, groceries stores, and various other suburban locales. Looking back, I probably would not have made it this far had my mother not decided to pull me along like a Yorkshire terrier.

Apparently, she lost me once in a department store when I was about 3 or 4. She searched all over, only to find me posing beside a pair of mannequins. I didn’t even move when I saw her. Clearly, I was meant to be a model (or one of those silver people on the side of city streets who doesn’t move for a long time, then does, then expects you to give money), but that is beside the point. The point is that children need to be on leashes. I was among the tamer tots of the world, and yet I still found myself wandering aimlessly through Famous & Barr. Imagine where the real terrors might find themselves. I’m not saying these leashes need to go around the childrens’ necks (although it’s worth a shot), but why not get one of those trendy teddy bear backpack leashes, and show your kid whose boss?

Besides, who among us hasn’t seen a toddler wandering through the park alone, or been approached by a child in a restaurant, and been both annoyed and concerned about why the kid is traversing the land on his lonesome? Eventually, of course, the mother approaches, apologizing, and you say something like, “Oh no. She’s so cute!” when you’re really thinking, “What a neglectful mother. Get this heinous child away from me so I can finish my $5 footlong.” Let’s avoid all of this, and keep kiddies attached to Mom and Dad until they’re old enough to know not to talk to strangers.

Upon further consideration, I was glad to see the clan of Brooklyn children leashed. I’d rather they be all tied up than running wild in the streets, dodging taxi cabs and derelicts. And besides, they were having a fun playing prison. Why not foster their imaginations?

So don’t limit your leash use to Fido. Little Johnny is going to be walking soon, and you wouldn’t want him to get too far would you? Tie that kid up, and make life easier for everyone.