Backwash
Net Prophet
Notes from KC’s blogosphere.
This week was my last week at the retail job so now I work at the radio station as the only source of income while I’m kicking it in school. No more having to put up with inbred mutant freaks. No more having to kiss ass just to sell one more rental movie. No more “service with a smile.” Now it’s “get the fuck out of my way, you mouth breathing, whiskey tango, wife beating dumb ass!” Here’s a sample of the stupidity I had to put up with on a regular basis. This conversation went down on my second to last day. This was me and a customer confirming his address for his rental account. Me: “Do you still live at five-one-five Northwest Road?” Customer: “No, I live at five fifteen Northwest Road.” It took all the power within me not to jump out from over the counter and smash the man’s head into said counter while screaming, “It’s the same thing, you dumbshit! Go back to the fifth grade!” It’s times like that I miss working in a bar. Where you could grab a person by the scruff of their neck and pitch them out the front door for such stupidity. But like I said, the job is done, and I couldn’t be happier. Though I will miss that discount on movies and CDs..
From “Planet Rusty,” the online diary of Rusty Jones
Threads
Off the rack and on the town.
Tiffany’s on the Plaza, 6 p.m. Friday
From a distance, the marble façade resembles an oversized jewelry box. Inside, shoppers ogle cases filled with shimmering rings, watches, necklaces, shoehorns, belt buckles, card holders, pens and cigar cutters. Since Tiffany’s opened on the Plaza just a few months ago, the Pitch‘s fashion expert, a straight guy named Bud, figures it’s the perfect place to test the definition of bling-bling, the MTV-generation’s term for conspicuous richness.
“Bling is something that has personality, most often added by flashy shine,” Bud says. “Its quality is determined by its owner. It can be large or small, but it should make a statement.”
Bud asks a striking brunette sales clerk to define bling. She tells him he’ll have to consult corporate headquarters for that. Trying another tack, he offers his bling-is-hot-sex theory — it’s less about the price tag, more about the sparkle — and suggests a field test. Maybe she has a low-lit back room (wink wink) where they could watch some diamonds shimmer?
Maybe not. The back rooms have security cameras. So Bud decides to post up outside and talk to customers as they leave. A 23-year-old deputy sheriff says bling is “something high dollar” but feels unqualified to elaborate. Another man, in his late 40s, carries a glittering necklace to display at an evening charity event. “I’m not familiar with the term bling,” he says.
Bud spots a trio of women leaving the store empty-handed. Jennifer, Melissa and Jen are dressed conservatively in jeans and plain-colored tops. All in their mid-20s, they track money for a living — as a banker, an accountant and a sales clerk, respectively.
“I don’t think I would classify Tiffany’s as bling,” Jennifer says, acting offended. “It’s classy and elegant.”
“I hope I never own anything that’s bling,” Jen adds. “I associate it with trashy.”
“[With] rappers,” Melissa adds.
“I think of teeny-boppers and wife beaters,” Jennifer continues. “Bling is something they can purchase at 16. Some of that stuff, I don’t think you can tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fake anymore.”
Four African-American teens on BMX-style bikes pedal past the store, and Bud flags them down. Ranging from 13 to 16, Louis, Michael, Michael and Bryan offer a basic lecture in bling: The term is derived from late-’90s gangsta rap, coined during the Master P era and booming during the reign of Tupac and Jay-Z. It was associated with ice, a street term for diamonds, but can be applied to any detail that gets you noticed — rims, a boat, a house, a throwback jersey, even the gold pegs and rims on one of the guy’s bikes.
Three El Caminos cruise by on low wheels sporting gold rims: That’s bling.
The Venetian-gated, teal-awning fortress behind them? That’s fake bling.
Jimmy The Fetus
Hey, kids, Jimmy the Fetus here, your guide to moral values in the Midwest. Boy, the mail just keeps coming …
Dear Jimmy:
I came home from school early, and I heard noise coming from my parents’ room, so I went in, you know? And there was Dad, all naked and sweaty on top of that gross Mrs. Danbury from across the street, who was on all fours, which I really didn’t need to see. Anyway, I was out of there so fast I don’t think they saw me. What should I do, other than throw up again?
Dawn
Prairie Village
Dear Dawn:
Remember what the Bible tells us: “Then the Ziphites came to Saul at Gibeah, saying, ‘Is not David hiding himself on the hill of Hachilah, which is on the east of Jeshimon?'”
In other words, even your Dad needs to get his freak on once in a while. Besides, Mrs. Danbury’s getting on all fours shows that she’s game. And these days, that’s not a bad quality.
Now, some of Jimmy’s readers might be saying to themselves, “Hey, Jimmy, that amniotic fluid’s messing with your proto-brain. How could you miss that other Bible quote about adultery?” And we know what they’re talking about — this beauty from Leviticus: “If a man commits adultery with the wife of his neighbor, both the adulterer and the adulteress shall be put to death.” But adultery, as anyone who studies the Bible knows, meant something different in Biblical times. Back then, the word referred to sex with goats. So it just doesn’t apply. Even to gross Mrs. Danbury. — Jimmy the Fetus.
Got a moral quandry? E-mail Jimmy at
