Monday, February 19, 2018

The Saga of the Ungrateful Millennial

I was born at the end of a rainbow
A millennial child with a great gift of self
Mommy and Daddy said I was so perfect
They put a trophy of me on their shelf

I was given a gold star for going to school
In every contest I entered I was given a prize
I get what I want and I always want more
My star shines brightest in my own blue eyes

I am special
I am special
I am special, damn it!

I love me
You love me
Everybody loves me
Me, me, me, me, me!!!

I joined the work force to be living my dream
I expect a great title but never expect me to work
My boss keeps demanding I do what he says
Telling me I’m an ungrateful millennial jerk

But… I love me
And you… you love me
And everybody… loves me
Me, me, me, me, me!!!

Mommy and Daddy told me to quit
I’m too good for that job and that horrible boss
They said I don’t need to work for someone like him
He is jealous of me so it’s truly his loss

I am special
I am special
I am friggin’ special, damn it!

© 2018 Michael Coscia


Tuesday, February 06, 2018

Underwear Art

I was roaming downtown Los Angeles recently and found myself in the Arts District feeling all artsy fartsy. All I needed was a beret, a paintbrush, a blank wall… and some talent… and I would have created quite the art piece. But alas, I had no paintbrush and I left my beret at home.  

Walking through a corridor I looked up and saw clotheslines strung with various styles of white underwear. It brought me back to childhood when mothers hung their “unmentionables” on clotheslines because they were too “delicate” to be put in the dryer.

I saw thongs, boxers, briefs, and boxer-briefs dangling above me.

What kind of art installation had I stumbled upon?  Was there some socio-political message being subliminally sent via the underwear?  

Whatever its message, it got me wondering how this happened.  

I decided it was a group of art-minded hipsters gathered together and instead of doing a flash mob with a song, they removed their underwear in unison and hung it on lowered clotheslines and cheered as their undies were raised up. I decided what they did was a liberating experience, freedom from the confines of underwear constrictions, a political statement of sorts.

I suddenly had an urge to remove my underwear which got me thinking… Wouldn’t it be great if I copied the idea but made mine interactive?

This is what I’d do:

I would hang clotheslines across Hollywood Boulevard, high enough so they would not be hit by any tall trucks. On the clotheslines I would hang my underwear: white briefs, black briefs, red briefs, blue briefs, and boxer-briefs, too. I would also include my treasured collection of multi-colored jockstraps (red, yellow, blue, and white).

I would name the installation Underwear Revealed… Boxers or Briefs… Or Not?

At designated times each day, new clothesline would be added for passersby to step out of their underwear and proudly have theirs hung with mine. It would be the ultimate underwear performance art!

Because it’s Hollywood, it would certainly generate the interest of celebrities who would make public appearances adding their undies to the ever-increasing clotheslines. I foresee underwear hanging above Hollywood Boulevard for as far as the eyes could see...

Aah…  Inspiration… Damn, I love art.

Mother was right when she said never leave home without clean underwear.  You never know when you’ll get the urge to take it off.

Friday, February 02, 2018

Why I Hate Going to Yoga Class

I love the idea of yoga. I just hate going to yoga class.

It’s not the practice of yoga I hate. It’s not the meaning of yoga I hate. It’s not the various yoga positions I hate.

It’s a lot of the people who take yoga I hate. It’s their uppity “I take yoga therefore I am superior” attitude that ruins it for me. I know not everyone who practices yoga is like that, but my yoga experiences proved otherwise.  

First there was Bikram Yoga. Anyone who knows me knows I love the heat, so Bikram seemed a perfect match.

When I arrived at my first class, the previous class had just ended, and we had to wait for the room to be cleaned. Cleaning was simply a few people haphazardly pushing mops across the sweat-soaked steam-soaked floor swamping the moisture with the sweat.

While rolling out my mat I was slip-sliding on the wet floor. It grossed me out. All I could think of was the germ filled slimy sweat sticking to my feet and mat. By the time the class was over, I couldn’t wait to slip and slide out of there.

The others in the class were like a cult praising and loving the Bikram experience, and being quite vocal about it. I was half expecting David Koresh to emerge from the swamp of sweat.

Bikram yoga was not for me, so I decided to try non-hot yoga.

The first few classes were okay, but the people in class were not friendly. Any initiation of conversation before class or after class was met with standoffish attitude, and some were downright rude. They were not welcoming a newbie into their class (cult?).

One of the poses was a handstand against the wall. Because of my semi-fat ass, I had difficulty flipping it in the air.

The woman beside me was quite limber and easily swung her ass and legs into position. She encouraged me like she was encouraging her dog to take a dump before they got caught in the rain. I tried to make light of it, but every class there she’d be standing on her head encouraging me. I wanted to knock her over (but I didn’t).

Maybe it’s the yoga studios I’ve chosen that are not the right match for me.

Maybe I’m not the yoga type and should find another form of stretching and ohm-ing to relax and connect to my inner self.  

Maybe I should try goat yoga instead. I’ve never met an uppity goat, have you?

Or maybe I should invest in marijuana and smoke a joint to relax.

Huge inhale… hold it… hold it… exhale…


Yeah. That’s it…

Monday, January 22, 2018

Tasty Tide? I Don’t Think So…

Dare me. Challenge me. Make me do something I normally wouldn’t do…

Once I was challenged to sit through the original Star Wars without falling asleep. It took me three tries, and lots of coffee, but I was determined, and I did succeed. It was a proud moment when the credits rolled across the screen and I was still awake.

Over the past few years, we’ve seen the ice bucket challenge, the hot pepper challenge, the Kylie Jenner lip challenge, the salt and ice challenge, and now we have the Tide Pod Challenge. It is one of the most stupid challenges, even surpassing the eating a tablespoon of ground cinnamon challenge.

I use Tide pods as my preferred laundry detergent, and I will admit to caressing them between my fingers enjoying the squishiness. And Yes, I have often wondered what it would be like to squeeze one so tightly that it pops open, but I have never felt the urge to put one in my mouth and bite down until it bursts.

The Tide Pods I have are Spring Meadow which means they smell exactly what the Tide makers want me to think about when I think about a spring meadow. Sadly, the last time I was in a spring meadow and took a deep breath, I didn’t think, “Wow, this smells just like my laundry detergent.”

If I want to taste a spring meadow, I’m not going to bite down on a Tide Pod, I’m going to go to a spring meadow and eat some moss and bark and wash it down with a sip of stream water.

Are we so bored with ourselves that we need a stupid challenge like the Tide Pod challenge to feel alive? Once the pod is bitten and the squishy outside bursts, you get a mouthful of detergent and possibly a trip to the emergency room.

If you’re so determined to have something squishy in your mouth and you want to bite down on it and feel it squirt in your mouth, may I suggest scouring the Internet for some Freshen-Up gum? It’s no longer produced but I’m sure there’s some for sale somewhere.  

Freshen-Up, from the 70s, was the first gum to give you a burst of flavor… aka the squirt.

The Freshen-up Gum squirt was a fun experience with a burst of flavor and dirty innuendos.

The Tide Pod challenge is not fun, and its burst of detergent won’t clean your dirty innards.

I challenge you not to do the Tide Pod challenge.

I challenge you to read a book instead.