Baby boomer man humorously looking at mid-life, retirement, and memories.
Those who have been, or raised, a teen age boy will understand the passion behind this tantrum.
His mom canceled his World of Warcraft account.
His WORLD OF WARCRAFT account!
OMG.
OMG.
I don’t watch many videos from beginning to end, but this is the rare exception. He walks into a closet, closes the door and almost immediately comes out again. He bangs his head with a shoe.
Watch and laugh.
WTF? Canceled my World of Warcraft account? Meanest Mom ever.
Father’s Day, when everybody reflects on fathers, real or pretend.
My nomination for the worst son ever – at least he played one on TeeVee – is Larry Matthews.
This week, there was an event reuniting make-believe good TV dads and former child actors. But it ignored the more interesting bad dads, like Tony Soprano, Archie Bunker, Homer Simpson…
Larry Matthews showed up with his TeeVee dad… Dick Van Dyke.
Larry Matthews was the worst child actor of all time. Worst.
The kid always had a smirk on his face, even when he socked Freddie Halper in the eye and was supposed to be in big, big trouble, he would be smirking.
Punk kid knew he was cute, saying cute things. I really dislike smug.
Larry Matthews as The Beaver Ritchie Petrie was awful.
Now Jerry-Mathers-as-The-Beaver was a kid who could act. But Ron Howard will never be surpassed as the best kid actor Of. All. Time ime, ime, ime (echo effect turned on.) Plus it’s doubly cool that he is a fantastic director and takes good care of his brother by giving him a role in all his films.
Thank you TVland for bringing us marathons so I can have such educated opinions on hot topics like the worst child actor and who’s crazy on “She’s Got The Look.”
Boomers and raised the trophy generation. And the Xer’s are making it worse.
If you have kids, and they attended public school or participated in any activity, then somewhere you have a “Hooray for Me” wall, or if you are empty-nesters, you have (or had) a couple boxes full of plaques and trophies.
Do you recall how much they all looked alike?
Yep, the only thing that changed was the plastic figure and the plastic plaque on the plastic base.
“Good at sports, huh?” “Waddaya mean?” “I mean, look at all these trophies.” “I don’t understand, every kid has this many trophies.” “Huh?” “You get a trophy for completing the season; you don’t have to win.” “You cannot be serious?” “Yup. Every kid has this many.”
The “Hooray for Me” wall would be covered with 7 inch high trophies for “participating” in a sport. Twelve inch high trophies were awarded for third place, championship trophies could be a couple feet tall. All plastic, all just variations on the same theme.
When my neighbor leaves his garage door open, I can see the trophies they have stored. There a half-dozen that are six feet tall. The kid rides dirt bikes. He may be good, but he’s not that good.
Ribbons with gold plastic circles are hot. The whole Olympic ceremony deal, except there would be eighteen dozen seven year olds, each getting a ribbon around their little necks.
God forbid if the applause died down before every one had their ribbon.
Also on the “Hooray for Me” wall would be a bevy of plaques and certificates. Everybody gives out plaques and certificates. To anybody for anything. Especially in schools, or at least they did. I bet it’s worse now because every teacher has access to clip art and a color printer. OMG, this boggles the mind.
Instead of meaningful mementos, the plaques and trophies have become meaningless crap.
A blogger referred to the current state of organized youth baseball as “self-esteem ball.”
This is a trophy.
A loving cup. Maybe having a cup that has it’s heritage based on chugging booze isn’t quite appropriate for youngsters, but what they don’t know, won’t hurt them.
And this is the response it evoked when a kid lugged it home…
When I walked in the house with it, my shocked mother accused me of stealing it.
You’re darned right. A real trophy is something your mother thinks you stole because it is so beautiful, so unusual, that you had to prove you earned it: your name was engraved into the silver.
While industrial designers (and design students) spend their days thinking up more beautiful and efficient ways of making almost everything, I have yet to meet a single one who cares about the state of the common trophy.
Isn’t that a shame?
Our oldest played golf. She had a lot of little plastic golfer girl trophies (they had little plastic boobs) , in their little fists would be a hole where the little plastic golf club would fit. The club would be about the size of a swizzle stick, but not nearly as durable. They were often broken or lost before they got home to the “Hooray for Me” wall.
At the NASCAR race in Nashville, the winner knew how to celebrate. He smashed the “trophy” into pieces.
In the weirdest victory celebration in the nine-year history of Nashville Superspeedway, Kyle Busch dashed to pieces the $2,000 hand-painted Gibson guitar that is the track’s trademark trophy following Saturday night’s win.
Busch afterwards explained that he wanted to celebrate “rock-star style,” and had told his team beforehand that if he won he planned to smash the guitar. Busch said everybody breaks guitars “except race car drivers. Those sorry saps take it home in one piece. I’ll break it up and share it with the team.”
Sam Bass, the designer of the guitar stood quietly by, almost moved to tears, as his “art” was smashed. Guess what, Sam, this is how the “trophy generation” treats trophies. They are meaningless pieces of junk. Get over it.
The Stanley Cup, the trophy for the champions for the National Hokey League (are they still playing?), gets to spend time with each player. Let your mind wander a little about the possibilities.
Maybe if I had a “Hooray for Me” wall, I would feel different.
I believe from research, that this loving cup, trophy was given to volleyball team/player from the African American Arkansas Baptist College ( Ministers Institute ) founded in 1884.
Nobody would know the difference.
Bill Gates, the richest man in the universe, decided that the exact hunk of Wyoming – the same place that some monks wanted to cloister themselves (is that still legal in Wyoming?) - is a vast spread of Wyoming he wants.
The monks have been trying to raise the almost $9 million it would take for them to live on the few hundred acres near Yellowstone to be alone.
Instead Bill Gates swoops in with Thousand Dollar Bills flying from his underwear, like Underdog, and snatches this pristine land from these peaceful God-loving men.
In a solitary monastery under the Rocky Mountains in northern Wyoming, the Carmelite Monks of Wyoming seek to perpetuate the charism of the Blessed Virgin Mary, living the Marian life as prescribed by the primitive Carmelite Rule and the ancient monastic observance. This new monastery of contemplative monks lives a life of faithful orthodoxy to the Magisterium, where joy and peace abound in a manly, agrarian way of life.
Take a look, and tell me who belongs more to this land… The Dark Lord Bill of Prickdom, or the Carmelite Monks of Wyoming.
Aside from the fact that the monks blend in too much and might get mistaken for a trophy elk, who could argue that these men belong here.
Even Buffalo Bill, who used to live on the Lake Irma Ranch, would agree.
The fabled South Fork ranch is 21 miles from Cody and includes Buffalo Bill Cody’s historic hunting cabin. Cody named the 492-acre property after his youngest daughter.
So Nerdy Bill Gates is a two time loser on this deal. He buys land out from under a cult of religious fanatics and it’s land once owned by a revered American hero. Has Bill Gates ever toured with somebody like Annie Oakley and Sitting Bull?
No, he plays bridge with rich old white guys.
Here’s how one of Bill Gates future neighbors put it:
“What a drag they are on the rest of us who would simply like to be invited up for dinner occasionally. I for one just wish them and all the tourists and the oil companies would leave here and let us work toward being like Medicine Bow, or Burgess Junction, or Powder River. “
Usually the rich are good care-takers of the land. But in this case, Bill Gates is a Prick.
Carmelite Monks would have been best care-takers of this land.
I sense a road trip coming on.
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