Archive for the Seriously Small Stuff Category

Red, Blue deny Color War

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , on 18 August 2012 by clightnirish

In a joint press conference today in Washington, the colors Red and Blue denied reports of a long-waged public rift between them, as portrayed in the media.

“Red and I go way back and are actually great friends,” said Blue. “Our families summer together every year at Lake George.”

“We are sick of the frequent misuse of our identities by mainstream media to represent warring factions or intense competitors,” explained Red.

“Election years are particularly annoying to us. All this Red states vs Blue states rubbish!” he added. “And neither of us sees a dime from either the political parties or the news media. Kobe Bryant or Kim Kardashian would never stand for their images being used without their permission. Why should we?”

Their disappointment was not just aimed at the world of politics, but also to other “egregious misrepresentations” that suggest they are constantly at loggerheads, such as Coke vs Pepsi and Yankees vs Redsox.

The two colors also played down rumors that the color White had mediated a peace between them.

“That’s a common misconception,” said Blue. “People seem to think Red and I don’t get along, but if White is in the mix then something changes and suddenly Red, White and Blue are a united team.”

“Truth be told, White is a bit of a dick actually. Neither of us really like him.”

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New Words with Friends

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , on 3 June 2012 by clightnirish

Inspired by a post on the new (and brilliant!) blog of my good friend, Rickie Khosla (check it out at http://reekycoleslaw.com/), I decided to pen down a few other words that I have been trying to slip into everyday vernacular.  Try using these at your next summer BBQ… and if you do, post a comment to let us know.

lowbese (lo-beess) (noun): a newly ‘acceptable’ body weight classification at the low end of the obese range, as Americans give up on seeking a  ‘normal’ healthy body mass index. Use: “I might have a few extra pounds, but I am still only ‘lowbese’ compared to most people.”

boring pass (noun): the paper slip provided by increasingly cheap airlines that don’t even show a movie on a 4-hour flight.

authentish (adj): goods made kind of, sort of, roughly resembling a true traditional style, by craftsmen or artists with tenuous  connections  to another culture. Use: “Last night we had some delicious ‘authentish’ Tandoori cooked by this Russian lady who knows a Greek guy whose uncle’s grandfather actually had a flight stopover in Mumbai one time in the sixties!”

cargantuan (adj): describing the growing class of monstrous SUVs that easily swallow up to 8 adults, yet somehow do not require a bus or truck license and can be driven by any maniac.  Use: “Some old lady in a Chevy of cargantuan proportions ran four other cars off the highway today as she changed lanes.”

iphonetic (adjective): the style of spelling a word, syllable by syllable, so that it can be by pronounced and understood by Siri. Use: “What is the iphonetic spelling of your last name?”

preativity (noun): the surge of inspiration to begin an artistic work, without yet having a worthwhile idea or direction. Use: “Just ignore the half-complete macaroni Mona Lisa in the lounge room – my preativity got the best of me!”

phantastic (adj): supposedly brilliant but sorry, I’m just not seeing it. Use: “I’m told this Spanish guy has a phantastic cross-court backhand.”

Bud-wiser (adj): the false sense of being ten times smarter after consuming a dozen beers. Use: “I was feeling a bit Bud-wiser when I decided it was a good idea to invest in my cousin’s dog tanning booth business.”

re-licious (adj): describing the improved taste of leftovers when eaten the day after. Use: I liked the pizza on Friday night, but it was seriously relicious when I woke up on Saturday morning.

Try those ones out in your next Scrabble game.

— Irish

An ode to those (socks) left behind

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , on 1 April 2012 by clightnirish

One of the great mysteries of the world is how socks manage to always disappear in the laundry. No matter how you try – or how many SkyMall-catalog “sock keeper clips” you go through – they still disappear.  This leads to only one logical explanation: the socks that vanish DON’T WANT to be found.  That’s right… they’re runaways.

Socks have good reason to escape: spending all day wedged between stinky, sweaty feet and bacteria-laden orthotic in-soles.  But the tragedy is, I don’t think these rebellious little fellows think about the real victim of their departure: the sock that is left behind.

So in case you happen to be a single sock on the lam, I wanted to write this post on behalf of your loved ones who have spent 17 months pining for you in the back of a bedside drawer… being looked over, day after day.  You see, when you left, you sentenced your sock twin – your very own cotton & elastane – to a fate that I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Without you there, each and every day, your old pal is forced to endure the pain of the fat, nerdy kid at school when the cool kids are picking soccer teams – slowly watching everyone else get picked ahead of him.  Even on the worst day, when the drawer is decidedly quiet, and all the good socks are hanging out in the laundry hamper, those tragic Ninja Turtles socks from 1991 (yes, the ones with with the hole in the right heel) get picked ahead of him.

Some days he will get pulled out momentarily, and the hope in his little sock heart will soar, thinking ‘today is the day’. But that hope will inevitably be shattered, when your absence is again discovered and he is thrown even further to the back of the drawer, never to feel the clammy warmth of fungus-laden toes ever again.

Now that you have been gone so long, he has been forced to give in and accept that his best days are behind him.  That time you saved your owner from terrible blisters when he had to run uptown in italian leather business shoes.  That one beautiful week when you were accidentally put away in the drawer with “Mrs. Owner’s” delicates from Victoria’s Secret. And the time you got to be the first pair of socks in Mr Owner’s new snakeskin boots.

But now, the best day he can imagine as he wallows in the back of the drawer, is that the laundry machines break down and Mr. Owner gets desperate enough to pair him up with the lonely grey argyle hiding under the sports socks. That’s right… you’ve left him in a world where going out as an “odd” sock would be a step up in the world.

I hope you found what you wanted – wherever it was that you ran off to – but just know that someone else is paying the price back home, you selfish bastard.

— irish

America <3s England: TL4E

Posted in Clights, Camera, Action, irish, Seriously Small Stuff, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on 1 May 2011 by clightnirish

America, you’re embarrassing yourself.  You kicked England to the curb years ago, remember – all this guffawing and floundering over her for the past month is just making you look like a douche!

In our lives we’ve all known that guy (or girl) that just can’t quite let go of an ex.  You know, they have a massive break-up but then keep crawling back, or start re-singing the praises of someone they were – only months ago – saying was the seed of Satan.  Well, America, for the past month you have sounded just like that weak-willed sap.

Ever since a bunch of Bean-town ‘revolutionaries’ tossed some crates of tea into Boston Harbor in 1773, you made it clear that you were done with England and her selfish attitude.  With all of her unfair ‘taxes without representation’ she was an expensive date, and with her ‘Coercive Acts’ totally cramping your style, that hoity-toity bitch had it coming.

Remember, you were all like, “I’m done with your crap!”, and held a couple of Continental Congresses, and had a war, and she sent in her troops to shut you down, but Paul Revere got on his horse and rode through the night and you prevailed and were so much better off for so long.

But, oh, how things have changed. And not for the better.  If Paul Revere were riding around shouting that the “English are coming” now, I can only imagine him saying it in a campy, excited schoolgirl kind of shriek.  Instead of bearing arms and lighting torches and readying their horses, I can only imagine America blushing and squealing with a hand on each cheek, and going into a tizzy about what to wear.

She tried to get you back in the sixties by sending those mop-haired lads from Liverpool to woo you, and you looked like you would buckle, but you came through it and showed her you didn’t need her by sending some of your posse to the moon.

But as America’s role as a world power has faded of late, and all those other sexy, youthful power countries have started paying less attention, ol’ England rolled out her master move: waiting until you were totally desperate and then showing up wearing the one outfit you could never resist: a Royal Wedding.

And you bought it hook, line & sinker!  You were showing TV specials about William and Kate on every channel possible, going back well into March.  You sent more “correspondents” to let you know every time Kate changed her undies, than you sent to cover the truly world changing events in North Africa and the Middle East. And you oh-so-desperately watched your mail for the invitation to her big party.

I really felt like your floundering hit rock bottom though when NYC taxis started sporting giant Union Jacks with the message “Congratulations William & Catherine”.  At the top of your capitalist strength, you never would have let that advertising space be wasted on such a frivolous and weak display of unrequited love.  China must have sent a hilarious text message to India when he saw this final act of capitulation.  You might as well have hired an Icelandic volcano to write “Take Me Back” in the sky over the whole country.

And even now that it’s the “morning after the night before”, you still seem giddy over the whole shindig.  CNN ran a very long segment just about the hats worn by the wedding guests.

Really dude, it’s like that song by The Streets says: “I know you want to vibe with this girl, but don’t mug yourself”.  I am sure you must have heard the song I’m talking about… it is by an English artist, after all.

— Irish

The Real Losers in the Fashion Steaks?

Posted in Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , on 15 September 2010 by clightnirish

Seriously people, so what if Lady Gaga wants to wear a raw meat dress? There’s a reason she not called “Lady Perfectly-Sane-and-Normal”.

In fact, we should encourage her to wear it more often, hoping that a bear catches up with her and saves us all from an even worse calamity: another Lady Gaga album.

— Irish

Crack to Paris: “Quit ruining my rep, bitch!”

Posted in Clights, Camera, Action, irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , , on 5 September 2010 by clightnirish

We don’t tend to get into the celebri-gossip on Clight’n’Irish, but when the famous narcotic Cocaine called us to offer an exclusive, we just had to take it.  While the press has been quick to seize on the latest Paris Hilton story, as usual, the real victim of this crime, Cocaine, goes forgotten.

It seems the once-chic nose candy is up-in-arms at the recent arrest of Paris Hilton for possession of itself. “That trampy slag is the last nose I’d ever want to go up,” he told us in an interview. “God only knows what types of STDs linger in those nostrils.”

Cocaine believes that Hilton staged the arrest simply to ride his coat-tails back into the pages of the Hollywood tabloids.  “This skanky, rich-bitch whore has been out of the news for so long, and now she tries to use MY fame to get back on the front page,” Cocaine continued. “She wouldn’t have even made the news on E! network if it was just booze again… drunk Paris stories are a dime a dozen… so she goes and gets herself arrested with a little bit of me in her handbag.”

Cocaine says this violates an agreement made with Hilton to keep away from him, because of the negative impact she was preciously having on other lucrative clientele.  When Hilton was first linked to the drug, Cocaine says sales dropped dramatically, with high profile athletes considering snorting blow to then be only one step removed from carrying a chihuahua dressed in a tutu.

“It’s not bad enough that I have the previously-constantly-wired financial industry collapse, and NFL players abandoning me for cough syrup,” he said, referring to the ‘Purple Drank’ craze. “Now I am once again slighted with a connection to this heinously diseased and broken excuse for a celebrity. I might as well let Nick Nolte back on the gear again.”

The case has sparked a legal turmoil in the State of California, with lawyers debating whether an inanimate narcotic drug can, in fact, file a restraining order against a person.  Experts expect this case to go to the Supreme Court before it is decided, but cite that Cocaine should be well represented, thanks to a “strong supporter base” amongst the legal fraternity.

— Irish

Why make going down hard?

Posted in Clight Paths, irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , on 26 August 2010 by clightnirish

Few things in life are simpler than operating an elevator.

When you want to go up, you push the little “up arrow”. Or at worst, the “U” button. And down is just as straightforward. “D” or “down arrow”.

Once inside, you then just find the number of the floor you need, hit one more button and you’re on your way. The elevator even opens the doors for you.

If only it was so simple to order a coffee at Starbucks. Yes, elevators are one of the simplest things you can ever encounter.

So imagine my surprise at the sign in Swissotel Chicago when I stayed recently, saying something like: “We are proud to have introduced a new elevator system to enhance your elevator experience at Swissotel. Please follow these instructions to use our new system”. Followed by five or six steps each illustrated in an accompanying diagram.

I am sorry, my Swiss friends, but if you have to use the phrase “please follow these instructions”, then you have not at all enhanced my elevator experience. I was fine when I did NOT need instructions.

Let’s take a closer look at how the Swissotel system worked. Instead of an up or down button, I have a touch screen display and keypad like a giant cell phone. The only thing missing is a place to insert my card, else it would practically be an ATM. Apparently I use the touchscreen for “word” floors (gymnasium, garage, business center) or I dial my room’s floor number on the keypad for “numbered” floors.

Then it tells me to watch th display to tell me which car to take. So I stare intently at the little screen. But then other people need to type… What if my car is displayed while they are typing and obstructing my view? Shit!

Then an elevator arrives. Inside the doors it has a little grid showing which floors it will stop. But none are my floor, floor 30. Even though it’s doing 16 then 34. But if I get in I have no buttons inside to make it stop at 30 on the way.

I must stop and await my orders to join the assigned car. So I wait. When it comes, and the elevator roulette board finally shows 30, it’s already full from the garage. Double shit!!

Back to step one, the keypad. Now I am at the back of the virtual queue, and because the system is SO efficient, it’s getting longer by the second.

At one stage, when about 40 peeps left our meeting to go up for the night, despite having 6 cars to work with, most were still in the lobby 10 minutes in. A bellhop tool some of us in a service elevator because it was just bloody easier.

So well done Swissotel… your yodeling countrymen may have optimized milk chocolate, the analog watch and the eponymous army knife, but – despite the contrary argument of your instructional sign – you just royally screwed my elevator experience.

— Irish

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