The American space program has been suffering of late. We simply can’t find enough people willing to spend six months to a year living inside a small capsule in outer space. Recently, however, a few brave Americans have stepped up and begun training in micro-apartments, which are sweeping the nation like something that sweeps the nation. What’s that? They have nothing to do with the space program? Oh. Well, at least the title was clever.

For ages, city residents have been criticizing the lack of affordable housing, and so developers said, “You want affordable housing? Have all the affordable housing you want!” Seemingly overnight, micro-housing sprung up all over the America like rentable corn stalks. They are extremely tiny apartments, occasionally as small as 150 square feet, with little kitchenettes and bathrooms, and access to a shared kitchen and a communal deck. Many are furnished and include utilities and Wi-Fi. But the main point is the smallness. When everyone saw them, they were like, “Whoa, that is totally not what we meant by affordable housing.”

Many of the units are being rented by 20-something students and young professionals and elves making cookies. What makes their space feel smaller, I imagine, is that they’re at the center of a heated debate about the viability of micro-housing. Opponents of them argue that the buildings are cheaply made eyesores, not proper places to live, and that the lack of underground parking will lead to fewer parking spaces being available. Defenders are like, “Well, allow me to retort,” and say the buildings are creative solutions to pricing problems, adding that many of the residents don’t own cars anyway.

Defenders of micro-apartments often claim that people don’t need more. “It has everything I need,” residents are frequently quoted as saying. What is all this crap about not needing more? I’m a want man myself; I don’t care what a person is supposed to need. I just want things. Sure, often I can’t “afford” them because I’m not “responsible” enough, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting them. It’s not even a matter of needing or wanting things – you have to take them. They’re just sitting there waiting for you take them. Do you have the balls? Are you man enough to take them? Is it too obvious that I’ve seen “Glengary Glen Ross” 20 times?

The word that you hear most often with regards to the issue is “density.” It’s density this and density that and you don’t return my phone calls yada yada yada. Everyone talks about wanting more density, and then they walk around the neighborhood wearing headphones. Whatever. How much density do we want exactly? Are we aiming for downtown Tokyo, or a dystopian science fiction film? I can appreciate the idea of density, but I also like vacant open spaces, like an empty Denny’s on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio. That has value too. Besides, on a molecular level, there’s very little difference between density and empty space. You better call those people who clean up crime scenes, because I just blew your mind.

To be honest, I would have a little trouble living in one of these units. Space is very important to me. I’m a big pacer (I’m pacing right now), and I love throwing bouncy balls against the wall, like Nicholson in “The Shining.” It’s also important that I lay down on the floor like a starfish on a regular basis. If I can’t do any of these things, it’s not worth living there.

But I wanted to be fair. I dropped by one of the teeny apartments in an attempt to rid myself of preconceived notions, like the belief that micro-apartments birth you in addition to housing you, or that the walls crush residents and spit them out the side when the rent’s late (“Shut down the trash compactor on the detention level!”). I had a friend install a hidden video camera on my lapel, and then I remembered this is an article, not a television show.

The place was certainly as small as everyone said it was. It’s like when a friend tells you his food tastes bad, and then you try it for some reason, and say, “Yeah, that is really bad.” The room I saw was about 160 square feet. Upon seeing it, I said, “Is this where I park my car? Seriously, where’s the apartment?” Okay, okay, I didn’t actually ask those questions. Do you like to ruin magic shows too? Jeez.

As small as it was, the apartment, along with a shared kitchen and rooftop deck was certainly livable. I do have to give credit to the builders for one thing: the rooms were incredibly quiet, although when you opened the window, you could hear a person yelling, “You are being victimized!” That might get annoying after a while.

Whatever your position on micro-apartments, it’s pretty clear who’s to blame for them: Japan. You heard me Japan! What with anime and sushi influencing our culture, it was only a matter of time before we imported Japanese micro-homes. They’ve made their move, but we’ll strike back, and when we do, it will be big. It will be showy. It will be American.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2013

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Photo courtesy of Calhoun Properties

Ingredients

• 27 Nyquil cups of flour
• a computer dash of salt
• 2 cups of butter not used like it was in “Last Tango in Paris”
• 70 thimbles of brown sugar
• enough molasses to drown a pelican
• 1 egg (a good egg, like Saint Francis of Assisi)
• a Ziploc bag of baking powder wrapped in aluminum foil
• whatever you need to make icing
• a snifter of cinnamon (what’s a snifter?)
• 3 teaspoons of ginger, or one tablespoon, or 10 wet forks
• love

Tools

• a caulking gun
• a Stanley 10 inch x 3 7/8 inch Hacksaw
• a level
• a stud finder
• a Craftsman 3/8 inch x 50 foot Heavy-Duty Air Hose
• love

Directions

Take the things that need to be combined in a bowl and combine them in a bowl. This usually involves something wet and something dry and powder-like. Combine them until they are no longer individuals. Put the bowl aside, but not near the edge or it will fall on your cat who will jump and set off a series of hilarious accidents.

In another bowl (I hope you have plenty of bowls!), make the icing, which I think involves eggs and sugar. Make sure you thoroughly beat it, like a son who defeated you at basketball for the first time. Put the icing into your caulking gun. The icing is the glue that will hold the gingerbread foundation together. If it doesn’t hold, feel free to use actual glue or caulk.

Find another bowl. Now break it. You have too many bowls.

Start drawing out the blueprints for the gingerbread house, so it doesn’t wind up looking like some Frank Gehry thing that people pretend to find interesting. Take all your raw gingerbread and form it into walls and gingerbread men. And remember: its gingerbread men. Okay ladies? Stay out of this one.

Bake everything until your kitchen smells like a house for sale. Now it’s time to start building. Drive to your local Home Depot and pick up some nonunion day workers, or build it yourself. See if I care. First lay down the base so the gingerbread men don’t fall out. Then use your caulking gun to spread the icing/glue/caulk along the edges of the gingerbread walls. Fasten them in place and hold for 20 seconds, which you can time out by counting “one one thousand” or “one Chason Gordon, two Chason Gordon.” I prefer you use the latter.

After the walls are in place, you’ll need to attach the roof, unless you’re filming a gingerbread sitcom. If that’s the case, skip the roof and install lighting, and call me. I can play gingerbread.

Now it’s time to decorate the gingerbread house. Grab whatever you find, like an old Dukakis button, some cat hair, and an iPod case, and glue them to the front of your house. Aww, isn’t that pretty?

I happen to have a finished gingerbread house right here. Look how beautiful it is! It’s probably way better than yours, you fucking amateur.

Well, I hope that was helpful. Next time you hear John Lennon singing his overly morose, “So this is Christmas, and what have you done?” Tell him you made a goddamn gingerbread house. That’s what you did.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012

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Originally appeared in The Capitol Hill Times.
*I totally did not make the gingerbread house in the picture.

Obtuse
The Shawshank Redemption
“How can you be so obtuse? Is it deliberate?”

Definition: lacking sharpness or quickness of sensibility or intellect.

As we learned from the film, you should never ask someone in a position of power if they’re being obtuse.

Plethora
The Three Amigos
“Would you say I have a plethora of piñatas?”

Definition: An excess, superfluity.

There is no stronger link between a word and a movie. Even if you learned “plethora” from your parents or teacher, they learned it from The Three Amigos.

Inception
Inception
See title

Definition: an act, process, or instance of beginning.

Now do you get the film?

Festoon
Gangs of New York
“I’ll festoon my bedchamber with his guts!”

Definition: to adorn (a place) with chains, garlands, or other decorations.

To be fair, the film has several previously unfamiliar words, like “chiseler,” “rowdydow,” and “stargazer.” It’s worth seeing if your friends will let you get away with using them.

Entomology
Annie Hall
“Entomology is a rapidly growing field.”

Definition: a branch of zoology that deals with insects.

A pivotal scene, illustrating that a man will say anything when he doesn’t want a woman to move in with him. This is also the film that caused people to describe things as being as big as a Buick.

Croupier
Croupier
See title

Definition: a casino employee who collects and pays bets and assists at the gaming tables.

“Croupier” is to “dealer” what “barista” is to “coffee maker.” I just insulted a few of my friends.

Ergo
The Matrix Reloaded
“Ergo, some of my answers you will understand, and some you will not.”

Definition: therefore, hence.

This is a word that can and should not be said with a straight face (but that Matrix character was a robot, so we can forgive him).

Dialectics
Half Nelson
(it was on the chalkboard)

Definition: discussion and reasoning by dialogue as a method of intellectual investigation, the opposition between two interacting forces.

I also learned the word “deracinate,” meaning “to pull up the roots,” from Ryan Gosling in The Believer. I’ve learned a lot from Ryan Gosling.

Gigawatt
Back to the Future
“1.21 gigawatts!”

Definition: a unit of power equal to one billion watts. Named after the Scottish engineer James Watt.

If you already knew the word “gigawatt” before Back to the Future, you can probably afford a DeLorean.

Pederast
The Big Lebowski
“When he moved to Hollywood he had to go door to door to tell everyone he was a pederast.”

Definition: one that practices pederasty, as in relations with a boy.

The use of “practices” is an unfortunate word choice, but that’s the dictionary’s fault.

Drainage
There Will Be Blood
“Drainage! Drainage, Eli, you boy.”

Definition: the act or process of draining, especially through soil. Often used as an agricultural term.

It’s better to hear this word in the context of land, and not, you know, your body.

Quid Pro Quo
The Silence of the Lambs
“Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things.”

Definition: something given or received for something else.

I’m pretty sure it comes from Latin, but what doesn’t, really?

Perdition
The Road to Perdition
See title

Definition: utter damnation, eternal destruction (a bad situation).

“Perdition” is to “hell” what “pugilism” is to “boxing.” Please don’t question my analogies.

Ecumenical
Network
“One vast and ecumenical holding company…”

Definition: worldwide in influence, or representing the whole of a body of churches.

Nearly every character in Network has a wide vocabulary. If the film wasn’t so good, it would be incredibly annoying.

Nuance
Diner
“You know what word I’m not comfortable with: nuance.”

Definition: a subtle distinction or variation.

Perhaps you were aware of “nuance” before Diner, but I bet Paul Reiser changed your perception of it.

Pater Familias
Oh Brother Where Art Thou?
“I’m the damn pater familias!”

Definition: the male head of a household.

This word hasn’t quite entered the general vernacular, but it should.

Leads
Glengarry Glen Ross
“You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close shit.”

Definition: a piece of information which identifies a potential customer.

Seriously, if you have any good leads, let me know.

Jurassic
Jurassic Park
See title

Definition: the period of the Mesozoic era between the Triassic and the Cretaceous marked by the presence of dinosaurs and the first appearance of birds.

Maybe you knew this from sixth grade science, maybe you didn’t. In any case, if a park is not a Jurassic park, it’s probably not worth going to.

Tracer
Chasing Amy
“Your mother’s a tracer!”

Definition: one who traces designs or markings, or in the context of Chasing Amy, not a real artist.

Every art has its version of the tracer. From writers who punch up scripts, to those guys who manually impregnate cows. The last example was a bad one.

Soporific
Wit
“Soporific means ‘makes you sleepy.’”

Definition: see above.

How would you use it in a sentence? You might say, “This article is having a soporific effect on me.” You might say that, if you want to be rude.

Mook
Mean Streets
“What’s a mook?”

Definition: ?

?

Now use all these words in a sentence. Have it to me by 5.

Definitions source: Mirriam-Webster

Other Recent Pieces:
A Review of the New Year’s Fireworks
Don’t Eat the Architecture
Let’s Make a Gingerbread House!

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
Originally appeared in Grolsch Film Works

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No one is certain who Romney is pointing at.

BOSTON – Throughout the election campaign, Mitt Romney’s five sons, Tagg, Matt, Josh, Ben, and Craig, played an essential role in helping their father get the word out. But a dark rumor being leaked today suggests that Romney is a little disappointed with one of them.

“He’s pissed,” said Brian Jones, a campaign strategist. “He’s never asked much from those boys and has always been a good father. This was their time to give back. One of them didn’t.”

Each son brought their own touch to the campaign trail. Craig is fluent in Spanish and appealed to the Hispanic community, Josh gave speeches, Matt kept things light on the trail, Tagg worked social media, and Ben, the only one not to go into business (a radiology student), occasionally helped out, though he mostly shied away from the spotlight. Sources suspect it’s Ben.

“I don’t think anyone should be playing the blame game,” said Heather Martin, a campaign fundraiser. “Those boys did what they could. Besides, I didn’t see Obama’s daughters doing a single thing. So what if they’re young?”

Unlike Meghan McCain, election results indicate that Romney’s sons actually pulled in voters, but needed a bigger push.

“When you look at the numbers,” said Bryce Morgan, a statistician, “it shows that Romney would have defeated Obama – if one of the brothers did just a little more work.”

Morgan said he wasn’t quite sure who Romney is mad at. “It’s gotta be Ben, though. He’s the only one with blond hair. That creates a distance.”

Romney has refused to comment on the matter and finds the speculation ridiculous. His entire family joined him for a recent press conference.

“I’m not going to say which one let me down,” said Romney, glaring at Ben. “Not going to say which one.”

Sources indicate that Ben Romney has been grounded.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
Photo: Gage Skidmore/Happyme22

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The subject in question.

Every time I walk into a convenience store near my apartment, I see a lonely giant jar of cheese balls that no one appears to be buying. As a massive Costco-like item, it looks incredibly out of place in the tiny convenience store; a point which is brought home when you notice the jar is too big for the shelf and sits atop the metal divider between the shelves, towering over the other products, like a watchful protector.

The brand is Utz Cheese Balls. It’s about the size and shape of a small church bell, or those jars that hold brains in horror movies. The accumulated balls weigh 35 oz and are gluten free, like most things these days (like me). If the plastic jar looks light, that’s because it is, though with enough force and repetition, you could probably use it to kill a man. Don’t, by the way.

Though I often question its presence, the giant jar of cheese balls has become a familiar sight to me in Seattle, like the rain, or the frequently wet Space Needle. If it ever disappeared, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I wouldn’t know where I was.

I think about the cheese ball jar more often than I think about some of my friends. I wonder how many cheese balls are inside. 400? 401? Does the container feel ridiculous standing athwart the other smaller items, or is it proud, like a gargoyle perched on a majestic building? If I grab it, will a giant boulder run me down? I imagine customers from the neighborhood feel drawn to the cheese balls whether or not they’re aware of it, like the ending of “Field of Dreams.”

Whenever I’m in the store, I want to ask the owner about them, but always chicken out and silently buy my junk food. I assume that if I ever tried to purchase the cheese balls, the owner would say something like, “Oh, that’s just for show.” He probably can’t bear the thought of somebody else having them. Me either.

On Saturday night, however, as I returned home from a human foosball game (you heard me), the questions began to hound me. Why stock the item in the first place? Why doesn’t anyone buy the cheese balls? And how can the owner, in good conscience, keep what is clearly an extremely old jar of cheese balls in his store? It was time for some investigative journalism!

“Hi, uhh,” I said, “what’s with that jar of cheese balls? It’s always here when I come in.”

Apparently, the cheese ball jar had not been sitting there for years as I prefer to imagine, but was one of many that have been periodically sold over time.

“One day I just got one, I didn’t think anyone would buy it,” said the owner, “but they do. I only stock one or two of them at a time.”

Ah. Okay then.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012

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Obama (left) and Romney (right) in a recent match of Halo 4.

WASHINGTON – According to campaign insiders, President Obama and Mitt Romney spent election night playing the new Halo for hours, occasionally pausing the Xbox game to check swing state results.

“Oh, we were taking shots at each other all day,” said Romney, “in Halo!”

The two learned a great deal about their opponent from fighting online in multiplayer mode.

“Romney is a formidable opponent,” said a recently reelected President Obama. “He’s good with the Needler. Whenever he frags me, he just stands over the body with that look of pity on his face. It’s so annoying.”

Halo 4 was released on Tuesday and has sold millions of copies in a matter of days. The game follows the trials and tribulations of Master Chief, a commander who fights alien intruders. Both candidates admitted that the character possessed leadership qualities neither of them had.

“I’m just glad he didn’t run for president,” said Obama, laughing nervously.

Not wanting to miss out, the candidates for vice president got in on the action as well.

“Ryan and I played Biden and Obama the other night,” said Romney. “We fought in Warthogs. Ryan and Biden were the gunners, of course. Biden’s the only guy I know who manages to shoot himself. He sucks.”

But even in the brutal warfare of online gaming, there was bipartisanship.

“The other night Romney shared his Warthog with me,” said President Obama. “I was touched. We destroyed a Wraith together! If we can put aside differences in the virtual world, maybe we can do it in the real world.”

“Probably not, though,” he added.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012

Image – Bungie

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1. Pumpkins are Part of Halloween?

Sure, carving pumpkins is a tradition here, but in Ireland and England (where much of the tradition emanated), they have carved turnips, swedes (not the people), mangelwurzels (a type of beet), and rutabagas (which are a cross between cabbages and turnips, and in my mind, inspired the Studebaker). This is all to say, we only wound up carving pumpkins because they happened to grow here in greater numbers.

2. But I Love Pumpkin Pie!

Don’t you raise your voice with me! Pumpkins having been riding the coattails of pumpkin pie for years. It is everyone’s first and only defense of the pumpkin. I put it to you sir or madam that you do not like pumpkin pie as much as you think you do. Have you ever eaten it without ice cream? Ice cream is quite the crutch for pumpkin pie, because the great pies – cherry, lemon meringue, and humble pie – don’t need ice cream to carry them over the finish line. Furthermore, I bet you only eat pumpkin pie once a year; if you spent the same amount of time with your family, it would be clear to everyone that you don’t love them.

3. Carving a Pumpkin is Disgusting

I really feel it’s not a giant to leap to go from carving a pumpkin to cutting up the body of someone you’ve just killed. Every time I carve a pumpkin I feel like I am giving an enema to a fruit that can no longer digest properly. Oh that wet stringy pulp and those seeds which look like corn niblets in shit are just wonderful to have spread all over my arms. You can tell which pumpkin I’ve carved because it’s the one where the carver clearly gave up getting all the pulp out, and sat down to eat fifty mini Kit Kats before passing out.

4. Watermelons Actually Taste Good

That’s right, you can actually eat the insides raw. What a novel concept: eating the inside of a fruit. We carve pumpkins precisely because we don’t eat them. Watermelons don’t need to be turned into a sugared filling that in no way resembles the original product to taste good. All the goodness is right there, without any need for alteration. Why time and time again I’ve eaten half a watermelon for dinner and never regretted it once, except for that time I was supposed to meet a girl for dinner. Come back Jessica!

5. You Can’t Carve a Watermelon!

You fool! The texture of watermelon rind is practically just as thick as a pumpkin’s, and hollowing it out would be no more complicated. Whereas once you were dealing with a substance that looks like a Gremlin exploded, now you have the soft, pink, and pillowy texture of a watermelon. No longer will thousands of Americans puke out of disgust into the very pumpkin they were trying to empty out.

6. But All That Juice Will Get in the Way!

I can see your defensive mind is trying to fight back. Oh, you mean that delicious juice that you can simply pour into a pitcher, or suck out in a hilarious party game where everyone has crazy straws? Yes that sounds awful. Go home Sally, this ain’t your night.

7. Watermelons Can’t Stand Up

You know I’m getting a little tired of your impudence. Watermelons don’t need to stand up, they can simply lay on their side, so the face of the watermelon will essentially be an oval shape. What’s that? You can’t have an oval face? Tell that to Seth MacFarlane and the millions of dollars he’s made with the Stewie character. I bet you have a Stewie doll on your desk right now you goddamn hypocrite!

8. The Green Watermelon Doesn’t Look as Good

Oh, I didn’t know I was dealing with a racist here. What’s wrong with a green face you racist? Why don’t you stop reading this article and go back to watching Triumph of the Will. Maybe green people don’t have a place at your stuck up country club, but they’d fit right in on the porches of millions of American homes. This is a country founded on immigration, but it’s just like the racist pumpkin to get off the boat and tell the watermelon to go back where it came from. You all make me sick.

9. Watermelons Don’t Have Stems to Pull the Top Off

Are your carpentry skills so feeble that you can’t manage to fashion something to pull the top off a watermelon? Please, no one wants to hear your silly complaints or the see the hands that you clearly mangled in shop class.

 10. But I Already Carved a Pumpkin

Yes, that is certainly a corner from which there is no escape. Excuse me moderator, could you line up a better debate candidate next time?

Conclusions

So head down to your local fruiterie (made-up word) this Halloween and grab a watermelon. You will be the only one on your block with a carved watermelon, and that my friends, is how leaders are made. People will come to see your carved watermelon from miles around, like the ending of Field of Dreams. The local paper will write a story about you. At first there will be hesitance, because everyone fears change (“Crazy Old Gordon” they’ll call you), but slowly the tide will turn, and more and more people will stick knives into watermelons and never regret having done so.

I see Halloweens with candles illuminating green faces everywhere. I see children rolling carved watermelons down the street, and parents refreshed by juicy watermelons as they cheer them on. I see people developing all sorts of watermelon treats, like candies, pies, cookies, and ice cream. I see entire communities encouraged by their ability to change, leading ultimately to a reduction in crime and poverty. I see the green watermelon becoming a symbol for the vitality and youth of this nation, allowing us to wrench ourselves from this poor economy and rise once again as a shining city upon a hill, the beacon of freedom in this world, in which all nations and peoples turn to the American light once again, like a young hopeful child, drawn to the lit watermelon sitting on a friendly porch.

Amen.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
https://twitter.com/chasongordon
http://www.capitolhilltimes.com/category/humor/

In case you don’t have Google alerts for the word bees, let me bring you up to date. Mark Hohn, a beekeeper in Kent, Washington, returned from vacation one day (who needs to leave Kent?) and noticed several dead bees outside his shop. They weren’t falling from the clouds like the ending of “Magnolia,” and it wasn’t gang-related, so Hohn moved on with his life. Then he saw something strange. We’ll tell you what, right after the break.

According to the Seattle Times (they’re always out-scooping me!), Hohn noticed some bees were flying in an erratic fashion and congregating around a light before dying. Anyone seeing this would assume the bees had contracted a bird-related STD, but Hohn learned they were zombie bees (ZOMBIE BEES!), which were first discovered by John Hafernik, a biologist at San Francisco State University (my safety school). It works like this: A parasitic fly named Apocephalus borealis (I could be making that up for all you know) will land on a honeybee and inject her with eggs (nothing strange so far). The eggs hatch into maggots, eat the inside of the bee, and form pupae (a hard shell) from which more flies later emerge, starting the whole beautiful process over again.

Now we all know the government released these parasitic flies to distract from the economy, but we ought to put that aside and explore how this parasite would affect the life of a single bee.

Let’s say a bee is being chased by a parasitic fly. She tries to shake the parasite by flying between blades of grass, going around tight corners, and hitting the brakes. Nothing works. As the fly catches up, the bee tries to eject, but realizes she is a bee and not a fighter pilot. The parasitic fly bites the bee and runs off, cackling madly. “That was weird,” says the bee, thinking nothing of it.

When the bee returns to the hive she gets back to work depositing nectar and building up wax cells. At the end of the day the boss comes around. “Hey Heather, I noticed you were having a little trouble keeping up. Is everything alright at home?” Heather says things are fine and heads to the lunchroom, where she overhears a conversation about parasitic flies. “I hear they eat your brains,” says one worker bee. “I hear they make you a slave,” says another, adding, “Heather’s been acting pretty weird lately.”

In time the colony confronts Heather. “Heather, you’ve been a solid worker, but you’re infected and we cannot risk the health of the hive. You must leave.” Heather lashes out. “I’m not infected! You’re all infected! Infected with lies!” She abandons the hive and grows desperately ill. Her last moments are spent on the ground beneath a light, where a friend tends to her.

“It’s going to be ok, Heather.”

“You know Mary, they says it’s maggots, but I know I’m dying of a broken heart.”

“You were the best pollen packer I’ve ever seen, Heather, the best.”

“Thanks. I always thought I’d die stinging somebody. Not like this.”

“Heather? Heather? Goodnight sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

Oh my God that was sad! Do you remember the part where Heather died? I was balling. Still, we can all take a lesson from the story: I write great female characters. What?

Are we next?

Because human beings are a selfish species, our biggest concern is whether these parasitic flies will come after us. Bees are pretty fast and evasive, whereas your average human is slow and lumbering. I don’t know about you, but the thought of maggots eating my insides does not sound good, unless it helps me lose weight. That scientist guy from SFSU says the parasitic flies are no threat to us, which I believed until I saw him drink a glass of nectar. You just can’t trust anyone.

This situation is not something that should be taken lightly (by other people), because pollination is essential to our food supply, though I can’t specifically explain how or why. We need to keep an eye out. If you spot strange bee activity, report it to the authorities, which in this case is a website actually called zombeewatch.org. It’s what Heather would have wanted.

Remember, bees are our friends. They may sting us, and we may never finish that bottle of honey before it crystallizes, but if bees didn’t have a stinger and moved a little slower, we would totally pet them.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
https://twitter.com/chasongordon
http://www.capitolhilltimes.com/category/humor/

image: Luis Miguel Bugallo Sánchez

As you know, today’s kids are fat. Boy are they fat. Look at that one over there! Watch me pelt him with this egg. Nailed him! The signs (is he crying?) of this rampant childhood obesity are ubiquitous: broken seesaws, warped monkey bars, and children constantly disappearing at playgrounds, because when you’re fat, all sand is quicksand. Children are supposed to be the future, but when we look into the future we can’t see past their fat asses. Okay, that’s enough fat jokes (for now).

To mitigate this growing epidemic, the county turned to a group who knows exactly what it’s like to be big and bloated: the government. Over 50 fortnights ago, President Obama signed the Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act of 2010, which aims to improve nutrition and systematically reduce childhood obesity (try voting against that one). The program lowers salt content, includes whole grains, and establishes maximum calorie counts, but the sexiest change is that the USDA now requires schools to make children take a half of cup of fruits or vegetables on their lunch tray. Oh boy.

Opponents view this as an empty gesture that allows utopians to feel better about themselves. Students are only required to take the fruits or vegetables, not to eat them, and many fear they’ll simply wind up in the garbage (to avoid this, schools should put a cardboard cutout of Michelle Obama frowning next to the receptacle). There is an additional concern the government has no business forcing kids to take vegetables. Where does this slippery slope end? It ends in a valley, like most slopes.

There are a few issues which certainly trouble me. Before this initiative, we could blame poor grades on poor nutrition. With healthy and alert kids, we may discover how truly dumb they actually are. I also worry about what kinds of fruits and vegetables are being offered. If you hit the kids with apples and pears, the program will fail, but if you offer the cool fruits, like mangoes, watermelon, and grapes, it may just work (no vegetables are cool). What disturbs me most however is the government plan to regulate the content of school vending machines. The inside of a vending machine is a sacred place – our government has no right sticking their dirty hands underneath that plastic flap.

I’d like to ask the parents to leave the room at this point. Are they gone? Good. Now kids, I need you to listen to me. The government says that you must take half a cup of fruit or vegetables, but if you let yourself get pushed around now, people will never respect you. Take that half a cup and throw it in the lunch lady’s face (you don’t take candy from strangers, so why would you accept a vegetable?). If you prefer to be stealthy, pretend to blow your nose when eating the vegetables, and then spit them into the napkin and throw it in the garbage. Crash the system from the inside.

Of course, you should try and move around a little more. I know it feels like exercise when you’re playing Halo and you have to jump off a jeep because someone stuck a plasma grenade to it, but I assure you it’s not. Exercise doesn’t have to be boring. Throw a water balloon at a policeman. Shoplift. Get yourself into situations where you have to run to survive. And try playing tetherball – it’s fun! Because if you become fat, you’ll have to differentiate yourself by being funny or working really hard, and that is no walk in the park. (You can bring your overweight parents back into the room now.)

One might argue parents have done such a bad job feeding their kids that the government had to get involved, but I blame the bullies. For years bullies chased fat kids and tormented them into skinniness. What was wrong with that system? Kids were pretty healthy until all these anti-bullying programs came along. As I see it, if a fat kid is not shamefully eating a Twinkie in a restroom stall, then the school isn’t doing its job.

I’d like to keep discussing this, but my hot wings are ready. Frankly, I have no problem with forcing kids to do things, whether it’s eating a vegetable or sweeping a chimney. Parents should just be careful not to push too much, because one day a child may stand up with a union sign in the lunchroom like Sally Field in “Norma Rae,” and when that day comes, the entire school system will fall.

Chason Gordon is offering a fat camp for kids who suffer from obesity. “Move While I Sit” will be running next summer.

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
https://twitter.com/chasongordon
http://www.capitolhilltimes.com/category/humor/

Over the years Seattle has put the kybosh on many things that were beloved to me, including honking, Styrofoam, and wastewater discharge. How am I supposed to throw a party? What am I supposed to give kids on Halloween? And what about my latest art installation: Honking Styrofoam Car in Wastewater? I thought this city had taken all it could from me, but I was wrong.

In 2008, the City Council attempted to place a 20 cent fee on disposable plastic and paper bags at grocery stores, but it was later overturned by voters with a little help from the plastics industry, who spent over $1.4 million opposing the law (“There’s a great future in plastics”). This angered the City Council, or the Ephors, as I like to call them. They returned to their mountaintop to consult the oracle, and in December passed Ordinance 123775 (that’s my birthday!), which bans plastic bags, effective July 1.

What was supposed to be the first day of summer is now the beginning of the end (or the ending of the middle, however you phrase it). The law bans thin disposable bags at stores throughout the city, including plastic bag stores, which will surely go out of business. Specialty plastic bags are still permitted for meat, produce, newspapers (yes!), dry cleaning, and take out food, so if you can limit yourself to those items, you’ll be rolling in plastic. Customers who choose a paper bag will be charged a fascist 5 cent fee, while those with reusable bags will be patted on the back and given a ribbon.

My sources tell me this is all related to something called the “environment.” In case you don’t know, the environment is that empty space adjacent to you at all times. It often refers to forests and oceans and all the places where you can’t get a Reuben sandwich. According to City Council, Seattle uses approximately 292 million non-biodegradable plastic bags annually (is that bad?), and only 13 percent are recycled (that number is shocking to me, because I had no idea you could recycle plastic bags). It’s even been reported that in 2010, a beached gray whale was found with 20 plastic bags in its stomach (I bet it was the 20th bag that killed him).

That’s some pretty damning evidence, but is this a smear campaign against a defenseless inanimate object? Critics of the ban think so. They cite studies showing that paper and reusable bags use much more energy in production, how plastic bags tend to be reused for household chores, and that unwashed reusable bags often carry bacteria (I’ve also been told that whale was an asshole). In either case, it’s safe to say that people who keep statistics are annoying, because they’re like that friend at the bar who counts how many beers you’ve had.

This ban doesn’t really affect me, because I shoplift, but I’m still going to miss the cute little things. I love throwing them in the air like a balloon, and languidly pulling off those tiny loops underneath the handles. I love the way the bags swing from my hands and how they quickly unravel when I wind them up. Paper and reusable bags certainly have their purpose, but they have no grace. They are creased industrial monsters, all right angles and harsh edges. Think of that plastic bag scene in “American Beauty,” and then try to imagine it with a paper or reusable bag. That thing wouldn’t get off the ground.

There is also, of course, the issue of dog poop. Trying to pick up feces with a paper bag is a hell I don’t want to imagine, and I worry that many dog owners will simply leave it on the ground. If a few whales have to die for me to step on less dog shit, then that’s just the way it has to be (what?). Besides, if you carry dog poop in a plastic bag, it looks like you cleaned up after your dog, but if you carry dog poop in a paper bag, it looks like you bought it (ewww).

None of this ultimately matters, because Sunday is looming. I urge all plastic aficionados to stock up now and never give in, even if it turns out they’re wrong. This is America! If you want my plastic bag, you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hand. It won’t be hard, because they rip pretty easily.

Originally appeared in The Capitol Hill Times, Seattle, June 28, 2012

Chason Gordon
copyright 2012
image:  Kate Ter Haar