The eye of the beholder? I think not

I've heard it said that foreigners stereotype us Americans as beautiful.

Well, thank you foreigners, but maybe you should postpone your visit to the wonderful USA until SOME of us can get out acts together.

I'm sorry, woman I saw the other day with a beard, and ew, you sir, yesterday? How about you lose 200 lbs, shave, and take off that sad 90s tracksuit that god knows what you stained on the left pant leg back in '91?

Really, I am not sorry. There is no reason for people here in America to be ugly. Granted, I understand the sometimes unfortunate inheritance of genetic calamities, but we here in this wonderful nation have been truly blessed with an astounding panoply of beauty and self-improvement products--and at least one Wal-Mart within 50 miles.

In addition to the tried-and-true hair brush, we also have such useful options as razors, waxing, depilatories (they remove hair, bearded lady), dye, spanx, a phenomenal cosmetic industry, perfume/deodorant, anti-fungals, surgery, and paper bags (the latter being an option for those who may want to abstain from the consumerism often associated with the cosmetic industry, but still do not want to subject the rest of us to their afflicted and possibly repugnant disposition).

In addition to the plethora of aforementioned options, what I find most fascinating about the staggering amount of ugliness that I've been forced to endure is that American tv has clearly had no bearing on their decision to remain offensive.

We are obsessed with makeovers. We make over our pets, houses, grandmas, cars, cabinets, personalities, and furniture all on camera for prime time tv with an audience of millions, yet some people still do not get the point.

Well here is the point: clearly, you are supposed to be beautiful. How is it possible to be ignorant of this? Even more confusing to me is how can anyone possibly not care? It baffles me.

Rather than figure it out, however, I would prefer to find bearded lady a lawnmower for her sideburns.

Have A Nice Trip, See You Next Fall

In coming to terms with myself, I have had to admit some uncomfortable truths. I might be a little impatient. I secretly hate your kids. And, yes, I am a bit of a sadist.

I can admit this now, after years of vehement denial: other peoples' discomfort is funny.

I remember in 6th grade, a girl I knew was morosely paging through a photo album. Closer inspection revealed that the entire album was of her--now dead--cat. As she petted each picture longingly, a tear rolled down her cheek.

And I laughed.

She told me that the beloved cat had been run over by a jeep.

And I LAUGHED.

It was all a little too much to handle, so I made an attempt to politely excuse myself and salvage what little dignity I might have had left.

I don't know what it is about people's dead pets that gives me such a delight. Perhaps it is the pomp and circumstance with which people treat their pets on holidays and birthdays--the dumb costumes and presents, all for a cat!--that convinces me to make light of such "grave" circumstances.

I'm sure the audience of this revealing narrative is disturbed beyond articulation, and now looking for an oven in which they can place their extremities; however, I maintain that I am merely the product of human nature.

We are all sadists. Let's admit it.

Who among us doesn't get a secret rush from watching hot blonds tearing each others' hair out? And are we not slightly disappointed when ice skaters don't tumble? And I'm sure that at least one of us dreams of throwing a cell phone at someone.

Just look at our entertainment: from Jerry Springer to The Real World to Fox news, we love watching drunk oafs tearing each other apart. And if not, then certainly we can change the channel to watch any number of imbeciles embarrass themselves in the name of fame.

We all enjoy the embarrassment and/or pain of others, if only slightly. If only for a moment before we compose our egos. It is in that flash of a moment between the event and the realization of propriety that we live in that honesty, the kind that makes us laugh when someone falls before realizing that we should help them up.

I myself am in no denial. It is still amusing when your pet dies. And if you really did fall, I'd point and laugh and tell everyone I know.

This is dedicated to Naomi Campbell

Remember when Naomi Cambpell threw that cell phone at her assistant? I do, fondly.

Now, I'm not extremely lucid on the details of this occurrence (and I have no doubt that the recipient of this brutal cellular lashing was undeserving), but I had to utter a delighted laugh at the idea of throwing a cell phone at someone.

I fantasize about the kind of life where it is, albeit marginally, acceptable to express my frustration with someone by hurling an expensive commodity at them for looking at me the wrong way.

And then I start to salivate with jealousy.

When I reflect on the daily misconduct of mankind, I am in awe of the blatant disregard "we" (not meaning me) have for one another. In any given twenty-four hour period of time I have been wrongfully subjected to tailgating, stare-downs, cutting in line, and an astounding number of stupid questions. (Of which the latter may be the most offensive.)

I've learned that complaining us useless without a viable solution, and have therefore turned to Ms. Campbell's conflict resolution handbook: a clever resource for solving even the most minor altercations.

Any violation of common sense or propriety now warrants the violent barrage of a cellular device (preferably an older model, as a citizen's misconduct doesn't deserve the destruction of a usable phone; I'm not going to punish myself).

Through implementing this new behavior model I hope to condition mankind (not meaning me) through negative affirmation, and change global misbehavior into 1. a learning opportunity, and 2. a painful experience.

With these changes in full swing, I can now look forward to a peaceful, kind, and considerate society. And hopefully, the sound of a ringtone will send shivers down peoples' spines.