Vehicular Overshare

Over the past several years, a disturbing trend has taken hold in America that threatens the very safety of our children. I refer to it as “vehicular overshare” and it occurs when a proud parent utilizes automobile decals to proclaim their offspring’s hobbies/interests/accomplishments to the rest of the driving public. Stereotypically these decals appear on SUV’s or mini-vans and include the child’s name paired with a baseball or a set of pom-poms to associate each youngster with their chosen activity.

As harmless as this may seem, I find it ironic that we will go to great lengths to protect our children from predators by talking to them about strangers or coaching them on what not to divulge on the Internet and yet we willingly advertise the most valuable information a predator can have on the back of our cars.

For example, my wife and I were recently in Louisiana and found ourselves behind a Chevrolet Tahoe on the Interstate. From the 45 seconds sitting behind them I learned that the following: 

• They have a daughter named Claire who is a ballet enthusiast.
• Claire attends the Fran Trezvent School of Dance.
• The Fran Trezvent School of Dance is probably located in Allen Parish.
•  Claire is most likely an only child.
• Claire is probably between the ages of 8-13.
• Claire’s mommy has not yet located the turn signal on said Tahoe.

The first two facts were plainly discernible from the decal that had Claire’s name spelled out between two ballet shoes below the words “Fran Trezvent School of Dance.” I can surmise location of the dance school since glancing at the license plate told me the car was registered in the Allen Parish. I inferred that she was an only child because her name appeared on both sides of the rear glass leaving little room for the accomplishments of younger siblings. Her age was a guess based on the fact that she did not appear to be in a car seat but was probably not yet at the age where she would have insisted her mom remove such “embarrassing” decals.

Keep in mind, this was all without looking up the school in question on Google and reading an online schedule to determine the exact date and time Claire’s age group would normally meet. Some parents have even chosen to add “stick figure family” decals that would confirm the existence, number and names of Claire’s brothers and sisters. Very often these decals will include the dog or cat’s name which is often used as a safety word for a young child being picked up by a relative.

Personally, I plan to use “vehicular overshare” to protect my children by throwing would-be predators off the trail. I have designed a “stick figure family” decal that will utilize androgynous silhouettes and false hobbies to misdirect those with nefarious intent. For instance:

Child A’s name with be Trachea and they will be on the shuffleboard team at the “Triscuit Academy for the Violently-Disturbed Blind.”

Child B’s name will be Honorarium and they will be deeply involved in competitive hatchet tossing at the “Dixieland Militia Pre-school Academy.”

Both children will enjoy playing with our parrot “Mesothelioma” and our pet llama “Marie Callender” when we are not attending services at the “Greater Unitarian Agnostic Worship Bunker.”

I believe that in some ways the trend is a natural extension of the auto decals that were popular when I was in high school. These usually consisted of a man’s name on the driver side of the vehicle and a woman’s name on the passenger side. Apparently they served as a constant reminder to other motorists that “Billy’s” commitment to “Cindy” is every bit as serious as a removable vinyl decal would suggest.

In fact, the window decal seemed to replace the class ring as the symbolic commitment of choice amongst high school kids. Once a girl’s name was enshrined on the window of somebody’s Chevy S-10 she was as good as betrothed. Many times the couple’s demise would be marked by a somber ceremony whereby the truck’s owner would peel away his girlfriend’s name, and by extension, her betrayal.

 

               

Why Evolution May Be Overrated

As some of you already know, I have a three-year old Brittany Spaniel named Sandy. Under normal circumstances she is an outdoor pet but a few months ago nighttime temperatures dropped into the single digits and we decided to allow her to sleep indoors. The event was not unprecedented and per our routine she was giving unfettered access to the living room.

We closed all of the bedroom doors, hid the garbage can, and shut the pantry to remove any culinary temptation. She obediently settled onto a couch cushion while Ashley and I went to bed. The next morning when I emerged from the bedroom to take Sandy out, she was lying prostrate in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by the remnants of a half-dozen Kellogg’s Apple Cinnamon Nutri-Grain Bars.

Sandy (pre-sedition)

Peeking around the corner, I realized that we must have neglected to completely latch the pantry door and she had jimmied it open at some point during the night. It was then that I noticed my brand new box of Quaker Chocolate-Dipped Peanut Butter Oatmeal Bars was lying empty in the middle of the kitchen floor. After a short investigation, I concluded that Sandy had begun her evening meal by eating 10 Chocolate Quaker Bars (including foil wrappers) and then finishing off with the Nutri-Grain Bars.

Concerned about the possible side effects such a large intake of chocolate would have on our canine, we called the vet who advised us that based on the animal’s weight and the nature of the product ingested she was not in immediate danger. She was careful to warn us however, that our pet would likely suffer from a case of “digestive pyrotechnics” over the next twenty-four hours. We cleaned up the evidence and scoured the house to make sure that there was no other contraband.    

Just as promised, within the next twelve hours our beloved Sandy began experiencing what can only be described as “Category 5” defecation. The following day she could be observed prairie-dogging her way across the back yard every forty-five minutes or so. This, coupled with the unbearable odors emanating from every orifice of her body, made it difficult to eat meals at home. Within a few days her lower intestines had stabilized and the frigid temperatures necessitated that she spend another night in the living room.

My wife and I carefully double-checked the pantry door to insure that we did not experience a repeat of the last indoor fiasco and went to bed. About thirty minutes later, I re-emerged to get a glass of water from the kitchen and surprised Sandy who was enjoying a Nutri-Grain bar. Incensed, I ran to the pantry and confirmed that the door was latched just as I had left it. This meant that either my dog had overcome the absence of opposable thumbs or there was some sort of canine witchcraft at work.

I summoned my wife from bed and together we observed Sandy happily licking the last few crumbs of whole-grain deliciousness from the floor while wagging her recently-soiled tail. For several moments we pondered our next move and Ashley decided that we must have missed something in our initial sweep. For the next few minutes we tossed our living room like a Riker’s Island prison cell until we discovered the mother-load.

There, under the one of the armchair’s seat cushions, was the location of Sandy’s stash. Apparently cognoscente of the unprecedented opportunity the open pantry door provided, she had gorged herself until full and then hidden an insurance policy in the chair. Much to Sandy’s chagrin, Ashley and I carefully removed her goodies from the chair’s various crevices and placed them back into the pantry.

The next night Ashley was sitting in the “stash” chair most of the night and Sandy seemed unusually interested in unseating her. After several episodes of indiscriminate barking failed to capture my wife’s attention, Sandy went to the back door and barked once to indicate she needed to go to the bathroom. Ashley reluctantly vacated the chair to open the back door and Sandy seized the opportunity to run past her and begin frantically searching the cushion for items we might have missed. Satisfied that nothing remained of her forbidden treasures, Sandy dropped her head in dejection and sat back down on the floor having never gone to the bathroom.  

Such cunning is impressive until you consider than my dog is unable to extricate herself after getting wrapped around a telephone pole. Complex indoor subversion is no problem for her but God help us if we ask her to walk back around a pole the same way she came. You can almost see the fear in her eyes as she comes to terms with the fact that she is going to die from starvation, but when I walk her back around the pole it is if hope has returned to the world. Perhaps the only thing standing between her and world domination is buried utilities….

Homeowner's Associations

Since I was a young man, I had aspired to live in a neighborhood desirable enough to sustain a homeowner’s association. The promise of elevated home values, resulting from gently-enforced esthetic constraints, seemed like an idyllic way to run a neighborhood. After all, no one wants to invest decades of their income in a dream home only to see the lot beside them bulldozed to make room for their newly-paroled neighbor’s meth-trailer/recording studio.

When my wife and I purchased our first house (an experience that I detail here) we were unable to afford such a utopian slice of heaven so we acquired a dwelling in a traditional neighborhood. I could not be happier. It appears that homeowner’s associations may be the greatest threat to the American way of life this side of Al Qaeda. In fact, many of the groups have evolved into a form of “residential Taliban” intent on snuffing out dissention in any form it presents itself.  

Take little Jessica Cohen, who got together with some other elementary school children to open up a neighborhood lemonade stand. They sold the cold beverage to passersby’s and donated the money to the school attended by a disabled friend, but the homeowner’s association that governs their Palm Beach neighborhood is shutting them down because of a restriction operating a home based-business.

In another Florida town, a homeowner’s association in Edgewater is considering a proposal that would specifically ban “games of tag and loud toys” along with prohibiting any child from playing outside without adult supervision. Violations would result in fines up to $100.

In April of 2000, 61 year old Richard Glassel walked into a homeowner’s association meeting in Peoria, Arizona and opened fire on the board killing two members after an altercation concerning the height of his hedges.

In 2006, a homeowner’s association in Pagosa Springs, Colorado made news when they demanded a resident to remove a Christmas wreath in the shape of a peace sign. The association considered the decoration “divisive” because some residents felt it was offensive to deployed troops or even satanic.

In 2009, 90-year-old retired Army Col. Van T. Barfoot found himself in a fight with his Richmond, Virginia homeowner’s association when they demanded he remove his American flag and flag-pole from his front yard. The Congressional Medal of Honor winner was asked to remove it after the association decided it violated the neighborhood’s “aesthetic guidelines.” 

In 1998, North Carolina resident Mike Perkins was threatened with legal action for having the audacity to mow his own lawn. The homeowner’s association requires each homeowner to pay a fee to the same lawn crew so that all of the yards look “uniform.” Perkins continued to pay the fee but just felt that he did a better job.

In 2005, residents of the Majestic Oaks Subdivision in Ocala, Florida were forced to turn away Hurricane Katrina Evacuees. The issue came up when a resident wanted to temporarily house a family who was now homeless due to the storm. The association insisted that it was a clear violation of the stipulation against multiple families in a single dwelling.

I could understand the consternation of the HOA if little Jessica and her friends were running an investment firm out of the house, but perhaps bringing down the hammer on a disabled children’s fund is a tad heavy-handed. After doing some research, it appears that Homeowner’s Associations have more power than I thought. This leads me to my other aspiration: to create an illogically-strict residential dictatorship.

My neighborhood association will have the following stipulations:

•  All shrubbery must be trimmed in the shape of a former Federal Reserve Chairman
• Anyone’s dog caught defecating on a neighbor’s lawn will be beaten to death with an unabridged copy of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix.
• If any resident is caught fertilizing their grass with value-brand chemicals, one family heirloom will be forcibly removed from their home and smashed in front of their children.
• If guests are being entertained at your home and parking spills out onto the street, all vehicles must be parked alphabetically by manufacturer. Failure to observe this stipulation will result in the immediate revocation of “domestic socialization privileges.”
• Christmas decorations left up after January 1^st will elicit a profanity-laced verbal warning and violations thereafter will evoke immediate liquidation of the resident’s IRA accounts.
• All exterior illumination must be provided by fixtures in the approved Neo-Grecian Revival Style. The use of outdoor wall sconces will result in immediate suspension of sidewalk privileges.
• Any resident caught harboring crabgrass will be fined $150 and shot in the left knee-cap from close range.
• Birdfeeders are allowed by permit only. Unlicensed bird-seed dispensaries will be rigged with explosives and the youngest member of the offending family will be forced to detonate the bomb during peak feeding time.

Cloud Girlfriend

A few weeks ago, San Diego based financial analyst David Fuhriman launched a side business called Cloud-Girlfriend. Although it is not fully operational, the premise is that you will pay a fee to the site and in return they will allow you to “invent” a girlfriend. You will provide the characteristics that you look for in a counterfeit mate and a real woman will provide a real picture of herself and interact with you on Facebook in order to make you look appealing to the women that you actually want to date.

It is the technological equivalent of a single man wearing a wedding ring to pick up chicks. The idea is that since you already appear to be desirable to someone, you must have some redeeming qualities that would be desirable to everyone. I suppose the ultimate success of such a strategy depends on whether or not those redeeming qualities are substantial enough to mitigate the fact that you are conniving pathological liar who felt that presenting himself as an adulterous schmuck was a viable alternative to his actual personality.

The site’s tagline is that “the easiest way to get a girlfriend is to already have one” and in an interview with CNET, the founder defended the legitimacy of such a service by insisting that customers “will interact with a real person and see real profile images of the girl with whom they interact. This interaction can build confidence and esteem as well as provide real training experiences in navigating a friendship and a relationship."

The “cloud girlfriend” would post things on your wall, send message to you, and even allow you to change your status to list her as your current relationship. She will even interact with your skeptical friends and acquaintances. All of this will serve to convince the girl you actually want to date that if she does not act soon 

your cloud girlfriend is going to “drink her milkshake.”

At the current time, the site is accepting e-mail addresses from people who wish to take advantage of the service as soon as it is available; and I truly believe that the only thing more embarrassing than paying to create a pretend Facebook girlfriend is waiting in line for the chance to pay to create a pretend Facebook girlfriend.

That is not to say that the idea is not inspired because David Fuhriman has created a nearly foolproof way to ensure his customers do not default on their accounts. Presumably, if you refuse to settle up on your bill then your cloud girlfriend would begin publicly reminding you on your own Facebook wall that you owe her money. 

I imagine this would be quite effective since the only thing more embarrassing than waiting in line to create a fake online girlfriend is being unable to afford her. Nothing says “I’m a catch” like having your credit score negatively affected by defaulting on your imaginary girlfriend.

I do wonder if the service also includes a certain number digitally altered photos that show you and your cloud girlfriend together. Does it cost extra for her to remember your birthday or pretend that she let you get to second base? Do I get a discount if I purchase two cloud girlfriends and instruct them to publicly squabble over being the object of my affections?

Some have wondered if such a service is a hoax despite Mr. Fuhriman’s insistence to the contrary. While the idea does seem absurd, it would be unwise to underestimate the lengths that men will go to in order to meet attractive women. Besides, the idea is not that revolutionary. The website textboyfriend.com charges $1.95 a week to send sweet text messages to your phone in order make your friends jealous and it seems to be doing pretty well.

Perhaps the most baffling aspect is that CloudGirlfriend doesn’t offer anything that you can’t do yourself. Theoretically anyone could acquire a photo of an attractive girl, open an email account in her name and create a Facebook page for her a la’ Catfish. So I guess at this point I need some female perspective. As a woman, which would be more attractive in a potential mate?

1. A man who paid an online service to create an artificial mate in order to impress you with his desirability.

                                  ----------or------------

2. A man who spent time to fabricate his own artificial mate in order to impress you with his desirability.

I am genuinely curious to hear your responses on this so please feel free to weigh in.