The climatein America has changed. Unusually high temperatures have caused a dense pocket of hot air to become the country’s very first Trumpnado.
Unpredictable winds and shrapnel fly out of this thing so randomly, you’re best to avoid it altogether. Unless, of course, you’re a storm chaser.
It’s on a path of special destruction causing a wake of WTF at every turn.
The Trumpnado will dissolve sometime after it jumps the Sharknado.
That moment could be this week. Some would argue it already happened.
The GOP got Trump’d!
If I had to pick one thing I like about Donald Trump it would be Celebrity Apprentice. I hope he does more Celebrity Apprentice when he’s done with this circus.
When I first heard Trump was running for president, I thought it was a joke. Then, I watched the first Republican debate and it clicked. He’s sabotaging the GOP. That party got Trump’d.
During the first debate, he was the only candidate who would not commit to supporting someone else as the nominee, hinting that he could run as an Independent. Plus, did that fight with Megyn Kelly during the first debate make any sense? Remember when he asked her if she was bleeding?
He later stated he would support another nominee. Honestly though, would it surprise anyone if he flipped on that?
Trumpnado Warning!
Since hitting the campaign trail, Trump’s statements and stances are petulant and arrogant.
His words have been increasingly aggressive and disturbing and the media is having a hay day re-posting and re-tweeting and regurgitating everything this man says.
He’s attracting disturbing personalities like flypaper.
It’s like the Twilight Zone.
He’s acting so far the opposite of presidential, it’s embarrassing that he’s actually leadingthe Republican polls.
However, that could be the point he’s intended all along.
He’s erratic, unpredictable, unfiltered, and getting worse by the day. He’s effectively not electable.
It’s getting so bad, it makes perfect sense. Even Fox News contributors today were discussing how he’s gone off the rails and becoming a problem for the GOP.
Intended or not, he’s helping the Democrats and the other candidates have caught on.
I believe he’s always intended to run as an Independent to ensure a Republican loss. His campaign is straight out of Team America: World Police, “America! Fuck Yeah!”
It would be funny if our president had this in Las Vegas. Photo Source: TripAdvisor
He will steal millions of votes from the Republican nominee while ensuring a bigger blue turnout.
Trump is being so blatantly and believably stupid right now, but he’s not a stupid man.
I predict record ratings for the next installment of the Celebrity Apprentice. The good news for Trump is his current haters will forgive him and he won’t have to take a huge pay cut to play in the Oval Office.
We unite with hashtags. We fight with hashtags. We beg for help with hashtags.
It takes a tragedy like Paris for us to see a wave of humanity. Then, we return to divisive behavior preventing us from learning about, or liking, each other.
Technology evolves quicker than our ability to communicate. We read headlines and share them blindly. Online coverage of anything can be spun 50 ways, but our lives shouldn’t be.
This story is an example of how easily we lose perspective. Satire and sarcasm are shared and people believe it’s real. Non-issues become issues overnight. Trolls and stubborn stances ignite vitriol.
We need to treat each other better, and it starts with us.
Pop lore says Bad Blood is Taylor Swift’s betrayal-anthem to Katy Perry. I think a dancer is involved, possibly a boyfriend. However, this isn’t about them.
This is about my (hypothetical) former friendship with the most coveted BFF in the world.
The first time I heard Bad Blood, I knew it was about me. I obviously hurt Taylor and I’m on a mission to apologize. I saw all her popular friends in the video and that hurt real bad. I mean I have tits too, I could have been a bad girl supporting a revenge metaphor!
Here’s the situation.
Taylor won’t answer my calls, and text apologies are lame; I’m laying it out so we can move on. Besides, there’s nothing more sincere than a public apology, especially, when that’s where the fighting takes place.
I caused this, not Katy. Bullet holes is a little dramatic, but who am I to argue. She didn’t like what I said.
The title says it all. Bad is bad and seeing blood isn’t good – let that sink in for a second. Now, think about Katy Perry believing that was about her. It’s been a lot for me to carry and my back is starting to curve.
I always intended to apologize but, like Taylor, I’m a giver and I wanted to send the perfect gift with my apology. But, what do you give someone whose other best friend is Hot and Cold who kissed a girl and liked it? I am a boy, after all.
I was watching Dance Moms when the bulb lit. If it were a dancer, it would kicked me in the head.
Create a reality show for Taylor!
I’m waiting for Taylor to name the show since it’s her show, and I don’t need another song written about me.
The show is about a dancer and Paula Abdul is the choreographer. Paula was at the height of her music career in ’89 when the world received Taylor – it’s poetic.
The show is in Vegas – every dancer’s wildest dream!
Taylor is mama bird and she nurtures baby bird – a dancer discovered on Instagram – resulting in baby bird signing a Vegas contract without any drama!
Can we see this again? Credit: Kevin Mazur/WireImage
My wildest dream is for baby bird to land on Katy’s very own Vegas stage and perform an interpretive dance to Roar.
Imagine Taylor in the front row while she and Katy crinkle their noses and paw at each other all cute like!
This will prove their blood is, in fact, good and she never expected any contract dancer (or boyfriend) to be loyal.
Lofty goals, right? I best get to apologizing.
The reason I didn’t name Taylor’s show (I’m thinking The Bird Nurturer) is because naming things caused our falling out. Taylor names everything. She names her songs. She names her cats. She probably names her fans’ cats. I think there’s a hashtag for that.
Kats or Cats? I can’t wait for Taylor to unite Katy’s fans for her!
I even suggested she choose whether Katy’s fans are Kats or Cats. Bring a litter box for that shit storm! Fans of pop stars are a protective bunch, even with infighting.
Even more protective are pop starts, themselves, when it comes to what they call their fans.
Our turmoil began when I told Taylor I thought she should call her fans The Swizzle Sticks with the hashtag #tswizzlesticks to unite their online musings. I told her I thought her name should be Mother Swizzle Sticks because she is like their mother.
Her face went blank space. Never question an accomplished artist’s creativity and definitely lay off their fans. Role models with millions of underage fans won’t refer to them as drink accessories.
She accused me of trying to turn parents against her by encouraging underage drinking. She reminded me she’s a role model. Then, she asked me, persistently, if I knew what she was and wouldn’t relent until I screamed, “Role model!”
She accused me of talking to Katy because pop star espionage is real.
The damage was done. Trust flew out the window like a baby bird.
She told me it was so sad to think about the good times she and I had, but now we got problems.
I asked her, can we solve them? She said she didn’t think we could.
I asked her, do we still have mad love? She said we used to.
That’s a no. I hope we can put this behind us; we were so good together.
In addition to her show (hopefully called The Bird Nurturer), I created a new app because she needs more cash. It’s called Pocket Squad.
Your squad walks around your screen while you control everything about them. It’s perfect for members of squads. You can make them get eaten by a shark or pace back and forth all day. You can make birds poop on them or strike them with lightning. They can live on a beach or jungle. It’s your squad!
Basically, it’s what you wish you could do to your real life squad.
Taylor, I’m sorry. Call your fans whatever you want. Come on, old friend – I miss our mad love! #think-about-the-good-times-you-and-i-had!
It shouldn’t take a coordinated attack to remind us the hostility among ourselves is senseless.
I hope we can learn to keep perspective without the harsh reminders.
When someone says “I’m old,” it probably wasn’t a question. Whether or not they say it in jest, it needs to stop.
I’m 41. I’m a fairly social guy. My friends range in age from their 20’s through 60’s. Randomly, they’ve said it.
I don’t want to hear it anymore. You’re notold!
Life expectancy reached 50 about 115 years ago. Today, it’s about 80, but people can live into and past their 90’s.
If you think you’re old long enough, you’ll begin to believe it. You’ll grow old, thinking you’re old, while you’re not old. Depressing, right?
We need to think better of ourselves a little bit longer. What do people really mean when saying “I’m old”?
“Tired” – After 18, you’re an adult for the rest of your life. It’s called growing up. Responsibilities are exhausting, but they don’t make you old.
Establishing credibility in what you do takes time and energy. Sacrifices will be made. Everything you do in life becomes a matter of priority. You’re not old, you’re tired.
“Lazy” – Excuses! You just don’t want to do anything! You want to sit on the couch while your body fuses to it. Have you seen What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? I don’t want to spoil it, but an extremely large character dies. Her house becomes her crematory. There was no getting her out. It’s actually a really sad story and Leonardo DiCaprio was amazing in it.
Also, don’t blame age for your lack of knowledge. Technology, for example, makes people feel left behind. Nobody is excused from the school of life. Things change. Your brain still works. Learn. My brother is 19 and his favorite hobby is knitting. I’m serious! He’s probably better at being old than you. You’re not old, you’re lazy.
“Vain” – Recently, I had a conversation with a friend in her early 30’s. She said she was old fourtimes. I assured her she wasn’t, and that’s why people say it. People don’t mean it, they just want you to tell them differently. Stop it. You’re not old, you’re vain.
“Unhealthy” – You cannot eat like you did through puberty. You need to find a calorie-in/calorie-out balance. The consequences of consuming desserts frequently when you’re 24 aren’t due to age. You’re not old, you’re unhealthy.
We’re programmed to joke about age between friends. It’s predictable humor, appropriate for birthdays, and only fake-laugh funny. Thank the birthday card industry. Do they even make age joke cards for truly old people? Like, “Whoa bitch! I can’t even with those tits! You’re 90, you should be dead! Here’s a shovel and graveyard plot!” I think that was on a card given to me when I turned 30.
Fact is, we can all learn from each other. There’s nothing wrong with growing up or getting older. It’s reality! Embrace it. It happens to everybody if they’re lucky.Inspire people younger than you. So what if you have a new appreciation for the value of your time. Kick back on that couch you can now afford along with on demand entertainment. Just remember to get out once in a while.
In 2012, direct spend on conventions in the U.S. was $280 billion. A presence at these events is a requirement for companies trying to make it in their industry. Attendees travel, in droves, to host cities that can can accommodate the influx of visitors.
Technology and software companies do not mess around with conventions. They are a game of one-upmanship between competitors.
Hosts spend small fortunes to bask in the spotlight to unveil new products, make headlines, announce partnerships, and bestow awards that are the corporate equivalent of high school yearbook superlatives followed by an often awkward photo op.
Exhibitors bombard attendees with information and logo’d trinkets as they follow their planned agendas. Days often extend into hospitality suites, parties, and VIP events where sellers and buyers network over cocktails.
Your time is limited. If you’re not careful, you will become occupied with time-wasting conversations. There are certain attendees you want to avoid. Here are a few examples:
“The Trick-or-Treater” – They walk the exhibit hall looking for handouts. They might ask what you do, but they don’t care. Some ask for the SWAG directly. They’ve either stalked your booth or someone told them what you have. A quality tote is a great handout. Shove everything they have in it and let them walk away.
“The Faux Prospect” – They have been with their company a while and they are in the early stages of a big project. The attendee is there to gather information, but potential work is a long way down the road. It doesn’t hurt to foster a relationship with these attendees, but do not expect much.
“This thing is a phone. I’m on it.”
“Disengaged Conversationalist” – They don’t make eye contact. Conversations with them are rushed and they’ve already decided you can’t do anything for them. They talk fast and loud. They will interrupt you to take a call.
“The Boondoggle” – These aren’t hard to avoid because they are rarely at the convention hall floor. They show up to so long as they can prove they were there. They might have convinced their employer to send them on an expense-paid trip to a vacation destination that’s not the office.
“Last Call Holdouts” – The pack animals attendees end the night by closing the hotel bar. They will pull anyone they recognize to the bar for “one more drink.” They usually miss a portion of the next morning because they are “taking a call” in their room. If you decide to join them, they will use a lot of these terms. Learn the language.
“The Sloppy Drunk” – The slippery slope between networking and embarrassment gets slipperier by the drink. If you see a wasted executive in a dancing sandwich between his employees while someone shouts “free licenses!” and snaps pics while others record video, reconsider your relationship. It’s not acceptable for an executive to be escorted off premises, waving his hands in the air like he just don’t care while babbling “she’s protecting the brand” repeatedly. It happens.
“Convention Crashers” – You may encounter someone whose name doesn’t match their badge. Assume that Jennifer dropped her badge and the guy wearing it doesn’t belong there.
Optimize your trip by avoiding any of the above attendees. You owe it to yourself and your company to make the most of it.
I have a bone to pick with Jose Cuervo but, before that, I have a few things to say about tequila.
When I think of tequila, I think of shots. Margaritas are a close second. I certainly don’t think of any other tequila drink. The last time I ordered a tequila sunrise, I was underage in a bar. At that point, ‘vodka soda with a lemon’ wasn’t rolling off my tongue.
But, I hate shots. Anytime I’ve taken a shot and said it was good, I was lying. Yet, shots can happen. Whether I’m at a bar, party, or have friends over, if someone suggests shots, I’m on board. I won’t instigate them, but I rarely say no.
If shots happen, tequila is my default. With salt and lime or straight up, I don’t care. At that point, I’m reluctantly agreeable, not saying no, and I just want it over. The quicker the better. So long as it’s not rail or a liqueur, I’m not unhappy.
Tequila has grown on me. With training wheels, they are merely strong mini-margaritas.
However, tequila isn’t always a good idea. Tequila means it’s late. Tequila means I might forget things. Tequila is sobriety’s bouncer and accepts no bribes. Tequila hurts. Tequila reminds me that it’s important to have Excedrin and Gatorade at home.
There’s one thing I don’t think about: ruining it.
What doesn’tcross my mind thinking about tequila is cinnamon. Cinnamon tequila is real. It shouldn’t be a thing. But, it is and it’s a travesty.
I’m not a fan of cinnamon flavor to begin with. I can barely chew cinnamon gum. Mouthwash? Forget it. Mints? Nope. Those dumb chewy bears? I’ll pass. Alcohol? Yuck. Tequila? NO!
I remember thinking I liked Goldschlager for two minutes in college, but that’s because it was the express lane to inebriation.
At some point since, Fireball happened. Suddenly, every bro with a bright idea bought rounds of this stuff at every bar in every town. Then, Pitbull dropped a song about it. It was official. Fireball became the white boy’s Pumpkin Spice Latte.
On the heels of Fireball’s success, other whiskeys followed suit. Eventually, a lot of whiskeys offered a ‘fire’ option. At least whiskey made sense. I’m still no fan, but I understand what they’re doing.
Then, Jose Cuervo had an identity crisis. Jose Cuervo produced Cinge – a cringe-worthy cinnamon play in the tequila space.
This stuff is awful! This is tequila abuse. I’m boycotting Jose Cuervo for this very reason.
How did I get introduced to Cinge? A friend stopped by. Like any good guest, he brought alcohol. He called it tequila. He poured shots. I went to cut a lime and he stopped me. “You don’t need lime, trust me,” he said.
I told him I wanted training wheels.
Then, he told me it was cinnamon tequila. Huh? Is there such a thing? Ok, I guess I’ll try it. And I did. A few times.
Something about it is just wrong. Technically, it’s tequila – a tainted, ruined, tryna-be-something-it’s-not version of tequila. Cinge is just another example of how, sometimes, we can’t leave well enough alone.
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