Reality TV casting is sooooooo predictable
Do you ever settle in for a night of reality TV, only to feel an unsettling sense of déjà vu?
Do you ever settle in for a night of reality TV, only to feel an unsettling sense of déjà vu?
A customer is a customer is a customer. That’s how I feel about customer service but I guess I’m still old-school.

I know that many youngsters are growing up with a sense of entitlement but, wow, I didn’t realize it was so bad.

The trend nowadays is that everything is offensive and everyone should be offended by everything. But for those of us who don’t have a stick up our… well, I’ll get to the point.

There are certain fashion and beauty trends that leave me scratching my head so vigorously, I’m worried I’ll give myself whiplash. And at the top of that list, vying for the coveted "Most Perplexing" award, are certain iterations of fake hair and… well, let’s call them "statement" eyelashes. My brain genuinely just doesn't compute. It's not judgment (yes, it is), it’s pure, unadulterated, polite bewilderment. And judgment. Not gonna lie.
If you turned on the television or scrolled through your news feed recently, you might have felt a sudden sense of déjà vu—or perhaps just a profound sense of confusion. We are being told, over and over again, that we are in the midst of a new "Space Age." The Artemis mission is the headline, the talking point, and apparently, the media event of the century.
I've never grasped the appeal of putting pictures of loved ones on your desk at work. And I mean, never. Even before the days of smartphones, when you really did go most of the day – gasp – without seeing them. It always struck me as… odd.
I love a good game show. There's something undeniably thrilling about watching ordinary people test their knowledge or luck against incredible odds for life-changing money. But lately, I find myself genuinely annoyed by one particular element: the contestants themselves.
I’ve been a fan of Michelle Obama for as long as I can remember. From the moment she stepped onto the national stage as first lady, I was captivated.
Let me preface this by saying I’m not here to throw shade, nor am I here to sing praises. I’m simply here to confess a profound and persistent bewilderment that has only grown stronger with each passing news cycle, each social media explosion, and each casual conversation about a certain global superstar. I’m talking, of course, about Taylor Swift.
I’ve witnessed it too many times, and frankly, it’s a bizarre spectacle that never fails to frustrate me to my core.
I've gone on a couple of rants about the debate we have in society over the custom of tipping. It seems like everywhere we go, we're expected to pay for the product or service AND pay more to show appreciation for it.
As I sit here, reflecting on my experiences as an American, I am reminded of the peculiar phenomenon that seems to permeate our culture: the unwavering conviction that our country is the best in the world.
In one afternoon I got signed up for three reward programs. I certainly wasn’t pressured into joining but I did feel like I was a bad customer for not being aware of them in the first place.
I often hear people recoil at the idea that children and pets should have a degree of “fear” when it comes to their primary caregiver. "They should love you unconditionally!" they cry. "Fear is abusive!" But I’m here to tell you that this perspective often fundamentally misunderstands what that "fear" truly entails, and why it's absolutely crucial for establishing respect and, ultimately, a healthier, safer dynamic.
I have to admit, there are moments when I watch the news and a deep sense of bewilderment washes over me. Not over global conflicts or political scandals – those, unfortunately, are often expected. No, my recent bemusement stems from something far more mundane, yet, in its own way, deeply unsettling: the media's obsession with Amazon Prime Day sales figures.
I previously thought about what it would be like to live as a dog. Now, as I'm sitting in the backyard of Buff Loft in WeHo, a squirrel running around has me thinking about animal life again.
Every day it seems like the world (and by that, I mean Twitter -- or whatever it's called now) is coming to an end. And because of that, I shake my head and remember how sad society is with its reliance on social media.
I've always heard that New Yorkers are rude. They have a certain aggressive way of talking and it gives a brash vibe to outsiders. Over here in California, I've always thought the sunshine and weather made people naturally happier. I dunno. I think I might be wrong about Cali -- at least nowadays, anyway.
There are moments in life when the universe taps you on the shoulder and delivers a reality check so profound, so utterly undeniable, that it chills you to the core. For some, it might be the first gray hair. For others, it's struggling to open a jar. For me, it was a perfectly innocent basket of french fries. And let me tell you, those fries were salty. Too salty, in fact.

There’s a phrase that haunts the post-breakup landscape, a saccharine lie whispered, typed and sometimes even shouted for all the world to hear: “I wish them all the best.”
I've always been an outlier when it comes to "hometown pride." You know that unspoken, often loudly proclaimed, obligation to pledge unwavering allegiance to the city you were born in or currently call home? Yeah, I've never quite grasped it. In fact, I find it a little… manufactured.
Let’s talk about cooking shows. Specifically, that grating, military-esque chorus that echoes through almost every competitive culinary arena on TV: "YES, CHEF!"

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, a kind of internal audit of my own emotional responses, and it's led me down a fascinating, slightly unsettling rabbit hole.