1. Today, there are SEVEN people in the birthday alert column on my Facebook page. That is more well-wishing than I care to offer all at once, even to the ones I like. I guess February is THE time to conceive. Might as well; what else is there to do? Put on more coats?
2. J.Crew deserves a junkpunch for this one:
3. Owl in a box!! I may have a new favorite animal. Sorry, llama.
It’s hard to violate the 80/20 rule. If you’re a business, 80% of your profits come from 20% of your customers. So do 80% of your problems, although thankfully not from the same customers.
Although this rule is pervasive, there are exceptions.
“Designers spend most of their time designing products and services for the 10% of the world’s population that already own too much, when 90% don’t have even basic products and services.”
- Alice Rawsthorn, Design Editor, International Herald Tribune
Excerpt from Objectified
Usually, when 80/20 breaks down, it’s in the other direction. Resources even out. Attributes homogenize over groups. So why this exception?
Economics explain most of the divide. The 80/20 rule is approximately true. 20% of the world’s population control just over 80% of the wealth. The lucky 10% at the very top enjoy not only wealth, but the attention of the biggest product designers.
So… designers suck. A lot. They go beyond normal wealth distribution and focus their talents at benefiting the elite. They are arrogant, they encourage exclusivity, they follow money, and they steepen a divide that should be leveled instead.
And we worship them. We shop at CB2, scoff at PC, and make links to the people of Walmart.
Then, worst of all, we hole up in our apartment, launch illustrator, and design more junk to feed our landfills.
-Guest post by Ptango.
Reminder of terms of service, November 8, 2009
Attn. Sur le Pants Readers:
It has come to our notice that certain parties have shown undue and premature attention to the holiday known as “Christmas,” up to and including inappropriate decor and music. Said parties are reminded that October’s body is not yet cold, and December remains an event of the distant future. Sur le Pants wishes to advise its many valued readers to cease and desist all hanging of wreaths, humming of or deliberate creation of playlists featuring carols or other holiday musical compositions (especially those performed by American Idol contestants), bringing evergreen trees or other winter greenery indoors with the intent to festoon it with tchotchkes, hanging lights, or cluttering mantels and other furniture with seasonal statues and knick-knacks.
This behavior will not be tolerated until November 27, 12 am EST, at which point appropriate seasonal holiday-related actions may be taken.
Please be advised that anyone in violation of these terms of service may be subject to extended “bitchface” with the additional possibility of being given the “stank eye.”
Many thanks for your speedy compliance.
Management, Sur le Pants
Working at home is great– pants are optional, snacks are bountiful, and wake-up time is negotiable. Sometimes, though, the Old Scratch comes to collect his dues for this indolent lifestyle, and he brings us trials in the form of late-night negotiations with Asian manufacturers.
Sample convo with Asian mfrs:
“Ethel” Xua Po: Please sign this 42 page contract without looking and return us your soonest.
Peter: Thanks for the contract. We are unable to agree to clause 4, which requires us to eat babies. We suggest rewording to say, “Ten One will deliver the Product within 30 days and will not eat babies.”
EXP: Because to company policies, our legal office requires no changes. Plz sign to us sooner. Thanks you.
Peter: I’m afraid we must insist on removing the baby-eating language. This agreement is for the prompt delivery of our Product and should not extend to nutritional matters. Thanks for your understanding.
EXP: Suppose we can agree to delete babies. But we ask you reconsider 30 days. We require Product tomorrow.
Peter: As mentioned in last month’s correspondence, it takes 30 days to manufacture and deliver the Product. We regret that the lead time can not be shortened.
EXP: Then we suggest you assign intellectual property to us for purposes counterfeit in cheaper Chinese sweatshop.
Peter: We do enjoy your sense of humor. We shall not transfer the IP; this is merely a purchase agreement for the delivery of our Products.
EXP: Thanks. We can allow you keep your copyright only if compromise to eat babies. Our legal say it might cause too much troublesome for future business. It’s not to be seen that we are sank into this argument & ignore the foreseen opportunity.
Peter: What do happen??!!?
From a “Knickerbocker Sturgell”: Too Pooped to Pop? And then some sort of misspelled pitch for little blue pills. “Too pooped to pop” is a phrase my mother uses, and it’s the only time you’ll ever hear the word poop cross her lips.
It still irks me that saying “crap” in her household got you an earful of admonition and a mouthful of soap. Didn’t she know that everyone else was out drinking Zima behind the barn IN MIXED COMPANY? Heck if I ever turned up pregnant or drunk after youth group Bible study.
Anylegalism, here is a list of things that suck, lest we let all this Grace in Small Things get out of hand:
1. Our tax bill. Before The Biz and joint filing entered my life, I viewed tax season as a sort of fun event where you do a few math problems, and then the government gives you a check. This year, there were way too many zeros on the check we gave the government. At least there was an accountant to do the math.
2. It has been raining for days, with no end in sight.
3. Due to my over-eagerness to bond with obscure branches of my family-in-law, I rsvp’ed to a stranger’s wedding instead of to The Dirty Thirty Cougar Coming Out Party of one Flashmistress Gogodancer. It’ll be calico jumpers and fruit punch instead of animal prints and cocktails.
4. My new haircut makes me look like this. 
It’s sales conference week at work, so today and tomorrow are spent listening to editors present their spring 09 titles. Great fun and deathly boring, depending on who’s presenting. Nice to have free food and get out of the office, dreadful because nothing gets done and the guy in charge purposefully keeps the temp at about 45 degrees “so we won’t fall asleep.” Perhaps he is not aware of the sleep-like quality of death, once one is frozen into that state.
Meanwhile, back at home, the landlords keep it so hot the only way to sleep is spread-eagle naked with an ice cube on your tongue.
more animals
1. ”Oh, hi! I’m a Christian with 30 million dollars. Let’s see… AIDS, poverty, missions, starvation, illiteracy….Nope, I think I’ll keep gay people from marrying!”
2. I am not really a political person, but I seem to be unable to stop ranting about these goings on. My sister and I have moved on from our “here come the Obamalypse” Facebook friends, abstinence-based sex-ed, and purity rings to scheming how to get fresh veg NOT drowned in cream-of-what-have-you sauces at Grandma’s Thanksgiving.
It was quite an effort to get Grandma’s permission to bring anything, but I am allowed one pumpkin pie. J3 will offer “breakfast pastries.” I will also be packing a keg of cran-grape for P, who is a fruit juice vampire. Grandma makes wonderful things to eat and plenty of them, but they are of a mayonnaise-, bacon fat- and margarine-based nature, which gave us pause once we reached an accountable age. We’ll just have to break up the inevitable family drama with jogging and soccer.
On the non-self-absorbed front, we’re thankful she’s still around and willing to host, as family events are much pleasanter there. Our poor family camps together in the rec room, while we married couples get the two bedrooms. We’re going to turn one of them into a speakeasy with a password to get in.
And I’m still pissed about this letter. Even though it is so batshit that it makes me laugh. You know how Obama voters were threatening to move to Canada if McCain won? Turns out the Dobson crowd is headed to Australia and New Zealand. Apparently, it’s chock full of homeschoolers there.
Like this adorable gentleman.
Dear disappointed conservative friends and family,
Rend not thy garments and fret not thyselves. It’s unlikely that the Homosexual Agenda (that rabble-rousing army of drag queens) will chase you down the street, brandishing their genitals and threatening to “roast marshmallows” with your young Boy Scout sons. The dark, godless heavens will not rain down condoms and contraceptives upon your praying heads. And Dora will not be Exploring more than her bi-lingual cartoon maps.
So instead of writing 16-pages of crazy, why don’t you find a pregnant teenager and buy her a pack of diapers.
These fun little notices just turned up in the bathrooms at work. I say shit happens, especially in the loo. And besides, floral-scented poo makes me want to retch.
