1. Re-watching your bar or bat mitzvah tape.
So, um, hey…here’s something you’re going to want to avoid for the remainder of your life: your bat mitzvah tape. Why, you ask? Well let me counter that with this: Have you ever even WATCHED a real-life hora on tape? One that isn’t staged? Because it’s quite possibly the saddest, most disheartening thing you’ll ever see. A long hard gander at the hired dancers elicits nothing but despondency too. The whole thing, in fact, is one big massive annihilation of confidence. It was so bad I couldn’t even screenshot a single part and throw a #TBT on it. A #TBT wasted! And for what? The bar mitzvah years capture an age that is no longer cute, but not yet pretty. It’s an age of sprouting pubes, girls being feet taller than guys, and waxed eyebrows. Current mood? Insecure.
2. Pursuing pop stardom at 30 and as “Justin.”
I wish I could say my mind is filled with clever ideas like this one, but unfortunately this tale is all-too-grounded in reality. For the sake of this entire spectacle, which I want to never go away, I will not reveal much about the wannabe pop star in question other than the essentials: He’s pushing 30, he sounds EXACTLY like Justin Timberlake (not in a good way), and he’s trying to be the THIRD famous pop-singing Justin. All I’m asking is which part of this screams “good idea”?
3. Pursuing bestiality on Craigslist.
Yeah…about that…I’m going to go ahead and call “bad idea” on this one. A Mr. Donald Waelde, 22, who happens to look an awful lot like Mitch Kramer from Dazed and Confused, was not only on the hunt for a horse to get it on with, but was looking for this horse in the “missed connections” section of Craigslist. Does it still count as a missed connection if one of the connections can grow an 18-inch penis? I tend to think not. Perhaps Donald thought he was being subtle when he said he was just looking for “a horse to play with.” But either way, it’s an all-around #badidea.
Well, gosh darn it, silly me! Here I was, thinking the wretched days of slavery were pretty much over, the days of cotton picking, the days depicted so prolifically by Alice Walker, Zora Neale Hurston, Ralph Ellison and Richard Wright. Here I was, thinking we have a black president and even though racism still exists and Trayvon’s justice was not served, we’re still so far away from the brutality of the Civil Rights Movement. But then this bubble was mercilessly burst by none other than Cliven Bundy, a Nevada cattle rancher and a foul specimen. For a glimpse into his racist, convoluted mind, here’s what he told the New York Times:
“I want to tell you one more thing I know about the Negro…They abort their young children, they put their young men in jail, because they never learned how to pick cotton. And I’ve often wondered, are they better off as slaves, picking cotton and having a family life and doing things, or are they better off under government subsidy? They didn’t get no more freedom. They got less freedom.”
Slavery was never and will never be a good idea. Not for blacks and not for any other race either.
5. Popping or picking a pimple.
Unless there’s a whitehead at the surface of your skin, seeming to yell, “Right here! I’m so close, get me out of here!!” you should always resist the urge to touch a pimple. If an untouched pimple’s half-life is typically a week, then the half-life of a picked pimple is about two weeks and five days. In other words: #badidea.
6. Wearing a flower crown.
If you ever find yourself reaching for a flower crown at, I don’t know, say…Free People…don’t. Simply don’t. True, it’s abhorrently Coachella-six-years-ago, but I’m also just looking out for your overall well-being too. For if you don a flower crown you’re basically telling the world that you are the patron saint of the Coachella gods and are willing to be called upon for any faux-stoner, crochet-wearing, floppy-hat-donning ritual.
7. Photoshopping a baby.
Great job, US Weekly! A fine, fine photoshopping job of a 9-month-old, if I do say so myself. Personally, I prefer to throw an Ethiopian filter on babies to give them that cute pot-belly look. And Prince George could have done without the slight neck roll, but overall a truly fine job. Brava. And a wonderful example you’re setting too! Who knew you guys were so ethically sound? I just hope all of the fetuses out there are paying close attention — because they’re next.
8. Submitting an angry “open letter” to Thought Catalog.
My issues with this are twofold. First, the “open letter” motif. Articles written in the style of an “open letter” are so prevalent that they’ve lost every ounce of clout they may or may not have initially had. It’s the writing style version of a flower crown. It’s so trite that the mere words “open letter” typically cause a mass exodus — readers fleeing for their lives. (Conversely, it’s a great method if you want no one to read your work, I will admit that.) And my second issue is your tone. You call this an “open letter,” but I find this letter exceedingly private, directed at one person (your ex), and uncomfortable to read. In a couple of months, your angry open letter will be a decision you deeply regret. It’s a #badidea.
9. Seeing a celebrity on the street and trying to impress them with how chill of a fan you are.
While it’s usually not a brilliant idea to try and talk to a celebrity you happen to see on the street, it’s an even worse idea to get all fancy about it. And yet this is still, for some unknown reason, my go-to move every time. Oh pshhhh, look at that fool asking Jonah Hill for his autograph, I usually think. And then: I know! I won’t even look his way. I bet he really appreciates that — being treated without any special care…And by the time I’ve completed my inner monologue and look up, he’s gone. #stillgotit
10. Trying to get anything productive done on Canal Street.
If you find yourself on NYC’s Canal Street, you have no choice but to submit yourself to the abounding filth. Think of it as an undertow or a Chinese finger trap — the more you try to fight it, the more frustrating it will be. Never make any plans on Canal Street; never set out to get anything done on this street either. All you can do is submit yourself to the hordes of people, take a nice long inhale, breathing in the smell of gyros, and let the crowd move you. You’ll probably end up on the lap of someone in a wheelchair; go with it, it’s your only shot at escaping unscathed.