Exactly! By my reckoning, Dave owes me several computer keyboards, 2 dress shirts and a formerly off-white couch due to my spitting coffee out of my mouth (or nose?) reading his material.
This happened to me so often over the years that I made a rule for myself: Put down the drink BEFORE reading Dave Barry. Saved me a fortune in dry cleaning bills. And embarrassment.
I've noticed another part of the trend of the rich and/or cool.
Stupid stuff to stream.
One show, called The Cub (name changed to protect someone) is about a restaurant. In the latest installment, everyone smokes and everyone has angst. Lots of angst. The review in The Guardianella referenced said angst and 20+ years old people struggling with.... I dunno.
These people all appear to be about 40.
The rich are portrayed in a show called "No, Not Like That". It's apparently about the struggle of owning an entire brownstone without furnishings. Or something. Three or four, it's hard to tell, women talk mostly about faking sex. I have yet to determine, and I am 162 years old, how one fakes sex. If anyone knows, please clue me in. This important topic requires wearing designer clothes. These women also possess a "woman's right to shoes".
Perhaps I may be of some assistance in the matter of faking sex. As the writer of two "quality" (meaning actual three-point lighting as opposed to two guys with flashlights) porn films in my misbegotten youth --- as much as a porn film can be said to be "written" --- I can attest to the existence of asexual or nonsexual sex. Having assumed, as would any perspiring screenwriter under the circumstances, that my presence was required on set (in this case, the director's home charged to the film's budget) in the event one or another responsive groan, moan or "Oh yeah!" needed polishing, I can sadly report that there was nothing whatsoever sexual about it. Like the guy said, "Parts is parts." Oh, there were the more or less expected and common-before-marriage acts but, with the director regularly repositioning the bodies, the effect was much like customizing a footlong at Subway --- only ultimately far less satisfying.
This, this right here, is why I come to the halls of Substack.
Your deep dive into my query answered a long held question and shed light upon another. Yes, you read that right.
Asking the man at PReP Boyz the difference between two fuses, he said "parts is parts". I now understand his answer.
The well dressed man in the bar asked if I would like to audition for a starring role in, and I quote, "a blue movie". Thanks to your insight, I almost know what he meant. But, why blue?
So many memories stirred up by today's column, Dave...
When I was a young(ish) man -- I imagine about the same time you were raking muck over the Downington Tuba Affair -- I lived across the Delaware River from you, in South Jersey. We were all thrilled by the still-new phenomenon of "shopping malls," especially by the King of Shopping Malls. No, no, not the King of Prussia Mall -- that was nice, but it was in Pennsylvania. I mean the Echelon Mall. Yeah: ECHELON Mall. And it had two levels, even, so you could move easily between "the upper Echelon" and "the lower Echelon" just by stepping on an escalator. Talk about social mobility.
Anyway, there was a pub in Echelon Mall. (Lower Echelon, needless to say.) And because it was socially acceptable, but also cool, I once went into the pub by myself, sat at a table, ordered a drink, and lit a cigarette. None of the young(ish) women likewise by themselves seemed terribly impressed by my suavity. I'm not sure if it was because I was smoking, or maybe they were put off by my too-casual slouch in the chair, or by what I was drinking. Which wasn't bourbon or even beer, but something called a "stinger" -- a concoction of brandy and creme de menthe served (in this case) in a delicate little stemware glass, like a hobbit's martini. I had to hold it between thumb and forefinger as I sipped at it in my manly way. And they apparently were not impressed either by my softly humming the Marlboro theme song. (I think I was actually smoking Newports then.)
If I were a contemporary Times feature writer, I might've said I was out painting the town beige. I sure as hell wasn't painting it yoo-hoo.
I tried a cigarette when I was 15 and immediately decided that swallowing a live toad would probably taste better (full disclosure: I did not attempt to swallow a toad). All the money saved from not buying cartons of cigarettes over the decades has enabled me to purchase some beige-colored clothing, even though I am NOT in an echelon. It's really not the best color for me, so I wear colorful accessories so I won't blend in with the billionaires. Blended Billionaires and Beige Echelon might be good band names.
The stupidity of a girl 'in love' - I started smoking in 1972 when my boyfriend said "I wish you smoked so I could bum cigarettes from you". 22 years later I quit cold turkey, about 21 years after I no longer had that boyfriend.
I can't decide whether Mocha Mousse or Onslaught of Beigeness would be a better name for a band.
I think Mocha Mousse would be a great girl band maybe composed of national park employees. Onslaught of Beigeness is an edgier band maybe Heavy Metal. (Does heavy metal still exist?) It’s guys with attitude who definitely smoke and rarely shower.
We boomers smoked, knowing it would eventually kill us, because we were convinced the mushroom clouds would get us first. I still have a small metal desk in my basement, to crawl under, should some Soviet Geezer push the red bottom.
Speak for yourself, Dave Barry. But don't you think BigE is onto something here---smoking may be coming back in vogue (pardon my French) because the mushroom cloud is looming a lot closer these days. And look who's got his finger on the red bottom!
The Times recently informed me that "everyone" is watching Love Island. This came as a surprise as I
a) used to believe that "everyone" included me, and
b) this meant that none of my friends and/or acquaintances had ever told me about this show and that they were all watching it without me.
Naturally, this was all very hurtful. Now I suspect they're also smoking when I'm not around. Maybe they only smoke while watching Love Island, I don't know.
I heard about this on NPR, and it sounded just as awful as you might imagine. Bunch of hot (as defined by the zeitgeist, aka reality television imagineers) 20-somethings installed on an island and supposed to pair off. But the stunning innovation is that there's a cash prize involved. I failed to learn what it's awarded for.
In high school all my friends smoked and I didn’t know about it until one time they finally invited me to come on a car ride with them and they all lit up.! But I didn’t smoke until my first ever day at college because then I had to be cool And nobody knew me!
I'm going to buy a beige jacket so everyone will think I'm a millionaire. I would buy a whole beige outfit to pass as a billionaire, but I don't want to make everyone think I'm a snob.
From the source, to avoid saying it reminds us of 💩:
PANTONE® 17-1230 Mocha Mousse is an evocative soft brown that transports our senses into the pleasure and deliciousness it inspires. A warming rich brown hue, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse nurtures with its suggestion of the delectable quality of cacao, chocolate and coffee, appealing to our desire for comfort. Infused with subtle elegance and earthy refinement, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse presents a tasteful touch of glamour. A flavorful brown shade, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse envelopes us with its sensorial warmth.
Seriously, it was just on my feed, but the post featured lovely colors and this was, rightfully, buried.
Don’t worry about Woodward & Bernstein. Most people haven’t heard from them in 40 years (unless they watch MSNBC or read one of their best selling books). Despite Donald Trump’s daily efforts to be the funniest man alive, you still have that market cornered with thousands of us anxiously awaiting your weekly guidance.
Ha! Clever way to find out which income bracket your subscribers are in, Dave. If I were not in the upper echelon would I be able to afford an annual subscription to Dave Barry's substack? I think not. In my day (I'm almost 70, so it's been a long day), my female classmates smoked to lose or maintain their weight. Thinness ='d coolness. In this modern day of Vegovy and Ozempic, cigarette smoking must be gaining in popularity strictly for the coolness factor.
Side note: I love that you add photos to your stories, but let it be known that I read Dave Barry's substack strictly for the articles.
P.S. What happens if I put a checkmark in the box below this comment bubble that says, "Also share to Notes"?
What happens is you open a spam cannon, drowning you in hundreds of unsolicited Substack comments and convo invites, from people you've never heard of.
Could the next trendy billionaire color be Emphysema Ecru? I will head to Switzerland to find out.
I believe the Times pays the expenses of its trend reporters; please let me know how I can submit my expenses for this important work to the author of this Substack 🙏
Though I never smoked, from zero years old through seventeen, my house smoked for me, and for nine months before THAT, my mother smoked for me. My dad smoked three packs a day; never more because he also had to sleep. His fingers were so brown I thought we might be mixed race. My mother only smoked two packs a day because, you know, back then it was considered bad taste for a woman to get all uppity and outdo her husband at ANYTHING. She did, however, inadvertently outdo him...at life. He died at sixty-two at the hands of his third smoking-related heart attack. She lasted another nine years before choking out on emphysema. I would sooner kiss a banana slug on the mouth, than Beyoncé after a cigarette. (That is assuming I could figure out which end of the slug was...well, you know.
My household smoked for me, too. I remain the only member of my family of six to have never smoked a cigarette AND to have gotten and kicked cancer’s ass twice! Boom!💥
Good for you! I never smoked a cigarette either...actually neither my brother or sister did. My sister wasn't able to kick the cancer, but at least it wasn't smoking related. My brother is close to outliving our dad by 20 years. So far, I've got him by 17
Dave, I believe you covered the subject of light colored clothes in your discussion of dribblage in a previous newsletter. But then it's a biological fact that continues to confound medical science: once you hit at least several hundred million apparently you no longer dribble or otherwise soil yourself (with at least one exception we know of). It may be that a personal assistant always has a spare beige outfit at the ready. No doubt a crack NYT investigative team will get to the um...bottom...of this. Or maybe Sir David Attenborough.
I like to smoke in my beige Toyota Corolla
I generally do it in my tan Subaru Echelon.
My first car was a beige 1979 Toyota Corolla. Loved that little car but it definitely didn't look very cool by the time I got it 1990.
😂
As “per usual” (that is a phrase used by the upper echelon I think) you have made me LAUGH. OUT. LOUD. Need to clean up the coffee off of my table!!
Exactly! By my reckoning, Dave owes me several computer keyboards, 2 dress shirts and a formerly off-white couch due to my spitting coffee out of my mouth (or nose?) reading his material.
But was it Mocha coffee?
The couch kinda looked mocha after coffee landed on it
All you had to do is Was dousethe sofa in coffee.🤣
Isn’t “mocha” coffee redundant?
Is your couch now beige? If so, he has helped you.
This happened to me so often over the years that I made a rule for myself: Put down the drink BEFORE reading Dave Barry. Saved me a fortune in dry cleaning bills. And embarrassment.
I forgot the question.
I've noticed another part of the trend of the rich and/or cool.
Stupid stuff to stream.
One show, called The Cub (name changed to protect someone) is about a restaurant. In the latest installment, everyone smokes and everyone has angst. Lots of angst. The review in The Guardianella referenced said angst and 20+ years old people struggling with.... I dunno.
These people all appear to be about 40.
The rich are portrayed in a show called "No, Not Like That". It's apparently about the struggle of owning an entire brownstone without furnishings. Or something. Three or four, it's hard to tell, women talk mostly about faking sex. I have yet to determine, and I am 162 years old, how one fakes sex. If anyone knows, please clue me in. This important topic requires wearing designer clothes. These women also possess a "woman's right to shoes".
What was the question?
(laughing really hard) Well done!
Perhaps I may be of some assistance in the matter of faking sex. As the writer of two "quality" (meaning actual three-point lighting as opposed to two guys with flashlights) porn films in my misbegotten youth --- as much as a porn film can be said to be "written" --- I can attest to the existence of asexual or nonsexual sex. Having assumed, as would any perspiring screenwriter under the circumstances, that my presence was required on set (in this case, the director's home charged to the film's budget) in the event one or another responsive groan, moan or "Oh yeah!" needed polishing, I can sadly report that there was nothing whatsoever sexual about it. Like the guy said, "Parts is parts." Oh, there were the more or less expected and common-before-marriage acts but, with the director regularly repositioning the bodies, the effect was much like customizing a footlong at Subway --- only ultimately far less satisfying.
This, this right here, is why I come to the halls of Substack.
Your deep dive into my query answered a long held question and shed light upon another. Yes, you read that right.
Asking the man at PReP Boyz the difference between two fuses, he said "parts is parts". I now understand his answer.
The well dressed man in the bar asked if I would like to audition for a starring role in, and I quote, "a blue movie". Thanks to your insight, I almost know what he meant. But, why blue?
Yes my ID was homemade, stop asking.
I did not make that up. Read my autobiography.
So many memories stirred up by today's column, Dave...
When I was a young(ish) man -- I imagine about the same time you were raking muck over the Downington Tuba Affair -- I lived across the Delaware River from you, in South Jersey. We were all thrilled by the still-new phenomenon of "shopping malls," especially by the King of Shopping Malls. No, no, not the King of Prussia Mall -- that was nice, but it was in Pennsylvania. I mean the Echelon Mall. Yeah: ECHELON Mall. And it had two levels, even, so you could move easily between "the upper Echelon" and "the lower Echelon" just by stepping on an escalator. Talk about social mobility.
Anyway, there was a pub in Echelon Mall. (Lower Echelon, needless to say.) And because it was socially acceptable, but also cool, I once went into the pub by myself, sat at a table, ordered a drink, and lit a cigarette. None of the young(ish) women likewise by themselves seemed terribly impressed by my suavity. I'm not sure if it was because I was smoking, or maybe they were put off by my too-casual slouch in the chair, or by what I was drinking. Which wasn't bourbon or even beer, but something called a "stinger" -- a concoction of brandy and creme de menthe served (in this case) in a delicate little stemware glass, like a hobbit's martini. I had to hold it between thumb and forefinger as I sipped at it in my manly way. And they apparently were not impressed either by my softly humming the Marlboro theme song. (I think I was actually smoking Newports then.)
If I were a contemporary Times feature writer, I might've said I was out painting the town beige. I sure as hell wasn't painting it yoo-hoo.
I've never had a "stinger," but I think brandy and creme de menthe might be the ingredients for creosote.
I think creosote is the main ingredient in “Stingers.”
(laughing)
‘’A hobbit’s martini…” 😄
You failed as a chick magent, because you did not wear beige. Your big chance to be a trendsetter: Gone.
Damn! But I was young and unsophisticated.
Bravo John!
I tried a cigarette when I was 15 and immediately decided that swallowing a live toad would probably taste better (full disclosure: I did not attempt to swallow a toad). All the money saved from not buying cartons of cigarettes over the decades has enabled me to purchase some beige-colored clothing, even though I am NOT in an echelon. It's really not the best color for me, so I wear colorful accessories so I won't blend in with the billionaires. Blended Billionaires and Beige Echelon might be good band names.
I would prefer “billionaires in a blender” for the band name
Isn’t that a Minor Threat song?
Oooooo…I would absolutely go see a band named Beige Echelon.
The stupidity of a girl 'in love' - I started smoking in 1972 when my boyfriend said "I wish you smoked so I could bum cigarettes from you". 22 years later I quit cold turkey, about 21 years after I no longer had that boyfriend.
I can't decide whether Mocha Mousse or Onslaught of Beigeness would be a better name for a band.
Definitely Onslaught of Beigeness!
Mocha Mousse just has the cuteness factor 🫎
I think Mocha Mousse would be a great girl band maybe composed of national park employees. Onslaught of Beigeness is an edgier band maybe Heavy Metal. (Does heavy metal still exist?) It’s guys with attitude who definitely smoke and rarely shower.
Mocha Mousse sounds like Mickey Mouse's French girlfriend (after he broke up with Minnie).
LOL!!!
A girl band with poofy hair! Coffee colored poofy hair.
No question: definitely Onslaught of Beigeness!!
We boomers smoked, knowing it would eventually kill us, because we were convinced the mushroom clouds would get us first. I still have a small metal desk in my basement, to crawl under, should some Soviet Geezer push the red bottom.
We have all pushed the red bottom.
Speak for yourself, Dave Barry. But don't you think BigE is onto something here---smoking may be coming back in vogue (pardon my French) because the mushroom cloud is looming a lot closer these days. And look who's got his finger on the red bottom!
"Push the red bottom": best typo ever, and don't you dare think of regretting it! 👍
Don’t baboons have red bottoms? They are also brown on top.
The Times recently informed me that "everyone" is watching Love Island. This came as a surprise as I
a) used to believe that "everyone" included me, and
b) this meant that none of my friends and/or acquaintances had ever told me about this show and that they were all watching it without me.
Naturally, this was all very hurtful. Now I suspect they're also smoking when I'm not around. Maybe they only smoke while watching Love Island, I don't know.
There’s a TV program (or is it a movie?) called Love Island?
I heard about this on NPR, and it sounded just as awful as you might imagine. Bunch of hot (as defined by the zeitgeist, aka reality television imagineers) 20-somethings installed on an island and supposed to pair off. But the stunning innovation is that there's a cash prize involved. I failed to learn what it's awarded for.
In high school all my friends smoked and I didn’t know about it until one time they finally invited me to come on a car ride with them and they all lit up.! But I didn’t smoke until my first ever day at college because then I had to be cool And nobody knew me!
I'm going to buy a beige jacket so everyone will think I'm a millionaire. I would buy a whole beige outfit to pass as a billionaire, but I don't want to make everyone think I'm a snob.
As a kid you handled creosote, eh? Healthwise, smoking was an improvement.
Isn't that the black stuff they paint on railroad ties and telephone poles to make them last longer?
Correct.
“ Brief direct contact with large amounts of coal tar creosote
may result in skin irritation, chemical burns on the eyes, convulsions
and mental confusion, kidney or liver problems, unconsciousness, and
even death.”
https://epi.dph.ncdhhs.gov/oee/hace/docs/CreosoteFS.pdf
And Even Death would be a fantastic name for a band.
"Mental confusion" ... perfect training for Substack writers!!
I reasonably always loved the smell of creosote. I have a hard time choosing perfume.
From the source, to avoid saying it reminds us of 💩:
PANTONE® 17-1230 Mocha Mousse is an evocative soft brown that transports our senses into the pleasure and deliciousness it inspires. A warming rich brown hue, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse nurtures with its suggestion of the delectable quality of cacao, chocolate and coffee, appealing to our desire for comfort. Infused with subtle elegance and earthy refinement, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse presents a tasteful touch of glamour. A flavorful brown shade, PANTONE 17-1230 Mocha Mousse envelopes us with its sensorial warmth.
Seriously, it was just on my feed, but the post featured lovely colors and this was, rightfully, buried.
It looks like melted chocolate ice cream.
Except it’s just…not… quite the chocolate color we know and love.
True.
I think calling your duds Yoo-Hoo brown would mean immediate expulsion from either echelon.
I’m seriously surprised he’s still alive.
Think how I feel!
Shocked. Shocked, I’m sure.
I guess this explains why that AI thought you were dead.
Maybe you’re the comic equivalent of Kieth Richards?
Dave is waaay more handsome than Keith.
A moldy rutabaga is more handsome than Keith.
Cosmetically, Keith did not improve with age. He is still trucking though.
Seriously! Can you say, Superfund Site? It’s kind of fun to say, actually.
Superfund Site sounds like a great name for a band, too!!
He probably still smells like it, too. 😆
I think mocha mousse looks like more like a bandaid. When I join an echelon (I’m assuming that’s how it’s done) I shall wear only bandaids
I knew that I recognized that color from somewhere! 😆
Don’t worry about Woodward & Bernstein. Most people haven’t heard from them in 40 years (unless they watch MSNBC or read one of their best selling books). Despite Donald Trump’s daily efforts to be the funniest man alive, you still have that market cornered with thousands of us anxiously awaiting your weekly guidance.
Have to disagree. There is nothing tragic about his presidency
Yeah, tragic is a woefully inadequate adjective.
For a president, he is pretty funny
Tragically, maybe. He's always been “funny” and usually only when he’s not trying to be. He’s like a personified bad joke.
Low unemployment lower inflation defends our borders removing criminals verge of expanded Abe Accords. Nothing bad with his presidency
Ha! Clever way to find out which income bracket your subscribers are in, Dave. If I were not in the upper echelon would I be able to afford an annual subscription to Dave Barry's substack? I think not. In my day (I'm almost 70, so it's been a long day), my female classmates smoked to lose or maintain their weight. Thinness ='d coolness. In this modern day of Vegovy and Ozempic, cigarette smoking must be gaining in popularity strictly for the coolness factor.
Side note: I love that you add photos to your stories, but let it be known that I read Dave Barry's substack strictly for the articles.
P.S. What happens if I put a checkmark in the box below this comment bubble that says, "Also share to Notes"?
I have no idea.
Uh oh. Clear your hard drive.
What happens is you open a spam cannon, drowning you in hundreds of unsolicited Substack comments and convo invites, from people you've never heard of.
😳
Could the next trendy billionaire color be Emphysema Ecru? I will head to Switzerland to find out.
I believe the Times pays the expenses of its trend reporters; please let me know how I can submit my expenses for this important work to the author of this Substack 🙏
Though I never smoked, from zero years old through seventeen, my house smoked for me, and for nine months before THAT, my mother smoked for me. My dad smoked three packs a day; never more because he also had to sleep. His fingers were so brown I thought we might be mixed race. My mother only smoked two packs a day because, you know, back then it was considered bad taste for a woman to get all uppity and outdo her husband at ANYTHING. She did, however, inadvertently outdo him...at life. He died at sixty-two at the hands of his third smoking-related heart attack. She lasted another nine years before choking out on emphysema. I would sooner kiss a banana slug on the mouth, than Beyoncé after a cigarette. (That is assuming I could figure out which end of the slug was...well, you know.
My household smoked for me, too. I remain the only member of my family of six to have never smoked a cigarette AND to have gotten and kicked cancer’s ass twice! Boom!💥
Good for you! I never smoked a cigarette either...actually neither my brother or sister did. My sister wasn't able to kick the cancer, but at least it wasn't smoking related. My brother is close to outliving our dad by 20 years. So far, I've got him by 17
Dave, I believe you covered the subject of light colored clothes in your discussion of dribblage in a previous newsletter. But then it's a biological fact that continues to confound medical science: once you hit at least several hundred million apparently you no longer dribble or otherwise soil yourself (with at least one exception we know of). It may be that a personal assistant always has a spare beige outfit at the ready. No doubt a crack NYT investigative team will get to the um...bottom...of this. Or maybe Sir David Attenborough.