Confession #1: I like Chick Flicks

"Confessions" are a new series from FCN in which readers submit or the FCN staff write secret or private confessions for the amusement of others. Like other confession driven writing enterprises, the author of the confession will remain anonymous. Unlike other confession driven writing enterprises, the truth of the confession will not be guaranteed or even supposed.

If you have a confession for the faithful FCN few, send it in to us at FunnyClassNotes -at- gmail -dot- com

Confession #1: I like Chick Flicks

I'm a guy. I'm a shade under six feet tall and athletic. I have a pretty deep voice and I know how to talk tough. I don't flinch very often and I can't stand sissies. That's why it's ironic that I like chick flicks.

Guys are supposed to appreciate the "art" of dramatic gun, grimace and go home flicks, a genre generally labeled as "action movies." We men are supposed to be disgusted at the simple plots, thin acting and male pansies who adorn the screen of so-called "date movies." We are supposed to roll our eyes when our female friends talk about the latest Lindsay Lohan, Charlize Theron or Mandy Moore production; we aren't supposed to appreciate the clichéd acting of Kate Winslet or get excited at the thought of a movie with Cameron Diaz.

I break the mold. I thought John Tucker Must Die was an absolute delight of a film. I thoroughly enjoyed The Holiday and thought Mean Girls was one of Lohan's better productions although Just My Luck gave it a run for its money; Bridget Jone's Diary left me panting and Something's Gotta Give was so sweet; The English Patient was slow, but worth it and Titantic, oh, Titanic!

The Horse Whisperer was one of Robert Redford's better performances; You've Got Mail was the highlight of Tom Hank's career and was a perfect showcase for Meg Ryan; The Beach House had me spinning until the end; and one line brings back all the happy memories of Truly, Madly, Deeply: "I really, truly, madly, passionately, remarkably, deliciously... juicily love you...." Oh yeah!.

Don't get me wrong; Rogers and Hammerstein is a bit much and kiddie movies don't do the trick. Some musicals are excellent, others are too slow to justify the viewing and I outgrew Anne Hatheway years ago.

As a rule of thumb, if it's on Lifetime or O!, I will probably appreciate it. Like any genre, it needs to be done well; I didn't confess to liking cheap movies, just chick flicks.

(As an aside, I just realized it took me about three minutes to write the above four paragraphs. That's how conversant I am in chick flicks. Ask me any question about the genre; I can probably answer it).

It's not that I don't like action movies - the Die Hard series was excellent and Jason Bourne is still my man crush - it's just that I also appreciate the tender films. That's my confession.

EDIT: Thanks to an email from a concerned reader for the reminder, I should note that none of the above referenced movies come with the FCN endorsement. In order to garner the requisite knowledge about the films, we are sure our author viewed the Clean Films version or closed his eyes during the inappropriate sequences.

Shopping Trip (part 1)

Can I make a confession? Of course I can, half of FCN's posts begin with that facetious five word sentence. What a hoax. This blog is a non-catholic confessional and you, the faithful few, are our priests. It's a cyber line on which we hang out all our filthiest laundry. Well, here it goes: My confession is that until last week, I had never been on a real shopping trip. Sure, I'd done an occasional pit stop at a department store, sneaking through the doors afraid that my other guy friends might see me penetrate the sanctuary of retail clothing -- but in all my twenty years of living (and boy have I lived), I've never been on a bonafide shopping trip, with a female intent on spending money.

It's stories like these that make me glad we have so few readers: less embarrassment for me.

But this story isn't about me, it's about Chester, my faithful alter ego and imaginary childhood friend who stays with me despite the number of times I've stood him up, and Denise, the girl with whom he'd scheduled a date.

Chester, in case you don't recall from earlier, has trouble with decisiveness. He wants to be able to open a young woman's door for her without asking her permission first. He wants to be able to choose what octane gas he wants at the pump without changing his mind after swiping his credit card. He wants be a man's man and make moves without looking back. But his irksome mind keeps thinking of new, better ideas and he lacks the wherewithal to say "no."

The "what to do" conversation had gone something like this:

DENISE: "Chester, do you have plans for today or did you just come over to sit on my couch?"

CHESTER: "Well, not really. I mean, it's a nice couch. And I've always been a fan of the Espo Modern Tan. Is this microfiber? It's nice. Soft. Firm but pliable. Sitting on it is like dermabrasion for your behind. Very pleasant, actually. So I'm not knocking your sofa. It's just...there are a lot of things we could do today. That new Clive Owen movie just came out, In N' Out is giving away discounted double-doubles or we could just chill. Some of those options have a lot of merit...this couch is nice."

DENISE: "You wanna go shopping?"

CHESTER: "Okay."

And that is how Chester ended up in the GAP, a clothing store named for the hole it leaves in your wallet.

The GAP is a confusing store. The walls are lined with all manner of clothing, most of which looks identical, and the center areas are dominated by table-like kiosks which hold even more clothing. Most of the clothes are really nicely folded, which struck Chester as odd.

Nobody calls GAP "GAP." It is always "the GAP," the way a court jester might refer to his king as "His Majesty." This regal designation actually works to improve the store's aura and I found myself humbled to be in the royal sanctum of anti-nudity. Because that's all clothes really are: an open war on nudity. Ever since the Fall, we've tried to combat our embarrassment by covering ourselves up, as if a little textile could obscure how ugly we are. Some people, it seems, are able to wear clothes and still lose the battle. Their ugliness is on display for everyone.

Maybe Denise thought Chester was ugly. Chester didn't want to dwell too long on this ego-diminishing thought and forced his mind to move on.
Although, if she did think he was ugly, why was she going out with him? She was going out with him to a clothing store, silly Chester, to purchase coverings. Coverings that would obscure his appearance.

Chester was trying hard to look at the clothes, the shirtless GAP model on the wall (who was, no doubt, trying to hawk a shirt), anything to keep his mind off his own personal appearance, when Denise came up with an armful of clothes. Here, try these on.

"Denise, this is going to be awful expensive," Chester responded. "I was thinking I might just buy a pair of jeans..."

"Yes..."

"Well, you've picked out a third of the store. I'm not that rich..." Chester had told Denise that he was independently wealthy. Chester figured Denise believed him and he didn't want to pop that balloon.

"Yes...well, you can't very well go buy something without trying on a lot of stuff first. You need to search and experiment."

With an "Oh," Chester marched into the dressing room and after interrupting a plus-size woman in a state of undress ("sorry ma'am...that may be a little tight"), settled into the clothes-trying business.

It took forever. Each pair was exactly alike, but Denise found unique things to say about them. Chester didn't know where she found all the adjectives -- words like "casual," "formal," "ripped" and "boggy." But he appreciated the fact that he was the center of attention and so put up with the charade.

In the end, Denise didn't like any of the jeans and they left the store without any purchases. To Chester, the trip had been a dismal failure, but Denise was in bright spirits and appeared satisfied with the outing.

Check back in later for part 2, when Denise tries on clothes and Chester has to be critical.

Prayer of Confession

Heads were bowed, eyes were closed and hands were folded as the pastor led his congregation in a Prayer of Confession and Declaration of Forgiveness. Everyone was still and silent and pastor’s soft words were heard plainly from the pulpit.

“We come to you Father mired in and cognizant of our transgressions...”

In the front row, between two fatigued parents, sat a young girl. She looked to be somewhere in years between five and seven, but was a tad stout and had the ornery air of a person who enjoys rebellion, which rendered an accurate age assessment impossible. To that point during the service she had made a number of mischievous dalliances toward inappropriate behavior, but she had never gone so far as to cause a disturbance. Only my eyes, peeled as they were to youthful societal infractions, picked up on her desire to sin.

With both parents distracted by the prayer, the young girl saw her opportunity. Posterity will never know exactly what she did that scratched her sin itch, but it must have been satisfying because it immediately drew a “SHHHH” from one of her parents.

Pastor continued his prayer:

”We acknowledge our shortcomings and humble ourselves in Your presence knowing that You and You alone...”

The girl in the front row succumbed again to temptation and this violation put her over the threshold. Mother grabbed daughter’s wrist and marched deliberately toward the back exit. Both women were wearing stylish sandals that made a distinctive flip-flop sound as they moved, such that even without lifting my head I could track their location.

“We disappoint You routinely – such shortcomings are in our nature – but You in Your benevolence see fit to correct us...”

The walls of the church building were thin and the sound of a sobbing girl was not restrained to the nursery room. Apparently her rebellious desire was extinguished quickly by a stern look from mom and in its place were shrieks of expectant agony. The girl knew she was going to get a spanking and everyone in the sanctuary knew it too.

“Save us heavenly Father from the punishment of eternal damnation and the flames of hell...”

The retort of a blunt impact reverberated around the room and was followed by a bellow of unrestrained agony punctuated at times by girly sobs. Another smack was recorded in the ledger or our ears and more screams reinforced pastor’s prayer.

”You know our hearts and minds, please see our penitence...”

“I’M SOO SORRY MAMA!” The temptation was firmly erased from the young girl’s mind and her only thoughts were for her own comfort. Although she was hidden from view, I am sure tears were streaming down her cheeks and that sitting down would be unpleasant for the next few minutes.

Another voice, much quieter than the young girl’s sobs and more feminine than the pastor’s prayer joined in saying “It’s OK, honey. Come on; all’s forgiven.”

“Thank you Father for sending Your son to give His sanctifying blood on our behalf...”

The flips-flops made their way back to the front of the sanctuary, accented by gentle sniffles from the young girl. Daughter looked embarrassed and mother appeared oblivious to the fact that the entire church had witnessed her meted punishment. Pastor made no comment, he only concluded his prayer:

”In Your blessed name we pray, Amen.”

FCN Classic: Gazing At A Piece Of Meat

What follows is one of our favorite posts that got attention from The Rebelution and shows that Funny Class Notes can use humor to make a point. Originally published here.

Please, take a long look at the above juicy slab. Gaze at it, fill your nostrils with the imagined scent of its cooked glory and think of what an amazing taste it will bring to your buds. Doesn't it look wonderful? When cooked, maybe it will be seasoned with a foreign herb or domestic spice, perhaps it will be served in its natural splendor or maybe with a dab of A1. It might be made rare or well, but regardless it will melt in the taster's mouth. The cut can be prepared so many ways; so many tender possibilities.

I have a confession to make: I can't stop looking at meat. Every day, when no one is looking, I open up cookbooks or surf recipe webpages trying to find a good shot of a savory cut. Sometimes I sneak down to the local supermarket and stand around the butcher section for hours, absorbing the rays of uncooked meat.

As I look, I imagine the possibilities: A T-Bone with lemon and pepper. A sirloin made just so. Or maybe a classic Bourbon Street steak. What cut should I pick? How will I eat it? How long will I cook it? At what temperature? The more I think, the more my mouth waters and the longer I gaze.

When I eat other foods, I'll keep a cookbook handy to imagine I am actually eating steak. For that matter, I hardly go anywhere without a photo to remind me of the awesome flavor of meat. One look at the picture, and my desire is temporarily satisfied, although it often returns stronger than before. My computer desktop image is similar to the one above, only it has been airbrushed to remove the fat and accent the bone lines. Edited photos look better and are more effective at inducing hunger, so I prefer them to the untouched images. Sometimes I purchase videos of people eating meat or read stories about other's culinary adventures. This, too, can be satisfying for a fleeting instant, but meat has a way of always calling you back.

I have purchased large posters of uncooked meat and placed them on the walls of my room. Each slab is in a different provocative position. Some of them are adorned with sides of vegetables or steaming mashed potatoes, others are left at awkward angles leaving the viewer to guess what is on the other side. They are all beautiful cuts, well above average, some even surgically enhanced to look more like meat. When I wake up, they welcome me to the new day.

Every now and then, when my family purchases meat at the supermarket, I go nearly ecstatic with anticipation. Sometimes I wake up during the night, rip open the plastic wrap and hastily cook the cut. The result is often unsatisfying and pangs of regret tell me that I might have enjoyed it more had I waited for the others. Other times I gorge myself, eating many times a humanly decent serving in one sitting. That feels good during the feast, but the negative implications of stuffing one's face become readily apparent soon after. A belly ache, temporary inability to eat and, in rare circumstances, food poisoning are inevitable.

After a great deal of soul searching and self reflection, I've decided that my habit is perfectly natural. I mean think about it: we all need to eat, right? Looking at pictures is just part of anticipating a natural human physiological need. Videos, desktop images and stories are a natural extension of human hunger . Those who feel I should put the cookbook down or reduce my consumption habits are obviously starved themselves, or they wouldn't feel the need to criticize. Most of them are vegetarians anyway.

Sometimes I get the feeling I am not the only one. Others look at meat in an equally lurid way and that makes me wonder. Tell me: Do you enjoy gazing at a piece of meat?

Torture Gets a Bad Rep

We were recently asked to come up with a position on torture. Well, here it is.

Please understand that this position was not easily come by.Yesterday, all three FCN contributors wandered out into a deep forest. We sat down and debated the issue until we came up with a solution that everyone found equitable. By this, I mean we sat on old tree stumps pressing our chins into our knuckles with serious expressions and dreaming about girls.

The United Nations Convention Against Torture And Other Cruel, Inhuman Or Degrading Treatment Or Punishment (TUNCATAOCIODTOP - pronounced "Toonkata Ochitop") defines torture as: "Any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity."

This definition is an oversimplification.

Please understand that for someone to simply ask: "Do you support torture?" is totally unjust and simplistic. We might support torture in some cases but not in others, or only on certain people, under certain requirements and conditions. So, we cannot simply say we support torture or don't. It's a bit more nuanced. Here is our official position:

Interrogational torture using normal or comparably normal means is justified in any circumstance in which the information to which the tortured party is exclusively or uniquely privy to is significant to the torturing party, and when the aforementioned information cannot be obtained through less violent means (barring extraordinary or comparably extraordinary measures, as well as those with an unreasonably high risk or failure, cost, or other detrimental consequences), and when the unavailability of such information would place the torturing party proper in significant danger or risk, and when there is reasonable certainty that the tortured party is privy to such information, and only if this information is deemed to justify such action by a responsible adult in a position or authority and/or responsibility and who is in complete or reasonable control of his or her mental and ethical faculties and who explicitly and knowingly authorizes the act while operating in an official capacity that gives him or her jurisdiction over the action and/or execution of the torture, and then only if such torture is motivated exclusively by the information after which the torturing party proper is seeking and never engages in means which could not be deemed normal or comparably normal unless one or more of the following two conditions is fulfilled: first, if the torture is consentual, second, if the authorizing party deems that obtaining the information by a certain critical time is both unlikely to happen if normal or comparably normal means are used, and that this failure would place the torturing party proper in such grave danger that it would be unjust not to take More drastic measures, in which case extraordinary or comparably extraordinary means, as well as those with a high risk of failure,cost, or other detrimental consequences may be taken with little or no regard to the current and future well-being of the tortured party or the ethical framework of the torturing party singular, provided the detrimental consquences if any do not outweigh the benefits to the torturing party proper, considering both the immediate short-term effects of the act and the precedent set by it, and then only if the torturing party proper is considered to have a moral gravity equal to or greater than the tortured party and what/who is represented by the tortured party.

In contrast, torture for obtaining confessions/punishing/discriminating/intimidating people is always wrong.

So, while we stand in near-direct opposition of the position taken by dear old Toonkata Ochitop, we do think this position is worthy of public debate. Yesterday, we called their (Toonkata Ochitop's) offices and tried to contact a spokesman for an interview. This morning we got a post-it note in the mail filled with disturbing, florid, and graphic threats.

Oh well. Though this position paper is unlikely to be widely read or make much of a positive impact in the world, we did learn a few things from the process of writing it. For instance: It's amazing the things you can cook up on old tree stumps (I mean that metaphorically).

Gazing at a piece of meat...

Please, take a long look at the above juicy slab. Gaze at it, fill your nostrils with the imagined scent of its cooked glory and think of what an amazing taste it will bring to your buds. Doesn't it look wonderful? When cooked, maybe it will be seasoned with a foreign herb or domestic spice, perhaps it will be served in its natural splendor or maybe with a dab of A1. It might be made rare or well, but regardless it will melt in the taster's mouth. The cut can be prepared so many ways; so many tender possibilities.

I have a confession to make: I can't stop looking at meat. Every day, when no one is looking, I open up cookbooks or surf recipe webpages trying to find a good shot of a savory cut. Sometimes I sneak down to the local supermarket and stand around the butcher section for hours, absorbing the rays of uncooked meat.

As I look, I imagine the possibilities: A T-Bone with lemon and pepper. A sirloin made just so. Or maybe a classic Bourbon Street steak. What cut should I pick? How will I eat it? How long will I cook it? At what temperature? The more I think, the more my mouth waters and the longer I gaze.

When I eat other foods, I'll keep a cookbook handy to imagine I am actually eating steak. For that matter, I hardly go anywhere without a photo to remind me of the awesome flavor of meat. One look at the picture, and my desire is temporarily satisfied, although it often returns stronger than before. My computer desktop image is similar to the one above, only it has been airbrushed to remove the fat and accent the bone lines. Edited photos look better and are more effective at inducing hunger, so I prefer them to the untouched images. Sometimes I purchase videos of people eating meat or read stories about other's culinary adventures. This, too, can be satisfying for a fleeting instant, but meat has a way of always calling you back.

I have purchased large posters of uncooked meat and placed them on the walls of my room. Each slab is in a different provocative position. Some of them are adorned with sides of vegetables or steaming mashed potatoes, others are left at awkward angles leaving the viewer to guess what is on the other side. They are all beautiful cuts, well above average, some even surgically enhanced to look more like meat. When I wake up, they welcome me to the new day.

Every now and then, when my family purchases meat at the supermarket, I go nearly ecstatic with anticipation. Sometimes I wake up during the night, rip open the plastic wrap and hastily cook the cut. The result is often unsatisfying and pangs of regret tell me that I might have enjoyed it more had I waited for the others. Other times I gorge myself, eating many times a humanly decent serving in one sitting. That feels good during the feast, but the negative implications of stuffing one's face become readily apparent soon after. A belly ache, temporary inability to eat and, in rare circumstances, food poisoning are inevitable.

After a great deal of soul searching and self reflection, I've decided that my habit is perfectly natural. I mean think about it: we all need to eat, right? Looking at pictures is just part of anticipating a natural human physiological need. Videos, desktop images and stories are a natural extension of human hunger . Those who feel I should put the cookbook down or reduce my consumption habits are obviously starved themselves, or they wouldn't feel the need to criticize. Most of them are vegetarians anyway.

Sometimes I get the feeling I am not the only one. Others look at meat in an equally lurid way and that makes me wonder. Tell me: Do you enjoy gazing at a piece of meat?