Why I'd let iPhone Raise my Kids

Because there's an app for that. Seriously. It's called "BabySitter App," and it's free and it's marvelous. It flashes pictures of adorable baby animals that make noises when you tickle them. My kids crap themselves over it, and it opens an invaluable window of opportunity to dart out for a quick Brazilian wax. True, the disclaimer does mention something about never leaving children "unattended." But you know how squeamish everyone is about lawsuits, so I'm going with my gut on this one...that there is nothing the iPhone can't do, including a better job than me at rearing my offspring.

You may be interested to know that I was a BlackBerry girl. And I swore I'd never be swayed to the dark side of the iPhone. But truth be told, I was getting tired of watching half the world’s population parading happily around with their little iPhones, laughing like they were filming a Mentos commercial. I simply had to see what all the buzz was about (and, also, I spilled a fair amount of miso paste into my BlackBerry, which jammed up the little tracking ball, rendering it useless). So off to the AT&T store I went. A mere few hours later, I realized that my life will forever be divided into "before iPhone" and "after iPhone." Sure, the iPhone train left the station about four years ago, but hey, better late than never, right?

And what a reawakening it has been! In just the past few days, the sky seems bluer, food tastes sweeter, and my App Store account has seen more action than that chick Meredith in my sixth grade class who was the first of us to develop boobs (I always thought they were a little "torpedoey", but whatever.) And I'm having trouble finding something that the iPhone can't do to make my life more efficient, and, quite honestly, more fun. This little "miracle touchie box", as I like to call it, (hope it catches on), lets me do all my banking, bill paying, shopping, internet surfing, movie watching, game playing, navigating, lie detecting, diet tracking, and blogging (you're welcome). The only problem is that it does too much. Since I got the iPhone, I've been trying out dozens of apps and I've created a short review of the ones you have to have, and the ones that might just be a little too superflous to be worth the download. I've graded them for you.

Pandora Internet Radio: This app is free and it allows you to create a bunch of radio stations based on artists and genres that you like. And you get to press a little "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" icon during a song and this alerts the little geniuses that Apple managed to shrink down to nano size that live in my phone (a la Dennis Quaid in Innerspace) to keep that particular song in my station, or to nix it. Awesome, and it eliminates the need for hundreds of dollars in song downloads. A+

The Weather Channel: A must have for anybody who prefers to have their weather knowledge gained via vibrant iPhone display as opposed to stepping outside. Very useful. A

Cooks Illustrated: I've really been getting into cooking lately, and I LOVE this one. It's an infinite number of recipes at my finger tips. But I gotta give it a low grade because having a "smart phone" nearby while cooking is how I got miso paste in my BlackBerry to begin with. Idiotic idea, stupids. D

Words with Friends: If there is only one app you ever install again, make it the "Sex Offender Locater." If you get a second choice, then make it "Words with Friends." It's a scrabble game you play with other iPhone users, and I've never been more enthralled with a game before. It's completely addicting, and feels awesome when you win, even when you use the free cheat apps to help you figure out the tough words. I've included a screenshot of a game that I won that in no way was cheating involved. A++

PSY Beer: This app simulates pouring and drinking beer by yourself, (note: a symptom of alcoholism), or with other iPhone users. You can't actually consume the digital liquid. This is just a dirty beer tease. F

Did I mention the iPhone also makes phone calls? Well it does! Although, to be honest, I find that feature a bit cumbersome and confusing. Actually, I'm thinking maybe I'll get myself another phone, like, say, a BlackBerry, with which I'll use exclusively for phone calls.

Either way, iHeart the iPhone. :P

Less Than Pointless Toys

As a mom with two toddlers, at least one of the four televisions in my home is tuned to Nickelodeon, Disney or PBS Sprout during most, if not all, of the day. Which means I get to bear witness to lots of toy commercials. What really shocks me though is the lunacy of some of the toy concepts that corporate America expects us to swallow. Yet, just when I see a ridiculous and pointless toy pop up on my 52" high-def plasma, in come my kids falling all over themselves to get a better look. I'm baffled at the genius marketing strategies to make even the most pointless toys appear remarkable, leaving my three-year-old physically ill if we don't make an immediate trip to Toys "R" Us.

Kung Zhu Battle Hamsters

I hope that the great minds in research and development at Cepia LLC realized that "zhu" rhymes with "fu" and that was the reason for this ridiculous marriage of concepts, because there is literally no other possible connection between hamsters and the ancient Chinese fighting art that would warrant the production of a billion of these fuckers. Don't be tempted to mistake these "Kung Zhu Zhus" as traditional "Zhu Zhu Pets." The hot toy of last Christmas, Zhu Zhu pets scurry around cooing, squeaking and bouncing off of any surface they might encounter along their two-double-A-battery lifetime, while Kung Zhu Battle Hamsters scurry around cooing, squeaking, and bouncing off any surface they might encounter along their two-double-A-battery-lifetime while wearing a cool suit of plastic armor.

Regarded as the "militant hamster arm of Zhu Zhu", (because even motorized hamsters need protective armed forces), this new line features "Special Forces," "Ninja Warriors", "Rangers", and the adorably deadly "Skull Tribe Battle Hamsters". And your Kung Zhu collection would not be complete without the assortment of battle vehicles, training arena, and "the magic tablet of Zhu" (literally, because without the training arena and the strategically placed tunnels leading the hamsters into the same tiny battle circle, there's no way to force the usually-cordial Zhu Zhu hamsters to repeatedly bump each other's noses - and then you'd just be stuck with hamsters dressed in ridiculous battle gear arbitrarily scurrying about in opposite directions, like they don't realize their deadliest nemesis is stuck circling the corner by mom's favorite Fichus).

So what is the real reason for Kung Zhu Battle Hamsters? Easy. Greed-induced-insanity. (And a hail Mary pitch from the marketing exec with a hard-on for Jet Li). The original toy appealed mostly to girls, and even boys in Pull-ups know it's gay to run around playing with toy hamsters. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin that said "nothing is faggy when it's covered in armor"; the statement rings with truth.

However, I think this toy company went a much more complicated direction than they needed to in order to fill in this marketing hole. Below I've found a concept that I think is much simpler, cheaper, and much more appealing to the male youth demographic.

What we have here is a classic hamster, (actually cheaper than a motorized Zhu Zhu Pet), which you can find in any pet store, and your run-of-the-mill steak knife found in most any kitchen (notice the serrated edge; this is important). Add a little electrical tape, and another hamster armed with a comparable steak knife strapped to its back, and then we really have a party.

Pro Thumb Wrestling Play Set

This gem of a toy is perfect for anyone who feels like thumb wrestling, but with the added challenge of an obnoxious plastic obstruction making the entire act near impossible. Call me a traditionalist, but I prefer a good ol' fashioned naked thumb-wrastlin' the way God intended. Is it a surprise that this concept is Japanese-born? Nope. Because the Japanese know exactly how simple-minded Americans are.

But what I like most about this toy is the careful thought that went into the design. The gold-thread covered ropes are perfect if you or your partner's thumb wants to throw a "Cactus Jack Clothesline", and there are turnbuckles in the event you want to attempt a "Diamond Dust forward somersault." What this toy is missing? Tiny folding chairs, and actual usefulness.

Pee & Poo

Okay, Japan, we get it; you think we're retarded. And we just may be for purchasing this absolutely pointless stuffed rendition of urine and fecal matter. Actually, I happen to think this is a great idea. In fact, I can think of nothing more satisfying than coming home after a long day of work to my bedroom to find a stuffed pile of shit on my bed gracing the collection of needlepoint pillows that my dead Great-Aunt battled through bone-curling arthritis to hand-make me. The only problem I find with this toy is the questionable realism; I have never experienced urine thick enough to form a healthy, whipped dollop such as portrayed by this toy, which I find troublesome. Also, if I may suggest, I believe that in the newly-released, updated edition of "Pee and Poo", the toy company should strive to include one other beloved bodily fluid that is sure to find its way to the hearts of millions. Menses.

Shrinky Dinks

Here's a great idea; let's take a plastic sheet of pictures, cut them out, and work our tiny little asses off to paint and decorate them to near perfection. And then, just when we have them exactly the way we want them after an afternoon of blood, sweat, tears, and absorbing toxic levels of lead-based paint, let's throw them in the oven for two minutes to make them two-thirds smaller! Fucking awesome! There are few things in my life that I've created that I didn't want to arbitrarily shrink to a smaller size. So "Shrinky-Dinks" really are the perfect toy for any kid that has zero pride in their work, and a down-sloping forehead.

It's toys like this that make me the angriest. There's literally nothing to them, they cost less than nothing to make, and yet we buy things like this until our hall closets are vomiting boxes of garbage. Some idiot in the seventies figured out that plastic shrinks when exposed to heat, and now he's living out the rest of his life on some island he owns in the Caribbean. Because of plastic. That shrinks.

Tamagotchi

This one may finally be old enough to be considered a classic. I can remember being a freshman in high school and drooling over the tiny, egg-shaped, digital key chains that donned the JNCO belt-loops of only the most popular nerds in school. For the longest time, the elusive "Tamagotchi" seemed near-impossible to find, until Japan decided to unleash the toy phenomenon in greater numbers so that "the rest of us" could have one (the cool kids had already moved on to Furbies).

So I had finally gotten my hands on one, a fateful day in September during a late Sunday trip to the boardwalk. The damn things were raining out of the sky by then, and I had won one in a fifty-cent crane machine. I took home my precious, turned it on, and watched the little digital animal-ish thing pop up. It asked for food, so I pressed the "food" button. It needed to be cleaned, and so I pressed that button when prompted. And then it wanted to play, which also required the ceremonious press of a third button. This cycle looped indefinitely. I was delighted! While I could still hear the late summer echoes of a neighborhood pickup football game in the distance through my bedroom window, and my friend Andrea was polishing up on her latest piano sonata, I was continuously pressing a combination of three buttons on my tiny egg in order to satiate the insatiable appetite of my digital pet. The pros? It taught me young the biggest lesson of life: that it's pointless. The cons? It taught me young the biggest lesson of life: that it's pointless.

Qdoba™ MexiCANT Grill

Few restaurant experiences I’ve had have evoked the reaction to run home and blog about it. In fact, my trip to Qdoba is officially the first. I would consider myself somewhat of a fresh-Mex connoisseur, having sampled most of what the region has to offer, at least by way of chain restaurants, and I am certain that the Qdoba Mexican Grill sits comfortably below all the others for their sub-par ambiance, bizarrely erratic service from a line of terrified minimum-wagers, and food that even my upper-digestive system refused to tolerate.

To begin the recount of my experience, I think it’s pertinent to mention I drove up to this brand new, fresh-Mex-style restaurant at around one-thirty in the afternoon, a prime lunch hour, and I should have been suspicious immediately upon noticing there were no cars in the parking lot (and someone vomiting loudly alongside the building). Visions of tacos and salsa roja were already dancing in my head, so I ignored the blaring red flags and forged ahead.

With its muted colors and lack of flare, the interior of this narrow restaurant mimicked the aesthetics of a dentist’s office, (without the calming paintings of Adirondack chairs set in front of an ocean sunset, or copies of Highlights Magazine). Again, there weren’t many patrons inside this establishment, and had there been, I may have received the warning to cease and desist, turn around and go home and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But instead, I walked to the “order here” sign and began scanning the giant menu perched above the way-to-many-to-be-necessary employees standing in a row as tight as Riverdance along the à la carte style line, with wide deer-in-the-headlights expressions, grasping their ladles with white knuckles.

Quickly, I gave up on trying to choose from the menu and decided to simply explain to the server what I wanted. When asked, I said “three grilled chicken soft tacos…and is it possible to get a side of black beans?” The request for the beans, (oddly, not an item listed on the menu) seemed to bring the entire restaurant to a grinding halt. The woman taking my order appeared frightened, and I thought I could see tears welling up in her eyes. And after a moment, she began consulting the many other stunned employees for guidance to this unprecedented dilemma. Now, from where I was standing, I could see the bubbling vat of black beans midway between her and I, and I began eyeballing the ladle in her hand, my gaping look jumping back and forth from the ladle to the stack of little soup cups only inches to the right of the black beans. Finally, only minutes later, a store manager approved the request after consulting a phonebook-thick Qdoba policy binder, and my order was officially in motion.

The sneeze-guard-lined serving station had the charm of a middle school cafeteria, and I moved down the line as I watched my tacos being assembled. It was at this point that I knew the experience was going south. After the same woman who had been serving me gave up to have a quiet panic attack in the back break room, a man who appeared to be the manager on duty took over, asking me to repeat my order. Once again, I asked for “three grilled chicken soft tacos,” and he carefully laid out three, overlapping tortillas and began spooning on the shredded chicken in lines so thin, I could have snorted them with a rolled up dollar bill. He then asked what toppings I wanted, to which I replied “pico de gallo” and “hot salsa”, and he added very small amounts to each of the three. When he asked “what else?” I replied, “thanks, that’s good”, and then he led the staff in a few moments of raucous laughter, tickled by the fact that I didn’t want lettuce, sour cream, or cheese on my tacos. Feeling shamed and embarrassed, I moved along to the cashier, (who told me my debit card was declined when I know it had money on it and she probably ran it wrong, thus forcing me to give her another card), paid, took my food, and left.

Finally I was ready to eat. Since the process of obtaining the food took so long, I couldn’t wait to bring the food home and I opened the to-go containers right in my car. The stench that poured out of the taco container bitch-slapped me like an irate pimp, but my hunger was too overwhelming. It just so happens that I’m on a low-carb diet this week, so I opened the tortillas and scooped out the innards with a fork, which took all but three seconds before I was staring at three empty, grease-stained tortillas. My taste buds couldn’t recognize what I had just consumed. I had ordered grilled chicken, which in all other fresh-Mex-style restaurants I’ve frequented is served cubed or in delightful little chunks, while Qdoba shreds their meat. Yet, the “meat in question” tasted suspiciously like pulled pork, which evoked no less than sheer horror when I began considering the fact that I may have just inadvertently ruined phase one of my South Beach diet (I must have; this morning I was 27 pounds heavier). Additionally, the hot “Salsa Roja,” which was only one tier below the hottest salsa Qdoba had to offer, packed the punch of a newborn with scratch-protecting mittens on her tiny fists.

The tacos were a tasteless disappointment, but I still had my beloved black beans left. I opened the container and shoveled a forkful into my gullet quickly, hoping to chase away the lingering bouquet of pork, only to realize Qdoba’s beans were dry, unseasoned, and had the appeal of chewing Styrofoam packing peanuts. Luckily, the serving size was also insulting small, so the horror didn’t last long.

After purging the car of the empty containers into a garbage can outside the Christmas Tree Shoppe like they were a ticking nuclear bomb in a Bruce Willis movie, I decided quickly that I would scratch Qdoba off my list of “Mexican favorites,” surrendering to the fact that should I want Mexican cuisine in the future, I’ll take the longer trip to the Chipotle Grill. Or Mexico.

In short, Qdoba Qsucked. I give it 1 out of 5 sombreros.