Bump it up!

The beloved bump is sweeping the nation.

No I'm not talking about the celebrity baby bumps that have been popping up everywhere resulting in such precious children's names such as "brick" or "staircase," and no I'm not talking about the rare breed of bump we wait for as the result of an Olsen twin mysteriously consuming a cheeseburger. I'm talking about the 'Bump It,' the greatest thing to happen to thin-haired twenty somethings looking to acquire that much sought-after shapely alien cranium.

Call me unhip or out-of-the-loop, but I am completely baffled as to why this bizarre head shape has become a desirable fashion feature. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been known to sport the occasional bizarre hair trend, but this "bumping" is getting out of control.

We all sort of chuckled to ourselves when Crazy McCrackHeaderson (AKA Amy Winehouse) shuffled around in her blood-splattered ballet flats sporting the largest and rattiest "bumped" style we had seen since the fall of Motown. But hey, she does CRACK for god sake, and has her abusive boyfriend's name tattooed in the form of a shirt flap over her left breast. I slept soundly knowing that this woman was miles away from reaching the top of the Hollywood "It List."

Until one fateful morning shuffling about the grocery store wearing the exact same outfit I went out in last night, right after a severe hang-over had subdued and I'd gotten my Bob Dillan morning hair back into its rightful place, I noticed an epidemic. Be them little, (in comparison to the previously mentioned Winehouse buffont) but little "bumped" hairstyles seemed to be peeking at me from around every grocery aisle.

Organic produce department: Bang Bump

Dairy section: Bizarre back-of-bob Bump (hereafter referred to as the "alien bump")

Baking aisle: Oh Hallelujah Hollywood Bump!

It seemed as if the "bumping" was sweeping my little hillbilly community. Baffled as I was, I soon discussed this matter with friends and hairdresser to determing the general consensus on the "bumping" epidemic, and also, if it served any rational function.

"I know I have this hideous lump on my head, but I know just how to conceal it! Bumping!"

After said discussions, I discovered that a) most of my friends thought that the bumping was totally bizarre b) the only practical purpose it might serve would be to hide weapons, drugs, or illegal things of that nature (ala Miss Winehouse) and c) they were now marketing this dubious hair trend through a plastic aid device on national television.

Special Occasions! BUMP IT!

Every day ponytail! BUMP IT!

Want to camoflauge that massive mound on your head and conceal your crack pipe? BUMP IT!

I'm all for volume and full-bodied hair, but all of this bumping is making me ill.

Let's close the book on this one, shall we ladies?

Sushi & Sexuality

So the other night a couple of friends and I trotted over to the new delightful rotating sushi bar of my dreams. This place was by far the classiest rotating sushi bar I've ever been to, as most that I've stumbled upon seem to find no need to actually cover the rotating sushi, or provide any sort of basic creature comfort such as plush dining booths or what I now find essential to any minimal-waiter/waitress environment, a shiny blue light beacon over my booth announcing to the world that I need some tasty addition to my meal. However not so fabulous was the fact that the particular booth that my friends and I were seated at seemed to be at the end of the sushi conveyer belt fun.

I would hopefully glance over at the spectacular creations that the very un-japanese chefs were preparing across the room, watch them plate and set them on the dizzying labyrinth of rotating sushidom twirling about the restaurant (complete with Kid Robot characters) and watch in despair as every greedy sashimi lover in the room snatched up my coveted tempura roll as it slowly sashayed toward me. DAMN IT!

However, even in all of the sushi-snagging turmoil I managed to consume my fair share of tasty treats and I was still amused with the completely non-asian staff, bizarre mochi flavors and the hipster boy waiters with interesting body modification decisions.

As we waddled out and I ran to the hostess's podium for that after-dinner mint to clear my pallete of fishness, I saw a little stack of The Stranger newspapers over in the corner next to another gigantic Kid Robot installment. I snatched a copy faster than the greedy fat sushi man in the corner, curled it up, and placed it under my arm.

On the ride home I perused its pages, which was particularly entertaining as it just so happened to be the annual "seattle sex survey" issue. I was boggled by such unknown facts like the number one place to take a date before taking their clothes off was Dick's. Really people??? Dick's? Nothing spells hot sex-filled evening like a greasy burger and a milkshake served to you by someone in a tiny paper hat.

Other random facts; only 5% or married surveyers were cheating on their spouse, while 37% of respondents had sex they didn't regret while strung out on drugs. More people polled had paid for sex than used viagara, and even more had been peed on. Another shocker, nearly 3% of these people had had sex with a homeless person! Ahhhhh.... the delights that lie within the pages of The Stranger .