I was at a movie the other day when a woman sat down next to me five minutes before the film ended. Five minutes. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she then started talking. To me. She leaned in close to me and in a loud whisper asked me how long ago it had started. So I told her, “an hour and forty-five minutes ago” barely able to hide my disgust and anger. She could only muster a weak “Oh” in return and then I went in for the kill. “Yes,” I told her, “I hope you enjoy the end credits.” Then she told me I was a rude young man and the guy behind me asked me to quiet down. And I spent the last five minutes of the movie wondering why there aren’t enough 19 year-old kids to monitor the halls so people can’t just wander in and out of theaters at their leisure.

Editors Note: This is a real and actual letter that Jeff wrote out of anger to the Health Valley corporation. We all found it so hilarious that we thought it would be a great way to begin “The Week of Jeff”. Enjoy.

Dear Health Valley,

I have one question for you. Do you feel guilty when you label a box you’ve filled with mostly rice-crispies with a few measly bits of oats, “granola?” Well, I for one feel pretty damned duped by your marketing ploy.

Don’t ever say I don’t go all out for you. Believe it or not, I gave up a large portion of my Saturday night so that I could see Sex and the City in a theater full of women. Usually, I hate seeing a movie in its opening weekend; actually I have a lot of problems just seeing a movie at all these days, but that’s for another time. The truth is, Sex and the City had to be seen in a jam-packed theater, because the movie itself is only part of the fact that this is one of the most important events to ever happen to all of NYC’s female population.

I wish that I had been able to get tickets to a sold out show in a gigantic theater, like at the AMC Theater in Times Square for example, but that didn’t happen, by the time I got around to buying my tickets, every Friday night show in Manhattan was sold out. I really wanted to see the throngs myself, be able to bear witness to the masses that came out to see this. You see, I was much more interested in seeing how the women who love the show and can’t wait to see the movie would react to it than to the film itself. In other words, I was hoping people would talk all the way through it because I just had to know what they thought. But instead, I ended up at an early Saturday night show at BAM in the Ft. Greene area of Brooklyn. I thought this would ruin my experience, since SATC is so inherently Manhattan-centric and one doesn’t generally think of BK as the land of Manolos and Cosmos. And that’s where I had a major realization.

Now that I’m in my mid-late to late twenties, it seems that everyone around me wants to be very adult. I’m not just talking about not drinking away a Sunday starting at noon and I’m not just talking about all my buddies being engaged and getting hitched before the calendar year is up, though both of those things are certainly true. Well, maybe I am talking about the whole wedding thing, but not in that way, and not because I’m going to three consecutive weddings next August and feel as though that month has been utterly stolen from me. Rather, now that people consider themselves adults and they are getting married, there have to be a lot of parties, extra to the wedding. Lots of engagement parties, announcements, showers, that sort of thing. These parties are very formal affairs and, in accordance with being adult, all those parties require invitations, which require RSVPs, those social prison sentences disguised as a guarantee of attendance.

My ten-year high school reunion is coming up and I can’t wrap my head around it. Maybe that’s because I don’t want to grow up and maybe that’s because I simply can’t grow up. Either way, in preparation for making my final decision to attend or not, I’ve decided to take stock of what I’ve done with the last ten years, what I’ve done with, what is ostensibly, my life. Ten years isn’t a very long time in the grand scheme of things, but it is a long time to waste and so I will proceed to cull from the past decade everything that I might use as ammunition to validate my life to a bunch of people I don’t really care about that much. Or that’s what I keep telling myself.

It’s tough trying to navigate the harsh winter that is the dating scene in whatever city you live in. And since we here at Steve’s Word are nothing if not helpful, we’ve put together a little list of some dating dealbreakers. These are some habits, attributes, or actions that should let you know that maybe it’s not such a good idea to approach that hot stranger on the subway or that the guy or gal you’ve been casually seeing isn’t worth your time. Because we all know how busy and important you are.

Porn stars have been doing it forever. So have strippers. It’s a requirement for the faux-amateur sluts on the internet. But, now that pop starlets and movie ingénues have taken to giving their nether regions the old Yul Brenner treatment, I can stay silent no more. Someone must stand up and speak in the name of pubic hair and it seems that person must be me. I take my mantle with pride as I charge, ahem, into the breach.

Are you familiar with those “my name” key-chains that you can purchase at your local tourist trap? Of course you are, silly. Well, my local coffee shop has taken this mindless novelty to a new extreme and is offering stamps that allow avid coffee drinkers to mark their own coffee bag with a personalized brew name. Is your name Biff? You better believe they can whip you up “Biff’s Brew.” Beth? “Beth’s Brew” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

As you know, Steve’s Word is a website mainly run by straight suburban white dudes now living in large American cities, and as such, we’re constantly concerned about “the next big thing in fashion.” We need to know what to wear and what not to wear each season or else we feel like huge idiots. For instance, last weekend Tim foolishly went out to the bars wearing a turtlenecked tank top, ribbed for his pleasure, and some British Knights after thumbing through a copy of People Magazine from 1992 whilst taking a dump at his parent’s house. To avoid any further egregious fashion faux pas, we’ve enlisted the help of fashion pundit, Melissa Rivers. It’s amazing what a few sessions of cunnilingus can get you these days. Below is our interview with the “unpaid” fashionista, Melissa.

As America’s undisputed leader in News, Entertainment, Relationship Advice, Art Criticism, Business, and Fashion, Steve’s Word proudly adds Sports Commentary to this golden list. Read along as two icons of American Literature weigh in on the latest developments in the world of sports, and in doing so set the tone for water cooler conversations everywhere. Our anonymous moderator caught up with these two pundits floating leisurely on their raft down the Old Man River.

Moderator: Alright, fellas. There’s a lot going on in the world of sports right now, but it being March, I think it’s only fitting to discuss the NCAA Men’s Basketball tournament. What has stood out for you this year?