I’ve never wanted to be the police (that’s pronounced po-lease) but I do think it would be fun to be a cop and do good cop bad cop while interrogating Soldier Boy. I would be the good cop of course. And after the bad cop screams in his face, talks bad about his mama and then starts to rough him up…I could jump in, pull the bad cop off, turn and say….
Soldier Boy…Tell ‘em!
Maybe Soldier Boy would crack….
Soldier Boy: Alright! Alright!…I did it okay…I super soaked that ho…but she had it coming…
I’m always amazed how a smell can instantly take you back to an exact moment in your life. At this point I basically have a smell to memory rolodex in my head. Today while doing laundry a whiff of bleach took me back to grammar school.
The bleach took me back to when a girl named Celeste threw bleach on my favorite jeans. I was doing laundry. I’ve been doing laundry, alone, since the building block days.I can still remember those jeans, dark blue with orange trimming. I can’t completely recall our dispute but I do think the attack was unprovoked. Maybe she was just trying to help me write a blog for my blog-a-thon 28 years in advance. That Celeste wasn’t a mean older petty bully. No, she was a visionary helping me tap into my inner writer.
The main lesson learned was not to wear my good jeans while doing laundry (Today I wore some ragged shorts to the laundry room).
Kids can be so cruel but Brooklyn kid cruelty skews a little …well…crueler than most places. I would have much rather just been given cooties. Even a wedgie would have been preferable over destroying by favorite pants, when I only had 5 pair to begin with.
You probably can’t name your kids the same name as any of your Ex’s. I’m no Wilt Chamberlain but I am running out of names I like, in case I ever have a daughter. In fact my favorite name is already off the board. I had a long term relationship with a girl, whose name I absolutely adore. Even with us not working the name still stands as a great name (Sometimes a person can destroy a name…see, Adolf and Atilluh).
When I meet a new girl now I almost don’t want to know her name. Flavor Flav had it right giving his girls silly nicknames. It’s not like he’s going to name his daughter, “New York” or “Hoops”.
I’m going to start giving new girls I meet names randomly generated from one of those validation programs.
ME: Meet my girlfriend, Ice Fish. I met her in the Beverly Center.
Time and time again we hear the phrase,”in these economic times.”, it’s quite lame because it’s an innocuous statement that does nothing to hint or capture how we got here.It’s like a friend who crashed your car and refers to it as “that time your car was crashed.”
I’m not here to state the reasons for our economic demise.Although I’m told it’s a mixture of many things but the two foremost culprits are the sub-prime housing loan collapse and banks over leveraging.(yeah, I don’t know that it means either.Mainly a bunch of borrowing that couldn’t be paid back.)
Through it all though, the one job that hasn’t been eliminated is the guy/girl who rips your tickets at the movies.I mean you can buy your tickets online, use a kiosk to print them out, but you still need a person to rip your ticket as you enter.Can’t they find a trusty robot or a fail proof turnstile?And now that people are going to the movies in record numbers because that’s all they can afford, the movie ticket rippers are in high demand.The good ones, the ones who can rip the ticket and give you back your stub all with one hand can basically name their price.
That guy in your neighborhood, who’s actually adding a wing onto his house, in these economic times, may very well be a world class movie ticket ripper.So don’t lament over the job market, instead work on your one handed ticket tear.
I have had some major work done to my teeth, my two front teeth at that. It wasn’t a Hollywood vanity move. Many moons ago, I collided with a friend while playing basketball which left me with a hanging tooth. The dentist went all medieval on me and simply pushed the tooth back in. Years of training and he basically did what a concerned caveman would have done. The tooth was saved, well not so much saved as the inevitable removal was delayed. Years later I did have to have the tooth removed.
A root canal, crown, bone graft, gum graft, implant and veneer later and my pearly whites are up on their feet again. And I still have my trademark gap, streamlined for success. Somehow my dental plan classifies an implant as cosmetic work and doesn’t cover it. Having both your front teeth isn’t cosmetic, its mandatory. No one sees a person missing a front tooth and thinks…”Ahh, a Rhodes Scholar” No. When we see someone missing a front tooth we think…”There’s a guy who’s made some bad choices…Is he looking this way? I hope he doesn’t say hi…” As I wasn’t up for writing a whole new comedy set about being a toothless wonder, I had to shell out all the money for the aforementioned procedures.
Thousands of dollars later, and even though the doc says my two fronts are ready to rock, I still won’t bite down on things with them. So I bite into apples and pizza using my side teeth. I look like an alien who just assumed a human body but skipped the paragraph on chewing and I can’t just use the laser under my finger nail for fear of blowing my cover. I just hope my side teeth don’t get all Count Dracular-ree and fangy from all the extra usage. My friends have been surprisingly cool and most people won’t say anything about my odd eating…to my face. I do get way more food on my cheeks as a result of my unique eating style. But still, don’t call me sweet cheeks.
I don’t particularly like doing nothing.When you’re doing nothing, how do you know when you’re finished? I’m more into doing nothing that looks like something more than I am into overtly doing nothing.I’ll “organize” my files while I watch a Law & Order marathon.Of course, I get nothing done but I have some activity to at least make me feel productive and I’m in the comfort of my own messy home.
I recently tried to do nothing with friends.I tired just sitting out by the pool. It was way more tiring than doing something active.After a few minutes, I felt like tenderized meat.I kept looking up expecting to see someone shaking adobe seasoning powder on me.
How is doing nothing, laying in the hot direct sunlight, better than watching DVDs at home with a thermostat within arms reach?Then I went into the pool to cool off.Okay, now it’s bearable but how long can a person just stand in water…said the native New Yorker who can’t float or tread.I guess I’m more of a running through a sprinkler guy.
I get it, it’s all about having fun on your vacation, but why does all this relaxing have to happen outside in high temperatures?How about relaxing indoors and maybe enjoying the outdoors when the sun goes into hiding?
All this pool, beach and sun bathing is really adults’ attempt to recapture a bit of their carefree youth, when getting wet was just about the most fun you could have.But the adults can never recapture that joy.But what do I know?Good luck with the sunburn.
I never like saying hello to someone I know when I see them totally out of context. For instance, if I see someone I know from L.A. crossing the street in Germany and they don’t see me, I probably won’t say hello. What are they doing all the way in Germany? What if they’re a spy or doing something diabolical and now they have to kill me because I wasn’t supposed to see them. I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t make it home because he broke his back to say hi. And even when I see them back in our original setting, I still won’t mention that I saw them. I might casually drop a hint:
ME:You know I was in Berlin last week right?I had a good time, gotta love that Bratwurst.
And if that person doesn’t immediately own up to also being in Germany then I know my unfriendliness may have saved my life.
I recently broke my own rule and said hi to a comic I know from LA when he walked past me in Seattle. Luckily for me he either was not on a top secret mission or he was but had a good enough excuse that he didn’t need to erase me.
But by all means, if you see me out and about in some far off exotic place please say hi…at your own risk.
I’m like a schizophrenic when it comes to spending. An examination of my spending would reveal immense frugality with odd splurging thrown in. For instance I have come up with a scheme to avoid putting stamps on letters.
If you’re mailing a letter to the same city you live in or maybe even state. Put the TO: address in the corner where the return address should be and put the RETURN: address in the front where the TO: address should be. That way when the Post office sends it back with the insufficient postage stamp on it they will actually be delivering it.
An elaborate scheme to save 48 cents.
Give it a try but don’t say it was my idea. I don’t need a federal charge. If you read the blog that warped here you already know about my car. I also go to the Latino supermarket in LA and buy a week’s worth of Pan Dulces pastries to take to Starbucks with me during the week, avoiding their inflated scone fees. (I likes my scones baby)
But I have a personal trainer. Doesn’t seem to fit but my legs and core are stronger than ever. Based on my other spending patterns you think I would do the Clubber Lane Rocky 3 workout; Chin-ups in a dank warehouse. But I’m doing thrusts and flinging weighted balls half a basketball court. For me, hardcore means the condition of the muscles below my pectorals and above my waist.
I guess I have balance. And the money I save on scones I can apply to my top flight training. Everyone has to choose what’s superfluous and what’s necessary. As long as you don’t have too many things in your “must have” column you should be okay. As long as you don’t skimp on the bill with your friends then jump into a cherry Hummer, you should be okay.
Close friends, and now my faithful blog readers, know that I’m currently on a nationwide shower tour. I would love to write the rest of this blog tomorrow and leave folks hanging for a day but cliff hangers are not my bag. And yet that last sentence provided the distance and slight amount of time I needed to build a smidgen of suspense before giving an explanation of something so random as a shower tour. I’m a member of the Bally’s Fitness chain*. I would cancel my membership but I find myself all over Los Angeles and Orange County in need of a shower. There’s always a Bally’s close enough to provide funk relief and save me a journey home. Angelinos know that you must plan your life around traffic. You don’t want to be 20 miles (an hour and a half drive in rush hour) from home and ripe.
As I have more than just the shower plan, the showers are usually preceded with a brief but brisk workout. I found myself in Pasadena for a meeting this morning.
QSN: Los Angeles is the capital of meetings. I have so many meetings that I should hire a secretary and sergeant at arms to follow me around. Some of it is self indulgent busy work but some of it is stuff that might payoff. Some of the most successful entertainment ventures of all time started with a coffee shop “meeting.” I hope this meeting was the start of something big.
So I’m in the locker room at Bally’s, coming down from an intense stint on the elliptical machine and getting ready for the shower. As I slipped into my shower shoes “Lips of An Angel” by Hinder rang out from the gym PA system. There’s nothing like a catchy tune that you haven’t heard in a while to stay in your head all friggin’ day. Flash ahead 30 seconds and I’m in the public shower singing “Lips of An Angel.” I looked away from the old man in the shower opposite me so he wouldn’t think my serenade was for him.
QSN: Many Ballys showers don’t have doors, just “booths.” Some don’t even have booths, just a room with shower a spout protruding from the wall every 4 feet or so. Both are a bit invasive. Upside: They make for really quick showering.
I cut my solo short; which was really hard to do because the acoustics in this shower were great. I had reverb and tone. I’m talking perfect pitch. Alas, singing in communal showers is a no-no, unless you’re in the cast of “White Shadow”* and everyone is singing with you….
Dwayne, Take it to the bridge!
I resorted to humming. Damn you Hinder!
*White Shadow – early eighties TV show where a white basketball coach taught his inner city team about life, teamwork and sportsmanship. And for some reason they always sang doo-wop songs naked in the shower. You know, just like every high school basketball team,
There’s a long uncomfortable shower scene at 3:20 or skip to 5:16 for the singing. I love Youtube