Is it a mythical creature roaming the deep, sighted by a lucky few who to this day hear and repeat its majestic cry?
Could it be a Dominican delicacy? Can Moose be a verb? All this and more after the break!
Or, more likely, the random stories and musings -- on life, music, arts/entertainment, politics, sports, travels, weather, the gratuitous use of parking brakes, condiments, space/time continuum paradoxes and foam rocket warfare -- of a man who, it is told, sounds like a Sea Moose.
Went to movie. First went to Panera. On the menu was Power Chicken -- with a label next to it identifying it as a "hidden menu item." The Panera clerk at that Panera, when asked about this "hidden" item, admitted that those at this Panera didn't get it either. "We don't understand what Panera is doing."
Ken got the Power Chicken. It may or may not have been good. They forgot to give me my apple. Amanda went and got it. Because that's the kind of thing she does. Then Ken scraped off my car, if you know what I mean.
Then to movie. Plan was to see "Walter Mitty" or "Anchorman" -- or possibly "Wolf of Wall Street." We get to theater. Woman calls us over, says they are closing early. So the only options we have are Justin Bieber's movie, Tyler Perry's movie or "Paranormal Activity" XVIICMI. "Paranormal Activity" wins because, "It's not Justin Bieber and it's not Tyler Perry."
But because we are the only people seeing this film, they give us the option of watching "Frozen" instead. Appropriate, no? They also let us choose whether to watch trailers and which ones we wanted to watch. And they gave us a free pretzel.
"It's nice when people are nice," Amanda said. Or something to that effect, anyway.
We saw "Paranormal Activity." They should have charged us matinee prices, as we comprised roughly 30 percent of the evening's moviegoers. Though we also were making them stick around just to show us a movie. And hey, nobody made them close early.
Well, the manager. He probably did.
I didn't get my free Coke Zero refill. Somebody hide the Power Chicken.
I have one pair in particular that doesn't cooperate. It must be something about the consistency of the laces. Perhaps they are too slick? I did not specifically seek out these laces, nor did I effort to avoid them. (BTW - I hate that usage of the word "effort" and will enterprise not to go there again.) They came with the shoes.
Shoes, incidentally, that make me appear taller. They have thick soles but they're not a soldier.
Anyway, once upon a time one of my shoes became untied, so I leaned down and tied it. A friend observing commented, "you tie your shoes like a little kid."
Astonished and insulted, I asserted that the knots I use are totally different when I tie up little kids.
After an uncomfortable silence, a moment of realization and an awkward, "ha, just kidding," I asked him what he was talking about? And what was the "adult" way? It's not like my shoes were rockin' Velcro (well, not this pair, anyway).
What I should have said was, "Oh yeah? Which one?!" I mean, if we're talking Dakota Fanning, OK. But an Olsen sister from back in the day? Then we got problems.
Which reminds me, this kid Matt I lived next to in kindergarten (well, to be more accurate, we happened to be in kindergarten during the period of time in which we lived next door to each other) had these cool Spider-Man shoes. So I wanted my own pair. My brother, then a wise 9 or 10 years old, urged me not to, saying the consequences could be dire. But I sold mom on it and got 'em anyway.
One day... after chillin' at Matt's ... I went back home through the trees ... and realized ... I WAS WEARING HIS SHOES! THE HORROR! Don't judge another 5-year-old until you've walked a few dozen feet ...
My brother, for perhaps the last time ever, was right. Actually, he also was right about me not being able to beat his trip-7's the other night. But I further digress ...
Something you should know about Matt. Field trip. To the middle school. In the cafeteria. He's eating an apple. He sneezes. Small piece of apple shoots out of his nose and onto the table. He picks it up and eats it again.
I'm not kidding.
What reminded me of all this shoe nonsense was an odd sight seen at the big work complex today. Two guys kneeling down, about two feet away from each other, facing each other. Another man looming above them, staring at his watch. The men on the ground were tying their shoes. Apparently this other man was timing them. It was some sort of crazy, tie-off deathmatch.
I didn't have my camera with me, but this artist's rendering is more or less what it looked like.
Horrifying.
Now one can understand Joe Jackson's motivations without reading it in the Sunday papers -- especially since, as mentioned here earlier, nobody reads the papers anymore.
• After blowing off Earth Day, I walked to work four of the next six days and also walked to the Promenade. Just trying to be green – and improve my on-base percentage.
• Dear President Obama: I hereby submit my name as a candidate for Omega Supreme Court Justice.
• I am proud to say that I have no idea who the hell Heidi and Spencer are.
• Do Jews even have to worry about Swine Flu?
• Meanwhile, this guy's knife has filed for divorce on grounds of adultery.
• Also seen in the premises of the wacky shoe tying folk: A dude in an old Van Halen shirt. Or a dude in an old-style Van Halen shirt. If it's the former, almost have to give him credit for keeping the shirt all this time. If the latter, it's just cheesy and he sucks.
For Van Halen was cool at the time. Looking back, the DLR years were cool ... but cheesy. Pledging allegiance to DLR's VH 20-25 years later with a new shirt that looks like it's from the cheesy '80s ... well, that sucks.
Next time (maybe): I can tie my shoes, but what about tying a tie? And what does all this have to do with Kate Mara and a quote board somewhere in Australia?
Let's ask Win Lyle ...
Or just go to Vegas and watch a couple of people beat the crap out of each other. One or the other.
Me being a non-practicing environmentalist (you know, ideologically in full support of all green initiatives but in practice only implementing one or two), I decided to commemorate the occasion/save the planet by leaving two fans on all night, driving rather than walking my 3/4-mile commute and getting my car washed.
I wish I were kidding. I suck. I did wear green today -- though that is true roughly 60 percent of the time. I have a lot of green shirts. I like green. And I like shirts. It's a good match. Like denim on denim.
Having an Earth Day is great, but it kills me how corporations are now running commercials touting how green they are becoming while urging us, the attentive public, to follow suit (ya hear me, Fox?!). Um... they are only hopping on this green train because enough of us have been throwing a fit for the past decade or two -- enough so to, among other reasons, elect a better administration.
(This just in: Wal-Mart reverses policy, will now allow minorities to work at store locations. Company board yet to decide, however, if women should have right to vote.)
Look, it's great that they are on the bandwagon, as they -- with the public following -- are the biggest perpetrators (aside from this guy)/can make the most difference. But why take so long to hop on board? They saw how cool us (non-practicing) environmentalists are, how much fun we have and became... wait for it ... green with envy?
Awful.
Anyway...
Work had a contest/raffle today. If you did something green (carpool, turn out a light, plant a tree, murder the captain of a whaling vessel), you got to enter the raffle. The winner got a $100 gift card for Southwest Airlines. So... be green, get a free ride from an industry that burns about 384.25517 quadrillion gallons of fuel per year. Good stuff. OK, to be fair, Southwest is pretty environmentally conscious, including being at forefront of adopting new GPS system that could save insane amounts of fuel each year. And really, I have nothing against airlines. I'm just being cheeky.
Recycling Coke addict.(Incidentally, was at a wedding a couple of summers ago where one of the guests found out I lived in L.A. She said, "I'd like the weather, but I wouldn't be able to stand all those environmentalists." Kinda funny. In a horrifying sort of way. Yes, they roam the streets, eat granola, have sex with trees and drink their own urine. Or maybe each other's urine. To each his own. Or the other's own. It all depends.)
By the way ... a couple years back a coworker left our group, but described her replacement as being "earthy." If that's a synonym for snotty and condescending, right on. But otherwise ...
So... this entry puts me waaaaaay over my "being political" quota for the year. So next time we can talk about chickens -- more useful alive or dead?
(This just in: Wal-Mart prefers chickens, among many other things, to be dead. And not have the right to vote.)
Seen on Promenade on Sunday: A man peddling a monkey.
Well, that's not right. He was peddling monkey favors.
That sounds even worse. And there wasn't even a bicycle involved.
(Incidentally, a couple weeks ago a drove by a girl on a bike who I'm fairly certain is the same girl I may or may not have run into and almost knocked over w/my old car a couple years back. Is the irony of running her down again worth a lawsuit? Probably, but I passed -- her and the opportunity.)
Biggish guy has monkey on leash. Monkey is wearing silly suit, as monkeys being forced into servitude often are prone to do. Passerby hands dollar bill to monkey, who takes it and puts it in his pocket. In exchange, monkey offers his hand (paw?) so that aforementioned passerby can shake it.
Pay a dollar. Shake a monkey's hand. (I don't know who the guy in that pic above is. Neither does the monkey. Looks very slightly like De Niro, no? I mean the monkey, not the random dude.)
(Pretty sure nobody is allowed to actually buy the monkey, however.)
This greatly amused my niece and nephew, as do so many things. This did not greatly amuse the fine security folk at the L.A. Zoo when I tried something similar last summer. Anyway...
This week I may set up shop down there and offer, for just $1, to shake people's hands. Who knows where that monkey's hand (paw?) has been?! Well, aside from the monkey? Maybe I'll wear a glove. Or a giant foam finger, just to add novelty. Friend of mom's added a good twist: they have to pay more to get me to stop shaking their hands. It's like an early termination fee.
Maybe I'll even offer a squirt of hand sanitizer for another 50 cents.
Other ideas:
There are plenty of street performers, some with drums or buckets for drums. I could go down there and pound a drum incessantly (I am trained for this). Again, passersby must pay me to stop hitting the drum, at a rate of, say, $1 for 30 seconds of silence?
There also are break dancers down there, who probably weren't even born when that art form was popular. I could go down there with a baseball bat or golf club and, for a small fee (which hopefully will cover the legal costs), offer to break dancers. You know, with the bat. Kerrigan-style.
Sometimes this evangelical sets up a slideshow and, with a microphone, proceeds to tell the rest of the world why he's right any everyone else is wrong. Most recently he was ripping atheists. Look, believe (or don't) whatever you want, but leave everyone else alone. So along those lines, I may bring down a slideshow and start worshipping Satan (the hockey player) and trying to make people join my cause. Just to piss that one guy off.
But holding grudges isn't healthy, so we'll settle our differences, shake hands (for a $1) and break dance.
In other words, a "new" iPhone version of what still might be the greatest baseball computer simulation ever made: Earl Weaver Baseball.
Long before Jason Lee hit NBC, "Earl" represented silly graphics but awesome stats, all part of a game that wasted happily filled countless hours of my 8th grade and high school years -- you know, a time period during which I could have been ... um ... leaving the house at some point.
Actually, one or two many friends of mine and my bro's were addicted to this. We held drafts long before roto was a quasi-household word, creating leagues with franchises full of fake players. The greatest closer in the history of the league? Sorry Mo, it's New Jersey's Tyrone Jackson. Best pitcher in the league? Might be Chris Stuart of Sacramento.
Yes, our league had a team in Sacto. Not to mention the New Mexico Flying Rhinos (incidentally, during freshman year of college I asked a kid from NM if there were rhinos there. Clearly not getting the joke -- and why would he? -- he got annoyed and said no. I laughed and wondered, "did he ever look up?").
The vid contains a screenshot and, more importantly, the beautifully composed EWB theme song:
Really, the tune deserves a place right behind Brass Bonanza in sports theme lore. As for the game, the High Heat series might have perfected the PC baseball sim, but that series faded out years ago and really has never been replaced. There are solid console options, but it ain't the same.
Earl Weaver Baseball is (well, was) dead. Long live Earl Weaver (EWB) Baseball!
Oh, and if you really are a fake fantasy sports geek enthusiast, Court Rivals also is a good time suck. As for the EWB/Whalers fans -- you know, more like me who live in the past -- my latest toy, World Series the Season arcade game, is a nice flashback...
"Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Thank you very much."
Meanwhile, there was a parrot festival on Wilshire Blvd. on Saturday (seriously). I think it even was intentional. Also worth noting: tonight my mother asked a soap opera star whether someone stole from us an item we thought we won at an auction.
Trying to help my sister set up a blog. It's taking a while. Program has been extracting forever. I may be here late.
So in meantime, figured I'd start arduous process of resurrecting this blog. Because I thought it'd be funny to toss up a few posts while we waited to do just one in the new blog.
Random thoughts: *Pirated captain's plane back to Vermont home hijacked and redirected to Cuba. Not really, but would be funny in an unfortunate way.
*Fox better not cancel Dollhouse. Would be nice to keep Sarah Connor Chronicles, too. Otherwise, they join the list of all the other good shows Fox never gave a chance to, including Firefly, Wonderfalls, Andy Richter ... and just blame them for Pushing Daisies, too, even though they have nothing to do with it.
(Can't Fox cancel Fox News instead?)
*Brother in law is all fired up about something political. He wants a blog, too. I may be here all night.
*If Facebook is useful but ultimately an underachiever, what does that make twitter?
*If I am useful but ultimately an underachiever, what does that make [insert person I wish to mock here]?
*If you worked for a company that was owned by another company that was run by your father, would that be your parent's parent company? Or would that be the company that owns the company your father works for? What if it was the same company?
*I have 14 minutes left, according to my computer. No way I'll complete my bucket list in that little time -- especially considering item no. 1 is "create bucket list."
*Ever go to sportsjournalists.com? If 75 percent of the folks on there make up the braintrust of newspapers, it's no surprise that industry is imploding. Too bad, because there are so, so many great people in newspapers. And great newspapers.
*Brother in law says he checks google news every morning. He's not getting my help with any blog.
*Had turkey burgers made from ground turkey meat. Wonder if air turkey meat tastes different.
*"You bought a record player just to store in the desert?" -- something I just overheard. Can't really imagine what it means.
*Is planning a trip for the primary purpose of being able to blog it a worthy motivation? Methinks perhaps.
*Me: "Is this your Coke Zero?" Sis: "I don't do that!"
*Extracting (not the military kind, fortunately -- or the vanilla kind, unfortunately) finally done. Time to post this and get back to work on sister's blog.
Next time: EWB Baseball for iPhone -- coolest thing ever in the history of everything?
Waiting to vote here in a local nursing home. Volunteer says line now (10:40) shortest it has been all day.
Those motivated and responsible early birds who showed up at 7 were greeted by a line halfway down the block.
Suckers.
One of those suckers who waited 90 minutes to vote made an Albertson's run and brought chocolate for everyone. This election brought to you by Hershey's Bliss.
On today's for this establishment's residents? A coffee social, bingo/stimulation and group chatter. Oh, and presidential triva, of course.
Overheard while in line...
Person A: Do they check ID? Person B: I'm sure they do. A: OK, I wasn't sure. Almost left home without it. B: At least I hope they do. Otherwise someone might have voted for me. A: Someone dead.
Nice comment, especially considering where we are right now.
Meanwhile, I get my ballot, but another poll worker accidentally almost rips my receipt part off prematurely. She said, "It's dangling, but it's OK." My reply: "Dangling? I've already been disenfranchised!" Laughing, she said, "It's OK, I trust you.
Her mistake.
By the way, that chocolate was insanely good. Appropriately named, indeed.
Typed out a whole long rant about politics, about which issues are truly important, about people calling either candidates ridiculous names or labeling them with ridiculous tags. It was cathartic. But I'll refrain from posting it here. Trying to keep this a happy place -- especially if Julie Bowen shows up.
All I'll say is this: I truly believe that one candidate (who does care deeply about this country) is trying to win an election while the other is trying to change this country for the better on a fundamental level.
One candidate wants the best for the U.S. but doesn't always understand how to best accomplish that goal, while the other is logical and levelheaded enough to push for policies that really will make a difference.
Personally, I have nothing against the former -- his horrifying running-mate choice aside -- but I hope his supporters are able to take a step back and see what happens should the latter happen to win this election.
It might just turn out OK, Red Staters. Many, in fact, believe it will turn out far better than OK. And after these last eight years, hope and belief ain't such bad things, are they?
On a plane. I walk toward the back of the plane looking to dispose of my refuse, if you know what I mean!
That's not a euphemism. Pretty straightforward explanation. I had garbage I wanted to get rid of.
Anyway, I see a flight attendant.
Me: "Garbage?" Him, in a slow, sad monotone: "That's the first time I've been called that before." Me: "It won't be the last, bitch."
Me (really): "That's not what I said! Sorry about that." Him: "That's OK. I'll just talk behind your back when you sit down."
Then some lovely young lady tried to scoot by him.
Him: "You can fit – I've slimmed down." She looks at him and his belly skeptically. Him: "Wow, she called me fat." Her: "I did not! But you are. Now move it, fatass!"
I fell in love immediately and asked her into the bathroom (we actually were roughly over Denver at that moment).
I awoke 38 minutes later with a splitting headache and a knot on my noggin the size of a tennis ball. As I tried to focus, I was partly blinded by Garbage Man's 63 pieces of flair. Damn Lumbergh!
Earlier, as we took off, the guy across the aisle from me stood up and gestured for flight attendant to come over. She got on the PA and said, "Sit down now! Quickly!" So he did (though he didn't buckle up – bastard!). And we were off the ground about four seconds later.
Apparently he believed there was a problem with something on the wing – some issue that could manifest itself during takeoff. It didn't. Still, he communicated this to the flight attendant, who brought it to the pilot, who apparently send some sort of reasonable explanation back to our (anti-hero). And all was fine. Of course, I type this while still in the air.
Still, I'm not worried. Now had it been William Shatner or John Lithgow sitting there …
Who knows – maybe this plane has no left phalange.
OK, so we did land OK. And as soon as we did, the same crazy dude – seen in that washed out pic above – immediately got up and went to the back of the plane while we were still going however fast it is a plane goes right after touching down. WTF, dude? Garbage Man, I'm gonna need you to go ahead and get on that.
**THIS ENTRY WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY LORNA DOONE SHORTBREAD COOKIES FROM NABISCO. LORNA DOONE – GREAT SHORTBREAD WHEN YOU ARE SHORT ON BREAD … OR IF YOU HAVE THE MUNCHIES.**
Brief slowdown on I91 north this morning. A goose – at least I think it was a goose – made its way to the median strip. With his car parked on the southbound side, a policeman was, well, observing.
He had an "OK, what the hell do I do with this thing?" demeanor.
Suggestions?
1. Tackle it 2. Imitate it in an attempt to communicate 3. Discharge sidearm into the air 4. Discharge sidearm into the bird 5. Discharge something completely different from a body cavity 6. Continue to stand there wondering what the hell to do, thinking about where your life went wrong, how you never should have begged off dispatch and gone on patrol 7. Get in squad car and leave 8. Have a picnic 9. Go to search.yahoo.com and enter "goose preparation recipes" 10. Wander in circles muttering, "duck … duck … duck … " until the animal decides to play along. 11. Say "Marco!" in an effort to confuse the bird and amuse yourself 12. Do the chicken dance in an effort to anger the bird 13. Flap your arms wildly and bat your eyes in an effort to mate with the bird 14. Call Anthony Edwards (explaining as he picks up that "no, for the last time, this is not your agent calling.") 15. Call Carmelo Anthony 16. Eat a Caramello 17. Call it Mellow Yellow, quite rightly 18. Drink a Mello Yello, unSpritely 19. Engage in an out-of-control pursuit of the bird. You know, a wild goos... 20. Bow humbly, drop to your knees and acquiesce to its omnipotence
Meanwhile, discovered today that moments during which you aren't supposed to laugh at/with children include a 3-year-old girl saying "god damn" over and over, giggling wildly each time as her mother and grandfather desperately try to get her to stop.
There are few things funnier and more fulfilling than the laughter of a child. This was one of those things.
I was cracking up in the seat in front of them, waiting for the girl's twin sister – who has an aversion to seat belts but not to repeatedly kicking the chair in front of her – to join in.
"Where'd she pick that up," the mother asked rhetorically and uselessly, as this was a Jersey woman we're talking about.
"I don't know," the grandfather, likely just as guilty, answered.
The things elders inadvertently teach children. Come on, people, be more careful. I mean, god damn!
30-ish hours later: So I wasn't able to convince myself that this actually was Tom Wilkinson, but I wasn't able to definitively say that it wasn't. Either way, The Who put on two damn groovy shows in two nights -- and they played Sister Disco! Wacky, wild schtuff.
ME: I put the spare on. Do you want me to take the car to one of your local offices? RENTAL CAR LADY (after apparently thinking towns 163 miles away are "local"): You can drive up to 1,500 miles on the spare. ME: Really? HER: Yes, up to 1,500 miles. Just don't go faster than 65. ME: I am returning the car in the morning anyway, so I'll just do that. HER: Sir, I couldn't care less what you do.
OK, that last line was made-up. Anyway ... I trodded along in the slow lane (keeping it around 55-60) behind an 18-wheeler, which limited the line of sight. So I didn't see the staggeringly enormous pothole until it was too late
And boom went the spare (shown above).
Get towed to a Pep Boys (where I blog from now). My dad says, "I hope it's not the one I use. Those guys move at the speed of light. You can almost see their feet move."
I tell him where it is. After asking me to explain exactly where the cashier is in relation to the waiting area in relation to the truck flaps with the dancing women on them, he confirms our fears.
"That's the one. Bummer."
I almost stole my mother's car for this trip. Either I lucked out by not doing damage to it, or it being far better built that this damn Chevy Aveo that is under constant threat of being blown off the road would have meant it could have handled the impact.
Oh well. Next chapter of this story could be me fighting with the rental car folk as to who will pay for the tire.
I might have to pay cash, but they will pay with their souls, damn it!
Quote of the night after Pete notices members of the crowd drinking beer out of bottles: "The Native Americans have got it sussed, huh? Gamble a little, drink some beer and go see The Who."
About to see 'em for the X-teenth time (will try to count later) but for the first time in Connecticut! Which means little to many, but I get a thrill out of it.
Bought a great ticket when they went on sale, figuring maybe I will be able to make it back east for the show. But last week decided it would be too much hassle and that I should sell the ticket.
Look for ticket. Can't find it.
Figure it must me an email/printable one. Find the email confirmation.
My ticket is at will call.
Crap. Can't sell it.
Oh well. If I must see The Who, I'll see The Who. With a big assist from Mr. Pearce at work, got a Southwest freebie. And here I am.
And tomorrow I will be in NJ seeing the band again.
I have no intention whatsoever of this becoming some sort of voyeuristic celebrity blog. But I can't help if it I see one.
Especially if he steals my hair gel.
That's right, Dylan McDermott. I'm calling you out.
OK, so he didn't actual steal the gel. But due to security line confusion at LAX a couple days back, he very well might have ended up with my one-quart plastic bag full of dude bathroom stuff (OK, toiletries. Whatever).
The toothbrush? Replaceable. Though not by the hotel. Sure they have all I need in case I "forgot" something. All I needed was a damn toothbrush, some paste (which they did have), arguably deodorant (they had that too), the nearby bridge to actually cross the highway and some hair product.
Managed to get the brush, paste and deodorant, but the bridge across the highway still is in ruins, I lost a since-refilled/replaced prescription, and my clay and spray might now be in McDermott's stupid actor hair (while I had to "borrow" gel from a coworker one day, try to use hotel-issued moisturizer the next before spending upwards of $10 on a tiny bottle of hairspray at the Atlanta airport).
(Incidentally, on an ensuing trip, that coworker ended up having to borrow gel from a bald coworker. Dylan never would stoop to such depths.)
All this after I caught his falling luggage. Seriously!
So, what to do. As far as I can tell, my choices are:
1. Let it go and move on with my life. 2. Write a letter to Entertainment Weekly. 3. Contact Mr. McDermott's publicist. 4. Stalk ol' Dylan and steal his damn hair product 5. Forget about this post, only to come across it a few months later and finally finish/post it
"My dog's nails are pink!" exclaims my little sister upon seeing what her mother did to their Bichon.
OK, not exactly the way I envisioned kicking off this blog, but who can plan for anything, really? The dog ran in, the exchange happened, all while I mussed with this blog rather than paying attention to my actual job responsibilities.
So after enjoying the experience of blogging my trip to Europe – not to mention receiving kudos, worldwide acclaim and several Webby nominations (I lost to the damn Huffington Post) – I figured I'd try to provide record of and commentary on the inane and senseless non-events that make up a good deal of my existence.
Such as, you know, dog manicures.
I may cheat a little and fill in some initial blanks with absurdities from recent days – including my take on a blockbuster and my wacky airport follies – just to get this going. And maybe that will cost me a Webby, but I'm not in it for the glamour. It has more to do with boredom than anything.
So follow along, comment away, vote in the polls and enjoy the ride. Because I probably won't do any of those things, so it's up to you to make this tolerable.
Well, the manager. He probably did.
All I'll say is this: I truly believe that one candidate (who does care deeply about this country) is trying to win an election while the other is trying to change this country for the better on a fundamental level. 
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