Tying one on

Sometimes my shoes come untied.

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.

"You can read it in someone's blah-og."

Some other random thoughts

• Garfield minus Garfield is a bit funnier than Garfield minus Garfield minus Garfield.

• 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.

Feeling Earthy

Patch of earth in L.A.Today. Earth Day.

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.)

Monkey C-Note

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.

I don't have an iPhone ...

... but this makes me want one: EWB Baseball.

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.

There's really no other way to explain it.