Rain

I've been nearly spit on twice in the last couple of weeks. Not spit on intentionally, but I just happened to be near somebody spitting for spitting's sake. The first time I was walking down the Third Street Promenade in lovely Santa Monica, and as I strolled near one of those sunglass vendor carts, one of the vendor guys hawked a loogie directly where I was stepping. My reflexes must be wired tightly or something because I managed to delay my step a half second, narrowly avoiding a loogie on my blue Pumas. The vendor guy quickly looked me in the eye (my sunglasses really) and said "My bad." Really.

The next time I was nearly spit on I was walking by the fire station on 7th street in lovely Santa Monica. Just coming back from the library, or lunch, or buying those foam insert pads for Judah's bike helmet. Something. Minding my own business and enjoying the lovely Santa Monica perfect weather of 75 degrees with a light breeze and then BAM! Spit coming my way from a guy walking the same direction as me, but just slightly in front of me. This time it wasn't reflexes that saved me, it was sheer luck. If I had been walking a half second faster, I would have been slimed.

As I figure all things happen in threes, there's gotta be another spit encounter coming my way soon. Unless you count the time I inadvertently spit on someone walking out from behind a bus shelter. Just minding my own business, enjoying a lovely San Francisco morning, standing right next to the wall-ish part of the shelter where the big advertisement usually hangs. Hawked a loogie and spat out toward the street, when BAM! A lady walks out from behind the ad and right into my flying loogie. All she could say is "ugh." Ugh indeed.

Touch Me, I'm Sick

The germ-induced loopyness in my head won't allow me to write anything worth reading. See you next week. Ack.

Brown Album

R.I.P. Lil' Brown

Space Oddity

We've been living in The City of Angels for 1 whole year now. I still haven't made the adjustment to needing a car like I need legs, but I'm getting there. And because we made it over the 1 year hump, I figured we weren't going anywhere soon. Therefore it was time to get all the boxes out of our apartment.

After going through the motions of trying to get rid of excess stuff via Goodwill and the trash dumpster, I searched online for storage units. There's a storage facility about 2 blocks away from us in Venice, but that one cost about double what another one did less than a mile away in Marina Del Rey. I got a 4' x 5' unit for a bargain, especially considering we'd be getting more than that space back in our apartment, and the little boy would have more room to push his toys around.

Taryn at the storage center office had me sign documents saying: I wasn't in the military, I wasn't storing a car in a 4' x 5' space, or that I wouldn't live there or house animals or food in the unit. It felt like I was signing my life away when I was really only trying to rent a tiny piece of California. One of the last things to sign for was insurance, and because I already had renters insurance, I told her I didn't want it. Taryn told me that I get the first month's insurance free, but I'd have to come back into the office to cancel it later. I really didn't want to come back, but I thought: What the hell, it couldn't hurt.

So I loaded the boxes I had with me into the 4' x 5' space. I figured that was enough excitement for a Saturday and I'd bring the rest tomorrow. Besides, we had to go to Pasadena to meet Judah's brand new cousin, Siena.

The next morning I made at least seven trips up and down the stairs loading the wagon to take our boxes to the storage space. When I got there I did the routine of grabbing the cart, loading the boxes from the car to the cart, and going up the elevator. When I arrived at the third floor I saw some guy who looked like Borat with a couple carts of his crap blocking the hallway. I looked for an alternate route to get to my space, but another guy had blocked the hallway with his crap. I left my crap sitting on the cart and asked Borat-guy if he wouldn't mind moving his cart so I could get mine past. He was annoyed and told me to look in my space first because there was a flood last night, and I might not want to put my crap into a wet storage unit.

I walked over to my storage space, unlocked the padlock and looked inside. At first glance it looked fine. Then I touched the floor. Damp. Damn. I looked at a couple of the boxes and they were soggy near the floor. Luckily Taryn took care of me and got me a new, dry storage unit that was even better because it was near the entrance and the carts. She even gave me some new boxes to replace my soggy ones. Nothing was damaged too badly except the box that the microwave was in.
And the microwave is pretty sog-proof. Now I can cancel that insurance. What are the odds of lightning (or a flood) striking the same place twice?

Double Vision

Do you ever receive industry schwag? You know, the stuff with whoever's company logo on it, handed to you so you can sell their company logo or whatever it is they sell by wearing the stuff they give out for free? In the industry I'm in, you get schwag everyplace you go. I can wear a different t-shirt from a different production/post/design company every day of the week and not wear the same thing twice.

Do you ever have those days at work where you might be wearing a similar outfit as a co-worker, only to be ridiculed by some other co-worker about not getting the memo that "We were supposed to wear the red polo shirt with the black jeans today. LOL!"?

Well I had the misfortune of wearing some industry t-shirt schwag to work, only to see the guy who sits right next to me walk in an hour later wearing the exact same t-shirt. Too bad that nobody else was there to make the "memo" joke. I couldn't resist, so I said it myself.

Ironhead

My bike helmet had fallen to bits. Not the outside, silly, that's hard foam covered by a chocolately plastic shell. Mmm. It was the inside that was falling apart. The stuff that's supposed to be the soft cushion between my head and the actual hard helmet part. Yes, countless sweat-inducing rides had finally broken down the cushiony stuff, and what was left had become rags and bits of black soot that managed to stick to my forehead when I took the helmet off. And the velcro was now digging into my head, and that wasn't the comfy ride I was looking for.

The hard portion of the helmet seemed fine. And the rule of thumb is that you get one good wreck where you bonk your noggin against the ground, a car, whatever, then it's time to toss the helmet in the trash and buy a new one. But because I hadn't had the one good wreck yet, I figured I might just be able to buy the cushiony inside stuff.

So I went to my nearest bike shop, looked around, didn't find any, then went to the dude at the register and asked if they carried such a thing. "No, we don't sell that. How long have you had your helmet?" I said "I dunno, like four years maybe?"
"Four years, huh?" he said and I knew the sales pitch was coming. Register guy continued, "You might be able to find that inner stuff from your helmet manufacturer, but they're probably gonna say 'Four years, huh? It's time to buy a new helmet.'"

Not to be deterred by his sales pitch, I came back with "Why's that?"
Register guy told me "The elements, you know, they break the helmet down. UV rays, stuff like that."

UV rays indeed. They break down plastic covering hard foam to the point where my helmet might not work after four years of being in the sun a lot less than I am. I better get some stronger sunscreen if that's the case. Well I figured I was either gonna live with black particles and chafing velcro on my forehead every ride or I was gonna buy a new helmet. So I walked over to the helmet area and tried a few on.

This one was too weird looking, that one was too feminine. That other one was way too expensive. One of the bike shop employees saw me trying on helmets and came over and said in some Euro voice "Why don't you try dis one?" and pointed to the more expensive end of the helmet wall. I tried it on and it looked weird. He had me try on 5 more helmets before we found one that fit both my style and price range. He told me he wasn't a salesman, but a mechanic, and he walked over to the register to see if this one was on clearance. I followed him and stood, next in line.

The bike mechanic disappeared. I waited. The guy standing on my side of the register was buying the entire store and trying to figure out what else he needed. It was taking forever, and I really didn't want to buy a helmet that day anyway, so I left the helmet at the counter and walked out the door.

The next day I went to REI and bought a great helmet at 1/3 of the price and used my REI dividend to reduce the price even further. Good times. I tossed my old helmet in the trash. Wouldn't want anybody to mistakenly try to use it after all those UV rays might have secretly broken down the helmets innards.

I rode home wearing my new helmet and I could immediately feel the difference. Not only was there no sense of velcro chafe-age, there was actually more wind flow cooling my noggin! Amazing.

The next day I set out for work with my new helmet on. About 2/3 of the way there, as I turned to leave the Santa Monica beach bike path, my front tire slipped out on a swath of sand. I went to the ground so fast I can't remember it happening. Smacked my right shoulder on the pavement. I can't remember if I knocked my helmet or not. Yep, not even 24 hours after buying my new helmet, I wreck. Funny how that works.

The Man Who Sold The World

I sold my laptop computer - a 2004 iBook G4 800 mHz 40GB HD 640MB RAM AirPort Wireless - last week on eBay. It's the first item I've ever sold on eBay. It's quite the exciting experience, let me tell ya. You get to see how many watchers are watching your item. See how much people are bidding. Or how much they're pushing the bid up to anyway.

When it was all said and done, the laptop went for $430 plus $20 shipping. Not too shabby when you consider how much mileage I got out of it.

Bought it for $1099
minus $430 (eBay sale)
equals $669

Had it for 41 months
equals $16.31 a month

divided by approximately 30 days a month
equals about 54 cents a day

Not too shabby.

All About the Benjamins

The Washington Mutual Bank at 5th & Arizona in Santa Monica is a real mess. It's the most convenient bank for me to go to, but when I get there it's the most inconvenient place to be. There's always a really long line for the teller windows, and if I want to speak to a bank representative then I've got some sitting around to do.

Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks it's a mess. While waiting in the teller line at the bank recently, a bank representative from the desks asked "Does anyone have a straight deposit, no cash?"

The 2nd and 5th individuals in line turned toward the bank rep and raised their hands. The 5th guy immediately walked over and sat down. The woman who was 2nd in line threw her arms up in the air and muttered something to the 3rd person in line. She turned toward the 5th guy and shouted "I was next, but you can go ahead!" She shook her head and muttered something that sounded like a blast of tourettes to the 3rd person.

Then the doors to the left of the line swung open where a man with crutches stood, trying to hold the doors open. Everybody in line turned at once to look. He yelled "Whoever's working on the ATMs, ya can't shut 'em all down at once." I turned away, as if to avoid seeing what might come next. The bald bank manager in a teller window looked up. The man yelled again "NOW TURN ON THE GODDAMN MACHINES!"

The guy behind me let out a chuckle. The bank manager quietly said "We'll get right on it, sir". The man on crutches hobbled out of his door predicament. I felt good knowing that I was about to contribute to my child's college education.

Song to the Siren

It's hot. Not unbearably hot, but summer in SoCal hot. Hot enough that sleeping at night is a bit of a challenge. Hot enough that when I go in to check on the sleeping boy, his hair is moist. Hot enough that even in loud-ville, the windows have to be left open.

Lily and I were lying in bed Tuesday night, discussing whether or not to close the windows, when we heard horrible off-key singing outside. I was convinced it was our apartment manager, because I had seen her bringing her easel and paints to the patio. Lily was convinced it was somebody else. It wasn't somebody else, and it really didn't matter much who it was, we wanted it to stop.

The choice to close Judah's window was a tough one: Close the window so he doesn't wake up from a shrill note tickling his eardrum, but potentially making his room too warm? Or leave the window open so a breeze will come through with the shrill notes? I decided to close the window but leave his door open so some air flow would get in.

We heard our manager singing the same song over and over. Same chorus again and again. I looked out the window to make sure it was her, and it was, and she had headphones on and she was snapping her fingers. Now how one can paint and snap fingers at the same time is beyond my comprehension, but she was managing it.

After our laughter had worn out and the joke wasn't funny anymore, we decided to close the window closest to the singing. I drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter, only to awake about 30 minutes later to hear the same chorus. Firework/gunshot sounds were a welcome tune the following night.

The Birthday Party

Another candle on the cake. Another year gone by. Another prime opportunity for my family (not my "new" family, but my "old" family) to make right all the crazy missteps through the years and finally find some appropriate gifts for somebody they've known this long. So when my (old) family gives a birthday present, I always hope that this year will be different.

Nope. From my sister: NOTHING! Actually, receiving nothing is better than the gifts she gives me, which over the years have included:
- A plastic blue "beehive" hairdo
- A pair of Abe Lincoln boxing puppets
- "Pee Guy": a small figurine of a latino-looking man with a plastic stream of pee going from his crotch to the base of the figurine.

Yes, all memorable and very useful indeed, but they pale in comparison with the types of gifts my mom gives me. It's always clothes. Clothes that must originate at the very bottom of the last-ditch bargain basement pile. For Lee's Birthday 2007 I got a t-shirt that is the color of poop. It's a weird brown color that has no other possible description. The kicker there is that the shirt is size 14/16. Now, I'm no XL person but I can wear adult size shirts, mom.

She also gave me two polo style shirts that, although I wear polo style shirts, would probably make the general public wonder if I had lost my way from the nearest mental facility. Does she see the clothes I wear now? Does she remember the types of shirts I wore as a teenager at home? My sincere hope is that she bought these for the homeless kids at the local shelter and they got mixed up with the fly threads she bought me. Boom, right into the Goodwill bag with the gifts.

The real tragedy here is that this gift-buying behavior is now being passed onto my son. Mom included an extra little gift pack for Judah along with the thoughtful gifts for me. With so many cute clothes for kids nowadays, how could she go wrong? Girls clothes. Yep. Poor kid.

Garbage

There are two trash bins in my edit suite. One is next to the door. One is next to the edit console. I noticed shortly after I started working there that the one next to the console was never being emptied. I noticed it because the bin was overflowing with trash, while the one near the door was consistently empty when I came in every morning.

Because the only option for speaking to the cleaning crew would be to stay much later than I'd like to, I decided to manually move the console trash bin to right next to the door trash bin every night as I left work. It worked for a while. Now for whatever reason, the door trash bin is empty while the console trash bin - which is sitting right next to the other one - is still full of the same trash when it was placed there the night before.



And I'm thinking "Why, that's odd. How could one trash bin be emptied while the other is not?" It's probably physically impossible to empty one without having it bump into the other. In fact, a person would have to be somewhat careful about not knocking over the other trash bin whilst emptying the first.

I have no idea what to do. Leave a note? Wait around to ask the cleaning crew about it? Put the entire trash bin into the other? I guess the easy answer would be for me to dump the trash from one into the other, but now this has turned into a game of who's gonna blink first. Stay tuned. I guess. If you really give a shit about the resolution of how this trash thing goes. Jeez.

Jailbait

With all the drunk driving arrests in the past year, it's kinda scary to be on the roads here in Tinseltown. Nicole Ritchie, Lakers owner Jerry Buss, Prison Break star Lane Garrison, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter, Lindsey Lohan, and Paris Hilton just to name a few. Thankfully they locked up Paris Hilton, and then locked her up again before she got behind the wheel and ran over some poor unsuspecting pedestrian on one of her late night burger binges.

Just think of how many NON-celebs are out there on the road at any given monment after increasing their BAC to a non-legal level. Joe Shmoe gets pulled over by the LAPD and ain't no paparazzi around snapping photos and selling them to the tabloids.

At least Paris Hilton got the worst punishment imaginable: Sarah Silverman ripping Paris a new one at the MTV music awards. That's gotta hurt more than enduring a few weeks in the cushy wing of the jail.

Car Wash

Our "family car", a 2003 VW Passat Wagon, hadn't been washed in a while and it was so dirty that it was becoming embarrassing. A blight on the LA car scene. Not like we took it off-roading or anything, but the air isn't the cleanest around here and the fine particulate matter tends to come to rest on everything.

As I've now done the math and came to the conclusion that it's worth it to take my car to a car wash, I put in the required procrastinating and finally found a coupon in the bulk mailers for a few bucks off the standard rate at Millenium Car Wash in Venice. I took all the extra junk out of the car - baby strollers, sun shield, miscellaneous papers - so that they could vacuum every square inch, and I drove to Millenium.

On my way there I remembered that I forgot to bring a magazine to read when the car was being washed. When I got there, I left the car with the keys in the ignition, rolled up the windows, and told the checker I had a coupon. He handed me a ticket, I paid and took a seat with the rest of the car washees. Some guy and his girlfriend bitched at the manager because his passenger seat was soaked because the window wasn't rolled up. I wished I'd brought that magazine.

A short while later the car washer guy waved my keys in the air and I handed him the ticket along with what I deemed a generous tip. I pretended to have to put something in the trunk so I could inspect the vacuum job, because I've had problems with the trunk being overlooked in the past. Clean as a new car. It felt like I had a new car. I drove off and felt like a responsible LA citizen with my clean, new-feeling car.

I had to pick up some groceries, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw somebody pulling out of the rockstar spot. Sweet. All mine. I pulled in and went into the store. Bought some lunchmeat, some oatmeal for the boy, and some water. On my way past the bakery section, I grabbed a glazed donut for the ride home.

As I left the grocery store and stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot, I pushed the shopping cart and hopped on for a ride to my shiny new car in the rockstar parking spot. I pushed a little too hard and had to jump down to put on the sneaker brakes. As I was rushing by, I saw a car that looked just like mine, but it had a bunch of splotches of bird shit on the hood. I thought "that's not my... is that my? Aw shit."

Yep. Car Wash Karma.

Photograph

Last week I went to the opthamologist. The waiting room was hilarious. I sat down amidst a bunch of old folks with dark sunglasses on (to help with the pupil dilation part) waiting for their name to be called. I'm hardly ever the youngest person in a crowd anymore, but I certainly wasn't in the majority there.

The beauty about the elderly is that they don't have to sit around fiddling with their gizmos and talking on phones all the time. They don't mind sitting and chatting with each other or looking around, looking out the window, sitting in the waiting room listening to the repeated slow pounding of the pile driver breaking ground on a new wing of the hospital next door. Besides, there was a brown placard on the desk that said NO CELL PHONES with a picture of a cell phone and the international NO symbol (circle with a slash through it) on top.

The waiting room became sort of lively when a 70s-ish couple came in to drop some records off. The husband wore a tan jacket and matching fedora/safari hat and he held a stack of his files in his hand. His wife hobbled in on a cane and told him to drop them off on the counter. The man held them above the counter like he was about drop them off, but the staff were running around not noticing him. The wife told him again to drop them off . He looked around and told his wife nobody would see the records. She assured him they would be seen at some point. He turned away from her and stood patiently waiting for the staff to notice him.

A blond boy who was probably 9 years old wearing glasses with coke-bottle lenses came running into the room followed by his mother and father. She was decked out in brown camouflage pants or shorts (I couldn't tell because they seemed too long for shorts and too short for pants) and brown Chuck Taylors, and she had a hairstyle like Bon Jovi from the early Bon Jovi days. She yapped on her pink cell phone while her son jumped around her asking for money. The kid wore a t-shirt that said I'M ONLY PRETENDING TO LISTEN. His dad's t-shirt read OLD GUYS RULE.

Kid: "Can I have a dollar? Can I have a quarter?"
Mom: "What happened to your cell phone?"

The father had a cane that looked like one a blind person would use (he definitely wasn't blind), but the cane wasn't as long and it had a rounded end that the dad repeatedly prodded the back of the kid's knees with.

The kid ran out and back into the waiting room.
Kid: "Can I have a quarter?"

The old man in the fedora handed him a quarter and said "Here's a quarter."
Mom: "He just gave you a quarter, what do you say?"
Kid: "Thank you"

The kid ran off again.

After many minutes, the waiting room cleared one by one until I was the last one there. The woman working behind the counter finally asked me for my health insurance card. I handed it to her and noticed that she looked like she could be a superhero in her green jumpsuit and ridiculously long black boots. She told me she'd see what was taking so long. I took my seat again, 60 minutes after I had first taken my seat.

20 minutes later I would experience what it probably feels like to have a searing cattle prod burnt into the back of my eyeballs as they took photographs. Pupil dilation is only good when you're on drugs. Thankfully I had remembered to bring my sunglasses.

Journey

My apologies for not posting last week and not even having the decency to leave a note that I wouldn't be posting. I had this really elaborate plan in mind that probably would have been the best blog ever, but well... shit happens.

We went to Spain last week, which included a stop in London for a day. Really nice. I won't bore you with details of sunny days by the pool and the beach, or experiencing historically important places, or anything of the sort. But I must say that the Europeans can teach us stupid Americans a thing or two about livin. Here's a few:

- taking a siesta
- throwing the standard architectural city plans out the window and building areas with winding streets meant only for foot traffic
- making the standard driving test far more difficult thereby taking at least half the morons off the road
- 2 dollar coins
- topless beaches
- allowing the purchase of Cuban cigars

Here's a few things they could learn from us:
- coffee to go
- putting more cupholders in cars
- there are sports other than "proper football" and cricket, and they should be shown on television 24 hours a day
- automatic transmission

Funny how most of the things they could learn from us kinda revolve around living on the go. Maybe they know something we don't.

Fake Tales of San Francisco

This week I'm in San Francisco. One of the things I miss about this city is the ability to take a taxicab to wherever you want to go. Not that you couldn't take a cab in LA, but that would be ridiculous and expensive.

Each day I walk out of the hotel and cross the street to the taxi stand. Twice now I've walked up to the driver and said "you available?" And they've replied "where are you going?" Usually, the "where are you going" question happens AFTER they've replied "yes, I'm available."

The first time I got the question, I replied "11th & Folsom". And the driver said something like "I'm not going in that direction". Funny, I thought taxicabs were ALWAYS going in your direction. That's because their main function is to drive you in whatever direction you're going. Not whatever direction they're going in, unless they happen to be going to pick up a fare, and they really oughta be more concerned with picking up that fare than wasting their time stopping for random people who just might be going to where their future passenger is waiting.

So the next time I go up to the taxi driver and ask "you available?" And the driver asks "where you going?" And I reply "you available?" The driver says "yes" and I get in the cab and tell him "11th and Folsom."

I think they'd rather hear me say "wherever the hell you want to drive so's to get a huge fare and relative tip. So let's just drive around until you're tired and I'll get the fuck out." Right. That would be like me asking a potential client how much editing they want to do before I decide to take the job. Please.

TV Party

I'm gonna bring a TV set to work and watch it. (If you know me or if you know what I do for a living, then you know that there's always a TV at work. But just go with it.) Yes, I've decided that it's time for me to be able to sit in my work chair and just kick back and watch the tube.

I could watch some home videos, or maybe tune in and watch some music videos. Perhaps an episode of a classic television show I used to enjoy as a kid. Right there on my personal TV at work. Sounds fun right? Nothing wrong with watching a little TV at work, right?

But wait, I don't need to lug a big ole TV to work at all. I've got YouTube to do my TV viewing already. And all my co-workers are doing it too! No more guilt about watching TV at work at all. In fact, several of my co-workers regularly send me links to watch videos on YouTube. And they're not just 2 minutes vids or whatever. Last week I recieved a link to a video that's over 20 minutes of a guy playing Super Mario Brothers and swearing a lot whenever Mario gets killed. If co-workers are watching over 20 minutes of a guy playing Super Mario Brothers and swearing a lot whenever Mario gets killed then it must be okay for me to watch a little TV at work, right?

Wake Up

It's been easy waking up lately. Not easy like "Eyes slowly opening, outside birds gently singing, I glance at the clock and it's late but that's okay" easy. Easy like "Those fucking seagulls better shut up or I'm gonna throw an Alka-Seltzer feeding party. Aw shit, might as well drag my ass out of bed" easy. With all the noise you hear in our neighborhood before the alarm clock goes off, it's a breeze waking up.

The garbage trucks. The seagulls squawking at the garbage left behind by the garbage trucks. The sirens. The cars racing down Grand Blvd. The downstairs neighbors turning on the bathroom fan and slamming the toilet seat in either direction. The gardeners with their lawnmowers and their weed whackers. The sirens. And the occasional neighbor starting their car, rolling down the windows and blasting some otherwise relatively benign indie-pop like The Shins or Death Cab for Cutie. Caring is creepy. Right. YOU'RE creepy. Fuck off and give me back my last hour of sleep.

There's also our unpredictable roommate. Sometimes he wakes up before I do and makes a bunch of noise. Other times he gets up in the middle of the night and makes a racket, which makes it impossible to sleep much less get back to sleep when the racket is over. And then there are the times when I wake up and look at the clock and I think he's gonna make some noise soon, therefore I can't sleep anymore I might as well drag my ass outta bed.

But I know of a way to solve the problem: If you can't beat 'em, drink more coffee.

I Don't Like Mondays

.

Guided by Voices

The phone rang. It was the friendly folks at my cellular service provider who had decided to give me a 2nd line with a free phone too.
Her voice was loud and instructional, and I could tell she was reading from the printed page.

voice: Hello this is a complimentary call from Sprint Nextel and we'd like to let you know that in addition to our free offer, this call will not count against any of your minutes.

me: Great

voice: I'd like to speak with Mr. Gardner

me: This is Mr. Gardner

voice: Because you've been such an outstanding customer blah blah blah we'd like to offer you a 2nd line and a free flip phone blah blah blah

me: Great

voice: Would you be interested in that?

me: I'm interested

voice: So are you saying yes, you'd like to accept our offer?

me: Let me ask you this: Can I take the extra line and make it my wife's phone number and give her the free phone?

voice: I'm not sure. Are you interested?

me: I'm interested

voice: Would you like to accept our offer?

me: Well, I can't really make a decision whether I'd like to accept or not until I have information as to whether I can make the extra line my wife's phone number and give her the free phone.

voice: (pause) Can I put you on hold for a minute to see if I can answer your question?

me: Sure

A minute goes by, and the voice returns

voice: Hello? Mr. Gardner?

me: Yes

voice: I'm not really sure if we can do that or not.

me: Hmmm

voice: So would you like to accept our offer?

me: Well, I can't really make a decision whether I'd like to accept or not until I have information as to whether I can make the extra line my wife's phone number and give her the free phone.

voice: So is that a yes or a no?

me: It's neither. I can't really make a decision based on the information I have.

voice: Well thank you for your time and thank you for choosing Sprint together with Nextel.

me: Okay, bye.

The next day the phone rings and it's the same voice and the same offer is offered as if the prior conversation never happened. I explained that we'd had this conversation before and I couldn't make a decision until she could tell me whether I could make the extra line my wife's phone number and give her the free phone.

voice: Can I put you on hold for a minute to see if I can answer your question?

A minute goes by, and the voice returns

voice: Hello? Mr. Gardner?

me: Yes

voice: I have my supervisor on the line, could you repeat your question?

me: Can I take the extra line and make it my wife's phone number and give her the free phone?

voice (not the supervisor's voice): Can I put you on hold for a minute to see if I can answer your question?

me: Sure.

A minute goes by, and the voice returns

voice: I'm not really sure if we can do that or not.

I tell the voice that I can't really spend any more time on this, and she says thanks for choosing Sprint together with Nextel. The next day the phone rings and it's a different voice offering the same plan. I give my same spiel and this time the voice tells me I need to call customer relations, and that he can't do it for me. That was easy.

Money

I'm a "click here to save the environment" kind of guy. There's a mail folder I've created in my favorite e-mail program to separate all those "click here to save the environment" kind of e-mails. I feel like I'm doing my part. Clicking to save polar bears and baby seals. Clicking to save the trees from the loggers and the Bush administration. Clicking to bring the troops home. Click.

Sometimes I give money to these organizations as well. Hell, if the lobbyists for destroying the planet are throwing their money into the furnace, then I oughta be throwing my money into buying some water to put the fire out. One organization I give money to is Environment California. They do all sorts of good stuff like making sure there's no rocket fuel in our drinking water. And they use my money to stop the oil companies from putting up a zillion oil drilling platforms off the California coast and having us swim in slimy water at the beach I don't even wanna swim in. It's the least I can do.

But my favorite thing about giving money to Environment California is the fact that when I see their young minions out in front of REI or wherever asking for money, I can tell them I already give every month to their organization. Then their faces fill with glee and they thank me and back off.

One such minion started walking up to me to ask for "a moment of my time"*, but I stopped him in his tracks by telling him I'm already a member and I give every month. He then smiled and made an arm gesture rotating at the shoulder right angle bent elbow with fist moving in front of his torso toward the other shoulder. If that doesn't make sense, it's kind of a "hooray" or hoisting beer stein or "shucks" kind of motion. If that still doesn't make sense, come see me and I'll demonstrate it for you.

Well, he did that and I immediately thought "whoa, that was the dorkiest motion I've seen in quite a while, I can't believe he just did that" and I looked at his cohort standing on the other side of me like "can you believe he just did that?" The other guy was smiling too. Now I wanna give my money to some other cause, because apparently they're using my money to supply these kids with drugs. Click.

*money

Lady

My apartment manager's been making more than the usual amount of visits lately. No specific reason. Not like we're late with the rent. Just this or that, and it's way too much interaction than I'm comfortable with. Borrowing the laundry key, returning the laundry key. Bringing her granddaughter over to visit Judah. Telling us about her new roommate.

It's not that I mind her personally, it's more about the startle I get when anybody knocks on our door. So unexpected. So eerie sounding. And she usually knocks at times when I'm fully settled into "home" mode with "home clothes" on and doing something mundane like cleaning the kitchen after dinner.

The latest surprise visit was Monday morning after I got up and was milling around getting some orange juice. It was an unusually quiet morning for this loud neighborhood. I was probably thinking that it must be nice for Lily and Judah to get some sleep then KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. It felt like a bucket full of ice cold water was dumped on my head.

I opened the door and saw my apartment manager standing there with that face that looks like the "embarassed" emoticon, and I'm sure I answered the door with that face that looks like the "gasp" emoticon. Or maybe I just looked blank and not awake yet. Anyway, my apartment manager proceeds to tell me that we were supposed to get our windows replaced on Tuesday morning at 8 am, but the window replacer guys were here on Monday at 7:20. Like right now. Nice.

She asked me if I wanted to reschedule and before I had a chance to say something kind like "excuse me, I'm not awake yet, what the hell did you just tell me?" I told her I wasn't aware that the window guys were even coming and that the rest of my family (still sounds weird to say that) was still asleep. She said okay and I closed the door.

I could hear her scamper down the stairs and tell the window guys to come back tomorrow. At least I knew she'd be knocking again in the next 24 hours. Surprise visit duly noted.

It's More Fun to Compute

I've used Apple computers for some time now. Although I call myself a Mac user, unlike a lot of Mac users I have really no hatred toward PCs or the Windows platform. In fact, I really like the Windows feature that allows your window to lock to the entire screen. And I wish that were an option in Macs. So there ya go. Don't hate PCs.

But a PC user recently told me "Macs suck" and I felt compelled to find reasons why they don't suck. And the number one reason they don't suck is the thumb. Macs don't make you use your pinky for the main modifier key. Macs use the thumb.

Just try holding down CTRL with your pinky on a PC and reach for T or Y. Weird fingering, right? Now try holding down CMND (this would be where the ALT button is on PCs for those of you using a PC keyboard) with your left thumb and reach for T or Y. Not so weird, right? Weird with the PC. Not with the Mac. There ya go. PCs are for weridos. You don't want to be a weirdo, do you?

Lips Like Sugar

With all the weather swings lately, my lips have been chapped worse than the inside of Jennifer Jason Leigh's thighs in Last Exit to Brooklyn. Combine the weather with a windy bike ride a couple times a week, and I'm in dire need of lip balm in my possession at all times.

I have a great stick of lip balm made by EO that I bought at Whole Paycheck a while ago. It lives on my nightstand and never goes anywhere. It's still going strong, despite the fact that the average stick of lip balm must have a life span of around 3 weeks. Not because it gets used up, but because it gets lost.

The other week I was at work and I couldn't bear another moment without lip balm so I walked to the nearest grocery store - Wild Oats (which has since been bought by Whole Paycheck) and bought some Wild Oats brand lip balm. Spearmint. Relief at last. I lost the Spearmint Wild Oats lip balm about 2 days later.

I decided that I must always and forever have a lip balm at work and a lip balm at home. So I found an old Berry Blast ChapStick that I previously hated and had previously decided I wasn't ever going to use again, but I brought it out of retirement so it could serve as my "work" lip balm. Brought that to work. Kept it under the Avid keyboard so nobody would steal it. But another editor took over my suite for a week and it mysteriously disappeared.

So after another bout of severe chappitude, I broke down and walked to Wild Paycheck again and bought ANOTHER stick of Spearmint Wild Oats lip balm. Lost that one in 3 days. I was about ready to remove my precious EO lip balm from its safe place at home where I always know where to find it. But then Lily told me to bring this really lame old ChapStick to work. When I say "really lame" and "old", I'm referring to that era of ChapStick where it smelled almost menthol and it had different graphics on the outside. But I was desperate for the comfort of always having lip balm nearby, so I brought it to work.

That morning, I pulled the ancient ChapStick out and I was just about to use it, when I thought to take one last look under the Avid keyboard. And out rolled the two Spearmint Wild Oats sticks of lip balm. I was going to call Lily and affirm her belief that I'm an airhead, but I was distracted by genuine work at work.

When I got home that night, Lily told me to close my eyes and put out my hands. I did, and she placed two new luxury lip balms in them. What a sweetie. Now I'm rich with lip balm and I should be good for another 5 weeks at least.

Hey Ya!

There's this fellow at work that I pass by pretty much every day. I'm convinced he's a freelancer, but I really have no clue as to whether he is or whether he's staff. He's not a person I work with directly. I see him as I head to or from the kitchen for another mug of coffee, or as I generally make my way around the office. I have no feelings one way or the other toward the guy. So when I see him in my travels through the workplace, I do the head nod and say "Hey", combined with generic toothless smile afterward.

But for some reason I get the sense that I'm not doing the right thing by finding out his name. This non-personal interaction has gone on so long that it would be odd and a little awkward to start with the introductions. Seems strange to try to get to know the guy better when we've established (through non-attempts) that our level of friendliness toward each other is about as high as it's gonna get.

Then again, do I really need to know his name? Does he need to know mine? Is it really necessary for me to know that his name might be Bob? And instead of saying "Hey" when I see him around work I can say "Hey Bob"?

I really doubt that Bob, or whatever his name is, has given this as much thought as I have. The next time I see him I'm just gonna say "Hey Bob" and forget about it.

All Apologies

I'm sorry I forgot to take the trash out the night before trash day.
I'm sorry I drank your last beer.
I'm sorry I'm e-mailing you back so late.
I'm sorry, what did you say?
I'm sorry this didn't work out.
I'm sorry you feel that way.
I'm sorry I blocked your car in.
I'm sorry I scratched your car.
I'm sorry your dog ran away with that floozy of a poodle, and I'm sure he'll come back soon don't you worry.
I'm sorry I raised my voice.
I'm sorry that we couldn't make it to your party.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I dropped your cell phone.
I'm sorry I've been such a dumbass lately.
I'm sorry this weed isn't as dank as the stuff you usually get from your guy.
I'm sorry, but your March Madness bracket didn't get turned in in time.
I'm sorry you didn't win the Oscar pool, there's always next year.
I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention.
I'm sorry, but your company fucking sucks and I'll be taking my business elsewhere.
I'm sorry you lost your sense of taste because this chocolate is to die for.
I'm sorry we don't see this the same way.
I'm sorry to hear your great-great-grandfather passed away.
I'm sorry you didn't receive those files.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I ate your lunch. I'm sorry I didn't see the name on the box.
I'm sorry those people took off with your new notebook computer.
I'm sorry I didn't remember I was supposed to water your plants while you were away for a month in that little villa you loved so much.
I'm sorry the bus schedule doesn't work like I told you it does.
I'm sorry I couldn't get your Avid question figured out.
I'm sorry I couldn't get your Final Cut Pro question figured out.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I left my wallet at home so could you buy this round and I'll getcha next time?
I'm sorry, but I didn't receive that message.
I'm sorry I cheated.
I'm sorry I ever met you.
I'm sorry I left the cap off the toothpaste.
I'm sorry I didn't remember I was supposed to feed your fish while you were away for a month in that little villa you loved so much.
I'm sorry that the volume was up much louder than I thought it was. I'm sorry your ears are bleeding.
I'm sorry I woke you.
I'm sorry I forgot to put water in the coffee maker. I'm so very very sorry.

Hollaback Girl

WARNING: The links included in this post may or may not be suitable for work. Depends on where you work, I guess.

Recently I was at the computer and Lily was channel surfing, and she stopped on channel 502, where Gwen Stefani was performing a previously recorded live concert. Numerous songs played, none of which I knew, but then Gwen Stefani's hit song Hollaback Girl started. I stopped my computing, went to see the performance, and Lily asked "What's a Hollaback Girl?" I had no idea what a Hollaback Girl was.

I recalled a song Gwen Stefani sung back in her days in the band No Doubt. That song is called "Just a Girl" (the music video for which world-famous editor Alan Chimenti is partially famous for editing completely) Then I thought there must be some relation between being "Just a Girl" and a "Hollaback Girl." We did some research on the world wide web and we found out what the relation is:

Just a Girl

Hollaback Girl

Just a Girl

Hollaback Girl

Now you know.

500 25 thousand 600 minutes

I'm writing this immediately after watching the movie Rent, which was based on the play of the same name.

I hated that movie more than I've hated any other single movie before. I hated it so much that as I was washing the dishes afterward, I blurted out "I hate that movie so much because I wasted two hours of my life watching that piece of shit." Then I laughed at the fact that I blurted that out and resumed washing.

I hated Rent so much that I'm never watching another musical again as long as I live. I hated Rent so much that 10 minutes into the film I was thinking "I hope to God this movie is only 90 minutes. Please let it be only 90 minutes." It wasn't 90 minutes. It was 129 minutes, which is 39 minutes of excruciating pain too long. I didn't hate it so much that I wanted to tear my eyeballs out, but I need to see a movie that's good soon so I can take a firehose to Rent and power wash it out of my memory.

I knew I was gonna hate Rent so much as soon as it started. That fucking theme song is so insidious that I still can't get it out of my head a half hour later. 500 25 thousand 600 minutes! I will never watch another musical again.

I'm a Survivor

For the sake of anonymity, the person at the center of this post will remain anonymous. She doesn't want any readers to know her secret.

I have this roommate - we'll call her Lillian - and Lillian likes to watch the TV show Reba. It's the sitcom revolving around the life of Reba McEntire. After inadvertently viewing several snippets of episodes, I can't decide whether it's the life of Reba McEntire the country singer or just somebody with that name who has a sitcom. She doesn't really do any sort of work that I can perceive. Doesn't matter.

Where I'm going with this is the fact that we now have TiVo. Not really TiVo, but Time Warner Cable's version of TiVo, which they call DVR. Which is really a PVR, but maybe that name is copyrighted like TiVo. All I know is that DVR doesn't make any cartoony sounds when a button on the remote is pressed. Nor does it have a cartoony mascot icon thingy. It has no personality whatsoever, and that's fine as long as it does its job of recording television.

What I'm really getting at is that that Reba is taking up a lot of space on our DVR. Lillian did what's called a "series recording", which records Reba whenever it's on TV. It didn't take long for the DVR to start filling up to max capacity, because sometimes Reba is on 10 times daily.

Lillian has a hard time keeping up with the Reba on the DVR, and it seems like at time it's a job. "Got the DVR down to 65% full" she says. But when I go to see SportsCenter (the only series I'm currently recording), I can page down the DVR menu several times and it looks like I've been on the same page because it just has a list of about 7 lines that all say "Reba". The only perceptible clue to anything happening as I page down the menu is that slight flash of menu pages turning when the pages turn.

Recently Lillian was on one of her job-like crusades to watch and delete as many Rebas as possible in order to get the DVR down to a more comfortable level. She finished one Reba and deleted it, then said to me "I just deleted a Reba and the DVR didn't go down, it went up." Lillian was perplexed and somewhat distraught over the fact that her hard work didn't net any result, but instead did the opposite. I said "maybe it was recording a Reba while you were watching that one. There are like 10 on a day, and unless you can keep that up, it's a losing battle."

Lillian let out a heavy sigh. The she picked up the remote and watched another. Thank God there are only 125 episodes.

Evol

The other night I was heading home from work and I was almost home when I remembered I forgot to get Lily some flowers. She'd had a rough weekend and I hoped that a bouquet would help her feel a little better.

It was around 7 pm and most flower places close around that time, but I spotted a place called Gourmet Grocer on Abbot-Kinney that looked like it might have something. I took a quick spin around the store. Gourmet it was, florist it wasn't. There were three men in there, one of which was tending shop.

I stepped up to the register and asked if they had any flowers.
The shopkeep said "We usually do, but the guy who does the flowers is on vacation this week."
Aargh. I asked "Any ideas where I can get some flowers around here?"

He looked over at the other guys in the store and shouted out "You guys know of any places to get flowers nearby?"

One guy said "There's Conroy's on Lincoln & Venice". And I'm wondering why I didn't think of that because it's just huge and on a busy intersection that I drive by all the time. But the reason I didn't think of that is because every time we drive by that busy intersection, Lily mentions how much she doesn't like that place or their selection of flowers.

I said "Oh right, now I remember. Conroy's". As I walked out the door thinking "okay, time to drive around some more" the third guy said "there's a flower shop maybe 40 feet down Abbot-Kinney called Sentiments (Scentiments is the correct spelling). They've got a really nice selection."

That sounded a hell of a lot more promising than Conroy's. As I walked out, I made of note of it. Not the flower place. But that if I'm ever in a bind to find last-minute flowers, ask a bunch of guys. They'll know where to go.

I'm an asshole

How's your New Years resolution going? There was a report on the radio that said New Years resolutions are good for business. Like the health clubs get a boost around New Years, which kind of pisses off the health club regulars because the gear is taken up by people who aren't really serious about fitness. They'll only be there for a month or so, then go back to their slothful ways. That's what the radio said anyway. Good for business.

And as I was listening to the report I noticed this truck.



The truck is not really the thing to notice, but the appendage below the license plate is. It's not apparent exactly what the gold part is, but I'd say it's balls. A pair of gold balls. When the truck drove, the balls kinda waggled, which made me think that they're balls and not some other thing like... well, like nothing but balls.

Which led me to wonder why somebody would put that on their truck. The fact that they've got a truck like that should convey the same message as having a gold ballsack appendage on the truck. I was thinking it might be just as appropriate to have a big gold asshole on the truck. Which led me to remembering that I hadn't actually made a New Years resolution for 2007.

So here it is: I resolve to not drive like an asshole in 2007. You can join in this one with me if you want. Just raise your right hand (or left hand if you're goofy like that) and repeat after me:

- I resolve to not drive like an asshole. I will not speed ridiculously nor race from a stop sign or stop light. I will not do that thing where you sense that the person in the next lane is trying to speed up to change lanes and get in front of you, and then speed up to prevent them from doing so.

- I resolve not to drive like an asshole. I will not talk on my cell phone while driving or I'll pull over or I'll get a headset. I will not try to navigate my iPod to that one song that I must hear immediately. I won't fuck with any gadgets whatsoever while driving. If I need to do that I'll pull over.

- I resolve not to give people a dirty look when they cut me off. Or wave my middle finger at them. Or shout or spit or any asshole-ish things that an asshole would do.

In the end, it's probably easier to just ride my bike everywhere and not drive as much. Then I can be immune to being an asshole. Nobody who rides a bike is an asshole. Ever.

Thirty Dirty Birds

Due to the fact that drinking the tap water here would cause me to grow a third ear, we've been drinking bottled water. Not really in bottles, but in those suitcase-style plastic containers with the little spigot at the bottom. Seems to make more sense for us than getting water delivered or drinking the tap water here and growing a third ear.

But after a while those empty plastic suitcases start to pile up, and Judah likes to use them as cars that he pushes all over the apartment. So to prevent that, I take the plastic suitcases and put them in the hatchback part of 'Lil Brown (our 1990 Honda Civic that appeared in LLMB 7/6/06). That works until the items in the hatchback part of 'Lil Brown overflow into the back seat, and any co-workers who happen to see my car wonder what the hell is going on.

I was feeling crowded out of 'Lil Brown enough that I finally decided to take the empty suitcases to the plastic recycling center nearby. When I pulled up to the trailers outside Albertson's where they collect plastic, three homeless men were sitting on the curb passing around a lighter lighting cigarettes.

I grabbed a couple of the handy big plastic garbage cans to throw my plastic suitcases in, and one of the homeless guys yelled "Make 'em count 'em". And another one said "Ya get more money" while the third guy took a drag off his cigarette and nodded and winked. The two people working the recycling center - a woman with thin penciled eyebrows and a small man with a moustache and trucker cap - moseyed off the car they were sitting on and reluctantly assumed work mode.

The woman asked "How many?"
"I don't know" I replied and then started counting the suitcases as I filled the garbage can. I got to 19, but I wasn't finished emptying 'Lil Brown of all of the suitcases.
"Please smash 'em next time" the mustached man said while smashing the suitcases. What? So I can save him the time so he can go back and sit on the car again? Like hell I will.

The total was 29. The woman gave me a receipt for $2.90 to take into Albertson's to redeem for cash money. I walked by the three homeless guys on my way inside. "How much did ya get?" one of them asked.
"2.90" I replied.
Another one chimed in "You'd get more if ya made 'em count em instead of weighin' 'em"
"I did count 'em" I said.
Another one of the homeless guys said "Buy a power tie" as he noticed I was wearing a tie (this was on Thursday before work). The other two guys cackled. I locked my car so they wouldn't steal any of the highly valuable items in 'Lil Brown. Like the melted cassette collection in the glove box.

I got my $2.90 in mostly quarters so we could do laundry. I came back outside, headed toward the car and realized those homeless guys were gonna ask me for money. I tried not to look at them, but I couldn't resist after I heard "Hey!"

I looked over.
"Can I borrow $2.90?"
The three guys all laughed.
I smiled and said "You guys have a nice day."

Divine Intervention

Don't know if you caught the end of the Seahawks / Cowboys wild-card playoff game on Saturday night, but I sure did. You think after all the griping / wishing / praying I've done in this section of the TNSC website in the past year I'd miss that one?

Let me preface the rest of the rant with this: I have no illusions that the Seahawks are good at all this year, and they definitely aren't worthy of being considered a playoff-caliber team this season. But until the NFL decides to exclude the NFC West from the definition of "playoff-caliber", they'll still be in the running.

Around the middle of the 4th quarter, the standard Seahawks sinking feeling started setting in. The Cowboys were clicking. The Seahawks defense was looking tired. I had done enough yelling at the TV that Lily has forbidden me from watching Seahawks games at home until the end of time or the end of my life, whichever comes first.

I came to the conclusion that no team that I root for is going to win a championship any time soon, nor has any won a championship in my lifetime - excluding the SuperSonics in 1979, but I was too young to really appreciate it. And I realize that it took forever for many fans of the Boston Red Sox to get another title, but it's kinda hard to feel sorry for a place that's won three of the last five Super Bowls.

In fact, Seattle has the longest drought of any city in terms of winning a sports championship. Unless you're counting the WNBA championship won by the Seattle Storm in 2004. But that's the WNBA. If most women don't care about the Women's NBA, why should I?

Okay, I also realize that Cleveland has statistically the longest drought in terms of championships, but they've actually WON the NFL Championship. They've won the World Series. Seattle titles in those sports? Zero.

But we kept the game close. And we took the lead. And I knew that it couldn't last. Near the end of the game, Dallas drove toward the goal and set up for a field goal. And I'm thinking "a bad snap is the only way we're winning this thing."

And there it was. And there I was jumping off the couch and pogo-ing in my living room. Lily got pissed because she had just put Judah to bed and I was in danger of waking him up. Bad snap? No. Bad hold? Yesssss. Romo got one last chance to take off the goat costume, but it didn't happen. I don't feel sorry for that guy. He has Carrie Underwood around to take the pain away. Unless she dumps his sorry ass. Who wants to date a goat like Romo?

My only explanation for the win is that some divine intervention intervened and gave Seattle a break. After all the bad breaks that have gone against the Seahawks in the past few years, something came through and said "I'll give ya this one". Or maybe it's so Seattle can get tortured for another week.

Rollercoaster

Happy New Year! I hope everybody survived the holiday season. Except that fucker who whipped his huge suitcase far back enough from the luggage carousel to hit Judah and make him cry. He had the nerve to say "you should watch where your kid is", even though Judah was in the no-luggage-flying zone.

I hope he didn't survive the holiday season. No, no. He can survive the holiday season. But he needs to have a kid and maybe some fucker can whip his huge suitcase far back enough from the luggage carousel to hit his kid and make him cry. No, no. That's not fair to his kid. Maybe he shouldn't survive the holiday season after all. No, no. He should get a really bad case of crabs.

Man in the Box

Well, we're in the home stretch of gifting for the holidays. The gift I've received most this year is the link to "Dick in a Box" on YouTube. I received the link about 15 times in 2 days before I began stopping would-be IM links from happening.

Yes, it's funny. No, it's not THAT funny after the 5th time. But yes, it's still funny.

If you haven't seen it - and I can't imagine how you wouldn't have received this link 15 times already like me - well here ya go. It's probably over on Linkey-loo anyway. Don't say I never got you anything.

Happy Holidaze!

i Against i

With all this holiday shopping (that would be Christmas shopping in the religion I was raised under, but don't practice anymore), I've noticed the abundance of iThings. You know, stuff that's meant to go with an iPod, but maybe not always.

iPod is meant to work with iTunes. Check. That makes sense. But there's iEverythingunderthefuckingsun these days. iHome, iSkin, and the always easy to remember iH31s. Yeah, go to the Best Buy and ask those oh-so-helpful employees where you can get an iH31s for your iPod. They'll surely tell you "I don't know what that is but I'll go check. I'll be right back." But they won't be right back. They'll be hiding from you in the appliance section, where nobody ever goes.

If you don't get enough iPod in your daily existence, you can go to iLounge and see the accessories you don't have. You can get an iWoofer if your stereo doesn't have enough thump. And when you've dropped your iPod too many times, you can't get any old scratch remover to make it purty again, you have to get iCleaner. Just don't go to Walgreen's to buy it or they'll direct you toward the contact lens solution.

There's iEat if you can't figure out what to make for din-din. And then when din-din is done, use iCarta for... well, I'm not ever gonna touch anybody else's iPod ever again.

If you're looking for the perfect gift to get your favorite person for whatever holiday you were raised under, look no further.

You just can't be away from your iPod for too long, so better strap it to your undies. Well at least until the music really gets you in the mood.
iLee iLee the iMusical iBee

The Hurting

You gotta love the grocery store. It's where we get to experience one of the most mundane aspects of our existence: the food gathering part. Except now it's got all sorts of decisions attached to it which are far more important than HUNGRY NEED FOOD:

- is that brand cheaper than that other brand?
- is that brand more eco-friendly than that other brand?
- am I getting a good deal at this market?
- should I buy the Coppola wine or the Charles Shaw?

HUNGRY NEED FOOD doesn't ask those questions. HUNGRY NEED FOOD finds adequate food and ingests it. When we moved toward having a civilized society, we introduced money into the equation and now HUNGRY NEED FOOD must wait. And HUNGRY NEED FOOD doesn't like to wait.

Waiting happens at the checkout, where all sorts of stuff you expect to happen in places like the bank or the DMV happens: People without their shit ready. Employees not interested in efficiency. Or if you're like me (or if your face happens to look like mine), you get both in a lovely setting just one back from getting rung up at the register.

Got my food. Got cash in hand ready to fork over and begin eating. Senior citizen lady in front of me, her goods on the conveyor belt. She says, "I brought up this burrito box to see if you had any more in back."
Gorilla-sized employee working register glances at me and my food in one hand and cash in the other.
"Let me check for you, ma'am."
(It would be so easy to just throw my cash at him and be on my way, but no, I am a responsible and patient citizen.)

Employee mutters incomprehensible banter over intercom. White guy in turban hurries up to answer call. "What's that you need, T?" (Apparently T is the name of the gorilla-sized gentleman at the register)
"See if there are any more of these." (Points at empty burrito box.)
White turban guy says "I don't think there are any more, but I'll check."

In the meantime, senior lady's (who is very sweet and nice) goods are rung:
"Is it senior discount day today?"
"Senior day is on Tuesday." (This was on Monday)
"Tuesday, huh"
(No reply from employee)

"Do I sign it now?"
"Wait 'til I'm done."

"Can you help me take my groceries out to my car?"
"We'll have somebody do that for you ma'am."

Employee #2 arrives.
"Would you like all these in your canvas bag, ma'am?"
"As many as you can get in there, dear."

Employee #2 crams everything into one bag.
Senior lady stops her "It gets heavy really quickly"
Employee #2 grabs a paper bag and tosses groceries in.

White turban guy comes back empty handed.
"Sorry, we don't have any more of those burritos." He hurries away.

Employee hands senior lady her receipt and she gets her things together at her cart with employee #2.
Employee rings up my food.
I hand him my cash. "I don't need a bag."
He hands me my change and I maneuver around senior lady and employee #2, still at the cart getting organized.
Hungry. Need food.

Thunderstruck

Actual conversation with somebody at a party recently:

Dude: How you liking SoCal?

Lee: I like it. I didn't think it would get as chilly as it is, but it's that time of year. Who knew it wouldn't be warm and sunny here all the time?

Dude: Yeah! People say there aren't any seasons here, but there are slight variations in the weather. You know what place doesn't have seasons? San Francisco. It's always gray and cold there no matter what time of year it is.

Lee: Well, it does tend to dump buckets of rain there in the fall and winter more often than other times of the year.

Dude: Nah. It's the same all the time there. There's more variation in the weather here. It's subtle, but it's definitely cold in the winter and hot in the summer.

Lee: Yeah.

Dude: It's kind of like AC/DC. You listen to AC/DC?

Lee: A little bit. I don't know too much of their stuff after Back in Black.

Dude: Well, the weather in SoCal is just like AC/DC: People say their stuff all sounds the same, and it sorta does, but if you KNOW AC/DC, you know that The Razors Edge sounds a hell of a lot different than Back in Black.

Lee: Wow. I had no idea.

Who knew the weather in SoCal is like AC/DC? I sure do now.

Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

What the hell are you looking here for? You should be looking for the gravy to slather all over your plate of turkey & mashed potatoes.

Thanks for reading! See you next week.

I want to ride my bicycle

I have the luxury of being able to ride my bike to work. It's 3.5 miles each way, and mostly flat with subtle inclines and declines. And luckily for me, there's a bike lane most of the way. And being that I live in lovely Southern California, where the weather is gorgeous most of the time, I don't have to worry about the elements too much. It's been fun to ride past all the people sitting in their cars in my traffic-free lane meant just for me. That is, until recently.

You'd think with the mornings getting a tad more chilly here, there'd be fewer cyclists on the road. But in fact, the opposite is true. My once-clear bike lane has become congested with other riders. Riders who like to go different speeds than I do. Riders on beach cruisers who aren't attempting to get to work in a timely manner. Riders decked out in racing gear who aren't attempting to race.



And the worst of all: riders who pass me.

The last few weeks I've finally been able to arrange my morning so that I leave my house and get on the road at the same time. Can you believe that? I can't. Anyway, 8:30 it is. Apparently it's the same time this other guy leaves his house every morning too. And he passes me every day. I thought I was fast (certain writers on this website have referred to me as "super-sonic bee" before), but apparently I've slowed in my old age. And the thing that kills me most about this guy is that he looks like Napoleon Dynamite. Huge blonde hair under his helmet, lanky, on a road bike with a huge frame, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. I can almost hear "Tina! Come get some ham!" as he rides away. The worst part about getting passed by the biking Napoleon Dynamite is that it looks so effortless as he goes by. La la la, just in probably the highest gear possible, slowly cranking, but making huge strides forward. La la la. I hate him.

But worse than that, there was a guy who even inspired a bit of road rage recently. I'm just past the first 1/5 of my ride, stopped at a light, and this joker with no helmet meanders past me and runs the red. Fine. If he wants to get run over, fine. So when the light turns green, I start pedaling and eventually catch up to him. I figure he's not going too too slow, so I coast behind for a bit, knowing that I'm gonna zip by him when we reach the next stop light. But after a couple blocks of green lights, another guy blows past both of us. I decide I've had enough, so I pass the red-light-running-guy. A couple lights later, there's a red. I stop and wait, and then I feel something bump against my back tire. I turn around and it's red-light-running-guy. I stare at him for a second, then turn around.

It's at that point, I decide to mess with this guy a little, so I ride the next leg of the trip more slowly than usual. Eventually he passes me, and at the next stop light, he's not running the red. So I do what any good SoCal citizen would do and obey the golden rule of the road: Do unto others as they've done unto you. I bump his tire. He doesn't turn around at all. He looks both ways and runs the red. I'm not gonna let this guy win the race, so I pedal my ass off until I reach him, but he starts veering into the oncoming lanes (there's no cars coming, don't worry about red-light-running-guy) like he's gonna take a left. I ride past him and raise my arms in victory. I haven't seen him since. I sure showed him. That morning, it took me about 20 minutes to catch my breath. I'm gettin too old for this shit.

Dress You Up

A couple weeks ago I wore a tie on Friday. First time wearing a tie at the new job. I wasn't wearing a suit, mind you. Tie, dress shirt, slacks. No tennies. Loafers. No jacket. By the looks and remarks I got, you'd think I was wearing a Halloween costume.
"What's the special occasion?"
"You trying to show us up?"
"Isn't that tie thing for Thursdays?"

Which brings me to the point of this weeks post: If the "tie thing" is for Thursdays, why haven't I seen anybody wearing a tie on Thursdays?!?!?!?!!! My apologies to Alan and Brady - who both wear ties on a regular basis. One co-worker saw me and said "Oh, you're starting the tie thing. Isn't that for Thursdays? I'd totally be into doing that." Whew. FINALLY!

The next Thursday rolls around (this was last Thursday), so I get ready for work and put a tie on. Lily hates it when I wear a tie to work. She thinks it's dumb. There was once a time in men's work-wear that men were EXPECTED to wear ties. Not just on Thursday, mind you. Monday through Friday, sucka. No "Casual Fridays" anywhere. Just "put on your suit and tie and look like you're going to work" days. Look like you're going to work. These days, seems the line between looking like you're going to work and looking like you're going to have a drink at the local watering hole has been cleanly erased.

Anyway, I get to work, grab coffee and the harassment continues:
"Is it still Halloween?" Yes! And what a unique costume I've come up with!
"Is it dress up day?" Yes! You know how I love to play dress up!
"Is it Thursday?" Ugh.

And my new comrade in tie-wearing forgot about the tie-wearing. Or he didn't know it was Thursday. Or something. Whatever the case, I stuck out like a sore thumb because NOBODY KNOWS THAT THURSDAY IS "TIE ONE ON THURSDAY"!

Here's the deal:
As a member of the TNSC, you get to, on Thursday, wear a tie. Then after work (or after whatever you've been doing all day in your neckwear), you go to the TNSC venue and because you're wearing a tie, Alan - who will be wearing a tie - buys you a drink. If your name is Lee and you were his assistant at one point, he might even buy you multiple drinks! So what are you waiting for? Wear a tie and get a drink bought by AC! The end.

Cheap Trick

I love Halloween. Who doesn't? I mean, at what age will you stop loving Halloween? When you're a kid you love it because you get to go out Trick or Treating and eat candy for weeks afterward. When you're an adult you love it because you get to go out and party your ass off with a costume on. And eat candy for weeks afterward! But somewhere in the transition from kid to adult, I think the message went awry.

Halloween is traditionally about scary. Not goofy, although some of the best costumes are the goofy ones. But Halloween is definitely NOT ABOUT SEXY. I don't know where the train ran off the rails with the costumes, but how the hell did "sexy" make its way into Halloween? Elvira, fine. She's the exception because she's still trying to keep her cleavage in the Halloween vein, but how did every costume you can think of become skewed toward lust?

Example:

"Hey Blanche, what are you going to be for Halloween this year?"

"I dunno, maybe a sexy nurse"

Okay, what the fuck does being a sexy nurse have to do with Halloween? Nothing. Not that we don't like seeing Blanche run around in a short skirt and high heels, but as a nurse? For Halloween?

"How about you, Hildegard?"

"I dunno, maybe Little Red Riding Hood, but Sexy"

Little Red Riding Hood wasn't enough of a costume, huh? You had to go and make it sexy. Ooh, I'm scared!

"And what are you going as, Myrna?"
"I dunno, I was thinking of going as a sexy police officer"

"And you, Doris?"
"A sexy indian, but I dunno."

"What are you going to be this Halloween, Bob?"
"Peter Pan"
"Whew! I was getting worried about all the sexy in Halloween this year, but I knew you wouldn't fall for that old... Bob?"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Which brings to light the real reason why I don't like the whole "sexy" costume idea: There aren't any "sexy" costumes for men. But I know of one. And it's just what I'm gonna be next year. SEXY EDITOR!!! Oh wait, I don't have to wait til next year to wear that costume. I already wear it every day. Aw yeah.

Stay Clean

The other day I was cleaning the kitchen, which is what I do every day after
dinner. I tie the apron, put the gloves on and get to work. Wash the
dishes then tackle the grime on the stove. Some nights I'm more meticulous than others, so I take the heating elements off and set them aside before getting into it. And some nights I really go to town and get out the "more-than-daily-cleaning" cleaning supplies for a thorough cleaning. You know, for the stuff that just doesn't come off easily. Monday night was one such night.

Scrubbing the stove can be both a therapeutic and an infuriating experience. Watching the grime come off revealing the beautifully unblemished surface underneath is the therapeutic part. Seeing the grime stick around after scrubbing so hard that little pieces of the sponge break off revealing muscle soreness in your triceps is the infuriating part. I was deep in the infuriating section when my mind started to wander. "That doesn't need to come off. It's fine." So I stopped and looked at the black mark on the stovetop, contemplating whether to go on or to throw in the towel - literally! Not really literally because I wasn't using a towel to scrub. It was a sponge, but to "throw in the sponge" isn't the saying, now is it.

I turned from the stove to put the sponge back in its place, then quickly turned back and scrubbed the hell out of the mark until it was gone. That's how it starts: A tiny seed of thought that says that dirt and grime are welcome in our homes. But no. We won't allow them to take root in our kitchens, on our stoves. We will win the battle. With all the fortitude and relentlessness as the dirt and grime, we will win.

Proteck ya neck

The finale of Project Runway season 3 was last night. I've been watching by osmosis of Lily's watching, but also because I've convinced myself (and others) that the editing is by far the best you'll see on any reality-based TV show. Well that and because Heidi Klum has managed to stay by far the most babe-a-licious of any supermodel in her peer group. By contrast, Tyra banks has managed to show that she's a super ugly hateful bitch on the inside.

Why the judges chose Jeffrey as the winner over Uli was pretty clear: Jeffrey's collection at Bryant Park was far more innovative than Uli's. But the judges should have taken one look at him and tossed him out based on the cardinal sin of fashion: When trying to downplay large physical attributes, you DON'T PUT HORIZONTAL FEATURES ON IT!!!



Jeffrey's neck is huge. So much so that you'd think he'd constantly be in a turtleneck to hide that monstrosity. Instead, he has a group of tattoos that amplify its width.



I thought for sure that as Uli and Jeffrey waited to the verdict, Heidi would say "Jeffrey, your designs were brilliant, but you've shown that you have no ideas on how to use fashion to hide your neck. Auf Wiedersehen."

Your kiss is on my list

According to Blogger, this is the 100th post of Lee Lee the Musical Bee. I have no idea whether it is indeed the 100th, because I'm too lazy to go and count the ones I've actually posted. Well, to commemorate and to tie in to the whole number thingy, I've decided to throw a top 10 list together. Yay! (It really makes no sense that 100 posts equals a top 10 list, but go with me on this.)

Everybody out there has an opinion about something and they just have to put a friggin' list together to show how opinionated they are. So here's my opinion and feel free to tell me I'm totally wrong. I've clicked the "allow LLMB readers to comment on this post" button.


Top 10 alt-rock/indie albums of the late 80's/early 90's:

10. Undertow - Tool
Prog rock with a pipsqueak scatological singer. I'm still miffed that I missed it when they played "Prison Sex" on the Lateralus tour.

9. Gish - Smashing Pumpkins
Back when Billy Corgan had hair. And wasn't such a whiner.

8. Rid of Me - PJ Harvey
Who knew that Steve Albini and PJ would make such beautiful music together?

7. Liar - The Jesus Lizard
Proof that the only ingredients you need for a great band are tight musicians and a lunatic frontman. And Steve Albini recording your album.

6. Frizzle Fry - Primus
Okay, maybe I'm the only one to ever put Primus on a top 10 list of anything more than bass playing lists, but you can't deny that "Too Many Puppies" takes control of your head and makes it bang.

5. Surfer Rosa - The Pixies
Duh. Like I was gonna leave this off the list.

4. Nothing's Shocking - Jane's Addiction
Classic. Go ahead, the coast is clear. It's ok to listen to it again.

3. Check Your Head - Beastie Boys
The Beastie Boys can play instruments?

2. Blood Sugar Sex Magik - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Flea can play bass without slapping it?

1. Nevermind - Nirvana
What? You were expecting Led Zeppelin 4?
Yes, Nevermind is great and it changed everything. Well, it actually made all the frat boys at UW start liking the music that I liked, so that kinda sucks really.


On that note, thanks for continuing to read Lee Lee the Musical Bee. Maybe 100 more posts, maybe 1 more.

Shameless self-promotion department:
If you don't have anything else going on already, my short film "Wakeup" will be playing at the Mill Valley Film Festival this Saturday at 6:30 pm. Be there or... well, go on doing whatever you were doing.

Stardog Champion

What the hell happened to rockstars? It used to be some elevated unachievable status by us mortals. Rockstars were people who did the unthinkable by regular worker bee standards: Partying all night. Overdosing on drugs. Engaging in wild crazy threesomes with no protection whatsoever.

Nowadays everybody and their mother is a rockstar: Partying all night. Overdosing on drugs. Engaging in wild crazy threesomes with no protection whatsoever. Except there’s one very significant piece of the puzzle missing: the ROCK.

Sorry, but you need to rock to be a rockstar. You can snort all the lines of blow off a strippers ass you want, but if you play soft music you’re not a rockstar. Rockstars smash guitars. They don’t smash keyboards. They bang their heads or at least nod them on stage in a heroin induced motion. They utter vulgarities at the crowd and sometimes spit on the crowd. Rockstars don’t care.

I found an article that called Ann Coulter the "rock star of the annual Conservative Political Action Conference". Now if that's not a contradiction then.... Coulter might be the most blindly ignorant tool for conservative men who don't really give a shit about women's rights, but rock she doesn't. I'll believe she's a rockstar when she's overdosing on partying all night in a wild crazy threesome with no protection whatsoever. With a smashed guitar in her hand.

Very superstitious

We're superstitious. Maybe not VERY superstitious, but still. We knock on wood or touch wood after talking about something bad happening. Or something good happening too. Lily made me a bracelet with wood beads, which she reaches over and taps from time to time for no apparent reason. Now if I forget to wear my bracelet I get the feeling that I'm gonna die that day. Great. Thanks for the cool wood bracelet, Lily.

Our last apartment was #7. Good number. Lucky number 7. Now we live in apartment #4, and we don't feel very good about that. Number 4 means "death" in some eastern languages. That's why there was never a D4 tape machine. Went from D1 to D2 to D3 to D5. No D4. No Sony exec is gonna make the tape machine of death.

The Seahawks are 6 & 2 since Judah was born. They're 3 & 0 this season. Which happens to correspond to Judah wearing his Seahawks onesie on game day (and Seahawks bib when he's eating). Undefeated this season thanks to Judah, not counting preseason. Unfortunately, now that I've mentioned it, they'll probably lose. Damn superstition.

I might like you better if we slept together

Well it's the end of the line for my career as a freelance editor. No, I'm not changing careers. I've taken a staff gig! (This is not news to at least 7 of the 10 people who read this blog. Sorry.) No more invoicing or going to the post office to send my reel. No more 1st and 2nd holds and releases and bookings. No more "challenging". Not directly for me anyway.

In the past 6 years I've learned a thing or two about how to manage a freelance life. Guidelines, not tricks of the trade:

- Never take a hold without getting something in writing. E-mails are your best friend here. My favorite way to get it in writing was always "Can you send me an e-mail with the dates? I don't have my calendar in front of me."

- Not that I ever did this, but a fellow freelancer told me: Never give somebody the first hold. You always have a first hold on your calendar - your own free time. The people calling get a 2nd hold until you decide what you want to do. You're a freelancer after all. Free as a bird. Sometimes that bird is a dirty pigeon eating scraps out of a garbage can, but you're free to do what you want until somebody decides to hire your sorry ass.

- NEVER NEVER NEVER EVER take a gig from a startup without getting some money before you start. I got burned. You will too. If they're serious, they'll give you some money to get going. If not, let the next chump get burned. Unless you like working for free. Which leads me to...

- Everybody has a great film that will definitely get bought and of course a killer distribution deal, and they have no money but they need some of your time to make it happen. Read the script. If you like it, then by all means work on it! Unless you're a kid out of school and need some work for your reel, you might be wasting your time. But if you're building relationships, that's different and you should work with them because you wanna work with them.

- I didn't have the balls to do it, but you're free to ask what the budget is for the position they're calling you for. People always ask what your rate is, and then they freak when you tell them what you want to get paid. Why not cut to the chase and find out how much money they have to offer and then you can decide to take the gig or not?

- Make friends with people in your field. I got so many random recommendations from people I worked with for short periods of time. And don't buy into the competition bullshit. Editors recommended me for edit gigs more often than anybody else in the field.

- Don't freak out over time between gigs. Something will come up and you'll find yourself missing all that free time you wish you'd done something with.

- And lastly, never say never.

It's your business so do what you want with it. If you wanna build a steady stream of clientele, then treat it that way. If you wanna work as little as possible, then go ahead and do that. But don't ever think that somebody will always hire you, because there's plenty of kids coming out of school every year to fill your shoes who are faster and more hungry.
Oh yeah, and don't listen to anybody who gives you advice through a blog. Doy. Like I needed to tell you that.

The New Style

We recently went to a restaurant called Meditrina Cafe, and their menu had "Famous Hamburgers" on it. This place isn't famous for anything, certainly not a burger. After eating there (and having a salad) I don't think they'll be famous for anything but being the fastest place to close its doors on Abbot-Kinney.

Every stooge on the planet has a "famous" hamburger. Especially in Los Angeles. It's the official food of Angelinos. You can't throw a rock around here without hitting a burger joint. (I just threw a rock and hit a Hummer, but a dude was eating a burger in it, so that sorta counts.)
So where do all these places get the cred to call their burgers "famous"?

If your burger is famous, wouldn't there be a line out the door? Pink's Hot Dogs is the only famous hot dog I know of and there's one hell of a line there at all hours of the day and night. That probably qualifies as famous. Because only a famous hot dog would make you stand in a line like that for a hot dog.

Tommy's Burgers are supposed to be famous, but has anybody heard of them outside SoCal? Maybe they're famous for having chili on them, but it's not like the burger is that good. Probably the best tasting, least cowschwitz-y burger in San Francisco is at the Metro Caffe on Fillmore and Haight. But they don't call their burgers famous. I guess "Famous" doesn't necessarily mean good. But nobody wants to eat a Notorious Burger.

White Castle is mentioned in a Beastie Boys song, as is Fatburger . That probably qualifies as being famous, but neither of them use that word in their slogans.

In-n-Out Burger is probably the most famous burger of all, but they don't call their burgers famous either. I knew a vegetarian who was broken of her vegetarianism by In-n-Out Burger. That's worthy of fame.

Every time I drive by a sign that says "Famous Hamburgers" I think to myself "I gotta stop in one of these days to give it a try". Like I'm the decider of whether a burger is deserving of the word Famous or not. Now I'm wondering: Why the fuck would you need a sign to advertise your burger if your burger was famous? IT'S FAMOUS!!! IT DOESN'T NEED ADVERTISING.

Like a Prayer

Lord,

Thank you for the wonderful day.
Please bless all the nice people you've put into my life to help me along the way.

Please make that horrible parking ticket lady get nightmares every night of somebody going road rage on her until she decides to start a new career.

Please give Stephanie and AJ at the Apple Store on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica the worst customer service imaginable from their cell phone companies. And any other terrible customer service that you can think of so they might reconsider the meaning of customer service. And please give Nick at Apple Phone Support a personality so he might stop responding with no human emotion whatsoever. Bless John at Apple Phone Support though.

Please make every idiotic Harley and crotch-rocket rider who unnecessarily revs their engine go deaf so they might not hear that bus that hits them and doesn't necessarily kill them, but prevents them from riding motorcycles and revving engines anymore.

Please let every person who drives while talking on their phone realize the error of their ways and stop doing that shit.

Bless Lily and Judah and our families and friends. And make sure Judah stays a good person.

And please let the Seahawks win the superbowl this year.

Amen. G'night.