Saturday, April 30, 2005
He is usually on stage for an hour or more and you can expect to be laughing heartily the whole time. I hate to hype him up that much on the off chance that someone goes to see him on my recommendation and is disappointed, but he makes me laugh out loud, and anyone that knows me knows how rare that is. If you like live comedy, I'm almost 97.4% positive (it works out to more like 97.3667% so I was rounding up) that if you go to his show, you will not be disappointed at all. But I've been wrong several thousand times in the past, so I don't have a stellar track record by any means.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
I’ve decided that there may come a day when I may not be able to use my arms, or, at the very least, my hands. That is why I have decided that it is imperative that I learn to type with my nose. I began this exorcise several months ago and I think I’m getting pretty good. I can type approximately 53 words per minute now (44 if I’m being careful not to make mistakes) so I’m reasonably confident that if I were to lose the use of my hands/arms, I’d still be able to keep my job and live an otherwise normal life. The next step, obviously, is to learn to drive stick with my nose. I suspect this will be a little tricky at first, you know, until I figure out the timing. I can’t see myself driving a car with an automatic transmission though, I’ve always been a huge proponent of the manual transmission, and I’m not talking about those video game, slap-stick, push button transmissions either. I’m talking about working the clutch and using the gearshift. It’s like I was saying last year at the MTFL (Manual Transmission For Life) convention in my speech entitled, “Should I drive an automatic? No.” …If anyone were to ever ask me if I would drive an automatic transmission, I would say, “No.” (The speech didn’t really go anywhere after that. In retrospect, I really should have planned it out better. I should have had, like, bullet points or something. You know, a few basic ideas why I would say no, and maybe a few scenarios that one might find themselves in and how to handle those situations. All in all, it was a pretty poor effort on my part. I’ll just have to wait until this year’s convention in November. I’m already working on a few ideas. Mostly, I just have titles that I think sound cool, like, “The Faster and the Furiouser: A look back on what I think should have been the title of the sequel to the Fast and the Furious” or maybe something like, “Speeding Tickets: Friend or Foe” but if I freeze up on stage (and that happens a lot) I’ll just go back to my award winning speech called, “Kindergarten: How I managed to fail the first time” It’s a pretty touching story about how, against all odds, I fail to pass subjects like, Finger painting, macaroni art, building stuff (anything really) out of blocks and of course, nap time (I don’t know, all the other kids were sleeping, seemed like an excellent time to go play with all the cool toys by myself).
Whoa, that was a pretty beefy, unorganized paragraph. I don’t know how I got them to put, “Bachelor of Arts, English” on that fancy piece of parchment hanging on my wall. Truly one of my greatest illusions in my young career. I felt it was time for a paragraph break though and you know what they say, “timing is everything.”
So, after I put in my allotted 5 hours of nose typing practice, I got to thinking. How do I know that the world really exists? Sure, most people figure this out by age 8, but I’ve always been a little slow. How slow? Well for starters, I failed Kindergarten, weren’t you paying attention? Are you skimming again? Well, to catch you up, I failed Kindergarten. Ok, now that you’re caught up, how else have I been progressing slowly? I just found out this past Christmas that there is no Santa Clause. It was totally an accident though, I woke up at my parents house around 2 am and had to go to the bathroom, I was a little groggy, and as I turned to go down the hall to the bathroom, I slipped because the footsy pajamas I was wearing at the time weren’t properly broken in yet, I had just bought them and the soles were still really slick on account of the fact that the vinyl was so new. Well, my Mom, my Dad, My three sisters and my 6 year old cousin were all out in the living room positioning the presents around the tree, they heard me fall and came to see if I was alright. I was, but I followed them out to the living room and saw what was going on. After sitting out there and talking to them for about an hour, I started to wonder when Santa was going to show up. That’s when my cousin broke the news. I of course cried myself to sleep. And when I woke up I was almost certain it was a bad dream, but my cousin again reminded me about 5 million times that day how stupid she thought I was for thinking Santa was real. Not a good day for me. I may have lost Santa that day, but I was relieved to find out that the Thanksgiving Leprechaun was still real.
And then there was the time I ate that huge tub of ice cream. Everyone was amazed that I did it, and I couldn’t figure out why. I said, “it’s not the first time in the world one person has finished an entire tub of ice cream.” and my friend said, “Yeah, but you’re lactose intolerant, aren’t you going to be really sick now?” And I was like, “Why? This is ice cream, I’m allergic to milk…” Three weeks later when I recovered from the coma, I had this vague recollection of someone saying, “Ice cream is made out of milk you moron.” And I’d say it was probably my fifth or sixth trip to the hospital after eating an entire tub of ice cream that I started to think maybe ice cream wasn’t good for me.
But I digress… The worlds existence, this is what I was pondering today. How do I know that what I see, hear, touch, taste and smell is all really there? All of my senses have deceived me at one point in time or another, so I cannot fully trust them. Like Socrates once said, “I think, therefore, I am.” The only thing I’m really truly sure of is that I can think. Beyond that, all else is suspect. Everything I see and do could just be some elaborate set up by my mind. Every story I read, every movie I watch, every person I meet, they could all be propagated and conjured up by my mind. All the worlds’ history could be a figment of my imagination. I could have lived every life, written every book, spoken every language, created every invention, fought in every war (on both sides no less… makes me wonder how I chose the winners…), developed the mythology behind every major religion and, consequently, created both heaven and hell, and existed in every moment of time in the universe up to this point… so I have to ask myself… if this is all just in my head… why the hell did I pull my hamstring? (and no, until I’m healed from this, the most heinous injury in all of sports, I will not let it go and stop talking about it. Should be another two or three weeks, if you want to take a break from my tri-weekly rants on my personal living hell that is a pulled hamstring, I understand)
Just something I was thinking about today. I mean, it’s pretty obvious I wasn’t getting any work done. Go ahead, run the reports. My numbers today are an abomination. I dare you to do worse. I don’t think you could. (and that’s a straight up challenge from me to you.) I’ve gotten pretty good at my job, so when it comes to not doing it, there’s no one better than me. I can actually create negative done work. I’ve often seen my supervisor exasperated, saying things like, “I don’t know how you did it… I didn’t give you anything to do today and somehow, you have more work left over to do than anyone else here.” I just shrug and say, “It’s a gift.”
Monday, April 25, 2005
The time has come for me to let go of a dream. A dream I have held on to for so long now that it’s all I’ve ever really known. At age 27, (there I go with that age thing again, I swear I’m not obsessed, I swear to God (I don’t actually believe in God… long story, can’t really get into it right now, I’ve got cookies in the oven. You understand, right?)) it is finally time for me to say goodbye to my dream of becoming a child actor. It is with great pain and sorrow that I do this. Please give me a moment.
-(Insert moment here)-
My agent recently told me that I now officially look old enough to play a freshman in high school. This comes as a huge blow to me. I had always dreamed of playing the youngest child on a family sitcom, one where I could tattle on everyone, and get all the cutesy laughs and adorable moments. Apparently now, I’ll have to settle for the angst-ridden teenager. It’s true what they say, life really doesn’t go like you plan it.
By the way, I don’t think I mention this earlier, but I don’t actually have an agent “agent.” I represent myself. As you can imagine, it was pretty hard to break this news to myself. I started off with some small talk, you know, the weather… I asked about the hamstring (it’s been diagnosed as a class 2 hamstring pull. A class 3 is the worst. That’s when the muscle is completely ruptured. As it stands, I have a partial tear in my hamstring and it is accompanied by two, significantly large bruises; one right above my knee and one on the back of my upper thigh. I have another game on Wednesday, so that should be interesting.) and then I slowly moved in to deliver the bad news. I knew my reaction would not be good. I had sensed for some time that this conversation was looming, but I refused to believe that I looked over 10 years old. Needless to say, the news was not well received. I think I threw a plastic Dixie cup against the wall. It was empty of course, but the weight of my actions was apparent to anyone that witnessed my display of rage. No one actually witnessed my display of rage. I suppose for the sake of my career, I was lucky that the paparazzi wasn’t around. That’s the last thing I need, seeing my anger on display in the tabloids. Those snakes are merciless. They don’t care that my family will read that trash, or that their friends will read it and ask them questions like, “Is it true what they say about Jon? Does he really have an anger problem? I heard that plastic cup cracked when it hit the wall. I’m not so sure I want to be around such a violent person. I don’t think I’ll ever watch any TV sitcom he’s playing an angst-ridden teenager in.” My family just doesn’t need to hear that kind of thing, you know?
Well, after approximately 34 hours of introspection, I came to the conclusion that while one dream might be six feet under, a new one has just exited the womb of my imagination, and once I cleaned off all the afterbirth and amniotic fluid (which by the way is no easy task, I have a large and active imagination and to be honest with you, it’s kind of a slut, I mean, it will think about anything anywhere at any time, so it gets pretty messy in there… but I digress) the new dream emerged, healthy and ready for new life.
My new dream is to attend Fantasy Baseball Camp at Dodgertown in Vero Beach, Florida. It turns out that this dream costs about $4,200.00. If I start saving now, hopefully I will be able to attend sometime before my 106th birthday. I know that seems like an optimistic goal, but what can I say? I’m not optimistic? No, that wouldn’t make sense now would it.Ok, I think the cookies are burning, gotta go.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
I’m getting old, and I don’t like it. Not because I worry about the numbers… I don’t look my age, I certainly don’t act my age, but there are certain things that I cannot deny. I have always been active… I played soccer for six years, tennis all through high school and most of college, and I’ll play anything else, anywhere, any time. I’m not going to lie to you, I am very competitive, and I will push my body until it breaks and then I’ll push some more. Until recently, this had never been a problem for me. Then last week, while playing slow pitch, co-ed softball, I pulled my hamstring. This has never happened to me before. In fact, in spite of all the amazingly stupid things I’ve done in my life, (way too many to list, but lets just say the majority of those things would fall under the category of “reckless abandon”) I’ve never injured myself enough to prevent me from going out and playing. Ok, so the hamstring thing didn’t stop me either, but it hurt pretty bad, and I don’t like it. I pulled it for the first time last week in the first inning, but I finished the game. Over the following week, it started to feel better right away and I had almost forgotten about it, but then in the first inning of tonight’s game, I did it again. I finished the game again, but it hurt like hell. Normally I wouldn’t care, I’d take another week and hope I’d be better for next weeks game. But this week is different, this weekend the boys will be playing flag football… and I don’t miss games.
It really needs to be mentioned here that I am an idiot. I know I usually go out of my way to point that out as often as possible, but you really need to keep this in mind at all times.
I’m going to play on Saturday, because I can’t not try. See, I’m using double negatives now, because that’s how important it is for me to play, it messes with my grammar.
I can play, and possibly sacrifice my body, but to not play, that would sacrifice my heart, and that is something I will not do.Physical well-being be damned. Eventually, I’ll be at a point where I can’t do any of this stuff anymore, so I think I should make every attempt to take advantage while I can.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
The world is a tough place, and there are some fantastic inventions to help make it easier. Like Tivo… if I could legally marry Tivo, I would. And I would not care about the constant mocking from my friends and family, because my love for Tivo is so deep and true that nothing could ever separate me from it’s warm embrace. My point is, Tivo makes life better, but I think there are still some other ways to improve life on planet Earth… maybe not on Saturn, or Mercury, but definitely on Earth. The following are some ideas that I fully expect the world’s top scientist to commence research and production of almost immediately after I post this. (I’ll allow for the insanely miniscule chance that some of them might be in the restroom and therefore unable to begin almost simultaneous to my posting)
1. An ejection seat on all new automobiles.
Obviously I want flying cars. Who doesn’t? In the mean time, how about helping a kid out and providing me with an ejection seat for both myself and my passengers? The way I see it, this is useful in many ways. First of all, if you can eject from your car a few split seconds before a head on collision with someone traveling 90 mph, how is that not a good thing? You can’t argue because you will lose. And Second (I feel very strongly about this one) to dispose of an annoying passenger. How many times have you been stuck in the car with some pain in the ass annoying person? If you’re like me, it’s happened approximately 1,279 times, and that is 1,279 times too many. Do you have any idea how hard it is to nonchalantly reach over, unbuckle their seatbelt, open the door and shove them out onto the highway? Believe me, I’ve tried. The questions usually pop up when you unbuckle their seatbelt, “Hey, what are you doing?” I’m a terrible liar, so this question has always been the death of me. I usually say something like, “I’m trying to push you out of my car because you are annoying as f*&%.” People, I only weigh 135 lbs, I’m not muscling anyone over the age of 6 out of my car. All I’m asking for is a tiny little button, maybe strategically located on the steering wheel, so that I can easily jettison even the most hefty of annoying passengers. I feel like the technology is there, lets make this happen.
2. Floating Televisions.
Easy to move, adjustable heights, no need for an entertainment center, what’s not to like? I can think of literally 1 or 7 reasons why we need something like this to exist in the world. Look, we already have floating DVD players, Floating Microwaves, Floating dishwashers and floating sub atomic nuclear reactors, I don’t see why we’re dragging our feet with the floating Televisions.
3. A bathroom door that will not open for you until you thoroughly wash your hands.
This is of the utmost importance to me. I have yet to meet a person that wasn’t horrified by those specials on TV where they show you just how much fecal matter covers EVERYTHING. And they wonder how it all gets there… well, this is a huge pet peeve of mine, but nothing makes me want to curl up in a ball and die because there is no hope left for this species more than when I’m washing my hands in the bathroom, and I hear the flush from a stall, and a guy comes out and heads straight out the door without even considering washing his hands. This happens way too often. And there’s pretty much only one reason the guy was using the stall (unless they are like me, I have an amazingly shy bladder, and even then, hands must be washed every time because there is nothing clean about the bathroom. I don’t care how clean you think you keep that area of your body, the bathroom is a filthy place where filthy things happen) and to not wash your hands is unforgivable. (One of the IT guys where I work is a big time offender. I will never ever ever ask him for help, and if he touches my stuff, I will burn it.) I’ve developed a hand washing method that borders on irrational. I realize it makes me insane, but I like to think I’m cleaner for it. The key is to hold on to that paper towel once your hands are dry, you’ll need it to grab the handle on that filthy filthy door to get out. If they have one of those dreaded air dryers, either accept your fate or wait for someone else to open the door. It could take time to wait and or be a little awkward for the other people watching you stand by the door, but after you’ve done it enough, the awkwardness fades.Well, those are three superior ideas if I do say so myself. I expect I’ll be reading about some exciting new developments in the paper tomorrow… and I can’t wait to see the next issue of “Stupid Inventions Thought Up By Jon That Will Never Ever Be Made” I’m not sure why I started subscribing to that magazine in the first place… I probably just like the name… OK, enough. I’m out!
Sunday, April 17, 2005
I was recently informed by my dentist that I need a mouth guard when I sleep. Apparently sleeping has become a full contact sport for me. My dentist didn’t say anything about a helmet or chest protector, I bought those on my own because I don’t want to look foolish with just a mouth guard. Plus, I’m all about being prepared and I can’t ignore the fact that it’s going to make me look sexy as hell.
Has anyone seen the new Honda commercial? It’s the one where Honda is talking about how great the safety ratings are for passengers on the inside, but also how they develop their cars for pedestrian safety too?
**By the way, it should be noted that I watch a fair amount of television. I don’t really get out much, and to be honest with you, I don’t want to get out much. I don’t like to drink (my mind is very important to me, and impairing it in any way is just not acceptable), I don’t like being crammed in a tiny room with no room to breath and music so loud I have to scream directly into someone’s ear just so they can say, “How’s it going?” “What?” “I said HOW’S IT GOING?” “Huh?” “NEVERMIND.” “Oh, I think he went to the bathroom.” Not my scene. My scene is actually much sadder. I prefer playing games like Trivial Pursuit or Scene it. I’m particularly adept at the Television version of Scene it. I am a nerd; make no mistake about it. **
Anyway, back to my point. Have you seen the commercial? Well if you have, does it bother you as much as it bothers me? What is Honda trying to say? ”We know that when you sit behind the wheel of a Honda, there’s an unusually high probability that you are going to hit a pedestrian. We’re not really sure why that is, maybe it’s something to do with the design of our cars, or maybe they type of person that’s drawn to a Honda just isn’t that good of a driver. Rest assured though, we’ve got a team of scientist working on that right now, but in the mean time, we’ve also got a team of engineers designing our cars to not hurt pedestrians as much as other cars!” Way to go Honda, now when I see that car come barreling down the sidewalk, I can take solace in the fact that if it’s a Honda, it’ll probably be like getting hit by a giant pillow! Maybe not, maybe it’ll be like getting hit by a giant hunk of metal that weighs 20 times as much as me. I could be wrong though, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Tomorrow seems like a good day to die…
Thursday, April 14, 2005
I’ve decided to replace quality with quantity. Management had a meeting and they decided to take this blog in a new direction. From here on out, quantity will be valued over quality. I know what you’re thinking, that just doesn’t seem right, but when has management ever made a good decision? Let’s review:
October 12, 1983, a few weeks before my 6th birthday. Management decides that this year for Halloween, we will be dressing up as a care bear (Good Luck Bear if you must know). At the time I didn’t object, but that was before I saw the costume and realized that the head weighed in at just under 63 lbs and was full of so much stuffing that I passed out from heat exhaustion after only three blocks of trick or treating… it would go down as one of the lowest hauls in my trick or treating career.
Christmas Eve, 1984. I was locked in my room for Santa related reasons. Apparently I had too much juice to drink before going to bed. A bathroom visit was paramount. A plea was sent through the door to my parents requesting permission to use the facilities. Management decided that they were taking too long and announced an executive order to pee in the corner of the bedroom. I was against it, but fearing the loss of my job as me, I did what any good employee would do and followed orders. Mid pee my mother entered the room and the whole plan blew up in the face of management, of course, I had to shoulder the blame.
March 23, 1988. I was playing basketball on the playground with the other boys. A rarity for me given my diminutive size and utter lack of “skill.” An errant pass from a teammate sent the ball heading straight out of bounds for what would be a momentum changing turn over. I assessed the situation and decided that I had no chance to save the ball. That’s when management stepped in and over ruled, issuing a memorandum requiring all employees to “save the ball.” Again I was in a pickle. I did what I had to do and tried to save the ball. What management had not accounted for was any sort of plan to brace the employee for the fall… I ended up splitting my chin open on the blacktop and spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room getting stitches.
August 2, 1990. With the new school year about to begin, I was excited about the prospect of getting new clothes for the year. I’d have all sorts of new things to wear and I was sure to make a splash in the small fashion world that was at my private grade school. Unlike most private schools, we did not have uniforms, we had some loose guidelines by which we had to operate, but on the whole, it was pretty relaxed. Enter management. A new office policy was instituted whereby all employees were expected to wear an oversized green jacket at all times. Rain or shine, the jacket stayed on. Also, at varies times of the day, without warning, management would order all employees to perform what would later be dubbed, “The Turtle Maneuver” where in the head would be retracted back inside the jacket leaving the employee, for all intensive purposes, blind. Needless to say I was ostracized by the rest of the class and spent the vast majority of my lunches eating alone.
April 12, 1997. Nearing the end of second semester Calculus in college, it became overtly apparent that I wasn't going to pass. Two years into college and I was on my way to some sort of math/science major. I was well immersed in both Calculus and Physics and up until this point; I had never needed to study. I had hit a wall in math as everyone does, they say it’s not about whether you will or not, but when. Having invested so much time already in the pursuit of math, I decided to bite the bullet for the first time and actually study. Management caught wind of this decision and immediately took action. Another dreadful memo was sent out to all employees stating that from here on out, all employees were to study English and English only. This, of course, seemed ludicrous at the time. Didn’t I fail sophomore English not once, but twice in high school? First in the regular year, then again in summer school, leading me to take both sophomore and junior English classes my junior year. At this point, the fear of losing my job was still too great, but the decisions being made were starting to mount up against management. Rumors of a union began to surface, but no serious action was taken.
July 14, 1998. With my time in J. C. at an end, it was time to move on to a four year school and get my degree. Southern California had always been my home, and I loved it dearly, but part of me thought it would be nice to see how things happen on the right side of the country. I looked at some schools in the New York and Boston areas and found a few candidates that were to my liking. A trip was planned and I made my rounds on the East Coast seeing which school had the most to offer me. Little did I know that management had already singled out Wagner College (located on Staten Island, NY… and no, that’s not where the Statue of Liberty is…damn, read a book or something!). I was informed almost as an afterthought, a mere courtesy on the part of management to allow me to know the whereabouts of my relocation. Management was really starting to tick me off.
June 1, 2000. Fresh out of college with a degree in hand, I moved back to California and decided it was time to enter the work force. I thought that being a college graduate was an accomplishment and that I should have no trouble finding a job. With resume in hand, I prepare to hunt jobs down, waiting for the perfect pray to cross my path and fall victim to my awesome list of qualifications. Management felt that the pressure was too high and that immediate action was necessary. I was forced back into the pizza delivery game. I thought I gave it up when I moved to NY, but there I was, a product of managerial idiocy, slinging pizza for minimum wage. I’m pretty sure I was the only college graduate working there, and yes, my parents were proud beyond words. I certainly don’t recall them saying anything like, “You have 40k in college loans to pay back, and you’re delivering pizza!?!?!” or, “I didn’t realize they taught you how to be an underachiever in college these days.”
February 18, 2003. Having completely and utterly outlived my life as a pizza delivery driver, I had decided enough was enough. Some good friends of mine in NY wanted me to move out there to live with them. So much so that they provided me with an offer so tempting I couldn’t refuse. They were offering me one month, rent free, to find a job. It was just the break I had been looking for. I needed a change of scenery, and I really wanted to hang out with my friends again on a daily basis like I did back in college. It was going to be tight, but if I worked my butt off, I could just barely scrape up enough to fly out and spend one month job hunting. Oddly enough, management had no objections to this, in fact they were quite supportive. It was the a-hole that ran the stop sign right in front of me that night while I was delivering pizza, totaling my car and effectively cutting off my income entirely. By the way, the stop sign wasn’t the only thing he ran… he also ran from the scene… I don’t currently have a lot of respect for that man… whoever he is… The accident led to a chain reaction of events. I had to look locally for a job, which led to my current form of work, title insurance, and I’ve been sucked into the monotony ever since…the last two years really are a blur, and I don’t mean that in a good way.
April 15, 2005. In a bit of a writing rut, I desperately look for things to blog about, but the pressure from within is so great that it blurs my vision. Management then issues the now infamous, “Quantity of Quality” memo and my three readers are forced to endure one of the most painfully long-winded and unnecessary posts to date. I’m pretty sure no one’s going to make it this far. I know I would have given up. I’d have been like, “Sorry dude, this crap is way too long and I’ve got laundry to do.” I wouldn’t have actually done the laundry though, I probably would have just surfed around the net some more, checking out all my favorites… seeing if Strongbad has a new email at http://www.homestarrunner.com/ or maybe what’s new with http://www.brianregan.com/ and of course, checking all the scores at http://www.espn.go.com/
It should be noted that most of the above is based loosely on fact. While the dates may not be exact (Feb. 18, 2003 is, because I will never forget that day…F*&$ that guy… and I guess April 15, 2005 is pretty exact too, I mean, I’d have to be pretty stupid to forget what actually happened today) most of the events are probably what happened… maybe, I don’t know, I wasn’t video taping it or anything.This concludes another post. Feel free to release any nonsense you may have retained from the above from your mind so that you can remember more important things like, what is Tony Danza doing these days, and who really WAS the boss… until next time, try not to body slam any unsuspecting five year olds.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Allow me a moment to diverge from the usual chicanery that encompasses this blog and show you a little piece of the real me. I’m a bit of a sports nut, today, I bleed Dodger Blue. For the first time in my life I was able to make to opening day at Dodger stadium and, not coincidentally, for the first time in my life I can call myself a man.
Opening Day…took the day off work (always a good thing) and drove down to the ballpark with my Pops. It was Dodgers Vs. Giants (also, always a good thing) Being that I am a life long die hard Dodger fan, I am legally required to hate the Giants, and I do this without hesitation, for I am nothing if not a law abiding citizen. Yankees/ Red Sox rivalry gets a lot of press, but make no mistake about it, Dodgers/ Giants is just as mean. Let me think back to the last time I attended a Dodgers/ Giants game…(insert some sort of cool video flashback effect here) October 3, 2004. If the Dodgers win, they clinch the division and secure a spot in the playoffs. It’s the bottom of the ninth, Dodgers are down, things are looking grim, but then the Giants bullpen falls apart, and it all comes to pieces when Steve Finley jacks a grand slam walk-off home run to end the Giants hopes and dreams and cement the Dodgers playoff bid…yeah, that went pretty well. Today was eerily similar… only there isn’t nearly so much riding on the game today, other than I absolutely hate the Giants and want them to be the first team to ever go 0-162. That won’t happen this year as they have already won 4 games, but I’ll settle for 4-158 just the same (see, I’m not as unreasonable as you might think)
I’m not sure what was my favorite part… Was it when the fans in the right field pavilion busted out the custom made beach ball that looked like a prescription drug bottle with ‘Roids written on it and we all broke out in the “Barry Sucks” chant? Or was it when Milton Bradley laced one into left field in the 9th with the bases loaded, and the left fielder booted it giving Jeff Kent (the former Giant) the time he needed to score from first and win the game? I don’t know… I’ll have to mull over it for a while and get back to you…
Sunday, April 10, 2005
As I mosey through the blog world, I have noticed some disparaging rumors about life here in Southern California. Being a resident of this fine state for 24 ½ years of my 27 years of life (by the way, could I mention my age again? Jesus H. Christ, am I looking for a parade in honor of me being 27? Get over myself already!) I feel it is my duty to dispel these untruths.
Myth #1. Everyone in Southern California has at least 17 cars.
This simply is not true. I only have 12, and my sisters only have 6 a piece. We are just a simple middle class family, I mean sure, the upper class folks that live on the hill probably have at least 23 cars each, but they all inherited their money from wealthy grandparents that sold cocaine back in the 80’s… or maybe they were doctors and lawyers… I’m not really sure, but I hardly see how it matters. I just think they should take down that big neon sign at the top of the hill that says, “We are better than you in every way imaginable, and in a lot of ways that are unimaginable.”
Myth #2. Southern Californians have perfected time travel.
I’m sad to report that this is also not true. I wish it were, but it is not. Time Travel we’ve got… perfected it we have not. (By the way, that’s actually our unofficial state motto) We can send people through time no problem but we have no control over when they get sent to, and we cannot bring them back. Mostly we just send people away that we don’t like, but on the whole, since we haven’t perfected it yet, we don’t do it much. We are light years ahead of North Dakota though… I think they’re still trying to figure out indoor plumbing to be honest with you. (Ok North Dakota, I just insulted your entire state, I expect to receive some angry hate mail from all 10 of you in the near future, provided of course you can figure out how to turn on the computer AND figure out the internet… who am I kidding, I’ll never hear from anyone in North Dakota! Seriously, how many signatures would it take if I wanted to formally petition the United States Government to offer North Dakota to Canada as a gift? You know, just to say, "hey Canada, nice to have you as a neighbor, enjoy some North Dakota.")
Myth #3. The whole state of California constantly vibrates.
When are people going to learn? Ok, yes we have earthquakes, but they are not an everyday thing. They only happen on the third Wednesday of every other month between the hours of 2pm and 4pm. And the vast majority of earthquakes are harmless, they are like a mother, gently waking a small child from a nap when it’s time choke down some creamed peas. Maybe once every 10 years or so a big one hits, it lasts for about 30 seconds, we all scream in unison, “Oh no, here we go again!” and then it’s over before you know it. The police distribute government issue brooms, we sweep up and we're done. Other states have seasons for their natural disasters. We at least have the decency to schedule them so no one is truly inconvenienced. Look at Florida… Hurricane season? No thank you. Even after a week of 150 mph winds and torrential downpours, once everything stops, the place is still flooded for another week or so. I guess I grew up spoiled, but I’ve never been able to sleep under water. You can call me a baby, and I’ll respect your opinion, I just won’t agree with you.
Myth #4. The only things Californians eat are energy bars and fruit smoothies.
I’m not sure who started this one, but I can tell you this, that’s only on Tuesdays during the winter months, and it is for health reasons. The California Food and Drug Administration took a poll in 1988 and they found out that every one wanted to be like Kirk Gibson, the Dodger whose pinch hit home run won game one of the ’88 world series. After a committee of 279,043 members was assembled, they took 12 ½ years to come up with the “Tuesdays are for energy bars and fruit smoothies, but only during the winter months” campaign. We all knew it was stupid, but 2 things made us go through with it. 1. We all still wanted to be like Kirk Gibson. And 2. In 12 ½ years, we had spent well over 3.6 billion on the whole thing, so we felt we were financially obligated to follow through. We all saw what happened to Delaware when they spent a similar amount of time and money on their, “15 hot dogs a day, that’s all we ask” campaign. They took such a beating in the media, it was ridiculous. I think they probably made the right decision when they canned the project, but sometimes when you’re wrong, you have to argue like you’re right just to save face, otherwise, the other states start to lose respect for you, and you simply cannot have that if you wanted to be in the royal court at the USA homecoming dance.
Ok, I feel a lot better now, and I think I’ve done a lot to educate everyone on the dangers of spreading rumors and not washing your hands after you use the rest room. It’s disgusting, and there is just no need for it.
Monday, April 04, 2005
I went to a semi magical place today. I say semi magical because it wasn’t open… the level of magic cannot be officially determined until I visit this place again when it is open. To my knowledge (which if you’ve read any of my other posts, you know it’s extremely limited) it is the only place of it’s kind. I have never seen one before and I’ve never even heard of one before. Will I stop dragging this out and tell you already? Ok, it was a Ping Pong Parlor. Basically, a pool hall, only for ping pong. This place is located a good 45 minutes to 1 hour from my current residence, but the idea of it intrigued me so much that the fact that gas is $934/gallon didn’t even factor into my decision to make the drive as soon as I heard of this wonder land.
I’m 27 right now, which often times makes me think, “F&$%, I’m 27!” and I’m at that point where I might have to start to consider growing up. I’ve always been a procrastinator though, I’m a six time Procrastinator of the Year award winner (and someday I may even go claim those awards… maybe I’ll do it tomorrow). My point is, I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, I don’t date much (yes, that would be one date in the last 2 ½ years… that’s normal though, right?), so what else am I going to waste money on? Besides rent I mean… Enter the Ping Pong Parlor, or the Triple P, as I will call it, a name that will definitely not be used by anyone else because it is way too stupid. I was going to use P^3, but it’s hard to say that and not sound like a complete dork. I’m also painfully aware of the fact that any time I use these acronyms, no one is going to know what I am talking about, and I will look to the ground with defeat, kick the dirt, and mutter something about how I’m talking about the Ping Pong Parlor and I heard that’s what all the cool kids are calling it… I will of course be called on this blatant lie for the umpteenth time and be told that no one is ever going to call it that and I should stop trying before I say in front of the wrong people and I get beat up. Hey, I live in Simi Valley, it’s a hard town with mean streets…
What the crap was I even talking about? I could reread what I’ve already typed, but, uh, you don’t become Procrastinator of the Year, and with a little luck, Procrastinator of the Decade, by doing stuff right away and in a timely manner… I’ll reread it later and just delete this part of the post…
At this point, there are certain facts that basically demand I go to this place, and that I go often.
Undeniable fact #1! I have my own paddle… if that isn’t a sign from above, I honestly don’t know what is.
Undeniable fact #2! I like to play ping pong… I think you see where this is going… it’s not even about me anymore; it’s about a higher power constructing a life for me. I literally have no choice in the matter.
Undeniable fact #3! I don’t have a life… this has been so well documented over the past decade that it’s going to take 3 supercomputers working round the clock for the next 24.8 years to fully assess and evaluate the data.
I had a team of 73 scientists, all of whom were formerly employed by NASA, break these facts down to one irrefutable truth: I need to play ping pong. It’s not even about what I want anymore, it’s what I need.
I feel like this nonsense has gone on long enough… I need to go eat or something…
Friday, April 01, 2005
I suppose today is April fools day now and I've never really understood this one. I've been celebrating October fools day for years now, but it doesn't seem to be catching on... It's October 9th by the way... it goes back to my German roots where upon no German has ever celebrated that day for any particular reason... just me... I digress again... My point is, I don't know why the rest of the world decided that this will be the one day where everyone will attempt to make everyone else look foolish. And I am waaaaaaaaay to lazy to google it. So if someone else could do the leg work for me on this one, I'd appreciate it. When did this conspiracy start and why. And more importantly, how can we stop it? I have assembled a small team of ninjas (they are each about one inch tall) and a deceptively quick penguin to execute what ever plan we can come up with to end what I consider one of the stupidest celebrated days of the year. There is no need for it, so lets tighten up this ship and lose the slack... Who's with me? I know Alpha Team is on board.