Breaking new ground

Hello and good morning, everyone. It's good to see you again after such a long time apart. Here we are with the first installment of my weekly UOPTA posts. As I mentioned last week, I'm not sure of the form that these Friday posts will take quite yet, but hopefully you don't mind us finding out together. My basic plan is to use this space as a weekly download of thoughts I've had, interesting encounters, and stories from my past. I'll have a Car Watch at the end, and...who knows what else at this point? Let's get into the meat of it, shall we?

One morning about four or five years ago, I was sitting at my desk in the Orientation office of UCSB. As was customary, I had been there too early and alone for about an hour when the first of my co-workers arrived. Leslie, who I've now known for almost 11 years, came in and we exchanged our normal greetings. She then paused and said, "Wow, you look really tired." "Really? I don't feel especially tired," I said. "Well, you still have a line on your face from sleeping, so maybe that's just it," she replied. I was intrigued, so I went down the hall to the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror. Sure enough, I had a line on my right cheek. Four hours later, it was still there. The next day, it hadn't moved an inch. Days went on, and I still had that same stupid line on my face that appeared out of nowhere. It wasn't a wrinkle, wasn't some optical illusion from a 5 o'clock shadow or anything, just a line that made me look sleepy. My friend Dusty loved this and enjoyed making fun of it to no end, so he was especially sad when I realized about two weeks later that it was gone. I never got any logical explanation for it coming or going, and it remains one my body's most interesting unsolved mysteries (right behind the Mystery of the Second Butt from '94). I ask you, gentle readers, have you ever had something like that happen to you or someone you love?

Ooh, I have another story that's somewhat related! I expected this post just to be a big blob of scattered words without any semblance of cohesion, but not anymore! Watch this almost seamless transition: But talking to Leslie about the mysterious line on my face was nothing compared to a shared experience we had back in the summer of '98. It was that summer that I was one of the two Student Coordinators for the program, and I therefore worked closely with the professional staff members in the office on all sorts of things. I was in the middle of helping Leslie with something when a parent from that particular session walked in. "Sorry to bother you," she said, "but I found this wallet on the way out of the last presentation, so I'm pretty sure it belongs to another participant." We thanked her for her good samaritanism, and she turned and left.

Leslie managed all of the databases and reservations for the program, so once we found the owner's name, she would be able to tell us where he or she was staying that night, who the student's advisor was, etc. She opened it, and saw a man's name - we'll call him Bob. She typed the last name into the system, but nothing came up. She tried a couple of other ways, but he wasn't in there. She tried that last name in the student database but came up empty yet again. We surmised that he was therefore not a part of the program, but we still wanted to find a way to get a hold of him.

We discussed our options, and thought that maybe something else in the wallet would have a phone number or some other identifying information that would help us track him down. Leslie looked behind the license and pulled out two things. She gasped, and I naturally hurried over. In her hand was a snapshot of a topless woman and, I shit you not, a prescription for Viagra. She stuffed them back where they came from and we spent the ten minutes trying to shake the disturbing feeling off of us. More determined than ever, we went back into the database and searched by zip code this time. This time, we found him. His last name had been entered incorrectly and his daughter had a different one, otherwise we would've found him the first time around without any problem (and without the need to dig any deeper).

Now the hard part came: How do we keep a straight (and not creeped-out) face when handing him his wallet? I decided to just use Stanislavsky's "Magic If" principle and pretend that we had only seen his license. We put his name on a white board at the entrance to the dining commons, wrote that we found his wallet, and described where we were sitting. Partway through the meal, he approached and greeted us. We nonchalantly handed it to him (although I was feeling very chalant on the inside) and after thanking us, we didn't see him again the rest of the session. Despite his lackluster performance in the final act, that experience was still a highlight of the summer that we discussed many a time after that.

Did you hear that sound? It was me violently shifting gears without the proper transition. Almost a year ago, my lovely wife's friend visited us from Equatorial Guinea. I mean, honestly, who doesn't have a friend from the EG? Anyway, a bunch of other friends came over too and we were all hanging out and shooting the proverbial shit. Somehow the topic of searching for things on the internet came up. I told them about a very recent experience I had when trying to find a picture for one of my posts: "I just wanted the poster from the movie Swingers, but when I typed in 'swingers' into the image search, I was greeted by some very different images." They laughed and imagined correctly that it had been rather explicit. Our friend Scott said that a similar thing had happened to him when he wanted to find the closest Dick's Sporting Goods and hadn't searched specifically enough. "Oh yeah," I said, "there was a very nice woman working at Dick's and I wanted to find her name, but when I typed in 'chicks with dicks,' all sorts of weird things came up.'" Big laughs, big laughs.

The reason I mention that is because of an article and caption I saw in the L.A. Business Journal earlier this week. Here's what the caption said: "New name: Chick's stores, such as this one in West Covina, soon will be renamed Dick's." I showed my co-worker Rob and our boss. "The joke practically writes itself," I said. And then I was about to add, "You just can't make this shit up," but I remembered the story above and realized that I actually could make that shit up. The article should've just gone all the way and had "Sports Store Gender Reassignment Surgery?" as the headline.

New topic! There's a sandwich place that I'd been meaning to try for months in our neighborhood. I kept driving by and thinking, "Man, I really need to check that place out." It's called Mick's Subs, and I finally went there this past weekend. I ordered their "pizza steak" sandwich, which is just a Philly cheesesteak but with some marinara sauce, and I looked around the place while they cooked it. There were lots of pictures of actors and athletes up, and two things really struck me about it all. First, not all of the pictures were signed. Some were, meaning that they actually had been there and/or knew the owner. The others, I guess, were just people that they liked or something. To say that the signed ones were "C-list celebrities" would be an exaggeration, by the way. For example, actor Danny Wells was up there twice. What, that name doesn't ring a bell? He played Luigi in the live action kids show based on the Super Mario video games. I only knew that because I went to school with his son, by the way. His IMDB page also tells me that he played "Street Person" in "The Growing Pains Movie," so at least he's got that going for him. In all fairness, he's had a pretty solid career as a character actor since the early 70s, but he still shouldn't be anyone's top-billed famous customer.

I'm sorry, I'll get to the second of the two things that struck me in a minute. First, I have to have this little aside. Danny Wells' page says that in "The Super Mario Bros. Super Show," his character was "Luigi Mario." "That's weird," I thought, "although if they really are the Mario Brothers, then I guess that would be their last names. But the other one is named Mario, right?" I clicked on that show, and sure enough, Lou Albano (of wrestling fame) played "Mario Mario" on that show. I'm not too happy about that development. I guess someone in a script-writing session early on said, "But wait, if they're 'Mario Brothers,' that means that their last names have to be Mario." At that point, the other people in the room had a decision to make. Either say, "Technically you're right, but I think people will let it slide if we don't do that, since it would make the main character Mario Mario," or go along with that idea. They chose poorly, and I'm retroactively outraged.

The second thing that struck me as I looked around Mick's Subs at all of the pictures, etc., was that everything was addressed to "Nick." Ya know, "Dear Nick, thanks for the great food!" for example. This confused me a bit, but I have three possible resolutions I've come up with. One, the owner is Nick, but he named it after a partner or family member for some reason. Two, the original owner was Mick, but he sold the store to someone who coincidentally had a very similar name. Three, Nick is the original owner but "Nick's Subs" was already taken, so he took a very stupid alternative. What else could it be? Maybe it's a situation like when a Vons market was bought and just changed to Jons because they only wanted to buy one new neon letter (at least that's the story I came up with for that one as a kid). I don't know, but as I walked around and saw more and more things written to Nick at Mick's by C-minus-level celebrities, I got more and more perturbed. And yes, you can't spell "perturbed" without Peter.

And now, hang on tight my friends, for we're embarking on a journey known throughout the land as...Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye has sent in a bunch of Car Watch items over the past week, and I shall include a smattering of them here. Therefore, they will soon be smattered all over your screens. Consider yourselves warned. First off, he saw a license plate frame that read, "Caution: Driver is famished." Well the fucking eat something already. Seriously, that's probably a tell-tale sign that your diet is too intense or restrictive if you take the time to get that frame made and attached to your car for the world to see. Caution: Blogger is angry at you.

He also saw a plate that said, "4GTFUL 1." Damn, I had something funny I wanted to say about that. Nevermind.

Next, he sent me "IOU ZRO" that he saw on a license plate. Yikes, that person doesn't sound like that happiest pup of the litter, now does he? What do you think would cause a person to have that on a plate? Being successful and frequently approached by charities? I honestly can't think of a single answer to that question that doesn't make the driver seem like a complete asshole. Any thoughts, my friends? Ooh, just came up with one. How's this: He lent a friend a pretty small amount of money years and years ago, and he kept waiting for the friend to pay him back. Obviously this friend was doing well for himself now, having bought a new house and a few new cars, so why hadn't he repaid his debt? He asked every once in a while but was always brushed off. Then, one day, the lender walked out of his front door and saw that car and that plate in his driveway. On it, a note said, "We're even now." He'd like to change the plate because he knows he looks like a dick, but he keeps it there to keep his friend happy. There, that's probably what happened.

My turn. I saw a plate that told the world, "WLUVSAI." I read it, and then asked myself aloud, "President Bush loves Allen Iverson?" Usually, I'll try to think of funny people who fit the initials when I see them on plates, but this one is different. I can only think of one person who just goes by "W," and Iverson is known throughout the NBA (and the larger sports community) as just "AI." Considering that I laughed out loud when I pictured those two having a conversation, I think it's a great pairing.

I was behind a car on my way home from work this week that read, "ICE (Heart) MOM." I'm not sure I get what they're going for there, because I just get the impression that she's a cold-hearted, unloving mother. That's sad. Unless her kid's initials are ICE (or her kid's a rapper with that moniker), of course. Then it would make sense and not be sad. What else could it be? I don't think it's a mom who loves ice, because if anything, the ice is doing the loving. And there's no way in hell I've ever written the phrase "the ice is doing the loving" before in my life. I like it when that happens.

Lastly, I saw a license plate in a parking lot last week that said, "IM WANTD." For his or her sake, I sure hope not. I can just see the police report now: "I was patrolling the lot because of the loitering complaint from the previous night, and I came across a car, license plate India Mike Whiskey Alpha November Tango Delta. On a hunch, I ran the plates and VIN (not 'VIN number,' because that would be like saying 'Vehicle Identification Number Number,' mind you), and sure enough, there's a warrant out for his arrest in three different states. I waited around, and detained the perp at approximately 1700 hours." Yeah, I had to look up the official call letters. I only would've guessed correctly on four of the seven. India? Really?

That's it, folks. I hope you all had lovely weeks. Happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish brethren, and happy early birthdays to my friend Twilight (Sat) and my loving mother-in-law (Thurs). As always, please email ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. If you see or hear anything interesting, drop me a line. If you touch, smell, or taste anything interesting, feel free to send that along as well. Car Watch items, funny happenings, jokes, ads you love or hate - really, just email me so I can have nice, robust posts coming every Friday. Shaloha, my peeps, and I'll see you next Friday.