April showers bring random crap

Shaloha, people and other English-reading species. It's a pleasure to see you again, and I hope your Aprils have gotten off to good starts. Yes, we're in another month that can also be a person's name. Speaking of that topic, if you name your kid after a month, does s/he have to be born then too for it to make sense? I think it would be weird to have a kid named April born in November. I could see someone naming a child after when s/he was conceived, and I can also see that getting a little creepy pretty quickly. Imagine that kid having to explain that over and over again as a freshman in high school. Yeah, that's awkward.

Lastly on this spur-of-the-moment topic, I think it's really cool that the initials of July through November spell out Jason. 66% of the Jasons whose birthdays I know off-hand fall into that five-month span. Jason S., you just missed it. You're a walking paradox, man.

Ok, let's switch to some different random crap instead of this month kick I've been stuck on for three mini paragraphs. I had a thought (uh oh), and it was this: For kids born in the 90s, I imagine that they hear Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" for the first time and think, "Well why don't they just go on Maury Povich and settle this thing?" (I wonder how Maury feels that I automatically associate him with paternity tests and not anything else from his 20+ years of "journalism." That said, it's gotta be better than being known for getting your nose broken by a thrown chair, eh Geraldo?) It would be fantastic to see a decked out Michael on the Povich stage, his head in his hands, awaiting the news. Maury then slowly approaches him with an envelope and kneels beside him with as much bedside manner as he can muster. "Michael," he'd say, "we have the results. And the chid...is not your son." Michael would leap to his feet, do some spin moves, say some Hee Hees, and then moonwalk over to Billie Jean. Here's the kicker: He says to her, "You thought you could get your SHAM ON! SHAM ON!" And the crowd goes wild. Uh oh, I think I just wrote my first SNL skit.

So I was at my co-worker Rob's bachelor party last weekend, and I have three very minor stories to tell. Separately, I'm not sure any of them are very interesting, but together, they take up more space while not being interesting. See how that works? First, there were some funny signs that I'm getting older. While the group of guys usually talked about sports, funny stories from the past, or random stupid shit, every once in a while things would change. On one occasion, there was a long dinner discussion about wedding bands. That's understandable, I suppose, due to the fact that Rob's getting married. Still, that wouldn't have happened a few years ago. On another occasion, a few of the guys started talking about their kids' feeding times, how many hours they sleep, and whether their wives are still pumping or not. Now that definitely wasn't a conversation at previous bachelor parties I've attended. It was different, and I liked it. When I stepped outside to call my lovely wife for a few minutes, I didn't come back to a bunch of guys telling me how whipped I am or asking me when I could pick my balls up at the cleaners. Instead, many of them went and called their wives to say hi or check on the kids. Am I officially a grown up? Yeah, I guess so, and as long as I can still mentally revert to 15 year-old Peter from time to time, that's fine by me.

Second story: I was sitting at a blackjack table and getting my ass handed to me. It's not often that when cashing out, a dealer says, "Wow, I don't think you won a single hand there." "You noticed that too?" I asked. Anyway, I switched to a new table where it was just me and a dealer. After a couple of hands, I noticed that I had the song "Big Casino" by Jimmy Eat World in my head. I like that song; it's on a cd that my friend Jon made for me, and it was surely in my head for obvious reasons. A few minutes later, that same song is being piped through the casino speakers. It was a sign, I just knew it. I put out a bigger than normal bet, and told the dealer what was going on. As he started dealing, he said, "Yeah, we play that song all the time here. It's probably in your head from hearing it an hour ago." That made it feel like less of a sign, and losing that next hand pretty much confirmed that no magic was afoot.

Third and last story: On the plane ride back, I thought I heard the flight attendant say something to a passenger during the beverage service, but I wasn't sure. A couple of rows closer, and it was confirmed: "I'm sorry, we ran out of water." I hadn't heard that one before, and I had to switch it up with only a few seconds to spare and go with apple juice instead. I noticed that they had ice, and I thought for a moment about asking for a cup of ice and just waiting for it to melt, but then I realized that that plan was, how do you say, fucking stupid.

Our friend Danielle sent my lovely wife an email, who quickly realized that it should be forwarded to me. In it, Danielle said that she was looking up season tickets for a sports team, and she happened upon this sentence: "The following optional information must be completed to qualify your entry..." Yes, my friends, the optional info must be completed. To their credit, the mandatory information is voluntary.

And lastly in this section, I heard a Beastie Boys song from my youth on the radio this morning. I've known the words to this song since going to summer camp when I was in the single digits, and it wasn't until today that one line stuck out to me. Ad Rock mentions that he has some beer, but more specifically, he has "a quart of beer." At first, I thought about only milk coming in quarts and how weird it sounded to have beer in that container size. Then I broke it down a little further and realized that it really wasn't all that odd. There have been several times that I've had two pints of beer at an establishment. Just because I haven't consolidated those into one quart-sized container doesn't mean that I haven't just imbibed a quart of beer. Hell, by that logic, I've had my share of half-gallons of beer at a time. New math is fun!

Ok, it's time put our left feet in, take our left feet out, put our left feet in, and shake them all about as we transition to the Car Watch. That, my friends, is what it's all about.

I was walking with a couple of co-workers to pick up some food, and one noticed a plate on an oncoming car that I just missed somehow. It was a little old lady driving, and the plate told us, "BE NICE." How adorable is that? Nothing like putting grandmotherly advice out there for anyone who comes near your car. (As a side note, writing "little old lady" reminded me of something. At UCSB, there was a small theatre called the Old Little Theatre, or OLT since everything had to be known by initials. The first time I saw it, I said to someone, "Wow, those adjectives aren't usually in that order." That was over a dozen years ago, and I stand by that assessment wholeheartedly.)

Long-time and loyal reader Sue sent me an email with a plate, and I was overjoyed to receive it. (That's what happens when people email me: I become happy. So basically, when you don't write me with Car Watch items or random crap, you're attempting to keep me from happiness. Just thought I'd point that out.) It said, "DEADJOB," and it was on a black sedan. It wasn't a Hearse, which would've been just too perfect, and Sue suggested that it could be a pest control worker or someone in a dead-end job. I think pest control is the leading candidate for me right now, because even though someone from a funeral parlor having that would make the most sense, it would probably jeopardize his or her business if anyone saw that. Any professions that make sense that I'm missing, gentle readers?

My dad sent me a bumper sticker that read, "Don't Knit and Drive. Knittersanonymous.com." I was intrigued by this on two levels. First, I hadn't realized that drunken knitting was a problem in our society. In Canada, sure, but not here. Second, while I know this was a joking bumper sticker, I still find it strange to have anything "anonymous" attached to a person in such a public format. Hey, check this out: I just went to their website, and they also have a "Friends Don't Let Friends Knit Drunk" sticker. It's a full-on epidemic!

Speaking of bumper stickers sold on websites, I was on the always glorious www.theonion.com, and they had a sticker that made me laugh out loud: "Honk if you have poor impulse control." I just laughed again from typing that. I think they found their audience.

Last but not least, my homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that made him laugh for hours straight: "Who farted?" I wish I had seen that, because I wouldn't calmly pulled up next to him or her, rolled my window down, and put my hand up apologetically. "My bad," I'd say, "my bad."

And with that, I'm out like the opposite of in. Sacky Christi's birthday is in the week between my posts, so I hope you'll all mentally wish her a happy one. As always, folks, email me at ptklein@gmail.com with whatever crosses your mindpath. I just made that phrase up and I like it already. An SNL skit and a phrase? I'm on fire. Not literally. I'll stop now. See you next week.