A meeting of my minds

Very good morning to you all. First off and most importantly, I wish to welcome to the world the newest Klein. My new niece, Hayley Gabrielle was born on this past Tuesday, and she's healthy and beautiful. Congrats again to my favorite brother and sister-in-law, and my lovely wife and I are excited to be a big part of this little girl's life.

Friends, I know that we are all well-rounded individuals here, so I expect many of you to nod in agreement with what I'm about to say. My sense of humor, outgoingness, and overall personality change quite a bit depending on my surroundings. (Ah, I can almost hear the nods from here.) For example, my immediate family would have no hesitation with putting the "wacky" tag on me. However, there are other circles in which they would never in a million years associate me with that descriptor. Again, I know I'm not unique in this respect, but I wanted to bring it up to specifically talk about twice that my different sides have been forced into colliding.

About six years ago, I was working at UC Santa Barbara for the Orientation Programs. Part of my responsibilities there was to help hire, train, and supervise a student staff of 25, two student coordinators, and two student Program Assistants. I had a great time with these young men and women, and I had no problem telling some jokes and having fun while (hopefully) remaining in a position of authority to them. However, when five of them came up to me one afternoon to tell me that they would be in Las Vegas the same weekend that I'd be there with my friends, I wasn't too happy.

Here's the thing: as I've mentioned in this space before, there was a time in my twenties in which I really made the most of my Vegas trips with my friends. By that, I mean that I was visibly (and somewhat sloppily) drunk, and I often brushed my hair out into a 'fro. I was also known to occasionally wear funky clothes and glasses, and turn to complete strangers to ask them if they could "dig it." Needless to say, I didn't let that persona out much in my work life. Even though I was of legal drinking age, I didn't want the people I supervised to see me in a compromising situation. They needed to have a certain level of respect for me, and my normal Vegas antics could make that problematic. More than that though, I didn't know how to act with both my group of close friends and my supervisees, and I didn't want to find out.

In the weeks before the trip, the students wouldn't let up. They wanted to know where I was staying, what I'd be doing, which friends would be with me, etc. I lied a little and said that we were playing a lot of it by ear. The weekend came, and I had to make a choice though, so I kept my dress normal and drinking to a minimum on Saturday afternoon in case I ended up seeing them. Sure enough, they called and left a message saying they were in the Mandalay Bay casino - exactly where I was standing with my friends. Rather than continue to fight it, I called back and met up with them.

As soon as they saw me, I could tell they were a little disappointed that I wasn't drunk. I introduced them to my friends, and kind of expected us to part ways. Instead, they said they were hungry, and my friends suggested we all get a bite to eat. "Great," I thought, "now I have to straddle my personality lines for even longer." It was a very uncomfortable meal for me. Trying to be both my normal self and my working self quite simply wasn't working. It got worse when one of the students (who was 19) came back to our table with a beer. I don't mean to sound like a goody-goody, but knowing that my boss would've been very unhappy with that situation, I spent a good ten minutes fighting my urge to just get up and leave the rest of them to finish the meal. Eventually, everyone finished their food and our two parties thankfully parted. As soon as we walked away, my friend Greg (who has known me for all of my years) turned to me and asked, "Why were you acting so strange back there?" Mere minutes later, we were in a different casino, drinking and gambling like our normal Vegas selves.

So everything ended up alright in the end, but I felt like I had to sacrifice some normal good times with my friends in order to sit awkwardly with people who normally saw me in a different light. I thought about that Vegas meeting last week because I knew I would soon be facing a similar situation. My co-worker Rob got married this past Sunday. Since his now-wife Robin's family is close with my good friend Lisa's family, I knew that she and her husband Paul would be there. And since Rob bowls with me, Greg, and my homey Rockabye, they were also invited and sitting at the same table as my lovely wife and I were. Great fun, right? Well, knowing that my entire office (including my boss) and their significant others were also in attendance, I started to feel pulled in different directions before the event even took place. There was a third component too. About a dozen of the guys who would be there were ones I'd met at Rob's bachelor party. To them, I was the quiet guy who occasionally made funny comments while staying completely straight-faced. As downright stupid as it sounds, the thought of standing with Greg, my boss, and one of the bachelor party guys conjured up a little bit of anxiety. How was I supposed to fit the image that all of them had of me? I couldn't, and I knew I would just be myself. But would that mean that two of them would later ask me why I'd been acting so strange? Maybe, but that was a chance I had to take. (I know, I'm such a fucking rebel sometimes.)

At the event itself though, things went much smoother than I expected. Sure, it was weird to pass by a guy from my office as I was dancing the Hora, but I was entitled to have fun and decided not to worry about possibly showing a different side of me to my co-workers. The only thing that scared me about my worlds colliding was when I got back to our table once, and Jamie from my office greeted me with, "Hello, Dawg." Clearly, one of my friends had clued her into our silly little game of assigning monosyllabic misspelled animal monikers to each other. But you know what? Not only did the world not end, but everyone had fun. In hindsight, my worries were unjustified, but going off the only similar experience from my past, I still think I had reason for minor concern. Most importantly: the wedding was beautiful, and both the bride and groom looked exceptionally happy throughout.

Wow, those two items took up more space than I'd imagined. And I have a pretty active imagination too. Well, there's one more thing I'd like to briefly discuss before doing that thing I do with them automobiles. Riddle me this, gentle readers: Why is "mofo" a shortened version of "motherfucker"? I have two issues with this. The first is cosmetic, in that "fo" doesn't appear in the second part of the compound word. I'd be willing to maybe let that one slide. The second bothers me more: Neither word's first syllable sounds like its shortened counterpart. It's not "moe-ther foe-ker," after all. I realize that "muhfuh" isn't as catchy as "mofo," but where's the attention to detail? I may as well be nicknamed "Poklo" if we don't need to pay attention to actual letters or sounds. Actually that's kinda catchy.

And now, the section that rates a 10 on the inevitability scale: Car Watch!

First off, my homey Rockabye saw a license plate that read, "LEPHTIE." I totally approve of that. As a southpaw myself, I acknowledge that we're a minority in this righty-dominated world. Modifying the spelling makes sense to me, like they're saying, "We're not normal and don't abide by the regular, society-imposed structures put before us. We know that the words 'sinister' and 'gauche' come from 'left-handed,' and you all snicker behind our backs as we get spiral notebook imprints on our arms and pencil smudges on the sides of our hands. You mock us as we try winding our watches or opening cans with your discriminatory tools. But we shall fight on, and we shall persevere!" Or maybe "LEFTY" was taken.

Rockabye also saw a bumper sticker that both confused and concerned me: "Eat the Environmentalists." I have to assume that this person is speaking figuratively, because normal functioning members of society don't advocate cannibalism. It would be a more pointed statement if it were, "Eat the vegetarians," especially if the car owner has felt looked-down-upon by our herbivoriffic friends. That at least leans toward irony, since a person staunchly against eating meat would be the meat that someone else would be eating. But why eat the people who want to preserve the planet? I can't answer that, but if you have any thoughts on in, please comment away.

Lastly, I saw a plate that I have to report here, even though it's a bit childish of me to do so. It proclaimed, "HUGE KAK." I'm 100% serious. If there's been a Massachusetts plate on it to drive the point home with a Boston accent, I may have laughed to death. How did that one slip by the censors? I'm not alone in hearing a penile euphemism in there, right? I'm impressed that the owner even attempted to get that as a plate, and more so that he was successful. It's like when my dad saw, "DIG BIC," but much more blatant to me. Bravo, sir, bravo.

Hmm, I just looked over this post again, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to save it to show my niece once she's able to read. Maybe the first paragraph would be fine, but I ended up talking about "motherfucker," cannibalism, and large male sex organs. Not exactly the definition of good, clean family fun. My bad. Well friends, in the upcoming week, we have my old boss Kim's b-day, my friend Devon's b-day, and most importantly, my lovely wife's birthday on Thursday. That will begin the three-week-and-a-day period in which she's a year old than me (which is full of "older woman" and "cradle robbing" usage). Have a wonderful weekend and week, friends. As always, please email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything that all that you feel like sharing.

Unoriginal flavor

Hello and good morning, homepeople from across the globe. My name is Peter, and I feel like sharing some thoughts and observations today. By a show of hands, how many of you are simultaneously up for and down with that? Great, I knew I could count on you. (I didn't intend for any double meaning with "count" there, but I'll take it.) Before I launch into some unconnected crap, I'd like to direct my critical eye toward myself.

Hopefully I don't sound too vain here, but I think I'm a pretty creative guy. By the most basic definition, I enjoy creating things with my mind that are different or a new slant on something that already exists. Beyond that, whether it's coming up with new nicknames for people or making a mobile of me making funny faces for my favorite nephew, I'd say that being creative is a central part of who I am. Here's my question: Then why have I been so incredibly uncreative in certain respects?

I thought of this one morning during the past week while getting ready for work. Our adorable dog Hallie was lying on the floor near my feet, and she went into a strange position we see frequently in which she rubs the side of her head against the ground. What do I call that move? "Side head." Sure, I turn it into a song often, but that's the name I brilliantly came up with. I thought about that for a second and wondered if there were other things in my life with which I was similarly uncreative. I found one big category: stuffed animals.

As a little kid, I can only imagine that my parents looked at me and thought, "Wow, he's utterly unoriginal." If they did, I can't blame them one bit. I had a doll of a baby that I slept with every night. The doll's name was Baby, of course. She was later involved in the most traumatic event of my youth, a scenario involving her being dropped in the toilet and my mom giving her a haircut. It was a harrowing event, let me assure you. Now that I give it a little more thought, I believe Baby first belonged to my favorite brother and maybe even to someone else first. Therefore, I may be off the hook with that wholly unimaginative name.

The same can't be said for this next one though; it's all me. We took a family trip to Las Vegas when I was a wee tot, and we played some carnival games at Circus Circus. (By the way, Circus Circus is a weird name for a hotel/casino. I understand that they want to make the circus theme their distinguishing characteristic from their competition, but just saying the word twice doesn't seem like the best way to go about that to me. I mean, if you were to build a casino in the style of New York, would you...crap. Nevermind.) I don't remember which carnival game it was, but I either hit the right thing with a ball or something and was awarded a stuffed animal dog that was all rainbow colored. Being the in-the-box thinker that I was back then, I settled on "Rainbow Doggie" as the rainbow dog's name. What the hell? Come on, young Peter, use your f'n noggin!

A year or two passed, and another great moment in Peter Klein's Unimagination came. My Grandma Mu bought me a stuffed animal that we saw in a store and I wanted. It was another dog, proving that my love of canines has always been there. This particular line of stuffed animals was called Wrinkles, and I guess they were supposed to look like shar-peis. Each one was also a puppet, and if you violated the animal with your hand and forearm, you could make the mouth move like it was talking. Naturally, I named mine...Wrinkles. I took the frickin' brand name! What's wrong with me? Thank god my Cabbage Patch Kid came with a name, or else I would've been playing with Cabbage Patch instead of Troy Norton.

I eventually snapped out of this funk, and later named two Pound Puppy animals Nip and Tuck. That's pretty advanced for a 19 year-old, eh? (More dog stuffed animals? Wow, it's all so clear now.) For the first time, I'm now realizing the marketing brilliance of Pound Puppies. There's an inherent message in their name that tells kids, "If you don't make your parents buy you these stuffed animals, there's a good chance that they'll be put to sleep. At best, they'll be locked in a cage all day for the rest of their lives. You don't want that on your conscience, do ya? Well do ya, kid? Buy now!"

As an adult, I'm comfortable with the way I name things. I give them considerable thought, try to find a new angle or double meaning, and attempt to make all of that catchy. Often I succeed, and when I fail, it's usually so gloriously bad that it's memorable in its own right. I'm not sure if that makes up for my super boring naming skills as a tot, but I'll keep on atoning just in case.

One quick unrelated thought before I move onto the Car Watch section: I purchased a bag of Kettle Chips to go with a sandwich earlier in the week. The flavor I bought was called "Sea Salt and Vinegar," and if I haven't described my feelings toward salt and vinegar chips here before, it can be summed up as such: I hated it, tried it again, found it decent, tried it again, and now enjoy the flavor. You might ask, "Why did you try it again if you hated it the first time?" I don't have a good answer to that. I must've felt especially generous or forgiving or something. Anyway, I ate the majority of these chips and enjoyed them. On the back of the bag, I noticed something though. It said, "Dipped in the sea and brushed with vinegar." I guess they want to sound more gourmet than just saying they added salt and vinegar to their normal potato chips, but I really don't like that description. I've been in the sea, and I know how many other people have been in there as well. I don't want to eat something that's been dipped in there. Can't you get sea salt another way? Go ahead, take saltwater, do some drying-out process, and then use the salt, but please don't dip the chips in the sea. That's just nasty.

And now, back by somewhat popular demand, it's time for Car Watch. Settle in folks, because we've got three doozies ahead of us. (Editor's note: By "doozies," Peter really just means "items." Please adjust expectations accordingly.)

I was in a parking lot while my lovely wife was picking up some take-out food, and I saw a plate that read, "LUVPINK." The car was silver. If the only thing I know about you is that you like a particular color, why not drive that point home? I didn't see the driver, but s/he'd better have been wearing pink or I call shenanigans on the whole thing. Well, not shenanigans per se because they don't come out ahead by lying about this. It's really closer to "bullshit" than shenanigans. Or idiocy. Yeah, definitely one of those two.

My homey Rockabye saw a plate that proudly proclaimed, "(Heart) THMBLS." Seriously, who gets that for a license plate? The way I see it, it's not just someone who sews an awful lot. Oh no, those people love thread, weaving, and all sorts of terminology I don't know. Take one of those avid sewers (sewers? Like where sewage flows? That's weird) and make him or her very poor with the needle. His or her thumb got poked severely on a daily basis, almost ending a sewing hobby/career before it truly got started. And then one day, a close friend shared a secret that saved this person's livelihood...and maybe their life too. It was...the thimble! Sew away, my friend! Sew away, and never worry about inadvertent self-mutilation again! Let the thread flow through the streets with the kind of reckless abandon normally saved for much cooler activities. Sew, sew, SEW! (That's how I see it at least. I'm sure you all agree.)

Lastly, the same homey Rockabye saw a plate that said, "JNLENIN." Hmmm, what should I make of this one? Aloud, it seems to clearly allude to the most talented of the Beatles, in my arrogant opinion. However, license plates are certainly made to be seen and not heard. Therefore, the fact that it's not "Lennon" makes me wonder. Vladdy Daddy Lenin and his band of merry Bolsheviks spelled it that way, but then "John" wouldn't make any sense. Ah, but what if it's "Join Lenin" instead? What if this person is slyly using the Beatles to push a Communist doctrine on us? All you need is love? Nay, all you need is a government allotted amount of love that is shared equally amongst the members of society. We are all walruses, my friend, awaiting the day to be (you guessed it) Back in the USSR.

Or the driver just couldn't fit "Lennon."

Ok, that's it for me. We have a super crazy big week of events though, and I must share. The couple whom my friend Lisa and I set up, one co-worker Rob and one family friend Robin, are tying the knot this Sunday. Lisa and I will spend roughly 85% of the evening patting ourselves on the back. Tuesday is not only my friend Adam's birthday, but also the day that my favorite brother and sister-in-law will bring my favorite niece into the world. I'm so happy for them and can't wait to meet this newest Klein. There's nothing like a 0th birthday. 0th or 0st? Certainly not 0nd. Have a great and safe Memorial Day and long weekend, my friends, and I'll see you back here next Friday. As always, please email ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all.

Pun in the sun

Hello and good morning, readers of my words. We are fully entrenched in mid-May, so if you live in a place in which there actually were April showers, I hope you're fully reaping the benefits of them by now. I'm in L.A., so my seasons are basically "sunny" and "why isn't it sunny?" Even as a life-long Californian, I find it funny when my fellow Angelinos complain about a couple of days in a row of temperatures in the 60s. (Hey, it looks like my name could be found in the word 'temperature.' That's almost interesting.) Ready for some random thoughts and observations for this Friday morning? Here goes:

God bless the internet. Oh sure, there's a very dark side of illegal and immoral activity that can spread to a larger population because of Al Gore's invention, but there are so many benefits. For now, I shall sing the praises of one Craig's List. Weeks back, my friend Dusty purchased Laker playoff tickets. Knowing full well that everyone would by trying to get them at the same moment, we strategized and went after Game 5 of the second round. All that needed to happen was for the Lakers to win in the first round and not sweep in the second in order for us to go. When the second round schedule finally got set, Game 5 coincided with concert tickets that my lovely wife and I had purchased a while back. Naturally, I wanted to do both of these things, and we turned to Craig's List. I asked if anyone had tickets to the other night of the concert and wanted to swap with ours. Since they were general admission tickets, we didn't have to worry about pricing or seating differences. Sure enough, within a short amount of time, a young lady wrote and said that the second night was better for her. We met up in a supermarket parking lot, exchanged tickets, and wished each other well. Ta-dah! I ended up truly having my cake and eating it too, seeing a kick-ass concert and then hurting my throat as I screamed the Lakers on to victory. Here's what gets me about this whole thing: where else in the world is a service provided that helps people come together without anyone making money off of it? Craig's List is not only free to people like me who want to post or reply to something, but there isn't even any advertising on it. As a consumer, I would gladly accept ads on the site to support it since I'm getting all of the benefits for free. Maybe I'm just jaded by how overly capitalistic everything has become, but the fact that the site doesn't make any money just blows my mind. Craig, thank you. You helped me have a very fun week of events.

News flash: Jokes aren't funny when you have to explain them. Shocking, I know. As I've mentioned before in this space, I did some improv comedy for a couple of years when I was considerably younger. One of the most important aspects of being in an improv scene is knowing when to swallow a funny line you have if the timing's not right. It's very difficult, but if it doesn't fit there, let it go. I know this, and I try to apply it to my everyday humor as well. I even scoff at people who don't do this, since I'm a card-carrying humor snob and all. The thing is, I failed miserably earlier this week. I was standing in my boss's office with a few others, and he said that he was meeting someone named Dennis later. I immediately made some connection in my head to Dennis sounding like "dentist," because that's what I do. (I also immediately jump to a hilarious "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" scene with someone called Dennis, but that's not relevant here.) Then, my boss said that his meeting would be at 2:30. My brain made the requisite "dentist" and "tooth-hurty" connection, and it wanted my mouth to share it with others. I had a quick second thought, which was something like, "But they don't know you think of dentists when that name comes up, so this won't make any sense." It was too late. What followed was an awkward exchange with a bunch of "kindas" and "ya knows." After the stumbling explanation was completed, my co-worker Rob said that he actually would've found that funny if it hadn't needed the accompanying explanation. Hey, look at that: you can't spell "comedy hypocrite" without Peter.

Ah, let's talk about friends for a minute, shall we? There are many kinds of friends and ways in which to categorize them. For right now, I shall make two large categories: Ones who find out what you dislike and try to avoid said annoyance, and ones who find out what you dislike and make it their goal to include said annoyance in every possible aspect of your relationship because they think it's funny when you get all pissed off. My good friends Dave and Dusty are in the latter group. If they know that I'm waiting for them to meet me somewhere, they'll send me a text message saying they're running twice as late as they actually are. Why? Because they want me to be upset and angry; that's funny to them. I have an old and a new example of what I'm talking about.

My group of friends went and saw "Dude, Where's My Car?" when it came out years ago. My best guess as to why we'd go to that movie in the first place is that we were in a phase where we really enjoyed horrible movies. "John Carpenter's Vampires" would come on and we'd watch the entire thing, even if that was the third time that day. We grew out of that phase, quite fortunately. In any case, I hated the movie. One three-second part made me laugh, and that was it. Much worse, one aspect of the movie infuriated me. The screenwriter was trying incredibly hard to add a new slang term to my generation's vocabulary. The main characters said that everything cool was "shibby," and they said it over and over and over again. I told my friends how angry that made me, especially since it was a stupid word that had no chance of catching on. Naturally, they've spent the last seven or eight years saying "shibby" or the modified "shib" about everything. Man I hate my best friends sometimes.

The other example is a very recent one. I'm actually coming around to liking this, which will completely foil their plans. They know how I feel about "PIN number" and "ATM machine," so they want to say as many of those redundancies around me as possible. A week or so ago, Dave said, "LOL out loud!" to me. He's also asked me, "What the wtf?" Instead of being monumentally irked by this, I actually find it funny (since they're doing it on purpose) and have tried coming up with some of my own. I've used "For your FYI" (which I've heard used in real life), and I'm going to work in "FBI investigation" sometime soon. Hey, that sounds way too good; have I said that one unknowingly in the past? Yikes, I may have. "An ongoing FBI investigation" sounds very normal, unless you say, "An ongoing Federal Bureau of Investigation investigation." I have to think more about that one, because even though it puts the same word together twice, we can't use "an FBI" as an investigation (a la the "M" in ATM and "N" in PIN). Ya know, nevermind. That one is fine and correct even though it sounds redundant. My bad. I'll think of more. As soon as ASAP.

My favorite brother called me after hearing an ad for some car rental company. Their phone number was 1-800-RENTACAR. He heard that, realized that the final R was unnecessary, and wanted my thoughts on what else that could be. My first thoughts were 1-800-RENTACAMEL and 1-800-RENTACALIFORNIAHOOKER. Someone in need of a hockey teammate might dial 1-800-RENTACANADIAN and be unpleasantly accosted with descriptions of full-coverage insurance. Playing around a little with the letters on each button, if someone dialed 1-800-SENTBACK in hopes of reaching a rebate or customer service center, they would unfortunately be asked about their desire to upgrade to the luxury sedan instead.

And now, the segment that none of the kids in the neighborhood are talking about: Car Watch!

I saw a license plate that read, "GD KDS." I had several thoughts about what this could be. I suppose the most logical interpretation would be simply, "Good kids." However, my very first thought was "God Damn Kids," said in the voice of an old crusty neighbor whose geraniums had just been accidentally smushed by an errant basketball. It could be "God Kids," either saying "We are all God's children" or "God is a practical joker." So many blasphemous possibilities, so little time.

My homey Rockabye saw a license plate frame that I understand but refuse to support: "My Saturn is better than Uranus." Yes, I understand the pun they're making, but it just doesn't make any sense once you strip that layer away. Seriously, tell me, Saturn driver, how exactly is your car better than that planet? It's not even a case of comparing apples and oranges because at least those two are both kinds of fruit. Your car is more accessible to you than Uranus, I'll give you that, but it's just a stupid comparison to make. How many similar objects are there to your car that you know of? And how many similar planets? Ooh, you're so moded. Just to make sure I don't lose sight of the pun (since that's the only reason for the frame at all), I want to go on record and say that I actually prefer my anus to your car as well. So there.

Last but certainly not least, Rockabye also sent in this bumper sticker: "Make salads, not war." I never knew that was a viable alternative. All this time, instead of the exorbitant cost and loss of life associated with war, we could've been knee deep in greens, veggies, and maybe some assorted Italian meats or garbanzo beans. Oh the possibilities! (Hey, I made salads at an Italian restaurant for a couple of years and then at another place for a week. I chose that over war, and I'm damn proud of that, even if I did it unknowingly. Where's my Nobel Peace Prize?)

Ok folks, I've had enough jibber-jabber for a week. Before I depart, I want to wish a very happy birthday to my good friend Lisa today. Also, a happy early anniversary to our friends Jesse and Danielle, and a happy early dentist appointment to me. (It's not at 2:30 though. Damn, I totally should've interrupted my workday for a mildly humorous pun. Next time.) Have a glorious weekend and week, my peeps. As always, please email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. I like the attention. Shaloha to you all.

You say tomahto (and that's stupid)

Hello and good morning, my little slice of the online population. I hope all has been well since we last e-saw each other a week ago. I have a bunch of random crap with which to assail you, so please sit back, relax, and I hope you enjoy the ramblings of a mostly-sane man.

On my way into work this week, I heard two commercials in succession that each made me think of word pronunciation. Technically, neither of these commercials was wrong with the respective words that caught my ears, but they're different from how I say them. The first commercial said something about redeeming coupons. The woman reading the script said 'coupon' as 'kyoo-pon' instead of 'koo-pon' as I do. I looked at an online dictionary, and it says either is correct, but I just don't like that version as much. Where else do we see a word starting with "cou" and having a "kyoo" sound? Is a messenger also known as a kyoo-ree-ur? Are big cats calls kyoo-gers? I know I should never expect English to make sense, but this one just feels like it came about by people pronouncing it incorrectly.

The second one isn't wrong either, but it made me think, and this is my thought receptacle. "See store for details," the announcer said in a quick phrase at the end of the commercial. While I would've said it as, "See store for DEE-tails," he said, "See store for di-TAILS." There are a lot of words out there that switch their emphasis depending on whether they're acting as a noun or a verb (conflict, combat, object, upset, etc.), but I don't think this was one of those. Instead, it was just an alternate way of saying a word, and since it caught my ear, I had it catch your eyes.

I was walking to the Coffee Bean with my co-worker Rob, and he pointed out the Nissan Armada in the parking lot. I realize this is a car topic and not in the Car Watch section, but I think it falls more under the "words" or "things that piss me off" category than that one. "I have two fairly large problems with the name of that car," I told him. "And while they're both large, one is grander in scope than the other." First, I take issue with the fact that a single car is named a plural noun. Sure, it doesn't end in an S, but it's a fleet or a navy, and I have trouble with that being represented by one vehicle. "So that's the bigger issue, right?" Rob asked me. "No, surprisingly it isn't," I replied. The larger issue in my opinion is the fact that an SUV is named after a military fleet that has historically be sent specifically to kill people and take over their land. To me, that just seems a bit extreme and violent for something that takes your kids to softball practice. What's next, the GMC Stealth Bomber? (Oh crap, I just gave them an idea, didn't I?)

More word stuff! There are two words that I said incorrectly throughout large portions of my childhood. Since I'm sharing this error with you all, I hope that you'll either agree with me or chime in with your own errors. I don't have a gavel, so I won't judge you. First off, I could've sworn that the thing people push around during yard work or other similar activities was called a "wheelbarrel." I don't know why, but I can't be the only one, right? I knew the word 'wheel,' and I knew the word 'barrel,' so I guess my mind put them together.

The other one is similar, but I stand by it more because my version makes more sense than the correct one. "He treats her very well, as if he puts her on a pedastool." It's like a footstool, but probably a little higher. What else would someone be up on if not a stool? Since 'ped' means 'foot,' I really think that footstools or stepladders should be called pedastools instead. Who's joining me in this senseless endeavor?

My favorite brother called me over the weekend to report something that caught his eye. It was an ad for a mortgage company, and amongst other things that they can do for you, they will "Fix Your Adjustable ARM." Yes, they will fix your doubly-adjustable rate mortgage. That's not quite up there with "ATM machine" and "PIN number" as far as making me angry, but that's probably just because I like the idea of someone trying to fix an adjustable arm instead of an ARM. Hold still!

I overheard a man talking to two people who I assume were his co-workers about someone else. "The thing about her is," he said, "she can't take the heat. She's not chill." Make up your mind, man. Either she is chill and therefore can not take heat, or she is not chill and takes heat with great ease. That makes no sense; it's totally sensible.

Another thing I overheard took place in a crowded Starbucks. Since the line was long, the woman in front of me struck up a conversation with the woman in front of her. After chatting about nothing for a moment, the woman two ahead of me mentioned her kids. The other woman, in a tone of complete shock and wonder, asked, "So did you get married and then have kids?" "Yeah," the wife/mother replied. "DAMN!" said the other woman, as if that was the most unorthodox order of events she could fathom. I wanted so badly to add a funny line (even though I wasn't a part of the conversation), but after three seconds passed, I knew I'd missed my window. In hindsight, I think I might've added, "I heard she loads her dishes before turning on the dishwasher too. That's some crazy shit!" I was too slow though, and there's a 100% chance that I would've just come across as a dick, so maybe my slow response time was a good thing.

Last but not least for this section, I thought of another word that's said wrong and therefore pisses me off. I know some of you might say this, and if you stop it right now, I won't hold it against you. Ready? "Drownding." That's not even mispronounced; it's just wrong. That one is right up there with "accrost," and you may recall that I'm not a big fan of that one either.

By a show of hands, how many of you are ready for the Car Watch? Peter, I already counted you. Any others? Ok, the Is have it.

I saw a bumper sticker, and while I often read too much into things, I'm not sure if that's the case this time. It said, "I (upside down heart) Hiney." Here's the thing that struck me: the upside down heart kind of looks like a butt. That's gotta be what they're going for, right? It can't just be "love," because then there would be no reason to flip it. Friends, am I off here or do you agree with my assessment?

This one admittedly isn't too interesting, but what the hell? I saw a plate that only said, "007" right in the middle of it. The driver must've requested that a long, long time ago. I think it's cool, but I'm more impressed that someone even had the idea to try for that by itself. Bravo, Faux Bond. (That's a funny little side-part to that plate, now that I think about it. It's paradoxical to think of a secret agent advertising his codename to everyone. "Hi everyone, I'm a British spy!")

My homey Rockabye saw a license plate behind which I can't for the life of me explain the rationale. I wrote a similar statement about "BAD SMEL" last week, but this one exceeds that in its incomprehensibility. (That word just took me a whole minute to type, by the way.) The plate read, "UGLY MAN." Come on, dude, really? I mean, really? I didn't get a chance to ask my friend if he got a look at the guy or if it was a very nice car to compensate for his facial shortcomings. (Ooh, "facial shortcomings" is going to be the next "vertically challenged" in the world of discrimination euphemisms, I can feel it!)

Last but far from least, my dad sent me a bumper sticker that confused him. "Whip Cream," it said. Wow, I have a number of questions about this one. I'll break it down in a numerical format to prove that there is indeed a number of them.

1. Why isn't it "whipped" cream?
2. If it is supposed to be the foodstuff, what do they want us to do with that information? Eat more of it?
3. Is it a command? If so, I'm not sure I want to do that. It could splatter all over the place, and then we'd need a "Clean Up Cream" sticker to follow.
4. Is it a reference Eric Clapton's old band, Cream? If so, I don't get it.
5. Is it just an inside joke amongst friends? If so, thanks for confusing the rest of us, jerkweed.
6. Did I just use 'jerkweed'? What the hell does that even mean? Isn't jerking a weed out of the ground a good thing? Maybe I should change that to "weedsprout" instead.
7. Am I still typing all of this?

There, that was a number; 7 to be precise. That'll teach you to doubt me again.

Ok folks, I'm outa here. To all the muthas out there, have a very special day of celebration this Sunday. Without you, well, I guess nothing would've ever gotten done in the history of civilization. So you got that going for you. As always, friends, please email ptklein@gmail.com with anything you think of whatsoever. I like the attention.

Unexpected guests

Hello and good morning, my homepeople. I hope the month of May's early offerings have treated you well so far. It's usually around this time each year when I think to myself, "Wow, we're almost halfway done with this year already? It feels like we just turned to this number." This year, however, I feel like it's been 08 already for a long, long time. I don't know if it's the whole election/Olympic year thing (or leap year), but I feel approximately eight months into 2008 instead of five. It's hard to quantify that perception, but I gave it a shot. After all, you can't spell "perception" without Peter.

Admittedly, I'm getting a little out of control with the whole "You can't spell (blank) without Peter" thing. It's almost become a sickness, to be frank. If I hear or see a word that clearly has a P and either a T or an R in it, I immediately scan the rest of it in my head to see if all five are there. It's not even just one word, in fact. Last week, my lovely wife asked me, "Are those different pants?" "No," I replied, "but you cant spell 'different pants' without Peter." I can't stop. The same thing happened at work when someone referred to someone else as a "puppet master." Before I knew what was happening, I was informing them of what I thought was interesting about those words. A client told me I was perfect, and I told him about that word too. I could tell from his reply that he thought I just meant that they both start with a P. Did I let it slide? Nope, I said, "Actually, I meant that all of the letters of my name are also in the word 'perfect.'" "Oh, well, that's...neat." I did manage to stop myself from listing off a bunch of others I know, so I guess there's still some restraint there. Oh well, I suppose there are far worse addictions I could have.

Here's an interesting happening from the past week: I was sitting at our kitchen table (that's not actually in our kitchen), either working on a crossword puzzle or sudoku. From the office/dog's room, Amber said very matter-of-factly, "There's a lizard in our house." I understood the words she said, but I still replied, "What?" "There's a lizard in our house," she repeated. I walked over to her, and sure enough, she hadn't been speaking in code. There in the corner by the doggy door was a lizard. They're kind of cute, and I've always liked lizards from a distance, but I wasn't super pleased to have it in our house. Fortunately, it was there in plain sight and hadn't come in unnoticed. I decided that Tupperware was going to increase in its usefulness, and I grabbed one large enough to put over the reptile. "I must warn you," I told my lovely wife, "I'm going to scream like a little girl if it starts moving." She said that would be ok. As I gingerly lowered the container, he was thankfully obliging and didn't start freaking out until he was completely encased. As we searched for the perfect thing to slide under the container to transport the lizard, the poor guy starting running around in there like he was scared. Suddenly, I felt like the cold-blooded one. (Hey-o!) We found an appropriate bottom to our makeshift cage, and Amber went on the other side of the doggy door for me to pass her the lizard. (No, that's not slang anything.) She took the container and let the lizard out in our backyard. Crisis averted. Ok, maybe not a crisis per se, but an unexpected encounter that required strategic thinking and teamwork. That counts for something right?

That story reminds me of another one that I've had on my list of things to talk about for over a year, but there was never a good segue. Ready for the kick-ass transition sentence? That wasn't the only time that Amber and I had an unexpected animal encounter. (Nailed it!) After graduating college, my lovely future wife and I stayed in Santa Barbara. She got a job that would help her in her applications to graduate school the next year, and I was simultaneously looking for a job and a place to live. For a week or two, I stayed with her and her roommate Lauren while searching for both stressful things. One morning, Amber got up before me and was leaving for work while I remained in bed. Here's what I heard in my sleepy state:

1. A door opened.

2. Amber said, "Cat."

3. A door closed.

4. A door opened.

5. Amber said, "Cat."

6. A door closed more forcefully.

7. Amber said, "Peter, the stupid cat won't let me leave."

I sat up and said, "Ok, I'll be right there." While I said that, I was really thinking, "What the fuck is she talking about?" You see, they didn't have a cat, and even if they did, I failed to see how it could stop her from leaving the apartment. I ambled downstairs, and there Amber stood with a very frustrated look on her face. She opened the front door, and there was a cat, meowing and trying its damnedest to get inside the apartment. She told it, "No," and closed the door again. We quickly devised a plan. With the bottom of my foot as a barricade, she opened the door a crack. I slowly moved my foot more and more outside as the cat wondered how to get around this new obstacle. Amber slid by, and I hopped back inside with my foot still playing the part of a shield. I yelled goodbye to Amber and closed the door before the cat could get in. Ta-dah! Nowadays, we'll flatly say, "Cat" to each other and laugh, but it was touch-and-go there for a while. Thankfully, you can't spell "the cat stopper" without Peter or "animal blocker" without Amber. Hey, her letters are in those words sequentially too. That's cool, like how the five vowels are sequential in "facetious." If you want to count Y and its part-time vowel status, just make it an adverb and everybody wins.

Ok, a couple more quick hits before we see what the automotive world has to offer. Last week at bowling, "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot came on. (Ah, remember when he was just Mr. Mix-a-Lot before the queen finally came around and recognized him for his contributions? Those were the days, my friends.) I had a thought, and I shared it with my friend Greg. "Ya know, I don't think Sir Mix-a-Lot gets enough credit for helping women in the realm of body image. As a kid, he was the first one who I can remember talking about preferring women with figures rather than just being rail thin. He thought curves were 'kickin' and I hadn't heard that yet." He agreed with me, but then brought up and excellent point. "Didn't Queen sing about 'Fat Bottomed Girls' though?" I couldn't refute that they did indeed make the rockin' world go 'round, but I'd always thought of that song as tongue in cheek. Wow, that was a really bad choice of phrase on my part. I'm gonna stop right here.

Lastly, I foolishly brought up "upholster" and "haphazard" as (what I thought to be) rare examples of "ph" not making an F sound. My dad mentioned "cupholder" in the comments section, and I've realized that "uphold" and "upheaval" fit the bill as well. I'm sure there are many more compound words that put those letters together without the F sound in place, so that blows my theory of rarity right out the window. My bad.

And now, we rejoin our regularly scheduled program, Car Watch! There will be no further commercial interruptions (unless some company steps up and sponsors me, then they can interrupt all they want).

I saw a license plate frame that left me with two very important questions. It read, "Endless love. Yoggie and Boo Boo." Question #1: They must mean Yogi right? That's how the bear spelled it (or had it spelled for him, at least). Question #2: Was there more to the relationship between those two bears than I knew as a kid? I thought they were pals who got into various forms of mischief together, but I never got the "endless love" vibe. Maybe there was a little more Bert-and-Ernieing going on than I realized. (I realize that Ernie-and-Berting sounds a lot better, but I just can't bring myself to put that couple in that order. It just feels awkward, like Mindy and Mork or Chachi and Joanie.)

My homey Rockabye saw a Prius with a license plate that read, "HI MILES." On one hand, that's pretty cool that they're able to advertise their vehicle's selling point in such a public way. On the other, it would really freak me out if my name were Miles and I were behind that car. "How did they know? Who's watching me? Should I say hi back? Hello. Hello?" (For those of you scoring at home, that was just me having an imaginary conversation with myself if I had been named something different. I believe that combination paid 8 to 1 on the UOPTA prop bet score sheet.)

Last but certainly not least, I did a double-take when I saw a license plate on the freeway this week. It said, "BAD SMEL." Please, my friends, tell me how that plate could possibly make sense in a way that doesn't make the driver look bad. The closest I can come up with involves him or her inventing something that purposely smells awful, like pepper spray or...nope, that's all I got. I would love to hear if there are any logical explanations for that. Hell, I'll settle for illogical ones too.

Ok, that's is it for this feller. You all should have fantastic weekends and weeks before seeing me here again next Friday. In the intervening time, have un Cinco de Mayo fantastico. That day is also the birthday of our friends Jen and Debbie, so throw back some Patron for them. See you next week, and please email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Or nothing about nothing even; I'm not too picky. Shaloha.