Eastern musings

Greetings and salutations, my homepeople. I almost called you "my brothers from other mothers and sisters from other misters," but felt that it was too cumbersome. Also, unless my favorite brother wasn't lying all those years about me being adopted, the phrase would be factually inaccurate. It's all about quality control, people. So I've got a bunch of random crap to discuss with myself today. Are you ready? I'll take your silence as a yes.

My lovely wife and I were on vacation for a good chunk of this week, and normally I get a ton of material from the flights alone. This time, not so much. I only have a few highlights from the plane rides - or flylights, if you will - and none of them are spectacular. Here's one: I was sitting next to a nice woman who I would say was about 60-65 years old. People that age...(I'm going to choose my words carefully here so as to not offend my loyal readers in or near that bracket) are old enough to know about all that they're going to before they start to lose some of their mental faculties. I don't think the word "doddering" applies until a little while later. Therefore, I was suprised when this able-minded woman asked me if Texas was in the same time zone as Boston. Maybe I'm being unreasonable, but that just seemed like something that adults should know to me. Texas clearly isn't on the east coast, and it's far enough west that many easterners consider it "the West." I didn't make a face or anything when I replied, "No, Boston is an hour ahead of Texas." Wasn't that nice of me? (And if that's my best story from my four flights, you can probably tell how uneventful they were.)

Our actual trip was lovely and relaxing. We were staying with some friends at a beach house in Gloucester, Massachusetts. We saw a shirt or bumper sticker at one point that said, "Glosta," which we thought was appropriate. Know what else we saw? Scores and scores of signs that read, "We're for Tony Verga" for State Representative. I don't know about the rest of you, but my dad is laughing right now. Why? Because "verga" is Mexican vulgar slang for "penis." Let me put it this way: any phrases that non-Spanish speakers learn that refer to the male anatomy include "verga" instead of the biological "pene." I know I'm immature, but even days after seeing the first sign, I couldn't help but say, "We're for Verga!" every time we passed a sign. Being a responsible citizen, I looked this guy up on the series of tubes that make up the internets. On http://www.repverga.com/, there are four things that I can't help but notice. First, "Join Team Verga" in a bold blue box happens to stand out. Next, there are these three actual headlines:

1. "Verga Leads Effort to Protect Fishing Industry"

2. "Verga Announces Successful Passage of Funds for Libraries"

3. "Hill, Tarr, Verga Plot Course for Disaster Aid for Clammers"

If you're like me, you're wondering how a hill, some tar, and a dick can join forces to help clammers. And if you're like me, I'm sorry, but you're one sick individual and should seek professional help.

While in the two-syllable Gloucester, we did a whole lot of nothing and it was wonderful. We spent time just relaxing, hanging out with our friends, and taking a couple of trips to the beach to walk around, play some Frisbee, and watch little Tyler try conversing with the waves. Isn't that setting just completely relaxing? No, evidently, not to everyone. To one man in particular, the beach at Cape Ann is for one thing: showing people how masculine you are. Yep, as dozens of happy and relaxed people crossed a sandbar over to an island, most of us stood around and splashed a bit in the water. Not this dude. He dropped and gave us twenty. That's right, just off to the side of the main throng of folks, he did push-ups and then looked around to make sure everyone saw how fucking awesome he was. Please note, this wasn't some Adonis either, but rather some middle aged, not particularly fit man who was showing off for us. On the walk back from the island, we were apparently all being giant wusses because he showed us all up by walking backwards in the slightly-deeper water. It was such a display of manhood that I asked my lovely wife if I needed to do some workout routine of my own right then and there to prove my own male-ness. She said it was unnecessary, which was probably a good thing. I have a feeling that this guy would've run up next to me and done the same thing I was doing but faster. "Seet ups? I can do ze seet ups! 1,2,3,4,5! Unh! Vut, ah you steel on 3? I crush you!" (I just gave him an accent even though I never heard him speak, and hopefully that translated onto the printed page...or whatever this is.) Instead of exercise, I opted for a beer and some poker. I consider that a victory.

Ok, I'm tired, so let's move on over to the Car Watch section, shall we?

My favorite brother saw a license plate that he thought might irk me. He wrote:
"I thought this might challenge your rules of license plate etiquette - IM2HAPY. Can '2' symbolize 'too'. I think it should be reserved for only 'two' substitution duty. After all, it is a number, right? Are homophones allowed? Or are they homonyms? I always forget that. I would have issue with '2' as 'too' meaning 'also' as well, like ILUVU2." He then said that he was very tired, which might explain his rambling to the point of sounding like me. Here's my verdict: I have zero problem with license plates using the number 2 for "to" or "too." My whole thing with platespeak is that I want it to work; I want people to be able to get what you're putting out there. That's why I have a problem with things like "JOYRYID," as my homey Rockabye sent me. It just doesn't quite work, and so I feel like they should've either found a better way to express that sentiment or abandon it altogether. So no, Kevin, that didn't challenge my rules of plate etiquette. However, I do question what "too happy" means. Is s/he bipolar with much larger manic swings than depressed ones? Does s/he giggle uncontrollably at somber events? Do people see him or her smiling on Monday mornings and think, "God I hate that person"? Those are the questions that that plate makes me ask myself, and it saddens me to know I'll never find my answers.

Our dear friend Melissa sent me this email: "Pot reference or not? The license plate on a light green Prius: 'LYTN UP.' Or maybe they just want me to be happy? Or reduce my carbon footprint? Hmmm...Go UOPTA! You are my mixed up utopia. Well, once 'I' am there." I guess you can see why I like her. My first thought with that plate is that the driver just wants us all to chill a little. However, it's perfectly reasonable to assume that this person enjoys "lightin' up" as well. Therefore, I'm going to say it's both of those meaning, and s/he did a great job finding a double meaning to fit a positive outlook with an illegal habit. I'm not feeling the carbon footprint interpretation. However, if the plate said, "LIL C USE," I would expect Melissa to ask if there was a cocaine reference in there. Ah, how Puff the Magic Dragon shaped a generation by making us look closer into things for possible drug references. (It's so clear now - whose last name is Paper? Honestly.)

Lastly, my homey Rockabye saw a Lexus SC400 with this plate: "DEPRVD1." If it's "depraved one," then I think it's pretty ballsy to put that out there in the public. According to our friends at Merriam Webster, depraved means, "Marked by corruption or evil, especially: PERVERTED." If I were hitchhiking and that plate drove up, I'm pretty sure I'd try to come up with an excuse pretty quickly to get out of getting into that car. However, if it's "deprived one," well I think I speak for all of us when I say, ahem, "Fuck you."

On that family-friendly note, I'm outstro. Happy half-birthday next week to my Bratty Kid Sister (if I'm doing month math correctly). For everyone else, have a great weekend and week ahead of you, and I'll meet you back here next Friday. As always, please feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. Shaloha, brothers and sisters of the real and fake varieties.