Electile dysfunction

Hello, good morning, and Happy September to one and all. I hope your Labor Days were all Laborific. Our very pregnant friend Twilight didn't end up going into labor on Labor Day despite how cool that would've been, but I'll let it slide. So what's going on right now in our country? I think you know: we're full-on into election mode. I tend to stay away from discussing politics in this space, but I realized that I have some general political thoughts and stories that I still deem appropriate. Since I'm my only censor, I shall begin that discussion.

This first story takes us way back to Portola Junior High. (As a side note, all junior high schools in the area have changed to "middle schools." Sometimes that works out really nicely, like when John Adams Junior High went from JAJH to JAMS. "I go to JAMS" has a nice ring to it. However, "I go to PMS" isn't quite as catchy or pleasant.) It was 8th grade, and the time had come for people to run for class office. I was still a shy lad who feared direct eye contact from strangers or girls, so the thought never crossed my mind to toss my hat into the ring. (Sorry, another side note: Depending on the size of the ring, tossing a hat into one could either be super easy or super difficult. I suppose distance from the ring plays a key role too. I'm totally picturing a fedora and throwing it like a Frisbee. If I'm ten feet away from a boxing ring, I could toss my fedora in there pretty damn easily. If it's a sombrero that I have to throw into a wedding (or Frodo's) ring, on the other hand, I'd have a bit of an uphill battle ahead of me.) My good friend Dusty didn't harbor the same inhibitions as young Peter though, and he ran for Vice President. His friend Anoush was running for President, and even though they weren't officially on the same ticket, they ran as such so that they could work together. I don't know what "work" they'd have to do aside from a student council meeting every week or two, but I guess that didn't really matter.

So the big day came for the students to let their cracking voices be heard. But first, the candidates were given a platform to speak to their hopeful constituents. During Homeroom, each candidate had a minute or two on the loudspeaker to state his or her case. The first VP candidate said something or other for a minute that I don't remember. He or she probably promised something that he or she had no authority to promise. Then it was Dusty's turn. To clue you in to what time period this was, Dusty launched into his own version of "Ice Ice Baby." "Alright stop, collaborate and listen," he began, just as Vanilla Ice does. But instead of, "Ice is back with a brand new invention," he inserted, "Dusty's here, gonna win the election." Everyone in Homeroom smiled and laughed, and I sat there secretly marveling at his self-confidence. I think I would've rather farted loudly in a classroom full of students than rapped for the entire school. In any case, he went on for a minute and then Anoush made his pitch to the students. Lastly, a friend of ours named Sarah Shin was set to deliver her "vote for me" speech. I had big hopes for her, since she'd successfully campaigned to be Historian the year before. (In hindsight, it might have been due to how great "Sarah Shin for Historian" sounded.) She cleared her throat, and then in the most defeated voice I've ever heard in my life, she said, "Alright stop, collaborate and listen." Poor thing. It appears that timing isn't just the secret to comedy, but possibly politics as well.

Hmm, I just remembered something for the first time in a long ass time. Sarah used to call me "Peter Hobo Bobo Weird Klein Clown." I have no recollection of how or when that started, but maybe I should start introducing myself that way going forward. It's catchy, don't ya think?

Fast forward a few years, and you'll find Dusty in college in upstate New York. By this time, he was going by his given name of Evan instead of Dusty, and he had just decided to run for some elected office on campus. He called and asked for my advice for campaign slogans, as he was planning on taping fliers up all over the residence halls and dining commons. I told him I needed an hour or so to think about, and when I called him back, I thought I'd found the perfect slogan: "All Good Voters Go to Evan." He liked it and said he was going to start using it. The next day, he called me back and said that he came up with a great idea too. In the middle of the flier, it would read something like, "Expensive textbooks? Not enough vending machines? Crowded study halls?" And on the bottom: "Don't Get Mad, Get Evan." And so, armed with those two approaches, he blitzed the campus and found himself elected yet again. I lobbied for an ambassadorship but was ultimately denied.

I've often been asked about my own political aspirations (now that I've grown out of the hide-in-the-corner phase). And by "often," I mean at least three or four times in my life. My response has been the same for the past several years: I could see myself really enjoying being a mayor of a small town somewhere. That way, I'd be able to actually know the people I'd be trying to help, and I'd be a mini-celebrity at the same time. There's one major flaw with that, though: I don't want to live in a small town, and that kinda limits my ability to run for office in one. No, I'm quite content never being in the political arena. It seems like it would require a certain level of bullshittery and two-facedness that I'm quite content not possessing. Also, it would take all of a week in office before I provided a sound bite or clip that would ruin my career. Not anything racist or sexist, mind you, but more along the lines of Howard Dean's downfall after coming across as a little crazy. I'd probably try making some esoteric joke, get no laughs, and then spend five minutes trying to backpedal and explain why I thought it was funny in the first place. That doesn't exactly inspire confidence in one's leader. Oh well, I'll be content living with the masses.

Hey, do you hear that noise? It's somewhere off in the distance and approaching quite rapidly. Yes, yes, I know that sound: It's Car Watch time!

First off, I saw a pretty interesting non-personalized plate. It read, "4KSN666 ." It caught my eye for two reasons. First, with 666 being the mark of the beast and all, it tends to stand out. Second, I first read it as "4SKN," which would've been much more blogworthy. As it really reads though, it could represent, "For kissing the devil," right? Or, if you care to dig deeper with me, it could be "Fork sin devil," referencing the pitchfork with which Satan is often depicted. So there you go. One plate, one funny misreading, and two possible yet unintentional readings of the number-letters-numbers combination. Not too shabby.

My homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker, and while he and I both think it has a home here, it's for different reasons. The sticker said, "Sexy on board." To quote my friend's text message: "Quite a fallacy in my opinion." Yes, that's interesting in and of itself. However, I find I'm more intrigued by the fact that an adjective is actively doing something in the bumper sticker's scenario. How exactly does sexy get into the car? (Wow, I almost made some uber-contrived joke about Justin Timberlake being sexy's chauffeur and frequently "bringing sexy back." Thank God I avoided that one before it was too late.) If sexy is allowed to start doing things normally reserved for nouns, then we're setting a very dangerous precedent. Before you know it, hungry will be taking a train downtown for a greater variety of cuisine, and warm will be ordering Coronas with little lime wedges to cut into the oppressive heat of sunny. "End this paragraph now!" says longwinded.

Lastly, I parked next to a little green Porsche and caught sight of its plate as I walked past: "GRE HRNT." No, not "GRN HRNT," but "GRE." I'd like to give this person the benefit of the doubt and find a way that it's not an inadequate substitution for something that was already taken. I'd like to, of course, but I'm having a hard time doing that. The best I can come up with is that the car's owner is also an inventor. He or she created a little flesh-colored device that looks like one of those tiny hearing aids. It sits in your ear, but instead of amplifying sound, it's more like a bug with a tiny recording device that quietly plays back information that was uploaded at an earlier point in time. It became very popular amongst cheating college students, but even more so for recently graduated students interested in pursuing graduate work. They'd need to remember a lot of information to do well on the Graduate Record Examination, so what better way to cheat than to have the G.R.E. Hornet as your invisible helper? And poof - the plate makes sense without angry joining the party.

Okeedokee, mis amiguitos. I'm done for now, and shall therefore draw this post to a close. As always, please feel free to write to ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. There's a very high probability that I'll reply too, because I'm a man of the people or something. Have a great weekend and week, and I'll see you back here next Friday. Shaloha, and take care.