Insert funny Halloween pun here

Good evening. I know it's actually morning for many of you, but it's much easier to say "Good evening" in a spooky voice than "Good morning." Go ahead, try saying "Good morning" and making it half as creepy as "Good evening." It's rather difficult. Why am I being spooky? Duh, it's Halloween. Therefore, it is also our appropriately-named dog Hallie's birthday today. Hallie, if you're reading this, HOLY SHIT, YOU CAN READ?!?

I have nothing even close to resembling a theme for this week's UOPTA post, so if you get motion sickness from stories jumping around violently, then I suggest you take your Dramamine now and settle in for this rocky ride.

I wrote last week about a strange backwards phrase that I know and sometimes say if prompted by the circumstances. I thought of another odd thing that I say from time to time as well. As is the case with phonetically saying "Wing Commander" backwards, this one is also often quoted by friends and family who weren't present at its inception. About 20 years ago (which blows my mind to be able to say that), I was at sleepaway camp with a few friends. A counselor and a counselor-in-training kept saying the same thing over and over again and cracking up. It always started with a second of Gibberish that wasn't much more than waggling their tongues against their lips to produce a weird version of "la la la" that sounded like it had Bs in it. (I'm 100% certain I didn't explain that right, so just say "blah blah blah" in your head and you'll be close enough.) After about five of those syllables, they'd yell in a strange accent, "Lee's barstools and dinettes!" Then they'd laugh and do it again. Naturally, we asked what the hell was so funny. Apparently, they had earlier been standing near two people speaking Spanish. According to them, it was a full on conversation in Spanish for minutes straight, until one of them said, "La la la la la LEE'S BARSTOOLS AND DINETTES!" It was so unexpected (both the language switch and the words themselves) that they couldn't stop reenacting it and laughing...the entire week of camp. So naturally, two decades later, I say that every single time (complete with the Gibberish intro) that either "barstool" or "dinette" comes up. It isn't often, but it's good to have waiting just in case.

Let's move a little closer to recent times. About 15 years ago, I was in a chemistry class in high school. I hated it. I enjoy the biological sciences quite a bit, but chemistry and physics just aren't my thing. In fact, my bookcover (wow, remember those?) for the class said, "CHEM IS TRYing my patience." I was proud of that. In any case, we were told to break into groups for some stupid assignment and meet at the lab tables around the room. My friend Dusty and I ended up with a young lady we didn't know very well but had chatted with occasionally in the past. She agreed to be the one taking notes, and she started writing all of our names on the top-right corner of the lab report. She wrote her name, then Dusty's, and then paused after my first name. "How do you spell your last name?" she asked me. "K-l..." I started, but then Dusty jumped in: "O-w-n." She wrote it on the paper, then looked up bewildered. "Klown?" she asked. I decided to play along. "Well, it's actually pronounced Klon, but yeah, that's how it's spelled." "Wow, I always thought that the teacher was saying Klein," she said. We laughed and said that happens a lot. At the end of the period, we turned the paper in as is, wondering what the teacher would think. When it came back, there wasn't a single marking on my name, so she either didn't notice or just thought, "God, that guy's an idiot." Either way, our lab mate probably went the rest of the year (or longer) thinking that she was in a class with Peter Klown. It's not quite up there with the time that I got a whole group of girls to think I was Peter Rabbit for years, but it's in the same ballpark.

Speaking of ballparks, I watched a good deal of the World Series, even after my hometown Dodgers were eliminated by the unoriginally-named Philadelphia Phillies. That's even worse than the NFL's Houston Texans. Congrats to them for winning the championship though, in spite of their uninspired name. Anyway, for one of the games held in Tampa Bay, a cameraman briefly stopped on a fan holding a sign that said, "Puck Fhilly." No, no, no! It doesn't work if one of the words sounds the same after the switcheroo. The sounds have to be different for a spoonerism to be effective. "Nucking futs" works, right? So does Gene Wilder's immortal question, "What are you trying to do, give me fart hailure?" So "Puck Fhilly" tried to be effective but...mailed fiserably.

My lovely wife was eating pancakes sometime in the past couple of weeks. As is often the case, I started (uh oh) thinking about the word "pancake." "It's kind of like a cake made in a pan," she said. "But not a cakepan," I added. "That's true." "Shouldn't a pancake be made in a cakepan?" I asked. She shrugged, and then she made the face that means, "I'm going to be reading about this conversation, aren't I?" Yes, my love, you certainly are.

While we're on the topic of words, here's a mini tale of one more that stuck in my head for a bit. A co-worker was on the phone and he said, "I think that's what caused the disconnect in the first place." I don't often use that phrasing, but I'm certainly accustomed to hearing "disconnect" used as a noun like that. Here's what got me though: Why isn't it disconnection? The noun of the antonym is connection, right? I'd never say, "On their first date, there was a palpable connect." I know English is all messed up at times, but I just ask for some consistency in these things. What's next, a fight breaking out over a little misunderstand?

And lastly, I saw an ad for a Mercedes Benz dealership. At the end, the screen told me to call 1-800 For Mercedes. At first, I started counting the letters in "Mercedes" to see if it was more than seven or not. Then I realized that the "For" was in there too, thereby making it eleven frickin' letters. That's a big problem. Let's say, for example, that your country was in all sorts of turmoil and your only way to save yourself and your family was to make a run for the airstrip under cover of gunfire. You don't know people who own automatic (or even semi-automatic) weapons, so you want to hire some help for this dangerous and likely murderous task. Where to find these folks though... You pick up the phone and take a stab at it. 1-800 For Mercenaries. After a couple of minutes of hold music that seems oddly pleasant compared to the subject matter, a human voice greets you. "Thank you for calling Mercedes Benz. Would you like to hear about our brand new S-class or some of our certified pre-owned vehicles?" By that time, the rebels have surrounded your village and you barely talk yourself out of being killed by offering your legal services pro bono. That was a close call. Good thing I made you a lawyer at the last second. Thanks for nothing, Mercedes.

And with that, let's scurry on over to the Car Watch, eh?

My Dad sent me a message about a license plate on a Prius that he saw. "MOE MPG" it read. It's true, and I gotta think that we're almost out of ways that people can tout this on their hybrids. I've seen (and documented) a good number of these so far, so there can't be that many left, right? (Ha, left right. That's funny.) I doubt it's the case, but I hope that driver's name is Moe, because that would be even better. Hmm, do you think any Moe has the plate "FLMNG MO" for that Simpsons episode? It has to be taken, right?

I was behind a car a couple of days ago, and I did a genuine double-take. It was a Kia Rio, and the plate read, "KIA RIO." What possible additional purpose could that plate accomplish? It must just be the novelty of being able to fully fit your car's make and model within the confines of a license plate, because there's absoultely zero other reason for that. We know it's a Kia Rio. How? It already says it on the fucking car, dipshit. All that does is confuse a hotel front desk staffer when parking in their lot. "Ok, so what kind of car are you parking here?" "It's a Kia Rio." "Ok, and the plate?" "Kia Rio." "Yeah, I got that. The license plate though?" Hours of fun, right? I bet on insurance forms, it looks like the equivalent to repeating something louder for a non-native English speaker to maybe understand you better. "Model: Kia Rio. Plate: KIA RIO." To me, that means, "I already told you, moron." Oh there's just so much that I don't like about that plate. (If I get an email from that car's owner telling me that it's commemorating a family member who was Killed In Action in Rio de Janeiro, I'm gonna feel really bad about the whole "dipshit" part.)

Let's end on a more pleasant one, shall we? My homey Rockabye sent me this plate: "VERY (Heart)LY." I like this, because you could use the heart as "love" or even "heart" and it'll still make sense. I'm sure they're going for "lovely," but it gives us two possible and viable reading options. Thank you for making your plate interactive, kind sir or madam. (See how pleasant that was?)

And with that, I'm out. Ready to get happy? Happy Halloween today - get some good candy, avoid creepy penny-giver-outers, and wash off your makeup before going to bed, no matter how drunk you are. Happy Half-Birthday to our friend Jesse tomorrow, farewell to Daylight Savings Time on Sunday, and Happy Half-Birthdays to our friends Jen and Debbie on Wednesday. Last but not least, have a good Election Day on Tuesday. If you're 18 or older, please vote. If you're not, maybe your parents should block this website due to its occasional naughty language. As always, friends, you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com with absolutely anything that crosses your mind. Take care, and I'll see you wext neek.

Fortune of reversal

Good morning, and Happy United Nations Day. May all your days be multicultural and full of varied perspectives. And food - lots of good, different food. Is it lunchtime yet? Damn.

There's a topic that I've had on my list of Things I Should Write About Someday, and since nothing else has struck me this week as a topic, why the hell not? That's the entire reason for having a TISWAS, right? So here goes.

Back when computers were just coming out and well before Al Gore's invention made it to the mainstream, my friend Jason S. seemed to know absolutely all there was to know about the new-fangled technology. Typewriters were so old-fangled. Jason knew how to play games on his computer, which if you recall, was a big old pain in the ass. Most games seemed to require inserting a series of big floppy disks and typing the correct commands into the DOS prompt. I can't for the life of me remember those exact commands, but I recall a lot of colons and needing to know what drive corresponded with what letter. It was stupid-complicated.

One afternoon, I went over to Jason's house. He eagerly beckoned me to the office/computer room and said he wanted to show me a new program. We waited the five minutes or so for the big box to turn all the way on, and then he did the requisite typing to pull up the program. Something that looked like an EKG appeared on the screen, and trying to contain his smile, Jason pulled a little microphone toward him. "Hello, Peter," he said into the microphone before reaching down and pressing a button. "Watch this," he said next, and after some more button-pushing and mouse-clicking, the computer speakers came to life. "HelloPeterHelloPeterHelloPeter," the computer said in a high-pitched and very parrot-like voice. He typed and clicked more, to which the computer replied, "Helllllllllllllllooooooooooooo Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeterrrrrrrrrrrrrr." He tried showing me how the controls allowed him to manipulate pitch, speed, the ability to loop the file, etc., but I only understood about a third of it.

It still felt like he was holding back a little though, and my hunch proved to be accurate. "And then there's this," he said as pushed a few more buttons and clicked the Record icon. "Urrrd nay mock niew," he said. "What?" I asked (and rightfully so, I believe). Still smiling and not answering, he clicked a new button that I hadn't seen utilized yet. The speakers spoke again, and in Jason's voice, they said, "Wing Commander." It took me a second to realize what he had just done, but I got it. He taught himself how to say the name of his favorite computer game backwards. We had played the game a lot over the previous months, so it's understandable why it was on his mind. He played the sound again for me, backwards and forwards. He had it down perfectly. It wasn't like it was saying, "WIng COMMandER," but rather in perfect English.

Naturally, I had to get in on the action. My whole life, I'd said my name backwards as "Reh-tep," never paying attention to the actual sounds involved. So I was surprised when "Peter"backwards actually came back to me as something closer to, "Urrr deep!" I thought about it and realized that the T in my name really did function as a D. I almost felt like I'd been cheating myself, but I got over it quickly. Within a minute, I was pretty good at turning, "Niiilk urrr deep!" into something very close to "Peter Klein." My "Wing Commander" still sounded funny, but I didn't have the hours of practice under my belt that Jason did.

This program remained our favorite pastime at his parents' house for a little while. We looped things, said dirty things, and made high- and low-pitched voices tell us how cool we were. We toyed with the idea of calling someone and having a deep voice say funny things, but it was too hard to predetermine the course of the conversation. We also tried recording parts of Beatles songs that were backwards in an effort to hear them forwards (by playing them backwards). As it turns out, "Miss him miss him" (in regards to Paul being "dead") sounds the same both frontwards and backwards. Tell a friend.

As a side note, if Ringo is the next Beatle to pass away, then my irony radar will certainly go off. Because then, the only remaining member of the band is the one who they pretended was dead decades ago. I'm just sayin'.

Fast-forward about 8 years. You there yet? Cool. I'm a senior in college, living with five of my best friends in a shitbox that happens to be right on the ocean. Our friend Dave is a big computer guy who had earlier blown our minds when he brought home a cd burner. "Wow," I thought, "it's like copying a cassette tape but with cds instead!" It's hard to imagine how revolutionary that was for me back then, but trust me when I say that it was. On another day, he casually brought out a microphone and mentioned that he had a program that could do funny things with sound files. Naturally, I was all over this.

"Watch this," I said. I leaned in, pushed the red dot signifying "Record" and said, "Urrrd nay mock niew." I clicked a few buttons, and out came, "Wing Commander." I started laughing, but no one else joined me. "Uh, why do you know how to say 'Wing Commander' backwards?" So I told them, figuring that would clear everything up. "But that was, like, 1990! Why do you still remember that?" Ah, good question. The only response I had was that...well, I remember things. And honestly, what's weirder, the fact that I still knew that or the fact that both my friend Dusty and my lovely wife would be able to say "Wing Commander" backwards upon request in 2008? They weren't even there, but this is a part of their vocabulary too because of the many times I've said it aloud.

We had some more fun with Dave's more modern version of Jason's sound recording program. One of our roommates named Scott James was in the room with us. I thought for a couple of seconds, leaned in to the mic, and said, "Smayj Tocks!" "SCOTT Jamessssssssss," it replied. Nailed it. I think it's a good thing that I didn't own the program, because it's highly likely that I would have done nothing but play around with it for days on end. I'm pretty confident that I would've learned entire sentences backwards, eventually leading to the preamble of the Constitution or something similarly nerdy. That's how I roll.

And I also roll myself on down to the Car Watch!

I was behind a car this week that had this plate: "JUPETR." I'm going to give the driver the benefit of the doubt and say that this is regarding the fifth planet from the Sun and not in fact a way to differentiate me from similarly-named gentiles. "Which Peter learned the Gettysburg Address backwards?" "Jew Peter."

My homey Rockabye sent me a very interesting license plate: "I(Heart)AJEDI." How sad is that? It's a very easy way to tell the world, "I'm not only a geek, but a delusional one at that." It's like the high schoolers who claim they're dating someone who none of their friends have met or spoken to. "Oh, he lives in Canada," they say. Actually, I once knew someone who took this way too far. She said her boyfriend was a model, and she cut out pictures of him from magazines. No real pictures of him, of course, just magazine ones. Then she had a party at her house and the boyfriend was supposed to attend. Everyone was excited because no one believed her. As the hours went by, the guests became more eager to hear what her excuse would be. She "called him" around 10 and he "said" he was running late. It was getting tense, and the Cuban Missile Crisis parallels are so evident that I'm sure I don't even have to spell them out for you. At around 1:30am, we left without getting to meet the illustrious "boyfriend." Sure enough, she told us the next day that he had stopped by around 3am. We turned to a friend who had spent the night over there. "Did you meet him?" we asked excitedly. "No," she said through gritted teeth, "He came over right after I fell asleep." Riiiight.

The same homey Rockabye also saw a car with a "UCLA School of Dentistry" frame and a plate that read, "HPPYDDS." Now it's probably supposed to denote "happy," but it's much more fun for me to imagine a hippy dentist. "Whoa man, when you breathe in this gas, man, you'll totally see all the, like, colors and stuff man. It's far out, man. Open wider please."

Ok folks, that's it for your friendly neighborhood Peter. Let's dole out some happies, shall we? Happy Birthday on Sunday to my friend Alicia, Happy Half-Anniversary on that same day to our friends Candice and Scott, Happy Birthday on Wednesday to my friend and former colleague Regina, and Happy Half-Birthday to my Grandma Mu on Thursday. I'll be back here next Friday with more words formed together to represent my thoughts. You can't spell "represent" without Peter, after all. Have a great weekend and week, friends. You can always reach me at ptklein@gmail.com in the meantime.

Plane and simple

Hello, friends and friends of friends, and welcome back to this Friday's installment of UOPTA. As is often the case, I've got some random crap to dispense, so sit back (but not so far back that you can't see the monitor) and relax.

Exactly how far will I go for a joke? Well, I just found myself actually having this thought: "Ooh, I hope it cools down sometime in the next two weeks. Then I can wear some kind of vest and hopefully get a comment on it. Then I'll reply, 'Yes, it's my Octobervest' and everyone will laugh." I think I speak for all of us when I ask, "What the hell is wrong with you, Peter?" The good news is that I haven't actually done that (yet), so it remains a hypothetical. That said, reaching for jokes is well within my wheelhouse.

In fact, I have a perfect example from just a week or two ago. My friend Jon and his girlfriend Erin were in town, and a group of us was hanging out at our friends Lisa and Paul's house. Jon and Erin had just gone to a wedding in Santa Barbara, and since my lovely wife and I lived in that kick-ass town for nine years, we asked where it was held. They told us that the reception was at a nice restaurant called Stella Mare's, and the joke I wanted to tell popped into my head. But how to get there...ah, that was the problem. So, I casually mentioned the fact that I'd heard that Kenny Loggins' wife or ex-wife owned that restaurant. I waited a little while and let the conversation go on without me. Then the topic of where the restaurant is located in SB came up, and I pounced: "Yeah, I think it's the first exit off the Highway to the Danger Zone." Crickets. Damn. "Uh, ya know, because Kenny Loggins sang that song in Top Gun?" "That was him?" Crap. "Would it have been any better if I said I'd join you there if you'd...Meet Me Halfway?" I asked. "No, now you're really reaching." "Well shit, I can't exactly work Footloose in there, now can I?" Yes folks, that's the sound of a joke crashing against wall, catching fire, and eventually being stomped out while ruining your favorite pair of shoes. Peter Klein, ladies and gentlemen!

Speaking of jokes, you know who is an undervalued source of occasional laugh-inducing lines? The flight attendants on Southwest Airlines. They know full well that everyone but first-time fliers can pretty much recite their opening spiel verbatim. Therefore, I appreciate their frequent attempts to change it up. It started with them slipping in a funny: "If you are seated next to a small child or someone acting like one, secure your mask first before assisting others." I like that. It was a little weird when one of the flight attendants was making the sounds of an engine going through several gears during takeoff once, but I still smiled at it. They're trying, folks, and I like that.

I was on a Southwest flight earlier this week, and there were three new things that happened vis-a-vis the flight attendants. First, to start the required speech about regulations and safety features of the aircraft, the lead attendant said, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please pretend to pay attention to the flight attendant in the aisle for a couple of minutes, we will begin our safety demonstration." Again, I liked it. It shows that they know their audience, and that's a key to comedy.

In the same opening act of the show, she said, "We do not anticipate the loss of cabin pressure, otherwise we wouldn't have come to work today." Chuckles abound! I was waiting for a "Tip your waitress" or "Try the veal" at the end, but it never came.

And lastly, they informed us that since there was a lot of wind, the captain advised them to stay seated for the less-than-one-hour flight. Therefore, there would not be any snack or beverage service. Fine by me, although water did sound good and I had purposely held off from buying a $5 bottle since I was about to get some on the plane. All was forgiven ten minutes into the flight though when the seated flight attendants started chucking huge plastic bags filled with small peanut packages down the center aisle. "Take however many you want and pass it around," they said. It was hilarious, and everyone was having a good time trying to stop the bags and passing them around. "Juice is next!" she said, and we all laughed. Oh, Southwest, how you almost make me not yearn for more legroom. Almost.

I took one of the bags of peanuts, and after a minute, laughed to myself. On the front, it says, "Dry Roasted Peanuts." On the back, it says, "Ingredients: Dry Roasted Peanuts, Salt." Underneath that, it says, "Produced in a facility that processes peanuts and other nuts." Well no shit! Look, I fully understand that people (like loyal UOPTA reader Allergic Diner - allergicdiner.blogspot.com) have severe food allergies and that peanut allergies are very bad ones. However, it's a frickin' bag of peanuts. Anyone who doesn't know that the bag of peanuts was processed where they process peanuts is a moron.

Hey, I have another story about peanuts and airplanes. Weird. A couple of years ago, my lovely wife was on a flight somewhere. Since it was going to be a couple of hours and the plane wasn't serving food, she packed herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. One of the flight attendants made an announcement that there was a child with a severe peanut allergy on the plane, so they wouldn't be passing out peanuts. Being conscientious, my lovely wife called the flight attendant over and asked if she would still be able to eat her sandwich. "Well, you could, but because of that, a small child would get very ill," the attendant told her condescendingly. "Even though he's at the back of the plane?" she asked. Apparently so, she was told, because of the ventilation system. So she went without food for the flight, and as soon as she was off the plane, she found a seat and tore into her sandwich. Five seconds later, the kid and his parents walked by, one foot away from her. Nice.

Lastly, and not related to anything really whatsoever: Is there any product more universally used in direct contrast to its printed instructions than the Q-tip? "Do not enter swab into ear canal," it says. I think that has to be the #1 product in this made-up category, don't you?

Ok, time for the section you've waited 1,120 words for: Car Watch! We have a very special Car Watch for you this week, boys and girls, because there's actually a theme amongst the three items. Is that crazy shit or what? (Answer: Yes, Peter, that is indeed crazy shit.) I shall call this, "Car Watch: Mistaken Identity Edition." Crap, that sounds way cooler than what you're about to read, so sorry about that.

First off, my homey Rockabye sent me this message in regards to a license plate he saw: "RGE RVR. Actually it's a Land Rover, apparently with rage." I always get confused about this, but Land Rover is the make of the vehicle, and Range Rover is one of their models. Apparently this one wasn't a Range Rover, and it certainly wasn't a Rage Rover. That sounds like a rabid dog to me.

Second, I was behind a car with this plate: "VEEDUB 1." So you might be wondering, "Was it a Jetta? A Passat? A convertible Bug?" Nope, it was a Saturn SUV. Because that makes total sense. The only way I'd be ok with that whole situation is if the driver's initials are VW and s/he goes by Veedub as a nickname. Still, if there were a car called the Peekay, I wouldn't put that on my plate unless I was driving that type of car. But maybe that's just me.

Lastly, and best I believe, my lovely wife called me to say that she was next to a car with the plate, "FROOGAL." In this world of excess upon excess, I appreciate those who are wise and cautious with their money. Oh wait, it was a shiny new BMW. My bad. At least it wasn't a Lotus or anything.

Ok, that's enough of this bullshit for today, don't you agree? I'll be back next Friday with more of whatever it is I do here. In the meantime: Happy Half-Birthday to my friend Lindsey tomorrow, who's still coming down from the shock of Clay Aiken's admission that he's gay. It's ok, Linds, we'll help you through this. Also, Happy Half-Birthday to my favorite sister-in-law Weezie on Wednesday. Happy Anniversary to our friends Suzanne and Andrew on Thursday. And no offense, but most importantly, Happy Fantasy Basketball Draft to me on Sunday night. Wish me luck. And if you feel like writing me for any reason at all, ptklein@gmail.com is how to see that desire all the way through to completion. Shaloha, folks.

Erroneous zones

Hola mis amiguitos, y bienvenidos a UOPTA (pronounced ooh-oh-peh-teh-ah). I hope that this week treated you all well and that you're as excited as I am that two years from today, it will be 10/10/10. I mean, can you just stand it? I know, it's pretty crazy, right? For today's post, I have a bunch of random thoughts that I won't even attempt to link together with those pesky transition phrases. You ready? Sweet.

I had to go to New York for work two days last week, and while the majority of my time was a wee bit on the boring side, I did manage to purloin a few nuggets of blogworthy substance from my expedition. (I guarantee you that I've never written that sentence before in my life, and I'm not sure it's ever been spoken by anyone in the history of the English language. I'm a frickin' pioneer, people.) First, a gentleman was giving a presentation on how awesome and advanced his company is. A few times during the talk, he proudly said that all of their systems are "fully redundant." I'm not used to hearing that as a benefit, but it clearly was in this case, which I found interesting.

As a side note, my dad's office had (or still has) a plaque from his insurance company celebrating the "outstanding loss ratio" he had the previous year. I saw that and said, "That doesn't really sound like a good thing." "No, I can see what you mean," he said. "Especially if 'outstanding' is being used in the 'not yet settled' sense," I added. And he's never looked at it the same way again. Sorry, Pops.

Back to the meetings. The next speaker managed to get me to jot two things down for very different reasons. The first was out of shock. I wrote this on my page, "He just actually made a 'special but not special like riding the shortbus' joke in a business presentation. Didn't see that coming." Yep, in a clearly scripted moment, the speaker went right for our funny bones by clearing up that his company is not - I repeat, not - mentally retarded. Whew, that was a close one. The second thing I wrote down was because I thought it was very funny. He was quoting someone else, so that's probably why he was able to successfully locate my funny bone this time. He was told by someone, "In India, if you're one in a million, there are 1,100 others just like you." I like that a lot and plan on finding appropriate times to use it. Wish me luck.

If you've visited here before, you might be aware of the fact that I dislike when people say a word that's already covered in an acronym (like PIN number, ATM machine, For your FYI, etc.) because it's redundant in a bad way. On a phone call yesterday, I had a co-worker say, "It's amazing technology; everything is 3D dimensional." I said, "Uh huh," because that was much better than the alternative (a mix of mocking, scoffing, righteous indignation, and moral superiority). It was close though.

Speaking of errors (damn, there's a transition), I picked up some Cuban food for dinner a week ago, and suddenly found myself tensing up. Why? Because in big letters on the huge sign outside of the restaurant, it says, "Cuban food at it's best!" "Oh," I wondered, "Cuban food at it is best or it has best? Those contractions can be so tricky." When inside, I looked at their business cards to see if they'd fixed it there, but nope, it was there too. Someone must've gotten to them though, because I just looked up their website and it correctly says, "Cuban food at its best." Good eye, someone.

Still speaking of errors (what the hell, Peter?), I think I found a rather large one in My Cousin Vinny. If you know the film well, then you know the final piece of evidence that tips the case in Vinny's favor is when Marisa Tomei uses her expert car knowledge on the stand to prove that the guys are innocent. Oh wait - SPOILER ALERT! Sorry about that. Here's the problem I have. They spent a lot of time explaining why she counts as a car expert and why her knowledge is far superior to the average person's when it comes to automobiles. However, Joe Pesci needed to possess that same level of knowledge in order to see the lack of positraction in the photo and know its significance. He was never set up as a car expert, but he needed to know all of those same intricacies to even ask her those questions in the first place. Shove that up your plot hole, Mr. Gambini.

Over the past week or two, some words have stood out to me for various reasons. I will break them into three categories.

Category 1: That Looks Funny

Today's Category 1 word is one that I expect will always make me pause for at least a millisecond while reading it: "debuted." I guess it's because the main word is of French origin but we put the English past-tense construction on the end, but it's comical to me that that word isn't three syllables. Hahaha. See?

Category 2: Sexist Bastards

Ah, Category 2. Today's offering from this newly-formed subsection of words is "manhandle." Can a woman manhandle something? Yes, I believe, which is part of the problem. It's almost the same type of thing as "throw like a girl," but a much more troubling version. It says that if you handle something like a man, it's obviously going to be rough or forceful because men are sloppy, violent, graceless creatures. I take offense to the violent part.

Category 3: Wow, I'd Never Looked At It Like That

I can't for the life of me remember why, but I wrote the word "disintegrate" recently. Then, for the first time, I looked at is as a root word with a prefix and blew my own mind. It adds a complexity to the word for me, and I (surprise, surprise) enjoy the hell out of that. Something that disintegrates isn't just disappearing for me anymore, but it's being taken out of something that it had seamlessly become a part of. It was dis-integrated from the whole. Does that make sense to anyone but me? Either way, it's a full-on Category 3.

And now, as it has been written in the annals of time and passed down through generations, we've arrived at the Car Watch.

I was behind a car a couple of weeks ago with the plate, "MY PLATE." Oh man, that's a Laurel and Hardy bit waiting to happen.

Hotel Worker: And lastly, we just need the plate of the vehicle you're parking in our lot.
Driver: It's MY PLATE
Hotel Worker: I realize that, but we need to know it because we tow unauthorized vehicles. So what is your license plate please, sir?
Driver: MY PLATE
Hotel Worker: Yes, your plate.
Driver: No, I don't think you understand, my license plate is MY PLATE.
Hotel Worker: I do understand, sir, and no one is trying to take it away from you.

Add 20 more lines to this, and - poof! - you have a scene. Not a great one by any means, but a scene nonetheless. Oh, there's just so much humor in the world of DMV-issued methods of vehicular identification!

Next off, my dad texted me with this plate, "LV2CELL." If I had to guess, I'd say that this person actually loves "selling" and not "celling," but the desired spelling of selling (which is compelling) was taken. However, there's an alternate reading of the plate (aside from "live to" instead of "love to"). Hear me out on this one. Remember not too long ago when the internet was really becoming a new thing? It went from a couple of people I knew chatting online via Prodigy to suddenly seeing billboards for Juicy Fruit gum that had www.juicyfruit.com on the bottom and blowing my mind. In any case, there was a while in which no one really knew what terminology was going to stick. "The net" was the leader for a while, and was rewarded appropriately with a Sandra Bullock movie named after it. After a little time though, "the web" caught up and surpassed it. Now, I'd say that "online" encompasses the entire medium. Here's where I'm going with this: What if, back in the cell phone boom, there was a small group of people who thought "to cell" was going to be the popular terminology for "to call someone via cellular telephone"? If this driver was one of those folks trying to stay ahead of the curve, then this plate was an attempt to sound both tech savvy and hip to the cellular revolution. Not a bad theory, right? (Answer: Wrong. Bad theory, Peter, very bad theory. You should be ashamed of yourself and for the dishonor you have now brought upon your entire family.)

Last but not least, my homey Rockabye sent me a plate that he saw: "FALIN (Star)." I think you already know where I'm going with this one, because it's the same point I've made in almost every single Car Watch. If you can't get something you want, it's exponentially better to just let it go instead of getting something that simply doesn't work. I don't know for sure if this person was going for "falling star" or "fallen star," but they ended up failing with "failing" instead. The only way that "failing star" makes sense to me is if Jiminy Cricket was lying and my dreams did not come true after wishing upon said star. I hate it when insects are incorrect about the wish-granting capabilities of celestial bodies, don't you?

That's it for me, gente de la casa. I will see you back here next Friday for more of this crazy little thing called stuff. In the meantime, Happy Birthday on Monday to my friend and old prom date Alissa (and Happy Canadian Thanksgiving too on that day). Happy Anniversary to our dear friends Dave and Twilight on Wednesday, and Happy National Boss Day on Thursday to all the bosses out there. The guy at the hotel I stayed at last week called me "boss" at least three times, so I guess I'll be celebrating on Thursday as well. Even without that, I ate at a frozen yogurt place called You're the Boss dozens of times, so I clearly have some executive leadership experience. As always, you can reach me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Take care.

Parodies lost

Hello, good morning, and good to see ya on this first post of October 2008. I like October, but probably not for the reasons you might immediately guess. No friends, I like October because history has made it a misnomer, and I totally dig that shit. It was originally the eighth month of the old Roman calendar (hence "octo-"), but they kept the name intact even when it became the tenth month. I don't know who "they" are, but I appreciate that move since it adds a little humor to the normally staid calendar.

Now that I think about it, October really isn't all that special. September isn't still the 7th month despite all of its "septness." November is no longer the ninth, and December isn't tenth anymore either. What's wrong with our calendar? It's a walking temporal inaccuracy, ya know, minus the walking part. Now I'm getting upset, and that's not at all where I expected this to go. I think I need a new paragraph to calm myself down.

Ah, much better. And it's time for a story, ladies and gentlemen. As I’ve mentioned a couple of times in this little slice of cyberspace, my lovely wife and I enjoy occasionally playing Rock Band. It pretty much kicks ass. So when Rock Band 2 came out within the past month, I was thrilled. I looked at the playlist online before buying it, and I almost drooled on the keyboard. “Alive” by Pearl Jam, “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World, “Everlong” by Foo Fighters…I mean, how could I not want to buy that immediately? (Mom: those are cool songs; just nod along with the rest of us.)

So the game was released, and my loving mother-in-law kindly purchased it for us while out shopping with Amber. I don’t use the word, but if I did, I’d say I was stoked. We started playing a few of the songs and (naturally) rocking out. After scrolling through the menu, we chose “Eye of the Tiger” by Foreigner next. We started strumming and drumming (and humming?) along, but inside we were both thinking the same thing: “Rye or the Kaiser.” Yes, the one and only Weird Al Yankovic has some hilarious lyrics that go along to that song. The man is a genius, and I’ve never shied away from admitting that to whomever is near. Check out the choruses of his version of the song:

Try the rye or the Kaiser,
They're on special tonight.
If you want, you can have an appetizer
You might like our salami and the liver’s alright
And they'd really go well with the rye or the Kaiser

Try the rye or the Kaiser
Or the wheat or the white
Maybe I can suggest an appetizer
Stay away from the tuna, it smells funny tonight
But you just can’t go wrong with the rye or the Kaiser

It’s the rye or the Kaiser
It’s the thrill of one bite
Let me please be your catering advisor.
If you want substitutions, I won't put up a fight.
You can have your roast beef on the rye or the Kaiser.

Sheer brilliance, people. Here’s the thing that really pushes it over the edge for me. It’s not just that he found words that sound like the original, but the verses of the song paint a picture of a washed-up Rocky Balboa who has ditched boxing and now owns a neighborhood deli. It’s called the “Theme from Rocky XIII,” and it was released in November of 1983 after the third Rocky movie came out. 23 years later – TWENTY THREE! – when the sixth installment came out, the main character is a washed-up Rocky Balboa who has ditched boxing and now owns a neighborhood restaurant. It’s not a deli, but I think Al was close enough that we can give him mad props for his foresight.

As a lover of words and wordplay, Weird Al’s music spoke to me as a young boy. He not only spoofed the hell out of the popular songs of the times, but his original songs were pretty fantastic too. Sometimes he’d write one in the style of another artist, which led to a Talking Heads-like song about the tough microcosm of the corporate office or a Beastie Boys-ish rap about playing Twister. In short, I marveled at his abilities and wanted to pen my own parodies.

And so it was in sixth grade that I embarked on my brief and unillustrious career as a fledgling humorous songwriter. I was going to ask my friend Jason N. if he wanted to join me in this endeavor, but then I remembered that his idea of a parody was just to change “girl” to “squirrel.” Amazing as it sounds, I didn’t think that Milli Vanilli’s “Girl You Know It’s True” would hold up for four minutes as “Squirrel You Know It’s True.” (The same was true with “Please Don’t Go Squirrel” by New Kids on the Block.) So I decided against asking Jason and turned to my fellow classmates at Pinecrest Van Nuys instead.

After asking around, there were six of us up to the challenge. We were going to be a band, and we were going to wow people with our phrase-turning. It was me, my good friend Adam, Stacy, Kim, Elena, and Quintana. I think the first sign of our inevitable failure was in our choice of band name. We took all of our first initials, mixed them around, and settled on PQ SEAK. For the life of me, I don’t know why we thought that would be better than the infinitely easier and cooler Q-Speak, but hey, we were twelve.

In our first meeting, we assigned ourselves homework for over the weekend. Every member was to come up with an idea for a song that s/he wanted to write. All we needed was a song and a funny title that could go along with it. On Monday, we gathered again by one of the handball courts to discuss our progress. I shared that I was almost done with a version of Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror” called “Mend in the Mirror,” and it was all about how much plastic surgery he was having. The best part was when I changed a simple, “Na na na, na na na, na na na na na” into “Na na na, na na na, na na na new nose.” Adam went next and told us about his version of “Twist and Shout” called “Twist and Make ‘Em Shout” about going to the dentist. Everything was coming together. We turned to the four female members of PQ SEAK to see what they had come up with. In a word: jackshit. “I haven’t been able to think of anything,” one said. “Yeah, it’s hard. I was listening to the radio trying to find a good song to change.” Sure, that took the wind out of my sails a bit, but I wasn’t so easily discouraged. Instead, we said that we’d reconvene on Friday again. At that time, Adam and I would have our completed songs, and the girls would have their concepts down.

The week went by and we met up for a third time. To nobody’s surprise, Adam and I were the only ones who’d held up our ends of the bargain. And poof – PQ SEAK was gone. It was probably for the best, since none of us could sing or knew what the next logical step would be in getting our songs out there. It ended almost as quickly as it began, and in the end, that was just fine. I still think of the lyrics I wrote (or what I remember of them) on the rare occasion that I hear that Michael Jackson song. “If you wanna make the world a better place/take a look at yourself and then change your face!” Ah, what could’ve been.

And with that tale of demolished child innocence, let’s see what the Car Watch has in store today.

My lovely wife saw a tiny little Smart Car on the road. It had this bumper sticker on its wee bumper: “My other car is a gas guzzler!” The exclamation mark there makes the person seem very proud to me, but I can’t understand why. If you’re so environmentally conscious that you drive a tiny and seemingly unsafe car to reduce emissions and dependence on gas, then why are you so quick (and happy) to tell us that this eco-friendly thing is only a part-time gig? I don’t get it.

My homey Rockabye saw this plate on a car in front of him: “LV2 ARGU.” Not only would I never want to date someone who defines him/herself as such, but I certainly wouldn’t want to get into an accident with him or her either. It would just devolve into a Monty Python sketch, replete with absurd statements and blanket denials. Hmm, that actually sounds like it could be fun on some level.

Lastly, my friend Dusty wrote me saying that he saw a plate that read “BLONDE” affixed upside down on a car. He said he has to believe that cops let it slide because it's so good. I wholeheartedly concur, and being a big fan of self-deprecating humor, I applaud the blonde for her new spin on a very tired topic. I tip my imaginary cap to you, madam.

And that does it for me, friends. We have a relatively quiet week ahead of us. All I see on my calendar is Sacky Christi’s half-birthday on Monday and Yom Kippur starting at sundown on Wednesday. I guess that means this will be a shorter final paragraph. Have a wonderful, safe, and healthy weekend and week. If you wish to send anything to me in an electronic format, ptklein@gmail.com is the most efficient way to do that. Take care, friends.