History lessons

Hello and good morning, homepeople. It's good to see you again. November looks good on you. Speaking of November, Happy Birthday today to my friend Greg, aka The Pigh. Since I've known him for all of his 31 years, he totally deserves top-paragraph status. Are the rest of you jealous? You should be; this is prime internet space, yo. Ok. ready for some random thoughts and stories? (I hope you said yes, 'cause I can't hold off much longer.)

So, what's happened since we last crossed paths? Oh yeah, that election thing. I've got a big problem with the election coverage, especially after the final results were announced: Why do many people say "an historic?" The H is pronounced, but the vast majority of pundits were putting "an" in there as if it were silent. I mentioned this, and my lovely wife said, "Yeah, it's not like 'hour.'" Do we say, "I saw a zebra and an hyena at the zoo?" How about, "I called to wish you an Happy Birthday?" No, because the H is pronounced. Now some of you might be thinking, "Yeah, but with that soft I sound, the H is hardly in there at all." Ok then, so are you signing up for an history class next semester or currently reading an history book? Hell no! But why would "history" and "historic" be treated any differently? The thing that bugs me the most about this is that some esteemed speaker probably said it that way once, and then others heard it and thought, "Well, s/he's smart, so maybe I've been saying it wrong this whole time." And then it grew from there. I know I get more worked up about these things than most people, but that's a pretty hard and fast rule, and English doesn't have many of them. Therefore, I prefer to see it enforced.

(By the way, I tried this argument out on my boss. When I mentioned "an historic," he said, "I think that's actually right." I made my case, ending with "an history book," and he said, "You're totally right. I've changed my mind. Those people are wrong." Yes, I completely changed someone's position with just a well-placed example. It's a good thing I only use this power for good, because in the wrong hands, it could cause quite the societal uproar. We don't need any of that, so I'll keep it on the down low for now.)

Another interesting thing happened last week: I had a near-death experience. I'm ok now, calm down. So check it out: I was sitting in our office conference room with a business associate, and I was bored out of my mind listening to him talk about how great he is. Eager to do something to pass the time, I frequently took sips of water. It's not much of a diversion, but I felt like I'd at least stay awake if I was drinking water. During one sip in particular, something happened. I don't know what caused it exactly, but I felt a little water go down where it isn't supposed to. I had enough time to think, "Uh oh, this could be bad" before I began to cough. And cough I did, friends. I tried gasping for air in between the big hacks, but none seemed to be coming. My colleague looked concerned, so I held up a finger to say, "I'll be fine in a minute." The coughs kept coming, and I felt my face getting redder and my eyes more watery. It was then that I thought, "It would be really stupid if I died from drinking water incorrectly." One more second passed and I righted the ship. I wiped the tears from my face and said that I was ok. It took a while for me to be able to speak without a big tickle tempting me to cough more, but that all subsided eventually. But do you know what struck me most from that experience? The story that others would have to tell if I hadn't made it through:

Acquaintance: Oh my god, I just heard about Peter. What happened?
Friend/Family Member: Yeah, he drowned.
Acquaintance: Drowned? Where?
Friend/Family Member: In his office.
Acquaintance: What? Was there a flash flood or something?
Friend/Family Member: No, he just forgot how to drink water.

Hopefully my epiglottis learned its lesson and will go back to successfully covering my trachea while I'm ingesting things. That lapse wasn't fun at all.

Random aside: Here's a one-liner that you all will have too many opportunities to use. "Yeah, they were so far behind on their mortgage payments that they didn't just foreclose, they fiveclosed!" That's a little gift from me to you. No thanks needed.

I don't remember why, but a story from my past popped into my head recently and made it onto my ever-expanding list of short topics to someday include in a post. Here 'tis: My friend Dusty and I were walking on State Street in Santa Barbara years ago, probably on our way to Sharkeez to watch a Laker game (based on the direction and side of the street I'm picturing). A young man with a clipboard approached us. Now, there's a normal scope of things I'd expect to be asked from a person like this: sign a petition, free passes to a movie screening, etc. This was not that. "Excuse me, I'm taking a poll. Who is your favorite fascist dictator?" "Mussolini," I said. "Franco," said Dusty. The man looked genuinely surprised and said, "Uh, thank you" before jotting down some notes while we walked past him. "How many people do you think have actually answered him, done so quickly, and not said Hitler or Stalin?" Dusty asked me. "We may have been the first," I said. We talked about it a little more, and figured that the pollster was probably trying to be edgy and catch people off guard with his wacky question. We spoiled all of his fun by not being rattled, answering quickly and confidently, and never acknowledging that there was anything unique to that interaction. Yeah man, we were rebels. Put that in your quasi-eccentric-polling pipe and smoke it. (If you happen to have one of those hanging around.)

And lastly before we get into the automotive section of this post, I wanted to document part of a phone call I had yesterday with my mother.

Ring...Ring.

Mom: Hello?
Peter: Hey.
Mom: Hi!
(awkward silence)
Peter: How are you?
(awkward silence)
Peter: What's wrong?
Mom: Who is this?
Peter: Peter!

Here's the thing. I have a cold right now. I thought I knew all of the side effects: difficulty breathing, congestion, watery eyes, frickin' annoying throat tickle, unpleasant honking sounds coming from the nose region, etc. I wasn't keenly aware of the "loss of family recognition" part to it all. Oh sure, she blamed it all on the fact that normally I call earlier instead of when I'm sitting at my desk at work, but her line had been busy earlier. (Yes, you read that correctly. They don't have call waiting, so I still get to interact occasionally with that relic from the past known as "the busy signal.") And yes, I'm sure my voice sounds different because of the nasal congestion and hoarse throat, but I always thought that knowing your kid's voice was like animals knowing their parents by scent or something. I'd better get healthy soon, lest I further alienate myself from my family.

With that, let's blow our noses on over to the Car Watch!

My homey Rockabye sent me this plate: "D UNIK1." Wow, that is a costly failure in knowing what works and what doesn't. I can only assume that this person was trying to say that s/he is unique. However, due to either already-taken plates or just a poor choice of letter assembly, we instead get a person who has been castrated. Come to think of it, those are far from mutually exclusive. I mean, if I met a eunuch, it would be the only one I'd know, thereby making him clearly unique. I sure hope that's not the case here though, because I'd probably have my legs crossed and a pained look on my face for the rest of the day. I'd rather the driver was just stupid in the ways of platespeak.

Conversely, I saw a plate that offered a remarkable amount of information in the limited space provided. It read, "H8NY(Heart)LA." Bravo, sir or madam. I don't really care what s/he doesn't like about the Big Apple or why L.A. is a better fit, but I appreciate the fact that those two practically complete sentences were captured in such a restricting place. I tip my imaginary cap to you, fellow Angelino.

Lastly, I saw a plate that didn't really work in my opinion. It read, "2VEGN4U." Yes, I can understand that someone being a vegan might be way crazy and difficult to please culinarily for the average American. That said, the whole "too (blank) for you" thing usually applies to something...cooler or at least more dangerous, right? You know, the reckless teen warning that she's too wild for the city boy. The new Kawasaki motorcycle is too fast for you. That mixed drink is too strong for you. The amateur roller hockey game is too violent for you. Get the point? Somehow, "that driver is too committed to not eating any meat or animal byproducts for you" loses something.

And I'm spent. I hope that's enough random overanalysis for you for one day. If not, I apologize, but I'll be back here next week with some more. Alrighty, now it's time to get even happier than normal. As I mentioned, today is the Pighet's birthday. In this coming week though, we not only also have the Tslug (Dusty) and Toade (Dave) celebrating their birthdays too, but also loyal reader Aunt Lynn and my Grandma Zelda. I'm just overflowing with Scorpios. Happy Birthday to them all. Have a great weekend and week, mis amiguitos. If you see, hear, smell, taste, touch, or even imagine anything worth sharing, ptklein@gmail.com is there for you. Shaloha.