Piecing things together

Hello readers, and welcome once more to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for Underarm Odor Prevents Terrorist Attacks, but that would certainly be an interesting development in the day-to-day functioning of our country. (Wow, I've already weirded myself out after only two sentences. That might be a Klein record.) No, folks, this is a different UOPTA, and it's this little slice of the blogosphere in which I plan on ranting and rambling today. By a show of hands, how many of you are ready for that? Excellent, excellent.

You know what I don't like? Clip shows on television. I think they are lazy and ineffective. It's impossible for someone who has never watched "Lost" to spend an hour listening to a voiceover artist and seeing clips from the past to suddenly be all caught up. It just doesn't work that way, especially with a show that has so many minor details and tiny storylines from years back that may end up being significant. What's worse is that the producers (or network - not sure who gets the full blame here) didn't come out and tell us that it was just going to be a bunch of clips. Instead, they said something about seeing stories from a whole new perspective. Since "Lost" is always re-packaging things that happened in the past, there was a possibility that this would be a new episode focused on events we've already seen. Nope, it was just clips, and it pissed me off. If they just told us, "We'll be back in two weeks with a brand new episode, but come back next week to re-watch some of your favorite storylines in a recap special," then I would be just fine with it. Nope, they threw in that "whole new perspective" bullshit and tried to trick people into thinking they were going to see something different. My lovely wife and I watched the first five minutes, she told me she was bored, and then we 2x fast-forwarded until the DVR caught up at about 40 minutes into it. I saw nothing new at all, but I kept it on the DVR in case some article online the next morning told me about the amazing five new minutes at the end, or something like that. That didn't happen.

To be fair, I realize that a show full of clips from previous episodes can have its place in the world. It has to be a specific kind of show though, in my opinion. Take the "Law and Order" franchise, for example. The shows are almost entirely self-contained, and storylines don't carry over into the next episodes. "Law and Order" could have a ten-minute long clip show, and then anyone could step right into the next episode and know what's going on. I believe the "CSI" franchise is like that as well, but I've never seen a single show from any of their incarnations, so I can't tell you for sure. "House" is similar but seems to have a little more carry-over. It could probably be summed up nicely though.

Now I'm thinking about other shows I watch and whether they can or can't be encapsulated into a clip show so that people could pick it up mid-season and know what's going on. "24" would be hilarious. The clip show would basically show a crisis, Jack saving the day, someone announcing that it's not over yet, another crisis, Jack saving the day, someone announcing that it's not over yet, another crisis, Jack saving the day, and so on. A couple dozen more cycles of that, and someone could probably step in near the end of this season and know what's going on. Stringing the various crises together like that would be really funny and draw attention to how ridiculous that show is, so naturally, I hope they do that someday.

The bottom line is this: clip shows may or may not be effective, but please just let us know when they're happening ahead of time. That way, people who want to see a retrospective of sorts and try catching up on a series know when to tune in, and devoted fans won't be upset that they were duped into thinking that there would be new content. That's all I'm saying, folks.

I'm going to switch gears now and find my way into another medium of arts and entertainment: music! When it comes to one's music collection, I find that I was either way behind or way ahead of the curve, depending on my conversation partner. Specifically, I'm talking about iTunes. I know many people who started using that service years before I did and have all of their music stored digitally on external hard drives and yadda yadda yadda. And yet there are many others I know who have never spent a single second on iTunes. Well, I've been using it for a little while now, and I'm rather attached to a lot of the functionality. I'm having one very Peterish problem with it right now, and I'd like to share.

As I've documented here in the past, I often make tasks more difficult than they need to be by adding additional levels of difficulty. Something starts off as a whim or a little joke, and then suddenly I'm writing a haiku for my boss every morning, for example. Well, I couldn't just leave well enough alone with the Playlist function on iTunes. It's simple enough in theory; you put groupings of songs together like little mix tapes and play them at your liking. And I started off simply too. I have mixes that my friend Jon physically gave me on cd that I transferred to iTunes, with exciting playlist names like, "Jon's b-day mix," "Jon's X-mas mix," and the always-popular, "Jon's mix." I also have cds I made for my lovely wife as playlists, known affectionately as "Shits and Giggles, Volume 1-4." I couldn't leave well enough alone though.

Before long, I started thinking up themed playlists that I could have. Being a little self-centered, I started by thinking about my name in songs. I own "Stove/Smother" by Sloan, "The Ballad of John and Yoko" by the Beatles, and "My Friend Peter" by Alkaline Trio, all of which have my name at some point in the lyrics. "I could buy 'Man on the Moon' by REM and 'Viva la Vida' by Coldplay to get to five," I thought, but stopped myself before actually taking that step. Instead, I formed different themes. First, "The Ladies" playlist was simple enough; I just went through and moved every song with female vocals over to that list. I found a problem though: what about songs with both men and women singing? And like that, "Let's Duet" was born. A little while later, I went through the approximately 1,500 songs on my work computer's iTunes to see how many I considered to be funny. It took a while, but I created my "Funny Shit" playlist. Did I stop there? Of course not.

I was listening to a song called "Detroit" by a band named Black Gold, and I got an idea: what if I made a geographically-themed playlist? Off the top of my head, I could think of songs with New York, Chicago, Detroit, Memphis, and Los Angeles in their titles. Maybe I could make a east-to-west road trip or vice versa. Yeah, I know that's pretty nerdy. So I went through all of my songs again, and I had underestimated the geographical nature of my music collection. Not only did I have a lot of cities, but a good number of states, countries, and even continents. It's pretty funny to me how nonsensical the "road trip" becomes when sorted alphabetically by song title. I start in Amsterdam (Guster), go to Anne Arbour (The Get Up Kids), take a long boat ride to Antarctica (The Weepies), and then head on over to Australia (The Shins). That's a roundabout trip, don't you think? I put it on Shuffle while at work one day this week, and I laughed to myself as I went from Hiroshima (Ben Folds) to Mexico City (Jolie Holland) to the superbly named "The Infant of Prague Customized My Van" by The Dead Milkmen.

Where will playlist inspiration strike next? I could have a group of songs with 5+ words in their titles. The only overlap I see is the aforementioned Dead Milkmen song and "The Only Living Boy in New York" by Simon and Garfunkel. At the very least, I'd get to hear The Beatles' "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and my Monkey" more often. Ah, drugs have some wonderful side effects.

And with that, let's ride our psychedelic waves on over to the Car Watch, man.

I was behind a vehicle on the freeway this week that said, "YOUTH BUS" on its sides and back. I couldn't help but wonder how big it's gonna get when it's all grown up.

My homey Rockabye sent me a plate that he couldn't quite figure out. It read, "JZ4PLAE." He was pretty sure that it ended in "foreplay" or maybe "for play," but didn't know if the beginning was "jazz," "jizz," or rapper "Jay Z." While "jizz foreplay" would certainly be the most R-rated license plate I've seen in a long time, something just tells me that it's about jazz instead. What would "jazz foreplay" be though? Tickling the ivories? Lightly slapping the drums? Softly blowing the trumpet? Ok, I'm starting to make myself uncomfortable.

And lastly, I saw a plate that said, "92 MEOWS." Now what in the world could that be about? Even if it was a crazy cat lady driving, I hope I'm right in assuming that she can't have that many cats. Maybe she...nope, I got nothing. I was honestly about to theorize that the driver is crazy and thinks that individual years make different sounds, and '92 happens to sound like a cat. Then I realized that by coming up with that, I may be just as crazy as my theoretical driver whose personality I'm making up willy-nilly. Good thing I stopped myself before going to far with that one.

Ok, that's it for me, homepeople. I'll be back for more musings and stories next Friday. In the meantime, here are the coming happies: Happy Anniversary to our friends Candice and Scott on Sunday, which is also my friend Alicia's half-birthday. Happy half-birthday to Regina on Wednesday, who is partially responsible for me and my lovely wife meeting. Happy birthday next Thursday to my wonderful Grandma, who has always encouraged as much creativity as I can muster, and happy non-existent half-birthday to our dog Hallie, who is penalized by April's lack of 31st day. Take care everyone, and shaloha.

Bowled over

Hello and welcome, friends. I hope all is well with you, wherever and whenever you might be. (I think I've been watching too much "Lost" if I start assuming that people can be on different planes of time. Maybe the future version of myself went back in time to put the idea in my head to write that sentence. Did I just blow your mind or what?) Let's jump right into some unrelated thoughts and stories, shall we?

Last Thursday, a brief chapter in my life came to a close. That said, I believe I left a bookmark there to make returning to it easier. This chapter is called "Grown-up Peter's Weekly Bowling," and it lasted from July of 2007 to April of 2009. That's a sizeable chunk of time, don't you think? Well, we had a bunch of fun, but we're taking this next season off (and hopefully just that one). Two teammates live pretty far from the alley and were getting tired of the commute, and the other's wife is due in the middle of the next league, so I had a choice to make: join them in taking time off or get adopted by another team. The second option was very tempting, for we became friendly enough with three other teams that I would've felt comfortable bowling with any of them for a season. Sadly, none of these teams was the one with Kevin Federline and his new girlfriend on it; while we saw them almost weekly, we never got to actually face off against them. It's a shame, because I certainly would've gotten at least one UOPTA story out of it. Hey, at least my arm and part of my back got in a couple paparazzi photos.

Here's a little side story: Before this season with K-Fed, there was someone else who frequented our lanes in the same line of work as him. That is, he was a back-up dancer best known for being the ex-husband of someone famous. Yes, there are two of those people. His name is Chris Judd, and he was married to Jennifer Lopez sometime before Ben Affleck and Marc Anthony became more suitable partners. I thought I recognized him and my co-worker Rob agreed with my assessment. Then we saw him put his name in as "Seejay," which is how one would write out the pronunciation of his initials. A little while later, he started using his real name to wipe out any doubt we had.

Then K-Fed joined the league, but to my disappointment, he didn't have Mr. Judd on his team. "Who would be the perfect third and fourth members of that team?" I asked my friends. We thought about it for a while and had a tough time finding the right fit. I originally suggested the actor Scott Foley, best known to me as "the guy that Jennifer Garner was married to before dating Michael Vartan and the ubiquitous Ben Affleck." Rob quashed that idea, noting that he's truly had his own career too with large roles in "Felicity" and "The Unit." I suggested singer?/actor? Ray J as a double-whammy. He's not only the brother of singer Brandy, but probably best known as "the guy in Kim Kardashian's sex tape." I like the idea, but now he's got his own VH-1 reality show and apparently has put four albums out. Who does that leave us with? Tammy Faye Bakker? She passed away, so probably not. Ooh - I think I've got one. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the third member of the "Famous Only for my Former Relationship" team: Levi Johnston! I totally nailed it. We still need a fourth, so if you have any suggestions, please comment away. No really, it's ok to do that.

Back to me and my bowling decision: I weighed the pros and cons of each team that I could possibly join. One had a friendly young lady who actually teaches at my old elementary school, but also a guy who's never said a word to me and could easily crush me with one hand. The second team had three nice young ladies who were also teachers, and I enjoyed joking around with them even though our jokes often got very disturbing and violent. For example, one asked me to pantomime the best way to snap a kitten's neck, and then they seemed shocked by my realistic and detailed depiction. Hey, they asked. The only real downside with that team is that two of their bowling names and VaGina and Tatas. If I went by Peter, people would assume that I was making a sexual pun instead of simply putting my real name. And that would hurt my feelings. The third team had a bunch of cool guys on it, including one who's a hip hop artist trying to get his music out there. The downside? They're way too cool for me. I'm not beating myself up here, just being realistic. I'm the same guy who talks to blackjack dealers in Las Vegas about Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Walesa and Polish politics at the drop of a hat, so it's safe to say that I'd spend that whole season as "the nerdy one."

The truth of the matter is that while I really enjoy bowling, I want to be there with my friends. It's a chance to see them regularly, have a drink or two, and say stupid things while competing against often-friendly folks. I'd miss out on the best parts of my bowling evenings if it were with relative strangers, and so I'm ok with my decision to sit this one out too. (After all, Lech Walesa did head up the committee on Solidarity.) We have a pact to make it just this one season off, but it's hard to say for sure if we'll be able to stick to that. I'll let you all know when I'm getting back on the lanes.

Two quick items before we get to the Car Watch: While on the subject of diverting activities and nerdiness, I should point out that our friends Lisa and Paul introduced us to a new board game. It could scarcely sound more nerdy, so I'm just going to lay it on you: it's about geography. It's called, "10 Days in Europe," and it's surprisingly way more fun than it sounds. It involves some strategy, some luck, and a little trickery while having the added benefit of being a bit educational. If that sounds good to you, then check it out. They also have a version for America, Asia, and Africa, all of which intrigue me.

Secondly, I saw a story on CNN.com that made me want to scratch my own eyes out. Apparently, the one and only Fran "The Nanny" Drescher is contemplating a career in politics. Yep, it says so right here: http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2009/04/15/is-the-nanny-pondering-a-campaign-bid-2/#more-47695/. You know what that means, of course: she'd be talking more. A lot more. And publicly. That could be the worst idea I've heard in years. I'd rather have Rosie Perez and Sanjaya Malakar on a ticket together than hear Fran Drescher talk about anything (let alone presumably important things that would require active listening). Please, Fran, don't do it. Save us the aural anguish and put a halt to this nonsense before it picks up any steam. Your non-fans implore you.

And now, let's annoyingly screech on over to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye sent me what he called the "strangest plate EVER." It read, "BUYMYDD." In speaking with him after receiving the text, it was clear that he was only reading it as, "Buy my dad." He asked pertinent questions, and we spent some time discussing the hypothetical black market for fathers. Here's the great thing about that plate though: it could mean many things, and none necessarily make sense. Please allow me to dig deeper into this:
1. Buy My Dad: See above
2. Buy My Dead: A black market organ trader?
3. Buy My Deed: "I need to sell my house and this was the best way to advertise that came to mind."
4. Buy My Dud: Who knows, one person's dud might be another's...functional item.
5. Buy My Double Ds: "I'm looking for a sugar daddy to help me with certain, ahem, enhancements."
6. By My Dad: "He built this car from scratch, and I'm proud of him."

What am I missing? Feel free to chime in if you think there's an obvious answer to this automotive enigma.

Next up, I saw a truck that said "ISEC" on its side in big letters. Beneath it, it read, "Interior Specialty Contractor." Um, not to nitpick, but what's the E for? Did they think that "ISEC" was so much catchier than "ISC" that they inserted an E without making up a corresponding word? Maybe it stands for "Extraneous."

Lastly, the same homey Rockabye sent me a plate that read, "ITRNSL8." Can anyone help me out with that one?

Ok, that's it for me for now. I'll be back next Friday with more thoughts and stories, but some stuff will be happening in the meantime. Tomorrow is my friend Lindsey's birthday, and though I haven't caught up with her in way too long, I still wish her an extremely happy day. Sunday is the first game of the Lakers' playoff run, and hopefully the first of 16 postseason wins they'll accrue. Wednesday is my favorite sister-in-law Weezie's birthday, which makes her a year older than me on paper for a couple of months. And that's that, folks. Have one hell of a weekend and week, and you can reach me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Take care, and go Lakers!

No paper view

Welcome, homepeople, and thank you for joining me for yet another installment of UOPTA. I hope your Aprils are going well so far, and that this Friday is good and/or Good for you. I was planning on filling this space today with a bunch of smaller items, but my first "smaller" one took on a life of its own and became the whole post. I hope you enjoy.

My lovely wife and I get the L.A. Times delivered to our house. It's been more complicated than I expected. Starting back when we lived in Santa Barbara, we've just wanted the paper on weekends. Saturday and Sunday and nothing more. I thought that was all settled, but we started getting calls practically begging us to get the entire week instead. They started with the assumptive tactic: "So I'm calling to let you know that starting tomorrow, you'll be getting the paper every day for no extra cost." I always told them the same thing: "We don't have time to read the paper on weekdays, and it would be wasteful for us to get it. We only want Saturday and Sunday." "I understand sir, but this is at the same rate you're currently receiving." "That's very generous of you, but no, we don't want it," I'd tell them.

After a while of this, I got more forceful in my denials. "Someone called yesterday with the same offer, and I'll tell you the same thing. We don't want it, we aren't changing our minds, and please take me off this list immediately." And you know what? That actually worked...for another year or two. Shortly after we moved into our house in the valley, I got another call from the L.A. Times. This time, the pitch was a little different. For less than I was currently paying, I could get the "extended weekend" plan (or some other nonsensical term) of Thursday through Sunday. Better yet, I said that I'd only agree to it if they'd promise me to take me off all outbound call lists. The guy agreed, and somehow he had that power.

Everything was ok for a little while, until the Sunday paper started arriving later and later. I don't want to sound too much like a crusty old man, but on Sundays, I like to sit with the crossword puzzle and my coffee while I pet my dog and wait for my lovely wife to get up. It's comforting, and the puzzle kick-starts my brain in a way that caffeine alone doesn't. So I called, and after a few weeks of persistent complaints, it started arriving at 7am (like it had before the lapse) instead of closer to 10 or 11. All was well in the world of Peter and the paper. (By the way, you can't spell "persistent" or "the paper" without Peter.)

During this span of a few years, the L.A. Times made one change that bothered me. Originally, every Sunday paper had the crossword puzzle in the Calendar section and another one in their special magazine section. The Calendar one moved to a new Arts & Music section, and the magazine one hopped around. At first, it was moved to the Calendar section of Saturday's paper, which was confusing but ok. Then it was gone completely. A little bit later, and the magazine was back (as the hip "L.A. Magazine), but only once a month. I got used to that, even though I was unhappy (since I like that puzzle-maker's work a little more). Every four Sundays, it was like a bonus, and it made me value my two-puzzle Sundays even more than I had before.

All of that brings me to last Sunday, April 5th, 2009. I got our paper at approximately 7:01am. As the coffee percolated (which also can't be spelled without Peter), I extracted the Arts & Music section from the throng of advertisements. I flipped through the rest, but didn't see L.A. Magazine anywhere. I told myself that even though it felt like it had been a month, I must be mistaken. A couple of hours later, my mom called to say hi. "Did you finish both puzzles already?" she asked. "Both? I looked and only had the one!" I said, in what might be construed as a whine. "Well call them," she said. "Oh, you betcha," I said.

I first went back to the paper to make sure I hadn't missed the magazine. I hadn't. So I picked up the phone and dialed the customer service line. After a few tiers of the automated system, I got a real person. Here's how that went down:

CS Agent: (standard intro)

Me: Hi, I got my paper this morning, but it was missing the L.A. Magazine. I don't need a whole new paper, so I wanted to see if I could get just the magazine delivered.

CS Agent: Ok, hold on hold on.

Me: No problem.

(five seconds pass)

CS Agent: Hold on hold on.

Me: I am.

CS Agent: Ok, hold on.

Me: (getting frustrated now) I am holding on. You don't need to keep saying that.

CS Agent: Ok sir. Due to market research and new strategies, certain zip codes will not be receiving L.A. Magazine.

Me: What? Why?

CS Agent: Ok sir. Due to market research and new strategies, certain zip codes will not be receiving L.A. Magazine.

Me: I heard you, but I don't understand. My parents live a couple miles from here and they got it. I want to find out how I can still receive this magazine.

CS Agent: Well sir, due to market-

Me: I'm sorry to cut you off, but I heard you and now I'm trying to figure out how to fix this.

CS Agent: I'm sorry sir, but your zip code does not receive the magazine.

Me: Is there a supervisor I can speak to?

CS Agent: Yes sir, I will transfer you to a specialist.

(beeps and rings)

Agent 2: (same standard intro)

Me: Hi, I was just speaking with someone and asked to be transferred to a specialist.

Agent 2: Did you get the name of the person you spoke with?

Me: No, I didn't.

Agent 2: Well I'm a specialist. How can I assist you?

Me: (a little dubious) Ok, I was trying to get L.A. Magazine delivered to my house and the agent said that wasn't possible.

Agent 2: Due to market research and new strategies, certain zip codes will not be receiving L.A. Magazine.

Me: (now getting testy) Yeah, I got that. My question is whether or not there is any way for me to change that so I get the section I want and have gotten for months?

Agent 2: Well sir, I could tell you the closest zip code to you that still receives the magazine.

Me: (with a glimmer of hope) And I could get that version of the paper?

Agent 2: No, you could go buy it there.

Me: (completely fed up now) Oh that's nice. So since I'm on the wrong side of some arbitrary line, I'm not getting the magazine and won't for the foreseeable future, right?

Agent 2: Correct sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?

Me: (biting my tongue from pointing out the lack of help up to this point) No, I think that's it.

All together now, everyone: "That's bullshit!"

I called my parents to report this retardiculous development, and they were as appalled as I was. My mom said that she'd make photocopies of those puzzles every month going forward so that I wasn't left out. Fortunately, my loving mother-in-law also lives in a privileged enough area to receive the vaunted magazine, and she gave me the clean version of the puzzle my mom had already completed. So I guess that's how it's gonna be until a new market research study says that our zip code is suddenly worthy of glossy paper again. Once a month, I'll get the magazine puzzle from one of our parents and just do the Arts & Music one on Sunday mornings. There are worse things, I know, but man that pissed me off.

Two updates before I finish this section: First, my loving wife said to me yesterday morning, "I think I want to switch to getting the paper on just Sundays." Wish me luck, folks. I'm anticipating a couple of calls on Thursdays and me uttering, "No, it's supposed to only be on Sundays now. And no, I don't want to switch to the whole week for free." Second, it appears that this coveted L.A. Magazine is available to anyone who can click a couple of links from the L.A. Times homepage. And get this: they never once asked for my zip code. Bastards.

Ok, enough complaining. Let's take our ink-stained fingers on down to the Car Watch.

First off, my Bratty Kid Sister sent me this link about a Car Watch worthy story: http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/us/2009/04/09/dnt.co.tofu.KDVR. To summarize, a very hippy/crunchy/earthy vegan woman in Colorado wanted to have, "I love tofu" on her plate to match her other pro-herbivore car paraphernalia. So she requested, "ILVTOFU," which was originally granted. Then the powers that be realized that it also looked like, "I love to F you," and they took it back. She's unhappy about this, naturally, but I'm thoroughly pleased since it wouldn't have made the news otherwise.

My friend Dusty saw this bumper sticker: "When in doubt, empty the magazine." Wow, that just might be the worst advice I've ever heard in my life. Seriously now, if reckless advice were a sport, that sticker would be its Tiger Woods. I'm struggling to come up with something worse. My first thought was, "When in doubt, don't use a condom," but that doesn't quite equal the destruction of spraying bullets everywhere. "When in doubt, launch the missiles," one-ups it, I suppose. Yay! (So maybe that sticker was the Vijay Singh of reckless advice.)

Lastly, my homey Rockabye sent me a license plate that read, "MYTGEEK." Tell me, friends, what mental picture does that bring up for you? I definitely see a scrawny, pasty white dude in a homemade green spandex suit and a little eye-mask thing a la Robin (of Batman and Robin fame). What I can't decide on though is the insignia on his chest. Is it a calculator? A graduated cylinder? A Bunsen burner? A fully-stocked pocket protector? A protractor? Pi? Thick-framed glasses with tape supporting the joints? I'd really like to know what icon you think would best represent the Mighty Geek. Comment away, homepeople.

That's it for me. Happy Easter on Sunday to all who celebrate it. That day is also our friends Lisa and Paul's anniversary, so happy #6 to them. Half-birthday to Alissa on Monday, and happy half-anniversary to Dave and Twilight on Wednesday. Overall, I'd say that's lots of happiness. That's how I roll. Have a great weekend and week, mis amiguitos, and I'll see you back here next Friday. As always, you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com.

Having a ball

Good morning, afternoon, or evening. How am I supposed to know what time of day it is wherever you are? Disirregardless, I hope it's good so far. 'Tis April, which means that 2009 keeps marching on at its ridiculous pace. We'll be hearing Christmas carols again in no time.

When I began writing this blog back in November of 2006 (wow, really?), I made a big list of potential topics for myself to someday cover. New things kept springing up, but the list got shorter fairly quickly (especially during the first year when I was posting every weekday). Eventually, there were only a few things left, and they were the kinds of topics that made me shake my head and say to myself, "Yeah, I should probably just leave that one alone." Why? Because, for the most part, they were stories that would make me look like a stupid boy doing stupid boy things. And so there they stayed, likely to be ignored for all of eternity.

Things have a way of changing, though. My friend Greg (The Pigh) has recently become a loyal reader after finding the daily posts to be too cumbersome. He sent me an email with some suggestions of things I could write, and sure enough, they were very similar to the remaining items on my original list. I reconsidered each of them and determined that one in particular might be ok to discuss in this forum without making us look too moronic. What was that one item? Shiznit Ball. Allow me to provide some back story and set-up please.

How did it start? Well, here's what I know for sure. During our sophomore year of college, four of us rented an apartment together on Camino del Sur in the quaint and quiet town known as Isla Vista, California. It was a two-bedroom, two-bathroom place with a decent main room and some very green carpet. The front lawn had a chain link fence that was about 10 feet long and three feet high - but only on one side of the lawn. The other three had nothing. We couldn't understand why it was there, for it neither kept anything in nor out of the rest of the front yard. Therefore, we dubbed it, "The Fence of No Reason." (At one point, someone couldn't remember what we called it and guessed, "The Fence of No Sense." We felt like idiots since that was obviously so much better.) Anyway, I (Dawg) shared one of the bedrooms with Greg (The Pigh), while my homey Rockabye (Krab) and our good friend Jon (Auks - later petitioned and changed to Ramb) shared the other one.

The latter duo's room was a standard rectangular shape, with the beds set against opposing walls. Somehow, I know not how, but a game sprung from our warped little minds. I don't have a specific recollection of the transition, but what started off as a simple ball-tossing activity from one bed to the other turned into a full-on bizarre and retardiculous game called Shiznit Ball.

Here's the thing: while my friends and I have talked in general terms about playing Shiznit Ball since that time (about a dozen years now), we've stayed away from specifics. Our conversations always start with, "Hey, remember playing Shiznit Ball?" and end with, "Yeah, that was so much fun." Therefore, my memory is pretty fuzzy about the origin, the majority of the rules, and what made it so uniquely fun. So I turned to my friends to prod their recollections. However, I didn't want anyone's response to taint anyone else's, so I didn't look at theirs until mine was done, and I asked them not to share their responses with each other. Without further ado, here's my mostly guessing take on Shiznit Ball.

Shiznit Ball was named after the fact that Snoop Doggy Dogg said "shiznit" a lot, and we were listening to his music a good amount back then. No deeper meaning. Shiznit Ball is a three-player game. There are two throwers, situated on beds, and an "it" person in the middle. The object from a thrower's point of view is to throw the ball (approximately the size of a softball but made of a Nerf-like material...or was it rubber?) to the bed across the room, where the other thrower would be waiting. The thrower does not want the "it" person to interfere with the throw. The "it" person's object, as I recall, is to use any body part besides his hands to stop the ball from reaching its desired target. Usually, this involved wild kicking motions, kneeing, hip thrusts, and occasional headbutts. If the ball hit the person in the middle and then was caught by one of the throwers, then...crap, I have no idea. Something happened.

I do know that we loved playing it. In fact, we started getting more specialized in how we prepared ourselves for a game. I remember hiking up my socks and wearing a hat and sunglasses. I can picture The Pigh wearing a camouflage bandana that he saved for special occasions. We'd put on "get you pumped" music like Everclear to set the mood. I believe we even had entrance music like pro wrestlers for at least one game. In short, we were frickin' nuts.

Personally, I was a horrible "it" person. I'd keep bouncing up and down, kicking errantly in vain to get the ball. On one occasion, I forgot that I'd still need a leg to land on, which led to me falling flat on my back and laughing from that position for a good five minutes. I remember Krab getting some good kicks in, sending the ball flying around the room. Ooh, that reminds me - the walls were in play. So if the guy in the middle kicked it off a wall and one of the throwers caught it, then...crap, I still don't know.

It was great, stupid fun. I know that for sure. The three of us thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and I can't remember if Jon ever joined us (even though it was in his room with his bed heavily involved). Much of the rest is guessing, so hopefully my friends' takes on the sport enlighten me and don't contradict my recounting too much. Here are questions I'd like to have answered:

1. How did we choose who was in the middle?
2. How long did he get to stay there?
3. Were any types of throws forbidden?
4. Do the others remember me being as bad at it as I do?

And without further ado, here are the highlights from my homey Rockabye's (aka Krab) memory of Shiznit Ball:

I thought Jon played...didn't he used to wear the bandana and get really into it when 'despite all my rage I'm still just a rat in a cage' was playing?

I thought the name was created over time...as we used to try to be like Snoop and say everything with the shiznit...we would always put on a cd (of) any type of songs that pumped us up.

The game was essentially monkey in the middle until we were able to kick the ball...We had to keep the toss below the person's head and above their knee...we created some sort of strike zone...I think it's safe to say you were the worst at it, but made us laugh the most.

As we got better - we had special moves. Like the crane kick in Karate Kid and your patented jump kick where you would completely miss the ball - slip - and fall flat on your back in pain. I do remember putting on my cut off shirt cause we would start to sweat so much. What a great game.

Ok, so he remembers music that would pump us up (although that's a Smashing Pumpkins song he references instead of the Everclear I recall), and that I was the worst at it. I also now recall the "strike zone" in order to make every throw technically kickable.

Now we turn to Greg to see what he had to say on the matter:

...Everything is a little hazy, so it may not be entirely accurate. I don't believe we played proper Shiz during our freshman year...First game ever had to be played in Krab and Jon's room on Camino del Sur. I don't think we ever played in our room, b/c our layout wasn't right...Don't remember if Jon ever played.

Using the mini stuffed basketball that Krab had, two of us would sit on the beds at opposite ends of the room. The game was very similar to monkey in the middle, only the monkey was not allowed to use his hands. I believe heading the ball was allowed, but we mostly kicked wildly at it. The round finished when the dude in the middle kicked the ball away from the throwers. I believe a thrower could also be saved if a kicked ball was caught by a thrower (not sure). There was not a point scoring system, so there were no real winners or losers, but mad props were certainly given for extraordinarily difficult kicks and daring throws... I seem to remember that all of our throws were kickable, it was a matter of trickery and change of speeds.

I can't really remember you guys, but I think I always wore my camouflaged bandana wrapped Daniel-son style. When I was in the middle I would often mimic Karate Kid moves prior to throws...I feel like there had a to be an album or two that we typically listened to, but I can't think of any.

Look at that! We got some official-sounding rules, some strategy, and a second Karate Kid reference.

And so lastly, I turned to Jon. I asked him on the phone if he remembered the game and if he ever played it with us. His response was succinct: "Yeah, of course I remember Shiznit Ball. I played a couple of times, but not nearly as often as you morons." True, true.

So what can I take from this foray into the memory banks? Two things. First, I'm glad to know that my friends and I can put our fuzzy memories together to get a clearer one. (In fact, when Krab mentioned the cut-off shirt, I got a clear image of me taking a severed t-shirt sleeve and wearing it on my head as part of my "game attire.") Second, I love my friends. This story illustrates the nature of my lasting relationships with these folks. Not only could we take absolutely anything and make it exceedingly fun for us, but a dozen years later, we're still laughing and secretly picturing the rooms in our respective residences to find the perfect arena for a night of grown-up Shiznit Ball. Guys, make sure I stretch first.

And with that, homepeople, let's wax on and wax off over to the Car Watch.

My favorite brother saw a license plate that's just begging for trouble: "STOLNCR." Really? Why not just have "PLMEOVR" instead?

My Bratty Kid Sister wrote me with a plate too. "NOTAFSH," it told her (and everyone else). Whew, that was close. I was about to attempt to hook that car, gut it, cook it, and serve it with a garnish of lemon and a sprig of parsley. That would've been really embarrassing. Thankfully, the driver was wise enough to stop me before I even got my line in the water.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye sent me this license plate: "CANUMOV." I don't understand. This car is in front of whoever's reading the plate right? Therefore, it only makes sense on the rare occasion that the driver is trying to back up but has another car in his/her way. Oh sure, there's likely a front plate too, but it appears backwards in the mirror of the car in front of it. If I were behind this car, I'd probably flail my arms about while vigorously nodding. That should answer the question.

Wow, I'm spent; that was longer than I expected. And yes, that's what she said. Have a great weekend and week, folks. Happy birthday to Sacky Christi on Monday, and if you celebrate Passover, have a festive one. If you don't celebrate Passover, have a festive Wednesday at sundown. As always, you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com. Shaloha.