Misleading the way

Bienvenidos mis amiguitos, and welcome to another Friday here at UOPTA. No, that's not a reminder about it being the Undeniably Orgasmic Playoff Time Again, but that's certainly one way to look at this part of the overlapping NBA and NHL postseasons. (Thanks to Aunt Lynn for sending that UOPTA in - get in the game yourself and send one to ptklein@gmail.com.) No folks, this is the virtual receptacle in which I deposit my thoughts and stories. Thanks for stopping by, and let's see what we've got here today, shall we?

You know what I like? Yes, burritos, but that's not where I was going with this one. That sounds good though. Anyway, I like to see purposely-misleading business names. "Whatever do you mean by that, Peter?" Good question, fake audience member with impeccable manners. I'll tell you what I mean by way of examples.

First off, I've mentioned before in this space that I lived in the student-heavy town of Isla Vista adjacent to UC Santa Barbara for three years. It was a fantastic place for that stage of my life with everything I ever could've wanted, but I hope to never live anywhere like that ever again. The various eateries and establishments in the town added greatly to the experience. Where else can you choose from three places within spitting distance of each other to get a burrito at 2am? Mmm, burrito. Well, sometime in my first couple of years there, a bar opened on the street with the majority of the business establishments. It was called, "The Study Hall," and I thought that was brilliant. I never used the line myself, but I can imagine many students truthfully telling their parents, "I was at The Study Hall all night," while trying to conceal the sound of a smile on their lips. Well played, imaginary students. Even better (or worse, depending on your viewpoint), I assume that if a student were to use a credit card with the parents' billing address, one could come up with a few conceivable ways in which s/he spent twenty bucks while "studying" (snacks, blue books, scantrons, sharpened pencils, etc.). That's putting higher education to work, and I'm all for it.

There are a couple of similar bar names that come to mind in the L.A. area. Notably, there are two "Father's Office" establishments. There's less trickery with that one I think, because one probably wouldn't be able to fool one's parents with that one. Then there's "The Casting Office Bar & Grill" in Universal City. That name actually strikes me as quite sad. Maybe it's just me (and it often is), but I can't help but picture an out-of-work actor telling a loved one that he's going to try "The Casting Office" again today and see if there's any work. "I'm sure something will come up," a supportive parent might say, "You've been going there almost everyday, so something's bound to happen. Hard work and determination are always rewarded." See, you're sad now, right? The only way I can make it better in my mind is to think that maybe casting agents actually go there to unwind after a day on the Universal lot. Then it might actually work out, which would be great for that fictional guy. (Wow, I've made up three people already today. I feel both powerful and a little crazy.)

Lastly, there's another category in which a sneaky name is potentially very helpful: Gentlemens' Clubs. I'm not a fan of strip clubs - they're just not my thing at all - but I can understand that some people like them. If any of those people want to keep that fact hidden, then dropping names like "Paradise Cove" and "The Frisky Kitty" probably won't help the cause. However, there's a strip club near my work called "Plan B." I think that's very wise for two reasons. First, the aforementioned discretion is key (if desired). Second, picture a group of guys who go out and their plans for the night get derailed by one thing or another. "Well, how about plan B?" one might say. And like that, this one particular strip club has made its way into their group consciousness. (By the way, another strip club called 4Play is nearby, which is just a smidge more conspicuous.)

There's also a legendary strip club on Sunset called "The Body Shop," which is very clever in its sneakiness. That said, it's enough of an establishment in L.A. that it's lost most of its deception. I was made aware of this while with a group of guys one day, when one said that "The Body Shop" had burned down. The others lamented that news, and I couldn't figure out what the hell they were talking about. After a few more sentences, I finally understood that they hadn't taken their vehicles there to get worked on. "Ah," I thought, "very clever indeed." I gave it another thought, and an inherent problem came to mind: "Honey, why are you going to the body shop at night? And why are you and your buddies carpooling?" Maybe the owner is content with having a pun in the name and isn't trying to be sneaky after all. Either way, the pun-loving side of me approves of the name.

Not to switch gears too drastically, but I have a random little story to tell. I was in a meeting at work, and one person was telling the other about a very large company with which he associates. "They're the 800 pound elephant in our industry," he said. It took all of my might to hold back from saying, "So...on the small side then?" I did refrain, but I thought his mixed-up metaphor was funny enough to share. I hope I was right.

Ok fine, one more random thought for you all. I have a giant pet peeve of which I only recently became aware. I really dislike when status bars lie to me. I was trying to restart a program on a computer at work, and a bar came up to allegedly show me my progress. It started off empty, but then slowly filled in more and more with little boxes to indicate the rate of completion. It was slow, but I stood there and waited since I could tell approximately how much longer it would take. Minutes later, I started to reach for the mouse as the bar became completely filled. Instead, the bar emptied again and one little box appeared in the far left. "Fooled you!" it may as well have screamed at me. Stupid lying status bar. Seriously, what's the point of even having something like that on the screen if it's completely arbitrary? It's not like it said that was step one of four or anything. Nope, it just pretended to be related to the actual restarting process. I gave it the finger and walked away.

With that, let's make untraceable electronic progress on over to the Car Watch.

My friend Dusty saw a bumper sticker that I rather enjoyed. It read, "Land Rover: The Best 4x4xFar." I think that's brilliant. The use of "x" as another "by" was enough on its own for me, but having "far" sound like "four" was the icing on the cake. Actually, that's a bad metaphor for me. I prefer cake without icing more often than not, because icing tends to make things overly sweet sometimes. Give me a good cake that has some sweet stuff in it, and I'm set.

Here's a license plate from my homey Rockabye that sort of goes with the last one: "CLAP6X." First of all, I would without a doubt pull up next to that car and clap - but only once or twice. They're not the boss of me! Second, the reason I said that this plate sort of goes with the last item is because of its use of the letter X. In this case, it most likely stands for "times." X is pretty versatile, it would appear. Without giving it much thought, it can easily stand for "by," "times," "cross," and "Christ." Speaking of which, I'm used to seeing "X-mas" standing for "Christmas," even though I don't fully understand why. Why then does Christina Aguilera go by "Xtina" occasionally instead of "Xina?" The T is already in the X, right? By the way, when lacrosse players call their sport "LAX," it makes sense and is clever. Final score: Jocks 1, Pop stars 0.

And lastly, my dad saw a plate that read, "OHBEHAV." Is it possible to read that in any voice other than Austin Powers'?

That's it for me, homepeople. I shall return a week from today to dish more of this slop. In the meantime, please help me wish a happy birthday on Monday to my friend and former boss Kim, and on Tuesday to my friend and former employee Devon. If you think of anything at all that you feel like sharing, you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com. Have a happy and healthy weekend and week, friends, and go Lakers!

Burgers and lies

Good morning/late morning/lunchtime/afternoon/dusk/evening/middle of the night, everyone. How am I supposed to know when you're reading this? Anyway, welcome to another installment of UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Urologists Of Poland Try Anything," but that's still very helpful to know if you find yourself in that specific situation. (Thanks to my mom for that UOPTA offering. Send in your own version to ptklein@gmail.com.) No friends, UOPTA is a place in which I convey my thoughts and tell stories that somehow came to mind recently. Let's jump right in, shall we?

When I was in that bowling league for a few seasons recently, I enjoyed almost all aspects of it. However, one thing pissed me off for the first two or three seasons that my friends and I belonged. In the final week of the season, they dispensed the prize money to each team. With the money they had left over, I expected some kind of game to decide who got what. I've heard of people getting playing cards for each strike and then forming the best poker hand to win, for example. Well, in this league, it amounted to a guy behind the counter calling out his friends' names and saying things like, "Hey Joey, pick up that spare and you get $10." My friends and I kept a pretty low profile compared to some of the other participants, and so we weren't as known and never got our names called. That angered me, since everyone put in the same amount of money and I never got a real chance to win any of it back.

Therefore, I was quite pleased when they changed their method a while back. The new one was a combination of two parts chance and one part skill. There were raffle tickets (chance) that yielded prizes, and a few scattered non-white pins in the mix. If you got a pin of color as your head pin (chance), you had to get the front desk's attention and then bowl a strike to win $10 (skill). I liked that a whole bunch more, and I had the good fortune of winning one of those raffles. I waved my ticket in the air like a moron when they called my number before proceeding to the front desk. I was presented with a few options: a lottery scratcher, a $5 gift card to Starbucks, or a $5 gift card to In-N-Out. I quickly assessed each one. Oh sure, the scratcher would've added some drama to the experience, but I'd be kidding myself if I thought it would turn into more money. Starbucks is good, but I've also had a Starbucks gift card in my wallet for...I have no idea, so that probably wasn't too practical. In-N-Out has some mighty tasty burgers, and even though I don't go there very often, it would be worth a special trip to redeem my prize. I snagged it and made my way back to the lane. A few minutes later, my homey Rockabye's number was called, and he made the same wise decision as I had.

I held onto my gift card for about two weeks before happily pulling into a nearby In-N-Out. I ordered my Double-Double (pickles, "the spread," and grilled onions) and waited my turn in the line of cars to get to the pick-up station. When I got there, I noticed a laminated sign. Here's what it read:

"60th anniversary October 22nd Discount Rumor:
You may be aware of a rumor about our menu prices being lowered for our anniversary on October 22nd. This rumor is untrue. We’ve always tried to keep our prices as low as possible in order to give our customers the greatest value. One of the ways we accomplish this is by not discounting and our anniversary is no exception. We’re sorry if this rumor has caused any confusion."

That, my friends, is a successful rumor. Whoever originally came up with that fabrication made it so widespread that the company's website and individual physical locations had to address it. I read up on this rumor online, and In-N-Out was supposedly going to go back to their prices from 60 years ago on that day. 30 cents for a cheeseburger, 25 for a hamburger, 15 for fries, and 10 for drinks. I can understand why a rumor like that would get traction, but I have to believe that even the person who created it was surprised by how much it took off. Personally, I'd be quite proud of myself.

I thought of that story because of something that happened at work earlier this week. I was in my office doing my normal stuff when I heard my co-worker Scott say, "Adam from the Beastie Boys is the brother of Screech from 'Saved By The Bell.'" I spit my tongue. "No he's not!" I yelled from my desk, even though I wasn't a part of the conversation at all. I got up and walked out there to confront him. "Yes he is!" Scott said. "Screech and a Beastie Boy are brothers." "First of all, you have the wrong Beastie Boy," I said to everyone who was now listening. "You meant that Mike D. - Michael Diamond - is brothers with Dustin Diamond, who played Screech. But that's not true either." "Yes it is," he said again, and then he started walking over to his computer to "prove" it. "Scott, it's a good story, and one I believed myself for a while. I even told people that amazing piece of trivia. Then I found out it was a lie and I felt stupid for helping spread it." He returned to the main area a minute later and admitted that I was right. "That sucks, because it was a good one to tell people," he said. "I know, I know. Dig a little deeper online and you'll find people saying that they're not only brothers, but that Neil Diamond's their dad." We all laughed for a minute, and then I wowed everyone with my knowledge of the lyrics to "Sabotage" by the Beasties. You never know when that'll come in handy.

I don't know how rumors do it, but the real good ones somehow avoid the whole fact-checking process. Scott is very internet savvy and proved his own piece of trivia false within a few seconds. Why did he skip that step at the beginning? If I thought about it long enough, I'm sure I could come up with a formula of sorts for what makes a rumor good. There has to be a certain amount of plausibility but a much greater amount of over-the-top-ness. Too much of that turns into nofuckingwayness, and then it loses all credibility. I'll stop there, because otherwise I'd just keep inventing terms and forcing relationships between them, and experience tells me that I won't get too far with that.

(By the way, I just typed "gerbil" into Google, and the #2 result was an urban legends site about Richard Gere. These things can really take on a life of their own.)

And with that, let's be both officers and gentlemen on our way over to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye saw a plate and initially read it incorrectly. He sent it to me, and my initial read was the same incorrect thought. The plate was, "CLDHNDS." Both of us thought of the completely made-up term, "Cloud hands" before we realized that "Cold hands" made a lot more sense. Cloud hands would look really, really cool though, don't you think? Ooh, especially if they were ominous thunderclouds with lightning shooting around inside of them. Yeah, it would be hard to pick things up or blow your nose, but who's gonna mess with a guy with thundery clouds for hands? (Answer: nobody.)

Next up, I was behind a car with this plate: "TQLAMAN." I'm guessing that's short for "Tequila man" and not "To kill a man." It's hard to say which would be a bigger red flag for law enforcement. It's also hard to imagine drinking tequila with cloud hands. I'm just sayin'.

Lastly, my dad sent me a text message that said, "IMNAKED." I was scared at first, but then I put on my thinking cap (which I keep nearby at all times just in case) and figured that it was a license plate that he saw. I asked if the driver was indeed sans apparel, but he said that he wasn't. Here's one of the few cases in which I prefer a blatant lie.

Ok folks, that's it for me. Have one hell of a weekend and week, and have a good Memorial Day. I'll be back next Friday with more typographical characters. In the meantime: Happy anniversary today to our friends Danielle and Jesse. Happy half-birthday to my lovely wife's half-sister tomorrow. There's something almost poetic about that. And this Wednesday's a big one, folks. It's not only my high-anticipated 11/12ths birthday, but it's also our friend Adam's birthday and our favorite niece Hayley's 1st birthday. She's adorable, so you should all wish her a happy numero uno. Be happy and healthy, friends.

Of course, of course

Good morning, homepeople of the internets, and welcome to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Underwear Occasionally Parts The Ass," but that's a sad reality that we all must face from time to time. (Thanks to my dad for supplying today's UOPTA - email ptklein@gmail.com to get your own in here.) Instead, this is the place in which I write my thoughts and tell my stories. If you're ready for that, then sit back and try to enjoy.

Today's theme can be summed up in one neat little word: horse. There's a lot to say about that topic, and I'll try to go through this chronologically. As a child, I was most familiar with that word in its basketball form. Yes, I'd play Horse fairly often in the backyard of my parents' old house and the front yard of their current one. I was a decent shooter, but that game really comes down to exploiting strengths and weaknesses. For me, my weaknesses were glaring. Specifically, any time someone did a shot with his or her off hand (usually left), I'd have to do the same with my off hand (my right). That's a problem, because as I've likely said in this space before, my right hand is largely for show and has very few real purposes. I'm a lefty through and through, so even two-foot bank shots with my right hand were likely to yield a letter for me. On the flip side, I'd use my leftiness to my advantage when I could. That typically meant looking for an angle that would be difficult for me to bank in a shot but much more so for a righty. I liked this plan, but that usually gave my opponent the idea to do the exact same thing on the opposite side. When all else failed, I'd go to my only trick shot. I got pretty good at doing this one layup where I'd move the ball behind my back and then through one leg before shooting (without travelling, mind you). That, like the lefty bank shot, was good to pull out the first time I'd be playing against someone, but not much of a surprise in subsequent games. What's the point of all of this? I'm not sure, but I think I'm trying to establish that I had a good relationship with the word "horse" at an early age. If I accomplished that goal, then you may proceed to the next paragraph.

The next big Horse chapter of my life came at sleepaway camp. During the weeklong stays, those who signed up ahead of time would take a nice leisurely horse ride around the area. I only remember a few things from those rides, but they make me smile so I'll share. First, I remember that the horses there seemed to be named for old Jewish men. My first two times, I had Bernie as my horse. Either Adam or Jason N. had Maury, and I'm pretty sure there was a Saul or something similar in the stable as well. I got Bernie because they asked me my experience level. I said I was pretty new to horseback riding, and they immediately signaled for Bernie. He seemed a little older than the rest to me, but I had no real way of telling that. The ride was fun, pretty, and relaxing. We trotted a little at one point, and while that hurt my ass a little, it was still a highlight of the trip. I think Bernie was a little slower than the others, but I didn't mind.

A few weeks later, I went to that camp again and signed up for horseback riding again. When the man asked about my experience, I said, "I had Bernie last time," which was all he needed to hear apparently. I got on Bernie again and had almost the same exact ride as the time before. I didn't need exhilaration; this was nice and peaceful, and I patted his side often and told him he was doing a good job. A few weeks later, I was back again. "I had Bernie last time," I said. "Oh, Bernie's not here anymore," the cowboy-looking dude told me. "He's retired now." Even though I was only about 12 at the time, I immediately took that to mean that he'd gone to the big pasture in the sky. I may have been wrong, but when I told my mom that he'd "retired," she had the same initial reaction (except the term "glue factory" may have come up in her response). So I rode a different horse that time (Moishe? Shlomo?) and the several times after that, and they was a little faster and more fun than my first two rides. Bernie broke me in well, and I hope he had a nice, peaceful retirement.

Next up for Peter's world of horse: the Kentucky Derby happened recently. My homey Rockabye texted me to ask what I'd name a racehorse if I had one. I wrote back immediately: "Dust As In Eat My. I've thought about this before." I think the name by itself is decent, but it gets a lot better when I imagine it being said about ten times in thirty seconds by someone calling a race. I'd like to go with "Piss Like a Me," but the governing board would probably never allow that. Speaking of which, my friend Greg (aka The Pigh) has a funny story about a horse and his name. I'll let him tell it:

My first real job was in television. I worked for the production department of TVG, America's horse racing network. I came across quite a few colorful characters during my short time in the horse racing industry. One such character was successful owner, Mike Pegram. Pegram is probably best known for his friendship with hall-of-fame trainer Bob Baffert and coming within a nose of winning the Triple Crown in 1998. For guys like me (and Peter), Pegram will always be known as the guy who pushed the envelope in naming his horses.

Unusual names for race horses are the norm. Just take a look at the top three finishers in this year's Kentucky Derby: 1) Mine That Bird; 2) Pioneerof the Nile; and 3) Musket Man. You may be asking yourself, what the fuck? What are these people thinking? Is there any limit to how stupid the names can be. Well, sort of. There is actually a guy who monitors every potential name before it becomes official. Mainly he checks to make sure the name isn't already taken, that it's not too many characters, and that it is not obscene or otherwise inappropriate.

That's where my boy MP comes in. One of our reporters did a story on his exploits. Here are some MP names that got rejected: Big Bone Lick, Liquor in Excess, Button my Pants, and my favorite, High Hard One. He was definitely able to sneak quite a few good ones past the name monitor though. I suppose if you fire off enough offensive names, an over-the-top blatantly offensive name like Isitingood is bound to slip through the cracks (so to speak). And I suppose not everyone knows that the Silverbullet is a reference to Coors Light, so not everyone would know that Silverbulletday is a reference to drinking beer all day.

However, the sheer genius of this next one is undeniable. MP resorted to the old "let's submit a dirty name that sounds like it could mean something in Arabic" trick. When asked how "Ibnshiton" made it past his team, the name monitor said, "That just means son of the devil." Well, Ibn Shaitan does mean "son of the devil" in Arabic, but Ibnshiton, just means "I've been shit on" in broken English. Brilliant!!! The best was listening to a race call with Ibnshiton in the field. One particular announcer was on to the game and refused to actually say it. Instead he alternated between "I be shy the one" and "I be in Chi Town." Horse racing is cool.

Thank you, Pighlet. I've loved saying "I be shy the one" for years now, and hopefully it will catch on amongst my 10-12 regular readers.

Lastly for this section, for reasons unknown, I had "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain" in my head earlier this week. It was really annoying, and I hope my mentioning it here doesn't bring the same fate upon you. As the song played on in my head, something caught my inner ear: How can one ride six white horses? The song doesn't say that she'll be in a cart pulled by six horses. Nay (neigh?), it says specifically that she'll be riding them. I just don't see how that's possible. (And why do we assume that she'll want to eat chicken and dumplings when she comes? Maybe she had a big lunch and just wants a salad. I'm just sayin'.)

And with that, let's guide our reins on over to the Car Watch.

I saw plate this week that said, "UBIGNUT." To be honest, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended.

My homey Rockabye saw a plate that confuses me quite a bit. "(Heart)2GRIEV," it read. Really? Who in the world loves to grieve? I bet even folks who own funeral parlors don't enjoy the amount of grieving that goes on around them on a daily basis. That plate disturbs me, and I keep re-reading it to see if there's an alternate meaning that I'm missing. Am I?

Last but not least, that same homey Rockabye provided me with a plate that allows me to extend today's theme into the Car Watch section: "4MRS ED." While I doubt that this car was purchased for the wife of the famed talking equine, it does pose an interesting question. If a horse were to drive a car, would you need to add an extra figure to the horsepower? I realize it would only be by one, but it's worth asking, don't you think? (No, actually, now that I think about it for more than two seconds. The horsepower figure referring to the engine would remain the same because the driving horse would only use its power to push the accelerator and brake, right? Now where's that pesky backspace key?)

That's all folks. First, let's get some happies out there. Happy 0th birthday yesterday to little Lindsey. Congratulations to new parents Rob and Robin, and we look forward to meeting her soon. Tomorrow is our good friend Lisa's birthday, so big ups to her. Sunday is my friend Suzanne's half-birthday, and Tuesday marks a whopping 13.5 years since my lovely wife and I started dating. Wow, that's a big number. Take care, everyone, and please remember to email ptklein@gmail.com with anything you please. Go Lakers and shaloha to one and all.

The arts are fine

Ah, here we are again, my homepeople. Welcome to UOPTA. No, I'm pretty sure that doesn't stand for Untrained Orthodontists Putting Teeth Askew, so you can all breathe a sigh of relief. Hey, I have an idea. I'd like to keep having alternate UOPTA meanings each week, but I need your help. If you email me at ptklein@gmail.com with a couple that you come up with (instead of posting them in the comments section), I'll include it in an opening paragraph and give you a shout-out. Sound good? It doesn't have to be today of course, but I think it would be great to have a little audience participation and reader-created content. Let's see what happens.

So today is May 8th. If it were up to me, I'd combine it into one syllable and make it Mayth. It's so rare that we're able to do that with dates, and I want to make the most of it. In fact, I just spent way too long trying to see how many other month-day pairings could be combined in a way that saves a syllable, and it's an amazingly small number. Depending on how you say the number 11, we could either have Aprileventh or Januareleventh/Februareleventh. I don't really make either of those sounds at the beginnings of my elevens, but I'm an equal opportunity...whatever the hell it is I'm doing in this paragraph. Let's move on, shall we?

In Spanish poetry, syllables are combined all the time. If one word ends in a vowel and the next starts in a vowel, they're combined. That makes it even more difficult if you're trying to write with a certain number of metric feet per line. For example, "Como estas" in a line of poetry would be counted as three syllables that more closely resemble, "Co mues tas," if that makes any sense. Throw in the fact that words starting with a silent H get in on this action, and you're making for some crazy times. The best part of learning all of that in college was hearing the word "dipthong" a few hundred times. That never really got old. (That word is so weird. On one hand, if it were a very skimpy undergarment, that would in theory be sexy. On the other hand, if someone called someone else a "dipthong," there would be no doubt that it would be used in a derogatory fashion. How can something do both of those things at the same time while not actually meaning either? Is anyone still reading this? Wow, good for you. I almost bailed on myself a few times there.)

Speaking of poetry, I mentioned in this space a while ago that my friend Jon and I used to write intentionally horrific poems to each other from time to time when we worked together at UC Santa Barbara. I took great joy in writing crappy poems, but I didn't know how much I missed it until a couple of weeks ago. I really don't remember how it came up in my head, but I found myself looking for a rhyme for the word "forgotten." I came up with a few, and then laughed to myself as I created a great horrible part of a horrible poem about looking in the refrigerator:

Potatoes au gratin
Forgotten

Now rotten

I laughed to myself about that and told my lovely wife (who hears things like that from me quite often). I thought that would probably be it, but those lines have popped into my head almost every day since. I always have the same train of thought: "Maybe I'll end up including that in something. In what though? I should call Jon and see if he wants to resurrect the bad poetry writing." I think he's probably grown out of that phase though (as most people would eventually). Oh well. But hey, if any of you feel like writing some intentionally bad poetry and emailing it to me, we can make a whole post out of it someday.

Speaking of weird things that I tell my lovely wife, here's a brief conversation we had two days ago:
Me: The name Eliot is almost "toilet" backwards.
Her: Yeah?
Me: Yeah, it's just missing a T at the end. So "T. Eliot" as in "T.S. Eliot" is "toilet" backwards.
Her: Oh.
Me: And he wrote "The Waste Land."
Her: Hmm. That's pretty interesting.

That last line might come across as sarcastic on the screen, but she actually meant it. I wonder if the whole "toilet" thing is why Thomas Stearns Eliot included his middle initial. I'd try looking up his descendants and asking them, but that sounds like a lot of work (and they might find it disrespectful in some twisted way).

Sticking yet again to the fine arts, I listened to my new sampler cd from Paste Magazine, and one song in particular really stood out. It's by a singer named Bill Callahan who apparently used to perform under the name Smog. I didn't love the melody or the singer's voice particularly at first, but I cocked my head in interest when he sang, "All these fine memories are fuckin' me down." I wasn't familiar with that use of "fuck," and that's really saying something since I've spoken many times about that word's versatility. But the part of the song that really got me and made me want to write about it is this:

I feel back asleep some time later on
And I dreamed the perfect song
It held all the answers, like hands laid on

I woke halfway and scribbled it down
And in the morning what I wrote I read
It was hard to read at first but here's what it said

Eid ma clack shaw
Zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur
Cofally ragdah

That really got me. Especially "hard to read at first," because the narrator seems pretty convinced that he's reading the answers from the perfect song correctly. Nicely done. (If this story reminds you of the story behind "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, then congratulations - your English degree has come in handy.) By the way, the song is called "Eid Ma Clack Shaw," which I had seen on the playlist but not really processed. I tip my imaginary hat to you, Mr. Callahan.

And lastly for this section, a word caught my eye and got me thinking (uh oh) about its pronunciation. The word is "leopard." Why is it pronounced "leppard?" "Leotard" is just one consonant off, but I don't hear people walking around calling it a "lettard." (Ok, in truth, I don't often hear people walking around and saying "leotard" the right way either, but I'm trying to make a point here. Cut me some slack, will ya?) Furthermore, why in the world would someone initially associate "Leo" with a lion when there's another big cat whose name actually starts with Leo? Is it too late to change that? One thing's for sure, Def Leppard knew what they were doing when they named themselves. "Deaf Leopard" looks really weird to me. Does a Deaf Leopard eat a Blind Melon? One can only hope.

And with that, let's take our big and padded claws on over to the Car Watch.

I was behind a car on my way to work yesterday morning that had this license plate: "INVZBL 1." "No you're not," I said aloud. When the opportunity arose, I changed lanes and ended up stopped at a red light right next to the car. I looked over and tried my best to appear that I was looking past or through the car, but the driver never turned in my direction to see me mock his plate. I spent the next couple of minutes wondering if I'd be at fault if I rear-ended that car. "You see, officer, I was just minding my own business when suddenly my car's bumper and hood got smashed in and my airbags deployed." Probably not.

My favorite brother sent me a plate that was a tad on the egotistical side: "1GR8CHK." I don't think you should be allowed to say that about yourself. It's one thing to think that you're great (and I'm all for that really), but it's certainly another to put it out there for everyone to see. I guess she wasn't kidding when she told her friends she was going to get a vanity plate. I suppose it could be a former hockey player who is famous for one particularly great defensive play in which he checked someone against the boards before he could wrist in an empty-netter. (I have no idea if I used any of those hockey terms correctly, by the way. Sure, we have the L.A. Kings and the Ducks are nearby, but I've met two or three L.A. natives in my life who actually follow the sport.)

And lastly, my homey Rockabye sent me this plate: "5BGMACS." My cholesterol went up just reading that. I sure hope that it's a family of five big-boned folks whose last names start with Mc or Mac. If not that, then I hope the driver won the car in a bet that he couldn't/wouldn't eat five Big Macs in one sitting. Yes, that would be disgusting, but at least it would be in the name of competition. And you can't spell "competitive eater" without Peter, naturally.

That's it for this guy right here. If you can muster the energy and creative juices to email me at ptklein@gmail.com with new things for UOPTA to stand for and/or some bad poetry, that would make my week. You want to make my week, don't you? I'll be back here next Friday, but in the meantime...Sunday is Mothers' Day, so I want to wish a happy one to all the moms out there. Ya know what - I'm feeling generous. If anyone's ever called you "a bad mutha," I'm going to say that you're welcome to celebrate as well. So there. Tuesday is my friend Dusty's half-birthday, and he's half-Chinese, so there's a joke in there somewhere. Wednesday is my Grandma Zelda's half-birthday, loyal reader Aunt Lynn's half-birthday, and my friend Dave's half-birthday. I'm pretty sure that adds up to at least one whole birthday, but I'm bad at fractions. Have a great weekend and week, friends.

Compelled to speak

Happy May, everyone, and welcome to another Friday here at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for Ultra Orthodox People Taking Aspirin, but I can see where you'd come up with that. Instead, this is the place in which I write about my thoughts, experiences, and stories. This week, I think I might even have something resembling a theme instead of some haphazard assortment of items. (By the way, I think I want to start pronouncing haphazard as 'haffazard' to utilize the PH combo. It's catchy enough, right?)

What would be the opposite of biting one's tongue? Sticking it out is good imagery, but I don't think that really encompasses the opposite meaning. "Unbiting" is lazy. "Spitting one's tongue" is interesting because it's actively forcing something out while retaining the main focus of the idiom. Also, "spit" and "bit" rhyme, which is convenient. I'll use that for now. So, there have been a few times recently in which I have spit my tongue. They fall in two categories: the good and the bad.

The Good, Part 1:

I had a physical this week for the first time in way too long. I was looking forward to meeting a new doctor, getting all of my info on the books somewhere, and actually using the health insurance that I'm lucky to have. One thing I wasn't eagerly anticipating though was the blood test. I'm not a big fan of needles. I don't faint or anything, but I always think to myself, "Am I feeling light-headed? How about now? How about now?" Also, I had a bad experience years ago in which a woman tried many times to get my blood, brought another nurse over for consultation, and poked around inside my arm to find better spots. It was less than enjoyable. So this time, I sat in the chair and greeted the woman to my right who would soon be poking at least one hole in me. Routinely, she tied the rubber thing around my arm, used the cleansing wipe thing, and organized the rest of the items. Once the needle was ready and coming toward me, I became very interested in the piece of paper to my left. "Hmmm, Code Red is for a fire. I think I knew that. Code Blue is for when someone is in need of resuscitation, as I've learned from medical dramas. Code Black is a bomb threat? That seems mighty specific. I hope they don't need to use that one too often." "Ok," a voice told me. I looked over, and she was holding a cottonball against my arm. "Hold this please," she said, and then she wrapped my arm in some kind of bandage. I spit my tongue: "That was easily the best job anyone has ever done taking my blood." "Really?" she said, "Thank you." "No, thank you! I was dreading it at first but you did a great job." She thanked me again, and with a smile on my face, I strolled over to the bathroom to pee in a cup.

The Good, Part 2:

If you live in the Los Angeles area, there's a decent chance that you've heard of Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica. If not, you should: http://www.bcdeli.com/. Bay Cities is a small market with a bunch of things you'd expect to find...and the best frickin' sandwiches on the face of the Earth. They're so good that smart people order them online about 45-60 minutes in advance before going to pick them up. The uninitiated just show up and wait in a long line for that amount of time. The bread is unbelievably good, as is everything that one can put on said bread. If you don't want to wait that long, you can go to the hot food section and get a kick-ass chicken parm sandwich or a few other equally-delectable offerings. There's one main problem with Bay Cities: the parking lot. It's a small lot that would usually have a line of three of four cars waiting to turn in, thereby stopping an entire lane of traffic. Once in the lot, you'd then wait for people to come out to their cars and attempt to back out without hitting you or the other folks salivating over their soon-to-be vacated spot. On top of that, a car would occasionally try sneaking in through the exit-only opening from an alley behind the market. I'm a mild-mannered guy, but I've wanted to bash people's faces in for surreptitiously yoinking a spot as I played by the rules.

It sure would be nice if there were a security guard in the lot to maintain some kind of order and stop the bastards from wrongfully taking parking spots, right? Well, there was. He did absolutely nothing. If a car swooped in from the wrong way to steal a spot, he'd take a half-step in that direction and then throw up his hands as if to say, "Well, nothing I can do about that!" It was infuriating. And then, one glorious day, there was a new attendant in the lot. "Let's see how this goes," my co-worker Rob said to me. Almost before he could finish his sentence, the new guy was waving people on, holding up his hand to others, and running to stop cars from coming in the wrong way. The next time we were there, he was even better and once physically put himself in front of a bastard sneaky car to make sure that the angry driver didn't get the spot he was trying to steal. It naturally reminded me of Tiananmen Square, but with slightly less dire consequences at stake. After the third time of seeing him kick major ass at his job, I spit my tongue: "You're doing a fantastic job," I said. He nodded a thank you, but was keeping his eye on the three cars waiting for spots and the two cars trying to leave theirs without bumping into each other. I wasn't letting it go that easily though. "Really, I appreciate how well you're doing this job." He mumbled a thank you and walked away to make sure his domain was in order. Rob made a strange face at me. "I had to tell him," I said. "I think he would've preferred a tip," he replied.

The Bad:
I was chatting with two people a week or so ago, and the topic of the Baseball Hall of Fame came up. I said that I thought it was bullshit that there's never been a unanimous selection to the Hall. (Certain voters are very old-school and will not vote for someone when he first appears on the ballot. I think that's stupid, because there's nothing more that Tony Gwynn, Cal Ripken Jr., or Rickey Henderson could've done. Likewise, when Greg Maddux is eligible, I'll throw a minor shit fit if he's not unanimous.) One of the guys responded, "Well, some people have gotten all of the votes before." "No," I said, "no one has been unanimously selected." "Well, maybe not unanimous, but some have gotten 100% of the vote." I spit my tongue. "Oh, please continue, I want to hear you explain this." "Well, um, no, I guess if...no, I was wrong, no unanimous selections." Yeah, that was a kind of dickish way for me to call him out, but I couldn't help myself. If he was going to set himself up for such a baseless contradiction, there would be no tongue-biting from yours truly.

And with that, let's induct ourselves on over to the Car Watch.

My dad sent me a license plate frame that I've never seen before. It read, "Yeah, I'm a bitch...Just not yours." That's really good that they specified, because if my Hallie dog was driving that car, then she'd clearly be violating the terms of her canine curfew. It begs the obvious question: whose bitch was it? Former gangsta rapper Eazy E (R.I.P.) said that he had "bitches galore," so the odds are slightly stacked in his favor.

I saw a new frame too. It said, "Froggy" on the top, and, "Ribbit Cough Ribbit" on the bottom. Obviously. If I had to guess (which I suppose I do), here would be my theory on this one. The driver of the car is nicknamed Froggy by his friends. This could either be a weird animal-themed thing like I have with my friends, or more likely, the guy has slightly buggy eyes. Or he eats flies. In any case, they call him Froggy, and this dude smokes a lot (be it cigarettes or something more interesting). Therefore, he coughs a good amount, and in keeping with his nickname, it makes sense that the cough would come between his animal namesake's sounds in nature. If you've got a better theory, comment away.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye saw this license plate: "COWS(Heart)US." No, no they don't. And they're insulted that you would just assume that.

Ok, I'm outstro. Have a great weekend and week, mis amiguitos, and I'll be back here next Friday. But first, let's get happy. Today is our friend Jesse's birthday, so let's wish him a good one. Tuesday is not only Cinco de Mayo, but also my former boss Debbie's birthday and my lovely wife's former roommate Jen's birthday. Those are all good reasons for a fiesta if you ask me. And Thursday is my excellent friend The Pigh's half-birthday, and he needs as many positive thoughts as possible with this whole swine flu thing. That's it. Take care, and feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. Shaloha.