I think I get it

Shaloha, my friends and friends of friends. Welcome once more to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Until Orangutans Pray, They're Atheists," but I really can't argue with that sound logic. Thanks to my lovely wife for supplying that UOPTA - you can do the same my emailing me at ptklein@gmail.com, dontchaknow. Speaking of my lovely wife, it's her birthday today, so everyone please join me in wishing her an extremely happy one. Now let's get to some thoughts and stories, shall we?

Last week, I wrote about some interestingly-named businesses and how they can purposely be misleading. In thinking about the topic of business names a little more, I would like to add a new category - The Maybe Pun.

When I was in tenth grade (holy crap, that was a big number of years ago), I had a sixth period English class with some friends. The teacher suggested that we buy some books from a local bookstore instead of some chains that probably no longer exist. This particular bookstore, she told us, was called "Lewis For Books." After class, my friend Dusty and I talked about going there over the weekend. "Lewis For Books," I said aloud, mainly because I was confused by the name and trying to figure it out. "Yeah, get it?" he asked. I hesitated and set my mind in overdrive for those two seconds. If it was indeed a pun - like it seemed to be on the surface - I wanted desperately to get it. If Dusty already got what they were doing with that, I didn't want to seem stupid by not picking up on it too. I came up with nothing though, so I sheepishly replied, "Um, no, not really." "Me neither," he said. I was relieved. We spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what it could possible mean. "Maybe it's telling us that Lew...Is for books." "Instead of being anti-books?" "I don't know." "Maybe it's trying to fit neatly into a sentence, like 'I'm going to Lewis...for books.'" We eventually gave up, but every single time the store name came up after that, we'd say to anyone around us, "Ha! Get it?"

Almost the same exact thing happened with another establishment in The Valley. As I documented in this space at least a year ago, I worked for a brief time at a place called Salads Galore. Yes, that name makes sense since that's what they serve. Next door to it, however, is a restaurant named "Chili My Soul." I've been there several times now, and while it's a bit pricey, they have some amazing chili dishes that I'm pleased to eat from time to time. The name bothers me though, and Dusty agrees. "Is it a command using 'chili' as a verb? I demand that you chili my soul immediately!" "Is it a pun on 'chill my soul?' Oh wait, does anyone ever say 'chill my soul?'" We didn't come to an answer on that one either. What makes it worse is that I've seen a restaurant called "Pizza My Heart" that has a similar name construction but is actually a fully-functional play on words. Oh yeah, and it gets Janis Joplin in my head every single time I think of it.

The reason I thought about this particular topic is because my mom mentioned one of her own troubling Maybe Pun establishments. Near my parents' house, there's a place called Massage Envy. As it turns out, there are over 800 of these spread out across the U.S. In any case, my mom asked me very seriously, "Is it supposed to be like penis envy?" That's what I think of too when I hear that, and I told her as much. But it wasn't just the lack of pun that bothered her; the use of "envy" did too. Her point was that since anyone can theoretically go there and get a massage, why exactly would anyone be envious? It's not like some exclusive club that we're not allowed into or anything. I tend to agree yet again with my mother, which I've learned is a wise thing to do.

Ok, moving on to some random items. First off, I had two genuinely ironic moments within ten minutes of each other. I went to Whole Foods to get some lunch with my co-worker Jamie earlier this week. When I was set to leave, I got into the express line since the two people waiting before me only had a couple of items each. A few minutes later, it was almost my turn. I took a little look around and saw three wide-open checkout lanes with cashiers waiting for someone to be rung up. Yes folks, I chose the express checkout to be faster, but the idea of it being faster ended up making it considerably slower than its non-express counterparts. A few minutes later, we were in her car heading back to the office. It would've gone a lot faster if it weren't for an extremely slow car in front of us that kept braking for no reason whatsoever. In the lane next to us, cars kept zipping by quickly enough that we couldn't get around the slowpoke. What kind of car was it? A Suzuki...Swift. Yes, the least swift car on the road was called a Swift. Awesome.

Next up, I was in San Diego recently for work, and I noticed something as I got into the hotel elevator that struck me as strange. Right above the floor buttons was a sign that had, "Firefighters' Operations," "Firefighters' Phone Jack," and "Firefighters' Service" all with additional text beside them. If you're scoring at home, that's some correct plural possessive shit going down right there. Then I was surprised at myself for being surprised by correct usage. Has it really come to that? I wanted to send myself a text message about it but felt self-conscious with other people in the elevator with me. Then I noticed that all three of them were typing away on their Blackberries, so I joined the masses and e-jotted myself a note.

And lastly for this section, I had a meeting earlier with a woman this week at work. Somehow, our conversation got sidetracked and we ended up talking about dogs for a good ten minutes. She told me a great story that I have to relay here. A little while ago, she got a Maltese puppy. She decided to partially train the pup by using a squirt gun to illustrate what was a no-no (barking, peeing and pooping indoors, etc.). A little while later, a new neighbor moved in to the house next door to her. When they met a day or two after that, the new neighbor asked, "What's going on over there?" "What do you mean?" she replied. "I keep hearing you threaten someone by saying, 'I'm gonna go get the gun!'" She explained, and they shared a laugh. Ah, what a simple misunderstanding that easily could've let to the police busting in the door with their weapons drawn. Those are the best!

And with that, let's lock and load on over to the Car Watch.

My favorite brother sent me a license plate that took me a lot longer than it should've to understand. It read, "OLETYMR." For some reason, my first reading was the completely made-up, "O lety mister." Then I transitioned to, "O, le timer!" like a dismayed French chef who isn't quite ready for the next step of the recipe. Finally I got the real message and felt foolish for first making up nonsensical things. But here I am sharing that folly with you; that is indeed how I roll.

Next up, my homey Rockabye sent me a bumper sticker that probably could've been on the car from the above item. It read, "It's not just that I'm old. Your music really does suck." That's certainly casting a wide net with one's put-down, wouldn't you say? What if the car behind this guy (or gal, but I doubt it) is listening to the old dude's favorite music? Then his aural distaste is sadly misplaced. But not erased. What a waste. All in haste. He should be maced. And then eat paste.

And lastly, I saw a plate earlier this week that said, "CRZI HRS." Again, my mind went a little off the beaten path with this one. Instead of what I have to believe is "Crazy Horse" (since that is an established name in our collective vocabulary), I read it as the driver trying to tell me that s/he keeps "crazy hours." I switched over to getting the real meaning almost immediately, but then I took a second and examined why I went to "hours" first. I think I have a legitimate claim: we as a people see "HRS" stand for "hours" all the time on sign windows, on Outlook meeting durations, and many other places in life. I was conditioned to think "hours," was I not? Would I have gotten the real meaning if there hadn't been the space after "CRZI?" We may never know. Regardless, I'm just glad I got to the true meaning before my mind tried convincing me that it was "Crazy Human Resources."

Okeedokee, my little artichokees, I'm out of here. Oh sure, I'll be back next Friday with more stuff, but that's no reason to hold back the emails you're just dying to send me about your own thoughts, stories, and Car Watch items. In the meantime, let us get happy. Happy 0th birthday yesterday to little Annabelle Daisy Miller, new daughter of our friends Candice and Scott. Welcome to the world, young one. As clearly stated in our opening paragraph, today is still my lovely wife's birthday. Happy birthday, my love. Not so coincidentally, it's also the birthday of a very sweet chocolate lab with the wettest tongue this side of the Mississippi named Shira. Happy anniversary on Sunday to the Frazees and the McCoys. Happy half-birthday to our good friend Twilight on Monday, and happy birthday to my Aunt Judy on Tuesday. Have a great weekend and week, everybody. AND GO LAKERS!