Backhanded compliments

Good morning, homepeople of the internets, and welcome yet again to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Un Oso Puede Tomar Agua," but es verdad. Otherwise, we'd be plagued with dehydrated bears in need of IVs to replenish their fluids, which would pose a whole new set of problems for the healthcare industry. Whew, that was a close one. Instead, friends, this UOPTA is where I write down some thoughts and stories and then wait to see what happens. Here goes! (Thanks for my favorite brother for supplying that UOPTA. You can get in on the action too just by writing to ptklein@gmail.com. And if you act now, I'll throw in my gratitude ABSOLUTELY FREE!)

As I've mentioned in this space many times since I started this here blog, I'm in fantasy leagues for both baseball and basketball. I've tried football once, but I don't follow that sport nearly as closely as I'd need to in order to succeed there, so I'm fine sticking with the two I know best. Well, we're at the tail end of the baseball league's playoffs right now (which I'm not in because I totally stunk it up this year), and the question of tie-breakers came up. We looked back to a post that Greg (The Pigh) had put on the message board back in March. In it, he wrote:

In the event of a tie, the tie-breakers will be:
1. head-to-head records
2. total runs scored
3. total wins (pitching)
4. total home runs
5. total strike outs
6. beer pong
7. steel cage match

I thought that was funny, and hoped to see a scenario that got us close to the bottom of the list. Well, we got closer than I anticipated, and it looked like it might get down to #4 on the list for a while. My homey Rockabye and his brother co-manage one of the teams in that close match-up, and he wrote, "If it ever gets to beer pong, you may as well put us in the championship...for we never lose at an alternative sport." The funny thing about that is that he's not really kidding.

While he's also good at mainstream sports, my homey Rockabye has always excelled at the sports/games off the beaten path. He was the best of our group of friends at ping pong, frisbee golf, foosball, and even the arcade game where you need to make as many baskets as possible in the established timeframe. I have no proof, but I'd put my money on him winning a Skee-ball tournament if I arranged such an event.

Somewhere in between mainstream sports and the fringe arcade games lies racquetball. I enjoy racquetball, even though I have no innate skill at the game/sport. The first time I really tried it out was back in college. At our Recreation Center (or RecCen since everything needed to be shortened), there were a handful of indoor courts. Any current student could reserve a time in one of the courts, and I think it cost a whopping dollar to rent the paddles and balls. The only downside in my opinion was that the courts had clear plastic back walls, and so everyone on the treadmills and elliptical machines behind us could watch every play if they chose to. Therefore, I'd always opt for the last court in the row in hopes that fewer people would watch me. My homey Rockabye and I would play every once in a while, and it was quite a bit of fun. (By "play," I should point out that it was us hitting the ball around until he decided that he wanted to win that point and would therefore end the rally with a shot I had no chance at returning.) My lovely wife nee girlfriend and I played a couple of times as well, which always felt like a trap. I say that because if I tried my hardest, I'd win the majority of the points (which would frustrate her). However, if she thought for a second that I wasn't trying my hardest, that was a worse offense. We had a good time though; it was fun exercise, and most importantly, I never lost an eye.

Well, that same homey Rockabye just moved into a new condo complex a couple of weeks ago. When he walked me around the place before he was an official resident, he showed me that there were a few indoor racquetball courts by the gym in the complex. They're fairly run down, but they looked serviceable (especially for my ability level). I said it would be a lot of fun to do that for exercise and as a chance to hang out - even weekly if our schedules permitted. Just suggesting that made me feel a little old since I remember my dad playing that sport when I was younger, but I got over that quickly.

And so, earlier this week, we had our inaugural racquetball match. It had been over a decade since our last game, which astounds me. As I was leaving my house to meet up with him, my lovely wife said, "Have fun. Don't hurt yourself." I told her I would do my best on both counts.

I got to his place as he was finishing getting ready. "I don’t need the goggles, right?" I asked. He was already laughing, presumably because he remembered my...what's the opposite of prowess? We walked over to the courts and started hitting the ball around lightly as the overhead lights warmed up. Before long, we were playing and it all came back to me. It clearly came back to him too, because he remembered that I struggle mightily when the ball is in a certain place. As a lefty, when the serve is coming to me in the back right corner, I have to make a few quick decisions. Namely, "Do I hit my backhand now or do I wait for the bounce off the back wall?" I never decide that quickly enough, which means I either hit the wall with my racket, barely hit the ball and lose the point anyway, or freeze in my decision-making and watch it bounce a second time right in front of me. He cracked up every single time, until he finally took pity on me and hit the ball more to the middle of the court.

After a little while, he asked me (between laughs), "Do you think you were more graceful in college or now?" "College," I said. Then I swung and completely missed the ball as it came toward me. "College," I repeated. I reached down to get the ball that had just eluded me, and I looked up to find my old friend doubled-over in laughter. I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being exceedingly graceful, and I came to terms with that a long time ago. He can't get enough of it though.

All in all, I heeded my lovely wife's two-pronged advice. I had fun and I didn't hurt myself (unless you count biting my cheek from mis-chewing gum). My left forearm was sore for a couple of days, but if we're able to play fairly regularly, that'll stop happening in no time. Who knows, maybe I'll even learn to return more than half of the serves over time. Hey, I can dream.

With that, let's bring our small, blue balls over to the Car Watch.

My lovely wife saw a license plate about which I have very mixed feelings. It read, "PUN GENT." Here's the rub: I like that the guy is a fan of puns and that he found a way to tell us that in the form of another existing word. I don't like that the word means, "Having a strong odor" to me. Does he also have a strong scent? If so, then it's perfect. (I just looked up the definition of "pungent," and I'm shocked. The first entry is: "Sharply painful." Not until definition 4B does it get to how I use it: "Having an intense flavor or odor." This makes me totally rethink ordering "Sweet and Pungent Chicken" next time we have Chinese food. I guess it's still catchier than "Sweet and Sharply Painful Chicken.")

I saw two plates that, by themselves, probably wouldn't warrant a mention here. However, they were right next to each other and it gave me pause. "NUDE ART," was on the left, and "LIBANON" was on the right. I realize it didn't say "Lebanon," but it was close enough that the juxtaposition made me laugh. If you asked me to name 20 countries that might be known for having nude art, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't get to Lebanon. If you said 50 though, I'd probably guess it at some point since I'm not sure how many countries I actually know. That would be an interesting exercise, but at a later date. Or never. I'll decide later.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye saw this bumper sticker: "Visualize using your turn signals." I find that funny for two very different reasons. First, it amuses me that someone wants to mock the "Visualize world peace" sentiment - either like this or with its cousin, "Visualize whirled peas." Aside from arms dealers and wartime contractors, are there people who don't like the concept of a planet in harmony, albeit highly improbable? Maybe. The other thing that I find funny is that this guy's talking to the wrong people. Presumably, he'd most like for the people in front of him to use their turn signals to indicate when they're changing lanes or turning. By nature of it being a bumper sticker, he's missing the meat of his target demographic. (And hey, you can't spell "target demographic" without Peter.)

Ok folks, that's it for me. I'll be back next week with more thoughts magically converted into word form. In the meantime, we've got ourselves some happies: Happy 2nd birthday today to little Nolan, who loves blueberries more than I ever thought humanly possible. Tomorrow, our friends Dusty and Mills are getting married, so please join me in wishing them the absolute best. If any of you atoners are fasting for Yom Kippur starting Sunday at sundown, I hope it goes quickly and easily. And Happy Birthday to longtime and loyal reader Sue on Thursday. I'm off, folks. Feel free to write me at ptklein@gmail.com, and be healthy and happy.

Thoughts not staying in Vegas

Hola mis amiguitos, and welcome once more to this little slice of the internets that I call UOPTA. No no, that doesn't stand for, "Upside-down Onions Produce Tears Anyway," but I imagine both possible readings of that sentence are true. Without any punctuation, it refers to turning an onion upside-down, and since they're usually roundish, I can understand why that wouldn't make any difference. Put a comma before "onions" though, and I'm pretty glad to learn that that method doesn't work. Oh sure, I'd love to cut onions without crying, and I've tried a few things over the years with minimal success. If I found that cutting them while I was physically upside-down would stop the tears, I'd then have to figure out how to do that without seriously injuring myself. Forget the blood rushing to my head and the discomfort of being on my skull, I'm talking about logistically using a knife to cut onions while I'm upside-down. Any motion I think of is either very difficult due to a lack of leverage or would leave the floor strewn with chopped onion. In summation, even though it's not the name of this site, I'm still glad that Upside-down Onions Produce Tears Anyway. Instead, friends, this is just a place in which I write down some thoughts and stories. See how much simpler that is?

I was in Las Vegas earlier this week for two and a half days for work purposes. Normally, I don't come back with many things that make sense to write about in this space (since I generally avoid discussing my job), but I have a few isolated items that I thought were fit to pass on to you. First up, I was in the Paris Hotel, and I had a couple of hours before I was supposed to meet people in the late evening. My goal was to get some food to go and then sit in my room to relax and watch some football. I'm not a big football fan, but it was on, and I could take off my jacket and shoes and just chill for while. I walked around the hotel (without getting too lost) but didn't see anything but sit-down restaurants. I walked over to the concierge desk where I was greeted not very warmly by a middle-aged lady. "Hi, I was looking to get some food to go, but I didn't see anything like what I was looking for. I seem to remember some small food court maybe with a pizza place when you first opened - is that still here?" Ok folks, try to read her response as snottily and condescendingly as possible: "Um, sir, this is The Paris Hotel. All of our food is French, so clearly we wouldn't have anything like pizza here." There was even a hesitation before the word "pizza" as if it were too disgusting to even say. Instead of saying, "Well la-di-dah, your highness," I just smiled and nodded and went on my way. I ended up sitting in a little restaurant that had one of the games on in the attached Bally's Hotel, so it wasn't too bad. That said, I guess the Paris Hotel should be commended for being extremely authentic, from the sidewalk cafes to the rude natives. (Yes, that's a sweeping stereotype, but when my lovely wife and I visited Europe, there was a distinct difference in how we were treated in France versus some other countries. I'm just sayin'.)

Next, I was speaking to a gentleman who was telling me about something that spanned a bunch of different categories, including self-help, weight loss, fitness, etc. While business-oriented, it was a light-hearted enough conversation that I felt comfortable making a pun. "I imagine that the weight loss one has the, um, widest demographic," I said with a smile. Nothing. So I added, "Pardon the pun, of course." Still nothing. He went right into his next point without ever picking up what I put down. I thought that was a good one, at least deserving a smile or something. But no, he just kept on going. Bastard.

The night before that, I went out to dinner with two...interesting gentlemen. They're both in their late 40s, and they've really lived those years, if you know what I mean. So when we sat down next to two obviously tipsy ladies, they were already programmed with how to talk in that situation. The women gave obviously fake names, and the two men did the same. "I'm Peter," I said, before adding, "Really." After a couple of minutes of chatting, I learned that one of them lived in Ventura, so I plugged Dusty and Dave's company and told her to check them out. She asked what we do for a living, and one of the guys said, "We're in the porn industry. We're stuntmen." They laughed a little, but it sadly seemed like they believed him. A couple more minutes went by, and the drunker of the two asked me, "So where do you do your stuntman work?" I thought to myself, "Alright, fine, I'll play along." So I said, "Well, they're actually the stuntmen. My job is to write the musical scores for the films. It's really not as impressive as it sounds, since it's really just a series of wocka-chicka wocka-chickas." She made face that said, "Yeah, I dig that" while nodding, and then went back to her drink.

One of the gentlemen asked the ladies what they liked to do while in Vegas. One said, "If I had my druthers, I'd just go from club to club all day long." The other chimed in with, "If I had my brothers, that would be illegal in most states." I thought that was a funny retort, but the friend had no idea in hell what she was talking about. "What about your brothers?" After some long-winded attempts at explaining her quip to no avail, she gave up. "I thought that was a good line," I said almost apologetically. We didn't end up chatting much more with the drunk ladies before they left, but that was more than fine with me.

After dinner, I went to a party at a club sponsored by another business in the industry. We got some drinks and did the requisite schmoozing for a while before my favorite interaction of the whole conference transpired. The same guys and I were talking to an attractive young woman about where she worked and what she did. "I mainly focus on non-profits and ministries," she said. Without missing a beat, one of the guys said, "I love God." If I had had liquid in my mouth at that moment, it would've ended up all over someone. Instead, I just laughed while he added, "And I love raising money for God." You can't teach classy, ladies and gentlemen.

Lastly, one woman with whom I've worked peripherally for a while made me bite my tongue so hard it almost bled...twice. The first time was two days before the conference when I was trying to find a time to meet up. After pulling up her schedule on the computer, she said, "Let's see...I've got some weird looking holes." Yes, I somehow managed to hold back from saying anything after that, which I know is a good thing. We did eventually set a meeting, and in that meeting, she asked a gentleman from another company, "Do you have a large staff?" Come on, lady! What are you trying to do to me? Geez, some people just don't care about the plight of the immature male.

And with that, it is my duty (tee hee) to bring us to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye sent me this license plate just yesterday: "GRRTFLL." I take issue with this plate, my homepeople, for I just don't think it works. Yes, I can see that the driver wants the word "grateful" to come across. However, the "Grr" sound never represents something positive or happy, but rather anger or frustration. Therefore, this sounds to me like a very begrudging gratefulness, and unless the driver wanted to capture that complex compound adjective, then I don't like it. So there.

My friend Greg (The Pigh) sent me a plate that you'll either really appreciate or not get at all: "TPS RPRT." His email to me was, "I'm gonna need you to go ahead and put this in the Car Watch." If you have no idea what he's talking about, then I guess you're not a big fan of the movie "Office Space." And frankly, that's a shame. Oh yeah, and you probably won't get it when I end this paragraph with, "Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking, just a moment."

And last but not least, I saw a plate that read, "PWR SHRG." Over the course of the next ten seconds, I thought of a couple dozen ways in which one could "power shrug." And I think they were pretty funny too. Is it a way to REALLY not care about something? Is that how Robocop expresses his disinterest? I wanted to know, but sadly after those ten seconds, I saw something else on the car. The license plate frame said, "Power sharing." Then I was confused again. Did that mean sharing in some suped-up way or more than one person using the same energy source? I know, I know: I ask the tough questions.

That, my friends, is all I've got for you today. Fear not, I'll be back next Friday with more of whatever it is I do here. In the meantime, are you ready for a whole lotta happies? Here goes! First off, Happy Rosh Hashanah at sundown today to all my fellow Members of the Tribe. Happy birthday to two dear friends: Danielle tomorrow and Paul on Sunday. Happy 5 and a half year anniversary to my lovely wife on Monday. Wow, it seems like just six months ago that it was our full anniversary. On Wednesday, it's not only my Grandpa Harold's birthday, but also my little cousin Bailey's 2nd birthday as well, so please join me in wishing them happy ones. As always, feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com, and be healthy and happy. Shaloha.

Language discussions on tap

Hello there friends, and welcome to this week's entry at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Unctuous Octopi Patrol The Atlantic," but I have to imagine that that's true. They look way too nefarious to just be swimming around there, and "patrolling" seems to capture their look a little better. Instead, this UOPTA is where I jot down some things on my mind for your intended reading enjoyment. I'm so glad we cleared that up. (Thanks to loyal reader Sue for providing that UOPTA. You can send your own in to ptklein@gmail.com. Yes, even you.)

I have two separate language items on my mind today, so I'm going to start with those and see where they take me. First up is the one that isn't about English. I was listening to the Dodger game in my car a few days ago, and they'd just gotten a couple of hits in a row off of the opposing pitcher. Announcer Charley Steiner then told me and the rest of the listening audience that the other team was taking out their pitcher. Then he said something like, "This pitching change is brought to you by Tapatio hot sauce. Not too mild and not too spicy, Tapatio is the perfect change to make any meal better." Again, I'm paraphrasing. I loves me some Tapatio, and I put it on (or in) many things that I make. A toasted bagel with cheese, black bean soup, polenta...it doesn't matter. I think it's glorious, and way better than its wooden-headed competitor Cholula. But I wasn't thinking about the kick-ass nature of the sauce right then. Rather, I had noted that Mr. Steiner said "Tapatio" like the first syllable was the same as in "tap dance" instead of "top," as it's said in Spanish. I immediately forgave him his transgression and smiled at the fact that everything is sponsored by something now. I remember when NBA games starting having the "Prudential At The Half" shows, but now every time out is sponsored by Corona or some other company trying to loosely tie themselves in thematically with that part of the game. It's how it goes, and that's neither good nor bad in my eyes.

Since things go rather slowly at times in baseball, they took a commercial break to bring in some revenue during the pitching change. Again, good for them, as it's the nature of the beast. A jingle began: "Tap into the taste, tap into the taste, Tapatio." The voiceover guy in the commercial said something similar to what Mr. Steiner had about Tapatio being the perfect complement to meals, and he - like the jingle-singling ladies - also said it like "tap dance." That wasn't ok with me. They purposely picked a voiceover guy who sounded Hispanic "for authentic purposes" I imagine, but then anglicized their own product name?

I got home and told my lovely wife about the commercial. "You said TAPatio," she said. "I know," I said, while my accompanying face and nod said, "That's the part I was hoping you'd catch." "But that sound doesn't exist in Spanish," she replied. And I fell in love all over again. You see, she's absolutely right (and apparently listens to my linguistic tidbits and rants when I go off). Even if you don't speak any Spanish at all, you know some words from being alive in this time and place. Think about the one A sound in "hola," the two in "salsa," and the three in "manana." Notice something they all have in common? It's the same sound we find in English in words like "mama." Except in Spanish, that's the only sound that vowel makes on its own. (When paired with other vowels, there are combined sounds that are awesomely called "dipthongs," but I'm talking about the letter by itself.) Same with the other vowels. That's why reading Spanish words is fairly easy - you never have to worry about the crazy stuff English throws at us vowel-wise, like "how" and "mow." (As a side note, Japanese seems to be the easiest language to sight-read that I can think of. Even longer last names are quite simple when you take them one syllable at a time.)

Was the phrase, "Tap into the taste" so important to them that they changed the fundamental pronunciation of their product's name to match it? I guess so. I happen to think that we silly consumers would've been able to hear the correct pronunciation after "tap into the taste" and still get the connection between the two. But maybe I'm just overly optimistic.

I understand that the anglicization of foreign words happens all the time. I live in "loss ann jill iss" after all. But this is different to me since the good people at Tapatio are doing this themselves. Oh well, they're still very far away from a Peter Klein boycott.

The other language item on the docket today involves my native tongue. (That's English, in case you couldn't tell.) It all started when I got a text message from my favorite brother. It read, "What is the difference between inter- and intra-personal skills?" It's funny he should ask that, because I very recently corrected a co-worker when he wrongly used "intra" instead of "inter." Since I had just had that conversation, I used examples that had worked for my co-worker in my reply to my bro. "Intra is within something. Like intramurals are within the walls of a school, but an interstate is between two states (or more)." While those examples had illustrated my point before, it only confused matters here (maybe because I didn't really answer his question, in retrospect). He replied, "Intra-personal skills area just knowing about your own internal behavior, attitude, habits? How is that a skill? I know what I like. I'm skilled!" I went right to the crux of the matter: "I've never actually heard anyone use intra-personal skills before. Unless you're talking about someone with multiple personalities." I figured that someone had just mis-spoken or maybe he heard something wrong. He replied, "Shawn's (my favorite nephew) TV show says that it enforces the use of inter- and intra-personal skills. That is where I got it from. A fucking cartoon. Wow Wow Wubbzy!" I assumed that that was the name of the show and not just the way that Kevin ended passion-filled text messages. I looked it up, and technically the show's name is hyper-punctuated as "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!" That would get really annoying to type after a while.

I still thought that "intrapersonal skills" sounded made up, or at the very least, extremely easy. I typed the term into the all-knowing Google, and the first thing it came up with was, "Did you mean interpersonal skills?" I looked at the listings below, and I saw one site in which someone took the time to define the confusing term. As I expected, it all boiled down to knowing yourself' and ways in which you as a person come across to others. How does a children's cartoon teach that? I suppose I could watch an episode and try to figure that out...or I could just end this paragraph and move on.

Well looky here. I thought of two other quick language-related items in my quest for more words. First up, do you think it's possible for someone to say the phrase, "Run along now" and not have it come out as condescending? I don't think so. I just came up with a few possible scenarios in which the utterer of that phrase meant it sincerely, but every single time I got to the actual words, they always came out sounding bad. "Run along now," I believe, has a good amount of built-in condescension. Can you think of other phrases like that?

And lastly, my old Linguistics professor once tried making a point in class about how we change the way that words are said in our language over time. I wouldn't argue with that, naturally, but his example wasn't making any sense to me. "Take the word 'bedroom' for example," he began. "We've turned it into a whole new word that's closer to 'bedrum' or 'beh-droom.' What kind of word is that? 'Bedrum.' Come take a look at my bedrum," he said. Normally I would pick up that which he put down, but I didn't see eye to eye at all with him on this one. Then he explained himself: "Say you keep all of your trophies on one room; you'd call that the Trophy Room, right? Or all of your music is in your Music Room. But what if you had a room in which you kept a whole bunch of beds? You'd call it the Bed Room. That's how the word was originally pronounced. Bed Room, not 'bedrum' or 'beh-droom' like it is now." I began to see his point. As I walked through my imaginary house, I said to no one in particular, "Here is my Dish Room, up on the left is the Burrito Room, and on the right is the Bed Room. Yes, I keep all of my miniature beds safely locked up in my Bed Room." And it did indeed sound different than how I would currently point out a bedroom with one real-sized bed in a non-imaginary house (which is closer to 'beh-droom').

And with that, let's overanalyze our syllables on down to the Car Watch.

My Bratty Kid Sister sent me a license plate that she saw recently. It said, "RADFOOD." I wrote her back asking if it was like totally gnarly pizza with some Mountain Dew, but she didn't reply. I'll take that as a yes.

My homey Rockabye saw a license plate frame that gave me pause: "My other car is the big fella." My first thought was, "Shaq?" My second thought was wondering if it was a woman talking about her man as "her other ride." Ya know, like a "My other ride is your mom" type of thing. But it specifically said "car," so I'm not sure I can make sense of it. Unless...nah. Well maybe...nope. Just say it already! Fine. Unless his or her other car truly is a large vehicle that s/he has nicknamed "the big fella." That's possible, but it's mighty rare to have a "my other car" frame actually refer to the driver's other car.

And last but not least, I saw this plate: "LV PB+J." Wow. I understand that it's tasty, but that might be an unhealthful relationship going on there. I love burritos in a big way (I have an imaginary Burrito Room, for Pete's sake!), but that's not making it on my license plate. To put one's overwhelming adoration of a sandwich out there is...daring.

Ok, that's it. My eyelids are getting heavy. I hope you enjoyed, and I'll be back here with more stuff next Friday. In the meantime, here are the slim pickins of happies over the next week: Happy Mexican Independence Day on Wednesday (not on Cinco de Mayo, which a lot of people erroneously assume), and Happy half-St. Patrick's Day on Thursday. My lovely wife says that one doesn't count, but that's all I've got. Have a great weekend and week, homepeople, and remember you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Shaloha.

In and out of a jam

Hello, friends. It's too late now, but I should've ended my last post with, "See you in September." Alas, I did not. But welcome anyway to this week's UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unhappy Ostriches Pretend They're Antelopes," but I sure hope that cheers them up. Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down some of my thoughts and stories and, often times, live vicariously through myself. I'm multi-talented. (Thanks to my loving mother-in-law for sending in that UOPTA. You can do it too just by writing to ptklein@gmail.com.)

I've got two unrelated items loosely connected by a segue to discuss today, so if you enjoy that kind of thing, you very well might enjoy what follows. First up, I was speaking to a woman on the phone yesterday named Sheena. She works with another woman named Gina, and I've spoken to both of them at the same time on a few occasions. For obvious reasons, I end up enunciating beautifully on those calls. Well yesterday at the end of the call, I accidentally said, "Thanks, Gina. I mean Sheena. Sorry about that." "Oh no problem," she replied, "I think I answer to anything ending in 'eena' now." This is where my brain causes me problems. A normal person would just laugh politely and go back to the typical end-of-call talk. Not me though. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Not 'hyena' I hope." "Uh, no, hopefully not that," she answered. I politely chuckled and we got off the call. The thing is, while I was saying it, I wasn't thinking, "Maybe this isn't the best thing to say." Instead, I was trying hard to come up with other "eenas" like it was some kind of word game. The next two that popped into my head, in case you're wondering, were "semolina" and actor "Dennis Farina." Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Klein!

And hey, I'm sensitive to the plight of the person with a name that sounds like other things. As I

mentioned in this space about a year and a half ago, I've found myself looking up as if called when people say such wonderful things as "cheater" and "wife beater." Recently, "computer" has gotten me a few times. It's no fun, and yet if I'm a certain distance away, I'm gonna keep looking up every time. Awesome.

Speaking of awesome (like this segue), I found something in a drawer this week that made me very happy. (Cue backstory!) When I lived in Sacramento for almost a year, I had a very boring job. I was looking for something to just take up time, so I didn't expect it to be stimulating, but it was like pulling teeth every day. After a short while, I'd found ways to successfully "look busy" at times, but it was incredibly painful. One can only do things in slow-motion for so long. Therefore, one morning after I'd been there for about two months, I opened a Word document and just began typing. It is that Word document that I found this week. Here are some of my favorite parts:

"I've been here an hour, and I'm done with my work. I had about twelve feedback emails to enter into the database, and I did that as slowly as I could. I then filed them as slowly as I could. I took a little trip to the bathroom, not to actually go to the bathroom, but to look at my hair. It's getting long, so I wondered how contained it was this morning. And it took up a minute, which is good."

"I'll probably eat my granola bar within the next hour, but then I have to decide when to eat my sandwich. That could take up to fifteen minutes - deciding, that is."

"One of Nina's suitors asked her if there was something going on between me and her. She set him straight and said that I was married. It's very much like high school with some of these people. Then again, maybe most of these people stopped after high school and are still in that mentality. Actually, that's a very good possibility."

"One of the women in a nearby cubicle is talking about her strained relationship with her father. Apparently he was only in her life from the age of nine to thirteen, when his wife at that time was good about sending cards and asking her to visit. She also instilled the love of animals in her. Here's where it gets good: Then they got divorced, and I guess he beat her, and she went downhill and started using heroin, got AIDS and died. But she was a great role model and took her horseback riding and explained how nothing is free in life. Although she was usually drunk. That's a great story. I'm so glad I get to hear this stuff while not working at work."

When all was said and done, I had 4,000 words. (To put that in perspective, these posts are usually between 1,500 and 2,000. This one's 1655.) I ended it by wondering if I should just delete it and chalk it up to a good time-wasting activity or print it out to show my lovely wife exactly how bored I was at work. I opted for the latter, so I hit print, deleted the file from my computer, and ran over to the printer with my belongings in hand so I could just continue out to my car. One problem - there was a paper jam. "Oh shit," I thought. "Once it's un-jammed, mine will come out for whoever's here to read. Do I say my name in it? I think so. Do I say bad things about the people here? Crap, yes, and I talk a whole lot about how I don't do any work. Shit." I went over and tried fixing the paper jam but didn't have any luck. I asked I guy I didn't really know, and he agreed to help me. Fortunately, he was an expert paper un-jammer, and it started whirring and printing something within a minute. "Mine's not printing," I said. He said, "If it comes out later, I'll just put it on your desk." "Do I tell him ahead of time that it's sensitive and to please do me the favor of not reading it? That probably would only cause more of an interest." "It's kind of important," I said awkwardly. He opened up a file on his computer, saw my document in the printer's queue, and deleted it. "So it won't print now?" I asked. "It shouldn't because I just deleted it from the pending print jobs," he said. I sighed a big sigh and thanked him. On my way out the door, I heard the printer start whirring again. "Let's just wait and make sure," I thought to myself. Sure enough, my eyes widened at the first page of my mammoth rambling document. I grabbed the full thing off the printer when it was done and bolted. "Dodged a fucking bullet!" I thought. It took me more than an hour to come down from that near-miss of a disaster.

And with that, let's decelerate our heart rates on over to the Car Watch.

Longtime and loyal reader Sue sent me an email in which she mentioned a convertible Bentley with the plate, "THE BOSS." She was quick to point out that it wasn't Bruce Springsteen driving and "just some man with a big ego." So I guess it could still be George Steinbrenner then. Also in the email, she asked me if I ever see the same plates on a daily basis. While not daily, I see a Honda Fit on the freeway almost once a week with the plate, "FIT4DB." I have to assume that the driver's initials are "D.B." or possibly it's a woman named Deb, but my first thought is always to "Dork Boy," which my favorite brother delighted in calling me for a while when growing up. He's been much nicer for almost two decades now, so I don't start crying or anything when I see that car.

My homey Rockabye sent me a plate recently that I have mixed feelings about: "URWTHUS." Well, technically, anyone seeing that plate is geographically with that car, but I hope the driver knows that our relationship ends there.

Lastly, I was behind a car with this license plate a while ago: "USC TGR." "That's weird," I thought. "They're the Trojans, and the Tigers are from Memphis or LSU. Unless the driver is a real wild animal when it comes to rooting for USC or something." Then I saw on the back window in a smaller font, "USC Tailgater." Really? You're turning that nine-letter word into "TGR" and expect me to know what the hell you're doing? Why not "SC TLG8R" instead (unless it was taken)? If it was taken and there was nothing else to adequately get the message across, then simply pass on that idea. I've said it before and I'll say it again: when it comes to personalized plates, either do it well or don't do it at all. Hey, I should know, you can't spell "personalized plates" without Peter.

That's it for me, everyone. Have a good Labor Day on Monday. My co-worker is going to a party on that day in which everyone is supposed to dress as "a laborer." So far, she knows people who are coming as construction workers, pregnant women, and gold diggers. I suggested going as a member of Britain's Labor party, which got big laughs*. (*Please replace "big laughs" with "blank stares.") Happy 1st birthday on Tuesday to little Noah, whose party this Sunday will surely be memorable...to everyone but him. That's alls I's gots, folks. Be happy and healthy, and I'll see you back here next Friday. In the meantime, you can always write me at ptklein@gmail.com. Peace out.