Smooth operator

Hello yet again, my homepeople, and welcome once more to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Unwanted Orphans Progressing Through Adolescence," but I can imagine that that sadly happens fairly often. (Do I know how to get this party started or what?) Instead, I like to think of this UOPTA as a happier place, where people with or without parents can come on a weekly basis to read my thoughts and stories. So let's see what I've got for today, shall we? Hmmn, it looks like there's nothing even close to resembling a theme, so I hope you're ready for some disjointed and segue-free thoughts this week. (If you'd like to send in your own UOPTA, ptklein@gmail is how all the cool kids are doing it.)

Without getting into specifics, part of my job often involves me setting up conference calls for clients with other people I know. Over time, the process has become pretty streamlined for me: I get some times from one party, suggest them to the other, s/he chooses one, I send out a meeting request through Outlook, and then I send a reminder/confirmation a day ahead of time. Being who I am, I always get on the calls way too early and sit there for a few minutes while I await attendees from both sides. That's my fault, and I realize that. It's a combination of wanting to be there first to welcome them and a poor assessment of time. I always forget that it doesn't take three minutes to pick up the phone and two more to dial a number. What I don't get though is why 95% of the time, I'm still the only one on the call when the agreed-upon hour arrives. It's usually only another two or three minutes before someone joins, and then a few minutes after that (and some awkward, stalling chatting) before the other side's there. But the invitees are never all there when the clock hits the set time, and as a hyperpunctual person, I just don't get it.

Last week, I set a call after many emails back and forth finding the right time for two people to speak. I called in only about three minutes too early and waited. After ten minutes had passed, I sent an email to both parties making sure they had the right call-in number and PIN. After ten more minutes, I sent another email saying, "It looks like you both got caught up in something, so let's find another time this week to chat." Those aren't the most efficient 23 minutes I've ever spent in my life. On top of that, this conference line we use has had the same song rotation as its hold music for years, and I'm getting really sick of it. There's one Ray Charles song, one Natalie Merchant song, and one Sade song. That's it. Oh, and there's always a little burp of static in the same place on the Natalie Merchant song, and when I point at the phone right in time with the static, I feel as cool as one possibly could in that inherently uncool situation. Maybe those 23 minutes weren't all bad after all.

It's strange, but I just realized at 32 years old that I have a pet peeve. That's a little late in the game, right? Here it is: When someone is talking to me and I can hear that he needs to clear his throat, but he just keeps right on talking. Dude, clear your damn throat! I find myself clearing my own in that situation, partially as a subconscious reaction to make sure my breathing passages are open, and partially in hopes that the speaker will take a frickin' hint. I hear it, he hears it, and anyone within earshot hears it, so why press on? Do your little cough or double-cough; I'll still be here when you get back.

I learned a very interesting piece of trivia recently. I heard on the radio that 50% of the U.S. population lives within 500 miles of Columbus, Ohio. "That can't be," I told myself. "That's weird," my lovely wife said when I repeated the factoid. Not content to leave it alone, I went to an online map of the country, got to a size in which half of my thumb equaled one hundred miles, and set off to find Americans. Sure enough, there are giant cities in all directions of Columbus. Some barely make it, but it appears that in a straight line, St. Louis, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, New York City, and Atlanta all fall within that distance. Crazy shit, eh? Oh yeah, and Aurora, Illinois too, home to Wayne and Garth. Can't forget that.

Way back in high school, I was on an improv comedy team for two years. Even though the meat of our performances were made up on the spot, we still held weekly rehearsals to sharpen our skills. One of my favorite skills I learned during that time was the art of working backwards to create a joke. To be clear, these were usually very stupid jokes, but that's kinda what you're expecting with a whole five seconds of thought behind them. I bring this up because earlier this week, I made up a joke in that fashion. I was draining some pasta while helping make dinner, and the wheels started turning. "Hey honey?" I asked. My lovely wife looked over. "Will you tell me if a joke I just made up is too stupid to share with people?" She agreed. "Ok," I said, as I gave a quick recounting of it in my head to make sure I had it down. "Why did the rolls go to Dairy University?" "Why?" "To butter themselves," I replied. She thought, smiled a little, and said, "Not bad. It's in the Laffy Taffy category." "I'll take it!" I said.

For those of you not familiar with Laffy Taffy, it's a candy with pretty bad jokes sent in by children (or people posing as children) printed on the labels. I like to try to guess the punchlines, and not to toot my own horn too much, but I'm either really close or the joke is f'n stupid. For example, I could guess that when it asks, "Why did the skeleton go to the movies by himself?" that the answer will have something to do with "no body to go with him." But when it asks where a dentist goes on vacation, how the hell am I supposed to guess, "The mouth of the Mississippi"? I find myself trying to make the stupid jokes better sometimes. For example, "Why did the apple turnover?" one asks. "Because it was jealous of the jelly roll" is the given answer. I don't like that. If you're setting it up as a verb in the question, follow through in the punchline and make it, "Because it saw the jelly roll." Jeez, kids these days.

Speaking of creativity and putting some serious thought into words, I must say that I'm somewhat disappointed in the boring name of the greyhound. "I say, old chap, take a gander at that grey hound lying there. I created the breed myself, and I shall call it...the greyhound." If I were the old chap that guy was talking to, I would've stopped him right there and encouraged him to at least put his town's name in instead of that bland description name. (Oops, forget all that. According to Wikipedia: "The name 'greyhound' is generally believed to come from the Old English grighund. 'Hund' is the antecedent of the modern 'hound,' but the meaning of 'grig' is undetermined, other than in reference to dogs in Old English and Norse. Its origin does not appear to have any common root with the modern word 'grey' for color, and indeed the greyhound is seen with a wide variety of coat colors." Jeez, dogs these days.)

And with that, let's chase a fake rabbit down the track to the Car Watch.

My friend Dusty sent me a picture of a bumper sticker. In large letters, it read:
"Daughter - Summa Cum Laude. Cal Poly Pomona.
Son - Magna Cum Laude. USC.
Me - Dumb Shit.
GO FIGURE!"
Well, if we're just going by choice in bumper stickers, I can attest that he's at least right about one of those three.

I saw a license plate earlier this week that confused me. "D(Heart)LESS1," it read. Is that really something to be proud of? The person is telling the world that s/he is either "heartless" or "loveless," and that doesn't scream, "Put me on your license plate!" to me.

Lastly, my homey Rockabye sent me a plate that read, "POTART." I read that as "pot art," which then led me to picture blacklight posters with Bob Marley, The Grateful Dead, or the cast of "Dazed and Confused." Then I thought about it a little deeper and started picturing art featuring marijuana. It could stand in for trees in a three-dimensional painting or have little googly eyes on the outside of a plastic baggie to make it look like a person. (No, I wasn't high.) But what if I'm off base with going for the drug reference? Do people make art for/with teapots or coffee pots? They can wear googly eyes too, mind you.

Ok, that's more than enough for me. Thank you for your time here today, friends, and I look forward to hopefully seeing you back here again next Friday. Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with any UOPTAs, Car Watch items, or questions about where I get the good shit that makes you start thinking about teapot artwork. In the meantime: Happy Anniversary today to my friends Suzanne and Andrew. I have my fantasy basketball auction draft this Sunday evening, so send good thoughts my way. Happy Birthday to my friends Alicia on Monday and Regina on Thursday. Take care, everyone.