The watching machine

Why hello there, homepeople of the internets, and welcome yet again to this week's installment of UOPTA. No, sadly, that does not stand for, "Unless Oprah's Paying...To Applebee's!" However, I believe that's Steadman's official stance on food consumption. (You see that? I just made a Steadman joke even though I have no idea what I'm talking about. It made sense though, right?) Instead, this UOPTA is where I take some thoughts and stories from my past and present and put them down in electronically-represented words. As of this moment, I have no idea what any of those thoughts or stories will be this week, but hopefully if I just keep typing, something good will happen. (Want to send in your own UOPTA? Yes, yes you do. And ptklein@gmail.com is the email address that will help you achieve that goal.)

As I go through my inbox to find little tidbits that I can hopefully turn into entire paragraphs, it feels like a sort of time travel. "Ooh, Peter from last February didn't like an AMPM commercial on the radio. And Peter from last January didn't like how a woman on a 'Law and Order' rerun pronounced the word 'negotiated.'" It's odd to feel like a spectator of my own life, and since most of the emails are random, unrelated thoughts (or license plates), that's where this exercise takes me. Oh, cool: it also made me think of something to write about this week.

It's an interesting thing, being a spectator. In sporting events, the differences between seeing something live and on tv are huge. In one scenario, you're more comfortable, not spending too much money, have better and multiple views of what's going on, hear announcers add color to the action, and can pee without trekking a half-mile and missing a bunch of action. In the other scenario, you're there! It seems like the staying-at-home option far outweighs the going one, but it all depends on your level of fandom. For example, I would rather sit in the highest row of seats at the Staples Center with a $15 beer to watch a regular season Lakers game with my friends than watch it at home. Football though? I'll take a tv and the ability to flip channels or only watch parts of the game. (Also, I'd have to drive to San Diego for the closest professional football game.) It's also the "event" side of it though. My lovely wife doesn't like sitting in the same place for hours unless it's something that really captivates her attention. A Laker game once every year or two fits the bill, but baseball is too slow and long to keep her from being antsy from the 5th inning on.

Another big difference between being there and watching from home is the communication between fans and athletes that can't hear them. At home, I'm generally pretty quiet. I stick to celebratory sounds on good plays, "He's so fucking good" about Kobe Bryant, "Get a fucking rebound" to the Lakers standing around while the other team corrals three offensive boards in a row, and "Get out! Get out!" when a ball off a Dodger bat looks like it might have the distance.

At a game, I change my entire persona. I'm always far enough away that the players have the same likelihood of hearing my words as if I were still at home, but there are other factors at hand. First off, there are kids around, so I modify my staple phrases to "He's so...good" and "Get a fffff, uh, rebound!" But there's also the entertainment factor, both for others in the party and for complete strangers. When former Dodger Brett Butler used to come up to bat, I'd yell, "Come on, Bert!" loud enough for several rows in each direction to hear. I knew his name was Brett, but I called him Bert loudly and proudly every time he came up to bat or made a play in the field. My parents thought it was funny, and I liked the fact that people near me had to be thinking, "Why isn't anyone correcting that kid? They just called him Brett on the loudspeaker but he keeps saying 'Bert.' What the hell?" I also called Mike Piazza "Mark" and Delino DeShields "Lino Shields," simply factoring out the "De"s. Fifteen years later, I went to a game with my parents and just yelled Blake DeWitt's last name so that it sounded like "Do it" every time he came up. I was entertained at least. The best example of screaming a player's name has to go to my friend Dave. At a Laker game recently, whenever Lamar Odom touched the ball, he'd yell, "Score Odom" really quickly and loudly. Go ahead, try that out. Did it sound like a part of the male body to you? Well it sure does when Dave says it, which obviously makes it much more fun.

I have another spectator-related story, and this one doesn't have to do with sports (in case that's not your thing). About a year and a half ago, I was at a commercial shoot for something. They had hired people to sit in the audience for reaction shots, but there weren't enough men. Being extremely manly, they naturally came to me for help. Even though I was there for work, I had some downtime and agreed to sit in the audience and help them out. Here's the thing I didn't expect though: they taped the crowd's reaction shots first, before there was anything we were actually spectating. So it required a little acting, and I was totally down with that action.

I don't mean to brag, but facts are facts: I was the best fake audience member in the history of the part-time profession. When the director simply asked for big applause as if someone famous was walking onto the stage, most people just smiled and clapped. Maybe a couple of people added little shouts of "Woo hoo" or something. That's child's play. I added subtle elements that impressed my fellow fake audience members to the point of them asking me how often I did this. You're interested in those elements now, aren't you? Ok, but don't go spreading these around. First, I clapped about four times. Then I gave a little point to where the person would be standing. I went back to a couple more claps before turning to my friend and I shook my head with a look that clearly stated, "Wow, this sure is an enjoyable time we're sharing." Here's the thing, that person wasn't even really my friend, but I had you believing it even through the written account of my subtle starring role. (What do you mean "subtle starring role" is paradoxical? You're paradoxical.)

Later on, we had to act wowed by something amazing that we'd be seeing on the stage. How did most people act that out? They said, "Wow." Yep, that's about it. Simpletons. Let me tell you how I kicked ass with that fake emotion as well. First I furrowed my brow a little as if I were focusing intently on the stage (but not enough to cause a crease between my eyes). Then, upon the moment of the big reveal, my eyebrows softened and my eyes got wider. This is when most people started to say, "Wow." Not I, friends. I opened my mouth and took a quick breath in, like I was a little surprised by what I was seeing. Then I closed my mouth and pushed my bottom lip up a little (which I call "The Bill Clinton") and gave a slow, meaningful nod. What was the nod's meaning? If you saw it, you'd know without a doubt that it was saying, "I'm not sure quite how you did that, but damn do I respect the job you're doing up there. Bravo." Compare that to the sheep-like wowers, and it's pretty easy to see why I stood out from the crowd. Peter Klein: Fake Spectator Extraordinaire.

And with that, let's point, shake, and nod our ways on over to the Car Watch.

Ok, this one's a little bit nerdy, but I'm going to press on anyway. I was driving with my lovely wife when I spotted a big truck in front of us that read, "Zephyr Express North" in a large font. I made a scoffing sound and said, "You see that?" She said she did, but didn't understand why she was supposed to be looking at it. "Zephyr...north?" I said incredulously. "Yeah?" "Well a zephyr is a wind from the west, so that doesn't make any sense." She was unaware of the definition, as (now that I think of it) most people might be. I know it because when we went to a minor league baseball game (as spectators!) during our year in Sacramento, we saw the hometown River Cats play against the New Orleans Zephyrs. I looked it up around that time and remembered that factoid. So now that we're all on the same page: "Zephyr Express...North?" What the hell, right? Right?

My homey Rockabye sent me this license plate recently: "WILDCPA." Ooh, let me guess, do you e-file people's taxes while listening to rocking flute of Jethro Tull? Do you tell people to deduct like the wind and let the cards fall as they may? Do you...crap, I really know absolutely nothing about accounting. Anyone got any good lines here? Please post them in the comments section and help a brother out.

Lastly, my friend Dusty sent me a plate and frame combo that makes me insanely jealous. The plate read, "20 CENTS," and the frame elucidated us with, "The 4 Nichols." Damn that's good. I wish multiple Kleins added up to something so I could make a punny yet accurate license plate. I tip my imaginary cap to you, family o' Nichols.

That's it for me, folks. I hope you enjoyed, and either way, please send any thoughts you have to ptklein@gmail.com so I can keep this thing going for a while longer. I'll be back next Friday, hopefully with an idea or two before I start typing. In the meantime: Happy half-birthday today to my Grandma Mu, a great encourager of creativity. Happy Halloween tomorrow, which is also our cute pup Hallie's 7th birthday. Happy half-birthday to our friend Jesse on Sunday, and to both Debbie and Jen on next Thursday. Take care, folks, and I'll see you in November.