April showers bring random crap

Shaloha, people and other English-reading species. It's a pleasure to see you again, and I hope your Aprils have gotten off to good starts. Yes, we're in another month that can also be a person's name. Speaking of that topic, if you name your kid after a month, does s/he have to be born then too for it to make sense? I think it would be weird to have a kid named April born in November. I could see someone naming a child after when s/he was conceived, and I can also see that getting a little creepy pretty quickly. Imagine that kid having to explain that over and over again as a freshman in high school. Yeah, that's awkward.

Lastly on this spur-of-the-moment topic, I think it's really cool that the initials of July through November spell out Jason. 66% of the Jasons whose birthdays I know off-hand fall into that five-month span. Jason S., you just missed it. You're a walking paradox, man.

Ok, let's switch to some different random crap instead of this month kick I've been stuck on for three mini paragraphs. I had a thought (uh oh), and it was this: For kids born in the 90s, I imagine that they hear Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" for the first time and think, "Well why don't they just go on Maury Povich and settle this thing?" (I wonder how Maury feels that I automatically associate him with paternity tests and not anything else from his 20+ years of "journalism." That said, it's gotta be better than being known for getting your nose broken by a thrown chair, eh Geraldo?) It would be fantastic to see a decked out Michael on the Povich stage, his head in his hands, awaiting the news. Maury then slowly approaches him with an envelope and kneels beside him with as much bedside manner as he can muster. "Michael," he'd say, "we have the results. And the chid...is not your son." Michael would leap to his feet, do some spin moves, say some Hee Hees, and then moonwalk over to Billie Jean. Here's the kicker: He says to her, "You thought you could get your SHAM ON! SHAM ON!" And the crowd goes wild. Uh oh, I think I just wrote my first SNL skit.

So I was at my co-worker Rob's bachelor party last weekend, and I have three very minor stories to tell. Separately, I'm not sure any of them are very interesting, but together, they take up more space while not being interesting. See how that works? First, there were some funny signs that I'm getting older. While the group of guys usually talked about sports, funny stories from the past, or random stupid shit, every once in a while things would change. On one occasion, there was a long dinner discussion about wedding bands. That's understandable, I suppose, due to the fact that Rob's getting married. Still, that wouldn't have happened a few years ago. On another occasion, a few of the guys started talking about their kids' feeding times, how many hours they sleep, and whether their wives are still pumping or not. Now that definitely wasn't a conversation at previous bachelor parties I've attended. It was different, and I liked it. When I stepped outside to call my lovely wife for a few minutes, I didn't come back to a bunch of guys telling me how whipped I am or asking me when I could pick my balls up at the cleaners. Instead, many of them went and called their wives to say hi or check on the kids. Am I officially a grown up? Yeah, I guess so, and as long as I can still mentally revert to 15 year-old Peter from time to time, that's fine by me.

Second story: I was sitting at a blackjack table and getting my ass handed to me. It's not often that when cashing out, a dealer says, "Wow, I don't think you won a single hand there." "You noticed that too?" I asked. Anyway, I switched to a new table where it was just me and a dealer. After a couple of hands, I noticed that I had the song "Big Casino" by Jimmy Eat World in my head. I like that song; it's on a cd that my friend Jon made for me, and it was surely in my head for obvious reasons. A few minutes later, that same song is being piped through the casino speakers. It was a sign, I just knew it. I put out a bigger than normal bet, and told the dealer what was going on. As he started dealing, he said, "Yeah, we play that song all the time here. It's probably in your head from hearing it an hour ago." That made it feel like less of a sign, and losing that next hand pretty much confirmed that no magic was afoot.

Third and last story: On the plane ride back, I thought I heard the flight attendant say something to a passenger during the beverage service, but I wasn't sure. A couple of rows closer, and it was confirmed: "I'm sorry, we ran out of water." I hadn't heard that one before, and I had to switch it up with only a few seconds to spare and go with apple juice instead. I noticed that they had ice, and I thought for a moment about asking for a cup of ice and just waiting for it to melt, but then I realized that that plan was, how do you say, fucking stupid.

Our friend Danielle sent my lovely wife an email, who quickly realized that it should be forwarded to me. In it, Danielle said that she was looking up season tickets for a sports team, and she happened upon this sentence: "The following optional information must be completed to qualify your entry..." Yes, my friends, the optional info must be completed. To their credit, the mandatory information is voluntary.

And lastly in this section, I heard a Beastie Boys song from my youth on the radio this morning. I've known the words to this song since going to summer camp when I was in the single digits, and it wasn't until today that one line stuck out to me. Ad Rock mentions that he has some beer, but more specifically, he has "a quart of beer." At first, I thought about only milk coming in quarts and how weird it sounded to have beer in that container size. Then I broke it down a little further and realized that it really wasn't all that odd. There have been several times that I've had two pints of beer at an establishment. Just because I haven't consolidated those into one quart-sized container doesn't mean that I haven't just imbibed a quart of beer. Hell, by that logic, I've had my share of half-gallons of beer at a time. New math is fun!

Ok, it's time put our left feet in, take our left feet out, put our left feet in, and shake them all about as we transition to the Car Watch. That, my friends, is what it's all about.

I was walking with a couple of co-workers to pick up some food, and one noticed a plate on an oncoming car that I just missed somehow. It was a little old lady driving, and the plate told us, "BE NICE." How adorable is that? Nothing like putting grandmotherly advice out there for anyone who comes near your car. (As a side note, writing "little old lady" reminded me of something. At UCSB, there was a small theatre called the Old Little Theatre, or OLT since everything had to be known by initials. The first time I saw it, I said to someone, "Wow, those adjectives aren't usually in that order." That was over a dozen years ago, and I stand by that assessment wholeheartedly.)

Long-time and loyal reader Sue sent me an email with a plate, and I was overjoyed to receive it. (That's what happens when people email me: I become happy. So basically, when you don't write me with Car Watch items or random crap, you're attempting to keep me from happiness. Just thought I'd point that out.) It said, "DEADJOB," and it was on a black sedan. It wasn't a Hearse, which would've been just too perfect, and Sue suggested that it could be a pest control worker or someone in a dead-end job. I think pest control is the leading candidate for me right now, because even though someone from a funeral parlor having that would make the most sense, it would probably jeopardize his or her business if anyone saw that. Any professions that make sense that I'm missing, gentle readers?

My dad sent me a bumper sticker that read, "Don't Knit and Drive. Knittersanonymous.com." I was intrigued by this on two levels. First, I hadn't realized that drunken knitting was a problem in our society. In Canada, sure, but not here. Second, while I know this was a joking bumper sticker, I still find it strange to have anything "anonymous" attached to a person in such a public format. Hey, check this out: I just went to their website, and they also have a "Friends Don't Let Friends Knit Drunk" sticker. It's a full-on epidemic!

Speaking of bumper stickers sold on websites, I was on the always glorious www.theonion.com, and they had a sticker that made me laugh out loud: "Honk if you have poor impulse control." I just laughed again from typing that. I think they found their audience.

Last but not least, my homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that made him laugh for hours straight: "Who farted?" I wish I had seen that, because I wouldn't calmly pulled up next to him or her, rolled my window down, and put my hand up apologetically. "My bad," I'd say, "my bad."

And with that, I'm out like the opposite of in. Sacky Christi's birthday is in the week between my posts, so I hope you'll all mentally wish her a happy one. As always, folks, email me at ptklein@gmail.com with whatever crosses your mindpath. I just made that phrase up and I like it already. An SNL skit and a phrase? I'm on fire. Not literally. I'll stop now. See you next week.

Always pre-paired

Hello and good morning to you all. Some people just say that, but I really mean it when I wish for your mornings to be good. Aren't I just the coolest? (For those of you scoring at home, the answer is Yes.) If you were visiting me here in this space last week, you might recall that it was my anniversary with my lovely wife. Earlier in the week, we had dinner with our family as a little celebration. When my loving mother-in-law brought out a cake with some candles on it, the family started singing the chart-topping single, "Happy Anniversary to You." (Not to get on too large of a tangent here, but is there a more versatile song than "Happy Birthday"? Are there any limits to the celebrations for which that song can be the soundtrack? "Happy Christening to You," "Happy Retirement to You," and "Happy St. Jean Baptiste Day in Quebec to You" all seem to work just fine.) At the crucial third line of the song, the group sang, "Happy Anniversary, dear Amber and Peeeeter." Yes, even my parents put our names in that order. Naturally, that got me re-thinking about a subject I've pondered several times in the past.

Think of all of the couples you know. When you're talking about them, whose name do you put first? When I go through my catalog of straight couples, it's almost exclusively the man's name first and then the woman's. Is that sexist? No, because the sex of the person has nothing to do with it. The name that comes first is of the person I knew first. I say "Greg and Ceil" or "Dave and Twilight" because I knew Greg and Dave first. For my lovely wife's friends, I knew the ladies first, and thus say "Candice and Scott" and "Sarah and Keith." For my aunts and uncles, the name of the sibling (male or female) comes first in each pairing. I guess that's because my parents knew their siblings before their brothers- and sisters-in law, so they started saying it that way and it trickled down to my generation. For the gay or lesbian couples, I'm pretty sure they all start with person I knew first too, so that helps solidify my theory.

So why did my mom sing "Amber and Peter" instead of her son's name first? I think it was a combination of peer pressure and the desire to make the song flow nicely instead of the awkward, "Happy Anniversary, dear Ampeberter and Ampeberterrrrr." I can't say I blame her for that.

Crap, I was just about to create a new theory about all of this, but it didn't pass the beta testing phase. My contention was going to be that when one meets both halves of a couple at the same time, the man's name comes first. This is true with our friends Jesse and Danielle, plus my parents' friends of Bob and Roberta and Steve and Sue. Then I remembered their friends Karen and Dean, and - pow! - there goes that theory. Whoops, Mickey and Cal further blow that one up. I'm going to stop thinking aloud now, because I imagine it's not much fun to see arbitrary people's names over and over again as part of the reading experience.

Here's a new topic that should get the kids buzzing in the streets: recipes! More specifically, I want to spend a few sentences writing about recipes that come on the boxes of food items. For example, if I have a bag of Kraft shredded cheddar cheese, there may be a receipe for some kind of nachos or casserole or something. My favorite part of these recipes is the inconspicuous placement of the company's own product in there. Ya know, when step 8 of the recipe is "Top with 1/2 cup of KRAFT SHREDDED CHEDDAR CHEESE." It always seems to be in caps too, as if they're saying to us, "Remember, we gave you this recipe, so you'd better use our product when making it or we'll be wicked pissed." They're all apparently from Boston in my version of the subtext. "Serve chilled, with 1 lb. TOSTITOS 'HINT OF LIME' TORTILLA STRIPS, and go Sox!"

Moving right along, my lovely wife and I wandered into a hat store within the past week. I wear baseball hats fairly often, and they fall into one of two categories: nasty, and not yet nasty. As far as the not yet nasty ones go, I try as long as I can to refrain from wearing them when I'm going to be sweating. They eventually transition to the nasty side, at which point they'll be in pictures with me hiking, at a baseball game, or helping someone move. Currently, I'd like to change things up a little, and keep my not yet nasty ones on that side of the aisle a little longer. Therefore, I entered that store in search of a new straight-to-nasty hat. It would have to be a very neutral color, and preferably one with either a team I like on it or something small and unobnoxious. I went over to the Dodger section, and immediately started looking for a cool Brooklyn one that I could be the only kid on the block to own. I picked one up, but then saw a stupid insignia on the back and returned it to its rightful location. There was a guy standing next me, and he reached for the one I'd just put back. So I spoke up: "Yeah, you can't go with the most common ones," I said, like we were already friends and agreed on this point. "Well I'm from Germany," he said in a very German accent, "so none of them are very common." I nodded, and added sarcastically, "Not too many Dodger hats running around there, eh?" "No. Not very many at all. Baseball is not as big there," he said, clearly not picking up what I was putting down. I checked out a few more hats, then left empty-handed (and -headed). I guess my current nasty hat o' choice will retain its spot at the top of the rotation for now.

I've seen ads around recently for the upcoming movie entitled "Forgetting Sarah Marshall." On one hand, I approve of their ad campaign, but on the other, it's really beginning to piss me off. The idea is that the notes we see are scribbled by the recently-dumped boyfriend. They say, to name two that come to mind first, "You Suck Sarah Marshall" and "I'm So Over You Sarah Marshall." Please note, I didn't leave out the commas, the genius ad wizards did. They're basically telling me that I am actively sucking someone named Sarah Marshall. What's so difficult about a comma? I like the idea of promoting the movie that way, but when an ad has only four words to it, can't they at least have those words placed in a grammatically correct fashion? I really don't ask for that much.

Ok, enough of the rambling and meaningless drivel that's taken up 1,110+ words of your time. Let's get to something that really matters in the grand scheme of things: Car Watch.

I saw a plate on the road a day or two ago from a bit of a distance. At first, I thought it said "PM SHAG." I laughed to myself, mainly because it made me think of the song "Afternoon Delight," which then got me thinking about Ron Burgundy and his fellow newsmen singing that song together in "Anchorman." But as I got closer, I saw that I'd read the letters correctly but misinterpreted the sentiment: it really said "PMS HAG." That's way different! I went from thinking about skyrockets in flight to a self-proclaimed bitch who I probably didn't want to drive too close to. I have a feeling she probably doesn't get many pm shags if that's the way she presents herself to strangers.

My homey Rockabye sent me a bumper sticker that I deemed fit for your eyes: "My horse bucked off your honor student." Let's see, where should I start with this one? I'll start in a broad sense: What's the big idea with bumper stickers targeting people who are proud of their kids' accomplishments? Shouldn't they be given a free pass, seeing as how they're trying to be supportive of kids who are more susceptible to being picked on? Second, that sticker's just a lie. That person's horse has probably never bucked off anyone's honor student, let alone the kid of the person in the car right behind them. Lastly, if I had a horse and someone's kid were riding him or her but got bucked off, I don't see why I'd be proud of that. I certainly wouldn't be proud enough to put that fact on my car. Sounds like a horse that needs to be whispered to a little more, if you ask me.

He also saw this sticker: "I'm sick of living without national health insurance." So death would be better? Look, I understand the merits of national health insurance, but I fail to see any situation in which not having it is worse than not living. I think that sentence had a triple negative in there, which reminds me of my favorite line from the "Family Ties" theme song: "And there ain't no nuthin' we can't love each other through." It starts with "and," has a triple or possibly quadruple negative, the word "ain't," and it ends in a proposition. That's just awesome. I suppose the right way to say that same sentence would've been, "We can love each other through anything." But where's the fun in that?

Lastly, I saw the popular "W" sticker from the president's campaign four years ago. Even though I've seen that literally countless times, something struck me this time. Is there any other person in history who has been known solely by his or her middle initial to a very large group? That's weird, right? I certainly can't think of anyone else who fits that description. The closest I can come up with, which really isn't that close at all, is a baseball player who is known simply by "Junior." That's impressive in its own right, considering I know who someone is talking about when they just mention his suffix instead of his first or last name. That's the best parallel I've got. Friends, what do you say?

Ok, that's it for me. You all have a lovely weekend, and I'll see you back here in April. During that intervening week, it's my co-worker Rob's birthday, so happy early birthday to him. And happy early April Fools' Day to you all. If the past is a good predictor of the future, I have a feeling my old elementary school principal might call my mom to say I'm in trouble again. Just a hunch. Shaloha, friends.

Overhear, over there

Top of the morning to you, folks. While every day is special and unique (like a snowflake) here at UOPTA, today is even more snowflakey than the rest. Yes, today is the fourth anniversary of my lovely wife becoming my lovely wife. It's been a wonderful four years, and she's been putting up with my oddities since we first started dating way back in '95, so she deserves heaps of praise and admiration. Happy Anniversary, honey. Oh yeah, and it's Good Friday and the Mexican holiday of Benito Juarez' Birthday today too. Bonus. Ready for random crap? Here goes:

Every once in a while, I'll hear a word that someone says and then tune out the rest of the sentence because I'm thinking about that word. It happens more often than "every once in a while," if I'm being honest here. This happened over the past weekend while in the car with my parents and my Aunt Judy en route to the Susan G. Komen breast cancer walk that we do each year. Judy was telling us about some remodeling they're doing in their house, and she said the word "upholstery" at one point. As she continued, I was somewhere else. Here was my thought process as she kept talking: "Hmmm, 'upholstery.' I saw that word somewhere with Amber recently and had a good thought about it. What was it? Something about the H being basically silent? No, that wasn't it. Oh! I know. It's the only word I can think of off-hand in which a PH doesn't make an F sound. I should email myself right now about this so I don't forget." So that's what I did. When I mentally rejoined the rest of the carload, Judy was saying something about buying a bag of grout. Grout apparently comes in bags.

(As a side note, I spent the first 15 minutes of the 5K walk trying to explain the "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo" thing from last week to my friends Greg and Ceil. They understood it pretty quickly, which I credit more to them than to my skills of explanation.)

I know I probably say this a lot, but I thought something I dislike. This one's not too high on the list, but I thought of it, and I seem to have misplaced the filter that normally resides between my brain and my blog. (Hmmm, "My Brain and My Blog" by Peter Klein has a nice ring to it. Also, I just accidentally typed my name as Pewter before using that fancy backspace key. How many of you have accidentally typed a metal instead of your name? Yep, I'm special.) Here's what I don't like: Sometimes I will go and see a blockbuster comedy in the theaters. Not often, recently, but it's been known to happen. These films are promoted so much that it's virtually impossible for anyone in that theater not to be able to quote a few of the funny lines from the commercials. Yet, when that one line that has been on every commercial, in every preview, and on every billboard comes up in the movie, half the audience still laughs like they're hearing it for the first time. What's up with that shit? Really, you didn't know that character was going to say, "Don't let him near the kid, he wants to rear your child!" in "Knocked Up"? I find that hard to believe. Assholes.

I heard a radio commercial trying to encourage me to apply to be a deputy. I had no problem with the content of the ad, and if I read the copy instead of heard it, I wouldn't be writing about it now. The thing is, the dude doing the voiceover pronounced the most important word of the commercial as "deppity." And he said it about ten times in the thirty seconds. That bugged the hell out of me. My facial expression went from "Wait, did he say that wrong?" to "What the fuck is wrong with this person" in about 3.5 deppities. Maybe I should stick to listening to cds in the car to keep my blood pressure down.

When I was in Miami for work a wee bit ago, I passed a young woman on the street as she was in mid conversation. I heard her say, "Holy casserole!" to her friend, and it sounded like an honest reaction to something that surprised her. (In retrospect, it could've been the fact that I wasn't wearing any pants.) If you'd have given me 100 guesses on what noun followed "holy" as an exclamation, I never would've guessed it. 1000, and maybe, because I'm sure I'd allot at least fifty to types of meals (quiche, jambalaya, pilaf, fricassee, etc.). I enjoy hearing random bits of conversations, and I wish that happened more often. The best one I can recall right now was back in high school, when a fellow student walked past me while telling her friend, "And I was so stoned that I just put the cigarette out in my belly button." I'm pretty sure I got the best line of that entire conversation just with my perfectly-timed walking. Go me. (Somewhere, someone's telling a friend, "While walking a 5K, I heard some weirdo say 'buffalo' like ten times in a row.")

Here's something I overheard that I thought was funny. Actually, it definitely was funny, so if you don't at least smile, I'm pretty sure it's your fault. When I was on a plane next to a woman and her baby (as detailed a few weeks ago right here), a flight attendant came up to the mom right after we touched down. "They were so good," she said about the twin babies on either side of the aisle, "But I think one of them needs a changing!" "Really?" the mom said, sniffing around her daughter's butt. "Yeah, I smell a poopy diaper over here," she said, then turned and left. The mom turned to her husband and said, "I don't smell poop. I smell, like, pee. I mean, I don't smell like pee, but, oh never mind, you know what I mean." Quote of the flight, ladies and gentlemen.

I know I've already given you so much today, but in the spirit of the day before Easter Eve, I have more for you. Yes, it's time for the one, the weekly, Car Watch!

First off, I saw a bumper sticker that commented on the driver's position on a social issue. That stance itself is not important really, but rather the fact that it was preceded by, "I think, therefore..." You can fill in the blank however you like. Pick a side on abortion, the death penalty, same-sex marriage, etc., and you got the point. Personally, I didn't agree with the person's stance, thus, I apparently don't think. (Well, this would be a pretty stupid name for my blog then, eh?) I understand that people have different opinions on hot-button issues like those than I might, but I've never once thought that they came to those opinions by not thinking. If I don't vote for that woman's preferred candidate, does that mean I don't think too? Probably. I don't like that way of seeing opposing viewpoints, and I think (if I may be so bold) that many of you will agree.

That sticker reminded me of another from years ago, and I'll switch to that and unfurrow my brow. I saw, "I drink therefore I am" while in a car with Dusty the summer before starting college. I made some comment like, "Just because a word rhymes doesn't mean you can switch it out of an idiom and it will automatically make sense or be funny." Yeah, I actually did talk like that back then. Dusty, who was about to start at the University of Rochester, told me that in the campus bookstore, he saw a sticker that said, "I think therefore UR." Brilliant! I'm Peter Klein, and I approve that use of humor on a bumper sticker.

My loving mother-in-law sent me a license plate frame she saw and her accompanying thought process. It read, "Driver Reads Braille." Her first thought, as mine would undoubtedly have been, was that the driver was blind. Then she realized (hoped) that that most likely wasn't the case. Even though I know that sighted people also read Braille, I'm sure the two of us aren't alone in automatically associating it with blind people. See, I wouldn't assume for a second that the driver was deaf if it said "Driver Knows American Sign Language." I think that's because people use ASL to translate for the hearing impaired, while no one uses Braille to help the blind in quite the same fashion. I guess that leads to the $50,000 question: why do some people with sight choose to learn Braille? I can think of two legitimate reasons, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on the subject. First, someone with a blind relative or friend (especially a child) might learn it along with that person as a way of helping him or her learn to read. Second, there are strange people like me out there who like to learn things just for the sake of learning them sometimes. Wait, I thought of a third. When they make books in Braille, they're probably created by sighted people who know how to use the cool machines to make the right markings on the paper. That makes sense unless there are computer programs that do that all automatically. Damn, it's probably the latter. But it probably used to be people. Was this driver one of those original Braille transcribers before the machines took over? Wow, this paragraph got long as I started discussing this topic by myself.

Lastly, my homey Rockabye saw "(Heart)2HEARU" on a plate. Maybe it's that last topic speaking, but doesn't that sound like someone rubbing their ability to hear in deaf people's faces? (Wow, I originally wrote "deaf people's feces" accidentally as I was typing while watching basketball on tv. That's a whole different - more worrisome - type of rubbing all together. Sorry about that mental image, folks.)

Ok, I've officially lost it. Me brain no worky no more. Have a lovely weekend (including Easter, if that sort of thing is your bag) and week until I see you here again next Friday. Once again, if you feel like sending anything at all to ptklein@gmail.com, I wouldn't be mad at you. Shaloha, and take care.

The day of sweet numbers

Today, my friends and friends of friends, is a very special day. Oh sure, it's the birthday of Einstein, Quincy Jones, Michael Caine, Billy Crystal, and Rick Dees, but that's not what I'm talking about. Check it out: Some people write a date with dashes in between the numbers. Others (like Ben and Juliet) use slashes between them. And then there are those who use dots or decimals to separate day from month. Let's all think like that last group for a second. With that format, today's date is 3.14. Yes, that same 3.14 that begins the glory of Pi. (I think I've mentioned this before, but my friend Dave and I once had a contest to see how many digits we could each remember. He got about 5 more than me. I still remember 3.141592653589 and I think 79 follows that and then maybe a 2, but I had about ten more digits memorized in my...prime. Ha!)

In honor of Pi Day, as I am calling it (and I'm 100% certain that others are as well even though I haven't heard of this celebration yet), I splurged and ordered a pie for the office along with a co-worker. The Sports Guy on espn.com once mentioned Porch Pies (http://www.porchpies.com/) for those in L.A. to check out. There was a little sticker shock at first, but with a couple of people going in, it wasn't so bad. Now, I'm not the biggest pie person in the world. That honor probably goes to Dom DeLuise. However, I like a good apple one from time to time, especially when it's got some crumble action going on, but I don't grab a dessert menu and immediately go to the pie section or anything. Still, believe me when I tell you that the $30 pie we ordered the time before in the office was a bargain. Seriously, it was that good, and I can't wait for today's. We got the buttermilk one, which I needed to be talked into since it sounded weird, and I can only describe it as tasting like "pureed goodness." Man, it's gonna be a good day. (By the way, if anyone from Porch Pies is reading this, I still have one sponsorship slot available for the right price. Although I guess you just got my glowing endorsement for free, so that wouldn't make the best business sense for you. Ah, I know, you should reward my word-spreading with a free pie. Yeah, that's the ticket.)

If you couldn't tell yet, today's post is going to be full of random crap. That's how I roll on Pi Day. After all, you can't spell "the number Pi" without Peter. (I love that I can add "the" to something to help with 40% of my name, by the way.) So here's another unrelated item: I spent literally 20 minutes trying to iron a new dress shirt this morning, not counting the set-up/heating-up time. One shirt! And I stopped at 20 minutes because I gave up and thought I could blame my seatbelt for the remaining creases. Here's the reason this is blogworthy in my opinion: In big letters on a tag attached to my new shirt, it said "Wrinkle Free!" I just don't understand how they can say that when the minute I take it out of the plastic and expertly remove all of the pins, a very wrinkled shirt is sitting in my hands. Are they saying that after I first take out all of the wrinkles, it will stay that way forever? That's not true either, because I've had other shirts that make the same claim. I'm very confused by this blatant and bold-faced fabric-ation. (Sorry.) It's the equivalent of selling someone a flat basketball with a "Never Loses Air!" sticker on it. Or a moldy loaf of bread with an expiration date two years from now on it. Or a $6 burger costing...oh don't get me started.

Ok, I'm gonna get a little strange on you right now, so be prepared. How many of you are familiar with the Greek Mythology story of Sisyphus? Basically, he's in Tartarus (the ancient Greek version of hell), condemned to constantly push a giant boulder up a hill all day every day. When he gets near the top, it rolls all the way back down and he has to start over. It's a story that I've always leapt to when in need of an example of futility, and it's made its way into a poem or two that I wrote in college. Here's my new thought with this old story: Where have we all seen a similar plight? Think about it for a second: we all know a character in a very similar situation. Give up? The Itsy Bitsy Spider. Seriously. He climbs up the water spout, gets tossed back down by the rain, waits a bit, then starts the same cycle over again. For eternity. (How many, "Holy shit, he might actually have a point here" thoughts did I just get from you?) Let it be known throughout the land: when you're in need of a link between Greek mythology and nursery rhymes, I'm your man. (I have a great Prometheus/Three Little Pigs theory brewing.)

Next item! My friend Dusty sent me something that many of you will undoubtedly not bother with, and I can't blame you. This is for the few of you who will like it. On this link (http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/13120) it explains how "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo" is an actual, grammatically-correct sentence. Intrigued? If not, don't even click it because it won't be worth it. I have one guarantee for anyone who reads it: the word "buffalo" will look and sound like nonsense to you for a little while. I think it's really cool, and Dusty knows that I'm weird like that, so I greatly appreciated the forward.

Earlier this week, I looked up and saw the word "joy" in an email I was writing. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how that word got there, because while I knew it was a typo, I hadn't planned on writing anything even remotely similar in that part of that sentence. I went back and figured out that contextually, I meant to write the word "hit" there. That confused me even more at first, but then I looked at the keyboard. Go ahead, I'll give you a second. There, ya see what happened? I was off by one key to the right when I set my fingers up to type, and those three erroneous letters ended up forming their own word. It's kinda like a more modern version of IBM and HAL, if you know what I'm talking about. I'm glad I figured it out, because "in order to joy the target demographic" just wasn't going to make me sound competent enough.

Here's a hypothetical situation that's probably been an actual one for the majority of you. Say you're walking from your car to your front door, and you see some dog shit on your lawn. It's not from your dog, and you're unhappy that someone didn't clean up after his or her pet. What do you do? For me, the options are limited but all require little or no effort. I might leave it there and be pissed off, or I might clean it up next time I'm cleaning up my own pet's poop. In the category of "a little more effort," I can understand if some of you would then put up a sign that said "Please clean up after your pets" or a picture of a dog dumping with a red circle and line through it. To me, those are all perfectly acceptable responses. What my lovely wife found, on the other hand, was someone who went to a slightly more involved response to the shit. She took and sent me this picture:

Now, it's a little dark and a lot sideways, but it's a laminated color sign, three posts, and a shitload of effort to point at the poo. Yes, it's still there. Follow the big blue arrown. Can you believe the hassle that person went through? How incredibly pissed off was he (I'm assuming) to do all of that. What if it was gone by the time he got there with his whole project? Better yet, what if it was a stray dog that crapped on his lawn? How unbelievably misguided would his ire be then? Stylistically, I'm a little confused by some of the choices this person made. With the clear ability to print in color, he chose just "asshole" and "shit" to stand out, and in different colors of course. Clearly though, he wanted "clean" to stand out too, but he went with the underline instead of the color there. Why? I also want to know how he decided that the person being an asshole merited only one exclamation while the shit-cleaning earned two. Lastly, I want to know if he had all of these supplies already because this is a habit of his. "Hey Fuckwad! Leave the NEWSPAPER on my PORCH next time!!" He must be fun at parties.

And now, as if that isn't enough deep ruminating for one day, let's mosey our little booties over to the Car Watch. (I meant butts and not woven socks, by the way.)

My dad wrote me saying that he saw this bumper sticker: "Make brown rice not war." I never knew they were mutually exclusive. I'm glad to learn that though, because we made brown rice at home within the past week. At the time, I thought the lack of war was a coincidence, but now I know the true correlation. Brown Rice 08! (I don't mean Jerry Brown and Condi though, just to be clear. Bobby Brown and JerryRice? Jerry Brown and Jerry Rice? That's an interesting pair. Got more Browns and Rices? Comment away.)

My homey Rockabye sent me a bumper sticker as well: "Gnomes Unite," it said. I'm not going to go the obvious route and wax faux-poetically about what united gnomes might accomplish. Instead, I'm going to be practical with my question about this car adornment. Is that truly the best place to put a message intended to rally fictitious garden creatures? How many gnomes does that driver expect to be in the car behind him or her? Everyone is entitled to their own pet causes, but at least advertise them correctly. Gee whiz.

Did I just say "Gee whiz?" What happened there? Good gravy.

And finally, I saw a license plate that said, "PETITMD." I'm slightly confused by this. In my opinion as an expert Car Watcher, I see three possible meanings. Ahem:
1. "I'm short in stature, but I aced my way through med school. I'm a Petite MD, but oh yeah, I can't spell very well."
2. "In the veterinary clinic, I specialize on miniature computers to put in cats and dogs that tell us what ails our furry friends since they can't speak. It's a new field, but I'd say I'm a Pet Information Technology Medical Doctor."
3. "I like going into doctors' offices, exposing myself, and commanding them to touch me."

I'm pretty sure it's one of those three. Ok, enough fun for today. I had fun at least. Have a grand weekend and week, gentle readers. May all of your Ides of Marches be pleasant tomorrow. And please, when you come across anything I might find interesting, funny, disturbing, or confusing as hell, send it along to ptklein@gmail.com. Buffaloha.

Good expectations

Hello and good morning, mis amiguitos. Thanks for meeting me back here today for another installment of UOPTA. Time marches on and puts us in March. Some would call that ironic. They would be wrong.

As my ideas for posts are fewer and farther between, I look for inspiration wherever I can get it. (Did you ever realize that "farther" is "fart" + "her"? I sure as hell didn't. I think I just ruined that word for me. Just like I ruined "pumpkin" for my friend Melissa when I pointed out what two words that puts together. Manslaughter is another one of these if you make the first word possessive. Do I digress? Damn right I digress.) Therefore, when I knew I was flying cross-country and back for a conference in between blog posts, I was hopeful that one of those flights would be eventful enough to share with you all. That's been a good source for me in the past, so that hope wasn't an entirely unfounded one.

Unfortunately, the flight out was pretty standard. The most noteworthy thing about the five-hour flight was that I was in the middle seat, and I thought the guy next to me had gas. He later went to the lavatory for a whopping 15 minutes, so I was probably right. (Unless he was tampering with the smoke detector in the lavatory, that is. Of course I would never insinuate that anyone was committing a federal crime, so I'm going to assume he was shitting instead.) Needless to say, if that was the most noteworthy thing about the flight, it wasn't too exciting for me.

The return flight, on the other hand, gave me some more ammo. As I look at the notes I jotted down during those hours, they all fall under the umbrella of "changes and expectations." What, you guys don't have an umbrella like that? Weird. In any case, I'm going to break this down into sections to give off an air of preparedness.

Flight times:

Having completed everything we set out to accomplish earlier than expected, a co-worker and I found out that there was a flight leaving about an hour and half before our scheduled one. Excited by that prospect, we went early to the airport. Here's what I expected: We would get there, and the person at the desk would tell us that we could fly standby or change our flight for several hundred dollars. I would then realize that since I needed to check a bag (which my co-worker didn't), I wouldn't be able to do the standby thing. I thought he'd get on, and I'd sit around for a couple of hours, possibly trying to type a blog post about something. Instead, we got to an automated kiosk thingy, and it said that we could switch flights, secure our spots for only $25 each, and check my bag onto that new flight. Expectation exceeded!

Seat assignments:

I was in the middle again, and having survived it on the way over, I wasn't too upset about having to do that again. My co-worker stopped at the gate and asked if there was any way he could be moved to a window. "Well, it's a very full flight, but let's see here," the nice American Airlines employee told him. "And...yes, I found a window seat for you." I piped up, "Um, is there any chance that you can work your magic again for my middle seat?" Here's what I expected: "No. There was one possible change on this full flight, and I already made it for your friend here." Instead, she told me that there was on window seat available in the last row. "Hmmm, that doesn't recline, right?" I asked. She confirmed my suspicions. "Sure," I said, "why not? Reclining's overrated." I almost made some joke involving "Klein" and "recline," but I stopped myself. Expectation exceeded!

Seat assignments, part II:

I boarded with the rest of Boarding Group 2, and slowly made my way to the back of the plane. Here's what I expected: I would slide in to the window seat, be joined by two nice-enough people with whom I would have no interaction. That would be fine with me, I told myself. Instead, I arrived at the last row and slid in past a woman and a young baby in the aisle seat. "Uh oh," I thought. The baby smiled at me. "How old is she?" I asked. "They're 11 months," the mom answered, gesturing across the aisle. Sure enough, the dad was there holding a twin brother. "Double uh oh," I thought. Here's what I jotted down (discreetly) on my piece of paper: "Next to 11 month old who tired of her toys before take off. Another baby across the aisle. Fingers crossed. Smells like urine, hope that goes away. Have to crane my neck to see closest screen. That sucks. 'Reclining's overrated.' Ha!" Expectation...not quite met.

Seat assignments, part III:

As it turned out, no one took that middle seat in between me and the mom/baby combo in the aisle seat, so I had a little more room. Also, shockingly, the seat actually went back an inch or two. Not a full recline, but enough to encourage sleep and help me see the screen a little better. Most importantly, the babies were excellent. I did have music playing loudly in my ears, but even if I hadn't, they were very good. The boy cried once for just a couple of seconds, and the girl didn't make more than a couple of peeps. In truth, the parents were much louder, singing songs, squeaking toys, and reading loudly to the kids. Expectation exceeded (based on the extremely-lowered expectation of "seat assignments, part II).

In-flight entertainment:

Before takeoff, I flipped through the complimentary magazine located in the seat pocket in front of me. West-bound flights like mine, I was told, were showing "Alvin and the Chipmunks." Craptastic! Here's what I expected: I would listen to my iPod and watch occasional five-minute soundless sections of the movie. At other times, I would prefer to stare at the seat in front of me or do more sudoku or crossword puzzles rather than subject myself to what would certainly be a horrible movie. Here's what happened: I altered my own course of history. One flight attendant said to the other, "It's supposed to be this 'Alvin' one, but we also have one called 'Enchanted.' There aren't many young kids on this flight; should we switch it out?" I looked over to them and nodded as vehemently as a man can nod. "Yeah?" one said back to me. I nodded again. Someone else chimed in seconding my motion, and they agreed. Expectations exceeded!

In-flight entertainment, part II:

I'd heard good things about "Enchanted," even though I wasn't a huge fan of the songs I heard from it during the Oscar telecast. Still, I thought I remembered my lovely wife's friend Candice liking it, so I was happy to choose a potentially-good movie over an extended view of airplane seatback fabric. Here's what happened: I didn't like it. I kept waiting for the little winks to the adult audience, and they never really materialized. Instead, I found a few scenes made me literally shake my head in disapproval and look around to see if anyone else was doing the same. (They weren't.) Patrick Dempsey made his one face ("I'm-a-good-guy-but-I'm-conflicted-and-that-makes-me-sad"), and everything wrapped up even more neatly than "Good Will Hunting." That's saying something. Oh yeah, and this movie also had a talking chipmunk, so I wasn't able to avoid that genre all together. Expectations not met.

Celebrity encounter:
While waiting for the plane, I noticed that actor Nathan Fillion walked by and sat down near me. I knew him originally from "Two Guys and a Girl," but saw him in commercials for "Firefly," "Serenity," and the shortlived series, "Drive." (He was also Kate's policeman husband in one episode of "Lost.") Here's what I expected: I'd pass him as he sat in first class, and then maybe see him again at baggage claim hours later. Here's what happened: He and his lady friend sat directly in front of me. He watched "Enchanted" also, and I think I saw him express disapproval at one of the scenes. Of course, I may have been projecting. Everything was leading to a final verdict of "Expectations moderately exceeded" when something happened. It was about half an hour before we landed when a male flight attendant stopped in front of Mr. Fillion and started speaking. Ready for dialogue mode? Here goes.

Flight Attendant: Excuse me, were you in a movie called something like, "The New Country?"
Nathan: No, sorry.
Flight Attendant: (confused by not put-off) Hmmm. Were you in "Waitress?"
Nathan: Yes.
Flight Attendant: Oh! I knew it! You weren't in "The New Country?"
Nathan: No, sorry.
Flight Attendant: Filmed in Minnesota, I think.
Nathan: No, that wasn't me.
Flight Attendant: Really? I thought those two were the same actor. There's another actor that must look just like you!
Nathan: I was in "Waitress."
Flight Attendant: Wow, that's weird, I really thought that was you. You weren't in "The New Country?"
Nathan: (shakes his head)
Flight Attendant: Oh well. I thought those were the same person.

Now that conversation might not seem that awkward on the surface, but now add five seconds of silence after each line, and picture the flight attendant standing over Mr. Fillion and blocking the aisle. It was highly uncomfortable, and I loved it. Expectations highly exceeded.

So there you go. I was pleasantly surprised by how off all of my expectations of the flight ended up being. In total, they added up to a post, and I don't look that gift horse in the mouth. (I like that phrase and don't get to use it enough. Contrary to the belief of unpopular people who think about such things, it has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. In that situation, they absolutely should've looked the gift horse in the mouth. Rather, you can supposedly tell a horse's age from its teeth, so it's rude to do that to a horse that someone just gave you as a present.)

And now, please return your seats and trays to their upright and locked positions, for we're heading on down to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye saw a bunch of good plates and the like over the past week, so this is going to be an entire Rockabye Edition. First off, he saw a license plate frame that read, "Addicted to..." Ya know, I'm gonna stop there for a second. I have a feeling that I could give you each 100 guesses and no one would get the answer. In fact, I could tell you that it's a person, hell, a movie star even, and still give you each 20 guesses. This driver is addicted to..."Jim Carrey." Addicted! That's mighty strong, don't you think? Does s/he suffer withdrawals after a time away from Jim Carrey's works and need to pop in an old VHS of "In Living Color" to stop the shakes? Would Dane Cook be the methadone to Jim Carrey's brand of smack? I have so many questions.

He also saw a plate that asked, "RUMYDOG." While many people call me "Dawg," I am certainly not that person's dog. In fact, I don't believe that anyone is answering affirmatively to that inquiry. How many times is his or her dog truly behind the car or in another similar position to say yes to that? Oh yeah, dogs can't say "yes." So never; never is the answer we're looking for.

Next off, he saw "BRAKE L8" on a plate. That car should never get rear ended, due to the fact that it gives people more than ample warning. "Well officer, I didn't see that the light was red until I was almost in the intersection, but in my defense, I told the car behind me non-stop that this was likely to happen." Case dismissed.

Last but not least, he saw a plate that told everyone in view, "MKMLAFF." I shall do my best, fellow Angelino, I shall do my best.

That's it, my peeps. Have a lovely weekend and entire week until we meet back here next Friday. During that time, my Cousin Carrie will turn a year older (Monday), and my fantasy baseball keeper team ("Stillwell Angels") will be complete after our hours-long auction (Wednesday night). Ok, shaloha my friends, and I'll see you back here soon.

Iamb what iamb

Good morning, friends, it’s good to see
You came to spend some time with me.
This Day of Leap is very rare,
And so I thought it best to share
An exercise in writing verse
With you (for better or for worse).
With four iambic feet per line,
These are the thoughts of Peter Klein.
I’m testing whether I can tell
My stories even somewhat well
While sticking to da-DUM da-DUM
Or if these parts don’t have a sum.
I’ll make a deal with you and say
The next time that this extra day
Occurs on Friday (when I write),
It too shall be in verse. Alright?
(That’s in two thousand thirty-six,
which nicely rhymes with “dirty tricks.”)
The deal is set, and now I pause
To share with you this project’s cause:

Before I go to sleep, I find
That reading slows my active mind.
It does it rather quickly too
(In sometimes just a page or two).
Well recently, my book of choice
Has been “Ulysses” by James Joyce.
(Just kidding folks, for that immense
Majestic work is far too dense.)
In truth, the book’s “The Golden Gate”
By Vikram Seth (pronounced as “Sate”).
I’ve read it once or twice before
But recently desired more,
So that’s the book I’ve been perusing
Almost nightly. It’s amusing
The length of time a book can take
When one is only half-awake.

Why do I like “The Golden Gate”?
In short: Because it’s fucking great.
Here’s my official book review:
“What Mr. Seth set out to do
Was write a book - in sonnet form!
This concept – so outside the norm,
Came way too easily for him.
To entertain this crazy whim
Is bold enough, but he succeeds
With mastered crafting and exceeds
All laid out expectations.” So,
It’s good enough, I’ll have you know
That when I lay my hands upon it,
I drink in every kick-ass sonnet.

A strange phenomenon occurs
Right after sleepy vision blurs
The pages of the book. In bed,
My body's weary, but my head
Continues with iambic meter.
Though half-asleep, I think, “Oh Peter,”
But it’s too late, the beat goes on,
And so I play along – a pawn
Within this game of rhythmic chess.
Resigned to simply acquiesce,
I close my eyes and hear the beat,
Of four iambic metric feet.
And then, as if machine-controlled,
Atop the beats, some words unfold:
“I'm curled up beside my dear,
And wait for sleep to join me here.
And if it doesn’t happen soon,
More coffee in the afternoon
Will surely help me stay awake.
Unless caffeine is a mistake.”
The words are different every night,
And often the meter’s not quite right,
But still this process does the trick,
And sends me off to sleep. And quick.

Some theories say iambic feet
Are like a heart’s consistent beat
(lub DUB, lub DUB), but in my head
It’s closer to a train instead:
A steady, mechanized sensation
‘Til it ceases at its station.
Perhaps the repetitious beat
Is more like footsteps down a street
At night with no one else around,
When shoes create the only sound.
Regardless of the metaphor,
This beat’s supposed to echo more
Than others and be more aligned
With what’s inside the human mind.
I always thought it was b.s.
But now I have to second-guess
That theory since it resonates
So much with me as it creates
A mental wave that’s tough to shake.
If you’re intrigued and want to take
A stab at reading something fine,
Just search for “Vikram Seth” online.
You’re scared of Amazon.com?
Then I can lend it to you (Mom).

I’m switching topics, but I’ll try
To keep this verse thing going. I
Don’t know how long it’s gonna last
(the need for rhymes just comes so fast),
But here we go. I have a thought
Or two that recently have caught
My eye (or ear), and so I'll share.
Well, as you know, I often care
More than I should about a word
Or phrase or lyric. Well, I heard
A sports reporter somewhere say
“The Maple Leafs are gonna play…”
I tuned the other team name out
And couldn’t help but think about
Why “Leaf” was pluralized as such.
Is saying “Leaves” instead so much
More difficult? It’s not to me.
I do say some things differently
Or even wrongly (truth be told).
I don’t think I’m alone. If polled,
I think the vast majority
Of you would find that you agree
With what I’m putting out there. So,
Look down, now right. Ah, there you go.
That thing you move along the screen,
Or, well, controls that thing, I mean,
It’s called a mouse, we all agree,
But what would two of those things be?

I know that I say “mouses” there

Instead of “mice.” And I’m aware
That “mice” is probably correct
(Which makes me wrong). Do you object
To my assessment of this word?
Please comment. Let your voice be heard.

In that last section, I recalled
A poem I wrote that since has crawled
Into the caverns of my brain
That store odd things and keep me sane.
This one came up because it too
Was like this post in front of you:
In couplets, rhyming ones like these.
I’d like to share a few – a tease
Of sorts, I guess, if you’ll permit.
But first, I’ll share the name of it.
I called it “Prose and Cons” and talked
About Islamic faith in locked-
Up prisoners and how a man
Could find his peace in the Koran.
(Qur’an, I mean. I realized
My version’s super-anglicized.)
The poem was very light in tone
With puns galore to make you groan
(as I am known to do at times)
And humorous attempts at rhymes,
Like: “Frank, who now goes by Shabbaz,
Says it’s the best book that he has.”
The couplet format worked out well
And matched the cold bars of the cell.
Not really, that’s too convoluted.
Here’s how that exercise concluded:
“And so with Allah as my God,
I’ll write more soon. With love, Ahmad.”
I’m sure if I were looking for
The poem, I’d find it in some drawer
Or unpacked box with other sheets
Of quirky thoughts. And this completes
My talk on poetry of yore.
(I aim to please, and not to bore.)

A radio commercial pissed
Me off and made it on my list
Of things that anger me. (It’s long,
But when an ad strikes me as wrong,
Regardless of the product’s worth,
It makes its Peter’s Hate List berth.)
This hotel chain was proud to say,
“We wash our bedding EVERY DAY!”
I’m shocked that, A: they found it rare
Enough to feel the need to share
This news as something cool. And B:
That some hotels might not agree
With that amount of water use.
I’m willing to let that abuse
Of energy exist (or lest it
Mean my bed is germ infested.)
It’s kinda like a fast food joint
Who pays a lot to make the point
That NOW they only use real meat.
So what’s the stuff I used to eat?

I watched the Oscars, even though
My lovely wife and I don’t go
Out to the theater much. We rent
A few and catch a good percent
Of nominated films. Along
Those lines, we saw and liked the song-
Infused, inspired indie flick
Called “Once,” which soon became our pick
For “Music from the picture” or
Whatever that award is for.
The song, called “Falling Slowly,” won
Despite the film “Enchanted’s” ton
Of songs within the music group.
The film’s about the vicious loop
A struggling musician’s in
And how his talent helps him win
His own respect and take some strides
Toward modest goals. At first he hides
In other people’s songs, but learns
That absent of the fire that burns
Inside of him, the songs he sings
Are nothing more than background things.
There’s so much more, and we enjoyed
The film a lot. If you’re annoyed
By thickly-Irish brogues like his,
Learn where your “Captions” button is.

And now, my peeps, I’d be remiss
If in the midst of all of this
I didn’t even try at least
One Car Watch Item. Ready? Feast
Your eyes on this one. Ready? My
Good friend and homey Rockabye
Saw something strange and sent a text
Because the license plate perplexed
Him and, I’ll add, perplexed me too.
It read, “IM2LA4U.”
Now maybe I’m just being dense
But I don’t think that makes much sense.
I’m bothered by this. In L.A.,
It’s pretty weird for him to say
That he’s too “us” for us. Ya know?
I think it’s weird, that’s all. Although,
It would make sense if he should move
(which I’d wholeheartedly approve).

And lastly, as I sat in traffic
And tried to reach the pornographic
Capital (the Valley), I
Saw something that I’m gonna try
To share in verse. I think I can.
You see, there was this minivan
With something written on the door
In dirt, as we’ve all seen before.
The thing that makes this not the same
Is that it was a business name.
And better yet, at least to me,
It was a painting company.
I’m sure if I were given ample
Time, I’d find a worse example
Of marketing one’s business, but
That’s pretty hard to think of. What
If someone’s car or truck proclaims
“I tooter kids”? I like these games.

That’s it for me; my verse is done.
While challenging, I’ve had my fun.
I’d like to hear from some of you
To see if after reading through
This many rhyming words, you find
The meter’s imprint on your mind
Continues like it does for me.
(That started this whole thing, ya see.)
So now this nerdy project ends.
Thanks for your time. Shaloha, friends.

So raise a glass

Shaloha, my brothers from other mothers and sisters from other misters. Except Kevin, who is my actual brother. That reminds me (already) of something. I wrote Kevin an email last week with the subject line, "A little late." Here's what it said:

I have no idea why I just thought of this, but here goes. You know what would've been a funny thing for your speech at my wedding? This: "Growing up, I used to always joke that Peter was adopted and that I remembered the day our parents brought him home. Well, Peter, on this special day I will finally admit to you that you weren't actually adopted. In fact, that teen couple from Connecticut is technically still your parents in the eyes of the law." Oh well, maybe next time.

I really don't know what brought me to what someone else could've said four years ago, but that would've been a funny zinger, don't you think? He was nice to me throughout his speech, mainly because he said I was nice during my speech at his wedding seven months earlier.

Hey, this little aside just turned into a bona fide topic on which I can write. I fucking love it when that happens! Here's the deal: as a 30 year-old, I've now been to a good number of weddings. (There are two more coming up in the next few months, including the couple that my friend Lisa and I set up. Yes, we're still very pleased with ourselves about that.) Often, the Best Man/Maid of Honor speeches don't stand out too much to me. They're almost always just sweet and a touching tribute to the new couple. And while I haven't seen any "Remember when we double-teamed that hooker" speeches, there are still a few that have stood out for various reasons.

First off, I was at a cousin's wedding somewhere in the early part of this decade. Her husband had grown up in Canada, specifically in Saskatchewan. When his best friend was up there for his speech, he referred to them playing hockey together as kids in Regina. Two interesting facts about Regina: one, it's the capital of Saskatchewan; and two, it's pronounced so that it rhymes with vagina. Therefore, a funny scene unfolded at our table when he spoke the name of the city. Even though they were turned almost 180 degrees from me to watch the speech, I could immediately see my parents' cheeks rise and their faces turn a little redder. Slowly and as nonchalantly as possible, they turned to look directly at me. I'm not sure what they expected to see, but when I smiled and gave a kind of "aw yeah" nod in their direction, they had trouble holding in their laughter. Fortunately, they managed to keep it under control enough that we didn't have to say anything awkward like, "Sorry for interrupting your speech, but a word you said thirty seconds ago rhymed with a part of the female anatomy." Although, if my parents had said that, I could've replied with "Mulva?" and brought the house down. Damn. Next time.

The second Best Man speech on which I'll write is from a wedding shortly after that first one. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure whose it was. I don't think it was my friends Lisa and Paul's, but if so, I apologize in advance. Where has my memory gone? That used to be my calling card, and key details are rapidly disappearing. Actually, I take that back a little. I just scared someone yesterday in my office when I reminded him that we sat next to each other on a plane two years ago. "Oh yeah," he said. I told him, "You were playing a Space Invaders-type game on your iPod the whole time, and you thought the flight attendant said that we could purchase a 'snatch box' instead of a 'snack box.'" He stared at me blankly for a second, then said, "Ok, you have a scary good memory." So I still have it to some degree. Ok, back to the wedding I don't remember. In this speech, the best man started with something to the effect of: "Is there anything better than new love? Yes. Old love. The love of two people who have been together for decades and love each other so completely..." He had just one or two more lines, then raised his glass and said, "So here's to old love!" I turned to my lovely now-wife and said, "We're toasting to something better than the new couple?" We replayed the speech in our heads and realized that yes, that's exactly what we were doing. I equate that to something like this: "Congratulations on your new job as Assistant Editor of the school paper. The only thing better than that is being the actual Editor. Long live the Editor!" I know he meant well (whoever he was), but I think it wasn't executed in quite the best manner.

The third Best Man speech was from my friends Suzanne and Andrew's wedding. First off, Andrew's got a fantastic British accent (he's from the same area as Sting), so anything that he or his best mate said automatically sounded better than our silly American accents. In the speech, the friend was nice to Andrew throughout it save one remark about his receeding hairline. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive to that as I see my forehead slowly turning into a fivehead, but I think that's below the belt. (Yes, I know anatomically that my head is above the belt, but please just let it slide. I'm willing to let "head over heels" slide, even though that's where they normally are in relation to each other. I will not, though, give Alannis Morisette a pass with "Head Over Feet." You see, Alannis, that's not the phrase. When I first heard that song, I initially got angry, but then I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I thought, "Maybe she used 'feet' because she needed a rhyme and is using vaguely-poetic license." What word actually needed the rhyme? "Me." So no, she didn't get any kind of pass from me. "Me" rhymes just as well with "heels" as "feet" does, except one of those two is actually in the colloquialism she's attempting to use. The scary thing is, that doesn't even crack the top two of Alannis songs that piss me off for one reason or another. It might be in third place, solely because I can't understand any of the words to "Uninvited" enough to hate them.) In any case, Andrew just laughed it off and didn't seem bothered by the comment at all. Gotta hand it to them Brits.

And now, the granddaddy of all Best Man/Maid of Honor speeches. To protect the innocent, we'll call this couple "Donna" and "Joey." Let's just say that by the time the Matron of Honor and Maid of Honor went up there to do their joint speech for Donna, the bar had been open for several hours. It was something. I shall try my best to recreate it in dialogue format.

Friend 1: (giggle giggle) I remember the first time that Donna met Joey.
Friend 2: (grabbing the microphone from Friend 1) Wait! Wait! (giggle giggle) And she was like, "Who's Joey?"
(both laugh uncontrollably)

I can't do it justice, so I'm going back to paragraph form. Let the record show though that they spent literally five minutes laughing, passing the mic back and forth, and saying absolutely nothing. My lovely wife and I weren't even engaged at that point, yet this wedding had us already discussing what we wouldn't do at ours if that ever happened. It got even better though, as a drunk aunt decided that she wanted to grab the mic and say a little something. I'm paraphrasing a little here, but I think it's fairly accurate: "I just wanted to say...that while everything is so nice and beautiful here today...someone is not here with us and it's not right. It's not right, because she couldn't be here. So while this is all very nice, it's not right because someone isn't here with us and she should be." That went on for a while, and the confused guests just smiled politely and waited for it to end. Later, we asked Donna what the hell that was all about. "My grandma had diarrhea and didn't want to come today. The way my aunt said it though, it sounded like she had died, and my cousin thought that's what happened and started crying." Nicely done, drunk aunt. It was memorable to say the least.

And now, one quick note before we launch into the Car Watch. Our friend Riley thought of me when a word came up, and that made me happy. She explained that to her, "extraordinary" sounds like it should mean "not just normal and boring, but super normal and boring." I see her point. When my co-worker Rob used to get a regular vanilla latte with whipped cream every single time at the Coffee Bean, I thought he was being extra ordinary. Now that he occasionally switches it up, he's back to regular ordinary.

Crap, another quick note. One of the drinks that he's gotten instead recently is a "Hot Vanilla." "Is that any different than what you normally get?" I asked. "Yeah, it's like a hot chocolate, but with the vanilla powder and steamed milk instead. There's no coffee in it." That blew my mind, and so I had to get one to see if it was worth all the fuss. It was tasty, but a little too sweet for me. I'm not the best judge of these things since I like my coffee black, so I encourage you to give it a try if that description sounded good to you. I know, I'm such a giver.

And now, it's time to shake your groove thangs on down to the Car Watch.

I saw a license plate on my way home from work that said, "CR8ZY ME." Yes, you're so cratezy. I'd better look out, because there's a creightzy person next to me! Ooooh. This flies directly in the face of Peter Klein's Rule #1 for vanity plates: "If thou canst makest thy message fit on thy plate in a manner that preserves the integrity of said message, then dude, just let it go."

I then saw a plate that told me, "HIIMPOO." Gosh, could that person have any lower self-esteem? What a sad way to introduce yourself to the public. "Good morning. I am excrement. Yes, the body already took the nutrients out of everything you ate, so all that left over waste is...me. Have a nice day."

My homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that made me smile. "Say No to Negativity," it said. I'm pretty sure I'd seen that one myself, but I appreciate the humor and the message. I could get all deep and philosophical about how sometimes a piece of a vice can help stop the negative behavior all together, but that makes my brain hurt a little. On the plus side, "A Piece of A Vice" would be a great business name for a drug dealer.

Lastly, Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that pissed me off enough that it gets the famed closer position of this week's Car Watch: "Witches parking. All others will be towed." I wrote back immediately, "On a car? And no apostrophe? WTF?" He confirmed that yes, the grammar-lacking sticker was on the car while trying to tell us who can park there. Park on the car? Or is she saying that wherever she decides to park that car, it should be for witches only? I'm truly at a loss (and an angry loss at that), and I desperately want to ask that person what the hell she's thinking. And I sure hope she made that sticker herself, because otherwise it's doubly bad that someone thought it was a good idea to create it and someone else thought it was a good idea to buy it. I hate people sometimes.

But I adore all of you, my gentle readers. Although I must say, I sure would like for some of you to chip in with a thought every now and then. Like or dislike a word or phrase? Have a favorite joke? See something on a car that you liked, disliked, or didn't get? Do you like cheese? Anything, folks, anything at all, and ptklein@gmail.com is there for you. Have a great weekend and week. Happy Birthday on Monday to Robin, who found the love of her life thanks to me and Lisa. See you all back here on Leap Day. Awwww yeah.