That's what he said

On this final day of July, I am happy to say hello and welcome you to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Unexplored Oceans Produce Treasure...Arrrgh," but hey, I'm not one to argue the veracity of that statement. Instead, this UOPTA is where I share some thoughts and stories with whoever chooses to read them. Right now that's you, so please enjoy. (Also, please send in your own version of UOPTA to ptklein@gmail.com. Come on, it's fun.)

Just typing the word "veracity" reminded me of a quick story. The summer before my junior year of high school, I took an SAT prep course with a couple of friends. It was thrilling, let me assure you. I only remember four things from that entire week-long class. One, I bought the cd single of "Soul to Squeeze" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and listened to it incessantly during that time. Two, I ran into an old friend from elementary school with whom I had lunch on two of the days. Three, one of my friends had talked about a "girlfriend" who "went to a different school." On day one of the class, he stopped and turned white. "What's up?" I asked. There she was, and it was about to be painfully clear that they were just friends. I pretended that I didn't notice their lack of more-than-friendship (even though they never sat together or really spoke), which I think was very nice of me. And the fourth thing was this incident of me feeling really smart:

We were sitting in the middle of the large meeting room, going over various vocabulary words. After a few, the instructor put up the word "veracious." "Who knows what this word means?" he asked. I waited for someone else to speak up, but no one did. The instructor sat there waiting, so I raised my hand and said, "Truthful." "Very good," he said. My friend turned to me. "How did you know that?" "Well, there's also 'voracious,' which is having a big appetite, but this one has the same root as other truth words like 'veracity' or the Latin 'veritas.'" The instructor then said, "Keep in mind, there's also 'voracious' with an O, which means 'having a huge appetite.' This one is with an E and has the same root as other similar words that have to do with truth, like 'veracity' and 'veritable' or the Latin word, 'veritas.'" My friend turned to me again with a look that was equal parts shock, admiration, and disbelief. I tried playing it cool and just shrugged. Inside though, I was hoping the instructor would ask about something else I knew, like the U.S. states in alphabetical order or the lyrics to "Taking Retards to the Zoo" by The Dead Milkmen. Strangely, neither came up.

It wasn't the actual knowledge that made me feel smart there, but the fact that my response was almost exactly the same as the instructor's. This same thing happened quite often recently in a specific area: televised basketball games. I know it's all a function of listening to play-by-play announcers for my entire life and getting a sense of what they're going to say, but it got pretty silly at one point during the playoffs. After a touch foul under the basket, I'd say, "You gotta wrap him up there to prevent the three-point play, especially in the fourth quarter." And then the announcer would say the same exact thing - really word-for-word. For the first few times, my lovely wife just smiled. But after the tenth time of predicting exactly what the announcer would say in a two-day period, she looked at me and said, "How do you keep doing that?" I said that my favorite brother or any of my basketball-loving friends would probably be able to do the same thing, and it was probably just a testament to the announcers saying the same things over and over again. (Cameramen too, actually: my friend Greg pointed out that every time there's a 24-second shot clock violation, they show the coach of that team. Every single time.) The highlight of me being really in tune with what would happen on the court was at the end of one game in the conference finals. "If they set the high pick there, Howard can curl around for the alley-oop," I said. Sure enough, that's exactly what happened one second later. Yes, you can touch me.

Earlier this week, a similar topic came up in conversation. We were having dinner at our friends Sarah and Keith's new house. Sarah said that sometimes Keith's parents know what each other is thinking or going to say. She thought that was weird but my lovely wife didn't think so, and said it's probably quite common in couples who have been together for a long time. Of course, I then stared intensely at her. "Oh great, now he's trying to prove me wrong." "What am I thinking, honey?" I asked. "He's thinking of something random and strange that I'd never guess. Ok, I give up." "Duh, the Brickyard 400. It's a Nascar event." I apparently proved both of her points.

My parents, who have been married a whopping 40 years as of this past June, know each other's mind and thought processes quite well. There was one kind of scary moment in which they didn't even know they'd linked brains. Years back, we were playing "The Dictionary Game," which was "Balderdash" before "Balderdash" existed. I chose a word (that I sadly can't remember right now), and everyone else wrote their fake definitions on little pieces of paper. I collected them all and prepared to read them to the group. Shockingly, two of the little pieces of paper said the same exact thing: "An edge or cornerstone." What the hell? I brought this to their attention, and it turned out that they each thought that the word I chose sounded a little familiar, but couldn't remember what it meant. Sure enough, the real definition had to do with a cornerstone, but it's still really freaky that they both wrote the same four words as their definitions. Weirdos.

It's a familiarity thing, and I wouldn't say that kind of pseudo mind-reading is limited to spouses. I have three examples of this that immediately come to mind. First off, my favorite brother and I were standing in our parents' kitchen a few months ago when a plane went by overhead. At the same time, we both made a sound that approximated a note on an electric guitar. We laughed, because we realized that we were both doing the beginning of "Back in the USSR" by the Beatles. With enough shared memories and experiences, that kind of thing happens. Next up, I sent my friend Greg an email referring to a stupid/awesome R. Kelly song. I sent some of my favorite lines: "And then he looks at the cabinet/He goes up to the cabinet/ Now he's at the cabinet/ Now he opens the cabinet." Brilliant stuff, no? After I sent it, I thought, "I should tell someone that I know how Greg's going to reply. He's going to say, 'The man was a midget...midget...midget.'" That's another great part of the song, of course. I was wrong. He only wrote back, "A midget...midget...midget" without the first few words. Some friend I am. And lastly, as I wrote in this space about two and half years ago, my friend Dusty and I had the same kind of encounter. "Nothing lasts forever, kids," our loony English teacher said in high school. Dusty and I turned to each other and said at the same time, "Styrofoam." That, my friends, is some crazy ass familiarity. (Those three guys, incidentally, made up my side of our wedding party. And this weekend, I'm heading off to Dusty's bachelor party, so things lined up nicely there thematically and temporally, no?)

And with that, let's refrain from biodegrading as we head over to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye saw a license plate that he shared with me: "FACE (Heart)FF." Does this person love to face off against others in some form of competition (ranging from boxing to debating to yodeling)? Or is s/he that big a fan of the Nicholas Cage and John Travolta film? I like the movie, don't get me wrong, but that seems a bit extreme. Either way, I have trouble mentally reconciling something as inherently antagonistic as a face off with the universal symbol for love. That's weird, right?

My dad saw a fairly common license plate frame around these parts that featured UCLA's name and colors. The plate on that car read, "UKLAFAN." No, no, NO! It's a frickin' acronym in which you have to say the right letters for people to know what the hell you're talking about! Sure, a hard C sound is the same as a K's, but that doesn't mean you can interchange them wherever you please without any regard for the intended message. I hate that car.

Lastly, I was a few cars away from another vehicle, and I thought I read a plate that said, "CUPONTV." "See you pee on t.v.?!" I said aloud? "No way!" I immediately started formulating this paragraph, complete with jokes about the next level of reality shows, fetishes, and a whole host of other highbrow concepts. Then I changed lanes and got closer to that car. "CUP OVT," it actually read. Ah, that's a big difference. All I got now is some curiosity over the fact that both a "cup of tea" and a "piece of cake" came to mean "easy." To me, that's a nice little snack.

Ok, that is it for me. I'll be back next Friday with more stuff, but you can always reach me at ptklein@gmail.com in the meantime. Until then, here are some happy occasions to note: Little Emma P. turns 1.5 today, so happy half-birthday to her (it's her third half-birthday ever, so it's still pretty new). My Mom, who has been UOPTA's Commenter of the Year every year since this thing began has her full birthday tomorrow, so please join me in wishing her a happy one. Sunday is our friend Scott M.'s birthday and the half-birthday of our friend Kareem (no last initial needed). Also, my friend and former colleague Leslie's birthday is Tuesday, so this is a pretty festive time of year (despite the lack of real holidays anywhere near here). Take care, everyone, and have a happy and healthy weekend and week. Shaloha.

What up, bridges!

Hello again, mis amiguitos, and welcome to UOPTA. No, no, that doesn't stand for, "Undercooked Ostrich Parts Taste Awful," but one can only assume that that's a factual statement. Instead, this UOPTA is a little slice of the web in which I write my thoughts and stories. If that sounds agreeable to you, then I suggest you proceed to the next paragraph. (Thanks again to my favorite brother for supplying that UOPTA. If you'd like to get in on that action, ptklein@gmail.com is the place to direct your acronymical genius.)

I was a part of a story a couple of weeks back that bears repeating. When someone handles a situation in the exact opposite manner than I would have, I tend to take note of it. Well, I know a guy who I'll call Barry, and he is the lead in this tale. He was in a predicament (which you can't spell without Peter), and he asked both me and a friend our opinions on it. He said that he'd let the majority rule on how he should handle it. Here's the situation: Barry has been going to the same dentist for about 15 years. He has a nice working relationship with the tooth doc, and everyone knows him at the office because of his long-standing patronage. Well, he received a bill in the mail from the dentist's office for a whopping $1.20. On the bill was a hand-written note by the office manager (who has been there for as long as Barry's been a patient) saying that amount was a service fee from one of the invoices in the recent past being a little late.

"The way I see it," Barry told us, "I have two options. I either just write a check and send it in or I mail them 120 pennies and never go back." "Uh, there's a third option that I'd recommend," I said. "How about you call and say something to the effect of, 'I just received this bill, and since it's only a dollar, can you please just add it to my next bill instead of having me write a check for that tiny amount?' There's no need to antagonize them." I also pointed out, should he choose to go there, that it probably costs more than $1.20 for the invoice to be printed, mailed, and then mailed back with another stamp and a check. He explained that he was upset by the way that he, a loyal customer, had been treated. "But why punish the doctor for something his accounting staff did?" I asked. "They represent him, and they probably got his approval before sending that out," he said. Our friend took a slightly different approach, suggesting that Barry's girlfriend call and say that Barry would be very upset to see that and to please roll it over. I didn't get why another person had to be involved, so I kept pushing my idea. "Really, there's no need to send 120 pennies and end this professional relationship over someone's poor judgment - especially when it's probably not the dentist's judgment we're talking about." "I could probably go back to him after that if I wanted to," he said. "Oh yeah, and let the guy with sharp objects in your mouth determine if you were rude or not," I added.

We discussed it for a while longer, and he eventually agreed that my way made the most sense. So imagine my surprise when I got an email from him an hour later with a copy of what he wrote to the office manager. The subject of the email to me was, "I just can't help myself." Here it is:

"Rosemary-
All of us at my office had a good laugh over this bill.
At first I was insulted and angry that after 15+ years I would get a bill for $1.20 in service fees, but then my friends convinced me that I shouldn't take it that way, and it was obviously bad judgment on whoever decided to send this.
That said, please thank the doctor for his work with me over the years. I won't be back."

I immediately replied to that email as such: "I'll take Unnecessary Bridge Burning for 200, Alex."

You see, I try to make it a habit to avoid burning bridges at all costs. Especially in the business world, it's just a smart way to operate. If someone really rubs me the wrong way or is even offensive somehow, I tend to politely distance myself from him. It's not a matter of being non-confrontational or wimpy, it's about keeping doors open. Contacts, relationships, and the ability to make key introductions are things I value, so I take care not to damage those ties (even when warranted). You never know when you may need to reach out to someone, and I don't want to ever have to think, "Man, I sure would like to ask so-and-so about that, but he's probably still mad about the flaming bag of dog shit I left on his porch after our last disagreement." Now I doubt that Barry is going to run into a situation in which that dentist contact would've proven profitable, but he's essentially made an enemy out there when he didn't need to. If he was so offended, he could've just paid the trifling amount and found another dentist. Nope, that sound you hear is a flamethrower being taken to a well-worn, 15 year-old bridge.

I started thinking (uh oh) about my life and if I've always acted in this manner. And yes, I think I have. When leaving jobs or even relationships back in high school, I've always tried to be as amicable as possible. I like to keep the possibility of future conversations open, and I think that's a good thing. I find it important to limit the number of people who will say bad things about me when I'm not around. For example, during our senior year in college, my lovely wife nee girlfriend lived next to some interesting folks. On one side, she had the stoner/loud-praying Orthodox Jew scene, and on the other, the loud fratboy scene. One evening (or early morning to be precise), the fratboy side was very loud right outside her bedroom window. She had a test early the next morning, and so sleep was pretty important. Instead of opening the window and shouting something short and sweet like, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I thought for a minute. Why burn that bridge now, be the hated neighbor for the remainder of the year, and probably cause them to be even louder in defiance? So I took a different, more diplomatic approach. I walked out there, looking extra sleepy, and said, "Hey guys, I don't wanna be a dick, but we're trying to sleep just through that window there. You think you could keep it down just a little please?" Apparently that was speaking their language, and after some "No prob, bro" comments, they moved farther away. In the coming months, I even heard one of them say, "Hey, we should move down here instead, they're sleeping in there." I'd call that a victory.

Giving it more thought, I can only come up with two situations in which I didn't mind leaving some ashes behind me. The first, as documented in a post called "Hanger Anger" from 3/19/07, involved an incredibly inept drycleaner who would certainly never receive another dime from me. The second involves a story that I haven't told here. I'll keep it brief.

The summer after high school, a friend of mine from school told me that he was gay. It was something I had suspected for years, but had recently changed my mind since he kept going out with the hottest cheerleaders. Bastard. In any case, it didn't affect our friendship at all, except that I was honored that he felt comfortable enough to share that with me. About a week later, I stopped at the school to pick up some final things. I was in my car, heading out for probably the very last time, and I saw a guy I knew near the gate. He motioned for me to stop, so I rolled down my window and said hi. This guy had been a giant asshole since I met him. He was always way too cool for everyone, and when we briefly worked together once, he did his best to make himself look good by putting everyone else down. Needless to say, we weren't great buds. So we exchanged pleasantries for a minute, and then he said in a very sarcastic tone, "So I hear (name) finally came out of the closet. Wow, big shock there. Didn't see that coming. He sure fooled us." I stared at him for a second, and then after a sigh and a little head shake, I told him to fuck off and I drove away. I won't lie; it felt great, and I'd do that again ten times out of ten. I can still picture his look of mild disbelief in my rearview mirror. Good times, good times.

And with that, let's express our innermost feelings on down to the Car Watch.

First up, my homey Rockabye saw a plate that I think negates the point it's trying to make. It read, "SMARDY 1." Oh sure, it was on a Smart Car, so maybe the driver was talking about the vehicle and not him/herself. Still, there's something inherently wrong with spelling "smart" incorrectly...even on purpose.

Next up, my dad sent me a plate that I rather enjoyed: "NCOGETO." If we assume that the plate is trying to say "incognito," then I just have to laugh. First off, you don't tell someone you're incognito; that completely defeats the purpose. Second, it doesn't really work without the N in there. I'm guessing "NCOGNTO" was taken, so the driver thought this way was good enough. I disagree. Unless, of course, it's spelled that way on purpose to throw us off the scent. Yes, I've got it. The word "incognito" is going incognito on us by masquerading as the mild-mannered "ncogeto." Brilliant!

And lastly, I saw a plate that read, "IM PINK." I suggest you go back on the grill for a little longer then. Especially if you're ostrich meat, for I read somewhere that one should cook that thoroughly for the best-tasting result.

That's it for me, homepeople. I'll be back here next Friday with more, but feel free to email ptklein@gmail.com before then with any thoughts, stories, jokes, UOPTA meanings, or whatever else suits your fancy. (Your fancy looks dashing in a suit, by the way.) Before signing off, let's celebrate. Happy 2nd birthday to my little cousin Rio today. Wednesday is our friend The Mills' half-birthday, and Thursday is the half-birthday of both lifelong friend Bryan and good friend/fellow literature nerd Melissa. Shaloha, and be happy and healthy.

Empha-sighs

Hello everyone, and it's great to see you here once more. In truth, I can't see you, but I feel your presence. No, that's not really true either. Disirregardless, it's great to have you here at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Usually Obama Pitches Truly Accurately," but I hope that's the case after seeing that weak toss of his before the All-Star Game. Oh sure, he got it all the way to the player instead of bouncing it (as many have unfortunately done), but as the leader of the free world, I'd like to see him really zing one in there. Does this actually matter at all? Of course not, but for many people in this fine country, discussing the President's throwing motion is the most political discourse they'll have all year, so let them enjoy this. To reiterate my point from before, that previous statement is not what UOPTA stands for. This UOPTA, my homepeople, is where I write out some of my thoughts and stories on a weekly basis. I hope you enjoy today's installment. (Thanks to my favorite brother for supplying that UOPTA. Send your own in to ptklein@gmail.com and be cool like him.)

Here's a random thought that the first paragraph caused me to think: When we say the phrase "All-Star Game" or "All-Star Team," why do we put the emphasis on the word "All?" When we break it down, we're discussing a team made up solely of star players, right? Therefore, it should be the "all STAR team" instead of the "ALL star team," right? Let's take some very different examples of the same concept to prove my point. If there were an animal sanctuary comprised of only giraffes, would anyone call it an "ALL giraffe sanctuary?" I doubt it, because that wouldn't make any sense. Similarly, what would you call an aisle in the supermarket that only sells potato chips? (If you answered either "Crunchy, "Unhealthy," or "Heaven," you're not exactly playing along, now are you?") So why do we switch it up for the "All-Star Game?"

I have a theory, actually. It goes a little like this: When the first team of all star players was created, it was easy to call it the "all STAR team." But how would they designate the players who were honored by making that team? They were already stars, which is why they were named to the team in the first place. So someone started calling the individuals "All-Stars" for some reason that doesn't really make the most logical sense. I argue that it was that designation of the single player that changed the correct emphasis of the term into the way we say it today. Ideally, a chosen player would've been called a "Star Team Member," "League Star," or something shorter that makes sense. To name a single player after the compound adjective modifying the game in which he'll play just doesn't seem like it was thought through appropriately to me.

I just thought of something similar. In our everyday lives together, my lovely wife emphasizes a few things differently than I do. And you know what? I think she's absolutely right. Crap. I just thought about the two examples that I was going to write down here, and I think I've been saying the equivalent of "ALL star team" my entire life. What can I say, girls mature faster than guys.

First, I might say that I put my wallet down on the "kitchen TABLE." Meanwhile, she'll call it the "KITCHEN table." I used to make fun of this, but now I shall dive in and see why I'm wrong. My way, emphasizing "table," is essentially differentiating that piece of furniture from others in that room of the house. That is, the "kitchen TABLE" is emphasized so as to not confuse the listener with the "kitchen COUNTER" or "kitchen FLOOR." In her version, she's distinguishing that piece of furniture from others of the same kind. The "KITCHEN table" is different than the "COFFEE table" or any other table in the house. Both ways make sense, right? Then why do I think I'm wrong? When I say tell my lovely wife that the mail is on the "kitchen TABLE," my intent is to specify where in the house. That is, I don't think she'll accidentally think I put the mail on the kitchen floor. The intent behind my phrase coincides with the emphasis she uses. Therefore, I think I'm wrong in this regard. (Oddly enough, this table that we're both talking about in theory isn't actually found in our kitchen but rather in the closest thing we have to a dining area. Go figure. And as it turns out, I rarely drink coffee at the coffee table, but rather at the kitchen table that isn't actually in the kitchen. I hope that clears things up.)

The other example of things my lovely wife and I emphasize differently comes to us from the dessert tray: chocolate cake. Now tell me, friends, how did you just say that in your head? Personally, I say, "I'd like a piece of chocolate CAKE." My lovely wife, on the other hand, would ask for "CHOCOLATE cake." (These capitalizations are starting to look like we're screaming, but I hope the point of emphasis is still getting across.) I've commented on this difference to her in the past, and after further review, I think I'm wrong here too. Let's break it down again. If someone comes to me with a tray of chocolate mousse, chocolate ice cream, and chocolate cake, I think I'd have every right to emphasize "cake," as that's the distinguishing factor. If there are slices of cake in a variety of flavors though, saying "CHOCOLATE cake" is the right choice. So which way is correct when the distinctions aren't so clearly drawn? Read this sentence to yourself without thinking about it: "There's a piece of chocolate cake on the floor." Which way did you go? Do you think that's right or not? One thing's for certain, I am no longer making any sense to myself and must stop this nonsense at once.

Ok fine, one last thing: Chinese chicken salad. Do you emphasize "chicken" like I do? If so, I think we're wrong. We're not differentiating it from other "Chinese salads," are we? Instead, it's different from other kinds of "chicken salad," so we should be saying, "CHINESE chicken salad." That would also work if the chickens used for the salad came from China, by the way.

Before we get to the Car Watch, I wanted to follow up on something from a few weeks ago. In my post entitled "Badvertising," I complained about companies putting fewer items into each container. I used my tortillas as an example, saying that the size that used to have 20 now only has 16. Then I made this statement: "I understand why they'd try to be sneaky about that (especially when prices remain the same often for the lesser amount), but I don't want to see those same companies tout their 'bigger sizes' a year from now when they're actually the same size they had before getting sneaky. I'm watching you, retail products." Well guess what happened. The size that used to be 10 but got downgraded to 8 is back up to 10. Sure enough, they did just what I didn't want to see happen. There's a big sticker stating, "Now with 2 EXTRA tortillas!" No, assholes, those are the two tortillas you stole from us before and are now rightfully returning. In fact, I should have 12 in here to make up for your cost-saving schemes. (Yes, I take tortillas very seriously.)

And with that, let's choose either corn or flour as we make our way to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye saw a Toyota Highlander with this plate: "TOYLNDR." I like that. Even though I've made fun of people who put their make or model on their plates in the past, there's something cute and innovative about combining the two. Ergo, I approve.

My favorite brother sent me a plate that I can't say I really understand the rationale behind. "COWPOOH," it read. Um, manure? Why would someone want that as a license plate? And then there's the problem with the H. Why conjure up images of Winnie the Pooh there? Is that intentional or was "COOPOO" taken and that was the only way to get this dire message across? We'll never know, will we? (Sob.)

And lastly, my friend Dusty sent me an even more confusing plate: "ATE FEET." I see just three options with this one. First, quite literally, this person ingested the bottommost extremities of...something that had them. Second, the "ATE" is supposed to stand for "EIGHT" and the driver is 8 feet tall or has a special association with that specific distance (i.e. a high jump record). Third, he or she strung random letters together to cause people like me to try to figure out what they mean when there really is no deeper significance. I have no frickin' clue, but I sure hope it's not the third one. That's just not cool.

Ok folks, I'm out like the opposite of in. I'll be back next Friday with more words for you, but you can always email me at ptklein@gmail.com if that's just too far away for you. In the meantime, here are some happy occasions that will occur before I'm back here. This Sunday is my little homey T-Boy's 3.5 birthday. Monday is the first birthday (not counting the actual day of birth) of little Emma and the 2.5 birthday of our diminutive pal Tyler. Then on Thursday, just to make sure that these happies are only for children, little Keira turns 2. Please join me in wishing them all great respective days. And you, my friends, you have happy and healthy weekends and weeks. See you again soon. (Well I won't actually see you unless I do some major upgrades to the blog, but you get the point.)

Holding up ok?

Good day, chaps and chapettes, and welcome once more to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unreliable Organic Products Taste Awful," but I can imagine that to be true. (Thanks to my mom for supplying that UOPTA. She suggested that those products might still have some "natural steer manure" on them, which would contribute to the poor taste. Want to get your own UOPTA in here? Email me at ptklein@gmail.com.) This UOPTA, friends, is where I write down some thoughts and stories, and I hope you enjoy whatever today has to offer.

Readers, I was recently visited by someone who simultaneously amused and concerned me. It was the 19 year-old version of me, and I arrived via old camcorder cassettes. It was really something. I've seen stills of myself at that age recently, but there was something very different about the walking, talking, and being stupid version. I saw old t-shirts that I loved at the time, lanky legs coming out of shorts that I still own, a little more weight, a little less hair, and the same eye-rubbing motion that I still employ today. At one point, my lovely wife told me that I said a line like actor Michael Cera. I immediately pointed out that I'd played the role of Awkward Lanky Jew for many years before he appeared on the scene. So there.

As I watched the video of me and a few friends making stupid movies, I couldn't help but laugh hysterically the entire time. I laughed for several reasons. First, we were pretty funny some of the time. Second, we bombed horribly in other parts. Third, some of the parts that I had found hilarious at the time were very stupid now.

That last one surprised me. I know that that happens with movies all the time. Take Weird Al's cinematic epic, "UHF," for example. As a kid, it was the funniest frickin' thing in the world. Even as a college student, my friends and I found ourselves quoting it all the time. So we rented it one night, and...not so much. I really didn't think that I'd matured too much in that time, and the rather large disparity bothered me. It wasn't just the newness of the jokes when I was young versus hearing them for the thousandth time. When Stanley Spadowski blasted the kid in the face with the firehose, it was hilarious as a kid - even when I knew it was coming. As a semi-grown man, however, I just nodded and waited to see if the next gag would still successfully target my funny bone. It didn't. In fact, it annoyed me, and that's not good.

What makes some movies hold up over the years while others get dated or lose their hilarity? I have a couple of theories that I haven't given nearly enough thought to but plan on tossing out there nonetheless. That is precisely how I roll.

Theory 1: Outdated Technology Corollary

Remember "The Net" with Sandra Bullock? I think you already know where I'm going with this. Basically, it was about a woman having her identity completely erased by way of this new and scary thing called the internet. Well, not only do we really not call it "the net" anymore (in favor of "the web" or just "online"), but it's just a very different culture now. We're not nearly as scared of that new-fangled technology, so the entire premise loses something. Contrastly, the movie "Major League" has held up extremely well. Why's that? Well, nothing much has changed in the game of baseball for over a hundred years (aside from that little integration thing). The positions are the same, they use the same equipment, they talk about the game in the same way, etc. By having the main focus of the movie be something relatively timeless, the filmmakers avoided the OTC.

Theory 2: Ruined By Copycats Syndrome

Ah, the dreaded RBCS. This one is pretty easy for me to explain with two examples. First off, remember how cool "The Matrix" was? Well watch it again, and you'll see that its coolness dissipated almost as fast as Chris Brown's fanclub numbers. The reason is simple: the special effects in "The Matrix" were brand spankin' new. No one had every scene that kind of time-stopping, camera-swerving technique before. A year later, and every director and his/her mother was using that kind of special effects. Even movies like "Shrek" and "Scary Movie" parodied those famous action sequences because they were just that new and different. Once it was everywhere though and we were left to focus on the confusing plot instead of the pretty pictures, something important got lost.

My second RBCS example is "Wayne's World." I loved that movie. I saw it four times in the theater, a Peter Klein record that shall never be broken. Hell, I don't imagine I'll ever see the same movie twice in the theater again (unless there was some mix-up and I had told someone I'd see it with him/her and then I have to pretend the whole time that I was watching it for the first time or a similar reason that would fit nicely into a "Friends" episode). "Wayne's World" was hilarious, and I still quote it quite often. Two things were very new in that movie that resonated with me (and likely others in my age range). First, the language that they used was radically different than even the things they'd said in their SNL skits. "If you blow chunks and she comes back, she's yours. But if you spew and she bolts, it was never meant to be." It was so different that it warranted multiple viewings to even catch it all and realize how funny the smaller, less noteworthy lines were. (The same can be said about the first Austin Powers movie. Maybe that's Mike Meyers' thing.) Second, what was the funniest scene from the movie to many a moviegoer? The guys singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the car. It was huge, and caused that song to top the charts despite being old and pretty weird. So what happened? We got used to the language. That's about all I can say about the first of my examples of newness in that movie. We stopped being surprised by "Schwing!" and other phrases that had made their way into my age group's everyday vocabulary. As for the singing in the car scene, well, that got copied like a smart kid's math test. Movie after movie started employing that technique. "Tommy Boy" had Chris Farley and David Spade singing loudly in the car, "Road Trip" had a singing-in-the-bus scene, and even "Jerry Maguire" got in on the action. Because of that, by the time we watched Wayne, Garth, and their friends sing along to Queen for the twenty-fifth time, it's lost something - not because they're less funny, but because of the damage done by the RBCS.

One random item for my peeps before I launch the ever-present Car Watch section: I was on a phone call earlier this week at work, and I tried typing an email at the same time. I'm pretty good at this (as long as I'm not talking at the same time), but there is certainly less thought behind those typed words when it's a part of multi-tasking. I started to write the word "introduction" with "inter." I stopped and questioned it because it just didn't look right, but then I pressed on and wrote out the entire "interduction." I looked again, knew full well that it was wrong this time, deleted it, and waited for my call to end before trying that again. That type of error is of course inexcusable, but partially understandable. If I'm not trying to enunciate clearly, I probably (or "prolly") say "interduction." I definitely say "perscription," I'll tell you that much. Along the same lines, I've seen people write "must of" instead of "must have" because that's how it was sounding in their heads. Again, none of these are ok, but at least it's nice to know that there's sometimes a reason for a typo.

And with that, let's incorrectly spell our ways on over to the Car Watch.

First off, my loving mother-in-law saw a young lady driving a car with this plate: "XY CRAZY." I approve wholeheartedly. Way to create a little turn of phrase with some science on the side. Maybe there's hope for our nation's youth after all.

Next up, I was behind a car a couple of days ago with a license plate frame that confused me. On the top it read, "Psst, Hey Buddy," and on the bottom, "Wanna Buy Some Paper?" I suppose it could just be that he sells paper for a living (like our fictional friends at Dunder-Mifflin) and thought that was a funny way to let that fact be known. Aside from that, I can't think of why one would want to come across as a paper pusher. Hmmm.

Lastly, my homey Rockabye sent me this plate: "TROUBUL." What, with spelling?

That's it for me, party people. I would love to hear your thoughts on which movies have withstood the test of time and which ones look or feel especially dated. I'll be back here next Friday with more thoughts and stories for you. In the meantime, happy 4.5 birthday to little Cameron, who does a wicked version of a Smashing Pumpkins song. Have safe and healthy weekends and weeks, friends, and feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Peace out.

Mixing it up

Hi everyone, and welcome yet again to this little slice of the internets called UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unceremoniously Obnoxious Pterodactyls Terrorize Aardvarks," but I think I saw a special about that on the National Geographic channel once. Instead, this UOPTA is where I think about things, remember other things, and then type them up for your visual consumption. Sound good? (Thanks to my lovely wife for supplying that UOPTA. Send your own in to ptklein@gmail.com, would ya?)

Speaking of that same lovely wife, we recently started doing something that many people had been almost begging us to do: watch Mad Men. I can't tell you how many people were shocked that I wasn't watching it and expressed harsh disapproval. It wasn't that I was against the show, I just wanted to have some time to start watching from the beginning and eventually catch up to the current episodes. It's similar to how I've felt for a while about The Wire. Everyone tells me it's great and that I'm really missing out, so I plan on watching the entire series at some point. Well, we're making our way through the first season, and I'm rather enjoying it so far. Aside from my wonderment at the amount of smoking and drinking, it's a well-acted and intriguing show.

That said, I'd like to focus on one word in particular from that last sentence: "drinking." I'm not a big drinker by any means, but part of me can't help but find a half-full rocks glass with some indiscernible brownish liquid incredibly cool. (Not to the extent that the Mad Men characters have those glasses in their hands, mind you.) I've often wanted to have "my drink" be something cool when I go to a bar or party, but that kind of thing apparently doesn't happen naturally at all. Uh oh, I feel a random tangent that will hopefully tie back in nicely coming on.

My tastes often expand either by accident or by the power of suggestion. Here is a non-drinking example. Way back in the day, I went to summer camp with my favorite brother and a few friends. One day in particular, the counselors organized "The Dating Game" in which the campers would partake. The winners would get to go to McDonalds for lunch, so naturally, we all wanted to win. I was probably only around 8 or 9 years old, so dating wasn't really on the top of my list yet. I was a good kid who didn't cause any problems, so I was chosen to be one of the three unseen suitors during one of the games. I remember it fairly clearly. I was Bachelor #2, and along with the two other suitors who flanked me, I stared straight ahead at the crowd. The unseen bachelorette asked me only one question: "Bachelor #2, if you were a sandwich, which part would you be and why?" Not turning on any charm whatsoever, I replied, "Well, I guess I'd be middle part, because...I just like being in the middle of things. That's why I'm Bachelor #2." The other guys each got two questions, and then time was called. I saw some girls in the crowd holding up fingers to the bachelorette as to which guy to choose. I felt like I saw many more ones and threes, but she surprisingly selected me. Confused but eager to eat some quality fast food, I smiled.

We got to McDonalds, and a counselor took all of our orders. As if programmed, I rattled off, "A Big Mac combo, just cheese and pickles, and a Coke Classic for the drink." I grabbed some ketchup packets and got a table with the other boys my age, completely missing the point of the game. (In truth, I don't remember a single thing about the bachelorette - not name, hair color, anything. What a ladykiller I was.) We were all talking about something very important (like which Beastie Boys song was our favorite) when the trays of food came. I opened the styrofoam box in front of me and saw a Big Mac with everything on it. I asked around at my table, but the only other Big Mac was also that way. I did something very un-young-Peter-like: I just went for it. To my shock, I really liked it. Maybe special sauce, lettuce, and onions weren't going to kill me after all. Who knew? From that day forward, the formerly picky burger eater ordered the Big Mac without saying, "With no..." anything. Way to go me. And that horizon was broadened by accident.

To get back to drinking and how that ties in, I'd like to briefly go through my evolution of imbibing alcoholic beverages. When I first began drinking alcohol (almost legally), I stuck to some things that tasted ok. This meant wine coolers, the glorious but now defunct Zima, and other similar concoctions. I drank beer, but I still made a face after almost every sip. It was a means to an end though, and I wanted to acquire the taste. Time passed, and beer and I became good friends. I tried some hard liquor every once in a while, but nothing really struck my fancy. Then, during my senior year of college, I became a big fan of spiced rum and Coke. I even bought a bottle of Captain Morgan's to "fix myself a drink" from time to time. (I put that in quotes because I can't say that phrase without affecting my voice to sound either old-fashioned or possibly creepy.) We had tall glasses in our place that I'd use for that, starting with three fingers of rum and then an entire can of Coke. It fit perfectly, and better yet, it got my friend Greg to start calling me "Three Finger Klein." I felt like a gunslinger or something.

More years passed, and I pretty much stuck to beer, wine (which I was learning to really appreciate), and my Cap'n and Coke. Greg had started liking scotch, and tried it a couple of times with the same exact response: "Why didn't I remember that I don't like this?" It was too strong, and while I thought about learning to acquire that taste as well, the cons outweighed the pros. Then, in April of 2007, I was at a charity event for work with my lovely wife and some friends. One of the guys was going to the bar and asked if I wanted anything. "Surprise me," I said, feeling extremely daring. He came back a few minutes later with something. "What is it?" I asked. "I'll tell you later," he said. I took a sip and really liked it. He told me it was a 7 and 7. I asked what that was, and he told me (Seagram's 7 and 7-Up or a similar product). More branching out! My lovely wife missed the last part of the conversation and asked what I was drinking. "7 and 7," I said all cool-like. "What's that?" she asked. "Fourteen," I said, and then I waited for a rim shot to accompany her shaking head. It never came. But here I was, suddenly with two mixed drinks that I liked. I was getting somewhere.

Let's fast forward some more until we get to May of this year. I was at a conference in Ron Burgundy's hometown, hanging out with some clients after dinner. We'd had a few drinks (a 7 and 7 and a couple of beers over the course of a few hours), and one guy wanted "an after dinner drink" before calling it a night. "Uh oh, I have no such thing in my stable," I thought. The first guy ordered a cognac, and I thought about joining him in that, even though it honestly scared me a little. The guy next to me said, "What are you having?" "Whatever you are," I said. This was a frightening statement, because that guy drinks so much that he practically has gills. "You sure?" he asked. With a look and voice that exuded confidence, I said, "Absolutely. Surprise me." "Ok. Two Makers Mark Manhattans please," he said. I gulped. I didn't know what kind of liquor Makers Mark was for sure, and I didn't know what happened to it when it became the Manhattan version. The drinks came, and to my utter surprise, I rather enjoyed it. So much so, in fact, that I immediately sent myself an email that only said, "Makers Mark Manhattan." Ready for the best part? This drink looks cool. I'm talking "Mad Men cool" here, served in a rocks glass and everything. I think I now have a go-to cool drink, not cut with any soda to wuss it up or anything. According to a website I looked at the next day, it's two parts Makers Mark (which I learned is a bourbon - I like bourbon?), one part vermouth, a dash of something called bitters, and an optional garnish of a cherry. How cool is that? I feel like I should go get a fedora or something.

I haven't had the opportunity to order one of my new drinks again yet, but I assure you that I will soon. I'm not gonna go out and buy three new bottles for the off chance that I'll feel like "fixing myself a drink" one night after work. That's just not my thing, but hopefully I go out somewhere soon that I can just rattle that off and soak in the coolness. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the former Bachelor #2 is back in the middle of things, and he's bringing several drink options with him.

With that, let's mix, shake, and strain ourselves on over to the Car Watch.

First off, my homey Rockabye saw a plate that takes things to a new level: "ATRNY4U." Yes, it's not enough to be in the yellow pages, have a bus bench ad, or maybe a website. This lawyer wants you to know that, should the time come, s/he is there to represent you. One problem though: how do we contact this attorney? That's why we need the ultimate in lawyer car advertisements: two bumper stickers on either side of the plate that read "LAWYER," and the 7-digit phone number as the plate. The area code can be on the top part of the license plate frame, and the bottom can alert us to any specialties (i.e. personal injury). It's just a matter of time, isn't it?

Next up, my lovely wife and I saw a plate that I really liked: "MUU WAH." It's clearly an attempt to replicate an evil laugh, and I applaud that.

Lastly, I saw a van for a flooring company. Their phone number, as boldly lettered onto its side, is 866-WE DO WUD. I'm torn here. Normally, I'd applaud this person for sticking to the true 7 digits and not getting into the famed 800-SAVETHECHILDREN territory. That said, I would actually prefer to see WOOD there, despite the superfluous 8th digit. "WUD" just looks stupid to me, and that's clearly not the point of getting a vanity number. So...good effort, I guess, but poor execution.

Ok, this ended up taking up more space than I'd imagined, so I'm ending this here and now. Meet me back here next Friday for more stuff, ok? In the meantime, please email me with anything that crosses your mind (inlcuding things that UOPTA can stand for). And now, los happies: Have a very happy Fourth of July tomorrow, my friends and friends of friends. On Sunday, my favorite nephew goes from "almost fo-wuh" to actually 4 years old, so happy birthday to that frickin' adorable kid. And...I think that's it. I don't have my calendar in front of me, so I apologize if I'm missing anyone's birthday or half-birthday. Let me know and I'll apologize profusely (or antifusely). Take care, everyone.

Badvertising

My dear homepeople of the internets, I welcome you to another post here at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Usually Only Pilots Teach Aviation," but if that's the case, I really think that they need to bump that up to 100% of the time. "Usually" simply can't cut it this time. Instead, UOPTA is where I write my thoughts and stories for my 8-10 loyal readers to hopefully enjoy. (If you can think of something that UOPTA can stand for, please email it to me at ptklein@gmail.com and make your presence felt in the first paragraph of an upcoming post.) As is often the case, I have some unrelated items to share with you all today.

It probably comes as a shock to absolutely no one that I'm critical of the way companies advertise their products. I've already discussed the extreme example at great length (Carl's Jr. garnering a Peter Klein boycott), but there are lesser, more general ones that bother me as well. I'm going to make up names for these categories. The first one I shall call...The Self-Disparaging Comparison. Allow me to explain the SDC with a crystal clear example:

Picture a commercial for Pine Sol or a similar product. At some point, it's likely that there will be a split screen showing one mop or sponge doing a mediocre job on the left while the product they're selling is doing a kick-ass job on the right. What's the problem with that? Well, often the product on the left is the old (or current) version of the same brand's product. "But look at how NEW Pine Sol with its extra added cleaning power takes care of the same mess!" I made up that specific example, but I'm not far off at all. Basically, when products show how much better they are than the same brand's recent product, they're essentially saying, "Yeah, that stuff that you spent your money on because we said it was the best and is now sitting in your cabinet...well, it didn't really do that great a job. This one is a lot better." But what if they told you that something killed 99.9% of germs before? Can they rightfully come out with a "better" product without claiming all 100%? My suggestion is to stick to belittling "the other guys" or similar products in the same category and to just let your old versions fade away gracefully.

I thought of another SDC during that last paragraph. "Now with 100% real meat!" To me, that only elicits one reply: "What the hell were you serving me before?" It's almost like a used car salesman saying, "This car over here is special - it's never been found with two dead hookers in it." Ok, maybe not quite like that, but who among us hasn't forced an analogy to dead hookers before?

The second advertising method that's currently bothering me is one I'll call the Arbitrary Size Boost. I've noticed the ASB many times in the past, but I saw it again this week and it spurred this entire post. My shaving cream is very pleased with itself. "35% More! (compared to our 7 oz. size)," it tells me. I see this all the time. "50% more!" it'll say on a bag of some snack food. You know what they don't tell us in those little blurbs? That it costs the same as the smaller size. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. Yes, the four-pack of shaving cream at Costco now has the larger can size in it, but am I paying more for it? If so, then why not make it 75% bigger and raise the price more? The thing is, they don't care to mention when the opposite happens, which does all the time (especially lately). Granola bar boxes that once came with 6 now have five. My bag of tortillas has 16 instead of the 20 to which I grew accustomed. Bottles that appear to be the same size now have indentations on the bottom to sneakily decrease the volume. You never see, "Now with 25% less volume (compared to our 12 oz. size)." I understand why they'd try to be sneaky about that (especially when prices remain the same often for the lesser amount), but I don't want to see those same companies tout their "bigger sizes" a year from now when they're actually the same size they had before getting sneaky. I'm watching you, retail products.

Ok, time to switch topics. In this here blog, when I say I don't like a phrase, it's usually because it either doesn't make sense or is just wildly inappropriate. Not today, my good men and women. Here's a phrase that I dislike for a whole 'nuther reason: "Adding to an already tough drive." If you hear that on the radio in your car, you'd better hope that it had nothing to do with your route. Unfortunately, everything seems to be an already tough drive - getting in a car at all is really beginning to suck in L.A. There's no rhyme or reason anymore, and I thrive off rhyme and reason. Driving to my grandparents' house last weekend, we were suddenly in bumper-to-bumper traffic. It was a Saturday in the early afternoon, but that didn't matter. There can be horrible traffic anywhere, on any day, and at any time in the greater Los Angeles area. (And in the worse Los Angeles area too I suppose.) As someone who already worries about leaving enough time to get somewhere, all this traffic does is make me anxious. There seem to be only two possible outcomes when I'm leaving to drive somewhere a moderate distance away. One: I don't hit traffic and get there way too early, usually leading to time alone in the car, writing emails on my Blackberry that I could've been writing on a real computer if I hadn't left so damn early. Two: I hit traffic and worry the whole time that I'm going to be late. It's worse if I'm going somewhere for the first time and have to find out where it really is, where to park, etc. Oy vey, this traffic thing isn't good for me at all.

And with that, let's slowly inch our way over to the Car Watch.

First off, my friend Dave very rarely sends me anything for the Car Watch section, but when he does, it's a doozy. Check out this picture he sent me of a car he saw when he went to an Angels game recently:

In case you can't read that, it says, "For Letters Call." Oh, they do lettering on things. How interesting. And since it's a toll-free number, I'm guessing that it's not just a guy in his garage doing it as a hobby. Why then, pray tell, would the driver spell his or her favorite team's name wrong right below that? That's comically awful. I wonder how many people have seen that car, thought about calling, and then purposely not given them the business because of that error. That's your livelihood, dude! Come on, put just a little pride in it. To me, this colossally negligent error in business advertising is tied for the worst I've seen. The other, sent a while back from loyal reader Sue, was a tutoring company that specializes in helping with "grammer." Those two errors so successfully strip the companies of credibility that I might not even point it out to them in person as punishment for their foolishness. People, please proofread. Please.

Next up, my homey Rockabye sent me this license plate that he saw: "(Heart) 2B DST." Now I ask you, friends, which makes more sense: "Love to be dust," or "Love to be Daylight Savings Time?" Neither, right? "Love tube dust?" I don't know what that could mean, but that's not stopping me from throwing it out there. Whatever it stands for, the driver clearing loves it.

And lastly, my dad sent me a very good plate that he spied. It read, "CLSY BRP." Can that be anything but "classy burp?" I guess the driver's initials could be BRP, but if that's the case, then s/he showed an amazing lack of foresight in selecting that plate. I can't help but wonder what would constitute a classy burp. Is it in a baritone with an appropriately genteel hand mannerism? Would it be reserved for after a particular food or drink, like caviar or port? I want to know this, yet I have a feeling that I'll be left in the dark. Any additional thoughts, my friends?

Ok, that's it for now. I'm tired and ready for the weekend. How about you guys? (This is the part where you're supposed to cheer.) I can't hear you! (Now you're supposed to cheer louder.) Whoa, I guess you're ready for it too! I'll be back here next Friday with more stuff, things, and items. In the meantime, I've got some happies to dish out. Happy birthday today to my good friend Jason. Also, congratulations to him and his new fiancee Wendy on getting engaged. We're very happy for them and can't wait to congratulate them in person sometime in the near future. Happy birthday to me tomorrow. Thank you, me. No problem. Happy half-birthday to my dad on Sunday, and happy 6th birthday to little Katy, daughter of Sacky Kevin and Sacky Christi. Isn't it weird that they have the same first name? Alrighty folks, have happy and healthy weekends and weeks. See you in July, foolios.

Usage and abusage

Hello everyone, and welcome to another Friday of potential fun at UOPTA. No, no, that does not stand for "Unicorns On Path To Antarctica," but that does pose additional questions in my mind. First, are they galloping or flying when they're over landmasses? Second, when they fly, do they do so in a V formation like birds or more willy-nilly like some kind of air stampede? And third, why can't I have musical ability so that I could start a band and name it Air Stampede? You can't spell that without Peter, after all. (Thanks to my homey Rockabye for sending in that UOPTA. Please send in your own to ptklein@gmail.com; I'm already almost out of them.) Friends, UOPTA is a place in which I write thoughts and stories (and usually has nothing to do with mythical winged creatures). So let's see what I've got this week, shall we?

Ooh, lots of random items today in my bag of words. Let's start small. There is a word that a great many people say incorrectly, and it comes up just often enough to piss me off: Espresso. That's right, with an S. There's no X in that word, people. Just because you already know a word that sounds like that one but has an X doesn't mean that you have to insert an X into this one. Oh boy, now I'm really getting angry. I just did a search for "expresso" online, and after listing a film and some software by that name, Wikipedia has this: "an alternate spelling of espresso." I refused to believe this and went immediately (without passing Go) to the Merriam Webster site. Sure enough, there's an entry: "Expresso: variant of espresso." Variant? More like f'd up way of saying it. (For the record, my spellcheck doesn't recognize "expresso," so I've got that going for me.)

I understand that the chief concern of a linguist is the actual usage of language and not in how correctly it is being used. I've learned that many of our most proper forms and constructions were born from improper usage. Once it becomes popular enough though, it doesn't matter if it's "right" or not; that's just the way it's being used and is therefore acceptable going forward. And that, my friends, is why I'm not a linguist by profession. If I can't get upset at poorly used English, then that's just not for me. Am I supposed to sit idly by while people say, "I'm literally drownding in paperwork" when it's figurative and there's no D in that word? I don't think so.

Oh crap, the internet just makes me more upset and confused. I don't know why I just did this, but I wanted to see if the incorrect "visa versa" was getting its own entry too. I feel justified in saying this is incorrect because it's Latin. I don't think we should be able to modify a dead language. In any case, I was pleased to see a few sites pointing out that "vice versa" is the correct form instead of the one that bugs me. But then I found this little nugget that turned my world upside down: "Classical Latin pronunciation dictates that the letter C can only make a hard sound...and a v is pronounced like a w; thus wee-keh wehr-suh." Wee-keh wehr-suh? What am I supposed to do with that? I feel like I now have two options. One, I continue saying "vice vehr-suh" going forward, all the while knowing that I'm incorrect and therefore almost as bad as the people who say "visa." Two, I start pronouncing it the Classical Latin way and have nobody understand what the hell I'm talking about. If they figure it out, then I'm Snobby McSnobberson for saying something obscure. It's a lose-lose situation.

Moving on to another item about words. I was on a phone call at work earlier this week, and one person told another that he would "send a facsimile over." I didn't realize that anyone still said that whole word when referring to the electronic transfer of a document through telephone lines. Does that guy also go to the gymnasium after work? And then study mathematics? What if he catches influenza?

Our next item also involves words, but this one actually made me laugh instead of fume. I was in Miami for a conference earlier this year, and I walked past a theater called The Fillmore. However, that's not how I first saw it. For some reason, the sign on the front of the building says, "F THE FILLMORE." The F is in a different font than the other all-cap letters, but it's directly in front of them and really looks like it's part of the name. I found one picture online, but it's from a little too far away. You'll have to trust me on this one. "F THE FILLMORE" it says, and I'd be shocked if a large percentage of people didn't also see it that way. You can't spell "percentage" without Peter, after all.

Ok, last item before we shift gears (pun intended). I've written before about people misunderstanding my name occasionally when I say it. It doesn't happen nearly as often to me as it does my friend Greg, but I've still heard some good ones (i.e. Gator and the completely made-up Geter). Recently though, I got a new one. "Your name?" the young lady asked. "Peter," I said (truthfully, might I add). She made a strange face. "Your name is Dealer?" she asked incredulously. "No," I said, "Peee Terrrrr." "Oh, that makes more sense." Gee, ya think? I wonder which association she made in that brief moment of thinking that my name was Dealer: drug dealer, blackjack dealer, or car dealer? That's the order in which I thought of them.

Ok, I lied. Here's the last item. Sorry about that, but I reminded myself of something and figured I may as well keep on keeping on. I worked for a short amount of time in one of the academic departments at UC Santa Barbara right after graduating and before moving onto the college advising office. This department was very small, with only four full time staff members. One of them, a nice woman we'll call Sherry, kept accidentally referring to me as David for the first two weeks I was there. Every time I corrected her, and every time she laughed and said she didn't know where that was coming from. About a month into my stay there, the department head put a pamphlet in my box with a routing slip on it for people to check off that they'd read it. It had our initials on it, or at least it was supposed to. I could clearly identify everyone else's initials, but instead of mine, there was a "DR." "Hey Sherry," I said, "Did you create these new routing slips?" "Yeah, why?" "I'm not on here," I said. She walked over and took a look. "I did it again! I'm sorry, Peter, I don't know why I keep calling you David, but that should be a P instead." "Um, that's not my last initial either," I said. She looked back at the sheet and then laughed for the next ten minutes. She couldn't explain that one either, but somehow Peter Klein had morphed into David R. when she was typing that up. It was very strange, especially when I brought my friend Dave (whose last name starts with an R) into the office shortly thereafter. The upside of that gaffe was that I could occasionally sign emails as "David R." over the following two months and make her crack up every time.

And with that, let's get ourselves misidentified over at the Car Watch.

A week or two ago, I saw a Lincoln Navigator with the plate, "NVGATOR." "Wow, they really want us to know what kind of car that is, and they're certainly not trusting us to just read what it says on the back." One day later, my favorite brother sent me this plate: "JAGUAAR." Yep, it was on a Jaguar. Not to sound too much like Seinfeld, but what's the deal with that? We can see what kind of car you're driving; you don't need to doubly tell us by also spelling it wrong on your license plate.

My homey Rockabye saw this plate a little while back: "IMMUNE1." Now don't you think that's tempting fate just a little? If I were omnipotent, I'd be tempted to see just how immune that driver is to things. And if I were impotent, I'd probably drive a big truck to overcompensate.

Lastly, I saw a license plate frame that confused me a little bit. On the top, it read, "Sorry." On the bottom: "'Bout That." Is s/he just a really bad driver who wants to issue a preemptive blanket apology? If that driver cut me off or waited at a green light for a few seconds before hitting the gas, I don't think I'd consider that frame as a free pass. Fortunately for both of us, the car behaved just fine while it was near me.

Ok, that's it for PK/DR. I hope you all have glorious weekends and weeks, mis amiguitos. In the meantime: Happy half-birthday to my favorite brother and my good friend Jon tomorrow. Happy Fathers' Day on Sunday (especially to my dad), which is also my homey Rockabye's half-birthday. Happy birthday on Wednesday to my friend Ozzie, and happy half-birthday to Jesus on Thursday. Last but certainly not least, way to go, Lakers! I must take partial credit for their victory, for I finally figured out how I have to sit on my couch for them to win. It involves bending a toe in an odd way which ends up hurting quite a bit after a while, but I'm willing to sacrifice for my team. I wonder if they'll acknowledge me by sending me a championship ring. I'm just as responsible as Adam Morrison (if not more). Anyway, I'm proud of them and hope to sit correctly and cheer them on to next year's title as well. Shaloha, and remember to write to me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything.