Tour de farce

Hello and good morning, one and all. As we near the very end of January, I hope the first twelfth of your 2009 has gone well. "Twelfth," incidentally, is one of a handful of words I can recall off the top of my head that has four consonants in a row. The other two I often go to right away are "length" and "enthrall." You can thank me later.

I was instant messaging with my homey Rockabye recently, and he told me a funny story that reminded me of something else. I'll begin by paraphrasing his tale. (If I mess up some of the less-important details, I hope you'll be fine with that). He was hanging out with his brother, sister-in-law, and parents when the major league baseball team of the Cincinnati Reds came up in conversation. Someone asked if the sister-in-law knew what nickname the Reds had during their dominant stretch in the 70s. Eager to help, her husband mouthed the answer to her: Big Red Machine. She read his lips and then confidently answered, "Pink rabbit shit." (Go ahead, I'll give you a few seconds to mouth both phrases. Wait, the verb "to mouth" looks really weird being spelled the same way as the noun. I'd like to see it employ the breath/breathe method. Then I could say, "Go ahead and mouthe both phrases." Great, now that looks weird too. Forget I mentioned it.)

So that funny story reminded me of something. Back when I was a student working on campus at UC Santa Barbara, I would occasionally give campus tours to prospective students and their parents. (Technically, they were incoming students and not prospective ones since they'd already been accepted, but since you can't spell "prospective" without Peter, that word found its way into the sentence.) One tour in particular focused on the area adjacent to the campus named Isla Vista. The majority of students lived there during their sophomore through senior years, so students/parents wanted to see how cool/frightening it was.

Never being too much of a conformist, I often strayed from the written scripts we were given. This was particularly the case when beginning the tours. We were supposed to launch right into the stats of who lived there and the history of the area, but I did all of that second. Instead, I started with this: "Thank you for selecting the Isla Vista tour. In Spanish, it's pronounced EES-la VEE-sta, which means 'island view.' That's fitting, because you can indeed see at least one of the Channel Islands from Isla Vista. Also interesting is that if you mouth the phrase 'island view,' it looks like 'I love you.' 'Olive juice' yields a similar result, but that's not really relevant." Then I'd launch into the scripted stuff.

Needless to say, a Peter-led tour had other random things thrown in every so often to distinguish it from the other students' versions.

For example, when we'd inevitably see a flyer for an upcoming band performance, I would tell them about a band that frequently advertised that way during my freshman year. They were called "Free Pizza and Beer." On the surface, that seems like a brilliant choice of name. But think about it a little longer, and you'll get a clear vision of a bunch of sober, hungry students pissed off that they were duped into hearing shitty music.

The other highly publicized band from that year probably faced a similar challenge, but in much smaller doses. The were called "50 Cent Honey." While this was years before the rapper 50 Cent hit the scene, people with a sweet tooth but who were short on cash probably weren't too happy when a band showed up instead of a quick fix.

My friend Greg suggested that we start a band and utilize a little truth in advertising when it came to our name. How about, "Cool But Stupid?" he asked. That led (naturally) to a discussion of whether "Cool But Stupid and the Gang" was a better idea. Of course, we didn't play instruments or sing, so we nipped that pesky naming problem in the bud.

I know I'm drastically switching gears here, but please bear with me. I wrote a word recently, and after giving it some thought, I became a little angry. Please follow me for a moment. The verb is "to speak," correct? I speak, you speak, he/she/it speaks, etc. If I speak, I am the speaker. That's all very easy and standard so far, no? Then tell me why, dear readers, is the thing I'm speaking called "a speech" instead of "a speach?" Look, I'm fine with "spoke" as the past tense; it's a completely different construct and I understand that those things happen. There's no reason for the past tense of "take" to be "took," but that's fine. However, when the sound is the same and the spelling changes for really no reason at all that I can see, well then that's what p's me o. You may recall a similar rant from when I realized that "fridge" had a D inserted into it even though it's short for the D-less "refrigerator." Am I being overly picky with a language that clearly makes no sense most of the time? No way, man. Stray from the norm completely and I'll chalk it up to wacky language stuff, but add, delete, or change a letter willy nilly, and my proverbial claws come out.

Ok, I'll try to calm down now. Maybe if I poke fun at someone, I'll feel a little better. My sweet and kind sister-in-law Weezie would have no problem helping me out, right? Cool. A long while ago, my favorite brother told me about a conversation he and Weezie had about the Big Mac. Somehow, it came up that Weezie didn't think that the burger came with cheese on it. My bro said, "What about the Big Mac song that lists its ingredients?" So she started singing: "Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, meat, pick-" "Meat?" Kevin asked. "Yeah. Special sauce, lettuce, meat." Kevin pointed out that the "all-beef patties" part kinda covered the meat aspect, and she reluctantly agreed that it may indeed specify "cheese" in the song.

Just to show that I'm not at all above my own fun-making, I'll share my own misunderstanding of that same Big Mac song. You see, I could sing the song my way and no one would know that I was actually being silly. I grew up thinking it was, "To all-beef patties" instead of "two." Yes, I thought it was more of a dedication (or ode) than a specification of the number of said patties. I realize that I made a strange assumption there, but at least I didn't list "meat" twice, right? Right? Hello?

Ok, now it's time to hang our heads in ostracized shame and mope on over to the Car Watch.

Longtime reader and fellow blogger Allergic Diner emailed me with an interesting license plate: "IM GUNK." She had no idea what it meant and said that it was a little old lady driving, which only confuses the matter. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be of much help with this one. The most logical readings of the plate still don't make any sense to me. I can't decide whether she's going for "gunk," defined by Merriam-Webster as, "Filthy, sticky, or greasy matter," or pronouncing it with a soft G to make it "junk." Either way, this little old lady would have to be very self-deprecating to believe that of herself and put it out there for public consumption. The only other option I can see is if the plate is speaking for the car itself (with the soft G), but then we're dealing with self-deprecating anthropomorphism and/or prosopopoeia, which gets a little heavy for a license plate. (Somehow, neither of those literary terms have "Peter" in them. "Deprecating" does though. Whew.)

My homey Rockabye (purveyor of the finest pink rabbit shit this side of the Mississippi) sent me a plate/frame combo that paints a very clear picture to anyone around this person's car. The plate read, "OBI WAAN," and the frame generously wished, "May the force be with you." I'm gonna go way out on a limb and say that the driver is male and more than a little on the dorky side. I just can't decide on the likelihood of him still living with his parents. Is 40% too high? Actually, he could be in the 16-18 age range still, so I'm bumping my figure to 65%. What say you, friends?

Lastly, I saw a license plate frame in my work parking lot that I felt like sharing. "Repossesauto.com" it said on the bottom. Those of you with keen eyesight might notice that there's an S missing from the end of the first word. "That must just be an error on the frame," I thought to myself. Having overestimated the language acuity of the masses before, I should've known better. I went to the site that the frame was advertising, and the banner says, "REPOSSES AUTO SALES INC." So there are only two real explanations. One, the company doesn't know how to spell "repossess" and no one stopped the founders when they named themselves. Or two, someone has the unfortunate last name of Reposses. How would that be pronounced? Would it be like more than one posse...again? So I called to see how they answered the phone. "Repossess Auto Sales," the man seemed to say before I hung up. So I guess it was the former, and either people don't know that it's spelled wrong or simply don't care. I think I'd prefer incorrect to indifferent in this case, but that might just be me.

That's it, folks. We've got a bunch of happies to dish out, so get ready. Happy birthday today to our good friend (and a big fan of anthropomorphism) Melissa, and to Bryan (who used to say "hangaber" instead of "hamburger"). Happy very first birthday tomorrow to my friend Kim's daughter Emma. Happy half-birthday on Sunday to the star of the comments section, my Mom. Monday is the full birthday of our friend Kareem and the half-birthday of our friend Scott M. And then Wednesday is my friend and former colleague Leslie's half-birthday. Wow, that's a whole lotta happy. Enjoy the weekend and week, my friends. If you're watching the trademarked football game on Sunday (which I'll call The Superbowel to avoid paying royalties), I hope it's exciting and memorable. Email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all, and I'll see you again next Friday. Shaloha.

Places please

Good morning, homemen and homewomen. I'm writing you today between sneezes, nose blows, watery eyes, and a general sense of yuckiness. Literally every single person in my office had a cold last week except me, so I knew it was just a matter of time. That doesn't make it any more fun though. And based on the lack of thoughts I currently have, I think it's safe to say that Sudafed should not count as a performance enhancing drug. Let's see what I can scrounge up for you today.

So I'm not sure if you heard this or not, but we got a new President this week. I'm totally serious. While watching and reading the coverage of the inauguration, I naturally started to think about my knowledge of our country's Commanders in Chief throughout the years. First, I wondered how many I remembered in order. I say "remembered" because I had learned a song in sixth grade that taught me that information (ending with George H.W. Bush before he needed to be known by both of his middle initials). I have numbers one through seven down pat, and then from FDR (32) all the way to Obama (44) with no problem. In between that is fuzzy though. I have pockets of knowledge from the song, like "Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln." Knowing that Lincoln was the 16th, I can occasionally pull out a Jeopardy answer with some simple subtraction. And I know that Tyler preceded Polk, but not when. I guess I know 17 too, because Andrew Johnson took over after Lincoln's untimely demise. That might be it though.

Here's the problem with that song - they forced it to rhyme instead of just letting me memorize a melody. For example, it has an "oh" following Jefferson's name so it can later rhyme with "James Monroe." I seem to recall an "ooh" in there somewhere, but I know not where. And then there are superfluous lines like, "Some I can remember, some I can't" to rhyme with Grant. I'm sure the writers were pleased that it rhymed, but those extra words ended up hurting the longterm memorization for me.

On the contrary, the song I learned with the states in alphabetical order is one I'll know for the rest of my life. It's fairly simple, but it's dynamic enough that it really feels like a song instead of repeating the same twenty-second tune over and over again (as the Presidents' song does). This knowledge came in handy once in late 2000. I went over to my friend Lisa's parents' house with a group of friends, and they started talking about the most recent episode of the Friends tv show. On the show, some of the characters were trying to list all fifty states. "I can do that," I said confidently. "No, everyone thinks it's really easy but it's not," Lisa said. "No, I can do it because...I know a song." I paused because I thought it would make me sounds super nerdy (as opposed to my normal nerdy), but Lisa was thrilled because I could serve as the answer key. So they all sat and wrote for ten minutes, then I slowly said the states in alphabetical order while the put check marks next to the ones they had. It was difficult just saying the names instead of singing them, but it was for the best.

I just had a strange memory that came out of nowhere. I can clearly picture my old music teacher playing the piano while we were learning that song. For some reason, she kept singing Iowa as if it were pronounced, "Ioway." We didn't, and kept singing it with its normal pronunciation. She stopped and went back a few to the "Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana" section before singing it again and making us all join in the "Ioway" nonsense. It went unspoken amongst my classmates, but somehow we all made the same decision right then and there: in rehearsals, we'll do it her way; for the actual assembly in front of our parents, we're going back to "Iowa." And that we did. I know Missouri, Nevada, and Oregon can all be pronounced a couple of ways, but I still have never heard anyone else ever say "Ioway." Can anyone shed some light on this repressed memory for me?

One thing worries me about my knowledge of this song of the U.S. states: what if Puerto Rico or some other place becomes a state? I don't expect that to happen, because I think we're pretty happy with the round number of 50. (In fact, while I have absolutely no proof, I believe that was a major motivating factor in allowing Alaska and Hawaii into the union.) The song doesn't have any space between Pennsylvania and Rhode Island to accommodate the new state, and almost more importantly, we'd lose the amazing fifty/nifty rhyme. "Fifty-one nifty fun United States" just doesn't have the same ring to it. I think the solution is clear if Puerto Rico is granted statehood: do we really need two Dakotas? I don't think so.

This is all very reminiscent of another category, don't you think? Yep, those pesky planets. Look what happened when poor Pluto was demoted. Our mnemonic devices have been rendered nonsensical. Depending on how you learned it, now it's, "My very excited/eager/educated mother just served us nine..." or "Mary's violet eyes make John stay up nights..." That one got a lot dirtier, don't you think? Since neither of those really works anymore, I say we collectively come up with a better one. Put on your thinking caps, homepeople of UOPTA. What can/should MVEMJSUN stand for going forward? Comment away, and I'll chime in with some that I come up with as well. Let's have some fun together.

I was once tasked with coming up with a mnemonic device for work, and I think I passed with flying colors. While working at UCSB, a new residence hall was erected. We were going to be based there for our summer operations, and the hall had a quad with five buildings in it. The building names were Tecolote, Cienaga, Jalama, Arguello, and Miranda. Naturally, it only took a week or so before all 25 student staff members knew it as, "The Crazy Jews Ate Matzos." Success!

Now it's time to wipe our runny nosies on over to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye sent me this license plate: "CNCITED." He said it was on a brand new Range Rover. While I don't think by any means that someone needs to be conceited to have a nice car, I do appreciate the honesty. I wouldn't have just assumed that the driver was conceited, so at least the plate clearly lets people know who they're dealing with. Unless it's a guy named Ted making some pun, I don't really understand the allure of having a negative personality trait broadcast so publicly.

Next, in the category of "I could never make stuff like this up," I was driving and minding my own business when a car cut me off without signaling. I didn't have to slam on my breaks or anything, but I would've appreciated a little advance notice. Oh yeah, the car's plate was "SGNL PLZ." Unless there was a license plate frame I didn't see that said, "I Can't (SGNL PLZ) Don't Hate Me" to make it a complete sentence, then I smell something hypocritical going on.

Lastly, I saw this license plate: "WHACKY 1." Clearly s/he's not kidding about that with that creative spelling and everything. I mean, I'd second-guess any self-proclaimed "WACKY 1," but that H really showcases the individuality and penchant for bucking the system. I'm guessing "UNEEEEK" and "REBBUL 1" were taken.

And so, with my red nose and have-you-been-crying? eyes, I'm out of here. Sorry that this post is a little shorter than most of the others, but these are all the thoughts I have right now. I plan on being a hell of a lot better by next Friday (or hopefully well before that), so I encourage you all to be healthy during that time as well. In the meantime, let's get happy: Happy 1.5 birthdays both today to little Keira and tomorrow to my little cousin Rio. It was very eventful 1.5 years ago, as you might imagine. And on Thursday, our good friend The Mills turns the big 3-0. Mazel tov, homey. Take care, everyone. Start thinking up your new planet mnemonics now and comment like the wind! As always, please feel free to write me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything.

Views from a car

Well looky here, it must be Friday again. That was fast. How's everybody doing now that we've reached the middle of January? 2009 already feels ok for me; usually I can't believe it's whatever year it is until early March, but maybe I'm getting more accepting in my old age. In any case, I'm glad to see you again. I have a bunch of smaller items that have been sitting in my inbox for a while. Together, they actually form something resembling a theme, so I'm just going to pound them out. Get comfy, friends.

This theme I spoke of in the last paragraph revolves around things I have seen or heard while driving recently. To clarify though, these are not items that would normally go into the Car Watch section of the post. No bumper stickers, license plates, or license plate frames here, so don't worry about me poaching from myself. You'll see what I mean in no time.

A little while ago, my lovely wife and I took the 101 north up to Ventura. Those of you who know that route also know that we passed Camarillo on the way. It's a good thing we knew the name of that city already, because the sign that normally says "Welcome to Camarillo" was altered. "Camarillo" had a big line of spray paint though it, and someone wrote, "FUCK IT" in its place. "I thought that was in Thailand," I said, very pleased with myself. I wonder if that sign confused tourists, leading them to turn around because "FUCK IT" wasn't on any of their maps. One can only hope.

Speaking of Camarillo, I once had this train of thought: "Camarillo is the letter C and then amarillo. Amarillo means yellow in Spanish, so it's C yellow. That sounds like cielo, which means sky or heaven in Spanish. Therefore, Camarillo is...heaven!" I'm sure that's what the city's founders had in mind.

I saw a sign from my car recently that said, "Good Used Tires." It was the "Good" that really stood out for me and made me contemplate what they were actually selling. After considerable contemplation, I came to several conclusions. First, I guess having "Good" in there is a necessity since no one would want to buy bad used tires (or even so-so ones). Then I thought some more and realized, "Hey, why are there good used tires out there?" I still don't really have an answer. I mean, it's been my experience that people tend to drive on tires until they're not safe enough to have on your car. As tire companies like to point out, they're the only safety feature that actually touches the road. Even more so, tires seem to be one of those things that people only replace when they really need to because of the expense. So where would "good used tires" come from? My only logical answer would be cars with relatively new tires that otherwise stopped working for one reason or another. I guess a totaled car could still have its tires be fully functional. Same with one that was a lemon, right? I still don't like it though.

Another company name I saw was on a large truck: "SCG - Select Carrier Group." Ok, I can dig it. It's website though was http://www.selectscg.com/. Yep, that's Select Select Carrier Group. I understand that those are different uses of select (one being an active verb and the other an adjective meaning 'superior' or 'chosen'), but it still sounds redundant - and therefore bothersome - to me.

There's another company name I spied. This one is called Web. I'll give you ten guesses as to what they do. Go ahead. Ok, did anyone guess, "Multifamily laundry systems"? Didn't think so. I saw that and sent myself a note to ridicule their confusing company name. But then I checked out their website and saw that they've actually been around "for nearly six decades." Then I felt sad for them. Imagine having a company for over 40 years. You named it something that made sense to you but was more metaphorical than really spelling out what you do. That's fine, companies do that all the time, and we understand what they're doing. Then, the largest technological advance in your lifetime comes along and goes by the same name. You can't change your name because then you're giving in and ignoring the decades of customers who know you by your name already. So you stick with it, and every smart ass blogger who sees your van thinks you're a moron at first instead of an unfortunate side effect to the online industry's inception and subsequent boom. Hang in there, Web. By your twelfth decade, no one will remember the internet.

I heard a commercial in my car (is this a theme or what?) for an internet security company called Go Trusted. For starters, I just think that's a horrible name. But my point is this: their domain name is the same as their company name. So what does it look like? "Got rusted." If you saw "gotrusted" written somewhere, wouldn't you put the imaginary space between the two words that actually go together? And that's a really bad image for something that's supposed to be a helpful product. Come to think of it, I can't really use "go trusted" in a regular sentence. I just tried, and they're all super forced and awkward sounding. For example: "When investing, I would rather go trusted and established paths than experimental ones." And that sentence just took me three minutes to write. The moral of this paragraph: I don't like it.

Speaking of investing, I heard another radio commercial for a company in that realm. The thing is, I'm not sure if their name is Invest Tools or Investools. I waited for them to spell that out for me at the end of the commercial, but they didn't. They did tell me to go to either tryinvesttools.com or tryinvestools.com, but I don't know which. Then, the icing on the cake was when they spelled "try" for me twice. "That's t-r-y inves(t)tools.com." Thanks, I was really hung up on spelling that word.

Last but so very far from least, I saw "BM Plumbing Services." I swear on all that I hold dear. And you know what? I'm gonna leave that one alone. When the jokes write themselves, it's not nearly as fun.

But you know what is fun? A return to your regularly scheduled program: Car Watch!

My favorite brother called me to tell me about a plate he saw: "OH GUY." While I'll acknowledge that it could be someone named Guy, there's little excitement in that reading. Unless it's done in a sexy woman's voice, then it's a little more intriguing. Instead, I like to think that it's some dude who fancies himself a bit of a comedian around his office. "I went out to Chez Ne Pas last night-" someone will start to say. 'Ohhh!" he'll interject in a "My, aren't you fancy" tone. Later, someone will say, "I'm sore from working out this morning." For that, he uses his, "I'm pretending to be afraid of you" version of "Oh." "My kid's selling magazine subscriptions again this year," someone will say in a conversation across the room to another co-worker. That one gets the "Oh" with a side of eyeroll. You get where I'm going. He thinks he's carved out a funny persona as The Oh Guy. They just think he's a douchebag.

Next up, I pulled into a tight spot at the market a little while ago. As I got out, I saw the car next to me had this license plate frame: "Morons, Morons. I'm surrounded by morons." Then I realized that since I was parked next to him/her, that made me a moron by definition. I didn't like that. I did absolutely nothing moronic in that situation, but this person was flatly calling me dumb. What was more troubling to me was the fact that no one sees that frame unless they're near the car. Therefore, the frame is essentially designed to insult the intelligence of absolutely everybody who reads it. That's no way to make friends.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker and, as all the cool kids are doing, sent it to me. It read, "To neuter is cuter." My initial thought on this is not a very appreciative one: Just because something rhymes, that doesn't mean it makes sense, jerkface. But then I thought about it a little more, and I must say, my stance has changed dramatically. You see, I don't really like seeing a male dog's...junk. Without said junk, the nether regions are more streamlined, which I would argue makes the area more aesthetically pleasing. (That might be a little strong. Instead, I'll say the streamlining makes the area less aesthetically displeasing.) By that logic, "cuter" suddenly isn't that far off. What's next? "You get a good grade if your pet is spayed?" "To castrate is great?" "Nix the scrotum but leave the totem?"

That's it for me, friends. Fear not; I'll be back in a week with some more of these thoughts, observations, stories, and taunts of defenseless people. In the meantime, Happy 3rd Birthday on Monday to my little buddy T-Roy. Happy 2nd birthday to the adorable Ty-baby on Tuesday, which is also little Emma's 0.5 birthday and our new President's first day at work. I hope someone brings in bagels or something to build some camaraderie. Have a great weekend and week, folks. In the meantime, you can always email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. Peace out.

Being in the know

Hello and good morning once again, my non-marshmallow peeps. I hope this year has continued treating you well since we last e-saw each other. I'm doing alright myself, thanks for asking.

Something popped into my head earlier this week, and I couldn't believe that I hadn't written about it yet in my 2+ years of UOPTAness. (Wait a second; that ended in "anus," didn't it? Note to self: stop using that made-up word immediately.) I was pretty sure it had to be in here somewhere, so I did some searching through my posts but came up empty. I asked my lovely wife if I'd written about it, and she wasn't sure. It's tough for her, because she's heard all of these stories orally several times over, so the delivery methods occasionally blur. I asked my favorite brother, and he had no idea what I was talking about. That was all I needed to push forward.

Back in college, there was a great - nay, fantastic - place called the Isla Vista Brewing Company (IVBC for short). It was big, had several pool tables, one hundred beers on tap, with inexpensive but tasty food, and within walking distance so no one had to be the designated driver. In short, it was heaven. (In the coming years, it would close its doors, get purchased by the university, and get turned into a lecture hall. It was wrong on so many levels.) One evening, my whole group of guy friends went to IVBC, pulled some benches up to a long wooden table, and got a couple of pitchers of cheap beer. We took turns playing 9-ball at the closest table and shared some food. I repeat: heaven.

After a little while, I turned to my friend Greg. "Hey, you know who's cool?" I asked. Normally, the response would be a simple, "Who?" Instead though, he replied with, "Hold on, hold on, let me guess. Is it a guy?" "No." "A girl?" "Yes." "Famous?" "No." This went on for about ten minutes until he finally got to someone we knew at school who I had recently run into between classes. "That was fun!" I said. Greg agreed, and then he smiled a little and asked me, "You know who's cool?"

That went on all night, and the range of answers got wider and wider. The first question stopped being about the gender of the person. Instead, it became, "Real?" That's because we got on a string of fictional characters in the middle of it all. What started with UCSB professors and famous actors turned into characters from songs and World's Strongest Man competitors. And it didn't stop after that night. For the next couple of years, one of us would approach the other and say, "When you have time later, I've got a good Know Who's Cool for you." I remember Greg choosing a peripheral character from "Can't Hardly Wait" named Trip McNeely, and that Know Who's Cool session lasting a long ass time.

Some more years passed, and then the game reared its beautiful head twice more within the past couple of months. We had some tricky ones in there both times, because we're getting good at finding very random categories. For example, in the first of these guessing sessions (at bowling), I chose "The Most Interesting Man in the World" from the Dos Equis beer commercials. He's the one that says, "Stay thirsty, my friends," amongst other nuggets of wisdom. It took Greg a long time, and I can't blame him. He got that the guy was famous from television (and not real), but then was stumped for a while. Not a comedy, not a drama, not a sports program or a news program...finally he got to commercials. It was fairly easy from there though.

"Know who's cool?" I asked Greg during the second and most recent time we played. He guessed and guessed, finally narrowing it down to one of three fictional basketball video game characters that Dusty and I had created on our Sega Dreamcast. The answer ended up being the 7 foot 6 inch, 500 pound guy with the afro and twenty sweatbands that we'd ingeniously named Deez Muthafuckin. What can I say - we're modern geniuses. "Know who's cool?" Greg asked me next. So I started guessing. I got that he was a he, he was real, and he was someone we knew or had met. Then it got tricky, because we met him while at college but he wasn't a student, professor, or administrator. Somehow I asked if he was an athlete. Greg started laughing hysterically and said yes. I got it, and here's that story:

Being young and invincible, Greg, my homey Rockabye, and I played intramural basketball games that didn't start until 10 or even 11pm sometimes. After playing for an hour, we were always hungry and so we'd stop at the Burger King in Isla Vista before heading back to our residence halls. One late evening/early morning, there was a homeless man outside the door to the fine dining establishment. That wasn't uncommon, as IV always had more than its fair share of people on the street. This one was different though. He greeted us, and we said hello back. Right then was normally the time that we would be asked for spare change, food, etc. Instead, this guy wanted to tell us a story.

He started with a low mumble of, "I'm a simple kickboxer." That was unexpected. The next line was, "I was training for the '84 Olympics." It was right about then that I noticed his 'shirt' was actually an American flag draped over his shoulders. "But I'm bleeding," he said. We looked down, and true to his word, his feet were indeed bleeding. Not a lot, but whether from cracking or an injury, there was some blood on the soles of his feet that stained the sidewalk. "I'm just a simple kickboxer," he said again, and then he repeated the next two lines again. We tried engaging him in some more conversation since we were very curious about the Olympic training part, but those three sentences seemed to be all he wanted to (or could) utter. "But I'm bleeding," he'd say again, and gesture toward his feet. In my memory banks, I can clearly picture us getting an extra Whopper and giving it to him on our way out, but I don't know for sure if that happened or if I just want my present self to think good things about my younger self.

Regardless, I hadn't thought of the Simple Kickboxer (as he was known thereafter) for quite some time. But when Greg laughed and said that his Know Who's Cool subject was an athlete, it all came back to me. We'd all assumed that we'd see him again, because we saw the IV homeless staples of Rope Guy, Shithead, and Angry Guy almost daily. But that was the first and last time I met the Simple Kickboxer, so I never got any more of his story. I just hope he enjoyed the theoretical burger we gave him, found somewhere warm to sleep, and quickly stopped bleeding.

And on that super-cheery note, let's coagulate and gently shuffle on down to the Car Watch.

First off, my good friend Lisa is sweet and excellent at many things, but her Car Watch skills still register in the novice levels. For example, she saw a plate that started with "NRGY" but couldn't figure it out. When I suggested what it certainly must be, she replied, "AAAAHHH, energy! I would never have gotten that. Is that bad?" I'm not here to pass judgment on anyone or do anything to discourage people from sending in Car Watch items, but yes, that's bad. I mean, come on, Lisa. I must say though, her suggestion of "No orgy" is more inspired than mine.

She totally redeemed herself with this one though: "License plate 'PAIN NDS.' First I thought, 'Pain ends.' A pain doctor perhaps? Or someone happy to have made it through the darkness? Then I figured, ah, must be 'pain in de ass.' Thoughts??" Not only do I agree that it's saying, "Pain in the ass," but I'm thoroughly pleased that someone sent me an email with "happy to have made it through the darkness" in it. Hats off to you, Lisa.

My homey Rockabye sent me this plate: "TOESHOO." I'm confused by this. My first read of it was a purposely mis-spelled "Two shoe" for some reason. I was hoping it was in reference to "The Blues Song" by The Dead Milkmen. In it, they say:

A blues man needs a nickname
And everybody calls me Two Shoes
'Cause I always wear two shoes.
I know it's not much of a nickname
But by the time I got around to getting my nickname
All the good ones were taken.

That's solid songwriting right there, and it never failed to get a laugh from whoever was hearing it for the first time. (That same "All the good ones were taken" rationale was used in an SNL commercial for a law firm that ended up getting www.clownpenis.fart as their website. Damn that's funny.) Back to this plate though: by spelling the first part "toe," well that changes the word completely. It works better with "shoo" that way though, even though I can't picture what a "toe shoe" would look like. Now that I look at "toe shoe" being spelled alike but pronounced differently, it's messing with my head and I need to move on. Sorry for the lack of closure.

Last but not least, I saw this plate: "ID KLEIN." Spelled right and everything! How often to people see their last names on license plates in fully thought-out puns? It's not everyday, friends, let me assure you, so it totally deserves the lofty "last but not least" slot in the Car Watch.

That's it for me, homepeople. Enjoy your Friday, the upcoming weekend, and the subsequent week. Monday is my friends Ozzie and Jory's son Cameron's 4th birthday, so mentally wish him a happy one. If you think of anything, see anything for Car Watch, or just want to say hi, you can always email me at ptklein@gmail.com. Be happy and healthy, everyone. Shaloha.

Parting words

Happy New Year, everyone. We're in the final year of whatever historians will call this decade, and I hope it's a good one. I like today's date in particular (1/2/09) because it sounds like a little kid trying to count to ten. They get much better at it over time, thankfully. So welcome, and I hope you all had pleasant New Year's Eves and Days. How am I going to start us off this year? With random crap, of course.

Way back in 2008, I was writing about similes that people use to describe a state or emotion. We went through "sick as a dog," "hot as hell," etc. But like Mark McGwire, I'm not here to talk about the past. Rather, I'm here to build on that by branching into a related category for a paragraph or two.

I'll start with a story. My senior year of high school, I was lying on my bed when my phone rang...

Phone: Ring. Ring.
Peter: Hello?
Alissa: Hey.
Peter: Hey, what's up?
Alissa: The opposite of down, why do you ask?
Peter: That's funny! Wait, hold on, I got another call.
(Peter adeptly pushes the flash button.) Hello?
Jon: Hey, what's up?
Peter: The opposite of down, why do you ask?
Jon: That's funny!
Peter: I know! I just learned it two seconds ago. Can I call you back?
Jon: Sure.
(Peter once again successfully finds and utilizes the flash button.)
Peter: You'll never guess what just happened.

And...scene.

It's very rare that I hear a new line or joke that I like and get to use it within five seconds of learning it, so I was thoroughly pleased with that entire encounter. The "Why do you ask" part really seems like something that would be in Airplane! or Real Genius to me, so I guess it's no shock that I enjoyed it.

That story was meant to introduce this category that I don't yet have a name for. Maybe when I explain some more examples we'll come to an agreement. Example number one: "I'm out like trout." Hmmm. I don't get it. Sure, I suppose if one is eating trout then it is out of the water. But I think it's just the first rhyming word someone could come up with and it stuck for some reason. I'm out like stout makes just as much sense, considering it comes out of a tap or a bottle, right? Grout...not so much. That's pretty "in" if you ask me. I'm out like spout almost works, since a spout is the facilitator for things coming out of a pipe. It's not quite there though. I'm out like my bottom lip when I pout works in theory but is too cumbersome. Ooh, I'm out like drought makes sense, even if it's somewhat depressing. One thing's for sure, the phrase "out and about" is looking much better to me than it did before I started this paragraph.

Before I get to the next example, it's Random Spanish Fun Fact Loosely Based on the Preceding Paragraph time! I'd be pleased as punch (which is, I'm assuming a reference to the drink and not the violent act) to have at least one RSFFLBPP per post, but I know that's just a pipe dream. Anyway, how many of you know the Spanish word for "fish"? Of those who mentally answered affirmatively, how many of you said, "Pescado"? Well, you're partially correct. A live fish, swimming happily in some body of water is "un pez." The not-live fish, sitting on your plate is "un pescado." Why the difference? Funny you should let me ask for you. The verb "to fish" is "pescar." The past participle and modifying version of that is "pescado." Therefore, the fish you're about to eat is literally "fished," which I find both stunningly accurate and amusing.

Moving on, folks. The next example is one that makes me fight with myself a little: "I'm off like a prom dress." On one hand, it's amusing. On that same hand, it's factually accurate since I imagine everyone who puts a prom dress on eventually takes it off at some point. On that pesky other hand though, it totally doesn't reflect any of the three proms I went to. Maybe this is just sour grapes and I'd be best served to move along.

Here's my favorite of all of these examples. While playing poker with a group of friends once, the bet went around to my buddy Dave. As he tossed his cards into the center of the table, he said, "I fold like a cheap hooker who's been punched in the balls." We all looked up at him quizzically. "That's why she's cheap," he added. He had a point.

I tend not to use these phrases in my everyday speech, mainly because I'd like to find a good one that amuses people who haven't heard it but doesn't annoy those who have a few dozen times. I've tried, "I'm out like the opposite of in," borrowing heavily from Alissa's line, but it's cumbersome and, well, pretty stupid. (And I only use that one if I accidentally start a sentence with, "I'm out like" instead of ending it after "out.") So what should we call this group of phrases? Out-lines? Parting puns? Simileaves?

I have a couple more random items before I get to the first Car Watch of the year. First, does anyone else think it's odd that "homeboy" and "houseboy" are so different? I mean, one is clearly a peer in the eyes of the speaker while the other is clearly subservient. I'd have a hard time answering if a non-native English speaker asked me why that was the case.

And lastly, while somewhat on the topic of languages and their uses, I wish to discuss a hobby that apparently has a language all of its own: chess. Every Sunday, I do the crossword puzzle in the LA Times. During that time, I'll read over the stupid advice column and check out the poker article (which replaced the bridge one some time ago). After I'm done, I'll take a stab at the tough Sudoku. That leaves just one thing on the page: the chess column. It's one thing to give detailed accounts of who won what tournament. I can understand that part. But then they get into the actual game play, and it never ceases to amaze me. To quote the 12/28/08 article:

White could make progress by 31 Re2 h4 32 gxh4 Bxh4 33 Qc4. 29 e4! fxe4 30 Nxe4 Nxe4 31 Bxe4 Qd6 32 Bg2 Threatening 33 Qf5. Qd7 33 Qd2 Kg7? Correct is 33...Re8!

I didn't make up the punctuation or the bold parts, mind you. Of course it all means something, telling us which piece moved to which place and what the outcome of that move was. But it's amusing to me that there are parts of a chess match that are described with not just an exclamation or a question mark, but "??" and "!?" too. Like clockwork, I'll turn to my lovely wife at some point on a Sunday and say, "Hey honey, 53 Rd2?? Qe4+ 54 Kd1 Qb1+ 53 Ke1!" I'll make sure she knows exactly where the question marks and exclamations are by my reading, which I'm sure she appreciates.

And now, as promised, let's watch the ball drop on over to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye sent me this license plate report: "FSHNDPC. DPCFSHN probably taken." I'm glad he added that last part, because it would've taken me a while otherwise to figure out what it meant. Fish in da pack? F's hand pc? Nope, based on the latter part of his email, it's gotta be either "Fishin' deep sea" or the command, "Fish in deep sea." Even though I don't like being told what to do, I prefer the command one because it makes more sense. The "Fishin' deep sea" one is just a lazy attempt to get something across when it's already been taken by someone else. It's like putting "SK8 ROLR" on a plate. Come to think of it, I bet that's taken.

On the far other end of the spectrum, I saw this plate: "K CU LTR." You see what they did there? They took the limited space afforded to them on the plate and created a full-on sentence. Maybe they wanted "L8R" instead of "LTR," but they found a way to still make it work without destroying the message that was important enough in the first place that they wanted it on their car. Nicely done, fellow Angelino.

Lastly, this one just made me smile. "ELLO M8," it said. "Ello to you too," I replied. Then I waited, but no further conversation occurred. I guess there's nothing wrong with just saying hello, but by calling me his or her mate, I assumed we were friends. I tend to say more than just hello (with a dropped H) to my friends, but maybe that's just me. If the driver is Australian, all is forgiven since s/he found a way to greet us while specifying nationality. Conditional kudos to you, possibly Australian sir or madam.

That's it for me. I'm out like the starters in an NBA game when it's a rout. Yeah, that one totally nailed it. Happy Birthday tomorrow to Sacky Kevin. Happy Half-Birthday to America on Sunday, and Happy Half-Birthday to my favorite nephew Shawn on Monday (making him the big 3.5). Happy New Year again to all of you, and I'll be back next Friday with more of whatever the hell it is I do here. If you'd like to write me for any reason at all, ptklein@gmail.com is the vital piece of information you'll need in order to be successful in that endeavor. Take care, friends.