Compelled to speak

Happy May, everyone, and welcome to another Friday here at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for Ultra Orthodox People Taking Aspirin, but I can see where you'd come up with that. Instead, this is the place in which I write about my thoughts, experiences, and stories. This week, I think I might even have something resembling a theme instead of some haphazard assortment of items. (By the way, I think I want to start pronouncing haphazard as 'haffazard' to utilize the PH combo. It's catchy enough, right?)

What would be the opposite of biting one's tongue? Sticking it out is good imagery, but I don't think that really encompasses the opposite meaning. "Unbiting" is lazy. "Spitting one's tongue" is interesting because it's actively forcing something out while retaining the main focus of the idiom. Also, "spit" and "bit" rhyme, which is convenient. I'll use that for now. So, there have been a few times recently in which I have spit my tongue. They fall in two categories: the good and the bad.

The Good, Part 1:

I had a physical this week for the first time in way too long. I was looking forward to meeting a new doctor, getting all of my info on the books somewhere, and actually using the health insurance that I'm lucky to have. One thing I wasn't eagerly anticipating though was the blood test. I'm not a big fan of needles. I don't faint or anything, but I always think to myself, "Am I feeling light-headed? How about now? How about now?" Also, I had a bad experience years ago in which a woman tried many times to get my blood, brought another nurse over for consultation, and poked around inside my arm to find better spots. It was less than enjoyable. So this time, I sat in the chair and greeted the woman to my right who would soon be poking at least one hole in me. Routinely, she tied the rubber thing around my arm, used the cleansing wipe thing, and organized the rest of the items. Once the needle was ready and coming toward me, I became very interested in the piece of paper to my left. "Hmmm, Code Red is for a fire. I think I knew that. Code Blue is for when someone is in need of resuscitation, as I've learned from medical dramas. Code Black is a bomb threat? That seems mighty specific. I hope they don't need to use that one too often." "Ok," a voice told me. I looked over, and she was holding a cottonball against my arm. "Hold this please," she said, and then she wrapped my arm in some kind of bandage. I spit my tongue: "That was easily the best job anyone has ever done taking my blood." "Really?" she said, "Thank you." "No, thank you! I was dreading it at first but you did a great job." She thanked me again, and with a smile on my face, I strolled over to the bathroom to pee in a cup.

The Good, Part 2:

If you live in the Los Angeles area, there's a decent chance that you've heard of Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica. If not, you should: http://www.bcdeli.com/. Bay Cities is a small market with a bunch of things you'd expect to find...and the best frickin' sandwiches on the face of the Earth. They're so good that smart people order them online about 45-60 minutes in advance before going to pick them up. The uninitiated just show up and wait in a long line for that amount of time. The bread is unbelievably good, as is everything that one can put on said bread. If you don't want to wait that long, you can go to the hot food section and get a kick-ass chicken parm sandwich or a few other equally-delectable offerings. There's one main problem with Bay Cities: the parking lot. It's a small lot that would usually have a line of three of four cars waiting to turn in, thereby stopping an entire lane of traffic. Once in the lot, you'd then wait for people to come out to their cars and attempt to back out without hitting you or the other folks salivating over their soon-to-be vacated spot. On top of that, a car would occasionally try sneaking in through the exit-only opening from an alley behind the market. I'm a mild-mannered guy, but I've wanted to bash people's faces in for surreptitiously yoinking a spot as I played by the rules.

It sure would be nice if there were a security guard in the lot to maintain some kind of order and stop the bastards from wrongfully taking parking spots, right? Well, there was. He did absolutely nothing. If a car swooped in from the wrong way to steal a spot, he'd take a half-step in that direction and then throw up his hands as if to say, "Well, nothing I can do about that!" It was infuriating. And then, one glorious day, there was a new attendant in the lot. "Let's see how this goes," my co-worker Rob said to me. Almost before he could finish his sentence, the new guy was waving people on, holding up his hand to others, and running to stop cars from coming in the wrong way. The next time we were there, he was even better and once physically put himself in front of a bastard sneaky car to make sure that the angry driver didn't get the spot he was trying to steal. It naturally reminded me of Tiananmen Square, but with slightly less dire consequences at stake. After the third time of seeing him kick major ass at his job, I spit my tongue: "You're doing a fantastic job," I said. He nodded a thank you, but was keeping his eye on the three cars waiting for spots and the two cars trying to leave theirs without bumping into each other. I wasn't letting it go that easily though. "Really, I appreciate how well you're doing this job." He mumbled a thank you and walked away to make sure his domain was in order. Rob made a strange face at me. "I had to tell him," I said. "I think he would've preferred a tip," he replied.

The Bad:
I was chatting with two people a week or so ago, and the topic of the Baseball Hall of Fame came up. I said that I thought it was bullshit that there's never been a unanimous selection to the Hall. (Certain voters are very old-school and will not vote for someone when he first appears on the ballot. I think that's stupid, because there's nothing more that Tony Gwynn, Cal Ripken Jr., or Rickey Henderson could've done. Likewise, when Greg Maddux is eligible, I'll throw a minor shit fit if he's not unanimous.) One of the guys responded, "Well, some people have gotten all of the votes before." "No," I said, "no one has been unanimously selected." "Well, maybe not unanimous, but some have gotten 100% of the vote." I spit my tongue. "Oh, please continue, I want to hear you explain this." "Well, um, no, I guess if...no, I was wrong, no unanimous selections." Yeah, that was a kind of dickish way for me to call him out, but I couldn't help myself. If he was going to set himself up for such a baseless contradiction, there would be no tongue-biting from yours truly.

And with that, let's induct ourselves on over to the Car Watch.

My dad sent me a license plate frame that I've never seen before. It read, "Yeah, I'm a bitch...Just not yours." That's really good that they specified, because if my Hallie dog was driving that car, then she'd clearly be violating the terms of her canine curfew. It begs the obvious question: whose bitch was it? Former gangsta rapper Eazy E (R.I.P.) said that he had "bitches galore," so the odds are slightly stacked in his favor.

I saw a new frame too. It said, "Froggy" on the top, and, "Ribbit Cough Ribbit" on the bottom. Obviously. If I had to guess (which I suppose I do), here would be my theory on this one. The driver of the car is nicknamed Froggy by his friends. This could either be a weird animal-themed thing like I have with my friends, or more likely, the guy has slightly buggy eyes. Or he eats flies. In any case, they call him Froggy, and this dude smokes a lot (be it cigarettes or something more interesting). Therefore, he coughs a good amount, and in keeping with his nickname, it makes sense that the cough would come between his animal namesake's sounds in nature. If you've got a better theory, comment away.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye saw this license plate: "COWS(Heart)US." No, no they don't. And they're insulted that you would just assume that.

Ok, I'm outstro. Have a great weekend and week, mis amiguitos, and I'll be back here next Friday. But first, let's get happy. Today is our friend Jesse's birthday, so let's wish him a good one. Tuesday is not only Cinco de Mayo, but also my former boss Debbie's birthday and my lovely wife's former roommate Jen's birthday. Those are all good reasons for a fiesta if you ask me. And Thursday is my excellent friend The Pigh's half-birthday, and he needs as many positive thoughts as possible with this whole swine flu thing. That's it. Take care, and feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. Shaloha.