Prison break-out

Ok, here we are on a lovely Wednesday. I'm going to now write the post that I intended to write yesterday before getting sidetracked by my own weirdness. I should've changed it up so that I could write about words today and fulfill the prophecy of the Wacky and Wordy Wednesday. Alas, it was not to be.

First though, I have to tell you about an experience I just had this morning. I went to Toyota and was waiting for the shuttle they have to take me to work. The shuttle driver told us it would be 7:30, and at 7:31 he grabbed his keys, looked us over, and then walked away. I felt like it was a weird power thing, but I didn't make too much of it. Then he came back out and waved us over to the van. As the three of us who needed rides started to get in, he held his hand up and stopped us. "Where are you going?" he asked us. We all answered. "Ok then. You sit there. You, next to him there. And you ride up front." Now it was definitely a power thing.

While we were getting near where one passenger worked, she said, "You're going to make a left at that next light." He huffed and exaggerated his lane change and braking as if to say, "You should've told me sooner. Now I have to drive unsafely to do your bidding." When we got to my work, I said, "Thank you, I appreciate it. Have a good day." Nothing. I didn't need a heart-felt "You're welcome," but some acknowledgement would've been nice.

As I say that though, I know I'm kinda lying. I don't like when I thank someone for something and they utter a dismissive "Uh-huh" as a response. When I thank someone, I mean it, and that always feels like they thought I was just saying it because I was supposed to. Regardless, the free shuttle driver was more power-hungry and passive-aggressive than I expected, and I wanted to share that with you.

I have a story to tell you, and now I'm just going to come right out and tell it instead of dancing around it for another 200 words. I was in a neighborhood drug store minding my own business, systematically crossing items off my mental list. A man suddenly approached the pharmacy. Not the counter where they take your prescription nor the counter where you pick it up, but rather the very middle. "Excuse me," he said over the high wall to a man in a white coat walking amongst the pills, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," the man said, slightly gesturing over to the counter. The customer didn't take the hint though and continued speaking loud enough for anyone within a twenty foot radius to hear. "Cool," he said. "I just got out of prison," he started. I immediately lifted my head to size him up. He was scrawny but looked strong, and his eyes were of the somewhat-crazy variety. "I just got out of prison, and I'm breaking out in these hives." He pulled up his shirt sleeve to show the pharmacist his upper arm. "Maybe it's a rash or something, but I feel like things are crawling on me."

"Do you feel that on your scalp?" the white-coated one asked. "No, not on my head, but a little on my face too. It just feels like things are crawling on me. Do you have anything for that?" With just a little pause to give the impression of considering options, the pharmacist replied, "No, you would really need a doctor to take a look for you and then tell us what to give you." The other gentleman thanked him and went on his way.

This conversation was only a few lines long and didn't last more than a minute, yet by the time it was over, I was on the other side of the store. A recent ex-con who may be contagious is not the ideal person I'd like standing next to me. I would've been farther away too, but the thought crossed my mind that he may have been in for a violent crime committed on someone who was running away from him. I thought it best not to trigger that, ya know, just in case.

I could scarcely think of anything that someone could say in a store that would make me move away faster. I think it's limited to "Give me all your money" and "Now where's that detonation button?" Help me out, friends. What would someone have to say aloud next to you in a public place to make you move as quickly as I did?

I hope the parolee was able to get to a doctor and stop whatever felt like it was crawling on his arm and face. I really do, for his sake and for those around him. In any case, I'm going to stop here so I can dive into my real work. Have a great Wednesday, gentle readers, and shoot ptklein@gmail.com an email with any thoughts about things, questions, or items for Follow Up Friday.

Seen but not heard

Good morning, and happy Tuesday to everyone. I was just thinking about the differently spelled incarnations of the sound too in our language, even though that has nothing to do with what I'm planning on writing about. It started with me almost making some horribly forced joke about the other numbers being jealous of 2 because he has his own day (2's Day, naturally). Good thing I stopped myself before writing that, eh?

Anyway, I'm going to follow my mind's lead on this one and see if it turns into an entire post. So I was thinking about to, too, two, and tutu, and something in particular caught my mind's eye: the silent W in "two." I asked myself, "Self, is that a strange letter to be found silently lurking in a word? It seems to have such a forceful presence that it's odd to have it blend in so that it's completely unnoticed to the ear." I agreed with myself at first, but then I immediately realized that "sword" has a silent W too. If I thought of another one so quickly, maybe it's not that rare after all.

Let's play a game, shall we? (Please note that the W in "we" is pronounced.) I'm going to go through the alphabet and see how many letters are used silently in words. I shalln't consult a dictionary or any website that probably already lists this somewhere in cyberspace. Instead, I'll be thinking off the top of my head. I'm sure I'll miss some, and I'd love for you to help me out, gentle readers. My goal is to find at least one for every letter possible. I'll try to avoid words in other languages unless they've been fully adopted into English as well. (I have one of those in mind already, so you'll see what I mean.)

Shall we being with A, mes amis? I already have a song called "A" by Barenaked Ladies in my head, and I think it's going to be there for a while. Let's see. Ya know, I just wrote the word "head" and I think that counts as a silent A. Without it there, it would be pronounced exactly the same. This is gonna be easy!

B time, yo. Right off the bat, I have three that come to mind. Dumb, subtle, and jamb. Great, now I have "Burnt Jamb" by Weezer in my head. My mental IPod is on one hell of a shuffle.

From C to shining C. I'm going to say that a word like "science" fits this category (the first C in that word, of course). If you don't like that one, then any word ending in "ck" like back might appease you. Man, you're tough. If I wanted to, I could have "She Blinded Me with Science" and/or "Back in the Saddle Again" in my head, but I don't want to.

Let's hop aboard the D train and see what we find. Will you give me credit for bundt? I think that might be slightly pronounced. Hmmm. Djibouti? What do you think about words ending in "dge" like bridge or sludge? The D's still in there, isn't it? Damn, I think I may have my first open frame.

E is an easy one, I believe. "Have" is an example of a word whose vowel sound isn't changed by the E at the end. I wouldn't say "gave" because "gav" would be pronounced differently. Yeah, I'm going with "have." I have to.

F is tricky. On one hand, I could say that the second F in something like puff is effectively silent, but I feel like that's cheating. Aside from that and ones like it, I'm at a loss. Remember, I could cheat but I won't. I must keep the integrity of UOPTA intact. Melissa, BKS, and other language freaks like me - help a brother out.

Gee, we're on G already. Piece o' cake. Words like reign and feign popped out the second I started thinking of this letter. And gnarly. Can't forget gnarly. Whew, I was getting worried for a minute.

H, the letter with my least favorite pronunciation. I know that I personally don't pronounce the H in what, where, or when, or which, but I could if I wanted to. (There's actually a very funny "Family Guy" scene about that, by the way.) If you won't give me those as silent H words, I guess I'll go with rhyme instead. No one pronounces it in that word, right? Ok, here's one for sure: chords. Booyah Johnson!

I. Ay yay yay. This is a tough one. I keep trying to think of words like waiter, since it should be pronounced the same without the I but it's not. Silly English. I suppose the second I in the Nintendo Wii is unnecessary but not exactly silent. I think I'm currently stumped on this one.

J isn't any easier right off the bat. It makes a different sound in fjord but certainly isn't silent. Crap, I think I'm on a losing streak here.

Thank you, K. Just in time. This one's easy, with words like knight, knack, etc. Whew.

La la la la L-time. I know it's a strange word, but I think soldering should count for this one. After all, a "sodering gun" could be pronounced the same way, right? I feel like I'm forgetting a whole bunch of silent L words - help me out here. What about would and could? My tongue does no L action with those words at all.

M: Mnemonic. Bam!

N: Column, solemn, and damn. Oh my!

O: I don't know. The vowels are awfully tough. Even in "tough" there, I can't say that the gh would still be an F sound without the O in there because the language is so odd with those things. I'm stuck on O too I guess.

Ah yes, P. I've given this one thought before, because I like telling people, "It's P as in Pterodactyl." That gets some confused looks alright.

Q: I think the Q could technically be silent in a word like acquaintance. In fact, I'm saying it is. You wanna fight about it?

A pirate's favorite letter: R. According to my Bostonian Grandmother, Peter has a silent R at the end. I can't think of a real one right now. I'm growing weary and wondering why I started this whole thing.

S: aisle, corps (as in the Peace variety), and probably others. I'm good here.

T: I don't pronounce the T in often, but since some of you might, may I suggest rapport instead. Nailed it.

U: Another vowel. Shit. Oh, how about shoulder? I think that actually works. Yay for me.

V: I don't think I'm getting one here. Nope. Not happening.

W: Who and whole came to mind quickly here, and I'm pleased by that. Oh yeah, and two and sword, who started this whole thing.

X: Here is the one I used the disclaimer for at the beginning. I know that faux is a French word, but it's fully integrated into English as well. If it's not real fur or real pearls, we simply don't say "fake." Go ahead and argue, but I'm sticking with that one.

Y: Because we like you. I could argue that when Y is a vowel in the middle of words, it's often unnecessary. Tryst for example would sound the same as "trst" I think. However, I don't buy my own argument there and I'm going to pass on this one until I can find a better example.

Z: No way. I mean, there's a basketball player named Joel Przyzbilla (pronounced Priz-billa), so one of those Zs has to be silent. Aside from that though, I can't think of anything that should count. I'm sure there are some Polish words that have an S and a Z together in which only one is pronounced, but that's not enough. I hate going out on a tough one, but maybe that's why Z got pushed to the end to begin with. Trouble-making Z.

Ok, that's it. I have to stop thinking. If more come to mind for letters that previously stumped me, I'll post something in the comments section (probably starting with "Crap"). Please weigh in on this, whether it's helping complete the list, things that surprised you, or just to say that I'm strange for devoting this much brainpower to something like this.

Have a great day. I need a nap.

Out on my own

Good morning, each and every gentle reader out there. I have important UOPTA news for you all. My parents left Sunday morning to be out of town for the next three weeks. Since they're the most frequent commenters in this space, I'm asking you all to please pick up their slack a little. Then you can be "slackers" in the most positive way imaginable. Ok, so I can think of a few slightly more positive ways that involve saving lives, but this is damn close.

A month or so ago, I was running out of ideas for posts. I told my mom that and she started rattling off things that popped into her head. I asked her to email me them so I wouldn't forget, and I've gone to that list fairly often since. Today is no exception, friends, for nothing else is jumping around in my brain and begging to be transferred to paper. So here goes:

My senior year of college, I took an Independent Studies course from a professor with whom I grew quite close during my time at UCSB. (I had to use correct grammar while talking about an English professor - ending with a preposition there just seemed wrong.) The course was designed to help me and one other student learn about specific poets and their works, to work on our own poetry portfolios, and then to attend a conference in Pennsylvania to meet the people we had been studying and take workshops from them. The conference was in West Chester, and I flew in and out of nearby Philadelphia.

In any case, I'm going to skip over the conference itself for now and get to the story I'm intending to tell. That ok with you? I can go off on random tangents for 300 words first if you like? Nah, I'll save that for later this week. My flight was to leave Philadelphia at around 6pm, so my initial plan was to hang around West Chester until lunch time and then take a shuttle over to the airport a few hours before departing. My plan wasn't anyone else's plan though, because the final shuttle left West Chester at 8:30am. Not having other options, I decided to take the shuttle and then see if I could explore Philly a little.

I got to the airport, and I remembered talking to my mom just before the trip about Philadelphia. "If you have time in the city," she said, "there's a place on South Street that's famous for cheese steaks. I can't remember the name, but it's a man's name like Bill's or Tom's." I remembered South Street because of the song telling me to meet someone there, so I took that information with me to the big sign that said "Information."

I explained to the lady at the desk that I had about 8 hours before my flights, and I was interested in seeing the city - especially South Street. She showed me where the lockers were to stuff my carry-on, and where I could take a train from the airport to downtown. I looked at the map she gave me, and I saw not only South Street on it, but the Liberty Bell as well. This was exciting, because it was hands-down the most independent thing I had done up to that point in my life. Here I was, taking a train alone in a city I knew absolutely nothing about to find a sandwich place of some name somewhere on a street my mom told me about. I felt grown up, and I liked the idea of being a stranger.

The train part was easy. I got on the one that has a sign saying it was going where I wanted, I waited for the exit that the lady told me. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible with my map, I took a zig-zag way to South Street to make sure I passed the Liberty Bell. I blended in with a tour group for a minute in hopes to learn a little more about the famous crack, but the tour was neither in English, Spanish, nor Pig Latin, so I was out of luck. The bell was smaller than I expected, but it was impressive nonetheless. It's almost as important to our nation's history as the clock tower in "Back to the Future," after all.

Finally, I made it to South Street. I randomly started walking in one direction, hoping I'd stumble across the place I was looking for. After a few minutes, I asked someone. He said he had no idea which place I meant, for there were tons of cheese steak places. I realized his point was probably right on the money, but I wasn't discouraged yet. I turned around, and a few minutes later asked a couple who seemed to be from nearby. "Oh, your mom probably meant Jim's. Keep walking this way for a while and it'll be on the right. You'll smell it when you get close."

They were right. I found Jim's and ate a fantastic meal. I sat alone at a table on the second floor, surrounded by families on vacation and businesspeople on lunch. I looked around for something I could pretend to be reading, but was out of luck. After wolfing down the sandwich, I thought I'd slowly meander back to the train station, stopping in stores along the way. I went outside and took a deep breath, looking forward to my next couple of hours as Peter the Independent Traveler. I stepped across the street and was pleased to not have a definite plan of action. It was so un-me, but I could see myself getting used to it every once in a while.

And then, out of nowhere, the sky opened up. Where there had been a pleasant sunshine just a minute before was now just rain. Hard rain. Lots of hard rain. I looked around me to see if anyone else had the same surprised look, but no one did. Instead, they all instinctively and immediately produced umbrellas and continued on their way without missing a step. I didn't have an umbrella, so I had to quickly devise a plan. Here it was: walk briskly, find as many overhangs and awnings as possible, get back to the train, and spend more time than anticipated in the airport. One problem with the plan though: not a single overhang or awning anywhere in the whole city (or at least on the route I took). It was unreal. The rain kept pouring down and I walked as quickly as I could. Passers-by actually pointed and laughed at me, and I understood why. I was the only person without an umbrella, and I was 100% wet. The phrase that kept going through my mind was, "I couldn't be more wet if I jumped into a pool." I was that drenched and people thought that was funny.

Eventually I made it to the train, and people looked at me like I had an arm growing out of my forehead. "Why didn't he bring an umbrella?" they wondered. "Didn't he know that it randomly pours like a plague without any warning in this town?" No, he didn't. I got back to the airport (after leaving a nice puddle on my train seat) and an employee stopped me. She told me that she was a mom, and it was her duty to make sure I had some dry clothes somewhere so I wasn't "going to catch my death" while waiting for my plane. I assured her that I had a sweatshirt in my carry-on, and she let me go.

I got my bag and went to the closest men's room. There I stood, as far away from everyone else as possible, changing into a dry sweatshirt that clashed with my wet hair, pants, and shoes. Over the next several hours, I slowly dried off as I read, wrote, and ate before an uneventful flight back.

Was Peter the Independent Traveler defeated? Yes and no. I did get soaked to the bone, ridiculed, reprimanded, and almost deathly ill. But I also found Jim's, and that has to cancel out at least two of those.

Have a great day, gentle readers, and bring an umbrella with you today just in case. You never ever know. Please post your comments and/or write to ptklein@gmail.com with thoughts, questions, stories, and Car Watch items for Follow Up Friday.

FUF #12

Hi everyone. I'm Peter, and it's Friday. Therefore, to know, know, know me is to FUF, FUF, FUF me. Can't argue with that logic. Ok, maybe you can, but I'm not listening. It's hard to come up with different FUF puns each week (even bad ones), so if you'll allow me to substitute it for "love," we can keep this going a little longer. With that, let's F-U.

Since it is a Follow Up Friday, I'm going to tell a couple of stories that are loosely-related to things from this week, then turn to you all for thoughts and a new installment of Car Watch.

First though, I have a completely unrelated item because that's how I roll. I want to tell you about a dream I had last night. I was with a few people who wanted to play bridge, and I agreed even though I only know a bit about how to play. The way this game was played in the dream was a little different though. The first step was not declaring a bid, but rather announcing which of the Smurfs would be your patron saint for that hand. I looked over to the side, and there was a line of plastic Smurf heads to serve as a reference. The one you choose is suppose to communicate something to your partner, like the opening round of real bidding (but with Smurf heads, obviously). I didn't want to give any mixed signals, so I took who I thought would be the most generic one: Papa Smurf. Then the bidding started, and it was close to normal, but someone jumped from "2 diamonds" to "Ace of Diamonds," which isn't a real bid. I woke up just a minute later and made a point of remembering as much as I could to share with you. I don't remember any of the people I was playing with, but I can still recall seeing Papa Smurf's head at the end of the line and thinking that would be the best representation of my hand.

By the way, I've never written that last sentence before. Ah, if I only knew a psychologist who could help me interpret what that dream could possibly mean.

In two different posts this week, I made reference to the rain. In one, I specifically mentioned how the media in California overreacts a little come storm time. It started years ago when the stations started boasting about their weather technology. They had "the Doppler machine," and it had the power to tell us when it occasionally wouldn't be sunny. I was ok with that, because it's nice to have a heads-up when I'm going to need long sleeves. Then Channel 7 started calling theirs the "Doppler 7000." That was a little ridiculous, but it didn't bother me too much. (After all, they could've made it the "Doppler 7 Billion.") However, I recently saw a commercial for the news that boasted that they'd give us the weather using their "Live Mega Doppler 7000 HD." I shit you not. How unnecessary is that? Actually, I'm going to answer that. "Live": it had better be live if you're telling me the weather for today or tomorrow. "Mega": a cop out for anytime someone wants to make something sound big. It makes me think of Mega Maid from "Spaceballs," and I'm pretty sure that's not what they're going for. "HD": that's great that they're broadcasting the news in HD for those who have the equipment, but I don't know if that would sway someone to their program over non-HD-weather reports. Overall, I give it a solid 9 on the Klein Unnecessary Scale. I know that's high, but hearing it made me laugh out loud and say, "Oh come on!" That's a nine in my blog, gentle readers.

And now onto observations from the week:

My Mother-in-Law was in a store when a sign caught her eye. It said "FREE" written on the top of in big and bright letters. (That would certainly catch my eye too, by the way.) She looked closer, and the rest of the sign said, "...ride in a police car if you steal from this establishment." Oh snap!

Car Watch!

Rockabye wrote in saying that he saw a bumper sticker reading, "I am an artist and I vote." I've seen similar ones that say things like "Another voter for off-leash dog parks," etc. This one though sounds more to me like s/he's listing random attributes for a dating site or something. "I'm an artist...and I vote...Oh yeah, I enjoy renting movies...and I like sour dill pickles." Mazel tov.

Rockabye also saw this bumper sticker: "Hi. I don't care. Thanks." I'm sure that comes in handy when...actually, I'm not sure about that. Maybe if someone's on their ass and wants to get around them, then the sticker can anger said tailgater more. I don't know. Any thoughts?

I saw a sticker I thought was worth sharing: "Turn Off TV. Turn On Life." Ok, but, um, can you just show me where that life switch is again? I always forget. No, I understand what they're saying, but am I to believe that person never watches any tv? Even if it's just for five minutes to get the news, those must be a guilt-ridden five minutes. Unless I'm reading this whole thing wrong, and this person is saying that TV is the backbone of all life, and when you turn your set of, your turning on life (like a traitor). Yeah, that's probably what it means. Sorry I read it wrong at first.

My Mother-in-Law was talking a little bit ago about the bumper sticker that many of you may have seen with the American flag and "These Colors Don't Run" on it. Well, Dusty wrote me saying the following: "Dead ringer for the real sticker with the U.S. flag - These Colors Don't Run...The World." I thought that was pretty clever, and I usually appreciate turns on common phrases regardless of the message.

Lastly, I saw this on the car in front of me: "What Do You Do? I Launch Rockets!" I so badly wanted to pass the car and give a super sarcastic thumbs up and "Yeah! Way to go, man! You frickin' rock, dude!" to the driver, but he was gone too fast.

Ok, that's it for now, my friends. Have a great weekend, un Cinco de Mayo muy festivo, and we'll meet back here Monday. Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with your thoughts and observations. Otherwise, you'll have to read about more of my dreams, and that's a pretty scary proposition.

Edit and forget it

My junior year of college, I lived in a 3-bedroom apartment with some friends. There were six of us on the lease, but we actually had seven people living there for the first quarter. Dusty, who actually attended a university back east, was able to finagle the system so that he could get credit by going to UCSB with us for a quarter. It also happened to be the quarter that he turned 21, so good times abounded. (I don't think I've ever written 'finagle' before, so we're witnessing a little bit of history here.)

The seven of us were in a variety of academic disciplines. We had the arts covered with Acting, Film Studies, and Art History. I represented the humanities with my English major; Greg's Communication major took care of the social sciences, and then Dusty's Psychology and Dave's Electrical Engineering brought the harder sciences home. With that breadth of studies, we didn't get to collaborate too often on anything more exciting than ordering pizza.

But then one day, Film major Ben told us that he and a friend were starting a new monthly newspaper for the students. It would be called Campus Point (or Campus Pointe, I don't remember if the unnecessary 'e' was included or not), and since he was in charge of it, he could find a space for me and Dusty to write a column together about whatever we wanted. We were in heaven.

The first issue would be coming out early in the fall, so our article was going to be a recap of the big events of the summer. We wrote under the pseudonyms "Bob and Todd" for reasons I may explain at a future date. I remember us sitting together, throwing ideas out, and having a great time writing together. We wanted to be funny, clever, irreverent, and most importantly, something that people would want to see as a regular feature. Therefore, we pulled out all the stops. For example, we wrote, "Then Princess Di made her name sound like a frickin' command by getting in a fatal car crash." After mentioning that Mother Teresa died as well, we wrote, "We nominate Elizabeth Dole to take over whatever the hell Mother Teresa was doing with her time. We also second that motion. Any abstentions? Ok then, moving on."

This was the same year that El Nino was coming, and the storm warnings were everywhere all the time since Californians melt in water. What? We don't? Wow, the power of the media never ceases to amaze me. In any case, we wrote a little about "The Storm of the Century," and made a joke about reserving your ocean-side Sueno apartment today (that street was about three blocks from the ocean; therein lies the attempted humor). Then we said, "Man, I'd hate to meet El Padre." We thought that was both clever and symbolic of how we wanted our humor to come across.

We gave it to Ben, and he liked it enough that he said it would be in the inaugural issue of the paper. We were very excited but didn't tell too many people, because it would be cool if people were wondering who "Bob and Todd" really were. The day it came out, I immediately flipped through the pages to find the article. I found it, and smiling, started reading through it. "What?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. "What's up?" Dusty asked. "Well, they edited it, and poorly at that," I told him. I guess they didn't like the Princess Di joke, so they took out that paragraph (including the Mother Teresa and Elizabeth Dole part). The only problem is they left one part of it there. Without referencing anything, there's a stand-along paragraph in the middle of the article that reads:

"We also second that motion. Any abstentions? Ok then, moving on."

We weren't happy with that, because it seemed even more random than we intended. Who seconds motions that weren't made anywhere? But oh, that wasn't the more egregious edit, my friends. I kept reading, and found this:

"Storm of the Century! Reserve your ocean-side Sueno apartments now! Man, I'd hate to meet El Nino."

I guess the editor figured that we didn't know the name of El Nino and incorrectly called it El Padre and made the substitution on our behalf. That's a problem, because the new version not only took away a line that we really liked, but it didn't make any fucking sense. (Sorry, I'm still a little upset after 10 years.) We kept re-reading it aloud, trying to make it sound ok: "Man, I hate to meet El Nino." Ya know, in a dark alley or something. No matter how hard we tried though, our article came off as disjointed and weirder than we wanted.

I seem to recall that we wrote another article for the next issue, but I honestly can't remember a single thing about it. And that was it. We weren't running around, telling everyone that we were indeed THE "Bob and Todd," because we thought we were funnier than those guys.

In any case, I lived through that and learned a valuable lesson: if I'm ever editing something, it's better to ask than to guess, lest you piss someone off who will hold a grudge for a decade. "I'd hate to meet El Nino." What does that even mean? Deep breath...hold it...and out.

Have a good day, gentle readers. Please remember to write in to ptklein@gmail.com with things for tomorrow's Follow Up Friday or future posts. I also second that motion.

Generally speaking

It's a wacky and wordy Wednesday, my friends. Notice that I didn't capitalize "wacky" or "wordy" because I'm not yet prepared to make this a regular feature. It's tempting, because I can already hear myself welcoming you to another edition WWW or maybe 3-Dub. But no, I'm not ready for that level of commitment. After all, we'll always have Hump Day, won't we?

I am going to talk about some words today though. Specifically, a group of words that I'm sure many of you have thought about. I don't even know what to call them though. We'll get to that later though. First, it's time for some back-story. While working at the university after graduation, even though I was thoroughly enjoying it, I knew that it was most likely not where I would be spending the rest of my working days. I had always said that I liked the field of advertising, but I didn't actually know anything about it. I thought about being really nerdy and buying some text books and learning the basics myself, but instead I found a class through the UCSB Extension.

It was called "Principles of Marketing," and it was taught by someone with some real life experience. I learned one major lesson from the class: I was so glad to be out of school. It reminded me almost immediately how little I missed studying, taking test, and writing papers. The class was ok, but I didn't really learn much at all. The instructor seemed to run out of lesson plan ideas and brought someone in to play the guitar in one of the later classes. Kinda strange, don't ya think?

In any case, what I remember most from the class (besides the guitar guy) was a video that the instructor showed us with a profile on the Rollerblade company. In it, a high-up executive started talking about how everyone was using "Rollerblades" to describe any pair inline skates. I thought he was going to say how great that was that their product had clearly taken over the whole industry. Instead though, he said that it's difficult because if people think that all inline skates are Rollerblades, then they won't seek out their brand in particular. They want to be known as the best of all inline skates, not just a general term for them.

That made a lot of sense to me, and those are the types of words I'm going to talk about today: ones that are actually trademarked brand names but are generally used for all products in their genre. What should we call these? Dispropered Nouns? I have no idea. Suggest away, gentle readers.

There are a few that come to mind immediately for me. First, Kleenex is pretty universally used for "facial tissues," right? Band Aid absolutely has the market cornered. How many times have you asked someone, "Excuse me, do you have an adhesive bandage?" I'm pretty sure Frisbee is a brand name, which makes me wonder what the generic ones are even called. Plastic flying discs? That has to be frustrating to the company. Unless they launch a campaign that says, "If it doesn't say 'Frisbee' it's not the real thing!" then things will stay as they are. And seriously, at this point their product probably isn't noticeably better than any generic competitor. Same with the Hula Hoop, if that's also a brand name.

What else is there? Xerox seems like it's lost a little of its universality to me. While I probably would've referred to most things as "Xerox machines" a few years back, they're more specialized now. I'll think of "copiers" or "laser printers" instead of jumping to the Xerox umbrella. One thing that's cool about that one though is that it became a verb. Xeroxing, like Rollerblading, Googling, and even Tivo-ing has caused the brand names to have an even greater impact on their respective industries. (Should Tivo be on this list? I feel like DVR is getting more widely known, so probably not.)

What am I missing? Time to consult los internets. Aha! I found a great site:
http://www.prairienet.org/~rkrause/brands.html

Wow. They're called "American Proprietary Eponyms" according to this site. And there are some great ones on here that I didn't think about (and some I don't agree with).

I didn't realize that Cola was trademarked as part of the Coca Cola Company. That's a big one. Popsicle is another that I never associated with a particular brand but use across the category. Wite-Out I should've thought of on my own, because that's a perfect example. Ooh, Styrofoam is a trademark of Dow Chemical Company. Very interesting (at least to me). Escalator is a brand name? I'm guilty on all counts with that one. There are a few more on there that totally blow my mind, so you should check it out.

Then there are a few that I don't agree with. I don't use "Listerine" to speak for all mouthwashes. I don't use "Jeep" for all vehicles of that nature either. "Twizzlers?" I pretty much just use that to describe...Twizzlers. Same goes for Kool-Aid; otherwise it's just punch to me.

Just thought of another: Jacuzzi. Totally. Ok, that's it for now. I'm sure there are more out there that we all use, so if any come to mind, please let me know. I'm really enjoying this, by the way. Also, check out that site, because I'd like to hear which ones surprise you and which ones you disagree with. Have a great day, gentle readers, and watch out for the inline skaters throwing flying plastic discs while blowing their noses with facial tissues. Oh they're out there alright.

Instant Car-ma

Good morning one and all. I hope this day finds you well. After posting Sacky Christi's blog address yesterday, I went there are realized I was a few posts behind. One of them talked about problems that she's had with her car. There have been enough of these occurrences that she now believes her car is cursed. I immediately thought of my friend Rockabye and a car he had while we were in college. Let's call this the May Day Special.

First though, I'm not immune to car problems. I had a Bronco 2 for the first four years or so that I was driving. Correct me if I'm wrong, but normally you're not supposed to average one transmission per year, right? I loved the car when it was running well, but that happened less and less frequently, so it eventually was time to part.

Despite the several transmissions (or 'quite a few' if you prefer), belts breaking, and a passenger window that needed human plus electrical help to go back up, my Bronco 2's problems were nowhere near as memorable as Rockabye's run-ins. He named his car "Qwaku," after a gentleman he met playing pick-up basketball at a park. He was so enamored by that name that he bestowed it upon his sedan. He'd greet the car as we'd approach it with "Hey, what's up, Quak?" Then he'd push the button on his alarm remote, and it would reply back with its own salutation.

(Random side note here: I once asked Dusty, "If there were no birds, would be still have the word 'chirp?'" "Yes," he said, "because my alarm clock chirps. It says so in the manual." "Come on," I argued, "you're telling me the manual writer would've made that word up specifically to address the sound the clock makes? You don't think he's saying it sounds like a bird?" "My alarm clock chirps," he replied, satisfied that he'd successfully made his point. Man I hate that guy sometimes.)

So back to Rockabye and Qwaku. During our sophomore year, he and I lived together with our friends Greg and Jon on the bottom half of a duplex. There was a little parking lot for our two units behind the place, which was visible from a window in the room I shared with Greg. One afternoon, Greg and I were just chilling in our room, listening to music and most likely talking about stupid shit. Out of nowhere, we heard a loud crash coming from the direction of the little parking lot. Greg ran over to the window and pulled the blinds up. There was Qwaku. More precisely, a little more than half of Qwaku. The front of the car had busted through the wooden fence that divided our place from our neighbor's place. Big planks laid across the windshield and a cloud of dust hovered above. Through the window, we could see Rockabye's face, looking at us, stunned in surprise, with a half smile and a look that said, "I have no idea what happened but I have a feeling it was kinda funny."

We ran out to the lot and asked the most obvious question in that situation: "What the hell did you do?" He told us that he was pulling in just like he always did, but when he hit the brakes, nothing happened. Well, more appropriately, hitting the fence happened. I asked how he stopped the car then, and he said that the brakes were working again. Qwaku fell asleep on the job, and now we had a car, a fence, and neighbor relations to repair. Neither Greg nor I will ever forget that look on Rockabye's face, and it makes me laugh almost every time I think of it. (I just laughed. Do you believe me now?)

The following year, Rock and Qwak were on the freeway, and a big truck in front of them made a decision. "I'm tired of hauling all of this crap," it thought to itself. "I would be much better off tossing some of it and lightening my load. I'm not a kid anymore, and I need to set limits for myself. Take this big block of concrete, for example. I don't need this anymore, yet I've had the hardest time parting with it. Starting today, I'm going to treat myself better. Farwell, big block of concrete, and good luck finding your way in this world." Unfortunately the concrete didn't find his way, but rather Qwaku's hood. A little while later, Rockabye walked in to our apartment and told us what happened. We came out and looked at the big dent and scrapes from the liberated slab. It could've been very bad if it had been a couple of feet higher and hit the windshield, but it didn't and my friend was fine. That made it easier to laugh at. We were starting to wonder if Qwaku was a magnet for trouble.

That same school year, we got our answer. Even in sunny, beachy, and beautiful Santa Barbara, we were prone to occasional storms. One particular day, we had a doozy of one. My buddies and I all stayed dry inside (a different place than the year before, by the way), playing video games and arguing over who did the better impression of Mario. Later on, after everything cleared up, we went to the lot behind the complex. I'm not sure if I have this quote exactly correct or not, but Rockabye said something very close to, "Dude, where's my car?" He pointed to the farthest spot from where we were standing, and he was right, there wasn't a car there. Instead, there was about half of a tree that had fallen in the storm. "Are you serious?" I asked. He couldn't help but smile a little as he nodded, knowing that this was another chapter in Qwaku's lore. We couldn't see even an inch of the car, so we expected the worst as we walked over. Sure enough, there was a car under there. Somehow, though, it was totally fine. A tree fell on his car and it was fine.

We will always remember Qwaku, even though he hasn't been Rockabye's chariot for a while now. The car that broke through fences, was a concrete magnet, and survived an act of God with nary a scratch. Maybe it wasn't cursed at all, come to think of it. Maybe it took the brunt of these things to prevent others from having to. Or maybe I've just been watching too much Lost.

Have a great day, gentle readers. Drive carefully out there, and look out for stationary fences. (Not stationery fences, because there's no reason to be afraid of paper. Oh homophones, you get me every time.) Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with your thoughts and observations. There's plenty of room in the next Follow Up Friday, so keep a look out for Car Watch items and anything I might find interesting.