FUF #8

If you looked up at the night sky and asked for UOPTA's Follow Up Friday to be humorous today, then you might say it was an "F-U wish upon a star." I'm hoping it'll come true (and you should use that horribly set-up and horribly executed pun as the benchmark). To those of you who observe such days, I hope this is a good Good Friday for you. If you don't observe it, then I hope it's just a good Friday. Playing with capitalization is fun! No, seriously, I find that fun. Without capitalization, I might accidentally eat a sausage with polish on it. See what I mean? Fun...and helpful too.

First off, Happy Birthday to one of my most frequent commenters, Sacky Christi. Have a good one, buddy, and try not to focus on thie Kings missing the playoffs this year, because no good will come of that.

Car Watch Time!
Loyal reader and official UOPTA "Former Roommate" Rockabye spent a lot of time in his car again this week, so it's no surprise that he found two very worthy things to pass along. First, the head-scratching bumper sticker: "Custer Died For Our Sins." I'm not too up on my history of Custer and Little Bighorn, admittedly, but I found that to be a very odd thing to slap on one's car. At first glance, I read it as "Custer's death was a direct result of the U.S.' ill treatment of Native Americans." But then I think of how dying "for our sins" was a "Good" thing when Jesus did it, and it confuses the message for me. Can anyone help clear this up? (Note: the capitalization worked beautifully there, didn't it?)

The other offering from Rockabye was a plate that read "PMSXPRS." Wow, I do not want to tailgate that car. Way to set the movement back a little, ma'am, because naturally every woman is a raging bitch for a little while each month. Oh sure, it could be "Pam's Express," but that would be a folly of grand proportions.

Speaking of which, when I was living in Santa Barbara, I was thinking about getting a personalized plate on one of the "ocean style" varieties with the whale tail on it. I wanted to find a way to make the pun "S.B.eautiful," but it was too hard with the limited space. I could've done "SBUTFUL," but it looks like "Es buttfull," so I abandoned the idea all together. If that lady's name is Pam, then someone really should've stopped her before she got that plate. (Even it her name's not Pam, stopping her might've been a good call.)

Driving on the 101 a few days ago, I was behind a plate that read "IM WILD." I didn't get close enough to see if there was also a bumper sticker that read, "I'm a rebel - please look at me and give me attention! I'm different, I swear!" As I passed her, I wanted to give her the universal mock-scared gesture of raising your hands to your cheeks, spreading your fingers and moving your wrists back and forth while saying "Oooh," but I needed to concentrate on driving with at least one hand. Stupid demands of driving.

My bro called me to say that he was behind a car with a sticker worth mentioning. I concur. There were crosshairs, like looking through a gun, and it said, "This is my peace sign." Wow. I think I may rather tailgate the PMSXPRS than that dude.

My mom called me (Friday's would be so empty without my immediate family) to say that she saw "My Kid Snowboards Better Than Your Honors Student" on a bumper sticker. Way to set the bar high. Apparently the "My Kid May Not Be Smart, But He Sure Makes a Mean PB&J" sticker was sold out.

Lastly for Car Watch, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Harry Potter for President." Allow me to quote the constitution for a moment: "No person except a natural born citizen...shall be eligible to the office of President; neither shall any person be eligible to that office who shall not have attained to the age of thirty five years, and been fourteen Years a resident within the United States." (Article 2, Section 1). They left one thing out: you can't be fictional. Therefore, Mr. Potter fails on every account. I'll sometimes let the "fictional" clause slide, like in the "Bartlett for President" stickers, but I think you should need at least one of the criteria to make it to bumper sticker status.

On Monday, I wrote about my old elementary school principal named Mrs. Bailey. Both my brother and loyal reader Sue wrote in to remind me of the reunion my brother's class had. Mrs. Bailey was there, and two things worth mentioning came from that. First, Mrs. Bailey said something along the lines of, "I'm probably now the age that most of you thought I was 20 years ago," which is funny and most likely accurate. Second, Kevin told her about my mom's annual "Mrs. Bailey called" routine on April Fools' Day, and she was shocked that her legacy has been one of fear. I can imagine that was tough to hear, but as my elementary school principal, I was more afraid of her than Darth Vader.

Bratty Kid Sister (BKS) wrote something in the comment section that I'd like to expand on. As I've mentioned several times in this space, my poor wife hears all of my jokes and stories multiple times. When we first started living together, I would make a little joke every so often. If I didn't get any response from her, I'd repeat it, not knowing if she heard me the first time. Often, she did hear it but it didn't move her to laugh, hence the silence. She certainly didn't need to hear the non-funnies twice, so she changed her tactic. I'd say something, and she'd say, "Very funny." "Really?" I'd ask. "No, not really," she'd reply. That then morphed into what BKS referenced, which was the "I heard you, but it wasn't funny" response to cover all of the bases. She finds a lot of what I say to be humorous, but BKS loves that response so much that I thought I'd share it with the world. Or at least the 8-10 of you reading this.

Three last quick hits before I release you to the rest of Friday. At one point, Geico changed the person who does the voiceover of their gecko character from a British accent to an Austrailian accent. No mention of it, just changed one day. I just wanted to be clear that I noticed the difference, and I think they could've at least acknowledged it by introducing the original one's "cousin from Down Under" or something.

Next, I wrote a whole entry on funny spam email subjects I was receiving, and I got one that made me chuckle aloud. That's actually not that easy to do, so it made the cut: "Get a visit from the big dick fairy." I'm guessing they didn't intend for the double meaning there, but without the wonders of capitalization, one can never be too sure. (Man, I love it when a theme happens on its own.)

Lastly, I wrote the phrase "off the hook" yesterday, and it got a Barenaked Ladies song with that as the title in my head for the rest of the day (and today as well). They're really brilliant songwriters, and this particular one illustrates my case. It's sung to a woman who has an unfaithful husband. The first time around, it says, "He was only wanting you to let him off the hook." The second time it's brought up, it's "You will make him eat his words right off the hook." Then, at the end of the song, "From now on, the phone stays off the hook." Simply excellent songwriting there, and I wanted to share it with you, gentle readers.

(Current slang now uses "That was off the hook!" as "really good," but they didn't incorporate that. I've heard that phrase morph into "off the chain" and then (naturally) "off the chizain," so be on the lookout.)

Have a fantastic weekend, everyone. You deserve it. In fact, give yourselves a hand. See you back here - oh crap. Last thing - I almost forgot - the answer to the George Clooney edition of "Guess the Fakey" on Monday is...Journey to Hanali. None of the four guesses were right, which only means that Mr. Head-Wobble's been in some pretty weird flicks. See you Monday!

Sound decisions

Good morning, one and all. My lovely wife returns today, so this is my last opportunity to be childish and blame it on her absence. It's her duty to be one of my filters, and she performs it well. Heh heh, I just said "duty."

I just re-read my post from Tuesday about the license plate letter combinations, and it has led me to a very non-childish topic for today (so she's off the hook). As I mentioned, it seems to me that they're catering to the immature minds (including mine) out there instead of aiming high. There's another aspect of it that bothers me though, and it's hard to explain, but I'm going to try. The people who picked what should be banned had to go out of their way to find what could be offensive to someone, but it's more than that.

I'm not explaining this well, so I'm just going to jump to my real issue with it. It reminds me of what Clear Channel radio did after September 11. Didn't see me going there, did you? I doubt I have any readers younger than 10, so I'll assume that everyone here remembers the feeling around the country at that time. Needless to say, if someone could avoid adding additional sadness or anger to the situation, they wanted to. I believe that was Clear Channel's intent when they "suggested" (read "ordered") that certain songs not be played on their vast network of stations during that time. They went too far though. (I was about to say "in my opinion," but I don't think anyone will disagree with me here. You're welcome to, of course, but I think they objectively took what was a good thought and way overdid it.)

I understand not wanting to play "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul and Mary for a little while after the attacks. I do, because for the thousands of people who lost loved ones, hearing "I don't know when I'll be back again" would be incredibly difficult, so why not avoid that if possible? I'll say the same for "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette, even though I have big problems with that song. One of the verses is about a man afraid of flying who finally gets on a plane and it crashes. There's no need to play that for a little while. I would think that it would be common sense for the disc jockeys, but a formal decree on that doesn't bother me too much.

Then there are the categories that I have major problems with. First, someone thought it made sense to ban (excuse me, suggest that they not play) feel-good songs. Why? Would people hear them and think, "Yeah right, not in this lifetime"? What could possibly be offensive with "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong? I realize that it was a different mindframe, but people shaking hands and being friendly with each other wasn't the worst image we could be putting out there. "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by the Beatles was on that list too. I know "life goes on" might not have been what people wanted to hear right then, but I don't see any harm in having an occasional positive message amongst the 24 hour coverage of sadness and fear. "Don't Worry, Be Happy" by Bobby McFerrin is on the list too. Again, I can understand someone choosing not to play that on the airwaves (and not just because it's a stupid song), but effectively banning that seems downright silly to me. And then there's "Imagine" by John Lennon. Heaven forbid we allow a possibly poignant song about harmony and forgetting each others' differences hit Americans' sensitive ears. Lastly from this category, can someone please tell me what's offensive with Nena's "99 Luftballoons?" It's in frickin' German! Was the beat too happy? Does tapping my foot mean that the terrorists win?

Yet that wasn't the category that upset me the most. They then reached so far that I felt like they were thinking like the very lowest form of our people. "Falling for the First Time" by Barenaked Ladies was on that list, presumably because it says "falling." The lyrics are indeed all about falling...in love. That's not the best example of what I'm having trouble explaining though. I feel like they were anticipating the horrible jokes that people might make, a la after the Challenger explosion. So they took out "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins and "Learn to Fly" by the Foo Fighters. "Ruby Tuesday" by the Stones is there too, because September 11th was a Tuesday. "I'm on Fire" but Bruce Springsteen is gone too, just in case someone wanted to make a sick joke about it. Same with "Great Balls of Fire" by Jerry Lee Lewis. Did they really think so little of us that we couldn't be trusted to hear that song and just hear it for what it is?

Sinatra's "New York New York" and "On Broadway" by the Drifters made the list as well, presumably because they thought no one should think about any of the good things in New York. We couldn't possibly want to be reminded of anything Middle Eastern, so they had to exclude "Rock the Casbah" by the Clash too.

Here's the real crux of the whole thing for me. To come up with this list, I feel like they were making "those jokes." They reached as far they could to find what might be offensive, and in doing so, they actually made it worse. "She's Not There" by the Zombies and "Have You Seen Her" by the Chi-Lites are perfect examples of what I'm talking about. I would never have heard those songs and thought about September 11, but since they put them on the list, they forced me to connect them with being unable to find someone in the rubble after the attacks. They basically made those bad jokes by banning the songs, and it pissed me off. Did they sit around a table and throw out ideas like, "Well, Ricky Nelson's 'Travelin' Man" could be offensive if people say that he wouldn't be travelin' any more if he were on one of those flights"?

I don't know, but I'm certainly not alone in my reaction to that list. Sure, it was years ago now and I'm sure enough has been written about it that you didn't need my angry rant as well. Still, I thought of it when I re-read my post about what license plate letters could offensive to people and, well, this is where I get my thoughts out. If you're interested, you can find the whole list with this long link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_songs_deemed_inappropriate_after_Sept._11_by_Clear_Channel

Am I getting my point across? I honestly can't tell, since I already know what I'm talking about. In any case, I apologize if you came here this morning for laughs, gentle readers. I did say "duty" earlier though, so hopefully that'll hold you over until tomorrow's Follow Up Friday. Have a good day, everyone.

A 'fine' mess

Good morning, and how is everybody doing on this Hump Day? I'm fine, thanks for asking. No, really, I'm not just saying that. Often people say "fine" when in actuality they aren't fine but don't want to get into it. I truly mean that I'm fine though. (Uh oh, I smell a tangent coming and I apologize. I really wasn't planning on this, but sometimes I go a little crazy. I don't think I can blame this one on my wife's vacation either.)

I just reminded myself of a line from A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley. In it, a character says that something is "fine," and the other character goes off on how "fine" is "a woman's word." This led to a surprisingly heated debate in one of my literature classes as to whether "fine" was indeed a word that women use much more often to avoid a question and move on. I didn't speak up much, because while I use that word, I don't like speaking as if I represent all men. It was a stupid discussion that went on for way too long, and now I've brought it to you. Hope you enjoyed.

Even though I read the book, I only really remember a few things about it. The rest I'm piecing together from scenes they showed in the preview for the movie version. I keep picturing Jason Robards yelling, "It's these girls who are making me crazy!" The only other thing I really recall is the last line of the book because it pissed me off. "This is the gleaming obsidian shard I safeguard above all others," she wrote. Why did that piss me off? The whole book had been elegantly written but not too steeped in metaphor, if you know what I mean. I was able to read it without having to stop, think, and analyze every two lines. As an English major, I had to do a whole bunch of that, so I enjoyed reading a book that illustrated how something can be well-written without screaming, "Look at me, I'm well-written!" That's why the last line pissed me off, because now I had to think about what the hell the "gleaming obsidian shard" represented.

That course was actually one of my favorites, because it was structured in the coolest way imaginable for me. 10% of the grade was class participation. The other 90% came from a journal that we wrote in weekly about our thoughts on the books we were reading. We read five books through the quarter, spending two weeks on each. Every Friday, we'd hand in our journal, and on Monday he'd give them back with his thoughts on our thoughts. It didn't really matter what we wrote about, and that was right in my wheelhouse. A particular chapter of one book led me to write about my mom's friend Florence, who was in her mid-to-late 90s at the time, while it led my friend Sara to write about "Fiddler on the Roof." The professor's comments encouraged me to just write my thoughts and not censor them at all, so I didn't hold back when writing about A Thousand Acres.

I remember two parts of my journal entries on that book: the beginning and the end. I started by saying that I really didn't know how big an acre was, so I couldn't tell if a thousand of them would be "a pretty big field" or the size of New Hampshire. I had the feeling that Ms. Smiley wanted readers to think, "Wow, a thousand acres is as huge lot" and be able to picture it, but she missed this reader with that. Then at the end, I wrote about my displeasure with the last line. I wrote, "I'd like to tell you what Jane Smiley can do with that obsidian shard, but I'll keep it clean. No, on second thought, I won't bite my tongue any longer. I'd like to bust that obsidian shard right up Jane Smiley's ass." I did it partly for shock value, partly to amaze my roommates that I would turn something like that in as an assignment, and partly because I wanted to reach the bottom of the page. I kept it in there, printed it out, and turned it in. When he gave it back, there were two exclamation marks next to that line. Below it, he briefly explained his thoughts on what the shard represented, and then told me that I write well.

In hindsight, this blog is his fault. Please send your hate mail to Professor Allaback at UCSB, because he encouraged my tangents enough that I've almost stopped using the backspace key. Speaking of which, I met a young woman named Dalit once (pronounced Dah-LEET), and I said, "You mean like backspace?" She nodded in a way that told me she's heard that a few hundred too many times. There I go again. I have quite the special tangential potential...and apparently too much caffeine this morning. Have a great day, gentle readers, and please look out for gleaming obsidian shards.

As always, email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. And by "as always," I mean, "please try it once, see how it feels, and then get hooked on the stardom of having your name appear on the series of tubes that make up the internets."

Banned on the run

I was driving home from work last week, when out of nowhere, I was attacked by the immature teenage boy who still lives inside of me. He hibernates most of the time, but when he's awakened, it's hard to put him back. I was just driving along, minding my own business, and then I saw it. There was a license plate in front of me that looked like it said "balls" on it. It didn't actually say that, but rather BAL as the three letters and then a 5 to start the last number sequence. Regardless, it made me giggle.

It also got me thinking. For non-vanity plates, which three-letter combinations do they refrain from making? (Editor's note: I'm about to childishly list things that look like bad words, so if you're offended by anything of the sort, then I suggest you occupy yourself in another manner this morning and meet me back here tomorrow. Also, I blame my immaturity on my wife's being out of town and therefore not here to say, "Yeah, that's pretty silly, maybe you should leave that topic out.")

Ever see a license plate with FUK in the middle of it? I never have, so I'm guessing they don't make them. Whose job is it to decide which ones aren't made? That seems like an awesome job to me. He or she had to probably write a report or say to a boss, "Yes, I realize that we have taken F-U-K and F-U-C out of circulation, but my findings show that it's time to remove F-U-Q as well." How much fun would that be?

SHT is probably out, right? It could easily be pronounced as "shot" or "shut" though. It seems to me that they're catering to those of us who immediately jump to the naughty possibilities. (That's not a complaint, but it seems rare to me that an institution would aim for the lowest common denominator.) I'm sure HIT is allowed, but what happens when it gets to 5HIT - are we really gonna have 999 of those out there on the roads? Seems a bit irresponsible to me. And by "irresponsible," I mean "totally rad."

ASS, although it's an animal, is most likely outlawed. "Make, model, and plate, ma'am?" "Sure it's a 95 Ford Taurus, plate is 4ASS028." How many people could say that with a straight face? Not I, my friends, not I.

There's not really a way to make "bitch" offensive with only three letters, right? BCH is a big enough stretch that I'm guessing they allow those. (As a side note, I think "The Bitch Offensive" would make a great name for either a military strike or a punk band.) So what's left? Many consider "damn" a swear word, but "dam" is a nice and normal word. Do they make DAM plates? If not, do you agree with me that they're overreacting a bit?

Warning: I'm getting more vulgar now. Where do they draw the line? I haven't seen DIK on a plate before (I so hope you're reading this aloud right now). So DIC would probably be banned too, right? What about COK, COC, and COQ? If they ban those, then I think they're reaching a little. Yes, someone like me would look at each of those and say, "That says 'cock,' heh heh," but they really shouldn't be catering to me. I'd say that even if someone were talking about a rooster, an action with a gun, or even caulk.

What about the BUT plates? TIT? Where does the madness end? You know what, I'm tired of this hypothetical crap. Time to do a little research (and I hate it when I make myself do that).

I've found the mother lode:
http://www.calpl8s.com/cpinfo.html

Wow, I had no idea. This site shows letter combinations that are banned in California, confirmed in 2002. Not just FUK and FUC, but also FCK, FUX, FUG, FOK, and FKU, amongst others. They're not messing around here. As guessed here, SHT, ASS, COC, and COK appear on the list. So do DAM, BUT, and TIT. There are other predictable ones like SEX, KKK, and a host of derogatory terms on there as well.

Then there are some that I never would've imagined. BRA? Really, is that so bad? SUK? DUM? CIA, FBI, and CHP! Is that because it's oh-so-close to impersonating an officer? That's bullshit. Why is NUN not allowed? What's wrong with SAM? If I were named Sam, I'd be offended by my exclusion. USB? Do they have a problem with the financial company or the data port on computers? HIV is on the list, because apparently someone failed his Sex Ed class and thought it could be transmitted by sight. There are many, many more, but I'll leave you with my favorite exclusion because it makes so little sense: YEP. Yep! Ah, I did it again. I start thinking, I do research, and I end up angry. My wife needs to come home immediately. Have a good Tuesday, gentle readers.

On principal alone

Wise men and women throughout existence have lamented the lack of "sure things" in this world. There are the standard exceptions of death and taxes, but even those are questionable (see Presley, Elvis and Capone, Al, respectively). However, since I can remember, there has been an absolute and constant force in my life: On the same day of every year, my mother will say the following words: "Mrs. Bailey called." That day is April 1.

Mrs. Bailey was the principal of the elementary school my brother and I attended. I'm pretty sure that this happened the same way every year. My mom probably was going about her day, then saw the date and realized that it was April Fools' Day. Not having planned any kind of a prank, so went for the easy but scary premise of trouble in school.

I imagine it must have gotten us the first time, but I have no recollection of that. The only thing I remember is that my brother and I would be playing something and my mom would walk in with a solemn look on her face. "Boys, Mrs. Bailey called today," she'd say. "Ha ha ha," we'd sarcastically laugh. "Very funny, Mom." The thing is, she kept going.

I'd drive myself home from high school and walk in to see my mom looking upset. "What's wrong?" "Mrs. Bailey just called," she'd say. Or I'd be away at college and have a message from my mom saying she just got off the phone with Mrs. Bailey and I was in big trouble. I think it's safe to say that she "got me" more often when Mrs. Bailey wasn't my principal than when she was.

I was a really good kid in elementary school. If Mrs. Bailey really had really called, it might've been to relay good news, like I won some award or something. (I actually did win an award there once, and it was named after the school's founder, Edna Mae Dye. Turns out, Edna Did Dye, so her name was much more non-committal than it needed to be.)

So a couple of years ago, April 1 was coming up, and I wanted to have the perfect comeback for my mom's announcement that Mrs. Bailey called. I kept coming up with variations of, "Look, it was a one-time lapse of judgment that didn't mean anything to me. Tell her to get off my back already!" They were good, but I wanted something better. Here's what I ended up doing:

First, I created a new email address with something like "mrsbailey2000" as my i.d. Then, on the morning of April 1, I sent my mom and email that read something like this:

"Dear Mrs. Klein,
I know this is well overdue, but my sponsor is encouraging me to make amends with those whom I have wronged in the past. Please hear me out, even though you would have every right to ignore my attempt at reconciliation. Mrs. Klein, I apologize for not giving your son Peter first prize for his Valley Forge diorama. It was clearly the best project there, but I had put my own interests ahead of those of the students. Mandy Sommers' mom offered me cash in exchange for her daughter's victory, and I took it. To be frank, I was a whore for money. I was living from fix to fix at the time, and that cash enabled me to score a gnarly amount of prime angel dust. In my own mixed-up logic, I thought I was helping to keep myself sane, when (as I've recently learned in the program) the exact opposite was true.

Please know that Peter did everything right to win that first prize. He just had the unfortunate luck of running into a judge with a hard-core jonesing for some quality shit. Peter was the funniest, most intelligent, and downright sexiest student to ever step foot on our campus, and I will never fully forgive myself for betraying him. Please let him know how sorry I am, and if you think it would be wise, you can forward this along. Once again, I'm sorry that the drug-induced hell that was my life spilled into yours. I humbly ask for your forgiveness.

Peace out homey,
Mrs. Bailey"

My mom called me a couple of hours later. "You'll never guess who wrote me," she began. She only got about 3 or 4 more words out before she broke character and started laughing. Mission accomplished.

I still get a call every April Fools' Day saying that Mrs. Bailey called, including this past weekend. Now, my responses are usually something like, "Will you tell her to please leave me alone? She's caused our family enough pain already. Oh, unless she's dealing again - I'm totally running low on my stash." Ah, drug jokes: the gifts that keep on giving.

Before I go, I thought I'd throw a little Guess the Fakey out there. Just one actor, and just one made-up title. The rest are all actual movies he was in. Post your guesses in the comments section, and I'll post the answer in this week's FUF.

George Clooney:

Combat High
Knights of the Kitchen Table
Journey to Hanali
Red Surf
Rewrite for Murder
Predator: The Concert
Without Warning: Terror in the Towers
Return to Horror High
Curdled
Leatherheads
White Jazz

Have a good Monday, everyone, and write to ptklein@gmail.com with anything that might help me stretch my thoughts into an appropriate length for a post.

FUF #7

Good morning, everyone. It's Friday, and here's some FU for thought:

First off, let's get to the Monday's Guess the Fakey answers. We succeeded in getting to double-digit comments, but it was actually a little bittersweet. Sacky Christi accused me of making up most of the names, including "Doctor Franken" for Teri Garr. Well, Christi, I'm ashamed of you for jumping to such a heinous conclusion. Ms. Garr was in fact in "Young Frankenstein" in 1974 as well as "Doctor Franken" in 1980. I didn't change any of the names, with one minor exception. Dom DeLuise's "The Silence of the Hams" was an alternate title for a film primarily called "Il Silenzio dei Prosciutti." Without further ado, here are the fakeys:

Teri Garr: The Heaviest Feather
Dom DeLuise: To Eat His Own
Robert Loggia: Gun! Shoot! Run! Die!

So "Charlie Horse Music Pizza," "The Ninth Configuration," and "Won Ton Ton, The Dog Who Saved Hollywood" are all real titles. No one guessed more than one correctly, so I consider that a victory for me. I'll get you back for your attempted libel, Sacky Christi, just you wait.

Car Watch!
Before I get to stickers, plates, and frames, I have a little story. I was driving to work yesterday, and some dude totally cut me off out of nowhere. I started to get angry at him, then saw the Lakers license plate frame and let it go. It all happened without any thought, so I must be a true fan to let egregious driving errors slide like that.

Saw a license plate frame the other day that made me laugh: Don't Hate Me...Because I'm LUSCIOUS! Yep, with the all-caps and everything. When I passed her, I was obligated to look at the driver, but that just confused me. I had thought "LUSCIOUS" and "even mildly attractive" would go together, but not in this case. I don't hate her, but I don't not hate her because of her lusciousness. (Go ahead and diagram that sentence, Mrs. Dunlop.)

I saw a nice twist on a bumper sticker that is worthy of mentioning. A pickup truck with "Will Fish for Food" on it. I believe he will. It's not often I smile from a play on a homeless person's sign, but this did it.

Rockabye wrote in after seeing a plate that said "1FRKY(heart symbol)R." More power to you man, but is that really the only thing you want other drivers to know about you? The answer has to be "Yes!" right?

Next, I saw this sign at the Coffee Bean near my work and had to take a picture of it:

I take back my earlier challenge and re-issue it: Diagram that sentence, Mrs. Dunlop!

I thought of something while I was writing about working at the pizza place, but couldn't find where to slip it in, so it goes in my FUF piece: I said for a few years that I wanted to some day open a pizza place just so I could call it, "Pete's-a-Pizza" with the slogan, "We Toss 'Em, They're Awesome." I never really intended on doing it, but it was sitting there, ready to be used should a road take me there. Then one day years ago, in the middle of nowhere on some road trip, I see a pizza place using that slogan in big letters on their neon sign. I really thought that one would be mine until I did something with it, but I should've listened to Darwin and used it or suffer the consequences. That's not quite as catchy, is it?

Two last things: One, my co-worker's parents' dog is at a kennel while they're on vacation, and it's called "Barkingham Palace." I love it. Totally warrants a mention in my book. Or my blog. Yeah, probably my blog. I don't have a book. Maybe I can turn these posts into a book though, and then I'll be a liar. A retroactive liar, but a liar nonetheless.

Sacky Christi sent my lonely inbox an email with some anagrams of her name. She listed some with her full name and some with just her nickname and no middle name. With the middle name, I think the best one was "Unethical heresy in hatred." Without her middle name, I think "Chesty Hitler Hair" was the best, although I'd probably change it to "Hitler-y Chest Hair."

Then she said something very interesting: "Never gonna give up the middle name." She hadn't written it in the email, but I take that as a challenge. Excuse me for a moment as I systematically cross off the letters from her first and last name...Well, I'm not sure if "Christi" is short for "Christine" or "Christina." I chose the former, leaving me with just a few lettes. To me, the answer is clear, but I won't post it here because no one wants to incur the wrath of Sacky Christi.

Still, let that be a lesson to all of you - if you call me a liar, I may try to find out your middle name. I know that's harsh, but hopefully it acts as a deterrent.

Have a fantabulous weekend, gentle readers. If you enjoyed the Guess the Fakey game, please either email ptklein@gmail.com or comment somewhere so I know if I should do more of those. Thanks as always for reading.

Caught in pantries

Ah, the wonderful world of teenage jobs. I had just come off my two and a half year stint at the pizza place, and with summer starting, it was time to get myself out there. I dropped off applications at a few places, but almost all of them were in the fruitless "we're not really looking for anyone right now but why don't you fill out an application just in case" category. That's a long category name, so you can imagine my frustration.

Then I saw a grand opening of a new salad place very close to home. I went in, and the owner/manager Mitch gave me the long-category response. Still, I turned it in because there was really no harm in that. He said he'd call me either way the next day, but when he didn't, I stopped by the following day to check in. Persistent, eh?

He didn't seem to remember me at all, which was a little troubling. However, he did seem much more interested in me this time. He led me into his back office and found my application amongst a sizeable snack. He took a pen out and started quickly looking over it. He perked up a little and asked, "So you worked at an Italian restaurant." "Yes sir," I said, "for over two years." "Did you make any salads there?" That was a trickier question than he probably imagined. Honestly, yes, I made salads, but they were salads a 3 year-old or even a seeing eye dog could make. Grab lettuce with the tongs, a few croutons, two tomato slices, and some of either the Italian or Creamy Italian dressing. See what I mean? "Well, yeah, I made some salads," I said. "Great!" he responded, drawing a big circle around my name on the application. "You're our new Head Pantry Chef!"

I didn't know what to make of that. On one hand, I figured, "Hey, that's cool. I got a job, and I'm a quick learner so it won't be long til I have a good grasp of my duties." On the other hand, I thought, "What the hell is a Head Pantry Chef?" He put me down for a 40-hour week starting the next day, gave me two shirts and a hat, and said he'd see me tomorrow. I walked back to my car, alternating between "Alright!" and "Oh shit!" What had I just gotten myself into?

I arrived the next morning, and a kid name Michael from my high school was working behind the counter. We greeted each other, but I wasn't happy to see him there. The guy was a total dick, and that's not exactly what I look for in co-workers. I saw Mitch, and he gave me an apron and walked me through the restaurant. Then he took me back up front to show me where I was going to be stationed. Michael and a few others were up at the counter, taking orders and helping people in a similar fashion to my previous job. "You'll be right here," Mitch said. But when I looked at where he was pointing, it wasn't with Michael and the others. It was with my back to all of them.

Basically, this is what my job entailed: Don't look at the customers. The other employees will put tickets up in front of you. Make the orders, announce they're ready, and keep moving. When you're out of the sandwich meat, cut some more on this heavy duty slicer. Be fast, good, and don't make a mess.

In other words, this position wanted me to use every skill I'd never managed to obtain. I have a lot of talents for working with the public. I can be personable, genuine, and in touch with their needs. In fact, I enjoy that quite a bit. Being a chef, on the other hand, is not something I knew how to do and never really claimed to either. And yet, I was thrust into it.

I found out rather quickly a little more about my hiring: the Head Pantry Chef from the first week of the restaurant's existence had just quit right before I walked in the door. Mitch probably knew he was stretching it with me, but he had no idea.

My first orders were for some big gourmet salads that weren't too difficult, but I just needed some extra direction. I didn't know how many bacon bits or how much bleu cheese was supposed to go into them, so I guessed if no one was around to help. The sandwiches were more difficult, because a lot of them had avocado on them. I'd never eaten avocado and had never even touched one before, so being told to put some of that thing on a sandwich was mind-boggling. Mitch came over, opened one expertly with a knife, cut some out, slapped it on the sandwich, and looked at me like I was an idiot.

I found myself falling behind right away, and I hated that feeling. I accidentally made food "for here" instead of "to go" for a customer, and that set me back another minute. People were coming over to lend me a hand though (not Michael), so I eventually got through the day. When we closed, I had to clean everything up and then go clean all of the dishes in the back before heading home. When I thought I was done, Mitch did a final walk through. He looked at the big blade of the meat slicer. "Michael, come over here," he said. "Does this look clean to you?" "No sir," Michael answered in full-on Eddie Haskell mode, "I would've done a much better job on that." I glared at him, unable to believe he so readily threw me under the bus. Honestly, it could've been cleaner and I admit that, but that would've required me to make bigger and more forceful motions on the giant blade.

In any case, things only got slightly better over the next few days. It just wasn't my thing, despite the effort I was putting forth. I wasn't a chef, and I certainly wasn't the right guy for this particular job. I didn't know how this was all going to play out though. I wasn't going to quit, because as inadequate as I was, they needed me in that role. Or so I thought.

Then the old pantry chef returned. Apparently his new job didn't work out, and Mitch very excitedly welcomed him back with open arms. When the schedule for the next week was put up, where I had 40 hours previously, I now had...3. I went over to Mitch's office. "Hi Mitch," I said, "I noticed that my hours were cut from 40 to 3. Isn't there any more you can give me?" He said that with the other guy back, they really didn't need me in that role anymore, so no, 3 was about it. I said that I was looking for more than that, so I didn't know if I could stay working there without a greater workload. "Okay, no problem, I understand. It's been nice having you with us," he said, way too cheerfully. I thanked him and walked out, still trying to understand what just happened.

So that was my entire time at the salad place. It was brief, overwhelming, and weird. I came in and got my paycheck a few days later, and then set out again to find summer employment. I don't think I ever put that job on my resume though. I kept my shirt from there and actually wore it quite a bit during my freshman year of college because it was "cool." So it wasn't a total loss.

I haven't eaten there since my brief tenure there, and it's been about 13 years. So I think it's time. With my wife out of town, I imagine I'll be stopping there on my way home sometime soon - maybe even tomorrow. I'll stick with a big salad; I don't want anything that's touched that nasty meat slicer. They really should clean that better. Much, much better.

Have a good, gentle readers, and we'll meet back here for a Follow Up Friday tomorrow. ptklein@gmail.com is just an email address, sitting in front of a reader, asking you to use it. Isn't that touching?