The unbearable lightness of peeing

Howdy folks, it's your friendly neighborhood Peter here welcoming you to another day at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Undulating Orifices Preparing To Amuse," and frankly, I'm appalled that you would even consider that to be a possibility. Great, now I feel icky. (Oh yeah, thanks for sending that UOPTA in, Mom. You never cease to amaze me. Friends, if you want to send your own UOPTA in and cleanse your mental palette, ptklein@gmail.com is where to send it.) Instead, this UOPTA is where I write some thoughts and stories. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the random shyte I have for you today.

Recently, something changed in the bathroom at my work. I walked up to the middle of the three urinals and noticed a new deodorizing thing hanging below the top lip area. It's a brick of some green substance in a white boxy structure, positioned high up so that no one would pee on it (unless trying to do so). On the box, in small letters, it says "PeePod." "That's cute, if that's what they're going for," I thought to myself. Later that day, I went to the bathroom again (I know, I'm such a glutton). This time however, I used the urinal to the far left because the middle one was occupied. Sure enough, what looked to be an identical deodorizing thing was there. I looked in more detail and saw that in place of "PeePod," it read, "Deotec." This made me wonder about why the text was different on products that clearly had come from the same company. To me there are only three possible answers:

1. They came out with this product branded as "Deotec" first. Then, one day, a brave soul in the boardroom saw a better opportunity to attract eyeballs: The pun! "No one will remember their pee smelling better from a Deotec...but with a PeePod, my friends, we're all walking away fresher than ever, like Mother Nature's own hand removed the stench of urine. Yes we can!" Others agreed, and before too long, they came out with a new and catchier name on their product.

2. The opposite: They created the "PeePod" line first. And then, something that had been bubbling inside one of the higher-up executives finally exploded. "This isn't us!" he yelled. "We're not cutesy, we're not punny. We're supposed to be a respected pillar of the urinal odor neutralizing community, and we cheapen ourselves by going at it this way. Let's do it like we always have - like my father would have - and stand behind Deotec. Our name signifies quality and a job done right...for things that take away pee stink."

3. The company was concurrently running two product lines at different price points. This happens often, and we consumers probably fall for it all the time. Here's how this one could've happened: In the world of janitorial supplies and product enhancements, let's say there are two big catalogs of product. (Yes, I'm making 100% of this up, but I might be onto something.) The first one caters to the everyman, and it's where owners of diners, gas stations, and other similar establishments go to get new urinal cakes, protective toilet seat covers, etc. There, they advertise "The PeePod" with some catchy slogan and sell them for...let's say $9.99 each when you order 12. The other catalog caters to resorts, fancy hotels, expensive restaurants, and high-end businesses. There you'll find monogrammed toilet paper roll covers, electronic soap dispensers, and "The Deotec 5000 XTR" that promises to use the latest technology to neutralize odor before it begins. That product costs...$19.99 each in packs of 12, and comes with a handy installation guide. In reality, the products are exactly the same, and the "installation guide" is a completely unnecessary half-page diagram that comes in both packages. So my building (oh yeah, that's where I was going with this) was looking through the fancier catalog and thought, "Yeah, we could totally use those" and ordered a dozen to check them out. The next day, that person hit him/herself in the head and thought, "I should've checked to see if the cheaper catalog had these too before buying them," and proceeded to buy the rest from there. When the time came to put them in the urinals, the janitorial staff just had a big pile of them and grabbed whatever was on the top, thereby enabling me to have a "Deotec" one next to a "PeePod."

Whew! Nothing further, your honor.

Last week, I wrote about the pager/beeper and how its place is almost nonexistent in today's world due to advanced technology. Somehow, I know not how, that discussion made me think of a movie: "EDtv." Remember that movie? The premise seemed a little outlandish at the time, but my my, how things have changed. In the movie, a network want to - get this - FILM SOMEONE'S LIFE 24 HOURS A DAY! Can you believe it? Oh wait, yes you can, since this is currently being done to probably hundreds of people on dozens of crappy television shows. This came out in 1999, but before we start calling it prescient or anything, please note that "The Real World" started its 8th season that year. In any case, I find it funny to think about that movie's concept ever seeming "new and exciting" since it's terribly run-of-the-mill by today's standards. On the plus side, it gave us the totally believable pair of Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson as brothers in the film. I like when I can believe that two people could be siblings, like Julia Roberts and Kyra Sedgwick in "Something to Talk About." Can you think of any other good or particularly bad sibling pairs on screen?

I've got some more random items before proceeding to the Car Watch. Here's a short one: I went to a little Mexican food place last week, and I was waiting for my order when another man walked up to register. "Um, does the a la carte taco come with anything?" he asked. I found that amusing, since the guy clearly wasn't familiar with the definition of "a la carte" and immediately emailed myself that line. I was half expecting his next line to be, "Does the pie a la mode come with ice cream?" or "Is there any rice or chicken in the 'arroz con pollo?'"

From the "Oh Please Make it Stop" category: QVC had their "Countdown to Christmas" special earlier this week. Yes, in frickin' AUGUST. I don't think the answer to "WWJD?" is, "Celebrate my birthday four months in advance." I'm just sayin'.

I heard a commercial on the radio, and something in it really stuck out to me. I don't remember the actual product or service the company offered (so clearly it was a great commercial), but it was called Renaissance Whatever. Let's say Mudflaps for the fun of it. At the end of the spot, the voiceover guy said, "Just go to Renaissance Mudflaps.com." And he didn't spell "Renaissance." Here's the thing: I'm a good speller. In fact, I was just telling my lovely wife earlier this week that I didn't miss a single word on a spelling test in all of fifth grade, which landed me a shitload of gold stars and a McDonald's lunch. My point is that I didn't know how to spell "Renaissance" off-hand. I took a stab at it, and it turns out that I was wrong. (I put the I after the second A instead of the first. I got the one N and two S part right, if that counts for anything.) So if the former gold star accumulator can't go to their website after hearing their radio commercial, they probably have an uphill battle in generating web traffic. I think their campaign needs a "rebirth," if you will.

And with that, let's make bilingual puns on over to the Car Watch.

First up, my homey Rockabye sent me this license plate: "BROKHRT." How sad is that? I understand that people can break up and be rightfully devastated over that...for a while. But to put that on your license plate is telling the entire viewing public, "I'm eternally sad, so don't even bother trying to change that." Even if that's not the reason for the owner having that plate, can you imagine walking out to that car after a first date with the owner? Yikes.

I can't remember who sent me this license plate, but based on the few clues I have, it was either another from my homey Rockabye or from Dusty (who is getting married in less than a month). It read, "GO FLOSS." Ah, you just gotta love demanding dentists whose reach extends far beyond their own offices. How dare the driver assume that everyone being him/her doesn't floss? I'm sure s/he has a better sense of those percentages than I do, but if it were my mom and her "perfect home dental hygiene" behind that car, she'd be wicked pissed.

Speaking of maternal figures, I saw this license plate recently: "IGR8MOM." Yep, that's an I and not the number 1. There should be an additional message on the plate frame or on a bumper sticker below that reads, "But I not so good at grammar."

Ok, that's it for me today. You all have a great weekend and week until we meet up again next Friday. Happy Birthday on Sunday to our friend Ceil (who I call "The Foca"), and...that's all I see on my trusty calendar in terms of Happy Announcements. Shaloha, and peace out.

Turning the page

Bienvenidos mis amiguitos, and it's good to see you here once again at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Uniting Old People Through Aromatherapy," but I'm curious as to which scents would be the most effective. Chicken noodle soup? Freshly-cut Social Security checks? I need more time to think about this. (Thanks to my homey Rockabye for supplying that UOPTA. You can send your own into ptklein@gmail.com, if you should be so bold.) Instead, this UOPTA is an aromatherapy-free zone in which I write down some thoughts and stories. If you're up for (and down with) that, please proceed to the next paragraph.

Ah, glad you made it over the treacherous white space. (I don't think I use the word "treacherous" nearly enough; it's a good one.) So I have a little topic to discuss today. Last week, the same homey Rockabye IMd me asking for our friend Greg's number because it wasn't going through. I wrote him back saying that he had a new number, and then I supplied it. He said that he had that number listed in his phone as Greg's pager number. I told him that he must have entered it into the wrong field, because neither Greg nor anyone else I know currently has a pager. He then suggested that I write something about pagers and old technology. Ta-frickin-dah!

By a show of hands, how many of you have owned a pager? Great, and of those, how many still own and operate one? If your hand is still up, I assume you're a doctor who's on call. In the past decade, I have only handled a pager when given to me at a busy restaurant to notify me when my table is ready. Before that though, there was a time in which pagers played an important role in my life (although I never owned one). That time was high school.

It was the early 90s, and my dad's giant (and wired) car phone was still relevant in the world of technology. Some super cool people had the "cellular telephones" the size of one of Shaq's shoes, but they were still far from common. So the most prevalent way of locating someone was via pager, and it had a whole culture around it. In fact, my friend Dusty and I listened a lot to a tape (yes, as in cassette) by A Tribe Called Quest that not only had a song about a pager ("Skypager") complete with dialing sounds and an automated woman's voice, but the first song on the tape ("Excursions") started with these words:

"Back in the days when I was a teenager/before I had status and before I had a pager."

So it was pretty cool. In fact, the pager in the early 90s is the only item I can think of that symbolized both the medical and the hip hop communities. I find that to be impressive. (Oh sure, many professions besides those two employed the use of pagers too, but will you agree with me that those were the ones most associated with them? What if I say please? What if I comment on Dr. Dre perfectly straddling both genres?) In any case, Dusty got a pager. It's a bit laughable now when I think about the extra step of calling someone's device to say, "Call me," instead of just reaching him right then, but that was what we were working with. Additionally, we were limited to paging someone with a combination of the numbers 0-9, so communicating a message was very difficult.

The general message was assumed to be, "Call me," but there were times that more needed to be said. The first step was having an identifying number sequence. I was at an age in which I thought fake Satan worshiping was funny/cool/dark/ridiculous, so I would page Dusty with "666" to ask him to call me at home. If I was elsewhere, I'd put the home number of where I wanted him to call and then 666. Because of the obvious limitations, some people created codes for saying things like, "I love you." I don't remember trying to write things in upside-down numbers, but I'm sure that happened. I just don't know how helpful, "LOOSE," "BOOBLESS," or similar words would've been at the time. (As a side note, I was wide awake in the middle of the night earlier this week and realized that I could write a whole sentence with upside-down numbers: "He loses his shoes." Without spaces, but not bad, right?)

There was only one other code that I knew, and I used it on just one occasion: 911. Yes, the dreaded, "THIS IS IMPORTANT" page. One Saturday, a friend from high school had scheduled a get-together for her birthday. It was lunch at a place wayyyyy out in Santa Monica. (As an adult, I now know that I really didn't go all that far, but it was out of my very small knowledge base of streets.) I had to be at work back in The Valley at 1pm, and this thing was called for 11. No problem, right? I ate, hung out, and left myself 45 minutes to get somewhere that shouldn't take nearly that amount of time on a Saturday. "How do I get to the freeway?" I asked. A friend told me directions that were unfortunately too vague for me. They involved that hated phrase, "You can't miss it." Oh really? Trust me, I can miss it just fine.

I made the first turn, then chose one of the next few streets to make the second (I was told I had options), and then had no idea where I was and saw no freeway in any direction. Crap. I kept driving, looking for a green sign to point me to a freeway, and said many an expletive out loud. After a few minutes, I figured I must be going the wrong way and turned around. Ten minutes later, and I was sweating and watching the minutes tick by to my expected arrival at work. I pulled over and went into a gas station to ask for directions. To my horror, the guy gave me a four-step process without all of the street names.

15 minutes later, I was more lost and frantic than ever. I was supposed to be at work any minute, and as far as I knew, I would be stuck on that side of town for the rest of my life. I pulled over and found a pay phone (remember those?). I dialed Dusty's pager number, put the number of the pay phone, 666, and then 911. I thought that if he called me, I could tell him the street signs near me, have him use his Thomas Guide or something, and get me the hell out of there. Then I paced for about ten minutes. I called again and did the same thing. After waiting a little while longer, I gave up and went into the next gas station I saw. "Oh, you're real close," the guy said. "Just continue on this street and the onramp's on the right." He was right, and once on the freeway, my "I'm lost" anxiety was completely replaced by "I'm late" anxiety.

I devised a plan: I was a good kid who was never ever late and obeyed all rules. If I played it right, I should be able to say that I was supposed to be there at 2 instead of 1 and no one would question me. It might work, right? I walked into work at 1:58pm (which is a little later than I'd normally get there for a 2pm start time), playing it as cool as possible. I strolled nonchalantly into the back and ran into my boss. "Hey," he said. "Hey," I said back. "Were you supposed to be here at 1?" "No, 2 to closing today," I said matter-of-factly. "Oh, I thought we had you down for 1. Huh." Then he walked away. The drama was over, but my heart remained pounding for the next hour or so.

I found out the next day that Dusty had gotten my 911 pages, but he was in the middle of taking a practice SAT and couldn't leave without voiding his entire test. I told him I took care of everything, and neglected to mention that it was the most stressful two-hour period of my entire life.

I have another, shorter pager-related story. My senior year of high school, I briefly dated a girl who was in a school play with me. She was very private and never really talked about herself, her family, or her friends. I asked for her phone number, and she gave me her pager number instead. "What if I want to call you?" I asked. "Just page me. I'll call you back," she said. I thought that was a little strange, but didn't think too much about it. She let me come over to her mom's place one afternoon, and we were talking about the play when her pager buzzed. "Hold on," she said, and she went over and started dialing a phone. Here is her side of the conversation, as I recall it:

"Hey it's me. Yeah. How much do you want? Yeah, I can get that. Same price as last time. Cool, I'll meet up with you tomorrow. Bye."

I had to say something, so I went with, "Uh, gee, what was that about?" "Nothing. Just a friend," she said. So in addition to being extremely private and likely a drug dealer, she apparently also thought I was stupid. A week or so later, I told her I just wanted to be friends, with one of the biggest "It's-not-you-it's-me" lies in the history of mankind. It was her. It was toooootally her.

With that, let's lie our asses off as we move over to the Car Watch.

I was driving around last weekend, and I noticed that the license plate frame in front of me said, "Tight Butts/Drive Me Nuts." I saw that it was a man driving. "Wow, he really wants that to be known," I thought. Then I looked at the actual plate on the car: "XY 2 XY." Ah, maybe he likes tight butts...on men. I'm not the only one reading it that way, am I? Either way, the dude has a preference and no problem telling us in rhyming fashion. I'm cool with that. (On second thought, maybe this guy just wanted to one-up R&B stars Boyz 2 Men. Yeah, that's probably it. My bad.)

My homey Rockabye sent me this plate that he spied: "DRANGRY." Sadly, I can only think of one reason why a doctor would want to be known as "Dr. Angry," and that's if it's his/her unfortunate surname. Otherwise, who wants an angry doctor? ("Dr. Angry, paging Dr. Angry.") I just spent the last five minutes trying to think of what kind of doctor I'd least want to be angry while seeing me. Oh sure, a dentist wouldn't be fun, but I'm gonna have to go with proctologist on this one. Or laser eye surgeon. I think I could deal with an angry podiatrist though. (I just stopped myself from making a forced pun about "putting my foot down." You're welcome.)

Lastly, I saw a bumper sticker that I really enjoyed: "There's something funny about my kid." In smaller letters beneath that, it said, "Comedy Sportz High School League." That's the improv league I was a part of for my junior and senior year of high school, so it pleased me quite a bit. I used to have a Comedy Sportz bumper sticker of my own on my Bronco II back in high school. It said, "My parents went to Comedy Sportz and all I got was this lousy car." I thought it was hilarious, but a weird neighbor of mine didn't get it and once asked me why I didn't like my car. I tried to explain, but realized that was only making matters worse.

Ok, I'm spent. Get out of here, and enjoy your weekends and weeks. I'll be back next Friday with the stuff that I actually planned to write about for this post. In the meantime: Happy birthday today to my father-in-law, and happy 6th anniversary on Monday to my favorite brother and his wife Weezie. That's all I got. See you next time, friends.

Don't do the twist

Good day to you, kind sirs and madams, and welcome yet again to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Ululating Octogenarians Preparing To Assimilate," but that would be a nice change of pace to some (hopefully) more age-appropriate behavior. (Thanks to Beth - a non-relative! - for supplying this week's UOPTA. You can too: ptklein@gmail.com.) Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down things that have crossed my mind enough times to make their escape through my fingers. In fact, this is the 350th post here at this UOPTA. That's a nice round number, don't ya think? I have two immediate (and very different) associations with the number 350. The first is that it's a good batting average in baseball. It's true, but I don't know why I jump to that right off the bat (get it, bat?). The second is a hilarious South Park episode from years ago. All you need to know is that Chef's old father says, "I ain't givin' you no tree fiddy you goddamn Loch Ness Monster!" Frickin' geniuses, those guys.

Friends, I'd like to spend some time today talking about twist endings. Without them, the loaf of bread gets stale much more quickly. (Thank you, thank you.) No, of course I mean the kind of twists that one finds at the end of films or t.v. shows that are intended to change everything you knew up to that point. This came to mind because of a trailer I saw recently for "A Perfect Getaway." It ended with the voiceover guy saying something to the effect of, "Long after the movie is over, the twist that will keep you talking for days." See, I hate that shit. Allow me to explain.

When I went to the movies to see "The Sixth Sense" years ago, here's what I knew about the movie: "A freaky-looking kid says that he can see dead people. Bruce Willis stars." When the movie was over, my mind was sufficiently blown by the twist I truly never saw coming. At the time, I thought, "Oh man, I sure hope people don't go around talking about the 'shocking twist ending' before others have seen it." To be clear, I didn't just want the ending to remain secret; I wanted the fact that there was a twist to remain secret. Here's why: people view movies through twist-seeking glasses when they know something is going to happen. I have two different examples that I hope will combine to prove my point.

Example 1: "The Letdown." In 1998, a then-unknown-to-me actor named Clive Owen was the lead in a movie called "Croupier." My aunt and uncle saw the movie and raved about it to my parents, saying that it had twists and turns throughout and a big one at the end. So my family went to see it, because we like that kind of thing. I sat there, watching every minute detail. When a character put something down on a table, I quickly scanned the photos nearby to see if there were any clues as to what would happen next. At the end of the movie, yeah, there was a little twist, but nothing compared to what I was expecting. A character was more deeply (and might I add, unbelievably) involved than we had known, but it was weak and disappointing. I had spent the whole time over-thinking (uh oh) what was going on and if I could predict the shocking twist before it was revealed. Instead, it was a rather ho-hum reveal that left us all shaking our heads and wondering why it had been billed as such by our relatives. In this case, knowing that there was a twist ruined the movie because it didn't come close to living up to the expectations I'd built.

Example 2: "The I-Called-It!" Much like with "The Sixth Sense," when I walked into "The Usual Suspects," I had no idea that my mind was about to be blown. When that happened, the movie instantly became one of my favorites (because I was already enjoying the dialogue and story up to that point). Again, I hoped that word wouldn't get out about the existence of a twist, but it did. That meant that everyone who watched it from that point on was waiting for it, and like me with "Croupier," trying to get there first. What's the harm in this? Those people start thinking about possibilities that they never would've considered. "Oh, maybe that person is really bad," they'll think with no evidence pointing that way yet. Unless they can somehow turn that part of their brains off, then they're forced to consider every possible twisty outcome before it happens. If a character seems sheepish, why not lean over to a friend and say, "I bet he's the killer." You'd never go there without the knowledge of said twist, but since something's bound to happen, why not get on the record early with the least likely scenarios? Then you can tell all your friends that you saw it coming when none of them did. Good for you.

So when people walk into "A Perfect Getaway," I have a feeling that one or both of those examples will come into effect. They've promised to blow our minds with their shocking twist, but I suspect it won't end that way. If I'm getting the gist of the plot correctly from the trailer, then one of six people is "the killer." Unless I'm way off (which is possible since I'm basing this all on very little), I expect people to walk out thinking, "Well, it had to be one of them so I wasn't really surprised," or, "I totally guessed it was him/her!" I guess my longwinded point to all of this can be summed up as so: I don't think it's a good idea to base an entire marketing strategy around the fact that there's a "big twist." If you're expecting something big to happen the whole time, it's not a twist. We just call that "story." I firmly believe that a well-crafted story with an unexpected plot twist will create a greater buzz from word-of-mouth referrals than simply screaming "There's a twist!" in the trailers. But I guess that doesn't get people in the door in the first place, and that's probably why I'm not a studio marketing guy.

For my money, the best twists I've ever seen were in "The Twilight Zone." If you watched that series (even decades after they originally aired like I did), you can probably come up with three shows off the top of your head that are better than anything you've seen on the big screen this decade. (My immediate three are "To Serve Man," the one with the pig faces, and the one in the diner where they're trying to figure out who the alien is.) If that series was brand new and airing now, I can't imagine what the internet chatter would be like the morning after each episode. Crazy shit, I tell ya. They had great stories and occasionally ended with a mind-melting twist. That's how it's done right, my friends. Since then, I'd argue that "Amazing Stories," "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," and "Lost" have come closest to capturing that art. Others like "Heroes" and "24" have come up short, with the former suddenly making everyone related and the latter making everyone spontaneously evil. That's not gonna cut it.

And with that, let's make a completely unexpected turn to the Car Watch.

My friend Greg wrote me this email a little while ago (with a preface saying that he wasn't sure if it was Car Watch material or not): "There is an Audi TT that generally parks near my car at work. Conservatively, I see it 3 days out of the week. The plate reads 'TT4DEB.' Not clever or interesting at all. What I find interesting, is that I can't look at it without saying "TT For Deb" under my breath in a robotic voice several times. Oh, and the robot has a South American, 'Tattoo-esque' accent. WTF?" I completely understand, my friend. In fact, I have found myself saying "TT For Deb" in what I have to imagine is a similar voice after spying a TT that didn't even belong to Deb. It's catchy. When it works, I occasionally like the use of "4" in plates. The ones I usually approve of have some element of continuity. For example, if I saw a Saturn ION that said, "ION4IAN," I'd totally dig that. I haven't though. I must admit, part of me wants to get a PT Cruiser just so I could have "PTC4PTK" as my plate. Too bad I think they're hideous.

My homey Rockabye sent me a plate and asked what my first thought was. It read, "SLTPNTS." My thoughts came rapid-fire: "Slit pants," "Slot pants," "Salty pants," and then finally, "Salty peanuts." He had a similar progression of thoughts. So I guess this plate is successful in the sense that we both eventually picked up what the driver was putting down, but I wonder how many people out there think that the driver has salty pants. I guess they'd stay fresh longer, right?

Lastly, I saw this plate with my own two eyes: "EZTO PLZ." Is that really what you want to be putting out there? Let's take the potential sexual meanings and leave them off to the side for now. If we solely look at it in terms of life experiences, the driver really can't afford to be stubborn or difficult about anything without being a hypocrite. "I feel like Chinese tonight," his/her partner might say." "Eh, I had that for lunch." "Easy to please, my ass!" At least that's how I would respond.

Ok, that's it for me. I hope you enjoyed this week's post and that you'll meet me here again next Friday for more of...this kind of stuff. In the meantime, happy half-Valentine's Day today, and happy half-birthday on Wednesday to Stacy, my Bratty Kid Sister. If you'd like to email me with any Car Watch items, random thoughts, funny stories, or even insults, ptklein@gmail.com is a surefire way to know that I'll read it. Be happy and healthy, my homepeople, and I'll see you next week. By the way, I'm really an alien who has been dead for 150 years but was the mastermind behind the whole government conspiracy. "POW!" (That was your head exploding from that killer revelation.)

Letter imperfect

I wish a good morning to all of my readers, ranging from homebabies to the homelderly. We're here again at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for Ungainly, Obese Penguins Taking Aerobics, but that would be pretty amusing to watch, don't ya think? Instead, this UOPTA is where I deposit some thoughts and stories and wait for your eyeballs to pick them up later. Sound good? (Hey, I can't keep coming up with these UOPTAs by myself; think of one, send it to ptklein@gmail.com, and see your name as I thank you in this top paragraph. Isn't that what you've always dreamed of?)

Today's post, my friends, is a long-ass-long time coming. When I started this blog a scant 349 posts ago, I made a long list of things I would someday cover in this space. One topic came to mind, but I didn't write it down on the list. Why not? Because I didn't think I'd be able to write about it without getting myself into some sort of trouble. Last weekend at Dusty's bachelor party, he asked me if I'd written about that topic yet. After explaining my rationale, he convinced me that by omitting certain identifying names of people and businesses, I'd be covering myself just fine. (And hopefully there's a short statute of limitations on these things.) Allow me to explain:

Years ago (hence the statute of limitations comment), I held a shitty job for a little while. It was incredibly boring work for very little pay, and it came with a fairly long drive from my abode, and two occasions in which I heard anti-Semitic comments (including one to my face). On the plus side, I knew it was only temporary, a few of the people were nice (including my boss), and I had the good sense to illegally photocopy some material that passed through my hands. You're intrigued now, right? Well, I'm not talking about private stock information, trade secrets, or anything that one might use to his advantage in one way or another. Instead, I'm talking about complaint emails.

Without going into much detail, the company for which I worked has many branches throughout the U.S. As the headquarters of the company, every complaint email was directed to our building. Someone else got the emails, replied with a form letter, copied a regional manager to follow-up, and then printed each one out and put the stack on my desk. My fabulously interesting job was to type each emailer's name, email address, city, date, and category of email into a spreadsheet before filing it away. Pretty useless, right? Well, it would be if some of the emails weren't so amazingly entertaining that I'd sneak to the copy machine, duplicate them, and then slyly fold one copy up and slip it into my pocket. I couldn't keep these from my friends; I just couldn't.

The ones that I kept all fall into three overlapping categories: angry, strange, and my favorite, the horribly written. The degrees vary in each, but I'll try to classify the emails. Ready to see how I entertained myself for several months? I will replace certain information with general terms, but I will leave all spelling and grammatical choices as they were originally written.

This one taught me a new term, and I have happily used it ever since:
"im glad to know you fucktards can say 'abuse' and fuck me over on (product). i guess you can take the (product) and shove it up your ass...iv already told all my family and friends to go to (competitor), they are WAY better. id like a response, because ive got a big ass problem with you girls."
I think the order of that one's components is Angry, Horribly Written, and then Strange. He gets a tip of my imaginary cap for introducing me to "fucktards."

This one came from an employee of one of the branches and refers to the District Manager:
"Our DM came into our store and gave us a rubber chicken and said we were all looser. I would like someone to reply to this, I think it is unprofessional and out of line."
Strange is definitely first here, but I think that it's a tie between Angry and Horribly Written. There's no way around the rubber chicken thing being strange. The lone typo adds a lot though, for being "looser" in that scenario makes even less sense than "a loser." I agree that whatever happened there sounds unprofessional on the surface.

Here's a fairly rare compliment from a customer:
"i recently e-mail you guy's on the 28th of February in the PM. with the run in that i had encounter would sensually like to let you know that with in hours of my e-mail i had received a phone call. he was sincerely consider about the ordeal that had happen to me he said he would get to the bottom of this. he was xstemly fast on taking care my problem he offer to send me a giftcertificet i told him i was not out get something for this."
Horribly Written wins this one hands down, then Strange. No Angry here. This guy confuses me. He knows "encounter," "sincerely," and "ordeal," but not how to put anything in the past tense or form a pesky sentence. And then there's the baffling use of "sensually," and to a lesser degree, "xstemly."

Here's a long one that I'm going to abridge so you just get the highlights:
"So I call that (company) back and see when they close they said 9. I started walking to them three miles away and I was in a really bad fall in 2001, I can not run and I am in pain always...the next day I try to catch a bus, I tried to lok to rent a bike or something, I finally after 4 hours off waitingfind a bus that will take me near the (company) and this guy gets on the bus and sits right beside me 24 other seats on the bus, but he sits near me. He tells me that I am pretty I said thanks and asked me if I was married, I said Yes sir. So I pull the button to get off the bus 1 mile away."
Horribly Written takes this one, closely followed by Strange, with Angry finishing third. Oh sure, this guy can't write very well and he's always in pain, but he sounds like a fine-looking man.

I'm just gonna let this one speak for itself:
"i bowl witha person named (Name) he claims to have workedwith your company out of (City) and fro mwhat he is telling ppl he saids he is tryingt o milk your company dry he saids he was in accident with one of yoru trucks and hirt his bak which if he did how can he be bowling with a bad back andanother thing he going telling ppl is that his daughter was in car with him but he saids it isnt so i was there when he told a bunch of ppl while bowling last week i dont want him to know i eimailed u casue he looks and acts like he is nuts"
Another easy victory for Horribly Written. I say Strange gets the two spot, and the underlying anger issues aren't enough to pull Angry out of third. Way to give bowlers a bad name, lady.

Just three more for now. I like this one:
"if check get hold for 8 days then tell, no say, yes get money back in 3 hrs. i was good customer, and (Name) good manager, but company policy and comunication thereof not good. will shop at (competitor) till get un-mad."
Horribly Written is on a tear, closely followed by Angry, with Strange trailing by a few lengths. I don't know what I like the most about this one. Is it the attempt to differentiate "tell" from "say," or the use "thereof"? Nah, it's gotta be "till get un-mad." Who am I kidding?

In this one, the caps lock button was clearly working fine, but there's no evidence of a comma or period button:
"HELLO I NEED TO BE CONTACTED IN A PROBLEM OF REIMBURSING MONEY LOSTAND THANKSGIVING LOST DO TO A (PRODUCT) YOUR STORE HAS SOLD ME I AM LOST WHY WOULD YOU FIRE A PERSON IN TRYING TO HELP ME IF I CLAIM THE MONEY AND FAMILY HOLIDAY LOST TO A PIESE OF YOUR PRODUCT THAT FAILED IT HAS COST ME A LOT OF MONEY AND PRICELESS FAMILY HOLIDAY NOT SURE WHAT YOU CAN GIVE ME ON THAT PLEASE EMAIL ME BACK."
Ooh, tough call. I'm going with Angry narrowly edging out Horribly Written, with Strange in third. I'm a little lostand Thanksgiving lost on this one.

And lastly, this one gives me infinite joy, so it's going in its own block quote. That's all I'll say as an intro:

I am very displeased to comment on my visit today to this location that your employee was verbally and disrespectul, using "profanity" while talking on "his" cell phone. The worst part was when I commented did he work there to three co-workers who replied yes, not one of them said anyhing to the offensive employee ro discontinue "his rude and offensive" conversation. I certainly have no desire to return to that location, if this type of behavior is "professional."

I don't even know how to write about this one. Is the complete lack of ability to correctly use quotation marks enough to pull Horribly Written ahead of Angry? Probably not. Is it profanity or not? It's in quotes, so I can't tell. And "his" cell phone? Does she believe that it doesn't really belong to him? I love that "his rude and offensive" is in quotes, but not the noun being modified. Ah, good times, good times.

I'm stopping here with those. I have a few more, but they'd be harder to make general enough that I'd feel comfortable including them. I know one thing for sure: these emails were the highlight of my time there. Without them, I would've felt like looser.

And with that, let's "make our way" on over to "the" Car "Watch."

My Bratty Kid Sister sent me a plate that read, "RAR BEAR." Is that supposed to be "rare bear?" If it's a bear that drives, than that is indeed rare. If it's "rar bear," just as it's written, is that like "WUFF DOG?" I'm confused.

Next up, I saw a van for a pest control company while I was driving . The business name was Ecola. My first thought was that it sounds like a combination between e coli and Ebola. Oh great; yes, please come into my house.

Last but not least, my homey Rockabye was behind a car with this license plate: "ISUEYOU." Way to play directly into the stereotypes of your profession, buddy. I'd really have to fight the urge to give that guy the finger; he's just begging for it.

That, my friends, is all he wrote. Well not really, but it will be in another couple of sentences. First though, let's see what happiness is happening between now and next Friday when I write again. Hmmm, I don't see much besides International Left-Handers' Day next Thursday. Good, that deserves its own shout-out. Fellow lefties, let's do it up, yo. Have a great weekend and week, mis amiguitos, and be happy and healthy in all that you do. Shaloha.

That's what he said

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What up, bridges!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Empha-sighs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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