On the cuff remarks

Hello and welcome, friends, acquaintances, and strangers. It's good to see you back here for another week at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Upsets Obviously Prevent Teams' Advancements," but I imagine that's true (especially in college football where one upset can derail a team's championship hopes). Also, it says "obviously," so it has to be true. Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down some things that I had only previously thought or said aloud. It's all about changing up the medium, folks. With that, let's get right into it. (If you'd like to submit a UOPTA, just send it to ptklein@gmail.com. That's where the magic happens.)

I have to dress nicely for work more often than not. Men have a fairly limited selection of what they can wear in a business environment. There aren't too many colors involved in pants and jackets, and so we're left with few options to stand out. By "stand out," I don't mean to the point of, "There's that weirdo again." I just think it would be nice to not completely blend in with everyone else, and that's somewhat difficult. I'm not one to wear wacky ties - it's just not me - and while I'm comfortable in strange or louder socks, they're far less evident to others over the course of the day (unless your office observes Shoeless Thursdays). So I've branched out where I can and expanded my self-imposed restrictions. I broadened my shirt collection to have colors previously unseen in my closet with a nice purple one and a fairly pale pink one, for example. I tend to blend in a little less with the masses when I wear those. But there's one still largely-untapped area in which I could really make my mark: cuff links.

I realize, of course, that cuff links don't normally stand out in an elevator or when passing someone in a hallway. However, when sitting in a meeting, they definitely come into play. It's a little bit of personalizing flair, and the options are far greater than I ever realized. My boss has some of the coolest cuff links I've ever seen, including mini refrigerators with doors that actually open. My main problem with busting out into this category is that I have a whopping two shirts right now with the French cuffs needed to wear said links. I plan on getting more though because of my recent foray into this arena.

One of my coworkers gave me a bag of clothes that don't fit him anymore, many of which were worn zero to one times. He has very expensive tastes, so I thought, "Why the hell not?" Sadly, they were almost all too big on me still, but my dad and favorite brother each fit into a few of them. (I'm not calling them fat, mind you, just stating the facts.) At the bottom of the bag was a little wooden box. I opened it and found a set of cuff links staring at me. I say "staring" because they were of a kinda creepy and opalescent woman's face. I originally thought that they were Medusa, but it turned out that her hair was actually just hair and not snakes. Needless to say, they weren't very attractive. I kept them anyway for some reason and put them in a drawer.

A short time later, I was at an outlet mall getting some new shirts, and I purchased the second of my two French cuff ones. The main reason for the purchase was because of some cuff links I saw while browsing the store. They were perfect: tiny little hourglasses with sand (or a sand-like substance) that really moved from one side to the other. How cool is that? (Before you answer, pretend that you're as anal about time and being early as I am. Ready? Ok, now how cool is that? Big difference.)

I couldn't wait to bust them out, and I wore my new shirt and cuff links shortly thereafter, showing everyone in my office the moving grains of whatever. I got a great reaction from them, and wearing cuff links at all made me feel a little cooler and more grown up. It didn't hit me until I was taking them off later that day, to be honest. When doing that, I felt like my actions were mimicking those of a cool character in a movie or old tv show. Has there ever been an unsuccessful character with cuff links? Usually they're shown with tuxedos and denoting a level of classiness reserved for the cooler characters, so I was digging that vibe. In fact, I wore the non-Medusa lady-heads the next week just because I liked that feeling. I even grew to appreciate them for their oddness, though I didn't show them off quite as much as the hourglasses. So what if they're a little creepy? At least they're opalescently creepy.

I noticed something interesting while recounting this tale. As I think I've made quite clear in this space over the hundreds of posts, I'm quite particular about the use of the English language at times. Every once in a while, someone points out that something I'm saying isn't right for one reason or another, and it usually bugs the hell out of me. I'm still upset from when my friend Dusty pointed out that "Guess what" is a command and not a question. Well, I discovered one little odd inaccuracy on my own, and I have no idea why it took me so long to recognize this one. If I may be so bold, I'm going to predict that the majority of you will say or think, "Whoa, he's right!" after reading this. Ready? Ok, check it out:

Why do we call it an hourglass regardless of how long the sand takes to go from one side to another? Technically, I was wearing fivesecondglasses on my cuffs. In fact, I'd venture to say that a very small percentage of "hourglasses" out there in the world are truly hour-long timers. How did that term stick? My best guess is that the first ones were crafted to let people know when an hour had elapsed, and then somehow it came to mean anything resembling that device. By that logic, we could still be calling cds "records." (Can I get a "Whoa, he's right!"?) Despite the term's vast inaccuracy, I'm still ok with saying that Christina Hendricks has an "hourglass figure." I hope that's fine with you.

Ok, I have an unrelated story to relate before getting to the Car Watch. Earlier this week, my lovely wife and I were in our kitchen together. I wanted to get past her to go to the trashcan, so we did the little "which way are you going" dance before I stepped to the right and went around her. A minute later I asked, "Honey, do think that people walk on the left side of sidewalks in England? Or walkways in malls?" "Hmmm, or stairways," she said while still thinking. "I don't know; that's a good question." "How do you think I can get the answer to that without asking a British person?" I wondered aloud.

As it turned out, I didn't really need any other option since I know a British person. My friend Suzanne's husband is from England, and he has a kick-ass accent to prove it. So I sent Suzanne an email asking if she could help set my mind at ease on this highly unimportant topic. Her response greatly pleased me:

Yep! It's all reversed over there. People move to the left to pass on the sidewalk or in hallways. Walking up stairs you stay to your left. Slow people on escalators stand to the left. They have signs in some airports near the escalators and walkways that say "keep left." It's very confusing for anyone from a country that drives on the other side of the road. That being said, because of the amount of American and mainland European tourists they get, they are pretty forgiving if you are on the wrong side. I've had many a dance with strangers as we've tried to move out of each other's way. You can talk and dress like a Brit, but your step aside instincts will give you away!

Thanks for clearing that up, Suzanne, and thanks for treating my bizarre questions with respect and dignity.

And with that, let's take the tube to the lift to the loo to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye saw this license plate recently: "ONTMOVE." I don't like it. I'm fully on board when someone wants to use the letter D in place of "the" from time to time. It's far from an auditory match, but it works. "I went to D store and I told D cashier that he forgot to give me D receipt," for example. It makes me read the whole thing in a comical accent, so that's a plus. But now try reading that with a lone T in place of each D. To me, that sounds awful and completely loses the flow and meaning of the sentence. In short, I don't like that plate.

I saw a license plate frame this week that also didn't sit too well with me. "Water employees," it told me, "Drink it right from the tap." Hold on now. Drink what right from the tap? Their consumers' water supply? Not only does that sound unsanitary, but also quite rude. On the flip side, if they're trying to be vaguely sexual like the other "Blanks do it blank" stickers and frames, then...ya know, forget it. I'm going to leave that one right where it is.

And lastly, I think it's safe to say that my favorite brother and I think alike at times. Here's part of an email he sent me about plates he saw: "BLND L8Y - Okay several problems here. First of all I hope it is blonde and not blind. That would be bad... Secondly, what is a leighty?" Well Kevin, allow me to use my Car Watch expertise to help you out here. The first word is clearly supposed to be "bland." And a l8y is the female counterpart to the 10tleman.

That is sooo it for me, friends. Let's meet back here next Friday and see what happens, ok? In the meantime, Monday is our friends Lisa and Paul's six and a half year anniversary and also Day of the Race in Mexico. (Why's it always got to be about race?) Tuesday is my friend and former prom date Alissa's birthday, and Thursday is our friends Dave and Twilight's 4th anniversary. Happy everything to all of them. Peace out, homeskillets, and shaloha. I hope T rest of today, T weekend, and T next week are full of T things you like to do.

Down the rabbit hole

Bienvenidos, mis amiguitos, and welcome once more to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Uruguayans Obligatorily Pierce Their Appendages," but I wouldn't be shocked to learn that some South American natives practiced rituals like that. (My newly-married friends Dusty and The Mills are in Argentina and Uruguay for their honeymoon right now, so I'll have to ask them when they get back if they saw any pierced arms, legs, or...er, other appendages. Scratch that, I'm not asking anymore.) Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down some thoughts and stories and hope they turn out to be at least mildly entertaining. Hmmm, maybe I'm setting the bar too high. (Thanks to my dad for sending in that UOPTA. You can - and really should - send in your own to ptklein@gmail.com. Don't you want to be publicly thanked?)

As I've mentioned a few times in this space, I subscribe to Paste Magazine. The main reason I enjoy it is that each one comes with a sampler of about 20 songs. Of the 20, I've usually heard of maybe 5 of the artists before, so it's eye- and ear-opening. (For example, I'd certainly never heard of a band called "Throw Me The Statue" before receiving a recent sampler with a song of theirs on it. Not only do I like the song quite a bit, but I can't help but picture Michelangelo's David flying through the air while someone waits with an oversized baseball glove. That can't just be me, right?) Thanks to the 14 or 15 samplers I now have, my knowledge of fairly obscure bands has exploded, and I like that. When I occasionally make a mix cd for someone, I enjoy putting things s/he's never heard of before. In that last statement lies the crux of what I'm trying to get across. Bear with me please.

There's a band called White Rabbits. (I don't think there's a "The" in front of it, but I might be wrong.) I'd never heard of them before hearing a song of theirs on "Sampler 42." About a year later, another song of theirs appeared on "Sampler 53" by Paste Magazine. I really enjoyed it and put it on a mix I made for my friend Jon. It's called "Percussion Gun," and it's just a slightly different song than a lot of the cookie-cutter ones I hear in the indie rock genre. Well, a couple of weeks ago, my lovely wife and I got back into my car from a trip to the store, and when I turned the ignition, "Percussion Gun" came on. I looked at my radio for a good three seconds before I realized that it was on the radio and not from my cd in the car. I didn't like that. I liked it even less when I heard it three of the next five times I listened to that station. It seems that song cracked the rotation and the station is making the most of it.

Why don't I like that? Shouldn't I be happy for the band's success, which would (in theory) allow me and everyone else greater access to their music? Wouldn't that increase the likelihood of a tour stop in California at some point? Yes and yes, but I'm still bothered, and I think I've found the sentence to explain it: It's cool to live below the fold.

If you're not familiar with the term "above the fold," the basic premise is that when newspapers are displayed in a stack, the face-up part has the most important or intriguing stories in order to entice people to buy it. According to our friends at Wikipedia, "The term can be used more generally to refer to anything that is prominently displayed or of highest priority." It makes sense, right? (Wow, I feel all pseudo Malcolm Gladwell-y.) Well, let's look at my thesis sentence again: It's cool to live below the fold (or BTF as I'm going to call it going forward). What I mean by that can best be described in a few examples.

Have you ever hear someone say, "Hey, you really should check out the National Football League?" How about, "You know, the Beatles have some really good music." Or, "You know who makes a good hamburger? McDonalds." Probably not, right? It's not nearly as cool to share knowledge that already has a certain level of public consciousness. Think about the joy and excitement of sharing something BTF with a friend: a hole in the wall restaurant, a relatively unknown website, an independent film playing only in one small theater in town, a great vacation place on which a throng of tourists has not yet descended, or in this particular case, a band/song that most people in your circle haven't heard of. It's fun, and it feels cool. At the same time, it identifies the "teller" with the recommendation in a way that "above the fold" items can't. For example, when my friends go to the market and walk by salsa made by Ortega or Pace, I doubt anyone comes to mind. If they see the glorious bottle of Tapatio though, they very well might think of me. Yes, it's apparently all about me.

So why does the rising fame of White Rabbits bother me? What felt like insider knowledge and something cool to share with friends is becoming mainstream, thereby limiting (or erasing) my BTF knowledge. I saw this happen years ago with the band Everclear, and the results were disastrous. My friend Adam played their first tape (yes, tape) for me while on a class trip in Europe, and by the end of the excursion, I was ready to get all of my friends as pumped about this new band as I was. It worked to a large extent too. By the time their second album came out, good friends Greg, Jon, Lisa, and others all were totally into them. I clearly remember someone during my freshman year of college saying, "Hey, you like that band Everclear, right? I heard a song of theirs earlier; they're pretty cool." It felt great to hear that.

Then their next album came out with some real promotion behind it, and next thing I knew, things were headed downhill. (In hindsight, it was rather appropriately named, "So Much for the Afterglow." The one before that was maybe even more appropriate - "Sparkle and Fade" - because it encompasses both the rise and fall.) The rough and cool band I had rocked out to just a few years prior suddenly had a video on MTV with the rockers all pretty-looking and bouncing around in black suits. Then they totally fell in love with what had made them successful and made every song going forward sound exactly like their previous hits. I'm not kidding: same beat, very similar lyrics, and having either "Hey hey" or "She said" repeated at some point. A very short while later and they had lost me completely. I didn't buy their albums after that (and this was a band I had LOVED). I was so down on the direction they took after appealing to the masses that when Lisa and I actually saw them sitting in an Alabama airport at our gate, I just kind of shrugged and said, "That's interesting." (In fact, the guitarist ended up sitting directly in front of us on the flight, smelling like alcohol and sleeping the whole time. We joked about things we could've said to him like, "You guys used to be really cool when you made more than one song over and over again." I don't think that would've gone over too well though.)

Back to my original thesis: When you're touting something BTF, it's almost a no-lose situation. If it takes off, hopefully people will remember you as an early adopter and think of you as someone with an eye for talent. If it never takes off (be it a movie, restaurant, etc.), then you can always claim that it was too quirky/niche/esoteric/intelligent for the masses. Ergo, it appears that it's both cool and a smart bet to live BTF. Thank you. Q.E.D. and ipso facto, or something. (Hey, you know what's a pretty good beverage? Coca-Cola!)

With that, let's ride some sugary bubbles on over to the Car Watch.

My Bratty Kid Sister sent me a license a couple of days ago. It read, "(Heart) T SING." To me, there are three possible readings of this. One, the person loves to sing and is abbreviating the "to" with a form closer to how it's said in, "I love t'sing." Two, the person loves teasing and has that written as plainly as possible. Or three, the person loves both singing and teasing and somehow found a brilliant way to express both hobbies in one amazing plate. (I could force a fourth possibility with "hearty sing," but I'll spare you the nonsense.)

My homey Rockabye saw this bumper sticker earlier this week: "Isn't it baseball season yet?" Uh, dude, I don't know how to tell you this, but we're in the last few games before the playoffs. The season's been going on for like six months now. Geez, where have you been?

And lastly, my lovely wife saw a plate that she couldn't wait to tell me about: "SATIS5D." I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with the word "satisfived." (Neither is my spellchecker, apparently.) What the hell? I don't easily jump to hate, but this driver's really tempting me. Does he con5d in his friends? Did the water in his freezer solidi5? Sorry, maybe I'm being unfair to the driver and shouldn't be vili5ing him so much.

Ok, that's it for me. I'm out of here, but I'll be back next week with more stuff and stuff. In the meantime, happy half-birthday today to my co-worker Rob, and happy half-birthday on Tuesday to Sacky Christi. That's all I've got. Remember, you can always email me at ptklein@gmail.com with UOPTAs, Car Watch items, or any random items with which I might identi5. Take care, friends.

Backhanded compliments

Good morning, homepeople of the internets, and welcome yet again to UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Un Oso Puede Tomar Agua," but es verdad. Otherwise, we'd be plagued with dehydrated bears in need of IVs to replenish their fluids, which would pose a whole new set of problems for the healthcare industry. Whew, that was a close one. Instead, friends, this UOPTA is where I write down some thoughts and stories and then wait to see what happens. Here goes! (Thanks for my favorite brother for supplying that UOPTA. You can get in on the action too just by writing to ptklein@gmail.com. And if you act now, I'll throw in my gratitude ABSOLUTELY FREE!)

As I've mentioned in this space many times since I started this here blog, I'm in fantasy leagues for both baseball and basketball. I've tried football once, but I don't follow that sport nearly as closely as I'd need to in order to succeed there, so I'm fine sticking with the two I know best. Well, we're at the tail end of the baseball league's playoffs right now (which I'm not in because I totally stunk it up this year), and the question of tie-breakers came up. We looked back to a post that Greg (The Pigh) had put on the message board back in March. In it, he wrote:

In the event of a tie, the tie-breakers will be:
1. head-to-head records
2. total runs scored
3. total wins (pitching)
4. total home runs
5. total strike outs
6. beer pong
7. steel cage match

I thought that was funny, and hoped to see a scenario that got us close to the bottom of the list. Well, we got closer than I anticipated, and it looked like it might get down to #4 on the list for a while. My homey Rockabye and his brother co-manage one of the teams in that close match-up, and he wrote, "If it ever gets to beer pong, you may as well put us in the championship...for we never lose at an alternative sport." The funny thing about that is that he's not really kidding.

While he's also good at mainstream sports, my homey Rockabye has always excelled at the sports/games off the beaten path. He was the best of our group of friends at ping pong, frisbee golf, foosball, and even the arcade game where you need to make as many baskets as possible in the established timeframe. I have no proof, but I'd put my money on him winning a Skee-ball tournament if I arranged such an event.

Somewhere in between mainstream sports and the fringe arcade games lies racquetball. I enjoy racquetball, even though I have no innate skill at the game/sport. The first time I really tried it out was back in college. At our Recreation Center (or RecCen since everything needed to be shortened), there were a handful of indoor courts. Any current student could reserve a time in one of the courts, and I think it cost a whopping dollar to rent the paddles and balls. The only downside in my opinion was that the courts had clear plastic back walls, and so everyone on the treadmills and elliptical machines behind us could watch every play if they chose to. Therefore, I'd always opt for the last court in the row in hopes that fewer people would watch me. My homey Rockabye and I would play every once in a while, and it was quite a bit of fun. (By "play," I should point out that it was us hitting the ball around until he decided that he wanted to win that point and would therefore end the rally with a shot I had no chance at returning.) My lovely wife nee girlfriend and I played a couple of times as well, which always felt like a trap. I say that because if I tried my hardest, I'd win the majority of the points (which would frustrate her). However, if she thought for a second that I wasn't trying my hardest, that was a worse offense. We had a good time though; it was fun exercise, and most importantly, I never lost an eye.

Well, that same homey Rockabye just moved into a new condo complex a couple of weeks ago. When he walked me around the place before he was an official resident, he showed me that there were a few indoor racquetball courts by the gym in the complex. They're fairly run down, but they looked serviceable (especially for my ability level). I said it would be a lot of fun to do that for exercise and as a chance to hang out - even weekly if our schedules permitted. Just suggesting that made me feel a little old since I remember my dad playing that sport when I was younger, but I got over that quickly.

And so, earlier this week, we had our inaugural racquetball match. It had been over a decade since our last game, which astounds me. As I was leaving my house to meet up with him, my lovely wife said, "Have fun. Don't hurt yourself." I told her I would do my best on both counts.

I got to his place as he was finishing getting ready. "I don’t need the goggles, right?" I asked. He was already laughing, presumably because he remembered my...what's the opposite of prowess? We walked over to the courts and started hitting the ball around lightly as the overhead lights warmed up. Before long, we were playing and it all came back to me. It clearly came back to him too, because he remembered that I struggle mightily when the ball is in a certain place. As a lefty, when the serve is coming to me in the back right corner, I have to make a few quick decisions. Namely, "Do I hit my backhand now or do I wait for the bounce off the back wall?" I never decide that quickly enough, which means I either hit the wall with my racket, barely hit the ball and lose the point anyway, or freeze in my decision-making and watch it bounce a second time right in front of me. He cracked up every single time, until he finally took pity on me and hit the ball more to the middle of the court.

After a little while, he asked me (between laughs), "Do you think you were more graceful in college or now?" "College," I said. Then I swung and completely missed the ball as it came toward me. "College," I repeated. I reached down to get the ball that had just eluded me, and I looked up to find my old friend doubled-over in laughter. I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being exceedingly graceful, and I came to terms with that a long time ago. He can't get enough of it though.

All in all, I heeded my lovely wife's two-pronged advice. I had fun and I didn't hurt myself (unless you count biting my cheek from mis-chewing gum). My left forearm was sore for a couple of days, but if we're able to play fairly regularly, that'll stop happening in no time. Who knows, maybe I'll even learn to return more than half of the serves over time. Hey, I can dream.

With that, let's bring our small, blue balls over to the Car Watch.

My lovely wife saw a license plate about which I have very mixed feelings. It read, "PUN GENT." Here's the rub: I like that the guy is a fan of puns and that he found a way to tell us that in the form of another existing word. I don't like that the word means, "Having a strong odor" to me. Does he also have a strong scent? If so, then it's perfect. (I just looked up the definition of "pungent," and I'm shocked. The first entry is: "Sharply painful." Not until definition 4B does it get to how I use it: "Having an intense flavor or odor." This makes me totally rethink ordering "Sweet and Pungent Chicken" next time we have Chinese food. I guess it's still catchier than "Sweet and Sharply Painful Chicken.")

I saw two plates that, by themselves, probably wouldn't warrant a mention here. However, they were right next to each other and it gave me pause. "NUDE ART," was on the left, and "LIBANON" was on the right. I realize it didn't say "Lebanon," but it was close enough that the juxtaposition made me laugh. If you asked me to name 20 countries that might be known for having nude art, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't get to Lebanon. If you said 50 though, I'd probably guess it at some point since I'm not sure how many countries I actually know. That would be an interesting exercise, but at a later date. Or never. I'll decide later.

And lastly, my homey Rockabye saw this bumper sticker: "Visualize using your turn signals." I find that funny for two very different reasons. First, it amuses me that someone wants to mock the "Visualize world peace" sentiment - either like this or with its cousin, "Visualize whirled peas." Aside from arms dealers and wartime contractors, are there people who don't like the concept of a planet in harmony, albeit highly improbable? Maybe. The other thing that I find funny is that this guy's talking to the wrong people. Presumably, he'd most like for the people in front of him to use their turn signals to indicate when they're changing lanes or turning. By nature of it being a bumper sticker, he's missing the meat of his target demographic. (And hey, you can't spell "target demographic" without Peter.)

Ok folks, that's it for me. I'll be back next week with more thoughts magically converted into word form. In the meantime, we've got ourselves some happies: Happy 2nd birthday today to little Nolan, who loves blueberries more than I ever thought humanly possible. Tomorrow, our friends Dusty and Mills are getting married, so please join me in wishing them the absolute best. If any of you atoners are fasting for Yom Kippur starting Sunday at sundown, I hope it goes quickly and easily. And Happy Birthday to longtime and loyal reader Sue on Thursday. I'm off, folks. Feel free to write me at ptklein@gmail.com, and be healthy and happy.

Thoughts not staying in Vegas

Hola mis amiguitos, and welcome once more to this little slice of the internets that I call UOPTA. No no, that doesn't stand for, "Upside-down Onions Produce Tears Anyway," but I imagine both possible readings of that sentence are true. Without any punctuation, it refers to turning an onion upside-down, and since they're usually roundish, I can understand why that wouldn't make any difference. Put a comma before "onions" though, and I'm pretty glad to learn that that method doesn't work. Oh sure, I'd love to cut onions without crying, and I've tried a few things over the years with minimal success. If I found that cutting them while I was physically upside-down would stop the tears, I'd then have to figure out how to do that without seriously injuring myself. Forget the blood rushing to my head and the discomfort of being on my skull, I'm talking about logistically using a knife to cut onions while I'm upside-down. Any motion I think of is either very difficult due to a lack of leverage or would leave the floor strewn with chopped onion. In summation, even though it's not the name of this site, I'm still glad that Upside-down Onions Produce Tears Anyway. Instead, friends, this is just a place in which I write down some thoughts and stories. See how much simpler that is?

I was in Las Vegas earlier this week for two and a half days for work purposes. Normally, I don't come back with many things that make sense to write about in this space (since I generally avoid discussing my job), but I have a few isolated items that I thought were fit to pass on to you. First up, I was in the Paris Hotel, and I had a couple of hours before I was supposed to meet people in the late evening. My goal was to get some food to go and then sit in my room to relax and watch some football. I'm not a big football fan, but it was on, and I could take off my jacket and shoes and just chill for while. I walked around the hotel (without getting too lost) but didn't see anything but sit-down restaurants. I walked over to the concierge desk where I was greeted not very warmly by a middle-aged lady. "Hi, I was looking to get some food to go, but I didn't see anything like what I was looking for. I seem to remember some small food court maybe with a pizza place when you first opened - is that still here?" Ok folks, try to read her response as snottily and condescendingly as possible: "Um, sir, this is The Paris Hotel. All of our food is French, so clearly we wouldn't have anything like pizza here." There was even a hesitation before the word "pizza" as if it were too disgusting to even say. Instead of saying, "Well la-di-dah, your highness," I just smiled and nodded and went on my way. I ended up sitting in a little restaurant that had one of the games on in the attached Bally's Hotel, so it wasn't too bad. That said, I guess the Paris Hotel should be commended for being extremely authentic, from the sidewalk cafes to the rude natives. (Yes, that's a sweeping stereotype, but when my lovely wife and I visited Europe, there was a distinct difference in how we were treated in France versus some other countries. I'm just sayin'.)

Next, I was speaking to a gentleman who was telling me about something that spanned a bunch of different categories, including self-help, weight loss, fitness, etc. While business-oriented, it was a light-hearted enough conversation that I felt comfortable making a pun. "I imagine that the weight loss one has the, um, widest demographic," I said with a smile. Nothing. So I added, "Pardon the pun, of course." Still nothing. He went right into his next point without ever picking up what I put down. I thought that was a good one, at least deserving a smile or something. But no, he just kept on going. Bastard.

The night before that, I went out to dinner with two...interesting gentlemen. They're both in their late 40s, and they've really lived those years, if you know what I mean. So when we sat down next to two obviously tipsy ladies, they were already programmed with how to talk in that situation. The women gave obviously fake names, and the two men did the same. "I'm Peter," I said, before adding, "Really." After a couple of minutes of chatting, I learned that one of them lived in Ventura, so I plugged Dusty and Dave's company and told her to check them out. She asked what we do for a living, and one of the guys said, "We're in the porn industry. We're stuntmen." They laughed a little, but it sadly seemed like they believed him. A couple more minutes went by, and the drunker of the two asked me, "So where do you do your stuntman work?" I thought to myself, "Alright, fine, I'll play along." So I said, "Well, they're actually the stuntmen. My job is to write the musical scores for the films. It's really not as impressive as it sounds, since it's really just a series of wocka-chicka wocka-chickas." She made face that said, "Yeah, I dig that" while nodding, and then went back to her drink.

One of the gentlemen asked the ladies what they liked to do while in Vegas. One said, "If I had my druthers, I'd just go from club to club all day long." The other chimed in with, "If I had my brothers, that would be illegal in most states." I thought that was a funny retort, but the friend had no idea in hell what she was talking about. "What about your brothers?" After some long-winded attempts at explaining her quip to no avail, she gave up. "I thought that was a good line," I said almost apologetically. We didn't end up chatting much more with the drunk ladies before they left, but that was more than fine with me.

After dinner, I went to a party at a club sponsored by another business in the industry. We got some drinks and did the requisite schmoozing for a while before my favorite interaction of the whole conference transpired. The same guys and I were talking to an attractive young woman about where she worked and what she did. "I mainly focus on non-profits and ministries," she said. Without missing a beat, one of the guys said, "I love God." If I had had liquid in my mouth at that moment, it would've ended up all over someone. Instead, I just laughed while he added, "And I love raising money for God." You can't teach classy, ladies and gentlemen.

Lastly, one woman with whom I've worked peripherally for a while made me bite my tongue so hard it almost bled...twice. The first time was two days before the conference when I was trying to find a time to meet up. After pulling up her schedule on the computer, she said, "Let's see...I've got some weird looking holes." Yes, I somehow managed to hold back from saying anything after that, which I know is a good thing. We did eventually set a meeting, and in that meeting, she asked a gentleman from another company, "Do you have a large staff?" Come on, lady! What are you trying to do to me? Geez, some people just don't care about the plight of the immature male.

And with that, it is my duty (tee hee) to bring us to the Car Watch.

My homey Rockabye sent me this license plate just yesterday: "GRRTFLL." I take issue with this plate, my homepeople, for I just don't think it works. Yes, I can see that the driver wants the word "grateful" to come across. However, the "Grr" sound never represents something positive or happy, but rather anger or frustration. Therefore, this sounds to me like a very begrudging gratefulness, and unless the driver wanted to capture that complex compound adjective, then I don't like it. So there.

My friend Greg (The Pigh) sent me a plate that you'll either really appreciate or not get at all: "TPS RPRT." His email to me was, "I'm gonna need you to go ahead and put this in the Car Watch." If you have no idea what he's talking about, then I guess you're not a big fan of the movie "Office Space." And frankly, that's a shame. Oh yeah, and you probably won't get it when I end this paragraph with, "Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking, just a moment."

And last but not least, I saw a plate that read, "PWR SHRG." Over the course of the next ten seconds, I thought of a couple dozen ways in which one could "power shrug." And I think they were pretty funny too. Is it a way to REALLY not care about something? Is that how Robocop expresses his disinterest? I wanted to know, but sadly after those ten seconds, I saw something else on the car. The license plate frame said, "Power sharing." Then I was confused again. Did that mean sharing in some suped-up way or more than one person using the same energy source? I know, I know: I ask the tough questions.

That, my friends, is all I've got for you today. Fear not, I'll be back next Friday with more of whatever it is I do here. In the meantime, are you ready for a whole lotta happies? Here goes! First off, Happy Rosh Hashanah at sundown today to all my fellow Members of the Tribe. Happy birthday to two dear friends: Danielle tomorrow and Paul on Sunday. Happy 5 and a half year anniversary to my lovely wife on Monday. Wow, it seems like just six months ago that it was our full anniversary. On Wednesday, it's not only my Grandpa Harold's birthday, but also my little cousin Bailey's 2nd birthday as well, so please join me in wishing them happy ones. As always, feel free to email me at ptklein@gmail.com, and be healthy and happy. Shaloha.

Language discussions on tap

Hello there friends, and welcome to this week's entry at UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for, "Unctuous Octopi Patrol The Atlantic," but I have to imagine that that's true. They look way too nefarious to just be swimming around there, and "patrolling" seems to capture their look a little better. Instead, this UOPTA is where I jot down some things on my mind for your intended reading enjoyment. I'm so glad we cleared that up. (Thanks to loyal reader Sue for providing that UOPTA. You can send your own in to ptklein@gmail.com. Yes, even you.)

I have two separate language items on my mind today, so I'm going to start with those and see where they take me. First up is the one that isn't about English. I was listening to the Dodger game in my car a few days ago, and they'd just gotten a couple of hits in a row off of the opposing pitcher. Announcer Charley Steiner then told me and the rest of the listening audience that the other team was taking out their pitcher. Then he said something like, "This pitching change is brought to you by Tapatio hot sauce. Not too mild and not too spicy, Tapatio is the perfect change to make any meal better." Again, I'm paraphrasing. I loves me some Tapatio, and I put it on (or in) many things that I make. A toasted bagel with cheese, black bean soup, polenta...it doesn't matter. I think it's glorious, and way better than its wooden-headed competitor Cholula. But I wasn't thinking about the kick-ass nature of the sauce right then. Rather, I had noted that Mr. Steiner said "Tapatio" like the first syllable was the same as in "tap dance" instead of "top," as it's said in Spanish. I immediately forgave him his transgression and smiled at the fact that everything is sponsored by something now. I remember when NBA games starting having the "Prudential At The Half" shows, but now every time out is sponsored by Corona or some other company trying to loosely tie themselves in thematically with that part of the game. It's how it goes, and that's neither good nor bad in my eyes.

Since things go rather slowly at times in baseball, they took a commercial break to bring in some revenue during the pitching change. Again, good for them, as it's the nature of the beast. A jingle began: "Tap into the taste, tap into the taste, Tapatio." The voiceover guy in the commercial said something similar to what Mr. Steiner had about Tapatio being the perfect complement to meals, and he - like the jingle-singling ladies - also said it like "tap dance." That wasn't ok with me. They purposely picked a voiceover guy who sounded Hispanic "for authentic purposes" I imagine, but then anglicized their own product name?

I got home and told my lovely wife about the commercial. "You said TAPatio," she said. "I know," I said, while my accompanying face and nod said, "That's the part I was hoping you'd catch." "But that sound doesn't exist in Spanish," she replied. And I fell in love all over again. You see, she's absolutely right (and apparently listens to my linguistic tidbits and rants when I go off). Even if you don't speak any Spanish at all, you know some words from being alive in this time and place. Think about the one A sound in "hola," the two in "salsa," and the three in "manana." Notice something they all have in common? It's the same sound we find in English in words like "mama." Except in Spanish, that's the only sound that vowel makes on its own. (When paired with other vowels, there are combined sounds that are awesomely called "dipthongs," but I'm talking about the letter by itself.) Same with the other vowels. That's why reading Spanish words is fairly easy - you never have to worry about the crazy stuff English throws at us vowel-wise, like "how" and "mow." (As a side note, Japanese seems to be the easiest language to sight-read that I can think of. Even longer last names are quite simple when you take them one syllable at a time.)

Was the phrase, "Tap into the taste" so important to them that they changed the fundamental pronunciation of their product's name to match it? I guess so. I happen to think that we silly consumers would've been able to hear the correct pronunciation after "tap into the taste" and still get the connection between the two. But maybe I'm just overly optimistic.

I understand that the anglicization of foreign words happens all the time. I live in "loss ann jill iss" after all. But this is different to me since the good people at Tapatio are doing this themselves. Oh well, they're still very far away from a Peter Klein boycott.

The other language item on the docket today involves my native tongue. (That's English, in case you couldn't tell.) It all started when I got a text message from my favorite brother. It read, "What is the difference between inter- and intra-personal skills?" It's funny he should ask that, because I very recently corrected a co-worker when he wrongly used "intra" instead of "inter." Since I had just had that conversation, I used examples that had worked for my co-worker in my reply to my bro. "Intra is within something. Like intramurals are within the walls of a school, but an interstate is between two states (or more)." While those examples had illustrated my point before, it only confused matters here (maybe because I didn't really answer his question, in retrospect). He replied, "Intra-personal skills area just knowing about your own internal behavior, attitude, habits? How is that a skill? I know what I like. I'm skilled!" I went right to the crux of the matter: "I've never actually heard anyone use intra-personal skills before. Unless you're talking about someone with multiple personalities." I figured that someone had just mis-spoken or maybe he heard something wrong. He replied, "Shawn's (my favorite nephew) TV show says that it enforces the use of inter- and intra-personal skills. That is where I got it from. A fucking cartoon. Wow Wow Wubbzy!" I assumed that that was the name of the show and not just the way that Kevin ended passion-filled text messages. I looked it up, and technically the show's name is hyper-punctuated as "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!" That would get really annoying to type after a while.

I still thought that "intrapersonal skills" sounded made up, or at the very least, extremely easy. I typed the term into the all-knowing Google, and the first thing it came up with was, "Did you mean interpersonal skills?" I looked at the listings below, and I saw one site in which someone took the time to define the confusing term. As I expected, it all boiled down to knowing yourself' and ways in which you as a person come across to others. How does a children's cartoon teach that? I suppose I could watch an episode and try to figure that out...or I could just end this paragraph and move on.

Well looky here. I thought of two other quick language-related items in my quest for more words. First up, do you think it's possible for someone to say the phrase, "Run along now" and not have it come out as condescending? I don't think so. I just came up with a few possible scenarios in which the utterer of that phrase meant it sincerely, but every single time I got to the actual words, they always came out sounding bad. "Run along now," I believe, has a good amount of built-in condescension. Can you think of other phrases like that?

And lastly, my old Linguistics professor once tried making a point in class about how we change the way that words are said in our language over time. I wouldn't argue with that, naturally, but his example wasn't making any sense to me. "Take the word 'bedroom' for example," he began. "We've turned it into a whole new word that's closer to 'bedrum' or 'beh-droom.' What kind of word is that? 'Bedrum.' Come take a look at my bedrum," he said. Normally I would pick up that which he put down, but I didn't see eye to eye at all with him on this one. Then he explained himself: "Say you keep all of your trophies on one room; you'd call that the Trophy Room, right? Or all of your music is in your Music Room. But what if you had a room in which you kept a whole bunch of beds? You'd call it the Bed Room. That's how the word was originally pronounced. Bed Room, not 'bedrum' or 'beh-droom' like it is now." I began to see his point. As I walked through my imaginary house, I said to no one in particular, "Here is my Dish Room, up on the left is the Burrito Room, and on the right is the Bed Room. Yes, I keep all of my miniature beds safely locked up in my Bed Room." And it did indeed sound different than how I would currently point out a bedroom with one real-sized bed in a non-imaginary house (which is closer to 'beh-droom').

And with that, let's overanalyze our syllables on down to the Car Watch.

My Bratty Kid Sister sent me a license plate that she saw recently. It said, "RADFOOD." I wrote her back asking if it was like totally gnarly pizza with some Mountain Dew, but she didn't reply. I'll take that as a yes.

My homey Rockabye saw a license plate frame that gave me pause: "My other car is the big fella." My first thought was, "Shaq?" My second thought was wondering if it was a woman talking about her man as "her other ride." Ya know, like a "My other ride is your mom" type of thing. But it specifically said "car," so I'm not sure I can make sense of it. Unless...nah. Well maybe...nope. Just say it already! Fine. Unless his or her other car truly is a large vehicle that s/he has nicknamed "the big fella." That's possible, but it's mighty rare to have a "my other car" frame actually refer to the driver's other car.

And last but not least, I saw this plate: "LV PB+J." Wow. I understand that it's tasty, but that might be an unhealthful relationship going on there. I love burritos in a big way (I have an imaginary Burrito Room, for Pete's sake!), but that's not making it on my license plate. To put one's overwhelming adoration of a sandwich out there is...daring.

Ok, that's it. My eyelids are getting heavy. I hope you enjoyed, and I'll be back here with more stuff next Friday. In the meantime, here are the slim pickins of happies over the next week: Happy Mexican Independence Day on Wednesday (not on Cinco de Mayo, which a lot of people erroneously assume), and Happy half-St. Patrick's Day on Thursday. My lovely wife says that one doesn't count, but that's all I've got. Have a great weekend and week, homepeople, and remember you can email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything. Shaloha.

In and out of a jam

Hello, friends. It's too late now, but I should've ended my last post with, "See you in September." Alas, I did not. But welcome anyway to this week's UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unhappy Ostriches Pretend They're Antelopes," but I sure hope that cheers them up. Instead, this UOPTA is where I write down some of my thoughts and stories and, often times, live vicariously through myself. I'm multi-talented. (Thanks to my loving mother-in-law for sending in that UOPTA. You can do it too just by writing to ptklein@gmail.com.)

I've got two unrelated items loosely connected by a segue to discuss today, so if you enjoy that kind of thing, you very well might enjoy what follows. First up, I was speaking to a woman on the phone yesterday named Sheena. She works with another woman named Gina, and I've spoken to both of them at the same time on a few occasions. For obvious reasons, I end up enunciating beautifully on those calls. Well yesterday at the end of the call, I accidentally said, "Thanks, Gina. I mean Sheena. Sorry about that." "Oh no problem," she replied, "I think I answer to anything ending in 'eena' now." This is where my brain causes me problems. A normal person would just laugh politely and go back to the typical end-of-call talk. Not me though. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Not 'hyena' I hope." "Uh, no, hopefully not that," she answered. I politely chuckled and we got off the call. The thing is, while I was saying it, I wasn't thinking, "Maybe this isn't the best thing to say." Instead, I was trying hard to come up with other "eenas" like it was some kind of word game. The next two that popped into my head, in case you're wondering, were "semolina" and actor "Dennis Farina." Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Klein!

And hey, I'm sensitive to the plight of the person with a name that sounds like other things. As I

mentioned in this space about a year and a half ago, I've found myself looking up as if called when people say such wonderful things as "cheater" and "wife beater." Recently, "computer" has gotten me a few times. It's no fun, and yet if I'm a certain distance away, I'm gonna keep looking up every time. Awesome.

Speaking of awesome (like this segue), I found something in a drawer this week that made me very happy. (Cue backstory!) When I lived in Sacramento for almost a year, I had a very boring job. I was looking for something to just take up time, so I didn't expect it to be stimulating, but it was like pulling teeth every day. After a short while, I'd found ways to successfully "look busy" at times, but it was incredibly painful. One can only do things in slow-motion for so long. Therefore, one morning after I'd been there for about two months, I opened a Word document and just began typing. It is that Word document that I found this week. Here are some of my favorite parts:

"I've been here an hour, and I'm done with my work. I had about twelve feedback emails to enter into the database, and I did that as slowly as I could. I then filed them as slowly as I could. I took a little trip to the bathroom, not to actually go to the bathroom, but to look at my hair. It's getting long, so I wondered how contained it was this morning. And it took up a minute, which is good."

"I'll probably eat my granola bar within the next hour, but then I have to decide when to eat my sandwich. That could take up to fifteen minutes - deciding, that is."

"One of Nina's suitors asked her if there was something going on between me and her. She set him straight and said that I was married. It's very much like high school with some of these people. Then again, maybe most of these people stopped after high school and are still in that mentality. Actually, that's a very good possibility."

"One of the women in a nearby cubicle is talking about her strained relationship with her father. Apparently he was only in her life from the age of nine to thirteen, when his wife at that time was good about sending cards and asking her to visit. She also instilled the love of animals in her. Here's where it gets good: Then they got divorced, and I guess he beat her, and she went downhill and started using heroin, got AIDS and died. But she was a great role model and took her horseback riding and explained how nothing is free in life. Although she was usually drunk. That's a great story. I'm so glad I get to hear this stuff while not working at work."

When all was said and done, I had 4,000 words. (To put that in perspective, these posts are usually between 1,500 and 2,000. This one's 1655.) I ended it by wondering if I should just delete it and chalk it up to a good time-wasting activity or print it out to show my lovely wife exactly how bored I was at work. I opted for the latter, so I hit print, deleted the file from my computer, and ran over to the printer with my belongings in hand so I could just continue out to my car. One problem - there was a paper jam. "Oh shit," I thought. "Once it's un-jammed, mine will come out for whoever's here to read. Do I say my name in it? I think so. Do I say bad things about the people here? Crap, yes, and I talk a whole lot about how I don't do any work. Shit." I went over and tried fixing the paper jam but didn't have any luck. I asked I guy I didn't really know, and he agreed to help me. Fortunately, he was an expert paper un-jammer, and it started whirring and printing something within a minute. "Mine's not printing," I said. He said, "If it comes out later, I'll just put it on your desk." "Do I tell him ahead of time that it's sensitive and to please do me the favor of not reading it? That probably would only cause more of an interest." "It's kind of important," I said awkwardly. He opened up a file on his computer, saw my document in the printer's queue, and deleted it. "So it won't print now?" I asked. "It shouldn't because I just deleted it from the pending print jobs," he said. I sighed a big sigh and thanked him. On my way out the door, I heard the printer start whirring again. "Let's just wait and make sure," I thought to myself. Sure enough, my eyes widened at the first page of my mammoth rambling document. I grabbed the full thing off the printer when it was done and bolted. "Dodged a fucking bullet!" I thought. It took me more than an hour to come down from that near-miss of a disaster.

And with that, let's decelerate our heart rates on over to the Car Watch.

Longtime and loyal reader Sue sent me an email in which she mentioned a convertible Bentley with the plate, "THE BOSS." She was quick to point out that it wasn't Bruce Springsteen driving and "just some man with a big ego." So I guess it could still be George Steinbrenner then. Also in the email, she asked me if I ever see the same plates on a daily basis. While not daily, I see a Honda Fit on the freeway almost once a week with the plate, "FIT4DB." I have to assume that the driver's initials are "D.B." or possibly it's a woman named Deb, but my first thought is always to "Dork Boy," which my favorite brother delighted in calling me for a while when growing up. He's been much nicer for almost two decades now, so I don't start crying or anything when I see that car.

My homey Rockabye sent me a plate recently that I have mixed feelings about: "URWTHUS." Well, technically, anyone seeing that plate is geographically with that car, but I hope the driver knows that our relationship ends there.

Lastly, I was behind a car with this license plate a while ago: "USC TGR." "That's weird," I thought. "They're the Trojans, and the Tigers are from Memphis or LSU. Unless the driver is a real wild animal when it comes to rooting for USC or something." Then I saw on the back window in a smaller font, "USC Tailgater." Really? You're turning that nine-letter word into "TGR" and expect me to know what the hell you're doing? Why not "SC TLG8R" instead (unless it was taken)? If it was taken and there was nothing else to adequately get the message across, then simply pass on that idea. I've said it before and I'll say it again: when it comes to personalized plates, either do it well or don't do it at all. Hey, I should know, you can't spell "personalized plates" without Peter.

That's it for me, everyone. Have a good Labor Day on Monday. My co-worker is going to a party on that day in which everyone is supposed to dress as "a laborer." So far, she knows people who are coming as construction workers, pregnant women, and gold diggers. I suggested going as a member of Britain's Labor party, which got big laughs*. (*Please replace "big laughs" with "blank stares.") Happy 1st birthday on Tuesday to little Noah, whose party this Sunday will surely be memorable...to everyone but him. That's alls I's gots, folks. Be happy and healthy, and I'll see you back here next Friday. In the meantime, you can always write me at ptklein@gmail.com. Peace out.

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.