MyPod

I have a theory about what iPods are doing to civilization. Basically, these little devices are slowly putting an end to random conversations with strangers and everyday hellos. iPods allow us to walk through life without interacting with anyone else. With an iPod, you can completely block out all of the outside noise, all of the people on the streets, and just be alone. That's why I got one. For some reason, mine isn't working. I mean, yeah, the music plays, but people don't feel blocked out.

A few weeks ago, I was walking home from work and this woman stops me. Weird, I think, doesn't she see the headphones I am wearing. Doesn't she see the distant look in my eye that could only mean I am somewhere else? Apparently not. So, she wants to tell me about her bible group. I look around. There are tons of non-head-phoned pedestrians and she chose me. Perhaps that says something about my relationship with The Dude, but I'd like to think it says something about her lack of perception. After I politely explain that I am quite content with my non-church-going-sinful-self, I look over and see her cohort stopping another head-phoned pedestrian and I think, "perhaps they just have the same theory about iPods as I do."

Fast forward to today, I'm in New York, leaving the subway on my way to the office, and this woman stops me. She wants to know if she could take this subway train downtown. Again, I think, "are my headphones invisible." Apparently so. I guess the lesson is, you can only block out the world if the world is willing to let you block them out...or if you act like a scary crazed person who's headphones provide a direct line to God or aliens.

A New Trend?

So, I'm walking down the street the other day and this guy stops me and says, "Honey, you better work that outfit." I think he meant that he liked my shoes. Anyway, I turn, hoping to be able to return the compliment, but soon realize that I can't. Something about me won't let me compliment an outfit consisting of black snowpants, a navy blue blazer (with the collar turned up), and a large seemingly stained-glass earring.

Love them, don't shoot them

Yes, they're strange, a bit intriguing, oddly fascinated with wild animals, but why would anyone want to do them harm (except, maybe, for the wild animals)? It recently came to my attention (thanks to my awesome book club) that a former NFL kicker wants Siegfried and Roy dead. He apparently would also be happy if they were just to leave the country (See shouts from white minivan as shots were fired at the home of Siegfried Fishbacher and Roy Horn on September 21, 2004). Don't you think they've suffered enough? Way to kick them while they're down Cole Murdoch Ford, former kicker for the Oakland Raiders. You may be crazy, but that doesn't mean you should also be insensitive.

Are you My Missed Connection?

So, I'm a little obsessed. OK, quite a bit obsessed with the missed connections section on Craigslist. I don't know what it is. It's not like I think I'm going to meet my future husband through a website after making eye contact with him on the N-Judah (for the record, I've already met my future husband, he just hasn't realized our destiny yet). It would just be nice to be noticed by some slightly stalkerish figure who thinks he is going to meet his future wife through a website after making eye contact with her on the N-Judah. I understand that most of the people who get noticed are wearing superhero costumes or some other loud thing that I would never be caught dead in, but still I try. How, you ask...first, smiling at people. A lot of people don't smile at strangers. I do naturally, but I now make a point of it in case someone writes about the cute woman who smiled at them while walking down Market Street in the Financial District. Second, I lend a helping hand. Another thing I am prone to do, but when done with a smile, you'd think someone would be moved to posting. Finally, I try to wear one distinctive piece of clothing, not over the top, but a cute striped scarf or an adorable hat...just something, so that describing me on the internet is a little easier. Unfortunately, it's all for naught because try as I may, I still am no one's missed connection.

Four more years with the monkey

Unfortunately, on November 2, 2004 democrats around the world learned that we're better off if we don't get out the vote. Now that the votes have been counted (some more than others), we are left to ponder just what went wrong. How could everything seem to go so right, and still, we get our asses handed to us? How?

As upset as I am about the outcome of this election, I realize now that I am taking it much better than some. I can only imagine where this country will end up in four years when W no longer has to worry about reelection.

Perhaps I should go back to focusing on something a bit more manageable; what really happened with Roy and his tiger...a mystery for the ages.

What's your name again?

I learned a valuable lesson this past weekend...reunions suck.

Sure, its probably the only opportunity to find out what's going on with the people you lived with freshman year, but didn't talk to much after that, but, really, why start communications now. Its also that time when people really want to show off where they are in life. I hate talking about what I do, what I've done, and frankly, I have no clue where I am in life.

How many conversations began like this:

Other random alum: Renee, right?
Renee: Yea! So good to see you!
ORA: Yea, what are you doing now?
Renee: Oh...I'm an attorney.
ORA: Oh.

Renee: So, how have you been?

One person actually said, "Oh...were you even pre-law in college?"
What the hell does that mean?

Another popular conversation went much like this:

Renee: Oh my gosh! How are you?
ORA: I'm (engaged, married, pregnant)!
Renee: Great! Congratulations!

I can only assume that being engaged, married, or pregnant is a state of mind much like happy, sad, or hating life.

At the end of the day, all I really wanted was a chance for all of my friends to get together...to see the people I loved in college and have a chance to catch up. Instead, I spent a lot of time explaining to people who don't know my last name how I, the ex-president of the community service organization, became a corporate lawyer or talking to people whose names I can't remember about their recent trips to California. If I went five years without hearing how you're doing, that might be a sign.

Someone remind me of this when the 10 year rolls around.

I'm Hatin' It

I haven't eaten food from McDonald's since 1999 (even then, I only ate the french fries, which were apparently soaked in beef juice to make them taste better) and I don't recall their advertising to be so painfully annoying. My how things change...I mean, I get what they're trying to say; Chicken Selects are soooo good that you don't want to share, but wouldn't it make sense to show people fending off real people who are trying to steal their food? What their advertising says to me is not check out all the people who want Chicken Selects, but, instead, check out all of the crazy people with hallucination problems who eat Chicken Selects, or maybe even, that Chicken Selects make you hallucinate. Either way, I'm out.

In case you haven't heard already, there's a website called VOTE or NOT that is trying to get people to register to vote before the November elections. The 2000 election was decided by only about 500 votes- This year's election may be just as close, so all our votes matter!To get the word out about registering, VOTE or NOT is offering a $100,000 sweepstakes. They will also give the person who referred thewinner $100,000, so if you sign up through my referral link below, we can both win! http://rd22a4a.VOTEorNOT.org

It's important you sign up now, since the voter registration deadlines are coming up really soon.

Guest Blog Entry - Submitted by Raphe G.

Most barbers, at least those who cut men’s hair, seem to have abandoned crude 20th-Century implements like scissors in favor of largely self-operating electric clippers that allow the barber to ascertain your preferred hairstyle in units of Attachment Size (from 1 to 5!) and then just whack away at your head without the need to concern themselves with trifles like uniformity and aesthetic beauty. One might wonder, then, what these people learn at beautician school. Until recently, I assumed that they learned the delicate art of carrying on a boring conversation about the weather while simultaneously operating the clippers, all without slicing the customer’s ear off. Indeed, I’ve heard that the prestigious Sassoon Universities in Milan and Saskatchewan will not issue a Master of Barbarianism degree until the candidate learns to deliver a short monologue in sign language while giving an instructor Haircut #3.

But this weekend I was disabused of my naive assumptions about the general quality of beautician school when I had my hair cut by a typically chatty barber in Berkeley. She had many things to tell me about: her daughter’s recent break up with her boyfriend; the time she moved from Oakland to Albany; and the unjust ticket she received for speeding in some sort of "no speeding" zone, including the intricate and deliberately-paced tale of how she forgot her driver’s license in her pants that morning as she ran out the door. But as she unraveled each of these yarns, this barber stopped the haircut and put the clippers down so that she could make real eye contact with me in the mirror. For long stretches, she was just standing there talking to me. I mean, a drunk orangutan could have given me the same bad haircut in the time it takes to tie your shoes (with a double knot), but it took this lady 45 damn minutes.

Now, I’ve got nothing against friendly people, and I try as hard as the next guy to drum up a little interest in my barbers’ small talk. I come prepared with all kinds of material, like "I hear that" and "you betcha" and "hot enough to fry an egg, that’s for sure." But I felt a bit betrayed the other day. I paid for a bad haircut, not the opportunity to listen to my barber’s problems. Really, she should have paid me for my time, or at least called it even.

Next time I’m going to the orangutan. His stories are bound to be better.

Inspiring Confidence

On a recent flight from San Francisco to Chicago, I sat in the row behind the exit row. Because of my close proximity, I was privy to the exit row "briefing."

There were three people in the exit row. In the window seat, a Navy Seal who said to the flight attendant, "if I save your life, can we fly off to some tropical paradise together?" Somewhat surprisingly, she said yes. In the aisle seat was a very non-descript woman who I can only guess was the mother of the kid in the middle seat.

Oh, the kid in the middle seat... He was about 16, old enough to sit in the exit row, but when asked if he would assist in the unlikely event of an emergency, he hesitated. OK, it was more than hesitation. He stared blankly at the flight attendant without saying a word for two whole minutes. She asked again. He said nothing. She went to talk to the people on the other side of the plane, came back and asked again...he stared. He took out the exit row card to see what, exactly, he was being asked to do. The woman in the aisle seat started yelling, "just say yes, say yes." The Navy Seal joked about how it didn't matter because he would save us all (I wondered if that meant that he was extending the invitation to the tropical paradise to everyone whose life he saved). Finally, after close to fifteen minutes, he said yes. I have never wished for a plane not to crash more in my entire life. Never.

Even if you don't really want to do it, just say yes quickly for the sake of everyone else...

So that's why they call them Killer Whales...

Well ladies and gentlemen, it has happened again.  Just as Roy Horn was gaining enough strength to meet with the tiger who had it in for him, we animal-lovin' Americans were struck by another devastating occurrence.  Unbelievably, another animal kept in captivity and taught by humans to do silly tricks for small pieces of food has attacked his trainer.  This time it was a killer whale and it was a shock to us all.  I mean, yes, they are called "killer,"  but how were we to know that if we locked them up, forced them to do stupid tricks,  and deprived them of their freedom they would make that name a reality?

BART

There is one reason (not including my intense phobia of germs and disease or my fear that an earthquake will hit as I am riding through the tube to the East Bay) I don't like riding BART: people who stand obnoxiously and unnecessarily close to me.

I don't sit on BART. Why you ask? Mainly, because those cushiony seats look to me like giant sponges filled with bacteria and, quite possibly, urine. So, I stand. I understand that people have to squeeze in on crowded trains, but what about uncrowded trains? My thought is, if I can feel you breathing on me, and you don't seem to have a good reason to, and I don't know you, I hate you.

This is a warning to that guy who thought it a good idea to invade my space on my way to Berkeley last weekend; next time you might not be so lucky (Note: most people will tell you that I am all talk. This is true.).

Potty Mouth

I should have known I was in trouble when the man in the row in front of me said, "Kasey, please don't say the same thing over and over again" and little Kasey replied, "Why Daddy, why Daddy, why daddy, why?" Kasey talked in a really loud and whiny voice, which I'm sure is normal for a two year old, but is, nonetheless, quite annoying on a crowded airplane. After about three hours, Kasey and his mom went to the bathroom. When they came back, Kasey's mom said to Kasey's dad, "guess who went potty in the toilet?" My guess was Kasey.

Kasey was super psyched. So psyched in fact that he spent almost the entire remaining 2.5 hours on the plane singing songs he created about the potty. The lyrics to my favorite were something like, "potty. potty. kasey used the potty. mommy was there too. potty." It was a pretty magical song, similar to some of Bob Dylan's greatest works. Luckily, as we were making our initial approach, Kasey stopped singing. I think this was because it got in the way of his crying and blood curdling screams. As we touched down at SFO, little Kasey drifted off to sleep (for about five minutes before he remembered how much fun screaming is).

Query

Another interesting search has led someone to my blog: Maria Shriver and Roy Horn.

Who searches for Roy Horn and Maria Shriver at the same time and why? Have they been on tour together? Are they having a secret affair that could crush Arnold and Siegfried? Tell me...I need to know.

Tour Dates

You may have heard the buzz on MTV News, and its all true. The Stuff in my Head Blog Author and Creative Mastermind, Renee, is going on tour. Catch her if you can in a city near you:

May 23- May 28 - Hollywood, Florida (SOLD OUT)
June 6 - June 8 - Mahwah, New Jersey (Tickets still available)
June 9 - TBD - New York City (contact us for exact dates)
June 28 - TBD - Cerritos, California
July 19 - July 22 - Denver, Colorado
Aug 2 - Aug 6 - various cities

These are only some of the stops Renee will be making on her Summer '04 concert tour. Contact us to find out if she'll be in your town this summer.

Shut Up

So, it wasn't bad enough that I was sitting in the very last row of the plane traveling from Washington D.C. to San Francisco (a five hour flight) and we were expecting turbulence, but my seat mate was determined to be my best friend. He did that staring until we made eye contact thing that instead of being friendly, as I'm sure he intended, ended up being creepy. I tried watching a movie, but when he learned that we were watching the same movie he decided to chat me up about it. I never removed my headphones. Then I tried doing some work. "Whatcha doing," he asked. "Working," I replied. He decided to chat me up about that too. I was still wearing my headphones. I decided to take a short nap, with my headphones on for added security, and as I dozed off he asked me if I was tired.

Nothing stops a plane talker. Not working. Not headphones. Not even snoring. When I arrived at SFO, I had learned that, among other things, the plane talker had begun his travels that morning in Germany and I thought, thank God I didn't have to sit next to him on that flight.

The Ride Home

What better way to get home after a long day then by taxi? Foot, train, maybe bike, I'm sure there are others...and here's why.

The taxi driver managed to talk the entire ride home. At one point, he asked me a question about reception and when I began to answer he interrupted me and answered it himself. It started out by him telling me that I looked "fresh." He offered little clarification for that comment, but he did keep on talking. After singing to himself (loudly), he became really focused on one topic...cell phones. "What cell phone company do you have?" "Do you like them?" "I have Sprint and I got this phone (pulls out phone which he proceeds to throw at me as he slams on the breaks) then I called them and told them I lost it and they said they would send me a new phone because I have insurance and then they turned this one off, so now, I've got no phone...bastards." Never mind that had he not lied about losing the phone in the first place he wouldn't be in this predicament. He then went on to explain the difference between cellular providers, "with Metro it goes doot doot doooooot for about 10 seconds, with Sprint its like choo choooo for 3-4 seconds, but with AT&T no doot or choo, you just talk." "So, should I switch to AT&T?" "My phone has a camera with flash, will my new phone?" Oh dear...I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending commercial for cell phones and ADD medication.

Can you hear me now? Good Lord.

Got Milk?

Ok, so this whole low to no carb thing has gotten a bit out of hand. I rolled my eyes when people started telling me that I shouldn't be eating that plain baked potato. I laughed when they introduced low carb doughnuts (I mean, really, if you can't give up doughnuts, don't you think carbs aren't the real issue). This morning, I was left expressionless when I saw an advertisement for low-carb milk. Remember when milk used to do a body good? I do. Of course I still remember when orange juice was good for you. Now, there's a low carb version of that too. Most of the fruits and vegetables that you love are now a no-no. Pretty soon vitamins will be on the bad list too. Next thing ya know, they'll be coming out with oxygen free air and hydrogen free water. When will this craziness end...probably not until someone tries to stop the world from eating bacon...because everyone loves bacon.

Vultures

Many people know that I am deathly terrified of only a few things in this world...clowns and pigeons (I have no idea what I would do if a pigeon dressed as a clown approached me). That said, there are a ton of things that I am mildly afraid of. One of those things is the baggage claim. Now, it's not the rotating device that looks as if it could remove a limb if it chose to that scares me. It's not that frightening buzzer sound that not only alerts you that the man-eating rotating device is beginning its deathly whirl, but also gives you a mild heart attack in the process that keeps me awake at night. And it's not the conveyor belt that whips out several pieces of similar looking luggage onto that horrid man-eating rotating device that gives me goose bumps.

What really scares the crap out of me are the hundreds of people who, unfortunately, all own black garment bags and don't know how to say excuse me. They, without fail, stand near the rear of the pack and when the first Tumi bag rolls out, they dive. No, it's not their's and yes, you now have a slight concussion and 18 bruises.

I can only imagine one thing worse than waiting for your baggage surrounded by vultures...waiting for your baggage surrounded by pigeons dressed as clowns.

Roy Who? What Tiger?

What ever happened to Roy Horn? A few months ago we were getting an update a minute. The second he responded to voices, we knew. When he declared that a full recovery was on the way, we were right there with him. But all of that has changed. For all we know, he could be doing the Tango with one of his Tigers in Mexico and we would be none the wiser. Earlier today I stopped by the Siegfried and Roy webpage, but nothing was said about Roy's current status...as a matter of fact I couldn't find anything about the accident that ended it all. Are they trying to hide something? We need to know. What's going on with Roy?

CMG

So, I haven't written in a while, but something has been on my mind since well before Easter. It's the creepy mail guy ("CMG"). I'm reminded of it a few times a day...mail time and it really bugs the hell out of me. Maybe its because I'm a horrible impatient person or maybe its because I don't like people standing quietly in my office and staring at me...either way it must be known, the new mail guy has got to go. At first I just thought he was really bad at delivering mail, but now I realize it is so much more. In case you're wondering if your mail guy warrants the initials CMG, check the symptoms below:

1. He insists on talking to you...even if you're on the phone he feels the need to throw in a "g'day" or an "are you eating lunch."
2. He just doesn't know where to put the mail. Apparently, the whole idea of the in-box has not struck him.
3. He stands just inside the door and stares at you until you notice him.
4. He enters your office quietly, so as not to disturb you, but doesn't realize that hovering over you while you try to do work might actually be somewhat disturbing.
5. By the time he finishes one mail run, it's time for the next.
6. He just gives you the hebejebes.

If your mail guy fits this description...I'm sorry.

WWJD


On the occasion of Easter I thought I would take a second to talk about how freakin' lazy people are. It's bad enough that we spend more time watching television than reading books, but apparently, we are also incapable of making decisions for ourselves. What Would Jesus Do? What a cop out. It is clear to me that this a poor attempt to pass the blame for our bad decisions on to the Lord. Is Jesus asking us what we would do? No. So, maybe we should suck it up and make our own damn decisions.

Besides, I'm sure half the time Jesus would say, "What would I do? I wouldn't have gotten myself into this pickle in the first place."

The Mind of the Fifth Grader

Today I spoke to a classroom of excited fifth graders about being a lawyer. I had an entire presentation planned, but two minutes in, after my spiel on my name and background, a hand shot into the air. "Have you ever been on television?" "Are you R, Kelly's lawyer? Michael Jackson? Our teacher's" "What happens if when you swear to tell the truth you cross your fingers behind your back?" What if you tell on your friends in court, can they kill you?" I had not anticipated this level of student involvement. Questions ranged from the mundane "how old were you when you became a lawyer" to the weird "what steps does a person have to take to get emancipated," to the downright scary, "how long would a person have to go to jail for stabbing someone if they already had two strikes...just wondering." Before I knew it, my hour was up and I walked away sure of only one thing, I had not taught those kids a damn thing about being a lawyer.

********

Office Crime Blotter II

Well, the office hoodlum has struck again. Mr. or Ms. Hoodlum, you might think you're sneaky spacing out your crimes several months apart, but I, my friend, am on to you...and so is Frank K, the victim. Today Frank entered his office only to find that approximately five dollars in quarters had been removed from his quarter cup. We have not had a chance to dust for fingerprints and Frank has not yet ruined the crime scene, so a full investigation will take place. In the meantime, someone is running around with enough quarters to do laundry for a week...or at least once this week. If you see anyone with extremely clean clothing and a jingle in their pocket, please let me know.

Disbarment looms for Ineptitude

Last week, I received my monthly edition of the California Bar Journal. At the top of this month’s publication was a small box that said, “Inside this month: Disbarment looms for ineptitude.” I love the Discipline section. Its like the crime blotter for lawyers. The lead discipline story was about a man said to have “significantly harmed his clients and the public” who was charged with 34 counts of misconduct. Wow. You’ve got to be really bad...luckily, he can and is still practicing…in Indiana.

One thing that gets me is that when you are suspended, they always require you take the MPRE before they will lift the suspension. If I recall correctly, the secret to passing the MPRE has nothing to do with being moral, but everything to do with knowing what you can get away with. And maybe that’s what we’re trying to teach them; know the line, walk the line, just don’t cross the line, but if you do cross the line, go practice in Indiana.

Sidewalk Sale - Tips for getting good deals

After my sidewalk sale today, I decided to pass on some tips for the potential sidewalk/yard/garage sale customer. These tips are not guaranteed to work, but, in my limited experience, following them can only help you...

Rule # 1 - Dude, be flexible.
The sale was scheduled to begin at 10:00 in the morning. At a little before 10, which was really 9 thanks to Daylight Savings Time, I began to set up. I had just begun bringing down the merchandise, when two very cranky and very old men approached. One says, "it's 10, where's the stuff?" I reply, "I'm just setting up." He responds, "wasn't it supposed to start at 10." While it was supposed to start at 10, I figured 5 minutes wouldn't kill anyone. Boy, was I wrong. After perusing and offering $0.50 for a working toaster over, the two old men left with a third old man, whom they met at my sale, in the third guy's minivan...they were going to find other sales...presumably sales with toaster ovens for fifty cents. I can only hope, for their sakes, that they started on time.

Rule # 2 - Don't say freaky things.
It was a crappy day, so I spent a lot of time sitting in a chair reading. All of a sudden a man approached and said, "Nothing but the chirps of the birds and the occasional pitter-patter of footsteps, makes this a good day for a read. Are you selling any records?" Uh...no.

Rule # 3 - Don't keep driving by as if you are a stalker
Remember the old guy with the minivan? Well, he drove buy approximately 10 times. I'm not sure what he was looking for, but he wasn't finding it...perhaps he thought I was saving the good stuff for later, maybe he was lost...most definitely, he was creepy.

Rule #4 - This ain't a used car lot
If someone is selling a working window fan for $4 when it would cost you upwards of $25 to buy a new one in the store, don't haggle them. Just pay the stinkin' $4. I'm not saying I'm not willing to make a deal, but be reasonable, cheapskate.

Hopefully, these tips will help you edge out the competition and take home the cheapest crap there is. Good luck!

Just Sit Down Already

For the past couple of days there has been a new woman in the office. I don't know her name. I don't know anything about her except that, apparently, she can't keep still. I'm not saying that people have to sit at their desks and work, work, work, but the amount of travel this woman does is amazing. You'd think she was training to walk a marathon and you'd also think that her training involved several very short walks. Yesterday, she walked past my office approximately 50 times (this estimate separates each leg of the trip). Today, keep in mind that it is only 11:29, she has walked past at least 10 times.

Where is she going? Why can't she sit down for more than two minutes? Why must she keep passing my office? Doesn't all of this walking tire her out? How can she get any work done when she is constantly up for a stroll? Why doesn't she get a good pair of walking shoes?

Boob Stuff

I often wonder how people come upon my webpage. And by people, I mean the ones I don't know personally. Well, today I got my answer. Apparently, you can get to my blog by searching for "boob stuff" on the Yahoo search engine. This begs a myriad of questions:

1. Who searches for "boob stuff?"
2. What does one expect to find when searching for "boob stuff?"
3. How disappointed are you to come across my webpage during a search for "boob stuff?"
4. What other things can be found during a "boob stuff" search?

If you are the "boob stuff" searcher, please answer these questions for me. I really need to know.

Isn't Tomato Bisque just Cream of Tomato Soup?

I would posit that it is. My stomach would agree. Yesterday, the San Francisco Soup Company duped me. I was going to get the Butternut Squash, but Tomato Bisque just sounded so damn fancy and delicious. It wasn't.

I hate when people give something a new fancier name just to make you believe it's better than it is. Isn't "Kitchen Fresh Chicken" the same old crap from before? I guess if you consider the local KFC a kitchen and you consider fried things to be fresh, they're on to something. The question is, who now thinks, "I should eat healthy tonight. I'll have some fried chicken."

And isn't P. Diddy just Sean "Puffy" Combs? Who wasn't excited by the thought of what "P. Diddy" could bring us? More bling? No, the same old Cristal and hip-hop as before. Who didn't wonder if that "P" stood for Puffy and whether the "Diddy" was going to be the new word for Daddy? Who's he trying to fool? J. Lo? Does he think she will think he is a new man now? As if she'd say, "Well, he did change his name. I'm sure he doesn't carry weapons into nightclubs anymore."

And, perhaps most disturbingly, isn't a low-carb beer just a crappy watered down beverage? I mean really, if you're trying to be healthy or lose weight, just don't drink beer.

Stupid Person of the Month

This month's queen of the stupid people is Omarosa from the Apprentice. She has single handedly answered my question, "do stupid people realize that they're stupid?" Clearly, they do not. When Ereka, not too bright herself, said to Omarosa, "that's like calling the kettle black." Omarosa replied, "There you go with you racist comments. What did you just say about Black people?" Apparently, Omarosa has never seen a pot or a kettle.

Dairy

So, today my friend made a comment to me about how everyone thinks they are lactose intolerant. And I'm wondering, is this the new hip thing, kind of like how pink is the new black, or old is the new new? And, if it is, what is it replacing? What affliction did everyone used to think they had? Are we going to start seeing "Got Soy" ads everywhere? Will I have to fake illness after eating cheese fondue to be considered cool? Will I have to refrain from eating cheese in public because of this?

Last week, my milkshake brought all the boys to the yard. This week my milkshake will, apparently, make all the cool boys sick, so instead, we all have to wear old pink clothes while sipping soy lattes at Peet's - because it's always cool to hate Starbucks.

What will be next?

Love

So, I'm in a cab last night, a Yellow Cab to be exact. Another Yellow Cab pulls up next to us. I look over. The driver is flicking us off. My driver, a man who likes to describe most weeknights as "slooooow as hell," rolls down the window and says, "Hey, there's a lady on board, bitch." He then rolls the window back up, turns to me, smiles, and says, "the people here are so friendly. I love it." I could tell he meant it.

The Crazy Bus

Last night on my way to the Buc, I got on the crazy bus - the Number 19 heading North on Polk Street.

First, I stepped on the bus to hear a crazy woman fighting with a crazy man about the bible. Her take seemed to be that if you aren't Christian, you're going to hell, and, obviously, it was her job to inform you. His take, "you're on crack lady."

Second, I sat across from a woman who really looked like she was having a normal conversation with someone on her cell phone. Except there was no phone...not even one of those hidden earbuds. Nothing. Whoever she was talking to didn't understand why she was so upset, but kept trying to make her laugh. Worst of all, their conversation kept breaking up...I wonder if she uses Sprint?

Third, there was a transvestite who called everyone "Mama." The bus driver, the crazy invisible cell phone lady, the guy in the wheelchair who liked to yell, "wheelchair comin'" even when he was not actually in motion, his friend on the phone - who may, in fact, have been his mother.

Finally, there was a trick back door. No one, ok, none of the crazies could get it to work. One guy tried falling on it, another yelled at it, and the lady without the cell phone spoke very calmly to it. It just wasn't having it.

And this is why I love San Francisco. You're never as crazy as the person sitting next to you.

V.P. Talks Back

Just "happened" upon your l'il ol' 'BLOG, and was nonplussed to read a
blanket refusal to use a single one of my superb suggested topics.
Nice.

Need I remind you that suggesting stories for other people to write,
even if they have only the talent and not the interest in doing so, is
MY JOB? A job for which I am occasionally compensated (or perhaps will
be, someday)? A lot of very well-known (by their friends and/or family
members) and sought-after (by their debt collectors) writers would like
(nay, LOVE) for me to produce their material, and in this instance I
am miffed that you are not so easily influenced. I suspect it has
something to do with my magical convincin' powers only working on
Sunset Boulevard (or, more specifically, in hotel lounges located
thereon), or the fact that you like to "think for yourself." As law
schools across this great land like to say (if only through body
language, not so much words): We'll cure you of that yet!

On another note, thanks for mentioning my name not once, but twice, in
print. You're better than my publicist. How about a hyper-link to my
Friendster profile? Or perhaps I could send a nice headshot? Give it
some time to marinate before you answer.

Much love,
veeps

p.s. Would this entire letter be a great thing to post in your 'blog?
I thought so, too.

****

Now do you understand?

Pressure

So, I get a lot of Blog requests. Most of them are general requests for an update, but a lot of them come from V.P. (which means that they are quite specific). I have never taken one of V.P.'s suggestions/requests and I don't plan to start now. That said, I really want to discuss the other more general requests. As those of you who read my blog regularly and actually know me are aware, this is truly just the stuff in my head.

Sometimes my head is filled with boring work-like things and I won't write about that. Sometimes my head is full of funny things that won't translate well into writing. A lot of times, however, my head is empty. Shockingly, weeks go by when someone doesn't say something weird to me or I don't read a bizarre article or factoid in the newspaper or elevator. A lot of the time, stuff happens and I just don't think it's blogworthy. What I mean is, I don't really think you all want to read about the crazy lady at Home Depot who told me she could see my underwear because my pants were too big and she found that to be obnoxious and rude.

So, I'm left with huge gaps of time during which I have nothing to write about. Rather than make crap up, I wait until something strikes me. Today, nothing has so struck, but I felt like I should give an explanation for my long, often unexplained, absences.

Polaroid Warns Film Users Not to 'Shake It'

LONDON (Reuters) - Outkast fans like to "shake it like a Polaroid picture," but the instant camera maker is warning consumers that taking the advice of the hip-hop stars could ruin your snapshots.

Outkast's number one hit "Hey Ya" includes the "shake it" line as a reference to the motion that amateur photographers use to help along the self-developing film.

But in the "answers" section on the Polaroid Web site, the company says that shaking photos, which once helped them to dry, is not necessary since the modern version of Polaroid film dries behind a clear plastic window.

The image "never touches air, so shaking or waving has no effect," the company said on its Web site.

"In fact, shaking or waving can actually damage the image. Rapid movement during development can cause portions of the film to separate prematurely, or can cause 'blobs' in the picture."

A Polaroid spokesman added: "Almost everybody does it, thinking that shaking accelerates the development process, but if you shake it too vigorously you could distort the image. A casual shake typically doesn't affect it."

Polaroid said its film should be laid on a flat surface and shielded from the wind, and that users should avoid bending or twisting their pictures.

Of course, "lay it on a flat surface like a Polaroid picture," doesn't sound nearly as cool.

****

Is there anything to add? I think not.

Fatso

A report came out today stating that Robert Atkins, creator of the famously stupid Atkins diet, was overweight and had heart disease when he died. Dr. Atkins weighed in at a whopping 258 at the time of his death. He was considered obese by the CDC. And heart disease...well, duh.

None of this should come as a shock to anyone. We're talking about a man whose diet allowed him to eat a bacon double cheeseburger (without the bun of course), but wouldn't allow him to have a piece of gum (sugar = carbs, people). Holy clogged arteries. His widow is feverishly trying to explain all of this away, but c'mon lady.

He was a big guy who ate a lot of cheese. You do the math.

The Boob

Everyone is so freaked out about the Super Bowl Boob. Yes, there was a boob on the television. Yes, everyone, except me and Adam S., saw it. Yes, those with TiVo saw it multiple times. But guess what, it was just a boob. It wasn't a dancing boob. It wasn't a singing boob. It was just a regular old boob (I know it had that nipple ring on it...I saw pictures, but it was still just a boob).

I'm sure plenty of liberals and conservatives have seen boobs before. And, if you think it was the first boob your kid has seen, you're an idiot. So, stop freaking out about the boob. It was just a boob.

The only good thing about the boob is that it temporarily stopped everyone from talking about the DaVinci Code.

My Uppity Wallet

Recently, I lost my wallet. I cancelled my credit cards. I cried. I looked everywhere. It was gone. Two days later, I received a call from a man named Jerry. He had found my lost wallet and wanted to return it to me. I was excited. The process of returning the wallet was interesting.

Jerry was across town and we couldn't think of a good place to meet, so he offered to put my wallet in a cab and have it driven back to me. I agreed and $10.50 later, it was home. I did learn something through this experience, besides the fact that not every person is evil. I learned that, apparently, my wallet is too uppercrust to take the bus.

Screenings, Stars, Skiing, Soirees, and SWAG - Sundance 2004

Screenings
From surfing to romance to death to sex between brothers, the films at Sundance ranged from great to good to disturbing. There was indeed a little bit of everything.

Stars
They were crawling all over Park City. According to People and US magazines, Ashton and Demi, Courtney and David, Ben (without Jen), and Nick and Paris were among the many stars spotted in the snowy mountain town. According to me and Lori S., Mario Van Peebles, Mario Van Peebles' dad, and that guy who played Sara Gilbert's boyfriend on Roseanne were also in attendance.

Skiing
I suck at skiing and have the bruises to prove it. For some it was like riding a bicycle. I can only assume that Emily Z. is an excellent cyclist.

Soirees
Apparently, I missed some of the better shindigs and many required "credentials" to get in. We learned quickly that a pass with someone else's name on it accompanied by a wink and a smile worked just as well. It also helps to know the right people...or VP.

SWAG
If you leave Sundance without scoring some free stuff, you can only blame yourself. This became quite clear at SWAGdance 2004.

A general invite in IndieWIRE Newsletter announced that leftover stuff would be handed out at the atrium in the Marriott in what was to be known as SWAGdance. As people who enjoy free stuff, Lori S. and I set on our way. We could only be amused by what we found inside...

On the first table, there were Red Vines, a bowl of M&Ms, Peppermint Patties, Balance Bars, and one apple. On the second table, we found printer paper, warm diet coke, sticky pads, paper clips, and envelopes. Rummaging through these things was a slew of volunteers. Because we had some time to kill, Lori and I decided to sit down. It's not our fault that people began to believe that we were the hosts of this party. Well, at least it wasn't our fault until we decided to act as if we were; helping people choose the best balance bar for them and steering them away from the nasty M&Ms.

As the "party" dwindled, Lori and I realized that we had learned something from that experience: it doesn't matter how crappy the free stuff is, people will take it and they'll thank you for it too.

In the end, Sundance reminded me of a lot of things:
1. When you fall down you have to get back up or risk perishing in the snow on the side of the mountain,
2. One man's trash is another man's treasure, but trash isn't litter until you leave it behind,
3. A little niceness goes a long way...towards getting you into the restricted areas,
4. Everyone's a critic, and
5. Great art can take your soul to another place.

Home-wrecker

Perhaps it was the several layers of pink clothing I was wearing. Perhaps it was the air of what I was about to do...karaoke. Perhaps it was that he was certifiably insane. I'm not sure what it was, but the semi-crazy man who I ran into Saturday night knew something about me...something I didn't even know. Apparently, I'm a home wrecker. I'm a home wrecker and that guy is scary.

As I walked to the Mint, the man who had just yelled at another complete stranger for never being on time (from the look on that guy's face, he thought he was on time) turned to me. He felt the need to stop me from my evil ways by repeatedly informing me that I was a homewrecker. Interestingly, he gave me no advice on how to change, so it seems that I am still, by his standard, a homewrecker.

Note - as the frightening man accused me of breaking up families, I sought refuge in the only place one can go in these situations...Safeway. It's not just a grocery store.

Space

I was listening to NPR the other day, as I often do. It makes people at work think I'm on an important conference call. They have been talking about space a lot recently. On this particular day, the discussion was centered around getting Americans excited about the space program. Callers had lots of great and sometimes stupid ideas. One person, in particular, stood out to me.

The panelists all agreed that something about this recent trip to mars was anti-climactic. People just didn't seem to care. They were all baffled about why, until one woman spoke up. She claimed that America's disinterest was due to the fact that a robot was the one sent to mars. Although she agreed that it was dangerous to send humans to mars or even to space, she felt that we should do it anyway. That's how we'll get people involved, she claimed. Slowly panelists came to see her point, agreeing that a robot taking pictures was boring. Another caller said that we need to send a man up there with a flag because "that's what it's all about." It does seem really "American" to send someone to his death, so that people can say "cool." It also seems really boring to send a huge digital camera into space. I guess its a no win situation. Maybe we should work on poverty. Nah...that's boring.

Utilities

I hate utility companies.

First, I hate how they have those cutesy 1-800 numbers with their names in them. I don't want letters, I want numbers. It's a phone number, not a phone word.

Second, I hate how they always have a stupid answer for every intelligent question I have.
Q - "Why do you have to "install" my cable if its already installed?"
A - "Oh, we have come out to install it no matter what, so someone has to be there."
Q - "But why?"
A - "We have to go out to make sure you plugged it in correctly and install everything."
Q - "Install what?"
A - "Your cable."

Third, I hate how everytime I call, they tell me I'm paying too much money for what I'm getting. Duh. Why do I have to call for you to realize that? "Excuse me, did you know that you could be paying $20 less for what you're getting?" " Yes, actually, I enjoy being gorged by your stupid company."

Finally, I hate how they always try to sell me something else. "This month, you can also sign up for a new horse with free installation. Only $350 per month" Ohhh, what a deal.

I hate it all, but, unfortunately, I love the Food Network, TLC and MTV.

My Blog

Like a wildfire, word of my blog seems to have spread to all corners of my office (thanks Sujal). It's weird finding out from others that they read about Roy or the Yankees or one of my many insecurities. It's weird, but I love it. A blog is like a public diary, except I don't really write about anything real and I have to deal with critiques/comments from everyone who reads it. If it were a real diary, no one would actually tell me that they've read it and I could go on pretending. Now, I feel tremendous pressure to be clever and witty when really I want to dwell in the depths of low brow toilet humor.

I guess this is my way of saying "don't expect much from me, and I will deliver, but expect too much and you will be disappointed...promise"

Hit Me Baby, One More Time

This week, everyone was talking about Britney's short-lived marriage...everyone but me. Embarrisingly, I didn't find out until Wednesday that she and Mr. Alexander had been married and 55 hours later were single again. The question I ask is why?

Is it because I don't get enough "news" mags like US or People? Is it because my cable isn't working? Is it because my friends don't care enough to keep me informed? I used to know about things like this before the television in the elevator reported it. Now I read about in the National Report section of the New York Times. Travesty indeed.

This is why we cannot re-elect Bush.

Worst Date Ever

So, I was going to dedicate an entry to the worst New Year's date ever, but since all I can remember is him hitting me in the head with a door and me eating a lot of cupcakes (and half a biscuit from Popeye's), I don't feel like I can adequately describe the evening. Also, I'm afraid he'll cry.