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.

Best/Strangest/Coolest/Most shocking of 2003

While at my parent's house this holiday season, I've spent a considerable amount of time watching television (I also spent a considerable amount of times playing cards with my grandmothers, but that it not nearly as interesting). I love end of the year television. Every station feels it is their duty to tell us about the est of 2003. In the past week, I have learned about the 101 Juiciest Hollywood Hookups (#1 - Ben and Jen), the 101 Most Shocking entertainment Moments (#1 - OJ Simpson Trial), the 40 top videos of the year (# 1 - Unwell by Matchbox Twenty) and the best and worst moments of Trading Spaces in 2003. It's a wonder people ever watch television during the rest of the year. If I had known that Ben and Jen were the juiciest hollywood hookup, I would never have spent all of that time learning about Demi and Ashton or Beyonce and Jay-Z.

I feel like I waste so much time on the least juicy couples, and the not very shocking moments, not to mention all of those terrible music videos. Its not very efficient. Maybe they should have a show in the beginning of the year predicting what will be big in 04. That way we could all program our TiVo machines accordingly.

Big in '04...Hear that Entertainment Tonight? Now, there's your new year's resolution.

Friendster

Friendster is a cruel cruel mistress. I love it, I hate it, I can't live without it. At first I thought it wasn't for me, but now...and, yet, it is always hurting me. Sometimes it's subtle and simply freezes my computer, other times it shows me that those I thought were friends don't want me in their circle...and it hurts.

Just today I logged on to find out that my "friend" Phil doesn't think I'm good enough to be his "friendster friend." Well Phil, have I got a testimonial for you. Jerk. I don't need Phil (Phil - if you're reading this it doesn't mean that you shouldn't accept me as a friendster friend), but I do need friendster.

Well, actually, I don't.

Twas the Night Before Christmas...Eve

Here I am in sunny Heathrow, Florida. It is the night before the night before Christmas, I have not purchased a single gift, and I have no idea what I am going to do to remedy that situation. I should be sleeping or at least making a list that, due to time constraints, cannot be checked twice, but I am not. I wonder what the rest of the Christmas celebrating world is doing tonight. If my house is any sort of indicator, they are all asleep and those who are not are playing on the internet. Maybe its because this year went by as fast as a night when I've had one too many cocktails or maybe its because I live in California and visit Florida for Christmas, but I'm just not in that holiday spirit.

It all started the day I got yelled at the train station. I was on my way to go shopping, I went through the wrong gate and Mr. Scrooge McMuni Man actually left his ticket booth to yell at me for five minutes. I promptly bought him a blow-up Grinch doll (on sale at Walgreens) and explained to him that he sucked for roughly five minutes. Usually, that sort of in your face revenge makes my day, but this time it did nothing but make me think about why people suck. Then there are those Salvation Army bell ringers. Although they are trying to do nothing but good, you can't help but hate them because of their stupid annoying bells. Finally, at the airport, this woman tried to cut in the Starbucks line because it was 6:00 in the morning and she was "really tired." That's so strange to be tired at that hour...

So, until today I was left with nothing but a whiny voice, a bah humbug spirit, and no ideas for my very last minute Christmas shopping. Then I heard about Roy. He's going home. He can't speak (which means we still won't know what really happened the night of October 3, 2003), but he'll be with his loved ones...maybe even the tigers. And that's when I remembered what Christmas is all about...getting presents.

The Mug

For the last few weeks, there has been something I've been meaning to do. The longer I wait, the more likely it is that I'll never do it. What is it you ask? Empty the travel mug filled with tea, most certainly moldy tea. Why do I wait you ask? First, it was pure laziness. Cleaning out the mug, which in the early stages only involved a simple pour and wash, would require walking all the way to the kitchen. I could, of course, use the bathroom, but something grosses me out about that. Ironically, I am grossed out by washing a mug in a bathroom sink, but not by keeping a mug full of mold in my office.

The truth is, I wait because I am quite grossed out by the mug, which is why I won't touch it. It sits their tall and gross next to both my water cup, that is probably swimming in bacteria just being next to the moldy mug, and another, pretty dirty, but not yet moldy, mug. At some point, I am sure something will have to be done about the mug, but that day has not come and I am certainly not the "do something about mold" kind of person. So, until that person, and that day, arrive, I sit with the mold.

I guess it doesn't help that it is sitting right under my lamp too. Well, it helps the mold...