“Did you see that?”
“Yeah. If I would have ever talked to my Dad like that-”
“I know. But that’s what makes him The Almighty. Patience.”
“But still, how many times does he have to bring up the cross?”
“Well…it had to hurt.”
“Oh no doubt. But what’s it been, 2000 years? Aren’t they supposed to be big on forgiveness up here?”
“So I thought. And we are all God’s children so he is kind of busy.”
“Still, that’s got to be really hard to get over. And the way he says it, Daddy-”
“No, he doesn’t use Daddy then. He makes sure to use Father because that’s how everyone remembers it. And I’m going to be telling it at parties. It’s Father, why didn’t you hear the whole thing. I said ‘they know not what they’re doing’, but I also said ‘so get me out of here.'”
I started to lose my hair in my 20s and, as comedians do, I tried to compensate with humor. I told people that my losing my hair was akin to being higher on the evolutionary chain as eventually we would all be hairless little bald guys like the aliens in Close Encounters of The Third Kind.
But the fact is, Darwin got it wrong. The evolutionary path depicted in the photo above is not true. Because, even though I have all but lost nearly all the hair on my head, it’s popping up everywhere else. The hair on my ears sprouts like a chia pet given sugar water, it’s there before I can see it. And the ones in my nose, yikes, they come sprouting out and duel with my mustache hairs before I can catch them with the nose diggers. I don’t know if that’s the technical term, but let’s face it, that’s the device’s only purpose.
And my back. Come on! How in the world can I reach back there and hit that exact spot with a razor blade? It’s just in, from what I can tell, three of four areas. And for some reason, the water pats it down so it doesn’t get removed. I’m very flexible and I can reach the spot, but the little suckers (actually when I remember, they’re already kind of long) can’t decide if they want me to go with the grain or against. It’s a conspiracy. How can I get a girlfriend, who might want to take care of it for me, when I have these little patches that make me look like a Halloween costume where I used too much spirit gum because I wanted to get an authentic Planet of the Apes look and not just buy a costume?
The worst thing might be, that I keep catching myself in windows as I walk through Long Beach, and I’m starting to slump. I immediately adjust it, but it has to be a conscious decision. I’m worried.
And I’ve been craving bananas.
In 2010, I participated in a UCLA study called Y2K. Don’t ask me why it was called that and hadn’t started until ten years later, I didn’t go to college so it must be stuff that smarter people understand.
The study consisted of ten hours of tests to amass data on the brain, cognitive thinking and reaction times. I finished the tests in seven hours and still got paid for ten. Take that, high school guidance counselor who thought that my wanting to be a magician was a waste of my math skills!
Two years later I received a follow up email that offered some more tests, this time just online from the convenience of your home, in exchange for a $15 Amazon gift card. I liked the cash better but I also like books, it was quick and easy and I read Nick Hornsby’s A Long Way Down. If you like my blog and haven’t read any of his novels, you should. My fellow writer’s group writers compared me to him and I was infinitely flattered.
Then there was another email about a few more tests, a little bit longer, and you got a $30 Amazon gift card. But you had to send in a sample of your saliva for some kind of genetic study.
So the package arrived. A small tube with a small funnel attached that you were to spit into until you reached a certain line. Now I’m not a spitter. I can’t hock a lugie, I can only spray a bit. So it took me a good fifteen minutes to fill up to the appropriate amount; which an average guy could do in one take. Then I sealed it up and sent it on its way.
But now I’m nervous. What if they’re able to tell all my shortcomings from my saliva and the difficulty I have with spitting. What if they know I still drool on my pillow? What if they know that I’m afraid of girls with too many tattoos? What if they discover that I cheated on my DMV test?
Oh well, the books are here. Perhaps Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance will calm my fears.
It’s Wednesday, which means this self-employed guy has to use all of you for his water cooler talk and submit my random thoughts.
Why can we pay bills online, they’re even paying for things with smart phones now, but the laundromat change machine won’t accept a slightly wrinkled $1 bill?
Why are they making dryer sheets so heavy now no one can pick them up and carry them to the garbage?
Boy I have been out of touch working so much at home on this web design gig. I did not know that it was now common speaking style to use f*ck every other word. Every one was speaking that way at the laundromat and I felt so out of touch. I guess it replaced using “like” every other word here in Southern California.
Note to self’s mental health self: Never forget your earphones when doing laundry at the laundromat.
Yesterday I chased an ice cream truck for ten blocks only to discover it was just a white van driven by a guy with an ice cream truck ring tone.
Do they make “Really Great Glue?” Because every time I open a Super Glue, it glues it self shut and I only get that one use.
I’m really strong. I break rubber bands every time I stretch them.
There is currently no better candy in the world than pretzel M& M’s. They are a sweet salty sensation. And they make me poetic.
If the chance of rain is 100%, why is it still a chance?
My best friend from second grade, Ian Brown, still hasn’t found me.
My father is Norwegian, which means he married an Italian woman because he wanted better food! I have grown up eating Italian food and my brother and I were always grateful for lent, because in our house that meant Friday=pizza! I’m sure my mom would tell you that’s because we were picky eaters and didn’t want to eat fish, but as an adult I know that she prefers pizza over fish, especially mine.
I learned how to make pizza as a young man and my folks love my pizza, so I make it for them every time I visit. My retired, gentle, polite parents become 7 years old again, asking from the comfort of the television set if it’s ready yet.
“I only got two hands here! Oh!”
Being from Chicago, everyone asks, and assumes, that I would like Chicago-style deep dish pizza. Funny, they never assume that I’m a gangster, that I vote twice, or do I have scars from being blown about by the Windy City; the other stereotypes Chicagoans have faced.
I don’t really like Chicago-style; it’s too thick and packed and I like being able to walk after I eat. My pizza is somewhere in between-not quite that thick but not quite New York thin. Which is fine, what’s up with that whole folding thing? I can see why because of the size, but I like looking at my pizza when I eat it. I think it’s beautiful, especially when the cheese is golden brown. And there’s nothing more fun than the cheese stretching out from your mouth to the slice in a long string. That don’t happened when it’s folded.
But let’s get to one of my pet peeves and the title of this edition of Amusingz: Pizza should not be eaten with a fork! That’s why the crust is there. You grab it with your hand, the other end is pointy so it goes in your mouth easily. Come on!
Now deep dish is sometimes eaten with a fork due to the weight, that is when a pound of mozzarella (pronounced mootz-a-rella, not matz-arella) cheese and two pounds of sausage (pronounced sausage) top each slice. Then, if you’re a wuss, you’re allowed to slice the first 5/6 off, so that it doesn’t just fall off onto the plate. But once it’s stabilized, grab it and go! That’s the thickest crust of all and therefore the best handle.
So, please, eat your pizza with your hands, and I’m off. I’m hungry.
Wheaties originated the phrase “Breakfast of Champions” back in 1927 and it is an iconic tagline that was punctuated by its endorsements by athletes. From your blogger’s comedic perspective, I’m wondering what today’s breakfast should be called.
Now there were rumors that Babe Ruth, who was a big endorser for Wheaties, had beer and rye for breakfast and was still able to perform like a champion. But if you look at the modern American diet how are we performing?
Of course when we were kids, our breakfast consisted of a bowl of sugar in the shape of, let’s see: crowns (Captain Crunch), flying saucers (Quisp), and four leaf clovers (Lucky Charms); among others that charmed our palettes. It really wasn’t about the cereal, it was about the box and the character. Count Dracula and Frankenberry were way cooler than the nutrition information panel they’re now required to put on there. And man did those cereals perform! We rode our bikes, played baseball, had dirt fights, fished for crayfish in the creek, and hid and seeked…and that was before school.
Maybe the reason we took naps in kindergarten was because we were all simultaneously crashing from the sugar high.
So I started considering this blog as I stood in line with my coffee at 7-11. I really can’t handle that much caffeine anymore, so my cup is filled 7/8 with decaf. ( to think at one time I could have two Venti lattes and two double espressos.) And I’m standing in line with people holding their cups in one hand and a packaged or “fresh” pastry in the other. Caffeine and sugar. And I think of all the people I see lined up at McDonalds or enjoying a Grand Slam breakfast (don’t think the athletes endorse this one) and here are my slogan ideas:
Breakfast: Hey, You Got Two Good Hours In
Breakfast of the Obese: Hey We’re At 35%, Come On America We Can Hit 75% by 2014
Breakfast of the Couch: Where Else Did You Think You Were Going After All of That?
Breakfast of the Buzzed: I Can Do Anything You Can Do Faster
Breakfast of the Given Up: These Taste Good, Heck with the Diet
But why am I even teasing? Eating a nutritious, healthy breakfast would mean that you had the energy to real do something, and then no excuses not to achieve your goals. A donut and a nap sounds a lot easier.