I Miss Doritos

I’m a snacker. But not just any snack. I loves my chips. I don’t keep them around the house because if I open the bag, it’s gone. People that have just a handful and then close them up with one of those over-sized bulldog clips are crazy people. First of all, hello, you open them and they lose their freshness no matter how tightly you seal the bag. It’s a fact, the same kind of fact as “your car loses value the minute you drive it off the lot.” So accept it. Second, how in the world can you have, like, half a dozen chips? That doesn’t curb anything. That’s like giving a dog one biscuit and then wondering why he’s staring at you. It’s not enough. And third, and most important, they’re friends. They’ve been living in the bag, all snuggled up and really got to know each other. They don’t want to be separated. Some of them are even just plain nostalgic for the good old days when people “lived together, died together.” Either way, they want  to be eaten all at once.

The thing that saves me from being 5’7″ by 5’7″ is that they don’t make my favorite snack anymore and haven’t since I was in my 20s: Plain Doritos. You can now get Cool Ranch, Blazin’ Buffalo & Ranch, Fiery Habanero, Nacho Cheese, Natural White Nacho Cheese, Poppin’ Jalapeño, Ranchero, Salsa Verde, Smokin’ Cheddar BBQ, Spicy Nacho, Toasted Corn, Zesty Taco, Cheeseburger (X-13D), Sizzlin’ Picante, Spicy Sweet Chili, Hot Wings & Blue Cheese. Do you know what they all have in common? You get s%$t all over your fingers!

What happened to the plain? They had such a great taste or maybe it was a simpler time. It might have stemmed from my love of plain ole Fritos that had started as a child. My grandmother used to make the most awesome sandwich (pronounced samwitch): peanut butter and jelly on white bread, cut into diagonals, separated a touch so that a river of Fritos corn chips (along both angles!) could run through it. OMG, that was magical! She also had a never-ending bowl of M & M’s available, so who wanted to go back home? Plus she bought us a toy each time we stayed there.  I also had a “Frito Bandito” eraser that fit on the top of your pencil when I was a kid, but that got deemed politically incorrect and so the Bandito was deported (Oh-that’s so politically incorrect too!)

Fritos come in many flavors as well, not quite as many as the Doritos, but I was super disappointed two nights ago at 1:00am when I was slaving over a website design and 7-11 couldn’t satisfy my jones. But there is still a snacking nirvana I enter at times: Fritos scoops are awesome, and if you break a pretzel rod into a small piece, place it in the crevice and dip it into Dean’s French onion dip, your mouth will be ecstatic. Luckily I only make that my dinner once every couple of months, so I stay thin. But attention Frito Lay company: if you have any plain Doritos laying around, they’re probably still good, and I bet all those little guys would like to live out their purpose, in my stomach.

Hump Day

turkey bacon avocado

Last Wednesday I wrote a blog about The Loneliness of the Brita and my lack of good water-cooler chat. So I repeat that format to get over this hump day like everyone else and just make random statements.

The photo above was taken at a fast-food establishment which I probably shouldn’t name but it rhymes with Bubway. My question is what is a turkey bacon avocado? Is the turkey and bacon where the pit usually is and this is some kind of strange genetic engineering. It scares me.

I’ve never yelped. Not even once.

It’s kind of sad that Hump Day comes only two days after the start of the work week. Are we really that tired or bored that fast?

I forgot so much I learned in math in school. I heard the word perimeter the other day and had to look it up to remember what it meant. So the teachers were wrong; you won’t use it in everyday life.

Rogaine is for suckers.

Peanut butter should be the fifth food group.

If dolphins are so smart, how come they never figure out how to break out?

My inner jukebox is playing that “Voulez-vous coucher aver moi ce soi” song this morning. Unfortunately that’s all the words it knows so it just keeps repeating.

I have a profile on OkCupid. I wrote this woman and she wrote back, asked what kind of performer I am. I told her magician. She disappeared.

If it’s such a smart phone, why do I have to tell it what to do.



Sunglasses are Cool, On Everyone But Me

sunglasses are just too difficult

I used to wear sunglasses all the time in an attempt to a) be cool b) promote an air of mystery c) keep my contacts from burning like hell when something flew in them. But somewhere in my late 30s, I started getting up early, liking the sun and wanting to see without a drop shadow, so I stopped wearing them.

Well recently, while visiting Chicago, my mom commented on how she was surprised that I didn’t wear sunglasses because people with blue eyes blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Now it’s not that I don’t listen to my mom, I just tend to do that with everyone. I apologize to you all if you thought I was listening. It is a biological defect that promotes a healthy imagination and therefore is valuable in my lines of work as performer and writer, but..it’s really rude. Sorry, I’m seeing someone.

So when I got back to Long Beach in late March I decided I should try wearing sunglasses again, simply because the sun never shuts off in Southern California and I was afraid that my mom told me that the blue fades and you end up with brown eyes. There’s nothing wrong with brown eyes, I just have a lot of clothes that bring out my blue eyes and I can’t afford a new wardrobe at this time.

The Back of the Head Move

So upon donning sunglasses again I began to take notice of a few “cool” moves that I felt I needed to adopt. The first one is the habit of wearing the sunglasses on the back of the head when they’re not obscuring your clear vision. I saw this on Diners and Whatever Else (again with the short attention span) with Guy Ferrari. What? Oh sorry, Fieri. He’s always wearing them on the back of his head and at first I thought that was so he looked like a punk version of Cousin It to people behind him. But then I realized that it’s just cause it looks cool, so I tried it. Well…

I have a shaved head. So one of two things happens: either the sunglasses won’t stay in place and just keep sliding down my neck no matter how many times I push them up, or, they get so slimy because I do have a shaved head and I sweat a lot. Which means that I must constantly wipe them off with my t-shirt and then I just look like a drooler. Either way not a pretty picture.

The Back of the Shirt Move

The second thing I saw, at the grocery store, was a guy who took his sunglasses off, folded them closed, then reached behind to hook them on the back of his t-shirt. Nice. That way you don’t have a crew-neck t-shirt doing a lousy impersonation of a v-neck. So I tried it. Well it didn’t hook. They fell into the back of my t-shirt and I spun around like a dog chasing his tail trying to dig them out.  I scratched my back horribly in the process.

The Loser

After failing at the first two moves, I went back to my old standby: I lost my sunglasses. Or left them somewhere. Or they’re behind something. I don’t know, I just remembered that I used to go through them fast. So I’m just giving them up again. Brown eyes aren’t bad; they’re more mysterious.

The Curse of the Omnivore

For about the last 25 years I have been primarily vegetarian.  There are exceptions: like I said in the blog the other day my mom’s Italian meatballs  rock (just have to qualify Italian because I didn’t like Swedish meatballs even as a kid.) I have sushi maybe five times a year and I’ve recently been introduced to Wahoo’s fish tacos and they are delicious. But seriously, it adds up to about a dozen times a year that I have anything labeled “flesh.” (Girls, that doesn’t mean everything)

But here’s the thing: I don’t care. I am not into it because of animal rights, I have owned leather shoes and I really, really don’t care what you eat. I wish the opposite was true.

I do my best not to proclaim my vegetarianism because then it becomes a label. I can go along with anyone to any restaurant and merely discreetly order a salad and no one has to be the wiser. Because when it comes out that I am a vegetarian I am often faced with The Wrath of the Omnivore!

I don’t exactly know when it became fashionable to label oneself an Omnivore. Obviously that word has been around for a long time, but there seems to be a movement. I don’t know if the bacon guys started it, because there seems to be more bacon around on top of burgers than ever before. I don’t know if it’s the chicken guys; maybe they teamed up with the bacon guys because chickens are more wiry. Or maybe it’s the beer guys, because I know when I used to drink even I wanted to eat White Castle. Or maybe people just want to eat meat and they can sniff out those of us that don’t and they’re on the attack. Whatever it is, I’m suddenly faced with people telling me that I’m wrong and that we’re naturally omnivores. So that got me thinking about whether that was true. And if so, how far would it go back. Picture two early homo-whatever they were when they were cavemen.

“Ungh” (translate: Want some fruit?)

“Garngh Ungh” (No I want to eat the animal to show I’m more powerful)

“Ungh La Loo” (Really, cause this fruit is way prettier, makes me want to eat it more than that hairy beast)

“Garngh Gahungh Rahungh” (Yes, but I need to eat him before he eats me)

Points (Too late)


Again, I’m not hear to preach my side, so please don’t preach yours. I just know that when I eat a vegetarian diet I feel better. Please realize I will never give up pizza and go vegan. So if you feel better having a  double bacon cheese burger and that gives you energy like my diet does then help yourself. I don’t know CPR.



A Conversation Between Angels 2

So, what are you in for?

Heart attack.


Yeah, you can say that again. You?

Natural causes.


So what do you think so far?

I could do without all the harp music, I mean Jesus Christ John Lee Hooker is up here, can’t we hear some blues.

No, from what I hear you’re supposed to leave the blues on Earth. And you’re really not supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain up here.

Oh yeah, right. Sorry.

Oh, no, I’m not offended, I’d just watch the powers that be.

Yeah, kind of strict.

Right? How about that St. Peter and the check-in?

Jesus-I mean yeah, what’s with all the questions? Like I really remember why I told me ex-wife she looked fat.

Yeah, and how do I know if I achieved everything I wanted to on Earth. I died!

I’m sure I didn’t. I really wanted an Ex-wife Number 3.

Well at least it’s pretty here.

I guess. Too clean. And the food’s kind of bland, all healthy. I miss a good Italian Beef.

I Miss the Meatballs

I moved from Chicago to Southern California 2 1/2 years ago. I’d always wanted to move here and it’s turned out to meet those expectations like a concierge at a fancy hotel opening the door. But there’s things I miss about Chicago:

I miss the rain. It doesn’t rain here. Rain here is the equivalent of a cheap squirt gun-you get a lithe stream for a few squeezes of the trigger and then it just spits. People freak out here when it rains, since it happens so infrequently, but they have no clue what rain attacking at a 45 degree angle feels like.

I miss the thunderstorms. Again, infrequent rain=infrequent thunder, and please refer to the above to see how the rain here falls and then imagine how often thunder accompanies it.

I miss people flipping each other off. In Chicago, when you do something douche-y in your car, the other driver flips you off. Perhaps you return it, perhaps you just accept you deserved it. Either way, it’s part of the driving experience and it’s on the DMV test. If you do that in Southern California, you would think you’d slapped someone’s baby, the look is just “Dude, that’s harsh.” They also often say that. Fact is, there’s more douche-y drivers. More lanes=more opportunities for bad driving.

I miss skateboard-free sidewalks. OMG, you have to move out of the way! And it’s not just teens. Guys in their 30s use it as transportation. I see people dressed for work.

While we’re at it, ride your bike on the street! There is never any traffic in Long Beach, rush hour here could be compared to too many fat people on It’s a Small World, yet people insist on riding their bikes on the sidewalks. They even built bike lanes and no one uses them!

I apologize, that was not that funny. I just really needed to get that off my chest. Now let’s return to the subject of today’s blog:

I miss winter hats. On women, I don’t care about guys. But there’s something really cute about a woman in a winter hat, especially if she has long curly hair. Yesterday I saw a dude at the laundromat with a winter hat and a tank top. That’s just douche-y.

I miss: Grant Park and the spitting fountain in Millennium Park, really tall buildings that you almost fall over when you look up, Wrigley Field, the public transpiration system (the El) that’s sooo much better than it is out here, the street fests, Lincoln Square, the (better) guacamole at El Tapatio, St. Patrick’s Day really being celebrated and all the people I met there that I don’t see often enough when I visit.

I miss making my folks laugh every couple of weeks when I’d visit.

And, since I don’t get back often enough, I miss my mom’s meatballs.

I’m sure everyone in Chicago will get all of this and everyone in California will think I’m a douche. I’m flipping you off.