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Monthly Archives: October 2012

Good lord, its Mrs. Kravitz

You gotta respect old school, batshit, don’t know no better, crazy.

It has a certain power all its own.

And coffee isn’t even involved.

Because its a known fact that nothing scares crazy out of hiding than cheap Chinese food.

Panda Express, the USA’s contribution to the fall of Asian culture as we know it.

So when China pony’s up the complaints about Western culture destroying tradition, we can point to Panda Express.

Your welcome.

So I am in line at Panda Express, going multicultural.

And then I see her.

Beige elastic waisted pants pulled up high, like to the base of her bra high.

The shirt might have once been a tablecloth at an Italian restaurant, because red and white never go out of style.

The hair is black, like black that came out of a bottle black, and not hair dye, but like India ink type black.

Skin like the decades old, sunbaked dash of an old Chrysler.

Sensible shoes. I haven’t seen Earth Shoes in about 30 years, but I am sure they are comfortable.

At first I thought she was drawing on the glass separating her from the food with her nose, like you used to do on a foggy window as a kid?

And then I realize that she is just looking intently at the food.

All of it.

I am not even sure she is in line at this point, she is just darting back and forth.

And, I am not sure why this makes it better, she is a mumbler.

Here is the top three things she said during the whole time I was in line:

  • “The pan’s empty, how the hell am I supposed to order it if its empty? Is the fat Mexican guy making more? When?” (This is not said to the counter help, just to herself.)
  • Moo Shoo Pork? Why would anyone eat that? I like pork, but you don’t even know whats in Moo Shoo.
  • $9.20? Why $.20? Thats how they get you. I don’t carry dimes.”

At the end of most sentences there is a flutter of her fingers, almost like she is shooing away a bug.

Perhaps she see the bugs and we don’t, that doesn’t mean they’re not there.

I just realized that she doesn’t have a name yet. I will call her Mrs. Kravitz, from the really old show “Bewitched”. (She was loud and really annoyingly busy.)

But I think the highlight of my whole encounter with Mrs. Kravitz, was when she noticed the Chicken Egg Roll tray was empty.

One of the kitchen guys was walking by behind the counter with a dirty pan and a filthy apron.

“ExCUSE me!” (Only one syllable of one word was louder and screechy than the rest.)

“Que?” In Los Angeles, this is the secret code word that means the conversation should switch to Spanish if you want participation.

“Are there more egg rolls? In the back? Are they making more? Is there a wait? How much are they? What if I get 3 of them?”

All of these questions were delivered rapid fire, with no chance for the guy to answer. Not that he was going to, because, unless I am totally wrong, his facial expression and lack of any sort of affirmative facial expression

means that he understood none of it.

Thats ok, I don’t think she is that interested in answers, just questions.

But I did help her count her change, because she thought the cashier had short changed her.

She counted it five times, each time muttering a different amount.

And then she turned to me and handed me her money.

“Count this. I think she’s stealing from me.”

I counted it, and then I counted it out loud, showing her the count.

Twice.

Finally, she believed me, and took her money back.

And then, eyeing me like the sneaky dude I am, she counted it to make sure I didn’t take any.

And then she grabbed her stuff, glared at no one in particular, and stomped her comfortable shoes out the door.

Awesome.

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Posted by on October 31, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

I didn’t invite you to get all up in my business.

Nosy Rosy is all up in your business.

The line in Starbucks is long and slow.

A new cashier can effect you like constipation.

Annoying as hell and takes forever.

And, adding to that general sense of annoyance, is Rosy.

Nosy Rosy.

Nosy, because I have so far seen her but into 2 cashier/customer conversations in order to offer suggestions about how to make the drink better, or offer advice on how to write it up.

But an interesting dynamic has come over the line. Its a lot like that scene from the Helen Keller movie, where the little blind and deaf girl roams from plate to plate during a meal, and nobody says a word.

Same thing here.

No one is really talking to her, but for the most part they are just tolerating her.

I have dated women like that.

It becomes a teeth grating ass-clench of a pet peeve for me.

Like now.

I am kind of lost in my revery when a voice cuts into my thoughts.

“What are you having?”

Shit.

The line has looped around and Nosy Rosy has pulled even with me in passing.

I was hoping to avoid this.

I almost bite my lip in anticipation.

I know that no matter what I say, she will pony up something else under the pretense that I will like it better.

I just want my coffee.

I also toy with the idea of giving her some gibberish like I sometimes do with the crazies I run into.

But that could backfire.

Best to just be confusing.

“Who are you?”

“Huh?” She hesitates for half a second before jumping back in. “You look like a straight coffee guy.”

Ok, she’s accurate, but still annoying.

Unrelated facts are almost as good as crazy in this case.

“All the coffee here is free trade, thats important!” I pick up a 1 pound bag of coffee beans and hand it to her.

People have this automatic reflex when you hand them things.

They take it.

I am beginning to see the gears turning in her head.

There.

The moment her mind makes the conscious connection with the idea that I am wasting her time, you can see it in her eyes.

And then, its just like a cop at the scene of the crime, shooing away the tourists.

Move along, nothing to see here.

And just like that, she’s gone.

Gonna be a good day.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Take your crack pipe and go back to New York.

Halloween is always on a cold, drafty night at the end of October.

Except if its Halloween in Southern California.

It was low 80’s today, blue skys, and the beach looks awesome.

I saw on the news that the East Coast is bracing for a terrible storm.

Sucks to be you, just saying.

You can argue how awesome NY is compared to Southern California all you like, but that sort of thing never happens here.

New York’s biggest issue is envy.

Heres what I mean.

If you talk to 10 separate New Yorkers and tell them you are from California, half of them will launched into a wholly unasked for list of why they feel New York is better.

Try the same thing with Californians.

Tell 10 people from Los Angeles you are from New York and all of them will say more or less the same thing.

Cool.

Back to the beach.

There is some sort of event going on in Hermosa Beach today involving an organized walk from the Manhattan pier to the Hermosa pier and back.

Not sure what its about, does it really matter?

It is Breast Cancer Awareness month, maybe its for that.

I didn’t sign up, but I am wishing I did.

The shirt rocks.

Its all about the shirt for me.

And when I saw that everyone participating got a little medal, I about shit myself.

I love medals.

At least the kind you get for silly stuff like 5K’s.

The other kind usually involve dying while doing something heroic, thanks but no.

I have the utmost respect, but I figured out a long time ago, that is not my place in all of this.

Nobody was ever awarded a medal for a 5K posthumously. (After you’re dead.)

Despite the fact that running a 5K in beach sand can make you want to die. (I hate running.)

There are two types of people that do these events.

Well, three, but let me get to the first two.

The first is the serious competitor.

This guy is a runner, but a 2nd tier runner.

What that means is he’s not ready to do a marathon, but he is serious about his shit.

The Nike’s are new and expensive.

The heart monitor on his wrist is taking pulse, BP, and God knows what else and uploading it to a website real time.

He not just hardcore, he’s expensive hardcore.

And here is why he will never run a marathon.

Because there is some penniless exchange student from Kenya that will kick his ass and spit him out in a marathon and he knows it, expensive shit or not.

So he will always be the slightly big fish with all the expensive shit in the small pond.

But he does get the medal.

Damn him.

 
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Posted by on October 29, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Bittermac and the blustery day.

Kind of like an edgier Winnie the Pooh.

And who doesn’t love Pooh?

Pooh was the shit when I was little.

Sunday night, dinner, bath, footie jammies, and then lay in front of the tv and watch Pooh get his big ass stuck in a hole.

Awesome.

Few things in life are that basic and innocent.

And that whole phrase “Innocence lost” is kind of a tough one to get, right up until someone asks you, “When was the last time you watched Winnie the Pooh and the blustery day”?

And then it makes sense.

Having kids is a great excuse to watch.

But what do you do when your kids grow up?

Now you have no excuse.

And Winnie is the epitome of the simple mind having a simple life.

No brains, no headaches.

In fact, he is so uncomplicated that he was used as the example of Taoism. (In a really simplistic nutshell, living an uncomplicated life.)

I read the book 25 years ago, but the tagline of the book is incredible and has stayed with me throughout the years.

“While Eeyore frets …
… and Piglet hesitates
… and Rabbit calculates
… and Owl pontificates
…Pooh just is.”

I try not to get too weepy touchie feelie here, this is just a crude little blog after all, but this is one of those phrases that you can read a few times and come up with something more each time.

I honestly miss those nights in front of the tv in my jammies.

Walt Disney was the MAN back in the day.

What started as a grainy black and white cartoon of Steamboat Willie, has become the worldwide giant of DISNEY.

The Mouse is powerful.

Do NOT anger the Mouse.

No more on that subject, A) Not looking to offend the Mouse. and B) Some of the Mouse’s minions are blog fans.

All good here.

I am glad Disneyland moved away from the ticket books.

Pay your entry fee and your done, its all inclusive after that.

Where as, with the tickets, you never had enough E tickets, and you always threw away a lot of A tickets because they never got used.

They should make it like a cruise, include the food as well.

Speaking of cruises, Disney does a cruise now too.

And if my kids were young enough, I would book it today, and I don’t even know what they do on these cruises.

The brand name is that strong.

And who doesn’t love that?

Knott’s Berry Farm, thats who.

 

 
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Posted by on October 26, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

No, you can’t sing.

Karaoke is considered cruel and unusual punishment in some countries.

Amnesty International may have a file on this.

But it truly is a cruel thing to watch someone humiliate themselves publicly all for the sake of the base entertainment of the crowd.

Ancient Rome made gladiators fight to the death for the same reason.

What makes people do this?

Jaeger bombs.

It is not just a “Lucky accident” that the drink specials crank up several notches on karaoke night.

Drunk equals karaoke magic.

There is no other way to get a thoroughly untalented housefrau from the burbs to belt out a teeth grinding version of Patsy Kline without enough alcohol to knock out a corps of marines on leave.

But it happens nightly, if you follow the circuit.

Karaoke is an odd phenomenon brought to us by the Japanese.

But keep in mind, these are the same people who brought us 2 girls 1 cup.

I include that just to put it all in the right perspective.

Top 5 Karaoke songs of the night:

  • Baby got back, by Sir Mix a lot. (5 times? Are you shitting me?)
  • My way, by Frank Sinatra. (The man is dead, let it go for God’s sake.)
  • Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen. (Also dead, but still an incredible song.)
  • Dancing Queen, by Abba. (Seriously, they are not dead. And that is a damn shame.)
  • Satisfaction, by the Rolling Stones. (Mick Jagger can barely pull this shit off. The fact that he has been making it happen for almost 50 years is damned near unbelievable.)

I have no singing ability, this is a known thing.

And yet, here I am.

I am not sure who Lady Antebellum is, but I am somehow involved in singing a duet.

This is so wrong.

Damn you Jaeger bombs.

For those outside the know, a Jaeger bomb is a shot of cough syrup with a higher alcohol content, dropped into a glass of beer.

The beer cuts the harshness off of the Jaegermeister, and kind of makes you drink it a lot faster.

That means two drinks consumed faster than one drink.

Recipe of disaster.

Disaster equals karaoke.

How bad is Jaegermeister? There is a funny commercial that shows a guy sitting on a bloody bed spread with pieces of a body behind him and a garter belt hanging out of his mouth.

“Did I eat a stripper?” He asks as a Jeigermeister logo fades into view above.

“Jaeger”

That is a fairly accurate commercial, sick as it is.

But people seem so happy when they do it.

So do meth heads, by the way.

So maybe karaoke is a way to indulge a really stupid part of your brain, without the risk of jail time or losing your teeth.

 
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Posted by on October 25, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

It sucked then, it sucks now.

Adam West was and is a creepy dude.

There was never a more compelling reason to accuse Batman of being gay than Adam West.

I mean, the whole premise is a little suspect to start.

Rich batchelor, lives alone, has a young man living with him, not a relative, and they run around in tights, dealing with all sorts of capers.

There was a Digital Short on Saturday Night Live called the Ambiguously Gay Heroes based on this whole premise.

It was funny as hell and more than a touch creepy.

But the Batman show in 60’s was what was known as “Campy” and “Tongue in cheek”.

And then you add Adam West.

If you were ever to watch a kiddie porn film, Adam West’s voice is the announcer for that film, and that includes creepy way you feel listening to him speak.

All of this came about because of that new TV channel I have mentioned before.

They show non-stop old shows.

And thats awesome when it all my favorite shows.

MASH? I can watch forever. Andy Griffith? Done deal. Dick Van Dyke? You had me at hello.

Batman? Hmmmmmmm. Really?

Its the type of show that defies any sort of logic or common sense.

And Burt Ward didn’t help.

He played Robin in the old series.

He was so peppy and exuberant and just plain ol dumb as a stick, you almost felt sorry for him.

But only to a point.

You got the feeling that he could have shown up at the rehearsal for that weeks show and found out that Batman was going to strip Robin naked, tie him up with duck tape, and then be tortured with a cattle prod for a half hour.

And I would bet you he would be okie dokie fine with it.

Ok, things have gotten a little creepy here.

I have a point to todays blog, so lets get to it.

The Batman show got hideous ratings for its entire fun in the 60’s, not even one good year.

So why show it now?

Mash on the other hand, in addition to being my favorite show of all time, was number one in its time slot for most of its run.

That is what we call TV gold.

So why is Batman on more often than MASH?

Like anything that makes no sense, I assume there is a conspiracy going on.

I have a theory.

Adam West has naked photos of the program scheduler for cable TV, that is really the only explanation I can think of.

Although Burgess Meredith as the Penguin was a stunning casting move.

One of the only bits I liked from my failed stand up career was an imitation of the Penguin working at a gay phone sex line.

Which explains a lot of why I don’t do that anymore.

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

By the way, your cat hates you.

Cat people are basically delusional.

They are convinced that their cat loves them.

That is just so cute, and really naive.

And keep in mind I am just telling you this because I care.

Here is the brutal truth.

Your cat hates you.

You might think that your cat naps a lot.

Not so.

Your cat spends all of its spare time thinking about how to kill you.

And be warned if you have children.

Because they especially hate children.

Furry minions of evil.

Some of you are saying, “No, not my cat”, yes, your cat too.

Plus, I am allergic.

There is nothing more annoying than to visit a friend and have a nice weezy visit because their himalayan is shedding its winter coat.

“He never climbs on a stranger’s chest like that, he must like you.”

Bullshit, a cat can spot an asthmatic from a 100 feet away.

Pop quiz.

What’s better than the best cat in the world?

Any dog.

Dog’s are loyal, friendly and affectionate.

All throughout history, dogs are depicted as protectors.

It is a documented fact that if there is a fire, your dog, will not only wake you, but drag your unconscious body out of the house if need be.

Cats will silence the alarms and quietly sneak out the back.

Its true.

So is it any wonder I am a dog person.

And yet, for a short, Twilight zone period of time back when I was married, I had a house full of rescued cats.

How can you do that? You might ask.

No clue.

I came home from work and they were there.

So, I did what any man might do in a tense household when cats are suddenly sprung on him.

Shut the hell up and ate my dinner.

Which is the wise thing to do.

Because women fall under the spell of these furry succubi in the blink of an eye.

Women will tell you that cats have all sorts of traits that they really don’t.

They are elegant, playful, affectionate, caring…blah, blah, blah.

Don’t fall for it.

They only reason they think that is because, late at night, when you are asleep, they crawl up on your pillow and whisper in your ear.

They lie to you, they say things only a child would understand.

They are especially bad for senior citizens.

Mainly because they sleep more.

That is why rich old people leave their fortunes to their cat, because they are brainwashed.

There is also an old legend that they will rob you of your soul while you sleep, but I am willing to admit that one is a bit far fetched.

I think I have made my case well enough, but lets recap.

Dogs? Selfless guardians of your children and your home. Man’s best friend.

Cats? Soulless minions of evil. Not to be trusted around grandma or your kids.

You’ve been warned.

Bad kitty.

 
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Posted by on October 23, 2012 in Uncategorized