My aunt and uncle are coming to L.A. next month. The other day, to ensure that I was aware of every possible detail I might need to know about their travel plans as well as some I might not - and, possibly, to give me some kind of guilt trip for not having an apartment with a second bedroom - my aunt forwarded the hotel's reservation confirmation email.
I wasn't sure what she intended for me to do with the information. (Make a note of the last four digits of her credit card number, maybe?) But I decided I'd use it as an opportunity to write back and reinforce the notion that I am Very Excited about her visit.
To that end, I sent a one-word response: "Awesome!"
I thought that would probably be the end of the conversation. I was mistaken.
A few minutes later, a reply arrived. "Hardly," it read. "A much overused word, I'm afraid!"**
There was only one thing to write back: "Is 'Whatever' overused?"
* Post title inspired by this Wilco song.
** Capitalization corrected to improve readability.
Showing posts with label Familicious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Familicious. Show all posts
February 7, 2011
June 16, 2010
Great moments in non sequiturs, Part 1
I'm hoping that you've noticed that SFTC has been on the downlow for the past few weeks.
I apologize for the lack of hilarious anecdotes and wry observations. Although, in fairness, none of you wrote in to ask if I was OK. If I were you, I'd have been worried about this sudden and unexpected online silence. "Oh no!" I might have thought to myself. "SFTC might have had his hands cut off by a combine in a tragic farming accident."
I have since reconsidered on that second point, in favor of "whatever the heck I could think of on Wednesday." So here it is:
But I (overly dramatically) digress.
The real reasons for the hiatus were that I was unusually busy with my other kind of writing - the kind I get paid for - and that I promised that I wouldn't post again until I came up with a monumental blog post, a captivating story truly worthy of my triumphant return to blogging.
I have since reconsidered on that second point, in favor of "whatever the heck I could think of on Wednesday." So here it is:
My aunt is the queen of non sequiturs. Conversations often take odd left turns, making it an adventure to keep up. Emails often contain random mixtures of topics, often completely out of context. Like the one she sent last night.
It read: "Did u know Paula Abdul is Jewish? Guess where I am? xxoo "
I wrote back: "I didn't know that about Paula. I also don't know where you are, but given the setup, I'm guessing Paula Abdul's bat mitzvah."
It turned out she was just in Baltimore. But I was pretty close.
March 23, 2010
The 11th plague: Preschool assemblies
The Cadbury Creme Egg commercials are on TV again, and that can only mean one thing: Passover is almost here.
While that might bring joy and excitement to most of North America, my younger nephew seems rather nonplussed. But still, he was required to celebrate the holiday during some kind of wacky preschool song-and-dance-and-sit-in-a-chair routine.
While that might bring joy and excitement to most of North America, my younger nephew seems rather nonplussed. But still, he was required to celebrate the holiday during some kind of wacky preschool song-and-dance-and-sit-in-a-chair routine.
When I saw this photo, I was immensely proud. It's clear he's way too cool for this nonsense:
Actually, I think he was just ticked off that he had to wear a green, frog-related hat that read (and this is too good to be true), Hoppy Passover.
November 30, 2009
Running for my life
Diane: Our relationship was a two-way street.
Frasier: Yes, and I was run over in both directions.
- Cheers, "Dinner at Eight-ish" (1987)
While back on the East Coast for Thanksgiving, I thought I'd go out for a pre-turkey jog around the neighborhood - you know, to preemptively work off some of the holiday calories. That's just my typical holiday m.o.*
So it's Thursday morning and I'm all geared up, complete with black Brooks running tights (subtle product plug and possibly disturbing visual image), ready to run. But my dad catches my attention. How nice, I think, he's going to give me a pre-Thanksgiving-pre-run pep talk.
Well, almost.
"This former colleague of mine - someone who was really respected in his field - was at a conference in Florida** a few years ago," he tells me. "One morning, he went out jogging, a few hours before he was supposed to give a presentation."
What are the chances this story doesn't end well?
"Several hours went by and he didn't show up, so his wife called the police. Turns out that he was jogging along a narrow road. One car pulled over to let him by, but the next driver sped up to pass, and the car hit him. Killed him instantly."
How's that for a pep talk?
"Awesome, Dad. Thanks for the inspiration."
And with that, I set out on the winding, rain-slicked roads near my parents' house, hoping mainly to avoid becoming the future subject of another of my father's similarly uplifting stories.
--
The previous day, I had received a cell phone message from Greg, a long-lost friend who was, without question, the funniest person I met during four years of college. Hearing his voicemail reminded me of one of his most memorable - if not most tasteful - quotes from back then.
Fittingly for today's post, it also had something to do with a run.
Greg and I were with a handful of friends, watching our college basketball team play against an overmatched opponent. During one stretch, our team was outscoring the opposition pretty handily. One of the guys in our group shouted, "I smell a run!"
Without skipping a beat, Greg yelled back, "Get your head out of your pants!"
* That, sleeping 10 hours a night, and spending most of my other waking hours sitting on a couch.
** The conference might have been in a less-crappy location than Florida, but I really wasn't paying too close attention.
Frasier: Yes, and I was run over in both directions.
- Cheers, "Dinner at Eight-ish" (1987)
While back on the East Coast for Thanksgiving, I thought I'd go out for a pre-turkey jog around the neighborhood - you know, to preemptively work off some of the holiday calories. That's just my typical holiday m.o.*
So it's Thursday morning and I'm all geared up, complete with black Brooks running tights (subtle product plug and possibly disturbing visual image), ready to run. But my dad catches my attention. How nice, I think, he's going to give me a pre-Thanksgiving-pre-run pep talk.
Well, almost.
"This former colleague of mine - someone who was really respected in his field - was at a conference in Florida** a few years ago," he tells me. "One morning, he went out jogging, a few hours before he was supposed to give a presentation."
What are the chances this story doesn't end well?
"Several hours went by and he didn't show up, so his wife called the police. Turns out that he was jogging along a narrow road. One car pulled over to let him by, but the next driver sped up to pass, and the car hit him. Killed him instantly."
How's that for a pep talk?
"Awesome, Dad. Thanks for the inspiration."
And with that, I set out on the winding, rain-slicked roads near my parents' house, hoping mainly to avoid becoming the future subject of another of my father's similarly uplifting stories.
--
The previous day, I had received a cell phone message from Greg, a long-lost friend who was, without question, the funniest person I met during four years of college. Hearing his voicemail reminded me of one of his most memorable - if not most tasteful - quotes from back then.
Fittingly for today's post, it also had something to do with a run.
Greg and I were with a handful of friends, watching our college basketball team play against an overmatched opponent. During one stretch, our team was outscoring the opposition pretty handily. One of the guys in our group shouted, "I smell a run!"
Without skipping a beat, Greg yelled back, "Get your head out of your pants!"
* That, sleeping 10 hours a night, and spending most of my other waking hours sitting on a couch.
** The conference might have been in a less-crappy location than Florida, but I really wasn't paying too close attention.
August 17, 2009
My champ
A few of the highlights from a weekend back at home, way over on the other coast...
My nephew swam the full length of my parents' pool - without stopping! - for the very first time.
He had a blast when John Denver's "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" played during the seventh inning stretch at an Orioles game, just like I did when I was his age, which I think was around 120 years ago.
And after he did that, he leaned over to me and whispered, "Uncle, I'm going to miss it when you're not here."
Me too, kid.
My nephew swam the full length of my parents' pool - without stopping! - for the very first time.
He had a blast when John Denver's "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" played during the seventh inning stretch at an Orioles game, just like I did when I was his age, which I think was around 120 years ago.
And after he did that, he leaned over to me and whispered, "Uncle, I'm going to miss it when you're not here."
Me too, kid.
May 17, 2009
Shaken, not stirred
I'm writing this because there's a good chance* my East Coast peeps will be awake before me tomorrow and there's also a good chance that while I'm still asleep with my cell phone off, one or more of those peeps will see news reports about an earthquake in Los Angeles. And they will wonder whether it did enough damage to prevent me from - at long last - adding something interesting or amusing to this blog.
On the contrary, mon frere: After a long blogging dry spell, the damn thing might have been just the tonic I needed to get me to swing back into action. (To the extent that typing messages that 10 people will ever read qualifies as "action.")
So, just to get the Q&A out of the way: Yep, I felt the quake. The floor shook for what felt like three or four seconds - enough time for me to remember that I should probably get underneath the desk I'm sitting in front of, but not enough time for me to actually do it. It was strong enough to freak me out a little bit, but not serious enough to rattle dishes or knock stuff off of walls. As of right now, it's being reported as a 5.0, which makes it the second biggest one I've felt so far.
Oh, also the U.S. Geological Survey web site says it took place about five miles from where I'm sitting.
Which I really don't like that much.
Anyway, how about a map? Here's how it looked on the USGS site shortly after the shaking was done:
I think the red makes it look a little more dramatic than it actually was - the colors just correspond to how recently the quake took place, though. It's the (huge!) size of the box that shows the relative strength of the quake compared with other recent ones in our area.
And now that I look at the map: Good lord, there have been a lot of earthquakes around here lately.
This is also a good excuse to tell you a short but touching** story about my family. When I first told my parents that I was planning to move to California and how happy I was about it, I knew they would share my excitement. Indeed, the first words out of my mother's mouth were these: "They have earthquakes there."
* a 100 percent chance, to be exact
** or whatever the opposite of touching is
On the contrary, mon frere: After a long blogging dry spell, the damn thing might have been just the tonic I needed to get me to swing back into action. (To the extent that typing messages that 10 people will ever read qualifies as "action.")
So, just to get the Q&A out of the way: Yep, I felt the quake. The floor shook for what felt like three or four seconds - enough time for me to remember that I should probably get underneath the desk I'm sitting in front of, but not enough time for me to actually do it. It was strong enough to freak me out a little bit, but not serious enough to rattle dishes or knock stuff off of walls. As of right now, it's being reported as a 5.0, which makes it the second biggest one I've felt so far.
Oh, also the U.S. Geological Survey web site says it took place about five miles from where I'm sitting.
Which I really don't like that much.
Anyway, how about a map? Here's how it looked on the USGS site shortly after the shaking was done:
I think the red makes it look a little more dramatic than it actually was - the colors just correspond to how recently the quake took place, though. It's the (huge!) size of the box that shows the relative strength of the quake compared with other recent ones in our area.
And now that I look at the map: Good lord, there have been a lot of earthquakes around here lately.
This is also a good excuse to tell you a short but touching** story about my family. When I first told my parents that I was planning to move to California and how happy I was about it, I knew they would share my excitement. Indeed, the first words out of my mother's mouth were these: "They have earthquakes there."
* a 100 percent chance, to be exact
** or whatever the opposite of touching is
April 3, 2009
VIP treatment
From what I can tell, most of the savvy people who read this blog couldn't care less about professional sports. But "writing to my audience" isn't one of my great strengths, so I'm still going to tell you that I am very excited that baseball opening day is this weekend.
(Caveat: No sports knowledge needed to enjoy the rest of this post, I promise.)
Actually, maybe I'm more excited about the idea of opening day than about opening day itself.* Because the one team I really root for, the Orioles, has almost no hope. And although I enjoy the occasional trip to Dodger Stadium, I spent most of my time at Dodgers games last year watching drunken assholes threaten to beat each other up (last half of this post, for example), which is sort of a waste of time.
So to celebrate the beginning of another baseball season, I was trying to come up with an inspiring baseball story for you, and the closest I could get was this fond football-related memory. It'll have to do:
In the early 1980s, my grandfather had a work-related connection that enabled him to become friendly with several New York Jets players and the Jets' head coach, Walt Michaels. Once, as a present, he got Coach Michaels to sign a green-and-white business card that proclaimed me an honorary assistant coach.
I probably still have that card somewhere - because I still have approximately everything I ever owned during the 80s - but at the time, I carried it with me everywhere. You know, just in case I needed to impress the ladies.**
This was back when the Colts were where they belonged - in Baltimore - and for a few years in a row, my grandfather would come visit us when the New York Jets were in town to treat my family to a game. One time, we were running kind of late, and we arrived at Memorial Stadium seconds before kickoff. Every parking spot within a mile of the stadium would be filled. We were facing a long walk and the prospect of missing critical Jets-Colts action.
Driving the family Buick, my grandfather ignored all of the LOT FULL signs and brazenly pulled into the stadium's VIP lot, which seemed odd because not only was it reserved for VIPs, but, as you know, it was full.
His left hand on the steering wheel, he stuck his right toward me in the back seat. "Do you still have your assistant coach card?" he asked. I reached into my wallet and pressed the card into his palm, just as we pulled up to a confused parking attendant.
"Here," my grandfather said, shoving my very unofficial credential into the guy's face. "I'm a Jets assistant coach. Need to get in right away!" My grandfather looked back at me and winked.
The attendant quickly handed the card back and pointed us to a vacant spot just yards away from the stadium entrance. We were in our seats for the opening kickoff.
I don't remember anything else about the game, but it's hard to forget that kick-ass parking spot.
SFTC Shoutout: A quick thanks to SFTC's newest "Followers" (sounds cultish, but really isn't). Thrilled to have you aboard the SFTC train this week. When we have our almost-inevitable IPO, you'll obviously cash in big time.*** If you haven't signed up yet, please do. I think you just have to click the "follow" button in the box near the top of the right column over there >>>
It's free, it's fun and it tastes great!
* I think I'm bastardizing a phrase from When Harry Met Sally here. If you can confirm, please do.
** This didn't work.
*** Technically, I don't think that really makes sense, and the IPO is probably not so much "inevitable" as it is "not even a remote possibility," but the point is that I'm glad you're among the first to show your faces (or joysticks, as the case may be) on the site.
(Caveat: No sports knowledge needed to enjoy the rest of this post, I promise.)
Actually, maybe I'm more excited about the idea of opening day than about opening day itself.* Because the one team I really root for, the Orioles, has almost no hope. And although I enjoy the occasional trip to Dodger Stadium, I spent most of my time at Dodgers games last year watching drunken assholes threaten to beat each other up (last half of this post, for example), which is sort of a waste of time.
So to celebrate the beginning of another baseball season, I was trying to come up with an inspiring baseball story for you, and the closest I could get was this fond football-related memory. It'll have to do:
In the early 1980s, my grandfather had a work-related connection that enabled him to become friendly with several New York Jets players and the Jets' head coach, Walt Michaels. Once, as a present, he got Coach Michaels to sign a green-and-white business card that proclaimed me an honorary assistant coach.
I probably still have that card somewhere - because I still have approximately everything I ever owned during the 80s - but at the time, I carried it with me everywhere. You know, just in case I needed to impress the ladies.**
This was back when the Colts were where they belonged - in Baltimore - and for a few years in a row, my grandfather would come visit us when the New York Jets were in town to treat my family to a game. One time, we were running kind of late, and we arrived at Memorial Stadium seconds before kickoff. Every parking spot within a mile of the stadium would be filled. We were facing a long walk and the prospect of missing critical Jets-Colts action.
Driving the family Buick, my grandfather ignored all of the LOT FULL signs and brazenly pulled into the stadium's VIP lot, which seemed odd because not only was it reserved for VIPs, but, as you know, it was full.
His left hand on the steering wheel, he stuck his right toward me in the back seat. "Do you still have your assistant coach card?" he asked. I reached into my wallet and pressed the card into his palm, just as we pulled up to a confused parking attendant.
"Here," my grandfather said, shoving my very unofficial credential into the guy's face. "I'm a Jets assistant coach. Need to get in right away!" My grandfather looked back at me and winked.
The attendant quickly handed the card back and pointed us to a vacant spot just yards away from the stadium entrance. We were in our seats for the opening kickoff.
I don't remember anything else about the game, but it's hard to forget that kick-ass parking spot.
SFTC Shoutout: A quick thanks to SFTC's newest "Followers" (sounds cultish, but really isn't). Thrilled to have you aboard the SFTC train this week. When we have our almost-inevitable IPO, you'll obviously cash in big time.*** If you haven't signed up yet, please do. I think you just have to click the "follow" button in the box near the top of the right column over there >>>
It's free, it's fun and it tastes great!
* I think I'm bastardizing a phrase from When Harry Met Sally here. If you can confirm, please do.
** This didn't work.
*** Technically, I don't think that really makes sense, and the IPO is probably not so much "inevitable" as it is "not even a remote possibility," but the point is that I'm glad you're among the first to show your faces (or joysticks, as the case may be) on the site.
March 19, 2009
Car talk
On the phone: My sister, on "vacation" in Florida, in a car with her husband and sons, Jacob, 7; and Max, 1; both audible in the background
Me: What are you doing tonight?
Sis: We have dinner reservations at 6. I don't know if we're going to make it. One of them is already losing it.
Jacob (in background): Mommy, which one of us is losing it?
The end.
Me: What are you doing tonight?
Sis: We have dinner reservations at 6. I don't know if we're going to make it. One of them is already losing it.
Jacob (in background): Mommy, which one of us is losing it?
The end.
February 11, 2009
Feliz cumpleanos
Have you ever asked yourself, "What would the best sister in the world look like, if she were wearing a sombrero?"
If so, you're in luck, because here's the answer:
The photo is from three years ago today, which, not coincidentally, was also her birthday.
You can add your good wishes by clicking the blue "COMMENTS" below.
If so, you're in luck, because here's the answer:
The photo is from three years ago today, which, not coincidentally, was also her birthday.
You can add your good wishes by clicking the blue "COMMENTS" below.
February 10, 2009
Fairey warning
It was such a nice story - Shepard Fairey's Hope poster being adopted as the iconic, if unofficial, symbol of the Obama campaign. At least here in L.A., by early November, you couldn't get away from the image, which was fine with me. It also was probably fine with Shepard Fairey, who went from extremely-well-known-among-those-in-the-know to plain old extremely famous in the matter of a few months.
Yesterday's news that the Fairey image is now the subject of at least one lawsuit (with another possibly to come) takes a little bit of the shine off - although on the other hand, it also sort of feels like a big publicity stunt. But there's little doubt that the illustration will be around long after any of us.
Now, clearly, the Fairey design has taken on a life of its own. I recently wrote about one example. And today, happily, I stumbled upon another: Yes, people, you can make your very own Fairey-fied image of yourself. Or anyone else you happen to have in a digital photo.
Just go to the Obamaiconme page, upload your picture, and play around with the color palatte until you get the right mix of blue, red and yellow. You might have to register on the site to actually save your image, which... eh... but even if you skip that, it's a nice time-killer.
These guys would get my vote.
January 12, 2009
Steal your face
In what was perhaps the weirdest news I heard all week:
Apparently, when he's wearing a hat and you look really quickly at him, my grandfather bears a passing resemblance to Bernard Madoff, pictured here.
Thanks a whole bunch for the photo, Kathy Willens/AP Photo and ABCNews.com
Which is either sort of creepy-cool or just extremely creepy, depending on what time of day you ask me. Of course it also means there's an outside chance that - because of genetics and all - I will look like Bernard Madoff by the time I'm 80. But by then, Madoff will be about 115, and probably still in jail, so I don't think anyone will notice.
This all came up the other day when Grandpa was sitting with my aunt in NYC. Where, as you might know, Madoff is a pretty big celebrity these days. So my aunt noticed someone excitedly glancing over in their direction and whispering on his cell phone, "I think it's him!" After she set the guy straight, she asked my grandfather to remove his hat so there would be no further confusion.
I know you'd like to see my grandfather's photo so you could compare for yourself. But I don't want him to be bothered by the paparazzi, so just add a hat and a heart of gold to the photo above, and you're almost there.
Apparently, when he's wearing a hat and you look really quickly at him, my grandfather bears a passing resemblance to Bernard Madoff, pictured here.
Thanks a whole bunch for the photo, Kathy Willens/AP Photo and ABCNews.com
Which is either sort of creepy-cool or just extremely creepy, depending on what time of day you ask me. Of course it also means there's an outside chance that - because of genetics and all - I will look like Bernard Madoff by the time I'm 80. But by then, Madoff will be about 115, and probably still in jail, so I don't think anyone will notice.
This all came up the other day when Grandpa was sitting with my aunt in NYC. Where, as you might know, Madoff is a pretty big celebrity these days. So my aunt noticed someone excitedly glancing over in their direction and whispering on his cell phone, "I think it's him!" After she set the guy straight, she asked my grandfather to remove his hat so there would be no further confusion.
I know you'd like to see my grandfather's photo so you could compare for yourself. But I don't want him to be bothered by the paparazzi, so just add a hat and a heart of gold to the photo above, and you're almost there.
December 27, 2008
Resolved
We're leaving in the morning for a quick trip up the coast, so in all likelihood, this is it for 2008. My 218th and final post of the year.
Now, I'm not one for new year's resolutions. If I'm making any for 2009, I'll never tell, and I'm not admitting to having made any in 2008. But if I had, today's post would represent me having stuck to a resolution for (close enough to) a full year.
In the scheme of new year's resolutions, writing a few lines of nonsense every couple of days might not seem like much. Check that: isn't much. Still, I'm pleased with myself for sticking to it, for getting something, anything, up here on a regular-enough basis. I think these 218 posts - well, most of them, anyway - were much-needed reminders to myself that writing can be pretty easy when it's fun, and it can be fun when it's so easy. Once in a while they even made me laugh, which probably wasn't the point. But, as my beautiful and observant wife has often observed (beautifully, I might add), I'm pretty good at cracking myself up.
Plus, it was a handy way for me to remind you about all of the awesome t-shirts for sale at S and J Market, which could really use your business during these difficult economic times. One of our satisfied t-shirt customers is Bugs, who has this one and is about to get this one, once I can get to a mailbox. I also mention Bugs because she deserves a special thanks for reading every single post and commenting - in some cases many, many times - on most of them.
To the other six or seven of you who have checked in on me so often this year, I thank you very much, for keeping the escalator going. What do ya' say we do it again next year?
Now, I'm not one for new year's resolutions. If I'm making any for 2009, I'll never tell, and I'm not admitting to having made any in 2008. But if I had, today's post would represent me having stuck to a resolution for (close enough to) a full year.
In the scheme of new year's resolutions, writing a few lines of nonsense every couple of days might not seem like much. Check that: isn't much. Still, I'm pleased with myself for sticking to it, for getting something, anything, up here on a regular-enough basis. I think these 218 posts - well, most of them, anyway - were much-needed reminders to myself that writing can be pretty easy when it's fun, and it can be fun when it's so easy. Once in a while they even made me laugh, which probably wasn't the point. But, as my beautiful and observant wife has often observed (beautifully, I might add), I'm pretty good at cracking myself up.
Plus, it was a handy way for me to remind you about all of the awesome t-shirts for sale at S and J Market, which could really use your business during these difficult economic times. One of our satisfied t-shirt customers is Bugs, who has this one and is about to get this one, once I can get to a mailbox. I also mention Bugs because she deserves a special thanks for reading every single post and commenting - in some cases many, many times - on most of them.
To the other six or seven of you who have checked in on me so often this year, I thank you very much, for keeping the escalator going. What do ya' say we do it again next year?
December 25, 2008
Nothing to do with Christmas
Sorry I've been gone a while. Attack of food poisoning. Or, as my dad diagnosed it from 3,000 miles away - over the phone - "that stomach bug that's been going around." (And then, in the same conversation, he dismissed the extraordinary diagnostic abilities of the esteemed Gregory House. Hm.)
Aside from my posting this item on the 25th, this really has nothing to do with the holidays. Except I realize it'd be bad form not to religious-neutrally wish you and yours a happy politically correct festival of your choice. So there you go.
And, actually, I have to admit that I watched Letterman last night and, in keeping with his holiday tradition, he had Darlene Love on to close the show with "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)." Here's a link to the 2006 rendition - but, y'know, because it's a tradition and all, what you'll see at the link is basically the same at what was on TV last night, so just go with it. I'm not a celebrator of Christmas, but hearing Darlene Love sing that thing... well, let's just say she makes a strong case for the general idea of yuletide carols being sung by a choir.
And, now that I think of it, without my even mentioning that I'd heard the song, today my brilliant and amazing wife asked me if I was going to amuse myself today by finding and re-watching this video (which stars the voice of one Darlene Love). And I am. Because "Christmastime for the Jews" has amused me at this time of year a few years running.
I mean, how can you beat lyrics like "They can eat in Chinatown and drink their sweet-ass wine," or "They can gang up on the Quakers / Play for the Lakers / They can do what they wanna / Even blow off Madonna"? Well, when they're sung by Ms. Love, you just can't. You should watch it. Do it for me.
So, aside from those things, I'm serious: This post has nothing to do with the holidays. The reason I wanted to post today was to pass on my two favorite quotes of the week - both from people I'm happy to be related to. It's the first installment of... The SFTC Family Quote Machine!
Quote 1
I was telling my dad about a great dinner I'd eaten the previous night (this was a safe couple of nights pre-stomach ailment, so I'm confident it had no bearing on my illness), and mentioned that I'd had an incredibly good chicken dish. (Trust me, really, it was great.) Anyway, I liked what he said next: "You know, chicken is the new lobster."
Quote 2
My grandfather was telling me about his latest phone conversation with his great-grandson, who also just happens to be in a first-place tie (with his younger brother) for the title of world's coolest nephew. Kid goes by the nickname of Cardboard. Don't ask me why.
The conversation apparently went something like this:
(Gramps) "I knew that was you before I picked up the phone. I could tell by the ring."
(Cardboard) "What did the ring sound like?"
(G) "Brrring, brrrring!"
(C) "What does it sound like when everyone else calls?"
Score one for Cardboard.
And even though I'm avoiding all of the holiday stuff: Happy, Merry, Safe and Healthy. Now, I have some halls to go deck.
Aside from my posting this item on the 25th, this really has nothing to do with the holidays. Except I realize it'd be bad form not to religious-neutrally wish you and yours a happy politically correct festival of your choice. So there you go.
And, actually, I have to admit that I watched Letterman last night and, in keeping with his holiday tradition, he had Darlene Love on to close the show with "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)." Here's a link to the 2006 rendition - but, y'know, because it's a tradition and all, what you'll see at the link is basically the same at what was on TV last night, so just go with it. I'm not a celebrator of Christmas, but hearing Darlene Love sing that thing... well, let's just say she makes a strong case for the general idea of yuletide carols being sung by a choir.
And, now that I think of it, without my even mentioning that I'd heard the song, today my brilliant and amazing wife asked me if I was going to amuse myself today by finding and re-watching this video (which stars the voice of one Darlene Love). And I am. Because "Christmastime for the Jews" has amused me at this time of year a few years running.
I mean, how can you beat lyrics like "They can eat in Chinatown and drink their sweet-ass wine," or "They can gang up on the Quakers / Play for the Lakers / They can do what they wanna / Even blow off Madonna"? Well, when they're sung by Ms. Love, you just can't. You should watch it. Do it for me.
So, aside from those things, I'm serious: This post has nothing to do with the holidays. The reason I wanted to post today was to pass on my two favorite quotes of the week - both from people I'm happy to be related to. It's the first installment of... The SFTC Family Quote Machine!
Quote 1
I was telling my dad about a great dinner I'd eaten the previous night (this was a safe couple of nights pre-stomach ailment, so I'm confident it had no bearing on my illness), and mentioned that I'd had an incredibly good chicken dish. (Trust me, really, it was great.) Anyway, I liked what he said next: "You know, chicken is the new lobster."
Quote 2
My grandfather was telling me about his latest phone conversation with his great-grandson, who also just happens to be in a first-place tie (with his younger brother) for the title of world's coolest nephew. Kid goes by the nickname of Cardboard. Don't ask me why.
The conversation apparently went something like this:
(Gramps) "I knew that was you before I picked up the phone. I could tell by the ring."
(Cardboard) "What did the ring sound like?"
(G) "Brrring, brrrring!"
(C) "What does it sound like when everyone else calls?"
Score one for Cardboard.
And even though I'm avoiding all of the holiday stuff: Happy, Merry, Safe and Healthy. Now, I have some halls to go deck.
November 26, 2008
Goin' on a little tryp(tophan)
So I'm back home for Thanksgiving and I've decided that ice-cold temperatures - which, now that my blood is L.A.-thinned, seems to mean anything below 52 - aren't conducive to blogging.
Or maybe I have less time to write since each day I'm here, I eat for approximately 10 of the 16 hours I'm awake.
Other than calorie-loading and freezing my ass off, one of the interesting experiences of the journey so far was being diagnosed with "common migraines." They probably mean common in the sense that it's the same headache every other migraine sufferer gets, but it also works nicely since I get them commonly enough to be really annoying. The good doc said that I'm susceptible to headaches because I have a sensitive brain, a phrase that I repeated to my wife and parents about 1,659 times in the two hours after leaving the hospital.
Which probably gave each of them a pretty distinct headache of their own.
The doctor was fantastic - he spent tons of time with us and answered every question we could think of. But he's a headache specialist whose office is located in a pediatric clinic - i.e., lots of screaming kinds running around and screaming and running and screaming. Kind of like having a tire store located at the intersection of Pothole Blvd. and Broken Glass Way.
Or maybe I have less time to write since each day I'm here, I eat for approximately 10 of the 16 hours I'm awake.
Other than calorie-loading and freezing my ass off, one of the interesting experiences of the journey so far was being diagnosed with "common migraines." They probably mean common in the sense that it's the same headache every other migraine sufferer gets, but it also works nicely since I get them commonly enough to be really annoying. The good doc said that I'm susceptible to headaches because I have a sensitive brain, a phrase that I repeated to my wife and parents about 1,659 times in the two hours after leaving the hospital.
Which probably gave each of them a pretty distinct headache of their own.
The doctor was fantastic - he spent tons of time with us and answered every question we could think of. But he's a headache specialist whose office is located in a pediatric clinic - i.e., lots of screaming kinds running around and screaming and running and screaming. Kind of like having a tire store located at the intersection of Pothole Blvd. and Broken Glass Way.
I may try to post again before we return to more sensible temperatures, but if not - in the spirit of the holiday - thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoy your Thanksgiving desserts as much as I'm going to enjoy mine.
October 21, 2008
Numb and Numbers
Summarizing my last few days, in one of those cute weekly-magazine-style numerical lists:
600
Garlic and herb french fries that ended up constituting my dinner last night. I had just finished telling my brilliant and amazing wife that I've been thinking a lot about eating smarter. That the thought of a big, juicy hamburger seemed really appealing in theory, but I knew I would feel better about myself if I had something healthier - a little closer to the tofu side of the food scale - for dinner.
Then the waiter shows up and somehow the words "garlic and herb fries" come gushing out of my mouth. I hastened to add, "Without the cheese sauce."
My wife laughs.
"What?" I ask.
"You just said you wanted to eat healthier."
"Well. Um. The fries have herbs on them."
I think I lost that one.
Five minutes later, the world's largest order of french fries arrives. Way, way, way too much for a single person to eat, but I shift into another gear and polish them off. I think I'm good on fries for a while.
2
Shirts I've sold from (lord, here we go again) my fledgling t-shirt store. The illustrious GG was my first customer, which was awesome. As either Sarah Palin or Tina Fey would say, there's a special place in heaven for her.
But yesterday, I rang up an order from someone named Megan, who's from Chicago, and who I don't even know - in other words, this was not just a friends-and-family sympathy purchase. Clearly, Megan has impeccable taste. She picked herself up a "Wassup Wasilla" tee, perfect for the Decision 08 home stretch. No wonder it's now one of our top sellers!
As my sister pointed out, I only have to sell about 10 more in order to trigger my first commission check. So there's that.
Since you're dying for more awesome S and J Market t-shirts, I'm working on a new design (very highbrow) that should be posted to the store later today or tomorrow, so stay tuned.
5,000
Total hits recorded by Sorry for the Convenience as of late last week. I recognize most of those are friends-and-family sympathy hits, but I'll take 'em. Thanks for reading all of this weird stuff! You're the best!
10
Foreign countries from which people have visited SFTC since I started tracking last month. The list: Germany, Holland, Hungary, Israel, Jamaica, Peru, Russia, Thailand and the UK. Oh, and Canada. That counts, right?
3
Phrases "I wrote" that "were actually published" in the 2009 Zagat "Movie Guide." (Yes, Zagat also publishes a guide to movies. I guess it's so you "have something to do" after you "dine" at one of the "eateries reviewed" in their better-known "restaurant directories.")
It wasn't my first time getting "some of my bon mots" into Zagat. I landed a few in the Chicago restaurant guide "a couple of years" ago. But this one was "particularly rewarding" since, the way I see it, I was "competing for space against" dorky amateur movie reviewers "from all over the country" as opposed to just dorky amateur restaurant reviewers from "a single midwestern city."
Oh, "and since you asked," one of my "reviews" that they used was about The Savages (Laura Linney and Rochester's own Philip Seymour Hoffman take care of their senile old dad), about which I wrote "savagely smart script." Hey, they seem to like alliteration. I leave open the possibility that someone else submitted the same exact phrase about this movie, because, well, "savage" is right in the name, and it was a smart script, so "you do the math." But I definitely sent my survey in "with those words" on it, so I'm taking credit. Thank you.
The "other two" were about No Reservations, the flick in which Catherine Zeta-Jones and Aaron Eckhart fall in love (!) after "initially not hitting it off" (!) while working as chefs in the same restaurant. I know, I was shocked, too. Zagat used my "as predictable as a Big Mac" and "a little heavy on the sugar." (Get it? Restaurant, food references. Right.) The movie was actually better than I expected it would be, "so sue me" if they only used my snarky comments. I have a reputation to uphold, people.
Approx.
Since this post got me thinking about numbers (duh), I was reminded of something my dad said when I was a kid that cracked me up at the time - and still does. I think I was in second grade, and I had just nailed some particularly challenging spelling assignment.
My dad was sitting at the dinner table and I ran up to him and said, "I know how to spell approximately!"
"Big deal," he said. "So do I."
"No you don't. Let's hear."
Without skipping a beat, he said: "A - P - P - R - O - X - period."
600
Garlic and herb french fries that ended up constituting my dinner last night. I had just finished telling my brilliant and amazing wife that I've been thinking a lot about eating smarter. That the thought of a big, juicy hamburger seemed really appealing in theory, but I knew I would feel better about myself if I had something healthier - a little closer to the tofu side of the food scale - for dinner.
Then the waiter shows up and somehow the words "garlic and herb fries" come gushing out of my mouth. I hastened to add, "Without the cheese sauce."
My wife laughs.
"What?" I ask.
"You just said you wanted to eat healthier."
"Well. Um. The fries have herbs on them."
I think I lost that one.
Five minutes later, the world's largest order of french fries arrives. Way, way, way too much for a single person to eat, but I shift into another gear and polish them off. I think I'm good on fries for a while.
2
Shirts I've sold from (lord, here we go again) my fledgling t-shirt store. The illustrious GG was my first customer, which was awesome. As either Sarah Palin or Tina Fey would say, there's a special place in heaven for her.
But yesterday, I rang up an order from someone named Megan, who's from Chicago, and who I don't even know - in other words, this was not just a friends-and-family sympathy purchase. Clearly, Megan has impeccable taste. She picked herself up a "Wassup Wasilla" tee, perfect for the Decision 08 home stretch. No wonder it's now one of our top sellers!
As my sister pointed out, I only have to sell about 10 more in order to trigger my first commission check. So there's that.
Since you're dying for more awesome S and J Market t-shirts, I'm working on a new design (very highbrow) that should be posted to the store later today or tomorrow, so stay tuned.
5,000
Total hits recorded by Sorry for the Convenience as of late last week. I recognize most of those are friends-and-family sympathy hits, but I'll take 'em. Thanks for reading all of this weird stuff! You're the best!
10
Foreign countries from which people have visited SFTC since I started tracking last month. The list: Germany, Holland, Hungary, Israel, Jamaica, Peru, Russia, Thailand and the UK. Oh, and Canada. That counts, right?
3
Phrases "I wrote" that "were actually published" in the 2009 Zagat "Movie Guide." (Yes, Zagat also publishes a guide to movies. I guess it's so you "have something to do" after you "dine" at one of the "eateries reviewed" in their better-known "restaurant directories.")
It wasn't my first time getting "some of my bon mots" into Zagat. I landed a few in the Chicago restaurant guide "a couple of years" ago. But this one was "particularly rewarding" since, the way I see it, I was "competing for space against" dorky amateur movie reviewers "from all over the country" as opposed to just dorky amateur restaurant reviewers from "a single midwestern city."
Oh, "and since you asked," one of my "reviews" that they used was about The Savages (Laura Linney and Rochester's own Philip Seymour Hoffman take care of their senile old dad), about which I wrote "savagely smart script." Hey, they seem to like alliteration. I leave open the possibility that someone else submitted the same exact phrase about this movie, because, well, "savage" is right in the name, and it was a smart script, so "you do the math." But I definitely sent my survey in "with those words" on it, so I'm taking credit. Thank you.
The "other two" were about No Reservations, the flick in which Catherine Zeta-Jones and Aaron Eckhart fall in love (!) after "initially not hitting it off" (!) while working as chefs in the same restaurant. I know, I was shocked, too. Zagat used my "as predictable as a Big Mac" and "a little heavy on the sugar." (Get it? Restaurant, food references. Right.) The movie was actually better than I expected it would be, "so sue me" if they only used my snarky comments. I have a reputation to uphold, people.
Approx.
Since this post got me thinking about numbers (duh), I was reminded of something my dad said when I was a kid that cracked me up at the time - and still does. I think I was in second grade, and I had just nailed some particularly challenging spelling assignment.
My dad was sitting at the dinner table and I ran up to him and said, "I know how to spell approximately!"
"Big deal," he said. "So do I."
"No you don't. Let's hear."
Without skipping a beat, he said: "A - P - P - R - O - X - period."
September 18, 2008
I've got a gift*
* to give to a one-year-old.
So I come to you for suggestions. What should I get as a birthday present for my (soon-to-be) one-year-old nephew? You might remember Max from such blog posts as this and... wait, no, just that one.
Anyway, he's very cute and very smart (you should hear him say "up" and see him stick out his tongue when I ask him where his tongue is), and he has a voracious appetite. Nobody demolishes a cheeseburger like my nephew.
(Quick aside: That reminds me that one of my most favoritest job responsibilites when I interned for an actual member of the U.S. Congress was running across the street to Burger King to get plain hamburgers for her dog. Good times.)
In light of Max's love of food, I was thinking about one of those cheese/sausage towers from Harry & David, but his mom might not appreciate that, and she's lactose-intolerant, so she wouldn't even be able to share the good stuff.
But some of you must have nephews, and most of you were one year old at some point, so help a brotha out!
So I come to you for suggestions. What should I get as a birthday present for my (soon-to-be) one-year-old nephew? You might remember Max from such blog posts as this and... wait, no, just that one.
Anyway, he's very cute and very smart (you should hear him say "up" and see him stick out his tongue when I ask him where his tongue is), and he has a voracious appetite. Nobody demolishes a cheeseburger like my nephew.
(Quick aside: That reminds me that one of my most favoritest job responsibilites when I interned for an actual member of the U.S. Congress was running across the street to Burger King to get plain hamburgers for her dog. Good times.)
In light of Max's love of food, I was thinking about one of those cheese/sausage towers from Harry & David, but his mom might not appreciate that, and she's lactose-intolerant, so she wouldn't even be able to share the good stuff.
But some of you must have nephews, and most of you were one year old at some point, so help a brotha out!
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