Telephone numbers, Speak and Yell, and the non Blue Jean norm..

How come telephone numbers are presented in a 3 digit-4 digit pattern? Who came up with that? Can I take credit for it? 555-1234. There it is... the telephone number presentaion standard. And sometimes phone numbers have the 3 digit area code attached, making it an additional part of the equation. 212-555-1234. That just makes it a little harder. 3/3/4. I bet if you're from another country and you're just learning English, it's a funny day when you learn that one. "Hey Zacharitteye, in America we go with a 3 digit 4 digit pattern... so get with the program".
Fuck that. I'm going to go in a new direction and go with a 2/3/2 pattern. I'm gonna go with a 55-512-34. That's gonna mess with some people. They're gonna be like "Who is THIS guy, fucking with the equation? Who does he think HE is?! You can't mess with that, man. That's the rules." And speaking of phone numbers, how long ago were phone numbers just 1 number:
"Hey, what's your phone number?"
"4."
"Cool. I'm gonna give you a call. By the way, mine's 11."

They had to be like that at some point. I guess Alexander Graham Bell's number was "1". I know he wasn't like "Let's go with 7 numbers just to be weird..." but who knows. Maybe he was one strange cat... I mean, he was going by the 3 names and all. Alexander Bell wasn't good enough. Maybe by that rationale, neither was just one numbered phone numbers.
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I know I've told a few people this before, so you may have already heard this one. Does anyone remember Speak-And-Spell? It was this little electronic toy thing that would basically teach you reading skills in a fun little quizlike manner. There was only one problem. My Speak-And-Spell was mean to me:

"Spell 'RANGER'"
"R-A-N-G-R-E"
"Wrong. Try Again. 'Ranger'"
"R-A-N-J-E-Y-R-E"
"THAT IS INCORRECT. THE CORRECT SPELLING OF 'RANGER' IS R-A-N-G-E-R!!!"
I remmber looking at it saying "Woah, motherfucker. Take it easy" I mean, it's Speak-And-Spell, Not Yell-At-Me-And-Spell. I don't think that would have had the same impact. Hit-Me-And-See-If-You-Can-Spell. Although that would have been pretty cool in a way, I just don't know how I could learn under those circumstances. I believe there were a few more in the series, like "Speak-And-Read" and "Speak-And-Math", but the "Speak-and-Spell was the o.g. of verbally coercive teaching machines. It must not have caught on, because schools still exist. But I'm still a little hurt by the Speak and Spell, and I don't think there's gonna be any changing that. I'm sorry I could never please you, Speak and Spell, wherever you are now... If it makes you feel better, I know how to spell "ranger" today because of you.
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You know what I don't care for too much? Button fly jeans. Who came up with this shit? When I have to pee in a public bathroom, I want to just go with a little pull-the-fly-down action. When you're trying to undo buttons without actually undoing your belt and the first snap, you kind of look like you're playing with yourself. And that looks kind of funny when you're standing at a urinal.
I have one pair. I don't know where I got them but I have a pair of them. They are the devil. In fact, in hell everybody's probably running around in buttonfly jeans, and there is a gigantic Speak and Spell yelling at them all.

Lies and a lack of extremely time relevant pop culture

It never fails that after a loooooong night out drinking and waking up the next morning hungover as absolute hell, that you'll hear someone say, "Ughh... I am NEVER drinking again..." When you hear them say that, just wait until you see them drinking water or juice or something. Then you can say, "You know, I wish you weren't such a fucking liar!"
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Looking back on my childhood, one thing that constantly sticks out is my Dad's lack of pop culture when relating to me as his teenage son. Technically I'm sure this happens in every generation, and I can only hope my future children and I will be able to continue this ackward bond. I'm sure it happened between my Dad and my grandfather. I'm sure it happened between my grandfather and great grandfather, barring pop culture even existed in the 1910's... still, it's pretty funny when you look back on it.
One time I believe me and my little brother were eating lunch somewhere with my dad in say circa 1994, when he spotted someone he knew and they engaged in conversation. As their conversation winded along, Dad said something like,"You know, it's crazy how fast your kids grow up. One minute they're in grade school, and the next thing you know... I mean, hell, my boy here is listening to David Bowie records like I used to..." which made me almost choke on whatever I was eating. David Bowie? Ok, first of all, its safe to say I have never been some sort of avid David Bowie listener. I might have heard "Spiders From Mars" on the classic rock station once or twice, but I wasn't dressing up like Ziggy Stardust or anything. David Bowie? I was like 14 years old. The only thing I cared about was wearing flannel shirts and listening to Metallica tapes. What the hell? David Bowie?! David BOWIE?! Wasn't he in Labyrinth? Not only accusing me of listening to David Bowie, but implying that HE used to listen to David Bowie. I didn't know what was worse...
There was this other time I remember we were at an LSU football game and being the private catholic high school rebel I was, I was just sitting there with my bangs in my eyes. That was the "grunge fashionista rebellion" of private school. Grow the front of your hair long so you could quickly swing it tho the side of your forehead when the disciplinarian came into view. Anyways, I don't think I was in an ill tempered mood or anything. Just sitting there watching the game when Dad goes "Get that hair out of your eyes... who do you think you are? Slash? Do you think your Slash?" Come on. Slash? By 1994, we were waaaay to occupied with Kurt Cobain's suicide. Guns and Roses was so 1989. I was just snickering to myself over that one. I mean, if I was wearing a top hat with really curly hair in my face, smoking a cigarette, wearing a leather jacket and pants and playing a Les Paul whilst sitting in Tiger Stadium and watching a football game, then yes. Then I would probably venture to say that I thought I was Slash.
So David Bowie and Slash... you guys played a small part in my upbringing, but your sheer mention and comical pop image will live on in my mind forever. I get flashbacks when I'm lucky to spot a father in his 40's with his gothed out teenage son with a pierced lip lagging behind him at public gatherings. I was once that tortured soul too, young man. Don't worry. Life only gets better.

Sticks and Leaves

Do you ever watch old movies? If so, whenever you see a dog in an old movie, do you think "Wow, this movie was made a long time ago. I bet that dog died of old age by now"... Do you ever think that? Ok, good. I'm not the only guy that thinks like that. I didn't want you to think i was a weirdo or anything.
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I want a rap name. Well, I at least wish I had a nickname. You can learn a lot from people's nickname. If you ever meet someone named "Rapist Jim" or "I'd Love To Slap You" Scotty, you might want to leave them alone.

Swimming in an Ocean of Regret

It's a lonely world sometimes. Not at first. Not right at the beginning but it's coming. There's nothing like opening your eyes and lying there, feeling lucid, feeling airy and free. Suddenly you realize where you are, and that where you are isn't natural. It's not your own bed. You could be on the floor, on a couch, on top of a dresser... who knows. That realization is followed up by the hard cold truth of you not knowing what happened. Not all of it anyway.
So to make a long story short, I want to apologize to a few people. I'm sorry to Aimee that I didn't just get in the car and go home. I'm sorry to Kelly because I threw a shoe at her (although I understand I let her throw it back at me 3 times in retaliation). I'm sorry to A Cup Of Tea because contrary to what I may have thought Saturday night, I am not in their band. I'm sorry to all of North Gate Tavern, because I think I got on a mic somewhere in the back of the bar and screamed at everyone. I'm sorry to Nick because I was being a handfull when he was trying to tear down a PA. I'm sorry to the staff of NGT because I was being a handfull to them while they were trying to pretty much do anything. I'm sorry to Joe because I told him to drag me into the next room for what I'm pretty sure was no good reason. I'm sorry to Kanita, because the next morning Joe said "I think you pretty much terrified Kanita", although that is a wildly funny statement.
Yeah, so I'm sorry to everybody. Seriously, it's time for more of you to start acting like this to take the heat off of me a little. I want to see some improvement next week.

With Arms Asleep, An Old Man Chews...

You know what is awesome to me? Waking up and having one of your limbs asleep. I love it. Sure, it's a little terrifying at first because you might be having a stroke, although that would probably feel like half of your body is asleep. I don't know though because I've never had a stroke. At least I don't think I have.
Let's say I wake up and I can't feel my hand. It's completely immobile, and feels cold and foreign when it touches any of my "awake" limbs. The first thing I do when I realize what has happened is lift my arm into the air. I'm probably running right off the bat at about 1/8 of my brain functionality, but I at least can sense this is kind of weird. I just want to jump out of bed and go change the alternator on Aimee's car, screaming at my hand for being insolent and lazy. Eventually you will feel the roaring flow of blood and nerve impulse returning to your hand, as the pins and needles sensation starts up and you're like "Ow... OwOwOw...". Then Aimee will wake up and go "What are you doing?" and then I say, "My hand is asleep and OW OW OW... it's... waking up... Oh SHIT... Ow. Ok. OWWW!"
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I remember about 10 years ago, me and some friends were in a Shoney's (which is always full of fat, trashy, fucking gross people), and I was just watching this old guy chew. He was going so slow. I wanted to go up and sit next to him, get eye level and about 3 inches from his mouth and and go "What's going on in there?"... I just hope I get to live long enough to be old and eat in Shoney's while some young punks watch me chew. Shoney's 2062. "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, YOU LITTLE SHITS," I'll yell. Now that I think of it, I wish that old man would have yelled at me. Then we could have gone full circle. Hell, he's probably still in there. Wait. Actually it was a Shoney's on College Drive and they tore it down, so he's probably not. His ghost is probably still there though. I think they're building a strip mall where it was, so maybe it will be a Gap or a Pier One with the ghost of an old man chewing somewhere around there. He'll be over in the Baby Gap section, or maybe by the wicker furniture collection...just chewing away.

Hot Pockets and the New Year! Hot Pockets and the New Year! Yay!

I spent the waking hours of 2007 just like I do every year. In bed. And just like every year I turn on the TV and do 2 things. First, I turn it to the radar channel and look at the new date. "January 1, 2007". It always kind of wierds me out seeing it for the first time. It will probably take me till around March to finally stop writing "2006" on fax cover sheets, etc. Second, I turn it to the Cotton Bowl and check the score. It's the first bowl game of the new year, and it's always on so early I don't seem to give a shit about it. Then I got up and took a shower. The first shower of 2007. I was so unbelievably hungover, I dropped the soap and was too sickenly depressed to bend over and pick it up, so I just stood there under the showerhead for about 15 minutes staring into space. Then I finally picked it up, finished showering, turned off the shower and almost dripped dry before I opened the shower door. So yes, this is my new year's ritual, and I will perform it faithfully for the rest of my life... so there that is.
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Is it possible to make a Hot Pocket, and then not burn the shit out of yourself while trying to eat it? I've tried everything, to cutting it in half and then blowing into it for 20 minutes. I've put it in the freezer. Some friends of mine the other day suggested just eating it frozen, right out of the package. But that would not be a Hot Pocket. It would be a Cold, Frozen Pocket... which is not nearly as appealing. Anyways, that gooey and melted cheese is like fucking napalm. It never seems to fail, that I'll bite into my delicious Hot Pocket and then immediately regret it, blowing air out of my lips trying to quell the skin searing inferno, while also trying not to lose any of the yummy and satisfying pizza-esque cheesy ham and/or anything else that could be in this blessed blend of spice and bread. It's like a flavor pinata. A pinata that yields fire and lava, but as well as the best tasting substance on earth. I love to hate and love you, Hot Pocket. It's like the blending of heaven and hell. I offer up the sacrifice of all the skin from the roof of my mouth, but then you reward me with the scrumtious gift of taste. Seems like a fair trade to me.
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White elephants and bluetooth earpieces.

This Christmas, I was introduced to an interesting way of exchanging presents known as the "White Elephant" game. Why it is called that, I have no idea. I know the "white horse" supposedly refers to cocaine, which would lead me to believe that a "white elephant" would be a SHITLOAD of cocaine... Though wouldn't be very Christmassy unless you were Columbian or an 80's yuppie stockbroker. Anyway, the premise is that everyone brings a gift, and then draws numbers. The person with the lowest number picks a gift and opens it. Then the person with the next number picks a gift, and so on and so forth. Here's the deal though. If you don't like what you have just opened, then you can steal a person's gift. After having the rules explained to me, I said "This doesn't seem very Christian, I mean... with all this stealing going down" to which everybody kind of gave me a look. Then I turned to one of Aimee's cousins and said "Well, I'm going to go and rob a Walgreen's then." He smiled and said, "Of course you can do that. Just explain to them that its the white elephant game."
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Hey, you there. Mr Bluetooth Earpiece Man. I don't mean to interrupt what is probably a very important conversation for an obviously super important man like yourself. It's just that you look like a fucking idiot with that thing on your head. Is it that hard to actually hold the phone to your ear? I mean, you don't necessarilly look like a day trader or a CEO or anything. You don't look like you NEED to have a bluetooth device. Instead you want to stand next to me in line at a bank and yell into the air about how yo baby mama don't need to be disrespektin' yo ass... In all fairness, I bought a bluetooth earpiece to wear when I'm driving. Even then I'll put it on the side of my head NOT facing the window because I feel like a douche. But I'm not going to wear it in a really loud club standing next to a subwoofer acting like I can hear ANYTHING coming out of an earpiece.