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Hookers

I figured I may as well be blunt with the title of this post and get right to the point.  I hope that’s ok with you.  This post ended up being pretty long, so settle in.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was in Las Vegas on business for a couple of days.  I’ve been to Vegas way more times than I can count, and yet I’d never had any interaction with a prostitute (knowingly at least).  Because of some people with whom I associate, that all changed on this trip.  The names have been changed to protect the…parties involved.

I wrote about how I got lost on my way to a dinner.  I had planned on walking with an associate of mine, but he called and said he was running late.  “Just head over without me,” he said, “And we have 9 people now instead of 8 so let them know when you get there.”  “Oh, who’s joining us?” I asked.  “Well one person canceled, but Jerry’s bringing two girls.”  Call it naïveté, call it what you will, but I naturally assumed that it was two females who Jerry knew at our conference from another company.

When I accidentally walked into the wrong place (quite possibly the same place I had just left), I ran into Jerry and we walked over to the correct place together.  “Steve said you were bringing two women with you,” I said.  He laughed.  “Yeah, they’ll meet us there.  I was giving my number to someone last night, and this one girl was sitting nearby and wrote it down too.  She called me and asked if I wanted to hang out tonight, so she’s coming and bringing a friend.  I just hope Steve will help cover their cost because I’m only good for about half of it.”  That was enough information to cause my naïvetéto wear off rather quickly.

We waited in the bar area with a few other dinner guests until the whole party arrived.  Jerry went out to the front desk area to wait when two young ladies came in through a different entrance and started looking around.  “I bet that’s them,” I said to another guy, but he wasn’t sure.  Then Jerry came back and one of them lit up, said hi, and gave him a hug.  That’s right, I know my hos.  They introduced themselves to us as Heidi and Katherine, shook our hands, repeated our names, and smiled in an over-friendly way that made me uncomfortable.  I quickly picked up my drink with my left hand to show off my wedding ring, then immediately laughed at myself since I doubt that would’ve been a deterrent for them.  (By the way, I didn’t change their names since they may have been fake to begin with.  That’s fair, right? And I’m totally guessing on how they’d spell their names.  I’d probably be more accurate with Hydee and Kathrynne, but I’ll stick with my first spellings.)

While I was introducing myself to the other guests who had arrived, Heidi leaned in and said to Jerry, “Can we speak with you privately for a minute?”  “Ah, hammering out the fine points of the deal!” I thought.  “This is just like on tv!”  The hostess showed us the way to a big, round table and we took our seats.  I was on the complete opposite side of where we left open chairs for the working ladies, which I both liked and disliked.  On one hand, I wasn’t very comfortable around them and appreciated the distance.  On the other, this was new territory for me and I wanted to hear what kinds of conversations they were going to have.  A woman from another company at the conference was sitting next to me (I’ll call her Dawn) and quietly asked who the two women are.  Since Jerry hadn’t been the least bit secretive about it, I told her the truth.  She laughed pretty hard and recounted the conversation she’d just had with Heidi.  It went something like this:

Dawn: So are you two in marketing also?

Heidi: Um, sort of.  I guess you could say that.

Dawn: Oh, what company do you work for?

Heidi: You ask a lot of questions!

Needless to say, I was pretty damn interested in seeing how this meal would play out.

Steve is kind of a big shot, and I know him well enough that I can make fun of him from time to time.  So after he ordered a bunch of appetizers (including a beautiful seafood tower) and another round of drinks for the table, I was watching as he spoke with Katherine.  I couldn’t hear him, but she alternated between laughing and making somewhat shocked faces.  Then I heard this unbelievable nugget from him: “You see, I’m in the business of selling things on tv.  Back in the day, people tried selling really expensive things, but that didn’t work.  The better idea is to give something away as a free trial, and then once they like it…” I decided the time was right for me to enter the conversation.  “Gee, where are you going with this, Steve?” Heidi answered: “I know where he’s going, and that’s not going to work for us.”  She smiled when she said that, but it was also clear that her business model didn’t support his “free trial” idea.

“Katherine,” I said, “If you can try to remember the three most outlandish things he says, I’d love to remind him of them tomorrow.”  She smiled and said she’d try her best.  Then Heidi nodded at me to get my attention.  I looked at her, and she mouthed something while tilting her head toward her fellow lady of the night.  “Excuse me?” I asked.  “I think you like Katherine,” she said.  On cue, Katherine gave me a faux-shy smile that she didn’t really pull off.  “Um, I’m sure she’s a very nice young lady,” I said, and then I immediately began a conversation with Dawn (the non-working woman) to my right.   “I’m pretty sure that was my last conversation with them,” I told her, and she agreed that that was a good call.

By the way, I’d been rudely texting at the table with my lovely wife the entire time, giving her a play-by-play of the event.  A guy named Dave sitting to my left was also texting, but as it turned out, it was with Katherine across the table.  She was asking what he was doing later, and he was trying to remain as noncommittal as possible while still keeping the e-conversation going.

At this point, I got up and went to the bathroom.  On my way back, I hoped that I wouldn’t run into the pair of ladies heading to the bathroom.  Maybe I’m too considerate, but I didn’t want them to waste any efforts trying to convert me into a customer when I had zero intention of that actually happening.  Fortunately, that didn’t happen.  When I got back to the table though, they weren’t sitting there anymore.  I figured I had just missed them and mentally wiped my brow in relief.  As it turns out, they weren’t in the bathroom at all.  During my brief time peeing out some of the alcohol I’d been imbibing, I missed a fight between Jerry and his…employees.  Apparently, they thought they had been clear that they were charging him by the hour, regardless of what activity was occurring during said hour.  Jerry had yelled at them, saying that he’d given them $1,000 already and that they should be happy to sit and have a nice dinner and drinks with us.  While Heidi and Jerry argued, Katherine apparently went up to Steve and asked if he could help cover their fees.  “No offense honey,” he said, “But I can find plenty of pretty girls who won’t charge me to take them out for a nice dinner.”  The two women stormed out, and Jerry called the waiter over to cancel the entrees they had ordered.  And I missed all of that!

Fortunately, Dave kept texting with Katherine during the meal.  She said that they were so embarrassed by how Jerry had yelled at them, but that Dave seemed nice and they’d like to hang out with him.  “Just so you know, we’re very high class.  $500 each,” she wrote.  I think telling someone you’re “very high class” before listing your rates for sex go together very nicely, don’t you?  Dave told her he wasn’t interested in a very polite way, and we all had a lovely rest of the meal.

But oh, we’re not done yet, friends.  We had a party to go to after dinner, hosted at a nightclub by a company I’ve worked with off and on for years.  Jerry and a few others went in a different direction, saying they needed to stop by a separate party first.  A friend of a colleague who I’ll call Mark asked if we could stop his hotel (which was mine too) for a minute while he ran up and got the ticket he needed to get in.  We were fine with that, so he said just to wait in the bar near the elevators and have a drink.  I’d had enough to drink by then that I was fine (especially knowing I’d have one or two more at the party), and no one else felt like ordering anything, so we just kind of mingled at the bar.  Dave started chatting with a young lady who had smiled at him while sitting at the bar.  “What are you drinking?” he asked her.  “Just a Coke,” she said.  In my head, I thought something like, “HOOKER! HOOKER! HOOKER!”  It was three things that set off my whore alarm (whorlarm?): she was sitting alone, she was biding her time by drinking something non-alcoholic, and she smiled at Dave.  Mark came down and introduced himself to the attractive blonde who had joined our group, and she said her name was Nicole.  Being the gentleman he is, he invited her to come to the party with us.  As it turns out, he’d secured a few extra entrance tickets in case he needed them for a situation just like this.  She paused to consider his offer, and he said, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”  “Ok,” Nicole said, and we moved as a group to the XS nightclub.

On the walk, Mark leaned over to me and asked if I thought she was a working girl or not.  “You have more experience in this than I do, but I totally think so.”  “Let’s find out,” he said.  “Hey Nicole, you out in Vegas with some friends?”  “Nope, just me.”  “Just you?  And when did you get in?”  “About three weeks ago,” she answered.  He looked back at me and simultaneously winked and nodded.

Once at the party, most of the group dispersed, leaving me with just Mark and Nicole.  There was a live band and they were huddled pretty close to each other, so I couldn’t hear everything they were saying.  I heard that she was from Omaha and that she had a two and a half year old son, but that was about it.  Mark was showing her pictures on his phone, laughing loudly at jokes (his own probably), and hamming it up.  I chatted with some other people for a while, had a couple of drinks, talked with a different group (including Jerry, who’d made it from the other party), and basically counted down the minutes until I thought it was reasonable for me to leave.  Shortly before hitting that magical time, Mark called me over.  “I’m going to the bathroom for a minute – entertain her until I come back.”  Awesome.

So I sat down and made the smallest of small talk for a couple of minutes.  Then I said, “You missed quite a dinner earlier tonight.”  “Oh he told me about it – sounds crazy,” she replied.  “Yeah, I guess our friend and the two ladies thought they had an arrangement but weren’t on the same page.”  “Guess not,” she said, before adding, “I never charge for dinner.”  Confirmation!  Now that she’d opened the door, I wanted to get as much info out of her as I could about life in her profession.  “Oh no?” I asked.  “No, if someone wants to take me out to dinner or a show or something, that’s different than what I’m getting paid for.”  Somewhere Jerry was waving an angry fist in the air.

“What else can I ask her?” I wondered.  She said her ex was in Las Vegas and that they had joint custody, so that’s why she moved out there.  After talking about kids a bit longer (and showing her pictures of mine), I felt comfortable introducing another topic.  “So you moved here from Omaha?  What were you doing there?”  “I was dancing at a couple of clubs.  Just dancing though, not…this too.”  “Oh, was that a hard transition for you once you got here and started doing…this?” I asked, using her terminology.  “Not really, I mean entertaining people is entertaining people,” she replied.  I can’t say that I agree with her on that stance, but she kept on talking: “I’m dancing here too.  I have two jobs, one at Sapphire and one at Rick’s, but if I have someone set up for this, I won’t go in.”  “Hold on,” I said, “You’ve been here for three weeks and you already have two jobs?”  She gave me a “duh” look and said, “It’s not hard.  You walk down the stage one way, take off your clothes, and walk back.  Actually, I just took off my top.”  “And that was enough to get the jobs?”  She gave me the “duh” look again.

A little while passed, and she asked me if I thought Mark was coming back.  “Yeah, I do,” I said.  “Knowing him, he probably ran into a few people on the way to the bathroom and he’ll run into a few more on his way back.”  That seemed to put her at ease a little.  “I’m pretty sure he’s interested, but he mentioned his girlfriend so I’m not positive,” she said.  “I can’t help you there,” I said. I texted Mark and asked if he was coming back.  Shortly thereafter, he replied with, “2 min.”  I showed Nicole and she smiled.  I didn’t see dollar signs in her eyes like in cartoons, but they were probably there.

The conversations get a little more serious after that.  She told me that she wasn’t working for anyone (i.e. a pimp, I suppose), so she got to keep 100% of what she earned.  “Does that make it scarier for you though?” I asked.  “Not really.  I have a friend who I can call at any time and she’ll be anywhere in a moment’s notice.  And if I don’t feel completely comfortable, I’ll leave.  Even if it’s in a hallway with a guy on the way to his room, if something in my gut says it’s not right, I’m out of there.  If all else fails, I have some ways to protect myself.”  She patted her small silver purse while saying that last line.  I went for it: “What do you have in there?”  “Everything.”  “You have a gun in there?”  She nodded and said, “But I’ve never had to even take it out and I hope I don’t have to.  I have a few other things that I’d reach for first if anything ever came up.  So far I’ve been fine relying on my gut instincts.”  I assumed that “other things” meant pepper spray or maybe even a knife, but left that alone.  “Wow, well please stay safe,” I said.  And I really meant it.

“Do you want me to text him again?” I asked.  “In a minute,” she said.  Then I thought, “What the hell?” and pushed all my chips into the middle of the table.  “Just to be clear, I’m not interested – I’m happily married.  I’m just curious, if you don’t mind sharing, what your services typically cost.  Or is there a sliding scale?”  “It ranges from client to client based on what they want,” she said, and I dropped that topic.  A minute later, her phone buzzed.  She held it up to me and asked, “Is that his number?”  I looked at her screen and saw two things.  First, it was a number that I recognized as Mark’s.  Second, it was his message to her: “I made a wrong turn and I’m going back to my room.  Please join me.”  Then he listed his room number.  “Yep, that’s him,” I said, and she put her drink down in preparation to go make some money within her range. Since I was staying in the same hotel, I said I’d walk with her there.  We chatted some more and got into an elevator together.  My floor was first, and as I got out, I told her it was nice meeting her, to have fun, and to be safe.  On the walk to my room, I sent Mark a text of my own: “She’ll be there in just a minute – have fun.”

The next morning, two funny things happened.  First, I ran into Jerry and asked how he was doing.  “Mark had some girl text me with her number at like 3am seeing if I wanted company, but I was already asleep.”  I guess Mark was trying to help out a friend after the first two ladies didn’t work out.  How sweet.   The second funny thing was when I ran into Mark a few hours later.  “Have fun last night?” I asked.  He smiled and tried to brush it off.  “She actually seemed like a nice woman,” I said.  “Which one?” he asked.  “Nicole…why, was there more than one?”  He looked like he was thinking about whether or not to answer that before responding somewhat sheepishly with, “Yeah, I called Katherine too.”  “At the same time?” I asked.  Even more sheepishly: “No, about half an hour after Nicole left.  I get stupid when I have too much to drink, and I had way too much to drink.”  I let that all sink in for a moment before asking if he had a good time with his prostitutes.  “Honestly, I only remember about a quarter of it, but yeah, I think I had fun.”

We walked together to the main ballroom in which the convention was being held, and I got some more information from him on the night.  Turns out Katherine had given him her number too, so she was angling for business even more than I thought.  I guess she sensed my “aw hell no” stance on further interaction with her and didn’t even try.  I also asked about Nicole’s pricing, since he was being open and she didn’t give me a figure before.  “I offered her $1,000 to stay the whole night, but after about an hour, I was ready for her to go and she only took $500.”  “And then you called Katherine?”  “I showered and was going to go to bed when I thought, ‘Maybe I’m not done after all’ and gave her a call.”  “And she was $500 too?”  “Yeah, I think so.”  Way to go, man, way to go.

So that, everyone, is my long (and only) story about interacting with prostitutes and the fun that ensued.  During my “information gathering” stage of the night, I paused once and asked myself why I was so interested in getting as many facts and stories as possible.  The answer came back pretty clearly: an eventual blog post.  Who needs to spend $1,000 on one night having sex with strangers when you can write about other people doing that for free?  Mark may disagree, but I think I come out way ahead in that scenario.  To hookers!

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From point A…

“Excuse me,” I said to the casino worker, “How do I get to the Capital Grille from here?”  She’d clearly been asked that before because her reply sounded almost scripted: “Just follow this walkway all the way to the end, go through the doors on your right, then cross Las Vegas Boulevard and it’ll be right in front of you on the second floor of the mall.”  I thanked her and started down the path, thinking that even I could handle directions that only had three real steps.  I’m horrendous when it comes to these things, you see, and even worse when it’s a place like a casino that wants it to be confusing.  I felt confident about this short trip though.

When I got to the end of the walkway, there were indeed doors to my right.  “So far so good,” I thought.  I exited, hoping to see The Strip right in front of me, but instead saw a huge semi-circle driveway filled with cabs and limos.  I took the sidewalk around the giant drop-off area and got to the street.  In a small sea of people, I crossed the street confidently and saw a building in front of me that looked like it had some shops in it.  “Aha, said mall,” I thought.  Once again, there was a huge and crowded driveway between me and my destination, so I took a long arc of a sidewalk around it until I got to some entrance doors.  I stepped in and stopped with what must have been an awesomely confused look on my face.  “The ceiling looks the same as the place I just came from,” my inner voice said.  My confusion got a break when someone called my name.  I looked up and saw a man with whom I’d soon be dining.  “You gonna head over?” he asked.  “I was…just trying to,” I said, “But I think I ended where I started.”  “What?”  More talking to myself than him, I said, “But I crossed a street!  How am I back here?  It was a real street too, with a flashing red hand and everything.”  He laughed and said, “Well I’m gonna walk over there now if you want to come with me.  It’s just across the street.”  I said that would probably be best.  About three minutes later, we were there.  “Wow, that was a lot easier blindly following someone,” I said.  

I’m still not exactly sure what happened, but it’s safe to say that I don’t exaggerate how incredibly shitty I am at getting from one place to another.  And seeing as how my lack of direction didn’t stay in Vegas, I’m sure this won’t be the last time something like this occurs.   I can’t wait.

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Music for small ears, Part III

It took me a while, but I’m back to talk about the third section: Cool Kid Songs.  In case you couldn’t tell by this category’s name, it’s also my favorite of the groups.

I have to have a quick aside first, if you don’t mind.  One of our kids’ music cds has a version of “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song).”  I’ve heard that song more times than I can say over the course of my life, and yet I just really listened to it for the first time last week.  I know it might sound stupid, but I turned to my lovely wife and asked, “So they’re picking bananas at night?”  “What?”  “They go home when daylight arrives,” I said.  “I guess so then,” she replied while nodding.  I always thought of it at a happy “sing in the sun” type of song celebrating the day (o).  Instead, I guess it’s more of a “I’m tired of picking these fucking bananas all night so hurry up and tally me banana so I can get some rest” song.  Tally me banana, indeed.

Ok, back to the Cool Kid Songs.  A few years before we had children, a guy I worked with made me a copy of a cd called “For The Kids.”  Even being childless at the time, we listened to the cd and really liked a lot of it.  It had artists we dug, including Cake, Guster, and Barenaked Ladies, not to mention songs by Sarah McLachlan, Darius Rucker from Hootie and the Blowfish, Sixpence None the Richer, and the lead singer of Five For Fighting (with an incredibly catchy song called “The Hoppity Song”).  The songs were a mix of known kid songs, Muppet songs, and ones I didn’t know.  In short, it was great.

As a dad, I appreciated these songs much more.  Instead of hearing kids (or fake kids) telling me that they’re happy and they know it for a tenth time, I could choose to rock out to groups I like with songs they’d like.  The same is true with the “Curious George” soundtrack by Jack Johnson.  If you like Jack Johnson’s music, it’s just like getting a new cd of his with the added benefit of your kids probably liking it too. 

When we found out that the Barenaked Ladies had an entire album of kid songs called “Snacktime!,” we got it the very next day.  It’s awesome.  They sing about food, frogs, pirates, likes and dislikes, trees, allergies, and erasers.  Some of the songs could’ve easily been put on their non-kid albums and I wouldn’t have thought twice about them.  And just in case it wasn’t already completely up my alley, they have a song at the end called “Crazy ABCs” in which “a is for aisle,” “g is for gnarly,” “t is for tsunami,” etc.  My favorite is after saying “q is for qat,” Ed tells us that it’s a perfect Scrabble word because it’s a Q word that doesn’t require a U after it.  I laughed especially hard at that since my friend Lisa and I had just been playing “qat” against each other in our Scrabble-type game and enjoying its U-lessness.  “Aren’t your kids a little young for that?” you might wonder.  Well, yeah, but that’s not the point.  The songs are entertaining, and since they make me sing along and dance around for them, they’re exponentially more entertaining to them too. Win-win, baby, win-win.

One more thing to add before I wrap up this month-long series: lullabies.  How can lullabies be cool?  How about if they’re lullaby versions of Beatles songs?  What about U2 songs?  What if I told you that there are lullaby versions of Green Day and Metallica songs?  Pretty damn cool, no? 

So while we still listen to all three categories of songs in a given day, this one is obviously my favorite.  In fact, I think I’d devote a whole chapter to it in the book I’ll probably never write.  It would be about how to maintain your spousal relationship and the primary aspects of your personality after you have kids.  I was thinking of calling it, “How to Have Sex with Children,” but something tells me that might not go over well.  I guess not all wordplay is automatically good wordplay.  Shucks.  I guess I’ll have to give that some more thought.

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Music for small ears, Part II

Hello again.  Since ending my last post mid-train-of-thought, I’ve had an unsettled feeling, akin to how you might feel if you heard the “Shave and a haircut” tune without the “two bits.”  So I’m back and ready to re-dive into the world of children’s music.  I think I mostly covered the section on classic kid songs, so I’m going to move forward now (knowing full well that I’ll probably be jumping back and forth between sections).

I called the second category, “Songs That Might Be Classics But I Didn’t Know.”   On our double cd of kid songs, there’s a good handful of these.  I didn’t know the “Mr. Golden Sun” song on there (though my lovely wife did), for example.  Another new-to-me song is “My Little Red Wagon.”  It’s catchy enough, but part of the song bugs the shit out of me every time.  It’s not the song’s fault either – it’s whoever produced these cds.  (Strap in, here comes a long ass tangent.)

Thanks to these cds, I’ve realized that there’s another thing in this world of which I’m not so fond: adults singing in kids’ voices.  In “About a Boy,” Hugh Grant’s character hates it when people sing with their eyes closed; stand-up comedian and actor Bryan Callen hates carolers because he can’t stand when people smile at him while they’re singing.  For me, it’s picturing grown women in a recording studio talking, singing, and laughing in their best pre-pubescent voices.  That said, these cds already had an uphill battle. 

Back to the “Wagon” song now: the part that bothers me is after the first chorus when the “kids” have a little “impromptu” chat.  “Hey Michael,” says one, “Have you ever thought of painting your wagon green?”  “NO!!” he answers, “It’s a RED wagon!”  Then together: “Yeah!  Hahahahaha!”  Are you fucking kidding me?  That’s what passes for dialogue in this genre of music?  Wow.  When I was three, I made up a joke: “Why don’t you put mustard on a hamburger?  Because you put ketchup on a hamburger!”  I think those are on the same level, though it’s worth noting that I was an actual kid when I came up with that and not a 50 year-old woman pretending to be a kid way older than three.

Crap, now I’m fixated on that cd.  Don’t get me wrong, they’re catchy songs and I’ll continue to sing along and dance to them as long as that makes my kids smile.  That doesn’t mean I have to like all of their artistic choices though.  Speaking of which, they erred on the side of being overly safe and politically correct in ways that no one would’ve thought twice about.  For example, they sing a version of “We Are Family.”  “I got all my sisters with me,” they sing.  Then – where there’s no room and it’s nowhere near in rhythm with the song – a voice adds, “And brothers!”  Heaven forbid we single out the females in a song.  Similarly, they have the “Baby Bumblebee” song that I learned at camp a long time ago.  My version had the speaker get stung, then smash the bee in retaliation, lick it up, and then vomit all over the place.   This one…doesn’t.  I can’t even remember what they do instead, but after getting stung by the bee, of course one of the “kids” throws in, “It didn’t hurt though!”  I think that’s a much worse direction to go in.  Why would we try to teach kids that getting stung by bumblebees doesn’t hurt?  I realize that they don’t follow up with, “Let’s go play with that beehive!  Yeah! Hahahaha!” but it’s still irresponsible if you ask me.  (And yes, I realize that nobody asked me.)

To be perfectly fair, I really like one choice that they made on this collection of songs.  You know “Bingo” (sorry, “B-I-N-G-O”), right?  Well I was standing over my kids’ playmat and being a silly dad for them when some pretty funky disco music came on.  “Aw yeah!” I said, as I wondered what song it might be.  Then the lyrics came: “There was a farmer who had a dog, and Disco was his name-o.”  Nice touch, fake children. 

Ok, I’m stopping here.  I plan on posting something sometime soon about the third category, but since I just said something nice about the music, it’s probably a good place to stop before I think of another part that bugs me.  Have a nice Saturday.  (And Sunday! Hahahaha!)

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Music for small ears

As I look through my posts so far on this website, I feel like I’ve written more about music than anything else.  If I had to guess, I’d say the second most common theme might be my kids.  Therefore, it was only a matter of time before I wrote a post about the music to which my kids are listening.  I think I can break it all down into three categories: Classic Kid Songs, Songs That Might Be Classics But I Didn’t Know, and Cool Kid Songs. 

When it comes to Classic Kid Songs, I find that I hear them a little differently than I did as a kid.  Much like with my Lyrical Breakdown posts, there are new meanings or angles in virtually all of them.  For example, I said to my lovely wife a couple of days ago, “Ya know, I’d be pretty pissed off if I were that doctor.”  “What doctor?” she asked (and rightfully so).  “The one who keeps telling that mom that the monkeys shouldn’t be allowed to jump on the bed anymore.  He needs to transfer that client to another physician because she clearly isn’t listening.  Oh look, another head wound from letting your monkeys do exactly what I told you not to let them do five f’n times already.”  She gave me a look that I’m pretty sure meant, “I love/am concerned that you think like that.” 

Along the same lines, I have no idea how someone plays Knick-Knack.  Maybe I missed that day at recess, but it seems to be a pretty versatile game.  It can apparently be played on a shoe, on a knee, with some sticks, etc.  Ok, buckle in for a second because I’m about to blow the door off this one – I just looked at the lyrics on Wikipedia, and I’m more disturbed than ever.  In the order of least-to-most problematic:

3.  There are 20 frickin’ verses to this song?  That was overly ambitious (as evidenced by the horrible rhymes of “thirteen” with “curtain” and “fourteen” with “autumn”).  Let’s try to forget those ever happened.

2. In verse number seven, the old man plays Knick-Knack “up in heaven” or “on the way to heaven,” depending on how you know it.  Either way, has the main character been dead the entire time a la “The Sixth Sense” and we never realized it?  Who’s this creepy kid playing games with a deceased old man for twenty verses?

1. Oh boy, the creepiness goes both ways it appears.  Looking at the lyrics, “This Old Man” should probably be called “This Pervy Ghost.”  I still don’t know what Knick-Knack is, but the old/dead man plays it on the narrator’s thumb (or tongue, as a scarier alternate lyric says), his shoe, and his knee to start the song.  The pedophile’s getting more daring going up to the knee, wouldn’t you say?  Well, in verse five, there’s an alternate lyric of playing this “game” on the speaker’s thigh.  And in verse nine, he’s on the kid’s spine.  I’m just glad that there are no numbers that rhyme with “uvula” or “anus,” because I’m pretty sure the old man would skip to those numbers as quickly as possible.

Crap, I had no intention of spending that long on one particular song.  To summarize, I don’t really get or like that song anymore.  But do you know who loves that song?  The dog.  That dog gets a bone every single verse (before the old man mysteriously “rolls” home – is he an obese pedophile ghost?).  Good dog, now go learn how to report your owner to the authorities. 

I’m going to stop here for now.  I went a little overboard, so I’ll save the second and third categories for a later date.   If I ruined “This Old Man” for you, I don’t apologize in the slightest.  But if I got it stuck in your head for the rest of the day, I do feel a little sorry about that.

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Unapparent apparel

Through my work, I was at a commercial shoot earlier today. That happens from time to time, and though there are some cooler aspects to it, it’s largely a shitload of sitting around and waiting. The crew will take 45 minutes to an hour to set up a shot, and then filming the shot itself will take a whopping five minutes. An hour later, and we’re doing the same thing for another shot that will eventually amount to 30 seconds of air time.

Well, today’s shoot started with something a little different. I was there, hanging out with some of the people involved and doing my thing, when one of the actors arrived. We were going over his various wardrobe choices and finally agreed that we needed something that wasn’t there. The nice woman in charge of that department said she’d run down the street to Target. Before she left, the actor asked, “Do you have shoes for me?” I guess we all had the same confused look on our faces, because he pointed down to his feet and said, “I only brought flip-flops.” Here’s the thing: his role in the spot involves him exercising. It’s his only role, really, and he knew this months ago. Still, the producer and wardrobe lady took it in stride and said, “We’ll get some for you. What size are you?” I was still a little concerned that he wouldn’t bring shoes (or socks for that matter) to the shoot, but my astonishment didn’t last too long…because I was re-astonished. “Oh, and can you get some underwear too?” “Excuse me?” one of them asked. “Yeah, I don’t wear underwear, so I didn’t bring any of those either,” he answered matter-of-factly.

After we mocked him for a while behind his back, I tried playing devil’s advocate: “Ok, maybe we’re being a little harsh here. Sure, it’s an exercise show and he’ll be on the floor wearing shorts, but maybe he expected underwear – and shoes of all sizes – to be supplied.” “Nope!” the wardrobe woman chimed in. “I emailed him last week and again yesterday with a list of everything to bring.” “And you wrote ‘shoes’ in there just to be safe?” I asked. “And underwear too,” she replied.

So there you have it – no excuses for the shoeless, sockless Commando. While that’s not the most interesting thing in the world, it certainly made me smile a few times during my multiple “sitting and waiting” sessions throughout the day.

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Lyrical Breakdown: The Beastie Boys

When “Licensed to Ill” by The Beastie Boys came out in November of 1986, it was revolutionary.  Rap music went from an all-black counter-culture movement depicting lives and scenarios unseen by the masses to a mainstream, popular, and fun type of music led by three New York Jewish kids who encouraged us to party.  (Partying is a God-given right, after all.)  I only remember three things about that next summer: One, I turned 10 years old.  Two, the Lakers won the championship and Pat Riley guaranteed that they’d do it again the following year (which they did – suck it, Celtics and Pistons).  Three, “Licensed to Ill” was on damn near non-stop during my days at Camp Skyview. 

Every single bus ride started with someone putting that cassette tape on.  Everyone sang/rapped along as each song seamlessly bled into the next one.  The only non-Beastie Boys time on the bus was in the brief seconds it took for someone to eject the tape and flip it over to start the next side.  As you can imagine, the songs are still near and dear to my heart.  When “She’s Crafty” (song #3) popped into my head last week, I realized that it would make a good candidate for a Lyrical Breakdown (if I ever sat down and spent the required time writing about it).  I looked up the lyrics on a few different sites, and while there are a few words that I would’ve put down differently, I’ll go with what seems to be the accepted text.  Take it away, MCA, Ad Rock, and Mike D:

Well this girl came up to me – she says she’s new in town
But the crew been said they seen her around
I thought they were right but I didn’t wanna know
The girlie was Def and she wanted to go

Please remember, I was 10 years old at the time.  That said, I wasn’t stupid.  I knew right off the bat that the girlie wasn’t “deaf,” which is a plus because that little misunderstanding would’ve changed the whole song for me.  Also, I knew from the way they said “she wanted to go-oh!” that it implied something of a sexual nature.  When the older, wiser P-Dawg looks at this intro through adult eyes, I have a question: Why didn’t he want to know that about her?  Here’s my reading of these four lines: A chick approached him with a variation of a pick-up line (very aggressive, no?).  His buddies have heard or seen slutty things about her and slyly mention this.  He hopes that they’re wrong because he’s not into the trampy types, but he gets the feeling that she came up to him for one reason and one reason only: to bone down.

I think her name is Lucy but they all call her Loose
I think I thought I seen her on eighth and forty-deuce
The next thing she said, “My place or yours?
Let’s kick some bass behind closed doors!”

Well, here’s the first case of me missing something due to my small number of years at the time.  10 year-old P-Dawg thought, “Yeah, I guess Luce is a nickname of Lucy.  Maybe they just needed a rhyme for ‘deuce.'”  Didn’t occur to me that it was the other spelling and a telling nickname for this whorish young lady.  I did, however, understand that “kicking some bass” was a euphemism for sex.  I was very advanced for my age. 

We got into the cab – the cab driver said
He recognized my girlie from the back of her head
He said a little something about tip to base
So I made him stop the cab to get out of the place
I shouldn’t have looked back man I’ll always regret it
Something’s going on and I’ll probably never get it
She was crying like a baby – stupid dumb
It’s just too bad that girl’s a bum

(chorus) She’s crafty – she’s gets around
She’s crafty – she’s always down
She’s crafty – she’s got a gripe
She’s crafty – and she’s just my type
She’s crafty

Ok, here is the reason behind this whole post: the cab driver scene.  As a 10 year-old and all the way up until my favorite brother and I had a discussion recently, I never really thought about what any of those words meant.  Why would he recognize her from the back of her head?  Maybe he sat behind her in class or something.  Now, not only do I get the sexual meaning behind that, but it makes me wonder how the cabbie would even see the back of his passenger’s head.  I guess he recognized the front of her too but felt like stating his past with her in a more poetic fashion.  But oh, that next line isn’t nearly as poetic.  My bro (and probably the rest of my friends) never really thought about what “tip to base” could be in reference to.  I mean, he’s a cab driver, and there’s a base fee and a tip on top of that, right?  But what has else has a tip and a base and could upset someone by talking about spanning that distance while looking at the back of his ladyfriend’s head?  Hmmm.  I asked my Bratty Kid Sister if she’d ever thought about it, and she said that the dirty way made “more disgusting sense” and was probably the true meaning.  Flash back to the busload of happy 8-14 year-olds loudly singing along with those lines and tell me you don’t feel just a teensy bit uncomfortable.

Along similar lines, I remember thinking “She’s always down” in the chorus was about her being sad.  Now, it’s probably more along the lines of, “She’s ready for the hippity dippity if you are, homes.”  But there’s something else new here for me: “She’s just my type.”  So he’s drawn to this kind of young lady, even though it leads to him ultimately being unhappy.  It’s self-aware to be sure, but also self-destructive and his crew needs to step in earlier to stop the cycle from repeating itself instead of just coyly mentioning the girlie’s whorish tendencies.  Ready for the next verse?  Of course you are.

I spent my last dollar to by a Sabrett
When I seen this girl I could never forget
Now I like nothing better than a pretty girl smile
And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while
The girl came up to me she said she loved the show
Asked her to come home and she couldn’t say no

As young P-Dawg, I eventually realized that he wasn’t saying a slurred version of “cigarette.”  I never took the next logical step to ask what a Sabrett was, and I eventually settled on thinking that it was some kind of a hat.  Nope, it’s a hot dog – I was way off.  Back to the story though: is this a new girl who came up to him after the show?  It sure sounds like it, though the “the” in front of “girl” is confusing.  If it were “a” or “this” or even “some,” it would be clearer.  Here’s the main distinction though: he asks her to come home instead of the other way around.  The first chick was the aggressor, but now he’s the one wanting to kick some bass.  But wait – is this one still his type then?  As a kid, it never occurred to me that this could be a different woman, but that’s where adult me is leaning.  After all, the last time we saw the first girl, she was crying and a bum, so would he really be asking her back to his place just because she said she liked the show they just put on?  I say no.

We got to the crib – there’s Adam and D.
“We didn’t say a word!” – they just stared at me
I said, “I don’t know her, I just met her tonight.”
And Adrock started hiding everything in sight
D pulled me over said, “Hide your gold,
The girl is crafty like ice is cold!”

Yep, it’s gotta be a different girl.  With the first one, they’d seen her around before and knew of her slutty tendencies (slutendencies?).  With this one, it seems like they’re just afraid to have a stranger over there and sense some ulterior and nefarious motives.  (Ulfarious?)  The final line in this section is great for two reasons. First, it taught my generation that analogies can be fun.  Second, a kid named Chris who lived down the street from us when I was young thought it was, “The girl’s a crafty isotope.”  How did he know the word ‘isotope’?  Who knows, but elaborately wrong song lyrics were kinda his thing, as he also gave us the masterful “Smooth Apparatus” by Sade.

The girl is crafty – she knows all the moves
I started playing records – she knew all the grooves
D thought she was a thief – and D was right
But I just figured she’d spend the night

Oh yeah, and they taught us about foreshadowing too.  “D was right…she was a thief!  Get out of there, MCA!  She’s no good for you!”

When I woke up late in the afternoon
She had taken all the things from inside his room
I found myself naked in the middle of the floor
She had taken the bed and the chest of drawers
The mirror, the TV, the new guitar cord
My remote control and my old skateboard
She robbed us blind – she took all we owned
And the boys blamed me for bringing her home
(repeat chorus)

Here is another rather large difference between young me just accepting lyrics without thinking about them and the current me who overanalyzes words to the point that I argue with myself: She took a lot of stuff!  As a kid, I just crammed those lines together into a concise “she-stole-his-stuff” package and never broke down that with which she actually absconded.  1. He’s naked – but he could’ve been naked after all the bass-kicking, back-of-head-looking, and tip-to-base-ing.  2. The bed and the chest of drawers – whoa, how fucked up did he get to not notice someone (or more likely, multiple someones) removing large furniture from his room?  How did his roommates not hear this?  I’ve moved beds and other furniture more times than I can count, and that’s no silent process.  3. The mirror, the TV, the new guitar cord – ok, the TV makes total sense.  That’s what I’d expect her to steal.  Well, that, any cash lying around, maybe some weed, and a cassette tape or two.  A mirror?  Sure, why not.  A guitar cord?  Was the entire guitar not there to take?  She must have a guitar already to take a cord with her.  (And I always thought of it as “guitar chord” until today, even though that doesn’t make any sense when listed as a stolen item).  4. My remote control and my old skateboard – well of course she would take the remote if she’s taking the TV.  She’d be an irresponsible thief if she left that there.  Any why’s he complaining about that?  What good would a TV-less remote do him anyway?  As for the old skateboard, I see two readings on this.  Either it was his trusty skateboard that he’d had a long time (which would bum him out) or it was his last, unused skateboard (as opposed to the new one that she didn’t take).  I’m guessing it’s the former since he doesn’t sound too jazzed about the whole thing.

So she took everything (though there’s no mention of the other two beds being stolen), and MCA ends the verse with a little “They’re mad at ME?” humor.  It might not come across on the screen, but if you know the song, that’s definitely the intonation.  But the song doesn’t end there, my friends.  By adding the chorus again, we’re all reminded that despite all the shit that just went down (speaking of which, she didn’t steal their toilet, so they’ve got that going for them), her craftiness makes her just his type.  I don’t know if his parents didn’t love him enough or what, but that’s pretty fucked up to be drawn to sluts, criminals, and criminal sluts.  (Criminuts?)

So there you go, everyone.  I probably just gave more thought to this song than the 3 Beastie Boys did while writing it combined.  That’s what I bring to the table…assuming it wasn’t also stolen by the ulfarious criminut.

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Use your words

Despite being a person who loves words and word games, I was never a big fan of Scrabble. The problem was that I cared much more about putting “good” words out there (or ones I just liked for some reason) instead of focusing on getting the most points (which is, ya know, the goal of the game). I’ve always loved word jumbles, crossword puzzles, and more than half of the things found in the word puzzle magazines I get at the airport. But when it came to Scrabble, I preferred not to play because of the combination of my deficiencies and my desire to win at every game I play.

With all of that in mind, it was a bit of a leap for me to download a Scrabble-esque game on my iPod touch. I’d heard two good friends of mine talking about playing against each other and how much fun it was, so I wanted in. I especially liked that it might be hours or even days between moves so that I wouldn’t have to devote a certain amount of time to sit and focus on an entire game. So I took the plunge and started games with each of them.
Sure enough, I lost each of the first several games I played. I had fallen into my old traps, choosing to play a word like “debut” for 10 points over “box” for 13. Much more importantly, I didn’t pay attention to how my words were opening up the coveted Double/Triple Letter or Double/Triple Word spots, which ended many of my games before they ever really got started.

After a little while though, I became hip to all of that and slowly let my preference for “good” words fade into the background. I started playing for points and adopting a keep-away strategy when it came to the multiplier spots. I learned to use established tricky words (qat, adz, xi, etc.) to my advantage, and I started winning some games and making my losses more respectable. I also learned that two people can play against each other on the same device, so my lovely wife and I have taken to passing the iPod back and forth throughout our evenings and occasionally talking a little trash. I feel like I’m reformed and even will to play the real board game again sometime (even though I love the fact that the scores are automatically tallied in this version). Two things I’d like to point out though:

1. I’m not completely “fixed” with my word issues. Earlier this week, I played a word against my friend Lisa that we both agreed should’ve netted me more points. She had “ado” already on the board, and I masterfully (if I say so myself) added letters before and after it to turn it into the far more exciting “matador.” I knew I wasn’t maximizing the Doubles or Triples, and only the M was worth more than 1 or 2 points, but I couldn’t help myself.

2. Playing this game is causing me to overthink even more about words and their composition than I already do. While we were making dinner, I said to my lovely wife, “‘Shrub’ is a good word, especially if you’re stuck with only one vowel.” Later that night, she called our son a “champ” for some reason. “‘Champ’ is a good word too,” I said. “Even better actually.” I paused while my wheels turned. “Hey, you can put four different vowels where that A is in ‘champ’ and they all have very different meanings.” Being a wonderful partner who listens to me and humors me from time to time, she agreed. We spent the next minute or two talking about how different it is to be a champ, a chump, a chimp, or to chomp on something. “Three are nouns,” she said. I nodded, noting her accuracy.  “‘Chump’ would give the most points since the U is worth 2,” I added.   She nodded back.

So there you have it, friends.  I/we have a new little obsession that I never would’ve expected based on past failures.  It’s not as drastic as me taking up ice skating, but a fun and bold move nonetheless.  Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s my turn in three different games to assert my wordnerdiness.

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Beating the system

When I was young, I had an idea of how to screw over the government and totally get away with it.  I’ve never put it into practice (nor do I intend to), but I do feel like sharing it now.  Check it out: Let’s say I want to mail Mike Honcho something, but I don’t have any stamps.  Ruh roh.  Fear not – I write his address as the return address and mine as the one where the addressee would normally go.  Then I throw it in the mailbox without postage.  What happens to that piece of mail?  By all accounts, it would get stamped with “Insufficient Funds” and brought directly to his doorstep, right?  (Does everyone know about this already and just never mention it?) Instead of putting my address front and center, I could just put some made up address so it never gets traced back to me.  They’d never try to deliver it to the fake address because there’d be no postage.  Am I missing something here or is this a simple and foolproof way to stick it to the man?  I suppose there might be a limit to the distance one’s trying to mail something via this method.  I mean, chances are someone who lives in Paris isn’t dropping off a piece of mail in an Encino mailbox.  But how would they know that?  Why couldn’t the Parisian be visiting and want to mail something to an American while in the country?  I guess the only question that remains is whether looking cheap is worth saving 40-something cents.  I can imagine college kids sending things to each other this way across the country and saving several dollars over the course of a semester…if college kids ever sent anything by non-electronic mail anymore.

I thought of this because I had another idea in a similar category, though this one is purely for individual gain and not really at the expense of the government.  Here it is: I think I should buy a Town Car with tinted windows.  If I’m driving that, is there any chance a cop would pull me over in the carpool lane (unless I’m speeding)?  I’m not talking about a limo per se, but something clearly used for transporting people without the ability to see said people.  Think of the extra hours of life I’d have each year!  I truly believe I’m onto something here.  I mean, I’m not gonna do that of course…but still.  I’m just sayin’.

Got any “Stick It To ‘Em” schemes of your own?  Comment away, my friends!

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Feeling L.A.ted

MC Squared’s wife hails from a tiny little mountain town in the northern part of our great state of California.  I like to tell people that she didn’t need to learn how to change lanes while driving until she went to college, but it turns out that’s an exaggeration.  On New Year’s Day of this year, a group of us went out for breakfast after a fun night together.  Mrs. Squared leaned in and said, “We’re in L.A., so if someone looks like someone famous, it’s probably that person, right?”   We all agreed that that was indeed the case, so she nodded in a direction and asked who the red-head at the nearby table was.  “Oh, that’s Charlotte from Lost,” I said.  “That’s it!  Thanks,” she replied, and we went back to our meals. 

This kind of thing happens all the time, and having grown up in the Los Angeles area, I’m as used to it as one can get.  When I saw a cool-looking dad with a “Working Class Hero” shirt in Staples with two boys who looked like Gary Oldman, it turned out that he also had Gary Oldman’s voice and entire identity.  It just happens, so much so that I really can’t remember all of the famous people I’ve seen in the past couple of years, let alone my lifetime.  I’m not bragging (because it’s not like I’ve hung out with any of these people), but it’s one of the interesting aspects of life in L.A.

All that said, I had a two-day period this week that I can only describe as “so L.A.”  A lot of it has to do with my work, so I’m going to be vague when it comes to some of the actual names, but you’ll get the point.  First off, we have a client in town from the Chicago for a commercial shoot, and they were already thrilled with the weather and overall feel of being in Southern California.  My colleague and I took them out to dinner with a couple of other people, one of whom happens to be the son of a famous former TV star in the 80s and 90s.  When I’d first mentioned who his mom was on the phone before the trip out, they oohed and aahed like he was an exotic animal.  So we took them out to a cool and happening place on Sunset, and while we were checking in at the hostess desk, I leaned into the group and said, “In case you’re interested, that’s Dr. Dre sitting right over there.”  “Oh my god, you’re right!” one said.  (Duh.)  I watched as they quickly scanned the rest of the restaurant to see if anyone else of such importance was there while we walked to our table.  Though no one stood out, they weren’t disappointed as they were clearly still riding the Dre high.

During the meal, an L.A.-based woman with whom we occasionally work said that her husband was going to stop by and join us for part of the meal.  When he walked in, I shook his hand and introduced myself.  Meanwhile, the voice inside my head said, “Hey, he’s the guy that won that reality show a few years ago.”   So there I was on the patio of a trendy restaurant with an old tv star’s son, a reality tv personality, and nearby an icon in the music industry.  To complete the scene, the table behind us had a man in his 50s sitting with five or six scantily clad young ladies who were clearly not his relatives.  The Midwesterners’ eyes could not have been wider. 

The next day at the commercial shoot, they were treated to another “Hollywood type” that they’d missed up to that point.  I was sitting with a woman who was hired to say two or three lines in the spot, and though I was writing emails on my Blackberry, I apparently missed the glowing neon sign above my head that said, “Please talk to me about how awesome you and your career are!”  Out of nowhere – seriously, we weren’t talking at all – she said, “I just completed a one-woman show that I hope to take off Broadway.”  “Oh cool,” I said, and I made an exaggerated move back to my phone to nicely show that I was done with the conversation.  “And I just got a call from someone,” she continued.  “She wanted to commend me on my honesty and forthrightness, which is exactly what I wanted to get across.”  I nodded and made a Clinton-esque lip purse to imply that I was proud of her.  That had to end it, right?  “A one-woman show is really hard to pull off,” she told me.  I decided it was time to have a little fun since she wasn’t getting any of my obvious hints.  “How large was the cast?” I asked.  “Just me!” she said.  “I know, I was kidding.”  “Oh.”  I went back to my phone, this time intensely writing an email to myself (about this lady’s honesty and forthrightness).  “That’s the big challenge of a one-woman show,” she continued, “not having other actors to bounce off of.”  “And a really small cast party,” I added.  “That’s so true!” she laughed.   Mercifully, she was called away to start getting her makeup done. 

I told the clients about that interaction and warned them to steer clear of talking about her one-woman show.  It became the running gag of the day, because the woman was…well, the word “nutjob” kept coming up.  In between takes, she ran over to us to tell us how difficult it is to say “Irish wristwatch” five times fast.  (She’s right, of course, and I truthfully have trouble saying that even one time correctly.)  Then she ran back to her spot and one of us inevitably asked, “Is that in her one-woman show?”  Ah, good times.

Anyway, I was just so struck by the L.A.-ness of those two days that I felt compelled to share.  If you live here too, you’re probably nodding.  If you don’t, you’re probably shaking your head.  It’s not for everyone, and I totally get that.  In fact, Death Cab For Cutie has a song called “Why You’d Want to Live Here” that’s as anti-L.A. as you can get.    But hey, Randy Newman still loves us, so it can’t be all that bad.

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