Nothing to Read Here – Page 16

You What?

Feb15

Posted by mcsquared in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

The other day I was driving to work and Porsche Boxster drove by me during my commute. I noticed this personalized license plate and immediately my brain forked in two different directions, multi-threading. At the same time I thought, “That’s a Porsche, and Porsche makes a Cayman, but that’s not a Cayman. Porsche also makes a Cayenne, and sometimes I confuse the two, probably because they start with the same three letters, but that’s also not a Cayenne.” At the same time I brain wrestled with that, the other half said “Heheheh, he said Cayman U.”

Hands down this is the most vulgar license plate I’ve ever seen, but I’d like to hear your close seconds, or even contenders for first. Mostly I’m impressed he was able to get this by the DMV. I picture the groups of snickering prison inmates pressing this plate. And then I try to stop picturing them as they point to the more timid, mousy, even pretty-mouthed inmates and quote the plate at them.

Did this Porsche owner tell the DMV he went to Cayman University? Is it a paired plate with his wife who drives a Cayman, whose plate says BOXSTR U and he’s totally unaware? Finally, is he claiming to have culminated inside of everybody he comes across?

Comes across.

Because the second-person is a cavalier choice. It’s not CAYMNHR, it’s U. So that’s anybody who reads the plate. It’s pretty aggressive and also not very picky. It’s far better than BINUPIT. Does he never take that car when he visits his mom? I doubt I will ever see a more vulgar plate, so I feel a sense of accomplishment having eye-witnessed it.

Tags: license plate, LPR

An open letter to country musicians

Feb12

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Psst, you there. Yeah, you with the twang, come here for a minute. It’s ok to put down your American flag; I promise not to call you a Socialist or anything. I have your next hit song here waiting for you to record. Ah, you’re interested now, eh? No, that wasn’t a Canadian “eh,” don’t worry. Are you ready? Check out this premise:

Even though life is pretty good right now in 2010, I can’t help but have…2020 vision. That’s right, we’re getting ahead of the curve with a catchy theme that will not only resonate well in this year, but it’ll be played non-stop in the latter part of 2019 just like Prince’s “1999” was all over the place in ’98. Not sold yet? Check out how many country music staples can be worked into “2020 Vision”:

1. Even though you broke my heart, by then I should be over you. Maybe I’ll have a family of my own and only remember the good times we once shared.

2. America will be stronger than ever. (“I think of the ways that our country is failin’/That ship will be righted by President Palin.”)

3. I’ll still have my best friend… (“By then my pup/Will be all grown-up.”)

4. …And the things that matter most to me. (“And with any luck/I’ll still have my truck.”)

5. And each chorus can end with a variation of the title. (“My twenty-ten fears and indecision/All melt away with my 2020 vision.”)

Seriously, what are you waiting for? This is country gold! Time is of the essence, so get to the studio now. And when you’re up on stage accepting your four or five CMA awards, just give a shout out to the good people at Nothing to Read Here. (Oh yeah, and whatever percentage of your royalties that you deem fair would be nice too.)

God bless America,

P-Dawg

Tags: 2020, America, country music

Stacy and Julia

Feb9

Posted by bks in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

So like every other unoriginal person out there, I decided I wanted to buy Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” after seeing the movie “Julie and Julia.” While I found Julie to be almost unbearable, Meryl Streep made Julia Child look lovable and cooking her way seemed to be joyous in a way that “Joy of Cooking” cooking never has been for me. Child put so much of herself into her food and her ground-breaking cookbook that I was sure it was going to be just the thing to inspire my own inner chef.

I’m not a terribly hopeless cook like my sweet mother is, and in fact it is my mother’s lack of culinary ability that inspired me to learn to cook in the first place. Though I found my steady diet of microwave French toast, deli sandwiches, and mac and cheese just dandy, I was always surprised when I would go to a friend’s house and see that their moms made pancakes for breakfast and sometimes would start preparing dinner right after lunchtime. LUNCHTIME! How long could something possibly sit in the microwave? When I was 14 and eating at my friend Shannon’s grandparents’ house, her grandma asked me if I liked pork chops and I told her I didn’t know because I had never tried them. Everyone looked at me like I had just told them I preferred to eat babies for dinner. It was then that I decided I would learn to cook so that my future children would not receive similar horrified looks when they ate at friends’ houses.

My attempts at cooking have generally gone pretty well. I feel confident in my ability to make a good lasagna, my parents love how I cook salmon and asparagus, and for three years in a row now I’ve made Thanksgiving dinner by myself. But Julia Child’s boeuf bourginon was certainly my loftiest endeavor to date.

Apparently it’s the first dish from her then-manuscript that the publisher tried to cook and was the recipe that made the publisher realize what a special and unique cookbook it truly was and prompted her to offer Julia and her comrades a book deal. It’s also the dish that Julie Powell ruins in the movie…and I would assume real life, but seeing as how I found her so irritating in the film, I couldn’t bear the thought of reading her book and/or blog. Blogs are just so self-indulgent.

I had to go to three stores to buy all the ingredients and dropped a pretty serious chunk of change doing so. I went to the butcher counter to get a six-ounce SLAB of bacon with the rind on. Prior to reading the recipe, I didn’t know you could purchase bacon by the slab, or that it had a rind, but rest assured you can, and it does. I sliced onions until my eyes stung and at one point had three of my four burners AND my oven going all at once. I was wearing an apron that was covered in flour and tapping a wooden spoon against the cookbook absent-mindedly while consulting the recipe for the 18th time. I was cooking!

Now I would never call myself any kind of authority on cooking whatsoever, but in my limited experience, I’ve never connected with what I was doing and saw myself on a path to an outcome like I did with my first Julia Child recipe. Usually I feel like I am blindly following random instructions in the vain hope that when I’m done there will be food. My dad likes to say “that’s not cooking; that’s reading.” But this time it really felt like cooking and I’ve never been more proud of something I’ve made.

Up until a few days ago, I really thought Julia Child was just a tall lady with a funny voice who people happened to trust with their dinners, and when the post-script of the movie claimed that her book “changed the world” I rolled my eyes. But if I can happily spend 3+ hours in the kitchen, feeling confident that I am doing everything right, and have something delicious at the end, my world is definitely better.

That’s bullshit: Band name edition

Feb8

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

I was hanging out with someone recently when the song, “Up On the Roof” came on. I said, “Who sings this? Is it…” “The Drifters,” he said. “Ah,” I replied, “I couldn’t remember if it was The Drifters or The Platters.” He nodded, as if to say that it was a reasonable memory lapse on my part. I then made a confused face. “Wait a minute,” I said, “That other band’s name is The Platters?” He thought I was still disputing the original song’s artist and told me that The Platters sang, “Only You,” “The Great Pretender,” “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and other hits. “No, no, I got that part, but what kind of name is The Platters? Could they have chosen a less interesting inanimate object?” He stared at me for a couple of seconds before saying, “Yeah, I guess that’s kinda boring.” “Kinda? What’s more boring than a tray used to bring other, more interesting things from one room to another?” He saw my point, but wasn’t nearly as perturbed as I was and quickly changed the subject.

Call me crazy, but I’ll take strange names like “Strawberry Alarm Clock,” “Japandroids,” and “Frightened Rabbit” any day over dull and lifeless ones. The Platters? What, was The Drying Rack taken? That’s bullshit!

Tags: band names, drifters, platters

My honest opinion

Feb5

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

I was on a plane two nights ago, and I made an executive decision to watch the movie they were showing. I still had a bit of a headache after drinking too much the night before, so Sudoku didn’t seem like the best idea. Instead, I listened to music during episodes of tv shows I don’t watch and tried closing my eyes for a bit. When it was time for the feature presentation though, I was all eyes. The movie was “The Invention of Lying,” starring Ricky Gervais and Jennifer Garner. I don’t go to movies often, but I’d wanted to see this one when it originally came out. I like Ricky Gervais quite a bit, and “Extras” on HBO was a great series (especially the second season). I like Ms. Garner too, though most of that is due to her being really hot in the first couple of seasons of “Alias.” The premise had intrigued me: In a world in which everyone has always told the truth, a man (Gervais) tells the first ever lie…and hilarity ensues. In theory.

The first problem I had was not the film’s fault whatsoever. The monitor that I was looking at had some weird color issues going on. It was almost like I was looking at film negatives of the movie, where light colors were replaced by shades of purple. This wasn’t as distracting as you might think. Oh sure, it looked like the characters were wearing weird masks for most of the movie, and daytime scenes had artsy-looking purple skies instead, but I don’t think it got in the way of the story. If anything, it made it visually interesting, like some of the recent Dr. Seuss movies, Tim Burton films, or even “cool” credit card commercials. It actually worked with the story, having a cartoon-y background matching an idealized version of society.

That said, lots of other things didn’t work for me. Five big ones, in fact. First off, I was initially pleased to see certain names in the opening credits. Namely, comedian Louis C.K. is often hilarious, and Jonah Hill has had some good moments in his career to date. However, Mr. C.K. was criminally underused here, to the point that I’m hoping there were some hilarious and vulgar scenes I just missed because they were edited out for the flying public. And Jonah Hill wasn’t funny either, unless you find humor in someone talking about how horrible his life is and the ways in which he’s considering offing himself.

That leads nicely to my second gripe: it wasn’t funny. The movie had an interesting concept and Ricky Gervais is likeable enough, but I can’t recall a single laugh-out-loud moment. By that, I don’t even just mean for myself. I’ve been on planes before where people are cackling like mad over “Four Christmases” or some shit like that. No one in my seat’s vicinity laughed audibly a single time. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a problem when a movie’s billed as a comedy.

Third up: Jennifer Garner’s character was unworthy of the devotion heaped on her. When we meet her, she’s extremely shallow and only cares about looks and wealth. Since everyone’s always honest, she says as much to Ricky Gervais’s character. Later, she gets to like him more, but still won’t be with him because his physical traits wouldn’t produce the best-looking offspring possible. It’s during this time that Ricky Gervais tells her how wonderful she is and that she’s the sweetest person he’s ever met. He means it, but the audience hasn’t been shown a single reason to agree with him. That doesn’t make me want to root for them to be together, and if anything, the desire to be with her shows that his character also overvalues the importance of physical beauty. (I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of one of the film’s big points.)

Problem number four is a doozy. Without getting too spoilery, it’s safe to assume that things spin out of control once he gets the hang of lying. In a plot point I didn’t anticipate, the entire second act of the movie is essentially railing against organized religion. He makes some stuff up about a “man in the sky” who decides what happens to everyone, and we’re supposed to laugh (I think) at the idiots who blindly believe in that silly concept. Personally, I’m not even close to calling myself religious, and I still found that whole major storyline to be mildly offensive.

Lastly, the ending kinda sucked. Without revealing too much, there was a line that I fully expected to be said in a sweet moment because they so clearly were building up to it, but then it never was. Also, at the very end, they totally glossed over something huge that needed to be addressed. (If you’ve seen this movie and want to email me at pdawg@n2rh.com, I can be more specific about both of these things.) Basically, it felt like they forgot that they needed to end the movie somehow and threw the last few scenes together in hopes that no one would notice. Guess what – I did.

So I was pretty disappointed in the movie. Part of that is due to my higher expectations before it began – after all, I didn’t even think about putting my earphones in for “Whip It!” on the flight out. But hey, “The Invention of Lying” passed the time and made the plane ride go a little faster. Maybe I’ll rent it, watch it again, and see if I enjoy it in a more comfortable setting and without a headache. No, wait, that was a lie.

Tags: airplane, garner, gervais

Rolling in style

Jan31

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

If you know me, then you know that I tend to look at license plates on the road more than the average driver. If it’s a good vanity plate, I’m quick to praise the driver. But if it’s a poorly constructed one that doesn’t adequately get the message across (or uses a number for a letter in some moronic fashion), I’m even quicker to chastise its creator. Needless to say, I’ve set the bar pretty high, which is why my own plate is not of the vanity variety. I’d put too much pressure on myself to make it perfect, so I’m cool with my meaningless numbers and letters.

Last week, however, a colleague of mine asked if I could help him create a plate for his new vehicle. He’s a funny and boyish guy who happens to be loaded, so this wasn’t an ordinary task. He recently purchased a fully tricked-out Escalade, complete with a tv in the back and limo-like passenger seating. He’s only going to use this new vehicle when he has a driver take him and a group of friends somewhere. (Sounds like a nice option, eh?) When I came into his office, he had the DMV site up and a picture of a plate that read, “1PLAYA1.” “Do you like that?” he asked. “Well,” I said, “I can see what you’re trying to do, but to me and to most of our state, that will look like ‘beach’ in Spanish instead of a hip version of ‘player.'” He saw what I meant, even if he didn’t fully agree.

The website will tell you instantly if something is available or not, so we spent a little time on it. If he was set on having “Playa” in it, I first suggested, “YO PLAYA.” He loved it, but someone else must too, because it was taken. What about, “PLAYAAA” I asked? He liked it, but not enough (even though it was available). “Maybe something with ‘pimp’ in it,” he said. “I’m sure most of those are taken, but let’s try it out,” I replied. Of course, almost all versions of “Big Pimpin'” were taken, much to his dismay.

I then recalled that he likes to refer to “keeping the pimp hand strong,” that is, how to maintain his male dominance in a relationship. (Please note: while this sounds absolutely horrible, violent, and demeaning, he uses the phrase metaphorically and – to my knowledge – does not actually strike anyone. It’s more like, “Your wife handles all of your finances? That’s no way to keep the pimp hand strong.”) With that knowledge, I had more options to play with. “Ooh, there’s a special plate that allows you to use symbols, like a star, plus sign, or…a hand.” We went back to the plate-selection page. As hilarious luck would have it, the plate with the hand is the “Kids” one with a little drawing on the bottom and gives money to the Child Health and Safety Fund. Perfect for pimps, right? So I motioned for him to move, sat down at his desk, and made a plate on the screen to say, “DA PIMP (Hand).” He thought it was awesome, but once again, it was already taken. He suggested “DU PIMP (Hand),” but I didn’t like that at all. We finally agreed that “D PIMP (Hand)” still got the point across, and if people didn’t understand the hand part, it would still look like “D PIMP” to them, which he felt was cool enough by itself without the second meaning. This time, it was available.

He clicked on the next page, and we encountered an unexpected wrinkle: A box to explain the license plate’s meaning. “Crap,” I said, knowing the game was likely up. “No, you can do this,” he said. “Come up with something brilliant.” “No pressure,” I added. So I sat there for a few seconds before a light bulb went off and I started typing: “People Inspiring Minors through Prayer (P.I.M.P.) is an urban organization that lends a helping ‘hand.'” I’ve known this guy for a couple of years, and I’ve never seen him laugh as uncontrollably as he did after reading that. It was the prayer part that brought him over the edge, naturally. “I still doubt that’s gonna get through the censors,” I said. “Ya know, unless you quickly create a website for that made up organization.” I was kidding, but I could tell that he was considering it. Instead, he called his girlfriend to ask her opinion. She loved the idea (which means they’re a good match, I suppose), but asked if he’d ever be using the vehicle for business and/or charity events. He probably would, he told her, and “D PIMP (Hand)” was off the table.

I’ll still try to help him come up with something that is cool but not wholly inappropriate. Ya know, like “(Heart) MY HOES.” What? He’s an enthusiastic gardener!

Tags: license plate, pimp hand

Grosser than gross

Jan27

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

And by “gross,” I wish I only meant 144. Instead, I’m using that adjective to describe an anonymous person’s bathroom habits. I suppose I should add a disclaimer saying that I’m going to talk about some nasty things (in case the title didn’t clue you in), but please bear in mind that reading about this unfortunate occurrence pales in comparison to actually experiencing it.

I work in a building that has one male and one female bathroom per floor. A little while after I started, the male bathroom (which is the only one I frequent – why, what have you heard?) started to get noticeably messier. This meant more than one’s fair share of willy-nilly urinating, forgotten flushes, and balled-up paper towels thrown on the floor in a corner where apparently people thought a trashcan should be. It’s not a huge bathroom (three urinals and two stalls), so this made a big difference in my use of the facilities.

After several complaints, two main changes were made. First, a small trashcan was placed in the aforementioned corner. Second, the door’s hardware was changed so as to require a code. Why’s that? Because the prevailing theory on the increased messiness was that people from other floors were coming to ours to relieve themselves. (That’s because we routinely saw people we didn’t recognize leave the bathroom and walk over to the elevator. Those are some crazy detective skills, I know.)

For a while, everything got better. The new trashcan was being used, and I stopped having to peer into a stall to check for collateral damage before entering to do business of my own. Then it happened. I was standing at the left-most urinal one morning when I noticed something on the wall right in front of me. “Is that…a booger?” I wondered (possibly aloud). Yes, yes it was. I know this because there were two or three more next to it on the wall as well, and they all looked exactly like you would expect. “That’s disgusting!” I thought or said.

Over the course of the next several months, The Booger Bandit struck again and again. I’d guess about once every week or two. It’s possible that it happened more often but was taken care of by the cleaning crew that tidies up throughout the day. I don’t know why I’d never brought it up to my co-worker Rob, but I did one day after I was pushed too far. Smeared boogers near my face while I’m dealing with a variety of bathroom smells is one thing, but when they’re also tinged with blood, I’m compelled to speak. (Yes, I’m well aware of how gross that is. That disclaimer’s making even more sense now, eh?) “Hey Rob,” I said, “Have you ever noticed that someone appears to be wiping boogers right above the urinal?” “Yes!” he said, with the kind of happy relief normally reserved for people realizing that they’re not crazy. (“You hear those whispers too? Thank the lord!”) “What’s wrong with that guy?” I asked. He had no answer, but I kept going: “I guess I can almost understand it happening once. Let’s say you’re peeing, and you have one of those kinda sharp boogers up high in your nostril and you just have to get rid of it. You do, but then you realize that you have nowhere to put it. So there you are, your dick in one hand, and a booger in the other. Forced to make a choice, you smear it on the wall in front of you. Maybe you meant to clean it up but forgot, maybe not. I can buy that happening once based on a poorly-planned nose pick. But the second time, it’s no mistake. And every time after that, well, that’s just fucked up.” He agreed, but seemed a little concerned that I’d put so much thought into it.

So what can I do? I don’t think taping a sign that says, “Please don’t smear your sometimes-bloody boogers on this wall” will do anything except possibly encourage copycat Booger Bandits. I don’t know most of the guys who regularly use the bathroom, so I can’t just slyly mention it to everyone I run into while I’m in there. I’m at a loss, and I’d appreciate any suggestions. All I know is that I’m fed up, and this type of behavior snot appropriate for the workplace. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.)

Tags: bathroom, gross

Devalued Word of the Day: Professional

Jan26

Posted by mcsquared in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Today’s devalued word epitomizes everything the devalued word stands for, or rather, doesn’t. You know a word has gone bankrupt when it implies exactly the opposite of the literal definition.

And that’s what has happened with today’s word, “Professional.” Thanks to descrupled marketers, the word professional is now shorthand for “Hey, let’s be honest. You don’t want to spend that kind of money on a socket wrench set. But you’re in luck, because this is the set that professional socket wrenchers actually buy. And somehow I also cost less than the other ones. Buy me.”

In fact, professional is the moniker that people attach to professions that aren’t. Chances are, when people tell you they’re a “Professional _____,” it really means “Yes, for a living I do this thing that you never knew anybody could do for a living. I am a professional hula hooper. And one day I hope to make money doing it.” You never hear people say “I’m a professional doctor” or “I’m a professional police officer.”

One exception I add here is the word “pro,” which is different than professional. You can be a pro surfer, pro skateboarder, or pro snowboarder and make serious money rivaled only by the unplumbed depths of pussy it also earns. Until recently I wouldn’t have included pro golfers in this group.

I find it telling that GMC chooses that word to describe their line. “Professional Grade.” I’m biased against domestic cars, but they did receive 3 bailouts from the government. Maybe all the professional pickup truck drivers lost their jobs?

So let’s beware the professional moniker until marketers stop being professional swindlers.

Tags: devalued, language

Many things to read there

Jan25

Posted by bks in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

So my boyfriend had to go to Portland for two months to train for his job. Upon telling me this, I had two thoughts: 1. That sucks (normally we both live in the San Francisco area) 2. Sweet, I can go to Powell’s!

Powell’s bookstore in Portland is the largest independent new and used bookstore in the whole wide world. As a big ole book nerd, nothing could make me happier. After booking my flight for my weekend visit, I asked my boyfriend, only half-jokingly, “what are you going to do all weekend while I’m at Powell’s?”

I had been to Powell’s once before as a child, with my dad. My aunt lives in Seattle and we used to drive or take the train up to visit her for Easter when I was younger. My dad swears that I both love and remember being at Powell’s, but I don’t. All I remember of Portland is having a lady come into a public bathroom and calling my name, saying that my dad was worried that something had happened to me. Apparently planning for a a train trip with his 6 year old didn’t include some sort of public bathroom strategy and when determining how long I should take in there, he forgot to take into account that women’s restrooms almost always have a line. Also, sinks are hard to reach when you’re 6.

So besides that youthful visit, all I knew of the store were amazing stories from friends who lived in Portland. Books as far as the could see, they said. New books, as cheap as used ones. Used books, practically free. I would salivate just thinking of it.

When I arrived, it was everything I thought it would be and more. British editions of PG Wodehouse novels for under $10! Hardcover biographies half off! Out of print books and NY Bestsellers!

My final choices:

Thank You, Jeeves by PG Wodehouse

The Promise by Chaim Potok

Sex Sleep Eat Dream by Jennifer Ackerman

Olive Kitteredge by Elizabeth Strout

all for the low, low price of $37.80! Four new books (including one current NYT Bestseller) for less than $40?! Try pulling that off at Barnes and Noble!

Shell game

Jan22

Posted by P-Dawg in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

My beloved Lakers were playing on the east coast this evening (beating the Knicks), so the game started at 5pm PST. When that happens, I end up listening to the majority of the first half in my car on the way home. I have some issues with the radio broadcast team (that Mike Honcho or I could spell out in great detail at some point), but I put up with them because…well, I want to listen to the game. Today, something different happened: I rather enjoyed an interaction between the play-by-play guy and the analyst:

Spero Dedes: Lamar Odom is sporting a different look tonight, wearing a purple headband.

Mychal Thompson: Like Donatello.

Spero: (confused silence)

Mychal: At least I think he was the Ninja Turtle who wore the purple headband.

Yes, Mychal, you were right. Donatello was visibly identified by his purple headband (or headband-like thing that also covered his eyes), and his weapon of choice was the bo staff. I know this because when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ comics came out in the mid 1980s, I was a young boy at summer camp who found their antics amusing (especially the orange-masked Michelangelo and his love for pizza).

I turned 10 years old when the cartoon of the Turtles came out, following the success of the comics. That same year, Mychal Thompson turned 32 and was traded to the Lakers to help them win the first of two consecutive championships. Why then did this reference come so easily to him? His oldest kid is currently in college, so he was too young for their heyday. I’m at a loss, but that’s fine with me. Regardless of why he has that knowledge at his fingertips, I certainly enjoyed the comment. Keep up the random pop culture references from my childhood, guys, and maybe you’ll win me over yet.

Tags: Lakers, tmnt