At the Dinner Table

 
Tomatoes

My son looks at his plate . . .

“What’s up with these little tomatoes?” he asks.

“They’re cherry tomatoes,” I tell him.

“I don’t like cherries,” he says.

“They’re not cherries. They’re tomatoes.”

“The flavor is different than regular tomatoes.”

“They’re concentrated. They pack the maximum flavor per square inch. Or since we’re talking about volume, I guess I should say the maximum flavor per cubic centimeter. That’s why Mom bought them.”

“Actually,” his mom says, “I bought them because they were on sale.”

The Starbucks Girl Will Be a Good Pug Owner

 
Lightning at the Dog Park

My owner took me to the dog park this morning and then we went to the Starbucks drive-thru.

I like to stick my head out the window and say hi to the drive-thru people!

This morning, the drive-thru girl said, “Oh I want a pug so bad! Is it true that they snore?”

I don’t snore.

“Some do,” my owner said, “but this one doesn’t.”

“When I get my pug,” the girl said, “if she snores I’m going to love her snoring SO MUCH!”

That’s sweet. What a nice girl.

“She’ll be a lucky pug,” my owner said.

— Lightning paw

Imagine Finding Me

 
Chino Otsuka

Visual artist Chino Otsuka has created composite images of her past and present selves, like a digital time machine. This is so good. Otsuka’s work has restored my faith in humanity, which was pulverized a couple of days ago by the news that Ashton Kutcher has a million followers on Twitter.

I have a rule of thumb about art and artists: If a normal person has no hope of seeing the point of your work without an accompanying explanation about you and your artistic “theory” — you suck.

I look at Otsuka’s photos and with no words at all I’m immediately transported, I’m weeping with joy at the possibilities of life . . .

 

If,
again
I have a chance to meet,
there is so much I want to ask
and so much I want to tell.

— Chino Otsuka

If you could go back and meet yourself as a child, what would you say?

When I look at photographs of myself as a boy, I see someone whose parents were not cut out to be parents, who, when they turned their attention to the boy at all, it was to tell him how disappointing and inadequate he was.

I see a boy who has taken that to heart, and will grow up with it, and even though as an adult he’ll eventually learn to compensate and in some cases overcompensate for it, will always know in his heart that he’s inadequate because his parents taught him that he was.

I’d like to go back and meet that boy and tell him that I love him. That’s all.

An Absolute Pleasure

 

I’m reading a recommendation on LinkedIn, written by a person I know for another person I know.

Unbeknownst to the vast majority of people who’ll read the recommendation, these two people used to date each other. I know I’m a bad person but I can’t help mentally adding “…in bed” to the end of each sentence.

Try it:

Cleopatra is an absolute pleasure to work with. While working together, I found her to be a consummate professional. Clearly, her keen attention to detail is without equal. . . .

You get the idea . . .

Microblog: 2009-04-17

 

Another Reason Why All the Great Scientists (Except Marie Curie) Are Men

 
Scientists

Two women are talking in the lunch room. One is wearing a black pullover sweater.

The other woman says, “I like your sweater.”

“Thanks. It’s long, so it covers my ass.”

“That’s what I like about it. Not that it covers your ass, but that it would cover my ass.”

I’m speechless . . .

The sweater isn’t covering her ass, her pants are covering her ass, and the sweater is covering the pants!

It’s a total misread of the geometry of the situation!

Taxes Make People Nuts

 

One of the post offices here in Irvine is a best-kept secret . . . it’s off Culver Drive, down a side street and around a corner, basically in a residential area. It’s never busy because, unlike the post office on Sand Canyon, it’s not visible from a major street and most people don’t know it’s there.

My wife emailed me at work yesterday morning to say that she went to that post office and tons of cars were lined up to get in, which reminded her that it was April 15.

Not to worry though. We mailed our taxes on the 14th — to beat that last-minute rush.

Cars

Twenty years or so ago, I was living in Hollywood and — on the evening of April 15 — filling up at a gas station just south of the freeway from Union Station. Beyond Union Station on Alameda St. is the Terminal Annex post office.

As I said, it was April 15 . . . cars were lined up on Alameda from the post office, past Union Station and past the gas station for as far as I was able to see. News helicopters were circling overhead filming the Tax Day madness.

A man drove into the gas station, stopped next to me, rolled down his window and said — I am not kidding — “Can you tell me how to get to the post office?”

“Sure. You see that line of cars?”

Taxes make people nuts . . .

O.J., Hulk and the Shaggy-Haired Pool Boy

 

Hulk Hogan on his estranged wife and her new boyfriend, “some shaggy-haired pool boy 30 years her junior”:

“You live half a mile from the 20,000-square-foot home you can’t go to anymore, you’re driving through downtown Clearwater [Florida] and see a 19-year-old boy driving your Escalade, and you know that a 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed, with your wife …. I totally understand O.J. I get it.”

Look for the new reality show, “O.J. and Hulk: BFFs & Cellmates 4 Life,” coming soon to a closed-circuit prison camera near you.

A Father-Son Day

 
Everyone’s got armbands and 3-D glasses . . .
— Elvis Costello

Irvine schools are on spring break this week. I took a day off for father-son activities with my boy, age 15.

As we were driving back from lunch at Wingstop, I said, “You want to see Monsters vs. Aliens in 3-D IMAX?”

Self-portrait with 3-D glasses

“Not particularly,” he said.

I’d already decided that I did want to see it so I got off at the Irvine Spectrum exit.

“I guess this means we’re going to see it,” he said.

“You know what they say: Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time, but regret for the things we didn’t do is inconsolable.”

“Oh shut up, Sophocles. It’s a movie for two-year-olds.”

“No it isn’t. There’s a giant girl in it. It looks cool.”

“I’ll be the combined age of everyone else in the theater.”

We got there a little early so we bought the movie tickets and walked around the Spectrum for a while. I bought a Tommy Bahama shirt and the boy got some red sneakers at Vans.

I have to admit that the movie didn’t really live up to my expectations, but the 3-D IMAX was good and I liked this line from BOB, the monster with no brain, when the battle against the aliens looks hopeless:

“Gentlemen, I may not have a brain — but I have an idea!”

In the evening, the boy had a high school roller hockey game and his mom and I watched him. It was a good day . . .

Chivalry is Dead

 

A man has died after catching his girlfriend as she jumped from the seventh floor of an apartment block in China.

The young Chinese man, identified only by the surname Wang, held out his arms to break the woman’s fall as she plummeted from their apartment in Quanzhou in south-eastern China.

Mr Wang was killed by the impact of his girlfriend landing on top of him, while the woman suffered bone fractures and other serious injuries but was not in critical condition.

— PerthNow

Nut Cases on the Right vs. Nut Cases on the Left

 

Liberalism . . . has been reduced to an elitist set of rhetorical formulas, which posit the working class as passive, mindless victims in desperate need of salvation by the state. Individual rights and free expression, which used to be liberal values, are being gradually subsumed to worship of government power. . . .

For the past 25 years, liberalism has gradually sunk into a soft, soggy, white upper-middle-class style that I often find preposterous and repellent. The nut cases on the right are on the uneducated fringe, but on the left they sport Ivy League degrees. I’m not kidding — there are some real fruitcakes out there, and some of them are writing for major magazines.

Thomas Jefferson: A Birthday Gift

 
Thomas Jefferson

My fellow Americans —

Did you know that I was born on this date in 1743? Probably you didn’t because nobody makes a big deal about it like Washington’s birthday or Lincoln’s.

That used to really bother me but I’m okay with it now.

Anyway — it’s MY birthday but YOU get the gift. Point your browser at the Guess Her Muff website. GADZOOKS! You will not be disappointed!

Sadly, ladies styling their pubes had not entered into the marketplace of ideas in the 18th century. I can’t help thinking what Sally Hemings would have looked like with a Brazilian.

The MIT Guy

 

After shooting some hoops, we stop at Extra Mile for hot dogs and sodas. Something catches my eye about the clerk’s name tag — underneath his name, it says “MIT.”

“Did you go to school at MIT?” I ask him.

“No,” he says. “That means ‘Manager In Training.'”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Convenience store clerk seemed like kind of a low-level job for a MIT grad.

Basketball Diary

 
Basketball player

I was shooting some hoops at the park this afternoon with my boy, sort of guarding him so he could try out some moves.

I suggested that when he drives past a defender, he should cut back into him to keep him from reaching out and making a play on the ball. He tried it again but still didn’t cut back into me with enough gusto.

The third time, he overcompensated. Before he even got past me, he drove his shoulder into my solar plexus and knocked me off the end of the court.

Did I mention he’s the same size as me and a lot younger? Ouch . . . I’m still feeling it right now.

Microblog: 2009-04-11

 
  • Great video of Mississauga’s mayor, an 88-year-old former professional women’s hockey player: http://tinyurl.com/as2ca4 #
  • RT @diablocody: “Mashing the star button” sounds inherently masturbatory. #
  • I know someone like this – RT @NoReinsGirl: Next door home improvement project day 1,329. Finish already. #