I get a call at work from my wife, who says, “I logged on to the credit union web site and a message popped up and said ‘Happy Birthday!'”
“Your birthday’s not till tomorrow.”
“And I got a Happy Birthday email from Newport Lexus. Wasn’t that nice?”
“It sure was.”
“I hope people close to me don’t forget about it . . .”
My son’s looking forward to February when his braces come off . . .
“Throw some Crest whitening strips on there and the sky’s the limit as far as girlfriends are concerned,” he says.
“Girls are a distraction right now,” his mom says. “You need to focus on academics.”
“Mom’s right,” I say. “Having a wife or a girlfriend is like taking a 5-year-old to the mall. You can’t go as fast as you want to because the 5-year-old can’t keep up the pace. And you’re not going to be able to accomplish the things you want to accomplish . . .”
“Don’t give the boy a bad attitude,” she says.
“. . . because the 5-year-old is . . .”
“Whatever you’re going to say . . .”
“. . . monopolizing your attention . . .”
“. . . don’t say it.”
“. . . with her juvenile behavior.”
Originally uploaded by Bruno_Brujah
Fingernails on a chalkboard? Doesn’t bother me in the least. But I don’t like the sound of people chewing their food.
Sometimes I have to remind people in my family to please chew with their mouth closed.
Is that an unreasonable request? I wouldn’t think so . . .
“The dog makes all kinds of noises. Why don’t you complain about that?”
“The dog is an animal,” I explain very slowly. “I was thinking we could hold ourselves to a higher standard. Why don’t you take a crap on the parkway in front of someone’s house? The dog does it! It must be okay!”
My wife tells me the Gary’s Island store in Newport Beach is going out of business.
I hope it’s not true.
It’s a great store, but I suppose in a down economy, high-end Hawaiian shirts are even more of a luxury item than usual . . .
October is Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) Awareness Month.
Were you aware of that? I wasn’t.
Now that I am, I’ve got one thing to say to the SCA people: WHO IS ADVISING YOU?! October is Breast Awareness Month! You can’t compete against breasts! Pick another month!
As for cardiac arrest, fuck that noise! I’M A VERY BUSY PERSON! I don’t have time . . . (gasp) . . . I don’t have time . . . for a . . . a herat attardhuhjbzsvggggggggggggggggggggggggg
I’m dropping my son off at the high school for PSAT testing this morning. We’re part of a huge, slow procession of cars moving into the school.
My son’s yelling, “You people are all nerds for taking this test!”
Then a note of realization: “But wait . . .”
My son’s a percussionist in the Northwood High Wind Ensemble this year. It’s an advanced ensemble . . . he’s a sophomore and most of the kids in there are juniors and seniors.
They had auditions last week for section leader. I asked him leading up to the auditions if he’d been practicing his audition pieces because I never heard him practicing anything.
“I practice at school,” he said, “but my chances aren’t very good. There are some older kids who are better than me.”
This kid drives me nuts sometimes with his low-key approach to things.
My approach to an audition would have been very different. I would have practiced like a madman and showed up ready to kick some ass, because I’ve got zero self-confidence and I over-compensate in certain types of situations.
Anyway, the results are now in and the boy made section leader after all.
I guess you’ve got to let kids develop their own style . . .
My son asks how I’m voting on Proposition 8, so I tell him, “I’m not sure I really care that much one way or the other. The amazing thing to me is that same-sex couples actually want to get married. If I hadn’t been allowed to get married, I could have avoided a lot of problems.
“On the other hand, if we get rid of the ‘one man, one woman’ requirement, I’m planning to turn the house into a polygamy compound with Lucy Liu and Scarlett Johanssen as my new wives.
“Bad choices,” he says.
“Who would you pick?”
“Jessica Biel.”
“Okay, we’ll get her too.”
The first rule of thumb I pull out of my hat for myself and for my clients is this. Before you start working every day ask yourself “What is the one most important thing I could do today?” This is different than what you have to do or what you should do. It is the most important thing you could do. The answer, if you think carefully, is usually something that requires courage and integrity and not a lot of time. For instance, resolving an ongoing issue with a coworker or talking to your boss about the future of your career or hiring a personal trainer. When you consider To Do lists, they are infinite. In other words, there is an infinite amount of stuff you could do. So the best leverage you can get is making sure you do the most important thing first. It seems to be a human quality that we are tempted to do things that keep us busy but don’t really give us great results or great leverage in our lives. For instance, we’ll answer all our emails and go to every meeting we are invited to. You don’t have to worry about doing “normal” work items like this. They will always be there. But you can make significant positive change in your life and the life of others if you make sure to do the one most important thing each day.
A simple rule dictates my buying: Be fearful when others are greedy, and be greedy when others are fearful.
BIG DEAL! I said the same thing last week!
Who needs Warren Buffett when you have a good dog?
Talking about Warren Buffett is making me hungry because his name looks like “buffet.” I wish someone would open an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant for dogs.
I would invest in that . . .
— Lightning 
Originally uploaded by Menacing Buddha
On Nov. 4, my fellow Californians and I will vote on Proposition 8, an initiative to ban same-sex marriages, which were made legal by a state Supreme Court ruling in May.
I know a guy — let’s call him Trog . . . Trog seems to have emerged from the mists of time untouched by human evolution.
Not surprisingly, Trog supports Proposition 8 and he feels strongly enough about it that if you stop by his office, you’ll see a fair amount of Yes on 8 campaign material.
Now I have to say that the idea of two people of the same sex getting married and making out with each other — provided they’re female and hot — does far less to tarnish my view on the sanctity of marriage than does the thought of some woman allowing this mouth-breathing ape to clamber on top of her and deposit his seed.
The fact that same-sex couples even want to get married is a stunning triumph of hope over experience. I honestly can’t think of a single heterosexual couple I’d describe as happily married — not one!
In fact, I’ve come to think of marriage as having very little to do with love, which I no longer believe in, and a lot to do with having someone other than yourself to blame for everything that’s wrong with your life.
To couples — gay or otherwise — I say don’t confuse “I love you” with “I want to marry you.”
I’m going to start declining invitations to meetings that have
Thus spoke The Programmer.
When Righteous Kill came out recently, the build-up was that it featured Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, “the most acclaimed actors of our time.”
So what’s the big hit at the box office? Beverly Hills Chihuahua, a talking dog movie.
When you’re “the most acclaimed X of our time” and you can be replaced by a trained dog, you know you’re in a stupid profession.
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.
My wife comes home with a new Tommy Bahama shirt for me — 60 percent off — “but they didn’t have anything for kids,” she explains to our son, who’s now 15 years old.
“Ummm, I wear the same size as Dad,” he points out.
We took Lightning to the Huntington Dog Beach this morning . . .
As we were parking the car, my wife asked, “Do they have bathrooms here?”
“They have portables,” I said, pointing them out.
“OK, you guys go ahead and I’ll meet you down at the beach.”
Later, when we got back to the car, I asked, “Where’s my coffee?”
“It’s all gone,” she said.
“It may be all gone now but it wasn’t all gone when I left it here.”
“I had to pee in it.”
“You peed in my coffee cup?”
“I can’t use those portables.”
“Why couldn’t you pee in your own coffee?”
“I had to make a judgment call.”
“Well . . . thanks for not setting it back and letting me drink out of it.”
Hockey moms are pit bulls with lipstick. Soccer moms are cat burglars . . .
