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This image, found during my search for my pal Erica's favorite Fandango ad, is funny enough on its own, but dig the fine print between the panels. That's right--you, too, can get a "24-page book explaining menstruation." And it's FREE! Sent in plain wrapper, natch. Wouldn't want the neighbors to know what you have going on.
I'm sending a letter to that PO Box (I'll have to fake up a Zip Code). I'll let you know if I hear back.
Points. Plugs. Distributors. Timing belts. I don't know crap about these things, but they sound sweet. Well, OK. I know what they do, and I know where to get them, but I've never changed them before. And it's time. You see, part of the cool factor you get from owning an old beater is being able to start conversations with a nonchalant "I was working on the car the other day, and...."
Changing a tire (done that) is a start, but unless you're changing all 4, it just kinda sounds like you're a moron who ran over a bottle. Changing points, rebuilding a carb--that's the sort of stuff James Deans are made of. Tune-up kit on order. I'm starting small, though, by changing my own oil.
This is more of a chore than you might imagine. First, my car's kind of low, so getting underneath is going to be a pain. Second, the local Auto Zone only recycles oil during certain hours. Third, I just realized I don't have an oil filter wrench, because, well, I don't exactly change my own oil much. Until now. Oh, yeah. You're also not supposed to change your oil in the street, and I don't have a driveway. But that adds to the "rebel" factor, see? I got it all worked out.
I swear I thought this was an Onion headline today. Apparently, Dubya got one over on the evildoers today by getting to the UN first. And since we all know the UN is perched on te razor's edge between spreading freedom and spreading oppressive tyranny, I, for one, am glad Bush got there in time. What a tool.
Three weeks ago, it was 109 degrees inside my house. Right now I'm huddled under blankets and the roof is leaking winter rain. So much for summer.
It's not all bad, though. Autumn and Winter bring LA's only rain. Unlike the rest of the universe, LA comes alive in October and dies in May. I'm not all that different. Maybe it's the school year routine I haven't quite shaken, but the Fall has always been a good time for me to get things going. Not one to break a streak, I've signed on for yet another improv class at ACME, as well as their sketch writing lab. Both very interesting, and tremendously different. Couldn't be any less alike, in fact. Even my JOUST! posse is split down the middle. Ah, well. We'll always have movie nights and the Mexico party house, kiddos....
So classes are tiring but good, with shows a few months down the line, and while I'm on the self-improvement kick, it's time to get back into physical shape, too. First order of business: reining in the diet. According to our good friends at Apex fitness, makers of the world's bomb-assiest (that means "good") vitamins, I get to eat about 2400 calories and still lose weight. Sometimes, being a guy is great. Actually, being a guy is usually great. We pay for a lot more dates, but in the end, I think we still get the good end of the deal, so I shan't complain. Unless I find a better log, I'll probably use Fitday again, because free is good, and I can always plug in info from Calorie King.
1 PM dinner's at "Jaja's" (Dziadek's) house. Boiled canned ham. The same conversation, every time.
Great-Aunt Allie dishes from the serving plate, turns and asks "This ham looks nice, Ed. Is it the Krakus?"
Jaja sips beer from his cartoon-covered miniature Dixie cup and shakes his head. "Nope. Just Stop & Shop. Cheaper, but you can't tell the difference."
"Well I sure can't. It really seems like the Krakus to me. Doesn't it look just like the Krakus, Dot?"
"I can't tell the difference."
"Just Stop & Shop."
Boiled ham with salt. Boiled potatoes with salt and margarine. Canned peas or corn (never both). Little Dixie cups with full of apple juice (also Stop & Shop--"Cheaper than the Motts, but you can't tell the difference.") to match my grandfather's beer. Sliced Sunbeam bread in a big white stack, with margarine that's nice and soft because it's been sitting out in a butter dish all day. Surprised that Mary Price is there, since she usually comes on turkey holidays, not ham. Wondering how old she is. She seemed to be 100, but she was the only person at the table who hugged you without looking embarrassed. A whole table of people eating in perfect Polish silence, but not the least bit uncomfortable.
These memories courtesy of Kate Danley's blog post. I don't know what it was that kicked it off. Maybe communion. Maybe the Sprite and Grenadine. But thanks. Jaja would approve. He's just be silent about it. :)
I am bored. Mind-numbingly bored. I am also at work. These things are related.
I'm working on a piece for a very large, very boring ERP company right now. I understand that ERP is important. I do. I mean, I like to know that the Homestar Runner Yahoo store has a full supply of Strongbad action figures and Trogdor posters when I shop as much as the next guy, so I'm all about the Vendor Managed Inventory and all. I understand that creating a $4 million software megalith that even turns on is an impressive engineering feat. I understand that selling said $4 million software package is even more impressive, particularly when you toss in the $6 million in consulting it takes to get the software to work. But man--I feel tainted with drabness by touching ERP's periphery for an instant. People actually work with this shit every day. What kind of toll must that take? A couple examples of just the marketing. Golf clap with me:
Businesses that stand still are already being left behind.
If you're not integrating, you're disintegrating.
Yeah. And that's the stuff that won. Someone, somewhere at a meeting slammed his (it's ERP--it's a him, and probably a Teutonic him, at that) fist on the table and shouted "THIS IS IT! DISINTEGRATING! NOW THEY'LL BUY IT FOR SURE!" I dunno if that's better or worse than the "leveraging the new paradigm of synergistic dominance for a win-win" 1998 crap we all used to hawk, but it's bad, nonetheless.
I was going to go to the gym tonight. I still might. But after having my brain washed with this garbage, I need to fill it up with something naughty and vile and whiny and perverse again so I can get back to normal. So I'm headed to The Improv to see my pal Jessica rant about penises or farts or boobs or something.