First the Country...Then the World

In my previous post I left you on a bit of a creepy note. To reiterate, I signed off by saying, "I know where you live." Creepy, I know, but true. No, I don't know exactly where you live, nor do I know exactly who you are, but I do know that someone in your city has read my blog.
You see, I track the traffic of the people who pass through and partake in my ramblings. I can read a report every 24 hours that will tell me from which cities my posts are being read.
Currently I have had people check in from 5 different countries. Impressive I know, but there is 1 country (I won't name names to avoid embarrassment) in which I cannot place a friend. Whoever they are, though, they are very avid readers. Likewise, I can claim 15 states across our fine country with at least 1 resident who has taken a gander at my humble journal. Yet, in 2 of those states (they again remain nameless) the reader is a mystery to me. Perhaps they are old friends that I've lost touch with. Perhaps they're friends that I have kept in touch with, yet completely forgot where they live. Maybe they were just vacationing and had nothing better to do than to read about my antics (some vacation). Regardless, it is pretty exciting to look at a map and realize how spread out your acquaintances are (even if I don't know if I know them). But let's not stop there.
I have a goal. I want to put a check mark in every one of our 50 states. I want my reach and influence to be felt from the deepest valley to the highest mountain, through the amber waves of grain, from sea to shining sea, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, and justice for all, USA. So, pass a link to your friends. All I need is for them to click on it once, but hopefully they'll enjoy it and keep coming back or pass it along to another friend who will in turn pass it on again etc, etc. To keep it interesting for you, the reader, I will post the number of states I have checked off (again, they will be nameless so stop asking) at the end of every post starting with this one. We'll see what happens. Go get 'em.
First the country, then the world.

'Til Next Time

States: 15
Countries: 5

P.S. Did I ever mention how everyone at work has glitter on their face? Girls love glitter, so Barbie loves glitter, so there is a lot of it around. Today I found some on my steering wheel. Sigh.

I'm a Real Boy...A Real California Boy

It's late and you're tired, so I'll keep this short. I am now in possession of a real California drivers license. Now, I know what you're thinking, "I hate the DMV." I couldn't agree more, but I wasn't within a mile of that god forsaken place today. Nope, my license was delivered straight to my door, through my mail slot, and onto my floor. Two weeks ago, however, I was stuck in the aforementioned governmental building for two long, hot, uncomfortable hours. I waited in line, I took my test, I waited in line, I filled out paper work, I waited in line, I got my picture taken, and then I was told, "Your new license will be arriving in 2 weeks. Give me your old Illinois license. You have no identity until then except for this flimsy piece of paper." He then handed me a flimsy piece of paper.
I walked out of that experience feeling empty, alone, and robbed of something personal. Today, that something was laying on my floor when I got home. I am complete again. I am somebody.

Til Next Time.

P.S. I know where you live.

I Don't Mind Being By Myself...But This is Ridiculous!

I've gotten used to doing things by myself. I don't hesitate to go out to dinner and request a table for one and I don't flinch at going to the cinema alone (it's a lot easier to find a single seat in a crowded theater that way). Last night I went to watch Persepolis, an animated movie playing in an art house theater animated for art house crowds and I found my seat 10 minutes before the lights dimmed. It was easier than normal to find an empty seat this time as it seemed I would be the only patron enjoying this fine film. That's right, my solitude had reached new heights.
I watched the minutes count down to show time. The trivia slides had gone through their third cycle, and still I am by myself. My phone reads 1 minute left, and the same stifling silence. And just as the first commercial began to air I heard the welcome voices of my fellow man (women actually). They sat a few rows behind me seemingly excited about the upcoming picture. During the previews they discussed what they'd like to see and with whom, or what they didn't care to see and why not. So, it was me and two middle aged women watching Persepolis and they loved their popcorn. They really knew how to rustle the bag down to the last kernel. I wouldn't classify their eating style as...shy. No, they were quite bold about it actually. Quite loud. But then again, I was at the movies.

Til Next Time.

P.S. I had my hair cut this afternoon (or as my grandfather used to say, "had my ears lowered") which was an all around pleasant experience, except the hairstylist's hands smelled like onions. She must have had an onion laced sandwich for lunch.

The Great Frame Up...On Wheels

On my first day at Mattel, as I sat amongst strangers in orientation, I was given a 'Welcome to Work Goodie Bag.' In this bag was a travel mug, a mouse pad, and a notepad (all of which were proudly displaying the Mattel logo), but also included was a license plate frame. This frame was a bright shiny chrome plated symbol of status that tells everybody that "My other car is a Hotwheels." I was really excited about this because currently my car tells everyone that I'm too much of a wuss to haggle the price of my car down by letting them know, "I bought my car at Carmax." So, no longer will people think, "Hey, there goes an easy target." They'll now just wonder, "How does he fit into that other car of his."

Til Next Time.

P.S. I saw a license plate frame yesterday claiming the driver was a member of Mensa. Nobody said geniuses were humble.

It's Party Time...In About an Hour

My parents were in town this weekend, but enough about them. Let me tell you about my Valentines Day. A friend at work (yes, I am capable of making such acquiantances) asked me ever so generously if I would like to join her to her friend's party. Having not left the house for anything other than survival (food, exercise, movies, etc.) since moving here I quickly agreed (although I made it sound like I may have something else lined up and I'll have to check my calender). So, she told me that after she picked up her friend she'd swing by and pick me up and we'd be on our way to a party in Hollywood. Oh, and she said I had to wear black. Good thing I have a black polo for just such social emergencies.
So, off we go, two ladies in the front and a Jeff in the back. The ladies, having lived in the area for quite some time, briefly discuss the best way to get there. Just to join in, and to feel like I am contributing, I inform them that I just moved here and I don't know how to get anywhere, let alone the best way. They humor my comment with a quick laugh, but get right back to business discussing freeways, shortcuts, and their boy problems. Again I chime in stating I don't have boy problems, once again citing the fact that I just moved here. An awkward silence followed.
Good thing a decision needed to be made post haste. The silence was broken as we needed to choose between continuing on the freeway or taking the old proverbial shortcut? I sat in the back seat of this fine BMW anxiously waiting the decision. The driver was clearly distraught. Sure traffic is moving fine now, but this is LA…anything can happen (all this time I thought Tokyo is where anything can happen i.e. Godzilla). She makes her decision at the dramatic last moment and I can finally relax as we decelerate down the offramp. Ah, that's better. I feel so relaxed with the leather interior cushioning every subtle bump the road serves up. We should be there in no time.
After a little small talk about Chicago weather (that's the only thing people want to talk to me about) we're lost. Wait, are we lost? No, we're not lost. She knows where she is. Nope, she's lost. Very lost. She claims she never gets lost. She just did.
So, there I am, sitting in the back seat listening to frantic cell phone calls trying to figure out where we are (not the best neighborhood) and how to get to the party (Hollywood). To make things more interesting, the passenger in the seat so aptly named is extremely sensitive to motion sickness. When she doesn't have her head between her knees she has it sticking out the window. I quite enjoy it when she opens the window…the tension in the car is stifling and the cold air against my face is invigorating. We push on against all odds. We have our bearings once more. Then quickly lose them again. Then regain them! We think. Yes, it is confirmed we know where we…wait…nope. Yes! We DO know where we are and we truly should be there in no time. Onward my steed, show me the meaning of haste!
So, we finally arrive at our destination. We drive past it at least. We drive past it at least five times. Parking in the area doesn't seem to be very forgiving. Around every block it was the same drill: we pull up on a fire hydrent, driveway, or alley and get excited and then very dissappointed, excited, dissappointed, excited, dissappointed, excited, apprehensive, more excited, and then finally relieved. When we actually did park, the car was bathed in the flashing neon glow of an establishment that claimed they had girls, girls, girls, and there was something about nudity in there as well. I really didn't pay too much attention.
So, we finally actually arrive at our party. What should have taken 25minutes took 1hour and 15minutes and we're still the first ones at the party. So I go about meeting the gracious hosts and complimenting their place and making the same small talk again (that same small talk will be repeated numerous times throughout the night). Most importantly, however, I got first dibs on the heart shaped brownies…totally worth the trip. It actually was a good time though, I tend to downplay things.

Til Next Time.

P.S. My parents actually were in town this weekend. It was lovely.

Computers are amazing...they can read my mind.

There is this thing out there called the internet (if you're reading this chances are you've heard of it) and it is an amazing thing. One of it's capabilities is electronic mail (e-mail to those in the know) which is exactly like it sounds: sending letters over the internet (if you've never done it put it on your list of things to do before you die). This feature (e-mail) has gotten rather popular over the years and there are companies out there that would like to capitalize on it's success, mostly advertisers. Furthermore, there are companies out there that would like to facilitate those other companies and give them somewhere to place said advertisements. This is where Google comes in.
Google has many free services and I use a lot of them (if you're reading this you are using such a service) mainly Gmail (which is actually e-mail, stay with me). Gmail (and Google) have a very sophisticated system of advertising: the computer finds key words in your messages and provides relevant advertisements to that person. For example: If you wrote to me saying how much you love BBQ sandwiches then Gmail would notice "BBQ" and put up websites that sell BBQ products. The idea is to target the appropriate audience for the specific product and apparently it is very well received (I think Google made $3.47 Trillion Billion last year).
So, more to my point. I was checking my Gmail the other day and I noticed the following advertisement:

"Free Fart Video

Watch Hilarious Fart Videos Like Horse Fart Sets Girl On Fire & More"

Now, anybody who knows me knows that I enjoy a little toilet humor (or a lot of toilet humor) and heavens know this video they are selling me sounds amazingly epic and a must see (provided the girl who was set on fire by careless horse fart was unharmed or has recovered and is in good spirits), but what are my friends sending me in their emails that would make Gmail think I was interested in such filth?
When I saw the ad, I stopped what I was doing and quickly looked around in the recent emails to try to find some hints of gas, flatulence, fart, shart, buster, flutterblast, barking spider, the dog did it, stepped on a duck, boofer, crop dust, pebble putt, ass explosion, crap, poo, poop, number 2, accident, butt rot, bomb, floating a biscuit, great brown cloud, killing the canary, doorknob, the sound and the fury, back door breeze, or cheesin'...but not one instance. There was nothing sent to or typed by me that could possibly resister relevant to fart videos. Why then, would I be targeted?
The only explanation is that the computer read my mind because I actually am the target audience they should be looking for. Creepy how that works. Pretty soon computers themselves will be farting and humans and horses will be obsolete...a frightening thought. I will probably lose sleep over it.

'Til next time.

P.S. Don't be surprised if you get the same ad now that you have read this...there may be a few buzz words in the body of this post.

So You Want Celebrities...Well, I Got the Next Best Thing

There is a friend of mine from Chicago in town. She is here on business. Her business provides her with luxurious hotels and drink. Last night she invited me to join her and her coworkers to have said drink in the lobby of said luxurious hotel. Last night was also the annual ceremony celebrating achievements in the music industry...aka "The Grammys."
So, given my position in a fancy schmancy hotel in Santa Monica sipping on fancy schmancy drinks, I was able to view the music elite. That was the theory anyway.
Sure, I saw a lot of gentlemen in tuxedos, a lot of women in gowns, a few looks of defeat, and a couple joyous celebrations, but I saw no trophies, no speeches, and certainly nobody I would consider a celebrity. Now, I pose you a question, "What good is living in or around Los Angeles if you can't see the people of which the entire world is envious?"
All I want is to see somebody who is super famous so I can say, "I totally saw Brendan Fraser yesterday. We hung out a little from across the room. His kids are totally fine. They are growing up so fast! I told him I didn't have any and he told me I should think about having some. So I'm thinking about it. He seems to know what he's talking about. I mean, he's Brendan Fraser. Then we totally did our secret handshake (I point at him, he ignores me, I pull the point back into a fist and I pump it ever so slightly). No big deal. It's hardly even worth mentioning. Next time I'll totally tell him you said "Hello."
But that didn't happen...not yet anyway.

Til next time.

P.S. So far, Hermosa Beach California is 0 for 2 on Mexican food. I'll let you know when I find a good place. Interestingly enough though, it is also 1 for 1 in Cajun cuisine.

Happiness is a Warm Bun...Covered in BBQ Pork

I've never been accused of eating extravagantly. Sure I love a lovely meal now and then, but I tend to eat simply. For instance, I love Italian sausage, Italian beef, Polish sausage, hot dogs, nachos, deep dish pizza, thin crust pizza, pizza puffs, chicken wings, chicken fingers, General Tso's Chicken, hot links, hamburgers, cheeseburgers, bratwursts, french fries, onion rings, White Castles, burritos, burritos, burritos, and of course anything BBQ. Nope, nobody has ever accused me of being sophisticated, but let me get into more detail about my eating habits as of late.
There is a chain of grocery stores here in southern California (So Cal to the locals) that goes by the name of Ralph's and if you've seen "The Big Lebowski" you'll know why I shop there. Ralph's, like many other grocers, has special deals for those that hold some special card and I was quick to sign up for one (they recommend keeping it in your wallet, but I keep mine close to my thrifty-sale-loving-heart). And it was this card and those deals that took me to new lows. Ralph's had a sale (for card members only please) on Lloyd's BBQ products (which are little tubs of precooked wonder meat slathered in the blood of BBQ fairies). The sale read as follows:
"Buy 1 Get 1 Free"
So I freaked and bought 2 (might I also mention that it was really hard to contain my joy as I put those tubs in my basket). I bought a lot of buns. I bought a lot of cheese. I bought a lot of butter (unrelated to the Lloyd's). I proceeded to the checkout and I was on my (very) merry way.
The 2 tubs I bought, lasted only 3 days. 3 DAYS! So, on the 4th day I returned and bought 2 more and I ate. Oh man did I eat! I was in a constant state of pain do to over BBQ eating. I was eating so much BBQ that I started eating it in my sleep. I had to clean my sheets daily. Every morning I'd wake up to a BBQ murder scene. There was sauce everywhere! Once, while I was at work, I developed a sudden headache and I realized I hadn't had my BBQ fix for the day. It quickly turned into the shakes, cold sweats, and desperate phone calls. I started calling random slaughter houses asking for Lloyd and threatening the safety of their families if they didn't put him on the phone.
It was at this point I realized I'd gone too far. I'd lost it. My life was one big BBQ mess. Today was a new day, however. I think I reached a milestone. I did my grocery shopping, reluctantly cruised by the processed food aisle and saw my weakness...at full price. No thank you Mr. Lloyd. You've caused me enough pain. I am strong. I do not need your sauce. Your sauce is NOT my boss. I think I'll take my business elsewhere. So I went on about my business and bought a case extra caffeinated Coke...and the headaches went away.

Till next time.

P.S. Another favorite quote I've heard since I've been here: "AW MAN! I FORGOT TO MEDITATE!" - The Woman in the Park Whose Meditation Clearly isn't Working

I had an interesting weekend...that was hard to say without laughing.

No, I did not have an interesting weekend, but I'll try to summarize as briefly as I can the pertinent information with the following bulleted list:

1. My car passed the "California Smog Test" : My car gives off an acceptable amount of smog, so that means I can register my car in the Golden State. That's good, because I didn't want to start running to work. (At 6-7mph I would have to get up much earlier in the morning to make it in on time.)

2. A restaurant's wait staff is overly friendly when dining alone: It's true, but I'm not sure they realize that it is difficult to carry on a conversation when one is stuffing his mouth with gumbo. (I call that the "dental hygienist syndrome," although I must say that the waiters symptoms are much less intrusive.)

3. Panic didn't overtake me when I locked myself out of my apartment: I was going for a run and I locked myself out, so I didn't have my wallet, phone, or (obviously) my keys. It worked out alright though. After 20 minutes of unsuccessfully trying to break in, I walked to the library, referenced this thing called a "phone book," and used some big device on a desk that functioned just like a cell phone to call my landlord. 3 hours and much wandering later, I was back in business and resumed my life. (By "life" I am referring to "sitting alone in my apartment.")

So, not that interesting.

Till next time.

P.S. Thermal expansion and contraction keeps me up at night, not the complexities of the concept itself but the noise my furnace makes when it heats up and subsequently cools down. It sounds like someone tapping on a baking sheet repeatedly at 3am. It's difficult, however, to tell the laws of physics to be quiet...they have self-esteem issues...and I need those laws for so many things.